#<- paranoid that I’m not being vague enough which to be fair is probably the case

[nellectronic]

never would have predicted the toll this is taking on my mental health

[minor-solemnity]

Curiosity pt. 3

Marie’s footsteps fade and then it’s just the two of you. Immediately, Riddle’s concerned expression clears and he watches you with an annoyingly satisfied smirk lacing his annoyingly pretty features. “Well, this is interesting,” He says and you have to force yourself not to grimace. He must see something in your expression anyway because his smirk grows wider. “Turn out your pockets.”

“Just once more - explain to me exactly what it is that we’re attempting to do?” Maries asks from where she’s lounging against a statue opposite Mr Larkins office. You tilt your head to glare at her and studiously ignore her huff of laughter as you return your attention to the task at hand.

The task at hand being trying (and so far, failing) to break into Mr Larkins office. You’re kneeling on the floor outside the door, tapping the wood with your wand in a methodical order. You’re not exactly sure what protection charms he’s put in place but whatever he’s done, it’s solid work. “As it’s clearly eluded you, we’re trying to get into Larkins office. And you didn’t have to come, Marie. You could have just stayed in the dorm and caught up on your charms homework.” 

“Oh, you’re right I could have done that, but this is so much more interesting.” She counters, “Or it would be if you could get into his office. I thought you said you’ve done this before.” You let out a short growl of frustration and she laughs again. The door to the office remains firmly locked. “But okay, we’re trying to break into the Quidditch teacher’s office. Care to share, why? I know you hate quidditch, but this seems a little extreme, doesn’t it?”

“I have. He’s changed the wards. Paranoid bastard.” Though really, can he be called paranoid if he was correct in his assumption that someone would try and break in? You sigh and rest your head against the wooden door, trying to calm down and temper your frustration. Wardbreaking is mostly concentration and patience and you know that getting angry will only increase the time it took to get the door open. “We’re breaking in because Larkins hasn’t been completely honest about what he gets up to in his spare time.” You say, at last, deciding that it's best to keep things as vague as possible. 

You love Marie dearly, and you don’t want her to get into trouble just because you can’t let things go. If someone catches you, you’re going to be in so much trouble. Breaking curfew is one thing, breaking curfew to rummage around in a teacher’s desk is something else entirely.

In response, she hums, clearly dissatisfied with your evasion but unwilling to call you out on it just yet. “Have you tried a hairpin?” She asks suddenly. You blink and turn to stare at her, your forehead creasing in confusion. At your expression, Marie rolls her eyes and her hands reach to pat at her hair for a second before she pulls two hairpins from her braid. “Move.” She mutters and flaps her hands at you until you scoot out of her way. She fiddles with the lock for a minute or two and you keep a careful watch on the corridor, not that it would make much difference if a Prefect or Professor were to arrive. Distantly, you hear a click and Marie turns to you with a broad grin, “I swear to god, sometimes you just need to do things the old fashioned way, honestly.”

Mr Larkins office is just as you remembered it being. There are a bunch of quidditch posters pasted on the walls, spare brooms and quaffles stacked haphazardly in the corner, and his desk is overflowing with lesson plans, match timetables and diagrams of different flying manoeuvres. Marie looks around with vague curiosity and settles down against the door. At your questioning look she rolls her eyes, “Well, seeing as you seem intent on keeping your best friend in the dark about what you’re up to, I hardly see how I’m going to be much help.” Which… fair enough, honestly. You have no intention of sharing more than you have to.

You give the room a quick once over before turning your attention to the desk. Unlike the door, the first drawer you try opens with ease. “Arrogant idiot,” You murmur as you rifle through the documents you find. There are few articles about the new League rules but nothing of interest. The next two drawers reveal much the same and you feel the frustration returning as you pull open the last drawer left. Inside is a thick folder and you feel your heart sing with triumph. “This is it,” You whisper as you thumb through the file with increasing anticipation. “Geminio,” You murmur tapping the folder with the tip of your wand and stuffing the replica version back in the draw. Next, you transfigure the original folder into a quill and turn to Marie. “Right, let’s get out of here.”

“You know, I am always going to be jealous of your Transfiguration skills,” She says, gesturing to the quill that you’re tucking into the inside pocket of your robes. 

You roll your eyes and move to open the door, “Don’t be ridiculous, Transfiguration and Charms are all I have going for me.” And it’s true, Transfiguration and Charms aside, your grades are severely lacking. You had, at one point hoped to go into Cursebreaking, but that was before you’d found out that you need Os in Defence and Potions for that, as well as a penis. You scowl thinking about the injustice of being denied your chosen career path just because of your gender and are so deep in thought that you almost don’t hear Marie’s hiss of surprise as you leave Larkins’ office. 

Lounging against the same statue that Marie had been just a half-hour previously, is Tom Riddle. He raises an eyebrow as you and Marie stare at him. Dread trickles down your spine at his expression. To anyone else watching the scene unfold, Riddle looks like a prefect who is incredibly disappointed to find students stumbling out of a teacher’s office past curfew, but you don’t miss the slight curl of his upper lip or the flash of satisfaction in his eyes. Slowly, as though he hasn’t a care in the world, he pushes himself off of the statue and brings himself up to his full height. He’s at least half a foot taller than you and you find yourself once again having to tilt your head back to see his face. Besides you, Marie stands, eyes downcast, hands trembling slightly. 

“I do hope you have a good reason for this. Breaking into a professor’s office after curfew could well be grounds for expulsion.” He murmurs and despite the lowness pitch of his voice, it rings out clearly in the quiet of the corridor. Marie makes a sound in the back of her throat that could be a whimper. Riddle’s gaze slides towards her and his expression changes briefly. You think he might be refraining from rolling his eyes. “As it stands, I would hate to have that on my conscience, we are so close to graduating, after all. And Miss Dawkins, you are a muggleborn, are you not? I imagine it would be difficult for you to find work if you were to leave Hogwarts without your NEWTs.” Marie goes completely still.

Panic flares white-hot in your chest at his words. What Riddle is saying is completely true; it would be difficult for either of you to truly succeed in the wizarding world but you’d probably be okay… You’re half-blood and your family affords you some cushioning, but Marie… Marie would not do well. “Riddle, you can’t,” You say and hate the pleading edge to your words. This would be your fault. Marie wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for your inability to leave things alone… Well no, you had told her not to come and she had insisted but regardless, you were the one who wanted that folder and she would be the one to suffer should the worse come to pass.

Riddle shakes his head and sighs. “And I have no intention to, but I will have to dock points. And you both have detention for the rest of the term.” Marie breathes out a deep sigh of relief. “Miss Dawkins, go back to your dorms now.” His tone brooks no argument and after a brief pause, Marie nods and turns to leave, but not before thanking Riddle for his kindness and understanding. “No need to thank me, Miss Dawkins, just please, no more sneaking around after dark.” 

Marie’s footsteps fade and then it’s just the two of you. Immediately, Riddle’s concerned expression clears and he watches you with an annoyingly satisfied smirk lacing his annoyingly pretty features. “Well, this is interesting,” He says and you have to force yourself not to grimace. He must see something in your expression anyway because his smirk grows wider. “Turn out your pockets.”

You do so, revealing a couple of hair ties, your wand, your fucking history essay of all things, and the quill. He frowns and you smile sweetly at him, silently pleased with his frustration. He turns to look at you and you almost want to shrink away from the intensity in his eyes. “What did you find in the office?” He asks and any amusement in his voice has faded, replaced by a hardness that promises consequences should you lie.

“Nothing.” You snap and thank Merlin your voice doesn’t shake. “There wasn’t anything in there. If there had been, obviously I would have taken it.” You can tell immediately that he doesn’t believe you. His eyes search yours which such scrutiny that this time you do look away, staring at the statue behind him determinedly.

“You’re lying. I don’t appreciate being lied to,” He pauses and some emotion that you don’t have time to decipher flickers across his face before it’s snuffed out and the collected facade that he usually wears is back in place. It’s sort of fascinating watching him school his emotions with such skill and control. The next time he speaks, there’s no anger or frustration to be heard in his voice. “Why are you so interested in Mr Larkins office? And please, don’t forget the situation you’ve found yourself in.” The unspoken threat is clear and it's only Marie’s precarious position that stops you from telling him to fuck off.

Resigned, you stare at the ceiling and say flatly, “Larkins was really against letting Stephanie, or any other witch, play on the house teams. I found out something about him that was enough to make him reconsider. I was looking for more evidence to make sure that he didn’t go back on his decision.” It’s as close to the truth as you’re willing to tell him. Now that he knows part of the story, it probably wouldn’t do any more damage to tell him the rest of it, but the thought rankles you and you stubbornly don’t want to divulge any information.

To your surprise, Riddle doesn’t press you for more information. Instead, he’s looking at you with something akin to puzzlement marring his features. “You don’t care about quidditch, why would you care if girls are allowed to play or not? Is Miss Kirkdale doing something for you in return?”

It’s your turn to look confused and you’re dimly aware that you probably look ridiculous as you stare at him slightly slack-jawed. “No? Why would she do… Stephanie is my friend, Riddle. You do have those, don’t you?” He raises an eyebrow as if to indicate that yes, he does have friends, and no, you’re not making sense. “Stephanie won’t be able to play in any League if she doesn’t even have experience playing for her house,” You explain slowly, “I don’t care about quidditch, but she does and I can do something to help her so…” You trail off a little helplessly. Why was that the most confusing part of it all for him? Surely he did stuff for his friends?

“You should go back to your dormitory,” Riddle says at last. The confusion is gone, carefully hidden, and if you hadn’t been the one having this conversation with him, you would have thought he’d been talking about something as mundane as the weather. You don’t need to be told twice however and you quickly stuff your items back into your robes and make to leave. Before you can walk two steps, however, he catches you by the wrist and suddenly, his voice, soft and low so close, “I will find out exactly what you’re hiding from me. I think by the end, you’ll probably want to tell me yourself.” If you shiver it’s because you’re unsettled. Not because you maybe want to find out exactly what he means.

You shake his hand off and hurry down the corridor towards the safety of your common room. You can still feel where his fingers had wrapped around your wrist long after you’ve gone to bed.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

[breanime]

Hey love I don’t know if you’re still doing the 2000 followers event (Which by the way You go Glen Coco!) but if you are can you do Should’ve known better by Monica for Papi Rio (angst)

So this is the last song drabble for my 2000 followers event. Thank you all so much for following me and reading my work! I love you all!

*gif not mine*

When you got to the prison and told them you were there to see Rio—again—you expected to have to go through the usual procedure: turn in all of your belongings, get patted down by a particularly through guard, wait for a good 20 minutes for the hellish buzzer that let you know that in the next 30 minutes, you would see Rio. But when you got there, the guard at the desk frowned, looked away from you, and mumbled a single, devastating sentence.

“The inmate doesn’t want to see you.”

It was like taking a bullet to the chest—which you would take, for Rio, if you had to. You blinked, tears forming in your eyes. You drove four and a half hours to see him…

“I’m sorry,” you said, steadying yourself, “I think there’s been a mistake…”

“No ma’mm,” the clerk cleared his throat, “He’s requested to remove you from the visitor list. He’s only allowing his lawyer to see him at this time…” He looked down. “I’m sorry.”

“I want to talk to him,” you said, anger replacing the surprised pain.

“You can call the inmate at this number—” he slid a pamphlet over to you.

“I know the number,” you said back, “I have it memorized. I want to talk to Rio.”

“You can’t see the inmate unless he has you on the list—”

“—Then let me call him,” you interrupted, holding your ground, “I’m not leaving until I speak to Rio.”

“Cell phone room is around the corner,” the clerk said, defeated.

You grabbed your purse from the counter and stomped down to the cell phone room, slamming the door behind you. You dialed the number, accepted the charges, and waited. Five minutes went by before you heard that voice that made your heart skip a beat.

“Hey.”

You closed your eyes, the tears stinging in your throat at the sound of Rio’s voice. You missed him so much, it was physically painful to you. “I’m here,” you said, knowing that he knew what ‘here’ meant.

“I know. I want you to go home.”

“Fuck you.”

Rio sighed on the other end. You could hear some light chattering in the back, but every sound he made was in stereo, both because you were so tuned in to him, and because Rio was afforded a certain amount of room, space, and respect due to his status on the streets. Even in prison, he was still a King. “This isn’t fair to you,” he said, “and I… Fuck, I can’t keep asking you to waste your time—”

“You didn’t ask me anything!” You shot back. “You made this decision to shut me out without even saying anything to me—”

“Because I knew your ass would try to argue with me!”

“You’re damn right I will!” You were pacing now, stomping around the small room. “Why would you take me off the visitor’s list?”

“Because I can’t keep doing this to you,” he shouted back, “It’s almost ten hours, to and from, to get here, you stay all day for a 45 minute visit where I can’t even touch you…” Rio took in a steadying breath, and you pictured his eyes as red as yours were. “I can’t support you, or comfort you, I can’t take you on trips like we used to do, I can’t even make fucking money in here—I ain’t shit for you while I’m in here!”

You felt your blood boil. “You… I can’t even…” You took a breath, stopping your pacing. “I didn’t ask to go with you to Mexico,” you started, “and I didn’t need the shopping sprees in L.A on Melrose. I didn’t need the furs or jewelry—and I still don’t, Rio. Material things don’t mean much to me. You are what matters to me.”

You heard Rio swallow on the other end of the line, and he was silent for a moment. “I can’t keep letting you hold us down on your own…”

“But I want to!”

“Yeah, you say that now, but what happens in another month when I’m still locked up? What happens when my guys stop sending you money? Huh? What happens when you meet someone else—”

“Are you out of your mind?!” You gasped. “Do you think I’m that easy? That fickle?”

“No, but—”

“I love you, Rio!” You screamed. “I fucking love you, you dumbass!”

“Watch your mouth—”

“Why would you take me off the list?” You knew you were bordering on hysterical now, but you couldn’t help it. “Why would you try to shut me out, Rio? I thought we were in this together! Why—”

“Why haven’t you left me?” He asked back.

You froze, eyes wide. The question was so absurd, you had to take a moment to even think of how to answer that question. “…what?”

“Why haven’t you left me? I’ve been in here 215 days with a grip more to go, and you… Fuck… Why are you still with me?”

You blinked, letting the tears fall down your cheeks. “Because I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said back, “and that’s why I can’t keep doing this to you…”

“Rio,” you said slowly, carefully, “I never ever cheated. I never ever lied. You know that I’ve been with you through everything, and I always will,” you shook your head, wiping your tears, “I love you. I love you more than anything—money, jewels, trips—that doesn’t mean shit to me. I love you. There’s no man alive or dead who could make me leave you,” you added, trying to address his fears, “It doesn’t matter if you’re up or down, either way—I’m gonna be here with you.” You could have sworn you heard Rio take a shaky breath on the other line, so you kept talking. “You should have known better than to think I would leave,” you said, “You should have known better than to doubt me—and I’m mad, Rio. I am so mad right now because I love you so, so much. And I would do anything for you. It doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor, doing five to ten, I will always be here for you.”

“…You won’t forget about me?” Rio asked, and you knew he must be alone now because you could hear the vulnerability in his voice.

“Oh, baby,” you sighed, a new set of tears streaming down your cheeks, “How could I forget about you? Think about it—every Saturday and Monday for the last seven months, I’ve been on that receiver sitting across from you. Me. Because I’m your girl.”

“You’re my life,” he said softly.

“I know,” you chuckled through your tears, and Rio laughed on the other side of the line as well, “that’s why you should’ve known better… asshole.”

“I love you too, mama,” he said, “Just… Give me a minute, okay? I can put you back on the list right now.”

“Yeah,” you leaned against the wall, “you better.”

Within 20 minutes, you were being walked to the back to see Rio. You were surprised, however, when the guard passed the room where you usually went—the room where you would sit across from Rio with a little window blocking him from you—and kept walking. He stopped in front of a door and turned to you.

“The inmate has bought five minutes,” he said lowly, “Try to keep touching to a minimum… I’ll be right outside.”

Touching? You held your breath, watching as the man unlocked the door to reveal…

Rio.

He was standing in the room in his orange jumpsuit with chains around his ankles and wrists—but he was there, with no window of glass blocking him off from you.

And now you were crying again.

You ran to him, vaguely registering the door shutting behind you, and cried into his chest. It had been over seven months since you’d last been able to touch him, and to have this moment with him… it was breath-taking. Rio leaned down and kissed you, and you melted into his embrace. It didn’t matter that he was chained, it didn’t matter that you only had 5 minutes.

All that mattered was him.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, his lips on yours, “I love you. I love you.”

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him since he couldn’t hold you, and that’s how you spent your 5 minutes, just in each other’s embrace, kissing and crying and sighing.

“Rio,” you asked, mouth on his, “You paid for this?”

“Mm hmm,” he answered, a small smile on his face, “It was money well spent.”

You laughed—you knew better than to ask how much it cost. Rio’s income had decreased significantly since he’d been locked up, but he was still making money. Of course, to Rio, it wasn’t enough. So for him to spend money to have this (probably illegal) privilege with you… It meant a lot.

There was a knock on the door, signaling that your time was up.

“Hey,” Rio reached up and brushed your tears away, the chains on his wrist clanking as he moved, “don’t cry. I love you, baby.” He kissed your tears away, creating a new batch with the soft show of affection. He was smiling when he pulled back. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For reminding me that you’re my ride or die,” he answered, his fingers brushing against your face gently, “I had a weak moment, but I’m good now. Cause of you.”

“I’m here, Rio,” you said, tapping his heart with your hand, “and I’ll always be here.”

You left the prison with a sense of hope; you had cried a lot, but you felt secure that now, Rio knew better than to doubt your commitment to him. You would wait for him for as long as it took, and now, he knew that.

That was the last time Rio ever doubted you, from then on, he was secure in the fact that his girl was going to be with him no matter what, and whenever he started to feel trapped or paranoid that you would leave him, he’d remember the things you said to him, and he reminded himself—

—that he should know better. And he did.

*******************************************************************************************

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! (using my old taglist till Friday)

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[starshipsofstarlord]

That Pizza Place | Nolan Holloway AU (Set in S3A)

Your brother would disapprove, like he did of most things if he found out. But you should have suspected him to find out about your little secret one day. Apparently, the time had come for that to happen, because apparently, a certain someone could not help but blabber.

“She’s got another date tonight, that’s why she doesn’t want to come on look out with us.” At Isaac’s words, Derek froze, becoming as still as a statue, The only parts of him that indicated any life were the tenseness in his arms, the veins flexed as though he was preparing to kill someone, and knowing him he was. Also his nostrils were flared, almost exhaling smoke, and his eyes were rabid, dancing over you with offense.

“We’ve just got Cora back, lost Erica and Boyd, and that is your main concern?” From Isaac’s expression, you could recognise the regret that had just formed after his explicit slip up. But that didn’t matter as you gulped and your outline was burnt by Derek’s disappointed glare.

That wasn’t true at all though, you just needed a distraction. And the boy you were currently spending your time with did a good job at that. He was different from all of the other guys that you sometimes felt like you were forced to spend your time with.

Nolan Holloway was one of a kind. Similar to Boyd, at school he was mostly by himself, but there was a twist. Your late friend and pack mate clearly liked the isolation from people, and often got annoyed, for which you couldn’t blame him, when Scott and Stiles came by to ask him for a favour. However, Nolan wanted to know people, his anxiety just usually held him back, so in your friendship, you made the first move.

There were times that he reminded you of Stiles, there was a trait they shared. Knowledge. Each was a well of it, but mostly in different sections. The abominable snowman was focused on history and mythology, whereas Nolan excelled in science. Other than that, Nolan was much quieter, even when it was just the pair of you. But you didn’t mind it if a conversation went silent, it was still comfortable, and you could sense that he felt that too.

Like Scott, Nolan cared about people, although in his case those numbers were lower than the werewolf’s. And that was the main thing - werewolves, kanimas, hunters. He knew nothing, his mind was clear from the curses, and he wasn’t looking for a secret, so it was unlikely that he would find out the fact that you weren’t human.

Sure he was curious and all, but he had yet to grow into his boots of courage and go out and investigate. He said he liked finding new things out about you, but surely it couldn’t hurt if you left the whole full moon quadrant out of the equation. If anything, it could be seen as self preservation, the less people that knew, the less people would discover the cold hard facts of your life.

