#recovering from a cold i wanted to draw Via

[gay-robot-boyfriends]

one of my crackships

[anxiousheart7]

*spoilers* Astarion’s story - analysis and thoughts

I’ve been thinking quite a lot on Astarion the last couple of weeks, and the journey I’ve been on with him. I’ve seen a lot of content about him.

I’ll start by saying this - I didn’t ascend him. I couldn’t. I did, however, watch the ascension on YouTube but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. And I’m going to explain why.

Here’s the TL:DR version, with my deeper dive below.

As Astarion gets his revenge in Cazador, his flurry of knives felt oddly satisfying to me. It was a release as grim and cathartic. That cry of pain and ending felt necessary for him. I came out of that palace knowing that it was ok and he’d be ok.

The ascension felt gratuitous. Watching him carve exactly what Cazador put him through should have been cathartic too, but it wasn’t. I just felt a shiver of cold. And that was the moment I knew it was the ‘bad’ ending.

Experiencing Astarion’s Journey - delving deeper

I don’t think I’ve ever quite experienced a character story like his before. Here’s someone who is quite clearly designed to draw you in via the usual routes. He’s attractive, he’s got the funny lines. He’s the rogue - a lot of D&D players’ favourite class. He quickly becomes indispensable.

At the start, his flirting was fun. Act 1 I think is supposed to be a light hearted toe in the water, so to speak. Right up until your first major choice with the goblin vs tiefling conflict. Then it becomes real. But until then you can spend copious amounts of time wandering and chatting to your new friends in camp while some of them (namely Lae’zel, Gale, Karlach and Astarion) go straight to ‘i want you’ territory. And you’ll gravitate to those that are ready to get hot and heavy because…video game sex.

There was such a focus on romancing your camp and you lean into that so heavily in act 1. Approval is all-important. And his approval is harder to get, so you try harder with your choices. You want this guy. Like really want him. He’s like ambrosia. And, if you’re not one of the 100k rejections toted in Larion’s infographic, you get him.

As a recovering people pleaser, I’m not going to lie, that was a hard concept to grasp. To make your choices based on who you were trying to impress is exactly the kind of behaviour I’ve been trying to step away from in real life. But hey, this is a game so I’ll be ok.

And then it starts…

Looking back, there’s this line that stood out ‘it felt like you weren’t all there’. Despite his insistence later, Astarion was very likely going to that place of dissociation that he talks about later on. And that’s sad, because as Tav you want this milestone to be special. You want them to fall in love with you. The reward for all your hard-earned approval hiking.

But Astarion masks. He masks well, but you can tell on Insight that it’s all an act. Even when you look closely, the ham fisted complements he throws at you reflects the 10 charisma he’s carrying around. He works as a lothario not because he’s an adept silver-tongued Casanova. It’s because he’s simply beautiful. People see him and want him. His looks mask what’s going on underneath. But then you look into his eyes and it’s right there, plain as day.

There’s so much more underneath. I have watched the scene over and over with the hammy chat up lines as he’s trying to convince you to sleep with him again (I got propositioned first before the tiefling party) and the more I watch, the more I believe that ‘I love you’ wasn’t an act. They wouldn’t have given you three brush off comment choices if it was. He meant that, and I don’t think he even realised he meant it until he found the words coming out of his mouth - as though he was daring himself to say it.

With Astarion, it’s all in the eyes.

And, as someone who has seen those eyes in the mirror on a pretty regular basis, I knew there and then until he started revealing his backstory - the scars, the master and all the rest, I knew this was going to hit very hard and this man was a deep well. He was so lost that he barely had any idea of who he was any more.

By the time you’re well into Act 2, you’re starting to get the gist of him. You learn about his sadness and sense of loss around his identity before he was turned. You learn about the scars. And you learn about Cazador. I got the sense that all of this exposition was almost like a therapy dump from him. Thoughts and feelings he’s wanted to express for decades but hasn’t had a soul to tell - or he’s been compelled not to by his master. Now he can get them out. He can voice how unfair and unjust it feels. The sarcasm, the cynicism, all a way of expressing how much pain he is in. But one thing he’s never lost is the knowledge that he doesn’t deserve this. He hasn’t been beaten down so much to believe that he is unworthy of better treatment. And that sense of self is what I believe has kept him going all this time. He knows it wasn’t his fault. He knows Cazador was a cruel, sadistic monster.

And I hugged him. Of course I hugged him. I defended his autonomy from the moonrise drow and I hugged him after. At this point I’d fallen as hard for him as he had for me. I cared for him. I couldn’t make any of those obviously awful choices with him. When the details of the ritual came up I felt a knot in my stomach. And sure enough every time we talked after that point he talked about taking that power and I thought ‘this will be rough’.

It reminded me of a lot of really bad experiences I’d had in the past. Boyfriends and friends who were clearly bad for me and I was bad for them. And yet, I needed to help this guy. This person who had nobody for so long. Who didn’t know what it felt like to have someone actually care about him.

I looked this as someone who has experienced trauma in their life. How would I feel. How have I felt? To be scared of so many things. To wonder why on earth would I do something nice for someone else when I’ve sat in alleys, starving and in pain while people just walk on by. No gods to answer my pleas for help. I’d be cynical and disapproving too. I’d have a warped sense of humour. I’d want to never feel that again. Of course he saw the one thing that could protect him and feel compelled to grasp it with both hands.

Astarion has conjured up feelings in me I thought were long gone.

Astarion’s finale

The images I’ve included in this post have been doing the rounds on tumblr and this hits so hard it hurts. Astarion’s journey ends in such as way that it’s meant to be hard.

If you’re a gamer that commodifies your characters as a series of stats or objectifies them based on their design, then ascend him. It doesn’t matter to you. And I’ve seen plenty of people on message boards and Facebook saying exactly that - “but he gets these powers and is so badass”. They’ve never seen past the facade. He was a jerk at the start of the game, a creepy flirt and a vampire ready to be staked. And that was it.

Every excessive power in this game has a major consequence that you have to live with. This choice I think is one of the biggest before the climax of the game.

The ascension pretty much erases him. It takes who he was and the healing that he’s done and throws it away, as if it never really mattered.

And to him he’s worth exactly what he thought he was to begin with. His self-worth is warped into superiority and his hunger and fear replaced with a hunger for power and dominance. He’s not free in this form. He just becomes a new kind of imprisoned. He’s placed in stasis forevermore. And this won’t last forever because as absolute power corrupts absolutely, it also falls. Just like Ozymandius, he’ll rise and collapse under his own grandiose. And he’ll take you with him if you let him.

That steamy scene before he turns you is basically exactly what the Larion writer is saying - you’ve not empathised or grown here. Have your sex scene and then enjoy your eternal enslavement with New Cazador. It’s a bad ending for you and Astarion. You get to be exactly what he was, no matter what pretty words he tried to convince you with - he’s still that 10 charisma trying to convince himself as much as you. He’s Act 1 Astarion with some nifty new powers. He will control you like a doll and yours will be the same half life his was. He’ll start with promises of being his right hand, but somewhere down the line you’ll do or say something and he’ll do to you what was done to him. It’s the ultimate narcissistic relationship.

If Astarion walks away, he’s him. Truly him. With purpose and a new path to walk. You can build a new life together with nothing holding you back. The trauma behind him, he can now walk a path of healing for himself and learn who he is. It makes me feel hopeful and joyful that he gets a second chance.

And that’s where I’m at. My ideal ending is for them both to go off together searching for a cure for his vampirism. Whether it’s possible, who knows - on writing this I’m still to finish my first run of the game. But at least there’s that glimmer of hope in that ending.

I think Astarion is beautiful. There’s a reason half the internet is madly in love with him right now. But if you let yourself, he becomes more than a nice body and a pretty face. His complexity opens up like a puzzle box and you feel the satisfaction of a truly beautiful arc come to its climax. He’s a beautifully written and crafted character and I’m so glad to have experienced his story.

I could say so much more…but it’s long enough as it is. Thanks for reading x

[strangestcase]

In the original novella, we only "see" three characters die. One is Hastie Lanyon, whose death isn't gruesome and startling like Carew's, but that meets an arguably violent end.

While Carew draws the ire of Hyde through simply being at the wrong place at the wrong time, being cordial to the wrong person, being, Lanyon rather doesn't. Instead, it is his act of loyalty towards Jekyll, the man he hasn't talked to in a decade and calls him a pedant when he isn't listening, what kills him. Once again good deeds are punished with death. The difference, though, doesn't just reside in the fact that Hyde never once needs to put a finger on Lanyon to kill him, but the fact that it is a deeply personal loss- on both sides.

Jekyll-as-Hyde correctly assesses that Lanyon will help a friend in need. He himself says that Lanyon would gladly sacrifice his right arm to save him in body and mind, and with those words he convinces him to come to the rescue via bringing Hyde the serum's ingredients from the cabinet, now forbidden to him. And Lanyon is a good man. He's sensible enough to bring a gun with himself, he's kind enough to help Jekyll even though he believes he's finally lost it -and he's not entirely wrong-, and he's open-minded enough to not only chalk up his supernatural hatred of Hyde to a silly personal bias rather than dismiss him as "deformed", but to also fight against it and be nice to him.

No, Lanyon doesn't meet his violent end through physical violence. All he does is fall into Hyde's trap and give in to curiosity. And that's how, in his narration, Chapter 9, we learn what really killed him in Chapter 6, weeks after the events transpired. His mysterious "disease", the thing eating up at him, is the revelation. One of his closest friends -despite it all- has placed his trust upon him, and his reward is to see him at his pettiest, his cruelest, his worst. To learn that his friend was a monster, all along. No. That he turned into one, on his own volition. The choice was his. And now that he's realized it was a dark path to walk, he can't un-walk it. He can't stop, even if he wanted to, cursing himself with a monstrousness that fights back at any attempt at a fix and yet needs to be fixed to save its skin.

There is no "normal" to recover. Jekyll had always carried with him the elements of his destruction- his arrogance and his bile. The revelation that Hyde never really existed destroys Lanyon's static and material worldview, smashing the orderly world he lives in to bits. The revelation that Hyde was created for a specific purpose, and what it was, destroys Lanyon's view of Jekyll as an eccentric but harmless man, a good person with misguided opinions and fanciful theories.

Does Jekyll ever learn of Lanyon's death? Does Utterson ever bring it up behind the scenes, out of the third-person narrator's scope? Will he ever know that his last crime was killing the man that saved his life?

Well... Ironically, Lanyon didn't really save Jekyll's life. He only extended it for a couple of months, prevented Hyde from being arrested and tried and executed for God knows how many crimes of indeterminate nature. After all, if his criminal record killed him of shock, or at least poured salt into the wound, it had to be gruesome. Thanks to Lanyon's intervention Hyde can return to the house as Jekyll and attempt at resuming a normal life, without success. Soon enough he transforms again, and runs out of salts, and is found dead on the floor with the vial he just emptied of cyanide still in his cold hand.

How do we define violence in a world in which body and mind are one? In the world of Jekyll and Hyde, thoughts and ideas are physical, real, tangible. Hyde is, ultimately, a concept, the sketch of a person disguising a fractured mind disguising a sad mad genius that desires to not desire. We can consider Lanyon one of Hyde's victims, but can we call Lanyon's death violent? I would say so. Like Carew, all he ever did, at least within the constraints of the story -a snapshot of a disjointed Gothic world-, was being kind to someone who didn't deserve it.

At the beginning of this post, I said there were three on-page deaths, three deaths we got to "see" in Stevenson's novella. The third death would be Jekyll's. And it is violent, as well- first his original identity dies, unable to be present, made physical, made real, by want of not being able to manifest itself, or rather, by want of not being able to not manifest Hyde's. In a sense, he's run out of opportunities to be "good". If Jekyll can no longer be Jekyll-as-Jekyll, and only has Jekyll-as-Hyde left, Jekyll no longer exists. As he puts it, he's forced to resume Hyde's personality for the last time- to put on a costume that has turned into himself. Hyde never existed as a person, and in the last eight days of his life he has to be, because Hyde is all he's got left of a person.

It's impossible to not think of a suicide, even a suicide by poison, as violent. But Jekyll's death is violent not just because he eventually goes through with his "promise" of sorts that he'll have to die to rid the world of Hyde (and so we have Hyde killing himself if only to not end up in the gallows, fullfilling his ultimate desire, because that's what he, as a concept, was designed to do). It is also violent because by the time he physically dies, he's long gone. He's committed enough violence against himself already, destroying his belongings and thinking of himself as either his oppressive father or his idiot son, depending on what body he's been thrown into at the time.

The horror of Jekyll and Hyde is the horror of the perversion of the intimate, on all levels. Your best friend is not who he claimed to be. Your body as an extension of yourself isn't to be trusted. Helping others gets you killed. Edward Hyde pollutes everything he touches- breaks into a homicidal rage at someone being polite at him, accidentally curses his savior with the decay of the soul, self harms in the most twisted way possible and dies two times, brings the worst in all those that look at him, brings terror into your house, ruins the night, and breaks the peace.

It is only logical that something -someone?- that ruins everything to its very core comes from within, and is ultimately the cause for three very twisted, and violent, forms of death.

[theultimatekamehamehavoc]

Naegami Fluff and/or Shenanigans 9

Makoto and Byakuya are the type of people who get sick in drastically different ways. Makoto is the one who gets sick more often via colds and getting his nose all mucus-y while Byakuya rarely gets sick at all. When the heir does though, he's basically down for the count. Like, Byakuya has to stay cooped up in his bed for a couple days before he can recover. It can go longer though depending on how much energy he has to get up and ruin his sleep schedule by continuing to do work despite being sick. Honestly, both of these boys try and get stuff done regardless of if they're sick. Makoto's the type who'd try to do stuff for a friend or would try and still go to some place cus he doesn't wanna let anyone down. Or well, he tries. For instance, say Sayaka, Hina, Leon, Sakura, Mondo, and Yasuhiro (I just picked some of them randomly though one can theorize what they are all doing specifically together or something ehehehe) are all going on a get together some place and they all invited Makoto along. Despite the fact that Makoto is close to getting an actual fever though, he tries to still attend. All his buds send him home immediately though. Last thing they want is Makoto getting worse because he decided to chose the definitely smart option of limping his way to the event like a zombie that just freed it's leg that was previously caught in the confines of a fence. Meanwhile, Byakuya is adamantly work focused. Specifically, Byakuya would try his best to work on some sort of document or paper at 2am even though he should be both recovering from his illness and just asleep in general. Like, c'mon man! The assignment isn't due until 3 weeks from now. Yet, Byakuya consistently pushes on regardless of his condition. He's just REALLY good at taking care of himself. Basically, Byakuya only catches the hard hitters while Makoto gets all the weaker illnesses while avoiding the hard hitting flus and stomach bugs. The two manage this system that their bodies have though. This pattern for them can be detrimental for them if they both get sick though. Like, both are simultaneously telling the other to get some rest while also trying to get up themselves to do shit they are way too weak to do in this state. Ah, the hypocrites. That's not to say that they CAN'T get stuff done while they're both ill. It's just a bit of a shitshow for both of them though. Byakuya's complaining the whole time (tho, when ISN'T he hahah funny joke) cus he just HATES being super ill and unproductive. Like, the heir feels like he could be doing so many other things but his body is betraying him. He also just barely rests so being forced to makes him feel like he's lazy. Meanwhile, Makoto's more able and capable to do stuff in his state of sickness but he's still sick so he's way more prone to making minor mistakes and errors. Like, while trying to make soup for the both of them, he accidently puts too much salt in or accidently makes it too sweet by mistaking the sugar as salt instead. So yeah. Just a whole lotta sucky stuff. Everything gets much better once either one of them fully recovers or the both do. Byakuya's still gonna be complaining about the whole ordeal and will make fun of his boyfriend a bit for mixing up ingredients like "Tch. Were you actively TRYING to make us feel even WORSE?" sorta talk. Though, he's not THAT pissy about it. Just a little bit. Byakuya is built different and by different, I mean petty. All is well though at the end of the day! Also like, I just HAD to draw this. Like, a primal desire cus it's so goofy but also poor Byakuya is in the pains. He's not doing good at all. Think his tummy hurt. Poor guy. What a way to go T-T

[didasgomas]

Thing I wrote for @moonlightsmasquerade . Wanted to send it on asks but it became just way too large so I decided to make it a post instead . Hope it's enjoyable

15/09/2008 - Report of yesterday

After being notified via phone call by miss Evelin Miller , the child who was with her was taken inside the station and was identified as nine-year-old Priscilla Helen . Due to the young girl's state of intense shock , the other officers and I chose to leave her alone for some minutes ( along with some sheets of paper , a pencil and some coloured pens following Sergeant Tyler's insistence ) , and focused on contacting the child's parents : Primrose and Dustin Helen . After the task was completed , we returned to the interrogation room , where young Priscilla had already made six simplistic drawings and seemed to have recovered from the shock .

