#oh to be a small toddler in a desert

[pushing500]

I LOVE WHEN YOU DRAW BABIES AND CHILDREN! IVY IS SOOOOO CUTE, I'M WEEPING

Heehee, I'm glad you liked it! I think she's very cute as well. She's lots of fun to draw ❤️

[always-just-red]

Heya! Rafayel with a reader who's slightly afraid of deep water because she doesn't know how to swim? Fluff please!

Thanks for the request! Hoping this is the perfect balance of heartfelt moments and utter silliness. It's Raf, after all! Gotta have fun with it! ❤

Practice Makes Perfect

Rafayel x Reader 🎨

Summary: "I'll teach you how to swim!" he said. "It'll be fun!" he said. Let's be honest: the warning signs were there from the very start.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, established relationship, one instance of swearing, a mild panic attack, humour, Raf bullies you ('out of love!!'— his words, not mine 🙃)

| Word count: 2.3k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Rafayel, can you stop that? Please?”

You watch as Rafayel bobs around in the water in front of you. “Swimming?” he asks, pushing slick hair back from his forehead with a lazy smile. “Nah. I’d drown.”

“No, I—” you suck in a sharp breath to keep yourself from wasting it. He knows exactly what you meant. He knows what he’s doing, too: making everything look effortless when you can’t even get out of the stupid boat.

It tips you a little closer towards the ocean, as if responding to your criticisms. You’re done with this. Done with him. Swimming lessons with Rafayel had seemed such a promising idea a few months ago, but now? You’re thinking it would have been better to go it alone. If you’d have drowned, you’d have at least drowned in peace.

He calls his teaching style ‘motivational’, which is to say he spends every lesson trying to motivate you to lunge at him, regardless of your personal safety. It was funny at the local pool. It’s less funny here, on a rickety boat in a deserted bay, where the only witnesses to your demise would be a setting sun and an insufferably smug Lemurian.

You glance up, seeking the familiar half-oceans of his eyes. They’re taunting you to the point of distraction: heating the blood in your veins that had just been running cold. Look at me, they gloat, alive with shimmering reflections, you’re mad at me, remember? 

And they have a point. You are. “Stop showing off.”

“Can’t help it.” Dark water laps at the pale of his collarbone. “It’s just so easy.”

“Says the actual mermaid.”

“Merman!”

“Oh whatever!”

He pouts. Then he strokes his chin thoughtfully. “I was worried about this,” he muses, as if he has actually masterminded a teaching plan, and hasn’t just been winging it from the start. He clicks his fingers, signalling a lightbulb moment. “Lucky for you, your super duper swimming teacher came prepared. Check my bag!”

He sinks until he’s peering out from the water, the lower half of his face submerged so you can’t see his smile. You can, though; it’s obvious. You roll your eyes and take the bait because it’s better than sitting here questioning your life decisions and your own mortality. Your hands rifle through his bag until they stumble upon something unusual. Smooth. Plastic. Is this what he meant?

You pull the package out into the evening light, narrowing your eyes.

Inflatable arm bands. Brand new. A toddler beams at you from their cover, seemingly thrilled by its extra buoyancy, and its parents are watching on with unbridled pride. You tilt your head as you read: suitable for ages 2-5! “Not funny, Raf. Not funny at all.”

“What d’you mean?” You flash the photo at him, tapping the toddler’s face. “Yeah? What about it?”

“These are for kids! You’re making fun of me now? Really?”

“No…” His hand leaves the water to scratch at the back of his head. “I thought that was a suggestion? It was kinda confusing, actually. You humans have such weird stuff to help you swim.”

“Oh don’t you dare play the Lemurian card right now!” you seethe, in the middle of retrieving an arm band from the packaging. “You knew! I know you did.”

Set on making your point, you blow air into the arm band’s nozzle. It’s so infuriatingly small; it takes all of three breaths to fill it. “I mean, look at it!” you exclaim, holding it out to him.

He barely keeps his act together. “I think it’s, like… stretchy, yeah?” His bottom lip is caught between his teeth: he’s biting back laughter. “Try it on, maybe it’ll—”

Smack! The arm band hits the water in front of him, and he blinks down at it, shocked.

“Wooooow,” he enthuses sarcastically, “nice throw! I bet the Wanderers just run for the hills when they see you comin—”

Thwack! Another half-inflated arm band strikes his face, and he reels backwards.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You’re so full of it, Rafayel!” you can’t help leaning towards him, and the rowboat lurches. You clutch at the side of it, but you’ve had enough. “Ugh. Screw it.”

Your adrenaline is lurching too, and you make the most of the momentum: taking a deep breath and swinging your legs over the boat’s side. The chill of the ocean steals that breath away as you lower yourself into it. You’re going slowly, so slowly, your fingers still latched to the boat. But this is… something. You’re in the water. Oh gods you’re in the water. Don’t think about it. Don’t.

“Raf…” you squeak, because how can you not think about it when it’s cold and around your neck?

“I’m here,” he reassures from behind you, and he’s not close, but he’s close enough.

You look at him over your shoulder, gently tugging at the boat until you’re afforded a better view. He chuckles as he flicks the offending arm bands back into it: a calculated arc that sprinkles saltwater over your head. You wince, but you don’t mind.

“You just gonna… hang out there, then?” Rafayel enquires as you wipe a stray droplet from your eye.

“Yep.”

“Nice,” he grins, and it’s weirdly sincere. “Kinda wish you were over here, though.”

“Yeah?” You don’t move.

“I miss you.”

“Aww.”

You’re still not moving, but it doesn’t crush the embers of amusement that glow within his eyes. He’s thinking up ways to drive you crazy again, you just know it. “You could totally make it over here if you wanted,” he says flippantly. “It’s just swimming. If jellyfishes can do it, you definitely can.”

What? What? “They’re sea creatures!”

“Yeah, but they’re soooo stupid.” He taps his head. “No brains, y’know?”

You turn to the boat, pulling yourself impossibly closer to it. “Raf, c’mere,” you beckon, reaching back to him— grabbing at air.

“Why?” He draws nearer.

“So I can hit you.”

You swing a hand at him, but he dodges it, laughing. “If you wanna hit me, you have to reach me.”

There’s movement in the corner of your eye, so you twist to see it. His thumbs and forefingers have met as a square; he’s making a viewfinder. “What are you doing?” you speak from inside the frame.

“Making sure I remember this. I think I’ll paint it.” A corner of his lips lifts as he reveals a prospective title: “Cutie braves shark-infested waters.”

“Sharks?!”

“Who said anything about sharks?”

He’s messing with you— you know he’s messing with you— but you hide your face against your arms, all the same. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to stifle your senses and your spiralling thoughts. You’re feeling everything too keenly: the water licking at your throat, the darkness beneath you, around you, waiting to pull you under and fill your mouth.

You never feel further from Rafayel than when you remember he calls that darkness home.

“Rafayel?” you call out, because you need him to tell you you’re being ridiculous. You need him to laugh with you, at you— you don’t care so long as you can hear it.

The only sound is water, and it’s cold and dispassionate.

“…Rafayel?” You glance behind you, and he isn’t there.

What do you do? What do you do? Your mind is in contest with your heart; they’re both trying to see who can race faster. You still can’t move. Shit. What can you do?

“Hey.” Rafayel’s voice makes you jump. He’s next to you all of a sudden, water streaming down from his hair and running over his shoulders. He rests an arm on the boat, too. “I’m here, ok? I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

Breathe? “Don’t do that!” you force out of aching lungs, and then your mouth is trying to catch up with the rest of you. “I thought something happened to you! What if something did happen to you? I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t help you. What if—”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey,” he cuts in. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your eyes are watering and he’s so close, but it’s not enough. You reach out, pulling him, urging him to close the distance, and he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. You can feel the heat of his breath and it’s deep, slow: one, two. One. Two. You hold him until you can match it, and almost everything’s still— the ocean, your mind— but not your heart.  

The waves break softly against the boat and they’re breathing with him, too.

“You ok?” Rafayel murmurs. His wet hair is clinging to your skin.

“Yeah,” you sigh.  

He pulls away and gives you a smile. “Wanna know what I’m thinking about?”

Always.  

“The claw machine,” he continues, because it was, as you suspected, a rhetorical question. “Remember that time you took, like, a hundred goes to get that one plushie? We were there for, what— an hour? Maybe two?”

You sniffle, and you’re just leaning on the boat, now— not gripping it. “That’s because it was a peach blossom birb, Raf. They’re super rare.” Another sniffle. “And the only reason I got it is because you kept buying more tokens.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Because I knew you’d get it eventually. Just like I know you’re gonna get this. We’ve got all the tokens in the world, yeah? So it’s just like before. One go at a time.”

