#i didn’t do my sketch entry due last week

[rainysaturdayafternoon]

i’m gonna cry

[felassan]

Dragon Age development insights and highlights from Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

Some really tasty factoids here.

Cut for length.

Dragon Age: Origins

The continent of Thedas was at one point going to be named Pelledia, a name initially floated by James Ohlen

“Qunari” was a temporary name that ended up unintentionally sticking, much like “Thedas”

Mary Kirby wrote the Landsmeet. To this day, nobody understands how it works, except possibly her. If she’s “really really drunk” she can explain how it works. There’s as many words in it as Sten’s entire conversations put together

Concept art for Thedosian art - as in in-world art - draws heavily on Renaissance-era portraiture, the Art Nouveau movement, religious styles and media like stained glass, and favorite pieces from the golden age of illustrations in the early 20th century

Andrastianism in-world (art-wise) is depicted in wildly different methods depending on who in-world made the art in question. “One religion, 3 different lenses”. There’s the Chantry take, the Orlesian take and the Fereldan take; each with its own different interpretations, different mediums and different stories

The stained glass images were drawn by Nick Thornborrow for DAI, to decorate religious spaces in that game “and beyond”

irl Viking art influenced Ferelden

Greek and Italian art influenced Orlais

The book also had other insights into and anecdotes from the development of DAO, but I’ve transcribed them recently as they’re essentially the stories DG has recently been relating on the awesome Summerfall Studios DAO playthrough Twitch streams. (On those streams he provides dev commentary while Liam Esler plays through DA. The ones with DG are currently once every two weeks. Check them out! Here’s a calendar where you can check when the next one is) Instead of repeating myself I’ll just provide the link to the first transcript. From there you can navigate to the subsequent parts. Note these streams are ongoing. At this point I will also point you to a related post which is cliff notes of the Dragon Age chapter in Jason Schreier’s book Blood Sweat and Pixels.

Dragon Age II

DAO had the longest development period in BioWare history. In contrast DA2 had the shortest

Initially DA2 was going to be an expansion to DAO. A few months in EA said “Yeah, expansions like these don’t sell very well, so let’s make it a sequel.” So it suddenly became DA2 and they had to make it even bigger, although they still only had 1.5 years of time in which to do this

Production of DA2 officially lasted only 9 months, and at the time the team was still supporting live content for DAO! They finished development that January after the design team crunched all the way through the holiday period that year. Then it went to cert 9 times

The limited time they had is why the story takes place mostly in and around 1 city, and over 7 years (so it was temporal, rather than over physical distance, because a more expansive world would have taken more irl time to make)

They had no time to review even the main plot. Mike Laidlaw pitched the idea of 3 stories taking place at different points in the PC’s life, tied together by Varric’s recollections of events. DG rolled with this and made 1 presentation on the idea. This presentation was then approved and off they went

As they were writing DG realized that there was going to be no oversight and that everything was going to be a ‘first draft’. “Because nobody had time.” He sat down with the writers and said “Look, here’s the conditions we’re working under. A lot of what we’re putting out is gonna be raw. We’re not going to get the editing we need. We’re not going to get the kind of iteration we need. So I’m going to trust you all to do your best work.”

Looking back, DG has mixed feelings on DA2. “A lot of corners were cut. The public perception was that it was smaller than DAO. That’s a sin on its own.”

Despite this he thinks DA2 has some of the best writing in the series, especially character-wise. The DA2 chars are his favorite

The pace with which production progressed may in some ways have helped. “When we do a lot of revision, we often file away [as in buff off] some of the good writing as well. Somehow DA2′s whirlwind process resulted in some really good writing”

The pace meant chars landed on the writers in various stages of completion. For example Isabela was fairly defined due to appearing in DAO. In contrast Varric at the start was just that single piece of widely-shown concept art

Varric was conceived as a storyteller not a fighter. His skills are talking and bullshitting. Hence the question became, so what does this guy do in combat? The direction was to make him as different as possible to Oghren, so not a warrior. He couldn’t be a dual-wielding rogue in order to differentiate him from Bela. But you can’t really picture this guy with a bow. “For a dwarf, it would probably be a crossbow. We didn’t have crossbows, or we only had crossbows for the darkspawn. And they were part of the models. We didn’t have a separate crossbow that was equip-able by the chars. They had to like, crop one off a darkspawn and remodel it. And that became Bianca” (quote: Mary Kirby)

“Dwarven mages are exceedingly rare.” [???]

If DAO was a classic fantasy painting, DA2 was a screenshot from a Kurosawa film or a northern Renaissance painting. (Here Matt Rhodes was commenting on art style)

John Epler: “In any one of our games, there’s a 95% chance that if you turn the camera away from what it’s looking at, you’ll see all kinds of janky stuff. The moment we know the camera is no longer facing someone, we no longer care what happens to them. We will teleport people around. We will jump people around. We will literally have someone walk off screen and then we will shift them 1000 meters down, because we’re fixing some bug.” John also talked about this camera stuff in a recent charity Twitch stream for Gamers For Groceries. There’s a writeup of that stream here

Designing Kirkwall pushed concept artists to the limits of visual storytelling, because it has a long history that they wanted to be present. It was once the hub of Tevinter’s slave empire, so it needed to look brutal and harsh, but it also then needed to feel reclaimed, evolved, and with elements of contemporary Free Marches culture

The initial plan was for DA titles to be distinguished by subtitles not numbers, so that each experience could stand on its own rather than feel like a sequel or continuation. (My note: New PCs in each entry make sense then when you consider this and other factoids we know like how DA is the story of the world not of any one PC). Later, DA2′s name was made DA2 in a bid to more clearly connect the game to its predecessor. For DAI they returned to the original naming convention. (My note: so I’d reckon they’d be continuing the subtitle naming convention for DA4)

DA2 was initially code-named “Nug Storm”, strictly internally

The Cancelled DA2 Expansion - Exalted March

This was a precursor to DAI

It was meant to bridge the gap between DA2 and DAI

It focused on the fallout from Kirkwall’s explosion, with Cory serving as the villain

Meredith’s red lyrium statue was basically going to infest Kirkwall and it would end up [with what would end up] the red templars taking over Kirkwall and essentially being Cory’s army

To stop him Hawke would have recruited various factions, including Bela’s Felicisima Armada and the Qunari at Estwatch, forcing Hawke to split loyalties and risk relationships in the process

It was meant to bring DA2′s story to an end and end in Varric’s death. DG was very happy with this because all of DA2 is Varric’s tale. The expansion was supposed to start at the moment Cassandra’s interrogation of him ended in the present. “And we finished off the story with Varric having this heroic death.” It tied things up and would have broken many fan hearts, something BioWare writers notoriously enjoy. But between a transition to the new Frostbite engine and the scope of DAI, the decision was made to cancel EM, work any hard-to-lose concepts into DAI, and in the process save Varric’s life. DG has talked about the Varric dying thing before

Concept art for EM explored new areas previously not depicted in the DA universe, with costumes that reflected next steps for familiar chars. Varric was going to war, what would he have worn? With Anders, if he survived DA2, the plan was to present a redeemed Warden

A char that vaguely resembled Sera in DAI was first concepted for EM. This fact was mentioned near this concept art (see the female elf) and this concept art of Bethany with the blond bob

The writers sketched out plans to end it with Hawke having the option to marry their LI. This included alternate ceremonies for party members like Bethany and Sebastian if the player opted not to wed. There was even a wedding dress made for Hawke. This asset made it into DAI (Sera and Cullen’s weddings in Trespasser). The dress can also be seen in DAI during an ambient NPC wedding after completing a chain of war table missions

The destruction of a Chantry was explored in concept art as it might have happened in EM. This idea ended up carrying over to the beginning of DAI. (My note: Lol, the idea that DA2 could have had 2 Chantries being destroyed in it 😆)

World of Thedas

Sheryl Chee and Mary Kirby started with “a disgusting little dish called fluffy mackerel pudding”. In the middle of DAO’s busy dev period one of them (they can’t remember who) found a recipe online for this, scanned in from a 70s cookbook. “I don’t understand why it was fluffy. Why would you want fluffy mackerel pudding?” MK says. “We loved it so much we included it in a DAO codex.”

This led them to create more food for Thedas, full recipes included, like a Fereldan turnip and barley stew from MK and SC’s Starkhaven fish and egg pie. The fish pie became Sebastian’s favorite. “To me it made sense for it to be fish pie because a lot of the Free Marches are on the coast”, SC says, “It was something that was popular in medieval times, so I thought, let’s make a fish pie! I looked at medieval recipes and I concocted a fish pie which I fed to my partner, and he was like ‘This is not terrible’”

For WoT the whole studio was asked to contribute family recipes which might have a place in Thedas. SC adapted these to fit in one Thedosian culture or another, including a beloved banana bread that localization producer Melanie Fleming would regularly bake to keep the DA team motivated. “Melanie’s banana bread got us through Inquisition”

DAI

It says part of DAI takes place in or near the border with Nevarra [???]

This game was aimed to be bigger than DA2 and even DAO in every conceivable way

The first hour had to do a lot of heavy lifting, tying together the events of DAO and DA2 while introducing a new PC, new followers etc in the aftermath of the big attack. DG rewrote it 7 times then Lukas Kristjanson did 2 more passes

DG: “Our problem is always that our endings are so important, but we leave them to last, when we have no time. I kept pushing on DAI: ��Can we work on the ending now? Can we work on the ending now? Can we do it early on?’ Because I knew exactly what it was going to be. But despite the fact that it kept getting scheduled, whenever the schedule started falling behind, it kept getting pushed back... so, of course, it got left til last again.”

“The reveal of the story’s real antagonist, Solas, a follower until the end, when he betrayed the player”. “Solas’ story remains a main thread in Inquisition’s long-awaited follow-up” [these aren’t DG quotes, just bits of general text]

Over the course of development they had 8 full-time writers and 4 editors working on it. Other writers joined later to help wrangle what ended up being close to 1 million words of dialogue and unspoken text. While many teams moved to a more open concept style of work for DAI, the writers remained tucked away in their own room, a choice DG says was necessary, given how much they talked. All the talking had a purpose ofc as if someone hit a bump or wall in their writing they would open the problem up to the room

As writing on a project like DAI progresses, the writers grow punchier and weirder things make it into the game. This is especially the case towards the end of a project (they get tired, burned out)

Banter and codexes require less ‘buy-in’ (DG has talked about this concept a few times on the Twitch streams) from other designers. DG liked to leave banter for last as a reward because it was fun. Banter begins as lists of topics for 2 followers to discuss. These may progress over time or be one off exchanges. One banter script can balloon to well over 10k words. “The banter was always huge because we were always like, laughing, and really at that point, our fields of fucks were rather barren, so we would just do whatever”

The bog unicorn happened pretty much by accident. It was designed by Matt Rhodes and was one of his fav things to design. They needed horse variations and he had already designed an undead variant which was a bog mummy [bog body]. irl these are preserved in a much different way to traditional mummies. When someone dies in a bog their skin turns black and raisin-like. The examples we know of tend to have bright red hair for whatever reason. It’s a very striking look and MR wanted to do a horse version of this as he thought it’d be neat. 5 mins before the review meeting for it he had a big ‘Aha!’ moment, quickly looked up a rusty old Viking sword, and photoshopped it through its skull like that was how it died. “And I was like, ‘I just made a unicorn. Alright, in it goes!’” It got approved. “So we built the thing. It fit. It told a little story”

With the irl Inquisition longsword, one of the objects they tested its cleaving ability on was a plush version of Leliana’s nug Schmooples

The concept art team explored a wide variety of visuals for the Inquisitor’s signature mark. It needed to look powerful and raw but couldn’t look like a horrific wound. In some cases, as cool as the idea looked on paper, they just weren’t technically feasible, especially as they had to be able to fit on any number of different bodies

Bug report: “Endlessly spawning mounts! At one point during development, Inquisitors could summon a new horse every time they whistled, allowing them to amass a near infinite number of eager steeds that faithfully followed them across Thedas. “You could go charging across levels and they’d all gallop behind you,” Jen Cheverie says, “It was beautiful.” Trotting into town became an epic horse siege as a tidal wave of mounts enveloped the streets. Jen called it her Army of Ponies”

The giants came from DA Week, an internal period when devs can pursue different individual creative projects that in some way benefit DA. They also had a board game from one of these that they were going to put in but they didn’t have time. It’s referenced though. It was dwarven chess

Josie’s outfit is made of gold silk and patterned velvet, with leather at her waist. She carries “an ornate ledger” and she has “an ornamented collar sitting around her neck, finished by a brilliant red ruby, like a drop of Antivan wine in a sunbeam”

Iron Bull’s armor is leather. His loose pantaloons and leather boots give him agility to charge

On DAI in particular, concept artists took special care to make sure costumes would be realistic, at least in a practical ‘this obeys the laws of physics and textiles’ sense. “While on Inquisition, we thought about cosplay from a concept art perspective. Given how incredible a lot of [cosplays] are, I now am not worried about them. In fact in some cases in the future I want to throw them curveballs like, ‘All right, you clever bastards. Let’s see if you can do this!’”

2 geese that nested on the office building and had chicks were named Ganders and Arishonk (it wasn’t known who was the mom or the dad). Other possible names were Carver Honke, Bethany Honke, Urdnot Pecks, Quackwall, Cassandra Pentagoose, the Iron Bill, Shepbird, Garroose, Admiral Quackett, Scout Honking, HChick-47 and Darth Malgoose

Bug report: “The surprising adventures of Ser Noodles!” DAI was the first time the series had a mount feature, meaning this had a lot of bugs. A lot of the teams’ favorite bugs were to do with the mounts. There was a period of time where the Inquisitor’s horse seemed to lose all bone and muscle in its legs. They had a week or so where all quadruped legs were broken. It was a bit noticeable in things like nugs and other small beasties but the horse was insanely obvious. “The first time we summoned the horse [for this] and started running around, the entire QA exploration room just exploded with laughter.” Its legs flapped around like cooked fettucine, leading testers to lovingly nickname it Ser Noodles. At galloping speeds the legs almost looked like helicopter blades, especially when footage was set to classic pieces such as Wagner’s Flight of the Valkyries

For DAI the artists were asked questions like “What would Morrigan wear to a formal ball? Can Cassandra pull off a jaunty hat?”

On DAI storyboarding became the norm. John Epler: “Cinematic design for the longest time was the Wild West. It was ‘here’s a bunch of content, now do it however you want’, which resulted in some successes and some failures.” Storyboarding gave designers a consistent visual blueprint based on ideas from designers, writers and concept artists

Quote from a storyboard by Nick Thornborrow (the Inquisitor going into the party at the end of basegame sequence): “Until Corypheus revealed himself they could not see the single hand behind the chaos. A magister and a darkspawn combined. The ultimate evil. So evil. Eviler than puppy-killers and egg farts combined.”

A general note on concept art:

In the early stages of any project, before the concept artists are aware of any writing, they like to just draw what they think cool story moments could be. It’s not unusual for the team to then be inspired by these and fold them into the game as the project progresses

– From Bioware: Stories and Secrets from 25 Years of Game Development

[noladyme]

The Crown Princess of Charming - part 10

Welcome to Charming - its name says it all. Cat needed a fresh start; and though she hadn’t planned on that being in the arms of the crown prince of this little town’s bikerclub - that was what happened. Charming CA would either be the death of her - or a whole new life.

Rated M

Tags (let me know if you want on the list) @wonderlandfandomkingdom @edonaspanca​

10

We spent the next few days trying to figure out how to be a family. I was well aware – probably even more so than Jax – that this wasn’t just going to be as easy, as me moving my stuff into the house. Jackson was constantly trying to make me take up more space on the shelves. He even cleared out more space in the closet; throwing out old shirts – and the stained boilersuit. “You’re right. You don’t want to know”, he’d chuckled.

Monday afternoon, he found me on the living room floor; sorting papers and old art projects. “You know; I could get you a desk”, he said. “I don’t know if I’ll need one again”, I muttered. He sat down next to me; and took a drawing pad from my hands; going through the sketches on the pages of it. “You will. If it’s not for the school, it’ll be something else”. I shook my head. “I don’t want anything else…”, I said quietly.

He squeezed my healing knee gently. “What about dance?”, he tried. I sputtered a laugh. “You want me back on stage, in front of other men – and women; for that matter?”. He narrowed his eyes at me. “You never told me about any women…”, he muttered. I shrugged. “Like I said… I have a past”, I smirked. He looked down. “Is… that a problem?”, I said. He seemed to have to think about it. “I mean… no?”, he said. I frowned. “It’s a problem”, I whispered. He put an arm around my shoulder. “Just another thing I’m learning about you”, he smiled softly. ”Besides, I’ve produced enough porn to know that two women together is not a bad thing”. His smile became a smirk. I raised a brow at him. “No threesomes”, I said pointedly. He laughed. “Wouldn’t want to share you either way”, he grinned. I leant against his shoulder. “I don’t care who you’ve been with. You’re here now”.

I chewed my lip. “Am I, though?”, I said. “Who am I in this? Am I just your old lady?... I need more”. “I know”, he said. “But seriously, though. Why not take up dancing again?”. I sighed. “Old lady, step mom, and gogo-dancer?”. “Burlesque”, he grinned. I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’d be in my underwear in front of whoever paid an entry-fee”, I said. “You’d be good with that?”. Jax shrugged. “Opie deals with it”, he said. “Yeah. I’ve seen the way he winces every time Lyla talks about work”, I said. Jax frowned. “You wouldn’t be taking dildos up your ass”. I grimaced. “Sorry…”, he chuckled. “Look, I just want you to be happy”.

I kissed his cheek. “I know… I’m sorry. I’m not exactly being the bubbly girlfriend you’d expect me to be – having just moved in, and all…”. Jackson sighed. “Come here…”, he said; and pulled me into his arms. “These last few weeks have been crazy. You’ve been beat; drugged; arrested; and almost…”. Anger ghosted his face, and he couldn’t finish the sentence. “I don’t… I can’t let that ruin everything”, I said quietly. “You’re not ruining anything, Cat”, he said. “You’re dealing with it. Just let me help you”. “You are”, I said. “You’re paying Lowen for me… which I hate”. He frowned. “Why?”. “Because I don’t like not making my own money, and paying my own dues!”, I said. “I’ve always been able to handle myself”. He smiled. “We’re a team, darlin’”, he said. “There ain’t no I in team”. I put two fingers into my mouth, and made a gagging noise.

Jackson laughed, and took my hand. “Look, we’re a family. Ok?”, he said earnestly. “I take care of you; you take care of me”. “And how do I take care of you?”, I said – immediately regretting the question; when I saw his playful grin. “You took care of me twice, this morning…”, he leered. I looked at him incredulously. “You realize that makes me sound like your own personal call-girl, right?”. “I don’t mind a bit of role-play”, he smiled.

I tried to smile; but Jax saw through it. “I’m sorry”, he muttered. I shook my head. “I want me back”, I said. “My work, my sense of security in who I am… Joshua took it all away”. He nodded. “What can I do?”, he said. I thought about it for a moment. “I do want to dance again… are you sure you’d be ok with that?” It was his turn to ponder my question. “I love you; and I want you happy”, he said. “Dancing makes you happy”. “It does”, I nodded. “No nipple tassels?”, he said warily. “I’ll save those for you”, I smirked. “I know how you like to wear them…”. He looked at me warningly. “Hey! That stays between us”, he said. I giggled. “I promise”, I said.

He kissed me gently. “I’ll look up safe clubs for you”. “What do you mean; safe?”, I asked. He frowned. “It’s got to be somewhere unconnected to club enemies”, he said. “And somewhere out of range of Juice”.

His phone rang. “Speak of the devil”, he muttered; and picked up the call. “Juice! What’s up?”. I got up from the floor; and went to feed Abel – who’d been chewing on a teddy bear in his playpen. Jax followed me into the kitchen; his phone to his ear. “Shit!... Yeah. We’re on our way”. He hung up. “Pack up. We gotta get to the clubhouse”. I held Abel to my chest. “What’s wrong?”, I said. “Lockdown”, he grumbled; and walked to the nursery; beginning to pack up a bag for Abel.

I followed him with bated breath. “Jax… what’s happening?”. He looked at me – jaw clenched. “Someone burnt down one of our warehouses”, he said. “Phil got shot”. I felt cold all over. “Is he…”. Jax shook his head. “He’s in the hospital. Gut wound”, he muttered. “Babe; pack your things. We leave in five”. I nodded; and put Abel in the crib, to go collect my things. Jax followed me into the bedroom. “How much… what do I need?”, I said. “Pack for a couple of days”.

I nodded; and grabbed some clothes and toiletries. I was shaking. “Cat…”. Jax pulled me in to a tight hug. “It’ll be ok. You’ll be safe… It’s just a precaution”. “For what?”, I whimpered. He stepped away from me; and opened the bottom drawer – pulling out a .38; checking the chambers to see it was full. “We’re at peace with brown and black. So we don’t know who did it”. “Nords?”, I said. He shook his head. “They don’t mess with our business”, he said. “Too much heat for their numbers”.

I let out a nervous breath. Jax handed me the gun. “This one’s easier. No safety – just pull the hammer; aim, and shoot”. I nodded; and put the gun in my purse.

We drove to TM – I had Abel in the car with me; and Jax followed close on his bike. Once inside the lot; the large gate closed behind us.

The clubhouse was filled with women and children. Abel was fussing from not having been feed when we were at the house; and Gemma took him from my shaking arms. “I’ll be ok, sweetheart”, she said warmly. “This happens”. I nodded; and went to sit down with Lyla. She and Opie had pulled the kids out of school; and the three of them were doing homework at a table.

Clay stepped into the middle of the room. “Listen up! Lockdown is in order. No one leaves without an escort – and all communications with outsiders is on hold”. I felt sick. Jax met my eyes, and stepped over to stand by me – back straight and VP-face on. He squeezed my shoulder for second; letting me know he knew I was afraid. “You’ll all be home as soon as we figure out what happened”, Clay said. “For now; you stay her. And stay safe”. He turned to Jax. “We gotta go”. Jax nodded; and turned to me; bending down for a quick kiss. “I love you. Stay here. We’ve got the dorm for Abel”. “Ok”, I said quietly. “Come back to me…”. “I will”, he whispered.

The guys left the clubhouse; and I heard their bikes starting up, and leaving the lot.

---

I spent the next few hours scared out of my mind. No calls came in to let us know what was happening; and I was constantly looking at the door – wishing for Jax to step through it. Gemma was on her phone; and after she hung up, she joined me at a table; where I was trying to feed Abel his nighttime bottle. “That was Rat”, she said. “Phil is out of the woods; but he’ll need to stay in the hospital for a few days”. “And how long will we have to be here?”, I asked. “I don’t know, baby”, she said. “They’re just trying to keep us safe”. I frowned. “Then why am I still terrified?”, I said quietly. She smiled. “Because you’ve never done this before”. She squeezed my hand. “But you’re doing it just perfectly”. She looked at Abel. “Do you want me to put him down for the night?”. I shook my head. “No, I’ll do it. I’m gonna try to get some sleep as well”. I stood up; holding the baby against my shoulder to burp him. “Why do we get the dorm? There are other kids here…”. She shrugged. “It’s just the way it is”, she said. “No one has a problem with it”. “I do”, I muttered. She stroked my cheek. “There goes that heart of yours… Look, if it makes you uncomfortable; bring Lyla and her kids with you”. I nodded.

I got Lyla and the kids to follow me into the dorm – not really wanting to be alone. A little while later, Lyla was next to me on the bed; stroking Kenny’s hair. The boy had wet cheeks; and was whimpering in his sleep.

“Thanks for letting us stay in here with you”, she whispered. “Anything else would have been ridiculous”, I smiled. We we’re bundled up on the bed with Abel and Kenny – Ellie and Piper having been tucked in on the couch. Kenny had cried himself to sleep; worried about his dad. There’d been a travel cot for the baby set up in the room; but I’d insisted one of the women sleeping in the bar area, used it for her little girl. Besides; I preferred having Abel in my arms as it was.

“You think they’re ok?”, Lyla asked. “Yeah…”, I whispered – trying to convince myself as well as her. “They have each other’s backs”. Lyla nodded.

I pulled the covers off Abel; as the room was warm; and I didn’t want him to overheat. “You’re good with him… a natural”, Lyla said. I smiled softly. “He’s an easy kid… And Jax takes the main load when he’s home”. “Really?”, Lyla said incredulously. “Yeah”, I said. “He’s a regular mother hen around him”. “Wow…”, Lyla said; surprised.

I chewed my lip. “Did… do you know Abels mom? Wendy?”. Lyla shook her head. “No; that was before my time”, she said. “But Opie told me a bit about her… She has issues”. “I know”, I nodded. “But I still want him to know about her”. “Is Jax pushing for you to get guardianship?”, Lyla asked. “I think he’ll bring up at some point… Or Gemma will”. She frowned at me. “You don’t want that?”. I stroked Abel’s little arm. “I have no problem with the guardianship. I love him. So much”, I muttered. “But I’m not his mother. I don’t need him to call me mom”. “Then what?”, she said; letting the sleeping baby hold on to her pinky. “I want to be there for him… whatever happens. He is mine; you know?”. I sighed. “And I want what’s best for him”. “You think she’s part of that equation?”, she said. I thought about it. “She should be – on one way or another”. I kissed the baby’s head. “I want him to have a clear understanding of where he comes from”.

Lyla smiled softly at me. “You are too good for words, Cat”. I looked at the sleeping child in her arms. “You’re not half bad yourself… taking on two of Opie’s, on top of your own”. She stroked Kenny’s cheek. “I guess I feel like you do. They are mine – but they weren’t mine first”, she said. “Though Donna’s a hard act to follow”.

I took her hand; and squeezed it. “Stepmom’s for the win, huh?”. She grinned. “Go team Stepmom”.

Soon after; Lyla dozed off. I spent the night in and out of sleep. Every sound made me jolt. I was worried, and wanting nothing more than to see Jackson safe and sound, as soon as possible. Abel woke up at 6 am; needing a change and a bottle. I slipped out of the dorm quietly; trying not to stir my sleeping friend and her kids.

Rat was in the main room; putting out breakfast items for the sleeping people in the clubhouse. He looked even scrawnier than usual – tired and sad. “Are you ok?”, I whispered. He looked worried for a second. “Yeah; I’m just fine, ma’am… Cat”. He tried to smile. “There’s an empty mattress in the storage room”, I said. “Go get some sleep. You look exhausted”. He shook his head. “I need to finish this”, he muttered. I put Abel in his car seat on a table; and took a loaf of bread from Rat’s hands. “That’s an order”, I smiled. Rat smiled; and scuttered off.

I’d had Jax buy a baby carrier; so we’d be able to carry Abel with us, hands free. I strapped the baby to my body, and got to work, preparing breakfast. While I worked; Ellie came out to join me. “Couldn’t sleep?”, I said. “No”, the girl muttered. I stroked her cheek. “Your dad will come back as soon as he can”, I smiled. She nodded. “I miss you at school… Miss Bloom is back. She made us read The Hobbit”. “That’s a good book”, I said. Ellie shrugged. “Yeah, but I already read it”.

I narrowed my eyes; and told Ellie to wait; while I slipped into the dorm – going through my bag; and returning with The Graveyard Book. “Here. It’s the same author that wrote Coraline”, I said; handing her the book. “You’ll like it”. Her eyes lit up. “Can I go read it now?”. I nodded smilingly; and Ellie ran off to find a quiet corner.

Gemma had appeared from somewhere; and watched our exchange. “Do you always bring a library with you wherever you go?”, she grinned. I shrugged. “Only when I’m locked up in a bikerclub; and don’t know when I’ll be able to get out again”, I said. “Nice to have some diversion”. Gemma chuckled. “Where’s Rat?”, she asked. “I told him to get some rest. He was sleeping standing up”.

She walked over to me; and kissed my cheek. “Where the hell did you come from, Cat? And why didn’t you get here sooner?”, she smiled. I blushed, and went back to my task of carving up rolls.

People began stirring – attacking the buffet I’d set up for breakfast. I stuck to coffee myself – feeling too anxious to eat. Abel began fussing from all the sounds of women and children around him; and I decided to go outside to get some air.

