#okay this might be a fanfiction

[lulublack90]

Prompt 3 - Sweetie Pie

@wolfstarmicrofic February 3, word count 218

“Angel?” Sirius suggested. 

“Yuck, no, thanks,” Remus fake gagged. 

“Darling?” Sirius tried again. Remus rolled his eyes. 

“That’s what my dad calls my mum, next,”

“Sweetie pie?” He said sweetly.

“Eww, no,” Remus grimaced. These were definitely getting worse. 

“Tarte chérie?” Sirius asked. Remus hummed it didn’t sound that bad. 

“What does it mean?” A glint of something flashed in Sirius’s eyes before he answered. 

“Sweetie pie,” Remus attempted to smother him with his pillow. “Alright, alright, I give in,” Sirius spluttered, plucking a soggy feather from the tip of his tongue “What about sweetheart?” 

“You’re never going to stop are you?” Remus asked, knowing full well what the answer was. Sirius shook his head vigorously. 

“Nope,” He said, popping the p. Remus groaned into his pillow. 

“What was the last one again?”

“Sweetheart,”

“Fine, that one’s the least objectionable.” He surrendered. 

“Excellent, sweetheart it is.” Sirius wiggled down in the bed. “Sweetheart,” He said, fluttering his eyelashes. “Could you help me with something?” Remus’s grin was almost feral as he loomed over Sirius.

“Anything you want, sweetheart,” He growled before capturing Sirius’s lip between his teeth. Okay, he could probably get used to sweetheart. Sirius squirmed beneath him, and he turned his thoughts to more pressing matters, such as helping Sirius out of his shirt and trousers. 

[the-magpie-archives]

Tips for writing London as a setting if you've never been there

London's a popular place to set a story! It's often imagined as sexy, cool, and suave. Whilst this is sometimes true, the thing that it predominantly is, is absolutely and entirely chaotic! So here are some aspects that you may not know about:

-Public transport is absolutely crucial to the infrastructure! Few people drive in London because of how well connected it is, and bus stops and train stations are often used as meeting points or details in directions.

-There's a LOT of crime, like, a lot. All cities have it, but London has a lot of variety. Stabbings are incredibly common (to the extent where it becomes a bit of a joke), almost everyone has a story where they've found or seen a dead body, and there are many money laundering/drug den fronts under the guise of highstreet shops (they're not well hidden).

-Despite it's chaos there's a strong code of etiquette most people hold themselves too. Some are actual rules (stand on the right side of escalators, don't queue jump) but some are simply social expectations (don't stop in the middle of the pavement, keep your bags close to your body, don't take up multiple seats.)

-A lot of tourists to the city are COMPLETELY FERAL and widely hated. They'll stand in the middle of the road, block up bridges, swing around cameras and selfie sticks in busy places, and completely ignore the social standards of polite society. People Do Not Like This. (also American tourists have a tendancy to just randomly start conversation with people? It's a bit weird and generally not done but it's not strictly a bad thing.)

-Rush hour is INSANE. We're talking almost static traffic, trains so packed that you're pressed into people on every side, buses that are so full they can't stop to let more people on. Some days it's better some days it's worse, but if you can avoid travelling at those times YOU DO.

-There are a lot of scam artists on the streets. Most major cities have these, they suck, they're aggressive, and they'll take your money! Some give you flowers and then force you to pay, some take photos of you and boost up the price to get them, there's always new ones, they're relentless, and you've gotta tell them to fuck off.

-Black cabs are not at all popular for normal people! They cater to tourists, rich people, and old people. They're great, the cab drivers are hard working and very knowledgeable, but they're also very expensive. Awful as it is, uber's cheaper if you're desperate, but buses go everywhere so it's just not really worth it.

[fuctacles]

Eddie, begrudgingly: Dustin's older brother is kinda fine :/

I had a craving for best friend's older brother AU so I wrote some but it's not my forte I'm out of ideas so that might be it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Edit: jokes on me I guess [Part II] [Part III]

Eddie was about to knock on his freshman friend’s door when there was a loud commotion on the other side and the door opened by itself. A guy, probably around his age, nearly ran into him in his haste to leave the house. He startled, taking Eddie in. And then taking a double take, the way Eddie was used to people doing at the sight of him.

“Who are you?” the guy asked, scrunching his nose and not meeting Eddie’s eyes.

He felt his hackles rise, venom building in his throat and ready to spit. He wasn’t expecting this on a Saturday on his friend’s doorstep, but he guessed this was the kind of town where you just couldn’t wear your battle vest in peace anywhere. His upper lip twitched ready to form a snarl, when suddenly the guy's features softened, a spark of recognition lighting up his eyes.

“Wait. Let me guess. Eddie?”

Eddie faltered, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. He frowned.

“Yeah?”

The guy's face warmed up with a smile, and Eddie was not ready for that kind of emotional rollercoaster this early in the morning.

“Dustin’s stories do not do you justice,” he says for some reason, eyeing him again. Eddie wants to shrivel up and hide. What the fuck was happening. “He’s waiting for you in the kitchen,” he said, stepping to the side to invite him in. “I have to go to work, so you two be good, okay?” he says before waving a cheery goodbye and closing the door, disappearing just as abruptly as he showed up in front of Eddie. The inside of the house suddenly seemed dull.

Another ray of sunshine peeked from the kitchen, toothy grin and hazelnut curls.

“So you’ve met Steve!” Dustin grinned in place of a greeting.

Eddie gawked at him.

“That,” he pointed at the closed door. The sound of a car leaving the curb tickled his ears. “Was Steve?!”

“The adopted brother Steve? The Star Wars fan Steve? The badass older brother Steve?”

“Yes, all that,” Dustin nodded enthusiastically.

“I thought he was, like, 16!” Eddie flailed and it sounded like a petulant whine even to his ears. He winced.

Dustin frowned at him like he was being stupid. Eddie didn’t like that gaze, but unfortunately at this point, he was getting used to it. His younger friend leaned on the kitchen door frame watching Eddie toe off his shoes.

“He’s 19. What gave you that impression?”

Eddie frowned at his scuffed Reeboks. He nudged them with his toe to line up, looking for an answer.

“The adopted part, I think? He’s almost an adult, who adopts that old?”

He knew he had said the wrong thing as soon as he said it. He looked up at Dustin, whose face twisted uncomfortably.

“Shit, sorry man. I didn’t mean-”

Dusting clicked his tongue impatiently, interrupting him.

“It’s fine. This is an unconventional arrangement,” he said in that way when you heard something repeatedly. “I can tell you more, but after we make that character sheet, okay?”

Eddie nodded, eager to abandon his social faux pas. The Henderson’s were an unconventional unit, and that’s what he loved about them, at least from the stories Dustin shared. The guy was a little freak, just like Eddie, so it checked out his family was just as unconventional. So was Eddie’s after all.