His gaze is full of faith, and you want to be worthy of it. “One go at a time,” you repeat. “Thanks, Raf. Really.” You tilt towards him again, set on kissing his cheek, but he swerves away like it’s another attack.  

“Nuh-uh.” He propels himself backwards. “You wanna kiss me? You gotta meet me out here, cutie.”

And he’s so far already. “C’mon, Raf,” you whine.

“C’mon yourself! Look at me!” He runs a hand through his hair— beads of water sliding and sparkling across his skin. “I’m a total catch.”

“More like catch of the day when I get my hands on you.”

“Cute,” he quips, treading water. “You gonna come get me then, or what?”

You eye up the distance between you. You’re willing yourself to cross it; it won’t be good, it won’t be graceful, but you can do it, right? You just have to go for it. Three. Two. One… Go!

Nothing happens. Rafayel laughs quietly, and it’s warm— so passionate.  

“Here,” he says, meeting you in the middle. He holds out his hand.

You can’t trust the boat; it rocks beneath your touch and at the behest of every wave. It is just a thing, like you, at the mercy of something so much bigger than itself. Not Rafayel, though. He’s a part of all this, maybe even the heart of all this. The ocean will not betray him. It needs him to beat for it. To bleed.

Your hand grasps his and you let him guide you into the open water. You’re borrowing him. Stealing him, if only for a moment. He isn’t living for his ocean right now— he’s looking at you. Just you. There are canvases back in his studio, awash with cerulean waves and his love for Lemuria, but there are sketchbook pages, too: you, asleep on his couch. You, with a lily in your hair.

A few days from now, there’ll be a new one, etched eagerly in dark pencil. This.  

Rafayel smiles as you tread water with him. Your movements are clumsy, half-frantic, but you’re keeping yourself afloat. He gives you time to adjust, to find some semblance more of a natural rhythm, but your muscles ache and you’re getting tired, so he draws your arms around his neck.

“What d’you think?” he asks, because you’ve captured him. “Better than a beach bottom bird, right?”

“A peach blossom birb,” you giggle into his shoulder.

“Yeah, that too.”

…

The sky is full of stars, and the sun has sunk behind the wine-dark horizon.  

Rafayel rests his chin on his arms, staring down into the ocean from the edge of the boat, and he’s deep, deep below those waters too. You don’t have to see his eyes to know the faraway look they’re harbouring. There’s nostalgia for all the things he cannot show you. Grief. Rage. Regret.

He thinks you don’t see it, but you do. Especially on nights like this, when the azures of the waves turn black beneath the moon, and they could just as well be blood-red.

“Thanks for waiting for me, Rafayel.”

You’re not sure what compels you to say it, but he glances up at you, his gaze a brief storm of turquoise before settling to its usual amethyst. “Waiting for you?” he asks warily.

“To get all of this swimming stuff. I know it must seem silly to you.”

He relaxes, sitting up straight with a smirk. “Most of what you do seems silly to me. Not this, though. Change can be… scary sometimes.”

“Yeah.”

He slouches back down, but he’s on his side this time— still looking at you. “What made you decide you wanna swim, anyway?”

You mirror him, laying your head against the boat’s edge. “I don’t know. I guess—” waves are sloshing beneath you— “I guess it’s because the sea is a part of you. It’s in your paintings, your stories, and I’ve always felt… disconnected from it. Like it’s fiction— something I could only ever hear about second-hand. But I want to feel it for myself. To know it. All of it. All of you.”  

With a sigh, you give your hand to the ocean and draw mindless shapes in the water. Rafayel watches. You both know you’re only touching the surface.

He smiles, bittersweet. “Wanna go home?” he says.

Home. You pull your hand out of the water and smile back.

It’s been a long day. Yeah, you wanna go home.

[romavoid]

Nullity can’t remember when she started humming the tune. It was small snippets of a bigger song, that she did know. But what song is also lost to her. Was it before the sky kingdom, with her biological parents? Or was it after that, during her unsteady days adapting to the higher, less nocturnal climate? She was too young to really remember either way.

Still, it's a nice melody to sing to, especially when baking.

“What’re you trying out this time, Nul?”

The nightwing squeaked loudly, whipping her whole body around in surprise. In the doorway to the kitchen loomed a large, redwood-coloured skywing, clearly trying to hide his mirth.

“Dad!!! You can’t do that to me!” Nullity yelled past his now booming laughter. She felt blood rush to her face, flush with embarrassment.

“Aw darl, that was an amazing reaction!” Her father replied, wiping a stray tear from his eye.

“Yeah well, I'm making banana bread, and it’s gonna be way better than yours, so ha!”

Despite his frankly annoying tallness, Nullity’s adoptive father was a baker, and a good one at that. Hired among the higher circles of the sky kingdom - both in altitude and class - he would prepare pastries, breads, cakes, and other sweet and savoury foods for other dragons to snack on. But for a long, long while, his family and creations were a one dragon job, until he found Nullity.

“Oh banana bread? That’s a good one, what’s your flour to banana ratio, though?”

“Oh 1 to 2, obviously, but I’m adding some walnuts to it as well.”

Nullity’s father smiled fondly. “Attagirl.”

Yeah, he was a great dad. Silly and often times oblivious, but great. But of course it wasn't just him that found Nullity in the woods…

“Morning Nully, morning Finch!” a voice boomed through the entrance of the house.

It was her mother too.

Their story goes a little like this:

It was one of those restless nights for Finch, when his mind was too loud to get any decent sleep, that he found his little garden. Nestled in between some brambles of the kingdom’s outer wood, Finch had started growing his own food. It was embarrassing, honestly, not trusting his own kingdom's community gardens, but wild fruits and vegetables had always tasted better! Plus, it was a good reprieve from work, too.

On a completely unordinary night, Finch felt like digging up some carrots. “They should be grown by now,” he had thought, “Just in time for carrot-cake season.” So he flew over to his super secret spot, to dig up his super secret carrots, for his super amazing deserts when-

“What are you doing here, citizen?”

A skywing guard found him… with his claws about 1 foot in the ground, and mud splattered all over his scales. The shriek that left his mouth bordered on banshee.

To say he overreacted would be a lie, he had been coming to the garden for almost a year, and no one had found it, or him. He was scared okay? But the way the pink-red guard yelled back in surprise, meant he wasn't the only one.

“Whoa, hey, hey! Calm down!” She squawked at him. “What on earth are you crying about!?”

“You!-” She then whacked him in the face. With her whole wing. OW-

“What is your problem!” he muffled, trying to shove the wing back.

But he stopped, and saw what the guard saw.

The brambles were rustling, he noticed, different from any animal Finch had heard before. Then, out of the thorny bush, slung a black-grey and bleeding tail. A dragonet tail.

The two skywings were frozen with shock.

It was only when a small, scared squeak, left the toddler’s mouth did they finally move.

“Oh gods” The guard breathed. Finch shoved her wing away and rushed over.

He peeled back the branches as delicately as he could, both him, the child, and the guard flinching at every snap of twig. His heart hung heavy in his chest.

“Did you know of this?” The guard - who Finch still didn't know the name of - whispered loudly.

“N-no… nobody comes here.” Finch replied, just as startled. “Why a kid? Why a kid?”

Finch’s hands were shaking, his mind reeling. There’s a child, abandoned, stuck in the thorns in the middle of the night, scared, hurt, and alone. It kept squeaking as well, too young to form words yet. Something needed to be done.

“You…” He hesitated towards the guard.

“Xantus”

“Xantus, thank you, could you search around the area? T-They must have parents, right?”

The guard nodded gravely, taking off into the upper trees.

Finch turned back to the bramble, picking thorns off the child's delicate scales. Their legs were now free, but that was about it. Finch cooed at them, whispering small reassurances, as he painstakingly untied vines and thorns around them. It took a long time, long enough for the guard, Xantus, to come back with no news. The legs were free, then the wings, the chest, the arms and then finally the neck, then face.

Finch noted that, when the sunrise shone through the branches, and the child’s light-burgundy eyes locked on to his, he wanted to be a father.

—

Of course, Nullity wasn't adopted by them until about 10 months after she was found. In that time, Finch and X had to go back to work, giving the child over to the sky-mud joint orphanage. But during that time, both skywings couldn't stop thinking about her. The situation was strange, but above all else, heartbreaking. Her description, age, or location, wasn’t on any census. No kingdom could vouch for her birth, not even the nightwings. Legally speaking, she was a nullity. (ha)

So call it impulsive or parental, but Finch needed to give that child a home. After some consideration, he flew over to X’s, and explained the situation. He knew that, on that completely unordinary day, his whole life had changed. It was to Finch’s surprise, however, that Xantus felt the same. “I couldn’t think, I couldn't eat, I couldn’t sleep, without knowing if she was alright.” She had stated at the time, offering to help the new dad any way that she could.