I walked back and forth on the lot; bouncing my body to settle the whimpering baby against my chest. An armed leather clad Son with a batch from Tacoma kept his eyes on me. Suddenly the gates opened; and fleet of bikes entered the lot. The sound of the engines instantly made Abel calm down; and I chuckled at the irony.

Chibs got off his bike – looking tired and worn. I walked over to him. “Guests?”, I muttered; looking at the unknown bikers parking near the shop. “Nomads”, the scot answered. “We need backup”. I shuddered. “What happened?”. Chibs put his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, my love”, he smiled. “We’re all whole”. I nodded. “There’s still food inside”, I muttered. Chibs put his hand on my back; and led me towards the door of the clubhouse. “You two should be inside”. “What’s happening?”, I asked.

Chibs opened the door for me, and led me to a quiet corner; gesturing for Gemma to follow. “Retaliation”, he said quietly. “Nords called in some white power friends”. My breath hitched. “O-ollie?”, I whispered. Chibs shook his head. “No. This has nothing to do with you… this is something else”. Gemma met the scots eyes. “The other thing”, she muttered. “What?”, I asked. Chibs smiled. “Don’t worry about it, luv’”.

His phone rang; and he picked it up. “Yes?... I just got in with the Nomads. I’m going to have Quinn head security until you or Clay comes back… Yes. She’s here”. Chibs handed me the phone. I took it, and headed down the hall to find some quiet.

“Hello?”. “Cat…”. Jax sounded tired. “Baby…”, I almost whimpered. “Are you ok?”. “I’m fine… I’m at one of the warehouses; keeping it safe”, he said. “Are you safe?”. “I’m freaking out…”, I admitted. “I know, babe”, he breathed. “I’ll be there as soon as I can”. “When?”. He paused. “We’re expecting some company…”. “Jax…?”, I croaked. “What’s happening? Are you in danger?”. “It might get bloody”, he said honestly. “Listen; you and Abel are safe as long as you stay inside the compound”. “I can’t do this alone…”, I croaked. “I can’t lose you…”. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to get back to you safe and sound. I promise”. He let out a deep breath. “I love you, Cat”. “I love you”, I said. He paused. “There’s something else…”. “What?”. “We don’t have enough people to cover the studio. The Cara Cara girls will have to hold up with you all, at the clubhouse, until this blows over”. Ima. “Great”, I grumbled. “Just… make sure you hold on to that .38 for the real enemies, ok?”, he said. I didn’t answer. “Cat?”. “I promise not to burst anymore implants…”. “I love you. Thank you for… everything. How’s my boy?”. I looked down at the baby strapped to my chest. “Loved…”, I said. I could almost hear Jackson’s smile through the phone. “Come back whole”, I squeaked.

---

A few hours later; a van full of scantily clad women arrived at TM. Lyla greeted her friends; and said a curtly hello to Ima – who did her best to avoid me; and Gemma. She was wearing a gauze around her chest.

The kids were getting rowdy – reacting to the close quarters and the lack of entertainment. With a sleeping Abel to my chest; I thought fast, and grabbed every sheet and blanket I could find – helping them build a fort under the table in the meeting room. This gave the adults some well needed peace to mingle, and talk about what was going on.

Chibs was out cold in the dorm; and I let him have one of the blankets – lovingly tucking in the snoring scot. Happy and Juice arrived at noon – having traded shifts with two of the Nomads. They passed out on a couch each; some Cara Cara girls fussing over them. Happy had his head in one girls lap; while another let Juice use her voluptuous chest as a pillow. I grinned at the scene; and went back to my fort project.

Gemma came and took Abel from me; and I crawled under the reaper-table with a flashlight from the shop – making shadow animals with the kids. “That’s not a dragon!”, Piper called out; after I’d tried my best at making one with my hands. “Sure it is!”, I said. “I met one once, you know?”. “Really?”, a little girl said. “Yeah!”, I enthused. “She was ugly; and had bad breath… her name was June”. The kids let out an audible gasp in unison.

The time flew more quickly for me; as I was occupied with the kids. After a while; I went outside for some fresh air, and a cigarette in peace. A few of the nomads were on the roofs; overlooking the compound and the area surrounding it. Their large guns should have made me feel uncomfortable – but I was beginning to feel more at ease with being surrounded by armed men. This is for our protection, I thought. I just wished Jax was there.

Juice and Chibs headed out to trade places with Clay, Bobby and Tig. Rat followed them in a dark van. As the gates closed; I suddenly saw two of the Cara Cara girls stumbling outside – head to head in a catfight. They didn’t seem to be able to agree on which one of them would be taking care of Tig when he got back. One of the girls punched the other in the face; breaking her nose. Lyla and Gemma had followed them outside; and was yelling at them to stop. Ellie and Piper where at their heels; looking at the exchange. The kid’s faces were terrified.

I ran over to the squabbling girls; and pulled away the one who had thrown the punch. She scratched for me; but missed – and I slapped her hard across the face. “Hey! You leave that shit for when this is over”, I snarled. “We have kids here!”. The angry porn-star walked away with a putrid glare at me; and I helped the bleeding woman to her feet. “Lyla; get the first aid kit!”, I called to my friend; who ran back inside; ushering the kids with her. We managed to get the bleeding to stop on the poor girls nose; and I promised to tell Tig, how she’d defended his honor.

Some of the women prepared dinner with Gemma. People were getting restless; so the food came at just the right time, to distract us all. Ima nabbed a plate of potato salad; sticking up her nose at Gemma’s recipe. She searched for a place to sit down; and noticed my folding chair leaning against the wall. I took it before she could touch it. “Rules still apply”, I said coldly. She smirked at me. “Did Jax ever tell you how he likes his dick sucked?”, she said. “I had plenty of practice with him. Could give you some pointers…”. “Or I could point you in the direction of the street”, I said. “See how long that new tit survives without club protection. “What’s your problem?”, she hissed. “Who do you think you are?” Happy came from out of nowhere; lifting his t-shirt to expose the gun resting in the waistband of his jeans. “That’s who she is, bitch. Sit down, and shut up”. Ima jumped a little; and slipped away quietly. I sent Happy a slight smile. “Thanks”. “No worries, princess”, he said hoarsely.

I noticed Gemma smiling at the exchange; and stepped over to join her at her table. Abel was making sputtering sounds at the apple sauce she was feeding him. “You’re doing good, sweetheart”, Gemma said. “Yeah well… you don’t come in to someone’s house, and behave like that”, I said. Gemma’s smile widened; and she went back to feeding the baby.

After dinner; the kids dragged me back into the fort. We started a game of who’s dad has the stinkiest farts. Kenny insisted Opie’s were so bad they’d once made Ellie cry. “Did not!”, Ellie raged. Opie ducked his head under one of the sheets. “They’re not that bad”, he grinned.

Kenny, Ellie and Piper jumped at their father; attacking him with hugs. Opie pulled his kids out of the fort; and I stuck my head out to send him a smile. In the doorway of the meeting room stood Jax; trademark smirk spread across his face. I jumped at him; throwing myself into his embrace.

“I’m ok”, he whispered into my ear. He pulled back; and kissed my forehead. “What the hell did you do to our table?”. I shrugged, and grinned at him. “Well the clubhouse is no longer Samcro property”, I said. “Welcome to The Fortress of Awesomeness and Cheese-dip. Home of the Dragons… or Unicorns. We couldn’t agree on a name”. “Shit”, Jax chuckled. “Who’s the president?”. “We’re a Marxist community”, I said. “But I’m the spokesperson/treasurer”. “You got ‘em to hand over their allowances?”, he laughed. I shook my head with mock menace. “Still working on it”.

Jax hugged me tightly; and kissed my lips. “You’re amazing”, he said. “Can I come in?”. “You’ll have to ask the board”, I said. He frowned. “Who’s the board?”. “Rina…?”, I called out. The little girl who’d asked about the dragon, crawled out from under the table; taking with her a beaten-up skateboard. “Ask the board”, I said; looking seriously at Jax. He narrowed his eyes at the girl; who held up the skateboard at him. “Can I come in to the fort?”. Rina bit her lip; and nodded in glee.

Jax ducked under the sheets; and crawled in to join the party. “Oh, shit. You got Wi-Fi in here?".

---

A few hours later – after having fed my old man enough potato salad for an army – I was about to get Abel ready for bed. “I’ll take him”; Jax smiled; and took the baby into his arms. “Dorm?”. “I’ve been sharing it with Lyla and the kids”, I said. Jackson grinned. “There goes the privacy”. I shrugged. “Not used to sleeping alone anymore”, I muttered. He kissed me gently; and walked down the hall; followed by Gemma.

I realized he’d forgotten the diaper bag; and grabbed it – walking down the hall to the dorm. Voices made me stop outside the cracked door.

“She did good, baby”, Gemma said quietly. “I know”, Jax replied. “You better get her stamped, or someone will try to snatch her up”. “She don’t want the ink, ma’”. “Why?”, Gemma asked. “She’s more than just my old lady”, Jax said. There was a pause before Gemma replied. “I get it”.

I opened the door, and walked into the room. “Hey, you forgot the diaper bag”, I smiled; and handed it to Jax. He smiled; and began changing Abel. Gemma squeezed my shoulder; and left us to it. Jax leaned over his son, and grimaced. “Shit, son. What did momma Cat feed you?”. Momma Cat.

I sat down in the chair we’d used for our riding session some days before. Jax looked up at me, and smirked in remembrance. “I’m… not sure you should call me that”, I said quietly. Jax frowned. “What do you mean?”, he said; and finished closing the clean diaper on his son. He picked up the baby; and sat down on the bed across from me. “I’m not his mom”, I said. “You’re the closest thing he has…”, Jax retorted. “What about Wendy?”, I whispered.

Jax visibly tensed up. “I told you…”, he said. “Yeah, but…”. I sighed. “I love him like my own, Jackson. I do… but at some point, he’s going to have to know where he came from”. Jax shook his head. “I don’t want her screwing up his life”, he said pointedly.

I went over and sat next to him – stroking Abel’s cheek softly. “We won’t let that happen… but if she turns up; and wants back in to his life – clean and sober – I don’t think you should turn her away”. Jax clenched his jaw; but seemed to ponder my words in earnest. “Whatever she is… if it hadn’t been for her; you wouldn’t have him”.

Jax blew out a long breath. “I’ll think about it…”, he said. I went to stand up; but he grabbed my arm; pulling me back down. “There’s more to being a mom, than giving birth. What you just said… that’s sacrifice”. I smiled. “I love him…”. “I know”, Jax said. “Like a mother”. I nodded.

“Momma Cat?”, I whispered. Jax smirked. “Yeah…”, he said quietly. “Better start working on that California Dreaming”. I grimaced. “That’s Mama Cass”. He grinned. “Right”.

Abel had fallen asleep against his father’s chest; and my heart was warm and full of love. Lyla stuck her head in. “Hey, Laura said there’s enough room for the both Abel and her little girl in the crib”. Jax nodded. “You, Ope and the kids take the dorm. We’ll sleep in to The Fortress of Awesomeness and Cheese-dip”. I laughed; and followed Jackson out the door.

We tucked Abel in next to the little girl; and crawled under the reaper-table; collapsing on top of some pillows and blankets. Jax managed to shrug off his cut; before closing his eyes – and falling asleep, almost instantly. I pulled his head against my chest; and put my legs over his – embracing him protectively.

---

“What the hell happened to the table?”, Clays voice boomed; waking me and Jax from our slumber.

Jackson kissed my forehead; and crawled out of my embrace; leaving our haven to face his president. “We took a vote”, he said. “It’s a fort, now”. “I can see that”, Clay muttered.

I crawled out to join them. Clay looked at me, and shook his head; before laughing. “You did good, teach’”, he leered. I blushed. “We do need our table back, though”, Clay said. “Church in 30”. Jax frowned. “We only got half a table, man”, he said. “Piney and Juice are on their way in. I sent Rat out to join Chibs. I have his proxy”, Clay said. “I set up the meeting for this afternoon... We can end this today. But we need a vote”. Jackson shook his head. “We talked about this…”, he began. “You talked. I listened. Now we put it to the table”, Clay said pointedly. Jax sighed. “Ok…”.

I began stripping the table of sheets and blankets – my heart breaking slightly for the kids. Jax seemed deep in thought. After a moment, he took my hand. “Let someone else do that. I need to talk to you…”.

I followed him out of the clubhouse; and into Gemma’s office. Jax closed the door behind us. “I need to tell you something”, he said; gesturing for me to sit down. I suddenly felt anxious. “What’s wrong?”, I said. He sat down next to me. His brow was furrowed. “I told you about the guns we mule”, he said. “But that’s not all we haul”. I waited with bated breath. “We transport dope”.

I instantly felt sick. “Oh… God”, I heaved. Jax put a hand on my back; trying to calm me. I shrugged him off; and stood up. “Heroin, Jax?”. He clenched his jaw. “I know…”, he said. “It’s not good”. “Not good?”, I hissed. “Your son was born with his guts hanging out because of drugs! And I was drugged; and almost…”. “I know!”, he barked. “You think I want to do this?”. I shook my head, and laughed sarcastically. “Of course. Club vote”, I sneered. “Yay, democracy, right?”.

Jax got up; and tried to take my hand. “Don’t”, I snarled. “That is a big goddamn line to cross, Jax!”. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you…”, he tried. “Has it been in the house?”, I asked. “Has it been around Abel?”. “No!”. His voice was hard. “Never”. “And you never…”. “Tested the wares?”, he sneered. “How stupid do you think I am, Cat?”. I scoffed. “You are transporting hard drugs across state lines”, I said. “Ask that question again…”. He sat back down, and ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah… you’ve got a point”.

I sighed. “So what happens now?”. Jackson looked down. His voice was distant. “You get out…”. I went cold. “What?”, I croaked. “You run, and you don’t look back”. Tears welled up in my eyes. “You want me gone, because I don’t…”. Jax shook his head. “No… I don’t want you gone. But you should want to go…”, he said quietly. “Please… don’t let my shit rub off on you. Have a life that’s not… this”.

A tear ran down my cheek. “This is my life”, I whispered. “This… is it. There’s nothing else”. Jax leant back – not touching me. “I’ll get you some cash”, he said. “You can start up somewhere else. Just go. No one will stop you”.

I felt every inch of my body fill up with rage. Walking over to Jackson; I smacked him hard across the face. “Don’t!”, I growled. “You don’t get to push me away, when things get hard!”.

Jax’s face dropped. I’d left a scratch on his cheek; and a small trickle of blood ran from his cheekbone.

Jax got up. His body was tense; and his face was unreadable. “You want this? Me?”, he hissed. “I’m not a good man. Why do you want this to be your life?”. I pushed him hard in the chest. “Because you’re mine, Jackson!”, I yelled. “Guns; drugs; psycho porn-star exes… with all that, you’re still mine. A part of what makes me, me!”.

“All of it?”, he said. “This isn’t going to end. I’m never going to be your every day Joe; who come’s home at the end of the night with a bouquet of flowers and a steady paycheck”. I looked at him pointedly. “Do you love me?”, I said. “What?”, he breathed. “Do you love me!”, I almost screamed. He parted his lips, and relaxed his stance. “Of course. Yes”, he breathed. “You and that kid in there, are the only two things I’ve done right in my life”.

I sighed. “I’m not a virginal princess in a high tower, that needs to be protected and kept clean of your shit”, I said. “I’m in this with you”. Jax swallowed hard. “You are so good”, he said. “I don’t want to break you”. I let out a short breath. “I’m not broken, Jax”, I said. “Kohn didn’t break me; and you aren’t going to break me. I’m not going anywhere… Not because I can’t take care of myself; or need you to pay for my lawyer, or my future… Because this is it, for me!”.

He nodded. “I love you, Cat”, he said quietly. I stepped closer to him; and put my hands on his chest – meeting his eyes. “If you ever say something like that again – ever tell me to leave…”. “I won’t. I’m so sorry”. He pulled me against him; putting his arms around me.

“I don’t want you hauling drugs”, I said. “I can’t get out of it”, he muttered. “Not yet… I’m trying, baby; I really am… I hate myself every time I pack up and go on one of those runs”. “Then end it… safely”, I said. He hesitantly took my hand. “I will… but this shit with The Nords”. He sighed. “It’s about to get worse before it gets better”. “What do you mean?”.

Jackson furrowed his brows. “The Nords brought in friends from the alt-right… they were the ones who burnt down our warehouse”. “What does that have to do with the drugs?” “We had a meeting with their lieutenant… they’re well connected, Cat”. He looked worried. “They threatened to kill our drug-transports, by attacking every haul we sent – and going after our other businesses… Clay made an agreement with them – we transport double the dope; handing half of it to their guys up north”. “They’re strong-arming you?”, I asked. He shook his head. “They’ll pay; and this war can end before it starts”. I had to lean against the desk for support. “Double?”, I croaked. “It’s the same jail-time of we get caught”, Jax said.

The mention of jail; made my ears ring, and bile rise in my throat. “How do you get out?”, I muttered. He shook his head. “I don’t know… not yet”, he said. “But I swear; I will end this shit, Cat – I will!... But for now; to keep everyone safe, we need to do this”.

I let out a deep breath. “I don’t know which I hate more - the drugs, or the fact that you’re dealing with white power...”, I whispered; before meeting his eyes. “Go… do what you need to do to get us out of this mess. I trust you”. Jax pulled me into his arms. “I will never let any of this touch you”, he said. “Are you going to hit me again?”. I frowned. “Maybe…”, I muttered. “No more lies… we’ve been through this before. I’m all in”. He nodded; and kissed the corner of my mouth. “Ok… whatever happens, we get through it together”.

[phoenotopia]

2020 July Update

Things have gone slowly... again.

The good news is that the game is now submitted to the console "authority" and it's entirely off my hands. Once it gets through the console "checking" process, it can get a release date and we can sprint towards release. Until then, it'd be at least a month's wait or more until I hear anything. Understandably, their checking process is impacted by Corona, so wait times are increased.

On my end, I was also slow to submit the game. I submitted it late late June, since I ended up spending 7 weeks fixing bugs (and not 2-3 weeks like I estimated in the last blog post). There were just SO many bugs - now squished, thankfully. Since this is a blog post, I'll talk about what kind of bugs I've been fixing.

The other thing that slowed down the submission process was simply due to unfamiliarity with how these submissions proceed. There were pages and pages of stuff to read, guidelines to follow, and legalese to wade through. It really made me wish I had a publisher to guide me through the process. But I was able to clear it with a couple days work. I had an impression that the submission process went like A->B->C->D, with no room for concurrency. Turns out I could have done steps B & C at the same time and sped things up by 2 weeks... So that's that. I'm taking that as a lesson for next time.

The Console Revealed

What is this console that I talk about so stealthily? So that this blog update isn't completely unexciting, I'll reveal which console I've been working on until now. Drumroll please!

It's Switch!

We actually got the Switch dev kit in late 2017. From my understanding, around this time in the USA, the Switch kit was quite hard to get for indies as it was just starting out and high in demand. So I was surprised that my application got approved. I didn't know it then, but the game would still need a few more years of development...

Tweaking performance and fixing bugs

Here you can see my "expert" playtest setup. Since the Switch is more powerful while docked, I needed to playtest it in handheld mode, so I could catch and profile any problem areas where the framerate was unsteady. The most common thing that caused framerate drops were areas that went overboard with lighting. For these areas, I'd tweak or swap out the lights with alternatives that looked similar while also being less computationally intensive. Maintaining 60 FPS is a must!

An old camera (Nikon D3100) trained at the screen recorded my playthrough and would let me rewind to any moment a bug occurred. It could only record in 10 minute chunks, so I'd have to repeatedly repress the record button. On the plus side, because it's so old the movie file sizes were small and convenient.

The number one bug that I tracked and fixed in the past two months was what I dub the "Gear Ring De-equip" bug. The Gear Ring functions as customizable shortcut keys for the player to map items and tools (see an old video demonstration HERE). Through regular use of the inventory, somehow the equipped items on the Gear Ring would be de-equipped. It was an elusive bug since the de-equip event would happen very quietly and you would only suspect something had gone wrong much later. By then, the trail had gone cold and you weren't sure if a de-equip had actually occurred or if the player had simply de-equipped the item themselves. Two other playtesters noted that something left the Gear Ring in their playthrough, but I dismissed them. "Are you sure you didn't just de-equip it yourself?" It was a bug that bred mistrust and discord. I didn't truly believe it until it happened to me...

Luckily, with the camera setup, I was finally able to track it. In the literal 67th video, I caught a live instance of the bug occurring. After which, it was all too easy to recreate the exact same inventory and gear ring setup and replicate it.

(With this exact item layout, combine the 2nd item with the 14th item... and viola! Gear Ring de-equip!)

After fixing this bug, I then proceeded to fix it 5 more times. Every time I fixed it, it would later reappear through a different mechanism. 

Why do bugs like this happen? Underneath, there are two lists of items. Tools on the right and items on the left. Items can occur multiple times because they're consumable. Both lists start counting their indexes with the value 0. However, both items and tools co-exist on the gear ring. So to uniquely identify an entry you need both the item ID and the data index. Failure to check both data types resulted in bugs like the Gear Ring de-equip. Now throw in a bunch of item operations that can confuse the system. You can split items, combine items, swap items, or discard items. The more freedom you allow, the more ways there are for the system to trip up.

If you didn't get all that, that's alright. It was needlessly complicated. Imagine doing more and better and with less code and less bugs! Such a thing is possible if you start with the right design. I'm definitely taking notes here on how to design inventory systems for next time. In the meanwhile, I'm very confident I've squished all inventory related bugs.

Other bugs squashed and features implemented in the past 2 months include the end game arts not unlocking properly, collection percentages climbing beyond 100, stray doors floating in the sky, low HP sfx blaring when loading different files, balance tweaks on bosses, a max HP display when the menu is open - too many to count really! It was only after I fixed them all that I was confident enough to move forward with submitting the game. I apologize for the delay this will cause!

PC version back in progress

You may recall in the March 2020 update I talk about how in pursuing the Switch version, I unwittingly ruined the PC version. Well, since the game is "done" now and I'm waiting for it to go through the checking process, I've started working to reclaim the PC version.

And there is some good news to report. The PC version can compile again! Of course, it will need to have some work done, since it was late 2017 when I last had a functioning PC build. 

The opening menu is broken, the underlying save file system needs to be updated, and the controls... oh Lord, the controls. Controls were probably the #1 factor in pushing me to pursue a console version first. There are just so many controller options. Even just the usual suspects are numerous: Xbox, Nintendo, Sony, Logitech, Hori, 8Bitdo, Steam...

One of the number one complaints received regarding the flash game (which was keyboard primarily) was that I didn't allow controller rebinding to start. It was then that I learned of the vast array of different keyboard types.

(Ever heard of an Azerty keyboard?)

I shan't make the same mistake twice! One of the things I'll definitely tackle is the Right/Left face button feud when it comes to which should one should be 'confirm' and which one is 'cancel'. I want to allow the player to choose which is their "YES" and "NO" preference and allow that to overlap other actions like Attack or Jump.

Even after control bindings are taken care of, some things just won't translate well. The right control stick is currently used to access the gear ring and for fishing. Keyboards have no right stick. Aiming the crossbow with a full 360 degrees of range is done with the left control stick - if keyboard only, would the crossbow simply be locked to the 8 cardinal directions? What about those tutorial prompts with button graphics (e.g. "Press 'B' to Jump"). If using the playstation controller, it'd need to be the CROSS symbol. How many button graphics are we gonna load into the text module? What if the player, mid-playthrough, decides to swap out controllers? Indeed, there are many issues to tackle where controls are concerned...

Perhaps I'm overthinking it because even some AAA games get this wrong (Dark Souls has 'B' as 'Yes' on Switch, and it's not remappable, which I find quite annoying). I've seen games on consoles where the controls wouldn't mention the console's controller at all but instead mention a mouse and keyboard. Or, if you remapped the controls, the tutorial prompts still showed the old control bindings, making for a confusing experience. I definitely want to do the controls justice, so this will take some time.

Phoenotopia DISCORD Channels

Ryan and Firana have been running a Phoenotopia discord since late 2017, which I promoted on this blog once. It's been a couple years and it turns out that the old discord link I promoted expired. It's long overdue, but their channel could use another shoutout. Here's their channel : https://discord.gg/cnjrYST

Also, Khalid recently reached out to me about creating a Phoenotopia discord as well. I see no reason why we can't have 2 or more discords, so he has created that one with my blessing as well. You can find his discord here : https://discord.gg/cfnsCwy

I personally don't use Discords, since I'm very busy and there's too much new tech to keep up with. I hear there's a Tik Tok now? Should I create a Tik Tok for Phoenotopia? Hmmm...

Anyway, if you'd like to chat with other people who are similarly enthused for Phoenotopia, do check them out!

Fan Arts

We have five new fanart submissions this time around from regulars and new alike.

Cody G. returns with this pair of sketches of Gail. One seeks to answer the question, "how is Gail so strong?" Cody's answer is that under her sleeves she's actually really buff! This might be the most ripped rendition of Gail yet. Also, in the right drawing, the letter 'E' kinda melds with her bat, making it look like a keyblade!

What if Gale was a Shrek character? A new artist, Samu Kajin, from tumblr answers that question with a rendition of Gail sporting ogre style antennae. Samu Kajin says she can be called "Gaek" or "Shrale". I like the poncho!

Shafiyahh returns with a pretty portrait of Gail. Unlike their previous digital pieces, this one was made with color pencils! I like how her hair blends pink and purple colors together, and this pattern is also present in the eyes. Reminds me of a certain character. And the eyes are so sparkly despite using color pencils! Major props!

Negativus Core also returns with this relevant image of Gail, masked and running, presumably from Corona. It gave me quite a chuckle! I like the angle and tilt of this run pose because you can see the sole of her foot - that's how you know she's at full sprint! A skillful blur localized to her left foot show's just the right amount of motion. Gotta love the robot's expression too!

A rare 3D art has emerged. Dany Q crafted this adorable figure of Gail that is as cute as a button! I like how well it translates the pixel character over to 3D, capturing the 3 stitches on her shirt and even catching her stray strand of hair. It kinda reminds me of a Wallace and Gromit character, so I can picture it moving and animating in that unique claymation style.

Next Time

I'm ~80% confident we can clear the Switch console checking process and drop the trailer with a release date before the next blog post. But once again, if things go slowly, you'll hear from us in 2 months...

[prettyinlimegreenboots]

Twelve Days of Holly, Jolly Tidings - Day 10

Disclaimers: I watched “Dash & Lily” the other day on Netflix. This story is LOOSELY based on that book and Netflix series.  I do not own “Dash and Lily” or Newsies or anything recognizable within the series.  There are occasional curse words throughout the series, nothing too horrible but there’s some.  

Catch Up Here

Sunday, December 22 

As she walked out of her apartment in the early afternoon, she was met by a grinning Spot. Her eyes widened seeing him leaning against the steps of the apartment building. “Hi Spot! What do I owe the pleasure of seeing you twice in a week?” 

“Thought you could join me as I walk to work.” He pushed himself into a standing position, giving her a look, adjusting his bag, becking her to join him. “Jack sent me.” 

Her eyes brightened. “And Jack’s sending me to the hospital today?” 

“I guess.” Spot shrugged, a grin tugging at his lips. “He said that I was to deliver you to the hospital, give you the notebook, and you’d figure out the rest.” 

Hitching her bag higher up on her shoulder, she matched his stride. “Okay then. How have you been, Spottie? Ready for Christmas?” 

“Gotta work Christmas afternoon but that’ll be alright. Race and I will do our gift exchange on Christmas Eve and we’ll be at Medda’s Christmas morning with the crew.” He grinned. “Are you all ready? Will you and Jack be at Medda’s?” 

Shrugging, she avoided the patch of slushy snow by hopping over it, causing Spot to laugh. “We’re doing Christmas Eve with his family. I’m sure we’ll be at Medda’s at some point. Have to finish wrapping a few presents but I’m ready.” 

“In the Christmas spirit?” Spot looked over at her, watching her face for any signs she would be lying to him. 

Smiling softly, she quickly nodded. “I am. Jack’s helped with pulling all of this together.” 

“Good. Then his hairbrain plan actually worked.” 

Laughing, she shook her head. “Glad you approve.”

“It keeps him busy and from moping away the days in my apartment.” Spot grinned.  “It’s a good project for him . . .”

Stopping at the light, waiting to cross the street, Kat gave him a look. “So you know what he’s doing?” 

