#i feel that’s a good timeline given my rate so far

[thequibblah]

sort of eyeballing just before american thanksgiving for the chapter… tentative but that’s the idea

[justafewsmallsteps]

Another quick art and ficlet for @kagomes-hanakotobamatsuri ! This one focused on Week 3, Fertility and I used the Yellow Rose (new beginnings) as my inspiration flower. I started writing this while I was pregnant 2 years ago, but didn’t get around to finishing it until now.

Title: Potatoes Word Count: 1113 Rating: T Pairing: Inukag Warnings: Pregnancy

Try as she might, Kagome couldn’t help the uncontrollable (and unreasonable) flood of negative emotions that came with her unfulfilled pregnancy craving.

Wacdonald’s, of all things. Of course she was craving one of the most unobtainable foods possible in Sengoku and one of the easiest to find in her modern Tokyo. 

She didn’t really feel regret at leaving the modern world behind, not with Inuyasha and a life of friends and nature to surround her, and yet… 

Kagome found herself seething in angry tears. Angry at her body, angry at her attitude, angry at life. While she was always an emotional person, this hormone-induced storm was driving her crazy. She felt everything stronger, and no amount of logic or sleep was pulling her out of it because when she really really thought about it, it was all so unfair. She was raging at the world for making her choose between one family and another. The past was her future, and the future was now her past. But why did she have to choose? Why couldn’t she have a child with the love of her life and introduce her baby to her mother and grandfather and brother? Her righteous sorrow and her selfish cravings swirled into an indistinguishable mass of feelings. One second there was joy, another pain, the next irrepressible annoyance. She was guilty that she felt this way, upset as a tantruming toddler over a greasy burger and salty fried potatoes. 

And ultimately she was sad to be so far from her mother. 

Her thoughts turned to her poor husband. 

Inuyasha had been very sweet since she’d gotten back, and her pregnancy ramped up his doting completely. From warming her bath, to fetching her the ripest fruits, to building her the most comfortable approximation of a mattress possible, she felt spoiled and grateful. But her pregnancy-addled brain and hormonal body had her feeling so at odds with her heart. She loved being here. She loved her friends and the family they found in each other. She loved Inuyasha. 

Yet she longed for the crepes at the Shinjuku station mall, ice cream from a stand, steak from the grocery store cooked at home… her mouth was practically a waterfall at the thought. But by far the biggest craving was a Wacdonald’s cheeseburger with extra cheese and a side of fries dipped in ketchup. Make that two sides of fries. She could cry thinking about it, which she knew was stupid. 

It didn’t help that so many things made her feel nauseous. She’d helped out with pregnant mothers before, giving them herbs to help, learning from Kaede the rough timeline. She’d given reassurances and her best empathy, but in the throes of morning sickness Kagome wished to strangle her past naivety—and as much as she adored Kaede, the woman never actually had to go through pregnancy. 

Sango helped the most, understanding her anger, giving practical advice to give her the slightest relief. After all, carrying the twins had been an ordeal.

But Kagome was tired of ginger root and plain rice. 

She was tired in general. It has been such a joy to find out she was pregnant, and the first few weeks were a breeze. Then the morning sickness kicked in and subsequently kicked her ass. Morning sickness. God, it was unending sickness. Any time of the day sickness! She huddled under her blanket, willing the fatigue and nausea away. 

Then Inuyasha emerged from the door with her requested pile of potatoes. His look was apprehensive. He wanted to help her in any way he could, knowing that his wife often repressed cries for her mother. 

“I scrubbed ‘em already, and the pan’s good to go.” 

“Thank you, Inuyasha.” 

“I’ll cut ‘em too. It’s supposed to be like sticks, right?” 

She nodded. “Not too thin though.” Her husband was really good with a knife. She might be envious of his skills if he wasn’t such a good partner. 

Before he could start chopping, she stopped him. “Wait! Maybe cubes are better. They’ll move around the pan more easily.” 

“‘Kay,” he replied easily. 

Kagome stifled a groan as she slowly got up. Inuyasha had set the pan to heat already, so all she had to do was add the oil. 

“This look alright?” Inuyasha asked, checking in with her about the size. 

“Those look good.” 

Something about the sound of him chopping away triggered something. Everything triggered some emotion or another—but the domestic simplicity of their lives came at her full force as she heard the rhythmic sounds of their knife hitting their wooden chopping block. 

“It’s wonderful,” she whimpered, tears gathering in her eyes. 

“Woah, woah!” The hanyou turned around in concern, his hand immediately at her back to try to comfort her.  “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she lifted her head and sobbed, unable to hold it back. “It’s just the hormones, but I do think you’re wonderful. I’m so lucky to have you!” she wailed. 

His entire being was on high alert since she got pregnant, and even though he knew emotional outbursts were bound to happen, he still went into overdrive trying to make sense of it and fix whatever he could. “T-thanks.” 

“Thank you for getting me potatoes so we could try making fries. I’m sorry I’m probably going to hate it or throw it up but it’s the closest thing I have to Wacdonald’s.” She wiped her face with her sleeve and sniffled. 

“I told you, woman, I’ll do anything I can. I’m sorry we don’t got wako’s or whatever here.” 

“I’m being unreasonable.”

“It’s normal. You know it is. I know it is. You shoulda seen Miroku while Sango was having her cravings. Damn near swindled every ingredient from every vendor in every town just to find something she couldn’t remember the name of.” 

Kagome gave a watery laugh. “That makes me feel better.” 

“We’ll make something good, and if you hate it and retch I’ll make you two something else.” 

‘Us two,’ Kagome thought in awe, placing her hand on her belly. “We appreciate you.” She sent him a smile and got on her tiptoes to kiss his jaw. 

“Yeah, yeah. If you’re done, I’m going to go finish cutting now,” he brushed off, trying to hide his blush as he turned around. 

“Okay, but we’re following you,” Kagome declared. As her husband resumed chopping the rest of the potatoes, she wrapped her arms around his middle and rested her cheek against his back. 

“I’m gonna be done in five seconds, you know.” 

“Go slower.” 

Inuyasha rolled his eyes, but the quick beat of the chopping slowed to a different, sweeter ballad, and Kagome hummed contentedly along.

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Part 7 - running from a crucifixion

Dp x DC AU: Regent!Jazz & Vigilante!Jazz

"Look, to you I'm different- it's 'cause I refuse to listen to all the stupid shit that you include in your opinion. I got enough issues trying to be a human living in a ruined system while I'm running from a crucifixion." -Monster in Me by From Ashes to New

Masterlist Part 6

Jazz felt a shiver run down her spine. 

Currently in her office sorting through another pile of paperwork, the Regent hadn’t been bothered by any denzien for the past few hours thanks to the guard outside her door barring all but a select few. It’d been nice to demolish one of the piles that weighed down her desk.

She had a feeling that Danny was doing something stupid. Or reckless, but she was betting on stupid.  

Her little brother had finally healed enough to transform into Phantom to join her nightly patrols, a welcome addition to her mostly routine nights so far, and Jason’s proto-core was healing at a decent rate. Frostbite’s original timeline for him to wake up probably was on point, if he continued to adjust to the pure ecto in his system as he had been so far. It was good news for the Fentons, soon they would be able to move Jason back to his haunt. And Jazz could get her bed back. 

(She ignored the part of her that would miss his firm presence at her back, the jumble of limbs she had to untangle herself from every time she left the bed.) 

(Jason seemed to gravitate to her proto-core’s warmth.)

(It did not make Jazz happy. Not at all.) 

(Frostbite had only offered her a secretive smirk at her questioning of how attracted attached she was to the once-revenant.)

(Damn Yeti.)

A moment taken to clear her head of such thoughts, Jazz stood up from her desk to stretch her heavy limbs. Life was settling, oddly enough, but when would that change? 

Witching Hours patrol was, admittedly, Jazz’s favorite time of night- Crime Alley was alive while the world outside slept. There were good people who called the Alley their home, their haunt if you will, and the Regent found herself gravitating towards the street walkers when she wanted company during the slow moments. 

They were people doing a job and Jazz had nothing but respect for them. Interwoven as a tight-knit community, a new vigilante hanging about was disconcerting. The Regent was a steadfast presence though and was gradually wearing them down, but Jazz was sure her willingness to beat down the assholes who push their luck helped her case. 

Armored to the teeth with her ecto-sword at her side, she kept a watchful eye during the Alley’s Witching Hours patrol. The big bat himself had refused to cross into the Hood’s territory, but a few of the birds and smaller bats had no such qualm. 

With the King and his Regent’s aid of the Haunt of the Red Hood, the Shades that claimed shelter from larger predators would eagerly warn of approaching intruders, especially those that came with less than neutral intent.

Robin was one such intruder. 

The  youngest of the flock, a fellow sword wielding vigilante, the Robin was a strange bird. 

He felt like Jason did now, but younger, less corrupt than the ecto in the once-Revenant. Perhaps it was due to his age, but there was little doubt that the baby bird would become a powerful baby ghost when it was his time. 

(Lady Gotham had no more of herself left to give, should one of her knights meet an end.) 

(She had given of herself for Jason, the once and Future Hope of Gotham.)

The Regent, brought to attention by a Shade, turned to the Bird in her presence. 

“Good Evening, Robin.” Her voice echoed with a soft cadence. “What brings you to the Hood’s Haunt?” 

The small bird scowled, irritation all but leaking from his very being, “Where is Red Hood?” 

Though he couldn’t see her expression from underneath her helmet, Jazz tried not to let her shock be obvious. 

(What had led the bird to her?)

“Pardon?” 

“Do not waste time, tell me where my brother is and I will not hurt you.” 

(Oh, wasn’t that adorable.) 

Jazz craned her neck farther downward as she stepped closer, not daring to raise her sword from its lowered position at her side. 

The Robin froze as she stood toe to toe with him, the Shades of the Alley surrounding them both as they hissed their displeasure with his threat. 

(Much later, Jazz would soak in the feeling of belonging she received from the Shades.) 

(The Regent was theirs.)

Robin was surely catching the charged energy in the air around them. 

“I do not deal with threats, young bird, when they come from children who should not be heroes.” Jazz hissed, before she softened her tone. “Enough children have died for the sins of their parents.” 

(Danny.) 

(Ellie.) 

(Dan.) 

(Jasmine.) 

“If there is anything I can tell you,” the bird was frozen in shock, perhaps fear, as Jazz continued once more, “Jason will return and he will be free from his corruption, Robin.” 

The Regent did not stick around, instead allowing gravity to bring her down once she jumped from the rooftop. Hopefully Robin would understand something of what she said, but Jazz wasn’t going to get her hopes up. 

Tim did not like mysteries so close to home. 

Home being his siblings, his family, and nothing got his hackles raised more than a mystery that threatened the safety of his people. 

Jason had vanished, no communication in or out prior to his disappearance almost two weeks prior. Usually not a concern, but the Outlaws were all accounted for and had no knowledge of where Red Hood was. 

Or what he had been up to. 

When trying to find a missing person, it usually helped to know what they had been doing beforehand, but Jason was a miser when it came to his personal interests- which included civilian and vigilante activities. Sure, he allowed Oracle to connect him to the main channel, but he had yet to use it. 

Then there were the trackers. 

Tim had three of his own in each of his siblings, one for mask and uniform and two that could be used to record vitals remotely. Bruce had approved of such paranoid foresight, of course he did, and his siblings had only accepted it and moved in, but Jason had adamantly refused Bat-monitoring of any kind- trackers included. 

Though Cass had seen fit to convince their wayward brother otherwise. 

Lo and behold, Tim had been given access to Jason’s only tracker- code withheld by their silent sister until it was clear that Red Hood was missing. 

The best part? 

It was embedded in his chest, in his very body and despite the interference of something making his vital records a rollercoaster of confusing read outs, it proved that Jason had been very much alive on the day of the last Arkham breakout. 

The same breakout that Joker had been abducted and (supposedly) killed during, his head mounted like a grotesque trophy for the world to witness. 

It wasn’t a coincidence that the vitals went haywire within the same timeframe as the Breakout Alarm, was it? 

Tim triple checked the two times and yep, eerily same, though the biggest concern wasn’t that it was during Joker’s abduction, but the fact that the only vital to be recorded thanks to the strange interference was Jason’s heart rate- it’s max number reaching a distressing 230 bpm, before either the tracker finally gave up the ghost or … Jason did. 

It was the sort of thing Tim could only keep to himself for fear of sending Bruce down the path of madness again. 

It was unfortunate that Bruce seemed to come to the worst conclusion possible without Tim’s input.

The incidental meeting with the Ghost Kid, Phantom as he preferred, had thrown everything Tim believed about Death and Not-Death into a depressing tailspin, especially when he finally worked up the courage to sort through the documents and files on the flash drive. 

