#it's still 'under construction' but eh

[lundenloves]

“ 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐍𝐘’𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 ” ¹

≔ simon refuses to come to terms with soap’s death and it eats at him. his grief follows him into the house and you’re growing tired of it, ultimately resulting in a fuck off argument.

⤷ i had fun with this and though it’s unedited and likely mid, the general idea of simon being unable to grieve is something my brain really believes in.

∷ no warnings, primarily angst and arguments | 1.3k

masterlist | dad!simon masterlist | taglist | request info

If this was a cinematic, cameras would’ve been thrown around the house. In every corner, every false window and crevice, complete with one or two camera men on the move — walking through the set with purposeful footstep recoil to immerse the audience. 

The others would be crouched to catch shots of power, hands dropped to sides and balled fists. It would all come together so nicely, the false stairs that led to nothing and the kids that sat by the top, huddled together as if it was a cold night and not a shouting match. Except it wasn’t a cold night, and this wasn’t a show. 

There was no flashy equipment with dozens of foot traffic and the industrial sized lights didn’t exist. Neither did the hangar a home scene was to be constructed under. There weren't trailers filled with makeup artists and hair stylists because everything has to be just right. No. This was reality. 

This was late nights, eyebags and fatigue induced arguments. This was baby cries and projectile sick, a sequence of unfairness. One child sleeps, one comes alive and two in the morning hadn’t ever seemed so restless. Simon would’ve given his life for this all to be a show that night. Something he didn’t have to live. To face. 

You recklessly followed him through the house, the wood creaked under each step and hands ran through his hair to join at the back of his head. “This is your fucking issue. You just—“ You waved your hands, coming to a halt opposite him in the kitchen. His hands fumbled the drawers for a lighter. “You store everything away until it bursts in your head and I get the brunt of it.” 

He laughed at that, shoulders briefly rising in amusement before sticking a cigarette to his lip. “That right is it?” A mumble for the way he stilled to light it, head tilted with the action. 

“I’m not fucking doing it anymore.”

His brows creased at that, sliding the lighter back onto the counter with eyes locked onto yours in a certain deadness. The ember burned with his inhale, chin tilted upward to exhale the smoke by the now open door.

Your chest heaved in frustration. “You never talk to me about things. I'm your wife. Your fucking wife.” Your words landed on deaf ears for his chuckle, lazily shifting to tip his cigarette before rubbing at his upper lip. “Talk to me. This isn’t a threat, or an interrogation or fucking anything to do with your job.” You closed a step. “Learn to seperate your work from your home, fucking hell.” 

The cigarette was slowly ditched, left on its ashtray to create a trail of upward smoke and Simon took a step closer. Physical space between you now limited for his frame and right then came a quiet, “If it was that easy, do you think I'd be like this? Hm?” His tone hardened, body shifting ever so closer to raise his voice in your ear. “Eh?” 

There was a pause for him to linger above you. The smell of his cigarette still clung to the air and you pulled your face up at his immediate presence. “He’s fucking Dead!” The roar was one that pushed a physical reaction from you, a step backward and a scowl. By now, the cameras would have taken a solo shot on his mannerisms. The way his fingernails dug into palms, resting in their familiar dents of anger. “He’s dead.” And a second camera would’ve caught his falter after a voice break, shaking his head in out of body denial. 

“And what. Eh?” He took his own step back to reach for the cigarette. “What the fuck do you want me to do about it?”

You shook your head, no doubt accompanied by a reluctant tear for the mention. “You know what?” A laughless chuckle came, puffing out your lips in exasperation before eyes had fixed back onto the man before you. And for a second, a brief second, he looked panicked. Frightened almost. As if his whole world had come crashing down and he had only just noticed in a matter of seconds. 

“Fuck you.” You point to his chest, a finger pressed against the hard muscle twice in punctuation. “For all I care you could’ve joined him.” 

Simon laughed, clapping his hands in aggressive amusement. “Oh that’s good.” His voice would raise just a notch though plastered with a defensive smile, landing his palms back onto the counter to watch you grab keys from the unit. His shoulders sunk inward, shaking his head once you had reached the hall. “Would’ve been better if it was me, eh!”

His voice echoed off the walls, and the creak of the top step was something you selfishly couldn’t deal with. Your kids wouldn’t easily forgive you for leaving that night, though in your defense it was all a blur. Simon leant forward on the counter, just enough to see you angrily fumble with your shoes. “Because I was fucking thinking it too.” 

Though the shoes were picked up in an instant, and the stomps of your feet hit the hardwood flooring abruptly. In mere seconds you found yourself in front of him. “You don’t get to be like this.” A finger prodded to his chest once again, your step forward forcing his reluctant step backward. “You don’t fucking get to say that.” 

He stared, slow blinks defeating any hint of outward care for your words. Words that were clawing at your insides, turning a nausea in your stomach. “Do you know just how much bullshit you’ve put me through?” Your hand raised to your height, gesturing the scale of his intolerability. “Do you even know the half of it?” 

Simon wasn’t lost for words, though he let you have your moment. The welling of tears in your eyes was somewhat betraying the fire your tone wanted to hold. Fingernails continued digging into his palms, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if blood was drawn hadn’t it been for bitten nails. 

“Do you even know how many times i’ve cried? How many times—  because you’re so fucking,” Your hands waved in attempts to find the right word. “Unclear! You’re so, so,” A laugh escaped you, “So self-centered.” 

Simon broke then, standing up straight from his previous lean and ridding the cigarette he had picked up once more, brows raised while tipping it. “I��m self centered?” A chuckle. “Fuck off.”

Though you’re already backing down the hall, shaking your head with a grin. “Hah,” Hands dropped to your sides. “You’re unbelievable.” Tone dull, the lack of shock condoning a tinge of pain in Simon’s chest. 

The door slammed and he laughed. He laughed in deflection and knowing that he would sleep bad that night, that the cameras would now be shakily walking backward from the door and his laugh would echo. The slam seemed to shift the whole house and little feet were heard scurrying back into rooms, their doors clicking shut with upmost quiet effort. 

“Text me when you’ve grown up, yeah?” Were your last bitten words, leaning on the bannister to slide old shoes on and Simon lit up another cigarette. 

Silence hadn’t ever seemed so loud. His ears rang and his head spun for your exit, a symbolic line in your marriage for thus far you had never left.

Your patience was finally running out.

“Let me feel something, mate.” Came a mumble to no one in particular, though it was meant for Johnny. An arm crossed to his chest with the opposing elbow leant on the crease, cigarette ash blowing across the kitchen floor for his lack of care. 

The cameras would cut and you wouldn't really be gone.

Neither would Johnny.

≔ idk man, i just write and then dance and dance and write. my tags didn’t work so pls help signal boost this or i’ll spiral due to lack of engagement 🫵🏼

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @iluvoaldmen @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @st4rluvrz @spencerreidisbae123 @paperbag-prncss @cookiecutta @sluttyforsimon @loveangelic @st4rluvrz

[mochiimadness]

hi 👋🏽 can I please request some hcs for Leo & Donnie (individually) with an S/O who’s a sea monster (like from the movie Luca)??

Sorry for the long wait! Hope you enjoy ^^

I love sea monster characters sm

Rise! Leo and Donnie (separately!) with a sea monster S/O!

Neon Leon

Leo thinks your sea monster form is amazing!

Especially if you have hair

You're telling him not only can you have wonderful locks-

It also turns into frills/scales?!

He will always stare in awe during your transformations

Or as he says

"Trans-mer-ations- eh, eh??? Get it? Like a mer-"

We get it, Leo.

Makes a ton of sea related puns

"Huh, something seems fishy here, and I don't mean you, S/O." *Wink*

If you like the puns, good for you! He'll make a ton!

If you don't, he legally cannot stop in accordance to the laws of the universe, sorry.

Just kidding!

He will stop if the jokes make you uncomfortable, don't worry ^^

He's also amazed at just how much faster you are in the water

Your tail looks beautiful but it packs a punch!

Leo leaps back when you slam your tail into an incoming angry yokai

They go flying

Literally gets sent past multiple buildings

And you??

You just turn back around with a smile like it was nothing

"How- you just- Woah!"

You've rendered him speechless, congrats!

He's thoroughly impressed.

Although he doesn't absolutely love the water,

He still enjoys it!

He likes to go swimming with you

And since he's a turtle, he can stay underwater with you for quite a while!

While underwater, he loves to do the red eared slider flutter motion

This means he'll gently tap his hands to the sides of your face

It's his way of saying he loves and appreciates you!

You two will also have mini competitions to see who could do the most tricks in the water

You usually win these,

Using your tail to help propel yourself into high flips

Kind of like a dolphin!

Leo still puts up a good fight though!

You both have a whale of a time

Don Tron

When Donnie first met you he double- no, triple checked his scanners because he couldn't believe his eyes

You're an actual sea monster!?

This is a scientific breakthrough!

He's absolutely fascinated with you

With you permission,

He takes down notes and runs tests on you

"How do your scales disappear? Are they still there but just a different color?? Where does your tail go????"

While you may not have all the answers, you still do your best to help ^^

He genuinely thinks your sea monster form is cool!

He's not that surprised at your strength

But he still finds it amazing

You just tipped over an entire boat like it was nothing!

"That deserves at least 80 cool points."

He actually has a tally of how many cool/scary/rad points everyone has

As a soft shelled turtle,

He feels at home in the water

Absolutely loves to go swimming with you

It's one of his favorite past times!

While he may not have a strong tail like you,

He's actually able to keep up decently well with you!

You both often have races and set up under water obstacle courses

You two compete so often, it's actually become a sort of challenge in the lair

The fam will place bets on who will win this time

Donnie does construct some water proof tech to help out,

And in return you get to pull out all the stops and swim without needing to hold back

"Loser has to buy pizza for a month!"

"Oh you're on!"

Hello! I hope you enjoyed. Sorry for the super long wait!

[the-real-treasure]

Wish Wish! One Shot #1

A Picture Says A Thousand Words.

Main Masterlist: Here

Drabble Masterlist: Here

Read on AO3: Here

Zeff discovers something about one of the kids that he had been stranded with after they all get off the rock.

(One-shot #1) [Baratie Age 8] Zeff's POV Trigger Warnings: Mention of starvation, residual trauma from starvation, issues with eating, possible eating disorder Word Count: 1493

"What letter is that?"

Zeff looked up from the delivery slip that had just landed in front of him. The Baratie was still under construction and bills were coming in left right and centre for every little thing. He didn't much care, the gold he had kept, the sack of treasure that he had feigned as food, was more than enough to pay for all of it, as well as get those kids some new clothes that actually fit and shit while things were still being worked on. They had all lost a lot of weight over those eighty-five days, and while he and the little eggplant were slowly but surely returning to a healthy standard, he worried a lot about the other one.

