#i cast the full force of the details in my brain upon you

[mutantninjamidlifecrisis]

i’m rereading the whole fic when the new chapter comes out bc it is SO GOOD

Awesome! that's... a lotta words

[tyrantisterror]

Your recent train of posts about you-know-who’s book series got me thinking. You once said “The Owl House works as a sort of rebuttal to Harry Potter in a lot of ways”, care to elaborate on that statement? Especially in regards to how The Owl House’s worldbuilding and themes clash with Harry Potter’s?

Oh man... I don't want my blog to be consumed by Harry Potter Hot Takes. I'd prefer to vent most of those feelings through my wizard books instead, it's more productive that way.

So, ok, short version: The Owl House is about a teenager from the mundane world discovering there's a magical world hidden away, goes there to learn magic, and in the process uncovers a plot by an abominable fascist to commit genocide. In very simplistic terms, that is more or less the same plot as Harry Potter.

But the devil's in the details, isn't it? Luz doesn't have any grand inheritance to claim, no prophecy to fulfill, nothing that makes her the most special specialest special person of all time. There's even a whole episode early on where a villain tries to lure her to her doom by claiming she's the chosen one, and the lesson is that NO ONE is "chosen" for greatness - greatness is something you make yourself, not something that's thrust upon you. She is not inherently gifted as a witch - in fact, she struggles harder because she doesn't have a a special bladder true witches are born with, and has to learn an ancient and forgotten method of spellcasting basically from scratch to cast spells at all. She is, emphatically and at times definitely deliberately, the opposite of what Harry Potter is.

So is her academic experience. There's a magic school in this setting, and (at first) it wants nothing to do with Luz because she's human, not a witch, and thus is believed to be incapable of casting spells. So Luz's primary mode of education on magic comes from a private mentor, Eda, who is also a wanted criminal and social outcast because of her disdain for the draconian rules of their society. Eda is an unconventional but magnificent mentor, one who is as willing to try new things and learn new methods as Luz herself, and who helps Luz discover ways to make possible what everyone else claims is impossible. Eventually Luz does convince the magic school to take her in, but in the process she changes how it runs, challenging a lot of its preconceived notions and forcing them to do better.

Which is vital, because the biggest problem facing the society of this magical world is narrow-minded reliance on outdated social categorization. Like HP, people are sorted into categories (covens here instead of houses), which they are then forced to stick to and never dabble in the others. It is explicitly compared to both the concept of tracking in real world education (i.e. forcing kids into a career path early and ONLY giving them education relevant to that one career) and the house system of HP:

And it's wrong. It's both presented as needlessly limiting, terrible for encouraging advancement and growth of both the students and society as a whole, and an immoral system that's only kept alive by the "Well, this is how we've always done it" inertia that keeps so many awful traditions in education alive. And I really do mean it's immoral, because it's the brain child and secretly crucial evil tool of a genocidal fascist.

I kind of cringe at writing those two words since I feel people have been WAY too quick to accuse cartoon villains from children's shows of fascism and genocide - like, Chairface Chippendale writing his name on the moon with a laser would probably kill a shitload of people in real life, but that doesn't mean he's an analogue to Hitler. But Belos, like fellow Disney villain Frollo, is clearly intended to be exactly that: a genocidal fascist. In a world full of magic-fueled absurdist black comedy beats, Emperor Belos stands out as a consistently serious threat, tonally dissonant with his surroundings in a way that makes him chillingly effective as a villain. And like real world powerful bigots, his power primarily comes from the fact that the systems of society favor his mindset over those of outsides like Luz and Eda - all the systems of oppression our heroes chafe against were either created by or worsened by him, with the express purpose of using them to kill everyone and everything in the magical world.

Luz could not be more thematically opposed to her enemy, and the story is incredibly consistent in showing how defeating Belos alone isn't enough, but that the systems that empowered him have to be disproven and dismantled. His enablers must be destroyed or humbled, the prejudices he encouraged must be torn down and fought at every turn, and innovation and progress must be embraced for the good of all. There's so much stuff you could analyze about the themes in that show regarding oppression and the othering of people who are different, and it's all so, SO much more consistent than the discussion of the same themes you'll find in Harry Potter.

[helaintoloki]

Meet the Family

pairing: Pietro Peter Maximoff x fem!reader

warnings: angst, manipulation, reader is a Westview hostage controlled by Wanda, etc., 2.5k in length

notes: writing a piece that takes place in the WandaVision universe was such a challenging and fun experience, and I really tried to capture the same dark undertones of the show so I hope you enjoy!

summary: An innocent family dinner with Pietro’s new girlfriend reveals that life in Westview is not what it seems. Uncle Pietro introduces y/n to the family!

Y/n almost feels like she’s being watched as the warm hand of her boyfriend— since when do I have a boyfriend?— carefully guides her trembling figure up the front steps of his sister’s house and rings the doorbell. Her grip on the glass dish of brownies in her hands is so impossibly tight she fears she might just break it, and when the silver haired man swoops down to steal a kiss from her cherry gloss stained lips she can’t help but to feel nauseated. The sickness morphs into guilt immediately, and when he looks down upon her with a gaze so tender and fond she forces herself to bat her eyes and smile at him. What kind of girlfriend is horrible enough to be disgusted by a kiss from her own boyfriend? Something isn’t right here...

“Don’t even sweat it, babe, my little sis is going to love you!” Pietro comforts with an easygoing grin plastered on his features.

“I hope so,” y/n murmurs quietly, nervously chewing at her bottom lip. This is the audition, her one shot at impressing the boss, and if even one tiny minuscule detail is thrown out of place then there goes her new house and fancy wardrobe and y/n is written out of the show. Permanently.

“My girlfriend is such a worrywart,” he laughs fondly with a gentle pinch of her cheek. It’s as if a switch is flipped inside of her, and this time when she smiles at him it is genuine and full of unadulterated love.

“I just want everything to be perfect, I know how much this means to you,” she replies earnestly, too dazed to notice the soft aww that drifts through the air from the audience. Pietro smiles.

“Man, did I luck out on finding the most perfect girl in the world or what?”

“Well us being together certainly isn’t a coincidence,” she notes with a small smile. The uneasiness begins to wash over her again, but y/n isn’t given a chance to dwell on the feeling as the front door swings open and a vibrant looking young woman stands in the doorway, almost beaming at the two with pure glee.

“Thank goodness you made it!” She exclaims, hand delicately resting on her chest to showcase her relief before she pulls the stranger her brother into a hug.

“Like we’d really miss Sunday dinner,” Pietro jokes before pressing a chaste kiss to his sister’s cheek. His hand returns to the small of y/n’s back and the fond smile pulls at his lips again. “Wanda, I’d like to introduce you to a very special little lady, my girlfriend y/n.”

“Oh, she’s very special indeed,” Wanda notes with an overzealous wink, ignoring the way in which the brownie dish begins to tremble in the poor girl’s hands. Just a little stage fright, that’s all. “It’s very nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Wanda.”

“It’s an honor to meet you,” the girl replies earnestly, “Pietro has told me so much about you.”

“Well aren’t you sweet! Please, come in,” Wanda grins, ushering the two inside before shutting the door. “Boys, Uncle Pietro is here!”

“What a lovely place you have,” y/n compliments. Her eyes scan the perfectly decorated home in wonder, awe, and a third thing she can’t quite place for if she dwells on it for too long her head begins to ache and her surroundings begin to grow fuzzy.

“Oh, please, it’s just a little something I threw together,” she jokes, canned laughter echoing distantly in the background of y/n’s mind.

“Uncle Pietro!” Two voices exclaim, and y/n watches curiously as her boyfriend lets out an ecstatic laugh before rushing forward to scoop the twin boys in his arms.

“If it isn’t my favorite little trouble makers!” He grins, making sure to ruffle both heads of hair. “Billy, Tommy, say hi to your aunt y/n.”

“Hi, aunt y/n,” Billy greets politely. Tommy is at her side in an instant, movements so quick y/n can’t help but to let out a startled yelp as he lunges for the dish in her hands.

“Are those brownies?!”

“Tommy, where are your manners?” Wanda chides gently, shaking her head with a laugh and reaching for the pastries. “Boys will be boys. I’ll take these off your hands.”

“Oh, uh, yes, thank you...” y/n murmurs softly, brows stitched together in discomfort.

“You’ll have to excuse my husband’s absence, another late night at the office. You know how it is, don’t you?”

“I can’t say I do.”

“Hmm... Well, make yourself comfortable. Dinner will be ready soon, I’ll just go put these in the kitchen.”

“Oh, do you need any h-“

“No,” Wanda blurts out abruptly, startling everyone in the room. She plasters on a smile, “No thank you. How can I be a good hostess if my guest is doing all the work for me?”

“You’re right, I’m so sorry,” y/n flounders, panic clear amongst her features. “I-I didn’t mean to impose at all.”

“No apologies,” the woman murmurs quietly, a small smile on her lips and an admonitory glimmer in her eyes, “we’re going to have a nice family dinner, and everything is going to be just perfect.”

The tension in the air is suffocating, wrapping itself in a slow growing hold around y/n’s neck. Her eyes begin to water, bottom lip quivering in fear as she looks around the room that suddenly feels too big and too bright. She doesn’t belong here with these people, something is wrong, the man she came here with is not hers, and as Wanda’s figure retreats behind the kitchen door y/n makes a mad dash towards the nearest exit.

“Whoa!” Pietro exclaims with an uneasy laugh, and in a blue flash she suddenly finds herself being scooped up off her feet and tossed back down on the couch in between the apprehensive twins faster than her fried brain can even comprehend. “Not so fast there, missy. Just where do you think you’re going?”

“I... I don’t feel right,” the young woman murmurs, wincing at the uncomfortable dryness of her throat as she swallows. “I want to go home and lie down.”

“Don’t be like that, babe,” he chides with a disappointed frown, “this is my family.”

“But what about my family?” Y/n whispers, tears welling in her eyes as she realizes that whenever she attempts to picture the life she once lived not a single thing comes to mind. “I don’t have a family.”

“This is your family now. We talked about this, remember? We came to Westview to make Wanda happy, and you don’t want to upset her, do you?”

“No,” she replies meekly, shuddering when the calloused pad of his thumb swipes across her warm cheek to remove any evidence of tears. No, I don’t want to make her unhappy, because if I do then I’m written off the show and I don’t know what will happen to me if I am. “I want to spend time with my new family.”

“Atta girl,” Pietro grins as he cups her face with both hands and brings her in for a kiss.

“Yuck!” Tommy exclaims in disgust from beside the couple, and this time y/n can’t help the bubbly laughter that escapes her at the young boy’s antics. Any memory of her previous meltdown is quickly wiped from her mind, and all she can think of now is how utterly grateful she is to be loved by such a wonderful man and be taken in by his wonderful family.

