#i think the thing he is most afraid of is earnesty

[ilynpilled]

i wish jaime’s arc was never this heavily associated with the word redemption bc every single discussion about him revolves around that word and the baggage people have with it. i know george repeatedly used it when it concerns him, but i obv do not think that means his arc is as simple as going from bad to good. but it is about transformation imo. if it was just about a perspective shift/recontextualization then why would george make him lose the thing that defined him in every way and allowed him to detach himself from everything? it is also not an elaborate trick and a subversion of “redemption arcs”, that is also a reductive and cynical read of it to me. his nuances are never discussed beyond “bad guy is good guy now” or “guy is tricking u he is still stagnant.” imo his motivations evolve, his relationship with the self evolves, his relationship with abstract concepts he craves such as honor, love & knighthood evolves, he evolves: he is one of the characters that is in constant motion, he is always on a journey, he is rarely at a standstill after he leaves the dungeon in acok. it makes me so sad that nothing new is said about him atp other than fandom going in circles about this one word, especially bc i think he is at a key transitional point again right now. i think his arc is about tearing down the “brave golden knight” image in every way until you are left with nothing but harsh reality and a broken cripple. it is tearing apart facades & personas. and then it is the story of what one can make of oneself then. it is about grueling moral dilemmas and the making of choices. and then finally it is about the idea of confrontation for someone who has always been incredibly afraid of it and repeatedly chose to run away inside instead. george deliberately made it so he can no longer do that. that must lead somewhere.

[thearchivistsjournal]

Day 252,

Vernon stopped by this morning.  Apologized for not visiting sooner saying he’d not realized I’d come back into town until relatively late yesterday.  Wanted to check on me.  See how I was doing.  Said he’d been concerned about me since I sort of shut down after what happened when we got back from the expedition.

I thanked him, but said that I should be the one worrying about him (add a new thing to feel guilty for not doing, too stuck wallowing in my own misery to remember him).  He was the one who was actually injured.

He insisted that he was fine.  Practically over it.  The wince when he went too far stretching to show off how fine he was didn’t help his claim.  Still, he even made a joke about it being a shame nothing’s in a spot where it can be seen with his uniform on.  “I hear scars are considered quite dashing” I believe were the words of his faux-lament.

I forced a smile (perhaps an easier endeavor in his presence) and claimed to be fine as well.  Admittedly not great for a few days there, but better now.  Just need to get caught up on what all I missed while I was gone.

I suspect he was as dubious of my “being fine” claims as I was of his, but neither of us called the other out on it.

Before he left (his job keeps him more occupied than mine does me), I did make a point of thanking him for the damage control that I’d gathered he and Pat had been doing the past several days.  The fact that the two of them had known about things ahead of time (Pat in particular) did a lot to put folk’s minds at ease.  That, coupled with what I’d come to understand was some proactive spreading of good stories now had most people curious rather than afraid.  Much easier to deal with.

He just smiled and said of course he did that.  What kind of gentleman would he be if sat by and let fear and rumors spread about his friends?  Or anyone else for that matter.  He has his pride as a (junior) mediator to think of too.  Actually with this whole ordeal being a bit like a Village-wide mediation, maybe that “junior” part would change soon.

I laughed and wished him luck with that.  Genuinely.  And the laugh being one of lifted spirits rather than mockery or skepticism.  The man treads a fine line between raw earnesty and subtle showmanship that’s… “adorable” isn’t the right word, but it’s adjacent.  “Endearing” certainly applies.

On his way out the door he stopped briefly to advise that I get together with Lin the next time she’s back in the Village.  Last time he saw her, she looked as bad as me (guess I wasn’t hiding it as well as I thought).  Suggested that a bit of commiserating might help us both out.

I said I’d keep an eye out for her.

Well, that’s enough staring at the page for minutes straight.  I should probably just close the journal and find something productive to do around here.

*******

Considered going back to the house for the evening, but decided to just stay here.  The place just feels empty right now.  Funny that I say that given that the nature sprite would likely show up whereas here I actually am alone.  At least here I can theoretically go find someone if it gets too bad.  Not sure if I actually would, but the thought is still a comforting one.

<==Previous          Next==>

[generaldisdainn]

The First Christmas in Forever

A big shoutout to @frozines and all of the talented and hardworking mods and contributors that came together to create a beautiful winter Frozen zine! <3 You can see the whole zine on their account. Also, a massive thanks to @punkpoemprose for beta reading my submission! She’s an incredible writer and I felt so lucky to have her read over my piece and help with edits!

Here is my piece for the zine! It takes place directly after Olaf’s Frozen Adventure and is just a little one shot of Anna and Kristoff getting to share a quiet moment together after the events of that short. I hope you enjoy! Happy holidays! <3

Rating: G

Pairing: Kristanna

Word count: 2,617

AO3 link

Summary: Kristoff and Anna share a quiet moment alone during their first holiday season together. (Some canon-compliant fluff taking place directly after Olaf's Frozen Adventure!)

The moon lingered high in the sky as one by one the Arendellian citizens began to take their leave from the holiday festivities. 

After the town search party found Olaf, everyone had stuck around for an impromptu holiday party of sorts. Elsa erected a beautiful Christmas tree, the castle staff and townsfolk brought out food and drinks to share, and everyone spent time enjoying the end to the first day of the holiday season.

Kristoff watched with rapt attention as Anna tended to the people of Arendelle. She offered them food, danced with the little ones, and checked in with each person, young or old. In truth, they could have left a while ago, and perhaps they should have. He saw the way she stifled a few yawns, the way she stumbled over her own feet. But Anna stayed. She stayed until the very last family bid their farewells. Only then did she turn to Kristoff with tired eyes and tell him she was ready to go home. 

“Did you have fun?”

“Oh yes,” she said with a yawn. “The best Yule bell day ever.” 

She leaned on his shoulder and looked up at him, eyes shimmering with the light of the stars above. Kristoff’s heart surged. 

***

Elsa bid them farewell at the top of the staircase once they got back to the palace. Anna took her into a tight hug, and Kristoff gave her one as well before they took their leave to their respective sides of the hall. Kristoff smiled as Anna passed by her own room and continued on down the hall toward his.

“Can I-” She always asked. But the answer was always the same. 

“Yes.”

They weren’t technically supposed to be sleeping in the same room, but after almost 5 months of Kristoff being around the castle and 4 of him having his own sleeping quarters, most everyone in the palace turned a blind eye to the matter, save for Elsa who would always tease them at dinner (to which Anna would kick her playfully and Elsa would laugh behind her hand). The only guards and maids who came by the sleeping quarters in the evenings or the early mornings were the most trusted and beloved. None of them would dare soil Anna’s reputation or happiness. Besides, she had been alone all those years. 

“Best to let her make up for lost time,” he’d overheard Gerda saying one evening. 

Countless nights spent together allowed them to settle comfortably into routine. Kristoff brushed his teeth and splashed his face with water before slipping into his palace pajamas (he loathed most of the stuffy clothes supplied to him by the palace staff, but the pajamas were to die for) and crawled into bed. He leaned back, watching Anna as she readied herself.

Her nightly routine had a lot more steps than his did, but he didn’t mind. It always gave him plenty of time to admire her while she stood by the bathroom sink. 

“Help?” 

She made her way to the side of the bed and stood there, beautiful shoulders and back turned to face him as she offered him the strings of her corset to untie. 

It had taken him much longer than he cared to admit to learn how to work the intricate strings and knots that were her dresses and undergarments, especially as experienced as he was with rope, but he took pride in the fact that he could now help her so well. It meant that he could now undress her and re-dress her perfectly so that she could slip away to him midday and then return to her duties without raising suspicion. It had proven to be a particularly useful skill in that regard.

He kissed her shoulder as the undergarment slipped off of her and she let out a soft breath before moving to change into her nightgown.

