#King wants to go into a thousand year nap after this is all done

[windblume-violet]

Do... do I go with the username for the running gag of "worst kept secret" or do I say fuck it and say magister Merlin for giggles to see his reaction

[mariyekos]

Fic time. Chapter 1 of many. In the middle of revising so I don't want to post on AO3 yet (that and I'm uh. Still debating on whether I want to post this on AO3 at all or keep it to myself) but for followers who like DMC if you want a preview here it is. This is supposed to be an adaptation of a response I had to a prompt way back in February of this year! (oh man I've been working on this for 6 months). Also if this sounds familiar I've posted the first 3k before, but this time there's more like 7k words. I cut out about 1400 words today so it used to be longer too 😅

Summary of the whole fic will probably be:

"After defeating Mundus, Dante finds himself stuck in Hell. While looking for a way home, he finds something- or someone- unexpected and proceeds to make several bad decisions. (A DMC1/DMC5 fusion)".

Chapter 1

Mundus is dead. 

Or as close to it as he can be, at any rate. For a being as old and powerful as Mundus, millennia of conquest and victory and tribute fueling his lifeforce and abilities beyond what he’d have accumulated by simply living that long or inheriting strength from his forebears, can’t really be killed by something as simple as what Dante did to him. Not when it boiled down to ‘hit hard and fast with all that you can’ and not much more. All that could do- all that will do, has done, however you’d want to phrase it when the deed’s been done but the effect’s still going- is delay him for a while. Force him to take a nice long nap while he gathers back his power. A reprieve for Dante but not a panacea for the world in general. 

Sure, Dante packs a punch, especially when down in the demon world and fueled by the sword bearing his father’s name and legacy, itself fueled by the sword and amulet that for two thousand years sealed and separated two once-joined worlds, but in the end he was just brute forcing it, and that wouldn’t cut it when it came to something as strong and storied as Mundus. That’d be too easy.

To truly kill Mundus, he’d need something a lot more complex. Elaborate. Drowning in preparation and ritual and kind of magic that could seal Mundus to the point of erasure. And though Dante knows a handful of helpful spells and has made up a few wards here and there, he’s far from an expert on the stuff; more a dabbler than a practitioner, if he had to put a name to it. So if he really wants to blast Mundus from this plane of existence, he’ll either need to come back in a few years once he’s learned some new tricks, or convince someone who already knows them to take a dive into the other side for a quick kingkilling trip. That or send his more-magically inclined son to clean up his messes once he’s ready, if said son ever ends up existing. Who’s to say? That’ll all depend on whether Dante ever manages to escape his current predicament. 

That predicament being the fact that he’s very much stuck in Hell with no way home. ‘Least, not as far as he can tell. That’s why goal number one right now is to find some portal that’ll pop him back where he needs to be before he loses it. 

Which is. Well. Something! Dante’s trying to be an optimist about it right now but he’s not going to lie and say he’s very happy about it. Interesting as Hell can be, he chose the human world for a reason. Hell- the Underworld, the Demon World, whatever you want to call it- it just doesn’t have the same appeal.

It’s Mundus’ fault anyway. Maybe if Dante had killed him it would’ve reversed whatever spell Mundus had used to drag him here and sent him right home, but he didn’t and now Mundus is gone so he’s going to have to figure this out all on his own unless Mundus comes back with a quirky ‘surprise! And goodbye!’ real soon, which, given Dante did beat him about three inches from oblivion, is very much not going to happen. 

Back to Mundus and his semi-unkillability, the reason why killing Mundus is such a tricky endeavor is that he’s more than just your average demon. He’s King of the Fire Hell, for one. Important guy right off the bat. Strong. Impressive. Titled and storied, ranked and elevated, high brow and high class and all that jazz. He’s also Demon Emperor to top it off, whatever that means, which makes him the highest ranked demon Dante’s ever heard of, not to mention faced, and that comes with its own perks of bonus survival.

(It should perhaps be noted that that does, technically, leave room for higher high ranked and higher strength demons Dante hasn’t heard of to exist, by virtue of them either not attacking the human world in recent times and thus staying out of his path, or by them being a whole lot more subtle than the guy who burned down his house, murdered his mother, kidnapped slash brainwashed his brother, and sent a demonic clone of his mom to lure him in after years of sending his lackeys to ruin his life before that, but that’s a different topic for another time. If Dante has to deal with anyone else like that before he’s able to get home, sit down, maybe cry a bit, and take a nap, he thinks he might spontaneously explode). 

Mundus is a capital-E Entity, a legacy, not exactly cosmic but definitely beyond the rest of the rabble Dante’s faced over the years, and even though he knows Mundus could still be beaten into hibernation by someone without all the fancy know-how to permanently off him- Dante just did it, after all- it wouldn’t and didn’t really kill him. Not in a way that would stick. Not in the way that would truly, fully, permanently eliminate him from existence. 

See, if demons are the Underworld’s equivalent of men, then Mundus is the equivalent of a god, and gods don’t simply dissipate when there are still hordes of believers left to will them back into existence with their body (and souls) as fuel. So the texts Dante’s found say. Or so he’s translated them. Linguistics isn’t his strong suit.

(That had always been-)

But if any two demons were to be considered gods of the true sort, those two would be Mundus and Sparda, and Sparda is gone, gone, lost to the winds, deader than dead, never to return- at least as far as Dante can tell given the guy disappeared and never came back with milk or cigarettes or ancient artifacts or even his just his body and soul, and Mundus seemed to think so too, because he kept gloating about that during their fight and the various demons Dante has met over the years never stopped yapping about how the traitor which spawned him had died and left behind a disappointment in his place- so if Sparda can die, Mundus can probably die too.

Dante just doesn’t know how to cause that. 

Yet.

Maybe one day he’ll unravel the mystery behind all that and use his newfound knowledge to stick it to the bastard who came into his life swinging and lit the candles on a birthday cake that would consume the rest of his life in its flames. Maybe he’ll lay out all the pieces that make up god-killing for dummies and have a little scene when he realizes it’s way more complicated than anything’s he’s done and requires a way larger skillset than he has at his disposal, meaning it’ll probably be beyond him no matter how hard he tries to prepare. Maybe he’ll discover the secret to killing a demon-god is actually stupidly easy- if obscure- and just stand there dumbfounded by the fact that his father apparently died from something so basic after two thousand years of romping around a world that he’d split himself. Maybe he’ll discover it was some sort of freak occurrence that had never happened before and would never happen again- unless either Dante got insanely lucky or Mundus got insanely unlucky, which knowing Dante’s luck will never, ever happen- and decide to go back to cleaning up his father’s messes in other ways because there’s nothing he can do about it and that’s what he’s been doing for the past ten plus years depending on how you look at it, so why not? Revenge done, Mundus (not) killed, it’s time for cleanup duty and to carry a cross he never asked to bear but has never been able to bring himself to set down. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it. Being miserable does not count as being broken. It’s just unfortunate. 

Basically when it comes to taking what happened to Sparda and applying that to Mundus, Dante has absolutely no idea where to begin. To do that he’d need to know at least something, and the closest he’d ever gotten to unraveling the mysteries of his father’s death and Mundus’ slaughter had been a day or so before when a scantily-clad version of his mom showed up on his now in-pieces doorstep spilling out the sob story that was his past and inviting him to the place where she said he could explore it and earn his revenge. 

Getting revenge? Sort of happened. He fought Mundus, even if he didn't exactly kill him, and that’s way more than Dante’s managed to do in the past twenty years. And he certainly did do the whole exploring thing. A lot. Probably more than he had in nine years. 

(Since the-) 

Mallet Island had been a hassle at the best of times and a maze at the worst. Had Mundus been the one to plan out all those keys and thingamabobs needed to open up all those doors? Or had he found a random castle with a conveniently obtuse set of navigational tools and thought ‘Ah, yes, this is the perfect place to torment the son of my greatest enemy by making him not only fight his way through my army but exhaust himself trying to figure out how in the world he’s supposed to get through the lion door in the courtyard that speaks in tongues from a statue beneath alongside the other fifteen weird entry things this castle for some reason has’? If this were any other situation, Dante might’ve had a good time going through those puzzles. They were clever. Dante’ll admit that much. But when you’re trying to fight and kill the guy who ruined your life? Clever puzzles just turn into annoying obstacles, if he’s putting it nicely. 

What was the point of all that anyway? Did Mundus think it would be funny to watch Dante struggle? Did he want some entertainment before the actual show? Some fun advertisements to tide him over before the movie began? Or was there some sort of judgment or valuation thing going on? Did he decide Dante needed to go through a special trial before he was worthy of bowing before him? Was Dante’s ability to put a trident in a stone and a sword in a statue some sort of measure of his worth? 

Maybe if Mundus wakes back up in Dante’s lifetime he can get the answer to some of these questions. Maybe he should’ve just asked Trish during one of the handful of times they saw each other between their arrival and her- betrayal. 

(Death. Sacrifice. Why do the women who wear his mother’s face seem to think he wants them to die for his sake-) 

But he didn’t. He’d just gawked and marched on.

Now Mundus is as good as dead, Trish is dead and on another plane, and Dante’s alone with no one to ask anything of. So there’s not much he can do besides wander.

That all wraps back around to his current predicament. The whole “stuck in Hell with no way home” thing.

See, right now he’s cruising through the Demon World mowing down any and all demons that are so unfortunate as to cross his path, because whatever fancy magic Mundus had used to send them to Hell apparently didn’t have an automatic reverse button, so with Mundus down Dante’d lost his world-crossing express ticket, and now he’s stuck in the world he doesn’t want to stay in with no idea how to make it back. 

It’s not all bad. Flying’s pretty nice. Fighting too. It’s been ages since he last has so many good fights in a row.

Fighting and flying also feel like his only options at the moment, which does definitely put a damper on how good they sort of are since it’s that or leaning back on his well-practiced habit of sitting in misery, but he’ll just say he’s having a (not) good time to give himself a moment of reprieve in this otherwise crummy situation. 

The high of killing Mundus had clearly done something to his brain and body that put them on full go-mode, because right now he just knows that if he doesn’t blow through as much energy as he possibly can in the next however-long period of time it takes to blow through it, he will either Actually Explode or go full on Demon-Mode in a way he’s terrified he won’t be able to come back from. So fly and blast away it is. At least until the feeling dies down and he’s certain taking a break will not lead to the Death of Dante in the most pathetic way possible besides just lying down to starve or something equally unpleasant and unepic.

Man. Could the scenery at least change? Dante’s been zooming through Hell for what’s gotta be at least five hours at this point and for all he knows he’s been going in circles because everything still looks indistinguishable from the place he started out, all lava plumes and giant rocks and the occasional craggy pit. It would be nice to know he’s at least going somewhere, even if he doesn’t come across a portal right away. At least that way he’d be able to say he was theoretically making progress.

If he had to describe how he’s doing, Dante would say he’s having both a wonderful and terrible time. He feels better than he’s ever felt. He feels…not the worst he’s ever felt, because nothing compares to the fire or the Temen-ni-gru, and the whole Mallet thing hasn’t hit him fully yet because he shoved everything that happened during this big yet-to-end trip to the back of his mind to keep from having some sort of mental breakdown that would be really inconvenient for his get-home-plan, but he feels awful too and it’s just too much to process so he’s just going to say he feels A Lot. 

In the Underworld, Dante feels stronger than he ever has despite the exhaustion that by all rights should be forcing its claws into him, sliding in under his skin and pulsing its grip to either tear him limb from limb or at least gore him a bit as it drags him down and pushes him under the lovely pinkish water of Hell and gift him with the lovely burning sensation that comes with taking a dip. He’s never maintained his Devil Trigger this long, never pushed himself this hard this long, never kept fighting and flying- and it’s the flying thing that’s the most out of place, probably, because yeah he’s fought for really long times before even if not while expending so much energy and putting as much effort in as he is now, but when it comes to flying he usually prefers to stick to the ground or maybe glide for a few minutes but not stretches that are probably in the hours- this long. This kind of effort and expenditure should come with the sort of exhaustion that would have him collapsing onto the couch instead of walking the few extra steps to his desk and the comfy chair there. If he was on a normal mission, it’d be the sort of thing that would have long since sent him stumbling for the nearest Divinity Statue desperate for a Vital Star of whatever size he could get his hands on.

But it hasn’t. Dante’s still got a star in his pocket, untouched and undesired, and he feels like he’s on top of the world. Exhilarated. Delirious. All-powerful. High. 

Was it killing Mundus that did this to him? Did Dante absorb some sort of special demon energy from him when the Demon Emperor not-died? It’s been ages since the last time he’d done something like that- not since the Geryon and his evil clone back in the Temen-ni-gru whose powers he hasn’t used in an age because they don’t really make battles any more fun- and he can’t remember exactly how that felt or if that feeling was the same as the feeling he’s feeling now. He doesn’t think it was. What he’s feeling now is unique.

(What he’s feeling now is like the battle high he’d felt the last time he was in Hell turned up to ten, back when he’d fought-)

It could also just be because he’s in Hell. Maybe Dante’s demon side is latching onto whatever sort of ambient energy exists in the Demon World and is having a field day with it while the human side of his brain just doesn’t know how to process it all. One side high, one side confused. Dante the single man left with mind a whirl. 

It reminds him of when he’s stocked to nearly bursting with red orbs, having killed so many demons in so short a time that it feels like his body’s filled to the brim with so much energy that if he doesn’t either slow down for a bit or get to a Divinity Statue to spend them, he’ll have to Trigger and toss some fancy moves around just to burn through enough to gather all the rest. That’s the sort of feeling that will send him rushing down passageways high and careless, ready for slaughter and bouncing off the walls to look as cool as possible while doing it. 

If by some chance any of that sounds somehow pleasant, it’s really not. 

Not emotionally. Not before he’s started or after he’s done. It’s that sort of indulgence that feels so good in the moment but so bad at every point when you’re not experiencing it, and one that Dante both longs for and loathes. 

It’s the longing that makes his distaste cross to disdain. Annoyance to hatred. 

(Though not enough to keep him from ever shooting for it when he realizes just how close he is. For as much as he likes to say he hates the high in the before and after, he loves it in the during, is addicted to the feeling in a way where the temptation’s easy to ignore until the bottle’s right in front of you and there’s no one to yell at you to put it down, and the hatred that follows is a more a mix of disgust at his indulgence and inhumanity and a longing for the feeling of power and fulfillment and rightness to flow through him once more).

When Dante loses himself like that, when the high of battle crosses over him and the flair he puts into every fight he’s ever in goes from something meant to make a battle as fun as possible while he’s stuck putting something down to something where he’s toying with enemies who would probably be begging for mercy were they intelligent enough to ask for it- and with some of the big ones, sometimes they do beg for mercy, promising to stop attacking or to leave him alone forever or even to bow down in subservience if he’ll only let them live and not either smite them on the spot or entrap them in weapons he’ll sell the next time he runs out of cash- in those moment, or after those moments are over, Dante’s left feeling inhuman. Like his demon side has won. Like the side of himself he wishes didn’t exist had taken over without his permission and caused him to do things that don’t actually sicken him nearly as much as he feels they should. 

That’s a problem he faces a lot more than he’d like to admit.

Feeling like he should feel one way or another, but not actually feeling that way or the other. Moments where he arrives at a mission to find the contorted remains of the five hunters who failed before him and thinks ‘huh, I should probably be horrified right now’ but only feels mildly disgusted by the sight and smell. Moments where he hears a demon’s nest has been cleared out before he can get to it and thinks ‘aw, but I wanted to be the one to do it’ instead of being happy that said nest was destroyed before any more people could be hurt. Moments where he realizes he should feel bad, and does feel bad, but only because he’s feeling bad about not feeling bad, in a twisted sense of the word.

Basically, Dante is a very messed up person trying his best to be human but occasionally failing terribly and that realization does not make him a happy man. 

He doesn’t want to be a demon. As fun as it can be when he indulges, he spends way, way more of his time not wanting those things and not being happy about that kind of stuff, and the joy of indulging does not outweigh his disgust at that joy. When Dante chose the human world, that was not a temporary choice. He didn’t do it just to sound good. It’s a promise he made and one he plans to uphold until the day he dies. It’s the person he wants to be. It’s the feelings he wants to have.

It’s just a matter of how much choice he really has in the end when those demon instincts sometimes have such a more powerful hold than the human ones.

(Supposedly, he’s fifty-fifty. Logically, each side should have equal claim over him.

But based on the beings he’s encountered, demon instincts run a lot stronger than human ones, and sometimes he feels like even with the fifty fifty split it’s more a seventy thirty or eighty twenty when it comes to urges that the demon side of him loves and the human side stares at in horror.)

Back in the present and his merry jaunt through Hell, he finally gets a change in pace when a pack of Blade descends upon him and gives him a chance to burn through at least a little bit of his battle high. 

It’s not that much of a battle. For all they’ve given him trouble in the past, he rips them to shreds before they can lay a finger on him. 

His claws dig into the tail of the first to reach him as he snatches it out of the air, launching the beast at its brethren with enough force to both tear its spine from its body and fling said body not just into but through the Blades trying to get the jump on him from the side. The move practically douses him in various liquids that Dante does not want to think about; blood is blood and if he had any sort of significant (well, actually, he does have a pretty significant reaction to it, but it’s one that’s good-bad and one he can tamp down because he doesn’t want to be that person) slash visceral reaction to that he wouldn’t have survived a day in his current profession, but he thinks there might be spinal fluid too and for some reason the prospect of getting that in his mouth is absolutely disgusting, so he scrunches up his face as he tricks away. Not that that gives him a reprieve. A lot of demons don’t have particularly strong self-preservation instincts, so what Blades remain launch themselves past the bloody remains of their fellows to get an attack in on the thing that decimated their brethren and Dante deals with them much as he had the first. One by one, or sometimes in twos or threes when they’re feeling annoying, the pack descends. And one by one, or sometimes in twos or threes if Dante aims just right, the Blades fall and die.

Something about Hell makes their energy disperse in an odd way. It’s like an express delivery right to Dante’s heart, a rush of power bursting forth as their corpses burst into a million tiny specks that fade into the non-existent wind an hour or minute later. Really the stagnancy of the air is one of the things about Hell that puts Dante most on edge. It’s unnatural. Unreal. Dead.

(There’s a part of him that urges him to shove his own power into the corpses long enough to keep them solid; to break apart their ribs instead of just their spines, shoving Ifrit-clad fingers into their chests to part the bone and expose entrails rich in whatever it is demons feed on down here, before popping them out with a little fiery flare like they’re nice breakfast sausages ripe for the taking.

Dante not-so-politely yells at that part of himself to shut up.

He’s half-demon, but he’s not a monster. He’s not a cannibal.

Because while he’s half-human and it’s the human side he wants to indulge, he’s still half-demon, so eating a demon would basically be cannibalism and that’s a line he has no interest in crossing.

Not yet at least.

Hopefully not ever.)

The high lasts through the Blades, as it’s lasted through each and every fight Dante's thrown himself into since Mundus had gone down and Dante had been left wanting. Again, he wonders whether this is from Mundus or just Hell itself, and if it is from Mundus, if there’s an actual physical component or gain he got from the killing or if it’s all just in his head. Killing-  felling, defeating, whatever-the-hell it was, Dante was just gonna say killing from now on because he liked simple things- the guy who killed your mother, almost killed your brother, then tortured your brother, and brainwashed your brother, and enslaved your brother- (but not killed! Because no, twisted wretched bastard as he was, Mundus hadn’t been the monster who had killed Vergil. That had been Dante. His own damn twin-)

Well whatever it was that he’d done to Mundus, Dante feels half like he’s on top of the world and half like he’s going to burst into a million tiny pieces if he doesn’t rip everything in sight into a million tiny pieces first, and he wonders if maybe it is all just from satisfaction at achieving at least some degree of revenge. If that’s the case, he’s in for one hell of a crash when the mental high finally wears off and Dante’s subjected to whatever kind of terrible backlash-exhaustion he’ll face once his body finally finishes processing all he’s forced it through and lets him know just how badly he’d overextended himself.

Dante continues forward. He doesn’t really know where he’s going. Just forward. Maybe if he goes far enough he’ll run into a portal and make his way home. Maybe he won’t and he’ll be stuck in Hell forever. 

The latest in the series of bottomless, fiery canyons Dante’s passed eventually gives way to a fiercely boiling lava lake- or some sort of large body of not-water, Dante can’t see the end so maybe it’s an ocean, he doesn’t know, doesn’t think he can figure it out with the way his brain is still buzzing and body is still humming with an excess of power he can’t figure out what to do with- and in the center of the lake is something that throw Dante off nearly enough to make him nose dive because oh. Oh boy. Finally, finally there’s something that’s not only different, but looks promising.

For in the middle of the lava lake stands a castle. 

A grey-stone, big towers, fancy crenellation, a few bretèches, honest-to-the-potentially-nonexistent-god castle.

It’s the first sign of civilization he’s seen since he landed in Hell. The first one recognizable to his human-raised brain, at any rate. It’s reminiscent of the one on Mallet Island. 

(Does this mean Mundus did have his people built Mallet? That this was a long con? Or did he instead choose it because it reminded him of the architecture back home?)

The castle reeks of Mundus, even from miles away, and Dante’s certain it’s a prominent part of Mundus’ domain. Maybe even a summer home or something. He’s not there right now- again, Dante can just tell, his demonic senses are even stronger down in Hell to no one’s surprise- but it’s chock full of demons and Dante’s going to hope that means there’s something worth protecting inside.

There are a few enticing things about the castle, which run through his mind as he speeds through the skies:

First, that maybe a place as human-looking as a castle might have something as human-adjacent as real food. 

The hunger he’s facing right now isn’t that bad yet, but the ‘yet’ is carrying a lot of weight, and he doesn’t want to get to a point where he ends up doing something he’ll regret. Even demons need to eat, and Dante’s seen enough invasions that involved a kitchen raid to know they don’t only subsist on the flesh of their brethren. Hopefully Mundus and co. have tastebuds Dante can appreciate and the guards haven’t cleaned out the pantry in their master’s absence. 

Second, that castles usually have bedrooms, and if there’s a bedroom, there will probably be a bed, and maybe being in a bed in a real room will allow Dante to relax enough to get some sleep. 

Sleep would be more than welcome. He’s not about to drop or anything. He could keep going for days, maybe even weeks if he conserved his energy. Hell’s powering him in a way the ambient Human World never has. But despite having been born a half-breed, the two halves that make up Dante’s whole haven’t always worked very well with each other, and right now Dante’s human side feels like it’s seriously lagging despite the overwhelming energy keeping his demon half raring to go. And again, his human side is his favorite, so it’s the side he wants to pamper, and also the side he does not want to lose if it comes down to it. Who knows what might happen if the human side of his brain undergoes the whole saying about how if you don’t choose a time for your body to rest, it’ll choose a time for you? What will his demon side do? Will it still feel like Dante doing it? Will he do a bunch of terrible stuff while thinking he’s being perfectly reasonable, until the human side of him wakes up and he gets slammed by guilt and horror once it processes everything he’s done? Will he black out entirely while doing whatever demon stuff his demon side wants to do, like it’s an actual split personality instead of just a voice that he thinks is probably slightly more vocal than most people’s impulsive thoughts but has never really considered a separate consciousness (since he’s never given it an opportunity to prove it’s nothing more)? Will he flip some sort of switch so Demon Dante is the Dominant Dante and will remain that way until he encounters some sort of soul-sucking orb or annoying demon-sealing sigil again that quiets it down enough to let Human Dante rise back up and go ‘What have I done?’

After that train of thought derailed off a cliff and took all of its passengers with it Dante’s not really sure what his original third thought was, but the quick replacement is that maybe the castle will be occupied by demons that will put up enough of a fight to sate his own demon side, burn off some of the energy that has left Dante feeling like he’s stuck in someone else’s skin, and let him calm down enough to come up with a better plan for escaping Hell. He’s tired of the Wrongness in the air and what it does to him.

(He’s scared by how the Wrongness feels Right.)

The castle is guarded by some sort of giant serpent that Dante can’t help but compare to Cerberus despite the utter lack of visual similarities. The thing doesn’t even use ice. Or speak. Really it’s only similar in that it’s a guard and that it seems to be sneering at him when he tries to rile it up. The fire it uses is the opposite of the old pup. It’s a lot more level headed too.

(Really he’s only making the comparison because he’s spent the last several hours trying so hard not to think about something that that something is trying to worm itself into every other thing he does spend more than five seconds considering.) 

The serpent rears its head at Dante’s approach, launching itself from the point where the castle’s bridge would be were it to have been lowered. As it is the castle is sealed tight, so the bridge and the serpent are Dante’s best bet of getting into it and he isn’t going to pass up the grace of convenience. Its tail makes some good swings for him, and the fire breath does make Dante all toasty warm, but the thing never does manage to squeeze him tight enough to make him pop, and though the acid-like venom that shoots out from its mouth when it dives for him with teeth bared and mouth letting out an earsplitting screech does manage to sear an unfortunate hole into his coat, it ultimately misses skin. He’s had more than enough practice dodging projectiles to keep out of the thing’s way. So many flying scythes. So many globs of bug juice. Acid spit’s just another thing to add to the list.

The fight gets his heart rate up even if it doesn’t draw any blood, and Dante would say it was a nice little reprieve from the monotony of his latest jaunt. When the thing dies from one last shot to the head Dante thanks it for the entertainment. He feels a little less jumpy now that he’s gotten a more significant chunk of his energy out. Wonderful. He’s finally making progress. Points to the castle even if its only redeeming quality is the gate guard and the inside’s a complete bust.

