#so clearly something strange is afoot

[waitineedaname]

I know “and he was in a coma all along” is an edgy cringe theory for most series, but my version for Svsss is that Shen Yuan’s soul did get transported to another fantasy world, but his family found his body in time to keep it from dying. They have more money than god and have been spending it to keep his body going for years (very much like Luo Binghe, honestly he would probably relate). This can have a tragic edge where he never wakes up, but if the System ever sends Shen Yuan back for some petty reason, he would probably question if everything actually happened or not. Unless the System pops up just to be like “I never said you were dead :)” (Binghe finds him and gets him back within a month, but things were probably getting pretty rough for both of them for a minute).

ohhh the idea of the Shen family keeping his comatose body alive the same way Binghe preserved his corpse is FUCKED, I love it. can you imagine waking up from a coma after having lived in a fantasy world for like twenty years where you were gay married to a demon. what. how do you even go back to normal life after that. I'm imagining this ending with an absolutely distraught man in xianxia style clothing barging into the hospital/house/wherever the family is like WHERE IS SHIZUN!!!!!! brandishing a sword and everything, and the only thing keeping them from calling the fucking cops is that Shen Yuan is fucking THRILLED to see him and yelled at anyone who tried to escort this strange man with a sword out of the premises

[waywardqueen411]

A New Legacy - Hogwarts Legacy x Harry Potter Crossover - Part 1

Summary:

After a rather brutal encounter with Ranrok's loyalists, the Hero of Hogwarts finds herself falling through time and space entering a world that's almost home, but not quite. Of course there's nothing else to do aside from adapt, improvise and overcome.

Part 2

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A/N: Hi there! I'm new to posting on tumblr, but I've just finished Hogwarts Legacy and I need to write this fic. Please reblog and let me know your thoughts!

Warnings: Violence, Major character death, the tiniest bit of angst, spoilers for Hogwarts Legacy

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader, Ominis Gaunt x Female!Reader (more to be added on as the story progresses)

The camp was one of the bigger one's as of late. Almost as big as one of the mining sites. You wondered how you'd let such a large following build up, mentally scolding yourself. You considered it a truly lucky coincidence that thus far, it seemed that Ranrok hadn't confided his true plans to any of his commanders - but you couldn't be certain that knowledge of the truth of ancient magic died with Ranrok amongst his ranks.

You hoped that Ranrok was selfish enough to have never told anyone the truth.

A moment later, you quickly spotted your chance to attack, as both the guards lowered their weapons for a cup of tea. You were about to step forward, disillusionment charm and all, when you heard the sound of twigs snapping behind you.

Silently, you turned around but saw no one. There was a strange glint, however, as light reflected off of something that wasn't there.

You sighed softly, backing up slowly until you were next to the disillusioned figure, before pulling both of your best friends to hide behind a nearby bush.

"What the hell do you two think you're doing here?" you asked in a whisper-yell. Sebastian held his hands up in surrender.

"I swear, it wasn't on purpose," he replied.

"Its true," Ominis said in a hushed voice. "Sebastian convinced me to come see him in the woods when we stumbled across the goblin camp."

You glared at them both, but felt a pang of sympathy run through you. The relationship between Ominis and Sebastian had been strained at best, and you were almost glad to see them together.

"He's telling the truth, Snidget," you smiled softly at the nickname - something Seb had taken to call you whilst the two of you practiced quidditch in the late hours of the night.

"Snidget?" Ominis repeated, clearly holding back his laughter.

"Piss off, Omi," you mumbled, but the smile on his face did not dissipate.

"Enough talking," Sebastian said, blushing faintly. "Are we going to sit around and hide, or are we going to kick some goblin butt?"

Ominis and Sebastian both look determined. You sighed softly.

"Something strange is happening here," you said and they shot each other identical looks of concern, "These goblins have been gathering for weeks, ever since I - ever since Ranrok's death. I think they're planning something - something that would continue his work."

"Well we can't have that now, can we?" Ominis asked, his wand held out steadily. You sighed.

"I don't suppose there's any convincing the two of you to go back to the common room," you said, shaking your head.

"We're in this together," Ominis responded, smiling a little. It was a phrase you'd grown fond of hearing, before the three of you would sneak off on your usual adventures, when trouble would undoubtedly be afoot. It was something you hadn't heard in a long time.

"Alright then," you said, insanely appreciative of your friends, "but keep your guard up. Something is wrong here. I can feel it,"

"We'll be careful," Ominis said before Sebastian could let out another quick comment. You squeezed his forearm in thanks, before going into mission mode.

"Wait for my signal," you said, before directing your friends out. The three of you split up, so that each of you were attacking from a different direction.

You walked forward slowly. There were nine guards - excessive, but handleable, especially with your friends near by. You silently removed the charm before standing up and walking towards the three cloest to you.

"Lovely night tonight," you commented, grabbing the attention of all the goblins on guard. "Confringo!" you cast in the moment it took them to realize what was going on. Sebastian and Ominis removed their charms immediately and began their attack.

Spells flew everywhere. A Leviosa from Sebastian shot past your ear. You ducked and rolled past the attack of a goblin, breaking his shield with your own Protego. Ominis shot a blasting curse. You felt the heat from it against your back, You shot curse after curse. Three goblins became two. Two became one. You felt Sebastian's Glacius brush past your arm. Goblins attacked all around you.

You cast one last Incendio and the woods went silent.

"Everyone alright?" you asked, gasping for breath slightly. Sebastian nodded, and Ominis gave you a thumbs up from where he was keeled over in front of the body of a dead goblin.

You looked to Sebastian again. Sweat dripped down the side of his face and he had a small gash on his lip. "You're hurt," you said softly, walking over to him and brushing over the injury gently with your thumb. Sebastian winced, his brown eyes meeting yours.

"I'm fine," he said, reaching into his pocket and taking a small sip of healing potion. The cut vanished before your eyes and you smiled softly.

"Let's keep going," you said. "Ominis?"

"I'm ready," he said, standing upright with his wand extended. You grit your teeth and pushed past the body of the goblin in front of the gate.

The three of you encountered another two small groups of goblins once you entered. You made quick work of them, blasting and cursing until your throat was sore, before you reached the center of whatever it was the goblins were doing.

"Is everyone alright?" you asked softly, but you already knew the answer. Sebastian had been sliced by a goblin silver sword on his arm, and Wiggenweld only somewhat stemmed the bleeding. Ominis had been slashed across the face by goblin claws and didn't look like he had it in him to speak.

"Brilliant," Sebastian said, his breathing labored as he clutched onto his side. Ominis made a noise of agreement. You regretted dragging your friends into this.

"I'm so sorry," you said, huffing. You had been sliced in the leg.

"Let's get what we came for and leave," Sebastian suggested.

"Agreed,"

At the very least, when you pushed past the door into what seemed to be the main area, there were no goblins on duty. It seemed as though the three of you had caught them by surprise.

"Alohamora," you muttered and pushed past the doorway.

Immediately, you gasped as you walked though what could only be a portal. You friends followed suit and you felt yourself being pushed forward into an unknown room.

"Lumos," you cast when you found your footing. The moment you did, you almost dropped your wand.

"That sound," Ominis said, "It sounds like-"

"Clocks," you muttered, looking around at giant room.

"Not clocks," Sebastian said, worry filling his voice, "We have to get out of here, now."

"I don't understand," you said, walking towards the beautiful gold clocks and hourglasses, "They're beautiful," you felt almost pulled in.

"Those aren't clocks, those are time turners!" Ominis said, grabbing a hold of you and pulling you away from the golden hourglass you were about to touch.

A loud bang resounded in the room. A massive explosion rumbled through the floors. You and Ominis went flying across the room.

"You again!" you heard the voice of a goblin who looked vaguely familiar. One of Ranrok's commanders. "You'll pay for what you did. You and your stupid friends!"

Your head was ringing from the explosion. You looked to where Sebastian laid on the floor a good few feet away from you, barely conscious. "Sebastian!" you called out, trying to run towards him, but Ominis held you back.

"We have to go!" he demanded, the walls crashing in around him.

"Go?" the goblin asked. "You won't be going anywhere," he said. You turned to him. The entire room was crumbling around you.

"Please," you begged, "You cant want to die in here with us! Help us!" you said desperately.

"The only ones dying in here will be you three!" The goblin shouted, pulling out some kind of dagger and throwing it towards the center of the room, to the largest hourglass.

"Sebastian!" You cried out, reaching out towards him. But it was too late. The dagger landed on the center hourglass and shattered it, sand pouring out and directly on to Sebastian. A powerful magic filled the room and you felt as though you were going to be suffocated.

"No!" you cried out, tears streaming down your face. Ominis held on tightly to you as you watched the power destroy Sebastian's body, blasting him like lightening - like your own powers. "Sebastian," you whispered. Ominis squeezed you so tightly you almost couldn't breathe.

"You're next!" The goblin screamed. you looked to him and felt nothing but pure rage fill your body. Your hands shook and you saw nothing but the goblin in front of you. Suddenly you understood what Sebastian meant when he first taught you the Unforgivables.

"Avada Kadavra!" you cast out, and the goblin dropped dead.

"No," Ominis cried, but it was too late. You tried to cast another spell. Protego, something, but your wand sparked and failed.

The sand spun around you, enveloping your and Ominis in a storm.

"I'm sorry, Omi," you said, tears streaming down your face silently. He held you even tighter. "I never meant - for any of this-"

"It's alright," he said.

A moment later, both his and your wands disappeared into the sand storm. You gasped, reaching into the sand. It felt like holding fire.

"I'm so sorry," you cried out. Ominis smiled slightly. His eyes looked so beautiful, even in the tragic moment. He held you close and wiped the tears from your cheeks.

"Like I said," he whispered, "We're in this together," he pulled you into his chest and you felt the ground disappear from beneath your feet.

This was it.

You felt a warmth in your chest then, and you looked down to see black sputters enveloping you through the sands. "What-" Ominis tried to ask, pulling away but you immediately pulled him back.

"Ancient magic," You managed to say, and your grip on Ominis tightened. You felt your magic burst out of you, trying to protect you, trying to push Ominis away, but you resisted.

'He can't die,' you thought to yourself. 'My magic must protect him. He's a part of me too. Just as Sebastian was,'

The last thing you saw was ancient magic filling your vision as you held on to Ominis for dear life before darkness took over.

----

Part 2

Let me know what you think!

[metatronhateblog]

Not to Be a Bearer of News pt 2 with some essence of Duck Duck what the Fuck

Something fowl is afoot. Between the newspapers and the ducks and the content of the newspapers. I have had the drafts for these posts sitting on my account for about a month or so now and was immediately screaming at the responses I was getting on the first part of this series of posts. So let's get further into this bit of a mind fuckery.

This one is gonna be a long one so just hang in there, I promise it's worth it. There's A LOT going on with this.

Back to the newspapers.

Last go 'round we talked about Mr. Brown (of Brown's world of carpets) and his very strange newspaper that is the cause of the opening sequence having an accordion duck in it, as well as some of the other appearances of ducks throughout the series.

This time, we're going to look more at the newspapers, with a touch of me screaming about my thoughts from the comments on part one of this mini-series of posts.

We already know Mr Brown (of Brown's world of carpets) holds a weird ass newspaper...

and how he practically waves it around like a billboard every time he's on screen, going so far as to even cover his face with it at some point.

Now I could go on about how the way time works in Soho seems practically non-existent, but we'll save that for a later day because we're talking about the newspapers. At least...the newspapers in season 2 specifically.

As we already know, thanks to the X-Rays on Amazon, Nina's coffee shop strangely holds the magazines that Adam read in season 1 (a very strange and deliberate choice to be making...) but those aren't newspapers so to speak.

(Screenshots for the people who didn't know)

So I'm gonna get started with the FIRST newspaper(s) we see in season 2.

And that would be a stack of them on the street right next to Aziraphale's bookshop.

Now unlike most of the other newspapers, you can't exactly see what these ones have to say, which is fine. I'm more intrigued by the fact that there just so happens to be (I assume that red thing is a newspaper thing because I'm from the US and that's not what those normally look like) a place to buy newspapers right outside the bookshop. The building itself says 'The News Agency' but I'm more intrigued by the little red cylindrical thing. How intriguing that so many characters wave their newspapers around for us to see and the News Paper building is literally right next to the bookshop.

Even more importantly this thing ALSO makes an appearance in the opening sequence. I know, I know, you're all probably tired of me screaming about the opening sequence at this point but seriously. Look.

And then this extra right here appears to be holding a stack of presumably newspapers, possibly making a delivery to The Dirty Donkey based off trajectory.

But I've also noticed we never really see anyone on the street holding newspapers, only in isolated locations where you can very clearly see the front page of their papers.

