#I’m trying to not harp on what I’ve lost. maybe I’ll get all the good parts again whenever I’m not exhausted all the time. or maybe not

[wurm-food]

despite the fact that ive grown away from writing (even though i do want to come back and it’s originally why I came back to the platform), im glad that so many of you have stuck around and enjoyed seeing me for me. i feel very very grateful for that 💕

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 36: Entwine

"But Harry, we just think you'd be so much happier if you-"

"Found someone to settle down with," Harry finished for Hermione. At this point he'd heard the lecture so many times he could recite it in his sleep.

She sighed, "We just worry-"

"That I'm lonely and miserable," Harry said. "I know."

"We love you, mate," Ron said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"I know," Harry said, and it was true he did know, otherwise he would have probably stopped being friends with them by this point. "I love you guys, too. But you have to stop setting me up on dates."

Hermione stared calculatingly at him, "Two weeks," she said. "I'll give you two weeks reprieve and if you've started dating someone by then we'll leave it."

-------

He was still stewing on this conundrum when he stopped in to pick up a cup of coffee and (hopefully) a pastry the following morning.

"Morning, Potter," Malfoy called over his shoulder without even looking up to see him.

"That's going to bite you in the arse someday," Harry said as he stepped up and rested his elbows on the counter.

"I've told you," Malfoy said, turning around and handing him a cup of coffee that Harry knew would be made perfectly and a pastry bag that had Harry's mouth already watering, "You have a very distinct magical aura. I know it's you."

Harry rolled his eyes, but he was secretly charmed. "When you say things like that I completely understand how you and Luna get on so well."

Malfoy rolled his eyes but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

It suddenly occurred to Harry that he got on pretty well with Malfoy, too. "Hey," Harry said, opening his mouth to speak in true Griffyndor fashion without hesitating to think. "You're single aren't you?"

(Read more below the cut)

Malfoy groaned, "Not you, too. My friends are always harping on me about dating. I'm perfectly fine-"

"Right, yeah. Of course you are," Harry hastened to add, "I am, too, obviously and that's the point."

"Potter drink your coffee, you're making even less sense than usual," Malfoy said.

"No, listen. Pretend to date me. Please, Malfoy, I'm literally begging. I will do anything to get my friends to stop setting me up on horrible dates."

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment, "That's an interesting idea, Potter."

"It's a fantastic idea," Harry assured him. "I promise to be the best fake boyfriend you've ever had."

"What would it involve?" Malfoy asked, slowly.

Harry thought for a minute, "We could go on 'dates' and just, you know, hang out; we can have dinner together, go to quidditch games, whatever you want. And then when we're out with friends we'll just sit together, maybe hold hands or something? I haven't thought it through yet but what do you say?"

Malfoy tilted his head to the side, "I'd say you're in luck, Potter, because I had a really bad date last night with a bloke that Pansy tried to set me up with. So, let's do it. Merlin knows I could use a break."

"Done," Harry said, grinning widely at the other man, "Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

The corner of Malfoy's, Draco's, lips tilted up, "Sure. Where did you have in mind?"

"Do you like Italian?"

Draco nodded.

"Perfect. I get off at 4:00 today, do you want to meet here?"

"Sure," Draco replied with a little grin.

Harry smiled back, "Thanks for the coffee and the pastry. And I'm looking forward to see you tonight, sweetheart."

Draco laughed, "Disgusting. Get out of here you prat."

Harry placed a hand over his heart as he backed toward the door, "You have the sweetest way with words."

The other man shook his head but he was smiling as widely as Harry.

This was clearly the best idea that Harry had ever had.

--------

This was the worst idea Harry had ever had. Not because he and Draco didn't get on, but because they did.

Within two weeks Harry was spending more of his free time in Draco's company than out of it. They'd gone out to eat together eleven times (in thirteen days!), they'd taken Teddy to the park together, and Harry stopped by the coffee shop twice a day now and arrived half an hour early so he could spend time talking to Draco before he had to leave for work.

Yes, he was getting up early just so he could have more time to spend with Draco.

He was in so much trouble.

And it was only going to get worse since they were attending pub night tonight with all of their friends and they'd agreed that holding hands, casual touching, pet names, and the like were all acceptable for the evening.

Harry was standing outside the pub, waiting for Draco and trying to get himself under control, when the other man appeared.

"Ready?" Draco asked, giving him a small but genuine smile that had Harry's stomach doing back flips.

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding once to himself.

Draco held out his hand, wiggling his fingers for Harry to take.

He reached over and slid his fingers through Draco's, their hands fit perfectly together, and Harry thought he might be having a heart attack. Holding someone's hand shouldn't feel this good.

He was absolutely, entirely fucked.

"Alright?" Draco asked.

"Yeah," he answered but his voice came out all funny and breathless, and honestly, if he could have punched himself in the face he would have. He cleared his throat, "Yeah, fine," he said. "Let's go."

And as if holding Draco's hand hadn't been enough, once they got inside the pub, Draco sat next to him and rested his hand at the top of Harry's spine, his fingers trailing lightly over Harry's neck and wrapping around the curls at the base of his skull.

It was like he was in a bubble; conversations were happening all around him, people were laughing and joking, people were probably telling all sorts of stories but he didn't process a word.

Slowly, he forced himself to relax, leaning into Draco's side and letting his hand slip over to rest on Draco's knee.

The other man gave his neck a gentle squeeze in response as he continued his discussion with Luna.

"Harry," Hermione said, waving a hand to get his attention.

"Yeah?" he asked, perking up and trying to ignore the tingles racing up and down his spine as Draco's fingernails scratched lightly at his scalp.

"You were a bit lost there, mate," Ron said.

He smiled, "Sorry, just a bit out of it."

"That's alright," Hermione said, "I was just saying that you and Draco seem to be really good together."

"Yeah," Harry said weakly, glancing over at the other man who was quite engrossed in a conversation with Pansy and Luna. "Yeah," he repeated. "He's really something."

Hermione nodded, "You seem to be good for each other."

"Yeah," he said, feeling a bit sick because they did seem good for each other, they did somehow make sense. "Sorry, could you excuse me for a minute?" he asked as he stood up and fled the table, making his way quickly to the restroom.

He all but ran into a stall and locked it behind him, barely managing to stop himself from banging his head against the wall. This wasn't supposed to have happened. He wasn't supposed to have fallen for Draco Malfoy.

"Harry?" a voice called.

He held his breath, maybe if he just didn't make any noise Draco would go away and he could finish having his crisis in peace.

"I can see your shoes," the other man said as he knocked softly on the door. "Let me in?"

Reluctantly, Harry opened the stall and made room for Draco to slip in with him.

"Do you want to tell me why you've been acting like an insane person escaped from the psychiatric ward tonight?"

He winced, tried to think about what he could say, how he could deflect, but what came out was, "I don't want to pretend."

Draco's brow furrowed, "This was your idea," he said. "And if you wanted to stop all you had to do was say so."

"No," Harry said, reaching out to stop the other man from leaving. "That's not-" he huffed and entwined his fingers with Draco's. "I mean that I don't want this to be pretend."

Draco stared at him uncomprehendingly so Harry continued, "Holding hands with someone has never felt like this. Going on dates with someone has never been this much fun. I want to be around you all the time, even when you're making me crazy."

"I don't understand."

He sighed, "I can't pretend with you because none of this is pretend for me any more."

Draco blinked once, then he leaned forward and caught Harry's lips with his own. The hand not holding Harry's came up to cup his cheek and tip he head down so he could kiss him more easily and Harry's body lit up like a firework.

He pushed Draco back a step until his back hit the wall and pressed his body against the other man's. Harry's body had been made for this. Every neuron was firing away happily, every atom of his being singing with joy at the other man's proximity.

Draco's fingers threaded through Harry's hair as his tongue flicked over Harry's bottom lip. With a soft moan, Harry opened his mouth, his tongue reaching out tentatively to touch and twist with the other man's.

They might have continued on like that all night, were it not for the outer door to the restroom slamming open as a drunk man staggered in.

Draco pulled back, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. He put a finger over Harry's lips and pressed a kiss to his nose, and Harry wasn't quite sure how he hadn't simply melted into a puddle of goo yet.

Once the man left, Draco removed his finger and pressed one more gentle kiss to Harry's lips. "This isn't pretend for me either," he murmured.

Harry smiled, "No more pretending."

"Honesty about where we're at from here on out," Draco added with a smile.

And it was a promise they kept until the day they died. They both had to wear masks for the outside world but they never hid from one another.

-----------

Day 35: Tears | Day 37: Secrets

[stellocchia]

I was rewatching the stream where Tommy got locked up in prison with Dream (Tommy Gets Locked In Prison with Dream) and there are just a few quotes that I want to drop here for everyone:

"What's up Dream?" "Nothing much. I lost my clock since the last time you came" "That almost... if you take the 'L' out of that word then it's... it's a different word and that's funny..." "That's the Tommy I know!"

It's just so damn uncomfortable from the get-go. Because keep in mind that Tommy went in there with the idea of getting closure. In hindsight, not the best idea, but it's not like he knew how to deal with what he went through any better.

But no, what makes it so absurdly uncomfortable it's how Dream just effortlessly steps back into the "friend" role. Immediately trying to go back to their old banter and all. And, like, Tommy didn't fall for it entirely. He was clearly uncomfortable as soon as Dream said the last line, immediately going on the defensive again, but it doesn't change that there is a part of him that still had (and possibly still has) a tendency to fall back on that as well.

"I'm glad you came to visit me, you know? It's been a while... I- I wish you'd visit me more"

Like... rewatching it I'm fairly sure that either Dream doesn't understand that Tommy doesn't, in fact, see him as a friend or he's simply very willing to ignore that fact because he's just that desperate to have him around.

"This is my last visit Dream" "Like e...? Y-y..." "Yeah. Yeah... I'm- this is my last visit seeing you" "You're- like... forever?" "Yeah. Yeah I think so" "Well... forever is a long time"

Maybe desperate then. I completely forgot how genuinely shocked he was at the news that Tommy didn't want to ever go back. I'm fairly certain that this is the first time he's left completely with no words and no idea on how to react.

Also, Dream "forever is a long time" Wastaken having absolutely no qualms as long as it's him and Tommy spending that forever together. This man really needs some new hobbies. Maybe a potted plant or something.

"...you know what? there's nothing you can fu- This is my last time visiting you. So anything you wanna say to me now you can- you have to say to me now. Uhm, 'cause I'm not gonna see you again" "Why?" "Are you fucking-"

See... that's what I mean! Like, yes, he lies and manipulates and all of that, but there could be actual confusion here. Like, I do think that Dream understands exactly how fucked up everything he did to Tommy was. I don't think he's ignorant about that at all. I do think that he may not understand why that would be enough for Tommy to want to stop "their game".

Like, he obviously knows that Tommy has a shitload of trauma from what he put him through, but that's part of the fun for Dream isn't it? So does he actually understand that that "fun" is exactly why Tommy doesn't want to be around him anymore?

"I've been suffering from success while you weren't here" "Me too... except for without the 'success' part, just suffering"

Imagine abusing someone for months and then trying to get them to pity you once you end up in jail, what a f*cking looser! Also, Tommy definitely stumbling with the response because he's just very empathetic even towards Dream. Like, he repeats to himself a few times that Dream did deserve being in jail and that he did do bad things which feels much more like a reminder for himself on why he shouldn't pity him more so than a reminder for Dream.

"You had all this shit coming!" "I did... but... you know? I don't know. Maybe one day, right?" "No! No, have you seen the prison? It's kinda the most secure thing ever! Dude, you're not- you're not leaving here! sam's name still there, okay, thank god" "I'm just saying, like, maybe one day, you know?" "I- I don't-" "Eventually" "Maybe if you have extreme therapy" "Maybe one day I'll just walk out of here. Like-" "No, I don't-" "I feel like I've already been changing since I came here"

It's interesting just how quickly Dream managed to regain control of the situation though. Trying to harp on Tommy's tendency to empathize with people.

"This is my last time here. I might- I kinda- I don't wanna-" "But why?"

He asks a second time? Is he actually just that dense? Like, I get the trying to fish for sympathy aspect. He was trying to get something useful to get out of there and whatnot. But man... that's the guy he literally abused. Did he actually expect it to work? Was he just heavily relying on Tommy's empathy to pull this off or does he actually just not understand Tommy's view on their relationship at all?

"I don't wanna know you" "I mean exile it wasn't too bad, right?" "You fu-" "I mean you still- you had, you know? I mean we hang out and stuff" "I fu- you fucking- you bastard Dream!"

Honestly hear Dream talk about exile is always fascinating. Also, a gentle reminder that Dream was well aware about Tommy being suicidal during the whole duration of the exile. And yet he still defines it as "not too bad" because they were spending time together. Just... that... something alright.

"Listen, when I'm around you my brain feels like I'm fucking conditioned to be your friend but also when I have a knife I wanna just plunge it into your heart man it's like I don't- you don't make me a good person Dream, you make me bad, alright? All this shit that's happened has been because of you and I don't- I'm moving onto bigger and better things now bitch. I- I'm done. I'm done" "But isn't- what if- what if you just- like once a month or something?" "No. No, I don't- I don't wanna know you in my life anymore. This is done"

I simply couldn't not include this. I'm too much of an inniter for that. But also Dream is STILL insisting after that speech. He still didn't give up on getting Tommy to visit him more. It may be that he was just stalling for time until the explosions now that I think about it, but still, wow.

"You're a terrible man, alright?" "I did bad things-" "You're a bad guy. You're a wronging'" "Well, everyone thinks they're right from their perspective that's why I-" "That's not true. That's not true!" "Well, I think I'm right. I did bad things but I did them for good reasons, but-" "What do you mean good reasons? You're a psychopath" "I've learned. Yeah I did bad things but I've learned that I shouldn't have done them"

See, this is what I mean when I say that c!Dream apologists parrot c!Dream's rhetoric completely. Like, the whole idea that Dream had "good reasons" for his actions and that somehow that makes them okay didn't come out of nowhere, but it's sure recontextualized a lot when you understand that Dream is spouting this kind of bullshit just to convince his abuse victim to continue spending time with him. Like, when you actually look at how Dream uses his rhetoric instead of taking it as gospel it becomes pretty interesting to see how manipulative he can get.

"No what- what good reasons? No please, please enlighten us. Please enlighten me!" "I just wanted to- I just wanted to bring the server together. Have it be a happy family, you know?" "Bri- bring the server to- you fu-"

It's incredible how he was able to say that to Tommy of all people. After Tommy just mentioned moments priors how Dream tried to kill Tubbo. After he mentioned that he has trauma related to plain biomes because of Dream towards the beginning. Tommy does immediately call out the bullshit though and that's so satisfying...

"You ruined my past Dream, but you will not ruin my future" "I'm not- I- I- Tommy! I'm trying- I'm trying to change, to be better and not be the same person I was and you- it- it doesn't- y- you can visit me. Like, every now and then, right? It'll help! It'll help! Right? It'll help- it'll help me... be better" "Fuck off mate"

This was honestly the reason I rewatched the stream in the first place. I was looking for this specific quote because I thought I remembered it from somewhere and then I got distracted...

But yeah, the reason I was looking for it is that this is possibly the single slimiest f*cking move on Dream's side. If anyone is confused on the why, it's because, once again, this is emotional manipulation pure and simple. Dream putting the baggage of getting better on Tommy and appealing at his empathic nature to keep him into this f*cking abusive relationship. And also he's doing this while clearly panicked and grasping as straws. Because he does know that Tommy is not going for it right now, it's very obvious.

It's just... slimy...

[theoreticslut]

"Why do they hate me so much?”

pairing: fred weasley x reader x george weasley (*might change)

requested: no

word count: 3k

warnings: mentions of cheating, SFW

A/N: i’m attempting an enemies to lovers kind of story, but i’m not sure if it’ll really come across as that. if you haven’t noticed i kinda just write and whatever comes out, comes out. As i mentioned above the pairing of the story might change as I’m still working on it. right now its heading in the direction of both the twins, but that’s not how i originally wanted it to go, so we’ll see. I hope you guys like what I have so far, I do want to make this into  a small series so if you have any comments and/or suggestions please let me know - i would love hearing your thoughts! Xx

Taglist: @justmesadgirl @xuckduck @yikesyikesyikes95 @filipi-yes @aestheticwh0r3 @siredkai @matsuno-nadeshiko @msmarklee1213 @immajustreadwritereblog

 ^ let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!

“You pig-headed prats!” You holler, huffing as the infamous weasley twins ‘successfully’ pull off another prank, you as their target yet again.

“Oi, sweetheart. That’s a bit harsh for such a pretty lady.” Fred smirks.

“Shove off, weasley.” You hiss as you push through the two who were standing in front of you.

If you spent another minute near them you feared you’d find yourself in detention for a month. The two redheads had a way of thoroughly getting under your skin.

You’re not entirely sure what you’d done to them, but for the better part of two years now you had been the butt of many of their pranks. You’ve had everything from an itching charm put on your robes to mini fireworks exploding out of your books to the most recent of having your wand tampered with to cover you in slime instead of whatever spell you were trying to cast.

Besides that, the two had been beyond irritating to talk to. You could always find them laughing and joking with others, but they seemed much kinder than they were to you. That’s not to say that they were rude or mean to you in anyway, but their jokes and smart replies were definitely not what you needed after having been pranked.

“Y/n! Ohhh, what happened?” Your friend hermione called as you entered the common room, immediately sensing how pissed you were.

“The twins happened.” You grumble, gritting your teeth.

“I don’t know why they keep pranking you! I’ve talked them multiple times about it and I thought they had finally gotten it through their heads that it wasn’t funny.”

“Don’t worry about it, hermione. I think they were just born bloody annoying. It’s what they do and they know they’re good at it, so why stop? It’s not like we plan to be friends or anything any time soon anyway.” You huff, making your way up to your dorm.

“I know, y/n. I know. Just....let me talk to them again. I’ll make sure they stop. It’s not fair to you. Even harry and Ron get annoyed at them for it.”

“You don’t have to do that, ‘mione. I’ll just...start ignoring them, maybe that’ll get them to stop. They’re not worth my time of day anyway.”

“Alright, y/n. Well, let’s get you cleaned up. You are going to need help getting this out of your hair.”

~.~

“You two need to stop this prank thing against y/n. I’ve told you over and over, it’s not funny anymore. Do you know that it took at least five washings to get that slime out of her hair? Five!”

“Oh stop harping us, hermione. It’s not like we’re hurting her any.” Fred says, dismissing her disapproval.

“You’re not hurting her, but you’re certainly annoying all of us.” Ron says through a mouthful of breakfast.

“Why should we stop? It’s fun and honestly pretty great to get a rise out of her.” George smiles.

“Don’t you think she wonders why she’s being targeted? She is our friend, too, and you hardly prank any of us. Don’t you think she might feel a bit frustrated? Don’t you think she wonders why you two have such a vendetta against her?” Hermione pushes, becoming annoyed herself with them.

“We’ll bring it in a bit, but we’re not stopping. She’s just too easy to prank.” Fred finally offers.

“I wish you would stop completely. It’s honestly not fair to her in the slightest.” Hermione sighs, giving up for the time being.

The twins are stubborn and she knows she better take what they give her for now before they revoke their compromise to bring it back completely.

~.~

You groan to yourself as you listen to Professor Binns drone on about history. This was by far your least favourite class, even more so when you’ve had the week you’ve had.

It started monday when you woke up to a surprise visit from Aunt Flo to which you were very unprepared for. You had been meaning to get some more pads and tampons but had been so busy it had left your mind. Not only did it inconveniently arrive, it was also being a major witch this month. As soon as it hit you felt you were going to be sick. The amount of nausea you felt on top of how crampy and achy you were. You honestly felt like you had been run over by the hogwarts express.

Tuesday you had been surprised by a last minute exam that Snape decided to give out. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, except this really was not your week and hadn’t been able to remember the potions you were being quizzed on. You had just barely passed when you normally received the higher marks that snape rarely gave out.

Wednesday you had just had a very rough day. Everything you had tried to do backfired and you ended up creating more hassle for the professors and your friends than would normally be expected. You spent the day just feeling completely useless, which continued into thursday.

Then, so far today, you woke up late and forgot your tie which earned a deduction of house points. You had spilled a bunch of ingredients in potions which earned even more deducted house points and complete embarrassment. You felt completely disgusting today even though you’ve showered and still looked put together. And most recently, just after lunch you had found your boyfriend has been cheating on you.

To put it lightly, this was just a really bad day at the end of a very rough week. The only thing you’ve been able to be grateful for is that the twins have seemingly stopped pranking you.

They still made smart remarks that you were trying your best to ignore, but for the time being you haven’t found yourself in the middle of one of their pranks.

You’re not sure why, but at least you haven’t had to deal with them on top of everything else this week.

You had managed to get all the way through to dinner where you sat very tiredly. Hermione knew you’ve been having a rough week as you were roommates, but she wasn’t sure what exactly had been happening. You hadn’t been wanting to talk about it. Harry and Ron, however, could tell you were in no mood for anything else even without knowing you’ve had a rough week.

Unfortunately, the twins did not get the memo that this was not your best week and had decided today was the day they’d prank you after leaving you alone for a couple weeks. 

they had been planning out how to do so for a few days now and were proud of what they had come with. therefore, It came as quite a surprise to the both of them when you broke out crying after setting a smoke bomb to go off when you lifted your fork.

The food had just been revealed to start dinner when you picked up your fork to grab a piece of ham from the platter in front of you.

Before you could realize what happened, the smoke bomb went off, completely covering you in soot and catching the attention of many of the students in the great hall.

Without being able to hold it in, you had started crying as Fred and George were laughing.

“What have I ever done to you? I’ve tried being nice and it always blows up in my face, quite literally right now.” You sigh, choking on your tears as you stand up from the table to leave.

Fred and George stop laughing when they hear you, their smiles dropping when they realize you had been crying. They watch as you hurry off, hoping to Merlin this encounter wasn’t being listened to and watched by everyone.

“Look what you two have done now! I told you to knock it off with all these pranks. You can’t ever listen though, can you Fred. George.” Hermione states, fuming at the red-headed twins as she gets up and follows after you.

“Oh bloody hell.” They both sigh in unison, slumping into the table.

“Bloody hell is right.” Ron says. “You really don’t want Hermione mad at you.”

“We’re not worried about hermione, mate.” Fred says, keeping his eyes on the door that y/n had left through.

“We just wanted to get her to smile.” George sighs sadly.

~.~

“Y/n!” Hermione calls as she catches up with you in the hall back to the common room.

“Please go, hermione.” You sniffle, wiping at your eyes.

“I’m not leaving my best friend out here crying all alone.” She huffs, crossing her arms as she looks at you.

“I know you had a bad week, but what’s happened? It must’ve been real bad if you break out crying like this, y/n.” She says after a minute or two.

“I’m just so tired, ‘mione.” You cry, shrinking into yourself in front of her.

you felt pathetic yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop crying. you had been hiding it away all week and you just couldn’t do it anymore.

“Tell me what’s happened.” She urges, pulling you into a hug, her heart breaking for you. she cared for her friends more than anything, but it really broke her seeing you so upset. you were usually such a literal ray of sunshine to everyone around you, that it was painful to see you carrying so much pain.

“I’m so tired and achy and nauseous. All because I’m a bloody woman. I’ve been so unfocused that I’ve lost us so many house points. Well, more than I ever have,” you sob as hermione leads you over to a bench by the window.

“I practically failed that exam snape gave us this week and I made such a mess of his ingredients. He was so furious, hermione.” you whisper, your terrified eyes meeting hers as you recall the way he fumed over your mishap.

“I was so embarrassed. I’ve never done that terribly in his class.” you mumble.

“I’ve been nothing but a hassle to everyone around me this week and I just - I feel so bloody disgusting. It’s honestly no surprise I found my boyfriend cheating on me.” You sigh, crying more.

“He did what?!” Hermione gasped, sighing as you cry harder.

“He’s been cheating on me, ‘mione. For like two months at least! I feel so dumb and used. I really liked him, ‘mione, and he just....he just used me!”

“Take a breath, y/n. We don’t need you getting sick.” hermione urges, noticing how you’re choking for air through your sobs.

“A-and now I’m covered in soot all because the twins have something against me. I don’t know what I could have done! Why do they hate me so much?” You cry.

Fred and George frown as they hear you recount your week, having left dinner to come after you and apologize. They truly had no idea. If they did they wouldn’t have set up that smoke bomb.

“We really messed up, Fred.” George sighs, not being able to take his eyes off you as you cry in hermione’s arms.

“Yeah, we have. Come on, let’s go apologize and try to fix this.”

They make their way over to you and hermione who shoots daggers at them.

“Y/n, we’re sorry. We-“

“Would you two get out of here? You’re some of the last people she wants to see right now.” Hermione states, knowing that the twins are beyond sorry and just want to make sure you’re all right, but taking your emotional needs as her priority.

she knew that they had a bit of a crush on you even though they had never said a thing on the topic. it wasn’t hard to miss, however, when she noticed how often they’d stare at you from across the room, smiling dumbly to themselves and zoning out. it was quite adorable, actually, but she did wonder how they ever thought pranking you was the way to your heart.