So they adopted her together, and raised her together.

—

Back in the present, Nullity noted she was still humming that unknown tune, her claws mindlessly stirring her banana bread mixture. Through the doorway, she could hear Finch and X bicker, their loud skywing laughs ringing in her ears.

She loves her parents so much.

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Lost and Found (dp x dc)

Alfred sighed as he looked over the wide gymnasium, thinking to himself that he shouldn’t have listened to Leslie. Community service was all well and good as a way to connect with people, but overseeing an inter-school bakery-sale-and-science-fair combined event was proving to be more chaotic than anything else.

As another child dropped yet another just-bought desert on the floor, Alfred slunk into the shadows deciding to let the clean-up be someone else’s task for once. As he got further and further from the main hubbub, the ex(?)-butler arrived near a small exit door and snuck out quitely. As the fresh air hit his face, Alfred let out a breath. Seeing so many children around had him thinking of his charge and where he could possibly be.

The older man hadn’t brought a pack, since he’s been going to a school, but in the moment he wished he had. Sighing once again, Alfred shook off the craving as he took a few steps towards the communal school garden when the sight of a black-haired boy sitting with his back to him had him freezing. A second later his brain caught up to him, reminding him that this was not young master Bruce. The crushing disappointment he felt as he recognized the boy in front of him was much to small to be his little master Bruce surprised him by its intensity.

Alfred took a moment to compose himself before he cleared his throat. The noise had the figure flinching and turning their head towards the older man. Then, as the boy caught sight of the older man, he seemed to slump. Seeing that he was unlikely to speak up first, Alfred took it upon himself to start the conversation.

“Might I inquire what you are doing outside, young man?”

The boy’s shoulder slumped even more though he still answered. “Haven’t got any sweets to sell,” he mumbled.

“Oh?” Alfred sounded out. “Why is that?”

“My cookies ate my homework so I had to put them down,” said the boy as he finally raised his head, long-suffering

But Alfred could only breathe a faint “Indeed?” as the boy’s features were exposed. The resemblance with master Bruce was so uncanny that the butler had trouble looking away. But as he examined him more closely he could see some minute differences. The boy didn’t have the sharp jawline both mister Wayne and master Bruce had shared. His nose was smaller than master Bruce’s and his eyes were paler than the darker blue passed down through the Wayne line. The sight of a face so similar and yet not quite like master Bruce had his mind jumping to the portrait hung above the manor’s fireplace and the face of the toddler sitting on his mother’s lap as a slightly older child stood beside her with his father’s hand on his shoulder.

Everyone had bemoaned the two-fold tragedy of the Waynes. First to lose their youngest son at such a young age, only to be themselves brutally murdered only a few months later. All was left of the previously illustrious Waynes was a grief-stricken eight-year-old who had just lost his brother and parents in such a short period of time. Alfred sighed as he remembered how angry master Bruce was at his inability to find out to this day what had happened to his brother. The man half-suspected this was how the young man had developed such an obsession with solving mysteries.

Once again having to focus back on the boy in front of him, Alfred smiled at the boy. Then, the boy’s word registered and the man let out an amused huff. “You had no choice but to put an end to that, I suppose. Cookies as spirited as yours would sell poorly in any case.”

“Oh you’ve got no idea,” muttered the young man as he pushed himself to his feet only for his hand to slip on the wet wood surrounding the gardening plots and falling face-first onto the hard wooden surface.

“Oh dear!” exclaimed Alfred as he darted to assist the boy in straightening up. The boy groaned in pain as he held his nose and Alfred could see drops of red falling down.

“Here,” said the older man as he handed the boy a fabric handkerchief.

“Thanks,” the teen croaked as he accepted it.

“Put your head between your knees,” Alfred instructed. “Breathe through your mouth.”

The boy offered a thumbs-up as he complied. Alfred waited patiently by the teen as he kept the handkerchief held against his nose. After a moment, the boy held it away experimentally and when he felt no more blood flowing he turned towards Alfred.

“Thanks,” he said before he looked down at the red-stained white fabric. “I can wash it and return it if you give me a return address.”

“It’s alright,” Alfred refused. “I don’t mind washing it.”

“Thanks,” repeated the boy as he handed the older man the handkerchief back, as he got to his feet, this time more gingerly. “I best get back before my friends start looking for me.”

“Be careful on the way back,” Alfred couldn’t help saying.

The boy hummed and as he turned around for a final wave goodbye, their eyes connected and Alfred felt a jolt travel through his body. Though the pale blue of Danny’s eyes was not the distinctive shade of the Waynes, it was however identical to the color of the late Martha Wayne’s eyes. As the boy opened the exit door and disappeared in the crowd of people, Alfred looked down at the blood-stained handkerchief.

He knew there was a less than infinitesimal chance. Still. What would it hurt to make absolutely sure?

[insomniac-dot-ink]

The City of the Dead

The city of the dead have no mouths to speak with. No minds to form reason. Memories and memories and memories that do not order themselves. In the ruins in the barrens on the edge of the world, skeletons began to walk. No one could answer why the dead rose in one small pocket of the world and forgot to sleep again. 

Holy men, alchemists, kings, and living martyrs all traveled to the great ruins of Makan and watched the walking. Bones that carried broken stones from one edge to the other. Kneeling figures that clapped their hands to an unknown rhythm. Spirits burst from wells and poltergeists flung rotted wood at strangers. Yet, the dead did not speak. They were asked of their names, their families, what led them back from the beyond. What necromancer would do this.

They did not wage war. Nor do they pick up swords. The dead were not peaceful perhaps but neither were they purposeful. Makan was an old city, ancient beyond memory, and deserted once the nearest river was dammed and diverted. They were ruins that hung off a cliffside and turned brilliant red against the rising sun. A place of scholarship and history–until it became something more. 

Bodies rattling, teeth clattering, voices of faded spirits like the wind through craigs and singing through tree branches. Some pilgrims swear the dead call their name when they aren’t looking. Others claim they are watching, judging, deciding who will be pure enough to deserve salvation. Still others say they are empty vessels simply caught on repeat–the same routine daily, weekly, yearly for eternity. A meaningless display turned sensational. 

They were famous after all. A skeleton which pushed a baby carrier down the center road from dawn to dusk named the Mother. The well witch who cackled and splashes anyone that passed. The tower Stranger with one arm and one leg who watched anyone who entered, skull swiveling in place. A ghost that rang the church bells–one that people rumor calls your name if you pass too close. Others say it is not your name, but the name of the person you should marry.

The theories were limitless. A place of unimaginable power and limitless looping. And no one to take credit, rally the armies, or put them to rest. Pilgrims came and went. Queens and princes and priests blessed and cursed the place, tried to burn or drown the inhabitants, claimed ordinance or forbade their citizens to make the trek to the ruins in the barrens on the edge of the world. 

In the second dawn of the God-Priest Amix III, a final pilgrimage was made. A Holy Child had been once more chosen from the masses of orphans found in the priestly empire. Dark-eyed and solemn, they were hand-picked for their docile nature. A toddler given a steady diet of jelly the color of stars and flavor of chilled mint. In other countries, they call it Prophecy Meats and treat it as a rare delicacy and dangerous altering substance. The Holy Child, chosen for endurance or perhaps very little at all, is given this steady diet of Stars until they can see the past and present all at once.

The Holy Child of this generation, a girl no more than eight, had survived her first years of seeing the wars and joys and horrors to come. She was dying, of course, and the attendant-nun had become attached. Sister Grehn was warned against such things. Told to keep her distance and remember their purpose, great and beautiful. Sister Grehn begged and pleaded and said, why not take her to the sea? The mountains? Any place that might help her lungs. Take her to healers of other lands.

She got the city of the dead. Sister Grehn carried the Holy Child, too small for her age and eyes as big as black holes, close. “Would you like to see the well, little one?” The nun whispered. “The funny skeleton pushing the baby carriage?”

The Holy Child, who privately kept her birth name, looked up. Nima, a peasant name, a rabbit name, felt the press against her eye sockets. She gave a long exhale. “Oh,” she said. “Oh. They are like me.”

Sister Grehn held her tightly to her chest, mouth turning into a battle line. No, not here, she thought. Please. 

The Holy Child closed her eyes and whispered, “They are tired.” 

Even eternity has an end and the Holy Child spoke the last words of the city of the dead to her first friend and one she privately called something else. “Mom, the river is not gone. The river is all.”

There are many types of spirits, life beyond life, and memories that do not forget how to rush down the land and twist across stone. The wizards that diverted the mighty river centuries before had used magic, darker stuff to do a simple job, cut corners to avoid the wrath of a king or priest or any other towering sovereign who are all the same. The water moved. The soul went elsewhere. The spirit of the river burst through the ruins of Manak. And tried with all its might to live again.