The bridge falls open once the serpent is dead. Convenient. The dirt it sends into Dante’s eyes is annoying, but it’s worth not having to circle the castle for ages looking for a suitable entrance so in he goes.

Unsurprisingly, Dante’s jumped about five steps into the castle walls. Though the minions prowling the halls are child’s play in comparison to the serpent guardian, what they lack in strength they make up for in numbers, and while it’s not too bad when Dante’s in a large room, the wealth of corridors make things a little more tricky which is in this case more an annoyance than a pleasant source of entertainment.

It reminds him of Mallet, just without the puzzles. Thank god for that. He doesn’t have the brainpower for puzzles right now. If he has to face one he thinks he’ll just turn around and walk the other way.

Violence though? Violence is laced through his blood, entwined with his essence in a way it can never be torn from. Just because people like to say that violence is the thing of beasts, that doesn’t mean humans can’t be violent and can’t enjoy it too; the word depravity wouldn’t exist if humans weren’t around to do deprave things, violence and maiming and killing and tearing among those things which are frowned upon yet still extant and unfortunately common, so that’s a part of him that has support from both sides and clings to him like sap to a tree.

He blasts through hall after hall, the static flowing through him letting him know that he won’t be able to rest until each and every potentially-interesting but highly-doubtfully-challenging demon still alive in the castle is dead and gone. It’s died down somewhat in his most recent bout of pistol fire and evisceration-by-sword, the multitude of red orbs that do neat little dances to hop toward him whether he goes for them or not actually seeming to quiet the burning need in him for once rather than just charging him even further. He’s not sure of the mechanics of that. Maybe it’s some sort of overflow situation; once you get so high, you go back to zero. He’d be cool with that if it means he can rest. And hey, Mallet had some annoying orb doors that could only be broken if you had the cash, so maybe his new stockpile of orb-energy will prove useful making progress in the castle if he’s barred by a glowing door with a phantom hand that demands payment for progression. Maybe that’s what’ll get him back home.

He continues onwards.

And onward.

And onward.

Hot damn this castle is huge.

He goes through the castle level by level, clearing out the entire ground floor before ascending to the next, then the next, then any towers or protrusions as he encounters them, et cetera. His exploration hasn’t revealed an end to the flow of lesser demons committing suicide-by-Dante, but it has revealed a few somewhat useful looking bedrooms, so he files those away in the back of his mind to use later. The beds look cozy enough to stay in if his searching doesn’t reveal any magic portals. 

Other fun rooms include a giant hall for dining with a gargantuan throne at its head, an armory, a completely foodless kitchen (boo), a room full of enchanted chests and barriers that he leaves be after they don’t shatter with a few hits from Rebellion- and oh, he has Rebellion, when did that happen? Did it sense he needed it after gifting the Sparda and thus Force Edge to Trish and somehow make its way back to its wielder? He has no idea when he swapped to it from Alastor, just that it’s in his hands- and a trophy room full of things Dante doesn’t want to think about.

From the looks of things, he’d say this castle was very recently in use. The demons populating it seem more like guards than fellow looters, though Dante can’t help but feel like they’re missing a few big guys who’d be better at beating back actually competent intruders.

He’s not sure whether he’s happy or disappointed about that.

Still he moves forward, ascending and clearing room after room until he finds himself doing a little loop up the staircase of the last tower left to check, muttering under his breath about how there better be something actually useful in the room because while a bed would be nice the castle has been an overall disappointment and he really, really would like to get home.

The tower is immediately unsettling. It doesn’t look notably different from any of the others, but it instead feels completely and utterly muffled. As in, from the outside, Dante hadn’t felt anything from it at all. No guards. No inhabitants. Nothing. And going up the tower, Dante can hardly feel his own power either. It’s like the whole tower has been enchanted to suppress whatever’s stored within it. It doesn’t siphon his energy, but it feels like it might be setting him up for that to be done by another power. Dante doesn’t like it one bit.

If you’d mentioned the suppression concept to Dante ten minutes ago- or ten hours ago, probably, he’s not sure how long he’s been in Hell because whatever sort of weird day and night cycle that may exist here doesn’t align with the human world’s and his internal clock has fallen off the wall- he’d have said he was all for it. He’s so over the buzzing. Going into some sort of sensory deprivation chamber sounds nice after dealing with however long it’s been of feeling as he felt.

But while actually ascending the tower? It makes him feel nauseous. Rather than tamping down on his power, the tower does something to make him feel almost separate from it. Like it’s forced his demonic energy into a box too small for it, locked it away, and then kicked him and the box so they went tumbling down the hill in a way that couldn’t help but leave you slightly motion sick.

Whatever the tower is for isn’t a good thing. More than anything else in the creepy castle, it feels like a prison. That includes the bloodstained cells he’d seen in one of the other towers. It’s just Wrong.

As he finally reaches the door at the top of the staircase, Dante resolves to just peek in, do a quick check to see if anything jumps out at him, and then turn around to make a break for one of the bedrooms so he can sleep all of this unpleasantness away. 

He kicks open the door, unlocked and unsealed, and doesn’t even bother taking a step into the room as his eyes quickly run over the contents and he preps to leave.

But he doesn’t.

Because as his eyes run over the room they land on something he could never mistake for something else- never again- and the world falls out from under him.

Because there, still, limp, and lying in a heap on the ground, is-

“Vergil?”

[sassyhobbits]

rowaelin with their first child and they get into that stranger anxiety phase and cry with everyone except when they're in their mothers arms and it's exhausting but also adorable but rowan sometimes feels like a bad dad because his kid doesn't want to be held by him so aelin has to reassure him and then some day this phase is finally over - prompt 😢🥺