“We didn’t know you’ve had such a bad week.” Fred sighs, ignoring hermione.

You start crying harder at the mention of your week. You just wanted it to end. you wanted to curl up in your bed, tucked tightly into the blankets and listen to some comforting sad songs while you cry.

“Fred, George, go back to dinner. I’m taking y/n to our room. She needs to be left alone for awhile.” hermione orders, helping you to stand even though you don’t want to. all your energy has been drained from your body so even lifting an arm to wipe at your tears felt like it was the most difficult task in the world.

The twins sigh, but nod, knowing it’s the truth. Having them around wouldn’t help anything, but they felt so guilty. they just wanted you to understand that they don’t hate you, but rather the complete opposite.

They had never wanted to upset you when they started pranking you. In fact they both saw you as a friend and had a bit of a crush on you that they couldn’t understand. Sure you were beautiful, beyond kind, and a little bit of a fireball, but you were just a girl. neither of them were quite sure when they had started feeling and thinking it, but even though they tried to tell themselves that you were, they knew deep down you weren’t just some girl.

They really aren’t the greatest with their feelings though, especially when their beyond confused with them, and decided pranking you was the best way to show that they liked you. They never prank you to be mean, they just want to make you laugh and see you smile.

~.~

Hermione had gotten you into bed after having you shower and change into some comfy clothes.

She had left to go get herself some dinner and promised she’d be back soon to see how you were holding up.

You had told her not to worry about bringing anything back for you. Instead you were just going to curl up and go to sleep.

You heard a knock on your door and sighed. You didn’t really want to talk to anyone, even hermione. You hummed out however to notify the person on the other side of the door that you were listening.

You hear your door creak open a bit and hear some footsteps enter.

“Y/n? Uh, Fred and I brought you some dinner. Hermione said you didn’t want anything, but you can’t just not eat.” You hear George say, cautiously stepping over to your bed. his voice was filled with concern which you thought odd, but couldn’t care enough to think about too long.

You hear Fred shut the door but you don’t bother looking at either of them. You’re far too numb to care at this moment.

“Y/n?” George asks after not getting a response. he didn’t think you were sleeping, but he wasn’t sure.

“Thanks. Just, set it on my trunk. Or my night table. I’m not really hungry right now.” You mumble, still not bothering to look at either of them.

“H-how are you holding up?” Fred asks, fidgeting in his place.

“Why do you care? You’ve never cared before. Either of you.”

Both the twins sigh, looking at the other with guilt written all over their faces. they’re well aware how they come across to you, but it was truly a complete misunderstanding.

“We know we made you the target of our pranks more often than not, but we weren’t trying to be mean. We just, we really wanted to make you smile. Make you laugh.” Fred sighs.

“Did quite a job at it, huh?” You ask, still staring straight ahead. You don’t have the energy to turn to look at them. And truthfully, you didn’t really want to.

“We-we’re sorry. We had no idea how bad of a week you’ve had. We, uh, we heard you tell hermione everything.” George states, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It doesn’t matter that it was this week.” you deadpan, “It’s the fact that I’ve never once enjoyed your pranks on me. It was pretty obvious, so why would you continue?” You ask, getting a bit irritated at the two twins.

“Well, uh. I-I don’t know. We’re dumb.” Fred answers.

“No, you’re not. You both are so brilliant that I’ve been jealous of you at times, but you just don’t care about school. You’d rather use all your brilliance on tormenting poor classmates or make a girl cry than apply yourselves to classes.”

You knew you weren’t being fair, but you were fed up with everything. You wanted to be left alone. you couldn’t handle socializing, much less able to handle these two trying to make up for what they’d done for years only after you broke down crying.

“No, we never wanted to make you cry. Merlin we feel so guilty that we did.” Fred tries to argue, but is promptly cut off.

“So you really don’t care, do you? You’re just trying to make yourselves feel better.” You say, finally looking over at them, a fire blazing behind your eyes. Both of them look like deer caught in headlights, not sure whether to stay put or run and in which direction if they did.

You watch as Fred gulps nervously as George opens and closes his mouth trying to find the words to not make things worse.

Even though they can’t meet your eyes, mainly because they’re scared of the anger within them, they notice just how awful you look. Not in the sense that you’re unattractive, because Merlin even now you were gorgeous, but awful in the sense of how absolutely heartbroken you look. It truly looks like your soul has been ripped from your body and your heart crushed to pieces.

Your eyes are bloodshot and puffy, your nose red from blowing it into the rough tissues on your bedside table, tear tracks etched into your cheeks almost looking like spilled ink that had run across a piece of parchment.

They can see how tired you are, and how much sadness you’re still holding in. They wish more than anything that they could comfort you, but you were making it very clear that you didn’t want them here.

“Can you please just go? I don’t really feel like keeping company.” You sigh, turning back away from them.

They both nod, even though you can’t see them. Turning to walk away, they stop to look over your form once again. They’ve never seen you so heartbroken and it scared them. You had been a light in their lives, happiness radiating from inside you  constantly spreading warm that reached deep into their souls. it hurt seeing that light extinguished.

“We’re really sorry, y/n. For everything.” George sighs, him and fred leaving you to yourself.

[pillage-and-lute]

Hey I have a holiday prompt for you! What if it’s the pairing’s first holiday together and they stress about figuring out what to get each other? Any pairing you feel like! PS Reading your stuff never fails to put a smile on face!💜💜💜

Hi Blondey!

cute shit ahead. Modern AU

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“Yen,” I swear,” Geralt panted into the phone. “It’s an emergency. Please, I need your help.”

“No.”

“Yen please I’m actually begging.”

“You should have thought to beg before Christmas Eve.”

“I’m meeting him tonight, Yennefer, I’m on Wilson Street, with all the shops and I’m so lost, please.”

“No.”

“I’ll set you up with Jaskier’s hot friend. The one from the coffee shop. She’s single.”

“...I’m on my way.”

-- -- -- Across Town, Triss and Jaskier’s Apartment -- -- -- 

“I just thought I’d have more time to get him a gift,” Jaskier wailed, draped dramatically over Triss’ beat up armchair. “And then it was thanksgiving, then finals and it’s Christmas eve and I don’t have a gift.”

“Well,” Triss said, sipping her cocoa and barely looking up from her book. “It’s not noon yet, shops aren’t all closed. What kind of gift does your relationship need?”

“What?” Jaskier looked up from his flop of despair, confused. 

“I mean, if you’d been dating for a month it would be slippers or some scotch or something.”

“We’ve been dating eight months though!” Jaskier wailed. “I love him, Trissy, desperately. I see his face and everything goes all pink and mushy.”

“You should get that checked out.”

“No, I mean,” Jaskier sat up and looked at her. “I think he could be the one. He might be it for me.”

Triss looked up from her book. She’d known Jaskier since university, and his heart had always been so mobile, but there was something shining in his eyes. She shrugged mentally. Put it down to a Christmas miracle, but Jaskier was really in love.

“What does he like?”

Jaskier huffed. “He likes being grumpy.”

“And?”

“Me.” He paused for thought. “His horse, Roach, he loves riding. He loves his goddaughter, and mythology.”

“Lord of the Rings nerd?”

“Oh you have no idea, he’s basically Aragorn if Aragorn had albinism.”

“I know a place,” Triss said, getting up. “Put on your coat.”

“Will it be open?” Jaskier asked anxiously, pulling his boots on.

“They live above the shop,” Triss said, throwing his scarf at him. “I know the owners, I’ll just shoot them a text.”

-- -- -- Back on the other side of town -- -- --

“Okay,” Yennefer said. “And you’re sure the hot barista is single?”

“Triss,” Geralt said. “And yes, apparently she’s been crying about it to Jaskier for ages.”

“Right, let’s go looking,” Yennefer said, looking remarkably cheerful.

The rows of shops were mostly open for last minute shoppers and Geralt and Yennefer fought through them. 

Well, Geralt fought. Yennefer just glared and people moved out of her way. 

“Does he cook?” Yennefer asked, pointing at a cookware store.

“Ramen and box mac n cheese,” Geralt said.

“You said he likes clothes?” A very full store with what could only be called hipster clothing.

“He has lots of clothes I want something...special,” Geralt said. He was trying not to lose hope.

“You really like this one.”

“I do, you met him he’s just...bright,” Geralt said, mumbling a little into his scarf as the wind blew a flurry at him.

“Hey, look at the music shop on the corner,” Yenn said. “I’m down here all the time, I’ve never noticed it before.”

Neither had Geralt. “Is it new?” It didn’t look new. It looked nearly condemned.

“You said he loves music,” Yennefer said, stomping in the direction of the store.

“I dunno, that store looks...”

“He loves music,” she said. “And you love him.”

They entered the store.

-- -- -- Triss and Jaskier -- -- --

“How the hell did you find this place?”

“I told you,” Triss said, matter of factly. “I know the owners. They’ll be down any minute to open it up.”

“They’re opening it up just for us?” Jaskier asked guiltily. It was Christmas eve after all.

“They owe me,” Triss said. “I introduced them. Well...reintroduced.”

“Welcome to The Sword in the Stone, Gifts and Novelties,” grinned a young man with very blue eyes and slightly large ears, opening the door. Behind him a blonde young man grinned cheerfully too, he was wearing a santa hat.

“Hi,” Jaskier said, stepping gratefully inside. “It’s a pleasure, I’m Jaskier.”

“Merlin,” said the young man who’d opened the door. 

“Arthur,” the blonde waved.

“Seriously?”

The pair just shrugged. Well, Jaskier, called Buttercup/Dandelion/Julian/a lot of other things, wasn’t about to tell people what to call themselves.

“I hear you need a gift for that special someone,” the blonde -Arthur- said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah, he loves fantasy stuff and I just... I don’t know what to get him.”

“Gotcha,” Arthur began to lead him back into the shop. Merlin and Triss were chatting by the door. 

“Were you thinking bigger, got a lovely cardboard cutout of Viggo Mortensen?”

Jaskier pictured Aragorn watching them have sex from the corner of Geralt’s little studio apartment. “Maybe smaller but kind of...niche?”

“Lucky you, this place if full of niche,” Arthur said cheerfully. 

Jaskier looked at the wall full of swords and was that a battle axe? “Yeah...”

“Does he wear jewelry?” asked Arthur, jingling a box full of metal in Jaskier’s direction.

“Not really,” Jaskier said. Then something caught his eye. “Wait...” he pulled something out of the box and held it up to the light.

Somehow...it was perfect.

“How much.”

-- -- -- Yen and Geralt -- -- --

“This place looks closed,” Geralt whispered to Yennefer, looking around at the racks of instruments.

“Not closed dearie, just dusty,” came a cheerful voice from right behind Geralt. He and Yennefer jumped.

“Sorry honeys,” said a little old lady with coke bottle glasses. “Got my slippers on, makes me quiet. She shuffled one foot, clad in pink fluff, off the floor as exhibit A. “Gift from my great grandson, aren’t they darling? Now,” she looked at Geralt with laser intensity. “You’d be needing a gift.”

“Um, yes ma’am,” Geralt said. How had she known?

“Ooohoo you need a gift,” said the tiny old woman, “Cause you’s a boy in love.” She nearly cackled. “Follow me honeys!”

Geralt and Yennefer looked at each other, shrugged, and followed. What choice did they have?

“Got a harp,” the shopkeeper called cheerfully. It was indeed a full, standing, concert harp. It had a figurehead on it but the face looked absolutely agonized.

“Maybe not,” Geralt said.

“Hmmm no,” said the lady, shuffling her fluffy slippers. “Bagpipes?”

“He lives in an apartment.”

“That’ll be a no, then,” said the woman, peering at a rack of instruments in the corner. “Aha!” she shrieked, startling Geralt and Yennefer both. 

“This!”

It was perfect.

“I can’t afford it,” Geralt said, feeling hopeless.

“Oh yes you can,” said the little old lady gleefully, if she could Geralt got the sense she would be jumping and clicking her heels. “Nobody wants ‘em these days, this one’s seventy-five percent off!”

Geralt left with a weird shaped package.

-- -- -- Geralt’s studio apartment, evening -- -- --

“Hey,” Jaskier, said, stomping his boots on the mat.

“Hi,” Geralt replied, stealing a kiss. “What’d you tell Triss?”

“Told her I was sending a gift, what’s you tell Yennefer?”

“She’s heading over there now,” Geralt said. “With that movie they both like.”

“Ocean’s 8?”

“That’s the one, and a plate of homemade Christmas cookies.”

Jaskier smiled at Geralt and stole another kiss. “We’re never going to have a moment of peace, now we set them up,” he said. Geralt grinned at him. “Never, but I think we did the right thing.”

They settled in on Geralt’s little loveseat. Jaskier set a wrapped present on the side table. Beside it, on the floor, was a very poorly wrapped mess. Lots of scotch tape was visible. It was quite large.

Jaskier felt panicky.

“Should we,” Geralt said awkwardly. “Do you want to exchange presents now?”

“Sure.” Oh god, Geralt’s gift was so small, and what if he hated it?

“You first?” Geralt said, handing over the odd package.

Jaskier had always been a rip-it-open present person, but he took his time, although there was no salvaging the taped up paper.

“A lute?” he turned to Geralt in delight, face lighting up.

“A lute,” Geralt said. “Is-is that a good thing?”

“Oh my god, Geralt, yes! Oh I love it! I can’t wait to learn it!” Jaskier dropped kisses all over Geralt’s face, careful of his new baby.

He handed Geralt the little package. “It’s not as great but...”

Geralt was a folding kind of person and folded up the wrapping paper carefully, then he opened the box and took out the amulet with the silver wolf’s head.

“Oh,” Geralt said.

Oh. Was that a good oh or a bad oh? Jaskier tried to breathe slowly.

“Jaskier I...” 

Oh no. He hated it.

“It’s perfect.”

What?

“When I was little I thought I’d be a knight,” Geralt said, pale eyes shining. “And I drew wolf’s heads on everything, my crest, I said.”

Geralt was holding up the amulet as if transfixed. 

“Vesemir can show you, he kept the drawings,” Geralt said. Then he slipped the medallion over his head.

“My knight,” Jaskier said. “My wolf.”

Geralt gave a playful growl. Jaskier’s heart thumped a little harder. Geralt must have picked up on something in his eyes because he cocked his head.

“Oh?” he rumbled, low in his chest. “You want a wolf, do you?” He growled again.

Jaskier leapt up, shrieking with laughter and ran to hide in the bathroom. Geralt caught up before he could close the door.

“I’ll huff and I’ll puff,” he said, dragging Jaskier closer and giving him a bear hug. He growled in Jaskier’s ear.

“And I’ll blow your...how does it go?”

“I’m not sure, wolfie,” Jaskier said, pulling Geralt closer by the amulet. “But I think it ends with you eating me all up.”

It was a very merry Christmas indeed.

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Ope! Idiots! With a random appearance from BBC’s Merlin (In 2020? I guess.) and a little old lady. + the magic of christmas.

[lag1995-fics]

Hiii! Can i request a dadneto where Peter has a secondary mutation that also makes him metallokinetic like Erik? And then when he finally shows the X-men, Erik finally connects the dots? 😳😳

Of course you can love I’ll never say no to dadneto ❤️❤️❤️ sorry for the wait I just started a new job. I hope you enjoy the story ❤️

Forks

Pairing: none

Warning: I drop the f-bomb a bit

Words:1480

Summary: When Peter and Scott get into an argument, Peter loses his temper revealing his secondary mutation.

Masterlist

///::::///

Peter had always been really careful about hiding his secondary mutation. If people saw him moving metal it wouldn’t be hard to jump to the correct conclusion about his and Erik’s familial bond. It was just easier to keep that bit to himself. He wanted to tell Erik but he also didn’t want to be a 27 year old man trying to take the place of his dead 8 year old sister. He wanted to naturally build a relationship with his father, maybe then he could tell him.

They were supposed to be having a team building dinner that night. Peter knew why as well, he and Scott had been bickering constantly. It was obvious that Scott blamed Peter for his brother's tragic death. Scott had no way of knowing that the flames had already engulfed Alex. Peter also didn’t want to harp on that but too much Scott needed to grieve lord know he lashed out like an asshole when Wanda disappeared. If Scott needed to blame someone Peter didn’t mind being that person.

Everyone else thought it was obvious that Scott was being a major jerk wad and would often try to come to Peter’s defense. Scott rarely saw it but Peter would always wave off the defenders, often with comments of “let him have this” or “it’s okay, he needs to get these emotions out.” He could be the bigger person he was ten years older than Scott, it was just part of being a grown up.

***

The time came for the team building dinner and Peter’s mouth was already watering at the prospect of delicious ooey, gooey pizza. His mother had often told him his stomach was like a bottomless pit. Peter burned a hell of a lot of calories though and he had to constantly eat to make up for that.

He took his seat between Raven and Hank rubbing his hands together in anticipation. They looked at him with various looks of both disgust and amusement. Peter could care less pizza was the food of gods right behind twinkies.

It was no time before everyone had a seat at the table and Peter immediately started inhaling the Pizza. He was halfway through his 8th slice when Scott decided to open his mouth.

“That’s disgusting” he sneered and Peter could only grin at him.

“I burn a lotta calories plus Pizza is delicious!” Peter exclaimed brightly he was unbothered by Scott’s half hearted insult.

“Can you lay off for once this is supposed to be about team building,” Jean groaned, fed up with her boyfriend's childish behavior. Peter remained unbothered though, he knew what Scott was going through. It had been the same for him after Wanda disappeared.

“It’s fine Jean he’s just a kid, he doesn’t bother me,” Peter told the red haired girl light heartedly.

“Well it bothers me. Scott, what happened to Alex was not Peter’s fault, Alex was closest to the blast,” Jean shot out to her boyfriend obviously fed up with his shit.

“What bothers me is how nonchalant he is about the whole thing, it’s like he doesn’t even care” Scott was starting to get worked up and Peter wished that Jean could have just left it alone. He managed a glance at Erik who was ignoring everyone in favor of his newspaper. Charles who was beside him looked like he had a migraine starting. It was Charles idea for team building after all and Erik had the look of I told you so without even saying a word.

“You think I don’t care?” Peter asked, he didn’t want Scott to think he didn’t care. It weighed heavily on his mind that he hadn’t gotten there in time to save Scott’s brother. He was always too late for someone with super speed.

“I know you don’t fucking care!” Scott’s face was inflamed and red.

“Scott! Language!” Charles snapped.

“Well you’re wrong Scott I do care. I’m always too late and I’m sorry I didn’t get to Alex in time.” Peter was sincerely sorry that he hadn’t been in time. He would never wish the pain of losing a sibling on anyone.

“Well fuck you! You don’t know what it’s like to lose a sibiling! Alex was all that I had!” Scott screamed and Peter felt a trill of Anger run down his spine his fork started to vibrate subtly and Raven looked at it with wide eyes before looking at him sharply. Peter didn’t notice his mind was full of images of his sister.

“Don’t act like you know me Scott, the only reason I’ve let you go on and on like you have is because I know exactly what you’re going through.” Peter seethed and he knew he should be embarrassed that he let a seventeen year old goad him like this.

“Fuck You! Alex died, you didn’t save him. You don’t know what it’s like to lose a brother” Scott spat. By now Erik had lowered his paper watching the interaction with veiled interest. Charles had a look of anger at the boys for ruining his team building dinner.

“Oh I might not know what it’s like to lose a brother but I lost my twin sister when we were your age! She just disappeared. I have no clue if she’s alive or dead and I promise you that’s worse!” Peter spat and the silverware began rising into the air with his skyrocketing temper. If he had been looking he would have seen the color drain from Erik’s face.

“Erik you’re only making it worse!” Charles snapped thinking it was Magneto getting irritated and wanting to silence the boys. Peter realizing what he had done let the silverware drop with a metallic clatter. The anger drained rapidly.

“Charles it’s not me.” His tone was choked as he stared at the silver haired mutant with new eyes. Peter unsure of what to do in the rising tension decided the logical answer was to bolt from the room.

He was by the fountain in second trying to calm his ragged breathing and approaching panic attack. The cat was truly out of the bag now. He placed his head between his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Inside Erik was still staring at the spot Peter had just disappeared from. His mind was trying to catch up. He had another child, a living child. Peter was clearly Magda’s son, he had her sunny disposition, he obviously hadn’t inherited that from him. Then his stomach sank again. He had twins and one of them was missing for over ten years. Peter had been dealing with this pain on his own.

“Fountain,” Charles' voice whispered in his head, “go to him he needs you. He’s afraid you’ll reject him.”

Erik wondered how such a brilliant person like Peter could ever think that he would reject him. If anything Erik wasn’t worthy of the boy, he was such a bright beacon in the dark miserable world. He began to walk to the fountain, his mind replaying a very specific memory. Almost ten years ago a silver haired teenager had broken him out of his prison with a grin and a sharp wit. He had also made an off hand comment.

“So you can control metal?” Peter had asked and Erik who was still disoriented had only nodded.

“That cool my mom knew a guy who could do that,” the statement had been so off handed and nonchalant. Erik should have known then but he had been distracted by a walking Charles who promptly punched him square in the jaw. The off hand comment had been pushed to the back of his mind.

He found Peter with his head between his knees close to a panic attack. He sat next to the boy and laid a hand on his shoulder. Peter jerked looking at him in surprise.

“Your mother was Magda,” it was a statement not a question. Peter only nodded with wide brown eyes. His mother’s eyes, it felt like a punch to the gut.

“I’m not trying to replace Nina, I swear!” Peter choked out, “I wouldn’t want someone to try and replace Wanda.”

“You’re not replacing anyone my boy, you are your own person. A good person that I don’t deserve. You’re my son and I love you. I may not have known you for very long but family is forever,” Erik declared and Peter sniffles before throwing himself into his fathers arms like he was five and not twenty seven. Erik hugged his son back as they both fought back their tears.

“Forever” Peter agreed and one of the cracks in his heart healed. He wasn’t whole but he had one more person to add to his list of loved ones. He only hoped he could find Wanda one day. Erik would love her; they were both so much alike.

Thank you for reading feel free to drop a request.

[unmaskedagain]

Teenage Rebellion

I wanted to do something completely different. And I realized I had never really used Adrien’s character that much. Apart from the standard salt. So I decided to give him a better voice. Test my skills with a new character.

Adrien didn’t know what happened. What snapped inside of him? But he just knew that, one day, while his father was giving him a lecture and laying out demands, a funny little word popped in to his head; no. Then he started to wonder if he could say no. Then he heard Marinette her new internship only allowed her to work so many hours because she was only a kid. Then he heard something magical; child labor laws. He looked them up and was amazed. He wanted to know more; wanted to know what his options were. So he went to Marinette and Nino. Then explained that he had rights. When he mentioned about getting taken out of school, they gave him options of how to retaliate.

           Nevertheless, it would be weeks before he decided to implement his new idea; not daring to yet. When he finally struck, he knew exactly what the final straw had bene.

“You’ll be taking Miss Rossi to the gala next weekend,” Gabriel told his son.

           Adrien blinked, “No.”

           The room went silent. Nathalie and gorilla looked stunned. Gabriel glanced at his son, “What do you mean no. This is not up for debate.”

Nothing ever was, Adrien thought, and that was problem.

“You’re right,” Adrien nodded. “Which is why my answer is still no.”

           Gabriel assessed his usually obeying son. “I’m not asking.”

“And yet my answer is no.”

“And if you could no longer attend that school of yours?” Gabriel threatened. It always worked.

           Adrien shrugged. “Then I will no longer model.”

           More stunned silence.

“Adrien,” Gabriel pinched his nose but was cut off.

           Adrien crossed his arms, “You can’t make me model.” He looked around at his three caretakers. “And if you try, I’ll scream loud enough for every reporter in Paris to hear me. And while we’re on the subject; I read something about child labor laws. You’re breaking them. I’ll scream that too. If that doesn’t stop, if I don’t start working normal kid hours and eating a healthy amount of food,” He threw the last part at Nathalie. She had been instructed to keep him on a strict diet. “I’ll go to the police. CPS. The news.”

           Gabriel opened his mouth to speak again but again was cut off.

“Even if you try to keep me in here,” Adrien added. “It will just look worse. People will question where I am. The Brand will hurt. My friends will look for me. They’ll ask questions. They’ll spread what it’s really like for me. How unhappy I am. My fans will riot. Even more when I finally do get out of here and go straight to the police, a reporter; maybe do a tell-all on Alya’s blog. Oh wait, I already left several copies of that already previously recorded interview that will be released if I don’t show up for class for a few days.”