It was rare he saw Anna in these moods. Normally she was bubbly and exuberant, filling spaces with excited rambles and stories. It was as if she had lived in silence for so long that she never wanted it to be quiet ever again. But tonight, she was still, letting thick contemplative silence fall between them. 

Anna blew out the lamp and crawled in bed beside Kristoff, tucking herself delicately into his chest. She looked so small against him. So beautiful. So his.

“I love you,” he said. It felt like the best place to start.

“I love you too.” She nestled closer and breathed deeply. “I’m sleepy.”

“I can tell.” A soft, rumbling laugh left him at that. “You had fun though?”

“I did.”

“What was your favorite part?”

Anna hummed in consideration and cuddled closer into him. “Definitely watching Olaf put his star on the tree. What about yours?”

“I liked watching you dance. Especially with the kids.” 

There was a time not so long ago when he may have refrained from admitting something so vulnerable or with such big implications. But they were at a point where absentminded talk of their future together was not uncommon. 

“I didn’t know you were watching.”

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you.”

He could feel her sigh of contentment rumble against his chest and he had the urge to pull her impossibly closer until she was a part of him. 

“I’m sorry we didn’t dance together.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t dance with you. I was so busy talking with everyone else and making sure that everyone was having a good time that I forgot to, I don’t know, do things that I wanted to do.” 

“I’m sorry, Anna, I didn’t realize-”

“It’s okay. I had a good time, I just missed you I guess. I was trying to make it special for everyone else, and I forgot to make it special for us.” She traced circles on his chest with a delicate finger, and he watched as she bit at the inside of her cheek. 

He hated watching her overanalyze herself or judge herself so harshly for things she hadn’t even done wrong. 

“Alright, come on. Up.” He reached for her hand and sat up, motioning towards the floor. 

“What are you doing?”

“Just for a second,” he reassured as he stood to his feet and brought her up with him. 

He was lucky the moon was still streaming in through the window so that he could see her clearly.

They stood across from each other and Anna gazed at him inquisitively. 

Before he felt too silly or could second guess what he was about to do, he extended a hand to her and watched as her cheeks flushed in the evening glow. “May I have this dance?”

A smile broke out onto her face and she eagerly took his hand, immediately pulling him into her and wrapping her arms around his waist. There she was. He loved when she took the lead. He swayed in time with her moves, dancing to the imagined music of her heart.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked after a moment when her swaying slowed and she pressed her head against his chest.

“Tonight was beautiful, it really was.”

Kristoff paused to let her continue. He knew that if he replied the moment would be lost, her worries pushed down only to reveal themselves another day. It was a gentle process of teaching each other to let go and be open, but it was one that he was happy to learn by her side. 

 “I just can’t stop thinking about how much time I lost here alone.”

His heart caught in his throat. She had lost 13 years to loneliness and confusion. 13 years of stolen time and missing moments. It was something that pained her often. 

“I know.” He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

“Did you have a good night?” she asked, her voice laced with the sudden worry that he hadn’t enjoyed himself. 

It was as if she was afraid that if he hadn’t had a good time he would leave her. But he wouldn’t. And she knew that. She just needed to be reminded every now and again, something Kristoff was happy to do.

“I did, Anna. I always had my family during this time of year, but sometimes I still felt like an outsider. It was nice to be a part of something that was mine. This is the first Christmas in Arendelle where I felt like I belonged.”

She smiled up at him and placed a hand on his chest. 

He continued, making sure she saw the earnesty in his eyes as he spoke. 

“I know you feel like you need to make up for all of this lost time, and that all of these firsts need to be perfect, but tonight was ours. You were there, and Elsa was there, and Olaf, and Sven, and all of Arendelle, and that made it perfect. We were all together. And we get to do this every year for the rest of our lives.”

“You’re right.” She took a calming breath and let the tension leave her chest. “I love you.” Anna pulled him into a tight embrace, arms holding him close to her as she breathed deeply. 

He felt her relax against him, his heart swimming with pride in the fact that he was able to comfort her. They had come so far together. 

“I love you too.”

Her eyes flickered with their familiar, mischievous glow as she pulled back to look at him. “I’m hungry.”

Kristoff laughed. Of course she was. “Anna, it’s so late.”

“I know, but it’s that time of year,” she urged, poking at his sides and pulling another chuckle out of him.

“Okay, okay, feisty pants.”

***

They stole away to the kitchen, snickering as they tried to stay quiet while boiling milk and melting chocolate to blend together into a creamy, chocolatey drink. They brought their warm mugs filled to the brim with hot chocolate back to Kristoff’s room and sipped at them together on the floor. The dancing and the chocolate and the giggles took their tired eyes and traded them for ones alight with joy and lost in the possibilities of Christmases to come. 

“Tell me your favorite holiday memory,” Anna said, stretching out her legs and resting back on the floor after a long sip of hot chocolate. 

It didn’t take Kristoff long to think of one. It had stuck with him for as long as he could remember, and it was one of his favorites. 

“This was my first Christmas with the Trolls. I think I had finally left the orphanage for good a few months before, so I had only been with them for a short while, and I remember I still felt guilty for being there.”

Anna sat up and rubbed his arm as he spoke of that time. He had told her how hard it had been, and whenever he recalled his darker days she always listened with close attention and a comforting hand rested somewhere on him to let him know that she was there. It kept him grounded, and he appreciated it more than she would probably ever know. 

“I wasn’t expecting any gifts or to be involved in their celebration. I had never really been included in Christmas celebrations at the orphanage, so I was planning on heading out with Sven on Christmas and then coming back after everything was done. But on Christmas Eve, Bulda pulled me aside and told me she wanted to give me an early gift. It was this beautiful fire crystal, just like the ones that all the other trolls earn after doing something brave. She said it was mine for being so strong and for finding my way to them. She said that I was the bravest person she had ever known and that she loved me and that I had earned it.”

 Kristoff felt Anna’s small hand wrap around his as he continued, fingers locking together and anchoring him to her. 

“I felt awful because I hadn’t even gotten her anything in return, but she said that me finding my way to them and letting her care for me was the best gift of all.” 

Kristoff wiped at a stray tear that threatened to fall as he recalled the memory. 

“Sorry,” he murmured with a slight, self-conscious chuckle. 

Anna wiped at his cheek with her finger, drying his tears and holding his face in her gentle hand. She hushed his apology and spoke to him in a soothing voice. 

“Kristoff, that’s such a beautiful story.”

He nodded and met her eyes, suddenly unafraid to show her his that were glistening with the beginnings of happy tears. 

“Do you have any favorite holiday memories?”

“Hmmm, let me think.” 

She took a moment, face scrunched up in contemplation, before continuing. 

“There was this one year when Elsa was the first to wake up on Christmas morning. I always woke up before her, so it was kind of a big deal and I teased her about it a bunch. But anyway, we went downstairs together, and there was this beautiful dollhouse left for us. It was so detailed. Elsa and I played with it all the time. I, uh, kicked it once in one of the first weeks Elsa went away because I was so upset. My mom got mad at me and took it away, so I don’t know where it is anymore. But I loved that thing. We both did. And that was such a beautiful Christmas, too. My dad sang for us by the fire and Elsa and I danced all night. I hope we can do things like that now that I have a family again.” 

Anna squeezed Kristoff’s hand at the word family. He was family. He smiled, heart surging at the reminder that they had a lifetime of holiday memories to make together. He’d throw her a Christmas party every night if it meant filling her life with the light she had missed out on all those years.

“You’re never going to be alone again.” He said it like a promise, so soft and sure into the night. 

Anna’s breath hitched at his words, and she placed a gentle kiss to his lips, stopping only to murmur against them. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

Kristoff blushed. Despite all the time they had spent together, the smallest actions still gave him butterflies. 

Anna yawned then as they parted, arms thrown up over her head in a stretch that told Kristoff the tiredness had finally caught back up to her.

“Alright, it’s bedtime.” Kristoff wasn’t sure what time it was, but he knew by the way her eyelids fluttered it was time for them to sleep. He put their empty mugs up on his desk and picked up Anna before she could protest, carrying her into his bed and placing her down gently before crawling in beside her.