Which brings me to our second newspaper appearance (technically the first if you're going by readability)

Crowley (notice the ducks in the background, but kind of a given based on the location.)

We have three big 'headlines' on this one page we see right here.

"Maple Lane Post Box Becomes Home to Spider Species Not Seen in 45 Years."

"Norton Institute Reports its Highest Intake of Students Since Opening in 1888."

"Billions Still Owed to Millions."

Little weird. we have two things that are an increase in happenings since a certain time period...and a not so surprising 'billions owed to millions.'

Then we flip it around a bit (and ignore the...weird way he's holding his hand)

And we have the name of the newspaper. "TADFIELD ADVERTISER." With the main headline 'Is Tadfield the Best Village in England?' and no surprise that Crowley is keeping up to date and looking to see if anything else continues to happen with Adam.

The mini headline under the big bold one says 'According to voters of latest 'Best Village in England' poll Tadfield really is the loveliest place to live.' And in the tiny little blue box 'Entirely perfect weather AGAIN for Tadfield.'

So even after the end of season 1, it appears we still have some strange happenings in Tadfield. Right on.

By the by for those of you who didn't know, pretty sure every single page of Crowley's newspaper is the exact same.

But I think another important detail is, same as Mr Brown (of Brown's world of carpets) Crowley also seems to be holding the newspaper so you can very clearly see what's on it.

Next time something news related appears, we have our little red vessel appearing while Crowley loses his shit.

Now we don't actually see newspapers again until episode 2. This specific one is a doozy and had me and @lady-of-the-puddle screaming over it.

When Aziraphale is looking for clues over the Buddy Holly record, we see him pouring over some newspapers.

SO! Here we see Aziraphale reading a Scottish newspaper with an article titled "Everyday It's a gettin' closer" and we can see a couple more on the desk next to him. Now I've gone through and read the article (I'll post a screenshot so you can too if you want) and to sum it up it's basically the owner of The Resurrectionist discussing the records that keep changing to 'Everyday' by Buddy Holly and how he thinks it's a group of pranksters but never can catch them and the security measures he's tried to put up to prevent it from happening again.

Now the thing that's weird to me is actually the variety of newspaper articles Aziraphale seems to have...from different countries.

Now you might just kind of brush that off....but why on Earth would this news be important enough to make world news? Why would it be in news articles from different countries.

But most importantly...there's a typo.

Now. I don't speak German (so correct me if I'm wrong) but I do know how to use Google Translate.

This German article is titled 'Eden Tag nähert es sich... dem Wahnsinn des Wirts!'

And I don't speak German (though I'd love to) but I plugged this in to Google Translate and what I found was insane. Now when it translates you'll notice that the word Eden doesn't translate.

And there's a little suggestion underneath the German sentence, indicating you probably had a typo, and here's what you're probably looking for, which when you allow it to translate as such gives you...

Weird right? You'd assume the correct version of the news article would be where they're quoting the song they're talking about (unless it's a different dialect or slang of course.) But it's interesting that if I'm correct and that is a typo...it says 'Eden.' Now if you watched season 1 or have some Biblical knowledge of sorts, you might be on the same page as me...

Why Eden? Why create an article that translates to 'Eden Day' instead of 'Every day.' I wonder how many of the other news articles seemingly have a typo?

If this show has taught us anything, what do we know about typos? (Insert Markiplier voice here) DEMONS, JIM! So could that news article possibly have been written by a demon?

Anyways as we continue on, the next (and most frequent appearance of newspapers) is Mr Brown (of Brown's world of carpets.) And I won't add all the instances of that because if you read my last post, you already saw them.

But there he is, with his strange recurring article about accordion ducks.

But I actually want to focus on a different newspaper that appears in this scene. This gentleman right here.

Looks normal right? Except you can just barely make out the corner of something peaking out next to his leg. Well guess what? This is the same guy who was sitting at the table Aziraphale emptied.

In which his newspaper never comes 100% into focus, but it's right there on screen, flashing and saying 'HEY LOOK AT ME!'

in which he folds over his 'your travel' 'Milton Keynes' newspaper as such

to a completely new side of the newspaper and walks away. But wait there's more.

Check this out.

In which he turns to look at his newspaper AND ROTATES IT before going back to standing there looking like there's nothing in his hand. Look at these back to back shots though.

Would you look at that. Our newspaper is back. Guess what though. When we look away from him again and back, the newspaper is once again gone.

Mind you this whole time, when the newspaper appears, you see Aziraphale's eyes continuously flickering away from his conversation with Mr Brown (of Brown's world of carpets) and directly past him. Possibly to the newspaper? Maybe trying to direct your attention?

Here we have 'Thenewspaper' with articles

"Unearthed mysteries of sealed library basement."

and "Government approves funding for citywide [insert word here because i can't make it out thanks to his finger] stations."

Interesting....library basements and citywide funding. Huh.

Now as far as I'm aware, the only other times you see newspapers in the rest of the season, are Mr Brown (of Brown's world of carpets.) And even if there were more, I'd have to make a part 2 because I actually reached the image amount on this post.

That being said...there's a lot of weird shit going on with the newspapers, including our strange little accordion duck which has me absolutely bewildered. But I can't help but feel like the newspapers are important when everyone holding one seems to be holding it like a sign, just so that you can read it. Not to mention the freaking typo has me wide awake every night staring at my ceiling.

But for now, that's all I have. Stay tuned for another mental breakdown over something in this show that is preventing me from sleeping.

(Upon further examination I might be making yet another post about this.)

[greatcultgrove]

The Grove is a really interesting place once you try and pull up a map! Mainly because there is no map. Whenever a map is made it just seems to go poof into the wind! Nobody knows why... The Grove is ALOT more than just the islands. It's a wider expanse condensed within a dome. It's one of those 'small houses that are bigger on the inside' illusions. They may look like just a pair of islands from the outside, but the minute you step inside, you'll find that it's so much BIGGER. The Grove is split up into...lets say six different areas! From bottom to top we go in this order The Drain The Grove Cove Milldread HobbyHoo BuzzHuzz The Spire

Let's get into some of the details of each one!

The Drain The Drain...a series of sewer-like networks, caves and drop-offs into a deep abyss. The area is only lit by bioluminescent mushrooms, strange firefly-like creatures that can be caught into lanterns, actual fire, and the occasional sunlight that pokes through the drain in the roof. Drainfolk primarily are the ones that live in the drain, living in small scattered communities. You won't find Drainfolk anywhere else in the world! They are native to The Grove and The Grove alone. While you may hear whispers that The Drain is a gateway to the underworld, this is simply- er- not ENTIRELY true. The Drain itself is not the underworld, and it is not a gate to a true underworld either. The Drain simply holds one special area that many deem to be an eternal damnation spot. This is known as The Abyss. It is the farthest down you can go in The Drain. A series of large, pitch black cave tunnels digging themselves into the earth. Nobody truly knows what's down there, and nobody has come up from The Abyss to tell them anything. Don't go down there eh? The Grove Cove

The Grove Cove...a series of constant forests, marshlands and scattered trash. What happened to The Cove to leave it in such a state? Miss Mitternacht did. Before she was appointed as a god, The Cove was actually a lot nicer. The land was a lot drier, trash was less abundant, and overall one could even say it looked more like a grove than The Grove itself. Though ever since Miss Mitternacht became a god, oh things just went downhill from there. The Cove was drowned in her tears during her entire ascension ceremony. It was as if the world was crying for her. Everything they had built was washed away until it was nothing but wet debris and lost memories. From there on, The Cove has been nothing but trash and marshes. The residents within The Cove are entirely devout to Miss Mitternacht, hoping she may spare them from another flood. They believe she is merciful on the inside, they just need to find a way to get on her good side. Clearly these floods must be because THEY are doing something wrong, is it not? There was one soul who could save the day, Inspekta. The God of Leadership is known for being the one that keeps Miss Mitternacht from flooding The Cove again. He is praised for his bravery and commitment. A true hero! Milldread

Milldread...a singular town sitting among the cornstalk fields and rocky flatlands. Milldread is less known for its land and is moreso known for- just Milldread. Milldread is mainly known for the production of all The Groves food supply (save for some itty bitty areas on the other islands) and their tasty homemade jam! Milldreads residents are VERY reliant on traditions, mainly for their god Cobigail. They are a sort of 'stay in the old the new doesn't matter' sort of town if you could call it that. Don't disrespect their traditions, or you might be toasted! By...By words- ahem. Outside of Milldread, the land is mostly abundant with crops of various kinds, a true wonder!...In certain times of the year. Watch out though! flesh-hungry animals may be afoot... On the side of this elevated land piece, you can find drains that dump the rainwater from above down below! You'd think The Cove had suffered enough, now their surrounding waters are being tampered with. It's okay though! It's all natural!

HobbyHoo

HobbyHoo...a place of entertainment for all ages! HobbyHoo is a great place to live if you wanna be surrounded by theatrics! From plays to great books, you might even think HobbyHoo is one of the most modern-aged areas in The Grove as a whole! That's...not entirely true...technology is scarce within HobbyHoo. Don't try and show them technology either. Don't....Don't do that. The only technology they need is the technology Click Clack and Thespius provides them with. But- if you are visiting, you absolutely MUST stay for the night! One of the highest rated plays within HobbyHoo is Oh Partner Mine! You'll be absolutely entranced by it! Seriously, go see it. Outside of HobbyHoo? Now why would you need to worry about that? BuzzHuzz

BuzzHuzz...the most....colorful place in all The Grove! If you wanna learn all about- well- ANYTHING! Go to BuzzHuzz! The entire space was practically built under the image of their two favorite gods, Bauhauzzo and HuzzleMug! The two worked together to construct a place that suited minds like theirs above all else! Complex passageways and colorful arts, history readily available and a sparkle for new chances in every residents eyes! Outside of BuzzHuzz is a barren land just waiting to be painted with pure creativity, expansion is key here! Show your worth through your art! The Spire

The Spire....is what connects all the islands together. Its winding outer path connects the land together, offering...somewhat easy passing...Well until SOMETHING started crushing the pathways. Not too worry! You can just go through the inner passage of The Spire to get to your destination! Do not go through the inner passage of The Spire. You are better off not going anywhere. At the top of The Spire, The Rift is held. Don't touch it now! Yhear? It's what keeps The Grove safe!

[writingreadinglurkingandsmirking]

If There's Bleach In The Hallways (I Can Start Over) - reality tv star!Rafe Cameron x Reader

I Feel You Underneath My Tongue (Next To Every Word That I Should Have Said): Part 1, Part 2

Summary: Topper gets a distraught you home from your disastrous Hawaiian vacation where you proceed to crumble. You’re, understandably, upset and made even more so when about a week later, Rafe shows up at your place. And as much as you didn’t want to at first? There was too much history there. You had to let him in. And you had to hear him out.

CW/TWs: angst, female reader implied, cursing, toxic relationships afoot, implied previous physical violence, verbal harassment/abuse, implied sexual harassment, not the most edited/reviewed (read: at all)

Words: 5.7k+

Note: God help me I just needed this to be done so apologies that if it's not good I simply needed this out of my draftsssss Rounding out this little thing with pretty boy blondie Drew again. Anywayssssss here’s the second part as promised besties.

You’d hardly been aware of your actions when you’d left Oahu. You’d hardly left the stupid resort Are You The One? was filming at when you’d taken your phone out and found the only familiar contact that felt reliable anymore. Topper’s, of course. You wouldn’t say that you’d won him in your break up with Rafe, exactly. But he was one of your only mutual friends who didn’t for a moment question why you’d initially broken up with him. He’d been the one to console you, understanding that no matter how much you loved him—and dear God, you fucking loved him—you couldn’t be with him anymore. Couldn’t enable his bullshit. It hurt too much...you and Rafe both. Way too fucking much. Even through the haze over your thoughts, you’d recognized that as Topper answered the phone when you called, he wasn’t surprised.

“Top,” you said, voice strangely flat and devoid of emotion.

“What’s up?” he asked, immediately worried based on the sound of your voice. You didn’t answer for a moment, swept up in thought and your throat closing against the threat of you crying. He said your name and you snapped out of it, blinking rapidly. “You okay?”

“No,” you said honestly, gripping your bag in hand at your side tighter. “I’m coming to Kona.”

“You just got there like yesterday,” Topper said hesitantly, clearly anticipating that something bad had happened.

“Yeah. And you were right. I shouldn’t have come in the first place,” you muttered. Topper began to ask but you immediately, curtly, cut him off. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m catching the first flight over. I don’t even care how much it costs I need to get the fuck out of here.” You drew in a haggard breath. “I really can’t do this anymore, Top.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” he hurried to say. “Don’t freak out. I got you. Did you book a flight?”