“Don’t you dare pull that card on me.” It came out as a growl, aimed at your sibling. You had every right to be offended by his statement, and you sure as hell were. “Of course I’m pleased that Cora is back, and sad that two of my friends are dead, I just need a break. I’m a kid! The innocence of it was taken from you, don’t take it from me.”

He was uncertain of how to respond to your outburst, but you didn’t give him the chance. You walked in a quick pace to leave the loft, and the two wolves remaining behind. Taking your phone out, you looked at your contacts, scrolling down until you saw that you had no messages. Good, he didn’t cancel.

Isaac became incredibly nervous under the tension that was still filling the room even after you had happily left. “Should we go after her?” He asked, genuinely worried, although he suspected you were meeting up with that quiet guy from school as you had originally arranged to.

Sighing, Derek lowered his head. This was definitely not his first argument with you, you’d always been a bit of a pain as a kid, especially when Peter used to sneak you into the high school as a teenager, but this was different. He had pulled the guilt card, all because he thought he’d need another pair of hands if push came to shove. 

 But he wanted you to be prepared and alert for anything that came your way, otherwise he feared that you would end up like Erica and Boyd. And he had lost enough family, he had thought Cora was gone up until recently, but instead, she had been used as a pawn. A captive by the Alpha Pack.

“No.” The man answered his beta, knowing how much his words had stung you. “She needs her time, we’ll see her whenever she comes back.” Of course a part of him was paranoid that you wouldn’t, that one of the rogue alphas would snatch you up and keep you prisoner, or even kill you but he had to have some faith.

You had made it to the pizza joint, and walked in, quickly finding the one that you had arranged this so called ‘date’ as Isaac had described it. You knew the pair were vaguely familiar with each other, Nolan had just joined the lacrosse team and really wasn’t doing half bad considering he was playing on the same side as a couple of werewolves.

“Hi.” You sat opposite him, dropping your phone on the table, relieved that you hadn’t been notified about your big brother trying to contact you. He must have known that he had struck a nerve, and that was probably the reason that he was leaving you be, which you weren’t mad for.

“Hey.” He smiled, all to aware and wary of his surroundings. It wasn’t the busiest of places during this time, but it wasn’t quiet either. There was a baby crying in the far right corner, wanting attention and nurturing from their parents, and then a couple of guys from your biology class by the window, discussing the newest assignment. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” You asked him, smelling the confusion and hint of hope that rolled off of his shoulders. It was awkward for him to see people from school, which he could considering the side of the table he was seated at. Too many people judged him for being introverted, the comments had just begun to die down only because of his choice of joining a sports team.

As for you, everyone knew you as a Hale. When Scott was first bit and he was untrusting of Derek, you spied on him around school, keeping an eye on the boy, following the orders given by your brother.

But other than that, it was no secret about what happened to your family, especially when the truth about Kate and her actions were unveiled. The fire of the old Hale has was an infamous piece of knowledge if you lived in Beacon Hills. Some people, those who had not lived here all of their lives were occasionally impartial to knowing the information, but others let them in, telling them about how children were turned to a crisp, and the fact that there were few survivors.

It had never bought you any friends, just pity. And then those pitying folk would go on to say that it will be okay, or that their cat got ran over last week. The worst thing actually was, they didn’t know why the majority of your family were charred to ashes, some people supposed there were faulty wires or so on.

But this was why you wouldn’t allow Nolan to know the truth. Because of what you are, it even cost the lives of your human family members, to that bitch of a hunter though, that didn’t matter. It was a sacrifice for the greater good in her eyes, she had deserved worse than death itself. As much as you liked him and appreciated his presence, there was no one that you could trust with that intel, he’d either think you were bonkers or run away screaming, only to return with an onslaught of werewolf killing methods.

“You only just got here.” He answered, although he was leaning forward to agreeing. A smile perked up on your face, nothing too flashy, enough to convince him otherwise though.

“I want to show you something.” Jumping up from your seat, Nolan was inclined to follow your actions, and also you. It was something personal, something that you liked to keep private, and if your brother knew, he would surely threaten to rip your throat out.

But in all fairness, it was a part of both of you, the stem of the Hales that had fortunate escapes, whether you thought of them as that or not. History one could say, the place that tied you to Beacon Hills. The Nemeton.

A/N: Probably be doing a part 2, hope you enjoyed it xx

[dragonflymage]

I went hunting around online for a list of values to choose from to elaborate on. Many lists only have single words like Amusement and Focus, which seems too vague and tells me nothing. I have longer descriptions in my head. So I suppose I’ll just work from scratch.

I ended up choosing several from an online list and included my own short definitions and reasons why they are important to me. These are Values that I have wanted in my life, guide me, and those that are important in my environment.

I apologize if some of my personal definitions don’t match up with whatever these Values may ‘normally’ mean. This is what they mean to me. 😅

I ended up choosing over 50 so I grouped them together by similarity.

Acceptance, Connection, Harmony, Meaning, Purpose, Truth - Represents some of what is important to me in relation to my entire life.

Acceptance of self and my flaws.

Making connections and understanding how and why I exist in the universe.

Harmony with energy, harmony with others.

What does it all mean?

What is my purpose for being? What is your purpose for being?

Will we ever learn the truth? Is there even a truth to learn?

Awareness, Curiosity, Discovery, Exploration, Growth, Inquisitive - Represents how I interact with the universe as a seeker.

Awareness is part of my internal search. Must keep aware of the changes and what they mean.

Curiosity is my favorite way to learn and grow.

There are so many new discoveries to unfold.

Exploration and seeking help with finding the discoveries.

Growth is an important reason for living. There is no life in stagnation.

Always remain inquisitive!

Knowledge, Learning, Skillfulness - The drive to know more. This works well with the above Awareness grouping.

Knowledge and the pull to have the answers to questions. Only, the more we know, the more we realize we don’t know.

Learning all that we can so that we can understand. This is an important goal for many, myself included. Not so that I have the knowledge, but so I can make sense of the blank spaces and gaps in my journey as a seeker.

Skillfulness comes from Learning and Knowledge. With these learned skills, we can help others along their journey.

Accountability, Patience, Sincerity - Represents what I admire in others, and strive for in myself.

I admire people who are accountable for their actions and behave responsibly for their choices. Good and bad.

Patience is truly an admirable trait. What’s the rush?

Genuine sincerity has become such a rarity. So beautiful to encounter.

Calm, Comfort, Enjoyment, Fun, Peace, Playfulness, Solitude, Tranquility - These are important in my environment.

Calmness is a major one due to the anxiety that I deal with.

Comfort, as in no uncomfortable sensations to my eyes, ears, and nose. Makes it easier to focus without discomfort.

I try to find at least one thing I enjoy every day.

If there is no fun in all that we do, why are we doing it?

Peace is important in relationships, as well as the environment.

Playfulness should never be removed from life! Helps to keep negativity away.

Solitude is a must, especially as an Introvert.

The same with tranquility, which is so energizing!

Careful, Common sense, Foresight, Insightful, Intelligence, Intuitive, Reflective, Serenity - These are important for safety and dealing with the harshness of society and people of the world.

We must always be careful. It isn’t paranoid to be aware of your environment.

If only more people would use common sense. Maybe it isn’t a natural trait?

Foresight involves common sense to loosely predict a potential situation. A good way to prevent society’s nonsense.

Insight is similar to foresight but on a quieter scale, relying on personal lessons and experience to interpret situations.

Intelligence is just necessary for life.

Intuitive is also similar to Foresight. It’s good to be prepared for whatever comes your way.

Reflective works well with Insight. Reflection on the universe, finding ways to piece everything together.

Serenity, similar to Tranquility, is important for the sake of the mind. It’s a feeling of mental peace.

Compassion, Empathy, Fairness, Kindness, Support, Thoughtful, Understanding - These are important in relationships and when interacting with other people.

Compassion should be one of the most important ways we interact. If we have no compassion for others, how can we expect to be deserving of compassion ourselves?

Empathy is also important in our interactions. Without it, we can never truly understand how our treatment of others can be helpful or harmful.

Fairness could be considered common sense, but as I mentioned above, it doesn’t seem to be a universal trait. I know most people see Fairness as meaning ‘being impartial and equal to everyone’. But I honestly believe it’s fair to treat bullies and harmful people in ways that make them accountable for their behavior. Fair enough.

Support is part of creating healthy relationships with those around us. It is another way we grow together as a community.

Thoughtfulness is sadly not a common value or trait on this world. Many people I have encountered out in society consider how everything benefits themselves first. I have seen this most often with parents who complain in mean ways about their own children. 😔

Understanding is ultimately what is necessary so the above fall into place. Understanding of self, understanding of others, and how we all fit together.

Creation, Creativity, Expressive, Imagination, Individuality, Openness, Originality, Uniqueness, Wonder - This group is important in showing our souls to the world.

What is more beautiful than creation? We can do this every day whenever we tug a piece of our soul and bring it to the outside.

Creativity, like Creation, is like a tiny whisper from the Universe. Art, music, stories… it is oneness.

Being expressive is another way to translate the inner into the outer. Such as with metaphors and poetry.

Imagination is probably one of my favorite of all values. It brings magic into our lives!

Individuality is also a must so we aren’t all identical. It is possible to be unique and find harmony within it.

Remaining Open to the limitless possibilities keeps us alive, unlike a closed mind which is unable to grow.

Originality is like Individuality. This involves discovering your true self and letting it bloom.

Uniqueness, again like Originality and Individuality. This keeps us from being like everyone else.

Wonder is important so we aren’t taking our lives and our environment for granted.

Feelings, Love, Passion, Sensitivity, Spirit - Emotions are like my oxygen, which I need to survive.

Feelings - I have them, you have them. The way we learn from feelings is by letting them expand so we can study them from all angles and grow from the knowledge they share.

Love also goes along with my Compassion grouping. Love of self, love of others… there are so many different kinds of love, both gentle and striking. Another way our souls speak to us.

Passion is the drive that inspires us to do what we do. It is the lit flame that burns and keeps us going, even when others may have given up. It fuels our creations, our relationships, and the internal search for “why”.

Sensitivity is what helps with empathy and makes us aware of the subtle shifts in the people and situations around us.

Spirit to me is our personal internal interpretation of ‘just what is the universe?’ Be it a religious answer, a logical answer, or the acceptance of the answer that maybe we are just too young a species to know or understand quite yet.

That was a peek into some of my values. There are probably many still missing (since I only chose from a list I found on a website). I’m not sure if I also included beliefs here, but perhaps some time in a different answer. 💗

(Here’s a link to the page where I selected the values from: Core Values List: Over 200 Personal Values to Live By Today)

Thanks for the question! 😊

[st-just]

Semi-coherent thoughts on Words of Radiance

Okay, continuing my efforts to force some actual reflection out of my brain on things I read via posting. In general, I think I liked Words of Radiance a decent bit more than Way of Kings? But, well, I suppose it’s fairer to say that I loved Shallan’s arc (and am now firmly invested in her as Best Protagonist), actually found Dalinor, like, more than mildly interesting this time, Szeth got something like a character arc and Kaladin...well, mostly spent the book moping and struggling with a moral dilemma that, like, it’s really not the kind of book where there was ever a chance he’d break in the other direction, is there?

Though, honestly, in terms of worldbuilding I’m mainly absolutely fascinated by the hints of Parshendi history and theology we get, because I’m always naturally sympathetic to any mythos that starts from the premise ‘our gods were assholes and we are better off without them’. Really quite sad that it seems like all the survivors are the ones who turned into lightning-orcs, but as much as ‘two hurricanes running into each other and destroying the canyon network they were travelling across’ sounds deadly, I kind of doubt the dissenters would get all that buildup just to get killed offscreen? So hopefully we meet them again soon.

Shallan’s plotline was just absurdly entertaining (look, I like protagonists living double lives and keeping important secrets from their friends and allies, okay?) As I’ve mentioned previously, Tyn was great and I’m very sad that she only survived like 100 pages. Sebarial is also easily the most likeable and entertaining aristocrat we’ve yet met, and generally I always the whole archetype of ‘cowardice, decadence and sloth hiding patience, foresight and good government’ as far as characters with power/influence go. Also, the twist behind the masses of childhood trauma and abuse was something I honestly legitimately didn’t see coming, and I am actually curious to see what the story is, and which of the...several nefarious conspiracies she was tied up in as an infant.

That said, maybe I’m just being paranoid, but if Oathbringer has a subplot about a love triangle between Adolin, Kaladin and her, I’m throwing the book out of a window.

Speaking of the nefarious conspiracies, so, like, most of their goals are fairly clear. The Men of Honour are millenarians trying to cause an apocalypse to bring about the Second Coming, the Diagram is just literally Cauldron from worm, the Darkness guy from the interlude who may or may not be associated with them is killing spren-bounded people out of some optimistic magical thinking about how the apocalypse works. But I’m really very curious about what exactly the Ghostbloods are hoping to get out of the end of the world. Possibly they’re just evil cultists of evil, but that seems a bit hard to justify, so presumably there’s at least some self-interest involved?

Regarding the Diagram, I do really like the whole conceit of Taravangian’s whole, like, deal? It’s an interesting blessing/curse, even if it doesn’t actually make any sense in some particulars (at peak efficiency he’s a sufficiently insightful political genius to engineer the collapse into anarchy and bloodless (for him) annexation of a much larger neighbouring kingdom, but incapable of understanding why ordering the stupider half of his subjects to kill themselves might not work out?). Anyway, I forget who said I’d like his character, but you were right.

(Tangentially; Look, I know coming up with a suitable grandiose and ominous name for your grand and sinister god of evil is hard. But Odium is just kind of a stupid name, I’m sorry!)

Kaladin this book was, well, being perfectly honest he didn’t really seem to do too much, beyond fighting Szeth? I don’t know, I never really find the whole struggling with a philosophical dilemma and soul searching too interesting when there’s clearly no chance that the narrative is going to let him come down on a certain side of it. Just, Sanderson really doesn’t strike me as the sort of author who has his protagonist cast aside his superpowers and oaths to allow regicide through inaction for the good of the kingdom, you know?

Really the whole thing with the struggle to live up to the radiant ideal and the importance of honor kind of reminded me of the one really famous bit from Hogfather, though that might just be the season and the number of times I’ve scrolled past it on my dashboard recently. Though Roshar’s a rather less existentialist setting than Discworld, of course – there are quite literally atoms of justice and molecules of mercy, and they’d probably rather take offence to you grinding the universe down to powder and pouring it through a sieve – but there’s the whole similar thing about the importance of living up to ideals and codes, even if they seem somewhere between absurd and actively harmful?

Dalinar and Adolin’s whole noble intrigue plotline was enjoyable enough to read, though it is extremely funny that Sadeus considers himself some master of intrigue when there’s multiple cults and conspiracies a few steps deeper in the shadows seeing far further than he even realizes he should be looking. (Also, to be totally fair to the asshole, it really does seem pretty suspicious that all the suddenly appearing high fantasy superheroes are intimately tied to the household of exactly one of the high nobility? And that same noble then claiming leadership of a refounded militant religious order with miraculous powers and vague but broad authority, in addition to his position as royal grand marshal, really does read as a blatant power grab.)

Anyway, between the brightly colored costumes, super-powers, dramatic compound names and remote stronghold only accessible via teleportation, it is really far too amusing to me how similar the Knights Radiant are to the Justice League.

[sunmoonandeddie]

rosemary’s corner

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 2,788

summary: There’s something up with Bucky.

warnings: Some h*ckin’ words.

a/n:  This is dedicated to @johnnynunzio.  I love you so, so much and I’m so proud of you.

There was something up with Bucky.

And Sam could call him paranoid all he wanted, but at the end of the day, Steve Rogers knew his best friend—goddamnit—and he knew something was going on.

Bucky had gotten into the habit of disappearing for hours on end—sometimes entire nights—without warning, only to reappear and act as though he had been in the Tower the whole time.  And even though he wasn’t big on hanging out with the rest of the team before, it had gotten even worse over the past few months.  Hell, when he was with the team, he spent the entire time staring at his phone.

Steve’s brows furrowed as he stepped out of the elevator.  He’d spent the past four hours down in the gym, desperately trying to figure out what the hell was going on with his best friend.

But if he couldn’t figure it out, maybe FRIDAY could.

“Hey, Fri?” He called out as he shut his bedroom door.

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

The heat of the water turns his skin pink as he scrubs at his hair.  “Do you know where Bucky’s been going?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers.”

When the A.I. doesn’t continue, he frowns up at the ceiling as though she was up there.  “... Can you tell me where he is?”

The A.I. sounded almost sorry as she said, “I’m sorry, Captain Rogers, but Sergeant Barnes asked me to not tell anyone his whereabouts.”

“Even me?”

“Yes, even you.”

And okay, yeah, that kind of really fucking hurts.  It hurts that Bucky is keeping something from him because in their hundred years or so of being alive, they’d never kept secrets from each other.  Shit, Bucky had even told Steve when he first got his hands up a dame’s skirt way back in ‘34.

They told each other everything.

“Alright,” the blond said as he shut off the water.  “Guess it’s time for Plan C.”

Plan C, as it turns out, requires a little more time.  It means waiting until Bucky gets back to the Tower and then waiting for him to leave again.

But apparently that’s even harder than he thought it would be since trying to catch the former Winter Soldier leaving is like trying to catch a ghost.

It took him almost two weeks to finally catch him.  It was a little after nine, and the rest of the team had retreated to their respective bedrooms for the night.

Steve, however, spent almost half an hour by his door, ear pressed to the wood and listening for the tell tale sound of Bucky’s door opening from across the hall.

When he finally heard the creak at precisely 9:42 PM, he makes sure to wait a few minutes before following him out.  He took the stairs, bolting down each flight.  He had to wait several long minutes for the elevator to catch up, watching as Bucky zipped up his jacket before heading out into the cool autumn air.

Not for the first time, he cursed his best friend’s ability to sneak through the streets of New York almost undetected.  Plan A had been Bucky just telling his best friend where he was going as he should’ve done as his goddamn best friend, and if that had happened like Steve had hoped, he wouldn’t be traversing down tenth, after having to follow him through several subway rides.

He’s even more confused when he started to spot the NYU signs littering the area.

He stopped in his tracks as Bucky stepped into a familiar looking store, a string of lights glittering brightly in the window display despite the late hour.

He vaguely remembered walking past the shop with him a few weeks before, but when he’d told Bucky that they should stop in sometime, he’d immediately clammed up and shrugged, claiming that it was probably too hipstery for either of their tastes.

Which, to be fair, it was really close to the New York University campus.

Steve got a little closer, just enough to peek in through the window that had ‘Rosemary’s Corner’ emblazoned across it.

The store was the perfect picture of cozy, though it did have that hipster feel that both him and Bucky tried to avoid.  Shelves full of records lined the front end of the shop, lights hung up along the tops of each one.  He could just barely see what seemed to be a coffee station towards the back, a menu with titles such as ‘Pumpkin Spice Marshmallow Latte’ and ‘Blueberry Delight Cappuccino’ hung up on the wall behind it.  A vintage record player in the corner was crooning out the familiar voice of Billie Holiday, just barely audible outside the shop.

And there in the back, amidst the waist high shelves, was his best friend.  Steve’s eyes widened as he watched him grab a record from a cart next to him, handing it to a girl who seemed to be the only employee present.  There was a flush in his cheeks, a shy smile tugging at his lips, that the blond hadn’t seen since the forties.

The girl seemed to be just as enamoured as him as she placed the record amongst the stacks.  Her movements were slow, unhurried, as she took each record that Bucky offered her.  She seemed so content to just be in his presence.

Bucky’s mouth moved silently and he lit up like a Christmas tree as he watched the girl erupt into giggles.  Her teeth caught her lower lip as she moved to shelve yet another record, but she froze as the man’s flesh hand reached up to gently tug it, releasing it.  The two of them were stuck in place, too lost in each other to think about the task at hand.

