#ill also make an ala masterpost

[so-i-grudgingly-joined-this-site]

Part 2: Hob Gadling—How to win by doing nothing?

Note: this is a part of my essay "The Awkward Meta-Tragedy of Neil Gaiman's The Sandman", see [here] for the masterpost of all links, reading order, and content warnings.

In contrast to Morpheus’ crippling depression, I’ve seen some fans argue that, thematically, Hob Gadling is one of the most important characters to this whole discussion.  Because he’s not just immortal, but he’s immortal because he straight up refuses to die.  He’s an eternal optimist.  No matter how bad things get—and he’s truly seen the worst, seeing all his loved ones die and also being captured and tortured and generally suffering a lot himself—he never gives up.  “Death’s a mug’s game, I’ve got so much to live for!” he famously says. 

Truly, he’d be the one belting out “I AM NOT AFRAID TO KEEP ON LIVING” at a concert and listing “Famous Last Words” as his favorite song if he ever got into the music of My Chemical Romance.  (Alas, I suspect Hob would be too blandly “normal” to ever get into MCR, which isn’t even that far off mainstream, but the point stands…)

                So, I’ve seen the fandom prop up Hob as a sort of anti-Morpheus when it comes to their endings.  Hob, born mortal, will find a way to keep living through anything, while Morpheus, a natural-born immortal, committed suicide when his problems built up to be too much.  Be like Hob, not like Morpheus, seems to be the message.  Always know there’s going to be something to live for, and don’t give up.  Which is, to be fair, an admirable attitude to have, and to aspire towards.                

But, like, depression doesn’t always… work like that?  By its nature, it’s an illness that makes it difficult, even impossible if someone doesn’t get treatment, to see the reasons to keep living.  Arguably, Hob’s greatest asset is just that he doesn’t have depression.  Or, at the very least, he’s learned how to treat it very well over the centuries—conveniently off-screen.  Which feels kind of cheap and a disservice to both his and Morpheus’ characters.  A character’s uncontrolled mental illness is his fatal flaw, and his foil’s heroic trait is his lack of illness or a greater ability to control his symptoms?  Ouch.

[youtuberswithalex]

Chalk Me Down

Summary: Virgil just wanted to show Patton his drawing, but a little mishap has him running elsewhere. (The next installment in the A Little Anxious series)

Word Count: 3,523

Warnings: Blood, Minor injuries, graphic description of a minor injury, lots of crying

A/N: With the end of finals comes the first fic I’ve posted since returning to college! (I think?) And what better way to celebrate than with another Toddler Virgil fic? I hope yinz enjoy!

Writing Masterpost – Ko-Fi - A Little Anxious Masterpost (Coming Soon!)

The midday sun cast a soft warmth onto the ground below, just comfortable enough to go without a jacket and without feeling like you could fry an egg on the pavement. Clouds dotted the bright blue sky as birds sang and flew around; a gentle breeze rustled the trees just outside of the fencing for the backyard.

Roman had really outdone himself in creating an outside to their house in the mindscape, Patton thought.

He was kneeling in the grass in the backyard right now, just a few feet away from the back porch at the bare dirt lining the walls. A floppy sunhat shaded his face while he dug with the spade in his gloved hands. There was a box next to him half-full of plastic containers carrying the same freshly-planted pansies that sat in the garden between him and the porch.

It was quiet. Almost quiet enough that he might have forgotten about the toddler-sized anxious trait playing on the asphalt driveway just around the corner.

It wasn’t as if Virgil was making a lot of noise. When he’d woken up to tiny hands and a large jacket that morning, he had begged Patton to let him stay with him for the day, promising he’d be quiet so as not to disturb his already planned morning of gardening. Patton had told him not to worry about it, but Virgil went Roman anyway to ask for a piece of chalk to draw with. Roman, being as extra of an older brother figure as always, gave him a whole box with a rainbow of colors instead before going off on a quest in his realm.

They had been outside for a few hours by now. Virgil had done his best not do make any noise or bother Patton, but as he put the finishing touches on his drawing, he wanted nothing more than to show his dad what he’d made.

At the far end of the driveway, closest to where the road would be had there been one, the asphalt was covered in pastel colors left and right. There were hearts and storm clouds and rainbows and books, and stars and swirls and basic shapes—pretty much everything that Virgil could think of to draw was on the driveway. In the middle of all of the chaos stood two stick figures with a messy line drawn at the top of each of their heads. The tall one had glasses and a big grin, while the small one had smudges under the eyes and a smile. The figures held hands as a heart floated between them.

Virgil stood and looked over his masterpiece once more. He wanted to add more drawings to it, to impress his dad even more, but he really wanted to show him now! What if it rained and the chalk washed away?! Daddy would never see it, and all of this would have been for nothing!

No. Virgil wasn’t going to let that happen.

…At least, he wouldn’t, as long as Daddy wasn’t going to be upset about him interrupting him.

Virgil looked towards the backyard, his grip tightening on the piece of blue chalk. Daddy wouldn’t be mad if he was showing him a picture… right?

He would be happy!

Unless he thought it was terrible and yelled at him.

But Daddy wouldn’t yell at him! He hasn’t yet!

But that didn’t mean he never would.

Virgil lifted a sweater paw to his mouth and bit down. His gaze snapped back to the driveway.

It wasn’t… that bad, was it? He just wanted to make his dad smile.

The image of Patton’s huge, beaming grin popped into Virgil’s mind, and that was enough for him to steel his nerves and push forward. He turned towards the backyard with his chin up. His sleeves fell back to his side, and he began to run forward.

The next thing he knew, his shin hit something sharp, and with a big crash!, Virgil was on the ground.

He lay there for a moment in shock, a numbness spreading over his limbs. The chalk box! How could he have been so stupid to forget he’d left that there?! Now Daddy was going to come see what was wrong before he could get him, and the surprise would be ruined!

Holding back tears was already a struggle at the wave of emotions that hit him all at once, but then set in the pain! His palms felt like they were on fire, and his shin was throbbing, and his other knee burned!

Virgil rolled over and stifled a sob. He couldn’t let Daddy hear this, couldn’t let the surprise be ruined, but it hurt, hurt, hurt—

Holding back a wail, Virgil stood and limped as quickly as he could onto the front porch and into the house. Each rubbing of fabric against his knee felt like he was ripping a bandaid on and off again, so he reached down and lifted his pant leg away from his leg as best as he could.

He knew exactly who to go to.

------

 Wednesday:

               -Edit next Sanders Sides script                                -Edit Joystick Joyride until 6:45pm                                -6:45, prepare for dinner with Joan and Talyn                                -Return home by

Logan snapped out of his work as frantic knocking pounded on his door. He blinked steadily as he became aware of his surroundings; the moment he realized what was happening, he huffed and shot a glare at the door.

“Patton, I thought I told you not to disturb me today,” he stated. “I have plenty of work to do, and very little time to do it. Please, unless it is an emergency, wait until later to speak with me.”

He turned back to his work without a second to spare. The knocking started up again almost immediately. He sighed.

“I am being serious. If you want me to observe your gardening, it can wait.”

Silence. Logan began to relax.

And then he heard a thick sniffle, and a tiny sob.

He was on his feet in an instant, eyes glued to the door. “Virgil?”

Another sob sounded, this one louder than the first.

“Papa…!”

Logan was yanking the door open a second later, dropping to a crouch as soon as he saw Virgil bent over and clutching his leg. “What happened? Are you injured?”

Virgil sniffled and swiped at his eyes, his hand snapping right back to his knee as soon as it was able. He forced himself to nod through his grimace.

“Let me see,” Logan commanded.

Whimpering, Virgil shook his head. “It h-hurts!”

“I understand that, Virgil, but it is important that I look at it,” he said. “I need to see how severe it is so that I can best treat it and help the pain cease.”

Virgil looked at him warily, tears dripping off of his cheeks and onto the carpet; after a moment, he hesitantly lifted one hand away to reach for him. Logan’s chest tightened as he gently scooped the child into his arms and stood, paying very careful attention to make sure his knee didn’t come in contact with anything.

He wasted no time in whisking them down the stairs and towards the bathroom. As Virgil shook and cried, Logan rubbed his back and did his best to reassure him that he was okay.

���Can you tell me what caused this?” he softly asked.

Virgil sniffled and clung to him. “I-I fell…!”

“You fell? Where did that happen?”

“On the driveway,” he whimpered.

On asphalt. Of course. Roman didn’t listen to him about the benefits of a dirt driveway, and now they had an injured child on their hands. Of course.

When they passed the kitchen, Logan spared a glance inside, only to find a battered Roman staring right back at him. Logan raised an eyebrow at the lock of hair that was smoldering, but his stride lost no speed. Roman took a step away from the running microwave as they passed.

“What’s happened, is Virgil alright?” he asked.

“Oh, he only fell on the driveway that you insisted was the most aesthetically pleasing and injured himself,” Logan huffed. “Nothing for you to concern yourself with.”

Guilt slapped across Roman’s expression, but Logan only caught a split second of it before he stepped into the bathroom and shut the door.

Gently, Logan placed Virgil onto the counter and swiped some of the tears away with the pad of his thumb. “It’s going to be alright, Virgil. Let’s take a look at that knee, shall we?”

Virgil sniffled and scrubbed at his eyes. “A-Am I gonna die?”

Logan stared at him for a beat, eyes wide; a moment later, his expression softened, and he put his hand on Virgil’s uninjured knee.

“No, Virgil,” he firmly reassured. “You’re going to be just fine. I would never let anything like that happen to you, alright? It’s just a small injury. I assure you, there is nothing to worry about.”

Hanging his head, Virgil nodded slowly. Logan kneeled down and reached into the cabinet under the sink to grab the first aid kit before turning back to him.

“Now, let’s get you fixed up. May I see it?”

Virgil nodded again, lifting a sweater paw to chew on as Logan took his pant leg and began to roll it up. He was extra gentle when he reached the knee, lifting it high over the—

“Oh, dear,” Logan breathed.

The skin on Virgil’s knee wasn’t just scraped up, it was simply… gone, almost. Nearly his entire kneecap was covered in a thin layer of blood; Logan was shocked it hadn’t ended up anywhere else. Carefully, he raised Virgil’s calf in an attempt to get a better view, but he dropped the idea when he let out a whine.

“That is… quite the skinned knee you’ve given yourself there, Virgil,” Logan slowly stated. “What happened that caused you to fall?”

“I-I drew on the driveway and wanted to show it to Daddy,” Virgil answered, “’Nd I fell over the chalk Ro let me use.”