The parallels made him warm up inside, the familiar need to protect his younger friends flaring up.

“Deal,” he nodded, following his friend inside the kitchen, where notebooks and DnD manuals already littered the table.

A couple of hours, two coffees and an unsolved argument about the intricacies of multiclassing later, they decided to take a break and Eddie could finally feast his eyes on the family photos on display. He stood in front of the newest one standing front and centre on the mantle. Steve was smiling shyly to the camera while Claudia Henderson had her arms around his shoulders and Dustin was grinning wide from his other side, hair ruffled by the older boy's hand.

“How long he has been living here?”

Dustin’s head popped out of the kitchen where he was rummaging for snacks.

“About a year. Remember the Starcourt fire?”

“Yeah?” Eddie frowned, taken aback by the seemingly unrelated question.

“Well, he’s been there and-” the boy frowned, fully stepping into the living room and crossing his arms. “Shit, Mom says I shouldn’t be babbling it around. That it’s Steve's story to tell.”

Eddie hummed, cocking his head.

“Your mom is very smart.”

Dustin unwrapped his arms, clenching his hands together.

“I guess I could tell you I mean who are you gonna tell? You just-”

Eddie raised both his hands, stopping him.

“Dude, he interrupted with all the disapproval his drug dealing nonconformist self could muster. “She’s right and that would be breaking your brother’s trust.”

“Uh. Yeah,” Dustin gulped, looking adequately ashamed at proposing the idea. “You’re right., he nodded.

This lasted about half a second because nobody could stop Henderson from being an egocentric know-it-all and since he was wrong he was now going to overcompensate for it. Of that, Eddie could be sure.

“We can go to his workplace and you could ask him!”

Eddie raised his hands again.

“Hold your horses Henderson, we’re not harassing your brother at work.” The boy was actually pouting, the little shit. “I am not that determined to hear it. I’ll just catch him another time I visit.”

That was the wrong thing to say because he wasn’t planning on being a recurring guest initially. Or maybe it was the right thing to say since Dustin positively beamed at the implication.

Maybe it was because the kid’s presence has been a good influence on him as well.

Also, while the story of Steve’s adoption didn’t seem that interesting before, the idea of a mall fire being somehow involved raised questions that were now itching the back of Eddie’s tongue. He had to ask them at some point.

*

“There’s this guy,” Eddie starts one day during lunch break. 

“Oh-ho,” Gareth murmurs with disdain, the crumbs from his sandwich falling from his lips.

“Not like that,” Eddie glowered at him, slapping against his arm. Even though it was kinda like that. “He’s picking up Henderson after Hellfire today and if we run into him, I want you guys to be civil.”

“We’re always civil,” Jeff frowns at Eddie’s backhanded accusations.

“Yeah, especially when you guys are mooning after Mrs. Wheeler.”

The comment raised a wave of loud protests from his friends.

“I am just saying-”

“You’re just saying that guy is hot and we shouldn’t ogle him?” Gareth, the worst friend he has, raised his eyebrow.

“No, I’m just-”

“You calling dibs, Munson?” John the Traitor, the Backstabber, joined in. Johned in, if you will.

‘No!” Eddie protested, maybe a little too loud. A couple of heads turned but when they saw the ruckus was coming from the freaks table, they quickly lost interest. “He’s the worst. A hunk of jock with stupid hair but!” He rose a finger. “He’s Henderson’s family. And what do we do with family members in Hellfire?”

“Lure in.”

“Lull into a fake sense of security.”

“Cast charm person.”

“Exactly,” he smirked, pointing his finger at each of them in approval. “This case is no different.”

“It feels different,” Gareth murmured under his breath, earning himself another smack on the shoulder.

*

Eddie wrapped up the session and was giving out experience points to his players when a soft knock interrupted his counting. He frowned at the door.

“Speak ‘friend’ and enter!” he hollered to his sheep’s utter glee. He grinned at them.

Dead silence was all the response he got, so he assumed whatever normie was bugging them got discouraged. But then, Henderson was turning around in his seat, yelling at the door.

“It’s from Lord of the Rings! You know this one!”

There was a shuffle on the other side where apparently, Steve came already to pick up his brother.

“Oh! Um… Melon? Was that it?”

“You may enter!” Eddie commanded with a grin straining at his cheeks. Dustin was doing a good job educating his jock brother, apparently. 

The guy pushed the door open, taking in the table full of teenagers. He waved hesitantly.

“You guys finishing up?”

“I’m handing out points, we need just a few minutes,” Eddie waved his hand. “And it’s Mellon.”

Steve frowned.

“That’s what I said.”

“Sure you did,” Eddie cocked his head condescendingly, ignoring the eyes of Corroded Coffin members staring at him. “Now sit and wait,” he gratuitously offered, snapping his fingers and pointing at a nearby bench, like Henderson’s older brother was some kind of dog.

To his surprise, he nodded shortly and obeyed, sitting down and watching him expectantly. Eddie took it as his cue to proceed. He coughed to gather his sheep's attention and went back to his meticulous calculations.

*

“That didn’t look like Charm Person to me,” Gareth hissed as soon as the younger members of Hellfire had left.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Eddie scrunched his eyebrows, throwing him a look while he stuffed his campaign notes into his bag.

“You told us to be nice, but you ordered him around like he was one of the kids,” Jeff pointed out, arms crossing.

“I did not”

“You totally did.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed as he straightened up.

“What is this? Mutiny? Among my own kin? Ungrateful little herd I had nurtured on my own breast-”

He was interrupted by a cacophony of grossed out noises.

“Spare us the imagery, please.”

Eddie huffed indignantly, closing his bag.

“Then quit yapping. It was a singular lapse of judgement on my part,” he said with finality, throwing his bag over his shoulder. Without looking back, he walked off, hand raised in a goodbye, “Toodles, bitches.”

And he was gone.

Gareth sighed.

“Man, I love Eddie, but sometimes…” John cut himself off, shaking his head. 

“Yeah.”

*

Eddie’s been on the fence about it for some time now. But the time was ticking and he did say more than once that ‘86 was gonna be his year, so maybe it was time to pocket his ego and make some calls.

Some very, very humiliating calls.

Sighing deeply he imagined himself going to the woods and digging up a deep hole. There he imaginary buried his pride, made a fancy map to find it later, hopefully in time for his graduation, and finally dragged himself back home and in front of his phone. Next to it, he tacked on a list of numbers of all his newest sheepies in case of emergencies. Like Hellfire scheduling.

He sighed once more, slumping dramatically before dialling the first of the numbers. As he listened to the dial tone, he squared his shoulders, decided a more confident pose was in order. He was now a man of action, taking his fate in his own hands. His pride was buried deeply in the darkest corners of the forest and only a courageous-

“Har- Henderson residence, this is Steve speaking.”

Eddie’s mind went blank, completely thrown off. Who was he calling again? What for?

“Hello?”