“Not yet,” you replied dully.

“Okay. I’ll look at them right now,” he said. You heard the sound quality of the phone shifted as he put you on speaker. He was silent for about a minute before speaking again. “Okay. There’s a flight leaving in two hours from Oahu to Kona. Can you get to the airport quick? I’ll book the ticket for you.”

“Yeah,” you replied, voice hoarse and cracking. You sniffled, suddenly flooded with emotion. “I…thanks, Top.” He said your name softly, sadly and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. “Please…don’t. Not…not now. Please?”

Topper sighed, sounding far more tired than you would’ve preferred. “Okay,” he agreed. “We’ll talk about it later. Just get to the airport. I’m not going to book you a second one if you’re fucking around.”

The attempt to make you laugh failed. Miserably. “Thank you, Top,” you said a final time before hanging up.

You took a few shallow breaths in a desperate attempt to steady yourself, but at the end of the day, it didn’t do much to calm your frazzled nerves. So, instead, you used the keyed up—if erratic—energy to focus on getting to the airport as fast as you could humanly do so. Even safety went out the window. In your haze and desire to be left alone in the meantime, and to avoid being on your phone and risk your own weakness letting you go and look at old pictures of you and Rafe, you didn’t let yourself take your phone from your pocket once you’d shoved it in there. So, instead of doing the logical thing like calling a taxi…taking a bus…literally anything normal? You decided to hitchhike your way there.

Miracle of miracles, you made it to the airport untouched and uninjured by all accounts. With your bag in hand, you shuffled through the airport. You checked in and printed a ticket so you wouldn’t have to turn your phone on. You went through security without even being conscious of your movements. You shuffled to your gate and sat, staring blankly with the extra ten minutes you had before boarding. After you were in your seat, still you didn’t seem to fully fathom what was going on…where you were, even.

When the plane took off, it was like you snapped back into your body.

You wished you hadn’t.

It turned out that trying not to cry on a plane was a lot harder when you were being hit with a torrent of emotions that threatened to sweep you entirely away. And, you also were fairly confident that there was nothing in this world that would be worse…would be more humiliating than sobbing in a plane with some fucking stranger next to you. And the guy next to you, dressed in a crisp business suit, severe look on his face, was already eyeing you as if you were a fucking bomb set to go off. So, the flight was terrible…but hey, you’d expected almost nothing less.

When the plane touched down in Kona, you were ready to scream from relief. You got off as quickly as you could and stood waiting for your baggage, your emotions all over the place and nowhere at all again. You jumped when you felt someone touch your shoulder and whipped around. Unsurprisingly, it was Topper standing behind you with a worried look on his face. Your heart skipped a beat and you frowned back at him before folding yourself into his arms in a tight hug.

“Hey, come on,” Topper said, hugging you back tightly, rubbing your back soothingly. “Let’s get your bag and get to the hotel, okay?”

Angel that he was, Topper grabbed your bag for you as it came around on the belt and then guided you to his rental car. He didn’t badger you as he drove to the hotel or even on the way up to his suite. He managed to keep it together until you reached the room. You didn’t offer a word as you got in the room, instead going directly into the bathroom and locking the door behind you. You took a long, almost scalding hot shower, and stayed as long as you could justify. But, you knew you couldn’t stall any longer.

“You gonna talk to me now?” Topper asked calmly when you finally exited the bathroom.

“I don’t…know what to say,” you replied blankly.

“How about you start with what happened,” he suggested. “I’ve…never seen you like this.”

You were silent for a few moments. You tried to think of what exactly you should say. “You…you were right. This was a stupid idea. I shouldn’t have come,” you managed to say. What you’d seen, what you’d heard all ricocheted through your head like a stray bullet and lodged itself in your heart again. You let out a shaky sigh. “It was a fucking terrible idea, Top.”

“What happened?” Topper asked. He moved in front of you, kneeling down. He grabbed your hands and waited until you looked up at him. “It’s me.” He said your name when you looked away to draw your eyes back to him. “Just talk to me. What did he…what happened?” He was cut off for a moment by the buzzing of his phone. He took it out reflexively and looked down. His brow furrowed immediately. “Why did Rafe text me and tell me your dad is there now?” His eyes locked on yours again, his gaze sharper…more concerned now. “Tell me.”

You sighed and briefly closed your eyes at the news. You were glad that Rafe wasn’t alone; that was good news. You still didn’t want to think about…any of this mess. At all. But, you gave Topper a brief synopsis of the mess that had played out. Of Thalia’s psychotic ass. Her hitting Rafe. Rafe being so…downtrodden. You being a mistake, according to Rafe. By the time you were done speaking, Topper looked quite like he was sucking on a rancid lemon.

“Fucking Christ that idiot can never make things easy for himself can he,” Topper muttered. He moved from kneeling in front of you to sit next to you. “That’s fucked. So fucked. I’m sorry.” You shrugged, not letting yourself look over at him. Topper gently nudged your shoulder and said your name softly.

You closed your eyes again and shook your head. “Please don’t,” you said, voice wobbling.

Again, Topper said your name, imploring now. “Come here.”

Despite everything inside you being stubborn, you cracked. You turned into Topper and started sobbing.  You sunk into his embrace embarrassingly quickly as you cried, holding onto him like he was your last lifeline in the world; right now he kind of was.

“I can’t believe…” you sobbed, unable to breathe properly, “and he was…”

“I know,” Topper said, running his hand soothingly up and down your back. And he did. You weren’t speaking any coherent thoughts and still it was blindly obvious what was going on—what you were thinking. “I got you.”

And he did. He held you as you sobbed yourself to sleep. He stayed with you as you walked in an emotionless haze through the whole of the following day. He sat by your side in the airport when you were going to be flying home the day after that, monitoring your face for any sign that you were going to break down. He wanted to be there for you. You loved him for it. You…you should’ve loved him more for it. But, you were starting to get to a point of wanting to lash out. It was irrational and it made you hate yourself but you needed to be by yourself for a moment. You needed to lick your wounds and deal with your torched pride. Graciously, you were torn from the reality of Topper’s intense concern by your phone ringing. Less wonderfully, it was your father calling.

“Dad,” you greeted blankly.

“I took care of it,” he said without preamble. “Everything’s being handled. Rafe’s going to be…fine. On the entertainment side, at least.”

“That’s good,” you replied, the words hollow. You stared at the door of your gate, itching for it to open already.

“Rafe’s doing okay otherwise too. I just put him up in a room with me so I could keep an eye on him. He’s been a little out of it, a little quiet. Nothing too bad though,” he explained, unprompted. You bit back the urge to point out that it was probably because he was in the room with your father and not because Rafe was actually okay.

“Oh that’s good,” you repeated. Your dad sighed and then your name slipped from his lips. Immediately you knew you were going to get a pseudo lecture; you tried to stop it. “Dad, just leave it. Please.”

“Listen, honey,” he said softly, ignoring your request. “I just…I need you to know this, okay?” He took your steely silence as a go-ahead to keep speaking. “You don’t understand why he was there, sweetheart. It’s not what you think. He didn’t…he shouldn’t have been. And he didn’t want to be.”

“But he was,” you interrupted, your voice showing emotion for the first time in the conversation.

“And I watched the footage,” your dad rebuked. “I know what was actually going on. I know what was actually said. I combed through hours of footage—any time the camera was on him, confessionals, the house and everything. I read the interviews that went into casting. All of it. I know everything that went on. And, honey, I’m telling you this as your dad. You should hear Rafe out. It isn’t what you think it was. And I know you love him. I know you want to hear him out. Don’t you think you should at least give him the chance to explain without you putting words he never said into his mouth?”

You were saved from having to reply to your father by the gate agent calling for your group to start boarding. “I have to go. My plane is boarding,” you stated curtly before hanging up the phone. You glanced over at Topper who was looking at you with a forcibly uninterested face. You rolled your eyes, cracking a half-smile for the first time in days. You pushed his shoulder weakly before standing up. “Don’t look at me like that, loser.”

“Not looking at you like anything,” Topper lied—poorly, you’d like to add—before rising to his feet as well. “Come on. Let’s get home.”

“Please,” you muttered, following dutifully behind him as you got in line to board.

Despite the brief pockets of joy that you were able to extract on your flight home, when you landed, you were back in this place of despondence and misery. You made your way home in a cab, refusing Topper’s offer for a ride. And when you got home you turned off your phone entirely and laid in your bed in a cocoon of pathetic misery that made you hate yourself all the more. It felt like you were mourning your relationship with Rafe. Just now. After months of not being together. This…this felt final in a strange sort of way. A way that made you sad. It went on for days, you only leaving your bed to do the bare minimum to keep yourself going. Your entire apartment became a den of sadness that you didn’t know when you’d be able to peel yourself out of it.

Often, your mind oscillated between missing Rafe and hating Rafe. Mourning your love for him and longing for it. It was disorienting and infuriating. It felt like it’d never fucking end. You barely were conscious of the fact that people would be concerned that you weren’t answering your phone at all—it didn’t even cross your mind, in truth. You didn’t care. All you could think of was the resigned look on Rafe’s face, the quiet acceptance, when he’d been hit. It wasn’t surprise. It was just…tolerance. It burned you. And if you bitterly contrasted that to the smiles he’d had with you…even when you weren’t together…it made you feel sick.

Reality came knocking again though.

Literally.

When you’d been home and steadfastly ignoring absolutely everything for about a week, there was a knock at your door. As if your brain suddenly registered how long it had been since you’d spoken to…well, anyone…you winced and stood from your couch where you’d settled a few hours earlier. You were certain it was Topper at the door ready to chew you out for scaring him by not answering. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you probably deserved it too. You sighed as you moved to open the door, resigned to being scolded.

“Listen, Top,” you began as soon as you started opening the door.

You immediately fell silent.

That…was not Topper.

That was Rafe.

You were stunned to see him. Far more than you cared to admit it. You glanced him over, feeling a little bit like a computer being forced to reboot. His bleached hair—which had looked annoyingly good on him, even though you hated seeing it—had been cut. Now, with his hair shorter, it looked like he had the frosted tips he’d always made fun of Topper for having when your friend had rocked the look. A stupid detail to focus on by all accounts. But, if you were looking at his hair instead of his face…you might be able to keep it together.

Your name falling from Rafe’s lips was what brought you out of your state. “Can I come in?” he asked, voice strangely gentle.

“I…” you trailed off. You didn’t know how to finish it. I want you to come in and never leave? I don’t think that’s a good idea? I want you to leave? I never want to see you again? No. None of that. So instead you shook your head to clear it. “Umm…sure.” You stepped to the side and let him in, shutting the door behind him. You went back to your spot on the couch and sat, looking at him warily. “What are you doing here?”

Rafe shrugged, not looking at you. He stood awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot in a way that was so unlike him it was jarring. “Topper said you haven’t been answering him,” Rafe explained. “Some, uh, some of your friends called me too. Said you haven’t been answering them either.”

“Phone’s been off,” you replied, shrugging in turn. “Been tired, don’t feel like dealing with everyone else right now.” You gave him a flat look. “Again, why are you here, Rafe?”

“I need to talk to you,” he said, sounding almost apologetic for it.

You blew out a breath and closed your eyes. You leaned your head back against your couch and resisted the bitter urge to laugh. “Here we go,” you muttered. You raised your head and looked at him. “We’re really gonna do this again?” You shook your head. “Rafe I’m tired. Of this. There…what conversation are we going to have that’ll fix anything? Oh yeah. None.”

He bit his lip and shifted, uncomfortable. He looked terrified and it made you feel on edge yourself. “I know. I know…I know you feel that way. But…I…please?” he said. He gave you an imploring look and said your name pointedly. “Please hear me out. This…this whole thing? It isn’t what you think.”

You let out an ugly snort, unable to stop yourself from glaring at him. “Oh, then by all means. Sure. Go ahead and try to sell me on another story, Cameron. This oughta be good, right?” you posed, acidic in presentation. He flinched at the words—the tone—but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad for it. You shifted. “And can you sit down for fuck’s sake if you’re gonna tell me some story? You’re making me nervous just standing there.”

Rafe nodded jerkily and immediately sat on the chair next to the couch. His eyes were focused intently on you. “I never wanted this to happen. Any of it. I wanted…I wanted to get better. For…you at first. But…then for me. But that…it didn’t matter at first…when we…when we first broke up,” he began. You didn’t bother reacting, simply raising a brow to prompt him to keep speaking. “In the time that we, uh, weren’t talking after we broke up? When I…when I went on the bender we talked about?” Your nose scrunched up, remembering well the time period that very nearly killed him. “That was when I decided to get clean. When I went to my first meeting. I realized that, uh, not remembering most nights was actually…actually, uh, kind of scary. It wasn’t…helping anymore.”