ok i adored writing this one. dad rowan is so much fun to work with. i hope everyone enjoys!!

~~~

In his over 300 years, Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius had been awoken by many different things. Whether it was a call to battle while sleeping in a war tent, a summons from his queen late at night, or a lover trying unsuccessfully to disappear quietly before dawn. Yet, none of these manners of waking up had filled him with as much dread as he felt currently.

He was woken in the middle of the night by a shrill shriek coming from the room that adjoined the one he shared with Aelin. In the recent months, what had once been a leisure room had been converted to a nursery for their new baby girl.

It took three years after Aelin’s coronation before they decided to start trying to have a child. It took another year before they were successful. Rowan counted his blessings. He had seen plenty of Fae couples take decades before they finally conceived.

Eliora was four months old now, which meant four months of troubled sleep for both him and his mate.

Rowan was instantly on alert at the sound of his daughter’s cries. He knew that they were no more than a normal babe’s troubles, but his instincts made him tense anyways. He quickly sat up, looking down at his wife quickly to see if she had woken up. Luckily, she still slept, likely beyond exhausted from the mix of raising a child and ruling a kingdom. If Rowan was successful, she wouldn’t have to wake up at all.

He got out of bed and swiftly stepped into the nursery, coming before Eliora’s crib. Her tiny face was pinched up in dainty outrage, small limbs flailing as she cried. Rowan took a deep breath, sending a prayer up to the gods more out of habit than faith at this point, and picked his daughter from the crib. Hopefully, this would be the time he could get her to stop crying.

The little princess shrieked and protested whenever she was in anyone’s arms besides her mother’s. Rowan’s included.

“I’ve got you, my little light,” Rowan whispered to his daughter, cradling her tiny body to his bare chest and lowering himself onto the rocking chair they kept beside her crib. “Everything’s alright.”

Despite his soothing words, Eliora still continued to cry. It broke Rowan’s heart to hear, broke it even more to know that nothing he did could seem to calm her down.

“Please stop crying, love,” Rowan pleaded, threading his fingers through the fine, silvery-blonde hair growing on his daughter’s head. “Your mother is so tired and needs her sleep.”

Unfortunately, even begging didn’t seem to work.

Over the sounds of Eliora’s cries, he heard the door hinges creek, and the sound of bare feet scuffing over stone. Rowan glanced over, finding Aelin walking towards him. Exhaustion weighed down her beautiful face, but her eyes were still full of fondness at the sight of the two of them.

Rowan looked to her apologetically before his face crumpled in defeat. “I can’t get her to stop crying. I’m so sorry, Fireheart.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, love,” she whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his hair. “Give her to me.”

Rowan handed the squirming bundle of blankets to his wife. Aelin situated their daughter in her arms before she lowered herself on Rowan’s lap, allowing him to wrap his arms around her waist, press a kiss to her shoulder, and begin to rock them.

Quickly, Eliora’s cries began to fade away. Her face unscrewed, looking at Aelin with those wide, Ashryver eyes that she had.

Aelin began to sing a low, Terrasenian lullaby as he continued to rock the three of them. It never ceased to amaze him how good she was with their daughter, how quickly she was able to sooth her temper. He only wished that he could do the same, that Eliora would look at him the same way she looked at Aelin and not scream and scream and scream.

Rowan’s heart was full of love as he watched Eliora’s eyes begin to droop shut at the soothing rocking motion and the sound of her mother’s voice. It wasn’t long before she was once again asleep, the night perfectly silent.

Rowan helped Aelin stand, keeping a hand against her back as she brought their daughter back to her crib and laid her down. Perfect. She truly was perfect.

A gentle hand on his arm drew his attention away from the slumbering babe. Aelin nodded her head towards their room and Rowan dutifully followed, shutting the door quietly behind them.

“I’m sorry, Fireheart,” Rowan said again, drawing Aelin into his arms and kissing her forehead. “I know you’re exhausted.”

“No more so than you.”

Rowan could only sigh, pressing his lips together tightly. His emotions were troubled, and he should have known that Aelin was going to notice. She leaned back slightly, peering up at his face.

“I know what you’re thinking, Rowan, and you’re wrong,” she said matter-of-factly.

Rowan wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t help but ask, “What am I doing wrong?”

He had faced many challenges over his years. Wars and battles and tortures. He had survived them all and came out victorious. And yet, the thing that brought him to his knees, was the fact that he couldn’t bring comfort to his own daughter when she needed it. A baby had finally defeated him.

“You know you’re not doing anything wrong,” Aelin said firmly. “The nurses said this happens sometimes. It’s not your fault.”

Rowan had heard this what felt like a thousand times. It did little to soothe his troubles.

Rowan was good at many things. He was a warrior and a general, had stepped confidently into the role of king consort. His hands could kill and heal and build, but they couldn’t get Eliora to stop crying. He couldn’t help but feel that, perhaps, being a father… wasn’t something that he was made for.

It broke his heart to think. He remembered how excited he was when they found out Aelin was finally pregnant, how they cried and kissed and clung to each other, whispering about the future. He had been ecstatic, but also terrified. He knew Aedion, who had welcomed his own son into the world a year before Aelin got pregnant, had felt the same before he was born. But, Aedion hadn’t had the troubles Rowan did. He had stepped into fatherhood gracefully, and his son loved him immensely.

“Hey,” Aelin said, a bit snappily. She put her hand on Rowan’s cheek and urged him to look at her. In those eyes was a familiar fire. “Stop that. I know what’s going through your head. You’re a wonderful father.”

Rowan sighed and hung his head, pressing Aelin’s hand more firmly against his cheek. “How can I be a good father if I have no idea what I’m doing?”

“Do you think I’m a bad mother?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Well, I don’t know what I’m doing either,” Aelin said. “Neither did Aedion or Lysandra. No new parent has any idea what they’re doing. It’s part of the job.”

She made it sound so easy. Aelin had always had a knack for that.

“I wonder if there’s some secret behind it,” Rowan mused as Aelin tucked herself back into his chest and wrapped her arms around his torso.

He felt his wife shrug. “I don’t know… but if there was, I think it would be to love them. To support them. To do everything in our power to make sure they’re happy.”

“I love Eliora more than life. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”

“I know, love.” Aelin rolled on the tips of her toes and brushed a soft kiss against Rowan’s mouth. “Now, all you need to do is have patience.”

He chuckled. “Look at you. Who would have ever guessed that Aelin Galathynius would be lecturing me on patience.”

Her grin was a slash of white in the dark. “I’ve been told I’m wise beyond my years.”

“Who the hell has ever told you that?”

“People. Now, will you come back to bed with me?”

“Of course, Fireheart.”

They climbed back under the covers, pressing their bodies close. Aelin fell back asleep almost comically quickly. Rowan wasn’t far behind, holding his wife tightly throughout the night.

…

Another month went by and little changed. Both Rowan and his wife were getting little sleep during the night, leading to some groggy mornings. He had seen Aelin taking short naps at her desk or dozing off when an advisor spoke for too long. She would, of course, deny it if Rowan ever brought it up, so he wisely stayed silent.

Eliora still abhorred being held by anyone except Aelin. The fact that it wasn’t just him brought Rowan a bit of solace. His daughter cried when held by Lysandra or Fenrys or Elide. She had a particularly nasty meltdown last time Lorcan had held her.

“I know, sweet girl,” Aelin had murmured, taking Eliora from Lorcan. “I wouldn’t want to be that close to him either.”

Still, Eliora’s reactions didn’t deter Rowan from trying to hold and soothe her, though he had not yet been victorious. Patience, Aelin had said. It was easier said than done.

The sun had set below the Staghorns hours ago. Eliora was asleep in the nursery, Aelin was treating herself to a long soak in the tub, and Rowan sat in one of the plush armchairs they kept in their room, sharpening and polishing some of his blades.

It was an easy practice to get lost in. The simple, repetitive movements were a welcome distraction. A good way to cool down before bed.

However, his hands froze when he heard a tiny whimper sound from the nursery that quickly morphed into a shrill cry. Eliora.

Rowan placed his blades down on the low table before him, pushing to his feet and quickly striding into the nursery.

Eliora was wiggling as she wailed. Rowan wished he could read her mind so he knew exactly what was bothering her and how he could help. But, all he could do was take a deep, bracing breath and scoop his daughter into his arms.

“What’s wrong, little light?” Rowan whispered, carrying her over to the rocking chair. “What is it?”

Eliora’s only response was to continue crying.

Rowan sighed, wondering how much longer he had before Aelin got out of the bath and came in to calm Eliora down. He had seen Aelin do it countless times. She would take Eliora into her arms, smile down at her, start to whisper nonsense or sing a low lullaby. She made it seem so easy.

“Everything’s alright, Eliora,” Rowan murmured, switching to the Old Language. “I’ve got you. I’ll never let anything happen to you, little love.”

And then, something amazing happened.

Slowly, Eliora’s cries began to fade away to a whimper and then, to nothing at all. Rowan held his breath, worrying that one wrong move would put her back into a fit of hysterics. His daughter slowly opened her eyes and peered up at him.

Rowan smiled down at her. “You’re just as lovely as your mother. Just as stubborn, too.”

And then, as if she understood his little joke, Eliora flashed him a gummy smile. The shift in expression floored him. She had never given him a smile before.

Rowan felt his throat tighten and his eyes begin to burn, but he smiled back at the tears welled up. A tiny laugh escaped his throat. Finally, finally, he had done it.

Eliora’s chubby arms reached up. Rowan held out a finger, letting her wrap a tiny hand around it. He always forgot just how small she was.

“I love you more than you could possibly know, Eliora.”

He was too distracted by his daughter and the little grip she had on his finger to notice that Aelin had entered the nursery until she was almost upon them. Rowan looked up at his wife, knowing that his eyes were still watery and there were likely tear tracks streaking down his cheeks. Regardless, he beamed.

“It would seem, once again, that I was right,” Aelin said with a triumphant smirk.

“As you often are, my love.”

She laughed and dropped a kiss to his forehead before draping her arms over his shoulders, leaning over and watching their daughter, who was studying them with wide eyes. Once again, Eliora smiled. Rowan would never tire of the sight.

“She looks like you when she smiles,” Aelin mused.

“You think?”

She nodded slowly, reaching out and running her knuckles along the smooth curve of Eliora’s cheek. “I still can’t believe she’s ours. She’s just so… perfect.”

“Like her mother.”

Aelin snorted. “Kiss ass.”

“Maybe a little.”

They faded into silence, simply standing there, wrapped up in their little, blossoming family. They stood there until Eliora’s eyes fluttered shut once more and she drifted off into a peaceful sleep. One she enjoyed for the entirety of the night.

Rowan didn’t know what he had done to deserve such bliss, but he knew it must have been something good.

[bloodycassian]

 Cauldron Damned. 

Reader x Cassian + Feyre BFF

Prompt -  bestie bestie bestie a cassian x reader fic where reader helps feyre with the cauldron - not rhys and she ya know  like rhys did and cassian basically breaks down and it’s super angsty but rhys lives so the reader gets to aswell ig tag @ bellefleurs and @ eerievixen

Her hair was a mess and painted to her neck with sweat but you still held her. Still gave and gave, until you were out of breath. Until you could feel yourself slipping. "Keep going.... You're doing so good." You panted out, trying to put a smile in your tone. She was the Mother herself, forging that cursed Cauldron back together.  Rhys was breathing heavily behind you after being knocked out by Lucien. You had given the Autumn court son a look and he had known what you needed him to do. Rhys would be snarling mad when he woke, but you knew what you had to do. To save your home, to save the entire world. Feyre was ready to risk it all, fearless and full of hope. You had to save that hope for your Court. Better you than her, better the high lady and lord survive than just an officer. You smiled at the thought of what you'd told Cassian before this final battle. Before you knew it would turn into saving the entire world from the Cauldron's vengeance.  "You better make damn sure my memorial statue looks fantastic. No priestess, though. Make sure it makes my wings stand out." You joked on the flight to the base camp. Cassian danced around death like he was it's balancing point. Like he was in tune with each and every death or life dealt. He laughed at your abruptness on the subject.  After months of skittering around each other, of trying not to stare too long or acknowledge that pull you felt towards him... It was nice to finally be alone. To let that tension ease out with a few jokes. It was too easy to be with him, like you'd known him much longer in the year of preparation for this battle.  "And you better make sure my wings are bigger than yours on that sculpture." He banked around a large cliffside and you followed, like a magnet. Like you could read his mind, you turned when he did. He rose with you, compensating for the cool mountain wind.  You rolled your eyes dramatically, flapping a bit higher than him for emphasis as you drawled out "Poor War General, his wing size matters so much to him." He shrugged, circling lower and lower with you until you were on the ground together amid a clearing. The grass was soft, covered in early morning dew. "Some say wing size dosen't matter, you know." You said with a wink, making him double over with laughter. It made you begin laughing too when he started running out of breath.  Once you had both collected yourselves, You began building a fire together. Rather, a massive bonfire that was to act as the signal to the army for where to move. His face was grim when he threw the last of the logs together. You understood why. "The Kings army will be here before us." You said, voice low. He only nodded. You kneeled in the wet grass, one knee down the other one supporting your wrist bracer. He followed you silently.  You spoke in unison, the ancient words from all the Illyrian warriors before you: "Name me God of Death today. Let us bring that name to those who do us wrong." + Feyre muttered something you couldn't hear. The darkness crept further in on you. You could see some light between your blurred vision. You could see how her hands lit up the cracks in the ancient stonework. You could feel her practically vibrating with the strain.  Your tears dribbled on to her shoulder, knowing these would be your final moments with her. Your final moments in this world. There was no better way you'd spend it than saving her. Spending those last few minutes being able to tell her how amazing she was. You felt her smile when you leaned your head against hers. Your heart ached. You whispered what you hoped were encouraging words in her ear. A rupture of sound- a crack fully mended -and your chest filled with blooming pride at your friend.  There was something crackling, ripping. You weren't sure if it was inside you or if it was the magic Feyre was performing. There was a gasp behind you and rustling, but you dared not take your concentration away from her. Away from how she leaned back into you. Dared not speak a word to distract her other than giving her those little jabs of confidence when she started to shake.  "You got it, Feyre. You can do this." You managed, before that caving feeling in your chest seemed to give in. You were breaking, you knew that much. But she wasn't done yet. Your breath leaked out from you, like you were being squeezed.  "Make it all worth it, Feyre." You managed to whisper out before you could no longer hold yourself up anymore. You laid back, your legs wrapped around her, mirroring her own. You hooked a foot on top of hers and gave her what you could from where you crumpled.  Death was easy, slow. Like a soft lullaby taking you away. You knew what lay before your body, and only hoped you were enough to get Feyre to where she could mend the rest on her own. You gave her all of your soul, all your being. She had to make it. You let the wave of that soft lullaby take you under.  + Cassian didnt think before shoving his way through the crowd into the tent. Didnt consider what he might find there, and how his heart may be ripped from him at the sight of it. The death that crept at that tent was a feeling he wouldnt forget in a thousand lifetimes.  His best friends lying unconscious on the floor before the cauldron. He went numb, still like a cold glacier. Lucien frantically shook Rhys, attempting to wake him. Cassian's head roared and he was falling to his knees at your side. He took your head in his lap, gently. As if he could still hurt you. He didn't notice he was crying until he saw the fat teardrops on your cheek. He wiped them away, leaving dirt smeared there. Another yell of anguish, and Rhys was coming to. From the sound of the yelling or from Lucien shaking him.  Azriel entered the tent then, solemn. Then his eyes widened. Those shadows darted around the room, taking each member of the court into account. The shadowmaster rushed to Feyre, checking her pulse and sighing. He noted the way your leg tangled around hers. His heart gave a painful squeeze. He saw both his brothers in agony. And he swore on his life there would be no place for the cauldron to be found again. Cassian cradled his mate's head in his lap, rocking gently. Rhys' dark power cracked the sky outside the tent once he was conscious.  Rhys rushed to Feyre, scooping her in his arms. He brushed her hair back from her face. Azriel could practically hear the mental screaming coming from both of them. The shadowmaster laid a hand on top of yours, closing his eyes and letting his tendrils of power, of those whispering shadows reach out. They circled your head, slowly like a snake.  He felt that song then, singing back with his own. The essence of your soul, dancing around your aura.  His eyes flashed open in surprise, then a manic laugh rumbled from his chest. "Rhys-" He breathed, pulling his attention away from a waking Feyre. Cassian looked up in a flash at his brothers, watching them exchange looks.  "Bring my mate back now." Cassian growled at Rhys. The tone was utterly deadly. Promises of death from the Lord of Bloodshed if his command was not answered. Azriel's eyes darted between his brothers. As if he was expecting Cassian to attack. The high lord would have been gaping at him if he hadn't experienced the same pain of almost losing a mate. He nodded, pulling himself together long enough to enter your vacant mind. Then the cauldron was humming, as he dipped a mental hand into it as well. +  Rhys' commanding voice rang out over your land of lavender and sunshine. "She will miss you." His voice was soft, but the attention it drew was still there. The meadow you laid in was softer than any silk in Velaris. More luxurious than any chair made to accompany your wings. You sighed, taking in the sweet scent before he spoke again.  "Too much, I believe. Especially when she hears about what you did to save her." He appeared at the edge of the soft meadow, the grass around him waving like the sea. You sat up, dazzled at the sight of him here. In such a bright, lovely place. His tanned face seemed to glow with the smile he held for you. "I'm tired." You said, voice groggy. You wanted to lay back down. You closed your eyes, for just a second and when you opened again he was in front of you, crouched. He held a tattooed hand out, giving you a nod. "Just come with me and you can nap all you want." His eyes sparkled. Not with that starlit power, but with tears ready to spill over.  You took that hand and closed your eyes.  + Feyre's warm hand in yours was the first thing you felt when you woke. Rhys held her in the corner atop a pelt rug beside you. The brothers leaned against each other. Rhys played with Feyre's hair as she rested. The sight of them together, him protecting her so well made your heart sing in approval. you knew she always deserved someone as good as Rhys. The fire where the Cauldron once was made the tent cozy. There were no sounds other than the soft breathing and the occasional pop of wood on the fire.   Azriel sat at the door, sword on his lap. Ready to kill if anyone dared enter. Then, you looked to the softness that cradled you. Cassian's face was covered in dirt, blood and more. He looked exhausted. Like he had been beaten, lost and beaten again. You tried a weak smile at him.  Clean rivers ran down from his eyes, revealing the dark skin underneath. "I couldn't let you get a statue without me." He said, voice trembling. You smiled the best you could and reached a hand to stroke his cheek.  "How-" You began, but he shushed you. "Just..rest for now. We can talk in the morning." He brushed a thumb over a silent tear that trickled from your eye. You nodded, and let him pull the blanket more firmly around you. Lulling you to sleep with soft humming.

[svnflowervol666]

Crisp Trepidation (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: angst, mentions of smut, pregnancy

Author’s Note: Here she is! The promised “Y/N is pregnant again before she’s ready” fic. I ended up liking this a lot more than I thought I would, so I hope you all do as well! Take care and TPWK. 

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite tiny human,” the pediatrician chimed as she kicked the door to the small examination room shut with her sneaker.

“You must say that to all of the parents that you see,” Y/N blushed, unable to hide the smile that tugged on the corners of her lips.

“I don’t, actually. I’m being honest when I tell you she is the cutest baby I have ever seen in my life. Those curls! Are you kidding me?”

She padded over to the miniature exam table to get a better look at the infant that was lying contently on her back and chewing on her pudgy albeit still tiny fingers. 

“Let’s take a look at how you’re doing, sweet pea.”

The doctor, Lisa, lifted the stethoscope that was looped around her neck and placed it correctly into her ears. Listening to the baby’s heartbeat to check for any abnormalities, she couldn’t help but give a sympathetic frown when the tiny girl under her tensed up from the cool touch of the metal.

“Nurse’s notes say she’s put on quite a bit. She’s finally caught up to her age group in weight. I’m assuming breastfeeding is going better for you both now?”

She lovingly squeezed the extra chub around her thighs.

“Yeah. We don’t really use bottles anymore. Finally got her to latch on and now it seems like all she wants to do it eat,” Y/N chuckled.

“Good! That’s good. There’s nothing wrong with formula like we talked about, but it’s even better to breastfeed when you can. Is she hitting the milestones? Rolling over? Propping her head up? Babbling a bit?”

“Babbling, definitely. She keeps us up sometimes because we can hear her talking to herself through the monitor at night,” Y/N poked her tongue out at her daughter in an attempt to get her to smile.

“Having a bit of trouble propping herself up though. She can only do it for a little bit and then she’ll give up. She’s got Harry’s giant head, though, so I’m sure it’s a bit of a struggle.”

Lisa laughed loudly at the mention of her patient’s father, knowing good and well what Y/N meant. She scribbled notes onto the file attached to her clipboard, checking off the baby’s progress and coinciding what the nurse that came in before her documented about her length and weight.

“She’ll get to it eventually. All babies are different. She seems to be coming along quite nicely, though. Nothing abnormal or anything to fuss about. A perfectly healthy six-month-old in my book.”

Y/N sighed in relief, though she knew there was nothing to worry over to begin with.

“How’s mum doing? You taking care of yourself, too? You’re just as important as baby.”

“When I can. Harry’s really good with her. He’ll take over when he sees me struggling, but it seems like she only wants me these days. Think I might be coming down with something, though. I’ve been feeling awful for a few weeks. Like I got hit by a train. I keep reminding myself to go get checked out, but I always get distracted taking care of her,” Y/N gestured to her daughter that was now drooling onto the parchment liner and staring up at the ceiling as if there was something ornately interesting about the popcorn texture that had been stippled onto it.

“When you say, ‘hit by a train,’ what do you mean? I can examine you here if you’d like. As long as it’s nothing serious, I can send you something off to the pharmacy.”

Lisa re-fastened the snaps on the infant’s onesie, making sure not to pinch her chunky legs and placed her back into her mother’s lap.

“Ummm,” Y/N began, “Just extra drained, I guess? Kinda nauseous. I’ve been getting migraines a lot and even when I do get a good night’s rest, I still feel like I could go back to bed for the rest of the day. Maybe I’m just exhausted, I don’t really know. But it just feels a bit different than being worn out like I have been before.”

She could see the wheels in Lisa’s head turning, noting each of her symptoms and trying to align them in a path that would lead her to the root of the problem.

“Can I ask you something that might be a bit personal?”

Y/N nodded, rubbing her fingers absentmindedly along the bridge of her daughter’s socked foot.

“Have you and Harry been intimate since she was born?”

She was taken aback by the question, not understanding where Lisa was going with this or why it was relevant.

“Umm,” Y/N stuttered, feeling a static-y surge of embarrassment travel up her neck and onto the sides of her face, “Yeah. We have.”

A whole fucking lot ever since I’ve been cleared for it, she thought, but kept to herself.

“And can you tell me when your last menstrual cycle ended?”

Then it clicked. She genuinely couldn’t recall her most recent period and even the thought of what Lisa was alluding to made her stomach twist into thousands of tiny knots.

“I- I don’t know. I’ve been so busy with her I don’t even really think about what’s going on with me half of the time.”

Y/N tried to make excuses, anything to avoid the obvious, but judging from the quizzical look on her daughter’s pediatrician’s face, she knew exactly where this was going.

“There’s no way,” she whispered, “I can’t be.”

Lisa’s face dropped, now tender and apologetic when she realized that this was news Y/N was not ecstatic to hear.

“I know I’m a pediatrician, so that’s obviously the first thing my mind goes to, but can we at least get you to take a test? That way we’ll know for sure?”

//

Harry came home to a quiet house. It wasn’t unusual, but seeing as it was well after six o’clock in the evening and his wife wasn’t in the kitchen making the curry that she’d been oh-so so excited about earlier in the week and swaying along to the playlist they’d curated together as she stirred a pot filled with vegetables was. Their grocery store had been out of coconut milk for several weeks and she’d nearly tackled him to the ground out of excitement when he’d come home from the grocery store with it the night before, so he found it awfully strange that she’d yet to start cooking it. Had he not seen her car in the driveway, he probably wouldn’t have even suspected her to be home.

He checked the living room first, and it was desolate apart from the playmat on the floor that was littered with a few of his daughter’s favorite rattles and teethers. Her coat and purse were abandoned haphazardly on the couch, almost as if she tossed it aside in a hurry to get somewhere.

“Baby?”

Nothing.

His head peaked into the nursery, stealthily and quietly in preparation to walk in on his daughter taking her scheduled nap before her actual bedtime. He’d gotten good at hushing his footfalls to almost complete silence as to not wake her, having made that mistake more than a handful of times. 

And he was right. There she was, sprawled out in her crib with her arms outstretched over her head like a tiny starfish. Her chubby cheeks were smushed against her bicep, drawing her lips open the tiniest bit so that Harry could see the tops of her fleshy, pink gums and the barely-there nub of her first tooth peeking through. More than anything, he wanted to wake her up - lift her from the plush mattress and cuddle her close, shower her with kisses and tickle her with his scruff that was teetering on the line of becoming a full blown beard to hear those baby squeals he adored so much, but he needed to find Y/N first.

She had to be in their bedroom, he thought to himself. Maybe she was taking advantage of their baby girl napping to also get some rest. She had been rather exhausted lately. Maybe she’d had a rough day and was relaxing in the clawfoot, porcelain bathtub that had been the selling point of the home they now lived in. Or maybe she was keeping to herself peacefully somewhere else in the house and she was being so quiet that he just couldn’t hear her.

Turns out he was right again. Like he had done with the nursery, he held the wooden door tightly in his grip to keep the hinges from creeking and pressed it open gently. The room was completely dark, but he could make out the lump underneath the duvet on their king-sized bed as his wife. 

Good. She was sleeping. 

He padded across the hardwood floor, still being as quiet as he could until he crossed the threshold of the bathroom. There, he rid himself of the uncomfortable clothes he’d been wearing all day. Curse these professional business meetings about his tour schedule that forced him to dress nicely. 

All throughout the meetings, he wanted nothing more than to be home with his wife and baby, cuddling the afternoon away and watching shitty reality television while his daughter cooed and grunted and gurgled in her baby voice that he loved so much and could listen to all day. Maybe it was the fact that he’d been having to partake in these boring work meetings a lot more lately, which caused him to miss even the smallest aspects about his everyday life with his family like changing diapers or checking the baby monitor eight hundred times throughout the day to make sure his daughter was still breathing. Or maybe it was the understanding that by this time next year, he’d be halfway across the globe and physically unable to hold her in his arms. Perhaps he’d just been getting sentimental, but it was an unpleasant feeling nonetheless.

His thoughts were interrupted when he deposited his rings into the dish he kept on the counter and he heard a quite yet still prominent sniffle among the clattering of metal against the glass dish.

“Honey? ‘S that you?” Harry peaked his head out from beyond the bathroom door. 

He saw her body shift under the covers, but she gave no response. So he called out again.

“Ye’ sick? Can hear ye’ snifflin’.”

Nothing.

Pivoting back around to the inside of the bathroom, he quickly shut off the light and carried himself over to her side of the bed where he could see her properly. Her face was tucked into her chin and all that was visible to him was the top of her head.

“Hey,” Harry cooed, petting what he could reach of her hair and speaking even gentler than he had been, “What’s wrong?”

And that’s when he heard it - an almost inaudible choking sound of Y/N trying to catch her breath that immediately let him know she wasn’t sick. She had been crying.

“Whoa, baby,” he was already pulling the covers back with force, honestly not caring whether or not she minded the intrusion.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

She was emotionless when he saw her face, her puffy, bloodshot eyes and swollen lips the only indicator that she was upset. She didn’t even react to Harry tugging her head out from where it had been buried in the covers, simply rolling onto her back to stare idly at the ceiling.

“Y/N,” he called for her again, this time much more stern, “You’ve got to talk t’ me.”

She took several deep breaths through her nose, allowing her lungs to fill to their maximum capacity before exhaling with a sigh. Harry could have sworn she was sucking all of the oxygen out of the room along with his patience each time she did so. 

After what felt like ages, she parted her lips to speak.

“I went to the doctor today.” 

“Yeah? For the six-month check up, right?” Harry asked, not seeing why that was important but his mind quickly went to the worst scenario possible despite having just seen his daughter sleeping peacefully in her crib.

“‘S she alright?” his voice now demanding urgency in the delivery of her response.