           The three adults stood with opened mouths. Nathalie was the first to recover, “Adrien, we can discuss this…”

“No!” Adrien glared. “I’m done. You worked me to the bone, starved me, neglected me,” He threw that viciously at Gabriel who flinched, “Attempted again and again to isolate me from my friends. All of which is called child abuse. And now you want to control my romantic interests; tell that shrew Rossi to stay the hell away from me. I will never work with her again. Let me make this very clear. I have evidence of the child labor laws broken. I have video proof the various meals I’ve been served that never once met my nutritional intake. Recordings of various times you threatened me with my removal from school if I didn’t meet various demands and achievement. I have witness testimony from other models, my friends, current and former Agreste fashion employees of my treatment. I have no trouble releasing every last bit of information.”

           Adrien took a breath after his rant. “This is my life. I will live it my way. From now on, one third of every paycheck I earn, and I do know the amounts, will be deposited into my personal bank account. The rest of into the saving account mother set up for me. In fact, I want the last six months of checks deposited the same. I want freedom. And if I have to destroy you to get it, I will. Push me, and I’ll push back.” With that, he spun around and left the room. Gorilla followed after him dutifully.

“What do we do?” Nathalie asked. “About Adrien, sir?”

           Gabriel glared harshly at where his son at stood, “What can we do?” As much as it killed him to admit it, his son had them on the edge of cliff and looked rather happy at the idea of pushing them off. “I don’t look good in prison orange.” He sighed. “We’ll get him back under control soon enough.”

           Nathalie nodded. Neither did she. “I’ll call Rossi and tell her plans have changed.” Everything had changed.

           Later that day, Nathalie presented him with his bank card that she taken at Gabriel’s demand and gave him a stiff nod. He turned with a beaming smile to Gorilla, “We’re getting McDonalds!”

           Nathalie let out a cry of protest but was ignored.

           That day Adrien had his first big mac and fries. It was the biggest meal he’d eaten in months, so his stomach hurt a little, but he couldn’t stop smiling.

           He got a call from his father when he was finished. When his dad immediately began to yell at him about not following his diet; Adrian hung up on him. The blond shook his head. He had warned his father; push and Adrien would push back.

           He looked around and spotted some punk skaters skating down the street. Adrien smirked. Oh, he had an idea.

           Marinette had been thrilled when he called to see if she was free to go shopping with him. Less thrilled, when they wound up at Hot topic.

“Why?” The bluenette whined. “Just why? I have so many ideas.”

Over the last two years, the two had become really good friends. They got even close when Chat Noir and Ladybug revealed their identities to each other. Mostly because they lost their crushes on each other. Marinette on Adrien. And Adrien on Ladybug. It was just too weird for either of them.

“This is what I want!” Adrien smiled as he looked through the band Ts and a lot of nightmare before Christmas merchandise.

“But sunshine!” Marinette pleaded. She started to pull out shirts and accessories that look like they would fit Adrien’s build. “Happiness?”

           Adrien laughed, “Storm cloud. Make my father miserable.”

           Marinette paused. “Happiness.” She nodded. She had wanted to stick it to Gabriel Agreste for years; the rotten bastard.

           The girl ended up approving seven potential outfits from Hot Topic. Adrien bought them all. Then Marinette dragged the boy to other various stores. If Adrien was going to punk rock; then it would be a fashion and, dare she say it, chic punk rock look. Though she did have to drag Adrien away from the piercing salon.

           When Adrien got home, Gabriel attempted to discipline him again but was met with stony silence. Adrien pulled out his phone and played a recording of Gabriel chastising Adrien not being thin enough and that his diet would be limited to 1000 calories a day.

           The blond boy raised an eyebrow, “I can have this trending within the hour. Your move.”

           Gabriel growled and stomped off. He had honestly thought his son had been jesting about the recordings, about evidence, or at very least could be cowed not use any of it. He was wrong, apparently; very wrong.

           When Adrien left for school the next mornings, he caused his father to have a panic attack. Gone was the preppy, sunshine child the world was used to. The fifteen-year-old Adrien wore dark green ripped jeans; a studded leather jacket over a black My Chemical Romance shirt. He wore combat boots and eyeliner. “You were warned,” Adrien told his father on his way out of the door. “Keep pushing though.”

“Oh my god, he’s dead,” Nino said to Adrien when he got to class. “Gabriel Agreste.” He started to pretend to tear up. “You want something for so long. And when it finally happens. You wonder what to do.” He suddenly straightened. “I know let’s throw a party. It will end will a conga line over the SOB’s grave.”

“My father’s not dead,” Adrien rolled his eyes as he took his seat in the back. When Marinette had been moved there, he had follow much to the complaints of Lila. “Though it was a pretty close call this morning.”

           Most people hadn’t recognized him as he walked through the halls of the school. It was a relief to just be normal.

           When the other students arrived, he had gotten double glances. The first was when they said hello, then quickly looked again when they realized something was very, very wrong.

“Holy shit,” Juleka said loudly. The loudest anyone had ever heard her speak. She blushed. “Sorry. You look rocking, Adrien.”

           Rose just kept blinking at him. “But, but, team sunshine?” She whispered. Adrien cooed. The two had been dubbed that by the class after a bad storm came in and all the class got soaked but the two kept smiling and trying to cheer people up.

“Team positive?” He offered.

           A squeak let him know, Marinette had arrived. She looked over him, “What did I do?” She sat went to her desk. “What did I do?”

“Not enough,” Nino stated. “A little bit more. And we could’ve been doing the Cha slide over Gabriel’s grave right now. Step your game up, dudette. Cause you’re slacking.”

           Marinette just closed her eyes and prayed for patience; having boys as her best friends wasn’t easy. Adrien and Nino had become her closest friends, after Lila came and tried to tear everyone away from her. She sort of succeeded. Alya was no longer her friend. Neither was Mylene, Sabrina, Ivan, or Kim. Everyone else in chose to believe the girl they’d known forever over the some chick they just met. Unfortunately, this cause Alya and Nino to break up. Nino was fine with remaining a neutral about whether Lila was a liar, though he thought she was, to keep the peace with his girlfriend. But Alya hadn’t budged and kept harping on the situation; about Nino being friend with Marinette. Nino had no choice but to end things which just cause the girl to get even angrier.

“Group selfie?” Adrien asked. “Juleka, you too. Come on, Rose.”

           The five grouped together, and snapped a picture of Adrien’s phone, “Hashtag: new Look, new me. Hashtag: Smells like Teen Spirit.”

           More gasps were heard as Lila and Alya, their posse, arrived. “What happened?” Lila frowned.

“Got a new look,” Adrien grinned.

           Lila glared. She had been warned that Adrien had gotten out of Gabriel’s control but hadn’t believed it. “You won’t wear that on our date to the gala, right?”

“We’re not dating,” Adrien said bluntly. “I’m not going to the gala with you.” He shook his head. “I’ve told you too many times already, Lila. I will never date you. I don’t like you. I have never liked you. I’m sorry.”

           Lila huffed, “Your father!” She started.

           Adrien cut her off, “Can my ass!” He yelled. “I don’t care. Call it teenage rebellion or whatever. But It’s my life. Get over it.”

No, Lila thought, this couldn’t be happening. Adrien was her ticket in. At the gala she’d be on his arm and get attention from all sorts of celebrities.

           Alya bristled on behalf of her friend, “You don’t have to be so mean.”

           Nino glared back, “He wouldn’t have to be if she could take a hint. No means no.”

“He could give her chance,” Alya continued. “How will he know if he really likes or not if he doesn’t.”

“Because he said he doesn’t,” This time it was Rose who spoke. “Adrien, and everyone else, is allowed to decide that they don’t like someone; that they don’t want to date them. You should respect that.”

           Lila started crying, big fake tears rolled down her cheeks, “I like you so much,” She pleaded. “I know you’d like me too if you got to know.”

           Adrien scoffed, “I know exactly who you are, Lila. And that’s the root of why I don’t like you.”

           At this Lila had to force herself not to glare. Fine, she thought, if he wanted to be like that, then she had another card to play. “Marinette put you up to this, didn’t she? She’s been bullying me. And got inside your heard with all her mean words; that’s why you don’t like me.”        

  Everyone on Lila’s side turned fierce looks toward the Asian girl, accusation on their tongue.

“How could you?” Mylene asked. “You’ve changed, Marinette.”

“Not cool, Bro,” Kim added. He had been crushing on Lila for months and followed her around like a puppy.

“You’re as bad as Chloe ever was,” Alya shook her head. “I can’t believe you’d hurt Lila over your jealously!”

Adrien wasn’t having it, “I. Don’t. Like. You!” He yelled at Lila. “I didn’t like you the moment you first came to this class. It has nothing to do with Marinette. It’s you. You’re the problem. Get it?  Got it? Good.” He looked at Lila’s friends. “Marinette is not a bully. She is one of my best friends; my sister, even. And unlike you, she actually listens to me; what I want. Not pant after Lila’s every word.”

The class blinked, stunned because they never really heard Adrien tell anyone off before.

“Well, who are you taking to gala,” Lila asked snidely, and gave a quick mean look at Marinette.

“His boyfriend!” Nino suddenly blurted. “Ouch!” He hissed.

           Marinette had kicked the glasses-wearing boy’s chair as hard as she could.

           Adrien just went with it. He had come out to most of the class the year before and never made his sexuality a secret; he liked guys, or at least preferred them. His desire for Ladybug had come from his love had for the freedom he got whenever he was Chat Noir. He was happiest as Chat Noir, and seeing as Ladybug had always been present; he thought he’d be happiest with Ladybug. He was only a little right.

“He’s looking forward to it,” Adrien smiled, or at least, whatever guy he could convince to go with him, hopefully would be.

“What were you thinking,” Marinette hissed at Nino as soon as the bell rang ending first period, and they were in the halls.

“What?” Nino asked. “You’re the only who can make an attempt on Gabriel Agreste? Nope. Don’t think so. First best friend gets dips.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” Adrien whispered.

“So, borrow Marinette’s,” Nino shrugged.

           Marinette gasped, “I’m not sharing my boyfriend with Blond Wonder over here.”

“What? Can’t take the competition?” Nino asked.

“I’ll end you, Lahiffe!”

“That’s not a no.”

           Adrien laughed.

           Juleka brushed by him, “I can ask Luka if he’s free,” She asked with a whisper. “If you want.”

           The three paused. It was a good suggestion. “Aurore would come for blood,” Their newest friend had the biggest crush on the guitarist.

           The rest of the school had been interesting. Adrien’s photo was trending; though nearly everyone in school had tried to get look at him.

           When Adrien got home from school that day, it was to Gabriel and Nathalie’s angry looks. They had tried to do damage control. But for everything they released, Adrien had been quick to either deny their claims via tweets. Or lease video on Instagram about his new fashion direction.

“This is enough, Adrien,” Gabriel stated calmly. “You’ve gone too far. You will be escorting Miss Rossi to the gala, and this look will never be seen again. Am I understood?”

           Adrien pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and put it on speak, “Hey man, do you still have that video of my dad pulling me out of school, during an important, test to go to a photoshoot?”

“Sure do.” Nino replied smugly.

“What about all the videos I sent you from overnight shoots?” He asked. “Where I worked like all night. Videos that clearly depicts that child labor laws were broken.”

“Saved on several different clouds.” Nino answered. “I can have them online in five minutes. And sent to the police and CPS in ten.”

“Thanks, talk later.” Adrien disconnected the call. “You were saying?” He asked his father. Silence was all he got. “Thought so. I’m taking my boyfriend to the gala.” He turned around. “I’m going out.”

           Gabriel pinched his nose, “He’ll ruin us.”

“No sir,” Nathalie said. “He’ll destroy us.”

           Adrien showed up at Marinette’s room an hour later, with a pleading look on his face and a box of hair dye.

           Marinette took it with a sigh, “Are you sure it’s not me you’re trying to hurt.”

“It’s not permanent?” He offered weakly. “Should last a week, maybe less. I wash my hair a lot.”

           When Adrien came to school sporting bright blue locks, three girls fainted.

“Awesome,” Nino high-fived the former blond. “How’s your dad?”

“Collapsed and fell down the stairs.” Adrien gave a small smirk. At the sight of Adrien’s hair, Gabriel had clutched his arms and just fell. “He was near the bottom so he was hurt too much.”

“Righteous,” Nino said and turned to look at Marinette in her seat, “What part of bestie gets dibs do you not understand?”

           Marinette crossed her arms and sniffed, “Maybe I’m not the one needs to step their game up.”

“What?” Nino gasped. “Oh it’s on!”

           Nino would later met Adrien and Marinette for ice cream, he’d come on the back of some guy’s motorcycle. “Hey,” Nino waved. The dude he was with gave them a stiff nod and a cocky smirk. He was blond with a cool haircut, tattoos, and two different colored eyes. “This is Jace. I know him through my cousin Simon. He’s seventeen. He has tattoos, drives a motorcycle, dress primarily in black and leather, and he’s been to jail. He agreed to be your date to the gala.”

           Marinette and Adrien just stared. Adrien blinked too hard to shake the shock away, “Wow you really want my dad dead.”

           He blushed red. Jace was rather attractive. He was the type who knew just how hot he was too.

“Hi I’m Marinette,” Marinette waved to Jace. “You’re freakishly hot. And if you manage to take out Nathalie too, I’ll be your best friend.”

           Jace chuckled. This could be fun. Maybe Simon hadn’t steered him wrong when he told him to hang out with his cousin if he had the time. He had research Nino and his friends to the last detail, just in case. “Hi Marinette. I’ll do my best to try. My sister Isabelle and my best friend Clary love your MDC designs. They’d kill for them. Won’t even make it look like an accident.”

           Marinette blushed, “Pull this off and I’ll design the dresses of their dreams for free.”

           Jace fought the urge to wince. Failure was no longer an option. Clary and Izzy would hunt him down if he failed. So would Magnus for that matter. He’d been wanting to meet the young designer since he saw Jagged Stone’s latest red carpet look. And then Alec wouldn’t be happy about his sulky husband… even if he turned Jace into a toad.

           Jace nodded and put an arm around the pink hair boy, “Let’s make it count.” The smaller boy blushed. Jace gave him a wolfish grin. “This is going to be fun.”

           The rest of week had Adrien dodging a whining Lila and her attempts at getting her hooks into him in time for the Gala. She had been Akumatized three times over it. A fourth when Adrien had enough and got her mother to come to school and where truths were revealed.

           Alya still refused to budge on the matter. Lila was Ladybug’s best friend after all. She couldn’t be lying, or so she said. Which caused most the class to groan. Marinette didn’t understand. After Ladybug had disavowed the Ladyblog for too many lies, asked Alya to take down Lila’s stories, and even went as far as getting a new fox hero (Juleka); she thought Alya would’ve wised up now.

           Sabrina who had been converted back to light side after Lila’s mom had confirmed they had only ever lived in Italy other than France, said that Alya was probably just stubborn. She would have to admit that she struggled that she turned her back on her best friend, ruined her relationship with her boyfriend, and been a bad friend to most of the class for nothing. It was a hard pill to swallow.

           Outside of school, his dad and Nathalie’s attempts to get him back under their thumb had gotten desperate. The first time they took his phone and his laptop. He had already gotten a prepaid one hidden in his room, once he got back to his room, he texted Marinette and Nino. Second later, a video of Gabriel ranting at his son for failing to be perfect during a photoshoot and threatening to remove him from school had surfaced. It took the media by storm.

           Less than an hour later, someone knocked on his door.

“Come in,” He called from his bed.

           Nathalie stared at him for a moment. “You posted the video.” She sounded like she still couldn’t believe it. “We didn’t think you would.”

“Now you know better.” Adrien stated. “My things.”

“This will hurt the brand,” Nathalie said as she place his phone and laptop on the bed. “Hurt the business. Stock prices will from the bad press.”

           Adrien put down the book he’d been reading and leaned forward, “Then maybe you and dad will finally learn this is a game you won’t win,” He said. “I’ll see Gabriel Agreste’s entire legacy burned to ashes before I give in.”

“…Your mother would’ve done the same,” Nathalie whispered and was gone from the room before Adrien could say anything else; door closed behind her.

           The day of the Gala, Saturday, Adrien had go to Marinette’s first thing in the morning. He left suit his father had laid out for him the day before in the fireplace. It wasn’t lit but he knew his dad would get the message.

           Marinette had designed him and Nino suits for the dance. Adrien had made sure to add his two best friends to the Gala’s invite list months ago. The host of the Gala’s daughter was a big fan of the blond; it took an autograph or two to get two more invites. Normally, Adrien would wear a classic black suit of his father’s design.

           Adrien wanted something different, something to make everyone talk, something to go with his pink hair. When he told Marinette this, she got a spark in her eyes, and he knew he’d get exactly what he wanted. And he did.

           The pink-haired boy arrived to the Gala on the back of a motorcycle to the stunned faces of the Paparazzi. The valet who took the keys from Jace had looked excited at parking the bike though.

Adrien wore a slim fitted glittery sliver suit, that under the right light reflected a rainbow look, with a black tie and shoes. Jace wore ripped jeans, tight sleeveless undershirt, and his leather jacket. His tattoos on his neck was plain to see and he had on a eyebrow ring he didn’t before. Jace wrapped his arm around Adrien and escorted him inside. Just as the paparazzi suddenly got their senses back.

The pair found Marinette and Nino by the refreshments. They walked right by an angry Lila who looked ready to kill. She’d come with Alya, and how his father managed to swing that on such short notice, Adrien didn’t know. Nino wore a black and green suit. Marinette wore a sparkly midnight blue pixie dress. Marinette’s boyfriend Connor had arrived not after. Connor brought his friend Cassandra who seemed interested in Nino.

           Adrien and Jace danced after speaking with the four a bit. As the two glided across the dance floor, Adrien found it hard to keep an eye out for his father when Jace kept looking at him so…

           Well in a way that left him frazzled.

           However Adrien’s first clue that his father had arrived was the sound of someone choking.

           And then Nino shouted, “Yes, I did it!” Was his second clue.

“Gabriel’s fainted,” Nathalie yelled. “Call for an ambulance.”

“That’s one,” Jace whispered in his ear. “Care to make it Two for Two.”

           Adrien looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding earnestly. A second later, Jace’s lips caught his own. Then they were making out on the dance floor.

“Nathalie’s down,” He heard Marinette cackle. “Poor thing. Must be the stress.”

           The kiss broke. Jace smirked down at Adrien, “Not bad Agreste; might make this a permanent thing.”

            Adrien hid his blushing face in his date’s chest; content to ignore the chaos erupting around them.

           Freedom never felt so good.

[sunsetcarnation264]

So, uh, that DT17 finale huh?

I would've made this right after I watched the finale, but I wanted to give it a bit of time to sink in fully and made sure I thought everything through before giving my thoughts on it. Not the worst finale there is, but it definitely could've been way better in my opinion. I've heard about the finale from my friends who've seen it, which from the sounds of it I already wasn't liking it, but since I've seen the finale now, how I feel about it is now concrete and set in stone and I feel the same as before. Maybe how I feel about it is in the minority side, or maybe a majority side, I dunno but I don't care. It's not the best it could've been and I'll explain why below. If you like it, good for you I guess because everyone's tastes are different, but I personally don't and I feel like the show deserves a much better finale than this. HEAVY DUTY DISCLAIMER: Just because I'm criticizing the finale doesn't mean I don't love the series, in fact it's because I love the show that I'm giving criticism and give what I would’ve done instead, and if you're anything like me and you're hella late to the party then there'll be spoilers for the finale. If you haven't caught up on the last episode, then you're not missing much honestly, but if you don't like spoilers regardless then watch that first then come back