“Were you running?”

“Mm-hm…”

Logan nodded, his eyes still glued to the injury. “Virgil, I’m going to change you out of your jeans and into a pair of shorts, okay? It will make it much less cumbersome to treat this if I don’t have to worry about your jeans falling and causing you any more pain.”

He waited for Virgil to nod, and then he snapped, putting him in a set of black basketball shorts. Logan was about to reach for the first aid kit, but another streak of red caught his eye; his gaze snapped to Virgil’s left shin, where a long, shallow gash bled lightly.

Raising an eyebrow, Logan looked up at him. “Virgil? Is there a reason you made no mention of this?”

Virgil’s head hung, eyes darting away from Logan; Logan held back a sigh and a lecture as he inspected the new wound.

“Are there any other injuries you’ve hidden?” he asked, as softly as he possibly could.

Virgil hesitated, but after a moment, he lowered his sweater paws and wormed his arms out from inside. He opened his palms to reveal bright red, scraped up skin—but, to Logan’s relief, no blood.

He let out the sigh and gently took the tiny hands into his own.

“Virgil, if you’re injured, you need to tell us about it, okay?” Logan quietly reprimanded. “No matter how big or small it is, or if you have another that seems bigger and more important. Neglecting to tell someone could cause it to get infected and hurt a lot more. No one will be angry; we just want you to be healthy. Okay?”

Virgil sniffled and nodded. His lips twitched down, but he appeared to be forcing them away from that. Logan watched as tears started to roll down his cheeks again.

He climbed to his feet. “Would a hug help you believe me?”

Eyes screwing shut, Virgil stifled a sob and reached for him. Logan quickly leaned forward and held him close.

It was a long moment later before Logan ran his hand up and down Virgil’s back, asking, “Was this satisfactory?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Good.” Logan pulled away and offered a soft smile. “Then let’s finally get you cleaned up.”

He took a washcloth and wet it down, rubbing a bit of soap into it before he kneeled back down and began gently wiping away at Virgil’s wounds. When he flinched at the contact, Logan wordlessly offered a hand, and Virgil took it and held it tight. They worked in silence for a long moment.

“You’re being very brave, Virgil,” Logan said.

Just as Virgil appeared to be calming down, the front door slammed open; despite it being on the other side of the closed bathroom door, Virgil practically jumped out of his skin and began to shake. Logan quickly squeezed his hand and shushed him.

“Has anyone seen Virgil?!” Patton’s voice yelled as it passed them. “Please tell me someone’s seen Virgil!”

“Relax, Padre, he and Logan are in the bathroom,” called Roman’s voice.

“Why are they—Oh, my goodness gracious, what happened to you?!”

“Fire ostrich.”

“Your hair is on fire!”

Rolling his eyes, Logan set the washcloth aside and picked up a roll of gauze from the first aid kit. “Honestly, the things he comes up with…”

Virgil giggled, his voice still thick, but the smile on his face real. Logan carefully pulled his hand away and used it to hold Virgil’s leg in place as he wrapped the bandages around his knee.

Not a moment later, a gentle knock sounded against the door. Patton quietly poked his head in without waiting for a response. He took a moment to glance at the scene in front of him, and then he offered Virgil a sympathetic smile.

“Hey there, kiddo,” he said. “Heard you had a bit of a tumble, huh?”

Virgil’s lower lip began to wobble, but he bit down hard on it as he nodded. Patton let out a coo and stepped in, leaning his hip against the counter as he wrapped his arm around Virgil’s shoulder. “Does it hurt?”

Tucking his face into Patton’s chest, Virgil sniffled. “Mm-hm…!”

“Well, it’s a good thing you went straight to Doctor Logan then, isn’t it?” Patton replied, shooting Logan a thankful smile.

“No one in this mindscape goes straight anywhere!”

“Thank you for your unnecessary input, Roman,” Logan hollered.

“You’re just upset because I’m right!”

Logan sighed and shook his head as he secured the bandage in place and started on his shin. “I’m not wrong about it being unnecessary…”

Patton snorted and slapped a hand over his mouth. Logan glanced up and raised an amused eyebrow.

All of a sudden, Virgil burst into tears.

Patton and Logan snapped their heads towards him. “Virgil? Honey, what’s wrong?” Patton asked, pulling away to join Logan kneeling in front of him.

“Are you in pain? Is there another injury? Is there a new injury?”

Sucking in a mighty sob, Virgil shook his head. He lifted one hand to rub at his eyes while the other reached for Patton. He took the tiny grip without a second thought.

“What’s the matter, kiddo?”

Through a string of choking breaths, Virgil managed out one sentence.

“I-I di-idn’t get to sh-show you my p-p-pictu-re!”

Patton blinked. “The one in the driveway?”

Virgil wailed and nodded. “A-A-And it’s gonna—gonna be gone ‘cause it’s gonna rain or Ro’s gonna make the driveway dirt and you-you’re never gonna get to see i-i-it!”

“Oh, Virgil!”

Patton shot to his feet and wrapped Virgil in a tight hug; he rubbed small circles in the bawling toddler’s back as he rocked them back and forth. Softly, he shushed him and pressed a kiss into his hair.

“Virgil, I did see it,” Patton whispered. “When I was looking for you, before I realized you were missing, I stopped to look at it, and boy, was I amazed! You did a really nice job with it!”

Virgil sniffled. “Really…?”

“Absolutely! I especially loved the little swirls everywhere! Oh, but not as much as the little self portrait of me and you! I really liked the hair you gave us!”

In the moment of distraction, Logan swiftly taped the strip of gauze over the shallow cut and began to pack up the first aid kit. He sat back and watched for a moment as Virgil slowly calmed down, and as the worry in Patton’s eyes slowly faded.

A smile rested on Logan’s face before he climbed to his feet and brushed the dirt off of himself.

“Well, Virgil, it seems you are good to go,” he stated. “I will come change your bandages accordingly, but please do your best to—”

“Nu-uh! My hands!”

Logan blinked at the interruption. Virgil pulled away from Patton to show off the scrapes on his palms.

Oh. Of course.

Logan hesitated for a moment. True, there wasn’t much that could be done for a skin abrasion as minor as this one, but he also couldn’t just brush Virgil’s concerns off, especially after he’d just reprimanded him for not telling him about it in the first place…

“Um… well,” Logan slowly said, “I… Believe the best way to treat this sort of injury is…”

He glanced at Patton. Patton tilted his head, listening intently. For a moment, Logan couldn’t understand why he would be so interested, but then he realized that it was only natural in a father’s nature to—

Oh!

Logan straightened his posture and adjusted his glasses. “Well, it is a common myth that the best treatment for this sort of injury is to apply a parent’s kiss as needed to soothe the pain!”

An amused grin nearly split Patton’s face in half. He turned to Virgil and nodded with a hum.

Virgil blinked at the two of them with wide, puffy eyes. His gaze darted between the two of them before he raised his right palm up towards Patton, who quickly pecked a gentle kiss onto the scratches and reached for his left.

“No!”

They paused.

“No?” Patton asked. “Does it not hurt?”

Virgil violently shook his head. He stretched his left hand out towards Logan.

“I want Papa to do it!” he whimpered.

Heat rushed to Logan’s face just as rapidly as his heart swelled. His mouth opened and shut for a beat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Patton’s hands fly over his mouth as his eyebrows shot into his hairline.

Virgil’s bottom lip poked out into a pout.

“Please?”

How could Logan deny such a polite little request?

He gently took Virgil’s wrist and lifted his hand, looking the toddler in the eye as he pressed a soft kiss to his palm. Virgil gave a weak smile before he pulled his hand away and reached for Patton.

“And what do we say to Logan?” Patton asked, strategically lifting Virgil into his arms without jostling the bandages.

“Thank you, Papa.”

“Thank you, indeed,” Patton added. He looked at Logan with the most grateful expression he could muster. “Seriously, thank you so much.”

“You are very welcome. I’m glad I was able to help,” Logan replied.

The two smiled at each other.

Virgil tugged at Patton’s cardigan. “Daddy, can we go back outside?”

“Sure, kiddo,” he laughed, “But how about we stay in the backyard this time, okay? You can help me plant some flowers!”

Virgil bit his lip, curling in on himself a little. “Am I allowed…?”

Patton grinned and pressed a kiss into Virgil’s hair. “Of course you are! I’d love for you to garden with me!”

Giggling, Virgil pressed his face into Patton’s shoulder; Patton mouthed one last thank you to Logan before he turned and walked out of the bathroom.

Before they turned the corner, Virgil peered up and waved. “Bye, Papa!”

“Have fun,” Logan called.

He ended up standing in the bathroom for a few minutes long than he’d intended, simply processing the event and the emotions that accompanied it. A soft smile grew across his lips the longer he remained.

This had definitely been worth the time lost on scheduling.

Just before Logan crouched to put the first aid kit in its usual location, Roman hesitantly poked his head around the corner. Logan straightened his posture and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yes?”

Roman clicked his tongue. “Hey, you, uh… seemed to do pretty well, bandaging Virgil up like that,” he said.

“Well… Yes. It is crucial to know first aid in case of emergencies,” he replied. “Thomas has taken many classes on it. You should know this.”

“Right, right,” Roman laughed. He pressed his lips together and avoided Logan’s gaze, hovering in the doorway.

Logan sighed. “Was there something you needed, or are you just going to block me from exiting and getting back to work?”

“Oh! Yes, I was… Um. I was just wondering.”

Roman played with the edge of his sleeve for a beat, and then he slowly rolled it up, revealing his arm to be covered in talon scratches and burns.

“Could you do me next?”

[ask4mycashapp]

purrs of delight and embarrassment

"tighnari," ignored. "tighnari," ignored. "tighnariiiii-"

"what do you need now, y/n?" tighnari sighs, finally responding. there isnt any point in ignoring you, youll just get more annoying.

"you know what im gonna ask you, so whats your answer?" you smile, trying to look as convincing as possible.

tighnari glares back at you, why cant you take no for an answer? he wouldve let you later but hes busy and theres ppl around. "no y/n, you cant pet me right now. one its dehumanizing and two im busy." he finally responds, only succeeding in making your smile fade, your resolve isnt broken yet.

"but think about it foxy! i get to pet your ears and tail and you get to be pet, its a win win deal!" you try your best to reason with him and you swear you see him contemplate it, but alas his response barely differs,

"y/n there are people around." you quickly catch onto whats going on, so you do your best to tease him, "oooh i get it! your shy arent you foxy ;D?"