The vicious freak of a thing was little more than a slip of flesh, any and all clothes hanging loose and limp over bone and sinew that he couldn't get coated in fat no matter what he feed them. Even now, a bit under a month off the rock, they still refused to eat until both he and Sanji had started their plates. They were like a feral kitten, screaming and yowling and scratching those first few days on board the ship that rescued them, stalking the little blonde boy and almost force feeding him if he did so much as offer them a crumb of bread before he began, their ringed eyes of gold and aqua swirling with unrestrained panic every time.

He breathed out a sigh. There wasn't much to be done about that but keep up the food. One of these days the kid would realise the rest of them wouldn't die if they took a bite whenever they were hungry. Instead of continuing to worry, he instead stood up from the desk and peeked his head around the corner.

Where he had set up camp in the still to be fully fitted kitchen, the two kids had made themselves at home in what will be the dining hall, in the shadow of the twin staircases that hug the opposite wall and curve with it. He could see them squatting next to the new sign, the light filled letters dull for now until they get hung outside. They really weren't meant to have arrived for another month or two, but the guys knew Zeff by name and hurried the job along to get themselves away from the, still notorious, pirate. Y/n was staring at the first one in extreme consternation.

"...B...?"

"Yeah, told you you'd get it!" Sanji gave their joined hands a shake, pointing to the second one that was propped up against the wall, the large capital 'R' wrapped in plastic but the shape still visible. "Next one!"

"What are you two doing ever there?" He watched as the two of you leapt away from each other like you were being burnt, your h/c haired figure, long messy mop pulled into a ponytail that fell down their back before looping back up to be held in place by the same tie, spinning on him with a glare as you leaped between him and Sanji, the little eggplant snarling at him as well.

"Mind your own business, you nasty old pile of fish food!" The wee boy shouted from behind you, and he squinted down at the pair of you, hobble extra pronounced due to his still new peg leg as he walked out to meet yous.

"Little eggplant, honestly, just swear like a normal person."

"Least I don't use so much oregano I could kill a person." He snarked and Zeff presses his eyes and mouth closed and blows a sigh out his nose. He is a scared little boy trying to act brave, not a disrespectful crewmember. He doesn't need hit. Opening his eyes again, he finds your eyes burning into his skull, searching his eyes for an intention to harm. You wouldn't find it.

"I'm gonna ask again." You drop your eyes away from his, "What are you doing out here?"

"I said, mind-!"

"-Practicing."

"Eh?" Their eyes dart from his feet to theirs, scuffing the toe of their shiny new boots on the tiles floor.

"I was... practicing my letters." His eyes flick over to Sanji, the boy already glaring heatedly at him, hand clasped in theirs squeezing so tightly that their claw like nails dug into his skin.

"You haven't been able to read this whole time." Their shoulders scrunched up to their ears, head ducked down further and Sanji pulled them into him. "Fffffff-" The kid doesn't swear, Zeff, let's keep it like that. "-Fflip sake, could'a told me. Would've got you books or something." Your eyes snap up to him, and even Sanji glare fades to confusion.

"...What?" He rests his curled fists on his waist as he looked down at the pair.

"You think I would want you running about taking orders and counting stock not knowing how to read or spell? Thought you were smarter than this, come on." He turns back to the kitchen, not knowing if you would both follow, but there was no use standing and letting you struggle, just the pair of you.

"To do what?" He can hear your boots on the tile behind him and can picture you dragging a stumbling Sanji behind you.

"To learn, you little donkey. I don't have any books but I have notes and stock lists so we can start with actual words instead of fumbling with random letters."

He pushes open the doors to the kitchen and lets the pair of you pass, hands still grasping each other, with you leading the boy into the kitchen, the few counters already installed littered with papers.

"Come over here, you can show me what you can make out so far. That'll let me know what we're working with."

"What about me?" The blonde boy chirped up beside you, still not parting your intwined hands.

"Either help, or stay out of the way. It's not hard little eggplant." As you pulled a small stool up to the counter to sit alongside his chair, Sanji inserted himself between them, inspecting the papers. Zeff tugged off his overcoat, draping it over the arm as he settled into the chair and handed you a small order slip over Sanji's head. "Start with that, read it out loud and we'll go from there. I'll see about getting a couple of books ordered for yous to practise with properly. These'll have to work for now."

Your voice, which had spent the evening stuttering and stumbling over the names of different companies and construction costs, had fallen silent. Zeff was finishing up filling a few more receipts in the dying light cascading through the kitchen when he looked over to the pair of you.

Sanji's head was flat on the table, his grey-blue eyes, normally covered by the long floppy fringe, were shut and he could make out the curl on his other eyebrow with the slant of the hair. His bones and new wooden peg leg creaked as he stood, stiff from sitting for so long. Pulling the fabric at his arm up with him, he opened it and settled the warm fabric over his charge's shoulders before his eyes met yours, aqua and gold light illuminating the scene as you peered at him. In the growing darkness that crept its fingers up the walls of the room, the sight in front of him was spooky.

It reminded him of being on that rock, the light from your eyes piercing the cloying darkness at him over the ridge of rock separating you all. Now, instead of a barren expanse of rock creating distance between your eyes and his, the only thing that stood between you was a sleeping boy that had hollowed a space out of Zeff's heart for himself and completely encompassed yours.

"He knew I was embarrassed." Your voice was a whisper, not wanting to break the quiet that had fallen over the room. "The ones on the Orbit made fun of me for not reading. I can count fine, but letters and words are... hard."

"I get that." His voice is as hushed as yours, "We'll work on it. The three of us, we look after each other from now on, yeah?"

"Until we go to find the All Blue?" A smile quirked Zeff's face at your misty glowing eyes and whispers of the shared dream.

"Nah. I'll still be keeping an eye on yous even when you head out." He reached over you and ruffled your carefully tied up hair and you whacked his hand with more ferocity than he expected. "For now we'll just worry about getting your reading up to scratch." He smiled as your nose rolled up, and you followed him as he lifted Sanji into his arms and moved towards the stairs to your little loft rooms.

"You can work on chasing dreams later."

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by @thesingularityseries and @chadillacboseman thank you beloveds <3

[COD taglist opt in/out]

got a bit from chapter 7 of Evening of Score (I have been floundering with this chapter so bad) anyway, here's a bit of proof that I can still write my ship as not being complete assholes towards one another despite that seemingly being the go-to with upcoming chapters in the MW canon fic (I blame that wholly on Capt. Manipulate, however):

Standing outside the door to the medical wing, Price lingered, his broad shoulders blockading the doorway as he observed the staff attend to Farah and Alex. Preliminary tests already completed, medics looked at the patients, checking for any secondary effects of the gas they had been exposed to. He stood there brow furrowed, lips pursed in a scowl, his mustache curling around his mouth as he concentrated.

Rory’s footsteps were near silent as she sauntered up to him, an attempt at catching him off guard, knowing it likely wouldn’t work. Even in moments of calm, veteran soldiers like the two of them couldn’t shut off the awareness, constantly attuned to each little sound and movement. Reading a room, sensing the fluctuations in the air with almost preternatural skill. “Make a better door than a window, you know.” Her smile was anything but professional as she looked up at him, a shoulder pressed to the wall by the door, taking his attention off the goings on in the room. His steely gaze drifted towards her from under a creased and heavy brow. “What're you doin’ ‘ere, Sinclair?”

Glancing in through the door below the bulk of his arm muscle, she brought her attention back to address him. “Spent so much time looking at aerial surveillance footage I started going cross-eyed.” She scratched at the side of her nose and shrugged. “Kate ordered me to take a break.”

“Jesus, you don't quit, do you?”

“You don't either,” she retorted, a smile creeping along her lips. 

Price's carefully constructed scowl of indifference visibly faltered under the assault of her smile – cheeky as always, little dimples carved under the apples – it was leagues apart from his own gruff, taciturn nature and for a split second, she caught his eyes softening before he quickly recovered, the impassive mask taking its rightful place once more, lips tight. “So what brought you down ‘ere then? Garrick tell you where I was?”

“No,” she shook her head defiantly, “Don’t need to ask the Sergeant where you’ll be, I know you well enough that I don’t have to ask around.” Her eyes flickered over him for a moment, as if she were skimming over a page from the book she had learned to read him as. “You have a bit of the ol’ mother hen about you, medical was the first place I thought to check for you after your meeting with Kate. I knew you’d be concerned with the state of these two,” she said, tipping her head in the direction of the medical room.

“Mother hen, eh?” Price’s brow lifted as he glanced back at her once more. “It’s quite charming in its own way, really.” Her impish smirk slid across her lips. “Endearing, even. Shows you care. Especially for a gruff bastard like you,” she teased, the sarcastic bite to her words more than evident. He chuffed out a quick hint of a laugh. “Had a fair bit of practice in it havin’ to look after you these last few years, my girl.”

An involuntary flinch rocked her. He wasn’t wrong. This man had seen her at her very worst, woken up in the night by her choked with fear, wracked by the images that flooded her of that bunker in Syria. Even the taste of revenge she’d been given had done little to wipe the lasting effects of that mission from her mind. The memories of the screaming and the crying forever etched indelibly into the folds of her brain. Leaving him to have to remind her it wasn’t happening anymore, just a memory. Wrapped up in his arms, wiping the tears and the sweat from her shivering form and then staying up with her the rest of the night.

Humming, she crossed her arms to mirror his stance – a social cue, and certainly not one of a defensive nature. “Suppose that may be true. Glad I got to be the guinea pig for testing your bedside manner on then,” she mocked, self-deprecatingly. 

There was a moment of silence between them, that comfortable spot where little had to be said, merely indulging in the company – something that had become rather commonplace when they were trapped on a base together, having to keep schtum about their personal relationship. 

“How are they,” she asked, changing the subject. Her voice low, slipping back into that of the loyal soldier and not the partner. “Given masks in time, luckily. Suffered a lot less than they could have.” She nodded and chewed on her lower lip. “So they’ll be wanting to hunt down Hadir then?” “Wouldn’t you?”

Contemplating the question momentarily, she transferred her weight between her feet. “Can’t imagine what must be going through Farah’s head right now.” Shaking her head, her brows knit together with concern. “Betrayed by her own brother like that. Using the gas… what was he thinking?”

“Revenge mostly.”

“Thinking with the heart not the head.”

He tilted his head to the side as if he were debating something with himself. “Can’t entirely blame him though. Did what he thought was needed.”

With a lift of her brow, she gave him a sideways glance. “Willing to do whatever it takes.”

Mouth shifting, his lips pursed slightly as if the words he were about to speak tasted bitter on his tongue. “Understandable in its own way.” Rory grimaced, knowing she had thought the very same thing earlier. Price really was rubbing off on her more than she had thought. “Getting his own people caught in the crossfire though…” Price grunted in response, that low growl from deep in his throat. 