(And don’t get him started on which was weirder- a ghost having a flash drive or pulling said thing out of his chest like it was normal to have that ability.)

Bruce had not taken Phantom well. 

Not the ghost nor the information he dropped on Batman like a boulder; be it the fact that it was a dead kid he was speaking to, said kid pleading to not send him to war against the living, or an impending war with the Dead thanks to the Government fucking around and finding out. 

(Bruce had been livid.) 

(There were several people immensely grateful that Batman had a no killing rule.) 

(Otherwise heads would be rolling.) 

In all honesty, Tim wasn’t surprised anymore that the dumbasses messed up. 

What he was surprised about, was the lore of the Infinite Realms at his fingertips. It was fascinating that anyone could call these entities non-sapient when they had so many cultures and traditions, the Realms even had a monarchy! 

A powerful being that held several interesting titles according to Phantom’s files: Great One, Defender of The Light, Vanquisher of the Dark, the Once and Future King of Stars….

(Later, a bewildered Constantine would confirm that ‘yes, those are correct and not even close to all of them, how did you get this? Bloody hell, is this color-coded?’) 

(The files were, in fact, color-coded.)

(Green, Teal, Black and Red)

There were so many powerful entities on file, organized by their known power sets, preferred name, and their ‘danger rating’… and they were kept in the green section. 

(Strangely, a small ghost dog with the preferred name ‘Cujo’ was listed with two danger ratings- one for ‘small’ and one for ‘big’.) 

Phantom himself was listed with a mind-boggling power set that included almost the entirety of the Justice League’s own. The only note where it concerned his rating was ‘Spirit of Protection’, which Tim suspected meant that Phantom wasn’t a fighter unless he had to be one, but the power set given made him concerned about what exactly Phantom could be protecting that needed all that. 

The last listed in the high rating category was named only as ‘The Regent’, with the titles of ‘Lady of the Acropolis’ and ‘Death-Claimed Champion’. The picture was of a tall knight in black and teal armor, helmet fully obstructing their face much like the ‘Fright Knight’, bearing a long sword of some intricate design…. And bracelets he’d only seen worn by none other than Wonder Woman. 

Oh yeah, Batman was gonna have a field day.

A/N: Forgot to mention that the song quotes at the beginning are more there for decoration or what songs I was listening to as I wrote. All of them are added to the Jazz/Jason playlist I have.

The idea for the files came from the AO3 fic 'Batman, Meet Team Phantom', this specific chapter. Also, an Anger management ship fic that I've reread several times now. Not a copy, but I really liked the idea.

[indianamoonshine]

adonis & rainwater | joel miller x reader | one shot

summary: joel says he can’t do this anymore. you don’t believe him. and that’s how you ended up on his porch during a thunderstorm.

rating: m. this is filthy.

warnings: piv, oral (female receiving), d*rty talk, kind of soft. fluff. loss of virginity. age-gap (reader is in her twenties, joel in his early fifties!). when i wrote this, i was thinking of TLOU 2 joel. i love pedro but pixel joel is forever my baby.

word count: idk!! it’s long.

His name is called out in the midnight summer rain. It’s the discombobulated voice of loss; a woman he never imagined he’d mourn since meeting in the saloon last autumn. He never suspected he’d wrestle with the innermost parts of his shadowed conscience after her — of pleading with himself to touch those softer parts he’d hidden away for over twenty years.

It’s you. Your voice.

He’s strumming at his guitar on the porch, mind tangled with thoughts of you ever since your argument earlier this evening; ever since he said with stoney face that he couldn’t do it anymore. You’re too precious — too angelic — for his affection. He’d scald you with hellfire; infect you with something that didn’t rot in the runners or the clickers. He’d prodded parts of human nature that should’ve died out hundreds of thousands of years ago.

He hadn’t told you this, though. He’d been vague — sparing details of the sentiments he tried so hard to keep buried. Fatherhood was different; it was an ancient response.

This was different.

It doesn’t belong in the human timeline anymore. You don’t need to have feelings for someone to survive. You didn’t even need to have attachments to make the contributions to repopulating. Sex was just technical these days — didn’t require a degree of intimacy that it used to. Romance had no meaning anymore — no aspirations or benefactions to society.

That’s what he told himself — kept telling himself. And he continued to long after he left your house a couple of streets over, ignoring the tugging at his chest and the whispers of a man who lived over two decades prior: “Turn around, jackass.”

But it wasn’t his voice he was hearing now. The moment he hears his name his attention is pulled away in a reflex he lost sleep over at night. When he finds you at the end of his porch steps, doused in rainwater, he lets out a sigh of relief. You’re still in the white linen dress you wore earlier this evening except now you’re soaked to the bone. He can see the outline of your body through the fabric, of the bra and panties he hadn’t yet the chance of sliding off you with shaking fingers. The two of you hadn’t gone that far yet; he hates it.

He couldn’t take that risk. Not with the idea of loosing you.

He stands at the sight of you, abandoning his guitar.

“Petal!” he calls out. It’s the nickname he’d given you a few months prior and it stings like barbed wire when he says it. “What the hell are ya doin’? Get out of the rain! You’re gonna catch your death!”

You shake your head. “No!” you shout through the storm. A chain of lightning appears over your head. “Not until you tell me the truth!”

The thunder rolls. It vibrates the skin on his bones.

“What the hell are you on about?”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “Say it, Joel! Say what you want to say!”

He runs a hand down his face. This can’t possibly work on him. It can’t. There’s no way you’re capable of scyring out the truth in him.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” he shouts over the thunder. “Now get in here, please! You’re soaked!”

Your pretty eyes well with tears. He can barely hear your voice over the storm. “You love me, Joel.”

A crack of lightning ignites the silence with electricity. He stares you down like he would an enemy. You’re not allowed to do this to him — to conjure these proclamations. Neither of you can afford his love. It’s toxic, rancid — the expiration date past due. He’d be tainting you.

“Don’t,” he warns.

You stand your ground firmly; you’re good at that — at stubbornness. You’ve gotten your way many times before because of it. Of course, it could’ve also been due to the uncomfortable truth you were now attempting to pry from him.

He…

“You. Love. Me.” you push.

The two of you stare at one another for a while. It’s a show of strength for the both of you. The shallow part of him wants to lie - to claim it wasn’t as serious as you’d hoped, that his time with you was nothing more than a passing fancy. He wants to protect you from himself - to shelter you from any of his misery and defeat, of his loss and his grief. You had no idea of the things he was capable of — of the things he’d done. The crimes against humanity that he had committed keep him up at night and beckon him into a blackness that was too hard to claw out of. He couldn’t pull you down with him.

But you were a lantern in that darkness. You’d witnessed his anger and carried his grief too. He’s watched in awe as you dusted the sadness from his shoulders, of sharing the burdens with him. He’d noticed the way you observed his complexities and then created something fruitful from them. You kissed the frown from his grimace and watched with smiling eyes as it faded from his mien.

He was reluctant to admit it.

You’d chipped away bleakness from him.

He watches as you allow yourself to be pelted of rain in a post-apocalyptic world; a reality where violence managed to flay underneath his muscles and bear its teeth in his form.

And still it loved you.

He loved you. Even his violence.

“Goddammit,” he grumbles.

He turns for the steps, ignoring an animalistic instinct to shut the door in your face. When he reaches for you, you gasp in the rain and shudder when he pulls you into his arms and grips your cheeks in one hand.

“I love you, goddamit.” He shakes you a little bit, watching as the tears fall from your eyes. “Are you happy now? Huh?”

You nod feebly in his grasp. “Only if you mean it.”

“You know I do,” he growls before kissing you.

—

It’s the kind of kiss you read in those paperback romances; the sparse library in town carried them. Your favorite was a western.

It had nothing on this.

Joel pulls you into him, hands gripping at your waist. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, kissing him with a fervor you hadn’t experienced before. His mouth opens, tongue shoving its way against yours, and you expected to hate it but don’t.

You haven’t french-kissed a man before.

He knows it - has talked about it with you. The two of you hadn’t been seeing each other for very long romantically - were just friends up until three months ago. He didn’t want to pressure you into anything but you were aware that a man like Joel Miller had needs. You tried so desperately to convince him you were longing for it - for giving him your everything - but he brushed off the idea.

Until one night he got a little handsy.

It was two days prior. The two of you were watching a film at his house. It was some kind of classic Joel had dug out from under dusty artifacts while out on patrol. His attention was on the film like a baby and a shiny thing until you laid your head against his lap.

The two of you kissed of course but only with closed mouth. You would’ve gone farther earlier but you were a pansy - too afraid to disappoint him and too expectant of loosing him. But that night the kiss began to get heated and his hands started to wander. And right as you opened your lips just slightly…

He pulled away.

After that night, he avoided you for over twenty-four hours until you finally cornered him at the community garden. While you expected there to be some tension, you hadn’t expected him to break things off with you a few hours later. His monotone voice and clipped edges punched a hole into your gut. But…

No. You saw through him.

Which is exactly why you came here in the pouring rain, insomnia coursing through your veins, and fury along with it. Joel Miller would not leave your side. You were a lot of things: a chicken, bad with guns, and the last person to ever survive in a world like this. But the greatest thing you were?

A hopeless romantic.

Which is how you knew Joel Miller had fallen in love with you exactly one month ago when he brushed his calloused thumb across your cheek and whispered, “Hey Petal. Pretty girl.”

You weren’t an idiot.

Neither was he.

Joel lifts you in his arms and you gasp against him, unaware that he was capable, but pleasantly surprised. The thunder grows louder, the rain heavy upon the sidewalk. The weather makes his natural scent more potent: a heady blend of a spice you can’t name, pine, and ash. You claw at his t-shirt; the patience within you is growing mighty thin.

“Joel,” you whisper against him.

He walks the two of you up the steps, one hand cradling your ass while he opens the screen door. It slams behind him with a loud bang, the sound of crackling lightning camouflaging the noise. Inside is warm, candlelight flickering against the windows. Joel prefers to save as much electricity as he can, especially at night. Maybe twenty-years of burning wax became something of a solace for him.

“Living room,” you gasp, breaking free from his kiss.

He looks puzzled, one hand splayed across your back. “What? Why?” He’s breathless, accent thick in the throes of pleasure.

You rub your nose against his, feeling the scar across the bridge of it. It’s Joel. “I’m impatient. I’m also very wet.”

Joel raises a brow.

You blush, realizing what that sounded like. Not that it mattered. “I don’t want to get your bed wet is what I mean.”

He chuckles darkly. “Babygirl, I plan to get it wet either way.”

—

He practically tosses you into his bed.

You giggle, bouncing slightly upon it, and stretch like a cat in sunshine. He takes a moment to admire your female form; the curves that show so beautifully under damp clothes, the way your eyes glitter in the candlelight, and the illumination of your skin with it.

If he hadn’t believed in a God before, he did now.

Joel’s been out of practice for a couple of years but he’s tried to convince himself it’s like riding a bike. He and Tommy had broached the subject rather drunkenly a few months ago at the saloon. Tommy claimed it was different since the world ended - more satisfying than it had been before, like tasting chocolate for the first time. Joel didn’t agree at all; sex for the past two decades had been almost clinical in nature, but maybe that’s because he was fucking women he didn’t have any emotional attachment to.

This…this was not void of sentiment.

The last woman he — well, made love with, he supposed — was Sarah’s mother. There was one night he and Tess had fooled around and that had been something but not even close. With Tess, he felt a sense of devotion - not passion. Not intimacy.

He goes for your neck, eating up the little moans you allow to slip from your plumped lips. His hands glide down your thighs until they reach the hem of your dress (the one you’d made on your own and he’d been so impressed by it). He lifts it over your shrugging form and finds the valleys of your body are just as divine as what he imagined.

The luxury of Jackson allowed your tummy to be softer than what he’d been used to all these years — it was unbelievably sexy. He hadn’t cared about it either way before but knowing you were well fed now brought him a sense of peace. He kisses down your sternum, unclasping the bra at your back, and almost fucking loses it when you throw it in the corner of his bedroom.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, taking your breasts in each hand.

They’re soft against his calloused palms — smooth compared to every inch of him. He leans down to suckle the right, your nipple peaking gently against his tongue.

You whimper, arching into him.

A wicked — and treacherous — thought manifests. He imagines your tits swollen with milk, a child resting deep in your womb. He groans, wrapping his arms around your waist as he laps at each breast, silently entertaining the idea.

You grumble in frustration, pawing at his shoulders. “Your turn. I want…”

He releases you with a wet pop and then smirks a little in the night. A crack of lightning ignites outside.

—

You skipped all the frivolity.

There’d be time for that soon.