"y/n stop calling me foxy!" he hurried to hush you but failed.

"if you were shy you coulda just told me yknow! ill get us out of here ;)!" you wink at tighnari before making an automated vine bot to do his work for him using your dendro vision.

(reader has a dendro vision that can make vine people or animals that do wtv she wants. lmk if u wanna see more of that concept ;p)

you smile, proud of your creation. you also snicker at tighnaris shock, "now your workll be done and you can come home with me! lets get going foxy!"

"y/n since when could you-"

"since forever, now come with me!"

you and tighnari set off to go to your house. when you get there both of you take showers, change into comfy clothes tighnari stays over alot so he has clothes at ur place ;) and crash on your bed.

once you get comfortable on your back you open your arms, waiting for him. tighnari wordlessly settles in on top of you, laying with his head on your chest and his arms circling your waist. this position gives you full access to his ears and even his tail and he knows that, thats why he did it. you smile at him knowingly, but all he does is scrunch his eyes shut.

with a giggle you place one hand on his ear, rubbing circles into the base of it. your other hand is on his tail petting it. you think a little bit about what would happen if you gave it a tug but dismiss the thought in favor of enjoying this moment with tighnari.

and then... he starts... PURRING!

your beloved foxy is purring, you need to engrave this moment into your mind forever, but then he quickly stops. tighnari burrows his face further into your bust in his embarrasment.

"awe, didnt i tell you you dont need to be shy? its just us, no one elses here. its just me and you at home foxy <3." you reassure tighnari to the best of your ability and slowly he starts to pur again.

after 15 minutes of staying like this tighnari falls asleep. you smile down at his sleeping form, glad that he feels comfortable enough with you to be vulnerable like this. you fall asleep a little bit after him with your face snuggled in between tighnaris ears <3.

i was so close to making this smut, but i decided on fluff. maybe ill make a tighnari smut post later idk. i have a bunch of drafts and a few requests im working on so ill probably be posting more <3.

masterpost

[sgcairo]

My Dearest Darling (Irnes X Fatui! Reader Part Three)

Somehow, we made it to 200+ followers! Here's the third part of the series, and I believe I'll probably need a masterpost soon for what I have planned... This part is mostly letters, for those wondering. There's a little bit at the end that isn't letters, but here's all of Irnes' major writings to you! Still SFW, Irnes is a smitten man and the mortifying ordeal of having to explain why there's a nude painting of him in the mail would probably give him a heart attack. So here you go, some letters from Irnes during your time apart!

Seventh of Winter

My darling,

I used to write all the time, when I was much younger. But since my body doesn't work as well as it used to, I've found that writing my observations and letters is much harder than it was. Regardless, I will do my best for you, as you're all alone and I can't bear to leave you that way.

Today is the seventh day of winter. You left yesterday, yet I can't stop thinking about you. It's around this time that my pain starts to act up from the cold, so I've been sequestered in my chair by Sergei so I don't hurt myself. But there's so much to do! The projects for the Doctor will not finish themselves, and I have several reports to finish! Alas, Sergei is vehemently keeping me confined, I'm only allowed to walk with his assistance (though I'm quite sure I don't need it). However, that is not of any importance, as my thoughts have been only on your lovely voice.

There's no greater force in this world than passion and love. I know this well, subjects put under extreme duress in impossible situations are invigorated by the sight of their true desire, whether it be relation or object. In this case, I am the subject, so dearly in love with you that I would do anything, survive a bludgeoning that would kill a man. Oh how I love you, my dear, it pains me to know that you're so far away, across the sea and serving Her Majesty in the name of progress.

I cannot confess it to your face, but clones do not... dream, at least, not often. It's not that we're incaptable, no, it's that we have nothing to dream about, other than our beloved creator's goal, which is rather boring to think, let alone dream about. But I've found that my dreams have been solely occupied by you, to the point that Prime would have written it off as an illness. It is not an illness, I know that much, but it really is peculiar. I've never dreamed like this before... Can you believe that?

But enough about me, how has your trip been? By the time you read this letter, I predict you will be in Sumeru, so I must ask how it went. I don't know if you get seasick or not, but I hope not, otherwise I would have made a little something to make you feel better. Do let me know, I'll send a package for next time! I forgot to inform you, but I have given Omega express orders to make sure you're well, a favor that he's been dying to pay off. If he is unkind to you, tell me and I will ensure that his return will be anything but pleasant. I will also tell Prime, because I am physically incapable of smacking him upside the head with sufficient force to get through that thick skull of his.

Anyhow, I know you don't have much time to read an essay worth of words, so I will stop here. Do take care of yourself, my love. I wait for your reply.

With love, Irnes

Eleventh of Winter

My dear,

It has been a few days since I have written last, but only because I seem to have fallen ill again. Even now, Sergei is writing this for me, as I am not allowed to leave my bed or do any strenuous tasks. Though I'm fairly sure that writing isn't a strenuous task when you have nothing to do... Do not worry about me, however, my sickness is nothing serious, just a small cold. Sergei is merely overreacting, I am perfectly fine, I believe that I am being forced to rest as a precaution, nothing more.

I miss you so much. I cannot wait to hold you in my arms again, I do believe that the saying "in absence does the heart grow fonder". I've found myself somewhat distracted from my work by thoughts of you, and Sergei is giving me a look as I say this. I should apologize to Prime, now that I think about it. No matter, I will get to it eventually. Eventually.

I've been thinking about our future recently. Being sick gives me too much time alone with my thoughts, it seems! When you return, I will speak more of it, but I think that perhaps- if you weren't opposed- we could make it somewhat official? I quite like the idea of you being mine. Perhaps it's my brain's response to theoretical death that's saying this... but I also like the idea of being yours. I like that idea better, actually. Being yours would make me truly happy.

But do tell me about your adventures in Sumeru! There are these particular creatures called Aranara that you may run across during your adventures, do send any pictures if you find them! They have little hats and usually dance around near trees. You may need a child to find them, but they are positively adorable! I have also sent some pressed flowers from my collection, one of them being a wild glaze lily. Fully intact, preserved for a few years, though the exact number of years escapes me. Consider it a bribe! Just kidding, but Sumeru really is a fascinating place. I think you will enjoy it immensely.

Anyways, my throat hurts and Sergei is glaring at me. Do take care of yourself, my love. I promise that I'll be alright, don't worry about me. Enjoy your time away, I will be here waiting for you.

Yours, Irnes

Sir, Irnes is delirious and will not be writing to you for some time. I apologize for the inconvenience, but he needs rest. He is also trying to escape, so please do write to tell him to stop running out in the cold with minimal clothing. By that I mean almost nothing. Thank you.

Sergei

Twentieth of Winter

My dearest darling,

I think it will please you to know that I have fully recovered since your last letter, in which you expressed much concern over my health. I can assure you that I am back on my feet! Prime is working me to near death, but it is the busiest season, as the deep cold keeps specimens from falling apart as easily. We also have new segments that have to be taken care of... Having naked ones running around is amusing, to say the least. They have no concept of morality or language yet, which has made for a few fires.

Anastasiy also has been discovering the concept of cookies lately, he has been hoarding them in his room. I have been pressed to make more, though Lord Pantalone is threatening to have me disbanded for getting him addicted to sugar. I can't help it though, his eyes have that little twinkle when he sees them! Oh well. I'll be sure to make you some once you return, as they are best warm.

Omega has notified me that you've been working quite hard under his jurisdiction. Don't let him pressure you into working more, my dear! He may be your superior, but I will come to Sumeru myself and knock him upside the head, just you wait. The warmth would keep my joints nice and loose, just for his ass kicking.

Do make sure that you're getting enough water and food! Sumeru can dehydrate you, especially in the humid areas! I would hate for you to get hurt or pass out because of it! Sleep is also important, especially in a land with no dreams. Without dreams as an indication of deep sleep, do try to get the advised eight hours a night (though I am fully aware that your schedule may not allow it). I have sent some herbal teas with this letter to help you sleep well, should you require them. They are a blend I procured and mixed personally, do tell me if it is not to your liking.

It's good to hear that you're doing well in Sumeru. Your stories are quite amusing, that Maksim of yours really is a mischievous man. I am glad that your comrades are taking care of you, despite getting goo all over your uniform. And do not worry about the uniform, dear. I happen to know how to get stains out of any fabric, and we can even get you a new one, should it be unsalvageable.

I wish I could hold you through a letter, but I'm afraid the universe has concrete limits. I send all my love to you, and I hope to hear from you again soon. Take care, my dear.

Yours, Irnes

Second of Spring

My star,

Snezhnaya does not have much of a spring season. It doesn't exactly have seasons, either. Though I look forward to summer, at least the cold relents ever so slightly. It's nice, on the old aches.

I have been invested in a project recently. It may be a bit forward of me, but I suppose I will simply have to show you in person. It will take some time to complete, however. Oh dear, it definitely

In your previous letter, you mentioned your family. I would very much like to meet them, that is, if you would like to be seen with someone like me. I don't know what's come over me lately, but things feel... wrong. It's nothing to do with you or any of the others, I simply feel strange in my own skin. An ache has started in my chest, the mirrors feel awfully oppressive as of late. I apologize, I know I shouldn't burden you with my thoughts like this.

I should write at another time, I suppose.

Third of Spring

My dearest,

I do not know how long you'll be gone, but it's almost been a season since you've left. I'm almost tempted to come visit you, though Sergei says it's a bad idea. Travelling in my condition... It would certainly be painful, but I would do it just to see you again. It would be worth it, every small pain. Though I know you wouldn't approve, so I will stay here and wait.

I do have some funny tidbits from my days taking care of the new clones. It's only been a few weeks, but they still insist on causing chaos, fairly standard of their base instincts. Though one of them in particular is very interested in vandalizing the holding room with... phallic objects. I've caught him in the act not once, not twice, but THREE times. I audibly sigh just thinking about it, is this what raising children is like?

Speaking of which, what are your opinions on children? Merely out of curiosity, as you seemed to have an aversion when I introduced you to Danya. Though I did see children in that family picture of yours... I must ask if you have siblings! Perhaps cousins, if not... It puzzles me, the children do look remarkably similar to you... blood relations, I'm sure. Please help me, my dear! I'm dying of curiosity!

I have inquired further with Prime about Sumeru out of my own curiosity. How wondrous! I wish I could be there with you, I hear that Sumeru City truly is a beautiful place. I also received those pictures of the Aranaras that you sent! They are quite adorable, and they have been taken from me by those ungrateful and greedy little creatures that Prime calls his image. They are currently begging me to ask you to send more, though I know you are quite busy and have little time to yourself, so do not feel pressured to comply.