She pulls Pietro in for another kiss and giggles uncontrollably when he responds by tickling her sides, all while Wanda watches carefully from behind the scenes.

~~~

“Dream of better lives, the kind which never hate. Trapped in a state of imaginary grace.”

Her voice is quiet and serene as she hums along to the Modern English song playing on the radio, a content smile on her face as she washes the dishes leftover from dinner. It was the least she could do after the lovely evening Wanda had hosted; her sister-in-law had been called upon by the neighbor Agnes for a task that hadn’t quite been specified, so y/n was happy to tidy up while her boyfriend spent quality time with the boys. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt as happy and content as she did now— she couldn’t remember anything, really— and y/n knew then and there that moving to Westview with Pietro had been the right decision for the family, for his sister and themselves, and for the children, too. Yes, everything was just peachy keen.

The kitchen door swings open and in walks a man y/n has never seen before. He looks just as surprised as she is when their eyes meet, an awkward smile on his red face and the morning paper in his hands, and y/n slowly drops the dish she had been washing back into the sink.

“Hello,” the man greets curtly, “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before.”

“I’m afraid not,” y/n agrees with a bashful smile, quickly removing her rubber gloves so that she may extend her hand towards him for a shake, “I’m y/n, Pietro’s girlfriend.”

“Ah, yes...” he murmurs lowly, cautiously shaking her hand and sizing the woman up and down until she shrinks under his gaze. He means her no harm, but he isn’t sure whether or not she’s part of this cooky little play or just another victim cast under Wanda’s spell. He smiles suddenly, the gesture startling the girl. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Vision.”

“Oh, yes! Of course. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“May I ask where my wife is?” Vision asks.

“She went off to the neighbor’s,” y/n explains before promptly returning to her dish washing. The radio sounds distant and warbled now, the song she had been singing along to now nothing but static and jumbled up syllables, but to Vision’s dismay she doesn’t seem to notice in the slightest.

“How are you enjoying Westview?”

“I’m having the best time. Pietro and I have been talking and we might just have to hunker down in our own little place,” she says with a giggle. “It would be nice to be closer to you all.”

“I must say, having you and Pietro here was quite the surprise.”

“Not a bad one I hope,” she frowns. Vision guiltily refuses to meet her gaze.

“No, not at all. But, might I ask how you two came to be?” Vision asks apprehensively, adding on so that she doesn’t feel cornered, “I’m sure it must be a lovely story.”

“Oh, yes! I remember it like it was yesterday,” y/n swoons dreamily, a fond smile plastered on her face and her gaze casted out towards the living room where Pietro sits playing video games with the boys. She blinks once, twice, eyes never once leaving the silver haired stranger in the couch. A pregnant pause hovers over the two, the porcelain plate trembles in her hands, and Vision watches in silent horror as her eyes begin to well with tears.

“Y/n?” He calls gently, fingertips carefully brushing against her elbow in an attempt to bring her focus back to him. He removes the plate from her iron grip and sets it back carefully in the sink before turning the girl by the shoulders to face him; she still wears that same adoring smile despite the tears that silently fall down her cheeks.

“Forgive me,” she murmurs quietly, “I can’t seem to gather my thoughts properly.”

“Who did this to you? Was it Wanda? Pietro?” Vision press urgently. Y/n sways slightly when he shakes her by the shoulders in a desperate attempt to break her from her trance but still her smile remains.

“Pietro? Oh, he loves me, and I love him.”

“My dear, I don’t think you do,” the man utters sympathetically.

“Of course I do, silly. We were made for each other.”

“Perhaps you were, but not in the way you think. Y/n-“

“Please let go,” she interrupts in a soft, steady voice, looking up at him like a scorned child, “you’re scaring me.”

“If you would just let me,” Vision begins to say, fingertips reaching for her temple in preparation to break her from the spell only to be interrupted by another presence in the room.

“Whoa, what’s going on in here?” Pietro asks with a raised brow and uneasy laugh. “Hey toaster oven, you mind maybe letting go of my girlfriend?”

“Of course, my apologies,” Vision murmurs, stepping away from the girl and allowing her to run into the arms of her boyfriend.

“You okay, babe?” He asks with a raised brow. She isn’t, not in the slightest, but she has a job to do and a role to play, so she merely bats her eyes at him before leaning up and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Never been better. Hey, how does dessert sound?”

“I think that sounds lovely,” Wanda chimes, her sudden appearance in the kitchen doorway startling the already present trio. Vision looks like a deer caught in headlights when Wanda saunters over and gifts him with an innocent kiss to the cheek. “Why don’t you and Pietro get the boys settled down while y/n and I prepare the dessert?”

“What a lovely idea, darling,” Vision chimes with an easy smile— y/n isn’t the only one with a role to play. “Come now, dear brother-in-law.”

“Take good care of my girl, little sis,” Pietro calls on his way out. Wanda smiles, her eyes never once leaving y/n’s trembling frame.

“But of course. What is family for? Y/n, be a dear and grab the plates, won’t you?”

“Yes, Wanda,” the girl chimes obediently. She smiles.

“I noticed you seemed a little shaken up just now, is everything alright?” Wanda asks, feigning obliviousness.

“Oh, you know, just some friendly questioning from my new brother-in-law. I’m sure he just wanted to make sure Pietro had found the right match,” she explains with a passive wave of her hand. Wanda hums softly.

“Well we don’t need to worry about that,” she notes. “You’re here for a reason, y/n. Do you know that?”

“For Pietro, and for you,” she replies earnestly, smiling when Wanda takes her hands in her own and gives them a gentle squeeze. “You’ve always wanted a big family, a real family, one that would never turn its back on you or leave you behind ever again. You want a sister and nieces and nephews and love, and I’m here because I can do all of that and more for you.”

“Exactly right. Family is forever, y/n. Are you ready for the commitment that comes with being a Maximoff?”

“I’ve never been more ready,” y/n responds eagerly. Wanda smiles.

“I’m so relieved you said that,” she utters gently, pulling y/n in for a hug so that she may not see the way in which her eyes begin to glow red and waves of energy begin to emit from her fingertips as she carefully settles herself fully into the girl’s mind. She fills her head with thoughts of Pietro and family, with memories she’s never lived and feelings she’s never had, she fills her with love, and y/n is none the wiser.

“Congratulations, y/n,” Wanda utters quietly, comfortingly stroking the girl’s hair, “you’re a Maximoff now.”

[alicanta77]

Finale: Glitter and Gold

Pairing: princess!y/n x prince!Chenle

Themes: royalty au, fluff, angst

Warnings: arranged marriage, violence, war, character death, injury, descriptions of injury and blood

Words: 11.5k

Inspiration: BTS - Blood, Sweat and Tears - orchestral cover

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Finale

tag list: @hiqhkey @jaeshatshop @lebrookestore @honei-n @cheonsa1004 @haechans-sunflower @crispy-chan @rvse-hvvck @chezzontop​ 

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Note: This is it! The final chapter of Royal Blooded! I want to say a MASSIVE thank you to everyone who has read and supported this story. The first chapter of this story was published before I had 100 followers on here, and now, as we celebrate the finale, we have over 1500. I have grown so much throughout the 9 months of my life that I spent creating this world, and every word of support, every message, every ask about it means so much to me. I’m a little emotional that it’s ending because of how long I spent on it and how much I put into it, but I am so excited to look forwards at everything that’s coming next. Thank you for the love on this, and enjoy the finale!

Felix xox

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~ 6 months later ~

You held your head high as you walked towards the throne room. You had your main servant walking behind you and two guards escorting you on either side. Your shoes made small tapping noises on the stone floor with every step you took and your clothes and hair gently flowed in time to the repetitive movement. Your lady in waiting was smoothing out your dress as you moved, trying to make everything look perfect. You paused as she quickly adjusted one final piece of hair before giving you a loving smile and hug and wishing you well.

Your chest felt tight with nerves and you took a deep breath. Your dress was beautiful, the most expensive one you owned and you were made up to look more beautiful than you think you ever had before. Your mother had bought this dress for you and, as soon as you had seen it your jaw had dropped, the scarlet red colour complimented your skin tone perfectly and the gold details that swirled around to form the shape of dragons were captivating.

You knew that a dress like this would only be wearable on a day like today, the most important day of your life.

You approached the grand doors, nodding at the two knights guarding the entrance with a smile, both of whom bowed back before moving their spears and opening the grand doors for you.

The throne room appeared in all its glory. The metal chandelier hung from the ceiling, dangling above the engraved stone floors that were currently stood on by the entire court. The court and knights of your kingdom were all in neat rows on the left of the room, framed by the sculpted columns that ran up the walls, engraved with detailed patterns. On the right side of the great hall stood another court entirely. One which you had met once and had recently had the pleasure of getting to know better. Their red and gold emblems were proudly on display on their cloaks, letting everyone who saw them know that they were the court of the royal kingdom of Shanghai.

You remembered doing this over a year and a half ago, only then you had been meeting Chenle for the first time. If someone had told you just how much he would come to mean to you in such a short amount of time, you would never have believed them. You had thought it would take you years to fall for the boy you were arranged to marry, but life is funny like that. You look back now and you don’t see him as the boy you were arranged to love, but rather the boy you were destined to.

However, even with all this going on around you, you couldn’t take your eyes off the boy waiting for you at the end of the hall. He too was dressed in his finest clothes, the dark green and silver colours of your kingdom decorating his outfit. As you walked down the hall, dressed in the representative colours of Shanghai, his face split into the largest smile you had ever seen.

His eyes never left your face as you moved closer to him with every step, in fact, it took all of Chenle’s self restraint not to run towards you right there and then. You finally reached the front and Chenle offered a hand to help you up the few steps.

You accepted, your hands slotting together as if they were jigsaw pieces. You lifted your dress with your left hand, making sure not to step on it and accidentally rip it or, god forbid, face plant. You would never recover from the embarrassment if that happened.

Luckily you made it up the three stairs without any problems, but now you faced the challenge of speaking. You knew Chenle was going to speak first so you had time to mentally prepare yourself, but deep down you felt an overwhelming sense of serenity. You knew that you would be fine. You had been taking public speaking classes since you were young and you’d addressed more people than this in one go before. Just as with the stairs, you knew that nothing would happen, but your mind went to the worst case scenario. You just wanted this day to be perfect, after all, you were only doing it once.

You and Chenle tore your eyes away from each other as you turned your attention to the front, where your childhood tutor, now a well respected member of the court and keeper of the archives, was about to speak.

“We are gathered here today for the wedding and coronation of Prince Chenle and Princess y/n.”

~ flashback ~

“Will you marry me?”

The words left Chenle’s lips and it was as if they kick started your brain into action. You threw yourself at him, his arms catching you as the two of you hit the ground in a heap.

“Yes.” You cried repeatedly. “Yes, with all my heart.”

Chenle rolled the two of you over so that you were lying on top of him, the laughter that was emitting from the two of you radiated pure happiness. You sat up, kneeling next to Chenle as he gently grabbed your hand.

He held you so softly, his thumb gently caressing the back of your palm as he slipped the diamond onto your finger. A second passed in which the two of you stared at the jewel, the symbol of a silent promise to love each other until the end of time.

You looked up at him, eyes shining and his hands came up to cup your face. He pulled you in and you kissed him with everything you had.

You’d lost count of the amount of time you’d kissed Chenle, but this was different. This held so much more to it. It was as if it was a kiss that made all the other kisses on the planet seem pathetic. Love exploded between the two of you, your love, the kind of love that would last a lifetime.

You both pulled away, the need to breath breaking the captivating spell that Chenle had cast on you with that kiss. He leant down, resting his forehead on yours as you both closed your eyes and enjoyed being so close to the one you adored.

“I love you so much.” He whispered, afraid that if his words were any louder they would shatter the perfect moment.

“I love you more.” You whispered back, grinning as you heard Chenle chuckle quietly.

He pulled his forehead off yours only to replace it with his lips for a soft kiss.

“That’s not possible.”

~ flashback ends ~

The great hall was decorated with banners of both your kingdom and Shanghai. Ever since the engagement announcement, the castle had been in full on planning mode, preparing everything for this day to be perfect. There had been banquets, feasts and balls thrown in your honour, with gifts from kingdoms far and wide coming to the two of you in congratulations.

Word had been sent to Chenle’s family in Shanghai and they had announced that they would be coming to visit for the wedding. You had never felt happier than when you saw the smile on Chenle’s face when he was told he was going to see his family. His parents and three older brothers, Kun, Sicheng and Renjun, were all leaving Shanghai to attend, and they were planning on staying with you for a couple of days either side of the monumental event.

However, the good news about Chenle’s family came with bad news about yours. Your mother was frail, ill and barely eating anymore. She spent her days drowning herself in work so she didn’t have to focus on the cold empty space in her bed beside her. For the past 6 months she had worked diligently and done everything she could, but one night she came into your bedroom and quietly asked to speak to you and Chenle.

She told you that she didn’t think she could do it anymore, she didn’t think she could rule the kingdom. She explained that she had only managed to take on all the duties because she had had her husband, your father, by her side. But he wasn’t here anymore, and she couldn’t go on with the burden, it was simply too much for her to bear.

After a long and heavy conversation, your mother announced the next morning that she would soon be stepping down from ruling, and allowing you and Chenle to ascend to the thrones. She addressed her people, admitting to them that she was unfit to govern them and that she felt it was unfair to keep herself on the throne and deny them a better pair of rulers. She then proceeded to inform them that the wedding would be combined with the coronation so that you would be married and crowned on the same day.

You would be lying if you said that this hadn’t had an effect on you. You were already feeling the stress of your title, and you had been working closely with a group of advisors and your mother to introduce you to the world of being Queen. But, still, you were terrified. What if you weren’t a good ruler? What if you made a bad choice for your people? What if this affects your relationship with Chenle? You wouldn’t even get a chance to get used to being married before the role of King and Queen would be thrust upon you. But you forced yourself to ignore the growing voice in your head that filled your being with doubt. You had been preparing for this day your entire life, and now that it was here, you refused to let down those people who had helped you along the way. You would do your best, and make them proud.

So here you were. Standing next to the man you loved, about to promise your everything to him forever. Even though you had been filled to the brim with nerves before entering, as soon as you had locked eyes with Chenle, all of that had melted away. You knew that, as long as you had him by your side, the two of you could handle anything.

While the wedding was only attended to by family and members of the court, the celebrations ran throughout the entire kingdom, with all your people overjoyed at the beautiful ceremony.

You listened as the officiant went through the traditional wedding procedure, both you and Chenle replying with the rehearsed statements. His hand never left yours and you couldn’t express how relieved you were that it didn’t. The physical reassurance that he was there grounded you.

You turned to face each other, holding your joined hands out for the gold ribbon to be wrapped around them. The officiant continued to speak, his words about unity and strength reminding you of your father’s speech when Chenle first arrived with his family. So many things about this day were taking you back to the beginning, and the similarities were making you miss your father more than anything.

You felt a small squeeze on your hand and looked into Chenle’s soft brown eyes. He gave you a nod, one so minute that it would be unnoticeable to anyone who wasn’t you. You repeated the move to him, another reassurance that the two of you were there for each other, no matter what.

The officiant moved on to the vows, Chenle going first before you followed, saying the words you had recently memorised. Due to you both being royals, you couldn’t write personal vows and you had to stick to the scripture, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t mean every word. You meant it with your whole body when you promised to stand by him for as long as you lived, to look after him as best you could, and to support and love him no matter what. And from the look in your soon to be husband’s face, he meant every word he said too.

“Chenle, do you take y/n as your wife?”

“I do.” He spoke, sincerity strong in his voice and you didn’t bother to fight the smile that grew across your face at his certain words. The only thing you didn’t know, was that Chenle had never been so sure of anything in his life. 

“Y/n, do you take Chenle as your husband?”

“I do.” You repeated Chenle’s answer, your voice just as steady and sure as his had been, your mindset reflecting that as well.

You were still scared out of your mind at what was going to happen after today, but the thought of having Chenle by your side for the rest of your life, that didn’t scare you at all. No, that thought was the most comforting thing on the planet.

And that thought was just about to become your reality.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Chenle wasted absolutely no time, moving forwards before the officiant had even finished speaking, gently grabbing your face and pulling you in for a kiss. You smiled into the kiss, your hands coming up to rest on his waist.

The kiss wasn’t long, the awareness that your families and courts were watching you not quite having left your mind. But it held everything, the past years that you had known each other, your entire journey together into who you were now was told in the few seconds that Chenle’s lips pressed against yours. The clapping and cheers brought the two of you fully back to reality as you pulled back. You leaned back in for an even shorter kiss, officially sealing the eternal bond between the two of you.

“I love you.” You whispered, Chenle chuckling.

“That was my line.” You opened your eyes to look at him and he smiled down at you. “But I love you too.”

You both pulled away, as the claps gradually died down and the ceremony began to progress. The two of you barely had time to register the giant step you had just taken before you were being instructed to kneel in front of the thrones and the crowns were held above your head.

You were sure that it had taken longer than you realised, but you were so wrapped up in the feeling of loving Chenle, and how much he loved you, that it felt as though not even thirty seconds had passed.

And yet, here you were, repeating yet another set of responses that you had been taught, promising to protect and fairly govern the people, vowing to follow the example set by those who ruled before you and do whatever you can to live according to the traditions and customs of your kingdom.

As the final vows left both your lips, you felt the gold crown land on your head, the heaviness of the metal it was made out of, and the title it represent, weighing you down already.

“I crown you King Chenle. I crown you Queen y/n.”

With those words, you pulled your legs underneath you and stood, turning around to face the people of your courts. Chenle reached for your hand once again, this time you interlinked your fingers, intertwining your hands as a physical sign of the link between your kingdoms.

The throne room erupted in cheers and clapping once again, this time to an almost deafening volume. You and Chenle began to walk back down the middle, waving and smiling at those closest to you as you passed. You walked all the way out of the throne room and straight onto the balcony, ready to greet your people as their official rulers.

---

You stood just outside the balcony together waiting for the words that would signal the two of you to step outside. You hadn’t spoken to anyone yet, just waiting for you final duties of the day so that you could celebrate with your friends and families.

“Did you feel as though that went really quickly?” Chenle asked out of nowhere, making you jump slightly at the sudden noise before your eyes widened in agreement.

“It did! Leading up to the ceremony felt like an eternity, but then as soon as the ceremony began, it went in a flash. I’m not sure I was even there for half of it.” You muttered the last part, but Chenle’s sharp hearing caught your words none the less and he chuckled whilst muttering out a softer reply.

“Me neither. It kind of feels as though it hasn’t happened yet.”

“Exactly.” You didn’t realise how nervous you had still been until the realisation that you were both feeling the same way. You both fell into silence, it was comfortable but it still felt as though there was a lot that the two of you were leaving unsaid.

“You know-” Chenle paused his words to swallow his nerves, he hadn’t been this nervous around since the two of you met. “I’m starting to remember why I was so nervous for this marriage when I met you.”

You looked at him, the short distance between you suddenly feeling like a million miles.

“Me too.” You admitted softly. “It doesn’t matter how long we’ve known each other, there’s still a pressure for this marriage to be successful and for our kingdom to flourish.”

Chenle whispered a quiet “Yeah”, showing you that he was feeling exactly the same way.

“Chenle?” His eyes shot up from his feet to yours and you could see the nerves bubbling in them. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek and you took a step forward to grab on of the hands that he had behind his back. “Listen to me, I thought you weren’t nervous at all. Honestly, I thought I was the only one freaking out.”

“Trust me you weren’t.” Chenle said dryly, moving slightly so that he was facing you full on.

“I know that now, but I didn’t when I really needed to.”

“What are you saying?” Chenle asked, his brows creasing with worry at your soft words. He knew you only spoke with this tone of voice when you had something important to say to him.

“I’m saying we need to communicate. We need to tell each other the truth, talk about how we feel, both the good things, and the bad. We’re in this together, and that means we don’t need to be perfect for each other. We just need to be there.”

Chenle nodded, a small smile finally making it’s way onto his face as he pulled you closer by the hand that was already in his. His arms came to wrap around your shoulders and you fell into his arms for a hug. You felt his scent overcome you and drown your senses and you let out a deep sigh, feeling some of your worries and concerns leaving you with it.

“You’re right. I know you are and I promise to tell you when I’m stressing out of my mind or nervous to the point where my knees are shaking, especially if I can’t tell anyone else. We’re married now so that means you’re stuck with me no matter what.” Chenle looked down at you, grinning that signature grin of his that you fell in love with until a look of shock suddenly shot across his face. “Holy shit, we’re married!”

You stared at him in confusion.

“What did you think the wedding ceremony meant?” You asked him as Chenle waved you off.

“No, no, I mean, I knew we were married but I guess it’s starting to sink in that we’re really married. Like I get to have you by my side forever...” Chenle trailed off, his eyes never leaving your face.

You leaned up to him, pressing your lips together softly, before pulling back slightly and whispering:

“Well you better get used to it, because it’s you and me for the rest of time now.”

A trumpet riff interrupted your moment, signalling that your time was almost upon you. You and Chenle got into position just as the doors in front of you opened and you prepared to greet your people.

You walked out into the sunlight, the sound of cheers and shouts overwhelming you as you waved to the citizens you had just promised to govern. Chenle’s hand found you once more, holding onto it tightly and pulling you slightly closer as he waved with his free hand. His grip remained tight, and you squeezed it reassuringly leaning in so that only he could hear before saying “I got you” and he seemed to relax. His grip loosened slightly and his smile faded into a genuine expression of joy and awe and you grinned, knowing that you loved him more than anything else on this planet.

The announcer lifted his hand, calling for momentary silence as he uttered the words that were followed by the largest cheer and celebration of them all.

“May I present, for the first time, the King and Queen of Ivairis!”

---

You laughed as Chenle twirled you around in time to the music, before pulling you back in and dipping you gently. You’d lost track of how long the celebrations had been going on for, but the music and lights had hypnotised you into staying longer and longer to enjoy the night. 

You’d had the pleasure of meeting Chenle’s brothers as well. Kun was first in line for the throne, he was also married and honestly was the epitome of a perfect heir. Sicheng was second in line for the throne and, before you had met you had been slightly intimidated by him. After meeting him, however you had learnt he was one of the nicest people and so easy to get along with. Family was everything to him, and he spent most of his time working with new recruits for the Shanghai army.

Renjun was closest in age to Chenle, with only a year and a half separating them, and it was clear that they were closest to each other. Chenle had previously confided in you that, since he had three brothers, he hadn’t had much attention from his parents when he was young, and it was Renjun who was there for him. It was Renjun who had essentially shown him how to learn to grow up. Their casual bickering provided you with huge amounts of entertainment, but it was clear that they cherished each other dearly, and Renjun was so proud of everything Chenle had accomplished here.

The most bittersweet moment however, came when Chenle’s father approached you and asked to dance. He had the same kind smile on his face that he always wore and you easily agreed. He led you out onto the dance floor, just as he did the day Chenle first arrived at Ivairis.

“You two have come a long way since the last time we met.” King Zhong commented, a twinkle in his eyes that made you smile.

“You gave me some good advice.” You admitted to him. “When you came here, and we danced you told me: don’t rush this. And that was the best piece of advice anyone has ever given me. I feel like I married my best friend.”

King Zhong smiled down at you, blinking twice as he tried to figure out the best way to say his next words.

“Y/n-” You looked up at him as he paused, before swallowing and continuing. “I know how much you must have wanted your father to be here, he was such a brilliant man and I’m so sorry he couldn’t be with us today.”

“Me too.” You whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the music and people chatting in the background.

“I know that no one else will say this to you, so I will.” You looked up once again, to see him looking down at you with an expression that reminded you so much of your own father that it brought tears to your eyes. “I’m proud of you.”

You felt even more tears gather rapidly in your eyes at that, and you blinked repeatedly to keep them at bay. Chenle’s father’s hands came up to rest on your shoulders and hugged you. You hugged him back, feeling the fatherly warmth from his hug calm you down slightly.

“Thank you.” You said as he pulled back and smiled at you. He nodded at you, patting you on the head gently before the two of you continued to dance. You couldn’t quite describe the comfort that his words had brought you. Deep down you knew your father would be proud of you and all you had accomplished, you just wish he had been here to see it happen.

The song that was playing came to a stop, and you stepped away to clap for the musicians. You and Chenle’s father smiled at each other, before you excused yourself to the sides, needing a short break. You stood quietly and just observed the scene in front of you. There were countless members of the courts of Shanghai and Ivairis dancing together, you saw Chenle’s parents dancing in the middle as well, Renjun was speaking to Jisung by the side, saying something that caused Jisung to stare at the older boy with his eyes wide in amazement. Over on the other side of the hall were Taeyong, Jaehyun, Sicheng and Kun, all immersed in deep conversation and you could see both Jaemin and Jeno heading over to join the conversation. In fact you could see everyone except for-

“Hi love.” You felt a soft kiss on your cheek as you turned to your left and saw how Chenle had snuck up on you without you noticing.

“Hi.” You replied, smiling up at him.

“I was thinking, do you remember the celebration when we came back from the battle against Odin’s kingdom?” You nodded at his words and he carried on. “Well, what would you say about going back into the town again? Not just us though, opening the doors to the palace and courtyard and bringing the musicians outside so that the court and citizens can all celebrate as one?”

“Chenle...” You breathed. “I think that’s an amazing idea.”

His face split into a wide grin at your words and you both immediately moved to put his plan into action. You split up to find different guards who were on the doors, and explain to them what you would like to do. They seemed slightly hesitant, as this had never been done before, but they couldn’t disagree with their new King and Queen so they did exactly as you asked. You walked back into the hall, finding Chenle there waiting for you and the door remained open after you had arrived. 

You slipped your hand into Chenle’s and he squeezed it gently, while signalling the musicians to stop playing. An air of confusion came over the room as every single pair of eyes came to rest on the two of you.

“Whenever we have a celebration, it seems to be split in two, with a chosen few celebrating in the castle, and the rest down in the town. The Queen and I would like to change this.”

“Indeed.” You took over from Chenle, your voice strong as you addressed the courts. “The whole emphasis of this marriage and alliance is on unity, and so, as we stand united in two different kingdoms, we will also stand united with all our people. We would like to invite you to join us as we go into the lower town for the rest of the night.”

There were a few murmurs amongst the crowd, but most people nodded and smiled in agreement, understanding your point on unity. You gestured for the musicians to come first, allowing them to be set up amongst the others playing in the lower towns before the rest of you began to move. You and Chenle were amongst the last people to leave, with only Jisung behind you.

He was grinning at the two of you like the Cheshire cat, shaking his head slightly as he chuckled.

“What is it?” Chenle asked his friend, rolling his eyes jokingly.

“Only the two of you would do something like this. In your first few hours as King and Queen, you break up an age-old tradition because of the separation and divide it causes. Only you would realise that and take the step to do something about it.” Jisung shrugged, brushing off his own words as if they were meaningless, but you knew he knew how much they meant to Chenle and yourself. If your marriage was supposed to bring unity, you had to make sure that you were making sure that it did. “Come on then, let’s go dance!”

He stepped in between the two of you, throwing his arms over each of your shoulders as the three of you burst out into laughter and headed into the lower town together, ready to dance the night away.

---

Both you and Chenle relied heavily on advisors during your first months of ruling. You mother stepped down and completely away from royal duties and, even though you felt as though you needed her guidance at times, you couldn’t ask her for help. She barely remembered who you were anymore, much less how to rule a kingdom. You visited her everyday, as did Chenle, and each time hurt more than the last. Watching the clouds pass over your mother’s mind as she struggles to place the face of the child who she cared for and loved all her life, was an indescribable pain.

She always remembered you eventually, something that you counted yourself very lucky for. You remember sitting by her bed, holding her hand as you spoke to her late one evening, telling her about a successful conclusion that you had come to during a council meeting that day.

“You’re doing so well my dear.” She spoke, her voice gravelly as if her throat was constantly dry.

“I’m trying.” You replied, forcing a smile on your face so that she wouldn’t see how tired you were. “I’ll make you proud.”

Your mother tightened her grip on your hand, encouraging you to look her in the eyes as she spoke again. 

“You already have.”

She passed away that night.

You were almost relieved that her suffering was over, but her loss hit both you and Chenle very hard. She had become a second mother to him, and you knew how much he loved her. The night you both lost her, you stayed together, hugging each other and crying, just allowing yourselves to be vulnerable before you had to put on another strong appearance for your people when you appeared for the funeral.

Her funeral was identical to your fathers. She was laid, in her best clothes, softly in a long boat, decorated with flowers and pushed down along the river. You held Chenle’s shaking hand in your own as you both whispered your goodbyes into the lanterns and let them fly off into the sky. Allowing your mother to finally be reunited with the man she loved.

You walked back into your shared room, breathing out a heavy sigh as the doors closed behind you and you could finally drop the act you’d been holding all day. Sitting in those meetings, talking with different noblemen of the court about petty details, you had never felt more alone.

You were struggling to come to terms with the fact that you held the entire responsibility of this kingdom on your shoulders, and you didn’t have your parents to show you how to do it anymore. You rested your back against your door, and allowed your knees to give out and for you to sink to the floor.

Once you softly hit the ground you just sat there. You didn’t cry, you didn’t speak, you didn’t move. You just sat there, listening to the sounds of the kingdom around you. You shut your eyes, allowing yourself to get lost in your mind as time passed you by.

A knock on your door forced you to open your eyes and pull yourself back into reality. You stood up and quickly opened your door, finding one of your main advisors there with the paperwork for tomorrow’s sessions. You thanked him, accepting the documents and closed the door once more.

You stepped further into your room, placing the papers down on the desk you had before turning around, planning to lie down on your bed, but your gaze was caught by a figure standing on your balcony.

He had his back to you and was leaning over, but you knew without needing to see his face that it was Chenle. From the way that he was hunched over the balcony to the way he rolled his scarred shoulder every so often to keep the injured muscle moving, you knew he was deep in thought. You debated whether you should go out to see him, wondering if it was best to just leave him thinking, and eventually you turned away, deciding to leave him to his thoughts.

You pulled off your shoes, removed your jewellery and combed through your hair with your fingers. You looked at the small pile of jewellery on your dresser,  before reaching down slowly and picking up the silver ring that bared the royal seal of Ivairis. Your bottom lip began to tremble as your mind was flooded with memories of your parents and your childhood. From your mother gently tying up your hair in the mornings, to your father bringing you along to meetings and you hiding behind his legs.

You dropped the ring, your head falling into your hands as you finally let the tears fall. Your breath shortened as you quietly sobbed into your hands, hiccuping as you tried to catch your breath. You needed to see Chenle. You stood up, whirling around to run out to the balcony, but instead you were greeted with him standing in front of you. He had come back inside, and you had been so lost in your sadness that you hadn’t realised. 

The two of you stood there, staring at each other, both having red eyes and countless tear tracks down your faces. Chenle said nothing, and instead just opened his arms and you ran into them, the force of your bodies colliding making him take a step back to steady the two of you, but it didn’t matter.

You completely broke down, sobbing into his shoulder as Chenle tried to console you. He gently stroked your head with one hand, the other resting comfortably on your waist as he whispered soft words of comfort into your ear. It didn’t seem to be helping as your crying wasn’t stopping at all.

Chenle’s voice broke more as he tried to talk and all it took was you tightening your grip on him for him to give up on trying to hold it together. He buried his face into your shoulder and let the grief overcome him, crying for the people who took him in and gave him a home.

You both held onto each other for dear life, as if the other would slip through your fingers if you let go for a second. It took a while for you to calm down, feeling as though you only stopped crying because you ran out of tears. You brought your hand up to the back of Chenle’s head, running your fingers through his hair and placing a feather light kiss to his temple.

Even after the two of you calmed down, the sadness was still there, drowning your every thought.

“I’m not ready to be Queen.” You admitted, your voice so quiet, as if you were scared for the words to come out. “I thought I’d have more time, I thought I’d be able to get used to the idea of doing it by myself but I’m not. I’m not ready for any of this, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I’m not ready either.” Chenle croaked back, his voice sore from the amount of crying he had done already that night. “My parents may still be alive, but they aren’t here, they aren’t close and I can’t contact them easily enough to ask for help when I need it. I just feel... isolated.” Chenle voice broke once again as he pushed his head further into your shoulder.

“Me too. I’ve never felt this alone.” You whispered, not trusting your voice to speak any louder.

This time Chenle didn’t reply, instead just silently nodding as he held you close. You both understood that you didn’t need advice, or a solution. At least, not yet, right now, all you needed, was to tell the other how you felt. Finally saying the words, admitting the overwhelming emotions that had been weighing you down for the past few months, had already made you feel lighter. 

He pulled his head out from your shoulder to rest his forehead on yours. You breathed out, leaning into him as he kept his comforting grip on you. Your eyes were closed, as your mind focused on the one fact that Chenle was standing right there with you, and he understood how you felt.

“I’m sorry.” His quiet whisper making you open your eyes in confusion.

“What for?” You asked and Chenle sighed, as if he was preparing to get something off his chest.

“For not telling you. We made a deal on our wedding day to always be honest with each other about how we were feeling, and I didn’t tell you, and now we’re both here breaking down...”

“Chenle... I’m sorry too. You weren’t the only one keeping things to yourself.” You swallowed, before finally pulling your forehead off his and losing at him straight on. “We aren’t used to this. And I don’t just mean being King and Queen, I mean all of it. We aren’t used to being married, we aren’t used to be sole rulers, we aren’t used to being alone. We had just got married when we then got crowned what felt like five minutes after.”

“We need to figure out who we are as a King and Queen, and who we are as husband and wife. And they don’t necessarily need to be the same people.” You nodded at Chenle’s words before adding onto them with your own.

“There’s so much pressure on this, and I think a lot of that is coming from us. We need to take a step back from being this groundbreaking alliance, and just be us. Chenle and y/n, just two people in love, not the King and Queen of Ivairis whose wedding united lands for generations to come. We don’t need to be our titles, we just need to be-”

“Us.” Chenle finished and you nodded. “And we need to mean it this time. We can’t just say that we’re going to be honest and open with each other and then keep things to ourselves. We’re a team. It’s you and me y/n, and nothing is going to change that.”

You leaned up, closing the small distance between the two of you and pressing your lips to his. He kissed you back, sighing into it slightly before you both pulled away. The kiss was short, but it was enough. It was a promise.

You weren’t just these young kids in love anymore, trying to figure out the best way to spend time with their crush. You were grown adults, married, ruling a kingdom, but no matter how far you went, or how much you grew, you knew that Chenle would always be by your side. You knew that now better than ever.

And for the first time in a long while, neither of you felt alone.

---

You and Chenle kept to your promise, coming to talk to each other, to trust the other to be vulnerable with the smallest of details. Whether it was a certain knight in training being a bit arrogant, or a trade deal you were unsure was worth you signing off on, you shared it with each other. Your close bond as husband and wife translated into your royal duties and you found yourselves settling into a good rhythm as King and Queen. 

But nothing good lasts forever.