“She’s fine,” she quickly dismissed him, internally kicking herself for making Harry worry.

“I was telling Lisa about how sick I’ve been lately and she -,” Y/N gulped and rubbed her knuckles against her tired eyes, bracing herself for whatever events unfolded after she said what she was about to say.

“She, umm. She made me take a pregnancy test.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to be speechless. He stared at her with furrowed brows and his mouth slightly agape. His palms suddenly felt clammy against the white sheets that they rested on and his stomach felt like it had turned in on itself from how badly it was churning. Of all of the things he had expected to be wrong with her, this was certainly the last on the list. 

“And?” he asked after a solid sixty seconds of staring at her and saying absolutely nothing, though he already knew the answer.

“Ten weeks.”

Silent tears now spilled over her eyes and down past her temples. She couldn’t even be bothered to wipe them, instead letting them dampen a small patch of hair on either side of her head. Pregnancies weren’t supposed to be sad, but somehow, she had barely been able to stop crying since she left the pediatrician’s office.

“How,” Harry whispered, moreso to himself than to her.

“I think you know how babies are made, H,” Y/N quipped.

“‘S not what I meant,” Harry fired back just as quickly, “It’s just...She’s still so little.”

He thought of his daughter asleep in the next room. She was the most perfect thing he’s ever seen and on the day that she was born, he knew he wanted nothing more than to fill his and Y/N’s house with as many curly-headed babies as he could fit beds in each room. He just hadn’t expected that his only child’s first birthday present was going to be the gift of being a big sister. 

It was all too sudden.

“I just don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. I mean,” Y/N raised her arms above her head before huffing and letting them fall to her sides, “I guess I was just so caught up with the baby that I hadn’t even had a second to think about what’s going on with me. It’s like I don’t even matter anymore and I-”

“Hey, hey now. None of tha’,” Harry shushed her and curled up next to her frame as she began to sob.

He tucked her head into his neck, hugging her shoulders tightly as if he was trying to hold the pieces of her together before she shattered. His mind was running a mile per minute. It killed him to see her like this, killed him to be in this situation. The last time they had found out this news, there were happy tears - tears of joy and celebration and relief after having tried for what felt like years. Never had he imagined that the next time they were presented with the very same news, that there would be tears of sadness.

Her voice was muffled against his now wrinkled blouse, but he could still make out what she was saying beneath her blubbers.

“I can’t do this.”

“Wha’ do yeh mean, pretty? Of course yeh can. I’ll move some things around and we’ll make it work. We’ll be alright,” he ran his hand up and down her back in attempt to soothe her.

“That’s the problem, Harry.”

He lifted his chin from here it was resting on the top of her head to look down at her.

“What?”

“You have to move everything around. You’ve already been gone for almost two years. This sets you back at least another. You can’t keep pushing shit back.”

“Erm,” Harry paused to break away from her and sit up straight against the headboard, “Yes I can? I couldn’t care less about tour...Did yeh think I was gonna leave yeh here on your own with a fuckin’ newborn?”

“No. I didn’t think you were just going to leave,” she almost sounded annoyed, which didn’t sit quite right with Harry.

“But do you see what’s happening? Everything is fucked.”

His voice wasn’t so calm anymore.

“No, Y/N. I honestly don’t. I mean I know this is all happening much earlier than we expected, but what else is there t’ do? Tour can wait.”

“People are counting on you, Harry. Millions of them. We’re not the only ones that matter in this situation.”

“Will you please tell me what yeh gettin’ at, because I’m starting t’ get upset.” 

Harry’s lips were pressed in a thin, straight line and his nostrils flared with every breath. Why was she being like this? 

“I don’t know what I’m fucking getting at. I’m just overwhelmed."

“And yeh think I’m not? ‘M tryin’ my best to keep it together for your sake if yeh haven’t noticed,” it almost condescending how the words rolled off his tongue.

“Oh, excuse me,” Y/N laughed sarcastically.

“Didn’t realize you were the one carrying our fucking child. Didn’t realize you’re the one that has to grow all big and gross and swollen and be in pain every fucking day to the point where walking to the bathroom feels like a fucking marathon. Didn’t realize you’re the one that has to push a football-sized human out of your vagina and just lay there while a doctor you’ve never seen before stitches you up because it literally tore your insides. Didn’t realize you-”

“For fuck’s sake, I get it!” Harry was yelling now.

“It’s not the same and I’m sorry for suggesting tha’ it was. ‘M not sure what it is that yeh want me t’ say though. I’m sorry? ‘S that it? Sorry for gettin’ yeh pregnant? Sorry for havin’ a job that were well fuckin’ aware of when yeh met me? Sorry that I do everything I possibly can to keep you and the baby and everyone else on the fuckin’ planet happy?”

“You’re being an asshole, Harry,” she was just as angry as he was, scowl evident on her face even in their dimly lit bedroom.

“And you’re not makin’ any fuckin’ sense! Are yeh tellin’ me yeh don’t want t’ keep it? ‘Cos I never fuckin’ said that yeh have to.”

The thought had crossed her mind on the drive home from the doctor’s office, but the feeling left as quickly as it approached. She’d taken one look at her daughter in her car seat through the rear view mirror happily sucking on her teether and knew without a doubt that she couldn’t.

She felt a tidal wave of fresh, salty tears peaking and about to crash over her.

“I don’t want - fuck,” she put her head in her hands. 

“I just-,” and then she broke.

Sobs wracked her body, making her shoulders shake up and down. She wasn’t even sure how she had any more left to get out, but it just kept coming. Over and over and over again until it felt like she was being suffocated and that no one was going to save her. She felt Harry’s hands move to rest on her shoulder blades and heard gentle, cooing-like sounds coming out of his mouth, but she couldn’t make out what he had said over the sounds of her own wailing.

“Baby, it’s okay. Just breathe f’ me. It’s alri-”

His attempt at subduing her was cut short by shrill cries coming from the digital monitor that sat on their nightstand. Harry peeked over his shoulder at the screen, seeing that their daughter had woken from her nap and was now demanding the attention of her parents. He couldn’t help but wince as he watched her socked feet flail around in the crib; it was without a doubt that the screaming match they’d just encountered had stirred her from her sleep, and that hurt him just as much as it did to see his wife crying right in front of him.

Y/N heard it too, somehow. Perhaps it was because she’d been trained to react to every minute sound that she made and could recognize her cries from a mile away in the paralyzing fear that something was wrong with her or maybe it was because she looking for any and every excuse to get Harry’s hands off of her so she could get away from him and escape the argument they’d just had without making the situation any worse than it already was. Regardless, she turned her own neck to peer at the monitor and sighed heavily.

“I’ll go, Y/N. Just stay here.”

“No. I got it. It’s after seven. She’s probably hungry.”

She shrugged Harry’s hands away from her shoulders like his touch physically pained her and climbed over his body and off the bed without another word, not even giving Harry the chance to take her hand and help her over the edge of the mattress. He knew she wasn’t going anywhere but down the hall and into the nursery, but he couldn’t help but feel like she was walking away from everything.

//

Y/N stared her daughter while she nursed. She started from the top of her head that was riddled with chocolate brown curls and worked her way down to the tips of her toes that would occasionally flex themselves out of habit. Her hair? Undoubtedly Harry’s. Her nose? A perfect, narrow line down her face that led to a button-shaped tip akin to Harry’s. Her lips? The same almost inhuman shade of bubblegum pink as Harry’s. Surprisingly, the only physical trait she’d inherited from her mother were the color of her eyes, which was funny considering that was the one thing she’d wanted Harry to pass down to their daughter; Y/N had always hated hers.

She was content, suckling away at Y/N’s breast - her cries of hunger long forgotten. The infant hadn’t even flinched when a few more of Y/N’s silent, cold tears spilled over and left small wet spots where her onesie rested over her belly. She had no idea that her parents were upset with each other and she had no idea that in a little more than six months time, she’d be a big sister and there would be two babies fighting for their attention. Y/N was also clueless, but only as to how she was going to take care of a newborn and a one-year-old simultaneously. She’d always thought she’d have more time than this - more time to spend with just her daughter and Harry before they decided to have another, but just like her eyes, things always had a funny way of never working out in her favor.

Three soft knocks on the wall withdrew her from her thoughts and she was greeted by her husband idling in the doorway like he needed permission before entering a room in his own house. He had changed out of his dress clothes and was now clad in his favorite pair of joggers that were permanently stained with spit-up. Y/N had tried everything under the sun to get the spots out, but he’d been persistant on not throwing them out.

“Can I come in?”

His voice was barely above a whisper and much calmer than when he’d been yelling at her about twenty minutes ago. He still hesitated crossing the threshold even after Y/N had given him a skeptical nod, but allowed his bare feet to pad over the plush carpet as he joined her on the loveseat in the far corner of the nursery.

He watched their daughter just as Y/N had, taking in her tranquil state as her fingers brushed reflexively against the underside of Y/N’s breast. He’d never been able to pry his eyes away every time he watched her nurse. There were no ulterior motives behind it, nothing sexual or erotic whatsoever. It amazed him each and every time, how Y/N was able to provide their child with everything that they needed to grow with only her body. At first, Y/N hated that Harry loved sitting in on her feedings, feeling exposed and unattractive despite Harry’s continuous affirmations that it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever had the privilege of witnessing, but over time she’d grown fond of it.

“‘M sorry for yelling at yeh,” Harry started.

“It was uncalled for.”

Y/N sniffled, rubbing her swollen eyes with the back of her free hand that wasn’t supporting her daughter’s back as she held her.

“It’s okay. It was a lot to take in. I’m sorry for yelling at you too.”

She couldn’t quite look him in the eye just yet, but she was slowy but surely getting there.

“’S not okay, actually. You’re right. I’m not the one havin’ the baby. It’s you that’s got t’ do all the hard stuff. Should’ve listened to you more.”

He shifted towards her on the cushions, afraid to touch her just yet but still yearning to be closer to her.

The best Y/N could muster was a quiet, “Thank you,” before she busied herself by attempting to run her fingers through her baby’s hair and untangle the mess she’d created while she was sleeping.

“Can I hold you? Please?”

Now was when she turned to face him and she was met with eyes that were just as red-rimmed as hers. She had heard the bathroom sink running for an abnormally long amount of time and a hard, frustrated pounding against the wall shortly after she’d gone off in the nursery to feed the baby, which meant he must have been trying to muffle the sounds of his own crying when she left their bedroom.

Y/N didn’t say anything, only shifting her weight onto one side so Harry could easily lift her onto his lap in one swift movement without disturbing their daughter. He tucked her shoulder into his neck and softly kissed her skin and his hands moved to mimic hers so they were both holding the baby that was nodding off again in their arms. She found herself relaxing into his loose grip, her head tilting to the side to rest against his. 

“I love you so much. Yeh know that? I know it’s difficult always having t’ think about everyone else, but you’re what’s important t’ me. I’d drop everything for you if I had to. End it all today.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she refuted, but there was no malice in her tone.

“I wouldn’t let you.”

“Well, just know that I would if yeh wanted me to. I’ve thought about it a thousand times. I want t’ be here f’ you. For her. Don’t want t’ miss anything. I finally got my shot at bein’ normal when I met you and I hate myself for even thinkin’ about going back on the road and leavin’ yeh.”

“Don’t,” Y/N paused to press a chaste kiss to Harry’s cheek.

“You’re a good person, Harry. A good dad. A good husband. Please don’t ever think that you’re not.”

She felt moisture pool in the dips of her collarbones where Harry’s chin lied, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

“I’ll be okay. Sorry if I freaked you out earlier. Think I just need some time to get used to it all. Just wasn’t expecting Lisa to drop the ball that I was pregnant when all I was expecting was for her to tell me that our kid is in the 99th percentile for weight and then send me on my way.”

This got a chuckle out of him, almost causing him to choke on his tears. He quickly rubbed the sleeves of his jumper against his eyes to dry up any remaining wet spots on his face. 

“She is pretty chunky, isn’t she?” Harry jested while thumbing over his daughter’s rounded tummy.

After a moment of admiring their little chunk of a baby, with her milk-drunk eyes and puckered lips, Harry spoke again.

“Two babies,” he huffed.

“Two babies,” she repeated.

His hands moved to caress Y/N’s stomach. She clearly wasn’t showing yet considering that neither of them had even known she was pregnant up until today, but he still held her like her belly was the size of a watermelon and he was waiting anxiously to feel a hand or a foot press up against his palm.

“Might be kinda nice. They can share everything and we’ll only have t’ have one birthday party ‘cos they’ll be born around the same time. They’ll go t’ the same school and probably have the same friends. Kinda like twins.”

“Based on the fact that you’ve already picked out the outfit this one is wearing on her first birthday that’s still six months away, I highly doubt you’ll stay keen on them sharing a party.”

Harry pursed his lips and blushed, recalling the garment he’d spotted during one his fittings with Gucci that he vowed to have for his daughter.

“Guess you’re right about tha’.”

Their banter was interrupted by a grueling rumbling sound coming from Y/N’s stomach that Harry could feel throughout his entire body.

“Jesus, Y/N. You hungry too? When’s the last time you ate?”

“Uhh...this morning I think?” Y/N sighed.

“Couldn’t stomach anything when I got home.”

Harry’s heart dropped when he thought of how distraught she’d been all day while he was gone and with everything in him, he’d wished he would have postponed his meetings to go to check up with her and they could have found out together, but it’s possible that the topic might not have even come up if he had been in the room with her and the pediatrician.

“Found coconut milk at the store the other day, remember? Want me t’ make that curry for yeh?”

“Ohh, yes please,” she immediately purked up at the thought of warm spices and rice.

“Starting to wonder if curry was a craving now that I think about it. Didn’t we have it, what? Three nights in a row a while back?”

Harry giggled as he reluctantly removed Y/N from his lap and stood up from the sofa.

“Thought tha’ was a bit weird that yeh wanted it so badly, but I didn’t dwell on it too much.”

“She’s going back down. If you give me a minute, I’ll come downstairs and help you,” Y/N said, pulling up the straps of her tank top after realizing her daughter had long since forgotten about her breast and was conked out in her arms.

“‘Ve got it, mama” Harry quickly refuted.

“Take a bath or somethin’ and I’ll bring it up t’ yeh when it’s done.”

“Okay.”

Y/N couldn’t fight the grin growing on her face at the nickname Harry used that she still hadn’t gotten used to.

When she placed their daughter soundly in her crib, Y/N’s fingers stayed put from where they sat on the railing as she caught herself staring at the sleeping infant once more. Though she’d felt like her world was caving in on her just a handful of hours ago, the pieces were all coming back together now. 

Of course, she wanted more children with Harry. And now she was getting what she wanted. Just like he’d told her back in the bedroom, it wasn’t ideal, but they’d make it work. They always did. 

With two babies.

[inky-duchess]

21 History Ancedotes for my 21st Birthday

So today I celebrate my 21st birthday and I have decided to gift you all with 21 of my favourite historical Ancedotes. Some are funny, some are sad and some are plain bizarre but I hope the make your day 💜

Mary Maloney, an Irish-born suffragette in England followed Winston Churchill around while he was campaigning for a seat in Parliament, drowning out everything he said with a very large bell and calls for him to apologise for his comments on women's rights and suffrage movements.

Clodius Pulcher was a well born Roman noble during the last day's of the Republic. He gave up his Patrician status to become Tribune of the Plebs (an office in which one had to be a Pleb) by being adopted by a much younger Plebian man who became his "father". Clodius was a bit of a riot, sneaking into religious festivals dressed like a woman to sleep with Caesar's wife, building a shrine to Liberty in the ruins of the Conservative Cicero, vetoed the last speech of one of the Consuls (who basically did nothing all year and was apparently going to roast Caesar) and burned down the Senate House with his funeral pyre (the Plebs who loved him literally tearing up the furniture to build his pyre). He was honestly the best fun.

When laying on her deathbed, Queen Caroline of Ansbach turned to her husband George II of England and told him he should marry again. George refused to ever wed again... But added he would have mistresses. Caroline said , likely with a roll of her eyes, "oh my god that doesn't matter."

Florence was a pretty cool city in the Renaissance until Savanorola came to town. He disliked the loose living artists that crowded the city, with their naked pagan gods and rampant homosexuality. He expelled them all with help of the French hoping to make Florence Holy Again. When the Borgia Pope excommunicated him and sentenced him to death, one man in the crowd was reported to have said. "thank God, niw we can return to sodomy." One Floretine man in the 1490s said Gay Rights.

So this list couldn't be complete without an entry of the only American politician I love, Alexander Hamilton who was just a walking entity of sass. I could go on about his sharp sarcasm or his disaster bi vibes with John Lauren's but my all time favourite Alexander Hamilton ancedote has to be this exchange with Thomas Jefferson "There are approximately 1010300 words in the English language, but I could never string enough words together to properly explain how much I want to hit you with a chair."

Caterina Sforza was an Italian noble woman during the Renaissance. She was apart of the powerful Sforza family, which drew many enemies to her. One fateful day at Forli, Caterina's children were snatched as hostages. The besiegers threatened to kill her children if she did not cede the castle. Caterina refused, lifting her skirts and shouted to the besiegers that she had the means to make more children.

Hannibal Lecter's creator Thomas Harris was happy to end his great character's story with the original trilogy. However his publishers forced him to write an unneeded prequel explaining why Hannibal became Hannibal. Thomas Harris agreed lest he lose the rights to his character so he wrote Hannibal Rising, where Hannibal as a young man hunts down the Nazis who ate his sister with a katana.

Nell Gwyn is my favourite mistress of Charles II, mainly because of her sass. Once while trapped in the middle of a riot where Londoners swamped her carriage thinking she was Charles's Catholic mistress. She popped her head out the carriage and told the people "Pray good people be civil. I am the Protestant whore." She also dosed her rival Moll Davis with laxatives in order to free up some of Charles's time and she once flashed her underwear at the French ambassador after asking him why the Franch King did not pay her to spy on Charles because she was with him every night. A true Queen.

Emperor Ai of the Han Dynasty of China once rose from his bed to go do some ruling when he realised his lover, Dong Xian was sleeping on his sleeve. Rather than disturb his lover, the Emperor cut his sleeve off at the wrist to leave Dong Xian nap. Nothing has ever been more romantic than that. Y'all could never.

Princess Margaret the sister of current Queen Elizabeth II was a socialable Princess and often tasked to visit the up and coming music stars of the day on behalf of the Crown. When meeting the Beatles one evening, she noticed George Harrison was acting a little odd. When she asked what was the matter, he replied "We arent allowed eat until you go." Princess Margaret laughed and promptly left so the Beatles could get some dinner.

During the Siege of Jadotsville, Irish soldiers under the flag of the UN were attacked and besieged by local insurgents allied with the Katanga Regime. The insurgents numbered thousands while the Irish only had 158 soldiers, all who were lightly armed. They radioed to their allies assuring them that "we will hold out until our last bullet is spent. Could use some whiskey though".

Napoleon was famous for writing raunchy letters to his wife, the Empress Josephine while he was away. She used to reply with really mundane letters or not at all. She really just could not be bothered with him.

Josip Broz Tito was so fed up with Joseph Stalin sending assassins to kill him, he wrote to Stalin personally to say "If you don't stop sending assassins to kill me. I will send one to Moscow and I won't have to send another." It didn't work but Big Dick Energy.

Successful Roman soldiers returning from war often got to march along in parades known as Triumphs. During this, it was customary for them to sing bawdy songs about their commander. One surviving one about Caesar goes like this "Romans, lock up your wives. Here comes the bald adulterous whore. We pissed away your gold in Gaul and come to borrow more."

Matilda, Lady of the English was a woman so badass that history cannot handle her. She was the daughter of Henry I who left his throne to her after the death of her brother. She was away in France when her father died and her throne was snatched by her cousin Stephen. They battled back and forth for years with neither side ceding any ground. Matilda was once besieged in a castle during a snow storm, with Stephen's men all around her. Instead of fighting her way out. She simply donned a white cloak and walked out of the castle. Just walked out without any of Stephen's men seeing her.

Pedro of Portugal once fell in love with a beautiful lady in waiting called Inez de Castro. For years, they lived as man and mistress, popping out a few kinds. Pedro's dad really did not like Inez and wanted Pedro to find a legitimate wife so he had her killed. Pedro returned home to find the mother of his children dead. Pedro went a little crazy. He had all his father's assassins killed, ripping out their hearts as they had done to him. When Pedro ascended the throne, he demanded the Pope legitimize his children by Inez. The Pope not wanting to upset the King, said he couldn't because Inez was never crowned Queen. Pedro dug Inez up and crowned her as Queen, having all the nobility swear loyalty to her corpse. The Pope had no choice but to agree to his request.

A famously clever general once saved an entire city with an ingenious stragety to sit outside the city waiting for the attacking army to come. The attack had come to fast for the city to ready themselves for a Siege so, the general had to move quickly. He evacuated the city and took his place waiting for the army to come. The enemy forces stopped and took one look at him and bolted, thinking he meant to lure them in one of his famous traps.

Michaelangelo was really badly treated by the Vatican when he was painting the Sistine Chapel. He constantly fought with the Popes over the design and his work, which he was paid peanuts for. Michaelangelo got his revenge in his work, painting the gates of Hell behind the Papal Throne and an angel flipping the ol' fig (the Renaissance version of the bird) toward the Pope's chair.

Peter the Great was not a perfect guy. He kept serfdom as a practise in his kingdom, he had his son tortured to death and he could be an unpleasant guy. But Peter was a dreamer. He wanted nothing more to build a fleet for Russia and bring Russia beyond its borders. Peter took a gap year from ruling Russia to wander around Europe. When he stopped in England, he was granted Leicester House to chill in while he did his shipwright studies. It was here that Peter found a new passion. The wheelbarrow. Cue Peter and his new found English buddies drinking in Leicester House, punching the artwork and rolling each other around in barrels across the house's Great gardens.

Diogenes is hands down a walking shit post. He was a great thinker in Greece during the reign of Alexander but a rather dry, sarcastic wit. He lived in a pithos/a jar because he shunned all vanities and values of society. He trolled other philosophers, attending their debates to heckle them and eat loud foods through them. When Alexander the Great came to fan boy over him, saying that if he were not Alexander he would like to be Diogenes to which Diogenes just said "yeah me too, now get out of my sunlight."

Cosimo de Medici was the son of a Floretine banker with a great knowledge and love of art. Cosimo wished for Florence to release its potentially and join the Renaissance. He hired Filippo Brunelleschi to finsh the Great Dome of Santa Maria del Fiore which had láin unfinished for over a century, a symbol of a failure of ambition. The builders had lost the knowledge of creating a dome so large so it remained unfinished. Despite much opposition from the other nobility and denouncers of the Renaissance, Cosimo's dream of the completion of the dome was completed, making it the largest brick dome in creation at that time. There is nothing like achieving your dreams and certainly nothing like leaving a lasting reminder that screams 'I was right and you were wrong' to stand for centuries.

[365days365movies]

March 12, 2021: Jason and the Argonauts (1963) (Part One)

I am so goddamn excited for this one.

Back to Greek mythology, my first mythological love! And not just Greek mythology, because this...THIS...this is the first true Avengers story. Oh, yeah, like The Avengers.

After all, mythology produced the first equivalent of our modern superheroes, with demigods and legends that wield fantastic abilities and powerful items to fight the forces of evil. I mean, it’s the most superhero thing I can think of, and it’s literally a story as old as time. Fact of the matter is, I love superheroes, and I love mythology. Which is why I’m excited to finally see an adaptation of one of the biggest superhero team-up stories ever: Jason and the Argonauts!

See, it all starts with Hera, queen of the Olympians and petty as FUCK.

See, the newly (and wrongfully) ascended king of Iolcus, Pelias, honored the gods after stealing the throne from his brother. Well, all of the gods except Hera. So, Hera, rightfully pissed off, decides to fuck Pelias over by recruiting his nephew, Jason. Jason’s a naturally hot blonde kid who was raised by the centaur Chiron, also making him wise...theoretically.

Hera tests this kid, and he passes, so she gives him her favor, and tells him to fuck up his uncle. Jason arrives in Iolcus, and demands the throne from Pelias. His uncle agrees, IF he can bring back the Golden Fleece, a legendary treasure that is guarded by a vicious monster and a zealous king. Pelias didn’t think Jason had any chance, but Jason had the gods on his side. They sent their best subjects to his aid, and Jason procured an awesome ship, the Argo. So, who’s coming to help? Oh, you ready for this? ARGONAUTS ASSEMBLE

Now there are anywhere between 46-85 heroes that are assembled in the Argonauts, with different members in different iterations of the myth. But the big members are:

Heracles, son of Zeus, with the strength of a thousand men

Orpheus, son of the muse Calliope, and master musician

Calais and Zetes, sons of the North Wind, with the ability to fly upon it

Atalanta, the swift-footed huntress, and only female member

Castor and Pollux, twin half-brothers (yeah, really) and horse-riders

Theseus, son of Poseidon, and slayer of the Minotaur

Tip of the iceberg there, but you get the point: we’ve got a superhero team on our hands! And these heroes would perform MANY great deeds on their journey to the Fleece. They fought the Harpies to defend an oracle, they passed the dangerous Clashing Rocks, they battled the Stymphalian Birds, with feathers of metal. Sirens, fire-breathing bulls, and a giant bronze man named Talos.

Different one. Eventually, they procured the Golden Fleece on the island of Colchis, where they fought a dragon with a help of the young sorceress (and niece of Circe), Medea. She fell in love with Jason, and the two fled the island, married, and had twins. Only for Medea to reveal herself as a stone-cold sociopath, and only for Jason to ditch her for another woman. That goes...VERY badly for Jason. Breaking off his marriage pisses off Hera, THE GODDESS OF MARRIAGE, and he dies sad and alone after Medea does...Medea does a lot, I’ll just leave it at that. Jason, completely fucked at that point, takes a nap at the foot of the now rotting Argo, which collapses on top of him and kills him.

For the record, I truncated that story A LOT. There’s a lot to it, but I have a movie to watch, goddamit! And I’m really excited because this is my first Harryhausen movie! You know, Ray Harryhausen, one of the early greats of practical special effects in film? A specialist in stop-motion from its earliest days, he revolutionizes the art throughout films in the 1950s and 1960s, with this one being one of the most successful. You’ve definitely seen his influence, from stuff that he’s done directly...

...to those inspired by him and his methodology...

...to the arts that were descended indirectly from his groundbreaking effects.

Oh yeah, I’m fucking GOING THERE. Fun fact: Ray Winston Studios, a stop-motion group active during the ‘80s and ‘90s, and a descendant of Harryhausen’s works, were originally going to do the animation for the dinosaurs in this movie, in Claymation. However, the recent advent of advanced animatronics, alongside ILM’s founding, caused them to take some of those principles, and apply them to CGI and animatronics. So, yeah, I’m claiming an indirect connection here!

Anyway, enough being a nerd, LET’S WATCH THE GODDAMN MOVIE! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

As the bombastic and epic score plays, the credits role of a Greek-style fresco, detailing the various adventures of the Argonauts. And before the movie starts, I come to a realization: there is a high chance that I’m going to hate this movie’s inaccuracies to Greek mythology. It’s not impossible. I’m real persnickety about my mythology adaptations, just warning you all now. I’ll probably get into it in this Recap, too. Full goddamn warning.

We begin with a seer, reading the future for the treacherous Pelias (Douglas Witmer). He sees first a Golden Fleece at the end of the world, but Pelias ignores this, and asks of his upcoming conquest of the kingdom of...Thessaly. Not, uh...not Iolcus. Mmmkay.

The seer fortells that Pelias will seize the throne, by force, from his brother and the king of Thessaly...Aristo...not Aeson. OK then. The seer says that he will be successful, but will eventually fall to one of Aristo’s kids, who will take his throne. He has two daughters, Philomena and Briseis, and one son, Jason. Looks like they’re gonna die, too.

The invasion begins! Amongst the chaos, Briseis (Davina Taylor) takes her baby sister, Philomena, into the temple of Hera, and pleads to her for her protection. However, they’re found by Pelias, who asks who she is. He’s interrupted by a priestess of Hera, who claims that the Queen Goddess has answered the girl’s prayer for protection.

Pelias responds in kind.

Well...I’m sure that’s gonna piss off Hera. He claims it to be the will of Zeus, but she states that it is his will, not Zeus’. The gods have abandoned him, and he will one day fall to a one-sandaled man, Jason. And as the woman reveals this...she disappears. Nice. FUCKIN’ NICE.

This “priestess” is Hera (Honor Blackman), of course. She goes to her husband, Zeus (Niall MacGinnis), and asks if he ordered Pelias to destroy and profane her temple. He says no, as that was Pelias’ attempt to stave off his inevitable fall by Jason. However, Jason has escaped Pelias’ wrath, as has his sister Philomena. Hera decided, however, that she wants to take down Pelias, and Jason is the best was for that to happen. Hence, she wishes to sponsor Jason.