And despite the fact that anyone could walk past at any moment and see them through the window, Steve felt like he was intruding on something… private.  The intimacy between the two so apparent that it sent a blush to his cheeks to have seen it.  Just before he turned to leave, he saw Bucky rub the back of his neck in embarrassment, the both of them attempting to pretend that they didn’t just have a moment.

He went back the next day, when he knew that Bucky would be stuck at the Tower for at least a few more hours.  He wanted to be able to talk to her in private, to maybe ask her intentions.

And yeah, it was really shady for him to go behind Bucky’s back, but he wasn’t about to just let some girl walk in and fuck with his emotions if she didn’t intend on staying.

So he made the trek up to tenth once again, though it went a lot faster now that he knew where he was going and he didn’t have to hide.

Rosemary’s Corner looked almost the exact same during daylight, though Steve wasn’t sure why he was expecting any different.  The only difference is that there’s a few more patrons than just Bucky during the day all spread out through the shop.

The girl’s sitting at the cash register towards the back, flipping through a book.  She looked up as the bells above the door chimed with his entrance, an easy smile gracing her features.  His eyes are drawn to her shirt, recognizing it as the flannel that Bucky had been wearing the night before over his t-shirt.  The sleeves were rolled in order to accommodate her—she wasn’t exactly the size of the super soldier—but she looked so cozy it was hard to imagine her ever wishing him harm.  “Hi!  Welcome to Rosemary’s!”

He tried to pretend as though he’s not there to interrogate her, perusing through the stacks in what he hopes is a casual and aimless manner.

“Hi.”

Steve jumped, whirling around to stare at the girl.  “Hey.”  The super soldier was more than a little surprised that she was able to sneak up at him—he had espionage training from Natasha fucking Romanoff.  But even so, she’d somehow managed to approach him without making the slightest noise.

“You’re James’s friend, Steve,” she said, holding out her hand for him to shake as she gave him her name.

He eyed her hand warily.  “How do you know me?”

Her eyebrows rose as she stared at him, reminding him a little too much of how a certain redhead would look at him when he was being particularly stupid.  “It takes more than a baseball hat to fool me, Captain.”

Swallowing, he crossed his arms over his chest, going into full Captain mode.  “Then I’m sure you know why I’m here.”

But she simply breezed past him, heading for a cart at the end of the aisle with a sign on it that read Don’t want it?  Leave it here!  Thanks!

He stood there in his spot for what seemed like ages, staring after her.  Did she really just disregard him?  He was Captain fucking America.  No one had disregarded him like that since he was in the USO shows.

“You know, I used to come here everyday when I was a student,” she said, pushing up the sleeves of the flannel to her elbows, before nudging the cart towards the first row of stacks.  “Back then, it was owned by Albert Cook.  He opened it for his wife back in ‘97 because his wife, Rosemary, missed records.  Everyone was using CDs at that point, and it just wasn’t the same.  They added the coffee shop in ‘02.”

Steve followed her like a puppy as she reshelved the records.  He wasn’t sure where she was going with all of this, but she’d made it clear that she wasn’t going to put up with him pushing her around.

“They hired me here my freshman year, but I was here even when I wasn’t working.  It’s my favorite place in the entire world, and Albert and Rosemary became my home away from home.  It’s not easy moving so far from home for college, but they helped me.  A lot.  Two years after I graduated, it became mine.”  She paused, staring at the Cher record in her hand.  Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears and Steve could feel the sorrow rolling off of her in waves.  “Albert passed and in his will…  I told Rosemary that I wasn’t going to take the shop from her, that she could have it, but she insisted I take it.  Apparently her and Albert had decided to put me in his will ages before he died…”  Her eyes crinkled up as she laughed, “I thought their kids were going to shit themselves.  They were so mad.”  She shrugged as she finally put the Cher record in its place.  “Rosemary didn’t really understand why they were so mad about me getting the shop when they never came in.  But she moved upstate with her kids and I moved into the apartment upstairs.  I still see her every week for lunch.”

“Excuse my interruption,” Steve said when he finally sensed a pause.  “But why are you telling me all of this?”

She finally turned to him then, looking so open and honest that it took him aback.  “You’re here to question me about James, and I get that.  He’s been through a lot.”

“He’s told you?” He asked, blue eyes wide.  “About all the… HYDRA stuff?”  At her nod, he narrowed his eyes at her.  “But he never tells anyone about—”

“Well, he tells me,” she snapped, her hands going to her hips.  “I know about all the things he’s done and I don’t care.  He’s the best man I’ve ever met.”  The girl closed her eyes as she paused, taking in a deep breath.  When she opened her eyes, the storm in her eyes had settled.  “I need you to know that I love James.  I wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt him.  And while I can appreciate that he has a best friend like you—”

“You don’t like your loyalty being questioned,” Steve finished, much quieter.  He felt as though he’d been put in his place, which didn’t happen often.  “I…  I don’t either.  Not when it comes to Bucky.”

A sarcastic smile settled on her lips.  “We have that in common, Captain.”

The two of them went quiet as she went back to her task, occasionally having to go to the front to ring up a customer or make a cup of coffee.  At some point, Steve started helping her, handing her the records just as Bucky had been doing the night before.  Customers came and went, but as it got later, it got less and less populated.

“I changed the hours a few months after I got the shop,” she mused as she glanced over at the few college kids studying at one of the tables.  One of them had put on a Hozier album, the earthy songs sounding like they belonged on a record.  “It’s better for college students.  Gives them a place to study or just hang out late at night, and they can choose any album from the used record wall to play for free.”  Her nose scrunched as she smiled.  “And I’m not much of a morning person, so it gives me a reason to sleep in until noon.”

“Does he know you love him?” Steve asked suddenly, cheeks going a particular shade of pink.  “Bucky, I mean.”

“Yeah, I got that,” she said, nudging him.  But she was just as flushed as him.  “I hope so.  I haven’t exactly been subtle.  But I might have to make a move soon if he doesn’t.”

He cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets.  “You should.  Make a move, that is.”

“He can be rather shy, can’t he?”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Both of them looked up, startled, to see the man of the hour standing there in the doorway.  Neither of them had heard the bells above the door as he entered.

“James,” she breathed, a fond smile painting her lips as she saw him.  “You’re early tonight.”

His ocean eyes softened just a tad as they flickered over to her, but hardened juts as quickly when he turned his attention back to the other man.  “What are you doing here?”

“I followed you last night,” he said, apology clear in his eyes.

“Why?”

Steve flinched at the harshness of his tone, but knowing that he more than deserved it.  “I was worried, Buck.  You weren’t telling me where you were going, and you disappeared for so long and I was just…  I was worried.”

“You don’t have to take care of me,” Bucky said as he moved to stand in between his girl and his best friend.  “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“I know that.”

“Then why—”

“James,” she said, cutting him off, “He’s here because he cares.  We both do.”  The man searched her eyes, his metal hand gently resting on her elbow.  “I’m okay.  Captain America can’t scare me.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, once again feeling like an intruder.  He’d never seen his best friend so taken with a girl, so... enraptured.  “Don’t worry.  Your girl put me in my place faster than I could blink.”

The brunet flushed, shaking his head.  “She’s not—”

“I think I should go,” he said, backing towards the door.  “I’ll leave you two alone.  But, Buck—”  He nodded towards the girl, who had slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.  “Don’t be afraid to bring her around the Tower.  I’m sure everyone would love her.”

Bucky nodded once, his arm moving to wrap around the girl’s waist and bring her into his chest.  “I will.”

As Steve stepped out into the night air, he was shocked by how late it had gotten, by just how long he’d spent in the shop.  A breeze promising an early winter ruffled his hair and sent a chill through him.  As he wrapped his jacket tighter around him, he took one last look at the two through the window.

The girl was pressed up against him, eyes sparkling as she stared up at Bucky.  He could clearly read the words ‘I love you’ on her lips and the shock on his best friend’s face.  Without a second thought, she pressed her lips to his, her fingers tangling in his hair.  It took a few seconds for his brain to start working again, but when it did, his arms wrapped around her tightly, pulling her in for another kiss just as she started to pull away.

Steve headed for the subway, a smirk on his lips.  “You’re in good hands, jerk.”

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.11

Persona

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)   x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?)    Word count: 3400

Summary: Arrival to NYC is not what neither the Winchesters nor you expected. Like… not even in your wildest dreams.

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood and death, amnesia, swearing... that’s enough, I think, oh and confused Moose and Squirell (it’s a... reference)

Story masterlist

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Natasha slept like a baby – or like a dead. Sam didn’t find either of those options comforting. He couldn’t say he wasn’t glad Rowena had assisted them – but he would also be lying if he claimed to be happy about their particular ‘ally’ on this case.

While Dean’s eyes were glued to the road, Sam’s kept flickering between Natasha’s torso, always making sure she was still breathing, and his tablet, where he had started a search. Manhattan was surely a smaller place than the whole world, but it still had over million and half residents and finding Natasha’s soulmate wouldn’t be easy in the slightest.

He was still searching police databases for missing person cases and for house fires and gas explosions. The only problem was, he had no time frame to search – with Dean, it took three months for him to be resurrected and while his particular case had rather different circumstances (with angels having to fight their way through literal Hell and the whole Righteous Man versus apocalypse thing), Sam had no clue when exactly Natasha died.

It could have been the same day Castiel had brought her to them as well as months ago, years even. It wasn’t helping they still didn’t have her name and didn’t know the circumstances.

In other words, they didn’t have jack squat. Then again, Natasha believed her soulmate was a man, probably around her age – that would narrow down the search then. If they failed, they could always try to create her a tinder account and see who would super-like her.

Sam huffed in irritation and amusement, happy that Dean was pulling over. His legs might have been dying for the past few minutes.

“Where are we?” he hummed, cracking his neck.

Dean tuned down the volume before answering – and really, if the loud music hadn’t woken up Natasha, something must have been seriously wrong, Rowena’s magic messing her up on a level eleven on a ten points scale.

“Harrison, New Jersey. About an hour drive to Manhattan. Figured we would be no good in the overpriced hotels in the city, especially with her like this. Plus, I’m hungry,” Dean replied honestly and Sam raised one corner of his lips in a half-grin.

“Fair enough.” Dean opened the door, climbing up. Sam looked around, confused, not seeing any hotel, only a diner, and it got him get out of the car with an exasperated whisper-yell. “Where do you think you’re going? We can’t just leave her here!”

“Oh, we don’t. You’re staying, I’m getting food,” Dean grinned at him cockily, earning Sam’s famous ‘I’m-so-done-with-you-jerk’ face. “I might get you something too, Sammy.”

“Get something to Natasha too, in case she wakes up any time soon,” Sam growled, but obediently folded his long legs back to the car, casting a glance over his shoulder at their last passenger. “Jerk, isn’t he?”

Naturally, Natasha didn’t even stir, let alone reply.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

She didn’t regain consciousness until late night. When she did, she seemed to be convinced this was what hangover felt like – neither of the brothers opposed her. She ate two good portions of dinner, drank a litre of water and passed out again, absolutely exhausted.

“I don’t even wanna know what she would have looked like if Rowena drained her as much as she wanted to,” Dean noted darkly and Sam silently agreed, ready to hit the hay too.  

“You think she’s safe to be left on her own?”

“You mean if she dies in her sleep? I wouldn’t worry about that now,” Dean shrugged light-heartedly, patting her calf that slipped out from between the covers. She didn’t seem to mind – or notice for that matter. “We might leave the bathroom light on so she wouldn’t crash into something when waking up groggy like before, but I think she’s good now. Get some sleep.”

Sam casted a glance at Natasha’s peaceful face, watching her form moving ever so slightly as her chest was rising and falling regularly. He sighed and made his way to the bathroom, humming in vague agreement. He was still going to set an alarm for every two hours to check up on her.

Funnily enough, Dean’s phone woke him up sooner as they had got the same idea. Sam snorted in amusement as Dean seemed ashamed for being caught caring for their protégé.

The next time Sam woke up, it was only due to his alarm at four a.m. About an hour later, he was snapped from his dreams by Natasha’s loud cursing as her shin met the nightstand; they had forgotten to leave the light in the bathroom on.

Well. At least she was alive and clearly alright enough to walk and talk.

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“So… what happens now?” Natasha asked the burning question as she finished her croissant and fruit.

Sam had been the one to go grocery shopping this time, adding apples to the cart. Dean had been mockingly disgusted, but Natasha seemed ecstatic, discovering she liked red apples better then green ones. It was adorable and Sam felt an uncomfortable pang near his heart when he realized what a little thing like this meant to her, an amnesiac.

He truly wished he had better news for her in a form of some masterplan. The true was they weren’t sure about their next step.

“Now we go to explore the island of Manhattan,” Dean shrugged, causing Natasha to tilt her head and squint.

“Okay…? How is that going to help?”

Dean made a face. “You women are so hard to please sometimes…”

Sam snorted, but quickly fixed his expression when Natasha’s eyes fell on him. He smiled at her tightly with a bit of guilt.

“We’re not sure how to proceed to be honest. Police station is an option, but I searched their databases – they probably won’t have any more luck than I did.”

“Oh,” she said only, her voice sad, her hopeful expression falling. “Can’t you like… eh, post my face on the internet or something? Could that help?”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, the one ridiculous idea popping up in his head again. He glanced at the woman, her eyes full of steadfast trust in them.

Sam cleared his throat, uneasy sensation in his stomach.

“Well… I actually thought of creating you a Tinder account-“

“Dude!” Dean cried out, exasperated. “You don’t mean that!”

“I’m sorry, you have a better idea?” Sam demanded, irritated as he spun on his chair to face his brother.

Sam was aware it was a lame-ass plan, but there were kind of out of options.

“…what’s a Tinder?” Natasha asked cautiously and Dean answered her swiftly with the ominous words.

“It’s a fuck-app.”

“I’m sorry?”

Sam beat his brother to speaking this time. “It’s a form of a dating site – or better, a dating app for your phone. You create a profile and-“

“So it’s a dating side. Basically. What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s known for finding a quick lay,” Sam explained bluntly, making her eyes widen, blood rushing into her cheeks.

“Oh.”

Dean gestured towards her wildly as if wanting to scream ‘see?!’ when a mixture of emotions played on her face. Sam rolled his eyes and huffed.

Natasha, seeing their exchange, worried her teeth over her lower lip.

“Well… how about we have a trip to the city and if we don’t come up with anything better, we give this a go?” she offered, causing both brothers to look at her as if she had grown a second head. Frankly, Sam was pleased too, though.

“Seriously?” Dean questioned in disbelief.

“We don’t have a better plan, do we? Desperate times. Besides… I have two bodyguards if someone lures me out under false pretences, don’t I?” she asked innocently, an honest smile lighting up her face, her unshakable trust in them showing again.

It made Sam’s stomach flip and his heart melt like hot butter. His lips spread in a smile as well unwittingly and he exchanged a look with Dean, who shrugged.

“You got balls. Let’s go then.”

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It took them an hour to get to the city and find a spot and neither of them had a better plan. Which meant they wandered the streets – earning strange looks for some reason –, postponing the inevitable until they found a small homey café.

Sam gulped. “Well, looks like this is it. We’re gonna dive into the Tinder jungle…”

Dean scoffed as he entered the café, looking around for a free table in the friendly space. It was clear that this wasn’t a franchise type of thing and Sam couldn’t tell he minded.

What he did mind were several pairs of eyes falling on them – and few of them growing wide, having their owners nudge their mates and whisper.

The taller hunter glanced at his companions who seemed equally uncomfortable under the glares. Good, Sam wasn’t getting paranoid then.

The moment only lasted few second though, then an orange-haired barista making rounds approached them with a smile, pointing them towards the counter, breaking the spell.

“Welcome to MDDC. Order at the counter, please. Oh and I recommend our caramel latté. It’s known to be magical,” she winked at them and Sam winced, mentally pleading for no more magic.

Squinting at her nametag, he thanked her for the recommendation anyway.

“Thank you… Terri.”

She threw another wink over her shoulder as she spun on her heels and headed the same direction. Unlike some of the patrons she seemed unfazed by their presence as she should. Yet, Sam still caught some people watching them with interest and shuffled, uncomfortable in his own skin.

“Am I like… famous? Or are they staring at you?” Natasha whispered, cautiously walking to the line of customers.

“They are staring, aren’t they?” Sam agreed, his mind racing. Was it a good thing? What did it mean? Could Natasha be famous?

“Maybe they think we’re all in poly.”

“Dean,” Sam snapped instantly, not amused as much as his brother clearly was, judging by his smirk.

“What? They could,” Dean offered innocently, earning a curious glance from Natasha, followed by a shake of her head.

“I’m not even gonna ask.” Good choice. “Grab me the caramel latté, please? Maybe it won’t taste like coffee too much. I’m… ugh, I’m gonna…” she pointed towards the ladies room and Sam just nodded.

A quick scan of the room confirmed his suspicion – there were eyes following her. Whatever this was, it was about her, not them.

Good news: no one was about to call the police, recognizing them as criminals. Good news no.2: finding information about Natasha might not be as hard as they had thought. Might.

“So, what are we thinking?”

Dean joined him in the line, losing his carefree attitude. “I think it’s worth asking. This ain’t coincidence. I just don’t get it – if she is famous, how did you not find a match?”

Sam grimaced, wondering about the same thing.

“Maybe it’s her family – or her soulmate. They could be annoyed with people, wanting to have their peace. How much it can cost to have someone cover the digital trail? Or maybe they sued someone and it resulted in that.”

“Or we could be wrong and they’re just looking at her ‘cause she an eye-candy,” Dean hummed, sounding perfectly serious. Sam hoped that the look he sent him spoke volumes. “What? She’s cute, we’re both thinking it.”

Sam rolled his eyes , but didn’t protest. “Let’s hope that it’s not the case, otherwise we’re about to sign her up for a ‘fuck-app’.”

This time it was Dean who glared mocked murder. Sam grinned.

“So, guys, what can I get you?” Terri asked them cheerily, genuine smile on her face. It somehow made Sam smile back automatically.

“Flat white, medium for me. Americano, no sugar for him. Tall? Yeah. And one of those caramel lattés,” Sam ordered.

“Here or to go?”

“Here. Add one of those… cheesecakes or whatever it’s called,” Dean requested. Before Sam could ask, he explained. “She liked trying new stuff. And Rowena said she should eat a lot.”

“That’s surprisingly thoughtful of you,” Sam blurted out, not watching his mouth. It earned them a giggle from their barista.

“Shut up, Samantha. You’re paying.”

Sam snorted as his brother aimed for a free table in the back and he pulled out the cash.

“He looks like a piece of work,” Terri commented lightly. Sam silently agreed. “I’ll bring your order to the table, okay?”

“Thanks.”

The boot in a quiet corner was a good choice, though Sam felt a little sorry for Natasha, who would have to walk through the whole café and face the strangely curious eyes.

“Here we go. Enjoy,” the barista landed their coffees and dessert.

“Thank you. Uhm… Terri? Can I ask you something?” Sam asked and straightened in his seat, which earned him a suspicious look from the woman.

“I have a boyfriend.”

“What a shame for the rest of us…” Dean sighed, shooting Sam an amused look when he noticed how flustered he grew.

“Huh? No, that wasn’t what I was-! I mean, not that you weren’t- uh, I mean-“ Sam stuttered, horrified she came to such conclusion.

It was when she giggled, her eyes sparkling. “I’m messing with you. What is it?”

Sam huffed, but couldn’t help but sigh in relief. He even charmed a little smile, trying not to look too self-important and showing he was okay with her teasing him.

“This might sound strange but… I think… people are kinda staring? At our friend? Do you have any idea why?”

“Well… if I could take a guess… it’s… it’s just that she looks so much like her,” she said slowly, glancing around. No one paid them any mind as they lowered their voices.

Jackpot. Sam’s eyebrows jumped and he leaned in, intrigued. With the corner of his eye, he registered Dean doing the same.

“Like who?”

“Cap’s girl,” Terri said simply, her expression darkening and softening at the same time. “God give him strength and let her rest in peace.”

Millions of questions popped up in Sam’s head, mostly whirling about what, who, why, when. A tragedy had struck, that was nothing new, they expected as much, but not an event of public manner.  

