#not the lack of wrinkles and lines but the way they are formed

[ilikecarsandsupport4artists]

As a portrait artist I find it kind of sad that the thing I hear my clients say the most is "oh, can you make me look pretty?" or "can you make my nose a bit smaller?" I've done portraits for my whole life, all 22 years of it, and I've never met anyone who is ugly. Never. There is always light to be found in peoples eyes, no matter the colour or shape or size. There are little smile-lines that tell a story of every smile and laugh they've had. Noses that they've inherited from relatives, that crinkle up when they smile or laugh hard. Teeth that show when you show your real smile, not the one you think people want to see. Little scars from when you fell as a little kid, reminding you of good times running in the woods. "Make me look pretty" But you already are. I just paint what I see. The little unique features we carry make us who we are. They are the things that make us real and human and alive.

[navsink]

countryboy! Sukuna x citygirl! reader pt1

tags: au! ofc, fluff, slight toxicity, love bombing, mutual pining, slightly suggestive, wholesome family, happy family, sukuna is evil, hurt/comfort, COMFORT, mommy/daddy issues gang, perfect family. wc:3,591 words synopsis: after a trip to the country side cabins, there's a horseshow going on, a must attend on your list. meet sukuna as a cowboy and have him teach you how to RIDE.

The dinner table was full of yummy desserts, wine glasses and most deliciously cinnabun rolls. Our evening dinner was one of celebration, you could see it in everyone's faces, the way their eyes were all wrinkled at the corners and their cheeks full of sweet cinnamon and honey. Everyone was just so happy to celebrate my mom's latest success, an ascension to being on the magazine for women CEO of 2024. As we were close to finishing our meal of the night, my dad finally spoke with a grin in his face. I could see my mom's notorious blush and my sister's little grin of mischief as she darted a cherry at my dad's pudding cup.

"Everyone, attention," my dad attempted to clink his glass of wine with a silver fork, immideatly causing my mom to tug at his elbow whispering a shy 'Don't'.

"ATTENTIOOOON." he yelled this time, a bit louder to compensate for the lack of glass to clink. A placid yet drunk smile formed on his face, whilst mom's was just purely fluster.

"There are no- Hiccup- words to describe the proud husband I have become. I am the husband of the woman CEO of the year, what else should I ask for? To celebrate this, we four will all go to the countryside to relax and rent a cabin, bring your bathing suits ladies and most importantly repelent. I want this special 3 day vacation just to celebrate my incredible wife's achievment." we all clapped at my dad's half drunk speech, the sweet smile lines and crows feet multiplied by the inmense smile he spoke with was the sweetest thing I have seen. We all cheered for this short trip, nothing could make us all happier than a small break.

That same night I grabbed my black totebag and tossed in a couple shorts, underwear and most importantly a one piece bathing suit. Happy as I was, to see my parent's marriage be the standard I should aim for, I tossed in a makeup bag and a hairbrush and I was set. I giggled and looked at my ceiling as I plopped down on the bed. My life has never been better has it?

As excited as I was, sleep and sending an excuse of absence to my university were the first step to take if I wanted to join everyone on the trip. I quickly jotted down a quick excuse and pressed send.

"Have you packed everything? Remember to bring at least a pair of jeans if you want to ride the horses at the ranch." My mom peeked her head out of the doorway and looked at me with a grin.

"Yeah I have, don't worry I'll put one on as we leave."

"You better, you don't want to know the rashes you'll get from those stable horses."

"Yeah yeah, thanks ma"

I nodded and walked towards the door, kissing her cheek goodnight, and a tight yet quick hug.

"I'm proud of you ma"

"I could say the same for you bebe"

A quick peck on the forehead landed on me as I waved at her good night from my hallway. We had always been a close family and honestly, I hope it stays that way.

---

"Bebe are you up already?" my mom's voice chided from the other side of the door as I pulled a pillow to my face. I had a hard time getting any sleep yesterday, I was too excited putting on possible outfits and even a nice set of lingerie. Who knows what could happen at the cabins?

I chuckled thinking of my late night antics and finally sat up, a groggy mess and a bird's nest in my hair rose up as I look for my phone.

"I'm up." I yell to the other side of the door, earning a quick inaudible affirmation.

Upon instinct, my feet pull me out of bed and lead me to the small bathroom next to my bedroom.

Finishing up my morning routine, caking up a couple layers of makeup and finally scooping my boobs to look nice in a fitted cleavage top. I was all set to leave. Let's see, last nights totebag, jeans, they said to bring sunscreen right? yeah. Probs. What else? Right a hair brush and the swimsuit. As I finished listing off every possible thing I could need there I started to take a couple of selfies while I waited for my dad's classic holler to meet my family at the living room.

Soon came a "WE'RE LEAVING." trademarked holler from my dad, who pretty much lied as he sat on the barstool next to the kitchen isle drinking cofffee and biscuits.

"Careful with that one Pinocchio, your snoring is worsening as you speak." My mom scoffed as she dragged a luggage in a haste, a drop of sweat threatening to ruin her laminated brows.

As I also enter the living room in a haste, I hunch over as I see how calmly he's sipping coffee like it's no body's business.

"Living with 3 women has taught me patience, believe me. I have to speed things up or else I'll be the one you women blame when we're late to our check in." He chortled as he lifted his pinkie finger and extended his lips to reach the coffee cup.

A short sigh is escaped by my mom and I as we sit down on the couches, waiting for my sister is going to be eternal. As my dad said, it's good to keep a few tricks to pick up the pace with us. My mouth opens, trying to think of what to say to my sister who's making us all be late.

"LILY, I CALL SHOTGUN" My mom yelled as she pinched my arm, a sign to shut up and let her handle it. I quickly rub my arm with a scoff, trying to discreetly roll my eyes.

As effective as that was, my sister stormed through the halls carrying two totebags and a backpack. A smiled tugged at the corners of my mouth as my Dad, who now waited against the main door, tapped his foot impatiently.

-

"So, where are we going really?" I asked from the car's backseat.

"To hell bebe." My mom scoffed absentmindedly as she once more won her match of solitaire.

"Seriously, where?" A whine escaped my mouth, like a child's impatience.

"It's a surprsie-- oh and connect your spotify, we're getting bored of the same three songs your sister has playing." Mom's aloof comment had earned an annoyed protest from my sister. "Don't argue while you're at it."

It was going to be a long car ride trip, so might as well just do as she says and stand Lily for as long as I can. To preface, my sister and I don't typically bicker, as we are just used to ignoring eachother's presence, but sometimes she does gets on my nerves. Who's up to standing a whiny and angsty 14 year old for more than an hour? Not me.

This was a sign to just nap the whole carride out, head peacefuly rested against the window, a nice little nap was just what I needed.

Eventually we had reached the point of the ride where everyone is quiet and the two front passangers are just at it gossiping and talking about life in general. That is my favorite ever part of it.

"Right, she thinks that because I am succesful she can just cling to my name and try to force people into giving her a job with no history of ever moving a finger." My mom's voice casually whispered as they started gossiping about family members. It just happens sometimes.

"Hold that thought Marina, pull up the Maps for this section, the fog ahead is pretty harsh." my dad mumbled back as he leaned forward in his seat while grabbing the steering wheel with white knuckles.

My parents argued quietly with the poor google maps assistant, cautiously trying not to wake us up. As we finally reached to a stop, my dad sighed and took a sip of his trusty leather flask, and with a 'pop' his lips smacked and his throat roared.

"Girls, we're here, get your stuff-- we're unpacking as they show us our room." My mom reached towards the backseat and grabbed my sister and I's knees shaking them against eachother to wake us up fully.

-

Fast forward to our very own cabin, the guide opens the door for us and lets us in.

"Two beds?" I sigh. It seems there were no other options unless I prefered to sleep in the car. The cabin was nice, it had A/C and a nice bathroom. It was pretty pintoresque and quaint, just how I like it, to the exception of course, of sharing a bed with my sister. The two white queen beds had a nice matress and were free of any bugs thankfully. Other than that, there wasn't much more to note of this farm cabins we booked.

"Yes Bebe, two beds. We're all gonna die because you have ot sleep next to Lily for two nights, wa, wa." My dad mocked my tone playfully and as I shoot a bored look at him he comes to my side and pinches my ribs.

"Stop that!" I giggled and hugged my dad with a fake annoyed look. It wasn't so bad really, it was just for two nights, nothing could really make it that bad.

We set down our things inside the cabin and started to set up our clothes down for the next day, since the fog had really made the trip a little hard for my dad we decided to wait an hour before we got out. It had already been 5pm since we arrived and as the cabin staff said, we had until 7pm to get our dinner served and until 9pm to use the pool. This place seemed neat. I could just lay on the bed until 7, sleep was never enough for me. I positioned my head softly against the mattress, half lidded eyes and soon fast asleep into my 2nd nap of the day.

.

"Shh shh, you're gonna wake her up." I heard a couple of mumbling and whistling as I finally awoke from slumber. My family opened the door with less than caution as they turned on the lights and sat down on the free bed.

My groggy eyes had finally answered to the light as I rub them and sit up. A more than perplexed face formed as my stitched brows and pursed lips turn to look at my traitor family.

"You guys didn't wake me up?" I croaked, holding my head with my right hand and propping myslef up with the other.

"You seemed passed out, so we decided to dine and wait for you to get inside the pool, it's pretty tempered." Lily mentioned stifling a giggle as she crossed her legs with a smirk.

"Keep your enemies close and your family closer." I mumble as I drown my face into the soft cushion pillow. My dad let out an audible chuckle, and soon a cough as my mom elbows him to the gut.

"Don't fret, we have all tomorrow to spend together, we can also go to the pool right now, we have 2 more hours left until they bleach it." My mom soothingly patted my back as she sits down next to me. A small kiss lands on my temple when she pulls me into an embrace.

"Fine, I'll go." My mom cheered and dragged my wrist to the main entrance. Soon followed my sister and my lucidly drunk dad.

-

The pool was fine, really nothing special, according to the cabin staff, there's a bunch of recreational going on tomorrow. There's a horse show, boat tour around the lake, cow milking and finally an opportunity to just walk around the farm state altoghter on a horse.

Being the horsegirl to the core type of girl, I of course tried getting my parents to join me on the horse related ones. Aaaand like every other functional family we started arguing, my sister wanted the water ones, mom wanted sun bathing and I the land ones.

"We're not doing the boat tour, have you heard that one news article of the whole 15 passenger boat that sank to the bottom last week nearby?" My dad slammed his fist against the table as we sat in the farm's restaurant. His stitched brows and red eyes indicated that there was no persuading on this one, his heart and mind were set on not letting anyone on a boat.

"But dad!" My sister whined as she dropped her fork.

"No buts." His face turned to the other side, indignant at my sister's persistence.

"We're also not doing horses, we just ate, what kind of brain process thinks that you're not about to barf on the horse lackey and yourself as you get on the horse? I say no." My mom commanded, putting a muffin on my dad's plate. Two set of wide eyes smiled as the big 1000 calorie blueberry muffin landed and soon crumbled against the hands of an italian dad.

I let out an audible groan as she turned down my activity too, facing my sister with joined mischief we nod to each other with a grin.

"Ma, she's poking me." I whined

"Pa she's the one poking me." Lily cried.

"If she doesn't stop I swear I'll stab her with a fork."

"Keep poking me idiot."

"Ma- Did you just hear that? She called me an idiot." I groaned as I turn to my mom's concerned face, and consecuently my sister does too.

"Pa did you see how she threatened me? She has a fork in her hand." Lily's fake tears were starting to roll, which in turn caused my dad to fret and look at my mom for any hint on what to do. It was working.

Lily and I hid a smirk behind the facade of two annoyed sisters, and soon my parent's strong will dissolved. Lily was about to open her mouth as my mom slammed her hand against the table.

"Fine if you two little insects shut up, we can plan out the day." She whisper yelled at us and finally leaned back into her chair, I could see the vein and even the botox fight against eachother.

"We're not doing the boat, but we are going to watch the cows be milked, then we're going to the pool and we'll watch the horse show, after that we're doing the horse tour around the property and finally we're going fishing. That's today's plan, whoever tries to change it is a dead man." My mom leaned forward and looked at both of us in the eye, how she didnt go crossed eye who knows, but at least my sister and I got what we wanted.

-

We were running a bit late for the horse show, curtsey of Lily as she tried feeding bread to the ducks after being told not to over 4 times by the farmers. We miraculously acquired front row seats, pretty neatly for the four of us, I dusted off the seat and with a grin sat down. This decision will follow up to be a pretty bad one, as I could smell the horse shit the best from the front row seats, wow, so that's why there was so much space down here. I also couldn't see jack shit from here as the picket fence just had to block my view for the most part.

I sighed and slouched over the seat, trying to ignore the petulant smell coming from beautifuly bred horses. As soon as what seemed the second act started, I could see a guy, pretty much my age with a black cotton button up, snug skinny black jeans and a brown metal belt. God was that a sight for sore eyes, swimming in a pool of manure the most handsomest blonde of them all. A dumb smile plastered on my face as I straighten my back and eyes follow like a hungry lion the zebra like prey.

As he gets on the white horse and another lackey throws a black cowboy hat at him that he so perfectly catches with his pale big veiny hand. On the topic of hands, my mom's hand picks up my jaw from the floor and turns my face towards her.

"Don't chase, be chased." wise words from my CEO beautiful mama, her slight smile and smooth brows gave me the 'go ahead' to keep on daydreaming.

This guy was out of the ordinary.

The white stallion I might add starts to dance and trot so perfectly, like the horse just did it out of a whim. Wisely enough the gorgeous hunk of a horseman also grins and flashes a pearly white to the audience. A collective "AAAH" from the female audience is heard across the bleachers.

Long legs, strong arms, chiseled jawline. He had it all.

Man when I tell you I crossed my legs, not out of habit but out of NEED. My whole uterus cried out, especially now that I was caught in ovulation week. I let out a dreamy sigh, once more as this man kept on making his spins and tricks for the audience.

Tragically, it seemed his showtime was about to conclude, but a man as wise as him knows how to garner and cater for the thirsty souls. As he proceeds to rip out his shirt like some attention starved whore, revealing a rock hard abdodmen and straight airstrip direct to heaven.

God this man had to have a lot of women after him after the shows. I let out a nervous string of laughter as he waved off goodby to the audience.

My mom tossed her hand fan into my hand as my head kept on spinning for this DREAM of a man. A small unappreciative sigh followed as the cute guy left the manure field, as he leaves a black bull enters with another HUNK of a man. Is judgement day here yet? It might just strike me here and now.

This other guy, wearing full white attire and blonde hair seemed to be the previous guy, but with a twist. The whole audience went ballistic for him. I could swear my body was not taking any more hot guys in my line of sight anymore, who knew countryside boys were so fucking hot? For one I did not fucking know until now.

This guy's ability to just jump the bull and keep on making the bull follow him around was amazing. The whole show I was on the edge of my seat, finally assimilating the petulant manure smell into my nostrils. It was amazing watching the guy just run after the bull, and making a whole skit of almost being stomped by it. Even recalling it now is making my breath shorten. Everyone laughed at his antics, it was like those old movies where no one could speak, and it was just laughs on the other end. God it was an amazing show.

The whole gig went exactly as the first one, rock hard abs, a killer v line, pretty face, and even prettier smiles. There is no way these guys have ZERO girls after them or throwing themselves at them. Is there?

Eye candy is just that, eye candy, no more. I wasn't about to bag some hot country boy, even worse A FUCKING COWBOY?

...could-I?

-

Lunch went amazingly fast as my sister wanted to get on the horse as fast as possible, not out of genuine interest for horses, but wanting to get to the water as fast as possible. I kept on smirking here and there remebering those stupid cowboys that just had to look so perfectly hot. As we finally reached the stables the lackeys were mentioning that we had to wisely choose the horse, and just small talk general. Of course, I had other things on my mind so naturally my two parents just kept on talking killing time.

My eyes though, lazily scanned the barns and looked at three guys in the distance just taking discrete sips of beer as they hauled hay into the cow pen. On a second thought, pretty attractive guys worked here, is this the farm's marketing tactic to get the customers to spend more days and money here? Fuck it's working.

"Bebe," The fact that they don't look the same, they just have nice bodies but fucking attractive faces, for example this guy that I'm looking at ri-"Bebe." Right now has a chiseled face, with small round glasses, also blonde and fuck does he know how to haul a hay b-"Y/N"

"Fuck!" I jolt in place, shooting my head to the direction of the voice.

"Language lady, god. Pick your horse." My mom groaned as she pinched my rib in annoyance, her stride, confident while walking towards a gray medium sized horse.

"Shoot, sorry, right. Uh." I scanned the pen, from a black and white spotted stallion to a shiny auburn horse. "I'll take the brown horse."

The lackey nodded and holded the reigns to his coworker, who also prepared the seat for you. As they finished tying everything up, your uninterested dad gives you a hand to get on the horse.

"Thanks." I murmured.

The ride around the property was gorgeous, as our horses followed a pearly white one ridden by the tour guide I scanned the whole place. It was such a gorgeous greenery that would make anyone want to become countryside. The lush green vines and bushes, the enourmously diverse butterflies that fluttered around the place, and even better the free range cows that pastured across the fence. It was all such a beautiful sight.

[mrdixon]

A Rugged Muse | Chapter 1

pairing: eventual daryl dixon x f!reader

wc: 3.1k

warnings: swearing, violence, slight depiction of gore, vomiting

summary: reader has a shit day. basically the day of the outbreak.

A/N: FIRST CHAPTER WOOOO i am clearly not an art major…. im in the different arts. so apologies to you visual artists im going off from my lack of knowledge from my hobby lol. i really hope you guys enjoy this series because i am EXCITED to write it.

a rugged muse masterlist |regular masterlist

“Fuck,” you groaned, slamming your forehead onto the desk in front of you. A few heads turned to look at you in the library, you cursed under your breath and looked up again after a moment. Adjusting the glasses askew on your face before looking at the paper on the desk. The paper before you was worn with erased pencil marks, slightly wrinkled. Art block was the worst, you’d rather be ten feet under than stuck with art block.

You sighed, it’s been months since your last project and even that was a fail. It didn't help that you only worked at a fucking minimum wage job, maybe you should've listened to your parents and became a doctor or something. It wasn't like it was always like this, no… art school was a breeze. You had hosted real galleries where people came to see your art, and now look at you. Moping around in a library, desperately trying to find something to draw.

After tapping your pencil against the table which by the way, earned many dirty looks, you scooted closer to the table. Picking up your old sketchbook and frantically flipping through it to find…. so many god damn drawings of, him. Your god forsaken ex boyfriend, but he was gorgeous.

You met him ironically enough in art class, way back in high school. He was there by choice, you were not. Yet everything about him was just so captivating that you couldn't help but not switch out of the class, thank god you didn't. You enjoyed the class more than you expected, painting being one of your favourite forms of art, oils being your preferred medium. You painted and sketched every moment of the day, not putting down that brush for one second. Your ex boyfriend was your inspiration, every detail on that stupid face was engraved in your mind like a marble statue. His beautiful plump lips and the beauty marks that scattered over his face being two of your favourite features.

Art was everything to you, and so was he. He was all you drew, he made life seem prettier and happier. But then he dumped you for some random chick he met in a bar, that was six months ago.

Since then you've had no motivation and no inspiration for your projects. Flowers no longer had their charm, abstracts looked dumb to you again, oils looked muddy. Nothing worked.