FIN

---------------

Join my mailing list 🌼 Check out my new book!

[mausinly]

Baby fever got me thinking abt ghost and kids <3

Ghost finds himself leaning against a stone wall, fiddling with the straps of his gear as he listens to the bustle of the locals. He's in a more rural part of the city, one half full of shops and restaurants and the occasional pub (of which Ghost is waiting for Gaz and Soap outside of), the other half being a neighborhood on the other side of the cobblestone wall behind him.

It was meant to be a more casual mission, gather some intel and do a bit of a stakeout. Gaz and Soap would chat with a man that has information for them, while Ghost waited outside in case there was trouble or they needed to make a quick escape. After a few hours, he quickly realized this wasn't much of a mission at all.

It was peaceful though, a breath of fresh air compared to the adrenaline and bloodshed of his usual work. He was debating on calling it all a bust and dragging his boys back to base when a small sound hit his ears.

He went silent for a moment before he heard it again, a small whisper of a voice beckoning for his attention.

Ghost lets out a sigh. "The hell...?" He looks around, trying to pinpoint the source of the sound.

"Psst. Up here." A small voice calls from... above him?

Ghost looks up to see a face peering down at him from the top of the stone wall, a few meters above him. A small child, a little girl with short, red curls, peeks over the stone to look at him with big brown eyes.

The two of them just stare at each other for a few beats, observing one another warily until the girl speaks up.

"Are you a soldier?" She asks him with a surprising amount of confidence, speaking with a bluntness that only children seemed to possess.

Ghost pushes himself off of the wall to turn and look at her fully, glancing back at the pub to check for his team before looking back at her.

"Affirmative." He says simply, giving a little nod before falling back into silence.

The girl looks puzzled at the unfamiliar word, but uses her context clues to conclude that it means yes. She steps up a little more, crossing her arms over the top of the wall to look down at him better.

"My nana was a soldier... I think." The little girl says, her tone a little uncertain. "My mum said she used to fly planes and we have a picture of her with a bunch of medals."

"I've never seen a soldier in real life, though." She adds.

Ghost can't help the small chuckle that rumbles from his chest at the child's observation. "That so? Your nan sounds pretty interesting." His eyes crease as he smiles up at her from under his balaclava. "I'll let you in on a little secret... being a soldier's pretty boring a lot of the time."

The girl gives Ghost another quizzical look, blinking those big doe eyes at him. "How? Don't you get to fight bad guys and shoot big guns?"

Ghost supposes she isn't wrong. A lot of his work does include diving headfirst into enemy territory, fighting the desert sun and blowing up old "friends". He still lets out a small laugh at the girl's naivety. Ghost wonders if he'd ever been that innocent once, maybe when he was a toddler and the cruel world his father built hadn't yet beat down on him.

"Sometimes." He says finally. "But there's also a lot of sitting—waiting for things to happen. And paperwork." He tacks on.

The girl makes a face. "Like taxes?"

Ghost nods solemnly. "Like taxes."

The girl makes a soft, long "oh" sound before they fall into silence. Ghost looks back at the pub, half hoping to see Soap and Gaz walk out and half hoping they stay inside so he can keep talking to this silly little kid.

"My names Ginny, by the way." The girl pipes up. "What's yours?"

He debates in his head for a moment. "Ghost." He says finally.

Ginny makes another face. "Ghost? Like a dead person? That's a funny name." She says bluntly. "Is it a nickname? Technically Ginny is my nickname."

Ghost listens as she rambles a little, waiting for her to finish so he can answer her questions. "Yep, like a dead person. And yes, it's kind of like a nickname."

"Do they always give you silly names in the mil-militry?" Ginny tries to ask, scrunching up her face a little as she struggles to pronounce "military".

"Sometimes." He says again. "Sometimes you choose your own, sometimes it starts as a nickname that sticks around."

"Did you choose yours?" She asks.

"No." He replies.

Before Ginny can bombard him with any more questions, a voice calls from somewhere far off, making the girl look behind her. She calls back to whoever is summoning her and turns back to Ghost.

"My mum's home, I've got to go." She says, her tone a little flat as she seems disappointed to leave.

"Alright. I'll see you around, Ginny." Ghost bids her farewell. "Be good for your folks."

"I will! Bye-bye, Ghost." The girl gives a determined nod, waving goodbye to him before stepping down and disappeared behind the other side of the wall.

Ghost stands there for God knows how long, in his own little world until Soap walks up behind him with Gaz in tow. The sargeant claps him on the shoulder about how the mission was a bust and apparently the man didn't have all the info they needed. Thankfully, he'd have what they needed at a later date. All Ghost hears is "we'll be coming back here soon".

[jalicecookie]

No Scissors Deals

"Valentino! You don't make any deals with the Toddler, when it comes to playing with Scissors! And don't let her cute behavior, wrap you around your little finger!" - you hear the voice of your Daddy Vox from across the Room, but don't look over towards him. Very carefully, your little fingers want to reach for the gold chain, that your Papito Valentino is wearing around his neck, while you reiterate your request , to finally be allowed to play with the scissors and Valentino's cherry-pink eyes just flash with amusement.

Curious, you took a few clumsy steps closer to the high shelf with the many compartments.

Velvette's spacious office was already deserted at this late hour.

The employees of the social media-focused Velvette had gone home.

The fashion icon from hell was editing one of the her videos on her laptop , because it needed special settings and at that very moment both Valentino and you could hear Velvette hissing at Vox from her small private office, that he should turn down the damn firewall,  to further boost  towards her already good online reach.

Vox had told Valentino to keep an eye on you ,while he took care of Velvette's problem. And since Valentino himself was on his cell phone and was obviously sending a few voice messages to Angel Dust, you really wanted to take a look at the large shelf.

It wasn't the first time you had been in Velvette's work office.

Sometimes it could be pretty stressful and hectic here.

But that didn't bother you, whenever Velvette was given the babysitting task, she let you have plenty of tablet and cell phone video time, when she wasn't busy dressing you up like a doll and needing you to plan a mini fashion line for the stylish demon toddler.

"Oh there! Scissors!" you said quietly as you stopped in front of the large white meter-high shelf that stretched up to the ceiling and your devilish eyes flashed with joy , when you saw a pair of scissors there.

It was a pretty pair of scissors with pink hearts and dark blue handles as a design.

Oh, you really wanted to hold these beautiful scissors in your hands and play with them!

And pretend you were a great fashion queen, like Velvette was.

Sometimes you try to imitate different members of your Vee family.

One time, before going to bed, you ran excitedly to Velvette with the Vox electric toothbrush and whispered to her that you can now talk to the toothbrush like Daddy because Daddy can talk to the television.

And if you play with the scissors, you'll definitely be able to help Velvette a lot!

You made your decision, you first tried to stretch your hands up as high as you could... but the scissors were on two shelves above you. Too far to be able to reach for them easily.

Next you try to climb up the shelf...which only works to a limited extent, because not even after 3 seconds you slip and land on the floor with a loud thud and an old vase knocked over on impact.

Valentino, who felt disturbed in his voice message and was about to shout , annoyed that this noise was really shit in timing and should be quiet, turned around and was with you,  within a few moments, picking you up from the floor with one of his two pairs of arms and looking at you with concern.

"What happened baby? You know Velvette hates it,  when one of those ugly vases breaks?" , said Valentino with a hardly regretful look at the fragments of the vase. None of which - thank Lucifer - hit you.

You sniffed once, startled by the impact on the floor and dissatisfaction at not having the scissors yet.

Valentino stroked your hair soothingly , before he moved a few steps away from you and sent another voice message to Angel.

The recording time was shorter than before and so you were able to express your wish as soon, as Valentino put the phone back in his pocket.

"Scissors! Wanna! Play! Papito, scissors? Climb, no, no....ouchie....scissors?", you said and pointed to the large shelf with your left hand.

Valentino followed the hand gesture with a quick glance ,before gently examining you through the heart-shaped lenses of his glasses.

"Naaaw Papito's little princess wanted the scissors to play with,  and fell down while climbing?" -  Valentino cooed with obvious amusement.

"Yes! Help Papito? Please, please", you said and bounced up and down in the Overlord's arms.

Valentino just shook his head no with little interest and thought you already had enough toys.

Toys that were often dragged from your room to the living room and that he had to run in zigzags to get a new coffee. Scissors like that were really nothing special.

"Eat Veggies like  good girl... like a big kid... don't cry ...   yes scissors?" - you replied hopefully. Proposing a deal was easy. Even though your fathers always had their own rules, it was no secret that you really cried a lot when you ate certain vegetables and refused to try even a small bite.

"So you want to eat your vegetables and not cause a drama, hm? And in return I should give you these scissors to play with?", repeated Valentino and didn't seem to be averse to the idea.