“Real big of you to realize,” you muttered, shaking your head. You folded your hands tightly in front of you and looked at him. “Look, Rafe, what does this even—”

“Please just let me get through this,” he said, openly sounding like he was begging. “When I was on the bender…I guess I applied to be a contestant. I don’t…remember it. They…I…I only saw my audition tape because of your dad. And I…I was so messed up. Everything on the applications and in the tape were incoherent. I…I don’t know how…” He trailed off, swallowing hard and shook his head. “I didn’t remember applying for the stupid show.” He said your name once more, softer, begging you to hear him and believe him. “I…you know I just wanted you again.”

“I don’t know anything,” you denied, voice cool. “Don’t bring me into this Rafe.”

He sighed and scratched the back of his neck nervously. “They called me and said that I’ve been selected. You…I don’t know. It was going to be a lot of fucking money to get out of it. Money I don’t have. Money that my dad wasn’t gonna front me. I…I needed to go. It was the only way. It…it felt like the only way. I…should’ve just talked to your dad first. There were about fifty clauses that could’ve gotten me out of it.” He shook his head and let out a laugh. “But I went. And…the second I got there I knew how big of a fucking mistake it was.”

His face went sour and he stopped speaking for a moment. His eyes were locked on the coffee table between you two. He wasn’t speaking. Wasn’t blinking. Didn’t look like he was breathing. It went on for a few seconds too long and you shifted.

“Rafe,” you prompted quietly, narrowly resisting the urge to reach out and touch him.

He cleared his throat, snapping out of it. “The second I met…Thalia…I knew she had to be the one for me on the show. The way that she was from the beginning? The…the type of person she was? It was the exact type of person I knew I deserved. And I…it made sense why we’d be a match to the producers. I was…a mess, obviously. But…when you left…as…as you should have…I’m…I’m not discounting that,” he emphasized, “it just changed something. I didn’t think I deserved as good as I got from you. Didn’t think that I deserved anything good. So, when she was awful to me…to anyone in the house? I knew she had to be for me. Because who the fuck else would deserve that?”

You stiffened at his words, looking incredulously at him. “No one!” you interrupted. “Why would you think that way? You…you didn’t…you were not a match the producers are fucking idiots who care about making a show that sells, not about the contestants!”

“I know,” Rafe said quietly. “Doesn’t mean that I deserve good things in life. Because I have been…repeatedly and constantly fucking horrible. I’m…I’m not blind to that. I…there’s a reason people don’t want to help me or give me credit for good things. It’s because I have so much shit to make up for. The tiny slivers of good I do don’t cancel out the heaps of bad I’ve done. I know that. I…I do.”

“What the hell are you saying?” you demanded. “Really! I’m fucking lost here, Rafe! You…you are a fucking idiot, man. All I have ever done is love you and try to get you to let me love you. Literally constantly. Since we were kids Rafe! All I have done is try to make you see that you do deserve credit—that you do deserve help.”

Rafe closed his eyes. “I know you have,” he agreed. “But…that doesn’t make it…right. If I deserved better, don’t you think I’d get it? But you? You? You deserve someone who takes care of you and who loves you. Someone who can stand by your side and be proud and unflinching. Someone who doesn’t care about what other people think.” He let out a laugh—it didn’t sound very amused. “Someone who will actually defend you.” He looked seriously at you. “I couldn’t even step in and say anything when Thalia was bad mouthing you. And you think I’m gonna believe I deserve someone as good as you? Yeah, no. I’m too much of a fucking coward. I never went against her. I deserved to be paraded around that stupid fucking villa by her and…”

He trailed off and you felt sick for a moment. You’d seen the show. It wasn’t hard to guess where she’d dragged Rafe off to or anything of that nature. You clenched and unclenched your jaw, trying to force yourself to relax.

“Tell me something, though, Rafe. Did you…want to be dragged around by her? Did you want anything you…did with her? Just…be honest.” His face scrunched up. “It’s not a trick question. I’m not trying to make you feel bad.” He shook his head. “And how often did she tear into you for no reason? How many times? And…and for that matter, how many times did she put her hands on you and hit you—hurt you?” You gesticulated wildly, trying to help convey your point, but really just helping alleviate some of your frustration. “You didn’t deserve to be paraded around and used. And of course you didn’t go against her!”

“I hurt you,” Rafe said, his tone severe, his eyes dark as he thought of it.

“Dear God,” you groaned. “Yeah, you did fucking hurt me Rafe. Guess what? Normal fucking Tuesday for us when we’re not together, isn’t it? We always manage to fuck up and hurt each other. But guess what, Rafe? You were in an impossible situation. I get that. I know that, even though you apparently don’t.”

“Doesn’t make it okay,” he argued. “I don’t…you shouldn’t forgive me for that?”

You rolled your eyes. “Pretty sure I’m the one who gets to decide that,” you shot back. You sighed and gave him an imploring look of your own. “Rafe…why would I ever hold it against you? Especially when I know you were trying not to get hit? I’m begging you, for once in your life, use the brain in your pretty little head and think. Why would I ever blame you for that?”

He didn’t look sold. “I don’t know, because I hurt you,” he said as if that were the only thing that mattered in the world. “Because I didn’t prioritize your feelings like I should have.”

So, you changed tactics.

“What would you…” you trailed off. “How would you feel if it were me, Rafe?”

The look on Rafe’s face immediately hardened. “Well, I would have killed him,” he said, voice harsh. “No one’s putting a hand on you.” You nodded, cocking your head to the side. His angry face cracked and he sighed, slumping back into the chair. “I wouldn’t hold it against you. I’d just be…I’d just be worried.”

“Yeah, exactly,” you said softly, looking at him, eyes soft and sad. “Now you know how I feel.” Slowly, you scooted down the couch until you were next to him. You reached out and gently grabbed his hand. He looked at it and then up at you, startled. “Listen to me, okay?” He kept looking at you, attention raptly on you. “I love you, Rafe. I love you so much. I always will. The…nothing about this experience was good for you.” He went to add something but you cut him off. “Or me. But that doesn’t matter—not when you’re the one in the most pain here. And no matter what? It doesn’t change that I love you.”

You watched as tears rose in his eyes. He immediately retracted his hand from your hold and leaned away, his head on the back of the chair. He closed his eyes as if trying to stop the tears, but it didn’t work. You saw the tears sliding down his face even with his eyes closed. He let out a small sob and you felt tears rise in your own eyes—impressive when you’d thought you’d run out of tears for the week. Moving slowly, you reached out again and grabbed both of his hands, holding them and giving a reassuring squeeze. He raised his head after a moment and opened his eyes.

He was sad—so sad.

He was in pain—so much pain.

“I…I don’t think that I…don’t think I could’ve stopped it without you,” he admitted, voice shaky.

You frowned. “I don’t think you would’ve, no,” you agreed, hating it even as the words fell out. “You’re too convinced you deserve that. But you don’t. You deserve love. Real love.”

He let out a sigh and closed his eyes again, squeezing your hands. “Thanks for calling your dad,” he said lamely after a moment.

“I hope he tears them several new fucking assholes,” you replied back quietly. Without much thought behind it, you raised your joined hands up to your lips and pressed a soft kiss to his hands. You heard his breath hitch and your brain caught up with the action. You immediately released him, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry. Habit. That was…sorry.”

Slowly himself this time, Rafe reached out and took your hands again, squeezing them. “It’s okay,” he assured you. You squeezed his hands back and offered a small smile. “I am sorry. So sorry. I just…you deserved…you deserve so much better.”

“It’s not…not your fault, Rafe,” you said, at a loss for anything else to say. The words were only partially true and you both knew it.

“I’m still sober, by the way,” Rafe blurted out, seemingly out of nowhere. You furrowed your brow and his face flushed. “I mean…I refused to drink anything or take anything. They…they tried to make me but I refused.” His face was grim and drawn, clearly remembering something. And you had no doubt that those conversations had been awful—even with his stubborn nature, you could only imagine what production crew and cast mates had said to try to get him to drink.

You squeezed your still joined hands and shuffled a little bit closer. You already felt terrible for having thrown that in his face when you were pissed—now you just felt worse. “I’m proud of you,” you said, nodding encouragingly at him. “That’s amazing. I can’t…imagine how hard that was. I know it had to be terrible.”

He gave you a shaky smile and then looked down, the look disappearing. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you,” he said, eyes locked on his lap. “It all…it all happened so fast. Before I knew what was going on really…I was already on a plane to Hawaii. They took our phones the second we got there. I just…I’m sorry. For all of it.”

“Rafe, I don’t blame you for that part at all. I…I wish you would’ve told me…but, I get it. That…they isolate you. I just…I get it,” you said, unable to form your own coherent thoughts as you absorbed that. You had figured it was something like that, but the confirmation just made your irritation spike.

“Do you…” he began, the words seeming to get stuck on his tongue. “Do you think you can forgive me?”

You looked at him, mystified. “What?” you asked.

He looked up at you again, his eyes wide and fearful. “I know it was terrible and I shouldn’t have asked. I’ve done so much to—” he started rambling.

You cut him off by putting your hand gently over his mouth. A habit you’d long since picked up for when he was talking too damn much or running his mouth like an idiot. And he returned with the habit he’d long since picked up of licking your hand to get it away from him. Unlike your usual response to that though, you didn’t move your hand this time.

“After you have undergone…all of that bullshit on that fucking show…of which I know almost nothing and I still know it was bad…after all that…me forgiving you is what you’re worried about?” you asked incredulously.

You moved your hand at that point and watched his cheeks pink at that question. “Yeah,” he admitted easily enough.

“You…Rafe…I need you to get into fucking therapy,” you said, shaking your head. “Why the hell would I be mad at you for getting taken advantage of? Sober you wasn’t the one who applied. It was fifty thousand dollars on the line that you didn’t have. You were being…abused. Why the hell would I be mad at you? What am I supposed to forgive you for? Being an idiot when you’re drunk or high? Well then sure, baby, that’s forgiven as long as you stop doing it.”

“But—”

“No,” you emphasized. “Rafe, I need you to listen to me. Again, I love you. More than anything. I need you to go to therapy. I need you to take it seriously. I need you to get better. Seeing you hurt like this? Seeing you hurt yourself, let others hurt you…thinking you deserve it? I can’t do that. Baby, I need you to understand that you are, independent of everything, worthy of love and affection. Just as you are now. No changes. And I need you to get that I already do love you. Your friends love you. Hell, my friends still love you after all this shit. The whole damn thing. I need you to know that. You are not alone, you should never be or feel alone. You deserve good things. You deserve us all in your life.”

This time, Rafe’s the one to pull his hands away from you. You see his eyes well up again and notice that his chest was moving erratically. He looked away from you, sniffling and your heart shattered. You moved to the edge of the couch, leaning over into his space slowly, giving him ample time to tell you to fuck off or to move himself. He didn’t.

“Baby,” you implored softly, hand on his knee delicately. He let out a shuddering breath and then you moved closer still and wrapped your arms around him. He froze for a moment, but melted into your embrace, going as far as pulling you fully onto him so he could hug you tighter. You responded in kind by wrapping your arms tightly around him. “I got you.”

“I’m so—”

“Stop apologizing,” you urged. “I don’t want you to be sorry. Not for me.” You pressed a kiss to his temple. You pushed your hurt aside, knowing that it wasn’t at this moment, the biggest hurdle—you’d get there when you got there. He was more important in this moment. “We’ll get you through this. We’ll get through this, baby.” You pressed a kiss to his forehead and let out a sigh, tightening your arms. “Don’t worry, baby. I got you.”

“I love you,” he choked out.

Your heart stuttered in your chest and you forced yourself to keep breathing normally. “I love you too,” you assured him.

You really fucking did—God help you, you did.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hi M! Can I request Prince Aemon the Dragonknight x Fem. Reader for the prompt: "The first snowfall"? Fluff and a slice of lime please, thank you!

Here you go!

Pairing: Aemon the Dragonknight x Fem. Reader (Established relationship | House Stark | Second person POV)

Themes: Soft | Smut (subtle)

Warnings: Mentions of canon Targaryen marriage: Baelor x Daena | Kissing | Penetrative sex | Cream pie

Wordcount: 1K words

Summary: Winter arrives in King’s Landing, and the first fall of snow is looked forward to.

A/n: I write with the seasons operating on the usual three months, and not years and years.

Rating: 🔥| Minors DNI | 18+ | You are responsible for the media you consume.

Dividerr by @estrelinha-s

When Aemon opened his eyes, it was to a bell ringing out eleven times. He shivered and slipped out of bed. The world outside was quiet, as if a strange hush had enveloped it. He threw back the shutters of his windows and peered into the night sky. It was but an hour before the hour of the bat, and thick, dark clouds dimmed the light of a full moon. 