You picked up your pencil and started at the paper again, pushing your glasses up before hesitantly sketching out lines. Your mind wandered back to him, you still couldn’t believe it. After years of being together he’d just leave like that? Those years of pure, innocent love where you’d make breakfast with him, take baths together, even paint each other for fun. Date nights that were full of giggles and messily painting on each others skin, his fingertips grazing over your eyelids and nose as he sculpted you out of clay. He threw that all away for a woman he’s known for one night.

Your pencil moved furiously against the paper, scarring it like he scarred you. When you looked back down at it you noticed it was him, those hostile eyes from that night staring right through you. Those words of heartbreak echoing through your mind, words that came from lips that used to kiss you every morning. You huffed angrily, no matter how much you hated him, he always came back. He was always in your mind, plaguing your thoughts like venom. Slamming your pencil down you stood up, ripping the paper furiously.

Now there were whispers, people looked at you weirdly. After remembering your place in the world, you picked up your things and packed up quickly, aching to get back home to your bed. While in your haste, you dropped something. You already were in an irritable mood so you took a deep breath before causing a scene over a dropped item, crouching down to pick up just to notice it was the painting knife he had gifted you months before you broke up. The words ”To the love of my life…” engraved on it. After shoving the painting knife back into your bag angrily you quickly got back on your feet and headed towards the door, not before throwing half your sketches into the bin. As if you couldn’t get any more frustrated, someone bumped into you which caused you to whip around. Though no words came out of your mouth as you took in the sight of the person.

They were sickly pale, sweating profusely and trembling. Their eyes were bloodshot, matching the… bite wound on their forearm? They shook looking at you, mumbling a meek apology and pushing their sleeve down over their arm before walking away. Weird. Anyway.

You turned back around, must be some weird prank or something. Whatever, you were extremely tired and needed to get back to your apartment asap. As you left the library the humid August air hit you like a truck, not helping your heated mood at all. Grumbling to yourself you tried not to let it affect you, instead pushing your hair behind your shoulders, what a convenient day to forget your hair tie. Nothing was going your way, it was like the world was against you. A scream broke your thoughts, it came from somewhere ahead of you. Great, someone probably got mugged and now you were next. Just another thing to keep you moody.

A woman turned the corner, running towards you. You braced yourself for the mugging but to your surprise, it never came. The woman’s face was drained, it was as if she saw a ghost. She didn’t stop running, she was terrified and stuff was falling out of her purse but she didn’t even bother to pick them up. You watched as she ran past you without batting as eye, what is going on today? Shrugging, you picked up the stuff she dropped, finders keepers. Gum, tissues, tampons, condoms, and… her wallet. You almost jumped in joy, you could really use the money right now.

Finally out of your mood you practically skipped down the street, looking through the wallet and counting the cash. $10… $28… $48… $130… $135— oh wait that’s a Canadian $5 what the fuck— $140. One hundred forty fucking dollars in cash, that woman must’ve been loaded to carry this much cash. Well, now you carried it.

Another scream broke your daze, but this time it was closer. You looked up and saw another terrified woman running towards you, this time knocking into you which caused you to crash onto the floor, the cash scattering across the pavement. Back in your mood.

“What the fuck is your problem!?” You yelled, watching the woman continue running and not even look back. Is there a goddamn marathon you didn’t know about or what? You fiercely picked up the scattered cash, shoving them into your bag immediately before crossing your arms and continuing your walk back to your apartment. Fixing your glasses you saw a man get tackled to the ground by another man a street in front of you, was this happening to everyone???

Much to your horror you watched as the man on top mauled into the other’s neck, tearing through the skin and splattering blood everywhere. You froze, feeling your blood run cold at the sight. You watched as the man kept eating away at the now, dead person. The man’s head turned slightly to grab at more of the bloodied flesh, you now noticing the cloudy eyes and gray skin. This man was already dead, so how was he…

You snapped out of it, turning the other way to avoid whatever was happening. This had to be a sick joke. Your heart was beating in your ears, weaving through the back lanes to find a different path to your home. Hair stood at the back of your neck as your senses were now alert, if whatever that was is real, you had to be way more careful. It was quiet in the alley, calm. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Stopping for a second to catch your breath and recollect your thoughts, bending over slightly and placing your hands on your knees.

“Jesus christ,” you muttered. You couldn’t get the visual out of your head, that man was murdered right in front of you. His eyes bulging out of his head when he couldn’t even scream for help, that… monster ripping his throat out and devouring him in broad daylight. You shook your head, running your fingers through your hair frantically as you tried to rid your brain of that image.

A low groaning filled your ears and before you could register it you were falling to the ground, a grunt escaping you as you quickly turned onto your back. One of those things were falling over you, your quick reflexes holding them up by their shoulders. You got a clear view of what they looked like, their eyes were clouded over, veins more visible under their pale skin, their lips and chin dribbling with blood. You grimaced, trying to scream but nothing came out, nothing but a flow of air. They were strong, jaw snapping closer and closer to you. If you didn’t do anything now you’d end up like that guy on that street. No fucking way you were going to die like that.

Struggling a little, you lifted your legs under them and kicked from their stomach. Throwing the thing off of you, grunting you scrambled to your feet. The thing quickly following, their leg twisted as they got up from the position you flung them in. Surely it would’ve hurt if it were you, but unlike you, they weren’t living. You opened your bag and shoved your hand in, cursing yourself in your head for shoving everything in there. You held out your other arm protectively while stepping backwards from the thing. The hand in your bag searched wildly for something to defend yourself with, something to kill with. Could you even kill them?

Your back hit the wall, panic filling your body as the thing got closer. Before it could get any closer you tucked your forearm under their chin to hold them back, a loud cry escaping you as you fought to hold them back. When you were starting to give up, the hand in your bag finally found something metal. Ripping it out you immediately swung at it with the item, sinking it into their head which was surprisingly easy. Adrenaline probably. The thing fell to the ground, dead again.

You let out a heavy sigh, sliding down the wall. You looked down at your hands, bloodied with what you could only hope wasn’t your own blood. You were shaking profusely, your breathing uneven. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing as you pressed your knees to your chest, the heel of your palm placed on your forehead. You stayed like this for a moment, you don’t know how long. But once you were ready you let out one last shaky breath before opening your eyes again, and glancing down at the thing on the ground in front of you.

You almost laughed as you realized you used the painting knife to end the thing, but you didn’t. You silently reached over and pulled it out, swallowing as it made a gross squelch sound. Looking down at your painting knife which was now covered in its blood, you wiped it off on their shirt. Taking a closer look at the body and noticing a bite mark on their shoulder, much like the person in the library. Your lip quivered as you imagined what had happened to them, what might’ve happened to you if you stayed. There was a low pit in your stomach as you stood up, your mouth suddenly filling with saliva before hunching over and vomiting. Your eyes filled with tears just realizing how close to death you were, throwing up your lunch.

You coughed, wiping your mouth on your sleeve before shoving the painting knife back into your bag. You had to get home, now. Your feet moved quickly, not stopping for even a second. There were barely anyone on the streets and you wondered if your home was even safe. Stop, your feet stopped. Don’t think like that. With a heavy breath you took off again, walking even faster towards your apartment building. Please, please, please….

You jolted suddenly as your phone started ringing, you grabbed it but didn’t stop walking. Answering without even checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” You said almost too quietly, still shaken up from your encounter with the thing.

“(Y/N)?? (Y/N), are you okay!?” The anxious voice yelled, it was your older brother, Glenn. You almost cried in happiness, walking even faster now.

“Yes Glenn, yes I’m fine…” you mumbled into the phone, breathing a sigh of relief that your brother was alive. “What is going on?”

“God, I don’t know. All I know is people are dying and coming back to life and eating each other and dying and coming back to—”

“Yeah, yeah I get it!” you cut him off, “I almost—” you stopped, deciding not to tell him about your fight. He was anxious enough, he always was but you didn’t want to worry him even more.

“Almost what?? You didn’t get bit did you!?” He yelled which caused you to pull your phone away from your ear in discomfort.

“No I didn’t, stop yelling.” You replied irritated, you heard him sigh on the other end. Hearing distant voices in the background. “Where are you?”

“I was at work when I saw everything go down, I drove back to the pizza place immediately.” He said more calmer, “but we’re gonna move out soon.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, “wait why? Isn’t it safe there? Why not wait for help?”

“You didn’t hear? I thought you were always on your phone,” you scoffed in annoyance at his probe. “They’re setting up camps, courtesy of the military I think.”

You chest filled with hope, you were going to be safe. “Oh thank god, okay wait I’m going back to my place to grab some things. Where is the camp?”

When Glenn responded his end was filled with feedback, static. “It’s gonna. Arou— Ta—”

“Glenn?? You’re… you’re cutting off.” You said nervously, nearing your apartment.

“A— Yo— I’m—” And the call failed.

Dread filled your body once again, now you really were going to cry. You shakily walked through the apartment building, keeping guard for potential things around. Opting for the stairs, you walked swiftly up them. Out of breath by the time you reached your room, fortunately there was nothing to stop you.

Once you got in you immediately dropped everything, locking the door and collapsing to the floor. Tears filled your eyes once more and you let some of them escape and trickle down your cheeks, you were scared. Scared of those things roaming around, they could kill, you’ve seen it. You removed your glasses momentarily to wipe your face. You shook your head you took a deep breath and stood up, you had to pack and leave immediately. You didn’t know where you were going but you had to leave, you had to find Glenn.

Putting your glasses back on, you crawled over and rummaged through your closet carelessly, trying to find a backpack that was big enough to carry all your necessities. Your apartment was already a mess so you didn’t bother being slow and careful right now, which might have been a bad idea as you snagged your finger on a stray box cutter.

“Shit,” you muttered while pulling your hand back, a cut dragged along your index finger. You rushed over to the sink, washing it quickly before throwing a bandage over the cut. While doing so you heard a police siren drive by, the sound dying off as it drove farther and farther away. You sighed before returning to the closet, grabbing a big enough backpack and shoving as much clothes you could get while also leaving room for extra things.

You stood up and looked around your small apartment, your bed looked so inviting. You were exhausted beyond help, your body aching with the need to rest. I shouldn’t. You thought and continued scrambling for items to take with you, the amount of scattered pages of sketches filled the space that was your floor. Your heart broke at the thought of leaving your things behind but you knew it’d be useless to take with you, but you couldn’t take nothing.

You grabbed a few pencils and brushes, along with a small paint palette and placed them carefully into your bag, an empty sketchbook joining them. While searching you opened your desk drawer, three daggers which you made in a welding class a couple years ago. They were sturdy and well sharp enough, thank god you were good at making things. You took them and put them into a sheath to prevent stabbing yourself. You grabbed a few more things like a lighter, some bandaids, and batteries. You frowned at the lack of supplies you had on hand, but you tried to convince yourself that you’d be taken care of at the camps.

You moved over to your small kitchen and grabbed a water bottle which you filled, also grabbing a couple snacks that would keep you full for a few days at best. You heard a few distant screams outside, some screams of pain which caused you to wince. The sudden thought of living in an apocalypse dawned over you, a feeling of dread rushing through you. You couldn’t shake the feeling off but you chose to ignore it. You did not want to go into a panic right now, you had to have a clear and positive mind if you wanted to live.

You pulled your bag over your shoulders and walked over to your mirror to take a look at yourself, grounding yourself for the world outside. You wanted so badly to sleep but you knew you had to get a move on if you wanted to get to a camp safely.

“I can do this..” you whispered under your breath, clutching at the handle of one of your daggers, turning to the door. You just had to get to a camp, but more importantly you had to find Glenn.

★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★○★★○★○★○★○★○★○

more a/n: for the sake of having glenn as reader's older brother im having him be around 24-27 years old right now, reader being like 23 ish. and daryl will be like 32….??? i dunno im trying to make this as canon as possible BUT UGH IT IS SO $&£”*^%*£ so yeah there will be a little bit of an age gap between reader and daryl but i hope that wont be too much of a problem for you guys…. probably not. and do not quote me if i get settings or the timeline wrong like twd is confusing enough for me……….. again im also like rewatching and making sure to make everything as close to the show as possible, but theres also the possibility of me altering the timeline (muehehehe). anyways tysm for reading and stay tuned! ★

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

 Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 3,851

You’re stuck on Berk. You get by. (Httyd1)

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse

Next>

You groaned, stumbling back unsteadily as you got up onto your feet. Around you, bodies ran like stones tumbling at the bottom of a river, strangely clothed in leathers and furs, occasionally knocking into one another with the heavy pat of covered meat against metal.

You couldn’t help but to stare. Some of them, the ones that weren’t too busy marching to and fro down the path, stared back.

It was a long moment before you thought to remove your hand, which had been absentmindedly hovering against your sore ass, having been thrown quite suddenly and roughly onto smooth, uneven wooden planking. 

“Uh, Hello?” You muttered half to yourself as you looked quickly up and down, continuing to ogle at horned helmets and worn, sewn boots, wrinkling your nose as the strong smell of manure and musk assaulted your senses. You felt, in that moment, as if you had landed in some obscure renfaire full of terribly scented bodybuilders. 

Your shoes sounded almost hollowly against the path as you wandered, your limbs feeling quite suddenly weighty, your forehead stuffed with cotton, hobbling through small openings between pale, thick, freckled and scarred shoulders.

You might have called it difficult to weave through the bustling crowd if you hadn’t been so taken with the sight- Houses with tiled rooves in the curved shape, long enough to touch the ground and make the need for side walls moot, racks of weapons of the medieval type, all ball, chain, spike and blade with handles dull enough to be called worn, scratched enough to be called more of a utility than a piece of decor.

The smell of the sea had the hairs of your nose standing on end, tingling as if they were being brushed past, salt startling your sense in the same way another might have been startled if something sour had just been sprinkled on your tongue, muscle and cartilage contracting and pulling.

You ambled, your shoulders pulling in on themselves, your hands growing nearer to your middle. 

You stumbled past what looked to be a large set of men carrying what looked like a large pillar of something.

You were knocked back to attention by a gruff shout- at someone, at you, at everyone in the path- You’d almost missed it, even as they swept past you, large chests of hairy-armed men carrying up a huge pillar way above your line of sight, thicker than your middle, enough to crush you twice over. 

You wondered if that was safe. If this was a renfaire, that kind of play should definitely have been made illegal.

It took you what was probably much too long to cow and to decide, finally, that now was the time to ask for directions. After a moment, you settled on a woman who seemed generally well-mannered, Minding a set of full crates in a large cart with furrowed brows, still enough for you to catch her attention easily, until the people around you, all fast and carrying heavy loads.

She had red hair tightly pulled into what might have been a bun except its coil was not made out of simply twisted hair but also a set of small, simple braids. Her shoulders were broad, and way above her helmet lay, horns incredibly large and anchoring, the rim of metal around her forehead and above harshly glinting light where her form blocked out all else.

As you approached, you were slightly intimidated by the way she towered over your nervous mold.

“Excuse me,” You started anxiously, “Where am I? Do you know?”

Chapped lips parted.

You stared, quite emptily at that, thoughts absent as if your mind had stalled itself with the expectation that it would soon be filled with cargo, or as if it was an empty cup, sitting prime on a shiny countertop just waiting to be filled.

Her words lacked an immediacy of comprehension that had you, at first, despite the moving of her mouth, you were sure that she had not yet spoken, mouthing things you both heard and did not hear, muddled things which left you waiting for sound to meet your ears, for vowels to form a din you might be able to decipher. 

You assumed at first that she had an accent. However, as her tongue rolled over ‘r’s and ‘y’s in a way that seemed abhorrently organized, unfamiliar yet pointed in that way that all people did when deeply entrenched and invested in the preferred method of communication, with a dread that grew heavily in your gut, weighty and slogging, you realized that perhaps your issue lay not in the fact that her words were nonsensical but with the fact that you could not understand them at all.

Berk... You’d found its name out in the night as the hearty seaside village had been suddenly and violently attacked by a loud entourage of angry, fire-breathing reptiles and all of the puzzle pieces you’d unwittingly collected had finally fallen back into place. 

You lamented over it as you took unsteady steps forwards, feeling to constant, smooth shifting over weight along your shoulders as if you were being blown along the wind. Beneath hewn, knotted fabrics and fur, your muscles strained. It was only a small load and yet it’d still given you some trouble.

Your arrival and integration had been somewhat seamless. There were so many people on Berk that it hadn’t been hard to blend in, not after the initial confusion, especially not after you’d lost your odd garb, all semi-bright and too-evenly-dark colors and modern textile. 

Tickling along your arms dispute the fact that you knew it had never once touched there. It was nearly unbearable- you dropped your load, a smooth-to-the-touch set of newly repaired wooden oars.

The long handles settled with a thick wooden clatter against the ribbed tile set along one of the many strong house walls lining the wood pathway.

You brushed the bottom hem of your tunic, shaking your shoulders out in a way that was both purposeful and compulsive, your muscles twinging as if you’d just been shivering.

Your palms brushed flat against scratchy cloth as you grunted, brows furrowing so deeply you could feel them, frustrated as you struggled to clear away invisible dust. You knew, objectively, that nothing was there, however you couldn’t help but to feel it, having walked through a very wide spider web, phantom strings tickling along your nerves. 

After landing, you had, of course, spent some time panicking as the lines between what you thought had been fiction and reality had blended together. It was hard, though, to concentrate on much else besides the dragons when your life was in mortal danger. 

After a short run in with homelessness, a couple living by the grazing fields had been kind enough to take you into their stables. You’d been fed and clothed and eventually, you had been taught their language. You’d been helped along just enough to get your sea legs, to become steady enough to pay them back in kind. In effect, you were their live-in maid, but you supposed things could have been worse, so you were quite fine with that.

You huffed.

You thought you would have been less irritated if you could have just worn a pair of trousers. The feeling would be gone if you’d been able to take the offending article off- it would have never been there in the first place, or, well, you didn’t think it would have lasted so long had the tickling edges of heavy fabric hadn’t been teasing the place just above your knees. It was an idea that often left your generous hosts disgruntled, but they weren’t your parents.

The act of skirt-wearing was mostly performative, at least from what you’d gathered, given that most of the women on this island wore pants underneath and heavy layers of wrappings and furs throughout.

You scuffed your boots against the wooden pathways, aching arms twinging. It was an abhorrently empty day, cold and misty, hard to see through as the bulk of the village off in their huts or in the hall. It was just as well, too- there was no one around to witness your misery.

Initially appreciative, you’d taken to your new, schoolless life with gusto. You had more pressing things to worry about, after all, like not dying.

Unfortunately, you weren’t very good at any of the jobs you tried. You couldn’t fight, as you discovered after many days spent being smacked onto your ass with a wooden sword, but you were a decent delivery girl and an alright shepherd, shiphand and maid.

It was all enough to keep your head barely above water. It was a lot harder than you’d thought it would be, living on Berk. You did a lot for very little, but that’s just the way life was there, it seemed. 

You thought you might be able to handle it if it wasn’t for one thing… Or maybe two.

When your hands grew restless, when your eyes drooped, or even worse yet, when you were wide awake and bored as you often were, when there was nothing to do but think about doing, you thought about home. And, very quickly thereafter, after you’d gotten over the ‘missing’s and the ‘aching’s, there came the pressing realization that, if you’d ever gotten home, you were already part way through the school year. The thought of having to do it all over again gave you the hives. And the worst thing about it all?

There was no internet. It was awfully boring with no internet. 

Shaking yourself free from your mourning, you stretched your arms high into the air, feeling the light, satisfying pulling of muscles, a high-pitched, nearly-squealed groan leaving your mouth from a place high in your throat. 

As you relaxed, blinking wearily, drowsily, you admired the darkening sky, feeling a light chill run down your back. 

There was always the question of what to do moving forwards. 

Through all of your mis and fortune, after a long time spent deliberating, by which you meant not much time at all, you settled into the unwavering decision to mind your own business.

