#last years was the worst because I hadn't been drawing all year

[marinapeixes]

I never posted the roundup of this collection when I drew the last one last year, so for no particular reason I’ll do it today. Progress isn’t a straight line but I cherish this yearly tradition, and I’m looking forward to making it a nice round 10 years this october

[jo-harrington]

Become What You Were Meant To Be (Eddie Munson)

Word Count: 2.4k

Themes/Warnings: Modern!Eddie, Older!Eddie, set in the mid-2010s, fandom lingo, nerd lingo, Star Wars, typical childhood bullying, angst, minor FOI reference, some canon divergence, coming of age themes, probably poorly written and not edited at all

Note: Happy Birthday to one of the backbones of this fandom, who supports and encourages so many of us, whose endless friendship I am so grateful for. Someone who has absolute endless creativity but doesn't give herself enough credit and grace, who is secretly sitting in the background pulling the strings on some of the best stories I've read and I've written. My muse, my life, my world, my cheeseburger. @fracturedarkness

Thanks to @dr-aculaaa for the beta.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

Eddie Munson was a nerd.

Point blank, end of story.

It was one of those badges he wore along with Freak and loser and...well, you get the gist of it. But it was a badge worn with pride. He owned his identity. Wasn't afraid to show everyone he came across who he was.

It hadn't always been that way.

There used to be a time when it felt like the worst thing in the world to be a nerd like that. The kids bullied him because he got overly excited talking about his favorite characters and favorite books that they found boring. They all teased him when he wrote stories about exciting heroes from fantastical worlds in English class, even though the teacher told him that his stories were ambitious and imaginative. And when he spent lunch doodling in his notebook instead of playing kickball or foursquare? Well, you get the point.

"You're so weird." They mocked him. "You're a freak. Draw normal things. Like normal things. Why can't you just be normal?"

It was cruel, in the way that children naively become perpetrators of cruelness. And it made Eddie sad.

Because what did that mean? He couldn't draw normal things, or like normal things, or do normal things. Then he wouldn't be himself anymore.

And that was the point where he decided normal was overrated. Why would he want to be normal when he could be...anything else.

He could pretend he was one of the Pevensies upon a throne at Cair Paravel. Or one of the Ghostbusters. Or a Jedi...

Of course, he couldn't actually be anything else; he was stuck being boring, old, nerdy Eddie Munson.

It wasn't until middle school--you know, middle school, when everyone decides to embrace who they are and become an individual--that he decided being Eddie Munson wasn't all that bad after all.

This epiphany definitely didn't happen after a Hot Topic opened up at StarCourt Mall. No sir. Not when one of the older kids that worked there, sporting armfuls of tattoos and a lip ring, told him the pen drawings on the toe caps of his sneakers were cool. Of course not. And not after he used the last bit of his birthday money to buy a cool band t-shirt and colored hair gel. Pssshhh...

So on the first day of 8th grade, he showed up rocking his dad's old leather jacket--the one that practically swallowed him--jeans that he ripped himself and a poor excuse for a mohawk, ready to accept the Freak label proudly.

He also accepted detention for breaking the dress code.

And a grounding from Wayne for cutting up a nice pair of jeans.

And a buzzcut because he'd done that poor of a job of cutting his hair for that mohawk.

But he'd gained a friend.

Several friends actually.

Ronnie Ecker and Doug Teague. They were both in the same grade as him, and shared many classes. And it might have been a little embarrassing, but a sixth grader named Jeff who told Eddie that he was his hero. That made Eddie feel like he was on top of the world!

They were friends that stayed with him all through high school, and when he repeated his senior year twice, even more joined the mix along the way.

Band kids and science fair nerds and...and...and...

He called them his sheepies, and he their shepherd clad in black band tees and ripped jeans.

And Eddie?

Eddie just got nerdier.

Got weirder.

Dug himself deeper into the pit of stark individualism that the close-minded town of Hawkins didn't know how to react to.

It was glorious.

He listened to music that made other kids cringe and turn away and neighbors complain about the noise; he liked it so much that he made his friends start a band with him. They played at every single school talent show until they graduated; they never won and sometimes people tried to plug their ears, but to Eddie and his friend, their sound and that stage was exactly what their hearts yearned for. To them, the auditorium might as well have been Madison Square Garden.

He started playing Dungeons and Dragons--started a club of his own design, Hellfire--when he found the guidebooks on a dusty shelf at the library. They were seemingly untouched since their initial publication in the 70s, but they were like a key that unlocked something inside of Eddie. Something that he seemed to have forgotten along the way of reclaiming the name "Freak."

Through DnD, the imaginary worlds that he left behind early in his adolescence opened their doors to him once again.

And his friends, his players, never made fun of him for knowing the ins and outs of the worlds of their fantasies. Worlds like Greyhawk and Faerûn.

Worlds like a certain galaxy far...far away...

---

Eddie's re-entrance into the world of Star Wars had been...an interesting one to say the least.

To Eddie, Star Wars meant the original trilogy. Cut, print, sign the check.

When he thought of Jedi, he thought of Luke Skywalker and Alec Guinness as Obi-Wan and a puppet Yoda. And of course he thought of the dreaded Darth Vader.

Yeah he had his books from the library, a whole extended universe with Mara Jade and Jacen and Jaina. But he'd missed out on the prequels growing up; from being a little too young to see them in theaters, to the whole fiasco of his mother's passing right before Revenge of the Sith had premiered.

As he got older, the need to see them just wasn't there, and hearing from friends and enemies alike that it wasn't anything to write home about was the nail in the coffin.

Until he met one Dustin Henderson.

It was the Jar Jar Binks t-shirt he wore on the first day of his freshman year that got Eddie's attention.

"What is that?" he flicked a finger against the graphic as he ran into Dustin and his friends in the lunch line. "Something from that new Star Trek movie?"

Cue a whole rant about the Gungans and the Separatists and an inter-galactic conflict that made Eddie happily fold Dustin and his band of nerds into the protection of the Hellfire Club.

Eddie still refused to watch the prequels, no matter how much Dustin begged.

"I like it when you guys talk about them," Eddie shrugged off the pleas. "Even better when you guys act out the whole fight between Anakin and Obi-Wan. I'd sell my left nut to relive seeing you and Lucas do that in Wheelers basement; it was the best day of my life Henderson, I swear to god. There's no way the movies could actually beat that."

He hasn’t expected that those little idiots would trick him into a movie marathon for Lucas's birthday.

Even Gareth was in on the whole plan. Traitor.

But it was the beginning of the end.

From the movies to the books to the cartoons, Eddie's love of Star Wars was rekindled. He even spent a short stint as a gamer playing The Old Republic on the old PC that was tucked into the corner of the trailer.

And when a new movie was announced, Eddie happily took his nerd-dom to the next level.

Yes, he was the one to suggest they all dress up for the midnight showing of The Force Awakens, but if anyone asked it was Mike.

He spent hours on a stupid Boba Fett costume. It was a different set of skills to the mini-figures he was used to crafting for DnD. He had to think on a different scale. Hot glue and spray paint and too much cardboard. Only to find real cosplayers used foam, not cardboard. His paychecks from Thatcher Tires went straight to the project, until he had something halfway decent for the premiere.

"What?" he laughed along with his friends when they joked about the hot glue spiderwebs that he'd been too lazy to clean up. "It's not like I'll have to do this again; we're not dressing up next time."

Or so he thought...

There was something so magical about sitting in a movie theater, in the middle of December, at midnight, surrounded by other people who decided to dress up for the occasion, and a few dozen plastic lightsabers all lit up.

To listen to the theme, to read the crawl on a big screen, to see the camera pan down into the vastness of stars...

This was what it was to be a nerd.

There was something extra special about finding a new favorite character. Something that touched something deep down inside of you when you saw something of yourself in them.

And Eddie had always been drawn to the villains. Whether in the media he consumed or the characters he created for DnD. He knew why; he wasn't totally oblivious. To be the hero of his own story, he often had to become a villain to someone else.

Besides, villains always had a little bit more fun.

So when Kylo Ren first made his way on screen, Eddie knew that he was done for.

The mask, the lightsaber, the Dark Side of the Force, the anger...how many times had he almost given in to the anger he felt at being mocked and teased. He'd overcome that time and again; what if he'd just given in?

There was also something about being Al Munson Han Solo's son.

Yeah. He could understand the anger there.

But then he was also Elizabeth Leia's son...the conflict.

It took Eddie a few days to get over the initial flurry of thoughts after seeing Force Awakens for the first time. That was when he realized he needed to see it again. And again. A matinee showing on Christmas Eve with Wayne, who he also treated to lunch. The last showing on a Thursday in January. Another outing with the guys, refusing to admit that he'd already seen it a few times between opening night and then.

Thankfully, this time, Mike was the mastermind behind their plans for the next movie as they waited for the previews to finish.

"So," Mike sat up straight. "I think I wanna get an early dibs on dressing up like Poe when Episode 8 comes out."

"I think I wanna try my hand at making an Admiral Ackbar costume," Dustin said with utter confidence, and then turned to Eddie. "What about you?"

It caught Eddie off-guard for a second; should he just say Kylo? Did they expect him to want to dress up as anyone else? Maybe they thought that he would want to be Poe, leader of their misfit group as he was.

"Eddie's obviously Kylo," Jeff piped up. Eddie's head immediately turned to him. "What? Don't think we didn't watch you drool over that lightsaber last time."

"And his ship?" Gareth cackled one seat over. "Fuck the Falcon. I swear, if you could turn the van into something that looked like that ship..."

"Oh my god, you're right!" Lucas cackled.

"Hey I think I could figure out a pretty convincing Snoke," Eddie argued, trying to deflect their teasing, but secretly pleased that he'd gotten exactly what he wanted.

And that his friends knew him so well.

---

For two years, Eddie worked on his costume.

Two. Years.

He was practically a different person by the time of the Last Jedi's opening night.

And yeah his motivation faltered, but he never quit.

It was strange, the need to perfect the costume. He’d almost given up many times. When there was a certain skill he wasn't good at or when he'd felt like it would never be finished. Every time, he felt like that silly kid who everyone just told to be normal. To like normal things.

He was growing up. He was a grown up! Shouldn’t he be passed all of this…silliness? Everyone else in the world seemed to think so, as they put away all the frivolities of childhood. Were they working round the clock and pricking their fingers on needles and burning themselves with hot glue?

Probably not.

Eddie found himself still stuck there, watching a world lose its joy and think that it was normal, and he always wondered if he should try to be normal too. For once in his life. The first time in his life.

But every time he thought about letting it all go, about putting his dream aside...something would come and drive him to keep going.

New promotional images, a new trailer. Especially the ones focused on Kylo himself.

"Let the past die," Kylo Ren grumbled in the voice over. "Kill it if you have to."

That became Eddie's driving force.

He owed it to himself to finish. He owed it to his younger self...not to let his dream die...to keep being weird and nerdy and happy.

"Let the past die," Eddie told himself as he stitched the hem of the tunic the week before opening night.

"Kill it if you have to," he said as he distressed the plastic helmet that he'd ordered, giving it the right amount of realism so it didn't just look like something so fake and commercial.

"Let the past die," his child self muttered, front teeth missing from the day Johnny B pushed him over on the playground because he was playing superheroes wrong. Eddie put a hand on his head and then stepped into his boots.

"Kill it if you have to," his preteen self urged him, self-assured, mohawk looking stupider than he realized way back when. Eddie flicked his ear good-naturedly before adjusting the cape on his shoulders.

There he stood--Eddie Munson, the young man, the freak, the nerd--in his bedroom before the mirror. He was adorned in pieces of foam and layers of fabric from the craft store, helmet tucked under his arm.