“Cap?” Sam questioned, confused. What kind of a nickname-

“Do you live under a rock?” Terri asked with a strange expression on her face. She seemed… surprised and weirded out, honestly. Sam couldn’t help but be offended at such blunt and mean question. “Sorry. Not much of a patriot then? Not from around here?”

“Wait, you mean Cap as… Captain America?” Dean whispered, sounding excited and Sam felt his heart skip a beat.

No way. Sam wasn’t very patriotic, never felt it, but even he knew who Captain America was and what role he had played in history – and present. But… she had to be shitting them, right?

“Well… yeah.”

Apparently not.

“Captain America? The Avenger?” Sam checked, making sure there was no confusion between them.

“Sure thing.” Terri shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“And she looks like his-…?“ Sam hinted her, trying to mask his impatience and excitement, probably failing epically.

“Soulmate, yeah.”

“That’s…” The younger hunter jerked his head, exchanging a meaningful look with Dean. “…interesting. Can we find her picture online? What’s her name? You know… celebrity look alike game and all that…? They do say my brother here looks like Bradley James.”

Oh yeah, Sam was totally making this up as he went. Dean was going to murder him for that comparison, but sacrifices needed to be made in the name of their rescue case. Terri tilted her head to side, examining Dean’s face, her smile growing wider.

“Huh. You kinda do,” she concluded and smirked. “I always was a sucker for Arthur and Merlin bromance.”

Sam snorted. They had watched an episode of Merlin. Dean had been horrified.

“I hate you. But yeah, do tell us.”

“Sure. But you can just check out the church on West 59th Street,” their barista confided them in – except neither of the brother understand what it meant. Dean was the one to ask.

“Why?”

“It’s the closest church to the Tower,” Terri announced, seemingly bewildered as she looked between the two of them. “How did you miss all this? It was all over the news.”

“We’ve been… travelling a lot.”

“Oh. Okay. You can just check it out. Light a candle for her. She died so a lot of others could live,” Terri explained them softly, clearly about to make her leave.

Sam had one last question though – well, among like million others.

Light a candle for her? What the hell?

“Thanks. Just… how long has it been?”

“Not too long. Few weeks.”

The moment their barista was out of hearing rage, Sam turned to Dean, whose shocked expression matched his own, and started whispering hastily.

“What the hell?!”

“Yeah, I’m right there with you. But it sounds legit. You check it out?“

Sam glanced around before pulling out his tablet. He liked this option better than the Tinder one, but an anxious knot was tying up his stomach as Natasha still didn’t find them at their table. She sure was taking her time. Sam hoped she was okay and wasn’t having a panic attack or something. And that there were no windows she could climb through – because if she was Captain freaking America’s soulmate, she might as well be a superhero just like him.

Seriously – what the hell.

The amount of results for ‘Captain America soulmate’ search was ridiculous, climbing to astronomic numbers. Links to articles, pictures, videos… and lots of the links had only the headline and nothing more to it – they had been deleted.

Sam wasn’t surprised anymore. Once again, if Natasha – which wasn’t her name at all, of course, as he found out – was the one for the supersoldier, there was no wonder someone would want to protect her privacy.

Sam roamed through the links, finally finding a photo – a photo of an altar, a picture of what clearly was a woman of Natasha’s hair colour, though blurred via filter, surrounded by teddy bears, flowers and candles.

The younger hunter gulped, satisfaction at possibly solving the mystery mixing with nervousness and compassion.

“Got something,” he hummed, passing the device to Dean.

“Well, that’s not creepy at all. Found any picture of her that actually shows her?”

Sam glared at his brother. “I’m trying,” he hissed, returning to his search.

He clicked on several videos – it was no surprise they had all been removed. He grunted in frustration, trying out what could be twentieth link, some no-name person Tumblr blog who had reposted it about three minutes ago.

Bingo!

The blurry picture moved a little, showing a blond man standing up from a bed in a plain room, crackling sound in the background. Sam froze the frame, attaching headphones and pressed play again.

The camera finally cleared and… the frame split in two. In the other frame, a woman strapped to a chair appeared, causing Sam’s heart stop along with his breathing.

Holy shit.

Holy.

Shit.

“Dean, you have to see this,” Sam choked out, a lump growing in his throat as he pushed the tablet to sit at the table between them and passed one headphone to his brother. Dean’s eyes went wide upon seeing the people in the video.

“Life is full of hard choices, isn’t it, Captain?” a scratchy male voice mocked the desperate man in the picture and Sam’s shoulders tensed when he realized just how hard choice the soldier was given; two bombs showed in the frame.

Well, shit.

“Steve?” Oh yeah. This was definitely Natasha’s voice. This was hundred percent Natasha. Who wasn’t Natasha, but whatever. “It’s… it’s okay. Go. Go save lives. I… I knew I’d have to share you with the world. Frankly, I didn’t imagine it would be like this, but— you go and be hero. My life is nothing compared to thousands and we both know that.”

“Is that really-“ Dean questioned incredulously, eyes glued to the screen.

“Yeah. I… I think it is.”

They spoke no more, watching the video as if it was the most suspenseful thriller they had even seen. Which it was, because the plot was very much real and they had the main character in the near bathroom. Risen from death.

Someone should probably check up on her, but Sam couldn’t tear his gaze away. It was like watching a train wreck to happen; they knew how it must have ended. Thousands of people Nat in the video had mentioned got to live; because Captain’s soulmate was about to blow up.

Both brothers still winced when the explosion did end the video.

Christ.

Dean slowly pulled out the earplug and gulped, glancing at Sam.

“Well… son of a bitch.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 12

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Thank you for reading!

(I’m sorry for that GIF use, I had to)

I hope it’s clear enough now that there’s a slight time shift between reader chapters and Steve/Nat/Sam/Bucky chapters (theirs are earlier, while reader had been resurrected a few weeks after her death, about after Steve’s drinking night.) 

 P.S. – I couldn’t resist that little cameo :D If you know who I mean the better, if not, don’t worry about it, Terri is one of my OFCs ;)

[writing-gifts]

holding on

(platonic bruno x gn!reader)

A/N: This was supposed to be a sugar daddy fic but went the complete opposite direction and now its just the struggle of making friends with a mafioso without realizing he’s a mafioso

the best way i can summarize this is: bruno: i can have a civilian friend….as a treat reader: i am lonely and oblivious

-------

Bruno had come into your life by chance.

You had been rushing to class. And as you hastened your steps, you struggled to shove your almost forgotten notes into your bag.

You were so nervous and shaken from waking up late that your fingers trembled and your papers went scattering across the sidewalk. You immediately knelt down to grab your papers, snatching them up before they got blown away by the wind.

You were so focused on your task that you didn’t notice that you were being helped until a neatly collected stack of papers appeared in front of your face in Bruno's hand--however at the time he was just a stranger to you.

You stood up and quickly thanked the man in a flustered state, babbling about who knows what. In a hurry, you grabbed the papers and placed them in a folder then into your bag.

He probably asked you something but you were barely paying attention, distracted by the time on your watch. The last thing you said to him was a hurried ‘yea bye!’ before quickly continuing on your way.

The next time you met him was at a random park. You had decided to take a different route back home from university for a change of scenery and ended up in a park.

While sitting down and watching the various people passing by, you immediately recognized him. The man who helped you that day.

Without thinking you called out to him, referring to him as sir since you didn't know his name. Thankfully, he didn't seem annoyed by this.

You used this chance to thank him properly since you barely did before. And for some reason he wanted to stay and moved to sit down next to you on the bench.

You properly introduced yourselves and made small talk about random things. He also asked you a decent amount of questions about yourself, which kind of surprised you, but then you remembered this was how people socialized.

You wind up telling him about how you recently moved away from home to go to college here, what you were studying, and how you worked part time at a cafe.

You tried to ask him some things too but he was pretty vague, not giving enough information for you to piece together much.

From then on you ran into Bruno more and more often. It made you wonder if you had passed by him unknowingly before you actually met him.

Soon the two of you become friends. You found yourself spending a good chunk of the time you spent outside your home with him.

Bruno fed you a lot. When he took you out for the first time and tried to pay the whole bill, you practically had to beg him to let you pay half, but every other time after was a lost cause.

Bruno didn't seem to have any issues paying every bill and seemed well off from whatever work he did.

However, when he had tried to randomly help you with some of your school expenses you had to put your foot down. You only knew him for a couple months by then so you just couldn't accept it. Anyways you were doing okay...kind of.

You assured him that you were fine.

When he wasn't fretting over you, you really enjoyed spending time with him. And as you got closer you realized that Bruno was kind of weird, but it was endearing though.

He had a terrible sense of personal space, a strange sense of humor, and a ridiculous amount of knowledge on fish.

He would also say strange things with the straightest face. You really couldn't help playfully teasing him sometimes because of it.

Something else not as fun that you realized about Bruno was that even though he didn't really show it on his face, he could be quite paranoid at times. He wouldn't let you walk home alone when it was too late, which was fair. Naples wasn't exactly the safest place.

But one time he made you stay overnight even though it wasn't dark outside yet. You went along with it because a sleepover sounded fun but then he tried to have you stay again. You had declined but offered to have him stay over at your home one day, but he reacted strangely and said no.

And sometimes you'd catch him looking at nothing in particular with a stern conflicted expression, at least that's what you thought it was.

Other than those moments, Bruno gave off the calm and collected aura of someone who had his shit together. He seemed responsible and reliable. So of course it was no surprise that he'd usually returned a missed call or text right away, but some days he wouldn't reply for days at a time and it made you nervous. You'd overthink and wonder if he was upset with you.

One time he didn't respond to any of your messages for two weeks straight. Text after text unread and every call sent straight to voicemail. And when you finally mustered up the courage to visit his home no one answered.

As you were mulling over getting the police involved, he suddenly appeared at your doorstep, with your favorite dessert, as if nothing happened.

And even though you cried and lost sleep over the temporary disappearance of your first and only friend in Naples, you decided not to pry then. You were just really happy to see him again.

But abnormal things like this constantly happening made you suspicious of what he was up to.

Eventually you couldn't stop yourself and tried to find out anything, but whenever you asked he would simply tell you that you didn't need to worry about it.

It made you sad when he did that.

If he was in trouble you wanted to help. He was always there for you so you wanted him to let you support him too.

When you finally admitted this to Bruno, he looked the most vulnerable you'd ever seen him but it was so faint and momentary you would have messed it if you blinked.

Hiding behind that stoic expression you were starting to get frustrated with, he told you that he appreciated your concerns but they were apparently unnecessary. So you decided it was best to go home to calm down and try to move past it.

After that, sometimes when you both were alone together, he would look at you much more intensely than he usually did. But whenever you asked what was wrong, he'd just shake his head like he changed his mind. And as infuriating as it became you didn’t push.

But fortunately for you, the truth came out anyways.

It was only a matter of time anyways so why'd he keep something like this from you for so long? Logically, it didn’t make sense and you were realizing that your friend might be more reckless than you thought.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" you ask.

It had been a week since you last talked and you decided it was time to confront him.

"I didn't want you involved at all in that part of my life," he pauses, "and I didn't want you to hate me."

You frowned, you should have come here sooner. "I don't hate you, I was just trying to process. I mean...seeing your friend beat the crap out of someone in an alleyway, and then finding out he's involved in the mafia right after is shocking! But not knowing was probably more dangerous..."

Bruno avoids your eyes. "I know."

You sigh and grab his hand. "I'm not going anywhere though."

You begin to squeeze his hand between the two of yours, trying to find something to keep your own hands busy.

"I was mad, I’m still mad, but I understand why you wouldn't want me to know…." you trail off and silence settles between the two of you.

You begin to play with Bruno's fingers unsure of what to say next.

"I wanted to tell you eventually, I just couldn't figure out how," Bruno finally says.

That did make you feel a little better. "This is really dangerous...but I still want to be friends with you.” You laugh a little, “If I told my past self that they’d willingly stay friends with a mafia member...they’d be so pissed.”

Bruno fingers slightly twitch in your grip. You quickly change the subject, internally sighing from your poor joke.

“No more crazy secrets okay?"

Bruno finally looks at you, and you see a bit of conflict in his blue eyes but he nods. "Okay..."

You hold your arms open, and Bruno leans forward and presses his body against yours. You wrap your arms around his neck and push your cheek against his.

The two of you stay like that for a while.

Bruno breaks the silence again. "You smell nice, cara."

You snort. "Thanks Bruno."

[honourablejester]

My sister and I were playing Far Harbour for the first time last night, and I’ll be honest here, I really don’t like the dialogue wheel when DiMA asks you if you might be a synth.

Like, okay, your options for responses are as follows:

How would I know?

I’m a human

I’m a synth

Sarcastic

Just looking at the flat, on-the-face-of-it choices for a moment, that’s …

This is where the dialogue wheel really struggles. Because those look both completely flat and completely arbitrary. Except for the first one, which is something you might actually say. So we said it. And then he prompts towards how you might know (dodgy memory gaps), and then just basically asks you again, so you have to choose one of the others.

Look. Before we get to any of the other answers, I don’t like this.

This is one of the driving questions of FO4. There is so much doubt, for everybody you meet, over who might be a synth, what that might mean, are their memories real, are they real, how would they know, if it was confirmed what would they do, and so many other questions. The entire Commonwealth is having a mass existential crisis over this question. No one knows the answer. And DiMA (or at least the dialogue wheel) just wants you to … arbitrarily pick an answer? With no indication of how you came to that conclusion? Yes, I’m a synth. I decided just now. No, I could only possibly be a human. Never mind that I’ve been helping the Railroad for ages and I’m in love with Nick Valentine, I instinctively reject the possibility that I could be a synth myself. They’re not …

I know how it’s maybe meant to sound. That you’re picking what your character instinctively feels about themselves. But there’s no room for doubt. The wheel just plops it flat. Are you or aren’t you. There’s no allowance for how pretty much every other person he could ask that question will have spent a decent portion of their lives wondering. Unless they’re a confirmed synth who knows their designation, and even then, they probably still wonder.

If you pick either option from that annoyingly flat and blunt choice, they expand out to:

I’m a human being, not a synth

I have to be honest, um, in the back of my mind, I’ve always suspected …

So, yes, apparently the first option was meant to make you sound vaguely racist. The voice acting (at least for the female survivor) puts a bit of an emphasis on ‘not a synth’ that does make her sound vaguely defensive and/or disgusted. It’s portrayed as a knee-jerk rejection.

If you choose the synth option, Nick likes it. So I’m guessing it was meant to be the more friendly option if you’re a general ally of synths. Or, you know, in love with one.

But. The thing is. Why are you saying either of them? There’s been no indication up to now (at least in our playthrough, and to be fair we haven’t gotten into the Institute yet) of what the survivor might actually think. There’s been no real indication of what she should think.

Why would she think she’s a synth? I’m not saying why would she wonder, there’s an infinity of reasons for that, I’m saying why would she pick an option that initially looks like conclusively saying she knows she is one. She doesn’t.

She could be. Very easily, though since we haven’t gone to the Institute yet our survivor doesn’t know a good few of the reasons why it would make sense. The most logical place for her to have been swapped would be that first wake-up in the cryo chamber, when Shaun was taken. It’s very easy to imagine that the original survivor actually died then, rather than got refrozen, and the one that woke up the second time was a synth. Especially since I gather it looks like Father was doing a lot of experimenting in general in allowing the survivor to be woken up. It would be very easy to think that the survivor that exists in the wasteland is a synth. There is the question of the memories, how would they have gotten a brain scan enough to picture some of the pre-War things from a corpse frozen in a tube, since Father himself likely can’t remember, but there are a good few sources of pre-War memories in the Commonwealth (hi Nick!), so it’s not too much of a stretch to imagine the Institute got their hands on enough to prompt and then fake the rest.

There are lots of little dialogue options in the game, usually when you’re talking to pre-War ghouls and/or Nick himself, that do make it sound like you have more pre-War memories. Remembering the details of Silver Shroud episodes, things like that. But, again, the Institute clearly has access to pre-War brain scans from CIT, so that can be explained.

But that doesn’t prove she’s a synth. And there are a lot of reasons for her to think she’s a human that have nothing to do with apparently being slightly racist. Primarily, because her story is already so weird as it stands. I’m a pre-war popsicle (possibly with brain damage from being frozen, defrosted, refrozen and defrosted again) that woke up in an apocalyptic wasteland. That’s a lot to swallow from a standing start, without wondering if I’m a robot with fake memories on top of it.

Admittedly, DiMA does say that. There’s a lot of explanations for dodgy memories that could happen to anyone, let alone someone with such a massive trauma and huge before-after divide as the sole survivor. Which, possibly, makes it more likely for her to be a synth, because hello tailor-made past to explain away internal inconsistencies. She’d make a great experiment. But it doesn’t make it more likely for her to believe she’s a synth. She thinks she comes from a time before they even existed. She has every reason to believe her own internal narrative about Vault 111 and waking up 200 years later. Regardless of her feelings about synths in general, she has no particular reason to believe she herself is one.

Which I think is my main problem with this dialogue wheel. It’s not really posing the question as a philosophical or existential conundrum, a question the survivor might actually ask herself. It’s asking the question as a means to make her pick a side.

So the option to say you’re human comes out vaguely defensive, something a Brotherhood operative would say. And the option to say you’re a synth makes the synths around you happy.

The wheel has nothing to do with what you actually think you might or might not be. It gives you no option to say you’re really not sure, you can’t decide, you don’t know. Well, it does, and then forces you to make a choice between them anyway. It makes you pick an option, and only gives a nod to doubt in hindsight, and only if you pick synth. The way the options play out, it makes it sound like you don’t make the choice based on what you think you are, you make the choice based on who you plan to side with (or have been siding with back in the Commonwealth). While presuming that the only reason you’d pick a side is that you’re part of it on a racial level.

It makes it sound like the only reason to think you’re human is because you hate the thought of being a synth. That any reasonable person would think that they probably are one, especially if they already like them and are an ally to them. That the only reason to be an ally with synths and want to help them is the idea in the back of your brain that you are one yourself.

Like, I don’t know if I’m overthinking this slightly because I didn’t like the flatness of the choice and then how our particular choice played out. We picked human, because to the best of our knowledge our survivor had no real reason to think she wasn’t one. And then what we said came out sounding like Maxson could have said it. Which, given that we’re a staunch Minuteman/Railroad member, and in love with Nick Valentine, did not please me in the slightest.

But I really do feel that the wheel is too flat, too arbitrary, comes out of nowhere, and frames your choices in a really manipulative way. While the base game does ask a lot of questions about who is or is not a synth, and several people do challenge you as one because they’re in paranoid meltdowns, this is the first time we’ve really been asked if we think we might actually be a synth. And for the first time you’re asked something, especially something so existentially fraught as this, are you really going to be able to give a flat, definite answer? Yes or no? Sure, I’m totally a synth. Not sure how I came to that conclusion, but absolutely I am one. Off the top of my head, yup.

(Sidenote: the way it dismisses your question of ‘How would I know?’ also annoys me. I know it’s because it’s meant to be a general ‘asking for clarification’ prompt, but it actually makes more sense as an answer in itself. How would she know? Why can’t that stand as her answer? But no, the wheel/DiMA presses you on to make a binary choice)

Why would you, as the player, pick ‘I’m a synth’, except that you’re siding with synths? The game has given you no evidence or asked you no direct questions up to now for you to genuinely think that your character is a synth. And I get RPing doubts, and the expanded version of that answer, what you actually say, is something I might have said had that been given as the initial option. In the back of my head, I have wondered if I might be. Because basically everyone in the Commonwealth has probably wondered that by now. But we had no reason to say ‘I am a synth’, like that was a thing we knew. Because we don’t.

The baseline assumption is going to be that you’re human. All your memories and evidence point that way. Unless you’ve been to the Institute and pulled your file and synth designation off their databanks, you’d have no way of knowing you’re a synth. So why would you say you are?

To get in good with Acadia. That’s why you’d say you are. Because you want to ally with synths, or infiltrate them, so you blithely say that you are one. Because clearly everyone knows that the only reason you’d help a synth or ally with them is if you are one.