The plot would continue on as it should and, well, you didn’t want to mess with it any, did you? 

With an absent hand and now only slightly protesting shoulders, you tipped the oars over from where they were leaning, trying to leverage them back onto your shoulder, eyeing the deserted path forwards. It wouldn't do to linger, especially this late. 

You heard the occasional clatter and the pound of something which told you that you must not have been the only person in the area. You couldn’t make out much though, not even a single bend.

The path forwards was unclear, the mist and fog having only gotten thicker since the last time you’d looked it over. It was nearly ominous. You weren’t afraid, yet… It felt like the kind of thing that needed to be broken.

“Hopefully there’s some stew left at home,” You hummed, wobbling unsteadily forward, nearly losing your balance along the way.

You shook your head, not at all minding your way. 

It hit you suddenly, roughly- you wheezed pitifully as something slammed into your whole upper body and knocked against your forehead, hitting you with such a violence that you felt as if you were a large bell that had been roughly rung.

You stumbled back, startled, the slightly loose toe of your boot catching against wood grain, the long poles slipping from your hands, burning the sensitive skin of your palms.

In that moment, you only registered one thing- what ran into was alive and very gawkily boy-shaped.

Treaded leather scraped against your ankles through fabric in what must have been a misguided effort to brake as the both of you fell messily to the floor. 

Thin wood clattering against wood, though all you could really focus on was the way your knees stuck as they scraped against wood and the way grain felt against your palms as you struggled to get up. 

“Sorry,” The boy said tersely, clumsily as he attempted to gather his effects, a worn old journal and a long charcoal stick. 

You just rubbed at your head, squinting dazedly as you felt something slightly wet well against one part of your hand where you’d borne the brunt of your fall, pressing it against your skirt as you ogled.

“It’s, uh, It’s fine,” You stuttered weakly as the boy tore off, waving your hands out in front of you, pushing back up onto your feet. 

Jerk.

You didn’t know it until later, but that was your first meeting with Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third.

You squeaked making a noise like a strangled animal as the top of your head slammed into something heavy and wooden. 

Your fingers were dusty where they’d just grazed over dirt, slightly black where charcoal had rubbed off into your fingerprints. Your eyes were closed tight, fingers clenching around a thin block of leather and dappled paper, said piece of charcoal lodged in the space between palm and book spine.

“Here,” You said, after you’d gathered your bearings, feeling a smidgen embarrassed, “Found it sitting on one of the boulders… by the bridge. The, uh, the rock in front of the…”

The rock by the cliffs, slightly sandy, where the wind blew the strongest and the smell of the sea was thick. The rock by the docks. 

You weren’t sure whether or not to feel proud of your rhyme. You thought you might settle on ‘awkward.’ 

After a long period of silence, staring into startled green eyes, you decided that not saying it would be a measure better than saying it. You still felt quite clever for thinking it up, though.

You slipped the notebook over the counter quietly, unable to really hear the sound of leather sliding against wood over the sound of men making merry and working in the back, shouting to and fro.

You peered up over the Forge counter from where you’d, again, slipped.

You pointedly ignored your head as the ache still rang, the feeling spreading over itself like thick honey.

In front of you was one Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, whose eyes were still wide. 

His shoulders were clearly visible, missing his usual brown coat, or, well, the coat you assumed he always wore- it’d been prevalent enough on screen, anyhow- and very, a-little-bit loose. His hands were on the counter before him, his fingers dancing lightly along the edge, the middles of his palms anchored to the ledge, the one opposite to the side you’d jostled just a moment before. His mouth pursed so that no lip was visible, all hidden behind a stiff line. 

You shifted, feeling slightly chilled as if it was much darker than it was, feeling as if you could feel the smell dew and the sound of crickets instead of the weight of a dandy morning sun across your back, and as if instead of staring into the face of a boy, you were looking right at the stiff body of something nearly roadkill, frozen in the icy night -a deer, perhaps.

In the silence, the one between the two of you, that didn’t include any of the bumbling, heavy-shouldered clattering coming from the back of the forge or the disjointed, clumsy, distracted humming of a rough voice in the back, you felt something grow stiffly in your gut, an unsurety that grew stronger the longer you waited. 

“It is yours, right?” You hesitated, knowing that if you didn’t break the silence, the spell- something else would have broken it for you, and you’d rather it not be whoever was shifting around in the back. 

“I saw some of the drawings in it,” A blueprint of something with a lot of knives, some chicken scratch, what looked like a cannon, “They were nice.”

“I- I well, ah-” The boy startled again, shoulder jumping hastily.

“I didn’t mean to look,” You corrected hastily, not quite sure what to do with your hands- should you point, or scratch your neck or brush down your skirts or hold them at your waist? You settled for nothing and all of them, hand hovering in between motions, jerking- “But it was open, and no one was around, and I thought I ought to return it.” 

He shut his mouth very quickly. 

You waited for him once again, the silence now his to break. 

You could feel your eyes darting around though you felt frozen in a much similar manner. There didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary- you had to wonder, then, if there was something wrong with you? Was that why he wasn’t speaking?

You knew you still had an accent. You were a little self conscious about it.

“...Thanks.” The boy -Hiccup- said awkwardly, after a while. He looked constipated. Maybe he was.

Your beating heart felt as if it had stopped at that moment. You acted quickly.

“Well, okay. Bye,” You said as you got up, brushing the dust off your knees. You wore a skirt today. 

You moved quickly, too fast to be called walking yet not fast enough to be called a run or a jog, your strides still pulled too close together to bring you over any real distance.

You couldn't help but to look at him oddly as you left, making a beeline across the clearing. Even as you turned your back, you kept an eye back on the forge counter. It was an awkward position to hold for sure, yet you couldn’t break your eyes away, a little confused by the whole encounter. 

Hopefully you’d be able to find cover in the crowds- if you didn’t run into anyone first. You nearly did, checking shoulders with the corner of a crate, the place point met skin stinging, the eyes of the lady holding it nearly more so.

You regretted picking up the journal. It probably would have been fine left well enough alone.

You’d never been the most observant. 

But Hiccup… He was kind of weird. 

You caught him staring a lot. Many times, many places. It was very convenient, to the point where you thought he might’ve been orchestrating it.

You brushed it off, however. You’d barely shared more than a few words, after all, so why would he?

Once you put your mind to it, it was very easy to ignore.

The grasses here were long and damp, enough to nearly soak through your leggings and to tickle skin through tough fabric. It shifted gently around your waist and ankles as draconic wings beat above, sending gusts of wind down your way.

You stood still at the base of a hill, both your hands gripping at the thin metal hand of a pail of water, sore fingers aching protesting loudly as it dug into your joints and sent tremors up your arms. 

Your pail knocked at the place just below your knees with one bottom edge. Hanging from the side, also dampening the longer end of your skirt, were two sopping wet rags of a muddy color.

You were sure the dirt by your feet had turned to mud by now, slick and grainy as the offending bucket dripped water down into it and around your feet, causing your soles to sink slightly into the ground and for you to feel ever so slightly more unsteady, as if you might slip even though you hadn’t moved a muscle for a short while.

The wind billowed your sleeves and made you feel hollow and bare, dancing its way up then and down your shirt, brushing past skin. You frowned, though not with displeasure. Not as you stared up at the Chief's house, standing large and proud, decorated with dull color and many carved patterns. 

You stumbled across this moment by accident, watching as Vikings crowded around Hiccup enthusiastically, giving him their congratulations as he steadied himself on his new leg

It strung something familiar in you. Animated shapes and tawny shading, pink sunsets and a small, ugly portrait scratched into dirt, a nice, blue say and something brave said, a shocking thing and a new leg- you remembered this bit from the end of the first movie. 

If you recalled it correctly, Astrid was supposed to punch Hiccup in the shoulder… Then they were supposed to kiss.

You had to squint, bobbing your head to the side slightly, your nose wrinkled. You felt something- it was a small thing, a spark of delight crackling through a point in your chest as you caught a glimpse of straw hair then the whole head, both very yellow and sort of tame, a patchwork of blondes streaking down her scalp in a way that reflected light in a special way when she stood clearly in the sun. 

You kept watching even as the strongly blowing wind made your eyes feel slightly dry, doing your best to keep them open until you couldn’t. Then you felt a tad ruffled as they were forced to flutter.

There it was- You waited as she walked up to him, shoulder rearing back, dull metal shoulderguard folding back, the flattest part of her fist knocking into Hiccup’s shoulder.

You grinned as he reeled back, rubbing his arm. 

You couldn’t make out any real details, too far away to make out any hard details, mouths blurry and eyebrows impossible to see, but you could tell who was who- you could make out the way Astrid leaned forwards, the way people shifted, but then- something weird happened, then.

Your smile flagged slightly.

You found that instead of looking at her, you and Hiccup met eyes. 

The other Vikings are too occupied with each other to notice, you thought.

You couldn’t help but to feel a little confused. Bewildered- astonished. 

You considered him, stiff shoulders under his fur coat and tunic, as if under trance, feeling both transparent and unknowing.

The moment -nearly a trace- was broken but a second later as Hiccup stumbled forwards, the large hand of the Chief having roughly clapped him over the back, forcing him to stumble forwards. You couldn’t see anyone anymore- not anyone important, but, well, that didn’t matter.

You followed his example soon after -the attention-breaking one, that is- sighing and turning to look down over the rest of Berk.

You were careful not to trip. You usually did, coming along this slope. You should get going- you had to. You still had chores to do. You still had laundry.

 You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. It would have been cool to be a part of something so monumental- something interesting enough to be shown on screen, even if you were just a part of the background. It couldn’t be helped. 

Whether or not Hiccup got a kiss wasn’t important and in the end it had nothing to do with you. 

You were just thankful that the raids were over

By the time he looked back down, you were gone.

[xxwitchylanexx]

One Wheel Short Of A Carriage- Cloud x Reader

Side quest spoilers for Junon Region

Rebirth Retold Chapter 4

Taking care of Gabe's Ranch

Again very little dialog is taken straight from the game to keep it as close to the canon game as possible.

TW brief mention of assault

Masterlist

Chapter 5

*~*

After a long uncomfortable night at the mouth of the mythril mines the early morning sun began to peak over the crest of the jagged mountain tops in pinks, oranges, and yellows. The steep inclines, its metamorphic ore only traversable by the sharp talons that black chocobos possessed, cut this area off from the rest of the continent, and with the aid of the ferocious sea the people who lived here were imprisoned on this corner of the Planet. Unless you had the funds to purchase a ticket to cross on one of the many cruise ships under Shinra’s command, or you were a fisherman, soldier, or a Shinra employee.

The area had flourished at one time, however the natural flora was now dried up and barren from years of pollution and prolonged mako use. The wildlife were thinning over time due to the growing number of mutated fiends hunting at a staggering pace which in turn affects the food supply of all local towns, Under Junon especially. And in your opinion, the worst feature was the long flat terrain of the plains between the mines and city fortress. There was little to no shelter to hide among or set up camp. If you needed a break you’d have to take your chances in broad sight and hope to Shiva no fiend would see you. If you were adept enough you could clear out the fiends in the old rusted workshops that were abandoned here and there, but the risk usually out weighed the potential benefit.

So it should be of no surprise that the first stop in the Junon region would be a chocobo ranch. What better way to get around this region’s atrocious landscape than by chocoback?

You’ve never actually been to this specific ranch. You preferred to cross between the city and mines quickly, often times forgoing a rest and camping inside the safety the mines provided, well until recently. You had heard about this ranch from Bill though. He often talked about how the owner had fallen on harder times a little while back, but lacked the drive to pull himself out of trouble so you had added it to your list to of farms to visit which just coincidentally worked out this time around. Now that you were here you wished you had come sooner.

The stalls and pens themselves appeared structurally sound, but inside the birds looked thin and restless. Their eyes felt hollow just like the dark empty depths of the mine you'd just crawled out of. The metal troughs were empty and a greenish film clung to the sides, long dried onto the metal from sitting in the sun. The ones that did have water in them had flies buzzing around and was murky like the swamps. Piles of hay and feed were scattered haphazardly and appeared to be inedible. You could clearly make out the shape of a boot track in one that was soggy. You circled around the main barn in search of any attendants and when you finally found one the woman quickly scampered away in shame under your scrutiny.

The others crowded around the house in the back and seemingly struck up a casual conversation with the one in charge. You had to stop yourself from stomping up there, and ripping him a new one. Instead you took steady measured steps up to the back of the crowd they'd formed. Aerith chattered on like a perfect ray of sunshine like she often did as you shuffled your way through your friends till you stood the front next to Cloud and Aerith.

He was unimpressive, like many of the other self involved old bastards you've encountered. Dry and peeling wrinkled skin like sun cracked leather faded in desert heat covered the man head to toe, except for the smoothness of his balding head. Black tattoos ran up his arms, across his shoulders and highlighted his collar bones before weaving down his torso, the lines creating an image of a man holding the fate of his world on his shoulders. You guessed he was in his mod to late forties though his appearance was very similar to people well into their sixties.

“I’m Gabe, by the way. Owner of the ranch here, and before you ask, my birds are not for rent, ain’t worth the risk.” You nearly scoffed as you crossed your arms across you chest. What risk? At this rate they had a better chance in the wild. “Used to run deliveries, but Shinra put the kibosh on all that. Still tryin’ to keep it goin’ best I can… well, was tryin’, till my carriage shit the bed. And since I don’t have the parts to fix her, both she and my business are as good as dead. Even the chocobos’re feeling down.” No shit, you thought.

“What if I fix it. ” You interjected, having no patience for the sob story of why he ‘cant fix it’. Both Cloud and Aerith turned to gawk at you with wide eyes and open jaws, clearly surprised you said anything at all.

“Kind of you to offer, but nah.”

“You’d rather let the chocobos starve? How responsible.” You snapped as you pinched the bridge of your nose. You knew what he was playing at. He wanted you to play this back and forth game before he would eventually “cave” and accept your help. You decided to save yourself the headache, and jump right into the details. “Just need parts, right?”

“Says the girl who ain’t gotta fix it… but even if ya were some kinda secret grease monkey, I wouldn’t be able to pay ya for your time. I’m flat broke.” You exhaled the rising anger through your nose. This conversation would get you nowhere. You turned to leave, someone else here would have the details, though his scratchy baritone clawed against your eardrums before you got a step in. “Curious about my birds? I’ve tried settin’ ‘em free, but they just keep comin’ back. Force of habit.”

You looked him dead in the eyes and held his gaze. Your words nearly spat at him. “You’re an ass. If you knew anything about chocobos you’d know they’d rather die than abandon their faith in their owner, no matter how displaced that loyalty may be.”

“What’d you sa- I know you! You’re that assistant girl from Bill’s farm ain’t ya?” His brows pinched angrily and nose scrunched in distaste. You could practically feel the waves of hostility roll off him.

You blinked once, twice, in disbelief. ‘Assistant girl’? “He was right about you. You’re just another deadbeat who can’t get off his ass,” You name flew out of Aerith’s mouth in a shocked gasp, “and fix his own damn problems.” His cheeks puffed and face grew as red as a tomato, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides, as you held him under your stern glare, disgust no doubt written all over your face. “I’ll fix your damn carriage, and save your birds. Not that you deserve it.” You left all of them there to watch him flounder like a fish as you set off to work. You wanted to check in on the barn before you set out to run around and fix his shit.

The gravel crunched under your stomping feet as you finally reached the large creaking door to the main stable. Chocobos were pretty adaptable creatures. To see them in such a bad condition meant they suffered from prolonged neglect. You've seen it before; ranches often run out of funds to care for their birds. Shinra was known for cutting off travel between regions and monopolizing travel so there was no need for people to rent chocobos anymore. No customer equaled no income which resulted in sick and dying chocobos. Hopefully you made it in time to turn this ranch around.

The employee you saw earlier was now hunched over herself with a pitchfork gripped tightly in her hands. She grunted in exertion with every shovel and shake as she worked hard to muck out the stall. She looked younger than your thought from your first glimpse, maybe fifteen or sixteen. Not that out of the ordinary around Gaia. Most kids had to start working around thirteen to survive these days, thanks to corporate greed and rewarding the ass kissers that rose within the ranks of Shinra. “Excuse me.”

She yelped and banged her head against a support beam. A sharp hiss slipping through her gritted teeth before she rubbed at her head and reluctantly moved to approach you, her straight brown hair swishing back and forth with her movement. “C-can I help you?” She asked, her quiet and meek voice wavering.

You gave her a gentle smile, as you studied her body language. Her swirling chocolate eyes flickering away from your steady gaze, her bottom lip wavering slightly under the pressure of her teeth, and her shoulders hunching inward with tension. She had dirt smeared across her mocha skin, one calloused hands clenching the pitchfork, and the knees of her overalls were stained with grass and dirt. You felt for her. A hard working girl like her didn't deserve to be under the weight of the crushing pressure of caring for so many chocobos alone, and by the subtle shake in muscles you're confident that Gabe must take out a lot of his anger on her. “Do you run the stables?” You asked calmly in your most soothing voice you could muster.

“Um, yes. It-it’s embarrassing to say that since it’s falling apart.” Her face fell as she refused to tear her eyes from her shoes.

“What’s your name?”

She leaned her equipment against the wall and leaned onto the gate in front if you. “Calla.”

“Hi, Calla. I’m Y/n. I travel all around the planet, and help out stables when they need it. I’d like to help you. Can you tell me what’s been going on here?”

“Um, sure, but I-I can’t pay you.” She said as she kicked at some of the straw lining the ground.

“Don’t worry about that.”

She nodded, a fiery determination simmering in her weary eyes, and her bottom lip trembled but she straightened her posture and began to break down the struggles shes been facing. You admired her resolve to work through her emotions, especially at her age. If you had one wish for the future of Gaia it would be to allow the youth of the future to be a child, to have a childhood instead of being thrust into the hardships adulthood to survive.

Anyhow, from your understanding all of Gabe’s clients brought their business elsewhere since the carriage broke down six months ago. She urged him to branch out and allow chocobo rentals to the influx of tourists who came from the central continent, but he deemed it too dangerous for the birds and closed the business down. The ranch wasn’t making any money so all the other stable hands quit leaving Calla in charge of everything. She was left with twelve birds to care for and no funds in either of the business accounts so she hasn’t been able to purchase enough greens to keep the chocobos well fed. Not to mention the troughs are too heavy for her to move by herself so the drinking water often got too warm and stagnant. As a result the chocobos weren’t getting enough water and one by one they were starting to get sick or too fatigued to do anything. “I just love them so much, but I don't know what to do.”

“That's why I'm here.” From outside the barn you could hear your friends discussing what to do next. You inhaled deeply and pushed that to the side for now. This was something only you could do, and if that meant being left behind, so be it. “First things first, you need to clean the troughs, thoroughly. Do you have any oats or wheat?” You asked, placing one hand on her shoulder.

“Oats, in the main house, I believe.” Calla sniffed and wiped at her nose with the back of her arm.

“Great! After you clean the bins, fill them up. You’re going to take whatever you have and mix it with any greens you have in stock. Three parts oats, one part greens. Got it?”

Calla fumbled out of the stall, nearly knocking her head on the wood again, and over to the small desk tucked into a corner of the room. She shuffled through the paper laying around for a pen and notebook then quickly jotted down your instructions. “Got it.”

You reached into your satchel and fished out a small glass container, crossing the room as you did so, and handed it to her. “These are for the ones that refuse to eat or if you feel like they’re getting sick. You only have to give them one of these, unless they don’t start eating in a few hours. In that case give them another. The treats stimulate appetite and help boost immune systems.”

“Oh,” Calla waved her hands in front of her in protest. “I can’t take something that valuable.”