The following audio recording is Priscilla's narration of the events leading up to her being found by miss Miller . Photos of the drawings are also included in this file .

/

My aunt Kelly and my cousin Calvin had returned back town from summer vacations . I liked to call him Kiki for short . We were playing tag when we ran into the fisherman with the hoodie .

I had talked to him once when I was bit younger and it hadn't been bad , but Kiki didn't trust him one inch . He said his dad had died because of the hoodie man's friends , and then he ran away and told me to come back home with him . Normally I would listen , because Kiki was like a big brother to me . But this time I didn't .

The hoodie man was nice . He said Kiki was just sour because of a joke . I liked jokes , especially dad's , so I asked him if I could meet one of his friends . He looked really happy , and he said I could meet all of them at once! All I had to do was go into the sea and wait a little bit . I was very excited that it could be that simple to make new friends , so I ran straight to shore . I went a bit into the water , just my feet , and the cold felt really good . But then I heard Kiki behind me .

He told me to get out of the water , that it was dangerous . I tried explaining that I was just waiting for one of the hoodie man's friends , that I would be okay . Kiki might have been someone to get angry easy , but if he ever got scared then it meant something was very , very wrong . When I saw his face I understood that this was serious , so I started walking towards him and out of the sea , but then the tide went up .

Kiki grabbed me and threw me to the sand some feet away , but now he was the one stuck in the waves . I stretched my arm out to him , but then I saw the monster . It was like a giant eel... Ugly mermaid fusion , and it was circling Calvin like a snake . The water was really agitated and cloudy , and it started turning almost black , and then the mermaid monster grabbed Kiki from below . He screamed at me to run away , and this time I obeyed .

I wasn't looking where I was going , I just kept on running and running until I bumped into someone . The lady tried to talk to me but I was too scared to answer . She took my hand and tried to take me somewhere , but I didn't want to go . I don't know why , I just didn't . So she just grabbed a street phone and called you police people .

I'm sure my mama and auntie will be heartbroken , I can already imagine them crying when they never see Calvin again . But I don't know if I'll cry . Tears are salty water , and now , I hate salty water . And eels , and mermaids .

And I hate myself now too .

[littlefishbigsea]

Gwynriel Small Scene

The Necklace

A note: This is a snippet from a larger story I’ve been building upon. The goal is to eventually publish chapters via a side blog and ao3. I hope you enjoy. 🖤

She pushed him away, the palms of her hands flat against his firm chest. He stumbled back, caught off guard by her rejection. Chest heaving he leveled her with with his patina gaze.

“You don’t get to kiss me,” Gwyn sneered, drawing the back her hand across her mouth as if to wipe away his transgression.

“Oh?” He challenged. Back straightening, the shadowsinger rose to his full height and squared his shoulders.

“You’re a liar.”

“So are you,” he growled.

“What are we doing, shadowsinger?”

“Sparring,” he smirked. “Obviously.”

He sprung. Using his expansive wing span to bear down on her in a fraction of time, Gwyn barely had enough space to bring up her dagger and block his oncoming attack. She slid to the left, reversed her blade and aimed for his side.

Azriel smacked the blunt end of her dagger with the back of his forearm, knocking it off course. Grabbing her wrist, she chouldn’t stop her shriek as he slammed a thigh into her stomach, knocking her flat onto her ass.

She rolled and kicked out at the same time, ramming her foot into his ankle. He wouldn’t fall though. She knew that. So, she brought her leg up to kick him again, this time his inner thigh.

He went down. She was vaguely aware of the pain in her own limbs but she kept at him, throwing herself onto him. He grabbed her wrist before she could snatch his dagger away. They froze like that, staring each other down as Gwyn bared her teeth and strained against his superior strength. Azriel’s lips twitched upward at one corner and she growled in frustration.

Yanking up a leg in a feat of feminine flexibility, she hooked her leg through his elbow, wrenching his arm down with her full weight. Her wrist screamed, near breaking when he didn’t let go. His back arched just before his hips thrust up, flipping her off and over him. Using the momentum, she rolled before he could pin her. She scrambled after her dagger.

Gwyn skidded across the ground sending dirt into the air and grasped the weapon at the edge of the ring. She’d just straightened when Azriel lept up in a single graceful move and landed before her. Her mouth twisted and he glared back.

Both breathing hard, she gripped her dagger and sank into a ready stance. Az smirked, copying her movements. Gwyn swallowed. This no longer felt like sparring, but rather something personal leaking into what should have been simple, routine dagger practice.

They attacked at once. Gwyn’s legs ached but she managed to dance away from his first strike. She stabbed. He blocked. She kicked, ducked, and tried to jab him in the kidney but he blocked again. Jumping back she let loose a volley of offensive moves. Azriel was impossibly fast, blocking every one - then his dagger shot out, the handle knocking into her shoulder, sending her spinning backward.

She moved with the spin, turning her body so that she wouldn’t fall and kicked out at him again, attempting to plant a booted foot in his belly. Yet, he managed to twist away and caught her leg. She punched at his knee with the handle of her dagger and he dropped her.

Gwyn scrambled back, spinning to face him. He tensed, not attacking. The arrogant smirk is gone and now he just looks frustrated. She gives him a ‘what the fuck is your problem’ look. What was he waiting for? She inhaled sharply. How could she best him? It was like he knew her movements before she did. Damn it. She didn’t know how to beat him. Brute strength wouldn’t work, and her strategies were getting her nowhere.

Azriel sprung. Her time to think was up.

The attacks he unleashed were swift. Gwyn blocked and dodged. She didn’t catch everything and though it burned her pride, she knew he wasn’t using the full scope of his abilities. There was no matching him. Not yet. The shadowsinger was just that good. When his third strike caught her in the diaphragm she dropped to her knees at his feet, clutching her belly, unable to breathe. She trembled, exhausted. He started to take a step back to give her time to recover.

Before she could gasp a single breath, Gwyn shot up and tackled him, shoulder to stomach. He staggered, wings flaring, catching him before he fell. Her strength gave out and all she could do to keep from falling was grip handfuls of his shirt. A loud rip sounded as the side seam tore. She dragged herself to her feet, bouncing away from him on the balls of her feet.

Azriel pulled his torn shirt off and chucked it in a single sweep of his arm. Gwyn could only stare. The tattoos that curled over his shoulders wound down his chest, a curl over his heart. She licked her lips and pushed her shoulders back. With her chin lifted, she gestured for Azriel to come for her. His answering grin was a dark, wild thing. He stepped forward in a slow prowl. Then lunged. She leapt at the last second to meet him. Crashing into her, he grabbed her at the same time she grabbed onto him.

Their combined momentum was so powerful that they both slammed hard into the ground, Azriel above her. He managed to cup the back of her head to cushion the impact of their fall. His other hand was fisted in her shirt, holding her still. Both of her legs wrapped tight around his middle, her hands pressed into his chest.

Time slowed. Noise disappeared. Azriel was pressed hard against her, his bare chest hot, slick with sweat. He breathed deep, chest rising and falling. The hand at the back of her head closed slowly, pulling her hair into his fist. He pulled her head back until their eyes met.

Gwyn grabbed the shadowsinger’s head and yanked his mouth down to hers.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. Not like what they’d shared in the past. Azriel’s mouth met hers with raging heat. She arched into him as he shoved her further into the ground, mouth moving, fierce, carnal, and demanding. His strength was all around her, holding her, pinning her helplessly. Her hands rose and she sank her fingers into the hair at the back of his head, pulling him closer still, demanding. Always wanting more. His hand tightened in her hair, angling her further, deepening their kiss into something wilder. She felt undone.

Eventually, Azriel pulled back with one last nipping bite to her lip. Molten warmth spread, pouring through her. Faces inches apart, both panting, eyes fierce, they held. Gwyn wasn’t sure if she should unwind her legs from around him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

He pulled away, her legs untangling from his waist. With a single push, Azriel was on his feet. His hand reached out and she slid her palm against his. He pulled. She found herself standing against him, hand still holding hers.

Fingers brushed the underside of her chin, tipping her head back. She stared at him uncertainly, his mask back in place. The shadowsinger was unreadable, even with his fingertips still resting against her chin. The sudden desire to pull his mouth back to hers warred within.

“Gwyn-“

“Are you in love with Elain, Azriel?”

His breath caught. She didn’t often call him by his name, preferring the title. It was what he was, who he was - but the intimacy of hearing his name on her lips gave him pause.

“Do you love Balthazar,” he tossed back.

“Why? Jealous?”

A wolffish smile spread his lips into a unkind grin. “If I thought even for a second that boy was competition, perhaps I would be.”

Her eyes widened, growing frustrated, no longer distracted by his lips or their sparring, Gwyn reached beneath her shirt. With a strong yank, she pulled the infamous necklace free of her neck, tossing it the ground where it landed at his feet.

“Don’t do that.” Azriel’s voice was low, threaded with shadow.

“I wasn’t the one you intended to give this to,” Gwyn accused. “So, I’m giving it back.”

“It’s yours, Gwyn, I gave it-“

“To Elain!” She shouted, hands fisting at her side. “Or was it meant for Mor first, I’m confused.”

So, was he. He sighed, defeat settling in him. His wings dropped, though not hitting the ground, and he leveled her with a look.

“You’re right,” he said. His voice was ice-cold silk that slid under Gwyn’s skin and down into her bones. “I did give it to Elain. She didn’t want it,” he confessed. Gwyn’s lips parted in surprise.

“Why give it to me, then?” Her voice was quiet, soft.

He shakes his head, a wrinkle in his forehead appearing. His shadows surfaced around him, wrapping him in darkness.

“Don’t you dare hide from me,” she hissed, watching as the shadowsinger all but disappeared from her sight.

“I gave the necklace-“ He stopped, shadows trembling around him as if they waited expectantly for him to continue. “After Elain returned it, I gave the necklace to Clotho. She suggested I give it to you. She thought… I thought you might like it.”

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting but it hadn’t been that. Not exactly.

“Why me, Azriel?”

He stared at her, shadows coiling and unraveling. A blushing glow bloomed high in his cheeks.

“I thought… I don’t know what things have been like for you after - I thought, with all the ugly things dealt you…” He pushes a scarred hand through his hair, scattering the dark strands into chaos. “It’s an uncomplicated design and if you hold it the right way it catches light. I thought you might wear it and look at it from time to time, find comfort in its beauty. To bring something lovely to your life that… It was stupid-“

“You thought I’d find it beautiful. The way you did.” She hadn’t meant to interrupt. The thought had slipped, the confusion and disbelief in her voice thick.

He looked at her, brow furrowed. “Yes.”

She focused on the small pendant at his feet. It’s chain coiled elegantly, catching in the moonlight. Lovely in its simplicity. Gwyn couldn’t quite take a breath. Just a necklace - something beautiful he’d wanted to share. With her, even if it had not been his first intention. A gift that wasn’t meant to be but had turned into something meaningful they both treasured.

Except that he had convinced himself she wouldn’t want it if she’d known the truth. She watched him, no longer guarded, his raw vulnerability darkening his eyes. He’d expected rejection.

It took everything he had to hold still, to keep his hands at his sides, to resist the urge to reach for her. Azriel didn’t know what he’d do if he touched her. It wasn’t out of a desire for pleasure, hers or his. He wanted to touch her because something hot and pulling tightened in his chest and it hurt to breathe. Without conscious thought, his hand rose toward her as though drawn up by an invisible string. As if she wielded her nymph magic and he was caught in her spell. Ready to drown in the pool of her eyes.

Scarred fingers brushed across her soft cheek, her skin warm, flushed. His touch trailed lightly across the side of her face and his hand curled around the back of her neck. Running his thumb along her jaw and to the corner of her mouth, Gwyn knew he was going to kiss her again.

Before he leaned in, before he could capture her lips with his, a cold thrill ran down his spine and splintered into shards of ice. He stiffened, knowing who he’d find watching them. His instincts screamed. They weren’t alone.

He caught movement over Gwyn’s shoulder. Not hidden, but in plain view. Watching. Waiting. Stamping her foot against the rings dirt floor, sending little puffs of dust cloud into the air. That silhouette was unmistakable, as was the arctic chill that ran down his spine.

Nesta Archeron.

With Azriel’s attention fixed on her, the female arched a single brow. Silver flames danced within the depths of those eyes. Her gaze moved from his to where his hand still lingered at Gwyn’s face.

Shit.

[tmngoose]

OC Musings— Ghost Semantics Editon:

Rikki is a ghost occupying a living-vessel, but what does that even mean? 🧐

You have:

Free-roaming spirits, who are not bound to vessels but could choose to inhabit one if they wanted to (aka your classic case of ghostly possession). Some consider free-roaming spirits the most vulnerable since they have no vessel to protect them.

Spirits bound to non-living vessels, who rely on inanimate objects to house themselves (aka your ‘haunted’ swords, Knick-knacks, jewelry). I guess you could say they manipulate those who interact with them through some ghostly osmosis. If their vessel is damaged, they cannot fix themselves. If their vessel is destroyed, their window for occupying a new inanimate object is small; if they can’t find an object to keep them tethered to their plane of existence—they cease to exist.

And spirits bound to living-vessels, whose bodies require sleep, food, and water. But instead of blood, there’s ectoplasm that runs through their veins, which makes them cold to the touch. To remedy this, they’ll bundle up in warmer clothes (hence Rikki’s hoodie-wearing habits). A living-vessel can recover from most fatalities via the ‘ectoplasmic regeneration process (ERP).' It's pretty straightforward: the spirit draws ectoplasm to its fallen body, extracting it from the surrounding environment. It's crucial for the body to remain in the area where it was slain; moving the body forces the spirit to work harder to harvest bits of ectoplasm. 'Sitting vigil' is when someone sits with the fallen entity; this speeds up the ERP. The more people sitting vigil, the faster the ERP. If no one sits vigil with the body, then the ERP takes longer to complete--if there's nobody awaiting the ghost's return, why rush? When enough ectoplasm returns, the vessel is revived. The entire process is incredibly tiring--so make sure your ghostly friend gets their rest. [Fun Fact: Rikki's vessel has died a number of times and the FIRST person to ever sit vigil with her was Clem--and he only came across Rikki by chance.] If a living-vessel becomes inhospitable, then the spirit loses its one connection to its plane of existence and ceases to exist. It cannot seek a new vessel like those inhabiting non-living vessels.

[tact-and-impulse]

@shepherds-of-haven, thanks for the fun prompts! I’ll be collecting my fics on AO3 as well.

encounter

She really doesn’t belong here.

Her fingers nervously run over the extra card in her pocket, as she scans the undulating crowd for telltale ashen hair and displeased features. It’s difficult, with the rhythmically flashing lights overhead. She’s tried calling, but with the heavy bass tingling in her jaw, it’s no wonder that Prihine hasn’t picked up. What her roommate could be doing in this downtown club, she has no idea, but she also doesn’t know the other girl that well. Prihine is from a wealthy Norm family, she never cleans up after herself, and from her frequent complaints, she loathes that she’s living in an ancient and cramped freshman dorm with a scholarship student who never goes to parties. But if something unsavory has happened to her, that would be awful.

So, she renews her grip on Prihine’s student ID and heads further into the building. She keeps to the walls, which are speckled with colorful paint and feel slightly sticky. But with her back covered, it’s safer this way. At first. Someone is shoved out of the crush, their solid back colliding into her, and she instinctively freezes. The pressure is brief, but she doesn’t wait to hear an apology, before she’s scrambling for the first exit sign in sight. She hurtles into a side street, ignoring the protests of a draft, and turns the nearest corner before collapsing.

The night air is cold, and she inhales lungfuls, trying to calm down. Trying not to cry. She has to find Prihine soon, and then, she can go back to campus. Where her classes are. Where the Mage clubs are filled with people who all know each other from Capra, while she was homeschooled. Where the Hunter organizations talk around her, forgetting she can understand their conversations. She hasn’t felt truly alone in years, but right now-

She isn’t. There’s someone here. She lifts her head and at the end of the alley, only a few paces away, she can make out the silhouette of a Hunter. White hair, gray eyes, a couple of piercings glinting in one ear, tattoos running up and down his arms. He’s crouched and balanced on his heels, an unlit stick of charch between his fingers, as he stares at her. 

“You okay?” His voice is low and placid, like he’s just woken up. 

“I...I just need a minute. I’m not good with crowds in tight spaces.”

“Yeah, I hate it when people breathe on me.”

She vigorously nods in agreement, before realizing. “Then, why are you here?”

“Band has a gig tonight. What about you?”

“I’m looking for my roommate. She forgot her ID, she can’t get back to our dorm without it.”

