#How old IS gopher??

[f1zzy-p0p19]

Homosexuality <3

no but seriously please tell me someone sees the vision with these two I'm gunna tweak out if I'm alone.

[maru666x]

[gophergal]

Life on the farm

[rebeccathenaturalist]

I am absolutely fascinated by the ecological recovery of the immediate blast zone around Mt. St. Helens. It was wiped clean of almost all life during the 1980 eruption, and in the aftermath it was decided that this area would be allowed to recover on its own, rather than being deliberately replanted by timber companies with a monoculture of Douglas fir, or by conservationists with a biodiverse array of native plants. This means the area is giving scientists an unprecedented close-up look at how an ecosystem recovers from such a massive natural disturbance.

This isn't to say there haven't been a few nudges by human activity. Rumor has it that local fishing clubs sneaked up to Spirit Lake and illegally stocked it with trout, though I've also heard claims that they arrived from a nearby stream, possibly originating from the higher elevation St. Helens Lake (which may itself have been restocked by humans.)

But the single day--two years after the eruption--that a batch of northern pocket gophers spent on the mountain made a big difference in the recovery of plant communities. (By the way, the picture in the article appears to be a ground squirrel, not a gopher.) Over forty years after their sojourn, the sites they were temporarily introduced to show much better plant growth due to the mixing of the soil microbiome, to include mycorrhizal fungi, bacteria, and other microbes. This microbial jump-start was caused by the gophers' digging, demonstrating why fossorial (burrowing) animals are so important to ecosystems. Without them, soil microbial communities can stagnate, and in the case of areas damaged by massive disasters, a lack of fossorial species can make recovery take much longer.

Speaking of disasters, scientists also found that forests that had been clearcut prior to the eruption had poorer, less diverse microbial communities than areas that had been more mature or old-growth forests, even when both areas were given the gopher treatment. This is yet more evidence that clearcutting forests is terrible for local ecology, because it not only removes entire ecosystems above ground, but below ground as well. And it shows that mature and old-growth forests are better equipped to weather disasters, with their higher biodiversity overall.

If we've learned anything ecologically from the 1980 eruption, it's that nature is incredibly resilient if we just give it the space to recover. The problem is that we keep poking at the wounds we create, not allowing them to heal over properly. By using more sustainable forestry practices, using resources more wisely, and preserving mature and old-growth forests, we increase the likelihood that the deeply intertwined life-support systems the planet provides (and which we, and all life, rely on) will remain functional in spite of our efforts to tear them apart in the name of resource extraction.

[earthtooz]

x : HOUSE OF CARDS :*+ﾟ

in which: for as long as you remember, sunday covers his eyes when he cries.

warnings: 1.5k words, fluff with elements of angst, kind of follows canon- not exactly though, sunday cries gold because i said so, based on his character stories, gn!reader who is an observer to the complexity that is sunday's lcharacter

a/n: an attempt into studying sunday was made- i don't think i hit the hammer on the nail quite right, but i tried, i mainly just wanted to celebrate him + his lc coming home YAY. i wish i had more time to let the outline of this marinate, but i couldn't see it being any better than it's current state, so apologies if this isn't the best or most eloquent read of your life.

Sunday had a habit of covering his eyes with his wings when he cried.

He didn’t cry often, but you would know when he did whenever his feathers pressed against his face, hiding his golden eyes and the ichor they’d shed front he world, not allowing anyone to see the depths of his soul, the magnitude of his suffering. 

The first time he did this was at the young age of nine, a fledgling barely a decade in to the tapestry of life. It happened after he fell over while chasing you and Robin around in Gopher Wood’s gardens, knee scraping against concrete and skin peeling in the process, resulting in a nasty scratch, and his wings fluttered to cover his face almost immediately, even stifling his sniffles as traces of golden tears streamed down his cheeks, dripping onto his clothes.

He bared himself to you not too long after, the tears and snot drying as you tended his wound with Robin singing him a comforting lullaby.

These were the innocent tears of childhood, none of you yet changed by the harsh realities that fate would guide your paths on.

The second time was after his first music class.

It seemed Robin stole the affinity for singing from him as their music teacher berated him, likening his voice to that of a ‘duckling’, comparable to the sound of nails on chalkboard. A 12 year old Sunday was sent out of class not too long after, the start of a tantrum beginning to take place as his eyes welled up and began sniffling, fists and wings clenched.

You come to his aid not too long after, having heard the commotion and wandering over, but when he saw you, he ducked out of your sight and covered his eyes with his wings, splaying them over his face. They were larger now and capable of covering the expanse of his head, only exposing his forehead and chin as you tried to console him.

“Hey, it’s okay!” You coo, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. “Mr. Big Guy tells me your piano playing is amazing and that you’re a real prodigy, Sunday!”

The sniffles halt momentarily. “Really?” His wobbly voice had asked.

“Yeah! He’s proud of you, and you should be proud of that too!”

He bares himself to you, glassy golden eyes looking into you, trying to seek comfort in the familiarity of your friendliness and company. “You mean it?” 

“Of course!”

“Then… are you proud of me too, Y/n?”

“I’m always proud of you, dummy, now stop crying and cheer up!”

“You’re right,” he chuckles, wiping his face with the back of his hand as his other went to grasp yours. “I shouldn’t let that witch get to me.”

“Sunday! Be respectful of your teachers!”

Despite how often the grey-haired boy would listen to your whims and wishes, he never stopped calling his vocal teacher a witch or anything along the variant. It displeased you every time, but the most you would punish him with was a gentle slap on the arm and a scowl that would melt away as soon as he’d share his giantmoa pudding tarts with you.

A few months after that shared moment, Sunday had begun taking the Family lessons from the Bronze Melodia. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, he had dreamed of being an influence that would change Penacony and its Dreamscape for the better, and now it was finally his moment- his calling to the world had finally been heard, and they answered with a path that was of utmost righteousness and virtue. 

However, as he took more lessons, learned more about the ways of the Family, he grew into someone else. 

The third time you saw him cry was when you received the news that Robin was shot. A bullet wound to the neck, it was a miracle that she survived, but Sunday was inconsolable, even whilst knowing that she was alive, just on another planet. The distance was akin to torture because no matter how desperately he wished to be by her side, he couldn’t cross it while shackled to his duties in Penacony, so the spirit of the elder brother rested in your arms and cried. 

He sobbed quietly into your shoulder, wings covering his eyes as the two of you sit on the floor, a hauntingly beautiful image of despair as his limbs intertwined with yours. Sunday had collapsed on you the moment you welcomed him into your embrace, the ability to hold himself up being too much to stomach after knowing that he could have lost his sister. 

He cries until your limbs grow pins and needles, until you begin to feel weak under the weight of his grief and your own, until you feel the puddle of tears on your clothes drying. 

Gloved hands hold onto you tightly, and he knew something then and there.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers, breath shuddering as despair rolls off him in waves, and Sunday removes his face from your shoulder, a cold look of determination staring up at you. “I must protect you, I must shield your happiness too so that we may never suffer again.”

“What?”

His words are incomprehensible to you at this point, and they sound akin to the ramblings of a mad man. “You will never struggle to be happy again, I will give you everything you need- I see it now, Y/n. The strong must guide the weak, for who else will they seek solace in?”

Realisation seeps into your bones like ice. After so many confessionals, so many witnesses of humanity at its most helpless, he has grown nihilistic, devoid of hope towards the resilience of human beings. Still, he yearns to help. Yearns to help people thrive even though he does not truly believe in things getting better, and shoulders this impossible fight by himself. 

The sweet boy you once knew has hardened his defences, fortified his walls and relentlessly chased the most obscure path of Harmony: Order. Destroyed himself under the belief of being responsible for creating a painless reality for humanity, and you witnessed the catalyst for Sunday’s own dismantling whilst he was laid on your lap. 

You haven’t seen him cry since that day. He no longer hides himself behind his wings because he no longer gives himself a moment to mourn. Devastation is engrained in every fibre of his being. 

Now, when he plays the piano for you, you don’t hear the melodic tune of the most important person in your life- you hear a complex piece of toil and struggle. When you sit next to him on the piano stool, you watch the dexterity of his fingers and how his face remains serenely calm whilst playing the hardest sonata known to man, acclimatized to the toughest scenarios that even the polished wood of the piano won’t warp his pristine image. 

Then, when he is finished, you lay your head on his shoulder as you shower him with praises, searching for a familiar fragment of him that you can grasp onto. However, all you find is a shard of bittersweet longing when he turns to place a dainty kiss on the top of your head.

Everyday before the Charmony Festival, you feel like you know him less and less. He won’t even touch the giantmoa pudding tarts you leave on his desk. 

The fourth time you see Sunday cry, he is a changed man.

After exiling himself from Penacony, you naturally grow to ache for his presence. At least Robin has returned to you and will share conversations about the mysterious future of her older brother, sometimes you cry together, over him and also over other things, but at the core of all your emotions is how badly you miss him. You miss him as you overlook Penacony’s Grand Theatre, you miss him in all the old desserts you used to love together, you miss him when you think about him. 

Letters are infrequent and never quite soothe the emptiness, but you hope that in some vast corner of the universe, he is discovering a sense of peace he could never have here. The events of the Charmony Festival still make you cringe, but knowing that he is with the kind souls of the Astral Express relieves you.

In fact, you have half a mind to be rather jealous- you want to be exploring the stars as well.  

However, he comes back to you after countless moons.

You run into him where you least expect to, on the streets of Penacony, under the vibrant advertisements for SoulGlad, Hanu’s Advertisement, and Robin’s latest album. Under the blinding neon monstrosity of Penacony’s main street, you are swept into the arms of a man who you have missed for countless moons, who you have thought of as the weeks turn into months, who you fell in love with since the time he scraped his knee after falling on pavement. 

And this time, he doesn’t cover his eyes as liquid gold drips down his cheek.

You forgot how unfairly pretty of a crier he is, but you don't have time to think about it as he pulls you close and rejoices on your lips. There's a small whimper that escapes you when you feel his tears fall on your skin, but your hands crawl up to the collar of his coat to keep him close so you can keep catching them.

His gloved hands come to rest on your cheeks in kind, stubborn to not let you stray too far again.

He tastes like giantmoa pudding tarts. 

“I’ve missed you,” you whisper between kisses. 

He responds by pressing you closer and pouring his devotion into your mouth.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[inbabylontheywept]

Weird Grandpa Story #2

I remember asking my mom once, if her dad had gotten ornerier as he'd gotten old. I'd heard about that happening, and it would've made sense for him. He was already the orneriest old cuss I'd ever met. Couldn't even imagine him being grumpier than he was.