“I know more than Race knows because Race can’t keep his mouth shut.” Spot smirked. “But you’re not going to get anything out of me. Jack won’t hesitate to kill me if I tell you anything.” 

She grinned, looking at the ground. “He loves you too much to kill you.” 

“Oh, he may be my husband’s best friend and by extension, mine too but he won’t hesitate to kill me.” Spot’s eyes were wide with fear, though Katherine couldn’t tell if it was real or not.

As they neared the hospital, Spot pulled her to the side, reaching into his bag. “This is for you. You’ll need to go to the fifth floor after you read today’s entry.” 

“Am I looking for something in particular?” Kat accepted the notebook, looking up at Spot. 

He shook his head. “It’s all explained in there. I have to go or I’ll be late. I might see you later.” 

“Thank you Spot.” She grinned, giving him a hug. “Have a great day.”

He chuckled. “You as well, Kat.” 

She watched him jog into the hospital, leaving her in his haste. She followed him into the hospital, seeing the coffee shop to the right of her. She found a bench, opening the notebook to the correct entry. 

Hi Kat, 

Happy 10th day of Christmas, love.  I know the hospital is the last place you’d think you’d go for your holiday adventures but there’s two reasons I had you go there. For the first, you’ll need to go up to the fifth floor and find Maggie. She’ll be your guide for the first part. 

She’s waiting for you - so get going! 

Closing the book, she tucked away in her bag, she headed to the elevator, punching the up button. She tapped her toes, waiting for the doors to open, following several other people onto the elevator, pushing herself against the back of the box. She watched the number rise, before they stopped at floor 5. Excusing herself, she found herself outside of the elevator in a seemingly empty hallway. 

Hearing commotion, she headed in that direction. She saw two nurses standing in the middle of the hallway talking to one another. The one pointed at her, as the other looked over her shoulder, grinning. She quickly said goodbye to the other nurse before making her way to where she stood. “Hi Kat.” 

Margaret Anne Kelly, also known as Maggie, was Jack’s younger sister by 18 months. They were thick as thieves and on most days, best friends. Over the years Jack and Kat had been dating, she had grown really close to the younger girl. “Hi Maggie. So you’re in on this too, huh?” 

��Can’t say no to my older brother is more like it.” She grinned. “So how much do you know?” 

Kat shrugged. “All I know is that you’re supposed to be my guide for this first part. Jack didn’t give me anymore than that.” 

“Come on then.” She grinned, twirling on her toes, heading down the hallway. Kat walked quickly, trying to match her stride. “So Jack told me a little bit about what’s going on.” 

Kat grinned. “It’s amazing that none of this got back to me with all the people he’s told.” 

“Because he threatened to hurt us all if we spoke a lick of it to you.” Maggie grinned. “There’s a lot of elements that you probably don’t even realize in play right now. Jack is pretty lucky that all the pieces fell into place.” 

Kat tilted her head. “Just how many people are involved with this?” 

“Too many to name, besides, we have places to go and people to see.” She said, turning down another hallway. “Do you have all your Christmas shopping done?” 

Nodding, she looked at her. “I do, actually. Just have to finish wrapping it. You?” 

“Brendan and I are all done and it’s all wrapped and put under the tree.” She grinned, speaking of her husband. Brendan and Maggie had been married for six months. Jack at first didn’t like Brendan, as he was a male that was interested in his sister but soon relaxed and is really good friends with Maggie’s husband.  “Jack mentioned that you’ll be with us for Christmas Eve.” 

“Yea, your mom and Jack invited me over due to my family being scattered for the holidays.” Kat grinned as Maggie gently rolled her eyes. 

“It should be a good time. Brenden and I have to go to his parents house on Christmas morning but we’ll be at mom and dad’s Christmas Eve.” Maggie grinned while Kat laughed. 

Maggie came to a sudden stop, pulling Kat to her side. “So this is what Jack wants me to show you.” 

In front of her was a bright and color mural, a hot air balloon on it’s journey upward with lots of children standing below it. There were various shapes as balloons, in bright colors, pulling the basket upward. The sky was a bright blue and the grass was a bright green.  Her eyes were drawn to a red head amongst all the children. 

Kat tore her eyes from the stunning art to look at Maggie. “I don’t understand.” 

Maggie grinned. “Jack was commissioned to paint this. He worked with a lot of kids to get their input. It's to show the hope of children getting better, and as a reminder, on those tough days, that while we may lose some, we help a lot more.” 

Her eyes drifted to the painting once more. “When was this done?” 

“He’s been working on it for the last three months or so.” Maggie smiled softly. “We just had a ribbon cutting for it last week - I was surprised that you didn’t attend.” 

Kat shook her head, frowning. “I didn’t know. He never told me.” 

“I’m sorry Kat.” Maggie bit her lip, much like her older brother did when he didn’t know what to say. “I’m sure there’s a reason Jack didn’t tell you.” 

She pushed a smile to her face. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“I’ve got something for you. Should we head back to the nurse’s desk?” Maggie suggested, giving the older girl a look. 

Kat followed behind Maggie as they made their way back to the elevators and the nurse’s desk. Kat’s mind was elsewhere, as many questions swirled around her brain that when Maggie came to a sudden stop, she had to stop herself from plowing into the nurse. 

She watched as Maggie leaned over the desk, grabbing something before looking at Kat. “Don’t be too hard on my brother. I’m sure he’s got his reasoning for what he did. But this is for you.” 

Handing Kat the box, Maggie smiled. “He mentioned that he wants you to read the notebook before opening that.” 

Giving Maggie a hug, Kat promised she wouldn’t be too hard on Jack. Waving goodbye to her, she made a quick escape to the elevator, heading back down to the main lobby.  She took a seat at the same bench as before. Grabbing the notebook, she cracked it back open, her eyes scanning the paper. 

So you know about the mural and me not telling you about the ribbon cutting. I’m sorry for not telling you but I actually had it planned for you to see it on this adventure and I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.  I’m sorry if you think I didn’t want you there . . .and that’s further from the truth. It took everything in me not to tell you about the mural and what I was doing.  

So, there’s a backstory about the mural that no one but me and now you, knows. I used friends and family as the beginning sketches of the mural. But as I got painting, I wanted to represent all of the kids that step foot onto the fifth floor, the cancer wing. If you look close, you are in amongst the children as the redhead - had to put in the middle of it somehow.  So you, Katherine Plumber are enshrined in the Children’s Hospital forever and ever. 

She paused in her reading, wiping the tears away that had gathered at her eyes. She took a deep breath, calming her heart before continuing to read. 

So the second reason I brought you to the hospital is a story I think you know. I spent a Christmas up on the fifth floor, before it became the cancer wing. I had a really bad case of pneumonia when I was 7 and ended up spending 11 days in the hospital, all of which fell between Christmas and New Years. It sucked, to be honest. But I had a nurse that was really sweet and tried to spend a lot of time with me when I was in there - part of the reason Maggie became a nurse. Which is also why I spend a lot of time volunteering at the hospital, especially around the holidays. It sucks to be away from your family, no matter the time of the year, but especially at the holidays. I wanted to show you a little piece of me and why I’m there so often. Maybe next time you can join me?

Picking up her pen, she wrote a quick note in the book before flipping the page and continuing to read Jack’s scrawl. 

Maggie was supposed to give you a box . . . please tell me she remembered? 

If she didn’t, go get it from her . . . I’ll wait.  

Okay, so we’ve been down this path a few times now so you know that it’s your surprise. But the meaning behind it is special - go ahead and open it. 

Tearing off the paper, she tucked it away in her bag before opening up the box. Inside, nestled in the cotton was a silver star with a green emerald in the middle of it. 

So it’s a star - I could be really cheesy and say that you’re the star of my universe. But I won’t go down that path. 

Stars often mean divine guidance and protection.  You’ve been a great protector to me - you’ve protected my heart for the last 5 years. You’ve helped guide me and shape me into, hopefully, a man that’s worthy of standing by your side. So this star is symbolizing all of that and you’re the star of my universe. 

I love you, Katherine Plumber. 

Jack 

She giggled, shaking her head at her boyfriend. He was more than worthy to stand by her side, as he had proven time and time again over the last 5 years. She just hoped she was just as worthy to stand by his side. 

Closing the notebook, she looked up, scanning the lobby. Her eyes narrowed, watching a figure slowly sipping his coffee as he looked at her. Catching his eye, she watched him as he came closer to her. “Told ya I would see you later on.” 

“You said you might see me.” She stood, looking over at Spot with a smirk on her face. “Hanging out in the lobby waiting for me?”

“Well you need to give the notebook to someone.” He said, shrugging his shoulders, taking another sip of his drink. “Hand it over pretty girl.” 

Digging the notebook out of her bag, she gave it to him. “Jack’s definitely keeping me on my toes. Usually I have to hide it somewhere or he’s here to grab it.”

Spot shrugged. “He’s tied up at the moment or else he would be here.” 

“Is that a hint or something?” Her eyes went wide as Spot quickly shook his head. 

“No, nope, nopety no hint from me.” He continued to shake his head, looking at Kat with wide eyes. 

A grin stretched across her face. “Uh huh . . . like I’m supposed to believe that. So if he’s not here, where is he?” 

“He’s indisposed and unable to make it here.” Spot shrugged, nonchalantly taking another sip of his drink. 

Putting her finger in her nose, she looked at one of her best friends. “Something fishy is going on here and I intend to find out what it is.” 

“Nothing fishy at all.” Spot looked her dead in the eyes. “Turn off your reporter feelers and just go enjoy your afternoon.”

Kat nodded, giving him one last look. “Alright, since you’ve been so kind and great in this whole thing. I won’t push it . . . yet.” 

He quickly gave her a hug, kissing the side of her head. “Have a good afternoon Kat. I’ll see you when I see you.” 

She laughed, shaking her head before walking out of the hospital, into the cold. Spot watched her leave, before pulling out his cell phone, sending off a text. She’s starting to put on her reporter hat

All will be revealed in two days. What did you tell her?

Spot shook his head, sighing. Told her you were tied up today and couldn’t be here. 

Thanks Spot! And thanks for the heads up! 

Spot shook his head, hoping Jack could pull everything together in the upcoming days and she would soon figure it all out. 

[hedwigstalons]

High Expectations - Ch12

Just a little sketch to see if I could tackle proportions and pose, no references used.  Yes I know I have made absolutely no attempt to make the brothers look like anyone, particularly Scott, I’m very much still learning (and struggling).

I’m normally very clean with my fics but one or two swears crept in this time, blame Scott.  It’s not littered with profanity though.

This chapter (and the next one) were really saved by @willow-salix​ who stopped me from deleting the whole thing in a crisis of confidence.  She is lovely.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven

AO3 chapter link

Chapter 12

Virgil ran his fingers through his hair and wondered what the hell to do for the best, he was completely out of his depth and floundering.  He had made it his personal duty to keep an eye on Gordon ever since that fated visit to Denver but now the red flags were flashing and he was feeling ill equipped to deal with it.  His cheerful brother, normally so driven and bursting with barely contained energy, was wilting before his eyes.  

With each passing call Gordon had become more listless, less talkative, dropping into the stupor of the repressed.  He should have been worried when Gordon switched from video calls to voice only but he had been too busy with his own course to pay much heed to the change of routine until today.  He was pretty sure that Gordon had activated the video screen by accident; the face that greeted him was sallow, the eyes red rimmed and framed by heavy black bags.  It hadn’t taken long but Gordon’s lean and athletic form displayed change quickly, his little brother was a mess and looked visibly ill.  

Of course he had heard all about the Marineville incident and their father’s ultimatum so he knew the cause but not the solution.  He couldn’t even have Gordon up to stay with him again because Jeff’s total control over Gordon’s life had extended to him refusing even this escape for the teenager.  He had already tried that route but their father had held firm that Gordon had not yet earned the right to freedom.

With his father holding on to the unshakable belief that Gordon needed tough love and firm handling Virgil turned to the only other person he thought could make a difference.  After a quick check of the time he picked up his phone again and called Scott.

“Hi Virg, what’s up?”  Scott took in his brother’s agitated demeanor causing his usually cheerful tone to change to one of concern.  “Hey, are you ok?”

“Not really.  I think I need your help.”

“Everything ok with your project?  Or have you finally got girlfriend trouble?”

“This is serious Scott” Virgil admonished, not impressed at his brother’s attempt to lighten the mood.  He ran  his fingers through his hair again, it was a sure tell of his barely contained worry and a gesture that made Scott sit up and take notice.  “I’m fine but I’m worried about Gordon.”

“Gordon?  What has he done now?” With Gordon pretty much confined to quarters since Marineville Scott wondered how much trouble could his brother could get into really?  Surely if he had run off again it would be Dad on the phone to him, not Virgil.

“Nothing, as far as I can tell.  But I spoke to him tonight and I’m worried about him, he seemed so low and upset.”

“Are we talking ‘Alan breaking his octopus model’ upset, or ‘losing the state final and nearly being booted from the national squad’ upset.”

“I mean looking like he hasn’t eaten or slept for a week levels of upset.”

“Shit.  That bad?”  To Gordon the body was a tool and a temple, the words ‘optimal nutrition regime’ had been bandied about from an age when most kids would still happily eat candy for breakfast if given half the chance.  Gordon had never not taken care of himself.

“Yes, that bad.  I’ve never seen him like this before, it’s like all the spark has gone out of him.  He’s got nothing to aim at and nothing to live for.  Dad is adamant that he needs to go to college but that has never been part of his life plan and he has got absolutely no confidence in his own abilities even if he wanted to go on to further studies.  Do you think you can go back and check on him?  I know it’s a big ask but I’m tied here for the next few weeks otherwise I’d go myself.”

Scott knew that Virgil wouldn’t make this request lightly.  They had spent so long looking after the kids together back in Kansas, each supporting the other while their father focussed on his business or his grief, that he trusted Virgil’s judgement to be sound.  If direct intervention was requested then that was what was needed.

“I’ll see what I can do.  I’ve got some leave due at the end of the month, I might be able to get it brought forward.”  He made a mental note to cancel his airfield slot in New York, whether his leave got moved or not it looked like he was going to be spending it in LA rather than the Big Apple.

“Thanks.  You know I wouldn’t ask this if I wasn’t sure it was necessary.” 

“I know.  Look, it’s fine.  I’ll get down there as soon as I can and report back to you.  Now go get some sleep, you look done in and it must be gone midnight for you.”

“Okay.  Night Scott.” A wave of relief washed over Virgil as he closed the call.  If Scott hadn’t been available the next step would have been to head back himself; he would have been on a flight already if his project wasn’t at a time-critical stage.  Scott would soon get to the heart of the matter and everything would be fine.  He hoped.

Several states away Scott ran his fingers through his own hair in a gesture that mirrored his brother’s earlier action.  He hadn’t seen Virgil this rattled about a brother’s health since John’s suspected appendicitis eight years ago.  That had been for a scary time for them all with Jeff away on a business trip and Scott left in charge of the kids, ably backed up by Virgil as his reliable second in command; a role his little brother had assumed without asking ever since their mother had died.  Now Virgil was asking him to step up again and it was time to answer the call.  They had worked as a team then and they would work as a team now.   

xoxoxox

In less than a week Scott found himself outside the apartment door.  He hoped Virgil was wrong and that this was a wasted journey but his brother had an uncanny skill at being able to see beneath the surface.  It was his trust in Virgil’s opinion that had him citing ‘family emergency’ and ‘compassionate leave’ at his own commanding officer before making the trip south.  

He entered the cool darkness of the hallway and was hit by the wall of sound spilling out from the cracked doorway of Gordon’s room; a telltale sign that his brother was there but noone else was.  There was no way Jeff would have put up with that sort of racket as the beat of the music thudded through his bones.  He wasn’t particularly keen himself but at least it meant he could make his entry undetected.  It also meant that he was guaranteed some time alone with Gordon; Alan should be out at school for at least the next few hours which would give him the opportunity to try and get Gordon to open up without the pressure of an audience.

Pausing only to deposit his kit bag in the room that had never really felt like his, Scott made his way to the kitchen and started digging through cupboards until he found the cocoa.  It was a comforter, a treat reserved for those times when someone was particularly upset or recovering from illness.  The dark playlist that was still reverberating around the apartment suggested it was going to be necessary. 

Bearing two steaming mugs Scott nudged the door to Gordon’s room wide open and stepped in.  The curtains were still closed despite it being the middle of the day and the room smelt stale.  The figure on the bed sat up with a start at the sudden intrusion and confusion crossed Gordon’s features at the unexpected visitor.  For Scott the shock was different in nature, even in the darkened room the physical change in his brother was profound.  Gone was the tanned skin and glossy hair, instead Gordon’ locks sat limp and flat, framing a face that was several shades too pale making the dark eyes look like wells into oblivion.  The haunted look that greeted him caused Scott to curse himself for for not realising that things had gotten this bad, for not being there and for leaving Virgil to be the one that kept a check on everyone’s wellbeing.

He put the mugs down and hit the off switch on the stereo, causing a deep silence to fall over the room, before throwing open the curtains.  The sudden change in light levels made Gordon wince and the natural light he was now bathed in only served to enhance how pale he had got.   Scooching Gordon’s legs out of the way so he could perch on the end he joined his brother on the bed.

“I couldn’t find any of that caramel syrup you like, sorry.” 

“S’ok.  Coach doesn’t like us having too much refined sugar.  Didn’t like.  Don't suppose it matters any more.”  The reminder that he no longer had a coach was like a punch to the gut and his shoulders slumped just that little bit lower. 

Picking up the mug Gordon took a deep pull at his cocoa.  The warm sweetness hit the back of his throat invoking memories of Kansas; recovering from a cold or mourning a lost race, Scott’s cocoa was a band-aid for the soul.  Even without the syrup the hit of sugar that came with the drink gave his thought processes a jump start.  He blinked, then looked at Scott as if properly seeing him for the first time.  Yes, big brother really was in his room. 

“Why are you here?” Suspicion crept into his voice.  The last time he’d seen Scott it was Marineville; he wondered if this was another visitation orchestrated by their father, have big brother there during the day as another layer of control.

“Had some annual leave to use” Scott shrugged.  “Didn’t have any plans so I thought I would stop here for a few days.”  

“You’re a terrible liar.” Gordon rolled his eyes at the blatant falsehood.  “Try again.”

“Okay.  Virgil was worried about you and asked me to look in, call him if you don’t believe me.  It’s true I had some leave to use up though.” 

“Does Dad know you’re here?”

“Not yet.  I wanted to see how you were for myself first and frankly Gordon, you're a mess.  When did you last swim?  When did you last even shower?” With the curtains now open and the sun streaming in the room was warming up, amplifying the odour of unwashed body. 

“Was at the pool maybe 2 weeks ago.  Don’t really know any more.  Not much point now I’m off the squad.”

“C’mon Squid, you’re better than this.  Finish your drink and get your running shoes on, you need some sunshine and you need it now.”  

“Can’t.  Gotta get my personal statement finished before Dad gets home.”  The half-empty mug was set down with thud, the cocoa suddenly seeming bitter.  Storm clouds brewed behind his eyes at the reminder of their father and the rules he imposed.

“And how’s that going?”  Scott raised an accusatory eyebrow at the rumpled bed sheets.  There were some jotted notes on the desk but it didn’t look like Gordon had made much progress.  “I’ll give you a hand with it later but I need a run and you are coming with me, it’ll make you feel better.”

Gordon knew better than to argue.  The Scott of Kansas, the one that provided cocoa, was also the Scott that had spent night after night getting him to complete his homework or making him tidy his room.  He’d had a counter to every single one of Gordon’s tricks or arguments then and the look on his face showed he wasn’t going to take no for an answer now.  He hauled himself up and hunted for his running shoes in the closet while Scott disappeared off to his own room to get changed.  The very fact that he couldn’t lay his hands on his running kit straight away just showed that Scott was probably right, he had been shut away and static for too long and needed to move. 

The pair set off at an easy pace, their feet thudding against the sidewalk as they headed towards the nearest green space.  For Gordon, who had been neglecting his fitness regime of late, it took a while to shake the stiffness out of his limbs.  The sun felt dazzling as it reflected back up from the flagstones after shutting it out of his room for so long. 

Scott made sure to stay a couple of steps behind to start off with, supposedly so that Gordon could direct the route, but really so that his younger sibling could dictate the speed without being pressured.  He had always been the faster runner, his long limbs easily able to outstrip his brother’s stockier build, but the pace as they set off felt particularly sluggish.  There was no attempt at competition either.  Despite their differing talents the Gordon of old would always put up fight, trying to achieve the impossible and beat him to the finish but there was no fight today.  Staying a few steps behind also gave him a chance to take a proper look at his brother.  Scott noted with worry that the muscle definition in his arms and legs was softer, his steps heavy and less springy and the tee-shirt hung limply off a form that seemed thinner than before; the family athlete was a long way off peak condition and far from his usual energetic self.  Compared to the powerful figure he had watched sprinting to the finish of the assault course at Marineville Gordon was practically unrecognisable.

They ran in silence along shaded boulevards and down wooded paths, the sounds of the city muted by the greenery of the park.  The path looped and twisted and you could almost forget the world that existed on the far side of the railings.  As they approached the gates that would release them back into the city Scott turned onto the grass and slowed to a halt leaving Gordon to follow him with a puzzled look.

“Stretches” Scott answered in response to the unasked question in Gordon’s eyes, “or have you forgotten how to do those too?”

Gordon didn’t grace that with a response, just rolled his eyes and started running though his post-workout routine.  It really had been too long since he had given his body a proper challenge and his limbs were protesting.  He was still fit by average standards but he knew that if he hit the pool now he would be miles off gold medal pace.

Stretches complete Scott flopped down on the grass and patted the ground next to him in a gesture that was more command than invitation.  Gordon’s legs complied, gratefully collapsing to the floor, and he was soon sprawled beside his brother on the warm turf gazing up at a sky criss-crossed by contrails.

“So Gordon, what the fuck were you thinking?”

Gordon’s head snapped round at the blunt outburst.  “Don’t you start too, I’ve already had all the lectures I can handle.”

“I’m not here to lecture.  Seriously though, what the hell has been going on?  First you’re storming your way to a world record, then you’re putting yourself through one of the toughest military selections in the world and now you look like you couldn’t do either.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need to be able to do either, do I.  Dad has made it perfectly clear I’ve got to go to college.  I’m not allowed to compete any more and you hauling my ass out of Marineville kinda blew any chance I had with WASP.”  

A look of anger flashed across Gordon’s eyes as he threw out that barb.  He was pissed at himself for how hard he had found the run and cursing his lapse of discipline, Scott was an easy target for his frustrations.  For Scott it was the first spark of real emotion he had witnessed since arriving. 

“Yeah, sorry about that, I didn’t really have a lot of choice.  I must admit I was surprised though, you’ve never shown any interest in the military before.” 

“Never really had the time.  I’d spent so long throwing everything I had at my swimming I really thought that was going to be my life.  I honestly thought I could make him proud.  Turns out in Dad’s eyes though it could never be more than a hobby.  Now Coach won’t have me back on the team even with Dad’s permission; he said he needs commitment and can’t risk putting in the work only to have me pulled again.”  

The pain in his brother’s voice was clearly evident and Scott couldn’t blame him.  Gordon has spent years devoting himself to his sport, making significant sacrifices along the way.  Their father had always told them to give whole heart to a cause, that half measures would only lead to failure, and when it came to swimming Gordon had followed that advice to the letter.  To have all that dedication and commitment wiped out in the eyes of his Coach by the actions of that same father must have been a bitter blow.  

“Ok, forget Dad for a minute, tell me what you want.  I don’t care about what Dad thinks or what your Coach says.  If you could do whatever you wanted with your life what would it be?”

If Scott was expecting to be left waiting for an answer he was in for a surprise.  There was no hesitation in Gordon’s response, a small part of him might still doubt Scott’s intentions but it felt good to actually be listened to and to get his frustrations off his chest.

“WASP.  It...it felt good there.  I felt good.  I felt like I belonged and I could actually see myself having a decent life.  I honestly thought I could make it but I guess now I’ll never know, I’m probably permanently blacklisted.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.  Ok, faking the forms really wasn’t the smartest of moves but you won’t be under age for much longer.”

“I still couldn’t get it past Dad though.” The thought of his Dad had Gordon curling his fists in rage.  A handful of grass stems ended up decapitated with a satisfying ripping sound as they were torn up by the roots.  “I can’t just fly up there and try again, Dad would never arrange the ticket and my allowance has been cut off completely.”  Another handful of grass lost its grip on the ground.  “I can’t even call a cab without needing to run it by him to get some funds released.  Hitting 18 isn’t going to buy me any more freedom.”

Scott winced inwardly as the pile of broken stems beside his brother grew with each angry tear at the ground.  The restrictions being placed on Gordon’s life were draconian to say the least.  The stupid thing was they were doing more harm than good but evidently their father was too certain of his own righteousness and was blind to the damage he was doing.  He knew that if this carried on much longer Gordon could end up both mentally and physically broken, cowed into submission with all his spark gone.  

Just recently Scott had begun to have some appreciation of what it felt like to be under the controlling shadow of his father.  Every phone call between them came with the reminder that he was expected to become pilot in his father’s rescue organisation idea.  He hadn’t been asked, just presented with the future as if it were a foregone conclusion.   The difference between him and Gordon was that he had already stepped away from his father’s control.  Jeff couldn’t tender his resignation for him, much as he might like to, and so he still had a say in his own future.  Gordon had no such power .  His resolve to help his brother hardened.

“You leave Dad to me.  If you’re sure WASP is what you want…”

“Yeah, it is.” The response was strong, showing some of the old confidence Scott was more used to associating with his brother.

“...then I’ll do what I can to see you get your chance.  Of course, actually getting through selection will be up to you but from what I saw before you seemed to have that sorted.  Now come on, up with you.” Scott hauled himself up off the grass and extended a hand to his brother, pulling Gordon up and then into a hug.  He stood there for a moment, arms wrapped around the shorter form, feeling the head buried into his shoulder in silent thanks, before reluctantly breaking the contact that his brother obviously needed so desperately.  “We ought to be heading back, it’s getting late.  And you seriously need to hit the shower.”

[griimreaping]

A study in Headcannons: Jean Masters edition

This is a compendium of all the headcannons I could find that I’ve posted on my blog and a few that I hadn’t managed to write out yet. Gives some finer details on Jean and overall adds to her story.

There is a small weathered brown leather sketchbook in the front left breast pocket of her work jacket that has a hand-carved wooden pencil bound to the side. Inside the yellowing pages, you can find increasingly detailed sketches of the targets that she’s been given to kill. This book started when she had turned 18 and the first entry is of a stoic and serious-looking man, this would be her father. It’s not particularly well-drawn, though there’s one part of his face that she’s seemed to have spent the most time getting correct and it’s the piercing stare the man wears. A few of the drawings have color put in key places like lips, eyes, or facial tattoos though most are in regular pencil. Maxamillion’s sketch has a small note scratched onto the back that isn’t in Jean’s handwriting and it reads “Studying your target gets you one step closer to killing them.”

   Jean had quite a few tattoos and one iron brand that had gotten taken off when she lost her arm. These tattoos are the major identifying features of her along with a nasty healed bullet wound scar just below her navel.

   Jean was actually entirely homeschooled by her father, and while she’s not a superstar at math she’s pretty intelligent in the street smarts sort of way. Max thought that practical skills were much more important than anything they were dishing out in school so he made a point to teach both his children the arts of protecting yourself, smooth talking, and hitting a target from a click away the basic stuff. So sure, she’s a smart gal but calculus is a mystery.

   While her occupation and previous trauma have steeled her emotionally Jean is actually a soft person underneath all the walls and locks. Some part of her aches for a person to just hold her and tell her things will be okay. She internalizes a lot of emotions and guilt from her past and when it’s dark and quiet those thoughts and monsters crawl up out of the woodwork.

   Night terrors and insomnia are common plagues of the woman keeping her from getting sleep a majority of the time. The few times that she’s had restful sleep is when she’s in the arms of someone else.  And I’m not talking like a one night stand or anything like that, I mean that she trusts this person enough to just melt into their arms and fall asleep. Her work takes a lot out of her and she’s just tired.

Jean has two boats. One is currently dry docked in Morrocco while the other is a 67-meter superyacht by the name of the Sea Widow which is the base for most of Trinity’s mobile operations.

