#Not that there's ever a need to say it out loud but it's pronounced 'sew-it' sorta

[tswwwit]

Where'd you get your handle from? Did you just come up with it or does it stand for something?

It stands for 'There's Something Wrong With What I'm Typing'!

[scorchieart]

Silly Headcanons About the Princes as Children

Because I had a long weekend but didn't feel like going to the beach. Daydreaming about mini prince shenanigans is just as fun.

Jin Grandet

Was extremely frugal when he first arrived at the palace, opting out on extravagant apparel and accessories in favor of more drab and practical outfits.  And he only ate the bare minimum during meals to satisfy his hunger.

Everything changed when his first sugar rush attacked. There was a ball at the palace, and Jin laid his eyes on a marvelous 5-tiered buttercream beauty of a cake. It was love at first sight.

It took three servants, two attempts, and one tall glass of warm milk to knock him out and carry him off to bed. By that point, the top four tiers were demolished and nearby mini desserts gobbled up, and everyone went home that night splattered with bits of frosting and cake crumbles. No one likes to remember that evening.

Chevalier Michel

Started his nickname game when he was first learning to speak and couldn’t properly pronounce all the convoluted extended names of the nobility yet. Who has the lung capacity to say “Duke of Over-the-hill, Earl of Just-By-Yonder, Knight of the Square Table, Personal Aide-de-Camp to the Late-Late King, Stuffy McFeatherPants the Third” anyways? 

“Baldy Big Nose” is much more elegant and to the point.

To this day, the nobles make crucially sure to keep track of their nicknames and how they change over the years. It’s a good indication of whether they have fallen out of the prince’s favor.

For example: “Padded Shoulders” probably means you’re safe for now. “Pesky Pupils” means you should consider sending him an expensive gift. “Slithering Maggot” means you need to pack your family and move to Benitoite yesterday.

Clavis Lelouch

Has a soft spot for small animals, so when one unwittingly ends up in one of his traps he does his best to calm it down before releasing it.

If the animal ends up injured, he nurses it back to health before setting it free (or on someone else as another prank). This usually results with him naming the animal and growing attached to it. They become his partners in crime and he relays his grand plans out loud to them like a master and apprentice. These included maps, diagrams, test runs, code names… the whole shebang. 

He also liked to sew tiny matching bandanas to tie around his wrist and his animal companion to signal the mission was go!

Usually kept the animal for much longer after it healed. Sariel makes it a point to do routine sweeps of his room and extract any freeloaders.

Leon Dompteur

Found it much easier to stay awake when someone read to him (I think this is actually canon).

Bonus points if they do voices for the characters. That’s a guaranteed spot on the future domestic faction leader’s friend-list.

Used his princely charms to convince people around him to read history books and old memos and other study material to him. Sariel put an end to this when he saw Leon using his puppy dog eyes to pull ministers out of meetings to read to him.

Would seek out Chevalier to read him stories before bed. Had a 50% success rate getting through the door and a 1% chance of voicing the characters.

Yves Kloss

Used to be the pickiest eater, only preferring foods his wet nurse prepared, until he saw Licht and Nokto struggling with their own meals.

Vowed to create a dish that incorporates carrots that the twins would enjoy.  Tried sneaking it into soups, purees, sauces, gravies, juices, and even desserts. Has not yet found success. 

Through his quest, the doors to Rhodolite’s exquisite culinary history opened to him and he’s been hooked ever since. Is now the first of the brothers to volunteer to try new dishes.

Needless to say, he spent a lot of time in the palace kitchens. Ended up making friends with the stray cats that frequented the back door and the windowsills, and would feed them exorbitantly. Everyday. And on schedule. Well, you try saying no to those cute hungry faces!

Licht Klein

Liked to pretend he was Nokto to get out of dance practice.

