#sure it is a tool to help you feel safer in your circles

[memesomething]

the way this website has normalised using mutual tracker (a non-native tool) so that you can tell at all times if someone needs a no-fuss break from following and might return later, or if they have simply decided your content doesn't serve them anymore, or if they are just one of the people the tumblr beings have randomly decided need to unfollow someone today .... and the way it's normalised that you can weaponise or "use" that knowledge in some way (even an altruistic way they didn't ask for and did not want you to have, otherwise they would have used their words).... is invasive. that's the take

[darckcarnival]

Darck Headcanon

-->Sunglasses

The fact Darck always wear the same god damn pair of purple sunglasses is for a few reasons. It is arguably one of the most iconic features and accessories she owns, and wears, everywhere. Even indoors, and in the dead of a pitch black night. Those shades have never once not been on her. At least, in the past many years. It was not always that way however.

Even as a kid it was well known that she liked accessories, he is sunglasses she stole from a brother or her mother, or loving her own hats so often, wearing with her hair pulled through the snap back section, or any other way. However, after Darck was taken and turned into the half vampire she is now, the need for sunglasses, or goggles grew.

Light sensitivity. A natural vampiric trait.

Extremely bright light can seriously hinder the woman at times, easily causing headaches, ruining her sharp senses, and even stinging or scrambling every single sense she has if a flash bang goes off in her face. So, with this new found weakness, sunlight on bright summer days could easily make her constantly squinting, and ruin the sharpness of her higher eye sight. So she often times had classic sunglasses, or her uniform's old goggles when still under the command of her Sire. In younger years she never had those purple sunglasses, but god did she envy people who had cool colored sunglasses, this was not something she hid either. Would out right comment on it through the years. 'Those are cool as hell.'

The purple sunglasses never came into being until Darck had been abandoned by the sire that had turned her, and then she was traveling with Alvin.

The man knew her better than anyone, remembered who she was when they were both kids, and the taste for weird. So it was him who got her the small tool tinkering kit, that started her on working with small things. Followed by a few glasses frame styles. But only ever one set of purple lenses. 'I know your favorite colors are purples.' And Darck adored this.

She was admittedly, influenced for the round style from old school movies, and old school comics- but her sire also had the small circle lenses style, black our mirror sunglasses they were. And these three details influenced her sense of style and wants badly. Thus, Darck had made her own purple sunglasses, thanks to the kit she was gifted so many years ago.

The sunglasses she wears now are still the same frames from so long ago. Has maintained, repaired, and adjusted them as needed. The lenses have had to be fixed more than once, but the original ones are always kept, melted down, and reformed into new purple lenses with whatever new bits she needs to use. The sunglasses she had now were created by Darck's own two hands, with her light sensitivity in mind and sense of style she loves so much. God help you if you break them or touch them without her trusting you, you will see a sudden wrath, or protective instinct.

Now comes the side effect of her having worn these sunglasses so often, not just for style, or comfort...

The purple lenses help hide her emotions behind them when she needs to. Darck feels safer lying through her teeth of how she is, or how she feels on things if needed. Sure, Darck is honest and will help you, absolutely. But any deeply personal matters? Those sunglasses are used as a shield to protect herself from the outside world, and be so much harder to read. It makes it a lot easier to put up an act if Darck ever needs to... Eyes are the windows to the soul after all.

Yet, should she ever remove them for you, meet your eyes with hazel brown and be exposed? Or trust someone enough to let them remover them? Then that is a silent show of trust and vulnerability that no one may ever really understand without her actually saying it out loud. So few people have ever got to see her without sunglasses in a calm or passive setting.

If you do? Treasure it and realize she trusts you more than she admits.

[husbandohunter]

A Furry Predicament, but reversed (Reader turns into a cat)? Pretty please with a sweet lil cherry on top? (I recently stumbled across your blog and may I just say that I absolutely adore your works??) Thank youu and take care~~

A Furrier Predicatment [Genshin x Cat!Reader]

♤♡◇♧☆

Synopsis: It's your turn to be a cat after this incident.

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Xiao, Albedo, Zhongli, Childe, Venti

(A/n): Ah you did OwO that's very sweet of you. It's alot of fun to write, especially when your imagination is stunted and you just gotta spit out something silly.

=======================

[Diluc]

Any beloved pet owned by Master Diluc would be under the most high quality and meticulous treatement. Mostly for cats since they tend to be calm while elegant...to some extent. If they were dogs then he'll ensure that they also serve as a partner for sniffing out trouble such as a certain bard who'd might've sneaked into the wine cellars. But you weren't either, so to say, you were both a beloved AND a cat.

As he picks you up gently into his arms, Diluc would be a little baffled on what to do next. He has no idea how to care for delicate creatures as he never had one (other than a pet tortoise but that's different) in which he needed to look for help. But who? The staff? Certainly not, no one can find out that his partner turned into a pet (imagine all the scandals he'll be in). Jean? Anything but the knights of Favonius. And most certainly not his brother.

So Diluc ends up figuring everything out by himself (old habits die hard). All the sweets and regular meals you craved were no long in your menu, you were forced to have a proper cat diet because he believed it was healthier. Half of the time he has no idea what he's doing, since you were a cat and all you could do was "meow" (which Diluc forgets. He tries to have a mundane conversation until you stare at him with feline eyes. That was when he remembered).

"What would you like for tonight's dinner, my love?"

"Meow." He has alot to learn.

Though Master Diluc often gets very tired and he attempts to take a quick nap before killing himself over the next set of duties. That is, until you could help it. Being a cat has it's furry and comfy advantages. So you leapt up to the bed as quietly as possible and onto the side of your lover, circling a few times to see if he was really asleep. When he was you snuggled close to keep him warm, hoping it would lull him into a rest even deeper. He slept like a baby.

~xx~

[Kaeya]

If the Cavalry Capatain were to own a pet, they would either be charmed by him or snaring their teeth because of his unreadable and suspicious aura. Animal instincts are quite powerful. But your case wasn't the latter, thankfully and he could feel himself growing fond of this new found relationship. Almost. What should he do with you now that you're a cat, Kaeya wonders.

Belly rubs and a lot of them. He absolutely adores the way your cute little nose scrunches up while he runs his fingers on the center of your tummy (though he knows when to stop, Kaeya is rather gentle with you nowadays). You found that he absolutely adores the shape of your nose, would pick you up and boop yours with his own somehow knows how to be his flirty self despite your unusual form.

There was this one incident where you saw something shiny flashing over the wall. Slowly you followed it as the bright dot moved futher and further away, evetually gaining speed. Little did you know it was Kaeya who was watching you swipe your little paws up and down against the wall while he was just cleaning his sword. How could he help it? You were often so headstrong and independent, now you were just an adorable little kitten that loves to play with yarn and shiny things. It backfired him though, now there were a bunch of scratchmarks marring the surfaces (which he had to pay for repairs).

Takes you out to Windrise so that you could get some fresh air (also for you to find somewhere else to shed your fur other than his humble abode). Kaeya sits back under a tree while you either chase a butterfly or start slapping against the dandelions (only sneeze when they fly into your face). He wasn't sure if you were aware of what you were doing right now, if you were then he'll have lots of things to talk about once you turn back into human. If not, then at least he had the opportunity to witness such a soft side coming from you.

~xx~

[Xiao]

If any animal were to go close towards the adeptus, they would run away. Xiao isn't very good at interacting with others, pets included, usually they would run into the alleyway or hide around the legs of their owners while he glaringly, blankly stares at them (Even though he wouldn't admit it, Xiao thinks to himself, how soft is cat fur?) Now he gets to touch your cat form and turns out that fur is very ticklish yet pleasant against his skin.

Would be the most awkward conversationalist, the poor yaksha was already terrible with his words (often coming out harsh so he prefers to either keep away or say nothing at all) and even with you sometimes, now it was almost impossible to communicate. Xiao is not very good at reading a cat's body language. When you want him to hold you again, you'd walk in circles. He assumes you were hungry and leaps out the window to go fetch some fish...for the nth time there was a pile of raw salmon stacking upon the floor. Xiao thinks that maybe salmon species weren't to your liking, hence he does out to find another one.

As he plays his flute, you'd magically doze off on his lap. (There was one thing that you both can communicate with at last). Slowly but surely, he comes to learn the different gestures you make for certain situations. You often rub yourself upon his leg which he had heard to be a cat's way of claiming their territory. That was when Xiao picks you up, FINALLY. Though the real reason why it took him this long was because he was hesitant to hold you. He never really held a pet so naturally he has no idea how to hold a cat. Ends up cradling you in his arms because it seemed to be a safer option <3

"I never thought I'd be able to hold you like this," Xiao softly says to your lazy form, observing the way your ears perked up at the sound of his voice, "But I...forget it. We can stay like this for the time being, if you'd like. If not, that's fine too."

You stay.

~xx~

[Albedo]

The only pets Albedo had were for his alchemic experiments (plus they were put in cages too). Fact be told, he would make a terrible pet owner with the lifestyle he has now. The alchemist would be so absorbent into his work that he'll most likely forget that he has someone to feed and by the time he realized it, they would have already starved to death. After hearing glass bottles crashing to the floor, Albedo bursts into the rooms as the smoke fills it completely, finding a cat lost between it. The cat was you. He knows because he made the potions.

Sometimes he'd a little too scientific for his own good. Albedo assumed that when you turned into a cat, you've gone into cat mode and ends up treating you as such. "No, don't go near any bodies of water. You wouldn't like it." He almost forgets that you were once human which is very much like him if you had to be honest. Though when he does find out that you still carried human traits, Albedo must find ways to adapt things to your liking.

He makes your food himself. He's not a cook but he sure is good at everything he does, even if it's something he never did before. This goes for other areas too such as the size of your bed, if you need a little couch to stay on or maybe some tools to play around. (The only time when he is a good pet owner). In his sketchbook he'd have a bunch of blueprints and contraptions of what to make next. There's something enjoyable when spoiling you, those little reactions when you're pleased, like the twitch of your whiskers or the lift of your tail. Albedo finds is very cute.

On top of all that, he could also make you a potion to turn you back into normal. It seemed that it was the last thing he thought of on the list. Albedo was too occupied with treating you like a cat that it all flew over his head until now. Time flies when you're having fun.

~xx~

[Zhongli]

Unlike Albedo, anyone who has Zhongli as a pet owner would be considered to be a very lucky animal. He radiates a calm and serene aura that gives the perfect environment to have infinite nap times. People look at this man and wonder why his pet never gives him any trouble, especially when cats were considered to be both fiesty and needy. But they just didn't know that the cat was you (not like it would make a difference, any animal would know that Zhongli was no ordinary man).

How on earth does he know what you're saying? Maybe it's because he was once an archon. You could meow and he knows exactly what you would like to snack on. You could tilt your head, he takes it that you were curious on what he was currently doing (which was exactly what you were wondering), you can say nothing at all yet as if he could read your mind, Zhongli comes over to pet you with his gloved hands.

"How can I tell? Indeed it is because you're my lover, of course. Throughout this time we spent together, I've come to learn the way you speak through your eyes. They seem to hold true no matter what form you take. It's rather comforting."

Though there were many moments where you sneak up behind Zhongli. His hair, his ponytail- so long. Must play with. As you jump up and down with his thin strand swings side to side, it'll take a few seconds for him to decipher what your were doing. The minute he turns around he catches you with his hands midair and laughs heartfully. Cats were very endearing creatures.

~xx~

[Childe]

Back home in Snezhnaya, Childe would probably have owned a dog or two. They were mostly meant for hunting purposes, big and large furry creatures with thick skin suitable to endure the harsh cold. He has dogs because cats hate him for some strange reason. They either hiss or snootly turn their backs on him, one time he picked one up as a kid but his face bleeding after the cat scratched him with their paws. But of course you wouldn't do that to him. You would never~ he was your cutie pie anyways.

He was an obnoxious hugger, not gentle at all. Childe forgets his strength as a human man and when he squeezes you tightly against his chest, you'd spike out on all ends because by the archons, you're suffocating. But it was your fault for feeling so comfy and warm! Similar to Kaeya, they're both obnoxious but Childe deemed himself to be even worse. He'd rub his face against yours, commenting on how sensitive it sways. Tonia once told him that she wanted a pet cat instead, maybe he should also bring you back to his homeland now.

Yes he would love to play with you. Bring in the cat toys...or not. This was the eleventh Fatui Harbinger, what were you thinking? Normal cat activities? Not here. He's gonna teach you how to hunt like how he taught his dogs to hunt in Snezhnaya. You gave him the most deadpanned and dissapointed look with your large feline glare. Not only was he disliked by cats but he certainly was not good with them.

Though he can take it down a notch sometimes and just indulge in relaxing activities. When there was nothing else for him to do or when he was just tired after a productive day, he'd sit by the kitchen and you on top of the table. While you yawned and leaned down for a nap, Childe plays with the small of your paws to the soft edge of your nails. If he taps your nose, your whiskers twitch. Your ears are nice, maybe he should get you a headband version once you turned back to human.

You immediately wake up when he touches your tail.

~xx~

[Venti]

Achoo!

You sometimes wonder how is it that the anemo archon was able to live through 2000 years without getting beaten up by a cat. If andrius was a large cougar than a wolf, maybe he wouldn't be an archon now. Which is why you are to stay miles far far away from him unless you want the whole of Mondstadt to be blown away by the wind.

Wears a mask (as if this were the covid19 pandemic), although it doesn't take away all his problems, at least it'll minimize it. Venti always has a box of tissues ready but you can tell by the puffiness of his eyes that he's been sneezing alot. He really tries his hardest to pitch in every once in a while when Albedo was working on a cure for you to go back to normal. Though acts as if he was quarantined by staying all the way at the other side of the room.

"Ahahaha don't mind me. It's your local bard of Mondstadt dropping by to see how things are going. I wanna make sure how long it will take for you to make the potion? Just curious!"

No hugs, cuddles or anything involving close proximity. This makes Venti very pouty and impatient. Albedo finds it very hard to concentrate with all the sniffling and sneezing that he had no choice but to kick him out. It didn't help that the location was Dragonspine, now he was sneezing even more.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 3,324 Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, typical TWD stuff A/N: This is Part 6 of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Daryl worries about Y/N after the traumatic incident outside the wall.

Your name: submit What is this?

Daryl didn’t see you that whole day after he had talked with Rick, or the next morning so he decided to pay you a visit and make sure you were okay. He wiped his hands on the rag he always kept in his back pocket and put away the tools he had been using to work on his bike. Just as he was getting ready to leave, Aaron stepped out into the garage and Daryl greeted him with a nod.

“Done for the day?”

Daryl shrugged. “For now at least.” He thoughtfully chewed his bottom lip for a moment. “Hey, uhh, ya seen Y/N since that night we got back?”

Aaron’s face fell a bit but he nodded. “I stopped by her place yesterday.”

Daryl leaned back against the table, crossing his arms over his chest. “How’d she seem?”

Aaron shrugged and sighed heavily. “She seemed… okay. I don’t think she’s been sleeping,” he said a little hesitantly. He shook his head, frowning. “The bruising on her neck… it’s bad. Thank God you were there.”

Daryl’s stomach flipped at the thought. “Ya… Well, the whole thing was bad. Those people? Seemed like—” he hesitated to say what was on his mind, to confide in Aaron, but he also felt like it was eating him alive. Maybe if he spoke it, he would feel less consumed by it. “It seemed like they knew her.”

Aaron’s brow drew down low over his eyes. “Hmm. What do you mean?”

“I heard ‘em say she was comin’ ‘back where she belongs.’ And more than that—if they had wanted to kill her, she’d be dead. They both had guns and knives on ‘em. But they didn’t. They were tryin’ ta take her.”

The shadow on Aaron’s face deepened and he rubbed a hand thoughtfully over his chin and mouth. “Well, I don’t think I need to tell you that the intentions of some men out there in this world are even more emboldened now,” he said with disgust.

“Yeah… But ain’t the first time neither. That night I stitched up that gash in her arm she said the same thing. She said ‘if they had wanted to kill me, I’d be dead.’”

Aaron gulped and shook his head. “I don’t know what—I just—I don’t know,” he said vaguely. “She hasn’t told me much about before.”

Daryl turned back to the table and fiddled with some of the parts. “Seems like she’s got a target painted on her. Maybe she shouldn’t be out,” he thought aloud.

Aaron shook his head. “Yeah, well that will never happen. Trying to keep her inside Alexandria is like trying to hold water in your hands. We’d probably have to lock her up.” He sighed heavily again and rested his hands on his hips. “Whatever is out there, whatever her past is… she knows the risks of going out. There isn’t going to be any convincing her to stay inside.”

Daryl nodded and chewed the side of his thumbnail. “Ya…”

Aaron let out a wry laugh. “I mean, can you imagine if someone told you that you needed to stay inside?”

One corner of Daryl’s mouth twitched upwards. “Ya. I know. Ain’t happenin’.” Daryl sighed. “Well, I guess the only thing for it is to try to convince her not to go alone.”

Aaron smiled at the archer. “Sounds reasonable. Know anyone for the job?” he joked. Daryl shot him a look and Aaron laughed and held his hands up. “See you later, Daryl.”

Daryl hummed an acknowledgement, set down the part he’d been anxiously fiddling with, and headed out of the garage in the direction of your house.

He felt a bit nervous as he climbed the stairs on your front porch, noticing how clammy his palms suddenly felt, and when first he knocked there was a long silence. He wondered if you were going to answer the door at all and a distinct worry seized him—that you really weren’t okay. But, finally, he could hear some soft footsteps approaching the other side of the door and then it opened a crack.

You peeked out hesitantly but as soon as you saw it was Daryl you opened the door wide. “Daryl. Hi.”

He cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “Hey.”

Aaron was right. You looked exhausted. There were dark circles under your eyes and your shoulders were somewhat slumped.

You continued to peer at him, waiting for some explanation for why he was standing there at your door.

“I, uhh—I hadn’t seen ya since we got back. Just wanted to see if ya needed anything. Ya know, and see how you’re healin’ up.”

“Oh. That’s—you want to come in?” you offered stepping back to make way for his broad-shouldered frame.

“Thanks,” Daryl murmured as he crossed the threshold. You shut the door behind him and he followed you up the hall and into the kitchen. He could see a pillow and blanket laid out on the couch in the living room. It looked like you’d been camping out there. He gave you a questioning glance. “So, how ya feelin’?” Daryl’s eyes found the dark bruising around your neck.

“I’m fine. Thanks,” you said a little quietly.

He considered you thoughtfully for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Ya sure?”

You sighed heavily and pressed a hand to your forehead. “Yeah. I just—haven’t slept really,” you admitted.

Daryl nodded, looking again at the makeshift bed in your living room. “Ya camping out down here?”

You followed him as he trailed over to peer at the blankets spilling off the couch and onto the floor. “Uhh… sort of. I thought maybe a change of scenery would help.” And you had the thought that if you were on the ground floor, you’d hear someone trying to break into your house…

“Did it?” he asked, his blue eyes finding yours.

“Not really.”

The archer’s brow drew down, veiling his eyes in shadow, and he let out a hum of acknowledgement. “Ya know if having other people around would help, ya could—” he cleared his throat again, his heart racing, “ya could come stay over at our place. We’ve got a full house. Ya know, if—if it’d feel safer. Ya could take my bed. It’s in the basement away from everybody.” He watched your eyelashes flutter as you looked up at him in surprise.

“Oh. I can’t—that—that’s okay,” you said, averting your eyes back down toward your feet.

Daryl’s heart was pounding as he offered up his second idea, nervously rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Well, I—I could stay over here. Just to, ya know, keep an eye on things. If it’d help.” Your eyes lifted back up to his face again and there was that vulnerability in your eyes again that always surprised him. He watched as your lips parted slightly as you prepared to speak.

“I can’t—I can’t ask you to do that,” you said softly, quickly averting your eyes from the sudden softness in his and fiddling with the hem of your sleeve.

“Ya ain’t askin’. I offered,” he said. “If ya think it’d help ya get some sleep. You’re healin’ up. Ya need it.”

You glanced up at him again, now your expression was somewhat guarded as you took him in. You gulped at the nervous lump in your throat. “They aren’t gonna miss you over there?” you asked hesitantly.

“Nah,” he said.

You watched him for a long moment, considering his offer, but at length you nodded, remembering how well you had slept with him nearby even outside of Alexandria’s walls. Since you’d gotten back the nightmares had returned and gotten worse, likely a result of your latest encounter. “Okay. If—if you don’t mind.”

Daryl’s heart fluttered at the grateful look you gave him, your eyes fixed on him and only him. He nodded. “I dun mind.” He nudged his nose up at you twice in a nod. “I’ll come by later.” You watched as he stalked into the kitchen and went over to the refrigerator.

“What are you doing?” You watched him pull it open and look inside before glancing back over his shoulder at you.

He closed the door pointedly. “Just what I thought. Ain’t got no damn food in here either. Ya been eatin’?”

You gulped and shrugged vaguely.

“Ya, uh huh. I’ll bring somethin’ later. Ya need to eat,” he rumbled. He started to stride quickly to the front door and you trailed a little behind him. He stopped on the threshold and looked back at you. There was that softness in his eyes again that always made your heart jump. “I’ll be back later, alright?”

You avoided his eyes, feeling suddenly silly and ashamed of what you were asking him to do, that you needed someone else when you tried so hard not to need anyone or anything. His deep voice, rough with gravel called your eyes back to his.

“Hey. It ain’t no big deal. Alright?” he said, trying to reassure you, reading the shame on your face as clearly as if the word had been tattooed on your forehead.