Instead of answering the question directly, she told me about what it was like going to church with him as a kid. Their church was a small Mormon ward out in the sticks of Colorado, and he served as their Bishop - mostly by virtue of being the only one willing to do that much unpaid work. He was also the ward pianist. He actually liked playing piano, and he liked having an audience, so it was more or less understood that he was willing to be the bishop in exchange for being the pianist. 

Which could've been a good trade, but there were a few problems.

The first problem was that Grandpa Dale played every song at about triple speed. He was a deeply impatient person, and that extended to how he played music. The second problem was that he had a bad habit of cursing under his breath. That would've been a scandalous  enough habit for a Mormon bishop, but was made much worse (and also much funnier)  by him being pretty damn deaf. So what he thought of as "quiet" cursing under his breath was more of just a verse hoarse way of yelling. I only visited him for a week or two every summer, and I still learned most of my bad words from him. 

So every Sunday would start with a quiet prayer, and then Bishop Grandpa Dale would go to the piano, sit down, and play the nightcore version of Praise to the Man. He would occasionally play other hymns, but he really, really liked that one. This would continue until he hit a wrong note, which was basically inevitable because his music philosophy was that if he could play a song flawlessly, it was time to play it faster. So he'd play until he hit that wrong note, at which point he would scream-whisper SHIIIIIT and, because he did not actually read music so much as memorize it, the only way he'd be able to get his rhythm back was by going back to the start. 

If it was a good Sunday, he could get it in two tries. Some Sundays took as many as five. 

I learned two things about Grandpa Dale from this story. The first was that he could play piano. I'd never actually seen him do that before. Still haven't, come to think of it. Second was that the man that I visited once a year, who always seemed on the verge of exploding, who scared the absolute dickens out of me, was actually the chilled out version of the man my mom grew up with.

And it helped knowing that, actually. I'm actually a pretty anxious person, and my mom is, also, a pretty anxious person, and as a teenager we'd sometimes get in these doom loops where we'd wind each other up until our springs cracked. She'd be worried about me growing up to be happy, and I'd be worried about letting her down, and my worrying would make me unhappy, and my unhappiness would make her unhappy, and we'd just kind of dissolve into these anxieties like cotton candy in the sea and become totally unbearable to be around for a bit. Then my dad would sit us both down and very politely tell us that we were being crazy. He had this quote how being sad that someone else is sad that you're sad is the emotional equivalent of being a Klein flask and that at some point you have to just say I am allowed one (1) single layer of emotional recursion, at most, and ideally zero. 

And it was always kind of embarrassing and silly, but when I was tempted to be more upset with my mom about it, I could remember the piano story and go: Sheesh. She has more of a right to be anxious that I do. For me it's really just genetics, but she grew up with the Cactus-Killing Gopher-Smasher. A whole 18 years of that. I spent two weeks every summer with that guy, and I love him, but I always came home feeling like I'd survived something. She's a trooper.

[petermorwood]

A day or so ago, @dduane reblogged a long post - a Canadian magazine article from 1966 - about the Americanisation of Winnie the Pooh.

It's an Impressive Tirade in which the writer (Sheila H. Kieran) says what she thinks about letting Walt Disney have a free hand with a foreign Children's Classic.

There's mention of the previous Adaptation Endeavour, "Mary Poppins" (1964) but it's very brief, perhaps with an eye to limited column space - or maybe because All Was Said Already in a previous review.

There is, however, rather a lot about the English characters being given American accents, and about the inclusion of a new character, an American gopher (which, the article suggests, looked vague enough to the Kieran children - its target audience - that it might as well have been a mole or a beaver).

*****

And that reminded me of another bit of American Animalisation done by Disney, in the 1949 short "The Wind and the Willows" - though in this instance it's visual since the voices are, for the most part, suitably British.

They include Basil Rathbone as narrator, and a horse who sounds like George Formby. In some scenes the horse actually looks like Formby, so this voice may not be entirely accidental.

Badger, however, sounds like a Scotsman - the worst kind of stage Scotsman at that - rather than how I used to "hear" him as a C. Aubrey Smith-voiced crusty retired colonel.

That, however, is just personal preference.

However, Disney's Badger is not a proper British (more correctly, European) badger, Meles meles. Here's one, which though not the most amiable of beasts in reality, still manages to look fairly affable ("I say, old chap, whatever are you looking at?")

Instead he's a North American badger, Taxidea taxus, which not only has a less affable expression ("Hey, bud, you. Yeah, you. You lookin' at me? You lookin' at ME?") but, more important, different stripes.

Here's Disney's version alongside mine. The correction took about five minutes of pixel-tweaking.

Disney's animators could have got it right from the outset just as easily, because I'm pretty sure the reference library which provided costume info for Rat's tweed Norfolk jacket and britches included picture-books of natural history.

Come to that, any "The Wind in the Willows" after the unillustrated first edition would have been enough, and there must have been at least one copy lying around for story adaptation and scene-description purposes.

The first illustrated edition came out in the UK in 1931, and its artist was, at author Kenneth Graham's request, the very same E.H. Shepard who had illustrated the Pooh books just a few years previously...

...while this Arthur Rackham colour plate is from an edition published in 1940 in New York.

So those books wouldn't have been impossible for Disney to get.

The problem, however, is that if a word ("badger", for instance) is well known to mean one thing here, it may be Too Much Trouble to find out if the same word means something else there, with the result that finding out can sometimes come as rather a surprise.

Check the UK / US meaning of "suspenders" to see what I mean... ;->

[rawbin-hsr]

Funny things they do

Title is self-explanatory <3

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Characters: Aventurine, Robin, Sunday, Feixiao, Jing Yuan, Blade, Dan Heng

CW: Just pure fluff (and attempts at humour) !!

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Aventurine

Treats you like a cat. Says shit like “ooo big yawn” when you yawn 😭😭

Calls you his “lucky charm” (he never loses more than he does when you’re around because you are a waking bad luck magnet)

The MOMENT you leave your phone unattended he starts taking pictures of himself (or of you with your back turned) with it. Often 0.5 selfies of himself from an unflattering angle, winking at the camera and sticking his tongue out. If you left the phone unlocked he’ll also change your lock screen to the selfie. Refuses to admit he took the pictures himself afterwards too, saying things like “must’ve been a ghost 😌”

Robin

Whenever something minor goes wrong, like she drops a coffee cup or something, she immediately responds by reassuring herself. Doesn’t even say “oh no!” or anything just goes straight to saying “it’s okay, it’s okay… 🥺” (she does it for you too but it’s way funnier when she does it for herself. Gopher Wood didn’t gentle parent her or Sunday so she had to do it herself 💀)

Sunday

Often kisses you with his eyes wide open. Like WIDE OPEN. You don’t realise at first because you’re normal and close your eyes when you kiss, but once you do realise, kissing him will never be the same

You very often have a conversation where you’ll be like “oh I like [xyz]” and Sunday will look off in the distance with the most sad haunted expression and go “Robin liked [xyz]…” and it’s not funny for YOU but it’s funny for ME as a viewer looking in bro cannot stop trauma dumping about losing his sister 😭😭😭 (Do NOT accuse me of flanderisation here he only does it to you and nobody else because he only feels comfortable opening up about it to you pleeease I’m a star)

Feixiao

Flexes in front of the mirror for like 5 minutes every day, admiring her own abs (I would too tbh)

Unironically loves minion memes

Millenial/boomercore in general tbh 💀💀💀

DRAGS people by their “scruff” and acts like it’s perfectly normal (mostly does it to Moze and Jiaoqiu, and they’ve gotten so used to it they barely even fight it anymore)

Jing Yuan

Tries giving you puppy dog eyes unironically. Bro you’re like 800 years old pls stop you just look weird and pathetic 😭😭😭

Tries to be cute with you in general an embarrassing amount it’s so funny sir what are you DOING

Blade

His eye actually starts twitching when he gets annoyed. You know it’s not forced because Blade isn’t the type to exaggerate annoyance that way but it just looks so cartoonish it’s funny on him

Dan Heng

Randomly whimpers ??? Mid-conversation ???? (Canon btw have you heard how that man will just go “mm.. ah 😩” and then go on with what he was saying as if he didn’t just whine in ultra 4K hd). You never call him out on it because he’d be soo embarrassed and make a conscious effort to stop

[yumeboshi]

Happy 100!! I’d love to see the nostalgic starfruit sundae :0

❝ THANK YOU FOR YOUR ORDER、 @cakeboxie .ᐟ ⟡ HERE IS YOUR RECEIPT FROM CAFÉ YUME ⟡．．

𐙚NOSTALGIC STARFRUIT SUNDAE：almost makes you feel younger。

𐙚 dish desc。．when you two were younger, he crushed on you even back then。

．。𝜗𝜚 labels。pure starry sweet fluff finally, a little non canon in aven, teen setting/late teens in aven’s, bittersweet

．。𝜗𝜚 ingredients。sunday and aven

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY

。before becoming what he is right now, he was a sweet and probably shy boy who, during your first meeting, could not utter a single word and unintentionally let Robin do all the talk 。he will feel so foreign, poor him; he has never felt such an influx of emotions. he’d stammer over his words, forgetting everything about what his family taught him about ‘etiquette’ and will always end up looking stupid because he really can’t do anything around you. 。“sunday, are you listening?” “….ah, yes. sorry, I was distracted. um, please continue.” 。i definitely see him stalking you, just like in a cute way. when you’re out doing your own business or hanging out in golden hour, he’d just stare at you from afar- probably from his estate’s window like some deprived owl, completely entranced by you- the way you smile, the way you laugh at someone’s jokes- the way your hair ripples with the wind like soothing waves— was he daydreaming again? 。it gets so bad. he’s obsessed, daydreaming, even robin knows her brother’s head is in the clouds. the dreammaster hereby then prohibited him from seeing you, because you were getting in his plans to educate him since all he’d ever talk about was you. you were his new priority- he doesn’t even care about the order anymore; making the dreammaster grumble about when he’d raised such a lovesick boy. 。but gopher wood did not foresee that the young boy would do anything daring at all, like rebuking his orders.

STARLIGHT is near and you’re already hiding under the Oak Family’s residential area where you’re probably not supposed to be inside one of the back garden’s bushes, patiently waiting for your romeo to come.

How could you refuse? He was the loveliest, the sweetest and the most handsome boy you ever met, albeit not meeting a lot of kids your age. His wings too, were so fluffy and so cozy to lean into. Your little heart could comprehend these foreign feelings as a crush.

And there he was- your young prince, quickly stepping out of the window that’s barely open, tipping to the floor like a dove that’s free from its cage. Every step he takes is already elegant and authoritative, it reminds you that you are not his class, and you should not be here.