He gives a skeptical look, tucking the cigarette behind his unpierced ear for safekeeping. “Are you sure she’s in this club?”

While she answers, she takes out her phone. “She hasn’t returned my texts or calls, but she has Instagram. One of her cousins is famous on there, I think, and my roommate’s competitive, so she posts a lot. It looks like she was here in her last one...oh.” She frowns at the website, blocked entirely by a notification. She never did download the app, only searching for clues via Prihine’s frequently used social media, and now she needs an account to continue viewing.

He stifles a laugh, but his expression is only mildly amused as he extends his open palm. “Can I log in and try?”

“Sure. Thank you.” She draws closer to him, passing her device over, and his hand envelops it entirely. His thumbs are almost comically oversized as he types.

“Haven freshman?”

“Yes. Are you an upperclassman?”

“I dropped out a couple years ago. I’m across the street, at the culinary school. Is this the post you mentioned?” He slants the image towards her and she recognizes Prihine’s selfie, taken while she was waiting in line.

“Ah, that’s it! Have you seen her?”

“No, but one of my friends might have. He helps with the band’s publicity, so he’s around. Mind if I ask him?”

“Please, you’d be really helpful. Thank you, um...” 

“Halek.” He supplies, as he dials another guy named Riel, judging by the brief greeting when the call goes through. 

The conversation is short, and she notices the roommate must be from Leore, but she focuses on locating Prihine for the time being, only speaking to provide information and her own name. Riel doesn’t remember seeing the other girl, but he’ll check with security and will call back when they find her. The line dies, and with her phone back in her hands, she hesitates.

Fortunately, Halek pats the adjacent pavement. “Feel free to wait with me. Band’s not on again for another hour, so I’m not leaving.”

Relief sweeps over her, and she sits down, inquiring. “What do you play?”

“None of the others can agree on a genre, but I’m on drums. We perform around town, sometimes on campus if you’ve heard us before.”

“I don’t think so. Sorry.” She reflexively apologizes. “I don’t get out much.” Certainly, nowhere other than lecture auditoriums and the dining halls.

“What’s your major?”

“Biology, I’m pre-med.”

“Ah, that explains it. You’d get along with my twin brother, he’s currently applying and I don’t envy him. Everyone in our family’s invested in his acceptance, since somebody needs to live up to their standards. He’s not at Haven, but I can give you his number if you have questions.”

“I don’t want to bother him, if he’s stressed out.”

“He’s always stressed out though. That’s just how he is.” Nevertheless, his tone is fond.

“You must be close.” She draws her knees up, interlacing her fingers around them. “Your family doesn’t approve of your career?”

“They never did, they wanted me to be a politician.” He makes a disgusted expression. “No thanks. Too much work.”

“It definitely is. Signing papers, holding press conferences. A lot of people would be breathing on you.” She does her best to maintain a straight face.

“Exactly.” His gaze shifts to meet hers, and she’s not sure who breaks first, but in the next moment, they’re both laughing. Her hair’s fallen loose, and as she recovers her composure, she tucks it behind her ears. Not for the first time, he glances at the white streak, but he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he fishes in his back pocket, removing a small punch card that doubles as an advertisement. “Politics would mean quitting my job at the café too. It’s quiet, we have some Haven students like you.”

She accepts it, noting the offer of a free meal after five purchases. “What kind of food do you serve?”

“Here, I’ll show you.” He pulls up his Instagram, scrolling through vibrant pictures of their daily specials, each plate unique. It all seems appetizing, especially in the short cooking videos. In the clips, his steady fingers arrange sandwiches, work over pans of sizzling ingredients, and decorate confections.

There’s one motion in particular that intrigues her. “How’d you do that? Break an egg with one hand?”

“It’s just easier for me, keeps my other one available.”

“You make it look natural.” She attempts to figure out the trick, imagining an egg in her palm and flexing her knuckles.

“One of the waitresses can do it too.”

“So, is it a hiring requirement?”

He laughs again. “No, the other one breaks every egg she touches. You can meet them and see for yourself. You’d probably get along with them.” There’s a pause, as he gives a thoughtful expression. “Thanks.”

Too surprised, she stammers. “F-for what?”

“Usually, I’m too tired for these late night gigs, but right now, I feel fine. I can make it through tonight.”

“...Me too.” She softly says. Her earlier panic has been forgotten, and Halek’s presence is comforting. She’s having fun, just sitting out here and talking. Laughing, which she hasn’t in a long time. Already, she feels closer to him than anyone on campus.

Riel’s return call interrupts them, with the news that her roommate is currently detained at the club’s entrance and clearly unhappy by the screeching in the background. It’s her cue to go, and she hastily brushes herself off, thanking Halek again.

“No problem. Are you going back to your dorm?”

“I thought I would.” She hesitates for just a second, before venturing. “Or I can stay? And listen to your band’s performance?”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “If you want, I can let you in backstage. Take a nap, eat the snacks I brought. You don’t have to worry about crowds at all.”

Oh. That’s very kind of him. Her heart skips a beat, and she hopes she’s not blushing. “Okay then. I’d like that. See you soon?”

“See ya.”

Squaring her shoulders, she makes her way to the front. She braces for whatever abrasive words are in store, but she’s made up her mind. For the first time this semester, she’ll try to have an enjoyable college experience.

[sisterofleatherfrog]

The Silence Brings Me Home

Hey! This is my first fanfic so I hope you all enjoy it! I was inspired by an illustration I saw of Crosshair sobbing and holding Lula for comfort (which I cannot find for the life of me, if I do eventually I’ll link it). I meant to get his done before ep. 11 Devil’s Deal (and especially before this week’s) because we still didn’t know what Cross looked like at that point, but I’m slow and here we are. There is some fanart I did at the end, I’ve only recently gotten back into drawing after a long time, so it might be a little rough sorry!

Summary: The Batch get Crosshair back, but what he has, and almost done haunts him. Comfort is given in the simplest of ways: by being presen for the healing.

Warnings: Mention of blood/injury, killing/murder. Heavy angst with comfort. Self loathing ideation.The beginnings of a family healing together from trauma.

Word Count: 2188

It was as close as it got to silent within the Havoc Marauder. The ship always faintly hummed as it cruised through space; the engines and various systems constantly working away in the background via a complicated web of technology and wiring, maintained by the Batch’s resident genius. Rumors were, if someone listened close enough as a ship passed through hyperspace, they could faintly hear the sound of the decillions of particles out there passing around the ship. Something like sand blasting the outside of the hull, but with a bell-like, ringing, song. It was that sort of silence that found all six of the inhabitants within the Marauder.

Tech, the aforementioned genius, was nursing a new goose egg on his forehead with a cold compress while attempting to repair a hairline fracture in one of his goggles lenses. Echo sat across from him helping to guide the nearly blind man in his endeavour. Besides a myriad of small cuts and new bruises, Echo’s left leg lay detached and balanced on his lap, waiting for attention from Tech for a recently smoking blaster hole through the calf. Laying in his bunk, Wrecker was also nursing a new blaster wound: the bolt having ripped through his armour and taken a chunk out of his right bicep. He lay quietly, making sure to stay off his wound so the bacta could do its work and trying to process the events of the day. Remembering the adrenaline and the genuine moment of fear he’d had, but smiling nonetheless. Foreword in the front of the ship, Hunter sat quietly, his face kriffing hurting, his nose having to have been reset after being knocked out of joint. He’d definitely taken a beating, he’d be feeling everything that currently hurt fivefold tomorrow, but the wounds could have been worse. Everything could have been much worse. What could have been was an ache that never faded and a silence that was never filled. 

Hunter’s gaze slid to the seat beside him, looking at the small girl that had so quickly become a priority in his life. Omega was curled up on the seat, her arms and legs tightly squeezing Lula to her body while her eyes peaked over her knees to watch the blue of hyperspace. She had thankfully missed all the action this time, safely tucked away within the ship by a promise Hunter had made her swear. He looked over at her, thankful she and his vode were all together here, alive, and relatively in one piece. Still needing something to comfort him though, he reached over and ruffled Omega’s short blonde hair. Her eyes, brown like his, slid over to look at him and he could see a small smile curling at the edges of her mouth. She’d been incredibly worried at the state her family had been at their return, seeing them beaten, bloody, bruised, and punctured wasn’t something a kid should ever be exposed to. They were alive though, and…

Hunter turned his head a little, gazing into the back of the ship where, almost hidden in the furthest recess of the bunks, he could see a pair of long, thin legs encased in black armour. Omega followed Hunter’s gaze and that smile wavered some as nervousness played over her face. She was happy her family was alive and she was happy that her fathers’ brother had been brought back, but the fear of all that time being hunted lingered like a dark cloud on the horizon in her mind. Omega knew it wasn’t Crosshair’s fault. The chip wasn’t something that the host could reason with; locking them far away in the back of their own minds. From the little she could get from what she’d heard, he could be mean, but wasn’t inherently malicious. Everything he’d done in his hunt for them under the Empire was a stripped version of himself- the man was gone but the shrewd soldier remained.

…

Waking up in that dingy medbay was one of the most disorientating moments of Crosshair’s life. He was… a man again, something that thought independently from orders given. But good soldiers follow orders. He wasn’t a drone though. But you are a soldier... Yes, he was, but something else guided him, rather than his superiors he’d always looked elsewhere- 

“He’s awake!” The call came from nearby, as did the sound of several pairs of feet rushing in. He knew that voice, but reacted on instinct to the people closing in and jerked his head up, ready to defend, no, attack- Hunter was there, the closest, he was one of his targets-

...So follow through.

No!

Revulsion rose so strongly within himself that everything in his mind that wasn’t his own shrank back like frightened animals, leaving him gasping with an acrid taste in the back of his mouth and a feeling of bile rising in his chest. Pitching sideways he landed gracelessly twisted on the metal floor and began heaving, unable to tell if anything came up at all; not able to remember when the last time he ate was, only feeling a burning in his stomach. Hands gently touched his back but he jerked violently, seeking to remove that touch even if it wasn’t a punishment. When was the last time he’d been given that understanding? When had somebody last cared that his body needed tenderness? It felt unnatural to him now, no longer familiar, and painful.

Voices filtered through as the haze of sickness cleared: “...scans indicate the procedure was a complete success and that he should recover the same as us. Crosshair’s reaction is due to something else entirely.” Tech, he’d know that voice always rattling away with statistics and diagnostics. He’d almost silenced it forever with a single shot- how long ago was that? How long had it been since the ion engine had left him broken and the Kaminoans had pieced him back together, fit him with an eye that didn’t quite measure up to his shooting one and left him always a little off balance? 

“Crosshair? Vod?” Hunter now, “Are you with us?” Crosshair felt him kneel next to him and could see his concerned face in his peripheral vision now that his initial haze had begun to fade. 

He considered himself for a moment now that the remains of whatever had been in his head were gone. “Yes, I’m here.” Physically, but everything felt so strange. He could hear Wrecker roaring something nearby, probably his loud approximation of a greeting, but he made no move to meet it, didn’t (couldn’t) move himself to. At this, Hunter motioned for him and the others to back off a little before speaking again. “That’s good, we finally caught you and your inhibitor chip is gone now. You’re going to be fine, we’ve got you.” Fine? After everything Crosshair really didn’t think so.

…

Despite the best possible outcome the Batch made their way back to the Marauder, from another downed Jedi cruiser they’d managed to locate thanks to Rex, in an unwieldy silence. Back on the ship they all finally began to address their variety of wounds, and Crosshair, seeing this, froze. This was all him. This was his fault. He had hurt his vod, brought them pain, tried to kill them. He felt sick again, felt as if he was dropping out of his body while his heart constricted painfully and began to race in a clumsy gallop. Crosshair stayed where he was in the back of the ship and sat while somebody got it under way, finally feeling the vague reeling in his gut from entering hyperspace. 

It was quiet, nobody made a move to approach him yet. He didn’t know if he even wanted one of them to get close. Everything felt so wrong. He was wrong. What he’d done, betrayed and tried to murder his family, all because of an order?! Him, who flicked his toothpicks at commanders and belonged with a group of defective clones, couldn’t defy an order. Kriff him. One simple pull of a trigger and it could have been any one of them. If he hadn't missed, it could have been Tech’s brain matter splattered over the hull of a downed starship. His vod who was so much like an over-eagre younger sibling. Or Wrecker, who Crosshair had teased and soothed in equal measures in his life. Or Echo who, even though he wasn’t modified like the Batch, could never be normal again and Crosshair had learned to respect him as a brother. And Hunter… he couldn’t think it, couldn’t parse a world where he was dead, where he had been responsible for his death. 

Kriff him. How did he- how did he go on alongside his brothers when he’d almost done that? When he’d always be haunted by the pitiless voice in his head (his own, that had ordered the death of innocents) that had repeated his mission as a mantra. He could scrub his skin forever with the harsh scourer he used to clean his armour, but this isn’t something he could wash away. Whether it be in the new scars that had accumulated on their bodies, or the cybernetic eye that now greets him in the mirror, there would be no losing this. No taking it back or making it better. He couldn’t- he should-

A black mass came into his sight and he jumped. Lula was being offered to him in two small hands. The girl, what was her name again? She’d spoken to him when they were all in the cell on Kamino together (the last time they were all together where he wasn’t trying to kill the rest of them). She’d told him it wasn’t his fault, had she known what was working against him in his head? It didn’t matter now. The girl-Omega, that was her name- watched him partially hidden behind the tooka doll with the eyes of his brothers. 

“Here” She said, her kaminoan accent still strong after all the time she’d been running, “Wrecka’ lets me borrow her when I’m upset, I don’t think he’ll mind if you do too.” 

Crosshair looked at the old, scuffed doll and noticed a stitch in grey forming a cuff on it’s left arm. It had been a dumb scuffle over his and Wreckers continual rivalry and it had ended up with Lula getting the worst of it. He’d stayed up all night trying to make his stitches even and neat, not wanting to ruin the doll. He touched those stitches, gently tracing the line they made before gently grasping it and curling forward, needing to wrap the aching sore that was himself around something. Omega slipped onto the seat next to him and leaned into his left, he wanted to flinch away but something about this gave him... grace. He’d ordered the men under him to aim for her fragile little body and yet here she was offering him comfort through it’s support.

What comfort did he deserve though? What did he deserve indeed. Crosshair gazed unseeingly at the floor, trying to piece the parts of him left scattered in a thousand memories together to once again become the man he was before all this. He startled again when another body suddenly pressed itself into his right side. He turned, a masque of death greeted him, etched into a face permanently carved stern, but the eyes- Hunter’s eyes reminded him of the rail-thin cadet he used to be, not built to fight off any clones who wanted to get a piece of him on his own. He wasn’t alone back then though, three other boys were always there to back him up, and they would patch each other’s wounds together in their quarters afterwards. Hunter, their de-facto leader, was always worried about the hits they’d taken, not relaxing until every bump was seen to and bandaged. It was that look again, that same look that said: ‘I’m staying right here until I know my brothers are going to be fine.’

Some more shuffling in the ship Tech and Echo came into view, the latter still short a leg and being supported over to sit across from him. They didn’t say anything, but Tech came and sat in front of Omega on the floor, letting himself rest against Crosshair’s legs. Echo didn’t move to touch him, but remained in his presence just the same and gently smiled, his posture relaxing to lean against the wall of the berth. Just visible from behind a corner, Wrecker gingerly turned over with his injury, meeting Crosshair’s gaze with a smile already there for him. His injury prevented him from rising, but he extended a large hand towards him from his bunk. He was too far to physically reach him, but the gesture translated anyway: ‘I’m here brother, I missed you, I was worried.’ 

The Marauder sang through hyperspace; no words were spoken by anyone aboard for a long time. But this silence was familiar, and even though he felt a long way from having earned it, Crosshair could understand it perfectly: ‘Welcome home.’

Here’s Crosshair as in the story, I thought it would be really cool if he and Wrecker had matching cybernetic eyes. I gave him his ep. 11 haircut though because it’s cool.

[moxfirefly]

As far as the prompts go: I can't decide between 64 and 78, being said to Bayverse Mikey, who has been having PTSD nightmares after a nearly fatal injury. The other person could be one of his brothers if not the reader who is his best friend and they are both in love without realizing. Since Mike is already my sweet ADHD autistic baby boy, I Headcanon him as actually introverted with an extrovert persona that he doesn't know how to unmask.

See, this is why my fanfic is so hard to write.

I see I see, ok *cracks knuckles* I hope I do this justice, I want this extra special for you since I’ve highly enjoyed your Mikey headcanons. I hope you enjoy this and it’s to your liking.

TW: mentions of PTSD, nightmares, some sensitive material, blood, injuries, etc

Rated Angst

The cot felt cozy on this cold winters night. It had been your bed for the past month and a half. The inside of your apartment was a memory by now, you wish you could say the makeshift vacation was brought on by your own leisure, unfortunately that wasn’t the case.

