#i may just be echoing what others already discussed though

[orpheusluvr]

Opposite Attraction (Norton x Female Reader)

NSFW WARNING

What happens when the daughter of a wealthy businessman falls in love with someone that doesn’t match up to her status at all?

-

-

You lay on your stomach on your bed, still wearing your nightdress while you immersed yourself in the book you were reading in front of you.

“So the rich woman fell in love with the man and married him, despite him being poor. That’s true love.” You smiled to yourself.

You heard a knock on your door.

“Y/N, dear? May I come in?” Your father’s voice echoed.

“Of course, father!” You called back.

He slowly turned the handle to your door and opened it, standing near the doorframe.

“I’m surprised to see you up quite early today, my little princess.” He smiled at you.

“I just felt like doing some early reading.” You smiled back.

“That’s my girl.” He walked over to you, lovingly ruffling your hair. “However, as much as I’m glad that you’re comfortable, you need to get dressed soon. I have some guests arriving today.”

“Oh? Who’s coming over?” You said.

“You’ve heard of the Golden Cave, right?” He asked.

You shook your head.

“Ah well, I’m going to discuss a business deal with the owner of it. He also mentioned that he is going to bring some of his best workers along, so make sure you dress well.” He began walking towards the door. “As for me, I’m now going to talk with the maids to discuss the catering. See you soon, my dear.” And then he went.

You closed your book and got up from the bed, walking towards your closet.

After a few minutes of rummaging through different gowns and dresses, you finally found the one that spoke out to you.

A black dress, with a gold strap around the waist. The top part was significantly open, which revealed almost too much of your cleavage. There was also a slit at the bottom, which revealed your right leg and most of your thigh. You slightly gulped, knowing that your father would tell you off for wearing your party dress during a business related event, but this wasn’t just any type of dress.

It belonged to your mother, and most of the clothes that were in your closet were hers. This dress in particular was her favourite.

Before you were born, she promised herself that she would pass her favourite clothing on to her future daughter if she had one. And as if by luck, you were born.

However, tragedy struck after your mother passed away a week later after your birth. The doctors said it must’ve been late pregnancy issues. And because of that, you felt like an unlucky child. Cursed even. But your father was always there to reassure you that it wasn’t your fault at all. However, the guilt within you still lingered. And the fact that you can’t remember anything about her at all while only being around her for a week still hurt.

A few minutes later, you eventually left your room and walked down the steps into the open hall.

Your father looked at you, shaking his head.

“My dear, what did I tell you about this dress?” He said.

“Sorry father, I know it’s a little too much for today but I really like it. Especially since it’s mother’s favourite.” You said.

Your father suddenly paused for a moment, but the sound of the doorbell gave him a sudden shock.

A few minutes later, your father had already started talking to the owner of the Golden Cave about the business deal, while also proudly showcasing your mansion. Even though he was a good father, he still had some arrogance in him.

The cave owner and his workers were shocked when they found out that their new business partner had a beautiful daughter. For some reason, they assumed that your father lived alone.

Your father and the cave owner eventually walked away to discuss things alone in more detail, leaving the workers with you to communicate with.

All the workers that you had greeted seemed much older than you, which did put you off considering what you were wearing. But you still forced a smile. Until someone caught your eye.

While the other workers walked away to look around at the paintings in the hallway, you walked up to a particular worker that was standing alone. In front of a large portrait of your mother that was on the wall.

You stood next to him. He turned to look at you, as you did the same. And for a moment, you felt like your heart had started beating faster.

He seemed to be the youngest worker here, possibly around the same age as you. You couldn’t fail to admit that he was handsome.

“Oh phew, I’m glad I found someone that I can actually talk to.” You laughed nervously.

“Hm.” He grunted. You noticed the way his eyes looked at you, most likely checking you out. You nervously adjusted your dress, while his gaze was still on you.

“That’s my mother, by the way.” You said awkwardly, trying to start a conversation of some sort. “She passed away a week after I was born, though.”

“Oh…I’m really sorry to hear that.” The man said.

“It’s fine. I don’t remember her at all, unfortunately.” You said.

“Well, I can see where you get your good looks from.” He said.

Your cheeks reddened. Did he just compliment you?

“Do you really m-”

Within a split second, he immediately pinned you against the wall, his eyes staring deeply into yours.

“Yes. I meant every word.” His voice was cold yet seductive.

He traced a finger down your lips and chin.

“Tell me, rich girl. Would you ever marry a man that is worth much less than you?” He whispered.

You immediately remembered the book you were reading before.

“If it’s true love, then y-”

Cutting off your sentence, the man immediately met your lips, giving you a passionate kiss before slowly breaking free.

You looked at him in shock, but the feeling you had was indescribable.

You wanted more.

“Does this answ-”

This time, you cut his sentence after returning him with a much more needy kiss. He accepted it immediately, his hands roaming around your waist while yours clawed against his back as your tongues clashed against each other. As you pulled away, you both took deep breaths.

“We can’t continue this here…someone will notice us.” You whispered.

He shook his head as he moved his hands and lifted you up on his shoulder, carrying you into the nearby guest room.

“What’s your name?” The man asked, towering above you on the bed. He began pulling down one of the straps on your dress.

“I’m Y/N. And you?” You said.

“Norton.” He said, as he pulled down the other strap.

“Nice to…ngh…meet you-” you were interrupted as he began kissing your neck, then began biting almost too harshly.

“Not too…hard…” you whimpered.

He replied with a simple grunt as he moved lower, pulling down you dress even further. Your breasts sprung in front of his face, exciting him even more. He began licking around one of your nipples, while his hair tickled your skin. You grabbed a handful of his hair, while your breathing became intense and your moans became louder. You felt the heat in your core increase with every lick.

“N-Norton…please…” you whimpered.

“Mmh?” He stopped and looked up at you.

You were desperate for some sort of friction. You wanted something inside you. Norton smirked, managing to read your face perfectly like a book. He licked his lips as he devoured your figure with his eyes.

“Alright, fine. I’ll give you what you want.” He said as he moved away. He spread your legs apart, then carefully slid off your panties, tossing them away. His strong arm held onto your right leg and raised it up on his shoulder.

He began unbuckling the belt to his pants and pulled his underwear down, revealing his erect dick which was considerably larger than you’d expect, with a few veins running down it. You violently thrusted your hips forward, slamming against his legs in a desperate attempt to make him enter you already. He gave a laugh.

“Gosh…have some patience.” He shook his head, as he entered you instantly, his entire length filling you up. He took a deep breath as he felt your walls clench around him.

“So tight for me, aren’t you?” He purred.

You could only manage a simple nod as you fought back tears. He hadn’t even started thrusting yet, but you could already feel like you were being rearranged from inside.

His dick was just so huge.

Norton used his free hand to hold the side of your waist, leaning in for a kiss as he began at a fast pace.

“Ngh…mmph!” You broke away from his lips, lust dancing in your eyes as you let out a moan after another, synchronising with his fast movements.

“Norton…N-Norton!” You threw both of your arms back, desperately gripping onto the bedsheets.

He kept hitting your sweet spot each time, so perfectly. Your hips slammed against his with each thrust, the sound of skin to skin contact filling up the room, mixed with your small whimpers and loud moans.

You both reached your climax, feeling warmth as each of your fluids seeped out and mixed together. Norton gently pulled out of you, then laid beside you, catching his breath.

You threw your head back as you also tried to catch your breath, your chest falling and rising. Norton took one last glance at you before leaning forward and kissing your forehead, his face a deep red hue.

“Is this true love then?” He looked at you.

You paused for a moment, then smiled.

“Maybe.” You said.

No, it wasn’t a maybe.

After the experience you had just now, you were over the moon for Norton. Right now, you felt like the woman in the story.

But you knew that your father wouldn’t let you stay with this man. Norton noticed your face drop.

He gently cupped your face with his hand.

“I know you must be worried about what your father would think of us.” He said.

You sank your head in defeat.

“Norton, I’ve realised that I’m truly in love with you. But yes, unfortunately my father would rather have me get married to a man who is within the same class as me.” You said.

“Yeah, like I already didn’t know that.” He said, coldly. You noticed that the light in his eyes that he had ever since he first saw you had gone.

“I’m sorry…maybe I could try to convince h-”

“It’s no use. Forget about it.” He pulled his underwear and pants back up, sitting on the edge of the bed.

You adjusted your dress then got up and crawled beside him, hugging him tightly from behind. His breath hitched for a moment.

“Y/N…you should stop. You won’t see me ever again after today.” He sighed.

“Norton. Please don’t leave me. I love you.” You buried your head into his shoulder.

He suddenly paused.

“What did you say?” He said.

“I love y-”

Norton immediately turned around and pinned you against the bed, kissing you deeply. This time, the kiss was more of a romantic one.

“I love you too.” He said, after pulling away.

You had fallen in love with a man who worked hard for many hours in such dangerous conditions, most of the time without enough sleep or any sleep at all and an alarmingly short amount of food in his body but still earned less than how much you’d earn in a week from pocket money. A man, whose hands were calloused and dirty from the work he did. Countless cuts and bruises would form each day.

You wanted to be the one to turn his life around for good.

To you, he was the one. Your true love. No one could tell you otherwise.

[biwitchenergyz]

A House of Blood and Fire

Chapter Three: The Warning

<-Previous

"Perhaps we can talk?" You whisper in the quiet of the empty library. The soft, warm light of the metal chandelier casts a gentle orange glow on Aemond's pale face, creating an eerie atmosphere. He keeps his distance since releasing you from his embrace, yet his body is still turned to you, a clear sign of his reluctance to let you go. Silence follows, but you cannot stand to let it linger. As you move to clear your throat, the silence is broken.

"Talk? What could we possibly talk about." Aemond's voice may very well haunt your dreams tonight. His deep, velvety voice sends shivers down your spine. You struggle to discern the emotions he stirs within you – your closest guess would be hatred. "We haven't seen each other in many years. I am sure there are many things we could discuss," you venture, the words hanging in the air. Aemond remains silent momentarily before humming softly as he turns away; his silver-gold hair catches the light. He is walking away from you, and the mere implication that he can treat you with so little respect is infuriating.

"Aemond-"you start, only to be abruptly cut off as he snaps, "Stay away from my brother." His words echo through the extensive library, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on you. In an attempt to lighten the mood, you respond with a snicker, "Which brother, my prince? Or did you forget you had two?" Your attempt at humor sounds more cruel than humorous, and as Aemond remains motionless, an uncomfortable stillness settles between you.

"Aegon always changes when you're here. In the past, when you would ward under our mother, he rarely visited the brothels, and he did not indulge in his cups as much as he does now. Every time you leave, he grows sullen, and his vices become more frequent.” Aemond’s lip curls in disgust, but he continues, “ This past year has been an improvement for him, but with you here…when you leave again, his condition will deteriorate. Save him that pain. Stay away."

A pang of heartache washes over you, opening old wounds that fester and sour. It's undeniable that Aegon fared better when you were with him. You two were thick as thieves, but your actions caused a rift that may never mend. The memory of him in the stands earlier was already tormenting you. When you close your eyes, you can still see his pouty lips whispering your name like a fervent prayer. Aemond is right; you should stay away from Aegon, but know you cannot.

"What of you?" you ask, your voice steady and confident. Aemond's interest is piqued, and though you barely notice, he turns slightly toward you. "Must I avoid you too?" Saageal’s soft meow answers you; standing in the doorway, your beloved companion has managed to escape as he always does, regardless of what castle you reside in. The sleek black cat gracefully prances to Aemond, affectionately rubbing his face against the silent man's calf. After gentle nudges from the large feline, Aemond leans down to tenderly brush Saageal's back, eliciting a chorus of contented purrs that resonates throughout the room. As a kid, Aemond was the only one of his siblings to be comfortable around your pet. Your mother always told you that Saageal was special.

"Just like you, this kitty has two very different parents. A strong alley cat for a father and a cunning Shadowcat mother." Saera would whisper as she combed your silver-gold hair, letting the water from your curls drip onto the luxurious Dornish carpet, not caring if it was ruined. Saageal was undoubtedly the most treasured gift your mother ever gave you, and it filled your heart with warmth to witness your favorite companions also develop a deep affection for him.

Aemond recoils, pulling his hand away as if Saageal is made of flames. "You know what happened that night, as well as I do. You took my sister from me." There is a heavyweight in the air, suffocating any chance of explanation. You know that revealing the truth would only cause more pain, so you choose silence. He would not understand. Any admission of guilt would hurt him; nothing is left to say. Aemond's gaze pleads with you, hoping for honesty and genuine compassion, but all he receives in return is your stony silence. You feel a mix of anger, guilt, and sorrow towards Aemond, a man who was once a friend but is now a reminder of your biggest secret.

"Helaena loved you. She loved you, and you drove her away." He does not say anything else; The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken anguish. Aemond takes one final glance at you before departing and leaving you alone in the deserted library; book still clutched in your hand.

• • • • • • •

You can't help but mull over Aemond’s words, even though it infuriates you. As two castle maids help you prepare for dinner, you find yourself imagining Aemond in chains. Perhaps you would take his tongue if given the chance. You are completely astonished by the audacity he has to blame Helaena’s disappearance on you and claim that you drove her away; it is a stab to your already wounded heart. The two handmaids exchange occasional glances, and finally, one asks with concern, "Are you feeling well, princess?" This maiden is around your age but far more timid and soft-spoken.

"Apologies. I am perfectly well. Remind me of your name?" You speak gently, not to scare the shy maid. She shares one more glance with the older handmaid, who encourages her. "My name is Dyana if it pleases your grace." She is pretty with her full cheeks and bright eyes. You remember her from somewhere. When you realize who she is, you feel sick. Helaena's bedmaid who once followed the princess to and from her chambers.

"Dyana. I remember you now. I appreciate your help today. Both of you, I am grateful for the assistance." The maids thank you for your kindness, but it strikes you as odd to be thanked for simply showing human decency. Despite having lived in Westeros for eight years, the culture of the Summer Isles still profoundly influences your thoughts. In the Isles, the king's household roles are considered a great honor, chosen by priests who seek the guidance of the goddess. A completely different sentiment is shared in Westeros, and serving as a maid seems more like a punishment than a service. It is common for maids to stay in one home only briefly, but Dyana has been in the Red Keep for over six years.

"Her Majesty is overjoyed to have you home, princess. She missed when you wintered in the keep," the elder handmaid, Lenna, remarks as she delicately puts pearl pins in your luscious curls. Memories flood your mind as you recall the precious moments spent in the company of the Queen and her children.

" When we were younger, Aegon and I would count the leaves of the godswood to tell when summer had finally arrived. In the winter, the godswood would lose all its leaves, which is how Aegon knew I would return to the keep. As summer approached, the tree bloomed a beautiful shade of red. Aegon told me that he believed the number of leaves on the tree was the number of days I would be away at Dragonstone. Aemond and Helaena were not fond of our game; it saddened them," you reminisce while the maids attentively listen, sharing in your nostalgia.

The memory resonates with them- a time when Aegon didn't need assistance to his chambers after a night of frivolous partying, an Aegon who didn't make crude comments when deep in his cups, one who didn't weep in his room for hours on end. It was also a memory of when Helaena roamed the halls in silence, radiating warmth.

" If you liked it so much, why did you leave, princess?" Dyana hands you a vibrant garnet lip paint. The maid's job is over, as you prefer to apply your own makeup, but they linger, eager to share in your company. You rise to sit on your bed; you gesture for them to join you, and after a moment of hesitation, they settle in comfortably. Saagael rises from his place on your cushioned chair to join the three of you. At first, Dyana seems afraid but soon begins to stroke the soft feline with a tender touch.

"I arrived in Westeros at the tender age of thirteen, not long after the tragic death of Lady Laena and Aemond's injury. Our journey was prompted by my bastard brother's claim over the Summer Isles and his subsequent usurpation of my throne," You pause, gathering your strength before continuing, "He... inflicted grave harm upon my mother, but Viserys struck a deal with her, offering me asylum on the condition that I become a ward of Princess Rhaenyra's. The Queen argued that it was more fitting for me to be under her care, and after much debate, the king decided that I would spend six months with Princess Rhaenyra and six with the Queen Alicent."

Your mother, weakened by her wounds, never had the opportunity to advocate for you. She would have, if not fearing for your life, vehemently opposed Viserys' plan to treat you as a ward and insisted that you be honored as a princess rather than relegated to the position of a ladies' maid. Her wounds had weakened her; by the time your boat docked in Blackwater Bay, she lacked the strength to stand. It stung her pride to allow her only trueborn child to be treated as a lady-in-waiting, but she could not risk you being handed over to your halfbrother. Dyana and Lenna see the sadness in your eyes. "The only reason I was allowed to remain on Dragonstone is because the king's hand practically banished me from the Red Keep."

"I would be willing to bet you've got more restrictions than even us bedmaids," remarked Lenna, albeit with a touch of amusement. "Not that we don't have plenty of rules ourselves," she quickly added to soften her words. You worry that you might have inadvertently belittled their own struggles.

" I wouldn't dare compare my plight to your own! I have so few rules here, apart from the changing seasons and my mother's final wishes." You worry that you have offended your bedmaids by making your issues seem more significant than theirs, but they are entirely at ease with you.

"Forgive me if I overstep, but what were your mother's last wishes?" Dyana inquired gently as Saagael nestled contentedly in her lap. As you sit among them, surrounded by comfort, you recall how your mother used to recline on the countless cushions in her chambers, attended by lady's maids and noblewomen, all indulging in Saera's captivating voice and flirtatious manners. She would often take you onto her lap, allowing you to revel in the lively atmosphere. You couldn't help but wonder if you possessed even a fraction of her grace or remarkable ability to spark love in others.

"She made me promise her three things," you began, feeling the weight of her final requests. "Firstly, I must never ride a dragon. Secondly, I am forbidden from marrying a Targaryen. And lastly, I can never sit the iron throne in any way. To remain under the king's protection, I mustn't press what little claim I have or use my Targaryen blood for gain."

• • • • • • •

Dinner in the Red Keep is always a lavish affair. The scene's grandeur immediately strikes you as you enter the dining room. The long, intricately painted wooden dining table, a gift from the Tyrells to Queen Alysanne, sits empty, awaiting the night's guests. Servants move about the room, rushing to light candles, arrange the table, and add cushions to the king's seat. They nod to you as they pass, a gesture you return.

"You are early, pretty lady." You sense his presence before even turning around. You would know him in a crowd of thousands; you would know him in another life. Four years apart could not make you forget the way his heartbeat from within his chest.

"Aegon." You do not need to say anything else. Your reunion is swift as he draws you into his embrace, grasping you as if he fears you will slip through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. The scent of wine was long gone, replaced by the soothing aroma of frankincense.

"Four years. It has been four years." Aegon's body shivers. You fear he has begun to sob, but he pulls away to hold your face; his eyes are teary, but he composes himself as he cups your face gently in his hands. His touch, unexpectedly tender, is much unlike the rough hands of a dragon rider." You still stun me after all these years." He whispers as one might when confessing their sins.

"My prince does not realize how beautiful he is." You tell him, your heart filling with the happiness only your old friend can create. He shakes his head, eyes never leaving your own. "All beauty fades in comparison to yours." You know you should take his words with a grain of salt; he has always been a flirt, but you can't contain the flush that heats your cheeks. "My prince is cruel with his jests."

The heavy door creaks open, and the flickering candlelight reveals the shadowy figure of Aemond Targaryen as he descends the stairs with the kind of casual confidence one would typically see in a king. “Ziry vestragon ao emagon umazigho īlva jorrāelagon raqiros, lēkia.” It seems you have found our dear friend, brother. Aegon frowns, his response slow and uncertain, "Skoro… syt ruaragon… ñuhon?" Why..hide…mine? Aemond hums at his brother's failed valyrian. Aegon was never good at paying attention to his maester's, but it looks as if he will try to speak again, so you cut in.

"Jaehossi uēpossi arlȳssī, sepār ȳzaldrīzes se quptenkys Ēngos!” By the old gods and the new, speak the common tongue! Your valyrian accent is like liquid honey, flowing from your mouth with the same silky musical tone as the summer tongue. Saera had a hard time ridding you of your summer accent, finally giving up when your accent had shifted into a unique combination of both your mother tongues. Nevertheless, your high valyrian was as rusty as your summer tongue, and you sometimes mixed words between the three languages you spoke. Aemond humms in agreeance but Aegon is cautious. He watches his brother carefully as he moves closer. Aemond slowly paces around the dining table, his every step drawing nearer until he looms behind you.

" Be glad it is I who found you. Others would spread damning rumors." Although Aemond is not close enough to touch you, you feel his strong presence as if he were right against you. Aegon instinctively clutches your hands tightly. "Tread carefully, Aemond," warns Aegon. His warning goes unheeded. " I have saved her from ruin. The people already speak so ill of her mother. Would you want to feed their distaste simply because you can’t keep your hands off?" You pull from Aegon's grasp and step away from both brothers. In your time as a ward, you learned that there are many moments to stay silent and very few moments where you should speak up.

“Can I not embrace an old friend? When has friendship become a scandal?” Aegon demands of his brother, but his words cause Aemond to smirk, almost as if he knew something that the two of you did not.

"Aemond Targaryen, you have no right to speak as though you fear for my reputation. Was it not you in the library making vile accusations against me?" Aegon's head whips from you to Aemond as he repeats your last words in bewilderment. Aemond scoffs, "Too much time with my half-sister has changed you." He boils your blood. Aemond steps closer to you, and instead of backing down, you match him, bringing the both of you barely an inch from each other. "If I didn't know any better, I would think you missed me."

"Don't be ridiculous, princess."

"Is it so ridiculous to assume you might miss an old friend?"

"We are not old friends," Aemond hisses, his words hanging in the air like a heavy fog. You restrain yourself from asking him about the nature of your relationship. Just as the tension becomes unbearable, the door swings open, and Rhaenyra enters the room, flanked by Jace and Luke. Their sudden appearance shatters the moment's intensity, and you quickly assume the role of lady-in-waiting, bowing respectfully to the princess as she approaches.

“Sister.” Aegon and Aemond both quip in unison, their voices subdued in her presence. The princess acknowledges them with a curt nod before turning her attention to you. Her mere presence seemed to quell the sibling rivalry.

“Have I interrupted something, dear brothers?” In her presence, the boys are like puppies caught fighting for a bone. With one look, she makes her brothers fall silent. Very little has been resolved between the Targaryen siblings since the disappearance of Helaena, but to Rhaenyra’s credit, she had flown to King’s Landing to be with her family. Since then, they had exchanged the occasional letter. She kept the contents of the letters she exchanged with her brothers close to her chest despite your begging to read them. Helaena was dear to all her siblings, and in her absence, they were able to share one thing: a longing for her.

“And is Daeron not joining us?” Rhaenyra questions, but it is Daeron’s timely arrival that quiets her. Daeron holds his mother's hand, helping Queen Alicent down the stairs so she does not stumble over the long fabric of her gown. Not far behind them are Otto and Daemon, accompanied by your dear cousin Rhaenys and her granddaughters.

Without a word to anyone, Alicent takes her seat to the left of the king’s chair. Rhaenyra follows as if pulled to the other woman, sitting on the king's right. You all head towards the nearest chairs, placing you between Aegon and Aemond with the dragon twins in front of you and their respective betrothed beside them. Rhaenys takes the seat opposite the king’s chair, a dignified place for your beloved cousin. Otto and Daemon sit across from each other at the corner of the table beside the queen and the princess.

Viserys is carried in barely a minute after everyone is seated. With his arrival, the dinner finally begins.

[gvfgal]

How to Fall in Love in Ten Days

*New Series*

18+ Series

A/n: The people have spoken!! Here’s day 2. 🥰 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

Content Warnings: A bit of arguing but that’s all!

Word Count: 5.1k

Day Two: The Dinner

The soft murmur of whispers roused you from your heavy slumber. You lay still, feigning sleep, to discern what was being said.

"What do you think could’ve happened?" one voice asked in hushed tones.

"Maybe the Duke and the Duchess got a bit carried away last night," another giggled.

"Well, I think she threw it at his head. Can’t blame her if she did," a third voice interjected.

You recalled then the shattered remnants of the porcelain vase you had hurled at the door the previous night. Your lady’s maids must have discovered the fragments upon entering to dress you for the morning. You could hardly fault them for their curiosity; you would likely have felt the same in their position.

"That’s enough gossiping, you three," Roslyn’s authoritative voice joined the chorus, instantly silencing the others. "Mildred, go fetch someone to clean up this mess," she commanded, the sound of light footsteps hurrying out of the room following her words. "And as for the two of you, straighten up. We must remain professional for the new lady of the house. Keep all your wonderings to yourselves."

At that moment, you decided to rouse yourself, saving your remaining maids from further mortification. You stretched languidly and let your eyes flutter open, as though just emerging from sleep.

Roslyn smiled at you pleasantly, masking the stern reprimand she had issued to the maids moments ago.