You nodded a little, giving in to his reassurance. “Okay.”

“’Kay,” he agreed. You watched him cross the porch and go down your stairs, headed back home. That’s what he had. A home. It hit you that all you really had was an empty house and your heart ached. It was the price you paid for trying to keep almost everyone at arm’s length. You sighed heavily and shut the door.

Several hours later, there was another knock on the front door. You got up from your spot on the couch, still carrying your book and went to the door. Daryl was standing there with his crossbow slung over his shoulder and a small container in his hands. Night had fallen outside and the porchlights illuminated the strong angles of his jaw. You felt a flush in your cheeks and hoped he couldn’t see it.

You stepped back and gestured for him to come in.

“Brought ya some stew. Venison. We’ve still got a bunch of it,” he said, heading immediately for the kitchen and starting to open cabinets, looking for a pot to dump it in so he could heat it up. “And you’re eatin’ some of this now.” He paused and looked up at you over the counter. “When is the last time ya ate?”

“Uhh…”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at you. “Too damn long, then.” He resumed his searching and eventually succeeded. He set it on the stove to heat up. You sank down onto one of the kitchen stools at the island, watching him as he stirred the hearty meal. Daryl turned around and took in your expression from across the kitchen, slinging his crossbow off his shoulder and letting it hang at his side.

“Whatcha readin’?” he asked.

Your eyes shot up at the sound of his voice. “Oh, uhh… it’s just this classic novel. The Brothers Karamazov.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed as he looked at you. “The what?”

You actually smiled at him, your whole face lighting up. Daryl felt his heart flutter and he was relieved to see that some of the weight that seemed to be on you was lifted, even if just for a moment. “Yeah, it’s a mouthful,” you said. “I’ve got this thing for the great Russian writers so…”

“Russian, huh? What’s so special about ‘em?”

“They just—I don’t know. They write these beautiful, insane, touching, tragic stories. I just—” you shrugged. “The writing is incredible, even in translation.” You paused thoughtfully and Daryl felt a warmth in his chest as you looked down at the novel in your hand and smoothed your hand over the cover, staring at it like it was something precious. “And I suppose now, since the world changed, the tragedy in the stories is even more relatable,” you said softly.

Daryl felt a pang in his heart at your words. Your eyes flitted back up to meet his and he felt a spark of electricity jump up his spine.

Daryl rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and hoisted his crossbow up onto the counter, using it as an excuse to break eye contact with you as he felt suddenly terrified of the magnetic pull he was feeling.

“What’d you tell everybody?” you asked quietly.

Daryl didn’t look up from the bolt he was examining closely. “Didn’t tell ‘em nothin’.”

“Won’t they worry about where you are?”

He shrugged. “Nah. S’fine.” He quickly turned back to the stew on the stove which now had curls of steam rising from the surface of it. He pulled open some more cabinets until he found a bowl and quickly poured stew from the pan into it before setting it in front of you. He opened drawers until he found a spoon, which he slid over to you with a metallic clinking against the granite of the countertop. You were giving him a queer look. “What?”

You shook your head, one corner of your mouth twitching up. “Nothing.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, his eyes narrowed. “Eat,” he drawled.

The corners of your eyes crinkled in a smile. “You’re awfully bossy today,” you joked, picking up the spoon. You stared down into the stew, not feeling the least bit hungry despite not eating anything all day.

He let out a scoff and leaned on his forearms on the counter, his curtain of brown hair falling forward around his face. “I’m bossy when someone needs bossin’,” he quipped.

You took a bite of the stew, holding the spoon a bit awkwardly with the brace on your wrist, and chewed it slowly. Daryl watched you carefully. The smile on your face had disappeared again and he couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting to the bruises on your neck. He felt a renewed flush of hot anger every time. He sighed and straightened up, picking up his crossbow and slinging it over his shoulder in a well-practiced habit.

“How’re your ribs feelin’?” he drawled.

You dipped your spoon back into the bowl of stew and shrugged. “Fine. Really, I’m fine.”

Daryl nodded, but you could tell he was a little skeptical. He moved around the counter and into the living room, sinking into a chair and kicking his feet up to rest on the coffee table. You dutifully sat and ate your stew until it was gone before going to join him with your book. You pushed the blankets on the couch out of the way and allowed yourself to watch the nimble workings of his strong fingers as he fiddled with his bow and the narrowing of his blue eyes in concentration. Your heart increased its pace. Finally, you broke the silence again. “Thanks for doing this,” you said. You hadn’t meant for it to come out in a whisper but it had, the tightness in your throat from shame and nerves strangling your voice a little.

The workings of Daryl’s fingers ceased for a moment and he looked like he was frozen, turned to stone. “I dun mind,” he finally said. His blue eyes lifted and met yours and briefly he thought he saw some glistening light there, but in a moment he had blinked and it was gone. You were simply pulling the blanket over your lap and running your fingers along the spine of your book. Daryl pulled out a sharpening stone and went about carefully sharpening some of his bolts. You settled back against the couch and opened your book, curled up beneath the blanket. It was strange how usual, how comfortable this felt. Each passing moment of silence, each murmur to one another, each question and response all felt so easy, and that was something Daryl kept turning over and over in his mind. He wasn’t used to that. He wasn’t used to feeling so at home around another person and it was becoming a habit with you. The thought made him bounce his knee nervously.

Daryl wasn’t sure when, but at some point as he sat across from you sharpening his bolts you had drifted off to sleep. Your book was still open but had dropped down onto your chest, your left hand resting on it. Your breathing was slow and deep and Daryl felt a wave of warmth and gladness wash over him that you were actually asleep. And he wondered at the fact that not only were your comfortable enough with him around to fall asleep, but he was what enabled you to when you otherwise couldn’t. Did you think of him as safety? God, he hoped so… He was puzzling over this, smoothing his thumb across his lower lip as he took in your soft expression and the way your hair was falling around your face.

He felt his heart speed up as his eyes traced the gentle pout of your mouth and the slope of your nose in profile. He rubbed a hand at the warm and achy feeling in his chest that was becoming common, annoyed at how his mind was running away on him...

The archer stood and silently crossed the room to you. He grasped one corner of your open book and slipped it gently from your hands, setting it on the coffee table. He pulled the blanket up over you before retreating back to his chair and his bow.

You awoke as the sun was coming up, lighting the living room slowly, drenching everything in warm light. You blinked a few times, getting your bearings, and then gingerly pulled yourself up into a sitting position. Your eyes landed on the archer, asleep in his chair with his head cocked to one side, his bow leaning up against the armrest next to him. He must have heard you stirring because he was awake the next instant, taking in a deep breath and straightening. His eyes meeting yours. “Hey.” The gravel in his voice was thick, heavy with sleep still.

“Hey,” you replied. Daryl was relieved to see how much brighter your eyes looked. The dark circles beneath them were also diminished.

“I didn’t—I slept,” you said with gentle surprise.

He nodded. “Ya. Ya were exhausted. Ya fell asleep early. Ya needed it,” he said, grabbing his crossbow and pulling it onto his lap, his heart rushing at the sight of your somewhat tousled hair and the rosy glow in your cheeks.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

He nodded and stood, throwing his bow over his shoulder again. “S’nothin’. Glad ya got some sleep.”

You pulled yourself up, subconsciously wrapping an arm around your ribs as they panged with the movement. Daryl was already heading through the kitchen and toward the front door. He stopped and his blue eyes fixed on your face. “Ya know, I get ‘em too sometimes,” he said quietly.

You heart raced. Had he guessed why you weren’t sleeping so easily? “What?”

“Nightmares,” he said. “About the people we’ve lost. About losing more.”

You gulped at the tightness in your throat and nodded. “Yeah…”

“I’ll see ya later, Y/N,” he drawled. He pointed at you sharply. “Eat some more of that damn stew.”

You smiled at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling. “You got it.”

[fangirlfics]

We’re in This Together

(Cal Kestis x reader)

summary: Cal and y/n have been in hiding together after order 66 for 5 years, after he uses the force to save Prauf from the Ibdis Maw he risks being discovered by the Imperials and wants to flee without y/n to limit the risk of her being discovered as well and killed.  

“It’s a jedi fighter, what a score!“ Prauf announced looking over at one of the remains of a battle. “A scrapper’s pay day.“ He added pleased, “I mean this heaps been here, what four years.“

“five.“ Cal corrected walking to his friend’s side, scanning the ship.

y/n slowly ran her hand across the lifeless droid that remained in the ship, eyeing it closely.  

“Whoever flew this went down in a blaze of glory.“ Prauf commented with a trail of happiness still in his voice. “Those jedi...a real tragedy“ he added, his voice  suddenly falling into a darker tone. “I’ve always said they couldn't have all been traitors.”

“Yeah maybe.“ Cal answered glancing to where y/n was quietly studying the jedi fighter. He wiped away some of the mud that had developed over time to reveal the jedi order’s emblem more clearly.

“I guess it’s just our lucky day.“ Prauf said more distantly slowly beginning to circle the ship.

“I’m gonna go get some stuff.” y/n suddenly cut in, “I ugh..forgot to bring it.”

“ok.” Prauf nodded, “but get back soon so we can take this thing apart.”

Cal noticed the glossiness that had covered her eyes and just simply nodded his head, “ok.” he simply responded. Seeing a jedi fighter brought back memories and feelings that they both had tried to bury and leave behind when the jedi order had fallen, it was the only way to survive these days, now that they believed all the jedi had been hunted down.

“Empire’s gonna get a lot of good metal out of it..“ Cal snapped out of his thoughts upon hearing Prauf’s voice, “yep. Here we are scrapping these ships from the war just so they can turn around and make new ones. What a racket, huh?” Cal continued to look over the jedi fighter, eyeing an R-2 unit still inside. “All of us risking our necks for the bosses. And the pay was better back during at the Republic too.”    

“Hey, you should really watch what you say.“ Cal said in more of a hushed voice as he walked to his friend. His arms raising slightly with his words of warning, afraid of someone hearing them.

“Listen to me.” Prauf began to tell his friend, in more of a lecturing tone, “A finder's fee like this could be your ticket off this soggy rock.“

“What makes you think I want out of here?“ Cal questioned looking at his tall Abedneto friend.

There was a soft chuckle that came from Prauf before he replied, “Come on, Cal. You're a young guy. You don't wanna end up like me. Eventually you gotta move on and live your life.” He tried to reason, “Find your destiny. Who knows...you might even wanna take y/n with you, or end up rai-“

“Whatever you say. Hey, we should get back down.” Cal tried while beginning to turn around wanting more than anything to escape the conversation.

“You’re not listening to me though.” Prauf said sadly, disappointed that his small motivational speech didn’t have much of an effect on his young friend. The ground suddenly shifted from beneath them, “What was that?” He asked with worry in his voice. The ground then shifted down at an angle, sending them barreling down towards the edge fast.

Prauf had caught himself and was struggling to hold on to the edge that was keeping him from plummeting hundreds of feet to his death, while the only thing keeping Cal from the fall was a cord that had gotten entangled with his right foot, causing him to be hanging upside down. “Prauf! You ok?” Cal asked, more concerned for his friend’s safety than his own.

“Cal! I can’t climb up!” He panicked, failing in his effort to pull himself up. He only dropped lower, feet dangling in a struggle.        

“Just hang on!“ Cal tried to reassure his friend. But they both knew he could fall at any given moment.

“I’m slipping!“

“No don’t let go!“

One hand slipped off, forcing Prauf to hold on with just a single arm. “I can’t hold on!“ He yelled to his younger friend in panic. Just then he slipped and Cal saw as one of his only friends began going the long way down.

And that’s when his force sensitivity was out and his secret was revealed.  

Back at the original work space were the three had been at before, y/n was going through her bag of tools pretending to clean them. In reality her mind kept painting out the features of the jedi fighter Prauf had discovered as she aimlessly wiped her tools down with an old pieced of cloth. “yn.” She heard Cal say from behind her, but it felt distant and faded. “y/n”,  it took a second time for Cal to get her attention and she turned her head to the boy who was already beside her.

“What?“

“Something happened.“ He whispered to her, “something kinda bad.” He took a look around the small empty space with a few partly taken-apart things to make sure they were alone before proceeding.

“What happened?” y/n asked her long time friend, even though he hadn’t started explaining yet she could see the worry in his face and she set down what was in her hand into her bag.

“Prauf knows about me.” He whispered to her awaiting her reaction.

The girl who had been sitting on the ground in front of him criss crossed sat frozen for a second, still registering what he had said before her mouth dropped open while she searched for words, “you told him?!” She whisper yelled after making some sounds when trying to form words.  

“no-why would I-he...he was falling, if I hadn’t used the force he would have been eaten by the Ibdis Maw.“

y/n-who now was standing a couple of feet from Cal, nodded her head in understanding. “ok...but it’s not safe to be here anymore, we need to leave. Like now.”

This is where she noticed Cal disagreed before he even said it, it was something about the way his face changed and knowing him for so long helped notice the little things, like how his eyes would quickly flash to another direction when he was about to broach something difficult to talk about. (This usually happened most whenever he mentioned financial troubles he had been having) “I know.“ He said simply, “I have to leave. Just me.“

“Wha-what do you mean just you?“ y/n asked not understanding the craziness that were his words.

“I mean you can stay, he knows about me not you but I have to go.“

Y/n turned around and squeezed her eyes shut not wanting this to happen, she had feared this day would come, that’d they’d somehow be separated eventually and it was happening in the worst way she thought was possible: abandonment. “why would-why would you say that?” She asked not opening he eyes, afraid she’d start crying. “Were would you even go?”

“Tappers owes me a favor, he can get me out of this place. I just have to go to my place and get my bag.” Cal explained. “Then I’ll be gone.”

“Ok, and then what about me?” y/n asked finally opening her eyes.

“Well...you stay here on Bracca.”  

Y/n turned around now, facing her long term friend. “You want to run and leave me here? What ever happened to sticking together?“

“If we both leave they could find out about you, the best thing to do is to leave you here where it’s safer, ok?” He pleaded.

“No, it’s not ok. We’ve been hiding and surviving together for five long years and you just wanna split up? Do you remember what you told me when we first went into hiding?“

“It doesn’t matter what I said back then.“ Cal argued with his friend putting his hands up when he talked, “what matters to me is you being safe, ok? If you leave with me and they find out where we are, they catch up both. I don’t want that to happen.“

“Ok then what happens when you get caught and I don’t know because I’m stuck here, huh? How am I supposed to help you if I don’t even know you need it?“

“y/n please.“ He pleaded with her, “If something happened to you because of me I don’t know what I’d do.“

“Everything will be fine as long as we have each other.“ y/n reminded the boy “that’s what you told me five years ago, that’s what I’m telling you now. We’re in this together.“

[alo-piss-trancy]

Ok hi, I didn't wanna say anything, but please don't write knifeplay/bloodplay for Yuri. I def don't wanna spoil anything, but it's learned on a certain route that Yuri has a s*lf h*rm problem (I'll leave it at that).

You honestly seem like you're not trying to be a jerk with this ask, so I'm going to do my best to answer this as politely as possible without compromising my personal beliefs on the matter. This is going to be long and a little serious, but please note I'm not attacking you or trying to start a debate. I'm just laying all my thoughts on this down at once so I make myself clear, because a short answer would leave a lot of nuance out.

I understand what you're trying to do here. For the record though, I also considered that a pretty massive spoiler and I did not appreciate that at all. Even if you all think you're 'helping', don't do that again. Y/uri was pretty much the only character I'd managed to avoid most spoilers on and you killed the surprise for me. This game is already so full of fluffy 'filler' in the beginning that I don't have a ton of big plot points to look forward to in each route.

Now, I realise this is a very delicate topic and incredibly triggering to some people, especially with those two things combined. I am 100% willing to tag it with just about any variation needed to ensure you or others affected can blacklist/block it and never have to see a word of it in the future. I'd also be happy to go back and tag that original text post I made if needed. I mean that. You all are welcome to ask me to tag things anytime, and so long as you're polite about it I'm perfectly willing to oblige to the best of my ability in future posts! If I occasionally forget, just toss me a light reminder and I'll jump into editing and add it in.

That said, I want to make it clear that I am very firmly against censorship. I'm willing to take all necessary precautions to ensure people can curate their experiences on this blog and AO3, but at the end of the day I can still post whatever fictional stuff I choose to. As can anyone else. Same goes for more formally published media.

Now, it's entirely possible I would have gotten to that part of the game and decided 'oh dang, I'm not so enthused about that fic idea anymore...'. My whims and ideas change frequently, and what you mentioned is a heavy topic with a lot to unpack and process. It's also entirely possible that future plot would only provide more fuel.

Fyi, when I originally mentioned the knifeplay I was actually thinking a lot more along the lines of her doing it to the protagonist, not the reverse. But for the record, if I did choose to write it with focus on Y/uri, I would still be well within my rights to.

This next part of my answer is going to address some heavy topics, this is your warning!!!

Sometimes people's kinks are a way to take a thing that is personally scary or upsetting to them and find a way to reverse it. To find pleasure or power or get used to the idea of the awful thing in a safe, controlled fashion. I'm not going to go into the full details on this because there's plenty of explanation and research elsewhere already written up, as well as an excellent book on the subject, and I'm not turning this blog into a discourse debate. But I needed to mention it for my point.

There are plenty of stories that could be explored with Y/uri in this context. Did she have this kink before the self harm events started and it was completely unrelated, or did she develop it afterwards? How did she discover it beforehand? If developed afterwards, did it start out as another way of harming mixed with pleasure in a self-destructive way, often done sloppily and without proper technique? Or was it strictly used as almost exposure therapy to deal with those urges and thoughts in a safer, more contained scenario, maybe even allowing the partner she trusted to wield the knife to prove their bond/reinforce that she can be loved without being hurt deeply, that she is worthy of affection and trust and loyalty. Maybe this finally helps give Y/uri a tool to embrace her 'weirdness' without harming herself and others. Or, what if she thinks it can be a useful tool and is sure she's ready, but partway through the scene she gets triggered or has flashbacks... how does she deal with it? How does her partner? Can it be overcome with effort, research, and taking things slowly, or does she realize this kink is actually completely off the table for her?

What if she has this kink and is excited to try it, but her partner isn't? How does she take that rejection? Or do her poor social skills mean she skipped negotiation to begin with and attempted it in the middle of a vanilla session? Would her partner freak out or even get mad, or try to swallow their fear and let her do it so they don't hurt/offend her, even at the cost of their own comfort?

This topic also opens a ton of potential plots for darkfic, but I'll refrain from discussing that out of respect for you and others.

So as you can see, there's much more to explore than 'Knife=Hot'. I believe those discussions and ideas are necessary and provide important fuel for thought when explored fictionally, especially since mainstream media doesn't cover a lot of them.

~~~

I feel I should take a second to clarify knifeplay for those who may be unaware. It doesn't always equate to actual cutting/drawing blood. That can be an aspect, but usually only by those far more experienced and, you know, actually into that. A lot of participants don't actually go that far. Mostly, it's either about the physical sensation of the knife touching you at all, or the adrenaline/controlled fear and intimate trust of a partner bringing an object like that so close/teasing you with it.

In fact, it's frequently advised in those circles (especially to newcomers) to use a dull butterknife instead, because it simulates the same feelings of metal on skin/can dig in a little without any real risk of cutting/drawing blood. Even if one chooses to use a different knife, it's still pretty common to dull the blade, or some people even substitute with a closed pair of scissors (combined with the partner blindfolded, you can't really tell it apart from the real thing).

These versions of knifeplay are well controlled and ultimately pretty harmless, so long as both parties know what they're doing and stay alert. And more experienced players with sharper knives are even more cautious/have studied extensively to know where/how deep to go without risking scarring/serious injury.

Remember the golden rules of kink: Safe. Sane. Consensual.

With those in place, it is not nearly the same as self harm. Just as controlled, consensual, well-negotiated BDSM with safewords, respected boundaries and a trusted partner is never in the same league as abuse.

~~~

Now that that's out of the way, back to my point:

There's no perfect representation or narrative for everyone, in any group (be that gender/sexuality/triggered by certain things, etc). Every human being is different, everyone interprets media differently, and everyone takes away different elements from stories.

What one person in a particular group may find cathartic, relateable, or painful but necessary food for thought, another may find completely repulsive, personally hurtful, offensive, something they can't stand to hear. And guess what? Both of those can be true at the same time. One side is not immediately right over the other.

There are queer characters or interpretations of them in fics that I vehemently despise, might even find hurtful or sickening and think 'how can anyone create this, it's insufferable! People in 'my group' aren't like that, it's a horrible representation. I can't relate to it at all!' But you know what? Other people can and do, may find comfort in those exact narratives and experiences, may heal their pain instead of inflicting more. And that's great. It's what they needed or wanted and if I don't like it, I click away and do my best to avoid it.

There are specific tropes and narrative themes I personally cannot get through without being triggered into anxiety attacks or dragged back to bad times and places in my life. Sometimes I see them tackled in ways that are hurtful or seem insensitive to me. But I recognise that for someone else, it's exactly what they needed to see to get through that or come to terms with it, or see a way they wish that thing could play out. I would never dream of telling those people they aren't allowed to enjoy it, OR telling the creator of that piece of media or a tv show 'Hey ummm please don't use this plot because it turns me into a human wreck for a week'. Because it's not remotely my place to do so. They can create whatever they want, they have no responsibility towards me or my well being. A few might be kind enough to include a warning at the beginning of that episode or in the description, but they are in no way required to. It's up to me to curate my experience and try to keep my guard up/research what might have those tropes, and in the rare occasions I get blindsided, yeah, it hurts like hell. I struggle, I might even backslide a bit. But I just have to try my best to deal with it and make a note to be more careful next time. Because you can't control the world around you, not even the online world, and you have absolutely no right to. The only right you have is to protect yourself without infringing on other people's boundaries/rights.