However, Zeus, being the classic misogynist, says that he will allow it, but she may only help Jason 5 times, once for each time that the fallen Briseis prayed to her. She agrees, and waits 20 years to start fuckin’ with Pelias. Pelias, meanwhile, is growing more paranoid over the one-sandaled man prophecy that Hera gave him.

One day, on the bank of a river, Hera appears to make Pelias fall off of his horse into the river. He’s saved from drowning by a young man, who loses his sandal in the process. This is, of course, Jason (Todd Armstrong), who was already on his way to see Pelias for some reason.

For the record, this is an adaptation of the original story, in which Hera disguises herself as an old beggar-woman, and Jason proves himself to her by helping her across the river, after which she gives him her favor. To be honest, I like this a bit more, or at least as much.

Pelias brings Jason back to a camp for a celebration, with him as an honored guest. Jason reveals exactly who he is, and that he was raised outside of the city by one of his father’s loyal soldiers. He has come to reclaim his right place as king of Thessaly, and to restore it to it’s rightful glory. However, Pelias hasn’t revealed himself as king, and asks Jason how he plans to accomplish these feats. Jason replies with his ultimate plan: obtain the Golden Fleece.

Here’s the deal about the Golden Fleece. One of the most legendary items in Greek mythology, the fleece is essentially a symbol of royalty, and is the coat of a ram with wings found on the island of Colchis. Now, the meaning of the fleece has long been debated, with the main consensus stating that it’s a symbol of royalty. However, some claim that it’s a symbol of prosperous farming (golden grains of wheat), the forgiveness of the gods for some unknown deed, Zeus in the form of a ram, or simply the promise of the unknown at the edge of the world.

What it DEFINITELY ISN’T is a magical healing garment, as Jason claims it to be. But OK, whatever, we need a good reason to get the Fleece, sure. Pelias, not revealing himself, says that Jason should try to get the Fleece, with a boat and a crew, and bring it back to Thessaly, returning and killing Pelias in order to take the throne. Of course, Pelias thinks that this is impossible, which he says to his son Acastus (Gary Raymond). He also knows that if he kills Jason, he it will mean his own destruction, as Hera told him.

Jason goes to ponder this journey, only to encounter the seer. The seer asks if he has come to pray to the gods, to which Jason states that he doesn’t believe in them, nor does he have cause to. The seer offers to give him that cause, and reveals himself as Hermes (Michael Gwynn), the swift-footed messenger god, god of medicine, and trickster god of the Olympians.

Hermes isn’t usually directly involved in the myths of Jason, but that’s OK. He also does something particularly unusual, and brings Jason TO Olympus to meet the Gods themselves. Which, uh...yeah, hot damn. Zeus and the rest arranged for Hermes to bring Jason to them. They ask how they can help him on his quest. Zeus offers him a ship and crew, but Jason refuses, much to the gall of EVERYBODY.

Hera helps him by telling him where to find the Golden Fleece: the island of Colchis, at the other end of the world. To get there, though, Jason’ll DEFINITELY need a ship. He decides to go to the shipbuilders of Greece, and tell them that great treasure lies on Colchis, and they may receive some for their aid. As for the crew, he’s got a similar tactic. Offer the reward to the athletes and heroes of Greece, who will compete in games to determine their eligibility.

Not from the original myths...but it actually makes a lot of sense. Goddamn, is this going to be a good adaptation? I’m excited! The games are held, and many athletes win their place on the journey. They include: Castor and Pollux (Ferdinando Poggi and John Crawford), Acastus, and of course, Heracles (Nigel Green). And yeah, he’s called Hercules here, but I don’t care.

When Hercules arrives, this grabs the attention of the young Hylas (John Caimey), who arrived to late to compete in the games. He challenges Heracles to something, believing that beating Heracles in something will guarantee him a place on the ship. 

While everyone mocks this, Heracles agrees to go up against him in a discus-throwing contest. They must hit or pass a rock in the ocean by throwing their discus. Heracles hits it easily, of course. And the frail Hylas...

...Nice. Did not see that coming, and that’s actually very smart. Also takes a lot of skill, because I could NOT do that. Hylas wins his place in the ship, to the delight of both the crowd and the Olympians. And yes, Hylas actually is a companion of Heracles in the original stories, so that’s neat!

Now for the boat, being built by master builder Argus (Laurence Naismith), who is coming on the ship with them. He notes that something appears to have guided his hand during the ship’s construction. In the original myth, that would be Athena. However, here, it’s probably Hera, as the figurehead is specifically carved in her image. And is also...alive?

Well...to be fair, in many myths, the ship contains wood built from a magical tree that could speak, and see the future. So, OK, magic ship, fair enough. Well, hopefully, that ship’s guidance will happen soon, as the voyage immediately proves difficult. No water, no rest, and frustrated men.

Jason asks the figurehead for help (which would be help #3) and Hera speaks through it to tell Jason to head to the Isle of Bronze, where Hephaestus once had his forge. However, the island is lorded over by a powerful something called Talos. I know what Talos is, but the movie hasn’t revealed him yet.

The Argo makes its way to the island, and the men head ashore to get food and water. They see goats there, which will provide them both food and drink, and Heracles and Hylas chase after them for just that aim. And that’s when they blunder into a giant bronze statuary, lorded over by the statue of Talos.

The two enter a chamber in the statue’s base, which is filled to the brim with gold and treasure. However, Jason warned the men of the Argo not to take anything from the island but food and water. Hylas remembers this, but Heracles doesn’t care, and takes a golden staff from the chamber. And Talos...Talos doesn’t appreciate that.

Oh, that’s a great place to take a break! See you in Part Two!

[wovenstarlight]

YWBK update: chapter 25 + liner notes

yesterday will be kinder has updated! you can read chapter 25 here, or start from the beginning here

okay, on to notes and commentary! first time i’m doing these, let’s hope this works out. commentary under the cut to save people’s dashes

Hamin laughs. “Given how bad you are at not being suspicious, that’s understandable.” “Oh, come on, I’m not that bad.” Hamin screws up his whole face in a squint. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little bad.”

this part was really funny to me when i wrote it because i was like “hmm reasons for DHM to understand why HHJ wouldn’t work in the guild” and then i was like Wait. Their Whole First Meeting, Dude. DHM was lowkey convinced for the longest time that HHJ was like, on the run from the KR version of the mafia, and got plastic surgery to look like his little brothers, and is possibly in some sort of witness protection program??? or something??? how else does he not have cops on his ass this man is so suspicious all the time

“I don’t think… They said the dungeons were, like, different worlds? Did they find people there?”

mafia theory second place. dungeon theory first place

“Like, humans? Um. No, no humans.” “So then you can’t be from there. Okay.”

dungeon theory shot down. mafia theory back in the running

“Hey,” he says cautiously. “I’m— I’m gonna go get us some water, okay? Why don’t you… take a minute.” “Okay.” “The bathroom is over there, if you need it.” “Okay. Thank you.”

after four years working alongside a guy you start to notice when he’s feeling a little out of it and needs a bit of a break... but as JHW mentions later you also learn to be a little subtle about giving him one

jung heewon What’s with your typing? It reads like Jihye’s [HYJ]’s fine. Very energetic Too energetic? He’s going to burn out. How do I make him calm down

Epic Burnout Man makes a reappearance! when translating sclass one of the things that makes me want to shake HYJ most is his habit of constantly adding things to his to-do list while he already has 1 billion things on his plate. and all the time he’s whining about “UGH there’s SO MUCH WORK to do” No One Asked You To Do It

Anyway. the point is. HYJ isn’t about to be beat by HHJ at Developing Issues 😔

jung heewon I haven’t spoken to him directly about this because if he’s anything like you he’ll take it as an insult You wtf whts tht supposed 2 mean quit typing jung heewon Better not say shit, mr “No, I can’t take days off and cater to my interests or go out with friends or on a date, I’m too busy taking care of the kids and making sure their needs are met, no I don’t care that there are thousands of people out there balancing personal enjoyment and romance and work AND kids at the same time, are you suggesting I be a BAD GUARDIAN to MY KIDS?”

see above re: not being too direct with pointing out when HHJ’s having Issues because he doesn’t react well

You wht but our eyes r fine jung heewon Even if having glasses doesn’t run in the family, you should still get him checked, just in case

top 10 funny time travel moments: referring to you and your past self as “us” (our = my eyes are fine), but other people think you mean “our family” (our eyes are fine = no family history of long/shortsightedness)

Also. Sooyoung-ie says hi [Attachment: 20XX1213_144516.jpg] 

ok no lie this was one of the parts that pissed me off the most, even though it’s Literally One Line, because. i love chat exchanges. i really do. when done right they’re a lot of fun to read. But Do You Know How Long It Took Me To Figure Out A Calendar For The Events In This Fic. now everything’s TIMED i have to count HOW MANY DAYS IT’S BEEN since XY event so i can CORRECTLY NUMBER the FILE ATTACHMENTS!!! this sucks!!! it took me fucking forever to pin down a timeline just so i could write this chapter plus the few before and after it!!!!

anyway i gave up when i reached year. i just put 20XX. fuck it. we are running on fairy tail time now. (actually i think that’s XXnumber number? XX76? or was it X796. something like that. Who cares i stopped watching fairy tail forever ago)

Fuck it! Hamin will understand!! “If you Awaken you should come work with me,” Han Hyunjae says all in a rush. 

“HAMIN WILL UNDERSTAND” => he literally was cool with me giving zero context for half a dozen absolute balls to the wall nonsense bullshit things i’ve done before. he’ll be fine with this too. dog_in_burning_house_this_is_fine.png

“You already know about the guilds, those are going to be for dungeon Hunters, but I was thinking of forming something like an independent group of contractors. Awakened people with skills that aren’t useful for combat, but that might… that will be generally useful. It’d be you and me, and maybe one other guy I met recently. Probably more in the future.”

given that HHJ has no idea currently that peace exists (i’m so sorry baby i’ll find a way to shoehorn you in soon i miss you so much) he’s got no intentions to start a kiseungsu business yet! he mostly wants to live quietly while just acting as a manager for other Awakening-related services, like YMW’s forge and DHM’s tracking service, along with the information exchange/lowkey spy ring that he’s planning on setting up with JHW and the bar. since HYH is fine associating with him in this timeline, HHJ’s thinking he can get a foot in the door that way, then eventually spread out into dealings with most major guild leaders

RIP to this plan. you were well-made but you will not last long.

“Please, I can’t tell you how I know that, I really can’t, it’d put me and my brothers in danger if it got out. But—” “No need.” Hamin looks slightly alarmed, and Han Hyunjae feels himself settle at the obvious concern in his eyes.

MAFIA THEORY RAPIDLY RISING TO PROMINENCE??? THIS IS NOT HOW DO HAMIN WANTED HIS GUESS CONFIRMED

“I spoke to the Task Force Head and she said that there’s been discussion about hosting a meeting for the nearby high-rankers, where they’ll announce the guild proposal and see who else is interested in trying it out.”

“they’ll announce” i’m sorry king 💔 you deserved a nap

(OH ALSO FUN FACT choi eunyoung is a canon character, not an OC of mine! she appears in uhhh i think late 140s? 150s? something like that)

“I think there’s… probably only one other S-rank who’s Awakened right now?”

Hehehehehehehehehehehehehhehe

Hamin beams. “No, they’re doing great! Spookie’s taken really well to the new housing situation, but I think Spots might miss the store…”

shoutout to @daemonic-dawn​ for letting me borrow a pet name, love u king. i had a much longer ramble about pet names here but i finished typing and realized it was all entirely off topic so i removed it for convenience

Hyunjae makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. “Don’t— I mean.” He huffs, visibly taking a deep breath, and Yoojin frowns reflexively. [...] “Is everything alright?” Yoojin kind of wants to be annoyed at his tone on principle, but he forces his shoulders to relax, matching Hyunjae’s posture. Though he can’t stop himself from being a little short when he answers.

things the brothers have learned in four years living together: getting confrontational often leads to arguments that just fizzle out anyway, so it’s way fucking easier to consciously tone down their combativeness in advance when talking to each other about things they have problems with, instead of screaming their heads off and then having to calm yoohyun down afterwards to boot

“I guess. Whatever.” Yoojin slumps. “Can I…” “Hm?” Hyunjae blinks at Yoojin as he gestures to the spot on the bed beside him, then jolts. “Oh! Yeah, sure, c’mere.” He opens his arms, and Yoojin goes over and flumps on the bed, head in Hyunjae’s lap. Almost immediately, Hyunjae starts stroking fingers through his hair, and Yoojin relaxes into the touch, listening as Hyunjae continues speaking.

cuddles 🥺🥺🥺 sorry i don’t have any other commentary here just. cuddles. extremely and overwhelmingly comforting for a man who spent the better part of 8 years(?) with no major positive relationships, and a kid who spent 12 years of early life basically abandoned by his parents. you had best bet they gave up on not hugging each other 1 year into this whole mess

Yoojin hums in acknowledgement. It’s not like he’d ever let himself get hurt; he has too many responsibilities to his family and friends. If he wants to be good enough to keep up, he can’t afford to fuck up like that. But… hyung will worry if he keeps working so hard. He can slow down a little for him. 

Problems disorder man when will you stop. the way he sees “getting hurt” as an inconvenience and an obstacle to his duties rather than a danger to himself. the way he doesn’t really care if he himself gets hurt, but if it’ll worry his family, then it’s a no-no. it’s just. wow. i know i wrote this but i hate him

“Not really. I talk to Myeongwoo about it sometimes.” “Ah, right, Myeongwoo.”

haha gays

“Don’t be weird about him,” Yoojin warns[...]. “I won’t, promise.”

if the “i won’t” line had a dialogue tag it’d be “Han Hyunjae lied”

“Is Eunwoo still in his relationship?” “Mhm, happy as ever. Apparently they’re trying long-distance, now that Eunwoo’s gone off to university abroad.”

three guesses for who eunwoo’s dating and you won’t need the first two

Hyunjae raises his hands like he’s going to deny the accusations levelled against him, so Yoojin seizes him by the collar and shakes him until he cries for mercy

oh my o/rv ass struggled so bad with not writing “shakes him like a man betrayed” here. it killed me not to. but in the end i prevailed (against, uh, myself. don’t think about it too hard.)

“Jeez, okay, he’s an F-rank!” “Eh?! Then why—” “He’s also got an SS-rank potential skill,” Hyunjae admits[...].

play-by-play of this scene because god if i draw any scene in this fic it would be this one just for the sheer hysterical nature of HYJ’s reaction:

YOOJIN: I HATE YOU WHAT THE FUCK WHY. TELL ME HIS RANK

HYUNJAE: HE’S AN F

YOOJIN: WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK?

HYUNJAE: he’s also got an SS-rank skill,

YOOJIN:

[smalltragedy]

* justice smith, demi man + he/they | you know gabriel de leon, right? they’re twenty three, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, six years? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to 1984 (infinite jest) by the used like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole waking up in a body as heavy as the dead, emotions always on the verge of spilling over - you laugh before the punch lands, the belief that every encounter you have will be the last thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is october 31st, so they’re a scorpio, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 21, est, they/them )

hi im just reposting gabe’s intro bc its been a very long time n im starting a little fresh hehe. yes i do regret the text color bt im not going back.

VIOLENCE TW

mini playlist.

ghosting ;; mother mother / roam the room ;; citizen / art of doubt ;; metric / thnks fr th mmrs ;; fall out boy / heart in a cage ;; the strokes / where is my mind? ;; the pixies / flowers grow out of my grave ;; dead man’s bones / 1984 (infinite jest) ;; the used / blister in the sun ;; the violent femmes.

statistics.

full name: gabriel de leon.

nickname(s): gabe.

birthday: october 31st, 1997.

zodiac: scorpio sun, scorpio moon, gemini ascending.

label: the icarian.

hometown: belleville, new jersey.

sexuality: bisexual (masc-leaning).

pinterest.

biography.

it’s only rly ever been gabe n his mom n the little new jersey suburbs that r always the same no matter where they go. they dn’t speak abt fathers or brothers or spain or anywhere other than the now, and how its constantly changing bt oddly the same.

his mom’s name is sonia n we love her. she worked a lot as a single mom n p much hs done everything on her own ever since leaving spain.

they dn’t talk abt spain bt we cn talk abt spain n hw sonia hd grown up partially there n partially in the states n hw she’d originally planned to live there forever bt the man she’d fallen in love with ws involved in some. high class dangerous shit n it ws safer fr them to part even if tht involved leaving everything she knew n loved <3

bt its like. ok. bc she hd gabe <3 n they dnt talk abt it so it practically nvr happened. n she tries her best as a mom n usually tht is enough.

they moved around a lot just bc sonia is a very. flighty person. anxious bt nvr seems tht way is just always. tense. gabe didnt think she ws capable of relaxing fr. a rly long time.

she wld commute 2 nyc every morning n after school gabe wld climb onto the train n by the time he got 2 her place of work she’d be just getting off n they’d get a slice of pizza n sometimes they’d go somewhere like central park or coney island (just fr the novelty) bt most of the time they just got back on the train home w/ gabe either doing homework or napping on her shoulder.

when gabe got a little older he’d sometimes skip school n take the train after sonia had already gone so he cld spend the day in nyc. he liked learning bt didnt rly like school. he nvr properly fit in bc of the amt of times they’d move so it felt like nowhere ws. right fr him.

got rly involved in. the punk scene as a young unsupervised teenager n tht led 2 a lot of like. shitty stick n pokes bt also a love of. very loud angry music n a sense of justice tht he held tightly in his fists. got mouthy towards bullies whether at school or in the scenes he involved himself in n started getting into a lot of fights bc of it.

during this, sonia ended up dating n marrying gabe’s stepdad who he calls craig sometimes bt i dnt think thats his name i wont lie to u guys. its partially a joke n partially purposeful disrespect bc gabriel does not trust a single man bt like. man. ‘craig’ is just an accountant. he’s fine he’s a good dude. they once bonded over like. the mets.

violence tw // anyways. when gabriel ws 16 he got into a super super bad fight tht ended rly. terribly n like listen. nobody died bt it ws just. it got blown up very out of proportion n gabe might’ve gotten expelled even tho he wsnt even the one who started it bt thts okay. ‘craig’, or paul, suggested tht maybe. a change of scenery wld b good fr gabe n b4 they knew it they were. moving to paul-robert’s hometown of irving, north carolina. violence end of tw //

he wld’ve complained more bt. fr sonia’s sake gabe kept it 2 himself. it made her happy 2 see them all get along anyways n like. idk he cld put forth tht little effort <3

bt honestly like. he didnt rly get into too many fights once they moved down here n even tho sometimes he ws like. ommgg. i hate this town .. its so washed up .. he still made friends n like. the only thing tht changed ws tht it ws a lil harder fr him 2 acquire illegal substances.

anyways. currently he hs a tattoo apprenticeship n is a professional piercer n like. he plays guitar n writes songs bt thts more of a hobby rn than anything else. mostly focused on paying his rent at port apartments bc as much as he. loves his mom he does not want 2 live with her forever <3 n thts okay!

personality & facts.

overall xtremely passionate person like god. feels emotions so intensely. every time he opens his mouth n talks abt an interest of theirs its just very like. u listen n ur like oh. gained 2 inspiration. thanks.

clings onto his friends p tightly bc he like. nvr rly stayed in one place fr super super long in new jersey so he nvr made very long term friends n now hes like. very clingy HLKDSHLKFSHLKDG also hates to b alone. subtle desperation behind interactions with ppl he rly wld like to be friends with.

like dnt get me wrong hes gotten into. sm fights bt thts mostly bc he cannot keep his mouth shut n he also cnt stand douchebags he like. always wants to tear them down prob bc he ws a victim of bullying. n u know what. we support him. otherwise he loves ppl bt esp if they hv similar interests 2 him.

like golden retriever who bites kind of. intensely loyal but at the same time is very skeptical. things tht good things do not last very long even though they’ve been doing already fr the last few years.

also bit of a nerd. they were nvr rly a big fan of school bt theres smth abt a good superhero comic tht draws their attention more than like. any english class evr. bt seven soldiers of victory? classic. big dc fan.

uh. very into like. hardcore music. hardcore rock. punk. if its loud n angry they r into it like so so much. hs sm tattoos is like. super covered in them its partially bc they work at a tattoo shop n partially bc they do not know hw to manage their money well.

ooohh u know what theyre. kinda moody i wont lie to u. very defensive like they dnt evr wna talk abt their past. has experienced Things n they do not wish to discuss them. will usually like. deflect frm conversations he doesnt wna hv.

in tune with nature. loves fkn taking walks. hangs out in the woods by abernathy creek n lilac ridge bc nobody rly goes there n its just. nice

tries not 2 take anything super seriously 2 the point where when he does take smth seriously its a little scary bc theyre super intense abt it. forcibly optimistic even tho on the inside he feels like a total pessimist. lots of. deep down insecurities tht he projects by attaching himself p firmly onto others. >.>

so so so energetic. can never stay still. always hs to be moving around. restless like tht. probably got it frm his mom. overly protective over the ppl he loves. probably got it frm his mom as well.

goes onto Tangents bt also divert frm those tangents n is generally all over the place.

always cold n always looks tired n like he hsnt slept in a thousand years n u know what. sometimes he just does not sleep.

oooohh theyre a vegan. totally into animal rights. devious little demi man beyond that .. loves horror n the paranormal n believes in like. every cryptic. will debate u on it.

erm not. the kindest 2 themself theyre a bit self destructive. impulsive. drives very fast n parties super hard. said i will hv my effy stonem moment. u dont hv to gabe.

bt ya! luvs oranges n reds n is maybe a short king. hs an eyebrow piercing n like. a lip ring i wont fk around here he IS living his best emo life in 2021. a little outdated on the trends bt thats okay. probably will tell u hes frm new jersey. its a personality trait. smokes the shittiest cigarettes ever.

wanted plots.

just ghosting along ,, dnt even exist 2 me ,, ;; god. firstly just the vast amt of ppl tht gabe hs like. spoken to romantically n then dropped suddenly. n then maybe like. one tht actually Hurt bt they cnt avoid each other bt theyre actively pretending each other doesnt exist n its. hurtful bc it ws like. actually smth nice bt <3 ykno FKLFSDHG

hey hey heyy c’maahn i’m just a little guy ;; n this is the vast amt of ppl tht gabe hs probably. pissed off n hs either fought or been on the verge of fighting just. unable 2 resist a good bicker-turned-duel.

just blistering in the sun ;; they cld b close friends bt also they cld also not b bt just ppl who. indulge in bad impulsive decisions with gabe. general bad influences on each other’s health n just. no good! party hard bt at what cost.

n also ;; like ... rly solid good friendships ... flings n maybe an exe or two tht either ended on good terms or just. horrendous, ppl they’ve distanced frm, ppl also frm up north, piercing customers, bt not tattoo customers bc im p sure they’d get fired if they were just tattoo’ing ppl willy nilly, etc.

[lovelivingmydreams]

The next day: Good morning

Part One: Wrong door Part two: As adults Part Three: A thousand miles

A new morning has arrived and the sides awaken to their new normal. How do they deal?

The sound of an alarm echoed through the hallways of the mindscape, but went largely ignored. In the dreamscape a father looked up from his spot next to a teacher who was taking careful notes of their surroundings. Which probably making the dreams more vivid in the process. In the darker corners of the mind, only one side truly woke up from the alarm an got up to prepare for the day ahead. The other two grunted displeased and turned around… but neither before tossing something at the wall as if that would stop the unpleasant noise. In the room where fears and doubts reside the shadow’s stirred at the sound, but the one who was supposed to urge Thomas to wake up and address all their concerns was not there. He laid in a room that was about to become a scene from numerous Disney classics. Bluebirds opened the curtains to the royal bedchambers so the prince could assist Thomas in getting ready for the day. They could’ve spared themselves the trouble. Thomas –who’d set his alarm the previous morning and forgotten all about it when he went to bed –turned it off and went right back to sleep. Virgil, knowing that Thomas had no obligations for at least the next 48 hours, just buried his head deeper into the pillow and ignored everything. Including the birds and the light and the fact that he was definitely not in his room. Not knowing what to do the birds awaited orders of their prince who slowly blinked himself awake. Roman currently occupied as much space in his king sized bed as humanly possible. When his eyes adjusted to the light he stretched a little, feeling a slight tug at the bottom of his shirt as he moved. He looked down and found Virgil curled up at the far edge of the bed with one hand reaching out and holding onto the fabric of his sleeping shirt to assure himself of his presence. In the light of day he could see that when Virgil manifested in his sleepwear, his make-up vanished, allowing Roman to really see the other sides’ face for the first time in almost twenty years. In the mindscape the sides’ physical appearance varied a little more than in the real world. Roman was the tallest of them, Patton and Logan both were about Thomas’ height and Virgil stood an inch shorter, at least he did when he stood straight, which was almost never. Patton had freckles everywhere and his dirty blond hair was curly. Logan’s skin was spotless and a little pale. His dark hair was always combed back neatly and cut shorter than Thomas’. Roman’s skin was tanned and his chestnut hair had a slight elegant sweep to it and he always combed it out of his face, got to show off the moneymaker after all. Virgil was the only one of them who had stuck to Thomas’ real hairstyle, except he let the bangs go straight down his face, and ever since Thomas colored it for the first time Virgil kept the purple as his new signature look. Roman had opted not to paint his hair ‘full rainbow’ because he wanted to allow Virgil to stand out in his own way. The anxious side was paler than the rest of them but under that white foundation he had a rosy color to his skin and freckles dotting the area under his eyes. Roman knew this, Virgil didn’t start wearing make-up or hoodies until after he moved to the other side. Which was exactly what made Roman so happy to see this. Underneath that broody exterior, his old friend was, and always had been, the same person he’d had so much fun with back when things were simple. He hoped Virgil had at least slept decently after practically being forced to spend the night here. Virgil was a creature of habits, they comforted him, that much Roman had learned. This unexpected change couldn’t be pleasant. He looked up to the helpful little creatures at his window who were wondering what to do. He gave them a gentle smile and signaled that they could go, he didn’t need their help this morning. They bowed and closed the curtains on their way out. Roman, knowing he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, slowly sat up straighter. He made sure not to disturb Virgil. He deserved every second of sleep he could get. He, Patton and Logan all had been horrified to learn that Virgil rarely allowed himself to really sleep. Technically they didn’t need to sleep, or eat or do anything Thomas needs to do to stay alive. They have no real bodies that can starve or get exhausted. But mental exhaustion is still very real, they all had to at least take a nap every once in a while. It wasn’t like ducking out. Even asleep they remained part of Thomas’ being. But it weakened their influence slightly. Virgil, apparently, was so stressed about something going wrong while he was asleep that he always postponed it as long as he could. So perhaps mental health days would be a good thing for Virgil too. Maybe he could relax today and have some fun without half of his mind being with whatever Thomas was currently doing. Speaking of having fun… Roman summoned a notepad and started writing down ideas for what Thomas could do today. Fun activities that had no goal or obligation other than to recharge all of their batteries so they could tackle the next challenge at full strength. Not too intense for Virgil, yet stimulating enough for Logan and wholesome and cute for Patton. And somehow entertaining for Janus and Remus as well. Well there is that book Thomas meant to read, it came highly recommended, but there never seemed to be time to really sit down and read it. And there were a couple of puzzles he’d bought for slow days. One in particular had lots of cute animals in it that Patton would love. There was the Lego Disney castle… Oh, playing Kingdom Hearts would be fun. That one was probably best for everyone. Challenging for Logan, but not so stressful that it would trigger Virgil. Patton loved the whole hearts and friendship storyline. And he was sure that Janus could appreciate the many layers to the story or whatever. Remus definitely liked the heartless. And, personally, he could never resist anything that involved Disney. Especially when they could play the hero who saved all their beloved characters from evil. They could definitely spend a few of their hours on that. Now for food… Well there was their Hello Fresh delivery... But Thomas might not feel like cooking at all. Best have a plan b, just in case. They still had some time to donate their order and if necessary they could keep today’s delivery for tomorrow and donate that one instead. Roman, realizing what he was doing, couldn’t help but chuckle at himself. Look at him making contingencies… Virgil is rubbing of on him. He shouldn’t bring his plan b up to Thomas unless it was needed though. Once the idea of ordering some comfort food was on the table, cooking would look even less appealing and Thomas had been doing so well on cooking his own meals. And cooking for himself made Thomas feel in control of his own life and Patton was always proud of him when he did that. It was slightly more stressful for Virgil, but not that much more than having some stranger handle their food did. Besides, less social interaction would probably be appreciated. And eating healthy counts as self care right? What else? Well, Thomas could watch a few movies. Roman wanted to give him enough things to do today that didn’t require their full and undivided attention. That way, all of them could do some things for fun too. He could take Virgil on a tour in the imagination. Maybe they could even talk with Remus. He was pretty much alone now. Sure there was… Him. But he didn’t really count. From the one time Roman and Virgil had talked about downstairs, Virgil had made it clear that even the ‘dark sides’ didn’t like to go anywhere near him. He wasn’t going to leave his brother alone with that guy regardless. It wouldn’t be fair. Remus couldn’t help the way he was. Janus had simply set him