You and Chenle stayed late after a particularly gruelling council session. The repairs to the outlying villages were almost complete, and the bandit attacks had decreased to them being almost non-existent. A few more supplies were being organised to be sent down, and Chenle was still keen on the idea of training some of the people in the outlying villagers so that, if a bandit attack does happen, they can defend themselves. However, a couple of council members were arguing that it would be a waste of resources to train them, which resulted in a lengthy discussion that lasted for much longer than planned.

With both you and Chenle in agreement however, there was not much that the council men could do against it once the decision had been made. They would send some knights down to the outlying villages to train the few they could, and then that knowledge would be passed down from generation to generation, with knights arriving every once in a while to help out and make sure the correct technique was being practiced.

You quickly instructed a messenger to deliver this note the following morning, thinking that nobody needs to be disturbed this late. The two of you were looking over the plans, deciding on the knights who would go when the doors to the great hall burst open and a scout of yours came running in.

“Mark, what’s wrong?” Chenle asked worriedly, noticing the look of panic on the older boy’s face.

“Fayre’s kingdom, your majesty. They heard of the Queen’s mother passing and that the two of you ascended to the throne and they think you’ll be weak. They’re planning to attack Ivairis with the full force of their army.” Mark relayed the bad news, breathing heavily as he tried to recover from his rush to the palace.

“Oh god.” You breathed, your hand coming to your face in shock. This was not good. Fayre was one of the strongest and bloodthirsty kings around, and if he wanted Ivairis, chances were he wouldn’t stop until he had it.

You and Chenle shared one look and knew that you had to act fast. Chenle called for the guards to bring in his closest knights, two scouts and a messenger, while you whirled on Mark to ask him more questions.

“When did their army leave?” 

“Three days ago, I rushed to get back here to warn you before them.”

“Thank you Mark, you may have saved us by doing that. If they left three days ago, they still have at least two before they reach us here, meaning we could send our army out to meet them somewhere we choose.” You thought out loud, Mark rapidly nodding his head next to you.

Chenle reappeared out of nowhere, you not even having noticed he’d left in your state of panic. His arms held a bunch of rolled up papers that depicted the maps of the surrounding lands.

“I’m way ahead of you.” He said, placing them all on the round table in front of you as you rolled them out and moved them into position.

You were lining up details to get a larger picture when the people Chenle had summoned began to arrive. Jisung came first, the head of the royal guard was always ready to be called for his job, with both Jeno and Taeyong close behind. The two scouts, Yangyang and Shotaro came next, with Jaemin close behind and Jaehyun and the other messenger Xiaojun arrived last.

You didn’t both to tell them to take a seat or to greet them, the stakes were simply too high. Instead you just told them the news straight away, not wasting time by sugarcoating it or easing into it at all.

“Fayre is planning to attack Ivairis.”

You heard a chorus of worried inhales of breath, signalling the panic that the rest of the group were feeling. You nodded at Mark, allowing him to explain the rest of the details.

“They left their kingdom three days ago and were travelling south, aiming to take this route here to avoid getting spotted by the Ivairis patrol. As far as I’m aware, this plan wasn’t changed, meaning that, as long as nothing disrupts their route, they should reach Ivairis by sunset in two days time and will likely attack the following morning.”

“Our best shot is heading out to meet them somewhere, like we did with Odin’s kingdom.” Jisung spoke first, the rest nodding in agreement. “I would place my bets on somewhere like here.” He reached forwards and circled a certain spot on the map. “It’s not sheltered, so there’s no chance for a surprise attack. While that limits our chances of coming up with one ourselves, Fayre destroys his enemies by drawing them in and then having a second plan up his sleeve.”

“Jisung’s right.” Taeyong said, all eyes flicking towards him as he spoke. “We can’t try to outsmart him by using his own tactics against him, that’s how people get killed. We need to force him into a situation where he has to fight us on our terms, that’s our best shot.”

“Xiaojun-” Chenle called out, the boy’s head shooting up at his king’s voice. “I need you to send word to Shanghai, tell them of the severity of the situation and that we need reinforcements as soon as possible.” Xiaojun nodded, quickly making a note of the battle location before disappearing.

You turned to the other two scouts.

“Yangyang, Shotaro, you need to scout the army. Get us a rough idea of numbers and see if there’s any weak spots. There won’t be enough time for you to report back to us here so you’ll need to tell the army when they arrive at the battle location, understand?” Both of the boys nodded at your words, before heading back out of the door to go do as you asked.

“What about me?” Mark asked, but you shook your head.

“You’ve done enough Mark.” You said, not allowing him to put himself in danger again.

“But they trust me, I could find out more insider information, I-”

“No, Mark.” Chenle cut him off. “Y/n’s right, you’ve done more than enough. Without you we would never stand a chance, that’s for sure. Plus as soon as we meet them they will know that we had a man on the inside, and it won’t take long for them to figure out it’s you. We can’t put you in that danger.”

Mark nodded, understanding your decision before you both thanked him again and allowed him to go for the night.

“What about us?” Jaehyun asked and Chenle turned to look at the remaining knights, his face grave.

“Be ready to prepare the troops in the morning. We’re going to war.”

---

One night. That was all it took for your world to be thrown upside down. In one night you had gone from council meetings and rebuilding the outlying villages to sending the man you loved off to war. You were standing in your joint room, watching as he finished getting dressed just as the first rays of light were appearing through the window. You walked towards him, silently taking the necklace out of his hands and fastening it yourself.

He turned around to face you but you didn’t take your gaze off the jewellery he was wearing. He wore it everyday, a simple necklace with two seals on it. One being the royal seal of Shanghai and the other being the royal seal of Ivairis. The symbol of his two nations. Chenle noticed you avoiding his gaze and brought his hands to your face, gently cupping your jaw and guiding you to look at him.

He leant in, placing a kiss on your forehead and your hand gripped at the fabric around his waist.

“If things aren’t going well-”

“Stop.” You said, not wanting to hear about what would happen if they lost this war. If they lost, Chenle would be dead, and you didn’t want to think about the possibility of that happening.

“Listen.” Chenle commanded softly. “If things aren’t going well, I’ll send a Shanghai messenger back here. You need to get as many of our people as you can, and take them with you to Shanghai. I made sure Xiaojun mentioned in the message the possibility of that happening and I know they would look after you. They reassured us we always have a home there, and I know that would apply to you if I don’t come back from this.” Your hands tightened their grip around his shirt at his words. “If anything happens to me... I need to know that you’ll be safe.”

You nodded silently and Chenle breathed a sigh of relief at your agreement, moving his hands from your face to around your shoulders to hug you close as you did the same around his waist. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in as much of him as you could before you had to let him go.

You walked with him through the castle, your hand held tightly in his as you both approached the main doors. You knew that beyond those doors stood your entire army, waiting for their king to lead them into battle. You suddenly stopped moving, causing Chenle to turn back in confusion.

You stared at him for a second, trying to find the right words to say before just throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him as tightly as you could. Chenle caught you, wrapping his own arms around your waist and squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to make this fleeting moment last forever.

“Come back to me.” You whispered.

“I promise.”

---

It had been a month.

An entire month and the only sign you’d had that they were still alive were the two letters from the Shanghai reinforcements sending word to you that they had arrived at the battlefield to help. The knowledge that they had extra men fighting with them was reassuring, but not hearing a single word from Chenle, not knowing if he was even alive, for a whole month was tearing you apart.

The entire kingdom had been in a state of fear. The outlying villages had been told to be prepared to move into the citadel in case the battle was lost so that they could barricade themselves in and be protected. Every citizen had their nerves on fire for the past month as they all waited for any kind of news.

You had been in the weekly review of the tax collection when the sound of horses hooves caught your attention. The entire table froze, knowing that, one way or another, the battle was over. The doors to the great hall burst open and Mark appeared, nodding at you, a relieved expression on his face.

“It’s them.”

You dropped the paper in your hand, standing up and running out of the hall. You ran down the corridors, Mark by your side and you didn’t stop for anything. Various other members of the court and servants in the castle joined you as they all were eager to welcome the knights home, but all you cared about was finding Chenle.

You burst out of the front doors just in time to see the last of the knights trickle back in. Your jaw dropped, nothing could have prepared you for the sight in front of you.

Out of all the knights who went to battle, only around a fifth of them made it back. Your eyes did a desperate scan of the faces of the live men. You saw Taeyong, who had his left arm in a makeshift sling, Jaehyun and Jaemin were carrying an unresponsive Jeno between them, the large red stain on Jeno’s shirt giving away that he was seriously injured, and Jisung was standing further down the steps in front of you.

You couldn’t see Chenle anywhere.

Jisung took a few steps towards you, limping heavily, and you rushed down to him, throwing your arms around him in a hug.

He caught you with a grunt and you tried to apologise but the words got stuck in your throat. You were shaking slightly in his hold but Jisung still hugged you tightly, relieved to be back home.

“We won.” He whispered, and you nodded slowly at his words before pulling back.

“At what cost?” You asked, too scared to directly voice the question that was plaguing your mind.

Did Chenle survive?

“He’s alive. The last I saw him, he was alive.” Jisung answered your unasked question, a small ounce of relief flooding your system, but it didn’t nothing to calm the furious fear at the fact that nobody knew where he was.

You took a couple of steps back to find all the knights looking at you for your words. You found that you didn’t even know what to say to them, how could you comfort someone who has been through the ordeal they have?

You cleared your throat before addressing the men in front of you.

“Our brave knights. There are no words to describe how thankful we are to you for everything you have done for us. You bravery and sacrifice will never be forgotten. Today, we will have our traditional victory procession, and I would like to add a moment at the end, for anyone to address anything they would wish to. And to speak to or about anyone they may have lost. Please go to the court physician and your people in Ivairis are eternally indebted to you.” Your voice broke slightly at the end and the knights all nodded at you in appreciation.

They each headed inside one by one, only Jisung, Jaehyun, Jaemin and Jeno remained. A few members of the medical team rushed out, taking Jeno’s limp body from Jaehyun and Jaemin and carrying him inside, shouting out various treatments. Jaehyun squeezed your shoulder as he went inside, the exhaustion clear on his face. Jaemin stepped up but paused for a minute and turned to face you.

“Thank you, for adding that opportunity at the end. We lost a lot of men out there and I know people will want to address it.”

With that he headed inside, leaving just you and Jisung standing there looking at each other. Jisung opened his mouth to speak but you got there first.

“Go to the court physician Jisung. Please get yourself checked out and your wounds treated first.”

He closed his mouth, nodding at you before moving past you and entering the castle. You turned you gaze on the now empty courtyard, the men having cleared out and the horses having been retrieved. You took a few shaky breaths, waiting a few extra seconds, staring wistfully at the gate, praying that by some miracle Chenle would come riding through. But he didn’t. So you shut your eyes, took a deep breath, and turned back into the castle, the doors closing behind you.

---

The victory procession was bittersweet. The knights were acknowledged for their hard work and struggles, and nobody tried to deny that this had been a heart wrenching battle. The celebrations were half hearted however, the entire kingdom feeling the loss of so many knights and the king that they were all missing. The toasts at the end brought tears to your eyes as the knight took it in turns to remember their fallen friends.

And through it all, anyone could tell that the entire kingdom was terrified that their king wouldn’t come back. The king who every citizen had grown to love and admire. The king who set an example for all future kings, who acted as a king should, the king who you were lucky enough to call your husband, your love.

You removed your final piece of jewellery, staring at yourself in the mirror as you tried to figure out the whirlpool of emotions in your head. The knock at your bedroom door made your head snap towards it as you called out for whoever it was to enter. Jisung’s head poked around the door, and you couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed.

You had known Jisung almost your entire life, and you had never seen him look this broken. He took a couple of steps into your room before looking questioningly at your bed, asking silently for permission. You gestured for him to sit, moving over to join him yourself.

“I think I should tell you what I know.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak quite yet.

“It was the final day. We knew it was coming to an end, we could all feel it. It’s hard to describe but there’s a difference in the air. On the final night, the king names someone he wants to be in charge of the army in case...” Jisung swallowed as he continued trying to get the words out. “In case he’s killed. Chenle chose me. The next morning, just before we went out, Chenle told me to do whatever I could to get this back to you.”

It was only then that you noticed Jisung had been holding something ever since he stepped foot into your room. He lifted up the object and you recognised it immediately. He placed it gently in your hands, watching as you turned it over in your fingers.

It was Chenle’s necklace.

“I didn’t see him after that.” Jisung’s voice brought you to tear your eyes away from the necklace in your lap and look back up at him. “I lost sight of him in battle. I know it sounds like he didn’t make it but- we scoured every inch of the battlefield after we won, there was no sign of Chenle among the bodies, nor was he taken captive by Fayre either because we searched their base. Aspen was missing too. Chenle is out there, alive and trying to make his way back here to you. And he will, he has to.”

You let your eyes flicker back down to Chenle’s necklace for a second before looking back up at Jisung.

“Thank you.” You whispered. “It’s been a long day, you should get some sleep.”

Jisung nodded, standing quickly and heading back out the same door he entered through. You didn’t from move your position, instead sitting in the same spot for the next few hours, turning the seals over and over in your fingers, wondering if Chenle would ever find his way back.

---

You were sat in the throne room, having just finished a meeting with the keeper of the archives to document the battle. Labelling Chenle as missing was something you had hoped you would never have to do, but there you were, drawing your signature on that very slip of paper. You really understood your mother’s words now when she said that she only felt as though she could rule when she had the person she loved by her side.

Because you didn’t just feel alone without Chenle, you felt completely and utterly lost.

A guard appears, telling you that there is a messenger for you, and you gesture for them to be let in. Yangyang strolls through the door, and you can’t help the small smile that appears on your face at sight of his much larger, contagious one.

“I have good news!” He announced, making you raise your eyebrows. “News of the victory travelled fast around kingdoms both close by and far away, and any thoughts off attacking Ivairis have been wiped off the map. Between the strength of our army and the alliance with Shanghai, the kingdom is almost invincible.”

You let out a breath of disbelief, smiling lightly at the boy in front of you as the news settled. Ivairis was safe. You asked Yangyang to spread the news around the kingdom, allow everyone to revel in the announcement and he gladly agreed before running out of the room so fast he left the door open.

You chuckled slightly at the sight of him, but the smile on your face faded quickly as the thought of Chenle travelled through your head. Another two weeks had passed but he was still missing. Nobody had heard a word from or about him since the final day in battle, and the fear that you were never going to see him again had become your natural state of mind.

You looked out of the window on your left, staring down at the rose buses and stone bench that sat there. You felt all the memories rush through your head of the times you and Chenle had sat on that very bench. You still remembered walking past it in the first few days of Chenle arriving, when you had given him a tour around the grounds. Though he would deny it within an inch of his life, Chenle had a soft spot for flowers and loved nothing more than spending a day surrounded with flowers of all different kinds.

You sighed out once more, closing your eyes to stop the tears that were threatening to fall.

“You promised you’d come back to me...” You spoke to the empty room, your voice wavering heavily.

You rested your head on the glass, lost in your own mind when a voice cut through. Your eyes shot open and you whirled around to be greeted with the person you thought you would never see again, the person you loved more than anything else in this world, more than life itself.

“Have I ever broken my promises?”

Chenle.

The world stopped when you saw him. You didn’t blink, didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, terrified that if you did, the image of him would disappear and you would be left with the reality that didn’t have him in it.

He took a step forward, standing in front of you and reaching up to tuck a stay piece of hair behind your ear. You lifted a shaky hand to his face, pressing your palm against his cheek and taking in the fact that he was stood in front of you.

“Chenle...” You whispered, trying to convince yourself that this was real life.

He nodded at your words, tears filling his eyes at the sight of you after so long. When it sunk in it hit you like a ton of bricks. You threw your arms around him and broke down, sobbing into his shoulder.

“Oh my god, Chenle. You made it back.” You cried, holding him tighter that you ever had before.

“Of course I did, I could never leave you like that.” He whispered, his quiet voice a stark contrast to your broken one.

His arms were securely around your waist, capturing you next to his being. You could feel that he was smaller, having lost weight when he was lost and trying to get back. He had dirt in his hair, and various bruises and other minor injuries that you could see, but he was here. He was here, in your arms, alive.

You pulled back, bringing one hand to rest on his cheek as you pressed your foreheads together.

“I love you so much.” You breathed, the tears still steadily falling down your cheeks.

“I love you more.” He replied, relaxing in the knowledge that he was home. He was standing in your arms, surrounded by his kingdom.

Chenle was home.

---

~ 10 years later ~

“So we are in agreement?” You asked the court, looking around the round table and seeing all the other heads of the men and women present nodding at your words. “Well in that case, we can call it a day here. Thank you for your input.”

You stood, smiling at the people in front of you as they all left the room.

“Ten years and council meetings are still as dull as the first one.” You muttered to yourself.

“I hear that.” A voice replied, making your eyes shoot up. You found yourself looking at your husband, who was leaning against the door with a cheeky grin on his face. “But if we want to set a good example, we should probably pretend they are.”

You shook your head, chuckling to yourself at his words. The sound of light footsteps running down the hall caused you and Chenle to send each other a knowing look.

The doors to the great hall opened once more and in ran two little children.

“Daddy, look I won!” You son yelled happily, grabbing Chenle’s hand and pointing towards the doorway where a panting Jisung stood, leaning on the door frame for support.

“Really Jisung? Two children under the age of 6 can outrun you?” Chenle asked, his eyebrows raised judgmentally.

“Look.” Jisung spat, pointing a finger accusingly at the two of you. “If the two of you hadn’t had twins with Chenle’s bluntness and y/n determination, I would be fine. But these two are like the mixture of you two, it’s terrifying.”

“Well, Jisung I hate to break it to you, but that is how children work. They tend to be a mixture of their parents.” You replied dryly, reaching down to hug your daughter as she held on to your leg, catching her breath.

“You know... we made a deal that we would have three.” Chenle reminded you, wiggling his eyebrows at you as you burst out into laughter at Jisung’s disgusted expression.

“Okay, that’s my cue to leave. Just remember, there are young children here.”

Jisung gestured to the twins that were standing close to you, before saying a quick goodbye, which your twins shouted back even louder, as he headed off to the next training session.

“Is everything sorted?” Chenle asked you, trying to stop your son from attempting to sit on the documents on the table.

“Yes, everything was agreed upon today. Starting from tomorrow, we are in an official peace treaty with all the surrounding lands. There are plans to share combat tactics, and resources if any kingdom needs it. We’re about to enter a new era.” You told him, the smile on your face growing at your words.

“That’s amazing, I’m so proud of you.” He breathed, his voice lowering for the last part as he grabbed your hand.

You intertwined your fingers with his. “I’m proud of us. We did this together.”

Chenle smiled at you, the signature smile of his that always took you back to the shy boy who you toured around the rose garden. You reach out with your other hand, your daughter grabbing it as Chenle took a hold of your son and together you walked out to stand on the battlements. Neither of your children were tall enough to see over the stone walls, so you both picked them up, allowing them to sit and see the view.

“One day, you’ll be the ones to rule this kingdom.” Chenle told them, watching as their eyes lit up in amazement. “And you’ll do it with a very special someone by your side.”

You smiled out at the view, the roofs of houses, the market stalls, the training grounds... you could see your entire kingdom from up here. Your entire home.

“Tell us the story again of how you and Mummy met?” Your daughter asked, looking up at her father with wide eyes.

Chenle began the tale, pointing out to the view as he did. He had got in the habit of telling them this story to put them to sleep, and since then they had asked for it constantly, the way he changed certain words to make it sound like a fairytale had made it their favourite.

He told the story of a magical land that became his home and the evil kings and dragons that he and Uncle Jisung had fought to protect it, all while his fairy queen, which was you, stood bravely behind the walls sheltering and looking after the people.

You listened to his calming voice tell the legendary tale and couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face as you watched your family. You thought about how your life had turned out, all the ups and downs and challenges that you had faced, but you never faced them alone. Chenle was right there with you, ready to tackle any problem that the two of you may encounter. You turned your gaze out to your kingdom, the wealthy and prosperous civilisation that the two of you had grown together, yet it only meant everything it did because of the man you shared it with.

You remembered your conversation with Chenle before he proposed, the two of you talking about the life you could possibly have if you weren’t royals. You discussed all the things you would change, and how it would be different. But, standing here now, looking over your kingdom, with your family by your side, you knew one thing for certain.

You wouldn’t change a thing.

[wintersoldiersimp]

Bucky x reader one shot

Good day my dearly beloved Bucky simps here I make my humble fanfic debut. I haven’t done any creative writing for like five years so I’m excited and nervous.

Would love any feedback or thoughts <3

Summary: set during falcon and the winter soldier. You and Bucky are in love but can’t admit it to each other. In the aftermath of Madripoor, Bucky is struggling with having been forced to act as the winter soldier again, and you comfort him. I watched this series a few months ago now so some details may be off.

Content Warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, trauma, mostly just sad with some fluff at the end :)

Word count: approx 2.5k

Your eyes open suddenly as you are dragged out of an anxious sleep by the feeling that something isn’t right. Scanning your dimly lit surroundings, you sit up in the bed, and attempt to recall where the hell you are right now. This wild goose chase is starting to take its toll. All you know for sure in your sleepy state is that you left Indonesia behind and are back somewhere in Eastern Europe. Riga, you decide. No. Vilnius perhaps. Fuck. Who knows.

You let out an exhausted sigh.

You haven’t gotten a full nights sleep since leaving the US. You’re constantly on the move in pursuit of the Flag Smashers, and the few times you’ve had the chance to sleep through the night the events of the past few weeks keep you constantly on edge, spiralling through your brain and awakening you suddenly, expecting imminent danger at every second.

Looking to the floor next to you, you see a discarded pillow and blanket and realise what’s missing. The absence of the comforting sound of Bucky’s steady breathing has left a heavy silence all around you.

The room of the cheap motel you are staying in for the night is dimly lit by the moon pouring in through the windows, casting a eerie yet comforting light on the old fashioned decor of the room. You look out the window to see the source of the light hanging peacefully in the sky, and in its glow you see a figure sitting in an old wicker chair staring up at it.

Your heart aches as you watch him, hunched over in the chair, and you are reminded of the intensity of the last few days. The fast paced and demanding nature of your mission was hard enough, without Bucky having to take on the role of the winter soldier once more.

He had come so far since regaining power over his mind. You know there’s still a long hard road ahead but considering what had been forced upon him for the last 70 years you’re in awe that he’s able to function at all. He doesn’t tell you much of what he’s going through, the act of sharing his struggles with anyone has become so alien to him. When you do get an insight into what he’s feeling, you see a broken man struggling under the weight of so much pain and guilt and shame that it seems impossible he will ever be free of it. You try to make him know that you’re there for him and that he can trust you, but mostly you feel quite useless.

It broke your heart to see him become the winter soldier in that bar in Madripoor, the cold violent facade that overtook him seemed to come so naturally, but you knew he was struggling underneath it all, begging to be free. You can’t imagine how he must have felt after so much progress to reclaim his life, to have to be put right back in that horrific position. All you wanted was to break cover and get him out of there, show him the love and care he deserved, but you didn’t. You gave in to the heavy responsibility of the mission, and prayed it wouldn’t last too long.

You wanted to talked to him in the aftermath, to keep an eye on him and make sure he was alright, but there had not been time. The four of you had been scrambling from one life threatening situation to another, attempting to recover the serum and then racing back to Europe to stop Karli and her growing army. When you arrived at the motel you were so consumed by exhaustion, you knew the best thing for everyone was a good nights sleep.

With only two rooms available and one bed in each, Bucky grabbed a pillow and blanket and went to lie on the floor without a word. You tried to tell him you didn’t mind sharing but he ignored you, and you weren’t about to start an argument at a time like this. You couldn’t, however, stop your heart sinking as you wondered whether he was merely being polite, or if he really didn’t want to share a bed with you.

Sitting dazed and still half asleep on the bed, it was the first time your mind had slowed down and begun to process the previous days. Clearly, so had Buckys. You watched him through the window, understanding his inability to sleep. You debated whether to leave him be, but decided that he needed more than just alone time right now. Throwing the warm blanket off your legs, you make your way over to the door and step out into the cold air.

You walk over to the empty chair and sit down, with a quiet hello. He looks over, and gives a small smile, which doesn’t reach his eyes. Your heart drops when you see his face. He looks so tired and sad.

“Can’t sleep?” You ask quietly. He shakes his head, looking back up at the still night sky. “Not even close” he responds with a tired sigh.

You sit there in silence for a few minutes, as was routine for your relationship. Conversation never came easy to either of you, much of the time trying to talk to people left you stressed and anxious. The strong bond between you had been forged in comfortable silences, you felt a sense of calm and understanding in each other’s presence. You were undeniably quite in love with the man, and often it seemed like he might feel the same, but the nature of your work and your mutual inability to communicate meant that you never dared to make a move. So you remained in silent and stubborn friendship, which was beautiful in its own way and meant the world to both of you. Sometimes though, especially now, you needed to give more than silent understanding. Your friend was suffering, and you knew you had to acknowledge what he’d been through and try and help him any way you possibly could.

“Bucky-“ you start talking with no idea what you’re about to say. This really is not what you’re trained for. Breaking backs? Sure. Shooting machine guns? Easy. Manipulating unassuming men into thinking you’re a simple minded pretty face only to turn around when you’ve gained their trust and mercilessly destroy their life? Yum. Basic communication with other human beings, on the other hand. You were scared shitless.

Bucky stares at you, his lovely blue eyes piercing straight into your soul, as if he knew what was coming and was daring you to keep going. He didn’t try to stop you though, and you hoped that deep down he too wanted to talk.

Your nerve breaks under his gaze, and you look down to fidget with your fingers. Cursing yourself for struggling with such simple communication, you decide your friends welfare is more important than your own discomfort, working up the courage to continue.

“I know that must have been really hard for you, in Madripoor. I mean, I can’t possibly imagine but-“ you glance up at him quickly before your eyes dart back down to your hands. He turns back to the sky and a defeated expression takes over his face. You’re both hating this but at this point there’s no turning back.

“I just mean I know how far you’ve come in the last few months, trying to put it all behind you, and then you had to step straight back into it like it was nothing- and it’s not nothing.” You paused, your voice shaking. Talking about anything even slightly emotional made you tear up. Bucky noticed the breaking of your voice and looked back you, eyes wide and sadder than ever. You tried your best to continue, your voice weak and quiet. “You don’t deserve that. I just- I wish we had thought of something else, I’m sorry.”

You think you see a hint of relief in his eyes, as if even such a basic recognition of what he’d gone through had taken some of the weight off. He sighs and hangs his head down, hands in his hair. “Maybe I do deserve it.” His voice almost a whisper.

Your heart breaks at his words. “Bucky, no-“ You scramble to find the right words but he cuts you off.

“For 70 years I existed only to bring pain and suffering to people.” He speaks slowly, a tone of disgust coating his every word. “There are countless lives that will forever be torn apart because of what I did. And now I’m supposed to attend therapy once a week and right a few wrongs and everything’s just forgiven? You can’t reverse murder. I can never bring those people back.” His voice was barely holding, getting weaker with every word.

“When I beat up all those people in that bar, and the whole crowd was staring at me, it felt more real than any acts of redemption I’ve attempted in the last few months. It was like all those people were seeing me for who I really am. Who I’ll always be.” Buckys eyes were fixed on something far off in the distance, a look of self-loathing resignation on his face. You tried to hold yourself together but tears spilled from your eyes, you felt utterly helpless.

You take his hands in yours, holding them with a strength your voice can’t provide. “Bucky listen to me.” Your voice is desperate now, forcing him to look at you.

“What you went through all those years- it’s never going to leave you, and in some way you’re always going to feel responsible for the people you hurt. I get that. But you were just as much a victim of Hydra as they were.” He shakes his head and looks down with a pained face, the shame of his past making it hard for him to hear you defending it.

“You had no control over your own life all those years, you know you didn’t have a choice, and you can’t change any of that.” You grip his hands tighter and lean closer to him, your whole body physically hurting at seeing the man before you in such despair.

“What you can change is everything from now on. Every decision you make from now on is your own, that power is yours and no one else’s. Okay? No one can tell you who you are, what you do or don’t deserve or that you can’t ever be different. You get to wake up every day and tell the world exactly who you are, and it doesn’t matter if that changes everyday- because it’s yours. Freedom over our own life is the most powerful thing we have- okay? I won’t let anyone take that away from you again. Bucky-“ Bucky was struggling to not fall apart completely. His head hanging low, face screwed up in pain, hands shaking in yours.

“It’s not your fault Buck, it never was. And if anyone has a fucking problem with that they can come and find me.” He let out a shaky laugh, eyes closed and still looking down. “No matter what happens from now on I’m here okay? I’m right here with you. I know it’s hard as hell but I won’t let you go through this alone, I’m so proud of you Bucky.” He looks up at you, eyes full of tears and a look you’ve never seen from him before. It sends fireworks through your body, your stomach flipping. His eyes hold yours for just a few seconds before he looks down again.

Bucky holds your hands tighter in his, unable to speak for fear of his voice breaking. You catch your breath, surprised both at the speech you’ve just managed and at his reaction, you realise your words meant a lot to him.

You sit together in the stillness of the chilly night, a comfortable silence once again settling around you. Bucky’s eyes stay fixed on your hands intertwined. You watch him as he focusses on rubbing steady circles into the back of your hand, avoiding your gaze. An overwhelming sense of love for the man before you warms your body in the cold night air.

After a few minutes you break the silence. “Hey c’mon, why don’t you come back inside. You need a good rest.” He nodded slightly. “Yeah. I-“ His voice was shaky. “I’ll be in in a minute”. You nod, standing up and placing your hand on the side of his head. You caress his temple softly with your thumb, and lean forward, bringing your lips to his forehead. He closes his eyes and lifts his hand to hold yours against his head. “And Bucky?” He looks up. “Please don’t sleep on the floor tonight.” A relieved smile washes across his face. He gazes up at you, still looking impossibly tired but now the sadness in his eyes has been replaced with love. You smile back down at him and make your way back into the room. Although you are physically and emotionally exhausted as you climb into bed, you know you won’t be able to sleep until you feel him next to you.

A minutes or so passes before you feel the bed shift and Bucky crawls in behind you, an exhausted sigh leaving him as he allows his tired body to sink into the pillows and mattress. Snuggling up behind you, he wraps you in his arms and nuzzles his head into your shoulder. Your body melts into his with a sigh. “Thank you” he whispers, leaving a gentle lingering kiss on your shoulder. You hold his hand in yours, and a heavy calm settles over you both as you drift into a deep and dreamless sleep.

[f-117-nighthawk]

*inhales* playlist update

Because this hasn’t had an update since Horizons, and new Les Friction dropped since then

You get the Full Thing this time because I cannot help myself (and everything ended up with at least one new song). Be warned: this is fucking LONG BOI

Dark Matter

This thing alone is almost five hours long now. It seems to add an hour every time I do one of these big updates lmao. Large portions of the explanations are taken from old versions of this, as parts of this have been set in stone, but I want everything together instead of recursive looping back onto itself

Your World Will Fail, Dark Matter, and Eater of Worlds are still exactly what they’ve always been: the beginning, and the end. Everything, and one thing. 

(Your world will fail my love/It’s far beyond repair/Your world will fail my love/It is already there)

(Bring me your soul/Bring me your hate/In my name you will create/Bring me your fear/Bring me your pain/You will destroy in my name)

(Can’t imagine the violence/The rage and the love in my madness/I am the eater of worlds and I’m looking for someone to feed me)

No Remorse No Regrets is one of the new ones :D This is… the specific event. It is the crux that everything dominoes after. It is Zarkon, but also not. It’s directly part of…

(It won't remember so it won't forget/It knows no justice or regrets for the blood it lets/Believing nothing, it knows no pain/And it feels no remorse when it enters your brain)

Apocalypse 1992. Still about The Fall, still the turning point for the entire damn war. Still about poor Krolia. Still the Rogue One of DM, detailing the rise of [REDACTED] and the final hours before the destruction of everything sentient species knew beforehand.

(Fly high through apocalypse skies/Fight for the world we must save/Like tears of a unicorn lost in the rain/Chaos will triumph this day)

Apex is the final moments of Apocalypse 1992 from the Red Lion’s perspective, and connects nicely (just as in the albums lol) to the next UtA songs.

(Brother mountain/Now we sleep/For a thousand years/I will see you again/Something is coming/Coming for me)

You Keep What You Kill covers the slow degeneration of the Empire between The Fall and the Battle of Arus. The knowledge harshly taught by the Thuanial War is forgotten under the influence of Zarkon, Haggar, and [REDACTED]. Marzin and Galraasa quickly rise the ranks as the Empire’s left and right hands, like omens of destruction before them. The four are the ‘holy half-dead,’ the ones who shape the devouring of the universe before them.

(Defying dimensions/These ruthless creatures will steal your soul/Breaking away from the chains of mortality/They won’t be taken down/Bow now to the holy half dead/The master to death mongers calls)

Immutable is sort of a companion to a later song, in that it is very very much an Arknights song, but also very very much a DM song now. This one is about Kal’tsit, but it’s also now Krolia. It’s about Krolia’s thoughts as she joins the Blade, as she leaves Earth behind, as she makes her way in a world ten thousand years past what she knew before. About what it’s like to be left behind as the world moves on without you, and what she’ll do to keep her hope safe.

(She'll risk it for the lives/She's left behind/Hope's on the rise/But she's flying blind)

The Glory and the Scum is (most) of the reason why Krolia isn’t around until MGHM. Think Winter Soldier-ish. It’s also from Krolia’s perspective as she’s talking to Kolivan in a conversation I implied in Shatterpoint. Perhaps it shall see the light of day.

(Look at what we've done/Take a step back/Shake your head at what we have become/We're the glory and the scum)

The Seven Sisters is about Keith, mostly, connected to Closure via its influence on Child From the Stars (Lost in the Dark) and also to Memories of a Girl I Haven’t Met (considering it’s the source of half the chapter titles). My Thing for the Pleiades is out in full force in that last one

(I cast my hope upon The Pleiades/The Seven Sisters who would come for me/They’d fall to Earth to grant a child’s dream/But I’m still waiting)

Starlight is the Adashi song. Here, it’s the sad part, based around the time that the SFSS Genesis launches for Kerberos. It also is sort of about Shiro’s thoughts throughout the war as he watches ‘from distant skies’

(At night the earth will rise/And I’ll think of you each time I watch from distant skies/Whenever stars go down and galaxies ignite/I’ll think of you each time they wash me in their light/And I’ll fall in love with you again)

Waking Dream and Abyss are Awakenings. They’re specifically the Red Lion waking up on Sendak’s ship to her new Paladin, but also sort of the rest of the Lions as they find new Paladins for the first time since The Fall (and, also, an accidental hook to the end of Filaments just by virtue of being on the same UtA album…)

(Centuries like flowing streams as years go rushing by/Waiting in the dark for afterlife)

(Open my eyes in a daze/How long has it been? Am I so out of place?/Warmth I can no longer feel/My mountain is gone, I’m surrounded by steel/The strangest of structures arises ahead/Seems to be held up by nothing/Where have I gone, do I dream?/How can the stars be all I can see?)

Who Will Save You Now is about the Paladins in First Contact. It’s the video messages they send to their families, the warning that Something Is Out Here that they need to prepare for. It’s a declaration of protection for Earth, but a recognition that the Paladins may not be able to do what they say.