"Good morning, Your Grace. How was your rest?"

You caught one of your lady’s maids casting a furtive glance at the broken vase on the floor before she quickly resumed her duties.

"I slept well," you replied with a tired grin, though it was a falsehood. The majority of the night had been spent tossing and turning, your mind riddled with turmoil and an unsatisfied yearning. "Thank you for asking."

"Breakfast is being prepared. Shall we ready you for the day so that you may join His Grace in the breakfast parlor?"

The mere mention of Daniel elicited a flicker of an expression on your face—an echo of the confusing emotions that had filled your chamber the previous night. Though you swiftly concealed it, you knew Roslyn had noticed.

Throwing back the thick comforter, you nodded to the women awaiting your command. "Let us proceed," you declared with a semblance of resolve.

Preparations took considerably less time than you had anticipated, leaving you somewhat crestfallen. You had Roslyn pin and unpin your hair thrice, feigning dissatisfaction with each arrangement. In truth, the style had been impeccable from the first, but you were merely stalling, reluctant to face the Duke after the night’s disconcerting events—or rather, the night that had failed to transpire.

Roslyn, ever perceptive, understood your ploy. Her skill in coiffure was beyond reproach, and she knew it. Yet, she indulged your delaying tactics with patience.

When you could delay no longer, you descended to the breakfast parlor, where Daniel had already commenced his meal. He was engrossed in a newspaper, which you suspected was not so pressing as to warrant his attention at breakfast.

The staff of Sterling House were stationed about the room, dutiful as ever. Among them stood Sebastian, who, despite his welcoming demeanor, you knew was awaiting an opportunity to discuss pressing matters.

"Good morning, your Grace," he greeted, prompting Daniel to glance up briefly from his paper in your direction.

Daniel’s gaze was heavy and fleeting, his attention swiftly returning to his reading material.

A servant assisted you into your chair, and another emerged from the kitchen to present your plate. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension, each movement in the room accentuating the silence that loomed between you and the Duke.

When Sebastian perceived the silent chasm between you and Daniel, he cleared his throat and proceeded, somewhat awkwardly.

“Now that both your Graces are present, there are a few matters I should like to discuss regarding your forthcoming schedule as newlyweds.”

Newlyweds. The word evoked images of blissful beginnings, yet it felt hollow and mockingly incongruous with the reality of your union.

“As you are both undoubtedly aware,” Sebastian continued, “these initial days of your marriage are designated as your honeymoon. We shall still honor this period of repose. However, it is imperative that we also begin to reintegrate the Duke into society, not merely as a name, but as a visible presence.”

Daniel’s eyes rolled subtly at the mention of the honeymoon, a gesture that did not escape your notice. You bit your tongue, refraining from voicing the retort that hovered on the tip of it, and instead, you picked up your fork, methodically beginning your meal in silence.

"As for today, we have left your schedules free to fill with whatever activities you please. However, on the morrow, the two of you are to visit the Duchy, where the Duchess shall acquaint herself with the land, and the villagers may have the pleasure of meeting their new mistress. The following day, you are both expected to attend Lord and Lady Billingly’s annual end-of-spring ball, held in your honor this year."

Sebastian continued his discourse, much of which you found difficult to follow. Every so often, Daniel would steal glances at you across the modestly sized table. Though you did not always catch his eye, you could invariably feel the weight of his gaze.

His stare elicited a physical response within you, prompting you to shift in your seat when it became overwhelming. Resisting the urge to meet his eyes was a considerable effort.

Daniel was impeccably dressed and groomed, reminding you of how striking he had appeared in your chambers the previous night, stirring those same tumultuous feelings within you.

When your gazes finally met, it was clear he too was reflecting on the previous evening, though it was difficult to discern which particulars occupied his thoughts.

You averted your eyes, casting them down to your plate as you endeavored to finish your meal.

"And finally, the ball to be held here at Sterling House a week hence. This will be your final public display of true companionship before you resume your many duties as Duke and Duchess."

Sebastian glanced between you and Daniel, noting the palpable tension that lingered still.

"Any questions?"

Daniel's chair scraped loudly against the floor as he rose from the table, wiping his mouth with a napkin before seizing his paper.

"No questions. Thank you, Sebastian," he answered for both of you, his tone cordial yet clipped. "Should you need me, I shall be in my study."

He made his exit, the eyes of everyone in the room, including your own, following his departure. A toxic silence filled the room again, laden with concealed looks of confusion and curiosity. A few even appeared to pity you.

Roslyn, who had been quietly occupied across the room, approached you with a gentle air, offering a sense of rescue.

"Your Grace," she spoke softly, "once you have finished your meal, I thought it best to give you an official tour of Sterling House and its grounds."

When you had envisioned this tour, you had imagined your new husband by your side, sharing the stories and memories the home held from his own perspective.

Part of you still wished this were true. You desired Daniel’s company, hoping for an opportunity to be near him longer. But another, stronger, resolute part of you was relieved that you need not share his space or gaze upon him, no matter how handsome he was. You did not think you could endure any more of his attitude without revealing a side of yourself better kept hidden.

"That sounds lovely, Roslyn," you agreed, "I should like that very much."

Sebastian, who had been eyeing you cautiously, offered a courteous nod, though his expression bore a worry that you could tell was on your behalf.

He exited the room in the direction Daniel had taken, leaving you to finish the remainder of your meal in an uncomfortable silence.

Roslyn conducted the tour with meticulous care, guiding you through Sterling House with an abundance of information and stories at every turn.

First, the Drawing Room, where Daniel's parents had once hosted gatherings for their intimate circle with nearly weekly regularity. It had been fifteen years since such lively assemblies had filled the space.

Next, the Parlor, adorned by Daniel’s late mother and preserved precisely as she had arranged it. You entertained the hope that, one day, you might retreat there with your own friends, seeking refuge from the Duke’s company.

The Library followed, an expansive repository of knowledge that far surpassed the collection at your former home. Here, you lingered, browsing the myriad titles and mentally cataloging which books you would devour first, anticipating ample leisure time.

“Does the Duke ever read any of these?” you mused aloud, letting your fingers glide over the spines of the volumes.

“He was once an avid reader,” Roslyn replied with a soft chuckle. “Nowadays, his reading is confined mostly to ledgers and correspondence. Yet, there are nights when I notice light seeping from beneath the door late into the evening, suggesting that his inquisitive nature remains.”

You tried to envision the Duke, ensconced in one of the plush velvet chairs near the fireplace on a cold night, absorbed in tales of fiction and adventure. The image seemed almost incongruous, a man like him indulging in anything other than his relentless work.

Next was the music room, where an extensive collection of various instruments adorned the perimeter. The large grand piano immediately caught your eye.

“Do you play?” Roslyn inquired, her tone gentle.

“I haven’t in years,” you replied with a touch of melancholy. “Not since my father passed. He was the one who enjoyed my playing the most.”

Roslyn offered a sympathetic look, keenly aware that this was not the moment to delve deeper into such personal sorrow.

“His Grace has quite the knack for music as well. He has mastered nearly every instrument in this room, though he too hasn't touched any of them in some time.”

You found it difficult to picture, yet the thought was intriguing. How you wished in vain that he might display his musical talents for you one day.

Roslyn then led you through the ballroom, now devoid of the large crowd from your wedding. Standing at its center, you looked up towards the high ceilings, feeling a sense of smallness at its heart.

Next were the many bedrooms. One, with grand doors, she identified as Daniel’s. She did not take you inside, leaving you to conjure daydreams of its interior. You imagined the Duke wandering through it, dressed in attire meant only for his private moments.

You thought of him lying in his large bed, perhaps wearing even less...

Quickly, you withdrew from such fantasies before your mind could wander too far. Clearing your throat, you smiled at Roslyn. “Shall we continue?”

Down the hall, you paused by another set of double doors.

"His Grace's study," Roslyn whispered, careful not to disturb him. "Inside, it can expand into a much larger office for holding meetings."

You nodded, hesitant to speak lest he hear you lurking in the corridor.

"You probably won’t spend much time there," Roslyn continued, "you have your own private study for when you officially assume your duties as Duchess." She gestured further down the expansive hallway. "Let me show it to you."

From the study, you proceeded to the gentleman's room, designated for Daniel's gatherings with other men of rank, though Roslyn noted it was seldom used. That revelation did not surprise you.

Next, she led you through the servants' quarters, the kitchen, the gallery filled with dozens of one-of-a-kind pieces, the wine cellar stocked to the brim, and finally to the conservatory, where an array of plants stretched in every direction.

"The late Duchess adored having tea in here," Roslyn remarked. The allure was unmistakable, and you could easily envision partaking in that ritual one day.

At last, the interior tour concluded, and Roslyn escorted you out of the conservatory into the courtyard that led to the garden.

You had eagerly anticipated this part of the tour all morning, and it did not disappoint.

Beautiful was an understatement. The multitude of flora and greenery left you in awe. While you had greatly admired your garden back home, the grandeur of the Sterling House garden far surpassed it.

“His Grace takes great pride in this garden, employing gardeners year-round to ensure it meets his exacting standards.”

You wandered through the garden, taking in each unique flower and noting the meticulous care evident in every detail. Roslyn trailed behind, allowing you to explore at your leisure while she herself enjoyed a rare moment of quiet appreciation.

As you turned a corner, an opening revealed a large window leading to Daniel’s study. The curtains were drawn, offering you an unobstructed view of Daniel at his desk, a focused frown etched onto his face as his quill moved swiftly across the paper.

You watched him for a while, lost in thought, until you felt Roslyn’s presence beside you.

“Hard at work, I suppose?” Her tone was light, almost teasing, as she too glanced at the Duke.

“Is he always this way?” you asked, eyes still fixed on him.

“In what way, miss?” Roslyn’s feigned ignorance was transparent, yet she maintained her professional demeanor.

“So rigid. So brooding.”

Roslyn smiled, a hint of sadness in her expression. She took a moment before responding, and you listened intently.

“I have had the pleasure of serving His Grace since he was a mere babe in swaddle cloth,” she began with a soft chuckle. “He was a happy child—curious, a bit silly at times. But all of that seemed to fade once he took on the title. It was a tremendous responsibility for one so young, and on top of that, he was newly orphaned and alone. Yes, he had Sebastian and me, along with the rest of his staff, but no matter how long we’ve known him, we are still just that—his staff. Nothing more.”

For the first time, you felt a pang of sadness for the Duke. You had never considered his past in such a light, yet it still did not explain why he treated you so coldly now.

“I say all of this to impart,” she continued, “His Grace is unaccustomed to companionship. This is all very new to him. There has been no one else in this house other than us for fifteen years, and such solitude can be quite an adjustment. Those fifteen years have been filled with nothing but work; it is all he knows now. It is difficult to break such ingrained habits and learn to enjoy life again. But, miss,” she caught your attention, and you finally broke your gaze from the window to look at her, “please do not give up on him. He has chosen a wonderful bride without even realizing it. I’d hate for him to miss out on the joy I know you could bring to his life because you both gave up before giving this marriage a fighting chance.”

You both looked back at the window. “In time, I believe the walls he has built around himself will crumble, and we shall see the return of the boy we once knew.”

At that moment, Daniel glanced outside. Seeing you and Roslyn watching him, his frown deepened. He rose from his desk and marched to the window, snatching the curtains shut and leaving you both in the dark.

You could only roll your eyes. Roslyn’s hopeful words seemed like mere wishful thinking. If that wall were ever to crumble, it certainly wouldn’t be today.

Feigning indifference to Daniel’s brusque action, you turned to Roslyn with a smile. “I think I’d like to visit the library again.”

You spent the remainder of your afternoon in the library, perusing the stack of books you had collected. Though the atmosphere was quiet and comfortable, a restlessness lingered within you.

Periodically, you glanced toward the door, hoping against hope that Daniel might appear. It maddened you how conflicted your feelings were towards him. On one hand, you could scarcely tolerate your new husband. His presence was a constant source of irritation; each interaction with him had proven futile, his loathsome attitude only kindling your anger.

Yet, you could not deny the attraction. Perhaps it was the enigma that surrounded him—the not knowing. Beyond the bare facts of his title and the burden of his duties from a young age after being orphaned, you knew nothing of him. And he, nothing of you.

Perhaps, if he were to finally let his guard down, you might glimpse a husband worth your patience. Or, perhaps, you would confirm that he is indeed as cold as he portrays himself to be. At least then, you would know how to proceed.

However, such revelations would remain elusive if he continued to ignore your presence and barely speak a word to you.

And then, there was the matter of the previous night. You could still feel the trace of his fingers across your skin, the intensity in his eyes as he beheld you in your nightgown. The memory of it caused you to shift uncomfortably in your seat, your attempts to focus on your book proving futile.

You wondered if, had things unfolded as they were meant to that night, the present might be different. Yet, you were glad you had resisted. If he intended to play games, then so would you.

It did not occur to you how long you had been nestled away in the library until the door creaked open behind you.

You turned swiftly, half expecting to be met by the dashing visage of the Duke. But when Roslyn appeared in the doorway, your shoulders slouched in disappointment. Roslyn noticed but chose to remain silent.

“The cooks are almost done preparing dinner, your Grace. Shall we get you freshened up?”

You managed a smile before setting aside the book you had been engrossed in. “Yes, I was just beginning to feel hungry.”

Roslyn admired your resolve. It was one of the many qualities she saw in you that made you the perfect wife for the Duke and an exemplary Duchess.

She ushered you upstairs to your chambers, where the maids from earlier were already waiting to attend to their duties.

Thirty minutes later, Roslyn escorted you back down to the dining room. It was lit solely by candlelight, and the expansive dining table was ornately decorated, as if for a special occasion, though you knew this was not the Duke’s doing.

The staff were stationed around the room as usual, and Daniel, of course, was already seated at the far end of the table, partaking in his meal.

You paused at the threshold, observing the way the candlelight danced across his features. Yet, it did not evoke the feelings you had anticipated.

Instead, you were perturbed by his refusal to wait for your presence before commencing his meal. It was another slight, another affront. And still, he refused to acknowledge your arrival, not even granting you a cursory glance.

Determined not to enter meekly as you had at breakfast, you made sure that the sound of your heels on the floor was pronounced as you walked to your seat. Yet, he did not look up.

One of the men approached to assist you into your chair, but you stopped him, pulling out your own chair and seating yourself with a pointed flourish.

A few eyes in the room shifted, but no one dared comment on the scene unfolding before them.

Daniel’s own presence was marked solely by the faint scrape of utensils against his plate. His gaze resolutely avoided yours, fixed intently on anything but you, as he consumed his meal with an unnecessary haste.

You gave your own plate a once over.

Duck. You detested duck, truly loathed it.

But, of course, that was the least of Daniel’s concerns. He hadn’t even taken the time to discern your preferences. And this, was the final straw.

“I’m sorry,” you laughed, though there was no mirth in it, “but this is utterly ridiculous.”

The Duke’s eyes flicked up, instantly annoyed, but you couldn’t have cared less. His gaze was cold, his jaw clenched, and the light tapping of his foot reverberated through the icy room.

“What, pray tell, is it you’re referring to?”

You scowled at him. “It is you I am referring to,” you spat, “behaving like a petulant child.”

“I beg your pardon?” His attention was finally yours, albeit for all the wrong reasons. You pressed on, using his irritation to fuel your own resolve.

“Are we truly to spend the rest of our days like this? You hiding away in your office all day, ignoring me at every meal, acknowledging my presence solely when the matter of an heir arises? Surely, that cannot be the entirety of this marriage.”

The Duke let his fork fall to the table with a clatter that made everyone in the room start.

“For heaven’s sake, what more do you require of me?” His voice thundered in the room, “I have made you a duchess, placed you in the grandest house in the land, provided you with the finest staff, and ensured that your every whim is catered to. What else could you possibly desire?”

Your voice rose as you retorted, “do you truly believe that is all it takes for a happy marriage?”

“For a content one, yes!”

Your ire grew with each passing moment, and you stood abruptly from the table. “This cannot be what contentment looks like to you, Daniel.”

Matching your movement, Daniel rose as well, his chair crashing to the ground with a resounding thud.

“I have endured this existence for over fifteen years, while you were lost in the dreams of girlhood, weaving fantasies of love.”

“Oh, and so you deem it your right to shatter those dreams and drag me into your wretched world of loneliness?”

Daniel fell silent, his retort dying on his lips. You knew you had bested him in this exchange, yet the victory brought you no solace, your heart too heavy with sorrow.

Tears brimming in your eyes, you turned to exit the dining hall, leaving your untouched meal behind, your footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. All you desired was to put as much distance between you and Daniel as possible.

But before you could make your exit, you turned back to him with a venomous stare, “And if you had taken the time to consider anything about me, your wife, you’d know that I find duck repulsive. But quite frankly, not as repulsive as I find you in this moment.”

Daniel stared in the direction you had fled, your words haunting him. His gaze fell upon your untouched plate, and his frustration reignited.

“Dinner is over. Clean this, please,” he commanded to the staff, his voice tinged with a bitterness he could not shake. Turning, he retreated in the opposite direction, seeking to widen the chasm between you both.

One of the maids from earlier, who had the misfortune of passing through the dining room at the moment of the outburst, paused beside Roslyn before proceeding to the kitchen. "I told you, she hurled the vase at his head," she whispered.

Daniel remained ensconced in his office as the grand clock struck midnight, diligently attending to his work. In truth, the task could have awaited the morrow, but the Duke found himself unusually productive when fueled by anger. Since your union, he had ample fury to sustain his labors.

He could not fathom why you had such a profound effect on him, how you could evoke such intense emotions, but he resented it. It was the reason he endeavored to spend so much time away from you. He was unaccustomed to anyone being so close, even if he kept you at arm's length.

When he decided to take a wife, he had expected it to be a matter akin to any other business transaction, especially given his motivations. Yet, he quickly realized he had underestimated the complexity of the arrangement. He had assumed that providing a life of luxury would suffice, but he was mistaken.

Least of all had he anticipated a wife so strong-willed, slightly ill-tempered, yet devastatingly beautiful. Your presence was disconcerting, compounding the difficulty of adjusting to companionship.

Throughout the day, his mind was plagued by visions of you in your bedchamber, a haunting reminder of the desires he had not fulfilled before things had soured further.

Now you found him repulsive; those were your own words. Yet, his hardened spirit refused to let those words alter his approach. He resolved to carry on with business as usual, with or without your cooperation.

There came a knock at his door then, and Daniel half-expected you to enter, perhaps with an apology for your outburst at dinner, though he knew that was unlikely.

Instead, it was Sebastian who entered quietly, lingering by the door after shutting it behind him.

“Sebastian,” the Duke called out without looking up from his work, “if you are here to deliver a lecture on my deficiencies as a husband, I assure you I am not inclined to hear it.”

“Oh no, Your Grace, it is not my place to comment on the sort of husband you are.”

Daniel waited, knowing that more words would surely follow.

“It is just that... you do realize that when the decision was made for you to marry, it was not merely to mend your societal image, but also to afford you the opportunity to begin anew as a man.”

Daniel sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. He would have preferred a reprimand about his inadequacies as a husband.

“And why, pray tell, would I need to start anew, Sebastian?” Daniel purposely avoided the obvious point his private secretary was making. “I have been perfectly fine thus far; I see no need for change.”

Sebastian, accustomed to such discourse with the Duke, was undeterred by his abrasiveness.

“Your work has consumed you these past years, stealing much of your happiness. But sir, you have a chance at genuine, true happiness within your grasp. Yet it seems you are intent on sabotaging it. It appears you would rather condemn both her and yourself to a lifetime of dissatisfaction than step out of your comfort zone to ensure the success of your union.” Sebastian’s tone was firm but respectful, his words coming from a place of genuine concern.

“It is not that, Sebastian,” Daniel retorted in frustration, “it is just... I do not know her.”

Sebastian folded his hands in front of him and nodded, “Exactly, Your Grace. You do not know her. And you may never get the chance to know her if you continue on this path.”

"She is nothing but a distraction, Sebastian. A distraction from the work I have endeavored tirelessly to master. I cannot simply alter all that I have established over the years merely because she finds herself dissatisfied with our arrangement."

Silence enveloped the room as Sebastian allowed Daniel's words to settle in the air, giving him a moment for reflection.

"Well, if that is how you truly feel, then there is little I can do to sway you. I only implore you to consider the essence of what I have said tonight." With that, Sebastian turned to make his silent exit. Once he was gone, the Duke finally relaxed in his chair, though not without a sense of lingering unease.

He pondered deeply, his thoughts churning like a tempest. Yet, the more he ruminated, the more confusion clouded his mind. Attempting to resume his work proved futile, his focus shattered. Noticing the hour had crept far past midnight, he decided to call it a night and retire to his chambers.

As he extinguished the lights scattered about his office, he made his way to the third level. Passing by your bedroom, he saw light spilling from beneath the door, casting a soft glow into the hallway. The illumination signaled to him that you were still awake.

He hesitated, his hand hovering near the door, deliberating whether to knock. If you answered, he was uncertain of what he would say, what he would do. The prospect of a confrontation, of further complicating the tenuous peace, weighed heavily upon him.

For several moments, his fist lingered in mid-air before he willed himself to withdraw. He reasoned that you would not wish to be disturbed at such a late hour, least of all by the man who had become the source of your anguish. Though causing you distress was never his intention, he knew any assurances he offered would likely fall on deaf ears.

The Duke had already dug himself into a profound chasm with you, and he feared it might indeed be too late to extricate himself from it.

Taglist: @jakekiszkashangnail08 @freyjalw @josh-iamyour-mama

[sahisan]

Hiiiii!!! May I ask for a wanderer x gn reader wherein they are rivals suddenly turning into roommates?

This can be hc and/or a fanfic, whatever is comfortable for you.

★ summary: wanderer x gn!haravatat scholar!reader. nahida assigning you to work on a project, translating an ancient plate with old runes in inazuman language, and she happens to have a certain someone by her side who may be willing to help. (im so bad at summaries im sorry)

☆ cw: sfw. fluff. rivals (enemies) to friends (??? idk there's no romance pointed out (but you can say enemies to lovers if you see it in here)). and they were roommates. kinda. wanderer stealing your tea at night. open ending (cliffhanger?). 1000 words.

☾ a/n: the "wanderer stealing your tea at night" part in the fic was so random i genuinely see myself as a genius for hc'ing him that way ohmygod. thank you anon, i really enjoyed writing this one.₍⁠₍⁠ ⁠◝⁠(⁠　ﾟ⁠∀⁠ ﾟ⁠ ⁠)⁠◟⁠ ⁠⁾⁠⁾

"what?!" your voice echoed through the space of the sanctuary of surasthana as you stared at the small figure of the dendro archon in front of you with wide-open eyes.

this can't be happening.

"why am i being paired up with him? he's not even a scholar!" you protested.

but that's not even the worst.

"and the worst! why is he going to live with me in the time of our project?" you threw up your hands, pitying yourself and mentally preparing for what will happen.

"nahida, my dearest, spare my life, would you?" you begged the small archon, trying to convince the goddess to have mercy on the poor you.

nahida knew that you both couldn't stand each other - your constant rambling about how tha "hat guy" often can't keep his mouth shut, continuously speaking out loud his thoughts about you- no, not thoughs, they were insults of his own kind, and you often found yourself mumbling about how irritating he is in the empty rooms of the house of daena; she also listened to how wanderer complained about you - you, who dared to snatch his hat away while he accidentally fell asleep on one of many lectures in the akademiya. yet not only you took it away, you also had the courage to place it on your disgusting head, and walk with it on around for the time he was asleep!

"the runes that were found in those ruins are written in inazuman, [name]. and wanderer is... well-familiar with that language and the nation itself." the young goddess explained in her calm tone of voice, keeping away most of the details.

"but nahida, have mercy, there's no way we coul-"

your pleas were cut off with nahida's small frown and intense stare. you couldn't help but sigh, hopeless.

you thought that when wanderer will have his enter to your house, the building will be blasting with his mocking comments out of everywhere, that arguments and occasional disagreements in everything wouldn't have their end. yet, you were wrong. you and wanderer were ordinary discussing the project of translating the old inazuman runes, talking through about who will deal with this or that topic in it, or who will translate the meaning of the old plate with those runes.

you ofthen found yourself surprised at how he would try to keep down his banter when he saw how exhausted you were after those lectures in the akademiya, so he just shut himself up in case he happened to walk on you in that state, and instead resented how you don't take care of yourself, devoting so much time to all the unnecessary languages ​​and useless pieces of paper called books.

but, there was one more thing.

since wanderer has recently moved to your house, your tea began to disappear as if a cat was sneaking into your kitchen at night, brewing ten cups of tea at once. you already had your suspicions on who could it be, but you needed to figure it out yourself.

so, you waited for him to appear at the usual place you two are meeting every morning for fresh breakfast (for you - a full breakfast, for the puppet - a cup of the bitterest tea you have ever tried in your entire life) - kitchen. sitting in fron of each other while he was already drinking the second cup of tea this morning, and you had just finished with your dish, just sitting there and granting you both with silence.

you took a deep breath, trying not to laugh at your own idea of breaking the silence.