The seas beyond the tower he called home were as still as a looking glass. There was a strange quality lingering in the air, an otherworldly hush that lay upon the world. The Maesters spoke of this, how it all foreshadowed a changing of the seasons.

Winter is coming, he thought to himself. And it brought a smile to his lips. Those were the words of your House, and now it appeared as if the first snowfall of the year would happen this very night, while the chief of King’s Landing slumbered peacefully. Aemon did not want you to miss it. He returned to bed and shook you gently awake.

“Aemon?” You rubbed the back of your hand over your eyes and drew the pelts to your chin. It was cold, and the fire had died down to smoldering embers. “Has something dreadful happened?”

“Nothing of the sort, my love.” Aemon walked to the hearth and settled onto his haunches. One by one, he threw in fresh logs and started a new fire. As the flames rose, the room grew warmer. It was enough to make you sigh in contentment. “But I believed you would like to see this.”

The pelt was still wrapped tightly around you when you left the bed and made your way to the window. The sea was calm, and uncommonly so. And while Aemon heard nothing, you, on the other hand, heard the low hum only one born to the North would recognize.

“Winter is coming,” you proclaim, then look up into the sky. There was nothing to be seen yet, save for the clouds faintly limned by the light of the moon. “Can we stay here a while? If there is going to be snow tonight, I wish to see it.”

“Of course.”

The first white puff fell just outside the window. Then another joined it, and another, and another, as if the Gods heard your wish, and agreed to answer it. The wind slowly rose, and the snow that came down after was thicker and bigger and fell faster. A bell rang—a different one this time. It was the bell in the Grand Maester’s tower.

“Autumn is finally at an end,” Aemon declared as the chimes echoed clearly around the Red Keep. “And it is getting colder. Come, wife,” he said and closed the shutters. “It is time we returned to our bed.”

The fire burned brighter now, and the bedchamber was warmer for it. Despite this and the late hour, neither of you cared for sleep. There was so much to look forward to, even in such weather. There would be plays and dances and a grand feast on the longest night of the year. Already, the Red Keep was festooned with flags and bunting of black and red, and wreaths of evergreen. Baelor had balked when he saw the latter, and declared them a symbol of false Gods. He demanded they be removed and consigned to the rubbish heap. His queen and council refused to yield, and ever since then, Baelor had ensconced himself in the Red Keep’s Sept, praying and fasting.

It is just as well Daena was delivered of a son, Aemon thought. Father will have less trouble bringing about a regency now.

A great many changes were afoot, and not just with the seasons. Aemon was grateful for it, and silently repeated a prayer of thanks. He pulled up the pelts, content to watch the fire with you.

“Is it true what they say?” Rumors of winter games and other contests abounded. The maids spoke of little else when they brought hot water for your bath. “That there will be a winter tourney?”

“One of Aegon’s notions,” Aemon confided, and he drew you into a loose embrace. “And just jousting in the outer bailey on the day of the feast. It would still be a good diversion, I think. Now enough talk of that, wife. Tell me if I kissed you today.”

“You have not, sir. I am quite wounded.”

“Tis a mistake I aim to correct. Come here.”

His kiss was a reflection of his mood—light and jubilant. Aemon shivered when you wound your arms around his shoulders and made yourself comfortable beneath him. He showered you with half-whispered endearments and with languid caresses that set every nerve of yours afire. The bedchamber began to feel uncommonly warm, and Aemon pushed the pelts to one side, claiming it was too hot with them, and they were in his way. Goosebumps prickled all over your skin, though not from the cold air. He reveled in your sharp, shallow breaths and grew drunk on your shameless pleas. Then he propped himself on his elbow and slipped his other arm under your back to hold you.

The two of you lost yourselves in each other’s flesh. Tenderness slowly gave way to passion that was deep and ardent and all consuming. You felt like you were drowning. Dizzy himself, Aemon willingly surrendered to the maelstrom of sensations that flowed through him in a rush. He drowned with you, grunting softly when he took you to the edge of the cliff and over it. Aemon then shuddered, and two of you lay still.

An icy chill flowed in from the outside, and the room grew cool again. Aemon moved onto his side, taking you with him when he did so. He stroked your back, your hair, then looked toward the windows.

“On the morrow, the city would be covered in a blanket of white,” he noted. “What do you say to a sleigh ride after we break our fast?”

The prospect alone was enough to fill you with giddy anticipation. “I would like that very much indeed,” you decided, then flushed when Aemon pressed a kiss against your nose.

[dylawa]

Gale Dekarios imagines this might be what death feels like. He imagines this must be what death feels like, before your soul re-awakens moments or days later and makes its journey to its destined ever after. Or, perhaps, for those who are godless like him, this is how that journey ends, too. A stroll to the Fugue Plane to await redirection to one’s promised afterlife, only to be met with nothing, and to eventually fade like low, flickering candlelight, or be thrust into the Wall of Faithless. The thought is chilling. Were he a less practical man, perhaps this would have been the moment where he would have broken down hyperventilating and crying, contemplating what fate may await his soul at the end of his life. No, it wasn’t death itself that frightened him, he told himself. It was what awaited him after. Fortunately, he already had that little episode of panic a few months ago. There was no need to go through it again.

______________________________

A BRAND NEW fanfiction series has begun! I haven't decided on a concrete title yet, and so, this work currently has two. "The Rockrose and the Thistle (Inkpot Gods)" and its first chapter are LIVE as early access on Patreon!

If you've enjoyed my "My Hero Academia" works, and/or if you like Baldur's Gate III-- specifically Gale-- and you aren't already a Patron, there's been no better time to hop on board. For as little as $1 a month, you can get limited early access, and higher tiers get MONTHLY rewards catered specifically to them.

As of right now, early access posts go up on AO3 between 2 to 3 weeks later.

Here's a brief summary of what to expect with this series:

Gale Dekarios hadn't planned on being abducted by mind flayers when he departed from his Waterdeep tower for the first time in over a year. Clearly, the rest of this strange assembly of individuals from the Coast were in similar straits-- though that's to be expected. It's also clear to the wizard early on that something unnerving is afoot, a larger plan expanding far beyond the reach of what could be considered "normal" for illithid activity and intent. One thing that isn't clear to Gale, however, is the strange woman who has taken the role of leader and spokeswoman for the group. Syolkiir Evaliir Vaedaanaes, astral elf, swords bard, crystal-draconic sorcerer, is strict, callous, prideful, conceited, judgemental, cold-- everything in opposition to what her supposed heritage and abilities imply she should be. Her leadership is efficient, and much needed in a time of uncertainty, but her sense of superiority is nothing short of degrading. Worst of all, she seems to have made Gale her number one target of study-- and competition. It seems this may be a rather difficult journey.

[superboy-tm]

A Lonely Place of Dying, Part 2

Okay, New Titans #60, let's do this.

We open to the Titans looking for Dick so Kori can tell him about the weird kid who came to her door yesterday, only to discover that no one can reach him! They even call Wayne Manor (which is so cute to me for some reason), but Alfred also doesn't know where Dick is.

So what's for a team of young heroes to do but also go break into their bestie's apartment (actually, one or several of them might have a key, but they don't mention how they get in). Only for Joey to clock an actual break-in--and a secret safe!

Not related to Tim, but I must say that the Troia look is one of my favorite Donna looks. It's just very fun to me and also I love the short hair.

Anyway... The Titans open the safe (which is... unlocked? left open?) and discover a scrapbook with a page torn out:

Did Tim break into Dick's safe?? How on earth did he do that and also why?? Timothy, young man, stop being weird.

Meanwhile, Dick's back at the circus where ofc he discovers something strange is afoot. Tim, on the other hand, has broken out his camera again.

...and then trades that out for binoculars (Tim why)

And at last! We have Tim's face, plus his very first in-person Dick sighting... in which Dick is, ofc, dressed as a clown. All very normal.

(and Tim has again switched back to his camera...)

After the show, we get dumpster Tim, which will never stop being hilarious and adorable to me

Tim proceeds to bother some custodians...

And flip Dick, LOL (Tim, didn't you specifically want to talk to him?? What are you doing)

Of course, Dick has a heck of a lot more training and experience than Tim, so he just flips him right back

(Surprised Pikachu Dick on the side there, what a dork)

Dick ditches Tim almost immediately to go investigate on his own, as Tim has found some good evidence in the trash, but has come to the wrong conclusions.

But Tim will not be put off!

Also, Tim is such a fanboy

God, he's so cute

But also Tim completely misread Dick and why Dick left Gotham, whoops!

Tim! You can't just tell a guy you just met that he "owes" something to another guy you haven't actually met! Though also really makes me wonder where he got the idea that you have to repay your parents for raising you.... something his parents have said to him, perhaps?

So anyway, from Tim's perspective, I wonder if he looks back on his first meeting with Dick and is embarrassed or if he thinks this was all a success because he got to see his hero in action for the first time?

But man is Dick so very clearly not happy to see him at any point here.

[semper-legens]

193. The Changing Man, by Tomi Oyemakinde

Owned: No, library Page count: 382 My summary: Ife is a scholarship student at the prestigious Nithercott Academy - and she's not dealing with the pressure of being one of the few working-class Black kids in school. But something strange is afoot at the school. Kids are disappearing, and either they come back...different, or they don't come back at all. With outcast Bee and brother of one of the missing Ben at her side, can Ife solve the mystery of the Changing Man? My rating: 3.5/5 My commentary:

I was expecting this one to be a bit more...horror, than it was. That's not a criticism, it was just a surprise. Urban legends and cryptids are an interest of mine, so this story about the 'Changing Man', a being that supposedly lurks around Nithercott and takes lonely kids, is right up my alley. I found it to be really fun, honestly, if a little weird at times. But I'd prefer weird and fun to polished and boring. It was a good read!

Ife, our protagonist, is one of those classic heroines of this sort of story. She's struggling under pressure from both her parents, who expect great things from her, and the school, which might expel her if her grades are poor. She also feels disconnected from her home and friends - an attempt to smuggle herself out to see her best friend fails, and she's increasingly isolated as one of the only Black kids in a sea of white posh kids. If you've ever been a lonely teenager (which, let's be real, most of us have) you will relate to Ife. She's isolated, awkward, and troubled even before the Changing Man nonsense happened. And I find her to be a really credible protagonist. She's in over her head, and has a lot of moments where she's overwhelmed or breaking down over everything she's seen and done. She makes mistakes and further alienates herself from the kids that would naturally be her allies. But she keeps going, she keeps fighting, she doesn't back down, because she sees an injustice and she can't give it up. I loved her a lot, even if her narration was a little selfconsciously teenagery at times, the narrative leaning on a few teen cliches to characterise her in the earlier parts.

I also really liked her friends. Ben is the brother of missing kid Leon who bears a lot of guilt over Leon's disappearance. He's a weird kid, a bit of a delinquent but not a bad person, and adds a sort of quirky charm to the proceedings. Bee, meanwhile, is an awkward ambiguously-autistic nerd who finds herself alone because other people often find her offputting, and she latches onto other social outcasts to befriend out of a sense of desperation. They're both credible teens, and despite how I'm describing them here, they don't really fall into any of the classic Teen Story stereotypes. Sure, Bee is an awkward nerd, but her love of the school's history and self-awareness about Ife being cold to her at first elevate her. Ben is also complicated by his love for his brother and his big heart. They make a really cute trio!

Finally, let's talk about the Changing Man. Not the alien cryptid creature that forms the centre of this story, but the idea of change as a whole. Ife is worried that, being at the Academy and separated from her old friends, they will change without her and grow to not like her. She's also worried that she will change, and be left behind. The kids who disappear come back as pod people who act exactly as they are supposed to, a change that is clearly unnatural. Change is a huge theme, and the shapeshifters preying on the kids just underscore the point. Change is inevitable, and not necessarily to be feared, but too much change too quickly can be a red flag. The messaging is obvious, but not so on the nose that it gets in the way of the story, which I liked. Overall, it was a good story! I'm glad I picked it up.

Next, the pharmacist in a bunker beneath the world is facing a moral dilemma.

[charlesandmartine]

Saturday 8th July 2023

I always think it's nice to leave something behind if you have been in a foreign country. What could be better than correcting the locals of any misuse of the English language, in short pronunciation. Around here they have a gondola ride up a mountain similar to the one in Banff. We didn't understand when our host said GondOla. There was far too much O and not enough gon. You just have to do your bit.