(I will not take from you and you will not owe/I will protect you from the fire below/It’s not in my mind/It’s here at my side/Go tell the world that I’m still alive)

It Has Begun is the Battle of the Sarnan Nebula (aka; Blackout)

(Even a well lit place, can hide salvation/A map to a one-man maze that never sees the sun/Where the lost are the heroes/And the thieves are left to drown…We will face the odds against us/And run into the fear we run from/It has begun)

And then of course The End of the Beginning. Which is, well, the eponymous fic. And don’t forget the String Theory connection! Fun fact: part of the last chapter leads directly into part of String Theory at the moment.

(Every night I die just a little/All this time, I’m caught in the middle/All your life, you fought with no winning/This is just the end of the beginning)

A Simple Plan is about anything but a simple plan. Lotor is making his secret bid for the construction of the Sinkline ships, but there’s one more thing he needs before it can come to fruition. Haggar has suspicions, and knows one thing that she needs to keep from both him and Voltron. Team Voltron is still struggling to fit into their new roles, especially with a Black Paladin who adamantly does not want to be Black Paladin, and is in desperate need of one thing to fix the last of the damage done during the Battle of the Sarnan Nebula. 

(How long can we hold off ending?/How long can we pretend we’re ok?/No one goes on fighting it forever/I know I’m better this way)

Crown of Mine weaves in and out of A Simple Plan. It’s about said Black Paladin and how much he just does Not Vibe with any of this. Also hey fun fact if Genius is to be believed it’s literally about imposter syndrome! Good job with the lyrics then, Acacia Ridge, because guess what Keith has :D

In addition, the second of the Keith-centric Closure-inspired fics is… sort of a mess between A Simple Plan and Crown of Mine. But it is here

(I wish I could be the me that you see/But I'm too drawn to black and white/Don't be confused, spare me the excuses/It's not even worth the fight)

Outnumbered is the Siege of Naxzela/Breaking of the Naxzela Line, the one major victory the Coalition actually gets before Something Specific

(Outnumbered but we can't back down/It's us against the world, us against the world/Outnumbered but we can't back down/Ten to one, on the run/We will still overcome)

Bringing it Down is uh. You remember that episode where Olkarion gets attacked and Lance tries to communicate with Shiro in the meld? Yeah it’s like that

(Devouring me/Devouring me alive/There's something inside you that isn't right/Something that haunts your dreams/There's something that you have lost/And you're bringing it down/You're bringing it down, on top of us)

Shortly after is Memories of a Girl I Haven’t Met. Krolia content! And Every Time Our Earth Shakes is the end of it.

(In this lonely place, bathed in silence and thoughts of you/I can’t see your face but I’m trying to envision you/So are you really out there? Are you awake with memories/Of a boy you haven’t met yet who’s wished upon the Pleiades?)

(Surrounded by lonely, bruised, and broken love/I've seen it and I won't be like everybody else/Wave after wave, no change in my faith/I'm here for you through high or low/And every time our Earth shakes, I'll fight through the pain/I'll die before I ever let you go)

Then, FINALLY, there is Legion.  Featuring the Whispers, Voltron, and a few mullets. And the Druids making a dangerous mistake. and….robeasts?

(Fallen angels ripping through/The circuitry inside this suit/Of flesh and bone that's overthrown/No matter how hard you try/They keep waring deep inside/Where there's a star collapsing in your heart/There's something in your eyes/That's coming back to life)

And then. Hoh boy. The beast of beats. TRIALS (reimagine), Wrathful Cerulean Flame, Fools of Damnation, String Theory, and I Am the One. We’ve got [REDACTED], we’ve got [spoiler], we’ve got the first major turning point in the entire war, and the first revelation of the true nature of [REDACTED]. Hence the honor of being the separation point of my two main DM folders. TRIALS is the first part, the horrifying realization. Wrathful Cerulean Flame is an Arknights song and serves a very similar purpose as to when we get to see it with Amiya. Fools of Damnation and String Theory itself are from Shiro’s perspective. I Am the One is… an image song? I guess? That’s all I’ll say on that. 

(Hear me from the bottom/Forged in regret, I'm the silversmith/Doomsday, you we had it coming/Marching the streets with an iron fist/Obey no more in silence/The steel in our hearts will be monuments/Today, they'll hear the violence/We'll rise from the dark like Lazarus)

(So follow me/And we'll burn the clouds away/And we'll burn the clouds away/Keep our demons all at bay/There will be an end someday/And I must lead the way)

(Fool, dance for me again/I am your destiny, mark my words/Don't you ever disagree/Fool, kneel for me again/I am your agony, walk my way/I will never set you free)

(You don’t believe in space/You don’t believe in light/You don’t believe that anything is well beyond your might/We walk across the sky and beneath the ocean floor/We’re never going anywhere we’ve never been before)

(I am the one/I am the architect to rule your fate)

House on Fire is the aftermath of String Theory, and a large vibe of We ARE Struggling Together! It’s about family, never letting go of something you care about, and the slow act of trusting.

(So I’ll just hold you like a hand grenade/You touch me like a razor blade/I wish there was some other way right now/Like a house on fire we’re up in flames/I’d burn here if that’s what it takes/To let you know I won’t let go of you)

Belgrade is the klance song! Belgrade also leads almost directly into…

(We pretend in the darkness/We pretend the night won’t steal our youth/Singing me the sweet songs of seduction/Let me be the fool, fool, fool/Who will live and die for you)

Here to Save You is about Sam. Mostly. It’s also about Pidge. And Zaivorge cannons.

(A slave for humankind/I made sure I would survive/To stay alive/Now it’s time to move on/When there’s nothing left to prove/I’m coming to get you)

Iron is the third Closure-inspired fic. It’s about Keith coming to terms with parts of himself, and learning how to use them to great effect. Also has a huge info dump about the Blade.

(You can’t live without the fire/It’s the heat that makes you strong/‘Cause you’re born to live/And fight it all the way/You can’t hide what lies inside you/It’s the only thing you know/You’re embracing that, never walk away)

Storm the Castle is very related to the next few, but only happens as a result of Iron. It’s the three Marmorait making a point. 

(We will not be prisoners/In a kingdom taken hostage by her crown/But we will not abandon her/…Rise now, stand and fight/Take your freedom, claim your right/Rise now, stand and sing/Storm the castle, kill the king)

The second major turning point in the war is Monarch, Birthright, and Firewall. I really recommend reading the whole lyrics for Monarch. Monarch is here because Lotor is also the ‘singer’ of Birthright, and both songs are to a very specific high-level target of the Coalition. Firewall is a little different as it’s a Team Voltron song not a Lotor song, but happens because of the same thing the other two do. They’re all not exactly a direct result of Iron, but they wouldn’t happen how they do without it, and then [REDACTED] swings back into the fray and things learned in String Theory/the framing story for Through Apocalypse Skies hit in full force.

(I am not the person you remember from before/The one you patronized and stepped on, the one you hurt/And I have pulled the arrows, now my skin has become stone/No longer am I prisoner to your empty fucking words)

(The voices in my head have all begun to sing/(The voices in your head have all begun to sing)/And they sure as hell hope I am listening/(I sure as hell hope you are listening!))

(They come to your dreams with illusion/They come to bring shape to your mind/You know how to stop the intrusion/We all have to fight for our lives)

and then, The Day the Earth Collapsed

(How much time has been elapsed/Since the day the earth collapsed?)

Here Comes the Reign doesn’t come into full effect until several months after Birthright/Firewall, but starts with The Day the Earth Collapsed. It’s largely about Haggar and [REDACTED]

(You made something they can’t take away/Now bring the fire of the burning sun on everyone)

Supersonic is here… as a framework for what I like to call The Meme Battle. It’s generally about the increase in Coalition support and general winning as they go after warlords in the aftermath of Feyiv, culminating in I Need a Hero which is, of course, The Meme Battle.

Yes, it’s the Shrek version. It’s the Meme Battle.

(Supersonic, polyphonic, this is our war/Mustering the armies, marching faster than before)

(I need a hero/I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night/He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast/And he's gotta be fresh from the fight)

Earthrise and But Tonight We Dance are the next big event. Earthrise very much is a Klance song, and BTWD isn’t exactly a klance song, but it’s here for them. On a diplomatic mission gone wrong, the Red and Blue Paladins of Voltron uncover a literally-buried government conspiracy, a rebel cell, and nearly die. A normal days work for the two of them. But they’ve really gotta stop having relationship milestones in the middle of a warzone. 

Another reason it’s here is Tonight We Dance is a very aro song to me. “A language universal, but I speak not its tongue” hits hard. I felt like I needed a bit in here to remind listeners/readers that romance isn’t a language Keith speaks. And it becomes very explicit in this fic, just like Belgrade. It is, on the other hand, very much a language Lance speaks. Seriously, Earthrise is just Lance making heart eyes.

(I still fall for you like suns do for skies/Cerulean pouring in from your eyes/Just a hollow moon that you colorize/So powerful, I feel so small but so alive/Like watching the Earthrise)

(Tomorrow we might wake in servitude and silence/I will give you everything if only you would have me/Tomorrow we will sweat and toil/Our hands will quiver, caked with soil/Tomorrow we'll give it one last chance/But tonight we dance/But tonight we dance!)

But Tonight We Dance is the last of the Closure fics, which is why it’s here. Closure in general is a lot of Keith’s character development and some of the struggles he goes through to accept his place in the universe and the fact that yes, he does have people that care about him. The last fic is me shining a brighter light on Closure’s chorus and taking a ‘last goodbye’ as never needing to say it again

(I am the child from the stars/That got lost in the dark/Between heaven and hell/I am forced to live on/I am the cause when you sin/I am the demon you skin/But there is no more tears to beautify/This is my last goodbye)

Then we step back into the universe-level action with Soulbound and Disappear. Revelations from String Theory and Firewall swing back in with a vengeance on a joint Whispers-Voltron mission, leaving them reeling and Krolia questioning her very identity. 

(Soulbound, endlessly forever/Locked between the darkness and the light/Don’t drown in the swarming, blackened rising/Hold on to humanity and fight)

(Stone heart, paired with empty eyes/That stared right through mine)

Something Wicked is. well. 

(When all of the forces/Have been overrun/You’ll whisper, serpent tongue/What you fear you have become/Something wicked this way comes…)

About three months after that is My Darkest Hour and Faster Than Light. Haggar realizes something and goes searching for [something wicked], sending the Blade and the rest of the Coalition scrambling. These also lead directly, and I mean directly, into…

(When the sun comes crashing down/When the world is spinning round and round/I will face what must be my darkest hour)

(Once more we’re flying fast as light/Dark matter passing in the night/Pursued by a force we can’t outrun/As we hurtle towards a dying sun/We maneuver through the remnants of a moon/On the solar winds of supernovas/There is not a place to hide, the Matriarch is close behind/It’s plain to see she’s coming for us all)

Cosmic Vertigo and Other Worlds Than These. Together they are the second of two revelations in what, exactly, is [REDACTED]

(Banish me like burned down planets/Write my fate with sparkling lies/I am the universe; you're just one sky)

(Pull the wool out from your eyes/It won’t shade your frail belief/In the end we cannot hide/There are other worlds than these)

Godhunter is Team Voltron, well, hunting for gods, even as one of them disappears.

(She’s been watching for a century/With hatred, and with scorn/If you know the hunter’s coming/Then you hide or keep on running/'Cause she’s slain the gods before)

Trophy Hunter, Ember, and Redemption are the culmination of Godhunter. I’ve been thinking of them as akin to the suicide mission in Mass Effect 2, if that gives you an idea of what the hell they run into. They link up to Godhunter and Soulbound in subject matter, and lead directly into…

(You, you won’t escape me, I’ll rise from the deep/In this final moment, no words left to say/I can’t let you be when a life fades away/You, you won’t escape me ‘cause I’ll set you free)

(Dark matter falling from the sky/Dancing flames reflecting in your eyes as you watch them burn/Watching all your riches witches burn) 

(Remember me not for the mess I’ve made/But who I could have been/Finally I’m going home)

World On Fire, This is a Call, The Reckoning, Game Ender, The Wind That Shapes the Land, and Louder Than Words. Yeah it got longer.

(World on fire with a smoking sun/Stops everything and everyone/Brace yourself for all will pay/Help is on the way)

(This is a call to action/This is a call to arms/All lives for one, together/There are no false alarms)

(I see your face, find peace of mind/Between the madness and the sadness and the fire burning/The end of war, the great divine/We’ll see the day of reckoning)

(We will rise as one/Stop what has begun/Bringing down the main offender/If you hear me now/Scream the words out loud/We will be our own defender)

(Search within/Uncover the will to win/Turn against the tide that washes o'er/Find the strength to fall and rise again/Open up the gates, unleash the force/I am the wind that shapes the land/Old as time and twice as strong/Oceans arise at my command/I alone can carry on)

(We have the force to fight/We have the blinding light/A war is more than heard/Coming in louder than words)

Surprise! We’re not done! World with No Sun is Haggar, at the end of all things.

(I wish I could give it all back/But it's tied to the moment that I took/I followed a most selfish path/Waiting on a world that can't see me/Waiting on a world that can't see me/Waiting on a world that wants no one/Waiting on a world with no sun)

Diving Bell is the Paladins at the end of all things, and the struggle to come to terms with everything. 

And a shameless sequel hook ;)

(Wake me when the new day comes/Together we will ride the sun/The future is an empty gun/We fire onto them one-by-one)

Dystopian Fiction

This is the only one that doesn’t have anything new I think? So here’s everything in it pulled together

Dark Matter is on here because title track, but also it does end up with effects. Especially by the end… and of course the Thing that is Wrong With Earth.

(Don’t stop, don’t think/Move up, don’t blink now/On your knees pray for rain/Don’t breathe when you take your aim)

The Human Condition is the Éskhayklos manifesto. A warning of the end times. The condemnation of the parasites. The reveal of the only cure. The final extinction cycle. Also their new image song, as Cross the Line got moved.

(We have the cure for the disease/Locked down inside us/When all is dead, then we will see/We are the virus)

INFECTED is the Éskhayklos’s slow, well, infection of the Sol Federation, and their descent into full-blown terrorism. (And yes, I know the actual lyrics have ‘he’. Shhhhhh. It’s a STARSET song, it’s about a Shirogane, even if it’s sort of from Cascade’s POV)

(Here's a challenge for all mankind/The preacher man is warning of the end times/The weatherman agrees but she don't know/So she's got to go now)

Who Will Save You Now here is about Sam, and the aftermath of Here to Save You, in addition to its referenced role in the main playlist

(Alone with this vision/Alone and blind/Go tell the world I’m still alive)

Tunnelvision is Team Earth saying “no, fuck you Sanda and Torrent, we don’t care if we’re charged with treason people deserve to know”

(You took me for a fly/And fancied yourself a spider in a web of little lies/What a nice surprise/When the curtain’s pulled back, you can see the whole trap inside/And now the emperor has got no clothes/What a lovely show/When your cover’s blown, you’ll never know/'Cause you can’t see past your nose)

Codebreaker is Adam’s song! But here it’s also in conjunction with Cross the Line as the final Éskhayklos mission before...

(Codebreaker can’t you find/Can you read between the lines of code?/Tell me all that you know/How far down the hole does it all go)

(Cross the line, redefine, break away unbent, unafraid/Together we stand in the dark/Seeking the light and what is right, together we cross the line/Our journey will come to an end and then our human cause will be/Justified)

The Day the Earth Collapsed

(How much time has been elapsed/Since the day the earth collapsed?)

Dystopian Fiction is the title track for this part. With the events of The Day the Earth Collapsed, the Garrison and our heroes on Earth are at their lowest point. It really is a piece of dystopian fiction, between [spoiler] and [spoiler]. They’re fighting for something that, at that point, must seem like ‘superstition.’ And also: “Nobody can shoot me down, not just yet” is about Adam bc Fuck Canon. Even if he does, technically, get shot down.

(I’m a dead man/In the wasteland/I’m a soldier fighting for superstition/Under searchlights/In the long nights/We’ve been written like dystopian fiction)

World on Fire and The Reckoning are the two of their subset that make it over here, because they’re the two that happen before the result of This is a Call can come to fruition, and are more focused on our Earth heroes anyway.

(Sent by forces beyond salvation/There can be not one sensation)

(We’re all alone, walking in twilight/The night has been long and so many have fallen/Feel no remorse, light will be breaking/Our freedom is worth it all)

Endless War

Dark Matter is here because it always is, twining through everything else.

(Don’t stop, don’t think, don’t look back/You’re a bolt of lightning in the sky now/Don’t stop, don’t think, don’t look back/I’ve pulled you in, nowhere to hide now)

I Am the One links into Eater of Worlds as sort of the begining, sort of during Apocalypse 1992. Our Fifth General has her realization about [REDACTED] far, far before Team Voltron does, because she’s there in the thick of it during Through Apocalypse Skies. Inferno is here out of disgust on the second Fifth General’s part

(I am the one/I hold the dreams from fallen heroes)

(How do you keep your head high? Tell me what you see in the mirror/How can you stand the presence of the devil's eyes?)

(We are gods, we are monsters/We create to devour/Not for love but for power/What’s a life worth in the end?)

(From the caves beneath Dundee/Ancient hermit arrives/A messenger to the war in the stars/Korviliath is nigh!)

Ashes is also from the second Fifth General, a solemn promise to let her figure it out herself, and to guard the flame while she does.

(What will we do when the world it is ending/And time it is halted for friend and for foe?/Try to hold on to the time as it passes/I'll tend to the flame, you can worship the ashes)

The Truth Beneath the Rose is her doing just that. Also… kinda connects to a song in the main playlist, but not very obviously.

(Blinded to see the cruelty of the beast/It is the darker side of me/The veil of my dreams deceived that I have seen/Forgive me for what I have been, forgive me my sins!)

Raise Your Banner is The Fifth General’s newfound resolve as she starts collecting allies against Zarkon’s empire.

(Wake up/I’m defying you, seeing right through you, once I believed in you/Wake up/Feel what’s coming deep within we all know)

Silver Moonlight is cracks forming in The Fifth General’s new set of alliances and her desperate and occasionally rash attempts to get them to believe in her goal. Not just the main one to take down the empire, but the one that will allow them to do that.

(I’m impatient, but it’s colors that I need/Too many shades of grey, I cannot breathe/The dreams I have ain’t tainted, I need you to believe/The only way to make them real, oh)

Endless War is the title track, connected to Catalyst, Holy Ground and I’d Rather Burn as a specific event but also sort of encompassing the Fifth General’s motivations throughout the series. She’s “hunting a miracle” that is also those colors from Silver Moonlight, and then the end of Endless War kicks in with Holy Ground, and the Fifth General’s final stand in I’d Rather Burn. 

('Cause you’re fighting an endless war/Hunting a miracle/And when you reach out for the stars/They just cut you down/…/Is it worth dying for?/Or are you blinded by, blinded by it all?)

(So in a world of silent people/We dared to make a sound/Sometimes the fire has to take you/For you to burn them to the ground)

(You got inside my head, I want you out/'Cause I’ve been betrayed on holy ground)

(Won’t let you take my soul away/I’d rather go to the stake/I’d rather burn)

Empty Eyes is [long spoiler beep].

(I don’t know where I’m going/In search for answers/I don’t know who I’m fighting/I stand with empty eyes/You’re like a ghost within me/Who’s draining my life/It’s like my soul is see through/Right through my empty eyes)

Design Your Universe

okay this playlist is DM canon. But it’s not the DM canon we know and love. We will get to see at least part of it. Eventually. 

Dark Matter, because it’s not DM without it

(So climb up and come clean/Move back the smoke screen/It's all here, it's all you/Get clear on the darker view)

Divide and Conquer explains where things changed from the DM canon we know and love. It’s about how a dictator, no matter their intentions, is never the correct choice.

(Seek the mastermind/The one who’s always right/We’re searching now and endlessly to set us free/Seek the mastermind (Seek the mastermind)/There’s no one you will find)

Martyr of the Free World is a very specific piece of that change from main canon, the martyr of the Blade equivalent, while Black Smoke Assimilation is what she leaves behind

(If you gun down the messenger/You guarantee that she will be made/Into a saint/A martyr of the free word)

(Out of reach/I planted you, the seed/You're learning to believe/That you're the one that changes everything, everything)

Cosmic Vertigo is here for the same reason as in the main playlist

(Just enjoy it while it lasts/Cling not to the broken past)

The Land of Unicorns is Gloryhammer finally making a comeback, and Team Voltron meeting up with, well, Team Voltron.

(Ride far away, cross the mighty River Tay/Over mountains into the unknown/Follow your heart, let it guide you through the dark/To the Land of Unicorns)

Return to Me is another fight over the Black Lion, but the players aren’t who you think, which is the final goal of Storm the Castle

(Return what you have taken from me/Rightfully mine, I will not allow this, thief/Think you know this weapon in your hands?/You are a fool, I am his only command)

(We will not be prisoners/In a kingdom taken hostage by her crown)

Unleashed is from the perspective of The Matriarch, for once, showing a little about how this version of her was not particularly willing

(Where was I meant to be?/I feel I’m lost in a dream/Long for the day I can be myself/Free)

Hootsforce is mostly here bc it’s fun. But it’s also about a final battle.

(Fight for the king, for the hammer and the ring/Fight for the ancient story)

Design Your Universe, as the title track of this one, is all about how a simple change can change the world. It’s also uh…. pretty literal

(We can’t undo what we have done/So show us now what we’ve become/Confront us with our viciousness/And our weakness/We can’t evade our destiny/So show responsibility/For we all surely have a sense/Of our consciousness)

Filaments

Filaments! It has become utter chaos in here since last time. So much it requires a companion playlist. Oh yeah did I mention there’s a fifth playlist now?

Dark Matter is here because, well. A) Title track, B) yes, it still has effects. It’s the overarching theme, after all. Filaments sort of has a subtitle itself, which is ‘The Undoing,’ after the other part of the lyric that the subtitle of the main playlist comes from. It’s about undoing a past mistake (that wasn’t obviously a mistake until much later) and reconciling the events of Your World Will Fail.

(I am the keeper/I am the secret/I am the answer/I am the end)

Filaments is the title track of this part. It’s… a little hard to explain without giving away the entire plot but it’s about the connections between different parts of the universe, and some fall-out of Cosmic Vertigo and Louder Than Words.

(These glowing filaments/Conducting this enchanting/Sarcophagus that’s holding us)

Starlight is, again, Adashi song, and this time the happy part

(Don’t leave me lost here forever/I need your starlight and pull me through/Bring me back to you)

Carry Me Home is its eponymous fic.

(Carry me home to the morning light/carry me home before you wave me goodbye/Oh, carry me home…)

Know that stuff in Carry Me Home about “The record skip that only [Keith and Krolia] can remember”? Yeah, Prognosis is a huge step to figuring that out. And then it’s time to go into The Breach.

(How long is the body beholden?/How long 'til we run out of road?/Deep down in the black of the ocean/Fading from the glow)

(Follow me/Follow me now once more into the breach/Can you see?/Can you see how this is the way to destiny?)

The timey-wimey ball gets tossed around more in Blackstar. Partially due to [REDACTED] and a certain terrorist’s reemergence, but also due to Prognosis-related stuff

(They'll let you try/To reverse everything/Don't waste your time/Sing Hallelujah 'cause you can't change anything)

Eon straight up plays Calvinball with the timey-wimey ball and gets the Paladins stuck in a groundhog-day situation, and the only way out? Isn’t good.

(If time's a song, I won't wait for its reprise/I am done wishing farewells and goodbyes)

There’s some nebulous chaos in here, more timey-wimey shenanigans, but also guess what comes back? Something Wicked

(And it clawed/Back in the world again/Here for a new revenge/An enemy I can't condemn)

Okay, here’s where it becomes so chaotic it requires two playlists. The Art of War is Cascade finally showing his true colors, and the Sol Federation not having a good time. (And the Coalition is going to get dragged down with them) But the consequences…

(I can remember all the days of violence/I can remember all the days they fought for rights/When men united all by fear and interest/I mustered them with hopeful promises I've broken)

The Future is Now, No Remorse No Regrets, and Trespasser sort of take place during that, sort of after, while Team Volton is trying to figure out what happened to their Black Paladin, why, exactly, their sensors are so incredibly broken, and where the fuck Krolia went. Meanwhile Keith is having an argument with himself.

(They said there was no way/But they forgot the black hole in the sky/Yesterday is nothing/I have half a life to rewrite)

(Lies but never a liar/Takes but never a thief/Leaves with only a cross to bear/What it gives is yours to keep)

(Where's my heart?/I want to feel whole again or nothing at all/Where's my soul?/Because I'm not myself)

Centigrade is the beginning of the end, and [spoiler] realizing just what is going on.

(What did you hope to find adrift and lost in time?/Is this the end ready to begin?/It's time to escape the fate of destruction, excavating within until salvation/No longer pretend the future's a lie from a past you cannot hide)

A Theater of Dimensions is. Well. You’ll see. It’s a little hard to pick a lyric from AToD, I'll say that much.

(I’ve seen our freedom in the mist of time/The old signs I’ll follow and the day of relief will be yours and mine)

Redemption is the end of an argument, and much the same as the last place it was. It is such a quiet thing, to fall… far more terrible is to admit it.

(To know that your days are numbered/To know that your time is short/Death is what gives life meaning/So who will you be at the end of the road)

And then there’s Afterlife. Fitting to end on a UtA song, after everything, especially since The Immortal has repeatedly throughout DM been a metaphor for Voltron. Also fitting that it’s this one, considering the parallels between the end of The Immortal’s story and Filaments

(But with such power, think how you could rule/Hold to your promise to watch over those in despair/Why would you choose to serve when you could be master of all?/Be true to your honor and fight for a world that is fair!/Out of shadow, out of darkness, welcome to the light/As the day shines boldly over night/Follow me to finally be who you are inside/Open wide, embrace the afterlife)

Oh yeah. Here’s the other half

For Who I Could Have Been

Your world will fail my love, it’s far beyond repair…

Dark Matter and Filaments, but of course

(Tear down hollows/Take back eternity)

(A prisoner of time and space/Construct we can't escape/A fleeting moment alive)

The Art of Bargaining is the aftermath of The Art of War. It is… an argument, for lack of a better term. No Remorse No Regrets and Widowmaker are the results, and where Team Voltron begins to lose. Lose the plot, lose the war, lose… themselves. God will shield his eyes because he is not there. 

(I might be guilty but can a person change/I'll say it like I mean it but believe it, that's insane/You're only making this harder/I'll make you an offer/An offer you can't refuse)

(The one I loved/Is the one I see/And what I'd give is not enough to bring her back to me)

(Rise above the shadows putting forth your hands/God will shield his eyes in spite of all your prayers and he will not hear/Your hands, stained of blood/What have we become from a smoking gun?/What have we become)

Centigrade is Team Voltron attempting to fix the mess. Unfortunately, that might not be possible, given what they’re missing. After all, Your World WIll Fail

(Burn and incinerate/Dark matter you contain/Forging a new life/Erasing what you used to be)

(Your world will fail my love/It's far beyond repair/Your world will fail/If you are alive you must run for your life)

So they fall back to The Future is Now, which slams almost directly into Theater of Dimensions. 

(They said there was no way/But they forgot the black hole in the sky/Yesterday is nothing/I have half a life to rewrite)

(I’ve seen our freedom in the mist of time/The old signs I’ll follow and the day of relief will be yours and mine)

Redemption is the end of an argument, and much the same as the last place it was. It is such a quiet thing, to fall… far more terrible is to admit it.

(To know that your days are numbered/To know that your time is short/Death is what gives life meaning/So who will you be at the end of the road?)

Elysium and Endlessness are the final things needed to fix everything. 

(Sailing beyond the astral field/Wide eyes accept the light no mortal eye has seen/Rapture/Hear the angels sing/Craving for something more beyond the open door/Resembling something like a dream/Is this what it means to be free?)

(Soon, beyond the fields you've come to know/You will join the silent flow/Follow me, I am the spark/At the end of everything/Tip the reaper to ensure/The blade is sharp/As soon we'll go/Follow me into the dark/To the birth of everything)

They are An End, Once and For All. But also the birth of everything. There is a bit of truth to every myth, and a lie to every story. One cannot live without the Other. Saviors, conquerors, heroes, villains, who can tell the difference, in the end? The world cycles on without them. 

[barbers-glimmerin-darlin]

At The Touch Of Your Hand

Charlie Barber x (Female) Reader (Historical AU)

As a young woman whose entire life has already been mapped out for her, you believed there was very little to look forward to as you entered the ballroom. It was just another ball, during another season, with the same foppish men shallowly vying for attention. However things are bound to take a turn for the unexpected when Charles Barber makes his re-entrance to society after six years in obscurity.

Chapter 3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 

Warnings: Period typical sexism, historical inaccuracies 

Word count: 2.9k

“I’ll not be listening to any more of your incessant griping tonight Judith.” Your father’s voice was firm and unwavering, his distaste for his wife’s unending list of complaints evidently getting the better of him. 

“You cannot possibly think him to be an agreeable man Edward! Not after he-”

“Enough Judith!”

Your mother’s mouth bubbled open and closed as if she were impersonating some incredibly affronted fish, it was very rare that father would plainly tell mama he had tired of listening to her whining. You swapped a furtive glance with Jemima, the tension spiking to a palpable degree, your mind instantly began scrambling to fill in the gaping hole left in your mothers remark.

After he what? What could he have done, this enigmatic man, whom you had never heard of before this night, to have warranted such obvious distaste from your mother? You could not help but feel that whatever it was should be much cause for concern, if it meant that your mother was unwilling to host him. Judith Bell would usually be seen falling over herself for the opportunity to have such a man welcomed to dinner, an impressive man, titled. 

Before your racing mind had the chance to create a whole plethora of beastly scenarios to cast this man in, along came one of the very few things in the world that made you want to disable all intelligent brain function in your mind.

Hartley. 

You regrettably saw him approach you over your father’s shoulder, straightening his gloves and smoothing his flaccid hair as he neared. Every last cell in your body heaved a long groan at the sight of him, so bland, so thoroughly unimpressive, truly he was an unremarkable sight to behold. In no time at all, he stood proudly before you.

“Miss Bell, I believe the first waltz is almost afoot.” He declared. You saw your mother’s previously enraged face fracture into an unbearably bright beam at his appearance, all distaste for Lord Barber’s presence seemingly forgotten. 

You flashed a tight smile as he held out his gloved hand for you to take. You accepted, placing your hand in his with the lightest tough you could manage, as if placing your hand solidly within his pudgy one would solidify your future with him. Unfortunately you feared that there was very little you could do to escape that. 

He led you briskly onto the dancefloor, amongst the sea of brightly coloured silk taffeta frocks, and then proceeded to draw you into a hold appropriate for a waltz. It was far too intimate for you, even though his hands were in no danger of straying, you would have much preferred a livelier jig that required much changing of partners. 

As the rhythmic arrangement of the waltz began to fill the room, you willed your feet to move in a reasonably graceful fashion, it’s not that you were a bad dancer, you were just much better when paired with a partner you actually wanted to dance with. Robert was a long way from fitting that criteria. 

You could not help but note the hotness of his hand upon your shoulder, and you guessed it would probably be sweaty if he were to take that glove off, you repressed a shudder at the thought of his slimy hand upon your skin. Sweaty hands were indicative of nerves, what on earth could he be nervous about? If he could not struggle his way through a meagre waltz without being overcome with nerves, what chance did he have of upholding one end of a fiery debate, or withstand a passionate feeling about anything?

You allowed your eyes and mind to wander as you twirled about the dancefloor, you spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd, many of your mother’s acquaintances gathered to watch their own daughters on the dancefloor, your mother was no exception. She watched you with beady eyes, looking for mistakes in your footing or your posture, clutching her dainty glass of sherry in her clawed fingers. 

You were vaguely aware of Robert droning on about a business venture his father was allowing him to head, something pertaining a new weaving technique for linen, you really did not care to give much attention to it, you occasionally emitted a noise of agreement to create the illusion of engagement. 

As you rounded the dancefloor once again, your eyes swept over a broad form that was becoming undeniably familiar all too quickly. Charles stood a little way back from the dancefloor, conversing with a stout man who you recognised as the host of the ball, Lord Harrington. Although upon closer inspection, you were forced to reconsider your observation that he was participating in conversation. It appeared that he was being talked at rather than talked to, his attention otherwise much diverted, much like yours. His glittering eyes were very much fixed on the couples dancing before him.

Unbeknownst to you, his eyes were not travelling aimlessly amongst the group of merry dancers, his gaze was solely tracking you. He watched as the buttery yellow light shimmered upon the lavender fabric of your gown, sparkled through your hair, and highlighted the barely exposed curve of your shoulders. He drank this in all without your knowledge, your attention far too occupied with ensuring Hartley did not step on your silk slippered feet. What an enchanting little creature he saw twirling before him. 

“Did I see Lord Barber making conversation with your father earlier?” You were forced to tune back into Hartley’s voice as he spoke directly to you, stopping your eyes from repeatedly searching out the towering height of Barber,

“Yes, I believe he knows my father.” You replied flatly, not really eager to discuss the man with Robert. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, Charles had begun to feel rather sacred to you. 

“I’m interested in making his acquaintance myself while he’s in town, quite the recluse he’s been for the past five years or so from what I understand.” Robert remarked, this did admittedly capture your interest. Why would a man like him have hidden himself away from society, other than the obvious fact that it was a dreadful environment, it was practically created for powerful men like him. 

“I confess I was unaware of his existence until tonight.” You offered blandly, while you were tempted to probe Hartley for more information, you found his predisposition for gossiping more repellent that intriguing. 

“People don’t talk about him much anymore. Though what I have heard them say is undoubtedly interesting, I’m sure his reappearance tonight will be the talk of the town by tomorrow breakfast.” Robert’s sentence was punctuated by a ridiculously salacious chuckle at the end, which made you long to put more distance between your bodies. 

“Undoubtedly, people do little else but talk the day after a ball.” You deadpanned, avoiding eye contact with his misty eyes. 

“Although I dare say there ought to be rather a lot of talk of just how ravishing you look in this gown.” Your stomach dropped at his words, spoken in a voice that he had forced down into a lower octave. You flicked your eyes up to his, only to find him inconspicuously allowing himself a good look at your chest. You swallowed back the tart response that your brain formulated, much in favour of finishing the dance as quickly as possible. You settled on a lifeless little laugh.

As soon as the band began to cease their performance you delicately pushed yourself out of his hold, and lowered into a quick curtsy. 

“Thank you for the dance Mr Hartley, it was quite… satisfactory.” And without waiting for his response you turned on your heel and began to hasten away, in search of Jemima. You were eager to tell her in agonising detail how utterly lecherous he had been. But you didn’t even make it off of the dancefloor before a broad chest blocked your path. Your eyes were obscured by a wall of icy blue and white, and you didn’t even really need to glance upwards to confirm the identity of the individual. 

The scent of fresh mint and fragrant pine greeted your senses, cleansing them of the heavy musky smell, with an undercurrent of body odour that you had endured with Hartley moments before. You refrained from indulging in a deep inhale as you summoned the courage to raise your eyes towards his face. 

Charles Barber’s smirking face.

“In a rush, Miss Bell?” He asked, his honeyed voice vibrated through the air, breathing against your ears like a summer wind. You momentarily forgot every word you had learned since infancy, and struggled for a response. 

“No I- I mean yes I was just- I’m not in a rush per say I just-”

“Were making a fleeting exit from your partner over there?” He stopped your aimless flailing with his words, allowing his full lips to quirk even further into an amused smirk. You felt your cheeks warming rapidly.

“I was just in search of my sister.” You replied, unsure if it was proper to admit that you were, in fact, shamelessly fleeing Hartley. 

“Well, by the looks of things, he will presently approach and ask you for another dance. Allow me to be so bold as to assume that you would like to avoid such an occurrence.” Charles remarked, quickly glancing over your head to where you assumed he could see Robert.

“I would be reluctant to dance with him again so soon.” You said quietly, unsure of his next assumption. 

“Well in that case, would you do me the honour of the next dance, Miss Bell?” Your heart gave itself to flittering beats as you absorbed his words. You could hardly fathom the idea of sharing a dining table with him, and you were being offered a dance? The pristine white glove upon his expansive hand moved into your line of sight as he offered his hand to you. You could not help but raise your eyes to his, though you promptly wish you hadn’t when you were met with the scorching intensity of his gaze. It was fight or flight really. 

“Yes my lord, I would be honoured.” You replied, placing your hand firmly in his. 

The experience of being led into a dance by Charles Barber was worlds away from that of the artless movements of Hartley. You knew that much. 

You stood facing each other, as part of a long line of men and women standing parallel to one another along the centre of the marble floor, you could not help but notice that he was the tallest in the line by a considerable amount. Your heart was racing as you heard the shaking violin strike up the opening measures of the dance. The line of ladies ducked into graceful curtsy, directed at the men before them, and then the dance fell into an elegant sequence of turns and fleeting touches of hands. 

It was not two measures into the dance that Barber clearly felt that he was in rhythm enough to begin to talk to you as you moved around each other, and the other occupants of the dancefloor. 

“Are you enjoying the evening?” He asked as you passed close by one another, his eyes firmly fixed upon yours, paying no mind to his feet or the people around him, though his body continued to move with a grace and ease you would have thought impossible for a man of his stature. 

“Very much so, Lord and Lady Harrington do always host the most beautiful parties.” You replied politely, though it was untrue that your night had been pleasant up until this point, the unfamiliar feelings fluttering about your stomach presently were enough to erase all memory of the previous encounters from your mind.

“I agree with you wholeheartedly Miss, though I might add that I think Lord Harrington has very little to do with the festivities you see around you. I believe it is fair to say that Lady Harrington is the brains of the operation.” He concurred, his face breaking into a smile, one you might call mischievous if you were so inclined to such flirtatious words. You could not stifle the laugh that escaped at his remark towards the esteemed Lord Harrington.