Acceptable losses. The military term blared in the forefront of her mind like a siren. She knew he wouldn’t say it, but he was absolutely thinking it, just as she was. But where did that number begin and end in a war like this, and especially when chemical weapons were part of the equation? 

tagging: @imagoddamnonionmason @alypink @writeforfandoms @harmonyowl @g0dspeeed

@simplegenius042 @voidika @strangefable @kyberinfinitygems @rc-dragons

@direwombat @la-grosse-patate @josephseedismyfather @statichvm @clicheantagonist

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@justasmolbard @finding-comfort-in-rain @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @imogenkol

@theelderhazelnut @confidentandgood

[sergeantsporks]

Dadrius Week 2024 Day 6: Tag-Team

Darius took a deep breath, summoned his magic, and moved, pulling Hunter down into a puddle of abomination with him.

They resurfaced on the other side of the bars. Not as far as Darius would have liked, but better than the cells. Hunter stumbled and nearly fell, but caught himself, clinging tightly to Darius’ hand.

“Are you alright?”

Hunter nodded. He still panted for air, but he stayed upright, his hand tightly in Darius’.

“I don’t want to risk another teleport until we have a better idea where we are. We will need to send someone back here for the palistrom tree, and if I don’t know where it is they’ve taken us, they’ll just drag me back whenever with no hope of rescue. For now… on foot.”

Hunter nodded, and although Darius walked slowly, he still lagged behind, tugged forward by his grip on Darius.

Click

Darius’ foot sank down half an inch, and movement blurred the corner of his eye. Instinctively, his body shifted, his hand reaching up with the strength of his magic to stop a swinging blade in its path. He grunted as the force shoved him sideways, but the trap couldn’t hold up, and the blade stopped.

“Trapped. Got it.”

Darius threw out his arm before Hunter could step on another raised brick. “Careful.”

Hunter nodded, and stepped over it. Darius scanned the hallway, noting every irregularity, every crack in the pavement, every raised stone. He mapped out a path, and took the first step.

Hunter yanked on his arm, dragging him down just as spikes glowing with construction magic shot over his head.

“Wire,” Hunter explained, pointing up.

A silvery wire sat just above Hunter’s head height—Darius’ chest height. That one had been designed for him.

“Ah. Thank you.” Darius stood. “Well. I can think of one faster way to do this. But I’ll need your help.”

Hunter took his hand again, nodding. “Do it.”

Darius sent a wave of abomination out ahead of him, a floor-to-ceiling block that brushed every wall, triggering every single trap. Darius ran, tugging Hunter behind him and letting the abomination wave catch missiles and gum up the workings of the blades before any of the traps could reset.

“Hah…” Darius panted, doubled over. “There we are. We make a good team, eh?”

Hunter smiled palely at him, but didn’t respond, wobbling on his feet.

“Are you doing alright? Do you need me to stop using magic?”

Hunter shook his head, pressing against Darius’ side. “No… I can… keep going.”

Darius slid one arm around him, supporting him. “Just tell me if—”

“Hey!”

Darius’ head whipped around, startled and angry at the interruption, an emotion that quickly turned to surprise. Was that…a titan? They shared the same skull as King. But a very witchlike hand reached out of their robe, and they’d already started a spell circle. Darius threw up a shield, catching their magic in a bubble. He sent a wave of abomination magic towards the witch, and to his surprise, Hunter pulled his hand away, leaping into the trail left behind the abomination magic and using it to slide towards the witch. The wave petered out just as it hit the titan trapper, splashing against them harmlessly, but covered Hunter’s approach. He slid precisely into their legs, toppling them immediately.

Darius took Hunter’s lead, using the trail to slide forward. He leapt over Hunter, landing squarely on top of the witch’s stomach and knocking all the air out of them before they could recover from Hunter’s attack. One good stomp on their face, and they dropped immediately.

Darius turned to Hunter with a triumphant grin. “Very clever, I’ll have to remember…”

Hunter stared glassy-eyed at the ceiling, his chest heaving, like every breath took more energy than it could replace. Darius knelt next to him, sliding one arm under Hunter’s knees and the other behind his back.

“How long?” he asked. A cocktail of anger and guilt cascaded through him. He should have guessed Hunter would push himself past his limits—he should have stopped him earlier.

“I’m… fine…” Hunter slumped against him, his eyes already closing, “Don’t… stop…”

“Little prince, getting out of here means nothing if I kill you in the process.” Darius looked right and left. Which way to…

A glint of yellow caught his eye, and he pushed open another door. A massive glittering yellow diamond sat suspended in the air, the stolen palistrom tree potted in the corner. Looking at the diamond… something about it seemed to click quietly in Darius’ mind, like it was the missing piece in the gears that made him work. At the same time, being near it made his sigil itch like dozens of fire ants were snapping at it.

That’s where my magic went, he realized, then glanced down at Hunter. Both our magic. That trapper hadn’t been guarding the cells—they’d been guarding this. And, if he had to bet, it was a backup for whatever puppet-mind-control spell had been put on him. If he had his magic, he could shatter the stone easily, but… he glanced down at Hunter. Another big spell might kill him. Even if Darius was right, and destroying this gem would return their magic to them, Hunter might not make it that long. No, he’d have to destroy it without magic.

Somehow.

Xxx

Hunter blinked blearily up at Darius, bathed in the yellow glow of the giant gemstone. The one he’d crushed had been a sliver of this, he was sure of it. If Darius broke it…

But Darius didn’t shift into his abomination form, didn’t turn his hand into a massive hammer or blade to wreck fiery vengeance on the gem.

Because of me, he thought in horror, because he’s worried it’ll be too much.

Darius took a determined step forward, eying the gem with a dangerous glint in his eye.

Click

The sound seemed to echo through the chamber, and the ceiling rumbled above them.

It’s going to fall, Hunter thought dizzily, It’s going to come down.

He braced himself, waiting for the drain on his energy he knew was coming, waiting for Darius to use his magic to warp them out, to break the rocks, to do something that would save them both.

Xxx

Click.

Darius heard the rumble, followed the crack in the ceiling. If he took his foot off the trap, it would fall immediately. He knew that. But based on that fault, it was coming down anyway. A rock tumbled down, hitting him on the shoulder.

Do or die.

Darius hefted Hunter in his arms. Braced himself.

And threw Hunter away as the ceiling came crashing down.

Xxx

Hunter tumbled across the ground, bewildered, while the roar of falling stone drowned out any sound he or Darius could have made. Hunter winced, a cry escaping his throat as he rolled onto his wounded arm. Amy the healer would not like this.

He propped himself up, hoping beyond hope that Darius was alright. That when he’d thrown Hunter, he’d launched himself backwards, out of the range of the falling stones.

A single hand poked out of the rubble, immediately wiping away that hope in a flood of despair. Hunter dragged himself forward, clearing away rocks from Darius’ body the best he could. “Why’d you do that?” he demanded, “You could have teleported—you could have saved both of us!”

Darius stared at him with dazed, bruised eyes. His free hand twitched, like he was trying to ruffle Hunter’s hair, but didn’t move.

“It only would have saved… one of us anyway.” The ghost of a smile flickered across Darius’ face. “And I’d rather… save you.”

A half-laugh, half-sob tore out of Hunter’s throat. “I can’t get out of here on my own. Now we’re just both useless!”

“They could have just… taken me over. This was… the safest option.” Another dreamy half smile drifted over Darius. “You look… better. You can…”

He lost focus halfway through his sentence, staring at the gem over Hunter’s shoulder.

Come to think of it, Hunter had barely been able to open his eyes moments ago. Now he… well, he didn’t feel like he could run out of here any time soon, but he’d been able to move to Darius, and had even cleared some rocks away.

Hunter followed Darius’ eyes to the gem. The collapse had knocked it out of its midair suspension, and a massive crack ran up the side. He slowly pushed himself to his feet, swaying. It must be leaking some of his energy back.

Hunter limped towards the gem, picking up a massive chunk of stone from the wreckage. His arm trembled as he held it up, but he brought it down swift and sure, slamming it against the surface of the gem. The gem sent a wave of energy humming up from the point of contact, and Hunter dropped the rock in shock, shuddering. But the moment passed, and he picked the rock up again, hitting the gem as hard as he could. Another wave of energy. But this time Hunter kept ahold of the rock.

Crack.

Little by little, Hunter could feel life returning to him, and he wondered if Darius felt the same.

Crack.

Hunter’s sigil stopped itching so badly, a vague bother lost in the back of his mind

Crack.

“STOP!”

The titan trapper who’d laughed at them from the cells watched with wide, angry eyes from the doorway. Hunter slammed the rock down on the gem again.

Crack.

On the ground, Darius’ eyes shifted to a blank yellow, and his hands twitched. If he turned into his abomination form, he could get out of that rubble easily—and he did, slithering menacingly towards Hunter.

Crack.

In the same moment Hunter hit the gem, Darius’ eyes flickered, and he snarled, throwing himself across the room at the titan hunter before his power faded completely.

Crack.

Darius slammed into the witch hunter in a messy, ungraceful pile of limbs, the clarity of his abomination form turning into the pained daze of his broken witch body.

Crack.

A hand closed around Hunter’s injured arm, yanking him back from the gem. The titan trapper had given up on controlling Darius like this, and threw Hunter to the ground. His arm exploded in a fiery wave of pain tearing up his spine.

“Stay away from that,” the titan trapper snarled, his chest heaving, “I’ll kill you, grimwalker. Your power isn’t worth that much.”

Hunter’s fingers closed around the stone one more time. His knuckles bled from hitting the gem, but he wasn’t done. Not even close.

Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was breaking the gem. But Hunter could feel his magic, as surely as if Flapjack were right there with him, and he pulled it to him effortlessly.

Hunter teleported, all the way up to the ceiling, taking massive chunks of the ceiling with him. They fell, Hunter twisting in the air so that he could drive the stone in his hand into the surface of the gem with all his weight.

Crack

The energy from the stone threw Hunter and the titan trapper in opposite directions with a roar, crackling across Hunter’s body like electricity. He braced himself for impact, but instead of hitting the wall, a wave of abomination rose up from the ground, catching him and rolling him gently to the floor. Across the room, Darius dropped to the ground, exhausted. Hunter lay in a puddle of abomination, staring at what was left of the ceiling. His magic had returned—he could feel it humming in his chest like an old friend. But as for regular energy? He didn’t think he could move for another week.

“You.” The titan trapper stumbled towards him, face blasted with soot and bruises from the explosion. His finger traced a horribly familiar spell, a double circle of blue light whose only purpose was to kill. Hunter’s mind screamed at him to run, to roll away, to do something, because Darius was out of miracle saves, but his body wouldn’t move.

“I’m… going… to…”

Whoosh

A flurry of feathers plummeted through the hole in the ceiling, landing on the titan trapper and knocking him flat to the ground. Eda waved one wing at Hunter. “Hey. Having all the fun without us?”