And there's also another important point. There doesn't have to be a big important point or explanation for why a creator creates something, or why consumers can enjoy that creation! If someone wants to create a plotline with all of my triggers used in the most 'insensitive', 'wrong', pointless ways possible, strictly for Entertainment or pure kink material instead of some deep dissection of the issues involved? They can go hog wild!!! They are 100% allowed to do so on this earth, and I can't (and wouldn't want to) do a thing to stop them.

One person can read a kink fic and it hits a very emotional theme for them/they think it explores a deep topic well. Another person can read that same fic and get nothing out of it except their rocks off. Both of those readers are completely equal and 'allowed' to enjoy that fic. Both reasons are completely valid reasons for why the creator was 'allowed' to post/create that fic in the first place. Nobody needs permission, nobody has to answer to anybody except themselves. Period. This extends to any topic, any type of fic.

Yes, even for things I find absolutely abhorrent and insensitive and don't understand/want to read ever. I may resent everything about its existence, but I will defend to death the creator's right to make it exist in the first place.

It only affects me if I let it affect me. If someone's making content I despise or am upset by and can't handle, I can choose to ignore or avoid them, blacklist those tags, I can block them and move on with my day. I can do anything within my own bubble, but the second I consider going into their bubble and saying they can't make that thing, I am in the wrong. Because I'm not respecting their space and rights.

If someone makes cookies with ingredients I'm highly allergic to, pastes the ingredient warnings all over the box where I read them, and I still eat one, would anyone cheer me on for blaming them when I have a reaction? Would anyone think it was remotely okay of me to start calling up every bakery in town and saying they weren't allowed to bake those cookies EVER, because some people somewhere might be allergic?

No. They'd tell me I was crossing the line, because I'm infringing on other people's boundaries and lives. I'm expecting everybody else to take responsibility for something that, while horrible and painful, was my fault for touching.

Now, if someone sets out unlabelled cookies not realizing I'm allergic to something in them, and I eat it and have a reaction, that sucks. It's an awful experience. But is it the baker's fault? As long as they didn't do it maliciously, not really. They can be advised politely to label it in the future, and I can do my best to remember to ask/be more cautious next time I come across something I'm unsure of, but they're still allowed to bake those cookies for themselves and others.