loose and he’d gone a little overboard. Sure, Roman had been mad about it at the time, but he’d gotten over it. Remus had even checked in on him when Roman ventured near the border later that day. He’d been rather pleasant about it all and seemed even slightly worried he’d done permanent damage. It was veiled in insults about his intelligence and looks of course. Still, it was a nice sentiment he had come to appreciate. And it was more than Janus had ever offered. So as long as Remus promised to refrain from using violence against him or his friends, Roman could learn to live with his brother again. If Virgil was okay with that. He would not make such a decision over his head. He’d lived with Remus for years, it should be up to him if he wanted to do so again. He tore off the page with suggestions for Thomas and wrote down things he wanted to do himself. It was a ‘take care of yourself day’ after all. So with his part in taking care of Thomas done he focused on recharging his own batteries. He glanced down at Virgil. He better make a plan b in case Virgil doesn’t feel like spending the day with him and Remus. One thing he is sure of, he doesn’t want to be alone today. And he doesn’t really want to be around Janus or Patton if he doesn’t have to be. He could hang out with Remus in the imagination if Virgil really didn’t want to be around other sides today. Before long he had a list of activities he could be doing with his chosen company and things he could do alone should he find himself without other options. He really hoped Virgil was up for a visit to the imagination though. He’d been wanting to ask for ages, but there never seemed to be a right time. Now that Remus might be coming along… Well it might take some of the pressure off for Virgil if he wasn’t the only new visitor. He just had to take things one step at a time. Suddenly he felt the grip on his shirt disappear and he looked down to find Virgil curling up entirely for a moment before letting out a yawn, rolling on his stomach and stretching himself out. Roman bit back a comment about how much Virgil resembled a kitten in that moment. It wouldn’t be appreciated. “Morning pumpkin king,” he greeted playfully. Virgil blinked a few times and then pushed himself up until he sat cross-legged on the bed. “Morning Princey,” he replied only half awake, rubbing at his eyes. “I hope my accommodations were to your liking?” Roman offered as he summoned a piece of parchment and a feather to copy down the ideas he wanted Thomas to consider. It was necessary if he wanted his ideas to come through clearly. Quickly scrabbled notes got jumbled along the way until there was only a vague notion of a plan left. Just the wish to do something. But when it was written out carefully on parchment, then it was a plan clear as day. “Um, yeah. Slept fine… how are you?” Virgil verified tentatively. Roman looked up from his writing to send him an appreciative  smile. He didn’t insult the openness they’d shared last night by hiding the weariness of his eyes, or overplaying his smile to camouflage the slight worry lines that appeared when he felt less than his charming self. “I’m better. Not alright, but better,” he told him honestly. Virgil contemplated that for a minute and then nodded to himself. “Good… What are you working on?” he asked then, buying them both some time before they’d have to talk about last night and what awaited them today. “Well… Logan might make the work schedules, but I’m in charge of what happens. Mostly. So I wrote a few options. Once this is done my day off starts though,” he glances down at Virgil sternly. “As does yours,” he reminds him sternly and Virgil chuckles, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Alright, I promise!” Then he scoots a little closer to look at what Roman is writing. “KH sounds like fun,” he mutters casually as he leaned back and studied the star covered ceiling. Unbeknownst to Virgil, his voiced approval added his sigil next to that idea. “I thought we’d all like that one best.” With a flourish Roman signed the paper and let it vanish up to the outer layer of the conscious where it would get everyone else’s attention and votes until Thomas made a real decision. It was quite literally out of Roman’s hands what would happen now. And for once he was okay with that. It felt freeing in a way, to let go of an idea and let it be what it would be. He stared at the space where the paper had been seconds ago, contemplating how he could ask Virgil to spent the day in the imagination. “Hey, Ro?” Virgil said quietly getting the performer’s attention. “Yes?” “If you ever doubt if Thomas still thinks of you as a hero… Ask me, not Janus,” That… Wasn’t what he expected. “Alright. Why?” Roman asked confused, mirroring Virgil’s cross-legged position and properly turning on the bed to face him. “Like I said. Whatever Janus says, you never know by what rules he’s playing, when he’s sincere. And… If anyone knows how Thomas might be feeling about his hero… It’d be me.” Roman blinked surprised at that, the awkward blush on his brooding friend’s face didn’t help his confusion. “I mean… It’s… Remember the middle school writings and stuff we looked at back when we all visited Patton’s room?” Virgil muttered, avoiding Roman’s gaze by studying one of his posters. “Yes. It helped me realize just how much I created to… Calm you down, I suppose,” Roman admitted, now feeling a little embarrassed himself. Neither of them was used to this sort of conversation. Last night Roman had been too upset to really care about being vulnerable and Virgil had been too worried. Now, now they both sat here with a clear head and no choice but to be aware of the fact that they were both admitting to caring about one another. Which was a huge step up from the playful ‘I barely tolerate you’ atmosphere they usually had where such sentiments were ‘an understood thing’. Virgil was his best friend, there was no doubt in Roman’s mind about that. And maybe they both should tell each other these things more often. It seemed like their resident guardian angel was about to do just that. Unless Roman was misreading the situation. Virgil nodded. “Right… I mean, I know I really started to act like a villain back then… But we’ve established that my… ‘Fits’ were me being worried and trying to get you guys to pay attention to the dangers I saw… I was scared too. And when Patton and Logan weren’t sure what to do because, well, puberty had them both in a mess.” Roman nodded. Logan struggled to make sense of everything back then and Patton… Well it wouldn’t surprise anyone to hear that the heart is all over the place in ones teen years. “You still rose to the challenge to make Thomas, and me, feel safe and somewhat in control of things. As at odds as we were… As mad as I tried to be with you. You were my hero as much as you where Thomas’. If anyone is going to notice when he stops looking up to you, stops feeling calmer when you’re in his corner, it’ll be me… and for what it’s worth, you’ll always be mine. Even if Thomas completely loses his mind somehow, because that’s the only way I see him ever stop looking up to you the way he does…” Finally Virgil looked back at Roman with a beet red face and an annoyed expression. “Now, stop being so mopey. I’m not good at this comforting stuff and I never want to be so mushy again alright? It messes with my image,” he huffed. Roman couldn’t help the smile at that. Virgil was obviously compensating for the vulnerable moment and he could respect that. But his words had calmed so much of his nerves. He nodded in agreement. “I shall do my best. Thank you, my lavender compatriot,” he sighed as he reached out and laid a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “I can’t tell you how much I needed that.” Knowing that he shouldn’t push the physical affection, Virgil probably had his fill of that for the week, he simply squeezed the other side’s shoulder and withdrew his arm. Virgil rolled his eyes playfully. “No problem Princey,” Virgil assured him. “Just leave the doctor dooming to me in the future okay? If you lose your sparkle… Who’s going to make Thomas believe in himself? Not me, that’s for certain. And Logan is a little too frank about odds and the like and Patton… Well, no one really believes it when their dad says they can do something, not if they don’t believe it a little themselves first at least,” he reminded Roman. The prince nodded thoughtfully. “And no one is going to believe anything Janus says. Even if he dressed up as you it wouldn’t last long.” That remark brought back a question Roman has had since Janus revealed himself to Thomas for the first time. “Hey Virge? How well do you know Janus?” Virgil frowned and shrugged. “I used to think I knew all about him. But lately… I don’t know. Why?” “Well, I get most of his schemes now, but there’s one thing I can’t figure out, and I just thought you’d be the best one to ask.” Virgil chuckles. “Just one thing huh?” he teased. Roman rolled his eyes good naturedly, knowing Virgil didn’t really think he was slow witted. In truth they were all just as intelligent as Thomas and their boy was a smart cookie. Most of them were just easily distracted. Well all of them except for Logan and Janus. “Shut up scarecrow,” he huffed in mock annoyance. “Seriously though. Why did he impersonate Logan again? Wouldn’t it make more sense to assume a new role? One he was more familiar with? I mean, if ‘you’ had popped up and gone into a panicked rant about Thomas’ own wellbeing conflicting with Patton’s stance on good or bad. Maybe even throwing in a dramatic realization that you are ‘still bad’ for thinking like that… It probably would have been even more effective than ‘Logan’ laying down the law.” Roman bit his lip at the thought of how that would have broken Patton, the very thought of hurting Virgil like that, especially since their relationship had been a bit rocky as of late. How it would have affected him and Thomas to see Virgil panic. To see how much this whole thing was truly bothering both the edge lord and Thomas himself laid bare before them. Even when Janus revealed himself later, the thought of Virgil truly feeling like that would have been planted. Roman would probably have hurried to Virgil’s room by choice before even confronting Janus to make sure Virgil wasn’t crumbling under the pressure. “I don’t know if it’d be the bombshell you think it is,” Virgil shrugged. Roman wanted to object to that, but he could tell that Virgil was considering his question and gave him time to sort through his thoughts. “I don’t know for sure. Part of me wants to believe it’s for my sake? Out of respect for what’s left of our friendship. Maybe out of hope that there is still something to be salvaged?” he explained, looking off into the distance thoughtfully. “Maybe he just didn’t want to risk pissing me off. He knows what I get like when I’m really mad,” he shrugged dismissively as he got out of bed and stretched himself out. Roman followed his example and let the silence linger for a moment. “What if he does though? What if he tries to talk to you wearing my face? Or to get my guard down by wearing yours?” he whispered. He didn’t want to have to wonder about who he’s really talking to for the rest of his life. Virgil frowned at that for a minute. “How about a signal? To show we are really ourselves or that we need help? That way I can let you know when I’m feeling overwhelmed and you can use it when something someone said is hurting you without having to get everyone all over us,” he suggested. Roman nodded eagerly. Not just happy with the assurance that he’d always be able to spot Janus’ games from now on, but also because the idea of being able to get Virgil’s aid when keeping up a strong face got too hard felt infinitely reassuring. “That sounds excellent… How about we use our witty banter to our advantage?” Virgil nodded in agreement. “When you want to check if I’m me or if I think Janus is in the room at all, make a reference to MCR song titles or band members. When you need my help…” Roman already had an idea for that. “I’ll call you by a title. ‘Sir Surley Jackson’, ‘lord of the sighs’, that kind of stuff. How do I know it’s you?” Virgil grinned mischievously. “I’ll reply with a MCR lyric reference.” Roman gasped in pretend shock as he dramatically laid a hand over his heart. “So this was all a ploy to get me to listen to your Emo music was it?” he demands in an accusatory tone, but the slight smirk on his lips proves that he is indeed not serious. “You know it. If I suspect someone is being impersonated I’ll direct the reference to the possible fake. If the coast is clear entirely I’ll direct it at you.” Roman nodded. It was a rather ingenious system. No one would question why Virgil tried to direct attention away from himself at any given moment. And if Roman ‘took the bait’ and shot out jests at the person in question to trip them up it wouldn’t alarm anyone either. “Alright. How about when you feel overwhelmed you reference a color. Any color.” He didn’t think it would be wise to ask Virgil to get very creative at times like these. He could easily make a jab at his ‘pitch black soul’ or something along those lines even when thinking started to get harder. “Sounds good… If I ever doubt you are you, I’ll reference a Disney villain,” he suggested. “And I’ll shoot back with a reference to one of the songs from the movie in question!” Roman beamed, feeling confident in the system. It was both simple and subtle. The other’s wouldn’t catch on any time soon. “Oh, and if you spot Janus while I’m unaware, just refer to my ego at the first opportunity,” Roman suggested. He was usually the slowest on these things. His fanciful thoughts rarely allowing him to truly remain in the present. “Okay,” Virgil nodded. He patted Roman’s shoulder. “We’ll keep him safe Ro, together,” he assured him before putting his hand back in his lap. “I know we will…” Roman smiled. Struck once again with how much their dynamic had changed over the years he sighs deeply. There is one last thing he needs to say to move forward. To continue with nothing but honesty between them. “Virgil… About the way I treated you back when…” he started, but Virgil put up a hand. “Water under the bridge. I wasn’t the nicest person either. We’ve both moved well past this,” the dark clad side shrugged as he prepared to pop over to his room to freshen up before he had to face the others. He was stopped however by a hand grabbing the back of his shirt. “No, I’m not going to apologize… I mean, I am sorry, but I know that just saying that doesn’t mean a thing…” Roman caught himself spiraling off topic and redirected his focus. Meanwhile Virgil had turned back towards him and was looking at him with curious eyes. Roman hadn’t been prepared for how frightening it would be to have Virgil look at him like that. No edgy make up to mask his true emotions… it nearly made Roman back off. But he couldn’t. His actions moving forward would be the only way he could earn forgiveness, regardless of whether he’d already received it or not, and he wasn’t going to back out of any step forward they could take. “But I wanted to tell you… I blamed myself, back then. I blamed myself for you running away and hating me and not wanting to be around us anymore and taking it out on Thomas…” He gave Virgil a reassuring smile when he saw the younger side tense at that last part. “I know that you didn’t actually intend any harm, but at the time, that’s what the whole title change and everything looked like to me. What I wanted to do was talk to you, apologize and get you to come back. But I was scared. I was scared you’d reject me, I was scared to hear you say that it really was all my fault… It was easier to pretend you were the bad guy. That I didn’t care about you… Just like…” he took a deep breath. This was hard to say, but he had to. He cast his eyes downwards as his shame over his actions slowly overwhelmed him with guilt. “Just like how I pretend I never cared much for Remus rather than missing him because, until now, there was no way he would be allowed back to our side of the conscious. Thomas wanted to forget him, so I had to want that too. Thomas didn’t like feeling scared or anxious, so I had to defend him from your influence. I didn’t hate you, never that. But it was easier to think of you as my opponent than to miss the friend I failed to protect.” It was quite for a few moments. “Ro… I was just as afraid. I wanted to be friends again for ages too, but I was afraid things could never go back to how they were. Or that they would and I’d be unable to protect Thomas right out of fear to mess up again. And I know that Remus missed you too. And he is just as guilty of not reaching out as you are. We all are. Let’s just not make that mistake again alright?” Roman lit up at that. “You’d be okay with it if I asked Remus to come live upstairs again?” he asked hopefully. Virgil straightened himself and nodded firmly. It’s the most confident Roman has ever seen him about anything. It was almost a bit defiant, of who he wasn’t sure. “It’s time to get rid of closed doors,” Virgil stated. That gave Roman pause. “But… Won’t He come up then too?” he whispered as if speaking too loud would evoke the ire of the He in question. Virgil scoffed. “I doubt it. Not unless he feels he is strong enough to take us all in a fight. And Thomas is nowhere near the point where that is an issue,” Virgil shrugged dismissively. And if Virgil wasn’t worried, then Roman knew things would be alright. At least for the foreseeable future. “Alright I’m off… I’ll walk you to breakfast?” Virgil suggested carefully, his whole self assured demeanor falling away and returning him to more of his normal self. Though he was still more vulnerable than usual. Clearly he was still worried for Roman’s mental state or something. The offer made a weight fall of off Roman’s shoulders he didn’t even know was there in the first place. “Okay. I’ll get ready too then,” he nodded as he walked Virgil to the door. Virgil would most likely just teleport to his room, but it was the principle of the gesture. He was not going to be a poor host. Virgil gave him a nod and a two fingered salute before disappearing straight to his room. Roman sighed and then headed to the shower to get ready for the day.

Next up: Together breakfast

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[brooklynislandgirl]

{you know the meme}

The ficus stares him in the face with a thousand years of dread judgment.

It knows.

“I said I wasn’t gonna,” he mutters in its general direction.

Had been a thought, but once it was assured that this was, in fact, a real plant…well, it’s just immensely thoughtless to go pissing on plants. Probably worse if they’re potted, even if he can’t say why that would be, it’s not like unpotted {is that even a term…} ones are capable of getting up and moving either. No, it’s just a bad thing all together, pissing on plants.

But it’s also a bad thing to have to explain to Beth when she gets out of the shower that the police are at the hotel because there may or may not have been an incident involving indecent exposure and-his train of thought temporarily stalls on the tracks at wondering what sort of exposure was decent. Legally. If there’s indecent, that implies there is the opposite, decent.

“Prob'ly strippers.”

He’s muttered this to the plant again, with a noncommittal shrug, as though the plant may have a better idea it can suggest. If it does, it does not share it with him. But then, he wouldn’t share it either if he knew the plant had been intending to pee on him, so it’s acceptable.

He also might be slightly more drunk than usual. Not that things like conversing with plants and wondering about decent vs indecent exposures is irregular for him. Particularly not when alone, and that he is. Save for the plant.

Technically, Beth is here too, but the suite really is rather large, and she’s in the bathroom. That makes it feel like being in a house when someone else is in another room. He’s functionally alone.

Well, no…no, there is another very active presence, and though it indeed be haunting, it isn’t that sort of Presence. It’s the immense mistake of not realizing he had to pee before Beth left, then making it worse by trying not to fixate on this mistake after she had. He is rather horrible at doing the opposite of fixating on literally anything while trying not to do exactly that, it’s a bit of a promise that he is going to fail spectacularly…and he is.

Additionally, he is intoxicated enough to officially be on Drunk Time, and Drunk Time is like no other expanse of time. It might have been five minutes or two hours or yesterday that she left. He is only certain that this span of time has included having a cigarette, contemplating the plant, contemplating hitting unfortunate human targets below the balcony, talking to the plant, and continuing to drink. Just a little bit. It was obviously necessary, to…pass the time.

It hasn’t helped to pass the time, only to make the issue more present, and with the plant giving no new ideas, there truly is only one.

So, he’s at the bathroom door, and wondering why the fuck it is that he isn’t alright with simply going on a stealth mission here. Really, it’s extremely possible, in his mind and only his mind, that he’d get away with it. And…he…just can’t. At least this sort of ridiculous behavior, and the combined honesty and respect for her that tends to drive it, means that he isn’t at all lying when he comes tentatively creeping through the steam. Eyes closed, mouth open and going.

“Sorry, Beth, swear I ain’t lookin’ an not even like, listenin’ close. Just really, serious'ly gonna die if I don’t piss ‘mediately, an not inna plant, talked to the plant, it agrees that’s not cool.”

~*~

Squeaky Clean || -

Presenting a paper to the medical community, and in particular members of the CDC, on infectious diseases suffered by indigent people especially in areas where hurricanes decimate resources, fresh water, and shelter… is a rewarding and somewhat terrifying prospect. Beth knows very well how to speak properly in social circles the likes of which she might compare to a feeding frenzy of various shark slews, and academically she has a reputation for being a thoughtful and respected voice for the less fortunate. It is one of the things she takes pride in, actually making a difference where the Admiral only pretends to. He practices a very different kind of medicine, and belongs to a world that Beth has never been comfortable in, doesn’t want to be a part of, and refuses at every opportunity. The old man would be utterly appalled that not only had she taken in a 'young wastrel’ which is the politest thing he would say about Anakin, but gave him a job, a stable roof, was determined to see him be better off than his current situation would allow. Or that she’d drag him along on this trip, booking a single suite for them both. But truth be told, there’s more to it than appearances would suggest.

She doesn’t even know if Anakin himself really understands. Beth hates flying. She had never done very well with heights, something she’d learned as a kid when she tried practising cliff-diving. The air plane ride to the mainland when she was sixteen had been a nightmare and she’d been sick the entire ten hour, non-stop flight from O'ahu to JFK airport, in New York. He tried books, he tried singing to her, he’d tried music and in flight movies, he tried medicating her with drinks. Eventually he could do nothing but hold back her hair as she continuously expelled all of her stomach contents, rubbed her back when it was nothing but dry-heaving. Eventually, she simply curled up in her seat and leaned into him, too exhausted to be okay, too terrified to sleep. He rubbed small circles against her back and promised she never had to fly again. And then he ran off to join the Air Force, and jumped out of planes for a living. That was something about her brother that Beth could never understand even if he could have explained it to her.  She had sat on the lanai, trying to decide if she was brave enough to chance the Louis Armstrong airport ~ ~ “MSY.” Anakin’s grin had sprawled slowly across his lips and his head had dipped down, though she had been certain it was to watch Bug nap in a sunbeam.

Or to take a chance on one of the family’s private planes over at Metairie~

~"Metry...on the Big Ass Lake.” She hadn’t been sure if that was Anakin’s specific drawl or if she’d simply been mispronouncing that word the entire time she’s been here {which, honestly was more likely} because it looked like Met-prairie to her.

But even on the sofa, even with him reading his book ~a dog-eared and margin-notation copy of Ovid’s Metamorphosis~ on the opposite side of it, feet buried under her leg, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to book the flight.

Instead, she’d looked over, a little green around the gills, and in a surprisingly tremulous voice, she’d asked him if he’d be okay going on a road trip with her. After all, it was only a seven to eight hour drive, including stops to stretch, use the facilities, and food. She added to that the fact that she’d feel safer driving through that bit of Mississippi and almost diagonally across Alabama just to get there, if he would be willing to escort her.

There’d been discussion about what to do with Bug, and what not to do, which largely consisted of Anakin not really wanting to leave him on his lonesome and Beth arranging for the nurses to take turns {and hazard pay} to ensure meal times were kept to their schedule, and their housekeeper to ensure companionship and play time. And of course the discussion he had with Bug which she was politely not privy too, but she would have given anything to actually have heard even snippets of conversation.

And now, a few days later, here they are.

The humidity and heat in Atlanta is very different from that of New Orleans, which in Beth’s mind is more like home, where here it’s...sticky. A thin film of sweat has been clinging to her since their arrival in the wee hours when by all rights it should have been cooler at the very least. Because of the conference, she’d had to book them a single suite and though she’d apologise profusely, she didn’t think Anakin was very heart-broken about it. The air conditioner in the room had been running and it wasn’t so bad when they’d finally set their bags down.

Beth ordered breakfast from room service, had given Anakin that look, and like the rumoured pirates in her ancestry {sea-wooves, she called them not recognising her mispronunciation} had plundered the full bar. Miniatures were things one gave away to adults come Halloween, and full-size bottles were specifically requested. So it was drinks on the balcony and pastries, fluffy omelettes, and a very sudden urge to sleep.

She’d pressed a strawberry and Merlot kiss to his forehead and had only enough grace to fall onto her side of of the king bed, clothes and all. Which didn’t really help the situation. She also didn’t know how long Anakin had stayed up and what he’d consumed during that time. The moral of the story being she needs this shower. And there’s enough trust and enough love between them that she doesn’t think twice about leaving the door slightly ajar in case he needs the facilities. And maybe she stays in a little too long, letting the near volcanic temperature of the water ease away at her muscles in a haze of tropical scented soap, shampoo, conditioner.

She didn’t know that the ficus was a traitor. Or a victim. Or that it would eventually be going home with them.

She finds herself grinning when he makes his apologies and his platitudes.  “...’S’fine, really. I trus’ you an’ besides...I promise no have any kine ya nevah seen before. Because we’re ‘way from home, an’ sleepers...all ovah da place here. Worse dan haole summers back home, worse dan deer tick. An’ maybe ya plant wiser dan all of dem put togeddah.”  She hates that she’s suddenly become an Awakened psa, a reminder that they have to be on their best behaviour and any magick has to be disguised under the auspices of coincidence.

“Still got an eternity of hot waddah if ya wanna come in an’ grab a shower f’ yaself. But I’ll knife fight ya ovah dis loofah.”

[andromedarune]

Bede x Hop Request: “Just Desserts” (p1)

REQUEST ~ “I have one, it’s a hop x bede where bede feels bad for being mean to hop, but is too scared of apologizing to him in fear of rejection. Due to his past at the orphanage and his overall fear of being left alone again. So he decides to send homemade desserts to hop with secret messages ,anonymously . Hop Figures it out when the desserts stop coming after bede gets sick badly ( maybe a bad fever from exhaustion, anything that stops him from baking will do). You can include opal or the other gym leaders teasing hop on who could be sending the treats. I hope this is okay.”

A/N: Lolol this is a 2 parter bc my dumbass couldn’t stop writing even though I was in agony writing this (only bc I'm just not sure if it’s any good lolol). So, uh, please give me validation, haha - Hope y’all enjoy and the second part should be coming up sometime soon (when my brain decides to return into a solid shape).

The third time Hatterene hissed at him from across the room, Bede figured that he needed a better distraction. Obviously pacing wasn’t doing much to ease the frustration in his gut. The boy sighed, pausing to fix his neatly ironed white button-up shirt before turning on his heels and walking out the room. There were better things he could be doing with his time, anyways.

Things certainly have changed for the boy ever since he joined the gym challenge that fateful day. He didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. But he allowed himself a moment of gratitude, despite his usual vocalizations of annoyance in his current position in life, at how it was only a year ago that he was sitting in a poverty-stricken orphanage with a bunch of abhorrent adults pitying him every day. But he’d never let anybody know that, of course. The last thing he needed was people pitying him again; that was even more annoying than people trying to be his friend all the time. People could be so bothersome, it was sickening.

Bede made his way down the hall, unconsciously tip-toeing past Ms. Opal’s bedroom, where she no doubt was resting. Her age seems to finally be catching up with her, these days, since she seemed to be taking more naps than normal. The boy made sure not to comment about it. He didn’t need a lecture from that crazy old bag. Once clear, he made a sharp turn, stepping down the spiral staircase to find himself in the empty dining room. Once upon a time, large parties were held here, no doubt filled with beautifully rich people mingling to some classical music. Thankfully, no such nonsense happened here anymore, which meant Bede had relative free-reign of the house so long as he didn’t cause trouble. He meandered around the long mahogany table, keeping his steps as quiet as possible against the old wooden floorboards, and he made his way into the kitchen.

For years, the only thing Bede could reliably use for stress-relief had been battling. All his frustrations could come loose, he could speak his mind, and relish in the cool, refreshing glow of a victory after everything was said and done. Of course he would end up being pretty damn good at it, after so much dedication and practice. But then he joined the gym challenge, and that all went to pot. Suddenly, he started losing battles. Him? Losing a pokemon battle?! He had never even considered that to be a possibility before, but it was happening. Each and every battle suddenly became so personal, finding every possible weakness in his opponent to expose it and attain yet another beautiful victory. And for most opponents, it worked, and he hardly wasted another thought on the matter. But not all of them left his mind.

Bede frowned, crossing his arms with a huff as he leaned against the counter. These pesky feelings were really getting annoying. Maybe all these sweet-natured and emotional fairy-types were starting to affect him in more ways than one. He ran a hand through his curly locks as if the motion would magically clear his mind. It didn’t.

Well, there still is one thing that might ease his tensions. The youth dug through the kitchen, picking out some of the things he would need, and began his work.

Baking was a guilty pleasure of his, something only his pokemon and Ms. Opal knew about (and she only knew because she caught him in the middle of the night). The only reason he ever considered giving it a shot was because he had a serious sweet tooth, but growing up poor meant that it was hard to buy all those fancy cakes and cookies he longed for in the big bakeries of Wyndon. So he started making them himself. At first, everything was incredibly inedible, but he was stubborn about it. He collected books and articles about baking - all in secret - and eventually became good enough to where he figured that his confectionaries rivaled that of big businesses in the region. He’d probably make a killing off selling them, but he’d never even consider that possibility. The boy would probably die of embarrassment if anybody else found out about his skill in baking. It was bad enough being the fairy king of Ballonlea (as people seemed to be calling him, nowadays); he didn’t need people thinking he was some sweet-hearted weakling, either.

By the time he was whisking away the batter, his Sylveon pranced in, eager to try to steal a taste. The pink pokemon purred at his thigh, wrapping its ribbon-like appendages around his waist while he tried to ignore them.

“Don’t,” Bede snapped at the pokemon. “I’m not giving you any more batter.”

Sylveon barked, attempting to stand on its hind legs to blast a classic Baby Doll Eyes on it’s trainer. It’s not very effective.

“Sylveon.”