Learned to walk before Nokto, and boy did that make him feel on top of the world. He ran (wobbled) circles around his stationary twin, showed off that he could hop, and even managed to stand on one foot for a solid 4 seconds! This lasted a whole 2 days before Nokto caught up.

Once tried to repay Yves for putting so much effort into cooking foods he’d like. He asked Chevalier for an easy-to-follow cookbook, woke up before the cooks and servants, and holed himself up in the kitchen. By the time preparations for breakfast needed to begin, the cooks walked into a war zone. Broken eggshells and yolks littered the floor, flour and cornmeal and different-colored spices coated all the counters and cabinets, and Licht sat in the middle of the kitchen rocking in place, anxiously flipping through the cookbook. Oh yeah, and the oven was on fire. 

Nokto Klein

Liked to pretend he was Licht to get out of sword training.

Hated being called the baby of the family except by Licht.

Always make a beeline for Jin at the parties that Licht couldn’t attend. Jin would pass him the sweets from the high tables Nokto couldn’t reach, then they’d divvy up their bounty and split off before any pesky ministers could poke their noses in their business. Nokto would take his share to Licht and they’d eat them together.

Even more charming than young Leon (he refuses to accept it’s because he’s the baby!) All the servants instantly fall for his bewitching cuteness and boundless charisma and would shower him with little gifts like extra sweets or flowers or piggy-back rides. Nokto never complained, and to be frank this kind of boasted his ego later on in life.

Luke Randolph

Got his hand stuck in the honey jar on multiple occasions.

Got his head stuck in the honey jar on even more occasions.

The fastest tree-climber in all of Rhodolite, even before he reached his full height. He only needed to observe the tree for a few minutes before determining an optimal path based on his weight and limb range while offering minimal damage to the tree.

Of course, this is all a result of years of honey hive heists. Thank goodness he isn’t allergic to bee stings.

Had the sweetest dimples as a child, and whenever an adult passed by him they’d stop in their tracks to give his cheeks a good pinch. Luke couldn’t wait until he outgrew them.

Read the new princes - Part 2 here!

(Check out my Ikemen Prince Writing Master list here! And if you want to send me a request, please check the details here!)

[llamagoddessofficial]

Can we get some fluff moments with forest god sans and pregnant s/o (who welcomes him with open arms)💞 maybe even post-pregnancy moments too.

heheee... good choice anon

Overprotective moss daddy

He wants her pregnancy to be as comfortable as possible. He gets special, one-off permission to use his magic on her again and soothe the constant aches and pains.

She honestly doesn’t have to lift a finger. It’s like he’s become hyper-attuned to her calling for him- he could be halfway across the forest (not that he’d ever leave her side) and if she needed him, she’d barely have to raise her voice. A little mumble of his name will be enough for him to come running.

“I-it’s okay, I’m just going to get some water-” “your back hurts. i can tell from your face. lie down, i’m getting it.”

The forest is full of natural painkillers and remedies, and his extensive knowledge of them means he knows what is and isn’t safe to consume during a pregnancy. He’s a live-in pharmacist with an herb or mushroom or bark or leaf for every possible ache; it’s wonderful.

Mc asked Sans about giving the baby a Forest God name, to honour his history. He appreciated the gesture so much he started crying on the spot.

... but humans can’t pronounce his language, and he wants her to actually be able to say her baby’s name out loud. He feels like that’s pretty important. In the end, after mulling it over, they settled on the name being the closest human-pronounceable equivalent to a Forest God name he always liked. That way, Sans can say it in his language, and she can say it in hers.

Sans and Mc make the kid’s new room together. Painting walls, making toys... he has a knack for sewing clothing so he’s often got needles and fabric on hand when the two of them are relaxing together.

There’s a few things they need that they just can’t make- they take occasional day trips into human territory to buy specific items. It’s the first time he’s been out of the forest in centuries.

... He gets a little melancholy sometimes, though. Forest Gods very rarely became pregnant, so when one did it tended to be a whole-family event to care for the one with child. He needs a bit more cuddles than usual.