But in the mirror itself? There was Kylo Ren...there he was as Kylo Ren. In the hallway of a Star Destroyer, layered in armor and the shadows of the Dark Side itself, like he was ready for a battle with the Resistance.

Ready for the battle within himself.

But there was no battle, and the armor was actually Eddie's skin. This was his real self, his true self. All of his work came to fruition, all of the time and effort that he put into the craft. Not just two years working on a costume, but an entire lifetime poured into becoming an Eddie Munson who proudly wore the title nerd and freak and loser.

The destroyer melted away, and he was back in his bedroom once again. Surrounded by posters and books and drawings, by all of his crafts and his guitars and his endless clutter.

He smiled at himself, feeling lighter than he had in a long time.

Eddie Munson was a nerd, and as he lit the lightsaber and he was washed in a glow of crackling red light, he knew that this was who he was always meant to be.

[browneyesandhair]

Non-Exhaustive List of Soulmate Fics: Klaroline Pt 1

Okay, I'm bored so I'm compiling my favorite soulmate fics. Here's the Klaroline edition:

Runaway by Cupcakemolotov

Summary:

Caroline has been running from her soul mate since she found him standing over her father’s corpse.

Hunt You Slow by Cupcakemolotov

Summary:

Discovering that the scourge of the supernatural was her soulmate would be enough to send any girl running.

At Horizon's Edge by Cupcakemolotov

Summary:

Sometimes when a girl goes on a shopping trip to pick up a new pair of boots at the local, and somewhat hostile, human space station, she accidentally aids and abets a prison break instead. What happens in the black really doesn't stay in the black.

The Howling by Cupcakemolotov

Summary:

Caroline's day goes from bad to worse to insane in a matter of moments.

Written On Your Skin by LaLainaJ

Summary:

It's a rather boring day, at the flower shop Caroline owns. And then The Original Hybrid walks in, and changes her life by uttering a few small words. They're words Caroline knows, words she sees on her skin, every day in the mirror. She's thought about her soulmate, who wouldn't have? But he's the last thing she ever would have expected, and the last person she should want. But she can't quite bring herself to deny their connection.

The Air We Breathe by slstmaraudersjple

Summary:

When Caroline learns that her soulmate is the thousand year old Original Hybrid, she cries, because she knows her world is ending. When Klaus learns that his soulmate is a baby vampire, he is intrigued, because he has waited his entire life for her. Soulmates AU.

Even When We're Ghosts by LaLainaJ

Summary:

He'd just been planning to collect his doppelganger, hadn't anticipated such strong resistance. Now, trapped in his wolf form, until he meets his soulmate, Klaus seeks alternative solutions. He doesn't believe in soulmates. Until Caroline Forbes crosses his path. Caroline thinks she's hallucinating (note to self, don't accept moonshine from old ladies) until her life starts getting... weird. The Mikaelsons aren't great at subtle.

the fate makes for a lousy poet. by for_darkness_shows_the_stars

Summary:

It is not unheard of. Soulmates born too far apart to ever meet. Caroline did her research thoroughly. It’s just rare. And for all that she’d known her entire life that her fated other half was dead long, long before she was even a gleam in her mother’s eye … it’s unfair. . Everyone is born with a soulmate. It just so happens that a millennium divides Caroline from hers.

I Wish I Was (I Wish I Was) by dressedupasmyself

Summary:

“I think that even if you find your soulmate, there’s some measure of choice involved. Maybe some people just make the wrong choices.” “Good,” Caroline said. “What if my soulmate is, like, the worst? I wouldn’t want to be stuck with him forever. I want some kind of choice.” “But that’s the beauty of it,” Elena sounded wistful, “Your soulmate might be awful to everyone else, but they’re the best for you.” Caroline scoffed. “Okay, whatever.”

Passing Notes in Secrecy by perfectpro

Summary:

Caroline doesn’t remember not having a soulmate. Her mom says that the drawings started when she was small, just a baby. So he’s clearly older than her. She doesn’t mind, thinks that it will probably be nice to be with someone who has a little more life experience. She thinks she's one of the lucky ones.

The Raven Hunter by LynyrdLionheart

Summary:

There is a killer hunting frat boys on campus. The Raven Hunter is a terrible name... not that Caroline has a reason to care or anything.

a part of something that’s bigger (than me) by Issay

Summary:

In the beginning she's a plaything, the mean girl brought low, made and unmade by decisions of others and Caroline never receives apologies for most of it. Elena fights for her happy ending and through all of her losses and dark despair she is never alone. Bonnie wins her freedom, powerful in her own right. Caroline is left with uncertainty and obligations. No, the story isn't kind to Caroline. So let's change the story.

oh there you are (i've been looking for you) by breakfasttako

Summary:

Caroline was born a fated one, which means two things: 1) She has a soulmate 2) She's going to die tragically young

What's a Little Ink? by Writerwithagoal

Summary:

What would you get as a tattoo if you knew it would appear on your soulmate?

Hallowed Ground by KiryTheStitchWitch

Summary:

Caroline's trip to Ireland was not going the way it was supposed to. She was expecting stories and myths, and instead finds that some legends are a lot more real than she could have imagined. And hot. Really hot.

Inadvisable by MissNMikaelsonSummary:Everyone has soul words. The first thing your soulmate will ever say etched somewhere on your body. Caroline always dreaded meeting hers. She had never imagined this though; she had never imagined him. He had all but given up. Just a one shot for one of my favorite pairings.

Midnattsol by BelleMorte180

Summary:

The man laying before her was her soulmate, someone who should have died a thousand years ago. Written for AU-Season week three

Ship of Bones by Cupcakemolotov

Summary:

When humanity struggles to maintain its racial identity in the cold reaches of space, Caroline Forbes has hidden the gifts her alien mother left her. But secrets aren't secrets forever.

Familiar Taste of Poison by Cupcakemolotov

Summary:

A great love isn't always a blessing.

Holding Out for a Hero by slstmaraudersjple

Summary:

Klaus would totally be able to focus on his plans for world domination… if only his soulmate would stop singing that thrice-damned song. But then there's silence, and Klaus grows worried. Soulmate AU where songs that one’s soulmate sings gets stuck in one’s head. CW/TW: descriptions of Caroline being abused by Damon but nothing graphic/explicit.

[tumblingxelian]

@princess-of-the-corner

So, not exactly ML Civil War AU assistance, but I had been tinkering with a Chloe & Zoe centric idea recently based on this song: Riproducer - Language Of The Lost (Slowed)

Basic idea months and or a year or a bit more after everything went down with Queen Mayor.

Zoe should be living her dream life.

She has friends, she doesn't have to perform for her more or horrible mean girls, she has a father who cares about her and is an up and coming actress!

Which begs the question why she lied to said dad about 'having' to attend school rather than a rehearsal. Lied to her friends about needing to be at rehearsal instead of school. And is currently sneaking into a London boarding school attended by her villainous half sister hoping for... What?

Well, what Zoe wants on one level is for Chloe to be exactly as she remembers her, to be bitter and furious at Zoe for "Stealing" her place. Because maybe that will put the roiling dread and sickness that seems to be suffusing her to rest and she can assume she's just been imagining things.

Unfortunately, when she finds Chloe in the library, the initial wave of defensiveness doesn't last.

-

Chloe's gaze is following her frame, but also scanning around her, warily, watching, searching for something.

Past experience with the girls at her old school rears its ugly head and Zoe realizes Chloe's bracing for an ambush. Even the pencil in her hand has shifted into something meant to stab which is... Something.

"Where are they?" Chloe ground out quietly.

Zoe swallowed, "My friends aren't here, no one is... Just me."

There's a moment, a beat, and then the hostility, the defensiveness, the fear vanishes.

Chloe's frame goes languid even as she draws herself up to her full height. Brow arched sharply, she looks Zoe over for a mere second before muttering.

"This is because of Andre, isn't it?"

'She understands?' Zoe feels like the ground beneath her feet is somehow both gone and more solid than ever before. Without thinking she whispers, "You... You get it?"

"How could I not? But you of all people..." Chloe actually stops herself, as if taking a moment to think over her words, a frown marring her sharp features before she continues. "Did it sneak up on you then? I assumed you knew what you were getting into with taking... Taking on the 'role' of his daughter."

Zoe hadn't, she still didn't, her throat felt tight and her eyes were burning up. Even though she had apparently found someone who understood her without her even needing to speak she couldn't even understand herself!

Rather than answer Chloe, Zoe just found herself aggressively pawing at her eyes to try and stem the flow of tears. She'd be all red and puffy and ugly and-

"Stop it," Chloe snapped, the authoritative tone making her freeze up before the other girl pressed on. "Is this a, dorm room conversation, a cafe conversation, or a go to a bar where they don't check ID conversation?" She held up a finger for each option and Zoe matched Chloe's index finger with her own.

Nodding, the other girl sharply turned, snatched up her study supplies and sent a hostile glare across the library before turning back to her, grabbing Zoe's hand and leading her out of the library.

The path to Chloe's dorm was sharp and swift.

Her half sister had always excelled even in her worst moments at projecting her presence. Zoe had usually put it down to simply following in their mothers wake, but it seemed Chloe had her own method.

Namely, she had already decided where she was going to be and the fastest route to get there and if you were between her and it, that was on you. She didn't slow, or stall, or shift and instead anyone between her and the dorm room stepped aside.

it wasn't fear that followed Chloe in those gazes though, not in the way someone with power evoked. It was more the cautious stare of people unsure if the feral dog was about to maul somebody.

When they did finally reach her dorm room, Zoe was surprised to find it a spartan, place. Nice in the sense this was a boarding school for the rich, but there was nothing that screamed... Chloe.

'What does scream Chloe?' A part of her wondered, the color yellow maybe? A loud voice? For the life of her, Zoe couldn't think of anything about her sister that seemed like it was hers.

Evidently Chloe had become psychic because as she closed the door, the blonde said.

"Its bare, I know. Learning how to be a person after a life spent as some mix of human doll and be-loathed pet didn't leave me with much to work with." Chloe dropped her study equipment at the wooden desk and gestured around the room.

"You're upset, I can't comfort you, I don't know how. But there's a chair, a desk, a bed, or the floor, sit if you like, or don't. If you need to scream I have music to hide it, or you can smash something so long as its not my laptop."

"Why?" Zoe managed to croak out, "Why are you being... Why did you have to understand!?"

The tilted head and confused stare that met her was followed by a simple shrug. "Because I'm what you'll be in a few years if things don't change."

That was the final straw and Zoe didn't so much as hug Chloe as she did collapse on her, howling and sobbing and screaming into her blue blazer.

Her sister was nearly robotic, no like a mannequin, and somehow that only made the crying worse as she sobbed out a wretched, "I'm sorry."

For not seeing, for letting things get this far, for breaking down on her, for being the only one of them who even 'could' cry right now?

Chloe wasn't looking at her, so much as she was staring somewhere far away from them as she awkwardly muttered. "Its a cheap material anyway."

It was such a bland, awkward, mundane response that Zoe couldn't help but release chocked laughter between the sobs as she finally began to settle down.

As her sob faded, Zoe flopped down onto Chloe's firm bed, as her sister hovered over her, not quite looking concerned, but... Unsure.

Whatever she was thinking on, she settled on saying, "How do you feel now?"

Zoe wasn't sure she could answer that, so the first thing to leave her mouth was... "Better? Emptier at least, Yeah... emptier works." It was better than feeling like she was going to burst.

"Empty..." Chloe hummed thoughtfully, "Empty can work, for now at least."

"Are you speaking from experience?"