"wanderer, dear, would you please enlighten me on why my tea has been dissipating every night since you got here?" you asked in a fake bittersweet tone, clearly hiding a laugh that has been brewing in your throat.

as he proceeded to raise the cup to his lips, but stopped after your words. wanderer's eyes glimmered with suspense. was he really that obvious, he thought?

"are you implying that-"

"yes."

"no, i am not stealing your tea at night." wanderer scoffs with a scowl on his features. he needed to get the suspicion off himself. "it even sounds like a joke, do you even hear yourself?"

"so how would you explain the magical disappearing of my tea?" you mockingly raised your eyebrows, prepping your chin and cheek on you palm, your elbow on the table.

"that's none of my concern, [name]." he deadpanned, not even bothering to look at your side. ah, good old mean wanderer. how you missed that.

you sighed with a smile that clearly showed that you definitely knew something, and laid the suss off of him for now.

for now.

yet, you decided to check on him later that night, as you were oh so right in your suspicions. you just needed to cast light on his small, silly doings that he denied every now and then. and so, you sneaked into your kitchen at night to prove your point.

what you saw clearly amused you - you needed you hold a hand over your mouth to not laugh out loud in the middle of the night. this was too predictable.

wanderer was leaning against the kitchen counter with his front, with his back turned to you. he was facing the window, the moonlight illuminating on his porcelain skin and indigo hair as if he was an angel from heaven himself. your feauters softened upon seeing him glaring up at the moon in thoughts, yet your eyes wandered off of wanderer and to the three already empty cups of tea next to him on the counter.

"i knew it would be you." you whispered, not bothering to hide a smile, as you heard him snort shortly after.

"...tch. no peace in this house even at night." wanderer sighed, taking another sip from the fourth cup of tea. he turned his head slightly to the side, a small, genuine smile coating his lips. "how irritating."

[shadeysprings]

Fabled Memories

—Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Summary: You wake up one evening, battered and bruised, but have no recollection of how it came to be.

Warnings: implied kidnapping, basement wife vibes, amnesia & character death. There may be more, but remember that this is a dark fic, so please tread carefully.

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's Week Three Challenge: Something New and the trope I chose was Amnesia and Basement Wife. I've always wanted to write something that had the basement wife element and the thoughts just kept brewing. Plus, I've been antsy to write Steve again.

p.s. I may turn this into a mini-series.

Your feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated. Support content creators! And of course, I hope you guys enjoy! ❤️

The silence that fills the cafe is a welcome respite after dealing with the onslaught of impatient customers during the morning rush hour. It’s already half past eleven when you glance down at your watch, taking it as a cue to wipe down on the counter and fill the machine with the coffee beans to prepare for the second wave of patrons for the lunch rush.

While stacking the display case with pastries and sandwiches alike, you hear the bell chime and recite on instinct your customer service spiel. 

“I hope I can trouble you for a cup.” The familiar voice echoes in your ears and you look up, surprised to see Steve Rogers on the other side, smiling at you when your eyes meet.

“You’re early today, Captain.” You tell him and immediately make quick work of his usual order; a brewed coffee with two sugars and one cream. “You don’t usually stop by til after noon.”

“Yeah—well, Tony called in for a meeting today.” He huffs his response, propping his hand on his waist while the other rests on the counter, fingers drumming against the marble surface. “Wanted to discuss something about proper etiquette for the gala this coming Friday.”

That makes you snort, Steve looking at you curiously when you snap the lid on the cup and place it down on the counter. He looks at you expectantly and you shake your head instead, standing by the register to ring up his order. 

“What is it?” He urges, though gently, amusement painting on his face as he keeps his eyes on you. “You’re laughing at what I said.”

“I’m not laughing.” You say in defense but the Avenger only raises an eyebrow in question. So you cave, “It’s just funny thinking Mr. Stark would be talking about proper etiquette when the videos scattering online suggests otherwise. No offense to him though.” 

He laughs and so do you. “No offense taken, doll. Even Sam thinks the same.” The pet name still puts you off but you’ve gotten used to it over the year of making him his coffee. He slides a hundred to you after giving him his total and you count up his change. “Oh, you keep the change. You should know by now that I don’t take it.”

“I—” You stare at the bills in your hand before looking back at him. “But this is a little too much, Captain. I couldn’t possibly—”

“Of course you can. It’s a tip and you deserve it.” He smiles and takes the paper cup from the countertop, raising it up to you. “You make my coffee better than any of Stark’s fancy cappuccino machines and besides, I want to help you get that car you wanted.”

“Oh—you remembered that?” 

“How can I not?” He leans closer. “You kept talking about it and the way your eyes sparkled when you did just told me that you wanted it so bad.”

You chuckle and give him a smile. “I already got it actually. My husband—he got it for me as an anniversary pr—Oh god!”

You gasp and take a sudden step back when his coffee bursts in his hand, immediately making your way to the back to grab the mop and walking to where he stands to clean up the mess. But your eyes widen and you feel an unexpected chill run up your spine when you see the discarded paper cup on the floor, crushed.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve apologizes in a rush, waving him off when he tries to take the mop from you. “I guess I didn’t know my own strength.” He blurts out and you try to keep your cool as you busy yourself with the task, picking up the cup from the ground and heading back to the counter to discard it in the bin. 

“It’s alright.” You breathe, trying to keep the growing nervousness at bay. “Accidents happen. Let me make you a new one. On the house.” You tell him and quickly turn to make a fresh cup before he could even say anything. 

The comfortable silence from earlier turns a new leaf, feeling an uncertain tension building around the both of you and making you move at a measured pace. You feel Steve’s eyes burning the back of your head and you fight to dismiss the unease, convincing yourself that it was indeed an accident. The serum couldn’t be that perfect, right?

“You never mentioned you were married.” His tone is calm yet somewhat accusatory, your fingers shaking as you add the sugar to the brew. “I never even saw you wearing a ring.”

“I—I’m not allowed to wear it during my shift.” You explain matter of factly, forcing a smile when you snap the lid and turn to face him. “Sanitation and all.”

“I see,” He nods and takes the cup when you hold it out to him, his fingers brushing against yours, lingering before he pulls away. “Well, your husband is one lucky bastard to have a pretty thing like you as his wife.” You can’t help the blush that creeps up your neck from the compliment. 

You look to the door when the bell suddenly chimes, several of the working class customers lining up behind Steve while they look up at the menu to decide on their order. 

“I guess I should let you go.” His serious tone is gone, replaced by a cheerful one yet you feel that his words mean so much more than just leaving the cafe. “I’ll see you around, doll.” He says with finality with another of his friendly smiles before turning to leave but not without the customers stopping to ogle him as he walks past the door. 

You don’t see Steve for a week and you don’t want to admit it but you find his absence a relief. Your last encounter with him was awkward, something unusual for he seems to always be cool and collected when he comes over and gets his usual order. You’d dare to even say that the both of you are more than acquaintances with how much you’ve shared with each other while he waits for his coffee. 

Even Caleb, your husband, is jealous that you get to meet the great Captain America—with him being a fan of the Avengers like they were movie stars. It did give you the idea of asking Steve if he could meet your husband, a small surprise you’re planning for his coming birthday. Though you’ll wait til he comes back and you just hope that by then, the tension between the both of you has completely subsided.

“Hey there, I’m looking for a pretty girl who works here. Answers to ‘my love’ and sometimes ‘Mrs. Stinky Butt.’” You turn your head as you lock the shop doors, laughing at Caleb's commentary before smiling when you see the bouquet of sunflowers nestled in his arms. 

“I think she prefers ‘my love’ more, Mr. Stinky Butt.” You retort and greet your husband with a hug, humming softly when he plants a soft kiss on your lips and wraps an arm snuggly around your waist. “What are the flowers for?” You ask before leaning over and taking a whiff of their scent.

“Well, it has been a while since you did a closing shift and I know how tough it can be,” He begins, “So—I thought of a night full of activities to pamper my gorgeous wife so you can start your day tomorrow fully relaxed.”

You hum in thought while walking with him to your car. “I’m listening.” 

“Okay, so the flowers were first and it has already succeeded.” He says proudly and you chuckle at the wide grin he gives you. “There is a delicious take out dinner waiting for you at home—”

“Number Nine?” You ask in anticipation.

“The very one,” He confirms and you bounce in excitement before urging him to continue. “I also got us some face masks we can indulge in and we can end the night with popcorn and a movie of your choosing.”

“Even the sappy romantic ones?” 

“Especially the sappy romantic ones.” Caleb says and you quickly wrap your arms around him tightly, feeling your heart grow full with love for the man you call your husband. “Whoa—hug attack!” He exclaims and you laugh when he wraps his arms around you just as tight and spins you around. 

“Thank you, Babe.” You breathe when he sets you down, basking in the warmth of his embrace as the night breeze surrounds the both of you. “You’re the best.”

“No. You are—” He retorts before nuzzling his nose against yours. “And the best only deserves the best.”

You watch the scenery of the night as you stare out the window, unconsciously lifting the flowers to your nose to take in their scent once again. A smile kisses your lips when you feel Caleb’s hand rest on your thigh but wonder why they feel tense. Slowly, you reach down and take his hand in yours, pressing a kiss to each of his knuckles before turning in your seat to face him. 

“You have your seatbelt on, baby?” He asks, his voice strained as he keeps his eyes on the road. “Tell me you’re strapped in. Please.” He urges.

“I am—” You answer, feeling nervous when he only gives you a quick glance before turning back to face the road. “Is something wrong?” The way his grip tights around the wheel has your heart beat spiking. “Caleb?”

“I’m going to tell you something but you have to promise me that you won’t freak out, okay?” His voice is calm yet you can tell he’s nervous all the same. “Promise me, babe. I need you to stay calm and listen carefully.”

“I promise.” You choke out, your hand tightening on his fingers. “I’ll be calm.”

“Okay—I need you to call 911 and tell them we’re at the freeway on 71.” He starts, “Tell them that you’re in the car with your husband and that the breaks are not working.”

“What?!” You gasp and drop the flowers to the floor. “Caleb—wh-what happened?! What—why?”

“Babe, calm down. You promised me.” He coos, turning your hand in his before pulling it to him and pressing the back of your palm against his cheek. “Now, breathe for me, baby. Breathe then get your phone and make the call. And you have to tell them we’re running 80 miles.”

“Okay.” You nod, swallowing thickly as you try to quell your fear. “Okay.” With your free hand, you grab your clutch on the center console and take out your phone. Your fingers begin fidgeting as you dial the number as fast as you can, your knee bouncing as you wait for the responder to answer.

But fear encapsulates you in a tight cocoon, suffocating you when no one picks up. You try again, and again, but you still end up with the same result.

“Why is no one answering?!” You say in a panic and look over at Caleb, his eyes focused and his face only illuminated by lights from the lamp posts. 

“Fuck!” He grunts and releases your hand, looking around after before facing the road. “Get out of your seat, babe, and I want you to go to the back and strap yourself in.” He instructs. 

“But Ca—”

“No questions, babe. Just do it. Please.” He almost begs and you nod, quickly unbuckling your seat belt before climbing to the back and strapping yourself in once again. “Tell me once you’re done.”

“I’m buckled in.” Your voice quivers as you look ahead, whispering a silent prayer to the heavens. “What are we going to do?”

You hear the car rev before it starts to lose control, Caleb gripping tight on the wheel as he tries to center it on the road. You let out a scream when the car goes off road, several vehicles honking and swerving to get out of the way. Darkness completely shrouds the car as you enter, what you hope is a grassy field, a shriek escaping your lips when you hit a wired fence. 

You try to focus on Caleb’s eyes on the rear view mirror, trying to look for a semblance of hope that you both will be okay. But when he meets yours, you see the fear looming in his blue irises. 

Desolation suddenly washes over you when he no longer looks ahead, keeping his eyes on your face. You see him reach for you and you do the same, grasping his hand tight like a lifeline. But your heart shatters when you see the tear that escapes him, one that you mirror as you feel him silently bidding you goodbye.

“I love you so much, babe.” He whispers. “I’m so darn lucky to have met you.”

“Caleb—” You croak as you try to wipe your own tears. “What are you saying? We’ll be okay, right?” You whimper before looking around to try and see if anything would save the both of you yet all you see is nothing. 

Before you can turn to face him again, wanting nothing but to look at him if this was indeed the end, a loud bang echoes through the open and you jolt forward, crying loudly and screaming when your head slams roughly against the ceiling of the car. You feel the vehicle turn over, rolling uncontrollably into the void until everything stops and goes dark.

The bright, white light glares harshly against your eyes when you open them, squinting as you groan and move against the bed you lay on, trying to decipher where you are. A soft beeping sound plays on your left, and an IV drip hangs on your right, to which you find connected to you, along with several other contraptions. 

You have no recollection of what happened before you woke up, not even an inkling of how you ended up in the hospital room. You don’t even know what time or day it is, the window in the far right side of the room being the only source to tell you  it’s night time. 

Pain then rushes through your body as you try to sit up, seeing your left leg elevated by a sling that hangs from the ceiling and feeling a bandage wrapped around your head when you lift your hand to try and ease the ache hammering in your temples. 

Panic quickly consumes you as you as questions fill your head. Why are you in bandages? Why are you here? Where the hell are you? The beeping at your side starts growing frantic, and you along with it, your heart beating faster and your hands clenching into fist against the white sheets of the bed, and all at once screaming for help, crying for anyone to come to your aid.

The door to the right suddenly opens and you stop when you see a blond man enter. Worry fills his face and you see his eyes brimming with tears as he walks over to you, only stopping mid way when you hold your arms out and try to push yourself against the pillow and away from him. But such actions don't deter the stranger, only having them push on and sit at the edge of the bed, his movements slow and gentle as he reaches over and caresses the side of your face. 

“Thank God, you’re awake.” He chokes out a sob before taking both of your hands in his and pressing them to his lips. “I was so worried. The doctor said it might be months before you ever woke up.” He opens your closed fist and carefully places them on his cheek, leaning against your touch.

You study his face, his golden hair looking messy and his face in obvious distraught as his forehead wrinkles when his sapphire eyes meet yours. The sleeves of his black sweater are rolled up to his elbows, showing off the strength he possesses. You feel like you’ve seen him before but you can’t place it, all sense of knowing seemingly lost as you don’t even recall anything about yourself. 

“Wh—who are you?” You ask, frowning when you see the shock form on his face.

“I—” He struggles to speak, his eyes closing as he squeezes your hand. “You don’t remember me?” 

“I—I’m sorry—” You mumble. “I—I don’t—should I?”

“The doctors said this would happen but I was skeptical.” You see the tears flow from his eyes and you feel a pang of pain deep in your chest upon seeing his sadness. “But don’t worry, hon. We’ll get through this.” He says with surety before opening his eyes and facing you once again. “We can start small—your name.”

He says a name and tells you that it’s yours. You feel unsure but you latch onto his words, desperate to know more. 

“I’m Steve Rogers.” He says next, lacing his fingers with yours. “And I’m your husband.”

I no longer keep a tag list but if you want to be kept updated on my fics, follow my side blog @springdandelixn-archives and turn on notifications.

[joelswritingmistress]

You Scare Me, Professor: Chapter 34

Summary: The reader is taking graduate classes at a local university in the wooded upstate New York. She is drawn to her professor, Dr. Joel Miller, though she is also inherently aware that he has something dark about him that she can't quite put her finger on. As the reader's attraction grows deeper, she has to decide whether to endure the danger or run away as fast as possible. 

Pairing: Professor Joel Miller x f!reader 

The night ended more lighthearted. Dr. Miller and I took advantage of the frozen lake and the scenery again, skating around and taking pictures of the winter wonderland. We had a few drinks, went out for dinner, and spent most of the night thereafter in the loft. If I had it my way, I wouldn’t have left that little nook in the woods.

“We should rent this place again in the summer,” I said to him. “I bet it’s nice to kayak around.. maybe go fishing.. hike the trails. Oh, and I saw a new, little brewery is supposed to be having its grand opening in May nearby.”

Dr. Miller smiled. “I can book it now for July.”

I loved thinkin about the future, even if it was just a matter of months. For a second I daydreamed images of a tan Dr. Miller by my side, shirtless and glistening in the sun. It made me smirk.

Bidding a temporary farewell to the lakeside cabin was bittersweet, though Dr. Miller already put in a request for the summer before we took off for home.

“The good news is we have another getaway at my sister’s wedding next weekend,” Dr. Miller explained as we hit the highway. “Can you get off work for the rehearsal dinner on Friday? I may cancel Thursday’s class so we can hit the road when you get out of work on Thursday. It’s a pretty good haul up to Vermont.”

I nodded, “Of course. I can’t wait.”

When Tuesday’s class rolled around I decided to confront Trevor on the walk out. His constant stares were starting to bug me and he hadn’t spoken a word to me since the day I’d left Dr. Stevenson’s class to give a sneaky kiss to Dr. Miller in his office. A part of me wanted to ask him what he thought he knew, but I also didn’t want to accidentally rat myself out - or Dr. Miller.

Otherwise, I was very much into the class discussion, and loved how Dr. Miller smiled a certain way when he called on me to answer a question. I loved his class. On a side note, there was a certain level of sneaky amusement I felt from having this secret life with him. No one in the class had even the slightest indication that we lived together, or that we just celebrated Valentine's Day shacked up in a remote, lakeside cabin. There was a part of me that got off on our secret.

“So,” Dr. Miller clapped his hands together. “I'm going to post something for you to read and look over. You'll be able to even discuss points online if you'd like, but Thursday's class will not meet in person. My sister is getting married out of state and I'll be traveling to Vermont on Thursday in preparation for that.”

“Congratulations!” Someone's voice echoed off the walls, making a few others laugh. “To your sister,” the person added, drawing more laughter.

“Thank you,” Dr. Miller responded with a chuckle. “If there are no further questions -”

“Class dismissed,” the group said in unison.

I smiled to myself and stuffed my notebook into my bag. It was always odd to me as I left the classroom. Dr. Miller and I were so affectionate and borderline clingy everywhere else. That's the only part I hated - not being able to be ourselves during that short time frame we had together on campus.

My phone went off and I glanced down, smiling when I saw it was him. 

See you at home.

I glanced toward him and our eyes briefly met as he began packing up his black bag.

And then, as I ducked out into the hallway, Trevor leaned over getting a drink of water. He was one of the only people I ever saw use the water fountain in the building.

I went to call out to him but then decided against it. Why was I about to create a conflict out of nothing? Plus, I reminded myself, he had walked with me to class when I didn't want to walk alone.

I passed by, glancing over at him. Just as he finished getting a drink our eyes met for a brief moment. I looked away and kept walking, using the stairs to get up to the main floor.

Behind me, I heard Trevor clear his throat and then his feet peppered up the stairwell behind me. I yanked open the door to enter the lobby and Trevor’s footsteps came faster.

“Could you hold that, please?” His nasally voice called out.

I sighed to myself but turned around with a half-smile and a nod.

“Thank you.” He hurried to reach for the door and held it so I could go ahead first.

“No problem.” I continued walking and Trevor cleared his throat again as he scurried up beside me.

“Have any plans for the long weekend?” He asked, gripping the straps of his backpack as we wandered toward the main doors.

“Hmm.. I might go visit my parents,” I lied, “But nothing else. You?”

He shrugged. “I may go skiing.”

So am I, I thought, even though I didn't know how. Carol’s wedding. “You ski?”

“Doesn't everyone in the Catskills area?” He snorted a laugh at himself and I smirked.

“Everyone but me.” I smiled back. “I don't know how.”

“I've been skiing since I've been five.”

“Cool.”

“I could always give you lessons. I used to give lessons before I started working for UPS.”

“I didn't know you worked for UPS.”

“For now.” He grinned and followed me out into the parking lot.

I glanced over at him as he continued to trail me out into the parking lot. I felt like he was velcroed to me. He was so close.

“Well, I'll see ya later Trevor.” I reached for the handle on my car as I approached and he cleared his throat again.

What is his deal? I wanted to blurt it out, but I wasn’t the type to be super direct like that. He wasn’t doing anything wrong - just being awkward and slightly annoying.

Trevor raised a hand to wave, almost robotically, as I pulled out of the parking space and edged my way down the rows of cars to exit the campus parking lot. When I was close to a half-a-football field away, I caught a glimpse of him waving his hands wildly in my direction. I wasn’t even sure if he was trying to flag me down, or was summoning someone else. And so, I kept driving. I didn’t see Dr. Miller exit the building.

“What’s the matter?” Dr. Miller approached Trevor when he heard the commotion.

Trevor reached into the pocket of his jacket and stared down at the screen of a cell phone. He eyed the screen, reading a notification as it flashed across.

YOUR STOWE, VT LIFT TICKETS ARE NOW AVAILABLE TO PUT INTO I-WALLET. CLICK THE BANNER TO CONFIRM.

Dr. Miller’s eyes landed on the familiar phone cover. He had the urge to yank it from Trevor’s hand and demand why he had (Y/N)’s phone, but he knew he had to restrain himself.

“Who’s the phone belong to?” Dr. Miller asked, knowing damn well who it belonged to.

“I-I..” Trevor looked down at it again and spoke to himself. “She said she couldn’t ski.” He scratched his head and continued to stare at the screen.

“Trevor.” Dr. Miller closed the gap between the two of them. “Why do you have that phone?”

“One of my friends from class dropped it,” he claimed, “She just drove off. I was trying to flag her down.” Trevor slipped the phone back into his pocket and Dr. Miller extended his hand.

“I’ll turn it in to campus police.”

He kept the phone in his coat. “I can do that.”

“I insist.” Dr. Miller nodded and kept his palm facing up a few inches in front of Trevor. “I’m sticking around here anyway to do a few things.”

Trevor stared up at him, and then looked back down to his hand. He didn’t immediately hand over the phone. “Where did you say your sister’s wedding was?”

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

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[depressedhatakekakashi]

Necessary Changes

Words: 1189

For: @skykashi

Arguing with Koharu and Homura was an endless, exhausting task. As a Jonin Kakashi learned to pick and choose his fights carefully because the two elder’s were exceptionally skilled at wearing down their opponents. He’d seen shinobi older and more experienced than him cave to the elder’s demands, including Lord third. 

He never gave up because he didn’t  genuinely care about the argument, but because he ran out of energy to fight for his cause any longer. There had been many times growing up that he wished he’d had more power because it seemed like the only way that he would have the power to shut the elders up. Now, Kakashi had that power. He may not have wanted it when he first took the position of Hokage from Tsunade-sama, but Kakashi couldn’t deny the fact that he finally had a power he’d never had before.

“Shut up.” he groaned as he rubbed his forefinger against his temple in an attempt to will away the headache he could feel creeping up on him with every word the two elder’s said.

Koharu gasped, acting as though this was the first time in her life that a Hokage had told her to silence herself. 

“Lord Sixth-” Homura began, only silencing himself when Kakashi glared his way.

If it were anyone else Kakashi would insist that they drop the ‘Lord’. It was an honorific meant to refer to those who had earned other people’s respect. People like Tsunade and Jiraiya had earned the right to be referred to using that honorific, but not Kakashi.

He was just Kakashi. Nothing else. 

In this instance, though, he was willing to let it slide. If the two elder’s were going to insist on arguing with them he was going to allow them to remind themselves of just who it was they were trying to pick a fight with.

This wasn’t a fresh faced Jonin Kakashi arguing for a change in his team selection for a mission because he knew he could do the job better with Rin and Gai at his side.

It wasn’t Anbu Kakashi who was so broken and lost that he barely had a back bone to hold himself up let alone argue with the elder’s. 

The two of them weren’t picking a fight with someone they still out ranked. No, today they were picking a fight with Hokage Kakashi. A man who’d never wanted the responsibility of taking care of an entire village, but who’d come into the job determined to make changes to the system that had taken so much from him. 

“This is not up for discussion,” he lowered his hand onto the desk. “You can tell me how much you hate what I'm doing but I’ve already signed the paperwork and begun the process of retraining Konoha’s shinobi.”

“This is ridiculous,” Koharu straightened herself up, recovering from the shock of being told off. “Konoha is a village of shinobi. It is our job-”

tilting his head, Kakashi stared at her until . “Not ours,” Kakashi corrected her. “You two are no longer active shinobi. You have not been on a mission in over thirty years. If I could remove you from your positions I would but unfortunately even the Hokage does not have that power.” He’d checked and Tsunade had just sighed and shook her head. If there was anyone in Konoha who understood his desire to get rid of the elder’s it was her. “And in the past you would have been correct. When you were shinobi Konoha was in the midst of war. Killing our enemies may have been the only option. That’s not the case anymore.”

It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t allow the next generation to suffer through the guilt and regret that he had.

“Lord Sixth, you must see reason on this,” Homura continued to argue. “To change something so engrained into our society is foolish. Konoha’s shinobi are used to the way things are. They won’t change just because you ask them to.”