Today with much prompting from our host and also the tourist information centre, after we had checked in with Rocky Mountaineer and talked to Mr Enterprise, we set of for Maligne Lake some 48kms away. (local?) Fourteen miles in length, fed by the Maligne River, it is famous for its Azure colour. Very pretty lake and extremely popular with tourists. There were set walking trails available so with the thought in mind that this might be the last opportunity for a bear introduction, we took the wooded trails with the scents of pine and surprisingly, oregano. Bear fur and poo was in evidence but no actual bears to be found. Well we tried. On the road back to Jasper we came upon a cluster of RVs and cars parked either side. Clearly something was afoot so I climbed out of the Toyota to investigate. Drivers and passengers alike were leaning out of vehicles; some by the roadside. We spotted a black bear said one. So cameras at the ready, the woods were being scanned for the beast. Then, just to put a lid on it, a ranger's truck arrived all lights flashing and a girl jumped out clearly having sussed what was going on and said 'If there is one in there, you're too close'. So like naughty children we all got back in our vehicles and drove off still looking at that patch of trees.

A bit further down the road was Maligne Canyon. Now I know we went to a Canyon yesterday, but this was really the Daddy. Maligne is French for evil or wicked. Pierre-Jean de Smet, a Belgium Jesuit missionary, used the word to describe the river after having trouble crossing it on his horse in 1846. The river coursing through this Canyon was something to behold with its power and velocity, and dare I mention, waterfalls cutting the soft limestone walls into curved pot shapes. Even Martine, who is not easily impressed by such natural phenomena was taken by this spectacle.

We are not allowed to cook in a little apartment so we went to a Greek restaurant for lasagne and fish and chips respectively.

Tomorrow we hand over the Toyota and board the Rocky Mountaineer to Vancouver. Overnight we disembark at Kamloops to stop in a hotel, then rejoin the train in the morning, getting in late to Vancouver on Monday evening. We shall be sorry not having the Toyota. Very strange driving here as all towns are on a grid system, so junctions occur every 50 meters or so. At each junction there's a 4 way stop sign, so we all sit there eyeing up eachother to see who blinks first allowing the other to go. Strange system, saves on traffic lights and slows the traffic down to a crawl.

ps. Hoping to see a bear out of the train window.

[thecondemnedangelgabriel]

V

'Roxanne DID NOT WANT YOU TO GO TO BLACKPOOL..' you Scream

I am a Free Adult Woman who is Free and ALLOWED To Travel, Emily

Like ANY OTHER PERSON In This Country

If somebody throws accusations that does not mean they are TRUE

A Very Huge Shock Is Coming To You

O O O

O O

Ummm... why do you have this Fixation that Annwyl Must Not Self Defend... is it because you are Protecting Your Own Ransack, Emily

O

O O

Roxanne was involved in a Stitch Up by THAT TIME, Emily

And had been Tormenting and Plotting Malevolently

While also asking for Help and Expressing Something Very Serious

That Should Have Been Taken Seriously BY EVERYBODY

She was extremely worrying to Sara Annwyl Because Nora Noose's BEHAVIOUR to Sara had been Very Strange

And there was Something Very Wrong Afoot

And it NEEDED CONFRONTING

O O

O O O

You followed that Horrific Hate and Sickness Account that Nora called Keruft_Swan...

But those are not the Readings that you are interested in for your Bullying...

Not Those Interpretations

Of Roxanne's Communications from that Trapped Room in London

Because THOSE are fine and you accept them, the Sickness and the Hate are the SANE VIBE... O O O in Your Eyes O O

O

This Person is not your Kept Pet who must do as you all say O O O

She is YOUR Victim

Confronting YOU O O O Very Gently and Clearly

With Words Almost Entirely

But The WORDS Are Too Shouty, The Subject TOO DARK!

The Subject Is What Is Happening

Really Happening, Emily

You have been Self Inducing Hatred and Sickness and allowing Tregonning...

To Frighten You

About HER Victim

And THIS REAL SITUATION is a Real Murder Situation, Emily

Tregonning is the Killer

V

O O O

All this person has been Saying... is 'You Cannot Treat Me Wrongfully'

'And Expect Me NOT To Respond...'

OR DEMAND THAT

Cause and Effect, Cardinal

YOU have not been Treated Badly!

YOU have been So Ceaselessly Guided to try and Help You to GRASP THIS

But...

You have your Lies that you have Cornered Your Own Life With

They have taken Precedence...

Over any other Consideration or anybody else's LIFE AND SURVIVAL

YOU are a very Spoiled Attention Seeking Harmful Hacking Fraud

Who does not know how to accept Honest Criticism

What are you doing then in the Adult World

Of Public Address!

You Unbelievable Teenage Fool Mess

Generation Cancel O O O O

Belle Peche

V

O O

O

[stingslikeabee]

Daigo was only vaguely aware that there was a day to celebrate mothers. It was a half - formed idea, really, normally upheld in villages that had several large families. If it hadn't been for Azumi giving him a metaphorical nudge, he may have let the holiday slip by again unnoticed in regards to his own wife.

They had recently been blessed with their first child, a strong and strangely sweet boy that already seemed to take after his father in stature. That meant, of course, that Melissa was a mother — and Daigo sprang into action at Azumi's gentle reminder weeks before the proper day.

Luckily, he was able to convince the local smith and jeweler to help him. When the holiday arrived, Daigo presented his present to his love : a pair of thick iron arm bracers, polished so perfectly that they gleamed with a dangerous life of their own. Each was decorated with running brown wolves. The majestic creatures were etched into the metal itself, all traveling beneath round moons represented by large, flawless pearls. Daigo had stolen those pretty stones from one of his more ornamental knives, which he had no use for anymore. It had killed sirens and fish - folk well — once upon a time.

Daigo sent a silent prayer of thanks to the heavens when he saw how the two pieces of armor fit on her. His wife had insisted on learning how to fight like he did. When she was ready to return to it, Daigo imagined that these would look quite striking on her.

"I love you," he said, kissing the corner of her mouth. In the dying light of the evening fire, his scarred face looked softer than usual. The former hunter grinned, pulling her closer by the waist. "Our family is . . . " Daigo searched for the right word, but it wouldn't come. Instead, he placed his other hand on her cheek.

unscripted asks . always accepting

A proper holiday celebration was very far from Melissa's mind on that particular weekend - it just happened that most of her life had been spent without observing such custom (having lost her foster parents so early) that it would have been easy to just carry on as if nothing special was afoot. But once Daigo appeared with a gift in hand and the innkeeper did the math, she realized what it all meant.

It was their first year as mother and father - something that would perhaps not have happened if Shun hadn't been so certain about the curse and the fact that it was not supposed to be inherited by the children (unless they were the seventh consecutive son or daughter). As it stood - Kazuya was indeed a normal boy, apparently taking after the father and very much human.

It soothed the werewolf to no end - even if she had come to terms with her true nature and the fact that was no cure, Melissa knew how painful the journey had been until she was at least able to retain memories and no longer harm those she loved and cared for. The woman had no desire to further maul and injure - her husband suffered enough, as well as the village.

But even with one eye missing and a scar that he would carry to the grave, Daigo seemed to have found purpose in protecting those with special powers like his wife. Once a hunter and now a guardian of the creatures he previously sought to eliminate, the pieces of armor that doubled as beautiful jewelry left no room for discussion: he was proud of who she was, and clearly adored both facets of his spouse. It was difficult to hold back the happy tears from receiving such a meaningful gift, but Melissa decided to be brave, caressing Daigo's face and closing both eyes when the kiss came.

The murmured declarations warmed her further and better than any fire would ever be able to. Smiling and allowing herself to be pulled into a soft embrace that was the safest place in all of the world to the werewolf, Melissa sighed softly and nuzzled his neck fondly. Daigo's scent was special - it had been an anchor once, to help her not lose focus, and the mix of gunpowder, tobacco and leather had her stopping jaws from biting him in a lethal manner.

Now, however - the retired hunter was rewarded with a playful nibble on his neck, of the kind that wouldn't leave enduring scars thanks to the human teeth used for it. The innkeeper nonetheless relished in his presence and the very physical comfort he represented, kissing the flesh which had been played with teeth before moving to his mouth and the faded scars on Daigo's visage. These were the ever-present memento of how closely he saw death at the hands (or paws) of his wife.

"Thank you for our family," the brunette confessed quietly, but smiling at him and enjoying the weight of the bracers on her limbs; it would be the best incentive for Melissa to learn how to fight and protect herself if other hunters came looking for the wolves in that village, "I know I have caused much suffering to other families - but it's only thanks to you that such things are long past and we have a new one to nurture."

Close to them, Kazuya made a light sound from his peaceful slumber - Melissa and Daigo looked at him with the attentive glance of new and concerned parents, but returned to their embrace a moment later. All was fine - their son was healthy; their marriage was prospering; their friends were multiplying.

"I love you too - and I hope Kazuya grows to be as brave and loving as his father."

[terrifickid]

Well it's not really clear what the situation is, but it is possible to engage in consensual relationships and make agreements.

I feel like the time has come to make a decisive incision. A surgical strike to once and for all remove this bullshit cancer from continuing to demand my attention.

Something is definitely afoul. Afoot. You know?

My first real psychotic delusion was induced by cannabis where I believed the people around me were vampires eating my organs. A belief that felt strange since, "Vampires were not real, and I don't believe in them" - this was probably my strongest delusion - and at that time I was entirely capable of remaining rational.

So I do not think my general faculties are degenerating into like 'non-compis mentis' - although it's clearly possible that I have lack of insight in areas and that there is a progressive of general degradation of faculties.

I'd report that my 'zaniness' factor has been decreasing as I eliminate family baggage.

So-called, 'presence' meditation definitely seems like a sufficient state-of-mind to shadowstep the entire quagmire.

Therefore

My interpretation of these trial results is 'as it stands' there's a high probability I can clear food, tax, and utility costs and remain tranquilized with a high quality of life.

[anguishedlurker]

Chapter two coming UP, on Ao3 HERE as well.

~

So at first she'd lost her new notebook, which was all sorts of awful. She just got that, dammit! And had wrapped something up in record time, too!

She knew she'd left it on her nightstand, she couldn't be convinced otherwise either, but where did it go!? She was gone five fucking minutes!

All that wasted time and effort, with the haunting sense she wasn't alone. And in Amity, that meant so much more than it should!

But whatever. She could deal. Or at least pretend to until she could harass her brother, the most likely culprit for this. She hoped it was burning his eyes, sticky fingered little....

So she'd crawled back into bed and curled up, and set aside the steaming rage to be hashed out at the dinner table over cereal. Mom usually wasn't well humored to her making things public, but dad was still mad enough about the riding lawnmower that he'd be ready to take reasons to pile-drive the no electronics mandate for even longer. Wrong move, turd.

And curled on her side, she fell asleep after some not that set aside rage. The reckoning would be afoot come six am.

But she'd woken up suddenly, or at least... she thought she did. Maybe. Unlikely, now that she thinks about it.

All she'd heard as the folds of her comforter revealed nothing was chuckling, before a voice she felt like she should know spoke.

"Pardon the interruption, but I think this story needs its star actor, yes?"

Suddenly, she was thrown in someone's arms.

Under different circumstances she'd aim towards making fun of their clothes, but, well...

It was undeniably a well put together fantasy costume. The sort of thing she'd pick out for one of the guys, if they'd have the intelligence to get her help for any costume parties.

Though, it was definitely sparking a familiar mental image right now...

Arms were wrapped around her, hoisting her back upwards enough to get her feet under her and peel back from them a little bit.

Which is about where it all made some sense.

His hair was messily styled; the right balance of non effort while still being meticulous to the trained eye. His fur pauldrons framed his startled look as the cape swished back with all the sudden movement.

And above all else, he was holding her...

Officially, pinch her. This was too much to wake up to.

Or not, given the scene... 

It was straight out of her notebook. She was the only being in existence that knew what was in there, and this wasn't something her brother could rig up. He'd be a freak to try doing something like this, besides.

It's not like you can slap a white wig on Mikey or Dash and call it good, this was clearly Phantom in front of her, and this simply had to be The Evergreen Field!

Phantom- the prince- shifted from her, looking  over her form extremely carefully.

Right, right, it's weird and strange for some random girl to appear and be enthused at him.

Hell, what were his lines? It can't be that hard.

"Ma'dam, I do believe that's a new one." Phantom tittered, just so slightly breathless.

"An entrance for the age. Although... perhaps..." He trailed, shifting his arms up to her hands.

"Lady Manson may well keep the top spot." He clicked, seemingly extremely put off.

That... wasn't it, but it was close enough!

"Oh sir, how curious that makes me of this wild lady Manson!" She quipped, giggling.

Hey, no, wait. She knows that last name. Why's that name in her book?

Maybe... She's read before that the brain will pull from people and things it knows in sleep, so that's gotta be it.

Because if this is real... 

Frightening thought..

~

("I know you can hear me. You wouldn't dare not be listening in to my thoughts if  only to make fun of me more. We can discuss this, and come to some sort of peace.")

