#it'd be way more polished if i spent more time on it but it was just for a silly little poster so i don't rlly care That much

[briightart]

painted this for a poster that i had to present at the end of this sem about this big self directed project :3

it's basically a visual of how me and my lab partner made samples for the analysis of tea, putting them in beakers on a hot plate lmao

[allfearstofallto]

PLS CAN YOU FEED US MORE hero of the nation knight!childe ON MY KNEES I LOVE YOUR WORK SO MUCH AND I SEARCHED EVERYWHERE FOR A FIC LIKE THIS

This took FOREVER to write, but here you go!!

Blessings Be to The Hero of the Nation

Historical AU

Yandere Hero of the Nation! Childe x Fem! Reader

TW: yandere themes, stalking, minor character death, blood, threatening, forced marriage/engagement

He kept one of your hair ribbons wrapped around the hilt of his sword. It billowed in the wind constantly and would draw watchful eyes to it. That pastel pink fabric didn't match a single thing on his brutish, usually bloody exterior, but he still kept it regardless. You tragically didn't give it to him in a blatant display of affection and well wishes for him on his journey, instead, he found the little ribbon after it'd blown off your head and up to the wind. A little pout formed on your lips realizing you'd lost it, but you decided against retrieving it. He didn't though. He picked it up and placed it in his pocket, taking it home to clean off the dirt and grime.

That same ribbon was clenched in his hands when he arrived at the gate of your manor, along with a few other gifts that he would give to you. He'd just slayed the dragon, the wretched menace that was terrorizing the nation, now and only now did he feel worthy to ask for your hand. Cleaning off all the blood and gore that was on his armor, polishing it into light metal that could blind anyone who looked directly at it, he was certain that this would charm you off of your feet.

When he was invited into your home by your parents who were surprised to see the hero himself at their door, he didn't care about the tea or the cakes. The praise meant nothing coming from them. He skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the point. He wanted your hand in marriage and he wanted the wedding to be soon.

A skittish expression crossed your father's face as he gritted his teeth, “We've decided to leave that decision up to her.” Childe smirked, that was even better. He'd never met a woman who wouldn't fall for his charms.

You were called down from your room, eyelids heavy and half open, still in your thin sleeping gown with a robe over it. You were rubbing the tiredness from your eyes as you walked down the stairs, your other delicate hand gripping the banister. And when you saw him, you bowed. A deep traditional bow, given to those of a respectable higher status.

He kneeled down on one knee before you. The male kneeled for only one person, the queen herself. His sword pulled from its sheath, he laid it flat against his palms, offering it up to you. That knocked the sleepiness from his body and suddenly your eyes were wide open. Genuine shock was making your body stiff as a board and you looked back and forth to your parents who didn't say a word.

“Your visage has danced around my heart non stop since the first time I laid eyes on you. I wish to use this sword only to fight for you. Won't you please do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Words spoken in honor, with him meaning every bit of it. You were meant to take the sword from his hands, tapping it gently upon each of his shoulders, but you didn't. You just stood there, lips trembling, but not saying anything.

A marriage proposal via a letter was easy to ignore or reject, you didn't have to see their reaction. But never had you had someone be so bold as to propose to you in person. And not only that, the very hero that saved the Kingdom. Rumors told you he'd be marrying the first princess, she obsessed over him before he became the hero and those feelings seemed to only grow stronger after he waltzed into the city with the bloody head of the beast. Yet here he was at your feet, patiently anticipating your answer which he was positive was going to be a yes.

“I-'' you began, trying to think of the easiest way to let him down gently, “I fear that I'm not ready for marriage yet.” You said hurriedly. That wasn’t entirely a lie. You spent countless hours looking at the list of marriage candidates and scoping them out at balls and parties, but quickly realizing that none of them suited your tastes in that way. The entire idea of being wed barely satisfied you. You wanted to push it off for as long as possible.

“I'm willing to wait for you until the world crumbles. I'd even accept being your fiance until the day we die, as long as I can say you're mine,” he was persistent, you'd give him that.

You fiddled with your fingers nervously. Time felt as if it had stopped and this moment would never end. No matter what you did, he was still going to be there, “I thought you were to be wed to her highness, the princess?” You questioned him.

A scoff fell from his cherry pink lips, eyes looking you up and down, drinking in every inch of your body in that thin nightgown, “She does not interest me. Not the way you do.”

“There is really nothing interesting about me,”

“Won't you let me be the judge of that?”

Your shoulders slumped as you looked to your parents. They seemed as surprised by his persistence as you did, but weren't going to step in to help you, they always affirmed that it was your decision, they wanted you to be independent.

“Forgive me, hero, but I can not accept your offer,”

For just a split second you saw that princely expression slip. His eyes grew dark, lips in a deep frown, a rage you'd never seen before. But he was back to his usual expression in less than a second, that charming smile forming on his lips again as he stood from his knees and sheathed his sword a little too slowly.

“You wound me, my lady,” he'd mutter softly, hands still conveniently tight around the hilt of this sword, “Won't you please accept my gifts? And if you are to begin considering marriage, I hope that my proposal will be remembered fondly.”

Childe showed himself out, a little too quickly, but you didn't dare tell him to slow down. It was only once he was out those large double doors, did the air in your home feel breathable, you finally felt safe again. You watched his carriage leave from a window, watching as his eyes went dull again, losing all shimmers and feeling like a hollow mimicry of what humans were supposed to look like.

You were quite embarrassed to say you fell in love after that. Not with Childe, of course. You mentally tried to push the man from your mind after the way he startled both you and your family. Instead, your feelings developed for a commoner boy. You found yourself eyeing him when he'd deliver produce to your home, his face being one of pure beauty despite his messy exterior. As months went by, you'd catch yourself stealing bashful glances at him, locking eyes only for both of you to look away shyly. When the engagement was announced, Childe was one of the first to hear about it.

You twirled around the house in your wedding dress. Something plain and basic, but it was what your family could afford, and quite honestly, you loved it. You didn't want to take it off. Your fear of getting it dirty lessened as the days went by, until the wedding was only a week away.

“A guest for you, my lady,” one of your maids had said. Typically, when the employees of the house saw you dressed in your white gown, they'd smile at you, overjoyed as well. But she didn't. She looked worried, even a bit tense as she made the announcement to you.

“I hadn't arranged to meet anyone today,” you said a bit quietly, going to you closer to pick out something to change into, “Please tell them to wait in the day room.”

She stood stiffly for a second, then opened her trembling mouth to speak again, “I tried to, my lady. But he insisted on seeing you right now. He's just outside the door,”

A part of you wanted to ask who it was, who would be so disrespectful as to barge right up to a lady's room without her permission. But you already knew. There was a sense of unease sinking into your stomach. Unease and recognition. All the gifts and letters he'd sent weren't enough, were they? The man you were ignoring just had to come see you in person.

“Let him in,” you told the maid. She seemed confused at the ease at which you allowed such a thing, but still opened the door, revealing Childe who stood still in the hallway. He stepped past her, eyes only trained on you, “You're dismissed,” you said quietly, with a reassuring smile to the maid. Hesitance danced across her face, looking back and forth between you Childe, but she still did as told, bowing before leaving.

“You look lovely,” he said breathlessly, taking in the sight of you in that pure white dress.

“Thank you,” was all you could think to say back. Now that he was here before you, your mind was growing blank, all the things you wanted to say suddenly getting lost in fear. You tried not to notice the tension in the room, the way he was eyeing you like a predator about to pounce on a rabbit, but even your tough exterior was easy to see through.

“My heart aches for you, my lady,” he speaks softly while taking slow steps towards you. The terror of this situation made you move backwards, until your feet had made you press your back against the wall, “I fear that my haste might've made me do something…irrational.”

His dominant hand seems focused on the sword at his hip, making you look at it. It was only when you saw the red speckles all over his hand, hilt of the sword, and the oddly familiar pink ribbon he kept tied around it, did that coppery smell fill your nostrils.

With a trembling voice and a fake smile, you tried to assure him, “Any mistake is fixable, Sir Childe.”

“Not this one,” his hand continued to hold the hilt of his sword, squeezing it a few times as of testing the weight of his blade, “Do you know the best part of being the hero? The dragon slayer?” He asked, waiting for your response which was just a slow, forced shake of your head, prompting him to continue, “It's not the riches or the praise. It's not even the women.” As he speaks, one of his hands slides down from your cheek, to your neck, to the bodice of your dress. Tearful eyes look down to see him smearing that red liquid, that blood onto you white dress, staining it.

“I don't understand,” you mumbled, but your words fall on deaf ears.

“The best part of being the hero, is the freedom to do what I want. With no prosecution. Who in their right mind would stand up to the man who saved our failing nation? The answer is no one. Not the king, nor his workers, and especially not your weak little fiance,”

The sight and smell of blood, Childe's deep, hollow blue eyes, the way your heart felt as if it wanted to lurch out of your mouth. All things you tried to focus on as his words pounded their way into your skull, understanding washing over you like a wave that was trying to drown you where you stood.

“Wh-what did you do?” Your voice, so high pitched and breaking as the weight of the words forced through your body.

His hand, cold, soft, wet with blood rubbed your cheek, while his face never faltered, those dead eyes never changing, he had no remorse. It made you sick to your stomach, images of your fiance flashing through your head as you tried to imagine what he looked like, the hopeful ones saying that he was at least still alive.

“I'm going to ask again, nicely this time,” he began while pulling a ring from his pocket. Much more intricate than the one your fiance had given you, seeing as he had the hero's budget. But that didn't make you feel any less light headed when it was slipped onto your ring finger, freezing cold against your warm skin, “Will you do me the honor of becoming my bride?”

[mariaofdoranelle]

Look at Us Now — Ch. 5

Fic Masterlist

Hi! *hides away*

Jokes. This chapter and the next are what made me start writing LAUN, so yes I’m pretty nervous to post 😅

Also thank you @renxzs for coming up with the name Doranelle White Hawks after I spent a whole day thinking of soccer team names HAHAH <33

Warnings: language, incarceration, mentions of drinking, mentions of injuries, Fenrys locked in a bathroom

Words: 5,2k (I’m coming to terms with my big chapters now)

Fenrys had been cackling for the last five minutes. Rowan was just staring at his friend with crossed arms, unamused.

“Dude. "His friend paused to catch his breath, wheezing. “You’re literally in horny jail."

Rowan flexed his jaw. Yeah, he supposed he were.

The worst part was, Rowan saw it coming. The entire time he hooked up with Aelin at his office, he knew it'd end with something like this.

It could've been worse, though. when Colonel Darrow told him, in a carefully controlled tone, that he knew everything and it'd be easier if Rowan assumed what he’d done, he knew he was fucked.

Rowan had to look into the eyes of the man who guided him through his first steps in the Air Force and tell him, in a more polished way, that he’s fucked his niece in every position imaginable the entire time she was his student. Inside base.

He had never felt more raw, unbridled shame.

He could still go to work, even though Rowan couldn’t, under any circumstance, leave his military base. Also, he wasn’t shackled, and he was in the guardhouse that looked like a cheap hotel, not the one that looked like jail. Any form of guardhouse was a huge punishment, but it had different degrees. In some twisted way, Darrow had been generous.

Because, for the first time in his life, Rowan Whitethorn had committed a military crime, and he was currently being locked up for it. Ten days. One for each week he committed improper sexual conduct.

"Dude, did you hit on Lorcan or something? He’d totally lock you up for that kind of shit.”

Fen’s breathing was more steady now. Good for him. Rowan couldn’t have picked a worse person to bring the essentials so he could survive this hell.

“Yes, Fenrys. I was hitting on Lorcan. I don’t know what’s more enticing to me, his wife or the fact that he has a newborn kid.”

“But you did hit on someone.” Fenrys had crossed arms and narrowed eyes.

“Nope.”

He didn’t. He had a very lawful one-night stand with Aelin, then she threw herself at him and he fell for it hook, line and sinker, because that woman is a fucking Venus flytrap.

"You hit on Darrow?"

"I would not, under any circumstance, hit on Colonel Darrow."

Fen snorted. "His niece?”

Rowan flexed his jaw.

Fenrys' eyes widened.

"You totally hit on his niece." His mouth opened to speak, but he didn’t because his jaw completely fell. "No, you fucked his niece. She’s the reason you've been getting home late, isn’t she?"

Rowan’s hands were balled into fists. Thinking about everything he did because of that girl made his limbs twitch.

“Holy Mala.” It took a few seconds for Fenrys to have a proper reaction. “Man, that girl is related to two people. A colonel and the Brigadier. She's the forbidden fruits' forbidden fruit. Not even I am that dumb, and you know I love forbidden fruit."

"I knew it then.” He gestured around his cell. "And I clearly know it now.”

"I can't believe I was the proper instructor this entire time.”

Rowan closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath as he tried to not snap at his friend.

"You weren’t, under any circumstance—“

“I totally was. I can even go by Lieutenant Goody Two-Shoes.”

“Fenrys, I know you let the newbies play with the guns while quoting James Bond—”

“You’re just pissed I out-goody-two-shooed you.” Fenrys crossed his arms, but held a glazed look on his face. “God, I didn’t even hit on Galathynius’ boyfriend, trying not to fuck up.”

Rowan glared. “Can we please not talk about her boyfri—“

“Shit, man. Sorry. I didn’t know you liked her.”

“I don’t,” he hissed.

“You sure? I can totally steal her man if it’ll make you feel better.”

Rowan checked the bag Fenrys brought him. Everything he needed was there.

“Thank you, Fenrys,” he hinted while looking him in the eye. A clear dismissal.

It wasn’t his friend’s fault, though. Maybe Rowan would laugh about this with him someday, but not today.

Today, his thoughts were on the fact that Aelin Galathynius was the worst mistake of his fucking life. And wanting to never see her again was definitely the reason she came through the same door Fenrys left seconds before, guided by a sergeant.

He held a finger up before she could seat.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Aelin flinched, but sat anyway. “I need to talk to you.”

“Didn’t you talk enough with your uncles already?”

“About that…” Aelin scratched the back of her neck, cheeks flushing. “I did tell them we had a fling, why would you tell them the details?”

Rowan saw red. She knew damn well the reason that got him such bad punishment was the place it all happened, and there was no way she’d get to pretend she didn’t snitch him.

“Why would I lie to Darrow when he made it clear he knew everything? He’d just double my days here until I confessed.”

She slowly nodded, running both hands through her hair. “He told you he knew everything without telling you what everything means, showed you absolutely no proof of it, then you just confessed without questioning?”

“Yes.” He said through gritted teeth.

“Gods, Rowan, how can you be so stupid? You fell right into Darrow’s trap!”

“I thought you’d told him!”

“I didn’t tell him shit!”

Rowan rubbed his face and took a deep breath. “So how does he know?”

“About that.” Aelin’s face flushed, and she fidgeted with her fingers for a moment before continuing, “I didn’t get to do my exam last Friday, did you hear about that?”

Rowan nodded. “News ran fast. I thought you knew better than to be on drugs and in the military at the same time.”

It was easy to assume, since the tox screen is the main reason newbies don’t pass that stage. It was hard to believe Aelin would be so dumb, but he didn’t know her. After what happened today, Rowan came to the conclusion he didn’t know her at all.

“I don’t do drugs, I-“ she took a deep breath, and her vulnerable blue eyes worked like daggers pointed at him. “They didn’t let me do the physical exam because I’m pregnant.”

Objectively, this was a better reason than drugs. It didn’t feel like it, though.

She got rid of Rowan, got her dream job, and is starting a family while he got his career stained forever by this.

“Congratulations. Your boyfriend must be thrilled.”

Aelin flinched as if he’d slapped her, and that expression alone told him she didn’t know he knows she'd been dating someone while seeing him.

“Actually…” she swallowed. “Dorian has a vasectomy, and he wasn’t in town during the… possible conception days.” She cringed. “Biologically, you’re the father.”

Rowan’s eyes bulged, then his body froze completely.

Father.

He was going to be a father.

Time slowed down, and he couldn’t seem to believe his ears.

It was unexpected, of course, especially because of Aelin’s situation—

Wait a second.

“Did loverboy not want the baby? Is that why you’re here?”

Silence stretched for too long, and Rowan saw her surprised face morph into something else he hadn’t seen before on her.

“You know what, Rowan?” Aelin shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t need you for shit. I have my family’s support. I have money to raise a fuckton of children. If you’re waiting for me to crawl and beg you to do your fucking job, that’s not gonna happen.” She adjusted her purse around her shoulders and got up. “I’m having a baby. It has your genes. You can be as much of a dad you want, or not at all.”

Her words sent a new wave of heat through his body, making him stand as well to stop her.

Rowan would be a father to this kid, she would be sure of that. Even if he lived in an alternative universe where he didn’t want it, he would father the shit out of this kid just to piss Aelin off.

“Seriously? Do I look like some deadbeat dad to you?”

“I. Don’t. Know!” Aelin screamed. “I just got knocked up by a stranger!”

Rowan froze, letting that word sink in and start a riot inside his body.

Stranger? Stranger?

After seeking him out every goddamned evening for more than two months, she has the nerve to call him a stranger?

“What the fuck was this?” Rowan shouted. “Just a courtesy nod? Did you even expect anything from me before you came here?”

She didn’t answer.

Nowadays, it seemed like anything Aelin did made him ache. She had a point, though. They didn’t know each other very well. He still couldn’t believe she thought he’d abandon her in a situation like this.

“I don’t know!” Aelin groaned, pacing around the room and running both hands through her head. “I didn’t get much time to think. I thought maybe you’d want to see the kid every other weekend or—“

“Every other weekend?” He sneered. “Do I look like the every other weekend type to you?”

“Rowan, listen—“

“No, you listen. Don’t you come here telling me I’m becoming a father just to offer me every other weekend!” He crossed his arms, face flat. “I want to see your exams, all of them. I will be to every doctor appointment, I’ll make meal plans because I remember you telling me you survive on chocolate cake—“

“You don’t get to say a word about my chocolate cake!” She screamed, interrupting him. “Neither do you get to talk down to me! You don’t get to order me around, because I’m not a fucking surrogate mother you hired to bear your child!” Aelin paused, catching her breath while she leaned closer to him. “And whatever you decide, you’ll be lucky if I even tell you when the baby is due if you don’t treat me, the mother of your child, with respect. Do you hear me, Lieutenant?”

He did, but didn’t get to tell her so.

Aelin turned around and banged the door closed, leaving him alone to think about whatever the hell had just happened.