In exchange for those marvelous pictures, I have included one of a rather disappointed segment in the bath and a few setting fires. I do hope you will be amused by them, it is quite embarrassing for them, but deserved after they stole my pictures. I am a man of spite, my dear, and I will not hesitate.

I love you, my dear. I hope that soon you will return to me.

Yours, Irnes

Fifteenth of Spring

My dear,

I should tell you the story of how I got these burns, hm? I have little to talk about nowadays, my time is rather mundane while serving Prime, so I suppose this may be the best way to tell you. While I would much rather say it to your face... Part of me knows that I would lose my courage in that situation, and for that I am sorry. You deserve nothing but my best, but I should tell you that I can be quite a cowardly man when it serves me. Or perhaps when it matters most.

It was many years ago. So many that it's only a vague recollection. I was in charge of a ruin guard factory, a short distance outside of Liyue Harbor. In fact, I believe it is still there, albeit abandoned. I was working in Prime's place, during one of his obsessions. I was quite proud of being promoted to a manager of such an important project, so much so that it seems foolish now, looking back on it. I was young, fresh out of the pod and eager for responsibility. It was stupid, in hindsight.

The accident itself involved that very hubris I held. At first, it was just my coat getting stuck in one of the open gears of a nearby incinerator. The next, it was my glove, then my hand. It hurt, it hurt so much. The gears crushed my skin, my bones. The fire burned through muscle, it felt like I was being torn apart. The open flame spread, until I was fully ablaze. I cried for help, but it was too late. The severe burns on my right side are what remains of that accident, as well as the crookedness of my arm. I don't remember much after catching fire. Just voices and flashes of light. I thought I was going to die.

Somehow, though, I did not. When I opened my eyes next, I was back in the cold of the motherland, the sky full of stars. That was the first time I'd ever seen the stars above my home. It was beautiful, like something out of a dream. The next time I woke up, it was with Prime holding a bone saw in front of my face. I almost wet myself, I'll tell you that much. It was terrifying. He planned to use it to cut through the skin as well! Blasphemy!

I couldn't walk and barely spoke for a few months after that. It took me a year, perhaps a bit more, to fully be able to walk again. Even then, it was embarrassingly haphazard. Still is, if I'm being honest.

I don't know what has come over me, writing this. I apologize, my dear. But know that I care for you, and that I wait for you to return.

Please keep safe.

Yours, Irnes

Forty Third of Spring

My dear,

I have not heard of you for some time. I do hope you're alright. Perhaps it is because you're busy, but I hope it's not because you're wounded. That would hurt more than you not having time...

Please take care of yourself.

Yours, Irnes

Eighth of Summer

Tsaritsa have mercy, it can't be true. Please, don't let it be true. Please. It's a lie, a clever prank by Omega.

Please.

It's summer. It's the warmest that this horrid place will ever get. I planned... I had so much planned.

Don't leave me alone. Please. My heart can't take it. It's selfish, I know. But please don't leave me.

I love you, my dear.

[tgfangirl4eva]

DP BEAU MasterPost

So ok, you came here hearing about the spin off treading water stuff I’ve been doing. Turns out I am basically doing a whole spin off au of treading water where Team Triton learns witchcraft and the sub-branches of land magic.

God help me, I’m drowning in ideas regarding this.

Also, ALL of Team Triton get appodidios!

(Pictured above: Me at Team Triton)

Danny’s appodidios: Aquapathy (Water sense), ????

Sam’s appodidios: Healing and regeneration (can heal herself and others)

Jazz: Telepathy and aquapathy

Tucker: Electrokinesis and thermokinesis (heat and electricity manipulation)

Also, they all get the standard merfolk power package (basic hydrokinesis, basic aquapathy, basic telepathy, which is thought speak)

As for magic, everyone has basic general blood magic (the basic healing spells and whatnot), minor telekinesis, and sleep studying.

Here are their specialties.

Elementalism- Danny’s one branch of magic that has the four classic western elements and miscellaneous elements that can be classified under the four main branches.

Fire- Technically, fire encompasses all energy, lightning, heat, sound, with enough time Danny will learn how to make mirages and show people illusions fully made of light.

Water- We already saw this with the merfolk, no further explanation is needed.

Air- Air encompasses all gases and is also inclusive of plasma manipulation.

Earth- This essentially covers all “solid” elements that didn’t fall into the previous three places.

Mental Magic- Jazz chose this route due to how it studied the mind and how to prevent mental illnesses. The shared technique everyone uses is sleep studying, which allows for you to learn in your sleep ALA Doctor Strange in his first movie.

She can also create illusions similar to her brother, but instead of bending light, she works with tricking your mind to see something you want to see.

It also comes with telekinesis since telekinesis is “mind over matter”.

Wand magic- Remember wands in Harry Potter? Basically that. Jazz chose to learn this.

Potions- Basically potions in Harry Potter. Sam learns this.

Chlorokinesis- Plant magic. Remember Isabella of Encanto? Sam can do that and more.

Artificing- This is Tucker’s speciality and basically he’s working with magic’s version of technology. Science has technology, magic has artificing, and those skills Tucker has with tech transfer over rather well with magitech and general artificing.

General blood magic- Miscellaneous blood magic stuff that doesn’t fall into any of the above categories. This is also Tucker’s field of expertise as well.

I thought long and hard about what parts of blood magic Team Triton would study.

Sam has a green thumb and likely is the most willing to learn about potions that doesn’t need to worry about proximity to Vlad, so she took over potions quickly.

Wands are potent and powerful, but Vlad doesn’t pay that much attention to Jazz and she could pass off a wand as an ornament or a bookmark. Mental magic is also incredibly useful in fighting off mental illness and keeping up morale, so Jazz slotted herself in due to her love of psychology.

Danny is tackling elementalism due to how it is essentially an extension of hydrokinesis and his aquapathy (“water sense”) also extends to other elements as well (yes he’s OP and I will not apologize for it, he can be OP as a treat).

Tucker can easily pass off artificing as “tech projects” and general blood magic needs to be studied by someone, so he’s taken over that role. Healing with blood magic is Tucker’s specialty despite Sam being able to heal for one of her two appodidios.

@breynekai-tfc Just thought you should look at this

[akampana]

Can you tell us more about the harem au? 👉👈

I had to take some time on this ask bec my THOUGHGHGHGGHTS but ill probably make several posts on this and make a masterpost just to keep it all in one place.

But first things first, as a general rule: If they've met before, they retain their memories of each other. Furthermore, the Harem au follows the FZ->FSN->FGO continuity.

How did it start?

Messy. It was extremely messy.

The harem AU has a lot to do with the order that each member appeared in Chaldea, and it definitely wouldn't have happened if they hadn't come home in this order.

Also I have one Arturia at NP1 (AND BOI DID I TRY SO HARD TO GET ANOTHER ONE BUT ALAS, the world has decided to preserve the harem)

Note: there is a significant gap between Lancer Diarmuid and CasGil

At the start, there was a large period of time when it was just Gilgamesh, Cú, Arturia and (Before the Fire)CasCu. And since she remembers the 5th HGW (FSN) she was most inclined to spend time with Lancer Cú over Gil.

Lancer Cú was essentially the first person to get close to her, but at the time she was still hung up on her first love and Cú wasn't too serious about his flirting. To him, she was a frequent sparring partner and a cute little outlet for teasing. That was it.

Gil tried (as far as his pride would allow), but it would be a long time before Arturia ever even gave him a chance.

Especially since the next person that arrived was Diarmuid. But not her Diarmuid. Saber Diarmuid.

More below

Saber Diarmuid was never shy about his affection for the King of Knights, but as much as she enjoyed his company, their memories differed. He, for one, could not understand why she always looked so guilty around him, while she did not understand why he had no reservations against her.

Saber Diarmuid came closest to starting something with the King of Knights' healing heart, but her feelings of guilt combined with the lingering love she still had for Shirou ultimately prevented them from moving forward. So, he instead got closer to someone who similarly had memories of a slightly different version of the King of Knights: (BtF)CasCu.

Then, there came Cú Alter

Because of her good relationship with the other Cú's, Arturia respects and protects Alter the same way, which pisses off the Mad King to no end because she treats him like a human. Plus, everything about her beliefs messes him up. He was forced to accept a crown of thorns and tried to raze the world to the ground knowing there couldn't be a crowd that would want him as king. She willingly accepted the burden of kingship and still ended up wanting to save her kingdom when her country turned their back to her.

This clash created a lot of tension between the two, but rather than drive them apart, it brought them closer. Close enough that Alter had the monopoly on her time. Close enough that even Master thought she would up with him after all.

Close enough to snap the other Cú's out of their stupor, because how could they lose Arturia to a corrupted version of themselves?

Saber Diarmuid was trying to spend as much time with her at this point, but suddenly master came out of the summoning room with the very person he thought could destroy all his chances.

Himself.

So now, everyone was faced with a problem. Even straight out of the summoning room, Lancer Diarmuid did not hesitate to pick up where he left off.

Gil had the disadvantage of his ill treatment of Saber during the 5th HGW, the Cú's only started bonding with her in Chaldea, but Diarmuid?

She and Diarmuid had a history that ran deep. It was obvious Lancer was full on in love with Arturia from the very start. There was no awkwardness, no transition, just Diarmuid fully taking advantage of being reunited with his Arturia.

He was the first to tell her he loved her.

And this is where Gilgamesh, who'd been slowly earning her trust be accompanying her on missions and speaking with her whenever he was able, finally snapped.

Gil could excuse her having friends. He also understood the unworthy mongrel's desire for her, because of course his dear queen would be so widely coveted.

But he was not going to stand by and watch as another mongrel took her away.

So he told her everything. How he really felt about her kingship from back in the 4th HGW, how he waited for the 5th, how bloody mad she drove him when she was away, how he felt.

And now Arturia was faced with a slew of emotions that would take time to unravel.

Gil and Diarmuid admitted their feelings. Saber Diarmuid and CasCu were beyond confused about theirs. Cú Alter was off somewhere dismissing every possibility that he was worthy of her love in the first place.

And Arturia...did not understand. She'd been so focused on the love she lost that the possibility of starting a new one was novel to her. Yes, she'd come to care for all these people so deeply, but she was hesitant to let herself feel anything more.