“Are you well acquainted with the hosts, my lord?” You asked him, the smile laid upon your face beginning to ache slightly, though you could not for the life of you force it down. You gasped silently as your hands entwined, as he led you side by side down the line formed by the other couples, as part of your dance.

“Old friends of my late father’s.” He explained, looking sideways at you. His hand dwarfed yours, it warmed his glove in a way that was so different to the sticky heat of Hartley’s hand. You found yourself wishing that there were no gloves separating your hands from touching skin to skin. A tingling sensation began in the palm of your hand, still held in his, and worked its way to the tips of your fingers and up your arm. In that moment, you decided the touch of his hand was something quite inexplicably magical. 

“And you, Lord Barber? Are you enjoying yourself?” You asked, longing to hear the velvet of his voice again. He smiled down at you warmly, sending the tingles from your hand all over your body. 

“I am enjoying the evening far more than I anticipated, it has been pleasant to see old friends.” He started, his eyes moved swiftly once up and down the length of you, never hesitating anywhere for too long. As he met your eyes again, his smile curled into a smaller one, far more intimate, meant only for you. “It has been even lovelier making new acquaintances, which is not something I usually find myself able to say.” He tells you. 

Your mind raced to stumble through the meanings in his well measured words. Did he mean meeting you? Part of you screamed that he must mean that, why else would he have bothered to make such a point of saying it to you? A larger part reasoned that he had undoubtedly met many new people tonight, and why in this vast room full of people would he single you out as a lovely new acquaintance?

All too soon it was time for your hands to part once again, you already missed his large warm palm and it hadn’t even left yours yet. As he opened his fingers to loosen his grasp on your hand, and pulled his palm away from yours, your eyes widened as you felt the tip of his middle finger trace a burning line across your palm as he slipped his hand away from yours. A shiver shot down the length of your spine at the sensation, which you had felt so keenly despite the presence of your silk glove. 

Another glance towards his regal face showed you that his smile had faded, melted into a look of deep concentration. The chocolate of his eyes had darkened, the light sparkled in the depths of them. So many thoughts were rushing through them, but you couldn’t comprehend a single one of them, your own brain was still trying to make sense of the litany of feelings coursing through you from the mere brush of the tip of his finger along your palm. 

It was a wonder you had managed to complete the dance without bumping into a single other occupant of the dancefloor, as you had quite forgotten that you were sharing the space with anyone else at all besides him. You could scarcely remember a time before you found yourself cradled in his gaze, you could not remember what your hand had felt like before it had been encased by his. It was only the end of the melody that brought the end of the dance to your awareness, you found yourself short of breath, though you were absolutely certain it had nothing to do with the steps of the dance. 

You bowed to each other once again, as was customary, and then he went a step further by enclosing your hand in his. He lifted your slightly quaking hand up towards his face, and you held your breath as his warm lips pressed down gently upon your glove. Had you not have held your breath, you were quite certain he would have robbed you of it. The impression of his lips seemed to burn your knuckles in a delightful way, in a way that made you yearn to tear the white silk from your body and request that he press his lips to your bare skin. You couldn’t correct the way your own lips parted slightly, something which he seemed to note as his eyes roamed your face as he straightened back up to his full height, allowing your hand to fall back to your side. 

“Thank you for the dance Miss Bell, it was quite… enchanting.” He spoke softly, caressing your face with his eyes for a moment longer before inclining his head, turning, and leaving the space, your eyes were stuck to his wide shoulders as he left. You were pulled out of your little world, where you and he were the only inhabitants, by Jemima’s voice suddenly at your ear.

“Just to warn you, sister dear, mama is quite enraged.”

Tags: @millenialcatlady​ @safarigirlsp​ @mariesackler​ @direnightshade​ @sacklerscumrag​ @stumbleonmywords​ @fizzywoohoo​ @hopeamarsu​ @roanniom​ @kylobien​ (Please let me know if you would like adding or removing!)

[inner-sakura]

Hypothetically Ever After

[childhood friends AU, adrienette, slowburn, fake/pretend relationship]

With only two weeks of summer vacation to spare, Marinette enlists Adrien’s help with a task of utmost importance.

“I need you to help me seduce your brother.”

Quite predictably, nothing goes according to plan.

a fic loosely inspired by @starrycove​’s Brothers AU from approximately 9835 years ago that has lived in my head and my heart ever since.

read it on: ff.net | AO3

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chapter seven

Marinette, like most people might do upon realizing that they had inadvertently attempted to put the moves on the wrong boy—in front of a room full of witnesses—quickly chose what she deemed to be the smoothest course of action available, and did what any sensible individual would do in her situation:

Absolutely.

Nothing.

She froze, rooted to the spot as she listened to Adrien (!!!!!!) and Félix’s friends conversing lightly above her head, the details of which were completely escaping her as she grappled with the reality of the predicament she now found herself in.

Her immediate response had been to throw herself bodily away from Adrien, and run screaming for the hills. But that was impractical for a number of reasons, not the least of which being that she didn’t want to embarrass him (or herself) in front of everyone.

There was also the matter of Adrien’s arm, which was still around her, keeping her firmly in place.

Finally, she heard Adrien make some excuse or another about needing a drink and felt him steering her out of the room. He leaned down, whispering in her ear as they walked.

“Scale of one to ten, how close are you to a complete meltdown?”

“Yes.” Said Marinette’s brain.

Her traitorous mouth had other plans though, letting out something more along the lines of “Mmnmguh.”

They did an about-face, no longer heading in the direction of where she knew the kitchen to be, but instead to the front door.

“Where are we going?” Her brain tried again. She managed to get her mouth around the words this time, and while not succeeding a hundred percent, it at least landed in the ballpark of something moderately intelligible. Adrien’s hold tightened almost imperceptibly.

“I think we could both use some air, don’t you?”

Probably in an effort not to get separated, he kept his arm around her until they had made it safely out of the house, and onto the cool grass.

The stars were coming out now, winking down at them coyly from millions of lightyears away. Marinette wished she were out there with them, floating peacefully in the void, instead of being forced to stare the consequences of her actions in the face.

Who happened to be currently giving her a once over, a line drawn between his brows.  

She gazed at him in return, trying to figure out just how the hell it was she had mistaken Adrien for his brother in the first place. She took in his appearance, eyes trailing from his dark jeans and crisp dress shirt—from this season’s Gabriel line, no doubt—to the top of his head and his hair.

Marinette squinted.

Had he... combed it, perhaps? It didn’t look as floofy as it normally did, lying a little bit smoother, a bit flatter than she was used to seeing it. From up close, there was no way in hell anyone could ever mistake Adrien for Félix. But with the dark clothes he was wearing, the different hairstyle… the resemblance was there.

And he had grown, standing as tall—if not taller—than Félix’s friends, some of whom were nearly two years older than him.

Adrien was growing up, she was startled to realize.

And as he gazed down at her in concern, his green eyes glittering, bathed in the glow cast from the house’s uplights, Marinette was also startled to discover something else.

Adrien was very, very attractive.

And not just in the ‘been modeling for years,’ and ‘it pretty much comes with the territory of being a professionally beautiful person’ kind of way.

But in the oh wow he’s pretty, starry-eyed kind of way.  

Marinette had known that Adrien was handsome. Just like she knew that the earth rotated around the sun, or that the sun rose in the east and set in the west. It was an incontrovertible fact of life.

She just hadn’t known, up until that moment, that it was something that might have an actual impact on her.

Am I...attracted?

To Adrien???

They gazed at each other, each lost in their own thoughts. Marinette knew she had to break this strange tension that had fallen over them, before it suffocated her.

“You changed your hair.” They said, in near-perfect unison.

They blinked at each other, startled to hear their own words echoed by someone else’s mouth.

Marinette reached up, tugging at one of her curls self-consciously, hyper-aware of her appearance in a way she hadn’t been a few moments prior. It had taken her longer than she expected to get it to fall exactly the way she wanted to, which was why she’d told Adrien to head to the party without her and asked her dad to drive her instead.

Adrien’s hand twitched, as if he were fighting the urge to fidget as well.

“It looks nice.” They both said, their faces screwing up in disbelief as it happened again.  

Once was slightly weird, a freak coincidence.

But twice?

Twice was so absurd that they both cracked up almost immediately.

“You should—have seen—the look on—your face!” Adrien clutched at his sides, gasping out the words through uncontrollable bouts of laughter.

Marinette was no better off, in stitches every time she so much as looked in his direction. “I can tell you yours wasn’t much better!”

She tried to do some approximation of it, which ignited a fresh round of laughter, causing them to collapse anew. At this point, they were both doubled over on the lawn, only just managing to keep themselves upright. Marinette knew her eye makeup was probably ruined, but she couldn’t be damned. She’d fix it later when they went back inside. For now she was content to just enjoy the moment.

Suddenly, she was struck by a thought.

“Oh no,” she gasped. “They’re gonna think we’re dating!”

Adrien straightened, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “What?”

“Félix’s friends!” She explained, her sense of urgency rising. “They said something about us dating and neither of us corrected them. What if it gets back to Kagami?”

The last traces of warmth vanished from his face at the mention of his girlfriend.

“Oh,” was all he said.

She whirled in place, her sandals skidding on the lawn. “I have to go in there and tell them!”

Adrien grabbed her arm, stopping her before she could make her way to the door.

“Marinette, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not!” She tugged herself free. “I’d feel terrible if Kagami got the wrong idea! I’m sure someone here knows her, and you know how these people talk, it’s almost certain that—”

“Marinette,” he interrupted her, this time almost sharply. “I said it was fine.”

His insistence gave her pause. She tried to read his facial expression, but he remained aloof.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “If you’re sure?”

“I am.” His tone brokered no argument, and Marinette—somewhat reluctantly—let the matter drop.

As if in some unspoken agreement, they started wandering back toward the house.  

“How is she, by the way? Kagami.” Maybe the more she reminded herself that Adrien was, in fact, quite happily dating someone—and thus already spoken for—the easier it would be to ignore how good-looking she might suddenly be finding him. Or the butterfly wings she felt beating in her stomach every time she caught a whiff of his cologne.

“She’s fine.” When he made no move to elaborate, she gave him a sidelong look, her brow furrowing. Why he wasn’t being more forthcoming with information, Marinette had no idea.

Still, she pressed on, not content to let the subject drop quite yet.

“You guys have been dating for almost a year, right? I’m surprised she didn’t come with you this summer. Did you invite her?”

Adrien avoided her eye, his silence speaking volumes. She frowned.

“Adrien Agreste! Are you trying to tell me that you didn’t even bother to invite your girlfriend to come with you on vacation? Even for a weekend?” Marinette put her hands on her hips. “Is she busy?”

He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, mumbling. “Dunno.”

“Well if she isn’t, maybe she should come and stay with you for a few days! We could take her around the lake, show her some of our favourite spots. It could be fun!” She said, warming to the idea. Although she’d never met Kagami in person, Adrien had always spoken highly of her. Over the last year he’d sent her pictures of the two of them, happily eating ice cream or looking triumphant after some fencing match or another.

Marinette had remarked at the time that they looked disgustingly cute together.

The more she considered it, having Kagami there might be exactly what she needed. Not only to serve as a reminder that her relationship with Adrien was STRICTLY PLATONIC (!) and set to remain that way, but to also—if Marinette managed to play her cards right and stick to her timeline of events—be the fourth they would need to eventually go on double dates.  

She tried to imagine the four of them enjoying a romantic candlelit dinner together. Or strolling along the boardwalk in the old part of town, she and Félix walking hand in hand, Adrien and Kagami trailing behind them.

Something about the image struck her as inexplicably incongruous, like the twang of an out-of-tune piano key.

Marinette brushed it off, moving to head through the door when Adrien held it open for her.

The throng in the foyer had thinned considerably, which made it that much easier for Chloe to spot them. Although it didn’t take a genius to figure out that she had most likely been lying in wait, judging by the way she was immediately in motion the moment they crossed over the threshold.

With the attitude of a conquering queen—or, better yet, an empress—Chloe Bourgeois cut a swathe through the crowd of partygoers, flouncing across the marble floors with the ease of someone who had been doing it their entire life.  

Her blue eyes alighted upon Adrien with a fevered intensity, bypassing Marinette entirely as she descended in a cloud of expensive perfume and meticulously styled blonde hair.

“Adrikins!” Chloe cooed, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!“

Her voice rang with an unpleasant shrillness, seeming to burrow directly into Marinette’s brain.

CHLOE used SONIC DRILL!

It’s super effective!

Marinette grimaced, rubbing at her left ear, wondering when Chloe had added disorienting sound attacks to her arsenal.

Chloe glomped on to Adrien, who bore a look of long-suffering patience.

Ah, Saint Adrien was making his reappearance at last, Marinette noted with some amusement, watching as he donned the mantle of noble martyrdom required to deal with Chloe’s attention.

“Hi Chloe...” He gave her a strained smile, making a subtle attempt to dislodge her grip. She clung on tighter in response, like a burr to a dog’s tail, forcing him to abandon the endeavour.    

“I was beginning to worry! Someone mentioned that they’d seen you around earlier, but when I couldn’t find you, I started to think you’d left without even coming to see me! Should have figured you’d be with her.” She pulled back and met Marinette’s eye.

“Dupain-Cheng.” Chloe greeted her stiffly, a much more tepid and lacklustre response. From Chloe, this kind of greeting would have almost passed for civil, were it not for the way she spoke through gritted teeth.

“Chloe.” Marinette refrained from rolling her eyes.

Satisfied that she’d done the absolute bare minimum required of her and played at civility, the blonde turned her attention back to Adrien, intent on ignoring Marinette completely. It looked like she was doing everything in her power not to pull her usual routine and say something disparaging, most likely because she knew that it would bother Adrien.

Adrien was well aware that Chloe and Marinette had what could, at best, be classified as a tolerance for one another. They only put up with each other's presence due to the fact that they were both friends with Adrien, and he hated it when they fought.

And it just so happened that not upsetting Adrien seemed to be the one interest they had in common.

Marinette knew that Chloe only put up with her because she recognized how important Marinette’s friendship was to Adrien. It also helped that Adrien had made it clear that if she pushed too hard, he would choose Marinette over her in a heartbeat. Marinette, in turn, tolerated Chloe’s presence because she knew how hard it was for Adrien to make friends, and she believed, deep down, that Chloe most likely had Adrien’s best interests at heart.

Chloe leaned in, kissing both of Adrien’s cheeks just a bit too affectionately. Marinette very deliberately did not give in to the temptation to clench her jaw.

Very, very deep down…  

Adrien had remarked once that theirs was the friendship equivalent of the cold war, with Chloe on one side and Marinette on the other, fingers constantly hovering over the red button, ready to launch missiles the moment they felt someone had stepped over the line. Which left poor Adrien in the middle to suffer from the nuclear fallout.

And so, Marinette endured Chloe glomming onto Adrien, invading his personal space, trusting that he’d figure a way out of it if he was really uncomfortable. He was a big boy, he could take care of himself.

It also left her conveniently free to scan the room, on the hunt for a certain blonde-haired, blue-eyed target of her own.

She’d always joked that Félix was the only other person to rival Gabriel Agreste for elusiveness, but this was starting to get ridiculous. She’d been here for almost two hours now, judging by the hour displayed on her phone screen, and had seen neither hide nor hair of him.

She turned to the only other person there who might possess more intel than she currently did. But before she could get a word out, Chloe steamrolled her, once again taking the reins and steering the conversation in the direction she thought most suitable.

Which as it turned out also pertained to intel Marinette didn’t happen to possess.

“So I hear you’re a free agent again? Finally tired of slumming it with the Ice Queen, huh?”

Marinette’s head snapped around to look at Adrien. He avoided her eye.

“What?” She blurted, unable to stop the words from bursting forth. “A free agent?”

Chloe raised a single, meticulously-groomed eyebrow, her eyes lighting up with a malicious sort of joy.

“What’s this…? I finally know something before the Great and Wonderful Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” She gloated, her blue eyes darting back and forth between the two of them with barely repressed glee.

“Yes, Adrikins and that girl” Chloe spat, her nose wrinkling, “broke up over a month ago now. It was all over social media. Do you live under a rock or something?”

Gobsmacked, Marinette could only gape in response.

-x-

[thepeakyfckingblinders]

The Whore || John Shelby x reader

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested: “11&19 with John boy? cause I miss him “ (I miss him too, my poor heart aches)

Summary:  n.11 & 19 from prompt list: “Please, please, please” + “I’ll burn this fucking place down” Warnings: swearing, a lot of angst, prostitution, nudity, violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape, misogynistic talk, graphic description of signs of physical abuse

Author’s notes:

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

So, this request’s been in my mind for ages, and even though I’m not happy with its final part ‘cause it sucks, I’m literally obsessed with this idea, I love it so much that I’ll probably write a long fic about it, right after Contagio, but it will depend on you babes, because, first and froemost, I need to know what you think about this piece. ⤟ IMPORTANT

Please, if you’re a victim of any kind of abuse, talk to someone who can help you, nobody should go through something like that alone.⤟ IMPORTANT 

I edited the gif and added the text, it’s not an actual scene from the show, but I thought it could be a good idea, a small detail that could be added to my works. What do you think about it? Pls, let me hear your opinions babeees ⤟ 

I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

Birmingham was somehow silent that night, John noticed the unusually empty streets around him, as his feisty pace easily led him towards a well-known destination, his confident steps resounding in between the damp walls of those sordid blocks made of innumerable overcrowded flats. The unmistakable stench of stagnant urine viciously permeated his nostrils, soon causing a disgusted expression to taint his angelic face, while he avidly took the umpteenth drag of smoke from his Cuban cigar and finally stopped his unceasing walk in front of the most renowned brothel in the entire city. For about three years by then, day after day, his life had been perilously circling the drain: things had got totally out of hand, fate had pitilessly thrown him into profound despair, giving life to an apparently endless spiral of darkness and desolation, which was gradually corroding his fragile self, brutally strangling him, rapaciously plundering each of his already strained vital breaths. And, nevertheless, it was beyond hard to blame him for such catastrophic outcomes, after all, he’d scarcely survived the battlefield, only to find himself with a handful of nothing, left alone to deal with a dead wife and four children to raise on his own, while his guts crawled with excruciating grief and ravenous acrimony for the whole world, having him develop a tendency to self-destruction that was just as concerning as it was well concealed.  As a matter of fact, in spite of his private hell, he still remained a Shelby, and a Shelby wasn’t meant to be soft, nor weak, none of them could afford to succumb to their affliction, never, not for a moment. They had to be invulnerable. 

Or, at least, they had to look invulnerable, for truth was that John was scared, utterly frightened by all those unmerciful changes.  Deep inside he felt like a hopeless, undefended child, forsaken by God and discarded to wander that grim world without any destination other than death and misery, thus his blood boiled with virulence and venom, having his heart clench with blind wrath and his devastated young soul desperately long for sort of any distorted kind of unattached affection. That was basically the main reason why his bed was incessantly warm, or more accurately, warmer than it had always been before, because, needless to say, John Shelby had actually been an authentic ladies’ man since his first cry. His stunning beauty constantly teemed on everyone’s lips in Birmingham, there was not a single woman in the whole town who hadn’t dreamt of sleeping with him at least once in her life. Therefore, John was more than happy to please them all, literally, welcoming them with wide open arms, even during his past marriage; and, on those rare times when no girl went to knock on his door, he had now grown accustomed to seek relief into whorehouses, rather than sleep alone and become an easy prey for his ferocious demons.

So he eventually ended up dropping his smouldering cigar on the uneven asphalt of the most rundown place in Small Heath, “Le Belle Donne”, an Italian house of tolerance, quite dilapidated and about to fall to pieces, but which often happened to have his favourite prostitutes. Indeed, ever since the Peaky Blinders had defeated and subjugated Sabini’s clan, they’d occupied a prominent position among the country, to the point that several other Italian gangs on their territory, including the Changrettas who owned that brothel in particular, had finally given in to the Shelbys. As a direct consequence, to put it simply, John and all his brothers had, in a very real sense, earned the full right to abuse of whatever business the wops held.

“Hey, man!”  Johnny resonantly barked as he entered the hall, maintaining a pretty intimidating attitude and a menacing look on purpose, in order to strike even greater fear in his newest flunky. “C’mon, show me what you got” That rough order cunningly glided onto his lower lip, immediately followed by his hot tongue, while his famished gaze travelled around the room, examining the face of each harlot standing there with meticulous attention, without however finding something that could come anywhere close to seriously rapture him. Robert Turrini, the whoremaster, was a bizarre bloke, for his physical appearance could be probably described as both disturbing and amusing: his revortingly corpulent stomach wobbled and his short legs dangerously stumbled, when he made haste to stand up and accommodate his toughest client. “Mr. Shelby, what an honour and a pleasure to have you back!” Those sycophant words fled his moist and malodorous mouth, and nonetheless, his stubby fingers inexorably betrayed his true thoughts, since they were either nervously torturing each other or, as only alternative, convulsively running through his greasy, mangy bangs. “Please, sir, follow me, these are for yokels and boozers, nothing to do with gentlemen like yourself” Once again, Turrini’s shrill fawning tone relentlessly grated his ears, making clear reference to the bunch of second-rate whores who could be found at the entrance; thus the lame pimp quickly moved, his hand anxiously beckoning John to tread upon his heels, then headed towards an eerily narrow corridor, so scanty that it was almost impossible to cross, if not walking on the bias. The secret lounge was illuminated only in part by a squalid red light creating a gruesome atmosphere, a dull silence tyrannically reigned into that small space, although you were not alone, but practically glued to another girl; both sitting on a minuscle sofa, your elbows touching, still none of you dared emit a single sound. Everything felt like lead upon your papier-mâché ribcage, that horrible sensation forcing your traumatized brain to involuntarily keep counting the seconds until that heinous burden would’ve potentially staved in your sternum, definitively annihilating your splintered heart. As a result, when the ramshackle door opened and a high-pitched squeak scraped your skin, you really thought to be about to die. Your torturer made his entrance, and right after him, another man came in, yet you couldn’t spot his face, since the peak of his cap designedly casted a mysterious shadow on it. “These two right here, they're real young, real fresh” Robert flaunted his goods along with a nefarious grin, rubbing his soiled paws with evident greed. “Behold the finest offering of flesh and bone on the market” A sadistic snicker repugnantly accompanied his speech, instantly causing John to frown, visibly disgruntled with the way that man deliberately talked about human beings. Luckily, it was a known fact that the middle Shelby was used to treating his women with all due respect: whether he paid them or not, he always made sure they were comfortable with him and never shrank from giving them some good time as well; therefore, a vexed glare was shot in the direction of his gross interlocutor, before his crystalline eyes briefly fluttered around the place, then bumping into your elegant figure almost at once.

Your bloodstream seemed to benumb on the spot as the stranger’s confident stare entangled yours, his rawboned features being now fully displayed, for he had lifted his chin a little in order to properly look at you, and you only, despite Clarissa’s desperate and petulant attempts to get his attention with malicious smiles and ridiculous pet names. Even though your dazed mind had just been ruthlessly brutalized by the sudden, ablaze assault of his glacial irises, a few moments were enough for you to realize how profoundly different he was from all the low-down rats who usually came through that horrible place.

Each sharp, still somehow delicate, trait of his face was brimming with delicious youthfulness, a less keen eye might have even confounded his freshness with actual naivety, but not yours; you were far too clever to make such a coarse mistake. Furthermore, the midnight-blue posh fabric of the classy suit, remarkably folding his majestic body, left gaunt doubt that he was, in all likelihood, a considerably rich man, which was beyond disorientating you, since the price to pay for some tawdry delight in that brothel was outrageously derisory, to say the least. And ultimately, as much as it killed you to conceive it, he was without question one of the most enchanting men you had ever seen, to the point that you found yourself subconsciously wondering the possible reason why a heavenly creature of his kind would’ve needed to buy a miserable hour of dissembled love. 

“There she is” That malleable murmur, filled with longing and gratification, furtively sidled past John’s roseate mouth, as its corners seductively bent upwards and his gaze persevered in its praiseworthy commitment to scrupulously linger your finest shape in sheer adoration. Lace and organdy sublimely merged on the light crimson negligee you were wearing, your immaculate form appeared as a beguiling paradox into his dilated pupils, being your long legs lecherously left exposed, while every inch of your porcelain skin, from your lean neck to your groin, was painstakingly disguised by that unholy material, dark and inscrutable, albeit thin enough to allow him to glimpse the inviting turgidity of your nipples. His breath shuddered in awe when he went back to contemplate your aphrodisiac facial features, flushed cheeks and plump lips having him ache with desire, and then your doe eyes flooded by melancholy, strangling his soul with no mercy, entrenching into his brains the treacherous conviction that, at the end of the day, he would’ve gladly dilapidated his fortune, if only to venerate you from afar. “Oi, sweetheart!” His low voice finally rumbled within the walls of that small space, overwhelmingly vibrating into your abdomen, while you forced yourself to swallow the painful lump obstructing your throat and stand up, promptly responding to his command, aware as you had become that rebelling against your pitiable destiny would’ve served no purpose at all. Holding your client’s hand behind your back, but keeping your head down during the whole route, you silently guided him up the spiral staircase to the best room in the house, like you had previously been instructed by your pimp. His jacket and hat were quickly hung on the apposite coat-rack, leaving his muscular top covered with just his white shirt and blue vest, an alluring grin was flashed in your direction and you detected a libidinous sparkle in his irises, as he healed the rift between you at a slow pace. “What should I call you, sweetheart?” He knowingly used the same flattering pet name once more, whispering that barely audible question into your ear, for he was now behind you: his large hands laid around your waist, gently making your back and his vigorous chest fit together, while his skilled mouth brushed forthwith against your nape, drawing an ardent contrail of ephemeral pecks up until your jaw. “Just y/n” You gasped in response, the marked contrast between his warmth and your bitter cold body, along with crippling dread eating you alive, caused your scrambled stomach to squirm and your eyelids to distressingly shut into a frown. “Well, that’s a pretty good one, I’m John, by the way” A lovely, yet hinted giggle fleetingly filled your ears together with that little compliment; there was no record of mockery in his tone, though, it simply sounded like he wanted to be nice to you, without any aspiration of personal gain, and you almost blushed, caught off guard and no longer used to any form of kindness. Nevertheless, it was a matter of instants before another wet, long kiss was pressed on your jawline, making you startle with evident apprehension and, at a later time, definitively back away from him, as soon as you sensed his touch abandoning your hips only to climb your sides, till he reached for your nightgown’s collar and his fingers began to fiddle with its round buttons. “No, I’ll do it!” You curtly gave notice, as you temporarily lost control of both your speech and actions, placing your hands above his in order to shrug them off, then turning to face him with short breath, your open palms shielding you. “I got it” A noticeably softer voice supplanted your preceding rudeness once you gradually metabolised how much damage your incautious reaction could’ve done.

“Aye, aye, darling, as you wish” But John just chuckled, tenderly humouring you, while his forearms jokingly lift in surrender to your commands, although, truth be told, your strange behaviour had left him a bit bewildered, well-nigh confused. Carefully moving backwards, he cockily made himself comfortable on the edge of the double bed, sitting right in front of you with splayed legs, his yearning stare never deflecting from you, and started to unbutton his waistcoat along with his shirt and undershirt, until his statuesque torso was completely nude, in all its glory, as the moon transpired through the curtains and shed its faint rays on his every contour, superbly enhancing all of his muscles.

Without reprieve, he ogled up at you in pure adoration, devastatingly astonished afresh by your dazzling beauty, eager to feel your afire flesh around his, literally hanging on your every word or move, while a provocative smirk steadily rippled his lips. Still, he kept questioning why a seraphic vision like you was slowly withering away in that authentic hell on heart, adamantly squandering your blush of youth amidst that rabble of unrestrained putridity. It made absolutely no sense, and he couldn’t get rid of that pernicious thought haunting his mind ever since he had first seen you: you looked nervous, extremely defensive, almost paralyzed with fear; you seemed so different from all the whores he’d had before, hence his instincts, however obfuscated with cupidity, were screaming that something was wrong.  And when he watched you turn your back on him again, so to avoid his penetrating gaze as you reluctantly got undressed, it was enough for him to understand that his execrable hunch was right. Nevertheless, by the time his head managed to eventually reconnect to his mouth, it was already too late, the soft textile of your nightdress ineluctably fell to your feet, leaving you naked under his starving leer.

John choked on his own breath; for the very first time, he felt like a fledgling kid at his earliest experience, no matter if nothing could be further form the truth, in some turbid, cryptic way, you were able to make him vulnerable. His craw went hellishly dry while he continued to gape at you in awe, the sinuous curves of your flawless glutes, the meandering line of your superlatively arched back covered in part by your soft hair, your tensed shoulders and your refined legs, everything about you caused his mind to go entirely black, words stifling in his throat. Yet, as soon as you moved to face him and his sight was blessed with the full view of your voluptuous figure, something altered the light in his cerulean eyes, suddenly making it dark and gloomy. His jaw slightly dropped under the weight of that violent dismay: in conjunction, an obnoxious sense of nausea cruelly shot him in the gut and blind anger virulently assailed him, for your front bust was completely martyrized.

“What the hell...” That unmeant babble died in the gelid air, his shocked orbs demarcating the strokes of your damaged silhouette: your neck and collarbone were horridly plastered with several violet fingerprints, as if someone had mercilessly strangled you over and over, greenish bruises with the shape of full palms circled both your arms, there were conspicuous signs of ligature around your tiny wrists. Worse still, his eyelids had to squeeze a little in order to bring into focus the multiple oxblood dots stigmatizing your soft breasts, until he noticed in horror how those round specks were effectively cigarettes burns; all of the oxygen bluntly withdrew from his lungs, when he dwelled on the multiple blue and black marks barbarically desecrating the protuberances of your ribs. But what irremediably drove him over the edge were the two ghastly scars digging stretched grooves in your lower stomach, in parallel with your bulging pelvic bones and down almost to your livid groin.

Prey of that deleterious humiliation, you observed raw disgust contaminating his features and, with no apparent reason, the dormant hatred you had for yourself began to ferment inside your belly. “I-I’m sorry” you forced yourself to swallow your imminent tears, unexpectedly, the awareness of not being able to please him somehow inflicted more suffering on your mangled soul “If I’m not to your taste, y-you can...” The young man quickly stood up and, before you had the chance to finish your nonsensical sentence, he readily grabbed his shirt, approaching you with dispatch, his cold irises burning with an implausible mixture of fury and concern. “I don’t fucking care right now” His voice was unsteady, rolling down his tongue in fatigued panting, as his hands hastened to wrap his shirt around your shoulders, his trembling fingers struggling to put the buttons through the eyelets  “Who did this to you?” In truth, he was talking to himself rather than with you, noticeable impatience worsening his mad tone, yet you persistently steered clear of his inquiring look, more than determined to keep your mouth shut, forasmuch as your dizzy head was already helplessly spinning, along with your heart rabidly hammering against your sore ribcage. You were having a hard time figuring out what was going on, everything around you was so confused, you didn’t even know whether to trust him or not, you only wanted to close your eyes and forget about that lucid nightmare. “I’m not asking you, for fuck’s sake! Tell me who it was!”  That searing order tersely brought you back to reality and cleared how easily his rash temper could reemerge; indeed, all of a sudden, no trace was left of that kind, cheerful boy who earlier that night had succeeded in making you genuinely blush, on the contrary, when he cupped your cheeks and vehemently shook you, in a desperate effort to get your attention, his rough, authoritative command unbendingly hit you, and the sweet child within him ended up being thoroughly smothered by the scary, ruthless gangster that he truly was. That unforeseen contact had your feet automatically stagger backwards, your eyes fell to your tiptoes and your teeth started skewering your lower lip, while your exhausted brain resorted to its last ounce of strength, thereby obligating you to spit out a bit of your sorrow. “Three months ago, the man I once called father sold me to settle one of his debts with the Italians” Your thorax seemed to shrink to the point of absurdity once you became aware that it was essentially the first time you allowed yourself to say it all out loud. However, the presence of that compassionate stranger still represented for you a substantial barrier to surmount, leading your unquiet glance to franticly move from the grime on the floor, to the broken window on your left, anywhere, but never daring to meet his. “ I tried to run away, I swear I did, but they always caught me and-” 

A large knot callously plugged the bottom of your palate, causing you to hesitate for a minute, gently rubbing your own arms, in attempt to comfort yourself . “Robert has a short fuse, he g-gets pretty brutal when you don’t cooperate” Those disenchanted considerations carried an involuntary grin, it was nothing more than a spasm, but hid the unmistakable sign of an imminent cry, and John’s attentive irises certainly did not let it go unnoticed, yet he chose to stay quiet, because the last thing he would’ve wanted in that crucial moment was to scare you even more. “He beat me to death, each time harder than the time before, and then he let those men-... He-e kept me tied to that bed for days to teach me a lesson” Copious tears were now unremittingly streaming down your flushed face, your heart aching with raw affliction, preventing you from breathing properly, one of your palms instinctively went to cover the space between your breasts, in a vain whirl to ease that excruciating grief. “Oh, God” John simply sighed, he was precariously theetering on the verge of tears as well, thick veins untamedly pumped in the proximity of his temples, till his solid shape ruinously keeled over the longest side of the bed, his elbows piercing his own thighs, as he hid behind his clenched fists and finally permitted himself to indulge a couple of muffled sobs. Innumerable atrocities had clouded his eyes and soul during his brief life, he himself was capable of unspeakable acts of cruelty, still, that was absolutely intolerable, hearing your story was taking a terrible toll on him. Try as he might, he couldn’t conceive how somebody could have been so hopelessly evil, to abuse in such a heinous way a defenseless creature as pure as you were. That thought was irretrievably disturbing him, rancorously eroding his bowels, almost depriving him of his sanity.

“U-until I stopped fighting them”  Your last, indescribably anguished whisper struck the fatal blow, it unrelentingly plunged into his chest, sending an unbearable jolt of pain through his poisoned veins. For a brief instant, his expression, together with yours, harshly turned into a mask made of neat despair, as if your synapsis had been ravelled and both of you were enduring the exact same ache, at the exact same moment.

“I’ll fucking kill him!” Then, all at once, something apopletic inside him violently detonated, he berserkly stood up, roughly tripping over the beside table and everything placed on it. “Fucking kill that filthy bastard with my own two hands, bloody hell!” His hoarse yells made your bruised skin cringe and his furious steps covered the whole length of the room in the space of a scant minute; he was literally seething with murderous fits of rage, teeth grinding with irrepressible choler. “No!” your desperate voice erupted afresh and you hurried to reach for him, your hands unconsciously enveloping his cheekbones “Please, please, John, please, stop!” For the first time, his name slipped out of your aching throat in between those pathetic pleads, your wrists forced him to look at you, in attempt to dissuade him from his homicidal purposes; the mere thought of the potential disastrous consequences to his calamitous ire totally asphyxiated you, rampant panic assaulted your frail mind and, soon after, you found yourself hyperventilating and simultaneously rambling a bunch of incoherent words, your fingers gradually tightening their grip on him. “He’s gonna get so angry at me, he’s gonna- he-he’s...” “I’m a fucking Shelby, he does not draw a damn breath unless I say so” He firmly grabbed your chin with just two of his fingers, guiding your depleted pupils to entirely focus on his confident stare, and he growled that undisputable fact a span away from your nose. Petrified by that new awareness, you fell utterly silent, only gawking in his direction, while he put his undershirt back on with ease and rapidly grasped his cap. “Just stay here, do you hear me? Don’t move until I come back” An incandescent kiss was impulsively pressed to your forehead, no other words were spent, before he disappeared behind the door of your private hell. When your persecutor saw his special guest unyieldingly storming towards his desk with a truculent expression exuding fervent disappointment, he jumped on his feet, ready to find a solution to whatever problem had possibly arisen; one thing was sure, he never would’ve guessed what was about to happen. “Mr. Shelby, what’s wron-” John’s fist savagely collided with his jaw, nipping his cloying speech in the bud, without giving Turrini a second to process what was going on, another punch pitilessly smote him, and then another one, and then another, until hot, plenteous blood gushed from his multiple wounds. “You son of a bitch”   Animalistic groans left his rabid maws, sheer hate rushing through his brains, as he violently tossed him to the ground, immediately beginning to kick his torso with all of his brute force. “Mercy! I beg of you, sir, have mercy!” His victim’s prayers and harrowing screams barely titillated his ears, everything he could think about was your tragically marred body, hence an unbridled desire to give him a taste of his own medicine completely took over. “Where was your mercy when you were torturing her?”  Expertely holding his hat in the most efficient way, in a fury, John went down on his sacrificial lamb, promptly disfiguring just one side of his face, in order to take a quite theatrical pause from his wicked work.