The titan trapper on the ground groaned. “We… will…”

Eda picked him up. “No,” she said cheerfully, but her eyes burned an angry gold, “You won’t.”

She hurled him into the wall, flapping her wings to speed him along. Raine and Luz followed her path down, each on their respective palisman. Hunter could have cried seeing them, but he didn’t think his eyes were working quite right—the three of them looked a little too blurry.

Eda scooped him up, while Raine loaded an unconscious Darius onto their staff, and Luz picked up the lightest load of the palistrom sapling. Eda hefted him in her arms like he weighed nothing, the fury in her eyes somehow softening and multiplying when she looked at him.

“It’s alright.”

Hunter blinked, but the blurriness only seemed to worsen, and he could barely hear her voice.

“I’ve got you, kiddo. Time to tag out.”

[cheynovak]

Healing Waters - pt 5

Characters: Azriel x F/Reader Y/N     

Summary:  Azriel is sent by Rhysand to the Spring Court to investigate Tamlin's erratic behavior. While spying in the woods, he comes across Y/N, an Illyrian female bathing under a waterfall. Intrigued by her beauty and shocked to see the scars where her wings should have been, he is immediately captivated.

Warnings: 18+ish.... Hurt, pain, anger, nudity, spying, aggression, ...

English is not my first language 

*This story is my own fanfiction, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

Part 5/?

* Published September 13th 2024 *

** Azriel's POV **

The night stretched on, filled with restless pacing and seething anger that I couldn’t seem to shake off. The memories of Y/N's story replayed in my mind, fueling a relentless rage that I directed toward the name “Keir.” I couldn’t stand the thought of him walking free, still living while others had suffered because of his cruelty.

I couldn’t stay idle, so I sent the information directly to Rhysand. His response was quick, his promise to look into it reassuring, but he also warned me to stay away from Hewn City and Keir. He knew me well enough to anticipate my next move, and I hated that he was right.

My instincts were to hunt down that bastard and end him, but Rhys had always been the voice of reason, the one who could temper my more impulsive tendencies.

In my frustration, I let out a furious yell into the night, my voice carrying across the quiet streets. “I want to rip his head off!”

The sound of my own anger echoed back to me, amplifying the frustration I felt. Rhysand didn’t respond, and I was left alone with my thoughts until I noticed a figure standing in the distance.

Y/N was there, clad in her nightgown, her presence a stark contrast to the turmoil that had consumed me. She looked at me with a mixture of concern and something softer—maybe understanding.

The sight of her calmed me in a way I hadn’t expected. Her presence was a reminder of why I had to hold onto my promise, why my anger needed to be channeled into something more constructive.

As I approached her, she made a feeble attempt at humor, a weak smile on her lips. “So, some part of you is still Illyrian, huh? I already started to think you were to tame.”

Her comment made me chuckle despite the lingering anger. It was a gentle reminder of the calmness I was struggling to keep in check. “My temper can still be very much Illyrian,” I replied, my voice softer now, the anger receding as I looked at her.

She gave a small, shaky laugh, and I could see the fear behind her brave façade. It was a side of her I hadn’t seen before, and it made my resolve harden even further. I couldn’t let her be afraid because of what I might do. I needed to be the protector I had promised to be.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” I said, trying to soften my tone. “I just… needed to vent.” She shook her head, her gaze steady despite the tremor in her voice. “It’s okay. I understand... I eh, used to yell at my demons too, at times.”

The sincerity in her words was like a balm to my frayed nerves. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and nodded. “Thank you for trusting me, with those demons.”

I looked at Y/N, still standing in her nightgown, a slight flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks. I could see that she was trying to avoid eye contact, her gaze shifting back toward the hallway and the direction of her room.

“Why are you up?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. She turned slightly, her discomfort palpable. “Eh, the bed…” she began, trailing off as if the explanation was somehow too trivial.

“What’s wrong?” I pressed gently, trying to draw her out. She looked embarrassed, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her nightgown. “It’s too soft,” she admitted, almost in a whisper.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at her confession. “I get the feeling,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Years of sleeping on the cold, hard floor can make it difficult to adjust to a bed that feels like a cloud you’re about to fall through.”

Her eyes met mine, and despite her discomfort, a small smile tugged at her lips. It was a smile that spoke of shared understanding, a moment of connection over something as simple as an uncomfortable bed.

“I guess thats what I mean,” she said, her voice a bit more relaxed now. “I’m just not used to all this softness.”

We stood there for a moment, the night air cool around us, the tension from earlier dissipating into a comfortable ease. It was strange, but this small conversation about an overly soft bed had created a new kind of bond between us—one that was built on shared experiences and mutual understanding.

“If you need anything,” I said, my voice sincere, “just let me know.”

Y/N gave me a grateful look, her eyes reflecting a sense of relief. “Thanks, Azriel. I appreciate it.”

Hearing her say my name stirred something deep inside me, a feeling I hadn’t expected, and certainly hadn’t invited. The way Y/N's lips shaped my name sent a warmth through me that I couldn’t quite shake off. As she turned and began walking toward her room, my mind wandered, unbidden, to the image of her whispering my name again—but this time in a far more intimate setting.

I imagined her in my bed, her soft voice barely a breath against my ear as I held her close, our bodies entwined in the warmth of night. The thought sent a ripple of heat through me, and I quickly forced myself to suppress it, to keep my emotions and, more importantly, my scent from betraying me. The last thing I wanted was for her to sense what I was thinking.

But her presence… the way she smelled after living so long outdoors—like fresh earth, pine, and a touch of something uniquely her—made it difficult to keep my focus. It wasn’t the typical perfumes and floral scents most females wore. No, her scent was raw, natural, and it stirred something primal in me that I had no business entertaining.

She paused mid-step, and for a moment, I worried my control had slipped. She swallowed hard, her shoulders tensing just slightly, as if she sensed the shift in the air between us. My heart raced for the briefest moment, my mind running wild with the possibility that she might turn around and call me out.

But she didn’t.

She simply took a deep breath, gathered herself, and continued walking. There was no comment, no accusatory glance. She either hadn’t noticed, or she was kind enough to pretend she hadn’t. Either way, I was grateful.

I exhaled a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and cursed myself for letting my thoughts get away from me. This wasn’t the time or place for such distractions. Y/N had already been through enough. The last thing she needed was for me to make things awkward, or worse, let her think I had some ulterior motive, that I would be the scum that had forced himself on her.

No I needed to keep her safe, wanted to keep her here with me, where I know she's save.

** Y/N's POV **

The moment I smelled him, it took me a second to recognize the scent—a mixture of raw power, shadows, and something distinctly masculine that stirred something inside me. It had been a long time since I had been this close to an Illyrian male, and even longer since I had sensed arousal from anyone. The realization hit me just as I reached my room, and I forced myself to keep moving, though my legs suddenly felt unsteady.

I closed the door behind me, leaning back against it, my breath coming out in shaky, uneven waves. How was it possible? I’d only mentioned not being able to sleep, and yet I’d felt it, the change in his scent. The sharp edge of desire laced through the air, unmistakable. And what baffled me most was that it wasn’t unwelcome. I didn’t feel disgust or fear like I would have in the past.

I wasn’t upset.

But I was confused. My mind began to wander as I stood there, eyes closed, trying to make sense of it. Azriel—the way he looked at me, the subtle heat in his eyes that I hadn't fully registered before. I began to imagine what it would be like with him, to feel his hands on me, his body pressed against mine. For a moment, I indulged the thought, picturing slipping into his room, into his bed. What would it be like to experience something real, something not born from pain and cruelty, but desire?

I could almost feel his warmth, the gentle touch of his hands on my skin, his lips trailing down my neck as he whispered my name. The thought made something inside me stir—a strange, unfamiliar heat that I'd never associated with intimacy before.

But then, the memories crept back in, as they always did. Sex had never been about pleasure for me. It had been a tool, a weapon used against me. My body had been nothing more than a means to an end for others. The idea of it ever bringing joy or connection was foreign to me, no matter how much I wanted to believe it could be different with someone like him.

Azriel.

He seemed different—a good male, one who could offer something more. But I couldn’t bear the thought of ruining the image I had of him, of seeing him through the same lens as all the others who had used me. What if the reality didn’t live up to the fantasy? What if, in the end, he was no different?

I shook my head, trying to dispel the thoughts. No, no. It’s not fun, I reminded myself. It never had been. And I didn’t want to risk breaking this fragile thing between us.

I heard him. Even through the thick wood of my door, I could sense Azriel on the other side, moving about in his room. The same scent lingered in the air—desire, thick and palpable, brushing against my skin like a caress. It sent a shiver down my spine, making my legs feel unsteady, my heart pounding faster than I cared to admit.

How was he doing this to me?

My thoughts spiraled, battling between reason and impulse. Should I open the door? Should I let him in? Just for a moment, for a taste of what it could be like? I didn’t know why, but my body craved it, craved him. I hadn’t felt anything like this in so long—maybe I never had. The uncertainty gnawed at me, and I hesitated, doubting myself, doubting him.

By the time I made up my mind, my hand reaching for the doorknob, I heard his door close.

The soft click echoed down the hall, and I knew I was too late. My heart dropped slightly, disappointment settling into my chest. Still, I found myself stepping across the hall, standing just outside his door, drawn to him despite my better judgment. My hand hovered above the wood, unsure whether to knock or walk away. But instead, I leaned in, pressing my ear gently to the surface, my breath hitching as I strained to hear anything on the other side.

And then I heard it—his heavy breaths, labored and uneven, the sound of desire and restraint barely held in check. My heart thudded loudly in my chest, every beat reverberating through me as I caught his scent again. Stronger now, more potent. The way it tugged at me made my body respond instinctively, a warmth pooling deep in my stomach.

Then, in the silence of the night, I heard him murmur something under his breath, barely audible.

My name.

The sound of it slipping from his lips, filled with need, with want—it sent a shock through me. I hitched a breath, my pulse racing, and I stepped back, almost stumbling as I did. His voice, soft and raw, saying my name like that… it made me feel things I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in so long.

I stood there, frozen for a moment, torn between wanting to open the door and flee back to my room. His presence, his desire—it was so close, so tangible. But I wasn’t sure if I was ready to face what lay behind that door.

Before I could slip back into my room I heard his door open.

"Y/N?"

--

Please like, share or comment when you liked the story. If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

Taglist: @lilah-asteria @sidthedollface2 @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @mich0731

[fatherfigurefusion]

@sunlit-haruka got me sold on the post-Chapter 2 Whitvid bonding.

And I could easily picture it as a mix of sorts between the Arei breakdown and David's speech to her and Teruko and Eden's interaction in the kitchen:

David having an Arei-style breakdown about how he feels both the people around him and the killing game validate his totalist black-and-white viewpoints, and how, deep down, he feels confounded by the very existence of the guy, who keeps looking up to him, despite his inspiration being nothing but a liar hocking up marketed malarky. A bad person.