The pokemon pouted, slinking off to a corner to watch with a pitiful expression. Bede clicked his tongue, returning to his work in order to avoid falling for Sylveon’s little trap. The last thing he needed was Sylveon getting sick again. The boy worked in near complete silence, the only sounds coming from the occasional bang of a pan or a utensil against the countertop. He didn’t need to bother putting on an apron beforehand; he’s practically perfected his routine to where he hardly ever makes a mess, and if he does, he cleans it up right away. It was lazy to continue working in a dirty station. He eventually pours the dark chocolate batter into a circular pan, carefully tucking it into the preheated oven to cook.

Ah, yes, the time he hated the most - waiting. Thankfully, it wasn’t some giant, triple-decker cake that would need an eternity to cook; just forty minutes would suffice. He tidied up the kitchen a bit, washing some of the utensils and bowls he had borrowed before his mind started to wander yet again. He reached for the whisk when that terrible sensation in his gut suddenly slapped into him again, nearly forcing him down to his knees. The whisk tumbled down into the soapy water, sinking the bottom with a soft clank. Bede bit his lip, trying to keep his mind focused on the present. He didn’t have time to be wallowing in the mistakes of the past - he was better than that.

But still it remained. A bothersome guilt pulled him from the depths of his stomach, reminding him all the bitter words and heartless accusations he had thrown at so many people over the years. He thought that all of his training and efforts under Ms. Opal would be enough to push all those thoughts away, but they only increased with every day that went by. Though the world seemed to be forgiving him, he couldn’t help but hear the whispers of disdain amid the crowd with every match he participated in. It wasn’t like him to care about anybody else’s opinion. But here he was, running through every possible way he could make amends to the world. How pitiful. Bede shook his head. There’s no way to make everybody happy with me, he reminded himself, so just focus on being better. He was right; he couldn’t make amends with everyone, he couldn’t make everyone he hurt suddenly happy. But as Bede reached down for the whisk one more time, he couldn’t resist the want in his chest to try and reach out for the person he had hurt the most.

Yeah, that really wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

Bede near slapped himself in the face. What was he even thinking? Reaching out to someone like that?! Pathetic. He should be ashamed that his brain even came up with such a worthless idea. With another huff, the boy finished the dishes, moving some more things out from the cabinets to begin making the icing. It would be a travesty to put simple whipped cream icing on a chocolate cake, so Bede started working himself through a familiar buttercream recipe. Which was fine; everybody likes buttercream. Well, everyone with a soul likes buttercream. At least in Bede’s opinion.

The oven dinged not too long after. The boy paused his work to pull out the aromous dessert, setting it delicately on the middle shelf of the brand-new blast chiller that he received as a gift from Ms. Opal. He returned to the icing, popping in some pastel pink dye for reasons. The task would likely be complete by the time the cake was an acceptable temperature. He had done this a thousand times. Everything was second-nature, at this point.

Soon enough, it was his favorite part of the process. He scooped all of the icing and stuffed it into a frosting bag, pulled out the cake, and began his work. Out of the entire process, the icing was his favorite. Delicate, precise, no room for error. His mind would go completely blank as his hands did all the work, sculpting elegant rose designs along the sides of the cake. Never anything too elaborate (not that he couldn’t make it fancy, of course), never anything too plain. A perfect work of art - a declaration of love, if you will. But perhaps that was an interpretation that only Bede could recognize, much less appreciate. Finally, it was complete, sitting before him in all its beautiful, delicious glory. Sylveon trotted back up to its trainer, trying to stand up a little taller to get a better look at the result. Bede stared down at the cake, unsure how to feel. It was just what he envisioned. No doubt it would taste as good as it looked, probably even better. He poured his emotions into making this work of art, as he always had. But why did he always hesitate? Hadn’t he made this for himself to eat?

Bede shook his head, trying to hold back the trembling sigh from his lips. He wandered back to the kitchen to wash his hands, Sylveon watching with a perplexed expression. When the pokemon called for his attention, he finally slumped forward, leaning against the counter with his eyes slammed shut.

“I can’t do it,” he scoffed, unsure of who he was even talking to. “I do this every time, and I still can’t do it.”

Sylveon returned to his side, pressing a wet nose against Bede’s elbow. The boy absentmindedly reached down for the lovely creature, running his hands through the soft fur in hopes that it would ease his frustrations.

There was one other reason that Bede baked. He had always thought that food was the way to someone’s heart, especially sweets. Surely it would be enough to earn someone’s forgiveness, as well.

But the idea of actually doing that was terrifying. There was simply no way he could head all the way down to the laboratory in Wedgehurst, knock on the door with his heart in his hands, and beg for forgiveness from the person he had been so sure that he hated with every fiber of his being. And why? Because he was jealous? Confused? Like anybody would believe that nonsense. Even the thought of looking into those brilliant golden eyes again filled him with so much anxiety that it was difficult to breathe. Even thinking that person’s name would be a death sentence for Bede’s decrepit heart. Did he even still have one? Surely he must - all these pesky emotions had to be coming from somewhere. You would think that years of self-inflicted bitterness and anger would wring that stuff out of you, but apparently not.

Sylveon nudged his trainer yet again. Deep magenta eyes peered down, still trying to seem irritated with the pokemon’s constant interruptions.

“What?” he frowned.

The pokemon just stared up at him, that hopeful twinkle in its eyes gleaming with just a hint of… knowingness? The boy flicked up an eyebrow.

“You’re not serious,”

Sylveon barked happily.

“Most definitely not.”

A whine. Bede ran another hand through his hair, shaking his head. There was no way his pokemon was going to convince him to do something so childish. Right?

And yet, there he was, standing in front of the Wedgehurst Pokemon Laboratory, simple white box in his trembling hands. A small pink envelope rested on the top of the box, devoid of any signature or address. Just a quick drop-off gift to ease his conscience a little, nothing more. Sure, he had spent nearly three hours writing a letter - constantly writing then rewriting then rewriting some more in an attempt to make his words sound less annoying - but it wasn’t that big of a deal. Not like he would even know who sent this stuff. Bede made sure of that. So, with a deep inhale, the pink-clad boy gingerly placed the gift on the welcome mat, giving it a much too sentimental pat before racing off. Sylveon, following its cue, slapped the doorbell and scampered off after its owner, hiding beside the side of the building. Bede scooped up the pokemon, holding it to his chest while his heart raced inside of him. Was he making a big mistake? Would he even feel any sort of comfort from this? He wasn’t expecting any sort of forgiveness - he didn’t even sign the note! Maybe this wasn’t exactly his best idea.

The door opened with a creak, halting the gym leader’s breathing for a moment. A hefty bleat burst into life from the porch. No doubt that was Dubwool. Bede held his breath a little longer, clutching onto his decently sized pokemon for dear life.

“Hey, what’s this?” Hop’s voice wafted into the air. Bede could have died right then and there. Already he sounded so different - hadn’t it only been a year since they last spoke to each other? He sounded so much like his brother, but more youthful and bright…. But Bede tried not to think about that too much. “I don’t think Sonia’s expecting a package today.”

It’s for YOU, you dolt, Bede wanted to scream, feeling his face heat up to a rather unsightly shade of pink. Well, if pink could really be unsightly. But the sounds of shuffling and the following shut of the front door soon ease all the tension from the gym leader’s shoulders. Sylveon squirmed a bit in his hold, but Bede was too busy peeking around the corner. The box was now gone, no doubt in the hands of the professor’s assistant. Everything was out of Bede’s hands. He had technically made his amends, and could live his life in peace. With a smug nod of his head, he left the laboratory and made his way back to Ballonlea.

But then next week came along, and the feelings returned again. Bede could hardly focus on his training because of it; those terrible anxious feelings curled around in his stomach, but this time were tinged in a strange sensation of - dare he say - longing. Had Hop read the letter? Had he eaten the cake? Was it good? Did he even like chocolate cake with buttercream icing? Bede paused at that. Everyone likes chocolate cake with buttercream icing, he affirmed to himself, those who don’t are soulless and tasteless wretches! But still, these emotions didn’t seem to be leaving him any time soon. Sylveon pranced up to him as he stomped out of the stadium, frustrated with his own distraction, and offered a knowing yip. Bede didn’t even try to argue. He just grumbled a frustrated affirmation to the pokemon and hurried back to Ms. Opal’s house.

Within the next couple of hours, another elegant cake was crafted, just as perfect as the last. This time, though, he decided upon a chaste vanilla batter, along with a basic cooked frosting that was dyed a pale blue. Unlike the last, this cake was considerably more simple, but still managed to hold an elegant touch thanks to the delicate rose sculptures dancing along the top of the cake. While Bede was positive that his last cake was absolute perfection, he figured that a change of flavors could be appreciated. There was no way that Hop would have disliked something so perfect, no? Bede didn’t let himself entertain that thought.

As he wrapped up his cake, however, he noticed Sylveon trot away from his place at his feet. Before Bede could ask what was the matter, his eyes caught sight of that familiar old woman gazing curiously at the boy from the threshold. Bede grimaced, trying not to seem so guilty.

“A-ah, Ms. Opal, I….”

“Feeling frustrated, I see?” she spoke as plain as day, giving the pokemon a few pats.

Bede looked back down to his creation, wishing that she would just leave him alone. It wouldn’t be the first time anybody would do that.

“I was just feeling unsatisfied with my performance today during training. Nothing more.”

“Hm… And might I add that you’re looking considerably more pink than you usually are.”

Bede grumbled, raising a hand up to his cheeks. Sure enough, they were warm.

“D-don’t you have anything better to do?”

Opal shrugged, seeming content to watch the boy squirm underneath her sharp glare. He was an adorable little thing, if a bit ornery. Well, incredibly ornery. Eventually, though, she began to shuffle off, waving a withered hand in her farewell.

“Go on - make your delivery before the cake gets stale. Wouldn’t want that sweet little Hop eating a stale cake, now, do we?”

“Ah, yes, of course - WAIT WHAT?!?”

But she was already down the hall, hooting to herself in her crazy old laughter. The pink on his cheeks flared into a strawberry red, burning through his body like he was hit with a powerful Will-o-Wisp. How could she have seen right through him? Was he really that obvious? Before he could scream at her that she was misinterpreting things, Sylveon nudged the boy’s side. Well, maybe that could wait until after the cake was delivered. Bede pursed his lips as he finished boxing up the cake, and hurried off to scratch out an acceptable letter to go with it.

Just one more should do it, he reminded himself as he reached the laboratory yet again, depositing his anonymous gift onto the welcome mat just like before. And then my conscience will be clear and I can focus on more important things. He nodded to himself before scrambling away, letting his Sylveon ding-dong-ditch just like last time.

“Oh, another?” Hop’s voice eventually rang out, snagging something deep in Bede’s chest. “I wonder if it’s from the same person?”

Of course it is, you moron! Bede silently fumed from the side of the laboratory, waiting for the door to shut. A few moments went by, filled with a strange silence. Bede crossed his arms, trying to ignore the rising sense of dread in his gut. Just take it inside already, he wanted to shout. But that’d be unwise, exposing himself in such a childish manner. So the gym leader remained silent, counting the seconds as he fought the urge to peek around. Just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, the door eventually closed, releasing the breath that Bede had been unconsciously holding the entire time. He glared down at Sylveon, who seemed incredibly happy at the moment as it danced around Bede’s feet.

“Alright,” he whispered, pointing a finger at the jovial creature, “that’s the last one. No more after this - got it?”

Sylveon wagged its tail, staring back with those big dumb eyes to its trainer. Bede let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He figured that reprimanding the pokemon would be fruitless, so he just decided to leave now while he had the chance. The last thing he needed was to get caught while engaging in an unsightly shouting match with a rather clueless Sylveon.

[skgway]

1832 Nov., Tues. 20

7 20/..

11 50/..

Thick, hazy, soft morning Fahrenheit 47º at 7 1/2 a.m. Downstairs at 8 20/.. to speak to Goodyear (from near Brookfoot and Southholm) come about the stone in George Naylor’s land – Bids 5/. [shillings] a yard but wishes a hole to be opened to see the stone, and if worth more will give it – His 2 partners are Heap of H–x [Halifax] and Naylor of Willow hall – Said he was to tell George Naylor of upper place where he would like the hole to be made and I would see about it – He staid talking an hour till Throp came –

Then breakfast in 20 minutes and out with Throp at 9 40/.. to 12 20/.. – Took Throp all along the walk – Then to Well-royde upper wood – Will plant it at 15/. [shillings] a thousand with oaks at 10/. [shillings] in rows 2 feet asunder, and the plants 2 feet asunder in the rows, and between each plant in each row put in 2 acorns – (he has acorns from London at 4/. [shillings] a thousand – come from near Dorking) and keep the piece now trenched clear for 4 years at 20/. [shillings] a year – If the rough piece at the top was planted it would cost 10/. [shillings] a year additional keeping clean –

Then took him to the Cunnery wood – Hardly a good handsome plant in it – Has done very ill – Would fill it up with good 2 or 3 feet plants and uphold and keep them sufficiently clean for 4 years at £5 an acre – But could get it all trenched over at 1/3 a rood of 49 square yards which would be about 6 guineas an acre – And plant it with acorns at 40 /. [shillings] an acre and the acorns would cost about a guinea an acre (acorns at 4/. [shillings] a bushel and 1/. [shilling] a bushel carriage and about 3 or 4 bushels per acre) would make the trenching and planting with acorns about £10 an acre and then would keep all clean at 40 /. [shillings] an acre – Thus this plantation of about 3 acres would have cost me in 4 years about £50 – Said I would think about it – 

On leaving Throp at 12 20/.. went down my walk to the brook – Pickles not there today or yesterday –Then to Charles Howarth’s to value the oak tree lying in the Cliff hill ground – If it will come in for any of my uses will buy it –

Home about 1 1/4 – Saw my aunt – Changed my clothes – Wrote all the above of today till 2 1/2 – Waiting for Joseph Wilkinson who was to be here at 2 – From 2 1/2 to 3 35/.. read from page 58 to 100 (end of the life of Romulus and comparison between him and Theseus) volume 1 Langhorne’s Plutarch –

Off at 3 3/4 to Lidgate – Talking to Jack Green by the way – That throw down just behind Mytholm engine (2 or 3 yards back towards Hippherholme) as of 16 yards – Told Jack of wanting to see Joseph Wilkinson – Would give him tomorrow to come in (but if did not see him there Mr. Parker must try and settle for us about footpaths and water to Lower brea –

At Lidgate at 4 30/.. – I had met Miss W– [Walker]’s postboy with a note asking me to dinner at 5 and stay all night tomorrow – The Mill house Rawsons cannot go to her till the 3rd and ask whether this would interfere with our going to York –

You know how glad I shall be to see you and remember how truly happy [y]ou will make me if I can be useful to you in any way in your enterprize au secret. I reproached myself not a little yesterday that it did not occur to me to say this yesterday. I thought of it before you had been gone five minutes.

Very good of her, but thought I, I shall take care of getting under obligation of this kind. Declined going tomorrow – Miss Parkhill urged my going to them – Said I was afraid I could not even promise for Thursday –

Sat talking 3/4 hour to them got up to come away – Miss W[alker] took me into the dining room. Explained that I thought it better not to stay all night again during Miss P[arkhill]’s visit, and declined even breakfasting there, and made Miss W[alker] agree that I was right. She seemed glad to see me and more affectionate than usual. Kept me twenty five minutes. To call again at Lidgate on Friday –

Home in 1/2 hour (dark) at 6 10/.. – Changed my things – Dinner at 6 1/2 – Had Pickles with the man he summoned the other day for cutting sticks in the hedges – Pretended greatish anger and difficulty in letting the man off (at Pickles’s entreaty) for paying for the summons, and giving Pickles 5/. [shillings] –

Wrote the following in answer to note I found on my desk from Mr. Mitchell the land valuer (who had been to speak to Mr. Carr about Godley, who said that, out of gratitude to me, he should make me the 1st offer of it) –

“Shibden hall Tuesday 20 November 1832. Sir – I was not at home when your note arrived – I shall be glad to see you tomorrow morning at the earliest hour you can make it convenient to come after 8 – At 8, if that hour will suit you, will suit me best – I am, Sir, etc. etc. etc. A Lister" –

Sent this note by John to "Mr. Mitchell, Cowmarket, Halifax" – Wrote the last 24 lines till 8 40/.. – Then read from 100 to 113 volume 1 Langhorne’s Plutarch and had a little nap till 9 3/4 – Then went into the other room and sat talking to my aunt till 10 50/.. –

Letter from Lady Stuart dated 16 November, 4 pages of 1 large sheet and a 1/2 sheet full from Lady Harriet de Hagemann, Copenhagen, dated 4 November. Both franked by Lady Althorp and printed over the top on his majesty’s service – Both very kind letters – Both Lady S– [Stuart] and Lady H[arriet] de H– [Hagemann] wishing to see me – Lady S– [Stuart] would I hope receive the shawl the day after she wrote – Asks my interest for Mr. Wortley – I shall explain about this – Still not knowing what Vere will do –

Thick, hazy, soft November day but fine enough for the time of year – Fahrenheit 49º at 11 p.m. –

[alovesongshewrote]

Almost A Thousand Years - Battle Royal | Hisirdoux Casperan

Plot:  You’ve known Hisirdoux Casperan for almost a thousand years.  You’ve hated him for almost a thousand years.  And for almost a thousand years, you’ve been cursed to feel each others pain.  But somewhere in that time, things changed.  [Hisirdoux Casperan x Mostly Gender Neutral but Probably Female Presenting Based on How Historical Men Treat Them!Reader]

Word Count:  2,975

Warnings: (Y/N) is traumatized, but you knew that already

A/N:  IT’S B A C K, SHE’S HOME

Taglist:   @furblrwurblr​ @rainningdoom​ @fluffydmonkey @blondie0458​ @sitherin-mxschief​ @jinxedleo @lawlesshedgehog @einahpetsyarcip​ @dolphincommander​ @sorrels-scribbling​ @anxious-stitcher​ @alive-and-afraid​ @animedweeb333​ @douxiesdamsel​ @saroski05 @justarandomhoman​

You were very pleased to finally get a nap.  

It took a few minutes of answering questions, and by the end of it you’d basically told Claire and Steve every secret you’d ever had, but it was worth it.  You’d answer all of their questions and a million more if it meant you got to take another nap in the corner of Douxie’s room.

Waking up to general panic, however, was not as good.

“Morgana’s alive and coming for us!”

You sat up just in time to see Morgana’s hand reach through a shadow portal, only for Claire to shut the thing before any real damage could be done.

“Well… that’s not good,”

“Douxie, what do we do?”

Your wizard turned to face you, then Claire, then the empty space where the portal had been.

“Merlin?”

You nodded, “Yeah, Merlin,”

It took you less than a minute to wake up from your nap, and five minutes to get to Merlin’s workshop.  After that, it only took you an eternity to convince him that Morgana had really returned.

“I swear, Morgana’s not dead!”

“Rubbish,”

“It’s true, master.  She saw her in the shadow realm, which is great for saving history,”

“But she’s coming to attack the kingdom any second!”

“Which is less great,”

“We are all in grave danger,”

“And what were you doing in the shadow realm, hmm?  Its dark mirrors trick you, sozzle your mind.  Morgana is dead, and no magic can change that.  I haven’t time to chase ghosts.  We have more immediate threats,”

Typical Merlin, unwilling to listen to anyone except Arthur.  But something he said struck a chord with you.  No magic could bring Morgana back, at least no magic Merlin knew of.  You, however, had some experience with a different kind of magic, one that had some alarming potential.

“Morgana is a threat!”

“Listen well, girl, even if she had cheated death, we don’t stand a chance if Gunmar attacks before I finish the amulet,”

Past Douxie kicked down the door.  He was talking, they all were, but you were very lost in thought.  The Arcane Order had mentioned something about being older than the stars, and that meant they were round now.  If their magic could possess you, and create the green knight, then-

“I know you think we’re just a bunch of dumb teens, but we have to defend Camelot from disaster,”

“Hey, guys?  What if we’re thinking of the wrong disaster,”

You had Douxie and Claire’s attention, but not Merlin’s.  What else is new.

“Think about it.  Morgana had to be brought back by extremely powerful magic.  Maybe Gandalf over here can’t think of anything that could do that, but I think I have a good idea of we might be facing,”

Your wizard and the sorceress watched you with anticipation, but Merlin had no time for this.  With a wave of his hand, half-masks appeared, covering the bottom of your face.  The same thing happened to Claire and Douxie. 

“Silence!”

“Wizard got your tongues?”

You couldn’t speak, but with the limited knowledge of morse code that you’d picked up in the wars, you told Archie that you would fight him in a Denny’s parking lot whenever the opportunity arose.

“If you truly believe the kingdom’s in danger, then go protect it… outside.  I’ve an amulet to finish,”

Green magic surrounded you, lifting you, Douxie, Claire and Archie out the door and away from Merlin.

As much as you hated being silenced, it was kind of fun to watch Douxie struggle to remove the masks.  It took a few minutes for the green magic surrounding you and Claire to turn blue, and when it did, you were thankful enough to help your wizard with his gag.

“No sign of Morgana anywhere,”

“Nothing but unwashed plebeians stuffing their faces, eh, Steve?”

If you looked into the crowd, you could see Steve, an unwashed plebeian, stuffing his face.  

You turned your attention from the teenager, who was now running towards your small group, to watch Arthur give his little speech.  To be honest, you weren’t actually that focused on what the king was saying.  In fact, you had zoned right out until he mentioned Bular. 

At the king’s command, the troll was brought out into the shadows where the public could see him.  The Gumm-Gumm prince roared, and you heard screams echo out through the crowd, one of which came from Steve.

You, on the other hand, didn’t scream.  Instead, you took a few steps back, clenching your jaw and your fists.  Seeing the face of the troll who had stalked you for a century, gotten you tortured, and tried to kill you and your friends was not something you’d been looking forward to.

Douxie noticed your discomfort and grabbed your hand, “You alright, love?”

“Not really, no,”

Your wizard looked around, forming a plan, “Ok, guys, come this way,”

You followed his lead and found yourself in a shaded alleyway discussing the plan.  It wasn’t much, but it was way better than being anywhere near Bular.

“Right, we know Arthur’s the main target.  I’ll draw stasis traps around the perimeter, put up defensive wards-” Steve cut him off, not with words, but with food, “I forgot how good these tasted.  The ones in the future aren’t the same,”

You may have been viscerally upset by the fact that the Gumm-Gumm prince was anywhere near you, but you weren’t heartless.  The sight of your boyfriend enjoying a part of his old home brought a smile to your face.  Claire, however, had no time for this.

“Guys, this is Morgana we’re talking about.  We can’t just wait for her to slice our throats,”

“Why not?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, Steve, but I’d rather not die horribly this week,”

“She’ll find a way in, she’s not just powerful,”

Archie flew down, perching on your shoulder in his dragon form, “No sign of any sorceresses, but then again, all you humans do look the same,”

“She is crafty.  She’ll try to infiltrate the tournament,” your gang, minus Steve, started to walk down the street, “We have to go on the offensive, root the witch out,”

“You do that. We’ll secure the castle,”

Claire looked between you and the wizard.  You gave her a nod, Douxie gave her a high-five, and the three of you ran off, Archie flying behind you.

You wanted to avoid Bular as much as possible, so you followed your wizard, placing your own protective warding around his.  It didn’t take too long for your mood to improve greatly.  Spending time with your loved ones just kinda does that sometimes.

“And there.  The king’s chambers and Merlin’s tower, completely warded.  No evil sorceress getting in now, eh?”

“Oh, you’ve done it alright.  Overdone it,”

You cringed as a bypasser found himself trapped in one of Douxie’s sigils, and you walked over with him to free the poor dude.

“Well, at least the castle’s safe,”

“As safe as it can be when an evil sorceress is breathing down your neck,” you crossed your arms, looking around at your work, “I really hope we never have to use these,”

Douxie wrapped an arm around your waist and placed a hand on the side of your face, turning you to look at him, “You never know, love, but whatever comes next, I promise I will keep you safe.  I won’t let anyone, Arcane Order included, hurt you again,”  the emotion in his voice almost surprised you.  

You knew that what the Order did to you had caused damage, both physical and mental, but you’d never really realized that had done the same to him.  Obviously, you were worse off, but you just now realized just how much guilt Douxie felt over this, and it made you feel a lot worse.  You already knew that he would blame himself and that it would just add to the guilt he already felt about messing up time (which was not his fault), but you had miscalculated just how much remorse the man you loved would feel.

You didn’t say anything.  How could you say or do anything other than pull him towards you and bury your face in his chest?

“Thank you, Douxie,” you looked up into his hazel eyes, “And uh, just in case you were wondering, I’ve got your back also,”

He smiled, letting out a small laugh, “I know.  Thank you, darling,”

“Ay, no need to thank me,” you said, a lazy grin on your face as you kissed your wizard. 

Your hands moved from his back to rest on his neck.  Maybe it wasn’t the most romantic thought, but you were really glad that you weren’t driven to strangle him.  You broke the kiss, still grinning.  He turned his face, taking one of your hands and kissing it.  

“I love you,” his words were a little muffled by your hand, but that didn’t take away any of the meaning.

If possible, your smile got bigger, “I love you too,”

Externally, everything was quiet and peaceful, but internally, you were screaming and thinking, “Fuckin finally!” over and over again.

This might have been a bad idea for a future you, but screw it.  You’d been waiting for this for long enough, and the same went for Douxie.  You had been through a lot in the past few decades, and you both deserved a goddamn break, and to spend some time with each other.

But clearly, the universe did not agree.

“OI, the king summons you!”  oh wow, and it was Gallahad specifically ruining the moment, which is, what, the second time he’s done that?  He grabbed your boyfriend and shook him around a little before continuing, “Come with me at once!”

“What-”

You and Archie shared a glance of mutual confusion before following the knight and the wizard.

“We have reached the time that’s not the beginning, but not the end!  A half-time, if you will.  Enjoy this match of misfits, my lord!”

“Ugh, I thought the king was in danger, not looking to use my friend as a sideshow,”

“Well, that’s Camelot for you,”  

While the crowd watched Archie burn a gnome to a crisp, you watched Bular, who sat looking extremely bored, in his corner.  Technically speaking, he hadn’t sent spies after you, ordered your torture, or tried to kill your friends yet, but you knew he would one day, and that was enough to set you on edge.

Douxie slipped a hand into yours, squeezing it reassuringly, and you smiled.  You may have been a ball of nerves and edges at that moment, but you still had a heart.

“Now, the formidable Knight of Skulls and his challenger, Sir Clairee of the House of Nuñez!”

Now, you were always down for a good scheme, but this was a little too unexpected.  Your jaw dropped as you watched Claire enter the field dressed in her purple armour.  Without a second thought, both you and Douxie had thrown yourselves over the stand you’d been in to get closer to the girl.

“What is she doing?”

“I think she’s Mulan-ing it,”

Whatever the hell Claire was doing, she did it with style, fighting with grace and elegance in a swirl of purple and black.  She was doing well until her opponent grabbed Steve’s drink and threw it in her face.  The girl fell back and the Knight of Skulls raised his axe above her head.  With no other option, Claire used her magic to throw the guy against the wall.

“Sorcery?  That is forbidden!”

“Yeah, but you have to admit it’s pretty epic,”

Claire didn’t give a shit about what Arthur had to say, something you respected.  The girl got straight to business interrogating the fallen knight.  You didn’t know why she was doing it, but you assumed she had reasons.

Or you did until she flipped the guy’s helmet off revealing a very confused red-haired dude.

Lancelot and another guard grabbed Claire, removing her helmet and revealing that she was, in fact, a woman.  This mattered to no one.  What did matter, was that she had used magic.

“The witch is disqualified!”

“You both fight with no honour!  Begone!”

“Well, that isn’t the worst thing that could have happened,”

“Hail, Morgana!”

“But that is!”

A man with a green glowing blade appeared behind Arthur, prepared to stab him.  Before he had the chance, Claire portaled the assassin out onto the field where he transformed into a troll.

“Oop, changeling,” you muttered, earning a half-smile from Douxie.

The creature laughed as it drew more green knives, one for each of his four hands.  Lovely.

“Yep, changeling.  Protect the king!”  Douxie yelled as said changeling threw two knives.  The blades hit their marks, turning two guards to stone.

The situation somehow got worse as the king entered the fray, jumping in front of the creature.  The changeling, however, did not attack the king, instead, he elected to make your worst nightmares come true.

“Run free, Gumm-Gumm prince,”

“At last!”

“(Y/N), run,” Douxie said before he, too, threw himself right into danger.

As Bular pounced on the king, Douxie created a shield around himself and Arthur.  Upon impact, the sphere-shaped defence rolled away and out of the courtyard.  Bular wasted no time going after them, not even giving you a second glance.  You supposed you should be relieved, but you could feel the hits Douxie was taking, and suddenly relief was out of the question.  

You went to follow the king and your wizard when the kingdom exploded.  You braced yourself for a moment before continuing on your course.  Bombs or not, you were going to protect your wizard.  And also the king.  That was probably important.

You made it out of the yard just in time to see Bular jump through the flames and over the now crumbling walls of Camelot to his freedom.  Cool, dope, the threat to your life was gone.  Now all that was left was the threat to Arthur’s life.

Speaking of, you darted in front of the king, creating a shield just as the changeling attacked.  It bounced off the force-field you’d created, giving you enough time to draw your sword.  Your friends and Lancelot stood tall, protecting the king, weapons at the ready.  It probably looked awesome, but you couldn’t tell.  Fortunately for you, I can tell, and it did look awesome.

“Stay back!”

The creature growled, “Fools, I’ve already won!”

Your eyes widened as you watched explosions surround the castle, each one contained in a force-field of its own.