‘They won’t change that easily’ Tsunade-sama’s words echoed back to him. She’d been the first person he’d spoken to of his decision. Someone he could speak to who would tell him honestly what she thought and whether or not he should move forward. When he’d heard those words from her he’d prepared himself to give up on a better future, but then she continued speaking. ‘Then, of course, nothing that’s worth fighting for is ever easy’

Kakashi had a choice to make as Hokage. Which fights were the one’s he was willing to pick, and how far was he willing to dig his heels in and stand his ground?

For this one, the answer was simple to find.

No matter what anyone else said, or how much they fought him, he would stand his ground. This was a change that had to be made and there was no one in the village who would be able to stop him.

“They will learn,” he spoke calmly, keeping his voice steady even though he wanted to scream. “I don’t expect it to be an easy transition for anyone. There will be struggles and we will have to learn new methods.” the inclusion of ‘we’ was deliberate. Kakashi knew that it wouldn’t be just the shinobi under his command who would struggle with the new rule.

He had been raised to be a killer. Molded into the perfect ideal of a shinobi, ready to take a life at a moment’s notice. His hands were stained with the blood of countless enemy shinobi.

Learning to capture rather than kill would be just as much of a struggle for him, but it was something he was willing to put himself through so that the shinobi of Konoha knew he was serious about this change. 

“Now,” focusing back on the pair in front of him, he narrowed his eyes. “This conversation is done. I will not hear another word about it so unless you have something else to speak with me about I would suggest you leave. I still have a lot of paperwork to finish before my day ends.”

Homura opened his mouth but quickly rethought whatever it was he wanted to say and instead turned his back to Kakashi with a huff.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Lord Sixth,” Koharu sighed as she copied her friend’s movements, sparing Kakashi a glance over her shoulder. “The Hokage’s before you went through a lot to set the village up as it is. What you’re doing is dismantling all of that work.”

“Perhaps,” he sat back in his chair. “But they set up the village for war. I want this village to thrive and grow in ways they never could have imagined.”

He didn’t need to be known as the best Hokage Konoha had ever had. In fact, he’d resigned himself to being known as the worst Hokage in history as soon as he’d taken the seat and he was still prepared to take that title. 

If being the worst meant pushing his village into a brighter, more hopeful future, he would happily wear that title.

[ch4singchase]

The Ballad of Moths | LUKE CASTELLAN

Summary: A god decides to visit Hades' palace.

Word count: 2.7K

Warnings: Mentions of violence and death, mention of harm to children, existencial themes and emotional struggles.

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four | series masterlist

chapter 04: 'Til The Road Begins…

A solitary, timid moth fluttered through the obscure recesses and shadowy corners of the realm beneath the living world. Its intricately detailed wings, painted in dark hues of black and brown, flapped tirelessly until the delicate creature gracefully alighted on the shoulder of a looming, broad figure.

The imposing man cast a benevolent smile toward the moth, “You've done splendidly, love. You may join the others.”

Yet, the moth remained unconvinced, steadfastly maintaining its chosen perch.

Unperturbed as well, the man reassured, “I shall return to you shortly, I promise. I have matters to discuss with a... Friend.”

If the moth thought about arguing, it gave up soon. The little creature knew well enough not to argue with a god. Familiar with the god, she also understood that the man had a good reason to wish to talk with the King of the Underworld himself, alone.

So, the moth flew away, following the way where others like her would go and rest.

The god observed her departure, a heavy weight upon his heart. Despite this, he swiftly composed himself, resuming his journey into Hades’ palace.

Much of what lay within failed to awe the god; it wasn't his inaugural visit. The intricacies of the doors, portraits, columns, and rooms were familiar details he had encountered more than once.

So, once he found himself in the throne room. The man was unfazed by the black bricks and the bronze decorations, the throne made of bones didn’t take a step back and the other one made of flowers didn’t surprise him either.

It was just another day where he found himself about to have a conversation with the god of death and riches.

“It has been a long time since you gave me the grace of your presence,” Hades’ voice echoed through the room.

The death god wasn’t in his throne; instead, he was wandering around the room, right behind the space where the thrones rested, as if he had been waiting far too long for the other’s arrival.

“It’s a surprise to see you away from your duty,” the King continued, a mischievous smile on his lips. “What has happened?”

The other man crossed his arms behind his back, closing his way to Hades, “I’ve come with a concern, I was hoping you could advise me on this.”

Hades circled back, his eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. "A concern? You, my elusive friend, rarely bring forth concerns without significance. What is troubling you that warrants your visit?"

The man hesitated for a moment, the weight of the issue evident in his expression. "It involves my daughter, Eurydice.”

Hades paused, absorbing the weight of his friend’s words. The air in the room seemed to grow denser as unspoken implications lingered like a lingering mist.

“I thought she had died,” the god said, even though it wasn’t true. He was well aware the girl was alive; he would know if she had died.

The truth was that he had assumed, from the way her father never talked about her, that he had taken care of her passing.

Now, he was aware that wasn’t the case.

“I always have been intrigued about the choice of that mortal to give this specific name to your daughter,” Hades complained instead, narrowing his eyes to some of the flowers that covered his wife’s throne.

The other god sighed, that wasn’t the first time they had that talk, “She didn’t mean no harm.”

Looking back, he could remember one of the few times he visited Johanna Gaumont and their daughter. The girl was close to her 3rd birthday, already daring to take some steps by herself and pronouncing words like ‘mama’ or ‘birdie’.

Johanna had let him know how Eurydice was fond of birds lately. But that was just a phase, she told him that before, their daughter talked about leaves, fishes, and that just goes on and on and on…

In that very same time that he went to see them, she explained the reason for giving their daughter that name. The god could remember the sound of the woman’s laugh when he asked about it, his lips twisting in confusion.

“I want her to understand the circle of things, how all has its ending,” Johanna beamed down to their daughter, playing with her as she held a robin made of wood, “Eurydice once was a nymph, right? Nature understands how everything lives and then goes, and when Orpheus looked back… I believe she didn’t look at him with sadness in her eyes, but acceptance.”

His chest held a heavy weight at her words, a struggling sigh escaped from his lips, “That’s… A beautiful way of viewing their story.”

“Isn’t it?” Johanna giggled, “I want Eury to understand that same thing, to accept that one day, her friends will go away and the way fate works.”

He looked back at her, watching not sadness, but gratification fill her beautiful blue eyes.

“You know,” she continued, taking his silence as a reason to continue, “One day I’ll go away as well, and I don’t want her to hold on grief, all the sadness that there is when we talk about the end.”

Hades' adamantium eyes brought the god back to their conversation. The pounding in his heart weakened by the mere memory.

“Right, right,” the King nodded, a bitter smile in his lips. He still wasn’t convinced that the mortal didn’t name her daughter that name in spite of who they were- him and the father of her daughter, “What about you daughter? She has already reached her teenage years, right?”

The god sighed, the weight of his concerns evident in his eyes. "Yes, she has. And it's precisely that which troubles me. She's already veering toward the path of that prophecy... I don’t want her ensnared in our potential downfall."

The King of the Underworld paced a few steps, his gaze fixed on the intricate patterns of the throne room floor. An intriguing expression played across his face as he mumbled, "Well-chosen words, my friend." He concealed his uncertainty about how to proceed, then asked, "You're referring to the cursed blade, aren't you?"

The other man nodded, feeling a momentary absence without the comforting presence of his moths by his side. To tell the truth, of a single and specific one, “She’s walking right into the great prophecy itself, despite all my attempts to keep her far from it.”

Slowly, the god sensed the King and his friend’s steps drawing closer. The next thing he felt was a hand on his shoulder. And, in an unexpected turn from the god of death, the last thing he anticipated was a smile.

A sad smile, almost sympathetic.

“I know all too well about prophecies shaping our children’s future, friend,” Hades averted his eyes, but the other god could sense where his gaze lingered. At a hotel, a long time ago—he had seen him soon after what had happened to his own family, “Alecto told me something one day, about how we can’t interfere in the laws of death. And she wasn’t wrong. If your daughter is destined to die in that prophecy, there’s nothing you can do.”

The god didn’t seem to be happy about his friend’s answer, even if he knew that he spoke the truth.

“But,” the palace’s visitor mumbled, unsure about his own thoughts and feelings, “It doesn’t make us hypocrites to love our children but not be able to protect them from their future?”

If any other gods had posed the same question to Hades, he would have immediately expelled them not only from his palace but also from his realm. However, this was his long-time friend, a god he had known since his first days as the caretaker of the world of the dead.

They had weathered many stories together, never stepping away when things got ugly. Regardless of their beliefs, agreements, or disagreements, they always had each other's backs. No matter how much time had passed since their last conversation.

Hades would always understand his friend’s frustration, not taking his words in a negative way, because he knew exactly how that feeling was.

Disappointment. Not only with himself but with their world, their rules, the prophecies, and the many oracles that had once proclaimed them before.

“Honestly,” Hades sighed, sitting at the steps of his throne, inviting his friend to sit beside him, “Until today, I don’t have an answer to that question.”

His friend accepted the invitation, taking a seat beside him. Reflecting on the events of the past, he cast a glance at the King, “How have they been doing?”

“They’re good,” the King answered, his tone expressing how tired he truly was. Perhaps, tired just from thinking about his kids, “Alecto and the others were keeping their eyes on them until a month or two ago; now, I’ve instructed them to monitor Zeus’ daughter… I won’t let what happened to my children go unnoticed.”

It took a few seconds for the other god to grasp the full implication, “You ordered them to take her life?”

“Before you judge,” Hades turned to his friend, a fierce determination evident in his dark, coal-like eyes, “I know how it sounds. But my brother needs to understand the consequences of his choices. He has to comprehend how they affected me and continue to affect me.”

The other god lapsed into silence for a while, finding himself without much to say. The memory of that fateful day still lingered in his thoughts—the consuming rage of Hades and the tears that had flowed until the River Styx nearly flooded the entire Underworld. The past was a tangled mess, a time when they were old yet too young, too reckless.

Mistakes had been made, but the notion of plotting harm against a brother's family was beyond his comprehension. He couldn't fathom committing such an act against his own brother, regardless of right or wrong. He would never intentionally cause pain to what his brother held dear.

However, matters concerning the Big Three and the Olympians were far more complicated than the dynamics of his own branch of the family.

It was his friend's fury, his pursuit of what he deemed justice. If it was the will of fate for such events to unfold, there was little the god could do or say.

He, more than anyone, grasped the relentless cycle of life. People live, and inevitably, they meet their end—doomed to confront their fate, sooner or later. How that end manifested was not within his control.

Accepting this truth stung, but reality is what it is. And sometimes, what brings a pounding pain, even for a god.

"May I ask you for a favor?" he ventured to inquire, finally.

Hades scrutinized him with narrowed eyes, a darkness confined in his icy gaze. "Does that mean you'll be in debt to me?" he questioned.

His friend almost reconsidered but nodded, saying, "If you wish."

"Proceed then," the King urged, a hint of amusement in his tone, "you're quite full of surprises today."

"Eurydice..." The man hesitated, choosing his words carefully, "She crossed paths with Thalia, Zeus' daughter."

Hades burst into laughter.

He simply laughed—a cruel, echoing laughter that filled the entire room.

There was bitterness in it, for he knew the implications that would follow this request.

"Let me guess, you want Alecto to go easy on your daughter if she happens to be between my Furies and Zeus’ daughter," he deduced, it wasn’t a question. The King knew the meaning behind his friend’s words.

The visitor nodded solemnly, acknowledging the accuracy of Hades' deduction. The air in the room grew heavier as the implications of the favor settled between them.

Hades, still chuckling, leaned back against the steps of his throne, the dark, ethereal aura surrounding him accentuating the intensity of the moment. The god of death fixed his piercing gaze on his friend, a mix of curiosity and amusement playing in his eyes.

"You claim that Johanna Gaumont meant nothing by naming your daughter that name," Hades mused, "but the more I hear you talk about the girl, the more it feels like a subtle jab directed at me."

His friend shook his head, holding back a chuckle, “That’s not… I really doubted that she really meant anything like that. I just want to shield Eurydice from a death that it’s not destined to her.”

“Yet,” Hades completed, raising a brow at the god beside him.

Reluctant, the man saw himself nodding to that.

Hades regarded his friend with a thoughtful expression, the laughter fading from his eyes. There was a shared understanding between them, a recognition of the burdens carried by gods who had witnessed the ebb and flow of mortal lives, prophecies, and the tangled web of divine machinations.

“If your daughter tries to stop them from killing the girl…” Hades spoke, the gravity of his words settling into the shadows that surrounded them.

“All I ask is that they don't hurt her,” the god mumbled, hesitation causing his hands to tremble, “As a father, I cannot simply stand by and watch my daughter succumb to a fate not of her choosing.”

Hades nodded in silent agreement, the weight of paternal love a bond that transcended even the divine laws that governed their existence sometimes.

"I’m granting you this favor," Hades finally said, to his friend's relief, "I’ll ask them to not hurt her once I hear from them.”

The two gods sat in contemplative silence, the echoes of laughter replaced by the grim reality of their shared concerns. In the tapestry of divine existence, their roles as distant and observant parents, never able to truly intervene for the best of their children. Always having to work around, make subtle decisions that wouldn't interfere with the order of things.

Was this what it meant to be a good father? Would this be the answer to the hypocrisy of being a god and the father of a demigod?

They would never know; it always felt like they were taking two steps forward and three steps back.

“Thank you, Hades,” the god, usually followed by his moths, said, a weak smile on his face, “I mean it.”

Both of them had duties to fulfill.

“Consider it a small favor between old friends, one I may ask for in return later," Hades responded, his tone carrying a rare warmth. “Just remember, my friend, we may not have all the answers, but we must navigate the complexities of our roles as gods and fathers as best as we can.”

As the two gods rose from their seats, the shadows in the throne room seemed to sway, sensing their power shifting in the air. Fate continued to weave its threads as both of them walked to the entrance of the palace, the King keeping his friend company before parting ways.

Once they reached the doors and they were opened, a solitary moth flapped its wings as it swung its way to a single god’s shoulder. The two gods turned their faces to the being, totally unfazed by its presence among them.

“Why am I not surprised?” Hades asked to himself, lifting a brow as he viewed the moth with dark wings and brownish details.

“I could ask the same question,” his friend stated, looking down at the moth upon his shoulder.

"May your journey back to your duty be uneventful," finally, the King said, a smile persistently in his face.

With a nod of gratitude, the god made his way out of the palace, the moth accompanying him like a faithful companion. The Underworld echoed with a solemn air as he traversed the familiar paths, contemplating the weight of his conversation with Hades.

However, his thoughts were interrupted by the soft fluttering of wings, and he glanced at the moth perched on his shoulder. Its delicate movements seemed almost comforting, a silent presence in the face of uncertainty.

Hades was right, if Eurydice was truly destined to fulfill her prophecies, there was nothing he could do to stop it. All he could do was hope, even if it sounded ridiculous to a god to hope.

But, he hoped. The god hoped that his daughter was strong enough to endure more loss.

Because, by the path she was walking into, she was destined to lose more than she already had.

Taglist: @2hiigh2cry, @yhaywhwvsh, @niktwazny303

(if you wish to be add to the taglist, let me know in the comments!)

[zoeykallus]

I love your bad batch headcanons!! They feel so I’m character :)

I’ve got a nsfw question, how would the batch react to their SO wanting to dominate/ peg them?

🤔

Interesting question.... Again, as always, if you don't specifically tell me to use GN reader or male or female, I go with fem, automatically, although no pronouns are mentioned, but certain... tools (so to speak)

The Bad Batch x Fem!Reader HCs - Domination

Warning: Mention Of Sexual Activities/Suggestive/Strong Language/Pegging18+

_____________

This is mostly just about the reaction, not about the act itself. But still 18+

_____________

Hunter

His reaction to your suggestion:

"You want to do what?"

At first, he is quite uncomfortable with the thought. Hunter is used to being in control and being the dominant part, and he feels very comfortable with that. But he knows your question is serious and thinks about it.

"I don't know," he says hesitantly, "This is definitely new territory for me."

"You trust me, don't you?"

He nods in agreement, "Yes, of course I trust you"

"I think if we do this right, you could definitely enjoy it"

Hunter is not so sure about that, but he is willing to take the leap after proper preparation.

His reaction to the act itself:

At first, Hunter is still quite tense, it takes him a bit to get used to not being in control and playing the submissive part. But if you care for him appropriately, he will take a liking to it.

Use your hand or a toy on his cock while you work him with the strap on, combined with little caresses, like kisses and strokes, Hunter will be able to let himself fall more easily. The feeling may be intrusive and foreign to him at first, but will eventually lead to an intense orgasm.

Hunter still likes to be the dominant part for the future, but is no longer averse to the occasional exception.

Echo

His reaction to your suggestion:

At first, he is surprised, a bit shy perhaps, but he is definitely curious. Echo trusts you, otherwise you would never have gotten close enough to discuss this idea.

"An interesting idea," he finally says after you explain what you have in mind.

"Would you be willing to try the idea?"

Echo smiles slyly and says, "Why not, I trust you, and I'm curious too."

It doesn't take too much to convince him. You have a connection built on trust, among other things, he will always be open to your ideas.

His reaction to the act itself:

So you are preparing accordingly. You and Echo finally have some time to yourselves and take the leap. Echo is incredibly forthcoming, even though he is visibly a little nervous, he is just as joyfully excited.

The preparation alone has a certain appeal, getting lubed up, feeling your hands so gentle and also guiding, he finds very pleasurable. Of course, you don't let him miss out. Echo enjoys your attention, every touch.

Echo is developing into a switch. He can be both for you, the dominant or also the submissive part. He can enjoy both to the fullest, because he rightly trusts you.

Wrecker

His reaction to your suggestion:

He looks at you in confusion, scratches the back of his head thoughtfully. The tough guy has never really given it much thought. Since others always see him as the typical, big strong guy, at least on the surface, he's never really given it much thought.

But Wrecker is an open, curious mind, playful and always ready to discover new things with you. Still, he hesitates a bit.

You try to make the idea appealing to him by telling him what else you can do for him during the act to intensify the feeling.

"Depending on the pose, you can see me naked during the act and I can massage your cock".

He smirks lopsidedly and says with amusement, "You've already piqued my curiosity, sweetie".

His reaction to the act itself:

Wrecker is playful as always, just as he is now. He is completely absorbed in his role and submits to you, letting you make all the decisions and following your lead. Even if the very first feeling when the strap on enters him is strange at first, Wrecker doesn't give up this idea so easily.

He tries to relax, listens to your words, your suggestions and also commands. It doesn't take him long to find his center in this game.

In the end, it's a playful, sensual, hot experience for both of you that you'll both love to repeat.

Tech

His reaction to your suggestion:

He blinks, finally slowly lowers the datapad, pushes up his goggles with his index finger, and looks at you questioningly.

"Would you describe this idea in a little more detail?"

Of course, you oblige him. At first, it's very hard to figure out what exactly Tech thinks of the idea, because his expression barely moves at first as he listens to you. Then he frowns thoughtfully, almost critically, and you fear that he is not interested.

Tech is quite experimental, very curious and as soon as he is thawed out, he has a much stronger sexual drive than you would probably believe him to have at first glance. But there's a whole other problem. Tech doesn't like to give up control very much, things he can't consciously fully control, usually cause him great discomfort.

For this reason, the early days when he realized he was falling in love with you were also very stressful and scary for him. It took him a while to let go of the fear and let himself fall. In the meantime, however, he can no longer imagine not being in a relationship with you.

Of course, you already know quite well how he ticks and say, "We would of course discuss together what exactly we want to do, how we proceed and set a safeword, so that you can pull the emergency brake at any time, should you not like it".

He sighs softly, thoughtfully.

"That sounds reasonable, my dear"

His reaction to the act itself:

Everything is planned out, prepared, and you're ready to go. Tech is a little uneasy, nervous, but a gentle touch here and a soft kiss there, slowly thaws him out.

Gradually, Tech adjusts to the new situation, and he plays his part quite wonderfully. As you sink the strap on into him, his hard cock pulses in your hand. It's different, it's challenging for him and yet exciting in a pleasant way.

He trusts you, fully and completely, otherwise he would never have agreed to try this.

In fact, Tech has much more fun than expected and is quite willing to repeat and even other variations of this kind of lovemaking in the future.

Crosshair

His reaction to your suggestion:

His brows go up questioningly, his look almost as if he can't quite grasp that you've dared to broach the subject.

"Are you serious?" he asks dryly.

A little unsure, you nod and say, "Sure, why not?"

Crosshair hates to submit, give in, or admit any weaknesses. He is a victim of his own toxic masculinity, now and then. So, for example, for him to admit interest in the idea, or even to dare to try, would be a sign of weakness.

First of all, it probably makes sense to wait with this question, this idea, until your relationship is really solidified, and a real and firm basis of trust is present, which is practically unshakeable. But even now, he will resist at first, even if he is curious himself.

Finally, he will give in rolling his eyes, as if this experiment, was a mere favor for you, with no benefits for him.

His reaction to the act itself:

He acts all bitchy, stubborn, and unyielding. You'll have to have a lot of patience and a thick skin, otherwise this could very well end up in a fight. Crosshair is sometimes like a spoiled brat who always wants to get his way, which of course doesn't go so well with what you're up to here today.

Or maybe it does?

If you get the hang of giving him orders and threatening him with punishment, while sounding insinuating and having appropriate punishments in store, Crosshair might suddenly take a liking to the whole thing quite quickly.

"You're pretty bratty, we should get that out of your system, don't you think?"

It's not often someone dares to contradict him, especially in this area, so this could be a really refreshing, erotic change of pace if you go about it the right way.

He won't admit right away that he liked it, but eventually he might, and maybe, just maybe, he will ask for a meeting of this kind himself.

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

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Happy Halloween folks! You know me! Always have to make sure I give you all a treat!

I hope you enjoy! (I accept chocolate and gummies as payment)

------

"Is she still asleep?"

Warriors nodded, "Yes, from what we are seeing, she's mumbling, seems she's dreaming"

"Is that so..."

"At the very least, the Traveler believes she's not distressed, simply in deep sleep."

Time sighed quietly, arms crossed over his chest. "Have we discovered whose blood was covering the area?"

A sigh, "Not yet, though we are hastening our efforts. Wolfie senses bad weather rearing it's head."

"Then let us not wait any longer, for whatever the case, I am worried for her."

With a frown, Time asked, "What do you propose we do? She hasn't shown any signs of waking up since we brought her here."

Warrior simply grimaced, which told highly of how confusing this situation was."

With an irritated sigh, Time rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eye.

Warriors cleared his throat, "Perhaps we can wait until the search group returns, we can discuss out options then."

"...If you insist," Time answered tiredly, opening his eye once more, "We should also see if we are capable of removing her from this place soon, despite her state. Having her in such an open place with limited supplies does not please me in the slightest."

"...Agreed."

With another huff, Time moved to sit next to where (y/n) laid sleeping peacefully on the bedroll in front of them, resting his cheek on his hand as he looked at her.

A few minutes passed without either man speaking or moving, only the sound of her deep breathing could be heard filling the room.

It was all so odd. This whole situation.

Without a care, they had entered the newest town on their travels, finding an inn and deciding who would restore what items.

A small enough town, small enough that they had seen no harm when she announced she was going to wander the markets.

And now… here she was. Deeply asleep after going missing for four days.

They had been fortunate to find her curled up against a tree- luckily there was nothing that indicated she had been injured or sick in any way - and placed her on her bedroll in front of the fireplace, which kept most of the chill off the room while she slept.

Time could still recall the ice that claimed and pulled his heart down to his stomach when he saw the dangerous amount of blood covering not just the area, but also on her.

Hyrule didn't hesitate to drop to his knees and begin scanning her condition as the others surrounded the two and kept alert for any possible dangers.

So far, with immense relief, they had not found any sign of injury on her body. They were soaked with blood, and there was dried blood on her face.

Blood that was clearly not hers, given her unharmed state.

Time wasn't sure whether or not to feel relieved or angry. He was furious she had been taken, Yet utterly relieved that she was safe and unharmed.

"We may not know what the circumstances were," Time spoke up to Warriors, not looking away from (y/n). "But I am dearly grateful for whatever allowed (y/n) to return to us uninjured."

Warriors simply sighed with a weak smirk, nodding in agreement.

--------

--------

--------

"Get away...Get away..!!" a panicked voice spoke as he ran through the cabin, his right arm bleeding profusely from the opened hole where his hand used to be. He had wrapped it as best as he could while he ran but he was dizzy from the blood he already lost.

He had thought himself fortunate when he spotted the empty cabin, yet it was a trap he foolishly fell into.

There were footsteps following behind the man, fast and heavy.

A shaking hand grabbed hold of the door and pulled, trying to force the door open. However, it wouldn't budge

"Nononono! NO!!!"

High-pitched laughter echoed around him.