Jean is technically a multi-millionaire. With about 250 million in offshore accounts and floating among various proxy accounts so dirty money can’t be traced. For the most part, she lives rather lavishly.

Jean has been married twice. First one lasting for a few years before the toll of her lifestyle took too much out of the man and he divorced her and left the country. Jean abides by his wishes and does not keep tabs on him.

Her second husband had been a double agent and had her kidnapped and tortured for two weeks which ultimately ended in her losing her arm and her killing him after she’d escaped.

Jean has spinal compression from various hard falls and the connective tissue in her knees is pretty beat up. There are occasional phantom pains from her missing arm and the tissue around where the metal connects to her body gets irritated when not taken care of properly. Partial hearing loss in her left ear from an explosion. There are patches on her body where she has little feeling due to previous injuries, this is most prevalent on her back and left side.

For a minute she had a dependency on painkillers, though after some tough self-discipline Jean got herself away from them and now prefers not to take them if at all possible. She’s tried to stop smoking on several occasions but found that it just made her temper terrible and her hands shake with the withdrawals so she’s gotten down to half a pack a day.

If you were to look around Jean’s home you would notice that there’s a lot of spackled over patches here and there. This is because she forgets the strength of her metal arm from time to time and has put holes in the walls. One of the largest holes that had happened was when she had been trying to hang a painting and she put the entire hammer through the wall.

Weapon of choice is a Remington CSR, collapsible and powerful it’s great for both long and medium range. While the short range stuff is kept to super 625 .45 revolver ( just in case her target decided to hide behind a tank ) or a trusty KBAR knife that’s been lovingly sharpened and oiled.

Multilingual Jean can speak four languages fluently and a handful of others to a conversational level. English, Spanish, Russian, and Arabic are her main languages simply for business sake with those being the biggest contenders.

In the Monster Hunter verse, Jean is unable to fully die. She will sustain harsh enough injuries and enter a state of in between. Due to a pact that she’d made with the grim reaper in her younger years, though when her time finally comes and she fulfills her mission Jean is given just enough time to spend a few moments with her family then simply fade from existence.

Jean can play two instruments, guitar, and piano. She was taught how to play the guitar by her brother Stephan when she was younger, it kept her mind from other things and gave Stephan and her something to do together to avoid their father. The piano she had taught herself after she’d lost her arm in an attempt to gain finer finger dexterity back after the accident. The piano helped her combat the phantom pains that she experienced frequently in the beginning and it also allowed her to become used to the new appendage.

Not a day goes by that Jean doesn’t think about her brother. Stephan had been her support and guardian from her father’s rage and beatings for most of her childhood after their mother died. When he ran away after he turned 18 leaving the then 14 year old Jean alone with the husk of a man that was their father Jean never quite forgave him. It’s this acidic hole in her chest that burns her up inside. There are so many questions that she wants to ask him most of them starting with why. Why did he leave her without saying anything? Why didn’t he take her with him? Where did he go? Where did you go? Jean runs this old film reel over and over in her head at night

Jean wanted kids. She really wanted to be a better person for them and grasped for that white picket fence life for so long that when she had gotten shot in the stomach and had her internals so badly damaged that it ripped that away from her, the woman didn’t really ever recover. There are times where the assassin absently traces that scar on her stomach thinking about everything that could have been.

Dreams are less of night terrors and more like glimpses into a different life. Sometimes it’s hazy memories of picnics with the whole family when her mother was still alive. Sometimes its visions of taking her kids to go see uncle Stephan who lives somewhere in the mountains. Though waking up is always the same, leaving this harsh ache in her entire body when she realizes that all of those dreams are just dreams.

There had been moments when Jean wished she failed in killing her father. Knowing that the consequences would have been her own demise she silently wonders what would have happened. If there was such thing as an afterlife could she have watched the man that had once been a rock for their family fall apart under the knowledge that he’d killed his only daughter and drove his son out of the home? Jean has always wondered.

[devnny]

CHAPTER TWELVE.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

PREVIOUSLY.

GOD THIS TOOK FOREVER!!!!! it’s 6k fucking words too, jeezus lord. at least its cute, and sad, and cute.

the events of my old ass drabble TOUCH. is mentioned briefly in this chapter too, should you have not read that and would care to :]c ANYWAY, ENJOY

[Dear Diary,

I had another dream about killing Devi.

They’ve become too vivid… I’m growing more and more worried that my mind will blur fantasy with reality, and I’ll attack her thinking it’s a dream. I don’t know why I would do that… I don’t want to attack her. I don’t want to hurt her, ever.

So, as a precaution, I’ve decided that I won’t be sleeping anymore. Staying awake is all that I can do combat these shitty nightmares.]

--

Johnny scratched the final letter of his latest diary entry firmly into the paper’s face, then closed the cover quietly. He tucked the book under his chair, careful to not alert Devi, who was painting a few feet away, that he was making any unusual movements.

He felt badly to keep these dreams a secret from her, since he was confident that Meat was interfering with his sleep somehow, but he buried those prickly feelings of guilt to the best of his ability. The only other reason for these reoccurring nightmares would be that he, in fact, was thinking them up all on his own, which was even worse as far as Johnny was concerned. Either way, he was terrified that if he mentioned it to Devi that she would again grow suspicious of him.

After regaining so much of her trust, it would kill him inside to see her hesitate to accept his company, or linger on her words or her decisions in what she allowed him to do with her, all because he wasn’t in control of his subconscience. Very few people were able to control their unconscious mind, but Johnny still felt immensely paranoid that Devi wouldn’t be understanding, regardless of if it would be because of actual resentment, or simply out of fear, even though she would still want to trust him. That might sting even worse, actually.

They had built such a comforting routine in her home; working away on creative endeavors together at all hours, and enjoying each other’s company over shared meals and television in their downtime. It was so soothing, bidding her ‘goodnight’ and ‘good morning’ each day. Devi’s sleep schedule had returned to its atrociously inconsistent cycle since he moved in with her, so sometimes he would be saying ‘goodnight’ at 5PM, and other times saying ‘good morning’ at 5PM, but it was gratifying all the same. He didn’t know, after he was ‘better’ and was supposed to return to his own house, how he would go through each day without being able to offer her such daily pleasantries. Maybe he would be able to do so over the phone, he thought, but it wouldn’t be the same.

His eyes lifted from the scantily-worked-on page that was fastened to his drafting table and settled on Devi’s kneeling figure a short distance away. Johnny smiled to see the small smirk on her face while she blotted color across her canvas. She had been toiling away on this commissioned work for almost a week now, and she always seemed to enter some kind of frenzied state whenever she was nearing a piece’s completion. It was a large project, she had told him, and would offer her a very hefty paycheck once it was finished. Maybe it was the thought of money that pushed her into such an energetic fit of creation – Johnny could only speculate. She grinned and rubbed a bit of paint from her cheek as she stepped back to review her efforts.

His lips pursed into a longer smile; how could he even consider sullying her mood by bringing up useless things like night terrors? He couldn’t. He would handle this himself, and leave Devi to her work.

--

DAYS LATER:

Devi beamed, squiggling her brush down her canvas to the rhythm of the song she currently had blasting from the speakers of her art room. Nothing was more satisfying than going to the bank and depositing a nice, big, fucking check, and she could only express her delight by jumping right into a personal project as soon as she and Johnny had returned home. It felt so good to have enough money, for the time being, to indulge in painting what she wanted to for more than an hour.

“Hey!” Johnny’s voice piped up over the music, and Devi turned to see him pull his headphones off of one of his ears. His headphones were his only defense against her deafening taste in music, so it must be important. Devi searched the floor for the dinky little remote that controlled the speakers, and lowered the volume to a reasonable level.

“Yeah?” She grinned at him, and he met her smile with one of his own.

“Can you hold your arm out like ‘this’ for me?” Johnny stuck his arm out and twisted it downwards in a fist to give her an example. Devi scoffed, used to him asking her to pose for reference by now, and tried to mimic what he had requested.

“Like that?”

“Ummm, no, down a little more. Ehhh—” He wiggled his fist in her direction. “—put your shoulder up more, maybe? Give me… ‘intimidating’.”

Devi laughed.

“Shut the Hell up.” She huffed a few chuckles and brought her shoulder up as instructed.

“YES. HOLD THAT.” Johnny exclaimed and hurriedly resumed his sketching. Devi’s smile remained while she watched him work.

She had to admit she was proud of how far he had come since this whole thing started – he hardly ever devolved into a crying mess when his drawings weren’t progressing to his liking anymore. The last time Devi remembered him throwing a fit was shortly after the ‘leash and collar’ situation began, and she figured that that was more out of pent up frustration for that small bit of humiliation, and not so much because he was a creative loose-cannon.

The way his tongue poked out while he drew was a little more endearing suddenly, but Devi dismissed the thought, chalking it up to the current carefree feeling in the air. The evening was set to be lighthearted the moment she had gotten paid; the plan was to have whatever the fuck she wanted for dinner, and then binge-watch the entire movie series of The Beast What Licked Me, which was the main trilogy and all of its subsequent, horrible spinoff movies by less-than-admirable production studios. Devi smiled at the idea of having fun for once.

“You know, the lofty smile doesn’t really give me that ‘intimidating’ vibe.” Johnny spoke with a teasing laugh, earning a dismissive, blithe scoff from his model.

“Shut your mouth—aren’t you hungry yet?” Devi snorted, wriggling her shoulder to rib at him further. He stuck the end of his pencil into his lip curiously.

“Are you?”

“Sure, and I think my hand’s had enough painting for one day.” She straightened her posture with a widening grin. “You done?”

“Well, I am for now, if that’s alright with my, er, mentor…” Johnny replied with the question in his stare, and Devi snickered again.

“You are excused for the evening. Now, let’s order Chinese, for delivery. I don’t feel like leaving the house again today.” Devi mused while she walked out of the room. Johnny smiled giddily at the comment – one trip outside was enough for one day, he’d agree wholeheartedly!

--

FIFTEEN-MINUTES-OR-LESS LATER:

Johnny threw the wad of cash that Devi had so-entrusted him with directly into the delivery boy’s face, knocking him over with the force of the impact as he snatched the take-out bag from him. He slammed the door shut callously, and hummed in approval at the now familiar smell of Devi’s favorite Chinese restaurant.

He strode to the kitchen with it, and began laying out the bag’s drippy contents onto the counter. He jumped when he felt something jab into his side, but hardly had to turn his head before he recognized Devi’s head peeking into his peripheral. She gave him a cheeky grin, and he smiled back shyly.

“You’re already finished showering?”

“Yeah, heh, just needed to rinse off that outside-world smell.” She crossed her arms over one of his shoulders as she leaned to see what he was doing. “…Why’d you bother bringing the food in here?”

Johnny gesticulated his hands loosely around the counterspace as he attempted to explain, but it was difficult with Devi touching him.

“WELL, it’s—” Another swat of his hands. “…greasy!”

Devi snortled and slid off of his shoulder, giving his back an additional plap with her palm before moving to inspect tonight’s dinner. She popped open one of the containers and couldn’t help but jam a pair of chopsticks into it right away, scooping a pile of noodles into her mouth happily.

She exhaled contently through her nose while she chewed, then turned a curious eye to Johnny, who was picking at the fabric of his shirt where she had just been pressed against him. It was only for a second, but it was enough to take notice of before he tilted to look through the boxes and find which one was his entrée. Devi swallowed, and watched his thin fingers play with the lids while she thought.

When had she gotten so comfortable with touching him? It had been a long time since physical contact with anyone had been so nonchalant for her. If she could guess, it was probably due to the whole ‘close proximity of the leash’ thing, or maybe the whole ‘living together’ thing, but either way it was bizarre that she hadn’t realized how casual things had become until she noticed Johnny’s slight change in demeanor in response to it.

One wouldn’t have to ask Johnny ‘when’ the touching started; he could tell you with one-hundred percent certainty that it was the night that they went to pick up a few groceries from a nearby 24/7. Devi had approached him, and set a hand on his arm for an undiscernible amount of seconds while she spoke to him – undiscernible because his brain had just about exploded from the direct contact. He had returned the casual touching with a modest hand on her shoulder, and she hadn’t killed him for it. Johnny would probably remember that night for the rest of his existence.

But Devi was left to ponder at what point she had regrown enough trust for him to poke and prod at him without wanting to carve her own skin off afterward. He was a lot less horrible now, and she enjoyed his company again, so she supposed that said something, at least. She shrugged it off and stuffed a piece of chicken in her mouth.

“You ready to get this hideous marathon underway?” Devi asked while she chewed. Johnny carefully lifted the top off of the horrendously spicy dish he’d ordered.

“Yes!” He beamed at her eagerly, brandishing a spork as though it was a beacon for his well-equipped-ness for the evening.

--

FIVE MOVIES IN:

“Oouughh…” Devi vocalized her agony with her fingers pressed to her sore eyes.

“Yeah, that FX make-up is garbage. Worse than the one in Spawn of The Beast What Licked Me.” Johnny replied lazily from his side of the couch, half-melted into the cushion. Though his corneas burned just as badly, the pain didn’t register with him the same way.

“No,” Devi griped. “my eyes are killing me…”

A yawn punctuated her complaint, and Johnny lifted his head attentively. She was tired. He’d come to learn the signs of her exhaustion quite well, and despite his current feelings about sleep, rest appeared to do Devi some good.

“Are you going to go to bed?” He asked and reset his head onto the back cushion of the couch comfortably. Devi peeked at him from the armrest on the opposite side, where she had devolved into a lumpy ball as the night wore on. Her ear pressed into the cushy fabric, and she slanted her mouth in discontent.

She didn’t particularly want to go to sleep. There was only one more movie to go, and it felt weak as Hell to give up now when she was so close to the end of a movie binge. Devi lulled her head in the direction of the TV, and winced away in regret when the flashing light burned her eyes.

“Ugh.” She grunted in defeat. “Yeah, I guess.”

“We can finish these last two tomorrow.” Johnny offered to ease her frustration, and Devi smirked through her exhaustion.

“Yeah, okay.” She agreed and rolled into a seated position. She struggled to stand with her tired legs, but managed to force herself up.

One of her hands came down to point at Johnny as she passed him, her finger hovering just out of reach of his nose.

“—And don’t you dare watch ahead.” Devi smiled despite her threatening tone. “You turn that shit off, you don’t get to watch without me.”

Johnny grinned uneasily, half of him delighted at how she joked with him.

“Yes, of course.” He assured her, and Devi nodded appreciatively before hobbling off to bed. Johnny watched her door click shut, then searched for the remote and turned the TV off.

His body slumped against the couch, the satisfied feeling in his torso weighing him down into its pillows. He debated what he could do for the rest of the night with his lazy, fried brain. The dull feeling in his arms made drawing seem impossible, and he didn’t want to turn on the TV again until he was sure Devi was soundly asleep. So he laid on the couch and thought to pass the time.

It didn’t take long for his thoughts to turn to Devi, and he smiled comfortably as he reviewed the day’s events. Johnny laced his fingers over his chest and contemplated if their relationship would progress further than this, or if it had reached it’s peak at her not hating him and offering him passing physical contact. He was perfectly happy with how things were now, but he would have said the same thing about her begrudgingly tolerating his company two months ago. Now he couldn’t imagine going back to that time and being satisfied without her smile, or laughter, or rib jabbing.

A sigh slipped past his lips as he smooshed further into the couch at the memory of her forearms crossed over his shoulders early this evening. It was so nice. Everything was so nice now; he felt like he could exist like this forever. The impermanence of his situation was lost from his mind for the time being, and he nestled his brow into the cushion while he let his tender thoughts carry his brain away.

Without realizing, his eyes slowly began to settle closed, and he drifted into an impromptu nap.

--

Johnny reaffixed his grip on the handle of his knife, the tendons there further visible under the gaunt skin of his hand. He would usually wear gloves for something like this – it was so messy – but a kill such as this one, that was so personal and passionate in nature, had no room for measures of tidiness.

She deserved this so much; she was so mean. Cruel. She never treated him like this before, when they had their nice, engaging conversations at the bookstore. Everything was so pleasant then. He could still imagine her, with her short black hair and uniform apron, and her dark, painted lips that made his heart go berserk when they tilted up into a smile for him. Him, bringing a smile to someone else’s face. How abnormal.

His own mouth twitched upwards more, making his grin look more unhinged than it already did. The little spatters of blood on his cheeks and nose smeared under the creases it brought.

Devi lay below him – on the floor, if he wasn’t mistaken – looking up at him in fear. He’d only stabbed her a few times so far, but Johnny could tell by the terror in her eyes that she knew those wouldn’t be the only ones. He crouched over her form, as he had over so many others, and held her shoulder with his left hand while the right started its habitual swinging.

The blade plunged into her chest again, marring her shirt with another bloody hole. Then another, and another. He could feel the flexible bones of her ribcage bend under the base of his palm, compressed by the weight of his blows.

It felt so GOOD. She earned all of these! All of her stabbing, painful comments – she should have expected this outcome. This new, purple-haired, pigtailed Devi was not the one he cared so much for; she was a demon! A bastardized version of his Devi; one that smirked coolly at him as though she owned him; one that barraged him with pointless tests and berated him with cutting words when he failed.

“You deserve this!” Johnny breathed, digging the knife into her torso again. Devi did little to stop him, as she had so far, and only looked at him painfully. YES! She deserved this pain!

“You deserve this – you deserve this—!” He ranted, continuing to repeat the phrase over and over as he stabbed her. He watched her eyes – those pretty, green eyes – filled with hurt.

But it wasn’t the hurt that he had originally thought.

It wasn’t like the looks his other victims gave him, eyes filled with tears from the physical agony they were in. It wasn’t even the same as the horror he’d seen on her face before, when he had lunged at her in his home. Johnny’s smile slowly began to drop, seeing the unusual emotion in Devi’s eyes. She looked at him with so much betrayal – almost longingly, as if to ask “Why?”, or to say, ���How could you?”.

Why wasn’t she fighting him? She should be able to get away. She’s always gotten away from him – always refused to be a victim to him. Why was she just LAYING there, letting him kill her?

That’s what he was doing. He was KILLING HER.

Devi seemed to acknowledge her impending death at the same time he had, and her expression grew wearier. Johnny felt anxiety rapidly mounting inside him, and only removed his fixation away from her face when he felt her hand gingerly grip at his fist. He looked down and watched her fingers, matted with blood, trying as best as they could to grasp onto him. He also realized that he was still holding the knife firmly in her sternum.

With a jolt of fear, he yanked the knife away, and Devi cried out for the first time that he could remember. It made him drop his weapon, and settle both hands onto her shoulders.

He yelped her name, as if that would do any good. What had he done? He had killed her – she was dying. He didn’t want to believe it, and the sound of her labored breathing brought him to tears. This shouldn’t be happening – Devi had helped him. She offered him so much of her; her time, her support, her home – and he had reduced her into a gored mass on her bedroom floor.

No, no, no. This wasn’t right. He wanted to scream and sob, but that would do nothing to fix this.

A sticky sensation on his cheek brought him out of his panic, and he realized after a moment that it was Devi’s hand, wet from her own blood. Despite the slippery, unpleasant feeling of the blood, Johnny was drawn to the delicate touch of her fingers, and tried to lean into them despite the weakness in her digits. He wanted her palm – he wanted it to cradle his cheek, and indulge in the forbade softness from her that he himself had ruined his chances of.

Johnny didn’t get what he wanted, of course. Devi’s hand slowly dropped away from his face, lingering until all the strength left her limbs, and her arm fell to her bloodied stomach. Johnny refused to take his eyes off of hers, and the anxiety he felt previously worked into a massive ball of dread as he saw the glint in Devi’s eyes begin to dull.

No, no, no, no—

--

Johnny almost gagged from the abrupt force of the gasp that brought him back to consciousness. His leg kicked out, knocking over some empty containers and cans that had been left on the coffee table, and he scampered away from the sound with startled fear. A hand came up to palm away the wet lines that streaked down his cheekbones, but cold tears were the least of his concerns with his lungs beating air out of him faster than he could bring it in. Johnny tried to gather himself and calm his breathing down, but his heart wouldn’t allow it, and continued pounding against the walls of its boney prison like a furious captive.

His eyes shook with anxiety as his pupils flashed from side to side, trying to use some amount of logic amongst his hysteria to convince himself everything was fine, and that his panic was just the result of another Godawful nightmare. Johnny noted the dark living room, the messy table, the quiet television set; nothing amiss or broken, nothing to indicate that anything in the apartment was any different from any other night, besides his quaking form bundled up on the sofa.

He turned his attention to Devi’s bedroom door, and his haggard breaths immediately stopped. Her door was ajar. He had never seen her door open when she was sleeping, ever.

A shaky inhale sucked down his throat, and he started shivering from his shoulders down his arms and to his stomach. There was a sudden, paralyzing feeling of nausea woven through his guts, and it was almost painful to make his knees lift him into a standing position, like forcing a rusted bolt to twist. He couldn’t get his back to straighten fully as he stood, so he crept with a nervous hunch in his shoulders toward Devi’s bedroom.

Johnny swallowed past the dry flesh of his mouth as he reached the threshold of the doorway. His breath trembled again; he was terrified that upon pushing open the door fully, he would find Devi’s lifeless body on the floor, right where he had ‘dreamed’ it was. He couldn’t bear the thought that his worst fear had come to fruition – that his crappy, broken mind failed to recognize reality from fantasy, and either it, or Meat, had tricked him into murdering Devi with a rage that he didn’t even have for her.

Despite his paralyzing fear, his hand settled onto the front of the door, and he creaked it open slowly. Johnny shakingly took a step inside, and even with the only light in the room being the dim reflection of a billboard outside, he could tell that there was nothing on the floor besides the usual scattered belongings. Certainly no bodies, and definitely not the one that belonged to Devi.

He brought his attention up to her bed, and his lips wibbled fearfully at the unidentifiable shape under the purple covers. He could see what would be assumed to be Devi’s head poking out of the lump, resting on a pillow, but that was all. Johnny gulped quietly again. His paranoia couldn’t let him leave it at that – he had to make sure that she was well, instead of just assuming she was sleeping peacefully.

He hurried to the side of the bed, and stared down with wide, fearful eyes at her neutral face that was tucked so snugly behind her curled hand. She wasn’t making any sounds, and he couldn’t tell with his own body shaking the way it was, if she was breathing or not. He continued staring, trying with all his might to determine if her body was rising and falling with lifegiving breath, and only grew more and more panicked the longer he couldn’t stop trembling and focus enough to confirm it.

With a renewed burst of anxiety, Johnny shot forward, jabbing a knee into the fluff of her comforter. He grabbed her by the shoulders to shake her awake with terrified urgency, unable to think of any other way to quell his fears fast enough. Devi’s eyes opened right away, rattling around in her aching head with confused alarm until she heard Johnny’s wailing.

“DEVI! DEVI, DEVI—!” His face pinched miserably as he saw her irises flicker into view and focus squarely on him. His fingers tightened onto her shoulders further as his began to shake again, and he drooped like a dejected, wilted flower against her collar. He continued calling her name, but his voice garbled as he deteriorated into sobs.

It took Devi a moment to register what the Hell was going on, but her shocked expression melted into a tired, exasperated one as she realized Johnny was just having a fit about something, again.

“Nny—Nny!” She tried to urge him out of his crying with a few shoves on the arm, but Johnny only continued blubbering. He was trying desperately to explain himself, Devi could gather that much, but he was completely incoherent. She sighed in exhaustion, desperate to calm him and go the fuck back to bed.

“Johnny,” She set a hand on his head, lazily leading it to lay flat on her mattress. “relax, please. Relax.”

Johnny, whose figure had been half-collapsed on her bed already, buckled from his distress, and he laid loosely at her side like a ragdoll.

“—you were dead, you were dead—!” He managed to blather out, and Devi sighed again. She assumed that this was the result of another nightmare he had, and papped his hair with as much sympathy as she was willing to muster in her fatigued state.

“I’m not dead, Nny. I’m fine… see…?” She mumbled with her eyes closed. Johnny stifled his crying as he tried to accept what she was telling him, but even with the affirmation that she was alive and well, he couldn’t stop his body’s pitiful reaction to fear. He hadn’t been so terrified in a long while – he couldn’t even remember what he would do to ease the feeling before.

A sudden sensation against his hairline startled him out of his grim thoughts, and he realized after a moment that it was Devi’s thumb idly brushing against his skin and into his hair. He stared at the sheets in surprise, unable to do much else besides focus on the strange scratching at his skull. Slowly, his eyelids lowered, but his somber expression remained. Johnny brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them tightly, hoping the pressure would help him relax.

Devi’s fingers stilled after a minute, and he felt her wrist settle loosely on his temple, then eventually slip lower until her forearm rested across the side of his neck. He sniffed, and bent his head down more, but instead of his forehead settling onto his kneecaps, it was obstructed by something warm and flat.

Johnny tilted his head up at an angle, and was surprised to see that what he’d bumped into was Devi’s collar – or rather, the area right below her collar. Her sternum; the bone that he had so viciously impaled with a knife several times in his newest dream. Guilt demanded that he pull his head away from where it rested, but as he turned his head, his ear pressed against her and he felt the light thumping of her heart tickle at his skin. Johnny froze, and his stillness offered him the full, uninterrupted rhythm of Devi’s heartbeat.

Even with his own heart pumping erratically, the sound of Devi’s heart was so audible and loud to the ear that was currently resting against her chest. It was just like any heartbeat, he supposed, but it was so calm and steady, much in contrast to his own which was still wild from coming down off of terror-induced adrenaline. The stable rhythm slowly began to calm him, and he took deep solace in the fact that as long as he could hear that drumming in his ear, it meant that she was alive. He curled further into himself, making sure that his temple was still pressed firmly against her collar.

Johnny chastised himself for a moment, trying to argue through his emotional exhaustion that this was, to some extent, inappropriate, and that now that he knew Devi was safe, he should leave her to rest. But he couldn’t resist the lure of Devi’s soft skin on his cheek, or her arm that was draped over his head, that made him feel oh-so cozy and secure. His eyes settled shut, and with a few lingering post-sobbing sniffs, slipped back into sleep.

--

THE FOLLOWING MORNING:

Devi mumbled in the back of her throat as she roused from slumber. There was still a dull ache in her brain, and she wasn’t currently at all fond of the idea of opening her eyes or waking up. Her lip twitched at a weird texture flittering against it, and she snorted to encourage whatever it was to fuck off. Her breathing started to slow again, but after a moment, the tickling feeling moved up to her nose, making it curl and huff in annoyance.

She brushed the unknown irritant away with her hand, and opened her eyes bitterly as she accepted that going back to sleep wasn’t going to happen now. She stretched her back out with a groaning sigh, and brought the same hand up to rub her face clear of any grogginess. As she did, the tuft of annoying, plumy things that had woken her up settled back against her mouth. Devi glared out at nothing in aggravation, then flicked her eyes down to finally see what it was.

Her eyes widened in confusion to be greeted with a pile of twisted, black hair. The confusion was short-lived as she realized that the hair was attached to Johnny, who was curled up in a ball beside her within the small space that her bent legs allowed, his head tucked comfortably under her chin. She blanched, and her cheeks quickly grew red from embarrassment and disoriented, shocked anger.

With a jolt of ego-preserving violence, she shoved him away and off of the bed, leaving only his skinny legs splayed in awkward angles atop the mattress. Devi sat up and glared at his boots.

“Johnny, what the Hell!” She huffed, her cheeks still tinged with color. Johnny rebounded from the initial shock of hitting the floor rather quickly, scampering up into a kneel at the side of her bed.

“OH, UH, I—” His own face blushed in shame, and he looked up to Devi’s glowering face, hoping that she wouldn’t be too angry with him. “I uh, I guess I… I fell asleep, after, um…”

His fingers drummed awkwardly against the sheets as he looked around the room noncommittally. Devi’s expression dropped as she remembered, foggily, Johnny coming into her room during the night in absolute hysterics. She grunted and scowled with some acceptance that he’d ended up passing out beside her.

“You moron.” Was all she could say. Johnny raised his eyes to look at her dejectedly, and she scoffed. She threw her legs off the other side of the bed, and walked around it, and Johnny, to reach her bathroom.