“Is this how you pick up the phone? Did I get the wrong house? Is this the British Queen?”

“... Eddie? Is that you?”

Busted.

“What gave me away?”

“Ah, only the dramatic nonsensical ramblings.” Steve answered, amusement in his voice. 

“Thank you, I pride myself in those.” No pride! Pride is buried deep in the putrid soil of a forgotten battlefield! “But I’m here for the superior Henderson, please and thank you.” Ah yes, the Charm Person again. Somebody could think Eddie buried his Charisma along with the pride.

“Sorry, Claudia is at work right now.”

Eddie scrunched his nose, confused, the gleeful tilt to the voice in his ear irking him. Then he remembered the mom. A staple in most households.

“Har, har, Steven. The smart one.”

“Please never call him that to his face,” the man said with a resigned sigh.

“There wouldn’t be enough space in the room for both our egos if I did.”

Steve laughed then, softly and genuinely, before calling out for his younger brother.

After a loud rattle, Dustin’s lispy voice finally reached Eddie’s trailer.

“What's up?”  

The man braced himself for what he was about to request.

“I need your help with an assignment.”

*

The door opened before he could even knock. Again.

“I thought I told you not to inflate his ego.”

“No, you told me not to call him smart. It is merely a by-product of my desperate attempts at graduating,” Eddie shrugged matter-of-factly. “Besides, I don’t respond to the likes of you.” He punctuated his words by seizing the guy up before brushing past him inside the Henderson’s house.

“The likes of- Excuse me?!”

Eddie was skipping towards Dustin’s room.

“Hey big guy I’m here for my tutoring!” he announced himself, standing in the open door to his friend’s room, who quickly beckons him inside. Steve’s heavy steps follow and soon he’s the one standing in the door frame, arms crossed, while Eddie bounces on Dustin’s bed.

“What do you mean the likes of me?” he asks, almost pouting. 

“Mainstream,” offered Dustin, shuffling through stuff on his desk.

“Jocks,” added Eddie, still bouncing with glee, hair following up and down.

“Normies.”

“Pop listeners.”

“Mom friends.”

“Conformists.”

“Okay, I get it!” Steve threw his hands in the air, stopping the list that probably wouldn’t come to an end otherwise. “You’re the cool guys, have fun having your cool stuff,” he huffed angrily, grabbing the doorknob. Before he closed the door he threw one seething glance at Dustin. “Do not. Ask me for snacks,” he hissed before slamming the door shut.

Eddie flipped back on the bed, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Man, your brother is so easy to rile up,” he chuckled gleefully.

“Right?! He’s so bitchy,” Dusting turned around towards him, signature smile in place. Eddie hollered.

“He is!”

Alas, a slap of palms interrupted his delightful trashing around.

“I believe we have some physics to cover?”

Eddie groaned. Right. He didn’t come here to bother the older Henderson. Booo.

[Steddie masterpost] [Ao3] [ko-fi]

[inkyrainstorms]

The Martian Stan AU - The Beginning

“Is that it?” Stan asked, his voice burning and rising like the coming tide, vicious and overwhelming and inevitable. Ford’s shoulders tightened involuntarily, and he threw his brother as scathing of a glare as he could manage. Couldn’t Stan see that this, Ford’s problems, were important? “You call me all the way here after ten years, just to tell me to get as far away from you as possible?!”

If Ford was any less exhausted, if the hole in his left hand and the hole in his heart  were any less gaping, and the fresh scrapes and cracked fingernails ached any less, he might’ve taken a step back to apologize. To explain that it wasn’t about what Ford wanted, or what Stan wanted. It was about stopping Bill, and saving the world.

If Ford were a different man, he’d reconsider his approach and find a way to fix the chasm that seemed to yawn wider with every word that came out of each of their mouths. But as it was, Ford was not a different man. He couldn’t even fix himself.

So Ford instead felt indignation sting like hot coals in his gut and urge him to step forward, closer to Stanley. His brother took an involuntary half-step back. “Stanley, you don’t understand what I’ve been through!”

“What you’ve been through!” Stan kept talking even as Ford pushed past him, fury etched onto every word like a brand. “No, no, you don’t understand what I’ve been through! I’ve been to prison in three countries, and I once had to chew my way out of the trunk of a car!”

He got up in Fords face when Ford turned back, his brows drawn low and finger jabbing into Ford’s abdomen. He didn’t realize it, because of course he didn’t, but he’d pressed right into one of the bruises on Fords ribcage from his trip down the stairs earlier that day. Ford grit his teeth and glared back.

“You think you’ve got problems? I’ve got a mullet Stanford!”

Why couldn’t Stan take Fords problems seriously? Was he really cracking jokes at a time like this? 

Ford couldn’t take it anymore. 

Oblivious to the dangerous precipice Fords stability had drawn close to,  Stan got bitterly sarcastic. “Meanwhile where have you been? Holed up in your fancy house in the woods and living it up, selfishly hoarding all—“

Ford went still. If he’d been a slightly different man, a slightly more composed man, perhaps, he’d have fired back another jab at his twin, because how could the man that ruined Fords life and betrayed his complete and total trust call him selfish?

There was a different voice, at a different time altogether too recent and a lifetime ago. His monstrous Muse, his most trusted friend, taking his body on a fucking joyride and then having the gall to look him in the eyes and say “YOU’RE PRETTY SELFISH IQ”. 

Ford had just kept on weeping blood. 

As it was, Stan didn’t get a chance to finish his rant. He was much too busy receiving a solid punch to the face and staggering back against the force of it. For a moment, all was quiet. Ford was shaking, he realized distantly, staring blankly at his brother. His knuckles stung from the impact.

Stan took more time to recover than Ford would’ve thought, but when he finally did, it was with a new layer of dark fury that Ford hadn’t ever seen from him before. Stan lowered the book from where he’d clenched it to his chest, and pulled out a lighter. “Fine.” He whispered roughly, though it echoed in the cavernous room anyway. Louder, then, “Fine! You want me to get rid of it so bad? I’ll get rid of it right now!”

A challenging fire burned in Stan’s eyes, and with a flick, it burned in his right hand too. Ford’s journal dangled above the hungry, all consuming light. 

Ford couldn’t breathe. Every piece of himself he’d had to let go of, that he’d lost to Bill and all that he was giving up to rectify his own mistakes, all to see Stan get rid of part of his life’s work right before his eyes. 

How dare he.

Ford let out a guttural shout and lunged for the book. Stanley, evidently not expecting this, stumbled back and tried to move the lighter before Ford and him could get burned from it in the tussle.

He only partly succeeded. Ford hissed at the momentary new pain shooting up the underside of his hand as he tried to grab for the book and Stan flat out dropped the lighter in response. His brother faltered for a split second, his brow creasing. 