"Come onnnnn~!" he heard a woman sing,

"Come herreee~!"

He shook his head furiously. His mind refused to cooperate.

"I said come onnnn~!"

His eyes flew open in panic when there was a sudden yank and something heavy hit him square on the back.

He coughed, gasping desperately as air escaped his lungs as he slammed against the wall from the force of the hit and falls to the floor against it.

As he coughed, something bangs against the wall above him.

Looking up, he sees a large portrait of a young woman.

Specifically the young woman he had planned to hold for ransom.

(She had obviously been a visitor of the town, it made it so easy to catch her off guard. Such unusual skin pattern. She must have been a noble with the quality of her clothes and the guard of armed warriors she had entered town with. He was sure she would fetch a pretty rupee.)

His vision swims, and suddenly pain shoots up his body, making him cry out and want to curl in on himself. It hurt so much. Yet he couldn't look away from the portrait. He felt nauseous and dizzy.

The young woman's portrait only showed her face, but her features were exotic enough to be recognizable, no matter the circumstances.

It was as if the pain coursing through him left him in a trance as he continued to stare at the portrait.

Suddenly, the eyes of the woman widened in surprised as they locked on to his, as if she were alive, than the expression quickly relaxed into a wide smile before laughing.

And suddenly, her image froze into that wide smile, the surface of the painting slowly ripping as if a water droplet had fallen on it's surface.

And slowly, a hand reached out through the rippling surface.

He watched as the hand began to reach forward, extending until the arm was completely through the portrait frame.

Then the hand grasped onto the wall by the side of the frame, elongating fingers digging into the walls surface, another hand clapped the frame beneath it's palm.

Then...a pumpkin with craved eyes and a grin pushed it's way out.

But what caught his attention was that it was attached to the neck and shoulders of the body hanging out of the portrait.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing. He didn't know if he lost his mind or not.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, nor did his gaze leave the figure that was currently emerging from the portrait.

The pumpkin headed...thing, laughed,

"Hello naughty man~!"

His mouth opened but no words came out.

All he could do was gape at the female voice that echoed within the pumpkin.

The monster titled it's head and it's craved smile seemed to grow a bit.

"You tried to take my friiieeend~!" the monster sang playfully, giggles escaping from it's mouth in bursts like a child that had too much energy.

It's voice, despite being soft and friendly, sent shivers down his spine.

"She's quite cute you know? Quite cute~"

The monster said in delight, its head twisted to one side, it's craved grin stretching stretching.

"But you can't take her~ No No No~"

it said, it's head turned to the other side, still smiling.

"Don't worry, you won't die~"

Then, it laughed again,

"But that doesn't mean your fate is to be freed either~!"

Then it raised it's arm upwards and slammed it into his face.

The hit seemed to snap the man out of his trance. He tries to scramble away, but the monster that hit him was quick. It's hand snaps forward and unnaturally long fingers wrap around his wrist as it dragged him towards the portrait.

He tried pulling her hand off, but it's grip was too tight.

"Please!" He begged, digging his other arm, the handless stump press into the floor to get some hold, only to leave a smear of blood as he was slowly pulled in. "I-I'm sorry! I never should have touched her!! I'll never do it again!"

His struggles only made It pull him harder, laughing gleefully.

"That's not what you mean~ You wanted to hurt her, hmm~?"

The naughty man, having covered Silly Home/Friend/Warm's face with a cloth of bad smells.

Silly Home/Friend/Warm was like a doll with no strings! Such a sad state for someone as wonderful as Home/Friend/Warm.

So They decided to follow the man daring to take their precious person.

It's grip on his wrist was getting tighter and tighter as It dragged him across the floor. The nails on his wrist dig in sharply to break skin, tearing flesh and drawing fresh blood.

They knew precious Home/Friend/Warm would be greatly upset if she woke up away from her Silly Sillies.

That's why They made sure to keep her dreaming happily! They knew Wolf Silly would find her, They made sure to leave a long amount of smells for it to find after all!

Precious Home/Friend/Warm's Sillies would take care of precious Home/Friend/Warm.

Which means They were free to take care this Naughty person!

"Naughty Naughty Man~" The monster sang, It's head twitching as the monster's craved eyes began to widen and it's 'pupils' dimming to the point of disappearing. It's grin stretching and it's 'teeth' grew more pronounced.

Naughty Naughty M̶͎̉͛ä̶̺̲͘n̵̘̝͋͘ ̴̗̌̑ͅ" It's voice, still somewhat feminine, sounded raspy, like a rusted saw attempting to cut into cracked glass. It gave a sense of rot as it spoke.

His increased struggles only caused the monster to giggle.

"D̴̘̈ô̷̘n̸̨̿'̷͍̿t̸̖͌ ̸̨̌w̵̰͝ó̷̰ȑ̵̯ȑ̶̭ÿ̶̰ ̶̳̒N̷̰͐a̷̰̚ủ̷͚g̷̙̑h̸̤̒t̶̖͌y̷̰͝ ̵̨̀M̵͉̌a̶̦͝n̷͔͘~̶̺͝ ̴̞̍I̸͉̚'̴͕̓ļ̴̕l̴͉̏l̵̢̔ ̴̲̏m̵̗̿a̶̞̔k̷̮̐e̵̟͊ ̵̞͛s̴̖͐ű̸̼r̸̻͠e̶̹͆ ̸̝̂ȳ̷̯ȏ̵̤ủ̶̱ ̵̮͝w̸̼͆o̸̮͝ṇ̶̐'̶̳̈́t̸͔̆ ̴̌͜d̸̳̒i̸̢̛e̴̥̊~̴̰̈!̸̗͌"

It dragged the flailing man closer until he was mere inches from it's face, the carved expression that now sat on it's face was horrific compared to the rather innocent look it once more.

"I̴͕͆ ̴̯̐à̶̡m̵̗͗ ̸̜͂ă̸͎ ̶̩͂g̶̦̈́ô̴̟ö̸̬d̸̖͊ ̸͖̇f̶̰̐r̸͎̅i̷̥͝e̵͎̍n̵̞̓ḋ̸̠~̴̱̿!̶̦͒ ̴̠͑S̸̳̉o̶̡͊ ̶̧̔y̷̲̓o̴͚͊ū̸͎ ̶̹͂w̷͙͐o̴̦̍ṋ̷̈́'̴̻̾t̵̯́ ̸̫̀ď̶ͅi̴̺͌è̸͍~̶̳̈́!̴̝̒" It cooed excitedly. Its hand tightened even more, forcing him to scream as his wrist snapped under it's strength.

"A̵̲͋t̶͆͜ ̷̖̕l̴̩̒é̵̺a̶͈͛s̵͊ͅt̶̥̚,̴̮͐ ̵̤̍n̵̘̈́o̸̢͛t̶̺͠ ̸̠̓f̶̺̃ǫ̷̒r̷̘͂ ̸̢͋à̸͖ ̴̰̑w̴͍̎h̵̖͒i̷͉͂l̵̒ͅë̸̡́~̷̬̉" It sang.

His screams grew but he wasn't able to do anything to stop the inevitable, the pain coursing through him.

The trees surrounding the area were the only listeners to the sounds that came from the cabin. Screams that would eventually fading away as the cold touch of death eventually wrapped around him.

But not for a long while.

--------

"We found a body. Rancher says the scent matches."

"...Seems someone took care of the problem before we could."

-------

----

--

(y/n) woke up a day later, completely unaware of anything that had happened after she wandered the market.

Everyone was overjoyed.

Oblivious of the figure sitting on a tree branch and humming happily as They stared down at the now re-united group.

"Hee Hee~ I helped!" It mumbled cheerfully, soon gone along with the next brush of wind passing by.

.

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(The Last Sight a Dead Man Sees Before The Bitter End)

[phantom-of-the-501st]

Thoughts on TBB 3x5: The Return

General Summary: AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

*stares at sheer number of bullet points in phone from this episode*

I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY THIS WEEK!!! PROPER ANALYSES MAY BE BACK!!!!!! (if I have time because I have so much to do D:)

ECHO'S IN THE THUMBNAIL!!! *cue biggest freakout I've had this season*

I genuinely let myself believe that we weren't going to see Echo this episode because I was so desperate not to get my hopes up. I though they were going to try and sort out some stuff between Cross and the other Batchers before bringing Echo into the fold but he's back!!!

The lighting is so pretty 😍

THEY TOOK CROSSHAIR TO PABU

HE'S TARGET TRAINING WITH AZI I'M GONNA CRY

The shaky hands are making me so upset 😭

But I'm glad that they're exploring something like this. It isn't just a case of Crosshair losing his spot in the Empire, it's about him being faced with something that affects his ability to be a sniper in all situations. His purpose was not the Empire, it was being a soldier, and that's what he's afraid of losing.

"IT'S ECHO!" Absolute mood and the only appropriate reaction to Echo being in an ep

THE HUUUUUGGG 😭❤️

Okay this may already be one of my new favourite eps

*replays hug 5 times before continuing with the episode*

"No hug for me?" "Depends on how good your intel is." Echo is defo still a little wary but the fact that the sass and sarcasm is strong between them is giving me life

There's been a lot of discussion about the parallels between what Echo went through and what Crosshair went though and I think that this is a perfect demonstration of the dynamic that stems from that. Echo knows what it's like to have your mind taken and to be used as a weapon against your brothers. He knows what it's like to not instantly be trusted. And because of that he has a leniency with Crosshair that the other Batcher don't. He isn't completely trusting but he's more willing to give Crosshair some grace because he understands better than the others.

"Especially without Tech" I'M RUNNING ON BARELY ANY SLEEP AND HALF A CUP OF COFFEE YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME

"I'm older than you are, little brother." The script for this episode is the greatest thing ever and I genuinely can't tell you how much the sass is giving me life rn 😆

Less than 10 minutes in and this episode is already killing me

WE'RE BACK AT THE OUTPOST 😭😭😭

CROSS IN THE ARMOUR AGAIN AAAAAAAHHHHH

Echo being the mediator in the group feels so appropriate

I adore how much focus Echo is getting this ep. They didn't bring him back and give him nothing, he's absolutely serving this episode and I am obsessed! 🤩

I'm in love with the fact that the Batch now just have a family pet

"I guess it served it's purpose." "Huh, sounds familiar." Initially this feels like a jab towards Cross but I don't think it is. That statement applies to all of the clones: they served their purpose and then they got ditched. It may have taken longer for Crosshair to accept the fact that the Empire didn't like him, but it is a statement that applies to every clone post Order 66. I think that that is what Echo is getting at: not a direct jab at Cross, but a general statement about something that Crosshair has finally come to terms with

MAYDAY'S HELMET KILL ME NOW AAAAAAHHHH

Mayday meant a lot to Cross and I think it feels particularly poignant now. He's back with his squad, but they don't all trust him. Crosshair could probably do with someone like Mayday right now, someone who trusts him enough that Crosshair doesn't feel as alone as he does.

Omega trusts him, and Wrecker is kind of there (as is Echo), but Cross still doesn't feel like he's home. He's missing one of the few friends he had.

Also, this is just evidence that Crosshair isn't the cold. heartless bastard that loads of people wanted to label him as 😌

Crosshair moving the helmets is such a simple thing, but it's so meaningful. The helmets were discarded and left in a heap, which represents the exact attitude the Empire had towards the clones. Picking them up and laying them out gives them a small amount of dignity.

It reminds me of the burial of the clones that died in the crash at the end of the clone wars. They may be in a remote location where they won't be visited, but they haven't just been left in a wreck, discarded. They were given at least an ounce of respect by their brothers and that is what Crosshair is giving to the clones at the outpost

Slight interval as I realise just how much I wrote down about this episode and just how much I have left to write 😵‍💫

Sensors down? That doesn't seem like that's going to go well

THE TOOTHPICK IS BACK!!! ❤️

"So yes, I did betray them, after they betrayed me."

This is all what it boils down to: they both feel betrayed. The thing is, both Hunter and Cross' feelings are valid, but they need to talk through why they made the decisions they did so that the other person understands. It's complicated because there isn't a good or bad side right now, they just won't listen to each other, nor will they talk things through because they don't trust the other person enough to be honest about their decisions.

"She went through what she did because you failed" OUCH OUCH OUCH OUCH OUCH

I'm not angry at Cross. Don't get me wrong, it's brutal and harsh and a dick move but Crosshair is getting defensive because Hunter is being confrontational. They're both messing up here. I can guarantee that this is going to cause discourse among the Hunter stand who are going to get pissed at Cross, but you have to understand that his actions make sense. They're not good (in the same way that Hunter really needs to ease up) but it's behaviour that makes complete sense.

We know that Crosshair's way of defending himself is to be an arsehole. He puts up walls and he lashes out. And Hunter rn is mostly stewing in his own self-loathing (which is why Crosshair struck a nerve).

Hunter is likely taking his self-hatred out on Cross and trying to shift the blame so that he can tell himself that it isn't his fault. The problem is, it's making Cross defensive, so Crosshair is pushing the blame back and sticking Hunter where it hurts. They're both stuck in a toxic cycle.

Oh dear (I literally wrote down nothing else here. This was just my reaction to the giant worm)

Echo is so on it in this episode and I love it! ❤️

Oh shit bye Hunter

This season looks so pretty and the animation is gorgeous ✨

The worm reminds me of that thing from HTTYD2 👇

GROUP HUG

"And I don't even see any blood this time. That's progress" ECHO I FUCKING LOVE YOU OMG 😭

On a side note, we talked about how Echo's humour and sass kind of deteriorated after Skako Minor but it's coming back in full swing! It shows how comfortable he's become and is evidence that he's healing 🥲🫶

Echo talking to Omega actually has me crying. He's so fucking supportive!!! 😭

"There might just be hope for us yet" followed by a shot of the ice vulture flying towards the light. It's a good way of showing Cross' journey away from the darkness of the Empire and back towards a place of healing.

Okay so this episode just means like... everything to me. The humour was on point, the emotions were on point. We got some good content from every member of the Batch. ECHO CAME BACK!

I'm just so obsessed with this episode omg

AND BINGO UPDATE!

[undertheopensky]

The Ocarina 2

Whumptober Day 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”

Characters: Same deal as last time, everyone’s there except Four but he’s somehow the main focus

Trigger warnings: Alternative Backstories, Unreliable Narrator, Past Child Death, Discussions of suicide

Read on Ao3!

Missed the first installment? Read here!

-----

Leaving Vio and the plaintive sound of his ocarina behind, the group heads off into the forest again.

In theory, they’re aiming for the northern side of the woods and the road that leads to Hyrule Town, but they already know they won’t make it.  This isn’t the Minish Woods, with the village and castle just over the next rise; it’s a representation of Four’s mind and his memories.  Just walking isn’t going to get them out.

But what will? Sky wonders.

The cottage comes back into view, all the more ominous now.  The bright sunlight contrasts with the heavy, creeping mist; with the too-dark forest full of screaming and fear.  Sky lets a hand trail close to the bark of a nearby pine; swears he can feel a chill rolling off it, hear the faint echo of a wail.

Everything just feels more intense, now that he knows the truth; now that he knows what Four’s been keeping locked up in his heart, locked away in the woods.

Why didn’t he trust us?

“I was thinking.”  Wind runs a hand along the smooth wood of the boundary fence.  “Vio, and Green, and the others - what if they’re not just memories?”

Sky looks back at him.  Wind’s acting too casual.  “Oh?  What else could they be?”

“Ghosts,” Wind says, then cringes as if expecting ridicule.

“I don’t think they’re poes, Wind.”

“Not that kind of ghost!”  Wind’s gone red, though Sky thinks it’s less embarrassment and more anger.  “The ghosts of people!  Of Four’s brothers!  What if they’re trapped here, stuck haunting Four’s mind, or wherever the fuck we are?”

Before anyone else can dispute this Legend is nodding thoughtfully.  “Actually, that’s a fair point.  I’ve not run into many ghosts, but the parallels are there.”

“Yeh’ve dealt with ghosts before?”  Twilight sounds startled.

“Of course he has, it’s Legend.”  The veteran, unsaid.  “Haven’t you dealt with ghosts though Twi?  You told a story about the queen of your Zora being a ghost.”

“Yeah, but that was jus’ the once.”  Twilight thinks for a moment.  “An’… she was pretty fixated on her son.  Only reason she was hangin’ round at all, ah figure.”

“Exactly!” Wind says.  “Ghosts often stick around when they have people they care about or things left undone.”

“But…” Hyrule looks troubled.  “What difference does it make?  Whether they’s ghosts, or memories?”

“Well… it’s pretty clear they’re trapped here.  Maybe we’re supposed to help them move on.”

Legend’s mouth tightens.  “They may not want to go.”

“Maybe not,” Wind says softly, “but we can at least try.”

It was as good an explanation as any.  As good a goal as any.  And didn’t force them to face the creeping worry that they’re not here for anyreason at all.  That they’re just here, and there’s nothing they can do.

(Can’t help Four.  Can’t help his brothers.  Can’t even help themselves.)

From here along the boundary line they can see the low fence of what’s supposed to be the vegetable field, if not the field itself - the mist still lays thick on the ground.  It’s somewhere to start.  Blue Four - shit, Four’s brother - had been pretty adamant about not moving from that spot.

He is, indeed, still there, mist swirling round his feet.  His sword hangs at his side like he’d gotten distracted partway through a drill.  Although - the way his head is ducked, like he can’t hold it all the way up, and his shoulders sag -

He looks so tired.

When they cross an invisible line his head still snaps up to glare at them.

Wind stops short.  Backs up half a step, and smiles.  “Hi!  You’re Blue, right?”

Blue, who had settled when he backed away, immediately gets his hackles back up.  “What’s it to you?!”

Wind shrugs with deliberate calm.  “Just making sure.  Vio told us your names, but I didn’t want to assume.”

“Damn nerd,” Blue mutters.  Despite his grumpy words, he calms further, enough to sheathe his sword across his back.  “So.  What are you bothering me for?  Vio’s the smart one.”

Wind hums.  “Just - trying to figure things out, I guess.  What was it like, when Four - Link - went on adventures?”

Blue scrunches his nose at him, confused by the question.  “What do you mean?  Like we didn’t all go?  He couldn’ta left us behind if he tried!  What, did he just never mention that he had his brothers along helping him the whole way?!  That bastard, taking all the credit.”

“He doesn’t like talking about them much,” Sky intercepts.  “So it was more of a group effort?”

“Of fucking course!  How else would an eight-year-old climb fucking Death Mountain all on their own?  Not that four eight-year-olds was much better,” he mutters.

Sky frowns.  Didn’t that -?

“It was a pain in the ass keeping all of them alive and focused,” Blue continues.  “Do we have enough food, do we have enough water, who’s tired, who’s hungry, has Red lost his weapon again?  Never mind trying to get everyone out of bed in the morning.  It’s a miracle we ever got anywhere.”  Blue scratches at his head, upsetting his hat.  He snatches it back into position angrily.  “Now that idiot doesn’t even have me keeping him on track, goddesses.”

“You must love him very much.”

Blue’s hackles go up yet again.  His shoulders fly up around ears that are quickly turning red, and his gaze jerks away from them so he doesn’t have to make eye contact.  “I - he - he’s -” he struggles with the words, folding his arms tight across his chest and hunching over a little.  Defensive.

It’s - hard to see him, Sky realises with a start.  He can see the mist through him, just a little, swirls of movement where there should be solid fabric.

Maybe they’re ghosts, Wind says in his memory, and he bites back a shudder.

“Of course I love him,” Blue says, in a tight, small voice.  “He’s my brother.  I love him so much, and -” he shivers, curls in on himself further, goes a little more see-through.  Sky considers waving at Wind to change the fucking subject already.

Blue’s already continuing, though, head ducked to stare at his hands.  “I’m glad one of us made it out.  I’m glad he lived.  And - I’m glad it wasn’t me.”

Sky’s eyebrows go up without conscious thought.  That’s - not something he’d expected.  Bitterness, grief, jealousy or envy - that’s more what he’d expect from the ghost of someone who’d been left behind.

Blue huffs, making a face like he wants to scowl at their expressions but is too damn tired.  “Think what you want.  But… when you’ve been surrounded by brothers your whole life… being alone really sucks.”

There’s a moment where his eyes go blank, and suddenly none of them are in a well-lit summer field; there’s only ice and darkness and tight spaces and knowing there’s something behind you –

Then Blue blinks and the moment shatters.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says.  “It happened, and we can’t change it now.  And - even if we could -”

He frowns.  It’s hard to tell where the mist ends and his small form starts.

“Even with everything… I know we made the right choice.  Because if it came down to it, I’d do everything over again, exactly the same.  I just wish… I just wish he didn’t have to be alone.”

Blue’s face crumples, and abruptly he turns away from them and strides off into the mist.

“Hey, wait!” Wind yelps.

Blue’s already gone.  His shadow had faded to nothing almost as soon as the fog swallowed him up.

“Well, now what,” says Legend.  Mist swirls uneasily around his boots.

“Maybe go back to the house?  We didn’t get much of a look at it before, we got distracted by… everything else going on.”

Sky glances back at the fence and has to suppress a shudder.

In a reverse of the last time they’d been in the vegetable patch, they head for the forge.  The door they’d originally exited through was back to being barred shut, though, with a few heavy scratches in the wood that hadn’t been there before, so they had to detour around to the front.  Maybe Red will be there, Sky thinks optimistically, or maybe they’ll really luck out and a portal will be waiting to take them somewhere else.

Instead, when Legend opens the front door, they find Green standing by one of the shop counters, studying a dagger with an idle sort of focus.

Since friendliness had worked okay before, Wind pastes a smile on his face.  “Hi Green!”

Green doesn’t respond.  His eyes are kind of distant, actually, like he’s not really there.  Like Four gets, sometimes, in the dark hours of the night, or when he’s got all his focus on the movement of a whetstone.

Then, before they can do more than exchange uneasy glances, he comes out of it with a blink and a tightening of fingers on the hilt.  He doesn’t seem to notice them, occupied with gently placing the dagger on a shelf.  The way he handles it - it’s more than a just a smith’s respect for a weapon.  Legend thinks it’s almost - fond.

Then he turns round and startles, and the thought is gone.

“Nice to see you again!  Are you Green?”

“You talked to Vio,” he says instead of answering.  “That’s… good.”

“We also talked to Blue!” says Wind cheerfully.

“That’s less good.”  There’s a smile sneaking onto his face, though, as he shakes off whatever daze he’d been in.

“Oh, so it’s not just us, he’s always cranky?”

“He’s been a cranky old man ever since we were kids.”  Green blinks, still a little hazy.  “Red says he’s just mad he’s not the oldest.”

“Ah, sibling rivalry,” says Twilight sagely.

“Who is the oldest?” asks Wild.

Green’s smile turns sardonic.  “Me.  Some big brother I turned out to be, though.”

Wind drifts a little closer.  “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Green retreats into himself a little.  “Look where we are now.  If I’d been a better leader - a better brother - then maybe - maybe they’d still -” he chokes, and shakes himself.  “I made so many mistakes - but - at least one of them lived,” he says, almost wistfully.

Wind cocks his head.  “You’re not jealous?”

“Jealous?”  Green looks startled.  “Goddesses, no!  If one of them lived then I didn’t - I didn’t completely fail.  If it was me - if I was the only one left - ”

It happens again - their sense of the world around them vanishes, replaced by darkened hallways, empty beds in empty rooms, names shouted but somehow the silence swallows them up -

“No,” says Green, shaking his head hard.  “No, no, no, it’s - it’s not real, that didn’t - that didn’t happen, it’s fine, it’s -”

He’s almost crying, breaths sobbing out of him as he hugs himself and shakes.  All around him the shop is smeary with colour as the world bleeds into itself, like tears staining a painting.

“That’s not how it happened - it’s not -”

He turns to run up the stairs - to check the rooms Legend knows will be empty - and is gone.

The room finishes swimming back into focus.  Legend finds himself pressing his hands against his eyes, like it will help.  It doesn’t.

Warriors clicks his tongue.  “That did not go well.”

“Yeah.”  Wind looks sad, but not surprised.

“Should we go after him?”

“No.  He’s gone, we won’t find him upstairs - and he probably won’t manifest again for a while.”  Wind grimaces.  “And if he’s so… fragile, it’ll make it hard to discuss things.”

That also explained why Wind hadn’t tried to go after Blue earlier.  Legend had wondered.  Adds weight to Wind’s ghost theory though.  A simple memory or echo wouldn’t react so strongly, surely.

…he thinks of Green’s soft smile, handling the dagger like he would a cherished memory.

Could a memory have its own memories?

“Forge’s empty,” says Twilight, from the stone doorway into the smithy proper.  “Red ain’t here, and the fire’s cold, so he’s prob’ly been gone a while.”

Warriors sighs.  “And if there’s really no point in checking upstairs…” Wind hesitates, but nods firmly when Warriors looks at him.  “…then we should probably head back outside.”

Legend’s not the only one to slump in defeat.