He spends a lot of time in his smaller, humanoid skeleton form. Why? That's the only form where his hands are small enough to give her effective massages.

His favourite pastime is feeling the baby kick.

He only uses his larger form when she needs someone to carry her because her feet hurt. Free transport

[aroseandapen]

{Would you ever think that a sewing kit would be essential spy equipment?}

100 Prompts Challenge. Won’t be every day but I’ll do my best to finish it. Pairings chosen by a generator.

Prompt 7: ‘This is so not the time or place for this.’

Kaemugi spy AU - Kaede has an outfit malfunction at the worst time. Fortunately, though, her partner comes in clutch.

The loud ripping sound made Kaede gasp.

“No, no, no, no.” She gathered the torn fabric in her hands, trying in vain to hold it in place. Between the open ends of the deep slit, the pouch strapped around her knee--filled with dozens of tools she might need for their mission--peaked out. “This is so not the time or place for this.”

Tsumugi cupped her hand over Kaede’s. Carefully, she pried her fingers open, and the fabric fell open around her leg.

“Hey--.”

“I can fix it,” Tsumugi cut across her, smiling softly. “I’ve got a sewing kit, if I may?”

A quick rush of air pushed through her teeth, relief overwhelming her. “Geez, why didn’t you say so earlier?”

She’d been so afraid of ruining the mission because of a clumsy catch on an exposed nail, she didn’t know what to do. Thankfully she had a partner to help her keep a cool head--and Tsumugi certainly had her work cut out for her. The blinders Kaede tended to wear when she was focused on the goal straight ahead would’ve gotten her in trouble many times on her own.

Tsumugi dropped to her knees. Slipping her hand into her pocket, she drew out a little box that she set in her lap. Kaede worried a bit about the black blending into the dark evening-blue of Tsumugi’s gown, but she didn’t say anything. Mending--and making--clothes was a special hobby of Tsumugi’s; she likely knew what she was doing.

Kaede waited as Tsumugi got to work. Her legs felt restless and jittery, but she knew she couldn’t tap her foot or jiggle her leg. She tried to occupy herself by examining Tsumugi’s hairstyle. It was swept up into an elegant swirl, held in place with hidden bobby pins and glittery silver ornaments. A tiny piece of hair had escaped one of its pins, laying curled against the bare skin of Tsumugi’s slender neck. Her partner was gorgeous. And had her face really close to her thigh, fingers occasionally brushing Kaede’s skin.

Her face grew warm. She quickly averted her eyes, looking anywhere but at Tsumugi, trying to think of anything but her. It was embarrassing just how affected she was. Kaede thought girls were gorgeous, sure, but there was something extra stunning about the one assigned as her partner.

It wasn’t the time or place for a ripped dress right before their infiltration mission, but it was even less the time for these feelings to surface.

Tsumugi snipped the excess end of the thread once she finished and allowed Kaede’s dress to fall past her knee. A sigh slipped past her lips.

“Sorry, it’s not going to look as good as it did before, but I did the best that I could,” she said, standing back up and brushing the dirt from her knees.

Kaede glanced down at the former rip. She couldn’t even see the seam where the tear had been.

“Are you kidding? This is great! Thank you so much, Tsumugi, I don’t know what I would’ve done without you!” she chimed, clasping her hands in front of her chest.

A hint of pink appeared in Tsumugi’s cheeks. She raised a hand to her face, turning her gaze bashfully away. Jumpy, eager feelings bubbled up in Kaede’s chest; she desperately wanted to reach out and hug her. “You’re welcome. I just think it’d be a real shame if we had to go back because of a silly accident right? Especially if I can do something about it.”

Kaede didn’t hold herself back any longer. She threw her arms around the other girl, dragged her close. Cheek pressed to cheek, she nuzzled against Tsumugi’s face.