The first part of the finale starts off like any other DuckTales 2017 episode. It's Webby's birthday, everyone's keeping their eyes out for F.O.W.L. shit, and Webby's enjoying herself. After a bit everyone goes below Funso's and they end up in F.O.W.L.'s territory. F.O.W.L. sets everything up to be on self-destruct, so they gotta find them and stop the self-destruction. They did happen to do the latter, but the F.O.W.L. members already escaped with almost everything. Just almost. The gang end up finding May and June, who're clones and they presume they're clones of Webby. Now this is where I'm starting to not like the finale. Yeah, you can do clones as like a plot twist, but at the same time it feels a bit outta nowhere. Had they foreshadowed it in another episode or have it lead up to the whole "oh shit there's clones of a character we know and love" thing then I wouldn't have a problem, but this came outta nowhere and I kept an eye on possible foreshadowing during season 3 and the rest of season 2 post The Duck Knight Returns too so I would've picked something up. The only thing that could count as foreshadowing was when Beakley promised Webby that she won't keep anymore secrets from her and the harp was saying "fibbing fibbing fibbing", but that's just it. Part two of the finale, Gyro does tests on them to see who they might've been clones of. He tries to tell everyone what the results are but when Scrooge asks him, he said it didn't come up with anything for him to answer the question. Beakley thinks they're both dangerous and locks them up in a closet. Webby, being a naive little girl, wants to talk to them because they're essentially her 'sisters' and she wants to know them more even though Beakley straight up tells her not to interact with them. Webby disregards what Beakley says anyways and she frees them, talks to them, and tries to show them her family tree so they can figure out where May and June came from. May and June are basically like "ehhhh this is your family tree? Who tf are you related to besides Beakley?" yeah, as if extended family or found family still ain't family you jerks. In the meantime, Louie just wants to watch his Ottoman Empire finale which ends up being shitty foreshadowing for the last part of this finale. You'll see why I mentioned this later. They even see Lena and Violet on there and are like "okay but who're those" which Webby responds with how they're her best friends and guess what one of the two clones goes to do? One of them grabs scissors and tries to cut it. When she does cut it, Lena's like "aw hell no bitch" and uses magic on her. Webby being Webby, is completely upset about this because "that was my sister how could you do that" and runs off like how one of the clones ran off. Bitch you only knew her for like five seconds, just because y'all be related don't mean you automatically THIS close to each other like how you are with Lena, Violet, Huey, Dewey, Louie, and anybody else in the McDuck family. I personally believe that love, trust, and respect is what makes people family, not blood/DNA, adoption, or they were married into the family or a step sib/kid/etc. If they're a harmful dick (i.e. a bigot who's queerphobic and/or racist or if they're an abuser, murderer, etc.) then you don't gotta treat them like family or say that they're your family. But anyways we're probs getting off topic, point is that she should trust those who she's known forever instead of clones she knew for a few minutes. Everybody tries to find Webby and one of the clones that ran off. Webby bumped into Beakley as she was tryna find May or June (I think May tho, don't recall) and she tries to lie her way outta it but Beakley knows what's up lol. She says that Webby wants to see the clones, Webby goes with it, and the younger duck wants to know who her parents were. Beakley tells her who her parents were (which might've either been a lie or she was describing herself and a late significant other that we've seen in Webby's picture of her parents) and Webby accepts it. Cut to later when she catches May and June trying to steal the ancient artifacts that Scrooge and co. retrieved during the entirety of season 3. She's shocked that they're even doing this, they all fight each other, and May escaped while June got knocked out. Webby disguises herself as June while she takes her outside where F.O.W.L. awaited them with an aircraft, most importantly Bradford. We only find out Webby was disguising herself as June when everyone got on. Huey notices what's going on and he goes after them, somewhat hiding in the aircraft before everyone leaves for the F.O.W.L. hideout. Not gonna lie, that was a pretty smart plan by Webby. Considering they all look identical and Webby's good at imitation, she can actually get away with this pretty well. This I actually really like and I wouldn't change too much about this. When Huey reveals himself to the three, Webby reveals herself to him but tells him to play along so they ain't fucked over. Somewhat worked. Webby keeps making little slips here and there which makes May hella suspicious of her. They land at the hideout, Webby tries to get what info she can while Huey's taken away. Thanks to the help of Pepper (who I love btw and I think deserves the best ;____;), Webby ends up finding the document room where there's documents on May, June, and a third person with the codename of April. She watches it and oh, shit, it turns out Bentina Beakley actually snatched her ass from F.O.W.L. when she was a baby! What a shocker! She couldn't believe what she was seeing! This is actually fine to me, her possibly being a clone actually makes sense because she could've been a clone of Beakley. Plus it's also a huge reference to how Webby was created to be a combination of Daisy's nieces April, May, and June back in the original series, though I dunno how many people would catch that, especially younger fans who might not have done the research to getting all of the references and easter eggs here. When Beakley was brought in (essentially she knocked Scrooge out without hurting him, went to here alone to take care of F.O.W.L. once and for all just for Webby, but got defeated along with some of the McDucks), everyone leaves Beakley, Webby, and the Harp alone and Webby somewhat confronts Beakley about her past. Needless to say, Webby ain't excited about this and she gets captured and tied up. She's actually pretty depressed, which I mean in a way I don't blame her since she wanted to know if that shit was real or if F.O.W.L. was fabricating it. Cut to Huey being brought to Bradford. Apparently he was a fellow Woodchuck too, though he wasn't the best despite being the very first Woodchuck by his grandmother Isabella Finch, in fact he was the worst which hahaha yeah I can actually believe that. It does explain why he hates adventures and all of that shit, one of the only things I'm willing to accept from the finale. He talks about how he wants to complete the collection "for the better" because Scrooge and everyone else in the family were the only ones to have Isabella's lost journal. Huey believes this at first. He stops believing it once he ends up finding Gyro and everyone else who're locked up. In the meantime, Bradford drags Webby out to a sort of box along with May and June. She doesn't know why she's brought up here. When she gets close to the box, the papyrus appears because... She's the descendant of... Of Scrooge McDuck. Okay no, JUST NAH MAN. This is where my biggest issue in the finale lies, the fact that she's a clone/made from Scrooge's DNA and is technically his "daughter". Not everybody has to be related to Scrooge McDuck to be great, in fact doing this to her actually ruins Webby's character. Her trope is "found family," not "I'm secretly part of the family this whole time and not even I knew it" and this fucks with it so badly. This show is about family, and all different kinds of it. Being taken care of by your uncles/aunts instead of your parents but still having a good relationship, some kids don't have parents and they're gone for whatever reason, being loved and accepted by other family members, some families are awful and abusive, hell some families have two same sex/gendered parents with a kid who's def adopted and one might've been adopted or been from a previous relationship, and it's also how sometimes we find people to call family because we found them and they found us. Webby was the one to fill in the finding those to find family alongside her grandma, but I feel like they're disregarding that just to have a huge plot twist. Again aside from Beakley keeping secrets from Webby, there was no foreshadowing and it makes a previous episode from season two (Nightmare on Killmotor Hill) seem kinda creepy in hindsight since she's over here wanting to be Scrooge himself, and creepy overall due to how obsessive she was over the whole McDuck family in general. You could say it's foreshadowing this whole time, since some people might actually be like this before realizing that "oh hey I'm actually related to this person" due to someone being adopted, given to someone else to take care of, divorce and each parent keeps one of the kids and they don't meet again until way later in life, which in a way is a fair point but at the same time not everyone's gonna notice this even when they look back at the previous episodes. If you're gonna do foreshadowing and a plot twist, you have to do it where looking back everyone can notice little details, not just a certain group of people, and you gotta make sure it's good. Every plot twist has it's foreshadowings, and every good one has a good amount for people to take a guess. Every bad plot twist, however, is either forced in just to shock the viewers or has shitty foreshadowing that's either extremely little or none. I will make a comparison between this and Steven Universe (which if you're still watching or haven't touched yet but haven't gotten up to season five, please skip this part to avoid spoilers for the show) because in Steven Universe, there were PLENTY of hints and foreshadowing that Rose Quartz was actually Pink Diamond and it was even a theory too that Rose was actually Pink, alongside a theory that Pearl was actually the one to shatter Pink Diamond and not Rose which ended up being true in a way that both fits. This was a good plot twist that everyone can watch the show from start to end once again and notice every little bits of details that led up to that plot twist reveal. (End of SU spoilers) This, however, isn't a good plot twist. It's a terrible one and, again, forced in, messy, and there's not enough foreshadowing that can be used to be like "oh I kinda saw that coming" or "oh shit!" and think it's a genuinely good twist. Also the fact that Webby called Scrooge "Dad" T W I C E in the finale, it doesn't sound right, I even voiced out loud that OH EW THAT DOESN'T FEEL RIGHT WHY ARE YOU CALLING HIM DAD THIS IS GROSS STOP IT LIKE JUST CALL HIM UNCLE SCROOGE LIKE YOU'VE ALWAYS DONE- Oh and this is meant to be a throwback to that Ottoman Empire finale foreshadowing thing from earlier btw lol The last few things I can note about this is the fight between Scrooge and Bradford, where the latter reveals that he was the one to tell Della about the Spear of Selene (which pisses Scrooge off so damn BADLY and it's the other thing I can accept from the finale, it seems like Bradford to do that shit), and the fact that Donald almost died for fucking good due to Bradford pushing his ass into a machine that can erase anything and everything from existence when put in there. He did so with his minions, so he has no qualms about doing so to Scrooge's family unless he signed the papyrus as a contract. Not that it worked anyways, since "family is the greatest adventure of all" which Bradford didn't understand one bit lol But the finale? Not good, the show deserved so much better and Huey deserved way better because this was his season. What I would've done differently is mainly how Webby is a "clone" or whatever you want to call her. It makes no sense for all of her DNA to be from Scrooge McDuck, which raises way too many questions. Why not Beakley? Why not a warrior from F.O.W.L. with a mix of McDuck DNA? Why is Webby a girl while Scrooge isn't? You could argue that oh he might be a trans guy, which while I absolutely LOVE trans and nonbinary headcanons (due to the fact I'm a nonbinary woman myself), it just feels like a cheap escape goat of an excuse to explain that and Scrooge being trans because of that? Ehhhhhhhhhhhhh it doesn't feel right to me. If it was a combination of him and Beakley, then okay I'd get why she's like that, but it still has the problem of her being related to the family DNA-wise. Same with the clones honestly. Now what I would do differently is make it where she's a clone of someone (def not Scrooge) and make it where she has an identity-existential crisis. Who is she really? Is she this "April" character, or if she Webby like she's always known herself as her whole life? In the end, she accepts that she's herself, Webby Vanderquack, granddaughter of Bentina Beakley and an ally of Scrooge McDuck. May and June, on the other hand, are possibly failed attempts to recreate Webby, the perfect clone, in order to get the papyrus to appear which in of itself never stated it had to be a DIRECT heir to Scrooge McDuck (it just states that it requires an heir of Scrooge McDuck) like a daughter/son or whatever. You can go back to the episode "The First Adventure" to look at the papyrus if you want, but he wrote that it was to an HEIR not a descendant. It heavily supports how they changed a shit ton of things before the last season being this year instead of idk, try to make it better because they finished voicing the lines in January this year when they started doing season three around the time we got season two. Bradford gets frustrated, wondering how it couldn't have worked because HE HAS WEBBY RIGHT HERE. What he didn't realize was that it could've been someone within the family itself, one who's considered the smart one out of the bunch that wasn't Scrooge McDuck himself, someone who's also a fellow Junior Woodchuck. And that would be Hubert Duck, in which season three is meant to be his season. When he gets close, the papyrus appears but Bradford snatches it and runs off with it so he can finish up that contract he's spent FOREVER to make and force Scrooge to write his name there. As with May and June, I dunno what I would do with them, but if I rewrite the finale at some point (which I would be doing now with my mom, who watched the finale with me because we tend to watch stuff a lot, but I can't at the moment because I have a list of stuff to make and I can't afford to make it longer than it already is along with my WIP list) I'll figure out what to do with them. Overall, the finale is a 4 out of 10 for me. Not horrible enough for it to be the worst finale ever in the history of shows/series, but it's definitely got a lot of things that bothered me too much to genuinely enjoy it without getting stuck on something for too long. Again if you like it, good for you, but personally? It should've been much better and the series deserves a proper finale. If there's no surprise movie to make it better, then I'ma just pretend this finale doesn't exist like nah bye bitch dunno you lmao Besides with how messy this finale is, I hope you guys enjoyed reading my thoughts on it and I hope you guys have a great day

[bigmeatymudcrabchitins]

A not-so-brief overview of my Skyrim Dova OCs bc i need to scream to the digital void about my ideas

Freyora Lind, more commonly known by her strange alias “Bjorne Icepick”

A Nord-eventually-turned-werewolf who orphaned during the Great War and taken in by a Dunmeri mercenary whose residence was in Windhelm’s Gray Quarter. Grew up in a cramped boarding house setting among desperate mercenaries of varying backgrounds. Many of them would all come and go, but there was always some sort of a familial bond between them all.

From a young age she got in a lot of fights against people who insulted her for living in the Gray Quarter among the dark elves. Eventually she took a fight too far and was jailed for murder around 14, but was broken out shortly after by a band of masked vampires. Turns out some of her mercenary comrades unwittingly caught vampirism during a contract to clear out a vampire den and had to skip town, but not before ensuring one of their own wasn’t left to rot.

Lived in Cyrodil for about 15 years, but returned to Skyrim pursuing rumors surrounding a cure to vampirism, as her adoptive father would be nearing the end of his elven lifespan and had wished to die a normal death.

Seeing as she was literally a fugitive, and her long-belated parents were somewhat renowned for their battlefield prowess, she took on a false identity. AND an act to match it.

She’ll eat raw meat, chase prey with swords instead of using a bow like a normal person, harp about irrational conspiracy theories, and more. Everyone’s foul reactions to her outlandish act are plainly hilarious to her and only encourage her to act even stranger.

The alias “Bjorne Icepick” was simply the most ridiculous name she could think of.

Not the most morally outstanding. Besides drunken brawling, she’ll steal from anyone who angers her, even if it’s things she literally won’t ever need such as all the goblets in a household. It’s the pettiness that counts. “Try drinking your damn high-end wine now, jackass.”

Calls Dwarven Automatons “Gundams.” Including she herself, no one knows what that means.

Joins the Companions out of homesickness and a desire to fill in a gap that leaving home left.

Hasn’t bothered curing herself of lycanthropy because her whole schtick is being incredibly resourceful, and that includes using any means of power necessary. Still doesn’t fancy Hircine’s Hunting Grounds as her desired afterlife, though.

As her journey goes on, however, her lightheartedly eccentric face starts to fall off as a number of events push her to begin to question the legitimacy of her actions up until that point.

Some of which include the eventual death of her adoptive father (and how she was indirectly responsible for it even if it was what he wanted), Delphine’s ultimatum, the civil war as a collective, learning the tragic history behind the Falmer and the original Companions’ role in it, and killing of Vyrthur (no matter how much he genuinely deserved it).

She grows disgusted by herself down to the core. She takes to skooma to cope, and starts to be plagued by serious skooma-induced side effects. She ends up shutting herself away from all her responsibilities and distancing herself from her friends.

Does she get better? Maybe. I haven’t thought up anything past this point lol

Moureneris Alta

A very, VERY ancient vampiric snow elf, (though it’s notable she was born a considerable amount of time after the razing of Sarthaal)

Survived many atrocities. Stayed in isolation with a band of vampires for countless years out of sheer disgust for the nature of the sapient races. (I’ll explain her full story some other time. It’s pretty complicated)

She was abducted from her isolated lifestyle by a certain person i’ll talk about later. She managed to free herself south of Skyrim, and uh, walks right into that Imperial ambush. The rest is history.

Super ignorant to modern society as a result of centuries of isolation. Exploited for comedic relief. (“What in the name of Oblivion is a Cyrodilic Empire? Are you messing with me? And please, how does levitation magic simply get outlawed by this hypothetical Empire? What are you to do when you fall down a crevice? Just... let yourself perish? How degrading.)

She reintegrated herself into society with vengeance in mind under the belief that all humans are savage bloodlusting murderers who had to answer for their treachery. (And she was royally angry there was no Dwemer left to spite, but partially satisfied at the same time). But she grows conflicted after being shown genuine kindness, even as early as being freed from her binds in Helgen.

Subsequently has a very muddled redemption arc. Queue Dragonborn hero stuff

She has impaired vision, but she cultivated detect life magic to aid her in daily life and combat (think Hyakkimaru from Dororo ‘19 and his soul detection or Toph Beifong from ATLA and her seismic sense). At her peak, she can detect life from about a kilometer away.

She can just barely read, but only if she holds the text incredibly close to her face, not to mention her Cyrodilic lessons were left unfinished after her abduction, making reading a very taxing process. Weary travelers are often spooked at the sight of a floating, ghastly looking elven woman with her nose pressed up against crossroad signs, and it has become somewhat of an urban legend.

Isn’t as nearly as skilled with detecting the dead and tenses up in burial crypts or around other vampires for that reason. Unfortunately, being the Dragonborn and all, she finds herself in a lot of crypts...

When questioned about her background due to her unique appearance: “Oh, yeah. My mother was one of those mer from the east. You know the ones. Dark elves, I think? And my father was one of those er, tall elv- no, sorry, HIGH elves. Yeah. They both died in a big fire or something though. It was horrible. I can’t get the noxious smell or the deafening screams out of my head. Good talk, but never ask me about that again.”

Queue sheltered old immortal antics: “Wow, you’re THAT old? Enlighten me on how it felt witnessing the fall of the Dwemer. Or perhaps the rise of Tiber Septim’s Empire. The Gates of Ob-“ “Oblivion if I know. I lived in someone’s basement for thousands of years. And I still don’t know what everyone means by Empire. You all are messing with me, aren’t you? That really annoys me.”

She ultimately returns to faith in Auri-El and makes it her life’s purpose to help the Betrayed find peace, as well as to seek out any remaining snow elf groups. Probably good friends with Gelebor or something.

Had a crush on Serana. We all know how THAT went. Damned temples.

Was originally gonna spiral into a much darker corruption arc (another ATLA comparison being Jet or Hama) but I just felt bad for her. Moureneris can have a little found peace. As a treat.

That’s her preliminary design made. I’ll need a mod to properly play her, because that right there was made by choosing Dunmer as her race. But I can’t do that. I’m on console, and while I got the Steam port a month ago, my PC’s stone age specs can’t handle Skyrim yet and I’ll need to wait until I can afford a better graphics card (thanks economic inflation)

Alexandre Armasi, jokingly nicknamed Alexandre the Curious

A complete and unapologetic export of my character from a dead and unfinished DND campaign. Except there are no Aasimar in Skyrim, so he’s half Altmer half Bosmer. And his initial last name was Armas but I thought Armasi suited his Skyrim counterpart more, as subtle a change it is.

He’s mainly Bosmer in appearance and constitution, save for his hair and eyes, which are more similar to that of his Altmeri father’s.

I can’t really export his original backstory though because the campaign wouldn’t translate well into TES lore at all.

He’s a writer who came wandering into Skyrim in search of inspiration. While he mainly writes dramatic fables, he wanted to divert his focus to crafting his own bestiary and herbal compendium surrounding Skyrim’s fauna and flora. The ones at home are simply too vague to him!

He’s very altruistic, wishing to spread cheer wherever he goes, through the art of song (even though he was a cleric in DND and not a bard. My bad.) However, many of his verses are just blatant self promotions of his published fables.

But he’s too naive for his own good. Dangerously so. In fact, he says what’s on his mind with little forethought, with little grasp on the consequences of his actions, which lands him in lots of trouble. “I don’t favor him myself, but you guys kill people over Talos worship? That’s not very cool. A bit scary, if you ask me.” or “A Stormcloak rebel? Didn’t your leader kill a bunch of Reachmen rebels years back, or so I’ve heard. By the divines that’s not a man I’d make a symbol of nonconformity.”

He’s also insatiably curious. The type to ACTUALLY shove alchemic ingredients in his mouth with no knowledge of their properties, experiment with dangerous rune spells, throw rocks at pressure plates, and more. Needless to say he’s very accident prone.

Doesn’t know common curse words. People exploit this for laughs. Think that episode of Spongebob.

Everyone is a little baffled that HE of all people is the prophesied Dragonborn of legend. This agonizingly imbecilic writer who has absentmindedly wandered into burial crypts, troll dens, bandit forts, and more, too busy juggling his manuscripts to pay attention to his surroundings.

His past doesn’t exactly reflect his outlook on life. His mother and father fought in the Great War aligned with the Imperials despite their elven background. Both managed to live to see the war’s conclusion, but his father vanished without a trace shortly after, and it seems his mother knows something she won’t tell him.

With plenty of exposure to bad influences, his innocence is slowly lost throughout the course of his journey, and his altruism begins to grow twisted. But nevertheless, he maintains his jovial, social persona, except this time with much darker undertones. Kinda like a creepy dentist or something.

Whoops. He winds up becoming a feared Dark Brotherhood assassin. (Haha get it “Innocence Lost”???) He somehow deluded himself into thinking that the life of an assassin was the right thing to do. But he’s a funky little guy so he gets a pass for his heinous crimes against society

[beauregardlionett]

this poem is my confessional (loving you isn’t a sin)

AO3 Link

A/N: big shout out to my man @sadwizardvibes for the inspiration AND for writing me a fucking song to go with this piece thanks for fueling my beauyasha brainrot man <3

If she was honest with herself, giving Beau that poem had been entirely an impulse decision. Yasha had told Jester she would work on it—which she did—and that she would find a special moment for it. But most of the moments she shared with Beau were special to her, so that didn’t exactly narrow things down. She cherished every conversation and tried her hardest to keep Beau safe. Especially after the events at the chantry, Yasha appreciated every moment she got with Beau.

So, she had handed the paper over and prayed she didn’t embarrass herself.

Beau had seemed flustered, touched, and Yasha had wanted nothing more than to kiss her then and there. But she had held back, because she wanted Beau to at least read the poem before anything else happened.

And then all of that insanity with Vess and Molly—no, Lucien—had happened, and Yasha found herself grateful nothing else had transpired between her and Beau. She hated to think the memory of their potential first kiss might have been marred by the events following.

Regardless, they were underway toward Aeor; the snowy landscapes were taxing, endless, and a little boring. Supposedly it was a good thing they had encountered none of the foretold beasts, but Yasha harbored a lot of pent up frustration and nerves. It would be nice to have something to take that out on.

At the end of their second day, Caleb set up his tower. He ushered them all inside to a haven of warmth and stained glass they were becoming steadily more familiar with. Dagon seemed understandably impressed with the magical structure and grateful for the guest room he was directed to.

Usually they would gather up for dinner together, but there seemed to be a silent, unanimous decision that exhaustion took precedence. They retired to their various rooms with yawns and quiet ‘good nights’, safe for the time being. Yasha lay on her back on the cot in the room with the floral mural. She traced an absent gaze over the patterns, identifying flowers in her head and hoping it would lull her anxious mind to sleep.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Molly—Lucien—and what they would do when they caught up to him. Yasha couldn’t stop thinking about Beau, about the poem she carefully tucked away to read later. Yasha couldn’t help but remember of Zualla as she stared at the flowers on her wall.

There was a knock at her door.

Pushing to her feet after a moment, Yasha walked to her door to poke her head out. She was confused about who might be at her door at this hour until her eyes found Beau fidgeting on the other side of the threshold.

“Hi,” Beau mumbled, hands behind her back.

“Hi,” Yasha breathed back, opening the door a little wider. “Are you okay? It’s late.”

“Yeah,” Beau said, voice pitching up a little at the end in a tell Yasha quickly realized meant she was nervous. “Yeah, I just uh…”

Yasha raised an eyebrow at Beau’s nerves, unused to a Beau who floundered. She realized in the second before Beau pulled the piece of parchment out from behind her back what this was about. The Aasimar flushed pink and her eyes flicked to the ground, embarrassed.

“This was…really beautiful, Yasha,” Beau mumbled, fingers fiddling with the edges of the paper. “But I uh…I noticed this.”

Yasha chanced a look up, Beau extending the paper and pointing to a tiny note scrawled in the bottom corner. She had forgotten about that.

In her messy, cramped handwriting, Yasha had scrawled the word harp? She had been considering turning her poem into a song, because it was always easier for her to express things through music. Plus, she knew that Beau enjoyed her music, so why wouldn’t she put it to chords? But Yasha ended up pushing the idea aside. It was one thing for Beau to like Yasha’s wordless performances, and a whole other for Yasha to direct poetry with music toward the woman of her affection.

“It was…just an idea,” Yasha said with a half-hearted dismissive gesture.

“Would you play it for me?”

Yasha felt her cheeks grow warmer, more red than pink now. But before she could give it too much thought, the Aasimar felt herself nodding. She stood aside and let Beau into her room, leading the monk back into the chamber painted with flowers.

Beau sat cross-legged on the floor across from Yasha as the Aasimar tuned her harp. She took a little longer with the task than strictly necessary, just so she could freak out in silence.

Of course, she had prepared chords for this, because she had run with the idea. But Yasha shied away from it, losing her courage. Music was something that had helped Yasha heal, a meditation in her own way. It brought her peace and offered her an outlet for emotions she didn’t quite know how to express. So, to have Beau sitting before her, eyes trained solely on Yasha, was intense and nerve-wracking.

If Yasha had learned anything, though, it was that she could trust Beau. The monk had been looking out for her, and for the entire group, since day one. Before Beau had trusted any of them, she had still been looking out for them. It was something Yasha admired about Beau—her capacity to care and to love despite everything she had been through. Beau inspired Yasha to keep fighting.

The least she could do was play this for her.

She didn’t need the parchment back. Yasha had spent hours pouring over the words and the chords to make sure it sounded perfect.

Oh, oh Beau, I’m grateful for you.

You waited while I wandered,

While everyone was wondering

If I’d ever come back, you stayed true.

Her voice faltered slightly at the start, uncertain and underused, but she persisted. Beau’s eyes on her simultaneously made her nervous and strengthened her resolve.

Oh, oh Beau, you mean so much to me,

I’ve lost so many people,

I cannot fathom losing

The woman who has loved so fearlessly.

Yasha rarely sang. She used to sing for Zualla in those quiet stolen moments years ago. When they were out in the fields alone, walking or hunting or just existing to stare at the stars. She sang once for Molly, both of them a little past tipsy after a good night for the circus. He had told her she possessed a voice fit for performances, but Yasha had waved him off.

Her voice was sweet, higher than her speaking voice because she sang from her nose and her head. It threw most people for a loop, but Beau merely sat there and stared. Her blue eyes were wide with awe, lips slightly parted. If Yasha didn’t know Beau couldn’t be charmed, she would almost think the monk under a spell.

And I’ve ambled and trekked over miles and miles,

Every step lead me straight back to you.

You gave me the space to learn where I belong

And I’ll tell you right now, it’s the truth.

It was almost like nothing else existed. Yasha’s fingertips buzzed against the taut strings of the harp, her voice vibrated in her chest, and Beau’s eyes stayed fixated on Yasha’s face. This was all that mattered right now, and Yasha couldn’t think of what existed before this, or what might exist after.

Oh, oh Beau, the one I’m thinking of,

I want to hold your hand and

Stand quietly beside you.

I want to confess, you’re my love.

The last strum of her harp faded into silence, and Yasha reveled in the peace vibrating through her veins. She had rarely known stillness like this before discovering music.

Beau sniffed, and Yasha twitched as she startled, eyes snapping up to Beau’s face. The monk still stared at her, eyes wide and watering.

No one’s ever written me a poem before. Yasha remembered the soft-spoken admission as a tear tumbled down Beau’s cheek. She guessed without asking that no one ever sung for Beau before, either.

“Yasha…” Beau breathed. “That was incredible. Your voice…”

The Aasimar ducked her head, not even trying to suppress the smile pulling at her lips. Beau’s awe was so genuine, Yasha barely knew how to face it head on.

“I didn’t know if you would…y’know want to hear it like that. Or if you would just rather read it,” Yasha rambled, running her fingers with absent focus up and down one string on her harp. “So…yeah, I mean, it’s a song, too. But it was originally a poem. For you.”

“Yeah,” Beau’s voice cracked. “I don’t—Yasha, that was…incredible. You’re incredible. You wrote that? For me?”

“Of course,” Yasha said, looking up again with a small frown. The note of disbelief in Beau’s voice upset her. Why wouldn’t she write a poem for Beau?

“Thank you,” Beau said, her voice overflowing with an emotion Yasha could empathize with, but couldn’t name.

“I am glad you liked it,” Yasha said as she set her harp aside. She didn’t know where to go from here. Jester had said Beau was waiting for Yasha to make the first move, and this…was this enough? It felt weird to question that kind of thing because Yasha had been married before. Theoretically, she should know how to do this. But then again, everything she and Zualla had done had been in secret. Yasha never learned how to express affection for someone openly.

And knowing what she did about Beau, Yasha figured that the monk had no better clue in any of this than she did.

“Maybe uhm…” Yasha started, but stopped. She didn’t want to mess this up. “Maybe after we finish this job…we could, y’know…get dinner? Just us?”

Watching a slow smile spread and pull at Beau’s lips was like watching a sunrise. It began slowly, a little hesitantly, colors bleeding into and washing away the darkness of Beau’s uncertainty. It was a gentle harbinger that lasted a lifetime in no time at all. Then, between one blink and the next, the sun. Beau grinned with wild abandon, lips pulled wide to reveal her teeth, and eyes scrunching at the corners with the force of it. Yasha’s heart went giddy in her chest at the mere sight of Beau’s joy.

“I’d like that,” Beau whispered. There was the same quiet, awed excitement in her voice from when she first received Yasha’s poem.

Yasha’s cheeks hurt from how hard she was smiling. “It’s a date.”

[welllpthisishappening]

Drew Stars Around My Scars

Hello, hey, hi there. It’s raining, I’ve already lost track of the number of times I’ve listened to Taylor Swift’s new album and haven’t written anything in weeks. Until now! Thanks, Taylor Swift. And @optomisticgirl​​​ who reblogged this post a few days ago from @initiala​​​ about how Killian holding Emma in 3x22 isn’t just that he’s trying to comfort her, but he’s trying to make sure she didn’t disappear. 

Which, like...ok, cool. Anyway, I have thought about this for far too long now and started slamming on keys when the kittens weren’t sitting on my laptop and here’s like 4.1K that may or may not make sense, but at least includes some scathing opinions of Back to the Future. Also, thanks to @shireness-says​​​ for always being like...yeah, I want to read that. 