What were they missing? he thinks to himself, filing out the door after Time.  They’d been going round and round in circles and made no progress - it feels like a dungeon where he’s missing a key item.

Blue they’d found exactly where he was the first time.  Green had been in the shop, and the forge was empty - leaving them with no ideas on where to find Red.  Four’s home property wasn’t large, exactly, but there was enough space that it made finding one specific person difficult.

The fog wasn’t helping, of course.  Legend squints out across the fields and sees a whole lot of nothing; sunlight streaming through the fog turning it opaque and blinding, the fog itself, the menacing shadows of the forest beyond the fenceline.

The forest.  “If we found Green close to where we found Red - maybe Red’s in the forest, now?” he says aloud.

“It’s as good an idea as any,” says Time, and it seems no one else has any better ones because they don’t argue.

As they set off, Twilight asks, “Why ain’t we seen them close to each other?”

“Red wasn’t that far off from Blue the first time,” Legend reminds him.

“But not together,” Twilight stresses.  “We ain’t seem them interact with each other at all. If they’re ghosts of brothers, wouldn’t they wanna stick close?”

Wind shakes his head.  “Ghosts don’t really think like that.  All their attention is on the living.”

Legend agrees.  Though whether that attention is desperate protectiveness, or jealousy for what they could no longer have - well.  That depended on the ghost.  At least so far these spirits have been relatively non-violent.  Closer to memories, echoes of people going about their daily lives, than individuals with their own goals.

(Is Wind right?  Are these real ghosts, spirits of people trapped on a plane they no longer exist on?  Or are they just imprints of the people Four remembers, held desperately close?)

They hit the forest again and cluster together - no one’s willing to risk brushing against a trunk.  Legend doesn’t like tripping over people, though, and drops to the back while the others jostle for position.  He shakes his head at Wind and Wild getting into a slap fight over the right to walk in the exact centre of the dirt path.

It’s strange, though.  Under the low squabbling and Warriors subtly egging them on, Legend almost thinks he can hear music.

Not like the piping sound of Vio’s ocarina, clear and sweet.  This is duller, more organic.  He’s almost sure he’s imagining it.  Except for the heroes and the ghosts of the past, this place is unnaturally empty and quiet.

When you travel with eight noisy people, though, it’s easy enough not to notice.  Legend wonders if it’s his ears playing up.  It’s just a soft hum, after all.

The forest continues to loom and waft mist at them.  He’s reminded uncomfortably of the Lost Woods.  At least he’s pretty sure they’re notwandering in circles, the path’s too deliberate for that.  And the fog’s not that thick.  Unnerving, not all-encompassing.  This is fine.

Besides, Time’s not worried.  He’s always the first one to get a bit white around the eyes when the magic of the Lost Woods starts streaming up from the dirt.  Sometimes Legend wonders why, but the old man’s never brought it up, and hell.  There’s plenty of stuff Legend would just as rather never have to talk about.  He can let the old man hold his peace on this one.

He’s more likely to answer if Twilight cracks and asks first, anyway.

“Legend will you quit humming!”

“It’s not me,” Legend protests automatically, but his attention’s gone sharp and clear-edged.  It’s not just his ears.  Wars hears it too.  The low hum seems to be coming from the forest around him, maybe from the mist itself.  He’s the last one in line, he knows there’s no one there, but it’s instinct to glance back and check -

Red blinks back at him, smile a little too wide.

Legend is not the only one who screeches in surprise.

Red laughs at them as they all scrabble for a vantage point.  It’s a miracle no one pulls a weapon, even those near the lead who didn’t see the cause of the ruckus for several precious seconds - it would have been easy to assume they were finally being attacked.  But no, it’s just Red.  Fuck.

“Are you okay?” Hyrule asks.

“Just leave me here,” says Legend, where he’s sprawled on his back in the dirt.  “My heart can’t take this shit.”

Wild snorts.  “And you call Time an old man.” Legend raises one hand so Wild can see the very specific gesture he has in response to that accusation.

“Come on, vet, you’re alright,” says Wars, hauling him not unsympathetically to his feet.

There’s mischief in Red’s eyes.

Sky takes the lead on this one.  “Hullo there - how are you feeling?”

The mischief fades a little in favour of curiosity.  He tilts his head, inviting an answer.

“You got a bit of a fright earlier, I was hoping you’d be doing better now,” Sky continues.

Glancing around as if in confusion, Red just shrugs.  He looks okay to Legend, even if he’s gone back to not talking much.

“Well, that’s good.  I’m glad.  But, what are you doing in the woods?  You didn’t seem like you wanted to come out here earlier.”

Red purses his lips for a long moment, considering, then finally answers.  “They can be scary.  But there’s good things out here, too.”

“Yeah?  What kind of good things?”

Red grins again.  Bounces on his heels and - tips his body away, then back again, in a clear indication that he wants them to follow him, then sets off without pausing.

“Hey - hold on, okay, we’re coming!”

He’s at least not trying to lose them - just lead them somewhere, Sky thinks.  He moves through the forest with a confidence none of the heroes have, never worried about tripping on a fog-shrouded root or running into a tree cursed with terrible memory.  Occasionally he glances backward to make sure they’re still there, too.

Red looks eerily alike to his brothers, save the curls in his hair and the colour of his clothes.  Somehow, though, Sky can’t help seeing him as younger.  Maybe it’s the light in his eyes, even muted by the mist; maybe it’s the cheer in his face or the way he bounces as he moves.

“So Red, you’re the youngest, right?”

Red bursts into giggles.  “No way!” he says, spinning to face them.  “I’m second oldest, after Green!  What gave you that idea?”

Sky has no idea how to point out Red’s general air of childishness without being impolite, so he just shrugs awkwardly.  “Oh, no real reason, I guess.”

There’s a wicked flash in Red’s eyes that says he knows exactly what Sky thought.  “Now I can’t wait to see you find out who’s really youngest,” he giggles.

“It’s Blue, isn’t it,” says Legend.  “No wonder he’s so cranky.”

Red grins and doesn’t answer.  He speeds up.

“Whoa, Red!  Wait up!  Where are we going, anyway?”  Wind asks.

“Better keep u~up!”

Red’s cheerful singsong has no right to sound that menacing.

It turns out he’s leading them to a stream, shallow and noisy over rocks both large and small.  Red jumps into it with a whoop.  By the time he lands his feet are bare, leggings rolled up to the knee, and he splashes around happily in the shin-deep water.  Wind scrambles to get his own boots off and join him.  Sky wonders if he’s forgotten his original mission, or is just trying to connect with Red.

“Is this stream always here?” They sure hadn’t seen it the first time they came this way.

Red hums.  “Only when I want it to be.”  He pounces, scattering water everywhere and making Wind shriek, and comes up wet, pouting, and empty-handed.  “I missed the fish,” he whines.

That’s certainly interesting.  “Did you play here a lot when you were little?” Legend says.

“Yeah!  All the time!  It was the best in summer!” Kicking at the water, Red sends up a spray of sparkling droplets.  Wind yelps and ducks and splashes him back, and for a minute things seem like they’ll devolve into outright war.  Legend quietly backs out of reach.

It proves unnecessary.  Red flicks his hands a bit and loses interest, and Wind steers things back on track.

“So do does the stream just not run anymore?” he says casually, wading along just to make noise.  “I don’t remember seeing it when we visited last.”

Red hums.  “In really bad years it dries up, when Lake Hylia drops below its inlet level.  It’s… not good for the - for the forest.  I like it better when it’s running high.”  He finally clambers out of the water onto a sun-kissed rock near the bank, sprawling happily.  “When the rains come, though, it fills up again!”  Kicking his feet a bit, Red discovers he can just reach the water with his toes, and flicks some at Wind with a giggle.

Wild flicks some back.  “So the stream’s still there, but you don’t play in it anymore?”

Red slumps, ducking to hide his face.  “We just… didn’t have as much time, after we had to start being heroes.”

“Oh.”  Hesitating, Wind chooses his words carefully.  “How old were you when you had your first adventure?”

Red lights up at the question.  “Eight!”

Like Blue had said.  Not that he had a reason to lie, or at least not an obvious one.

“That sounds hard.”

“It was scary sometimes, but we had lotsa help.”  Giggling, Red reaches out with both hands to cup a massive daffodil.  Legend realises too late -

The world dissolves once more.

“Stop pushing me!”

“I tripped!”

“I’ll trip you if you step on my foot one more time -”

“Shush!” a small Green tries, tugging on his one captive hand and nearly bringing the whole chain to a tumbling stop.

“Gree-een!  Don’t pull me!”

“Sorry Red,” says Green, rubbing at the back of his head.

“This isn’t working,” complains Vio.  Baby fat and a pouty expression make him look all the younger.  His hair is getting in his face; he tugs irritably at the hand Red is holding, trying to sweep it away.

“Well the last time I let go of your hand you got distracted by a mushroom and nearly wandered off the path,” Red says.  “And then Blue yelled at me.”

“Why do I have to be at the back?” Blue joins the protest.

The sigh Green lets out shakes his tiny shoulders, makes the sword buckled across his chest wobble with the force.  “Because you actually keep Vio on track, but when you’re in Red’s spot, you’re always trying to step on my shoes, and if we put Vio behind me, it puts Red at the back, and then when he trips over we all fall down.  This works.”

Blue makes a high-pitched grumbling noise but otherwise settles down to sulk.

“M sorry,” says Red.  “I don’t mean to trip so much!”

“We know, Red.  It’s okay.  It just means you need two hands held.”

“This is still very im-practical,” says Vio.  “The knights said there were monsters on the road, and if we get attacked, we’re all stuck together.  I want my hands free!  And why do you get the sword?”

“You don’t even want the sword, Vivi, you hate swords.”

“It’s just for a little longer,” Green insists as he turns back around.  “C’mon, the forge isn’t much further.  Once we’ve all got weapons we can decide what to do next.”

Blue scoffs.  “‘Decide’, he says, like he hasn’t already decided what we’re doing.”  Then Vio trips him and they all go down in a heap.

“Grrrr!  That’s IT!”

Blue lunges.  Vio bares his teeth and drags him down to the grass, where they start scrambling to sit on each other and yank at handfuls of hair.

Lurching up on his knees, Red reaches out, much too far away to do anything.  “No, guys!  Guys, please stop fighting!”

Green sits up from where he’d been knocked to the ground, but doesn’t bother to stand.  “It’s okay, Red.  They’ll calm down eventually.”

Red sniffs.  “But I hate it when they fight…”

“I know.”  Green shuffles closer on his bottom until he’s pressed close to Red.  “C’mon.  We’ll… rest for a bit.  It’s not much further, an’ we haven’t seen any monsters yet.”

Reluctantly, Red sits down on his heels, then wiggles his legs out from under him so he can sit cross-legged.  “I wanna go home,” he says softly.

“It’s okay.  We’re nearly home, Red.”

“Didn’t mean that.”  Red curls up a little, watching his brothers roll around in the dirt with unseeing eyes.  “I wanna go home.  To before the stupid festival.  Before all the monsters an’ the scary people an’ Dottie -”

Green grabs him in an awkward hug as he bursts into tears.

“I wanna go home!”

“I wanna go home,” Red whispers, and it takes a moment for his eyes to stop swimming and actually focus on what’s in front of him - Red, still curled on his river rock, looking so much like that long-ago child that it hurts.  “I wanna go home, but it doesn’t exist anymore.  Not for me.”

Wind takes a moment to centre himself after the unsettling memory.  “If you can’t go home, then what will you do?”

Red rocks from side to side, biting his lip uncertainly.  “Stay here.  Can’t go home, but don’t wanna leave.”

Wind frowns.  “Is there some reason you have to leave?”

“I miss them,” he says like he hadn’t heard.  “I miss all of them.  I wanna go home.”

But unlike Blue, unlike Green, when his emotions ride high, Red doesn’t fade away.  Legend exchanges a glance with Sky - this might be their chance to get some real information.

Sky kneels down, on the bank level with Red’s rock.  Making himself small and unthreatening and calm.  “What happened?” he asks.

Red sniffles.  “It wasn’t fair.”

It never is, Legend thinks, aching.

“We weren’t expecting anything to go wrong.  It was over.  We’d already won.  There was nothing left to do except – except put up our weapons and go home, and –”

He swipes a hand over his nose.  “I wanna go home,” he whispers again.

Wind sloshes his way to the shallows, looking like he maybe regrets getting his breeches wet.  “It’s always hard, being away from home,” he says almost carelessly.  He sits down on the bank and starts trying to wring out his hems.  “Is that why this place looks so much like - the forge, and the fields and the forest?  Because you lived here?”

Red ducks his head.  “…maybe.  Doesn’t matter, though.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?”

“There’s no point.  At the end of the day, we’re still dead, and there’s nothing we can do to change that.”  He shakes himself; tries for a smile that quivers at the edges.  “You know, I’m glad it wasn’t me.”

Blue had said the same thing.  So had Green - or implied it, at least.

Red continues, “I love my brothers, you know.  And… going on without them…” he shivers.  “We never liked to be separated.”

Wind looks sad.  “You don’t wanna be alone, either.”

“Yeah, but also…” His smile is wry and self-depreciating.  “I’da given up by now, if it was me.”

Wind edges a little closer.  He’s near enough to hug Red, now, if he wanted.

“I love my brothers.  I look up to them, you know.  They’re so much stronger than I am.  And to keep trying, and trying, and failing – I couldn’t do it.  I know I couldn’t.”

Remembering what Blue had said, Sky says, “Would you have changed anything?  If you could do it over again?”

Very slowly, Red shakes his head.  “…no.  Someone needed to do it.  It had to be done.  I just wish we’d had more of a choice.”

Sky feels a frown flicker, smooths it away before Red can see.  “What do you mean?  Were you forced to -?”

Red shakes his head again.  His eyes have gone intensein a way that has nothing to do with their colour. “I wish we’d had a choice,” he repeats, and falls into the water.

It’s suddenly broad and deep and rushing, a river instead of a stream, and Sky cries out and reaches without thinking.  Time has to grab him to keep him from jumping in.

“He’s a memory, or a ghost,” he reminds him, “there’s nothing you can do.”

If Four’s mindscape would even let them.  The mist now reaches to towering heights, almost looming on the far side of the bank that’s suddenly so far away.  Threatening.

(Even now, Four protecting his brothers with everything he can bring to bear.)

The dirt under his boots crumbles a little.  Dampens from underneath.  “Uh, maybe we should move,” says Hyrule, looking alarmed.

Red is gone for now.  There’s nothing more to learn here.  Sky hates what he has learned, heartsore and sick to his stomach.

The water nips at their heels for a few worrying minutes before finally deciding it had expanded far enough and settling.  On the opposite bank of the new river-lake, only the very tips of the treetops are visible through the heavy mist. 

“Fuck,” Legend sighs, making Wild snort.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“They were so little,” Wind says mournfully, as they start off walking again.  Goddesses, more walking - Sky’s exhausted just thinking about it.

“When they died?” says Legend.  “Yeah.”

“Well, yeah, but I meant - what Red showed us.  They were so little, and they were on their own.  Why are so many heroes so young?”

It’s a rhetorical question.  Sky grimaces anyway.  He doesn’t like thinking about how young some of the others had started.  At least he’d been all but an adult - even if he hadn’t known what he was getting into.  None of them had, not really.

And Wind’s right.  Four and his brothers had been so little.

In that last memory - except that photograph on the mantle, it was the first time Sky had seen them all side by side.  Their first adventure.

“Where was Four?”  he asks aloud, stopping still.

“What?”

“Four.  In that last memory.  Remember, Red said - well he implied - that was their first adventure.  And Blue told us that all of them went on adventures together.  So where was Four, in that memory?”

Everyone looks at each other.

“Well… the memory musta been from his point of view, right?”  says Twilight.  “So we wouldn’ta seen him, if we were lookin’ through his eyes.”

“But we saw him in that picture with Dot,” Wind points out immediately.

“Maybe it was one of the others and he was just watching?” Hyrule tries.

Sky shakes his head.  “Even if he was - we never saw his hands, or his nose, or - none of the others so much as looked at him, or spoke to him, or even - none of them was holding his hand, and they made such a big deal out of everyone being in contact.”

“Maybe he was the one who was supposed to take care of monsters?”

“But Green had the sword,” Sky says.  “And it was their only sword.  That’s why they were going to the forge, to pick up more weapons for them.”

“My head hurts,” Wind complains.

“Okay, hold on.”

Warriors, ever practical, grabs a nearby stick, immediately drops it when the howling winds of high altitude and a bird’s screaming cry rush over them, and starts drawing in the dirt with his gloved hand instead.  “So.  We have our Four, who is Link.  He has four brothers, Green, Red, Blue, and Vio.  Green is the oldest, Red second.  All five of them -” he makes a weird face - “all of them went on the three adventures he’s mentioned to us, and… his brothers died sometime between then and when we met him.  Any questions so far?”

“Yeah, why are we calling him Four when there were five brothers to start with?” Wind jumps in.

“Because Four had four brothers?” Hyrule suggests.

“That’s morbid,” says Wild, sounding impressed.

“It was for the Four Sword, though, not his four brothers,” Legend points out.  “He even told us that directly.”

“The tunic’s definitely not.  Those aren’t even the colours of the elements, and most contemporary classification systems only use three elements anyway -”

“Four came from a different time, though,” Legend argues, “and purple was the colour of the earth element, before it got rolled up with fire.  Besides - the tunic could easily be for his brothers.  He was wearing it before we came along and started needing nicknames to figure out which Link was getting yelled at.”

“Okay that’s a good point,” Wind mutters.

“This still doesn’t answer where the hell Four was in that last memory,” Sky drags them back on track.

Warriors offers, “Maybe there’s a simple explanation - maybe he just stayed behind at the forge?”

That would almost make sense - but why?  They’d been at a festival.  Why would one of them have stayed behind?

And then, if he was never there at all - why did Four have that memory?

There’s too many pieces that don’t connect.  Sky hates to say it, hates to even think about it, but - “I think - I think we need to know how they died.”

Wind grimaces.  “There’s really no good way to ask a ghost that.  You didn’t think I was talking around the topic by accident, didya?  And - you’ve seen them.  When it came up anyway.  They’re not - remembering things that hurt them - it’s hard.”

“Is that information we really need to know?” Time speaks up.  “Our main goal is simply to get out of here.”

“And we still have no clue how to do that,” Warriors says.  “We don’t have any leads, except for the four of them.”

That’s not completely true, Sky thinks.  But trying to dig through Four’s memories when they don’t even know what they’re looking for - just the thought of it feels vile.

“Ledge,” says Warriors, “you said at the start you had a few ideas?  I know you said they were last resort,” he adds before he can protest, “but we’re starting to run low on options.  Just put it out there.”

Legend looks very much like he would rather not.  Hesitating, he runs a hand through his hair, and doesn’t seem to notice when it sets his hat askew.

“It is… a song of awakening,” he says at last, every word precise and deliberate.  “I don’t actually know if it will work here.  Are we asleep?  Is Four?  We don’t know exactly what’s happening or why, and - I don’t know.  I know I’m casual about a lot of my gear and items but throwing more magic into a situation that’s already so delicate seems -”

“Unwise,” Time finishes when he falters.  “I agree.  I wondered if one of my own songs might help, but -” he hesitates, and there’s a strange sort of grief on his face.  “But like Legend, I don’t know for certain what it will do.  And Four’s brothers - by all accounts, they don’t want to move on.  Which is the most likely effect of the Song of Healing.”

“I’m a little concerned as to how you know that,” Warriors mutters.

“So what do we do?” Hyrule says.

Warriors sighs, reluctant.  “I think it’s time to find Vio again.”

“He said last time he didn’t know how to get us out,” Wind protests.

“No, but that doesn’t mean he won’t have other information.  He’s been the most… put together, so far.  Maybe he knows something he doesn’t know is relevant yet.”

They’ve all seen that before, time and time again.  Seemingly useless information that only shines at the right time.

“Well, let’s hope he’s still at his rock,” says Sky.

“Let’s hope we can find the rock,” says Legend.

The forest continues to be loomingly inhospitable.  The banks of mist and fog are nearly knee-high here, and if Sky looks too closely, he keeps seeing things in them - hands and wings and mouths, and things that make his stomach turn.  The forest doesn’t like them.  It tolerates them, but - they’re not supposed to be here.

Go away, says Blue.  You’re not supposed to be here, says Green.  Red’s eyes, wide and frightened, before he bolts - before he vanishes - before he falls into rushing water and is swept away.

And Vio.  Cold, disinterested, flat and blank and not entirely present.  Holding his ocarina like Blue holds his sword - like Green had held that dagger - like Red had cupped the daffodil, careful and loving and confident all in one.

They’re in luck.  Vio has, in fact, not moved in the slightest.  He’s still perched on his rock, still playing his ocarina, though he cracks an eye as they approach.  Honestly, Sky doesn’t understand what he’s playing.  It makes no sense from a musical standpoint.  There’s no melody, no storyline, no repeating patterns - it feels like notes played out of order, or chosen at random.

Vio finishes playing, or reaches a stopping point, or just decides to stop making them wait, and lets his hands fall.  “Back again, heroes?”

“We haven’t found our way out yet,” says Warriors, with a half-charming, half-tired smile.

Vio doesn’t smile back.  “I can see that.”

Last time, he had started to open up when - “We saw your brothers again,” Sky says, trying not to seem like he’s interrupting.

Sure enough, Vio’s eyes snap to him and gain a tiny flicker of - not quite interest, but focus.  “And how did that work out for you?”

“Not as well as we’d hoped,” Sky admits.  “We’re still - something at a loss, on how we got here, or how to get out.”

“I’m worried,” Wind pipes up.  “What’s happening outside while we’re stuck in here?  Is Four okay?  Is he alone, or is time not even passing while we’re figuring this out?”

Warriors touches a hand to his shoulder.  “I’m sure he’s fine.”

Swallowing back his own anxiety, Sky continues, “We’ve been doing our best, but - so much of this place is made up of things he hasn’t chosen to share with us.”  Sky turns his eyes back to Vio; the biggest secret of all.  Why hadn’t Four told them?  Did it still hurt too much?  Did he believe they would think less of him?  Did he feel responsible for his siblings’ deaths?  There was just so much they didn’t know.

Had they ever really known Four at all?

He’s not dead, Sky reminds himself fiercely.  They’re going to get out of here, and Four will be waiting for them, and he will be fine.

Fine, except for a forest of dark memories, and the ghosts of his brothers that haunt it.

“We haven’t found any answers,” he finishes weakly.

“Perhaps you’re not asking the right questions,” Vio says.  His fingers move restlessly over the ocarina.

They all look at each other, hesitating.

“Something Blue said is bothering me,” Legend says slowly.  “He said that four eight-year-olds climbed Death Mountain.  That he, and all of his brothers, went on every adventure with Four.  But he said it like there were only four of you.  And when Red showed us - the beginning of one - there was only you four there.  Where does Linkfit into all this?  Where does Four fit?”

Vio looks blank for a moment - confused.  Then he sighs, and scratches one ear.  The movement - doesn’t suit him, too casual, too careless.  “I should have expected you to get caught up on that,” he mutters.  “No - I shouldn’t have expected you to understand it in the first place.”

“I’m sorry,” says Sky honestly.  “I want to understand, though - can you explain it to me?”

For the first time, Vio looks genuinely lost.  “I don’t - know where to start.  We don’t know where it started.  We never noticed, or - no.  It was more we didn’t care - didn’t want to care. What did it matter how it happened?  We were alive.  We lived, through three adventures and the worst Vaati and Ganon could throw at us.  We lived.

“Until we didn’t.”

It’s not entirely what he asked, but - Vio’s been the most composed of the four.  The most logical and self-aware.  If his death - their deaths - are where he thinks he should start, there’s a reason.

When he doesn’t continue, just stares off into space for a solid minute, Sky prompts him, gently.  “Red said something went wrong.”

Vio plays a few distracted notes.  “The plan was to seal the Four Sword back in the Sanctuary, and let their combined power purify Vaati over time.  We’d done it before.  Returning four blades to their original singular form wasn’t difficult; we’d done it before just to hide them more easily.  Except I guess… with one soul already in its grip… the sword got greedy.

“Four of us went in there.  But only one came back out.”

“Wait, wait, I’m confused.”  Wind waves his hands around.  “If there were four of you putting the sword back, and then one came out, then - why haven’t we ever met you?  How did that even work, if there were only four swords and five of you?”

“There were only four of us.  There’s only ever been four.”

“But - you, and Green, and Blue, and Red, and then - and then Four - are you saying Four is - is one of you?  But - who? And how?”

Vio draws in on himself.  His knuckles are white on his ocarina.  “I don’t… know.  We don’t know.  We’re not - we’re just memories, we’re not connected to him, so - we don’t know for sure.  He’s never said his name, never - given us anything concrete.  All we know is that he is very, very alone.”