˜˜

“SAVE YOURSELF!” Maisie warned her best friend from the top of the playground tower as they played… something.

Like most weekends, Rowan and Lorcan took the kids to the playground in front of both of their houses, since their streets were perpendicular to one another. As much as he liked to pay attention to his daughter’s shenanigans, Rowan’s head was somewhere else today. The kids looked safe, and Lorcan was there watching them too. It would have to be enough for now.

"Am I supposed to give advice? Or just listen?"

Rowan sighed. He had just told Lorcan how he and Aelin were successfully doing that thing where they traumatized their daughter until she becomes an unruly teenager who drinks alcohol at school and smokes weed with a guitarist that pretends to be a feminist to make Rowan’s worst nightmares come true. No. This is stopping now.

Except that last Friday, when they left Maisie at Orlon’s to talk after that meeting, it was a shit show.

Rowan said it was her fault because she never listens to him. Aelin screamed that he is the one who never listens to her. Rowan replied, in a strident tone, that Maisie would be better off if he were only doing things his way like she claimed.

Things went extremely downhill from there. It was one of their most unproductive exchanges.

He dropped Maisie at Lorcan’s the next day to talk again, but she wasn’t home.

Now it was Sunday, and he could only hope Aelin would show up at the game watch party Aedion talked him into hosting.

"Advice.” Rowan was just that desperate.

Lorcan shrugged. "Ellie thinks family therapy would help. I agree with her."

"You always agree with her."

"She's always right, man."

Rowan sighed. Of course Elide would think that. She's a psychiatrist. These people think anything can be cured with a few hours of counseling.

"I think I'll stick to my initial plan."

"Your brilliant plan of not fighting?" Lorcan raised an eyebrow.

Rowan crossed his arms. "My brilliant plan of not provoking or letting myself be provoked. It's pure self-control.“ He shuffled his feet. ”I can do that."

"Your plan is shit."

"I don't need it to be perfect, I need it to work.”

“Okay.” Lorcan ran a hand through his hair. "But you think you'll manage to never have a fight with Aelin again after five years of unresolved shit?"

"Yes," Rowan said through gritted teeth. God, he was tired of explaining his perfectly laid-out plan.

He wasn’t saying it’d be easy. He knew he wouldn’t. But if refusing to fight didn’t work, Rowan had no idea what the fuck he’d do. Because the only other option would be to continue to hurt his little girl, and just the thought of it made his ribs close so tight it left a deep hollow inside him.

Just like clockwork, Aelin showed up at the playground holding a weird white thing. Maisie found her first, running her mother’s way and hugging her legs with a blissful smile on her face.

Aelin crouched to talk to the kids first, sending the adults a small wave from afar.

“Go.” Lorcan elbowed him. “I’ve got ‘em.”

Rowan nodded, rolled his shoulders and went their way. He couldn’t hear it from where he was initially at, but Maisie was telling her mom something.

“Is that right?” Aelin smiled. “Why do you love trees?”

“‘Cause they become toilet paper!” Her little limbs were excitedly waving in the air. “And if we didn’t have toilet paper, everyone would have dirty bums all the time.”

Rowan cleared his throat, and Maisie took a sharp turn his way.

“Daddy! I was teaching trees to mom.”

He clamped his lips together, since trying to look serious to his daughter was a skill he mastered a long time ago. Of course Maisie would learn something new at school and think she’s the only person in the world who knows that information.

“Yeah?” He swallowed, remembering what he needed to say. “Mais, why don’t you tell that to Uncle Lorcan while your mother and I talk for a second?”

Maisie’s limbs went limp by her side. Her little green eyes cautiously darted between the two of them.

Surprisingly enough, it was Lorcan’s kid who spoke on her behalf.

“I want to keep playing,” Charlie insisted, eyes furrowed.

“Yeah!” Maisie immediately backed him up, mirroring her best friend’s body language.

“Oh, but you will.” Aelin smiled at the kids’ protest. “Lorcan will stay here with you now, then you can play here until it’s time for the game.”

Maisie seemed content enough, but Lorcan’s son frowned. It was no secret that Charlie didn’t share his father’s love for sports.

“Dad and I already watched a game this week.”

“We’re watching another one,” Rowan explained.

Charlie huffed. “Who knows the ways of men?”

Rowan snorted, immediately recognizing the quote from Frozen 2.

The walk to his place was slower than it could’ve been if the reminder of what did and was about to happen wasn’t looming like a dark cloud above them.

“What’s that?” Rowan asked while fishing his keys out of his pocket.

“Oh.” Aelin’s eyebrow raised as if she’d just remembered she was carrying this white fabric all along. When she opened it, holding with both opened arms, it made even less sense.

“A table cloth?”

She grimaced. “I don’t have an actual white flag, and the napkin seemed too small for the occasion.”

Rowan felt a brittle patch of warmth underneath the whole turmoil he was feeling inside. This very literal white flag would probably be the closest thing to an apology he was ever getting, so he’d appreciate it.

After leading her to the kitchen, Rowan frowned at his table, considering his options, but handed her the cloth that was there.

“A light green flag?” Her eyebrows went up.

Rowan sighed. “My white cloths are either ruined or so far from Maisie’s reach I’ll need stairs to get them.”

Aelin snorted, a feeble smile on her face while she fumbled with his cloth, eyeing the juice stain in it from this morning.

“I went to your place yesterday.”

“Dorian and I threw a pity party. I would’ve stayed home if I knew you were coming, though.”

“It’s alright.” He bit the inside of his cheek and thinking of a good approach. “I figured out a plan to fix our… situation.”

“Go on.”

“We have to stop fighting.”

“I know.” Aelin gave him a firm nod “What’s your plan?”

“That’s it. We’ll stop fighting.”

“I—“ Aelin’s mouth closed. And opened. And closed again. “Rowan, you do realize how…” she trailed, carefully placing her words. “Flawed this plan is, right?”

“I think it’ll work.”

“Okay…” she ran a hand through her head, and Rowan worked to keep his breathing steady the long seconds she was just examining the walls and biting her lip. “Considering what you told me last Friday—“

“I said a lot of things I don’t mean last Friday.”

*I doubt that*, Aelin seemed to say with one wounded look she quickly concealed.

“You told me I don’t listen to you. I’ll try to get better at that.”

Rowan nodded, his eyes soft.

“We’ll try your plan, even if I don’t fully agree with it” she continued, “But if it doesn’t work, you’ll have to go along with my plan, okay?”

Aelin didn’t tell him what her plan was, but he agreed because there was no way it wouldn’t work. If neither of them provoked each other, there would be no fight. It was a logical thing, and it had already worked with them in the past.

His plan was foolproof.

“So it’s settled?”

“It’s settled.” Aelin said after a second of hesitancy. “We’ll restrain ourselves so we never have a fight again.”

“For Maisie.” Rowan extended a hand, and she shook it.

“For Maisie.”

They looked each other in the eye, holding each other’s hands for a little too long before she pulled it, reminding him of something.

“There’s this other thing I wanted to ask you.”

“Go on.”

“It’s about the wine thing. I’ve been thinking—”

She held a hand up to stop him. “Look, that meeting made it sound a lot worse than it actually is. It’s not a daily habit or anything. It’s just that…” Aelin pulled a chair and sat holding her head in one hand. She sighed. “Have you ever felt like you keep waiting your whole work day to end so you can be at home, but when you finally get home, you can’t stop thinking about work?”

Rowan frowned. He pulled another chair for himself and turned so he could face Aelin. Well, he used to feel like that. A lifetime ago, when he was working for the Air Force as an engineer. There was a reason he changed jobs, though. This week, the biggest headache he had was Lorcan getting pissed because one of the newbies was seen wearing regular sneakers at base.

“I thought you liked your job.”

“I do. I really do. I studied for almost a decade to be here, but sometimes I get home stressed out.” Aelin crossed her arms, not looking him in the eye. “Sometimes I’m just angry because a nurse did a shit job. Sometimes I have to tell a nineteen-year-old that just enlisted that they lost their leg while working. Sometimes I have to see some officer’s little kid completely fucked up because of some stupid shit and can’t stop thinking that it could’ve been Maisie.” Aelin’s voice broke in the end, so she stopped and looked at the ceiling. Taking deep breaths.

Rowan focused his whole being on every word she said, from the ache he felt to the pulse that seemed to beat on the rhythm of her words. He wanted to grasp every feeling she’d try to hide from him later. He wanted to ask her so many things. If any of this had been recent, why did she never mention any of it to him. He didn’t, though. He knew she wasn’t the type to open up easily, and he was scared to say anything that would shatter this fragile moment they were having.

“It’s never much, though.” Aelin continued, “And I’m never not present for Maisie. She was just extra interested because it’s the one thing in my kitchen she can’t have.”

“I still don’t know how I feel about this.” Rowan sighed. He wanted to at least sound more supportive after she opened up, but this conversation was still about their very little girl.

“That’s understandable.” Aelin slowly nodded, biting her lip and looking at a blank spot on the wall. “I can stop if it’s important to you.”

“Just on the days Maisie is with you,” he conceded. “Elide might have my head if you stop altogether.”

“Well, she already says you ruined her sex life. You can’t ruin Girls’ Night too.”

They let out a bittersweet chuckle, and something on Rowan’s chest eased to see Aelin in a slightly brighter mood. Also, to know they were having an actual conversation instead of screaming nonsense at each other.

“Can I ask you something too?”

“What?” He frowned.

“You asked me to stop drinking around Maisie. Now I want to ask you something too.”

“Oh…” Rowan trailed, scattering his brain for something he might’ve done wrong. “Go on.”

“I want you to take care of yourself,” Aelin’s tone was firm as she adjusted her posture and looked deep into his eyes.

Rowan’s mouth opened and closed before he spoke. “I take care of myself.”

“No, you keep yourself alive and take care of Maisie.” Aelin fidgeted with a beaded bracelet she made with their daughter. “I was hoping we could talk about what happened that other Friday.”

When he went to the hospital. Just mentioning it made his body temperature rise.

“That day was just a false alarm, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bring this up again.”

Aelin looked as if he’d slapped her. Rowan would understand this reaction if he was truly denying something after she opened up to him, but that was not the case.

Honestly? He blamed Cortland for implying that Rowan had anxiety in front of Aelin. The doctor was just bitter after things ended with her, and said that to make him look bad. That was the only explanation.

Rowan doesn’t have a disorder. He’s just a concerned father who had an erratic heartbeat after a stressful moment. It’s merely being human.

“Okay…” Aelin nodded. “It’s not just about that day.” She took a deep breath and fully turned to him. “Remember that day when Maisie got sick and you called me asking how to give her the meds? Because you couldn’t read the leaflet?”

It had been three, maybe four months ago. Rowan crossed his arms. “What about it?”

“Did you go to the eye doctor?”

”I’m fine.” He crossed his arms. “That leaflet’s font was just too small.”

“Unlock your phone.”

“What?”

“Do it.”

He did it, letting her quickly examine his screen before she looked back at him with raised eyebrows.

“What?”

“The size of the text on your phone is so big I could read it from across the street. This is not a screen of someone who has good reading vision.”

Rowan gaped, not knowing what to say and wondering how she came up with this. Fuck, maybe Aelin was why Maisie was a smartie, as she liked to say herself.

His eyes widened with the realization of something.

“Do you think that’s why Maisie’s struggling to read? Because she need an eye doctor?”

Aelin’s jaw went slack. “Can you hear yourself?” Rowan blinked, not understanding, and she rolled her eyes. “You can’t focus on yourself for twenty seconds before making it about Maisie, Rowan. No, that’s not the reason she can’t read. The teacher said she can recognize letters, remember?”

“Yeah, she did.” He sighed, shoulders relaxing. “So it’s settled. You’ll stop drinking when Maisie is at your place. I’ll see the eye doctor.”

”Actually, the eye doctor was just an example.”

“Do you want me to go to the eye doctor or not?”

“It’s not about me wanting something, Rowan, you should…” she took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “You know what? Okay. No fights, no wine, you’ll go to the eye doctor.”

“We got this.” They firmly shook each other’s hands again to seal this new phase.

˜˜

The living room had seven adults, and the only way they could keep an eye on the children and watch the game at the same time was by placing the play mat between the couch and the TV.

He complained at first when Aedion invited the whole crew to watch the game at Rowan’s house, but he didn’t mind now. In fact, he even liked it. Not only it was a good distraction from this hellish weekend, but it was also entertaining to see Fenrys getting pissed because he missed a goal when he went to the kitchen.

Aedion suggested Fenrys brings bad luck to the game, since the only goal has been while he was away. No one disagreed.

While Charlie was there just to play and because his parents made him, Maisie had her attention divided between her friend and the game. As much attention as a four-year-old could have, actually.

Rowan didn’t know if Maisie actually liked soccer or if she just picked up on her family’s excitement every time an important game is on, but he loved it anyway. Today, he even asked Aelin to come earlier so she could braid Maisie’s hair with ribbons on the team’s color. Rowan sighed. Every time he learned a new hairstyle, his daughter came up with something even more elaborate. It took him almost a month to get the french braid right, but now Maisie wanted it with ribbons.

She looked so damn cute with it, though. He’d probably end up on another Youtube tutorial.

Besides, a smile crosses Rowan’s face every time she wears the Doranelle White Hawks jersey he buys whenever she grows out of one.

”NO!” Maisie screamed, dramatically raising her hands and surprising them all. “Keep your eye on the pie!”

“It’s prize, Munchkin,” Fenrys corrected around a smile, but his eyes were still glued to the TV.

“That’s what I said,” the little girl defended herself, eyes narrowed at her uncle.

Unable to restrain himself and respect his preschooler’s drive for independence, Rowan picked his daughter up and smacked a kiss on her cheek. Luckily, she just giggled and nestled in his lap.

“I’ll be right back,” Fenrys announced and left the room.

The second he closed the bathroom door shut, Athril seized the ball and started to run towards the goal.

“OH MY GOD,” Elide exclaimed, and Lorcan rubbed her upper arm without looking away from the TV.

“WHAT?” Fen screamed from the bathroom.

“DON’T LET HIM OUT!” Aedion roared, pointing a finger in the bathroom’s direction.

Rowan wasn’t one for sports superstition, but he wouldn’t object.

Dorian got up and went the bathroom’s way so fast he stumbled and almost fell, but never gave up. He stood there, holding the handle from one side while Fenrys banged on the door from the other.

“LET ME OUT! I WANT TO SEE THE GAME!” Fen screamed, but one one listened.

It was hard to pay attention on anything else than Athril dribbling each and every one of his opponents, showing off his skills until—

“GOOOOAL,” they screamed in unison, getting up from their seats to cheer.

Fenrys came back running, but instead of complaining, he lit up when he saw the goal’s replay. Picking Dorian up, he cheered alongside everyone else.

Maisie was screaming and twirling on the floor, and even little Charlie looked content. Also, Rowan didn’t miss it the way his daughter tugged on her mother’s leg, whispered something in her ear, and then Aelin left for the kitchen.

“What did Mais want?” He asked after following her.

“Just sandwiches for her and Charlie.”

Rowan nodded, pointed at the bread on his counter and opened the fridge to get the other ingredients.

“Why don’t you throw this away?”

Aelin was frowning at the bread pack. Her hand was going over the first slice of the loaf of bread, picking the other ones the kids would accept.

“What?”

“This crusty slice of bread.”

“Are you bothered by it?”

Sighing, she turned to him. “Actually, yes. It’s like this whole barrier I have to go through before getting to the slice of bread Maisie will eat.”

“Maybe I just don’t throw things away as easily as you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You just told me to throw away not one, but the two ends of the bread just because it looks too crusty to you.“ Rowan shrugged. ”I don’t like throwing food away just because.”

“But you won’t eat it!” Aelin’s tone was gradually rising. “You won’t eat the slice, you’ll just break it in crumbs as you go over it to reach for the other slices, and it’ll end up in the trash anyway!”

“Why do you hate the crusty slice so bad?” His jaw was already set by this point, eyes shooting daggers at her.

“Because I don’t like crusty bread!” Aelin screamed. “I like my bread fluffy and comfortable! Why in hell would I settle for crusty bread?”

Rowan felt his blood ringing in his ears. “Well, maybe I don’t want another slice of bread! Maybe I want my crusty bread because it’s mine! Flawed as it is.”

“You’re not even eating that fucking slice! You’re just stringing it along, inside your little bread pack, until it breaks completely and you inevitably throw it away.” Aelin was gesticulating each time more, coming closer to him as well.

Rowan crossed his arms. “I would never throw my slice of bread away. And if you think—“

“Oh, really? Then what did you do to all the other crusty slices from your other packs?”

“THEY’RE IN HIS MAMA’S ASS,” Elide interrupted, voice louder than any of them as she banged the kitchen’s door closed. “Are you two serious right now?”

Rowan’s frenetic heart seemed to sink into his stomach.

Their agreement to never fight ever again had lasted five hours.

He bowed his head, refusing to meet any of the women in the eye. He bit the inside of his cheek, thinking of something to say, even though he knew he should be apologizing.

“I’ll finish the sandwiches, you can—“

Elide crossed her arms. “No, I am making the sandwiches, because you are so busy screaming at each other you forgot to feed the kids.” She shook her head, cursing under her breath. “Now you two will go sit at opposite ends of the living room because I ain’t going anywhere before the White Hawks win, so you’ll have to behave for once. Understood?”

“Sure,” Aelin mumbled. Rowan still wouldn’t look at her.

He nodded.

After they went to the living room, everything seemed normal. Everyone acted like nothing had happened, but Rowan knew better.

No matter what the subject was, he always felt the same after fighting with Aelin. The heated skin, tense muscles, replaying arguments inside his head.

It felt different this time.

After this fight, he felt nothing but shame.

TAG LIST (tell me if you want to be added or removed!)

@aelinchocolatelover

@autumnbabylon

@bookcide

@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

@courtofjurdan

@dreamer-133

@elentiyawhitethorn

@elizarikaallen

@fangirlprincess09

@goddess-aelin

@gracie-rosee

@leiawritesstories

@renxzs

@rowanaelinn

@superspiritfestival

@swankii-art-teacher

@s-uppertime

@thegreyj

@violet-mermaid7

@wishfulimaginings

[cassiesdevblog]

Rediscovering the ~Joy of Work~ in spite of capitalist BULLSHIT!!!!