You just wanted him. Wanted the thick length of him between your legs, hot and heavy, and pulsing. When he stripped bare, your jaw almost hung open in shock at the size of him. You had a suspicion — hell, all the women in town did — but to see it now was…

God, it was almost too much.

It was…pretty, which you didn’t expect. It wasn’t like the ones you’d seen in medical books or in person at the quarantine zones. While it wasn’t pornographic, it certainly wasn’t disappointing. Joel was thick, a prominent vein running down the side, and flushed with red at the head. The length was more than adequate — so much that you did some quick calculations to yourself. That was supposed to fit inside of you?

Joel chuckles when you subconsciously lick your lips, leaned upon your elbows, and waiting with bated breath. He kisses your mouth closed and then your cheek before whispering, “Lie down, babygirl.”

You do, taking in a deep breath. You feel him rub at your slit with the head of it, teasing your fluttering hole, and gathering the slick you’d released.

“You ready?” He noses at your hairline.

You nod. “Yeah,” you breathe, nudging against him. “I’m ready.”

—

A vise.

(Vice.)

A vise in the sense that your insides envelope around his cock. You suck him in noisily, though hesitantly, and he groans with embarrassing volume. You whimper, shifting your hips, and it tickles down the base of his cock.

“Jesus, fuck.” He clenches the sheets in one hand, the thread stretching around his knuckles. The other hand palms the side of your neck.

“Oh, god. Joel.”

A vice in that your body was now a cathedral for his debauchery.

His hips still when he bottoms out, your pelvis against his. He can feel your fucking pulse. He’s not sure how he ever lived without this. Tommy was right.

You’re babbling sentences he can’t understand; it’s as though you’re speaking in tongues. Your neck arches against the mattress, eyes rolling in the back of your head. He hasn’t even moved yet.

He whispers your name — your given name. “I know, baby,” he groans, face falling into the crook of your neck. He begins to thrust shallowly. “I know.”

You bring your arm to cross your face, biting at your own flesh to keep from shouting. Joel wants to tear it away, to hear everything you can give him, but he’s far too busy trying to keep from coming. When his thrusts begin to speed up, you abandon all attempts of keeping silent.

It’s like an orchestra. Joel remembers Tchaikovsky. It reminds him of that; of canons betwixt strings and brass. The juxtaposition of shouts dedicated to pleasure and groans of ecstasy was the closest to nirvana he’s ever gotten. He can’t remember the last time he left his body for anything other than panic and fear.

He takes a hold of your hips, bowing you against him, and begins to thrust into you with a wild pace. “Jesus, this cunt is fucking perfect,” he growls.

“Joel, I think…” you start.

But your mewl is cut short. Joel feels a pressure building and then suddenly…

“Oh god,” you whine.

Joel looks down, hips still pistoning against yours.

He realizes you’ve just squirt, your cum dripping around his cock where it makes a sinful noise with each thrust. He growls, ripping himself from you, and dragging you to the edge of the mattress.

“Joel! What…”

Your protests are cut short when he drops to his knees, wraps your legs around his shoulders, and then presses his mouth against you.

“Oh. Oh…” you purr, hands tangling in your hair.

Din hums against you, the vibrations causing you to shiver and murmur his name. He laps up every drop of you; it’s a nectar sweeter than Georgia fuckin’ peaches. He moans, tongue weaving between your fucked out hole and your puffy lips.

He brings a hand to his cock.

—

He’s close. You know he is.

The feeling is incendiary. His tongue is warm and wet against your poor, swollen cunt. He is a salve, his expertise rinsing away the remains of your previous orgasm.

He grunts against you. You sense the grip he has on your hip begin to tense, the blood rising to the surface of your flesh. You grab his hand at your center and squeeze before interlocking his fingers with yours.

“On my pussy,” you beg in a whisper.

He growls, separating himself from you and craning his neck backwards. The veins throb against his skin, a flush creeping down into his collarbones. He’s never looked more beautiful than he has now.

An adonis with rain in his hair.

Joel comes with a broken grunt — something manly and full of testosterone — before a pearly wad of cum spurts upon the folds of your pussy. You whine at the vision, the sensation of it dripping down your sensitive lips almost enough to get you to come again.

When Joel’s finished, he kisses the skin of your thigh and tummy before reaching your mouth. Your taste lingers against his lips - something earthy and sweet and mixing with him.

The two of you exchange breath for a few moments, unabating in each other’s company. Your soul feels something like a specter; drawn out into the afterlife and existing in a patch of time frozen in his arms.

Joel cups your cheek, thumb brushing your lips. His furious kiss has reddened the skin and making them tender. He kisses them softly. Once. Twice.

You slide your hands up his broad chest, stopping at the sides of his neck, and massaging gently. He closes his eyes, relaxing into your touch.

“I knew you loved me,” you whisper in the darkness. The candles have burned out. The rain still falls.

And so does Joel.

[oknowkiss]

fic claim: the waiting

for @m0srael & @hd-wireless 2023! with art by the incredible @babooshkart

PAIRINGS: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione, brief Harry/Draco/Original Female Characters RATING: E (mutual masturbation, semi-public masturbation, kinda sorta hate sex, group sex, anal sex, blowjobs) WARNINGS: references to depression/grief, allusions to substance abuse (Dreamless Sleep), recreational drug use (weed), drinking, Legilimency with dubious consent, memory confusion, unreliable narrator, angst WORDCOUNT: 43.5 K

Read on A03 here!

TAGS: POV Harry Potter, Curse Breaker Harry & Draco, Curse Breaker Partners, Alternating Timelines, that feeling when you know something is true but everyone else thinks you're out of your mind, Alaska, Enemies to Colleagues to Lovers, Ron Weasley is a really good friend, I’ve decided you can actually buy alcohol at Legoland Summary: It’s been almost ten years since Draco Malfoy disappeared during a routine Curse Breaker training exercise. Harry, his partner in more ways than one, is determined to figure out why. As the past resurfaces and the present fades into confusion, Harry discovers the only thing more unreliable than memory is love.

thank you so much to everyone who made my first wireless a wonderful experience. especially to THE MODS who are beautiful and perfect and so so patient they should be sainted??? To @sorrybutblog and @eveningstruggle who read and busted commas like it was their job. thank you as well to @dumbledoodlewriting and @eggbagelsjr for sharing their real life knowledge and help with names, both of which made this fic so much better than it was. and OF COURSE thank you to @babooshkart who took my random twitter DM and then ran with it, and who has been an utter delight every single moment. one of my favorite parts of writing this was getting to know you better, boo!

a special thank you must also be given to @sweet-s0rr0w for her on the ground investigative work for an element of this story, which she did with me providing zero context as to why i asked, and which i then threw absolutely to the wind. i’m invoking artistic license!

and OF COURSE: thank you to everyone who has read and engaged with this story so far!

finally: a massive MASSIVE thank you to @m0srael for always being lovely, and for prompting such a fantastic song. this fic started with an image of harry and draco on a train, with neko case singing:

climb the boxcars to the engine through the smoke into the sky

your rails have always outrun mine

and, well, the rest was history. or memory. you choose :)

[ageless-aislynn]

Title: “15 Minutes” (7/?) Author:  @ageless-aislynn​ Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: Dr. Keyes would like to have a word with you... Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating:  T (PG13) Length: 2,317 (this chapter, 17,750 total so far) Spoilers/warnings: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. �� Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N:  Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Yet again, it's been a hot minute since the last update and I apologize. I have to say, though, that this was a huge disaster an adventure to get this here to you, my friends. Full note available at AO3 if you'd like to hear about it in full. I've said this chapter would have a cliffhanger but it kinda doesn't... Not the one I intended, anyway. I had to cut the chapter in half but the benefit of that is that chapter 8 should hopefully be along shortly. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger​ @mysardencut​ @laurenstacy610​ @sporadicbelievernightmare​ @ultrablackwidower​ @bxmxtx​ @jellotherelol

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

You woke from your light doze just before the alarm went off. You quickly deactivated it, not wanting to disturb John, who was still sprawled across your lap. But that slight motion brought him immediately upright anyway, doing a quick threat assessment of the room in what was clearly a deeply ingrained response.

All soldiers developed that to some degree but you couldn't help but wonder if he had ever in his entire life been allowed to feel safe.

I doubt it. I bet none of them have.

You didn't know anymore about how Dr. Halsey had run her program than the average marine did but what you did know, especially from being around John and the rest of Silver Team, was enough to make your heart clench in sorrow.

But when he looked at you, you smiled, not wanting that to show. "Feeling more rested?" you asked lightly.

"Feeling foolish," he said, relaxing out of the alert posture to sit more naturally next to you, scrubbing at his face with the heel of his hand. It was an unexpectedly adorable gesture and you considered yourself lucky to see the formidable Spartan with his guard lowered.

You reached up to smooth back his hair, though it was honestly too short to be mussed. He leaned into your touch. "Nah," you murmured. "Even the Master Chief has to sleep some time."

He gave a wordless hum as if he didn't want to out-right disagree with you.

"In fact," you went on, "I prescribe a few more hours of shut-eye, either here or back in the Spartan quarters."

"I'll head back, that way I can walk with you to the marine barracks."

"Sounds good."

While he got up to retrieve your boots and his, you tried to hurriedly massage some feeling back into your numb legs while his back was turned. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel bad. After all, you would definitely do this again, if given the chance. Would he? You didn't want to ask and sound overeager.

Once you'd reached the barracks, he kissed the back of your hand, that soft look in his eyes that you adored.

"Permission to hug the Master Chief even though there are probably several marines spying on us at the moment and it'll be juicy gossip for the next day or so?"

His mouth twitched. "There are at least three trying to hide in the shadows through the door, two around the corner at the end of the hall and I'm fairly certain a couple of ODSTs just swung by on a rope outside of the window. And yes, of course."

You practically tackled him around the middle and an indulgent chuckle echoed in the enhanced cavern of his chest as he gently embraced you in return, his hands large and warm against your back.

"Can I see you tomorrow?" he asked quietly. "Maybe have lunch if our schedules work out?"

"I'd like that," you said, your voice muffled against him.

It wasn't easy to let him go. Once he'd disappeared around the end of the hallway, you went into the barracks. Everybody looked very pointedly not at you while also clearly talking about you but you didn't care. John was worth being the subject of whispered gossip and some not-so-whispered lewd jokes.

He was worth a lot more than that, indeed.

You had just clocked in when an officer wearing the patch of the Spartan Research Department appeared, calling your rank and last name.

"Sir?" you said, saluting and standing at attention.

"Follow me," he directed. "Dr. Keyes would like to speak with you."

You did your best to keep your face blank but, as you made the walk, it felt like your heart was sinking lower and lower until it was ready to drop completely through the deck. It didn't seem that there were many good reasons Dr. Keyes would have something to say to you.

The officer directed you to go through the lab doors, where you expected to meet an assistant who would tell you where to wait. Instead, you came face-to-face with Dr. Keyes herself and snapped a hasty salute.

"Good, you're here," she said. "With me, please."

She led you into what was presumably her office and tapped in something that brought your face up onto the wall monitor, along with a very in-depth readout of your career in the UNSC.

"Dr. Halsey had quite a file on you," Dr. Keyes said, scrolling down to show that the information went back to your childhood and included statements from friends and family.

You managed to keep the ridiculous question of whether she had been considering you for the Spartan program from leaving your mouth. "Why was that, ma'am?"

"She noted that Master Chief was showing a preference for you to assist him at the Brokkr stations." She studied you for a moment. "You didn't realize?"

You shook your head. "I'm aware that Chief asked for me once but I thought the other times were random."

"They were not. He's asked for you to be read in on several very classified subjects," she went on to your surprise. "Can you tell me why I should consider granting his request?"

"No, ma'am, I can't," you said honestly. "I don't need to know things that are above my pay grade."

"Apparently, Chief feels differently. Are you and he having sex?"

Fortunately, your unflappable medic side stepped up to field that question. "No, ma'am."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "You know, I didn't know Master Chief could splutter until I asked him that same question. Why not? Is there some dysfunction?"

"None that I've encountered," you said, "and, well… I can’t speak for him but for me? I’m enjoying the journey. No need to rush until things feel right."

For a moment, you felt like a bug pinned to a board under the weight of her gaze. Dr. Miranda Keyes wasn't a big woman by any means but there was a fierce intelligence to her that was more than a little intimidating when she focused it on you. Regardless, you held firm, not allowing yourself to so much as twitch.

After a few slightly interminable seconds, she released you. "If there's a problem, make sure he knows to talk to me about it. Spartan physiology is… complicated."

"Yes, ma'am," you said, giving a crisp nod.

"Thank you for coming in to speak with me," she then concluded. "Chief will have my answer shortly. Dismissed."

The rest of the morning was uneventful. When you broke for lunch, you checked your padd for any personal messages and found one earlier from John.