I don’t like this dialogue wheel. I really, really don’t like it. I know it’s a system problem. The wheel system doesn’t expand on what you’re actually going to say, so you have to make your best guess based off dodgy summary prompts (which is why we basically never choose the ‘sarcastic’ option, because holy Hannah we’ve no idea if we’re going to be mildly snarky or cut someone to the bone with that one, and most of the time we’re not chancing it). But the particular way the initial prompts and then the actual dialogue in this one plays out has some very unfortunate implications. It does really feel like it enforces the ‘humans vs synths and if you are one, you’re antagonistic to the other’ divide. It feels like a choice designed to make you pick a side, and to declare yourself racially in order to do so. And I don’t like it.

Um. Right. Sorry for the rant.

(For the record, I am enjoying the DLC generally at the minute. Far Harbour as a setting is fantastically spooky and Lovecraftian, and running around it with Nick is great so far. But that particular moment really bugged me. Like a lot. Heh)

[nny11writes]

Can I get a uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhh, Number 29 Jelous Kiss on a Glitra with extra clingyness?

UGH, I re-wrote this and I’m still not 100% thrilled, but it’s good enough. My overachieving ass needs to stop lol! Any who, Catra is Jealous and does something about it! (technically part of the “Green Isn’t Your Color” au/story)

Sometimes it’s hard to feel like she’s enough for Glimmer. She’s course and short and crass, and you can’t even get a good fuck out of her at the end of the day. Catra’s used to feeling like an outsider and a fool, she’s used to being a second class citizen always forgotten and left behind. The idea that Glimmer, normal, beautiful Glimmer, actually likes her despite all that?

That sounds like bullshit spun by Scorpia or Bow to make her feel better, when she knows they’re just pitying her and tired of dealing with her anxious, depressed ass.

Fair. So is Catra.

But here’s the thing, Glimmer isn’t. After making things crystal clear at Scorpia’s end of summer party, Catra had fully expected a few months of bliss and then a lifetime of regretting whatever behavior was sure to drive her off eventually. That...wasn’t what happened. Glimmer kept asking her out, kept seeing her, calling and texting and sending her stupid memes at 2AM. Rolling into Catra’s job on Valentine’s Day with a small box of chocolates, a flower, and a staunch warning to not make herself sick from eating all the chocolate at once. Their first anniversary came and went, and while Catra was wondering when the other shoe would drop Glimmer asked if they could move in together. 

She knew they’d have to talk about it soon. The way Catra was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. But until then, she was going to be an insecure little bitch about it all.

Catra isn’t opposed to PDA, she enjoys most varieties of it in fact. Especially when it let’s everyone else know to fuck off regarding Glimmer. Her hands are soft and a little pudgy, and they are perfect for holding and squeezing even if they get sweaty against her palms. She needs the little assurance squeezes, and the fingers playing with hers. Cuddling and snuggling? Oh hell yeah. Glimmer had laughed about her girlfriend being a lap cat, but only in private where Catra could pretend to be upset and bite at her gently. Hugging? Fuck yeah. Ideal hug time, several hours! Kissing, actually okay for the most part, as long as there wasn’t tongue.

Her whole body seized up at that. Fucking gross, why did anyone enjoy that? Squirmy wet, weird tasting muscle flesh. Yuck.

But kissing, like, kissing kissing? Catra was a fucking fool for that! A peck to the cheek, nose, forehead, lips, and it turned out she could be both a solid and a liquid. It was wild. Intense. Deeply, hauntingly beautiful. And Glimmer? Glimmer was very free with her kisses in public once Catra okayed it. She rarely if ever initiated it, too paranoid that Glimmer would somehow take it out of context and be hurt if Catra didn’t want to go further.

Which was why Glimmer was shooting her several concerned looks as they walked hand in hand through the mall. Because Catra would not stop flopping all over her, and had been given several quick kisses. She didn’t want to worry her, but if that guy who was clearly following them after hitting on Glimmer at the cinnamon roll stand was going to act entitled, Catra was going to make a point. 

Just...she didn’t want to worry Glimmer. Most women would not take, “Hey that guy is following you.” well and she is not going to ruin their day out being an idiot. She needed a game plan, she needed fucko boy to leave them alone, and if getting a little more clingy with her girlfriend was the cure? Well, what a treat.

So Catra held on tighter, remembering that fateful night at the party she slipped her hand in Glimmer’s back pocket and got front row tickets to watching her purple eyes dilate. Tail around her amazing, fucking kill me now how did I get this lucky hips. Snuggling up hard at the food court to the point that Glimmer had complained that she couldn’t eat. Catra was prepared to do just about anything to get Stupid McStupidFace to stop looking at Glimmer. 

Like she got it, okay? Fuck, she was lucky and had a beautiful and, dare she say it, sexy girlfriend. 

Glimmer could probably bench press her, even if only once. Glimmer had thighs blessed by Thor himself. Glimmer had a cute nose, and kind eyes, and a sparkling laugh, and even the way she growled was adorable. She understood if people were looking, Catra was looking too. But being this creepy? Gross!

“You okay? You’ve been a little…” Glimmer paused, her free hand waving vaguely as Catra did her level best to not hiss at the asshole in a reflection and then have to explain herself.

Her whole defense was to whine like a child and burrow in closer under Glimmer’s chin with a soft chirp. Still, she knew her ears were twisted hard to listen to the competition and her tail was a bastard hell bent on ruining her whole life. She could feel her nails burrow into Glimmer’s shirt a little as she pulled back, the guy was finally walking towards them and Catra was gonna kill him if he came over here and opened his stupid mouth.

“Can I kiss you?” Was not what Catra meant to say, in fact it wasn’t even close to what she’d meant to say.  When Glimmer blinked in shock, Catra rubbed their cheeks together, giving only the smallest little lick on instinct to her girlfriend’s temple. Her whole body was hard wired to betray her apparently. 

“I might die if you don’t,” Glimmer said breathless.

So Catra kissed her, a proper kiss, as if she was some old timey soldier going off to war and unsure if she’d return. They parted only long enough for Catra to switch her hold and kiss Glimmer again, this time with a dip for fucking emphasis because no one was going to win Glimmer’s heart when Catra had finally gotten a glimpse at it.

“No seriously,” Glimmer said in between the next few desperate kisses, “this isn’t really like you? Not to be rude? Not that you can’t?? I’m not complaining!”She didn’t look, SHE DIDN’T, but her stupid fucking ears twitched and one rotated to listen as the douche bag walked away. It was enough for Glimmer to smirk at her. “Oh, didn’t like my not so secret admirer huh?”

She knew?! Of course she knew! For one moment Catra felt like a colossal idiot, heart hammering as a flash of pure rage went through her. Then it was gone leaving that same hollow feeling, the sickly leftovers of jealousy still smoldering in her gut. 

Glimmer leaned up to kiss her, hands carding through her mane, one scratching just behind her ear and holy FUCK. She was purring, it was mortifying, but Glimmer was still kissing and scratching and shaking as she tried to hold her weight more on the leg not jammed between Catra’s in some last valiant effort to be chivalrous. Stupid, sweet Glimmer.

She pulled them upright and grumbled into her neck, still wrapped around Glimmer tight.

“Hey, seriously, are you okay with all this? I, uh, I’m having a blast. Ugh! I’m, this is, that is to say,” Glimmer sighed, kissed her on her nose, and tried again, “I love dicking with assholes too, and I’m enjoying all this attention. But I’m not enjoying that you’re feeling bad.”

Oof.

“ ‘m just being stupid,” Catra mumbled, hoping Glimmer wouldn’t hear her and let it go.

“Hey, no! Talk shit about my girlfriend again and I’ll punch you.” 

Catra clung a little tighter.

“Catra, he’s not even my type. Does he have a dick? Yes. Newsflash dummy, I’ve got a spare at home and if the choice is you or some random dude with too much hair gel and not enough brain to recognize a couple? It’s gonna be you.”

It was sweet. It was too sweet. Catra didn’t deserve that did she? Holy shit, she never failed to be totally gobsmacked when Glimmer chose her and it felt like she was going to float right off the ground. The two stood there for a while, rocking back and forth on occasion as they just held onto their hug.

“Hey,” Glimmer whispered, heart hammering under Catra’s ear, “he just went into laser tag. Wanna kick his ass?”

Catra kissed her, let it linger, and answered, “Let’s destroy him.”

“Fucking sweet!” Glimmer cheered, teleporting them over.

[bitchapalooza]

No reason why Ireland would be a cry baby if she was female. The part where references are for yes we can are

W. D.C world Dancing

Wa Wa World Undo

C.B.C Cowboy boot camp

The cradle thing is in

Absolute Invincible British Gentleman

I wonder what Ireland and Ameirca relationship will be?

Interesting....

And as for a relationship between America and Ireland...

Okay so I did research. This is mainly addressing the Great Famine and modern American-Irish relations(vaguely) and what I assume to be what their relationship was and has become. There's probably more in between that can be said but I wanted to focus on the beginning and the now. If I have gotten anything wrong please do correct me. I used what little knowledge I did know and what I've looked up.

I'll put this under a cut as it is long lol

Mentions of xenophobia(with no explicit detail)

I see it being pretty rocky at the start, more so from America's end than Ireland's. America might have been unfortunately persuaded by the xenophobic conspiracies that went around during that time regarding Irish immigrants. I'm not saying America as the character is xenophobic(or any other phobic for that matter) just the panic of his citizens claiming the Irish, who they viewed as useless due to how weak and poor most were(because of starvation and treatment on the boats as well how most spent their last financials on the boat fair itself), got to him. Without mentioning any conspiracy or events caused by them(and vise versa), its likely the prejudice that only increased as time went on had a psychological impact on America himself. He did not hate nor fear for what the influx of the Irish would bring, it was more like he was anxious and paranoid due to how his citizens were feeling and acting. Personally(as in Alfred, separate from being the nation) he was more than happy to take in these ailing people, especially Ireland, when the time came.

Moving on to Ireland(who will remain nonbinary so this can apply to anyone's Ireland OC if they want to adopt it, add on, ect); Ireland was suffering greatly due to the famine. They wanted a way out just as much as their citizens did. They did not want to abandon their people or land, merely just personally recover before returning in better health. I imagine they did not embark on a voyage to America until possibly halfway through the mass immigration— basically meaning they did not arrive with the first wave. I see Ireland as a fighter, stubborn, they are a true optimist when it comes to survival and war. That being said they had their hopes that they(as in all of Ireland) would get through this. But how badly the English were treating their people and how hard hitting the famine was to their staple crop, it dwindled their hopes down until it was a pile of ash. And so they did what their people did. What little hope they still had was put into a better life in America. Ireland did not, however, take the treatment of their people personally being caused by America himself, mostly just his citizens— which they may have expected a little.

I believe for the most part America avoided Ireland despite the two of them being roommates. It was mostly awkward interactions caused by America's anxiety, with Ireland being the persistent one to engage a better relationship. By the end of the prejudice(note: not the end per say but when it dwindled down and Americans moved on to be xenophobic towards Chinese immigrants) it got better. America's paranoia calmed down enough to finally welcome Ireland fully into his life and establish a good relationship that has extended and evolved into the modern age. I can see them hanging out in their downtime. Ireland sneaking America beers(as he's physically under the legal age). Maybe they go watch.... Ssssports? Yeah I don't know sports very well. And I've forgotten what friends do after so long of only having online friends. But they totally do a lot together whenever possible.

[angelofthequeers]

Minty Fresh, Strawberry Sweet, Cinnamon Spice: chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

@trainflavor tagged as requested :) And @zenniaphoenix, here’s the completed fic!

Chapter 3 | AO3 link

As soon as he detransforms, Adrien takes off running back to where he’d left Marinette and Kagami in his haste to turn into Chat Noir. But neither of them is there; the only sign that they’d been on that street at all is the melted ice cream that he’d dropped when Heart Hunter had found their street.

His heart leaps into his throat. Are the girls okay? If anything’s happened to them, he won’t forgive himself, even though Chat Noir has a duty to Paris and transforming to take down Heart Hunter had rationally been the best way to keep them safe – but maybe he could have made sure that they were safe and hidden before running off –

“Adrien!”

Adrien’s shoulders slump in sheer relief when Kagami rounds the corner, catches sight of him, and runs up to him, her short hair and red skirt billowing. He opens his arms to catch her but he’s not expecting her to throw her arms around his neck and practically suffocate him.

“I’m okay,” he chokes. When he takes a deep breath, the faint smell of her sports deodorant fills his nostrils; so different to Marinette’s scent of vanilla and strawberries, yet just as warm and comforting because of who it belongs to. “I found Chat Noir – he got me somewhere safe –”

“Well, you shouldn’t have left us in the first place!” Kagami lets go and steps back to cross her arms and scowl at him. “You just left me and Marinette there. You put yourself in danger. If you hadn’t found Chat Noir…”

How can he reassure her that he wasn’t in any danger as Adrien? He can’t; not without revealing himself as Chat Noir. Instead, he just takes her hands and looks her in the eyes. Cinnamon, is the first word that pops into his mind. He and Marinette really had been correct about her ice cream flavour.

“I’m sorry I made you worry, Kagami,” Adrien says. “But I – Marinette!”

Kagami whips around as Adrien waves at the pink figure that’s just skidded around the same corner, and a small smile crosses her lips at the sight of Marinette bolting down the street, cheeks red and black hair falling out of her pigtails. God, she’s so gorgeous. How had Adrien never noticed before? Sure, he’s always been aware that Marinette’s pretty, and he’s called her their everyday Ladybug, but he’s never noticed just how…radiant her soul is. She’s loud where Kagami is quiet, soft where Kagami is abrasive, poetic where Kagami is direct, and the sudden realisation that he loves both these girls so much and just as much as each other makes Adrien’s head spin.

“…hope you found a good place to hide,” Kagami’s saying when Adrien manages to pull himself out of his lovesick daze. “I couldn’t find Adrien, but Ladybug encountered me and helped me hide properly.”

“Of course!” Marinette says with a breathless laugh, scratching the back of her head. “I’m a pro at hiding from akumas. Between getting mummified by Pharaoh and knighted by Darkblade and hit by Reflekta both times, I kind of try not to be anywhere near them if I can help it.”

“I’m glad you’re okay, Marinette,” Adrien says in a slightly hoarse voice. Marinette’s cheeks pinken and she lets out an odd giggle and by god, again, how has he never noticed just how gorgeous she is?

“Tou yoo – you too!” Marinette babbles. She groans and facepalms. “Excuse my stuttering. You make me nervous. In the best way! Not in a bad way!”

Adrien lets a small grin slide across his face as he slips an arm around Marinette, whose cheeks darken to the colour of Ladybug’s suit. It’s not the first time he’s associated her with Ladybug but, well…she’d been Multimouse. He’d seen her with Ladybug. There’s no way they can be the same girl, not unless she’d somehow pulled off some epic trick, but he can’t think of how she could have possibly done so. And besides, it’s not fair to associate Marinette with Ladybug. Ladybug had rejected him once and for all and he’s moving on; moving on to Marinette and Kagami. A part of him will always love Ladybug, that much is true, but no way in hell is he going to hurt these two amazing girls.

He’s made his choice. He’s committed. Marinette Dupain-Cheng and Kagami Tsurugi are the girls he picks. And it’s not like he’s losing Ladybug; as she’d said, he’s still one of her best friends and he’s irreplaceable.

“I always wondered why you stuttered around me,” Adrien says. “I don’t think you’re a freak for it or anything, by the way. You can’t exactly help it.”

Marinette lets out an explosive breath. “Oh, thank god. One of my nightmares was of you laughing at me and – well, I don’t think you’d laugh at me! No way! I just tend to get into anxiety spirals and catastrophise like mad.”

“Ah. Anxiety.” Kagami tilts her head. “I hadn’t considered that that could be a reason for your hesitance. I’m sorry for judging you unfairly, Marinette.”

“Well, you’ve got enough ‘no hesitation’ energy for both of us,” Marinette says with a nervous little laugh. Kagami smiles at her.

“Yes, I do. And you –” She turns and jabs a finger at Adrien, “– were in the middle of apologising to me for making me worry.”

“Oh!” Marinette’s eyes widen. “Did you – Adrien, were you okay?”

“Yeah! Chat Noir hid me,” Adrien says. “Anyway, as I was saying to Kagami…I’m sorry for making you girls worry. I thought I was helping by finding Chat Noir, but I didn’t think that I’d be worrying you. I guess…well, I guess I’m just not used to people genuinely worrying about me like that. My father worries about me, yeah, but his worry’s more of a ‘my perfect son is two seconds late, this is unacceptable!’ kind.”

Marinette and Kagami’s mouths droop after Adrien’s apology. In the blink of an eye, he’s got both girls clinging to him, and their arms also snake around each other but neither seems to mind. If anything, they seem to lean into each other as well.

“We’ll always care about you, Adrien,” Marinette says.

“And we accept your apology,” Kagami says. Adrien squeezes them both.

“Thanks, Marinette, Kagami. And…” He takes a deep breath. No going back now. “I ran into Ladybug just before she turned back, and I got to talk to her.” For some reason, Marinette stiffens in his embrace. “She was pretty cool about my crush, but she did pretty firmly tell me that it couldn’t happen. And I know I’m not going to get over her overnight but, well…I choose you. Both of you. I’m committing. Just feel free to slap me if I mess up and hurt either of you –”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of slapping you,” Kagami says. “I’ll just make you dread every fencing session of ours.”

“And I’ll make you paranoid of all the treats I bring you,” Marinette says into his shirt, her muffled voice slightly higher than usual. Adrien shudders, because Kagami is already a terrifying opponent when she’s not angry, and Marinette must be super angry to meddle with pastries.

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair,” he says. “Just tell me, at least? I don’t want to mess up and hurt you two without knowing what I did.”

“Deal,” Marinette and Kagami say before releasing him and stepping back. They exchange a look, and Adrien’s suddenly wondering if it’s too late to run, because there’s no way he’ll survive when both these girls team up against him.

“Uh, why do I feel like I’m going to be eaten alive?” he says.

“You go first,” Kagami says. “He’s full of nervous energy, just like you. I’d like him relatively calm before I try.”

Marinette pokes her tongue out at Kagami in return. Before Adrien can ask what the hell’s going on, Marinette’s reaching over to clasp his hands, lacing their fingers together, and she gives him a nervous little smile while biting her lip.

“I was, um, well…hoping you could kiss us. Only if it’s okay with you…” she says. Adrien’s stomach lurches, but not in a bad way; it’s much more of an oh god, I have two amazing girls to kiss way instead.

“Y-Yeah!” Adrien squeezes his hand. “It’ll probably be awful, though. Sorry, I’m just…you know, wrapping my head around the fact that I’m allowed to be with both of you. And the thought of being with you both is doing something to my insides. Not in a bad way, and I do want to kiss you, I just don’t want to let you down, because I know you must have been dreaming of it if you’ve been crushing on me for this long and I know Kagami’s got high standards and I –”

He’s cut off by a pair of warm, soft lips pressing against his own as Marinette stands on her tiptoes to kiss him. It’s not hard, not forceful, not demanding more than he wants to give; instead, it’s hesitant and light, inviting him to make the next move, to take it as far as he wants, with nothing more expected of him. And as he kisses back, trying to channel all his late-night air kissing practice while Plagg teases him mercilessly, it’s almost impossible to come to terms with just how much he loves it.

It’s far from his first kiss, or even his second. He owes those both to Ladybug, even if he can’t remember them. But kissing Marinette is right, like coming home after a long, hard day – home, not the cold, empty mansion in which he currently lives – to warm food and laughter and love. After a moment, Marinette lowers herself back down, and she squeaks and flushes bright scarlet as Adrien tries to recapture the brain cells that are leaking out of his ears.

“W-Wow,” Marinette says in a voice so high that every dog in Paris has probably been alerted. “That was – oh my gosh – I kissed Adrien –”

“Just remember to breathe,” Kagami says with an amused little smile. “If you pass out, Adrien and I will be so worried about you that I won’t get my turn.”

Marinette gulps and nods. Meanwhile, Adrien’s finally managed to scoop back his liquefied brain, although he’s got a sneaking suspicion that it’s just going to melt again after he kisses Kagami.

“Go for it!” Marinette makes a vague hand gesture. “I’ll just try not to freaking die over here.”