"Oh, there are actually several scissors. It seems to be your lucky day, baby. There's still blood on one of them...ah! That must be my attack , after my last author for the films quit!", said Valentino and eyed one of the scissors that still had blood on it with an annoyed expression on his face. That bitch deserved that!

You clap your hands once and nod eagerly, not because you understood Valentino's last words, but because there are apparently several pairs of scissors...oh, you can then help Velvette diligently!

"Valentino! You don't make any deals with the Toddler, when it comes to playing with Scissors! And don't let her cute behavior, wrap you around your little finger!" - you hear the voice of your Daddy Vox from across the Room, but don't look over towards him.

Very carefully, your little fingers want to reach for the gold chain, that your Papito Valentino is wearing around his neck, while you reiterate your request , to finally be allowed to play with the scissors and Valentino's cherry-pink eyes just flash with amusement.

"Scissors? Pretty please?", -  you wanted to touch the glittering gold of the chain, but Valentino playfully grabbed yours hands with his other two hands to stop you.

"Hmmmm.....if I contradict Voxxy now, Papito won't get any of his ´toys´ later, and Papitio would be very sad because of this" -  said Valentino with a grin. His gold tooth flashed once.

And you were still far too young and small to understand , the allusion and the real meaning that it was never about toys,  that Vox was withholding from Valentino, but something completely different.

An impatient whimper escaped you as you snuggled closer to Valentino's upper body and asked sadly for the scissors once more.

"Wanna help.....Velvette! Scissors! PLEASE!", you whimpered and Valentino smiled at your cuteness.

"No need to burst into tears...besides, Daddy Voxxy didn't say anything about the scissors in our kitchen, Princess",  Valentino said soothingly.

"VAL!"

While you were calming down with the cuddles Valentino gave you, Vox seemed to have heard the part about the scissors in the kitchen,  and reminded his partner , that the rule applied to all scissors in the V-Tower.

"But she wants to help Velvette, Voxxy! And eat her Veggies from now on like a good Girl"  - Valentino defended his affection for the deal with the vegetables.

"It will definitely work without Scissors. I'll say it for the last time, Valentino. No scissors DEALS!"

THE END

Ao3

[strawurberries]

🍓 3, 13, & 17 with Vash

Vash: “The stars are so—woah, what are you doing?!”

Authors note: I loved these prompts <3 Thanks for requesting!

Warnings: None.

Overwhelmed with love; that’s all he could describe in the moment. So, utterly infatuated that it hurt to even think about anything but his lover. Laying beside them, staring up at the stars above, their head on his chest—oh, how he cherished this peace. If he could, he would stay here forever; forget about the outside world, abandon all the guilt and responsibility—just exist. Exist with love, and exist with happiness. 

Is that too much to ask for?

He raised an arm, slightly struggling to keep both of them comfortable as he moved, pointing at a small cluster of stars near the center of the sky, “those,” he said, “are a constellation too.” He had needed to reach deep into the corners of his mind in order to recall the names of all the constellations. Several times he had already messed up and mentioned Earth ones, like Orion or Aquila. He had first lied when he messed up, saying that it was the real name of the stars, but after three seconds he felt too bad and told the truth.

“Oh, really?” His lover shifted to get a better look, “they just look like. . . stars to me.” 

“Well that’s because they are stars—” he paused, “okay that was a little dumb to say.”

“Just a little.”

“But you see how those three are close and then those two are kinda~ far away? It makes it look like a worm!” He grinned and waved his arm in the air, making little sounds and noises, mimicking what he assumed a worm sounded like. He stopped when he realized how ridiculous he was being “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?” He tossed his head back and groaned, “totally uncool. . .” Not only had he messed up the constellations names thrice, he also managed to act like a toddler before reining himself in. What a mess—a cute mess, but still a mess.

“I thought it was nice,” they laughed. “I didn’t know worms went ‘gluggugug’. I’ve learned something new today.” A hint of amusement danced in their tone.

He whined and buried his face in their neck, “don’t make fun of me~!” He pouted and tossed an arm over them, pulling them closer.

“I wasn’t!” They laughed and kissed his forehead, “you big baby.”

He grinned and nuzzled into her a little more. Their touch was addicting, enchanting. His heart started to throb and he thought it was going to burst if he didn’t say how much he adored them, “you know, I love you so much,” he muttered into her skin. “I dunno what I’d do without you.”

“Probably sit in the desert saying ‘gluglug’ all by yourself.”

He huffed, “you said you wouldn’t make fun of me.”

“When did I say that?”

“Just now!”

“I said I didn’t make fun of you, not that I wouldn’t!” They brushed their fingers through his hair, giving him another kiss before turning to look back at the night sky. As they were distracted, unsuspecting and innocent, Vash took his chance. 

“The stars are so—woah, what are you doing?!” They squealed as Vash blew a raspberry into their neck, trying to escape but his hold was tight. “Vash!”

“This is what you get!” he laughed and attacked their neck again.

“S-stop! Stop! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“That’ll teach you to make fun of Vash the Stampede, the greatest outlaw.”

“Greatest?” they snickered, “isn’t that a bit much?”

He blew another raspberry.

“Ah—! I’m sorry! I really am this time!”

[astaldis]

One thing the guys who criticise Netflix for its racial diversity in The Witcher always seem to forget

Had this discussion with this guy on Reddit again, always the same arguments, of course, the lore allegedly is all Slavic/white European. And then they pretend to care for the identity of other cultures and that they should be preserved and distinguishable and that there's Zerrikania on the continent for black people. Yes, Zerrikania, featuring so prominently in the books, right ...

What they totally seem to overlook, humans came to the continent through the Conjunction of the Spheres about 1,500 years before the events of the novels. They did not evolve on the continent through survival of the fittest. The distribution of skin colour on the continent ought to be mostly random. Yes, people who came from hot places in their original world and have a very dark skin colour as adaptation to the climate in their lost sphere of origin might prefer to settle regions like Zerrikania with a similar climate. But why wouldn't they settle in Toussaint, for example? Fringilla being dark skinned does not have to mean she has ancestors from Zerrikania and does not need to be explained in any way. Same with culture, people from all kinds of different cultures have very likely landed on the continent together and mixed their cultures while they were helping each other to survive in a totally new world. Why should there be distinct cultures related to skin colour and climate after only 1,500 years of populating the continent? A mix makes a lot more sense under these unique circumstances.

There was also a very funny thing one guy asked me when I wrote something like: Oh yes, the Korath desert is very Eastern European.

Did you know there's a desert in Poland? Yes, there actually is. We also have several "deserts" in Germany, but they are all so small, even a toddler would have difficulty getting lost in one of them 😂. Of course Sapkowski was exclusively thinking of this miniature Polish desert when he created the Korath 😂.

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Toddler and the Bees: Making Memories

Fast forward roughly three years after Yang and Ruby find and save the little tiger Faunus from the desert. The war is over. Blake and Yang are married and living on Kuo Kuana. The small family is sitting on a dock fishing. The little one is going ballistic because there’s a fish on their line. Cubby is their nickname.

Cubby: (squealing) Mama! Mama! Look! I got one!

Blake: Good job, Cubby! Reel it in!

Cubby: (struggling) I’m trying!

Yang: You got it, Cubby! Just one more pull!

Cubby: (yanks on the rod and the line snaps) Oh, no!

Fish: (swimming just under the surface of the water mockingly)

Blake: Aw, it’s okay, Cub. (rubs toddler’s back) Sometimes this happens.

Yang: Oh, no you don’t! (rips off obnoxious, red, orange, and yellow button up and dives into the water) Get back here!

Cubby: (squeals with excitement and nearly dives in but Blake grabs them)

Yang: (resurfaces and holds the fish overhead with both hands) Got it!

Everyone on the docks watch as Yang tosses the fish onto the dock before pulling herself out of the water. Cubby is poking the fish and tapping their feet excitedly. Kali is taking pictures while Ghira tries to get Cubby to hold the fish.

Blake: (holds Yang’s eyesore of a shirt out to her and laughs) What was that all about?

Yang: That? (glances at Cubby holding the fish with help) Just making a memory Cubby won’t soon forget.

[to-myalphonse]

What we used to be

Written before 4.0 Update Based off an old theory I had about Freminet Based off old theory where all 3 were biologically related, and Freminet wasn't apart of the Fatui. Hurt no Comfort supposed to be bittersweet Not canon frem Kinda written as Yuri Briar backstory in a way ( this was by complete accident)

"Hello, Lynette?" Yes, I have time; I'm not too busy right now. I'll be there right away." As it opens halfway, the light blue door creaks.

Dressed casually, Lyney stood next to it, appearing ready to go. A shocked expression makes his way on his face as he stares at Freminet.