("Don't you like it, child?  She seems so fond  of you, it'd be a shame denying her her fantasies!")

("I know you know I know, you're making fun of me and that is bait. Ha ha, make me flip over being the valiant white knight prince in one of your stories, get her outta here you damn creep!)

("Oh child, this one isn't mine. I took the liberty of polishing it up some , but this story is all hers... Won't you make her dreams, her fantasies, come to... such life?"

Smug bastard speaking in riddles, struggling to finish his own goddamn sentences.

Or... No. Wait. This cannot possibly be this straight forward. Oh, what a mess this is!

His tongue was only slightly unstuck though, meaning he was still going to have a very bad time with speaking normally.

But god, her surprised enthusiasm was clearly waning to concern and fear.

""Ma'dam, I do believe that's a new one. An entrance for the age. Although... perhaps... Lady Manson may well keep the top spot."

No, no, no! That should've been ,,I haven't seen an entrance like that since a friend of mine crashed the chandelier into a ball"!!

Not that that was an entrance, but still!

("Unhand my tongue, wretched puppet master.") He spat, cringing as Ghost Writer cackled. Not even his projected thoughts were safe?

"Oh sir, how curious that makes me of this wild lady Manson!" She laughed, bouncing back to enthused and looking at him like there was no danger going on right now. For a split second her smile tightened, but it was gone as fast as it appeared.

"A fair lady friend of mine, who's of no relevance presently. Did the fall hurt?" He pressed, trying to ignore how the words tripped over his lips ever so lamely.

He was super gonna kill Ghost Writer a second time for this one, mark his words!

"Nope! I'm a-okay here, mister Phantom." She grinned, pleased with his attention. Fucks sake…

"Such a fall could certainly harm any-"

"Sheesh, lay off! It was just onto you, sir." She laughed, shoving him lightly and peeling off of him to look at the sunlit field.

She swayed slightly, her own eagerness to stand up properly and keep on staring, thankfully dragging her eyes off of him and looking excited at the damn horse.

This was going to be a big migraine, and it hadn't even really started! The anglerfish would be better right now, at least innocents wouldn't be with him!

("I'm completely innocent of all crimes, and you need to let her go no matter what you think you're going to accomplish.") Danny shot at Ghost Writer, gritting his teeth into the absurd grin Ghost Writer was clearly typing onto him for this.

The clicking of the typewriter halted, Danny's hopes indulging a doomed little dream before whatever overwrought wit Ghost Writer had could be dropped onto him.

("Nah.")

Nah? Just nah? Uncreative much!

The keys resumed, and the smile on his face didn't get to drop as Paulina went and stumbled over her own feet, stand- ("You did NOT give her kitten pumps in a fucking grass field! You did NOT in fact do-")

("What of it, child? Besides, this is her choice! It's what she imagined herself dressed in!") Ghost Writer snapped back instantly at him, the type-writer pausing seconds after as Paulina seemed to freeze on the spot with Danny's hands moving to steady her.

("Why do you know women's heel types, devil child?") Ghost Writer asked.

While he sounded sincere in asking this, Danny didn't trust that information to stay as idle curiosity. His own words could and would be used against them both to who knows what sorts of effects.

"Madam, are you certain you feel alright?" Danny tried pressing, ignoring Ghost Writer with a pointed mental shove between them.

("Suit yourself child. It won't get you out of this to be oh so petulant to me.") Ghost Writer huffed, continuing to write.

"Yup!" She chirped back, smiling like there wasn't a manic reality altering ghost puppeting this whole strange situation.

The horse very conveniently made noise, and Danny faintly wished Sam was here to be a better social example than his pathetic attempts could ever be.

But then there'd be more swearing and violence if she had actually been with him, so maybe it was better in the short term that she wasn't to cause them hell.

"Well my lady, if you insist on your good health then we should be quick to exit this place, before something else happens here." He said, sharply gesturing to the horse. 

("I can fly and carry her ya loser.")

("Bold of you to try and debate the horse.")

"Ahh, but we haven't really done... Yeah, sure." Paulina said, cautiously agreeing. 

Feet! Lift! From ground! Fly! Fly, goddamnit, fly fly!

“Do what? I find there little to have done.” Danny asked blankly, watching her wobble.

Too many lectures from Sam about the variety of girly shit her mom had tried to put her in left him with far too much knowledge about death traps, formally known as the dreaded high heels, to let him be comfortable with her wobbling around in a grass field. His limbs refused to obey his attempts to reach out to Paulina to help though.

“I find it’s not really important now.” She snipped, approaching the horse to mount it.

To Paulina’s credit she had clearly ridden horses before this weirdo kidnapping, not struggling as Danny looked away.

“You seem embarrassed, my good sir. Why’s that?” She asked, clearly only half serious.

Time ticked slowly as Ghost Writer rewrote his totally witty comeback to her.

“While a pretty dress, I find that they’re bad for hiding a woman's undergarments.” He grit out past Ghost Writers influence.

Paulina slowly turned red and nodded.

(“Is it too crass to say I don’t want to see her underwear in full brazen sight? This horse is absurdly tall compared to us and it’s pretty logical to say.”) Danny pressed Ghost Writer, greatly annoyed.

(“Prince charming cannot say the word panties.”) Ghost Writer staunchly informed him, rude too.

(“Okay. But I wasn’t-”) +

(“Don't lie to me.”)

Danny did not grace that with an answer, watching as Paulina shifted around.

(“Okay, genius, now get me on the horse.”)

(“Can you not ride? I thought that you’ve been on-”)

Danny gave the mental equivalent of a hard stare, not one for this nonsense.

His limbs moving on their own never got any easier than the first instance, the anglerfish a distant memory of a better run in with Ghost Writer.

“Now my lady, might I now ask your name?” Danny asked, letting Ghost Writer take charge.

(“Two ‘now’s? Run out of words?”)

(“Shove it, you brat.”)

Paulina was busy wrapping her arms around his waist as they mocked each other, not yet giving an answer for her name.

“It’s just Paulina, my good sir Phantom.” She muttered through his over fancy clothes, sounding family embarrassed to say it.

“Pretty enough. Prettier most names.” He reassured, making the horse start forth.

“Thank you for your kind words, but I don’t think-” She attempted, squirming as she spoke up.

”Pretty enough to announce to the ball.” He continued, cringing as he realized.

Today was gonna be so, so painful.

I've been Isekaied into Paulina's Novel?!

Welcome to the fic for the EctoImposion 2024 event! I was paired with @thebooo-merang for this wonderful fic, and you should go check them out! And check out the ao3 posting HERE

After an incident with Box Ghost solicits a fight with Ghost Writer, Ghost Writers out for revenge. And Paulina has a convenient little fanfiction that Ghost writer could use. Now Danny just has to survive it, with a starstruck Paulina in tow.

The first chapter doesn't especially need warnings, as everything remains cannon typical. It's under the cut!

~

"Get back here!" Danny shouted, ready to be done with wit for today.

"I, THE BOOOX GHOOOST, WILL-"

"Piss off Ghost Writer!" Do you just break into random lairs in search of weird boxes!?" Danny screeched, trying to dive after a flying notebook.

"I, THE BOX GHOST, WILL-" Box shouted over Danny, waving wildly as he went and sending even more boxes and books flying back and forth.

"RUIN WHAT LITTLE TRUCE I'VE GOT GOING WITH HIM!" Danny cut back, struggling to grab books mid-air with one arm and blast Boxy into submission with the other.

"THE BOX GHOST HAS NO NEED FOR LECTURES ON YOUR INTERPERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS! PREPARE TO BE DESTROYED!"

Danny was gonna kill him this time!

~

Boxes and books rained over the town, causing havoc and mild property damage to the unprepared. Paulina could only huff and puff as she bolted across the open street from shop to shop, trying to find somewhere to camp out while Phantom dealt with the box menace, trying to keep an eye out for whatever storefront Star had managed to find for herself.

Another keeper kept their shoulder into the door as she pushed, and bitterly she cursed them out. She probably didn't get any sympathetic glances through the wood door, but whatever! Rude ass motherfuckers locking out innocents while there was an attack!

It was tempting to keep under the eave, but beyond being mere cloth too much was getting tossed around- plenty enough room for something to slam in sideways and get her then!

God! One good day is all she wanted right now.

Though a few more after wouldn't go amiss...

There! The geek shit shop was probably going to let her in! Maybe!

She didn't care, actually, she'd punch through the glass if she had to! Take that, losers!

First, she needed the mental psyche up to dart across the road again. Three, two, one, go!

The owner, or possible customer, waved behind the glass as she ran.The door opened and closed near instantaneously on her entry.

The sound of Phantom yelling at The Box Ghost dampened as the bell rang, and the store owner gave her an uneasy smile and gestured towards the windowless back. 

“Everyone’s in the back. Might be cramped by now, but there’s a lot of shelves to sit behind.” He nervously informed, eyeing the glass windows.

The casual thumbs up sent him away as she bent slightly to wheeze out the adrenaline.

Yeah, cheer takes some stamina, but adrenaline really messes up her rhythm!

Breath caught, it was time to pack in with the other unlucky idiots back here. With care and precision she marched over behind the popular shelf, examined the bodies packed like sardines, and picked a new shelf to hide behind.

This one was packed with books instead of weird anime figures and dungeons and dragons minis, the spines a cold comfort as she sat down and started staring.

The titles on this sort of crap were so weird… 

But she supposed Star seemed to enjoy them, Star's rants echoing clearly in her head. 

She wouldn’t admit it with a gun to her head, but after enough of those rants… she may or may not be able to pick out a few of the series on display.

Sue her, she's a sucker for some of the romances even if they were trashy a lot of the time. And Star's collection at this rate was pretty impressive, to the point Paulina was convinced she was the only reason a store like this could keep afloat in a town like Amity.

The other nerd shit probably helped it keep alive, though. More screaming outside, this time sounding like it was from The Box Ghost in rage. Good. Phantom could pummel that no good fool to goo for what it mattered.

... Ugh. The fight could easily take a long time; Box Ghost might be weak, but he clearly had a lot of material to use this time. But whatever. Here she is in a castle of weeb books. Maybe some could be a good distraction.

~

"No! Not you!"

"Yes, me! Did you think you could trash my library and get away with it!?" Ghost Writer roared, trying to come up from behind.

"It wasn't me, it was-"

But Box Ghost was already gone, the leftover boxes of books now floating to the ground in a suspiciously gentle manner.

Coward. The thought wouldn't leave as Danny shifted the books he'd been trying to save around, awkwardly offering the armful to Ghost Writer. 

Ghost Writer loomed ominously.

~

All at once the outside world went quiet, some shouting occasionally coming close enough to hear, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief loud enough to drag Paulina from her pile of books.

Five more minutes would've been great to finish the book she'd had in hand, not that it mattered...

Now she needed to find where Star ran off to without her, the books carefully left behind in a pile.

Phantom and a ghost she couldn’t recognize quipped back and forth, the day still significantly quieter than it had been fifteen minutes before. The area remained strewn with books, the ghost gesturing to some on a roof.

Now, she could walk around the district lost and confused looking for Star... Or just sit back down on a nice ledge and wait for Star to come to her while watching Phantom.

Phantom made an odd twist in the air as he shouted, still a little too distant to make out properly.

Yeah, watching sounded so much safer and calmer. One hop later and she was perched on top of one of the lower walls purporting to be defensive.

Fat lot of good they did...

Phantom and his assailant came closer, lending her a nice view of what was going on.

Maybe she shouldn't be here, but it seemed to be more arguing than fighting, so whatever.

"While I'm sorry my NOT PARTNER didn't have a spine, you can have yours back!" Phantom shouted as they passed overhead, throwing a book at the weird ghost.

She had to huff out a clipped laugh as the ghost was whacked, even as the ghost elected to bolt as it realized its inferiority.

She could just hear the stunned silence from Phantom, right before he cried out "Get back here!" 

Truly, a foolish thing to think it could stand up to the town hero.

With a certain lack of ceremony, the book the from the fight fell onto her 

"Ouch!" She yelped, one hand raising to rub her scalp as the other fumbled for the offending book.

The whole thing might be a sign it's time to get up and go. Still...

"Raining books is a new one." She muttered, far too late for the comment to be witty but all the same a perfectly serious remark on the latest weird shit Amity came up with.

She cautiously eyed the book in her hands, looking for any oddities. You could never quite trust some of this stuff...

It was just a notebook. Nothing special about it, besides being a trophy for today. The decoration and signature on front was incomprehensible to her, an initial she didn't recognize against the slightly plain front.

Caving to curiosity, the book opened easily. Not that she’d expected anything else. 

It revealed... nothing. Nothing at all. None of the pages had any sort of writing in them.