“You’re so cute; you’re the best partner I could’ve asked for.” Kaede leaned back to beam directly at her. “Really, thank you so much. I know I’m a bit of a klutz, and I don’t pay attention to detail so much, but I really do appreciate you having my back.”

The blush in Tsumugi’s cheeks grew more pronounced. She ducked her head and busied herself with adjusting and readjusting her glasses.

“It’s no problem. Really, really. I’m glad I can be of use.”

Kaede decided she’d had enough of embarrassing Tsumugi. Giggling, she stepped back and linked her hands behind her back. Beneath the fixed skirt of her dress, her utility pouch was safely hidden away once again.

“Alright, let’s get going! There’s a lot to do, and we don’t have all night to do it!”

[candlelight27]

You Owe Me An Explanation

Summary: Jaskier left one day without saying a word. Years later, he knocks on your door. What will happen between you and your once best friend?

Warnings: Angst, brief mentions of blood and injures, fluff in the end

Pairings: Jaskier x Female Reader

Square Filled: Best Friends since Childhood

Word Count: 2254

AO3: You Owe Me An Explanation

A/N: @thewitcherbingo​ First entry for the Bingo! I might have twisted the prompt a little bit. Hope everyone enjoys, feels good to be back writing fics. 

Someone knocked the door.

It wasn’t that late, you hadn’t eaten your supper yet, but it was certainly too late for visits. For any visit that entailed a friendly meeting - that is. You grabbed a knife from the kitchen and tried to hear anything besides the sound of the rain.

Someone knocked the door again. This time, a male voice called your name out loud.

“Open the door!” There was a familiar ring to it; after all he did know your name. “It’s me! I need your help!”

You knew that voice too well, you were sure it was him. So, you run to the door without letting your weapon go. When you opened it, the sight to meet your eyes felt like a memory. It was Jaskier, just as handsome and troublesome as ever, a little older, but so were you, and he was aging as well as wine. Behind him, there was a man, bigger than him. He had white hair, but you couldn’t see him well enough due to the darkness and the heavy rain.

“I owe you an explanation, but I need you to sew him up as soon as possible.”

“Go to that room and lay him in bed.” You nodded towards the interior of the house as he was walking in with the unknown man leaning on his shoulder. “And you owe me more than one explanation.”

The bard did as instructed. You quickly gathered your bone needle, the thread and a mysterious potion made by herbs.

“Make him drink this. It’ll ease the pain.”

The man drank it without hesitation, lying back on your bed. You guessed he was a witcher, and not a common one. You had recently heard of Jaskier after all those years- and yes, you had heard the infamous song about Geralt of Rivia too.

“What was it?” You asked while preparing your tools.

“It was big and ugly.” Jaskier answered. Not quite useful.

“Werewolf.” Said the witcher dryly. Then he fell asleep.

You were working in silence, stitching his neck and part of his arm. It was an ugly cut, deep and irregular. You had to clean it first, and you thanked Melitele, for the blood was so stuck to his skin it must had been torture had he been awake. You lost count of the stitches and lost track of time, surely past midnight.

You nodded towards the bard to go out of the room and closed the door behind you to let Geralt rest.

Jaskier nailed his clear, blue eyes upon yours. Neither of you moved. Both of you were thinking how to start a to talk. Should you start with a light-hearted conversation or spill all the venom you had been keeping in your heart for years? You hadn’t seen each other in over a lustrum. Maybe more. He opened his mouth, about to pronounce a word, but he bit his lip instead. A rare sight it was, regarding words came easy to him, he used them as he wanted.

“We can sit by the fire.” You simply said.

Once you were on the chairs in front of the fireplace you looked at him. He didn’t look back. The first change you noticed was his shoulders. They were broader than before. Then his jaw, and his eyes, they were sharper. You wondered if he had seen the same things you did when you entered the real world- right after he left.