When your face peeks out of the bushes, his expression immediately lights up as if someone had brought all the stars from the sky to his face, he immediately runs to you and laughs breathlessly. “You’re here.”

”Shhh!” You frown and put your small hand to his mouth. He looks around at that- his wings tickling your nose, and he shrugs- “—I don’t see anyone nearby.”

“But the scary old man might be—“ you break off, and your heart skips a beat when you hear footsteps. Without thinking, you quickly hug sunday and pull him into the bush out of terror.

A second has passed. Two; or three, maybe. You lose track of time because of his loud heartbeat thudding against your own. You were not sure if it was out of fright or out of this complex feeling neither one of you were knowledged in.

You snap out of it quickly, because it made your head spin as if a swarm of butterflies were invading it. The dreammaster was gone, but neither one of you were moving an inch.

It feels time has stopped. Maybe you are wishing it did, because you know all too well that this would become a fleeting memory.

#AྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིVENTURINE

。one day, after facing a similar massacre in your own planet, you are thrown into captive under a shady man. 。you are not alone, but you are more annoyed by the fact that your cellmate is an avgin. you are pretty sure your parents had told you countless stories about their wicked ways. 。kakavasha, on the other hand, is enamored by you. the way you snap back at your captor, the way you are defiant- even in such stakes. it enchanted him. it even inspired him. 。when he’s still a little kid, he’d follow you around like a little puppy despite your annoyance. 。but when you grow a little older- maybe around your teens, he hits his growth spurt, and he grows almost unrecognizable- yes, those tantalizingly beautiful eyes of his stay the same; but he just becomes so.. manly. masculine, almost mature- it’s hard to believe the quiet and puppy-like boy grew up to be such a fair.. man. 。but one thing that did not change a bit with him was the way his usually bored and dead stare would light up when he sees you. he teases you a lot, he likes to practice his tricks on you, simply because it’s endearing how you snarl in frustration at his antics. 。you are his personal pair of sky blue shades. you changed the way he saw the world forever- looking at you, he could think that the world might not be that cruel, if it doesn’t take you away.

ALTHOUGH his long awaited freedom has arrived- to the hands of an unknown woman who calls herself jade, he felt as if his world was crumbling again, all too familiar to what he felt when he was younger.

What about you? You have no clue about his release. He’d sworn to you he’d stay with you forever whether you liked it or not- he still remembers how you snorted and dismissed it with a light blush across your cheeks, scoffing that all the avgins were liars anyway- he’d laughed and told you he wouldn’t ever lie to you, ever, which earned him a glare and an embarrassed slap.

He tried to deny it. He wanted to say no. He couldn’t leave you here, no. you were his wild card, the one chip he would never, ever gamble on; because he cherished you over himself. you are the one thing he’d never risk— his only love, you have his whole world, you’re like a diamond key to his closed and broken heart.

But life was truly cruel, because he knew right now that it was his last chance to break free from the burdens of his past. His heartache will perhaps be soothed a little, after leaving those memories behind. But it means he will have to leave you behind as well.

Although his heart screamed no, that he was your one and only and he had to stay with you, his rationality whispered a different tale- echoing the woman’s promises of freedom.

And here he was, selfishly walking to the cell that held all of himself. You were there, barely awake, looking up at the sky that is too beautiful for the words he is about to say to you.

He takes in your ethereal figure underneath the twilight, your eyes are the cosmos itself, reflecting the moon inside them. He always took pride in his eyes, but nothing could be more beautiful than yours. he’d fallen in love with them the first time you two met. they are almost deceptively exquisite enough to make someone like him lose his rationale.

He is about to say something but your finger presses against his lips- you don’t turn to look at him; your eyes are fixed somewhere afar. “I know,” you say quietly.

So you knew? He hid his surprise. He had thought he did a good job acting it up. He shakes his head with a laugh- of course. This was you. You knew his every expression, the faintest of creases on his face, you could see right through him.

“Then I suppose I don’t have to entertain you with any cheesy goodbyes. Do you wish to say any more words?” He asks with his playful smile, albeit he knows you know he’s trying his best not to break down.

You hesitate, and then hold his hand gently. “Take care, kakavasha.”

At that, he could not take it anymore. He leans forward to kiss you, for the last time, and he tastes like memories. He tastes like your annoyance, your laughs, your cries, you feel like you are experiencing your childhood all over again like a broken record. Something bitter graces your mouth and you realize it is his tears.

“Always trying to act tough, just don’t do that in the outside world.” You laugh into the kiss, and you feel him smile against your lips. He tilts his head away, glancing somewhere else to mask how vulnerable he is- but you stop him, you look into his eyes that are far too distinct- they are seas of magenta, wavering each time he blinks to conceal any tears.

As his lips part from yours, he feels himself slowly dissipate. Kakavasha was no more.

[dispatchvampire]

Nailed It

Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: super duper fluffy, some pining, some misunderstanding

Summary: Reader takes Bucky with her to the nail salon and ends up with a whole lot more than a polish change.

WC: 2240

A/N: No use of y/n, reader isn't described, and this is a shameless 'we have always lived in the tower' fic. Basically, CW never happened, Tony, Steve, and Bucky got their poop in a group like adults, and it's always chill on the communal floor.

Italicized conversation is in Vietnamese, plus a couple other phrases written out.

Special note: many thanks to @noellez-best-life23 and her hubs for the beta and the assistance. They rock.

Divider by @enchanthings

“Where ya headed?” Bucky asked, his voice carrying over from the couch in the common area while you made your way into the kitchen. The only parts of him you could truly see were the beat up old boots hanging over the arm of the sectional at one end and the curtain of his hair draped across the other end

“Hell if I don’t change my ways,” you replied as you filled your emotional support thermos with ice and fresh water. His little giggle in reply made you smile. “Headed out to get the claws sharpened.” 

This was greeted with the cutest gopher impression you’d ever seen, with only the top of his head popping up over the back of the couch to reveal his gorgeous eyes narrowed in confusion. “That’s a thing you need?” he asked as he sat up further and brushed his dark bangs out of his face. 

“I’m going to get my nails done,” you clarified with a smile, showing off your purple, glittery tips in desperate need of some professional attention. “Wanna come with?” 

Now, a part of you asked as a joke, because that wasn’t really his scene. It wasn’t like Lotus Nails in Little Saigon was a huge tourist attraction. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to spend time with him. 

In the protective confines of the tower, you were mission support and comms, not a superhero in any way but tech, and yet, you and Bucky had hit it off immediately, bonding over sci-fi and fantasy books and movies. He was frighteningly smart, with a sarcastic sense of humor and a sassy beautiful mouth. He made the cloistered, serious life of being a member of the Avengers Support crew fun. 

And it wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed he was pretty. Like intimidatingly so, even without the metal arm. You had eyes, and had had a healthy crush on him going back to eighth grade American History class, but in person… You’d like to say it was no problem at all overlooking that ridiculously sharp jawline and those massive shoulders, and that mouth… whew. 

But more than just a gorgeous everything, Bucky Barnes was a sweetheart. If ever a man ignited your desire to cuddle them, it was him. Something about him made you squishy and soft, and while normally you’d squash that instinct immediately, with him you were hesitant to follow through on that. 

In the first place, you had no idea how he felt about you. Up to this point, you’d been wallowing in your one-sided crush on a man who was likely emotionally unavailable in that sense. Not that you blamed him. After all he’d been through, he needed to do what he needed to do for him and you would never begrudge him that. 

In the second place, there was the not so little matter of you. You weren’t armed with potentially lethal sexiness like Natasha, or waif-like and twee like Wanda. You didn’t have illusions, not once in the history of ever had you been anyone’s first choice. Not that that really mattered anymore. Thanks to therapy and working on yourself, you were strong in your own sense of self and mostly unbothered by how other people perceived you or responded to you. 

It’s still unclear to you how a question tossed out so flippantly resulted in you standing in a crowded subway car to the Village with the Winter Soldier pressed in behind you like the most menacing and unreasonably hot shadow possible, but you had to admit, his henley, boots, and jeans combo coupled with his long hair, bright eyes, and stubble, was a thirst trap in every practical sense. 

So much for the relaxing afternoon you’d had planned. Now you’d be spending it focusing on keeping your libido from taking over your tongue and releasing your mortifyingly acute crush on such an unsuspecting victim. 

You two had made some smalltalk on the way to the salon, the brisk afternoon breeze refreshing after the stuffy train ride. 

You’d told him about needing to change from your winter to your summer color palette on your tips and toes, and he’d nodded along dutifully, glancing at your sandaled feet. The squinting  look of confusion and vague consternation never really left his face. 

He held the door as you entered the building, likely a reflex but you thanked him all the same. If you blushed a little, you could chalk it up to the sun exposure. 

“Chào các bạn,” you greeted the ladies as you walked into the salon. You’d been coming here for years, longer than you’d been with the Avengers even, so this place was a regular haunt for you. Because of the time of day, the place was mostly empty except for the staff, all of whom were sweet and very curious about your tagalong. 

“You speak Vietnamese?” Bucky questioned over the chattering as he watched you interact with your friends. 

“Sure,” you replied with a shrug and a smile. “Learned it for just this reason, actually. I like talking to folks and meeting new people.” He nodded, but it was hard to tell if he was still confused or slightly impressed. Then a stroke of genius struck you fast and hard. “Have you ever had a pedicure?” 

The wide blue eyes and quick wash of pallor as the blood left his face before coalescing in his cheeks made you laugh openly. “N-no?” 

The slight stutter of terror didn’t miss you at all. “You want one?” His response of blinking and not much else. “It doesn’t hurt.” 

“But-but, my toes.” It was hard to parse out the source of his exact concern, but he sounded like a little kid being asked to give up his beloved blanky for a quick stint in the laundry. His furrowed brow and hint of a pout made you want to kiss him all over his face and hold him while you reassured him. Admirably, you kept your hands and lips to yourself.

“Will have the time of their life, trust me.” You hoped your smile was reassuring, ”C’mon, it’ll be fun. Certainly more fun than just sitting in the lobby waiting for me to get done. Plus, it’ll be on me. I think you’ll like it.” 

His skeptical look followed him over his shoulder as he was led across the room to the pedi chairs and you were taken over to a table to begin your regular ritual. 

“Cut down?” your nail tech asked as she removed your electric purple gel polish a finger at a time. 

“Please,” you confirmed, though your attention was firmly across the room as Bucky was directed to take off his boots and roll up his pant legs to the knees. They were, unsurprisingly, just as sexy as the rest of him. He looked thoroughly flummoxed and out of his depth, but played along gamely. 