Well she can't be begrudged for snooping- it's her prize right now. An apology for getting assaulted in broad daylight. This G-W could just deal with it, and the spat was already away from her, so it's not like she was going to be in more danger sitting here.

The blank notebook continued to be uninteresting, and she couldn’t help her annoyance as she shut it. There wasn’t a damn thing to pay her back for getting hit.

Or... well...

She could feel her lip work up into a slight smirk.

I have been wanting to write a new Phantom fic...

The thought was clear as day to her, even as she couldn't wait for the night. What better way to celebrate this particular trophy?

~

Ghost Writer was forced to watch on in abject misery as he realized his collection had been tossed around like a toddler’s toys. No respect whatsoever from the box obsessed lunatic for the actual contents of the boxes.

The nerve! The audacity! To treat his writing like this! The ghost may well need a lesson in manners.

But first, Phantom.

Sure, the boy wasn't the sole force at work- but undeniably the lunatic never would've gotten close to his manuscripts if Phantom hadn't been snooping around in his library.

But don't think he's lost the plot of getting his own books tossed at him! The tactical retreat was nothing more than an admission of lack of home turf!

Nothing to do with not having his typewriter or any notebooks activated!

Ahem... So the child would need an appropriate punishment as well.

Sometime after he collected his books

The whole lot of them, all across town! Lunatics.

It was easy enough to threaten people away from his scripts, but nonetheless annoying and time consuming. Go here, show up there, yell to get their grubby mitts off his stuff. 

Ugh.

The annoyance was the cost of getting everything back. though. He pointedly ignored Phantom’s continued patrolling, likely looking for whatever trap Ghost Writer would end up creating.

Easy enough to stay low and out of sight in the meantime. Whatever he was about to do, it wasn't a ‘now’ plan. Such things take planning, and unfortunately it's not the season to stick the boy back into Christmas stories.

So he was collecting his books, and chasing fools away from them. The cost of love, he supposed.

Still, he was being forced to waste hours upon hours taking his books out of the hands of fools. Having such a collection was not currently a point of pride; He’d have to figure out what went where later.

Slowly but surely his boxes filled back up as he found his manuscripts. There was his old horror story from the eighties, there was his attempt at something akin to a superhero comic, there was his dabbling in... well he couldn't remember either, but if he sat to read it right now it'd take hours for him to finish the book. No reading for him.

Finally, it was time to find his blank notebooks again. He'd be forced to admit that he simply cared less if these ones vanished mysteriously, for a blank notebook was nothing more or less than a possibility.

Most were alright, scattered down the streets carelessly. Some had been picked up and put back down to be examined by wretched hands at a later date.

There was an exception though, something swaying as if held at the edge of where he could feel things. Curious, for how late at night it was getting, but that'd just mean he needed to scare another pathetic mortal off his books.

The pull and search brought him to a cracked window in the suburbs. Nothing meaningful crossed his path, though it was good to be wary; The boy was likely still patrolling, and no doubt Ghost Writer's appearance had put him on edge. As it should.

Slowly rising up to look through, invisible to the mortal eye, he could hear a girl rambling slightly. 

His look through the window was enlightening, the girl curled onto her bed as she wrote with ink that even from this distance sparkled with glitter.

"And then Princess Paulina lived happily ever after with Prince Phantom, aaannd the end." She whispered, pleased with herself.

Barely pausing, she snapped the book shut and laid it on her nightstand, moving to stand and stretch.

Shouting called her away, which was plenty convenient for him even as she huffed and puffed out of the room.

It was child's play to take the notebook back, even with it defiled by mortal hands. It wasn't a toy to be left with creatures that didn't understand what could be done with such tools.

The cover had already been decorated with a couple of stickers and a flowing cursive he couldn't bother deciphering at this second.

Phasing back out of the room and coming to rest back outside of the window, he flipped the cover open.  The inside was decorated similarly.

Oh, yes. That was glitter pen. The pages were coming away bedazzled with runaway glitter.

This book was most certainly going to have to be put in its own container, but for right this second the name on the inside was of modest curiosity.

Paulina Sanchez in bold strokes, fancy flourishes forgone in favor of legibility. If found, return to owner, do not read.

Well now he just had to, didn't he? It wasn't like the rest of the books were going anywhere, the grand total of three he still had to find now could rest safely.

Or well... No, he could spare the time now> What would the boy do, if it blows up on them both? The books shouldn't even be in the town anyways, and it was most certainly his fault thank you very much!

He quickly leafed through the beginning burning through thanks to his superior-ness and a speed reading class he'd attended before.

... hmm.

Hmmmmm.

He'd recently been complaining about what to do with the boy, no?

"This could work." He spoke to no-one, clapping the book shut. For now.

~

Barely past sunrise, Danny squinted at the sky and grumbled. Damn malicious blob ghosts, eating billboards.

Not that he cares about the billboards, but first it's a billboard and then it's drywall.

"Catch!" Got shouted, an object (presumably) sailing from behind him.

Snapping too and turning, he could see Ghost Writer grin manically in glee as a book opened wide.

All he could do was choke out an "eh?" as he reflexively reached, the book splayed open and glowing. Illustory pages floated up and off, and he had a really bad feeling about what was coming next as the world around him went white.

~

Coming to under Ghost Writers writing was not a fun thing to experience, see. One did not simply fade into one of his chaotic and weirdly random worlds. You blink and then suddenly you're just there!

Danny was there, wherever there was. Somewhere was currently a bright grass field, with a decorated horse beside him.

Which he would grant was a better entrance than the last time he'd been flung into one of Ghost Writer's many insane stories.

He would never forget that anglerfish...

But almost just as fast as he got here there was another stupidly bright light, and someone was falling into his arms, briefly bundled into his chest before quickly popping back up to look at him.His tongue was stuck in a way that implied Ghost Writer had ideas about what he should or shouldn't be saying at this time, but that didn't stop the extremely strained noise he gave when he realized the person was Paulina, looking VERY enthused.

[versegm]

What they don’t tell you about Chaldea is that once you get past the most obvious of bullshits (the literal apocalypse, whatever was happening during Christmas, the fucking Gudagudas,) you still end up with a large amount of very small bullshits that make absolutely no sense.

Case in point:

There is beer in the fridge.

Why is there beer in the fridge.

Goredolf’s first thought, is, naturally, that one of the servants must have made some. They’ve got so many servants here; it’s not that far-fetched to imagine that one of them might be into brewing their own stuff. He’s heard of at least one who makes her own wine (and has been throughoutly warned to never drink any of it.)

He picks up a bottle and examines it closer. The side of it reads Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster – guaranteed to get drunk even those with debuff immunity! There’s a pictogram of a skull with an ahoge beneath it.

Okay. So. This was, presumably, picked up in a store. This explains how it found its way here, except for one tiny little detail:

What fucking store the whole world was bleached???

And no, don’t bring up any of the other food they eat in Novum Chaldea. These are direct contributions from Beni-Enma (bless her heart; she may be indirectly responsible for one of the most stressful weeks of Goredolf’s life, but she’s also one of the most reasonable and normal servants around. Goredolf will take strong cooking opinions over whatever is going on with the knights of the Round Table any day of the week.)

Clearly, there is Servant Shenanigans afoot.

He could search for the owner of this bottle. They shouldn’t be drinking on duty anyways. And if they have access to intergalactic stores, they could bring back more than just beer. It would be in everyone’s best interests to identify them.

On the other hand: Servant Shenanigans. Goredolf prides himself in being a wise man (lies; he singlehandedly got Chaldea exterminated. He is a fool and an idiot and it’s a miracle that the crew hasn’t realized his uselessness already-) and that means acknowledging that anything servant-related is widely out of his depth. There is strength in withdrawing too. Yes; whatever this is can be dealt with by someone-

“If you leave the fridge open like this we’ll have a hell of a bill to pay.”

The sudden voice startles Goredolf in a calm, dignified way.

“Wow, you’re jumpy. No need to squeak, I’m not here to hurt you.” (For the record, it was not a squeak, it was a perfectly respectable and regular noise.) “Lemme just grab this.” A hand reaches out to take the beer off his palms, and-

Uh.

Goredolf. Isn’t really sure what he’s looking at?

The servant is a woman in a swimsuit. A pretty one, even, (not that it’s relevant) whose blue scarf and tight suit really emphasize her- (we said this is not relevant.) She’s also wearing,

Uh

High boots?

And a helmet?

A strange and complex set of armor over her arms and legs.

Wait, no. Upon closer inspections, these seem closer to some sort of robotic suit.

This is. Certainly a confusing outfit.

Ignorant (or uncaring) of Goredolf’s plight, the servant tears off the bottlecap and takes a swing at the beer. “Now that hits the spot.” She sighs, pleased.

“… Aren’t you a cop?” Goredolf asks, and yes, he’s aware this is a stupid question, but give him a break, how is he even supposed to react here. He’s not even sure she’s a cop. He’s read the servant files ages ago and this particular one was absolutely incomprehensible.

“Not since you guys hired me I’m not.” She takes another swing, eyeing Goredolf with a pleased expression. “Besides, the casters can debuff cleanse me if an emergency comes up, it’s fine.”

This doesn’t really sound fine, but again, servant shenanigans, not his lane. Goredolf has no claims speaking up when he believes to know better (for instance, when the Master goes off to do something stupidly dangerous and reckless again for the love of god why is no one alarmed by their blatant desensitization to danger this is not normal this is not healthy what the fuck) but for things like this he supposes he should leave it to those heroes of- holy shit her armor just vanished.

A blue jacket materializes over the servant’s shoulders, hiding a grand total of 2% of her skin. The sight strikes him dumb for a couple seconds.

“And you are?” She’s leaning on the counter as she asks, which is not helping Goredolf focus. Come on boy, what are you, some horny teenager?? You see half-naked heroes at the cafeteria every day! Get a grip!!

“Ah, have you not heard of me? I’m Goredolf Musik, Chaldea’s Director! I’m responsible for every major operation here.” He replies, puffing up his chest. And then, because some unfortunate altercations with the Celtic heroes made him realize that was a very vague title to most servants: “I also make desserts on my free time.”

The woman perks up at that second part, which, ouch. It’s good to be known for something. He supposes. “Oh! You’re the pastry guy? These are soo good, I’ve heard the others mention a new chief on the staff, I didn’t know that was you.”

The compliment is a balm on his bruised ego at least. “Well, yes. Not to brag, but I believe my croissants rival most bakeries.”

The woman nods eagerly. Oh, sweet sweet validation. Then, for some reason, she steps closer to him. “You know, Director, I have a favor to ask.”

Flattery would never work on Goredolf (but it did, it did, this fox got him good-) flattery would never work on Goredolf, but it would be rude to not at least hear her out, especially when she calls him by his proper title. “What kind?”

“Well, the Master has been bringing me to battle a lot recently. I’m the go-to when it comes to dealing with berserkers, you understand.” She sighs, putting her beer on the counter. “It’s exhausting. The mana we get from Chaldea is enough to fight, but I was wondering… is there any way for me to get a little extra?”

That seems like a reasonable request. Not one Goredolf thinks he can fulfil, though. “I’ll ask my technical advisors about it. I’m sure something can be done-”

Slender fingers cup his chin. They’re warm, Goredolf registers dimly, train of thought utterly forgotten. Like burning stars. Like an echo of summer.

“I was thinking of something else.” The servants says with a smile.

…

“Oh.”

[pain-in-the-butler]

One thing that maybe does or does not matter much but is still interesting to note is that all the orphans in the Corgi and Collie classes may be girls, and all the orphans in the Mastiff and Pomeranian classes may be boys

These children are all pretty young, and hair styles / hair coverings / clothing aren’t necessarily an indicator of gender given the strange environment, so we can’t say with total certainty yet that the above is the case. But in England in 1889, gender roles were pretty dang strict, so if Corgi class is indeed all girls (judging by the long hair all the visible orphans possess), it would be considered extremely unorthodox to have them wearing trousers and learning to do a lot of physical outdoor work.

Appearance clearly has nothing to do with the class placement, not even in the Pomeranian class, which is obviously all about being able to imitate O! or R!Ciel. Is gender the only factor that specifies anything? If so, why? If the story was strictly following traditional Victorian gender roles, all the girls would be practicing to be in Mey-Rin’s position. Does it mean anything that the orphanage potentially only allows boys to work indoors and only allows some girls to work outdoors? And what the heck WOULD it mean?

I can’t wait to get more details on the rules of this place, because as interesting as it would be to have this weird orphanage not give a shit about gender and have rules about clothing/hairstyle based solely on aptitude... it seems more likely that something really odd is afoot (yet again). I only wonder what the hell it could be, because nothing here seems like it’s for the betterment of the kids......