The sounds of water and the city above have turned into a soundtrack, when exhaustion won over or it wasn’t your turn to stay up...

Stay up with Michelangelo.

You sat up and looked around the living area, the usual chatter of the guys wasn’t present. Patrol had been short tonight per Leo’s orders, Donnie had been up until about an hour ago monitoring via the hub. Exhaustion had claimed them all including Splinter, but for all of your attempts to get a decent nights sleep, it didn’t feel fair.

Closing your eyes you could picture that night and the horrifying hours that culminated in your hands covered in blood. Mikey had been hurt, not an injury he could walk off in a few hours, but an all too real life threatening injury that had stained you physically as well as emotionally. You never expected to see much crimson in such a short amount of blood, to speak to Mikey in order to keep him conscious while Donnie did everything his power to keep his little brother alive.

Because it was looking like Mikey might not make it through the night.

That thought alone made your eyes water again, even a month into his recovery your heart shattered wondering what might be if he hadn’t made it. You saw Raph exit their room, half his gear on and as quietly as his skill had allowed him he snuck out. It had been like that for a while now, whenever it got too much or the guilt overtook him Raphael would simply sneak and go topside. Whatever he did was enough to keep him at bay for now, surprisingly so even Leo had backed off.

You almost asked him if you could come with, have a breather from it all but your lips remained pressed even as he was out of your line of view.

What a mess.

Ready to force yourself to sleep your head barely hit the pillow when you heard a brief shout. You stumbled out of the cot and kept still, the sound was there again and the direction it came from was clearly from where Mikey was. You patted through the living room, pushed the curtain open and saw him. Eyes shut tight and trembling, whimpering for something or someone. You sat at his bed and rubbed his face trying to gently rouse him without making the situation worse. Mikey had been sleeping poorly, he’d been racked with anxiety attacks and nightmares.

Gently you rubbed his face, the new scar from his incident. It was similar to Leo’s eye scar but much angrier, the sutures had been taken out not too long ago. The cast on his arm was still on, the scattered drawings you and him had applied once he was more lucid had been one of the most calmest nights.

Such a mess.

“Mikey, Mikey it’s ok, shh” You soothed softly as his eyes shot open and he looked about the room.

“Y/N? What-“ He rubbed at his eye, the none scarred one.

“I could hear you screaming. Are you okay?” You gently placed him back on the bed on his side, hand reaching for his and holding it tightly. Mikey blinked several times, that shine to his baby blues so dull. There was ache and fear behind them now, a raging storm that he seemed to drown in night after night. You caressed his cheek with your free hand, fingers making out a healed scar.

“Bad dream, felt too real” His voice was a little hoarse, the tightness in which he held your hand a testament to how this dream had left him. “Why doesn’t it stop? I-I just wanna sleep...just wanna be okay” His voice felt so small, the way his eyes teared up only gutted you further. You opted to lay down with him, much like you had for this past month. The two of you on yours sides, hand clasping his you kissed his knuckles.

“Tell me about you dream, it helps if you do so” Your words were hushed, Mikey’s eyes bounced around your face, he wanted to speak but so much of his own brain prevented him from doing so. He kept so much of his thoughts to himself, only ever letting his walls down when he was comfortable enough but this whole incident had set something back between the two of you.

There was something he wanted to say to you and prior to this incident if looked like it might happen sure enough. Now though, even as you held your own thoughts back for more pressing matters at hand. Mikey chewed on the inside of his cheek, a habit he had when overwhelmed with too much around him and in his mind.

“You can tell me tomorrow, doesn’t have to be now” You reassured as to not add more pressure. You felt his fingers losen from your grip and move to your chin. An innocent but intimate caress, your cheeks flushed ever so slightly. “When it happened... I don’t remember much, don’t remember the drive back but I started to come through when I heard your voice” His eyes fluttered close when you tentatively caressed his bottom lip.

Mikey swallowed, eyes back to yours. “You told me to stay awake, I wanted to do that even if I felt I couldn’t” You pressed a palm to the hard plates of his chest, it seemed to steady him, ground him. “I wanted you awake Mikey, wanted to see your eyes you know” Here you were doing just that and your heart twisted up with so much emotion.

You were so in love it left you weightless at times.

But now wasn’t the moment, another night maybe? For now Mikey needed to recover, even if it wouldn’t mean fully so. Physically he’d be there soon, but mentally he was a long ways.

“Could you stay with me here?” He sounded almost like a little boy, eyes shiny with tears and voice so small. You nodded, boldly pressing your forehead to his. “You can sleep now. I’ll fight the bad dreams off if they come to get you.” You smiled timidly, another knot in your heart twisting when he smiled softly at your words.

You watched him drift off, so close to him you could count ever beat of his heart as it settled.

Feeling tears escape you tried blinking them away as exhaustion took over.

‘I love you’ you mouthed before you fell a sleep.

[jessicajonesrp]

Public warning

Patricia Walker does not do well with lack of control. It’s a tendency passed down from life with Dorothy Walker, easily the most controlling non super-powered person she had ever met. For the first eighteen years of her life, most of Trish’s actions, from her clothes to her work to her every public word and expression, had been chosen for her by Dorothy, and the only real choice she had for herself was whether to give in and make life easier for herself or rebel and suffer Dorothy’s wrath.

 Her desire for the control she had lacked had left her with severe insecurity, eating disorders, and self medication through drugs, all issues she struggled with for a good ten years before channeling her need for control into efforts at bettering herself and helping others. She had finally reached a place where life was stable, heading in a direction Trish could be content with, if not fully satisfied.

 And then Kilgrave happened. First to Jessica only, without Trish having any idea why her best friend had suddenly vanished without contact for eight months, and then with the shattered mess it left her once Trish did know and struggled to support her. Then to Trish herself, when she, against Jessica’s orders and even pleas, involved herself in trying to draw him out and capture him.

 Trish knew she had not suffered anywhere near the level that her sister had from Kilgrave, but it was still enough to make her feel sick and cold when she remembered. She still occasionally had nightmares of his cold, snapping voice, telling her to shoot herself in the head, telling her to kill people she had never met before out on the docks. She still shivered in disgust when she remembered the feeling of his hands on her face, his lips on her skin, the terrible ambivalence of wanting to kiss him, enjoying it, even as every part of her true self screamed out in horror. And she could never forget Simpson’s hands around her throat, choking her nearly to the point of death at Kilgrave’s command.

 She had hated and feared the man from the first moment Jessica managed to stutter out what he had done to her. No, she had hated him before then, when she first saw the unnaturally shocked, broken state of her sister when she finally broke free from his initial control. Anyone who could hurt Jessica so deeply and so permanently earned her hatred without needing to know their identity.

 And now he was back. Again. As much as Trish feared for herself, for being used or even killed in his obsessive pursuit of Jessica, she feared even more that Kilgrave would damage Jessica even more deeply, that he would continue to pile up dead and damaged bodies around himself and place the blame at her feet. Jessica didn’t need this, not again. And if Trish could do anything to help or stop it, it would help her feel just a little bit more of a sense of the control she knew she didn’t really have.

 She made her way to her recording studio after first sending some of Heroes for Hires guards ahead of her to thoroughly check out the studio for any signs of danger from Kilgrave or any of his like, giving them a code phrase to use to insure that they would be able to alert her if he did show up and control them or others.  Trish had already called ahead to insure that all people were thoroughly searched for any possible weapons and passed at least twice through the metal detectors already installed before being allowed entrance. After receiving the all clear, she went, Jessica insisting on accompanying her, via one of Danny’s cars to the studio, passing through the checks put in place and heading straight to her recording studio and instructing the techs to set up for a live broadcast. She was aware of Jessica skulking behind her, hands shoved in her pockets, as Trish rapidly read from the speech she had just finished churning out.

 “Good afternoon New York City and beyond, this is Trish Walker with an urgent report coming to you from Trish Talk, by way of myself and all our associates at Heroes for Hire. Soon, a follow up broadcast will be coming your way via Channel 5 News with more information, but please, listen very carefully to this announcement for your safety and those of your loved ones.”

 Trish paused, swallowing, and snuck a glance back at Jessica’s impassive expression before facing the mic again and continuing. “Most of you may remember the terrible events of last summer, when the man whom called himself Kilgrave provided mass terror and destruction in our city and in far too many of our own lives and homes. It is to my great sorrow that I inform you that Kilgrave is not, as was believed, deceased. Kilgrave has made personal contact with myself and with-“

 Jessica made violent throat slashing motions behind her that Trish saw out the corner of her eye, and Trish edited her intended words smoothly.

 “With myself and my colleagues, and we have evidence to support that this is no hoax. Please be aware of yourself and those you love at all times. Know their whereabouts, establish coded phrases and patterns of behavior in order to test out the level of control the people in your life may have at any given moment. Kilgrave is a white male with a British accent, last known to have short medium brown hair and brown eyes. He tends to dress in a professional manner, especially in dark purple suits and ties, and he is considered a threat of the level of nuclear war. Do not approach him should you see him; instead do all you can to get away and call in our hotline at Trish Talk or Heroes for Hire to report a possible sighting. If you suspect that someone you know may be controlled, treat them in the same manner, do all you can to subdue them without causing permanent harm to them if necessary. Kilgrave’s powers last up to 12 hours, so do not under any circumstances try to reason with anyone you suspect to be controlled. If at all possible, wear ear plugs or head phones or listen to loud music when necessary to go out in public. Kilgrave cannot gain control of those whom are not within his direct path and whom cannot hear his commands. He-“

 “Stop,” a voice suddenly came over the ear, and both Trish and Jessica jumped, recognizing the voice after a moment as not Kilgrave’s, but female and American. Trish quickly identified the voice a second later as belonging to one of her tech support assistants, Chloe Ash. “The information is over.”

 “What the fuck?” Jessica hissed, shooting Chloe a vicious glower and striding towards her quickly. “Will you shut up, even I know to shut the hell up on a live recording, over something this damn important!”

 Trish tried to recover, giving a somewhat forced chuckle and speaking over them. “I apologize, there are some technical difficulties, but if you’ll bear with me I will make sure you all get the information you need. As I was saying, Kilgrave cannot-"

 “This information is too much, this recording is over,” Chloe repeated, more loudly and forcefully, standing up and taking the headphones off of her ears. She fairly shouted out her next few words, speaking loudly enough that Trish’s words were drowned out.

 “Loyal listeners, you will now hear the sound of a suicide by Chloe Ash, Patsy Walker’s employee. More are to follow in the names and as a direct result of the avoidance and rejection of Jessica Jones. Goodbye, loyal listeners, and know that Kilgrave is a patient man.”

 She head butted Jessica in the face when Jessica grabbed for her arm, ducking under her and weaving to the other side of Trish. As Trish leaped up, expecting Chloe to grab or try to harm her, the young woman instead ran to a small cabinet against the walls containing little more than sound equipment and various office supplies. Throwing it open, she grabbed a pair of scissors from its contents, opened the blades wide, and closed them around the front of her throat.

 She made no sound, showed no pain as she dragged the scissor blades more deeply into her skin, sawing back and forth to make as rough and deep a wound as possible. The live recording now picked up the sound of Trish’s horrified scream, her outcries of “Oh god, no, no!” as blood spattered in a wide arc just short of reaching her, and the noisy scuttle of multiple feet moving towards Chloe as others tried to reach her before it was too late.

 Jessica got to her first and wrenched the scissors out of her hand, breaking them in half and throwing them down so Chloe could not get them and use them any further. Tearing off her oversized sweatshirt, she pressed it against the woman’s throat, grimly noting how the blood immediately stained through its thick material and onto her fingers, how it had sprayed hot and thick over her arms and chest before she could touch her at all. The woman didn’t try to speak, likely couldn’t have, but she was losing all color in her face, her eyes already growing glassy and lifeless, and as Trish sputtered and tried not to vomit or pass out in the background, Jessica held onto the almost useless bloodied sweater, as though she could somehow keep the woman alive just by holding on tight enough.

 It didn’t matter. Within another minute the woman was clearly dead, limp and unmoving under Jessica’s hands, and she could hear the shrill noise of sirens in the background. Jessica let her drop to the ground, stumbling back and nearly yelling out loud when she bumped into Trish and felt her hands latch onto her arm.

 “We have to go, now,” she mumbled, giving her sister’s arm a rough tug.” Before someone else of his comes through in the aftermath.”

 Even as she lead Trish out of the room and building, she could still hear the dying woman’s words echo in her mind. More are to follow, as a direct result of the avoidance and rejection of Jessica Jones…

[valaks]

Hey Valaks! I love your blog and your writing!

Please could you do 1, 10 and 18 for the writing asks?? 🌺

Thank you for the ask! I have added a cut to hopefully not be that person clogging up the feed XD

1. Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

I have a few collabs outstanding like Gemini and a Kabir/Alex sequel to Reunion (It’s rated T at the most so still kid friendly) with Lupin and Devil Went Down to Georgia with Galimau. My utter love for both of my collab partners for pulling me through at a time when I’ve been really struggling. I have a WIPs List but I’ll confess to not having touched most of them in quite sometime (partly from life, partly because I’m not sure how interesting they’d be to anyone else other than me which influences my writing more than I would like to admit):

Good Intentions: Smithers never thought he’d be anyone’s moral compass, he was no angel to sit in anyone’s shoulder but trying to keep Alex Rider from following in the ruthless footsteps of his father or worse his former handler, Alan Blunt is as close to hell as he can imagine. (Wherein Alex becomes head of MI6 we watch his morality slip away form the eyes of an increasingly frustrated and heartbroken Smithers - it all culminates when Alex uses a child “just as an informant, simple information gathering” but hidden behind the charming smile of John Rider and the brutal coldness of Alan Blunt’s words is Alex Rider dying as he says them (Smithers just hopes there’s still a part of the boy he once knew in there to mourn)

Walk the Line: Alex thought he was done with SCORPIA. But they kept creeping back into his life in the most unexpected of ways. He thought he could at least count on it being on the other side until he gets teamed up with Walker, his former classmate and current CIA spy. Unfortunately he still hasn’t been able to figure out whose side Walker is really on - attempted deep cover op like his dad, repatriated rogue spy back on the “good” side, or SCORPIA double agent? He doesn’t know but at least he’s nice....in that obnoxious American way.

Temperamental: (Sequel to Sentimental which isn’t all that popular and you would need to read it for the sequel but basically amnesiac Yassen whose memories stop pre John’s betrayal set during the Stormbreaker mission and features him trying to come to grips with the use of chemical weapons against children and how to handle Alex once he snaps back to reality which is where this starts) Yassen had promised Alex Rider that he would be safe from the world of spying but fate had other ideas. In the days after Sarov’s failed plan, Yassen scrambles to find where MI6 have hidden his wayward charge without drawing Rothman’s attention. A request from one of their existing clients to look into suspicious activity at his son’s former school prompts Yassen to investigate under the guise of offering security. He should have known where there was trouble there would be Alex.

10. How would you describe your writing process?

Lordy do I ever not have a good answer for this. Typically it involves an idea hitting me and then the determination: would this idea work better as a short to post on tumblr (because the set up would take away the tension or would require a multi chapter which is not really my strength), as a prompt to lob out into the ether for someone better and brighter to touch on, or a fic. Once fic is decided I determine whose perspective the fic would be the most interesting from either because it would create the most tension or their internal monologue/background knowledge would add the most to it. Then the summary is written and a title is chosen. If it’s something I’m really passionate about and I already have it in my head I tend to write it all in one go, if there’s more I need to chew on then it’s a series of dates with the Evil Writing App. The final determination is whether it’s good enough for Valaks or if it gets sent to an alt account.

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

Allegedly. I’ll try to go in order of posting -

Ruthless has a sequel where Alex just goes *quiet* once the initial dust as settled it’s unnerving to everyone because they’re not used to having to wonder just what Alex is thinking, at least not behind closed doors but what happened isn’t exactly something that can be recovered from easily, not when Alex isn’t sure who all’s in on it no matter what they’ve told him. Failure is the AU where I considered what would happen to Alex to make him want to torture.

Alibi was originally going to have Yassen show up in the end but I found it far more fascinating if MI6 was just testing Alex so out went Yassen and in went Ben. The sequel to it was torn apart and turned into Warm Reception because I wanted to trope flip SCORPIA comes to Brooklands and decided that it was more logical to have a small fight in Mrs. Bedfordshire’s lobby than anywhere else and I wanted to explore some side characters instead of Ben.