Johnny’s lip stuck out curiously. He wondered if that was going to be the extent of his punishment for unwanted physical contact, but dared not ask. Instead, he pulled himself up to sit on the corner of her bed and waited patiently for her to return. He hoped she didn’t come back with anything to hit him with, like the good, old-fashioned, ‘bar of soap in a sock’ flail.

Devi only washed her face, then reentered her room to frown at him. She crossed her arms at the sight of him sitting on her bed, and Johnny held his hands between his knees, timidly avoiding what he assumed was a bitter glare from her. Devi rolled her eyes as she sighed, and joined him on the edge of her mattress.

“Another nightmare, Nny?” She asked. Johnny’s head lowered from the annoyance in her voice.

“Yes…” He mumbled, twiddling his thumbs nervously. He heard Devi scoff again, and he felt further guilt that she was unaware of the seriousness behind his night terrors. After her unintentionally warm comforting the night previous, he felt compelled to tell her the truth.

“Devi, uh, I actually… there’s something I must confess.” Johnny looked to her, and Devi’s mouth flattened in surprise. She hoped silently that this wasn’t something romantic, given the already ridiculous start to her day. Johnny swung his legs absentmindedly.

“Well, you see…” A sigh. “I’ve been having these… “nightmares”, for months.”

“All of them have been about, well, killing you.” Johnny grimaced as he said it, and Devi’s expression shifted to a different kind of surprise. Johnny continued. “Each time I fall asleep, they get worse; more vivid, more violent. Last night’s was the worst one to date. It was so real, Devi, I—I swore that I’d killed you. I was so certain…”

His hands gripped at the fabric of his pants nervously.

“…I think Meat’s behind it.” He said finally, and Devi took new, startled interest in his admission. They were quiet a moment before Devi replied.

“You really think the dreams are his doing?”

“I do.” He affirmed. “He doesn’t speak to me very often now that I live here, but I’m sure it’s him. I… I don’t know why he’s doing it, but I’m sure that he’s influencing them to be so gory and… awful… and you-related.”

Devi pondered this new development with a healthy amount of bitter suspicion. As far as she knew, Reverend Meat wanted Johnny to live, and had yet to try and influence him to kill anyone. What he wanted Johnny to do was engage in normal human-y things, and lose himself to his emotions, to his feelings. His feelings for her, in this case specifically. She slid her attention back to him with her suspicions hidden, as to not inadvertently express it to Johnny, and Meat, by extension.

“Did you have a nightmare after you fell asleep in my bed?” She asked.

Johnny blinked, having not bothered to even think about that until she mentioned it.

“Oh… no, I didn’t.” He replied. Devi pursed her mouth, convinced she knew the reason for Meat’s meddling this time.

He was trying to drive Johnny directly into her arms, like a bovine herder whacking his cattle with an electric rod. It boiled her blood to think of that shitty little parasite being so crafty. It would be easy for Meat to convince Johnny, without words, that he was urging him to commit violent acts, like Johnny’s previous voices, when in actuality, he was still just pushing this ‘physical longing’ crap.

“I’m sorry Devi…” Johnny’s head hung pathetically. “I know I should have told you. I was just so afraid… Afraid that you wouldn’t… trust me, again.”

He lifted his head.

“So much has changed since we, uh, ‘reunited’, if you’d want to call it that.” He mumbled. “I was scared that everything would regress back to the way it used to be. Everything is so nice now, I didn’t want to disturb it if I didn’t have to.”

Devi frowned at him in disbelief. She was still unused to any kind of heartfelt comments from anyone, especially him. For a moment, she debated whether or not to inform Johnny of the conclusion she’d just come to.

It could be beneficial to let him know, even if that would let Meat know as well, but then Johnny would probably go out of his way to avoid any touching, and maybe even hide his emotions more, just as a precaution to keep any and all feelings for her in check and not vulnerable to the Reverend, as futile as that would be. Devi hated to admit that she… didn’t want that. She liked bothering him, and it was nice to have such a casual friendship with someone after all these years of crappy people and self-made solitude.

She let her shoulders sag in defeat to her own wretched feelings.

“Yeah, things are nice now.” She smiled at him. Johnny was surprised that she would agree with him, and grinned shyly back at her.

“You still should have told me though, idiot.” Devi added with a meaner smirk, and Johnny shrugged in reply with a laugh. Devi pushed his shoulder.

“I’ll forgive you if you make me breakfast.” She offered, and Johnny jumped at the opportunity.

“Okay!” His smile grew wider, and he began slinking off toward the kitchen, lingering as though he was urging her to follow him.

Devi snorted a laugh and got up to join him. She would just keep these nightmares under close observation for now, until she was sure that she was correct about Meat’s intentions.

--

NEXT.

[justlikeeddie]

otp meme

List your Top 5 Canon and Top 5 Non-Canon OTPs. Then, tag 10 people to spread the love, and so on and so on…

I was tagged by @rcmclachlan! It’s fun to excavate your fandom history!

This is a GOOD QUESTION in that, y’know. What is a canon OTP? (What is a pairing? What is canon? What is ‘is’?) The answer, for this post, is “whatever made it easiest for me to split these into two sets of five”.

CANON OTPs

Aziraphale/Crowley, Good Omens

This is canon. “Fight me”? No need. Fight Michael Sheen.

Do say: “And when I’m off in the stars, I won’t even think about you!”

Don’t say: Hey, have you thought recently about the fact that Crowley’s snakeskin shoes might actually just be his feet?

Look at an art: A little ancient Grecian collusion by @seraph5

Read a fic: nothing but the wild rain by @singlecrow

Have I written it? In a desperate exercise in exorcism immediately after watching the show, yes: Going Native and Riding in Cars With Demons. And I have about five WIPs in charliekellypepesilvia.jpg frantically plotted notes stages. Watch this space. (For some time. I’m a bizarrely slow writer.)

Flint/Thomas, Black Sails

Do say: “People can say what they like about you, but you're a good man. More people should say that. And someone should be willing to defend it."

Don’t say: I was enjoying the show so much that I ignored the fact they made captain flint gay but to wrap up the series on the notion he would put his sword down to pick daisies with his male lover is just too much to bear. I miss the 90’s

Look at an art: Journey into the Dark by @riisinaakka-draws

Read a fic: Unaccommodated Man by @septembriseur

Have I written it? Yes, although astonishingly, I only ever finished one fic: Some Affair.

Strange/Arabella, Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell

Do say: “The excitement of it was very much to see how you would look at me. The excitement of life was very much to see how you would look at me.”

Don’t say: HE WAS A MUCH WORSE HUSBAND IN THE BOOK AND HE LET HER DIE AS A TREE (I know. I know)

Look at an art: Padua by @cobbledstories

Have I written it? Not as a foreground pairing, although I do have a very detailed Strange/Arabella/Grant fic that lives eternally in my head in the hope it will one day fit a Yuletide request.

Morse/Joan, Endeavour

Do say: “You mean the world to them. You mean the world…” [trailing off in tears]

Don’t say: You do realise he’d make her miserable and she deserves better? (I KNOW)

Cry at a simple gifset: :′′(

Have I written it? No, happy to let the show itself continue to take anything that Morse might hold dear and crush it into the dirt, no need for me to help.

Jake/Amy, Brooklyn 99

Truly the opposite to Morse/Joan in every possible way, aside from the involvement of law enforcement personnel

Do say: “There’s a typo in this crossword puzzle.”

Don’t say: …Title of your sex tape. (Or anything about Season 6, which I haven’t seen yet.)

Look at an art: Jake & Amy by @ivy6am

Have I written it? No, because Brooklyn 99 is an example of that rare and complete joy, Show That Textually Contains Literally Everything I Want From It And Then Some.

NON-CANON OTPs

Sam/Gene, Life on Mars

My “formative” tag on Tumblr is probably overused, but, like. Extremely. Formative. Truly the ur-fandom in terms of my future trope and fic interests. God bless you, weird mid-00s genre experiment broadcast at a particularly impressionable point in my teens.

Do say: Gene Hunt constructs intricate rituals that allow him to touch the skin of other men.

Don’t say: The ending of Ashes to Ashes is canon.

Watch a vid: There Is Too Much Light In This Bar by AbsoluteDestiny

Read a fic: Tangible/Intangible by @lozenger8

Have I written it? I went back to this fandom for Bent for Yuletide a few years ago, but everything else was written when I was literally 17, so caveat lector.

Merlin/Arthur, Merlin

Genuinely wondered whether I should have included this in the canon list. Two sides of the same coin? Merlin's mum desperately trying to get them together about halfway through the first series? “I was born to serve you, Arthur”? As ever, in thinking about this, I’ve just made myself furious again that this objectively fucking stupid children’s TV show remains one of the most emotionally and erotically resonant pieces of media I’ve had the misfortune to consume.

Do say: “I could take you apart with one blow.”

Don’t say: “I could take you apart with less than that.” (It’s been nearly eleven years since this exchange aired on children’s TV and I’m still reeling)

Watch a vid: Alone by sisabet

Read a fic: Past Imperfect by @thehoyden

Have I written it? Yes, although, again, I was a teenager and didn’t really know how to words: Cross You Off My List. I also have a passionately-planned and half-written epic about the ten years of their evolving relationship from boys 2 men (not the band), and its delicate balance between private interaction and public performance, which I thought I was finally going to finish for the ten-year anniversary of the show last year, but at this rate, might be done in time for the twentieth.

Fraser/Kowalski, due South

Do say: “Partnership is like a marriage, son.”

Don’t say: Anything that will wake the Vecchio anon.

Watch a vid: Goody Two Shoes by @laurashapiro-noreally and pipsqueak

Read a fic: Kowalski is Bleeding by @cesperanza

Have I written it? Weirdly way less of it than makes sense for the amount of time that this was my primary fandom, but yes, published some time after the fact: Homecoming and Poles.

Strange/Grant, Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell

Surprise double-entry for JSMN! Except not at all a surprise, because I am into so many aspects of this book and show that I could probably have filled most of the ten entries with JSMN rarepairs. (Please, talk to me about the criminally underexplored sexy class politics of Strange/Childermass.) But anyway, Strange/Grant was, somewhat to my surprise, my takeaway pairing from the TV adaptation.

Do say: “There are any number of magical things my friend could do to prove it,” while looking like you’re about to combust from how excited you are by the prospect.

Don’t say: HE WENT TO VENICE IN A PUDDLE WITH NO GOODBYE (I know)

Look at an art: Major Grant by erebusodora (technically only one half of the pairing, but it’s just a very nice painting)

Read a fic: Wilderness by @the-omnishambles, ie The First Strange/Grant Fic On The Internet

Have I written it? Yes, went a bit mad in 2015. A peculiarity of the Iberian Peninsula (long, slightly sad); An England that is dead (shorter, sadder); and Sound and Vision (no redeeming features).

Charles/Erik, X-Men

Again… IS THIS CANON. Explain any single thing that happens in any of the X-Men timelines if this pairing isn’t at LEAST unconsummated canon

Do say: “I couldn’t disobey you even if I wanted to.”

Don’t say: Sorry, what exactly was the plot of X-Men: Apocalypse?

Look at an art: A sketch by loobeeinthesky (the watch!!!)

Read a fic: Wisteria by by @columbinepurples

Have I written it? Yes: The Width of a Circle.

In turn, but only if you’re bored and like making a list as much as I do, tags for:

@confusinglyamusingly

@butteronmyroll

@johnnyvod

@the-omnishambles

@sixohsixoheightfourtwo

@cribins

@septembriseur

@itsmapes

@deputychairman

@drawsaurus

(You don’t… have to go into as much detail as this… I think you’re just supposed to say who the pairings are, but listen I’m staying with my parents this week and I have a LOT of tumblr downtime)

[alorscestmoi-blog]

Sunday, October 6th

Hello Diary Blog!

I spent yesterday afternoon at school, even though it was a Saturday. I had an assignment to catch up on, and it’s for my dyeing class, so i needed to come in. I had booked the lab on Friday, so it was fine. I actually forgot about the lab, and showed up to school simply because i thought it was Thursday! I’m such a mess.

The school closed at 18h, and i unfortunately didn’t get the chance to finish. i was going to go in to the lab again today, but i’m far too tired and i’m still not over this flu, so i decided that rest might do me good. 

In other news, I’m sewing a halloween shirt! Yes, yes, i have an exam this thursday, but i got some adorable fabric and a perfect zipper yesterday from school! Oh, i’m just thinking now, why not make a whole dress out of it! It might be really cute! I don’t know if i have the time, though. Here’s a preview of the fabric! 

isn’t it adorable! Little Jack Skeletons all over! I can’t believe anyone would want to part with this, but i’m glad i search through the free fabric bin often, because i love it! 

Honestly, I might have a problem. Every Monday i’ll head off to class with my supplies, and every Monday i’ll come back home with a bag of fabric! I mean, I honestly don’t mind, because I love all the free fabric I’m getting- even if that means looking like a homeless person when i’m bent over and practically hanging over the box to see if there are any hidden treasures at the bottom. I got some really nice red fabric and a really vibrant purple yesterday too! I’m so excited to make something from them! 

For the red one, probably i’ll make something Miraculous Ladybug related- of course. But the purple though, it’s very vibrant, and i’m not sure if i’d wear something that purple, it’s really not for me. I’m more into pink, to be honest. 

OH MY GOD also i found the mot beautiful ribbon! It’s satin and 9 mm (perfect because i used it to add a finishing touch to a sleep mask I made for my grandmother!) and it’s the most gorgeous emerald blue EVER. I took a picture of it, but the colour isn’t really done justice unless you see it in person. Here’s a picture anyways though.

So, yeah, it’s not really justified on camera, but bleh moving on. 

oh! I’m so sorry, I am totally going of topic. So back to the purple fabric. 

Yeah, i’m not sure what to do with it. I might make some cute stockings, but what would i even wear with it? hmm... I really want to use the fabric, but maybe i’ll wait a little. Tomorrow i have class in the studio again, and i’ll have to bring a bag so i can stock up on fabrics before reading week! oooooo I love sewing and fashion SO MUCH you have no idea. It makes me so happy and giddy and it’s so beautiful! I love art so much. 

Oh shoot! I have an assignment due! I have to head to the Art Museum beside my school before it’s due and finish the worksheet I have to do there. 

Maybe i’ll get inspired by something there! Who knows! 

I think maybe I’ll go on Tuesday when i have no class, and then afterwards i’ll go for a stroll until i get the the museum I was at last week, I remember walking down that street with my mother when i was little, it’s still as beautiful as it was then! And i sat there last week on the benches and it was so wonderful! I have so many sketches from that day! I’ll grab my sketchbook and take some pictures! Let me go get it! 

Oh, well there are a lot so i may just post them onto a new post after this one! 

Anyways, there’s this REALLY GOOD fanfiction i’m reading, it’s called Back To Us and it’s SO AMAZING. Anyways i’m gonna go read and sew so i’m gonna draft this journal entry for later. 

Kisses! 

~Alo

P.s. I’m a little tired, and i really wanna finish up with what I’m working on with this new fabric, so i’ll talk to you tomorrow (unless i forget! haha)

p.p.s AHHHH i’ve just realised i’ve forgotten to do inktober two days in a row now! And it’ll be three if i don’t do today! aerstghdrserstdghyresytdhydresg

[bath-ironstout]

Passing the Torch

Deep within the mountain known to all as Khaz, buried deeper still within in the bustling Dwarven capital city of Ironforge, many of the city’s denizens slept.  In the wee hours of the night, the night-shift laborers had all but taken over the streets which were only hours earlier crowded and alive.

The Mystic Ward, with its magnificent temple and ever-shimmering azure Pool of Reflection that made up the symmetrical center of the open plaza, was one of the few quarters of the city that enforced any type of curfew.  Because of this, it was deathly quiet.  Save for a few lost, drunken tourist wandering the wrong reaches of the upper-city, the caustic reflections of the pool danced to the distant echoes of hammersong from the Great Forge on the high stone ceiling.

Inside one of the quaint Dwarven apartments carved of the mountain’s very stone, a young Dwarven woman stared pensively at several objects laid out across an otherwise empty bed.  The bed itself was cozy enough.  It too was made from stone, covered in a thick, wool comforter tinged with a thin layer of dust from lack of use.  The sheets were made hastily, and it’s surface was rather wrinkled.  Atop the sea of greyish green fabric, a black leather-bound tome cracked with age, a tall stone-ware beer stein with an ornate pewter lid covered top to bottom in knicks and scratches, and a heap of well-worn amber-brown plate and chainmail armor lay in separate piles

Bathildis Ironstout had mourned the death of her father.  She had been mourning for hours.  Hours turned to days, and when she thought she had nothing left to give, she grieved some more.  Before she knew it, a week had passed, and sadness and denial made way for anger and bargaining.  She sat perfectly still, her slate-gray eyes traveling from object to object as she veiled her nose and mouth with cupped hands.  Alberich had left these three items behind for her, as was evident in a letter found within the book.  

The grizzled Dwarven wanderer had anticipated the risk of his own death due to the nature of the wild adventure he had embarked upon.  Before every step in his quest, he double-checked to make sure that his affairs were in order should something happen.  The thought of his meticulous foresight despite such reckless abandon sickened Bathilids.  She seethed silently.  He could have thought first of his loved ones and avoided such a dangerous undertaking.  A stone formed in her throat as she considered it again.  He knew something was coming.  He could have said something... anything!  But he didn’t.  He knew anyone capable of rational thought would object.

Everyone who knew Alberich, knew of his insatiable wanderlust.  On top of this, Bathildis often caught glimpses of just how clever her father was.  A Dwarf of few words, he was much wiser than he ever let on.  There was always a glint in his eye whenever he was scheming something, and usually she could catch it to protest, but this time he just up and left like he always did.  Only this time, he didn’t make it back alive.

Bath scowled and sat upright, looking toward the closed iron door not three paces to her left.  She imagined it swinging haphazardly open as it always did when he returned home.  She imagined her grizzled father bursting in with that armor on his sturdy frame, and that massive knapsack he always carried slung over his shoulder - the stein, the lantern, the pickaxe, and rope dangling down, the bedroll and layer of road dust along with all of the bag’s unseen clanking contents - always a Khaz damned mystery.  The image quickly faded from her mind as sobering reality once again took hold.

With a heavy sigh Bathildis turned to face the bed again.  This time her eyes locked on the book.  The Clan Ironstout Brewing Journal was as close as her clan could come to having any sort of family heirloom.  The cover was engraved and painted with now faded gold-leaf runes.  It read “Clan Ironstout: Brewing Recipes and Knowledge by Delkas Ironstout and Baerra Firestein.��  Beneath that, in much clearer, newer script, it read, “Additions by Alberich Ironstout” and yet still below that, “and Bathildis Ironstout.”  Inside it’s dusty pages sat scribblings, formal writings, and sketches in all manner of hand.  Clearly a cooperative undertaking, it had contained a plethora of secrets.  It was considered holy to Clan Ironstout, and though she had contributed quite a bit to its contents, she was never it’s keeper.  That was until now.

Alberich had passed the torch - so to speak. He had left her clear instructions as to what to do with it.  Protect it with her life.  Don’t go anywhere without it.  Those were obvious.  What wasn’t so obvious were the instructions paired with the armor and stein that sat to either side of it.  Bath picked up the tome and thumbed through it, past the section with recipes and the journal entries from her Grandparents.  She read of Alberich’s ale-soaked adventures time and time again, but with the last entry blank - save for the solitary title line reading, “A Brew Worthy of Brewhalla”, she surmised she was missing an integral piece of the puzzle.

After a few moments of skimming, Bathildis resigned to exhaustion.  It crashed over her like a sudden wave.  She closed the book resolutely and set it gently back on the bed.  She headed toward the door and opened it pausing only for a stretch and a yawn.  There would be time for this tomorrow.

The common area that connected the apartment’s three identical bedrooms was as she had left it.  The dim hearth practically moaned for fuel.  Books lay strewn out everywhere, and trash was on every surface.  A thick coating of dust lined the edges of the domicile.  In her mourning, she had really let the place get out of hand, but at the moment she was so torn up that she could hardly care.

Her dog, a pudgy little pug, lay asleep on a bag of grain in the corner, snoring away.  The other family pet - a magical elemental made of living stout beer - was nowhere to be found.  This wasn’t uncommon; however, as it would often find some stein to sleep in, giving a fright to anyone mistaking the stein to be full of drinkable brew.

She crossed the room, careful not to wake her pup.  When she reached the door to her own room and opened it, she was in for a shock!  Bubble - the stout alemental was floating there looking up at her!  He quickly dove in, propelled by magical fizzing bubbles, embracing the brewer in a tight hug around knees.  Ok, that’s odd.  He’s never done THAT before.  Must be missing da' as much as th' rest of us…

Unsure what to do, she gently pat the semi rigid crest that made up Bubble’s head.

“Oi, Bathie!  I’ve missed ye lass!”

Bath’s eyes went wide and her jaw slackened in horror.  She stopped petting Bubble immediately, throwing her hands in the air.  Was exhaustion finally catching up to her?  She was delirious?  She could have sworn that she had heard her father’s voice.

“Oof, I ain’t usualleh used t’ this perspective!  Oi, tha’s offputtin’!  Ach... Um Bathie, take a peek a few degrees doon South, would ye?

Curious albeit terrified, she risked a downward glance.  Bubble was staring back at her, that blank faceless expression glued to her own.  Glowing amber eyes seemed to intensify for a moment, but then returned to their normal state - as normal as a living beer monster could get at any rate.

The glow intensified as he spoke again.  “There we go!  Now I can see yer loveleh, freckled face again!”  The alemental did not have a mouth, so Bathildis assumed it was speaking telepathically.  She let go of Bubble and nearly fell down as she scrambled backwards through the door frame!

A million emotions and thoughts passed through her mind as she attempted to make sense of what was happening.  She thought to flee, talk back, strike out, start writing a book on communication with the Alemental species… She clearly wasn’t thinking straight.  The Dwarven woman was all but paralyzed in the middle of the common-room despite having four directions she could run.

Bubble slowly propelled himself forward.  “Oi, sorry lass!  I just realized…”  A familiar grunt could be heard, though Bubble just hovered.  “It’s me!  It’s yer da’! … Alberich!”

Bath lost control of her body.  She sank to her knees and tears began to well up in her eyes.  I’ve lost my damned mind!  My parents are dead, and now I’m talking to beer!  They’ll have me in the feckin’ ward in a matter of minutes when they find out!  She began sobbing and laughing hysterically.

Bubble put out a hand and touched her shoulder.  “Bathie…”

Bath recoiled at the touch and clambered backwards on the flats of her palms, putting a few more feet between her and the alemental.

“I know how this looks, lass, but it’s true!  It’s yer da’!”  Bubble held both hands out to his sides, as if to say ‘ta da!’.

Bathildis shook her head.  “No, I dunnae want any trouble!  Please wha’e’er ye are, jus’ leave me alone!  We’ve been through enough!”

Bubble visibly sank at that.  “...Oi,” after a moment’s pause, “I’m sorry fer wha’ I had t’ do t’ ye an’ yer Grandda’.”  Bubble stopped hovering and just sort of plopped into a puddle on the stone floor, as if mimicking Bathildis’ sitting position.  “Lass, this is bigger than all of us.”

Bath shook her head.  “No!  Even if’n ye are who ye say, ye ain’t gettin’ off th’ hook tha’ easy.”  A fire suddenly ignited within her as anger returned.  She sat up-right, crossing her legs in a way that would allow her to scramble to her feet if need be.

“Aye, I deserve tha’...”  Bubble returned to hover again as the fizz reappeared beneath him.  “But hear me oot, lass.  This even pertains t’ ye.  It’s why I’m callin’ oot t’ ye.  WHICH by th’ way ain’t easy t’ do.  I ain’t sure how much longer I can keep th’ connection t’ Bubble ‘ere.”

Bath quirked a brow incredulously.  “Say wha’ now?  Ye ain’t Bubble?”

“Wha’?  Clean oot yer ears, girl!  I told ye it’s yer da’!”  Bubble plants his fists confidenty on his midsection.

Bathildis’ eyed Bubble skeptically as a hint of cautious curiosity flashed in her eyes.  “Prove it,” she finally resigned climbing slowly to her feet.  If’n he were gonna attack me, I guess it would’ve happened by now.  She started to show confidence again, crossing her arms stubbornly across her chest.

At the same time, Bubble’s shoulders sank again.  “Oi, how am I gonna d’ this?” he pondered aloud as the emotionless alemental scanned the room.  “Oi!” his eyes glowed brightly as the idea struck.  “Go get th’ book!  Th’ tome!”

Bath glanced over Bubble one last time, making sure he wasn’t up to anything.  Finally, fear aside, she beckoned him to follow her to Ablerich’s room.  As the two crossed the common area and back into the empty bedroom, Bubble left a haphazard trail of beer behind in his wake.  Pugpug continued to snooze peacefully.

Upon entering the room, Bubble darted in under Bathildis’ arm.  He looked over the bed and spoke without turning to face her, “Good!  Ye got it all.  Grand work ye lot! I knew I could trust ye!”  The alemental quickly darted to a nigh-empty desk against the wall and opened one of the drawers.  “In here, Bathie.”

Bath furrowed her brow, sighed, and entered the room.  “Ok, ok.  Hold yer rams.  This better be good.”  She pondered as she approached the desk.  She never snooped in it once so whatever lay inside was the key to Bubble’s - or her grief-strickened mind’s - wild claims.  She tentatively reached in and withdrew a stack of papers and three framed portraits.  A family portrait from several years back, a suggestive photo of a young Dwarven woman in skimpy clothing, and a photo of Alberich and his two brothers in their youth laid fanned out in Bath’s hands. She made a show of not allowing the alemental to see them.

Bubble prodded the drawer.  “Ok!  Ye seen those before?”

Bathildis shook her head.

Bubble slowly listed out, “Should be a portrait o’ me an’ m’ brothers, us as a family, an’ somethin’ special yer mum sent me on one o’ m’ trips.”

Bathildis hastily dropped the three portraits on the desk!  “EWWWW Da’!”

A small, drowned chortle escaped from Bubble.  “There, lass!  There’s yer proof!”

“Ach… Gross!  Have ye no shame?”

“D’ ye believe me now, Bathie?”  Bubble tilted his head.

The two stood in silence for several minutes before Bathildis finally nodded.  “Ok. I believe ye, but I still ain’t sure if’n I’m even awake right now…how is this possible?  Yer dead!”

"Ain't dead… ain't completely at any rate!  M' body is, sure, but I ain't reached m' final stop yet, either," Alberich chucked boisterously.  "Bah!  Anyhow, I'm wha' ye'd call an Alemental Laird now.  M' spirits been planted in some magical brew like ol' Bubble here, but… like th' biggun' o' all th' alementals.  I'll explain it all another time.  All ye need t' know is I call on ye like this from time t' time, s' long as ye keep Bubble 'round!"

"Tha's… amazin'!" Bath's momentary astonishment quickly gave way to sorrow, "Why'd ye wait this long t' contact me?"

"Still figurin' this all oot, m'self.  Ain't been made o' magic beer b'fore, lass!" Alberich chuckled through Bubble.

"Ok, but…" Bathildis interjected, but was promptly cut off.

"Bathie.." Alberich interrupted.  His tone was much more serious now. "I understand ye have questions. Khaz knows I want t' tell ye e'erthin', but I'm almost oot o' time.  Listen. This is important."

Bathildis frowned in silent resignation.  She took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly before giving a curt not.

Alberich continued, "Look inside m' armor, lass.  Have ye seen th' inscription inside?"

Bathildis slowly turned to face the bed.  She approached it with reverence.  It seemed to give off a warm glow as it reflected the room's lit sconces on it's ruddy surface.  She reached out and traced her fingertips across the rough surface of the breastplate.  Grabbing hold of the sides, she carefully picked it up and flipped it over, searching inside.  Bubbles eyes glowed in the reflection as Alberich watched in silence.

After about a minute of searching, she felt some scratches within.  "I - I think I found it." She carefully held it close to a light and read it to herself.  "Oi, these are jus' numbers!?"

"Aye," Alberich confirmed.  "Each sequence is a page in th' book!  It ain't a complicated code.  I know ye'll figure it oot. Consider this a gift from yer da', Bathie.  Another adventure fer ye an' yer friends!"

Bathildis glared daggers at Bubble, "Bah, why couldn't ye stay home?  Posh on yer adventures!  Ain't tha' what got ye killed?" She barked!