Capitalism is deeply woven with my trauma. I felt its inevitable hand more and more with every passing year I went through school, and thanks to a terrifying, abusive stepdad obsessed with turning my autistic ass into a ~functioning member of society,~ home was not a respite from a world that demanded constant work, a world that silently chastised even a moment of rest Rest became my rebellion. For years, especially after finally escaping living with my stepdad, I spent every moment I could doing next to nothing, fearing anything that took effort, had stakes, or could affect the future at all. In my mind, work was overrated, and I would spend the next several years trying to reconcile that belief with my ambitions. I made some progress working on the games I wanted to make, but without fundamentally reshaping my relationship with work, I wasn't destined to get very far. And I didn't. I put out small projects sporadically for a few years, but my more ambitious ideas languished in snail-paced development

Things changed slowly for a while, and I gradually began figuring out habits that would help me work on cool games despite how much I hated work, but eventually, I'd make a sort of breakthrough

The Breakthrough!!!

About a month ago, I played the then-current build of @zombielesbean's upcoming game Grey Area. I'd seen on the Itch page that it'd been slated for March of this year at some point (it's March right now and it's definitely not coming out this month), and given how much more polish I felt the game needed, I felt like there would no way it was getting the polish it deserved in time for March. It's such a cool, weird, unique, unforgettable project, and it would have been a crime if it came out undercooked. I just had to do something about that, so I asked if I could have a copy of the project file so I could help out

I mean, realistically the game would have just come out later than expected to give it time for the polish it needed...

But regardless!! Alayna sent me the project file and off I went! In my mind, every second I spent working on the game would translate to a better final product on launch day, and that's all I really wanted. I began to understand every work of art I've ever loved as the fruits of a whole lot of labor. So many cool things only exist at all because someone wanted them to exist so bad they were willing to put in every last bit of work necessary to make it so. And that makes them cool, it makes them admirable, and it means the world is full of cool, inspiring, sickass art to experience

So, fuck capitalism, but work is alright sometimes

It's pretty fucking cool actually when it's not compulsory. It can be fulfilling, it can lead to absolute bangers, and, fuck, it can even be rewarding in its own right

Grey Area is gonna be a banger because the whole team, now including me, poured in the work necessary to make it so. In the month I've been working on it, it's tangibly improved astronomically, and it'll keep doing so till we're done, all thanks to the work we put in. Every second of work leads to a better, cooler game, and it's worth it because we really want it to exist

The inescapable forces of capitalism wanted me to go one way, and for years, I went in the exact opposite direction: still following capitalism's path, only in reverse, and it wasn't any better a path to take

Now? I'm making my own way

Thx for reading :)

[cebwrites]

bottoms up (don't drink this feeling away)

a/n: set some time after [tae lives alone]

oc x canon | hurt/comfort word count: 1.6k

Tae doesn't like to drink much; but he finds Yamato to be pleasant enough company.

Still, he monitors his intake well even as his companion gets tipsier and loose the more cups they share. Yamato's face flushes, he begins to talk more brazenly about his superiors - a certain copynin's "bullying" in particular - and he becomes a lot more physically affectionate than before.

Part of him feels like he's taking advantage of the conditional proximity, but the other part yearns for more than just brushing fingertips together or standing close enough to feel each other's body heat through their uniforms when they're sober.

When it seems like his senpai's had enough, despite any protests, Tae helps Yamato into bed for the night; a process him and other peers working the same field are very familiar with, courtesy of Inoichi and Shikaku's heavy drinking whenever they often find an excuse to celebrate something with their subordinates. It'd be a full riot if Choza was included in the party's guest list.

Taeru was spared having to help walk one of the three older men home when he was still a minor working in T&I - but on the bright side, listening to Inoichi's drunken swooning over his fussy young daughter whom he spoiled was endearing, in a way.

Watching Tenzo tipsily grumble about how the village worked him like a mule now almost gave him that same nostalgic feeling.

Although Tae knew for sure that he wouldn't accidentally cry in front of his senpai - after being made to hear an intoxicated man almost old enough to be his father whine about how much he loved his daughter and how he would do anything for his dear sweet Ino; darling sunflower of his life.

The same Ino who turned him away at the door when Inoichi, on one occasion, embarrassingly flung himself at her for kisses. Well, Tae wouldn't blame her.

If they drank at Tenzo's Tae would clean up and take his leave soon after putting his senpai to bed, but if they crashed at his place - there was a 50/50 split on if he felt like bringing Tenzo-senpai home was worth disturbing him or if it was better to just bring out the extra futon.

In cases of the latter, Tae spent his time tidying; even if there wasn't much to do, he took comfort in the habit. Though he never drank enough to get truly drunk, Tae disliked how alcohol made him feel. It didn't take much of it in his system for his mind to wander, to yearn, to confront things he intentionally kept in the back of his mind for a reason.

One night after he'd rearranged the kitchen cabinets for maybe the third time, Tae sat on the floor in his family home's living room; Hyou would be out that week and needed someone to watch the house, Tae was free. Kakashi dropped by earlier to pester them but got a look in his eye after a certain point, pretending to be called away. They laughed over Tenzo's mention that Kakashi-senpai invited himself to begin with and didn't need an excuse to leave.

He'd drank more than usual today, polishing off the high-grade rice wine Kakashi managed to convince Tae to bring out from safe keeping. Why that was, he wasn't sure, but it was taking a little while longer for the alcohol to fully dissolve from his system.

Tae watched Tenzo's steady breathes, not daring to touch - even intoxicated, asleep, and presumably unarmed, carelessly approaching an ANBU always spelled trouble. Still, he was a pretty sight to behold without his standard hitae-ate. The stress lines plaguing "Captain Yamato" during the day seemed to fade and, whoever Tenzo truly saw himself as, started to surface.

Here it came; all those unwanted thoughts Taeru kept far away in the recesses of his mind.

Tenzo had always been respectful, back then when they were genuinely no more than comrades on the field, and especially now when those lines began to blur. He'd made his interest known on more than one occasion with small verbal winks and nods, things that would pique Tae's interest specifically when they were around other people.

If anything, he was quite bold for subtle gestures. Tae's reactions, however, were always neutral - deliberately unreadable so no one could gauge whether his answer was a yes or a no.

Truly speaking, he was scared. Scared of taking the first step, of being too happy, of falling too hard, of loving too much.

Of a love that burned so hot and so bright that, if it ever ended - and it very well might - that he would once again be left with nothing but ash and cinders of who he was as a person. That was the just kind of effect Shisui's influence had on his life.

It wasn't fair to compare them, Tae knew that. But he was reminded of an argument he had with Kohaku one night about his well-being.

Kohaku had approached him well-intentioned, calm and cool as always, about the way Taeru seemed to be stuck in the past and repeating unhealthy patterns to make sure he stayed that way. Everyone was worried, and he owed it to himself to at least let them try to help. Tae was cold in return, almost disassociated in his response as he folded his laundry.

Anything to avoid eye contact, anything to avoid addressing this direct confrontation.

It was an unstoppable force and an immovable object. All things considered, Kohaku was probably one of the best people to have approached him about it - removed enough from the initial situation not to be upset by anything anyone said or trigger a fight or flight response, but close enough to Taeru to still care about him. If it was anyone else, even Gen-nii, Tae or the other person probably would've gotten too emotional and he'd completely shut them out.

Eventually, he got him to budge an inch.

"Is this really the way Shisui would want you to live, carrying all this grief?"

"Of course not!"

Tae threw an old shirt he held to the ground, his fists shook with the wavering anger in his voice. Kohaku resisted the instinct to take a step back - they'd been pushing buttons all night, not for no reason, but this was the first out of all those attempts to get a rise out of him that succeeded; they just weren't prepared for their quiet, monotone friend to be so explosive.

"He'd hate what I've become - moping around and cleaning graves all day until they erode - you think I don't know that? Shisui always got so upset when I kept stuff to myself."

"But what else am I supposed to," he raised his hand to his heart, clenching the fabric in a vice, "this pain is all I have left to remember him. If I let that go of that too, what will I have left of Shisui—of everyone.

What kind of person would I be if I just let them disappear."

Tae's face twisted with the wealth of emotion just under the surface - though he was unable to cry - just how hold had he been holding everything back?

Kohaku was familiar with this feeling. They were born and drafted during the 3rd Great War, after all. Holding loved ones at arms length, keeping just enough distance for cordial interactions but never enough to feel the agony of loss; not even Kohaku's own team mates were exempt from this treatment.

Though he felt bad turning them down, all Kotetsu and Izumo wanted to do was bond. It was precisely why more than anyone else, with maybe a few exceptions, Kohaku understood why Tae was wrong. He closed the distance between them, carefully taking Tae's free hand in theirs, though he was still looking away as they said;

"They won't. Your love is more than enough proof that they lived."

Finally, after far too long, the tears fell.

They fell, and they fell, bursting the dam of grief Tae had kept under lock and key for more than he could remember. Hurt for not only a lost romantic love, the man his future used to revolve around and vice versa with dreams of changing the shinobi world, but love for his fallen comrades, his sensei, friends who were still alive but suffered just as much, the mourning for a life he could've had if the fates were just a little kinder.

Tae's knees buckled under the weight of everything and Kohaku was there to catch him, to hold him together as the force of his sorrow felt like it threatened to rip flesh from bone that night.

He cried for what felt like an eternity, though Kohaku never made him feel like he was wrong or a burden for it.

Even now, sitting in the darkened living room with Tenzo asleep under the Kotatsu before him, Tae's heart ached. His senses had sobered up, but the fear remains. Like a child, he's too afraid to open his eyes and face the scary, uncertain future before him. Bonds break. People are more fragile than they realize.

Just as he stands, ready to turn in for the night, Tenzo mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep, then rolls over onto his back. Tae can't bring himself to take his eyes off him.

In the morning, Tenzo wakes up with a mild headache - nothing in comparison to the much larger, smugger headache crouching beside him with a shit-eating grin he was very familiar with behind Kakashi's mask. Takashi begrudgingly passed the older man a folded 20 ryo bill, seemingly just as unamused with the situation - or with Kakashi's enthusiasm, rather - as Yamato was.

If it wasn't for the pleasant apple scented weight on Tenzo's left side, he'd already be trying to kill them.

His only hope was that his pounding heartrate wouldn't be what woke Tae in the end.

[sonorousabyss]

You should give me a star wars matchup :) you already know my ass lmaooooooooo dm me if you want specifics

AN: You've got it darlin~! I present to you, Crosshair.

To say that this relationship is a slow burn is an understatement.

Crosshair is a bit of a grouch by nature. One known for his biting remarks and astute observations, but he's a recluse nonetheless.

The only way I see you meeting is on a job. Sure, there's a very slim chance that you might've caught him and the boys on a trip to 79s, but the real development came when you both were forced to work together.

Whether you were some sort of Jedi, senator, or even some offset of clones- it doesn't matter. He tolerated you at first, but that was about it.

Your penchant for cheeky, albeit well-mannered teasing likely was the cause of this. He saw it similar to how he'd put up with Wrecker and his habit of invading his personal space with droid heads.

Something he could live with.

This was until you started joining in when he was teasing the regs.

Considering the fact that the batch and the regs don't particularly get along, per se- well, certain groups of them at least- he found the fact that you'd pipe in and play off his words rather amusing.

Never until that moment did he think that you'd ever grow on him.

As for you with him, it'd be quite the same. He wouldn't be the friendliest man in the batch when you first met him. The others- Wrecker, Tech, Echo, Hunter- Hell, even Omega would've all been fairly quick to befriend you. They're all rather amicable and understanding, if not kind.

But Crosshair? He's stubborn.

This means that you would've fallen victim to at least a few remarks, assuming you didn't have enough of a reputation to keep him at bay, to start with.

At a certain point, you both annoying each other became somewhat of a game.

The two of you stayed up to keep watch one night, sitting in silence, save for the rare instances you'd stop to discuss details of the mission come morning. Playful bickering ensued, but you kept it quiet so the others could sleep, eyes focused on the fire in front of you.

You both kept an eye on each other during these times. Half for the sake of the mission, half for a myriad of reasons that neither of you would dare to admit to each other.

For him, it'd have started out as wariness. Making sure you weren't a threat to his brothers, as well as keeping an eye out for any material he might be able to use later. It wouldn't do to be underprepared if you were to attempt to tease him, after all.

That gradually evolved into curiosity.

He observed as you'd pick up souvenirs on the planets you'd traverse together, pocketing all manner of glass, wood, and rocks you harvested from the outdoors when you thought the batchers weren't looking.

He'd take note of the many hours you spent, looking up at the night sky or staring out into the galaxy through the glass of the cockpit. The way you'd seem to naturally gravitate to the shade when outdoors, and how you'd always appeared to be more at ease when they infiltrated bases during the cooler months.

He observed from the sidelines as you talked to Hunter and the others about tattoos, and who the best person would be to get them from as he polished his gun.

Crosshair would pretend he didn't notice when you followed up that conversation a few days later with a brand new tattoo, catching sight of it when part of your outfit pulled back to reveal it, newly wrapped, with you too busy petting a puppy you found to even notice.

He took note of your dislikes too.

The way you would complain about the overwhelming heat on some of the warmer planets you'd visit, the dark hues of the armor you bore not helping you in the slightest.

The way you blanched when you realized some of the cuisine he and the boys were eating was much too spicy for you to handle, immediately regretting all your life choices after you tried it and he and some of the other batchers jumped on the opportunity to tease you. Meanwhile, Hunter was the one to offer you some milk to help.

How you almost always chose to operate on the backlines with him, instead of going headfirst into the loud, blaring chaos of battle with the others.

Oh, he noticed.

Crosshair would never admit it. But he did.

He didn't know why he did. How you managed to grow on him so much over the time you'd operated together. It wasn't supposed to be that way... and yet...

You were one of the few people he enjoyed being around.

The way you two could go from teasing each other relentlessly to intimidating people with just a glance was an amusing sight to behold.

Terrifying for those who didn't know you.

They'd assume that you both were glaring and clearly not fond of them, but the truth would often be far from it.

You and Crosshair spending some time alone after a rough mission, cuddled up and basking in each other's company, enjoying the silence.

It took him longer than he'd care to admit to realize just how he really felt.

You're laying back in a hospital bed, bacta applied to your wounds in the sterile, white room that was the medbay after an infiltration mission. You all had succeeded, but it had come at a terrible cost.

He'd have avoided going with his brothers unless they dragged him along, and yet, he'd find himself hovering by the medbay doors whenever he was alone. Wondering if you were okay.

He blamed himself.

Had he been quicker, had his shot been more accurate- even if just by a centimeter, you would've been fine.

And so he found himself wandering in, watching your sleeping form as you recovered, holding your hand.

... And threatening you to keep your mouth shut when he realized you'd been awake the entire time.

You just smiled, teasing him all the same.

And it was then that he realized how much he'd fallen for you.

AN: I might've gotten carried away-

May your day be as pleasant as the ocean's abyss is deep.

For those who are new here, I take requests. You can find my rules here.

[peanut-tyrug]

SatBK Fanfic: A Sacred Old Soul

Sonic discovers that there's more to Caliburn than he lets on... an unseen past that only he and the other Round Table knights know of.

—

This idea spawned from an old SatBK AU I had. I'm not gonna elaborate on it, as the general idea of the AU is in the fic (also it'd be spoilery and I want the reader to see it for themselves).

—

TRIGGER WARNING: This fic contains depictions of gore/blood, bisection, a corpse, loss of family/loved ones, threats toward characters, illusions/hallucinations, and swords. If you aren’t comfortable with these things, please don’t read this.

It hadn't been too long since Sonic and his talking Sacred Sword Caliburn had saved the kingdom of Camelot from certain destruction. Only a day or two.

Sonic was beginning to prepare for his journey back to his world, spending some time to get to know the other knights of the Round Table before he left. He had swiftly realized how similar they all were to the counterparts from his home... it gave the hedgehog an odd sense of deja vu.

After having spent a bit with Merlina, who was now ready to send Sonic home, Sonic wanted spend a while with Caliburn.

Like the Round Table knights and Merlina, Sonic never really had the time to get to know Caliburn. The sword had been at Sonic's side for most of his adventure through the land of King Arthur, and despite that, he barely got to see the side of Caliburn that was more... genuine. The side of Caliburn that wasn’t an uptight mentor in swordsmanship.

And Sonic felt a nice run through some of the kingdom’s scenery would be a good way to get relax with the Sacred Sword.

Around the half way point of Sonic’s journey through the kingdom, the pair had finally entered the Shrouded Forest.

The pair glanced upon the fantastical forest as Sonic steadily sped through it. The crystalline snow on the ground was swiftly crushed under Sonic’s speedy feet. The flowers of the forest shone in beautiful yet eerie shades of blue, violet, and pink. A few bugs flew around the forest, appearing to be uncaring for the hedgehog and sentient weapon…

“Be careful, Sonic.” Says Caliburn. “The butterflies here are not what you think.”

“You sure?” Sonic asks. “They look fine to me.”

“They can get at your head, make you see things that are not actually there.” Caliburn informs. “I’d suggest you keep them away.”

“…Oh, they’re little tricksters, huh?” Sonic asks again. “We can handle that, right, Caliburn?”

“We have faced more threatening terrors than insects, Sonic.” Says Caliburn with a stern tone of voice. “Little butterflies are no problem for either of us.”

“I’d imagine that.” Says Sonic. “Unless you want your blade getting slathered in bug guts.” He says jokingly.

Caliburn swiftly appears appalled at the comment, looking as if he’s sick to his stomach at the thought… he didn’t actually have organs, did he?

“Sonic!” Says a disgusted Caliburn. “D-do not speak of such things!”

Sonic chuckles slightly. “You know I’m just messin' with ya!” He says. “And if you ever get dirtied up, I’m sure I can find someone to get your blade polished up.”

“…I-I appreciate the gesture.” Says Caliburn, who still sounded disgusted.

…Sonic just wanted to throw a quip at the sword, just like he did during their adventure through the kingdom. It was the last time he’d have the time to hang out with the sword, and he wanted to make it worth while.

They had greatly bonded, both of them knew that. And both of them appreciated each other… even if Caliburn didn’t fully understand Sonic’s quips. The sword knew Sonic was just messing around, and didn’t mean it… that didn’t prevent him from taking them to heart for a moment though.

Suddenly, a few butterflies cross the hedgehog’s path.

“Woah!” Sonic exclaims. As he runs, he holds Caliburn up and swings the insects away, his movements lacking elegance and poise.