“You really can’t tell?” Legend asks, surprised.  “But - I know you can’t ask him directly, but you shouldn’t need to.  Even though - you all looked similar, you all talk differently.  You move differently.   You have all sorts of small mannerisms that are your own, and I know you knew him well enough to see them on him.”

Vio shakes his head.  “We were always close.  The Four Sword made us closer.”

“What do you mean?” Sky presses.  Gentle, gentle.

Vio frowns, fiddles with his ocarina.  Not anxious - just thoughtful.  “You toss your brother the spare whetstone and a cleaning cloth before he’s even opened his mouth to ask.  You get handed a waterskin before you’ve even fully conceptualised that you’re thirsty.  You find yourself racing across a battlefield to block a blow, and you don’t know if you saw it from the corner of your eye, or you felt your brother overbalancing, but either way you’re right there to catch the sword that would have killed him as he fell, or to deflect the arrow he couldn’t have seen in time.  The Four Sword - isn’t a normal blade.  Its parts are always connected, and - as a result, so were we.  We became so close it was hard to tell where one of us ended and another began.”

“That sounds… uncomfortable,” Wild says delicately.

Vio snorts, the sound surprisingly human.  “Oh, we hated it at first.  Sharing a bedroom has nothing on sometimes sharing a head.  Spent a lot of time figuring out how to hold each other at arm’s length, establish boundaries that made us all happy.  In the meantime? So much screaming.”  He sounds almost fond.

Sky hates to ruin the moment, but - he has to be sure, has to make certain he understands.  “So… the survivor - the one we know as Four - is one of you.  But you don’t know which, because the Four Sword muddled you up.”

“It’s likely why we’re able to be here at all,” Vio admits, though it clearly pains him to do so: shoulders slumping, fingers going loose on ceramic.  “What remains of our memories clinging to the survivor.  It’s even possible he formed us himself, to keep from being so very, very alone.”

And despite being on the inside of it - maybe even because of it - Vio can’t even say for sure which of his brothers survived.

Sky has his suspicions.

“But in truth it doesn’t matter who it is.”  Vio leans forward, eyes gone bright and sharp.  “Do you care about my brother?”

There’s a collective outburst - eight people all shouting some variation of ‘yes!’ or ‘of course!’ and crowding shoulder to shoulder the way they’d been trying to avoid.  Vio doesn’t blink.

“Then you need to pay more attention.”

It’s an accusation.

Sky is breathless with offence.  How dare he - say that they’re ignoring Four - does he think they don’t care -

Legend gets his bearings first.  “Of course we’re paying attention!” he barks out, and looks like he’ll go on when Vio cuts in cold and sharp as a knife.

“Then why haven’t you noticed how much he’s struggling?”

What?

“What’re you talking about?” Despite his own offence Twilight’s trying to play peacekeeper.  “Four’s doin’ fine, unless somethin’s happenin’ outside -”

“No.  He isn’t coping.  Andhe hasn’t been for a long time.  He may look like he is to you, but he’s good at hiding things he doesn’t want noticed.”

It’s not that Sky doesn’t believe him, exactly.  But Four is - so steady.  He keeps up without complaint, smiles at Wind’s jokes and chats lightly around the campfire.  Sure, he’s a little reckless in battle sometimes, but compared to Wild he’s the pinnacle of restraint.  He even keeps up with the weapons maintenance a fighting group of their size needs.  How can he not be coping?

Warriors clearly agrees.  “It must be hard for you, seeing him out there alone.  Without you.  And I know it’s not the same, but he does have people watching his back.”

The displeased look Vio gives him isn’t quite a scowl.  “He may not be alone in that respect, but it doesn’t change the fact that he isn’t doing as well as you think.  If you knew him better, then perhaps -”

Around them the world starts to swim, the way it does when someone’s touched a memory and they’re about to get sucked in.  Sky wobbles; tries to brace himself without grabbing anything, when gravity feels like it’s gone sideways.

Vio stops midsentence to lift the ocarina to his lips.  He looks hyperreal sitting on his rock; though the world’s gone strangely blurry his outline is still clear and sharp, his colours unchanged by the muddying swirls.  Where Wind’s cursing sounds like it’s coming to him through water, the notes Vio plays are bright, almost too-loud, vibrating in the air until the world steadies, resolves into tree and grass and stone.

“You’re the one keeping us here!” Hyrule gasps, eyes wide and fixed on the ghost.

“Yes,” he says, unashamed.  “Doubtless my brother’s mind would have kicked you out by now otherwise.”

“But - why?” says Sky.

“Because no one is LISTENING!”

His voice is like a thundercrack, sudden and earsplitting.

“Because I don’t want this all to be for nothing!”  He leaps to his feet, pacing back and forth in front of his rock perch.  “I didn’t want to die, but Din take it, at least one of us lived.  That was enough, that made it worth it.  And now he’s decided it’s not good enough, he’s just going to throw it all away?”

“You’re mad at him,” Sky says quietly.

Vio snarls.  “Yes, I’m mad at him, because he’s making bad decisions and there’s nothing I can do to stop him!”

Bad decisions? Like wandering off with eight strangers through a portal of unknown origin?  Somehow he doesn’t think that’s it.

“Bad decisions?” Hyrule echoes Sky’s thoughts.  “Like what?”

“Stuff that’s gonna get him killed,”Vio snaps.  “I’m not letting another one of my brothers die!  Not if I can help it.”

Hyrule nods, still soothing.  “This has been going on a long time, huh?  Does anyone else know who can help?  His family, or -?”

Vio slumps back.  “No one ever listens.”

“Our father’s worse than useless,” says Blue, materialising out of nothing and scaring the daylights out of Wild, who’d been closest.  “If he’s not pretending everything is fine, he’s acting like everything is our fault.”

Red appears on the other side of Vio’s rock.  “I wanna say he means well.  But some of the things he’s said… I dunno anymore.  I don’t wanna be near him anymore.”

“He’s not helpful,” Vio summarises, as the other two fade away (and gods that’s creepy).  “Our grandfather, maybe, if he hadn’t died shortly before this portal nonsense began.  Losing that anchor - it made things all the harder for him.  And then just before it happened –”

For the first time, Vio hesitates.

“He dreamed,” Vio says slowly, “that the goddess spoke to him.  One last time, she said.  Only once more.  And the next morning, the portal showed up, and – well.  Now he’s determined that this will be his last adventure, one way or another.  After this, the goddess has promised he won’t be needed again.  If he doesn’t die along the way, then –” his voice fails.

“Then he’ll take matters into his own hands,” Legend finishes, making Vio flinch.

Sky feels like he’s falling.  Like someone punched him in the chest when he wasn’t looking and now he’s struggling not to drop something precious, something that will shatter irreparably if his grip slips but holding too tightly will crush it.

Being a hero isn’t easy.  He knows that firsthand.  In learning about the others, and the things they’ve been through, the things they had to do.  But to consider - to decide on suicide -

“Why didn’t he tell us?” asks Wars, sounding lost.

Vio turns flat eyes on him.  “Why would he?  If he told, you’d stop him.  That’s exactly what you’re going to do, now that you know.  Why would he throw roadblocks in the way of his own goal?”

Nausea rocks him.  To lose one of them - one of his brothers that way - Sky feels it down to his bones.  It’s wrong, it’s awful, it will wreck them all completely -

Behind his eyes pale skin and dark bruises and bright arterial blood flash there-and-gone in an instant; nightmares in potentia.  Possibilities.

And that - that’s unacceptable.

“We won’t let that happen.”  It’s Legend who says it - grim faced and determined.

Wind nods.  “Four’s our brother too, now.  We’re not gonna let him – hurt himself, or be alone anymore.  We’re gonna help.”

Like a sunrise, Vio smiles.

“Thank you,” he breathes, “thank you.”

There’s tears in his eyes, and as Sky watches they spill over, rolling down his face in wet streaks that he doesn’t bother to wipe away.

How scared had he been? Sky wonders, and for how long?  Knowing no one could hear him and no one was paying enough attention to know his brother needed help - how much had hope hurt, when he realised that maybe-maybe-maybe here were people who would care enough to try - would care enough to notice.

And then they hadn’t.

No wonder he’d hesitated.  Had he been watching how they interacted with Four’s internal space, with the memories left behind by his dead siblings, whether they were careful and respectful and trustworthy - whether they could be trusted with his surviving brother?

Warriors steps forward, as courteous as he’d be in a foreign court. “Can you help us get out?”

“I - yes.”  Vio wipes his eyes with the back of one hand and smiles at them again.  Sky’s heart skips a beat and sinks.

He looks so young.

Vio’s too-small hands lift his ocarina to his lips, one last time.

The song - and it is a song this time - is sweet and mournful, tugging at the heartstrings.  There’s also - more depth to it than Sky would have expected, from a small single-chambered ocarina.  A deep bass tone, and then a high fluttering soprano -

Sky glances back; there’s Green, sitting on a tree branch playing another golden ocarina.  Half-hidden behind the trunk, Red’s fingers flash over the holes of his own.  And if he peers sideways around Vio’s stone perch, Sky thinks he can see the edge of Blue, sitting with his back to them and all his focus on the instrument in his hands.

The forest melts away.  It’s quicker than before, but still messy, still ugly; colours smearing into each other until it’s all a green-grey blur.

The constant swirling makes him feel sick, so Sky focuses on the islands of stillness that are Vio and his brothers.

They’ve shifted, somehow, now standing clustered together.  It’s the only time Sky’s seen them like this, barring the pictograph Vio had shown them; four boys in four colours, near-identical looks of concentration on their faces as they play the lovely, haunting song.  They’re skilled.  Most Links are, he thinks with a pang.

Vio’s eyes are intent on him over the mouthpiece.  Don’t you dare let me down, they seem to say, though maybe Sky is projecting.

From behind him, he hears Wars muffle an exclamation.  Time shifts, readying himself to grab his blade, but Sky’s pretty sure he won’t need it.  It’s just light, spilling in from outside through what almost looks like a tear in the fabric of the world.  Bright.  Warm.  Everything the false light in Four’s mind couldn’t be.

“This is it,” Legend says lowly.  He takes a tentative step, then another, until even his shadow disappears into the portal of light.

Warriors follows on his heels, then Wind, with one last glance backward.  Wild, Twilight, Hyrule, Time; one by one, they all head on through, glad to be shot of the eerie reflection of Four’s home.  Maybe even glad to get away from the people they can’t help, who died too young and too far away for them to save.

Sky - can’t quite make himself turn away.

He hates leaving things unfinished.  Abandoning these four to the quiet and the emptiness sits wrong with him.  He just - doesn’t know how he can help, when they’re determined to watch over their brother and guard his memories - what’s left of themselves.

The light tickles at the back of his neck.  Beckoning.

“I’m sorry,” Sky says, and hates that it feels so inadequate.  I’m sorry we didn’t notice.  I’m sorry we took so long.  I’m sorry I can’t help you.

I’m sorry you died.

Vio pauses in his playing; the other three don’t so much as open their eyes.  He slowly lowers the ocarina, an unreadable expression on his face.  Then, one side of his mouth quirks up.  “If you save my brother, you can consider whatever debt you feel to me fulfilled.  Now.  This place isn’t for you.  Off you go.”

Sky’s heart hurts, but he knows Vio’s right.  He forces himself to turn his back on their plaintive chorus and steps forward, into the light.

There’s nothing he can do for them.  They’re dead, and nothing can change that.  His focus needs to be on Four, now - before they lose him too.

[show-your-fangs]

HIIII! I love your work, and I’ve recently came out as genderfluid and I was wondering if you’d be open to writing a fic about reader coming out as gender-fluid to Aaron? Lots of fluff and comfort lol 😂 if not totally fine. thanks! 💖

oh i love this. thank you for requesting it baby. hope you enjoy this cuteness! (it ended up turning into coming out to the entire team idk how or why but i love them and they love you)

i do apologize for using a such a cliché situation to get the ball rolling, but i think reader needed a little push to tell him and ids are always so fucking daunting to me.

Pairing: BAU x genderfluid!Reader x Aaron Hotchner

Words: 1.7k

CW: nothing, just fluff and discussions of gender.

Tags/warnings: coming out, the team being absolutely lovely, aaron being very kind, gentle, accommodating, reader wears a binder one time.

a/n: gender is such a wild thing. if you're reading this i want you to know that i'm so proud of you. much like sexuality, it isn't linear, it's a journey and it's okay if you feel like everything, like nothing, like one or the other -- your identity is valid and so are you.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

“Make sure you go up to the eighth floor to get your new IDs before the end of the day,” Hotch told everyone before he exited the room. 

It was ten in the morning and there was no new case, so after a short briefing to catch him up on what consultations everyone was working on at the moment, the BAU Unit Chief swiftly returned to his office. 

Everyone else started to shuffle out after him, back to the bullpen and their own exhausting tasks. But that was the job, and you all loved it too much to let the boring paperwork days like this one dampen the exciting, fulfilling, and thrilling ones out on the field. 

But you didn’t move, you couldn’t move as his words echoed in your mind. 

The task was simple. And yet for you it was daunting. 

Penelope’s words still circled in your mind. She had told you a week ago when the request came through that she could easily hack into the Bureau’s database and edit the information on your badge for you. That no one would ever know, that it would just already be there when you got it. 

But you’d told her you didn’t want to get her in trouble, that you would go talk to Hotch about it, finally. But then you’d been whisked away on a case and you honestly used it as an excuse to cower and not say anything.

Everyone except Hotch knew at that point.

Penelope had been the first to figure it out since you’d changed your displayed pronouns on your private social media and being the chronically online lady she was, she clocked the change immediately. 

She’d confronted you about it the next day and you let out an incredibly long sigh of relief when she told you how proud of you she was. There was no need to confirm it, displaying something on social media was as good as telling it to her personally. 

JJ and Emily were stunned to walk into the bullpen so early to an overly excited Penelope practically squeezing the life out of you. Before you could even tell her to stop, she turned around to tell them the news when they asked what was going on. 

It was only after they had both been shocked so strongly they didn’t need a cup of coffee to wake them up, smiled brightly and given you just as much attention as Penelope just had, that you told the chipper blonde that you weren’t sure you were ready to tell everyone quite yet. She’d been apologizing profusely ever since, hence the proposal to hack into the FBI to make it up to you. 

The four of you kept that secret tightly to your chests for a few weeks. You’d been using more gender neutral language at the office regardless, so it was easy to stay true to yourself, as much as gender neutrality allowed, while also not making how you actually wanted to be addressed a big thing.  

It wasn’t until the handsome incident that you finally told Reid. You’d decided to wear a binder that day to finally wear a sweater vest you’d been obsessing over for the past few days. You felt beautiful, confident—

“Well, good morning handsome,” Emily’s voice made your cheeks flush. You couldn’t reply, couldn’t do anything other than hide away as she giggled at your reaction. No one had called you handsome before, and you feared it might’ve been too much.

You finally noticed him when you sat at your desk, your cheeks still flushed. Spencer was staring at you, brows furrowed and confusion plastered all over his face. It was as though he was noticing too many things all at once and he didn’t know how they all came together to provide the answer he was looking for. 

And so, just to spare the poor Doctor’s genius brain, you told him. It took him approximately three minutes coming up with a system. There was no reaction, no follow up questions, nothing but acceptance and call to action. 

It had taken him that long because he didn’t want to just do the gender coded pink and blue. He’d settled on black for when you were feeling more like a girl, black for when you were feeling more like a boy, and silver for when you were feeling like neither. 

The next day he presented you with dainty bow pins that you could easily clip to your clothes or even your hair if you really wanted to. You wrapped him up in a tight hug, one that he didn’t shy away from, reciprocating it for as long as you needed.

You never had to tell Morgan. You’d gotten used to the girls using gender neutral language when they spoke about you and so when Morgan started to do it, you didn’t catch onto it right away. But when you finally did, your eyes widening and the realization sinking into your bones, he simply winked at you and continued speaking.

The most daunting had been Rossi. It had been the day before and was still fresh in your mind. It was the first day you started to wear the little ribbons Spencer had made for you. Silver for your first day, you were easing into it after all. 

Everyone who was in on it knew what it meant immediately, but to Rossi unfortunately, your ribbon meant someone had died. He pointed it out in the kitchen, offering his condolences and whatever support you may need. 

It was sweet, so sweet in fact that he was suggesting taking some time off. There was no other way to explain it other than to come clean, and so you did.

You explained it all, every question that he could���ve easily googled, every perception that he had from his generation and how he grew up. You ended up talking for a while and it was nice to actually have someone so determined to understand, to make sure they weren’t being ignorant or accidentally using language absentmindedly. 

Which is why you needed to rip the bandaid now, needed to tell Hotch how you were feeling before you found another excuse to bide your time. 

You knocked on Hotch’s office door softly, almost too softly as it took him a second to look up at you. 

“Yes?” He asked then, closing the case file in front of him to show you, you had his whole attention. 

You stepped into the room then, gently closing the door behind you and he frowned in confusion for a split second. You didn’t lock the door, it wasn’t like that, and it seemed to alleviate some of the confusion he was feeling. 

“I…um…” you sat down in front of him, fiddling with your fingers. Somehow it had been easy to tell everyone else, even if it had been scary. 

But with him? You didn’t even know where to start. 

“I wanted to know if…if it was possible to have them remake my ID?” You started, hoping that you could find your voice if you talked about something physical, tangible, something that transcended you. 

“Is there a problem with the information you provided?” He asked plainly. 

“It’s not so much a problem as it is a…contradiction?” He sat back in his chair, clearly not having enough information to reply to you, so he allowed you to continue.

You straightened, looked him in the eye and pretended like you were the most confident person in the world, just enough to get you through this conversation.

“I’m not a woman, I’m not a man— I mean at least not all the time,” slowly but surely the gears started to click into place in his head. “And so I was wondering if there was a way to…reflect that on my new ID.”

He was silent for a long minute, the most anxiety inducing minute of your life. But then he leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk between the two of you. 

“I am…unbelievably sorry if I’ve been accidentally misgendering you,” he started, genuine emotion in his oftentimes stoic eyes. You immediately shook your head, your own hand reaching out to hold his without so much as a second thought.

“Hotch, you’re okay,” you squeezed, neither of you ever even flinching or finding the physical contact weird. He’d always been affectionate with you, and you…well you were affectionate with everyone so he didn’t think you had noticed. But you had, and you made sure to let him know through the smallest of gestures. 

“Is there anything we can do?” He asked and it was your turn to look confused. “Around the office, to accommodate you.”

You smiled brightly. He was so sweet, so kind and caring and gentle, always looking out for his team, for his friends, for you. 

You told him about how everyone else had been super accommodating, how your color coded system with Spencer worked, how Rossi had sent you a million screenshots of articles and stories and even asked if he could come to Pride with you.

He smiled a few times, snickered a couple and it made you heart swell each time. You didn’t know why you’d been so apprehensive about telling him, about letting him know how you were feeling.

Maybe it was because his opinion mattered so much to you, maybe it was because you were scared of the minuscule percentage of possibility that he could react badly, maybe it was because it would’ve broken your heart if he had.

But none of it mattered now. He had reacted perfectly, like you knew he would, and with his hand still in yours, he called HR to request your new badge be edited, with your permission to talk about your situation. 

You could not remember a time when you had felt so understood, so accepted, so loved. He had reminded you that there were no such things as silly requests. He’d do anything to make you feel comfortable, anything to make you feel like you could exist happy and healthy, anything to let you know that you were safe and that he’d move heaven and earth to make it so. 

my sweet babies are so freaking cute i love them sm

tags: @canuck-eh, @ssamorganhotchner, @ssaspencerreidswife

[thesoulshyperrealaslacreatura]

Drakenier: Violence as expression and affirmation - Pt.1

It has become a rather well-known piece of trivia (or at least, well-known within the niche internet circles I flow through) that 2010's Nier Replicant / Gestalt had its overall message thoroughly inspired by well, 9/11 - the discourse that produced it, that came of it, and became it. Although it may not be a direct quote, "to kill someone, you don't have to be out of your mind, you just need to believe you are correct" is a sentiment clearly echoed throughout the game; as the many layers of its central and side conflicts drop alongside the curtains to its second, third (and maybe kind of fourth) playthrough, so does what had, for quite a ways into the game, seemed like a story mostly about finding, nurturing and protecting a community - people to call home.

However, the statement above seems to somewhat conceal-so-as-to-merely-hint-at what I'd argue is a much more complex argument the games lay forth, when looked at as one series. I, myself, have found it difficult in the past to distill both Replicant and the wider series as a whole into one coherent message or thematic frame; partly (and beautifully), because there mustn't be one - this singular reading which eclipses the broad range of experiences that people have come to share with the series - such an idea is preposterously reductive. Still, I think that this mish-mash of "the game is about philosophy and tragedy and nihilism and existentialism and society and humanity and life" and whatnot misses a bit of where the different themes intersect, producing further instances of meaning from the text. I hope to discuss the evolution (were I to sound even more pretentious, I might have used the word genealogy, but I would never stoop to that) of a few central concepts surrounding drakenier's "philosophy of violence" and where they seem to have informed or have been informed by other aspects of the works.

Strap in, because just from writing the introduction I can already tell this is gonna have to come in multiple parts. Hopefully my writing can steer away from boring you to tears throughout all of it.

Spoilers for the whole series!

Part 1: Replicant, and the subjective experience gained from that funky 9/11 fun fact

"Blood is sound, sound is words, and words are power"

This quote, almost a chant from Weiss as the player starts to grasp the gameplay loop of attacking enemies to allow for magical attacks, ties in the game's teaching of that system with what I consider to be the most powerful writing from Replicant (I'm going to refer to it as Replicant for the sake of convenience, obviously Gestalt is included in that). And it is deeply tied to what Taro himself has credited as a major source of inspiration for Replicant in relation to his previous game, Drakengard.

In some ways, Nier Replicant isn't introducing a new, foreign idea over the original Drakengard, so much as bringing out new elements from within its predecessors' critiques of the gaming landscape. Though that only really becomes clear by taking future foresights the series would reach into account; this is the point at which it becomes prudent to ask ourselves one question - how might the game's design regulate the player's interaction with the game world? (A question that, if you're at all even familiar with Drakengard, you probably already know the answer to)

From this, we can extrapolate a lot of meaning from how the original Drakengard was conceived: a game about violence, from the perspective of people who were so immersed in their own awfulness and the general precarity of their world that they cannot enact anything but that same violence. And it is that violence which comes to define them.

I'd also like to do the pedantic thing and bring up the fact that violence can be thought of as more than just physical harm, but also in terms of violation. In that sense, when I claim that Drakengard's characters are defined by violence, I mean it in that their reduction of other people to objects serves as an exertion of themselves - the Dynasty Warriors inspired combat of cleansing battlefields as the only win state reflects back at Caim as his only method of building an identity of his own, one based on strength demonstrated from conquering his enemies. You might find that these 'enemies' are violated the moment they're placed into the game as props that sustain its overall narrative.

In fact, this 'loss of personhood as self-affirmation' theme reverberates into another key factor of the game's story: pacts. They explicitly deprive humans of something of themselves - their ability to communicate, to see, to age, to have hair (sure????) -, and reduces both parties into one shared essence, yet it is what permits its characters to have strength through which they find themselves as able to inflict that dehumanization onto others. Dehumanization becomes their characterization, both from the audience's perspective as well as in-world.

Following that, Nier Replicant does not dispute that destruction of the other simultaneously inflicts upon the self both corruption and affirmation. If anything, it only takes measures to strengthen that sentiment, in light of how the added theme of perspective brings forth a need to now more closely study the subjective experience of perpetrating violence. Thus:

"Blood is sound, sound is words, and words are power"

The gameplay system I've anchored this analysis to comes into play; attacking your enemies gives you the literal strength to continue your offense, by design - ridding them of their life force, their blood, perpetuates the narrative, the words being built, the sealed verses of a prophecy you've set for yourself: that of being a hero to your sister/daughter, friends and general community. This even extends to the lyrics of Ashes of Dreams:

"Are we the plaything of fiends or merely the dreams that we're telling ourselves?"

Though we shouldn't forget that Weiss' comment takes the form of X=Y=Z=W, and it seems I've neglected the 'sound' part of the sentence. As I was writing this, my brain immediately made the association between that and Drakengard 3's focus on the power of Song, which, in fairness, definitely was made with the rest of the series in mind - but, in this instance, that sounds like a bit of a lucky coincidence. Still, what the concept of sound brings to the statement doesn't seem too far off from what meaning could be made at a bit more of a general, rudimentary level, that being: our lifeforce (blood) translates into our ability to be heard (sound), thus effectively giving us narratives about the world around us (words), which gives our actions direction, purpose (power).

From that, we can take a closer look into a lot of different aspects of the game. After all, the reason I proclaimed this piece of writing to be so powerful isn't really because I could - and did - stretch its interpretation to its fullest, but also from the way it manifests itself around the struggles of various characters, while being tied to the game's overall systems and world. Emil receding into his identity as a weapon in order to redirect what he sees as his curse onto those who seek to harm his friends - leading to his sacrifice; Weiss, who also goes on to sacrifice himself, does so in the name of putting an end to this now 5-year mission, grown into his own center of existence; Louise, perhaps reacting to the world around her, saw humanity as something to claim from others, and faced erasure upon perceiving herself as incapable of acquiring it. For better or for worse, the moral codes characters create from their own intentions of living become rigid scripts to follow as self-fulfilling prophecies of their own identities.