“If you’re sure?” Kagami says, still smiling like this is the funniest joke she’s ever seen. Marinette nods rapidly, so Kagami steps up to Adrien, who’s starting to wonder if he’s even going to make it out of this alive. His question is answered as soon as Kagami wraps her arms around his neck in a loose embrace and guides their lips together: no, he’s not going to survive this, not if he gets to kiss Marinette and Kagami.

Where Marinette had been soft and let him control the pace, Kagami easily takes the lead, awkwardly working her mouth against his but not uncomfortably; more in a way that makes it blatantly obvious that this is her first kiss, despite her self-assuredness. But, as commanding as she is, Kagami is never once forceful and demanding in her kiss, as one might have suspected from her personality. Instead, it’s like she’s taking his hand and pulling him along, leading and guiding but giving him more than enough room to object and slow down if need be.

It’s nothing like the time Lila had wrenched him in for that cheek kiss; she’d been overpowering and dominating, but Kagami’s force is far gentler and much more respectful. It’s like the whirlwind of their fencing matches, of their rebellions and escapes from their overbearing parents, and although Adrien’s thought this far too often today, he can’t deny it: it’s so different to Marinette’s kiss, yet equally amazing in the best possible ways. Maybe that’s why he’s so drawn to both Marinette and Kagami.

Adrien couldn’t say if Kagami’s kiss lasted longer than Marinette’s. All he knows is that when Kagami finally steps away to give him the space to process what had just happened, he’s not even sure if it’s the same year.

“Wow,” is all his mouth will say once he’s got some semblance of higher brainpower back. “Wow. Both of you. Just…wow.”

Marinette and Kagami laugh and grin at each other.

“I think we broke him,” Marinette says.

“I guess we’ll just have to fix him, then,” Kagami says.

“Oh my god.” Adrien nearly faints on the spot. “Stop it. I can’t handle both of you.”

The girls exchange another grin.

“I think you were right, Kagami,” Marinette says. “Sharing him is the best idea I’ve heard all day. It’s so satisfying to watch you break him.”

“It’s exactly the same for me,” Kagami says. “Maybe one day, I can break you too.”

Marinette whimpers and flushes scarlet again. Her face is so red that Adrien blurts out, “You’re utterly adorable, ma fraise,” before he can help himself, and Marinette blinks owlishly at him.

“Your strawberry?” she says.

“Um…yeah?” Adrien scratches the nape of his neck. “Because your flavour is strawberry? And your face is red like one right now?”

“Hey!” Marinette shoves him playfully, still blushing. “Don’t mock me!”

“Shall I defend your honour?” Kagami says. “I’m sure I could find another ladle.”

Adrien snickers and takes a step towards Kagami, who stands her ground with an amused eyebrow-raise. He leans in, brushes some of her dark hair away from her ear, and murmurs, “Challenge accepted, ma cannelle.”

He’s going to get absolutely murdered later. But oh, it’s so worth it to see how pink floods Kagami’s face when he steps away, because when does he ever manage to get one over her?

“G-Get me a ladle too,” Marinette babbles. “I’ll yefend dour – defend your honour too!”

The slow smile that spreads across Kagami’s face confirms Adrien’s suspicion from just moments before: he’s dead. But honestly? Death by two terrifyingly tough girlfriends doesn’t sound like the worst way to go.

[omgrachwrites]

Schooled (Bucky Barnes)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OC

Summary: After the passing of Ava’s father she starts acting out which drives her right into the arms of one gorgeous Professor Barnes.

Warnings: fluff, lil bit of angst, mentions of sex

Words: 2140

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this part and please let me know what you think and if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

Part Three -  The Lecture

All morning the girls were trying to get the scoop on what had happened between Ava and Bucky because MJ and Wanda had woke up in the early hours of the morning and there had been no sign of Ava. All three of them had snuck out of the boy’s room before they got up and got a taxi back to their own hotel so they could actually start packing for their flight home that afternoon – they even left the hotel room without breakfast.

Ava thought that she’d feel bad for leaving without even writing Bucky a note or something like that, she had never been a love them and leave them kind of girl. She didn’t feel bad though, soon Bucky would be a distant memory and there would be no lasting reminder of the night of passion that she’d shared with a beautiful stranger.

“So, what did happen between you and Bucky?” Wanda asked as Ava was struggling to gather all of her makeup collection together. Ava giggled and raised an eyebrow at MJ who was standing behind Wanda, fiddling with her fingers.

“Guys,” Ava laughed as she found her lipstick in the shower, not knowing how it ended up there, “is this an interrogation or something?”

“It’s just that we woke up around 5am and you weren’t asleep on the sofa bed with us, we were worried,” MJ added.

Ava sighed as she threw her cosmetic bag into her suitcase and turned back around to face her friends, her arms folded over her chest, “look, we watched TV and cuddled,” she couldn’t really explain why she wasn’t telling her two best friends the truth about what went down.

“You cuddled?” MJ repeated as she and Wanda looked at each other uncertainly and Ava threw up her arms in frustration.

“Yes, we cuddled, you know it’s when two people vertically hug or snuggle whilst they’re in bed together,” she smiled as Wanda rolled her eyes.

“Okay, okay smartass. Let’s go and get some lunch,” Wanda laughed and they left their hotel and walked into town.

They found a tavern in the old part of the village, right by the bay which looked beautiful in the early afternoon; New York seemed so grey in comparison. Ava didn’t eat anything too heavy as she was feeling very hungover and she didn’t want to be sick on the plane. Ava felt a little paranoid, she was constantly looking around in case Bucky turned up, and she would rather avoid an awkward conversation.

MJ however, noticed that Ava kept on looking around and clearly she got the wrong end of the stick, “look we know what hotel and room that the boys are staying in if you want to go back and give Bucky your number. We’re right behind you,” Wanda hesitated before nodding in agreement.

Ava smiled as she twirled her face in her Greek salad, extremely happy that her friends were always looking out for her, “it’s not about that, really I’m fine. Thank you though.”

As the girls boarded the plane it truly felt that their holiday was over, summer was almost over and Ava thought that she’d better start her work for her literature class. She had to choose a novel or a play from the syllabus and write an essay on it, choosing her own question; she had chosen Jekyll and Hyde which happened to be one of her favourite books. Shakespeare was on the list unfortunately, she liked Shakespeare but she just couldn’t understand the language that was used which would make it hard to write a decent piece on it. In high school she was able to bullshit an essay on Shakespeare but she had a feeling that it wouldn’t cut it in university, she supposed that she’d have to find somebody that would help her.

Chewing her lip, she looked at her friends and she felt bad, she figured that they deserved to know what really went down between her and Bucky. She thought that there was just no point in keeping it a secret anymore considering that she’d never see Bucky ever again.

“Hey guys,” she started and the girls looked up at her, MJ looked slightly annoyed as she took the headphones out of her ears, “I’ve got a confession to make. Bucky and I had sex,” she sighed, waiting for their reaction which was slightly delayed as they took in Ava’s words. They both gasped, MJ looked excited while Wanda narrowed her eyes.

“You had sex with someone that you don’t even know?” she had a mixture of emotions on her face but she mostly looked worried, she was definitely the mom friend, “why didn’t you tell us?”

“Well, for one I knew that you’d react like that,” Ava grinned as she nudged her shoulder against Wanda’s, “and two. I don’t really know why I didn’t say anything, I felt like I had to keep it a secret for some reason,” she shrugged, “but that’s stupid I guess.”

“No, it’s not,” MJ spoke softly, her eyes soft and sympathetic, “are you going to miss him?”

Ava thought about it for a second, “I’ll miss his face that’s for sure, and he was pretty good in bed,” she smirked, “but I didn’t know enough about him to miss him as a person.”

“That’s probably a good thing then,” Wanda shook her head and went back to her book.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Ava sighed as she looked at the apartment building that NYU had to offer, to be fair from the outside it looked nicer than the ones in California. The same couldn’t be said for the weather, it had been raining pretty much since Ava had arrived back from Greece. She wanted nothing more than to be back beneath that warm sun. She looked at Pepper who was chewing her lip and blinking rapidly while Morgan was sniffling in the backseat.

“Thanks for giving me a ride Pepper,” she smiled and leaned over to give Pepper a hug and reached behind her to give Morgan one too, “I’ll see you guys real soon, okay?”

Pepper nodded, “we need a tradition while you’re here. How about you come over for dinner on Sunday?”

Ava smiled and nodded, “sounds good, I’ll see you guys then,” she grinned and got out of the car, she was feeling nervous now, especially about meeting her roommate. Taking a deep breath Ava pushed open the door to the administration office so she could get the key to her room.

“Hey girl! I’ve been so excited for you to get here!” Rebecca, Ava’s friend grinned from where she was sitting behind the desk, she took a sip of coffee and Ava vaguely wondered if there was any alcohol in it. She had always been bringing a flask to school with her when they were both in their senior year.

“Your roommate is here and oh my god! He is so gorgeous; his accent is to die for!”

“Well, I can’t wait to meet him,” Ava beamed as Rebecca passed her the room key over.

“Do your classes start today?” Rebecca asked and Ava nodded, checking the time on her watch.

“Yeah, in about thirty minutes, I left the whole moving in thing till the last minute. I didn’t want to leave Pepper and Morgan till the very last second.”

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry about your dad,” Rebecca sighed.

“Thanks,” she smiled, fiddling with her room key, “I best go and meet my roommate.”

Rebecca squealed excitedly, “eek! Okay! I am so excited for you to meet him, like I’ve already said it a million times,” she giggled, “if you ever need a wing woman then I’m available,” she winked and Ava rolled her eyes at her playfully.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she smiled and walked up the three flights of stairs to her mini apartment.

On her way up to her room she saw that she wasn’t the only one who was moving in at the last minute, she walked past a lot of open doors as people tried to shift a ridiculous amount of stuff into their room. From being nosey she noticed that the rooms looked pretty okay it had a tiny living room area, a shared bathroom, a little kitchen area and then of course it had the bedrooms in the back. It was incredibly basic but Ava figured that it didn’t matter; she was only here for one year.

As she walked into her mini apartment she saw that there was no one to be seen.

“Hello?” she called out and someone walked out of a bedroom and it almost felt like time stopped moving.

Rebecca had been right; this guy had the face of an angel. He had eyes that were such a light blue that they should have looked cold but somehow they were very warm and soft. To top it all off, he had the curliest blonde hair, it was just to die for – he was to die for.

“Hi, I’m Loki, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he beamed as he held out his hand, he was so soft spoken that Ava wished that every boy talked like that.

“I’m Ava, it’s great to meet you too,” she giggled as she shook his hand, if she believed in love at first sight then this would be it.

———————————————-

Bucky was about ten minutes into his first lecture at NYU-  he had been really nervous at first but he soon got into it and he knew that this was exactly what he wanted to do. He was very happy that everyone seemed to be listening to him; one of his biggest fears was that if no one listened to him. In fact, there was a group of girls sitting right on the front row and they seemed to be hanging onto his every word. Though, there was one student that was half listening, he kept on glancing at the door every couple of minutes and it was really starting to throw Bucky off.

“Mr Odinson,” he started and Loki looked at him, looking a little guilty, “can you tell me why you’re not giving me all of your attention right now?”

“Err,” he stuttered, “well you see sir, my roo-“he was cut off as the door slammed open, making everybody jump.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry that I’m late, I completely lost track of-“she trailed off as she looked at Bucky with wide eyes and she was looking very confused.

Bucky felt pretty much the same, considering that it was Ava – the girl that he’d had sex with in Greece. Somebody cleared their throat which brought Bucky back down to earth, remembering that he was in a full lecture hall.

“You must be Ava Stark?” he asked, pretending he didn’t know, dumbfounded she nodded.

“Please find a seat and take out your book list,” Ava chewed her lip and managed to find an empty seat next to Loki.

Bucky carried on with his lecture, kind of distracted as he looked at the pretty girl, he couldn’t believe how unlucky he was to have her as a student. He kept on getting flashbacks to their night together and he remembered just how beautiful she had looked and sounded. Bucky ended up getting so distracted that he ended the lecture about five minutes early.

“Ava, I need a word with you about what you missed in the first ten minutes,” he called to her as she was about to leave the hall. She sighed and turned back around, walking to his desk, he was already writing what she’d missed on a sheet of paper refusing to look at her, “here you go,” he said as he pushed the paper at her.

“Bucky,” she sighed sadly, “are we just going to pretend that we don’t know each other? No one else is here,” she cupped his stubbled jaw.

“You told me that you were an English graduate, I can’t believe you lied to me. Why didn’t you just tell me that you were in your last year of college?” if truth be told he didn’t really care that much but he was still feeling salty about how she left without leaving a note or even her number.

“I don’t know but I’m sorry.”

Bucky sighed and took her hand off of his jaw, “what happened between us in Greece is never going to happen again. I can’t be your lover, or your friend, I can only be your Professor, nothing more.”

“Fine, I understand. One time thing, it won’t happen again,” she rolled her eyes as she turned to leave.

“Ava?” he asked and she didn’t turn around or answer but she did stop, “do make sure that you’re on time tomorrow.”

———————————————-

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@void-imaginations @theonelittleone @mikariell95 @leclerc-stan @thejemersoninferno @allthingswildareshy @charles11700 @writingkeepsmewhole @lovely-geek @white-wolf-buckaroo @goodolbucky

[thesummerstorms]

Rev Recaps Hard Contact (Chapter 6)

CW: Series typical sexist description, I guess. 

TL;DR Recap:  Birhan attempts to chase Etain away but is dissuaded by Jinart. Darman is puzzled by nature and also severely sleep deprived. Hokan is sexist and Uthan is introduced.

Starting Kal Count: 7. Ending Kal Count: 10.

We immediately open the chapter with another Kal quote. And not even an interesting one. But that ups the Kal Count to 8.

The scene we start with though is from Etain’s pov. Birhan our vaguely contemptuous farmer, is throwing clods of dirt at Etain and telling her to “GTFO because this is all your fault” essentially. 

(Etain plays the scape goat a lot. It’s a trend. Realistically though, he’s afraid of what Hokan will do if he’s found sheltering her, given the “militia” burned people and their livelihoods last chapter.)

Etain still has no idea who Jinart is, but Jinart tells Birhan he’s being stupid. Etain tries and fails to mind influence him with yet another quote about Etain’s lack of control over the Force when it’s most needed. Jinart shoves Birhan around a bit and tries again to persuade him by basically telling him he can either get murdered by the Republic or keep Etain as a kind of human MiracleGro:

This quote is one of the big reasons that I headcanon that Etain was never really going to be happy as a mercenary farmer’s wife living in rural Mandalore with Kal, or happy in a rural/agricultural setting, period. Her strongest associations with agricultural life are the AgriCorps and Qiilura- failure and trauma. The narrative flat out tells us “agriculture spelled failure”. 

And while that might be resolved eventually with a character arc (that she doesn’t get) ag life flat out doesn’t provide the sense of purpose that Etain is so desperate for. There’s nothing dishonorable about farming, but Etain sees it as “life on a backwater planet, talking to grain” and through out the series she strives for the opportunity to make a real difference to other people. Misguidedly at times, I’ll admit, but I don’t think she could have ever been content with what was being offered.

Anyway, Jinart steers Etain back in the direction of the barn. Etain is getting understandably paranoid, but there’s some narration in this scene I just don’t get?

I have SO MANY THOUGHTS about this scene. Enough that I’ll probably make a separate post later. I’m trying to keep my posts brief, I really am, but I pull so much from these couple of pages for Etain.

My first thought is that it’s really, really fucking weird to put Etain’s digression about Jedi values of anti-attachment here, relative to this barn...as opposed to like, idk, a reflection on her life versus the clones’ later. 

Of fucking course the barn isn’t home. It’s a place she’s been hiding from people who want to kill, torture, or rape her while behind enemy lines on a military mission and the owner of the barn just directly threatened her, if ineffectively. “No loves, no attachments” well, yeah, you’re surrounded by enemies and your teacher was just tortured to death. “At least it wouldn’t be hard to tear herself away from here.” Well, no shit. Was that ever even a realistic option?

Then we immediately get the highlighted exchange with Jinart, and again, I’m repeatedly struck by how differently Omega’s grief versus Etain’s is frame. I’m not saying that Etain’s statement is wrong, or even out of character necessarily. 

But it’s super detached, again. Granted, the clones don’t spend time weeping on screen. But their grief at losing their respective squads is brought up repeatedly. The prologue and most of the first chapter are either Darman realizing he’ll never see his squad again or Niner and Fi’s heartbreaking conversation about it. It plays into Niner’s repeated fears for Darman and his anger with Atin. It plays in to Atin’s seeming callousness towards Darman. Etain has a scene later where she asks Darman if he misses his brothers, and he goes quiet and hurt and the weight of the scene rightly falls on her like a hammer.

While Etain... I’m not saying it doesn’t affect her actions; it very visibly affects her paranoia. But it’s never handled quite like grief, if that makes sense? At least not after the initial death.

Speaking of paranoia... Jinart really has no call to be offended that Etain is suspicious, given what’s happened to Etain over the last several weeks and the fact that Jinart spends much of the rest of the novel insinuating she’s naive and useless. Etain has every right to be paranoid, all things considered. But then we get this contradictory mess of a conversation:

The soothing bit doesn’t make sense to me. But I’m biased because I dislike Jinart based on the whole scope of the series. And again Etain grieving and feeling alone and hating being alone in grief makes sense, but the framing of this quote is super weird. Especially as the farmers haven’t demonstrated and “home”-like behavior or even family loyalties on screen.

But we’re finally moving on from this huge ass rant about this scene as we open onto Darman crawling through an open field with his kit and generally being overwhelmed by the sheer openness of everything+ the physical strain when he’s already wounded and exhausted. During the course of this, it comes up that Dar is still desperately hungry, so he starts thinking about what wildlife might be edible, and then about Kal and uj cake.

Kal Count is increased to 9.

Darman is exhausted and fatigued, and most of the section, while interesting, can just be boiled down to him trying to motivate himself to keep going because he’s terrified he’ll miss the rendezvous with the rest of Omega Squad. The same kind of bird that brought down his ship in the first place eats the remote he was using to scout ahead, so he swears at it. There’s another mention of Kal teaching them to build defensive fortifications which ups the Kal Count to 10.

But there’s also a fair bit of fascination as he’s experiencing nature for the first time. He takes his helmet off to smell the breeze, soaks in the stream, and is captivated by his first view of the daywings, which makes you think he is kind of a small-details guy. 

...Dar....

anyway, he falls asleep eventually without much more of note happening in this section. We move to Ghez Hokan introducing the reader to Separatist scientist and would-be creator of the anti-clone bio weapon, Qail Ovolot Uthan. 

I appreciate Uthan a lot as a character, despite her later handling in Imperial Commando: 501st, but this particular introduction still makes me cringe.

I legitimately can’t tell if this is how Traviss thinks of this character, or if this is deliberate characterization of Hokan via his descriptions of Uthan, but ugh.

Hokan: She knows I can’t be seduced, but she still wants to seduce me!

Ugh. The man is also way caught up his own ass in terms of what he thinks other people think of him. He doesn’t want to sit in Uthan’s brocaded chair because it’s “too decadent” but does it anyway because otherwise he would be addressing her while standing like a servant. Dude, you need some therapy. What’s the Mando expression? All helmet, no head?

Anyway, I really, really like Uthan here actually. She’s super ruthless, and even if she’s not a great person, ruthless and somewhat ammoral female characters are a fun rarity. I wish that KT could have kept it up throughout the series rather than making her into “bitter lonely career woman”, but look how casually she decides her work is threatened and then which of her associates she needs to cooly dispose of to prevent that happening:

The smartest thought Hokan has had so far is the recognition that if she’ll arrange to dispose of Ankkit, she’ll do the same to him, honestly. But when Uthan sees him hesitate, she goes right for the kill and presses just the right button to utterly manipulate him. He even recognizes it, but is unable to not be convinced.

She tells him that the clones are clones of Jango Fett. And of course he goes all Death Watch and Mandalorian Honor about it.

Honestly, Hokan. And then we finish the chapter with the thing that really makes me question his intelligence:

“To make them proper men again?”

this is the third time I’ve said it.... but how the fuck do you think viruses work, Hokan?

Honestly.