“Sixer, I—“

Ford didn’t let him finish. The second he heard the nickname, some part of him blanked out entirely, and the buzzing in his ears sounded like an angry hornet in his skull. “Don’t,” he grit out, and he’s sure his voice was much too thick and angry and he wasn’t being rational but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Call me that!” 

When Ford lunged for the journal anew, he tackled Stan to the ground as his brother instinctively tightened his own grip on the book. Ford’s book.

“Why not?!” Stan cried out, trying to pry Ford off of him and only succeeding in rolling the two on the ground away from the portal. Ford couldn’t figure out if he sounded more hurt or concerned. The hurricane in his chest kept him from thinking on it too much.

Ford let out a wordless grunt in response, as the two of them, having grappled up to stand, slammed straight through the door and Stan tried to pin him down onto one of the control panels, before Ford managed to gain enough momentum to roll Stan off of him. They were throwing punches and shouting insults they probably didn’t mean, and after a minute long struggle where they surely broke every damn thing in that control room —and good riddance, Ford tried to think but he was too tired to think much at all— Stan had shouted with all the ferocious desperation of a drowning man, “why can’t you listen to me, damnit! You ruined my life!”

Ford had retorted, because of course he did, with “You ruined your own life!” as he finally got a good grip on the book and kicked Stan away with enough force to shove him against the side of one of the control panels. 

Stan’s scream was abrupt and guttural and horrifying. It cut through the haze in Fords mind with all the precision of a scalpel, dropping a rock of dread into his gut. Ford backed away as quickly as he could, and didn’t even register his journal slipping through his slack fingers to land facedown on the ground. He felt sick.

“Stanley! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” 

For a few, horrible, horrible seconds, Stan laid there, slumped and unmoving from where he’d hunched onto the floor. The burn— the brand on his shoulder looked angry and hot against his skin. It had burned clean through his coat and shirt.

Ford took a few hurried steps closer, shaking so hard he could barely walk, when Stan groaned. “Stanley…” he started, but trailed off as Stan pulled himself to his feet. His eyes were darker than Ford had ever seen them before. Stan was shaking too.

“You really want your dumb mysteries that bad?”

And Ford wanted to say, no, no he didn’t, because Stan still held his shoulder stiff as he could and his grip was knuckle-white where he’d used it to brace his arm against his side, because Ford had branded his own twin.

But the words stuck in his throat, because he realized with a start that Stan and him weren’t the ones shaking. The room was. His eyes shot to the portal.

His magnum opus and his curse, his Dadaleus’s Labyrinth, was activating. 

A sudden movement from Stan snapped Fords attention back to his injured, angry brother. Ford took a few cautious steps out of the control room and held up his hands placatingly as Stan advanced. His brother was blocking the doorway, but Ford needed to get in there, he needed to activate the shutdown procedure. “Stan, please,” he said weakly, not sure what exactly he meant. Let me through? Wait? Let me help you?

He didn’t get the chance to find out, though, because Stan continued talking, hefting up the journal he’d evidently picked up from the floor while Ford was distracted. “Well you can have ‘em” Stan said viciously, and Ford could hear the pain in it clear as day as he moved to shove the book into Ford’s hands.

Ford dodged Stan attempt, careful to not touch Stan’s injured shoulder, and weaved around him. “Stan, please, wait.”

Stan laughed, turning around. His grin looked painful. “I’m tired of waiting, Si— Stanford. I really am.”

Ford didn’t have time for this. His heart ached in ways Ford didn’t have the time to decipher as the humming in the room got louder, and he turned to move back to the control room. “Just a moment, Stanley, I just need—“

When Stan latched onto his arm and tried to whirl Ford back around, Ford reacted on pure instinct and deep seated paranoia, that kind that can only be born from aftermath of pure devastation. He followed the momentum and shoved Stan back as hard as he could, turning and sprinting to the control room before Stan could recover and try to stop him again.

“Stanford?”

He never got there. Stan’s voice, suddenly small and scared, ground Ford’s pace to a halt. The humming was louder now, reverberating through his chest. 

“Ford, what’s happening?”

For a terrible moment, Ford didn’t turn around. He just stared at the door of the control room as if he could stop time if he tried hard enough. He didn’t want to see. Seeing made it real. It meant his worst fears had become true, it justified the cold sinking in his chest. 

“Ford!”

Ford whirled around and let out a hoarse cry. There Stanley was, greasy hair floating in a halo around his face, one hand outstretched and the other holding Ford’s journal tight to his chest. Ford had pushed him over the danger line.

The look on his twins face was worse than Ford could’ve ever imagined. 

The anger had drained out of him, the closer he floated to the all consuming blue light of the portal. The was naked terror in his eyes, and he cried out for Ford again.

“Stanley! Hold on, please!” Ford said, before making another break for the control room.

He needed to shut it off right this instant.

“Hold onto what, brainiac!?”

“I don’t know, Stanley! Anything within reach, just don’t let yourself go through the portal.”

Ford input the shut down code. He input it again. He then realized that they’d knocked the cords out of alignment and frantically began adjusting them from where they were wired into the top of the control panel. Shit, they really broke everything in this room, didn’t they?

The third time he input the code, the light flashed green, and the keys made themselves known on a panel adjacent to Ford’s position by the window.

Three keys. Of course. Why did he have to make it three keys, all turned simultaneously?

Metal screeched in the portal room, and when Ford dared to glance up between trying to maneuver himself to turn all three keys, a jolt of horror swept through him and nearly knocked him off his feet. 

Stan has nearly entirely consumed by the light now, clawing at the edge of the portal he’d managed to reach. Ford cursed himself when he realized that the metal plate Stan was holding, as well as  over a dozen others, were loosening to the point of nearly falling off entirely from the main frame. The other objects he’d scattered across the floor of his lab, everything from basic tools like screwdrivers to bigger machine parts floated through the portal at increasingly high speeds.

Ford wouldn’t need to do anything, he realized, and it wasn’t the comfort he wished it was. The portal was destabilizing. Judging by the erratic pulsing the portal light was doing, it’d be closing soon.

Ford ran out of the control room and stopped short just as Stan locked eyes with him again. 

“Stanley!” he called, another desperate idea beginning to form in his panic addled mind as he scanned the room for spare rope and found none. The spare rope from the first portal test must’ve gotten caught in the portals expanding gravitational pull. His brother was barely a shadow in the light now, but Ford knew Stanley had heard him. “If you toss me the journal, I can—“

“The journal?” Stan gasped out, frenzied. “Is that still all you care about!?”

“No, no, if I just had the instructions, I could fix—“ this, fix everything. 

The screeching of metal and thundering of the portal reached a deafening crescendo, and Ford could see Stan open his mouth to interrupt, to say something, assent or argument or—

But Ford didn’t get to find out what Stan would’ve said. A particularly violent jolt shook the metal frame of the portal, and Stan, with a wide-eyed final look that Ford didn’t know how to decipher, slipped.