Caliburn is swiftly disoriented by the action, slowly trying to regain an ornate head. “Sonic!” Caliburn criticizes. “Don’t swing me around so recklessly! I’m certain you are aware that I am not some fly swatter?”

“Sorry.” Sonic apologizes. “Just had to get those bugs out of the way.”

Sonic continues his run, not caring for the sudden ambush. It isn’t long before even more butterflies cloud Sonic’s eyes.

Sonic halts with a quick yelp. Caliburn then falls out of Sonic’s grip, as he is no longer paying attention to the blade, trying to swat the insects away.

“Caliburn!?” Sonic cries out. He tries to reach for his blade, not noticing that it had fallen to the ground.

Caliburn eventually gets up on his own, now standing on his point. “Sonic!” He shouts, now racing toward the struggling hedgehog.

Before Caliburn can reach Sonic however, a hoard of butterflies race toward the sword’s face, completely obscuring his vision, and causing him to quickly shout.

“Get away from me, foul things!” Says Caliburn. “Away! Away with you!”

The issue is that Caliburn can’t sway away the bugs on his own, he needs Sonic’s assistance.

“Caliburn!” Sonic calls out. “Where are you?”

“Where are you!?” Caliburn asks back. “I cannot see!”

The two then appear to bump into each other, causing them both to fall back, still struggling with the bugs.

“Shoot!” Says Sonic. “These things are such a pain!”

“Hurry!” Says Caliburn. “Find me, and pick me back—!”

*WHOOSH!*

“…Up…?”

It takes a moment for Caliburn to adjust to his new and sudden surroundings. All he can see is what appears to be nothing; a completely white, blank void.

Caliburn attempts to get up… and yet, he doesn’t struggle to get on his point, not like he usually did. It was normally a small struggle for him to get up if he ever landed on the back of his blade, since he never had a spine…

Or, at least, he hadn’t had one… not for a time, as he recalled.

“…Strange.” Says Caliburn.

He only looks forward at the void before him… then he looks down…

“…W-what!?” Caliburn shouts. “What in the unholy trickery—!?”

…Caliburn had a body. A human body… something that felt so foreign, yet so familiar…

“…I-I don’t— I don’t understand…” Says Caliburn, panic rising in his voice. “No, this isn’t—!”

“Christopher!?” A feminine voice calls out. “Where are you? Where did you go!?”

Caliburn looks upward at the void again… he hadn’t been called that in ages…

He hadn’t heard that voice in ages…

Caliburn appeared simply awestruck at the voice. All he focused on what the single other person that seemed to be there with him…

“…A-Angeline?” Caliburn calls out, slowly and steadily rising to his feet. He struggles a bit though, trembling a bit where he stands.

“…Christopher?” The voice calls out again. “Is that you?”

Caliburn appears even more shocked as a figure comes into view from the void.

“…Angeline?” Caliburn calls out again. “M-my sweet Angel, why— How—!?”

“Christopher!?” The voice calls again as it became more clear.

From the void, a woman adorned in an elegant dress, colored in blue and gold with silver Celtic designs covering it, approached the confused Caliburn. Despite there being no wind, her mid-length brunette hair followed serenely, making her give off a poise and elegant aura.

“Angeline?” Caliburn calls out again, standing rooted to his spot.

“Christopher?” Angeline calls out again, now rushing to him.

Angeline then finally reaches Caliburn, and tightly embraces him, while Caliburn remains still in his confused headspace.

“Where have you been!?” Angeline asks. “I’ve looked everywhere for you!”

“…I don’t understand.” Says Caliburn. “You already know.”

Angeline then grasps onto Caliburn’s shoulders. She leans in close to him. “That doesn’t matter now.” She says. “We are both here, together.”

…Caliburn doesn’t smile, he only stares at the woman… before his expression descends into that of anger.

“…No.” Says Caliburn. “This is not real…”

“…What?” Angeline asks.

“…This is not real… it’s a trick!” Says Caliburn. “I will not fall prey to your illusions, foul beasts! How dare you sully her name!?”

“What!?” Angeline questions again. “Christopher, I am real!”

“No! You are not her!” Says Caliburn. “My mind has been twisted against my will to fall for the likes of those pests! I will not give in!”

“Caliburn! Snap out of it!” Angeline exclaims… almost sounding as if another familiar, snarky voice was speaking through her… and yet, Caliburn doesn’t hear it.

“Get out of my head!” Says Caliburn.

“Caliburn!!” A voice shouts.

Caliburn’s eyes then shoot open, as if he had been suddenly awakened from a deep sleep.

“—Wha— what!?” Caliburn shouts. “What happened!?”

Sonic, who seemed to have been able to get the bugs away from him on his own, then grabs the grip of Caliburn’s hilt and lifts him up. He looks him dead in the eyes before speaking. “Those bugs got to ya, Caliburn.”

Caliburn then appears to be ashamed of himself… Sonic could tell that he didn’t feel good about those bugs getting the best of him… but there seemed to be something else lingering on the sword’s mind. Same for Sonic’s.

“What was all that about, anyway?” Sonic asks. “Who was that lady you were talking about?”

A sudden surge of panic slaps itself onto Caliburn’s face... just how much of that did he hear?

“…I-it was nothing. She is no one.” He says.

“…And I thought a Sacred Sword like you would never tell a lie!” Sonic says slyly.

“Why I never! I would never do such a—!” Caliburn begins, before getting cut off.

“Yes you would, and you’re doing it right now!” Says Sonic, sounded irritated. “You can tell me!”

…Caliburn then sighs, feeling defeated. “You are the king, and my closest friend. You of all people should have my permission to know this…” Says Caliburn. “…C-can you keep a secret?”

“Of course I can! If it’s for a friend!” Says Sonic. “Spill the beans!”

“…What?” Caliburn asks. He doesn’t understand Sonic’s modern slang.

“What’s your secret?” Asks Sonic.

“Before that,” Caliburn begins. “Let us leave this place. It is best that we don’t get caught off guard by the butterflies again.”

“Roger that.” Says Sonic.

The blue hedgehog then begins to speed out of the Shrouded Forest with his Sacred Sword in tow. Silence crosses the both of them as Sonic approaches the Deep Woods.

—

Sonic comes to a halt near one of the many groves of trees in the Deep Woods, just nearby where he had first fought Sir Lancelot. Small crystals reflect the Sun’s peering light onto the ground, lighting up the grove a bit.

Sonic leans Caliburn against a tree, while the hedgehog sits next him with his legs crossed.

“You ready?” Sonic asks.

“…Yes.” Says Caliburn.

“What’cha got for me?” Sonic asks again.

“It’s fairly long.” Says Caliburn, as if warning Sonic that he may get bored of it.

“Ah, just make it interesting.” Says Sonic, smiling.

Caliburn chuckles a bit. “I like to think it is.” He says, as he begins to tell his tale…

“…Have you ever pondered how I am able to be sentient, Sonic?” Caliburn asks.”

“Magic?” Sonic asks. “That’s what I always thought.”

“You’d be correct.” Says Caliburn. “But the magic of it is what you don’t know… to be general, I was once organic…”

“You weren’t always a sword?” Sonic asks, sounding genuinely surprised.

“…Exactly.” Says Caliburn.

“But… how?” Sonic asks. “What about the lady?”

“…That is when this gets a bit long.” Says Caliburn.

~~~

'…I was orphaned at a young age. My family had passed in a storm…'

“…Mother? Father?” Calls a young Christopher Caliburn, son of a small peasant family. “Where have you gone?”

The child walks through a quiet and desolate forest, soaked head to toe in rain water. His sewn-up rags were tearing at the seams from the rain. The child walks practically aimlessly, looking for his missing family.

'…They were never found, and my home had also been lost in the storm. I was left to roam that forest alone, no one to help me, and all I had other than my rags was what I knew I could do on my own…'

Christopher eventually weakly falls to his knees in the rain. He begins cry softly, only begging that his family was somewhere in this storm, possibly looking for their son…

But he had been looking for so long, and there was no sign of them. No trace of them anywhere in those woods.

…They were dead, no matter how much Christopher didn’t want to admit it.

Despite that, he knew he couldn’t sit there and cry forever… he had to survive here. It was all he could do. It was what he had to do… whatever it took.

'For ages, leaking into my adult years, I remained in those woods. Surviving completely on my own. Killing animals to live, building shelters to live… it was all I could do.'

'It was the same thing all that time. It never changed, until it did…'

Christopher, now in his mid thirties, ventures the woods, dressed in a uniform from one of the various guards that had come upon the woods, but had never returned to Camelot… he didn’t like the idea of taking their clothes as his own, it didn’t feel morally right, but he needed them.

A hand-carved wooden spear remained in his hands. He glances around, looking for anything he could easily take down…

Before a sudden hissing is heard.

Christopher turns a heel, pointing his spear in front of him… then, again, the same hissing.

What was odd was that it wasn’t a familiar hissing, not like that of a snake… almost like some small beast that had yet to be named and discovered.

…It sounded just the slightest bit of ferocious, like a knight of the underworld…

The beasts of such kind haunted Christopher’s nightmares. He had known of them from tales his mother spoke of… even if they ended nicely, the thought of such beasts scared him, even though he was almost an adult.

Such imagery can frighten anyone, regardless of age.

Suddenly, the hissing is heard again… although, it’s much closer than before…

Christopher turns back… only to be met with a helmeted beast. A knight of the underworld, one with bat-like wings and fisk-like tail. Christopher shouts, startled. He holds his spear up, trying to fight the beast.

“Back!” Christopher exclaims. “Back, I say! Back!”

The creature shrieks in a thunderous fury, as if to call others of its kin. Christopher freezes for a moment, before turning a heel again and scurrying off… no way he could fight as many as it could summon with a rickety wooden spear.

As he runs, he can feel the presence of many other underworld creatures chasing after him. He was their prey, and it felt like nothing was going to save him from his predicament.

As he ran however, the ground below him seemed to suddenly disappear as he began to trip and fall. Christopher tumbled down a deep slope, rolling down the hill, until he suddenly landed in a pile of shrubs. The shrubs swiftly broke his fall, although, the pain he was in first fall had yet waver.

Christopher slowly rises from the shrubs with a pained grunt. As he recollects himself, his eyes quickly spot something before him…

His eyes go wide, and his mouth goes agape…

Christopher spots an elegant and pristine sword lodged into a stone covered in vines. A single ray of the Sun’s light peered through the trees and onto the blade, making it appear even more beautiful.

~~~

“Was that sword… you?” Sonic asks.

“Yes, it was.” Caliburn says softly, as if reminiscing. “I had not an inkling that the sword in that very stone was Excalibur itself… I actually remember finding it here, in the Deep Woods.”

“Huh, who knew?” Sonic asks himself in wonder. “But what happens after that?” He asks with a soft smile on his face.

“We’ll get there.” Says Caliburn, sounding as if he was trying calm an excited child.

~~~

Christopher steadily exits the pile of shrubs and heads to the stone. He slowly wraps his hands around the sword’s grip, and tugs…

The sword moves an inch upward…

Christopher tugs harder at the weapon, until it completely slides free from the stone. The sword feels heavy in Christopher’s grip, causing him to drop it slightly. He slowly picks it up again, allowing it to set itself in his hands.

Christopher looks ahead past the stone, gazing upon a grove up ahead. Rather than climb back up the steep hill, Christopher walks into the grove.

As he walks, he takes a look at the sword. It could practically be used as a mirror with how reflective it was.

As Christopher gazes upon the serene blade, a sudden shriek makes him come to halt… it didn’t sound like it came from a creature, but rather… a person.

Christopher then rushes forward, blade clutched tightly in his grasp, toward the sound of the shriek. He runs for what feels like miles… before suddenly bumping into something… someone.

“Oh, stars!” Says the stranger as she suddenly falls. She looks forward, and yelps at the person before them, a man dressed in a raggedy guard’s uniform and wielding a sword.

The lady moves backwards, afraid of what the man could do to her. “D-don’t hurt me!” She says. “I did no harm, Sir Knight!”

Christopher slowly rises to his bottom and looks to the woman in confusion. “…I’m sorry?” He asks. “I am not a knight.”

“…Then what of your sword?” Asks the lady.

“I found it, my lady.” Says Christopher.

Suddenly, another hiss is heard… a familiar sound…

“It’s still after me!” The lady said to herself. She then turns to Christopher. “You must help me, sir!”

“With ails you, my lady?” Asks Christopher.

“Underworld knights!” The lady says in a panic.

From behind the woman, a small hoard of underworld knights appears. The lady yelps and hides behind Christopher, hoping that he can help.

Christopher holds up his weapon to the knights, ready to strike… before then thrusting forward, taking a knight or two. He then swipes the sword to hit the rest… although, his movement is messy.

The knights disappear in puffs of smoke, dying just before his eyes. Christopher slowly lowers his weapon, breathing heavily. He then turns back to the woman, who was sitting on the ground…

…He never had a chance to properly look at her. Neither did she.

They stared at each other in complete awe… they were swiftly pulled to each other like magnets.

The lady was dressed in a small blue and gold gown, decorated with Celtic designs colored in silver. Her wonderfully put-together brunette hair stayed still as the woman looked up to Christopher… her face slightly red.

Christopher doesn’t initially realize that he was slightly red in the face too… until he realizes he’s staring. He clears his throat. “…I’m sorry.” He says.

“No, no… it’s alright.” Says the lady. “…B-but that was amazing!”

“…I need no compliments, my lady.” Says Christopher.

The lady then looks Christopher, as if wanting to speak again, before looking down… appearing worried by his raggedy and slightly torn outfit. “…How long have you resided here?” She asks.

“…Almost all of my life.” Says Christopher with a tinge of dread. “I have fought for my life in these woods.”

“I see…” Says the lady. “I could let you stay at my home for a time.”

“I need it not, my lady.” Says Christopher.

~~~

“Still as stubborn as ever.” Sonic says in a joking tone.

“Oh, hush up.” Says Caliburn, sounding as if he’s trying to repress a chuckle.

~~~

“Are you certain?” Asks the lady. “I’m certain it would be a nice change from the Deep Woods, wouldn’t it?”

Christopher wants to retort… but then he thinks about it… it would be a nice change from these woods. He had been here for almost his entire childhood, and hadn’t had a meal that wasn’t fish in months, as not many other animals resided in the Deep Woods other than the fish that reigned it’s lake. And his clothes, always ragged and in tatters, having to take cloth from those who had fallen…

Christopher then looks up to the lady with certain eyes. “I will accompany you.” He says. “…You are correct, your home would be a nice change from the Deep Woods.”

“Oh, thank you for allowing me to help… I am very thankful for your help as well.” Says the lady. “I go by Angeline, by the way.”

“…A wonderful name.” Says Christopher, smiling softly… his face also appearing a bit red again. “It suits you.”

Angeline blushes a bit. She hides her face a bit, but is simply unable to repress a smile. “Oh, stop!” She says. “What is your name, sir?”

“I am Christopher Caliburn, son of the late Colette and Alaric Caliburn.” Says Christopher. He then smiles softly. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Angeline.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Christopher.” Says Angeline. She then seems to have a realization of some kind… “…Your 'late' family?”

Christopher’s expression falters slightly. “…I lost them years ago, I wasn’t even in adolescence yet…” He says. “…I-it was a storm.”

“…Oh, stars.” Says Angeline. “I apologize for asking… I had no idea…”

“No, no, it’s alright.” Says Christopher. “The grief may live on within me… but I do not let it consume me. I am but too strong to fall to my grief…”

Angeline smiles. “I’m glad.” She says. “Come, I will lead you to my residence.”

~~~

“So you and this Angeline were buddy-buddy?” Asks Sonic.

“…What?” Caliburn asks, confused once again.

“Like, were you friends?” Sonic reiterates.