Chloe just waved at the room around them as she tossed aside her dark blue blazer. "I could only scream and howl and tear at the walls so long before it all became unbearably pointless."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

Chloe shrugged, "I wouldn't have wanted it, I wanted what you have."

"But now you don't?" She already knew but hearing it would... Help...

"No," it came out like it was the most natural thing in the world to say. "No I don't want it. I may not be happy here, but I'm... Less sick, now that I'm not being drip fed their poison."

"They?"

"Andre, Hawk Moth and Gabriel," she huffed," The rest."

"Should I be worried our... That Andre is higher ranked than the super villain."

Chloe folded her arms, "Are you surprised?"

"No," slipped out like it was the most natural thing in the world to say.

That was evidently that and they simply lingered in silence for awhile, not quite comforted but at ease perhaps? In something like a groove, born of mutual understanding.

The sick feeling was still churning inside her though and as minutes turned to nearly an hour it began to dominate again. Not wanting to breakdown a second time, Zoe spoke.

"I still don't know what I'm going to do about... With... I mean all of this is so much and I don't know what to do." She looked to Chloe, not quite expectantly, but hopefully.

The blonde had been staring into spare for near on an hour, but clicked back like no time had passed. "You got your confirmation that Andre's twisting your brain and body into his perfect little plaything. Seems like now's the time to use those social skills of yours and get your friends to do... Whatever it is friends do."

Zoe merely frowned and flopped back on the bed, "I still don't know if I can explain it to them. Even with you backing me up-"

Chloe chuckled, "Let's be honest, that wouldn't help."

Pouting, Zoe pushed on, "Even with you or without you, even with what you just said I don't... I can't..."

"Its hard," Chloe amended for her, "Being something that man owns. But they're your friends before his, so... Oh."

"Oh..." Zoe murmured.

"Its not... Its not like he's their friend," Zoe corrected. "But he's helping fund Nino's movies, he's booked halls for Kitty Section, given Marinette connection... They like him."

"He bribed them," Chloe supplied, tone closer to what Zoe remembered.

Scathing.

Zoe forced herself up, "They don't know that and I don't have the words."

"You don't have the words because he doesn't want you to have the words. They don't know they've been bought, but they're still paid for. I didn't realize I was a product until he wanted a refund." Chloe let out a low huff, and looked Zoe in the eyes, "I guess you beat that last one."

"Only because I... Gods, only because I saw him throw you away, at the time I- Chloe I-"

"Let's not go there," her tone was choke with something like pain and grief, and no small amount of humiliation.

Meeting her sisters gaze, Zoe pressed on, "... Do you know the story of Ichorus?"

For the first time, Chloe looked genuinely baffled, eyes glancing at the small collection of dog eared books around her dorm room before shaking her head.

"He was given wings but told not to fly too close to the sun. Because if he did, the wax holding the feathers would melt and he'd fall."

Chloe's head tilted from one side to the next, as she tried to parse Zoe's meaning before asking, "I need you to put that in a way like I don't know how metaphors work."

Zoe reached out and managed to wheedle one hand into Chloe's, gripping it firmly she said, "I'm not better just because I learned from your example."

There was a small 'Ah' expression on Chloe's face and she briefly squeezed Zoe's hand back, before pulling away. "Well, its useful to know wat not to do I suppose."

"I still don't know how to fix any of this, or if it can be fixed, or fought, or something else." She sat up, clenching her first, "But I know I want things to change, for both of us."

Twice in so many minutes she'd managed to leave Chloe speechless, as she blonde stared at her bogle eyed before forcing her face back into something like a neutral affect.

"Well... You know where to find me."

It wasn't much, it wasn't a plan, or a resolution, or salvation like Zoe had thought she'd found in Paris moths ago. But it was a promise, from one sister to another.

[ruinofchimera]

People forget or are too young to remember that when Order of the Phoenix first came out, everyone thought Lily was exceptional because she was coming to the defence of some random slimy unpopular kid she didn’t know just because it was the right thing to do. Nobody theorized for a second back in 2003 that they were friends, let alone best friends, because they DIDN’T ACT LIKE IT. She pays no attention to him in that scene because she’s so dialled in to James even at his worst. People theorized that Snape had a distant crush. Obviously JKR wrote it that way in Book 5 to conceal the Snily connection because it needed to be a big mystery reveal in book 7, but that means she needed to make Lily’s behavior - the flicker of amusement and the bantering with James while her friend is assaulted - in the Book 5 scene work retrospectively from a characterization standpoint in The Prince’s Tale. And she makes it work by painting a picture of a shaky friendship that had turned toxic long before the Mudblood incident, and not just because of his Slytherin associations and the threat of the war. He doesn’t understand why she cares about her sister, she puts all the blame on him for them stealing Petunia’s letter. He minimizes the harm Mulciber does, she tells him that he’s supposed to show gratitude to his abuser for drawing the line at murder. We’re not meant to read it as this loving, warm, equal relationship that Snape fucked up in this one moment.

I won’t even bother to hide that your writing hooked me right away. I fervently crave insights from the time when the books were just coming out and people didn’t yet see the whole picture. I find red herring to be a rather delicious literary device, so it’s a pity that I can only imagine how the final twists of the series blew the minds of the audience. Unfortunately, I was still a child at the time, so my brain cells could not yet process the subtleties of the material. Therefore, my judgments were formed after multiple re-readings in adulthood, and by that time, I had been shamelessly robbed of the intrigue.

Many fanon trends take on deeper meaning after you lift the veil of how the material was initially perceived (being misled by the narrator until the very end and all). Taking this into account, it becomes clear where the claims of Lily’s heroism may have come from. Someone in a reblog of my previous post mentioned that even Harry, who held a grudge against Snape, didn’t find the display amusing in the slightest. On the contrary, he was terrified. So even if there was no evidence of Lily and Severus’s friendship to speak of at that time, Lily’s glorification is still dubious to me. But for some people that might be enough to plant the roots of her chivalrous nature.

I see it now. You explained incredibly well why people might have overlooked the red flags in Lily as a friend, given that they didn’t perceive her as more than a mere bystander during the incident. Unfortunately, though, I have very little faith that people still base their opinions on what they read many years ago. I mean, I reread the series just last winter, and I had already forgotten a lot of important details (for example, Lily trying to make Severus feel grateful that James had saved him). And some folk intervene in discussions about Harry Potter when the last time they touched the original material was more than a decade ago? Well, if they seriously rely on their—dare I say—ancient reading, it would be so absurd it would almost be funny. Why am I even surprised? Maybe I’m just jealous of their superior memory.

Whatever. Once again, your meta is a revelation to be reckoned with. I hadn't considered it from this angle before, my critical thinking is almost purring with an enjoyment.

[hearts-are-connected]

Random Alex Casey Headcanons

There's an empty couch open to Casey whenever he needs it. I picture one of the Anderson's walking to the kitchen and finding Casey on the couch, sleeping deeper than he ever does at his home, and he stays for breakfast before hitting the road. Or they know he's been there and left early by the neatly folded blanket and pillow sitting in the living room.

Logan enjoys drawing pictures of tired, grump Uncle Casey while he's asleep. She says he's at his most relaxed.

The Anderson's keeping certain food items or coffee blend they know he likes in their home for such occasions. Even including gifts for him under their tree because it's tradition for him to join them Christmas morning.

If he reluctantly takes part in an ugly sweater competition or two, no one is wiser as he swears everyone to secrecy regarding their photos.

Casey and his wife Miranda got a divorce due to mounting issues. The worst loss for them being a miscarriage.

Miranda fell into bad habits, and as such, took her aggression and heartache out on Casey, who tried to make things work while continuing to do his job. It got so bad that in the middle of the night, after a particularly bad argument, Casey left. All he took from the home was his favorite three-piece suit, work related items, every drawing Logan had gifted him, and a pair of shoes. He then proceeded to walk aimlessly through the dark, leaving the car behind, seeing as it was in his soon-to-be ex-wife's name.

David Anderson was leaving to go to work the following morning and was surprised to find Casey asleep on their front porch with his small box of items beside him. After rousing him and collecting his things, David put Casey to bed in one of the spare bedrooms, which ultimately became his own until the divorce was settled and Casey found a place not far from them.

Casey is a fine cook, despite everything pointing to the contrary. For a man who looks like he survives off six coffees a day with the occasional sandwich, he can fix a meal that'll leave most wanting seconds or thirds. As a thank you to the Anderson's for their hospitality to him, he cooked enough food to last them a month and provided the recipe for each dish.

When Casey first met Saga, he didn't think much of her. Figuring she'd buckle under the pressure of the job and go back home to find another career. To his surprise, she became a bright light amongst her peers. Enough so that he took her under his wing personally to teach her what knowledge he'd acquired over the years. Not realizing that in doing so, he'd not only gain a new partner, but that he'd eventually come to be adopted into a family he would cherish and gladly give his life for.

The first time he met Logan Anderson was when she was only a day old. Reluctantly entering the hospital room, the sight of Saga laid up in bed cradling her newborn daughter had pierced his hard shell in a way he hadn't thought it would. When Saga and David finally convinced him to hold Logan, he did so carefully. It was one of the first times both the new parents had seen Alex Casey genuinely smile. Teeth and all.

Logan became the brightest light Casey could remember entering his life, aside from her mother, of course. To those at the bureau, he was still the same jaded, hardened agent they'd known for years, but to those who paid closer attention, small glimpses of change appeared. Little things like a child's drawing appearing on his desk, or a coffee mug with 'My favorite Uncle' printed on it alongside a cartoon fox.

He was once ambushed on a case resulting in numerous injuries and a decent recovery time. It was the first time Logan had ever seen her uncle hurt that severely. It felt as if each time Casey woke, he'd find a small reminder that she'd been there hidden somewhere near his bed. He occasionally woke to a small kiss on his cheek. He kept one of the smaller stuffed animals she's placed on his bed. Furthermore, he always packs it in his suitcase when he's away from home, either for work or the rare rest and relaxation. Saga's never let him live it down.

The angriest he's ever been, besides numerous incidents with his ex, was when he saw a group of older kids shove an eight-year-old Logan to the dirt at the playground. Saga swears all four boys who'd bullied her daughter ran home crying when confronted by Casey.

Saga and Logan are the only ones who Casey allows close enough to snuggle. Something he'll deny until blue in the face, but on more than one occasion, either Anderson can be found using his lap as a pillow while he uses said time to catch up on some reading.

[underthefingers]

True tickle story time #2

I have a friend who I tickle quite often. She's pretty damn ticklish and has an AMAZING laugh, so I of course try to hear it whenever I can. We watch stupid shit on YouTube and eventually made a "try not to laugh" playlist with some of our favorite videos.

We were hyping up the challenge because we are two giggly bitches who would likely fail instantly. We were talking MAD shit and decided to turn this into a bet.

She offered up the idea, "I bet I can stay stoic longer than you, you chuckle fuck."

"OH yeah???? What do you bet?"

"If I win, you let me text anyone from your phone."

"Well if I last longer than you brute... I get to tickle your worst spots!"

The bet was set. The terms agreed upon. We had three lives and 100+ videos. First to lose all of their lives suffers.

She first laughed at this.

This was around video 10. I hadn't lost any lives yet and I knew my victory was assured.

"Where are you most ticklish again?" I asked fully knowing the answers. Even so, the brat tried to mislead me.

"Definitely my sides. Can't stand that."

The liar was gonna get it.

This next video was a guaranteed laugh for her. I knew it as soon as I put it in the playlist.

I was right and her confidence began to wane. I continued shit talking despite laughing once myself until we came upon her last laugh.