117: Can’t make lunch, sorry. How about dinner?

He gave the time and his room number. You quickly sent back an affirmative, then tucked your padd away to enter the mess hall.

Jaime fell in with you as you took your tray down the line. “So,” he said, conversationally, “how was Dr. Keyes?”

He wasn’t typically the sort for gossip and you looked over your shoulder, arching an eyebrow at him.

Oh, she just wanted to know if I’m boinking the Chief, you thought with absolutely no intention of ever saying that out loud.

Somebody behind you both snidely interjected, "Well, you know she wasn't trying to recruit her as a Spartan," and several people laughed.

"Get bent, Erica," Jamie fired back. "You're just salty because your boy Finch is still the biggest joke in the UNSC over trying to send Chief into battle without his butt plate."

"Oh, I'd say your girl there is doing her best to be Chief's butt plate!"

There was a moment of quiet as everybody processed that.

"Nope," someone finally muttered. "That makes no sense."

"I'd be careful who you insult. You know that Spartans continually monitor security comms, just waiting to hear something they don't like, don't you?"

You looked up at the new voice in the conversation and Kai's friend winked as he passed by, leaving several hushed voices in his wake.

"You think that's true?"

"Nah, no way. No. Maybe?"

"That's gotta be real, man. I heard Private Jenkins say he didn't think Spartan Riz was a real redhead and the very next time he was in combat, she made him trade his full DMR for a mostly dead Covvie plasma pistol!"

"So Spartan Vannak could've heard Robinson say that she wants to climb him like he's the tallest tree on Reach?"

"Well, if he hadn't before, he has now, idiot!"

"Ow!"

You shook your head slightly, meeting Jamie's gaze, and he shrugged. Then you both continued on down the line while the others bickered among themselves.

While you ate, you and Jamie talked a bit of shop. He didn't repeat his question about your visit to Dr. Keyes, probably feeling bad he'd opened you up to unwanted comments, and you didn't mention it since you really weren't certain how to answer. You still couldn't fathom why John was asking for you to be read in on something classified.

After lunch, the rest of your shift saw you in your erstwhile office, cataloging spare parts and writing up requisition orders. It was fairly repetitive work and made a long day feel even longer.

The second you were off-duty, you headed back to the barracks at a brisk pace. Then, in less than 15 minutes, you were striding out the door, freshly showered and dressed in casual civvies.

You'd hurried so that you would have time to swing by the commissary before arriving at his room with a few scant seconds to spare. As he opened the door, you presented him with the small vase of assorted flowers, all sadly having seen better days but the selection had been quite thin.

His smile brightened as he accepted, stepping aside so you could enter. "What are these for?"

"It's a house-warming gift," you said, "though I'm not sure that anything can beat Kai's."

The replica Needler was still sitting on the nightstand and someone, presumably Kai herself, had replaced the flowers with fresh ones. Regardless of its greater size and better appearance, he moved it back and put your slightly droopy offering front and center. "Thank you," he said and there was something wondrous in his tone as if he'd never gotten a gift before. Maybe he hadn't from anybody other than a fellow Spartan?

The solemn thought was bumped from your head when he crossed the room and leaned down to hug you.

"Thank you," he repeated and this time it was a shiver of breath against your ear.

"You're very welcome," you murmured back.

When you finally parted, you at last noticed the rest of the room. "Hey, is this what I think it is?"

"If you think it's a picnic, then yeah," he said, gesturing at the blanket spread on the floor with a UNSC branded ration box in the center. "Since our other date was interrupted, I thought maybe we could try it again?"

He gave a gesture and the opening scene of the movie that had been shown in Tchakova Park was projected onto the wall, paused and ready to go.

His expression was uncertainty mixed with hope and you smiled, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "I'd love to, John."

You ended up not starting the movie right away so you could catch up as you ate. He'd apologized that the ration box wasn't a proper basket and that all he'd been able to procure on a short notice had been some basic fare but you'd assured him that it was by far the best picnic you'd ever been on.

"I had an interesting summons from Dr. Keyes today," you said as you unwrapped your chicken sandwich.

He groaned. "Sorry I didn't get the chance to tell you about that. I just asked her this morning and I didn't think she'd move so quickly."

"Why do you want me to be read in on classified intel? You know I understand there are things you can't talk about. I'm all right with that."

He inclined his head. "I'm not," he confessed. "There are things that are important for me to be able to talk about with you because you... You're important to me."

He looked down briefly, then back to you, as if not sure of your response.

His admission made the words briefly stall on your tongue. "Well, then," you finally said, "I hope she'll clear me. You're important to me, too. Very."

He smiled shyly then straightened, clearing his throat. "Did she ask you the sex question?"

You laughed. "Yeah."

"What did you tell her?" His tone was perilously close to scandalized.

You repeated your reply and he nodded thoughtfully.

"Enjoying the journey," he echoed. "Yeah, I like that. That's a good answer."

After you'd eaten, he set the ration box out of the way. "Now," he said, "I didn't think an extra blanket was required but, if you should happen to be a bit cold, you're welcome to--"

As soon as he held out his arm, you realized what he meant and scurried over to him.

"You never know," you said, snuggling in. "A cold front might blow through at any moment. It's best to be prepared."

He kissed the top of your head, giving a wordless noise of agreement, and settled his arms around you. The movie began as if by magic.

By the time the credits ran, you were half-tempted to ask if he wanted to watch it again, just so you wouldn't have to move. You couldn't remember ever feeling so warm, happy and at peace before.

He abruptly tensed, sharply saying, "What?" as if someone had spoken something alarming in his ear.

Before you could ask, the chirp of a critical alert for emergency deploy went off.

It was yours.

[sorenblr]

Rate the final dungeons of megaten games you've played on stream so far. iirc you've played SMTIV, IV:A, Raidou 1, DDS1 and SMT1. If I missed any I apologize, those were all I could remember off of the top of my head.

Oh wait, there's was V's final dungeon but that game's final dungeon is mega ultra titanogigahuge ASS!

This is a topic that I haven't given a ton of thought, really. Lemme see:

SMTIV: Lucifer's Palace and Purgatorium are both built around replacement-level teleport maze design, but visually and aurally they're the highlights of the game. I would rate these somewhere between "not bad" and "pretty good".

SMTIVA: Conceptually, there's a lot you could do with the idea of this chasmically empty and expansive space, but I don't think it's in service of anything interesting here. Feels more like an overcorrection to the very slight dungeon design in IV. Bad.

SMTV: I mentioned this on stream, but The Temple of Eternity is like, a third or fourth dungeon you would go through in a modern Tales game. Too obviously perfunctory. The rows of Adramalech(s) are pretty funny.

Raidou 1: Visually arresting but introduces too much fodder for embarrassing timeline shit to the fray. Mixed.

DDS1: Generally a good balance of sprawl and reasonable design. Fun boss gauntlet. The outer facade is really gorgeous. Thanks, KUSANAGI web!

SMT1: Hard to judge. The iconic sprawling final dungeon, and the schema for half the others on this list. The most striking thing about the Great Cathedral is the way it acts as the catalyst for the flooding of the rest of the map. It's an oasis but imbued with bitter finality, which is fascinating. And irreplicable, since modern game design would forbid the world-state from being irreversibly wiped out like that. So: good.

TMS: I don't remember anything about this dungeon except that we died to the final boss at the very end of the fight, and having to go through the entire thing again on stream made me want to destroy myself.

Persona: I also remember very little about this one, but the dungeons in P1 are all fairly breezy, even in the original release. Seems like they saved all the grueling design for the SQQ. I guess this one is just "okay".

Dungeons: they go crazy, but sometimes, less so.

[alpydk]

"Fanfic Writer Ask Game"

Oh you want it, you got it! We're into deep, we're into deep❗ 👏😆I want to know it all

❤️💥👻👓🦈🌻💛💭🧪

Oh damn! You got it, you precious demon of chaos! Love it!

❤️ What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

I have too many that come to mind, The eclipse moment is the obvious one, but that's technically 2 lines so going to with this from Disgusting, tainted, used - "You’d made your bed, and now you had lain in its ethereal sheets." - Such a simple and common phrase but altered slightly and the guilt/self blame behind it sticks with me bad.

💥 What is one canon thing that you wish you could change?

I'm honestly stumped. Like I know, I want more of the Gale/Durge confrontation after the coronation, especially if you're romancing him, but that's not so much a change. I think I'd want the Mystra stuff changed, if anything. I'm not getting on either side of the discussion and what needs changing, only that it needs some proper planning, so there isn't a discussion. Maybe just a better timeline, who this Mystra really is in the scheme of things rather than just metadata and speculation. (Yes, I've seen the many posts.)

👻 What is your wildest headcanon?

That Aradin is a lawyer. He's given it up thinking that being an adventurer would be easier, and this is why he has a (probably very detailed) contract with Lorroakan. He wasn't a talented lawyer, instead one of those intro to the Ace Attorney type prosecution lawyers that you'd get for free. It also explains why he's not that good in a fistfight.

👓 What helps you focus when you write?

Music, particularly if it's not in a language I speak, so Kpop, Breed 77 (Spanish), Rammstein (German). Things like that.

🦈 Which character is the toughest to write?

Elminster by far. Take a normal sentence, flower it up, flower it up some more. Is it understandable? No, then you've not gone far enough. For someone like me who's very straight to the point, writing him hurttttt....

🌻 How often do you read your own fics?

Quite a lot, actually. I'm a huge fan of my own work. I've got everything I like, excess angst, likeable characters, and I update my fics often. Why wouldn't I read it all the time?

💛 What is the most impactful lesson you’ve learned about writing?

That I'm writing for me and me alone and fuck the haters. Like really, as someone who is extremely sensitive to the reactions of others, learning this (and still learning it) has been the most important thing. I still have days where I don't see the notes tick up and I think why do I bother, but then as I'm writing it, sitting in that imaginary world of my creation, I realise that I'm happy anyway, and I don't need other people's validation to have that.

💭 What inspires you and your writing?

Music is a big inspiration for me. I might hear a song or see a lyric and think that suits X character. How can I get that to fit in a narrative sense? And from there it just builds up. The entirety of Eclipse was based on one song alone.

🧪 Do you research for your fics?

I might check up on something if I'm unsure, colours for example or what the name of a specific thing is. I know for Ink Stains I had to look quite a bit into codependent relationships to make sure I was hitting the topic correctly, like I had my own experiences to go on, but it didn't feel enough.

Right anyway - Rugan isn't going to save himself at this rate but thank you for the ask. I really don't get enough (shameless hint to those reading this :p)

[lloyd283]

I made a Trollhunters asmr idea about Jim gaining PTSD from the other 'timeline' and claire's trying to help him.

Here you go!

[Soft spoken on a rainy night]

Hey, i came down as soon as i could. Jim, is everything okay, or 'crispy'? Can't believe i said that.

(-)

So, i hear you can't sleep recently, can you? Well, whilst i was babysitting enrique, i found methods to help someone sleep or calm themselves in a book. Lovely artwork, isn't it? They worked on enrique, so hopefully i can do the same with you.

[Personal attention, caring]

Jim, you seem dazed, sad and a little tense in your hands. Did Steve punch you again, that brat? I always hoped he'd become a better guy, but only assistance may make that happen.

Right, just going to check your head like your mother does. Yeah, a fever like head and slightly faster heart rate. Everything else seems fine. We can rule out steve. Next is, a, massage. I hate doing this.

Could i check your arms and lower legs please. They are tense. Think of your phone, but the metal is your body. May i remove your jacket for a back and shoulder massage?

"Jim so owes me a massage one day, this is tiring." Not even that?

Wait, i heard you run at night in the forest from your mother, who's concerned. Is it because of your dirty trainers? I know how to shoe shine myself often, given i wear these boots often or in the 90%s of the time, or my trainers for gym class, heck i sleep sometimes in them (s3 e4)

Little fun fact: i had to make my own trainers with specialist help because i didn't like the concept of laces and not being able to lace any up or trainers in general. You could say a forger helped me.

Not even a nose boop? Why can't you tell me what's wrong.

[Claire, I'm remembering a reality which i rewrote and I'm panicking. Forgive me, I'm going outside.]

Jim, wait! Jim, it's slinging it down and I've no umbrella on me as my parents took them for tonight. I'm soaked, your soaked, could you please come inside.

[I know you believe me to be a kind fearless person but this, this is scaring me. In the other reality, i punched steve to protect my friends. I became a Trollhunter and battled trolls and monsters. Enrique was taken, and i risked everything to bring him back. I almost lost you and you almost lost me. My dad abandoned me, so my mentor became my father figure. You had shadow magic that almost killed you, claire but you were fierce and great. Douxie and merlin called you fair, and no one knows who that dress in the muesum belonged to. Toby died defeating a titan and i had to rewrite the story. I'm afraid that despite passing it to toby, it'll all happen again. And i don't want to lose anyone else!]