“When she was imploring you to stop?”  Robert was now crying out loud, overwhelmed by that merciless agony, reduced to just invoke the glacial scynt of death, since nothing in his entire miserable existence had ever caused him more intense pain, than the coarse perception of a finely sharpened razorblade brutishly lacerating his flesh once more, inch by inch.

“Now bend your ear to this” despite his wrenching laments, John rudely lift him up by seizing the blood stained collar of his jacket “if anyone else but me goes near her fucking room again, I’ll burn this fucking place down!” And with that first, deadly threat the pimp’s head was brutally slammed into the wall, an umpteenth whine of contrition escaping his mouth filled with blood, nevertheless, no time was left for redemption.

“You lay a finger on her again” his skull was doggedly crashed into the bricks once again, a crimson spatter smeared the pale plaster covering them “I will break your neck” John’s knuckles clasped, having his red right hand effectively strenghten its hold on his neck, nearly killing him on the spot. However, fortunately for the whoremaster, Johnny would’ve not put an end to his sufferings, nor he could've simply taken you away, deep inside, he knew he needed to discuss it with his family, first and foremost, with Thomas, for the unstable equilibrium reached by the Peaky Blinder was far too fragile to start a new war against the Italians. Thus, with great difficulty, he forced himself to keep his mind clear and put a lid on his beastly instinct. “From now on, no one of you dirty swines is allowed to even look at her”  Throwing him to the floor, the middle Shelby delivered one last kick straight to his fat abdomen, and disrespectfully spit on him, marking with his salt slaver the end of his brutalized prey’s calvary. “By order of the Peaky Blinders”   As soon as the crackling door snapped open, your heart seemed to explode, your eyelids bolted with pure fear, whilst you pulled your knees closer to your clavicles, an ancient prayer lingering your lips together with heavy breaths, as you prepared for the worst. But the worst never came. “Y/n, hey, calm down. It’s all right” John’s husky voice echoed in your ears, and, you could’ve sworn it, that was, without the slightest doubt, the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Your head abruptly tilted in his direction, an oxymoric mixture of fear and hope twinkling into your watery irises, deep pants still rocking your tiny self. “It’s me, it’s just me” Keeping his arms up to indicate his innocuous purpose, he carefully approached you. Almost immediately, you noticed the several scarlet handprints staining his pale top, eloquent sign that he had tried to wipe his palms on that ivory material as best as he could. Yet, you were so profoundly relieved to see his friendly face, that, to be honest, the sight of fresh blood didn’t upset you at all. It was like you had fallen into a fugue state, every single thing around you was so distant, your numb senses were only able to concentrate on John’s lean silhouette kneeling in front of you. “ No one will hurt you anymore, darling” his hands gently went to caress your thighs, while his worried gaze tirelessly sought yours and he spoke those soft, reassuring words “You need to trust me”. And you did want to put all of your faith in that young man. His delicate flair easily awakened you from that ostensible slumber, building a rousing fire inside your belly; without a thought about your unforeseen actions, you threw your arms around his strong neck, your knees producing a dry sound as they collided with the wooden pavement, still you didn’t care and you held him tight, letting out loud cries and drowning into his muscular chest, finally revelling in the feeling of that warm embrace. Soon, he entangled his callous fingers with your velvety locks, subconsciously narrowing his solid shoulders, as to shield your frangible figure from the outside world. “I'll get you out of here soon, I promise”

tag list: @spidey-pal​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @stassaurus​​, @peachlle​, @livvtheangel​, @myjbphase​, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest​, @vxxn128​, @keithseabrook27​, @spaghettirogers​​, @writingstudent​​, @hp-hogwartsexpress​​

[foursideharmony]

The Cat, the Prince, and the Doorway to Imagination (Chapter 7)

Summary: The final confrontation with the wicked White Warlock!

Pairings: Platonic/familial LAMP/CALM, Platonic/familial DLAMPR

Content Warnings: More Remus being Remus. Violence and threats of violence. Someone slowly being covered in ice.

Word Count: 3,675

Read on AO3: here

“Huh,” Remus said, apparently lost for words (which was unusual in itself). “So now what?”

Janus blinked. “I'm not sure.”

“Which means you are sure, right?” Remus said with a great big wink.

Before Janus could explain for the umpteenth time that it wasn't that simple (and never had been), there came a loud growling sound from nearby, and something huge and brown came crashing out of the brush and charged them. Janus barely managed to dive out of the way of what he quickly realized was an entire bear. Remus, always a big believer in the principle that the best defense is a good offense, dodged it by leaping straight up, and used the momentum of his downward arc to add force to a massive swing of his morningstar. The blow knocked the beast off its feet, and it threw great arcs of snow into the air as it skidded to a stop.

“That was fun!” Remus declared, resting the weapon on his shoulder. “Hey, want me to skin it for you? A nice bearskin rug will keep you warm so you don't have to crawl under a rotting log to hibernate!”

Janus had no time to muse upon how accurately he had predicted Remus's behavior, because a motion at the corner of his eye told him that the bear was not totally out of play yet. It was made of far sterner stuff than the dwarf had been and had only been stunned by the blow, and was now shaking itself awake. But rather than lunging at them again, or even fleeing back into the trees, it hoisted itself into a sitting position, clutched at its head with its paws, and began to whimper.

“Oh, stop it!” Remus said petulantly. “You attacked us, remember? Roman calls me violent, but I would just like to point out that so far, 100% of the creatures from this winter wonderland of his have tried to kill us!”

Much to Janus's surprise (though perhaps it shouldn't have been), the bear pivoted on its rump and said: “I was only protecting Mr. Logan!”

Janus smiled...now this was a situation he could deal with. He stepped forward, made Remus silence himself just to be on the safe side, and said, “Why, we would never harm Logan! We're some of his closest friends, after all!”

Still rubbing its—his—head with one paw, the bear rolled around until it was standing on the other three. “Then sirs, you must be the help he sent for!”

“We are! We got his message! But alas, it seems we were too late to prevent this.” Janus gestured at the crystallized Logan.

“It's not your fault, sir,” said the bear. “I was supposed to protect him from the White Warlock. And now I've got to go back and tell the others what happened.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea. But first, why don't you tell...” Janus trailed off, realizing the Remus—still silenced—was jumping up and down behind him and frantically waving his free hand. He released him. “Yes, what is it?”

“I know what this is!” Remus said gleefully. “Roman's gone and recreated the first Narnia book!”

“I never realized you were...into that sort of thing.”

“Are you kidding? With all the descriptions of war and violence and disturbing religious subtext? Not to mention a happy ending where everyone dies! What's not to love?”

“Even after all these years, you still retain the capacity to surprise me, Remus. However, I doubt the same aspects are what holds appeal for your brother, so try not to get too excited.” Janus turned back to the bear. “As I was saying, I think it might be a good idea for you to tell us what happened here. Who did this to Logan?”

“The White Warlock, of course, sir!”

“A warlock instead of a witch?” said Remus. “That's a new one...Roman usually loves fighting witches. He has this one recurring antagonist, the Dra—”

“Yes, Remus, we are all aware of the Dragon Witch.”

“Begging your pardon, sirs, but I think this Roman of yours is the White Warlock. That's the name the others called him back at the Stone Table.”

Remus did a spit-take. He hadn't been drinking anything, of course, but it was hardly beyond his capabilities (or his inclination) to generate something within his mouth entirely for the purpose of spitting it out. It looked like used motor oil. “Roman made himself the bad guy? That's definitely a new one!” He was grinning, but it was a rather fixed grin, and his eyes darted around under a furrowed brow.

“You said you were going back to the others,” Janus said to the bear. “Take us with you.”

Virgil, for once, felt genuinely useful: He had volunteered for the first watch of the night. Hushwing the Owl had shown him a tree he could climb from which he could scan the entire western and southern approach to the hill. It was a clear night and the moon was pretty close to full, and its light turned the snow into a stark bluish canvas against which any sort of moving shadow was plainly visible. Thus, as the ten o'clock hour approached and a large shuffling shape emerged from the trees to the west, Virgil looked not directly at it but at the silhouette it cast on the ground. It was definitely a bear and definitely had riders, one of whom was wearing a bowler hat. Good enough, even with the odd distortion of light and shade that seemed to sit between the forms of the two humans. He made the hooting call Hushwing had taught him which meant “Friendly approaching” and clambered down from his perch in order to go glower at Janus.

The climb took longer than he would have liked in the dark, and by the time he got back to the crown of the hill, the party had already arrived and was being greeted and offered blankets and a bit of warmed-over stew. Stoutpaws had apparently collapsed and fallen asleep right there on the hilltop...as Virgil supposed he would, after an entire day of running. Janus (ugh) was being helped over to the rebuilt campfire. And Logan...

Someone lunged at Virgil. Flight won, as it usually did, and he skittered backward several steps, only to realize that it was Patton he was flinching away from, and Patton was crying. “Shit...sorry...startled...” he mumbled, opening his arms and letting the Moral Side fling himself into them. He was shaking with sobs. “Patton...what happened?”

“R-R-Roman d-did something awful t-to Logan!”

The cluster of Narnians seeing to the arriving group parted. At first, Virgil couldn't tell what he was looking it—the object was translucent and oddly shaped, and moonlight and torchlight played over its surface and through its interior in ways that prevented him from focusing on its edges...until a chance flicker brought the details into clarity.

His head swimming, his thoughts useless, Virgil slipped from Patton's arms and dropped to his knees. He couldn't stop staring at it.

At Logan, frozen in crystal.

A murder . He was looking at a murder.

“Hell of a thing, isn't it?” said a screeching voice behind him. It was the sort of thing that ordinarily would provoke an instant reaction in Virgil (and that voice in particular would give a huge boost to Fight), but he was just too stunned. “As soon as Janus warms up enough that he's not going to drop off into a snake-coma, we'll all sit down and work out what to do about it. I can't wait to tell all of you my idea!”

Something in Virgil's brain finally lurched into motion, but all he could manage was a half-hearted glare back over his shoulder and a mumbled “What are you doing here?”

“Well, la-dee-dah, Panic-Depressive, I didn't know Thomas's Creativity needed permission to visit the Imagination.”

Virgil decided—to the extent that he was capable of deciding anything in the moment—that he could only cope with one atrocity at a time. He brushed Remus off and turned back to Patton. “Are you okay?” Patton shook his head emphatically. “Yeah, okay, dumb question.” In a way, Virgil was grateful for Remus's presence, since severe annoyance was usually a pretty strong barrier between himself and panic. “Let's...just...gather around the fire, so we can get our discussion going the instant De—Janus is up to it.”

They did. Janus sat on a boulder less than a yard from the fire, gazing rather glassily at it. The Narnians had given him a dark woolen cloak, and he had been engaged in an unsettlingly animalistic ritual: alternately spreading the cloth wide like wings, catching heat from the flames, and then wrapping it around himself to absorb the warmth. He glanced up, more or less, as the others approached. “So I assume you've all been made aware of the depths of depravity to which our dear Roman has sunk in his quest for...whatever it is he's questing for these days.”

“Roman's not depraved!” Patton said in a tone that suggested he had expected the accusation. He took his own seat across from Janus. “He's just...I don't know what exactly is going on with him right now, but he's not depraved!”

“Patton...” Virgil said, choosing to remain standing for the time being, “...he turned Logan into stone. There's no way to sugar-coat that.”

“It could have been an accident!”

“Patton...”

“It could have! He made a point of sparing Muricata's tree! I can't square that with the idea of him doing that to one of us on purpose!”

“Pat, listen. This?” Virgil mimicked the Logan-statue's outflung arm. “Is a defensive posture.” He started pacing. “Which means he saw it coming. Which means Roman telegraphed that he was going to do it, which means it was on purpose.”

Patton's eyes started to well up again. “I just wish I knew why,” he said.

“We'll be sure to ask him when he comes here to kill the rest of us in the morning,” Virgil said, rolling his eyes. “Who knows? He might even answer. The more important question is what to do about it. Can we change Logan back?”

“Ooh! Ooh! Pick me! I have an idea!” said Remus, who had been watching the argument between Patton and Virgil with the glee of an obsessive tennis fan. “When he shows up tomorrow to kill us all, I sneak up behind him and clonk him on the head! Once he's knocked out, primary control of the Imagination will automatically pass to me! Then I can make this story go my way, and I guess you can hash out your issues with Roman afterward or whatever.”

There was dead silence for a moment. Then Janus shifted in his cloak. “Let's make that Plan...” He started counting silently on his fingers, and manifested a few more hands to get to the number he wanted. “X. Plan X.”

“Can we make it Plan Triple-X?” Remus said, waggling his eyebrows.

“If we reach that level of desperation, I'm sure we'll be happy to let you do just whatever you want,” said the Dishonest Side. “In the meantime...something less drastic first, perhaps?”

“Logan's original plan,” Virgil said cautiously, “was to let Roman catch sight of you, hoping that it would shock him out of this downward villainy spiral he's stuck in.”

Janus looked taken aback for a split second, almost like a micro-flinch. “Well...” he said after a beat, “...far be it from me to question the soundness of one of Logan's ideas...” He let the end of the sentence hang in the air like an icicle.

Remus lost interest in the conversation and began searching the area for things to put in the fire.

“If it makes you feel any better, Scales, I was against the whole thing,” said Virgil. “But you're here now, and it's not like we have any other ideas.”

“Well, as long as I have your vote of confidence I know we'll do just swimmingly.”

Remus dropped a pine cone on the fire and giggled as it ignited with a series of explosive pops.

“H-hey, guys,” Patton said with a slight quaver. “Stop sniping at each other. This isn't about you two. It's about...well, all of us, really.” He swallowed, and when he continued his voice was stronger, more authoritative. “It's about Roman, and because it's about him it's about our whole family. We have to cooperate. Now then, Janus, if you're skeptical of Logan's plan, why don't you tell us why so we can figure out something else?”

Janus did his very best impression of a deer in headlights for a moment. Then he recovered his composure, cleared his throat, and said “I may have been exaggerating. Am I correct in thinking that the idea is to show Roman his idea of a villain so he presumably stops trying to be one?”

“Something like that,” Virgil mumbled.

Emboldened, Remus stuck a twiggy branch in the fire until it lit up and waved it in the air like a pennant.

“That's hardly a kind view of me,” Janus continued, “but I've heard of worse stratagems. Might I suggest a few...refinements?”

“Guess we can't stop you.”

“Virgil, be nice! We'd love to get your input, Janus.”

“Thank you, Patton. Remus! Pay attention; this concerns you as well.”

Remus, who had been on the point of touching the burning branch to his own hair, tossed it aside and plunked down onto a log, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands cupping his face. “Fire away, Jay-jay!”

Janus took a medium-long look at the ensorceled Logan, and began.

Dawn came all too early and with it, the bellow of a war horn. Startled awake, the Sides lurched to pull on clothes and scrambled out of the hillside shelter to see what they were up against.

At their previous meeting, Roman had been accompanied by an entourage. This time...he had brought an army. Perhaps five thousand strong, they massed around the foot of the hill, blocking off any retreat except by air...and the presence of Dwarven archers among the ranks ensured that any creature attempting to escape via flight would fail as well. The good Narnians, outnumbered nearly two hundred to one, clustered at the crown of the hill, facing grimly outward and wondering when the charge would come. The Sides stayed near the middle of the group at first, protected and almost entirely screened from view.

Roman, almost too brilliant to look at in his snow-white suit and icy jewels, detached himself from his throng and marched up toward them. “Showtime,” Janus muttered.

“Yesterday,” the self-styled King of Narnia proclaimed, “we issued an ultimatum to this company here assembled. Now we return to hear your decision and respond to it. Do you or do you not swear fealty to the Crown of Narnia?”

The Narnians, per the plan, stood firm and did not speak.

“We asked for your reply!” Roman snarled. “Where are my fellows? Have they abandoned you?”

“No, we haven't!” Patton said. The Narnians stood aside to let him through, followed by Virgil...and Logan. “And we're not surrendering either! You've taken things way too far, Roman, and it is not okay!”

Roman said nothing, staring dumbfounded at Logan. “You seem surprised to see me in my current condition,” said the Logical Side. “Your enchantment wore off after what I have calculated to be two hours, forty-seven minutes, and eleven point three four seconds.”

“That's impossible!” Roman shouted. “The transformation is permanent until counteracted!”

“Perhaps your control over the Imagination is not as absolute as you have heretofore assumed. Patton believes...actually, I will allow him to explain. Patton?”

“It's because you're abandoning your calling, Roman! Thomas doesn't want a wicked Creativity! Hurting your own creations for the sake of a story is one thing, but hurting us? You're turning into something that Thomas would never allow to be in charge of his Imagination!”

“Yeah, and it's really throwing a wrench into my plans!” said Remus, suddenly springing out of the crowd to Roman's shock. “What are you doing , bro? You can't be the evil twin! Because then I have to be the good twin, and I can't go shaving my mustache now! I just got it the way I want it! I don't even know how to be good!”

“You—! What are you all playing at?” Roman said, backing away slightly. He leveled a scandalized finger at Remus. “Working with him ...this is exactly why...but never mind. You will surrender to me—all of you!—or none of these foolish creatures you have befriended will survive the day!”

“I know you don't mean that,” Patton said softly “You didn't even really kill the Dryad's tree yesterday. You want to be the hero, Roman. So be the hero . Take off that crown, put down the wand, and let's talk.”

Roman's face became pensive. He was considering...no, he was listening for something, and then he stepped forward again. “You'd like that, wouldn't you?” he said. The wand swished through the air. The other Sides shouted in alarm, but no one turned to stone. Patton, however, wobbled, his feet literally frozen to the ground in a thick coating of ice.

The ice began to creep up his legs.

“Surrender,” Roman hissed. “Swear fealty to your King. Or watch him freeze.”

“Guys...” Virgil said.

Someone began to clap slowly, but the claps were muffled as if by gloves. Which was exactly the case. “Oh, bra-vo, Roman,” said Janus, dropping the Logan illusion. “You're finally doing for yourself. Using your power to take what you want. I couldn't be prouder.”

“You!” Roman gawked, even more appalled than he had been at Remus's presence. Then his face split in a grin of triumph. “Ha! I knew my enchantment hadn't worn off! Now will you yield to me, or stand by while Patton suffers a similar fate?”

“Yes!” Janus said with the merest hint of a hiss. “That's just the way! Show them all what you are capable of when slighted!”

“Shut up!” Roman said, and for the first time, his rapidly twitching expressions lighted on uncertainty . “Your input is not welcome here!”

“Clearly not; why I daresay you've supplanted me and Remus both with your villainy.”

“I said shut up!”

“Roman...” said Patton as the ice slithered up toward his hips, “...why are you doing this?”

“BECAUSE SOMEONE HAS TO!” Roman wailed. “Because you and Thomas lost all perspective...you invited him to the table...and all I wanted was a simple adventure where I knew who the bad guy was...and then it turned out to be me ! Even the Imagination started pushing me out of the hero role!”

“Pushing you!” Patton repeated. “So you don't want this!”

“And now you're even working with Remus! You'd rather have him on your side than...than...”

Remus made a loud scoffing noise. “Dream on, bro! For your information, I invited myself! They wouldn't have let me stick around if you weren't acting worse than me! Think about that , why don't you!”

“Roman, darling,” said Janus, approaching slowly with his hands up in a gesture of appeasement, “what makes you think anyone has to be the villain?”

“Every story needs a bad guy,” Roman insisted, backing away.

“That's not true,” said Patton, a mite breathlessly as the ice began to squeeze his chest. “What about all those stories where the conflict comes from misunderstanding? I think that's what's happening here. You're not understanding us or we're not understanding you or both.”

“Look, man, I get it,” Virgil offered, though his calm tone was belied by the constant reverberation of the Tempest Tongue. “I know what it feels like to think you have to be the bad guy. This is me, right? But we got over that, and we can get through this too. Take the enchantments off Patton and Logan and let's all figure it out together. You said yourself stories in the Imagination can take on a life of their own. That doesn't mean they're always telling the truth.”

“But, you know,” said Janus, examining his fingertips. “Your choice, Your Majesty.”

Roman looked from Virgil, to Patton (iced up to his neck) to Remus and Janus, to the whole of Narnia around them. His face twisted up into a terrifying snarl and he stalked forward once again. He raised his wand. Virgil put himself between Roman and Patton (not that there was much more that could be done to the Moral Side), but when he was only feet away from them, Roman suddenly flung his crown to the ground with a shrieking sob and brought the wand down on it. And in an instant, the wand was his sword (and always had been, they realized) and the blade struck the large diamond, shattering it into a thousand shards of ice.

Golden mist rose out of the splintered gem, coiling and flowing, and washed over Roman from his feet up. As it went, it dragged a second mist, bluish-silver, out of him as if plucking hairs by the roots. Roman cried out in pain as the power of the White Witch was scrubbed out of him by the power of Aslan. Both mists spun around each other until they reached a height of several yards, at which point there was a soft explosion and they rocketed away from each other. The Witch's power soared off in a northerly direction, while the Lion's made an arc and landed in the woods nearby.

The ice covering Patton fractured away, and he sagged in relief. “Roman...?” he said.

The Prince turned a plaintive look on him before collapsing to the snow.

[bedbathbrainfart]

Yael and Mulwarra

Hello readers! My apologies that this post is late, it will be the last post in the storytelling series other than my concluding remarks. Thanks for reading!

“Yael and Mulwarra” in Ancient Tales for Modern Kids Stories From Far Away Places. Illust. Vesna Krstanovich and John Mardon. 43-52, Toronto: Key Porter Books, 2000.

Summary:

Yael and Mulwara is an Australian tale about a bird spirit who lives in the sky world, and knows little about humans despite being half human himself. For the spirits who live in the sky world humans are clumsy creatures who lack grace and power. One day during his flying, Yael notices a rather graceful human walking along a cliff and watches as she slips and falls off. Yael rushes over and catches her mid-fall, returning her to safety on the solid ground. Once the girl regains her senses she asks “where am I? And who are you?” Yael explains that he is a bird spirit who can fly, and he saved her from falling off the cliff. The girl introduces herself as Mulwara, and soon the two begin to get along quite well. Yael asks to show Mulwara the world, and does so by holding her while he flies high above clouds showing her all of the beauties from above that she would not otherwise see. The two discover their shared love of nature and fall in love. Yael takes Mulwarra back up into the sky world to meet his father Yarnu, who is very displeased at Mulwara’s presence as humans are forbidden in the sky world. Yarnu was the leader of the sky world, and tried to trick his son into dropping Mulwarra back onto earth to no avail. The two leave the sky world without Yarnu’s blessing and are very disheartened. Yael decides to return to the spirit world by himself to consult his father. His father is pleased and claims Yael has returned to his senses, thinking Yael has abandoned Mulwara. However Yael instead asks for Yarnu to use his power to change Yael from a bird-spirit into a full human. Yarnu is enraged and cannot believe the audacity of his son, he gives a resounding no to Yael.

After some time and deliberation Yael approaches his father with his request again, and his father agrees. With Mulwarra in his arms, Yael stands prepared for his father to cast his magic unto him and turn him into a human. This will leave Yael forbidden from the sky world forever, he will not be able to return but accepts his fate. Yarnu turns Yael into a human and gently guides his son and Mulwarra down to the earth. Upon their arrival back to earth Yael and Mulwara are excited and Mulwara wants Yael to meet her family. When they go to leave however Yael tumbles over, not used to using his human legs yet and has quite a bit of trouble walking. After gaining some stability it was time to meet Mulwara’s family, who are all incredibly suspicious of Yael. Yael has different customs than most humans, and some human customs are also very off-putting for Yael - such as eating poultry. The family eventually asks the two of them to leave, which they do very sadly. The two walk together to the beach, and speak softly to each other wondering if they will ever be accepted by the others’ families and if they could love one another for a long time. While sitting, they notice a large colourful glow coming from the Ocean, it is Yarnu, Yael's father. Yarnu comes to the earth and very quickly spreads a warm blue light over Yael and Mulwarra, they watch as their feet turn to tails and Yarnu tells them he wishes them the most happiness in a place where they can be happy together. The two now-merfolk are ecstatic and lunge into the water, swimming and splashing until they disappear into the horizon forever.

Analysis:

Let me just start off by saying that this story is amazing and it was easily one of my favourites to tell. It is full of adventure and action when told, and the kids absolutely loved it. The best moments in telling this story came at the very end, when Yael and Mulwarra become merfolk and get to live happily ever after in the ocean. I found that this story worked for just about every age level being that it does take about 20 minutes to fully tell. The older kids found the adventures and scariness of Yarnu’s wrath to be really exciting and intriguing, the younger kids hung onto other details like how Yael needed help to walk once he was a human. What everyone picked out as interesting was neat to see in the classroom, kids brains are so cool! Now the story itself had TONS of symbolism throughout it that most if not all of the kids would not have picked up on in the same way adults would, but still understood those small changes. The biggest example in the entire story is that Yael and Mulwarra are both transgender.

Yael is half-bird-half-human and so he has legs like a human but wings like a bird, and a bird-like face. Ther narrative that begins the story tells us that spirits from the sky world see humans as undesirable, that they are clumsy and slow and have nothing to offer of value. Yael did not think these things of Mulwarra though. Firstly we see the immediate connection and that Yael comments on how he has never felt so free with anyone else before, Mulwarra agrees the same. Eventually Yael decides to ask his father to essentially transition into a human from his bird-spirit body, and is met by disdain from his father who does not agree that Yael should become a human. This is devastating for Yael as he can’t be with someone he loves very much. Mulwarra feels similarly and after Yael’s transition she too receives a poor reaction from her family upon introducing Yael to them.This narrative is incredibly similar to many of the coming out stories of transgender youth heard today. Someone comes out to their family members, is met with a negative or un-accepting reaction, and is forced to live as someone they do not want to be or to stay away from those who do not accept them.

Children’s literature does not often represent transgender people, not outwardly, so I found this story to be remarkable in that both characters were made to obviously be transitioning. It is a great way to introduce kids to the LGBTQ community, as many adults and educated are often fearful of explaining to younger audiences that people can love people even if they’re different from one another. However despite there being representation of transgender characters there is also the romanticization of transphobia and the trauma associated with family disapproval. Both families ultimately at first reject their children when they approach them with new partners, and this is romanticized when emphasis is placed on the idea of Yael and Mulwarra running away together. This is a common romance trope used in writing but it must be made clear that there is nothing romantic about being disowned and shunned by your own family. To follow this and add to the romanticization, at the very end of the tale Yarnu reappears with a sudden urge to support his son. This comes after telling Yael that he would be banished for life, his lifestyle choices were unacceptable, that he was no longer a part of the original family he had come from. This is a confusing shift in tone as readers by this point are convinced that Yarnu does not support his son.

Ultimately I found that this story was great for older audiences in the grade 4-6 range, but could easily be modified to be suitable for younger listeners as well. Having a story with marginalized main characters (even in fantasy) helps to show kids that there are many diverse people in the world. I found telling this story to be incredibly fun and challenging, the tale itself requires lots of acting and animation to make it come to life. This was great as it made me harness my best acting skills and pay close attention to what skills would need improving for my public speaking. Overall this story taught me the importance of animation and knowing your audience.

[yandere-wishes]

Genie and the Savanclaw boys

So this was someting I wrote to get me out of my sour mood. Latly I haven’t been feeling to great. So I decided to wrote some platonic scenarios between my persona Genie and Jack, Ruggie and Leona, please let me know what you thought of this, I spent roughly six hours on it.

A quick recap of Genie's powers

Vision--  Genie can see small glimpses of a person's past. "Past Vision 2/4" occurs when Genie comes into direct contact with a person's possession (it could be inanimate or their darlings), this allows her to see a quick "video" of their past which can last up to 2 minutes. "Past Vision 4/4" is a longer version of the previous power. For her to be able to view an in detailed vision of a person's past, she must first have experienced a "Past Vision 2/4" of them and this power can only be unlocked while she's in her lamp. Think of it as downloading a video and only being able to watch the first two minutes until you're in "a room with a sort of significance to you." Due to this power also affecting her, Genie is sometimes forced to relive traumatizing events that have occurred to her in the past one thousand years.

Maniacal File-- Note that all of Genie's powers are based on manipulating the "yandere side" of people and or events. Maniacal file lets Genie create multiple scenarios or events for how a person under a yandere influence may act. Think of this as someone having a multitude of one-shots or stories about one particular "character". Now, these "files" allow her to do two different things. One being able to manipulate the person to commit various acts, such as murder, kidnapping amongst other macabre deeds. Two, she's able to mimic almost anything a that a person who's file she "owns" can do. Of course for this to work, the files first have to be shrunk to the size of a USB and inserted into her encephalon manually (or with the use of a bit of magic). The more files she has on someone the better she understands them and the better she can help them with their "wishes", there is also a sentimental viewpoint to these "files". Since Genie is very anti-social and withdrawn these fils are sorta like her "friends". For her to obtain a person "files" she will need to either see them perform a sort of "yandere like" act, stalk them to better understand them or/and have a very in-depth and detailed conversation with them.

Bloody Background-- Certain environments (like the entirety of the Savanclaw dormitory) trigger "bloody background" which always Genie to see multiple "escape routs" or "attack routs". These routes can be used for hiding, stalking and multiple other things.

Jack Howl

Genie’s eyes landed on the warn out beat up door. Scratch marks ranging in size, were left on the wooden entrance, each one a declaration of war. The purple-haired Jinn traced her long slender fingers over a random set of claw marks, debating whether or not to enter the Jackel’s den. For a split second her vision flashed, the ground morphed from marble to rough rock, bones of wild animals littered the ground, the door had disappeared and in its place was the mouth of a pitch-black cave. Screams of terror scorched the air followed by maniacal laughter… She'd seen this place before, stood on the very same flooring and heard the same disparate cries o despair.  “Ten more seconds and then the roar” she whispered. But the visions never last that long, it shattered into a thousand tiny shards and scattered away. Genie once again stood in front of the battered door. Inside she could hear the low grunts and huffed breaths of the ill-tempered first year that resided within. There was no reason for her to enter, she had no need nor business to invaded his privacy like this, her intentions boarded on plain rude…but the curiosity of the matter was eating her alive. She had to know!

Jack Howl first year Savanclaw student with a knack for getting into fights. He had no friends, never showed interest in a darling and the only words he ever spoke where curses and threats. Due to his harsh and brutish manner, Genie had never been able to receive a type three profile on him. Sure she knew all his attack moves and strategies by heart and could predict any action he would partake before he even knew it himself. But that left the biggest question unanswered...what kind of darling did he desire?

Based on pure analysis she could take an educated guess and say a darling whose temper was even shorter than his and who would beat up a defenseless person for kicks. But there were so many "what ifs.." maybe he liked a girl who was the opposite of him. Or maybe someone brave enough to stand in his way and tell him to stop his meaningless fits of rage. All these questions made the young girl's mind race with potential suiter for the boy.

Hesitantly the Jinn pushed on the door, it creaked as it was shoved out of her path. "Um...J-Jack", she counted her heartbeats a thing most Genii tend to do to pass the time. One heartbeat, two--

"GET OUT!" A water bottle flew in her direction, hitting the left side of her face. Ok so maybe she didn't know every move as confidentially as she had thought. "Ow!!" a court whine came after, followed by a stream of tears. Before Genie knew it she had fallen to the floor legs splayed to either side of her and loud sobs escaping from her mouth. The bruise on her head where to waterbottle had hit her pulsed with pain each time her heart beated. She frantically tried to dry the tears with her wrists to no avail. This was not what was suppose to happen, but then again had she expected anything better?

"Hey cut that out" Jack kneeled next to her frame, roughly grabbing both her wrists in one large callused hand. She tried to wiggle out of his grasp for a second debating wheater to kick or headbutt him. Slowly her white hair aggressor lifted his other hand to her face and wiped away her tears. "hey hey no more crying ok? You're going to be alright got it?" His voice was rough and demanding but it held a gentle undertone.

It took a while but eventually, Genie's tears stopped and her sobs died down. When the room had fallen into a semi-comfortable silence jack spoke again. "What the hell was up with barging into my room? Are you trying to get beat up?"

Genie casted her gaze downwards and took in a shack breath. 1 heartbeat, 2 heartbeats, 3 heartbeats...

"I wanted to...to-to talk to you..." Her voice shook with uncertainty and cracked from the strain the crying fit had left on her vocal cords.

"What for?" Jack glared at her, a snarl spread across his lips and his grip on her wrists tightened. "Don't tell me a useless pipsqueak like you want to pick a fight with me?"

In that second a strategy started to map out in her brain, Millian old gears turning and formulating words, tailoring them together to generate sentences. She swiftly lifted her eyes and locked her blood-red orbs with his golden ones.

"I-I've seen you fight, multiple times actually and I...I um came up with some strategies and suggestions for how you can improve...not that you're not tremendous I mean sorta good, already but...but um I can help you improve...if if you want that um that is."

Jack's eyes bore into her soul for a solid moment, he tossed her hands aside savagely. Getting up he stomped in the opposite direction, his bushy snow-white tail smacked her beauty in the face. He paused for when he reached his punch bag, grabbing the role of hand wrap, reapplying it to his bloody bruised knuckles. Finally, he barked out an answer "Meet me by the elephant skull at twelve am sharp, got it!"

feebly Genie stood up, using the wall as a support. "S-sure thing" she replied, surprise evident in her tone "You g-got" a large triumph smile graced her tanned face.

"Oh and bitch?"

Too happy to register the insult Genie cheerfully responded with a chirpy "yes".

"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY ROOM!"

Ruggie Bucchi

Booted feet pounded on the rough uneven ground. Heavy breathing filled the air. Behind her, Genie could hear footsteps chasing after her. Panic crawled into her mind, stretching its self thinly over her mind. It's ok she mumbled to herself, just realize you've done this a billion of times before.

"Bloody Background" she whispered under her breath. Genie blinked, hundreds of tiny blue circles appeared in her red orbs. A full layout of the land before he appeared in the far left side of her sight, multiple little notes flashed in bright shades of blue and red. navigating through the notes and maps, Genie finally made heads and tails of the situation. Quickly mapping out the most deceitful rout.

--Run 10 meters then take a left, lean to the right there is a 16 cm deep pothole in the middle of the path.--

Accelerating her pace she took a sharp turn, behind her she heard the squeaky raw sound of shows scrapping rock. followed by a few curses. She kept running, watching as a blue circle highlighted the promised pothole. She aimed right, hissing as the rock wall bite into her skin. when she was a good few feet away she heard a scream and 'thump', her pursuer had hit the fallen that should give her a head start of approximately three minutes.

--with a three-minute head start run straight ahead, you'll come to a cliff jump and role down. The current calculations do not predict any major damages to be inflicted, fractures and momentary body shutdowns are not guaranteed to be avoidable.--

Her body was feeling numb, blood rushing to her fingertips. A warm dusty wind hit her face, small bits of sand sticking in her eyeballs. "Thank you Arabian desserts" she mumbled, there really were some benefits of being born in the 8th-century middle east. In front of her the earth seemed to disappear, she braced her self for the jump. Leaping into the air she curled her body into a semi-oval like shape. Upon impact, with the rugged ground, she curls her self further. She finally used the tip of her boot to dig a slow her down. Getting up again she started to run trying her best to ignore the immense pain in her right arms and the various bruises and blooding scratches over her body.

--The skull on an elephant in approaching, hid in the inside of its hollow cranium.--

No, no hiding Genie thought to herself. This whole chase -although exhilarating- was starting to get boring. She scanned the ground, reading the comments trying to find something that might help. The blue comments kept highlighting potentially useful objects and hideouts. Swiftly Genie picked up two rock shards. Holding them tight she switched her path and dashed for the elephant skull in the far right.

She entering through the mouth, quickly taking in her surroundings. Using the jagged bone matter, Genie pulled her self up climbing until she reached the window of the empty eye socket. Looking out she could see Jamil, so he'd been her mysterious stalker. Racking her brain for a second Genie tried to find a reason why Jamil of all people would be after her. Did he need something? Was he having trouble with his darling? Or did he need her for something else?