I won, and I was excited to keep her laughing. We went upstairs to my room and she took a seat on my bed. I asked, "Are you ready and still okay with this?" And she nodded. She began to grin.

She flopped into a tight fetal position while saying "I lost, but I'm not going to make this easy for you."

That was my cue. I went for her so-called "weak spot" first and quickly pinched her sides with both of my hands. I gripped all the way around her sensitive sides and used my thumbs to scrub around the curve of her waist. This didn't quite break her defensive position, but I switched to pressing down on her lower stomach, right bellow the navel, with both of my pointer and index fingers, wiggling my hands as my fingers indented her ticklish skin. She literally gasped. Her fetal position quickly crumbled as I pinned her arms over her head. She was CACKLING already, but I decided to make things worse.

I knew her sides were bad, but they were probably like her third worst spot, so I decided to go for good ol' number one" her armpits.

My friends pretty skinny and has some DEEP armpit hollows. It was summer so she wore a tank top and she had NO defense against my fingers. I'm glad my roommates weren't home because she was about to SCREAM!

Over my many years of tickling her, I discovered that light touches can spark her downfall. With the very tip of my pointer finger, I slowly began drawing pictures in her right underarm hollow. She exploded as I tried my best to draw on my struggling canvas. I was writing the alphabet as slowly as possible and I could barely make it to "S" before she begged me to stop. I obliged and switched hands. Her left armpit hasn't even been touched yet!

I switched strategies to keep her guessing and used some more intense techniques. I placed my thumb on her armpit and lightly scratched all over the center of her hollow. I slowly began to press harder and harder and I could tell it began to tickle more and more. She was getting tired and I had an idea.

I sat on her legs and went after both of her armpits. Spider tickling her hollows had her silently laughing, choking out an occasional "please" with her exhales.

I unpinned her arms and she sat up as she catched her breath. "That's it right? You got my actual worst spots." I quietly shook my head and pointed to her feet. Well, more specifically, her foot. She was injured in the past and essentially no longer feels ticklish on her left leg downward. BUT for some reason, it's as if all of the sensitivity that was once in her left foot into her right one.

"Fine. But just for a minute." I started my timer and had my gun. I pulled her toes back with my hand and scribbled right underneath them with my nails. I clawed at her sole. I dug my fingers into the tops of her foot. She loses it. We didn't even make it to a minute before she safeworded. And that was that. She caught her breath before letting out a weak "that was fun." We ended up going back to watch the rest of our stupid playlist, adding more laughter to the already jubilant evening.

[silmawensgarden]

Stages of acceptance

Maedhros x reader

Prompt: Hi! I loved your young Maedhros request/fic and I was wondering if I could request Maedhros x reader and they are reunited in Valinor after the destruction of the Ring and Sauron (e.g. reader had remained in Middle Earth and only left with Elrond once the ring was destroyed)? Thank you!

Requested by anonymous

A/n: I know it's taken long for me to get this one out. Though I tried my best to imagine a good scenario for this one so I hope you enjoy it! → It has some hurt/angst in it but its hurt with comfort. I hope the end is sweet enough to make up for it. ❤

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: angst/hallucinations/mentions of death

The time has finally come for you to return to valinor. Three ages have passed and the fourth was about to begin. The reign of the elves has waned into nothing. You are standing at the front of the boat, greeted by the salty air of the sea. This is the last ship to depart from the grey havens. You feel a mixture of joy, anticipation and fear. Your stomach churning uncomfortably from the feelings.

Your arrival in Valinor means that you must face someone you haven't seen since the earliest age. He's bound to be there, watching by the shore like a hawk for a sign of your existence. You don't know if you even want to face him after all these years. His death was like a poorly aimed arrow to the heart; a supposedly fatal blow, but instead turned into a curse you had to live with for the rest of your life. The nightmares made his death seem like it happened yesterday. The hollow look in his eyes as he fell into the flaming inferno remained fresh in your memories. The nightmares have subsided to some degree these days, but occassionaly you would still need the help of Elrond to be grounded into reality. Those days are the worst, in those moments dream and reality fuse together into horrible hallucinations that take days to recover from.

It took some convincing from Elrond to get you aboard the ship. Your hesitance was peculiar to them because you hardly ever divulged any information about your past. From the time you spent fighting in the first two ages of the world to a good while before your impromptu arrival in Imladris. They only know that you are one of the elves who left valinor in the first age. Not exactly an ideal amount of trust you gave them, but at the time it felt like the safest option.

What else could you have done? Tell them you'd been the ever faithful companion to a kinslayer? It would've been a far too harsh pill to swallow for a first meeting. Occasionally your story would fray at the edges, it made you wonder if any of them ever noticed the minor discrepancies between each recollection of the tales you told them.

Now that you thought about it, you haven't been truthful with him either. The one person you felt like running to and from at the same time. Especially now..... the thought of facing him was excruciating. You hadn't bothered to write to him, let alone use osanwe....the spiritual link between your fëar had remained all these years. Yet you refused to participate in the ages long tug-of-war your souls had been playing. Was it better this way?

You felt a firm hand on your shoulder, drawing you out of your spiralling thoughts. "Y/n, what is the matter? You have been completely mentally unavailable during our journey."

It was Elrond. A deep frown etched into his face. You felt a bit guilty about all the silent stewing but you weren't so sure if you should come clean right this instant or not. You were willing to take the bait in the end, after all you'd be spending quite some time together in Valinor. Even more so, Elrond was a trusted friend and companion to you, one you didn't want to lose.

"Elrond....I believe it is time for me to have a lengthy conversation with you. I have not been 100% truthful with you these past years."

You turn around to look at him and see an expression of surprise with thinly veiled concern on his face. Elrond nods and the both of you sit down a little further away from the other elves for privacy. "What is it that you wish to tell me y/n?" He asks.

"I have not told you the full truth of my identity. I believe you are aware of the Fëanorians? Specifically Maedhros...."

After a good hour of talking it had become clear that you had been involved with Maedhros quite closely. In return Elrond had shared with you his own interactions that he and his brother had with the eldest Fëanorians. Fond memories, but also the hardships that came with the turbulent times they had to live through. Elrond was not happy with you keeping the information to yourself all these years, it upset him that you never gave him any insight on your horrible hallucinations. Because now he also knew the reason behind them, had he known sooner he could've helped you earlier and easier.

However despite your silence he was not angry at you. Most of the upset had come from a place of wanting what was best for you, not because he had felt cross about your involvement with Maedhros. In the end you and Elrond remained good friends if not even better friends now that he knew who you were.

It wasn’t long before it was announced that the shores of Aman were in sight. The news made you freeze up. You knew that you would now have to face Maedhros face to face. So you braced yourself for the conversation ahead of you.

The moment you stepped onto dry land your soul felt like it was being squeezed tight by something, a tight grip that told you it wouldn’t let go. Within seconds after you felt this feeling you caught a sliver of fiery red hair in the back of the crowd.

Him.

Anxiety pooled into your stomach as you felt yourself being pushed forward by the people behind you. It seemed like every sound around you had become dull, save for your own heartbeat. The fast paced thumping in your ears was the only thing you could hear. You saw Elrond speaking to you for a brief moment, but your mind did not register what he said. You set out towards the last spot you had seen the tiny speck of red hair. Partially hoping for the confrontation.  

When you arrived at the spot there was no-one to greet you. He had apparently already left. The thumping had alleviated some but you were still processing your surroundings as if through a blanket of thick fog. Everything felt slow and dull. Your feet dragged you over towards a pathway that was all too familiar. You followed the road towards a familiar place mindlessly. Your feet stopped short by a riverbank. There he sat on a rock, his copper hair now long and swaying in the wind.

“So you have found it in you to return home, y/n.” He spoke slowly. It was deeper than you remembered and a little bit raspy, as if he had been screaming the night before. You stepped closer to him, now standing right behind him.

“Let me then simply state what is on my mind, why have you never bothered to send me letters y/n? You even refused to use osanwe with me, despite our status…….” He said solemnly. It was clear he was unhappy with your lack of communication.

“Maedhros….. I was so caught up with the destruction of the one ring and finding a way to defeat Sauron that I haven’t paid anything else any thought…..and I was also deeply wounded by your death. I was unable to respond to anything properly since. Including your bids for connection.” You fumbled over your words here and there during your explanation, partially knowing that it was a rather weak excuse that he may not accept. After all he was known to carry on until he could no more.

“Was it worth it?” His words stung like a papercut. You knew by the tone of his voice that it was meant to sound cold and removed, but his true feelings shone through underneath the façade. Saltiness. Maedhros the tall was feeling salty.  You pondered for a moment on what to do, you still loved him dearly and didn’t want to give him up. So you made up your mind.

“Maitimo….I am sorry for my lack of heartfelt response in those times when you reached out to me. I was unable to move past my own issues to reciprocate what you had given me all those years before and I am ashamed of it. I hope that you are perhaps still willing to give this another chance….I would be most grateful, if you’ll have me…” A lone tear slipped from your eye. You felt cross with yourself for your cowardice, maybe even your horrible dreams could’ve been eased if you had leaned into him back then. Unfortunately many things we only realize once we have been pushed onto the end of the road.

Maedhros’ form stiffened up at your confession, slowly turning around to face you. His face was stoic. Forcing yourself to make eye contact with him you saw the slightest flash of a deep heartfelt emotion in his eyes. You were now so close to each other that you could feel his breath on your face. In a moment of madness induced confidence you threw your arms around him into a bone crushing hug, refusing to let go. The lone tear now turned into full fledged waterworks. You felt your body being slowly pulled closer to him, a soft kiss was pressed to your cheek. In that moment your fëar had finally reconnected after two ages of separation.

A relieved smile graced Maedhros’ face as he whispers close to your ear; “Welcome home, melda…”.

[flowersforbucky]

Do you have any general advice for someone who wants to post their writing but is scared to? I write a lot. But I have never posted on tumblr or anywhere else. I don't know why but I'm so nervous to.

had to add a keep reading link because i ended up rambling way more than i originally intended to 😅 sorry if this isn't helpful or isn't the kind of answer you were looking for but here's a summary of my experience with writing/posting on tumblr and some general tips -

i completely understand being nervous. i feel nervous every time i post my writing. i'm always worried that people won't like it, that it'll flop, etc. when i first tried posting bucky fanfiction about 5 years ago, and when i posted eddie munson fanfiction a couple years ago, just about everything i posted performed really poorly. i had a couple pieces that did alright but for the most part, just about everything flopped. and it was very discouraging, i would let it get to me too much for sure - i'd wonder how other people got their work to get so many notes so easily when nothing i did seemed to help.

so when i started writing/posting for bucky again a few months ago i was really nervous, since i hadn't had much luck in the past. i decided to give it a shot anyway, and told myself that i'm doing this for fun, and if people like what i put out then great, and if not then i wouldn't let it get to me because at the end of the day i'm doing this for myself, because i want to.

everything i've posted for bucky the last few months has surpassed my expectations, truthfully. i don't really know why all of my one-shots have performed so much better this time around than when i first tried to write for him back in 2019 - maybe my writing has improved? maybe i'm just getting lucky and posting at the right times? maybe it's the fact that i write more smut than i used to and the fandom seems to love that? maybe a little bit of all of those things? i'm not 100% sure, but i'm happy to give you some tips that i think work for me, at least.

also disclaimer i definitely don't think i've been doing this long enough or am a "big enough" writer within this community to even be giving advice LMAO but since you asked!!