“We’re going to see your family next week, right?” Anna asked as another yawn overtook her, and she resumed drawing tiny circles on Kristoff’s chest with an absentminded hand.

“Yes. They’re so excited to see you.”

“And we’re doing that thing at the orphanage, too, right?”

“Mmhmm.” 

Anna had started lining up gifts for the kids at the orphanage weeks ago in preparation for their visit there. Another yawn overtook her, and Kristoff smiled as he watched the way her eyes closed and her mouth fell into a gentle smile. “Merry Christmas, Kristoff,” she said into his chest.

“Merry Christmas, Anna,” he replied as he held her closer and felt himself drifting to sleep right behind her.

[hawkbucks]

SteveTony Harry Potter AU for anon! :D Whose ask I have lost once again since it was on my old blog. 

Original prompt: hogwarts!au where tony & steve's class started lessons abt Amortentia, but Tony is unaware of w/c potion they are brewing; he's too out of the loop bc of another allnighter maybe? So Tony's confused as to why the room smells so much like Steve & thinks that he’s pranking him bc of a prank he did on him earlier? Or thinks Steve somehow found out he likes him and it's his way of teasing/making fun of him so he snaps loudly at Steve to Cut It Out

Tony wrinkles his nose as he measures out exactly 20 grams of powdered moonstone and adds it into his cauldron. They’re supposed to be making a potion that does… things? To be quite honest, he isn’t sure what it is they’re supposed to be making. Every word that his professor uttered went in one ear and out the other, the nook and crannies of his mind busy being taken over by dreamy thoughts of cuddling up in his warm bed with a belly full of food. Damn his N.E.W.T.-levels and the near obsessive way they have to study for them.

He stirs his potion clockwise once, then counterclockwise thrice, idly following the instructions written out on the textbook he has sitting next to his cauldron. He reduces the flame underneath his cauldron and leaves the potion to simmer, waiting for it to turn a sky blue.

He starts to crush 5 dried rose petals in his mortar and pestle, eyes wandering around the room. One student, Peter Quill if his memory serves him right, seems to having trouble with the way that he’s still trying to stir some peppermint into his cauldron. Another student, Kamala Khan, seems to have already finished, the professor standing over rnext to her and complimenting the fantastic sheen of her potion.

Then there’s Steve Rogers, who Tony’s eyes always seem to land on no matter where they are or what they’re doing. He seems to be on the same stage as Tony, the tip of his pink tongue poking out between his teeth as he works on crushing the petals. Tony briefly wonders if Steve’s hands are as large as they appear to be.

That’s inappropriate, his mind chides, but can anyone blame him? Steve Rogers is the epitome of perfect Hogwarts student. He’s a prefect (that Tony strongly suspects will be made Head Boy) as shown by the badge pinned to his chest, the Keeper on the Gryffindor Quidditch team along with being the team captain, an excellent dueler, and he’s earned an Outstanding on all of his O.W.L’s bar 2 subjects.

In short, he’s way out of Tony’s league, which is exactly why Tony’s chosen to have a crush on him.

It’s not helped by the fact that Steve seems to go out of his way to talk to Tony whenever he can, whether that means complimenting him on his wandstance or offering to buy him a Pumpkin Pasty or a Cauldron Cake whenever their shockingly interwoven group of friends ventures to Hogsmeade for the weekend. Plus, Steve, it turns out, is a bit of a nerd when it comes to collecting Chocolate Frog cards. It’s frustratingly endearing, especially when he offered to give Tony his card of Derwent Shimpling simply because he knew that Tony was intrigued by Shimpling’s story.

Speak of the devil, Steve catches his eye and smiles sweetly, eyes closing into crescents as he tilts his head to the side.

Tony huffs, embarrassed at being caught staring, and turns his eyes back to his cauldron.

The potion’s color is satisfactory, and he assumes the petals are crushed enough. He places the pestle off to the side. Using one hand, he stirs the potion clockwise and pours in the petals with the other.

It takes effect almost immediately; the surface of the potion forms this beautiful mother-of-pearl sheen, starting from where the petals were dropped in and expanding the more and more Tony stirs it. Steam spirals up into the air. He takes a deep breath, relieved that his potion turned out better than he expected.

And, wow, that potion smells fantastic. Freshly brewed coffee, petrichor, and… Steve, all sandalwood and vanilla. He takes another sniff, chest clenching when he realizes that Steve’s scent isn’t going away. He fists his hands, shoving them into the pockets of his robes.

The first thing his mind jumps to is that Steve knows. He knows all about Tony’s pathetic little crush on him and decided to tease him by spraying that stupid cologne or whatever he uses all over the room to see that lovesick look in Tony’s eyes whenever he catches a whiff of that scent that he associates so strongly with desire. It has him thinking whether Steve ever thought of him as a person or if he thought of him as a heart that he could string along and play with until he got bored.

God, and all of his other friends probably knew about this, too. Lose one, lose ‘em all, he supposes.

“Can you cut that out, Rogers?” he calls out, an agitated set to his jaw. He ignores the curious looks that a few other students throw his way.

Steve looks up from where he’s putting the petals into his own mixture, confused and looking as innocent as the day he was born. “What? I’m—am I doing something wrong?”

He’s a good actor, Tony’ll give him that. How else would he have been able to put him under the false pretense that Steve might actually want to be friends? “Stop spraying your perfume all over the room. It’s suffocating.”

Steve’s eyes go wide. Ha. Caught. “I’m—I’m not spraying anything.”

Tony snorts. “Sure.”

“No, I—Tony, you know what we’re making, right?” A few students snicker in the background, and Steve throws a hard glare their way. “We’re making Amortentia.”

Amortentia. Oh. Oh, no. He looks down at the textbook and, sure enough, Amortentia is written in bold words right at the top of the page. Heat engulfs his entire face and his knees start quaking. The most potent love potion in existence, he reads, finding this all very familiar from the precursory study he had to do a week before, distinctive for its mother-of-pearl sheen, spiraling steam, and an odor unique in the fact that it adapts itself to smell pleasant to anyone within sniffing range, with each person having their own combination. He should’ve known the second the petals hit the liquid.

Instead, he ends up outing his crush in front of all his classmates. Gossip spreads like wildfire around the school, so he has no doubt that everyone from the Headmaster to the squid in the damn lake would know about his crush by the end of the week, if not the end of the day.

“Professor,” Tony manages to get out, voice miraculously not wavering, “I need to use the restroom.”

He doesn’t wait for his professor to reply before he’s sweeping out of the room, tears threatening to fall.

Stupid. How could he be so stupid. He couldn’t just keep his mouth shut and confront Steve about it after class. No, he had to put on a show and now everyone knows. Everyone knows. They’re probably making fun of him. Steve’s probably laughing. Fine. It’s fine.

“Tony, wait!” Steve calls out from behind him, having followed him out into the hall.

He continues to walk, upping his speed. If Steve wants to mock him, then he can damn well do it later.

Steve’s footsteps get faster, louder, and then Tony’s wrist is held in a firm yet gentle grip, keeping him from moving any further forward. “Wait, Tony, please,” Steve says, out of breath.

Tony turns around, eyebrows furrowed together as he desperately tries to blink away the tears. “It’s not like you’re giving me much of a choice,” he grouses. He gives one experimental tug of his wrist, unsurprised that Steve’s grip doesn’t falter even a bit.

Steve pulls him closer until they’re standing almost chest-to-chest. Tony has to tilt his head up to even look at Steve in the eye. “The Amortentia… did you really not know?”

A peal of laughter tears itself from Tony’s throat. “No. I didn’t know. Why? You here to make fun of me all because it had your scent? Because I admitted to having a crush on you without me even knowing?” He tries one more time to get his wrist out of Steve’s hand. “That’s a pretty low blow, Rogers.”

Steve shakes his head. “The Amortentia scented like you for me.”