You persisted. “Take them. Its really no trouble. I can make more if I need them.”

Calla’s attention momentarily faltered as her eyes darted behind you, to the new people entering the room, before her focus was back on you. She hesitantly took the stimulants from you in a shaky hand.

“Then I want you to empty the water container, clean them very well, and refill them. When I get back I’ll help you move them.”

“Are you sure this is okay? I really don’t feel right about letting you do this all for free!”

“Calla,” you waited till she looked at you, “You need help, and this is what I do. Let me help you.” Her bottom lip wobbled, before she nodded weakly. “You’re doing a great job. I’ll be back soon.” You paced towards your group, before slowing down and turning to address Calla once more. “And, Calla.” You paused until she peered over at you. “Give yourself some credit. These chocobos would be dead if it weren’t for you.”

She nodded weakly before ducking away to immediately start on her part, but the way her eyes sparkled with a newfound pride and a pep to her step you knew shed be okay. You faced your friends with a heavy sigh. You didn’t want to part from them, but you didn’t feel right asking them to come with you and delay their plans any longer. “I need to take care of this for now, so you guys can go on ahead. I’ll try to meet up with you later.” You pushed your lips into a thin line and shrugged.

Equally disappointed frowns pulled at their faces as well, except for Aerith who smiled brightly at you, and Cloud who was as stoic as ever. Not even the ghost of a frown on his blank face, and why is she smiling? Your brows furrowed, and an uncomfortable disappointment gnawed at your heartstrings. This could possibly be the last time you'd see each other, and neither seemed to care. The thought had you recoiling for a second. Since when do you care?

“Nope!” Her singsong voice captured your attention. She approached you and grabbed your hands firmly in hers. Her eyes reminded you of the ethereal greens that look like the dancing wisps of the lifestream. Her warmth always reminded you of a love from the mother you never had, and homesick for a life that could have been yours. “We’re in this together. You helped us with jobs in the grasslands, only fair we help you here. Right, Cloud?”

“Right.” The lack of attitude took you by surprise, but his eyes showed the honesty of his statement. You’re in this together. You looked around to each if them gathered around you. Barrett, Tifa, Red, Aerith, and Cloud each offering a nod or smile, Red even showed some teeth.

You caved easy. You didn’t try to change their mind, and you were sure you didn’t want to anyway. For the first time, you felt like this might be where you belonged. “Alright. First things first, we need to find a Mountain Chocobo.”

“Gabe said that a chocobo by the name of Belle and her pack was seen north of here.” Tifa explained. “He said she should be able to get us where we need to be.”

“Perfect, and everyone, thank you.” You bowed your head softly, hoping your gratitude could be conveyed properly before a big meaty hand clomped over the back of your head and ruffled back in forth pulling strands of silky h/c strands free from your braid. After trying to swat Barrett’s tree trunk of an arm away unsuccessful he pushed at your jaw line to lift you eyes to meet his, a cheeky grin stretched proudly on his rugged face.

“None of that, now. We got a job ta do.”

*~*

So… how do we catch her?” Tifa asked quietly from somewhere behind you. The group had found its way north to an abandoned, yet unexpectedly sturdy, ore refinery on a cliff that over looked the sea. The mid morning sun shone bright yellow rays that reflected off the crashing waves. that opened up into a field. You stood just inside the gates and crouched down behind a wall of barrels staking out the patterns of the chocobo flock frolicking inside the circular loop of cart tracks. At one time they were used to bring ore into the building and then once done was carted back out to the storage building, now it was just an obstacle keeping you from the alpha bird.

“Sneak up on her, I suppose.” You tracked her movements as she leisurely grazed between large tufts of grass. She was smart enough to graze in the center of the field where there wasn't a lot of shelter for predators to sneak up on her. She was a beauty. Her midnight black feathers looked as sleek as night itself. Her beak the color of a Junon sunset that was sharper than a yellow chocobo, and her shanks were larger in size and talons as sharp as razors to pierce the rock of the surrounding mountains.

Occasionally she chirped and chatted with the surrounding birds, but mostly minded her own business as she looked for the best looking grass to eat. “Well, she seems to be laid back,” you spoke your eyes never leaving the black beauty, “but she must be pretty headstrong to lead the flock.” You finally looked back towards them, your lips pressing into a thin line as you ran through your plans in your head. Before you said anything else a different chocobo began to squawk as it neared your group. You turned your head in its direction. If you could just distract it.

“What’s wrong?”Cloud asked as he crouched on your left and leaned towards you to get a glimpse at what held your attention.

You blinked at him once, twice before you sighed. He was beginning to be able to read you, and you weren't sure how you felt about that. “Those ones there,” you pointed to the two that were scampering in your direction, “seem excited to see us, but we’re not likely to get close to Belle if they’re making a fuss.” You tucked in a breathe when you looked over at him. He was so close, the mako hue made his eyes shine like the sea, his scent invaded your nose. You blinked hard and turned back to the two.

“So only one of us goes then.” He stated rather than asked.

“You got it. However, we might as well befriend them. We need six of them after all. Plus it’ll keep them distracted.” You nearly whispered.

“Give us a job.” You never thought Cloud would follow your lead. He always seemed like he needed to be the one issuing commands, though you suppose at one time he probably had to follow someone’s order given hes a military man.

“Yeah!” Aerith happily agreed with Cloud. You nodded, having no trouble setting your plan into motion.

“Why don’t you three,” you gestured to Tifa, Red, and Cloud, “go give those guys some love. Barret can you stand guard here? It should keep them all from taking off, and Aerith come with me? I’ll have you throw rocks to distract the ones closer to Belle so they don’t see me.”

“You got it.” Tifa answered as she slowly stood from where she hunched over and put her hand on your shoulder briefly before she and Red carefully advanced towards the cluster of chocobos. Meanwhile Cloud gave you one last nod before following after them.

Barret shook his grafted arm in an arc motion, going so far as to aim at random targets to make a show of it. “They won’t get past me!”

You chuckled at his enthusiasm, and rolled your eyes before thanking him. You looked towards your partner. “Ready?”

“You bet!” She held up her hand in search of a high five knowing full well you'd never leave her hanging. With a satisfying ‘clap’ the two of you crouched back down, as low to the ground as feasible, and slowly snuck up against one of the mine carts. You paused there, leaning around the corner of the cart, and searched for the next nearest chocobo. You looked to the other side at Cloud’s group to make sure they succeeded in drawing attention of the other two.

You smiled to yourself at the sight. The only one the birds were interested in was Cloud, he even drew the attention of two more. Two in front of him and two more around his back and side invaded his space. They pressed their beaks into his torso to sniff at his uniform, one of them sniffing at his ear and hair. His arms were raised and pushing gently against them, but even his soldier strength couldn’t rival an eager chocobo. Tifa was doubled over herself and clutching her stomach as she laughed while Red sat next to them with the biggest toothy grin you've ever seen on his face, and tail wagging at a rapid pace.

“You like him!” One of Aerith’s finger jabbed at your cheek.

You recoiled at the accusation and fell back on your hands. Your eyes wide as they darted between Aerith’s as you accessed if she was joking or not. You scowled at her laughter your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “Wha- no! It’s not like that!”

“Oh, please! I see the way you look at him!” Aerith brought both hands to her face and pointed at her eyes. “Do you think I’m blind? Every time you see him, your eyes get all dreamy.”

You huffed like a child. “You’re delusional.”

“You know I’m right!”

“How on Gaia- I haven’t even- I’ve only known him for a couple weeks! You know what-never mind.” You brows knit together in irritation as you stared blankly at the grass in front of you.

She sighed wistfully, “I knew the second I saw my first love.” You reluctantly looked at her again, her expression ‘dreamy’ and far away. She smiled softly, almost sad. He must’ve been quite the guy to have the most positive girl on the planet look so lonely. You almost asked, your lips parted and the question on the tip of your tongue yet the loud ‘kwehs’ that chirped from Cloud’s group carried your train of thought, and your eyes, away.

Your pulse beat violently in your throat, and your hands grew clammy. His eyes focused on you and not the chocobo head butting against his hip. Shit, do you?

He gave you a small nod, his way of saying they were good to go. You exhaled deeply through your nose. No use thinking about it now. “Come on,” You shook your head and focused on the task at hand. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Right.” She dragged the word out implying that you just wanted to avoid the conversation, but quickly shifted into work mode. “You want me here?”

You made sure to look closely at the terminal and showed her the correct lever to make the carts travel forward or backwards. “Yeah. When I give the signal, hit this lever.”

She nodded. “Got it.”

One last quiet high five and then you began moving slowly along the carts on all fours to balance yourself. The dried grass pricked at your knees caps, and tiny pebbles molded tiny indents in your flesh. Your grit your teeth and crawled through the mild stings until you finally reached the end of the line. At the last cart you shifted your weight onto your legs and carefully poked your head around the hard edge to get a look at the space on front of you. Just one more chocobo ahead then smooth sailing to Belle.

You looked back to Aerith and gave her a thumbs up, the signal you two had agreed on. A moment later the cart you were behind lurched forward and you crawled besides it as it followed the tracks. As you neared the next chocobo you slowly switched to the other side to stay out of its eyesight. The gentle munching lightened your heart and had you smiling to yourself. Oh how you loved chocobos. You kept at it for another minute, keeping in pace with it before the cart screeched to a stop just a few yards from the target.

Belle looked up at the cart and you sank to the ground so no part of your body could be seen. You waited there for one minute, then two. At the three minute mark you seriously started to sweat that she might not look away, and you'd have to improvise. Then, finally, she straightened out her neck with a sassy chirp and averted her sight towards the old rusty building that’s been long forgotten. You inched forward, slow and steady trying to avoid anything that made noise.

You counted down the feet between you and her. The anticipation grew within you, the rush of taming a new chocobo one of the very things that drew you in to training in the first place. You were so close, literal inches away, when you stepped on a rock and twisted your ankle. A pained hiss slipped from between your clenched teeth, and Belle shot upward and twisted around to look at you.

Her wide saucer eyes stared at your slumped figure with childlike curiosity. Her head slightly turned towards you and a low cluck of her beak had you mirroring her inquisitiveness. Deep blue eyes, much like your solider friend, darted between your own searching you for an malicious intent.

“Hey there, Belle.” You spoke softly yet with confidence to convey your conviction to her safety with an outstretched hand and tranquil demeanor. A mirthful giggle bubbled in your chest as the cool beauty took a step forward, then another until her smooth beak nuzzled into your palm. “You’re not scared at all, are you?” Your other hand came up and twisted gently through a few of her midnight feathers before she knelt and offered her neck to you to help you stand.

Her eager chirps buzzed in your ears as she rose to her full height, lifting you up along with her, and quickly circled into your torso nudging at your satchel for the delicious aroma that wafted through the leather.

“I didn’t need to sneak up on you at all did I?” You fished out one of the homemade treats from your choco proof pocket and offered it on the palm of your hand. “Or did the others scare you?” Belle kweh’ed eagerly in response. “It was Barret wasn’t it?” You laughed a little more, scrunching your nose in a faux disgust look. “I promise, he’s a big softie just outwardly rough.” You patted her neck twice with a firm touch. “We could use some help getting around the area. Are you up for an adventure?”

She jumped in excitement, before moving into a position that would allow you to climb easily onto her back. She hardly waited for you to be seated properly before sprinting out towards every other chocobo she traveled with, chirping directions to her fellow flock members.

By now your friends have also found a feather friend to care for except for Barret, which was no surprise to you, but when the last chocobo realized it was him or being left behind the bird lumbered over and leaned down to offer Barret a ride.

Now equipped with your latest companions, the six of you kissed the rusty building and creaking carts goodbye. Barret shouted out a loud and melodious victory cry, which had Cloud groaning weakly besides at Barrett’s silly antics. You laughed so hard you almost fell head first off of Belle, the other girls joining in. You really haven’t ever had this much fun in your life, and you really didn’t ever want it to end.

Da du du daa duhn duhn du da daaa!

*~*

It was well into the afternoon when you arrived at the wainwright’s residence after two treacherous mountain climb which Belle scaled with ease, and an insanely close rock slide.

You started having doubts about this master craftsman when you seen the state of the ‘house’ he was living in. The shack was built out of old discolored wood that was worn down, and for some reason he used rusted corrugated metal to reinforce what was left of the door instead of replacing the damaged entrance, but the icing on the cake was the person sized hole in the roof that he patched up with a tattered tarp. The only thing that was noteworthy here was the view of the Meridian Sea.

You truly lost hope when you met him. He had to he quickly the planet’s laziest business man. The sheer audacity this man had to turn you away because he wanted to keep sleeping in the middle of the day. How on Gaia has he managed to stay in business? There was a stack of orders a rulers length tall on his for Odin’s sake. You had to crack your knuckles to keep yourself from giving him a wake up call he’d never forget.

“Think a swift kick’d get him up?” Cloud scoffed the corner of his lips ticking up in a wry smile.

“I like the way you think.” You agreed as you placed your hands on you hips.

“How about some magic?” Aerith questioned, pulling out her staff and waving it about as if she was putting on a show. The man cracked one crinkled eye open catching a flash of her weapon and jerked violently to an upright position and the head of the bed.

“Scared me half to death!” He screamed waving his hands side to side rapidly. “Look, you wanna get my ass up? Then you bring me exactly what’s on that list, got it?” He waved his arm, after shooting you the finger, over to the desk you snooped through. Without another word or further explanation he rolled onto his side so his back faced you and returned to his lazy past time .

“Well?” Cloud leaned his weight on one side and brought his hand to his hip. He must be as annoyed with this as you are.

You plucked what looked like a crude map with a tiny list of materials off the top of the stack. You puckered your lips to the side for a moment as you looked through the list before tucking the paper into your back pocket. “I say we get his ass up.”

Everyone shuffled back outside, and saddled back up without a word, eager to get this over with as quick as possible. Until you actually started to travel when Barret started ranting about how much of an ass that guy was, and how he was completely unprofessional. “If you didn’t want to do the work, why the hell would take the orders?!”

After collecting the materials at the first location Tifa shared your sentiment on the matter. “A nap on the job can’t possibly be good for his image.” She said as she dusted her hands of against her high socks.

At the second location, even Aerith chimed in. “The guy’s a jerk. Business requires amazing customer service, and building connections! Like how i gave Cloud a flower on the house the first time we met, and look at me now! He comes to me for all his flower needs.” She joked, as she scratched the top of her chocobo’s head for a job well done.

The only one who didn't have anything to say even after locating and digging up the parts of the last place on the list was Cloud.

Your attention wandered to him as you made the trip back, your gaze studying him from behind as you stayed in formation. It was still difficult for you to get a read on him. He was almost always cool and collected, almost stoic. Though there were times where you got a glimpse of what lied beneath the act. He could be quite the smart ass, and arrogant. He was cocky though with his skills he earned a little bit of slack there, not that you’re one to talk. He acted aloof, but you've seen the gentleness, and kindness that dwells in the depths of his soul.

You were becoming fond of the tiny wrinkle that formed between his knit eyebrows, or the way the tiniest of smirks would appear on his face when he did something that looked cool. Ever the showman, you’d joke. You guided Belle forward to bridge the gap between him and the rest of you.

“Hey, Cloud?” A rumble emanated from his chest to let you know he was listening. “Sorry for this.” You grabbed his attention then. “I know you were in a rush.” Your hands gripped the leather reigns harder.

A singular golden ray of the now lowering sun painted his face in gentle yellows, the front spikes of his hair falling into his gorgeous smoldering eyes. Your eyes fell down to trace the lines of him lips as he spoke. “Don’t mention it. We’re even.”

You squeezed your eyes tight. “Well, thank you.”

You’re not at all surprised that the guy was snoring loud enough to rattle the walls when you returned. You were a tad worried his snores would shake the foundation apart, like a giant earthquake would. Half the group waited outside, Barret too worked up from the earlier conversation and Tifa to keep him calm- ahem- company, while you, Cloud, and Aerith went in. You quickly crossed the room with the burlap sack, you’ve used to haul the parts with, pulled taut over your shoulder. At the edge of the rickety bed you dropped the heavy bag on top of his stomach. “Special delivery!” Aerith called out the second you gave him the bag.

He folded on impact with a loud umpf, then lots of groaning before finally looking through the sack.“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” He exclaimed. He shoved the stuff to the side as he swung his legs over the side of the bed frame. “Name’s Freddie. So what was it ya needed again?” You inhaled sharply. Maybe it was because it looked like you wanted to slap the life right out of him, or maybe it was just the planet’s way of tagging you out, but Cloud grabbed you by the arm before stepping in front of you.

“The parts for Gabe.” Cloud’s words were flat and his irritation rolled off him in lukewarm waves.

“Uh, yeah. You did mention that. This’ll just take a sec.” Freddie hopped off the mattress and sauntered over to his workbench in the corner. You rolled your eyes as he made a show of crafting each part. You paced around the small room impatiently looking at the random diagrams that were hung to the walls. You honed in on the faint melody that seized your concentration, eventually zeroing in the origins to Aerith, as she too waited with bated breath. The tune vaguely sounds like something you'd heard back in the slums, and gently tugged at your heart strings.

After thirty or so minutes he finally presented the promised commission. “Tell me she ain’t a beauty. Got a wheel, bed, and brace. Nobody makes ‘em like I do, and that’s no lie. Go on- take it.”

You tugged the part from his grip and carefully inspected the quality of the parts carefully as Aerith chatted the guy up. You didn't want to admit it, but they were pretty damn good. At least his product makes up for the lack of customer service, though if it were you, you’d take your business elsewhere. This guy wasn’t worth the hassle. You shuffled everything back into the burlap and stretched your arms to the ceiling. You exhaled a relieving breath as the pain in your muscles subsided from the prolonged stiffness over the course of the day. “We good to go?” You asked.

With a curt nod Cloud replied “Yeah.”

You didn’t waste time thanking or giving a goodbye to the wainwright. You just wanted to finish up and hopefully make it to Junon before nightfall. What you would give to sleep in an actual bed for the night.

*~*

It wasn't until the evening that you returned to the ranch. You beelined straight to the barns to help Calla with the remaining tasks, opting to trust Aerith and Cloud to deliver the parts to Gabe. Calla’s hard work exceeded your expectations and brought a toothy grin onto your face. It seemed that the little bit of affirmation you offered her was the key to bringing out her natural talents. You believed she has what it takes to own and care for her own ranch one day.

Each trough was scrubbed so clean your own reflection stared back at you. Fresh food, prepared to the perfect ratio, filled each one, and most of the chocobos were chowing down. The stalls were entirely emptied out, wiped clean, and replaced with fresh straw. The birds inside were swaying from side to side content that their bellies were finally full, and energy slowly returning to their bodies. On your way out to the paddock you scratched one of them lightly under the beak, a sense of purpose being relit within you as it eagerly chirped at you for more.

Outside you found Calla hunched over the two feet by 10 feet silver water container, her lanky form kneeling in the dirt and arms working furiously at the mineral build up on the bottom.

“Hey. Nice job!” You complimented, taking up a spot against the wooden planks of the fence, looking in on her from the outside.

Her smile said it all. Brilliantly bright as she beamed up at you as you swiped at the sweat beading at her hairline, unknowingly smearing a streak of algae across her temple. She set the wire scrub brush down, and pushed herself to a stand, brushing the harsh pebbles and dirt off her knees. “Thanks! You were right about that supplement. Chochi is usually really stubborn but one of those treats and he gobbled the feed right up!”

“Glad to hear it.” You scaled the side then hopped into the pen next to her. “Let’s get this moved.”