-----

She sniffles. 

She can’t seem to stop. 

Tears stream down Emma’s face without much thought because thinking too much is a daunting obstacle that she can’t even begin to consider yet. Or ever. Definitely ever. Another sniffle, this one actually making her cough somehow, which is a bodily reaction she was not aware she was capable of. 

Until right now. 

When everything seems to be falling apart around her. 

God, she hates time travel. And magic. And evil queens. And parents who can’t recognize her. She supposes she should give them a pass. For a variety of reasons, least of all the magic that’s cloaking both her and Kill—no, that’s not right. Hook. Captain Hook. He’s Captain Hook and she’s still not a princess, but the dancing was almost nice and he hadn’t even slowed down before he was drawing his sword and the jacket spin was something even her muddled thoughts have been able to cling to, so—

He’d held onto her while her mother burned. Tightly. Almost too much. 

Emma nearly trips over a tree root. 

“Shit,” she breathes, pressing the pads of her fingers into damp cheeks. Her dress is too long. Maybe she’ll mention that to Rumplestilskin later. 

Once they get home. 

Back to Storybrooke. Those are not interchangeable words. None of this is interchangeable. 

Even the trees around Emma look different than the ones she only vaguely remembers from her last jaunt through the Enchanted Forest, taller and a little more imposing, like they’re also aware that she’s one good sniffle away from falling off the metaphorical edge. 

Directly into a chasm without magic or parents and she didn’t even get to talk to Mary—

“Nope,” Emma says entirely to herself. So, it seems insanity is looming just a bit closer than she realized. “Not here.”

Or ever. There’s that phrase again. Two words, technically. 

Two words probably don’t constitute a phrase. 

What does she know, she didn’t graduate college. Or high school, technically. 

“Literally,” Emma mumbles, and it’s almost impressive how that one word still manages to sound as loud as it does. As if it’s bouncing off the sides of those same tall and decidedly imposing trees. “Literally didn't graduate high school.”

Something snaps behind her. 

There are far too many twigs on this forest floor. 

Spinning on the balls of her feet, Emma’s hands fly up, only one of her wrists cracking in the process, and it’s difficult to make out the face moving towards her, but the set of his shoulders is exactly the same as always and that cannot possibly have any deeper meaning. 

“Swan?” “God, fuck what are you—” Emma is out of breath. That’s absurd. And a rather unfair commentary on her lungs ability to function. She’s had something of a day, after all. Running a hand over her face, she does her best to retain her higher brain functions, but that’s admittedly difficult when there’s moonlight gleaming from the point of Killian’s sword. 

Captain Hook. 

Captain. Hook. 

Maybe the state of her lungs is partially his fault. He really held on very tightly. 

“What are you doing out here?” Emma manages to get out, once she’s taken another pitiful breath. She hopes her lips don’t start to chap. There’s probably not an easy remedy for that in the goddamn Enchanted Forest. 

Hook gapes at her. 

She grits her teeth. And regrets the state of her knees. They keep wobbling under her, traitors to her emotional cause and the state of several body parts aside from her obviously failing lungs. Whatever’s happening in the general vicinity of her heart seems unstable. 

Erratic, even. 

“Making sure you’re alright,” Hook says like it’s obvious, and it almost is. Almost. What another piece of garbage word. “You’ve been—” Shaking his head once, the ends of his hair don’t move as much as normal, and Emma flinches when he sheaths his sword. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright, that’s all.” Emma is going to lie. She is. Has every intention of letting the word fine pass through her lips, but those lips open without any sound coming out at all and Hook’s eyebrows jump. 

“Thank you.” “Excuse me?” “Thank you,” Emma repeats, finally giving into the urge of her knees and, if nothing else, the length of this dress makes it easier to sit on one of these overly large tree roots. Hook’s eyebrows don’t move. “Should have, uh—should have mentioned that before, probably.” “Thanking me?” “What part of this is confusing for you?” “Quite a bit, in fact,” he admits, and he doesn’t sit, but he also doesn’t look away from her and Emma is pleasantly surprised to find she almost sort of likes it. Almost. Again. 

Letting out a breath that she wishes sounded more like a laugh than it does, Emma’s tongue darts out. “Shit, that..well, that sucks, doesn’t it?” His eyes widen. “That’s not a euphemism,” Emma adds. “Just out of place slang.” “You might have to be more specific, love.”

“That’s fair. I—ok, stuff sucking is...well, it just means that stuff is...not great. Like right now, you know...things are—” She shrugs. And tries to smile. It fails spectacularly. 

Emma sniffles again. 

“Not great?” Hook ventures, and he has to readjust his sword to sit next to her. 

“Less than ideal.”

“You’ve been gone for nearly half an hour. I was worried something had happened.” “Hence the sword.” “Never want to be too careful. And you’re—” “—At least capable of still punching people,” Emma argues, not sure why she’s doing that exactly, but it feels like a matter of pride at this point. She exhales loudly. “But, uh...it’s nice that you came out here. I’m sorry that you had to do that too.” They both hear the words for what they aren’t — vast and a little overwhelming, and time travel is so overrated. Emma can’t believe what a popular fictional trope it is. Snow White was never supposed to die. The ends of Hook’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t actually smile, and that’s actually nice and maybe that’s her biggest issue. 

Everything about him has been so goddamn nice. 

He was much better at dancing than she expected him to be. 

And he keeps following her. She doesn’t mind that. 

Might even—

No. Not now. Not yet. Or ever. Again. God. 

“It’s not a problem, love.”

Emma swallows. Nods. Tries not to fall over that ledge. “I just...needed some time to think, I guess. Is that dramatic?” “No. And suggesting it sucks does have a certain charm to it.” “And you know all about charming, don’t you?” His left eyebrow arches. Some things never change, she supposes. Emma focuses on that. And not how she’s fairly certain she can feel waves of heat rolling off him, even with the few inches between them. Possibly a foot. She’s not great at estimating measurements. 

Or much else, it seems. 

That’s a far too depressing thought, though. 

“I believe I’ll leave that particular moniker to others in the party,” Hook says softly, sitting down. “Would you like to talk about it?” “Which part?” “Dealer’s choice.” “That one crossed realms, huh?”

“Some sayings know no bounds,” Hook smirks, and whatever sound Emma makes at that is even closer to a laugh than the last one. She takes that as a positive. “None of this is your fault.” “Practice that a few more times and it might sound more legitimate.” “Swan, that’s—” “—No, no, no,” Emma objects, not standing up, but she shakes her head quickly enough that strands of hair slap at either one of her cheeks. A few of them stick there. Probably because of the tears she can’t seem to stop. “All of this is my fault. I—I should have waited for help with the portal and everything I’ve done here has only made it worse and—” Another sigh, dragging her hand over her cheek. “—Fuck Marty McFly. And Doc Brown. It was so weird that they were friends, why didn’t anyone ever explain that?” “Did they not?” “No, not once. We were just supposed to accept that Marty met some senior citizen inventor guy who was more than willing to steal dangerous chemicals—” “—And he wasn’t a wizard?” “No, he wasn’t a wizard. No magic in the real world.” Or me, Emma thinks bitterly, but that’s not going to help the situation anymore than her current rambling, and she can’t seem to stop rambling. “But Marty and Doc hung out all the time. And Jennifer didn’t even think it was weird.” “Who is Jennifer, exactly?” “Marty’s girlfriend, I guess, but it always seemed like they were just starting to date at the beginning of the movie and then they got married. Just like that. You think they went to the same college or something? Like once Marty left—shit I can’t remember the name of the town.” Hook hums, a sound Emma can’t actually cling to any more than she can hold the one positive thing that has happened to her in the last twenty-four hours in her hands. It is not lost on her that both of them have to do with the man sitting next to her. 

Or how quickly his fingers keep fluttering over the hilt of his sword. 

“How far do you think we are from Aurora and Philip’s...land?” Emma asks. “Is that the right way to say that? Did they have a land?” “I believe the word you’re looking for is kingdom.” “Oh, yeah, that makes sense. Should have known that.” “That’s not your fault either.” “You’re really harping.” “Playing a symphony, it seems.” She laughs. She does. It’s not that loud, and there’s a distinctly watery edge to it, the muscles in Emma’s face aching when she manages to smile, but she’s having a difficult time coming to terms with the dexterity of Killian’s eyebrows and her hand moves before she thinks about it. 

The metal is cool under her skin, a smooth surface that she can drag her thumb across. Which is exactly what she does, an attempt to ground herself and remind her that she’s still here when she isn’t entirely positive she’s supposed to be. 

Hook doesn’t move. Might not breathe, if the state state of his shoulders is any indication and Emma hadn’t realized she was in possession of so many opinions regarding Captain Hook’s shoulders. Or her ability to recognize them. 

No matter what, it seems. 

“While it may appear that I know everything—” “—Ok, I never said that.” Hook’s smirk grows more pronounced. “I was in Neverland for quite some time, and the boundaries of some of the Enchanted Forest kingdoms changed in the last hundred or so years. But,” he adds when Emma opens her mouth again, “we’re more than a stone’s throw from the land Aurora should be ruling. At least several days' travel.” “God, that’s confusing. And did all these kingdoms have separate laws and everything? Who came up with that? Seems like a garbage way to rule.” “I believe you’d have to file a complaint with several different monarchies for that, love.”

Emma scoffs. “It’s quieter here than it was in Neverland, though.” “Most places are.” “Colder too. I hate the cold. I’m always—can’t ever seem to get warm and my toes are always freezing, it’s...I’m a notorious blanket thief.” “Pirate of sorts, huh?” He grins as he says it and part of Emma wants to scream. Stand up and run, as fast as her feet and far-too-long hem allow. But that part is also smaller than usual, and she’s all too aware of the state her knees are in. “Something like that,” Emma agrees. “When I was a kid I used to live in this place. Snowed for months at a time and I—I hated it. Wanted to be anywhere else. Kept trying to find somewhere that was warm, sunny. Like that would chase away the shadows.” Hook is disarmingly quiet. 

And Emma can’t shut up. 

“But then I got some place where it never snows and it wasn’t what I thought it’d be. Dry heat, you know?” He shakes his head. That’s fair. Pirates with several-hundred years of experience under their belts should not be expected to understand meteorological cliches. 

“Anyway,” Emma mumbles, “it wasn’t what I expected or thought was supposed to happen and—” She scrunches her nose. Hook waits. Presumably for the rest of the sentence, but it doesn’t come and she finds it difficult to breathe again when he starts talking.

“Sunlight always seemed better on the sea. Would reflect off the surf. Could see the entire horizon if you wanted to.” “And did you?” Hook nods. “As often as I could. Even when I was lad. My father used to bring my brother and I—” This might be their best and least organized conversation. Gritting his teeth, his shoulders shift when he inhales sharply. “These stars are different from Neverland’s.” “Really? Weird.” “Mmhm, made navigating something of a challenge.”

“But you’re here now, right?” “Presently, you mean?” Another head shake. More moving hair and unmoving fingers. Emma’s knuckles are white around the hook, holding it like a lifeline and she might have to spend the rest of her life thanking him for this. 

It’s not as daunting a prospect as it should be. 

“I mean past you is here,” Emma says, “in the Enchanted Forest. Doing pirate type things and offering Mary—” Her tongue gets in the way. As disgusting a thought as that is, Emma knows it’s better than thinking about what is actually happening, feeling as if her throat is collapsing in on itself while her heart does its best to beat its way out of her chest. “Shit.” Killian shuffles closer, not stopping until his knee bumps hers. “That happened from time to time. Leaving Neverland, doing jobs for—” “—Pan?” “Sometimes. He couldn't leave the island, you see. Not without losing the magic as well. Jolly’s crew was his only option. Although we always managed to stay here longer than he wanted us to.” “Well, pirates hate rules, don’t they?” “I believe that’s in the bylaws, aye.” She’s got absolutely no idea what sound that one is. Shaky and a little wobbly and some dark, half-forgotten part of Emma’s brain believes it’s drifting close to giggle territory. That can’t be right. She can’t giggle while she’s still crying. 

The bylaws of the Universe probably frown on that. 

“Is that how you wound up with Cora, then? Stuck around longer and got a good deal?” Nothing. 

No answer. No jokes. Certainly nothing even remotely resembling a giggle. 

Just the muscle in Hook’s temple, jumping rhythmically and consistently and Emma really does try to stay patient. Her sniffling makes that difficult. 

“Something like that,” Killian repeats evasively, staring straight ahead like he can see through the trees. Maybe he can. What does Emma know. Some pirates probably have to have good eyesight. Make up for the eye patches and whatnot. 

She nods. No one asked a question. “Ok.” “Ok?” “Ok,” Emma echoes, “you’re a real shit liar and I’m real great at telling when you’re lying, but—” “—Me specifically?” Yes. The answer is yes, but she doesn’t give voice to that either and maybe she should be writing all these things down. The things she’s not saying. 

Should say. 

Emma can’t believe she time traveled and didn’t even get to talk to her mother. 

And that’s the first time she’s really allowed herself to think of Snow White as her mother. 

“Super power,” Emma continues, waving her free hand towards her temple. Her other one is still clinging to his hook. “But that’s fine. You didn’t pry, so I won’t pry, I just—” Collapsing throats, she imagines, are supposed to hurt more than this does. This doesn’t hurt, per se, just feels passably uncomfortable, like there’s a wad of cotton in her mouth, making it difficult to say anything and Emma is so bad at saying anything, but Killian is staring at her and—

Killian. 

She lets herself call him Killian. In her head, at least .

“I can’t come up with anything else to say except thank you,” Emma whispers. 

“You don’t have to.” “Still.” “You’re welcome,” Killian says, and maybe words carry more weight in the past. By default. 

“Can I ask you something, though?” He tenses. Noticeably. It’s another round of fair and understandable, Emma’s teeth finding her lower lip until she tastes blood. Another reminder that she’s still here. With her fingers wrapped around Captain Hook’s—

No, that’s not right. Captain Hook did not follow her into a time vortex. Or ask her to dance. Or wear the fuck out of that jacket. Although that last one could use a bit more work, at least when it comes to sentence structure. 

The point still stands. 

Captain Hook didn’t do any of that. Killian Jones did. 

And he—

“When we were watching everything in the castle and Regina was you know…” Killian lips go thin. Emma might be staring at his lips. Past him had been a very good kisser as well. Maybe she’ll mention that at some point. After this. “Well, I just,” she stammers, “I was terrified, for my mom and my dad and even Ruby—God, is that her name here?” “Introduced herself as Red when Snow White sent her.” “Weird.” “Perhaps the best word for the entire situation.” “Or shitty.” “Aye that too,” he smiles, which is not weird. At least not as weird as it should be. “I wasn’t sure what was going to happen.” “Yeah, me neither,” Emma breathes, not exactly the explicit truth, but at least several steps without moving. “I—you have very strong arms.” “A compliment?” “An observation.” Killian chuckles, and this hair really is unfortunate. Normally, that one bit that Emma has come to regard as her own personal torture device would artfully fall across his forehead, a metaphorical arrow towards eyes that always seem to get brighter when they’re looking at her.

As they often are. 

But while the hair is different, the distracting tendencies of his tongue are the same. The tip of it finds the corner of his mouth, a soft push on the inside of his cheek, and Emma’s not keeping a list — at least not acknowledging her want of a list — but the tongue thing is definitely one of Killian’s most telling tells. 

Seriously, her sentence structure sucks. 

“Although,” Emma adds, “it wasn’t that bad.” HIs tongue goes back in his mouth. She’s got to stop thinking about his tongue.

“No?” “No,” she says. “It was...nice.” So, off the top of her head, she needs to fix — sentences, her grasp of the English language, her tendency to repeat herself, and finding better adjectives for emotionally charged moments. 

Possibly. 

Emma still hasn’t called him Killian to his face, after all. 

“What did you think was going to happen?” No tongue, but an obviously tight jaw makes Emma’s stomach jump into her still-collapsed throat. “Like I said, love. I wasn’t sure. Just wanted to make sure you’re alright.” The lie feels like it reaches out, smacks her across the face and then backhands her for good measure. It leaves Emma’s cheeks tingling and something tugs at the base of her spine. Not magic, because she still doesn’t have magic, but maybe magic adjacent, like a memory or hints of a dream that keep lingering at the edges of everything, and she promised. 

She doesn’t push. She doesn’t prod. 

She doesn’t pry. 

And Killian has to move his sword again when he gets back to his feet. “We’ve got a fire going, if you’d like to warm up.” “Yeah, ok. Thanks.” Emma doesn’t let go of the hook, keeps her fingers curled around it as they move back through the trees and neither one of them stumble, a very small, but much needed victory because—

Well, everything kind of continues to suck. 

At least for a little while. 

Snow White isn’t dead, but she’s a bug, and then she’s not a bug and Emma has no idea where Ruby goes. She’s too busy worried about this nameless woman and wielding a branch gets her another laugh and a smile she’s going to think about for at least seventy-two hours straight. Then there are trolls, and tears of the less-pained variety. Rumplestilskin continues to be any forest’s biggest asshole, and there’s magic and another round of crying and—

Emma runs. 

Sprinting across Storybrooke, she ignores the ringing phone in her pocket, determined to hug her parents and hold her kid with her own display of impressive upper body strength. 

And it gets better, less suck-like, at least. Food and smiles and the way her mother’s hand feels when it rests on top of Emma’s. 

Until she’s sitting — tucked into the corner of a booth with her own face staring at her from the pages of Henry’s storybook and Emma can’t quite recognize the person there. The happiness on her face feels like...well, a story. A good one, but something that she can’t believe was hers or is hers or could be hers and she’s got to add tenses to that list she only kind of remembers. 

Glancing around, the muscles in her neck object to the stress she’s putting them under, because time travel is awful and exhaustion is starting to creep its way up her spine. 

“Looking for someone?” her mother asks, and Emma’s lips pop. 

That’s it. 

She understands. Fucking goddamn finally. 

Emma might nod. Or shake her head. It doesn’t really matter. 

There are no words. No explanations. Just clamoring back to her feet, the bottoms of her boots sticking to the linoleum near the door because one of the dwarves definitely spilled punch at some point and—

His head snaps up as soon as the door closes behind her. 

“So, do you think Rumplestilskin is right?” Emma asks, dropping into one of the wrought-iron chairs at the table Killian has commandeered. Pirate term. “I’m in the book now. He said everything, besides our little adventure, would go back to normal. Do you think that it is?”

“He’s right. Otherwise I’d remember that damned bar wench I kissed.” She smiles. Wide and honest and easier than anything has ever been. And Killian doesn’t flinch when she teases him, like that’s something Emma is allowed to do, but she figures once she uses his name and once they start making out like teenagers it’s fine, and this is her favorite kiss. 

By far. 

No sounds, no rum, nothing except the feel of his fingers in her hair and her knees bumping against his and she tries to claw her way into his space, a burst of colors behind her closed eyes that she knows is magic and him and them, a collective unit that—

“You came out here,” Killian murmurs, the words barely making their way through the haze of Emma’s post-makeout brain. 

She bumps her nose against his. “Turnabout and all that. I...I didn’t want you to be by yourself. And I had a thought.” “Which was?” “Did you think I was going to disappear? When Regina tried to kill my mom. I—you said you didn’t know what would happen, but that wasn’t—” “—Super power, huh?” “Not cool to interrupt when I’m theorizing.” “Well, you don’t like being cool, do you, Swan?” Her smile is going to get stuck on her face. That’s...nice. “Was that what it was?” “The thought had crossed my mind, aye.” “Smart guy.” “High praise.” “I’m an official princess now. In the book and everything, so favors from me hold a certain weight, don’t you think?” He smirks. She tries to memorize it. Every shift of his mouth, the spark in his eye and slight scrunch of his nose, what might be a few freckles there or a trick of the dim lights above them. 

Emma’s skin feels like it’s vibrating. 

“Thank you.” “You don’t have to keep saying that, Swan.” “Yeah, I know, but—I didn’t think about disappearing, but I did think about wanting something to hold onto and that’s...thank you.”

It’s not enough. Not really, but even the concept of holding her tight enough to ensure that she didn’t disappear in some fairy tale realm is a lot for Emma to wrap her mind around, so she’s going to give herself a pass on this one. 

And kiss him instead. Kissing Killian is quickly climbing to the top of a brand-new list of Emma’s favorite things. In every known realm. His tongue swipes her lips and she opens her mouth at the same time her eyes fall shut again, a tilt of her head and bump of their chins, and it’s not easy to deal with all of their assorted limbs at this angle, but that just ensures that this is a bit slower and softer and something that is, quite obviously, the start. 

Because she came after him this time. 

[ineloqueent]

Starstruck: Part 11

Brian May x Fem!Reader

This is Part 11 of a multi-part fic. Click the links below to read the Masterpost, the previous part, or the next part of the fic :)

Masterpost / Part 10 / Part 12

Summary: When studying at Imperial College in the 1970s, your path is crossed by a beautiful boy as much in love with the stars as you.  

Warnings: swearing

Historical Inaccuracies:

Not sure that Veronica went with Queen to Ridge Farm at all, but hey— creative licence!

Word Count: 6.9k

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

You woke up late, and this you knew because from downstairs you could distinctly hear arguing, and it was rare that any of the others deigned to get up before eight in the morning, which was when you normally awoke.

You wandered into the kitchen with your hair still quite mussed by sleep, but in the very least you were dressed. Unlike Queen, who were waltzing about in pyjamas and dressing gowns.

“It’s just a bit weird, Roger,” Deacy was saying.

“Weird? It’s just a song, John!”

“Just a song?” said Freddie. “Then tell me, darling, why it is you’re pushing so hard for it to be on the album, hm?”

“With my hand on your grease gun?” Brian recited from a piece of paper, glasses on his nose. “Really, Rog?”

“It’s a metaphor, Brian!”

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, good morning, Y/N,” Freddie addressed you.

“Hello everyone,” you said, amusement still on your lips.

“Morning,” Deacy responded, while Roger grumbled something.

Brian smilingly handed you a cup of coffee. “Back me up on this, would you?”

You leaned against the countertop, next to Brian, whose posture was so positively awful that you could almost look directly into his eyes. But you avoided that carefully; his pyjama top was only half-buttoned, and the pale skin of his chest was visible beneath the open collar. It reminded you of how he had looked on the album cover of Sheer Heart Attack, how your eyes had fallen to where he lay with wide eyes, parted lips, his shirt unbuttoned. Borderline indecent. And outrageously attractive. As he was now.

You cleared your throat. “I don’t know, what’re we talking about, exactly?”

John rolled his eyes. “Roger’s car song.”

“Car song?”

“Mm,” Brian sipped his coffee.

“You’re just jealous that I’ve written something on guitar that’s better than anything you’ve written,” Roger sniffed.

Brian looked affronted. “I’m the guitarist, I have a right to be offended, and no, it’s not better than mine.”

Roger scoffed. “You’ve written exactly two songs—”

“Two and a half,” said Brian pointedly.

“Oh, sorry, two and a half. And exactly one of them is written with an electric guitar piece, and the other one is on... what?” Roger searched for the word. “A ukulele?! This is rock ‘n’ roll, Brian, not bloody folk music!”

“Folk music?!”

“You play the ukulele?” you interjected.

Brian glanced at you. “Not very well, but—”

“He’s going to learn to play the harp too,” Freddie added. “For my new song.”

With a smile in your direction, Deacy said, “You know he plays the piano as well, Y/N?”

You blinked at Brian. Talk about multi-talented.

“Concentrate for a fucking second!” Roger exclaimed, and everyone jumped. “No, don’t concentrate on Y/N, Brian.”

Brian sputtered, throwing up his arms, “I wasn’t—”

“It’s not going on the album, Roger,” Deacy shrugged. He seemed not to dislike the concept of the song, so much as to be getting back at Roger for discrediting his own song writing abilities.  

Roger turned to Freddie, pleadingly.

Freddie sighed.

Roger’s face was at this point red with frustration, and he marched from the room.

“Roggie, we can discuss this,” Freddie appealed.

“Can’t,” Roger called back.

Freddie took one look at you all, and you followed him as he hurried after Roger.

You heard a slam! and then a clicking noise, and you frowned, puzzled. Roger had disappeared.

“Roger?”

“Roger, stop this. Where are you?”

“Rog?”

“Go away,” came Roger’s muffled voice.

Deacy raised his eyebrows, catching on before the rest of you. “This trick is getting old, Roger.”

“What the hell—” Brian yanked the handle of a cupboard door. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

Roger had locked himself inside the cupboard. Just like he’d locked you and Brian in the kitchen.

“Oh, I’m serious,” said Roger. “Put the bloody song on the album, or you’ve lost your drummer.”

“To a cupboard?” inquired John politely.

“...Yes.”

Freddie barked a laugh. “You’ll starve, Roger.”

“Uh,” you began, “sorry to be a downer, but uh, he won’t starve.”

“What?”

“That’s the pantry,” you muttered.

“Why the hell does it have a lock?!” cried Freddie.

“I don’t know! I didn’t design this place!”