Providence’s sequel thoughts ended up inspiring Gentleman’s Agreement but I did write a small short for it “Yassen and Alex encounter each other on mission. Surprisingly they are working to mostly the same goal - Yassen needs to kill the millionaire who Alex needs to get information from. “I suppose I could answer some questions for you, Sasha. /In Russian/“ “Is now really the time for a language lesson?” he ground out in frustration but the man pointedly ignored him “/Fine but I don’t know some of the words/“ “/Then there is no better way to learn/“

I mentioned the Sentimental sequel but changing Sarov to come first and probable for almost a month before Yassen figures out he’s missing made the most sense. It was also a bit of fun at the Yassen would absolutely take Alex away from MI6....just to throw him in a school and throw away the key. Almost had him send him to Point Blanc but decided that wouldn’t quite fit all that well and wouldn’t be as interesting as if Alex had already gotten his feet back under him with MI6 and now sees that Yassen was right that MI6 would just use him until he’s dead but that doesn’t mean Alex wants to be anywhere near Yassen. Julia Rothman might have other ideas when she finds out what her newest second in command is hiding.

Gentleman’s Agreement.....there’s a lot of thoughts on Sequels and AUs, a lot of them have been written by better people, but that fic was written in 45 minutes so there wasn’t much time to recharacterize or change scenes. It did get Turncoat aka the Alex saves Yassen fic I wanted so badly.

Blood Brothers is a fic I really worked hard on considering how John would feel about his son being thrown into SCORPIA assuming Alex was of age. A rocky marriage was characterization that didn’t quite fit what I imagined would have happened but did fit the story so it stayed in. It was a fic that was supposed to get expanded on - the competition between Hunter and Yassen and Nile and Alex who is desperate to beat his Dad and his “apprentice”. I think two teenagers thrown against each other with a bit of a bone to pick, especially Yassen and Alex who can both hold a grudge even if one runs hot and the other runs cold, would have been compelling and a little fun but the premise and specifically John’s characterization doesn’t quite work out to me.

Found and Legends both have their plotting done but it’ll never see the light of day

Little Moments and Sweetest Thing were my guilty pleasure writing pieces for a while and I have about 1000 DMs of scenes for both of them that are lost to the sands of time and an embarrassing amount of self indulgence

Mates has a follow up ending for those who needed resolution in the comments of it. I’m not sure I did a good job of showing that Tom was in a semi abusive relationship since a lot of people seemed to blame him for him and Alex’s breakup. Most of my headcanons for how their relationship goes have them splitting much sooner just because of Tom’s own home life and either being unable to relate/talk to Alex and drifting away because his Mom throwing a plate at his head isn’t being hung over crocodiles but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt or because Alex is just too dangerous/jumpy to be thrown back into a school environment and lashes out even unintentionally especially not under the pressure of being seen as a failure. School is also a barometer of just how much he’s lost of himself and his childhood, bonus points for Alex being completely upfront with Tom about everything he’s done

In My Sights has an AU where this is all post Christmas at Gunpoint and Yassen is there because he knows Ian is already at Sayle’s factory and will have to be...handled. So two weeks of just getting Alex trained for the protection he might need, connecting him to resources, etc. Ian finding out that Yassen had been there was part of a draft at one point which was included Alex wondering about an all too sincere goodbye from Ian “who never hugged him” but I can’t find the snippet anymore ;__;

A Warm Reception was an alternate version. Originally I wanted it to be Alex watching his last chance at normality slip from his fingers and then the crushing realization that it was something that was his own doing, not even MI6 but Skoda who he had picked a fight with and the accompanying breakdown but then decided that Mrs. Bedfordshire was the right way to go upon writing the summary. Because everyone loves some Outsider POV

Adopted was supposed to be a one chapter throw away trope flip of K Unit adopts Alex. I kept it pretty consistent with Amitai and Lil Lupin’s K Units, tried to add in some more characterization just in how they treated some of the details. It has an alt ending/chapter where they find out Alex is Cub when they pull him from Three’s tender mercies almost by accident. I was persuaded into light humored fluff via guilt trip.

The Truth and Other Deadly Weapons has Ben acting exactly like he think he would in front of everyone but my AU was that this interaction happened in the field and absolutely shattered Ben’s trust in him partly because he had worked for the other side and partly because even if it ‘wasn’t as bad as it looks’ it showed a severe lack of judgment. It also featured several chapters of Alex running into the glass ceiling that is having “Member Malogosto Class of 2004” on your resume. Was going to feature Alex running into Walker as well and into problems within MI6 and the CIA but that was eventually cut and it was kept to one chapter.

Guardian....Guardian holds a very special place in my heart. I was given the prompt of a Monster Fic and I wrote what I knew but the interesting parts were all the ones that come after the story but might come across to a general audience as Hogwarts School of Prayers and Miracles. The plotting done post this was going to feature baby Angel Alex reuniting with his parents but...they were strangers to him and so he stayed with Yassen more and more, followed him, learned from him....it encompassed everything from the dynamics of broken families to reflections on theology and references from the Good Book....which is why it’ll never see the fandom but has a very special place in my heart.

In another, more perfect world Glocking Around the Christmas Tree is the Die hard fic this fandom deserves but as Lupin and I untangled the plot of the movie more and more we just couldn’t make it into anything that would be coherent on paper so it was changed and changed and is now a half finished sad abomination that sits on my works list only because Lupin would kill me if I took it down.

Hot Shot was supposed to feature my current favorite character that is not Nile Abara, John Crawley but I wimped out and changed it at the end because I swore I would write the Crawley fic that we all need. Hear me out: John Crawley knew and worked with John and Ian Rider, was respected by both of them, was recruited by SCORPIA within one year in the field, is the Chief of Staff of MI6, the man who “no one gets a knife in the back without him signing off” and is also the man who walks his dog to check on Alex. There’s a mentorship waiting to happen there, preferably in a nice work study program during college where Alex finally gets to see the repercussions of his missions and Crawley helps try and pull him back from the black mark that SCORPIA would have put on him.

My personal fluffy favorite is the spinoff of Devil Went Down to Georgia where Joe Byrne did pull Alex out post Skeleton Key and brought him home. There’s a pretty extended one about where Tom ends up after Mates. There’s also an actual sequel but ask me no questions and all.

Skipping a few collabs and Febuwhump fics but Burning Questions was just supposed to be Branded - a fic where upon being captured by Razim he is brought in and forcibly branded to differentiate the appearances of Alex and Julius (since Razim has decided to have him killed after shooting the Secretary of State). As a result of the pain levels spiking when Alex actually sees that the SCORPIA logo is branded onto his cheek Razim considers that emotional pain might be something to investigate. There’s a couple thousand words on it, one day I might polish it up.

First Impressions is supposed to be a mirror verse of Alex working for MI6 which includes Three as Blunt, Rothman as Jones and of course Sagitta as K Unit while he’s up against his father as Yassen and Yassen as Crawley. But it was cut down significantly even if the ideas are pretty fun to consider.

Sorry this was probably more than you bargained for but it was fun to get everything out there so thank you for asking

[kazeofthemagun]

Kaze - Character Tropes

[A thing I compiled for fun for my portrayal of Kaze and all my headcanons. There is so much stuff on TVTropes that I may keep adding as I go. He does have a page on it but it's lackluster for my taste XD but here it is.]

[Putting all this crap under a read more cuz that is long.]

Purpose-Driven Immortality / Regenerative Immortality - as long as the prophecy holds and Chaos still exists, Kaze cannot die. When his body is killed, he comes back through regeneration, centered on the Magun.

Soul Jar - the Magun, specifically, his heart that had been transplanted into it and bound him to the Gun Dragon sealed in the Demon Weapon. The vial is warded by very potent magic - supposedly, only another Unlimited has the power to break it.

Touched by Vorlons - granted immortality by Bahamut, the Gun Dragon, upon being accepted as Magun's prophecized perfect wielder - Unlimited.

Cybernetic Mythical Beast - the Gun Dragon and how he came to be - made from the slain Bahamut's corpse and infused with tech, animated by his still-living soul. As such, all Summon Spirits that come from the Gun Dragon and his Magun are also biomechanical in nature.

Dracolich - Gun Dragon is technically undead, while also reinforced with machinery to create a "perfect Weapon". He's forged from parts of his own corpse, bones showing through such as the arms, legs, exposed spine.

Draconic Abomination - Gun Dragon.

Dragons are Divine - Gun Dragon as the Windarian God of Destruction - the title gets passed on to Kaze as his chosen and vessel. Also War God.

BFG - Magun is fucking massive.

Bling-Bling-Bang! - Magun seems to be made of gold, but is really composed of an unidentified alien metal. Shiny tho.

He Who Hunts Monsters - fanatical levels of obsession with hunting everything Chaotic. (His title of choice being literally the Hunter of Chaos, Hunter for friends.) Definitely partially a personal vendetta - his whole world was devoured and his own mind was ripped nigh to shreds - but also a purpose felt strongly through the connection with Magun/Gun Dragon, a Demon Weapon forged specifically to combat Chaos that activates only at its scent, pre-repaired verse. Almost leads to a Van Helsing Hate Crime against Ai and Yu - luckily, Kaze is not that merciless and spares the kids for wanting to live as humans and not demons. All in all, Kaze/Gun Dragon are a cosmic force that opposes Chaos till the end of time. Also Married To The Job.

Collateral Damage - piss him off and you're gonna go. Alongside everything in approximately a 5 mile radius of where you're standing. (Thankfully he learns more restraint with time, attempting to minimize casualties where possible. Still, if ending Chaos requires sacrifices.. so be it.) Probably also Inferred Holo//caust in FFU. He had blown up huge chunks of land to end his foes. Likely killed people or at least animals :/

The Stoic - His personality archetype.

Weak to Magic - Blue Elenium, a special type of water magic that corrupts Soil. As an extension, Kaze is harmed more by water magic in general, seeing as the energy messes with Soil flow.

Trauma Button - having his hand held/touched suddenly. It brings painful memories of his sister, Aura, who died holding his hand. Under Chaos' influence, it was one of the only memories Kaze still had of her, rendering the trigger particularly intense and sending him into dissociative episodes. Furthermore, a fear of Gaudian flowers - the blue phantom flowers that herald the arrival of Chaos. Suffers from visions and nightmares of a very gory nature that involve said flowers.

Shell-Shocked Veteran - of the War with Chaos.

Loners are Freaks - he is an introvert born to a society that abhors weakness as disgraceful and sinful. Has trouble connecting with people - but he also (mostly) doesn't need to. Due to the nature of his quest, accepts his fate as the one who will never fit in anymore. "I am the monster who hunts monsters so that you may sleep at night human. It is a thankless job."

Beware the Quiet Ones - his silence precedes a storm. When he speaks, his words boom as thunder - be they a roar or a whisper. This man wastes no words.

Aloof Ally - self-explanatory.

Tranquil Fury - most of the time. Also, Rage Breaking Point applies when facing Kumo mid-show. Except Kumo promptly wrecks him, without much effort involved. It is only later (After-series) that Kaze recovers most of his power and sanity, and gains equal footing to his rival.

Firing One-Handed - can only do so this way. Only has one hand 99% of the time, the other is bound to the Magun and is reformed only to fire it.

Guns vs Swords - him and Kumo - Demon Gunman vs Demon Swordsman. Gun Dragon vs Sword Dragons.

Hand Cannon - Magun, to a lesser degree Orthrus.

I call it "Vera" - with Orthrus, named after the patron shepherd dog spirit of the sun's blood-haired children.

Improbable Aiming Skills - especially with the Gun Demon sight.

Overheating - the Magun when too many summonings are performed too quickly. As an extension of it, Kaze himself. May result in a death via Spontaneous Human Combustion.

Sawed-off Shotgun - Orthrus, double barreled.

Sniper Pistol - Orthrus.

Trigger Happy - self-explanatory.

Ancestral Weapon - the Magun, passed down the line of the Windarian summoner prodigies.

Made of Indestructium - the Magun, which cannot be broken by anyone short of another Unlimited.

Living Weapon - the Magun. Also, Legendary Weapon.

Shapeshifter Weapon - the Magun, a part of Kaze's body - gauntlet, windmill, gun. Replaces his right arm.

Only the Chosen May Wield - the Magun.

They Call Him "Sword" - except, gun. Kaze views himself as more of a weapon than a person at times. Makes sense, considering he is one - his true body is the Magun, which houses his heart, binds his soul and consciousness, and serves as the core from which his regenerative immortalitysets to work.

Nemesis Weapon - Kaze's Magun to Kumo's Maken. While forged for the same purpose, they govern conflicting energies. Also, Sword vs Gun.

Weapon Wields You - the Magun to Kaze with its funky laser-guided teleportation, always going after Chaos. Oh, Chaos' signature is underneath the ocean? Too bad.

Equippable Ally - Kaze, after reducing himself to the Magun and having Kumo and Lisa wield him to bring out the Gun Dragon.

Human Weapon - Kaze, literally.

Become Your Weapon - Kaze with the Magun.

This is a Drill - the Magun's Soil engine that activates Soil through spiral motion. Combined with a wholeass windmill.

Spectacular Spinning - the Magun's windmill. Plainly put, Spin to Deflect Stuff. Also, Blow You Away applies due to the Tornado Move.

Deadly Rotary Fan - the Magun's windmill used offensively.

Swirling Dust - Soil Spiral on the winds generated by the Magun.

Transformation Is A Free Action - seems to be the case in the series. May not be the case always.

Mechanical Lifeforms - Gun Dragon and all its summons.

Badass Cape - of course.

When Things Spin, Science Happens - the Magun's spinning shenanigans empower Soil.

Stock Footage - the summonings. He is become budget, Destroyer of Chaos. Also Transformation Sequence. Guy has a routine.

Running Gag - his spontaneous appearances, seemingly from nowhere.

Emergency Transformation - soul reforged into a Soil bullet, summoning himself as the Gun Dragon.

Elemental Powers - all the summon spirits.

Soul Power - Soil.

Soul-Powered Engine - the Magun/Gun Dragon.

Merger of Souls - Kaze with all of Magun's leftover Soil, as well as Bahamut's soul that animates Gun Dragon. Also Many Spirits Inside Of One - Endless White as the confluence of all the colors.

Emphatic Weapon - the Magun has a mind of its own, considering it is a vessel for the Gun Dragon.

Shoot the Hostage Taker - with Soljashy. Goddammit, Lisa.

Theme Music Power Up - Demon Gun Dissolve and Demon Gun Shot.

Black Blood - Kaze's blood, corrupted by the Magun's smoke. His earring, made of his own red blood mixed with tree sap, is a reminder of when he was still fully human. Technically also Machine Blood - it serves as a coolant for Magun and catalyst for Soil. Furthermore, My Blood Runs Hot - whenever Magun malfunctions. May be dangerous, as already mentioned.

Important Haircut - Kaze wears his hair long specifically as a "fuck you" to Windarian folk beliefs related to the blood hair curse.

Dark-Skinned Redhead - self-explanatory.

Death Glare - his usual go-to method of communication.

Icy Blue Eyes - a cold stare.

Eyes Do Not Belong There - Gun Dragon, with four eyes on the chest and one on the belly in addition to the four already on its head, also, many other summons, such as Phoenix or Raiden.

Glowing Eyes of Doom - Kaze's special Gun Demon crosshairs eyes, for when the time comes to be particularly scary.

True Sight - Kaze is capable of seeing through most basic illusions due to an extremely sharp spirit sense. Can see certain types of ghosts. Also Supernatural Sensitivity.

Cool Shades - wears a dark lens over his left eye to minimize distraction via Orthtus' muzzle flash. Also, Sunglasses At Night.

Megane - lol.

Lean And Mean - also lol.

Jerkass - he is. Sometimes Jerk With A Heart Of Gold.

Facial Markings - the wave on his nose and the solar marks under his eye.

Power Tattoo - the Embrace (Gun Dragon's claws upon the shoulders.)

Fingerless Gloves - wears an archery glove that covers the pointing finger and thumb only.

Eccentric Artist - also outside of battle. Primarily a poet, draws sometimes.

Being Tortured Makes You Evil - by Chaos, after being possessed. Returned to being good-aligned after some time.

Brainwashed And Crazy - by Chaos, to obsessively hunt Kumo. Now recovered. Also Mind Rape.

Laser-Guided Amnesia - his memory loss and subsequent insane pursuit of Kumo mid-show.

Curse - according to his people's folklore, the unusual color of his hair.

Stress-Induced Mental Voices - happens a lot, bothin hallucinations and the Soil speaking.

Heroic Willpower - to stand strong against Chaos.

Dark and Troubled Past - everything about him. Everything. Also Born Unlucky - cursed from the start.

Sole Survivor - of Windaria's fall.

Last of His Kind - last Windarian.

Meaningful Name - Black Wind.

Rite Of Passage Name Change - from the nickname "Wolf" to his current name, as granted by his clan.

Driven to Madness - first somewhat by his pursuit of power, then more so by Chaos.

No Medication For Me - good luck getting him to medicate for his issues. Chances are it would not work anyway due to his altered nature.