i usually post on wednesday or friday evenings and i've had good interaction on both of those days, however fridays have been the best and i think i will be sticking to friday evening posts for the most part in the future

i usually post between 7:00 - 10:00 pm eastern time, most often around 9:00 pm - if the time you post doesn't seem to work well, try a different time with the next post

tags tags tags! add the most relevant tags first, and avoid adding tags that are irrelevant. so when i post for bucky i add tags such as the following: bucky barnes x reader, bucky x reader, bucky barnes, bucky barnes x you, bucky barnes smut, etc

write a brief summary for the piece that will draw people in but not give tooooo much away. also always give appropriate warnings

use the "keep reading" feature. to be completely honest, if someone posts something that's 500+ words and they don't use the keep reading feature, i'm instantly going to get annoyed that it's clogging up the feed and scroll past it lol. i personally like to insert the "keep reading" link a couple paragraphs into my fic so that people can read the first tiny bit of it and (hopefully) be interested enough to click the link and keep reading.

don't be afraid to reach out to other writers in your fandom and initiate friendships. i know this can be super intimidating because they usually already have mutuals that they are close with but what's the worst that can happen with trying? most people here love making new friends/mutuals and want to be supportive of new writers, though i know it doesn't always feel like that. not everyone that i've followed/interacted with has followed me back but a lot have!

tease snippets of upcoming fics before posting them (and make sure to add a bunch of tags so more people see) to help people get excited, draw in new followers, etc. pick a few lines of dialogue, or a specific paragraph or whatever, that you're particularly proud of and screenshot/copy & paste it and post it and basically say hey here's a snippet of an upcoming fic! i don't always do this but i like to on occasion

lastly, and this piece of advice won't necessarily help your writing perform well notes wise, but i think it's important to remember: write and post what YOU want to write and post. this is a hobby, this is supposed to be fun, and you are not getting paid for this. if you don't want to write smut, DON'T write it just because it's popular and you feel like you have to. if you don't want to write reader inserts and prefer OCs, then write an OC. if you prefer writing one-shots and drabbles over multi-part series, then write one-shots and drabbles! of course readers are going to have their preferences and that's fine, i have my preferences when it comes to reading fanfiction as well, but it's not your job to appeal to every reader out there. it's your job to enjoy this hobby as much as you can and write things that you're proud of.

[practically-an-x-man]

41 for Rick and Eris?

Thank you so much!!!

41. ghost/living person au Send Me a Ship and a Number and I'll Write a Short Fic

This one's... a little angsty. Or a lot angsty. Have fun.

____ This Phantom Life

Word Count: 2.6k Content Warnings: heavy angst, major character death, wrongful imprisonment, uncertain/open ending, emotional hurt/comfort (if you can really call it that)

Crossposted on AO3

____

Eris scratched another tally into the stone wall of their cell. By now they lined the walls, rows and rows of pale scars carved into the bricks. Seven hundred and fifty-six days in Arkham Asylum. Over two years now, with no end to come any time soon. Some would say she deserved it. Sometimes Eris wondered if he did.

It wasn't the time that got to her. Two years was nothing against the immortal stretch of her lifespan. They'd outlive Arkham and whatever came after it.

It wasn't the isolation either. So much of their life had been spent in isolation, just by the nature of that same immortality. This was no more a prison than the simple facts of her existence.

It wasn't the way they treated him like a monster. On the best of days, he was deemed vile and criminally insane. On the worst of days, he amounted to nothing more than an animal in their eyes.

What had tormented Eris for seven hundred and fifty-six days now wasn't Arkham. It was what had led to Arkham.

Everyone thought she'd done it. That was the worst part. It didn't matter how much he'd pled his case, how he'd walked through every detail in his memory from the start of the mission to the moment he'd woken up, in burnt and half-healed agony, in the blackened ruins of the lab. It didn't matter that they had witnesses, alibis, dozens on the Squad who insisted that despite her affinity for violence, she'd never have laid a hand on him.

Because when the only two left alive at the scene were an international war god and an international war hero, of course she was given all the blame.

Seven hundred and fifty-six days in Arkham Asylum. Seven hundred and seventy-one since he'd been charged with crimes against humanity and the murder of one Colonel Richard Flag, Jr.

He'd been so shattered by grief that he hadn't even tried to fight when they came to take him away. The anger came days later, on the stand, seeing Him all steady and composed at the witness stand, acting as if he hadn't done what he'd done. He was a hero, of course. Everyone knew he was a hero.

They just... attacked. It was like something snapped. I'd never have expected them to go after Rick, of all people - I thought if anyone was safe, it would be him, but I guess I was wrong. And as soon as he was gone, I mean, there was nothing to hold them back. Before I knew it, the whole place had gone up in flames. I barely made it out of there with my life.

Before she knew it, she'd snapped her cuffs and leapt over the bench. She was unarmed and weakened by her injuries but still managed to draw blood before the darts sank into her flesh and everything went dark. The guards knew how to deal with metahumans. They'd been expecting him to snap from the moment they dragged him up to the stand. He'd been determined not to give them what they wanted, but...

But Rick was dead. And everyone believed it was their fault. Eris had nothing left. The world had gone gray and shapeless.

Seven hundred and fifty-six days in the same desolate cell. And it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Eris squeezed the sharp pebble, the stone they'd used to carve so many tallies into the wall, until the edge bit into their palm and crimson dripped onto the floor of their cell. The blood continued to fall for a long time. The cell was lined with power-dampening tech, but the fight had gone out of them either way. The pain meant nothing against the torture of the last two years.

Cold wind swept in, and Eris raised a hand to the barred window of the cell. Warm. Summer in Gotham City- or the closest to summer it ever came. But the cold kept spiraling around them, kicking up dust with a ghoulish gray light. Eris tucked his legs to his chest against the sudden cold, smearing half-clotted blood from his palm across his jumpsuit.

"It wasn't me." they mumbled, though they weren't sure why, "I'm sure I deserve my sentence, but not for what they claim I've done. You were my heart. I didn't kill you."

Perhaps he'd gone mad. That was what Arkham did, after all. Those that weren't mad when they entered were mad when they left, and those that were already mad quickly sunk to lower depths. Eris wasn't sure what he weighed on that scale. Surely nothing close to sane, not in his life and not in his grief.

But the thin mattress sank at her feet, as if a weight had settled onto it, and a palm - cold on the surface but somehow warmer within, like the touch brushed a nerve beneath her skin - settled heavy on her knee.

"I know, wartime."

She couldn't see him but she could. Eris' eyes processed nothing more than the same damp gray walls, scarred with two years of even marks, yet in some deeper way they could see his face twisted into a sad half-smile at the other end of the bed. Behind the eyes, they thought, like a memory. They'd seen that smile a million times. They'd never see that smile again.

He was the half-dried ink of a handwritten letter, sharp words smudged by careless fingers. He was the glint of light off the blade of a knife. He was perfectly clear yet painfully indistinct, somehow both real and not.

"They called him a hero," Eris muttered, picking at the tattered sheets that lay crumpled across the bed, "He killed you and locked me away and they called him a hero for it. Everyone thinks he captured the beast that killed Rick Flag, but the blood is on his hands and no-one will see it."

"I'm still here." His voice was the only clear thing about him. It was a balm over their frayed nerves, as warm as it had always been in life, yet Eris shook their head.

"You're not." he whispered, "Or you'd have been here sooner."

"It's a long way from NOLA to Gotham, hon." Rick's voice said, the same cold-hot-soft touch skirting over their knee, "I did the best I could."

Eris was silent for a long time. In the back of her mind, she saw Rick tilt his head, concern falling across his face like a curtain. Springs creaked in the mattress, that bodiless weight sliding closer across the cot. Eris ducked their head but still saw him, like a dream they couldn't purge from their mind. He was here on the cot and he was there, a ragged cut across his throat like a crimson smile.

He'd used a kukri blade. Eris hated kukri blades. Too imprecise, and the harsh bend in the blade made it hard to maneuver. He preferred smaller, sleeker poignards, perhaps a cat's-claw sgian-dubh, or the pugio blade he'd worn at his hip since he left Themyscira. DuBois had tried to tell them that, up on the stand. It didn't seem to matter. A weapon was a weapon.

"I think I've finally lost my mind, Rick," she said, her voice swallowed by the cold stone walls around her, "It's all trickled away like blood in water. I have nothing left. My body lives but the rest has died. Maybe it's been dead for a long time."

Ghostly touch, the same electric jolt across exposed nerves, brushed overgrown curls of hair back from his face. Or it was the wind. Or he'd done it himself. But he leaned into the touch and thought he felt resistance, something sturdy and physical taking up space beside him.

Or they'd become just like any other prisoner of Arkham, whispering with ghosts and stumbling through rippling tides of their own mind.

A cackling shriek tore through the halls, sudden enough to make Eris' muscles tense. He saw the echo of Rick flinch too, fingers curling like he was resisting the urge to reach for a weapon.

"Forgot how bad this place was," he said, or seemed to say, "Makes Belle Reve seem like Disneyland. Surprised you haven't busted outta here yet."

Eris couldn't respond. He should have already broken free. Or perhaps he'd never break free. He didn't know how he could face a world without Rick in it. She didn't know how she could face a world that believed she'd murdered the one thing she truly loved. Grief was a vice clamped tight around her ribs.

Fingertips traced their cheek, callused but gentle as they'd always been. Eris jerked away from the touch.

"Stop this. Please." they mumbled, "I watched you bleed. I watched you die. I found your bones in the ashes. I know you can't be here."

"How do you know that?"

"Because... I know."

Because death was final. Because it had to be. Because his return was as painful as no return at all, or even more.

And because it was easier just to believe she'd gone mad.

But behind her eyes, that afterimage reached for something around his neck, and warmth bloomed as he set it around hers instead. Eris lifted his hand and found weight, two plates of cool slim metal on a beaded cord. His fingers traced the small, stamped words. He knew what they said without even needing to look.

No. Eris had found those with the bones. They'd been buried with what remained of his body. They were six feet under, encased in soil and concrete in the Louisiana National Cemetery. The plot was next to his father's. Eris knew all this from DuBois - she hadn't even been given the courtesy to attend the service.

"Believe me now?"

Against all his deepest wishes, he did. The dog tags were solid between his fingers and they caught flashes of sunlight from the window, visible not only to his mind but to his eyes. He could deny the rest as madness, but he couldn't bring himself to deny this.

"You told me you would die when it was your time. You told me you'd be nothing more than human. This..." Eris muttered, fumbling for words, "This is much more than human."

"And you told me I was yours to the end," he said, "This ain't the end. Not just yet."

"And why isn't it?"

" 'Cause I don't want it to be. Isn't that enough?"

Her strength gave out all at once. They crumpled forward, expecting to keep falling until they hit the cot but instead meeting warm resistance just in front of them. His arms came up around them, the same way he'd always done, enveloping them in warmth and the indescribable feeling of home.

Eris pressed his face to Rick's chest, the space where his heart should have been, but heard no steady beat like he should have. His chest did not rise or fall, but something about it was there and kept her from breaking apart. Tears crept down her cheeks and spilled into her lap. Would it have been easier if they'd met resistance? If they'd soaked into cloth she could feel but that wasn't truly there?

If her tears fell to the cot below her, so should she. If she did not fall, neither should have those treacherous droplets. So much of this defied logic, defied reason, and he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I miss you," she gasped, suffocating in the echo of those loving arms, "I miss you holding me in the night. I miss your chicken pot pie and the way you hum to yourself when you're at the stove. I miss fighting by your side and knowing I could turn my back when you were behind me. I miss... the way you put my spear on the highest rack so you'd always have to grab it for me, and the smell of you on the sheets when you brought me to your bed, and-"

"Ssh," his voice murmured from above them, "I know, baby."