We can see that, ultimately, characters across both games tend to follow journeys with a general structure of: bleak circumstances > feeling of powerlessness > violence as a misguided means of reclaiming the power to define oneself > entrenchment in violence becomes overbearing, coming to annihilate the very self which sought to instigate it. From the first Drakengard to the first Nier, this hasn't changed a bit. What changed is a distinct awareness in how the self, or what we might call "us" stands in conflict with the generalized other, "them", and where it uses morality as a catalyst for smoothing out the uncomfortable edges of that conflict.

In fact, the annihilation of the self as, paradoxically, an act of self-affirmation is the very core of ending D for Replicant. And this is, partly, where the inciting 9/11 quote comes into play - given our newfound empathetic understanding of where violence comes from, how do we process it? How do we make sense of it? From the way the world is established, the very act of surviving, for both replicants and gestalts, is somewhat tainted as immoral, and predicated on the erasure of an 'other'. It leaves room for later material to find itself more at ease with this question (and those circle back nicely to ending E from the new version, as well). For now, most of what the game feels comfortable in concluding comes from Kainé, who stands in contrast with most characters by fully rejecting the notion of being a moral agent throughout the entire story, yet the game still offers us the chance to save her - it, mirroring the protagonist, relentlessly believes in her. Not even that "she can be better", whatever better might mean, just that "she can be".

And obviously, finally, we can extrapolate plenty of social commentary from this. Playing off of the thematic material introduced in Automata, we could argue that Replicant's plot is, in retrospect, about slowly building up to the depiction of a certain "Death of God" - which, in nietzschean terms, is not merely society straying from religiosity, but represents an irreparable shattering in the very idea of a centralizing narrative that everyone could subscribe to and fit within. So ends humanity, not just as a species, but as a concept; no longer are people able to identify themselves as containing some unified essence of 'humanity', recognizing the other as a complete self in its own right, as they retreat into the violence that was inflicted against them, which they inflict back at the world - to have your totality reduced to a role in a play that the winner gets to write. And in that sense, I'd argue it captures specific facets of a post-9/11 climate pretty well.

Anyway, gonna make a separate post that's just about Drakengard 3, and then one that's just about Automata, but at a later time!

also, this thesis becomes more relevant when the time comes to analyze automata, but it was still helpful in having me think through the previous games, so I'll drop it here as a reference for now, and will mention it more loudly once we come to specific sections later (not about to be the next target for hbomberguy lmao): http://dspace.library.uvic.ca/handle/1828/14525

Cool that there are people writing about it!! Thank you Xinlyu Tan, the goat!!! Would love to go through more material, but I'm writing this for fun on the side... hope anyone reading this has enough fun with it to go looking for more on their own, go extend the discussion further, blah blah blah. Also hope that I make any sort of vaguely coherent point. And, lastly, I hope you enjoy yourself!

[anna-the-undertaker]

Prideful Devotion

- Part 1 - At the request of @dark-lady15, @aeongiies and @lovelyfriedcomputer, here is part 2 of Prides Gift. And I want to give special thanks to @aeongiies for their help in choosing the direction this will take :) Thank you for enduring my questions. This turned out to be more soft than spicy though - Song Inspiration: The Devil's Backbone by The Civil Wars - I will be posting a poll for you guys to vote for which brother I do next right after posting this so GO VOTE.

In the hallowed depths of the Devildom, where shadows danced and the air crackled with an electric fervor, Lucifer gazed upon the human before him, whose pride and resilience had caught his attention once again and this time had stolen his breath.

It was undeniable, radiant, and untempered as they navigated through the introductions and, as expected of anyone who was under the influence of his power, they were quick to understand everything they were told. They carried themself with a grace that echoed his own poise.

Then the dreaded question that was on everyone's minds was asked.

Diavolo, being inquisitive as ever, couldn't resist any longer, "How do you and Lucifer know each other?"

Lucifer saw the others perk up with interest making him scowl and huff a breath of exasperation. This seriously couldn't wait? Before he could say so, MC spoke.

"With all due respect, Lord Diavolo, that is a personal matter."

Diavolo smiled, one that did not take no for an answer, "Well, hopefully you will make an exception for me."

MC smiled back, "Of course, just not here. I would prefer to speak of it in private with Mr. Morningstar present as it is not just my business, if that's alright?"

"Just call me Lucifer." Lucifer stated.

"If you insist."

The demon Lords boisterous laughter rang through the room, "Very well. We may discuss it later. For now we need to have you shown to the House of Lamentation, where you will be staying for the duration of your time here."

Lucifer met MCs eyes, "You will need someone to look after you, and I had intended for my brother, Mammon, to do so. He is the Avatar of Greed and...how should I put it...? Oh well, you'll understand soon enough. But given the circumstances, I will assume that role."

He pulled a D.D.D. out of his pocket and placed it in MCs hands, "Here, take this. It's a lot like the cell phones from your world. It will be yours to use as long as you are here. Now, I'd like you to call Mammon with it."

He knew that his brother wouldn't answer if he saw it was him so he was going to use this to his advantage.

They listened as the phone rang before Mammon answered with little hesitation as Lucifer had expected, "Yoooo."

"Hello, Mammon." Mc replied, their voice cool and collected.

Mammon was silent for half a second, "Who the hell are ya?"

"I'm MC, the new human exchange student."

"Whaaa? Geez, I was gettin' all chilly here thinkin' it was Lucifer again. Ya should've told me right away. So what business does a human got with THE Mammon?"

MC turned her gaze to Lucifer, taking in his expression.

"Lucifer asked me to call you. It would seem you need to rectify whatever you did before he gets to you."

"Pfffft, whatever. Ya think THE Mammon would listen to ya just 'cause you're tryin' to scare me with that name?"

The Avatar of Pride extended his hand for the phone letting MC set it in his palm, "You've got 10 seconds to get home... 9... 8..."

Mammon shrieked in fright, "YESSIR!" and hung up in an instant.

"Thank you," he said as he handed the phone back then turned to Diavolo. "I will take them to the House of Lamentation to get them settled then we will meet you at the castle to explain."

The demon lord nodded in acknowledgement so they left.

Time passed quickly after that and MC had done exceptionally well in the program. They had grown close with each of his brothers as well and had an uncanny ability to make them behave, already having formed pacts with Mammon, Levi, and Beel. He had a deep suspicion they had been sneaking to the attic but had no evidence to prove it, making him even more suspicious of their intentions behind the pacts.

MC had began helping him with his work and became his unofficial assistant, forcing them to spend much more time together. Idle conversation turned to flirting, with him unintentionally flirting back. They had a charm that was hard to ignore and he found that he would look forward to the afternoons they would spend together listening to his records as they worked. His pride would get in the way, however, forcing him to step back from them even though he ached to do the opposite. But MC stood their ground and took it in stride, determined to become closer to him.

Throughout that time he had been able to get to know them better, and found he had the urge to protect them and keep them to himself despite some of the mishaps along the way, even if he would never admit it.

He had no one to blame but himself for MCs courageousness after all. The small amount of power he had granted them so long ago had influenced them to the point where being told what to do or being told they couldn't do something affected their pride, urging them to do just that. Although, he was unsure how much was his influence and how much was purely MCs personality.

Some time later, at Diavolo's castle, attending the Ball the demon lord had thrown in celebration of the exchange program, Lucifer watched MC as they made conversation with the guests.

Amidst the flickering lights that painted the ballroom in deep shades of gold, MCs mortal form, clad in garments befitting nobility, seemed delicate compared to his. Yet an unyielding strength emanated from them, a beacon that drew the Prince of Darkness near.

He asked them to dance and he could hear their heart pounding in rhythm with the infernal symphony that echoed around them.

Part of him wanted them to keep looking at him with the look of adoration in their eyes in that moment, but the other was too focused on his caution.

As they danced, he threatened them, instead of explaining the dangers of going to the attic, not knowing that hurting them the way he had would leave him with regret and guilt.

They held his gaze even though his grip was painfully tight. Even as their face twisted with pain they stood their ground. A quality that was as endearing as it was irritating.

Their dance ended and they went their separate ways, but his eyes stayed on them for the remainder of the night.

As time continued to pass, MC had formed pacts with Amso and Satan. He admired their drive and dedication, but he still held them with an air of caution.

They came to his study late one afternoon and knocked on the door, "Lucifer, may I come in?"

"What is it, MC?" he called to them without looking up from his paperwork.

They stepped inside, "I have something for you."

That made him stop what he was doing and look up at them and the vinyl record in their hands in surprise.

At his silence they continued, laying the record on his desk, "It took some time and effort to have this made, and I may have had a bit of help from Levi and Mammon, but it's finally here. After our first meeting and making our deal, my life began to get better and my career skyrocketed. When I became of age, I was able to seize custody of my siblings and give them a better life outside of our parents abuse. They are grown now and living wonderful lives. In wake of all of that, I wanted to give you proper thanks, but I had no idea if I would ever see you again so I wrote this in the hope that one day you would hear it. You had no reason to help me and even if helping me had only been for your own benefit, I am still grateful."

They left before he could respond and his eyes fell to the record. He lifted it with gentle fingers, appraising the the bold letters on the cover that read: The Memory of Pride.

He rose from his chair and moved to his record player, carefully setting the disc upon it and let it play.

The music enveloped him. Each note pulling on his heart and his pride swelled to new heights knowing that this music was written specifically for him. He could feel the emotion that had been woven into it: gratefulness, remembrance, pride. He could feel how genuine it was. He had not thought that one small, spur of the moment, action would produce this.

The feelings brewing in his heart grew, and he let the record play for the rest of the night, basking in the warmth that coursed through his veins.

But then, everything came crashing down around him in what felt like an instant. His vision became clouded with red at the sight of MCs mangled body - a mere human whose fate had become intertwined with he and his brothers conflicts.

If only they had listened to him. If only he had told them the whole truth, his pride be damned. He knew they would have understood, but he didn't. They didn't listen to him or heed his threats and now look at what has happened.

An anger he had not felt since the celestial war began to build within him. He could barely hear his brothers pleas' anymore.

A sinister aura hung heavy as he seethed. His eyes burned with a malevolent fire as he confronted his brother.

"How dare you," Lucifer hissed, his voice laced with venom. "MC was under my protection, under our family's protection. They were mine to guide, not yours to extinguish!"

Belphie only laughed making Lucifer's anger flare, his true form unfurling in a dark display of power as he stepped between MC and his younger brother. His features contorted with a mix of grief and unbridled rage, casting an eerie glow upon his chiseled face.

"Yes... Yes! Perfect! That's exactly the look I was hoping to see on your face, Lucifer!" the youngest laughed, "And this little pendant of theirs? The all powerful Lucifer couldn't have possibly given to them. So let's just get rid of it."

He crushed it in his fist and let the shattered pieces crumble to the floor.

"You dare to decide the fate of those under my care? You have defied me, Belphie, you have defied Lord Diavolo, and this transgression will not go unpunished." Lucifer's voice carried a chilling resolve.

But before he could follow through with it, MC reappeared. Their countenance alive and vibrant. His eyes that had been filled with fury and grief, now shimmered with a glimmer of hope and disbelief. The weight of despair that had burdened his heart lifted, replaced with an overwhelming sense of relief.

Everything that happened after was a blur: revealing Lilith's true fate, discovering that MC was her descendant, and the guilt of withholding it all from his brothers.

The tension took awhile to dissipate and with MCs urging his brothers began to forgive him. MC was still wary of Belphie, and with good reason, but they eventually met halfway and his younger brother made a pact with them.

The end of their year had arrived and Lucifer had finally found a name for the feeling in his chest. The reason for his unconscious need to protect them and keep them near. Love; something he didn't think he'd feel for anyone, especially a human.

They came to his study to discuss everything for their return to the human realm and the thought of them being lost to him ate at his heart.

"Have you done all you set out to do here in the Devildom? No unfinished business? No loose ends?" He asked.

A downcast expression formed on their face, "I believe so, yes. But Belphie did break my pendant. I can't replace that." A chuckle slipped past their lips. "Now that I think about it, I've yet to make a pact with you."

"A pact, you say?" He began, his face going blank. "I see. You've made pacts with all of my brothers, which just leaves me... Do you really want to make a pact with me? Truly? I don't know how my brothers felt about making pacts with you, but I am more than a name to be crossed off of your list. I can't have you lumping me together with everyone else. That won't do."

His demon form emerged and MC didn't flinch.

"Seriously, Lucifer? From the very beginning you have been held in a different light from the others. And you should know by now that this form of intimidation from you doesn't work on me anymore." They crossed their arms defiantly, head tilted to hold his gaze.

Lucifer huffed out a breath, "That defiance... I've always found that aspect of you irritating. But as irritating as it is, it's even more endearing."

As they stood face to face, Lucifer's lips curved into a smirk, a blend of mischief and desire. The air grew heavy with anticipation, the unspoken tension between them filling the void. In the depths of his ruby eyes, he let MC glimpse a tumultuous sea of emotions - a yearning.

In a gesture both daring and vulnerable, Lucifer extended a hand, his touch gentle as a whispered promise, "If you are amenable, I am willing to offer you a deal."

MC, emboldened by an inexplicable connection, accepted the invitation, their fingers intertwining. They looked up to him with heavily lidded eyes, their voice coming out a low purr, "What would this deal cost me?"

He pulled them forward, wrapping his other arm around them for his hand to rest against their lower back, and a surge of raw energy coursed through their vines, their union an alchemy of darkness and light, binding them in an embrace, a pseudo waltz of undiscovered pleasure.

His lips came to rest against the shell of their ear as he answered, "Everything. You will belong to me and me alone." He moved to face them, their lips mere centimeters away from each other. "So, what will it be? Do you wish to make a pact with me, MC?"

MC searched his face, but there was no hesitation in their reply, a whispered, "Yes."

His grip tightened, and his touch sent shivers of anticipation down their spine, MC felt the weight of centuries-old burdens slacken just a little. But in the warmth of his presence, they discovered solace and a love that could not be contained.

His voice, a velvet caress, spilled forth words of vulnerability and truth, a confession that echoed through the chambers of their intertwined souls, "I love you."

Lost in the labyrinth of their emotions, time ceased to exist as they moved closer, their breaths mingling in the sacred space between them. With a tempestuous gaze, Lucifer's hand cradled MC's face, his touch both fiery and tender, akin to the paradox of his being. Their lips met in a union both fierce and passionate, a melding of opposing forces - darkness and light, damnation and salvation.

"We are heading straight to my room," He breathed as he pulled away, a fire in his eyes that would not be put out. "You're going to spend your last night in the Devildom there, together with me... all night long until the break of dawn. I'm not letting anyone else have you now... You're mine."

In those final, eternal hours, their embrace transcended the mortal realm, and they soared through celestial planes, leaving behind the trappings of their troubled pasts. Their love, fueled by shared desire and pride, became an inferno that engulfed them completely, igniting a flame that would burn forever more.

In the embrace of the Prince of Darkness, MC found freedom - the freedom to embrace their flaws, their desires, and the capacity to love him unapologetically. And as they danced on the precipice of darkness, Lucifer and MC embarked on a new journey, their love a testament to the power of connection, and a bond that defied the boundaries of Heaven and Hell.

[pico-digital-studios]

Into, Across and Beyond! Scripting: Funkinverse Crossover Ending

(Inspired by the ending of No Straight Roads (UNMARKED SPOILERS FOR THAT HERE), and by @robovoidfrog's Funkinverse AU)

A few moments had passed following The X's successful defeat, which was not made easy. It really did take everything the many hundreds of -friends had to finally wear the monster's strength down, and though Benjamin managed to invoke an even fight against him using the ECHO powers, he was still quickly overpowered.

It took it all, but Salty and everyone else managed to pull through and burn him out enough for his abilities to be hijacked, leaving him a heavily-glitching mess of an entity. And in the last moments, Cam had helped out. He pulled a huge sacrifice to dispose of The X's threat, and though Salty tried to talk him down from having to do so, he had already made up his mind.

After all was said and done, Salty, Gracie, Brooke, Benjamin, BluBuni and Kenji descended down a building-side elevator from the apartment block, seeing the city cheering for the work they managed to do.

Brooke: Heh, look at that. Philly's cheering for us, especially you, Salty.

Salty: H-Heh, yeah.

Gracie: Heh, well done, Salty. You're a hero!

Salty smiled to his two multiversal best friends, his trust in them both rekindled in the aftermath of the final battle.

Benjamin: How's that, Kenji? You managed to redeem yourself after all that happened. Isn't that great?

He noticed Kenji didn't respond, looking down at the ground glumly.

Benjamin: Kenji? Are you alright?

He turned to them, holding his damaged microphone.

Benjamin: Oh, gosh! Your microphone! Did it break during the fight?

BluBuni: Should we try to fix it?

Kenji: ...I don't deserve any hero's welcome. Not after the wrongs I did...

He just dropped his mic on the floor as the elevator stopped at the ground level.

News Reporter: You all did it! You saved Philly from being annihilated by a giant monster hedgehog! ...Hang on. Aren't a couple of you enemies of Boyfriend (Salty)? What gives?

Kenji: Well, I changed. Catch you all later.

Salty: Kenji?

News Reporter: Woah woah woah. This opens up SO many questions. Are you retiring from your own career? Are you buddies with Boyfriend now? Who was the one piloting that helicopter before?

Gracie: Well, erm, we'll get back to you on that.

Kenji was about to leave, before Salty stopped him.

Salty: Dude, you think I'd just let you solely waltz off without seeing the good things you did? You could've continued going down the path Cam forced you through, yet, thanks to Ben here, you instead chose to help me, alongside with hundreds of these guys, save my home. Honestly, for that, you and all the other -friends have my deepest gratitude.

Kenji: O-Oh. I-It was nothing. Couldn't have done it without everyone's help. Honestly, I better make a move. Got things I need to fix up back home.

Gracie: Kenji? Everyone's here to celebrate the achievements we've done. Don't you feel it's a bit rude to just leave?

Benjamin: Heh, you know, I've done stuff like this tons of times. Why not give the people some words of encouragement?

Benjamin led him to the front of the plaza where the population was cheering.

Kenji: Sorry, everyone. I made a lot of mistakes. I may not like all types of music, but that's okay.

Judith: You know, I'm glad you brought that up.

Judith stepped up.

Judith: I and many other Boyfriends and Girlfriends aren't free of our own wrongdoings, and I'm taking full responsibility for my actions and those Cam Malicious had caused. Having said that, I intend to fix this misstep right away, right here and right now.

Brooke: Some of us had a discussion before our final fight, and we have agreed that every -friend deserves better than this.

Judith: In this sense, no one person should be given absolute power over the music-makers of the Funkinverse. Because of this, I'll be helping rebuild the Funkin' Society from the ground-up; not as a strike force, but as a safe social place for any Boyfriend or Girlfriend, professional or early-starter, to bond together without strict agendas or negativity. A new system where they're all welcome to perform throughout a new planned-out locale. We shall celebrate equality for everyone! Equality and shared rights for all!

The -friends around them cheered, all happy with the idea.

Brooke: And as a first step, I'm honoured to offer my companions in both Funkin' Gangs positions in the new Funkin' group! It would mean a great deal for us if you could join our cause to allow safe bonding for any and all -friends across the Funkinverse. What say you guys?

BluBuni: An actual safe space for all aspiring singers? Count me in!

Benjamin: Heh. Even though I'm close to officially retiring from my music career, that's something I wouldn't mind.

Salty looked out to the cheering crowd, himself still not sure about it for now.

Salty: I... I can't!

Judith: You can't?

Salty: I'm not really... ready yet, not at this time, especially with all that went on. I'll think about it, but... thanks for the offer.

Kenji: Honestly, me neither... I wanted a chance to be treated with respect so much, that I forgot why I started doing music in the first place...

Benjamin: Ah, yeah. I can tell you've still got a lot you need to sort out back home, especially with your family.

Aloe: So you plan to remain indie, in that sense?

Kenji: I-I dunno, but... thanks a lot for the offer. I-I'm honoured, really. Even after w-what I did, you're all being v-very nice... b-but I need to lay low for some t-time. This is a l-lot for me to process, I'm s-sorry.

Kenji began walking off.

Gracie: So, what now?

Salty: I mean, we can always keep connected through this, right? Even if not as top members.

Brooke: Heh, true that. Honestly, I'm happy we're still a close team in our own right.

Benjamin had another idea in mind for Kenji.

Benjamin: Hey, Kenji! Catch!

He threw his electronic handheld keyboard set to Kenji, who caught it while bewildered.

Kenji: Huh?!

Benjamin: Take good care of it for me, alright?

Kenji (shocked): I... I can't accept this!

Benjamin: My love for music remains strong as ever, but my public performing days are behind me now. Someone else needs to continue that mantle, and I knew you deserved the chance.

Judith: Ben, Blu, Kenji, Salty, Gracie? You're all performers! Where I've failed, I want all of you to go beyond! You guys, carry on the journey for us! Long live music!

Salty, Gracie, Ben and BluBuni smiled to each other, knowing they deserved the high gratitude, though as for Kenji, he started tearing up, finally letting out the grief he had gone through for so long.

Kenji: T-Thank y-. Thank you!

He fell to his knees, sobbing his heart out as Aloe knelt next to him.

Aloe: Uh, Kenji?

Kenji (still sobbing): Thank yooooooooooou...

Aloe: Kenji, you okay?

With that, the -friends were all set to head back to their dimensions for a well-earned rest (and perhaps some time to mend the wrongs many of them caused). A couple of months later was when a blank dimension was reserved for a whole "Funkin' City" to be created as a hangout lobby for the many multiversal -friends to simply get together and enjoy each other's company, and Grace lent a hand in ensuring it could be built together. In the present, Judith looked out over a balcony (with a picture of Cam and his Girlfriend before the incident) in her pocket.

Judith: Honestly, it's a funny multiverse we live in. You tend to get caught up in your own beliefs, and sometimes, you need to take a step back and remember that the stage doesn't just belong to you. We're all in this together, and the sooner we can acknowledge that across every world, the quicker we can all work towards a common goal.

She looked back at X (DJX) jamming on his DJ system behind her with a smile.

Judith: Many people compose, write or sing music for different reasons. Some do it for self-importance...

We see Brooke playing the banjo while his Grace and Brooke Jr. watch him, alongside Toon BF enjoying time with his family.

Judith: ...some do it to bond with their loved ones...

And then we see Kenji sitting on a rooftop with his Aloe, ready to fix things up where his arc couldn't continue.

Judith: ...and some to understand their purpose in life. But the most important thing to know is this; there are no true wrong answers when it comes to that art.

Cut to Goldie performing live on a stage, hopefully with a proper chance of impressing Minus Girlfriend this time.

Judith: If we continue to lead societies in life that give every kind person the opportunity to be treated as equals, even on Earth-0, we can build whole worlds where true creativity knows no boundaries!

Shots of the newly-built Funkin' City are shown, with the many -friends hanging out in their own little corners, such as Benjamin, Barbara, BluBuni, Evan and Holly ordering some sweet treats together, Soft Benjamin doing some paintings with Soft Pico accompanying him, and even a couple of the Boyfriends performing on a live stage together.

Judith: Well, I'm happy to say that the Funkinverse is steadily headed towards that direction. Never have I seen smiling faces shine so brightly in the land, and it is all thanks to not just those I've worked with, but to the aspiring performers, fans, and everyone who resides in those many worlds.

Finally, we cut to a shot of Salty grabbing his microphone for a stage performance, taking a deep breath at the backstage area.

Judith: And to Salty and Gracie, I thank you too.

Gracie was right there, knowing she couldn't miss this performance in particular. And even sweeter, Itsumi decided to come along to see him perform live to many people.

Judith: You showed well that doing the right thing as a hero and as a performer is a wonderful privilege.

Salty gave the two ladies fist-bumps before he stepped on stage.

Judith: Hehehe... You two canon defiers. Whatever you guys are up to now, I hope you keep doing... what you do best.

Salty: Are you all ready?

Salty was met with an uproar of applause from the audience.

THE END... for now, anyway.

That same evening, Ben and Blu were chilling out at a rooftop with Grace next to them, before a different portal opened up behind them, revealing a face familiar to both Ben and Grace.

EV!Sonic: Hey, guys? You got a second or two?

BluBuni: Huh? Another Sonic?

Benjamin: My own Sonic, Blu!

BluBuni: Sweet!

Grace: What did you need from us?

EV!Sonic: There's something I wanted to ask you about, if it's alright. Kenji accepted a couple of months ago, so I'd like to discuss... a possibility for you guys, too, alongside Bunfriend and Aloe.

To be continued another day...