There Are No Therapists - on Windaria.

Good Thing You Can Heal - gets injured or killed multiple times during his quest. Good thing he's immortal, right?

I Can Still Fight! - frequently, especially when Kumo is somehow involved.

Organ Dodge - his heart is no longer in his chest.

Wound That Will Not Heal - still feels a type of phantom pain where his heart once was - the surgery scar is the only scar that refuses to heal.

An Arm And A Leg - the Magun essentially removed his right arm below the elbow.

Arm Cannon - the Magun.

Artificial Limbs - the Magun, replacing Kaze's right arm.

Handicapped Badass - despite possessing only one hand (when Magun not thawed).

Don't You Dare Pity Me! - Kaze and most of the Wind Warriors' culture in general.

All Are Equal In Death - as Soil.

Anti-Hero - also Pragmatic Hero.

The Cynic - self-explanatory.

Badass Creed - “From the Glory of Death, for the Glory of Life.”

Battle Cry - “Soil is my power!” Also Catchphrase and Calling Your Attacks.

Pre-Asskicking One-Liner - sometimes. "What is the matter with the Magun? Why won't you use it?"

Giving Someone the Pointer Finger - “The Soil Charge Triad to use on you has been decided!”

Big Brother Instinct - around Aura.

Parental Abandonment - never knew his parents, grew up on the streets as an orphan.

Summon Magic - Soil-Adherents train in Soil summonings - the Magun allows Kaze control over all summons, except ones of Mist.

Summoning Ritual - the Soil Charge Triad.

Offscreen Teleportation - played for comedic value. Is actually Soil Spiral teleportation, though.

Forced Sleep - induced by Kumo, causing Kaze to slumber for twelve years. Sleep, bitch!

Mage Marksman - self-explanatory.

Warrior Poet - "The gilding of a blood indomitable... True Sanguine."

Religion is Magic - the Soil poetry is sacred to Windarian summoners.

Dark Messiah - as the Dark Unlimited, Hunter of Chaos.

Duelling Messiahs - him and Kumo, who fits the light end of the spectrum. But will Makenshi's purity serve him? Hmm...

In Love With Your Carnage - You can kill efficiently and potentially kick his ass? Hot. Also Power is Sexy.

Magitek - the Magun and all its summons.

Human Alien - Windarians, Kaze's species. Also Proud Warrior Race.

Martyrdom Culture - the Missionary caste Soil-martyring for the Adherents.

[musings-sans-muse]

Second Hand Meet Cute pt. 4

Summary: Months after leaving England and recovered from the things that happened there, you enjoy your vacations in Eastern Europe and end up meeting someone from your past unexpectedly.

Warnings: Language / minor (barely there) suggestiveness / alcohol consumption

Word count: 6k+

A/N: I’m really grateful for all of the feedback I got, not only for this story, but for the others as well. I’m so grateful, I can’t even put it in words. I specially want to thank @shellbilee for being there to hear my nonsense and to stop me from deleting this story so many times. You, madam, are incredible. I also want to thank some very special followers, who have always shown so much love and support, via comments, reblogs and dms. I won’t tag anyone, cause I’d forget someone and that would drive me mad. I love you all! And to all of you who liked, reblogged, and/or commented, who followed and just checked in every once in a while, or who followed for Henry’s pics but never interacted, my deepest gratitude.

Happy birthday @the-freak-cassie-131! You’re the reason for this whole fic, I’m super grateful for your idea, and I wish you plenty more years of happiness, health and success! 💜

🔔🔔🔔🔔🔔🔔🔔🔔🔔🔔🔔🔔🔔🔔🔔🔔

"Why can't we get in?" you asked, frustrated.

"Because they're shooting some movie in there. Fucking Hollywood. Couldn't they stay in America?" Zara said, her tone letting you know that it was a good thing that they'd only be spending the weekend with you.

"We can come back some other time, besides, just like we had planned at first, we could do this for the whole summer when the children are a bit bigger." Nubia surmised.

She was always looking on the bright side. Opening a smile, you put your arms around the shoulders she was trying to protect against the harsh winds with a thin cashmere shawl, and give her a tight hug.

"Have I mentioned how thankful I am for you lot? And for the fact that you'd drop everything to spend some time with me?" You said, and the other two turned their heads toward you while Nubia touched her forehead to yours.

"You did mention it a couple hundred times." Arie said with a smile. "Have we mentioned that you are worth every second?" She said, her face turning serious.

"Okay, we're not here for sobbing like our babies, so, yes, we love each other very much. Can I go back to bitchin'?" Zara complained, drawing laughter from the three of you.

Dismayed by the lost trip but not disheartened due to the company, you made your way down the castle hill and into a pub to enjoy the local food and beverages.

The late September air was starting to lose its heat and brought cold winds from the Julian Alps, so venturing into as many castles and churches as possible was the idea.

The girls had allowed you the time and space to become one with yourself again, but you knew they wouldn’t allow you to spend too long without any communication. They started slowly, emailing you about the little things going on with their children, in their lives. You started opening up more and more, and the emails became phone calls, and the phone calls became video calls.

By late August you let them in on your plans of traveling around Europe. Slovenia had been on your bucket list for years now and, with vacation time to take, you decided you'd cross that one out. You started the trip alone, spending a week in Poland, taking trains to travel around and truly take in the scenery. After that, you took your time exploring Slovakia, moving on to Hungary, then Croatia. Then, after spending a week in Slovenia, you’d be heading into southern Austria and then into Italy, where you’d be flying back home.

The girls arranged their lives so that they could spend the whole day Friday and Saturday, and Sunday afternoon with you, for which you were deeply grateful. If not for their insistence and persistence, your recovery would have been much more slow going, and they never allowed you to stew.

In the little pub, you ate one of the many hearty dishes you had discovered to be new favorites and planned the following day that was meant to be your last with the girls. 

Though you hid it well, the sadness at losing their proximity again hurt quite a lot.

***

Work had been grueling ever since it began back in February. Henry was looking forward to when they’d be wrapping the whole thing, just a day away.

Reshoots would be done in Britain, and he couldn’t wait to go back home. What was the point of shooting in amazing locations if he couldn’t see them at all? He had heard of lakes, mountains, and caves, but could visit none of them, because he had no free time at all. He didn’t even have time to do the things he needed, let alone things he wanted to do.

These days were all about managing and prioritizing what had to be done, and what 

could be done in measly twenty four hours. He was exhausted and it took a lot just trying not to snap at people. He was grateful for having the best people in his team, who were there on the grind with him, and who were trying just as hard not to let the circumstances take the best of them. But thinking that it was the last night for that to be happening helped him push ahead. 

The last bit of work he’d be doing in the country was some function at the Opera House he had agreed to attend on Sunday night, and he was sure he’d end up nodding off during the presentation. In these moments, he hated being famous.

He had barely started chewing his last forkful of dinner, when somebody was already calling him back to set. 

Work was fun, despite being taxing, and time flies when you’re having fun. So, he hadn’t even noticed it was night time, having spent the whole day shooting on location, when they called ‘cut’ and it was time for the wrap photos and ‘see you at the party next Saturday’ called out to the several crew members.

On the way to the house he had rented, he stopped at a local food truck that made the best bacon cheeseburgers he had eaten in a while. Getting his fingers dirty with meat juices and trying to avoid Kal’s advances, he drove on for his first long night of sleep in more than six months.

He woke up to Kal’s tongue on his cheek.

“Okay, I’m up! Got it Bear! Thank you.” he groaned, sitting up and stretching his arms.

The numbers displayed on his watch surprised him, not only because Kal had been so patient, but also because it had been years since he last woke up after ten am.

The terrible thing about having a day off after going non-stop for so long was that Henry didn’t really know what to do with himself until five pm, when his team would be arriving to help him get ready for the gala later. 

TV was his first choice of distraction, after taking Kal on his needed walk, but he got bored and switched to his favorite author’s latest novel for an hour or so. He couldn’t concentrate like he really wanted, so after a nice bowl of pasta carbonara, he spent a while on his personal social media. 

When he had gone through all the notifications on his phone, he decided to get half an hour of cardio done, and playing with Kal in the garden was fun and got the job done. Noticing that the weather was still pleasant, and the sky would probably be starry that night, he remembered his initial thought upon renting the house and its top selling point: lying down on one of the comfortable outdoor lounging chairs on his deck looking up at the stars. 

Seven o’clock came too soon, and there he was, in another magnificent structure he wouldn’t have the time or the privacy to see. The Opera House was beautiful, and he truly regretted having to pose for photographers with the mayor and whoever else’s hands he had to shake, instead of admiring it. There were so many people that at a point it felt more like a convention meet and greet than a fundraising. 

As entertaining as La Traviata was, he had been good enough to watch the first two acts with real interest but the open boxes on the balcony, where he was sitting, and the not-so-furtive glances people kept stealing at him from time to time kept distracting him from the show. He had a drink during the second intermission and it reminded him how much his body would love to be lounging on those chairs, listening to the opera on Spotify.

He got up, trying to be the least disruptive possible, thanking God most people were too absorbed to notice at that moment, and reaching to the corridor outside the box without a fuss, he sighed deeply. He saw the stern look the usher gave him, and responded with a smile. It was nice not to be recognized sometimes, even if he was met with some hostility.

In the men’s room, where he could still appreciate the music from the speakers above the sinks, he splashed some water on his face. He had to wait for the show to be over to leave with his team, but was really itching to just leave the theater and walk home.

Looking at his tired reflection in the gilded mirror he thought about the way his life was heading. Maybe he should follow Alfredo’s example and the next time he fell for a woman, he’d just say fuck all to the status and other people’s remarks and simply welcome love while it lasted. 

And hope she didn’t die of tuberculosis like Violetta. 

Laughing at his own crazy thoughts as he exited the restroom, aloof from his surroundings, he was still smiling when someone clashed against his arm.

“Damned shoe.” A feminine voice in a velvety burgundy dress exclaimed, her hair covering the view of her face as she looked at said shoe, that had escaped her foot. 

“Allow me to assist.” He said, not really waiting for a reply, and dropping to his knees. 

“Thank you, you truly didn’t have to.” she voiced, apologetically.

“It’s no problem at all.” he replied, fastening the clasp. “It was my pleas…”

His words got stuck in his throat as he looked up upon finishing his good deed of the day, and couldn’t believe his eyes.

***

You looked into the steel blue you thought you’d never see again.

“Henry, hi!” you whispered, breathless.

At a loss for words, he slowly, shakenly, got up.

He whispered your name, as if he didn’t believe you were truly there, and examined you from head to toe.

“Oh, good, you remember.” you joked, trying to loosen your own nerves.

That seemed to snap him out of his surprised trance, and bring his eyes back to yours.

“What are you…? How have you…?” he didn’t seem to decide what exactly he wanted to know first, but asked you these with a radiant smile that warmed your heart a little.

“I’m fine, if that’s what you were going to ask, and I’m on vacation. Traveling around Eastern Europe. I needed a change of scenery, a drastic one.” you said, but your smile couldn’t hide the darker tone your voice took at the very end of your sentence.

“Uh, this doesn’t seem like the place for this conversation.” Henry said, serious, and you nodded. His face denoted knowledge of what you talked about, and you frowned, wishing you could question him further, but he was right. “I’ve seen this opera a few times, have you?”

You were confused at the change of direction, but merely answered.

“I saw it once before. Why?” 

“Shall we go for a walk?” he asked, extending you the crook of his arm.

“Sure.” you replied, putting your gloved hand on his arm and feeling that warmth spread through your whole body. 

After collecting your belongings, you left through the side entrance of the theater, and crossing the street you found yourselves at a park.

“This feels a bit like déjà vu.” you said with a smile.

Neither of you had really said anything that mattered so far, and that made you quite anxious.

“Why do you say that?” he said with his brow furrowed.

“To our right, on that block, there’s a museum with prehistoric, iron age, Roman and Egyptian artifacts, along with a lot of things pertaining to Slovenian heritage. I visited it on Thursday, it was truly nice.” you told him.

“Oh, and you immediately thought of me?” he asked, a mischievous smirk he couldn’t hide, playing on his lips.

“What? No! Well, that’s not…” you spluttered.

“I’m sorry, I’m teasing. Couldn’t help it.” he said, with a grin that brought about your own. “I missed you...r smile.”

Your heart beat a little faster at his slip.

“Last time we met, it felt…” he continued.

“Empty?” you suggested.

You heard him swallow and he squeezed your hand, still on the crook of his arm.

“Clara told me about you.” he said, and silently waited for you to respond.

You had been shocked - and that was an understatement - when she confessed to you, but you didn’t think she would intervene on your behalf after what she did.

“What exactly did she tell you?” you spoke, your voice quite small.

“Everything, I believe.” he declared.

“Oh.” you both remained silent for a few paces, and you stared at your feet as you walked. “Well, it was unexpected and painful seeing him that day.” you stated, quietly.

He kept silent, his hand still on top of yours, lending much needed warmth. No doubt he remembered that awful day as clearly as you.

Every time you thought of Matt, was a time too many. You had a faint sliver of hope that one day, that memory would be just a memory, and it wouldn’t bring the shivers, dry mouth, cold hands and sweats involuntarily with it.

“Things are… better. Now.” you continued. “I’m healing, thanks to my other friends. They actually came and spent some time with me here. They left this afternoon.” your sadness at their departure couldn’t be hidden, and Henry stopped, causing you to stop too and turn to fully face him.

“And now we meet, once again.” he said quietly, his eyes boring into yours. 

In the little light that reached the spot where you were, they were cobalt blue.

“I can’t help but think that, maybe, it is a sign? You know? That we could, perhaps, try again?” he asked, gently squeezing both your hands, and the uncertainty in his tone conveyed the care that he didn’t openly express.

You were grateful.

It wasn’t a demand. Not like it had been with Matt. It was actually a choice, and a choice that he apparently really wanted you to make.

“We could start by having a decent second date. What do you think?” he quickly added with that dazzling smile of his, as your eyes widened slightly in apprehension.

You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and smiled back.

“I’d love that.” you replied.

***

You two walked back to the theater discussing the details of your proper date. After helping you into a cab, Henry went back into the theater as the presentation ended and people started to leave.

He was undeniably elated and couldn’t sleep when he got home. He decided to go for a run with a reluctant Kal in the woods nearby his house, taking a hot shower after that. 

He got into bed repeating to himself that he had to sleep and be well rested to meet you that following morning, trying to relax by counting eight seconds to breathe in and eight seconds to breathe out, but soon got lost in thoughts of how beautiful you looked in that dress. The white gloves contrasted well with the burgundy, and the dress was just right to highlight how beautiful you were. Your hair was shining again, there was only a hint of tiredness under your eyes, and your cheeks looked healthy. 

More than anything, the light had returned to your eyes, the eyes that had brought him to his knees, incapable of seeing any other woman. 

When Kal licked his face and he startled awake, noticing how high the sun was in the sky again, your lips were the last memory of the dream he was having and what he fiercely held on to as he made his way to the bathroom and took another shower. 

His bodyguard and driver waited in the SUV, while he went all the way to the door of your airbnb to meet you.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” he said with a huge smile.

“What’s gotten you so chirpy this early?” you asked, faking a frown.

“It’s almost ten thirty. Will you please accompany me to the car? We have a long road ahead of us.” he replied, still smiling like the Cheshire cat.

“Oh, do we? I thought we’d be having brunch.” you questioned, squinting at him suspiciously.

“Haven’t you had breakfast?” he asked, his tone concerned, though a smirk was playing around the corners of his smile.

“I had an apple.” you answered earnestly, not as amused.

“I brought croissants. Freshly made. Does it help?” he asked, putting on an innocent look that melted even his mother’s meanest mood.

“You’re so…” you started, shaking your head.

“Tall? Funny?” he offered, coming closer to you and putting both hands on your waist. “Incredibly attracted to you?”

He said that looking deep into your eyes and, not waiting for a reply, kissed your forehead. It was a good area to kiss, away from your gaze, because he had the feeling he went too far, and giving you a minute away from his eyes to gather your thoughts was the least he could do.

“More like devilishly handsome and annoying.” you said, leaning your head on his chest.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and hugged you closely as he chuckled, leaning his chin on your head.

He felt like his heart could burst. The fact that you had leaned into his embrace, and returned it, meant a level of acceptance he wasn't sure you were ready to give. 

There was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be at that moment, and he felt he could hold you like that forever. Alas, there was a forty-five-minute drive to your destination and he wanted to make the most of the afternoon with you there.

You two talked about anything and everything that hadn’t been covered before during that trip. Henry was happy to see that you had a healthy appetite for buttery baked goods, and that your tastes were more or less in line with his. Not only you two liked similar cuisines, and had come to appreciate the same dishes of the Slovenian cooking, but you liked a lot of the same classic rock bands, shared a taste for some pop artists, but diverged slightly when it came to country music. You disagreed completely about rap and hip hop, and indie and alternative, but he was surprised to know that musicals were also a guilty pleasure of yours.