Maybe Shirou had gotten through to her because of his stubborn naivete, but she was still technically the same person who was accused of being unempathetic, who's to say how this would even go--

And Fujimaru Ritsuka was getting tired of their collective shit.

So like the good Master Ritsuka is, they basically ordered them to forget the drama and figure it all out. Clearly, everyone had issues they needed to settle with her, and clearly Arturia also had to figure things out on her own.

So, everyone hit the metaphorical restart button, installed a patience driver, and began again, this time with Arturia mostly aware of how they felt about her.

And that's how the Harem AU starts.

I'll continue with Part 2, including the others later on :>

[fistsoflightning]

1: the devoted and the dead

prompt: crux || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror

word count: 3138 (ha ha HA WHY AM I LIKE THIS)

Taban travels to Eorzea in the wake of the Eighth Umbral Calamity expecting nothing but land and finds the organization devoted to saving their heroes instead.

Contains Shadowbringers spoilers concerning a major plot point that explains a major plot point from LVL 79 MSQ onwards!

Mor Dhona is a sight to behold, crafted in crystal spires that pierce the cloud cover and brilliant violet skies, the ruins of a centuries-old town and war scattered beneath the aether fog. The winds are quiet, but if she listens closely she can hear the remembered laughter and chatter of a lively place, filled with adventure and trade and hope . It is a sweet taste of something she has not had in a very long time.

It is also a reminder.

“We’re nearly to the Tower,” the man named Biggs says, voice muffled slightly by the mask pulled taught around his face, and she is reminded of the mask over her own nose, leather digging into the skin around her scales. “There isn’t much else to see here, otherwise, but it’s something compared to, well...” He waves his arms around to the crystals jutting out around them, and then to the dying plant life by her feet.

She nods, following close with her shepherd’s cane in hand when he turns back around. The bell jingles lightly every now and then as she stumbles over unfamiliar landscape.

After a few bells, the Tower is finally in sight, piercing the skies even further than the spires that had covered the walls on their trek to here, and her companion races forwards to call to four figures standing at the ledge, looking off into the distance.

“Cid,” Biggs calls, and the white-haired man turns to face the two of them. “I brought the missus from camp to see it; she kept waving her cane at me when I said it’d be too dangerous, so…”

Biggs sheepishly rubs the back of his head, and she has to physically remind herself not to whack him in the back with her cane like she used to with her husband—he wouldn’t understand the unspoken really now that came with it, anyhow.

Before Cid can speak, she thrusts her hand forward, a pendant with a glimmering indigo crystal in the palm of her hand. She knows he has seen it before; perhaps he has held it before. It matters not.

“I see,” Cid mumbles, and he looks like he thinks twice before continuing. “Are you certain? We’re not even sure if it’ll work, nor if they’ll be saved. Not the most well-thought out of plans, but if there’s even a sliver of hope…”

He turns, looking back towards the tower for a moment, and she wonders what could be so important about the Tower in the distance. What could have been so important that they left it alone until now?

“Of course I am,” she responds hoarsely, grasping the pendant tighter in her fist. The little lightning that arcs from it barely tickles her scales. “I have nothing else to lose.”

…

While Cid, Nero, and the remnants of what used to be Ironworks toil over the mechanics of opening the Tower’s doors, and then of what might be used to reverse the tides of Garlemald’s Black Rose, she finds herself falling unto old habits.

Namely, that of storytelling.

At first, it is solely for her own comfort; she lets swirls of smoke and ember come from her hands to make the Dawn Throne and Reunion, and sand for the people of her home. She doesn’t dare to use water—not when Silvertear Lake is polluted enough to make her sick and the little water they do have to drink cannot be tainted at all costs—but as the stifling feeling of snuffed aether fades from Mor Dhona she finds she doesn’t need to be in her element anyways.

But then, when she hears a quiet wish from the bedside of Cid Garlond, she finds herself reaching for her cane anyways.

It takes little effort to weave together a quiet night in Rhalgr’s Reach with the Warriors of Light as pieced together by Cid, Nero, and Biggs; a gentle retreat, after a long week spent fighting some alien and a few mishaps with their engineered tea kettle.

The joy she brings to their faces, no matter how disguised, is enough for her to bring her spellweaving to the rest of their little resistance camp. 

She starts working more and more on her less whimsical spells when Nero, too, falls ill, hands shaking as he finishes up the last mathematical proofs required to successfully prove Cid’s theory possible, with the right materials. One for healing—she saves a lost moogle once, and they continuously wander back and forth from places to bring her more tales—and one for more selfish reasons.

Time. She needs time, if she is going to memorialize anyone, any thing , and so she works until her left eye is milky white and the tips of her fingers are numb and she outlives her family even longer.

“There is a saying, among one of the tribes of my homeland,” she says, once, when asked why she would choose to live longer in a place like this. By then, she has already learned the languages she would have once spurned—not all books and scriptures come in easy to read script, after all. “That the soul burns brightest when it has a goal—formerly battle, but I know of a few Dotharl that have dedicated themselves to honoring their names with other pursuits. Mine is merely storytelling, and if it takes devoting more time than I have to give to keep telling, then I will.”

She can tell they still have questions for her, perhaps about the gentle sadness that carries in her words, but they do not ask, and for that she is grateful.

After she pulls together a sight of the famed Operation Archon one night—with gratuitous help from the few scholars still residing in the camp, including a small Lalafellian lady with a buttery yellow coat—

Eventually—maybe it is after she weaves the ending of the Dragonsong War from Count Edmont de Fortemps and Lord Commander Aymeric de Borel’s final memoirs, or perhaps upon recreating the charge on Ala Mhigo as recorded by the descendants of Resistance Fighters, desperate to see what their mothers and fathers fought for when all they know is bleak futures—people come calling her things like Hopekeeper and Dreamweaver in lieu of the name she has yet to give. In time, people come from farther away to bring her stories; ones of hope and adventure, mostly, but once she receives a tattered journal from another Xaela, of a dark knight, and she tells only him the tales held inside as a reminder of what he still fights for.

A little Xaela child—she does not know whose child, but she knows that he is Oronir, by the golden highlights and the little sun pendant around his neck—comes to her after her fiftieth year and thanks her.

“What for?” She kneels down to his height.

“Everything,” he says, so earnest it feels like true sunshine. “My parents came here ‘cause of you, and then we found this place! And now I can listen to tales of heroes instead of, well, y’know. You’re hope’s storyteller!”

He bounces excitedly on his heels, and she can’t help but laugh so bright her lungs are aching afterwards.She is little more than a sister dreaming of her siblings, a century dead and lost to the winds, but she smiles every time someone calls her hope’s storyteller afterwards anyways.

…

It is on the turn of the second century after the clouds of Black Rose fell upon Eorzea that Cid Garlond’s wildest theories are finally brought to fruition. The doors of the Tower fall open while she is asleep, and it is back to night when Biggs and his small crew return from the Tower announcing their plan is now in its final stages; that of creating the behemoth of an automaton that their founder theorized would make this all possible.

She seems to be the last one to meet the man of the hour, standing on the meager stage of haphazardly put together wood and nails so that she might create her stories around her, like a troupe making words come to life. His ears and tail are hidden under his robes, and he wrings his hands a bit nervously, but she can tell this man is much more important than he presents himself as, something bone-deep and aching as the memory of Cid’s bedside.

“Pray tell,” he starts, and everyone in the crowd turns to him. “Is there aught in your repertoire about the Warriors’ journey through that tower over yonder?” 

His smile is bright as she considers—perhaps for a bit too long, as it falters slightly when he pipes back up to say, “Forgive me for interrupting your, er, plans with my selfish request, but—”

“Nonsense,” she murmurs. “There is nothing too selfish here, and it happens that is a tale I’ve never told before.” She holds out her hand to the miqo’te, watching his ruby eyes flick up in surprise with his ears, even under the heavy woolen hood Biggs must have shoved him into before they’d left on their little pilgrimage. “Care to help me tell it, G’raha Tia?”

She holds out her hand to him, and the small yet eager crowd in front of her parts like the clouds to let him walk forward and take it.

…

G’raha’s hunger for knowledge spanning that two century long rest in that tower of his borders on voracious ; even when Biggs says he can stop, that he knows enough to fill in the gaps, he manages to wheedle his way into more and more danger looking for it. There is an incident, when making their way back from Ishgard with what books and memoirs they can carry, and while numerous people fall Biggs and G’raha make it back barely alive.

She cannot rightfully say she is any less hungry than he, but she can tell his hunger is all-consuming, possessed. He gets out of his sick bed earlier than even she could recommend, and there is not a day that goes by that G’raha spends outside—not that anyone could blame him, seeing as all he knew is dead and the land continues to die around them, but she finds books piling high in his tent.

When even Biggs turns aside one night, evidently tired of trying to convince him that what he needs will not be found in books, she steps forward to grasp his arm before he can relight his candle.

“Are you going to try and stop me, too?” He looks up to her, and the desperation in his eyes flickers with the dying candlelight.

“No,” she answers, but instead of letting his hand reach for the matchbox again she sticks a scepter into his palm. It glimmers pale gold, the foci a bit dulled but still usable. “I am going to help you.”

G’raha looks indignant at that. “I do not need—”

“If you want to die and never see a brighter future yourself, so be it. You may be devoted to this cause,” she says, quietly tightening her grip as he keeps resisting; he doesn’t seem to expect her strength. “But you will end up dead faster than them if you do not train.”

“I—” He starts, but he looks to the bandages covering his hands and then down to his lap.

It does not take much convincing after that.

…

There is precious few bells left before the Tycoon is set to make or break the future, and so she finds herself sprinting through camp with her journal held tight to her chest—the last one, because all the other tales and fables she had kept in her time have already been packed up and stored in the various rooms of the Crystal Tower, destined to bring hope to thousands of others.

(That is, if G’raha does not fail.)

Her feet carry her quickly across the uneven crystal leading to the Tower, and by the time the door is in sight she is panting madly, nearly tripping over her robes as she barrels into the main stairwell of the Tower.

Luckily, the man she was looking for is still here.

“My friend,” he says, ears flicked up in surprise. “What are you doing here!? The Tower is not a safe place for you to stay—”

“I have one last story to tell,” she admits, hand patting the heavy leather tome she holds to her chest. She’s still heaving, legs complaining, but it is nothing compared to the need to tell this one last tale. “A special one, at that. Would you care to listen?”

“Of course.” He sits haphazardly on one of the crates that are scattered about, and she walks—slower than usual, this time—to stand next to him. She sets the book by his side, the worn leather cover embossed and covered with vibrant paints, and it seems to catch his attention momentarily.