Freminet's first memories of his older brother were from their time together in the orphanage. He has no recollection of their birth parents or the day they were placed in the orphanage.

He recalls his older brother as being friendly and welcoming. His older brother used to put on fake magic performances that always ended with someone stealing someone's toy.

Lyney, his rebellious brother, would often smuggle them outdoors to catch a late show at the adjacent circus.

The orphanage had been calm until the event. Lynette, as far as he recalls, has always had difficulty expressing feelings due to the amount of "trauma" she's been subjected to. Lyney used to tell her to smile and play with him.

"That's all for Lyney's magic show!" The young blonde in his cape stumbled off the stage. As he bowed, the children in the audience applauded.

"How was my performance?" He softly stroked his knuckle on Freminet's head, messing up his hair a little.

"Lyney, stop, you're going to mess up his hair." From his past, a young girl's happy voice resonated.

"Lynette, his hair is fine." He played with his hat while leaning down in front of Freminet. Standing, he took a step back, his hands in the shape of a square.

"Perfect!" He smiled cheerfully doing a small dance. Freminet senses the hatred being adjusted on his head, only for it to fall over his eyes.

"It looks a little too big for him right now."

"He'll get used to it." Oh, I know, the three of us should put on a magic show." Before speaking again, he hears his sister hum quietly.

"Two 8 year olds and a toddler, what a magic show this will be." She scoffs and messes with his hair in response.

"I can be the ring leader Lyney, you can be my dear assistant and Freminet can be… Pengy!" His sister sneered and yanked the hat off his head, smacking Lyney in the face with it.

"Don't give our little brother a dumb name."

"What he's a penguin think about it?" He recalls them arguing and Lyney fleeing with him for a short while.

When Lyney turned 13, things began to change, and their familial tie began to deteriorate. Things never went back to the way they were before.

"Frem. I'm sorry I have to run errands with Lyn right away, you understand?" This was typically his explanation when he and Lynette went out for extended periods of time. Lyney's layered clothing beneath his shirt were confirmation of this.

"I promise I'll make it back for your diving competition." Before leaving, he offers the youngster a slight apologetic glance.

Things had been going south ever since that woman showed interest in Lyney. His loving sister began to act almost robotically, no longer offering that soothing comfort. While his older sibling still performed his magic tricks, they had to be flawless. He changed from being carefree and mischievous to being overworked.

Lyney began to ignore him, only communicating with him for housekeeping and matters pertaining to his education or health. His older sister refused to speak to him. Almost always remaining silent, letting Lyney to lead the discussion and make judgments.

Their once-warm home now feels deserted.

Taglist @watatsumiis @tavvattales @bluu-m0on @leftdestiny-posts @iruiji @pochipop @mellowwillowy @endlessmari @malleux

[rgbstatic]

“oh everyone died from the nuke on the dsmp”

uh. no? and. that’s not even me just being “actually no they live happily every after”

the nuke plan went according to plan, with the only small flaw of jack manifold setting one of 8 of the explosives to tommy’s house.

could there have been additional casualties, yes. if i were to guess it would’ve probably included sam and bad and a few others if they were even in the area.

tubbo accounted for the explosion size of the nuke, it would’ve blown up the prison and the area stretching towards bad’s house and tommy’s house anyway.

the explosive jack would’ve sent off would’ve been 8 times smaller than the full nuclear explosion, it wouldn’t have even reached punz’s house from tommy’s place.

all the angst of people from las nevadas or eret or whomever watching the light and being confused and dying that is just, literally incorrect.

there would’ve been a massive explosion yes, there are potentially a few extra casualties but that is provided those people are in that area, we know the central area of the smp is almost entirely deserted.

sam had even gone back to his home just before everything happened. almost no one other than tommy, punz, dream, jack, and tubbo were even close.

and yes people would’ve been highly confused at the explosion, concerned. some of the outer blast may have caused earthquake like issues, and there would be fallout in the immediate area just like tubbo’s original test explosion.

but… michael_beloved was far far away in a home with a ghost and an old man and probably wouldn’t have even seen the explosion, and would be okay. there was no “michael saw this bright light and asked what it is and ghostboo/phil shielded him away and held him close as the light touched them” like that did not happen those nukes literally were not that powerful.

we see the blast! it’s roughly double the size of doomsday which yes was big, but people in las nevadas, living far away, out in the snow, etc, would not have been affected at all by any sort of explosion.

we know this is the case because tubbo and tommy only went with the nuke option because that was the saving everyone option. tubbo knew the radius of the explosion and even with the small mishap of 1/8 of the explosives going to tommy’s house, it would never have reached where the majority of people were, which was no where close to the central smp.

which is ironic because the smp falling apart literally and on a meta standpoint and everyone being so divided and choosing to live so far from everyone else means a very vast majority of the smp characters live

anyway can we stop with the angst of killing a toddler alone with no one there for him when that didn’t even happen

[verybadatwriting]

The Healer 2

Teen!ReaderxAvengers

Summary: Y/n adjusts to life in the tower and the people they share it with.

Warnings: Bad sleep schedule. References to past trauma (kidnapping, murder of parents, etc.)

Gn!reader

Word count: 2,477

    Steve and you sat at the table, having just finished breakfast, and he outlined the plan for today. Having spent 14 years with a strictly regimented schedule, you found it helpful to have an idea what was happening on any given day.

    “In the morning I’d like you to meet someone, my friend Bucky. He’s a bit shy, but I think the two of you will get along. Then around noon Wanda wanted to take you out for lunch,” Steve said, “If you would like to go.”

    “That sounds nice.” You replied, “And after that?”

    “I don’t have any plans for the afternoon, if you and Wanda want to have an afternoon out, that’s fine by me. Be back by dinner though, there is a movie night afterwards.”

    “What’s that?”

    “We all get into comfortable clothing and watch a movie with a bunch of snacks.” Wanda said, as she popped into the room, “I think it’s one of our best Saturday traditions. Unless Stark chooses the movie.”

    “I can’t wait!” You said, “Today’s gonna be great.” Steve left the room, leaving you and Wanda to chat. After you’d finalized your plans for the afternoon, FRIDAY delivered an invitation to join Steve and his friend in the living room. You said goodbye to Wanda, and skipped to the living room.

    Steve sat facing the doorway, and across the coffee table from him was his friend Bucky. He had his back towards you. All you could see was his shoulder-length hair and the faint glint of metal on his left shoulder.

    “Ah, Y/n,” Steve said, “This is Bucky.” The second man turned around and – to your horror – you recognized his face. Thousands of thoughts rushed through your mind. Pure terror made you turn heel and sprint away. You dashed through the corridors in a confusing zig-zag, sprinting up stairs, until you found yourself on a deserted floor of the Tower. You looked for the most hidden spot and closed yourself in.

    A few minutes later, you heard FRIDAY ask where you were. You dared not speak, even to her. You heard people moving around the building, presumably searching for you. At one point Steve went room by room on the same floor as you. He opened the closet you were in, and peeked inside. 

    “Oh hey there.” Steve said, “Are you okay?” He took your silence as a no.

    “That’s fine. Do you wanna talk about what happened?” He asked, “I just wanna make sure you know you’re safe.”

    “I-I…” you choked up, “I knew him.”

    “Bucky?” Steve seemed taken aback, “When did you meet him?”

    “The first time, I think I was about two,” You said, “Was when HYDRA captured me. It was a pitch black fall night. Cold too. Somehow my parents managed to convince me to run into the woods and hide before HYDRA got inside. There was a small cave, barely wide enough for a toddler to fit inside of, and I wedged myself in.

    “I heard the shots that silenced my family. They were crisp and clear. Then his footsteps came crunching across the leaves, closer and closer. He found the cave, and looked inside. His eyes were empty. Lifeless. Nothing behind them.” You shuddered.

    “He reached in, grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, and… And…”

    “It’s ok Y/n.” Steve said. “That sounds terrifying. He’s not the same man.”

    “People don’t change that much.” You replied.

    “No,” Steve said, “His mind isn’t the same. Back then he was under the complete command of HYDRA. They called him the Winter Soldier and wiped his memories. Whatever they said, he did. They controlled him like a puppet.”

    “If they completely controlled him, how did he get to be here?” You asked suspiciously.

    “Three years ago HYDRA sent him out to kill me,” Steve said, “Seeing me sparked some recognition, since we’d been childhood friends. After we battled he ran away from HYDRA. It was just last year that I finally found him again.”

    “I see.” You said, “Steve… does he remember what he– no, The Soldier – did?”

    “Yes and no.” Steve said, “The details are fuzzy for him, but he says he remembers every single person he’d hurt.”