The more he got to know about you, the more certainty he had that you were quite special.

“How much longer are you planning on staying in Slovenia?” he asked you when you were almost getting there.

“The plan was to leave today actually, and head to Austria. I’d be spending the next two days exploring the delicious compotes and cheeses they make in those tiny farms along the roads, and slowly make my way to Italy, where I’ll be taking my flight home.” you answered.

"Oh." he replied simply.

He thought he'd have as long as he wanted to be with you and it turned out he was on borrowed time already.

"I can always skip Austria. I've been there. It was a matter of revisiting great places with great food. But Slovenia has been providing me with that too." you said calmly, putting him at ease.

"Tell me about your travels. What have you seen?" he asked, leaning closer in his interest to know more about you.

You two talked about places you had seen and places you would like to see; places left unexplored and places you could have experienced better. 

"Oh, is that Bled?" you asked, interrupting something he was saying.

"Yes, it seems to be the highlight of places to see here. I was afraid you had already visited, but apparently…" he said, delighted by your reaction, while you drank in the view of the castle on the cliff from afar and the little island, in the middle of the lake, with the famous pilgrimage church.

"I wanted to come, but I decided to leave it to do with the girls. The girls weren't keen on a forty-five-minute trip, though. They said it would waste too much of the little time we'd have together, and it'd be a hassle." you replied, pensive.

"Great for me, then!" Henry laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

You whipped your head at him with a smile.

Mission accomplished.

***

After a lovely lunch at the castle restaurant, you two explored. You first followed a guide telling you about the history of the castle, since the sixth century, its ever evolving architecture, and the legend of the lake bell. You also toured the winery, trying wines and choosing your favorite, at his request. You filled two bottles, corked it with his help and wax-sealed them.

“One for you, and one for me.” he said, as you exited the area.

You gasped. It hadn’t been cheap.

“I thought… I thought you were buying it for your family or, um, I don’t know…” you babbled.

“This is a memory I’m sharing with you. So, the souvenirs will be just for you and me.” he replied, seriously, his eyebrows raised.

“Souvenirs? Will there be more?” you asked, excitement and apprehension fighting for a prominence in your tone.

“Just one more. It's the one I’m most looking forward to, actually.” he said, with a smile, as his left hand brushed the skin of your forearm and pulse, then into your hand, until his fingers lined with yours for a second, and then entwined.

You let go a ragged breath, very aware of the goosebumps and the fiery trail that his fingers left on the skin of your arm.

It was done so casually, as if he had done that a thousand times before. You stole a glance at him and he was looking at you, his lips softly curled upwards.

What wouldn’t you give to know what he was thinking.

You kept walking for a couple more minutes until you reached the castle forge. The heat and noise of hot iron being hammered on anvil hit you before you actually saw anyone working.

The forged items displayed were so beautiful, you felt like buying them all.

“Uh uh,” Henry said, turning you around by the waist to face him. “They’re all very beautiful, yes, but right now I need you to concentrate. Is there a short quote, or a proverb, a saying or something, that speaks to you?” he asked you with a frown.

“Oh, uh…” you started, but he interrupted you.

“There’s a queue, so you have time to think.” he hurriedly said. “I thought we could give each other words we find beautiful, or motivate us.” he explained.

“Oh, I know the perfect words.” you stated simply after a while, opening a smile and leaving him in a clear state of pure curiosity.

“And you’re not telling me?” he half stated, half asked.

“Nope.” you said with a grin.

“Alright, alright. Keep your secrets. I can wait a few more minutes.” he said and chuckled.

“How can they make it so fast for these people, if everyone gets their own version?” you asked, and it was your turn to frown.

“Actually, these people get to make their coins, but the only thing on them is the symbol of the castle and the date they visited. Ours will be a little more special.” he said and winked at you.

“Special how?” you whispered.

“Well, I asked someone on my team to call ahead. They were quite happy to hear me out. I have a coin making tradition for every production I work on, and we arranged a little something. But don’t tell anyone, okay?” he confided, in a hushed tone.

You nodded.

“So this morning, when I called personally, very early,” he continued, shaking his head, “they were kind enough to allow this little exception, and on such short notice.”

It was your turn then, and you noticed that the doors had been closed and no other visitors were around. The blacksmiths explained all the process to the both of you, and despite being quite hard work and taking quite a while, you managed to make a coin for Henry. 

Dark green velvet pouches were provided and you were very happy with the result.

You offered him the coin you had made for him, but he said that the date was not over yet. That he would rain in his curiosity, and that you’d definitely have your gift before he said goodnight to you.

The thought of him saying goodnight to you brought the butterflies back. That morning when he had kissed your forehead, your stomach had flipped in a way you hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

A short car ride led you to the lake where you took the traditional wooden boat to the church. The man on the boat told you you were right to come in October, for the tourists crowded the area until September. Indeed there were very few people who had been brave enough to face the glacial lake and the cold coming from the Alps.

From the distance you could see the long and steep stairs leading up to the church. As you set foot on the steps, Henry insisted you two take a few more photos. 

You had lost count of how many he had already taken of the castle, of you against the beautiful view, of you, just because, of the both of you. His eye for photography was amazing and you made him promise to send some of those to you.

After the long walk up the stairs to the church - you both kept stopping every few meters and admiring the view -, you two followed a guide once more, but your attention was elsewhere. You couldn’t help but gape at the beauty inside. The magnificent golden altar, the details all around, the icons, the chandeliers, the organ.

“It’s so beautiful!” you wondered in a whisper.

His hand was again holding yours and you found him looking at you, when your head finally turned to look at him.

“Yes, it’s quite the sight.” he said, and sighed, looking straight into your eyes. “Shall we make a wish?” he asked, looking back to the altar, where a few people had just left in tears.

“What do you mean 'make a wish’?” you asked, frowning in puzzlement.

“Well, didn’t you hear the guide? If we stand on the ruins, there, see?” he pointed to the floor where glass panels allowed you to see the ruins of the previous churches and pagan temples. “You see the rope?” You nodded. “Well, we have to remember the widow who prayed here everyday, remember, the one from the castle, with a dodgy character?” he laughed, and you nodded, smiling.

“So we pull the rope to make a wish? I’m sorry, I wasn't paying attention, there’s just so much to take in!”

“I understand.” he said, with a chuckle. “We have to pull the rope three times. Shall we do it together?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“But then, will both our wishes come true?” you asked, quirking one of yours.

“Good question.” he said, and looked down in thought.

“Well, we can always risk it.” his eyes snapped back to yours when you spoke.

You were face to face with the rope in between you, and his smile was radiant. He was having the time of his life.

“Who knows, maybe we end up wishing for the same thing.” you said, quietly, but he heard you.

“Make your wish.” he said.

His eyes never left yours. He put his hands on top of yours where you held the rope.

“Ready.” you said.

“Me too.” he replied.

And you pulled the rope.

It was a good thing that he was there to help you, because it was very heavy to pull. Once you got the hang of it, the second and the third were easier.

The chimes echoed through the church and the few people left in it looked back to the both of you.

You made your way out of the church but before you left, the guide pulled you aside while Henry watched, already almost by the steps.

“In case you need a future reference.” he said with a smile, in a thick accent.

When you looked at the pamphlet in your hands, it showed weddings in the island church, and how to book them.

It was a miracle that Henry did not ask anything about the embarrassment you knew couldn’t have hidden well in the short amount of time it took to reach him. He actually did not say much during the entire trip back to the city. You were tired, and there was just so much to think about.

“We’re here.” he said quietly. Probably trying not to startle you.

“Where’s here exactly?” you asked in the same hushed tone.

The resounding barks answered your question.

You walked the path to his door, hand in hand, and he stopped in front of you before opening it.

“Yeah, that’s Kal. He’ll jump. Do you have a problem with that?” he said with a wince.

“I’ve been tackled by him before. I guess I can take it.” you said with a smile and a wink.

“True. I’ll go first though, then he won’t be as excited when he tries to tackle you again.”

You both chuckled at that and, after waving at the men waiting by the gate, he took all of the bags of souvenirs from your hands, adding to the ones he had in his, and opened the door.

Just as promised, Kal almost tackled him to the floor, but soon realized there was novelty in the house, and came straight for you. You were smarter this time, already kneeling and petting him pretty much everywhere as he wouldn’t stand still.

***

Dinner was nice once Kal allowed you two to do anything. The restaurant was timely as usual, and the food was amazing.

You made him swear not to open the bottle you had bought at the castle because it should be opened only for a special occasion.

“Love, to me this is a very special occasion.” he said, looking into your eyes.

You were speechless at that, and he wondered if it all had been too much. 

Whisking you away like that, the lingering stares, holding your hand. All day long he had been so nervous about how you’d take the whole idea, and holding your hand grounded and calmed him.

You never protested it, but he didn’t really read a warm welcome from you. It was as if you wanted it, but didn’t at the same time.

After you both put away the dishes, despite his insistence that you didn’t have to do any of that, he took you to the deck overlooking the garden, where he was finally able to sit back, relax and look at the stars. Having you by his side was a bonus he was delighted to have earned.

He brought the coins for you to exchange and put them next to your wine glasses.

“So, Mr. Cavill let’s see what memorable words you’ve gifted me.” you said to him, with a mischievous grin.

He let you see your coin first.

“Life before Death. Strength before Weakness. Journey before Destination.” you read aloud, and looked at him with wide eyes.

“It’s from a book I love, and these are words I live by. I wanted to share them with you.” he said, gauging your reaction. 

He was showing his most nerdy side, and in hindsight, that wasn’t the best way to impress a woman.

“They’re very wise words to live by. I loved it. What’s the symbol?” you asked, intrigued by the intricate crest.

“Well, I figured, since you get my motto, you might as well get my crest. That’s my family crest.” blushing, he smiled at your quick intake of breath. “See, like my ring.”

“I’m…” you paused and swallowed, looking from him to the coin and back at him again, apparently trying to find the right word. “I’m honored Henry. Truly.”

He nodded, and averted his eyes from your scrutiny, taking a sip from his wine.

“Now it’s my turn!” he said, putting his glass down and lightening the mood.

“Well, I hope you like it.” you said, and it was your turn to be shy.

“Oh, that’s unfair, mine was in English!” he exclaimed as he examined his coin, laughing.

You laughed along, shaking your head.

“It means ‘In darkness, light.’” you said, your laughter turning into a small smile. “It is my motto.”

He nodded.

“Thank you.” he said solemnly, watching you lounge back on the chair admiring your coin.

He reclined as well, running his thumb over the engraved words.

“Stay.” he said quietly, after you both had remained in silence for a while.

“What was that?” you asked, turning your head to look at him.

“Stay. In Slovenia, I mean.” He repeated. “If your flight is non-refundable, I’ll pay for your flight back, but stay. Please.”

He wondered if this was the last straw, if he had finally pushed you too far and it would end before it had the chance to begin. Again.

“Henry, I…” you started, but stopped mid-sentence.

“Please. I want to give us a try.” he said, as he sat up, leaning closer to you, but trying not to invade your space.

You sat up too, and sighed deeply.

“You, uh… are you sure?” you asked and bit your lip; the fear in your voice was something he never thought he’d hear directed at him.

“I am. I am sure that I want to be with you. I am sure that I’ve already fallen for you.” you gasped at his confession, but in for a penny, in for a pound.

He couldn’t really read you, you hid your feelings a little too well when it came to your heart.

“Say something, please.” he pleaded, with a small smile.

You scooted forward until you were very close to him.

Your hands, warmer than his because of the blanket he had wrapped you in, closed around his and squeezed lightly.

He looked at your joined hands, thinking of the silky skin he had had the privilege to touch throughout the day. Were you going to let him down gently?

One of your hands untangled from his to place a featherlight touch to his cheek, brushing slowly down to his chin, and lift his head and his gaze toward yours.

“I want to give us a try, too.” you whispered. “I trust you.”

Your whispered words gave his heart a start, but you didn’t give him much time to recover sealing your lips over his.

It was everything and nothing like he had dreamed about.

The softness and power contrasted starkly, vying for his attention while those lips molded around his own, caressing and dragging, making him forget to breathe.

He could taste the wine on your lips, and the touch of your tongue on his sent shivers up and down his spine. 

It had been so long since anyone had made him feel anything remotely close to this.

Your tongues danced in synchronized movements and, at some point, teeth were invited to play as well.  

He didn’t know how long you two kissed for, time did not seem to matter anymore.

When you finally came up for air, he continued kissing the corners of your mouth. He couldn’t stop, you were like a balm for his sore soul that he didn’t know he needed.

He chuckled and you frowned.

“What?” you said, apprehensive.

“No, nothing. Just…” he didn’t finish, and he could tell this was not going well.

“Just what?” you asked, pulling away to look at him.

"Kissing you. It satisfied my curiosity." he said calmly with a smile.

You frowned.

"Didn't satisfy mine." you said seriously, still frowning.

An awkward silence descended over you two. The look on your face told him you probably misunderstood, the hurt evident in the downward curve of your lips. 

"Wait, what do you think I meant by that?" he was wrecking his brains trying to figure out how exactly you could have misinterpreted what he said.

"I don't know, what exactly did you mean?" you replied, and he was right about you being hurt.

"I meant that I’ve been dreaming of what kissing you felt like. Now I know. What did you mean?" he earnestly confessed, all humor gone.

Staring deeply into his eyes, you said nothing for a while. Then you let out a deep sigh. 

"I meant I could keep kissing you all night." you finally said, your tone slightly dreamy.

He opened a smile, as your words put him at ease.

“I’ll see what I can do about that.” he said, and grazed the skin of your neck with his hand until he was cradling your head on one side. You leaned into his touch, warming him inside.

“So, you’re staying?” he half asked, needing to be sure.

“Yes. I’m staying.” you replied, putting your hands on both sides of his face and kissing him again.

Henry thought about the way you said that.

Yes. 

He hoped it would be the first of many.

[nostalgic-pancakes]

Watching the starlings as autumn draws in

Summary: Tommy and his friends try on some skirts, and he reflects a bit on how they all got here. (It's a happy story) Title from September by Sparky Deathcap

Pairings: None! Platonic everyone (esp in irl fics_)

Read on AO3 (preferred place to read)

Word count: 2570

Warnings: None, except for surface-level references to the exile/prison arcs, but not much.

Other notes: I wrote this in a fit of madness last night in like three hours at 2 am, so i’ll probably edit it honestly but for now, enjoy! (If the CC’s ever display discomfort with this type of fic I will take it down)

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"WELCOME BACK TO THE STREAM, BOYS!" Tommy exclaims, rubbing his hands together as he starts rapid-fire answering questions about the stream, and the stream title from chat. It's funny, how over time, Tommy's come to see Chat as this one entity- an old friend. The nervousness of answering questions as a fifteen year old with nothing but a big personality, a twitch account and a copy of Minecraft is all but gone now, nineteen years old and happier than he's ever been.

Dreadfulzombie19: what are u doin this stream

"THANK YOU FOR ASKING, Dreadfulzombie19, today is gonna be a bit different, innit Tubbo?" Tommy raises his voice a bit at the end of his sentence, just loud enough for one of his flatmates to hear him. When Tubbo yells back an affirmative, Tommy turns back to his setup. Chat's gone a bit wild again, even though he, Tubbo and Ranboo have been living together for over a year now.

"Okay, okay, calm down chat- so recently I was at university, as usual right? And I had an eight AM class again, and… yeah I can see you all can relate."

"BUT! BUT! On my way back to the flat, I saw something really cool." Tommy hesitates in his speech to take a sip of coke again- his blood pressure's been acting up lately and watches Chat to wild again, asking him what he saw.

"Okay, so there was a shop- new place, which doesn't happen often this is fucking Brighton- and they sold skirts and dresses and stuff with adjustments for AMAB sizes!" Chat goes a bit bonkers, but Tommy's mod team- a little smaller than it used to be, now that he isn't the centre of YouTube or Twitch attention anymore, none of them are- are handling it, and pretty well.

"So I had to go, right? As many of you probably know, last year, I made the astounding discovery that gender-based stereotypes and expectations are, in fact, fake and I should not give a SHIT. And so I go in and look through the stuff- it's a really poggers shop by the way, and I find the perfect thing- it was the most poggers skirts and shit, okay? So, today's stream is going to have me wearing this pogchamp shit and wearing it right, with the help of…" Tommy ends his monologue by picking up the joke shaker-things that Phil had gotten him as a housewarming gift last year and indicates for his first two helpers to enter the office.