Now, if I deliberately baked cookies with an ingredient that people are very frequently allergic to (ex. peanuts) and set it out in a crowded buffet without a warning label, that's a jerk move. That's intentionally trying to cause harm to others. But simply baking that flavour of cookies still isn't a crime or harmful by itself.

~~~

I'll be honest, I'm running out of steam and I think I've said most of what I have to say, so I'll wrap it up. I want to reiterate that I'm not ripping into you with this long answer, anon! I understand why you sent me what you did and I'm trying not to come off as harsh. I'm happy to go back and tag things and will tag anything else similar in the future!!! But at the end of the day, regardless of whether I personally end up writing that fic or not, or even want to after I get to that plot, I don't agree with telling anyone they can't/shouldn't write it at all. I wanted to try and explain my viewpoint thoroughly, and I hope you can respect that, just as I'll respect and try to accommodate you and other followers. This is the only time I'll really get up on a soapbox like this, and I have no interest in debating these things on my blog further, but it is a topic I've been passionate about all my life so I'm afraid I'm not budging on it.

[historicalfightingguide]

“There have been some great follow-up discussions around my last post. One of them highlighted a common and critical knowledge gap: someone looks at an interaction between two people, spots what might be inappropriate or creepy behaviour, but can’t tell if the target is distressed or okay with what’s happening.This is especially challenging if it looks like the people involved are friends or partners.

This quick video introduces some basic tools for spotting if someone is uncomfortable in a social interaction and trying to hide it. We look at unconscious body language cues and distance-management strategies that are very hard to fake, and relatively easy to spot from outside the conversation. We also talk about low-risk intervention strategies.

If you often find yourself surprised to discover that someone has made your friends or colleagues uncomfortable, or if you’d like to start making your community safer, but aren’t sure how to identify problems, this is a good starting point.

This video is by no means comprehensive, and body language can vary a lot from person to person. Start with the few tools and strategies you see here and then start doing your own research. This might include talking to people in your trusted circles about how they experience social discomfort; taking a self defense or bystander intervention course; reading a book or two on body language; or just practicing your people-watching.”

Found here can be also found here

Few more things to add on to the video from the comments of the OP after someone pointed out that relying on body-language has its faults:

“So while I agree body language is an imprecise measurement of whether someone is feeling bad or not-the video does say to avoid immediately going to drastic measures like getting involved physically and suggests using a few things like interacting with the potential victim or potential harasser to see what's happening and to change the dynamic of the situation.

Thing is-even if you're 100% wrong about the body language you're not likely to actually cause harm if you behave according to the suggestions of the video. And note that they give several things to watch out for and note not to be worried immediately if one is exhibiting only 1 or 2 signs of discomfort.Secondly while there's folks with body language that can be read in ways that don't really relate to the situation at hand it's also very common for folks to read the same body language differently depending on who's exhibiting it-for myself personally I've had people think I'm aggressive when I felt threatened and exhibited the behaviors listed here for example.

We should watch out for prejudices(especially but not purely those related to race,gender,sexuality) when trying to use these techniques-I'm certain Jon and Kaja would agree on this but I assume they were trying to keep the video short.Lastly-while body language can be a useful gauge of whether someone's feeling discomfort it can hardly be useful at trying to determine what is causing that discomfort unless we know the person very well-one may be feeling discomfort or unsafe due to another person being predatory,while it may also be they are socially anxious or that they had a rough day and haven't been able to calm down etc.

This is not to say that the video is useless-far from it-but that if we check in,we shouldn't always expect people to say 'yes that person was making me feel uncomfortable thank you'-it may be 'oh I was just feeling kinda uneasy generally but thanks for checking in'(and that feeling may be for a number of reasons,including someone being predatory but the person you're talking to may not be fully self-aware of the fact at the moment),or it may be 'look honestly I'm just nervous in social gatherings and I appreciate you checking but I just wanna feel normal an relaxed' or it may be ' hey yeah look I had a shit day so everything is getting on my nerves'.

When we step in it's important to remember we're not doing it for our own sake or to be heroes but to see if we can help others-sometimes folks won't react positively and they may feel odd or unpleasant at our attempts to help. It's important to try and make our interactions with them calm and pleasant to avoid becoming the person making them feel uncomfortable and to be ready to get a different reaction to the one we may be expecting.“

Related to this earlier post.

[lxiewrites]

hey there ghouls, it’s ya boys

Ao3

Summary: Keith and Lance try to contact the dead... and it kinda works?

Thanks to @gigili-jiggly for letting me ramble about the boys and ghosts and @bleusarcelle for being such a STICK IN THE MUD with Halloween! Xp

Lance laid on his back, rhythmically throwing this little stress ball he found in the air. It was in the shape of a star and spun when it reached its highest point. He more or less tuned out Pidge and Hunk's scientific ramblings or whatever they were doing, he had no idea what they were talking about anyway. He was in the zone with throwing and catching the squishy yellow star, up and down, up and down. It actually was pretty soothing.

"What are you guys doing?"

...Aaand soothing relaxing time is over.

He scowled over at Keith, tummy turning over. What was he even doing here? He didn't think that Keith would be the type to stay after school. Probably thought he was too cool to join a club or a team. Always a broody lone wolf, with a giant stop sign over his face saying 'don't talk to me'. Okay, something is weird with those metaphors but whatever! It's his own thoughts! He can do what he wants!

"What's it look like, Mullet?"

"Lance," Hunk admonished before turning to Keith with a smile, ignoring how Lance threw up his hands in a massive 'what?!' gesture. "We're just here for robotics club, we're, uh, a little shorthanded right now but you can join if you want?"

Keith's brows furrowed, eyes darting across the three of them. Hunk with his big smiling face hands fiddling with wires and a thing to strip the color from them. Pidge with their smarmy little grin sitting in a circle of discarded parts giving him a short salute and… Lance. Obviously the most brilliant and handsome and charming of the group who's obviously supervising from his position on the couch but whatever. Details.

"This is the robotics club?" Keith drawled, eyes going directly to him.

Instantly something inside Lance prickled, stomach all spikey and annoyed. "Yeah, got a problem with that?"

He could hear Hunk using that mother-hen tone with him again and he knew for sure Pidge was rolling their eyes and he could look over and throw the star at them or something, take the prickly pressure off of him, but he kept his eyes locked on one Keith Kogane. Watching how those weird purple-blue eyes--honestly it really depended on the lighting (not that he spent a lot of time wondering at the color of Keith's eyes or anything)-- narrow, head tilting as those indigo (the lighting wasn't the greatest so it was closer to indigo) eyes flickered around the room, no doubt taking in the cobwebs and black and orange streamers. "No, but... isn't this the art room?"

"Technically," Pidge piped in, pushing their glasses up their nose. "But it's not being used for anything today and the shop room is being used for a car or something. I don't know but it's a mess."

"Oh."

Keith shifted a bit on his feet, almost squirming under their stares, his thumb running over his knuckles wrapped around the strap of his bag.

"If you want you can join us," Pidge said. They looked around and shrugged. "It's a little messy but you could probably find a space."

"Yeah!" Hunk agreed, "Just sit anywhere, dude, we're pretty chill."

Hunk looked over at Lance, eyebrows raised, trying to communicate via facial expression. Which Lance pointedly ignored. They specifically left the couch alone and he called it and he was having a nice and relaxing time with his--oh fine!

He sat up, moving his legs over to give Keith room, embellishing the move with a wave of a hand.

Keith made his way over, carefully avoiding small parts and pieces scattered over the place. They definitely did some rearranging before they completely took over. The tables were all shoved to one side of the room, pressed up against the wall displaying the best work and portraits, nearly impossible to work at unless you wanted to sit on top of the tables. And while he's all for anarchy those tables have been around since the eighties he did not trust sitting on one of them. They left the paint-splattered couch in the back alone to actually sit on while Hunk and Pidge scattered their work across the floor. Delicate pieces of machinery and wires laying out where anyone could step on them along with tools and various nuts and bolts.

Keith finally made past the minefield and the way-too-old couch sagged under his weight. Lance shuffled even more to the side until his arm brushed against the art cabinets, fiddling with the stress star in his hand.

"What are you doing here, Keith?" Hunk asked as conversational as ever.

Keith shrugged. "My ride isn't coming until later. I didn't think anyone would be here."

"Ah, sorry for interrupting your alone time, dude. Do you come to the art room often?"

"Sometimes."

Eloquent as always. He peeked over, noting how stiff he was. The couch was old but it was comfortable and plush, but Keith looked like a statue, backpack on his lap like a shield. He was going to wear through the straps with how much he was rubbing the course fabric between his fingers. Silently, Lance tossed him the stress star.

Keith fumbled, lips pulled into a small frown and turning to look at him. Lance was carefully keeping himself sitting forward and occupying himself with his cuticles, biting off a section of dead skin. He fought down a satisfied smile when he heard the backpack hit the ground.

"Well, it's a nice place.” Hunk continued, oblivious, hands and mind preoccupied with the device in his hands. “My friend Shay comes here a lot. She's really good." Hunk nodded to the artboard barricaded by all of the tables.

Pidge scoffed, "Yeah, sure, friend." Their hands leaving their robot part to put up air quotes.

"She is!"

Lance laughed as Hunk sputtered, his deep rich brown skin turning ruddy and red. "Buddy, you went on and rambled about her for, like, an hour."

"I just respect her as an artist!"

He could feel Keith relax into the couch, back slumping, hands rhythmically squeezing the star, tracing his fingers around the letters printed on the side... He could even see a little smile.

"Maybe we should make a truth detector," Pidge teased, hazel eyes glimmering, smirk in place.

Hunk groaned, "Guuuyyyss, I'm serious! She's just a friend!"

"For now!" Lance had to add, just to see his friend blush so hard he could almost see the smoke burst from his ears.

"What are you guys working on right now?"

Lance turned to see Keith star at the different parts scattered around the linoleum floor.

Pidge lit up, brandishing her piece into the air like how Rafiki did to baby Simba. "My greatest creation!"

"It's going to be a recon offline virtual encryption radar or ROVER for short. It's basically a droid."

"It's way cooler than that!" Pidge insisted, glaring at Hunk for his betrayal of their creation. "It's going to be able to scan a surrounding area and break any encryption code that might be present. It's going to be able to send signals into space and pick of distant radio chatter and…"

This is usually the part where Lance tunes them out. They start getting into the details and using terms he doesn't know. All he knows is that it might be slightly illegal and probably could've helped Nicholas Cage steal the Declaration of Independence. The more technical mumbo jumbo and his brain decides to vacate.

He could practically feel his eyes glass over as they start feeding off of each other, looking over to Keith to see if he got anything from their ramblings to find him staring at him with a confused look on his face. It almost struck Lance at how much... cuter he was? Instead of a permanent frown and a 'don't mess with me or I'll punch you' attitude he looked a lot softer. One eyebrow higher than the other, mouth softened into something that wasn't a smile but it wasn't an angry scowl, his head was even tilted to the side like a confused puppy.

Deflect, deflect, deflect. He cleared his throat and shrugged with an 'I don't know' sound.

They looked back at the two on the floor who somehow got to arguing about some sort of thing and doing it once or twice? Whether it was safer or unneeded? Listen. He doesn't know crap about robots or what they're talking about he's just here to test stuff out.

God. He could just feel the awkward descend on them. Should he say something?

He shifted, the silence uncomfortable and heavy in the air, he blurts out, “So what are you doing for Halloween?”

Keith’s brow furrows when he looks at him, “Halloween?”

“Y’know, trick or treating, pumpkins, costumes, ghosts?”

Slowly Keith shakes his head, brow still furrowed in confusion, like Halloween isn’t this national holiday that is beloved by all. “I don’t really celebrate Halloween, it’s kind of… boring?”

Lance reared back like Keith just bitch slapped him. ”Boring?” Lance turned to face Keith fully, he looked mildly suspicious but otherwise impassive as Lance smacked himself in the chest. “Halloween is my lifeblood. How dare you.”

Keith’s lips twitched, scooting around to rest his arm along the back of the couch. “It’s just another holiday that’s capitalized by the candy companies.”

Lance stabbed a finger in the air between them. “You earn that shit. It’s in fun shapes like fangs and eyeballs and you go around in costumes and scare the shit out of your friends.” Both hands come up, clenching in the air like he could grab the spirit of Halloween and shove it in Keith’s face. “It’s hanging out with your friends and getting candy, and it’s watching scary movies and all of the spooky stuff.”

Keith is completely unconcerned by how Lance is so close to tackling him and shoving candy corn down his throat. “Yeah but you can do all of those things at any time of the year. The candy is just candy but in different wrappings, you can technically wear a costume at any time, and all the spooky and scary stuff can happen any day of the year. Ghosts and hauntings can happen at any time not just Halloween.”

“Okay, point, but the aesthetic. All of it is amplified by Halloween and ghosts are more likely to come at Halloween because that’s when the veil is thinnest and they have an easier time coming to Earth or something.”

“You guys believe in ghosts?” Pidge scoffed, face scrunched up in amused disbelief.

Lance gave her a funny look. “And you don’t? I would’ve thought out of all of us you would.”

They chocked on their laugh. ”Me? Why?”

“You know, like, like,” he waved his hand in the air like it could physically keep his thoughts going, “all that energy has to go somewhere, so the souls or whatever become ghosts or spirits.”

“Lance,” Pidge said, “there is no scientific proof of a soul. And if the argument is energy then it would just be the electricity in the brain keeping vital organs alive until it runs out. No ghosts.”

“Okay, but there are so many weird things that happen with no scientific explanation. Why can’t here be ghosts?” Keith chimed in.

“Can we just, like, not talk about ghosts? Is that a thing that can happen?” Hunk smiled a queasy smile, shoulders shuddering.

“Hunk! Not you too!” Pidge cried.

Lance leaned forward, an evil smile creeping across his face. “Our school is built on an old cemetery you know.”

Keith leaned forward; eyes gleaming smile tugging at a corner of his lips. ”Really,” he said, not quite a question.

He grinned. “Years ago the old cemetery was too full and there wasn’t enough room. So they decided to move it but they only moved the headstones, not the bodies.” He tapped his foot on the floor. “Corpses are rotting under us right at this moment.

“LALALALALA,” Hunk shouted, fingers in his ears. “Nope! Nope! Nuh-uh, we’re not talking about this.”

“Oh my god, there’s no such things as ghosts!” They shouted over Lance’s laughter. “Ghosts aren’t—“

The lights turned off, shrouding them in darkness.

“—real.”

Lance’s heart jumped when he heard a scream, matching it with his own, two more joining his. Leather wrinkled under his fingers, as he blinked his eyes to adjust to the dark. He could just make out the shape of Hunk’s hands covering his mouth. He relaxed his grip. “Hunk!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” His hands waved in the darkness. “My bad!”

“Can I have my jacket back?”

Lance jolted at Keith’s voice right next to him. As in right next to him. “Fuck, uh,” he released his hold on Keith’s jacket, haltingly smoothing it out, “sorry.”

Lance didn’t hear his response, or if he made one in the first place because Hunk decided to screech again, sending the hairs on Lance’s arm straight up.

“Oh god, I felt something brush against me!”

Lance felt his pulse in his wrists and his cheeks, his nerves getting twitchy as adrenaline started pumping. “Hunk, please tell me your joking.”

“I’m not, man! Something brushed against me! And it felt cold!” A dark shadow that he was hoping, praying, that it was Hunk stood up.  “What if it’s a ghost?! What if it’s one of the people in the cemetery that really doesn’t like art or robots or something?!”

Lance stood up, squeezing his hands into fists to get rid of the unsteady feeling in his limbs, heart starting to pick up. “Okay if there is a ghost I say we just book it.”

He felt Keith stand up next to him. “If it’s a ghost they probably need help, to, like, move on or something. We should try to communicate with it and help it.”

Lance turned to look at him, only wishing that Keith could see the incredulous look on his face. “Keith, buddy, I don’t know if you have seen any horror movies but that never goes well.” He punctuated the syllables in never to drive the message home.

He winced at a bright light that blinded him, blinking away the black spots that appeared in his vision.

“Yeah, except it’s not a fucking ghost you dumbasses,” Pidge said behind their phone light their tone the definition of “done”.  “It’s probably a short fuse, c’mon, Hunk, we’re the only ones that are gonna be able to fix it. I don’t trust these two yahoos.”

Hunk whined, head tipping back. “But there are ghosts. And we shouldn’t split up! That’s just spelling disaster in horror movies! We’re going to be picked off one by one!”

“Would you rather sit in the dark?” They rolled their eyes at Hunk’s whine, moving behind him to push him to the door. “Come on big guy, I’ll protect you. Ghosts can’t hurt those that don’t believe in them.”

The last thing Lance heard was Hunk whining down the hall. A fading, “They’re the first one’s to go!”

“Why are they going to fix the fuse?” Keith said behind him, making him jump. He almost forgot he was there the guy was so quiet.

“The maintenance guy, Coran, is sick or something. I think he said slipperies but I have no clue what that is.” He nodded to where his friend’s left. “They help him a lot. I don’t think the school even knows, pfft. That good ‘ol school funding!”

He felt a little shot of pride at the little huff of laughter but immediately tensed when something crashed. A scream in his throat he whipped around, eyes darting around in the darkness seeing nothing.

His muscles jumped, throat closing, when a hand wrapped around his upper arm, a bright beam of light illuminating the wall before them. His arm hurt where Keith’s fingers dug in, his lip nearly white from how hard he was biting it, eyes intent as he looked to see the source of the crash.

Lance drew closer, arms brushing but Keith still didn’t let go, eyes settling on a brass corner sticking out from behind one of the tables. Relief came but it didn’t stay, muscles still poised in fight or flight, heart pumping and insistent against his chest. “It’s fine,” he croaked. “A painting just fell.”

“Did you mean what you said about the school being built on a cemetery?”

“Maybe,” Lance cleared his throat, ignoring how it cracked, “My older brother Marco told me, he had to move to this school when they rebuilt it here, like, twenty years ago.”

“Maybe the ghosts need help moving on, like, if they receive closure on their resting ground being disturbed.” Keith’s voice was just above a whisper, hushed.

Lance’s skin fucking crawled. He whirled on Keith, his dark, dark eyes wide and serious. “How do you supposed we do that?!” A harsh whisper that scraped through the air like nails on a chalkboard.

“We communicate with them,” Keith whispered back, not nearly as harsh. It was actually annoyingly even. “An Ouija board. We can write it out on a piece of paper and use a necklace or something to hold above it as a pendulum or cut out a circle.”

“How do you even know this?!”

“…I watch a lot of paranormal videos.”

“Jesus Fuck.” Lance scrubbed his hands against his face. “How do you know we’re not going to contact a demon or something?”

“I don’t.”

“Fuck, fuck, no.Absolutely not. Not happening, nuh-uh, no—“

Ten minutes later he was sitting on the ground in a little circle of discarded robot parts—were these parts like… body parts of robot pieces? Ugh, okay, no thinking that—across from Keith, a piece of paper between them and Keith’s phone light next to the paper casting shadows across their faces.

“I hate this. I want you to know I hate this.”

Keith only gives him a noncommittal hum, finishing cutting out the circle with safety scissors they found. At least if they’re killed by a poltergeist it won’t be by overly sharp scissors.

Keith slaps the circle on the paper, eyes narrowed and determined. “Are you ready?”

“No.”

But he sets his hands on the paper anyway, fingertips brushing Keith’s as they start to slowly slide the improvised Ouija thingy over their improvised Ouija board.  They aimlessly slid it around the letters, the paper sticking to itself slightly.

It was silent between them. Which was new. They’re almost never quiet with each other, someone—usually Lance— saying something. It felt heavy. Weighed down. Like another presence in the room. Like a gho—

There was a lump in his throat as he tried to ignore the silence. His attention expanding all at once like someone turned the dial in his brain up to an eleven. And somehow that was better and worse than the silence. Every tiny sound from the wind rattling the windows to the minute creaking of the room, amplified by the silence between him and Keith, loud enough that it was distracting. The darkness so black there was color.

He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the soft shh shhhof the paper. Ignoring the shuffling sounds in the walls his brain conjured up. Focusing on the soft huffs of breaths between them as his heartbeat took center stage as a rapid beating drum in his inner ear. Reminding him of how all those victims in horror movies could hear their blood pumping as they died. Pushing down that voice in the back of his head reminding him of all the stupid horror movies he watched like Paranormal 3 or The Ring or The Conjuring—

“So how are we supposed to contact them or whatever?!” Lance said, a little too fast, a little too loud, trying to drown out the voice and images flashing across the forefront of his mind.

“I don’t know, don’t you just shout at the spirits to make contact and they… just… do?”

“Why are you asking me?!” His heartbeat was loud as he looked at Keith, fuzzy with black at the edges as his eyes adjusted again.

Keith’s jaw and eyes were tense, little lines creasing at the corners as he stared down that their hands.  “I don’t know! I don’t like this any more than you!”

“You know, if we were smart we would just leave.”

“Yeah, but that wouldn’t fix anything!”

“We’d be fixing our lives, Keith!”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“You know,” Lance brought up his hands, clapping them together, mouth pressed in a straight line, “this is a bad idea. We should go and leave and come back in the morning.”

“Fine. You go, I’m staying.” Keith crossed his arms, mouth firm as he stared at Lance.

Maybe another time Lance would have left. Shouted something at how he was just being plain stupid. Which he was! But he could see the rapid pace of Keith’s jugular in his neck. How pale he was, his fingers rubbing together. His normally pink and plush bottom lip thin and white as he bit it.

He sat back down.

He really wanted to find his friends and leave, and while he knew somewhere deep down they were not being haunted a bigger and louder voice was telling him there was a chance. A slim chance but there was this big, gaping possibility. And he would never forgive himself if Keith got his guts ripped out by a ghost if this possibility happened to come alive.

“Fuuuck, I hate this.” He glared at Keith who looked at him with relief, the tension between his eyes a little less stressed, his shoulders relaxed away from his ears. Lance could feel his heart kick up a notch and he didn’t think it was because of ghosts this time. He intensified his glare. “I hate you.”

Keith smiled at him. “You ready to contact the dead.”

Lance shook his head. “Jesus fuck.” Put his hands back onto the paper circle.

“Spirits,” Keith called out, eyes darting to the corners of the room. “Please. Let us help you.”

They waited a beat. He doesn’t know what it’s supposed to feel like to use an Ouija board, if there was supposed to be a pull or a tug or, hell, an electric shock or something. But he was getting zip. He looked at Keith who just shrugged.

Keith called out again. “If there’s anyone here, please say something.”

This time Lance closed his eyes, who knows maybe the ghost was shy or something. He let his hands slide side to side with Keith’s, not feeling a particular pull but—

Fuck

Lance shot his eyes open. Heart beating fast and this time it definitely was not because Keith had a cute smile or pretty eyes. He heard something.

That shuffling from before. In the walls. It wasn’t in his head but he could hear it. In the room. Around him. And once he heard it heard it he couldn’t un-hear it.

“Keith,” he whispered. “I think I hear something.”

Keith looked at him with wide eyes, so wide he could see how his purple-blue-indigo irises were nearly engulfed by fear, the pupils only leaving a thin rim of color surrounding them.

“What,” he whispered back.

The sound traveled. Started at the back, right behind him and the couch and moved. And if his body wasn’t fucking paralyzed it would be shaking because that’s how his insides felt. Organs trembling as the rest of it locked up tight.

He didn’t look, didn’t want to look. Looking only makes it real; he’ll see whatever is there and get his face eaten off by a fucking demon. But he could still hear. Hear how that scrabbling turned to scratching. And by now, with him being so quiet, barely breathing, Keith could hear it too.

They locked eyes, both hearing it. Adrenaline starting a slow course through his veins, muscles twitching, heart jumping. He could see how Keith’s eyes slowly slide from his and he squeezed his fingers bringing them back to him.

He mouths, “I don’t see anything.”

Lance squeezes his eyes shut until colors flash in a kaleidoscope behind his eyelids, the scratching sound even louder, getting closer. Nails on a chalkboard, nails at his throat.

It was a ghost. It was a fucking ghost and he and Keith were gonna die and their corpses were gonna be found in the morning because of course Halloween was on a school’s day—

He felt a ghostly hand brush against the small of his back and he fucking leaped—

Straight into Keith's lap screaming. Keith’s hands fisting in the back of his shirt shouting in his ear so loud it was going to be ringing the next day— if he lived.

Heart in his throat he waited for the ghosts to do some shit where they pried him off of the newfound lifeline he had grasped in his arms, pulled around the room and shook like a doll.

And all of a sudden it was bright. Bright, bright, bright, bright. And all he could think of was ’do ghosts glow?’before he heard.

“What the fuck is wrong?!”

He shot his eyes open, black dots and bright light blinding him for a second before he could see Hunk and Pidge in the doorway eyes wide with panic.

Throat sore, he stopped screaming Keith quieting down soon after though both of their chests heaved as they tried to catch their breaths.

“What. The fuck. Is wrong?!” Pidge shouted again.

No ghost. The light was on. His friends were here. He dropped his head to Keith’s shoulder and breathed. Arms tightened around him.

Not looking up, he declawed his hand from Keith’s back, waving it at his friends. “Wanna explain, Keith?”

He felt a similar press of a forehead against his shoulder, the sigh fanning across his collarbones. Keith murmured something into his shirt.

Using his body he shook them both. “Come on, Keith, tell them what your idea was.”

Another sigh. “ We tried to use an Ouija board to contact the spirits.”

“Eh, eh, eh, it was Keith’sidea! All his! I wanted to leave!”

“You would’ve left without me?” Hunk said, pouting. He placed a hand on his chest. “Buddy, I’m hurt.”

Lance reached a hand towards him. “No, no, buddy! I would’ve found you first and then booked it!”

Hunk thought for a moment before nodding. “Accepted.”

“I told you guys there were so such things as ghosts,” PIdge said, exasperated.

Keith finally let him go to turn around. “But we did make contact with the ghosts!”

“Yeah!” Lance nodded, fervently, backing up what Keith was saying. “There was a ghost and it touchedme!”

Pidge squinted and looked between them while Hunk’s face screwed up in horror. “How did this hypothetical ghost make contact?”

“There was a lot of scratching noises, like it was in the walls and, again, it touched me!”

Pidge's suspicion fell from their face, expression blank. They smacked their lips together and looked at Hunk. The big guy losing the horrified look on his face, lighting up in relief and understanding. Pidge blinked slowly before bringing up a hand to rub at their forehead, pointing their other hand toward the cabinet doors. “I found your fucking ghost, morons.”

As one, Keith and Lance turned to look and found a little mouse cowering in front of the cabinet. It paced in front of the doors, little claws scrabbling at the wood, trying to find its way in.

Lance felt blood rush to his face and shared a look with Keith, who was also red from the tips of his ears to where it disappeared under the collar of his shirt. He cleared his throat, tearing his eyes away from Keith to look at Pidge and Hunk sheepishly. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“It’s a good thing you got the lights going,” Keith piped in, cheeks still red.

Hunk’s nose wrinkled. “Actually, we didn’t.”

“What do you mean?” Lance asked.

“When we got there everything was fine. Nothing looked out of place and we didn’t know what to fix, so we just left and were going to tell Coran in the morning.”

“The lights came back on when we were walking back and heard you yahoos screaming,” Pidge finished.

Lance took a deep breath. Nerves fried and muscles sore from being so tense. That entire fiasco might have been a mouse but no. Just no. He’s not risking it. He got up and helped Keith up, a single-minded mission to get the fuck out of dodge.

“Okay, we’re all leaving.” He grabbed their backpacks and tossed them to their owners and started shooing them out the door despite Pidge’s protests and Hunk’s comments about cleaning up. “Let’s go.” Next to them another painting from the art wall fell. “NOW!”

A/N: okay, yes, it might be a day late for Halloween but in my defense I got sick and my body snuck up on me and hit me over the head with a club

[sweetbettycooper]

A Little Miracle Chp 3 Preview

Start from the beginning or read below 

“We are so sorry Mr Jones and we understand if you want to take things further to court.”

Jughead murdered the small shaky man before him with his eyes. Staring at him with such revulsion it made him sick but eventually his answer was no. 

“I'm not going to waste anymore of my time with you. I should have never participated in this so called experiment in the first place.”

Jughead watched as the doctor suddenly sighed in relief, his whole body relaxing in an instant as the threat of legal action vanished just like all Jugheads money on a lawyer if he were to sue. 

“Well there’s an 80% chance that nothing will come of this anyway it's always unlikely. Especially on the first go that she would get pregnant and have a baby,” the doctor said so casually brushing the issue aside like dust under a rug.  

Jughead hadn't even thought of that side of things yet. It wasn’t just him mixed up in this accident and the seriousness of it all finally hit him hard. Starting to work himself up into a frightful panic Jughead stood abruptly needing some fresh air and a smoke. Not sure if he was going to vomit or kill Sweet Pea when he got home. 

“One more thing Mr Jones,” the doctor quickly spoke surprised at Jugheads sudden retreat.

“This is your compensation cheque along with your medical records we had of you here and a few other things.” The old man placed a file and a white envelope on the desk and slid it across to Jughead like he was handling blood money and didn’t want to touch it. 

“It’s also our legal obligation to give you this-” he paused wide eyed and nervous once more, this time holding out a yellow manila folder for Jughead to take. 

“What is it?” Jughead asked confused as he tucked the check into his jacket pocket and folded the remaining pieces of paper and crumbled them in to his other pocket.

“It’s the details of your sperm recipient,” He replied quietly slightly afraid of Jugheads next reaction.

Jughead almost lost all strength in his arm as he went to grasp the folder, not wanting to hold the weight of such important details in his hand. He didn’t even know what to do with it but as his grip tightened and he took it from the doctors hold he knew it was all up to him now. To deal with everything or not deal with it at all. 

“Does she know?” Jughead all but whispered.

“I don't know. I only take care of this side of things it's up to her doctor to tell her what happened.”

“Of course,” Jughead scoffed bitterly rolling his eyes in fury, before turning and marching right out that horrible office. Walking down two long corridors and past all the unsuspecting patients in the waiting room. He twisted his face into an uncomfortable expression as he finally breathed fresh air. 

He could smell something and he knew it was him. 

He was in deep shit. 

-----

Sweet Pea heard him before he saw him. 

An outrageous smash of tools and metal hitting the floor followed by a symphony of cursing and yelling filled Riverdale motors that afternoon. Sweet Pea didn’t want to roll out from under the car he was working on from fear of Jugheads foul mood. Knowing it was safer to stay well away. 

But when he heard a crack that sounded more like bone than anything else Sweet Pea swiftly ejected himself from under an old BMW and sprang to his feet. Looking across the garage and past the wave of destruction hurricane Jones had left in his wake, he found the man himself. Clutching his right fist in his other hand and bending over in agony. The wall definitely looked better than he did. 

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Sweet Pea shouted, shaking his head,“You idiot.”

Jughead was now shaking out of rage and pure agony. His hand was throbbing so badly he was sure it was going to explode just like he was. 

But through all the pain he couldn’t even muster a fighting word to bite back at Sweet Pea. Instead with a wicked scowl he side eyed his so called friend and raised his middle finger in revulsion. 

This was all his fault. 

He was the IDIOT. 

The site of Sweet Pea made Jughead even more enraged or maybe that was just the stabbing pain in his hand. Either way the office was where Jughead decided to spend the rest of the afternoon. 

Alone with his pain, thoughts and mountains of tax invoices he needed to sort. 

Dropping himself into the soft desk chair that was far more comfortable than the office chair he sat in hours earlier Jughead tried to calm down. Still holding his hand in torturous pain it almost helped him forget the morning he had just had. 

He threw the unwanted and heavy manila folder he had carried all the way from the doctor's office in the far corner under as many sheets of paper he could find. Out of sight out of mind. Surprised at himself that he hadn’t already burnt it with his cigarette lighter or throw it in the trash. 

Jughead couldn’t escape the fact that he was a tiny bit curious. Temptation is a horrible thing and no matter how hard he tried to think about part ordering and invoice payments nothing could stop the little voice in his head. 

Should I look at the name?

Do I have a responsibility to contact her?

What if the 20% was me and I become a dad? 

What if she is married or old or poor and can’t support a baby?

He was driving himself mad with uncertainty. Going around and around in circles. 

But what's in a name? 

It wouldn't tell him anything specific it couldn't hurt. It’s merely a word strung together with a series of letter. Finally reaching for the folder reasoning that getting it over and done with will help him feel less stressed Jughead opened it. Rifling through the pages he realised most of it was unnecessary legal documents that made the folder look a lot more important than it was. He skimmed most of the pages only finding complex legal jargon and something about a second party. 

Nothing specific to anyone else except him. 

With a heavy and slightly relieved sigh Jughead let the pages fall from the folder into the trash can. Letting the paper slide away like his worry. 

Maybe not knowing was better. 

“Ignorance is bliss right?” He thought to himself as he leaned down and grabbed his PB&J sandwich from the mini fridge and placed it on his hand which was now turning a brilliant purple. His sandwich had another purpose today. 

About to rest back in his chair and nurse his injury Jughead noticed a pink sticky note under his desk. Immediately confused by this as all their office sticky notes were yellow thanks to Sweet Pea and his “pink hating” ways Jughead picked it up.

The writing was smeared with what smelt like toffee and seemed as though a preschooler had just learned how to write. But amongst all that chicken scratch was one word. One name and one phone number. 

DONEE 

BETTY COOPER

555 437 090

Jughead could feel his entire body going into organ failure as he sat rigid in his chair, staring at the so called harmless name that he so naively thought would bring him no harm. He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t move. Dieing from horror. 

“Jughead!” Sweet pea’s voice suddenly rumbled into the office shaking him slightly eliciting more fear into his blood. 

 “There’s a Betty Cooper here to see you.”

[carylerxsecretsanta]

Looking Up

Written For: @the-space-between1013

Title: Looking Up Author: @theresnosafeharbor4myships Rating: PG Summary: Judith finds some Christmas stuff and a decorating party and singing ensues. A/N: Happy Christmas and Holidays! I hope your holiday season has been festive and wonderful! I’m praying you enjoy this flangst (fluffy angst)–it’s a lot longer than I anticipated so let’s hope that’s your favorite kind of present. :D

The night had turned into an unexpected party, and he blamed Judith.

Michonne, heading to check on those who had perimeter watch before night fell, had asked the girl to rummage through the attic for anything valuable—weapons, old gardening equipment, tools, winter clothes. She’d found a few sundry items: a pair of men’s rain boots, a hacksaw, electrical tape, some rope. And two boxes of Christmas stuff.

That last one seemed completely useless if you asked him, but with Carol’s help, Judith had enthusiastically dragged the large boxes down the attic steps, across the hall, down the flight of stairs to the first floor, and into the living where she unceremoniously pulled every item out, then laid them around her in display.

Daryl had watched surreptitiously from the dining room table where he sat inventorying and cleaning their weapons as Carol, sitting cross-legged in the midst of the holiday paraphernalia, patiently answered every single question Judith threw her way. What’s this do? (A nutcracker.) Where do these go? (A ball of Christmas lights.) Who’s this? (Rudolph statue.) What do you do with this? (Faux mistletoe.) And on and on it went. RJ had come out of his room when he heard the chatter and sat contently in Carol’s lap, playing with a miniature snow globe for several minutes before moving on to the next festive trinket.

“Can we put this stuff up?” Judith had asked excitedly, bouncing on her knees and peering around the room at the adults, her eyes settling on Michonne.

Having just returned home to the festive mess around the room, Michonne had looked at her deadpan but, seeing her enthusiasm, relented, smiling and shaking her head. “Who’s going to help you?”

And that’s how he’d ended up single-handedly stringing Christmas lights around the living room while Carol, Michonne, and the kids decorated the rest of the house.

He heard some commotion behind him, but he kept his focus on hanging the one strand of lights he’d already untangled. Standing on the arm of the couch in his bare feet, he stretched over the expanse of air above the end table to shove a pushpin into the wall and draped the string of lights over it.

Suddenly, music blasted through the air, and he nearly fell from his precarious stance. With one hand against the wall, he shoved himself back upright and stepped down onto the cushion and then the floor as the music—an impossibility—faded to a whisper.

“The he…ck was that?” he asked as his four housemates stood around electronic equipment.

“Eugene made it for me!” Judith enthused. “Now I can hear Christmas music!”

Michonne shrugged at him as Judith bounced up and down in excitement. “Found some music in these boxes, and she has a player.”

He nodded, less than enthusiastic, and plopped down on the couch to start untangling the next string of lights.

“Do you know these songs, Mom?”

“Yeah,” Michonne answered, looking at Carol for confirmation. “Probably most of them.”

Judith turned the music up to hear a man’s voice, low and breathy, sing. She stood listening for a moment before turning it down again and asking, “What’s a blue Christmas?”

Amused at the question, Daryl glanced up from his frustrating task to see Michonne smiling as she began explaining how colors could also describe emotions. His eyes darted to Carol, who’d found a place on the bookshelf for RJ’s snow globe, and his heart clenched.

He didn’t often let his imagination run in domestic circles, but he couldn’t help thinking this was the life she deserved. A warm home with friends and laughter, decorating for the holidays, a soundtrack of festive music, teaching kids about the fun things in life.

Her lightweight white sweater and blue jeans hugged her gently, and the low lamplight filling the room cast an angelic haze around her. He stared unabashedly for a moment, everyone in the room oblivious to him, and his heartbeat kicked up. She looked beautiful, happy. He could count on his fingers the number of times he’d seen her look so carefree.

She must’ve sensed his gaze on her because she suddenly turned her head and looked right at him, a questioning, gentle half-smile gracing her face.

He nodded once and felt his cheeks warming at having gotten caught, then turned back to the wretched ball of Christmas lights in his hand.

“Let’s see what other songs are on here,” Michonne suggested before switching the player to the next song.

A loud pop song, peppy and in soprano, blared from the speakers. “You’re here where you should be/Snow is falling as the carolers sing/It just wasn’t the same, alone on Christmas day.”

Judith started bouncing around. “Come on, RJ,” she called and held out her hands to him.

“Presents, what a beautiful sight/don’t mean a thing if you ain’t holding me tight/You’re all that I need, underneath the tree, tonight,” the woman’s voice rang out as the kids starting twirling around.

“Come on, Daryl!”

He looked up at Judy, stricken, as she motioned for him to join them. He shook his head, holding up a hand to wave her request away.

She took it in stride, bouncing around to face Michonne. “Mom,” Judy entreated, holding her hand out. “Carol?”

Daryl peeked up to see the four of them paired up—Carol and RJ, Michonne and Judith—bounding around, dancing.

“I’m gonna hold you close/Make sure that you know/I was lost before you.”

The lyrics played on, and Daryl couldn’t help watching the merriment in front of him. The kids danced with arms and legs akimbo, bouncing around with pure joy written on their faces. The women too, carefree and having fun, couldn’t restrain their smiles.  

“Christmas was cold and grey/Another holiday alone to celebrate/But then one day, everything changed/You’re all I need underneath the tree.”

The music rang around them, the words holding him as captive as Carol did, his eyes never leaving her as she moved freely about, hips swaying, arms leading RJ around, an unadulterated smile gracing her face. She looked stunning, nearly taking his breath away as she floated on her feet.

“I found what I was looking for/A love that’s meant for me/A heart that’s mine completely/Knocked me right off my feet/And this year I will fall/With no worries at all/‘Cause you’re near and everything’s clear/You’re all I need underneath the tree.”