The words dissolved into terrible, choking sobs, the sound of them ricocheting down the hall and mingling with the shrieks of other prisoners. Eris couldn't remember the last time he'd cried like this. Even witnessing the death, even being brought to the stand and accused for it, hadn't been enough to draw tears from him.

They felt weak and helpless, sick with grief, and somehow they didn't care. They were no longer a warrior, no longer a god. They were just another prisoner, driven to insanity amidst the walls of Arkham. They had no honor left to preserve.

"I've got something else for you."

Something was pressed into their hands, small and cool and familiar. Eris recognized it by feel alone - their sgian-dubh, the smallest of their many blades, encased in a worn leather sheathe.

It was in the same place as the dog tags. It should've been. Yet here it was in her hands.

"DuBois said you'd want a piece of you to stay with me," said that echo, "But I think you should hold onto this one for a while."

"I'll kill him," Eris promised, closing their fingers tight around the knife, "I'll avenge your death."

"You know that won't fix anything," Rick murmured, calm and strangely solemn. She supposed it was death that had done that. A shapeless touch passed over her hair once again, comforting like it had always been comforting, and she heard him speak again. "But I want you to get out of this place. You don't belong here."

Resolve settled heavy into his chest. Yes, he'd get out of here. And he'd murder that so-called hero with his own kukri blade. It wouldn't wash away the blood that had been spilled. It wouldn't repair Eris' broken heart.

But he couldn't let that beast survive in a world that still deemed him a hero.

If the world thought Eris was a monster, let her be a monster. It wouldn't be the first time.

The dreamlike afterimage of Rick pulled back, and his eyes looked her up and down with that familiar mask of concern.

"You look tired."

"Prison will do that."

In the back of his mind, that frown deepened.

"How long has it been since you've slept?"

Every time they shut their eyes, they saw the same crimson smile. They saw Rick's bewildered expression, eyes wide and lips working for words that would never come. They saw him collapse, dead before he hit the ground, and then scorched bones and dog tags in the aftermath.

And he was exhausted. He was tired of this memory, tired of this cell, tired of this life. Eris sighed, and sank again into that shapeless touch.

"Too long."

Without so much as a word, gentle hands eased them into bed like a sick child, tucked the sheets around them and stroked their hair until they fell into a tumultuous sleep.

When Eris woke, the cell was dim and empty around him. He wondered if it had all just been a dream, some facsimile cooked up by his battered mind in the isolation. Rick was gone, and would never return. He'd never hold her again. Perhaps he'd never held her at all.

Then she shifted, and felt the hilt of a tiny cat's-claw dagger clutched between her fingers.

[bosskie]

Continuing the Sketchbook

I felt inspired by that 'old Molluck' and I feel like I love that Molluck more now than I used to... I noticed more differences between the AO Molluck and NnT Molluck while working on this but I also did remember again why I dislike NnT... I'll write about that later in this post.

Man, I'm not even sure when was the last time I drew something like this... It's so rare that I draw 'full settings', I mean, a background, multiple characters, something that has a story etc. I'm just used to draw portraits because well, I have felt like I just cannot draw anything else... So, I took the challenge and especially when I didn't have direct references, I had to make this perspective by myself. I tried my best and hope that it looks alright. Also, I'm sorry for the quality of these. All these look better and smoother IRL. I only take a photo and edit it, so some details are lost too. But you can see the main thing, somehow, and the main details are there, like Abe's lil hand tattoo.

I actually planned something different for the second page but I wanted to draw this way too much ... I'm not sure why but this image was just stuck inside my head. This is kinda random too since I just added some stuff that came to my mind around the drawing. I basically just drew this all day since I felt like I do need a day-off... I barely keep any holidays, even for a day... I just keep feeling more and more tired...

But yes, man I just feel like I keep loving this Gluk more and more... I just noticed how this AO Molluck gives that certain feeling SoulStorm Molluck has.

(I love what like AO Molluck looks in this cutscene...) The same situation in NnT doesn't give me this feeling, so yeah, frankly, NnT Molluck is the worst version of him in my opinion. I had forgotten how artificial voice NnT Molluck has... I hadn't seen any NnT cutscene for like two years. NnT Molluck makes different sounds too, like AO Molluck makes some 'random murmur' sounds while NnT one growls. I love that murmur he makes, it's adorable... He kinda does it in SS too!

I also noticed that NnT cutscene doesn't have that 'Molock suckz' text, just now... I wonder why. I personally love that lil detail and the fact that the Gametee's RuptureFarms hoodie has that printed on it! Well, I still don't agree on that, though it depends on how we define 'suck' here; he does smoke a lot!

Oh, and I also realized how they changed what Molluck says in that cutscene in NnT too! He doesn't say 'Kill 'im!' anymore but something like 'Get toast!', if I hear right... Man, Molluck truly got softer there. But that toast thing tickled my dark humour... Yeah, when Molluck manages to catch Abe, he wants to make a good sandwich from him, put him between a bread, and before killing him, he asks from Abe: 'Whadda ya are?'. Abe replies: 'I'm a weak, pathetic, uneducated, shmuck of a slave sandwich'. Those were Abe's last words. The end.

I cannot help myself that I enjoy dark humour like that... Oddworld is just perfect for my humour! I have been joking after making that joke that welp, maybe being like all day with Molluck makes me be more like him too... Yeah, I don't hate Abe but for some reason, the only character I care about is Molluck. He just means so much to me... After all these years, I finally found a character that is 'perfect' for me. Well, I only like a few characters in general too... But none of them (but Molluck) feel 'right' for me, at least in the same sense as Molluck; it can take some time to realize it. I can like count with one hand the characters that feel somehow special to me; like one of them is like me as a villain, feels like my alter ego.

It's just kinda odd to think how 'the one' for me was Molluck... No one else has made me feel like he does... It's just so interesting but I love to have him as that one. When I saw him, in both AO and SS, before really getting into him, I felt nothing special toward him, didn't see anything special in his appearance either; I only liked Gluks in general. But then, that SS Molluck just started to feel like me as a Gluk and here I am!

[saintsir4n]

1

___

1914

EDEN Dawkins was never the type that liked nature, instead, she preferred to be at home, reading or even at the Garrison to have a quick drink, especially after a long day nursing concussions, illness or even bruises and cut lips from the local bandits. She steered away from horses because her mother inspired a fear of them in her from a young age. But here she was, in Charlie Strong's yard, wearing her worst outfit, trousers, a thick shirt and riding boots that she brought for cheap and mended them.

When she met the icy pair of eyes that were beaming at the sight of her she tutted.

"I have a man Mr Shelby and he wouldn't want someone like you around me."

"And what am I like then eh?" Tommy asked, staring across his uncle's yard at her.

She shrugged, "A gangster, typa man to pull a gun on someone for looking at him wrong."

"He's got that right, I would. But he's missed something," he paused, coming closer to her, dodging the copious amounts of horse manure and loose hay he no doubt will have to sweep up.

"And what's that?" she withheld a smile when he appeared in front of her.

"I would pull the trigger if they looked at my woman wrong as well."

He caught the glimmer of happiness swimming in her brown pools as he inhaled the faint scent of cedar wood (his favourite smell) and alcohol, which she used as an anaesthetic at work earlier today. Breathing in, all she could sense was the whiskey, cigarettes and aftershave, Tommy's natural musk. She was sure that he would add the stench of a barrel to that as well.

"Oh really?" she teased, dodging his kiss by pressing a hand to his chest,  "We shouldn't, I'm taken."

He rolled his eyes, "This man can't be too good if he lets you around me."

She hummed, "Suppose you're right, he's not the tallest."

"Oi." he would've thrown her over his shoulders then and there but he knew Curly was around somewhere and hated seeing him being rough with Eden, even if it was a joke.

"Or the sharpest tool in the shed."

"Thinking of our Arthur are ya?"

She tapped her chin, "Perhaps but the prettiest one of you boys is definitely Johnny."

"Watch it," she could hear the amusement in his tone.

A smile tugged at her lips, "Only messing, now can I get a kiss?"

He blinked at her, "Want one from the smallest, ugliest Shelby?"

"Half of that is true...alright I'll stop, you're the most dashing man I've ever seen," she gushed, running her hands over his patchy jacket and up to his neck.

Fighting off the blush breaching his cheeks, he said, "And you're not too bad you're self."

"Leaving," Her smile dropped as she tried stepping around him, but his hands caught her waist.

"Calm yourself down, you know how many times I've had to fight someone off for hearing what they've said about you and your looks? I feel like I'm punching every man in Small Heath for underselling your beauty. Pretty don't do you, Justice, so I'll kiss you until I think of a word that does."

And with that, she melted into the kiss he'd been trying to steal.

Tommy and Eden had been dating for a couple of months and it hadn't been easy. Glares were thrown her way more than usual and jaws clenched around the couple like they had something to say but never did.

During this time, the quaint betting shop the Shelbys owned was drawing much more traction, more customers came in to put down money for whatever horse they believed would win and even though the family sometimes lost out money, they were still happy with their winnings. Considering it had been two years since they'd opened the shop, four since Arthur Sr left and five years had passed since Mara Shelby took her own life; their family was doing well.

"Not yet Thomas," she said when he suggested that she should come and see the new horse he'd been training.

"Thomas? You mad at me?" he asked, racking his brain for when he last pissed her off and god knows it was a lot.

"No, I just don't think I'm ready and you said it yourself, he gets scared if you breathe 'round him."

"I said that months ago," he tugged her over to an old haystack that was hidden around the back of the barn where the wild Mustang he had taken a liking to resided, "Y'know I'll be next to you when I show him off."

"Still doesn't have a name?" he saw through her oblivion's deflection.

Taking her hand in his, he stared at her, making her gulp slightly.

Tommy always had the ability to look through her, like he was seeing her soul, his gaze was the most powerful thing she felt and yet she loved it as much as she hated it. His stare was suffocating and only when he decided to let go was when she could breathe again.

Deciding not to press the matter, because he was cautious of how anxious she became he glanced down, trailing his callous finger over the back of her hand. He did it whenever he couldn't find the right words to say. He adored her hands, so delicate to the touch, often growing envious of the patients she had to treat because they would feel these nimble and gentle things all over them.

Eden could see there was something on his mind and she didn't know what it was, for the past couple of times she'd seen him, he tended to randomly stop talking which confused her as his voice was both his defence and attack. Without meaning to, it was also his instrument that he could play and manipulate to his bidding only when he decided to tune it properly.

"What's wrong, have you gone mute?" her tone was soft, yet impatient, but that didn't stop him from playing with her hands.

He huffed out a chuckle, "No."

"Oh, Tom have you got something to say to me? Just spit it out..."

What she didn't know was how many people kept approaching him about how close she and Lorenzo Changretta were and despite knowing they were best friends, he hated it.

"Those fuckin' eyes."

"What about 'em?"

He took off his cap, "Can't say no to you when I stare into 'em."

"I–" she glanced down, furious about how easily his charm worked on her, "I didn't ask you anything other than for you to say what's on that mind of yours."

Tommy wanted some whiskey, no, needed it to calm his nerves and no he wasn't a nervous man, Polly thought that emotion skipped him. Any drink would calm him, Christ, if only his brothers brought him some, but he knew they were tucked away in the snug getting so drunk they properly couldn't walk home. He didn't know why, but he always hated being vulnerable about Eden, even after all these months, even when Freddie said, 'She's your woman, just tell her, Women are more loyal than men nowadays'. Eden was loyal, she was more than that, she was his His Eden. His little safe haven. Although religion never sat right with him, he believed she was sent to save him.