In walks his mother, face obscured from view as always, waving to the camera, and Wilbur, also wearing one of his only skirts for this occasion. Eret had taught him, on a phonecall in the skirt shop that week about the different types of skirts with a handy diagram. Wilbur's was a pleated circle skirt, brown to offset the bright yellow of his sweater and beanie, the same colour as his hair. It's very swoosh-y, so he's wearing black leggings with his regular shoes too. Motherinnit's also wearing her favourite skirt, a baby blue prairie skirt, Tommy thinks, and it's one he's seen fairly often.

Wilbur ducks down in order to show his face to Chat, and ruffles Tommy's hair while he's at it. Tommy's taller, but not by much, so Wilbur still fucking makes short jokes, That fucker.

Chat is now going so fast that he simply cannot read anything but some of the all caps messages and can barely make out some of the emotes.

"Okay, OKAY, CALM DOWN CHAT! WE HAVE TO GET TO FUCKING BUSINESS!" Tommy yells into the mix, like he did when he was sixteen and used the 'many people find me annoying at first' intro. Nowadays he just lets the content speak for itself. Anyone who wants to be here already is, by now.

Wilbur laughs a bit, and that hasn't changed at all. "Tommy, how is chat supposed to calm down if you're not calm?"

"I am their god!! They will obey via sheer digital willpower!" Tommy replies back, pretty zealously (What? An English Literature class is mandatory for his film degree, and The Great Gatsby by Zelda Fitzgerald is a good book, as are most of the other assigned ones. He's had entire conversations with Techno with just lit quotes and it drives everyone insane. Tommy loves it.) Chat seemingly has listened to his godlike abilities, with a few OG's spotting his half-quotation of one of Dream's last lines in the Dream SMP. The rest are spamming 'MOTHERINNIT'.

"If having a shitty magic trick book from a washed-up politician makes you a god, then what does that make me?" Wilbur replies, with one of Foolish's lines and swatting his hand at Tommy. Tommy swats back.

"Bitch" "Arsehole" "Shithead" "Fuckface" Wilbur finishes cheerily, as if this happens all the time. It does. Chat's used their antics now, four years of consistently making content together will do that for you.

Eventually Motherinnit reminds them both to get back on Topic, and Tommy goes back to facing the camera, addressing Chat directly.

"Today, my beloved mother, and my idiot brother-" "hey!" "And maybe my flatmates will be joining me to show off some cool as SHIT skirts! And a dress or two. We all have our selections, right?" Everyone nods in affirmative, even Tubbo and Ranboo. Though the camera can't see them. Ranboo's just come home from his final class, then. He should probably take the first hour back off, and judging by how Tubbo is forcefully judging Ranboo to the shower, he probably gets it. Tommy signs an affirmative to both of them, and gets back to the camera, where Wilbur's showing off all of his (very poggers) very stupid brown or yellow skirts. Tommy's are in cool colours, for fuck's sake.

"Oh yeah, Puffy just confirmed she'll be on stream! She'll be here in about twenty minutes, accounting for fucking traffic, and Niki' going to get onto VC after her own stream, what game is it this time?"

"GRIS." Wilbur answers.

"Poggers- she is the SHIT and will join us soon! So expect some QUALITY QUALITY content this stream!! Remember to not spam her chat to finish faster." Exclaims Tommy, even if it ends up as a light warning, as he picks up his own very poggers skirts from the extra armchair in his office to show the camera.

One is the classic red and white, mostly white but with bright red on the waist (elastic) and the bottom, and it reached to about Tommy's knee, if worn at the hip. It had no pleats, but the red bits were a very nice velvet texture, and while the skirt was heavy, it still had very much swoosh value, and pockets!! Big ones!! He slips the skirt on top of his jeans before entering camera view, the skirt visible in all its classic Tommyinnit glory, as he takes his place right next to Wilbur, who just took. a quick spin at the behest of several dono's., Skirt spying out from his lower shins all the way to his knee, making visible one of his (many) petticoats. ("What? It's cold all the fucking time here, Toms.") Tommy also makes a quick little spin, skirt flying outward, not upward, so it looks like he's hula hooping for a moment there. Lastly, Motherinnit spins around too, and while her skirts do not swoosh, she looks opulent, like she was about to go to waltz with the enemy, for whom she has a dagger in the back of her dress for. (He finished Anna Karenina and the Six of Crows duology within the same week and has not yet recovered. Jack Edwards is laughing at him as he thinks in his English Lit Graduate glory.)

It's fun, trying on different skirts- he and Wilbur accidentally bought the same dress at one point, which they paired up to wear, darting off into their respective changing rooms while giggling like idiots with their checkered blouses and the grindl skirts that Niki had sent over when she heard of this stream idea, laughing the whole time. Tubbo enters as dramatically as possible with Puffy, and while Tubbo looks really fucking good in his handkerchief skirt with embroidered bees and plain white shirt, it's Puffy who steals the show with an exact, real life version of her red banquet dress.

Fans from way back in the SMP, before Tommy had started branching out start going insane and are bringing back emotes Tommy wasn't sure were still available, but she is fucking stunning- deep shades of red and crimson, with slits on either side of her waist and all the detailing. She'd gotten the contact for her dressmaker through Bernadette Banner, Tommy recalls- she was so fucking cool when she streamed with him once, and gotten him to swear less and supplant those world's with bigger ones to intimidate instead. While he still curses like a sailor as part of his persona, it's less so and he does way less in real life these days, unless the situation calls for it. It's also just rude, especially in uni libraries, where he spends too much time these days wondering why he didn't read more as a kid.

Puffy's stolen his audience for a WHILE, and Niki coming on hasn't helped any, so Tommy exits camera view for a while to hug Ranboo really quickly- he's had midterms and has basically been dying all month.

Everyone on this stream- Tommy, Wilbur, Motherinnit, Tubbo, Puffy, Niki and Ranboo enter the camera frame after entering their dressing rooms for the last time on this particular stream, Puffy with full in-character wigs and makeup, Tommy in an Edwardian-Gothic reminiscent black and red dress, Ranboo in something he bought when he gap-yeared in Japan, punk lolita or something, Niki flaunting her pink in a Marie Antoinette style show of finery, Tubbo dressing in all green this time, something like a very deranged biology teacher who hasn't slept in days (Tubbo hasn't-Tommy has to get into that), Wilbur like a forest-nymph, all earthy tones and swishy fabrics and nature highlights, and finally Motherinnit, who hasn't changed but is here to take pictures as they all lean in together to fit into frame, as drastic as their height difference is. Niki is going to be edited in later, and everyone on the 'Dream SMP but nobody does Dream SMP and we're all fucking nerds' discord server is going to get a copy.

The stream wraps up there, after about two hours, and it's only about six in the evening- a far cry from the late nights and long hours from the beginning of Tommy's career, so everyone runs to their changing areas for the last time, into pajamas now, and packs away all of the clothes they wore, properly, as to not incense Karolina Zebrowska, and Jemma, Dan's wife, who would look at them disappointedly and nobody wants a sad Jemma because that means no cooing at their son. Also it just feels shitty.

Everyone huddles in Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo's living room, and they out on UP for like, the millionth fucking time (they still cry when Ellie dies), and Tommy is leaning into Wilbur's side and feeling his mum play with the hair in his very small, stubby ponytail he's developed by being in Uni as he and Tubbo intertwine their legs together and Ranboo rests his head in the tangle of limbs, playing with his fidget cube. Puffy stays on Wilbur's side, intently texting someone and smiling the whole while, and Tommy takes a moment to reflect (something he's been getting better at doing) on how the actual hell they all got here.

The Dream SMP was always going to end- everyone knew it, if course, they were the fucking writers. But by the time they did, not only were their respective brands too closely intertwined to just… sever that quickly, but they'd become too close to even want to. So the SMP discord never shut, even though Dream and George had planned it months ago, and they continued supporting each other with their interests. Wilbur made a lot more music solo, with his band and even just random ass streams where he practiced guitar for an hour. He kept playing Minecraft, but it wasn't his main focus. A bunch of people left. More stayed. YouTube left him alone.

Dream, George and Sapnap are still Minecraft streamers, but their YouTube channels are mostly blogs of them being poor excuses of adults with other former SMP members joining in sometimes. Tommy and the Dream Team were closer than ever, even though the seeds of their friendship had been sowed when they used to linger after heavy streams together, reassuring each other that none of that was true and that nothing like… that would happen in real life, because Dream had used real abuse tactics, and those still hurt unless immediately taken care of. So they were. It was a running joke that Dream was stuck at 99 million subscribers since nobody really wanted the face reveal anymore. The other Dream team members were doing peachy.

Phil and Techno were also still primarily Minecraft streamers, but they also released things like advice videos and mental health stuff, especially for relationships. They had a new scripted series where Tommy was a minor character. The dadza jokes were still as real, and yes, outside of streaming, both of them were lovely people and responsible adults (mostly). They collaborated with DanTDM and co a lot more now.

Puffy and Niki kept doing games, but did lots of different ones, testing point and clickers to triple A titles, and making it all fucking hilarious while they were at it.

So where had that left Tommy?

After the Dream SMP, he'd kind of had no idea what to do, and he was going to University for the first time, so he just… did whatever he thought would be fun. He learned about vintage fashion from the queens themselves- Mina Le, Bernadette Banner and Karolina Zebrowska and had fun learning how to sew for the first time, fixing and making his own clothes for the first time, clunky as they were, Wilbur had cried, genuinely, when he saw the Lovejoy shirts that Tommy had made for the band. He'd found a genuine love for literature in university, so Tommy started talking to booktubers and studytubers like Jack Edwards and Noelle Stevenson. Tubbo and Ranboo had joined him, fucking around in any YouTube niche they found even remotely interesting. Eventually, they all found a happy medium- a bit of everything.

Some people obviously weren't happy with that but Tommy was happy as he was, making what he liked with his best friend's, living together close enough to most of their friends (family) to have fun and drop in on one another at ass-o-clock in the morning to comfort, to laugh. His sub count hasn't gone up in a while- most of his audience is static, with about 80-90k online on a stream at any time.p

It was a nice feeling, to have carved out a space for himself and the people he loves, and be is so, so glad that he got this chance.

Looking at his mostly asleep family, Tommy thinks 'yeah. Life is good.' as the last thought before he sleeps.

[sparrowwritings]

Final Fantasy Writing Challenge Day Twenty-Three: Mellow

Day Twenty-Two -- Masterpost -- Day Twenty-four

“Can either of you at least tell me where we’re going?” Alphinaud asked. He didn’t complain. If his tone sounded close to it at all, it was because he was currently being led to some unknown location whilst blindfolded. Something the Warriors of Light had insisted on getting him to wear just before they’d teleported with him via aetheryte to...wherever this was. Someplace warmer than Mor Dhona, clearly.

“You’ll see when we get there!” Came Lara’s voice from somewhere to his right. 

“Just keep walking straight ahead.” Roger called out from his left.

He didn’t know why he agreed with the Warriors of Light when they’d asked him if he wanted to join them. Neither of them had given any details and he was incredibly busy. Minfilia had recently returned to take her rightful place as Antecedent of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, but there was still so much that needed doing. Forms to file, people negotiate with, supplies to wrangle, on top of the complicated matter of moving the headquarters of the Scions to Revenant’s Toll. That was all while also working on his secret project. 

And yet...from the darkness of the blindfold came the memory of Lara and Roger’s concerned faces as he insisted that he didn’t need to rest. They were nearly identical to the various worried faces that Krile would make when, back when he’d attended the Studium, Alphinaud had insisted he could work the many hours needed to complete his projects. He’d been much younger then, of course, so she had more reason to worry. But Roger and Lara were about a year older than him. Practically his age. It was stranger to see on their faces than on someone his elder.

Perhaps that had been the reason. Their worry, followed by their not-subtle-at-all invitation to go someplace else to get him to rest, had given him that momentary lapse in judgement that led him to consent to this mad outing. This was what he insisted to himself was the case when the blindfold was finally lifted from his eyes.

Roger and Lara had led him to a stretch of yellow sandy beach. A quick glance at the green cliffs around them confirmed that the three were now somewhere in La Noscea. It would take a more thorough investigation to determine exactly which part he’d been taken to, but Alphinaud had a sneaking suspicion that neither Warrior of Light were willing to let him do that. 

The sarcasm rolled out of him as easily as the waves were hitting the sand. “If only I’d known, I’d have brought a bathing suit.” Not that he would have even if he had known. There were some things he refused to let the Warriors of Light find out about. His lack of swimming skills was among them.

Rolling her eyes, Lara pointed towards him. “You’ve been working too hard lately.” 

“And the work won’t get any easier by being away from it for a short period of time.” He pointed out.

“Yeah but you’ll just push yourself too hard and then nothing will get done.” Roger folded his arms. “I’ve seen it happen.”

Alphinaud stared at the other boy. “...At the chocobo stables…?”

“Wha--okay maybe not at the stables specifically...” It looked as if Roger’s mind was about to take the tangent and run with it before he shook his head. “But that’s not the point. My good friend Walker is always running himself ragged trying to keep up with Botanist work. And after a while he gets really sick and lose a lot of time recovering and then he goes back and worries about the work again and--” His ramble was interrupted by a sharp elbow from Lara.

“We’re not saying you need to walk away from the important stuff forever.” She continued. “But it really does help if you take a break every so often. It’s not like Roger and I are always adventuring.”

The two of them shuddered almost simultaneously. 

“Man I’d hate adventuring if that’s what we had to do all the time…” Roger muttered.

“We take breaks and we visit friends and most of all…” Lara indicated the beach with both hands. “We find places to have fun at.”

Alphinaud folded his arms as he took another look around. Of note, this area was almost completely hidden away by the cliff faces around them. Behind him was an entrance that led directly between two of them, but was difficult to spot from anything other than a head on view. He couldn’t hear the typical sounds of habitation, though it could just be that the rock around the three echoed the sounds of the ocean far better than they could a city. 

There was something significantly telling about how the Warriors of Light considered such an isolated area a “place to have fun at.” He settled that observation into the back of his mind to ruminate on it later. “So for your own amusement, you two travel to a beach such as this one and…do what exactly?” Alphinaud gestured at them, trying to encompass his meaning while doing so. “Fight crabs? Consider walking into the ocean to find an underwater kingdom? Throw sand around?”

The fact that the two looked at each other with equally bewildered expressions told him he’d guessed at least one of those right. 

“W-well…” Roger scratched at the side of his face while avoiding eye contact. “Sometimes, yeah...mostly we just take off our boots, roll up our pants and go wading. Or build sand castles. Or nap.” Alphinaud must have made a face because the other boy was quickly panicking. “Not! That you need to! Uh, do any of that.”

Lara pursed her lips for a moment before she added, “Yeah, you could sit on the beach and not do anything if that’s what’s going to make you happy.” She shrugged. “We just wanted to get you out of the Rising Stones for a little bit, that’s all. Let the sun hit you and the fresh air surround you, you know?”

He didn’t, really, but he nodded anyway. “The effort is appreciated, but I’ll be taking my leave.” Alphinaud sniffed. “If you’ll allow me.”

The Warriors of Light gave each other a look before turning back to him. “Fine.” They said at the same time.

Well that was unexpected. “You’re not going to stop me?”

Roger shrugged. “If you don’t want to relax here, then it’d be rude to force you to try.” He squatted into a sitting position and started taking off his boots. 

Lara gave him a smile, but it wasn’t nearly as bright as hers usually were. “We thought that it might help you unwind to give you a surprise trip to a beach. You know, give you something different then just...work, work, work.” She shook her head. “If we can’t convince you, we can’t convince you. What can I say? Other than sorry for wasting your time.” Saying this, she also set to removing her shoes. “I’m going to go splash around, though, since we’re here.”

Alphinaud stood there, watching the Warriors of Light discard their footwear and pad towards the water. Neither of them turned to watch him leave. Instead, they chatted among themselves as if they didn’t do so on a regular basis.

Something cold came from his heart and ran through his blood, turning the warm day several degrees cooler. 

As he continued to stare he was again reminded of being at the Studium when he was younger. He normally eschewed the company of other students, but every so often he’d spy a group of them and just...observe. Alphinaud would make note of their warm smiles, their animated gestures, the open way they treated each other without being related. And, very briefly, he’d feel a pull towards that heat. As soon as any of the students saw him, however, they’d become closed off and politely greet him before walking away.

He felt that same pull now.

Just before either of them reached the water, Roger turned to him. Giving a warm smile, he gestured at Alphinaud to join them. The cold feeling was quickly chased away by a pleasant fluttery sensation. The Warriors of Light still wanted him around. That was...nice. He still felt no desire to be in the water, but he did kneel near the discarded shoes to draw pictures in the sand with a finger. It seemed to satisfy Lara and Roger's desire to see him relax, even if it wasn't directly with them.

The work would still be just as daunting as it was when he’d left. A little time to decompress wouldn’t hurt, though...