"Bath, ye cannae rot away in th' safety o' th' Modan yer whole life.  Ye cannae be afraid o’ all th' things the world has t' offer.  Look at all ye accomplished jus' a few years back!"

"S' ye came here t' lecture me?" she pouted defensively.

"Nae Bathildis.  Yer free t' decide what ye do with this… just remember tha' I love ye.  I want ye t' realize yer true potential is all."

Bathildis once again reached the verge of tears.  She stared at the armor for a moment.

Suddenly another familiar voice spoke up.  Bath's deceased friend Burly, a Dark Iron brewing prodigy taken at a very young age, could be heard shouting at some distance. "Alb!  Alberich!  Tell her t' stop bein' a ninny an' just go!"

Alberich chuckled forcing Bubble to gurgle in kind. "Oi, Burly says hi!"

Bathildis shook her head in further disbelief, "B-Burly!?!"

As suddenly as everything had happened, Bubbles eyes returned to normal.  He tilted his head, and started making high-pitched gurgling noises.

"Da'!?  Burly?!" Bath cried out, hugging Bubble tight.  Bubble cocked his head from one side to the other, hurled a stream of brew down Bath's shirt, then collapsed into a puddle and slinked away to disappear into Alberich's mug.  The lid clanged shut after him.

Bathildis snatched up the mug and tried to pry the lid off!  Nothing.  She shook it violently, but Bubble noisily protested within.

She sighed and set it down on the desk next to the family portrait.  Exhausted, conflicted, she turned to gaze upon the armor again.  She studied it in silence for several minutes, milling around in thought.  Finally, she placed it on the desk, picked up the brewing journal, and set to scouring through it's pages.

[nightingaletrash]

📖 for an OC of your choice? :0

Tysm :D I’ll do this for Venaya ^^ under the cut cuz oops it got kinda long o.o

[The journal looks old, but well looked after. The binding is made from guar-leather, and a heavy lock emblazoned with the shape of a bird cradling an orb keeps it firmly shut from prying eyes. The pages are generally pristine, some a little yellowed with age, but otherwise intact. The writing is neatly uniform, written by a practised, educated hand.]

28th Sun’s Height 216

Mother and Father spend the morning arguing, as has become their usual, so I spent the day with Uncle Melar rather than attending my lessons with Mother. She’ll be so busy being furious with Father, I imagine she won’t even remember. And if she does remember, Melar will surely speak on my behalf.

Things have definitely been much more tense as of late. Staying in the house is becoming unbearable. Father accuses Mother of being more interested in Redoran politics than her own family, Mother accuses him of apathy that weakens our House. It’s hard not to take sides. 

I hardly see Mother unless I visit her at her office, and even then she refuses to speak of anything but House affairs. Sometimes it feels like I’m less of a child to her and more of an investment for our future. The son who will set House Redoran on it’s ear, or at least that’s what she envisions for me. And I worry about Father’s habits lately. He disappears into the town for hours at a time and comes home with the strangest smells on his person. And it’s not matze. I’m worried he’s turning to skooma due to the stress of constantly fighting against Mother.

Perhaps I should have said something to Uncle Melar. I’ve always been able to speak to him about a great many things, and he is one of the few who I can speak to openly without fear of judgement or reprimand.But Mother and Father are both very proud. I doubt they’d be happy if I asked Melar to insert himself into our family’s affairs, and it might end up doing more harm than good.

I’ll speak with Father tomorrow. Perhaps being able to talk to me will ease his burden and make skooma a less tempting option.

5th Last Seed 2E 216

It finally happened. The fight to end all fights. Father is leaving tomorrow morning and is already packing his things... And so am I. My Father may not be ideal, but at least he has not divorced himself so entirely from his family that House Redoran is all he has left. I’m still concerned about his forming habits - I can see he is trying since we talked - but I won’t stay in Suran. Not whilst she is here.

After Father announced his intentions, Mother swiftly turned to me - for the first time in months - and demanded to know if I also intended to sully our family name. It was oddly satisfying to inform her that she was the one who destroyed the name Serethi, and even more so to see the look on her face. I’d not seen her so thunderstruck since I copied that argonian phrase as a child. Only this time was not met with a swift reprimand. Instead it was met by silence followed by the slamming of the door as she returned to her office.

May she find it as empty as the Void.

We depart for Sadrith Mora in the morning. Perhaps under the guidance of Ayem we will be able to lay the foundations of our new beginning.

[The later entries are markedly different from the earlier, the handwriting a little less uniform with increasing mentions of the author’s struggles with her father’s growing skooma habit. The pages are occasionally blotted with tear stains, and the next entry is undated and written in a shaky, almost indecipherable hand with smears of what appear to be blood.]

The Cammona Tong finally ran out of patience for Father. They jumped just along the coast and shoved me into the back of their caravan. To teach him a lesson, they said. I’ve never been so scared in my life. 

The smell of sulfur is almost overwhelming, even though it’s been nearly two weeks. My skin won’t stop bleeding. I can barely see what I’m writing. Even the smallest amount of sunlight makes my eyes hurt more than I can say.

Father is distraught. Every moment he’s at my side, he’s either in tears or on the verge of them, unable to process what the Tong did to me for his mistakes. He’s sworn off the damned skooma, at least. Promised he’ll work hard to repay his debts to the Tong and to every damned dealer he owes money. It won’t heal me, no amount of magic has, but it’ll make up for what I’ve been through on his behalf. Or at least I hope it will. I didn’t much like what I saw in the mirror already. This isn’t an improvement.

[The next entry is barely anymore readable than the last, but is free of blood smears at the very least.]

3rd Midyear 2E 218

It’s been over a month since I left Sadrith Mora. Since I found that damned s’wit and his fucking pipe. He promised me there would be no more skooma after what the Tong did to me. Well, it’s good to know that I’m as valuable as guar shit to him. Saves me a lot of time trying to justify his habits anymore.

I just can’t believe I wrote to Mother of all people. I can imagine she was practically cackling to herself in glee when she got my letter. She’ll be full of ‘I told you so’s’ and will be all too happy to remind me that duty to House Redoran is above all else. 

Well, we’ll see how long that lasts. I just need a place to stay a while and make some coin before leaving for the mainland. I’ve had enough of Vvardenfell. It’s brought me nothing but misery. The further I am from here, the happier I’ll be.

15th Midyear 2E 218

I’ve had a change of plans, and I couldn’t be happier for it. During my journey to Suran, I met the most fascinating nord, a young woman calling herself Astrid. She was struggling to dispatch a few cliff striders that had attacked her camp and I stepped in to help. What magic I learned from the Telvanni has evidently been worth the effort.Astrid was very grateful to me and offered me a place in her camp for the night. It’s preferable to curling up beneath a rock and praying to the Three that nothing gnaws my legs off in the night, so I accepted. 

We sat at the fireside, talking as we ate fresh kwama eggs, and something about her made me want to tell her everything. Perhaps it was magic, now with what I know about her, or maybe it was just being so tired of having no one to turn to since leaving Suran, but I told her anyway. About my struggles with being the son my parents had dreamed of, with their constant arguing and the way their marriage fell apart, my father’s struggles with skooma, and how he carried on with the stuff even after the Cammona Tong’s warnings.

It felt very much like talking to Uncle Melar because rather than interject her own opinions like so many people do, she simply sat and listened and only spoke when I was finished. She asked me my name, and when I told her it was Venaryn, she laughed and said ‘no silly, I mean the name you want to be called.’ So I told her I wanted to be called Venaya. She then asked if I truly wanted to returned to Suran and my mother. I told her no, that I didn’t want anything to do with the place, and she made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.

Astrid is a cultist, a member of a cell of Nocturnal worshippers, and she offered to bring me to them. I asked, jokingly but also a little seriously, if she intended to sacrifice me. But she held my hand and, with the utmost sincerity, told me that she wished to repay me for stepping in to save her life by stepping in to save mine.

We’re headed for the coast, and from there we depart for Skyrim. I can’t say for certain if this cult is a wise choice, but wisdom hasn’t exactly done me many favours. At the very least, it couldn’t be any worse than returning to my mother.

[The following entry has returned to being readable - not crisply uniform and formal, but readable and relaxed. The pages as clean, save for a few pressings of wild flowers between the pages and a few (relatively poor) sketches have begun to appear between entries as well.]

28th Sun’s Height 2E 218

It’s hard to believe that just two years ago I was listening to my parents arguing over every little thing. The Twilight Sepulcher is practically a paradise in comparison. Here I study and pray in quiet contemplation, sometimes carrying out tasks for the Night Mistress. My transition continues, and whilst there have been bumps in the road, I am never without the support of my brothers and sisters. Astrid celebrates every milestone I reach with more exuberance than anyone else. Sometimes I think she’s happier than I am with my progress. 

Even now I can’t imagine what my life would be if I’d gone through with that stupid idea to return to Suran. I can only imagine my mother wondering why she never heard from me again. Undoubtedly she was bragging to her colleagues about the return of her wonderful son, only to be humiliated by my non-appearance. I honestly wish I could say it was planned, but part of me hopes it was part of Nocturnal’s plan for me. Some small measured vengeance for the woman who tore that family apart.

As for my father, I don’t know if he’s even alive. Every time I’m tempted to find out, Astrid and the others remind me of what he did to me, and I remind myself that that part of my life is over and the temptation passes. I have a life here. A family. I’m happy, for the first time. Venaryn Serethi is a chapter long since closed. I am Venaya Sero, 

and I won’t let the past take that from me.

[daedalcs]

A study in Headcannons: Jean Masters edition

This is a compendium of all the headcannons I could find that I’ve posted on my blog and a few that I hadn’t managed to write out yet. Gives some finer details on Jean and overall adds to her story.

 There is a small weathered brown leather sketchbook in the front left breast pocket of her work jacket that has a hand carved wooden pencil bound to the side. Inside the yellowing pages, you can find increasingly detailed sketches of the targets that she’s been given to kill. This book started when she had turned 18 and the first entry is of a stoic and serious looking man, this would be her father. It’s not particularly well drawn, though there’s one part of his face that she’s seemed to have spent the most time getting correct and it’s the piercing stare the man wears. A few of the drawings have color put in key places like lips, eyes, or facial tattoos though most are in regular pencil. Maxamillion’s sketch has a small note scratched onto the back that isn’t in Jean’s handwriting and it reads “Studying your target gets you one step closer to killing them.”

    Jean had quite a few tattoos and one iron brand that had gotten taken off when she lost her arm. There is a dragon winding up the side of her thigh and across her ribs, along with an all-seeing eye on her right shoulder that is the mark of her company Trinity. These tattoos are the major identifying features of her along with a nasty healed bullet wound scar just below her navel.

    Jean was actually entirely homeschooled by her father, and while she’s not a superstar at math she’s pretty intelligent in the street smarts sort of way. Max thought that practical skills were much more important than anything they were dishing out in school so he made a point to teach both his children the arts of protecting yourself, smooth talking, and hitting a target from a click away the basic stuff. So sure, she’s a smart gal but calculus is a mystery.

    While her occupation and previous trauma have steeled her emotionally Jean is actually a soft person underneath all the walls and locks. Some part of her aches for a person to just hold her and tell her things will be okay. She internalizes a lot of emotions and guilt from her past and when it’s dark and quiet those thoughts and monsters crawl up out of the woodwork.

    Night terrors and insomnia are common plagues of the woman keeping her from getting sleep a majority of the time. The few times that she’s had restful sleep is when she’s in the arms of someone else.  And I’m not talking like a one night stand or anything like that, I mean that she trusts this person enough to just melt into their arms and fall asleep. Her work takes a lot out of her and she’s just tired.

Jean has two boats. One is currently dry docked in Morrocco while the other is a 67-meter superyacht by the name of the Sea Widow which is the base for most of Trinity’s mobile operations.

Jean is technically a multi-millionaire. With about 250 million in offshore accounts and floating among various proxy accounts so dirty money can’t be traced. For the most part, she lives rather lavishly.

Jean has been married twice. First one lasting for a few years before the toll of her lifestyle took too much out of the man and he divorced her and left the country. Jean abides by his wishes and does not keep tabs on him.

Her second husband had been a double agent and had her kidnapped and tortured for two weeks which ultimately ended in her losing her arm and her killing him after she’d escaped.

Jean has spinal compression from various hard falls and the connective tissue in her knees is pretty beat up. There are occasional phantom pains from her missing arm and the tissue around where the metal connects to her body gets irritated when not taken care of properly. Partial hearing loss in her left ear from an explosion. There are patches on her body where she has little feeling due to previous injuries, this is most prevalent on her back and left side.

For a minute she had a dependency on painkillers, though after some tough self-discipline Jean got herself away from them and now prefers not to take them if at all possible. She’s tried to stop smoking on several occasions but found that it just made her temper terrible and her hands shake with the withdrawals so she’s gotten down to half a pack a day.

If you were to look around Jean’s home you would notice that there’s a lot of spackled over patches here and there. This is because she forgets the strength of her metal arm from time to time and has put holes in the walls. One of the largest holes that had happened was when she had been trying to hang a painting and she put the entire hammer through the wall.

Weapon of choice is a Remington CSR, collapsible and powerful it’s great for both long and medium range. While the short range stuff is kept to super 625 .45 revolver ( just in case her target decided to hide behind a tank ) or a trusty KBAR knife that’s been lovingly sharpened and oiled.

Multilingual Jean can speak four languages fluently and a handful of others to a conversational level. English, Spanish, Russian, and Arabic are her main languages simply for business sake with those being the biggest contenders.

In the Monster Hunter verse, Jean is unable to fully die. She will sustain harsh enough injuries and enter a state of in between. Due to a pact that she’d made with the grim reaper in her younger years, though when her time finally comes and she fulfills her mission Jean is given just enough time to spend a few moments with her family then simply fade from existence.

Jean can play two instruments, guitar, and piano. She was taught how to play the guitar by her brother Stephan when she was younger, it kept her mind from other things and gave Stephan and her something to do together to avoid their father. The piano she had taught herself after she’d lost her arm in an attempt to gain finer finger dexterity back after the accident. The piano helped her combat the phantom pains that she experienced frequently in the beginning and it also allowed her to become used to the new appendage.

Not a day goes by that Jean doesn’t think about her brother. Stephan had been her support and guardian from her father’s rage and beatings for most of her childhood after their mother died. When he ran away after he turned 18 leaving the then 14 year old Jean alone with the husk of a man that was their father Jean never quite forgave him. It’s this acidic hole in her chest that burns her up inside. There are so many questions that she wants to ask him most of them starting with why. Why did he leave her without saying anything? Why didn’t he take her with him? Where did he go? Where did you go? Jean runs this old film reel over and over in her head at night

Jean wanted kids. She really wanted to be a better person for them and grasped for that white picket fence life for so long that when she had gotten shot in the stomach and had her internals so badly damaged that it ripped that away from her, the woman didn’t really ever recover. There are times where the assassin absently traces that scar on her stomach thinking about everything that could have been.

Dreams are less of night terrors and more like glimpses into a different life. Sometimes it’s hazy memories of picknicks with the whole family when her mother was still alive. Sometimes its visions of taking her kids to go see uncle Stephan who lives somewhere in the mountains. Though waking up is always the same, leaving this harsh ache in her entire body when she realizes that all of those dreams are just dreams.

There had been moments when Jean wished she failed in killing her father. Knowing that the consequences would have been her own demise she silently wonders what would have happened. If there was such thing as an afterlife could she have watched the man that had once been a rock for their family fall apart under the knowledge that he’d killed his only daughter and drove his son out of the home? Jean has always wondered. 

[armystringsexo]

Journal Entry

Entry #1

4-17-16

Hello! My doctor told me that writing would help keep track of me. I’ll start out with an introduction!! My name is Y/N L/N. I draw quiet a bit, I play some instruments, oh and I really like chocolate cakes. This is a book that is meant to sort out my thoughts. That’s all I can think of right now. Goodbye!

Entry #2

4-21-16

I completely forgot to mention something! I have an amazing boyfriend! His name is Kim Namjoon and he’s a big softie. He works hard to produce songs for his group. He’s handsome and is overall a good person, I really hit the jackpot. If you’re reading this then hi babe!

Entry #3

4-30-16

Namjoon has been staying at the dorms due to their comeback being close. I miss him. I managed to hang out with my friends today! They didn’t really talk to me much but it’s okay. All friends do that, right?

Entry #4

5-7-16

I’m all alone! Joon is out doing promotions and tours. The other day I got so stressed because so many things were thrown at me at once while I was at work. It made me feel dizzy.

Pages were being flipped through, almost every entry was similar until his eyes rested upon that stuck out.

Entry #32

1-12-17

I can’t think. My mind is just a blur, everything is too complicated and I can’t concentrate. I want to stop thinking. It’s weighing me down so much. I can feel my chest get tighter the more I cry. It’s so painful, I hate this! I hate it! It’s too much.

Entry #34

1-18-17

I don’t want this. No it has to fake. Please please tell it’s not true. I overheard my friends talking about me. They said such cruel things, they insulted every inch of me. The people that I trusted! They tore me apart and ridiculed every piece. They called me a monster. Am I really that bad..?

Entry #36

1-21-17

I drew a little drawing to distract myself. I wanted to draw something that made me happy so I drew Joon. If he found this I’d never hear the end of it, haha. He’s very handsome.

He unfolded the paper, a cute sketch of him was drawn on the paper. It wasn’t realistic, it was in your own cartoonish like style. He couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. You had such a creative mind.

Entry #41

2-12-17

I’m so sorry. I’m sorry Joonie. I relapsed again. I couldn’t stop, there’s blood everywhere. Joon hasn’t talked to me for the past week, or has it been two? It’s hard to see what I’m writing. I can’t stop crying. It’s too much, I can’t take it. I just want it to stop. Please, just make it stop.

Entry #62

4-4-17

I’ve been a bit better. I guess. I had to change the dosage of my medicine again. The voices in my head, my thoughts, just keep insulting me. Telling me the same thing over and over. That I’m a monster.

Entry #64

4-9-17

Today was Joon and I’s anniversary. We stayed at home and ate pancakes with candles on the table. It was like a fancy breakfast. He’s so sweet! I wish he had someone better for him than me...

A frown settled onto his face as he read. The writing soon became prominent that there was something seriously wrong. Words of hate aimed towards yourself, talking about how your own mind was against you. That your once artistic creativity only became creativity on how you were going to slice open your skin. His eyes filled with tears as he looked at the last entry in the book

Entry #106

10-6-17

This is going to be my last entry. After continuously having thought this over I’ve decided what I’m going to do. To anyone who is reading this, I’m sorry. Momma, Dad? I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I let you down, I’m sorry that I lied and said I was getting better! Maybe I’ll get better in heaven! I know that you never wanted to bury your daughter but I can’t live like this. It’s too much. Namjoon? I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you had to listen to me constantly. I’m sorry that you gave me so much love and support yet this is still the outcome. I wish the best of luck for you and your band.

It’s time for me to go. It’s time for me to take of you all now. Please know that I’m in a better place and please move on. I love you. Goodbye.

-Y/N L/N

Your journal was all he had left.

[the-scenic-route-stories]

Lost the Plot: A Parenthesis

The Doctor is (politely) displeased.

This follows on from my ACGAS/Fifth Doctor crossovers The Scenic Route and Tea in Bed but do be warned that it is written in a very different style from those previous pieces and is a piece of utter absurdity, inspired by a plot point in A Very Peculiar Practice and my love for ‘Castrovalva’ and the fictional worlds of Jorge Luis Borge as well as for All Creatures. Now with minor revisions.

Features Tricki-Woo and Mrs. Pumphrey, offstage.

The Doctor gently swung his legs down to the floor and used one hand to slowly push himself up into a standing position. Tentatively, he padded in his red socks across the Persian rug, holding on to various items of furniture for support. After his previous attempts, he was anxious lest a wave of dizziness or nausea should hit him, but succeeded in crossing the room without incident. He arrived at the fourth wall and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me,” he said, attempting to bring a tone of polite authority to his voice. “I’ve been lying in bed for a couple of weeks now. It’s been wonderful to be looked after and everything, Mrs Hall is a very kind lady, and I do like that green quilt, but the thing is that I’m stuck here while everyone except me is having adventures and I feel that I’m not really living up to my job description. James and Tristan have been up in space and Turlough is out there on the Eye of Orion – sketching, supposedly – while I’ve been languishing here on earth coughing and collapsing whenever you wanted the readers to feel sorry for me. Now I’m feeling more myself again, it’s getting to be really rather tedious. If you had to give me space flu – what sort of an unoriginal name was that, anyway? You could at least have come up with some fancy Latinate terminology – to facilitate your frankly ridiculous plot mechanics and have young Tristan crash my TARDIS, can’t you at least let me recover properly now so that I can repair her and resume my normal life of dashing about the cosmos? He’s a decent enough young fellow, if a little reckless, but it’s rather trying to look at a mirror image of yourself and be constantly reminded that with regeneration, you never know what you’re going to get.”

“I’m very sorry, Doctor,” I told him. “I had some plot ideas but wasn’t sure how to put them together. It really is a very nice quilt, and I even rescued that dressing-gown from Lady Cranleigh’s for you to wear, although that wasn’t mentioned in the episode at all.” I stopped there, realising that the dressing-gown thing had been pure self-indulgence on my part, based on how absolutely ripping he had looked in it when he wore it in 1925. “Isn’t it better than languishing in a dungeon while the writer figures out how to get you out of there? I thought it would be nice to have someone looking after you for once. In most of your adventures, you end up getting bashed about, locked up or tortured with nobody to take care of you. You just have to dust yourself down and get on with the story. I thought you would appreciate the soft bed, tea and crumpets after all that.”

“That was indeed very considerate of you, and you know how much I love tea. The crumpets were delicious, too. Thank you very much. But I am beginning to suspect your motives in some of this. Can you genuinely say that you have never daydreamed about mopping my fevered brow? Or building your own benevolent version of Castrovalva for me to recuperate in? In which I am not ‘trapped’ in the strict technical sense but develop a strong disinclination towards leaving while there is honey still for tea?”

“Er, well…” I suppose you don’t get to be an intergalactic hero without having a good deal of insight into other people’s motivations, and such insight comes more easily when you’re being written by the person who has those motivations. (It’s almost like telepathy.) “OK, yes. I did want to look after you. But I’m not trying to keep you trapped in this story. I just haven’t got round to writing the next part yet.”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks,” he said, arching his eyebrows. He really is such a smart aleck. Pretty much everyone quotes that wrongly, apart from him, of course. Probably picked it up when he was drinking with Shakespeare, or ghostwrote it for him, or something. “'Look how much nicer I am to you than the BBC was', eh? What about the space flu, though? That wasn’t pleasant at all!”

“I’m sorry about the space flu. But if nothing unpleasant happened to you, there wouldn’t be a story, would there? I’m afraid that’s an occupational hazard of being a hero.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he said, with a universe-weary sigh. “Writers of stories really do seem to have it in for one, sometimes. Tea and crumpets are certainly better than Cybermen and Daleks, and you have promised that you are going to give me a chance to play cricket. But as for making me wear this absurd dressing-gown again…”

“I have given you pyjamas too, you know. With your favourite question-marks on them. You haven’t had to spend most of an episode walking down corridors with the dressing-gown open to your chest in my story. Nor wear a Pierrot costume. And in any case, this is just prose, without any visuals. For all the readers know, you could actually be wearing a baggy old cardigan.”

“Hmmm. But what about those illustrations of yours? To be fair, you haven’t done an illustration of me in the dressing-gown yet, but I suspect it’s only a matter of time. I wonder whether these illustrations aren’t something of a pretext for downloading a ridiculous number of pictures of me from the internet. Drawing references, indeed. How many drawing references does anyone need?”

“Have you been rummaging around on my hard drive while I’ve been asleep?”

“You’ve given me so little else to do, and one must keep oneself occupied somehow. There’s only so many hours one can spend doing crosswords. You still haven’t managed to draw me properly, you know, despite all your references. You’re nowhere near as good as Turlough. And you’ve started writing me out of character now, too. I’m not usually quite this sardonic.”

“In my defence, I’m not the first person ever to have done that, but I will try to do better from now on. So, what sort of plot do you want? How do you want me to get you out of here?” (First rule of plotting: consult your protagonist ahead of time about all important plot decisions. Except, perhaps, ones in which he is attacked by monsters that are made of rubber or green versions of Dobbin the pantomime horse from Rentaghost. Sometimes it is necessary to preserve the element of surprise, particularly when the special effects aren’t very convincing.)

At this point, Tristan came in and looked quizzically towards the Doctor.

“Authorial conference,” said the Doctor.

“Aha, I see. Good stuff. Perhaps I can contribute too. I used to read through some of Mr. Wight’s drafts and make notes for him, or rather the real person I’m based on did. Wonderful chap, Mr. Wight.”

“We’re discussing what should happen next in the plot,” said the Doctor. “I was feeling rather grumpy about not having had much to do in this story so far. It must have been the aftereffects of the space flu that made me feel so out of sorts and out of character. I’m feeling much better now, though. Quite my old self.” He rocked backwards and forwards on the balls of his feet to illustrate this, and grinned broadly.

“I didn’t cut a very good figure at all in the last section of ‘The Scenic Route’,” said Tristan, turning towards me. “Made rather an ass of myself sashaying around in the Doctor’s costume and then crashing the TARDIS. Any chance of a rewrite?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” said the Doctor, before I could answer. “Web of time, and all that.”

“Well, I think the first thing to do, since you’re feeling better, is for you to change back into your normal costume. You’ll feel much more like getting back into action, then! It’s laid out on the chair. Unfortunately, your celery buttonhole has wilted and Mrs Hall has had to throw it away. I think it might have caught the space flu from you. It's obviously a very important part of your outfit although no-one seems to have taken the trouble to explain why. But there’s no problem – I’ll bring you a nice new celery stalk from the vegetable rack. ”

“Ah, but my previous celery was imaginary,” said the Doctor. “It came from an Edwardian yacht in space. Imaginary space vegetables keep for much longer than real ones. My first stick of celery, which was produced by by block transfer computations, lasted for a year and a half before it started going a bit brown around the edges.”

“That’s no problem,” said Tristan, breezily. “The celery from downstairs is imaginary too. We’re imaginary. Well, I’m not entirely imaginary, but I’m a fictionalised version of a real person, and this conversation we’re having now certainly never happened in real life. It’s far too silly. We look so similar that we're clearly being played by the same actor - perhaps due to budgetary constraints at the BBC - and are only appearing together in these scenes thanks to CGI. Or smoke and mirrors, since I'm someone from the 1930s who hasn't heard of CGI."

“I meant imaginary in the context of this story. Things that we’re imagining. What we call in the trade second-order imaginariness or the doubly fictional. I would tell you to go and look up the entry on ‘Uqbar’ in James’s musty encyclopaedias in the cellar to give you an idea of what I mean, except that the episode in which James buys the encyclopaedias hasn’t happened yet and the encyclopaedia in question, despite being published in 1902, is the subject of a fiction that wasn’t written until 1940. Continuity can be rather confusing, sometimes, even when you’re not suffering from regeneration sickness.”

“Ah, I’m not sure how we’re going to manage to produce something that’s doubly imaginary in a veterinary practice in 1937. We do have quite a few interesting chemicals in the surgery…” mused Tristan. “Oh yes, I have an idea! I’ll ring Mrs Pumphrey, and ask her to ask Tricki-Woo to imagine one. I’m sure she won’t mind. She’s always been very forthcoming where food items are concerned.”

**********

“Here you are! To dear Uncle Doctor, from Tricki-Woo, Esquire,” said Tristan, bounding up the stairs with a very crisp-looking but entirely imaginary stick of celery. “Nothing but the best from Mrs. Pumphrey. She popped a very decent-looking bottle of port into the package, too.”

“Excellent,” I said. “Now, Doctor, if you’re ready to change, I’ll avert my gaze and insert a row of asterisks.”

Tristan gave a naughty grin. “If I were writing from the omniscient narrator point of view, I’d be sure to make full use of all the privileges that that afforded.”

“Yes, I rather imagine you would,” said the Doctor, with a raised eyebrow.

Tristan blushed and grinned again, a little sheepishly, realising that he must after all have left a copy of Health and Efficiency inside one of the more sedate publications that he had lent to his visitor.

“Tristan!” I said “Be more respectful! He’s very proper, you know. Hundreds of years old, and is supposed to be a good example to the young. No hanky-panky in the TARDIS, and all that.”