Brian placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, and you looked up at him in surprise. “Don’t you have a key?” he said.

Your mouth fell open. “God, I’m actually stupid.”

“No, you’re noooot,” sang Roger from inside the cupboard. “I’ve got it.”

Freddie mumbled something along the lines of, “Well. Fuck.”

“Anyone feel like picking a lock?” Deacy ran a hand through his hair, rested his hands on his hips.

“Or you could just put the fucking song on the fucking album,” said Roger.

“Are we sure you’re the one with the temper, Bri?” you asked.

There was silence. Freddie nodded at you solemnly, eyes wide.

Brian sighed, his hand slipping from your shoulder. Instinctively, you reached up to touch the spot where his fingers had previously curled, soft and warm.

“No one’s winning any points here, Freddie,” Deacy said diplomatically, after at least a full minute of silence. “Let’s just put the song on the album. I’m sure it’ll be fine. It is just a song, after all, you know.”

“Listen to the wise man,” Roger intoned.

“That’s a good line…” Brian mused. Then he sighed again. “You’re so full of yourself, Roger.”

“So that's a yes, then?”

“Fine. But you owe me a siding.”

“A siding?” you asked.

“Next time there’s an argument,” John explained, “which will quite frankly be very soon, Roger has to take Brian’s side.”

“Ah,” you nodded in understanding.

“Freddie?” Roger piped. “I’m not coming out of here until you say yes too.”

Freddie tapped his foot against the floorboards. “Fine, but only because I’m nice, you bastard.”

“That’s actually rather contradictory, Freddie,” said Deacy.

“No, it’s not. I’m the nice one, he’s the bastard.”

“Okay Fred,” Brian replied, unconvinced.

Just then, Heather entered the hall, dressed in a kimono-esque garment you were sure was Roger’s. “Morning, all. Has anyone seen Roger?”

“Ha!” said Freddie. “No, darling. Not for the past few minutes. But god, we’ve heard him. Makes a frightful racket when he doesn’t get what he wants.”

Heather smirked. “Oh I know.”

Deacy laughed.

Freddie shook the cupboard handle, “Roger, are you coming out of the closet or what?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” There was a rattling, and then the cupboard door swung open. Roger stood there, eating a strawberry licorice rod.

You crossed your arms. “You can’t possibly have got hungry in so little time.”

“Peckish,” Roger shrugged. “Good morning, beautiful,” he swept over to Heather and they embraced.

“Ick,” Freddie waved a hand. “Get a room.

“They have a room,” Deacy pointed out.

Brian muttered, “Well, get back to it.”

You laughed.

“Mm, well, anyway, I came to ask why the hell you left our room in such a mess,” Heather jabbed Roger’s chest with a finger.

“You sure that’s not your mess, sweetheart?”

You looked at Heather. “You just came here to kiss your boyfriend, didn’t you?”

“Maybe… Yeah. Sorry Rog. But I also came to ask Y/N if she’s coming with us..?”

“Where’s who going?”

“To town. Veronica and Mary and I, I mean. When we get back, we’re going down the hill to play tennis. We saw your dad earlier, and he showed us where to find the rackets and everything.”

You paused, considering.

“Decisions, decisions,” said Brian.

“Shush, I’m thinking,” you poked his side, and he yelped, leaping away. You raised your eyebrows at him.

“Oh, he’s ticklish,” said Freddie helpfully.

A devilish smile formed on your lips, to which Brian shook his head slowly.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He flushed in response.

“Y/N? Coming or not?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, about that...”

“Or you can come with us to the studio,” suggested Brian.

You didn’t really want to go into town, and Brian had just given you the perfect excuse not to.

Freddie seemed to register your disinclination as well because he said, “Never mind, Y/N. You took too long to decide, so now you don’t get a choice. I need you in the studio with us.”

Heather seemed to accept this explanation, though really, as your closest friend, she should have known you wouldn’t have wanted to go into town. Her lack of friend-intuition likely stemmed from the fact that the two of you had been spending less and less time together as of late. You were hanging out more with Queen, and you supposed, though Heather and Roger were often together, that you were beginning to be closer with the members of Queen than you had ever been with Heather. The thought struck in you a great feeling of melancholy, and for a moment you thought of changing your mind about going with her and Ronnie and Mary, so as to spend more time with her, your best friend.

But Heather wasn’t struck by any such notions of pensive sadness. “Oh well, it appears you’re needed here,” she said. “Want anything from the shops?”

“Wouldn’t mind a chocolate bar,” you smiled.

“Done,” Heather winked at you. “Bye, Rog,” she kissed his cheek and departed.

“Now,” Freddie clasped his hands, “let’s get to the studio.”

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

“Right,” you said decisively. “Try ‘People of the Earth’ again.”

It was four weeks since Roger had locked himself in a cupboard to make the others accept his car song onto the new album, and every day since that had been spent hard at work, with only the evenings devoted to relaxing.

Every morning, you would rise at seven and be in the studio half an hour later, where Roadie-John and Crystal would help you to set up, in time for the others to come and tune instruments and arrange various things at about eight o’clock. The days were then spent writing and recording demos, though mostly writing, as tapes had to be done on handheld recorders, since the studio was not yet fully furnished— your dad still had to install a soundbooth and proper recording equipment.  

In the late afternoons and evenings, there were fiercely competitive tennis matches, particularly between your dad and Deacy, who got along as well as ever. There were trips to the pub where your mum greeted you all with discounted pints, there were games of croquet and pool, and everywhere you looked, there was Brian, with some camera or another, from Polaroid to Pentax to an Iloca Rapid stereo camera.

From candids to posed shots, he took pictures of you all, all the time, at every spare moment, though Brian himself always avoided being in front of the camera. You got the feeling that he was, strangely, camera shy. You found it very sweet, though, and so it became a challenge for you to try to take pictures of Brian. He countered this with a challenge of his own, and soon the two of you were fighting a photography war. The result was far too many rolls of film peppered with blurry and out-of-focus images, but Brian didn’t seem to mind that his film was being used on this. He was always smiling when he was taking pictures.

It had yet to be warm enough for you all to take advantage of the swimming pool, but as the days got longer and the sun rose higher in the sky, the indoors would grow stuffy, and the sparkling blue-green water would become a sight for sore eyes.

Freddie now had three songs completely finished, with at least another two in the works. One in particular was quite dear to him, and enthralled you all; it was segments of several different songs woven together in an incredibly artistic manner, and for every day that passed, Freddie added even more segments. He went to such lengths to ensure the song’s perfection that one day, he even declared your dad’s piano unsuitable, instead having a piano of his own, a white grand piano, moved in. It had been an absolute ordeal to get that piano into Ridge Farm’s little studio, and you were sure you that even if you lived to be a hundred and four, you would never forget the shouting and the swearing and the sweating and the laughing and plotting entailed by the piano-shifting day.

Brian, on the other hand, still had only managed to write two songs, and bits and pieces of a third; you teased him that he was becoming more the band’s photographer than their guitarist. Roger continued to work on his car song, but poor Deacy had yet to write anything at all.

Today was Friday, and the five of you had been at work for hours, stopping briefly for a lunch of sandwiches in the garden. You were acting both manager and producer for Queen, and currently, the four of you were trying to help Brian to develop his half-song. It wasn’t going particularly well.

The midafternoon was warm, and the touch of sunlight upon your skin was making you drowsy, and making the others overly finicky and short-tempered. Especially Brian, to whom the pressure was presently applied.

He was running his fingers through his curls every few minutes, and his posture seemed worse than usual when he paced the room, unable to stand still for the frustration of not being able to bring into existence the whisper of a song that danced around his head.

“Vocals, I assume?” said Freddie.

“Yep. Let’s do that.” Your eyes were on Brian, who had kicked off his shoes and was chewing his bottom lip. He didn’t really look up to yet another failed attempt at harmonies and melodies, in fact, he didn’t look up to anything. But you were on a schedule and had to power on, at least for a little while longer.

“Count us in, Y/N?” Roger asked, and you nodded.

“One, two, three, four…”

Oh, oh, people of the earth!

"Listen to the warning," the prophet he said

For soon the cold of night will fall

Summoned by your own hand

The harmonies rose and the four of them made it successfully through a verse, sung as it would have been live, meaning that John was contributing too, though he declined to do so for any of the actual recordings that would happen in the future. A whole verse was quite a feat, one that hadn’t been achieved for the past hour, and you motioned for them to continue through the next verse.

Ah, ah, children of the land

Quicken to the new life, take my hand—

On this line, Brian’s eyes flicked to yours, and in them you saw desperation. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his mouth twisted in a grimace. Take my hand seemed a cry for help.

“You know what,” you interrupted quickly, “I think that’s enough for today.”

“Thank goodness,” said Deacy at once, stepping away from the practice microphone he had been sharing with the others. “I’ll go out on a limb here and say a swim is a good idea..?” He looked around, and the others nodded with defeated temperaments.

Brian in particular concerned you; he was basically swaying at this point. Roger seemed to notice this too.

“Brian, mate, have you had enough water to drink today?”

Brian shook his head, dazedly.

Freddie frowned.“No, I think not.”

“Here, have mine.” You retrieved your water bottle and brought it to Brian. He clutched it but said nothing, and worry roiled in your stomach. Deacy took his arm and guided him over to sit down on the piano bench.

You gathered around Brian, and Roger nudged his hand. “Go on then, have some water.”

Bri unscrewed the cap of your water bottle in a mechanical manner, raising the bottle to his lips and drinking slowly.

“Far too hot in here,” you muttered. “Really must get dad to fix the blinds and the fans.”

“‘S alright,” Brian managed, but he still seemed rather faint, his skin pale and clammy in appearance. The others looked worried, and you wondered if they’d been faced with a similar situation before.

“Come on, darling,” said Freddie. “Let’s get you outside, some fresh air, yes?”

Brian nodded, and together, you and Freddie helped him up.

Outside, you locked the door to the studio while the others deposited Brian on a conveniently-placed bench.

For a few minutes, you and Deacy sat with Brian in silence while he sipped his water and kept out of the sun, and Freddie and Roger had a smoke.

Then Brian finally spoke.

“Thank you,” he said, handing back your empty water bottle. “Sorry I drank all of it.” He winced, and you hoped that it wasn’t because he still wasn’t feeling well.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. Plenty more water where it came from. And I’m sure you’ll need more. Don’t want a second incident of overheating.”

He chuckled softly, and you knew then that he was on the mend.

“Shall we join the others and go for a swim?” John suggested again as the five of you walked back toward the main house. Amongst you, it was quickly agreed to meet by the pool in ten minutes, and so all went their separate ways to get changed.

Eight minutes later, you had swapped cotton for nylon, coated your skin in sunscreen, and slung a towel over one arm. The pool was down the hill, by the tennis courts, and as you followed the path, the others came into view.

Mary and Heather were lying in a pair of yellowed sun chairs, chatting, while Ronnie and Deacy appeared to be having a water fight in the pool, teamed up against Roadie-John and Crystal. The Tetzlaff-Deacon forces were winning, pushing Crystal and Roadie-John farther and farther to their side of the pool, but then again, the roadies seemed to be going easy on their enemies, seeing as Ronnie was nearly nine months pregnant. Roger was sitting on the edge of the pool with his legs in the water, his face turned to the sun and his sunglasses ever-present on his face.

Freddie came down the path behind you, and when he made it to the pool, he threw down his towel and dove straight in.

When Freddie bobbed back up to the surface, Roger splashed him, as payback for having been splashed. Freddie retaliated by pulling Roger into the water by his legs, to which the latter yelped.

“It’s COLD!” he shrieked, and Freddie laughed.

Spotting you, Freddie motioned toward the water. “Come in, darling, it’s lovely.”

“I think I believe Roger more than you, Freddie,” you narrowed your eyes.

“Oh,” said Heather, “don’t. He’s a bit of a wimp, you know.”

“Hey!” cried Roger indignantly. “Then why haven’t you got in, Heather?”

Heather glanced over at Mary, who shrugged. “Your funeral,” she said.

Heather tugged off her coverup, and before Mary could object, grabbed her arm and leapt into the pool, Mary screaming before the two of them plunged under.

“Oi!” said Deacy as they splashed himself and Ronnie, and Heather giggled while Mary shook her drenched head of hair.

“Oh come on, Mary,” Crystal splashed her. She glared, then splashed him back, laughing.

“Y/N, get in!” Ronnie called to you.

You’d put down your towel on a sunchair, and now stood eyeing the pool warily.

It was a large pool, both long and wide, which meant there was more than enough room for all the people already in it. But it wasn’t the pool’s occupancy that deterred you, so much as its temperature. And the fact that Brian was nowhere to be seen.

“I don’t know, Ronnie…”

“The more the merrier!” said Roadie-John.

Roger shoved him. “Don’t say that. It sounds creepy when you say it like that.”

Roadie-John looked at Crystal, who nodded. “Yeah, mate…”

“Sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s fine, it’s not that, it’s just…”

“Spit it out, lovey,” Freddie said, and now everyone was looking up at you.

Add self-consciousness to the list, check. You wrapped your arms around yourself.

“Has anyone seen Brian? He did almost faint, you know.”

“Oh, she’s worried about him, poor love,” cooed Mary. The others made similar noises, Roger contributing kissy faces.

You gave them a murderous look. “Seriously! Are we sure he didn’t just go inside and pass out somewhere?”

“No… We can’t be sure, if we haven’t seen him…” Freddie pursed his lips.

“So you haven’t seen him?” Your hands were growing sweaty, and you wrung them.

“No,” said Deacy, “not until now.” A sly smile spread across his face.

You frowned. “What—”

“Hello, love.”

Arms wrapped around your waist and soft breath tickled your skin, but you had no time to register any of this, because suddenly, you were flying through the air toward the swimming pool, and the water was rushing up to meet you, and you were squealing.

You went under, and the water really was cold, but not like ice, just enough to shock the last of the drowsiness from your being. It was quite nice, actually, to feel awake for once.

In a rush of bubbles, you returned to the surface and whipped your head about wildly, searching for Brian as the others laughed. It turned out that he was right behind you, again, smiling brilliantly and smoothing down his curls.

“Oh, you bastard!” you cried, giving him a hefty shove, and he laughed, splashing you. You shook your head, spraying him with water. “And to think I was worried about you, Bri.”

“Awh, worried about me? What’d I do this time?” He tilted his head to one side, gazing at you expectantly, all doe-eyes and soft lips. With a jolt, you realised that you wanted to pull him to you and kiss the gentle curve of his mouth till he melted against you.

You blushed.

Freddie gasped delightedly. “Oh look, she’s blushing!”

“Awww,” Roger chimed, and you considered drowning them both.

You rolled your eyes in their direction, regaining your composure before looking at Brian again.

Oh, how hard it would be to look at Brian now, when such thoughts had stumbled through your head. But you forced yourself to do it, because you had a façade to uphold.

“You were feeling a bit faint, earlier?” you said casually. “I know your type. Slightly weak constitutions, I’m afraid.” You paused to examine your nails, frowning at invisible specks of dirt.

“You know my type?” Brian crossed his arms over his slim frame, narrowing his eyes. But a smile played on his lips. “And is it yours?”

Your eyes widened, you dropped your hand.

Roger spoke your thoughts, “Bit forward, Brian?”

Brian shrugged his angular shoulders, nonchalant. “Only a question. She must have experience, if she’s asserting she knows my type.”

You crossed your arms too. “Oh yeah I have,” you drawled. “I’ve got loads of experience.”

Deacy practically snorted with laughter. Brian raised his eyebrows at you.

You stepped toward him, squaring your shoulders and raising your chin. “Does that bother you, Brian?”

The sun cast shadows across his face, and his hair fluttered in the breeze. The cool air whispered across your skin, but you didn’t shiver, you weren’t cold. You felt hot all over, even as you stood motionless beneath his hazel eyes.

His lips parted, and when he leaned down, his voice was low, a hum.

“Should it?”

A piece of your precious façade crumbled.

The others couldn’t possibly have heard what he’d said, and he’d clearly meant for it to be this way. But it had brought you back to reality. The reality which was that had you pulled him down to kiss you, he would have pushed you away.

Oh, how wrong can you be. Desire had very briefly blinded you to his lack of the same for you. You wouldn’t let it happen again.

“No,” you said, “but this should!” You splashed him and he gave a cry, and a small water fight ensued.

This then led to Roger’s organisation of a water war, where he insisted upon teams of girls vs. boys, until Freddie pointed out that the uneven numbers would place Roger on the girls team, “Seeing as you look the part, Rog”. Roger quickly changed his mind, though not before whacking Freddie. The teams ended up with you, Roadie-John, Freddie, and Mary pitted against Brian, Roger, Crystal, and Heather, while Deacy settled Veronica against the cushions of a sunchair.

There was no way to count points, so the war, which was really more of a battle, finished after about half an hour, when more than one person had complained of tired arms, and the rest of you had realised that it was impossible for either side to win.

Half of the party stayed swimming, but you, Mary, Freddie, and Brian were cold, and elected to join Ronnie and Deacy on the deck.

Unfortunately, the sun was more harsh than some people— i.e. Brian— had anticipated, and so, after a good long drowse on the deck, some people were starting to look a bit pink. Actually, a bit pink was putting it nicely.

He was lying on his stomach with his face turned away from the light, curls falling partially over his eyes. His skin did not have a tendency to freckle, but his cheeks were rosy and the little lines at the corners of his eyes were deepened by the sun, giving him the glow of someone who smiled often, even when his lips were slack and soft and the expression could not have been farther from his serene features.

Having laid your towel down beside Brian’s, you now reached over to tap his hand.

“Bri?”

“Mmm?” He barely stirred, but he had not been asleep, only dozing, his exhale gentle and his shoulders relaxed.

“Did you put sunscreen on?”

His eyes fluttered open. “Oh shit,” he murmured, and he couldn’t have said anything more prettily. “Am I burnt to a crisp?” he asked languidly, the corner of his mouth turning up.

In a breath, your eyes skimmed over his bare waist, back, shoulders, returned to his face and his half-smile.

“Very nearly,” you said. He shifted an arm experimentally, then winced. Pressing his face into his towel, he let out a groan.

“Whatever is the matter, Brian?” Freddie said over a cup of tea, tipping his sunglasses down his nose.

“Burmpt,” he mumbled into the towel.

“He’s got a sunburn,” you translated for Freddie.

“Ah.”

Deacy, hearing your conversation, leaned over to his wife. “My dear, didn’t you say you brought aloe vera, just in case?”

Veronica blinked sleepily before registering what John had said. “Oh, yes, I did. It’s in the downstairs bathroom, in my toiletries bag. You’re welcome to it, Brian.”

Brian raised his head again, squinting at Ronnie.

“Darling,” Freddie interjected, “he doesn’t know what your bag looks like.”

Veronica gestured to you, “Y/N, you know the one, the cream-tone bag with the silver edging.” You nodded, and she turned back to Brian. “Just take Y/N with you, she’ll show you.”

Brian sighed, then rolled onto his side and sat up gingerly.

He held a hand up over his eyes. “Feel like a stroll, Y/N?”

You stood, stretching your legs. “I would be a terrible friend if I said no.”

“And you’re not, you’re a wonderful friend, so you’re coming with me..?”

“You don’t have to ask. Come on.”

You picked up your towel and slung it over your shoulders, starting back up the path.

Brian was right behind you, taking careful steps to avoid particularly sharp pieces of gravel because he had once again neglected to wear shoes. It was never proper shoes with Brian; he alternated between clogs and socks and being barefoot entirely. With this, and his delicate countenance and curling hair and faraway thoughts, he was afforded the air of some woodland nymph or fairy.

He was beautiful.

You were very well aware.

Inside the house, you quickly found Veronica’s bag and the aloe vera.

Entering the living room where Brian was waiting, you triumphantly tossed the bottle into the air and caught it again. “Ta-daa,” you presented your find to Bri.

“Oh, brilliant!” he said as you passed him the bottle. “It is actually beginning to hurt quite a bit.” He touched his shoulder absently, then grimaced.

“Now that,” you said, “does not look like fun.” You made a face, then went into the adjoining kitchen to get a glass of water.

“How come I’m the only one who got burnt?” you heard him ask petulantly.

“Because, Brian dear, the rest of us put on sunscreen. And you are on the pale side of things.”

“Oh hush,” he said with exasperation, “you’re starting to sound like Freddie.”

You laughed, but you had also been in the process of drinking your water, so it came out like more of a cough.

“You alright in there?” Brian called.

“Yeah, fine,” you said, wiping the water from your chin. “I just can’t drink water like a normal person.”

“At least you don’t forget to, then nearly faint into your bandmates’ arms.”

“True,” you conceded, and he scoffed.

“Make me feel better, why don’t you?”

“What about you? You okay in there with that aloe vera?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t taste very nice.”

You rushed into the living room, “Brian! You’re not supposed to drink it!”

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he said, laughter in his eyes at the look on your face. “Christ, love, you’re like a deer in headlights.”

Your stomach tumbled— there it was again, the endearment.

Never darling or dearie, like Freddie; never sweetheart like Rog; never dear, as Deacy occasionally dubbed you. Always lovely, or love, as though he had such to give to you. And when Brian loved, it was fierce. You could see that from how the passing or his aunt haunted him, and how he still missed the cat he’d had in his childhood. His love for those around him was wholly consuming. The disapproval of his father picked him apart from the inside, he defended his friends with valour and gall when not physically pulling them from a fight, and it was plain that he would continue to do so for as long as he lived. But whomever he loved and however it was he loved, he did not love you.

And would never, for as long as he lived.

“Y/N?”

“Sorry, lost my train of thought,” you shook your head.

His brow furrowed. “Sure you’re alright?”

“Doin’ alriiiiight,” you sang.

Brian gave a laborious sigh, rubbing aloe vera over his shoulders. “You really need to spend less time with Freddie,” he said.

“What?” you leaned against the doorframe. “And spend more time with you instead?” You couldn’t help yourself, you couldn’t stop yourself from saying it. But Brian took it in stride.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he said with a smile, and you were glad you were leaning against something; your legs couldn’t have carried you at that moment, had your life depended on it.

“Y/N,” Brain began hesitantly, “there’s something I have to tell you—”

“Knock knock!” came a shout from the front door, and you and Bri turned toward the sound. Veronica waddled into sight a few seconds later, and you went into the kitchen to greet her. “Found the aloe vera?” she asked.

“Yes,” Brian nodded. “Thank you.”

“No trouble,” Ronnie eased herself into a chair by the dining table. “And I’m sure Y/N could—” She gasped.

“Ronnie?” you asked, as Brian said, “Are you okay?”

Veronica raised her eyes slowly. “I think my water just broke.”

“Uh,” you began. “And what day is it..?”

“It’s the eighteenth of July,” said Brian.

“That’s… early,” you frowned, rooted to the spot because you were quite clueless as to what to do.

Then you looked at Veronica. Her eyes were wide and her hands were shaking, and she’d gone quite pale. “That’s why I’m panicking!” she cried.

“Right,” Brian sprang into action, sweeping over to Ronnie and helping her up. “Let’s get you cleaned up and ready to go, Veronica. The contractions won’t be long now. Y/N, would you run down and fetch John— and Roger, since he’s the only one with a car— please?”

He looked at you almost pleadingly, as though you would ever have said no.

“Yes, of course,” you breathed, and hurtled out the door.

You rounded the corner to the swimming pool and tennis courts almost before you could notice how far you’d run. You’d never run this fast in your life, and after today, you did not intend to do it ever again.

“DEACY!” you shouted, and he got up from his sunchair immediately. Everyone else looked equally alarmed, no doubt with the same questions in mind that John voiced.

“What is it? What’s happened? Are you alright—”

“Yes, yes, god, I’m fine. But Veronica’s water just broke.”

“Oh fuck,” Deacy swore, throwing on a t-shirt and losing his sunglasses in the process. Freddie picked them up swiftly, put them back on John’s head.

“Roger,” you called, “we’re gonna need you to drive.”

“I’m coming,” he said, pulling on his shoes whilst hopping from foot to foot. “Deacs,” he clapped his friend on the back because Deacy had gone completely still. “Let’s go.”

Deacy nodded, swallowed. “I’m going to be a father,” he croaked.

“Yes yes,” said Freddie, “and a wonderful one at that. Now, away with you, darlings.” Freddie gave them both a push toward the path. “And what do you need from us, Y/N?”

“Stay here and make sure you’re by a telephone,” you said. “I’ve got to go with them— to give directions. And please tell my parents where we’ve gone, if you see them!”

“Will do,” Freddie was all business. He called to Deacy, “Good luck, dearie!” and the others echoed similar sentiments from about the pool.

You resolved that one more run wouldn’t hurt too much, and followed Deacy and Roger’s jog toward the main house.

Inside, Brian was waiting with Veronica, a glass of water and a packed bag of her things sitting beside her as he rubbed her shoulders. Brian himself had put on a button-up shirt, but had once more left his top two buttons undone. The sight of him undid you a little bit.