“…It started that way, somewhat.” Says Caliburn.

~~~

Angeline leads Christopher through her small village. As they walk, Christopher notices a few villagers eyeing him, appearing afraid…

They were likely intimated. None of these people knew who he was, and neither did he. He was also wielding a weapon… they were fearful of him attacking, he assumed.

With time, Angeline comes to a halt in front of a drab wooden door. She lets herself in, with Christopher following behind her.

Angeline’s home was a small cobblestone shack, decorated with organized shelves. It was cramped and desolate… and yet, it was home. Christopher didn’t have much either.

Christopher hums. “…A very neatly home.” He says as he sets his sword against a wall.

“Yes.” Says Angeline. “I try to keep everything together… I’ll find you something nicer to wear… how did you get that?”

“The uniform?” Asks Christopher.

Angeline confirms with a hum and nod as she enters another room.

“…I’d rather not say.” Says Christopher. “I am not proud of the method I used…”

“That’s alright.” Says Angeline. “I understand… you had to what had to do out in the Deep Woods, I would imagine.”

“…You could put it that way.” Says Christopher.

It was all he could do. What he had to do.

Angeline eventually steps out of the room she had been in, a fleece dress shirt and pants in her hands. “Try these. I hope they fit.”

“They shall suffice.” Says Christopher, studying to see if the clothes would fit.

“…I’ll get you something to eat, hold on a moment.” Angeline then hurries over to a small kitchen nearby, looking through a few cabinets that were filled to the brim with jars of ingredients he couldn’t name.

Christopher then heads to another room to change out of his rags.

—

Christopher, now dressed in the clothes Angeline lended him, sits in front a small wooden table. He waits patiently for his meal… daydreaming about what had recently transpired… before a small bowl clanks onto the table.

“Here.” Says Angeline. “I don’t have much, but I made an attempt.”

Christopher looks to the bowl and takes it… there appeared to be a kind of soup inside of it. He picks up the spoon within the bowl and lifts the soup his mouth…

It was hot, he swiftly realized… but not too hot, rather, it was warm. A pleasant yet unknown flavor lathered Christopher’s tongue.

“…What is in this?” Christopher asked.

“Oh! A few herbs and spices… meat I had gotten in a trade… what meat was it?” Angeline then begins to become deep in thought.

“Hm… it’s serpent meat…” Says Christopher.

“Pardon?” Angeline asks.

“There’s serpent meat in this…” Says Christopher.

“Have you had serpent before?” Angeline asks.

“Yes, but ages ago…” Says Christopher.

“Hm… they’ve been hunted down a lot recently…” Says Angeline.

Before Angeline can continue, her eyes fall upon the sword Christopher had found.

“…You know, I’ve never seen a sword like that before.” Says Angeline. “How did you come across it?”

“I found it in a stone.” Says Christopher, the soup bowl in hand. “I’ve never seen it either… although, it does bare a slight resemblance to Excalibur…”

“Maybe it was made in its image?” Angeline suggests.

“…Possibly.” Says Christopher as he eats.

A sudden shout from outside then knocks Christopher out of his head.

“Oh, dear…” Angeline says, her voice clouded in worry. “A robber… again.”

“Again?” Christopher asks.

“They have been very rampant recently.” Says Angeline. “They’re likely after our resources… the King hasn’t kept an eye on the kingdom’s resources for quite sometime…”

Suddenly, Christopher rises from his seat and grabs the sword. He swiftly opens the wooden door and rushes outside.

“Christopher!?” Angeline cries out from inside her home.

Christopher turns his head back to face Angeline. “I will only be a moment!” He then hurries away.

Christopher rushes into a more bustling part of the village and immediately spots a robber haggling a bag from a defenseless damsel.

“Just give me the bag, and you can go!” Says the robber.

“I am desperate, I beg you!” Says the damsel. “I need this!”

Christopher’s brows furrow and he hurries forward. He holds his sword out and makes his presence known.

“Halt!” Christopher exclaims. “Leave the woman be!”

The robber turns away from the woman to face Christopher. “Hah!” He bellows. “What’s a man in rags gonna do with a sword without a name?”

Christopher appears offended the comment as he turns a heel to the right and circles back to the robber. He collides with the thief, making him fall to the ground.

Christopher keeps the thief pinned to the ground, his sword held close to the other’s neck.

“Judge a sword not by its name, but the power it wields.” Says Christopher in a stern tone. “I may not be well versed in swordsmanship, but I am certain a single swipe of this blade could end you in but a second… let this woman go, give her back her possessions, and I will not harm you… be weary that if you don’t heed my word, my mercy for you will be smothered out in an instant.”

The robber then appears horrified at the comment… despite Christopher being a collected and reserved gentleman, he was still very intimidating when he needed to be… it was unnerving…

Before the robber can heed Christopher’s word, the sound of approaching armored steps is heard.

“Halt!” Says a voice. “In the name of the King, halt!”

Three different anthropomorphic knights come into view… a black hedgehog, a red echidna, and a violet feline, all of them adorned in armor and wielding swords of the own.

The hedgehog steps forward, holding his drawn sword out toward Christopher and the robber. “Cease your movement!” He says.

The robber suddenly hurries away from Christopher and to the knights, appearing panicked.

“Just take me away! Imprison me!” Says the robber. “Get me away from that man!”

The echidna then steps over to Christopher, appearing suspicious. “…You are a thief, aren’t you, scum?”

“…What?” Christopher asks, taken aback.

“You were stealing from that man, weren’t you!?” Asks the echidna. “You had him pinned!”

“…It was he that stole, Sir Knight.” Says Christopher.

“How dare you not know the name of Sir Gawain!?” Sir Gawain chastises.

“Gawain, wait.” Says the feline, who approaches the echidna’s side. She turns to face Christopher. “You said that man had stole?”

“Yes.” Christopher responds. “He had stolen a lady’s goods… I could not stand by and let him have what was rightfully hers.”

“Just take the bag back! Take it!” Says the robber as he chucks the bag to the ground. The feline catches it just as the damsel approaches her.

“Oh, thank you, Sir Percival!” Says the damsel. “I am forever grateful.”

“I need no thanks.” Says Sir Percival. “I am here for the kingdom and its people.”

The damsel nods. “Have a blessed day!” She says as she takes her leave.

“You as well.” Christopher replies.

Sir Percival then eyes the sword in Christopher’s grip. Even behind her visor, anyone could sense the suspicions drowning her features. “…Where did you find that sword, sir?” She asks. “Are you a knight as well?”

“No,” Christopher replies. “I found it within a stone in the Deep Woods… I do not believe it has a name.”

“…The resemblance to Excalibur is eye-catching…” Says Sir Percival.

“He must’ve stolen it!” Sir Gawain accused… he’s always had such a thick head…

Sir Percival can only eye Sir Gawain before the armored hedgehog approaches. “…How could someone such as a common man be worthy of such a pristine blade…” He asks. “Only a Sacred Sword would be gifted to such a warrior…”

“Then he possibly is a warrior, Sir Lancelot.” Says Sir Percival.

As the knights speak amongst each other, Christopher begins to recognize each of them…

“Forgive me, but, only now do I realize…” Christopher begins. “Are you all Round Table knights? King Arthur’s mightiest of swordsmen?”

The knights turn to face the man before them. “…Forgive my forgetfulness… where are my manners? …Yes, brave swordsman.” Says Sir Percival. “I am Sir Percival, Knight of the Grail. I am joined by Sirs Lancelot and Gawain, Knights of the Lake and Knight of the Sun respectively.” She points to the respective knights with a hand. “We are at your service, as your kingdom’s most courageous of knights.”

Christopher hums, indicating his understanding. “I am grateful for your service.” He says.

Sir Percival then eyes Christopher’s sword, then looks back to face him. “I believe it wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary to be given training in swordsmanship?” She asks.

“Hm…” Sir Lancelot hums, considering the idea. “Such a mighty blade should be wielded by proper hands…”

Christopher then appears flustered, taken aback… the same can be said for Sir Gawain.

“How can we trust him?” Asks Sir Gawain.

“I am certain we can hold out a trusting hand for him, Gawain.” Says Sir Percival. “He shall make a great knight… a Round Table knight even.”

Christopher still seems taken aback by the request. Before he can give his response, quick steps are heard pacing towards them.

“Christopher!” Angeline calls out. As she sees the knights, she skids to a halt and gets on one knee. “O, dearest Knights of the Round Table, forgive my intrusion…”

“You are alright, my lady.” Says Sir Percival.

Angeline then rises back up to her feet and faces Christopher. “Where is the robber? Did you assist the victim?”

“He was taken care of swiftly, Angeline.” Says Christopher. He then looks up to see the robber sitting in place not even daring to move and run off… the robber then seems notice the weapon-wielding man looking to him, causing him to avert his gaze in fear.

The knights also turn back to the robber… whatever Christopher done has worked… he was formidable.

Worthy of training in knighthood, gifted unto him from King Arthur’s greatest knights.

“…What do you say, sir… what is your name?” Asks Sir Percival.

“Christopher Caliburn.” Christopher responds.

“…Sir Christopher, would you take this opportunity from us to learn true knighthood?” Asks Sir Percival.

“…'Learn of true knighthood'?” Angeline questions.

Christopher, only for a moment, wants to retort… but he looks to his blade… then over to Angeline, and the rest of the small village…

…He wanted to protect them… this was his kingdom, just was it was theirs.

“I will take your words, and heed them well.” Says Christopher. “I accept your mentorship.”

“…Oh, my…” Says Angeline. “Mentorship from the Knights of the Round Table?”

“I want to be able to protect this kingdom, Angeline. It is my home, just as it is yours.” Says Christopher. “…I want to protect you.”

Christopher then finds himself looking into Angeline’s eyes… her bright brown eyes stare deep into his own ocean blue ones… her eyes were like a field, and his were like a fresh clean river… something you could never tired of looking upon…

They don’t even notice that either one of them was blushing slightly.

Christopher then blinks, coming to his senses. “…M-my apologies.” He says. “I didn’t realize I was—!”

“It’s alright.” Says Angeline. “I didn’t notice either.”

…Christopher couldn’t help but smile.

“We will begin your training today.” Says Sir Percival. “We will begin at Misty Lake.”

“…Y-you don’t mind if tag along, do you?” Asks Angeline. “I only wish to watch… and be at his side.”

…They both blush again…

“…As long as it is not a distraction for our student.” Says Sir Percival.

“I will be certain not to distract him.” Says Angeline.

“I will stay on guard.” Says Christopher.

“It is settled then.” Says Percival. “…But you need armor…”

“There is a blacksmith in the castle town, correct?” Asks Sir Gawain.

“Yes…” Says Sir Percival. “We shall start there.”

The five then head off to the castle town… a new chapter in Christopher’s life was swiftly blossoming.

~~~

“No wonder you know so much about knights!” Says Sonic. “You were one!”

“I learned from the best.” Says Caliburn.

“And so did I.” Says Sonic.

Caliburn smiles softly. “I appreciate the comment, Sonic.”

“Don’t mention it.” Says Sonic. “…And I’m starting to think you and Angeline weren’t just friends.”

Caliburn fails to repress a small chuckle. “We’re getting there.” He says.

~~~

'I had spent months around the kingdom training with the Round Table knights… I had been everywhere… from Misty Lake, to Molten Mine, to Titanic Plain… there wasn’t any place where I hadn’t been anymore.'

'Each round of training ended with a battle with one of the knights themselves… With time, I learned all there was to each of their skill sets, and one by one… they were all defeated in my battles against them.'

'I was formidable, more than ever, they knew that now… especially Angeline.'

'The entire time, she was there, watching my every move… she asked if I could teach her what I learned. We didn’t get far, but we had fun… we grew closer. Bonded more than ever before…'

'…Our love had blossomed like that of Spring when Winter were to finally cease… we were close, and nothing were to tear us apart.'

'…Until I finally met the King…'

Within the training grounds of Camelot Castle, Christopher and Sir Lancelot stand in their battle positions, the other knights and Angeline watching.

“Let us see what you are capable of, Sir Christopher!” Sir Lancelot demands. “Give me everything you’ve got!”

“That is what I seek to achieve; O, Knight of the Lake!” Says Christopher.

Sir Lancelot smiles for a moment… a rare occurrence it was for a smirk to cross the mighty knight’s face… he was impressed.

Sir Lancelot then charges forward, so does Christopher. Their blades clang together, making the air around them ring. Slashes after slashes soon follow, before Sir Lancelot suddenly disappears in a flash…

“Chaos—!” Sir Lancelot exclaims, before getting got off.

“Punishment?” Christopher questions, now guarding as Arondight’s blade collided with his own.

Sir Lancelot scoffs slightly, before striking down with Arondight once more. The hedgehog disappears again, the reappears elsewhere, summoning Chaos Spears.

Christopher turns just in time to defend himself from the spears. Sir Lancelot strikes again… time feels like it’s going a mile a minute… until it suddenly wasn’t.

The winds swiftly pick up as the sounding of galloping horseshoes hit the ground… or, somehow, the air.

A dark horse adorned in armor appears before Sir Lancelot and Christopher, zipping past them in a flash. The horse eventually finds its way to the ground, allowing everyone there to see the man atop the steed.

A bulky figure adorned in heavy armor sits atop the horse, his brightly colored slits that were his eyes peering from the eyes holes in his helmet. Dark mist surrounds the figure, a vapor that made him appear not of high standing… but a demon from the very depths of Hell.

“King Arthur!” Sir Lancelot exclaims as he gets one knee before the king. The other knights follow suit… so do Christopher and Angeline, despite how unruly he appeared…

“My liege…” Says Angeline.

King Arthur then turns to face Christopher, squinting his eyes. “…Is that the knight-in-training you told me about?”

…Christopher doesn’t like his tone of voice at all… he said it so venomously…

“Yes, my liege.” Says Sir Percival. “We have trained him well… we would say that he is even up to par with us.”

King Arthur turns away from Sir Percival and back to Christopher… his gaze reeking of suspicion.

“…Then fight me, Sir Knight.” Says King Arthur. “Show me that you are capable of being among my grand knights.”

Christopher, although taken aback, draws his blade… “I shall prove myself to you, my King.” He says.

The knights and Angeline then appear shocked. “Sir Christopher! Wait!” Sir Percival shouts.

“Silence!” Says King Arthur as his eyes squint again, as if he was happy that the new knight was willing to prove himself. “If he wishes to prove himself, so be it…”

His steed then lifts itself into the air, and circles the area… before King Arthur comes back down, glowing in bright red aura, his large blade glowing a sinister orange.

Christopher is barely prepared for fast the King was returning, barely able to block the attack. Despite his barely successful block, the power of the attack sends him flying across the field. The others gasp in shock…

He was not ready.

Before Christopher can get back up and recover, King Arthur comes back down again, his blade still glowing. Christopher barely dodges, and gets to his feet, which tremble and struggle to keep him up.

“I thought my knights had trained you well! What is this?” King Arthur taunts.

Christopher doesn’t even retort back as he runs and stands before the king. The king then readies himself, his eyes still squinted in anticipation, before his sword glows again. Just as the king swings, Christopher swings back.

Their blades clash, again and again, before King Arthur is thrown off, finally giving Christopher room to attack. He slashes the King’s armor, seemingly hurting him… before the King suddenly grabs Christopher by the neck and holds him up to his face… he tucks his sword away and pulls out a small scabbard…

As Christopher struggles to breathe, a bright aura emanates around the king. “…I am immortal.” Says the King. “You cannot defeat me… no matter what you try.”

The King then throws Christopher off, causing both the swordsman and sword to hit the floor.

“Christopher!” Angeline cries as she rushes over to the swordsman.

As Angeline gets to her knees in front of Christopher, the other knights also at his side. King Arthur looks to the group with a stern glare.

“If you wish to fight again, find me in Faraway Avalon.” Says King Arthur, placing his sword away. “…Or, you can wallow in the pitiful mess that is your swordsmanship.”

The steed finds itself in the air again, and King Arthur sees himself off, just as Christopher rises up to his bottom.

“Are you alright?” Angeline asks.

“…I’m fine…” Says Christopher, sounding strained.

“But you were hit.” Says Sir Percival.

“…I am alright, Sir Percival.” Says Christopher. “If only I could hit him…”

“He has Excalibur’s scabbard.” Says Sir Lancelot. “He can’t be wounded.”

“…T-then how I am supposed to beat him again?” Christopher asks.

“…It would be ill advised.” Says Sir Percival. “It is not easy to win a fight against him… if anyone can anymore.”

“…It is oddly unfair of a knight like him… to cheat with a scabbard like that.” Says Christopher. “My mother told me of stories where he was wise and just… praised by all…”

“…He has changed, Sir Christopher.” Says Sir Percival. “…He isn’t who he used to be…”

“…And yet you don’t try to stop him?” Christopher asks. “Why?”

“The King’s orders are absolute.” Says Sir Lancelot.

“…Whether we like it or not.” Says Sir Gawain.

“Without loyalty to the King…” Sir Percival pauses. “We are nothing…”

…Christopher begins to ponder of the King… the tales he heard, and how untrue they felt… that was not the King of the kingdom of Camelot once knew…

“…What happened do the King?” Christopher asks.

“…We aren’t sure…” Says Sir Perceval. “He returned after a hearty battle he was injured from with Excalibur’s scabbard and…”

“He lost himself…” Says Sir Lancelot. “He summoned knights from the deepest reaches of Hell, and let them loose…”

“…If the scabbard had made him immortal…” Christopher began. “…Then was he corrupted by it?”

The knights then go silent… it was the only foreseeable option.

“…He is a threat to the kingdom, and yet you stand by? You say you are for the kingdom and it’s people when you act as underlings for a tyrant?”

“Sir Christopher, please—!” Sir Percival pleas, before getting cut off.

“How dare you!” Sir Gawain butts in, while Sir Lancelot only snarls at the swordsman.

“And yet you deny it… I am right, aren’t I not?” Christopher asks. “You have done nothing about the King, and for what? To keep your dignity? When other people, your people, are in danger because of the very man you’ve sworn your allegiance to? I thought there was more to being a knight than serving a King?”

The knights go silent again… and before any of them can throw a rebuttal, Christopher stands tall.

“…I wanted to learn from you to be able to protect my kingdom… my people… and I learned from tyrants…” Christopher begins. “I will fix your mistake… the King must be taken down…”

Everyone looks to the swordsman in an unanimous shock.

“We forbid you from doing such a thing!” Says Sir Gawain.

“…What about you?” Says Angeline, breaking her silence. “You’ll be despised… a slayer of Kings…”

Christopher turns back to Angeline, putting his sword under his arm, and takes her hands. “…It is what I must do, Angeline.” Says Christopher. “This kingdom still won’t be safe if I show him mercy. He will still be here, to lurk in the shadows, devise schemes against the kingdom… bring upon further destruction then he already has… I cannot stand by, and watch this man hurt my people… understand me when I say I’m doing this for the kingdom… and you.”

…Reluctantly, Angeline accepts… she knew it was what he had to do…

Like what he did in the woods, it was he had to do…

Their kingdom, their people, were all in danger… it had to be done, right?

Christopher turns back to face the knights. “Where is Faraway Avalon?” He asks.

“It is an island across Camelot Castle…” Says Angeline. “You would have to get there by boat.”

“You side with the traitor, Angeline?” Asks Sir Lancelot.

“It is necessary!” Says Angeline.

“…Admit it. You fear the losses he could face, just as much as we do. He’d be nothing if he committed this act.” Says Sir Lancelot.

“You speak of that as if I’d care.” Says Christopher, before Angeline could even retort.

Christopher then speeds past the knights, hurrying toward the nearest dock he can find.

“Wait!” Says Angeline, quickly following after Christopher. “Let me be alongside you!”

The knights follow suit… all of them rushing to the same place… the knights attempting to attack Christopher, but losing him in the chase…

—

'It was days before I had finally reached Avalon… but I got there…'

'The island was decorated with a castle hall-like structure, the late afternoon sun beaming against the hall’s pedestals. It was all that was between me and King Arthur…'

'Before she grabbed my hand…'

“Wait!” Angeline cries, grabbing Christopher’s hand.

“What?” Christopher questions as he turns back to face Angeline. “Angeline? How did—!”

“Let me be alongside you!” Says Angeline. “I want to be with you!”

“…You cannot watch me this time, Angeline.” Says Christopher. “Wait here. I shall return victorious.”

Christopher then leans in, and softly kisses Angeline on the cheek. Her face goes bright red as Christopher backs away.

“…I promise.” Says Christopher, smiling softly.

Before Christopher hurries off, Angeline tightly wraps her arms around the swordsman… Christopher hugs her back.

“Good luck. Be safe.” Says Angeline.

“I will.” Says Christopher, still smiling softly.

He then runs off into the castle hall of Faraway Avalon, ready for his rematch…

—

“King Arthur!” Christopher calls. “I am here for our rematch!”

King Arthur’s steed turns back to the swordsman. He bares the same barren yet eager look from before.

“I was waiting for you. I had an inkling you’d come here.” Says King Arthur. “It seems you feel not an ounce of self pity… that’s alright. It just makes it more sweeter to see you lose.”

“I am not losing.” Says Christopher. “Not again.”

King Arthur can only laugh in Christopher’s face as his steed gallops off.

“…An act of cowardice?” Christopher asks himself. He then hurries after the King…

Although, he’s too fast… he can’t keep up with him, no matter how hard he tries.

As Christopher stops, being out of breath, King Arthur suddenly comes flying back toward the swordsman. Christopher dodges, although barely. The King’s shadow then passes directly over Christopher, landing swiftly back onto the ground and rushing off again. Christopher gets back up and chases after the king again…

Although, he is suddenly paralyzed. Violet threads of electricity slam down onto the ground, a few of them striking Christopher in the process. Christopher then falls to the ground, breathing heavily… despite that, he still gets back up on his feet.

As he runs, a portal seems to appear in front of King Arthur’s steed… and another appear before Christopher as the King’s hand emerges from it, Deathcalibur in it’s grip. The deadly sword slashes around, barely hitting Christopher as he blocks the attack.

…Christopher continues his chase, until King Arthur summons spheres of his own essence… causing Christopher to halt and fall to the ground, out of breath and terribly weakened.

King Arthur then looks back to the knight… he almost felt bad for him. “…And we’ve only just started… I pity you. And so should you.” He says. “…Why don’t we make this a bit more fair?”

King Arthur then flies off of his steed and charges toward Christopher. Just as the King approaches, Christopher lifts his blade up to block the King’s attack. The two blades stay clashed together, King Arthur’s blade barely touching Christopher’s neck.

“…You simply do not know when to quit.” Says King Arthur. “Do you not know how the kingdom will view you once I’ve been slain by your nameless blade? …They will loathe you. You will chastised out of this kingdom. Your image will forever be tainted with my blood…”

“…I do not care about that… I care about my home!” Says Christopher.

“Then why do you persist?” Asks King Arthur. “Why do you keep this up, when you know what will happen to you!? When you know that you could lose everything!?”

“Because this is my home, and my people! If your very knights won’t keep them safe, then I shall do uphold peace for them!” Says Christopher. “This is what I must do! For my home! For my people! For my kingdom, that I will NOT LET YOU TAKE AWAY FROM ME!!”

Suddenly, a bright golden glow surrounds the area. King Arthur is flung away, while Christopher stays rooted to his spot in the ground, his eyes firmly shut.

Christopher peeks upon an eye just a smidge… to immediately see his blade surrounded in a beautiful pristine aura… one that would match the very power of Excalibur itself.

Christopher then becomes completely covered in a blinding white light… he opens his eyes to see pieces of fantastical golden armor surrounding him. The plates of metal slam themselves onto the silver armor that Christopher bore. And his blade, once again, becomes enveloped in an aura… transforming into something greater than anyone could expect.

The greatest of any Sacred Sword that resided in the kingdom of Camelot… Excalibur.

The blade began to settle in Christopher’s hands as his eyes settled upon the blade. A small crown sat upon the weapon’s crossguard, which was also spread out. Surrounding the blade itself was a golden Celtic pattern, centering the blade in all its glory.

The glow finally dissipates, allowing King Arthur to finally witness Excalibur’s might, a newfound motivation, a force of will, filling the swordsman… only for him to scoff at it.

“You can fight me with that blade all you wish,” King Arthur begins. “But you will never see my end!” The King then hops back onto his steed and hurries away.

“…Not unless I retrieve your scabbard.” Christopher says sternly.

Christopher then rushes toward the King, swiftly noticing his increased speed as he begins to levitate off the ground. As he begins to adjust to this new power, King Arthur launches over him again, to which Christopher responds by hovering to the right of the attack, successfully dodging.

“I now your tricks now, tyrant!” Christopher exclaims. “You cannot run away forever!”

“Try to best me all you like!” Says King Arthur. “Whether it be through your tongue or your blade, you shall not strike me down!”

“We’ll see about that now, won’t we?” Christopher questions slyly.

As King Arthur continues to hurry off, Christopher reaches his side… right where Excalibur’s scabbard lay.

Christopher puts a hand out, lifting up the visor of his armor to properly see it, trying to reach for the scabbard…

Although, he doesn’t notice that King Arthur has once again raised Deathcalibur…

Directly above Christopher’s waist.

As Christopher barely reaches for the scabbard, time seems to slow as he suddenly feels a sharp, deep pain directly over his waist.

…Christopher can only watch in utter horror as King Arthur victoriously glares down at his body as he and Excalibur slowly fall to the ground.

“…What did I tell you?” King Arthur asks. “You cannot defeat me… and you won’t even get to live to bask in my glory… a shame, really.”

Christopher can only stare at the victorious King, completely lost for words as his body falls to the ground with a loud clang…

As he can feel his life force fading from him… he sees King Arthur hurry off on his steed, and Excalibur slowly losing its golden luster.

…The silence takes over, and Christopher is left completely alone…. No one to spend his last moments with. No one to cling to as he dies in their arms.

Just as he had been before meeting Angeline… his dear Angel…

…Alone…

—

Angeline waits, a faded and uncertain smile on her face…

…Where was Christopher?

“Angeline!!” A voice calls. Angeline looks back.

She sees the Round Table knights, hurrying toward her. After a moment, they all finally approach the woman, questioning looks hidden by their visors.

“Where is Christopher?” Asks Sir Percival.

“Be weary, for if you fail to comply… you will be charged with treason, and sentenced to death.” Sir Gawain threatens.

Before Angeline can answer, the galloping of horseshoes is heard. The knights look up and bow, while Angeline only looks up in horror. King Arthur lands to the ground, and stares unto them before speaking.

“The traitor has lost.” Says King Arthur. “He is dead.”

Angeline sharply gasps and covers her mouth in fear, while the knights only repress their grief and shock… even if he turned against the knights and defied the King… they couldn’t help but silently grieve. They were his teachers… people he bonded with, until he learned the truth.

…Angeline, on the other hand, was completely overrun by her emotions. Tears formed in her eyes as she hurried into the walls of Avalon, desperately clinging to possibility that he was still there… that the King was lying.

Arthur doesn’t even stop her… as if he wanted to let her see him…

“Christopher!?” Angeline cries, her sobs leaking through her voice as she calls. “Christopher!?”

Angeline continues to call out the poor soul’s name… until she finally finds him…

Angeline can only stare at the sight in horror… all she sees of Christopher is a bisected armored corpse, laying limp and lifeless on the ground, blood having pooled next to him.

“…No…” Angeline begs. “No… this isn’t… this isn’t what was…”

Angeline approaches the corpse, only begging that this was just some horrifying nightmare. She gets to her knees and nudges the body, only to be met with the ice cold chill covering it…

The desperate lady begins to softly sob… which descends into a maddening cry from the deepest depths of Angeline’s sorrow.

All she can do is cry over her love’s body… all hope of him still being alive lost, and replaced with a heartbreaking, soul crushing despair…

—

An assumption of life after death is silence and darkness… a space with no depth, existence without noise… completely void of the life the soul once saw…

So bleak and depressing, although it wouldn’t make you cry… you’d wallow in it. Wallow in your sorrows until this existence faded with the rest of it.

The young swordsman believes life is over, and there is no returning to it…

Although… a small amount of will propels him forward…