His brother disappeared into the light just as the portal collapsed in on itself with enough concussive force to send Ford crashing to the ground. He slammed onto his back hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.

Silence fell over the room. It was dark.

Ford stared at the ceiling above him, then dragged his eyes, slowly, painfully, to the portal. 

The deactivated, half missing and half obliterated portal.

For a long, long time, Ford sat in the dark under the full weight of every bruise and scratch and burn he’d sustained, and it was like he was underwater, head swimming with nausea and pain and bewilderment. He was numb. 

A faint plip-plop sound echoed suddenly through the deathly silent basement, and Ford squinted at the sound through his crooked glasses, trying to identify the source. 

A dark substance stained the edge of the portal, right where Stan had been holding on. Ford watched blankly as the liquid slowly rolled along the curve of the portal entrance, before reached a jagged gap in the perfect circle and slipping through. It slid down the jagged and crumpled panels, weaving until it gathered at the tip of a particularly jutting sheet of metal. 

Another drip.

Another.

Ford shifted closer, simply trying to breathe. He pointedly didn’t think about how the other side of the portal had driven Fiddleford to seemingly the brink of madness in moments, he didn’t think about the glimpse into the Nightmare Realm Bill had given him when he first revealed his true hand, and he certainly didn’t think about the final look Stanley had given him, grief and rage and betrayal all rolled into one.

He finally got close enough to see the liquid for what it was. It wasn’t oil, like he’d figured, like he’d hoped and prayed with every inhale and exhale to the gods he didn’t believe in. It was too thick, congealing with familiar splatters on the floor. It was a deep crimson.

Stan must have cut his hand on the metal with how hard he’d been holding it, Ford realized, and the thoughts were the first crack in the dam Ford had buried himself beneath. This was Stan’s blood.

Stan was in the Nightmare Realm, bleeding from one hand and burned on the other shoulder and begging for Ford to do something, asking Ford what was happening because he didn’t know, because Ford didn’t tell him, and—  

It was all Fords fault.

All of it.

Oh Moses.

The dam creaked with warning, a death rattle and a laugh rolled into one, before Ford was swept into the undertow.

Ford had killed his own brother.

All alone in the dark basement with the machine he’d turned into his brother’s grave, Ford buried his burnt, bloody hands in his hair and bowed his head until it hit his knees. All alone, Stanford Pines cried for the first time in years.

Alternate Titles: The Worst Conversation Ever

Or: Ford started disassembling the portal early and everything went to shit accordingly.

Tags! @aroace-get-out-of-my-face @pleasantartisanhottea @empressofsamoyeds @littlelilliana15 @pinefamilycatsau @thejaxindianrizzler (I saw your comment in the og post and it made me laugh cause I was in the middle of working on this when I noticed it) (I hope you don’t mind the tag :))

if I missed anyone I’m sorry about that! The tag is always a fair option to follow too (#martian Stan au)

[kevindavidday]

You Give Love a Bad Name: Chapter One

Playlist

[wickjump]

im gonna start posting fanfic recs btw whenever i find good ones. both here and my (awfully barren) 18+ account. because there are so many good fics out there with so few hits and fewer kudos and sometimes no comments period and it SUCKS because i REALLY LIKE THEM A LOT.. and i hope that by linking them here and yelling at everyone to COMMENT DAMMIT they might actually do it

seriously though any comment means a lot. most people who read a fic don’t even give a kudos. even if the fic wasn’t top tier, if you didn’t dislike it, hand over some kudos!! and if you liked it, comment!!!! even if the comment is one singular heart emoji it will be appreciated. if the comment just says “great fic!” the author will be happy. your comment doesn’t have to be this long winded gushing or analysis.

so many authors quit writing or lose motivation because the comments are few and far in between or just sometimes nonexistent. trust me when i say authors don’t care about how long or cool or smart sounding your comment is i promise!!!

i hope that mmmaybe recommending fics and telling people to comment might help fics i really like get more support maybe. and i, points at you reading this, hope that you will listen!!!at least a little….at least sum kudos….

[starch1ldz]

Wolfdog: I will kill them.

Hotch, sighing and taking him by his shoulders, pushing gently to lead wolfdog away: You will not kill anyone, you will sit down and have a cup of coffee and a muffin.

Wolfdog muttering: I don't want your stupid muffin

(But he follows along anyway because what else would he do?)

[bakingpotat0s]

problem: i need to write

solution: i write

problem: i can't take myself seriously when doing an outline

solution: ...

anyways, should i share little tidbits of a jayvik fic i'm working on as i work through it?

[ezziemagpie]

Fanfic authors, please, I implore you, from one writer to another, DO NOT DELETE YOUR WORKS. Change the account ownership, make a different pseud to put it under, anonymise or orphan them, it doesn't matter, just please, please, PLEASE, do not delete them. Please. Even if you think they're badly written, or out of character, or a decade old, or 'cringe', or whatever, there will be some poor schmuck out there who loves what you've written and will cry over its deletion because they forgot to download it. - Sincerely, some poor schmuck who loves what someone wrote and has spent the last ten hours trying to track it down because he forgot to download it.

[bernardellinewsagency]

short neuvifuri angst idea

"Oh, did you enjoy the script that she wrote? Did you like the role that you were cast as? I hope you were happy in those five hundred years, Neuvillette, because I never was!"

Furina storms off after pushing him, leaving him drenched to the bone and sitting awkwardly in the waters of the Fountain of Lucine with naught to do but contemplate his long lasting memories. Remembering the way she would smile is an easy endeavor. Furina always looked sincere when smiling; perhaps he wasn't looking hard enough, but surely even fleeting moments between just the two of them had to have brought her some amount of happiness, as small as it may be.

He thinks of one long ago night, during the third century of her reign. Actually, right on the cusp of the new milestone, he recalls the Palais had been eerily silent after wrapping up a week of festivities held in Furina's honor. The people of Fontaine were still celebrating, and would be doing so until the early hours of the morning, but all was still within the Palais. Except for them, that is. She had supposedly retired to her bedchambers, and him to his office, yet the two had bumped into each other within the kitchen.

"Let's go to the Opera," she had told him, in lieu of answering when he asked what she was doing. He supposes that the flecks of pastry crumbs on her clothes answered that, and he didn't ask other questions such as why she wanted to go to the Opera. He followed her as willingly as if she had simply asked for the time.

(Their whole relationship had been like that, hadn't it? A duty that extended beyond just an Archon and her Iudex. He once heard the Traveler mention a sea of flowers at the end of the world, and should Furina declare that she would like to see such a sight, he would tear down Celestia just to make it happen.)

Furina had packed a basket of food to bring, and two bottles of wine to go with. Then they partook perhaps more than they should've, and perhaps he should've questioned if Archons can get drunk, or if a Sovereign should be getting drunk with one. He definitely should have stopped her from going into the storerooms of the Epiclese and procuring even more for them. The memories start to get a little hazy after that, but he can vaguely recall a remark she made about the location not being the best choice, and that she wanted to get away from something. He can't recall who made the decision to go up, and have him help carry her as they climb to the roof, but suspects it was still her doing.