“So, you didn’t marry the alderman’s son.” Jaskier said, more an affirmation to himself than to you. His tone, you couldn’t decipher, but it was dark and deep.

“You could at least look at my face when you are talking to me.”

“I never liked when you got angry at me.” He sighed. “And I bet you are making that face right now.”

“We are not children anymore, Jaskier.” You tried to suppress the smirk that was creeping to your lips, remembering all those times you frowned at something Jaskier had done. “You are a man and I am a woman. We can talk, I’m not going to scold you. Or punch you. I wanted to the first few years I hadn’t a single piece of news about your existence…” You added the last part with a bitter tinge. “But the anger faded away.”

“I thought you wouldn’t want to talk to me.” He looked at your eyes, his lit with hope. You couldn’t resist the smile this time. Even if it was a sad one. How could you ever deny him of anything? That he acknowledged his fault made you felt understood. There was a knot in your stomach indicating you it was time to ask the question you’ve waited way too long for.  

“I want to know why you left so abruptly.”

He blinked. Silence. He gulped. Silence. Yet his pupils didn’t hide. He breathed deeply before answering.

“It was for the best.”

“Oh, was it?” He sounded almost like he was trying to convince himself of his decision instead of you. “Are you sure it was not an affair gone wrong? I’ve heard lately you had a good number of them.”. It was what you always thought had happened. He had to run away. What other reason could there be for his sudden disappearance?

“You heard of them?” He exclaimed surprised.

“I tried to look for you. When your best friend since childhood vanishes from your life, it’s the least you can do. But I failed. And when I finally found something… Well, so much time had passed, I thought you wouldn’t’ even care if you saw me ever again.”

“So it was you.” Jaskier murmured absorbed in his own thoughts.

“Who?”

“On the way to Cintra.” The bard gestured towards you. He looked more like himself now, without the mask of remorse, focused on something else. “I thought it was you, but you turned your head and… It was your hair, it was the way you walked. But I honestly thought fate would never let me meet you again.”

“If that’s so, tell me why you are here then.”

“Geralt was hurt and by chance-”

“I live in the middle of the woods.” You interrupted him. “By chance. I hardly believe that. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Fine. I heard you were here.” You nodded. “Heard your name, some anecdotes, that you sometimes healed people, put two and two together. I was about to come here a couple of times, but I didn’t have the courage. Then all of this happened, and I knew your house was closer than the town...”

“So you were going to go away.” You said absently. You were disappointed, it was obvious. And it was too late to feign this was a light-hearted conversation. You wouldn’t conceal your feelings.

“Do you think it was fate what has brought me here?” He wondered out loud.

“If that’s the case, then fate has a twisted way of making things happen. Why now?”

“Why not now?” He sounded hurt.

“Why not before?”

“I… I want to apologize. I’m sorry I broke our promise...” You can recall the distant moment. He said he’d bring you wherever he’d go, if he ever left home. And he left. Without you. He continued, as he saw you weren’t going to ask further. “I honestly thought you wouldn’t want to accompany me.”

“What made you think that?”

“As I said, I though you married the alderman’s son. I thought you were in love with him. He was constantly giving you flowers and gifts.” You huffed.

“So, you left me because you thought I was going to marry that pig of a man and then proceeded to avoid any contact with me? How could you have been such a fool? Or maybe I was the fool, thinking that we were friends…”

“You were my best friend. Since we were born.” Jaskier firmly confirmed.

“Did I hurt you? There must be other reason.” Your voice was now soft. Trying to seek understanding. “I know you, Jaskier, and you would have said goodbye. I know you and you never shut up, you would have said goodbye and a lengthy monologue stating your motifs and objectives.”

“I was a fool, that’s all.”

“That’s all…” He nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

“I’ll leave as soon as Geralt can walk. I’m sorry for all the inconveniences.”

“You’ll leave again. I hope you at least say goodbye.”