~~~

…The sounds of bird’s chirping and wind blowing catches then suddenly enter swordsman’s senses… along with a feeling that his senses are no longer lost…

If he could just…

…Open his eyes…

Christopher opens his eyes, blinking for a moment before adjusting to the sudden brightness of Camelot’s Summer afternoon.

“…I-it’s so bright…” He says, his voice sounding raspy due to lack of use.

All he sees is a misty river just below what appears to be large cliff… he tries to get to his feet…

But he can’t.

He feels rooted to the ground, as if his boots were welded to the stone below him… he tried to move his limbs… yet it felt like he had none… all he could do was shimmy on the rock…

“…W-why— why can’t I move?” Christopher asks himself. “What—!”

“Welcome back.” Says a calm voice.

“Who is there!?” Christopher asks. “Why can’t I move? What kind of sick trick is this?”

Suddenly, a small reflecting pool appears before Christopher, revealing to him what had happened to him… he was swiftly caught off guard.

His limbs and body were completely gone… all of anything that remained of him was his face, now reduced to a pair of eyes and a mouth… the vessel he was now reigning was no longer human…

But rather… a sword… the very sword he had used in his last moments with the King.

“…I-I don’t— I don’t understand…” Says Christopher. “This is some illusion, I swear it!”

“It is all real, Sir Christopher.” Says the voice again, now standing next to the talking sword so he can see her… making her instantly recognizable.

A pink hedgehog dressed in a blue gown, among other teal and turquoise adornments.

“…T-The Lady of the Lake!?” Christopher exclaims. “What are you— what am I—!?”

“Everything will be alright.” Says the Lady of the Lake, Nimue. “I will explain.”

“…Forgive me for my words, but please do.” Says Christopher, desperation and confusion clouding his tone.

“…Your soul has guided you to this new vessel. Your strong will has allowed you another chance at living.” Says Nimue. “You are now a sentient weapon, the one to decide who is worthy of the crown…”

Christopher appears taken aback by the sudden news, but he tries to keep himself collected. “…Forgive me, but I do not understand… I am to choose the King? How?”

“Read them.” Says Nimue. “Their touch will allow you to read their souls. You will find the true King, I am certain.”

“…A replacement for Arthur?” Asks Christopher.

“Yes.” Says Nimue. “A King truly worthy of the crown. A knight of pure heart and courage.”

“…I am— I am honored, lady Nimue.” Says Christopher, still sounding shocked. “I will take this second chance with grace… and make you proud. It is for my kingdom… and I would do anything to protect it.”

“I am grateful.” Says Nimue. “And I wish good luck unto you.”

“I appreciate the gesture, my lady.” Says Christopher.

Just as Christopher finishes his sentence, Nimue disappears, leaving to take in his responsibility in solitude.

…It all felt so stressful… it put a lot of pressure on Christopher… to decide who is most worthy of the crown?

…Despite the odd anxiety of it all, he would take his duty to heart. He would follow it for however long it may take… he’d make this kingdom proud…

“…Oh, Christopher…” Said a new, familiar voice.

Before Christopher says a word, he takes a listen…

“…I truly wish you were here right now…” Says the voice. “I can only be grateful the King let me bury you at all… but… if only I could just… be given a sign that you were here…”

…It was Angeline… he had to call out to her…

“…Angeline.” Says Christopher, loud enough so that she could possibly hear him. “Angeline!”

Angeline turns head back to face the sword that lay within the eroding stones of the Misty Lake… it was when his training had first began. Where his journey to knighthood rooted back to… where else could she have put the sword as a tombstone, if not here, to honor his legacy as a knight… King Arthur wouldn’t let her place his grave in Avalon anyway.

“…Christopher?” Angeline asks, now looking to the sword.

“Angeline!” Says Christopher, shimmying in his spot a bit. “I am here!”

…Angeline then grows suspicious of the shimmying sword, but slowly approaches it.

“Grab my grip!” Says Christopher.

“…'Your' grip?” Asks Angeline.

“Yes!” Says Christopher. “Tug upward!”

Angeline looks down at the sword’s grip, appear in uncertain… what did Christopher have to do with any of this? Could it free him? …Bring him back?

…She grabs hold of the grip… and tugs. Tugs with as much strength as she can muster… but to no avail, as she is unable to pull the sword from the stone.

“…I don’t understand…” Says Christopher. “I’m certain she’d make a great ruler…”

Angeline looks back down at the sword… was it actually speaking?

She looks down at the sword’s front… and is swiftly met with ocean blue eyes staring back at her… she gasps and only looks on at the now startled sword.

“…Christopher?” Asks Angeline.

Christopher’s face eventually softens to a small smile. “I am here, my Angel.” He says.

Angeline’s mouth curls into a small smile before faltering, now appearing confused. “…What happened to you? Are you trapped in there? Do I need to get you out?”

“No, no! I’m alright.” Christopher says reassuringly. “…I am aware this will be confusing, but trust me!”

Angeline hums in confirmation… giving Christopher the permission he needed.

“…I saw the Lady of the Lake… she had said my soul, my will power, gave me another chance at life.” Says Christopher. “And now, I have a grand role to play… decide the one who shall replace King Arthur as the rightful King.”

“…Oh, my…” Says Angeline. “…That is a major responsibility… but I’m certain you could do it. A-and you saw the lady Nimue?”

“Indeed.” Says Christopher. “She was very polite.”

“…Hm…” Angeline then hums in thought. “If you are meant to find the true King, why don’t I gather some villagers from around the kingdom? Surely one of them must be the King!”

“…Possibly.” Says Christopher. “There are a lot of people in the kingdom. It’s worth a try.”

“…It very much is, Christopher.” Says Angeline.

As Christopher hears his name again, he thinks to himself… is such a name worth being the title of sacred weapon? It just felt so… basic… what kind of sword had such a name?

“…Maybe I could go by a different name?” Asks Christopher. “‘Christopher' just doesn’t feel like a proper name befitting a Sacred Sword…”

“…Caliburn?” Angeline asks.

“My surname?” Christopher asks.

“Yes.” Says Angeline. “It represents you… it is you. I believe it would be important to keep a bit of yourself alive, right? You may be in a new body, but you are still you… it even sounds more befitting.”

Christopher then ponders over the name, and her reasoning behind it… and a small smile grows on his face. “…I like that name…” He says. “Caliburn…”

'After our initial exchange, Angeline went around finding those who were willing to have their hearts be tested. Many tried, but none achieved what they hoped… no matter how certain I felt they would be a perfect fit.'

'Even when the visits had died down, Angeline still came to visit. We would talk for hours, learn more about one another… but, suddenly, she stopped showing up…'

'…Then I remembered she had started to fall ill after the visits had mostly ceased, and that a new illness was in the air… I feared the worst when she had stopped coming by… and I never saw her step foot in the Misty Lake again after her most recent visit…'