The two of you moved the sixty pound rectangle to the side of the barn under the overhang from the roof so it’s shadow would always cast its shadow over the box. She thanked you profusely for all of your help with hugs, a handshake, and even a few tears. She made you promise that if you ever needed any help to search for her. You ruffled her hair a bit, internally nostalgic at finding yourself in the mentors position for once, and thanked her, but ultimately telling her not to worry about you. She’d do anything to return the favor. You wished you had more time to get to know her full story, but promised one day you’d seek her out to see how she’s doing. With a heavy heart, and a few more tears on her end, you parted ways. Before you could continue your journey you needed to have a serious discussion with the man in charge.

When you rejoined your friends Gabe had just finished installing the new parts on the carriage. You gave Aerith another high five for a job well done before he cleared his throat in a pathetic cry for attention. Your nostrils flared angrily with the low breath you inhaled, a whiff of motor oil lingering on the breeze.

“Good as new. I gotta say, that old dog really outdid himself this time. Helluva job. Don’t think my carriage has ever looked even half this good!” He gave your a once over with a discreet flash of false superiority before dismissing you as he turned his attention back to Aerith. “‘Preciate it, kids. I can finally get the business back up and running again.”

“That’s great.” she said, “But before we head out, I just wanna ask one more thing. If we hadn’t showed up, would you have even tried to give your birds a better life?” You nodded with her question. Part of you was curious, or maybe hopeful, he had a suitable answer, but deep down you knew he didn’t. If there ever was a time to pull his shit together, it would’ve been when his chocobos livelihood had been jeopardized.

“Maybe.” Gabe shrugged, his lack of empathy and morality had you seething with a white hot rage.

“Not good enough.” you barked through grit teeth, hands clenching at your sides.

“I see, but I get it.” Your face morphing from angry to genuine bewilderment when Aerith’s words regarded him with honest understanding. What? “Shinra’s a big company- and what they say goes.” Your jaw loosened when you realized what she was doing. “I can’t blame you for being too scared to fight back.”

“Hey! I ain’t scared of those sons of bitches. Not one bit.” His rasp rising an octave in defense.

“Oh?” She asked, her voice laced in thick honeyed mockery as she caught him in her carefully spun web. “Then why did you shut down the business?”

“It’s like I told ya- my carriage broke- and getting the parts to fix it sounded like a real hassle, so. So there ya have it! I just… let it go.” The deep frown on your face slide up in a sly smirk. This is why you loved Aerith.

Despite his fumbling you still had a bone to pick. “So you’re birds aren’t worth the ‘hassle’?” The revulsion you harbored for this winkled leather bag seeping into your words. His posture grew rigid at being challenged, his jaw squaring with the effort to keep his mouth shut.

“How responsible…” Aerith sarcastically scolded.

“Okay, fine!” He screamed, his decibel making her flinch though she recovered quickly. “I shouldn’t’ve been so quick to throw in the towel! Ya happy? Starting today, I’m giving this job my all. I’ll stock up on parts so I can keep the carriage moving, and make sure my birds never get bored again.”

“You hear that?” Aerith addressed the distant chocobo near the carriage, before turning to you for confirmation. “Then the deal is sealed.” She shook Gabe’s hand.

With the job done each one of your companions broke off to stock up on anything they needed by the nearby store counter. Eventually it was just you and Gabe, the latter returning to a the carriage. He crouched down to inspect the wheel he had just replaced, the wrench in his hand tightening the jiggle of one of the bolts. You discreetly confirmed none of your friends were in earshot before you stalked over to him. You hovered above him, your voice lowering and taking on a sharp dangerous pitch you only used on rare the occasion you needed to intimate a selfish prick. “Aerith might believe you turned over a new leaf, but if I find out you quit on those birds again, I won’t be so forgiving next time.”

“Yeah? And who the hell asked you? Old Bill send you to scare me?” He huffed and threw the wrench onto the ground the metal clinking roughly against the dirt. “Guy nev’r could mind ‘is own business.”

You sank to his level to glaze straight through his uncaring eyes to the pit of his rotten soul. “I don’t work for Bill.” You spat. “I save chocobos, and the next time you throw in the towel and just let them suffer because it’s ‘a hassle’ will. be. your. last.” You seethed enunciated the consonants of the last three words very clearly before bouncing back up and on the balls of your heels and sauntered to the crumbling staircase only halting your descent when his slimy voice grated against your ear drums.

“Ya know, ‘ere’s this rumor about a jockey could read a bird ‘n get it ta do whateva she wanted. Choco Whisperer they called ‘er” He paused to pick the wrench back up and to continue to fiddle with the bolt. “Guess she was somethin’ real pretty, the jockey that is. Everyone wanted ‘er. Turns out she was sponsored by Choco Sam himself!” The blood in your veins ran down cold. “Gotta wonder how she got his attention, eh?” A sickly cackle had you turning back at him. His implication both horrifying you, and lighting a match to your unrivaled temper. “Guess it don’t matter though. Went missin’. Nobody knew why. Though people say its cause she almost killed ‘nother jockey.”

You gritted your teeth and swallowed your fury. It wouldn’t help anyone if you lost it here. “Your point?”

His prying eyes scanned your body, leaving you feeling dirty and uncomfortable. “Well that was round the time Ol’ Bill hired you, wasn’t it?” A smug toothy grin stretched across his face like he caught you red handed.

Your face didn’t betray the faux confidence as you held his challenging stare, though internally a frantic claw worked through your chest and settled in the pit of you guy. “Must be a coincidence.” You left then. You spent the last four year visiting ranches, and leave it to this bonehead to connect you to the harsh past of your jockeying days. You walked at a brisk pace away from him as the distance between you would rewrite your actions that night.

You tried so hard to leave your unique talents behind when you left the slums, but that night four years ago, the underlying atrocity in you surged. You didn’t regret it, not in the slightest, and you’d do it again if it meant keeping that poor girl, or anybody, safe.

It didn’t happen like he was implying, and thanks to the security cameras in the gilded stall room saved your reputation.

You had stumbled into the stable to check on the chocobo you had raced an hour prior, it was an intense obstacle course and you were worried about a prolonged fatigue might effect your partner, only to find the one jockey you couldn't stand already within. You thought nothing of it at first. You tried to avoid him when possible. You had heard rumors he couldn't keep his hands to himself, and while the other women might not, or couldn't, fight him off you would never let anyone touch you like that again. Not ever. So you were brushing your bird when an unsettling ruffling of clothing caught your attention. As you strained your ears to assess what was going on you realized he wasn't alone. You still hear her cries as she pleaded with him to stop like yesterday. The dark creeping fingers still echoed across your skin as you watched her try to push him off, but she was frail and he was far too strong. Hells, he was twice your size.

There was no way on Gaia you were just going to watch him take advantage of her. So you took care of him. You applied extreme force to his joints, and pressure points before he even turned around. He crumpled to the floor in complete sobs, but you didn't stop there. You crushed his femur, and the hand that he had snaked under the woman’s blouse. He was far from death when you left him, but you later found out from Sam that you had damaged the ligaments in his arms and he needed emergency surgery to save his leg.

You turned yourself in immediately, completely mortified with yourself, however even though you were protecting someone you were no longer permitted to jockey. The saucer had made an exception that aloud you to remain employed, but only to train and care for the chocobos. Which you still do from time to time, but you make sure you never stay for too long. He was completely disqualified ever work at the saucer again. The last you heard, he had recover and took up a residence in the Dustbowl and make a living betting on the races.

Suddenly your arm collided with a solid wall of muscle, your eyes snapping up to the swirling mako pools peering down at you. His scrutiny was unclear, and stormy in a whirlwind you haven’t seen in them before, though you hadn't had the energy to decipher their meaning. The only thing repeating in your head was the fear that he overheard what Gabe had said.

“Y/n, you alright?” His timbre was smooth and calm that soothed the overwhelming emotion bubbling beneath your skin.

You swallowed the thick lump that had formed in your throat. “Uh… yeah. I’m fine. Sorry. Lost in thought.”

Cloud hesitantly stepped backwards to give you more space. “Alright.” His hand hovered in the air, the concern in his eyes trying to convey something to you that his lips couldn't speak. You gave him a tight lipped smile before you staggered away to stock up on your own supplies.

Cloud looked back at Gabe with hardened eyes, a compelling since of protection urging him to take action. He only wished he knew what the right action was. He’d spent the past sixteen days trying his best not to notice you, but he’s done the exact opposite. He quickly realized you were quick to act, your reflexes like lightning, before he’d even seen you in action. You ability to perceive danger and avoid any harm was a skill he so rarely seen in others, and the way you moved in combat was like art. Your body swaying between fiends, only leaving death in your wake, was like the perfected ballet of Loveless- he’d reluctantly seen when he had first enlisted at Shinra. To see you fogged over and dazed was unsettling. You looked so empty like a night without stars, and felt just as cold as the northern continent, that he nearly followed after you. To do what, he didn't know but when he looked into your glassy far off eyes, his heart clenched like someone had ripped into his chest and squeezed.

He continued to watch you from afar, and you seemingly returned to normal. You gave Tifa a long hug, and bantered with Aerith like always. You returned Barret’s playfully punches by trying to push him over, before you finally took a seat and the old blue bench with Red, giving him a few scratched behind his ear as you waiting for everyone else. You appeared to be just fine so why was the bleak feeling still lurking with in him, and why was the only thing he wanted to do was to wrap his arms around you and hold you close until whatever pain or sadness you felt disappeared?

[theredpharaoah]

I think the point in the film where Lizzy splits Elisabeth and Sue into two different people is Sue’s second day(full day. I’m not counting the day she was “born”). Sue wears the yellow coat to the audition. She changes into the leotard at the studio and then changes back into her original outfit(including the coat) and leaves. We don’t see the latter half, but we can assume. But the next day when she’s meeting Harvey there’s no coat. And then the third day she’s wearing a pink letterman jacket. We don’t see her in the yellow coat again. The yellow coat - yellow in general - is symbolic of Lizzy’s consciousness. We always assume the egg yolks are just a metaphor for the bodies, but it’s also a metaphor for Lizzy’s consciousness. The wrinkled yolk is Elisabeth’s depressed, jaded, self-hating, and dull view of the world. The shiny new yolk is Sue’s optimistic, fresh, narcissistic, and vibrant view of the world. But even though the two bodies grant different perspectives, they’re still one conscious entity experiencing two different views of the same reality. They are one consciousness. One yellow yolk.

Lizzy has performed some form of confabulation(lack of a better term)when it comes to both sides of her, but it’s far more extreme in Sue. Elisabeth still considers Sue even though she conceptualized her and Sue as separate. Sue barely considers Elisabeth at all. This is because Lizzy hates herself as Elisabeth and Sue sees Elisabeth as at least lesser than her, if not subhuman. People say Sue acts the way she does because she’s “young” but Sue is not a 16 year old girls. She’s a grown woman and she can definitely consider others and have discipline. At first Sue pities Elisabeth, but then that pity turns into condescension, and eventually disgust. The excuse Sue uses for why needs every other week off is a great metaphor for their relationship. Originally, Elisabeth is the one who’s cleaning up after Sue. Elisabeth is picking up bottles and vacuuming. When she calls The Substance after her finger is aged she even sounds like a mother “No. I don’t know what she was thinking”. And it’s only the day after the horrifying to watch dysmorphia moment that Elisabeth completely gives up. She starts binge eating and watching TV all day out of depression. Then Sue’s pity turns into condescension. After a bit more time - and the deterioration of Elisabeth’s form caused by Sue - that condescension turns into disdain and outright disgust. She outright gags on the phone when The Substance says she’ll need to switch back so Elisabeth can produce more stabilizer fluid. Sue’s attitude towards Elisabeth has changed. Every other week she has to “take care of her mother” and that’s what it was at first. Sue took care of Elisabeth with something along the lines of a long-suffering sigh. She wouldn’t exist without Elisabeth and it was only right to make sure she was fed and taken care of in some capacity. She’d take a week and live as Elisabeth because that’s what she had to do. Elisabeth spends her time cleaning up after Sue and waiting for the week to be over. Sue still doesn’t like that she has to “take care” of her mother instead of being able to go out and party and have fun like others her age(in a particular tax bracket, that is). She’s ashamed of her and hides her away from the world. But then Elisabeth becomes more like a mother with an actual illness; first mental and then both mental and physical. And now Sue starts to resent her and be disgusted by her. Because now she’s invading other aspects of Sue’s life; taking more than just the off week Sue so graciously grants her. How ironic considering all Sue does is take more than she was granted from Elisabeth.

[atypical-artisan]

Aran Ryan (snes) and Aran Ryan (wii) are not the same guy!!

Okay so this idea has been brewing in my head for a long time so I might as well get it out for shits n giggles.

Note: This is not an attempt to downplay people's headcanons Aran Ryan being the same dude. This is just me making a big ole post giving all the evidence for my personal interpretation in hopes to better explain why I see em as two different guys.

Behavior:

So this is the more obvious of the differences between the two. Focusing on their actions within the games (Sorry Snes manual): Snes Aran is a fair fighter with little to no infractions in his name, while Wii Aran is... a hot mess to say the least.

Snes Aran, though charming in his love for his mother and tough attitude while being a rare goody two shoes in SPO, lacks any of the chaotic, violent, and outright mean energy Wii Aran has.

Wii Aran canonically steals, raids trash, breaks into lockers, vandalizes wvba property, destroys wvba property, agitates the crowd, disrespects his opponents, and gets on the edge of outright murder with those damn horseshoes.

Snes Aran has the ability to clinch, a trait only shared with Pizza Pasta, with the bonus ability of regaining his stamina as he does so. A neat, and fully legal party trick- if a little bit magical! He focuses being quite the fast fighter with his own speedy 'hurricane rush' type attack. Unlike most other pallate swaps within Super Punch out, Snes Aran is very similar to Hurricane, only faster.

Wii Aran headbutts, elbows, and jumps off the ropes and goes the extra mile in title defense by using his creativity in the form of a home made weapon. He focuses on nothing but speed and chaos- the only way to fight him is to counter.

Wii Aran is far more mean that Snes Aran, constantly taunting his opponents, and frequently comparing them to his sister (Who may not even be real) as well as boasting about his love for pain and generally mocking Mac. Snes Aran, though he has a mean line, is quiet and only comments on the opponent's heavy hits after the fact.

Overall Wii Aran is bursting with creativity and character compared to his earlier counterpart, I don't find it surprising at all the he has a larger fanbase tbh.

Looks:

Okay here's my main selling point- THESE GUYS DON'T LOOK LIKE EACH OTHER

They have completely different skin tones, head shapes, ear shapes- unless Aran got some serious plastic surgery and a whole body tattoo... yeah nah they ain't the same guy.

To further illustrate my point here are some comparisons:

Note: The last color for Snes Aran is NOT his eye color- it's just the color the use for shadows on his eyes, but I compared ti to Wii aran's eyes for demonstration purposes

Even though their heads are at a slightly different angle, it's clear that Snes Aran has a softer face overall, lower, smaller cheekbones, heavier jowls, a fuller lower lip, more rounded features and bigger ears.

Wii Aran is overall more chiseled and sharp features, his brow is more wrinkled, he has actual eyebrows, a very square clefted chin, and very small and high-set ears, alongside some killer cheekbones.

So now comes the biggest question of this theory:

If they're different guys why do they have the same origin, age, weight, win-loss ratio, and name?

Well, I would counter with the fact that all but two of these features is shared with boxers who are canonically not Aran.

Looking at the Wii game alone-

Don notably shares his age and height with Aran.

Disco shares his wins by decision and Hippo shares his total wins.

Outside the Wii game-

He shares his total fights with Bull (Arcade) and his losses with Piston Hurricane (Snes).

Outside of Aran, multiple boxers share home cities-

Disco, Kid Quick, Mac, and Doc all hail from New York with Doc, Disco and Quick all sharing Brooklyn.

Gabby and Joe are also notably both Parisian.

There are also the trio of fighter sets from Japan, China, and Italy (Albeit from different cities).

As well as ages-

Disco and Narcis,

Macho with Clown (27) and Sandy (Spo) + Hondo (28),

Tiger with Muscle.

Weights-

Gabby and Joe (Except his arcade version)

(SNES) Bull and Disco

And most other things! (This post was a huge help for the wii stats)

Not even names are safe from sharing! There are two Pistons, two bruisers, two macs (Counting Texas mac), two 'kids', and two guys with the GJ initials.

So that only leaves Aran's weight and full name shared, but unique to, both parties.

This is where my theory/headcanon comes in :)

I am of the opinion that the WVBA is an absolute shitstorm of an organization. If their attitude towards boxing rules wasn't a clear sign then the repeated flipping around of ages, records, as well as lack of documentation for some boxers (Hippo, The Bruisers) is a clear sign that the WVBA is deeply unorganized.

Focusing on the Wii game in particular, which gives us the most information about the boxers, we can see a lot of the height/weight comparisons are very unrealistic. While Joe's 110 lbs at 5'10 makes sense because he's meant to be flimsy, Hondo's 174 at 6'2 or Soda's 237 at 6'6 seems too small how their physiques are depicted in game.

A boxer with big bulging muscles like Soda is going to be heavier than a boxer that's both shorter and doesn't have a bodybuilder physique like Sandman, yet Sandman is heavier. Boxing does have a lot of focus on losing excess weight, like water weight, in preparation for matches and weigh-ins, but as the WVBA lacks weight classes, this can't really be taken into consideration.

This is a good tool to visualize body types and sizes in comparison to height and weight.

At this point you may be asking:

"Charlie, I've been reading for 20 minutes at this point, what the fuck does any of this have to do with whether or not Aran Ryan is actually 2 people?"

It has everything to do with it! In my opinion, the lack of consistent data on the boxers, within the Punch Out universe, means the WVBA is full of idiots and doesn't keep track of their boxer's information that well!

Which opens up the possibility of boxers who are a little too similar getting their information crossed or even merged...

Considering we have Gabby and Joe share so much of their information, alongside Disco and Kid Quick- who's to say these aren't other examples of cross-contamination within the WVBA databases over the years?

What if that's what happened to two Irish boxers of different branches?

That exactly what happened! (In my headcanon of course)

"So who is who? What info is for which Aran? How'd this even happen?"

Well I'll make my headcanon as short as I can (Long)

A Dubliner by the name of Airyn O'Ryan joins the west (SPO) branch of the wvba at the tender age of 17- standing at 5'10, 160 lbs, building a solid record of 18 to 10. He's scrappy, used to living on the city streets and dealing with bullies, but a fair man who loves his mum, and his name, to bits.

At around the same time, another Irish boxer stepped into the east (Wii) branch. Aran Ryan, a 23 year old claiming to hail from Dublin (though he only says so because that's what his visa and passport say), stands at 6'1 and weights a comfortable 210 during the boxing season. His record is a bit better than the other Irishman's- a whopping 24 wins and only 11 losses. He's far more vicious than his western counterpart, more prone to violence, cheating, and generally cruel behavior. He has a habit of odd insults and a strange fixation on the number seven too.

Over the course of a year, their individual files begin to blend and eventually settle into a comfortable hybrid, with the elder's name and height and the rest from the younger.

This goes unnoticed for a bit until Airyn files a complaint to HR about the spelling of his name on official documents. He's insulted that they'd gotten it wrong on everything at this point and demands they change it back. He also tries correcting his height, just for good measure.

This memo gets sent through the east branch and lands in the lap of Aran- he reads through everything, realizes whats happened, and sent it back exactly as it came. Why? Well, even though his record is worse now, he doesn't exactly want the WVBA looking too closely at his documentation or passport.

Now why is that such a problem? Well it's a long story I can't get into here. Needless to say, he's riding on the WVBA being less than competent at their damn jobs. So with crossed fingers, he sends it back.