Though she didn’t see him watching her, the lyrics the woman sang made his pulse race. He’d spent so many holidays alone. While other families held parties and exchanged gifts, cooked feasts and lived out traditions, he’d spent most Christmases hiding, sometimes in his room or in a closet, avoiding his old man, or out in the woods away from all other human beings. It’d always felt safer that way…but not anymore.

Here he felt…different. Cared for, safer than he’d ever felt before. Which was saying a lot considering the state of the world.

And much of that was thanks to the angelic woman dancing around with a fatherless little boy. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, wishing with every ounce of his being that she was his, that the lyrics filling his ears and setting the wishes of his heart aflame told the story of the two of them.

“You’re here where you should be/Snow is falling as the carolers sing/It just wasn’t the same alone on Christmas day/Presents, what a beautiful sight/Don’t mean a thing if you ain’t holding me tight/You’re all that I need underneath the tree.”

Though grateful she was here, he couldn’t help wondering what it’d be like to be with her, to hold her tight. She’d already become the best gift he’d ever received—his best friend, confidant, sounding board, secret keeper, shooting-the-shit partner, protector and defender, and all-around favorite person he’d ever met. He wouldn’t mind adding to the list.

It would likely never happen though. They’d always circled each other, her the moon to his planet, her gravitational pull on him creating influential changes and lighting up the darkness. Irrevocably close, orbitally connected, but forever separated. What he wouldn’t give to change that, to venture into something more, explore uncharted territory, close the space between them, a collision of sorts that would irreparably change the forces felt between them.

But how? Knowing him, he’d likely destroy the symbiotic nature they’d settled into and send them into extinction if he tried.

No, it was better to leave things as they existed: safe, close, linked, comfortable. Except in moments like these when the longing he felt for her threatened to devour him from the inside out.

The verse repeated and, realizing he’d likely never get the opportunity to move beyond how close they’d already become, he turned back to his task, suddenly feeling melancholy.

“Again!” RJ demanded when the song ended.

“Let’s see what comes next,” Michonne told him.

Immediately, a woman’s voice started singing. “I don’t want a lot for Christmas/There is just one thing I need.”

“Ohh!” Michonne hollered above the din. “I’m karaoke’ing this one!”

With his elbows on his knees, lights dangling from his fingertips, he stared as Michonne, katana-wielding badass, grabbed a six-inch nutcracker statue, used it as a faux microphone, and belted out each and every lyric to the slow-starting turned rock-n-roll pop song ringing through the rafters.

Daryl couldn’t help huffing out laughs as the music progressed, Michonne twirling Judith around with her free hand, Carol and RJ rocking out with the uptempo’d song.

He also couldn’t help noticing the longing in the lyrics, apparently a common theme on the mixed music track. They did nothing to help the yearning in his heart as he watched the festive scene play out before him as he sat idly on the sidelines, just as he had for most of his life.

Michonne caught his eye a few times and motioned for him to join them, but he shook his head.

“Wooo!” Michonne exclaimed as the song ended, looking pleased with herself. “Who knew we’d ever karaoke again?”

“Your turn, Carol!” Judith exclaimed.

“Yeah, your turn, Carol,” Michonne echoed, handing the ‘microphone’ to her, a pleased smile gracing her face.

Carol looked at each of them in turn, waiting for the next song to start, her eyes lingering on him as a jingle-y pop tune started playing.

“I can’t wait to unwrap you at Christmas/You’re the gift for me/I can’t wait to unwrap you at Christmas/Under the Christmas tree.”

“Is this the Monkees?!” Michonne exclaimed as the music jangled on.

Carol nodded enthusiastically, singing only half of the lyrics with the group. “I can’t wait to unwrap you at Christmas. I don’t know the words.”

Daryl chuckled to himself, his eyes ever tracking the carefree spirits bounce around the room. Michonne and the kids held hands, forming a circle, and went round and round as though they were kids in a schoolyard. Carol sang considerably better than children calling out nursery rhymes, even if she made up half of the song.

“I’ve been waiting all year now, baby/For the snow and you to return/So I’ll hang the mistletoe and stand right here/Cross my fingers, hope I’ll get my wish this year.”

The thought of kissing Carol under the mistletoe, her dreamy eyes peering up at him in the firelight, sashayed through his mind as her voice rang out. His eyes flicked up just in time to see her gaze settle on him, sending his blood pumping hot and hard through his veins.

Though he knew she couldn’t read his warm and wayward thoughts, embarrassment flooded over him. He turned away to check on Michonne and the kids, who were now strategically picking places to hang a few boughs of fake mistletoe.

Damn all this love-dovey Christmas crap, he thought, his mood turning dismal at how easily he’d fallen under the spell of it all. Just untangle these lights—and then yourself from this whole mess.

“I can’t wait to unwrap you at Christmas/You’re the gift for me.”

Without lifting his head from the frustrating task in his hands, he glanced up at Carol still caroling. To find her staring meaningfully at him as more longing words fell from her lips.

“I can’t wait to unwrap you at Christmas/I dream of nothing more.”

His belly flipped, and he dropped his eyes to the knotted lights before him, swallowing hard. He felt his cheeks warm again.

Her eyes fixed on him didn’t mean anything. Couldn’t mean anything.

Could it?

Don’t be stupid, he scolded himself, shame sweeping through him at the notion she sang the lyrics to him instead of into the room. She’d never… She was just messing with him. She always did when she was in a fun and feisty mood.

“I’ve been saving all of my kisses/Just to spend them on your sweet lips/So I’ll decorate the place with light and cheer/Knowing Christmas day you will be standing here.”

He refused to look up, no matter how desperately he longed to watch her sing, see those words fall from her mouth as her eyes landed on him. His heart couldn’t take it. As it was, he could barely work the knots out of the string of lights in his hands; he’d never untangle her from his heart.

The song and Carol continued, but he drifted somewhere else.

And why would he even try? She’d acted as his lifeline for far too many years to undo now. No separation, no time apart, no diverging road had ever kept them from one another. But neither had any led them together, not the way he longed for. And that still confused the hell out of him.

How could he even understand what he felt for her? No one had ever burrowed into his heart the way she had. He’d never let anyone get as close to him as she had. He’d spent a lifetime keeping people away, and all he wanted was to draw her in, as close to him as possible, touch her skin, make her feel all the wild, wonderful, and confusing things he felt when she was near.

Damn it all!

He shook his head, chasing his daydream away. Which didn’t do him much good since she continued singing about kissing under the mistletoe.

He nearly groaned, forcing his mind to focus on the wretched lights in his hand. The kids deserved to have some fun, to see Christmas lights strung up and to decorate the house with Christmas merriment and to hear the upbeat songs that used to drive him mad when played in every store and to dance with Michonne and Carol. And where’d she learn to sway like that anyway? Had she always been able to sing?

He knew what the sound of her crying softly in the middle of the night sounded like, how far she could trek without food and water before collapsing, what she looked like after weeks without shelter, and how brave and self-sacrificing she became when someone she loved faced danger. But he didn’t know her favorite song or how old she’d been when they’d met or what kind of music she’d listened to. He couldn’t begin to guess whether she’d ever lived anywhere other than Georgia before they’d trekked north or how many siblings she’d had, if any, or what her hobbies had been or if she’d ever played sports.

“Aw, hell,” he mumbled to himself, realizing he couldn’t get his one-track mind off of destination Carolville.

Finally, the song ended, and the kids cried out for more.

“Maybe we should help Uncle Daryl with those lights. He seems to be having some problems,” Michonne observed.

Both kids hurtled towards him as the next song started, some bluesy, half-country, rock ballad. He gave the partially untangled end of the light string to Judy as Michonne bounded up to Carol, and they both began singing into the ‘microphone.’

“Take back the holly and mistletoe/Silver bells on strings/If I wrote a letter to Santa Claus/I would ask for just one thing/I don’t need sleigh rides in the snow/don’t need a Christmas that’s blue/Take back the tinsel, stockings, and bows/‘Cause all I want for Christmas is you.”

Holy hell, another one?

He didn’t think he could take another lonesome, aching, pining, desperate song about wanting someone, especially not with Carol singing the lyrics out, calling to his lonely heart with her siren’s song and melodic voice.

After instructing Judy and a less-than-helpful RJ, he glanced up at the apocalypse’s best duo to find both of them singing directly to their audience of three.

“I don’t need expensive things/They don’t matter to me/All that I want can’t be found/Underneath my Christmas tree.”

The confidence, joy, and passion with which they sang out made him want to stop and watch the performance, and he tapped the kids on their shoulders and motioned for them to pay attention.

“You are the angel atop my tree.” Michonne pointed to the kids and sang out to them, enthralled in the song.

“You are my dream come true/Santa can’t bring me what I need/‘Cause all I want for Christmas is you.”

A sax solo played, and Daryl watched as Carol, eyes closed, swayed to the sexy music, a veritable dream come true. He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving her, and he was glad he was sitting down, the kids in front of him and tangled up Christmas lights dangling all around him or he might have made a fool of himself by vaulting up and across the room, pulling her into his arms, and letting her know how much the song and her voice singing it affected him, Grimes gang hanging around or not.

Suddenly, her eyes opened and found his, just as the lyrics picked up again, and she sang them out, loud and proud.

“You are the angel atop my tree/You are my dream come true/Santa can’t bring me what I need/‘Cause all I want for Christmas is you.”

Somewhere on his periphery, he was aware of the kids dancing again and Michonne singing, but every fiber of him was attuned to Carol as she stared seductively at him, pointing in his direction as she sang. The air around him sizzled and heat flooded the room, as though he stood in front of an open oven door, the warmth of her gaze rolling over his skin like fire.

“I don’t need expensive things/They don’t matter to me/All that I want can’t be found/Underneath the Christmas tree.”

The vocal growl she employed at that last lyric sent his heart pounding hard, and it took everything he had to remain seated, watching her sing to him.

“You are the angel atop my tree/You are my dream come true/Santa can’t bring me what I need/‘Cause all I want for Christmas is you.”

She repeated the last line a few more times, and each line, with every word, his blood pumped hotter. He knew he should look away—he needed to. But with his brain misfiring, his heart pounding like a drum against his rib cage, his palms sweating, every atom of him dialed in to Carol, he couldn’t move.

The song ended—all too soon and not quickly enough for Daryl—and the kids clapped profusely, exuberant and hyper. Michonne took a bow and Carol curtsied, both pleased with their performance.

“Thank you, thank you.” Michonne accepted the applause with a rare smile.

“Again!” RJ demanded again.

“No, I think that’s enough for tonight. Come on, let’s pack up this stuff,” Michonne indicated the smattering of unused decorations still gracing the floor, “and then it’s time for bed.”

The kids protested, arguing with Michonne, as Carol smiled, sultry and pleased with herself, at him before helping the kids and Michonne clean up the room.

Dazed, Daryl dropped his gaze to his task and mechanically finished untangling the strand of lights. Had it really taken him this long to try to get some lights hung up? She’d done that—that little performance—on purpose, and hell if he knew what she was up to.

She didn’t know what she did to him, couldn’t know that her little game of teasing had him wondering how he’d sleep tonight.

It’s a wonder I ever get anything done with Carol hanging around, he thought self-deprecatingly.

“I wanna help Uncle Daryl.”

“No, Uncle Daryl can finish the lights by himself. And when you wake up tomorrow, they’ll all be hung up.” Michonne herded the kids towards the stairs. “At least I think,” she murmured to him as she passed him, giving him a little wink.

Consternation crossed his face, and he glared at her as she bounded up the stairs, leaving Carol to finish shoving the boxes of Christmas stuff into the corner as he draped the lights around the other half of the living room.

He felt her presence as she moved around behind him, aware that they had the entire downstairs to themselves. He almost wished she’d offered to help Michonne with the kids. Or that he had. Instead, he felt desire oozing off of him, filling up the room and threatening to suffocate him, and he wondered if she could feel it too. If she felt even a fraction of the tension between them that clung to him like dust to the Earth. Or was she immune to it?

Daryl hung the end of the light strand and stood in the center of the room to inspect the fruits of their evening of decorating. The end tables and bookshelves, the coffee and dining room tables all held festive trinkets, from snowmen and nutcrackers to a nativity scene and candles. They’d done a good, if excessive, job, and the lights gave the room the final touch it needed.

Carol’s hand settled on his shoulder briefly before sliding down his arm, and every muscle in his body tensed up at the contact. He didn’t know how much more he could take.

“Looks nice.”

He nodded, unable to do much more than breathe. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her peer up at him, but he couldn’t face her, not right now. Not with every nerve ending raw and burning for her.  

Carol bumped his arm. “The kids will appreciate this. They had so much fun tonight.”

His mouth upturned slightly and he nodded again in agreement. They’d given Judith and RJ a small glimpse of the Christmas happiness and wonder kids today would likely never again experience. He was happy to have helped even a small bit.

“Did you?”

He knew it was a mistake, knew he shouldn’t turn to look at her. Not with her standing so close to him. Close enough to touch, to see the dark flecks in her oceanic eyes, to trace the small smattering of freckles lying across her nose with his gaze, to see the fullness of her soft, smiling lips.

He knew better, but he faced her anyway, her pull on him too powerful to overcome.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice sounding softer than it should. If she only knew how much he’d enjoyed it, she’d run for the hills, far away from him, and never think to tease him again.

“Me too.”

Her guileless smile seeped into his heart, flooding it with love and a longing he didn’t know how to fight anymore.

“I noticed.”

Her eyes lit up even more, if that were possible, filled with hope and something else he was afraid to give a name to. “You did…”

He couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement, and his eyes flicked to her lips again. She’d drawn him in like a moth to a burning flame, roped him in so methodically he was happy to burn himself up just to feel her warmth, to stay by her side.

“I was hoping you would.”

The admission fell from her lips on a near-sigh, the tuft of her breath reaching his lips like a distant kiss and not at all the one he wanted, but damn if it didn’t make him crave her more.

“Yeah?”

She’d reduced him to a simpleton; he couldn’t seem to form words.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, stepping closer to him, filling up his senses, invading his space, making him ache more than she ever had before.

“And you know what else?”

He didn’t, but he couldn’t even tell her that. She’d stolen the air from his lungs, the thoughts from his mind, the words from his lips.

She saved him from having to answer.

“It’s my lucky night.”

At least he thought she had. What the hell was she talking about? “Wha—”

“Look up.”

Her whisper made his knees weak, and he felt his pulse pounding, but he tore his eyes aware from her to peer up. At a bough of mistletoe, hanging merrily down from its perch above them, as though it’d been made for this very moment.

He swallowed hard, knowing what came next. What had to come next. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. God knew he’d fantasized about kissing her nearly every day for a decade, in any number of places, in every situation his mind could come up with. No, he had the desire part down to perfection.

What he didn’t have was experience. Or confidence. Or an idea of how he’d ever be able to walk away from her once he knew what her lips felt like beneath his, how she felt pressed against him, how his arms fit around her.

He knew this moment, ripe with the possibility of everything he’d wanted and couldn’t believe was only heartbeats away, waited for him to simply look at her.

“Daryl.”

His name on her breath made him finally, slowly, achingly, fearfully, soaringly, turn his face back towards her.

As he did, she moved into him, her hands grazing his chest as her arms slid up around his neck, and they came together slowly, tentatively, but full of want.

Her touch trailed tendrils of fire across his skin until heat and Carol were all he felt, a seductive combination he could only drown in.

His lips touched hers, soft, supple, sweet, and so intoxicating he felt dizzy, her presence the only thing grounding him. He felt her smile against his lips, and a groan escaped him, which had her pressing in closer, her body flush against his. She rose up on her tip-toes and he cinched his arms around her waist, holding her to him, holding her to keep from falling off the edge of the world.

He heard her hum against him, the vibration of her moan of pleasure both giving him strength to continue and making him weaker than he’d ever been.

He couldn’t care. All he wanted to do was never leave this moment, never stop holding her, never stop trying to show her how much he loved her.

Neither of them heard Michonne come back down the stairs. She stopped when she saw the two of them, happily wrapped up together and fully making out under the mistletoe she’d strategically placed around the room.

She smiled and turned off the living room light, leaving the two of them to explore each other by the soft glow of the Christmas lights. Apparently, they weren’t the only things getting lit this year…

[erikismybitch]

Waiting In Vain: Chapter 11

First Base.

Erik was coming over tonight . It was a spontaneous matter. He was coming to help her install her security doorbell. He told her he wanted to give her a gift , turns out it was just that. “You live alone , you need to know who’s at your door... people prey on women” he told her . She let him know that he probably needed to Install it for her . That was like music to his ears , he just wanted her to invite him over . Erik insisted that she let him do it . “You ain’t gotta pay nobody , I got you”

It was the end of the afternoon. Erik told her he would swing by late night , he was busy. It would be the first time she seen him since that eventful night at the strip club. She was dwelling on how it might be when he came , so instead of letting her anxiety get the best of her , she tried to occupy her time . She was on her living room floor . Watching youtube trying to find out how to add fake braiding hair to her natural style . Marley was a do it yourself type of girl , and never backed down from a challenge. Her living room was full of free strands of kaneklon . Her wild blow dried hair was pinned with every metal clip she could find. She took a deep breath and blew the hair out of her face , this was harder than she thought . This was only braid one .

“Oh my fucking god” frustration overtook her as she un-did the the braid for the third time . Marley started from the beginning , just as the chipper girl on YouTube showed her . Then there was a knock on the door right in the middle of the braid. Marley thought it was a part of the video, until she heard it again. Then it sounded like her door .

“Who is it!” she made her voice aggressive, a tactic she followed ever since she was a child . It always made her feel safe when she was home alone . Like the voice would scare the unwanted away. Silly, she knew that . Nobody responded . She figured it was another one of her elderly neighbors welcoming her . They had been bringing food and plants all week. One woman told Marley she reminded her of her grandchild, and spend the afternoon showing her pictures of her. They looked nothing alike , but Marley wouldn’t dare tell her that .

The knocks continued. She crept to the peep hole and looked out . Erik, who wasn’t supposed to be there until later was standing at her door. “Erik, I thought you were coming later” Marley observed him through the peep hole . He stood back with his feet facing out and apart . His hands held at his front holding the doorbell in a package.

“I’m here now, so open the door” he looked right at the peep hole , as if he could see her . Marley quickly moved to the side and tried her best to lay her big hair down. She really didn’t want him to see her like that . “Marley, what the fuck” Erik was growing impatient.

She opened the door slowly, but stood behind it . Erik walked in, a bit puzzled because he didn’t see her . She shut the door and prepared herself for his lude comments about her hair. He stared at it with big eyes, then began to laugh .

“Don’t laugh at me , I’m in the middle of doing my hair” she ran her hands through it and held it in a ponytail.

“What are you doing to it?” Erik was being sarcastic , he made sure to bug his eyes out for emphasis .

“I’m trying to braid my hair” Marley walked back to her living room and sat down in front of her laptop . Without saying anything , she pointed to the small tool box on her kitchen counter . Along with her power drill that she never really used . “Thank you for doing this”

Erik nodded and grabbed everything he needed to install the security doorbell. Marley continued to do her hair as Erik worked.

He kept the front door open , his glare reverting back and forth from Marley and the doorbell . She was so focused on what she was doing. It was pretty obvious to Erik that this was something she wasn’t good at . She kept cursing, huffing and starting over . He cut on the drill and it made Marley jump, that made him laugh again. But it only frustrated her further more , she tossed her fake hair across the floor .

Erik finished the doorbell with lightning speed, then came inside . Since she had no furniture yet, he sat on her kitchen counter . Marley decided to give up. Her arms were getting tired and her fingers were slightly sore. She took a deep breath and rested her arms behind her . Marleys soft face looked at Erik. He was already staring at her .

“All you need to do is connect your phone to the camera ”

“I feel safer already” she joked.

Erik hopped off the counter . He circled the living room and looked around. “Give me a tour” Erik held his hand out for her to grab, when she did he pulled her up with ease . She pretended not to be phased at how strong he was. Or how cute he was , or how good he smelled or how his dimples made her heartbeat speed up.

“A tour?” Marley asked , seemingly distracted by him. She even forgot that her hair was still a mess.

“Of the apartment”

Marley showed him every room except for hers, that was last . She made sure to give him the excuse that she’s working on getting more stuff . Marley was embarrassed at the fact that her place was so empty . Although Erik didn’t feel she had anything to prove . They stopped at her bedroom door . Marley gave this exaggerated speech about her exuberant room. She told him she didn’t let many people inside of her room. So it was a privilege for him to witness it.

It was light and airy. The wind from the open windows made her sheer curtains flow freely . On her floor was a huge lilac shag rug that made Erik want to take off his shoes and rub his feet on it . It was neat and organized, down the the matching vases full of flowers that sat on her dresser . Right below her flat screen . Erik fought the urge to ask her who molded her TV for her . But that wasn’t his place yet . Ironically, just like her , Eriks found his favorite part was her bed. Big fluffy and white . He thought she had to have at least twenty pillows on it . She plopped herself on it. Erik couldnt help but watch her chest bounce lightly .

“You hungry?” Marley questioned casually but her words lit him up.

“For you, always”

“You real corny”

“You like it though”

Erik was cocky , it had always got him far. He was mysterious to many , those who didn’t know him could literally see the guard he held up . But to know him, was to love him. Erik had a kind heart that he only revealed to a few. Most knew his other side . Erik could be cold , his emotions had the ability to cut off like a switch .

There was a light in Marley the first time he saw her . She smiled and said “Hi” to him. For the first time in his adult life, Erik found himself unsure of what to say. He was always quick and ready for any thing . That night he was stuck, so he decided to move onto something easy and familiar. Tiana.

Back in those past times, Erik admired how Marley was always working and busy . Coming in late all crabbed and tired . While he was fucking Tiana, he wanted to know everything about her day. That’s why he would catch her in the middle of the night in the kitchen. But that unfamiliar emotion would take over him and he always said something to offend her . As if he was punishing her for making him feel a way . It didn’t stop there . Erik enjoyed eating her good left overs when she didn’t come home at nights . He always ate everything she cooked, subconsciously pretending as if she made it for him. One night after he’d Put Tiana to sleep with the power of his penis, he went into her room . It was an oasis and seemed to be displaced in this apartment. It smelled so good, she always smelled so good. Marley had a big bed that was made perfectly. Her closet was filled with shoes like his . On her nightstand laid her iPod, he didn’t even know people still used those . It was connected to a mini speaker . Erik pressed play . Music began to play softly, Stevie Wonder Golden lady . He went home that same night , because he never spent the night . Erik shamelessly played Stevie wonder with thoughts of her . He tried to invade her privacy again the next night . Tiana caught him in her room . He played it off as if he was searching for condoms . Erik laughed about that often . It was amazing to him that she lived in a different apartment , and in such a short time she had managed to make it smell exactly the same.

“We can’t go eat with your hair like th-”

“I’m gonna fix it” She cut him off and went into the bathroom. While she used a spray bottle and some product to form a slick low bun. Erik told her he’d be waiting for her outside in his car. Marley found a hoodie that semi-matched her joggers . She slid on some sneakers and went outside.

Marley didn’t see him at first until he honked . “Of course that’s your car” she spoke to herself . A fancy sports something she didn’t know the name of . It was loud and white . He reached over and opened her door from the passenger side, which was a big step up from him honking . Erik took off down the road , driving past the speed limit . Marley didn’t fret because she drove fast too . He got on the freeway , Erik didn’t say much . Just mentioned that he wanted Mexican food, and he could only eat from one spot . Marley thought it was a little dramatic , it was a bit far from her house . Then again, looking at it as a person who loved good , maybe it was that good .

Erik exited at a part of the city that Marley didn’t frequent . He was taking her to the hood. Not that she felt too good to be here, she just didn’t have a reason to . Marley didn’t have a stuck-up bone in her body . If anything , places like this humbled her . Same with Erik . He wanted to see if she’d be comfortable in the setting , humility was important to him.

He parked in front of a hole in the wall Mexican restaurant. There was an unnatural amount of litter on the sidewalk and a middle aged homeless man who was asking for change . Erik ignored him , while Marley promised to take care of him on her way back out if he was still around.

For the place to be so run down. There were quite a few people eating inside . There were small booths with pepper sauce and napkins on the tables . Erik told Marley to sit down while he ordered for the both of them . Marley liked how he had taken charge, but warned him not to get her anything too spicy . She was easy like that . Erik ordered and stood at the pick up window for a long while . He scrolled through his phone casually, sometimes glancing at his surroundings and checking Marley out . They called his order number and he brought it back to the table . A platter of tacos with different meat, and sides of rice and beans. Two Mexican Cokes and pickled carrots. Marley was impressed , and wasted no time telling him so . He flaunted because he knew she’d like it .

They began eating , and conversing about everything under the sun . She spoke with food still slightly in her mouth and when she drank her soda she burped . Giving Erik a small look at the real her , without even knowing it. Erik thought she was so pretty , without even trying . It was the small things . Especially her loud laugh. She was laughing at something he said about a movie that they both had recently seen. Some super hero flick that they agreed wasn’t that good .

“Would you rather be a hero or a villain in a movie?” Marley asked him . She would bet her money that Erik wanted to be a villain . Erik played the villain in her life for a little while.

“You go first” he licked the salsa off his fingers and awaited her answer . Marley shrugged her shoulders slowly , she had asked that question without coming up with an answer of her own .

“I’m always somewhere in the middle. I’d probably be the hero’s love interest who died and he avenged my death” Marley took a sip of coke and began eating another taco , even though she was getting full .

“Damn girl”

“You’d be a villain huh?” Marley cheesed because she knew she was right .

“Definitely a villain, who wins”

Marley clasped her hands together and sprung her grand idea into action. “You would be the villain who killed me and the hero had to kill you” she stared off into space imagining the visual.

“Or I was in love with you and killed the hero for not protecting you from death”

Her eyes cut straight back to him , she was stunned. Especially with those words “love” and “you” formed together in a sentence .

“Did we just write a blockbuster smash ?” .

“We did, Marley”

The little smile she let out after he said her name left him curious . So he said her name again making her smile ever harder . Her version of blushing ,she tried to hide it with the bite of a taco . He found it adorable that he could make her nervous . But she could also be herself too. Erik was learning that Marley had these soft spots . When he got close to her , looked in her eyes too long , or said something provocative. And now , it was the way he said her name .

“What exactly do you think about me?”

Erik was also learning that he didn’t have her all figured out the way he thought . He didn’t know exactly what she meant with that question.

“What kind of question is that ?” Erik diverted with another question because he was unable to answer it .

“It’s a valid one” Marley’s tone was a little more straightforward now.

“Well...” he looked heavenward then back down before he spoke again . “That’s not a question I’m ready to answer right now”

“Judging on how we ended up in this situation, I need to know that I’m not making a mistake by entertaining you”

“So I’m just entertainment ?”

They both took a step back , not a literal one but just a moment. Marley thought she could have phrased that better . Considering that dealing with feelings head on may not be his strong suit. Erik didn’t want to make her upset, based on how he treated her in the past he understood the conflict. She opened up her mouth to speak, but Erik thought his response was more important. He interrupted her.

“Im here with you cause’...I want to be” it was plain and simple just like that .

Markey didn’t know if it was the itis that had kicked in and relaxed her . But that was actually enough validation for her . Right now. It was enough to get them started on whatever journey they were taking.

They finished their food , and since Erik paid , Marley cleared the table before they left . They both walked the garbage filled pathway to his car . The homeless man from before had gone . In his place an intolerably drunk man was approaching Marley’s side . Erik casually gripped her waist and moved her out the way , closer to him. The drunk man mouthed a few unrecognizable words but they just ignored him. And when he got too close to Marley again, Erik wasted no time threatening him . She felt protected in that moment. It was ironic though . In a sense Erik was the one who put her in the face of harm, but he wouldn’t let anything harm her.

He opened her car door from the outside this time . She got inside , and he soon followed . Strategically, Erik turned the volume up on his car audio. To Marley’s liking, Stevie wonder was playing . She stared out the window and hummed the melody to Visions ... she found it funny. A song she listened to when things weren’t going well . Visions, a song that asked the question, will things be better as if I imagined them. Maybe it was a sign that things were looking up for her .

He padded her thigh and let his hand remain there , she snapped out of Wonderland and turned to him. “You good?” He noticed how she had zoned out. She nodded.

“I just really love this song, that’s all”

Marley glanced at his hand, and fought the urge to slide her fingers in between his . Holding hands was one of the ultimate signs of affection to her . But if he pulled back , she couldn’t handle that rejection. So she did nothing , just allowed him to rest his hand there . Affection wasn’t the only thing she wanted to feel , Eriks hand was at the top of her thigh signaling her blood to rush to the pleasure points of her body . She cleared her throat and released tension .

“You liked the food huh” He basically told her .

“Hella good” Marley joked about how that might be her new Taco spot . Erik said it was cool, as long as he was with her every time . That was a deal she happily made . He soon pulled up to her apartment complex and found a spot right in front of the fountain . The water was all they could hear on account of the cars silence. Marley wanted him to come inside badly . She wasn’t sure if sex was the right thing to do so soon, but her body said otherwise. He wasn’t moving .

“Alright then” he hit her thigh softly , in a “be on your way” type of manner . Then placed it back on the wheel .

“Bye, thanks” The look disappointment she could not cover. He could tell too. Right as she opened the door to exit, Erik grabbed her back inside by her left arm.

“It’s not that I don’t want to come in” he gave her a once-over . “Trust me ,I do... I do for real I do” he repeated himself .

“It’s okay” that look of dissipointment was still there.

“I put some stuff off to see you early, it can’t wait” Erik didn’t want Marley to feel like he was pushing her away.

“ I said it’s okay” she sounded as if she was trying to convince herself as well as him.

“You had that look on your face , I just had to let you know” her face crept into a smile . All Erik did was make her smile this day . A big change from how they used to be. Erik intertwined his fingers with hers and kissed her palm . “Bye...be good, answer when I call”

“I promise” she took her hand back . He melted at the innocence in her voice. Marley shut his door and let him go. She walked to her complex entrance , Erik waited until she shut the lobby door to pull off .

“Promise , who says promise !” She palmed her face in embarrassment. A few tenants were in the lobby staring at her oddly for talking to herself . But she didn’t care , all she cared about was Erik .

[sanders-sides-fics]

Fated: Chapter Five

Thank you to my betas @wolf-ink and @why-should-i-tell-youu2 ! They’re amazing!!

Warnings: Fae, kidnapping, guilt. There shouldn’t be a lot in this chapter, but let me know if I missed any!!

AO3

Masterlist

Word Count: 1,719

Roman regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. No two words should have such power over him, but as Roman approached his horse, he felt as if he would be sick. The remains of the words felt vile on his tongue and Roman knew if he were to turn around, he’d be faced with Virgil’s broken expression.

Roman had to do it. He didn’t want Virgil to return to his family, to be married off as some treasure in exchange for land, but there wasn’t much else of a choice. Roman had no way of rescuing Virgil from the mage who took him. The most he could do was change the situation.

Once the mage left with Virgil, Roman could follow and rescue Virgil. Roman wouldn’t risk Virgil’s safety by trying to attack the mage while Virgil was in that sort of danger. The mage had nearly dropped Virgil . . . Roman couldn’t get Virgil’s petrified face out of his head. He promised to protect Virgil and failed.

Roman sighed as he adjusted the saddlebags on his horse. He looked down and spotted the flower crown he weaved for Virgil at lunch. It had fallen off of Virgil’s head when the mage grabbed him. Roman picked the crown off the ground and held it in his hands, eyes transfixed on it. The fall made the chain start to unravel when Roman had been so sure it was perfect.

Behind Roman, Virgil let out a scream and Roman could not force himself to stay still. He whipped around to see the mage leap out of the tree with Virgil in his arms. Roman wanted to run forward even with the knowledge he could do nothing to stop Virgil from falling to his death. How could he abandon Virgil to this fate?

Halfway to the ground, their fall slowed and began a steady descent. The breeze caused the mage to sway on his way to the ground. When the mage's feet touched the ground and he looked back at Roman with a smirk. He hefted Virgil up, getting a better grip on the Prince, who no longer struggled, but willingly stayed slack on his shoulder.

Virgil didn't even look up at Roman as the mage began to walk away, a swing to his step.

Roman looked down at the ground in shame. He didn't know how long he needed to wait until it was safe to follow. It couldn't be too soon or too late. If he was getting Virgil back, he had to time it correctly.

As the mage walked away, he paused and glanced back. He smiled at Roman and waved his hand, to say goodbye. It started before Roman could realize what was happening. The mage disappeared before his eyes, taking Virgil with him. The Fated string fell slack to the ground.

“No!”

Roman ran forward to where the mage once stood, but the mage was nowhere in sight. The man had simply vanished.

No! No! No!

Roman glanced down at the string that connected him to Virgil and took a section of it in his hand. He hoped it held some sort of answer. If it led him to Virgil once, it could lead him to Virgil once more. It had to!

It wasn't fair to Virgil to promise him safety and then immediately lose him to danger. Virgil deserved better than that.

Roman ran to his horse and saddled it quick, before heading in the direction of Umbra. It was the only logical place the mage would take Virgil. If Roman could get there on time, he could rescue Virgil and- and- Roman didn't know, but he'd fight the entire Umbrian guard to save Virgil.

Whether or not Virgil's original engagement was followed through, Roman had to save him. From what he gathered, the King was not kind, even to his own heirs. And being a pawn in his father's game was not Virgil's fate. Not if Roman could help it.

~

As Roman rode on, the string remained slack. Was Roman going in the wrong direction? He was positive that Umbra was that way. He knew it was! And where else would the mage take Virgil when he wanted the bounty!

Roman urged his steed to go faster and kept his eyes trained on the string. There had to be some explanation to the string's sudden slack behavior. No story Roman had ever heard told of a Fated string that went slack. Not in the unresponsive way his and Virgil's was.

Something was wrong.

Could the mage have severed their connection? No. The string was invisible to mortals it didn’t connect. Only Virgil and Roman could see their connection.

And even if such magic existed, Roman would know of it. As a child, he spent a lot of time reading of Fated and their bonds. Nothing like this was described in the books he read, nor in the stories his father's told him. This was entirely new.

The mage might not have done anything, but there was something very wrong with the string.

Roman would give anything for it to move. For it to pull him in the direction he needed to go. To drag him into a trap, where his Fated lied in wait. Roman couldn't bear the knowledge that he let his Fated down. That he was the reason his Fated was in danger.

Roman thought back to all the string's actions since its reveal. It forced him and Virgil together when they didn't want to be. When they met, Virgil wanted to run, but it didn't let him. It forced them to share the bed in the Inn. Kept them together this entire time. And now that Roman wanted to find his Fated?

Nothing.

Roman groaned in frustration and kept his pace as he continued on. He knew he'd have to stop again soon. He couldn't force his horse to run nonstop, as much as he wanted to continue on until Virgil was safe once more.

His steed gave a tired whine and slowed his pace. Roman sighed and allowed him to slow down. He needed his horse healthy to make an escape once he saved Virgil. Or else, they would both end up captives.

What Roman was doing was risky. If he actively stole from Umbra, it could ruin the treaty his fathers worked so hard to secure. Roman could argue that rescuing a person didn't count as theft but knew the possibility was there. If Umbra's King wanted a war, he would have the perfect excuse.

Roman felt a sudden tug, unlike any the Fated string, had provided before. He let out a cry as the string harshly pulled him off his horse and dragged him away, into the woods.

"What the-!"

Roman pulled back at the string, trying to keep it from pulling his arm out of his socket. It dragged him over tree roots, through mud, patches of dirt, mushrooms, and flowers. The prince coughed as he received a mouthful of daisies.

When the string stopped again, Roman found himself in the middle of a circle. Around the circle all the grass was dead and only this patch was left living. He stood up quickly and wiped off his outfit. It was undignified to appear in such a state, even alone in the middle of the woods.

"Well, what do we have here? A young prince with a simple string?"

A voice tsked from within the trees. Roman tensed and glanced around. He glanced down at the circle he stood in and his blood ran cold.

Oh. Pop was going to kill him.

Roman didn’t speak as he searched the trees for the voice. He refused to accidentally make a deal. Fae were tricky and Roman would not fall prey to such tricks. Not when he had a Fated to save.

Out of the trees, stepped the Fae. Their figure was plump and their skin impossibly smooth. Thin lips coiled into a smile as eyes twinkled with sinister intentions.

“Well, young prince, do you wish to make a deal?”

Roman shook his head.

“Why else would your string have brought you here?”

Roman glanced to the string around his finger. He knew Fae could see the string. It was possible the string wanted him to make a deal . . . or the Fae manipulated the string to draw Roman here. Could a Fae do that?

“There is nothing I want from you, Fae.”

Roman spoke clearly. He stepped out of the circle and backed away from the Fae. He wasn’t safe yet.

“Surely, there is something I could help you with. It won’t cost much. Perchance, your name? It is merely a simple word, young prince, there is no harm,” the Fae cooed.

“No!” Roman exclaimed. “I am aware of your tricks and the meaning of names. You cannot have my name. I will not give it!”

Roman unsheathed his sword. It was steel. Steel was made from iron. Pop had drilled into his head that his sword an invaluable tool for surviving an encounter with the Fae.

The Fae let out a hiss at the sight and moved back into the trees. Once the Fae disappeared, Roman didn’t put his sword away. He could feel their eyes on him, or perhaps it was paranoia. Either way, it was safer to continue with his sword ready.

Roman glanced around. His horse was nowhere in sight. The string dragged him far from it. Roman had to walk back to find his horse, he couldn’t continue on without it. The journey would take too long and make a rescue impossible.

As he turned to walk back the way he came, the string gave him another sharp tug. The tug jolted him back and made him land on his rear. He groaned and pulled on the string, but it remained taut.

“Seriously! Now you work!” Roman shouted in annoyance.

The string tugged him more harshly in response.

“Fine. Walking it is!”

Roman was pulled up by another sharp tug, stumbling to his feet. He glared at the red string, unable to stop it as it pulled him forward. The damned thing was going to make him continue without his horse and supplies!

The string gave a tug to hasten his pace and Roman followed.

[cakelanguage]

Can you believe it? I’m not dead and I’m updating the “Dorian as a young boy” fic that I’ve been neglecting for God knows how long. But chapter 5 is finally here!

First//Previous//Next

You can also read it on AO3