"I want so badly for people to be able to change! But it's not possible! They can't! So why does Xander think he can just march around and make change just like that?! Why does he still look up to me?! How does he even view me a role model, when he's done more than I could ever accomplish?! What sense does that make?! Why does he get to be born a good person, while I'm just stuck as this villain?! It's! Not! Fair!"

And as David collapses to the ground in tears, just like he did with Arei, Whit clasps his hands in his. And showcases his own philosophy, while smashing David's toxic mentality to bits.

That people aren't just stone statues that would remain good or bad throughout their whole lives, and that, ultimately (pun intended), they're nothing but people with strengths and weaknesses, trying to live to see another day in this mutual killing game. That these totalist beliefs are the worst way to live life. And that seeing both the good and bad in others (and not putting them on a pedestal, positively or negatively) is just a more constructive and helpful way to get through this game together.

"So, count your lucky stars, Starboy, for I'm gonna prove you wrong one of these days! That all of these "black-and-white", "born-good-or-bad" beliefs are the worst way to live. And until then, you can say that people changing is "complete bullsh*t" and that I'm just a stupid and overly-naive moron all you want! But, deep down, I really think we could be friends...and you'll soon see that the world isn't all black-and-white as you were led to believe."

The last part, the matchmaker mutters under his breath.

And after hearing Whit speak, David suddenly felt a sudden stirring in his stomach...

Eh, he was probably just hungry.

[ladyloveandjustice]

Hello again! The Sulemio vs. Destiel poll has been something else huh?

Anyway, I noticed from your tags when you reblogged that one post about the drone show featuring Suletta & Miorine that it sounds like you hadn't heard about it previously, so I thought you might be interested about the details:

Back in 2019, as part of Gundam's 40th anniversary, Bandai had the Yokohama Gundam Factory constructed; its main attraction was a lifesize, animatronic replica of the very first Gundam. It was originally scheduled to close a few years ago, but this was delayed due to several factors (such as Covid), and instead the site stayed in operation until this past spring.

When the time came, Bandai decided to hold a closing ceremony for it, featuring a drone show that highlighted significant characters and their robots from Gundam history.

Among these were the first Gundam protagonist Amuro Ray and his rival Char Aznable from Mobile Suit Gundam ('79), Kira Yamato and his love interest Lacus Clyne from Mobile Suit Gundam SEED (which I understand is one of the most popular Gundam AUs, and additionally got a recent boost from the long delayed sequel film, SEED Freedom), and, of course, Suletta and Miorine, along with Aerial.

Put another way, Suletta and Miorine were judged historically important enough that they were chosen over dozens of other potential characters, and, for this show at least, set as peers to four of the most popular characters in all of Gundam, all of whom have had roughly four times the amount of screentime, and have decades-old fanbases dedicated to them. I think that's a pretty good testament to how well G-Witch did, and as much as I'm still pissed with Bandai for its actions toward the show, it's gratifying to know that they don't seem to have the option to dismiss G-Witch and sweep it under the rug. So much for the Suletta and Miorine fading into obscurity, eh?

Awesome! That's so cool to know, thanks!

[lucalicatteart]

Finally finished my weird hanging painting thing (originally a secondhand partially-done 'paint by numbers' kit that I found at a thrift store and kept to repurpose lol)! Imagery somewhat based in my own worldbuilding projects, and text written in my constructed language for one of my fantasy species, but also vaguely inspired by old tapestries and illuminated manuscripts and etc. I've never been great at neat clean patterning or text, but it looks cool from afar, and I always enjoy making "props" or things that are somewhat like real objects that might could exist in my world. :0

(additional pictures/info under the readmore)

-

Here's what it was originally! I probably didn't have to actually have a river running down the middle because it further makes the composition of the whole thing weird (various connected yet separate locations and things happening, instead of one unified event being portrayed), but I wasn't sure if I'd be able to fully cover up the already existing paint that was there.. and I can also kind of justify it by going with a more "all the imagery is just symbolic so it doesn't have to make exact sense" approach lol.. How is one half of the grass green and the other is suddenly snowy? shhhh.. it's not literal.. shhh...

Made a vague sketch, then painted over it, and then added more distinct lines in black pen. Center image first and border second.

The very last thing was the text, which actually took forever to translate because my conlang is still only like.. partially done, and some of the grammar is not worked out exactly how I would like it to be, so a few sentences I had to think about for a long time before just going "eh, this is probably not how I would do it if I considered it more, but I'll go with it for now" lol . I also am not entirely satisfied with all of the characters for the writing system, but again, it's good enough for a quick project, it doesn't have to be 100% accurate and perfect because it's a fake language that nobody knows anyway lol.

I thought about breaking down the text and translation here like I have for some of the tidbits of Avirrekava (the language) in things I've posted in the past, but I think it would take too long and is not interesting to anyone but me ghghj, so for the sake of getting the post out quickly, I shall not spend an hour typing All That lol.

The general jist of the writing though is that it's just about the Avirre'thel being cast out from the other elves, after abandoning their magic for immortality as a means to truly attain perfection (an important concept in elven culture), the usual, blah blah blah, but how it's Actually A Good Thing, because the gods are wrong and immortality is Cool actually and they like the shitty frozen lands they were sent to, so it's fine that everyone else is being a Hater about it lol

Lastly, here's a few photos outside in the sun to TRY and show the gold detailing actually shimmering or showing up! It really doesn't come through in photos, but there's plenty of little golden spots to highlight light or Importance.

Mostly the fire, the pink sparkle that represents magic, the red drop that represents blood, the light behind Inaashi's hands and head (common symbol for the elven religion/one of their main gods, shout out to anyone who read the ancient elven religion post and recognized that lol), the sun, and the symbol for the Avirre'thel/country of Navyete at the very top. I did a few other gold bits, but they're not highlighted because they're Significant, more just that it looked more symmetrical to have some gold on the border too lol.

Other things of note: The animals are not actually significant to Avirre'thel culture really, I just wanted to put a cat and a bird because I like them lol. (I also wanted to have a few funny looking creatures, as I was slightly trying to go with the 'in some old medieval painting the anatomy and perspective is very weird' vibe, though I think some of the other parts of it look too Normal to pull it off entirely). Same with the four leaf clover, which means nothing in their culture - but these are the only areas where stuff was just added self-indulgently .

Bligabata (giant cabbage that grows along rivers in Navyete) making an appearance! The architecture of the building IS based on actual concepts for ancient elven/older Avirre'thel architecture and metalwork. The Avirre'thel who's turning away from Inaashi/elves/magic and collecting blood, is doing so in a Special Bowl, as is part of their culture (collecting it in the hands, or just in a normal vessel would be disrespectful, they have Specific Bowls which is the only thing blood can be kept in, etc.).

The figure that represents Jhevona (and thus, a closer connection to magic, celestial imagery, etc.) is in weird ugly teal, which is not necessarily a color or design associated with them, as I don't have much common culture (like clothing) worked out for Northern Jhevona (who the avirre'thel would have come into contact with) yet, BUT everyone else is in more Typical colors (a northern elf in green, Inaashi in lavender + white + blue, an Avirre'thel in darker purples and reds).

Some things, like the four figures in the corners, and the two people + fish in the stream, do not currently have a meaning, but in-world they would.. Like, I could make up lore for how they're culturally significant and it would be true because I am god of the world, but I don't have anything currently. But just know.. they DO mean something, I just haven't decided it yet, maybe kind of fill in as I go, come up with a meaning later lol. Probably along the lines of an old myth from the ancient elven religion, a story, etc.

-

I don't know, probably other stuff, but that's my Trying To Keep It Short rambling for now lol. I'm just glad I finally finished this! For how vaguely sloppy it is up close (everything being completely freehanded, only used rulers once when doing the initial sketch and lining where the border should be + my hands are shaky + the canvas is bumpy + my handwriting is scratchy and terrible + etc. etc.) it still took a REALLY long time, even when not trying to make it all perfect. Especially if including the text translation + writing, which took like 3+ hours itself.

Maybe all the asymmetry/lack of things being centered is NOT because I was too lazy to measure anything, but is actually because in-universe, it's a practice illustration made by some young apprentice who has to work on little canvases for years before he can be trusted will a full sized mural or tapestry. It's his first week on the job! of course he's uncoordinated! don't laugh at him!!! lol

[whatudottu]

I don't have too much context on the Aligned books, but a part of me thinks that the reason why the Decepticons in TFP are a bit more hesitant to actually accept Starscream as a leader (an official one when Megatron was found comatose rather than a temporary one while Megatron was soul searching) is because of his status of being forged and alloted as a military bot, whether it's seeker high command or what.

The Decepticons in Aligned started because Megatron was a charismatic gladiator from the pits of Kaon, speeches like poetry and ideology loud and proud. A lot of mecha see him as the face of the 'Cons (despite their symbol being clearly Soundwave's face) even if Megatron's grasp on tactics had to be learned in a fight never flight scenario that the pits put him through. When it comes to being a functional leader, Megatron barely knows anything and is leading by being essentially a figurehead though if you brought that up he'd slay you the instant you spoke, which would probably be the reason WHY Megatron insists of having Starscream be his Second in Command despite all his treachery.

The Decepticons feel that they NEED Megatron, for having anyone else be in charge would feel like hypocrisy, the closest anyone would ever get to being a leader based purely on being a model Decepticon would probably be a Vehicon which well... 1) they'd have to outclass Megatron's very impressive charisma, and 2) Vehicons don't have the best eh track record of being treated well. And seeing that Megatron NEEDS a competent Second in Command, competent enough to plan out strategies he wasn't forged (or constructed) to train in, the second element in play perhaps is the satisfaction of being of higher rank than a military bot. And I'm not pulling that shitty 'exotic bird' seeker shit in here, seekers aren't an entirely different species or worse a fucking animal species (it's a job, it's a rank, it's a role, etc), but who wouldn't feel even a remote sense of accomplishment, glee, whatever at having to fight tooth and nail to get to the very top of something and having someone that didn't have to work hard to be good under your command?

And that shit pisses of Starscream so fucking bad.

As the SiC, Starscream can preen all he likes about suggested strategies and pathways and general other management duties of an entire army (or at least to the sphere of influence the Nemesis holds), but it is Megatron with the final word. Like a rich idiot CEO flaunting their power and kicking dirt into their adviser's eyes, Megatron still has the mindset of a gladiator, has only the experience of a gladiator that Starscream gawks in horror at. To be fair, in combat (even in minor activities like fencing and mind combat like chess) you fear the amateur that knows no opening strategies for if the beginner has no strategy how can you outplay them, but that would only work up until a certain extent. Sometimes games of combat last near forever, a complicated battle between winning and losing of micromanaging fleets and squads to correctly combat the enemy, other times you make a fatal error, exposing your weak spot and cringing as the knife sinks deep.