He sounds so genuine, so honest, that Tony hopes. Oh, he hopes. “You’re joking,” comes out of his mouth instead. “You’re lying.”

“Out of everything you think I’d lie about, do you really think I’d lie about this?” Steve says. “Honey and lavender. That’s what I smell, and it comes from you. You and hot chocolate and paint. That’s what it smells like for me. I like you, Tony. I’ve always liked you.”

Tony frowns. “Yet you’ve never told me.” 

“I didn’t think you’d like me back,” Steve admits, expression turning sheepish. “I mean, you could have anyone, really, so I… I don’t know. I didn’t think that I’d have a chance.”

“You,” Tony says in disbelief, “didn’t think you’d have a chance with me?”

Steve shrugs, smiling nervously. “You’re real kind, Tony. I’ve seen how you are with that Peter Parker kid; you’re basically his older brother. You’re not afraid to speak up, and I admire that. You’re smart and talented and…—” a red flush appears on Steve’s cheeks— “you’re cute. You could have anyone, and I didn’t think that you’d want that anyone to be me.”

Tony searches Steve’s face, stares him in the eye, looks for anything that could tell him that Steve is lying. He wants to believe that Steve is truthful, but he doesn’t want to but his heart at risk by blindly accepting his words at face value.

Thankfully, he finds nothing but earnesty.  

“You’re really not lying, are you?” he says, voice no louder than a whisper.

Steve swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing. “I’m really not.” He loosens his grip on Tony’s wrist. “Sorry for just grabbing you like that. I do, uh… I do like you very much.” He fully lets go of Tony, chewing on his lower lip.

Tony nods. “It’s alright.” He hesitates for a second before slowly reaching out with one hand and intertwining his fingers with Steve’s, restoring that connection. “We should probably get back to class.”

Steve laughs and squeezes Tony’s hand. “We probably should.”

[salesmanofhappiness]

She’s... Fluffy

(Ikala Belongs to @landprotectedby3 / @princce7 )

Tortus had this invasive thought lately. One that both terrified and intrigued him. Everyone would talk about how soft Sky and Ikala were. It must have been true, as he would see others just idly pet them without much care. It brought out the worst kind of curiosity in him. One to this day he never wanted to know the answer to... until now. 

While yes, he had technically known Sky for years, it had been so long that the memory of just how soft her fur was slipped his mind. She bragged, of course. Keatons having slick, silky coats that no other creature could measure. As curious as he was, the merchant didn’t want to use her as a base for his curiosity. Perhaps, had he found out later that she wasn’t a talking cat, he might have gone for it. However, it gave him a displeased chill; knowing she could talk. Could tell everyone about this strange desire. He only wanted to know what he was missing out on. But that fear. That screaming in the back of his mind, the unpleasant tingle that made his heart race and his face began to sweat cold. Surely his curiosity couldn’t drown out his life-long phobia. Surely.

For now, the merchant was just idling in his chair. The shop was quiet; only making these rather annoying thoughts more prominent. He left out a long, loud sigh as he leaned back in his chair. The merchant could get away with this in secret. No one had to know he was trying to face his fears. It honestly seemed like no one noticed when he actually jumped a big hurdle; so perhaps it didn’t matter. Feeding them table scraps-- Actually feeding them at all, and letting them come closer and closer into his personal bubble as months went by. Such big feats were small to everyone else. Part of him wondered if they actually knew he was-- in all earnesty, trying. Another sigh. The merchant’s eyes drift toward the display tables. Mask lined in rows waiting only for their owners. They didn’t expect anything from him. At most, if they could, would request a cleaning more often. Of course, that could just be him projecting. Sure, he could read them, sense and underlining emotion or energies within; mostly from the artist that created them, but beyond that there was no desire for anything. At the end of the day they were inanimate and not sentient. They wouldn’t care if they were set on fire, let alone notice his inner struggle.

There was a pause in thought. Did he want someone to notice? Tortus wasn’t quite sure of that himself. With a final sigh, he decided he was hungry. It was time to close up for lunch. Maybe a nice meal would help filter out his troubled mind. The merchant stood from his chair and gave a flick of the wrist. The familiar click of the shop door locking had barely registered. His foot falls leading him up the stairs and into his apartment above the shop. The quaint, homely place was as he left it the night before. A small apartment, leaving only so much space to work with. The kitchen, living room and work space were all cramped in their own little space of the main room. Unfinished masks cluttering his work desk, and the smell of drying paint wafting through the air. A comfort to him, but a sting to the nose of someone else. The floors were clean, at least, clean enough. His shop took priority over his apartment, and often there was a layer of dust on something, or even bits of wood scattered here or there. Maybe cleaning would take his mind off things. Though, it would have to wait. Stepping to the kitchen, he almost didn’t notice the purple mass curled up on his couch. 

Out of what must have been instinct at this point; he froze. His naturally squinted eyes glued to the ball of fur snoozing away. He forced himself to calm. His heart had already started to beat from that jolt to his system. It was getting easier, but he still wasn’t sure just how long he can take it. If you had asked the merchant before all this. Before Majora awakened, before Sky showed up, he would have told you that he didn’t like animals. He refused to be in any close proximity to them. While he certainly couldn’t say he wasn’t still afraid; there was an attachment there now. Tortus himself was still very much afraid, but their presence in his life had made it difficult to say he would get rid of them. The word wasn’t quite comfortable; familiar, perhaps. They were familiar to him. He took in a shaking inhale before pooling his composure and continuing to the kitchen. She was asleep, he reminded himself. She was harmless.

The merchant went about the mundane, but comfortable task of making a meal. Something simple for now, but also requiring his attention. Luckily, he had dried noodles for himself. That was simple enough. He lit his old stovetop and got the kettle and pot. Couldn’t have lunch without a comforting cup of tea. Some black tea with honey and a dash of cinnamon. The smell and taste cleansed the pallet and eased a wary mind. As the merchant set up, he couldn’t help but notice his mind wandering once again. Back to the uncomfortable idea prior. He would occasionally catch himself looking at the sleeping raccoon creature. Her soft breathing was the only sign she was alive. 

“No.” He thought aloud. “No, it’s too risky. If I startle her, she might…” He shuddered at the thought as his muttered words trailed off.

But what if. 

What if she didn’t attack him? What if his fears all these years were actually irrational? He was a powerful man, capable of anything he put his mind to. What was he afraid of? 

He knew just what he was afraid of. He was afraid of the pain. A reasonable fear, but was it reasonable at this moment? Was he justified in thinking Ikala or Sky would hurt him purposefully? 

Tea. He needed some tea. Though, the longer he stewed, the more his mind insisted on the “What ifs”. He was called a coward for most of his life up until recently. He was a brave child turned skittish. A boy ready for anything marred and world wary long before adulthood. He took a breath and looked over to Ikala. No one was here to call him a coward if he decided to back out of it. He could do however he pleased; beyond hurting the creature. Tortus put down what he was holding. At first he only stood there; watching Ikala gently breath. There was the lightest few steps forward. He could feel his heart in his throat. There was sweat already starting to trail down his face. He clenched his teeth, forcing a few more steps. There were long pauses between his steps. Little moments to try and pool his courage and composure. Somewhere, he had heard animals could smell fear. Ikala probably smelt it constantly, but he earnestly didn’t know how she would react if he touched her. He could feel his chest tighten, making breathing difficult. Still, he pushed forward. He was inches away from Ikala now. He could feel his whole body shaking. His throat started to feel dry, forcing him to swallow.  Most of his resolve had vanished. He was just standing there, looking down at one of the many… many creatures he feared the most. She was a construct of sorts. A living, breathing creation of Majora himself. She was no normal raccoon. Her very existence was once the bane of his. Purple fur bled into blues and pinks. Though, the longer he stared, the more he realized subtle things he had missed. He had been more focused on her snout full of teeth and little hands with long claws. Both of which had proven more than capable of doing damage. That maw was blue, with a purple strip going from her nose all the way up and spreading out around her eyes. Light blue and purple almost neatly divided just above her eyes. Wrapped around her eyes was a pink mask of fur, almost bridging her nose, before the purple line broke the connection. Those terrible claws, he noticed, were also pink, but a deeper, more sedated color. His eyes trailed down, realizing he had only never noticed her purple color. When she was actually many other colors. Tortus never actually took a moment to study her this closely. This new found discovery put a little more vigar in him. Drawing in a deep breath, he slowly crouched down to be at her level. He was still shaking, but he wasn’t paralized like seconds prior. 