“Merlin’s tower!”

“Good call with the defences, guys!”

“Yeah, but they won’t last long,”

“Oh no, Douxie,” Archie warned, flying towards you.

“What?”

“The other Douxie!  With the man-bun, in the tower?”

“fUCK!”

“Ohhhhh fUZZBUCKETS!”

You, Douxie and Claire bolted to the castle, but your speed did not stop your snark, “Still not gonna say it?”

“Be patient, love!”

By the time you got to the castle, green smoke was everywhere.  True, it was surrounded by shields, but that didn’t make it any less horrifying.

Douxie was equally horrified, if not more so.  This was his home once, and watching it go up in flames was not a pleasant experience.  It also put the thought of Claire, or worse, you going up in flames into his head, and that made him feel sick.

“(Y/N), Claire, stay here, help the civilians,”

“Are you kidding!?”

“Douxie, we can help!”

You looked around.  The civilians were, in fact, in need of help, and as much as you wanted to help your friends, the people needed you more.  But that didn’t mean Claire had to stick with you.  She was good in a fight, and you were more of a doctor.  It just made sense for them to do this.

“Ok, you guys go, I’ll stay,”

“(Y/N)-” 

You cut off Claire’s protests, “Ah, ah, no, we don’t have time for this, just-” you took a second to kiss Douxie, because you did have time for that,  “Come back to me, ok?”

They both nodded, and you ran off in separate directions.  

Healing calmed you.  Sure, you could fight and whatever else, but healing was your passion.  You hadn’t studied medicine for centuries for nothing.  Taking on your role as a doctor cleared your mind.  You were able to direct people to the safest places, protecting them from falling debris and fixing whatever wounds they had.

Then there was another explosion and your mind went fuzzy again.  You didn’t feel any pain, so Douxie was probably fine, but you were still concerned.  You ran back to where you’d left Steve and the knights, just in time to see the kid get himself knighted.

Everyone was alive, thank god, and they all appeared to be in decent condition, except for past Douxie who was passed out in a barrel.

“Do you have an explanation for that, or should I just assume you’re trying to give your past self head trauma?”

Douxie just laughed, and you hugged him, sticking with the head trauma theory because no other answer had been provided.

You relaxed into his hold, returning the hug, “Hey, can you do me a favour and never run into an exploding building again, please?  Thank you,”

“I don’t plan on it, love,”

You smirked a little as you pulled away from his embrace, your hands remaining intertwined, “Good,  would be worried if you did,”

Douxie laughed again, slinging an arm around your shoulders as you went to check on Claire and Steve.

It was just then that Merlin finally fucking noticed that his two apprentices were getting along.  Even the old wizard had to admit, it was nice seeing you two not trying to murder each other.  It really looked like that binding spell paid off.

A win for team Merlin.

[fromthemouthofkings]

10 Favorite Characters

Thank you @wisteria-lodge​ for tagging me!!

1. Grand Admiral Thrawn (the Thrawn trilogy by Timothy Zahn)

I stan 1 (one) blue alien Sherlock Holmes

[image description: the cover of The Last Command by Timothy Zahn, showing Thrawn as a blue-skinned humanoid with blue-black hair and glowing red eyes, wearing a white Imperial uniform. end id]

So I’m specifically talking about the book character here; I have no idea what’s going on in the Star Wars TV shows. But Thrawn of the Star Wars Legends universe (and the newer canon book, Thrawn) is hands-down one of the best and most interesting characters I’ve ever seen. He’s brilliant, creating battle strategies by studying his opponents’ cultural art to understand their cultural psychology and look for weaknesses in their thinking. And despite being a morally grey character, he’s not unduly arrogant and is actually extremely likeable--he has to work hard to get into the Imperial command structure that heavily discriminates against non-humans, his motivation is the best interest of his people, the Chiss, and he is always willing to explain his thinking to his close allies and friends. And who else would respond to being stabbed by smiling and saying, “But it was so artistically done?”

2. Beren (specifically, from Philosopher-At-Large’s script/screenplay adaptation of Tolkien’s story of Beren and Luthien, A Boy, A Girl, & A Dog: The Lay of Leithian Dramatic Script Project, which can be read in full here: https://rustbucket.net/leithian/index.html)

Do we not all want to yell at the gods about theodicy until they answer our questions to our satisfaction? I specifically pick Beren not from the original Silmarillion, as much as I love Tolkien’s work, but from Philosopher-At-Large’s script retelling, because A Boy, A Girl, & A Dog might just be my favorite work of literature of all time--fanwork, original fiction, or otherwise. I stumbled across it via a fanart of Beren on DeviantArt, like, six or seven years ago that referenced it, and my life has never been the same. It was hard to pick a favorite character, since literally all of the Script’s characters hold a special place in my heart, but I love Beren’s gentle, dry humor and his grim, determined, reckless stubbornness. His relationship with Luthien is of course the driving point of the story, but I thought that his relationships with Finrod and the other members of their company, and his backstory in Dorthonian and his interactions with the Valar were spectacularly done as well. This story is full of the grim determination to at least try and keep loving people, to keep throwing yourself at a problem and refuse to back down until you find a satisfactory solution, and Beren is right there at the heart of that, and I think that makes him pretty hopepunk.

3. Hamlet (Hamlet by William Shakespeare)

What is there to say about Hamlet that hasn’t already been said a thousand times by people significantly more learned and eloquent than me? I love him. He’s a genre-savvy protagonist trapped in a world where nothing! Fucking! Makes! Sense! My poor emo boy. I feel so much for him, being trapped in a situation where he needs to learn the truth in order to move forward and finally act, but there’s no way for him to get at the truth, so instead he just spirals further and further into fey, frustrated, erratic “madness.” Such a disaster bi. Definitely in love with his tired functional gay bf Horatio. Drama queen and Pretentious Asshole TM. In any decent modern au, he loves Hot Topic and gets all his clothes from there. I don’t even really do theater, but I’d love to have a chance to play him onstage.

4. James Dunworthy (the Oxford Time Travel series by Connie Willis)

The Oxford Time Travel series by Connie Willis ranges from hilarious (To Say Nothing of the Dog) to heartbreaking (Doomsday Book) and Mr. Dunworthy is right in the middle of all of it. For those who haven’t read it, the premise of the series is that time travel has been discovered, but we can’t use it to change the past, so instead it’s mainly just used by historians going back in time to study history, and Mr. Dunworthy is the head of the history department at Oxford University in the year 2060. He might be strict, but he has strong dad vibes, and, just, cares so much for all of his historians. He basically adopts Colin when Colin is stranded in Oxford over Christmas during an epidemic, he regularly puts himself in danger to look for lost historians, he helped invent time travel, and he knows that the point of studying the past is caring about the people who lived there. I want him to be my dad.

5. The 9th Doctor (Doctor Who)

Okay, I love 10 and 12 and 13 almost as much as I love 9, but 9 has to be my favorite Doctor. He was my first doctor, and what really got me hooked on the series was his kindness--hard-won and hard-clung to after the trauma of the time war. It isn’t always easy for him--the time war took everything away from him, and you can see how he’s tempted to be angry and bitter and harsh--but even so, he insists on helping people, on atoning for his mistakes, on nonviolence and using kindness and cleverness to fix things instead of violence and hate. He says, guns are bad and bananas are good, and every person is important, and when asked if he’s a coward or a killer, he says, “Coward. Any day.” And that philosophy, that choice, has left a deep impact on me.

[image description: gif of the 9th doctor saying “Who said you’re not important?” from New Who Season 1 episode 8, “Father’s Day.” end id]

6. Eliot Spencer (Leverage)

The whole premise of a group of thieves, criminals and con artists getting together to take down corrupt people in power is great, and Eliot is my favorite. He may have done some seriously bad shit in the past, but now he’s just devoted to taking care of the team, and particularly his hacker and his thief. I don’t know that he believes he’s worthy of their love, but he’s still somehow the most mature and emotionally stable member of the team; he knows how to control his anger and live alongside his regrets, and despite his grumbling, he dives headfirst into protecting the rest of the team and keeping them safe. Bonus points for being in an almost-canon ot3, and for the passion that he brings to his cooking. Also, I headcanon him as gray aro and transmasc, because I can.

[image description: gif of Eliot standing back-to-back with Parker and Hardison. end id]

7. Jon Sims (The Magnus Archives)

I’m only on season 3 of TMA so far, but I love Jon with all my heart. Working at a supernatural research institute, after having had a supernatural encounter of your own, and still choosing not to really believe in the supernatural until it knocks down the door to your office and riddles you with worms? Big mood. He’s a stubborn workaholic disaster ace, and I relate because I too struggle to interact with people and tend to get lost in obscure research projects for hours at a time. Somebody give this boy a hug and then a nap.

8. River Taam (Firefly)

Once again, there are a lot of good characters in Firefly, and I was hard-pressed to pick just one of them to put on this list. But River is a sweet summer child slowly overcoming trauma to find the joy and delight in the world around her that she had before the Academy, and I want all the best things for her. Bonus points go to Simon, who gave up everything he knew to save his sister, and Mal, who stubbornly sticks to his own code of honor even after loosing the war and much of his faith.

9. Lancelot (The Once and Future King by T. H. White)

A splendidly complex and morally grey take on our favorite legendary hero. T. H. White writes a Lancelot who struggles deeply with guilt and pride and imposter syndrome--who struggles desperately to do what is right and to channel the traits he finds in himself--both strengths and flaws--into doing the right thing. His scrupulosity is sadly relatable, and the lines “It is so fatally easy to make young children believe that they are horrible” and “ You could not give up a human heart as you could give up drinking. The drink was yours, and you could give it up: but your lover’s soul was not your own: it was not at your disposal; you had a duty towards it” are both absolutely haunting. It’s only implied in the book, but T. H. White admitted in letters that Lancelot enjoys pain, and is probably bi as well, and a bit in love with Arthur, and that he feels very guilty about it, and I just want a fluffy modern adaptation where Arthur and Guenevere and Lancelot can be in the kinky ployamarous triad that they deserve and just be happy together.

10. Luna Lovegood (Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling)

While I have some problems these days with the Harry Potter series and the transphobia of its author, it’s possible to like something without minimizing its flaws, and this list would not be complete without Luna Lovegood. I spent significant portions of middle school pretending to be her. She taught me how to embrace my own unabashed weirdness, and I wouldn't be the same without her.

@a-nerdy-shade-of-purple @conan-concocting-chaos @one-supportive-august​ @the-lyra-cal-trans​ @the-eleftheria​ @dumpstertrash​

[theres-a-goldensky]

32 + 6 Good Omens Fic Recs

There have been so many good stories to come out of the Good Omens fandom that I thought I should finally go about making a rec list and give credit to the ones that have given me the most joy.

As ever, feel free to reblog and check out my other rec lists for the following fandoms:

The Untamed list one and two - various pairings, mostly Wangxian

IT chapter 2 list one and two - Reddie

Various BL Series fic (fandoms: Love By Chance, TharnType, 2Moons series, My Engineer, Until We Meet Again, 2gether, History3: Trapped)

Or just head over to my bookmarks on AO3.

All fics are completed. All fics are Aziraphale/Crowley.

** denotes a favorite

1. you knew my name on sight by brinnanza - “This wasn’t me, you know,” Crowley says, the words out of his mouth before he’s made the conscious choice to utter them. “Not just the library, but the whole civil war. You know me; I’ve mostly been getting drunk at Bacchanals.”

“I know,” says Aziraphale. (general, 8,300 words)

Reccer’s note: Aziraphale knows Crowley, perhaps even better than he knows himself. This is a bittersweet story about two human shaped-beings who love the Earth, even when it hurts.

2. End with Hope by PepperPrints - In 537 A.D., the Black Knight enters King Arthur's Tournament of Champions, with quite disastrous consequences, and Sir Aziraphale of the Round Table takes it upon himself to intervene -- which, naturally, also turns out to be quite disastrous in itself. (explicit, 15,888 words)

Reccer’s note: Such great pining from Crowley here. This is a really meaty story with a satisfying ending and a gorgeous sex scene, but it definitely leaves me wishing for a modern sequel to see what happens next.

3. Fraternizing by kalpurna - Aziraphale has an unexpected house guest. Crowley disapproves. (explicit, 5,720 words)

Reccer’s note: A curious young angel comes down from Heaven to investigate what things are like on Earth. He asks a lot of very...awkward questions about Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship. It seems to diverge from canon in that Heaven knows about Aziraphale working with Crowley and sort of looks the other way.

4.  Some strangeness in the proportion by trailingoff -  ‘I assume your punishment involved the destruction of the demon, but I am not aware of the details,’ says the Angel. ‘The description was redacted from your file and labelled “Highly Classified” with a red stamp.’

*Aziraphale is trying to mourn in peace, but the cause of his grief keeps bothering him. (teen, 11,461 words)

Reccer’s note: Heavy angst warning. This one hurt, but in the best way. Angst with a happy ending. Gabriel figures out the best way to hurt Aziraphale: he makes Crowley into another soulless angel. This story contains grieving and suicidal ideation and attempted suicide. Aziraphale does not take Crowley’s passing well.

5. In Style by shinyopals -  ‘You can’t get kidnapped by the forces of Hell looking like that!’ insists Crowley. ‘I have certain standards to maintain!’

Letting someone else drive your body is weird enough without them accidentally ruining your look. Luckily Crowley's around to fix things. (general, 2,124 words)

Reccer’s note: I am an absolute sucker for stories about playing with hair or massage or any kind of pleasant, comforting touching, and this is a great one. I liked Crowley’s voice in this, and the whole thing was very sweet and cozy.

6. Birds of a Feather by idiopathicsmile -  “Isn’t this nice?” says Aziraphale with badly feigned casualness the next time Crowley stops by for a late night drink.

Crowley is all set to reply, words lined up in his mouth waiting to go, when Aziraphale adds, “I mean, all of the books and furniture and bottles of wine and things?”

Aziraphale nests. Crowley relearns some crucial facts about angelic courtship rituals. (teen, 3608 words)

Reccer’s note: Aziraphale decides to go all in on courting Crowley, but Crowley is entirely befuddled by what is happening. Some nice mutual pining here, followed by a bit of supernatural, glowy sex.

7. By Definition by idiopathicsmile - Aziraphale has certainly dabbled in the world of carnal delights over the years, most notably in the late nineteenth century, when a certain infernal adversary was enjoying a century-long nap and seemingly the only way to pass the time had been to develop some hobbies.  (explicit, 3074 words)

Reccer’s note: Aziraphale is not that into sex, but he’s VERY into Crowley and watching him come apart beneath him. And Crowley is VERY interested in, you know, having that happen. So things work out quite nicely. Even though the physical sensations of sex don’t do much for him, the author does a nice job of showing how Aziraphale still luxuriates in watching Crowley. It’s super hot. Crowley agrees.

8. I am not scared of the elements by sparklespiff - After the loveliest meal of his entire existence, Aziraphale followed Crowley back to the Bentley. He wondered if it would be too forward to try to hold Crowley's free hand, or if he ought to wait for Crowley to reach out. Probably he should wait. Crowley had done the asking, after all, and would better know what he was doing. And anyway, riding in the Bentley was dangerous enough without removing one of Crowley's hands from doing something theoretically necessary for the operation of an automobile. 

or: Two occult/ethereal beings with one (1) brain cell between them attempt to end 6000 years of pining. (general, 3609 words)

Reccer’s note: Aziraphale thinks it’s go time after the events of the show, but Crowley believes that Aziraphale has once again put on the brakes. They’re working at cross-purposes, but they both want the same thing. Eventually it all works out.

9. attachment by artenon - 1941. Crowley is hurt more than he lets on from walking on the consecrated ground of the church. Aziraphale takes care of him while grappling with the realization that he's in love with Crowley. (teen, 4455 words)

A bit of mild hurt/comfort. It’s always nice when stories have Aziraphale helping Crowley, because it’s often the other way around. And you can never go wrong with a good h/c.

10. speeding up by tamerofdarkstars - Crowley stopped calculating the minute shifts required to bring his knee into contact with Aziraphale’s and looked instead at the divine being next to him currently licking butter off his fingers.

“Wait. You picked this because you thought I’d like it?” (general, 1725 words)

Reccer’s note: This is one of the shortest fics on the list, but what it lacks in length, it makes up for in utter preciousness. So many pure ‘what if I held his hand??’ thoughts.

11.** Five Times Crowley Fails To Demonically Seduce Anyone, And One Time He Doesn't Need To by shinyopals -  'I need you to tell me how to find a human willing to have sex with me, and then how to persuade them to actually do it in the least unpleasant way possible for everyone involved. If I don’t manage at least one seduction, I’m going to get recalled back Down There.’ 

Aziraphale stared at Crowley for a moment. ‘I think…’ he said delicately, ‘that we should have that drink.’ (mature, 11,166 words)

Reccer’s note: Oh, the feelings. The feelings. Crowley is forced by Hell to engage in some human seduction, when all he wants to do is be seduced by Aziraphale. The pining. The light angst. The gorgeous ending. Read this story.

12. ** Anywhere You Want to Go by Aria -  Aziraphale knew Crowley liked him. He'd known it with a horrible clarity since around 1100, which was at least a thousand years after the first time he'd thought of kissing Crowley, and some eight hundred and odd before it occurred to him that the specific quality of Crowley's regard could be very dangerous for both of them, if they actually admitted their feelings aloud.

It was also two weeks since any of that had mattered at all anymore. (explicit, 9990 words)

Reccer’s note: I wish this story was about 10,000 words longer. The sweet and slow coming together here is lovely. This is a South Downs cottage story, where, after everything, Aziraphale is finally ready to face his feelings for Crowley and Crowley’s feelings for him in return. Crowley’s disbelieving, besotted, overwhelmed reaction is my new favorite thing in this fandom.

13. human childcare for the occult (and ethereal) by suzukiblu - The Dowlings miraculously need a nanny and a gardener at the same time, and Aziraphale suggests they flip for it. Crowley takes one moment to picture Aziraphale nannying anyone and calls dibs. It’s not that Aziraphale’s terrible with humans, he’s just, well. Terrible with humans. Truly, truly terrible.

He doesn’t want to deal with Aziraphale getting metaphorically guillotined or kicking up security’s paranoia, basically. A gardener can be a little odd, and no one will notice or care. Except Warlock, perhaps, as the only other person with any real reason to spend much time out on the lawn, but Warlock’s the one they want noticing so that’ll be fine, Crowley’s sure.

Even if it does make him cringe a little, leaving Aziraphale in charge of the plants. (general, 11,954 words)

Reccer’s note: As with all nanny/gardener stories, you need to mentally erase Aziraphale’s horrifying gardener disguise from your brain in order to enjoy this. But this tale of Crowley and Aziraphale becoming “godfathers” to Warlock and making a cozy little life together at the Dowlings is wonderful.

14. Naps and Other Surprises by out_there - The angel is a surprisingly good kisser. All soft lips and gentle sighs, and the careful graze of fingertips along Crowley's jaw. But there's also the scrape of fingernails at the nape of his neck, the pins and needles shiver it sends down his spine, the slightest catch of teeth on his lower lip. (explicit, 4,312 words)

Reccer’s note: Another slow and cozy fic that starts with Aziraphale slowly and carefully giving Crowley a massage and ends with him slowly and carefully eating Crowley out. Pretty nice day for Crowley tbh.

15 & 16. Ineffable Endearments series by TheLadyZephyr - So far this series includes two stories: Four times Crowley called Aziraphale "sweetheart" without noticing (and One time he did) and Four times Crowley fails to cope with Aziraphale using a pet name (and One time he starts to get used to it)

(not rated, 6,130 words total for the series)

Reccer’s note: Look, if you’re going to do the pet names things, I think you have to really lean into it, and that’s what this author does. It’s sweet how adorably flustered they each get in these stories. So fluffy.

17. An Angel who did not so much Fall In Love as Settle Into It Gradually by TheLadyZephyr - Crowley was standing in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets, looking a little lost. Aziraphale eyed the distance between them. Five steps. Five steps, and six thousand years, and a battlefield spanning an eternity.

The story of the little moments over the millennia that shape an angel’s regard for a demon, and the way he slowly, with great reluctance but inevitable surety, falls in love. (general, 7,548 words)

Reccer’s note: I wish more stories would span the centuries the way that this one does. There’s so much material ripe for a good love story in it, and this author seems to understand that. Slow burn that I wish was a little slower, but still left me satisfied, especially the kiss at the end, when Aziraphale literally says “fuck it.”

18. get religion quick (cause you're looking divine) by brinnanza - So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing.

It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop. (general, 4,285 words)

Reccer’s note: Why, why, why aren’t there more stories with Aziraphale being sure that Crowley can’t love him? This is wonderful seeing the pining from the other side. And of course Aziraphale is completely wrong and completely silly, but that just makes it better. Stars in my eyes for this one.

19. Wings and How to Hide Them by triedunture - Crowley's been annoyingly in love for six thousand years. What's another lifetime between friends? 

Or: Aziraphale definitely fucks and isn't that just perfect?  (Mature,10,134 words)

Reccer’s note: Crowley knows that Aziraphale has sex, so he assumes it must just be him he doesn’t want. Aziraphale, meanwhile, assumes that Crowley just isn’t Into That. 6000 years of Crowley pining. I will honestly never get enough of this trope. Not ever. I will die wanting more.

20. the first week of the rest of their lives by Deputychairman - “Port gives the worst hangovers in the world, did you know that?” Crowley slurred when the bottle was all gone. “Don’t know who got credit for that one. Nice drink, lovely drink, shame it makes you want to die in the morning.”

“Such a shame,” Aziraphale agreed sadly, watching Crowley stretch out on his sofa. He did like port. He liked Crowley stretched out on his sofa, too. (mature, 4,618 words)

Reccer’s note: The world doesn’t end, but Aziraphale needs a bit of time to ease himself into the idea of a life with Crowley. Crowley obliges him, as ever. I like the way that the sex feels inevitable here, like they’re just falling naturally into it. I also like that Crowley is the one to ravish Aziraphale first.

21. Not So Blue by pineapplecrushface - Aziraphale presses his suit. Crowley mostly has a lot of questions. (mature, 5,501 words)

Reccer’s note: After the events of the show, things start to change and Crowley doesn’t know if he’s quite ready for it. The way that Crowley comes to recognize Aziraphale’s feelings for what they are was so beautiful.

22. Almost Human Moments by shinyopals - The fact that Crowley's largest contribution to saving the world had been to encourage a scared child was an uncomfortable fact that he was endeavouring to bottle up. He was actually doing quite well at bottling it up because of all the other uncomfortable facts he was currently dealing with that he couldn’t even begin to figure out how to bottle up.  

Such as: Hell was going to find him, and make him pay.

After the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, Crowley broods, Aziraphale thinks, and somehow they manage to muddle through. (teen, 6,701 words)

Reccer’s note: The visceral and immediate reaction that Crowley has to the idea of Aziraphale going down to Hell was so lovely. There’s also some very intense hand holding that really pushes my buttons. The world needs more desperate hand holding.

23. ** Ever After by ArabellaFaith - We all know they're in love. But maybe, now that the head offices are off their backs, Crowley and Aziraphale can actually DO something about it.

A rambling descent into love confessions, sexual exploration, and what it means for these two to live happily ever after. (explicit, 16,450 words)

Reccer’s note: So much sex. So much really, really good sex. Desperate sex. First time sex. Sex with feelings Is there anything better in fanfic? I really don’t think so.

24 & 25. ** It’s Not The End of the World, Dear series by jessthereckless -  Series includes two stories so far: Lie Back And Think Of Dinner and Still My Heart Has Wings

After averting the apocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale re-examine their relationship and reach the obvious conclusion: they're retired, they're in love and they're damn well going to enjoy it. Providing, of course, that they can stay out of trouble. (mature, 20,745 words total for the series)

Reccer’s note: WHY ISN’T THERE MORE MAGICAL SEX IN THIS FANDOM? I want literally earth-shattering orgasms, give them to me, people. These stories are so good, because the author packs so much feeling and sensuality into every agonized scene between them. There’s desperation, there’s so much love, and there’s really weird-but-hot sex.

26. Taking the Liberty by CartWrite - After swapping bodies (but before their respective sides come for them), Aziraphale spends the night in Crowley's flat trying to figure out how to talk, walk, and be convincing as Crowley. Trouble is, he's such a convincing Crowley, he starts to convince himself to... well. Things get out of hand. (explicit, 3,463 words)

Reccer’s note: Is it really masturbation if you’re bodyswapped with the guy you’ve spent 6000 years pretending not to be obsessed with? Asking for a friend.

27. a city wall and a trampoline by kafkian - In their cottage in the South Downs, when Crowley eventually succeeds in getting Aziraphale to use a laptop, it takes Aziraphale literal hours to get past the default Windows screensavers of picturesque locations because 'oh, look, isn't it lovely, Crowley!'

5 times Crowley knows he’s in love with Aziraphale + 1 time he knows the reverse. (teen, 4,727 words)

Reccer’s note: Crowley just being so endlessly fond of Aziraphale fills me with so much joy. And it’s here again. It’s technically five times that he knows he’s in love with Aziraphale, but it’s also five times that Crowley tries so hard to make Aziraphale happy.

28. A Home at the Beginning of the World by stereobone - "Oh," Aziraphale says. "I think Crowley might have moved in with me." (explicit, 5,867 words)

Reccer’s note: A visit with Anathema and Newt helps Aziraphale realize some very clear things that he’s been missing.

29. Too Generous by rfsmiley - “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged; but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.”

Or: what happened after the [ we all got hit by a ] bus scene (aka "you could stay at my place, if you like")....(teen, 1,501 words)

Reccer’s note: Crowley offers Aziraphale the bed, and Aziraphale suggests that there would be room for two. Contains slinky Crowley, which there should just be more of in the world.

30. His Banner Over Me by pineapplecrushface - Three of Aziraphale's excellent ideas, and how Crowley (very casually) obliges him, as a friend does. (explicit, 5475 words)

Reccer’s note: Handjobs. Just...truly excellent mutual handjobs. \

+6

And finally, because this is my blog and I can, here is a list of my own stories for after you finish all the recs above:

1. The Seduction Malfunction - “Disguise yourself,” Hastur said. “Pretend you’re a priest, or better yet, an altar boy. Their lot can’t resist an altar boy.”  

Crowley held in a hysterical bubble of laughter as he imagined Aziraphale’s horrified face at being confronted with Crowley disguised as a lascivious altar boy. He’d feed him soup and give him a good talking to before sending him on his way.

Crowley gets orders to seduce Aziraphale to the dark side. It goes about as well as you might expect. (teen, 5,441 words)

2. Transference - There was always a low level hum of attraction and lust in the air when Crowley was around. In fact, Aziraphale couldn’t recall a single time, after their first meeting on the wall, when he hadn’t watched Crowley dazzle and transfix every poor human that they encountered. He’d even seen Eve give him the eye when he was in his human form, back in the day, and she’d been with child at the time.   

Aziraphale couldn’t blame them for falling victim to Crowley’s considerable wiles. He was a demon, after all. Tempting was in the job description. Plus, he’d clearly designed his human form to be utterly irresistible to all humans, from his eye-catching hair down to his stylish clothing. It was overkill, if you asked Aziraphale. But then, he supposed, overkill wasn’t really a thing with demons.

Aziraphale would win a gold medal in Mental Gymnastics. (mature, 4,282 words)

3. Step in the Bright Lights - The angel was holding court on the walking path surrounded by a passel of small children and their bored parents. He wore an absolutely ridiculous magician’s costume, complete with a top hat, cape, black wand, and a painted on mustache above his upper lip that had Crowley recoiling in horror. On a table in front of Aziraphale was a sign that proclaimed: THE AMAZING MISTER FELL AND HIS REMARKABLE FEATS OF PRESTIDIGITATION.  

He almost turned right around, but then Aziraphale spotted him and waved enthusiastically, stopping in the middle of a bit involving some handkerchiefs coming out of his sleeve to greet him. 

“Oh, look, children! It’s the Amazing Mr. Fell’s very special assistant, Signor Crowley!”

Aziraphale picks up some new hobbies. Crowley has no chill. (teen, 3,311 words)

4. Something To Talk About - He had the sudden and almost overwhelming desire to reach out and take Crowley’s hand. An absurd notion, of course. In 6000 years, Crowley had never shown any inclination towards physical affection for Aziraphale, despite their shared feelings. Aziraphale had long ago accepted that any gentle touch from him would have Crowley stepping hastily away and otherwise ignoring Aziraphale’s attempts. Or at least he had accepted it, until their delicate status quo had been disrupted.

Aziraphale jumps to some very inaccurate conclusions. (explicit, 3,664 words)

5. To Rest My Weary Soul - “Are you saying I feel like this because of my time in Hell? I thought you meant moral consequences.” 

“Since when do I give a toss about moral consequences, angel? No, you’ve got a Hell hangover. Must have hit once the adrenaline wore off,” Crowley answered.

“Hell hangover?” Aziraphale repeated incredulously.

Aziraphale's trip down to Hell leaves him worse for wear. (teen, 3,945 words)

Bonus: Podfic by FayJay

6. Taking the Long Way - Crawley nodded down at the sweaty humans undulating in a frightfully uncomfortable-looking position below them. “Mating,” he clarified. “One of God’s better ideas, if you ask me. Looks like it could be fun.”

“Does it?” Aziraphale asked doubtfully. “It’s all a bit sticky for my tastes. I think She had the right of it with plants. Pollination seems much more sensible.”

It takes Aziraphale 6000 years to catch up. (explicit, 6,919 words)