Jim, your mantle you had made you who you are today. It ain't that far fetched, i thought i remembered things in my dreams. Drew in my book. I love you, here and there, I'd change nothing if i could. Someone once told me, you aren't alone for someone else is feeling like you.

[Kiss]

We're soaked so much, it feels weird, but it feels good kissing you out here. I wouldn't mind kissing a while longer.

[More kissing, passionate in a way] [sitting under porch about 15 minutes later with a baby monitor app on her phone and a blanket covering them. Claire has her head on Jim's shoulder]

[You're the best thing that's happened to me, apart from probably Toby's support.]

Heh. That's about right.

[You're a fantastic girl you know and we're lucky to have each other]

Awwwwww, jim.

[pyropsychiccollector]

Ace Attorney: IF (...Part 1)

With all the recent Asks about AAI... I feel inspired enough to dust off some plot bunnies that have been stewing in the back of my head for easily a decade now. Hell, I did begin posting a story for it back in the day... But because the second game wasn't released internationally, and perhaps because my writing left much to be desired, the story didn't make that much of a splash. And I never made it very far because I only had a handful of vague ideas.

... By the way, if you haven't heard the AAI Collection soundtrack, it's a banger. Really. (人◕ω◕)

At any rate, I had some ideas relating to Simon Keyes and the Faraday Clan. I feel like there's some serious potential here because of how close in time the KG-8 and SS-5 incidents were on the timeline (10 years ago and 12 years ago, respectively). I wouldn't feel very good if I just removed all the hardship Simon went through as a child, and I'm a sucker for redemption stories anyway~... Or stories that avert someone from a dark path, like vergilsama922's Hope Universe has done. (人◕ω◕)

I'll get this out of the way: I don't imagine I'll go very far beyond what I post here. Ace Attorney is a fun franchise, but given the usual demographic they seem to aim for, the recurring characters at the very least aren't as fleshed out (looking at you, Blue Hedgehog Attorney). I'll touch on the ideas I have in mind, and I won't dive too much into "howdunit" for certain legal developments. Because as @vergilsama922 would tell you, Ace Attorney might just embellish legal procedures and due process. Just a teeny-weeny bit. Especially the usual judge... Ohh, Vergil loves that old man. (人◕ω◕);;

Instead I'll focus on the plot points and a bit of character relationships. If I skip ahead in time a fair amount, that would be why. I don't expect this to be too extensive because they're just ideas. I don't mind expanding on some points if asked... But I also don't expect this post to get past a handful of notes and feedback. Feel free to prove or disprove me, I just know that generally Ace Attorney content doesn't get much love unless the writer focuses on the ships. ... Which this post will not be doing. Just so you don't get your hopes too high.

And also, Ace Attorney Investigations content is woefully underloved. That's another aspect. Consequence of being a spinoff despite the second game being narratively superior than most main line games. What I wouldn't give to have Ray Shields over the Blue Hedgehog.... I mean, I would've gladly taken Mia, of course. But Ray is still with us, and he's only 36... C'monnn, who doesn't love a more seasoned attorney? (人◕ω◕)***

Let's just get to it.

Simon Keyes (not his birth name; we don't know that one) was the son of Dane Gustavia, a competitor in Jeffrey Master's dessert contest that would crown the world's greatest pastry chef. Dane entered the contest both because of his pride as a dessert chef, and because the prize for the contest besides the title was a recipe book called the Angel's Recipe. Jeffrey is the sole heir to the Masters Group, a pharmaceutical company that produces products like Coldkiller X, which may seem familiar to Ace Attorney buffs. (人◕ω◕) The Angel's Recipe as such is in fact a collection of medicine/pharmaceutical recipes for drugs that haven't been released to the public yet. Jeffrey wished to bequeath the book to someone that he recognized as worthy, and Dane needed the book because he had heightened form of a taste disorder called hypogeusia - basically, he had little to no taste. Detrimental for any chef, let alone a dessert chef.

Naturally, Dane wasn't the only participant in the contest. Besides Delicia Scones, who was actually a pharmacist and entered into the contest by the Master group to keep the Angel's Recipe within the company... There was also Isaac Dover, who also went under an alias of Pierre Hoquet in France. Isaac was actually a famed sculptor that seemed to have money troubles of some kind (he didn't tell his extended family or anyone else about them; just kept an illustrious public image), and the Angel's Recipe could be sold to rival pharmaceutical companies for a great deal of money. Isaac had a son in Horace Knightley (again, not his birth name) that attended the same elementary school as Simon.

In the hopes of winning the contest, Dane and Isaac entered a partnership where Dane would provide the flavor of the desserts and Isaac the design. Dane could keep up his end of the bargain because Simon was a taste tester for him, not that he advertised this to anyone. They would help one another up through the finals, and regardless of who won they would share the spoils. That was the agreement between them, and yet...

Isaac chose to betray Dane, the day of the final round of the contest. December 24, 2000. Dane helped to make the sherbet Isaac would need the day before so it would chill overnight, and Isaac turned around and refused to sculpt Dane's desserts. Isaac called off their deal and planned to take everything for himself, as was the plan from the beginning. He ordered his son to tie up Simon and keep him away from the venue that day, having deduced he contributed to Dane's culinary success.

... In the end, Dane tried getting a picture of the Angel's Recipe to cure his taste disorder. Isaac cornered and attempted to extort him for even that much, going so far as to strike him with a rock salt lamp... And Dane killed him in both self-defense and revenge. This murder spiraled into what would be known as the IS-7 incident, the final case that Gregory Edgeworth worked on with Raymond Shields as his assistant and Manfred Von Karma as the leading prosecutor.

We all know how that sorry tale unfolded. The defendant, Jeffrey Master, was found guilty of being an accomplice to the murder after a whole year of Gregory rattling sabers with Manfred in court - and it all coming to an end when Jeffrey made a forced confession because of a year of torture and interrogation by Manfred and the police... and also because Manfred threatened to find Katherine Hall guilty in his place, if Jeffrey didn't relent. Still, Gregory did manage to prove in court that Manfred forged an autopsy report because the police had never received the body; it was stolen and disappeared before they even arrived on scene. Because of this, Von Karma received his first penalty, which led him to take Gregory's life in DL-6.

But enough about the stuff we all know. (人◕ω◕) I only brought all of that up to establish those tragic beginnings are unchanged. Jeffrey Master was brutalized and falsely convicted, Von Karma got his penalty, Gregory still died, Miles got traumatized... And oh yes, Horace still accidentally trapped him and Simon in his dad's car during a terrible snow storm. Yes, we're circling back around to that. (人◕ω◕) If they were left to freeze much longer, they would've died. But be it luck or fate, the famed assassin Sirhan Dogen saved the boys' lives thanks to his dog Anubis locating them while they were out on a stroll. Sirhan broke open the car, and took the boys to a nearby orphanage since they developed short-term amnesia from those traumatic events. Neither of them could so much as remember his own name. Dane never came looking for his son because he got what he wanted, the cure for his disorder, and just before Jeffrey's trial ended he fled the country to Zheng Fa for further training in dessert making (both flavor and design) for three years. Dane essentially disowned his son and didn't care what happened to him.

Meanwhile, Simon and Horace were left at the Happy Family Home for several years, where Patricia Roland was the main caretaker. That's where they adopted their current names. Over time, they regained some of their memories... But not enough concrete details to go to the police for help in finding their dads. Simon himself remembered that he was supposed to go help prove his dad's desserts were the best in the world, but that Horace stopped him from going. This... soured Simon's opinions of Knightley a great deal; no longer considering the other boy a friend privately. But on the surface he kept up the façade because it was better to have one "friend" than none at the orphanage. Simon just wouldn't open up to anyone else, and his habit of finding a corner to cry about his dad, who he believed to have been killed by Knightley's dad (muddled memories due to that blizzard), made him an easy target of bullying at the orphanage.

All of that established... (人◕ω◕) Let's flash forward to 2006. Byrne Faraday is an average prosecutor with a sense of justice that a lot of his colleagues scoff at. He doesn't automatically believe everyone is guilty, he's more easygoing than his fellow prosecutors. Rather he worries the most about the criminals that "cannot" be brought to court. People "above" the law. For he feels no man should have that much pull and clout. Prosecutors like Manfred Von Karma openly laugh at such philosophies because there is no reason to deal with such "rare exceptions". A prosecutor is a guardian of the court, with no obligation to "outside matters".

... Needless to say, Byrne strongly disagrees. (人◕ω◕) It's a conundrum that eats away at him day and night... But not to an obsessive degree. Not yet. Right now it's fall 2006, and Byrne's wrapped up a frustrating case where he lacked sufficient evidence to prove the defendant's guilt. It was a very near thing; he thought there'd been enough circumstantial evidence piled up in his favor, but the judge ruled not guilty. Byrne needed a walk to clear his head and not stress his daughter Kay out by thoughtlessly snapping at her or being all depressed at his own powerlessness sometimes. Not every defendant is guilty, but when Byrne is nigh well certain of a defendant's guilt it's easier to move a mountain than it is to change his mind. That's just how he was wired. So he left little Kay in his friend Tyrell Badd's hands, and took a stroll by himself.

On top of the depressing verdict, there was the matter that the particular date was the anniversary of his wife's death. She passed a few days after giving birth to Kay, and it was hard being a single father. His income as a prosecutor was acceptable, but he knew that he could probably try harder if only for Kay's sake, and Byrne also knew Tyrell often spoiled Kay while he wasn't around. Still, he could never forget the cold space at his bedside at night and how Kay deserved the warm love and affection that only a mother knows how to give. Kay always carries herself so positively, so bravely, so eager to please him... It makes Byrne privately weep.

Because... he feels unworthy of that adoration. Byrne loves his daughter and wants what's best for her, there is no question about that. He's never once regretted having her in his life. Yet Byrne feels that he's never doing enough to support Kay, to help her with homework, to go to theme parks or other fun events, or to make sure the friends she's making are worth the trust she undoubtedly places in them. Byrne knows that Tyrell occasionally makes an effort to drive by her elementary school between investigations to check up on her, but he's similarly limited as a detective. Not all problems would be solved if Kay's mother was still around... But many of them would be. Byrne would certainly feel less anxious about his daughter's happiness and wellbeing. He can only do so much, and it... galls him. Because he knows that to an extent, Kay is powering through the loneliness she feels at home and always has a smile when he's around. Always. She only ever breaks down if he's too stern about rules or manners not upheld.

And it's not Kay's fault for bending the rules at times. She's only a child, and Byrne always makes it up to Kay if he ever goes too far in punishing her. They struggle as a family of two, but they are managing to make it work. Tyrell chipping in is certainly indispensable.

As Byrne passes by what must be an orphanage, a haunting idea passes through his head. That as a prosecutor, he may one day be targeted by criminals... And should he perish, what will happen to Kay? Byrne doesn't even have the start of a contingency. It felt irresponsible and shameful to ask his longtime friend when Tyrell had already done so much for them... Kay did have relatives on her mother's side, but they lived far away. He didn't like the idea of leaving his little Kay to fend for herself like... like...

Like these children here. The... "Happy Family Home", was it? The children certainly gave the impression that they were having a good day playing in the courtyard here... But Byrne knew that regardless of circumstances, these kids were torn from their original homes and left with next to nothing. The playground equipment appeared cheap, the facility was weather-worn and very old, and just the faces on some of the children... Especially when some of them perceived an outsider peering in at them. Some were guarded, uncertain, others had their eyes alight with hope at a visitor...

And still others seemed to have given up all hope, one especially was brooding in the corner with tears glistening in his puffy red eyes. Byrne couldn't help imagining Kay in such a state if he wasn't around. That was the absolute last thing he ever wanted his daughter to suffer through, losing both of her parents far too soon... More than that, the crying dark-haired boy in the red raincoat. Byrne didn't have the means to help every abandoned child, but he wanted to help this one. Maybe it was because the boy summoned Kay to mind, maybe it was some other reason he couldn't put a name to yet.

Whatever the case, Byrne approached the boy on that cool, crisp autumn day. He couldn't get the boy to respond to him that much, barely got a name of "Simon" out of him. And all the while the other kids kept trying to gain his attention and glare daggers at the "crybaby" for daring to steal the attention of the first visitor they've had in a while, apparently. It was enough hubbub to summon the chief caretaker, who Byrne went off to discuss privately with why he was there. Patricia seemed rather proud of what she had there despite the decrepit state of affairs, but she was rather dismissive of the topic of Simon because the boy never opened up to anyone, not even her. Patricia attempted to get Byrne interested in other kids, or even a charitable donation from the prosecutor's office since they were always so starved for cash.