Jaskier crossed his arms and watched the fire crackling. Your heart felt heavy. The muted hope of a closure of your story with the bard was melting away. You felt your soul sank in your chest, lower and lower. There was a lump in your throat. There was no explanation, then. It was worse than rejection. Sadness, anger, you knew those emotions, and knew that time clamed them. But what can you do when there’s nothing but emptiness?

“Are you crying?”

“It’s not your business.” You sobbed, ignoring his worry. “And here I thought the moment we met, it’d be like the old times. Laughs and games, ale and songs. You said you were a fool, but I am the fool who hasn’t got over it after an eternity.”

“You don’t understand.”

“That’s what hurts. Not understanding what’s happening. I thought you were kidnapped, dead, lost. Then I learn you were just fine.” Your tears were now on your cheeks. Your voice high-pitched. “Then I blamed myself, I must have provoked it. I made you leave. But I’m wrong again. You just left and didn’t look back. Is that how it happened?”

“No! For fuck’s sake!” He stood up and kneeled before you. His face was painted with an ongoing conflict. He didn’t want you to be sad. He wanted you to keep going on without him. But why? “I thought you’d forget me soon after that!”

“How was I to forget my… you?”

“Does it really matter so much to you?” He took your hands in his.

“Yes.”

“I was in love with you.” Jaskier squeezed your hands but broke the contact of your eyes. “I just was heartbroken because I thought you had something with the alderman’s son. I can’t even remember his name. But you danced with him and he said he was going to court you and… I just wanted to leave and find something worth to live for because I had lost my reason to wake up every day.” He lowered his head and hid it on your lap.

“I didn’t know… I danced with you too on that fair.”

“Well, we always did.” His voice was muffled. “But you had never danced with anyone else before.”

“I stayed three years waiting for you. Then I learned a few things from a Melitele sanctuary, came back to no news from you, and left again. After a few villages and towns, I chose to settle here…”

“Why did you wait so long?” He rose his head slowly. His eyes were red too.

“What do you think?”

“I was a fool.”

“Indeed. But so was I.”

“I hope you would forgive me.” The bard said as he shook his head.

“What are we going to do now, Jaskier? Are we going to part ways?”

“I… I don’t know. I could… visit sometime… if you want me to, of course.” He babbled. “Did you really love me? And you still do?”

“My feelings haven’t changed. I still love you.” His gaze showed his amazement. And his adoration. “Have you heard me?”

“Are you serious?”

You stood up and made him go up with you. You grabbed his face by the sides and pulled him closer.

“Yes.” It was a mere whisper.

“Aren’t you resentful?”

“Are you?”

“No, but I-”

“Listen, Jaskier, I lived my life with you and without you. And my heart has known no greater joy than when you smile, or talk, or just are next to me.”

“Are you a poetess now?” He smiled, that sweet gesture that made you lose your reason every time.

“Don’t mock me. At least I’m clear about my feelings and my intentions. Now it’s your turn.”

“I love you.” The words spilt like a waterfall; he was thrilled to finally be able to speak them. “I have no doubts. The moment you opened the door, I couldn’t tame the butterflies in my stomach. I don’t care what happens in the future. We will figure it out. But I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t. And I will track you down if you disappear again. I learnt a trick or two.” Jaskier moved his face closer to yours, his lips gracing yours.

“What is a love confession without a kiss?” His arms surrounded your waist.

“Do you think you deserve a kiss?”

“No, but I’m greedy enough to ask just in case I get it.”

You closed the distance. His kiss was soft, sweet, like the warm breeze in summer. You pressed your body against him. It was an indescribable feeling. His smell, his heat, his flavour, they dulled the world around you, and there was only Jaskier. You kissed him again.

“When will Geralt wake up?” He asked and you giggled.

“Not until morning.”

“Then we have time to catch up.”

…

“Was it fate?”

“What do you mean, Jaskier?”

“Us meeting again. Was it fate?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care.”