As clear as day, though, he can remember her smile, bathed in the light of the slowly rising sun as it crested over the waters of her dominion. Out of every beautiful sight in Fontaine, she is the one he gets to appreciate most often, but never before in a light like this. He could gaze at that moment for another hundred years and never tire of it. "Dragon of the waters," she had called him, "might you allow an Archon to call you theirs?"

Should she have asked him that at the start of her reign, should they have been in a similar situation, the answer would be clear. He might have even wondered, with the walls of the Court to block them from their peoples' sights, if an Archon so in love with her people would fall like one if he shoved her. But they were not in the past, and he already knew by then that he had come to love her, and thus his answer was "I was under the belief that I already was yours, Lady Furina, both within my capacity as your Chief Justice and without. The people of Fontaine adore you, yet it is my love for you that truly knows no bounds. Nothing would make me happier than to be yours."

"They do, don't they," she had whispered, a note he almost lost to time with how he just barely could hear her. "Promise me this, Neuvillette, if you wish to be mine- promise you will never stray from your duties to Fontaine, and you will always, always, do what is best for her people."

"I will."

"And promise that you will stay by my side forever, then, for another three centuries and beyond that, even if you grow tired of me!"

"Of course, Furina, is... is something the matter?"

It was the first time he had seen her come close to crying, droplets of tears clumping her eyelashes together yet disappearing as she blinked, "Oh, you silly dragon, only the fact that you make me ever so happy."

Leaving the warmth of the memory behind, Neuvillette returns to the cold of an overcast sky dripping with sleet, as a blue silhouette leaves him behind and disappears into the cloudy distance.

[lovclyboncs]

Just got off work and was ready to read on ao3 just to get the error page 😭

[cryptidliraz]

Okay hear me out-

Maribat.

WAIT DON’T LEAVE YET!

Listen I thought it was weird ship. I did! Didn’t see it at all. HEAR ME OUT THOUGH!!! Read ONE fic. Read one of the long ones. Cause I did, and it was the funniest, cutest, lovely crackfilled crossover fics that I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading and I don’t remember the name but it led me down a rabbit hole that I didn’t come out of for like three days.

[i-may-be-an-emu]

200 FICS ON THE MASTERLIST!!!!! 🥳

I’m so proud of this fandom amazing work everyone

[imari4444]

Shoutout to M (Anya) for taking one look at Durins tragic ending and deciding to just write a fix-it AU (so real: she’s just like all of us, idk if I’m the only one who made the connection that she bacicly said ‘I don’t like it’ and made a Fanfiction )

[yourlokalescholar]

Okay so I posted this on Ao3 ages ago but completely forgot I meant to upload here so uh… better late than never?

Anyway this is the first part of my roleswap au :D Working on part two now; I’ll upload it here once it’s done, but there are two chapters on my Ao3 already if anyone wants to check it out!

[acacia-may]

First (A Black Clover Fic)

Kaiser Granvorka is a quiet man, a humble man, a man who doesn’t take risks. Until one day, he takes the biggest risk of all—to accept the first commoner into the Magic Knights.

Kaiser Granvorka & Zara Ideale Friendship. (Also features Kaiser Granvorka/His Wife and Wholesome Parent-Child Relationships Zara & Zora Ideale and Kaiser & Billie (OC) Granvorka)

Rated T for heavy themes and angst. Warnings for death, grief, and heavy themes (Please mind the AO3 tags).

A/N: A quick shoutout and many thanks to my friend & Zora-enthusiast, @f-oighear Strangely enough I think reading your amazing Grossberg Law Offices fic somehow broke my writer's block and inspired me to write this despite it being from a totally different fandom so I wanted to say thank you! 💜 Also Marv and Kaiser friendship crossover when??

Link to the work on AO3

3,493 Words. Full Fic Text Below the Cut. Thank you for reading!

“Examinee 129, please step forward.”

There was a derisive snicker barely masked by a half-cough to Kaiser’s left. He didn’t turn to see whose it was though he heard his vice-captain huff. She turned her head, no doubt to glare daggers at whoever it was.

Kaiser sighed. Maris had much less patience for the haughty, pretentious, and often patronizing attitudes of many of the Magic Knights and much less restraint in expressing her disapproval of such behavior. He could almost hear her now: You don’t have to raise your hand for every applicant, but you don’t have to be rude and maliciously superior about it.

While Kaiser agreed with her, he did not see the point in expressing his own displeasure, especially at a Magic Knights�� Entrance Exam which he believed merited a certain level of decorum. Besides, a glare from him wasn’t going to change anything. In Kaiser’s opinion, it was much better and more effective to lead by example—show respect to everyone: royal, noble, or commoner.

Kaiser sighed again. It seemed this opinion was grossly unpopular.

As Examinee 129 stepped forward, there were even more condescending sniffs and snorts from both the Magic Knight gallery and the other entrance exam applicants. Maris huffed again, crossing her arms, but she turned towards the examinee and offered him a sympathetic smile. She no doubt recognized him. Kaiser did himself, after all. He was pretty hard to forget: tall, muscular, with unruly, bright red hair, and a beaming smile and most memorable of all, the fact he was a commoner who had participated in over a decade of Magic Knights Entrance Exams.

Kaiser had to admit the man’s fortitude was admirable. No matter how many times he pushed himself to his limit in the entrance exam and stood before the Magic Knight captains only to be rejected, he still returned year after year having improved and grown stronger. Truthfully, this had been his best year yet—the first time he had been won his duel. Kaiser supposed he had had a type advantage which contributed to his victory, but still…a commoner besting a noble at all was practically unheard of and, as far as he knew, a first in the entire history of the Magic Knights.

The examinee should be proud of such an accomplishment, and as he raised his head towards the captains’ gallery and smiled, it appeared he was. Kaiser’s mouth twitched in its corners, a subtle sign of his approval before the examination arena grew silent as they awaited what was likely to be yet another announcement of “no hands.”

Despite Examinee 129’s feat, the truth was he still lacked the magical prowess of the majority of the other applicants, many of whom had already been rejected from the Magic Knights’ selection. Even if Kaiser’s fellow captains hadn’t prejudicially ruled him out simply for being a peasant, they likely would have rejected him anyway for his abilities alone or out of the fear that his potential would eventual plateau far earlier than a knight with a strong, magical pedigree and more training. It was unfair, but the fact of the matter was that a Magic Knight squad simply could not take everyone and no Magic Knight squad had ever taken a commoner. It was too much of a risk. There was no telling if this examinee would even have what it takes to be a Magic Knight.