    “Oh God…” You murmured, “That must be horrible… Remembering so many you’ve injured… Knowing it was your hands, and yet not your mind…”

    Both of you sat for a few minutes until FRIDAY interrupted.

    “Message from Sam Wilson: Has anyone found them?”

    “FRIDAY,” Steve said to her, “Please tell them that I found them.” Steve walked you to your room.

    “Lunch is planned for an hour from now,” He said, “If you still want to go with Wanda.”

    “Yeah…” You replied, “I’ll be ready by then.”

    You and Wanda ate at a little hole-in-the-wall Shawarma restaurant. Afterwards, you settled at a park and relaxed for a bit. You were seated on a bench underneath a tree and shared a bag of candied fruits. The conversation drifted from topic to topic, most of them were light, like what your favorite flavor of ice cream was.

    Eventually it drifted to the events of earlier that day. You explained the situation to Wanda, your abduction fourteen years ago and the shock of seeing him today.

    “I think I understand.” Wanda said, “You have every right to feel angry at him.”

    “I… I don’t know if I am. Angry, that is. I definitely feel something. I don't know what exactly it is.”

    “If you’re okay with it, Y/n, I could go through your mind with you.” She suggested, “I do this often when people need help figuring out emotions.”

    “No, thanks.” You said, “I’ve almost got it. I think I just need time to think.”

    “That’s normal.” Wanda reassured you, “Whatever emotions you decide you’re feeling, I assure you you’re more than within your right to feel them. Angry, sad, scared. Happy even.”

    “Really?”

    “Yeah,” She said nonchalantly, “They’re your emotions.”

    “Yeah… I guess you’re right.” You thought for a moment. “Are you going to the movie night?”

    “Of course!” Wanda said, “What about you?”

    “I think I’ll go.” 

    “That’s great, do you wanna sit by me or Steve?”

    “Depends on who’s holding the snacks.” You smiled.

    “Good point…” Wanda said, “I might have to rethink the seating arrangements…” You and Wanda hung out at the park until the bag of candied fruits was empty. The two of you drifted back to the Tower, about an hour before dinner. Sam was making dinner, and the smell guided you to the kitchen.

    “Hey Sam.” You said, “What’s cooking?” 

    “Very funny.” He grinned, adding spices to a bubbling pot. 

    “I wasn’t joking. What’s for dinner?”

    “Oh, you were serious.” Sam said, “It’s jambalaya.”

    “Cool.”

    “Anything else?” 

    “Eh.” You shrugged, and after a moment asked, “Have you talked with Steve’s friend much?”

    “Bucky? Yeah, a little.” He said, “We’ve gone on half a dozen missions together. He’s not very talkative at first, once you get to know him he’s kind of an idiot. I understand if you don’t wanna interact with him. Steve didn’t tell me exactly what happened between you two, but I know something happened.”

    “Yeah, the Winter Soldier kidnapped me when I was two.” You said, “The Soldier’s not really him, is it? So it would be mean of me to hold it against him.”

    “Trauma manifests itself in different ways,” Sam put the lid back on the pot, “If seeing his face is what sets you off, then you probably should stay away from each other. On the other hand, if knowing they’re different people is enough to make you okay with him, that’s cool too. Now scoot on out of here! I’ve got a lot of cooking to do!”

    You left the kitchen, meandered through the dining room, then went downstairs to one of the quieter living rooms. Loki, who was apparently a god, was seated in the nook by the window.

    “Hello.” He said, barely glancing up from his book.

    “Hi.” You said, “What’re you reading?”

    “Carlo Goldoni.”

    “Which one?”

    “The Servant of Two Masters.”

    “Oh cool! Antony really liked that one. He even taught me some of the lines.”

    “Anthony Stark read Goldoni?” Loki asked skeptically.

    “No, not Anthony, Antony.” You shook your head, “He was like a father to me, back when I was imprisoned.”

    “What happened to him?” Loki asked, as he marked his page and set down his book.

“Oh you know…” You shrugged, “Death got him at the battle when we escaped.”

“I’m so sorry little one.”

“Eh, not the first time I’ve lost a father-figure.” You said, tears welling up. “Has to happen sooner or later, so why not just get it out of the way?” You wiped your tears with your sleeve, since you’d failed at holding them in.

Visibly unsure what to do, Loki stood up.

“Uh. Would you like a… hug?” He finally asked. You nodded and hugged him. Loki sat back down to be eye-to-eye with you.

“Y/n,” He said, “I need you to know that your childhood has not been normal. Most people don’t have to lose their parents until they are middle-aged. You’ve lost three parents before turning 18. You’ve fought against international evils. You have been through more physical injuries than most people go through in a lifetime. You have been through more than your fair share of pain, physical and mental. You are strong.”

“Thank you.” You said. You cried a bit more. Once you stopped Loki spoke again.

“If it’s any consolation,” He said, “My sister is the Goddess of Death. I’m sure she will be welcoming to such a noble fighter as Antony was.” His tone shifted to playfully menacing, “If you ever tell Stark, my brother, or anyone else that I hugged you, I will deny it. I have a reputation to uphold.” You laughed a little, then read with him until dinnertime. 

After everyone had eaten their fill of jambalaya, and had their desert of bananas foster, they migrated to the living room. Instead of watching in one of the many movie theaters in the Tower, the living room was the chosen area. The blankets and pillows could be stacked as high as needed, and snacks were only a little ways away.

You ended up sitting on a couch between Wanda and Steve. Steve had buttered popcorn while Wanda had a bowl of gummies. The first movie was Castle in the Sky. Right before it started, you noticed Bucky walk by the door. He contemplated joining, and decided against it when he saw you.

The movie was a blast, even though the team didn’t have the best history with robots and flying cities. Especially ones that threaten to end the world. Around midnight the movies wrapped up, and you headed to bed. Stark wanted to stay up later. Ms. Potts convinced him to get some sleep. (“Anthony Howard Stark, if you don’t get to bed right this instant I will remove your access to the lab.”)

You crawled into bed but only got two and a half hours of sleep. That’s when you instinctively woke up to get water. Your legs felt like they needed a little stretch, so you walked down to the kitchen. 

Over the first two nights you had memorized the path and the room, so you didn’t need to turn on the lights until you needed to get a glass down. This meant that you didn’t see the man on the floor as you passed him by. You flicked the light on, and he sat bolt-upright.

“Ah!” You said, “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Bucky mumbled, “You didn’t expect to see someone in the kitchen at two thirty in the morning. I’ll leave.”

“No, it’s okay.” You said, “You’re free to go wherever you please.” He sat on the floor for a few more moments, and you drank a couple glasses of water.

“Why are you on the floor anyway?” You asked.

“Uh…” Bucky hesitated, “The bed feels too soft.” He admitted.

“Really?”

“Yeah, like I’m going to fall right through it.”

“Huh,” You shrugged, “It was the exact opposite for me. I absolutely adore everything soft and comfortable.” Silence fell, and you sat on the countertop.

“I’m sorry.” He eventually said, “I’m a monster… I’ve killed so many… Your parents, too.”

“If it’s any comfort,” You said, “You’ve never been anything but kind to me.”

“Really?” Bucky asked, “I literally killed your parents.”

“Was it really you? Steve told me about the Winter Soldier and brainwashing. At least the way he described it, they took your mind away.”

“That’s one way to describe it.”

“Do you remember abducting me?”

“I remember faces…” He said, “Not much else.”

“The Soldier pulled up outside our house, my parents were watching. They knew something was coming. They pushed me out the back door and insisted I go hide in the woods. That’s what I did. Pushed myself into a thin crevice in the rocks. While running I dropped my stuffed animal, a small elephant.

“When the Soldier found me, his eyes were empty. He couldn’t reach far enough into the cave to grab me. The elephant on the ground caught his attention, and he picked it up. For a split second there was something in his eyes and he offered it to me. He whispered ‘It’s okay, you’re okay,’ and promised me another elephant if I left the cave. I crawled towards him, his eyes went empty again, and he grabbed me.”

“So I abducted you as a small child?”

“No. The Soldier did. For that moment you had your mind, when there was something in your eyes, your first instinct was to comfort a scared child.” You both sat in silence for another moment.

“My sister was once stuck in between two houses.” Bucky recalled, “Nobody could reach her, she was terrified. Finally, I had to convince her to come out by offering her a doll.”

“That does sound awfully similar to what happened to me. Maybe that’s how you were able to break away, even if just for a moment.”

“Maybe.” 

“I forgive you.” You said, “Even if it doesn’t change anything, I can’t let you believe that I hold any of it against you.”

“Thank you.” His voice cracked. Hearing someone he’d truly hurt forgive him was different than listening to his friend say 'it wasn’t you.' There was no denial that someone had been hurt. It wasn’t a friend trying to comfort a friend. This was a real person he had deeply affected telling him it’s in the past.