Carefully, hesitantly, he reached out his calloused fingers toward her. His breath held as he grew closer and closer. The merchant could feel his breath hitching, and his eyes started to feel wet. And then, with the lightest touch the man could ever manage, he finally made contact. It was gentle, and his hand was near vibrating, but he had done it. As he watched others do countless times, his fingers gently smoothed down her side. He started to ease.

Everyone was right. She was soft. No long before that thought came to his mind did Ikala sturr and look at him. He froze. Eyes wide and the violent shaking seemed to get worse. He could feel tears wheeling now, threatening to downpour at the slightest movement. He could feel his mind racing with unpleasant memories. Fear. This was unhinged, unfiltered fear. Tortus wanted to run, but he felt glued to the spot, unable to think, only see flashes in his mind as Tortus stared the raccoon down. The seconds felt like hours as she tiredly looked at him. She finally yielded, her head falling back into the soft cushion as her body inched closer. It gave Tortus a start, but nothing compared to what he expected to happen. 

His shaking hand just laid on Ikala’s side. The tears that threatened calm down in a pour. He was near hyperventilating, but this wasn’t out of fear. Yes, he was afraid, he knew this small interaction wasn’t going to be enough. It was the relief that washed over him. It was complete relief giving out into quiet sobbing. 

Maybe. Just maybe he could do this. 

[olivenight17]

Heya! Can you do a piece on how difficult it is for Kakashi to acknowledge his feelings for given how much he's suffered in the past? Like he's afraid of falling in love/rejects love. Thanks in advance :)

Hey, hey, I’m back! I tried my hardest and I think it came out decent, I’m at least satisfied with it. Man, someone give this poor man a hug, he’s not ridiculously lovey dovey but he’s trying his best! I also combined this with another ask from an anon who wanted a longer fic with the reader as a jonin so I hope that’s okay with you. But otherwise, have fun my wonderful cracked walnut, and let me know what you think!

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Kakashi x Reader “Trust and Love”

Kakashi wished he was normal.

He wished he could have had a life where none of the deaths that surrounded him happened. That it was just a cruel nightmare that he would wake up from and life was actually fine.

But it was only wishful thinking and it wouldn’t get him anywhere.

So he put on a smile, stayed on good terms with the people he still knew and didn’t let himself get attached to people he didn’t. Life was just easier that way, and he was more than content living it. The daily challenges from Gai, teasing Yamato and riling up his students, that was all he needed.

Though it wasn’t like people didn’t try to challenge it anyways.

Kakashi was a man shrouded in mystery, incredibly charming - at least, when he wanted to be- and a talented ninja. Most importantly, he was single. He was a popular bachelor in Konoha and thus had been hit on multiple times.

When it first started, a little while after he had been released from the ANBU, he had actually tried to reciprocate it. After all the death he had seen, both out in the field and in his dreams, he figured loving someone would be the best thing to take away all the horrors.

Time had long since made the memories fuzzy, but he remembered her smile and gentle nature. She had this quiet laugh that made the world stop in his mind when he heard it. But most vividly, Kakashi remembered her chocolate brown locks. He knew because he felt guilt whenever he saw it or ran his fingers through the strands. Everytime he looked at it, it wasn’t her, it was Rin. It was only a temporary flash, but it was enough to make him blink. She started to become the person he was killing in his nightmares, and it wasn’t long before terror struck in reality as well.

She had been kidnapped by rogue ninja who had it out for Kakashi. It had taken him a few days to track them, but by the time he had, they were already gone. But they did leave her, although severely beaten and bloody. His heart dropped at the sight of her and everything felt fuzzy until he dropped her off at the hospital. The white walls of the room felt sickening and made the copy ninja claustrophobic, but he stayed by her side. He stayed because he knew it was his fault she had been hurt. She was targeted because he had foolishly loved. But he would make it up to her, he would protect her this time.

But fate didn’t give him a chance to do so.

She had woken up, devoid of any memories and the doctors confirmed that the amnesia was irreversible. Kakashi watched from afar as she tried to make sense of everything, before he stopped seeing her altogether. He couldn’t, not after he had been the one to take her memories, her life away. Frustrated tears made their way down his face that day. He didn’t understand, how was it every time he loved someone, he ended up destroying them instead?

He was well and truly a cursed man.

Any walls that he had built around his heart prior to that incident had been fortified. He wouldn’t let anyone pass through them, and it was safer for everyone that way.

Though that didn’t stop anyone from flirting with him, he humored it without letting it go too far.

But of course, that was when he had met you.

You, a talented jonin who could just as easily keep up with him and match his skill level. Someone who was as stubborn as you were kind, and certainly not afraid to call him out on anything he did. Kakashi couldn’t remember the last time he laughed so hard until he met you.

But just as you were easing your way passed his defenses, he caught himself. He was doing it again, for the third time in his life. He was falling in love.

No, not this time.

Kakashi wasn’t going to mess it up this time. The following weeks after his realization, he stayed away from you, and if he couldn’t distance himself, then he treated you coldly. It hurt him seeing the confused look on your face, but he reminded himself that it was for your own good. This would keep you safe, and that was all that mattered to him.

But, you didn’t stay confused. No, you grew frustrated and hurt. Those emotions combined led to a confrontation in the middle of the street after yet another cold quip from the silver haired man. “What the actual hell is your deal, Kakashi?” You snapped, growling at his indifferent state.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He responded, further riling you up.

You grabbed him by his vest to make him face you. “Oh, you know. You just don’t want to admit it. I don’t understand, we’ve been working together for almost a year and for the last month you’ve given me a cold shoulder. You’ve never done that before, did I say something? Did I make the wrong call? Spit it out!” You shout at him, he gives you a blank stare. After a minute of silence, you eventually let go of his vest to run a hand through your hair, barking out a laugh as you do. “Seriously, just my luck. I fall for someone and just when I think that maybe you like me too and this is going somewhere, I mess it up. Unbelievable…” You hiss at yourself.

You catch a glimpse at Kakashi and that’s all you need. His posture slacks, his eye softens and his eyebrow creases, as if he’s some kind of pain. “Don’t tell me, you do like me, don’t you?”

He says nothing, instead choosing to avoid your gaze.

“You do! Why are you treating me this way? I’ll have you know, most people don’t swoon for guys that are assholes to them.”

“Lower your voice, you’re making a scene.”

“I don’t care! You’ve been ignoring me for too long, Kakashi. I deserve answers.”

“…You’re right, but let’s go somewhere a little more private first.” You concede to that and Kakashi sighs in relief as he moves you both to a quiet place down the street where you can sit.

You don’t hesitate to break the silence. “Why didn’t you just tell me that you loved me?” You’ve never seen him look so grim at just one question.

He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “I couldn’t, even though I really wanted to. (Y/N), you are an incredibly intelligent, caring and determined individual. You have a bright future ahead of you, and for those reasons you deserve someone better than me.” You give him an incredulous look at his words.

“You’re all those things too, Kakashi. In fact, you’re all that and more, you have a strong and compassionate heart, which is just another one of the reasons I fell for you. In my mind there is no one better than you,” You told him as you put a hand on his shoulder.

His face shadowed and he clenched his hands into fists. “I’m just going to hurt you.” He muttered with a darkness in his voice you had never witnessed.