Kaiser felt a hand gripping his shoulder. He looked up at Maris who was still standing at his side. Tilting her head, she pushed a piece of scraggly, dark hair out of her face and quirked an eyebrow at him. Her blue eyes narrowed, and Kaiser fidgeted, suddenly, and somewhat irrationally, concerned that she could somehow read his mind. He could almost hear her again—countering his reservations: There’s more to being a Magic Knight than just raw power, and he has something no one else here has.

He couldn’t argue with her, especially when she was right. He let out a conciliatory sigh, and Maris’ mouth twitched into a triumphant smirk. Still, he shook his head. Even if this examinee’s heart and fortitude were without equal amongst his peers, it would still be a risk to select him for their squad, and Kaiser was a quiet, humble man. He was not one to take such risks—to rock the boat, to do what had never been done before.

Surely, Maris knew this. Even if she was not like him—was bold, fearless, and unafraid of risks—she had to at least understand that not every risk could be taken. There was something to be said for prudence, for thoughtfulness, for planning.

The expression in his eyes tried to compromise with her. Perhaps, next year after the examinee had trained a little more and become even stronger and Kaiser himself could work up the courage to do something so radical and revolutionary…

His thoughts were abruptly cut off as he felt Maris’ grip tighten on his shoulder. Somehow this gesture said louder than any words: “You know it’s the right thing to do. Raise your hand or I’ll never forgive you.”

Kaiser sighed. He felt her ultimatum was a bit over the top, but she was nothing if not relentless. Her grip tightened even more—her long fingernails digging into his shoulder blade until she finally felt his arm move.

Immediately, the examination arena filled with shocked gasps and appalled whisperings. Even Examinee 129 looked utterly flabbergasted—blinking at Kaiser’s raised hand until the exam moderator eventually, somewhat perplexedly stumbled his way through “The…uh…Purple Orcas?” He didn’t sound sure about that—a fact which seemed to make Maris chuckle or perhaps it was just that she was pleased.

When there was no correction, Kaiser heard a gasp from his left. He knew better than to look at the probably confused and possibly horrified faces of his fellow Magic Knight captains. Instead he met the eyes of Examinee 129. He looked relieved, proud, and grateful beyond words, and when he beamed at him, Kaiser smiled back at him: the first commoner to become a Magic Knight.

At the end of the exam, Kaiser tried his best to quickly and quietly exit the examination arena without drawing too much attention to himself. He was sure the other captains would have a lot to say about his decision to allow a commoner to join the Magic Knights for the very first time ever, but he didn’t care to hear it. There was nothing he could say to help them understand his reasoning anyway. It was a risk—and one that drew far too much attention to himself than the humble Kaiser would have wanted—but with any luck, his new recruit would prove that it was one worth taking. With any luck, he would earn the respect of the other Magic Knights by working hard and honing his magical abilities. Only then they would truly see the errors of their narrow-mindedness.

“Captain Granvorka, sir. I’m Zara Ideale.” His new recruit held out his hand to him. It was jittery, shaking a little whether out of excitement or nervousness, or perhaps both, Kaiser couldn’t be entirely sure, but he shook it with a curt nod. “This is such an honor. Thank you for giving me a chance, sir.”

Zara continued to shake his hand exuberantly. Was he ever going to let go? Kaiser wondered.

He sighed, feeling somewhat sheepish. Humbly he admitted, “You really should be thanking my wife.”

“Oh yes, of course, sir.” Zara nodded enthusiastically, but his brow furrowed in confusion before Kaiser tilted his head towards the somewhat smug Maris.

“She’s also your vice-captain.”

Maris waved, but teasingly corrected, “You should’ve led with that. I’ve been your vice-captain far longer than I’ve been your wife.” She chuckled but turned to shake Zara’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Zara. Welcome aboard.”

“Very excited and honored to be here, Ma’am,” replied Zara shaking Maris’s hand even more exuberantly. “Really, it means so much to me to be given this opportunity to serve and protect my kingdom and to prove myself as a Magic Knight.” Somehow his beaming smile grew even wider. “And to show my boy—my son, Zora—that he can do anything he sets his mind to—doesn’t matter where he’s come from.”

Kaiser’s expression softened, and Maris smiled as she said, “You were really extraordinary out there. I’m sure your son would be proud.”

Kaiser nodded in agreement. “Your magic is impressive. Your fortitude and resilience even more so. I think you’ll be an asset to the Magic Knights.”  

Zara beamed at them and finally released Maris’ hand in order to stand at attention and salute them. “Thank you. I promise I won’t let you down!”

*-*-*

He didn’t let them down—not once. Like with most things, Maris was right. Selecting Zara Ideale for their squad quickly proved a risk worth taking. He worked harder than anyone else in the Purple Orcas. He was always the first to volunteer for any mission, trained longer and harder than anyone, and, as Kaiser had suspected at the entrance exam, showed a resilience unlike anyone else on their squad. Even injuries did not stop him. He begged to be released from the infirmary and let back out into the field with broken ribs, sprained joints, twisted ankles, and even a broken arm—a request that Kaiser had promptly rejected. No matter what happened, he was always laughing, always kept an energetic and positive attitude, and, perhaps, most admirable of all, he was willing to risk his life for anyone in need: comrade or civilian—even the ones who were open in their dislike of him and their disapproval of a commoner Magic Knight.

Kaiser knew there was even such discontent on their squad, as they had, of course, expected. He had immediately and matter-of-factly declared that while he respected the right of his subordinates to disagree with his decision to allow a commoner onto their squad, he would not tolerate any in-fighting, friction, or mistreatment of Zara on account of his background and he expected the Purple Orcas to act respectfully and work together as normal. He liked to think that his squad had agreed due to their own character or willingness to grow as people—failing that, out of respect for him as their captain, at least. If Kaiser had to guess, however, it was most likely Maris’ fervent promise to give the boot to anyone who had a problem with that policy and her accompanying fierce scowls that quieted most of the disagreement.

Still, Kaiser was not stupid. He knew that just because it was quiet, didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Luckily and admirably, Zara never let it bother him and tried his best to earn the respect of his fellow squad members. Kaiser liked to think he had succeeded in that, at least a little. After all, there was no uptick in discontent following the retirement of Maris and her death glares. It made Kaiser hopeful that Zara would continue to win over the Orcas and the rest of the Magic Knight squads, even after Kaiser himself was gone.

Truthfully, he had been considering permanent retirement ever since his daughter was born, but it was only a terrible injury that forced him to realize he was no longer in his prime and to confront his mortality.

“Captain, sir. What are you doing out of bed?”

Zara’s exuberant voice pulled Kaiser out of his thoughts. Whipping around to look at him made his dislocated shoulder ache—made him feel old, useless. He stifled a groan of pain.

“It’s alright. I just wanted some fresh air and quiet time to think.”

“What are you thinking about?” Zara asked as he helped him over to a nearby bench in the hospital courtyard.

Kaiser sighed, but his expression softened affectionately as he said, “My wife and daughter.”