“I’m not supposed to be a good example to anyone. Quite the reverse, in fact!” said Tristan, laughing.

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

The Doctor, now back in his usual costume, turned to me: “Pleasant as this discussion has been, we don’t seem to have got much further with deciding on the plot.”

“There have been a lot of distractions. But look, I have got you better from the space flu, now. That’s progress.”

“Yes, indeed,” the Doctor said brightly. “No more shivering and shaking. Definitely an improvement.”

“I have a plot suggestion. You could write yourself into the story as a love-interest for me!” said Tristan. “Of course, our relationship would have to be ultimately doomed to failure because of a disapproving father or a strange obsession with goat dung, because the BBC has it in for me too, but we could have some fun first.” He gave me a very flirtatious look.

“Well… yes… I could do that…” I said, blushing and suddenly feeling very flustered.

“So, would your authorial avatar like to come to the Drovers’ with me this evening?”

It was very tempting, of course, but taking into account Tristan’s overdeveloped sense of humour and the presence of his exact lookalike, I was not at all convinced that I wouldn’t be the victim of some convoluted mistaken-identity prank sooner or later, even without the Doctor’s active collusion.

“Tristan. The author has to concentrate on writing the rest of the plot and doesn’t need this sort of distraction, and you know full well that Siegfried has forbidden you from going to the Drovers’ until we have finished mending the TARDIS,” said the Doctor. “Come on,” he added, putting his arm around Tristan’s shoulders, “Let’s go down to the paddock. While the author is working out where to go next with the plot, we can get started with the repairs, and then if the plot turns out to be too dull, we can fly off and have our own adventures instead.”

[shianhygge-imagines]

Eternal [Ardyn/Reader]

The Sequel to my first Ardyn story, Ephemeral. 

Beyond @wroniec‘s work, I’ve not found any artwork that would fit the story. Because this is the end of the two part story of Ardyn and Reader. And I feel like Ardyn deserves to rest in peace, which is why I used the above gif. (Also, gifs and artwork used in this fic do not belong to me)

If you’re reading this on mobile, I’ve inserted a ‘keep reading’ line, but it may not show. This is a warning. THIS STORY IS LONG.

|Masterlist Link|

-----------------------------

754 M.E. Galdin Quay (2 years before the events of Kingsglaive)

In your dreams you see the man with the amber eyes. In your dreams, he comes and he goes, always offering sweet words and guilty apologizes.

Come with me…  Come travel with me…  

You see the outstretched hand in front of you, worn and rough, yet welcoming. When you look up, there is that hopeful grin and earnest eyes, red-violet hair shifting at his tilted head. You feel the warmth of a fire near you, and it illuminated the man’s beauty. Casting shadows along his beautifully sculpted face.

Please don’t leave me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

You can feel him, pressed up against your back, a wetness on your exposed shoulders, and his lips at the nape of your neck. His arms… you see them lightly wrapped around your waist. And you shiver from the continued attention the man gives you. You think to yourself… I love him.

I love you. With every single fiber of my being, I love you.

You can hear the sounds of water gently falling outside as you stare up at the man. You feel the silky sheets beneath your naked body and the heat radiating from the handsome man above you. There is a need growing within your core, and there is desire and love radiating from him as well.

You know that I love you, right, Y/N? For all of eternity I will love you.

In these dreams, he speaks your name. Always, there is love whenever he speaks to you. He never speaks to you with a harsh tone, never raises a hand, rarely ever yells. And his voice, ever so soothing, mellifluous, a honeyed tenor, caresses you. And it’s a willing seduction when he tells you that he loves you. Cheerful and always honest.

When you were younger, you allowed this fantasy, this dreamscape to pull you into its seductive embrace. But as you grew older, you had to scold yourself. That wasn’t you. Right? It was a mere product of your imagination created in that haze of loneliness whenever you realized, with jealousy, that everyone around you had fallen in love and were living their lives to the fullest. Yet here you were, nearly twenty eight years old, trapped in this god forsaken seaside room because of whatever stigma that had been plaguing the populace. It started off as simply fatigue, slowly evolving into waves of pain that hit your body in the most unsuspecting of times. Before you knew it, you could barely move from the waist down, and you started having disturbingly dark thoughts.

After all your thoughts concerning those foreign memories, as you’d started to regard them as, they were what kept your mind clear from the darkness, even as all around you, the darkness firmly gripped the minds of other normal people. These people, who you met during your time in various hospitals, when the darkness consumed them, always seemed normal, checking out of the hospital… only to disappear, pronounced deceased mere weeks later.

You’d given up on treatments a long while ago, content to spend the last of your days in a room at the Galdin Quay, silently fighting the disease with the memories that were yours yet not, and sketching them into various pages that littered the room’s table. Your heart had told you to leave the hospitals. Had told you to stay in the expensive port town. For what, you didn’t know. But you would wait, so long as that man in your dreams kept the darkness from clouding your mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ardyn Lucis Caelum.

It had been so long since the man had gone by that name. So long since he’d heard his true name pass through another’s lips save for his dreams.

In his dreams, the red-violet haired man relived those events of 2000 years ago. He saw that person’s smile, heard their kind words, felt their body on his.

We won’t see each other again, Healer.

In his dreams, he can see that person’s eyes filled with regret, inner desires hidden, but he could see them still. That desire to hold onto him. To stay near him. “Healer.” Yes. That was what he was known as, once upon a time. Though it seemed like a fairy tale now. And though the person had said that they would never see him again, they did. He had made sure of it.

Ardyn, I need to speak with you.

In his dreams, he remembered how he left that person. How they had pled with him to speak. And how he had left them. Forsaken them because he was too much of a coward to tell them. He could imagine that person, their arm outstretched towards him as he shut the door.

Goodbye, Ardyn. I hope you live happily

And he relived the time that he had almost lost that person. His cowardice, and his ignorance had driven them away. How he had begged them to stay. How he had proclaimed his love. That journal entry. A goodbye that he could not accept. His arms around that person, his face buried, pressing tearful kisses on the nape of their neck. A promise to never let them go again.

With this vow, I promise to love you. As you were, as you are, and as what you’ll become.

The promise that person made as they became one. The only light being the moon and the glowing runes surrounding them. Wet bodies overlapping and meeting in rhythms, like the waves on the beach behind them.

For all of eternity, I’ll love you, Ardyn.

And their last words before their eyes closed forever. His screams as he awakens from the nightmare, only to realize that it had been reality.

He had grown accustomed to the world as it molded before him in the 2000 years of his cursed life. The luxury that the people couldn’t afford a millennia ago, he had embraced. But there were some remnants of the past that he held fast to.

Ardyn gently brushed the tips of his fingers on his lips, a silent reverie as he thought back to that person. That person’s name was forever lost to the world, erased by the ones that wronged him and his beloved. But standing at the exact same place where he had consummated their marriage 2000 years ago, Ardyn still remembered that person’s name. Like a song forever stuck in his head.

Y/N. My beloved.

“What I wouldn’t do to hold you in my arms again.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The paper was coarse under your fingers as you roughly scratched at the surface with your pencil. Outside your room, the ocean waves crashed against the sand, and the setting sun poured light into your room, illuminating the sketch with a fine lighting that almost brought the man from your dreams to life.

Somnus.

You’d taken to referring to the man in your dreams as such due to the absence of his name within the land of dreams. Somnus meant sleep, after all, and as he only existed in your dreams, it seemed fitting to name him so. It’s funny, to have a clear image of one man forever repeating in your mind, but no actual name.

“In my dreams you haunt me, Somnus.” you muttered, setting the pencil down to lightly trace the contours of his face with your fingers, careful not to smudge the delicate lines. “And when I am awake, you haunt me still. But you keep me safe, don’t you?”

A wave crashed in a particularly violent manner outside the room, drawing your attention from the sheet of paper clutched in your hand. What you saw left you speechless and frozen, wondering if you were dreaming as the sketch fell from your hands, fluttering to the wooden floors as you struggled to stand. One staggering step after another, you left the wheelchair to press your hand against the ceiling high windows. You didn’t notice the noise you made when your legs gave away, sending your weakening body crashing to the floor. All of your focus was on the figure standing across the water, staring out at the ocean, the setting sun lighting his face just as the sketch did moments before.

Behind you, one of the attendants burst into your room, panicked and asking if you were harmed. But you ignored the worried man, face pressed against the glass separating you from the lone figure.

“I know you.” you gasped unevenly, your voice wavering as you stared. When the man turned his gaze from the ocean to walk away, you cried out, “No. Don’t leave!” But he couldn’t hear you. Your eyes widened as Somnus continued to walk away, and you found yourself struggling to your feet, body moving on it’s own. And with a burst of energy, you were running. Out of the room and through the restaurant, the employees staring after you in shock. It had been over a year since you were able to stand, much less sprint as you did. Something within you, something old, seemed to possess your body as you ran down the wooden bridge.

Don’t leave me again. Please don’t walk away and abandon me. You found yourself thinking with desperation.

You saw him get into an old vehicle, pinkish maroon in color with a white racing stripe, and panic fueled you on, “... stop…” you croaked out, out of breath, but still running. The engine started, and you grit your teeth, yelling, “STOP! ARDYN!”

Your cries went unheard. You were too far from the man, having only gotten about halfway down the wooden bridge by the time the man had turned on the engine of his car. And by the time you had yelled, he’d already pulled out of the parking space and driven away.

Ardyn.

That was his name, you realized, as you fell to your hands with a strangled sob, watching the car drive up the hill and out of view. And then, fear. How did I know his name?

He left me again.

A pain pierced your skull and the throbbing in your chest, which you didn’t realize had been there, increased tenfold as the worried attendants at Galdin Quay surrounded your prone form.

Why? A distorted voice rang in your head, echoing as if someone hit a cymbal next to it. Why does he keep leaving me?

A flash in your mind, and you were suddenly watching as the man, Ardyn, was walking out the door of what seemed like an ancient Altissian home. But it wasn’t like the dreams, where you were an active participant of the events. No. This time was much different. You were the observer, watching the scene unfold as if in a movie. You saw yourself, or someone bearing your resemblance, reaching out towards Ardyn as he shut the door to the home. It was painful, even as an observer, to watch your doppelganger reach out a hand towards the closing door and whisper…

“Don’t leave.” you muttered at the same time as your doppelganger whimpered into the empty room, tears falling down their cheek as they bowed their head, shoulders hunched over. It looked as if your copy was about to collapse in on themselves as they struggled to keep from openly sobbing.

“Did he forget?” the figure wondered in a broken voice, now openly sobbing their heart out. “Amicus Amor.”

Amicus Amor… you thought with a tilt of your head at the peculiar holiday. You’d read about it. An ancient Lucian holiday that ended a thousand years prior in favor of adopting the same calendar as Altissia, Tenebrae, and Gralea, as its replacement. But what did this mean? How were you living the events of something that you didn’t live through? Who was the person who looked like you? Why were you reliving their memories?

And then, with a violent pull of your consciousness you were made to bear witness to something you should have never been able to dream about.

The end of their story.

For you now stood atop a wooden platform, behind a man with a whip, watching with abject horror as a crowd gathered below to bear witness to the spectacle. Your copy and Ardyn, chained by the wrists opposite one another, both being stripped of clothing before the jeers and cries of the crowd. To your right, you heard a man cry out for the death of the Scourge-bringer and his whore. You couldn’t move as you watched the whipping, the branding of your copy as they took a hot iron and pressed it to your copy’s shoulder. Ardyn’s screams and tears as he was forced to watch the torture. And when they pulled the iron away, your eyes fixated on the mark, instantly recognizing it. You’d know that mark anywhere, for you bore the same mark on your own shoulder, in the exact same place. And you had to tear your eyes away as the men surrounding your copy started to discard their own clothing and you came to the terrifying realization.

You’re me.

You allowed your own tears to fall when your sight locked onto Ardyn’s tears as he struggled against his captors, shouting your name in fury and horror.

That scene was the last thing you were allowed to witness as you felt your being get pulled back. And just as suddenly, you were back in Galdin Quay, sobbing against the wooden floor of the long bridge.

You didn’t struggle as you were carried by the resort’s attendants back into your room. You didn’t remember it all, but you’d witnessed the end to your story two thousand years ago. A past life that had been happy despite it all, and that had ended in tragedy because of betrayal. And now, as the reincarnation of someone who perished two millennia ago, you were dying again. This time, ironically, slowly succumbing to the ailment that your beloved had traveled to heal all those years ago.

And you half laughed and half sobbed at the cruelty of the Astrals.

“Why?” You questioned, bringing a hand up to cover your eyes, “Why would you bother giving me life again? Why would you let me see him only to have me know that I’ll be taken from him again? Were you not cruel enough the first time?” With all of your being, you wanted to be held by him again, so see him stare at you lovingly again. “I won’t play your stupid games.” you grit your teeth, uncovering your eyes to glare out the window. “I can’t put him through that pain again. He doesn’t have to know me in his new life.”

You found a firm resolve as you decided that you wouldn’t look for him. That you wouldn’t be a part of his life again.

“I just want him to be happy.”

Of course, the Gods rarely ever listened to the pleas of mere mortals.

Gods… Goddesses… all fickle things. Controlling. Demanding. Manipulating. Childish. You should have known better that the Astrals would do everything in their power to not grant your wish. Though it didn’t matter, you found out only a mere three days later, when you were asked by Dino to give him the privilege of escorting you to the ancient rune site only for him to leave you with an apology when he was called away to discuss his growing hobby.

It had been a peaceful few days, reasonable, you thought, what with the recent warm weather and lack of rain. You’d been enjoying the nice weather, not uncharacteristic of south Leide, although your mind and heart were in turmoil. You had become a host to the Starscourge, a plague on the human race that could only be healed by the Healer blessed by the Astrals. The Oracle. For a brief moment after your realization, you had hope to be cured, but upon looking at the current politics of Eos, it didn’t look like the Oracle Lunafreya would be leaving the continent across the ocean any time soon.

“And so I slowly rot,” you chuckled bitterly, gazing out at the seemingly never ending ocean. “I’m not sure if I should be happy that you’re keeping me safe, Ardyn.” You closed your eyes and leaned back into your wheelchair, basking in the golden rays as you took in a deep breath of the salty air. “Of if I should resent you for prolonging my suffering.” You laugh at the absurdity, “Oh who am I kidding, the current you won’t remember little old me.” a melancholic gleam glinted in the depths of your eyes, “We both died that day. I’m not the same Y/N as back then, and you’re not the same Ardyn.”

It is when you turn your wheelchair to wheel away that you see him approach, sauntering as he did all those many years ago, and looking almost as he did the day the two of you died. His strong jaw, which had been home to a fine beard, was now shaven down with only a bit of stubble left to decorate his handsome face. His eyes were still the amazing amber that you remembered, bright and cheerfully mischievous, but now, you could see a darkness that your Ardyn never held. And you wonder, almost offhandedly, of the suffering a person had to endure to adopt such darkness. A darkness, you ruminate, that lurked within your own gaze. Snapping your attention, rather forcefully, back into focus, you immediately turned your head away from the approaching man, hoping that he didn’t see your face as you wheeled past him and onto the sand.

You kept your head down and your hand over the wheelchair controls. You didn’t want to look at him, and you didn’t want him to look at you. Waves crashed onto the sand only several meters away and the sound of your wheels running over stone and sand seemed to thunder in your ears, but still you could hear the light humming of the man passing you. Two meters away, then one, and suddenly the two of you were passing side by side, and while your breathing stalled, your wheels did not. Ardyn still continued on humming and sauntering along. One meter, two meters, three… the distance grew again and with it, the ache in your chest.

Part of you had hoped that Ardyn would notice you. If not as you use to be, but as an interesting stranger in passing conversation. But another part of you, the one born within this millennia, reasoned that of course Ardyn would not notice you. After all, a large white sheet separated the two of you. Lost in your thoughts, you still somehow managed to return to Dino’s side, tugging on the side of his dress shirt to drag his attention from his phone. And as the good friend he is, the platinum haired man would smile gently and hang up his phone, assisting you back to your sick room.

From your sickbed you watched him, feeling like an absolute creep, but finding that it was easier to hold back when you kept your distance from him. You watched Ardyn until the sun started to set, casting long shadows along the cliffs surrounding the beach as Ardyn strolled away from the spot you stood at only a few hours prior. You didn’t want him to go, but held hope that if the beach called to him like it called to you, then he would return.

The next few days you watched the beach, scanning for any sign of Ardyn, but he didn’t appear.

You waited weeks.

But nobody came.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

100 Days

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You came to the conclusion that you were cursed by the Astrals. It seemed as if the dreams became more vivid and frequent after you abandoned hope of being with Ardyn’s reincarnation. And with the increased frequency of the dreams, was the slowed progress of the Starscourge. A prolonging of your inevitable fate.

After waiting to die for the past few months of your life, you’d grown sick of waiting for the end on the sunny beaches of Galdin Quay. For the last moments you had in your life, you wanted to do that which had bound you and Ardyn together. Without much thought, you’d packed all your belongings into a rented car and drove away from the sunny beach resort, ignoring the worried protests from the employees.

Honestly, even though your body still suffered from exhaustion, driving down the long stretches of road was the most free that you’ve felt in years. Making the occasional stop for gas and rest, you got to experience the entirety of Lucis for the first time since those days in your previous life. It wasn’t the same as riding on the back of a Chocobo, but you sincerely thought that your body couldn’t handle sitting on the feathered creature’s back for long in your condition. The first stop on your list was your place of birth in this life, and the place of your death in the previous. You would begin where you met and lost Ardyn.

Your memories of the great city from your current life was heavily foggy, muddled from the sudden intrusion of your past memories. In your mind, you remembered the city as energetic and lively, bustling with people at work and enjoying their lives. But your soul remembered the dirt roads, and wooden or stone shanties that provide shelter to the various farmers in the outer rim of the Lucis capital. You remembered the center of Insomnia, the public gathering around the circle in front of the palace. And you remembered the wooden platforms that the public had lynched you on before ending your life before your husband’s eyes.

Once inside the walls of Insomnia, you’d parked your rented vehicle in the public handicap parking and opted to roam the city in your wheelchair. It was irresponsible, exploring a large city without assistance, what with you being technically handicapped, but the lack of dependency allowed you to forget about your condition, choosing, instead, to embrace the joy of living.

For the longest while, you chose to forget about how your life had ended all those years ago. But upon returning to the city of your death, you were forced to acknowledge the tragedy of your life so many years ago. Sitting in a coffee shop located just a stone throw away from the Citadel, and therefore, where you’d died in your previous life, you winced, almost as if you could feel the whip and blades colliding with the skin of your back. Regis Lucis Caelum was a kind and caring king, and it seemed that his son took after his demeanor, but it startled you that two such individuals could have descended from such a sly and cruel man such as Izunia.

Izunia… you pondered, glaring into the dark liquid of your cup. That man had taken everything away from you. You were happy living with Ardyn in the middle of nowhere. Content to leave the accursed capital to live out your days. But to be killed over something so trivial... Even if the Crystal and the Six had taken Ardyn’s right to Ascendence away, it had been Ardyn’s forked tongue that had painted your husband as a monster. The grip you had on the ceramic cup tightened and your face twisted into a grimace.

Not even two hours later, you were on your way out of the city, ready to escape the dark thoughts and memories.

Izunia… I hope you’re rotting in the darkest pits of hell…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

97 Days

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A day later, you found yourself staying at a rest stop in Duscae, selling a few of your drawings for some easy money. Of course, you couldn’t bear to part with your drawings of Ardyn, instead opting to sell the sketches of Galdin Quay and of landscape from your past life. Due to your medical condition and the tension between kingdoms, you’d decided not to travel to Altissia. Besides, you’d had enough of Altissia to last you several lifetimes. The only place of significance remaining that you had to visit before allowing yourself to die in peace was your home. There was a pained smile on your face when you pulled out of the rest stop, the windshield wipers working overtime in the heavy rain. It had been a few thousand years since you’d been home, and you doubted that anything remained of the small wooden home, but neither that nor the dangers of Costlemark Tower deterred you from continuing on your way, parking the car on the side of the road to climb over the barrier, forced to continue on foot and in the rain.

The rain and wind pelted you from all sides as you proceeded forward, conscious of how fast the light was fading, and how your hair stuck to your face despite the hood of your raincoat blocking a majority of your head. Not even five minutes on your feet, and you were starting to feel the fatigue from the Scourge, sapping at your remaining energy, forcing you to frequently take breaks. Before long, the light had faded from the sky, and you were forced to proceed in the dark with only a flashlight to light your way as you walked past Costlemark, knowing that your home was only just beyond the rock formation that seemed to make up the back wall of the ancient tower.

As your exhaustion grew, you could feel the darkness within you rising, its black and purple tendrils slithering out of your core. And as you proceeded forward, weak arms reaching out to scale the rock face, you pondered if the Scourge was what kept the daemons away from you, knowing from your past life that the daemons and Scourge were host and parasite. It was a sign, perhaps, that you hadn’t long to live after all. This realization only spurred your movements, determined to at the very least die on the spot you’d called home once upon a time.

So despite the slick from the rock face, the rain water running down the edges to loosen your already slack grip, you held on with all your might and pulled yourself upwards, inch by inch.

No doubt your hands were cut up from the abuse, but you didn’t stop climbing until you reached the top.

You expected empty space, ruins, or even regrown forest. Anything but what you were actually greeted with.

On the spot where you and Ardyn had built a small wooden home, was the exact wooden home you’d left all those years ago with the exception of the reinforced steel decorating the structure, and the beds of flowers decorating the path around the house. Despite the storm raining down wind and water, the small home seemed to glow for you, as if welcoming you back. And despite the fact that the structure might belong to someone who wasn’t afraid of the daemon infested tower, you found that your feet carried you towards the slate tiled path towards the structure.

You wanted to cry, overwhelmed that your home from centuries ago was still standing, that it had been taken care of and loved. Standing at the front of the door, you stretched out a hand to grasp the doorknob, surprised to find that it was unlocked despite the keyhole. Your breath hitched when the wooden door swung open to reveal a room of darkness.

“E-Excuse me?” you called into the home, “The door was unlocked…” When nobody replied, you gulped and stuttered, “I’m entering…”

The light from your flashlight illuminated the darkness to reveal a modern country home, clean, but to your surprise, all the furniture was in the exact same place where you’d arranged. The floors, now covered in smooth wooden planks compared to the dirt floor of centuries past, shone with polish when your flashlight ran across. Someone lives here… or someone regularly visits. You thought to yourself as you shrugged off your raincoat and boots. To the side of the door, you found a coat and shoe rack, and only after leaving the soaked items in the proper place did you proceed into the home, which, to your surprise, was much larger than you remembered. You didn’t have much time to ponder upon the layout of the home, as you started to feel the effects of the Scourge tenfold, sapping you of all your remaining strength. You barely had time to find the bed before your body gave up and collapsed, sending your unconscious form crashing into the sheets.

~~~~~~~~~~

96 Days

~~~~~~~~~~

You awoke the next day at around noon, feeling extra crappy and on the verge of sickness due to falling asleep while most of your clothes were still wet. The storm had passed overnight, leaving the skies clear as you sluggishly pushed yourself away from the bed, feeling guilty for dampening the sheets with your wet clothing. Groaning due to the pressure on your face, you allowed your eyes to run across the room as you stood on unstable feet.

The room was mostly empty except for the occasional potted plant, but what caught your eye wasn’t the plants, but the bookshelf littered with cookbooks, leather journals, and one peculiar box. To any other, the box would simply look like an antique storage case, but to you… it was something more important. With bated breath and wide eyes, your hands stretched out to grasp the ornate box, dark wood etched with various swirling patterns, and a golden lock in the shape of a jagged crystal. Ardyn had gifted the box to you as one of his many surprise gifts during your brief time together, he’d fashioned the box with his own hands, earning many cuts and wounds to his hands in the process. You’d cherished the gift despite the simplistic design as it was a symbol of Ardyn’s love and devotion. Tears gathered at your eyes when you hesitantly unclasped the lock to find the inscription under the lid:

To my Light, my Love, my Heart. May we live happily in this life and the next. And may we find each other always. Forever yours, Your Beloved Husband, Ardyn Lucis Caelum.

A sob escaped your lips as the tips of your fingers ran across the words, “Ardyn… I’m sorry. I can’t keep that promise.”

When you went to close the box, you eyes landed on the only item within the box. A bundle of papers, yellowed and brittle with age, bound in leather. Refusing to believe that it was what you thought it was, your hands trembled to set the box back down on the shelf in favor of picking up the leather bound papers. Untying the string, your shaking hands carefully opened up the flap of skin, and suddenly, you couldn’t hold in your sobs.

“You left, Ardyn. Again. Not even a day after you returned, you left again, brushing off my comments that we needed to speak. After all this time, I finally found the courage to speak to you, and you ignore me, running out the door to your new companions. Perhaps, in one of my previous entries, I’ve expressed how lonely it was in a home, alone, and in a different nation, but I’ll express it again. It has been lonely here, in this home, without you. Since the moment we arrived in Altissia, I’ve rarely seen you. You come and go, leaving me behind. And I know for a fact, that I’ve been replaced.

I’ve been your friend for nearly three years, Ardyn. Three years, we have traveled together. Three years, we have been companions. But companions. That term. It’s a temporary thing, isn’t it? Companions are meant to be replaced. And I’ve been replaced. Not only as your companion, but as your friend. I’ve lost the place by your side. No. It’s foolish to think that I every even had that position, isn’t it? I’ve lost my use to you. Lost my purpose to stay at your side. You don’t need me anymore. And it hurts.

Why would I think this? I find myself asking and answering that question far too often when you are gone. If I still help a place by your side, you would spend more than a day or a night at home before you leave again. And at first, I believed you were merely in a rush to save lives. But today, you left again. On the Eve of Amicus Amor. I had thought that we would spend the Lucian holiday with each other, as we did the years before. It was a holiday in which you found great importance, so I hoped that you wouldn’t forget. That you wouldn’t leave again. But you left, and I doubt that you would forget your favorite holiday. So, one assumes that you no longer hold the same regard towards me as I to you.

And for the past month, I’ve been deliberating on leaving, Ardyn. That I should return to the place in which I am wanted. To a place where I am loved.

It was foolish, I think, for me to have fallen in love with someone that I could never have. Yet, I hoped, that maybe, I could be worthy of you. Worthy to stand at your side as more than a companion or friend. I should have known that you could never love me.

I’ve started preparations to leave within the next ten days. A long journey back to Insomnia no doubt. But I doubt you’ll be back before I leave. And I doubt that you’ll ever have to read these.

Goodbye, Ardyn. I hope you live happily.”

It was the last journal entry you wrote before deciding to leave Altissia. Before Ardyn had begged for you to stay. Before your marriage. Before moving into a home together. Before Izunia sentenced you both to die.

“Oh dear. Do we have a trespasser in our midst?” A sly and mockingly light voice sounded from behind you, making you freeze in place, hand coming up to silence your sobs in fear. “How rude… going through another man’s private possessions.”

Despite the hand over your mouth, your shoulders continued to shake as you sobbed, eyes closing as tears slid down your cheeks. The tone of voice had immediately send your entire mind and body spiraling down into despair as both remembered who had spoken to you in such a way before. Izunia.

“Turn around, my dear.” the person continued, “And do take care not to drop those pages. They are very precious. I don’t know what I might do to you if you damaged them.”

Setting your old journal back into the ornate box, you slowly allowed yourself to turn, tears still sliding down your cheeks as you revealed yourself to the voices owner.

Immediately, your eyes locked with amber, and suddenly, your tears fell for a completely different reason. Try as you might, you couldn’t hold back the name that tumbled from your mouth, “Ardyn…”

Maybe his name wasn’t the same as your long deceased husband, but it was the same man you’d been watching on the beach during your stay at Galdin Quay. Now that you were facing him with only a few meters between you, you could see the wrinkle lines on his face, once again seemingly years older than you. His eyes were the same, that beautiful and striking amber. But looking closely, there lacked that bright twinkle in his eyes. Something that you had loved about him in your previous life. But by the Six, his clothes. You bit your lip anxiously. His clothes were so similar in style to your husband’s.