'I remained in that stone for five years… a period that felt like an eternity, only to me…'

~~~

“And then I found you. And read your soul.” Says Caliburn.

“And?” Sonic asks… it felt there was more Caliburn wanted to say.

“…I was confused.” Says Caliburn. “I picked you, and you were nothing like I thought the true King would be. You were bashful, crass, snarky, and barely trained in swordsmanship, everything I felt a knightly King wasn’t… I just couldn’t see what I was missing for the longest time…”

“…What were you missing?” Sonic asks.

A small, soft smile crosses Caliburn’s face. “…I had an epiphany during your bout with Merlina.”

“…Yeah?” Sonic questions.

“…I didn’t take notice of your strong will.” Says Caliburn. “The very strength of your will is what rekindled Excalibur… despite how snarky and cocky you are, you still had what I had… you don’t care what others say about you. You don’t mind having to play the role of a bad person… you do what you believe is right for the sake of others.”

“Yep.” Says Sonic. “It’s just how I roll.”

“We share the same morals. Same goals.” Says Caliburn, still smiling. “Despite how uncertain I was, a part of me knew that you would make a wonderful King… You have much assisted me, Sonic. I don’t regret my time with you one bit.”

“…Yeah.” Says Sonic as he then smiles softly and turns to face Caliburn. “I don’t regret my time with you either.”

Silence then covers the Woods… before Sonic breaks it with a slight chuckle.

“…It’s kinda weird… Kinda like ya said, we both got our own rules, and they’re mostly the same…” Says Sonic. “It’s kinda like— like you’re my double in this world or somethin'.”

Caliburn hums. “…An odd thought… and yet, it doesn’t feel untrue.”

“Yeah.” Says Sonic.

As the sun passes over the Deep Woods and to the horizon, Sonic thinks over Caliburn’s story.

…It wouldn’t surprise him if Caliburn was in some way like his double in this storybook world... As he said, Sonic was like him. A lot like him, even if it wasn’t one to one. Caliburn was still a gentleman, Sonic was still crass… and despite that, in a sense, they were doubles. Two people sharing similar mindsets to one another…

…It kind of gave him an odd sense of deja vu when he thought about it…

As the last bit of sunlight fell over the Deep Woods, and Sonic had begun his return to the castle… he had new found knowledge of Caliburn. It wasn’t what he necessarily meant by 'getting to know him', but he took it nonetheless. Caliburn’s tale was a nice one anyway.

As Sonic rushes through the Woods, he spots a few leaves brush past him… it was odd, there was no change in the wind that he could feel.

…Although, Caliburn knew exactly what it was as he spots the leaves, which hovered over to his face.

“…Hello, Angeline…” Says Caliburn, quiet enough to where Sonic couldn’t hear him.

As the hedgehog and Sacred Sword exit the woods… Caliburn can hear a greeting returned back to him…

Even in death, they never part.

- END -

[zalrb]

the bear s2 was so good! 2x06 was AWFUL to watch, sugar’s storyline particularly got to me like that moment when she asks her mom if she’s okay and everyone at the table sighs??? seeing the way carmy’s family treats him was also great like that for real is the youngest child experience. i LOVED sydney’s storyline with trying out new food and her struggling with creating new dishes and them not turning out like she wants them to (showing us how she visualizes the dishes was very interesting also). marcus in copenhagen was such a beautiful episode. i do wish we had spent more time on tina and ebraheim though. and then ending the season on richie and carmy’s fight where richie tells carmy that he’s becoming his mom?? so good. it’s so cool when tv actually makes you feel something 😭

2x06 was an epic somewhat triggering episode for me and I'm still processing it for that reason because in different contexts, I've had the "I make things beautiful for everyone but no one makes things beautiful for me" conversations and the "no one will miss me" conversations and as an only child have been a cross between Carmy and Natalie so I just sat there like

I've said this before, but one of my writing profs told me that he couldn't watch The Sopranos because the family dinner scenes were too good and stressed him out and was like, "I left home for a reason!" and while the tension in The Sopranos is so incredibly realistic it makes me giggle whenever I watch it but this episode had me like, OK this is what he meant.

I also really love the story behind Sugar as a nickname for Natalie because it could be just a cute story that they lovingly refer to but knowing who their mother is and the context of how we learn the story behind Sugar, we can infer that she probably flew off the handle when she tasted how sweet that gravy and now that nickname is like a constant reminder of a stress point for their mother (and therefore for Natalie) and it follows her everywhere.

I also just love how in that episode, you always hear someone yelling in the background, it's such a great detail to me because it's constant, like constant, there's never any downtime, it never felt like someone was yelling for the purpose of the plot where it'd be silent for a moment and then suddenly someone's yelling, there's constant shouting in the background (except for upstairs in the bedroom and the quiet is spoken about because it's a rare thing) and the house kind of feels like a kitchen because of the constant noise and so it's another way that cooking and the kitchen can be linked to familial trauma for Carmy because the noises are similar.

One of my favourite scenes in the episode is when Richie and Michael tell Carmy about Claire because of the way they were talking over each other and not letting the other speak, like the realism of a) how that scene would go b) the script and how they acted it, oh *chef's kiss*.

It's definitely an episode I need to watch again to dissect.

I also like that 2x06 went to the past and was an insight into why Carmy is Carmy and what food and cooking can mean for him and why he struggles with answering why he does what he does -- he loves cooking but it's not fun etc. and 2x07 is back to the present and went to Richie finding his purpose and it was a very serious episode for his arc but I appreciated the levity in it and how delivering a deep dish pizza was treated like mission impossible (even if the point was serious, I think they had a lot of unserious fun with that shot) because of what we went through in 2x06 but I worked in a kitchen in a hotel (where I lived, not in the hotel but the staff block in the back) in the UK and that time of my life was actually one of the lowest points of my life (also when I joined tumblr!) so when he started polishing silver, I had like a flashback to me after dinner service polishing cutlery and not being able to eat dinner until everything was done, which means not eating until about 1:30 AM and being like holy SHIT I remember doing that. THIS SEASON IS BRINGING UP A LOT OF THINGS FOR ME. Of course, Richie begins to find his purpose and starts drinking the kool-aid by the end of the episode and adapts it to his own style for The Bear, which is nice. (I never did that lmao).

I also LOVED the way Carmy's lack of focus also epitomized itself in the handle for the fridge and the way that came back with him locking himself in the fridge, i.e. the physical manifestation of his indecision where has to sit with everything he's been avoiding or deflecting or transferring, just so, so good.

I liked seeing Sydney with her dad and getting to know that relationship more and their conversations were also extremely realistic, like when they have that little tiff at her mom's birthday and she's just like, "I don't see why you have to bring that up!" I was like HA, yes, I know that reaction. And seeing Sydney's mounting panic and anxiety about opening a restaurant in a pandemic and seeing her connections in this world more and getting to know these people in a very quick and short period of time and through what they cook so that when you see things like I think the name was Verandah shut down with a flashback to that chef, it does make you feel for that person and also for Sydney? Excellent.

It's such a small detail but I loved when one of the older cooks possibly a mentor is like "You'll be fine" *head tilt* when Sydney tells him that she's opening a restaurant with a partner because I can't explain it, but that's what a mentor or more experienced person sounds and looks like when they see one of their pupils or a somewhat green up-and-comer do something that requires a lot of risk and has a huge potential for failure or for being a waste of time. I once saw an author I'd admired do a reading and they went off on how much they hated MFA programs and how they were a waste of time and cash cows and how you shouldn't go to one straight out of undergrad and I sat there in the front row, right out of undergrad in an MFA program and when I got to speak to them after their talk, I was like so I'm a first year MFA student straight out of undergrad and they did the exact same thing they were like "Oh, you'll be fiiiiiiiiiiine" *head tilt* haha so I was like THAT IS HOW THAT LOOKS AND SOUNDS.

I will say that in season 1 my biggest issue was that it was a story with white main characters set against a backdrop of a [great] Black/poc supporting cast who were given little interiority and I liked that this season expanded on them more, particularly (going in order for expansion) Sydney (though she wasn't supporting in season 1 but still, less interiority than Carmy and Richie) and then Marcus and then Tina and then Ebrahiem but while it was really great seeing Sydney go to different restaurants to test her palate and struggle with finding a menu -- and I agree that seeing how she visualized food was very interesting and cool to watch -- and while seeing Marcus flourish in Copenhagen was great and heartwarming, I was like none of the foods that they eat or learn from are like soul food or Haitian food or Jamaican food or Ethiopian food or Nigerian food etc. etc. and it bothers me that they're left out of the conversation because while that's not the food that they're cooking, they're learning from all of these different contexts and yet none of those contexts are Black/predominately Black countries and leaving them out of the exploration when they have a fairly big Black cast rubs me the wrong way and I think also contributes to these cuisines being left out of explorations/conversations about high calibre cooking.

I knew Marcus' mother was going to die or her health was going to turn for the worst so I was waiting for that shoe to drop (lol) but I was still very sad when it did especially how it did and again, I love that him knocking the phone off the counter came back later. Just so many great details. I'm definitely going to rewatch the season.

[fragileizywriting]

mhmhmhmnm. decaying in my mattress thinking about a marinette who awkwardly makes her way back into the libertwo after three days of breathing room, coming to terms with what's happened, and she has a key to the house and sits on the living room couch and just. soaks in the smell, i guess? like, she's just sitting there. nothing's changed. it feels like luka hasn't even changed the sheets (the last ones, that is, because the first few ones during her heat are.... well. they've been disposed of for a reason. they were the plastic ones, the scratchy ones, the ones that cover the mattress as if it were a garbage bag, because omegas and heats and ruts and alphas... get a little messy) and everything smells like them. the heat had died off after a while, and instead of frenzy, there'd been calm. collected. infatuation, sure, but it'd been... normal. sane. not antsy, because the clear Alert! Alert! Alert! signs that had pricked her glands over and over again had balmed over, sandpapered smooth with luka's presence and touch and gentle nips to her skin.

the place smells like them, and marinette is so, so scared because he hasn't even washed the sheets. he hasn't even done the dishes yet of the day either, and that's kind of gross, because the two of them have always been the type of people to wash the dishes after every meal; she spends her time cleaning it. disenfecting the counters. just... making it neater. she ignores the fridge. doesn't want to give in to looking at the stocked crispers. how her favorite yogurt is in there, still in the little containers, in strawberry and strawberry-bananas, and how luka had spent an egregious amount of money to get the fancy ones that comes in little glass cups. they're not even yoplaits.

luka comes in after the whole day on the streets and spots her checking over to see if there's anything she's missed when sweeping the floors. just... trying to make it look more presentable. it's his own house. she has the urge to polish it all, anyway. put her touch on it.

he's almost in tears with relief when they spot one another.

[shadow-mans-things]

Depending on if I go back to polish this up, this might be the rough or first/final draft lol. I just woke up and felt like writing about Bodaway from Bi-Han's point of view, Kuai Liang's will be next as I want to flesh out their dynamics. Bi-Han might not be completely accurate but I did do my best to apply what @bihansthot provided me in her response to my ask. Hopefully, as I keep writing his character will be more accurate and my stories could properly illustrate each character's dynamic with one another.

TW: mentions of running away, mentions of threatened murder, self destructive behavior, slight ed, implied abuse (If I have missed any don't hesitate to let me know! I want my blog to be a safe space for all!)

Something was wrong. Bodaway wasn't poking his head in to see what he was doing as often anymore. Yes, Bi-Han used to shoo him away quite a few times in the past, but that didn't mean he wanted the kid to stop. Not only that, but Bi-Han noticed that Bodaway wouldn't hang around Kuai Liang as often as he used to. On Monday Bodaway missed all his meals, Bodaway never did that. Wednesday Bodaway refused to stop training until his legs gave out, once again something Bodaway wouldn't do. Come Thursday Bi-Han was done with whatever phase he thought this was, and easily picked his youngest brother up.

"Hey! Put me down!" Bodaway cried out as he furiously squirmed in his arms. For Bi-Han this was like a small child trying to throw a fit.

"No, you're being self-destructive." Bi-Han was blunt but didn't specify any particular thing. His tone came off as if he were always pissed, but in this instance, he was worried.

"Why?" Bi-Han muttered. What could possibly be the reason Bodaway was doing this? Did someone say something to him? Make him feel unworthy? What was the reason?

"Nothing. I'm fine." Bodaway had shut down on him. A trait Bi-Han himself was guilty of when he was younger.

Not knowing how to properly communicate with someone that was hurting in a specific way, Bi-Han remained silent. Bi-Han didn't need to say anything, for Bodaway his eyes said it all. Bi-Han didn't realize he had a specific destination in mind until they were outside his room. He rarely ever let Kuai Liang or Bodaway in there unless his younger brothers really needed the comfort. He mentally convinced himself this was more for his baby brother tonight than it was for him. Like Bi-Han, Bodaway was also under constant pressure to do great things, though the reasoning for their treatment was wildly different.

"Why did you bring me here?" Bodaway asked him. "I'm not five anymore, I can sleep on my own."

"Shut up. Something is clearly wrong, and if you won't talk then I won't let you leave my sights." Bi-Han grumbled before setting Bodaway on the bed.

He first tended to the bleeding wounds Bodaway had, he was gentle when tending to the rotting looking flesh on Bodaway's arms having learned the hard way that they were sensitive. He then moved his focus onto the gash that still had a small stream of blood running down it. He simply cleaned and bandaged that one up. His next focus was on Bodaway's obvious lack of food and water. He didn't have much, but he made his brother eat some of the jerky he'd kept stashed away and drink the water he kept next to his bed. Whatever Bodaway was going through, Bi-Han wanted to be sure he knew he had his brothers on his side. Soon enough Bodaway was asleep, fatigue having caught up to him. It'd been so long since he'd cradled Bodaway in his arms, comforting him after a nightmare or after a bully had gotten to him. He paid some mind to how Bodaway shivered in his arms, reminding Bi-Han that the youngest wasn't a cryomancer like his older brothers. He simply cocooned Bodaway in more blankets.

Bi-Han spent the next few days glued to Bodaway's side. He didn't trust his brother to take care of himself at the moment. Once Kuai Liang found out, he too clung to Bodaway. The brothers always made sure Bodaway ate something, even if it was small. They made sure to drag Bodaway away from his training to rest and not beat a poor dummy into a pile of splinters. Kuai was more vocal about his concern for Bodaway, oftentimes interrogating Bodaway to little success. Still he wasn't going to let down until he knew why his little brother was being so self destructive.

Bi-Han figured he should've been more involved in Bodaway's life than he usually was. He never meant to make Bodaway feel like he was cast to the side. He'd gotten distracted with his duties and helping Kuai Liang that he never even realized he was pushing Bodaway away until it was too late. Desperate eyes scanned the snow and hair covered room, hoping to find even the faintest silhouette of his brother. There was nothing. He didn't know when he dropped to his knees or when he began crying. Nor did he remember picking up the yard length hair and clutching it tightly. He never intended for Bodaway to feel unwanted if that was why he ran. He'd known about the grandmaster's contempt for Bodaway, the elder having been very vocal about it. He knew that many people feared Bodaway after the kid had been seen commanding zombies when he was much younger. People always warned Bi-Han to keep Bodaway on a tight leash for fear that Bodaway could bring about the apocalypse if he wanted to. Bi-Han knew Bodaway would never do that, he knew that Bodaway rarely ever used his necromancy for that exact reason. Still, he couldn't help but feel that he'd missed something crucial to Bodaway's disappearance.

While Bi-Han did his best to shield his brothers from the grandmaster, he was still just one person. Bi-Han still felt like he'd failed to properly protect Bodaway at the end of the day. The hair covering his room was his evidence of that. He gently stroked at the strand in his hand, recalling the times Bodaway would beg for Bi-Han to braid it. Saying that only Bi-Han knew how to do it the way he liked it. Bi-Han never admitted it, but he treasured those moments. He knew how particular Bodaway was about his hair, so to have him trust Bi-Han with it did stroke his ego a little. How was he going to tell Kuai Liang? His little brother would surely find out once he woke up, but Bi-Han didn't want him to find out the way he did. But, how does one go about telling another family member that their brother cut his hair and ran away?

Another thought snapped him out of his trance. If the grandmaster found out about this, Bodaway would be dead. The man would without a doubt send someone to collect his head. That couldn't happen, that wouldn't happen. Bi-Han was going to find him and bring him home before word could ever reach the grandmaster's ear. That might be delusional thinking on his end, but Bi-Han was going to be damned if he let anyone hurt his brothers. That morning he would drag Kuai Liang out of bed and the two would set off to find their baby brother.

[lorei-writes]

For the writer asks... 2, 25, 49, 71

Hello, hello, and welcome! Thanks for playing with me! <3

2. Where do you get your fic ideas?

I... don't know. I also don't know how to answer this question without making it just a little bit embarrassing, haha. Oh well, embarrassing it is then.

Overall, I'd say it all boils down to the fact that my mind is a really loud place. My thoughts are nearly always racing. I struggle when dealing with outside noise (literal or visual), because it's even m o r e commotion adding to what is on the inside.

There are just a lot of connections being made at a fast pace? Say, I got anxious about my further education. It zapped straight to general future. I zapped to why am I not writing in the moment. It zapped to social media. Somebody posted a meme. I said something about cable ties. (Haha, trytka elektrytka sounds funny in Polish, note that down -- no, please, don't). Did somebody mention a nail? Jesus! Crucifixion! Replacing nails with cable ties. I instantly picture a Roman general performing a makeshift crucifixion with cable ties. Now make it kinky. Now don't make it kinky. "I never understood why you would care, and I dare say I still do not." I need to focus. I want to crochet. What about studying 2 point perspective? I want to translate that song (I've translated two strophes of that song!). I'm anxious, I'm anxious, I'm anxious. What will I do with my life. How will I mange.

"I never understood why you would care, and I dare say I still do not."

I put down that line. At this point I'm screaming on the inside. So I cling to it.

"My current existence is nothing more than an error in the matrix of this world."

Error how? Error why? Tell me, tell me, because I still don't know what I want to say, but the turmoil on the inside hurts too much.

"How come a person can be alive before a day they were even born?"

Remember that horror story you've tried to listen to? Take that. Take what you want. Bingo, you hit a jackpot, now run. Scream until it quiets down. (It took less than 15 minutes to write it down, counting in three breaks).

// Sometimes it's less chaotic and starts right at the 'write the first sentence and see where it takes you' point, but generally, everything is just a jumbled mess of connections that spark something.

25. What’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)?

I love brainstorming, but I must ration it out carefully. If I reach the conclusion too early, I will lose the drive to write it all out...

So, worldbuilding it is! Because I can brainstorm it ahead of time as much as I want, without it influencing my bursts of motivation in any significantly negative way. Heck, it usually gets me fired up.

49. What fic of yours would you say is the best introduction to you as a writer?

Probably Codependent, Guilty in Spe // Brother & No Visits Policy for the best picture...

However, if I had to choose just one, at the expense of accuracy, it'd probably be A Hundred Days and Nights.

71. Do you spend more time reading or writing?

Definitely writing.

I haven't been much of a reader for years now, both in regards to fanfiction and original fiction. If you consider just works written in English, it gets even worse. If you exclude the mangas I'm following... Yeaah...

On the plus side, that's probably better for my health? Because once I get invested into a story, I cannot put it down until it's over. Last year I finished a certain series in two days. I spent over 35h on reading then. (I squeezed all my sleep, eating and such into the remaining less-than-13-out-of-48h then... And this is a fairly fortunate outcome, since usually it would be nearly impossible to sleep at all).

FanFiction Writing Asks

[shallow-wordsalad]

"Welcome Aboard" (Modern Fantasy/Sci-Fi short story, Superhero setting)

Ten years at Harvard, slaving over myriad databases and pages on the physical sciences - burning my brain down to the stem to answer questions and ask a few myself. Thesis paper after thesis paper, and finally I get my Masters in Applied Physics. It was hard work, but I'd never been so satisfied as when I was certified with a doctorate years later - having a real, actual "Dr." before my name gave me such a rush of satisfaction I was worried it'd go straight to my head. I was only 35, and I'd realized a dream I had just twenty years ago. I'd found a job with a government organization - DARVO, the Department of Allocation and Regulation of Vigilante Operations - something having to do with crimefighting on a global scale, and I was accepted after my first interview. My resume spoke for itself, I suppose.

I sat down at a table much like the ones I had back in Harvard, a long and wooden countertop dotted with seats to take along its unbroken surface. It was polished and shined so well I could see my own reflection, and I was left to enjoy the room's accommodations for a few stark minutes. Sleek décor and fresh paint on the walls spoke of a modern government office that took great care in appearing orderly. The single, boldly-placed logo they had above the podium at the sloped room's lowest end was somewhat humble, since I'd almost expected to see it printed on every door and floor tile. Around my seat were several encyclopedias - on physics, medical sciences, thermodynamics, astronomy, theology, history, the occult…As I wait in the well-lit room, I worry - am I expected to read all of these? I'm a physicist - I spent my entire adult life up until now becoming a physicist, what kind of untouchable polyglots do they hire here?

Finally, a man with a tired smile on his face enters the room, wrinkles across his brow and mouth betraying an age he tries to conceal with class and professionalism. He's older than me by about ten or twenty years, hair greying at his sides in a salt-and-pepper look he's combed and cut to maintain that air of someone absolutely in control of himself and all he surveys. His glasses sit on his nose and hang around the back of his neck by a gold-colored chain, and his suit fits his frame nicely - the marks of a man well off, but not too proud. Except that watch, which looks like it cost as much as my car.