... Byrne told the woman that he would think about it, and that he would be back to check on Simon. He could tell that Patricia was really just looking to line her own pockets, and he couldn't in good faith approach the Chief Prosecutor if children weren't going to live better here. Moreover, he didn't much like the idea of Simon seeming like a pariah in this quaint "home". He would get the boy to open up. Somehow.

Simon didn't open up. In fact, the more Byrne persisted over the coming weeks and months, the angrier and more bitter he became. From what little Byrne was able to glean the boy was unable to let go of his original family that he had lost; he didn't want a new one. And it's hard to negotiate an adoption when the child isn't willing. December rolled around, then January... and finally, February was in sight. This was around the time that Blaise and the Zheng Fa President's Body Double were approaching Patricia to bring her in as an accomplice to their schemes. Her orphanage was isolated enough to kill the President. Of course... now Byrne's frequent visits were a problem. They needed him to get the hell out of there and not come back, and the only way that was happening was if Simon Keyes agreed to go.

So Patricia called Byrne to her office when he next came to visit, and gave him a one-week ultimatum to get Simon to agree to adoption. That one week would put them just a few days before the President was set to be assassinated, and if all went to plan people shouldn't even know the President had died because the Body Double would effectively replace him. If Byrne didn't play ball, Patricia would lodge harassment complaints with the Chief Prosecutor, who was already aware of his employee's visits and could easily cook up some false charges if Byrne chose to be obstinate.

Though he didn't understand the full implications of what he was up against here, Byrne agreed to the one-week ultimatum. It was insane because he had been chipping away at Simon for months with little to no effect, and now he had a deadline on top of his prosecutorial duties. ... Well, thankfully, he had a stroke of genius in allowing Kay to come out to the orphanage and see if she wouldn't have better luck with Simon. It meant calling her school to allow the girl to miss that week for "family business", but when Byrne promised that Simon could come to live with them if she succeeded in convincing him, Kay couldn't have agreed faster.

A week went by. Simon was initially leery of Kay at first because of who her father was... But between Horace trying to hog her attention and seeing just how young, bubbly, innocent, and vulnerable the girl was... like he had been, back then... Simon felt drawn to the young Kay. He didn't want Horace sinking his claws into this child whether he meant ill will or not; the traitor didn't deserve to steal what little he had left, and this girl and her father kept coming around for him...

So even though Simon was heavily reluctant to capitulate, the chief caretaker informed him that Kay wouldn't be allowed to come around anymore after that week. It was either try something new - allow himself to be adopted - or stay and continue to hopelessly wait for his dad to return.

It wasn't a very easy decision. And even after reaching it, Simon wondered if this was what he wanted.

In little time at all, they packed what few clothes and possessions Simon had, Byrne signed the official documents, and they returned home.

A few days later, Sirhan Dogen assassinated President Huang on the midnight of February 10, 2007. Jack Cameron still witnessed Patricia and Blaise carrying the President's body but misunderstood it as a kidnapping, and got killed by the Body Double. But the incident only got murkier as two more bodies were added to that list - three, if you counted the dog. The legendary blind assassin Sirhan Dogen was slain, but not without taking one of his attackers down with him. … Chief Prosecutor Blaise Debeste.

Prosecutor Von Karma took up the investigation of the incident, and it was ruled to be a case of Sirhan Dogen contracted to kill President Huang, but before he could Blaise Debeste and Jack Cameron heroically ambushed the fiend and his dog. Not the most neat and tidy story, there were a lot of questions left unanswered - like, why there was a $100 million ransom for the President, why did the President go to that orphanage, why Cameron was bludgeoned with a brick and not stabbed to death like Blaise, or the trace amount of blood left at the scene that suggested the President was injured… But in the end, Von Karma gets what he wants. He suppressed all doubts and inquiries that led people to suspect there was something more going on, because as far as Von Karma was aware there wasn't anything shady going on with the President of a foreign country. Huang held no interest for him; the only point of interest was that Blaise had been on-scene before any other law enforcement. As the man that issued Von Karma his first penalty, the "Perfect" prosecutor only thought it appropriate the man met his end in one of his own schemes.

So due to this different outcome of SS-5, no ransom was sent or received, the Body Double simply returned home as the "true" Huang - and to keep Patricia satisfied he would send her suitable monetary compensation for the trouble. So long as she kept her lips sealed, no one would know the real Huang was dead. Though this does mean Patricia would never get recommended for a role as warden of the prison; Von Karma certainly had no use for her. Von Karma would rise to the position of Chief Prosecutor instead, smelling the opportunity for what it was and beating back his rivals for the throne through intimidation or bringing up their most embarrassing failures as prosecutors. Jill Crane would go on not knowing who is hold accountable for her boyfriend Jack's death; no one would clue her in on Blaise's secrets because no one knew about the Zheng Fa President assassination plot. Yet she and Judge Courtney would keep searching for answers, years later. No Blaise means no black market auctions for police evidence - at least none hosted at the Prosecutorial Investigation Committee's headquarters. Blaise Debeste's son would be left orphaned, and ignored by Von Karma. However, this in turn would earn Sebastian attention from Ray Shields, who is still bitter about losing Miles to Von Karma and sees an opportunity to salvage his own broken soul. … Even if taking in a kid is an awful lot for a single defense attorney that's only got 5-6 years of experience under his belt as a lawyer. Still, it'd be a healthier environment for Sebastian, no sabotaging his education, toying with, or abusing him. Ray will make a strapping defense attorney out of Sebastian someday~… Besides! Chicks love the single dad look, yeah?!

… Just let Ray have his dreams.

Regardless of all these things happening during and after SS-5, the Faraday Clan are too absorbed in the growing pains of three people under one roof. Simon continues to tiptoe around the Faraday's, only sometimes voicing what he wants - and more often it'll also be what Kay wants at the time, so Byrne knows the boy is only rarely indulging for himself and only himself. Kay is as receptive as expected…though she had to quickly be corrected that bathtimes are to be done separately. Byrne is painfully aware from reading Simon's file that he's hitting 13 that year… And he's not letting his 5-year-old (soon to be 6) daughter get in the habit of bathing with BOYS…

FAR too soon for that pubescent nightmare fuel.

Thankfully, Simon seems just as eager to…not get into that physical intimacy angle. Hugs are sometimes fine. Head pats, awkwardly ruffling Kay's hair, all that's fine. Mixed baths cross the line, and Simon doesn't want any part in that either.

It's more tight on the expenses with Simon around, but Byrne feels it's well worth the price. Kay doesn't have to come to the courthouse all the time after school, Simon will either be home or will offer to take her somewhere. Sometimes Tyrell will drive them around. One curiousity Byrne picked up immediately was Simon's aversion to sweets… Tyrell was rather put out by this development, and Simon was simply vague or unsure why he disliked them. He did make the exception to try the courthouse swiss rolls that Kay sung such high praises about. The poor kid looked like he was choking down lumps of iron as he forced himself to, though. Like the very act of eating sweets was…Byrne didn't know how to describe it. Like it was sacrilege? Like the boy was seriously forcing his body to eat just to please Kay. Points for maintaining that million-watt smile for Kay's benefit, but Byrne could see the tears pricking at his eyes. Tyrell could, too.

Hence why Tyrell suggested trying to dig into Simon's background more. Frankly, there was something familiar about the boy that Tyrell couldn't put his finger on. But it was way too early for any blood or DNA tests. With Simon so new to the family, Byrne wanted to win him over for a while before seeing about tracking down his old family's whereabouts. Plus, if he made any moves that unsettled Simon, Kay would get upset… They would wait on that stuff. Perhaps if they waited long enough, Simon's memories would return on their own.

Those first couple years were peaceful, but slow. Despite the 7-year gap between them, Kay and Simon were joined at the hip. Simon didn't seem in a rush to make new friends at school, and often kept in touch with that Horace boy at the orphanage. Usually chess correspondence through the mail. Oddly enough, Simon seemed formal and plastic whenever Horace came up… Like it was just another thing he was forcing himself to do. Go through the motions. Byrne talked with Simon about potentially seeing a therapist, since Simon never wanted to talk about what he DID remember of his childhood, the reasons he was crying and alone at the orphanage… But Simon near-violently refused, stating he didn't need a shrink poking around in his head. That he wasn't CRAZY. And Byrne agreed, he just wanted Simon to know if he ever needed help, all Simon had to do was ask or open up to them.

It was…rough seeing Simon so doubtful even after months of living in the same house. Whatever happened had scarred Simon, and Byrne wasn't about to force the boy to reopen those wounds until he was ready. It just hurts to catch the boy walking on eggshells even when they're welcoming him with open arms. Simon obviously conceals his reservations around Kay, and there is genuine fondness for his daughter, but Simon still looks so lost and uncertain.

Eventually, the original KG-8 incident happens. Byrne and Tyrell are drawn away from caring for the kids, and the kids…hash things out a bit. Kay can see Simon and Daddy don't get along, and she wants to know what she can do to help. Simon doesn't like having this conversation with Kay… But it's easier since she's another kid like him. He explains that when he was her age, something bad happened and he lost his father. His "friend" back at the orphanage helped in that… And as a result, they lost their memories and everything they used to have. Living at the orphanage, Simon quietly accepted his pariah status and came to believe no one could care for him. If his own father abandoned him, who could he even trust? Simon doesn't know the kind of guy Kay's father is, but Simon's experience has shown him that adults do whatever they want, often abusing the power they have like how caretaker Roland makes the kids do chores or they don't get supper. Kay's dismayed that this is how Simon feels, and she hugs it out with him and promises that she and Daddy are different from everyone else Simon's known. They're not gonna just leave him. Simon says he's trying really hard to believe that… It's just a work-in-progress. He's mostly convinced with Kay. … It's her dad that he needs to assess what kind of guy he is. And, well, one thing leads to another, and Kay suggests they watch Daddy in his trials. That might help. Simon can't exactly refuse, much to his chagrin.

Sitting in on the KG-8 trial was… depressing for Simon. He was old enough to get a clearer picture than Kay. Her father had evidence, and it was stolen from under his nose. The trial itself was a trainwreck, no witnesses to testify against the smuggling ring after Cece Yew was killed, no compelling evidence…. There was just this sense of overwhelming powerlessness. So even adults could feel this way, huh? Both Byrne and Tyrell looked dead where they were standing as the judge declared Manny Coachen not guilty. Not all adults wielded power…

… But when they did, they abused the hell out of it.

Honestly, this wasn't enough to convince Simon what kind of person Byrne Faraday was. However… He was willing to see what Byrne would do from here.

(I'll hafta do a followup post later.... Aiyiyi, the plot bunnies are multitasking, and my muse is going off. XD)

[faelune-home]

FFXIVWrite 2024 #19: Taken

(A/n: So i say I'm focusing a lot on the magic questline, and yet here's anoter entry into the magic questline rewrite. Again, I just really like writing Alisaie's perspective on this matter, and at this point I've realised that figuring out the magic plot could roughly let me figure out the whole timeline for the other quests as well as msq. Plus I did say I want to see one of these rewrite quests finished before the month ends, so at this rate it's gonna be the magic one.

Having this one be a friendly chat with Artoirel before Ali rejoins msq, and Fhara dips off for Elpis, so this is also the separation point where the quest ending will have to wait till after that msq point. The actual prompt inspiration being the discussion on Aymeric and how infatuated he is with Fhara its hard to miss, but in turn, Fhara's waning mutual feeling also stands out in how she clearly doesn't match him anymore.

Spoiler warning in play now as we appraoch the second half of EndW msq and the later magic role quests, the narration will mention the msq event a bit more now as these entries go on.

Word count: 1403)

Alisaie could only sigh as she packed up her things. There really wasn’t anything left to do, at least at that point. Aymeric had arranged for a council to be held to address the feelings of disconnect between the church and the populace, but that would require time and all sorts of bureaucratic red tape to get through, and there hadn’t been any other sightings of Profane Fafnir since.

And with the death of the bishop, despite even more unrest amongst the clergy, no-one else had reported any other turnings. It’s like his passing had cowed enough of the faithful into silence, hiding away to avoid the same fate.

She could just hang around Ishgard waiting for news, but as it was, Krile and Y’shtola had called everyone back to help with matters in Thavnair, especially as people were beginning the process of migrating to Sharlayan to prepare for the exodus.

And Fhara would be making moves to try and travel back to the ancients’ time…

Alisaie’s fist curled up to think of Fhara still at work, barely taking any time to rest. Mostly of her own volition, which frustrated her to no end, but it was just as much the fault of everyone else needing Fhara’s assistance, the world dying and the people suffering, and of course Fhara would never deny the call to help people.

Always equal parts inspiring and infuriating.