This little back and forth happens a dozen or so times before Airyn completely gives up, embittered and convinced the WVBA is full of idiots. Aran is very grateful the weird crop ups stopped happening.

It takes them 5 years, and a set of teenagers beating the crap out of them, for the two to realize that there are in fact, two of them.

(Cannot for the life of me find/remember was made the left one but the right was made by @4suitedplayingcard)

[wyvchard]

The Guilt in Smiling

Support Agent Reginald Crane often tries to show detachment by nonchalance, by smiling.

A question from his agent caused him to question why he does that.

Content Warnings: Grief, implied drowning, hurt/comfort

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reginald Crane is a support agent who smiled a lot in front of others, even when the smile doesn't exactly reach his eyes.

Agent Phoenix is a field agent who rarely smiled in front of others, even when their eyes sparkled with joy.

"You seem like you smile a lot, Handler Sir," Phoenix said while leaning against their chair, only to kick the ground slightly to spin around with the stuffed crane they'd asked him to buy to accompany them after their third hospital stay.

It had taken a bit of convincing (and some puppy eyes) for him to agree but it was worth it.

Reginald paused when he saw his agent's ecstatic smile for the first time, the joy in their eyes matching the shine in their eyes.

He'd seen them 'smile' before, yet it usually looks more like a smirk than the one in the hospital ward. The way their shine sparkled as soon as they wrapped the grey stuffed bird in their arms.

"Where did you get that guess, Agent?" He looked at the screen that showed his agent spinning with the crane, much to his chagrin. They liked the plushie a bit too much in his opinion.

"Wrinkles." They covered their mouth as they fought the urge to laugh, shoulders shaking badly at their imaginaiton.

"Very funny, Agent."

"But seriously, you usually smile in the photos I've seen of you. And you jest. A lot." They took a deep breath, turning to the camera they know he is looking through. "Are you happy?"

The pause was palpable, the only sound between them were the machinery in the background, a constant hum that kept the time.

"That... is a rather pointed question, Phoenix."

He grabbed the cup of tea beside him to calm his nerves. The flashes of agents who passed under his care came by briefly, freezing him in place.

"Tell me a joke. Please."

"Agent, I do not think it is an appropriate time to joke right now."

"You joke all the time, Sir. Please. Just tell me a joke."

"I suppose I should dive into my memory to think of one, Agent," he forced himself to smile as he covered his eyes within his palms. "Please do give me some time. My concentration is wavering."

"You are so bad at this, Mason," the agent laughed, slowly watching as the water level is rising in the life boat. "But, I suppose that's part of your charm. Sorry I had to be one of your earliest experiences, you budding new support agent. But I think you'll be alright."

"Dyesabel..."

"Wow, you finally got my codename right, Reg." The agent laughed, fighting the tears as death loomed ever closer. The radio between them was raised up slightly, making the voice sound more hollow than usual. "O, siya. Mag-ingat ka, ha? Mauna na ako."

Reginald glanced at the tiny seashell he was given as the static from the other line took over his mind.

"Reggie?" Phoenix finally broke the silence after an entire minute of silence passed, noticing the lack of sound from their handler's end.

Reginald refused to answer, only glancing at the tiny seashell placed beside the rock with a smiley face.

Was he happy? He's not sure anymore.

All he knew is that he finds smiles an effective shield from the grief and guilt.

It had been like that from the start.

As archived folders of those who had passed piled up in his room, as memories of agents' last moments build up walls in his mind, he kept a smile, a front to hide the tears in his eyes as he watched the flowers on their graves wilt.

Yet, the guilt thrives within his heart.

Although the Phoenix had formed a nest within his soul, their presence cannot burn away the thorns that pierced his mind.

The spiral only stopped when he felt a pair of arms behind him, coupled with whispers of apologies.

"Do you feel better, Reggie?"

He turned around to look at his agent, their eyes darting around the objects beside him.

His lips pointed up as he gave his answer.

"Thank you, Phoenix."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@phoenix-and-found-family, I wrote angst. :33

@the-one-and-only-043, So, yeah.

[sorcerous-caress]

Yes! Elves would definitely love the idea of visible aging, and I'm also gonna put some emphasis on older women because of the always looming stigmas of them being "Not Allowed To Age Because Ew" A.K.A COWARDS

Just like how we'd drool over old Elves, they'd, in turn, drool at the sight of an older humans.

Drow that would shiver in delight at the extra weight that clings to thighs and hips with age. Hypnotize themselves with tracing their human lovers stretchmarks, worshipping the marks that crafted their treasure.

Wood elves that can't help but run their fingers through salt and pepper hair, enamored by the strains; Often comparing it to the changing of leaves during the shifting of seasons. How wonderful that humans can fully embrace natures cycles with ease, their little piece of tranquility.

High Elves that can't help but long for the stern, no nonsense attitude that develops with time. Secretly loving the pushback that they get from older humans, how said humans would not hesitate to drag them by their sensitive ears for being rude; Relish the calluses and age spots on your hands.

High elves practically whimper at the raspy timber with each huff you give.

They'd all love the prominent frown lines you'd have when stubbornly bartering with a merchant.

They'd love the creasing of your crows feet and deepening smiles lines while you laugh even more.

God, I love older women

Exactly!

Humanity tends to obsess over youthfulness and always looking young. It's one of the reasons why the other species see humans as an immature young species that still needs to develop.

Human beauty strandards would'nt even fly with other races. They'll just be confused on why you're making such a big deal of the lines on your skin and using anti-wrinkles creams. Everyone has them, it comes free with having skin.

Especially elves, they seem like they celebrate aging. The more visibly a person looks their age, the more attractive it makes them to elves. Even their elders lack this mature look because of elven genetics, so they helplessly drool over the older humans with their aging bodies.

They adore all evidence and marks of your life on your own body. The extra fat, the pudgy thighs, the body hair that comes with being an adult, the smile lines and rough hands.

Elves don't reach this stage of their life until they're in their 700th year. Only then do they begin losing their youthful look. Yet humans achieve that so easily, it's hard not to be enamoured with them.

Life in its purest essence, that's what they see when they watch you visibly age each year. Notice the difference between you on each birthday, the way you still kiss them the same as their love for you continues to grow.

Like how a flower is at its most beautiful bloom just a little while before it falls off. Humans age like the stars that formed them, shining gradually until disappear with a supernova that echos its light for years to come. Filling the empty night sky much like they filled every empty corner of Faerun, breathed life back into these fields that they turned into kingdoms and cities.

Elves see themselves as the watchers. The guardians of nature and humanity. They came from the fey and as much as they try to appease the natural order, they were never moulded from it much like the birth of humans was. Their bodies never came from clay and mud.

And their akin to immortality lifespans is a reminder of that. The urgency of a limited short lifespans has pushed the humans into doing and achieving so much, turning the impossible into their future and persevering despite all the hardships.

That's what the elves see when they look at an old human with shakey hands and wrinkled skin. With a short tempter and jaded view. They see the evidence of perseverance, of a star at the brightest stage of its life.

Because even when humans get older, they never lose their sense of curiosity, and their thirst for knowledge never is sated. They still marvel at magic, smile at the rain, and laugh at jokes. They still admire a passing butterfly, look at every rainbow as if it was their first.

Because when they're 80. They're not just 80. They're also 70, 60, 50, 20, 19, 18, and even 1. They're all their past selves wrapped into one. They have never lost their younger self. They simply sprouted another petal to act as the main cover.

[ghostly-hitch-hiker]

Puberty Speedrun (pt 3)

Chapter 1: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (you are here!)

Synopsis: Danny wakes up a lot older than when he went to bed. Shenanigans ensue (eventually taking him all the way to Gotham).

After breakfast and a rather long, headache-inducing conversation with Tuck and Sam, Danny was standing in front of his bathroom sink, trying to work up the nerve to go ghost. They’d come up with no possible explanations for his Puberty Speedrun (as he had affectionately and derogatorily dubbed the situation – at Tucker’s encouragement) and everyone agreed his best bet was to question Clockwork or Frostbite in the Ghost Zone. Danny just had to go ghost.

The problem was, Danny really wasn't sure what his ghost form would look like. He hoped it would still look like his younger self. It would be easier to explain, in that there would be nothing to explain. Danny Fenton could disappear for a little while, and it would be fine as long as Danny Phantom didn’t. Also, you know, still young Danny Phantom would come with the added benefit of not dealing with whatever potential similarities there were between himself and Dan. It would be a win-win! 

Danny inhaled, and let the transformation overcome him on the exhale. Eyes squeezed shut and lungs deflated, Danny used his last breath to whisper, “Please be normal, fifteen-year-old Phantom.”

No such luck. Danny peeked beneath his eyelids to look in the mirror and practically collapsed in on himself with disappointment. 

His ghost form had also aged, and this time it was even easier to tell the differences between his aged up self and his alternate evil future. He must’ve been even older than he first thought. For one thing, Danny just looked tired. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or if it really was palpable in his reflection, but Danny looked like a man far too used to a smaller body. The way he slumped in on himself did not have the same effect in this older form; this body or lack thereof did not want to diminish itself and disappear the way he had once been able to as a teenager. It was strangely pathetic. Danny straightened some and continued to stare. 

Who would’ve thought ghosts could get wrinkles? They weren’t obvious, but as he stared at his own ghostly visage, he had remembered seeing them in the mirror in his human form and disregarding them. It was a bit harder to miss them now. 

Danny had always expected that as his ghost form aged, he’d start looking more and more like Dan. His reflection was both comforting and distressing in its shattering of his expectations. Black sclera. Green irises. White hair, still not flaming, but wispier than usual. Worry lines etched into his forehead and around his eyes. Slight frown lines around his mouth. His jumpsuit was the same as it had always been: simple black and white with the stylized DP. Ears slightly pointed. He opened his mouth, and yup. Those were fangs. 

If he were prone to romantic thought, he could imagine how this version of him could survive in frescoes and statues for thousands of years. There was something chiseled and stony and worn in his face and his shoulders. If Danny had actually lived the years it looked like he had, he might have even been handsome. As he was, he looked out of place. Lost.

Danny grimaced and looked away from his reflection in favor of peeling on his left glove. The scar tissue on his palm was just as gnarled and vibrant as ever. Good to know that the physical reminders of his death stayed just as fresh, he supposed. With his mental inventory of his appearance complete, Danny pulled his glove back on. It was time to head into the Ghost Zone.

---

And that’s the end of chapter 1 folks! The entirely of the first chapter is now on AO3, and chapter 2 is in the works. I’ll post chapter 2 updates on tumblr throughout the coming week, and the entirely of it will drop on AO3 next Sunday. Thank you for reading!

[violettduchess]

Ugh. Darling. I literally typed these up immediately after your first post about angst/tension. My submissions for Broken Heartstrings:

One that would kill me is the build of MC working themselves sick. Only to find out it gave way for another, more serious illness. And if that was with Arthur or Sariel.

As for accidents, especially if it was MC protecting her love (and that if she hadn't, they would be in the same position as her), my brain dies a little at how Theo would react. Or Chev.

I'm so ready for the angst 😈

A/N: here you are, @yarnnerdally ! 💜

cw: sickness, injury, violence, blood

WC: 1421

Arthur

Why is getting out of bed so damn hard? Your bones feel like they are made of lead, your muscles barely able to lift them. You’ve been working so hard, but you always managed to push through. Until today. You’re tired, you admit to Arthur. Even those few words are difficult through a throat dry as the desert steppes. And they're thorny. This admission of weakness scrapes against your teeth, digs into your tongue. You don't want to worry him….

But his blue eyes are bright with worry, endless oceans of worry when he notices the lethargy of your movements, the hand pressed against your chest. His concern is chasms-deep because this is not the first time he's seen this, this deflated version of you. It's been happening over days, weeks. It's knocked at the window of his medical mind only to be shuttered and kept out by his apprehensive heart.

It’s nothing, you say. Your words are hollow. He hears the gray exhaustion that colors them, he sees the pallor in your cheeks, the dimming of your bright eyes. It’s nothing you repeat to his retreating form. He knows illness when he sees it and he can't deny it any longer. He wants a second opinion to quiet the riot of fear that flies through his mind.

It’s nothing, you say, shooting Arthur and Comte a weak look of annoyance even as the doctor they’ve brought around presses the cold diaphragm of the stethoscope against your back. He shushes you to silence and if you had the energy to glare, you would. He listens to your breathing, your heartbeat, his wrinkled fingers wrapping around your wrist, counting under his breath. He examines your body with astute eyes, his expression professionally inscrutable, chiseled in stone. And then he leaves the room, taking both vampires with him. 

You strain to hear what they are saying but the door is only open a few centimeters and their words float away from you like smoke.

When he re-enters the room, Arthur's face immediately tells you more than any of his words ever could: The lines of worry etched into the sides of his mouth, the press of his brows, the unnatural gleam in his eyes, a sky on fire. The way he sinks into the chair by your bedside like Atlas with the weight of the world on his shoulders. His two hands find yours, clasping that thin appendage, tenderly. Devoutly.

Words are delivered with a voice that does its best not to shake and often fails. Winding through affirmations of love you hear the soft, off-key clang of anxiety, you hear things like “blood sickness”, “Dr. Virchow”, “bruising”, “fatigue”, “rest”. He does not need to say it. There is an unmistakable undercurrent of sorrow, a whirlpool of abject uncertainty and misery in his voice. He brings your hand to his lips like a prayer. Anyone else could rise on a tide of false hope, could use their lack of medical knowledge, their ignorance, as a buoy to keep them hoping for a miracle. But not Arthur. He knows the truth, he sees its ugly maw in the distance, wide-open and waiting patiently while the disease runs its course and ultimately delivers you into its jaws, taking you from him forever.

Your eyes are closed. His voice, so beloved to you, has lulled you to sleep. The words you'll deal with another time. When you're not so tired. For now it's enough that he's with you, head bowed over you, a blade of grass yielding to the winds of an oncoming storm. Bending. But not breaking. As long as you draw breath, he will find the strength to stay whole, to hold the pieces of his soul together. For you. 

Theo

It starts like any other day. Another opulent mansion. Another patron looking to make it even more opulent by hanging an eye-catching painting. Theo in his smart business suit, strategically flashing his dazzling, white-toothed smile; you offering a gentler version of that smile whenever the patron you're persuading turns his curious gaze in your direction. 

In a wood-paneled office surrounded by rich furnishings and a massive mahogany desk, with sunset's warm colors washing over all of you through crown glass windows, you do not hear the sound of the heavy front door opening, the thud as the butler falls to the Italian marble floor, the dull footsteps heading straight towards the office.

The embellished wooden door to said office is ajar and opens with a wild swing, slamming into the thick walnut bookcase with a heartstopping bang. You jump and then your mind goes blank as the sight of an armed gunman strikes your brain like lightning. 

And then time slows. The world blurs like a hand swiping across a freshly painted canvas. The gunman demands money. However he's not staring at the patron but Theo. He's mistakenly assumed Theo, in his expensive suit, is the wealthy owner of this villa. The gun shakes in his hand, aimless, not focused on anyone but rather acting as a threat of what could be. His voice trembles when he demands money. Sweat drips down his temple, soaking into the frayed edges of the worn rag tied around his lower face.

Suddenly your patron makes a run for the door and chaos explodes. All you see is the gunman turning, the gun now steadily pointing at Theo, a target in his addled mind. 

And you fly, wings on your feet, body reacting automatically. The gun spits out its bullet from a mouth full of sound and fury, and what would have lodged itself in Theo's stomach strikes your back instead. A blossom of red. A spray of crimson droplets. And then your world narrows, darkness closing in until it has taken you completely.

……….Theodorus……..

He refuses to leave your bedside. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t changed out of his bloodstained clothing. Whose blood it is, he isn’t sure. Yours, when he cradled your limp body against his chest, heavy with the anvil of disbelief and shock. The gunman’s when he turned, a monster born of fury and pain, and exacted the toll for daring to hurt you. 

Never has he moved so quickly, never have his legs swallowed the earth as fast as when he brought you to the mansion, his deep voice ringing throughout the vast rooms, singed with panic, raspy with fear. Comte goes to remove you from his arms but he will not let go. His blue eyes are nebulous, bright with the force of every shaking breath, every shuddering heartbeat. Arthur motions for him to follow and he does, only letting you go when Vincent’s gentle voice, in the softly spoken language of their homeland, breaks through the fog: Het is oké, broer. Laat haar gaan. Laat Arthur werken.

Never has Theo been more grateful for his friend. Arthur has done his best, assessing the injury, cleaning it, sewing it closed with steady, razor-sharp precision. Now those hands clamp down on Theo’s shoulder. There is nothing more he can do. Theo reaches up, his hand covering one of Arthur’s for a moment, the gesture saying more than any words could. Arthur nods, subdued and then quietly leaves you both..

And now Theo is alone with you, you so pale and small in your bed. Even the warm light of the oil lanterns cannot bring color to your cheeks.

He falls forward in his chair, runs his hands through his hair, elbows resting on his knees. It is because of him. He should have been the one to take the bullet. He would heal just fine. Why didn’t you just let him? Why did you have to throw yourself in the way, you a mortal, whose life is the delicate dance of a spider’s web in the wind. There was no reason….no reason….his breath quakes within his broad chest. He would close his eyes, he would let the tears burning behind them fall but then……then he would miss looking at you. The tears would blur his vision of you and that, nee….that is not acceptable. 

He will sit here, keeping vigil, searching your face for any signs of life. All night if need be. And all day. He will not move. Because it isn’t just your life hanging there in balance…..it is his as well. 

Because, he thinks as he raises his gaze, presses his lips to your cold hand, without you…..Ik heb niets. I have nothing.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @bubblexly

[dopepoisonivyoncrack]

Got quite bugged by the lack of a more nuanced take on Astarion intelligence. This ended up quite long so I'm putting it under line

Won't get medical into the "less wrinkled brain" narrative comment, which can be offensive, I've seen some complain about it, I don’t have the medical expertise and it's not necessary because, while maybe not an excuse, it was used figuratively. Astarion is not the smartest person in the room but also not the dumbest, which makes sense and I'll get to that in a moment. I've seen the jokes though, and there is a big difference between being less wrinkled and having the brain as smooth as a chicken breast. I have not laughed.

About the stats, I think it reflects his current state but not the limits of his intellectual capacities. If anyone more knowledgeable in dnd inner workings can correct me in this, feel free to do so.

What I can say is that intelligence is the ability to solve complex problems, to learn and adapt and make better decisions, and there is nothing to suggest Astarion doesn't possess this ability, quite the contrary, he learns and adapts relatively fast when allowed to do so. The brain is like a muscle that needs to be trained, and unfortunately, he couldn't do that much in the last 200 years. Trauma also messes with the brain and many of its abilities. It can physically change the brain and the mechanisms used for learning and survival [x]. Not to dig into details as it's beside the point here but "trauma significantly impacts our ability to learn, to form memories, to regulate emotions, it can affect our ability to be calm, to learn, to think, to reflect and to respond flexibly and in a planned way" [x]. It should be no surprise that Astarion has difficulties in doing a number of these, if not all.

Before jumping at me like I'm trying to use the trauma in defense of his intelligence, I am not saying he was some brilliant mind before. He was probably a bit above average, with a privileged access to higher education. We can't know anything for sure because we were never given anything on the magistrate elf (not to assess intelligence anyway), but whatever his starting point was, it got affected under Cazador. We only have the current Astarion and some observations during our game travels.