You slipped off the counter and went back upstairs to bed, leaving him with a “Goodnight Bucky.”

“‘Night Y/n.” As soon as you’d turned the corner his silent tears fell. It was freeing for both of you. Forgiving and being forgiven, equally liberating, but in different ways.

Part 1, Part 3

[hugemilkshake]

Oc facts pt 3!

This one will go into more detail since there’s such a small amount of ocs this time around

Or this is me just giving backstory for some OCs-

The H2 Bros aren’t related to any of each other, they don’t actually know why they look similar and have similar names

The three of them actually met during a storm when waters wouldn’t stop rising during a tropical storm

The three of them do struggle to survive, I mean they are teens traveling around the world. Did you think they could survive as easily as other travelers?

Water Cookie has a difficult time reading

Sugar Water can see perfectly fine but decided to wear a blindfold/bandages to either look cool or he just hates looking at the other two

Salt Water doesn’t like talking that much, I mean she can talk perfectly fine, she just covers her mouth as an excuse

————————————————————————

Snake Skin got all the scars on him when he stumbled into a cactus field during a sandstorm, he thought he was going to die…

Weeping Begonia was actually traveling around the world to find a purpose in life and found Snake Skin stumbling around the desert and was the one to help him heal up

Now Snake Skin has pretty bad eye sight now since the amount of scars around his eyes did some damage

Weeping Begonia was the one to suggest they do crime

These two fine gentleman are kinda wanted criminals

Snake Skin has a little sister but she probably doesn’t remember him that well…

————————————————————————

(This one’s long so I apologize-)

Purple Mold has never been the one to do stuff like make tea, collect herbs or read up on a subject

He was always into stuff like fighting, forging weapons and fixing broken machines

But his mother was always encouraging him to try other stuff like magic and too his surprise, Purple Mold was quite good at magic! But he felt weird using a wand or staff. It just felt artificial to him

By the time he was in his late twenties he was so sick of using magic the way he learned too. It felt too weird to him!

When Purple Mold was walking the streets trying to find away other methods of magic usage when he heard a radio go off in a back alleyway

There was a cookie there, she could use magic and offered to teach him a thing or two… if he agreed to a contract 

Purple Mold always read contracts and their fine print, and when reading he saw so many loopholes and knew that this was some sort of sick scam.

But he wanted to have some fun… so he misspelled his name, instead of Purple Mold, it was Purple MALD.

Oh man was the suspicious cookie angry when they found out, they had told Purple Mold new ways to use magic when the contract wasn’t even valid! Purple Mold never saw that cookie after that

Purple Mold did travel to beast Yeast sometime after that so that might be why he never saw that cookie agian

But Purple Mold now deals with some sort of wolf man who honestly seems like a greedy toddler instead an adult man’s body (that is at least what he says)

[allyriadayne]

So in f&b the exact details about the Cargyll twins duel are unclear but we do know Aegon sent Arryk to possibly kill Rhaenyra or her sons as revenge for b&c. According to leaks the duel will take place in episode 2, b&c will allegedly take place episode 1 and in the teaser we get a glimpse of it with Erryk or Arryk in what appears to be a bedroom. It's clearly not Rhaenyra's room however the bed looks very small, almost like the bed of a child. Are they're gonna have a direct parallel to b&c with Arryk trying to kill one of Rhaenyra's sons and getting stopped at the last minute by Erryk? Also do you think it will still be Aegon who sends him or will it be Otto? Or maybe someone else entirely?

i think going for either baby aegon or viserys is very likely if rhaenyra is not the ultimate target seeing as she is left without daemon. i've been having some arryk and erryk thoughts lately so i think that the mission per se is not to kill one of the toddlers but to kidnap him and make rhaenyra surrender herself like in canon when aegon has baela and baby aegon hostages. maybe to ultimately lure rhaenyra to the capital and kill her.

to me, while arryk seems more blind to duty than erryk in a different way (what's right vs what's easy) i think they share a strong moral compass as seen when arryk's horrified about aegon's activities in the fighting pit. i don't know if the original mission is to kill the babies but i don't see arryk doing it in cold blood. maybe there is some moral deliberation and that's when erryk comes and stops him idk.

as for who is sending arryk..... i will say it's a joint effort from otto and aegon. alicent already used aegon (yum!) to send terms to rhaenyra, maybe otto will use aegon for this too. of course, i see how this might appeal aegon better than anything, after b&c and maybe as a way for otto to try to redeem himself after not securing terms in dragonstone and "allowing" b&c to happen.

oh! as i'm typing this it occurred to me that it could be a way for aegon to punish arryk for erryk's deserting the capital, to kill a child and kill his twin. erryk /was/ aegon primary minder and aegon might thought it a more personal treason. might make sense to send arryk as a punishment too and making more tragic the meeting of the twins. a lot of heart in conflict with itself.

[eggbagelz]

OUUUUUUUGH DO YOU HAVE THE RIGHT OPINIONS ON EVERYTHING WHEN IT COMES TO THE KILLJOYS.

dr death defying is my fav but the way u jus described motorbaby..... she might take the crown....

okok now i gotta ask- what r ur fav hcs abt any of the killjoys? or what hcs are so stuck in your brain that theyre practically canon to you??? i love ur killjoys sm please i would love to hear you ramble abt them >:]

OH WELL SINCE U ASKED

Actually I've been wanting to talk abt my hcs for a while so THANK U FOR THIS TEE HEE

Anyway! I think like. My interpretations [or hcs i guess] of the 'joys is a lil nonstandard in some ways bc i took the blank slate of their personalities and ran with it GSJSH [so these are all like. Canon to me. Basically. Sorry gerald u never gave ur apocalypse ocs personalities so theyre mine now] basically like. I have some v set hcs on their personalities and main characteristics as a whole

SO!

I like to think that fun ghoul is like. While hes v v chatty and more than a little mischievous hes also EXTREMELY perceptive to the point it's unnerving, and while hes not v good with his own emotions he's fucking insanely good at picking up other people's, as well as like. Tiny details and shit that others wouldn't have noticed. Hes still an idiot tho godbless GKEHSJ. Hes the number one mad gear fanboy. Hes good w explosives but crap with other tech.

Kobra. Ohohohohohohohoooo kobra. Ppl like to hc him as v stoic [which im not implying is a bad hc at all btw!!! Just an observation] but i like to thing hes EXTREMELY emotional and p unpredictable. A v shoot first ask questions later type, and deathly afraid of being percieved as cowardly or weak. Absolutely GARBAGE shot, which is why he has stun gloves. Practically the fucking tech whisperer.Official motorbaby wrangler. Gets astronomical amounts of ass but is terrified of feeling any romantic emotions.Half Japanese, he and poison are fraternal twins!

POISON! Also extremely emotional but has it under sliiightly better control than kobra [lol. "Control." How full's that bottle ur filling ur feelings with now pois?]. Very very good w tactical stuff and planning, likes logic and such. Also v flamboyant and enjoys colour and the life of the zones. Prettiest 'joy in the zones, seriously. Talks a LOT but has absolutely no fucking filter. Extremely sex positive.Abt as emotionally intelligent as a brick. Also half japanese ic the they and kobra being twins thing didnt make it obvious GDJDDJ. Terrified of death but doesnt know it. Romatic feelings for jet are approximately the size of the continent of asia

Jet jet jet jet jet. My sweet girlboy. Lost his entire family in a shootout against bli when he was 14 and now suffers from "i have to keep everyone i love safe at all fucking costs so help me god" disease so bad that its actually a reflex now. Took care of motorbaby the most when she was an infant. Best shot in the zones GODBLESS. Hes got an eye [ha] for beauty and appreciates p much everything the world has to offer as best he can. Trying to be an optimist despite his horrendous anxiety disorder. Spanish is his first language! Doesnt talk much and thinks carefully abt what he says before he says it. Madly in love with poison but has carefully filed that away under "n" for "never touching that ever"

Motorbaby. Stuck halfway between "extremely unchildlike behavior" and being a regular weird little girl. Far too used to violence. LOOOOVES big robots so much her favorite toy is an old mecha action figure ghoul fixed up for her. Impossible not to love, seriously. ADORES her big brothers. High energy but also burns out quickly and has to nap a LOT. Picked up some of the languages the fab four speak aside from english [spanish, italian, and snatches of japanese] but in the manner that means she knows how to swear in four languages. Veeery small

Jet and ghoul are desert boys [tho ghoul wasnt born in the desert and was smuggled out of bat city by his dad when he was a toddler], while kobes and poison are cityboys [escaped when they were both 13]. Jet's the oldest, ghoul's the youngest

I also have some ideas abt zones culture but aside from the talk abt bigotry probably still being rampant in the zones thats smth im saving for my roadtrip au fic tee hee