But you weren’t about to let that stop you. “Were you planning to hurt me if we were in a relationship?” You ask him bluntly. Your question made him look back up at you in shock and he instantly shook his head. “Then how do you know I’ll end up hurt?”

He sighed as he shook his head. “Because it always happens. If I fall in love, that person gets hurt in a way that can never be fixed. I’ve watched too many die or get injured simply because they were near me. I can’t do that to you, I need to protect you.” You nod your head to his words, finally beginning to understand his thought process.

Your face softens into a gentle and comforting smile. “Thank you for the protection, Kakashi. I appreciate it, and I appreciate that you want to keep me safe. But, there’s just one more thing I need to ask. Do you trust me?” He nods without hesitation and you place your hand on his. “Then trust that I’ve got a good head on my shoulders and that I can protect myself from the danger your love will put me in. I love you Kakashi, and I’m willing to embrace all that comes with it and come out on top with you.” You smile at him kindly, and it’s enough to almost make him fall over.

The earnesty in your voice and that smile, it means everything to him. Before he can even blink he realizes that you were always there next to his heart from the very start. For the first time in a while, you give him hope. Hope that this will work out, that he can love without destruction. He grips your hand and grins back. “Then I’m glad that I’ve got someone on my side to face it with.”

[dammit-stark]

Hi! I would love a Superbat fic! Bruce accidentally gets drunk at an event and Clark (who is there as a reporter) helps get him home? Or just anything Superbat. I love it all. Thank you!

okay this was SO stinkin fun I loved this thank you for pushing me farther down the superbat rabbit hole I am content- 1.1k words

- - - -

“Mr Wayne, sir, do you uh- need a hand?”

In Bruce’s defense, he’s spectacularly drunk and unaware of the fact that this very attractive reporter is also his alter ego’s superhero partner, so he winks dramatically, suddenly latching himself onto Clark’s very sturdy shoulder, and says, “Depends on what you want to do with your hand.”

It’s an innuendo- and a very blatant one at that- even oblivious Kansas boy catches his meaning, and he can’t help but smile. Knowing the caped crusader is hanging off him and flirting horrendously gives a suddenly very real incandescence to the night, like a row of glaring LED lights in a stark white hallway, like a hangover without the headache or the fun of the alcohol, like a carnival ride in your chest.

“Let’s get you home, Mr Wayne,” Clark says, voice heavy with his own hidden meanings as he hefts one arm beneath Bruce’s shoulders to better support his weight. Bruce leans into his touch. Clark cant help but think how torturous this all is. He knows Batman’s real identity, but Batman doesn’t know his, he’s stuck behind this mask, wearing a reporter-shaped costume over his hero skin.

“You really know how to talk a guy into bed, don’t you, hot stuff?” Bruce flirts as they break out of the shiny, white mansion and out to the biting chill of the front steps.

“Just- wait here. I’ll get Al- your driver.”

Bruce leans heavily against a nearby stone pillar in agreement.

Clark finds the parked Cadillac and very politely knocks on the passenger side window. His thick-rimmed civilian glasses appear in the reflection only until Bruce’s right hand man rolls down the window.

“Sir,” Clark says, all earnesty and good names, “My name’s Clark Kent. I’m a reporter, but I’m off the clock. I promise. I think Mr Wayne might need help getting home. Mind if I lend a hand?”

Alfred takes one look at the way Clark’s large form takes up most of the passenger side window, glances back at Bruce’s very relaxed state, and nods, “That would be much appreciated just- no funny business, okay?” His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, “As remiss as Mr Wayne is to admit it to even himself, his heart’s already spoken for.”

Clark can’t help it, he blushes. He hadn’t t known his teammate had a significant other. And he hadn’t known it would breed such a soup or disappointment and envy in his veins.

“Understood,” Clark insists, perfectly ignoring the nervous feeling in his gut, “I really do just want to lend a hand.”

For some reason, Alfred actually believes him.

As far as Alfred knows, Clark’s could be some manipulative reporter waiting to pounce on Mr Wayne and get some exclusive drunken scoop on the richest man in Gotham. But everyone knows that Alfred knows what’s best for Bruce, and if trusting a stranger reporter is one of those things, Clark isn’t going to complain about it just right now.

Clark does most of the manhandling as Alfred goads a very drunk Bruce Wayne into one of his most expensive cars. Later, as they pull onto the drive of Wayne Manor, said car gets vomited on as Clark dotes on his billionaire- Alred insists it’s no problem, it happens, and Clark feels awful about, runs his fingers through Bruce’s hair as Alfred pulls into the large garage, whispers sweet things that go right through Bruce’s drunken head.  

“Right through here, Mr Kent,” Alfred directs as Clark carefully wraps a tight grip around his stumbling partner. Alfred holds the door open, and suddenly Clark’s making a beeline for Batman’s favorite sitting room without a second thought. Whether he doesn’t notice or just doesn’t say anything is anybody’s guess, but Alfred doesn’t question for even a moment how Clark knew his way around.

“Here you go, Bru- Mr Wayne,” Clark says as he carefully lowers Bruce down onto the nearest loveseat.

Bruce swats at Clark’s shoulder, a gentle grab at the fabric holding tight around his inhuman muscles, and a sloppy grin hanging off his face, “You gonna come down here with me, pretty boy, huh?”

Clark’s responding smile is a soft dejection, “You know I’m not. You need to get some rest.”

“No, I don’t,” Bruce insists, and god, this is such a weird side of him, Clark lives it. He’s so used to the darkness of Batman, the wit of Mr Wayne. He’s never become well introduced to the softness of the real Bruce. He hopes one day he introduces himself for real, but for now all he has is a couple of secret identities and stolen moment, “I can go all night, baby.”

When Clark pats kindly at Bruce’s jawline, he tries to keep himself at arms’ length, “I’m sure you can,” He says, voice soft, “But I gotta go. You can’t see me in the morning.”

Bruce looks achingly disappointed, “We don’t have to see each other in the morning. It doesn’t have to be a thing.”

“I’m afraid it would, Mr Wayne,” Clark says, pulling an Afghan off of a neighboring chair and covering Bruce with it. He stands finally, touches gently at Bruce’s hair, “I should go.”

By the time he’s upright and standing at the door, looking back at the fire lit scene behind him, Bruce is snoring noisily with his nose buried under the edge of his blanket. Clark shows himself out of the manor.

The day that Clark finally reveals his true identity to Batman, the man behind the mask smiles, equivocal and nerve-wrecking as Clark wrings his hands together.

“I know,” He says simply and-Wait, what?

“How long have you known?”

“Oh come on, Clark. Very few people know their way around the manor like that, and they’re all either superheroes or Alfred, and even fewer have a body like that. I was wasted, not blind.”

Clark rubs a hand against the back of his neck, eyes on the floor, it’s a nervous habit of his from way back when, “I didn’t realize you noticed.”

There’s that nearly out-of-place light in Bruce’s eyes again, “Of course I did, Clark, I always notice you.”

Clark can’t help it, he blushes like a schoolgirl,”You suck,” He mutters under his breath, unable to meet Bruce’s gaze.

“And besides,” Bruce says, easily ruining the moment just like that, “Alfred wouldn’t have put up with you if he hadn’t recognized you in the first place.”

“Alfred knew?”

“You’re six foot three and have a BMI so low it isn’t recognizable on the human scale. You’re pretty hard to miss.”

[pupuprinssi]

[snippet]

Theodor sat on the bed with a blanket thrown over his lap, his back against a pile of pillows allowing him to rest in an upright position. He smiled at Eleisanna and nodded at her, fingers treading the shape of a book on his lap.

”This is most unexpected, Fair Eleisanna,” he noted.

Eleisanna smiled, pulling herself a seat to sit beside him.

”What are you reading?” she asked, turning her eyes for the book he was holding.

”'The Tales and Adventures of One Man in the Arant’, a totally fictitious recounting of a smith’s apprentice who escapes his financial troubles into the mountains of Arant and gets quite lost in the most wonderful way,” Theodor said, turning the leather cover over and handing the book to Eleisanna, who took it curiously.