There was something that he wanted to tell her, something that she deserved to know since they were together and had been for more than any other relationship he'd been in.

But instead, he kissed her like a starved man, for which she was the forbidden fruit that was dangling right before him and he would be damned if anyone would prevent him from taking a bite.

Cupping the back of her head with one hand and using the other to guide her backwards, he poured the passion he felt into her, lapping her tongue with his and feeling up and down her sides. When she moaned his hand only drifted lower, yearning to rip the clothing from the skin he craved to touch.

But their intimacy had some bounds.

She pushed him off before he could leave her indecent.

"We can do it here, Tommy, you wouldn't risk anyone seeing me would ya? I know how jealous you get," she breathed out, still appearing flustered when he stared at her, licking his lips. Almost a minute went by before he let go of her. Her grin faded when he tugged her forward, so she felt his hardened state and whimpered, "Tom."

He dropped his gaze to her chest, "Just wanted you to know that your actions have fuckin' consequences."

"Alright fuck off."

A voice interrupted them, "Yes nephew, you better not knock her up Tom, I don't wanna have to deal with Pol."

The couple immediately snapped their heads to the side to see Charlie standing there, with combs and brushes in hand and a grimace on his face.

When Eden went to jump away from Tommy, he pulled her even closer.

"We were about to look at the fuckin' horse," he stated.

Charlie shot him a sarcastic look, "Oh is that what they call it nowadays?"

Eden averted her gaze, feeling severely embarrassed as the two men spoke Rokker, judging from Tommy's face he hasn't too happy, but Charlie continued to tease him.

Shortly after Curly appeared, the stableman was in his element whenever it involved horses, Tommy believed he was one of the best horsemen in England. Eden thought he was cute, and much easier to talk to than Charlie, perhaps it was because he didn't have much to say at all. 

"Eden... Tom, Tommy, we're almost finished setting up the new boy, he's a bit scared, just have to be nice to him," he mustered out.

Eden timidly smiled at him and Tommy noticed how nervous she was.

"We'll be there soon," he said, taking her hand.

Charlie frowned, "Don't be too long, it's Sunday, can't be missin’ out on Sunday dinners can we?"

"Alright alright."

And with that, the two men disappeared back into the barn.

Tommy reached into his pocket and withdraw his cigarette tin, all while Eden started playing with his cap, analysing the razor she and Polly spent a while stitching into his, Arthur and John's caps. The blade was peeking through too much and it was only a matter of time before she had to fix it.

She felt him place a cigarette between her lips, then lit it. They would always light each other's smokes, ever since they began courting it was a thing that had going on, small intimacies. Taking another drag she grabbed his chin, then blew the smoke into his parted chapped lips.

She was mesmerised when he exhaled.

But he honestly thought she looked even more beautiful with a smoke in hand, watching her cheeks suck in, showcasing the beauty spots that decorated her face. He counted every single one over and over again as he found solace in the tobacco. You have more smoke comin' out of you than a fuckin' train, Eden always joked, despite being the one to light them for him.

He smoked more than trains and she judged more than the police, he believed.

"What?" she asked.

They'd been sitting there for a few minutes, in silence, just listening to the sound of the trees blowing in the wind, the trimmed grass sway and the sounds of the horse's neigh. The drop in temperature had her shivering and Tommy wouldn't let that slide, so he took off his jacket and rested it on her shoulders, leaving him in a thick jumper with his shirt collars peeking through.

"You ready?" he asked, standing up and stubbing out the cigarette.

Eden scrunched up her face, "Do I have to go?"

He pulled her up, "Everyone looks more powerful sitting on a horse."

She scoffed, "Who said I was riding it?"

"Who said I weren't referrin' to myself?"

She groaned and shoved him to the side, he mimicked her groan, further aggravating her. Tommy and his impressions would be the death of her.

She gasped when they turned the corner, coming into the barn and seeing the dark brown trembling horse.

Curly and Charlie were nowhere in sight, it was only her, Tommy and the horse.

Oh fuck.

Tommy stepped closer, holding his hands up when the horse caught his movements.

Eden could hear the little cooling words Tommy spoke and she smiled, never seeing him in such a way. It was like she wasn't there, only him and the wild horse.

Gently grabbing the bridle, Tommy continued to whisper, rubbing its forehead down to his muzzle.

He cast a look to Eden holding out his hand, encouraging her to slowly walk towards them.

It was as if the horse could feel her nervousness and started stomping on the grassy floor, creating dents with his heavy hooves, driving her to a halt.

"Eden..." he whispered to the horse, "you're not scared of a pretty girl are ya, boy?" he motioned her to walk which she did, realising how big the horse was almost the same size as them which drove her nerves up the wall, "she's not gonna hurt you. You're not gonna hurt her."

Eden gulped when Tommy took her hand and carefully placed it on the horse's side, she was almost as apprehensive as the animal.

"See... there you go."

She heard Tommy's words as she kept touching the horse.

He smiled when her shoulder's dropped all the tension, though the look in her eyes told her that her fear wasn't gone, after all, it had been less than a few bloody minutes. He never had to search her eyes for meaning for too long.

Eden's eyes doubled in size when she realised that Tommy had let go of her hand and taken a few steps back.

"Gosh Tommy," she whispered, "Look."

A smile graced his lips at her excitement.

"I can see darlin'."

"Have you decided on a name yet?"

"I talked to Curly and Charlie...Curly wasn't too happy but he's lettin' you name him."

She gasped softly, not wanting to scare the animal that wasn't shaking as much any more.

"Really?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling and coming back to them and rubbing down its back. "You're a natural, not even freakin' out anymore."

"Shut up, I didn't freak out."

"Oh really? The bit of piss on that haystack over there –"

She gasped and extended her leg to kick him.

He dodged her attempts, softly chuckling at the glare in her eyes.

"Y'know, he never likes to be out during the day," Tommy commented, remembering when the horse acted as if the sun burnt him whenever it touched its skin.

Eden hummed, and then something came to mind, "Shadow, he should be called Shadow."

"Shadow, and why that?"

"He hides from the sun, ain't that what shadow means?"

He didn't really know or care, he just loved how she looked, whispering to the horse she claimed to be afraid of, only took a few months, and he promised that he would change that and did, well only a little bit.

"Whatever you say, love, whatever you say."

—

The day was coming to an end and the moon would soon be in their sights, no doubt her mother would send Isaiah to look for her since it was a Sunday, she couldn't be missing Sunday dinners, Polly was the same.

The couple left Charlie's yard after Tommy told her the time.

Walking along the cobble streets she was still slightly in shock.

It was the first time she'd been anywhere near a horse, let alone touched one. Sure she saw the Shelbys throughout the years ride them through the streets, but it stunned her to see how large they were up close.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on in your head? You seem off," she asked, walking along the lane.

"Nothing was wrong."

"Sure?"

"I'm sure, just wanted to spend time with you, is that a crime?"

"It is, if I was out for another hour, mum would've killed you," she said, coming to her front door.

They only lived a few houses apart.

"You said she loves me."

"Sometimes."

She laughed when he nervously ran a hand through his raven hair, it was fuller on the sides and needed to cut it off soon.

"So... since you say you ain't mine, some random toff's girl, can I still steal another kiss?"

"A toff? You think that low of me?"

"Never."

She pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, drawing a smirk from him.

His fingers trailed over them, remembering how they felt against hers. 

"Until we meet again love."

"Yeah yeah, get lost before my dad comes out with a shotgun," she said, taking off the jacket on her shoulders and giving it back to him, even though he believed it looked better on her.

"Wouldn't want his only daughter being led astray by a gypsy would he?"

"Too late for that now."

As soon as she shut the door behind her, she smiled to herself and took off her shoes, placing them by her parents.

She could hear them faintly as she walked in.

"Still saving lives?" she heard her dad say to her mum.

"Still making things?" her mum joked.

Nurse and carpenter they were and have been for 19 years. Celestine and Cecil Dawkins had been happily married for 20 years, the same couldn't be said for half the city.

"I'm home!" Eden screamed on purpose, startling her parents, her mother almost dropped the plate of mash over her father who was sitting at the table.

"And now the whole street knows that," Celestine remarked, then received a kiss on the cheek from her daughter.

Cecil chuckled, "No doubt Mrs Granberry across town can."

Eden rolled her eyes, "Mrs Granberry can get fuc–"

"Watch it," her mother warned, just as Cecil laughed with his daughter, who pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Cecil was a tall and tough man who would do just about anything for his girls, his darker skin would lead him to trouble which he never caused, the same couldn't be said for Celestine who was a lighter complexion than her daughter, the woman wasn't much taller than Eden, and looked great for forty.

Cecil turned to his daughter, "How was work sweetheart? Still savin'–"

"--Lives? No Dad, a patient succumbed to his wounds today," Eden admitted, taking a seat and not looking at her parents who were sending her pitiful looks.

"Sorry to 'ere that," her dad reached over and grabbed her hand, "why don't ya give our girl an extra piece of lamb," he asked Celestine who nodded.

"Here you go, need you to be in better spirits for tomorrow. Don't fret my girl, it happens to the best of us," Celestine remembered all the times when she couldn't save a patient, it occasionally took a toll on her.

"Thanks, mum," Eden forced a smile, then went to eat, but her mum slapped her hand as well as Cecil's.

"Ay, you may not come to church or even say your daily prays but you will wait to say grace at this table before you start stuffing those bellies of yours." 

"Sorry mum," she muttered.

Cecil winced, "Sorry, love."

"And you young lady, where were you? I expected you to help me prepare the table," Celestine pointed the sharp knife at her, making her inch back in her seat.

"Next time I won't be late I promise," Eden spoke, avoiding her mum's piercing look.

"And since you grabbed for your fork first, you're saying grace."

Eden groaned, "Mum."

"Did I stutter?

Grabbing ahold of her parent's hands she sighed, "Alright alright. Dear God..."

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

a/n:

just to reiterate, tommy is 22 and eden is 20. the shelby business had only been running for 2 years (i searched up when it started but it wasn't clear online, so I'll make it headcanon for this story). also, tommy might seem much more smilely and open and less cold and that's because he hadn't been to war just yet, none of them have, so everything in this story is much lighter, but that doesn't mean there aren't any future problems, because tommy's jealousy is a mean thing.

you'll meet more oc's throughout the next couple of chapters and even the other canon characters as well. hoped you enjoyed the first chapter guys.

also imma include as much horse terminology as i can, (tryna remember my saddle club days). also since i'm writing about the roma/ romani culture please correct me on anything (beliefs, sayings and more)

tommy and eden ship name?

[kivaember]

ac6 drabble: unsolicitated advice

okay i got some prompts already, so first one is "dolmayan and rusty get a moment to talk about their doubts to eachother" from @rend7

this ended up waaay longer than the few paragraphs i expected fhfh thanks for the prompt, and i hope you enjoy!

Unsolicitated Advice

"You're lucky I'm not being supervised right now."

Dolmayan didn't really respond to Rusty's idle comment, the blocky outline of his BASHO AC stark in the thick snow flurry they both found themselves in. Snow that was rapidly covering up the remnants of Rusty's mission: intercepting an RLF raid.

It was difficult to get the balance right, he could admit. He was a spy and he was a Rubiconian through-and-through, but his time on Earth had taught him to compartmentalise his soul and morals into easily stored boxes.

'Ruthless calculation, that's what it means to be a spy,' Uncle had told him all those years ago, with a wry twist of his mouth.

'You can’t let yourself be human here,' O'Keeffe had told him only a year ago, when Rusty realised just how much he had to draw and quarter his heart to survive in the Vespers.