“He’s cute,” she observed in Vietnamese as she carried on flawlessly with her task. All the other techs in the room chimed in with agreements and additional praises for everything from his ‘pretty eyes’ to ‘big, sexy body’. If he only knew how in depth these ladies appreciated his form, he’d probably pass out from embarrassment. 

“Very,” you agreed with a smile, heat suffusing your cheeks totally unbidden. You feared that if he looked over right then, he’d know immediately that you were talking about him, but alas, nothing to be done. 

“Is he your boyfriend?” 

Your snorted giggle was wholly unintentional. “Don’t I wish. He’s not, unfortunately, but I totally would take him if he asked.” 

That answer perked up your tech considerably. “Ooh, that’s too bad. Does that mean he’s single?” 

You shook your head, doing your best not to grimace. “No.” It was hard not to sound petulant, but it was true. “I think he’s seeing someone.” At least, if the amount of Sharon Carter sightings you’d had in his vicinity were anything to go by. That woman was doing her best to hang off him like a poorly fitted suit.��

“Lucky them, I guess.”

“You have no idea.” You shook your head with a sad smile. “The things I would do to have him look at me… see me like that? I’d be an absolute menace. But alas.” You sighed wistfully and shrugged, admiring your fresh overlays as they cured. 

“Pity.” She patted your hand in sympathy before hauling out a massive set of polish color swatches. “Still, it’s good to have a friend, yes?”

“It is.” You nodded as you flipped through the selection to the glitter contingent. “This one please.” You handed her back the swatch for her to pull your color, when something caught your eye. 

It was blue. Bright, metallic blue with turquoise flakes that shimmered like the sun on the open seas. You looked at it and smiled, immediately thinking of the man across the room. “Actually, I have an idea.”

Bucky was still in the pedi chair by the time your hands were done, so you bopped on over to sit at an adjacent work station. His demeanor was lightyears away from the fearful one he’d had coming in, kicked back with eyes closed in utter bliss, his legs wrapped in hot towels and receiving a hot stone massage. “You good, Barnes?”

“Best I’ve been in a while, actually,” he confirmed without opening his eyes, a lazy grin unfurling across his lips. “I feel like you’ve been holding out on me. This is absolute heaven.” 

You took a moment to make eye contact with the tech working on him and handed off the bottle of polish you’d brought over with you. Her startled expression when she’d uncapped the shiny goodness made it difficult to stifle your laughter, but in the end, she just shrugged and nodded. 

“I’m glad you think so. What are you thinking about doing after this?” 

He shrugged. “Hadn’t thought about it, really. Not in the mood to return to the Tower?”

“Not especially.” You watched as the tech applied the bright blue polish with deft, practiced strokes and hit the nails with the UV lights to cure the polish quickly. “You got something in mind?”

“There’s a great Italian place not too far from here on Broome, just off of Mulberry. You wanna go?”

“James Barnes, are you asking me on a date?” your intention to keep your tone teasing and low stakes was entirely undone by your sudden breathlessness. In a bazillion years, this is not how you would have seen your afternoon going. 

“I might be.” Eyes that shimmered like moondust met yours, a tender, playful grin spread across his lips which did nothing at all to improve your breathing situation. “You interested?”

“You better say yes!” Nancy, the manager hollered across the salon from the front desk. 

“If you don’t, I definitely will!” your traitorous nail tech supplied. The rest of the girls in the place all chimed in with various levels of encouragement and teasing. 

“Give me a second to breathe, dang!” You couldn’t stop laughing, both from the giddyness in your chest and the exuberant chaos erupting in the salon. “I’m working on it.”

“Whaddya say, cutie?” 

Your face felt like it was on fire as much from the sudden nickname as it was from the whole room quieting down to await your answer. It was unnerving being so put on the spot, and yet, not enough to change your mind. “I like Italian,” you replied softly. 

“Alright then.” 

Bucky smiling was a rarity that you cherished. The way he beamed in that moment though, was a fricking revelation. It was a good thing you were already sitting down, because that would have absolutely taken out your knees otherwise. 

Once his nail tech turned him loose, he leaned down to put his socks back on, pausing with a puzzled look on his face before carrying on with his task. You’d expected him to freak out or at least have some questions, so his silence on the matter of his newly adorned toes was a bit disconcerting. You weren’t going to bring it up unless he did, though. 

You pulled your wallet out as you went up to the front to settle your bill. It was a bit pricier than you’d anticipated, but seeing the smile on Bucky’s face and spring in his step was more than worth the extra cost. 

“Cảm ơn bạn vì tất cả mọi thứ,” Bucky told Nancy as you signed off on the credit card slip, and you almost tossed the pen. 

“I’m sorry, what?” The blood drained from your head at a speed so fast it left you dizzy. You had absolutely no control of the way your jaw practically unhinged as it dropped open in shock.

Instead of answering you, he turned to address the rest of the room who were watching with undisguised curiosity. “I appreciate everything you did this afternoon. You are all too sweet.” Turning back to you like he hadn’t just set off the verbal equivalent of an incendiary device, he offered you his arm. “You ready, sweetheart?”

Shutting your mouth with an audible click, you nod mutely. In fact, you don’t manage to speak until you’re at least half a block down the street. “You never told me you speak Vietnamese.” 

The smug smirk and equally sexy wink about ended you on the spot. “You never asked.”

[reversedpineapple]

꒷꒦﹋ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬𒋲ᩧ 𝒮𝓁𝒾𝒸ℯ ℴ𝒻 ℋℯ𝒶𝓋ℯ𝓃 𒋲ᩧٜ۪ꥇ໋۬﹋꒦꒷

The GRIP this man has on me oml. Anyways, I hope you like this starter for my series. I always wanted to write something for her but never got the time for it (never mind setting up a blog, yada yada the whole spiel). Enjoy! ( ദ്ദി ��ᗜ˙ )

∘•·····•∘ Yan! Sunday x Isekaid! Reader ∘•·····•∘

Escape had always been the plan. However, being the director of Penaconys Grand Theater made that a whole lot harder but perhaps, you might just make it with the help of the Nameless.

Pre!Relationship setting, Pre!Penacony storyline setting

The reader holds the title “Direttrice” (= Director). They will be addressed as such by the characters. This is not an OC insert! (I used google translate so who knows how accurate that is.)

TWs: Themes of captivity, high stress positions, obsessive behaviour, (not really) implied stalking, forced into occupation, description of loneliness

My inbox is always on anon so write me if I forgot something \(°v°)/

Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated. :D

ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬ Word count: 4.7k ٜ۪ꥇ໋۬

By continuing to read beyond this point, you have agreed to the trigger warnings and to be at least of the age of 18. The author does not hold any responsibility whatsoever for your actions.

7 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑦 𝐹𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑙

Sleep was not the act of resting for you. It hadn’t been for a long time.

You had lost count how many times you had dove into the waves of the dream, bubbles floating around you to the surface, breaking through to reality. There was no need to move, no need to swim with desperate movements to the surface. This was not the kind of sea capable of ending a life.

Not in this form at least.

Baby blue light shone upon you brilliantly. In a natural setting, this would have been a marvelous view. Fishes dancing among the waves, the light of the sun caressing the most upper layers of the ocean.

The gentle light became harsher, it no longer lifting you gently from the depths, now aggressively pulling you upwards to the cold air of a cold room.

You swallowed. The scratch of a dry throat greeted you like a ‘Good morning’. Pushing yourself upwards, you rubbed your eyes, the blinding light of a single lamp leaving a stinging sensation behind your iris.

How long were you asleep? Lifting your gaze to the clock beside your dreampool, you were greeted with numbers telling you it was barely past midnight. Lifting yourself out of the water, you reached out to the towel you always kept close to the tub.

Someone knocked on the door.

Replying to the question of allowed entry, you let out a (not so loud) scratchy ”Come in.”

Hearing the opening of the door and steps entering into your office, you turned around to tie a robe around yourself. You were almost dry, only a slight sheen of moisture left on your skin. You kept yourself from cursing when you couldn’t find your slippers for a minute.

Finally appearing behind the partition separating your place of slumber from your work, your eyes met the gaze of a bloodhound member. Perhaps, he was more of a “the” bloodhound member to you. Gopher had assigned this man to guard and run errands for you since day one. Other than him, there was no other interaction with a living being in the real world.

You had to give it to Gopher, even after not appearing in public anymore, the old man was still loyal to his order. ‘Educate them, teach them how to take care of the Theater, make them subservient.’ As far as you knew, you played that last part well enough to not be suspicious.

At least you hoped your acting was good enough.

Setting down a stack of papers on the desk, its dark wood imposing its presence onto the room, he gave a quick nod. “Direttrice, I have brought the current reports concerning the preparations for the festive activities held in the theater.”

Nodding, you gave him a small thanks, not disappointed as he simply moved to the display case. Taking out a glass and a carafe of such fine craftsmanship you could have never bought if you were still living your old life, he moved to pour you a drink.

“Has there been any unrest? I hope that Pepeshi reporter has given up on sneaking into the Theater.“ you inquired as you pulled the chair out to sit down. Grabbing for the first paper on the stack, you started to read through the graphs and estimated number of attendance. There had been a time when such numbers had been frightening to you, too high to comprehend their meaning. Now they were to you just what they truly were, numbers.

A glass of cool water was placed to your right. Grabbing it, your eyes never left the papers slowly spreading over your workspace. “Have there been any messages from the families?”

Looking up from the cause of your most likely incoming headache, your eyes met the ones of the hound once more. “The head of the Nightingale Family would like to know if there is any need to send a member to the Grand Theater should there be need for greater redecorating.”

You both knew this was not necessary even if the building itself were to collapse.

Yet, it also wouldn’t be bad to keep up the pretense of the hard working, totally normal Director of the Grand Theater though. Feeling the cool essence of life flow down your throat, finally dislodging the ball of needles nestled in there, you placed your drink down.

Yes, you would do well to strengthen the pretence.

“Please tell them that their kind offer is appreciated and that we could use a few helping hands to redecorate the halls. Miss Robin is the star of the show, so a few more posters would not be a bad idea.”

Just as you were grabbing for the fountain pen sitting in front of you, a red drop fell onto the report in front of you. Letting out a hiss, you leaned back in your chair, tipping your head backwards to avoid getting any more of it outside of you any more.

A gloved hand held out a cloth handkerchief, the gesture unusual hurried. “Direttrice, should I call for medical attention?”

Pushing down the feeling of surprise at his unusual behaviour, you accepted it. Pressing the fabric against your nose, you shook your head carefully. You felt fine… but also exhausted. It had been a while since your mind was allowed to actually rest instead of working. Ending inside the dream was nice until you were exposed to actual work.