[damienthepious]

im. heck. this is long. tuesday???!? aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. forgive typos i’m RUSHING to get this up before i have to leave for work.

Scattered On My Shore (Chapter 14)

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9] [Ch 10] [Ch 11] [Ch 12] [Ch 13] [ao3] [Ch 15] [Ch 16] [Ch 17] [Ch 18] [Ch 19]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Pre-Relationship, (for the three of them. it’s established r/d), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Injury, Injury Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, (this will also be), Enemies to Lovers, (for damien and arum eventually lol)

Fic Summary: Strange things wash up out of the lake near Rilla’s hut, on occasion. But this monster… this monster is certainly the strangest.

Chapter Summary: A homecoming.

Chapter Notes: These dang things just keep getting longer, don't they? Also I'm emotional. I'm so fucking emotional. Chapter specific warnings for an explicit threat of violence, not carried through with.

~

Arum insists on coming out to the front room for breakfast the next morning. Saving his strength is all well and good, but if Arum need be confined to that little bed for the entire time between now and their departure, he will certainly not make it that far. Amaryllis was right, that day he attempted escape. At least the view out there is different, and- well. He is comfortable in the room with the cot, by now, but it is far less clinical in Amaryllis' living space. It makes him feel less of a patient and more… more of a guest. Which he should not care about, of course.

Amaryllis relents rather quickly on the subject, provided that he agree to pick a spot and stick to it, until the evening. She is overly concerned with him, not quite paranoid but certainly delving into the territory of what Arum is comfortable referring to as fretting. She scowls when he calls it that, which is gratifying, but it also appears to make her more conscious of how delicate she is being with him, and she rolls her eyes at herself before she helps to lift him to his feet, shuffling slowly out to the table.

Amaryllis and Sir Damien keep their hands clasped between them throughout their breakfast together. Seems inconvenient, Arum thinks, pulling his eyes away from the easy way their fingers interlace. They do not have an overabundance of limbs to work with. Surely they should not impede themselves for such a- a pointless gesture.

They are-

Arum cannot say what, precisely, it is, but he feels as if something is strange between the pair of them. Or- or perhaps that something had been strange, and has now settled. They are sitting closer, and something about their proximity feels… easier. Sir Damien, in particular, seems more calm, though Amaryllis still has a layer of nervous energy to her.

Of course, Amaryllis is not particularly patient. She does not hold the tension inside of her for long, after they have finished eating.

"So," Amaryllis says, and Arum frowns instantly. "So… Damien is gonna be- coming with us for the trip."

Arum jerks his head to look at the knight, and Damien nods slightly.

"Wh-why?" Arum barks.

"Because… because I want to," Damien says quietly, and then he- smiles, soft and odd, and Arum remembers Damien's hand on his chin, despite himself, "and because I do not think it would be safe for only the pair of you to take that trip. Too many potential dangers, on both sides. I am certain that Rilla has discussed- ah, potential ways to disguise you, so that you will be in less danger from… knights."

Damien's voice has gone soft as well, and Arum can see some strange pain on his face, though Arum cannot say precisely what that indicates. How much separation can this creature feel from his own order?

"But of course that does not mean there will not still be some risk, if…" Damien pauses again. "I would feel better, being there. And… I have my part in this, as well."

"Your part ," Arum echoes. "What do you mean, your part in this?"

Damien pauses for a long moment, clearly considering his words.

"I want to see you home and safe as well, Arum. I have… committed this far. I will follow through."

"Committed?" Arum says. "I hardly think this counts as a commitment. You- you have allowed Amaryllis to- you have denied your duty in slaying me-"

Arum cuts himself off with a wince, then glances toward Amaryllis and away again. Damien does not rise to this statement, does not comment or deny.

It is clear, from the mild confusion on Amaryllis' face, that Damien has not told her the precise shape of what passed between the two of them, the previous day. What Arum nearly pushed Sir Damien to do.

"You…" Arum trails off. "Fine. If you should like to come, I do not see what it will hurt. I shall be curious to see how deep your treachery runs."

"Arum," Rilla warns.

Arum winces again, then sighs and looks away. "It is not as if I could stop you, anyway."

Damien tilts his head. Arum can see it, in his periphery.

"If it would… truly cause you distress, I would… I would worry rather deeply, but I would stay-"

"I said I could not stop you," Arum repeats in a sharp voice. "It is not as if you distress me, songbird, I simply- I do not understand."

"Yes," Damien says softly. "Well. That is… fair. It is a… somewhat complicated situation, is it not? But- but I will take this journey with you, if you allow me."

"I said I could not stop you, honeysuckle,” Arum growls, and judging by Amaryllis’ breath of laughter his tone must be unconvincing. “If that is your choice, that is your choice."

Damien's mouth curls slightly, a smile vague but pleasant, and Arum can't stand to keep his eyes on the pair of them together, though they keep drawing back, regardless.

"Very well. I will accompany you, then."

Arum huffs, wrinkling his snout. "I am surprised that your Citadel can spare you. I thought you creatures were rather strictly kept."

Damien purses his lips, then sighs. "We are… currently in something of a lull, I suppose. There was a thread our Investigator General intended to pull, but… well… when pulled, the pattern simply unraveled. There was a rash of monster attacks with similar stratagems, but they've dissipated like mist over the last… during the last few…" he trails off, his tone going blank. "The… the last few weeks."

Arum feels the twinge in his frill, knows perfectly well he is giving himself away, but Damien does not turn his eyes towards him, accusatory or otherwise.

The pause draws long, and Amaryllis is clearly hovering on the edge of words herself.

"Well?" Arum snaps, eventually. "Are you going to ask or aren't you? Go ahead, then. I told you I made weapons against your kind. What, precisely, were these consistent stratagems you were attempting to ferret out?"

"Arum," Rilla says gently, but Arum scowls more deeply as Sir Damien meets his eyes.

“Well, Sir Damien?”

Damien holds his gaze, for a quiet moment. "There were a number of creatures, in short time, utilizing powers of manipulation. Encouraging conflict, stoking self doubt, provoking pain. Assaulting the mind first, in order to more effectively destroy the body."

"Yes," Arum says in a hiss. "Yes, I am certain I created the creatures of which you speak. I cannot imagine any other could have managed to replicate my work."

"The mushrooms," Rilla murmurs, her brow furrowed. "It was- pain. Illusions of things we- things we were afraid of, things that hurt us."

Arum wishes he could burn the grubs a second time. The look on Amaryllis' face is unbearable, but then she looks up at him, raking her eyes over his face, her expression oddly desperate.

"Yes," he hisses again.

"I…" Damien's face goes mournful as Arum snaps his attention back to the knight. "I cannot say that no harm was done by the creatures, that none were killed. I cannot alleviate your guilt in that way-" Arum scoffs, but he cannot deny, not with the way Damien is looking at him. "But… but I can say that none are doing harm any longer."

Arum looks away, too uncomfortable to pretend otherwise. "If you say so."

"Regardless," Damien continues in a low, measured voice. "As to whether or not I may be spared by the Citadel- while the Investigator General searches for a new loose thread to worry over, the ranks await more specific direction, and-" Damien gives a very small laugh, and the corner of Rilla's mouth pulls into an answering smile. "And I very, very rarely use the time I am granted, for leave. More often than not, I am too worried over the prospect of leaving my fellow knights without assistance. So… none were troubled, that I wished to take my allotted time now, to assist my Rilla."

It is more of an answer than Arum expected. In truth, he had merely been trying to rile the knight again. He huffs out another breath, claws drumming on the table.

"Okay," Rilla says, drawing the word out into more syllables than it requires. "Okay. Uh, that seems settled enough for me, I think. This has been awkward enough for one morning. So, Arum, I, uh-"

She pauses, and Damien squeezes her hand, and Arum hears her breath come steadier, again. She sighs.

"So, I was thinking, we should leave either tomorrow or the day after." She pauses again. "Maybe the day after. You're standing better, and Damien's offered his horse, so- you'll ride, and we'll walk. It'll take longer, but even if we had three horses it probably wouldn't be safe for you to ride at speed anyway, you could jostle something open, or-" She bites her lip. "So. You on the horse, me and Damien walking, and- it'll be slow. What is it, two weeks to your swamp?"

"Something… something to that effect, yes. Though-" he clenches his teeth. "When we are close- we only need reach the border, I think, and we will not need to travel by foot any longer."

"The border. Okay. Okay, and, um, with the route we planned the other day, we should be…" her lips twitch into a smile. "We can do this. We can get you home, and then- ah… I've- I've made up a bunch of extra-"

Her voice- cracks a little, and some pain crosses her face. Arum blinks. He does not understand why she would be…

"For- um. For after I- for after we-" she pauses, inhaling sharply. "I made up a bunch of extra salves, and painkillers, and- and a replacement wrap, so your horn will- so your horn will keep together, and a new cast that should last until your wrist is healed and- so you won't have to worry… when I'm gone."

Arum stares at her, at the odd twisting of her almost-smile. "Ah."

I'm gonna miss him, is the only thing.

Amaryllis' voice on the recorder had been so keening and strange, and it had pulled on Arum's heart like his own yearning for the Keep and- and he could not help but believe her. She is … she is going to miss him. She will feel his absence. Such a terribly strange feeling-

And Arum had been honest, when he told her that he would miss her in return. Though, of course, Arum knows that had not been the whole of it. It is not the whole of it, but he will feel her absence, as well.

"Very…" he swallows. "Very forward thinking of you," he manages. "I… I had no fears, of course. And all I require is home, regardless. Seems a shame, I think, to make you waste an entire month ferrying me back and then needing to return. Certainly your other patients will be missing you, with your skill."

"Yeah, well, I may be the best doctor in the Citadel, but I'm not the only doctor in the Citadel. They'll manage." She smiles again, a little less certainly, and Damien squeezes her hand again.

"Do you feel ready enough for the trip, Lord Arum?" Damien asks.

Arum hates the way his own heart turns, slowly, like a key in a lock, every time Sir Damien calls him that. It is ridiculous. It is his name , it does not make sense , but- the way his tone curls around Lord, the way Arum seems to sit at the back of his mouth. Lord Arum. Respectful formality from a knight. It is … strange, that is all. It is still strange.

"I am… as ready as I shall be," he murmurs. "I cannot afford further delay. My swamp, my home, it… it has been…"

"Without its Lord," Damien finishes, gently.

"Yes. My swamp… and my Keep."

Rilla startles slightly, but Arum… Arum does not know why he has bothered to continue concealing the Keep's existence anyway, and Sir Damien has made it… abundantly clear, that his stance has changed. This stiff-spined little human has shifted his footing, has gained a new vantage, as incomprehensible as that seems.

Damien purses his lips, his face going questioning. "Have you… mentioned a Keep before?" He asks. "Or- no. I think- I think you have only nearly mentioned a Keep before."

"Perceptive," Arum grumbles, his tone hovering between irritated and impressed. "Yes. My home, my Keep." He pauses. "I have already explained it to Amaryllis, I do not- I do not feel-"

"You need not explain anything to me, Lord Arum. Home is…" he presses a hand over his heart. Arum hears his breath catch. "All creatures should be blessed with shelter, with home. It is…" he pauses again. "I am certain you will be glad to be returned to yours. We shall do all we can, to make that come to pass for you."

"Yes, well…" Arum glances aside, uncomfortable. "The sooner the better." He clasps his claws in front of himself, then glances towards Amaryllis. "The… the day after tomorrow, you said, Amaryllis. If you think I shall require the extra day."

Amaryllis nods, and Arum does not know what they will do in the interim. He had not been planning, truly, to make it this far. And now he has today, and tomorrow, to worry and wonder about this upcoming trip. To worry and wonder, about the softness of Sir Damien's hand on his chin. About the leaping of his own heart, at the gentleness with which the knight had lifted it. About the prospect of Amaryllis missing him. About all these strange and bitter hungers that have begun to curl within him.

Arum's eyes have found Amaryllis and Sir Damien's clasped hands again, tracking the way that Damien's thumb is brushing soft over the back of it, a slow, comforting rhythm, as Amaryllis' hand squeezes his. Arum's tongue flicks compulsively, and he buries the urge to-

He does not even know. He is not close enough to reach their hands, and what would he do even if he was? Even if he- if he reached out and wrapped his hand around both of their own (his hand is large enough to do so, his fingers longer than theirs, their stubby little mammal things with their blunt nails and their soft brown skin) (Arum knows the softness both of their hands, now), even if he were to do so-

Certainly they would not welcome his intrusion. Certainly not. They are both so eager to see him gone from their lives. And Arum is eager as well, of course, to return to his Keep, to return to his life. He is eager to close the door on this bizarre little chapter-

A lie. Too deep to stand.

He is not eager to close the door on this chapter. He is not ready. Two days. Two days- only two more days in this strange little hut, in this short-ceilinged human construction, full of herb smell and strange baubles and dangerous plants and skillful wordsmithing and a heretical, compassionate little doctor, and her knight.

Arum has never had a place outside of the Keep before, where he felt himself truly safe. Arum's mind is still… halved in a strange way, he still feels the absence of the Keep's thoughts at his edges, still feels where the Keep is meant to fit, where song should shift into… meaning, and affection, and shared memory, and home.

But if Arum could still feel the Keep here, he would be entirely unable to pretend, anymore, that he does not wish there was some way he could stay.

~

Arum intends to finish the translation, before they leave. It will not be difficult, all things considered. The tome is short, the material arranged in no particular order but with consistent notation for the entries, and he is familiar enough with a decent amount of the species listed that it speeds the process considerably. He needs not even attempt to scrawl the information out in his slightly more stilted attempt at human script, now that Amaryllis is in the room with him again. She simply sets her recorder beside him and he speaks as he works, occasionally drifting into conversation rather than translation, or narrowing his eyes at a particular peculiarity of the dialect, the drifting etymology of distance.

When he turns the page and sees the Moonlit Hermit, he freezes. After a moment, he drifts his claws down the page, tracing the single narrow line that depicts the flower's stem.

So small a thing, to cause so much trouble.

"The Moonlit Hermit," he murmurs, and Amaryllis drops a roll of bandages, the white ribboning off as it unrolls across her floor.

He raises an eyebrow as she scrambles to retrieve the roll, laughing awkwardly, and when she straightens she won't meet his eyes for a long moment.

"Amaryllis?"

"Just- forgot that one was in there too."

He tilts his head. "Why does it matter? What is the Hermit to you, then?" he asks, because if the Universe insists on piercing him through to make a point-

"My- my parents were researching it. It was a big part of their research, actually- the Hermit, what it could do- the potential it had-"

Arum frowns, automatically, remembering the particular results he had pulled from the potential of the Hermit in his possession.

"I've- I've been trying to… to find one," she says, her voice gone small, and Arum forces himself not to stare at her, at the longing on her face. He looks to the book, instead.

"I am afraid there is very little on the subject in this particular volume, Amaryllis," he says, gently, and she sighs.

"That… yeah, I kind of expected that. I couldn't read it, but- I could tell the entry was short. Shorter than most of the other ones, at least."

"It mentions the unnatural fragility of the stem," he murmurs, tracing his claw along the lettering. "Five pale petals, the glow of moonless night, the utter incongruity… hm," he traces the shape of the drawing on the paper again, remembering. "Volumes of this sort so rarely bother to note the sounds. It chimes, as well, at contact or in use. It is not the most beautiful song I have ever heard, but… it suits. Cool, and delicate."

He realizes, after a pause, that Amaryllis is staring at him. He pulls his eyes from the book, wary at her uncertain gaze.

"What?"

"You… you've heard it? You've- you've seen one. Arum- Arum, you've seen a Moonlit Hermit?" She sets her medical bag aside, her packing entirely forgotten. "Arum, please, you have to tell me where I can- how- I have to see it. I have to- to-"

His heart sinks, the hope in her voice too unfortunate to stand. "If it still existed, Amaryllis… I would certainly think it fair payment for the service you have provided me, but- it was destroyed." He pauses, sighs. "I destroyed it."

"You-" she looks too stunned to be properly furious, but Arum suspects that will come soon enough. " What?"

"Those who attacked me," he says softly, "desired to take it for themselves. To use it. Just as I had been using it, of course, to create weapons against your kind." He pauses, exhales. "I wish I could say, Amaryllis, that it had been a choice made of morality, but- I did not yet know you. I- there are many things I did not yet know, when I…" he traces the shape of the petals again, one, two, three, four, five, and his lip curls in an almost smile. "I ensured that our meeting occurred in daylight, as insurance. It was easy enough, when I realized I had been betrayed, to lift so fragile a thing into the light."

"Arum-"

"Spite. I destroyed the Hermit in spite, Amaryllis, because I knew they intended to kill me, and I did not want to give them the satisfaction of beating me, as well. Of taking what I rightfully found. I threw myself into the river for the sake of that same spite. I would rather drown than let them slit my throat, so…"

She is touching his shoulder, now. He does not look at her.

"I do not regret my actions. The Hermit could have… would have done some good, in your hands, of that I am certain, but… I am glad it was destroyed, rather than be misused again. Rather than being twisted to further bloodshed."

Her hand on his shoulder lifts, and she almost touches his face. Almost. He keeps his eyes safely away.

After a breath, she drops the hand, and turns, and returns to her packing. Arum feels his stomach twisting, regret and shame, fear, desire, all of it colliding together within him like a collapsing building, but still he does not look. He breathes and breathes until he is certain that his voice will not shake, and then he turns the page, and resumes his translation.

~

It feels as if Arum simply blinks, and two full days have passed. Sir Damien wakes before dawn, and Arum, his nerves sharp and heightened, wakes at his careful noise, at the click of the door behind him as he goes outside to run through his routine.

Amaryllis wakes not long after, throwing together a quick sort of breakfast and quietly going through a checklist of their supplies before she comes to, in theory, wake him.

She smiles, clearly unsurprised when she finds him already awake, already digging his claws into the sheets, and the smile stays as she helps him to his feet.

She wraps him in layers. A simple strategy, but simplicity is more reliable than the delicacy of complication, in Arum's experience. He keeps the cape on beneath the rest, and she smiles when she is done wrapping the rest around him. He can see the crooked shape of it through the sheer scarf covering his face.

And then, for the first time since he woke in Amaryllis’ hut, he steps outside.

Arum does not want to look back, to acknowledge the finality of walking away from this hut, of stepping up into the saddle and riding away from this shelter, riding back towards his true home.

He does not wish to look back.

Rather- he wishes that he did not want to.

He turns despite himself as Amaryllis adjusts the robes that hide his scales, ensuring that his tail is hidden as he curls it around his own ankle. He does not mean to, but he turns, and-

It looks so much smaller, from the outside. Squat and friendly and warm, with flowering vines curling familiar across trellises and a clean little herb garden and the mossy stump where Damien likes to sit and compose when he is finished with his exercises, and the curtained window Arum knows the shape of so terribly well, from the other side.

So many days. So very long, he has spent in such a small, strange space. And now-

He cannot imagine that he will ever see it again.

Arum is almost grateful for the ridiculous layers. At least neither of the humans can see the way his face twists, as his heart lurches with the grief of parting.

~

They travel light; there’s not much they need to take with them. Rilla keeps her medical bag, of course, in case of emergencies or in case the traveling impedes Arum’s recovery in some way, along with her bag of extra supplies she's gonna leave with him when they get him back home. Damien pretty much just has his armor, his bow, and his usual traveling supplies: bedroll, rations, canteen, et cetera. Arum has nothing to bring, obviously. Nothing except for his mended cape, which is wrapped secure around his shoulders beneath the rest of his mild disguise. Rilla covered him in strategic layers, scarves and shawls and large loose pants that collectively obscure his form and face as he sits sideways in the saddle of Damien’s horse, who only required minimal acclimating to adjust to the weight of a monster. Currently, Arum looks enough like an excessively ill person swaddled like an infant, or like a particularly old-fashioned noble, and hopefully they won’t need to do much by the way of explanation on the less-traveled roads they intend to use.

It’s slow going, of course. Anything more than the lightest movement could be a risk for Arum; jostling around on top of a horse isn’t exactly healthy for healing stab and slash wounds, obviously.