So, while I don't think he was ever the brightest, he is far from being dumb. The lower intelligence stats in the game make perfect sense for someone like him, as he is now. He was killed as a young adult, he was controlled body and mind for 2 centuries, stuck following orders, and in survival mode. He didn't get, and wasn't allowed to think for himself, to grow, to learn, to develop his skills to their potential! Including thinking skills! Moreover, he was told and made to feel incapable, worthless. Cazador likes to remind that quite often. Of course he isn't adept at thinking things through, making complex plans, figure out things that would be more obvious to others, and so on... like when it comes to relationship experience, because he didn't had to think or do anything more complex than seduce someone for a night and carry them to Cazador, for a very very long time. The routine and ingrained mindset, the "chains" so strong, he kept doing them out of inertia for a while even after the tadpole-gained-freedom. It took him a while to even realize he can just stop doing it now, like slowly waking up and regaining senses, and control over his body. It's great writing there, sensitive, thoughtful, realistic writing. It would be quite weird if he knew any better, and that would have to reflect into higher stats. And I would like to point out that he learns and adjusts himself from now on with increasing pace, going hand in hand with recovery. (Going into how this affects Ascended Astarion who, I argue, rejects recovery, would be interesting but maybe another time).

On the other hand, the skills that helped him do what Cazador asked for, are very very honed. I still remember his lines, not being able to even put a name on another type of relationship "You are not a victim, not a target, not another night it's better to forget. But then...what in the world could you be?" (Might be paraphrasing a bit but the point stands). It's not for lack of intelligence that he fails to do that, and it's not for lack of intelligence that he fails to do many other things.

Basically, I am saying is that he was never the smartest, but he is not dumb, he was made a bit dumber/ kept for a long time, by trauma and circumstance, from getting smarter, kept from reaching whatever his potential was, and that if allowed to regain his freedom and recover, he still has the ability to reach whatever his potential is. Things we can witness him doing, gradually. And that his stats or the comments on his intelligence in the game reflect his current situation and not his limits.

[tired-truffle]

Yet Broken Still You Breathe

An AlistairxOriginal Character Fic

Complete!

Word Count: 3.6k

Part 1/50

Summary: - 'I did not like to be touched, but it was a strange dislike. I did not like to be touched because I craved it too much. I wanted to be held very tight so I would not break.' - Mary Hornbacher

Gwen had spent so long on her own, distanced from the world behind a mask of her own making, that when he smiled at her like she hung the moon and the stars, she thought she would be blinded by the need that coursed through her rotten veins. She was not a creature that deserved love, but by the Maker did she need Alistair like she needed the air in her tired lungs.

Masterlist

“Are you honestly going to just hide away in an abandoned hovel instead of help fight to save the town that you are currently residing in?” Gwen could barely conceal the anger rolling in her tone like the sound of distant thunder, the dark blue bandana covering from her oddly flat nose down to her neck shielding the dwarf from the full effect of her fury. Yet, from the look of shocked outrage wrinkling the skin of his large forehead, he at least seemed to understand what she was implying. “I thought dwarves were supposed to be brave and strong,” she continued, “but all I see is a whiny coward who is far past his golden days.”

The dwarf’s chair creaked against the wooden floor as he stood up in a rush, apoplectic and red in the face, “You know nothing of me, girl, I have fought my battles, you cannot cow me into joining human militia,” he spat the words like they were dirt on his tongue, “I may as well string myself up and lather my body in butter for those beasts to snack on, all the good that’ll do me.”

Gwen crossed her arms over her chest, the muscles in her jaw twitching with irritation. She was finding it increasingly difficult to think as that ever-present whisper shivered down her spine, drifting through her in a way that threatened to consume her carefully balanced poise and turn her into the feral creature she knew lurked underneath. She’d come all this way, fought night after night against the undead raiding this town like a plague, and this is what she got? A cowardly dwarf who refused to help in a fight?

When she’d first heard that there was a veteran dwarf holed up in this tiny room off the town centre of Redcliffe, she’d figured it couldn’t be that hard to convince him to join up.

She should have known than to underestimate a dwarf’s stubbornness.

Gwen placed her hands on the table between them, leaning forward so she towered over his seated form, “If you do not join the militia, I will ensure that it is not for lack of will, but for lack of physical capability,” she snarled, her lips curling back under the blue fabric. Dwyn froze, all that righteous indignation falling from his face as his eyes flickered downwards to where the dark blue fabric rested against her starkly pale skin.

Gwen's usually calm composure transformed, her anger pulsing through her body and emanating off of her like a dark aura. As she towered over the dwarf in front of her, his eyes darted around nervously, searching for an escape. The air around them felt charged with fear as Gwen leaned closer.

“What are you?” Dwyn's eyes narrowed as he looked at Gwen with suspicion and distaste, taking in the blueish hue of her flesh and the unnatural wispy grey of her eyes. His gaze lingered on the bandana for a moment, a subtle sign of his fear and uncertainty.

Gwen cocked her head to the side, her voice cold enough to send chills running down the dwarf’s spine, “Would you like to find out?”

Dwyn, realizing this line of questioning was not going to get him anywhere pleasant, shook his head, “I know a freak when I see one, you don’t gotta tell me twice,” he grumbled at her, picking up his axe from where it rested against the floor, the metal scraping against the wood of the floor.

Gwen stood tall, her shoulders squared and chin lifted in defiance, giving no indication that his name-calling hurt her, and in truth, it didn’t, not in any way that mattered. She’d heard it from people for her entire life - freak, monster, demon - and she’d learned that it only ever genuinely hurt when it came from those she cared about. And she didn’t have anyone she cared about anymore, so she was immune to such petty name-calling. At least until she would crawl into bed, her blood stinging as it ran through veins not made to carry its toxicity, the familiar names echoing in her mind like screams into a canyon, adding to the constant clamour that plagued her every night.

The rustling of fabric and shifting of items could be heard as Dwyn adjusted his pack, the heavy clanking of metal objects and creaking of leather indicative of the weight he carried. His footsteps were quick and hurried as he tried to make a swift exit, avoiding Gwen’s intense stare that she shot like daggers against his skin. A door creaked open and stayed that way as a gust of wind slammed it into the outside wall. The room fell quiet once again, with only the lingering echoes of Gwen's heavy exhale breaking the stillness.

Despite being skilled at intimidating others, it was a role that she despised. She had spent years perfecting the art of appearing non-threatening, constantly walking on eggshells to avoid provoking anyone, while at the same time unnerving others enough with her blank stares and tense posture - as though she was ready to strike at any moment - that they left her alone. She knew the consequences of revealing her true self, and she had no desire to relive those moments of her life, they were best buried in the past.

“Huh, I thought we’d have to do all that hard work ourselves but it looks like someone beat us to it.” The voice was a rich, warm timbre that rumbled from the depths of the speaker's chest. It was confident and bold, yet playful and mischievous, adding a touch of humour to the tense atmosphere. Despite its deepness, the voice carried easily, demanding the attention of anyone within earshot “It’s too bad, I was kind of hoping to try my hand at scaring the breeches off a dwarf.”

Gwen, who had been so lost in her thoughts, and that horrible, whispering voice that bounced around the base of her skull - too quiet to make out the words, but just loud enough to be impossible to ignore - she hadn’t heard the stranger’s approach. As she whirled around, her eyes wide with panic, she realized she had not only missed the speaker’s approach but that of his two companions and Mabari hound as well.

Shit, they’d startled her and she’d been so wrapped up in her own head she had forgotten to put on her mildly intimidating act.

Unsafe, unsafe, unsafe, her brain repeated to herself. Unhelpful, she wanted to add.

She crossed her arms over her chest, scowling under her bandana in an attempt to look less like a nug that had been caught outside its burrow. She focused on the elf leading the group who stands tall and willowy but proud. His features were sharp and defined, with piercing dark eyes that seemed as endless as the night sky. His chiselled jawline gave him the air of confidence and arrogance though it was softened by his expertly styled hair that cascaded back in loose burnished-brown curls that hugged the nap of his neck. The sassy smirk he wore on his lips that showed off the dimples of his cheeks made it clear he knew how attractive he was.

Gwen held back an eye-roll, but the handsome elf’s companion, a dark-haired mage judging by the wooden staff strapped to her back, who was beautiful in an I’ll-kill-you-with-one-withering-stare-and-a-cutting-remark kind of way, held no such reservations. She’d never seen an eye-roll of such high calibre sass, but she couldn’t help but feel a certain kinship with the woman, one she was sure would not be reciprocated.

“You could not ‘scare the breeches’ off of a blushing maiden, Darcy,” the woman spoke in a mocking tone, her accent posh and refined, “let alone a washed-up soldier, dwarf or otherwise.”

Gwen would have to agree, he was much too slight to scare anyone, and his light leather armor did little to invoke the image of a powerful warrior. His beauty was a delicate sort, his cheekbones may have been as sharp as crystalline glass, but they would shatter all the same.

The man, Darcy - as the woman had called him -, feigned a deep and horrid pain, clutching at his chest dramatically, “You wound me, Morrigan, and in front of our new friend too. Do you never tire of mocking me?”

“When you no longer provide fuel for my mocking, I will consider relenting.”

The Mabari barked his agreement.

“Traitor.” Darcy hissed, scowling down at the short-furred beast, its tongue lolling happily out of its mouth.

“Right.” Gwen kept her arms loose but prepared to strike, they did not yet seem to be a threat, but she had learned long ago to never trust first appearances, “What do you want?”

Darcy opened his hands in a gesture meant to appease her, “I appreciate a woman who is straight to the point. Murdock told us all about the masked stranger who’d been helping them fight back the undead hoards that have been descending upon their good city and we’ve completed all the other tasks he’d given to you. Well, save for Dwyn, but it seems you have that one handled.” Darcy smirked at her.

Gwen eyed the strangers, looking at the last companion she had yet to hear speak up. The man’s strawberry blond hair was kept short to his head except for a little more length in the front that stuck up a bit, little whisps trailed down over his forehead as though the hair disagreed with this arrangement and wished it to be known. His strong chin was dusted with a light goatee, and his sturdy warrior’s frame towered over his smaller friends. He stood behind them, but as his warm brown eyes met hers, she wondered why he let the much smaller two lead. It was a scene of unexpected camaraderie, a trio of unlikely companions united under a common purpose. The small dogs, full of tenacity and spirit, were determined to lead the larger one, who seemed content to follow along as long as he was a part of the group. The dynamics between them were as colourful and intriguing as a patchwork quilt, each unique in their own way yet working together despite the snags they may encounter.

Since he had been behind the other two, Gwen hadn’t noticed the symbol covering his breastplate, yet when he shifted and the light reflected off the polished metal as he stepped into her view, eager to be a part of the conversation, her heart sunk. It felt like some cosmic joke, right as she was headed on the path to find the answers she’d sought her entire life, that familiar Griffon she’d spent the last eight years avoiding was now staring her in the face, cornering her in this tiny room.

Of course, it was just her luck that she’d be face to face with a Grey Warden, though she knew it was only a matter of time until she found one amidst the Blight, she’d hoped it would be after she’d come into contact with Darkspawn. She should have kept that hope secret, lest the Gods find it and tear it to shreds along with the rest of everything else she tried to grasp.

Gwen tore her panicked gaze from him, content to ignore him until he gave her a reason not to. Her hands itched for her daggers, but until he showed signs that he meant to harm her, she would not give him any reason to. She had no way of knowing how he’d react to her, but she would ensure she did not meet her end when she was so close to getting the answers she’d wanted her entire Maker-forsaken life.

“Thank you?” Gwen wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or if Darcy was actually upset that she had stolen this piece of glory from him.

Darcy’s smirk widened and she wasn’t sure she liked where this was heading, but was powerless to stop it lest she provoke his ire, “What brings you to Redcliffe…?” He trailed off, his heavy-lidded eyes - a hint of amusement hiding in the darkness - awaited her reply as he leaned forward, intent in his stance.

Gwen’s gaze drifted into a vacant stare as she processed the question, “Gwen.” She supplied when it clicked - embarrassingly late - what he was asking for. She glanced back to the Grey Warden but saw no recognition in his eyes, only a curious expression as he watched this conversation play out. Good, she had worked hard to keep her name out of blabbering mouths, it would do her no good to hide her face if everyone recognized her by name alone.

“Gwen,” Darcy said the name appraisingly and nodded his approval, “what brings you to Redcliffe? Haven’t you heard that the Archdemon’s army marches this way?””

Gwen hesitated, she couldn’t tell them the truth, at least not the whole truth, but she couldn’t come up with a good enough lie that would explain why she wasn’t running away, “Yes, I ‘d heard.”

“And you’re willingly travelling towards it?” The tall Grey Warden spoke for the first time since they’d cornered her in this room. His smooth voice carried a Ferelden accent, a lightness to it as if he was constantly on the verge of laughter. The way he spoke was playful yet confident, teasing but never cruel. Gwen’s eyes flicker to him and then back to where Darcy stands, a hand on his cocked hip and that smirk still resting on his perfectly arched lips.

Gwen shifted her gaze nervously, unable to maintain a steady level of eye contact. She didn't want the Grey Warden to feel intimidated by her intense gaze, so she forced herself to glance away. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of his full lips pulled downwards into a pout, a rather put-out look on his face.

“Yes.” She answered simply, “Where there is war there is work.”

Darcy laughed, melodic and loud as it echoed in the small space, “And it seems like our work just so happens to line up at the moment,” Darcy took a few steps forward and held out his hand. Gwen had to resist every instinct to put space between them, but if he noticed her freeze up, he did not let on. Underneath all that charm was a cunning mind and she was reticent to trust him based on his word alone. Yet, she couldn’t risk upsetting him either, “So what do you say, Gwen, how about we work together to kill some undead, and then if you are as good as Murdock claims, you can come with us to stop the Archdemon before it destroys Ferelden forever. I’m sure you’ll find plenty of work along the way.”

Gwen balked, “You’re going to stop the Archdemon?” She glanced over at the Grey Warden again, were there more of them waiting outside?

“That or die trying, and the odds of our bloody deaths increase every day!” He quipped, much too cheery for such a foreboding statement. “And we’d be all that much safer if we had a mysterious figure such as yourself to help scare off some of our enemies. I must say there is something about you that is deeply unsettling.” Darcy added, jiggling his hand to remind her he was still waiting before sincerity caused his tone to lower, “We could really use someone like you.”

Gwen’s heart twisted in her chest, uncomfortable feelings swirling through her stomach, like a swarm of angry bees. They wanted her, just like that? No need to prove herself, no demands to reveal her face… There had to be some trick there, no one wanted the off-putting stranger who refused to show her face around unless they were desperate. Though perhaps no other Wardens were waiting for them outside which would stand to reason that they could, in fact, be rather desperate for willing participants in their fight. And Darcy did make a fair point; she was trying to help Redcliffe and so were they. If she agreed to accompany them for this battle, she could determine their true intent and decide if it was worth joining them or shaking them at the first available opportunity. They had to sleep sometime and escaping into the night was a specialty of hers.

Gwen clasped her hand in his and gave him a firm shake, his grin growing and Gwen already regretted agreeing to this. She looked to the woman - Morrigan, Darcy had called her - who looked as though she’d eaten a batch of sour grapes. If Darcy could convince such a sullen woman to be a part of his group, she likely did not stand a chance, better to agree early and part ways when he wasn’t looking. The Grey Warden piece was a complication that lurked like a shadow in the darkness, a blade waiting to strike, but it wouldn’t be the first time she had lived on alert at all times. She could handle it for the time being, given that they all lived through the upcoming onslaught of undead creatures, of course.

“Your penchant for adopting strays shall spell our doom,” Morrigan muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Dramatic as ever, Morrigan,” The Grey Warden teased, and the death glare he earned had Gwen surprised he wasn’t reduced to cinder right then and there, “I, for one am happy to welcome you to our humble little party.” He beamed at her, his smile lopsided and boyish, and even though she was still wary of him, it warmed a small piece of her that he seemed to genuinely mean it. “I’m Alistair, by the way, since everyone else has already had the chance to introduce themselves.”

Alistair bounced with nervous energy about him when he spoke that had Gwen eyeing him warily like he was an over-excitable pup ready to jump on her and begin licking her face with abandon. Maker, she needed to stop thinking about him like a dog or she would never be able to resist anything he asked of her.

A loud bark reminded Gwen that they had a real dog among their group, strays indeed.

“Oh, and this is Barkspawn.” Alistair gestured to the Mabari, covered in war paint, who sat on his haunches, an air of pride swirling around him. Gwen coughed to cover a startled laugh, Barkspawn? Had they named their dog with a blight-based pun? Maybe she didn’t have to fear them as much as she had originally thought, but rather whatever chaotic situations they were no doubt to pull her into.

Morrigan made a disgusted sound, her painted lips twisted with a sneer. Gwen was sure she was going to be hearing that sound from her a lot in the upcoming time spent together. “Yes, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Morrigan’s tone dripped with sarcasm and haughty disdain, “But we must end this ceaseless prattle, lest we squander more time in our preparations than we already have. Our true objective is to defeat the Archdemon and we cannot do so when we are preoccupied with saving this town from suffering the consequences of their own mistakes.”

“For the hundredth time, oh witchy one,” Alistair’s dry tone lent his words a grating sort of touch, “We can’t just leave these people to die, and we need Arl Eamon’s help to-“

“If I wanted to listen to your whining, Alistair, I would have simply listened to the mutt’s whimpering, at least that is more pleasant to the ears.” Morrigan cut him off with biting words.

Darcy’s laugh stopped Alistair from releasing whatever scathing remark was poised at the tip of his tongue, “Welcome to the team, Gwen, you’re going to love it here.”

That remained to be seen, but at least if the witch could distract the Grey Warden’s disdain from her, maybe she could at least survive the night.

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you for taking the time to read my fic <3

I will be posting minimum once a week, but my last fic I posted almost daily sooooo we will see!

No warnings for this chapter but all future warnings will be posted in the beginning notes.

I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments and they keep me writing faster :)

Art of Gwen for anyone interested :)

[icansoiwill]

Heart of Stone Chapter Four: Where one ends, Another Begins

~Summary: Joel's temperament will probably be the death of him. Even with his walls up so high, you still are tender with him. He fights with himself even more because of this, still wondering why he is so drawn to you.

~Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

~Words: 3k

~Warnings: some slight similarities to the show that I thought would fit (I do not own the copyright), cursing (if that bothers you), mention of death, mention of cheating, (there are others I'm sure, but I can't think of them of course)

~A/N: So since it took me so long to do the other chapter, I thought I'd post this early. I also feel a lot better to write too. Also, this is a long one. I don't know how I was able to write this much, usually, I don't lol. I have some ideas for other fics as well. So I'll be posting those next too.

Previous Chapters: ~Chapter Three

The city was a lot rougher than Joel remembered from the last run over a year ago. A lot more buildings had fallen, more overgrowth of the various plants, and fewer clickers than he remembered. The lack of clickers and runners put him on edge. 

“You doing okay back here?” You had asked him, slightly removing him from his thoughts. 

“Yeah” He grunts in response avoiding eye contact. 

“Okay, just checking.” You say with a brush of annoyance. 

He knew that he wasn’t making a good impression on you. Not like it was a priority though. Honestly, he probably would have rather you stayed back at the QZ. You being here meant that there was another person to have to worry about. He didn’t want that. Ellie was so all over the place for him that she alone created enough concern for safety on this trip. 

And, you still had his jacket, from the night it rained, tied around your waist now. Which annoyed him only slightly. He didn’t want the jacket back by no means. You looked too good in it when you put it on last night. Joel even found it adorable when you tried brushing out the wrinkles that had been there forever. But, he felt that he shouldn’t have given it to you. It made it hard for him to concentrate on the surroundings in front of him. However, out of not wasting time, he gave you his. But damn, when you put it on… There was something about it. It was just a jacket. But you, in his clothes? He wanted more of it.