With all the thoughts running through your mind, your eyes hadn’t left the man’s form, you noticed the corners of his mouth pull into a sneer. “Oh?” The sound came out like a question, but was drawn out as he took several steps forward. Slow, leisurely, in the same manner as that man. The lookalike slowed to a halt less than two feet from you, and suddenly you were forced to tilt your head up, calloused hand tilting your chin with a firm grip. “Do I know you? I’d think that I’d remember someone so…” his words trailed off as his amber eyes roamed over your form, “so… tragically pathetic.”

The words were like a blow to your chest. Pathetic? Was that going to be the words that Ardyn’s reincarnation spoke to you upon meeting once again? Your heart ached, the gaping hole growing when those words left your husband’s lips. Simply having his face and name was enough to throw your heart into a dark pit. Just like in Altissia, I’ll have to endure. The awed expression on your face dropped completely, replaced instead, by a stone cold blank slate, light fading from your eyes as you leveled the man with a fierce glare. “You don’t get to say that I’m pathetic.”

The grip on your chin tightened when you tried to pull away. The sneer deepened as the man bent down menacingly, “But don’t I? After all, you’ve intruded upon my home. Violated my precious belongings. Slept on my bed. As someone who is homeless… without worth… I’d say that you are tragically pathetic, my dear.”

“This is not your home. And those letters are not yours.” You snarled back, latched your hand onto his arm and digging your nails into the exposed skin. You were playing with fire, challenging a man so different from your husband. But you didn’t expect to suddenly find yourself on the floor, cheek stinging from the sudden backhand that the man had collided with your face. Sitting up, you brought a stunned hand up to caress your cheek, pulling away to find that you were bleeding from the impact.

“My dear, you should silence yourself while you’re still alive. Maybe then, I’ll grant you a quick and painless death.” the sudden sound of the Armiger activating sent you reeling back in shock as the familiar purple of your husband’s weapon was brought out. The edge touched the skin of your throat, pricking it and drawing a swell of sudden red liquid. “Might I have the name of this tragic soul?”

You breathed in and out heavily, eyes still trained on the blade. It shouldn’t be possible. That’s Ardyn’s weapon. His power. How does he have it? Your eyes shifted to peer into pitiless amber, searching for even an ounce of humanity to appeal to. When you found none, you smirked and closed your eyes, resigned. You were going to die young regardless, might as well die with your sanity intact. “It seems that we’ve both changed too much for it to matter.”

“Hmmm. A pity.” the blade pulled away from your throat for a moment, but you knew that it would descend to swiftly end your life.

In your mind’s eye, you pictured your husband reaching out to you with open arms. It was like that moment so many years ago, the blade descended with a hiss.

“For all of eternity. I’ll love you, Ardyn.”

There was silence for the longest moment, but no pain. With a frown, you cracked open an eye, only to see that the blade had stopped mere centimeters from your neck. Confused, both of your eyes opened and made their way to your executioner’s face. And for the first time since your meeting, you found an expression of horror on his face. “Y-Y/N…” the name, your name, escaped his lips in a fragile whisper, as if saying your name too loud might cause you to disappear.

You blinked impassively, “That is my name, yes. Though I didn’t give it to you.”

“My beloved.”

“Look, are you going to kill me or not?” You snapped impatiently, a bit peeved that you’d said your final words and revealed yourself.

“But you look so different.” Amber eyes roamed your face in disbelief, until he found what he was looking for. And when his did, Ardyn’s weapon dematerialized into beautiful purple shards. “Of course… reincarnations wouldn’t look exactly alike.” And suddenly, the man was knelt before you, gently gripping your chin. “How could I have not recognized those eyes?”

With a violent snarl, you ripped your face away from the man’s hold, shuffling to your feet. You didn’t understand what was going on, but you would be beyond stupid to let your husband’s lookalike touch you when he’d hurt you so easily. “Get away from me.”

A gentle smile appeared on the man’s face, “Now, Y/N. I thought you knew me? You remembered those letters and this home, after all.”

“You’re NOT my husband!” You denied vehemently, caught between bursting in tears and attacking. “My Ardyn would never have laid a hand on me!” Your hand rose to clutch at your cheek, still dripping blood. “Never!”

The man had the audacity to look ashamed and sorrowful, rising to his feet to reach out a hand towards you. “My darling, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t controlling my temper. I’d never intend to hurt you. Please, forgive me?”

“F-forgive you?” You let out a laugh in disbelief, “You would have killed me if I didn’t utter my parting words from two thousand years ago.” Shaking your head, you took another step backwards. “No. You’re not my husband.” Taking a few tentative steps forwards to judge the man’s reaction, you muttered wearily, “I’m leaving.” Ardyn made no move to stop you as you walked past him to put your boots and coat on. Now seemed like a good time to find a quiet place to live out your days.

You took one step outside the door when Ardyn’s voice met your ears again. “I thought we vowed to love each other. As we were. As we are. And as we will become.” The words were spoken with dejection and longing, “Are you going to abandon me, Y/N? Now that I’m no longer the same?”

“You hurt me.” It was the only reason you gave, but it was the one that made the man flinch. “I can’t trust someone who would willingly hurt me, even if the person has the same face as the man I married in another lifetime.”

“Then live with me for a few days, here, in the home we once called our own.” Ardyn turned around, eyes shining with a familiar desperation. “If you find that you can’t love me as you once did, then you can leave.”

“And if I can find myself loving you again?” you frowned, eyes narrowed into slits, “Then what?”

Ardyn leveled you with a confident smile, “Then we pick up where we left, and live out the rest of our days together.”

You frowned, tempted by the offer, but forced yourself to turn away from Ardyn, your heart aching. “No.” You weren’t sure that you could put yourself through that pain again. Years ago, you’d allowed yourself to fall in love with Ardyn because of your innocence and purity. But that fantasy of blissful happiness had long since been ripped from you two. The two of you have the possibility of being happy, but with the Scourge wreaking havoc on your body, you knew that that happiness would only be temporary, and before long, you’d be taken away from Ardyn again.

“Y/N!” There were hurried steps and suddenly you were stuck in a firm, yet warm embrace. “Don’t go… Please.” His voice broke as he pled, wrapping you in the same embrace as when he begged you to stay in Altissia.

“I can’t, Ardyn. What you want is impossible.” You resisted, twisting in his embrace to find escape.

“And why is it impossible? There is no Izunia to come for our heads, nothing to endanger our time together.”

“BECAUSE I’M DYING!” You screamed, thrashing in his embrace, which only tightened at your revelation.

Ardyn’s arms stealthily turned you to face him when you stopped struggling, pulling you into his chest in a comforting hug when you started to cry. “I know, Y/N. I can sense the Scourge within you.” Ardyn confessed in a hushed whisper next to your ear. His right hand raised dramatically to rest over your heart as he spoke, and your breathing stalled. Was it possible for him to still have the ability to take away the Scourge from your body? As if reading your thoughts, Ardyn clarified. “I can feel its corruption nestled deep in your heart, but I’ve long since lost the ability to take that pain away.”

A frown appeared on your face. “Long since lost? You mean because we both died? That you’re no longer a Lucis Caelum?” Of course, you thought, perhaps we are reincarnations of Y/N and Ardyn from two thousand years prior, but that doesn’t mean we’re the exact same. “If that’s so, then why are you able to use a power that only the King and his men can use? Do you work for King Regis? What is going on?” Too many question. Too many mysteries. Was something meddling in your lives?

A sly smirk appeared on Ardyn’s face as he brought his face down to nuzzle the side of your head affectionately. “If you can find that you hold the same love for me in three days, as you did two thousand long years ago, only then will I give you the answers you so desire.”

Your tears had long since stopped falling, and instead a scowl took its place at the sly smirk in front of you. In all honesty, despite the fact that Ardyn’s face was exactly the same as it had been years ago, you found yourself picturing Izunia’s face with that sly expression. Your fists tightened in hate, wanting to punch that smug grin off his face. You want so badly to say what you’re thinking. Why the hell are you acting like Izunia? You want to ask it so badly that the tears gather at your eyes from the frustration. Because you knew that if you asked that, then Ardyn would either not answer your question, or lash out at you. Instead, you let out a tearful whisper, “Fine.” You blink the tears away and take a deep breath to calm yourself, leveling a stern glare at the man before you. “I’ll stay with you for three days. Nothing more. And if in those days you raise a hand to me or abuse me in any way.” In a show of seriousness, you pull away from his strong arms and extend your own to point out over the view of the forest, “Then I will leave, and you will never find me again.”

Try as you’d like, putting all your effort in being stern with your decision to leave should he ever harm you, you couldn’t stop the shudder and tremble of longing that crept up your body when Ardyn took an easy step to gather your face into his hands. Gently stroking your cheeks as he brought his head down to rest his forehead on yours, Ardyn allowed his amber eyes to close, shoulders relaxing as his chest seemed to give a rumbling purr. An aura of contentment rolled off the man in waves, nearly knocking you over from the demeanor whiplash. “You won’t regret your decision, Y/N. I’ve waited so long to hold you in my arms once again. So many years longing for your embrace.”~~~~~~~~~~~

“Days and nights of your memory haunting my thoughts and dreams.” you whispered, closing your eyes as well, giving in to the contentment radiating from your soul as well as Ardyn’s. “I’m not sure if this is a blessing or a curse…”

“Let us not dwell on such thoughts, My Light.” Ardyn chided, his eyes opening to look into your eyes lovingly, “Whatever time we may have together, we’ll spend them to the fullest.” When you nodded, eyes closing once more to show your compliance, you suddenly felt strong arms lifting you up, bringing a blush of embarrassment and shock to your cheeks as you struggled to find support from your new position, “You must be tired, my dear, come, I’ll run a bath for you.”

“You have plumbing in the middle of the forest?”

“You’d be surprised at how much time I had to figure it out, My Light.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

95 Days and 4 hours

~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat on the bed and hummed in contentment, watching as Ardyn finished washing the dinner dishes in the next room over.

True to his word, Ardyn had prepared a hot bath for you to soak in, though only after you insisted on showering first. And while you washed yourself of the dirt, Ardyn quietly disappeared to another room, letting you relax with the hot water. To your immense surprise, Ardyn had prepared and cooked dinner for you, carefully putting together an assortment of ingredients into a delicious stew to warm the two of you up from the harsh autumn winds. It was a near replication of the stew you’d prepared two thousand years ago, with the occasional change in herbs and vegetables. You found yourself pleasantly surprised at the abundance of flavor, consuming not one helping, but three, to fill your empty stomach.

Initially, you’d only decided to have one bowl, so as not to overindulge in the food. But one Ardyn took notice of your stealthily growling stomach, he’d filled your empty bowl back up with more stew. When you’d tried to politely refuse the second helping, Ardyn had tsked and insisted, saying, “It would hurt my feelings if you held your appetite back, my love.”

So you grudgingly at the next two bowls, nearly stuffing yourself to the brim under watchful amber eyes. During dinner, you’d engaged Ardyn in small conversation, inquiring about his skill in the culinary arts.

“I once had a loving wife, who cooked delicious meals for me.” Ardyn began, grinning widely, his face lighting up and taking off several years from his aged face. “Their name was Y/N, and they tried to teach me to cook when I failed to boil even an egg. I remember their cute pout when they saw how incapable I was. But one day, Y/N died.” The grin disappeared and the years came back, casting shadows and deep wrinkles into Ardyn’s face. “In Y/N’s memory, I attempted to recreate every dish that I remembered them making, pouring years of my life into perfecting the culinary arts so that one day… if I ever meet them again, I could hopefully impress Y/N with how much I’ve improved since we last met.”

His dedication brought tears to the corner of your eyes, a heavy throbbing pain settling in your chest. You were touched that Ardyn would dedicate a part of his life to your memory, but you blinked the tears away and willed the pain to go away. It was difficult, but you had to stop thinking about the events of the past. This was your time to make new memories with him. So you gathered your courage and shot a hesitant smile at Ardyn, delighting in the way seeing your smile brought a smile to his face again. “I’m happy that you wanted to remember me so much, Ardyn.” His lips parted to interrupt, but you spoke quickly, cutting him off, “But you didn’t have to learn how to cook just to impress me. If you were a poor man, my feelings for you would be the same.”

“But you wouldn’t love me if I were cruel and evil.” a wistful smile, but there was a gleam in his eyes, implying that this was more than an observation.

You cast your eyes to the empty bowl in front of you, ashamed. “I don’t know if I could, Ardyn.”

The atmosphere turned tense as Ardyn rose from his seat and took the empty bowls from the table to wash. There was no acknowledgment from Ardyn, even as you stared at his back, so you found yourself retreating into the bedroom, where you’ve been since, laying in the bed and staring up at the ceiling.

The sheets under you had been changed when you were in the bathroom, but the gesture had you thinking heavily. What did you hope would result from this? What did Ardyn hope would happen here? But you knew the answer to that. To both questions.

It’s a hope that we might be what we were, and what we lost.

While you were thinking, you didn’t notice the slight dip of the bed right next to your head. “When we were apart, it felt like a part of me was missing. Just an emptiness in my chest that throbbed right at the edges.” Ardyn spoke, his right hand coming up to grasp at his chest. “But now that I found you… I feel like we’re further apart than ever. It hurts more… like…”

“Like I can see you and touch you,” you demonstrated by taking his hand in yours as you sat up to look down at his hands, scarred and calloused as you remembered. “But there’s no closeness, no light. Not like the warmth we felt all those years ago.”

“Only darkness around us.” Ardyn chuckled cynically, running his thumb over your knuckles gently before his other hand lifted to caress your face. Once his amber eyes locked with yours, you found yourself leaning into his touch, craving his touch, his affection, his love. “Let us illuminate that darkness, Y/N. So that we may find eachother again.” Ardyn brought his face closer, leaning his forehead to yours in a gentle thump. “Please.” he whispered, mellifluous tone turning husky. “Let us learn to love once again.”

Releasing a shuddering sigh, you closed your eyes and nodded. “Yes. Let’s learn to love again.” When Ardyn proceeded to touch an intimate part of your anatomy, however, you promptly blushed and pulled away, “TOO FAST!”

Two strong hands caught you around the waist, halting your escape by pulling you back into firm arms. Ardyn laughed, burrowing his face into the crook of your neck, “I jest, Y/N.” You could feel the content smile on Ardyn’s face, simply pleased to hold you in his arms. “We’ll go at whatever pace is comfortable for you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

92 Days

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three days blew by too quickly for you when the situation was so cheerful and carefree. Each day, Ardyn came to relearn you. Of the disease that has plagued you for a good part of your life. Of your talent in drawing. Of the fact that you could barely go most days without the use of your wheelchair. Of the help that your memory of him had provided in keeping the Scourge at bay for so long. And you, in turn, learned that Ardyn had spent his time wishing to see you, hoping that the Six were not so cruel as to keep you away from him. You learned of Ardyn’s true feelings. Of his anguish in learning that that which he once took unto himself had gone and infected you, depriving him of your life once more.

You also learned that, no matter what he may have done upon first meeting you three days ago, that you still wished to stand by Ardyn’s side. The you now, and not the you from years past, loves the current Ardyn, more than you could logically comprehend. So on the morning of the fourth day, you woke up earlier than usual, in hopes of surprising Ardyn by kissing him awake. Only to find that Ardyn was awake before you, lying on his side on the bed, lazily staring at your face as he played with your hair.

Noticing that you’d woken, Ardyn’s eyes found yours with a lazy smile, but you knew that he needed your answer.

Will you stay?

A smile slowly rose to your lips as you brought your face closer to Ardyn’s, his hair tickling your cheeks as you pressed a slow kiss to his lips. Humming in pleasure, Ardyn kissed back with a passion, licking your bottom lip and sucking, arms moving to wrap around your waist. In the morning sunlight, the two of you kissed leisurely, moving from shy kisses to bold, eventually getting to a point where hands started to roam.

Growl

You wanted to ignore the noises coming from your stomach, continuing to kiss Ardyn, your hands having just finished exploring his bare chest, now rested at the edge of his lounge pants. Ardyn chuckled and pulled away from you with a last kiss, bringing a pout to your face, “Now now, Y/N. Patience. We’ll get to the fun soon enough, but only after you’ve been fed, my love.”

With a huff, you playfully shoved Ardyn off the bed, delighting in the yelp that left his mouth when his back collided with the hardwood. “Don’t speak as if I’m the only horny one here, Mister!” Leaning over the edge of the bed, you gave a triumphant smirk at the betrayed pout that Ardyn had on his face. “Oh come now, it doesn’t hurt that much. Besides…” you let a devious expression slip across your face as you licked your lips. “I like seeing you beneath me.”

Instantly, Ardyn’s lips were on yours again, having crawled to his knees to meet your lips. “Hmmm. We’re never going to eat at this rate, my dear.” he purred against your lips, tilting his head to make sure that you were always above him. “I never knew you preferred the top.”

“Mmmm… I like watching your expressions.” you confessed, lifting both hands to bring Ardyn’s lips to yours, biting his bottom lip gently before moving to his left ear and whispering, “I also like it when you whispered in my ear.” The shiver of pleasure and excitement from Ardyn further encouraged you to speak of your past dirty thoughts. “I’m weak for your voice. If you whisper in my ear, it gets me aching. When you moan in my ear… It drives me over the edge.”

And then, you’re under him, feeling his mouth feast upon the skin covering the crook of your neck before he pulls away to stare lustfully into your eyes. “Let’s see how many times I can bring this body to the edge, Y/N.”

“Last time you brought me to the edge five times.” You pant, breathless and aching for more of Ardyn’s touch, “Let’s see if we can make it seven times.” It was a clear challenge towards your lover, your intent made clear by your half lidded eyes meeting his own amber. “Make love to me. Make me crave your every movement. Make it so that I can only say your name. So that I forget my own.”

The almost evil smirk on Ardyn’s face gave you a clear answer as he sensually began to kiss you, hands roaming and disrobing you as you were distracted. You let out a heady moan as Ardyn leisurely kissed down your chest, spending some time at your nipples, pinching one as he lavished the other with attention, his warm mouth closing around the hardening form of one and sucking. Simply from his minor attentions, you found yourself beyond wet, your core aching and pulsing in anticipation. Ardyn only moved on from his ministrations when he’d removed your underwear, throwing your last article of clothes across the room as he descended, his mouth finding your sex and sucking, lusty amber eyes staring directly into your eyes as he worked.

He would do everything you asked him and more. He won’t make love to you. He’ll worship your body, your love, your soul. His touch won’t just make you crave him. You’ll be ravenous, only content when you’re with him. He promises that you won’t be saying his name. Ardyn will have you screaming his name. And you won’t forget your name. You’ll remember that Y/N and Ardyn are synonymous with one another. One is not without the other.

And you knew this, the entire time. As his hand played with you, bring you over the edge three times before he’d bothered to disrobe himself, working himself with your fluids before allowing the two of you to be one in body and soul for the first time in two thousand years. In the light of the late morning sun, Ardyn took you, making you come three more times before flipping positions, allowing you to be on top, riding him to completion for the seventh time that day.

Coming down from the high, Ardyn pulled your body towards his own, wrapping the both of your sweaty bodies with the covers. “I keep my word, Y/N. We belong to each other. For all eternity.”

“I love you, Ardyn.”

“I love you as well, Y/N.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

30 Days

~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been a month since you’d accepted that you’d spend the rest of your natural life with Ardyn. A little more than a month of love making and sweet gestures. It seemed as if the two of you had simply continued from where your lives had left off two thousand years ago. But the happiness and contentment seemed to be almost firmly held in place by Ardyn. You’d yet to gain any of the answers you wanted and were promised. Any attempt you made to get your answers, Ardyn would expertly dodge the question by teasing you or doing something sweet.

It made Ardyn seem like he was hiding something from you. This became shockingly apparent when you noticed that Ardyn disappeared at night when he thought you asleep. And given that you slept for more than ten hours due to the fatigue that the Scourge caused, you didn’t notice his absence until you’d woken up from a nightmare a few nights prior to find his side of the bed empty. Since then, you’d made attempts to wake up in the middle of the night in order to prove to yourself that perhaps it was a one time thing. That Ardyn really wasn’t disappearing at night to go somewhere. And when Ardyn continued to leave every night since, you started to feel the insecurity creep up within you. A dark gnawing monster that liked to manifest itself briefly as the dark tendrils of Scourge.

Poor poor child. You think that he’d still love you after all these years? Surely a new life for you meant a new life for him as well. You’re not the only important thing in his life.

If he doesn’t love me, then why would he have preserved this place, or made it better? Liveable, even. I am important to him.

How important are you? That he keeps you locked up in this small shed in the forest?

It’s to protect me.

Or… it’s to keep you hidden. As if he’s ashamed of you. Or he leaves at night to visit another. A lover, perhaps. A wife. Children. Family. A life away from you.

In the darkness of the woodland home, you sat in silence on the floor, leaning against the wall. The fire in the fireplace had long since died, the only remains being the slightly burning embers within. The bed was cold, Ardyn’s side long since cooled hours prior, and your own losing its warmth. You took a deep breath and exhaled, not bothering to argue with the dark thoughts any more. You’d known long ago that the Scourge had won the battle over your body. Nowadays, you felt like you could barely stand, much less sleep for less than 12 hours at a time. You barely had feeling in your body. Sex didn’t feel the same as it did months prior, and even now, when the temperature was so low that you could see your breath, you couldn’t feel the cold creeping into your bones.

You only felt happiness when Ardyn was near, what with him being your light. But it seemed as if that was about to leave as well.

Outside, the snow fell heavily, the wind howling as it shook the house. It was during times like this that you felt at your lowest. Alone, at night, with the Scourge bringing dark thoughts to your mind’s eye. To stop yourself from doing anything foolish, you’d taken to the floor, staring blankly at your journal, just trying to muster as much positive thought as much as positive. You would do this until your eyes were tired enough to sleep, crawling into bed and closing your eyes. When you next open your eyes, it was morning, and Ardyn was staring right back at you.

Unlike the past few mornings, however, you didn’t fake a smile and kiss Ardyn on the lips. Instead, your eyes remained hollow as you asked, “Where do you go at night, Ardyn?” His amber eyes widened considerably at your question, probably surprised that you even noticed his absence at night. “Do you not want to be with me, Ardyn? If you have another life… I think you should be honest with me.”

“You’re not making much sense, darling. I love you. My absence at night has nothing to do with my love for you.” Ardyn denied, visibly horrified and offended that you would even call his love into question.

“And yet there are so many things you hide, Ardyn.” You snapped, turning away from your lover with a decisive turn. “Can’t you answer my questions?” I don’t have long. You left it unspoken.

“The truth will only hurt you, Y/N.” Ardyn attempted to argue, though his voice sounded too weak, knowing that you will get what you want.

“I’m hurting anyways, Ardyn.” you countered easily, hating that your voice sounded so hollow, so dead.

“I was never reincarnated.” You turned back to face Ardyn immediately, intrigued and confused as he continued, eyes meeting yours sheepishly. “I can’t die, Y/N. Taking the Scourge unto my being has made me immortal. I can die over and over again, but my form will always come back.”

A vague spark of emotion streaked across your face as you sat up, hands taking Ardyn’s face, “You’re the same Ardyn… from two thousand years ago?” At Ardyn’s nod, you bit your lip in hesitation before asking, “Can I… can I see your other form?” The words were barely out of your mouth before you were face to face with Ardyn’s demonized form, the Scourge within him calling to the Scourge plaguing your body. “Where do you go at night, Ardyn?”

“To work on ending this eternal suffering.” your face scrunched up at how vague, yet specific Ardyn’s answer was. You wanted specifics, details of the plan, to make sure that Ardyn wasn’t doing anything foolish, but Ardyn interrupted you before you could ask for more details. “I can’t Ascend, Y/N. I can’t find peace. You can’t imagine what horrors I’ve endured when we were both sentenced to die. When I woke up to find you dead by my side.” Shaking hands rose to take your face, “Of how many times I’ve tried to end my own life hoping to reunite with you. To find brief respite in the cold grasps of death, only to come back to this waking hell.” His eyes close, body shaking in a brief show of weakness. “Even now, just holding you is like a dream. A cruel dream that I know will be ripped away from me. So please, Y/N. Don’t ask questions. Let me end this suffering. So that we can be together at last, in the afterlife.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1 Day

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So you didn’t ask anymore questions. Instead, with whatever will you had left, you cherished the moments you had left with Ardyn. Sharing smiles and laughs. The small and innocent things that would soon be ripped from your lives by fate. Until the day you were unable to wake from your dreams, body slowly showing signs of dissolving in Ardyn’s arms. He’d known that you weren’t going to live past the winter, but Ardyn still couldn’t stop the tears, or the sobs that plagued his body as he held you in his arms. Ardyn knew the signs. The moment the body started to seep the small particles of Scourge, you had no more than a day to stay in your physical form before you soul was taken and turned into a daemon.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Wait for me.” Ardyn cried, bring his hand to your chest in a motion to stab, “I’m sorry it had to come to this.” With a quick summon of his weapon, Ardyn impaled you with his glaive, ending your life before you could turn into a daemon. Losing you this time was no less painful than it was the first time, Ardyn lamented as he cradled your body, watching as it dissolved into light. But this time, Ardyn knew that you would wait for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

12 Years later

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You hummed a cheerful tune as you tended to the many flowers in the garden, unconcerned that all around you was empty except for the blue sky and familiar home behind you. When you’d woken up, you’d found yourself lying in the flower garden, as if placed there gently by some unknown force. At first, you’d called for Ardyn. Worried for your beloved, and scared at the sudden warmth and peace. You’d hollered at the top of your lungs for Ardyn, finding that your voice never wavered, that after hours of yelling, your voice had yet to turn raw. That after hours of yelling, the sky didn’t change color. That you felt no fatigue at all. No hunger.

It was after these observations that you’d realized that you’d died. That you were dead.

You wept for hours, or was it days, in the fields outside the wooden structure before a woman in all white appeared before you, her blonde hair let down to gently frame her face. You didn’t even notice that the younger woman was in front of you, too busy crying into your hands, until she spoke in a wise but gentle voice. “Y/N. Don’t weep. You’ll be with Ardyn again. Simply have patience and keep hope in your heart that he will return to you.”

“How do you know that?” You demanded, hiccuping as tears continued to fall from your eyes.

The woman smiled gently, kneeling down in front of you, bringing her hand to your face, thumbs gingerly brushing the tears away. “I know because I, too, wait to return to my beloved’s side.”

Still tearful, but making an effort to stop the tears, you whimpered, closing your eyes and holding onto the woman’s hands. “What’s your name?”

A patient smile. “Luna.”

“Could you stay with me, Luna?” a sheepish request, “Until you have to go meet your beloved.”

The smile didn’t leave Luna’s face as she took a seat next to you in the garden. “I’ll wait with you.”

You learned that Luna was the Oracle, deceased from her efforts to aid King Noctis rid the world of the Starscourge. You learned of the tragedy that was her life. Of how she endured the hardship in the hopes of living a happy life with Noctis. And you wished, that in death, that Luna would finally find peace. You didn’t have to explain who you were, it was evident that Luna knew who you were, but you didn’t think she cared. In the afterlife, the both of you found solidarity in the hope that you would both be reunited with the men that held your hearts.

As you hummed, playing with the sylleblossoms that started to grow in the gardens, you didn’t notice the river that seemed to form a few feet away.

Luna had left moments prior to reunite with her beloved. The two of you weren’t tearful when you had to part, however. Just happy for each other. Both of you knew that with Noctis’s arrival, Ardyn would be following closely. Your wishes would come true.

A gust of wind directed your attention to the sudden appearance of the river, and watched, mesmerized, as the river formed, and after it, the fields on the other side seemed to change into a forest. With bated breath, you watched a tall form exit the forest, making his way towards the river. Recognizing the man, you ran towards the river, only to be stopped by an invisible wall. Frowning, you placed your palm on the wall, staring at Ardyn as he sauntered towards the river, as if he didn’t see you.

He walked until he too stood on the bank of the river directly opposite of you, stopping when he seemed to bump into a wall. You saw him frown before reaching up to touch the invisible wall as well. The river seemed to speed up, splashing a torrent of water against the banks, blinding both you and Ardyn as you both brought you hands up to cover your faces.

When the splashing died down and you both lowered your arms, the river was gone, and your eyes locked. With giddy smiles, the two ran at each other, pulling each other’s forms into an embrace. You were together finally. No death looming over the two of you. No one getting in your way. Just your love for eachother.

Eternal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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