Every time they pass another group, Damien looks like he’s about to be sick, face twisting in a completely unconvincing smile and his voice going high and reedy if he tries to greet them. Rilla does most of the talking, for a change, and Arum sits tense and stiff and dignified astride the horse, and occasionally nods through his scarves at whomever happens to be passing by.

Nights are more difficult. They need to wander far from the road to set up camp, and they need to obscure the fire on one side to make it more difficult to see from where they came, to avoid other eyes, and they wait until it is safely dark every night before Arum can remove his layers of disguise and sigh in the open air again. He always keeps his cape safely draped around his shoulders after the rest has been left in a pile nearby, a claw curled along the edge of the fabric as he settles close and warm by the fire.

He’s tired , Rilla can tell. The travel on top of his recovery, and the constant strain of worry that comes from the threat of discovery- it’s no wonder, really. She wishes she could make this easier for him, wishes she could just snap her fingers and have him home to his Keep, but- this is the best she can do, for now. She’ll get him home, long way around or no.

~

"Sir Damien."

They are preparing to resume their travel in the morning, Damien packing the last of their supplies back up from their makeshift camp while Rilla tends to Damien's horse, and Arum is wrapped already in his layers as they wait for Rilla to return, to help Arum back into the saddle for the day. Damien glances down at the obscured monster, lips pursing nervously, but he does not think the monster is looking back at him. It is difficult to tell, with the layers, but Damien thinks that Arum is looking towards Rilla again.

"Yes, Lord Arum?"

He continues to stare for a moment, and then Arum glances away. His voice comes even quieter, then. "We are still close to your Citadel, little knight," he murmurs. "There is still time between us and my home, and many opportunities for this expedition to fall apart."

"Pessimism will not help the situation, Lord Arum," Damien says mildly.

"Perhaps not. But pragmatism-" he pauses, sighs. "If the worst is to happen, if I am discovered along this mad little journey… Amaryllis must not be seen as guilty for helping a monster. I refuse to have her suffer for this absurd kindness."

Damien pauses, his heart doing a swooping little flip, and he looks at Arum again in disbelief. "What-"

"If we are discovered, they must believe that I forced her to treat me, forced her to escort me home. They must believe that she was made to do it, that I threatened or coerced or- she must not be seen a traitor for my sake. Do you understand me, Sir Damien?"

Damien presses a hand over his heart, presses as hard as the thudding pressing out. He forces his breath to come steady enough for words, just for one sentence. "Rilla would not be happy, with that particular deception," he rasps, looking at his fiance through the rosy morning light.

"That," Arum says with a growl, "is precisely why I am asking you, and not the doctor herself. I trust that you will protect her. I know that you will."

Damien wishes so dearly that he could see the monster's face, just now. That he could see the look in his violet eyes.

"Honeysuckle," Arum says quietly, roughly. "Tell me that I am correct."

"This- this is not like the other day, is it? This is not more of the same, again, more of you trying to- to-"

"This is not an act of self destruction, honeysuckle." Arum stares up at him, or at least, Damien assumes that is the direction the monster is aiming his eyes. "But she must be safe."

Damien inhales, exhales, inhales.

"Rilla would never forgive me, if I caused you to be hurt in her stead. You must know that, Lord Arum."

The monster clenches his hands, his head ducking just slightly. "It is more important that she be alive, to forgive you or not." He turns his head a little further away, then, his voice going even quieter. "Of course she will forgive you, little fool. She loves you."

Damien's throat goes tight and hot and uncomfortable, his heart thrumming and thrumming, and the words boil within him but he cannot say-

Do you think I do not know that you love her as well? Can you not see that she loves you in return?

His lips part, he is going to say something too foolish for their unspoken understanding to survive, but-

Rilla is returning.

Arum's shoulders go stiff, and before she is in hearing distance he mutters, "I must trust that you will do what is right, Sir Damien."

Damien breathes slow, summoning tranquility as best he can, listening to the drumming of his own heart, and he knows that he will. He will do what is right, even if that is not the same as what Arum has asked of him.

~

Rilla is fairly bored on the road. She can't read effectively while walking, and they only have the one horse. She can only glean so much amusement out of cataloging the wildlife as they pass it by, but Damien knows her far too well to let her boredom sit. He starts reciting as they travel, spinning stories, sharing newer compositions, weaving tales in the air between them, accompanied by jungle noises and the hum of insects.

Rilla sings, as well, when Damien's poor voice needs a rest, and she pretends not to notice when she starts a song and Arum stiffens in recognition. Pretends even harder not to notice when he hums along, when he harmonizes in his low, careful voice. She pretends, poorly, not to grin in delight, the smile tipping her singing voice even brighter.

If she didn't feel like she was riding off to break her own stupid, stupid heart, this would be the most fun she's had on a trip in ages.

~

Unnatural quiet in the jungle dark, and Sir Damien comes awake with the fingers of one hand already gripped on his bow, a strange and familiar rushing in his ears.

He remembers where he is without strain. He can feel the dirt beneath him through the bedroll, can feel Rilla close beside him, can hear her breathing light.

He can hear little else besides. A stillness hangs in the night air, and Damien feels it. He feels attack waiting, can taste tension on the air. He can almost hear the source. Almost.

Damien breathes slow. Panic is a faraway thing, just now. A faraway thing that cannot possibly touch him. The rushing in his ears has gone slowly rhythmic, and Damien waits, Damien waits, Damien waits for the precise moment. For the strike. For his parry.

His heart. Rilla's breath. The rustle of leaf and soil. The padding, just low, of paws. Damien tenses, poised and prepared and waiting, waiting for just the right moment-

"If you take one… single… step… closer," says a low, guttural, growling voice, and Sir Damien realizes after a startled breath that he recognizes it. He recognizes the voice, because it belongs to Lord Arum, though it has been pitched dangerous as it echoes strange and placeless among the trees. "If you take just one more step… I will make a meal of your entrails while you still live."

There is a pause, a stillness deeper, even, than the one which came before it.

"Do not test me," Arum continues, dark and certain. "These creatures are not yours to hunt."

Another pause. Slowly, slowly, the sense of danger recedes. The night noises of the jungle resume in its absence, the whine of insects and the rustle of small creatures, and Damien knows they are safe again.

Damien has never heard Lord Arum sound quite like that, before. Dark. Dangerous. Protective. And Damien does not feel an ounce of fear, at that voice, though his heart is thudding hot.

Not yours to hunt.

Not yours, he said. Does that mean, then, that Arum considers them his?

Another long pause draws out in the darkness as Damien tries to shake the memory of Arum's voice, as he feels the gooseflesh shiver across his skin, and then there is a noise, shifting close by.

"You are awake, aren't you, honeysuckle?"

Arum's voice no longer sounds strange. It no longer echoes oddly, and the venom is gone from it, leaving the monster sounding only soft, murmuring through the black of night.

"Yes," Damien whispers.

"I did not intend to wake you," Arum hisses.

"You did not," Damien says, just as low. "I… I felt that something was wrong. I woke before you… scared the creature away. Will it return, do you think?"

"Certainly not," Arum drawls, gently. "We are close to my territory now, little songbird, and I know the sorts of scavengers that prowl my borders. I know a coward when I smell one," he hisses. "She expected an easy meal. That, we most certainly are not. She will not try again."

"How…" Damien needs to pause, to swallow. "How did you know I was awake?"

"Your breathing shifted… your heartbeat. I can hear them both from here."

It is difficult, for Damien, not to feel exposed, knowing that. He is certain that his heart is still beating hard. Harder, now.

"And… and did you slip into the trees, to frighten the creature away? I will be compelled to tell Rilla if you exerted yourself while she slept-"

"I did not budge an inch, honeysuckle. Don't be foolish."

Damien blinks, for all the good it does him. The bare hint of stars between the canopy above flickers, just for a moment. "But- but your voice, Arum," he murmurs, and when Arum chuckles low Damien can feel heat pooling odd in his stomach. "You sounded as if…"

"As if I could be anywhere," Arum murmurs , and his voice echoes again, placeless, but close and worrying. "Yes … I told you, honeysuckle, that I had some skill, some tricks up my sleeves…"

Even more worrying than Arum's voice itself: the way the low heat of it makes the answering heat in Damien's stomach pulse.

"A-Arum," Damien whispers, and he releases his grip on his bow, reaching into the dark instead, grasping in the direction that Arum's voice had seemed to come from, for those few words where he had sounded ordinary again. "Where… where are you?"

There is a brief pause, a more gentle laugh in the dark.

"I am close enough to pluck you, still, little honeysuckle," he says in a rumble that rolls down Damien's spine, and he cannot help the way his breath catches, his eyes darting in the darkness as he tries to pin Arum's place. "Have no fear." Another laugh, even warmer. "Unless… unless my proximity is what worries you, of course."

"Arum," Damien breathes, reaching his hand our further.

"I'm here," Arum hisses. "I forget the limitations of your senses. I can see you, blue as you are in the starlight. Can you truly not see me?"

"I…" Damien swallows roughly, feeling Rilla warm beside him, feeling the coolness of the dirt beneath him, knowing that this monster is somewhere, so close by, watching him through the dark. Damien shakes his head, testing.

"How interesting," Arum murmurs, and his voice is still bouncing strange, as if it could be coming from the whole of the jungle itself.

A pause drags out, then, and Damien grasps, feeling across the scattered leaves, towards where Arum's bedroll should be.

Arum's hand intercepts his own, and when the monster laughs soft again, he sounds only close, only ordinary again. "I told you, honeysuckle. I am here."

"Arum," Damien whispers, the texture of scales so strange against his palm, and Arum pulls his hand closer, touching it to- to his cheek, Damien imagines, and he can feel the rumbling of his throat and the rumbling of his voice as he speaks again.

"I did not budge an inch," he hisses again, and Damien can feel him speaking, even as his voice echoes in the canopy above.

Damien can barely focus on the fascination he feels at that, though, because the reality of Arum's face in his hand, again- the reality of the monster laying so close beside them in the dark- it is twisting so- so-

So pleasantly, within him. Damien's mouth has gone dry.

"Go back to sleep, honeysuckle," Arum murmurs, his voice gone quiet and normal again, and he squeezes Damien's hand as he moves it away from his face again. "Go back to sleep. We are safe, I assure you."

Damien believes him instantly. Damien believed him the first time, when he insisted the other monster would not return. He knows that they are safe, that the three of them together are more dangerous than anything the wilds could possibly assail them with.

"Are you certain?" he asks again, regardless, because his heart is racing and he knows that Arum can hear it, and certainly he requires this excuse for the pounding rhythm, and for the way he has not pulled his hand away from Arum's.

Arum has not pulled his hand away, either.

"We are safe," Arum repeats in a hiss. "I promise. Go back to sleep, Damien."

Damien squeezes his eyes shut, despite the dark, hoping that Arum is no longer looking at his face, that he cannot see Damien's expression in the dark.

Damien pretends that he has forgotten their hands, clasped together. He steadies his own breathing, pretends not to feel his own heat permeating Arum's hand, and-

And Arum does not pull his hand away, either.

Arum does not pull his hand away. Not before Damien falls back asleep in truth, at least.

~

The rumors are true, apparently.

They can see it in the distance when they round the crest of a hill, a gap in the canopy of trees above the road giving them a decent look towards the swamp in the distance that is apparently Arum’s home.

The swamp that is also, apparently, creeping outward.

They can see outcroppings of new-grown swamp greenery that stands out among the wider jungle, pushing past the usual border between the two, and even at this distance Rilla can see the speckling of purple from the blooms that give the swamp its name as well, and from this perspective the growth looks like curling fingers, reaching out.

Searching, Rilla thinks. A desperate hand, combing through the jungle to look for the missing ruler currently bundled up on the horse behind her. She glances back towards him, and even hidden behind the layers of cloth she can see the tension in his frame, can feel the impatient energy radiating from him.

“Almost there,” she says, and he tilts his head down towards her with a sharp breath. “Not much farther, now.”

He nods, and she sees him hesitate for only a moment before his eagerness gets the better of him.

“If one of those- those outgrowths is close enough, we should aim for it. We may be afforded a shortcut. Save further time,” he hisses quietly, and that’s pretty confusing but Rilla nods in response. He knows this place better than she does, after all.

Damien holds his own tongue for a moment before he points out one in particular, a vivid purple growth curling out, and quietly suggests a path they could take in that direction, a smaller road that should take them close.

Arum grows more and more agitated as they make their approach, and they all notice at the same moment that the outgrowths aren't the only strange thing about the swamp's border, nor are they the only new growth. She understands belatedly why the border was so easy to see from a distance-

There is a wall. The foliage on the edge is tightly packed, unnaturally so, the trees interwoven with newer saplings and quick vines, an enormous wicker boundary spotted with bright splotches of poisonous plants (Rilla can tell, even at this distance). Arum picks up a low growl, compulsive and continuous, and Rilla clenches her hands tight but she doesn't warn him against the noise. She doubts any other humans would be coming this close while the swamp is doing… whatever this is, and honestly, she can't blame him for the distress.

He's practically snarling to himself by the time they reach the border, his tail thrashing noticeably beneath his layers, and Rilla's stomach gives a sympathetic twist as Damien carefully, carefully helps Arum lower himself from the saddle.

"Okay," Rilla says. "Obviously this is… less than ideal."

"An understatement, Amaryllis. Look at- look at this! What- what could it possibly-" he gestures sharply towards the wall, then hisses in pain and draws the limb back to himself.

Damien makes a worried noise, an arm still supporting the monster as he fidgets, growling low, and then he eyes the wall with a considering look. "Hm. Perhaps I will close the borders entirely," Damien murmurs, and Rilla doesn't understand his words or his tone until he looks to Arum again. "I think you said that, when I asked what you intended to do when you returned home. It seems that others had similar thoughts, in your absence, Lord Arum."

Arum scoffs, then gently pushes himself from Damien's grip, standing straighter on his own, stiff and strained. "Foolishness. Ridiculous," he mutters as he starts to pull the layers off, unwinding scarves from his neck. "All this will do is draw undue attention-"

The sound of wings above compels Damien to draw his bow instantly, and his eyes dart to the foliage above more quickly than Rilla can follow, fixing on the source, the wide wingspan and gleaming threat of talons as they descend, and Damien's stance tightens, drawing the string more taut-

"Wait- stop-"

At Arum's choking cry Damien's poise falters, his aim going wide, the arrow finding purchase in the wicker wall instead of the quickly dropping- thing-

Arum tears the hood from his head, tears the last of the layers off beside his cape, his frill flaring and a grin curving his mouth, and he makes a strange warbling call, clear and loud and near to birdsong, and the wings above startle, fluttering sharp, and then there is an answering cry before the shape descends even faster.

"Arum-"

"Lord A-"

Arum nearly falls as the feathered shape collides with him, but he is laughing, now, as he makes more of those strange noises, and Rilla finally manages to parse exactly what the hell just happened, because there is an enormous heron shuffling from one taloned foot to the other on top of Arum's shoulders, shoving its beaked face into Arum's horns and squawking in a way that sounds both irritable and excited.

"Yes- foolish thing," Arum breaks into another laugh, and then into another strange warble as he lifts a hand to gently push the beaked face from pecking at the edge of his frill. "Obviously. Of course I did. Of course I did, you little- did you doubt? No-" he trills again, bright, and the heron ruffles up and makes a chuffing noise. "Of course I did," Arum says again, gentler, tapping the bird softly beneath the beak, and then he seems to remember Rilla and Damien, still watching.

Rilla's breathing hasn't entirely slowed from the shock, yet, but she's smiling now as she watches him, and Damien has come close beside her, stowing his bow again and pressing a hand over his mouth to bury his own smile, and Arum's frill ruffles by his neck at their observation.

"Er-"

"A friend?" Rilla asks, an eyebrow raising.

"One of my- my subjects, I suppose you could say," Arum murmurs, and he can't seem to help the smile as the bird presses its head into his horns again, trilling sternly. "Yes, I know. Hush." He gives the bird an equally stern look despite the laugh he gives, and then he lifts an arm for the creature to step to. "I know," he says quietly. "But you are frightening the horse, and I would rather not be kicked, little creature. I am nearly mended once, I would not like to suffer recovery a second time. Find your flock, spread the word if you must."

The bird squawks irritably, aiming its beak towards the humans for a moment before it turns back to Arum and flaps its wings at him.

"I said find your flock," he says in a low, fond growl. "Go on, you ridiculous thing. You need not worry for me. Go on."

The bird shifts from foot to foot on Arum's arm, chattering lightly, and then it pecks at the tip of Arum's snout and flaps before it lifts off, flying back up into the canopy again, singing something loud and joyous as it goes.

Arum sighs, his shoulders sagging as the weight of the creature is gone from him, but he clearly can't bury his smile. Damien takes Rilla's hand, and then they both come close to Arum, and Rilla lifts her other hand to touch the monster's elbow.

"Seemed excited to see you," she says, her tone only barely teasing, and his smile is so entirely warm, and Rilla and Damien's hands tighten together, each squeezing at the same moment.

"Yes, well," he makes a rattling noise low in his chest, still smiling. "I imagine they will all be quite ready for the swamp to return to normal."

"What do we do, then, about the wall?" Damien asks, gently, and Arum's smile flickers off.

He frowns, eyeing the woven greenery, and then he grumbles, "Bring me closer. It should still answer… it should still… still be able to hear."

Rilla doesn't exactly understand what that means, but- she figures he knows what to do in this situation better than she does, anyway, so she helps him. After a step or two Damien steps up on his other side, supporting him further.

"Thank you," Arum murmurs when they are close enough, and then he very gently pulls away from their hands. He lifts his own hand, and just barely touches the tangle of foliage, and then he swallows, chest rumbling. "Keep?"

Rilla barely manages to stop herself from reaching for him again. He sounds so- so desperate, and the urge to help him is-

"Keep. Can you hear me?" He pauses, and Rilla can see that he's trying not to cringe as he runs his hand along the vines. "Keep, I'm here, I- I need you to let me in."

Nothing changes, for a long moment. Beside her, Damien reaches a hand out, gripping Rilla's hand tight again, his nerves mirroring her own.

"Keep," he says again, keening clear in his voice. "Keep, please-"

Arum stumbles back as vines burst from the ground, new and accompanied by harmonious song, overtaking the wall and forming an archway that fills with magic, with- with a door, leading somewhere quite different from the swamp they could see past the wall.

Arum chokes a breath, warbles in further harmony with the song, and on shaking legs he bolts through the archway.

The Keep winds its vines around him so quickly that he is in the air before his feet even touch the floor of his home, before he has time to even breathe a syllable. It sings bright and clear and joyful, and it slots its mind soft against his again, precisely as their minds are meant to fit, in tune again so instantly that the vines don’t even come close to accidentally brushing any of the healing wounds that might still suffer from the pressure, and Arum can’t help the way he chokes, the way his throat goes tight and his eyes go hot, because-

He has missed his Keep so, so unbearably much.

He was never meant to be away for this long. His limbs are shaking with the relief of it even as he clings to its supportive vines, as he brushes his palms over the new bursts of flowers it is gleefully blooming around him. He’s so tightly enmeshed, so thoroughly cocooned, he wouldn’t have even noticed Amaryllis and Damien following through the portal if he could not feel the precise moment the Keep notices them.

The Keep notices them, and it is filled instantly with terror.

The humans are wound tight in vines nearly as quickly as Arum himself was, though these new vines are substantially less friendly as they pin Amaryllis and Damien against the wall with a discordant trill.

Arum feels the wash of terror pulse through with confusion, fury, protectiveness, and the vines around the humans continue to tighten. Arum’s heart skips, and he scrambles, reaching a hand through the bramble around him towards his- his- whatever, precisely, they are to him.

“Stop-” he snarls, the full force of his denial pushing out into his home, compelling the Keep to pause. The vines cease tightening, though they do not release. “Don’t hurt- don’t hurt them. They did not harm me, Keep, of that I can assure you,” he says in a breathless rush. “They did not harm me. They- they-”

The Keep stills, feeling his thoughts, and the grip it has upon the humans is already loosening. Arum needs not say more; the Keep understands him. It understands, and it loves him, and he needs not say a single word more.

He will say it anyway. It is true.

“They brought me back to you,” he says, his voice ragged and too full, and the both of them stare at him as they are lowered gently back to the floor. “They brought me home.”

[->]