~~~~

While going with the Herald and his party was the safer option, Dorian felt dread trail his steps. As they moved further from Redcliffe, so did Dorian’s bit of safety. The insurance that at least Felix would treat him right and not as if he were a speck of dirt or a snake slithering by were getting slimmer and slimmer with each passing moment. Out here he was going to have to fend for himself.

Not that he hadn’t been fending for himself since he left Tevinter. He’d gotten here in one piece, though he’d lost quite a bit to get here. He was well in-tuned with the loss of gold that had pressed against his chest for the majority of his life. It wasn’t big in the grand scheme of things, especially if it meant he could help Felix, but he still privately mourned the loss of his birthright.

If he lost his birthright to get here, what else was he going to have to give up now that he was out of Redcliffe without Felix to help him? While the Chantry sisters barely tolerated him, they did give him small portions of food when he’d looked “particularly pitiful,” as one of the sisters would point out. Felix himself would always try to sneak food that he could without arousing suspicion. Would the Herald and his party do the same? They had agreed to let him come with them at Felix's request but he didn't know if he could trust their word.

“You’re thinking pretty loudly back there, kiddo,” Varric commented, slowing his pace to walk beside him. He actually was only a few inches shorter than Dorian was and he longed for puberty to give his height a well-deserved boost. “Care to share?”

Dorian worried his bottom lip between his teeth, shaking his head. “Nothing important,” Dorian replied.

Varric shook his head. “Kiddo, I’d like to say everyone here believes you,” the dwarf sighed, “but right now we don’t. We don’t have all the information and we’re running off the inconsistencies between Grand Enchanter Fiona’s offer and the mage rebellions current status and the word of two Altuses who are willingly going against a Magister, who happens to be one of said Altuses’ father.” Varric’s mouth quirked up in a sheepish smile. “It’s a little hard to believe.”

“So think of myself as insurance that if one of us were lying you have recompense.”

Varric looked at him sharply. “Hey, no kiddo, just wanted you to share what was going on in that head of yours.”

Dorian was silent for a moment as he thought of what to say. Should he lie and make up something? Or should he just be forthright with his feelings on what was going on? Lying probably wouldn't do him any good besides create a mask that he doubted he could keep up for long.

He sighed. “I was thinking about the fact that I’m leaving the last place I had any insurance of kindness.” When Varric didn’t say anything he took it as a nudge to continue. “I left my home, gave up something I never thought I’d have to in order to get here, and I was… sad to leave my country.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “I don’t expect you to understand. Tevinter is horrible how it is now, I’ll be the first to admit that. There isn’t enough acceptance, too much deceit hiding under honeyed tongues, and the slavery- don’t get me started on how awful that is. And no one’s doing anything or done anything about it. And Father always tells me that my beliefs would get me killed and that I will grow to accept it, but I haven’t.” He took a deep breath to halt his potential tirade. “But it is still my home, and I miss it.”

“No one is going to fault you for missing home. Hell, I miss Kirkwall and that place is sometimes like a steaming pile of nug shit.”

Dorian actually laughed at that. “Of course they will! They’ll think ‘of course he misses Tevinter, misses the slaves, the pampering, what a spoiled little snake!’ But I can handle missing home, that longing doesn’t come up often.” He sighed again. “But I had Felix back in Redcliffe, even if it was for only short spans of time when he could sneak away. But it was freely offered kindness and love that I had to leave behind.” He hiked his pack up on his back. “That is what I was thinking about.”

Varric didn't say anything more but he did clap Dorian on the shoulder giving it a squeeze before the dwarf let his arm fall back to his side.

“You both okay back there?” the Herald called back to them, a playful smirk playing at his features. “You're looking awfully serious.”

“Don't worry about it your Heraldness,” Varric said lightly.

“Now I’m worried,” the only woman in the party said.

The Herald waved his hand. “I trust Varric, Cassandra. If Varric says it was nothing then I believe him.”

Varric grinned. “At least someone in this party trusts me.”

The booming laugh from ‘Bull’ made Dorian jump. “Awe Varric, I trust you as much as I trust Rocky, you're fine.”

“Isn't he the one who blew up-"

“Yup,” ‘Bull’ interrupted proudly.

Dorian listened to them banter good-naturedly with each other with a detached longing. He had never really made any friends in the Circles, always too smart or just too much. He had never regretted not being able to before, he had Felix and Alexius and Rilienius when the man would indulge in hanging out with him. He even had Maevaris who was a delight when it came to discussing fashion and makeup; she was the one who suggested the kohl around his eyes to make him appear a little older. But he didn't have this easy banter, this camaraderie and it suddenly made him feel bereft of something special.

“-Kid? You still with us or did you go to the fade?”

Dorian came back to the present to Varric’s hand waving in his face. He shook his head to clear the fog of his thoughts, he could think later. “Yes, sorry,” he said. “What was it you were asking?”

“I thought it’d do us some good to actually introduce ourselves since we kinda jumped over that portion of our meeting.” the Herald said sheepishly.

Dorian stared for a moment before nodding his head. “That’s true, it would help if I knew all of your names.”

The Herald clapped his hands excitedly, like a child. “Excellent! I’ll go first, the names Aeren. Just call me Aeren, everyone else just calls me the Herald unfortunately.” He pointed his finger at the woman next, his grin never faltering even when the woman was giving him an icy glare.

The woman scoffed before leveling that stare on Dorian. He felt like he was about to be scolded by his mother when that look was directed at him. “Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast,” Cassandra said shortly.

Dorian's eyes widened and he clenched his teeth together to stop his jaw from dropping. “A Seeker? I haven't met a Seeker before, what do you-"

“Don't,” Cassandra interrupted.