“See, John’s here now,” he said soothingly, and Ronnie gave a little cry, arms outstretched for her husband. “Her contractions have started,” Brian explained.

Deacy ran to his wife and hugged her gently. “Shhh, my dear, I’m here now. And Roger’s got the car keys, so we can go.”

Roger held up his keys triumphantly, then rushed back outside to start the Alfa Romeo. In response, Veronica only nodded mutely, burying her face in Deacy’s shoulder and clinging tightly to fistfuls of his t-shirt.

“Come on, let’s get you up,” Brian murmured, and he and Deacy helped Ronnie to walk toward the door. “Y/N, would you take that bag, please?”

“Yep,” you grabbed the bag and followed the others outside, shutting the door behind you.

Deacy and Brian aided Veronica into the backseat of Roger’s car, and you hopped into the passenger’s seat as Roger shifted gears and pulled out of the driveway.

Roger drove toward town, and made it successfully through in less than thirty minutes, by the combined efforts of speeding and ignoring traffic laws entirely.

“Now, help me out, Y/N,” he said, as a crossroads was reached, and you began to give directions.

In total, the drive took about forty minutes, and with Veronica’s contractions getting closer together, it was a relief to everyone involved when you told Roger to pull into the car park of the Royal Surrey County Hospital.

Out of the car went Ronnie, and you all hurried into the hospital building.

Deacy was swept away with his wife, leaving you and Roger and Brian to stand around aimlessly in the lobby.

The rush of urgency that had pounded through you in getting to the hospital had diminished and slowed now that you knew that your friend and her future child were in good hands, accompanied by the loving husband and father to-be. Deacy may have gone stock still when you’d first arrived by the poolside with the news of Veronica’s condition, but like Brian, when faced with the situation itself, he was a natural, and it was easy to see that he was going to be a wonderful father.

“Well, thank god that’s over,” Roger said, falling back into a chair.

Brian scoffed, taking the seat adjacent. “For you, maybe. The poor woman’s still got to go through labour for christ knows how many hours.”

“And once again,” Roger sighed, pushing his hair from his face and adjusting his sunglasses, “I am glad that I am not a woman. I was stressed enough driving up here, as it was.”

“Were you really,” said Brian dryly. “I had no idea.”

“Well then you’re a bit daft, aren’t you?”

“Sarcasm, Rog. That was sarcasm.”

Roger only rolled his eyes in response. “Come sit down, Y/N. We probably won’t be leaving anytime soon.”

You sat down in the chair next to Brian, though not intentionally; it was the last chair in the row.

“Blimey, these chairs are uncomfortable,” you remarked, having tried to straighten your posture and only succeeded in ailing your back more.

“I’ll second that,” said Roger, shifting in his seat. “And we’ve only been here for two minutes.”

But Brian looked at you more closely. “Back giving you trouble?” he asked.

Your back was giving you trouble, because since coming home to Ridge Farm, you’d been playing guitar every day for two hours at a time, outside of the hours Brian still taught you on Thursday nights, and your posture was getting worse and worse for every session you practiced.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

Brian shrugged his shoulders. “I have terrible posture, and given that I’m teaching you, you’ve probably learned from the worst.”

“You two are getting old,” said Roger.

“With every revolution of the Earth we are aging, yes,” Brian replied. “But as are you, Roger, so don’t get too cocky. The universe might just throw an asteroid in your direction, out of spite.”

“No science talk, please,” Roger flapped a hand. “I’m on holiday.”

“I thought Ridge Farm was for working on the album,” you said.

“Work, play, it all sort of blurs together,” Roger sighed. “And anyway, I’m not the one turning twenty-bloody-seven tomorrow, Brian.”

Brian winced.

But this was news to you. “Your birthday is tomorrow?”

“Mmm…”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Why,” Brian smiled, “were you planning on getting me something?”

You folded your arms. “Well, I would have, only there’s no time now.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Y/N,” Roger said, “he doesn’t like a fuss. Silly ol’ Bri always spends so much time fussing over everyone else that it gets to be too much when people fuss over him.”

Brian sank farther into his chair, his cheeks flushing. “If I didn’t tell you to do your washing, Roger, you never would.”

“Yes, mum,” Roger made a face, then picked up a magazine from the side table, obviously not interested in discussing his lack of homelife skills.

Brian blushed again, and smoothed a hand across his cheek.

Why he was embarrassed for being a genuinely caring and thoughtful person, you did not understand. Brian was the one whom everybody turned to for help, no matter the situation, and even when they did not ask for help, he knew instinctively when he was needed, waiting by their side to take them by the hand and make everything all right again.

At least, that was how you saw it.

“That’s not silly, though,” you murmured. “If everyone acted like that, the world would be a far better place.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Brian, “but thank you, Y/N.”

But you weren’t finished. “Back there with Veronica, I had no idea what to do. I just stood there.”

He touched the side of his nose, looking down at his feet. “Nothing special. Just instinct. I could have done more, really.”

You shook your head. “But it is something special, Brian. People don’t think like that.”

Brian looked up. “You do,” he said, unwaveringly.

“Not enough to act on it.”

“I—”

“Just shut up and accept the compliment. You’re a star, Bri.”

Faint amusement flitted across his face, as though he didn’t quite believe you, the corners of his eyes softening. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, glancing down with that adorable half-smile still on his lips.

Then he reached over and took your hand from where it lay on the armrest of the chair.

He dipped his head as you looked up at him, his curls falling over his face and shrouding you both in shadow, creating a little world that existed only for the two of you beneath the fluorescent lights of the hospital lobby.

His slender fingers tightened around yours, and his gaze warmed you, like basking in sunshine by the seaside.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and your heart followed.

⁺˚*·༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺

A/N: i slipped into a bit of borhap dialogue there, oops... also, ‘the prophet’s song’ was originally named ‘people of the world’, so that’s why that’s like that :)

taglist: @melting-obelisks​ @stardust-killer-queen​ @hgmercury39​ @topsecretdeacon @joemazzmatazz​ @perriwiinkle​ @brianmays-hair​ @iamsuperconfusedallthetime-dead @im-an-adult-ish​ @ilikebigstucks​​ @doing-albri​ @killer-queen-87​ @n0-self-c0ntro1​ @archaicmusings​

Masterpost / Part 10 / Part 12

[itsybitsylemonsqueezy]

Hey, it’s me again! ^_^ I hope I don’t bother you too much with my requests, but your posts are so cool I just can’t help it. Upon completing Yakuza 4 I’ve had a lot of thoughts and feels about Daigo and how his character was handled across the series. To be honest, at first I didn’t like him much, because he seemed pretty bland (and his screen time leaves much to be desired), but soon enough he’s really grown on me. What is your opinion on him if you don’t mind me asking?

I definitely do not mind requests! Meta is my bread and butter c: I’ve just been busy for a few days, sorry ^^; And... my opinions on Daigo are not going to be as mindblowing or exciting as my opinions on Kiryu, I’ll be real ^^; And there’s a big advantage in Kiryu being the protag, All of the content is about him ^^; I do love Daigo, I think he’s a super interesting character, but his tragedy is just what you pointed out, he’s underutilized. And he isn’t set up very well to have the position he holds. 

But, so saying, let’s get into my essay on Daigo ^^; 

So, we meet Daigo properly in game 2. There’s little side stories with baby Daigo in Zero which helps build Daigo’s and Kiryu’s relationship and set up for what would later happen, but we don’t really know him until game 2. And game 2 is a LOT about Daigo and his arc and what he’s meant to be! There’s a tumblr text post meme somewhere with a pic of Daigo depressed in his little puffy white coat that says “And I’ll probably become the next chairman of the Tojo Clan. Things like that just happens to guys like me.” and that is totally accurate! Like, it’s a funny thing to complain about, but that’s obviously the struggle Daigo’s having, understanding from a young age that it was obviously his destiny to succeed Sohei, the only problem is uh... well... Kiryu. 

I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Dojima Sohei never became chairman of the Tojo Clan. And that’s really wild thinking back to Zero and how powerful he was, he was all but a shoo in for chairman. But then, uh... Kiryu. Kiryu happened. Kiryu, and Majima I should say, are the reason Sera becomes chairman, not Sohei. Forever upsetting the wheels of fate. Given where we see Sohei next, I can’t imagine that he ever really recovered from that upset ^^; And I’m SURE it made him bitter towards Kiryu the rest of his life. And considering, again, where we see him next, I think the canon supports this ^^; 

So what becomes of Daigo’s destiny then? His father had victory snatched away, destiny denied, and everything he had slowly crumbles over time, leaving his son with less and less to inherit, but still with the ideology that he should take this over. That’s an awkward position to be in. 

And then Sera dies. Ooh, golly, I wonder who the next chairman’s gonna- it’s Kiryu. Of course it’s fucking Kiryu, how could it not be? It OBVIOUSLY should be Kiryu. He’s the strongest, the bravest, and who inspires the most loyalty. It doesn’t matter that Kiryu’s never been in leadership before, he TURNS people. Kiryu could get anyone on his side through sheer force of personality, which is hilarious to say about a guy with maybe 3 facial expressions. But tell me I’m wrong. I cannot count the number of part-time antagonists who turned on a dime because Kiryu beat their ass. And anyone who can do that can rule the world. Kiryu was absolutely the best pick for chairman and I will fight the world on this.

(Abbreviated for length, this is a LONG post)

But... then Kiryu makes the stupidest decision of his entire fucking life and renounces the chairmanship. And he has his reasons, feeling unworthy, traumatized from the events of Kiwami 1, unsure if he even wants to stay in the yakuza or if there’s maybe something else he wants to do with his life... he’s going through a lot of intense self-reflection and self-doubt and, I hate to harp on it, but fucking trauma. His brother blew himself up in front of him in a bid for redemption after all but telling Kiryu that all of his mistakes are Kiryu’s fault. Yeah, no, I’m sure Kiryu’s doing FINE with that. So, like, I can see why Kiryu said no, but it was still... fucking nuts. And it irrevocably changed the trajectory of everyone in this universe. Which Kiwami 2 goes out of its way to explore. Kiryu’s leaving? Majima fucking retires, Terada’s suspect, there aren’t any old, loyal hands left to lead the families, and we see how vulnerable the Tojo clan is on every side because Kiryu just up and fucked off. 

(I have A LOT of feelings about Kiryu being chairman and someday I will have the strength to write the AU we all deserve where Kiryu stays as chairman)

So... the wheel of fate turns and oh yeah remember Daigo? Dojima Sohei’s son Daigo? The kid who’s been raised his whole life to take over the clan only to be denied at every turn? How’s he doing? Not great! It turns out, not great! Kiryu, his father figure, killed his ACTUAL father, but didn’t really, took the blame for some other weird guy, leaving Daigo with one badass mother and very little direction in life. Daigo’s been brought up thinking he’ll take over a great kingdom but all that’s left now is a broken wreck about to be demolished and picked apart by scavengers. Great, yeah, just what any kid wants to inherit. And he wasn’t trained to fix this, it’s kinda shitty to saddle him with destiny and then not train him for the thing that actually has to be done and then do it anyway. It’s real shitty actually. And not many people help Daigo. 

Daigo couldn’t have taken the chairmanship directly from Sera, he was still just a teenager then. But it probably would have been nice if Kiryu checked in with him even fucking once since getting out of jail. But no, we never explain on screen to Daigo what happened as far as I can remember. Which, I feel, is a pretty fucking big oversight. How the fuck is Daigo supposed to trust you Kiryu? Or we’re supposed to believe he just figured it out off screen and holds no grudges? Like, I’m sure knowing Kiryu didn’t kill Sohei helps, but he couldn’t fucking tell you that himself? He couldn’t trust you with that information or that conversation? Fuck this. Very understandably, Daigo has his own crisis of faith about the yakuza, very much in parallel to Kiryu’s. Why the fuck SHOULD he go to bat for a crumbling organization that has only proven itself to be a dog chasing its own tail, willing to devour itself at the slightest provocation? It took his father, both his fathers, and he didn’t really get either of them back. Why the fuck should he try to fix that? 

And to its credit, Kiwami 2 does a decent job of articulating Daigo’s motivations there. I could have done with even more, but I think they do him credit in showing him as disenfranchised and lost. And I think it’s refreshing to see someone have to confront the consequences of what’s happened since Kiryu left. Because the games don’t do a good job of showing that this is Kiryu’s direct fault. They never like to make Kiryu’s decisions have consequence, which is poor use of a protag. Rightly or wrongly, their decisions ALWAYS have consequence, or they’re not the protag. You can’t have it both ways. If this person is going to matter then, guess what, their consequences matter. Kiryu turned away. Rightly or wrongly, he did that. Daigo will never get that opportunity. Child of destiny. Not only was he bred and raised for this, he doesn’t know how to do anything else either. He doesn’t have other options the way Kiryu does. And we’re in a terrible vacuum of power. Terada’s namely in charge, but no one’s loyal to him. Even if he wasn’t deliberately fostering this, the Tojo Clan can’t survive without faith in their leader. Daigo, by fact of being his fathers’ son, can bind what’s left. And he has to because Kiryu won’t. Which is... really shitty. So either Daigo does this, or we all hang. And we never quite articulate that this is on Kiryu’s say so. Kiryu could still take over now and fix it he just... won’t.

And on top of this already comfortably stressful situation... we set Daigo up to come into a stable situation of power, where his transition would be smooth. We didn’t give him the tools to know how to salvage. He’s not practiced negotiating with hostile entities or even just people who will resent him because he’s young. And he’s lost a lot of faith, without even charisma and willpower on his side, this is a massively uphill battle. If he doesn’t believe, who else will believe him? Daigo knows this. And we watch that struggle go on, all while Kiryu just cheerleads. He hasn’t decided yet if he’s gonna stay in the yakuza either and he’s lowkey depressed after Kiwami 1. Lowkey he’s just suffering depression and can’t do as much as he normally would. Not an excuse, but I think an important way to read how tired and reluctant he is. Some therapy would really fucking help. 

Anyway, we manage to get through Kiwami 2 and install Daigo as chairman, at which point Kiryu fucks off for good. Now, he kinda/sorta leaves some supports for Daigo, in Majima specifically, but also in Kashiwagi and I wanna believe in Daigo’s mom too. She was so cool and then we just... never talked about her again ^^; Laaaame *sigh* So, I guess, Kiryu did try to fulfill his remaining responsibilities as Daigo’s living father, but mostly it was just an excuse for him to leave and not feel guilty. Mostly it was him foisting off his duties onto someone else. He didn’t stay to teach Daigo everything he knew about the people Daigo would have to control. He didn’t teach Daigo and Majima how to talk to each other, a thing which REPEATEDLY comes back to bite us in the ass. He’s not there for Daigo to ask advice and help. Kiryu is full of confidence for Daigo, he’s not TRYING to make him fail, but Kiryu’s so caught up in his own need to leave, he neglects to people who need him. 

And Daigo, to his everlasting credit, does his best to get by without Kiryu’s help. As much as possible, he never calls to ask Kiryu for help. And he does grow into a quite competent chairman! He does successfully rehabilitate the Tojo Clan, he makes them profitable again, he insists on respect and people don’t run amok under him. He does it, he salvages a dying organization. And he may not even really believe in it, but he has such a sense of responsibility, he does it anyway. He knows there’s no one else. He knows if he goes to Kiryu and says I don’t want this, Kiryu won’t help him. Kiryu didn’t mean for it to happen this way, he didn’t mean to be selfish and put others in a bad position. But he wasn’t there to listen. And I think Kiryu eventually comes to rue that. 

The very unfortunate thing about Kiryu is... he is a dragon. Even though he is kind and generous and not greedy in a conventional sense, he is greedy. As much as Kiryu is a powerhouse because come hell or high water, he does what he thinks is right... this also makes him extremely selfish. He can be blind to other people’s needs and refused to be tied down. Again, for the best of reasons, because he’s trying to raise a family, because this environment is triggering for him, but he just hauls off and does things instead of talking to anyone which... makes him impossible to have a working relationship with. He has to learn to talk and to listen and that he can’t make all of the decisions by himself. The great irony being, Kiryu never wants to, but he doesn’t know how to ask for help. He’s so used to have everything put on him, he doesn’t realize it doesn’t have to be that way... but anyway, I’m getting caught up ^^; The point is, he thinks because he ditched the Tojo Clan they no longer care about him. Which is... naive at best. Of course people still care about you dumbass. Which makes Kiryu a massive vulnerability to the Tojo. In 3 and 4, Daigo makes stupid calls trying to protect Kiryu and trying to protect his interests. And because Kiryu hasn’t left open an avenue for them to talk, Daigo has to make these decisions on his own with bad information and he does his fucking best. But... he doesn’t know how to make the best of what he has, not like Kiryu would, and he fucks up sometimes. 

I really, really love game 4 for that reason. Daigo’s fuck up is SO understandable, SO reasonable. It sounded like a good idea, it sounded like peace and harmony. And he was left without a leg to stand on before he knew it. In many ways, it wasn’t his fault. Kiryu himself says as much. And I may never forgive the end of 4 for letting Kiryu REALIZE he defaulted on his responsibilities but then, instead of changing his behavior in any way, he fucks off back to Okinawa. God... *siiiigh* ANYWAY. 

And this struggle, this lack of communication, but unstated loyalty, comes full circle in game 5. When Daigo is literally drowning, literally knows he’s going to fail this time and there’s nothing he can do, and even when he’s with Kiryu, he can’t bring himself to ask for help. He knows Kiryu won’t or can’t. Instead he asks for absolution. He tries to tell his dad he’s just been doing his best and... he’s sorry for the terrible things that are about to happen. How gutting that Daigo can only see himself as a failure because... he’s not Kiryu. No one’s Kiryu. Even Kiryu refuses to be Kiryu. But Daigo knows if he was just Kiryu, things would be better. He’s not a legend. He’s not a god. He’s not all-powerful or crazy or impossible. He’s just a guy, doing his best because he had to. Because there was no one else. And some days Daigo does great, but a lot of days, he doesn’t measure up. And that eats at Daigo like mold. Kiryu would NEVER look at Daigo this way. Heck, most people at that point would never compare them. It’s in Daigo’s head, but it still hurts. He’s still, even now, looking up to Kiryu and he’ll just... never quite get there. 

This is the only good thing I will ever say about game 6, and it was still 2 or 3 games too late, but Kiryu finally acknowledging Daigo as his son was good. Kiryu saying he was proud and saying he was grateful was good. Again, several games late, but... it still mattered. It still mattered that, in the end, Kiryu recognized his legacy in Daigo. That he understood so much of what Daigo did and does and is and was is for him. That mattered. 

Daigo is a great chairman who takes care of his clan. But he was robbed of his relationship with his father. The games never work on the relationships that exist, strong relationships, for reasons I will never understand. Games 3, 4, and 5 would have been SO much more interesting if we had just like Kiryu talk to his fucking friends. Two would have been SO much easier if Kiryu had just been fucking chairman like he was fucking supposed to be and the transition of power to Daigo came later and smoother, with Kiryu helping to make it. Daigo tries his hardest every day and he’s an incredible negotiator and savior after all the shit he’s had to pull the Tojo Clan through, kicking and screaming and fighting to tear itself apart every damn day. The generation above him is all legends, Majima and Saejima and Kiryu. Daigo isn’t one of them. But he’s better because he was here and because he tries and because he succeeds. We need Daigo. We deserve him. 

[jcmorrigan]

Blakeworther headcanons. I don't have a specific theme or anything in mind. Go ham

Go ham, you say?

GO HAM, YOU SAY?

Sorry not sorry but this is about to become mega cringe time. Because I do *have* a specific set of headcanons preloaded but it is not at ALL what you asked for

I love crossovers, and I want to import the Bastard Trio into my current crossover hell fic. So I was kind of playing with their dynamic in my mind, and one of the ways I test out character dynamics is to send them on little imaginary missions to other crossover worlds in my mind. Now, I’m in the midst of watching a playthrough of Skyward Sword, which I have heretofore not experienced. And I’m not exactly finished with it. But for some mental warm-ups, I was thinking, “Okay. SkSw is the other big fandom I’m trying, and it’s as far from the G4 as you can get, so what if you put three sci-fi guys in a high fantasy setting and watched them go? What if they had to take Link’s journey, except their goal is most certainly not to save anything because they’re swaggering murderers? What would happen then?”

This...is that story. But only up through the part where I watched (the first of the Silent Realms). Maybe a part II later if I keep doing this?

-To blend in, our boys have gotten themselves some Loftwings. While Vincent’s and Victor’s look like ordinary giant shoebills...oh. Oh, dear. Albert...how did you manage to turn it into a Dream Eater so fast? Its beak is white, its feathers are black, it has no eyes and people are STARING.

-Albert refuses to discard or fix the Dream Eater Loftwing. It’s going to be his steed for this entire quest. Joy.

-NOBODY played fair when they had to race against Groose. They teamed up to knock him off his bird and it’s a miracle he survived. Especially since he wasn’t supposed to survive that.

-Like I said, I have no idea what their endgame goal is here because they’re certainly not trying to stop Demise. Or are they? Because they befriend Ghirahim right the heck away and it’s entirely possible they’re like “We’re from the future, this guy will shatter you, you deserve better, please leave Demise in the ground and join our team”

-And when I say they befriend Ghirahim right away I mean ESPECIALLY ALBERT

-Victor loves shopping at the bazaar because he can play-flirt with Peatrice and she’ll flirt right back. Meanwhile if the fortune teller attempts to reel in Vincent ONE MORE TIME there will be blood.

-Vincent Edgeworth is forcibly removed from the Skyloft bazaar

-Victor is the only person who remotely likes Fi, probably because she’s quite visibly supposed to be an AI and he is quite visibly part robot.

-They hit the ground and get going!

-Oh no. Kikwis. They hate Kikwis so much.

-The one that’s up in the tree, the three of them debate how to most quickly get down. Vincent: “We don’t bother and just say we did.” Victor: “If we threw a rock at it, it would fall out.” Albert: “I think we should set the whole tree on fire.”

-They get into the first dungeon, and you know that one segment where you have to vine-swing and the motion controls are so unforgiving? Vincent fell off those vines like twelve times and Victor and Albert lost their shit

-They get the beetle and now that thing’s a Dream Eater, too. Albert please stop doing this

-Back at Skyloft, doing sidequests is their least favorite thing. They do not give a SHIT about Gratitude Crystals if they don’t have to do so. The missing girl’s mom comes up to tell her problems and Vincent just goes “This affects me how?”. The brother says his sister went missing and Victor’s just like “We’ll take care of it!” and as soon as he’s out of earshot “Let’s not take care of it.” Cawlin hands them the love letter to deliver to Karane or Phoeni, Albert rips it in half in front of Cawlin, Cawlin starts bawling, Victor just goes “Actually I kinda wanted to do that one and see if we could start romance drama”

-Into Eldin Province and Mogmas are...only slightly less aggravating than Kikwis

-VINCENT ALMOST EXPLODES WHEN HE LEARNS THE KEY TO THE NEXT DUNGEON IS SPLIT IN PIECES AND HE HAS TO DIG IN THE DIRT FOR IT

-So then there’s that one passage in the valley where if you don’t just book it, your clothes will catch on fire. They blaze through it, and Fi determines that they’ve sustained no damage, which is good, because if they’d been exposed a moment longer, then surely one of them would be naked. Victor, hearing this, promptly tosses some personal item of his back into the high-heat area; “Oops. I dropped it. Go get it, Vincent.” Albert: “YES! GO GET IT, VINCENT!”

-It is only sheer willpower and Victor’s physical restraint that keeps Vincent from beating Ledd to a pulp.

-They actually kinda like hanging around the sacred springs, though. They’re tranquil places. A good way to just...not have to deal with all that noise. They can sit by the water quietly for a while, just watching it ripple.

-And back to business! They enter Lanayru, discover that the Time Crystals can revert this desert into a technological paradise and...yeah, it was way, WAY better in the past than it is now. They poke around some of the tech, taking notes for later in case they can reverse-engineer any of it.

-Dream Eater Beetle has been replaced by a brand-new shiny Hook Beetle! Albert, please don’t turn this one into a - GOD DAMMIT ALBERT. HOW ARE YOU EVEN DOING THIS WITH INANIMATE OBJECTS.

-They get in such a fight about how to place the generator switches. Victor is trying his best but he’s SURE they don’t arrange the way the other two are trying to tell him they arrange

-Every time they pass Ghirahim they stop to chat with him about how the demon uprising is going, also aren’t heroines just so freaking annoying? Zelda, Vanora, why are they always getting in the way?

-Victor of course tries to put the verbal moves on Impa. At this point Vincent and Albert know he just does this for fun, he’s faithful to the two of them, but still, they gotta do the obligatory eyeroll and groan

-”Yes, Victor. She’s very pretty. We’re gay, not blind”

-Vincent actually enjoys playing the Goddess Harp, surprisingly. He can just zone into the music.

-The Imprisoned gets out and hoo boy, they’re really not supposed to be DEFEATING evil just yet but Albert wants to cut off some TOES (and this ends up yielding them knowledge about the Isle of Songs so it’s all good)

-Scrapper annoys them all and visibly offends Victor.