She flipped a few pages and noticed in an instant that much of the book contained poetry, which wasn’t the usual kind nobles would read but rather mundane and even at times entirely foreign in their subjects to Eleisanna.

”I believe it must be rather interesting,” she said as she handed the book back to Theodor, who nodded.

”Unbelievable, at times; I believe the hero of the story is about to meet a wyvern, and there are positively no wyverns in the Arant that I’ve ever heard of.”

Eleisanna chuckled.

”In Wryth it is believed that there may be some in the mountains between our lands and those of Karaketh,” she said then, ”Do you think that it’s possible?”

Theodor’s fingers returned to tread the book’s open page. He looked thoughtful for a moment, but a tired smile lingered upon his lips.

”I would rather want to believe so,” he confessed, ”though as a king I’d do better not wanting such things to exist, as a beast that both flies and breathes fire would pose a significant threat to the safety of the realm. They are notoriously hard to slay in all the legends, aren’t they? But it is not the slaying I think of when I dream of wyverns.”

Eleisanna nodded eagerly.

”When I think of them I don’t dream of killing one,” she agreed, ”but rather of simply witnessing one in the flesh... seeing an eagle leaves a heart yearning already. I believe I might lose my footing if I were to see something as magnificent as a wyvern.”

Theodor nodded too.

”So, have you chosen to visit me to speak of wyverns?” he asked then, lifting his gaze to Eleisanna, who shook her head a little.

”No,” she admitted, ”Although I would love to speak of wyverns now that we’re on the subject. No, I really - I really did have a reason, but I lack the words to approach it.”

”Then choose those that enter your mouth first. Speaking is only difficult when you are already conversing with yourself within,” Theodor noted.

Eleisanna took a deep breath and tried to empty her mind of judgement.

”Well, I wanted to ask you how you are doing today. How you are really doing today, mind you, I would not come and disturb you to hear that you are quite well, thank you, and that the weather is rather dreadful.”

Theodor chuckled quietly.

”Quite the contrary, I find the weather today rather charming,” he stated, ”Rain has always been my favourite, you see, I enjoy the sound of it against the rooftops and windows.”

”Somewhat hard to find any rooftops in this castle now, isn’t it?” Eleisanna pointed out, making him chuckle again.

”Only if you don’t know where to go looking!” Theodor said, and he reached out his hand and Eleisanna took it, feeling some kind of way that made her chest tighten and her heart pick up its pace. ”Fair Eleisanna, I am avoiding your question.”

”So it seems. Would you answer me before I must call you out on it?”

Theodor nodded.

”As much as I like the sound of rain and the grey veil that lands over the scenery, I am most often quite unwell when the weather takes a turn. Today is not an exception, I’m afraid.”

”What’s wrong?” Eleisanna asked, her fingers curling more tightly around Theodor’s hand.

”Nothing to be particularly concerned about; I have survived many rainy days before, Eleisanna, and I have utmost confidence in my ability to survive one more. Yet they make my body remember all its aches and sore points, and moving is agony, and even getting out of the bed sometimes - like today - seems like a big task to accomplish. I would not go riding today, even if it wasn’t raining.”

Ellisa knocked on the open door.

”Forgive me, king and princess,” she said quietly, lifting a steaming cup. ”The tea is ready.”

”Great timing. Thank you, Ellisa,” Theodor said pleasantly, but Eleisanna could see a shudder run through him like something icy had gripped him as he moved to receive the cup from Ellisa.

He settled back into his pillow nest with a little sigh and rested the cup on his lap next to the book.

”As the queen,” Eleisanna started confidently, ”I wish to learn all that Ellisa does for you so that I can help you on days like these. It would be an honour, Theodor, to know exactly what to do when the skies turn grey.”

”Perhaps not all those things are fit for a queen,” Theodor huffed warmly, ”but you brewed excellent tea for me yesterday, and I am grateful that you’ve taken an interest. It humbles me.”

”I don’t want to see you in pain,” Eleisanna told him frankly, but he shook his head and sighed.

”I’m afraid it’ll be impossible to avoid. I am in pain somewhat often, and even when I am not, others tend to expect me to be or perceive me to be in pain even if I sincerely tell them otherwise.”

”I’d always wish for you to be sincere with me,” Eleisanna replied.

Theodor nodded.

”I would always wish to be, Eleisanna. I’m afraid it’ll take some practice, however.”

”And I must practice to give you the answers you need.”

A silence fell over them, and as it stretched, rain began to tap the roof and the windows in earnesty, and Eleisanna could tell exactly what Theodor meant when he said he liked the sound. It was calming, and the scenery outside was indeed beautiful: grey, but beautiful. From the balcony and through a partially open window Eleisanna could hear the cooing of the doves.

”I’ve started a little garden for herbs here,” she said then, her eyes still upon the window. ”I hope you won’t mind.”

”Not in the least,” Theodor said, ”Though I didn’t know you had skill with herbs.”

”I don’t,” Eleisanna admitted, turning her gaze to him with a smile and releasing his hand to take a better hold of his tea cup, ”but I hope that soon enough I will, and that my skills will come to use on days like these. Ellisa already taught me to make your tea and I’ve planted all the herbs necessary for it, so once they recover and start to flourish here, we don’t have to trade for them anymore.”

”An excellent idea,” Theodor told her with a small smile, ”I’m grateful for your thoughtfulness.”

Eleisanna nodded.

”Can we speak more of wyverns now?” she asked then, tilting her head with a quirky smile on her lips.

Theodor chuckled.

”Would you like to read to me the next chapter of the book, so that we may find out if the hero really meets one or not?”

”That’d be most delightful,” Eleisanna agreed and took the book from him.

[tsw-bees]

He could smell it on him, on the cologne and lingering wafts of body wash, the stench of money.

The knock at his door had been enough to sour his mood, a quick glimpse out the window showed enough to further ruin it. It didn’t take someone that had ate their bee to identify Illuminati, he realizes it in that moment, just how well they had made their own existence a conspiracy theory - and then fed right into it. Delaying was pointless, whatever the cause for the visit, he would have to at least engage with the two suited men outside his door. It’s swung open without any theatrics, the Romani boy backpedaling a single step under the assumption that the duo would be barging in. They don’t, leaving him to stare dumbly at the suited men, at least practically giving him a moment to get a proper look at them. The lead of the two is also the larger, standing a full head above the other, with clasped hands and an expressionless laxity that is further covered by aviators resting atop his nose. An agent of some variety, read easily enough by someone that had operated around the archetype for years now.

Behind him, the smaller of the two, would be the handler. Blonde hair, skin that was heavily marked with the unique texture of too much time in sandy air, mixed features that made it impossible to pin a geographical forbear. South African, Australian, Saudi, something in there he wagered.

“Mister Inrith.” The Agent speaks, and Cuthben starkly realizes that the only thing coming from the two is a void. An outpouring of nothingness where the physical strands of reality should be, in some way his ability to see the fabric of creation was nullified by one of the two, or perhaps a piece of technology they wore. The lead figure, the Agent, was South African, the accent was blatant. “Just a talk, huh? You look nervous.”

“Government spooks knocking on your door in the early ass mornin’ is how revolts start, bro. Of course I’m nervous.” Cuthben responds with a testing step forward, closing the gap he had awkwardly left prior.

“You know we’re not the government, Mister Inrith. You don’t mind if we come in for a talk, eh? You are in no trouble, it is a simple thing.” The Handler speaks next, the second accent panning out as Saudi. The Heads were looking to make a point, or maybe he had just ended up on some paper pusher’s shit list.

“Sure, come on in. It’s a little uh… messy, and like… kinda cramped. I got two chairs, so Top Gun over there is going to have to stand, which will probably work with his whole intimidating strongman trope anyway.” Cuthben mutters distractedly, turning to push back into his trashed apartment with a shove of the door to be certain it was left wide open for them. He hurdles an upturned laundry basket to situate himself at the small round table, dropping down in one of the two barely held together chairs.