If Starscream ever were to permanently take over the Decepticons as their leader, he would have far more foresight in planning - as evident by his competence at the beginning of TFP whereby he, the entire Nemesis, and their mining operations went undiscovered for years - and probably needle the Autobots with far less casualties between engaging and victory. However, he from his background is not representative of the Decepticons, for he came from something. Starscream did not battle his way to the top, not in the same way Megatron had to in the pits, nor did he battle his way into the Decepticons, he from memory was purposefully sought after. Hell, given his tendancies as SiC already giving Starscream a bad rep with many a 'Con, Starscream isn't as... not liked (Megatron would hardly be considered 'likeable') but... compelling, as grandiose of a leader as Megatron had built himself to perfectly appeal to an audience.

They need each other to rule, and the saddest part of TFP and it's characterisation is that statement is inherently contradictory. Neither can stand being in the same room as the other, there is a significant power imbalance between the two and frankly? Their mutual dysfunction working with one another is detrimental to the effectiveness of the Decepticon High Command.

As it is in canon, it's eh not the easiest to watch. Megatron makes the dumbest decisions and Starscream has to pull a plan out of his ass to make it better, or Starscream gets over ambitious and Megatron feels threatened and sets everything back to the status quo in the way a gladiator does.

I think that it might've been cool, interesting maybe, if the Megatron and Starscream had a more balanced dynamic. Megatron cannot have a Second in Command that doesn't know what they're doing, cannot have one that doesn't take initiative and seize the moment; Soundwave isn't a military bot, Airachnid's impulse is to run away to try again. Starscream cannot hold an audience, he cannot inspire troops with a rags to riches story he himself does not have; Vehicons have less power in their voice fresh off the assembly line, they are the people Megatron inspires.

Maybe in some universe where the Decepticons are more akin to a fucked up family, this could be... something better. idk... I just think it's interesting.

[jacksdinonuggets]

Not So Little Injuries: Chapter 3

Charlie had just come back from doing some detective work and maybe one or two slaughterings of sinners in pentagram city. She was feeling a bit better knowing that the people who injured her baby were now in pain. But she needed to clean up. The blood was starting to dry up and it was getting itchy. Plus, she would no doubt send Vaggie into an episode if she saw blood splatterings (poor traumatized baby).

As she walked through the doors of the hotel, some of the residents spotted her. It was mainly Angel and Husk at the bar. They seemed to have been chatting for a bit until she had walked through.

“Dang, toots, you went on a killing spree?” Angel joked when he saw the blood splatter on her clothes.

“Eh, kind of. But that’s not exactly the point. I have something I need to ask of you guys,” She went over and sat at the bar where Husk and Angel were.

“Can you guys check in on Vaggie? I think she’s getting kind of lonely and bored. I know it's only been about 3 days since she’s been injured but she needs some friends to hang out with,” Charlie explained.

“Sure, why not? I’m down to helping entertain my baby sis,” Angel said, putting his drink down and getting ready to get up.

“Great! Husk, can you visit her later today when you sober up?” She asked.

“Alright, I’ll try,” Husk promised, pouring himself another glass. Charlie gave him a look. He groaned and poured out his drink in the sink.

Back upstairs, Vaggie was pouting. Sure, it wouldn’t get her anywhere or anything, but she still felt like she needed to do it. She hated being inside and bedridden. She wanted to play and have tummy time. But this stupid cast stopped her. All she could do was nap and watch cartoons and movies.

When she was about to rebel and get out of bed in her wheelchair, the door opened. Angel was standing there in the doorway with Fat Nuggets. 

“Heard you were getting lonely, so I brought Nugs,” He said, walking over to her bed, “Can I sit?”

She looked up at him and nodded but still pouted. She didn’t really want him. What she wanted was to be free from this bed! She wanted to actually play.

“You wanna pet him?” Angel asked.He wasn’t very good with these types of things. Husk was way better at providing therapeutic advice. But hopefully, a few Nug pats would be able to solve this upsetti spaghetti mood she was in.

“I guess…” She mumbled as he put Fat Nuggets on her lap. She pet him for a bit as he snuggled into her lap.

“You, uh, feeling big or little, sis?” Angel asked. Vaggie just shrugged. She didn’t really know. She kind of felt little but at the same time kind of felt big.

“Want me to grab your mega bloks?” 

“Umm…okay,” Vaggie replied. Maybe this would help her feel a little better.

Angel went over to the closet and got out Vaggie’s little stuff. Since the nursery was still under construction, everyones little gear was inside their rooms. Charlie made sure to bring all of Vaggie’s the first day she was bedridden, so all of her toys and stuff were in the closet.

Angel pulled the bag out and sat back on the bed with her.

“Ooh! How about we build a pirate ship?” he suggested. He knew Vaggie probably missed her little pirate section that hung off of the building.

“Otay!” Vaggie said excitedly. 

They started to put blocks together and try to form a very colorful looking pirate ship. Vaggie was luckily old enough to put them together without needing a lot of help. Sure, she would get confused at times, but Angel would be patient and show her how to do it.

Once it was done, Vaggie squealed with joy and clapped her hands happily.

“Yay! It done!” 

“Mhm! It sure is!” He ruffled her hair a bit. She grinned and laughed quite a bit.

Charlie was pleased to hear the sound of laughter coming from Vaggie’s room as she stepped out of the shower. The little girl barely got to have fun since she was bedridden. It warmed her heart to know that she was having fun and laughing.

While Angel was looking over her, Charlie decided to get some work done. She hadn’t been doing any work for the hotel within the three days that her baby was bedridden. But now, she didn’t need to worry about Vaggie. However, she did make sure to send Angel Vaggie’s pain med schedule as her next dose was coming up soon. 

Before she knew it, two hours had passed. Setting her pen down, she went to check on the two. On her way to Vaggie’s room, she saw Nifty running up to her door too. She had a basket in her hands.

“Whatcha got there, Nifty?” Charlie crouched down so she could be at her height.

“Heard Miss Vaggie is not feeling well! So I made her some cookies and got her new crayons and a coloring book!” Nifty replied, showing her the basket. There was in fact a couple of chocolate chip cookies wrapped up in plastic wrap next to a coloring book and a large crayola box that had 152 crayons in it. 

“Well, I’m sure Vaggie will love it. Wanna give it to her now?” Charlie asked to which Nifty nodded.

When she opened the door, she saw Angel gently playing with Vaggie’s hair as Vaggie was fast asleep against him. He noticed them there and waved.

“Gave her her meds before she passed out. Those meds are strong, huh?” He whispered.

“Yeah, they make her fall asleep very easily,” Charlie said in a quiet voice.

Nifty looked a little sad that she couldn’t give her present to Vaggie. Charlie noticed the hint of sadness and crouched down.

“Don’t worry Nifty, she’ll open it when she wakes up. You want to just leave it on her nightstand?” She suggested.

“Okay!” Nifty said excitedly. Charlie had to shush her a little because Vaggie was starting to stir. Nifty apologized and put her present on the nightstand before going back downstairs to clean up the kitchen from making the cookies.

Charlie helped Angel wiggle out of Vaggie’s grasp. She could get very clingy and cuddly when asleep. Luckily they were able to do that without waking her up.

Husk did manage to sober up and visit her later that day to bring her some dinner and do a couple of card tricks for her. It made her very excited and happy to see “magic”. Even if it wasn’t real magic, it still made her really happy.

Being bedridden wasn’t that bad. As long as Vaggie had her friends with her, she could survive this week bound to her bed.

[izumi-fanclub]

A3! Event Story Translation “NEW ERA GARDEN” [Chapter 2]

A certain pair reveal the grand prize of the new Fleur Award.

Kazunari

Oh, “New Fleur Award Executive Committee Member” is trending.

Itaru

I didn’t expect something from a video channel.

Kumon Are they gonna announce stuff on the new Fleur Award?

Itaru

Iirc, that one’s still undergoing maintenance.

Banri

Stream should be starting soon.

Yukio

“…”

Reni

“…”

Izumi

Ah, it’s dad and Kamikizaka-san.

Tenma

It’s kinda weird seeing them stand besides each other.

Yukio

“Nice to meet you all on our official video channel. I’m Tachibana, a member of the Fleur Award Executive Committee.”

Reni

“I’m Kamikizaka.”

“On this channel, we’d like to show you our efforts towards a new Fleur Award.”

“Please wait a little bit more as we shall have another formal occasion to go in-depth on the details of the new Fleur Award.”

“So for now, for the new information on our first stream, please watch this video.”

Izumi

Eh!? Is that a theater!?

Kumon

Is it under renovation or being built from the ground up!?

Muku

Oh yeah, I did see some construction on Veludo Way!

Yuki

Ah, that one.

Taichi

You mean that’s a new theater for the new Fleur Award!?

Reni

“We are pleased to announce that we are in the process of building a new theater complete with streaming equipment for the new Fleur Award prize.”

Tasuku

To think they’d build a whole new theater…

Sakyo

Does the fact that there’s equipment for livestreaming mean that the next Fleur Award will be primarily streamed online?

Kazunari

Is that Yukio-san’s idea?

Izumi

Probably…

(MANKAI’s built from dad’s idea after all… This wouldn’t be unlike him.)

(I hope Kamikizaka-san’s not having a hard time with dad’s reckless behavior again…)

Reni

“The seating and exterior are still under construction, it’ll still be some time before the official opening.”

“Though, the foundation of the stage has already been assembled.”

“I shall have Tachibana explain the schedule for the new production which will also be the unveiling of the new theater and rehearsals using the equipment.”

Yukio

“Next month, the new Fleur Award will be on the foundation of the new theater, marking our new beginnings.”

Taichi

Eeeh!?

Izumi

Dad’s making a comeback!?

Yukio

“The livestream will be free of charge as it will serve as a test for the equipment.”

“In regards to the content and the cast, it’s still a secret, so please look forward to it.”

Kumon

Who’s it gonna be?

Kazunari

Maybe it’s the first gen guys?

Banri

It’ll be next month though. Don’t really think they got the schedule for that.

Tsumugi

Maybe they’ve been preparing beforehand.

Sakyo

I wonder. But since it’s Yukio-san, there’s a possibility it was just an on-the-spot idea…

Izumi

(Whatever it is, I’m just excited to see dad working again!)

Yukio

…That’s why!

Kasumi

Yeah!

Hiro Why what?

Zen

…

Syu

…Sigh.

Zen

Just how did you get all of us together, musn’t be a busy season, so it’s whatever…

Kasumi

I’m a part of the work that’s allowed to write an exclusive “Spotlight” feature article on the stage up close.

Yuzo

You were so against it last time, now you just came stumbling in.

Kasumi

Oh shut it. Then and now are different.