“My favorite memory,” she starts, aether coalescing slowly around her—she has grown weaker, in her two centuries of extended life, as the spell she’d uncovered could not save her from even the hallows of time, but it was enough for one more tale. Weaving the walls of her yurt are as simple as calling a burst of wind. “Has always been this, and I might think you’d find a bit of joy in it, too.”

It is a simple thing, to fill in the faces of these shades, frayed as her memory might be; the fuzzy pink lion had sat with his fairy next to the quiet elezen, sharing their plates as her own brother and sibling had sat opposite of them, quibbling over who would get their share of khuushur first. Then, the miqo’te red mage that she personally had seen time and time again when she had barely been knee-height and shyer than a mouse, sat next to the solemn knight who had stared as she’d kicked the little lord from their yurt—a measure of privacy, and peace, for someone so intent on twisting the Naadam for his own purposes even at the request of the Mol was not one even she had wanted to share buuz with. The roegadyn warrior with chef’s hands was with little Och and Qara in the back, excitedly telling them stories with the two miqo’te men who had both declined a place at the fire, more than content to watch the stars in mostly-quiet company. And then…

G’raha gasps next to her, watching as she weaves strands of starlight and motes of Mor Dhona’s violet skies together at the final place set by the cooking pit. She is quiet, but the moonlight that filters through the open flaps of the yurt swathes her in a luminous glow, and her face is near picture perfect to when she had actually sat in her sort-of extended family’s yurt. 

“She was my sibling’s fifth ‘almost-sister’, as they put it.” She stifles a giggle in her sleeve, dusty as it is. The shades move around the two of them, false fire creating a sense of warmth. “Back home, in the Steppe, it is uncommon that outsiders are accepted into another’s yurt for supper, especially should buuz be on the table. But my sibling…”

A flick of her hand has them a bit further in time, when she has offered her spellweaving talents to the menagerie of friends her sibling has gathered. 

“They did not trust easily, as I am sure you know,” she says, looking to G’raha and then to the images of the very tower they’d been preparing to send into the past for the last fortnight, formed in the embers of the cooking pit. “But the strength of this bond was worthy enough to share our mama’s specialty buuz with.” She points to them, now laid back on the mats and rugs of the yurt, quietly failing to fight off sleep. “I did not recognize them when they returned, at first, but by supper’s end I was certain this was still the same Zaya that had flew west on the back of their yol.”

She smiles when the memory skips to later, when the moon is high and every adventurer has fallen asleep haphazardly on the floor of the tent. “Happy as they may be on grand adventures,” she whispers, letting the strands of hope fray and unravel as her magic fades. “I have not seen them any more at peace than this moment.”

The memory ends quietly, in a burst of sunlight and moonglow, and as the motes of aether fizzle back into transparency G’raha slides off of the crate. He stays silent, for a few moments, still transfixed onto that one spot where his dearest ‘friend’, as Zaya had once put it, sat.

Only when she softly clears her throat does he turn to look her in the eyes, ruby eyes wild and hair just the slightest bit disheveled. He looks both terrible and determined at the same time, and she cannot decide whether she sees Zaya’s spirit or Oktai’s determination in his soul first.

“I…” he starts, eyes looking back down to his feet, wringing his hands like he did when she first met him. “I would ask your name, but I feel it would be improper to only do introductions when I am about to leave.”

Her quiet huff of laughter has his head snapping back up fast enough for her to hear the light crack of his neck. “Taban Qestir,” she says, bowing slightly. “Famed storyteller and well past her years.”

G’raha almost seems to puff up. “I—Is there anything—”

“No.” She has taught him all she could, all her stories told and her promises filled. After two centuries of outliving one’s family, she thinks there is nothing more she needs than to rest. “I’ve taken enough of your time, I would think.” 

It’s harder than she thought it would be to press the leather-bound journal from her first few years into his hands, knowing that all she remembers of her home is written into its pages, but she does it anyways. “Go on now, G’raha Tia. Your destiny awaits.” 

She smiles, then, just as mirthful as their sibling’s own smile, back when they were sitting around that cooking pit sharing their home and food with friends rather than a grave with them.

And as he turns to retreat further into the Tower that both robbed him of his future and can give him one anew, Taban thinks of Zaya, brilliant and bright and effervescent, and of their friends, their figures not as filled out in Taban’s memory than of them but just as lovely and bright all the same.

She remembers as she walks out of the Crystal Tower, and hopes that G’raha will remember his friends first before the vaunted heroes of the world he woke to.

[hobimo]

Hello!! If you’re seeing this then it means you’ve read the final chapter of It Happened Quiet!! Thank you very much for making it all the way through :’’))

I figured, since this sort of my first time writing this much of a thriller/mystery kind of thing that there would be loose ends I didn’t manage to quite tie up, or details that probably deserve more explanation than I gave them, so I’m just going to write a big long masterpost about the fic, basically. I considered writing this like a big fancy essay but I haven’t written anything formal since high school, so you’ll have to excuse the informality :’’))

CHARACTERS

1.     Yoongi

In the fic, Yoongi is 25 years old. In the past 14 years, he’s lived a very quiet life, going to school and befriending Namjoon, Seokjin, Jungkook and Jimin. He’s relatively unaware of his witch heritage and very dismissive of it in general, chalking it up to superstition.

The events of what happen in the forest when he and Hoseok go into it as children is very murky a) because I wanted to be sort of dark and never really clear but also b) because I couldn’t make up my damn mind about what I wanted. (pls forgivi). The breakdown is basically yoonseok go into the woods one day and they’re in for a big surprise and through some unclear turn of events, they have a falling out, and they’re just kids and they’re tired and hungry and scared, and things get thrown way out of proportion and they separate, and then things fall apart. Yes, Yoongi did intentionally leave Hoseok behind. Not through ill-will, he was just a kid and he was frustrated and scared and just wanted to get home, but as you can see the guilt literally eats him up as soon as he’s out and he can’t go back for Hoseok.

The majority of the flashbacks are experienced by Yoongi, as weird dreams or distorted memories or whatever, but they’re not necessarily his. That’s an important point I did try to reinforce by having Taehyung have memories that mirror Yoongi’s exactly. It was my attempt at playing the unreliable narrator card. I hope I did it justice :’’)

Anyways, story goes on, Yoongi chooses Taehyung over his friends when they have some weird inquest at his home, and then Jungkook does his big I release you and then taegi fall in love whatever it’s just like that in the countryside.

Something I did try with Yoongi was to have the witchy feel come back in the later chapters following his talk with Namjoon when his eyes go blue. I made him make sage oil instead of his sage-steeped-water-thing and threw in a few references to his mother doing it but never fully explaining it because she knows Yoongi isn’t his full self anymore. Essentially Yoongi’s “ghost” in the woods was his ‘witchy’ half. At least that’s what I tried, obviously he stayed kinda witch-boy aesthetic but you know.

2.     Taehyung

Taehyung is my son and I love him. In Yoongi’s part of the story, he does show up with no memory at all and that’s because Yoongi’s half-life in the woods says give those to me, referring to his memories. By the time he reaches Yoongi’s door he’s basically a total amnesiac.

Obviously, I tried to give Taehyung and Yoongi as much parallels as I could. See: the cows, being called a ‘witch’ (even though Taehyung is 100% NOT a witch), the piano, etc. I also had him get involved with Hoseok mostly because I wasn’t prepared to try and fit in Taehyung’s gay awakening in the 8 chapters we had (but also so I could imply some sexy taegiseok poly), but also because I wanted to flesh out Hoseok’s character. Vhope were always going to be involved but originally I wasn’t going to reveal quite as much as I did in chapter 7. But I still had fun writing it so it’s whatever.

Some key points about Taehyung worth noting are how he chooses his friends and family (his siblings, his town) over Hoseok, especially with his line “You only have me, but I have a lot more than just you.” This is basically the mirror image of what Yoongi does when Jungkook confronts them, which gives you a little more insight into Taehyung’s character at the time. When he was shaking his head in chapter 6 it was more of a ‘don’t do it Yoongi please don’t do it’ instead of a ‘they’re speaking bs you should choose me’. Taehyung remembering Jungkook is something I justify since Jungkook is obviously more powerful than a witch half-life in the woods, so obviously the memories belong more to Jungkook than they do Yoongi. But also it was just fun.

Taehee and Taewoo live long and happy lives despite losing their big brother in the war. Taewoo becomes a farmer that moves down the valley, and Taehee ends up marrying Jungkook in the sixties. (It was Jungkook’s attempt at keeping her safe. It was very wholesome don’t go yikes on me!!! It also implies Taehyung has descendants in town but we don’t ever see them.)

Taehyung is the ‘fairy’ of the story. In return for the mortal body he gave Hoseok (blood and bone) Hoseok essentially made him into a fairy that could grant wishes. I thought it was cute, since Hoseok had called Taehyung a fairy earlier and stuff. (The alternate title for this fic was also “The Witch, the Fairy and the Woods” so.)

3.     Namjoon

Namjoon is essentially god!!!! Even though he clowns the concept of god!!! There’s not much to say about him, I’ll get into it when we get to the LORE section of this mess of a masterpost. You can call Namjoon god or death or whatever makes you happy. When he said he was the ‘bad’ guy compared to Jungkook, it’s because Namjoon is essentially Jungkook’s boss and will have to punish him for breaking the rules as a shrine god. We’ll get to that later!

It is implied in the epilogue that Namjoon had more influence than he let on. If you’ll remember in the earlier chapters Yoongi says something like he has “less than 65,000 won to his name” and yet Namjoon transfers Seokjin “500,000 won”. Basically I was trying to hint that Namjoon was trying to nudge Yoongi along the path that would take him back into the woods by removing the vast majority of his savings. Food for thought!

Essentially Namjoon was just a fun venture fo me, I’d always wanted to write a character who knew everything but was just distant and mysterious enough to drive someone insane. Also when I was younger and read The Fault in Our Stars the author-guy mentions that the Flower Man in his story was God, and I’ve always kind of wanted to do that too. That’s about it for him. :’’)

4.     Jungkook

I do feel like Jungkook’s character has been quite explained already in the fic, but he’s wonderful so we’re going to talk about him a bit more. As previously said, he’s the shrine god, and that means he lives his life in a constant cycle of reincarnation, essentially. Mortal body turnover may be a better way of putting it. He’s essentially the founding spirit of the town and the land it’s on, and has been for however long the land has been there outside of the woods. The runes on his arms don’t really mean anything when they appear in chapter 6, they’re just sort of symbolic of Taehyung—something of the woods—touching something he has no right to. If Yoongi had grabbed him, there would have been none of those markings.