Zara smiled himself and laughed lightly as he dug for something in his pocket. “That reminds me—I have a doll for Billie.” He handed Kaiser a little rag doll—a Magic Knight from the looks of it with a shiny cape and long sage-green hair just like his little girl. Kaiser couldn’t help but smile.

“Thank you, Zara. I’m sure she’ll love it, but you really didn’t have to do this.”

“She seemed so upset when she visited you—was really worried and scared,” he explained with a shake of his head. “So I started making her a doll to help distract her. I hadn’t finished it until tonight, but I thought it might help her feel better until you’re all healed up and released. I’m not the most crafty, but my boy, Zora”—he beamed just talking about him—“always liked the doll I made him. It always made him happy or at least made him laugh.”

There was something about the love that Zara had for his son that warmed Kaiser’s heart. He hoped to have that same kind of relationship with his own daughter one day, but…

His face fell and he swallowed hard. He knew he wouldn’t be able to have that if he was never around and was always worrying her by putting himself in harm’s way. And he definitely wouldn’t if he was dead.

“Is something the matter, sir?” asked Zara, and Kaiser sighed heavily. He considered shrugging the whole matter off, but then he remembered how no one had been more excited at Kaiser’s announcement that had become a father than Zara, how Zara always asked after his dear little Wilhelmina or “Billie” as her mother had so affectionately nicknamed her, and how Zara always said that being a father was a greatest gift life had to offer. Surely, he of all people would understand why Kaiser wanted to leave the Magic Knights to spend time with his little girl and be a part of her childhood.

“I think it might be time for me to retire,” he admitted matter-of-factly as his injured shoulder throbbed with pain despite Dr. Owen’s best efforts to put him back together again. “You’re not as spry as you used to be, Kaiser,” he had warned him. “Be careful out there.”

“Because of your injury?” asked Zara, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I thought Dr. Owen said you’d recover.”

“This time,” mumbled Kaiser with a somewhat imbittered nod.

After a pause, he let out a long breath. “It’s selfish,” he admitted, almost guiltily. “But I want to see my little girl grow up.”

Kaiser fidgeted, but something in Zara’s face brought him pause. His expression was so kind—so understanding as he smiled at him.

“That’s noble too,” he said as he leaned back on his hands and glanced up at the starry night sky. “I mean, I love being a Magic Knight—it’s my dream, always has been, but my son”—his voice trailed, grew wistful—“he is the greatest joy of my life and there is nothing better in this world than getting to be his dad.” He beamed but shifted, scratching the back of his neck with a laugh. “I’m not a perfect father, by any means, but all we can do is try our best to be the dads our kids deserve right? And while I might have a lot of regrets about a lot of things, I don’t regret one second I got to spend with him.”

Zara paused and turned to look Kaiser square in the face, right in the eyes. “That time is precious, and I can’t imagine a greater tragedy than a parent who doesn’t get to see their child grow up.”

A bittersweet smile tugged at Kaiser’s lips as he looked away to stare down at the doll Zara had thoughtfully made for his daughter. As strange as it was, he felt relieved—thankful, somehow, to have permission to do what he knew was the right thing even if it was a risk. So it always seemed to be in his life—he needed someone else there, Maris or Zara, to give him that final push in the right direction.

“Thank you,” he said with a nod, thankful for the what had to be the hundredth time that he had taken that risk and let Zara onto his squad—that Zara Ideale, one of the greatest men he had ever had the pleasure to know, was the first commoner ever to become a Magic Knight. He didn’t quite have to the words to say it, but he hoped that he knew that and knew how much his encouragement meant to him.

Whether he did or not, Kaiser couldn’t be sure because, per usual, Zara merely laughed and smiled at him—patting his shoulder, though thankfully his non-injured one. However, there was something almost bittersweet in his voice when he said, “We’re really gonna miss you, Captain.”

*-*-*

After Kaiser’s retirement, Zara kept in touch through letters. Kaiser appreciated the chance to get to hear how his former squad member was doing, even though most of his letters consisted of stories about his son, Zora, and how proud he was of him. Kaiser couldn’t complain. After all, he spent a majority of his letters writing about own wife and daughter, the prides and joys of his life. He never regretted his decision to retire—to spend more time with them, to be a part Billie’s childhood and watch her grow.

Well…never regretted it except once. When a final letter came—not from Zara but from an old comrade from the Purple Orcas, someone brave enough to tell him the truth.

He had been sitting in the garden watching Billie try to water the flowers with little gusts of rainclouds made by her magic, when Maris ran out with a letter clutched in her fist. The tears in her eyes made him assume the worst, but even then he was unprepared—could never have imagined something so cruel, so heartless from the squad he would have given his life to protect.

“It’s not your fault,” Maris insisted.

“Isn’t it?” Kaiser’s eyes burned as he stared at the letter, at the words too painful to read. “I put him on that squad. I knew what they’d think of him.”

“You couldn’t have known they’d kill him,” she interrupted, more forcefully than Kaiser would have liked. “And those men that did—they weren’t ours. They were new recruits, after our time. You would’ve never let them be Orcas.”

“Exactly.” His voice was cold, matter-of-fact. It didn’t feel like his. “I left—I left him there knowing what the Magic Knights were like—how little they thought of commoners. I thought he could earn their respect…but they killed him.” His voice hitched. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. “And it’s my fault. I was selfish—I wasn’t there to protect him.”

Maris let out a long shaky breath. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she shook her head. “Then it’s both our faults. We knew it was a risk but still, we let him onto our squad—made him the first commoner to ever become a Magic Knight. And then we just left him there like a lamb to the slaughter.”

Despite her biting delivery, the final words got garbled in the back of her throat. He knew she felt far more guilty than angry.  

Abruptly, Kaiser turned away. The old injury in his shoulder ached, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t stand the sight of her in pain.

Instead, he looked up at the sky. The dark swirling rainclouds Billie had made suddenly felt appropriate.

Something panged in his chest at the thought of his Billie, his dear little girl. He looked over at his daughter—blissfully unaware, still laughing as she skipped around the garden. His eyes caught sight of her favorite doll, a handmade gift from a dear old friend who had tenderly crafted this toy for a little girl scared to death of losing her papa.

Something cold, wet, and unwanted trickled down his cheek as he thought of that poor young boy all alone out there in the world who had just lost his beloved papa forever.

He couldn’t stop the tears as he remembered Zara’s words clear, as the day he had said them: I can’t imagine a greater tragedy than a parent who doesn’t get to see their child grow up.

Thanks to Zara, Kaiser would get to see his child grow up—to change, age, maybe even become a Magic Knight herself, but thanks to him, Zara never would.

The first commoner to become a Magic Knight would never come home.

Kaiser clutched his chest and curled forward. His wife caught him in her arms, and they wept. How could this have possibly been worth the risk? And who were they to say that it was?