Syu

Now how’d a popular actor like you fit this into his schedule?

Hiro

If I got told that I’ll be in a play with the first gen troupe on the stage of the new Fleur Award, it’d be top priority no matter what.

The agency’s got a lot of buzz lately so I managed to make some adjustments. What about your own theater company, Syu-san? Syu

I’ve got some young talent I got my eye on, so I asked that person to take over the role for next month’s show. And Reiji?

Reni

As a board member, I don’t really have a choice but to take it on.

Yukio

Looks like Yuzo’s the only one participating comfortably.

Yuzo

I’m right here you know!

Yukio

Thanks, everyone. I’m really happy that we can do theater together again like this.

Yuzo

What are you planning on now that we’re all here?

Hiro

A remake of an old show?

Yukio

Fufu, you’d be surprised. It’s a new show… on Shinsengumi!

[ Prev. ]

[ Next ]

[quillandrapier]

Uhhh my ghosts thoughts

Spoilers under the cut but

TLDR: I enjoyed parts of it but was underwhelmed as a whole. It was a nice episode but fails to reach the heights of season 3

First I will say, I was happy while watching the episode I enjoyed lots of things.

Seeing the ghosts, Mike and Alison with the baby was wonderful. Really lovely. Mia is a lovely name and they really are great parents.

I would have liked more ghosts backseat parenting as a whole. Might have driven home the need for Alison to get away from them, rather than lady button needing to let Alison breathe. That or there being a bigger B-plot. Robin as the character who doesn't feel Christmassy feels eh, if there wasn't a bigger pay off than a speech about them moving on then maybe.

Kitty should have been the character. It would have been a lovely period of growth, and almost like a growing up type thing. Kitty grew up enough that she is ready to let Alison go.

They really missed the jokes in this episode. I maybe had two big laughs. Season 5 as a whole felt a lot less funny (other than En Francis.) like in the exorcism scene, when they realised they were going to be okay and it didn't work they should have made a joke.

I dont know if id ask for more ghosts in the episode. The show is Alison's and Mike's story. It's the Ghosts who are the supporting their story. They are the foundation and the last episode has to focus on them.

Finally the ending. Im fine with it. I think it's the right ending for the show. I don't know how else they could have ended it without making a massive swing or left it open ended (which would have been less complete)

Yes things are different and that's okay but they really should have constructed season 5 as a whole to support the ending. Yes it makes sense now the baby is here things are so different but my point is why then even make last resort? Why not make the episode end with the Julian reveal and speech still but don't introduce the idea of selling it in that episode. Maybe a line in A Christmas Gift about an offer to sell the house that Alison blows off saying "I don't think I could ever leave, I don't think the Ghosts would even let me" but as the episode builds we realise the ghosts have grown enough that they can face an afterlife without Alison always being a shout away. That like family it was time for her to leave the nest and grow as her own new family that still visits the old one.

It's my biggest issue with the episode. Also I really dislike the reaction fans are having to each other having differing opinions. Like don't directly sent hate to the creators (or even joke hate wtf) but also... Let people dislike it. Let people like it.

Anyway, a nice episode but as a final bow felt more of a whimper that turns into a yell rather than a standing ovation.

[marztheincredible]

Atlas of The Boiling Isles: Archipelagos of the Left Thigh

“Others take me from the Sea! Others take us Now! For we have seen what all is worth, so take us stern to bow!”

The Archipelagos of the Left Thigh, like many other regions, is rich in culture. The sea calls to these Witches and Demons and that is shown through their songs, ink, and sailing.

Two out of these three things have been considered 'Wild Magic'.

The sea still calls, and while former free waters are under watch by imposing Coven strongholds, the people of the left thigh, hum sorrow tunes in defiance. Raising their sails in hope the Others take them away.

Bonus!

Welcome to your first Old Tongue lesson! You’ve probably noticed on this map, that one of these Islands are not like the others.

T’khaník Ilum means ‘The Middle Ground’ in Old Tongue.

T‘khan (T-kAHN) means Ground or Base. Overtime as Common became the norm it can be mistakingly translated as Titan in Common Tongue.

Old Tongue also doesn’t follow the base English, Subject, Verb, Object (SVO) order. So for example, the sentence “Echorat eats paper” is SVO. In Old Tongue you can have “paper Echorat eats” (OSV) or “eats Echorat paper” (VSO). The reason for this is a thing called case endings.

Case Endings in Language are usually used to infer the Subject and Object within a flexible word order. The Agentive Case is used to indicate a subject in a transitive construction. -íf is the case ending for a word ending in a consonant, -f for a vowel ending. So the end case of T’khan to refer it as the subject it would be: T’khaníf

Patientive case is to infer the word is the Object in a sentence. It’s case endings are -ki (vowel ending word) and -ík (consonant ending word)

So if Ground was the object in a sentence it would be T’khaník

With this case endings you can have the word order wherever you like.

Ilum (Eh-Loom) means In between or middle.

The Isle of T’khaník Ilum, The Middle Ground. One of the very last areas to still keep its name in Old Tongue.

Fun fact! If you change where the glottal stop is (‘) on T’khan, it changes the word entirely.

Tkh’an (Tck–AN)=Time in the context of seeing growth. Be it age or crop.

[noonmutter]

Development

DWC Feb 2024 Day 2: Suppress/Pastel

Stromgarde Keep--Terry mused that they probably ought to start calling it Stromgarde Castle, these days calling it a keep felt a bit like calling a dreadnaught a boat--was still new enough that parts of it almost shined under the afternoon sun. He'd spent just long enough in the gloomy, rainy climate of his homeland that he wasn't used to that anymore, and it took him a minute or two to figure out why. He had nothing against the place, its people, or anything else; the brightness and the odd newness of all the construction just set him on edge. As he strode along the walkways toward one of the buildings just off the keep itself, he reflected that he was probably going to feel that way about most of Gilneas in the coming years.

His boots clicked audibly on the cobbles of the pathway, and that added to the unease. Terry Ambroce was farm folk, a street slag, a degenerate; his boots should've been awful, worn, silent things that looked moments away from a trip to the rubbish bin but did their job beautifully. Instead, the fuckers announced his arrival before the secretary had a chance to stand up. The nondescript building had been converted, or possibly just actually become used for its intended purpose as a clerking office, and people dressed in their finest inexplicably-drab-even-under-direct-sunlight Gilnean suits bustled back and forth between one anothers' desks. Stacks of papers in all sorts of quality and condition were everywhere, but Terry noted there were no single sheets drifting across the floor, and no ink spatters on anything.

It was chaos, but it was organized chaos. Sort of, anyway.

"Sergeant Ambroce to see you, Mister Rumpole."

Terry suppressed a snort at the name. It was aggressively Gilnean, teetering on the edge of being too silly to say aloud. Or hear, in his case, but he was not immune to being a childish idiot. He was saved by the sounds of shuffling paper growing suddenly much louder as a fellow who carried himself like a much larger, heavier man rose from his desk to approach.

Much like everything else about his day so far, Terry was not accustomed to being greeted by an outstretched hand rather than a fist holding a weapon. It took him just a second or so longer than the average person might have to react the appropriate way, and he still fumbled a little bit when he grasped the man's wrist instead of his hand. It was a painfully soldier thing for him to do, but Terry had, despite himself, become a soldier at some point.

Mr. Rumpole rallied easily enough and responded in kind, then huffed a short, but nonetheless genuine, laugh. "Of course, I should've thought about that. I promise, you'll find no knives on me, mate, but if you notice a fountain pen anywhere, do let me know. I've been trying to find my favorite and I'm all but certain Jenkins stole it. Egg'd be on my face if he didn't, but at least I'd have it back, eh?"

Terry chose not to tell him he'd spotted six different possible missing inkpens sticking out of all the bits and bobs on the desk he'd left behind, and simply nodded. "'Ave y' considered filin' cabinets, by any chance? Fer th' mess?"

"Oh, surely!" Rumpole turned and led Terry back to his desk, lifting stacks of books and scrolls and parchment out of his way and setting them gingerly back down exactly as they'd been before. "And by the time we actually get them here, we'll be hearing a few offices have finally been cleared up in the city proper, you know how it goes. No, no, we're making do with what we've got, same as we always have, eh?"

He didn't want to, but Terry was already starting to like this man, and that seemed dangerous. He was clearly a lawyer, maybe even a proper barrister once upon a time, and likeable lawyers were tricky. Coming to a stop at the edge of Rumpole's apparent desk, Terry almost asked whether he was supposed to sit, but Rumpole answered that question for him when he grabbed a thin file from another stack and gestured to be followed again.

They made their way to the back of the building, a thankfully much quieter part of the building, though Terry saw that as a warning as much as anything. Not many ways out if this really was all some elaborate ambush. But, Rumpole shouldered open the door at the end of the hall to reveal nothing more insidious than a simply-appointed private office. Which, really, was insidious enough on its own. The light coming through the windows was pleasant enough, and the smell of old paper was mild enough to actually be appreciated, rather than feeling assaulted by it. The furniture, unlike almost everything else in the keep as a whole, carried the air of age around it, despite being immaculate and polished.

Rumpole set the file down and gave the dark, gleaming wood a fond pat, grinning as he nodded Terry toward the chair on the opposite side. "Gorgeous, isn't she? I may not have been the richest man in my firm, but you can bet I went for the niceties when I could afford them! Sadly, she's not my old one. I suspect that's been wrecked along with the rest of the firm, but we'll cross that bridge when we chase the monsters out from under it, eh?"

Terry could only nod. He wasn't quite as unnerved as he'd been when he arrived, but that left him heading directly toward confused, instead. What the hell was he doing in a barrister's office?

"So! You've already got my name, and I've already yours, and we both know you got our Queen's fascinating correspondence or you wouldn't be here, so I won't waste your time going over all that again. I do still have to observe the usual niceties and thank you for your time, of course; I've been doing plenty of reading about you, Sergeant, and nothing seemed more offensive than taking up your time away from your expansive family, eh?"

Ah. This. Terry had seen this plenty of times from the outside, when people were talking to blue-bloods or high ranking officers and the like. It was downright wierd to have it aimed directly at him: The man was buttering him up for something. "I appreciate th' speed-through introduction, mate, but as y' so clearly already know, I was kinda keen on surprisin' my kids by pickin' 'em up from school t'day. No offense t' you, o' course, but kin y' skip t' th' point?"

Another bark of laughter preceded a small flurry of movement as Rumpole untied the twine binding the file, withdrawing a surprising number of sheets from the battered leather folder and spreading them out not unlike a casino dealer would playing cards. "Fair play to you, Sergeant! Well, let's see here..." Turning his back to his guest, he reached up to the sparsely-filled shelves behind the desk and pulled down a much larger, rolled-up scroll that was easily recognizable as a map. As he spoke, he unrolled it to reveal a large portion of Gilneas, laid out in odd, mostly-rectangular shapes with numbers and notes all over each one.