Though he was obviously cold to Taehyung, Jungkook is a character I tried really hard to make very kind. He’s not bitter towards Taehyung, but he knows he has a job to put things back in their rightful order, and that involves sending Taehyung back to the woods. I’m sure he would have loved to tell Taehyung about what happened to his siblings, but alas, things didn’t work out that way. Rip.

5.     Jimin

Jimin is the current Park, Jungkook’s direct servant and bOYFRIEND. Jikook love each other a whole lot and that’s why Jungkook risked it all to just be with him. It’s not mentioned in the fic, nor is it especially relevant, but Jungkook did have Jimin’s parents sent away when they started to get romantically involved because the elder Parks were obviously against it. As Namjoon says at the end of chapter 9, they’re going to live a very long and happy time together.

It did break my heart not to have vmin be best friends, and in the original drafts of the fic they were going to become somewhat friendly, but things didn’t work out that way. I think it was at least interesting for Jimin to be the way he was in the fic.

6.     Seokjin

Owner of The Best dialogue. As said he’s part of some low-key exorcist order that the author didn’t spend enough worldbuilding time to fully develop, but it’s just a very low-key, very very top secret Order of families that have been going for ages and ages that are aware of the position of gods and stuff. Very different to witches. He is 100% normal human, and his father did die before he came to the village where Yoongi lives, and so his mother Mrs Kim decided she didn’t want her son to die the same way and had them stationed in this remote ass place. I’m not sure what else there is to say about him other than he’s Extremely Valid and I love him.

7.     Hoseok

Namjoon calls him the ‘mouthpiece’ of the forest, but’s a bit more complicated than that. There’s a large part of Hoseok’s character that is still fundamentally him, but it’s a little bit funked up, as you can probably imagine. As you can imagine, deep down he still is that ten year old boy that got abandoned by his best friend in the woods, so he’s grown pretty possessive of the idea of Yoongi, since he couldn’t ever have him. His whole schtick with Taehyung is completely genuine, though.

I did spend a lot of time justifying how to make him older, since I did want to imply that Taegiseok poly at the end of the fic, and I figured Taehyung’s implied wish for a friend would have enabled Hoseok to grow with him. Also I just wanted a grown-up Hoseok. In the original drafts of the reunion scene, Hoseok was going to be naked, but I ditched that when I was writing chapter 7 because I doubt Taehyung would have even considered going near a naked boy in the woods.

8.     Min Insook

Yoongi’s mother!! A bona fide witch, she relocated to the countryside with her husband some time before Yoongi’s birth and then her husband died. I don’t know why, but he did. She was obviously planning on using the ‘ley lines’ for her witch magic and stuff, hence why Yoongi’s early childhood is filled with odd mentions of forest gods and his mother making things at the counter, but after her son gets caught by the forest and leaves his ‘witchy’ half behind, Insook basically abandons all of that in favour of raising him normally.

I did wait until chapter 8 to reveal her name for no real reason other than I hadn’t thought of one. Sorry guys :’’))

Her death is completely natural and unrelated to the schenanigans of the story. She really just does get sick and ends up dying from it because she’s too proud to ask for help. HOWEVER, as Taehyung kept bringing up, some of her is left in the house. Her ‘ghost’ or half-life, whatever, stays in the house in an attempt to keep Yoongi from going back to the woods, since she says the instant Yoongi’s free of them that she ‘won’t let’ him go back. She made the choice for him. This continues for the rest of Yoongi’s twenty-five years, basically, until Yoongi has that weird dream where he meets his other half and basically sticks himself back together, turning his eyes a proper light blue like Hoseok’s and Taehyung’s, and giving him whatever witchy dominance he needs to break whatever binding spell is on him.

The white moth that appears in the epilogue is basically her metaphorical presence. It’s on the urn (her ashes) and Yoongi lets it outside, symbolising that he’s going to be free of his grief about her and that he’s broken free of her spell and whatnot. The household fae works mostly the same way, except that Yoongi releasing it is way more metaphorical in that he’s removing everything of a home (household) he used to see there. It’s basically the equivalent to him packing up and leaving.

As you can see this isn’t organised at all, and I apologise. Hopefully it still improves your understanding somewhat :’’)

LORE

Gods, Woods, Fairies

I did say throughout the fic that the word ‘fairy’ was very important and had several meanings. The epilogue covers the last one. They were:

1.     Fairy = gay man (shown through Taehyung)

2.     Fairies grant wishes (Yoongi wishes he went back)

3.     “Before gods and monsters, they called them fairies.” (Mostly pertaining to Jungkook’s connection to the word.)

Obviously, you guys came up with WAY more complex and meaningful versions than I did, but they were the ones I had. Every interesting comment I got about the meaning of the word ‘fairy’ I basically accepted as canon, so thank you all for them :’’))

Gods

As previously stated, this is where we discuss Jungkook and Namjoon. This concept of gods is something I’ve had sitting around for a while. Basically it goes like this:

There are gods of people (Jungkook) and

There are gods of nature (the woods).

And then there’s Namjoon who’s essentially Mr Big Boss but whatever.

Gods of people like Jungkook are obviously fully equipped to understand and judge their subjects as best they can. He has a domain, the village and the surrounding land and all of its people, and he has a job: whenever they die, he has to make a judgement on their souls, basically. The idea that the god always has to have a reincarnation that has lived through every generation of people is so important here, because only then does he have the context to judge people’s choices fully. He was a young man during the war, so he can judge the soldiers that died on his land. Hence why he only really gets to the age of ~30.

Therefore, by choosing to love Jimin instead of finding a woman to love for a few decades and having an heir, he’s broken this rule that's been set that gods have to live through every generation and fully understand all their subjects. Jungkook will grow older, more distant to the younger people of the village, less able to judge them properly, and then once he reaches a certain age he can’t face the people without giving away his immortality.

Namjoon calls himself the ‘bad guy’ in this scenario because he will be the one taking Jungkook aside and fixing the mess he’s made. Namjoon is very kind, though, so the worst he’ll probably do is make Jungkook just restart the Jeon line, because losing Jimin is probably enough suffering.

The gods of nature like the woods are far less sophisticated. They don’t have this human range of emotions because they don’t have subjects to judge when they die. They’re gods of places and stuff. They are sentient, but not as people. Hence, when Hoseok more or less gets turned into the embodiment of the woods, he still retains the majority of his personality since the woods has nothing to replace it with. He’s just a little bit wilder.

I really hope this makes sense!! Please feel free to ask me more about it, since this particular lore is something I’ll definitely be re-using in future fics.

MOTIFS

The white deer

Honestly, I was very wary of overusing the white deer. I did try to sow some seeds in the early chapters that Yoongi is a little bit obsessed with it, seeing as he carved wood to look like it and even gets up when the white deer gets near his house—so don’t take it to be completely legitimate. The fact is, we’re never going to know what really went down in the woods between Yoongi and Hoseok, but the white deer is a scapegoat for Yoongi to unload his reasoning on, basically. It’s definitely a real thing, though, if you see a white deer in the wild make sure you nod to it and all that. It’s just that in this fic, it’s obvious Yoongi is kind of obsessed with it.

Also deers do eat birds. I watched a video where a faun ate a baby bird and I’ve been traumatised every since, but I thought it was a a valid image to use in that scene.

Sage

Honestly, I’m not sure about the validity of sage. If you’re native American and you know the proper rituals, that's a completely different ball game and you’re by Far the expert here. I’m just a babie who knows Nothing, but sage is something that keeps coming up pretty often in fics like these. In my family it’s more common to use things like rosemary or that tree I think is called a ‘money tree’ (I have no idea what it’s called, sorry.)

Eragon

The Eragon series is very important to me! That poem Yoongi recites is something I also use whenever it’s late at night and I start to freak out for whatever reason. When I first read it, it really stuck, and because I’m unimaginative I just gave Yoongi the same poem. Eragon was also a big part of my tween years, so I did just insert it straight into the fic. I haven’t read it in a VERY long time, though.

Final Notes

Taehyung’s initial wounds when he comes to Yoongi’s door are based off that one redidt post where op meets some strange man in a forest whose face is red with blood and he freaks out when he sees her old Walkman. I’ll definitely update this with the link when I find it again.

A major inspiration for this fic was the song “It Happened Quiet” by Aurora, and also some at by @feelfei on twitter that she has sadly taken down. I have the image saved, but I don’t know if I should attach it to this post without her permission, so I don’t think I will. It’s a very game-cam-esque drawing of a naked Taehyung in the middle of the dark woods with glowing eyes. It had the caption “something that came from the forest” and it was really inspirational to me (it’s also the image of the playlist)!! The final inspiration was the song “Human” by Sevdaliza.

I think that should be everything I have to say about this fic!! If you have any more questions let me know and I’ll be sure to update this as well. Thank you all so much for reading all the way through It Happened Quiet, it really means a lot to me. You’ve all been super kind and I wish you all the best!!

EDIT: finally found an excerpt of the original reddit post!! i think it’s been taken down tho rip. but you can see it here: 

I could see that his nose and lips and part of his forehead were all gone. It was like they'd been sliced clean off. He was bleeding bad, and I saw that the knees of his pants were red too. He looked me over and he saw my Walkman and he screamed. He just kept babbling and touching his face, and I realized he wasn't wearing the right clothing. He had some kind of weird grey cloth jacket and almost formal pants on, and the jacket had these weird buttons and red borders on it. -- the only thing I could really understand: 'Don't touch me! You'll make me go back there!'

took me a while and it’s not the complete post but the fact that I found anything is nice! Thank you again!!

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph, so I’ve recently got into a relationship with this girl I adore literally everything about her but, I have severe touch aversion. We’ve spoke about it a few times but alas have never actually kissed as I also have ocd and all I fixated on is the germs and then I panic. Any advice? Also any fic recs for johnlock fluff/smut cuties, thanks in advance.

Hi Nonny *hugs*

I just want to say my disclaimer before I begin that I’m not a professional, so I’m just going to state what I would do if I were in your situation

I honestly can’t imagine what you’re dealing with, and my heart is so sad for you, but know that it’s OKAY. I’m glad that you opened up to your gal and let her know about your touch aversion right from the get-go; I encourage you to continue with that dialogue so that you guys will not have any misunderstandings or discomfort in the future. 