Dorian wanted to insist and keep asking questions but held his tongue, instead just giving her a nod.

Varric elbowed him playfully. “You might already know my name, but I'm Varric,” Varric said with a smile which Dorian found himself reciprocating. He liked the dwarf, and could see them becoming friends. “Nice to meet you, kiddo.”

Dorian fought the urge to pout and instead playfully bumped the dwarf's shoulder with his own. “I’m nearly fourteen,” he insisted.

Varric shrugged. “Right now just about everyone out-ages you by ten years.”

Dorian huffed but he let himself sink into the banter.

The Tal-Vashoth cleared his throat, effectively halting Dorian’s lighthearted conversation. “I’m the Iron Bull, leader of Bull’s Chargers,” Iron Bull said evenly,

“‘The Iron Bull?” Dorian asked.

Aeren laughed. “The ‘the’ is important to remember.”

Dorian felt even more confused by that response. Why include the article in his name?

He must have said that aloud or the qunari was very good at reading people because he went on to explain. “The article makes it seem like I’m an object or a tool, not smart enough to do a lot of things. Makes business boom for my company.”

“That's actually very smart,” Dorian commented.

The Iron Bull snorted and shot him a smirk. “Not expecting a Qunari to be smart?”

Dorian shook his head. “The Qunari are matching the best of Tevinter,” Perhaps beating some of the best of Tevinter, “they, and subsequently you, are intelligent. I’m not so stooped in Tevinter’s ideals to think that you are all stupid beasts.” Although Dorian can’t deny he’s still uneasy around the Qunari.

The Iron Bull made a humming noise but didn’t say anything else to him on the subject.

 Battling with the Herald and his party was… an experience. Aeren himself was a force to be reckoned with. He hefted twin axes around with an otherworldly grace, cutting through darkspawn and wild animals alike. Aeren also didn’t seem to care about getting dirty as he did nothing to wipe away the grim and blood that splashed across his body and face. No one should look that good with blood splattering their face and Dorian had a newfound appreciation for the way the Herald’s blood-stained face would quirk up in a grin when he found something amusing.

Damn hormones.

Cassandra was a powerhouse that seemed to withstand every blow that was inflicted on her and then dealt back the same damage. She had no problem standing her ground in the face of any adversary and didn’t hold back her blows. Though she had a tendency to make sure she covered the Herald’s back at every turn. Dorian felt a bit awed by her attacks. So this was just a taste of a Seeker's power.

Varric, for all his jokes and talk of being a simple storyteller, must have the eyes of a hawk based on his accuracy with Bianca. Dorian thought he himself was excellent at accuracy when it came to his spellcasting, but he felt like an absolute novice after he’d seen Varric literally do a flip before firing off two shots consecutively. Varric provided great support on the field that he, and he assumed everyone else, was thoroughly thankful for.

And then there was the Iron Bull.

A force of nature, with raging battle cries and heavy swings of his axe sinking into the flesh of every enemy they came across. Dorian definitely could see what some of his countryman were talking about when mentioning the raw power Qunari possessed. But the Iron Bull also had an almost childlike excitement when it came to battling literally anything. It was almost endearing to see the excited grin and booming laugh the Qunari would let out after a successful battle.

The only problem was that the Qunari seemed to make sure Dorian was put safely out of harm's way. More than once, he’d been picked up by the collar and put safely behind the warrior. Which was all well and good and perhaps he’d be thankful if he actually needed it.

Which he very much didn’t.

It was insulting to be underestimated like he was. As if his title meant nothing, his skills meant nothing. For Maker’s sake, he was nearly an Enchanter, well on his way to officially receiving that title and that meant absolute shit to the Iron Bull. Was he supposed to feel thankful? Being protected like he was a helpless child, a mage still training for their harrowing having to be protected when faced with real combat.

He shouldn’t feel this upset about it. He was providing good support with his shields and healing the party when they needed it, but he still felt upset. Maybe he was just feeling stressed out by the unfamiliar environment. Maybe it was because he was alone and he felt like he needed to prove himself to the Herald and his party and yet he wasn’t being given the chance. No matter how much he told himself that they were doing it for his own good, the frustrated feeling grew larger making his lips purse into a thin line.

When it happened for the fifth time, Dorian had to resist from stamping his foot on the ground. He observed the battle going on in front of him, at everyone fighting against the foes who’d chosen to attack their party. He wasn’t going to let himself be shuffled to the background any longer. Carefully channeling the power through his body, planting his feet firmly on the ground to act as further grounding for the storm magic he felt crackle through his body. The familiar crackle of electricity gathered around him before he slammed his staff against the earth, releasing the chain lightning on the parties’ attackers.

The lightning arced from enemy to enemy and he watched with satisfaction as two enemies faltered and collapsed under the assault of the electricity. He followed it up with a fireball and a roar, channeling his frustrations through his attack.

Fire licked at the outlaw’s clothes, indiscriminately searing flesh and scorching armor. He blocked out as much of the cries of pain as he could, focusing on taking down the next target. Letting himself fall into the rhythm of battle that he’d grown used to since leaving the safety of his home, he kept casting.

He tried to stay out of reach of any of the men attacking their party, but when one got too close Dorian fade stepped away, extricating himself from the location and putting enough distance between them to let a bolt of storm magic strike his opponent.

It didn’t take long to defeat the group, especially with an additional fighter now that Dorian had joined the fight. He felt proud of himself, for entering the fray even with the Iron Bull’s overbearing protective streak attempting to keep him on the sidelines. Perhaps he’d finally acknowledge that he could take care of himself.

“Kid, you finally decided to join us,” the Iron Bull commented as he slung his axe back onto his back. “Was wondering when you were going to.”

Dorian gaped at the Qunari. “What do you mean?” Dorian asked, “You were the one making sure I had no opportunity to join the fight!”

The Iron Bull shrugged, scratching his head and smearing blood on his ear. “Figured you’d join eventually, thought I should cover you in-case you weren’t ready.”

“You saw me fighting all of those demons back at the Chantry in Redcliffe!” Dorian threw his hands up, squinting at the other man. “Did that mean nothing to you?”

“I think what Tiny’s saying is that he didn’t know if you were ready to fight people,” Varric interjected as he checked over Bianca for any damage.

Dorian crossed his arms “Of course I was ready.” He jumped as a sudden hand clapped his shoulder in a reassuring grip.

“In Bull’s defense, he was just looking out for you,” Aeren added warmly. “The big guy is hired as a bodyguard, so technically he’s just doing his job.”

“He’s your bodyguard,” Cassandra muttered with a roll of her eyes.

Varric waved his hand as if to knock that comment aside. “The point is, we didn’t mean to make you feel like we didn’t trust your abilities.”

Aeren nodded. “Yeah we just…”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “You just didn’t trust my abilities.”

The Iron Bull snorted. “I guess you proved us wrong.” Dorian sniffed and gave him a look which only made the Iron Bull laugh. “I’ll try to tone it down, Dorian.”

“See that you do! I’m perfectly capable of taking on my fair share of enemies.”

Aeren breathed a sigh of relief and holstered his axes. “Thank goodness, maybe I can sit back and watch for a bit.”

Cassandra gave him a piercing look. “That’s not funny.”

The Herald’s head hung. “Worth a shot, I suppose.”

 They crested over the mountain before Haven not three hours later. Dorian's feet ached in his boots and even with the warmer clothes that Felix had given him he felt like his bones were made of ice. He wasn't used to this sort of weather at all, not when the climate in Tevinter was always warm and just the slightest bit humid as you got closer to the coast. But he didn't bring this to anyone's attention, instead keeping his complaints about the weather to himself. 

"Ah, there she is," Aeren said with a sigh of relief. At least Dorian could take comfort in the fact that he wasn't the only one who was tired from their long trek. "Welcome to Haven, Dorian."

If Dorian were being honest, Haven wasn't much. The tiny village if he could call it that had no more than ten houses with the Chantry taking center stage in the back. He could see how bustling it was and for the first time Dorian really thought about the panic and unrest that infected the masses when the Breach had appeared. These people had lost their Divine and the peace talks were in shambles after the destruction of the Conclave. They'd banded together to try and stop what was going on and others had joined to help. He didn't know if there had been any instances where Tevinter had done the same. 

"We should be there soon," Varric said, carefully making his way down the steep slope. "Watch your step, it's easy to lose your footing with all this snow blocking our view."

Dorian nodded absentmindedly, switching his gaze from looking at the ground and what was in front of him.

Cassandra cleared her throat and Dorian turned his head to look at her. "Just so you are aware, a scout has already made the other advisors aware of our additional company," she informed, shifting the shield on her back to a more comfortable position. "I'm sure they'll want a full report from the Herald."

Aeren groaned loudly beside the Iron Bull. "I suppose they'll want to talk about the situation in Redcliffe."

Cassandra nodded her head. "To discover that the rebel mages have sided with Tevinter, especially after Grand Enchanter Fiona came to us to ask for our aid… well let's just say Commander Cullen and Leliana are most likely chomping at the bit to find out the details."

"Very well, I'll meet with them right away," Aeren said.

"I should be there as well," Dorian spoke up. "I know the details of what's going on."

"Which you told us," Aeren said turning his full attention to Dorian. "Unless you and Felix left something out when you were explaining the situation."

Dorian resisted the urge to flinch under Aeren's sudden hawk-like gaze. "N-no I did but I can clarify any confusion that might occur after your advisors hear about the situation."

"Somehow I doubt that will go over well with them," the Iron Bull commented. 

"I know that for a fact," Cassandra said. "It would be best if after the meeting, if any of them had further questions, they could ask you, Dorian."

Dorian wanted to argue with Cassandra but held his tongue. He was still an outsider; for all they knew, he could still be gathering information- have an alternative motive that would cause disruption within the council. Dorian finally nodded his head and started thinking of ways to listen in on the meeting. It'd be highly suspicious behavior, however, he'd be able to hear what the Herald's advisors really thought about the situation in Redcliffe.

"Don't think too hard about it, kid," Varric reassured, clapping him on his back. "I can show you around, introduce you to the rest of the gang."

Dorian made a noise of affirmation and started planning how he was going to now sneak away from Varric of all people. "Perhaps it'd be best if I ate something first?" Dorian asked.

"I could go for a drink myself," Bull said. "Gotta get a report from my crew but then I could meet you at the tavern."

Dorian shifted awkwardly at the mention of the Iron Bull's crew. There were more Qunari here in Haven? "Your crew?"

Bull laughed. "The Iron Bull's Chargers. Bunch of assholes, but they're my assholes."

For some reason hearing Bull sound so jovial about his crew made Dorian feel more comfortable. But it didn't deter from the fact that Dorian now realized he had a small window of opportunity to get away from Varric and to the Herald's meeting with his advisors because once the Iron Bull joined them Dorian knew he wouldn't be getting away so easily. 

Aeren clapped his hands. "So Cassandra and I'll be off to the Chantry for that simply delightful meeting that I'm so excited about attending, Bull is going to his Chargers and Varric and Dorian get to eat," his lip quivered as he turned towards Cassandra once more, "are you sure I can't at least get something to eat before this thing?"

Cassandra scoffed and Dorian wondered if it was Cassandra's default expression. "You should still have that goat jerky you purchased before we left the Hinterlands," she said.

"But Cassandra," Aeren drew out the vowels of her name in a whine, "that's emergency food in case we can't get some."

She gave him a blank look as they reached the end of the slope. "Seems you've found your emergency."

Dorian split his attention between listening to Varric point out different locations in Haven and taking in all the stares he was receiving from the village folk. He didn't look terribly different from them at first glance but Dorian could quickly see the differences. His clothes were a higher quality; having unnecessary decorative belts and bits of leather and fur while definitely Dorian's style, wasn't abundant in the people of Haven. It could also be the staff strapped against his back. Mages were still being oppressed and were always watched warily as if they were going to turn into demons at a moments notice.

Or they could tell he was from Tevinter, it could always be that. His safest bet was to stay close to Varric until he found an opportunity to leave and try and listen in on that meeting.

"-And that's the merchant here in Haven, he's an ass and jack's up his prices but he does have some good quality stuff if you can afford it. But if you ask me," Varric laughed and pointed back outside the gates, "just buy some schematics from Seggrit and take them to Harritt and have him make them. Takes a while to collect some materials but the Herald stops for elfroot every five minutes so you'll have plenty of time to get stuff." 

Dorian's ears grew hot and he turned to look away from the dwarf. "I did notice Aeren's… affinity to collecting elfroot but I thought it might have been an elf thing."

"Are you kidding me? Every time he stops I can hear Sera's complaining and Solas looks physically pained."

"Well that's different."

"Different strokes for different folks. Guess plants don't get 'em going." Dorian snorted and shook his head. Talking to Varric was easy. "Now, you want to actually eat something?"

"Oh um- sure?" He needed to sneak away, but this was his chance. "But I have to… relieve myself first."

Varric snorted and shook his head. "Say no more, pretty sure there's a chamber pot in the tavern somewhere in the back. Or you could pick a tree."

Dorian forced his grin to look relaxed. "A tree sounds a bit better to me."

"Well I'll be in the tavern getting some grub, come join me when you're done." Varric patted him on the back and started walking away. "Gotta introduce you to Sera, she spends all her time there."

Dorian wasted no time before he was headed for the Chantry. He tried to look as calm and confident as he could manage, refusing to make eye contact with any of the people who might've been looking at him. He saw a livid looking Grand Chancellor speaking heatedly to a harried group of soldiers who looked like they wanted to be anywhere else.

"-it's bad enough that this Inquisition is allowing for the Divine's killer to walk around freely without even a slap on the wrist but to have the audacity to-" 

Dorian blocked out the rest of the man's speech as he reached the large double doors. He felt oddly proud of himself, that he managed to get this far without any issues. Perhaps he had gotten lucky.

Shimmying in through the small space he created he made his way inside. It was dark and smelt heavily of musty paper, wax, and potpourri; exactly how the Chantry in Redcliffe had smelled. He hoped Felix was doing alright. He could almost see the teasing grin on his brother's face when they’d get up to mischief and his fake reprimands to appease Alexius while he gave Dorian a thumbs up once Alexius looked away. He missed Felix so much.

He confidently walked to the doors on the far wall. He knew that confidence fooled plenty of people that you knew exactly what you were doing and that you were supposed to do it. He did notice a woman dressed extravagantly in the finest fashion from Val Royeaux giving him detached curious looks but she didn't make any moves toward him so he counted it as a win.

Once he was at the door he absentmindedly leaned his head against the door, pressing his ear against the surface to try and hear what was going on. It was obvious he was listening in on the meeting but he hadn't thought of what he was going to do once he had gotten this far. And no one had stopped him yet. Perhaps his age for once might be an advantage rather than a hindrance and people would brush it off as a curious child. 

Then again, he hadn’t recalled seeing anyone remotely his age since he’d entered Haven. He shoved his worries aside and pressed his ear harder against the door. 

“-Either we find another way in, or give up this nonsense and go get the Templars,” A man argued. Dorian grimaced, he wasn’t liking how this was sounding.

“Redcliffe is in the hands of a Magister. This cannot be allowed to stand,” Cassandra said firmly.

“The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name. It’s an obvious trap,” Another woman interjected, her voice heavily accented.

“I was actually wondering about that, why does he know my name?” Aeren asked. “Didn’t even think Magisters bothered to learn elves’s names.”

“Perhaps not in most cases, but you aren’t most elves,” The heavily accented woman said. 

Aeren didn’t give a verbal response to that statement, instead letting out a sigh to show his displeasure. “Whatever, what’s important is coming to an agreement on this. We’re just wasting time fighting among ourselves.”

“A Tevinter controls Redcliffe, invites us to the castle to talk, and some of us want to do nothing.” This woman’s voice was accented as well, but this one he could place geographically. Those from Val Royeaux had a very distinct accent.

“Not this again,” the other woman muttered.

“It’s like I’m dealing with children,” Aeren mumbled. He must have been standing closest to the door because Dorian doubted he would have heard the elf otherwise.

“Redcliffe castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults,” the man stated simply before lowering his voice. “If you go in there, you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it.”

Dorian could understand the man’s hesitation especially with the fate of the rest of humanity relying on the Herald’s mark to close the rifts. That didn’t mean he agreed with the man though, especially with how quick the man was willing to cast the mages aside in favor of the Templars. 

“And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep!” The Val Royeaux woman insisted. At least someone understood what was at stake if they ignored Alexius and cast aside the mages. 

“Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught,” the accented woman spoke up again, “An ‘Orlesian’ Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.”

Cassandra didn’t seem to agree. “The Magister-”

“Has outplayed us,” the man said sternly.

Aeren seemed to be at his wits end with the discussion as he spoke up. “The Magister’s son, Felix, told me Alexius is in a cult that’s obsessed with me.” The Herald’s amusement was clear in his voice. “I doubt they’ll graciously receive our apologies and go about their business. Typically not how cults are usually run.” Dorian doubted Aeren knew much about what cults were really like, but his comment did seem to lessen the tension that was going on in the room the group was in.

“They’ll remain a threat, and a powerful one, unless we act,” the Val Royeaux woman plainly said. 

Dorian was nodding his head at what he was hearing. Finally the meeting seemed to be on the right path to coming to a decision in the mages’s favor. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if the Inquisition decided that they would side with the Templars over the mages. Try to take Alexius down himself he supposed, try to wriggle himself back into Alexius’s favor to get the man’s defenses down so that he and Felix could take care of him. 

He was stopped from his eavesdropping when a shadow loomed over him. For a moment his heart stopped and he wondered if it was the Iron Bull that’d found him somehow, but the shadow was much too slim to be the Qunari. He tilted his head up and met the gaze of the fashionable woman he’d seen near the front of the Chantry when he’d entered the building. She didn’t seem too interested in what he was doing, but Dorian didn’t believe that disinterest for a minute. He’d worn similar facial expressions at numerous parties he hadn’t wanted to go to until he’d discovered that he could slip away with Felix or Maevaris if he pretended he didn’t want to be there. 

“And what are you doing all the way back here, child?” the woman asked.

Dorian looked at her imploringly and tried to put on his most innocent face. “I was just… curious. About the Herald. He uh… Varric mentioned that he and his advisors were having an important meeting and well I um… wanted to hear it from the source?” He was a fool and wished he’d learned how to be a honey tongued snake like his peers had been. 

She seemed to ignore his verbal stumble and gave him a small smile, like one gave a particularly amusing animal. “In other words, you’re the company the Herald brought back with him after his trip to Redcliffe.”

“H-how-?”

“Oh dear, people often forget the walls have ears and that fashion is an instant identifier.”

Oh she was good. She played the game with the grace of one who was well versed in all the ins-and-outs of the rules. “There was no point lying to her at this point. “I know exactly what is going on in Redcliffe and how crucial it is that the Herald side with the mages.”

She nodded. “The mages have their leashes too loose in Redcliffe. They feel too invincible. To allow that to continue and further excommunicating them to this freedom would be detrimental to getting things back into order.”

Dorian stared at the woman. “A-are you implying that the Inquisition should side with the mages to reinstate the Circles?”

“Hm, at least some sort of control needs to be put into action, but I doubt the mages will stand to go completely back to the Circles.”

With good reason, Dorian thought but didn’t voice. “Not that this isn’t a riveting talk, but I was busy listening in on the meeting.”

“Which you aren’t supposed to be doing.”

“Be that as it may, I would appreciate being able to continue listening if it’s all the same to you…”

“Madame De Fer, Enchanter to the Imperial Court of Orlais.”

Dorian stood a bit straighter and nodded at her respectfully. “Dorian of House Pavus.”

She raised an eyebrow at his name. “You are a far way from home, Dorian.”

“I’m here to do what needs to be done.”

She sent him that amused smile again. “See that you do.” And with that she walked away as if their conversation had never happened. He didn’t waste anymore time and instead tuned back into the meeting behind the door. 

“-their focused on Lavellan, we break the magister’s defenses. It could work, but it’s a huge risk,” the man said. He sounded much calmer than he did previously.

“I can definitely do distractions,” Aeren cheered. 

“It’s a huge risk,” the man emphasized.

“Come now Commander, ye have little faith in my ability to get on people’s nerves.”

“Trust me we’re plenty aware of this ability of yours,” Cassandra said blandly. Dorian had to bite his lip to stop himself from barking out a laugh. Cassandra didn’t hold back her opinions at all.

He was waiting to hear more when he felt a hand against his shoulder. Dorian tensed and turned to look at the soldier who looked at him with confusion. “You’re not supposed to do that,” he said. “This is a meeting between the Herald and his advisors, he’ll give his orders once everything’s been sorted out.”

Dorian shook his head. “I have information about the magister in Redcliffe and his methods.” He prayed that this was one of Leliana’s scouts who knew about the situation in Redcliffe. The soldier blinked at him and looked between Dorian and the door like it held a complicated problem that he was trying to solve. “I just want to be able to offer my aid to them.”

The soldier warred with himself for only a moment more before he pushed open the door to the meeting room. The room instantly quieted and Dorian forced himself to not shrink away from suddenly being the subject of everyone’s attention. He could feel Cassandra’s glare and the exasperated look being sent his way by Aeren. 

The soldier cleared his throat and gestured to Dorian. “He says he has information about the magister and his methods, Commander.”

The Commander didn’t seem to know how to take him his face going from a stern gaze to outright confusion. But he gestured to Dorian to speak.