“It must be the stress. As soon as the festival is over I will get some proper rest.”

Or at least you hoped that it was only stress.

Stretching your limbs over your head, you felt a satisfying pop running through the joint of your arm. A look at the clock told you, you hadn’t moved in the last six hours. Stretching your legs as well, you made a plan in your head how to proceed during the rest of your day. A drunken guest had somehow made it through security last night, damaging two seats and even though you could easily ask the personnel of the Nightingale family to fix the damage, the thought of them changing more than small details made you feel uncomfortable.

Who knew what kind of devastating consequences an overconfident Dreamweaver playing with the Stellaron could bring forth?

Lifting the last of the many papers to your face, you studied its contents. There was nothing that couldn’t be fixed very quickly. Just a few new bookings, the workers most likely already took care of that.

What you did not expect were the words ‘Astral Express’ written on there as well. This was the first time since learning what was important and what not that you gave your attention to this part of the reports.

From what you understood, there had been a new member among their numbers. Those that claimed to witness them reported they reminded them of a gray raccoon. The Trailblazer, no doubt. There had been a request from the management team to secure an extra seat should the rumors turn out to be true.

So it had finally come to this. How many times had you sat here, wishing for the story to progress to the point you would finally see the Nameless in person.

Picking up your pen and a paper, you started to write.

Dear esteemed head of the Oak Family

Reports have informed me that members of the Astral Express will be in attendance of the Charmony Festival. As we are both aware, the Nameless have always been experienced in the handling of Stellarons.

Considering the true nature of the Grand Theater, I would like to arrange a meeting between us to discuss precautions should they somehow find this information out.

With the greatest respect,

The Direttrice

Careful as not to wrinkle the paper, you sealed your message in an envelope, the rarely seen emblem of the Director of the Theater decorating the wax seal. Gesturing for your assistant, you handed him your letter. “Please make sure the Oak Family head gets my message today. This is of utmost importance.”

Watching the man leave your office, you suppressed the tickling in your throat. All you needed to do now was follow the plan you had oh so carefully worked out over the past few years and then, freedom would be finally yours.

Untying your robe, you stepped behind the partition, not bothering to lay out a towel to prepare for awakening once more.

Finally letting out the laugh you had been holding in, you slipped gleefully into the liquid. There was a lot to prepare and not much time before the arrival of your honored guest but for them, you would gladly work yourself to the bone.

Violet fabric adorned with blue thorns materialized out of nowhere, covering your arms. smoothing out a few stray wrinkles, you checked yourself out in the reflection of the mirror standing next to the dresser. Being satisfied with your appearance, you stepped out from behind the partition. Your office in the dream identical to the one in the real world. The only difference was the missing dreampool. Opening the door to the corridor, you left the room, your destination the front desk.

You took note of the changes that happened during your absence, posters created recently by the sent Dreamweaver now decorating the walls. One of them caught your eye, the stylistic portrait of Robin slightly crooked. Stepping closer, you heard something akin to chirping. Already knowing the culprit behind this small mistake, you raised your hand until it pointed to the small pink plume of feathers peeking out from behind the picture.

With a snap of your fingers the small bird dislodged with a small chirp. Shaking its small body, it chirped at you. “How did you find me again? I made sure to hide in a new place.”

Shaking your head, you let out a small laugh. Holding out your arm, you invited the small being of paper to take seat on your sleeve. “I am the one responsible for this place. Of course I would notice if something was amiss.”

Stepping forward, the small paper bird took its offered place. Waiting till it had found its balance, you angled it in front of your body. Even if someone were to pass, it would just look like you were standing perfectly normal and not tending to something invisible.

“Has something interesting happened?” You asked your small companion. A tickling sensation told you of it shaking its head. At least nothing happened whilst you were gone. “I think the Oak was visiting earlier.”

Not a surprise. You found him wandering the halls at least once a week. Why he did that was a mystery to you but considering that he had a miniature version of the city in his house, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was mapping out his own plans.

If only you had the time to take a walk like he did.

Now that you thought about it, how did he manage to have enough time for those? Last time you checked, leadership positions were usually not very gracious in the department of free time.

Seeing the entrance to the ticket counter, you dusted off your arm with your other hand. Understanding your message, the bird took flight. Stopping midair, it turned around to face you once again. “Sunday has been acting weird this time. The others and I don’t know why but he has been unusually interested in the stage.”

Nodding to it, you expressed your thanks. It was no wonder he did. If everything went according to what you remembered, he would soon confront the Nameless there.

Lowering your arms, you stepped into the room. As soon as the personnel saw you, they hurriedly tried to get in position. Waving your hand, you told them to stop. “There is no need for that. I am just here for the booking list.”

Stepping in front of the desk, you focused your gaze on the young woman standing behind it. She stood straight, a welcoming smile on her lips but her hands rubbing told you of the nervousness she felt. Offering her a gentle smile, you hoped she would relax a little. “Good day. The reports told me of an overbooking. Please hand me the list to see if there was not an error in the system.”

Nodding a bit too fast for your liking, your gesture not helping her in the slightest, she searched for the mentioned list. Shortly after, she pulled the neatly kept paper out of a drawer under the desk. Handing it to you, she kept her gaze glued to the list. Grabbing it carefully from her hands, not wanting to give the poor thing the fright of her life, you thanked her for her help.

Unfolding it, you looked over the list, pretending to look for a certain booking. Looking down, you saw that there were indeed still empty seats for this specific performance. Snapping with your finger, you noted down this information on a piece of paper in your office. Turning around again, you folded the list once more. “I must thank you once more.”

Handing over the list, you left once more. You heard the orchestra strum their instruments in the theater hall.

Heading over to your office, you took notice of two voices resounding in the long hall, almost drowned out by the sound of the practicing orchestra in the theater. “The Direttrice should be here soon. If you wish, I could accompany you to a seat.”

Turning around the corner, you were met with the sight of one of your workers and Sunday. Hearing you, the second of the two turned around. Golden irises and navy pupils met your own. You felt your back muscles tighten, the middle finger of your left hand twitched.

The characters always looked so pretty on screen but when they actually stood in front of you, you could not help but be intimidated by the uncanny valley effect they exuded. They looked human enough but there was just something not right just below the surface.

Lifting your left hand to your chest, you gestured welcoming to your office door with the other, the gentle smile you had practiced oh so painstakingly over the years still visible on your face. “Welcome, head of the Oak Family. Could I have the pleasure of inviting you into my office?”

Stepping closer to you, Sunday replied to your smile with one of his own. A shame it was a lot less warm and a lot more cold but perhaps that was just your knowledge of what he was planning. “Good day Direttrice, I have taken notice of your proposal for a meeting. Considering its importance, I came over as soon as possible.”

That was fast. Too fast for comfort. If you were asked for an urgent meeting, you would have been able to meet them earliest in half a day. At least you had finished all the preparations in advance almost a year ago. “I am very thankful for your fast response. Shall we head inside?”

Stepping aside, the Halovian made space for you. Passing him, you took hold of the door handle. As your gloved hands made contact with the cold metal, the door opened with a silent clicking sound. A warm current of air passed you, the space you usually occupied carrying an air of familiarity. Stepping into your office, you held the newly opened pathway open for the man.

Nodding to the worker, you thanked him for bringing him here. The steps of Sundays shoes reverberated in the hall before the sound was drowned out by the smaller space. Pulling the door closed, you squeezed the handle. Taking in a breath you turned to the most powerful man of this planet.

Following suit, you slowly stepped into the center of your office. Walking around your desk, you casually picked up the note lying on it, hoping not to look too suspicious. Turning around, you gestured to a chair standing in front of the desk, it now standing where a second before was nothing but air.

“Once more, I must thank you for your attendance.” Sunday took his place in the offered seat, his movements practiced and refined. “The gratitude is mine considering the gravity of the situation. I assume you already have an idea how to deal with it.” Sitting down yourself, you took one more small breath. You could feel your heart racing in your ribcage.

Gripping the golden ornaments decorating your trousers, you gave him a nod. The blunt tips bit against the skin hidden beneath your gloves. Reaching with your right hand for the desk drawer, you pulled out a folder from within. Opening it, you presented him with five tickets. “as we know, the Trailblaze hasn’t visited Penacony in a long time. Thus, we can still influence their opinion.”

Sliding the folder over the desk to Sunday, you kept your eyes trained on his. “In order to assure they will not pick up on any unwanted information, I shall approach the followers of the Trailblaze under the guise of their personal guide.”

The halo flying behind Sundays head bobbed slightly forward when he reached over to take a look for what the presented pieces of paper were. “And how will you, the director of the Grand Theater, explain why especially you are showing them the planet of festivities?”

Your reply was a nod. This was a small victory, one you had prepared for years ago. With an opponent like Sunday, nothing was allowed to be left to luck.

Not even the tickets for the play you were presenting right now. “A reasonable question. In that case, I could bring forth that I myself am not from here and as a show of gratitude for their deeds decided to step forward to welcome them myself.”

Sundays eyes glided back up to yours, his irises looking like molten lava, a shadow of doubt flickering across them.

You held on tighter to the ornament, it now stinging painfully. If you so much as stuttered, this could all go terribly wrong. “As I am connected to the Theater, I am also most concerned about them doing something to the Stellaron. The Nameless are known for doing whatever they want to do but with my presence, we could avoid something happening to it.”

Still sensing a sliver of doubt, you leaned forward. “To ensure the success of the Charmony Festival.”

Your eyes and the ones of the Halovians locked into each other. Sundays eyes widened slightly but before you could reason as to why, he leaned back in his seat. Mirroring his action, you hoped to appear less aggressive in your debate strategy.

“I do not see why you should take care of such a task. Sending members of the Bloodhound family after them could secure the safety of the festival just the same.” Damn. Of course that would not have been enough but this was the head of the planet of festivities. A few words were not going to give you what you wanted.

Finally, you relaxed your left hand, letting it fall to your side. Standing up from your seat, you walked over to the windowless outlook into the theater hall. A violin was currently desperately trying to nail their solo part. With a wave of your hands, the red curtains smoothly slid shut, not a sound of the outside world now perceptive to the two of you. “There have been rumors of an addition to their group.”

Wandering over to one of the bookshelves lining your walls, you glided your fingers along the titles, looking out for a green cover with gold lettering. “About two years ago we had a Dreamweaver break into the theater. They were convinced that their idea of it would be more beneficial for Penacony. When they started to change this place, I felt it.”

Finally finding what you were searching for, you pulled the thin book out. Taking a look at the cover, you confirmed that it was the right one before starting to flip through the pages.