Joel realized his mind was wandering more than he wanted it to after that little interaction you gave him. Come on Joel, focus. He adjusted his shoulders and his hand placement on the gun. Walking along the downtown Boston streets, he looked to the left and to the right. Scanning the surroundings. When he looked in front of him he saw the connection you were making with Ellie. He hoped for your sake that, you weren’t getting too attached. Nevertheless, when Ellie found that joke book you two couldn’t stop giggling. Joel wouldn’t dare tell a soul, but he liked the sound of your laugh. It lingered in his mind, bouncing around in there like it was a boomerang, echoing in his ears. 

Joel still couldn’t understand how you had such a hold on him. He felt disgusted with himself for thinking this way about you with Tess still being an obligation to him. One thing Joel vowed to himself was that he would never cheat. Joel did like Tess, and liked what she could give him. But it didn’t feel like it was enough anymore. Joel began to realize that his feelings for Tess weren’t strong enough anymore. He knew that before he could even think about getting to know you more, he’d need to break it off with Tess. He felt drawn to you, since the day he went to meet Tess after her shift and Joel did want anything to get in the way of getting to know you.

Joel looked to the front of the line that had formed between the four of you. Tess is taking point. She looked back at Joel with a blank expression. He knew she was still frustrated with him after what happened at the museum. Ellie got scratched. He felt that he had the right to question whether or not he was putting himself in danger by taking her. Just because some kid says something, doesn’t mean it’s true. But Tess got annoyed, saying “Can’t you just take the win?” He wanted more than anything to take what good he could, but something seemed off. 

Joel only realized that Tess had fallen back and you had taken point after Tess tried talking to him. 

“Hey, did you hear me?” Tess questioned. 

“Huh? Oh, no.” Joel replied

“I asked if everything was okay with you.” 

“Oh, yeah. I’m good.”

“You just seem… distracted? Maybe? I don’t know. You just haven’t acted like this before.”

“I’m good Tess, really.” Joel tried convincing her. 

“Tell me. What’s really going on? Does this have to do with her? Do you like her or something?” Tess questioned flatly, “If you do, just tell me. It’s not like we were exclusive.”

“Let’s talk later. Now really isn’t the time for something like this.” Joel sighed. He’s not trying to prolong the inevitable. He’s not the type to string someone along. He just needs to be able to keep everyone safe and having conversations like these wasn’t going to help anyone keep a clear mind. Tess sighs and walks back up to the front to take point. 

By now, Joel knows they are close to the capitol building. As he scans the area again he sees plenty of Firefly symbols around. There are barricades up and barbed wire wrapped around planks to create small forts. They come up to the end of a street as they take a left. 

There it is the Capitol Building. 

Joel catches up to Tess and he takes point. He leads them halfway up the street where they stop behind a yellow Volkswagen Beetle. Joel watches for a second. It’s quiet. Too Quiet. 

“Where are they?” Tess whispered Joel. 

“I don’t know. Stay here.” He replied

Joel felt all three sets of eyes on him as he moved towards one of the big transport trucks. He made his way slowly and once he got there, open the passenger door in a swift motion, immediately pointing the gun into the cabin. Joel knew something must've gone awry. He saw blood spatter all over the seats and windshield. He turned around. Making his way to the other side of the truck.

“Stay there” he mouthed to them. 

A foul stench met his nose as he moved to the driver's side of the vehicle. Joel brought his guard up even more once he saw the body lying halfway under the truck. Sprawled out with a used fire extinguisher over their flattened head. Joel grimaced at the sight. He was never going to get used to it. But he pushed on, making his way to the back of the truck where the latched doors were. He didn’t hear the noises of a clicker or a person, but that also could mean nothing. Joel slowly unlatched the door and swung it open. 

Nothing.

“Joel?” You called for him.

“Everything’s fine,” Joel replied.

“What the fuck is going on?” Tess asked

“I don’t know,” Joel told her. 

“They went inside” Ellie states from behind him. 

Joel looks to where Ellie is and sees the trail of blood. Joel or you don’t have time to react before Tess is grabbing Ellie by the wrist forcefully. Pulling her into the building. 

“Tess!” Joel calls out

“Come on!” Tess yells back. 

Joel and you run after her. Tess has already opened the doors to the building before Joel or you even have time to make it up the stairs. You both walk in and see the wreckage. Bodies lying everywhere. Boxes and cargo rummaged through. 

“This had to be FEDRA,” you tell Joel. Joel nods in agreement. 

“What the fuck? Something has to be here. Something, come ON!” Tess yells as she is rummaging through everything. 

“Give it up Tess, we're done,” Joel tells her. 

“Ellie, where did Marlene say she was taking you?” Tess asks, totally ignoring Joel. 

“Uhh, I don’t know somewhere out west,” Ellie replies.

“Then one of them has got to have something right?” Tess begins patting down the cold bodies.

“Tess, there isn’t anything you can do,” You tell her, “You did everything you could.”

“Joel, Are you going to help?” Tess asks ignoring you now as well.

“No! I’m not going to help because there isn’t anything more for us to do. It’s over” Joel explains.

“It can’t be over,” Tess says getting up to face him.

“We have to go home,” Joel tells her. 

“That’s not my fucking home!” Tess yells, “I’m staying here. You know our luck had to run out sooner or later.” She says more calmly now. 

“Shit,” you say. 

“Fuck” Ellie says, “she’s infected.”

Joel turns to Ellie in disbelief. Why would she say something like that? Tess is too careful to get infected. But there’s silence from Tess. Joel turns back to look at Tess. Tears are welling up in her eyes. He looks down at her hand to see it shaking uncontrollably. 

Oh, fuck. Ellies right. 

“Let me see,” Joel asks. Tess doesn’t move. “Let me see!” He yells now. 

Tess grips her fingers around the right side of the collar of her shirt and jacket, pulling it to expose the scratch she has. Joel can’t believe his eyes. It’s already dark red. 

How did he miss this? How did she keep it from him? Did this happen back at the museum?

“Oops, right,” Tess says taking a step toward Joel. Joel makes eye contact with her now. Tess tries to walk up to him but out of fear, Joel takes a step back from her. There’s no fucking way this could happen. 

“Take your bandage off Ellie,” Tess says. She walks over to her and pushed up the sleeve of the jacket. 

“Look, Joel, you see this. This is proof. She’s immune. I got this 2 hours ago and it’s already worse.” Tess tells him, “Take her to Bill. He’ll know what to do.”

“No, there’s no way I can do that. They won’t do it. You know Bill”  Joel tells her

“Yes you can and they will.“ Tess reassures. 

“No, I can-“ Joel gets cut off by Tess. 

“Just do it, Joel! I have never asked you of anything, much less feel the same way about me. You need to do this for me. Please it’s the last thing I’ll ever ask of you Joel” Tess pleads. Joel feels a jab in his heart when Tess tells him this. He feels more guilt than ever now. 

Suddenly a truck pulls up. Joel sees you run to the window to take a peak. 

“It’s FEDRA” You them. 

“I’ll hold them off. Just go!” Tess tells Joel and the other two. 

Tess begins spilling gasoline all over the floor. Joel can hear the crash of the bins and the smell filled his nose. He swiftly grabs Ellie by the forearm and pushes the small of your back to indicate that you guys need to run. You turn to the doors that were behind you. Opening them to let Joel and Ellie through. You run ahead of them looking for the exit as Joel tries to pick up the pace with Ellie fighting against him. 

“No, Joel! Don’t leave her!” Ellie yells.

Ellie fighting his grip only makes him hang on tighter. He makes sure to catch up to you, following you through the back doors of the capitol building. You push them shut to slow FEDRA down. But, Joel knows that it won’t matter. He knows what Tess is about to do. Ellie isn’t fighting him anymore, but running ahead in between the short distance of you and him. You, Ellie, and Him make it far enough out to be considered safe-ish. Then…

BOOM!

Joel grabs both you and Ellie to crouch down. In the same instance, Joel turns to look behind him. Flames billow out from the building at all sides, anywhere the fire can reach oxygen. Painful cries from within the building are heard. Joel doesn’t know what prompts him but he turns to look at you. Tears are building up in your eyes. Another jab at his heart surfaces. He knew he would never want to see you like this again. However, he turns around and walks on. Leaving you and Ellie to stand there in the horror of the events that just happened. 

______________

A day had passed and we are barely out of Boston, just now getting into the suburbs. Joel is acting completely numbed and shut down after what happened with Tess at the capitol building. He’s talking less, not like he did much before, and he is much more cautious. Now more focused on getting Ellie out of his life. I had tried talking to him yesterday, maybe taking his mind off things.

“Hey, I just want-“ I began to tell him. 

“You need to take point” Joel harshly interrupts making no eye contact with you. 

He hasn’t spoken a word since then, only communicating in hand signals if he hears something or when he asks for the map. I’ve made sure to keep point, definitely avoiding going and talking to him again. I wanted to be there for him. I already miss Tess too. She was as close of a friend as I had gotten in the last year. It hurt me to avoid him like this. But, from what little I knew about Joel, I got the understanding that it was probably good for him that it be this way for now. 

Walking our way through the suburbs of Boston, we made stops at a few houses to get some supplies, definitely some food. We were running out already because neither Joel nor I brought enough food for any trip longer than a day. I was starving. I was trying not to think about it because the more I focused on it the hungrier I felt. 

While being at the front I made sure to keep my head up looking around. Checking my surroundings. Occasionally catching a glimpse of Joel because I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to make sure he was okay. I felt the need to look out for him since he was looking out for us. I go to take a peek at Joel out of the corner of my eye. This time when I go to look over at Joel, he is stopped. He turns to look at me. 

“Let’s look through this one.” Joel gestures to the house he’s in front of. 

With most of the other houses looking like they had been bombed, I’m Joel wanted to check if there was anything good. We make our way into the house. Going through the front door there was an opening to the living room to the right and stairs to the left. A somewhat long hallway connected to the kitchen. Joel goes to move down the hallway.

“Check the upstairs.” Joel directed. 

I pull out my gun and make my way up slowly. At the top of the stairs is a hallway with rooms. The first door is closed, so I brace myself to the right of the door, taking the handle slowly and turning it. When I open it, I point my gun in. 

Nothing. 

It was just the bathroom. I check the rest of the rooms. Going through all of them, looking for anything useful. More weapons, bullets, maybe some medicine. I found myself in the master bedroom looking through the drawers. I could hear light footsteps making their way closer to me. I look up to find Ellie going into the kid's bedroom. I keep searching around when I hear Ellie getting excited. 

“No way! I found another one!” Ellie said enthusiastically. I’m guessing it had to be one of those comic books. I kept looking for something, anything. With no luck, I go to walk out of the room. I run into a familiar chest. Again. 

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this” I joke sarcastically with Joel. Maybe trying to chip at his 

There is no space between us when I look up to make eye contact with him. He’s looking down at me. I can see his brown irises clearly. 

“Did you find anything?” Joel asks me, not breaking eye contact. I can see him searching my eyes. 

“No,” I tell him almost meekly, “But I think Ellie did,” I say gesturing to the room behind him.

Joel turns to go to the kid's room. It’s decorated with dirty trophies and faded ribbons from various sports. Basketball, softball, soccer. 

Man, this kid was active. 

Pictures of teams were plastered all over bulletin boards. I turn to look at Joel. I watched him as he looks around the room for a second. I see a twinge of pain come across his face. 

Out of all the places, why did this affect him?

I could tell Joel wanted to get out of there. He moves past me with determination to leave.

“Come on, Ellie. We got to go.” Joel tells her as he bushes by swiftly. 

Ellie goes first to leave the room. I go after her. When we make it down the stairs and Joel, with his back to us, is waiting on the front porch. His silhouette looks intimidating and inviting all at the same time. If Ellie wasn’t here you might’ve made a move. But now isn’t the time for that kind of thing. Ellie makes her way around him and goes down the stairs of the porch. Before he takes his first step, I come up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. He almost flinches at the touch. His head turned in my direction. 

“Look, I know you don’t want to talk to me. But, I’m here.” I tell him looking directly into his eyes. 

He gently nods his head, keeping eye contact. After that, I move to catch up to Ellie at the end of the sidewalk. 

“Looks like you got some reading to do. Huh?” I ask her. 

“Yeah, I can’t wait to start reading this. It’s the next one in the series too.” Ellie says excitedly. 

“Let me know what happens” 

I walk ahead to lead the way. We still had a long way to go and it was going to get dark in the next couple of hours. I wanted to make sure we at least made it to the city limit of Boston. This trip was going to be a long, tiring one. 

Hopefully, I can get Joel to warm up to Ellie in the least. Doing that will make these things easier. I’m sure time will tell if they get along. Maybe I can convince Ellie to tell him some of those puns from the book she found. Some of them are actually funny. Maybe Joel will think the same. 

I felt my stomach grumble again. 

Hopefully, we can find some food too…

[hips-like-battleships]

A Druid's Rescue - Halsummer SFW Week Day 2

Day 2 prompt is "meeting Halsin/his first impression of the PC." A short ficlet with a spark, some yearning, and a big spoonful of Halsin's self-worth issues.

This is my second story featuring my tiefling druid Tav.

This fic can also be found on AO3! Previous Halsin fics: Fireflies (kid Halsin, appropriate for all ages) A Brief Respite (Halsin/Tav, explicit)

Halsin had spent two tendays conjuring hopeful scenarios for escape from the goblin camp, but her appearance still surprised him. His sight in bear form lacked the sharpness of his elven eyes in the dim light, but, the moment he discerned they were something other than goblins, he roared out for their help. A flurry of violence later his goblin captors in the worg pens were dead.

He shifted out of bear form, and for the first time truly saw her.

Berith was a tiefling, and a tall one—not quite his full height, but just a few inches shorter, not counting the horns. Her skin was red like the skin of a ripe fall apple. Her eyes were black save for her irises, which were a purple so bright they seemed to glow. Her hair mimicked her eyes: black, with streaks of purple, arranged in two braids that fanned out from the sides of her head and tapered at the base of her neck. One side of her neck bore a black ink tattoo of a rose. The effect, if he was honest with himself, was chintzy rather than elegant, the kind of choice a teenager would make in a fit of rebellion.

She wasn’t too far out of those teenage years yet, if his eyes were judging her right. Her skin bore a few freckles, but not even a hint of a line or wrinkle. He’d bet she wasn’t yet thirty. He hadn’t meant to call her child, but the words fell unbidden out of his mouth when he learned she was infected with a mindflayer tadpole. She stirred something in him, something that desired to protect, to heal.

Some good my help would do anyway, he thought bitterly, chiding himself for needing rescue.

She decided they’d fight their way out of the goblin camp. As he shifted to wildshape, she changed right a long with him—a white, snowy polar bear to his brown cave bear. Another druid, he realized. Together their angry flurry of teeth and claws drew the brunt of the Absolutists’ attacks, allowing the companions she introduced as Gale, Astarion, and Shadowheart to support them with spells and arrows from a safe distance.

And—praise Silvanus—it worked. They’d made it out the front gate alive with not a single goblin remaining to threaten the Grove.

She’d warned him, as they neared the grove, that conflict had escalated in his absence. “It may not be a happy reunion,” she warned. And yet, with the goblins gone, his fellow druids were safe. And, miracle of miracles, so were the tiefling refugees. Kagha’s involvement with the Shadow Druids had been exposed and the ritual stopped, all while he was still in the cage.

The realization struck him clear as the morning light of a summer’s day: the Grove no longer needed him. It had been saved not through his actions, but because Berith had stood up to Kagha. She had been brave enough to do what was right in his absence. She had honored Nature’s guidance and restored balance to the Grove.

She succeeded where he failed.

Berith told him she had trained as a member of the Silver Circle, a group of moon druids who lived and worked in the cold Cloud Peaks south of Baldur’s Gate. Her group had heard rumors of the cult of the Absolute. Afraid that written messages might be intercepted, her circle had sent her as an envoy to the Emerald Grove to seek collaboration with other druids against this rising dark.

She’d been picked up by the Nautiloid on her journey, along with the friends she traveled with. Her group had essentially just met, thrown together by the circumstance of the mindflayer ship. They fought well even while barely knowing one another.

Desperation can breed great strength, he thought. And desperate they were, all infected with illithid tadpoles. Tadpoles that could turn them at any minute.

Fear gripped Halsin’s heart. He could not send them to Moonrise alone.

“Come morning, I’ll be by your side,” he promised her.

Later that evening the tieflings insisted on throwing a party to celebrate being alive for one more day. Tomorrow there would be new dangers on the road to Baldur’s Gate, but tonight was for laughing, and dancing under starlight, and drinking cheap wine.

She sought him out to share a drink. It made him feel sheepish and exposed. What could she possible want from me after she has seen my failures upon failures?

 He sent her away. “Don’t waste a night like this talking to me.”

Uncertainty flickered across her face, but she let him be.

When he finally laid down to rest that evening, his mind turned to thoughts of her face. Tomorrow they would begin the trek to Moonrise Towers and the shadow cursed lands. Perhaps… he felt he could not ask more of her, and yet he knew she was capable of much. The curse loomed large in his path, but for the first time in many years he felt something awake within him. A longing, yes, but also something more.

Hope. He felt the stirrings of hope.

[awellboiledicicle]

Also keep imagining Gale looking at himself in the mirror, squinting at all the mortal imperfections that Mystra would disapprove of in a lover.

The thickness of his waist, the lack of muscle definition from a life good food and wine. Callouses on his hands from writing, but lately formed ones from using his staff to fight. Lines on his face, evidence of a life of laughing and smiling and frowning in thought. Graying hair with split ends from the road not being the place for good shampoos. Skin folds and spots. Wrinkles and a good few stretch marks because Hawke never lets the group go hungry and he indulges well in the meals he cooks. The orb, naturally, makes the list by virtue of being the main reason why he'd be undesirable.

All those things and no less than two very good looking men were very interested in him. Enough so to plainly say that they both wanted him in a way he hadn't had with another mortal since before Mystra shifted their relationship. Just plainly saying they both looked him over and decided he was not just good enough but good enough for two.

It flatters him, of course, though he couldn't indulge either (or both, his imagination supplies before being pushed down) until the orb is calmer. And he wonders if they'd still find him so appealing when they could see all that he could in private.

He worries they'll see him in comparison to the other and call it off. After all, Anders is all legs and angles, height and intensity. Hawke is all lithe muscle and dexterous motion, small smirks and intense gazes. They have each other and have for a while now-- why add him? Why settle, when he could think of a myriad of ways he could be better. More.

He's not insecure about most things, but when it comes to himself he wavers. His mind and his magic are brilliant, that's no problem.

But himself? His body, his personality as he tries to earnestly charm them in return? Doubt.

What he doesn't see is Hawke and Anders loving the idea of a soft lover, that has the mental space to remind them both that life isnt all fighting and surviving and anxiety over tomorrow. A love that is earnest and sweet, if occasionally full of himself. Someone to take care of them and be taken care of in return. Someone without more scars than clear memories of where they got them, and kind eyes that won't judge them for the marks.

And yeah they find him attractive as hell. Hawke wants to kiss down his body and find where he's the most ticklish. Anders wants to know what he looks like when he's too blissed out to know where he is. They both want to know how he sounds when he begs and the look on his face when they pull his hair. Or if his spells can be as versatile in the bedroom as Anders' were in Kirkwall.

They also want to know what he looks like sleeping peacefully, or curled up with his cat. Or relaxing after a nice bath. They both melt when he gets that certain grin on his face or looks up at them with those wide dark eyes. How he looks tired from normal things. Excited. Triumphant. Happy. Safe.

Gale doesnt know those things initially, as he frets about his looks. But he will, eventually.