An estate map? What are they trying to pin on me now?

To his frustration, Terry couldn't make out the legend properly from where he was seated without moving the map himself, and Rumpole was already--still--talking.

"As you're obviously aware, Gilneas was finally declared a safe zone, though of course there are still all those pocket skirmishes and little border incursions…"

And now the confusion was giving way to annoyance. "I 'elped clear a fair number o' those pockets. Yes, I'm aware."

"Right, well!" Rumpole had the decency to look suitably chastised, recognizing he was starting to prattle even after he'd skipped a good portion of the prattling already. "Straight to it, Sergeant: My colleagues all across the kingdoms have seen the writing on the wall and, more importantly, on paper, and gathered all the records that still remain intact enough to have standing." He waved one hand toward the closed door to indicate the mass of papers and fellow lawyers just beyond. Then, he placed one finger squarely on a specific point on that map.

Terry's eyes widened as he sorted out where precisely it was.

"I was given the unique honor to be the one to inform you that your family's stead is one of those lucky few. If you wish to claim it, of course. Our recently crowned queen has declared anybody that shows valid claim has, in layman's terms, dibs. Standard post-war repatriation; there's a bit of a shortlist for whatever's left of the noble houses, the officers, and the notables. I suppose you can sort out where you fell on that list, eh?"

"I--my--...wot? Notable?"

"You are the Lighthound, aren't you?"

Terry blinked.

"Sir, I am a barrister. I do research."

"Right, yeah, sorry, I... 'oly shit."

Terry's thoughts were going entirely too fast for him to catch up with, but when they all went in circles, they all eventually wound up in the same place. It was just a matter of waiting them out, and Rumpole, sensing an opportunity to give his prepared presentation, seized on the moment. Though he was still technically listening, Terry spent the majority of that time studying the map. Now that he had a reference point he could work from, the other plots around his family's ranch clicked into place. His neighbors, to the best of his knowledge, were all dead.

Except for the two.

Declan Diggs' father had run a respectably-sized distillery, owed mostly to Big Diggs' love of vodka, of all things. Made him a bit wierd to everyone else--Gilneans were mostly scotch, whisky, and bourbon people--but growing potatoes had only been the start. They were easy to grow, hard to kill, and turned into strong booze, so Big Diggs was all over it. Terry remembered hearing his buddy talk about how his dad was looking at getting a few fruit trees transplanted to try and branch out--gods, Diggs thought he was so fuckin' funny--into wine, but then everything had gone to absolute shit, and Big Diggs didn't make it out alive.

Smits' parents had devoted a ton of time and effort to clearing their own land of stone before he'd been born. The Mathers family had made a killing selling it to various quarries and sculptors, and then turned around and got that crappy dirt worked into good growing soil. By the time Smits was old enough to walk, he was already an accomplished stone-picker, and by the time they were going to school together, Smits already had tons of ideas and plans to get out of Gilneas, see the world, and most importantly, make tons of money and make a name for himself. Much like Terry, he hadn't been clear on what sort of name he wanted to make, he'd just known he'd wanted to make one.

They were all supposed to be big shots, making big shit happen, together. But they weren't, and only some of that had been Terry's fault. He'd already known, from the moment he'd found out what they'd done to him--what they'd tried to do to his family--that they didn't deserve to be forgiven.

But the people they'd been, the friends he'd once known, didn't deserve to be forgotten, either.

"...wish to re-stake the claim, the Crown would be happy to purchase the land back from you for a tidy sum. You could also grant ownership to another party, if you've got someone in m--"

"Where do I sign."

"Eh? Oh! Of course, just here, here, and..."

"And I want first biddin' rights on any o' th' adjacent steads, if their owners give 'em up or don't 'ave sufficient records. These two 'ere," Terry thumped his finger down on the Diggs and Mathers steads in turn, "Their last livin' fam'ly members are in prison fer treason, among other thin's. I doubt they'll want or be able t' claim it. Let me know about those as y' can…"

Terry and Rumpole spent almost an hour discussing the details. After that, Rumpole took advantage of Terry's damn near photographic memory to help sort out some plots they'd had a lot of trouble identifying. By the time they'd gotten too close to the cities for him to be of use anymore, Terry realized another hour had gone by on top of that, and he'd long since missed the window to surprise his kids at school.

It was time to go home.

( @daily-writing-challenge )

[thatfinewine]

Silly little oneshot that turned in a direction I hadn't intended but went with anyway. Prompt from @potetosaradas was "Blips and Chitz", and the pairing Rick Prime/(young) Rick C-137. It isn't explicitly shippy, but hopefully it's still enjoyable. 🙏

Every so often Rick has to acknowledge that he can't handle all of who Prime is.

(Prime truly does not give a shit. Rick gives too much of a shit.)

“Eh, you win some you lose some,” Prime shrugged nonchalantly as he tossed the helmet game controller down onto the dashboard of the machine, where it landed precariously close to the edge.  He got up from the cramped-but-plush seats and made a show of stretching his long legs, while Rick followed and stood up after him from the opposite chair.

“We wouldn’t ‘lose some’ if you’d quit making us lose!” Rick snapped as he (much more carefully) set his own helmet down and readjusted Prime’s closer to the center of the console without thinking.

Prime reached down and tore off the measly amount of tickets the machine spit out for them.  “Hey; I was having fun shooting Space Fascists—”

“—Instead of protecting the civilians!  Like the objective told us to do!”

“I mean, you made it sound like you had that part pretty handled—”

“—until you blew the whole left wing of the Feds’ ship off and it crashed down on top of us and killed everyone!”

“—which wouldn’t have happened if those pig bastards knew how to steer their own ship.  They drive like male Obravadians!  Man, it’s like they were aiming for you guys – actually, it was kinda funny.”

Prime had already started moving on towards his next objective, leaving Rick to catch up with him.  Rick, mood visibly soured from the loss, didn’t find any of it even slightly amusing.  When Prime caught the look, he rolled his eyes in a comically obvious way.  “Anyone who has taste would find it funny, anyway,” he grumbled, purposefully loud enough to be heard over the ambient noise of the arcade.

“Sorry I don’t find watching innocents being crushed to death funny.”

The air around Prime shifted, the growing tension seemingly choking out the oxygen between them.

“Rick,” Prime said, emphasizing the name with the condescending sort of tone of a teacher who’s disappointed in a student.  “You know you can’t let yourself get all tangled up in small stuff like that.”

Rick felt his face and chest grow hot with embarrassed anger.  Prime spoke about other living beings as if they were hardly more than a footnote to him, but the loss of life never felt ‘small’ to Rick.  That was a conscious being, snuffed right out of existence, losing the most precious thing ever gifted to any of them – life.  A single life that could never be brought back once it was gone.  But the two of them had argued about this so many times before, and this was supposed to be a fun, low-stakes day out playing video games…

“I know,” he answered quietly, sounding simultaneously defeated and bitter about it.

It was moments like these that were chilling reminders of what Prime was like to everyone else.  He was generally good to Rick because he liked Rick.  But Prime didn’t harbor any sort of meaningful fondness for anything else besides creation and discovery.  Rick was an anomaly to him, something that had such a low chance of happening that it was basically a nonexistence; an impossibility.  It made the heat inside of him run cold; as if a block of ice settled into Rick’s ribcage, where it slowly melted into his veins, as he stood in the face of their reality.

Prime found the universe fascinating as he watched life crop up and die as if it were nothing but cells under a microscope.

Rick thought it was wrong to see a disaster happening and do nothing to stop it when he very well had the power to.

Prime said that ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ are societal constructs and aren’t even real.  In the beginning he thought that Rick’s ‘planetary mindset’ was… cute.  But as the same conversation kept circling back around… he was getting annoyed at having to repeat himself.

“You’re not stupid, Rick.  I know you’re not stupid.”

Rick hated those words so much it made him feel sick.

“I know you’re not stupid.  So why do you keep acting like it?”

The feeling of how finite the universe truly was became heavier around Rick, putting pressure on his heart to the point where it hurt to keep beating.  How could two people stay by each other's sides and make a relationship work when their fundamental moral compasses couldn’t align?

“Why does it matter, then?  I-I-I’m not asking you to— to do anything, I’ll do it all myself.  If nothing matters, why does it pi-p-pi-piss you off so much that I want to save lives?”

“Is that really what you’re going to spend the rest of your life doing?  You could be inventing literally anything!  You could be doing anything!  And you’re choosing to waste your own invaluable time simply postponing death for some thing that’s not even going to benefit you?  They’re going to die, Rick.  They’re all going to die.  So you spend a week stopping a flood and helping rebuild a town – then what?  You’re going to leave, feeling all proud of yourself for earning these hero points you invented as a reward and to feel like there’s a balance to the universe and it’s not all chaos – and after you leave, the dam breaks again, or a volcano erupts, or an asteroid slams into the planet, or a burst of solar radiation hits them and wipes out everything.”

“That’s—” 

“—Or another space-faring alien shows up and decides they want the resources and have no use for the people and pick them all off!  Maybe sell them as slaves for a quick buck!  And this is happening to millions of planets - all with sapient life - right now, in this very universe, right this very second, and here you are helping none of them.  So then what, are you choosing which life deserves to survive with your benevolent help?”

“No, I-I’ll—” 

“—Are you going to clone yourself so you can be in billions of places at once, stopping every single disaster on every single planet?  Are you going to lay awake at night beating yourself up over the ones you didn’t save, wasting even more of your time?”

“...”  

“…Do you see how ridiculous you sound to me now?  Come on, Rick.  Look out for yourself - and if a stupid fucking species is going to wipe themselves out with nuclear war, let them.  You’ve fooled yourself into believing that you care.  …If you want to then just do it, but don’t act like it makes you a saint.  You’re not.  You’re Rick Sanchez.”

They usually don’t talk for days afterward.

“I’ll give you time to calm down and actually use that brain of yours.  I know you’re not stupid, Rick.”

Rick didn’t even look over as he heard Prime let loose an exaggerated groan.  “Oh my God,” he complained, drawing out the title into a word that took two whole seconds to say, “stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting,” Rick snapped back, as he actively made an effort to stop pursing his lips and slumping his shoulders.  It wasn’t pouting.  It was… it was…

“We came here to have fun – it’s a fucking space arcade!   You really can ruin anything, huh?”

The good times were so good, but the bad times were so bad.

“It’s a talent,” Rick muttered, trying not to sound like he was marking up a list in his head of the pros and cons of choosing this man as his partner.

Prime shot him a sidelong glance and gave his cosmic twin’s face a quick once-over.  Rick often wondered what Prime’s mental list was.  How long did Rick even have before the scales tipped out of his favor and he lost his appeal?  What would happen to him then?

Existence was finite, after all.

Even for Gods.