-Vincent likes to use the bellows from the Eldin dungeon to blow away anyone who tries to rope him into a sidequest. Albert then goes “I’ve just realized the potential we have!” and tries to blow people off the edge of Skyloft.

-They hate the remlits until they find out that the remlits go feral at night and now they love the remlits but only after dark

-Into the Thunderhead for the Isle of Songs. And YET AGAIN WE CANNOT AGREE ON HOW TO SOLVE THE PUZZLE THAT LETS US INSIDE

-Down to Faron’s realm to get to the Silent Realm. Once they’re in there and have learned about the guardians...

-Vincent: “Now we have to be CAREFUL and QUICK or else the guardians will expel us immediately, maybe even kill us.” Victor: “You might want to tell him that.” Vincent: “Wh - ALBERT NO”

-Albert is investigating a dormant guardian close-up and decides “I want to take one of these home.”

-Vincent: “NO, Albert, we can’t...hmmmm. Actually, we could probably weaponize them...” Victor: “CAN WE NOT?”

-And then cue them risking life and limb not to get what they even came here for but to pick up AS MANY DARK RELICS AS THEY CAN CARRY

And that’s as far as I’ve watched in SkSw so far. Not sure whether or not I’ll keep using it as a Blakeworther ground, but there, have the AU you *never* wanted

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 162

162

Keith didn’t know what it was, but he just had the feeling something wasn’t right. It’d formed in the pit of his stomach until he was completely distracted by it. Staying to help the Garrett’s clean up the garage, Hunk drove him back home a little before five, teasing him over his absentmindness and the few small mistakes he’d made. Hunk’s teasing should have been annoying, still, Keith kind of felt better for it. They’d grown so comfortable around each other that they’d progressed into that side of friendship. Keith not hesitating to tease Hunk back just as a bad over the way he’d turned into a stammering mess when Shay had dropped by with muffins.

Pulling up at the house, Keith let out a long sigh of relief. He wanted a hot shower and to scrub his hands within an inch of their lives. Plucking leaving and gravel out the cold puddle where the pump was blocked had left his hands kind of gross. Both silently mutually agreeing Hunk would come in, they climbed from the car, jogging up to the front door as the rain started spitting again. Opening the door, Hunk let out a gasp as he stepped back with his hands raised. Rieva and Matt were both standing in the entrance area, both in their wolf forms and both looked ready to attack with their razor sharp teeth bared at them.

Rieva was the first to relax, shifting to her human form without caring she was very very naked

“Rieva!”

Hunk let out a strangled kind of groan as he covered his face

“Argh! You... you’re naked why are you naked?! Clothes. You need clothes!”

Keith nodded in agreement, his gaze on his feet. Stupid werewolves and their “pro-nudity”. Rieva huffing at the pair of them

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know who it was”

Yes, well, okay. She could shift back now, or at least find some modesty

“You do know! Put some clothes on!”

“Stop yelling. I’ve finally got Lance calmed back down and I don’t want the pair of you riling him up”

Keith’s brain blanked the fact Rieva was naked as he raised his head, then quickly used his hand to shield his eyes. Sniffing the air, Keith smelt something sweet lingering. That bad feeling in his stomach, dropped as if he’d missed the bottom step in a set of stairs. Moving on instinct, Keith strode towards the living room, jogging once he reached the doorway. Lance was curled up with Kosmo by his side, his boyfriend’s scent screaming at him

“Let him rest”

Rieva was between him and Lance in an instance. Lance’s scent should have set off the pair of werewolves. They should have called the moment Lance got upset

“Rieva”

“Keith, let him rest. I only just got him calmed back down”

Yeah. Good for her. Lance needed him and they all knew it. Resisting the urge to shove Rieva, because he wasn’t that stupid, Keith grit his teeth

“He’s upset! I can smell it. He smells like he’s in heat. He’s upset and not just a little bit. Fuck, I knew something was up”

“He’s resting. He needs his rest”

“Then let me take him up to our room”

“I think here is the best place for him”

“Ummm. Guys... Maybe we can talk about this?”

Matt sat near Hunk who’d taken half a step away from him. The poor guy had limited wolf experience with Matt and Rieva in their wolf forms

“I am sorry, Hunk. It would be better if you went home for the day. I need to have a conversation with Keith”

That was obvious. Rieva was on edge. Her posture stiff. Something big had happened, but that didn’t mean Hunk should be sent away

“Hunk’s Lance’s best friend... You don’t have to send him away when he’s worried for his bud”

“I’m right here... Rieva, it’s okay. My sisters came today. To ask for Mami’s rings back...”

Both? Both of them... here... in their house. What right they did they have? What bullshit had they stirred up? Did Luis come too? More importantly why hadn’t Lance reached out?

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“There were things that needed to be said”

Rieva sighed. Keith really, really wished she’d put clothes on. He’d be hearing it from Matt over looking at Rieva naked

“They brought the police with them. Lance was too kind to them both. I don’t care for them and I have warned them not to return here”

“Rieva, can you and Matt please go get dressed already. Keith, come sit down. Hunk, you can stay too if you don’t mind monopolising Keith for a little bit”

Hunk came over to them, stumbling as he tried not to look at Rieva

“Dude, I might go for now, but we’ll talk right?”

Lance nodded, holding his arms out for a hug which Hunk was happy to provide. The two besties hugging each other tightly

“Thanks, man. I’m okay. Rieva’s just being a bit overly protective and territorial. Want to come over for lunch tomorrow?”

“That’ll be great”

“Perfect. Bring Shay too, if she can come. I love you, bro”

“I love you, too. Let me know if you need me to bring anything”

“Just yourselves. Better message the gremlin too”

“I’ll talk to Pidge... but... uh... we’ll be wearing clothes tomorrow, won’t we?”

“Yeah, clothes will be worn. Rieva’s been back and forth between forms. She’s lucky it’s too horrible outside to kick them out”

“You wouldn’t anyway”

Lance snorted

“No. I wouldn’t. I’ll see you tomorrow”

“Sure thing”

Being Hunk, Keith was also hugged. Hunk giving him a look that said he expected an explanation yet was glad to be escaping way too much nudity and Rieva’s wrath. Keith wished he could take Lance and run from her too. He wasn’t equiped to deal with Rieva when she was acting this protective, also, it was his job to protect Lance and his job to be there for him. Rieva had done enough.

With Hunk taking his leave, Keith manhandled Kosmo off of Lance’s legs to sit beside his boyfriend. Lance as cute as ever as he sank into him

“You smell”

Maybe not that cute. No. He was cute, and also definitely experiencing heat like effects from the run in

“That happens when you spend the day playing pool boy and unblocking the damn pump. Do you want me to shower?”

“Not yet...”

Kissing the top of Lance’s hair, Lance nosed into Keith’s chest

“Okay. Are you okay? Did they... What the fuck happened?”

“Can you guys give us a little space? I know you’re going to hear us, but I need to talk to Keith and my ego is setting us all off”

Rieva gave Keith a nod

“I’ll leave him your hands. We’ll be in our room, come, Matthew”

Matt obediently trotted off, Rieva walking out behind him. Kosmo didn’t know what to do with himself. Patting the space beside him, Kosmo jumped up to lick at Keith’s face

“Stop it, you. Lie down already”

“Let him be. He missed you”

“Tell him that. God, those paws of his...”

Kosmo was best boy, until his paws went places paws really shouldn’t

“Kosmo, down!”

Jumping off the sofa, Kosmo huffed at Lance, then laid out on the floor in front of the sofa. Keith already knew Lance wore the pants in the relationship, but damn if Kosmo wasn’t as whipped as he was

“You’ve got him trained”

“Nah. He’s just happy to have you home. We both are”

Kissing Lance’s hair again, Keith nodded as he did

“I’m late again”

“I’m okay now. I’ve had time to... calm back down”

“Babe, I can smell you. You haven’t calmed down, plus, your sisters came”

“They did. Luis called the cops over Mami’s ring. He couldn’t come near me, shot himself in the foot taking out a restraining order”

“So he sent Veronica and Rachel to do his dirty work”

Lance sighed heavily, far too heavily for Keith’s heart to bare

“No. I mean, yes, but no. I had a panic attack after they left, but I also got to say a lot of things I wanted to Vee”

Veronica being called “Vee” seemed intimate. That his sisters came and that Luis was still harping on about Mami’s ring was ridiculous

“They shouldn’t be dragging you in”

“I was mad, but I know the police. Pidge didn’t always get all the permissions she needed, but they’re solid. I was mad and then I kept thinking about it. I don’t think Vee... I don’t think she wanted to antagonise me. I think she... I think she actually wanted to hear about Mami’s last days but didn’t want to go against Luis. I think maybe if I were to talk to her, that maybe she wouldn’t ignore me”

That went against everything Keith thought he knew about Lance’s sibling dynamic

“That’s...”

“Surprising. I know. Rachel still hates me as much as ever. She was the one who came, Rieva kept her eye on her. She also asked them to leave”

“You didn’t?”

Lance had the habit of having to talk... but to talk to his siblings who’d treated him so cruelly over the years, that must have really fucking sucked

“I did but Vee needed to hear what I had to say. I think she... when they left... I fell apart again. About never hearing from them ever again. I know I’m not making sense. I told them to forget me and to be happy. Them knowing everything would only hurt them more. I keep... I keep trying to cut them off. To move on. I can’t forget what they did and I can’t forget the times when we were happy. I heard so many stories in Cuba that I felt kind of reconnected with them again, but they don’t want me”

Taking Lance by the chin, Keith tilted his boyfriend’s head up

“You’ve done more than enough. You’ve given more than you have to give. Anyone would understand if you threw them out without a second thought”

Keith would have. He’d never hit a girl who wasn’t a supernatural being, yet he sure as heck would have lost his temper at the pair of them for using Lance. They were lucky to have left before he came home

“I couldn’t do that. They’re Mami’s children. I don’t know what the next step is. I told Vee I’d send her some photos from Cuba. With everything happening I never got Coran to look at my phone. I just... I wish it didn’t have to hurt this badly. I’m meant to be relaxing ahead of our trip to see your dad”

Their three day trip. Lance asked if he’d wanted to go for longer, Keith didn’t want to stray too far from home too long in case there were complications with Lance’s pregnancy. He, Shiro and Lance were going. Krolia... he wasn’t completely sure on. That afternoon had been so long and so much said. Curtis’s demon issue had been pushed back, Coran having to recalculate the new best day which fell late in March, though there calculations and all kind of stuff that went over Keith’s head. All of them wanted to push the trip back for his sake, yet Curtis refused, Lance upset for his friend. Now they’d be leaving on the 5th of March... as a solid maybe with a more than likely yes unless they changed plans again which could happen seeing their group chat was filled with plans. Theoretically if Lance was to go into labour during their trip there was a chance the twins would survive, none of them wanted to take that chance though. February really needed not to be ending so damn fast.

“My dad would rather you be safe and everything be alright”

Keith hoped so at least. They seemed to be the right words as Lance gave him a soft smile

“I hope they’re okay. I want to bake as long as possible before popping”

“I know. But we need to be as careful as possible. I really wish you’d let me take you to Coran”

“And I really wish you’d fuck me on the sofa”

Lance blinked at him. Keith blinking back. Okay... Here he thought Lance was settling, but that would be a big fat nope

“You’re having symptoms still”

Lance blushed hard

“I didn’t... fuck. I’m sorry, that just slipped out. Babe, false contractions happen. It’s not a medical emergency you need to rush me to Coran in the middle of the night over”

“I’m allowed to worry”

How was he supposed to know the difference between something like that and something serious? He wasn’t the one who was pregnant. He wasn’t the one who’s body could turn traitor. All he could do was worry

“I know you worry. You’re right. I am. It was bad before. My ego set off Matt’s and Rieva’s, serving to upset mine further. The fact I told my siblings to forget I exist and to never come back... I can’t believe I said it. I felt alone again. It’s so stupid. I have more of a family in you and our friends than I have with them. Rachel seemed ready to puke over my pregnancy. Vee barely seemed to care. She even asked me if you hurt me, like she cared”

“I don’t know what to say about that. Is your heat bad?”

He didn’t know how to “biological sibling”. They were weird. Shiro was weird enough as I was. Lowering his gaze, Lance mumbled

“It’s not great. I’m sure it was affecting Matt and Rieva. Honestly my head’s such a damn mess. I’m horny as hell, and content now you’re home. It’s embarrassing”

“You can’t control it. Plus, I’m sure Matt and Rieva wouldn’t mind taking a half an hour drive”

“I’m not throwing them out my house. That’s mean. All they did was try to comfort me. Rachel didn’t know where to look when Rieva turned back and she was all naked”

Keith definitely felt he was owed some form of compensation for having to face a naked Rieva

“I didn’t know where to look. I didn’t even want to look. If they’re affected too, maybe they should go work it out elsewhere... somewhere they won’t have to listen to us?”

“Babe... It’ll pass”

“We both know sometimes it doesn’t and you’re left on edge like this for hours. Being intimate isn’t about you being in pain over something that you don’t have control of”

Lance snuggled into him, hand dipping between Keith’s thighs suggestively

“I love that you love you. But I can’t kick them out”

“Then we’ll just have to be quiet”

“Nope! We’re going! Save your horny!”

Dragging Rieva along, Matt yelled at them as he stuck his head in the room. Lance couldn’t have been more embarrassed if he tried. Rieva finally had clothes on, explaining

“Sorry. Lance’s scent set our egos off, he’s right. Lance, enjoy your heat, Keith knows I will break him if he hurts you. We’ll come back after dinner with Pidge. I think that will be best for all egos”

Lance’s tone wobbled as he replied

“I’m sorry, guys. Thank you for being here today. Egos can be a total pain in the arse”

“We’d never hold this against a pack member. Matthew, let’s go already”

Left alone, Lance sighed at him. Clearly a disappointed sigh

“I can’t believe we kicked them out so we could have sex”

At least they’d left. When he and Lance couldn’t leave they had to pull out their noise cancelling headphones or risk hearing way too much. Keith wasn’t so much concerned with having sex as he was worried about Lance being stuck in a state where his body wasn’t listening. Lance would never push sex on him, and Keith was only human. A human with a high sex drive for that glorious arse, even at the worst of times

“Actually I kind of wanted to kick them out sooner so I could talk to privately about your sisters. I smelt you from the doorway. All afternoon I felt like something was wrong. Hunk teased me about it”

Instead of laughing or snorting at him, Lance raised an eyebrow

“Babe, would you rather talk about that or go have a shower before you have your wicked way with me?”

“I’d rather make sure you’re doing okay mentally before pushing anything physical”

“I’m better now I’ve calmed down and thought about it, but I’m also wet as fuck and trying to cope with that too”

Keith groaned at Lance. He was trying to give his boyfriend the out if he felt he needed it

“That’s not fair”

Lance fell silent for several exceptionally long moments that made Keith feel like maybe he’d done something wrong or Lance was worrying about him not being in the mood and felt the decision forced

“Babe?”

Lance sucked in a shaky breath

“You’re... you’re my family... right?”

“Oh, babe. Of course I am. You’re my family. You, our boys, my family”

“I love you so much, Keith. So much. I’m sorry I didn’t call, I wasn’t in the right frame of mind when they left. Plus you saw how protective Matt and Rieva were. If something happened to you, even by accident...”

“Nothings going to happen. I’m going to take a shower and then I’m going to come back and make you feel amazing”

“I’d like that. And cuddles after?”

“As many as you can stand”

[thirdmagic]

i was going through some files and stuff and found a profile and my room lines for an older david alt i wrote up around two years ago, and i read it over and decided that i still like it so i’m going to dump this here and run away

My Room Lines

1 There is only one, in this world or any other, who I truly serve. Oh, but don't take this to mean you don't have my full cooperation. Rather, it would be more suitable for you to treat me as I were a general in your army, or a military advisor, more than a Servant. I would be more useful to you this way, rather than a single individual solider.'

2 For you, the leader of your army, to be staying in your room, bored, while your troops go off to work and make war... Master, such situations never lead to anything good, you know? It's a terrible waste of valuable time. Come, now, let's be off. There is a great deal to be done.

3 This is quite the role reversal for me, actually. You're like me in life; the head of a great and powerful army, and me, a soldier in the midst of the battlefield that you survey. It seems I've taken the role of your Joab, in fact... perhaps in the end I'm really meant to serve much more than to lead.

4 I will serve you, of course, to the best of my abilities. But I have no intent to stay silent, or go along with it blindly, if you act incorrectly. ... Of course, I do not expect you to act flawlessly at all times, either-- in your position, one often has to make difficult choices. Just keep it in mind.

5 (Archer David) Yes, yes, I know that other me is here. Please, don't remind me. Honestly... what's he doing, that stupid old man? Running around in the body of our younger self... does he miss our youth so much he's trying to recreate it? Delusional old pervert, that's what he is... don't trust him, Master. That he is a useless, frivolous slacker makes him seem harmless, but he's much worse! He's cunning and duplicitous and-- why are you laughing?

6 (Sheba) Ah, this woman-- I know of her. As a fellow monarch like her, and her rival, I respect her. As Solomon's father, I am wary of her, and hope she did not lead his heart astray. There will be some time before I can accept her into the family. Though, that said, if this is any indication of his taste in women-- well, now! Not bad at all.

7 (Avicebron) A great poet and philosopher, and a wise man. But one whose soul was deeply troubled, and who struggles with actions that have soiled his hands. But I won't disrespect him with my pity. All I can say is that I understand. True wisdom, after all, brings the heart a great deal of trouble.

(Bonus: I wrote this profile way before Atlantis/Olympus happened so I guess these don’t really work now but) 

8 (Solomon) ...  Master. For both our sakes. Please, do not urge me any more to talk to the boy. I realize you mean well, but nothing good will come of it. More than for myself, I've no doubt he'd rather I keep my distance. There is no room for me to interfere in his new life. -- And that's all I have to say on this topic.

9 (Goetia) So this is the... ah, creature? Who possessed my son's body and went around doing all sorts of undignified things in it to ruin his reputation... Hm? Why am I not angry over the attempted incineration of humanity? Well, I'm a little cross over that, but as long as he understands and takes responsibility for these actions, it's fine. It's not for me to judge him. But the other thing is just disrespectful and irresponsible! To mar Solomon's good name with actions he didn't even commit!

Likes Good food, good drink, and a warm, comfortable bed. Even though I am a spirit now who has no need of them, it's such simple, physical needs that are all I need to be satisfied. ... Oh, what other physical needs I enjoy? Haha! Now, that's something I'll tell you about when you're older.

Dislikes There once was a certain man who served me. A skilled and strong warrior whose resourcefulness and cunning I relied upon, and he, giving in to his bloodlust and self-interest, had betrayed me. You do not need to know the details, but I cannot and will never forgive him, and so, swear you one thing: that I will never act towards you as he did towards me.

Holy Grail I have no single wish, but I do have things I desire. None of these are things I would ever ask of the Grail, however. Many of these things are... just daydreams, and the rest are meaningless if I don't achieve them on my own.

Event I've heard that you've landed upon a rare opportunity; don't waste it. We must go see to it at once, Master.

Summon Ruler-Class Servant, David. I have answered your summons. Now, then, we have no time to waste. You have an important task ahead of you, and my intent is to ensure it comes to completion.

Bond

1 Hm. You're a fair bit more young than what I'd expected of the last remaining Master tasked with the world's salvation... I mean, in this era, it's unusual for people your age to take upon such heavily responsibilities, isn't it? Yes, you clearly require all the assistance I can provide.

2 You know, even if I was a king in life, you needn't treat me now as if that were still the case. After all, I have no country to rule over. Before I am a king and before I am a heroic spirit, I am a mere instrument of the Lord's will. And now, I fulfill my duty in this world by aiding in your cause.

3 You're like me, aren't you, Master? A young person, perfectly average, perfectly humble, thrust into the hands of destiny and put into an overwhelming role of massive responsibility. I said you're young, but truth is... I misjudged you. Whatever child you were once is gone. When I look at you, I see the eyes of a soldier, one worthy of being called a true warrior. How do you feel about it, I wonder? Are you angry? Sad? Frustrated? Does it pain you? I see you keep fighting, but is it with reluctance, or do you humbly accept that responsibility and put personal feelings aside, whatever they may be?

4 I apologize for my callous remarks earlier, Master. Oh, don't misunderstand me. I meant what I said. But I should not have been so callous and spoken so freely, and-- well, maybe I was really thinking of myself more than you. But what I said of you as a soldier and a warrior was the truth. You should take pride in your journey and all you've done to this point. As a Master, you have nothing but my respect and loyalty.

5 Master, do you know what makes a Ruler, in this system? Not simply a saint. An impartial, just person who can cast true judgment and perform their duty with no personal desires to get in the way. Don't you find it strange? To cast in this role a hedonistic king such as I, I who have fallen to my personal desires at the expense of my duty? And yet the generations after me, the world itself, all depict me as a righteous and pure man, an impartial judge. That is the man is who they all know me as. It's ironic. It's so ironic I don't know if to laugh or cry. But you know, I should like to do my best to be this sort of person, if I am to honor my descendants as they have honored me.

Profile

Default King David prefers to be summoned in the form of the young shepherd he was when he defeated Goliath, but here he's been summoned from the prime of his life the King of Israel. A great and powerful king who has brought about peace and prosperity through years of conquest and war, he has accomplished much within his reign.

Bond 1 Height & Weight: idk, taller than archer david, less twinky though, higher weight too Series: FGO original Source: The Bible Region: Israel Alignment: Lawful Neutral Gender: Male The skill 'Harp Of Healing' has been lost permanently in this form.

Bond 2

A brutal warrior and an eloquent poet. A just idealist, and a ruthless, coldblooded pragmatist. A dutiful king, devoted to God above all else, and yet a hedonist weak to material comforts and attractive women. A shrewd and cunning businessman who's always attentive to all goings-on around him, and an unfocused slacker who would happily spend all day up to afternoon lazing off in bed. Such is the sort King that the shepherd boy David became; a man full of many such contradictory traits coexisting within him. The earnest shepherd boy who defeated Goliath has since matured and wizened into an experienced warrior and become a true king, and with it, it seems as if his heart has hardened. His personality is aloof and distant, and rarely does he show anything of the carefree, friendly shepherd he prefers to be summoned as.  

Bond 3

Among David's many actions as king, one of the most famous would be the incident of his adultery with Bathsheba, wife of Uriah of Hittite.

In order to cover up their affair and Bathsheba's resulting pregnancy, David attempted to persuade Uriah to lay with her again after returning from war. Upon failing, he would order his men to leave Uriah behind to be killed in the battlefield. 

For this crime, David's family would have a divine curse placed upon it. Much of his later life would be marked by tragedy.

The child Bathsheba conceived from their affair died after only a few days, and his son Amnon would sexually assault his half-sister Tamar. In revenge, Tamar's full brother Absalom would conspire with his fellows to kill Amnon, and this act would have him be exiled by David in his grief. 

He would return only to lead a rebellion and attempt to usurp the crown, which drove his father out with his armies for three years, and in the final battle to retake the throne, he was killed by Joab, the commander of David's army and his right hand man, against David's explicit orders to spare him.

Bond 4

The Lord's Anointed A

A form of Charisma that applies the skill of Divine Protection towards the leader's army and allies. The skill of Divine Protection has been lost to this David when he had a divine curse placed upon him, but in exchange the protection can be applied to all allies outside of his blood family.

Curse On The House Of David EX

A crystallization of the curse placed upon David's family line directly by God. An embodiment of the path of bloodshed that has led to much success and victory as a ruler, yet a great deal of personal loss. The Servant container allows him to re-purpose this curse into a lethal weapon; the amount of power it grants him correlates to the damage it also automatically inflicts upon him, though the limit is that it cannot exceed what he himself cannot survive and it will ensure to keep him alive.

David himself, for his part, does not consider the self-inflicted damage neither penance nor some form of terrible suffering; rather, he stoically accepts it as a natural, unavoidable consequence.

Bond 5

Sacrifice NP description, too lazy to copypaste

Interlude

It's impossible to get any true answers about his feelings on the best of times. He finds is as difficult to understand his own heart as he does the hearts of others, and any moment he allows himself to be truly open only ever comes on his own choice and his own terms, often with great reluctance even then. Any question of his feelings that he does not want to speak of will be met with a distant, emotionless non-answer through which only a little bit of the truth slips through the cracks.

But it perhaps speaks of a certain immaturity still remaining that he is quick to express his emotions very openly and loudly the moment he does choose to open up. In spite of how he looks, he's actually very earnest and sensitive, and cries easily when upset. He'll talk about his feelings very beautifully and poetically in the heat of the moment, and afterwards go right back to closing himself off completely again and pretend nothing happened.

This all makes him sound terribly troublesome, but he's a loyal, dedicated Servant to any Master he finds worthy. It's not difficult to win his appreciation and respect so long as the Master is genuine and does their best to be righteous-- it's his full trust that's another matter entirely.