“Through resources, I have found out that their new addition could have a Stellaron inside of them.” Resources being your memory playing the game. You heard your visitor stand up. Taking a small look at him, you lowered your tone, a frigid seriousness penetrating your actions. “If my guess is correct, then I can confirm that.”

Finally finding the illustration of a folder, you reached for the page. The paper gave away like water. If you allowed yourself to be tricked by the feeling, you could almost feel small bubbles pushing against your skin to the surface. Your wrist was already completely submerged before you finally felt what you were looking for.

“Stellarons resonate. We need to find out if their mere presence could give away Penaconys best guarded secret.” Pulling at the object, you were finally able to hand the Halovian what you had prepared so long ago in advance.

Taking hold of the files you had just presented him, Sunday started to flip through them. “I am a creation of Penaconys Stellaron, I can assure that I can get the necessary information to make sure that no unwanted information gets leaked.”

A lie, well, halfway. Your body was… perhaps, but your soul definitely wasn’t. It did however grant you safety from whatever the family would have done with you if you had told them that you hailed from another world.

Sunday closed the folder a bit too aggressively. “If what you say is the truth, how do you know the Stellaron within that person won’t resonate with you?”

You could feel your hands becoming clammy in your gloves. Clasping your hands in front of you, you tried to keep your breathing steady. This kind of reaction was to be expected. There was nothing to worry about. This man would not be in the position he was today if he was naively walking through life. “Past events have shown that Stellarons only resonate if they are active. Also, individuals with connections to them do not incite this reaction.”

Your conversation partner did not answer. Walking forward, the winged man stepped closer. Stepping aside, you made space for him. There was no telling what he was about to do but you also did not dare to say something.

Gliding his hand over the books, he pulled out a copy of a play having Clocky as its protagonist. Swallowing, you tightened the hold on your hands. “I am inclined to include plays for children into our program. The Dreamscape has seen an uptick in children visiting with their parents.”

A lie, again, but there was no reason for him to doubt you. Cocking your head slightly to the side, you raised your eyebrow at him, careful not to shatter the illusion of the gentle person you were trying to portray. You hoped your expression looked more like someone expressing interest rather than desperate impatience.

Sliding the book once more into the space it left behind, Sunday stepped back to your desk, his hands resting on the folder still laying there. Opening it, he read the name of the play tickets were for. “A theatrical recreation of Penacony's history. Can you assure me they will learn nothing of value?”

“Of course. This is merely a more interesting recreation of it rather than reading the information from a tourist pamphlet.”

Taking another look at the tickets, he nodded. "Alright. You shall act as their guide but should they turn out to be too much for you, the Oak Family will step in immediately.”

Looking up again, he gave you a final nod. The matter was decided.

Closing the folder, his hand stayed on top of it. “Now that we took care of this matter…”

Turning his face halfway into your direction, he continued. “Direttrice, many members of the Family have reported to feel various negative side effects due to the preparations of the festival. How have you been fairing?”

You felt your mouth twitch. This was… unexpected. You were expecting a lot. An evaluation of ticket sales, reports on performances but for him to inquire about your well-being? That was something you did not think about when preparing for this meeting.

“I am thankful for your… inquiry. I am happy to reply that I have been doing well.” You hoped your assistant wouldn’t report to Gopher the little incident which happened just this morning. Or perhaps he already did? It would explain the question.

“Have you and Miss Robin been alright? I must assume that the both of you are the busiest of us all.” Giving you an elegant smile, still not warm enough to reach his eyes for the second time this day, he gave you his reply. “My sister and I have been doing well. We are currently preparing for a short outing outside of Penacony. I hope you will fare well.”

He was truly spoiled. You never really noticed when you were still playing the game, merely reading his voicelines but when engaged in conversations with him, you felt a sense of superiority radiating off of him. The kind of sense telling that someone was raised with not only silver, but a diamond spoon in their mouth.

“I wish you the best of travels. THEY shall protect you on the voyage.” Ok that was perhaps putting it on a bit thick but you were not someone able to express their rather non-believing world views.

The backpocket of your trouser vibrated. Excusing yourself, you turned around to take a look on your phone. Not a real one, of course. Just something existing in the Dreamspace so you wouldn’t need to resort to carrier pigeons. On second thought, maybe you should. At least then you would have control over one feathered being.

It was nothing close to important. Just a message from one of the managers that one of the plays they were responsible for was sold out. Still, it was a excuse to escape from… whatever this was.

Turning back to Sunday, you threw him an apologetic smile. “I must apologise, but something urgent came up.”

His wing twitched again but there was no indication for any negative emotion on his face. “I see. If that is the case, I shall excuse myself.”

Walking him to the door, you took hold of the handle, opening it for him. “I must thank you once again for your attendance.” God you wanted this to be over. “Goodbye, Direttrice.”

Closing the door after he turned around, you slumped against the dark wood. A small clicking sound was heard when the lock closed. Flicking your hand, the curtains pulled aside again. The stage was slowly emptying, the instruments and musicians slowly leaving the platform.

Was it always so cold in your office?

The young man felt his wings flap. Before him stood a stranger, one Gopher had instructed him to meet. He had read the reports, knew that the creation of the Stellaron was docile.

He just didn’t expect it… them to look so normal.

When he heard of them from one of his caretakers, he was overjoyed. Until then, only his sister was somewhat close to his age.

He had been sad when he learned that they would not be able to meet them.

When Sunday took the seat of the family head, he was handed the reports. A child stumbling forth from behind the curtain, bathed in the golden light of the Stellaron. At first, they were assumed to be a Memory Zone Meme but when their body was found in a dreampool.

Later it was confirmed by Memorykeepers that they did not sneak in. They just started to exist.

Even though he had never met them, he always felt a kind of kinship. Both of them were groomed to be leaders in their respective fields, /someone who understood him/.

At some points, the reports about them became his highlight of the week.

A year later, they became the director of the Grand Theater.

Gracefully lifting their hand, they rested the tips of their fingers on the space between their collarbone. A practiced action, Sunday recognised it from his own training. “Greetings head of the Oak Family. The pleasure of meeting you is mine.”

Sunday did not even remember what he said back then. All that mattered was that he finally met them. His Charmony Dove, his own little slice of heaven.

“I hope our liaison will be a harmonious one.”

Do not copy, translate or use my work without my permission. All rights belong to the author.

[the-kr8tor]

okok listen..

yk how some fica about hobie is like him tapping on the window, you let him in and he’s hurt and you fix him up? what about the other way round 😮

ikik I’m so smart 😘

So cute! Thank you for requesting, hope you like it ❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, cw injury, cw violence mention, spider-woman! Reader, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Hobie sits on his patchwork couch, he strums his guitar softly, a rare tune escaping from the scruffed but well loved instrument. His steaming cup of tea sits next to his notebook where his numerous cluttered thoughts are scribbled about. Some are doodles, a few are coherent enough to become lyrics for his new song.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he says under his breath, crossing out a word that does not fit well with the song. Notebook abandoned, he sticks his pen on the shell of his ear to strum the strings again.

The houseboat suddenly jostles, soft enough not to spill his drink, but hard enough to knock his pen off his ear. Hobie, knowing full well what— or who the cause of the shake was, closes his notebook immediately before he could see your masked face peek out of the circular window like a gopher.

You knock then wave to him excitedly. He feigns annoyance through narrowed eyes, which made you pout under your mask. He can't see it, but he knows you're giving your signature vigilante pout and puppy dog eyes that he can't resist.

Without a second more, he stands up, socked feet creating friction on the carpet. Opening the window for you, you lean on the sill, elbows propped up on the chipping paint.

“Whatcha doin'?” You ask, voice muffled by the mask. He faces the whites of your mask, flicking where your nose should be. “Ow, grumpy.”

“What am I doin'? I should be askin' you that. You do know I gave you a key for a reason, right, love?” His eyebrow raises questioningly, piercing shining in the moonlight. “It's almost midnight, get your arse in ‘ere.”

You shrug with a chuckle. “I got held up by Goblin.”

“I swear if I ever see that wanker flyin’ ‘round—”

“—You'd throw a molotov at him!” You finish for him. “I know, my love.” Patting his cheek, you climb into the houseboat like usual, groaning and wincing when your skin pulls at your injury.”

“You hurt?” He helps you up on your feet, hands holding your arm, worry etched on his handsome face. “Love?” He asks again when you don't answer, his hands reach up to the hem of your mask, not pulling, waiting for your permission.

“Just a tiny bit.” Your pained wince under your tone says otherwise.

“Can I see?” Hobie asks, thumb brushing along your clavicle. With a nod from you, he gently tugs at your mask, effectively pulling it off without aggravating any injuries you might have on your face. “That doesn't look like a tiny bit, love.”

He sighs, eyes roaming along the tiny cuts along your face. But his main concern is the large gash along your jaw that runs up to the side of your nose. It's an angry wound that still bares goblin's unmistakable mark from his claw. Your mask in his hand feels pristine despite the injury, he wonders if you changed it before you got to his place so he wouldn't worry too much.

“I know, ugly, right?” You give him a weak smile when his silence cuts through you. “I–I just wanted to stop by so you don't worry when the radio broadcasts the fight in the morning.” Cupping his cheek, you reach up to flatten the folds from his knitted brows. “You'll get old really quick if you keep doing that.”

“Not ugly.” He shakes his head, hands falling down to your shoulders to rub soothingly. “Still bloody fit.” You give him a gentle smile. “Sit down, let me take care of you, yeah?”

You inhale sharply, you'd be lying if you tell him that you're all fine and dandy after getting pummeled on the ground. “I can just go home, I really just wanted you to see me now so you don't have to worry about me tomorrow.”

“Well, I can worry now, or tomorrow. I choose now, love.” His eyes soften under the moonlight, and you can't help but surrender and embrace him fully. He hugs back, arms wrapped around your middle protectively, knuckles tracing your spine. “Anythin’ else I have to worry ‘bout?”

“Nothing else, I'm just due for some cuddling.” You say as you peck the underside of his jaw lovingly.

“Doctor's orders, I bet?” He whispers, eyes closing, face hidden in your hair whilst avoiding your scratches.

“Yeah, I have a prescription and everything.”

Hobie chuckles, patting your behind to make you place your feet on top of his. Once you get the message, he waddles towards the couch with you still in his arms. You help by giggling into his skin, lips meeting his warm cheek.

He sits you down gently, “I'll get the kit, stay.”

“Yes, sir!” You mock a salute, making him chuckle.

“Far from it, love.” He leaves, but not without you smacking him behind the second he turns around. Looking over his shoulder, he smirks. “You're playin’ a dangerous game.”