The second-year Scarabia student was only a few meters away from the skull, his back turned eyes darting every which way trying to find the Jinn girl. Swiftly Genie positioned her self, one foot resting on the opening of the eye, the other ready to push her forward. One arm held her still while the other gripped one of the shards.

One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats...

She leaped forward, crashing into Jamil's back. The third dorm's vice president landed face first in the dirt, Genie straddling his back. She raised her hand with the rock, balling it into a fist and slamming it down on Jamil's head.

"Ouch, cut that out you rouge Jinn!"

Genie didn't respond she struck him again and again. A sickly smile spreading on her face.

"Aw look at you little bunny, trying to beat a man to death."

Turning her head Genie glared at the source of the voice. Her eyes immediately widened. They're on top of an elephant spin sat the savage gluten of savanclaw Ruggi Buchi the vice dorm leader.

He leaned his head onto his hand and smirked down at the two. At that moment Genie noticed just how dark the sky had gotten and how many glowing eyes were watching her. She gulped and rolled off of the boy. Landing on the ground in a w sitting position. Jamil also got up, he placed a hand on the back of his head covering the bleeding wound. With his free hand, he grabbed Genie's wrist. "Listen here you useless genie.." Before he could finish Ruggie had landed next to him, claws leaving deep scratches in his arm. With a painful hiss, Jamil retracted his injured arm. Ruggie walked behind Genie placing a protective hand over her shoulder. "Get off our territory before Leona arrives."

Jamile sent one last glare towards the duo before returning from which he came.

"thanks" Genie mumbles

"Don't mention it, that's what a pack is for" Ruggie flashes her a predatory smirk

Leona Kingschalor

Genie leans over Leona's shoulder, arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders. A few centimeters in front of them a blue port screen is floating in the air. pictures of multiple girls rotating with their bios on the side.

"We really need to find you a darling big brother" Genie mutters as she nuzzles the crook of his neck. Leona simply takes another bite of the beef jerky in his hands, he chews slowly, relishing the feeling of his beloved "sister's" warm breath over his exposed skin. "Why are you in such a rush? Despreat to have me occupied with someone else so you're all alone and abandoned again?" He could feel her body tense, her breath hitch, and the nervous tick as she dug her long nails into his shoulder.

"N-no you're just getting older and we need to find the future king his queen. That-that's all"

Leona huffed and glared at the screen, there was something rather monotonous about these girls, they all lacked a certain "spunk" to them. Plus how did she expect him to concentrate when she was right there.

Leona didn't know when the entirety of Nightraven had decided that the naive little psycho jinn would become his "little sister" or even why for that matter. If it had been up to him he'd declare her as his darling the moment her lamp had been tossed through that magic mirror in the director's office. But something had happended, some choices, something! What that something was he did not know...only that it kept them apart.

Genie straightened and walked over to Leona plumping down on his lap and grabbing the screen, scrolling through some names and articles mindlessly. Automatically Leona's hands when to her head patting her softs then braiding a section of their hair to match his own. It was the brotherly thing to do, but when had it become so natural? "Look big brother.." Genie turned the screen and showed Leona the "file" of a round-faced hyena girl. She looked cute, maybe even try worthy...just not right now. "She's cute," he mutters turning his emerald eyes to Genie's face. No, he though her Genie's cheeks where come how rounder and puffier.

"I could set up a date if you--"

"NO!" Leona flinched he hadn't meant for it to come out so harsh. He cleared his throat and gently caressed the "young" girl's face, started pulling both her cheeks. "Why don't you give me her number and I'll give her a call after my nap...how's that?" The purple-haired girl tried to nod despite her flesh being pulled in opposite directions. "Good" Leona let go of her face and got up, lifting Genie up in the process. He walked over to the door of his room kicking it open and letting her fall on the bed, not a second later he plumped down on top of her. Genie let out a giggle and squirmed under him until she had some breathing room. "Get some rest  Ruggi tells me you haven't slept in a week." This was concern, it was how an "older brother was supposed to feel for his "little sister". "But I'm not sleepy-" she tried to protest. "Don't care, do that counting thing you do sometimes maybe that'll bore you enough to drift off."

She obeyed like the good little sister she was supposed to be. As sleep took over his sense Leona heard her tiny voice barely above a whisper.

one heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats, four heart--

[ganymedesclock]

Who do you think is more unknowable and eldritch: The Radiance or The Pale King?

With respect, I’m about to hijack this question, but you’ve activated my trap card. (I will drop a follow-up post that is actually Hollow Knight meta, though, since you are asking for that)

To be a bit less flippant about it: I have a lot of emotions about unknowable and eldritch. Overwhelmingly they tangle together with my feelings on normal.

I don’t think that these are useful terms to use the way that we often use them.

Let’s take a bit of a history walk.

The concept of the eldritch is often conflated very closely with the concept of the lovecraftian horror- established, of course, by Howard Phillips Lovecraft. Lovecraft illustrated in lavish detail the idea of things that are literally unknowable- that to try and hold them in our mind, to try and make sense of them, will destroy us. And that these things will inevitably encroach, move closer into us, and we will end, we will be ended and destroyed because these things will come into our minds, into our lives, and tear them apart for the irreconcilability.

This is what a lovecraftian horror means: it is something that we cannot reconcile with ourselves in any way.

Here is the important, vital thing about Howard Phillips Lovecraft:

He was a horribly racist man.

This is vital.

Because here’s the thing that I resent about a lovecraftian horror: it is not horror. We hear about “incomprehensible eldritch beings” all the time in games and stories.

How do they act?

They are almost invariably hostile. They come after you. They’re here to destroy you.

This is not horror.

This is a reassurance.

Because we are put in the position of someone who destroys that incomprehensible being. We are definitely never put in a position where our lack of context hampers us. They are incomprehensible because they do not need to be comprehended. We don’t have to think about them. We don’t have to think about their feelings or ever try to understand because they don’t need to be understood. And, yet, we understand enough to say for sure that they are bad. They are bad, but we don’t understand how to talk to them. We don’t understand how they’re thinking. But we know they’re bad.

In this way, Lovecraft has designed a beautiful, perfect system of the world specifically for bigots. Because if you are bigoted, you are forced eventually to reconcile with the fact that your models of humanity are ignorant. That people, shockingly, remain people, no matter their background, spoken language, genetics, physiology, disability, or neurodivergence. That if I forced a white man from New York onto a deserted island with his only company being an aborigines man from Australia, without any spoken language between them and few experiences in common, unless one of them actively ended the situation with violence, they would come to understand each other, and have qualities in common.

Incomprehensible eldritch horror does not exist. It is rooted in a feigned weakness of the human mind, that was dreamed, in part, by a white bigot who was terrified of anything unlike him, and terrified especially that he would see ignorance and selfishness in the pedestal he created to elevate himself and others he thought of as worthy peers above all other kinds of human being.

Here is the reason this matters to me so much: I am not, in fact, an eldritch monster wearing skin. But we don’t have a lot of those running around. We do, however, have neurodivergent human beings. I’m one of them.

From an early age, I was told that my brain is strange. That I do not think like normal people. That my thinking is disordered. This seemed strange to me. My brain does not hurt. I am not filled with suffering. Some things are hard for me. But there are things hard for everyone.

But, I was told, many times, over and over again, my brain is not normal. I am not a normal human. I need to look at the normal humans, the real humans, and study them, and understand them, and become like them. Any time something seemed hard or frustrating it was proof I had to try harder to become a real human.

In a sense, I lived Lovecraft’s horror story. I was, from my own perspective, a lone mote of humanity cast adrift in an alien world, a world I could not understand, a world that was upsetting and strange and hurt me.

I was not, however, broken to pieces by it. Nor was I filled with hatred or repulsion for the strange creatures I saw. I observed and I came to understand. When they were happy, I wanted to be happy too. Being the only normal person was lonely. I envied the way they slipped sinuously through barriers that stalked me. I wondered if I, too, could have those features, could build approximations, could emulate them, could seem like them. Now that I have grown, I am praised by my alien peers, for how much like them I seem. That I am so good at speaking the way they expect me to speak. That I thrive in this environment.

Now, if you’re following, you may have taken pause at the fact that I call myself the normal one here. After all, I’m neurodivergent! Neurodivergent isn’t normal. Autistic people like me aren’t normal. People like you are normal!

That’s the kicker, though.

Normal is not real, and this, this is the inherent failure of cordoning off characters as incomprehensible.

Because every single character is normal. Everybody on the planet is normal.

Developmentally, psychologically, “normal” is a set of blinders we put on. Because when our early primordial ancestors walked into the same meadow they usually came to, they were beset by a maelstrom of sensory information. And they have only so much energy, so much effort to look and listen and smell and feel. They cannot see, in full excruciating detail, the same buttercup that has been there every day they have come to this meadow. They cannot ruminate deep on the color yellow, the shape of the petals, until it has hewn itself deep in their mind.

They cannot, because that patch of orange at the edge of the meadow was not there yesterday. And it is not in the same place as it was an hour ago.

Our brains recognize patterns. They do this to keep us safe and help us navigate the universe at all. In that sense, there is no holiness to normal. Normal is not ever guaranteed to be good for us. Normal is just the thing that our brain filters out, does not look very hard at unless we consciously fight that reflex. It is the background against which we contrast unknown. 

I am normal. My autism is normal. If I had been raised on some kind of colony of exclusively autistic people, and you showed me a neurotypical person, I would have laughed at them. What a silly weird bizarre person! Why are they STARING like that? Why don’t they shake or flap or rock when they’re happy? Are they afraid of emotions, so they lock ramrod straight like that? This poor soul, you know, I took them to the fabric store and they didn’t touch anything, didn’t feel all the lovely textures and patterns. Could you give this creature a bouquet? Do they know how to appreciate any of their senses? A pitiful beast! Someone teach them how to be normal!

Normal becomes a rub. It becomes a sticking point, however, because we chose to live together, and we made rules, and in these rules, we betrayed our hand, our sense of normal.

The truth is if I abandoned Howard Phillips Lovecraft on a deserted island with Cthulu, I really sincerely believe that he would get over his mind-breaking wretched horror. He would find, to his shock and revulsion, that perhaps the first time he looks upon this creature’s visage it hurts. But the tenth time, or twelfth time, or twentieth time, it is merely a face.

Normal is a structure assembled by our minds for convenience and we act as if it is a god, when in reality it is merely a tool and one we can slap off the table and send clattering to the floor as if it is a doll we no longer want to play with.

Because my entire life, I have been told that I have a monster’s brain, a disordered brain, a brain twisted in a curious shape that harms my ability to understand others.

In my life I have met and imagined countless people, countless creatures, some very wildly different from me in priorities and behavior.

I have never in my life met an incomprehensible creature. But I have met plenty of things that I thought were incomprehensible- until I spent any time with them at all.

I have followed and spoken to and heard the stories of schizophrenic people. They were, surprisingly, not monsters.

I work with babies. They are not monsters either.

I have never met an incomprehensible monster. And every time I think I may have, I have been wrong, and I have needed to try harder.

So, to me, to call something truly alien in a sense that we can’t know what’s going on in their head, I remember that “lovecraftian” carries the name of a racist, inextricably embedded in its etymology.

[oikoik]

the color of a bruise (part two)

warnings; cursing, pretty vanilla so far tbh

word count; 1626

a/n; can I please just say how much I love Ennoshita,, like he seriously doesn’t get enough love and support

(8:34pm, Karasuno Headquarters, Daichi's Office)

"She isn't cut out for this."

"It's not like she has much of a choice."

"The girl never asked for this lifestyle, she did what she thought was right. You can't punish her for that, Sawamura."

The tension in room was palpable. Daichi stood with his shoulders leaned against the wall. His sharp gaze was on where Ennoshita stood across his desk. The two held their silent pissing contest until Daichi let out a dejected sigh.

"Yes, but that Good Samaritan act just landed her a one way ticket into this mess."

"But-"

Ennoshita's reoccurring concern was cut short when another voice spoke in to reason. "If Daichi didn't find her, you know they would have…" Suga was sat in one of the chairs by the desk, his long legs crossed and a look of genuine speculation etched into the soft wrinkles of his forehead. "Besides, she saved two of our recruits, we owe her for that much... And we might as well use any of her abilities since she’ll be with us for awhile."

"But what does she even have to offer? All we know is that she can aim a can of fucking mace, it's practical to assume she has no real training,"Ennoshita's hands came to rub across his jaw, the uncertainty of the situation as a whole left him on edge. If there was one thing Ennoshita didn't like, it was unidentified liabilities.

"We'll figure it out as we go, but I'm not leaving her to be killed by them. She saved two of ours, so now we save her."

Daichi spoke with such a firmness that Ennoshita knew, even if he wanted to rebuttal the claim, the use of furthering the debate would be useless. He made his decision.

It was huge. So much larger than any house you had ever stepped foot into before. Your brain didn't allow you to gawk, however. It was far too focused on the adrenaline still pumping through your veins as the account of the previous hour circulated through your memory like a broken tape.

A job, a job, a job.. Maybe they need something fixed? What the hell could you fix?... No.. Maybe a secretary! You can type! But what use would they have for secretary?.. Shit! What did they want from you?

You were scattered, your mind a jumbled mess of paranoid delusions and worst case scenarios. This wasn't good, no. But you had to keep a level head if it were to take a turn for the worse.

You cast a watchful glance towards the boy who stood at the corner of the couch. From where you sat you could see that he was in fact one of the boys you had stumbled upon that fateful night. Under proper lighting, he looked cute. His freckled face and kind eyes made you feel a bit more at ease the longer you were forced to wait. You had tried to subtly get his attention through gestures, fearful to make any noise in the otherwise silent mansion, but his eyes remained glued to the floor in an unblinking stare.

That effort had been abandoned after your fourth attempt. You closed your eyes, willing the entire house to vanish when you opened them again. If you had any such abilities, they were clearly against you tonight. When you had reopened your eyes, you nearly yelped at the new additions to the room.

Sat on the pristine white sofa across from you sat a man with neatly style silver hair. Beside him was another man of larger stature and dark eyes. He watched you with a searching stare. You were so caught in keeping your guard up that your heart skipped a beat when the silver-haired man spoke,

"Relax, we aren't going to hurt you."

The dark-haired fellow softened his gaze as he rested his elbows atop his knees. "What's your name? Your full name."

"Y/N L/N." You cringed at the sound of your own voice. It sounded broken and afraid--and while that may be the case, you'd prefer to not have your captors be aware of your current state.

"Okay, Y/N, tell me what you're thinking."

The scoff you let out was second nature. Were you the only one who realized how batshit insane this whole thing was? Most likely. "I think this is a sick game you're playing. Saying you won't hurt me just to build up my trust, and then when I least expect it, you'll have me begging for a life that was never promised." Somehow, despite the racing heart inside your ribcage, you looked up to make eye contact with the brunet.

What shocked you was that despite the chiseled features of his jaw and muscular frame, his eyes were soft as they looked at you. "I can assure you, we have no intention of bringing you any harm. I am a man of my word, and if you would like, I can explain everything in detail."

"I just want to go home."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Miss L/N."

Your heart nearly exploded in your chest. You hadn't noticed the third person enter. He was of average height and build, with dark ebony hair combed neatly away from his forehead. His features were colder, more serious than the other two. You didn't like the way he looked at you as if you were the cause for all his troubles.

But then again, maybe you were.

With wide eyes, you stared at the men on the couch as panic thrummed in your veins. The brunet leaned closer towards you, the palm of his hand was opened as if he were gesturing for a wild animal to calm down. "Relax, I can explain what's going to happen, but you need to settle down first."

Although oppositions nested in your brain, you willed yourself to find any last shreds of composure. You prayed they failed to notice the tremor of your hands as you clutched them tightly in your lap. You gave a small nod.

"My name is Daichi. These are my associates, Suga and Ennoshita. We work in a… taboo field of business. The two boys you had met a few night ago, Hinata and Yamaguchi, also work for me. Does this make sense so far?"

You gave him an uncertain glance, but nodded nonetheless.

"The man that had cornered Hinata and Yamaguchi works for a different… business, and he had real intent to do harm to them. Thankfully, though, you acted with bravery and helped them escape. However…" He paused.

You didn't like the way he paused. Your eyes searched his features for any giveaways. The rationale in your brain told you to dig deeper, demand to know why he was so hesitant about telling you these things, what any of this has to do with you. But your tongue was glued in your mouth, and what came out was the voice of someone defeated, "However?..."

"Because of your actions, you now have a target over your head as well."

In that moment, your heart seemingly ceased to beat. The breath in your lungs dissipated and your mind went white as the words sank in. "What- what the hell does that mean?" You feared you already knew the answer.

"It means, whether you want to believe it or not, you're wanted by one of the most powerful gangs in Japan."

You weren't sure who had said it. Most likely Ennoshita, but your mind was only able to make out two words; wanted and gangs.

Your eyes burned. It took a moment before you realized tears were falling down your cheeks. You didn't rub them away, you didn't try to hide. You merely felt. Felt the coolness of them as they rolled like rain down a window. Felt the hole in your chest become a gaping void. Felt as your world seemingly fell apart.

It was weak, a plea for help, for stability or support. It came from the deepest parts of you, and it was pathetic, "What have I done?..."

Daichi stood from where he sat to kneel in front of your slouched figure. His hands were large, they could easily grab onto you and put you out of whatever misery was coming your way, but instead, they were gentle as his calloused fingers laid atop your own. "I gave you my word that your safety is in the hands of me and my men. You saved two of mine, so now we will save you. Deal?"

When you managed to meet his gaze, you found warmth in the browns of his eyes, a deep level of comfort you never expected had you nodding solemnly.

You notice out of the corner of your eyes that the boy from earlier had reappeared. When he left, you never noticed. But now, his eyes finally looked at you. In them, you saw the same glimpses of sympathy etched into his features. You were quick to look away.

"Yamaguchi is going to take you to your room. You'll be staying here until it's safe for you to return home. I'll send someone to your apartment for clothes in the morning. Go get some rest. We’ll discuss everything else in the morning."

Being told you would have a bed to sleep in was easily the best news you had received all day. You didn't pay any attention to the vast interior of the mansion or hallways as you trailed behind Yamaguchi. You didn't take in any details of the room as you entered, either. Your body merely floated from one place to the next until you were asleep on a mattress that was far too soft for a place so cold.

[notleriff]

Phoenix

I wish you the best of luck, Takeda. And I hope one day you will join us and return home. Just remember, our people rose from the ashes--you’re allowed to do the same.

“Fight me!”

“Perhaps another time, Dotharl.” Leriff chuckled softly as he wiped the sweat from his brow. He attempted to climb up the rubble in front of him, but could not find a good handhold to start his ascent. “Ahh--up, please.”

With large, looming steps, Ardki stepped forward. He locked his fingers together and held his hands out as a platform to give his fellow hunter a boost. “After! You can even have my pay if you win!” 

With only a smile and a shake of his head in response, Leriff placed his boot into Ardki’s outstretched hands and let the larger Au Ra lift him high enough to grab a crumbling beam. He climbed along it sideways until he found his way higher, finally making it over the rubble. “All clear, here.” The hunter leaned forward to look into the ruined room on the other side of the rubble, confirming that there were no beasts laying in wait within. 

The two had arrived at dawn with a team of relic seekers. Less than a moon past, the sands of the Sagolii had blown in the wind, shifting to reveal another of the tombs of some long forgotten people buried beneath. The group was excavating the ruins to find anything of historical note to bring back to the city to clean and catalogue. Ardki and Leriff had been hired to keep the archaeologists safe from any beasts that would have turned up at either the shifting of the sands or that lay buried within, as the first team dispatched had fled some manner of monsters a fortnight prior.

Leriff waved off Ardki’s assistance in his descent and dropped back to the floor with a thud. He dusted his tabard off before setting his hand on his hip with a huff. “It is safe enough for them to venture this way, but we should check the few passages around here before the sun sets. Which side do you want?” 

After a cursory inspection of the few paths from the courtyard, Ardki pointed down one to the west. The mostly intact terrain better suited his large, hulking figure, and it would require less acrobatics, something he was not very keen on. Leriff nodded in agreement and headed north, dropping to his stomach to crawl under a collapsed pillar before disappearing from sight.

What windows that existed in the passage were sparse, and it grew too dark with the setting sun for the man to see clearly. He frowned before digging into the bag on his belt. Producing a cloth, and searching the nearby area for something to tie it to, Leriff manufactured a torch. He held it out, nestled against the pit of his arm. He lifted his right hand and brought it down against the handle of the gunblade sheathed on his back. The ring around his finger was made of a fire crystal infused flint, and as it struck the steel of the weapon, it ignited, catching the cloth he had wrapped around his glove on fire. Using that flame, the man lit the torch before very quickly putting the fire on his hand out to avoid any burns. 

Leriff grumbled to himself as he wound his way around the maze-like passages. The patron of their operation was a lalafell of some wealth in the city, but seemed rather ill-informed of the operations this far into the desert. When the hunter had asked him what manner of creature the previous team had encountered, their patron had been flippant, if not outright dismissive, and had only given brief answers. It was not uncommon for those in power to not bother themselves with the details, but beyond the minor dune worms the two had cleared out, Leriff had found nothing to warrant calling off an entire digging operation.

Even if the windows in the ruin were sparse, and the few that existed covered by debris and sand, Leriff could still hear the warm blasts of wind outside. He hummed in thought to himself as he pressed deeper, using the whistle of air as a sort of tempo counter to his steps. Some few yalms away, however, he stopped, ceasing his humming as realization dawned upon him. 

Too steady. Too rhythmic. Too short. 

He began to creep forward, holding the torch low in case he needed to quickly smother it to avoid detection. Leriff had only the intent to confirm his suspicions. Dune worms did not breathe in such a manner, and whatever it was was large enough that the closer he drew to the source of the sound, the more the very rubble shook with each heavy breath. Without warning, the breathing stopped. In its place, a low rumble began. Just beyond the edge of the light his torch cast, a massive eye opened, sending a jolt of fear down Leriff’s spine. A gigantic muscular arm rose from the sand, and the creature began to pull itself free from its slumber. The rumbling grew into a growl as it crept closer to a roar. 

Panic set in as Leriff took a step back, but before he could flee in terror, he dropped the torch. He put himself in darkness in hopes the creature could not see through shadow, and had sense enough to dart down the closest narrow passage. It was not much help, as with two deadly horns and powerful grip, the creature ripped through whatever ruin lay in his way to crush the puny creature that would dare disturb his domain.

Leriff had no knowledge on how to fight this beast. Few, if any, did. His mind raced and he struggled to make sense of it. He could not think of how one ended so far away from the mountains, or how it survived buried beneath the sea of sand above; but, in all honesty, the how of it mattered little. 

“Leriff? Did the tunnel collapse? Are you okay?” Ardki called down the passages at the sound of the quaking earth. “Ahh, there you ar--” 

“Run!” Leriff was sprinting towards the large man, pillars collapsing behind him. At the look of confusion on Ardki’s face, and the lack of turning and fleeing, Leriff ran straight into him. He wrapped his hands around the Au Ra’s arm and yanked as hard as he could, nearly dislocating his shoulder, in order to get him to start moving. “RUN!” He screamed, dragging the large man behind him.

From the passage just behind where the hunter had fled from, large purple digits wrapped around the frame of the sandstone door and pulled it, crumbling the wall as a great behemoth followed close behind.

Ardki no longer needed the guidance of the Doman, having broken free of Leriff’s grasp to double time all on his own. The two tore past the encampment at the entrance of the ruins as the relic seekers were already frantically packing to escape whatever was creating such a racket just inside. When the head of the behemoth peeked out from behind the wall the two hunters had just fled from, those in the camp no longer cared about their personal effects, simply dropping everything to flee in a panic. 

The creature burst into the ampitheatre the crew had been using as a base of operations, its stark white eyes expressing its rage of the fleas that had infested its home long before the roar that split the sky did. Through a process of elimination, random chance or sheer bad luck, it settled its seething frustration onto the first target it saw and charged directly at the foreman of the group, who, at the sight of the barreling violet barrel of violence, froze in place and soiled himself. 

There was not time to think. To consider how terrible an idea it was, or of those left at home, or how pointless the endeavor would be. His body moved first, before his brain caught up with his hands. Leriff had skidded to a halt and turned on his heel, his hand reaching up to the handle of the weapon on his back. In the time it took for him to realize he had unhooked the gunblade from his back, he had already closed the gap between himself and the foreman. With no ability to back down any longer, he leapt into the air, twirled to gain momentum and slammed the gunblade directly into the behemoth’s eye.

Striking against the behemoth’s head was like jumping chest first into a stone brick wall. Leriff let out a horrible wheeze as all of the air in his lungs was scattered. He tumbled off the behemoth and landed on his back, trying desperately to gulp down greedy breaths to find the strength in order to push himself to his feet. He crawled a few ilms as the behemoth thrashed about in rage and agony behind him before making it to his hands and knees, and eventually his feet. The hunter staggered in a daze towards Ardki. 

The great Dotharl had managed his axe free on his way to his companion, holding the large weapon in one hand. As all in the room were, he too had not slowed from his full sprint. If he could reach Leriff in time, he could help him free, help them all escape. Ardki could not abandon Leriff, and show his cowardice, after the Doman had just risked himself for another. All he needed do was reach the man in time. Steps more. Yalms. Ilms.

Ardki threw himself into Leriff’s chest, pushing him back onto the ground. Leriff fell backwards, once more finding it difficult to breathe as he landed flat on his back. Above him, in one moment, Ardki looked down on the hunter and in the next, the Dotharl was gone. He had been moved, with rather vicious force, to the wall, gored on the end of one of the behemoth’s horns. The behemoth dragged the au ra across the wall, the horn leaving such a gaping wound that within seconds it had separated the man’s torso from his legs.

Leriff crawled, hand over hand, until he was back onto his feet. He collected Ardki’s axe, and though he struggled to wield it with such ferocity as the Dotharl surely would have, he focused all of his might into his arms. He shouted to draw the attention of the behemoth away from Ardki, and when the creature turned towards him, dropping Ardki from the wall, Leriff brought the axe across with all his might, cracking the shaft of it as he struck one of the beast’s arms, but managing to share that same damage to the behemoth itself. Taking no time to relish in his victory, and using the behemoth’s stumble and pain to his advantage, Leriff grabbed what was left of Ardki from the ground and ran with him out of sight.

He gently set the au ra against a pillar and stepped back with shaking hands, trying to rack his brain for anything he could do to help his co-hunter. At best, Leriff could patch cuts, bruises, maybe a broken limb or two. Ardki had been eviscerated, his lower half severed in the most unclean of ways. Blood spilled freely, soaking both hunters as Leriff tried fruitlessly to bind the man up. 

“I am Dotharl!” Ardki weakly lifted his arm, flailing it to try to find Leriff. Leriff took his hand and placed it on his own shoulder in an attempt to bring comfort. “I laugh at death!” The au ra blankly stared into the distance as color faded from his face. “But it hurts… And I’m afr--” Whatever final words Ardki had ended there, as he slumped to the side, drawing breath no more.

The screams from beyond the walls was all the indication Leriff needed to know the carnage had not stopped. Before he stood, he removed the bag slung over Ardki’s shoulder, the leather stuffed to the brim with a tool to help the large man get through the crumbled debris of the sandswept ruins. Leriff pulled the strap over his head and rose to his feet before hurrying back into the main amphitheatre. 

Blood soaked the floor, workers and mercenaries aliked cowered beneath and behind the crumbled walls and fallen pillars of the ruins as the half-blinded behemoth thrashed about in a wild fury to smash, impale and consume any living creature in the vicinity. Leriff took a single breath--a deep, cleansing one--to steady himself. For the first time since the sight of violence incarnate had filled his vision, he pushed the panic down. He held the air inside his lungs as his fear dissipated and then let it out slowly, in a single word. “Flow.”

Like a lightning strike, he was in motion. He did not give the behemoth time to turn and face him this time. Instead, he planted his foot on one of the fallen pillars left behind in the creature’s destructive wake and leapt from it. With no weapon, Leriff fell to the last one he had left, and perhaps the one he found the most familiarity with. He lifted his hand back and focused, relaxing his muscles--opening every little gate inside his body that would block the flow of power within. He clenched his fist and collided with the behemoth, smashing the creature square on the side of its head. The beast staggered backwards at the impact, and Leriff landed back onto the ground, rolling along the sand to find his way back to his feet. 

His left arm hung limp at his side. He had focused what strength he could muster into his arm, and brought all that strength to bear against the behemoth. When the blow had connected with the near steel-proof hide of the beast, the aether he had summoned needed go somewhere. And, since he could not pierce the behemoth’s hide with the power, somewhere it went. Out. In every direction it could. Muscles burst and bones broke as it vacated his arm, and now it hung useless. He choked the pain back. There would be time for pain later. Or there would not be, and he would be dead. Either way, now it could not be a distraction.

Man and beast stared at one another in a showdown, but it was Leriff who made the first move. There was no time for bravado. If he continued to break himself on the creature’s back, he would surely die. He had to kill the behemoth now. He moved like crashing water around the hulking arms, spinning, stopping and starting again to avoid being crushed beneath one of the behemoth’s fists. When he found his opening, he ran for it. 

He ran, until he stumbled. Skill played its part in keeping him safe, but it did not matter how fast or how skilled Leriff was. He was tired. And eventually, he would lose. In the split second it took for the man to put his plan into action, in the single mistake the lapse of attention brought, Leriff had moved in a direction he could not dodge away from. The fist came down, straight into the sand, and caught the entirety of the man’s right leg. It crumbled like paper. This was not pain he could push down, and the hunter screamed in agony, his body slinging back in response. 

The behemoth pushed its head down, and as easily as a bull charges a cape, it speared Leriff directly through the stomach on one of its massive horns, lifting the broken hunter off the ground. Finally, having brought the man to its level, it met the hunter eye to eye, unbridled fury seething out. 

Leriff choked on blood as he slumped onto the horn, using his one good arm to try in vain to push his body back off. When he could not muster the strength, he fell forward, trying to at least slow the pain until he died. His arms dangled off the sides and hung limply. Click. Leriff slowly lifted his palm and let it drop again. Click. His eyes shot open and as life drained from him through the hole in his stomach, he let his head fall to the side to look just below. His salvation lay still stuck in the behemoth’s eye. Click. Leriff weakly brought his hand up and down. Click. The ring struck the metal of the gunblade once more. “Do not fear it.” CRACK. 

A piece of the infused flint chipped off, and Leriff’s hand went up in flames. He stuck his burning hand into the bag that hung from his shoulder until he found it--the fuse. With the linen lit, and the urge to survive taking hold, Leriff pulled the bag from his shoulder and threw it into the behemoth’s face, sending some of the balls of packed explosive falling out as it flew through the air. He curled his burning fist up and screamed out every drop of air in his lungs as he brought it down onto the horn. He would either die now, or later when he could not muster the strength to take one more step. He chose later. With all of his might, and all the life left in his body, he brought his power down onto the protruding horn. It cracked, broke and dropped the hunter with half of it still stuck within him. The behemoth’s roar was cut short as the explosion ripped its head apart, the shockwave of it crumbling the ruins about on top of it. For his effort, the explosion threw Leriff like a sack, straight back into a pillar where he cracked the back of his head. He dropped to the ground without further fight, and the world went black.

***

It was two full moons before he could enter the office. The workers had dug the corpse out from beneath the ruins the moment the dust had settled, but when one heard the heartbeat, they had dropped everything to abandon the desert and bring him home. Constant care as the suns passed was all that kept him from death. Conjurers, companions, doctors, chirurgeons, and every single person the man had earned favors with in his work had come forth, and only through the constant vigil of those around him did he find himself in the office today.

Jajarilu sat on his stool behind his desk, watching in contempt as his employees helped the monster hunter into the room. Leriff looked like a holiday decoration, so wrapped in bandages. He struggled to stand, and only managed to move thanks to the wooden crutch he had propped into the pit of his arm. The lalafell only spoke once Leriff had situated himself, standing at the other end of his massive desk. “I am glad to see you well! You have come for payme--”

“You knew.” The look Leriff gave the patron of the excavation work was not all too different from that which he gave the behemoth that nearly took his life. “Your foreman told me, already. You knew it was there.”

Jajarilu’s hesitation lasted for but a moment. One did not reach such a level of wealth if they found themselves thrown off by every interruption. He coughed once to command the attention once more before jumping to his feet. “I did. It was a risk, but the work we have done now that--” He stopped as he saw the hunter’s expression. “It doesn’t matter.” He walked briefly around the desk until he reached a set of stairs, the small ladder bringing him to stand atop his workspace. He walked over the desk, arms swinging at his sides, until he could place himself in front of his hunter, and with a big smile, produced a bulging pouch of coins. “Here. A bonus! To our continued success together!” He dropped the pouch into Leriff’s hand as the Doman looked at it with a dumbfounded expression. “Now, if you don’t--”

Leriff smashed his head into Jajarilu’s, sending the lalafell tumbling down off his desk and onto the floor. The hunter then lifted his crutch and pinned the businessman to the floor by the throat, placing a dangerous amount of weight onto the wooden support. It would not be difficult, even weakened, to end the man’s life. All he needed do was push down a touch harder. His eyes shifted to offer his attention to those around the room, some pensively ready to heed the need for aid of their employer. He would not be able to get away, afterwards. He was too weak. Leriff glared down at the small man as Jajarilu pathetically flailed in an attempt to push the crutch off his neck. “Do not contact me again.” 

None of the workers attempted to stop Leriff. They felt he had earned at least that much. He released Jajarilu and stumbled to the door, fumbling it open with one hand before leaving the office for good. After making it to the street, and out the gate beyond, Leriff made his way to one of the myriad of refugees still located in Stonesthrow. He dropped the pouch of coin at the man’s foot to a look of confusion.

“Sir..?”

“I do not want it.” Leriff gripped his crutch tightly and slowly made his way back home.

[ephemeral-afterlight]

Mourning at Midnight

(UwU so Hey. i’m back with some more trash)

Word Count: 7480

Summary: It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

He doesn’t want to look up, to face the suffocating silence that’s fallen over the room. He doesn’t want to see their faces, their disappointment, their anger, their contempt. He wants to yell. He wants to sleep.

Logan sinks out.

Warnings (could potentially be small spoilers, nothing too big, but if you don’t have any triggers I’d suggest you skip reading this!):

There are no u!sides in this, nor does anyone have malicious intent, but the other main three (Virgil, Patton, Roman) and Thomas, to a lesser extent, treat Logan unkindly (not on purpose) and don’t realize their errors. This will be resolved! Just… not yet OwO

Being ignored/talked over

Mental/emotional breakdown

An unidentified illness with symptoms including: [extreme persistent nausea (lots of mentions), vomiting (once), bile, weakness/weariness, shaking, lightheadedness, double vision (once), headache, body aches/pains, breathing difficulties]

General negativity including: [self-doubt, self-deprecation/depreciation, feeling worthless or unloveable, self-hatred]

Anger management/temperament issues

Unintentional self-harm (not anything like c-tting, Logan gets a bruise as a result of an angry outburst)

Separate small, vague allusion to self-harm, but it’s not outright and not detailed in the slightest. Could be read as not even talking about self-harm

Potentially triggering descriptive imagery (metaphors and similes to describe how a character feels or percieves a situation, not anything that actually happens) including but not limited to: [glass, sharp things, blood, injection, live wires, loud noises, screaming, general mentions of pain, masochism, sound torture, knives/blades, wounds, drowning/suffocating, pressure]

Temporarily unresolved tension between Logan/Deceit/Remus and the other sides/Thomas (there will be a happy ending in the next fic, though, don’t worry!)