“You were always so romantic…”

“Shut up and kiss me again. And don’t you dare write a song about this.”

[swiss-cheeze]

Harry Hook || Maddening Future

This is a MALE X MALE insert.

MALE PRONOUNS.

Harry x MALE! Reader.

MALE.

Okay now we got that out of the way, please enjoy and remember requests are always open.

———

“Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?” where the only words etched into Harry's wrist that Harry had not chosen to be there; the words your soulmate and true love would say to you where written on every prince, princess, king, queen, villian and villians child somewhere on their body. The thought that Harry even had a soulmate baffled the pirate every day, who could love a thief, pirate, criminal, betrayer and every other word you could think of, the sentence plagued Harry like a shadow over his shoulders with every minute he didn't have his soulmate with him, it felt empty but he didn't know why. Evie snapped her fingers in front of Harry's face to get his attention again.

“Harry! Hook!” Evie exclaimed, each words pronounced with a clap of her hands, Harry finally looked at the girl in front of him with wide eyes, “oh good, you're back” the girl said with a tight smile. Harry cleared his throat.

“Well lass, me thinks it’d be a good moment to take a breather dontcha say?” Harry said with a grin, hoping it would charm the blue haired girl, she only smiled tightly before moving to the front of the class. That was a no, Harry sighed as he wrapped his arms around his head on the desk.

“You get into a sword fight,” Evie started, Harry's head popped up quickly at the mention of a sword fight, “do you A, give up, B, try to work out the problem like civil people, or C, kill the person you are fighting.” Evie asked, Harry knew what answer the girl wanted.

“How about D?” Harry said rhetorically with a grin, “where you gut them with your hook and feed their insides to the crocodile!” Harry said a little too enthusiastically even for himself, Evie let out a soft sigh.

“Come on Har, what's got you like this?” Evie asked, the girl put down the pointer stick she had and walked over to Harry, pulling up a chair the girl sat in front of the desk as Harry put his head in his hands.

“Got me like what?” Harry mumbled into his hand, covering most of his words.

“You’re dissociating, you aren't paying attention, daydreaming.” the girl paused, “is...is it your soulmate?” Evie asked softly, the topic of soulmate was dangerous on the isle and for the isle kids even as most of them never believed they were ever going to find their soulmate or ‘true love’. Harry took a moment to consider his options before nodding softly.

“I just…” the pirate paused as he didnt know how to tell his feelings, “it’s so vague and I never know if ill ever be able to find ‘em,” Harry looked to Evie, “don't get me wrong i don't care who they are, daughter of Peter Pan or son of Pocahontas ,” Harry shrugged, Evie didn't want to seem fazed at Harry's swift coming out about dating a boy, she should have been used to it or at least known. Gil and Harry where always close, the same as Carlos and Jay, they had always been vocal that they would get together if they ended up falling for each other or the other was their soulmate and yadda yadda but Carlos found Jane, his soulmate as Jay was still searching but the pair is never one to shy away from a little bromance or male affection.

“May i ask what it says?” Evie said aloud, she saw Harry took a moment, almost taken aback by the fact that she wanted to see but nodded none-the-less as he gripped his right hand sleeve and pulled it off, his hook had been discarded to his left as he did this, trusting Evie not to go for it. Harry sighed softly as he saw the ink on his skin, it was a soft sigh that didn't go unnoticed by Evie, a sigh of content, almost like he couldn't wait for the day he found the one for him.

“I always wonder what it means to them,” Harry wondered out loud, Evie didn't stop him as she didnt want to ruin the perfect moment, “is it a motto? Something they live by? A lyric? Song? Title?” Harry sighed as he drifted his thumb over the words before he reeled his head from the place it was, tugging the sleeve back on as Evie quickly stood back up with a smile.

“Get this right and I'll let you out five minutes early,” the girl said as she turned back to the blackboard, Harry let out a bored sigh as he looked to Evie with a ‘you really want me to answer this?’ look, Evie grinned wider knowing exactly what was going through Harry's head. The pirate groaned.