"Good morning," He speaks to the room empty but for me and him, his voice echoing rasp before he clears his throat. "Nice to have you here. I'm Hirohito Sato, the director of this division of DARVO. Dr. Ngozi Musa, correct?"

"Yes, sir," I nod, happy to be recognized by name. "Great. I read your paper on the effects gravity has on time - a fascinating hypothesis you formed, and one I'd love to explore further. We're excited to have you here." "Thank you," I nod again, a practiced habit, but I look to the books all around my seat and on the table. "Can I ask what these other books are for?" "Oh, absolutely. Let's get right to it," He clears his throat again.

"So, Dr. Musa. Let's start off with a question - can you name a metahuman?" "A…metahuman," I'd hummed. I've heard of these - basically mutants, or super-people. The stuff you see in comic books and movies. More and more of them had been appearing since the 70s, and in the modern age it's almost impossible to live even a humble life without knowing at least one, and seeing a great deal more everywhere you go. Supposedly, about 1 in 20 people are now being born with some strange quirk of biology or talent, and it's become its own field of research, evolving rapidly with advances in technology. So, outside my field of expertise as much as it was, I spoke the name of the first one I knew of - the 'super-man' who'd turned the tide of second World War in favor of the Allied forces. A name everyone knew as much as they knew Albert Einstein, Bruce Wayne, or Tom Hanks. "Pinnacle Man. Let's start there."

"Let's…Not," He hesitates to say as much, grimacing in a way he's trying to hide. "Try something more local." "…A-alright," I think again, this time to people I knew. I'd met a few metahumans in my life - at this point who hadn't - so the name of one of my classmates in my senior year rises in my mind. "I knew a man named Benjamin Carlyle. He could grow or shrink his fingernails." "Ah, perfect. Please open that book on physics. Let's examine the part about conservation of mass." I do, of course. The book cracks open, its heavy cover thumping against the hard wooden desk. Crisp and fresh pages make their first creases and crinkles as I find the index and the page needed. "Alright. What about it?"

"Tear those pages out." "What?" "Rip them out. In fact, grab that medical textbook, too, and rip out everything having to do with the production of keratin."

I presume this is a joke, so a laugh escapes me and disappears in the uneasy quiet left behind in the air. Dr. Sato doesn't so much as crack a smile, telling me he's utterly, entirely, grimly serious about this strange request. With no other choice, I do it. The tearing sound sends painful pangs through my heart - these books were pristine and more in-depth than the thick encyclopedias I used at school.

"…Why did we do that, Dr. Sato?" The still air in the room makes me ask it just to break the pall of silence that'd settled in so strongly.

"We know about Mr. Carlyle. His ability simply creates matter at the ends of his fingernails, seemingly from nothing. It comes at no cost to his body or his metabolism, and the extensions can be clipped away safely without any lasting damage. If he were so inclined, ol' Ben could burn fingernail clippings to power a generator and provide endless energy." "Wh--but, that doesn't make any sense-" "Name another please," He doesn't humor my objection, moving right along - parrying a point he's seen and heard many times before. I try to think, my brain still wracked with questions. "What about the hero of Hong Kong? Zu…Sh--Zhu Que, that's it!"

"Perfect. Now, let's talk about her. What superhuman abilities does she have?" I struggle to recall, exactly, so direct is this questioning. "Uhm…Flight-" "Rip out everything about propulsion in atmosphere." "In-indestructibility…" "Bone density, material composition, and distribution of force." "She could…make fire…?" "Just rip up that entire thermodynamics book." I could feel my face falling. The pages are ripped out of books, and gently set aside in the vain hope I could perhaps put them back in after this madness had passed.

Dr. Sato kept asking for names, and I kept ripping pages out of brand-new texts. It started as nervousness, and I'd ask if he was sure. I'd give examples and possible theories, and he'd state empirical, researched evidence that defied those theories. It soon became anger, and with building rage I began ripping the pages to shreds. This was ridiculous, how could so many people exist that simply defy the basic laws of physics?! Why do we even have physical laws if they were just going to be torn up and thrown away by 5% of the population of the planet?! I begged him, surely there must be some examples of metahuman abilities that worked within our understanding of the universe, at least one! But he'd just tell me to name another metahuman, and more words - days' worth of experimentation - were ripped from the spines of extensively researched data. I felt despondence setting in as I wondered if the degree on my wall would be next, since all peer-reviewed science appeared to be worth less than the paper they were printed on. Then it became a dull acceptance. 'Oh, right, Velocitazer runs faster than the speed of sound, but never experiences friction,' I think, and another page is torn.

When all was said and done, I was sitting before a mass of scientific confetti. Decades, centuries of human achievement and knowledge reduced to the pitiful shreds of academia, better used for papier-mâché. Is this what the world has come to in light of superhumans proliferating across nations - this senseless dirth of intellectualism, this rejection of the sciences? Was a world of metahumans and superheroes this devoid of the basic functions of reality?

"So that's where we're starting," Dr. Sato's voice lifts my head out of my hands and untwines my fingers from my hair. "From square one. But before you get too disheartened, remember that your knowledge of physical laws - as we once understood them - will be key to researching this new evidence and redefining the field of physics. Your name will be among the pioneers who came to understand the world we live in, and the first to put logic to these illogical conundrums. This is one of DARVO's most valuable duties, Dr. Musa. Welcome aboard."

"Dr. Sato!" I called, the last bit of my defiance of this new world screaming to say something, hands slamming on the table. "Has it always been this way?! H-how long have you been studying this?! How long have you worked here?!"

"…" He does not have to ponder his answer, but simply gazes to a wall with the distant look of someone who still vividly remembers those days. "About three years." "What?! When did…how old were you when you started?!" "…I started when I was your age," He speaks like an old man talking to his grandson, and walks to the door he'd used to come in. "See you at work on Monday."

[benora]

♡ ⸝⸝ 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄 , the callback.

auditions have rarely ever been something to fret over, trials and tribulations alike have prepared nora for moments like this tenfold. stood now before studio delta staff, appearance neat and head held high, nora is well aware that first impressions are everything. what she'll be showcasing, of course, would be what truly determines the final outcome, but the initial meeting sets the overall tone for everything.

she doubted a company as straight-laced and strict as this one was rumored to be wanted trainees who lacked in confidence, unable to stand before the masses without a shake to their voice and a sway in their stance. no, nora was sturdy, assured in a way that showed strength.

she was prepared for today, this event being a pleasant change in scenery ( and, perhaps, it'd end up providing her with a permanent departure from the life she currently lived— while generally happy with what she currently had, nora was always striving for more ). her current advances in schooling, alongside the job that'd played a part in polishing her for today's opportunity, were more so stepping stones than they were forever.

nora would not overlook any chance given her way, not when it was clear she was deserving to some extent.

so, as her panel of studio-appointed judges settle into their seats and gaze upon her with expectant eyes, nora begins with her introduction. "good morning everyone, my name is im nora." her voice is light but firm, projecting calmly from where she's stood with an easy smile. "my twenty-first birthday was back in june of this year, and i currently work as a part-time dance instructor when i'm not attending university classes as a full-time student. i'm anticipating graduating with a degree in fashion design next year."

"today, i'll be performing for you all a dance i choreographed myself." nora had spent an ample amount of time mapping everything out, the mood, the song choice itself, what sort of image she'd like to portray. happy with her final results, nora gives the go-ahead for her music to begin, smile widening for a moment as she rolls her shoulders gently. "please, enjoy."

for a moment, the room is silent. then, the music begins, soft and easy to flow to, a rhythm nora easily finds center within as she begins her routine ( ooc ; note that this isn't a one for one of her choreography, but a heavy inspiration for what her choreography is in terms of vibe and movement ). nora has always held a preference for choreography that showcases a freer, bouncier sense of swag, precision without strict rigidity, so she leans more into that today, wanting to show the best of herself. above all else, however, there's a sensuality to it nora finds pleasure in showcasing, soft lines bending into softer curves before speeding up, only to break back into relaxation. she's content, pleased with herself and the way she moves, lips never breaking from its coy grin, a subtle smirk, eyes engaging.

by the end, she's left panting lightly, echoes of what had been playing fading into the quiet as she gives herself a moment. fixing loose strands of hair as she moves closer to stand before the staff members once more, nora bows. "thank you for seeing me today. i hope to hear back from you soon."

[beeseo-portfolio]

This was my first board of my Level 3 NCEA Painting portfolio where I explored the creative process. My biggest artist models for my works were: Justin Bower, Elena Calavera and Meredith Marsone. My other inspirations, aside from artist models, were Blue Period (a show exploring the pain of art) and Physical 100 (a Korean game show gathering the strongest 100 athletes in Korea). Blue Period explores art as it follows characters who are all in their final year of high school working towards getting into art school, but having to embrace impostor syndrome, perfectionism, and the pain of the creative process. Physical 100's main highlight for me was when the eliminated competitors destroyed a clay replica of their busts with a hammer, basically destroying years of their hard work of polishing their body to their best caliber.

The first board was all about setting down the foundation and beginning to gather ideas to explore the creative process, as seen with the bottom series with me focusing in on my hands using different media.

This was my second board where I made more explorations with composition and texture. In this piece and this board, I explore how the artist, laying down and defeated by the art, is one with their artwork. I intentionally left the piece in an "unfinished" state to show the process rather than the outcome. As artists, it is tempting to be a perfectionist and keep adding more and more into the artwork. But there is a point where we have to step away and call it "finished" to break the cycle. The process of creation is pain and the pain of creation causes a spiral. People oftentimes see the finished product and often forget that there is an entire process of hours and hours of work put meticulously into a piece. The amount of scrapped chicken scratched thumbnails, the number of sketches thrown into the bin, the number of hours spent painting the meticulous details that nobody will notice, the feeling of inadequacy of our skills not being good enough but not being able to tear away from the process... each step is part of the creative process and the final outcome will reflect the process, no matter how arduous the journey was. The artist themselves are the artwork with the top half being the artist and the bottom half being an art gallery scene with installation pieces. I used impasto on the paintbrush, pencil and eraser to stop the art from being just 2D and actually come out into the real world, further merging the line between artwork and artist.

This was my final board of my Level 3 NCEA Painting portfolio. I ended my board with an art gallery scene to close off the boards and as a way for me to step away from the creative process and call this done, though there is more to explore as I, as a person, develop and grow more which impacts how I approach my creative process.

Overall, the creative process is never truly complete even if the artist does call it finished. There are always things that the artist can look back on in the future and see how an idea could have been pushed further, or how the technique could have been different, or how the artist might have approached it. Circles as a motif show the cycle of the process of creation as it is never ending, and it is up to the artist to decide when to step away, whether it'd be giving up right after the sketch or stepping away after being a perfectionist about the small after effects. The artist and the art are one and the same, and trying to separate them is a futile effort. The artist pours themselves into an artwork even if they do not realize it: their thinking process, their emotions, their worldview, their personality, all of themselves into art. As the artist creates, the artist becomes their art.

The last time I had really worked with traditional art, especially acrylic painting, was the Magnolia painting done earlier in the year. While painting Magnolia I was feeling lost about how I should even go about my life, compared to my Level 3 NCEA Painting portfolio where I had more agency over my life and felt less lost about myself. This is even more so when comparing my Level 1 NCEA Visual Art portfolio to my Level 3 NCEA Painting portfolio-- the agency I had over my life then was abysmal in comparison to my final year of high school.

My compositions, in comparison to my Level 1 NCEA Visual Art board, are less crowded and allow for more negative space to be present within the pieces. This shows my growth as I begin to feel less cramped in my environment and as I get to gain more agency over my life.

The paint I used was all acrylic and the digital pieces were done using Procreate.

Further explanation of my Level 3 Painting portfolio: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1LPknkO48RHGQvd7bh4nMZshIRVuZyt8a/view?usp=sharing

[veebs-hates-video-games]

I was expecting to talk about 13 Sentinels next because that's what I played next (short version: it's great), but I can't resist complaining about my quickly aborted attempt at playing Persona 5 Royal first. Finally something that lives up to this blog's name for a change after a string of games I really liked for the most part.

I was really excited about finally getting to play it after how many people have kept saying it's one of the best games of the past few years. Oh boy. Nope.

I have limited experience with MegaTen games, but it's mostly been in the slightly to very positive range. I played several hours of Persona 3 a while back and did genuinely like a bunch of stuff about it, and I probably would've even finished it if it'd had some more modern QoL features or the pacing were a bit quicker. It just felt like it was taking forever for the story to go anywhere, but I was enjoying it for the most part.

I also played a bit of Shin Megami Tensei 4 and was really surprised how compelling the first couple hours were when it was a tone/vibe I don't usually go for. Everything about it felt so incredibly deliberate in the way it established the world and premise and pacing. It felt unreasonably hard in an unfair way just in the starting area though, so I quit fairly quickly. It would've been fine if I felt like I had the information I needed to make proper decisions, but if it was available to me I sure never found any of it out.

And my favorite so far that I'm still pretending I'll go back to and finish one of these days has been Tokyo Mirage Sessions, which I apparently really like for most of the reasons a lot of people dislike it. The only reason I took an extended break from it was that some of the boss fights were starting to get increasingly annoying, and I have an aversion to using consumables, and that is not very compatible with this series from what I can tell.

Anyway I was hoping P5 would be a more modern and polished version of what I liked from those, and then it just really wasn't. Well, it started out really strong. The animated opening when I first turned the game on was great, and I spent like a minute or two just flipping back and forth between options on the main menu because the silhouette animations are great. The game even let me choose to deliberately fail almost immediately after starting a new game, which is something I've always appreciated at least since TTYD.

And then basically everything after that except for the music was disappointing.

The characters and early story just weren't really grabbing my interest, the voice acting was surprisingly meh compared to a lot of what I've been playing recently, the starting areas weren't very visually interesting (and look surprisingly bad on the Switch compared to the screenshots and videos I looked at before deciding it would be fine on there instead of my computer), and just running around the world interacting with stuff doesn't feel great.

Like I said on Discord after the first hour, "It feels kind of ridiculous to say with how many people have said it's one of the best games of the past few years, but so far it's probably my least favorite game I've played recently."

I gave it another hour after that and it's just not doing it for me. I'm surprised how bad moving around and interacting with the world feels in such a big and recent game, but if that were it I could get past that. It also just doesn't feel like a good use of my time in general.

I understand that the train station and school are probably deliberately confusing so you can feel like your character does in an unfamiliar location where he doesn't know where he's going or what he's doing, but stuff like that just makes the game not fun. It's just silly that not only does the game not mark anything about where I'm supposed to go on the map or give me useful information to find it myself, it also doesn't tell me which things in the environment I can interact with unless I manually rub against every object in the world like I'm marking my territory.

Oh, you want me to go to a specific room in the school, and it's on the second floor? Where on the second floor? Which wing of the building? Which of the two dozen random doors on the walls are rooms I can go into and which are just going to give me the exact same message about how the second floor has classrooms for second years but I should probably go to the place I already know I'm supposed to instead? Luckily for me I only had to check every single one of them by hand, and more than once because the first time I went past the correct door I was apparently like three pixels off and it didn't give me a prompt to interact with it.

And that's when I decided to just stop playing the game. If even the tutorial is making put up with that nonsense, I am not going to survive another hundred hours. Maybe there's a great game in there somewhere, but I'm not going to find out if you make my starting experience unpleasant and also don't do much to get me invested in pushing past that.

At this point I'm probably going to give TMS#FEE another shot at some point to see if I can get over the increasingly annoying boss fights because I'm more than halfway through it and otherwise having a good time, but beyond that I'm probably permanently done with MegaTen games. They are clearly just not my thing.

[markdelonge]

Dating Travis Barker....

(not my gif!) what i think dating trav is like :)))) (pop punk/rock singers pov btw)

matching tats!!

we all know travis has a list of tattoos. theres a very high chance the two of you have gotten one (or more) together / if you're not into tats he's prolly gotten a tat dedicated to you.

he's tried to teach you how to play the drums

this didn't work out. you thought it'd be easy but you aren't as coordinated as he is.

going vegan with him

this vegan thing went on for at least two months until you practically had a mental breakdown from it and ate half a tub of ice cream

helping him get over his fear of heights / calming him down

the first time travis got on a plane after the incident was really nerve racking for him, he got really worked up and even almost started crying. you went through some breathing exercises with him and made sure to let him know that it'd be alright and that you were gonna be with him the whole way.

forehead kisses !!!!!!!!

forehead kisses from the both of you. mostly him tho. his way of saying he loves you without actually saying it.

his kids love you

they adore you!! they are happy that you make him happy and they think the two of you are perfect together :)

late nights / early mornings at the studio

the both of you are constantly working on music so you try to spend the most time together, usually that time is spent at the studio

he lets you wear his chains

his chains are really cool. he had offered you wear one with your outfit because he had thought it went with it and now its a thing he lets you do.

most likely make an album together

trav out here making albums wit everyone, of course he's gonna make one with his girl

lock screens of each other

he has you as his and you have him. its corny but sweet yk?

wearing his sunglasses

he always has sunglasses on, so when he doesn't (or he thinks he's lost them) you have them

lots of "i love you"s

y'all could be watching a movie in complete silence and outta nowhere one of you would say "i love you"

holding his hand while he's getting the tattoo

travis has lots tats. i don't think getting one hurts him at all but you still like to hold his hand. he thinks its cute that you want to comfort him.

writing songs with him

probably sitting on his lap at the studio or sitting on the floor across from each other pitching ideas.

the coolest couple in punk rock scene

pretty self explanatory, (almost)every punk rock fan wants a relationship like the two of you have.

you've tried to get him to wear the lip ring on multiple occasions

you've had a crush on him since he had the lip ring. you completely love the way he looks now but every now n then you ask about it.

you painting his nails

him painting your nails

just a lil thing the two of you will do to pass time. he'd get "mad" when you'd accidentally smudge the nail polish because you couldn't sit still long enough 😭

hand kisses 😩

the first time he met you he had thought you were beyond beautiful and tried to shoot his shot by kissing your hand all gentleman like. you had secretly freaked out because travis fkn barker was not only in front of you but had also kissed your hand.

matching outfits

not wearing the exact same thing but the color scheme of the outfits would be very similar

ig stories / posts of random pictures / vids of the two of you hanging out

things like lil funny things the two of you do and catch on camera / trying out snapchat filters / actual selfies / reaction memes you find of each other on twitter / literally anything that has to do with the two of you.

makeouts get heated reeaall quick

travis is not scared to makeout with you in public. he sometimes could go a lil too far and slip his hand under your shirt or he'd pin you to the closest wall, becoming more dominant over the kiss.

he's possessive

he will tell everyone and everything that you're his.

and can get jealous quick

he's not the type to make a huge scene when someone's tryna flirt with you. he'd just pull you away from the person and make sure you stay away from them but if someone were to touch you without your consent / make a move on you. he'd probably lose his shit and beat the fuck outta the guy.

he's protective too.

when out in public, he'd keep you extra close/have you in his sight at all times. if you're out by yourself he would want to know where you were going / who you'd be with. he's not overprotective but he's protective.

inner thigh kisses

sometimes he'd lay in between your legs and rest his head on your thighs and leave sloppy kissses there. sometimes it would lead something sexual, sometimes it wouldn't. it depends.

the two of you argue about literally nothing

"Y/N DID YOU LEAVE THE KITCHEN LIGHT ON LAST NIGHT OR DID YOU NOT"

"NO I DID NOT"

"THEN WHO THE FUCK DID"

"WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME?"

him trying to get you to be more healthy

mentally and physically, he tries to get you to be more good to yourself. like get you on a better sleeping schedule, on a better diet so you aren't surviving off of two cups of coffee and a bag of chips everyday. he wants to let you know that he cares :)

hes the big spoon

sometimes he is, sometimes he's not, it depends on the day

humor only the two of you understand

inside jokes / corny dad jokes / shit that no one else finds funny yk

thats it

thats all i got :)

lil a/n: this is my first time writing for literally anyone so plz don't hate me 😭😭 k bye :)