A few vulgar threats of violence (somewhat explicit, be careful) to the other sides from Remus (out of protectiveness; Remus means well but he does Not express it in a healthy way) that is not carried out or even humoured

Remus’ morning star and descriptions of its destructive capabilites

Loceit as a romantic pairing (for now…. UwU)

Sympathetic “dark” sides

That should be it for warnings! Let me know if I need to add anything!

A/N: So! This is finally done :D !! I’ve been working on it on and off for the past week or so, and although I know it could be way better, I think this is where I’ll keep it! This is technically a sequel to my other fic Tea at Twilight and it takes place in the same universe, and although you don’t need to read that before this to understand the story, I strongly suggest reading that first to get more of a feel for the dynamic! 

This is inspired by @illogicallyinclined and her absolutely amazing Disaster Trio™ headcanons/au, and was prompted by this post so I just started writing! I meant for it to be a bit shorter, but of course my brain would Not let it go, even despite my ADHD, executive dysfunction, and massive amounts of writer’s block. 

This is also unfinished! It is the second of three main works, all happening chronologically in the same universe. The first one is Tea at Twilight as stated previously, then this one, and there will be a third and final installment added to finish off this short little trilogy! I’ll be adding this to the series on AO3, so when the final fic is up, it’ll all be together for an easy reading experience. It is also possible that there will be other small fics in this universe (UA, as has been recently coined) that operate outside of the timeline of the main story, so be sure to watch out for that! 

Thanks to Jay once again for creating these lovely headcanons that haunt my dreams every night, and for inspiring me to get back into my writing groove despite a writer’s block that’s lasted for over three years! Hope this isn’t too terrible, Jay! ilyy <333</p>

Also, a huge thank you to @illogical-anxieties for being such a good cheerleader/enabler! You really do help to keep me motivated and on track (and keep my ADHD in check), which is probably why this was even able to become a full-fledged story rather than a WIP to be buried where unfinished fics go to die T~T Love you tons <3</p>

(If I’m being honest with myself, this is just an excuse for me to live up to my IRL title of “Living Thesaurus”, coined by a friend many years ago and has since spread around to other friends and family. My title is thriving, and I suppose that means I should actually have proof of it, so there’s that.)

(Cross-posted to AO3)

(Read Part 1 here)

He can feel it building.

There’s far too much left to be desired when it comes to frustration. The natural helplessness that makes way for anger when you try so hard to do something or be something for someone and you’re pushed down by anything and everything between ignorance and antipathy. The fear that nothing you can do or say will ever be good enough. The buzzing, ticking, pinpricks upon pinpricks of heat injected into you until your blood and heart have been replaced with glass, fragile as a crumbling stone wall. It’s not as if he hasn’t had his outbursts before, spurred on by the familiar sharp pulse of rage that courses through him in a split-second whirlwind. It builds inside him, and he can feel the pressure in his limbs expand until it feels like his muscles are being squeezed out of existence and then he snaps like a rubber band that’s been pulled too taut. He’s not in denial of the fact that his impulsive, blinding reaction when met with frustration is not okay, and only detrimental to the demeanour he’s trying to retain. He knows it’s childish. He knows it’s immature, and pathetic, and wholly invigorating, at least until the adrenaline has worn off and he’s in the aftermath of his knee-jerk reaction to the tension coiled in his arms and legs and head.

It doesn’t mean that Logan is particularly in control of it though, despite his self-awareness being far above the level that most people with anger management issues are at. Maybe there’s a certain quality to it that allows for growth; it’s not as if Logan stays angry, or that he wants to hurt people. He loves the others, painfully so (as much as he loathes to admit it), to the point where he’s so desperate for their approval that he tampers down his passion, that spark that used to drive him to learn and speak and be happy just to avoid being cast out and abandoned, alone in the way he never wants to be. He wants to find a way to temper the fall into those dark, consuming waters, a way to mute the buzzing and ticking. He wants to seal those exposed live wires and release the tension to the point where he never lashes out ever again. He wants to, and he doesn’t know how to, and that fact infuriates him in an ironic, endless cycle of self-imposed and self-directed enmity.

Logan still thinks on this often, even now, wracking his brain for solutions to problems that realistically won’t be solved as easily as he wishes they would. Excerpts and quotes and data and statistics from many different studies about anger and temper management and irritability and everything in between seem to figuratively run amok through his brain, a screaming crowd of witnesses to the chaos and failure found in his ability to filter through the nonsense and come to a satisfying conclusion, any conclusion at all. He notices how his fingers tremble as they slip into the handle of his coffee mug, endures the dull ache in his mid-to-lower back from falling asleep at his desk for the majority of the day under the guise of work so important he holed himself up in his room to complete it. He ignores the way his head pounds, how he feels so dizzy that he might fall over and pass out any second from lightheadedness. He suffers through the loud conversations between the other three that are typical to the dinner routine that Logan cannot deal with today, not with this headache poking at him like figurative needles in his head.

When he senses the summons from Thomas stirring up the familiar but nonetheless odd ticklish sensation on the back of his neck, Logan can feel the tension knot up his muscles, and the combination of the two just makes him want to growl in irritation. The others, having also felt the summoning, seem to get impossibly louder, ringing and stinging and singing in his head. He still persists, despite the fact that he knows he shouldn’t be out doing anything today that’s likely to exacerbate his sickness, because Thomas is important, more so than Logan himself. No matter how much he wants to hole himself up in his room and sleep the day away, his host needs him, so Logan simply forces his mask of indifference to melt into steel. He refuses to budge, not for the first or last time, and he rises up in the real world standing straight and rigid and as put together as he’s always expected to be.

When he’s finally settled into his usual spot, as still as he can possibly be to not exacerbate the roiling nausea disquieting his stomach, he’s able to take in the other four arranged in their usual positions in Thomas’ living room, already having begun a conversation that Logan has missed the premise of entirely through his all-eclipsing, obfuscating malady. His vision doubles, like broken fractals of glass reflecting onto themselves, and then it pulls back together, merging back into something visible, something manageable.

“Well, I’m sure Danny likes you, too! You just gotta ask him, kiddo!” Patton exclaims, high voice pushing through the heavy, suffocating cotton in Logan’s ears, and the words snap the bespectacled side to attention. He needs context, needs to know what they’re talking about, needs to be able to help for once. Maybe he has to endure the bad to be able to put out the good, and this is where the climax is, the top of the rollercoaster at such a high altitude that oxygen is thin and dispersed before he shoots down the tracks in a rush of fresh air, relieving and calm and sanguine as he’s finally able to ground himself. A shiver runs through Logan’s body, between his shoulder blades and down his hip and through his leg, and his eyes flutter under the weight of consciousness. It recedes, the flow is ebbed, and his head clears to a more sustainable level.

“Oh, that’s so boring, Padre! Thomas should hire a band to play! And we can rig up streamers and confetti and there can be a cake and dancing and a party to celebrate!” Roman crows, throwing his arms and hands up into his signature pose to match his full, booming tone. Patton squeals, clutching his cardigan in his hands to pull excitedly at the sleeves as he bounces giddily on his feet. At the suggestion, as the polar opposite to Patton’s reaction, Virgil grimaces, hunching over even further in his jacket as he protests with every way he can think of that the situation could go wrong. Unsurprisingly, Roman takes personal offense to it and refutes Virgil’s points with the same intensity and fervour that’s been present in himself and his interactions with the anxious side since day one. Logan sort of understands, can infer that they’re discussing how to ask out Danny, a new friend of Thomas’ who has very quickly turned into a crush. In that case…

“If I may interrupt? While I don’t share all of Virgil’s worries, I do agree with his position in regards to the fact that there isn’t a need for such extravagance. It might embarrass Danny, for one, and for two, there are many ways such an excessive venture could backfire, such as technical difficulties or general human error. The idea is, while exciting, frankly outrageous,” Logan says, his role as the voice of reason renewed once more. It’s his job to sift through the conversations they have and get to the important parts, and he likes his job. He’s good at micromanaging, mediating the chaos, good at storing information to sort and consider and veto and bolster. It’s how he operates, how he copes. “We can think of something else to–”

“Oh, shut it, Pocket Protector. We all know you don’t care about romance, but this is important! Thomas wishes to find love with the second most handsome prince in the world! After me, of course,” Roman exclaims, in that boisterous, self-aggrandizing way of his, the way that hides his real insecurities he buries so deeply in himself he doesn’t know how to find them again. Oddly enough, it’s not Roman’s defense mechanism that throws Logan off, it’s the way that Logan stopped talking almost reflexively to allow the other side to finish his statement, as if the prince’s words were more important than his own, and it speaks as testament to how much Logan’s been conditioned (or maybe he’s conditioned himself all on his own) into putting everyone else before himself, even when it hurts him or Thomas. Logan is ignored in the face of his implicit trust, and he hates that even as it pours salt in the open wound, he finds himself taking a depraved, spiteful comfort in the familiarity of it all.

“That’s not what I–”

“Awe, c'mon, Logan! Thomas deserves to have a happy relationship and someone he can live out the rest of his life with! Doesn’t that sound nice, to grow old together with someone you love? Isn’t that romantic? Oh, it just makes me so warm and fuzzy thinking about it!” Patton interrupts, hands clutching each other over his heart as he swoons. Logan knows Patton doesn’t mean to be rude, but he still can’t help but be a little hurt by it, especially since he’s now been ignored twice consecutively. He’s just trying to help, and if that means reigning in Roman’s exorbitant ideas that border on egregious at times, then Logan knows it must be done. Although he encourages Thomas to seek a relationship to improve his mental health and provide more financial stability, there is a limit to how much he can disregard himself and others in doing so, and that doesn’t mean that Logan is the bad guy for pointing that out. He knows that. He knows that, so why does the dismissal still feel so sharp in his chest?

“Yeah, romance is cool and all, but what if it doesn’t work? What if Danny actually hates us? What if we ask and he laughs at us or says no and then we’ll be standing there like an idiot and then he’ll never wanna talk to us again because he thinks we’re pathetic and stupid and–”

“Hey, now, don’t be such a Debby Downer, kiddo! I’m sure it’ll go just fine! We’ll just ask him. The worst thing that can happen is he’ll say no, right? Shouldn’t we give it a shot?” Patton consoles before Virgil can go into a spiral. Although his well-meaning reassurances are meant to be comforting, his voice just grates on Logan’s ears, tinny and hollow and misdirected.

“That’s what I’m afraid of!”

Logan wants to keep listening, he really does, but the noise is rising to levels where it’s too much to handle. He’s already sensitive from his illness, but the discussion that is very quickly turning into an argument falls in pulses through his head, sound torture to the broken, hopeless masochist. He’s barely holding onto himself at this point, consciousness like a dangling thread that swirls and dances and twirls with even the tiniest breeze, a hint of movement sending it shivering and quivering as it spins. It wouldn’t take much for the thread to fray from the weight pulling it down, or to saw through it in a clean slice that leaves it floating feather-light upon air currents, petals spiraling to the ground.

Petals. Flowers. Thomas could bring Danny flowers! It’s perfect! Danny is especially predisposed to gardening, and he frequently talks about different flowers and what they mean based on the type and colour. His interest in botany could make this a sweet gift, to show that Thomas pays attention to what Danny enjoys, and can be the perfect segue into asking him on a romantic outing. Yes, this could work! It would appease Roman’s inclination to classic romanticism while still being practical and not unreasonably expensive, give Patton his ideal relationship fantasy (and a “warm and fuzzy feeling”, apparently), and allow Virgil a little more breathing room, so-to-speak. This is something they all should be agreeable towards, and that confidence is enough to supply Logan with enough energy to push past his lightheadedness and offer a solution. He’s proud of himself for taking the others’ feelings into account, something he knows he’s not always been the most proficient at, and for coming up with a compromise that will likely satisfy everyone’s wants and needs.

“What about bringing him flowers?” Logan asks, pleased and antsy as he feels hope well up in his chest. He doesn’t push it down this time, and he thinks maybe, just maybe they’ll finally listen to him, that they’ll tell him that he did well, that he’s being considerate and maybe even say thank you–

“How would you even know, Roman? It’s not like we just go out and hire mariachi bands every Saturday!” Virgil says with furrowed brows, and Roman huffs in indignation, and Patton sighs as he looks between the two of them, and Logan’s words fall on deaf ears. They didn’t even hear. They didn’t listen. They didn’t care they didn’t care–

“Uh, hey, Virgil, what if–” Logan tries once more to speak, nausea rolling angrily in his gut, head spinning dizzy round and round and round and round and Virgil flinches.

He flinches. Because of Logan.

Virgil hasn’t been afraid of any of them for a long time. Sure, in the beginning, when they fought one another on nearly a day-to-day basis, there would be a moment before he could pull on his figurative mask that a flash of fear would go through Virgil’s eyes, and the sadness kept within wouldn’t subside even when he growled and snapped and blustered whichever side had the misfortune of picking a fight with him during a time where his first instinct was to keep away the pain and longing and loneliness the only way he knew how. Over time, that flash of fear dulled, morphed into something more manageable, more trusting. The sadness never really went away, but it was met with warmth, a soft contentedness that danced in his eyes when he realized he had a family to turn to. He hasn’t been afraid for a long time. And yet, he flinches away from Logan, just from him speaking.

Is he really that bad?

Does even simply the sound of his voice have such a negative association for Virgil that it prompts genuine fear and discomfort? Has he really scared Virgil that much? What did he do? How can he fix this?

Maybe he shouldn’t.

Logan’s felt disconnected from the others for quite a while now. He loves them, of course he does, but he doesn’t feel like he fits. He’s the metaphorical jagged puzzle piece, the one that should snap into the final vacant space but is so broken beyond repair that it doesn’t fit quite right. He wants to belong, to feel at home whenever he’s with them, but he doesn’t. He yearns for the acceptance that Virgil earned, the support that Roman is held up by, the respect and adoration Patton seems to acquire so casually and naturally that it’s like he doesn’t even have to try. Logan wants to be like them. He wants to be loved, but… that isn’t really his place, is it?

Love is not an inherent thing. It’s something that’s earned, by doing good things and being important enough to someone that they give it freely. It’s something Logan doesn’t understand, but despite that, still desperately, painfully yearns for. He wants to be loved, the way he loves the others. He wants to be a part of their famILY, to have that implicit trust in each other that only comes from acute, profound, deep-seated love. He wants that fondness directed towards himself, that devotion borne from hapless, radiating appreciation. The humbled esteem, the maudlin, theatrical longing, the passion and yearning and helpless, acquiescent love that bursts from the seams in a manner that will never diminish or fade. He wants that. Badly. And he’s finally ready to accept that he will never have it. He’s okay. He’s okay. He just needs a moment. He just needs to breathe.

The others must have continued with their arguments long ago, seemingly unaware of anything outside of themselves. Logan supposes he shouldn’t really berate them for that since he often falls victim to getting lost in debate as well, but something is wrong with Thomas, going by his expression and demeanour and the logical side can’t ignore it anymore. It’s highly unlikely that the other three will come away from themselves for long enough to notice, and it doesn’t sound like they’re anywhere close to coming to a conclusion amongst themselves, so Logan is perfectly fine with bearing that responsibility upon himself to check up on his host and make sure he’s okay. He’s the most important one here, after all, and it’s Logan’s job to help him, guide him in his life and decisions.

“Thomas? Is there something wrong?” Although the words come out clear and precise as usual, Logan’s throat burns, and he can barely breathe. He wants to sleep, he wants to sleep, but Thomas needs him, and that doesn’t happen often nowadays, so Logan does nothing but wait impassively. His host bites the inside of his cheek, then sighs as he stares off at the wall, lost in thought. Since he says nothing, the logical side assumes he will continue to say nothing for a few more moments, and decides to give him a once-over to gather more information and any possible context. Thomas’ eyebrows are furrowed, and his posture far from adequate. His expression is troubled, and his arms are crossed loosely, a pointer finger scratching at his elbow unconsciously. There is no obvious cause for his confusion and/or upset in himself or anywhere in the room, apart from the current dilemma, but he was fine before, so something must have changed to distress him now. Logan cannot ascertain what Thomas needs simply from observing him, so he concludes that the best thing for him to do is wait.

So he does. And he does so for a minute, two, five. Every second that ticks by feels like a needle is being shoved into his eyes, his brain, his legs, his everything and it takes more effort to stand than he’s used to. Breathing is difficult, but that isn’t exactly a new development, so at least he knows how to ignore it. Eventually, ten minutes pass with only the sound of the other three arguing in the background, and it doesn’t seem like Thomas is really all there. Although the action makes him want to throw up, Logan shifts forward, moving out of his usual spot and into Thomas’ own. He still doesn’t acknowledge any kind of input outside himself, so Logan lays a hand on his host’s arm gently, which snaps him out of his trance in a slow, unhurried kind of way. Thomas gives him a glance when his logical side sighs, tampering down any audible signs of his nausea in a manner that is unbeknownst to the host, but returns to staring at the wall without a second regard.

“Thomas?” Logan murmurs, bile rising in his throat and shoving his hidden suffering even closer to the forefront of his mind, as though it hasn’t been there all along. It’s hard to think, through all of the white noise and weary irritation and the tiniest sliver of hope that he crushes immediately, but thinking is his job, and he needs to help. “Are you alright? You can talk to me.”

And then Thomas is shrugging him off, turning away as he tells him he should “just stop” with piercing words, that he “can’t do anything to help”, and the rejection feels like a metaphorical knife has been shoved into his gut. Logan can feel the pain and the heartbreak and the insecurity materialize into a cold blade, twisting and twisting just to make him hurt more. Logan is ignored for the fourth time today, by the person it hurts to come from the most, and he can feel the sun whipping and screaming in his chest. His breath is stuck, sucked down into his throat, a sharp pain localizing in his neck, and he can’t help but bring his hand up to rub at the spot with trembling fingertips as he unsteadily lurches back to his regular spot. The others don’t notice, of course, or if they did, they don’t care. Then the nausea he’s been fighting against surges like a violent wave at full force, drowning him and the hurt is forcing its way into his mouth, his throat, his lungs, and he can’t breathe–

His fist flashes down from his neck to the banister, punching the railing so hard it echoes in the reverberation created from his vicious, angry snarl.

It’s scary, in a way, how in moments like this one, Logan feels as if his consciousness floats away from him, leaving behind only a wave of white-hot, searing anger that drains out of him just as quickly as it comes. There’s sleet running through his veins, and his brain has frostbite, and his fingertips are numb in the face of the ringing resonance after his outburst. The pain comes next, a simmering heat blistering below his fist until it’s coated and red and the beginnings of a bruise are starting to form. He can’t help but stare helplessly in front of himself, eyes burning and filling and blazing with how much they beg to close.

He doesn’t want to look up, to face the suffocating silence that’s fallen over the room. He doesn’t want to see their faces, their disappointment, their anger, their contempt. He wants to yell. He wants to sleep.

Logan sinks out.

There’s a very short window of time where the logical side rushes into the en-suite bathroom after rising up in his bedroom, trembling legs aching with exhaustion. Barely a second passes between him falling to the floor and emptying the meager contents of his stomach into the toilet, the bile burning in his tender throat as a reminder of his failure. The floor is cold and hard beneath him, ridges of tiles pressing unrelenting into his knees through his wrinkled jeans. His head spins, unbalanced as it whirls through itself, words and thoughts and ideas that mean nothing and everything simultaneously existing hollowly in a falling echo. There is pain, and aching, and soreness, and exhaustion, and Logan wants to sleep.

It’s hard to rise to his feet, head throbbing and knees shaking as he wipes the spit from his mouth on a folded square of toilet paper. The pain nags at him, persistent and irritating in its attempts to shut Logan out, almost clear in a way that belies the foggy haze blanketing his nearly incoherent thought process. Marking a clear vantage, a faultline to anchor onto is no easy task, and all Logan wants as he stumbles over to his bed is a landmark to pinpoint and find his way back to. He careens toward the mattress once he’s close enough, finally letting his legs give out underneath him when he’s as near as he can bear. It’s so difficult to stay upright in stiff misery, pangs and twinges of sharp pain coursing through his limbs and his back as his muscles are forced together under pressure.

In another familiar, frustrating bout of anger that seizes his breath before it can escape his lungs, Logan shoves his fingers in the knot of his tie, yanking it forcefully even as the motion jerks his own head forward uncomfortably along with it. His fingers run down the length of the fabric, and it falls apart at the end of its cycle, much like Logan has, and he snaps his arm back to chuck the dark blue, silky length to the ground in a motion that does little to relieve the rage built up inside him.

He can feel it building. The buzzing, the pressure, the glass in his veins running on shards. He feels the pinpricks upon pinpricks, the fire burning in his lungs, and the stone crumbles, and tumbles down, and he’s like a rubber band pulled taut.

He cracks, shrill pressure in his knuckles and head and torso, and nothing happens.

Then Logan hears the telltale squeak of his door swiveling on mildly rusty hinges, and a familiar voice echoes right through his bubble, shatters the stone wall like a bulldozer running at full speed, and then the wetness spills over his lashes and over his stony, impassive face.

“Oh, Lo,” Deceit murmurs, sad and tender as the breath rushes out of him and Logan can’t do this. He wants to throw out his fist in a wide arc and pummel the wall next to him until his knuckles are raw and bloodied and bruised beyond repair. He wants to scream until his throat is torn and his voice is gone, lost in the uncaring, empty void that coldly swallowed up his passion. Happiness has never seemed further away, and he knows he deserves it. But then he remembers all of the times where the pressure in his limbs and the buzzing in his brain forced him to lash out, to hurt others, and he thinks that maybe it’s okay for him to hurt right now to even the score. With the last of the metaphorical wall around him in tiny pieces, fragments of a life he never wanted to live but he desperately fought to keep, he lets his guard down for the first time in years.

Logan’s face crumples under the weight he’s burdened his being with, body immediately drooping under the heaviness that he’s forced himself to fight through. He finally submits, and the tears come in an endless stream over his cheekbones, itchy and hot and terribly, mindlessly relieving. It feels so good to finally let the negative emotion he’s pent up inside him out, to fall out of his cage he’s lived in high above a swirling ocean of release and fear and freedom. And he’s so, so lucky because he has someone to save him from the fall.

Deceit’s kneeled down in front of him, wiping away the tears as they fall with uncharacteristically degloved thumbs, and Logan can feel the smoothness of the scales twisting and trailing down his fingers. Every so often, Deceit’s pointed thumbnails catch lightly on the skin of Logan’s cheek, and it just causes him to cry harder. The vulnerability in the room is palpable, a wispy breath of worry and insecurity and trust trailing over their skin, blanketing the room in a warmth that runs even warmer when Logan reaches up to gently lay his hand over Deceit’s own. He shows his appreciation through tactility when the words he so desperately wishes to say are lost in his throat, blocked by the barrier that separates his newfound submission and the part of him that’s still clinging to the feeble grasp at acceptance he craves so dearly.

Logan can barely tell what’s in front of him through the kaleidoscope in his vision, but he doesn’t really need to see to throw himself forward off the bed and bury himself in Deceit’s chest, of whom lets out a surprised noise but doesn’t hesitate a single second in wrapping his arms tightly around the other side. He strokes Logan’s back comfortingly and offers him whispered reassurances through the heart-wrenching sobs and broken, croaky whines that disappear into his cloak, hand coming up to cradle his head in the overwhelming reflexive instinct to keep the logical side safe and happy. It feels like a dagger has gone through Deceit’s chest at the knowledge that Logan has been suffering for so long and hasn’t been able to let it out or just simply be held, the self-preservation that is at the core of his function as a side going off like alarm bells with every sniffle. Logan curls into the first person who’s ever offered him physical affection and emotional safety, and his fists clench the fabric at the snake-like side’s shoulders as tightly as he would if he were to never, ever let go.

Logan is out of breath even as his heart begins to calm, beating and beating in his ribcage and in his lungs. The lump in his throat prevents him from speaking, but he figures it’s okay to not be heard audibly, just this once, and speak with his actions. Although he doesn’t know what he’s saying when he pulls back and wraps his arms around Deceit’s neck, laying his face in the crook of other side’s neck like a small child would, not really, he hopes that his intent still comes across in some sort of intelligible, hopeful way. Deceit seems to take this as a request, a promise, and slides his grip to a point where he can hoist the smaller side up in his hold, carrying him just like a parent carrying their kid to their bed after they fell asleep during a visit to a friend’s house. This situation is much more loaded, stained with impurities and unsure withering, but it’s just as raw, just as real, and Logan finds himself feeling safer than he ever has before.

At some point, they end up on the bed, Logan having been manhandled into a more comfortable position for both of them, which is laying across Deceit’s lap without ever having let go of his neck. The logical side feels small and vulnerable, something that he would normally hate, squash down, bury so deep within himself that he doesn’t even have to acknowledge it. But honestly, right here, right now, he’s so goddamn exhausted, and forcing himself back into the state of repression he’s been in for so much of his life would take too much of a toll, more than he already has on himself. The wetness rolls down his cheeks, bold, blue precipitation falling in droplets onto his skin and the fabric of Deceit’s cape, sinking and spreading and thinning out into airy nothingness. And the nothingness enraptures him, pulls him in even as he breaks and whimpers and spills wisps of forgotten feelings into empty space, at least until his bedroom door opens once more with a loud click, because nothing Remus ever does is truly quiet.

“Hey, are you guys having a sexy party without me? How c–… are you… crying?” Remus asks, suggestive tone split and watered down into something confused, and surprised, and angry. The younger twin kicks the door shut behind him with his foot, more out of muscle memory than conscious forethought, something that stands with nearly every action Remus executes. Logan turns his head wearily, not lifting it from where it rests on Deceit’s collarbone. The latter of the two takes that chance to clear away some of the tears that didn’t get absorbed into his clothing, hoping that since the stream is slowly dispersing, his cheeks will stay dry this time. Remus slowly approaches, body tense and eyes piercing as Logan’s face is wiped off for the nth time, offering no other sounds or words as he crouches down to examine how the bespectacled side’s skin is rubbed red and sensitive.

Logan just whines softly, stare falling to the bedsheets, observing nothing in particular as he tries to figure out why words are failing him. Something that’s such an intricate part of himself, the communication of thoughts and ideas and knowledge that defines so much of who he is and how he exists, it’s dwindled and diminished into nothing. Deceit seems to understand, he always does, and reads him so perfectly it’s a wonder the two didn’t become closer in the beginning, with how much they truly are alike. A scaled hand makes it’s way up to Logan’s head and cards through the soft, disheveled hair there, scratching lightly at his scalp in a motion that seems to draw the aching tension caused by his distress out of his body, leaving his muscles to relax and melt into the chest that holds him upright.

“Something happened before I came in here. I assume it has to do with the others,” Deceit murmurs into thick, heavy air, stale with shame and tired hopelessness. Remus’ eyes flick to Logan’s own, actively searching for some sort of confirmation or denial. There’s a beat of silence, and Logan’s eyes flutter in a fatigued attempt to stay awake, and the nausea creeps its way into his stomach once again like a predator stalking its prey. Deceit repositions himself quietly, pulling the smaller side impossibly closer, as if he knows that he’ll need the added comfort. With his body squished into a protective embrace, and his tie laying flat on the floor below, forgotten and scorned for what it represents, Logan swallows hard around the sharp block in his neck and nods through his nonverbal affliction.

At the minimal admission, something in Remus’ eyes darkens, bathing the bright craze that typically resides there in something hateful, and vicious, and dripping with chemical absolution. He shifts away, rolls onto his haunches in a way that doesn’t read as entirely intentional, as though he’s been physically forced back with the weight of the confession. There’s so much there, in the way his breath comes out shallow and gravelly and low like a beast biting and snapping at the bars that contain it, fighting against the cage it’s locked inside. Nostrils flare, and jaw sets, and fists clench white as bone, and Remus straightens up to his full height, intimidating and looming and dangerous.

“Who?” he spits, venom coursing through the single word in molten streams. It’s a protective fire, serious in a way Remus rarely is, and the storm in his eyes and aura only becomes more turbulent and intense and solid as he reaches behind himself to slowly seize his morning star from where he keeps it at the ready. Pulling it to the front of him is an unexpectedly slow event, yet still ferocious in its quiet, cold fervour. The silver weapon swings in a steady arc around the side of Remus’ body, catching the dim light in a threatening glint, the gleam alluding to its deadliness in a way that’s almost unexplainable. The spiked mace finally comes to its resting point, hovering in the air just beside the fierce side’s leg, unassuming and ready to drive its way into an unlucky antagonist’s skull.

“I’ll cut their fucking throats. I’ll rip off every single limb from their bodies until they’re nothing but a pile of flesh and blood. They’re gonna pay for this,” Remus snarls, each threat bathed in acrimony and malice and choked by fury ripping through the tempest. Logan stares through misty eyes, half-lidded and concerned but too out of it to muster much of a coherent thought. Thankfully, Deceit is still there, soft and warm and well-equipped to deal with Remus and his behaviour. The snake-like side sighs, reaching out to just barely snatch up a frilly black sleeve, tugging him closer and meeting surprisingly little resistance despite the rigidity of the tallest side’s posture. Each breath from Remus comes out like a bullet, brisk and arduous and punctuated by a pang of impermeable guilt.

Even as Deceit motions Remus to lower himself onto the bed in front of them, the latter of the two is still apprehensive, terse movements and restless eyes that flit between anything and everything they can to avoid stagnation. It’s almost fearful, in a way, primal in its aptitude to think, and cultivate, and vindicate a wrongdoing that was never his fault or responsibility in the first place. Logan hates that they need to save him, hates that he doesn’t truly believe they actually care. There’s a level of certainty with himself and with others that the logical side hasn’t reached yet, and it feels too close and yet too far, kept obscure and secluded and almost clandestine in the way it’s ostensibly unreachable.

With the help of Deceit’s hand to guide his way, Remus slowly lets go of his morning star, tossing it to the side with a pensive, trembling swallow. It clatters to the ground, metallic clang resounding in vibrations, tilde-shaped waves that bounce off the façade and yell out to one another. Muted shrieks upon perfect, flat, neutral paint, sepulchral oscillations attacking the drywall.

“You can’t hurt them. I know you’re angry. I am too. But hurting them won’t solve anything, Rem, you know that more than anyone,” Deceit says meaningfully, smiling in a way that’s sad and distant but caring and compelling and relaxing for the tension wrapped so tightly around the three of them. The snake-like side lifts the hand that’s not in Logan’s hair and reaches out to grab Remus’ own, firmly but gently as he squeezes his fingers in a way that reassures, and consoles, and reprimands, not unkindly. He admonishes, and breaks that anger and frustration, and builds up positivity and alleviation and reprieve from everything that allows that buzzing, ticking, those pinpricks upon pinpricks. His care and concern washes over you, paternal in a different way than Patton operates, and it’s why Deceit is so comforting to be around. He manages a respite from vexation, a refuge in sanctuary, discreet freedom for the flawed, defeated dreamer.

“I’m mad. I’m mad that they hurt you, Lo-Lo. I want them to feel the pain you’re feeling,” Remus mutters, frigid and defeated, head bowed and gaze distant in that transparent manner of his that easily broadcasts all of his thoughts and feelings and wishes. Logan feels the pride welling up in his chest without even realizing it, quietly delighted at the progress Remus has made in being clear and forthcoming with his emotions and impulsivity. A weary grin makes its way onto his face, predictably aggravating the soreness in his cheeks, yet he finds himself indifferent to it, unperturbed by the plight that’s ravaged his body for the day, and probably longer without his notice. He wants to reassure the younger twin, to smile and laugh and brush all of it off, but his eyelids droop, and a pathetic mewl is the only thing able to escape his lungs. Of course, since there’s something Logan wants to say, Deceit somehow knows how to communicate it, just as prompt and courteous and perceptive as always.

“We can talk about this later after Logan has slept. Don’t worry too much, Rem, and don’t do anything stupid. If you get angry again, please go to your paints instead of your legs,” Deceit instructs, more of a suggestion than a demand, but he hopes Remus will listen and be mindful anyway. The latter of the two bounces his leg anxiously, grumbling unintelligibly under his breath as he stands up in one swift, fluid motion. As Remus makes his way over to exit the room, Logan nudges Deceit’s hand with his head gently, trying to bring his attention back to the massaging motion that ceased sometime during the conversation. The snake-like side’s eyes flick downward to meet the smaller side’s own half-lidded, teetering gaze, and he huffs a laugh after a moment of searching. Logan doesn’t know what he finds, but he realizes that he doesn’t really care that much about worrying over every little interaction anymore.

Remus finally turns and glances back as he swings the door open, brows still furrowed and shoulders still hunched, but simply shakes his head and leaves. The door closes much softer than before, thankfully, so as not to be too harsh on Logan’s migraine, an unusually conscientious thought from someone that rarely shows consideration to the needs of others that the logical side appreciates that much more. As the sound of Remus’ footsteps slowly fade with his retreat down the hallway, the two of them left are bathed in silence, one that is marginally less heavy and thick than before.

A small while passes afterward, only punctuated by soft breathing and light scratching noises from nails trailing through messy hair. Logan feels like he might pass out any minute, what with the comfortable, quiet understanding the two have come to rest at, but some part of him says to wait, to push through the mind-numbing exhaustion for just a little while longer. That part of him is probably just being considerate toward Deceit, who Logan can’t imagine would be very comfortable with another side falling asleep on him and laying on him for an extended period of time, but he figures that it’s a good of a reason as any. It’s not about him feeling like a burden. It’s not.

Eventually, Deceit must start to get tired as well, or maybe he’s sore from Logan’s weight on his legs, so he sits forward, apologizing quietly for disturbing the peace, and he moves them into a more comfortable position. The new arrangement is far more snug and cozy than the previous one, Logan thinks drowsily, as his head hits the pillow across from Deceit. They lay there on top of the blankets but make no move to pull them up, just content to stare lazily at one another in the dim, ambient light cast by the desk lamp in the opposite corner of the room.

“Why?” Logan finally asks, and although he loathes disrupting the silence, he needs to ask. The words are scratchy in his tender throat, a charcoal whisper on a steel canvas that scratches and sketches away with nothing viable left to keep through the wind that blows the dark dust off the surface. “Why are you helping me? Why do you care?”

Deceit just hums, sending Logan a weak, distracted smile. He mulls over the words, tossing about the meaning and possibilities in his head and on his silver tongue, rushing in an uncertain river through valleys of golden sand.

“I am self-preservation at its core. I exist to keep Thomas safe and healthy and thriving, and that also means you and the other sides by extension. But… it’s not just that. Even though I feel physical pain whenever one of you or Thomas is hurt, I specifically want to help you because… I care about you, Logan. I love you, and want to see you healthy and happy. I haven’t really been doing a good job of that lately,” Deceit mutters, gaze somewhere on their shared pillow, and there’s a quality to his tone that’s bitter beyond the line of frustration. Although Deceit doesn’t expand on it, doesn’t offer up a single clarification despite the heavy air and his resigned demeanour, Logan gets it. He understands, and he wants to prove him wrong.

So he does.

And that comes in the form of surging forward, fighting against the current, the pinpricks in his stomach and shoulders and abdomen, disregarding the exhaustion for just a little while longer so that he can let Deceit’s lips meet his own. Logan’s so close he can feel the shocked rush of air leave Deceit’s nose, feel the vibrations through the air as his body trembles in fear and anticipation and relief. The other side eases in, sinks closer, closer, and finally moves his lips in a careful, emotional dance that leaves Logan dizzy and breathless, for entirely different reasons that have plagued him for the past day.

“Lo,” Deceit breathes, low, wanting, and he pulls back to give Logan a chance to catch up. A scaled hand comes up to caress the logical side’s cheek, a soothing, cool balm for the raw skin beginning to heal there. “I didn’t… I didn’t think…”

“I love you,” Logan breathes, the words he’s refused to say, to acknowledge, to confront welling up through his throat and for the first time, he lets them spill out. The dam has broken, debris left to descend and submerge in the depths of the sentiment crashing through in a roaring, passionate rapid at the narrowest point yet. The words come, and they don’t stop, and Logan almost can’t believe how right they feel on his tongue. “I love you, I love you, I–I love you so much, Dee.”

Logan is like a rubber band, pulled taut and still and trembling under the pressure. And maybe he’ll split, shoot apart, torn in two pieces that will never fit back together again. But maybe he won’t. Maybe instead of snapping in half, he’ll snap back, and that thought alone gives him a quiet comfort that he’s not used to allowing himself. He’s waiting, hoping, and he’s okay enough for now.