You tilt your head, lips curling into a playful smile. “I know exactly what I'm doing, Hobs.”

With a roll of his eyes, and a quip on the tip of his tongue, he walks towards the bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit. All with a grin on his lips, and stomach doing flips.

You've almost fallen asleep on the couch when he finally comes back. The cold sting of the antiseptic hits your cheek as he dabs it with a cotton ball. “Ouch.” You can't seem to look away from his eyes when he sits this close to you.

“Almost there, I'll make this quick.” He says while he lets you wrinkle his shirt in your grip.

“Why is it every time I see you I get lost in your eyes?”

“You see me everyday. You tellin’ me you get lost every time I look at you?” His movements pauses, eyes twinkling under the lamp. “How do you get anythin’ done?”

“Oh,I try.” You wink, but your wound prevents you from winking fully, making you look like you're spasming.

“Alright, you bloody flirt.” Chuckling, he places his thumb over your eyelid to make the skin relax. “Did you get him?”

“Mm-hmm, I got him by electrocuting his ass.” You lean into his touch as he continues to tend to your wounds.

“That's my girl.” He nudges your nose with his own, and then gives you a quick kiss on your lips. You chase his lips when leans away, pouting again. “All done. You didn't need any stitches.” He rubs your thighs affectionately, smiling sweetly at you. “Stay the night?” He knows you'll eventually heal before lunch tomorrow, but he'd still tend to you no matter how many times you tell him about your abilities. He'd do it every time you come to him.

“Absolutely.” You close the distance, breath fanning across his lips as you kiss once, twice, before moving away. He sighs, smiling in content. “If you tell me what you're working on.” Glancing towards his notebook, you give him a sly smirk.

“Cheeky.” He grabs the notebook before you could. “No.”

“Aw, come on, Hobie! Just a peek!”

[love-of-the-red-star]

That time I got reincarnated as an Aeon

(Series)

Chapter seven: In which March 7th joins the crew and asks why you have special privileges

Warnings: possibly ooc

You never expected to stumble upon the frozen chunk of ice that contained a familiar someone that you knew would become March 7th. She laid there, under the layers of unforgiving ice, naked and asleep.

For a brief moment, you wondered if you could just leave the ice to melt on its own, but shrugged the last minute and decided against it.

It was easy to just clip the ice out of existence and get the girl to safety, draping her in a comfortable quilt to protect her dignity and to keep her warm— you noticed she felt surprisingly soft for a girl frozen for god knows how long.

No one questioned you when you brought her in to the express and took her to your room, having known you long enough to trust you.

“She’s stabilizing.” Himeko told you as she finished examining her. “She’ll probably wake up in a few hours more or less.”

“That’s good.” You said as you observed the girl’s sleeping body, now dressed in some loose, soft colored nightgown that covered her entire figure.

“Where did you find her?” Himeko asked.

“Inside a block of ice.” You replied. “Eternal ice, specifically. Interesting, right?”

“Indeed it is…” She trailed off. “Any estimate of how long she’s been trapped in there?” She asked as she wasn’t there to observe the ice to know a timeline— it’s a miracle in itself that this girl was still alive after such a dangerous situation. She wasn’t a corpse, she didn’t bloat, didn’t bruise, and no signs of frostbite at all.

“Probably a long while. I haven’t seen eternal ice for a good few decades since I was born.” You answered, deliberately leaving out the detail that it was on the Aeon Fuli that you’ve seen traces of it last. It wasn’t your place to divulge that, and you too didn’t know the full story.

“Where’s Welt?” You inquired, changing the topic.

“He’s currently making some arrangements with Herta for our next stop.” Himeko replied. “Oh.. that reminds me,” she paused, as if uncertain. “I received a message from the IPC in regards to you— well, not quite. It’s your wanted poster.”

“Took them eight years to air out my dirty laundry outside two galaxies?” You frowned. “Lame.”

“Since when did you find out about this?” She looked at you with an incredulous look, remembering that your bounty was exactly a whopping 69 million credits. (Nice)

“I have no idea why they’re airing it this late here but I found out about it during my trip in a galaxy with a friend— I got famous there for killing IPC personnel using chairs.” You confessed with a casual shrug, you don’t miss the way she seemed taken aback, as if that was beneath you. Could she do anything about it?

No, not really. Because aside from you being basically this place’s patron deity since you vored the original one on accident, Himeko was just that kind of person. The kind who would just… get it.

“Also, it wasn’t unwarranted.” You sighed, throwing your hands up like that white, scuffled combination of a cat and a monkey to emphasize your exasperation. “They attacked me first. Walked around some old bar like they owned the place and tried to shoot me while I was trying to cheer on my friend.”

Himeko nodded. “I see.” She had enough common sense to figure out that people were basically asking for it— she’s however thankful that you’re at least not as destructive as she initially thought you would be.

She’s of course, wrong. But she doesn’t know that yet.

Emphasis on yet, because killing corporate employees with a chair wasn’t exactly the worst thing you did using a human projection. Does she have to know about what you did to Gopher Wood a few years ago while pretending you were just some bellboy in Penacony? No she doesn’t.

She didn’t need to know about the town you accidentally turned into Yharnam 2.0 around six years ago in some distant galaxy either. Granted, what transpired there wasn’t exactly your fault, but merely a result of people trying to foolishly communicate with your Aeon form without a transmission.

And thus, they were free of their ignorance. The exchange was that all of them went insane from gaining the “insight” needed to see you, observe you.

Himeko doesn’t need to know any of those things, or the sense of regret you felt by not being able to help them in the way they needed.

In the midst of your surprisingly quiet conversation, the unconscious girl woke up, and your face is the first thing she sees.

“Hello.” You smiled, gently taking her hand with your own. “Finally awake huh? You’ve been asleep awhile.” You said.

“H-hi.” Her response is weak, groggy. Himeko is quick to help her drink water for her parched throat, in which the girl accepts with little complaint. She almost coughs and you patted her back gently to ease her, telling her to slow down as she doesn’t let go of your hand along the way.

“Himeko, can you please get Pompom? She needs some soup.” It felt strange for you to be ordering her around with you easily forgetting you are technically the highest person in the train.

“I’ll get her something easy on the stomach, don’t worry.” Himeko merely smiled at you, complying with what you told her as you stayed with the girl.

“So, how’d you get in that ice?” You asked after a few moments, of course you already knew the answer, but you still let it out anyway.

“I… don’t know.” She told you. “Who are you?” Himeko said she’s stable— well, physically. You’re not sure how she is mentally.

“A stranger for now.” You smiled. “You should rest, you’re not exactly ready to get up just yet.” She nodded wordlessly at your words, and laid back down.

It doesn’t take her long to sleep.

“Welcome aboard, March 7th.”

——————

“Himeko, why does [Name] get to get out without contacting us for weeks but me and Dan Heng have to inform you of our whereabouts?”

Himeko paused with calibrating the navigation system as March put on the question.

“Well… despite how they look, they’re one of the senior members of the crew.” She began. “Don’t worry, they know their way back no matter where they are and where we will go.”

It’s a vague answer and March can tell, though, she doesn’t pry any further. You’ve been around in the express for longer than her or Dan Heng, so she chalked it up to you being the more experienced lot.

“Where are they right now though?” She pondered, and Himeko chuckled.

“Seems that someone is worried.” There is mirth in the navigator’s voice, March pouted in response.

“They’re all alone, of course I’m a little worried.” She said.

“I see. Not to worry, they’re fine, they’re just on another planet right now visiting a place.”

���Sigonia… IV?” Himeko pressed on the panel to show the state of the planet, and March almost blanched. “Wow, it’s…. dry… in there.”

“It’s a desert planet. [Name] was there before, they’re just finishing up in establishing a space anchor so we can head there whenever we’d like.” Himeko explained. “It was added recently to our navigation system around 12 or 13 years ago, and it’s inhabited mainly by two clans. You can ask Mr.Yang or Dan Heng if you’d like to know more about the planet. [Name]’s taken a liking to it.”

“Okay… what are other places that [Name] likes?” She’s curious now, despite having travelled with them for over four months, there wasn’t much that she knew about the mysterious astral express member at all.

“There is another place… they attended the university of Veritas Prime for a while before they quit because they got bored.” Himeko lightly laughed, recalling the memory of you going back to the train after spending a good portion of a year in the university, with you rather childishly stating you’re dropping out because you hated writing a thesis.

“Mr. Yang told me about that place once.. apparently it’s super prestigious.. and [Name] just quit because they got… bored?” Frankly, March was a little.. in disbelief.

While she couldn’t remember her past, she had enough common sense to know that academies like that simply aren’t places where you could just.. dip without a single regard.

But unfortunately, you were… well, you.

“That’s not.. really all there is to the story, even I’m not sure what actually happened, but it’s better for us not to question [Name]’s choices.” Himeko sighed, shaking her head.

“Okay…. Are there any other places that they like aside from a school and a desert planet?”

“I’m… not sure.” Now even Himeko was wondering what you actually liked aside from the things they already know. “I think they mentioned a tavern at one point. Though it’s not exactly one for a vacation spot.”

“What do you mean?” March tilted her head, curious.

“Let’s just say that it’s the kind where bounty hunters often linger around, at least that’s what they told me.” Himeko said without missing a beat, March shivered. “It’s alright, they said most of the people there are well acquainted with them.” She laughed lightly.

“That’s not exactly helping.” March sweatdropped.

“Oh! Looks like they’re done properly establishing the anchor.” Himeko chimed, Sigonia IV finally having a proper route for the express members to properly jump into.

March frowned, her questions haven’t yet been answered. What she got were vague, not pointing to anything personal about you.

Perhaps another day then. Or maybe when she’s braver, she’d ask you herself.

————————-

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, part VIII (HERE), Part IX…..

Interlude: one, two…..

Special chapter: link

That’s a wrap for the long awaited chapter 7– I know we didn’t have much of the reader acting here, but I also want to explore the POV of other people and how they perceive you because I think it’s important—

I promise you’ll see the reader in action in the chapter that follows this :))

[gophergal]

hello

im sorry

[forestclan-clangen]

MOON 10 (Part 2)

<< FIRST | < PREVIOUS |

Hopechase and Morningpaw find an old badger sett. Or at least...they THINK it is. Hopechase remembered the stories of the Gardens Below, and reluctantly grabs a long stick and stabs it into the sett. No animal was there, but dark roots were. Hope tells Morning that if they come back and the roots grab onto the stick, then this was where a Woodcrawler might come from.

(Morningpaw, apprentice, female, 12 moons) (Hopechase, warrior, female, 92 moons)

Windfur tries to apologize to Shiverpaw for the moon prior. Shiverpaw isn't interested in hearing it, interjecting him whenever he tries.