Alisaie sighed again to ease the tension, not even realising her shoulders were practically up to her ears, and releasing the poor clothing garment that had been victim to her clenched hand.

There was a knock at the door. She packed away the piece and called for the person to enter.

“Good evening, my lady,” Artoirel said, offering a small bow as he entered, leaving the door behind him slightly ajar, “I hope you don’t mind my intrusion.”

“Not at all ser, I’m just packing up,” Alisaie responded, gesturing to her pack. It was only a light one anyway, for easy travel, with a mix of clothes suited for both Thavnair and Garlemald given the Scions most recent activities. “Mostly finished by now.”

“I see,” he nodded in acknowledgement, “I must say, while this certainly isn’t the last we’ll see of each other once the council is ready to commence, it has been an honour to work alongside you so far. Your brother’s tales didn’t do you justice.” Alisaie folded her arms and tried not to look too smug at the praise.

Apparently her brother had sold her as a passionate and headstrong person that would almost certainly bite back against people she deemed too overconfident or self assured. At the time, Alisaie had been admittedly rather wary of that description - it wasn’t wrong per say, even if it was mostly about how she treated Alphinaud himself, and before they’d reunited properly - but Artoirel had acknowledged himself that he was relishing to chance to meet her. In his own words;

”You were going to be the better person to counter Ishgard’s own stubborn ranks.”

Returning to the moment, she nodded back.

“I’m glad I could be of assistance. And that I could live up to my reputation. I still have to thank Alphinaud for being so lenient in his description.”

She almost dared think he cracked a smile at that, but if he did, it was lost again in his ever professional demeanour.

“I’m especially glad to have you here as it took a lot of the pressure off of Lady Fhara. Although I suppose that means nothing when she simply stretched herself thin helping damn near every nation on Aldenard instead. When Aymeric and I sent our delegate to seek her aid, we weren’t expecting her to accept every offer sent her way.”

“Unfortunately I did,” Alisaie frowned, “But while she’ll never take a moment for herself until she’s about ready to sleep on her feet, I am glad she enlisted our help with these matters. If this is the closest we can get to taking some of the burden off of her, then I’ll put in 110% of the effort for her sake.”

This time, he was definitely smiling. It was only small, but it was there.

“You certainly have. The Scions are ever working tirelessly but I shall hope that you can keep up that same effort once we finally move to face Profane Fafnir with your return.” She nodded firmly.

“I can only hope Ser Aymeric manages with Fhara being away again,” she suddenly mused, the man’s ever attentive behaviour playing on her mind, “I know he’s quite…fond of her.”

“So I’ve noticed. Though I’m rather surprised to see Lady Fhara not quite matching his enthusiasm,” Artoirel said.

“Really? I simply took her for trying to remain professional. Or simply her exhaustion leaving her a touch disconnected,” she responded.

“I can assure you, even during her days here in Ishgard with Master Alphinaud and Lady Tataru, Lady Fhara was very obvious with her mutual affections, and it never hindered her capabilities.”

Alisaie wasn’t going to argue against that - after all, she didn’t have much of an idea of Fhara’s relations beyond the Scions, especially during the time she wasn’t with the group. All she knew of Aymeric and Fhara’s courting was Fhara ultimately deciding to put it to the side since the threat of the ascians was too great to ignore for such dalliances.

But Fhara’s behaviour had stood out during their time in Ishgard - never quite meeting Aymeric with the same energy, always keeping space between them, and the few times Aymeric had tried to approach her with talk of something other than their mission - light small talk about the state of the city beyond the church, her own wellbeing, even a quickly dashed attempt for a moment alone - Fhara had immediately put up the wall of civility, focusing on the duty at hand.

It left Alisaie wondering about her friend’s feelings for the other man…

“Well, no matter what it is, I hope she is well. Perhaps once the matter is finished, they can discuss it between them,” Artoirel nodded, catching her attention again.

“I didn’t take you to be the type to mind others' relations or rumours,” Alisaie asked, though with a more amused tone of voice. And for all his scoff in response, again he had that small smile.

“Please, that’s my brother’s occupation. Lurking about the Crozier minding the whispers. Though I can’t deny he’s able to keep above the news and the secrets of the other houses, as deplorable as an act it is, it has some use.”

“I’m unfortunately quite aware. Maybe you didn’t know, or perhaps he dressed it up in more palatable terms, but Alphinaud can be quite the same, always with his ear to the goings on of others and ready to stick his nose in where it might not be wanted.”

His response was a semi-stifled huff of laughter, which at this point Alisaie realised, might as well be Ser Artoirel’s equivalent of an outright bark of amusement.

“I was not aware, but in hindsight that would explain much. Always interfering indeed.” A chime sounded from the door, a clock going off somewhere else in the inn. Since when was that the time?

“Well, I wasn’t aware it’d been so long. I have other work to be getting on with,” he mumbled below his breath, coughing to recollect himself and pulling himself straight. That straightlaced expression once again on his face.

“Once again, it has been a pleasure to fight alongside you. My apologies for keeping you, and I await your return to finish matters,” he said, bowing to her.

“Until then,” Alisaie said, bowing in turn, picking up her travel bag. The borrowed coat lay untouched on the bed. She didn’t really need it if she was returning to Thavnair, but she picked it up all the same and handed it back to him.

“Thank you. I shall keep this waiting for you at the manor. Would you care for me to lead you out?”

Ever the professional, ever the dutiful lord, ever keeping up appearances. Even if she knew he had a bit more to him behind that stern front. In a way, maybe she was glad to have met him - straightforward but never quite feeling like she had to talk in circles like most diplomatic matters.

“Please, lead the way my lord.”

[wuxiaphoenix]

Progress Report: Colors First Draft Set

I have now filled in the majority of the holes in the rough draft, except for the ship battle. So I now have a first draft of The Words of the Night (hopefully the first book of Colors of Another Sky). I’m planning to get a printout of the most recent edits, then let it sit for a couple of days before I look at it again, so I have fresh eyes on what needs to be fixed.

Some things I already know need to be fixed include:

The ship battle. Which has the subset tasks of read the history books, sketch a plausible scenario, and then write the darned bit.

Various small holes of “need more description here”. May also require reviewing my research materials.

Characterization of one character in particular whose voice and actions were slippery to pin down through a lot of the story. I think I’ve got enough coherent backstory for that person now to shake things into order, I’ll just need to check scenes and dialogue to see what needs glosses.

Overall “voice” checks for all of the characters, to tidy up any, “He would not say that. Or at least he wouldn’t phrase it that way.”

More setting and action description. That’s just a given; my roughs always need more of that added.

Noting any stray story threads, so they either get tied up neatly or put into a list of “and here’s what we need to address in the next stories.”

...I’m sure a few more this-needs-fixes will jump out at me as I work on it. And I want to write the short stories. And mess with the cover blurb, and write a longer page blurb for Amazon....

No projected completion date yet. In part because my nerves are a bit threadbare, between allergies/whatever bugs are going around, and the state of the economy. I mean, an auto insurance rate jump of over 20% in one year? That’s just... boggling.

(Nope, no accidents, no reckless driving at all. This was a pretty much statewide rate increase on everybody, because - they say - cost of car repairs and number of accidents in general is up. So even we careful drivers are taking a hit.)

I’m sure I’m not the only one staring at next year like the edge of an oncoming cliff. Who knows what prices are going to do then?

So. Best I can do is keep at it.

I do have a worldbuilding question to toss at all of you. So far I’ve worked out the rough shape of how history went AU in East Asia for the Colors ‘verse, but I’ve only very gingerly poked what happened in Europe. Specifically I ought to figure out what happened to the Catholic Church and how the Protestant Reformation changed, if at all, given actual monsters and magic started turning up... oh, around 1280 AD or so.

Given that’s more or less the start of the Little Ice Age and there were some horrendous famines, there may have been a Zombie Apocalypse. Or two.

(Okay, more a vampire-apocalypse-of-the-folkloric-vampire-variety. Because many vampires in folklore are like movie zombies, not like Dracula.)

So far I’m sure that England did split from the Catholic Church. I’m also sure that Celtic Christianity may be a bit more present in the current Church than it was historically, given my bunnies are convinced that the Irish have produced a lot of good, determined monster hunters.

I’m not trying to work out a whole detailed timeline. Just... a general shape of how religion might have been shaken up. If anyone has thoughts or reference material suggestions, feel free to drop me a line!

...At some point I need to lightly brush the Ottoman Empire, too. It must exist in some fashion. Otherwise the Portuguese wouldn’t have tried the sea route to China!

[nazmazh]

Finally started watching The Acolyte this evening - First episode did a good job hooking me in.

Joking with my dad about how Carrie-Anne Moss was well-suited to play a Jedi due to her role in The Matrix - Familar with both sci-fi technobabble and wire-work fight scene choreography.

This led to a half-joke that at this point it does kind of feel it's sort of inevitable that *every* celebrity is going to make an appearance in the Star Wars universe.

Dad quipped - "Except Shatner"

Which, yeah, that's accurate.

And while I wouldn't necessarily want Shatner himself, given the turn towards being a real asshole these past few years (far beyond just the pompous egotist he kind of always was), I think honestly, in another world, it would actually kind of be a great bit to have a chair turn and reveal him as a Jedi Master.

And the thought occurs - Having any of the Star Trek cast members s appear as Jedi (or any other role) would be pretty great for a chuckle. Like, give Brent Spiner or Robert Picardo voice roles as droids. Marina Sirtis already knows the schtick for playing an empath, it'd translate completely well to being a Jedi.

Then, the thought occurred to me - Star Trek characters with their basic personalities, but in Star Wars (And I'm sure there's plenty of fanfic already written of this, out there).

Kirk as a hotshot young Jedi, on the frontlines with Anakin. Sisko and Janeway (I mean, assuming she's not a Sith...) running the strategy of The Clone Wars alongside Mace Windu, and proving absolutely ruthless in battle.

Archer doing his "Ah, Sucks" diplomatic routine alongside Obi-Wan, convincing the galaxy that the Jedi are toothless and will try to talk everyone into their way of seeing things, while Kira, Worf, and Seven are busy coordinating and organizing resistances alongside Saw Gererra, and Garak and Bashir work with Cassian Andor and/or The crew of The Ghost to steal all the Empire's secrets (I realize I'm heavily intermixing timelines here, I don't care).

Chewie and B'Elanna Torres either are best friends or bitter rivals.

Picard would rather be happily exploring and studying ancient Jedi ruins, but he keeps being called on by the council as one of their more effective generals. He's somehow found a way to avoid ever taking a Padawan.

Q and Yoda frequently debate all manner of things. It's often unclear how serious either of them is with *literally* anything they say. Mostly, it seems to be a game of who can frustrate the other most quickly/thoroughly. Nobody's quite sure how Q fits into things with the Force. He refuses to elaborate.

Quark is tending bar in Mos Eisley or somewhere similar. Or maybe still DS9/the equivalent of it - Which, either way, of course, ends up being in the outer rim near enough to Tatooine. He thinks he's a bigger deal in the Hutt syndicate than he actually is. He of course still is fundamentally not ruthless or craven enough to fully be an outright gangster/mobster. Nog bucks the trend of Ferengi generally not being Force Sensitive and is a Padawan (Perhaps to Obi-Wan).

[It still feels like a huge wasted opportunity that they never gave him another one on Clone Wars. Also makes the "a pupil of mine until he turned to evil" line in New Hope retroactively weird - "A" pupil, Obi? He was your *only* pupil!]

Anyway, like Toydarians, Ferengi are resistant to Force mind powers [I guess that's just something you get if you're a race of hyper-capitalists that have some unfortunate design implications?]. You would think they were likely to be members of the Trade Federation, and therefore part of the Confederacy - And many are - But, by and large, they're too individualistic to have their whole culture join any one side.

Vulcans, naturally, make for powerful Jedi - But, I'm sure to some people's surprise, so do Klingons. And their concern with honour means they have a shockingly low rate of turning to the Dark Side [Klingon Jedis are much more like Worf, having that formal, controlled environment they're raised in]. Of course, those without force powers get along swimmingly with Mandalorians. There's probably more than a few Klingon foundlings under those Mandalorian helmets.

[aswallowimprisoned]

Restless far from a Wine Dark sea - Passing out

Tw fainting, blood loss, dying, captivity, medical whump, injury, Dead Dove Jewish vampiric whumpee, interrorgation

RestlessffaWDs' timeline is going off piste for @medwhumpmay

This one is quite close to the start of Nathaniel's captivity, while he is activly dying of bloodloss, and there are no mer blood donors.

masterlist

≪ °❈° ≫

“I… Mr Logan… I think…” The sea monster's eyes rolled back and his head dropped to his pillow.