The two illuminati at the door exchange a brief glance, the only hesitation displayed before both push through. The Agent sidesteps at the door to settle there, closing it when the Handler had passed and started his perilous traversing of the seemingly never before cleaned apartment. “You should clean, eh? It is not well to have your home in such a state. The squalor… it is senseless, you are paid well, are you not? For years you’ve worked, I’ve seen the file, and this is how you live? Where does the money go, I wonder?” The Handler questions, dragging his chair out with a testing wobble to either side before finally settling in it, his attention turning to Cuthben after a brief onceover of the surroundings. “Even animals do not live like this, I think.”

“Yeah, real weird.” Cuthben agrees with a yawn, gesturing lazily towards the man before him. “Nice suit, by the way. I’d think, at least, I mean… you know, I see a lot of them at work, so I just kind of figure you guys are going full bougie with it.”

“Thank you, they’re Brioni. I like your… are those babies?” The Handler questions with a squint, peering at Cuthben’s shirt.

“Yeah.” He confirms. “Rugrats. You probably didn’t watch a lot of Nick growing up, but trust me, if you were from America? You’d be a huge fan of the shirt.”

“I see.” The Handler responds simply, and for a time a silence falls. It leaves Cuthben to simply sit and stare, taking in the features of the man opposed him, given time to truly appreciate how much he innately dislikes him. There is a predominant disearnesty about the Handler, bleeding most heavily from the shark like smile that seems constantly affixed his face. That, Cuthben decides, he hates the most.

“Can you figure why we are here, Mister Inrith?”

“To not introduce yourself and get educated on popular nineties cartoons?” Cuthben guesses.

“Half right.” The Handler confirms. “The other half, I am afraid, is not so right. It harkens back to what I previously mentioned, regarding your income. You have worked for us for some time now, have you not?”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“And yet you live like this. You have less than a hundred dollars in your bank account, no car, no investments, it appears as if you can barely feed yourself. This does not make sense, you see? It does not line up with reality.” The Handler presses, one leg kicking up over the other as he settles in properly for the talk. Something about the motion inexplicably brings a wave of unease to Cuthben, an emotion he attempts to bite down on but can’t seem to suppress totally.

“I donate it.”

“Ah, Mister Inrith, you do not. You launder it… very well, yes, enough to avoid the IRS, but not enough to avoid us. I am only curious where it is that the money is going, given our inability to locate a single substantial expenditure in the past two years.” The Handler presses.

“Which of your parents was white?” Diversionary, Cuthben knows the man is good enough not to get thrown by it long.

“My father.” The Handler answers without hesitation, his smile shifting towards earnesty, apparently entertained by what must have been viewed as desperation.

“Kafir.” Cuthben theatrically chides with a click of his tongue, head shaking. It has the intended effect, but he realizes near immediately that it may have been a mistake. The Handler straightens, his smile curls back into the facade, not warm signs.

“Yes, but you are kafir as well, no?” The Handler responds, the shift in his tone much the same as the physical that Cuthben had witnessed, a trend towards curtness. “But we are not in The Kingdom, and we are not here to speak of such things. We are here to speak on your missing wealth, Mister Inrith.”

“I don’t justify how I spend to you, spook. They think they’re going to rattle me by sending you two in here? Why? I’m fuckin’ doin’ my job, man, and you’re in here busting my balls because I’m not blowing money on cars and shit?”

“It isn’t your money that is the problem, Mister Inrith.” Caeden interjects. “It is the trail of Blue allied companies that have, without explanation, been hit with massive financial losses due to leaks. It took some time, Mister Inrith, as you are really quite good at hiding your tracks, but not good enough. I don’t understand the specifics of how you did it, I don’t understand why you did it, truth be told I don’t care. The Company doesn’t care. We only care about the funds that you’ve funneled, and resecuring them in as expedited a manner as we can.”

“Why?” Arguing is pointless, they had him dead to rights. They were minor jobs, or so he thought, small siphoning actions from players he didn’t figure anyone would care about. The funds were funneled to causes he considered worthy, typically causes that the Blue boys wouldn’t look fondly on. Then it hits him, there must be some personal stake in this. “Did I hit something of yours? I did, didn’t I…”

“We’re not talking about a specific case here, Mister Inrith. I have verifiable evidence on at least a dozen accounts that you’ve fraudulently accessed and taken funds from. We want every cent back from every account.” The Handler responds without saying much at all, but Cuthben is locked onto the idea. It would be the only reason that someone would show up at this door, the amounts weren’t worthwhile any other way. This was personal.

“RBM, Symbi, Edict… Edict… You’re Almasi, aren’t you?” The growing panic crests, the urge to throw himself back out of his chair and attempt to bail only squelched by the knowledge that he’d probably be shot. Uncertainty over what the two were actually capable of keeps his fight or flight response from fully firing off, leaving him confused and agitated with surging adrenaline and nothing to burn it on.

“It can be simple, Mister Inrith. You tell us where the money is, you stop hitting Blue friendly institutions, and we pretend like this never happened. You’re a valuable asset, there is no reason to throw your career on idealism.”

“The shit you did in the Congo with Brethil… you should be in prison right now, you should be hanging.”

“Do not try to assume the high ground over me, Mister Inrith. I admire the resolve that must be required to try to rip off the Illuminati of all people, but espousing Marxist theory in the notes you left behind while actively working for the people that created the theory of capital is a bit harder to parse. I’m not looking for you to recant whatever weird moralist jihad you’re waging, we are here for the money, Mister Inrith, nothing more.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Cuthben spits back, pushing himself up from the table. The two of them may be somehow resistant to his reading, but there was nothing stopping him from magic otherwise, a point he displays visibly with the introduction of crackling red flashes at his palms. Caeden’s smile grows with a glance back towards Benedict, one eye flashing closed in a wink before his attention returns to Cuthben.

“Alright, Mister Inrith, there is no need for hostility.” Caeden’s hands lift passively, his head tipping towards the door. “We’ll be on our way. As I said from the start, we were only here to talk.” He makes good on his word, a hand lowering only to push himself up and aid in balance during his trek back towards the door.

“I’ll walk you out, wouldn’t want to be a bad host.” Cuthben shortly responds, and he too proves good on his word, his gaze alternating between the back of the Handler’s head and the staring aviator’s of the Agent, trying to make it as obvious as possible that any bad move would probably lead to something far worse. He halts when they do, with him on one side of the door and the duo on the other, stoneface aviators and the faux smile. “Just tell them to leave me alone, alright? No reason for them to be sending people to fuck with a dude that can warp reality, and you sure as fuck would deserve it, Almasi.” His tirade delivered, he slides the door closed as hard as he can, the last image of Caedenal’s growing smile rolling into the realization that the door he had just slid closed was, twenty minutes ago, a door he had pulled open.

The immediate horror of it sends his hand recoiling, the landscape around him ebbing in a fevered waver, struggling to hold apart at the seams. It breaks away in strips, his apartment ripping out from underneath him in angry blemishes that rush over in an uncertain darkness before coalescing into the actual surrounding, unblemished and drab stretches of grey. The scene comes into focus unevenly, leaving him with a puzzle until enough of it has filled in, the telling part being the wrought bars he had just had a hand wrapped around. They lined in a formation with beams at intervals, a prison cell, he soon realizes. He had just closed the door to his own cell.

“Reality is mine, Mister Inrith.” Caeden says simply, jabbing a finger twice against his chest before his head shakes a single time. “Not yours.”

“I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Mister Inrith. A night to think, eh? Easier now, without the pain. That’ll change.” Aidanor promises, turning to trail after the already retreating form of Almasi. Cuthben is left alone in a cell that mirrors a thousand others, the waves of terrified screaming from further down only registering after he had fully accepted where he was. Having lived life with the ability to literally control reality, he’s left with no thought for options, and nowhere to even begin in terms of escape.

Hopeless.