The wrecked MTs had carried the ambitious hopes of a few hot-blooded Rubiconians, wanting to achieve at least one bloody nose against the Corps. It was just bad luck for the both of them that Arquebus had him in the area already, and that Rusty had no choice but to kill them ruthlessly, so they avoided the worst fate of re-education while he got to maintain his cover.

A clean up squad was only ten minutes behind him, after all. Any ejectees would've been rounded up before they even managed to get a mile away - especially in this weather.

"Go," Rusty said. "Now."

"...or you'll kill me too, child of Rubicon?"

Rusty squelched the urge to groan in frustration, conscious of the time pressure on him (less than ten minutes before he had to act, with eyes on him), and said: "I didn't do this because I enjoyed it."

Dolmayan just sighed, tiredly. Uncle had said that ever since he'd been sprung from Redgun custody, he hadn't quite been the same since. Ten years ago, Rusty remembered Dolmayan as a passionate firebrand, whipping the Rubiconians in a patriotic fervour, willing to throw themselves on as many swords as they had to to liberate their home, the Coral...

Inefficient, Uncle had complained (quietly, under his breath). This man seemed like burnt out charcoal in comparison, his booming voice now a raspy mutter, lacklustre and exhausted.

Maybe even he was starting to lose hope of where this war was headed.

"I'll go," Dolmayan finally said, "but first, a word of advice, from a man who's made his mistakes and regrets them every day."

Rusty couldn't help but frown. While he had never personally bought into the mystique of Father Dolmayan and his connection to the 'Coral's Voice', as others stated him to have, he understood that the Liberation Front had only lasted this long - spiritually - thanks to him. While the cautious part of him doubted that any advice Dolmayan would give him would be relevant, he wasn't too prideful to turn a deaf ear.

"What is it?"

"Be wary not to tunnel vision on the dream ahead of you," Dolmayan said. "I know the mission Flatwell placed on your shoulders, the burdens you have carried to get this far... you want a free Rubicon, but you should be mindful of the price that will come at."

"...I think that ship's long sailed, Father Dolmayan," Rusty murmured. "But thanks for the advice anyway."

His HUD beeped. Incoming comms from the Arquebus MT squad.

Before he could draw breath to tell Dolmayan to get out of here - now, the BASHO AC across from him was already turning and boosting away, the eerie, ghostly crimson fire trailing after it as the leader of the Liberation Front vanished into the snow.

[kaz-identified]

I'm tired of waiting for asks I'm answering a whole ask game here and now.

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name? Faolan name comes from the fact the commonly accepted way to refer to the protagonist of Destiny is "Young Wolf". Faolan itself is a name, irish in origin, that means "Little Wolf". Her last name Ashford, is generally accepted to mean "Ford by the ash trees." A ford is a shallow place in a river that can be easily crossed. And ash trees represent, generally, a place between life and death, or represent death itself. I like this last name for her because it, to me at least, means crossing a barrier between life and death. This works very well for her, a character constantly caught between life and death, often acting as a bringer of one to allow the other. Her name before she was raised was Atticus. This is because I like the name. I have never read To Kill a Mockingbird.

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range) Physically she's stuck at 22 forever </3. But she was rezzed about six years ago in the real world.

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)? Our favorite boy Crow and her have something going on there, that's for sure <3

🍕 - What is their favorite food? She doesn't a lot of the time! She's too busy. But when she is forced to sit down and eat something, she's not picky. But she's particularly fond of rice in any form.

💼 - What do they do for a living? Well, you'd assume Guardian is a job in and off itself, right? NO. She makes most of her glimmer through Gambit and Crucible, as well as a far bit from gambling and illegal Sparrow racing.

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies? Sparrow Racing, that's about it.

🎯 -What do they do best? Faolan is a warrior at her heart, she always has been. Even when she was a child wandering the wastelands with Ulysses following the collapse. She fights like nothing else matters but ending the opponent in front of her, but she's clever enough to know when to disengage.

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do? She likes fighting, her friends, generally moving fast lil speed demon, winning, racing people, competition, and she likes books. She hates Vanguard meetings, sitting still, and days when there isn't wind.

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories? Lighting the braziers at the Iron Temple.

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories? Carrying Cayde's body back from the Prison of Elders.

🧊 - Is their current design the first one? Yes! She's had the same face since she was originally made. Thank you, Rudder. Though, her armor has changed quite a bit.

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC? She wasn't inspired by anything! I didn't make her! My brother did! I just added gaps between the events in Destiny to make a more compelling character to write about. And Rudder based her design off of my when he was making her for me, so I guess me?

🌂 - What genre do they belong in? Sci-fi. Obviously.

🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have? One biologically, but she's ostensibly claimed Ripley as her sister. So, effectively two.

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like? They're super dead! But her various mentor figures, pretty solid. I don't think she would've survived Forsaken without Ikora as support.

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC? I like all the memories I have of her. Just because she's my character in Destiny. All the hours I messed around with Bella and Ben in the Reef, the misery and screaming in Spire, the late night Crucible sessions, the staying up till way past late. The friends Destiny, and by extension, Faolan, has helped me make. People that I wouldn't know if Rudder hadn't snatched my controller from my hands and made her for me on December 22nd, 2012.

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC? I write about her at least once a week.

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC? I can't. She can't die.

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias? Lygophobia, the fear of the dark.

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival? Besides the obvious, the Witness, she has MAD beef with Marcus Ren because it's HIS FAULT she got banned from the SRL.

🎓 - How long have you had the OC? Oh jeez... six years?

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC? Ah, about eleven years old!

[eilidhink]

There was a parcel on Eilidh's drawing desk. Wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with twine.

Tucked into the twine, a note:

Although it has been a few years, I thought you might like this back. --J

It was a simple artist's portfolio. One edge was dented and scuffed, as if it had been dropped, and although several of the pages were loose, all were in their proper order.

The artwork itself was terrible, and not Eilidh's.

If Eilidh had thought about it over the years, and she wasn't sure she had, she would have assumed the portfolio had been discarded. Cabal was not a sentimental man, not in the traditional sense, and he certainly had no reason to keep something like this around--something with no practical value to him, a reminder of an unpleasant interaction that neither of them recalled with any fondness, regardless of what had come after. And of course they hadn't been friends then. He wouldn't have kept it for her, surely.

Eilidh sat in a soft armchair with the package, still wrapped, in her hands, not needing to open it to recognize what it was. She thought about the last time she had held it. How hard she had hit him, with her mistaken enthusiasm. The book fluttering to the ground. Her fear of the stranger she hadn't seen clearly until he turned on her in anger.

And then she thought about a very ordinary day just last week, over tea and chess, when she had noticed the fine grey hairs scattered through the blond at Johannes's temple as he frowned down at the board. After a terrible beginning, after hurting and hating one another, they had managed to become so settled in one another's lives that Eilidh could watch his unguarded face closely enough to count his grey hairs. Johannes could put his hand on her back to keep her safely away from the hot kettle he was carrying in the kitchen, and all the touch made her feel was comfort and warmth. Maybe he had brought it back because they no longer needed it, she mused. They had been bound together by guilt and regret, by the memory of that moment and what followed, both of them trying to overcome their worst instincts out of necessity, because they both loved Horst, because they couldn't avoid each other. And then, slowly, they had built something better. And after that, that moment no longer held power over them.

Finally Eilidh unwrapped the package, folding the paper and tucking it away with her sketchbooks and scrap paper. She held the portfolio for a moment in her hands. Maybe she was part of the reason for her friend's grey hairs, she thought with a grin as she slid the portfolio onto her bookshelf, just as it was, with Johannes's note tucked inside.

[herculesgarcia]

'I rarely go down there. The view’s just so beautiful from here...' Hércules watched fascinated as Cass' fingers changed position, pressing the different chords, every movement quick and swift, executed perfectly after many years of guitar lessons. His sister was not good with people, but art in every shape or form... that was a different story. Her voice was sweet, just as she was. Most wouldn't agree, but Hércules knew the truth. 'And I can see everybody at their worst points, at their worst points. I’m not a sadist. I enjoy just being able to be witness of the loneliness and be a higher power in case there isn’t one. In case there isn’t one...'

He would have joined ― he knew the song, it was not the first time Cass had played it and it wouldn't be the last, but he didn't want to ruin the moment. And he loved seeing her like this, happy. Dozens of drawings around them, done with gouache, watercolors, charcoal. Both by him and by her.

She had decided she wanted to psychoanalyze him that day.

'Draw a tree!' Cass had demanded the moment he had entered her room, without waiting for Hércules to confirm whether he wanted to do it or not, just forcing him to sit down in a chair and placing a white piece of paper in the desk in front of him and a pencil in his hand.

'A tree?'

'Yes! A tree.'

Hércules had done exactly as she requested.

He never asked any questions when it came to Cass.

He had simply slid over the table the finished result towards her with two fingers when he had considered it was done.

She had picked it up, a small wrinkle between her eyebrows, tongue sticking out as she examined it. And then she had laughed. A sound Hércules forever wished he could record and play on a loop.

'The only thing this tells me about you is that you suck at arts and crafts.'

Hércules had feigned offence, a hand pressed to his chest and his face a mask of indignation. But it was all a farce. And the two of them knew it ― he could get mad at Andro, but not at Cass. Never at Cass.

'I’m not a higher power, I just live in the ceiling 'cause I’m lonely on the fringes and it gives my life some meaning in the exile, in my exile...' His sister's singing pulled him back to reality, and he found himself smiling adoringly. Her blonde curls, her eyes smudged with black eyeshadow, the dimples on her cheeks. The way she said each and every word, as if she was tearing herself open, leaving everything exposed. Hércules wouldn't be surprised if there had been a note somewhere inside Cass that said free for the taking.

Perhaps that's why she locked it all so well. In a wooden chest she had thrown to the sea, like a corpse in a body bag full of stones, slowly sinking, never to be found. Only, it hadn't sunk.

Maybe, a whale had brought it to the surface, like in a children's movie. Maybe, the currents had been too strong and it not heavy enough, and it had been washed ashore.

And Cass kept giving the key to everyone who showed her the smallest bit of kindness. So it was just a matter of time until someone found it. And opened it. And emptied her.

That was what Andro had been so scared of, when Cass had started to develop feelings for a certain doctor. She had somewhat admitted to it to both her siblings, but even if she hadn't done it, it was easy to tell by the way her face lit up at his mention, shining so bright she made the sunlight seem dim.

The eldest sister had tried to discuss it with her, two or three nights ago. After a conversation that lasted no more than a few minutes, Cass had stormed out, all anger and fury.

'I don't care how or if it ends. Everything ends! I know that already, but I'm not going to change my plans because of it!'

Hércules admired Cass. How she'd let love consume her. How she didn't mind being reduced to ashes, burning flesh and muscle and feelings, always managing to find a way to be reborn from them.

Like a phoenix.

'Some only talk towards the heavens when the end is feeling desperate. Have the overwhelming feeling that there's nobody who's looking down. At least I’m looking down...' Cass finished her song, the last sentence still echoing in the air of the messy room. She smiled, looking up. Hércules returned the gesture.

On the floor, next to them, two pieces of paper laid together. Each of them with trees drawn in, but wildly different ones. One had no leaves, but had thick branches that extended towards a pink, red sky, like hands trying to grab at something. Someone. The sun, setting on the horizon? The moon, about to rise? God, maybe?

The second one was not a tree. They were three. One of them was tall, beautiful, full of flowers. The second one had a hole in its trunk, where squirrels and other critters lived, and a bird or two on the higher branches. The third was small, and looked weak in comparison to the other two, but had roots that went deep down into the earth, grounding it, keeping it in place.

Unmovable.

Withstanding.