“Your spies will never get past Alexius’s magic without my help,” Dorian said. It was true, Alexius had always been good at wards and he doubted any old mage would know how to create a hole in them without disrupting the whole spell or attracting Alexius attention. “So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

“This mission could mean life or death for the entire Inquisition, and you’re a child,” the Commander said, not unkindly. 

“I’m fully capable of holding my own.” He wasn’t going to budge on this. He was coming along whether they wanted him to or not. “I’m coming along.”

The Commander seemed to want to argue further with him, but he turned his attention to Aeren who was pinching the bridge of his nose. “The plan puts you in the most danger. We can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this.” The Commander paused before continuing on, his focus completely on the Herald. “We can still go after the Templars if you’d rather not play the bait. It’s up to you.”

Dorian opened his mouth to argue, but was silenced by an elbow hitting his shoulder. He turned to see Aeren giving a manic grin to the room. “And pass up the opportunity to be asked to be annoying? I think not.”

The rest of the group nodded and started to sort out the finer details. Dorian quietly took steps to the door only to be stopped by a hand grasping his shoulder. He was getting tired of being stopped like that. 

“If this meeting is adjourned, I think Dorian and I will grab something to eat, won’t we Dorian,” Aeren said. It wasn’t a question but rather a fact that Dorian wasn’t going to get away from. The Herald walked with him out of the room, his hand never leaving his shoulder. 

Dorian squirmed under Aeren’s hold. “A-aeren I-”

“I understand why you did it, but you really could’ve gotten in trouble.” The Herald sounded tired. “I really was going to let you know what the verdict was when the meeting concluded.”

“I couldn’t guarantee that you’d choose the mages.”

“You couldn’t do that eavesdropping either.”

Dorian shrugged. “I figured if it was going badly and sounded like you were picking the Templars I could burst in and try to convince them otherwise.”

Aeren laughed. “You think causing a scene would change their choice?”

“Felix always said that I had a nact for dramatics, I felt it wouldn’t hurt my chances.”

Aeren looked considering. “Huh, I guess that might have worked a little. But you’re still in trouble.” Dorian sputtered but Aeren plowed on. “For what you just pulled, I’ll be taking you to the Tavern with me, have Varric and Bull scold you some while I eat. Then I’ll introduce you to the others.”

Dorian supposed he could live with that.  

[diego-hargreeve2]

light in the dark

Part Four 

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (Netflix)

Ship: Diego Hargreeves x Original Character

Warnings: Language, abuse (emotional and physical), mental illness, violence and, in later chapters, smut.

“How long have you lived here?”

It was Eve’s third visit to the basement boiler room Diego called a home, and she was helping – or attempting to help – him sharpen and clean the knives he wore. The conversation starter was primarily a way to distract herself from the fact that she was cleaning the steel of crusted blood that had once belonged to people and somehow, even knowing that they were criminals who had been out to cause pain, that felt weird. The only blood she had experience with was her own, which didn’t bother her in the slightest, and so she had assumed she was sufficiently strong stomached to cope – but whilst she certainly hadn’t fainted, Eve wasn’t exactly loving the blood aspect of the job.

“Three years now” he answered, inspecting the knives she had finished, his movements almost reverent as he studied the steel and put them away. Contrary to what some people might have thought he was not so attached to the harness or his blades that he slept with them. At least, not with all of them – keeping a weapon close to your bed just in case is just good sense.

“Before that?”

“Before that I rented a place. You gonna ask before that too?”

“Sure” Eve said with a shrug. She knew Diego left home at seventeen, ten years ago. And she knew what he was doing now. The decade in between was a mystery. With a roll of his eyes he picked up the whetstone, the edge in his voice when he spoke again as sharp as the one on the knife.

“I left home to join the police academy – I’d apply for their programme before I moved out. Enrolled with them, had to do a few years of study first. Realised it was bullshit so dropped out when I was twenty. Found a job in security and rented a place for a few years but it still wasn’t doing enough to help.  I was already training here sometimes. Got talking to Al. I wanted to quit the job but needed the pay. We figured out a deal, I stay here and do maintenance and cleaning around the place. Gave me my nights back so I could help deal with shitheads. That’s the whole story – happy?”.

Leaning forward she held out the knife in her hand, handle first toward him, waiting till he lifted his gaze first to it and then to her face. She sat in the chair cross legged, whilst he was on the floor, and it was an odd feeling to be looking down at him for once.

“I figured it might give me some tips” Eve told him gently, watching the tension around his shoulders ease at the explanation. Handing over the knife so he could critique her work she sat back up straight and reached for another, but her gaze stayed on him for a moment longer, using the time that he was focused elsewhere to study him before he looked up to speak and she acted busy.

“You want to rent somewhere” he said, his tone calm again.

“You think I live in homeless shelters as a fun lifestyle choice?” she asked. The more comfortable she grew with Diego, the more she was learning the banter, the way he used humour and the way she could match it – and he chuckled, appreciating this developing wit. When he first met Eve, she seemed so shy, and he had figured out that she was ignorant in some ways of the world and prone to slipping back into feeling socially awkward but seeing there was more to her then that was a development he enjoyed. He no longer checked in on her as a begrudging act as pity, as it had been when he returned initially.

“Hey, say it like its crazy, but you’re the first volunteering to leave that place and be back outside” he pointed out, balancing the dagger she had given him on the palm of his hand before nodding, satisfied with the edge Eve had given it. “So c’mon – I shared. Your turn”. Reaching up he took the dagger she was working on to steal her distraction tool. With a sign, she looked down at her now empty hands before beginning – the bitter tone of her voice betraying the influence he was having on her already in their friendship.

“I just couldn’t take it anymore. Because of being born out of nowhere – my whole life they treated me…like they expected I would turn into Satan if anyone turned their back for a moment. I thought…I thought I could try and show them it wasn’t true. For years. I tried – so hard”. Her voice cracked on those words. She had truly tried. Eve had spent as much time as anyone praying, had done all she could to be a model child within the guidelines laid down within – and the Sanctified Brethren of the Special Emissary, as they were named by their ‘leader,’ kept strict rules – and it had never ever been enough.

“They call everyone other than themselves unclean. That’s why they avoid the outside world so much. But sometimes family members came to try and get members to leave. Sarah’s grandparents – she agreed to go with them.  I begged them to take me out of that place too and they agreed. Found me a place in a shelter for victims of domestic violence”. Eve was quiet, staring down at the bitten mess that was her fingernails, remembering that first place. The strangeness of being treated with kindness and patience.

“That was…seven years ago. I’ve been moving along the States. Boise. Salt Lake City. Boulder. So on and so on. I found out about the Umbrella Academy when I was in Omaha and then I deliberately started heading East. You’ve already made it clear that was a terrible plan – no need to rehash it”.

“Why didn’t you just stay out there? If they found you help and stuff”.

“Yeah, yeah, I know that would make more sense.  But I just - I didn’t want people getting close. I thought…I worry about this stuff. I’ve got better control now, but I used to start fires accidentally. Living on the streets felt safer – if I stayed there, I might hurt them when they were just trying to help”.

There was silence for a moment, Eve staring at her bitten fingernails, Diego looking at the knife he turned around and around in his fingers idly.

“I don’t buy it” he said abruptly, gripping the knife and stopping its circling as he looked up. “That’s not why you kept moving” he told her. Eve blinked, stunned to silence. “You don’t do it to protect everyone else. You do it to protect yourself, Evie. So nobody ever gets close. Putting down roots would make you vulnerable, so you avoid it”.

There was a beat of silence, then Eve tipped her head.

“If that’s true…you only know it because you do the same thing, Diego”.

“Yeah, well. Shitty childhoods will do that to you. You think you’d have come out the Academy normal if the old man found you?”

“You think you’d have turned out normal raised as an omen of the Apocalypse in a religious cult?” she pointed out, raising an eyebrow. Two could play at that game and Diego seemed to sense that was what it was about to come, shifting and putting away the last knife.

“Our Dad just numbered us. He didn’t give us names, he had our Mom do it after he built her when we were four – and he never used our names”.

“I was named by the Elder of the Church for the woman who caused original sin and the downfall of humanity”.

“I was sold at birth; me and my siblings were purchased like novelty items. In a house the size of a city block, he gave us bedrooms the size of prison cells”.

“They made me sleep on a metal bedstead, locked in a concrete shed, from the age of five”.

“We were forced to live to a regimented timetable that gave us only a weekly half hour for what was deemed ‘fun and games’” Diego said, a note of confidence in his voice that he could match anything she offered. Smiling slightly, despite the morbid subject matter, Eve pulled her knees up to her chest.

“So that the Brethren could remain self-sufficient, we were put to work on the farm and in the fields as soon as we could be. Child labour – three-year-old slaves” she emphasised.

“To hone our powers, we were treated as experiments, forced to train daily and subject to constant observation”.

“The only education we had was Bible verses and basic maths so we could count enough to help with planting”.

“He risked our lives, sent us into dangerous missions whenever other people wanted. I got this scar at sixteen, and he told me to try harder and be more careful next time”.

“We were made to fast regularly, prayed on our knees till we were bruised and fainted, with no medical attention for injuries or illnesses”.

“He threw Klaus into a mausoleum and left him there with corpses for hours when he was thirteen. My brother has never been sober since”.

“Oh, so we’re not just talking us two? Our Elder stated God told him to multiply his family, that was the excuse he gave for marrying all the teenage girls once they turned thirteen” Eve said, the words spitting out of her with rage. Even before she left, she had known that was wrong, had been uncomfortable with his revelation – and since living she only grew more convinced. For a moment Diego halted, looking more horrified by that disclosure then anything else she had offered so far.  

“Shit – bastard! You were married?”

“No…I wasn’t worthy of his attention. Fucked up as that sounds, it makes me the only girl in the place who wasn’t a teenage rape victim. Still think you can win this game?” Eve pointed out, bitter – not from the lack of attention, but from the world she had been raised to think was normal and suffered in for two decades. “Or do we admit that with these childhoods we’re both losers?”

“Shit” Diego said, slumped a little, his lips falling open and mouth ajar as he turned to look at the wall. “Gotta hand it to you there – this game doesn’t have a winner”.

She had known since she read Vanya’s book that her childhood wouldn’t have been less fucked up if she had been one of the Academy, whereas how bad her background had been was news to Diego. For a moment both just sat there, digesting the sorrow that was their own lives, before he leaned forward and caught her hand.

“We escaped though. They might be dicks, but they didn’t break us”. Eve smiled, the expression clearing all the shadows from her face and she squeezed his fingers.

“Yeah. We did”.  

“So fuck ‘em. Right?”

“Right”.

He winked at her, the expression so full of charm she couldn’t help but blush.

“Atta girl”.

@lovinglydiego @klausbutgayer @reblogserpent @me125 @fatbottomedcurls

[the-arcanes-mystic]

∆Protecting Yourself Masterpost∆

There seem to be an infinite amount of creative ways to protect oneself, each of us have ways we are most comfortable with, some prefer to create their own, while others enjoy using ways that have been confirmed and used by others. Any which way you choose to protect yourself, I hope this list of some techniques that I have personally created, come across in my work or have been told about by friends from this realm and the next comes to you in the best of fortune.<3

 Calling on the God(s)/Goddess(es)/Deities: This is by far one of the most common ways of protection that I have personally seen, many have felt incredibly safer and comforted when they ask for the protective aid of their chosen Deity or Deities. Simply ask, whether out loud or in your mind to be bathed with their holy protection. You can easily ask for this in an elaborate ritual, or just a quick thought if you happen to be in a hurry or somewhere you feel is unsafe.

Calling on Angels: Very similar to the previous technique, at any time and anywhere, you can always ask for the love and protection of the Angels or your personal Angels. Even if you know that your personal Angels are always around, sometimes it helps to allow them more influence on you and your life if you make sure to ask and give permission. 

PSI Ball: This technique is taking your protection into your own hands, quite literally actually, as to create a psi ball, you must first relax yourself and enter a meditative state before cupping your hands together in-front of yourself, switching your focus from your breathing to the palms of your hands and gathering energy between them. Slowly form the your pouring energy into a ball. Once satisfied with this, begin to program the ball for protection, this can be for specific or general protection. After you feel confident in the programming, you can choose to leave the ball that size, make it smaller, or make it larger. Some will leave it small and visualize it slowly circling within their energetic field, while others will expand it to encase their physical and spiritual body. 

Strengthening Your Aura/Energetic Field: Find a comfortable position, whether laying down or sitting up, take some time to calm yourself and slowly slip into a meditative state. As you quiet your mind by focusing on your breathing, only slightly shift your focus to your aura, just enough to become aware of your personal energy while still engaging your breathing. Imagine and visualize your energetic field breathing with you, expanding as your chest does, and sinking with it as well. Feel the connection between you and your energy becoming stronger, more intricately woven together with your intentions and thoughts. With this practice, simply thinking of your energy becoming basically a shield or your thoughts getting more on the defensive side, your energetic field will respond and protect you at your will. 

Sparkling Energy: I personally have been told on multiple occasions by several different spiritual beings that the strongest energy type is ‘sparkly energy’. (This isn’t to say others have been told incorrectly if they’ve been told differently, this is my own personal account of my experiences) This ‘sparkly energy’ almost resembles the night sky, or galaxies, each color of energy possessing thousands of stars within it. Focusing on this kind of energy and wrapping yourself within it can bring, not only immense protection, but for some, a peace of mind that may not always be achievable with other methods. NOTE-Most used colors for protection with this technique is: black, white, red, pink and gold. 

Enchanted Jewelry/Objects: Wearing enchanted jewelry or carrying around protective objects is an easy and effective way to keep yourself protected. Some easy ways to enchant or charge something are: Energy, the Sun or Moon, the Elements, Candle Magick, Herbs and Crystals. 

Music: Focusing and meditating on music, whether you choose to focus on the tempo, the words, the instruments or everything together, music itself possesses and brings it’s own energy, and by incorporating this energy into your own, you can focus on it becoming a protective energetic shield around you. This method is very useful when out and about, and you remembered to bring headphones.

Candle Magick: Pretty self explanatory. Simply charge a candle of your chosen protective color and allow it to burn in a safe space. You can imagine that it only protects you for as long as it burns,(in this case, best used as you do spells, rituals or even take a call that has you nervous), or you can imagine and allow it to feed this protective energy around you as it burns so that the gathered energy still circles you, even after the candle has either burnt out or been snuffed. 

Spells: Most likely one of the most obvious methods to protecting oneself. Protection spells, with the correct knowledge, ingredients and tools can provide you with immense and powerful protections for as long as you wish and specify within the incantation.

Crystals and Crystal Grids: Carrying a crystal that embodies protective vibrations is another wonderfully simple way to protect oneself. Some protection Crystals being: Amber, Citrine, Clear Quartz, Garnet, Jet, Obsidian, and Tiger’s Eye. On the other hand, you can build your own crystal grid in your safe space that constantly feeds protective energies to you at all times.

Mojo Bags or Witch Bags:  (NOTE: both of these types of bags are associated with different beliefs and will even call for very different ingredients, this post is just simply trying to be as inclusive as possible) With the right ingredients, crystals, stones, symbols, material and empowerment, both of these techniques can be incredibly powerful protective sachets that are convenient enough to carry around with you.

Witch Jar: This technique, usually calling for things like vinegar, rusty nails and broken glass is actually one of the older known ways to protect. However usually this jar is buried on the grounds of a witch’s home and strictly keeps the land and everything on it protected, but still a highly recommended, amazing and incredibly strong way to protect yourself, your family, land and sacred space. 

[fall19intensive]

week 3 // day 3

As I said in a previous post, we wanted to get as much feedback as we possibly could so we emailed it to Sarah Nathan, the MV alumni that came up w the idea. She made many many comments, so we spent most of the day responding to them and making changes. 

These are her comments on the application:

- I would recommend switching the order of some of these questions. You can start with the "Profile" section, but then I might move on to the more substantive question of what micro-business they're interested in and why. Getting to open with their excitement and vision can help people avoid dismissing themselves as candidates because of their life situations.

- Absolutely, we hadn’t even thought of that! We put the Plan section at the beginning because that’s the most relevant question for the application, then we followed with income and job question which will tell us why they’re applying, then we listed the rest of the questions in order of relevance. 

About the gender question:

- Why do you care about gender? If you have a good reason for wanting to know, I would put "Gender/Preferred Pronouns" and then not bother giving suggested answers. I think that will feel more inclusive than F/M/Other, which could suggest that transgender people are "other" rather than F/M or that all variations outside of cis F/M should be relegated to the "other" category.

- We mostly asked the question in order to get to know them and understand them better, but we will definitely take out the suggested answers. People should be able to define themselves rather than circle an answer that's given to them. I wasn't aware of how suggesting "other" is offensive, but you're absolutely right! Thank you for your insight. :)

About the family questions:

- As an applicant, these questions might make me nervous. "Are you going to reject me because I have other responsibilities that might take my time away from running a successful business?" Be transparent about why you're asking the question. Do you give preference to people with children?

- For the family questions, we're mostly asking to gauge their responsibilities outside of their micro-enterprise and how much time they might be able to actually invest in their business. Do you believe that we should write a sort of description below each of the categories explaining why we're asking the question? Or would that influence their answers? Most people who fill out the form will get an interview as the criteria for acceptance is really not that strict. Meaning that we don't really give preference to any particular answers. I added a bit of a disclaimer at the top saying that no answer is wrong and we are just trying to get a better understanding of their situation. Hopefully, that will make the whole application less intimidating.

- I was going to say something similar. Like, start the whole section with, "These questions are to help us get to know you better. Answering honestly will help us work with you to create a micro-enterprise that fits your needs.

About the criminal record questions:

- Again, this is a HUGE question. Are there particular types of crime that you are worried about? If so, you can narrow this down. I would also STRONGLY suggest that you make this question part of the interview process rather than the application. It WILL influence who you choose to interview, whether you want it to or not. Getting to know an applicant first, then learning about their conviction history in an in-person setting when they can explain the situation, will give applicants who have overcome these issues a better chance of being heard. A lot of the people who could benefit from the micro-enterprise may have convictions, and that shouldn't necessarily knock against them.

- We were hesitant to ask about their criminal record at all, but the main reason we did was just that we were talking about how to make sure that they don't just take the supplies that we loan them. We want to make sure that if we give someone a lawnmower, they won't just take it or sell it. You are right that this is a very personal question, so we will definitely move it to the interview. But, I'm wondering if we need it at all or if you know something else that should be part of the process (a question in the application or interview) that would be better for determining how we can trust them with the materials we loan out.

- As I mentioned before, I would remove the question from the application and include it in the interview. I would have a follow-up question of something like, "How has that experience influenced you?" Having a follow up like that might give you a better sense of whether or not to trust someone.

Assuming you accept an applicant and rent out equipment to them, you will presumably have their name and some other personal information. You can always bring information to the police if someone steals from the enterprise. There should also be some sort of simple contract that people sign, stating that they are responsible for damage to the equipment that doesn't result from regular wear and tear. I think to have a general policy of trust - and explicitly stating it to the people you contract with - is the best way to get people to respect your equipment. Remind them that your tools are a community resource, and just say that you trust them with the responsibility to take care of it. I believe that the more you treat someone like they are the best version of themselves, the more they will embody the best version of themselves.

- We will definitely add a follow-up question so that the talk about their criminal record feels more like a conversation an less like an interrogation. Over the last four days of this intensive, we will also definitely make up a contract.

These are her comments on the interview:

- Maybe replace your question, “How do you feel your skills will help you succeed in your business?” with "What skills do you have that will help you succeed in your business?"

- This asks them to list their skills and asks them to link that to how it will help their business. 

- Will the launchpad provide any additional resources such as transportation? It's okay if the answer is no, but I'm just curious. It sounds like you might be providing help with creating a mission, making a plan, etc. You might want to add a question like, "What are specific ways that the launchpad could help you make your business successful?" If that doesn't sound relevant to you, just ignore the comment.

- We believe that if the launchpad got big enough and was able to have more resources, then providing transportation would be a great option. But, I don’t believe that that would be possible at the beginning. However, I think that that question would be really beneficially as it would allow them to feel as though they can ask for help and they are supported.

These are her comments on the criteria of acceptance:

- What are "crimes of concern"? How have you chosen these crimes? Who is supposed to be protected by this criterium? If someone has served their time in prison and the state decides to release them to society, should we consider it a debt fully paid and a danger gone? Or no?

- I responded to your comment on the application form, but mostly we just wanted a way to determine that we can trust them. Trust is something that is hard to measure and we weren't exactly sure of what we could ask in the application to determine how much we could trust them, so kind of the easiest question was about their criminal record. So, the crimes of concern would be like theft for example. But, of course, we want to make this program as inclusive as possible and we recognize that people who've committed crimes are usually the ones that have the most trouble finding other jobs and would, therefore, benefit the most from a micro-enterprise launchpad. We just didn't really know how else to measure trust.

Also, the prison system does not work perfectly. Sometimes innocent, harmless people go to jail and then are judged on their inaccurate label of “criminal”, but sometimes people who have not learned and could still be a potential threat are let out of jail and they commit other crimes. Sometimes people commit crimes on purpose to go back in jail because it feels safer than outside or it feels more normal or they can’t get out of the criminal activity that they were involved in before. Crime is a very convoluted subject so we ought to be cautious, but in this situation, we would rather risk something in the name of being inclusive than turn away those who might really need help just because of their past. 

Overall, we learned a lot from her comments. We thought more deeply about questions that we were asking and their effects on applicants so that it would fit the needs of our applicants in particular. Tomorrow, we will work on crafting the contract for the accepted applicants to fill out so that we can establish a culture of trust and reliability within the program. 

Until then,

Colette