I don’t want you to feel discouraged, Lovely, but I feel like this is something that you may have to seek professional help on, to help you understand why you’re so adverse to touch (or if you KNOW why you are, to receive the help you need to move forward and not be a prisoner to your past). Start with your doctor, who can then refer you to a therapist. You need to find out why your brain is sending you mixed signals when you’re with someone you love. Me personally, I would want to know why, and what steps I can take to overcome debilitating mental health issues. There’s NOTHING WRONG with having a mental illness (OCD is, I believe, also in that umbrella) and I think that therapy will benefit you immensely. It’s not a matter of “fixing” you, it’s a matter of rewiring your brain to turn what it thinks is negative into a positive. If you cannot acquire therapy right now, at LEAST see your doctor for some coping mechanisms and to please continue to talk to your partner so you can both compromise on how you can both work through this together. Having her support will make it easier for you to face your brain head on

I have a friend who is a severe germaphobe, and she finds ways to cope but doesn’t THINK she has germaphobia so she can’t fix what she doesn’t want to. You, on the other hand, have recognized you have an issue you would like to solve, and are ready to make a change to make you a happier you.

I wish I could help you out better than telling you to see a professional, but I do believe this is something that requires more attention than my pitiful googling for psychology articles and unprofessional advice can help you with. I want you to be able to have a wonderful relationship, and to do that for something this immense, I think in the end, you will benefit more from a psychologist / therapist / doctor. It’s okay to be who you are, but if it’s clearly frustrating you that you can’t move past the germaphobia without seeing someone, then you need to see someone. I feel like I’ve let you down, but I don’t want to see you struggle and suffer

If any of my followers in the interim have experienced something similar, please share with us

As for your fic request, check out this masterpost I made back in November with my recent fluff fic additions!

I love you very much, Nonny, and I hope that you can overcome this hurdle. Keep talking to your partner, and keep being strong.

[jarmes]

JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure: Twisted Destiny Chapter 15 - Airport Security

Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Johana pulls into the parking garage and looks at her companions. Nero sits in the passenger seat, staring at the sky and balancing a nail on the tip of his nose. Kan sits in the back; her Stand flies in a circle around her head, catching pieces of trail mix Kan throws into the air. Johana sighs and puts the car in park.

"Our flight leaves in 90 minutes," Johana says. "We need to get through airport security without any funny business."

"Do not worry, JoJo. I have flown many times and have never had trouble getting through security," Nero says. "Besides, even if we do run into any trouble, my Stand is more than strong enough to defeat some security guards."

"Okay, that's the type of thing you aren't going to say in the airport," Johana says. "There are a dozen Stand Users gunning for our heads right now. If we don't get on this plane and leave London, we're probably going to die."

"Aren't you worried about a Stand User attacking us before we can get on a plane?" Kan asks.

"If our enemies are smart, they won't attack us in a crowded environment full of security agents," Johana says.

"And if our enemies are stupid?" Nero asks.

Johana sighs. "If they're stupid, we hope we can take them out before our flight leaves," she says.

Johana walks over to the car's trunk and pulls out her suitcase. She reaches in and pulls out the Stand Arrow. "The problem is getting this through security," she says. "It's metal, so it'll show up when we go through the security line, and it's sharp, so they probably won't let us take it on the plane."

"We could just tell them the truth," Nero says.

"Oh, that's a fantastic idea, Nero," Johana says, rolling her eyes. "Hey airport security guys, would you mind if we brought this weapon on the airport? Don't worry, we aren't going to stab anyone with it. Actually, it isn't meant to be for violence anyway. It's actually an ancient artifact that gives an incurable illness to anyone it pierces. Plus, if they survive the illness, they get god-like superpowers that could easily destroy a plane mid-flight!"

"Okay, I get it-"

"Don't mind the blood on the arrow, it isn't mine. It belonged to my friend Mylo. He's dead now. But don't worry, I didn't kill him. I mean, I did shoot a woman in the head this morning, but I'm not a murderer. Anyway, how about letting us on that plane?"

"Okay, it was a dumb idea," Nero mumbles.

"Why don't we just hide the arrow and have a Speedwagon Foundation agent come and pick it up later?" Kan asks.

"If we leave it, there's a chance that someone will find it and use it to create new Stand Users," Johana says. "I don't want that blood on my hands. Our only option is to somehow get this arrow on a plane."

"Why don't we just use Dora?" Kan asks.

"I don't think children's cartoon characters are going to be much help, Kan," Johana says.

"Not the character, silly. My Stand," Kan says as her bird lands on her head.

"You named your Stand Dora?" Johana asks.

"Well, if we're being technical, I named my Stand The Doors," Kan says. "But I'm giving her the nickname Dora because it's easier to say."

"Why The Doors?"

"Well, she can open these little portal things, and The Doors was the band name that fit the best," Kan says.

"Why did you need to name your Stand after a band?"

"Doesn't everyone give their Stands music reference names? Guns N' Roses, Coldplay, Iron Maiden, those are bands."

"They are?"

"Yes! Come on Nero, back me up on this," Kan says. "You named your Stand after the Coldplay song, right?"

"I named my Stand after a song Mylo's Stand wrote?" Nero says, confused.

Kan sighs. "Forget it," she mutters. "The point is, my Stand shouldn't have any problem sneaking the arrow through airport security."

+++

Nero stands in the baggage claim area holding a large bouquet of flowers. He impatiently taps his foot and tugs on his collar. He looks at his wrist, only to realize he isn't wearing a watch. 

An elderly woman waiting for her suitcase taps him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, young man, are you alright?" the old woman asks.

Nero spins in a circle and places his hand on his heart. "To care about a stranger as you do is the pinnacle of kindness, dear maiden. It warms my heart," he says, chewing scenery like bubblegum. "Alas, I am not alright. For you see, kind stranger, I am in love!"

"Oh, I love a good love story!" the old woman says. "Tell me more!"

"Two months ago, I met the most beautiful woman. Her eyes were like lilies. Her hair? Also like lilies," Nero says with more ham than a Christmas dinner. "The two of us fell in love immediately. Every moment of our days was spent in passion. But..."

"But?"

"But then came the tragedy! One month ago, my love's great aunt became ill and requested my dear leave to nurse her back to health."

"Oh, that's tragic. For two lovers to be split apart like that."

"Also, her aunt lives in a foreign country that doesn't have cell service so we couldn't talk on the phone or whatever. Anyway, I haven't seen my love for an entire month. We swore to remain faithful, but I fear that another may have stolen my dear's heart."

"Oh, don't worry. She'd be a fool to leave a nice young man like you."

"I thought the same and came to this airport so I may kiss my love as soon as she returns to London. But, her plane landed one hour ago and she still hasn't come out."

The old woman places her hand on Nero's shoulder. "I'm sure everything's fine," she says. "Your girlfriend is probably just stuck in the crowds."

"I pray your prediction is correct, kindly octogenarian," Nero says.

"She's going to come out any moment and you two are going to have a beautiful reunion," the old woman says. "I can picture it now: she sees you, she drops her things and runs over to you. You take her in your arms and give a big kiss to...to...what's her name?"

"Her name?"

"Yes, your girlfriend. What's her name?"

"Yes, I suppose asking names is appropriate, considering the amount of personal details I have shared with you. What is your name?"

"My name is Whitney."

"And I am Nero."

"And your girlfriend? What's her name?"

"Her name? Her name is...uh...Baggage. Baggage Claim."

"Your girlfriend is named Baggage Claim?"

"She's french. Also, her parents are really weird."

Nero pulls his phone out of his pocket. "Oh look, my phone just made that noise it makes when I get a text. I better check it," he says. "It is a text from Baggage. I should read it."

"What does it say?" Whitney asks.

"It says Dear Nero, although you are tall and handsome and smart I am breaking up with you. Oh, the humanity! I am so sad now that I am going to throw these flowers at that wall."

Nero throws the bouquet of flowers at the wall as hard as he can. Instead of falling to the floor, the flowers disappear completely when they hit the wall. "Wow, you threw those flowers so hard they disintegrated," Whitney says.

"My broken heart granted me incredible strength," Nero says. "Okay, I am going to leave now."

Nero walks off towards the security line. "Where are you going? The exit's the other way," the Whitney says.

"I have decided to leave the country because London contains too many memories that are now painful," Nero says.

"Don't you need to buy a ticket?"

Nero pulls his ticket out of his pocket and waves it in the air. "I bought one in advance so I could leave London quickly in the event Baggage broke my heart," he says.

Nero leaves Whitney and goes through airport security. "What a strange young man," she says as she grabs her bag from the conveyor belt. "I hope he finds love soon."

+++

A bouquet of flowers passes through a hole created by The Doors and is caught by Johana. She and Kan are hiding in a bathroom stall. Specifically, a bathroom stall that shares a wall with the baggage claim area. A bathroom stall located on the other end of the security scanners. Johana unwraps the bouquet, revealing the arrow hidden within.

Kan hands Johana her suitcase and she opens it, placing the Arrow inside. "That was a good plan, Kan," Johana says. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Kan says as her Stand lands on her shoulder. "Thank Dora."

"I'm not saying thank you to the bird," Johana says. "It's weird."

The two walk out of the restroom and into the airport food court. They walk past a fast food restaurant, heading for their gate. "You know, since Stands are just reflections of people's souls, it isn't that weird to say thank you to Dora," Kan says. "After all, Dora is basically me."

"Still not talking to the bird."

"Now that I think about it, it's strange that my Stand is a bird. You and Nero have Stands that look like people. Does that mean there's something weird with my soul?"

"I wouldn't think too hard about it."

"And that Kelly guy, his Stand was a glove! He must be really weird inside."

A man wearing sunglasses watches from the fast food restaurant, sipping an energy drink. He wears a camouflage vest and short shorts, and his golden hair is spiked up high above his head. He chugs the rest of his energy drink before crushing the can against his forehead. "Target acquired," he says as he summons his Stand.

To Be Continued In

Chapter 16: Thunderstruck, Part 1

STAND STATS

Name: The Doors

Dub Name: The Hatches

User: Kan Nijimura

Namesake: “The Doors” (American Rock Band)

Appearance: The Doors takes the form of a small, black and white hummingbird with infinity signs in its eyes. A necklace containing a large amount of keys hangs around its neck. The edges of its wormholes are covered in what appears to be fire.

Abilities: The Doors has the ability to create temporary wormholes with its keys. Anything that passes through the opening of these wormholes is transported to the other side. These wormholes can be placed on the surface of a person or object and lead to its opposite side. These holes can be as small as one millimeter and as large as four meters in diameter.