(Windfur, medicine cat, male, 24 moons) (Shiverpaw, medicine cat apprentice, female, 10 moons)

Olive suddenly finds, after moons of being unable to move her back legs, that she can walk again. She takes a few hesitant steps, and for a moment, she is in awe as Perchkit and Branchkit approach excitedly. Windfur also feels relieved, releasing a breath he held for moons. Olive purrs as she genuinely thanks Windfur for his patience, and apologizes for her rudeness during her grief.

(Olive, mediator, female, 66 moons) (Windfur, medicine cat, male, 24 moons) (Branchkit, kitten, female, 5 moons) (Perchkit, kitten, female, 5 moons)

---

Olive was scared.

Yes, she could walk without pain. Yes, she could move her tail again - albeit with some soreness, due to the muscles being stiff. She understood Windfur's desire to remove her cast and declare her healed. It was strange, how something that had once been a symbol of her agony and pain had become a source of comfort. She had worn the cast since spring. Her life in ForestClan began as an injured loner, waking into camp with it. It was now winter, and the camp that sprawled before her was a set of roof-less tunnels, the snow shoveled aside to give clear paths to every major point of camp. There was no ice to slip on, and she was overdue to walk freely again.

And yet…

Windfur gently began untying the ropes around her cast. Windfur had been quieter over the past two weeks. She didn't blame him. She likely would, too, if she had gotten the full brunt of an angry Iciclepool and Redstar. She understood their anger - to send Shiverpaw out at the start of the snowstorm was a foolish decision made without thought. She wasn't a child, but the young cat hadn't experienced snow in such large quantities before. When the patrol hadn't returned on time, they blamed his poor judgement, and she was describing this lightly. Iciclepool hadn't spoken to Windfur in days, pointedly asking Shiverpaw for any medical assistance instead.

Olive's eyes shifted towards Windfur as she felt the cold air hit her normally-covered back. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steel her nerves. Windfur must've noticed her anxiety.

"...Any pain?" he asked.

"No."

"You seem tense."

Olive didn't reply.

Windfur slowly gathered the pieces of bark and old moss. He gently placed it in a basket, then began bunching the twine into a bundle. By the time he finished and grabbed the basket, he gave her one last look.

"...I'm going to dispose of the cast materials."

"That's fine."

"...You should be able to walk now."

"I know." Olive sighed. She closed her eyes for a moment. She felt her tail brush against the cold dirt and snow beneath her.

"Could you try it for me?" Windfur's voice was tense. Olive could've sworn that she heard a sense of dread lingering behind the statement. Olive stopped the swaying of her tail. Was he unsure of himself?

Olive looked out across the camp again, and saw her two kits laughing as they played in the snow. Perchkit's migraines had subsided, and she watched with softness as Perchkit dived under the snow, then stuck her head straight up like a gopher popping out of its burrow. Branchkit burst out laughing, deciding to do the same. The two cats playfully kept diving and popping their heads out from the snow, then emerging in progressively sillier poses.

A surge of warmth bloomed in her heart. It was dampened by tightening fear, then shame.

She was so afraid to have hope, for so many moons. The despair that plagued her was like she was submerged in mud. Her fears of her litter being taken had come true, and poor, innocent Warblerkit suffered the same fate in a vain attempt to prevent it. Nothing mattered for so, so long. She expected them to come back and take her remaining kits. There was no point to having hope.

The grief lessened as she watched her kits grow, and learned how to walk again. But the familiar pang of depression and defeat was comfortable. Familiar. She knew how to navigate it. Avoid it. Ground herself to suppress it. But allowing herself to feel joy? It had been foreign to her for a long, long time. And yet, here she was, without her cast. And here were her kits, unafraid and abundant in their happiness.

The first step was always the hardest one. The one with the most fear, and uncertainty. Something she would have to wrestle with her own mind and body over - teach it again that the world is not ending.

She wished she could step forward unafraid. But she couldn't.

Olive breathed deeply, letting the cold air pass through her lungs. "Courage is not without fear. Courage is not without fear," Olive muttered to herself quietly. She braced herself, and pushed herself to her feet.

She felt the weight settling on her back legs. She allowed her tail to sway slightly, stretching out the lingering stiffness. Then, she stepped forward. Once. Twice.

She found herself focusing on her kits in the distance.

She felt the wet, cold ground under her paw pads. She felt her tail lifting slightly, keeping it off the ground. She watched as her kits rolled out of the snow in laughter, and Branchkit's sage green eyes met with hers suddenly. They widened, and then Branchkit squealed with joy as she leapt towards her.

"Mom! You don't have a cast!"

Perchkit's head swiveled and her eyes were struck with wonder as she dashed after her sibling. Perchkit looked like she had just seen a miracle. "You're walking without it?"

Olive let out a breathy laugh. "Yes. I…I suppose I am."

"Woah, that's awesome! Does that mean you can play with us?"

"Well, hold on. I still have to get used to this again." Olive allowed a quiet purr to escape her.

"Does that mean your back is healed?" Perchkit piped. She still looked amazed, as though a miracle had just been performed.

"It does," Windfur meowed. Olive turned and saw that he had padded after her, still holding onto the waste basket. Windfur seemed more relieved than she had ever seen from the tom before. It was as though he had been holding a breath for a long time, and only now could he finally release it.

Olive, for the first time in many moons, allowed the warmth to surge through her. She let go of the fear and allowed it to surge down to her feet, and leave into the earth. Her sage green eyes wavered with feeling.

Despite everything, she was here. And she was alive. She couldn't possibly return the kindness and treatment that she was given, but it was given freely. ForestClan saved her. Windfur saved her. Despite how defeatist and hopeless she felt, the tom never gave up on treating her.

"Windfur," Olive started quietly. "Thank you for your patience and kindness for many moons. Despite how I've treated you and others in my darkest moments, you still treated me with respect. I know my words hurt. I'm so sorry for how I treated you."

Windfur sheepishly put down his basket and started grooming his arm. "It's - ah - it's fine," he answered. He put his arm back down and stared at his paws. "I've heard worse."

"That's not an excuse." Olive's expression was clouded with feeling. "I just…never thought I would get better."

Branchkit playfully batted at Olive's shoulder. "But you are better, mom!"

"I am. And that's thanks to Windfur, and Shiverpaw as well by the end. So…thank you." Olive bowed at him.

Despite Windfur's stoic expression, his raised tail betrayed his relief and gratitude. "Just…let me know if you get any pains or anything, okay? I still want to check up on you for a bit."

"Of course."

"Mom, did you wanna see the funny game Branchkit and I came up with? It has to do with finding each other in the snow!" Perchkit piped up as she ran back towards the snow banks.

"Show me, then," Olive purred as she padded after her kits.

Windfur couldn't help but watch as the mother watched her children play in the snow. Olive's eyes were filled with a kind of peace that he hadn't seen from her before, and for once, after moons of screwing up and failing others, he felt like maybe, he succeeded just this once, for this one person. Despite everything going against Olive - her broken back, her pregnancy, the woods' cruelty, her grief - here she was, walking, and purring as she watched her kits hunt each other in the snow.

For a brief moment, he allowed himself to purr with contentment. His tail tapped lightly on the ground, and he closed his eyes. He listened to Perchkit and Branchkit's mewls of excitement, and he was happy.

His tail stopped when Olive let out a hard cough. ---

A few days later, Olive's occasional coughing gets consistent. Olive is miserable as Windfur says it's yellowcough. Windfur feels REALLY bad for her. Thankfully, he has a surplus of lungwort, but that doesn't make Olive much happier, now that she's stuck in the medicine den again.

(Windfur, medicine cat, male, 24 moons) (Olive, mediator, female, 66 moons)

Branchkit appreciates that Riversnow always seems to ask how she's doing.

(Riversnow, warrior, female, 59 moons) (Branchkit, kitten, female, 5 moons)

Perchkit hates how Olive keeps getting attention lately, and doesn't understand why she's not being allowed to see her. What does Windfur mean, "she's sick again"? Her back was fine a few days ago! Windfur tries to be patient when explaining it to her.

(Windfur, medicine cat, male, 24 moons) (Perchkit, kitten, female, 5 moons)

Talontooth tries to offer Morningpaw a compliment, and fumbles on his words before awkwardly running away. Morningpaw suppresses a mrrow of amusement, and feels warm and fuzzy.

(Morningpaw, apprentice, female, 12 moons) (Talontooth, warrior, male, 14 moons)

Barleywave thinks Talontooth is being very helpful when he brings him dinner. The two toms also end up having some friendly bickering.

(Talontooth, warrior, male, 14 moons) (Barleywave, warrior, male, 39 moons)

< PREVIOUS | NEXT >

[inbabylontheywept]

so i was having fun going through your lore tag, reading stories. most of them I read out-loud, cause reading tumblr posts to my not-tumblr husband is how i show love. the gopher-boming one brought me to tears with laughter cause of the vivid imagery and as someone who also grew up in arizona I know exactly the kind of person your grandfather was to hate gophers and cactus with such a passion. after all, i had several family members like that too. It's also been pretty neat realizing you're the guy behind a bunch of other posts I'd loved. the raw eggs one, the zombie chili garlic mint coco, the shoe incident. this was like christmas, finally overcoming my dumbass inability to recall names and faces that extends to usernames and avies in a way that blessed me with knowing it was YOU that cut all those worms in half and cried in a tree about it as a six year old. this has been fucking awesome.

anyways i started getting into your more recent stories and having fun with those, because well my husband is in the air force. so telling him stuff like the soviet pigeons one just had him nodding along solemnly as he is quite aware of the bullshit that goes on in government buildings. especially classified ones. as I got into the fridge hording one that mentioned you working on MISSILES - he realized something. there was a gasp from my side, and when i looked over a sort of dawning horror? delight? possibly both. and he said "oh my god. i've probably fucking met that guy. they do tours of the bases. oh my god" and I suddenly remembered that oh yeah, there's only like four places in the country people like you and he can work on that job.

when i reminded him you were in Utah now with that "woman that gunned it into the curb as was foretold" story he closed his eyes slowly in again the sort of realizing-and-coming-to-grips-with-that way. like he was remembering the stupid shit I'd been reading him since last night and hyper-aware that he's shook your hand at least once. he said there's no way hes ever going to meet those groups of you guys again without wondering which of them is babs. he's going to start complimenting their shoelaces. he's going to be thinking about the butter duck sculpture every time. and then he went to get his hair cut since its been out of regs for like a week

im not going to describe my appearance more than my abundance of cowlicks i mentioned before but he's gonna know when he meets babs. its not subtle.