“Nurse!?” Logan lurched to his feet, adrenalin hitting as Fogal started to shake.

“Here.” The nurse swept to the merman’s side, “Administering oxygen mask.'' The mask was swiftly retrieved from below the bed. “Eyes are open but blinking is not rhythmic. Most likely a syncope with tremors.”

Logan watched from the sidelines as medical jargon was thrown around. He felt uncharacteristically out of control. 

“I am adjusting the bed to encourage blood flow to the head.” Dr Rana's voice came through the intercom, and the head of the bed glided to flat while his tail was hoisted upwards. “It is most likely just linked with the pre-capture bloodloss, but we’ll be careful.”

After a few moments, the shaking stopped, and Fogal’s eyes closed fully. The oxygen mask amplified the drag of steady breathing.

“Tremors have stopped, breathing is good, blood oxygen and heart rate is returning to normal.”

The merman shifted, breath hitching and eyes fluttering open. He glanced around blearily for a moment before trying to sit up. The nurse kept the oxygen mask tight against his face, the gentle but unrelenting pressure holding him down.

“Hey Fogal, you fainted while talking to Logan.” The nurse spoke loudly and clearly. “ You need to stay lying flat for a moment, ok? We'll get you upright as soon as we can. Also, the mask on your face is to help with breathing. Alright?” 

Fogal scowled, but didn’t try to sit again.

“Alright.” The nurse gave a reassuring little smile, “Can you focus on my finger?” He held the mask against the mermans face with one hand, and moved the other to within Fogal’s sight line. He slowly moved the finger back and forth, “Excellent. Good tracking and no delay.” The nurse kept his voice light and friendly. “Ok, next I am just going to touch your hand, alright?”

The seamonster blinked a couple of times, but showed no resistance to the touch, and there was nothing in his posture that warned Logan of impending violence. The nurse reached out slowly and touched the back of his hand. “Can you feel that?” 

Fogal hummed an affirmative.

“You can speak through the mask,” The nurse informed gently, glancing over to Logan for the first time, flicking his gaze between the interrogator and doctors behind  the 1-way mirror.

“Nurse, establish precursors to fainting.”

 “Do you remember if you felt light headed or dizzy before you fainted.”

“It was quick.” The mask bobbed on Fogal’s face.  

“Did you have any sudden pains?” 

The merman shook his head slightly, before twisting his body to try and get Logan in his sight line.

“Any nausea? Feeling sick?” 

“A little. But that might be an opium hangover.”

They had already had to reduce the amount of morphine the merman was on just to allow him to stay awake for interrogations while the effects of blood loss slowly took his body.

“Do you feel breathless?”

The merman grimaced, “Yes.”

“Your body temperature has dropped, can I get you a blanket?”

“Mmm.” Fogal hummed, closing his eyes. The nurse gave Logan a grave face as he turned to collect a blanket.

“I want to keep the oxygen on for now, and monitor him. Faint was most likely due to blood loss.” Dr Rana's voice came tinnily through Logan's earpiece. Logan watched the merman. “The nausea may be from blood loss putting strain on his internal organs. It is a pity, but not unexpected given the circumstances. You can tell him what you think is necessary.”

Logan nodded, expression tight. Fogal wasn’t looking at him, so he could let his body language speak to the doctors watching. It would indeed be such a shame to lose a relatively cooperative mer like Fogal to a condition that could be so easily remedied in humans.

Fogal should rest.

Logan moved his chair so he could sit within the sea monster’s sightline.

“Given the circumstance, I will cut this session a little shorter than planned, Fogal,” Logan spoke calmly as the merman regarded him exhaustedly, “Just 5 or so more questions, and I will try to keep them brief…”

He couldn’t afford to let the sea monster rest when its fellows were still threatening human life.

a/n In my experience, people who have fainted do move around quite a lot when they are uncontious. And no, I am not having an epileptic fit or possessed, the tremors will stop once the blood can get to my head.

[tomionefinds]

I need some dark volmione, i know that you have tags but i'm looking for some new dark romance volmione

Hey Anon, Posting our Volmione tag here just in case and adding a few other fics for you. As always if any followers know of others feel free to post in the comments! -JD

A Mudblood's Revenge by NerysDax E/Ma | Complete | 14k As an adult member of the Order of the Phoenix, Hermione Granger finds the organisation grossly ineffective and questions the wisdom of its leader, Albus Dumbledore. She decides to take matters into her own hands. Volmione.

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea by Perhentian.en M | Complete | 252k Hermione had grown quite used to help Harry each time her friend managed to end up in some impossible situation, and this even if the war with Voldemort had been over for a long time. But when Harry, faced with the destruction of the magical world, decides to throw his friends back in time, Hermione is appalled. And what about this reckless plan of his to somehow use Voldemort?

Wandlore by Ciule Series: Wandlore [1] E/Ma | Complete | 98k Oh, the locket whispered to her too, not only the boys, telling her all kinds of tales, and it had even suggested a ludicrous idea, that she’d take the Horcrux to Voldemort, getting a reward beyond all measure.

No Justice for the Wicked by BareWithMeHoney E/Ma | WIP | 47k Voldemort wins the war and wants to amuse himself by torturing Potter's Mudblood into insanity. How far will he go? How long will Hermione last? And can unexpected things happen in the abyss, where every last shred of humanity has been stripped away?

Revision and Rescript by QueenOfTheDreamers (QueenOfDreamers) NR | Complete | 80k Hermione Granger is embroiled in an unhappy marriage to Ron Weasley and haunted by the scars left behind by Lord Voldemort's decades-long assault on the wizarding world. After being given a mysterious Time-Turner, she makes the bold decision to travel back in an attempt to change the course of history as she's known it. She arrives in 1968, to a wizarding Britain where Tom Riddle has just returned from the Continent and is struggling to gain traction as Lord Voldemort. Can Hermione stop his rise, or shift the sands of time in ways that will save lives? Or will her time travel have all sorts of unintended consequences for the people she loves? Volmione slow-burn.

The Riddle Effect by Bellemedusa Series: The Granger Effect Series [2] E/Ma | Complete | 35k What if Tom Riddle's Diary ended up in Hermione's possession? What if Hermione Granger had her own Prophecy? What if she became Voldemort's treasure? From The Granger Effect's multiple timelines, this is the story of the worst case scenario. The outcome everyone was trying so hard to avoid. Or simply, Voldemort's dream timeline fulfilled.

Two Steps From Hell by ssserpensssotia M | Complete | 212k The road to hell is often paved with good intentions. LV/HG, Complete.

The Contract by Lady Miya M | Complete | 151k Greetings Wife; Imagine my surprise when I found out I was married. I am convinced you all have some clever plan behind it. However, make no mistake, I will not let myself be played. - Voldemort. Rated M for a reason. Read warnings.

Captive Audience by Magentasouth E/Ma | WIP | 175k Hermione is captured by Death Eaters before the trio can leave on the Horcrux hunt Death

Lustful Smiles by ReggieBlack M | Complete | 2k We all know that Harry, Ron and Hermione defeated the Dark Lord. But what would happen if the rescue at Malfoy Manor went wrong? A Volmione story, rated M for later sexual content.

[summerwritesfics]

🌎For As Long As You Rule

Pairing: Raiden/Kuai Liang Length: 991 Words Rating: Teen Warnings: Royalty AU, Prince!Raiden, Bodyguard!Kuai Liang, Fluff, Nervousness, Exclamations of undying loyalty, Kuai Liang: Raiden I will follow you to the ends of the Earth, Raiden: … Okay, Raiden is very new to the royalty thing and very flutersturd by his handsome bodyguard’s loyalty

Meanwhile In Another Universe Masterlist

Notes: Liu Kang: And Scorpion and Raiden are training together…

Me: Oh my god… they’re training together…

Hey, I can ship Kuai Liang with people who aren’t complete and utter bastards, how about that? :) I honestly don’t know how I should be tagging Kuai Liang on this site anymore (or Bi-Han for that matter), but I think how I’m gonna do it is for things that are specifically based off MK1 (like this fic, given Kuai is called Scorpion by Raiden in it) I’m gonna include both the Sub Zero and Scorpion tags on them, just so people know which timeline I’m drawing from.

Raiden gave a frustrated sigh. He just could not figure out how the pearls on this stupid headdress were supposed to fall. He was sure they were supposed to cascade down in layers but they kept getting tangled every time he tried to put it on. I need to get this right. In a few hours, he was due to make his first public appearance as a royal, he didn’t want to go out before his kingdom’s inhabitants and look like he had no idea what he was doing.

Granted, he genuinely didn’t know what he was doing, but he didn’t want anyone to know that.

There was a gentle knock on the door, before a voice called “Prince Raiden?”

“Come in Scorpion- Kuai Liang- Scop- Dammit-” he stumbled on his own words, wincing as the other man entered the room. “Sorry. What exactly would you prefer I call you?”

“Just Kuai Liang is fine, your majesty,” Kuai replied as he closed the door behind him. He had a trey in his hands with a teapot and a cup. “I thought you may enjoy some green tea to calm your nerves.”

“That’s… really appreciated. Thank you Kuai Liang.” Raiden took the headdress off his head, deciding he could deal with it later. Right now, he wanted tea. “And you don’t have to call me your majesty, just Raiden is fine.”

“My pleasure, your- ah. Raiden.” Kuai bowed slightly and put the tray of tea down. “I apologise, I should have realised this must be very strange for you, and done better to accommodate.”

“What? No, no, you’ve been fine.” He shook his head rapidly, feeling terrible that he’d made Kuai feel his efforts were in any way inadequate. “Believe me, you have been the only thing keeping me grounded this last week.” He sighed and looked at that stupid headdress again. “I mean, on Monday I was just some orphan farm kid named Raiden, and today I’m Lei Gong, missing Prince of Earthrealm.” His eyes flicked up to the mirror. The person looking back was him, but at this point he wasn’t sure if he was Raiden or Lei Gong. “It’s uh… been a bit to take in, if I’m being honest.”

“I understand, if it makes you feel better, I think you’ve handled everything extremely gracefully so far.” Kuai reached forward to the teapot, pouring the brown liquid out into the cup. Once done, he offered the cup to Raiden. “I doubt many people could handle such news.”

“I don’t know, I keep feeling like I’m doing everything wrong somehow,” he admitted, taking a sip of the tea. He blinked a few times. Wow, this is really good tea. As if being his voice of reason wasn’t enough, Kuai was also a wizard of the brewing arts, apparently. “Every time I open my mouth around the castle nobles, I feel like they’re judging me.”

Kuai clicked his tongue, “unfortunately, the nobles are…” He paused for a long time, eyes squinting like he was trying to think of a suitable word. Raiden didn’t push him, just sipped his tea and waited patiently. Kuai’s face finally dropped, seemingly admitting defeat with himself before deadpan stating “they’re snobs, Raiden.”

Raiden almost spat his tea out from laughter. Partially because it had taken Kuai so long to land on the word “snob”, and partially because of how matter of fact he’d been about it. I mean, he isn’t wrong, they do seem to be snobs. 

“Well, I’m glad that’s an opinion we share,” he replied with as cheeky a grin as he could manage. Triumph welled in his chest when Kuai gave him a wry smile in return. “Still, I need to figure out how to win them over soon, otherwise Lord Liu Kang’s plans for me to take the throne are going to fall flat before they even start.”

“I can help you with the nobles,” Kuai offered, “I may not be one myself, but I’ve been around enough of them to know how they speak.”

“In that case could you take a look at my speech for later?” Raiden asked, trying to not sound too desperate or feel like he was taking advantage of the offer. “I think it’s okay, but an extra pair of eyes would be appreciated.”

“I would be more than happy to.” Kuai gave a little bow as he spoke, before straightening up and placing a hand on Raiden’s bicep. Raiden tried to suppress the high pitched whine from the back of his throat. “Even if the nobles are not sure about you currently, I have no doubt they will come around. Even in this short time we have known each other, I can tell your heart is pure. For as long as you rule, I will follow you, Prince Raiden.”

Raiden’s mind was overloaded. He was certain his entire face had to be red at this point given how hot it felt, and tears welling in his eyes. On one hand, he was genuinely touched, that was one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to him. Kuai had such earnest belief in him, it made him want to do his best, even if it was just for him. On the other hand? His heart was racing and it was very hard to deny why it was doing that.

He was developing a crush on his new bodyguard.

He had no idea what to do with that realisation.

“Thank you,” he just about managed to croak out. If Kuai realised what was going on with him, he didn’t say anything. Raiden was thankful for that.

Silently, he reached across for the piece of paper he had written his speech on, and passed it to Kuai Liang. He took it without question, and began scanning the document. Raiden watched him, feeling nervous but excited for this new partnership between them.

I won’t let you down, Kuai Liang.