“Fine! B! There, happy, can I leave now?” the pirate asked as he grabbed his hook and pointed to the door, Evie sighed softly but nodded.

“Go on, enjoy the woods and have a stroll Harry, clear your mind of seagulls” the girl called out to the retreating pirate.

“Only thing on my mind little lady is the one on my wrist!” the pirate called back before exiting the room and making his way to the enchanted forest; maybe a leisurely stroll won't be too bad to clear one's head, a berry bush along the way to keep up his needs and he’s set.

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A few people tried to stop Harry along his way simply to ask for him to sign their petition or to ask for an interview they needed for a class but Harry declined (surprising himself and the other as he declined with a ‘no thank you darling, maybe later’, before quickly realising and walking away). Harry sighed softly as he felt a wave of relief and calmness over take his body as he entered the enchanted forest, the forest always had a spell cast upon it that it would help anyone who entered it any bit it could, in Harry's case it was to just be calm and not worry so much. The leaves on the trees blew in the wind as the birds got carried through the sky, the leaves and sticks crunched under Harry's feet as he walked, his hook glittering when it hit the rays of sun poking through the leaves, a soft humming came from Harry, “as the world falls downnnnn” the pirate sung softly, “Are you, are you coming to the tree, where they strung up a man they say murdered three. Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be, if we met at midnight, in the hanging tree.” Harry sang his lullaby softly before continuing his humming of the song, that was until a soft tune caught the pirates ears, a high tune that was upbeat and lively, one that wanted the pirate to dance. A smile made its way to Harry's face as he walked closer to the music, a small blue gate stood in the way between Harry and the place he desperately wanted to be, the pirate unlatched the gate and stepped in as the dirt twisted beneath his shoes, lively music was something that always got Harry going. A long table faced Harry as he was at the end with no one around besides the voices he heard on the opposing end, a lovely voice filled with hope and cheeriness, it enchanted Harry as the pirate stepped forward.

“Would you like some more tea my dear?” a voice asked, a grin evident in the sound.

“Of course by dear but only half!” another voice answered followed by loud cackling, the air was soon filled with breaking china and a clinking of sorts, Harry cocked an eyebrow as he finally got close enough to see everyone occupying the table. A boy sat in the biggest chair at the head of the table, his hat reminded Harry of the Mad Hatter it looked almost identical, the boys coat had a large collar with one side sticking up to the brim of his hat while the other was laid down, his hands were encased in white lace gloves while a sewing pillow laid across the back of his hand, held on by a strap. The boys eyes had a brilliant blue to them that Harry could see from his place as his red painted lips and crazy eye makeup didn't do enough to accentuate his features, but from far away Harry couldn't tell all that much, around the boy was broken china, spoons, teapots, saucers, cups and all different types of cakes and desserts scattered on the table, ground and the boys own clothing and hat including his disheveled hair that poked out from under his hat. Next to the boy stood a small girl on a chair holding a sword, in front of her was another girl with a crazed look in her eyes, tattered clothing and large bunny ears plastered onto a headband. This crazy bunch intrigued Harry to no end.

“Darlings!” the girl with the sword yelled out, “we have company!” every pair of eyes turned to Harry as the boy paled for a moment before a grin overcame his features.

“Couldn't help meself love, heard such a beautiful sound and couldn't resist” Harry said as he bowed down, “‘arry Hook, at your service” the pirate grinned as he looked up, but his grin soon faltered as the group in front of him burst out laughing.

“ELLO GOV!” the girl with bunny ears yelled at as she stood on top of her chair and did a silly pose, “WELCEME TO OUR UN’BIRFDAY” she yelled in a weird accent.

“Unbirthday?” Harry asked softly as he took a seat next to the girl with ears.

“An Unbirthday is whenever your birthday, ISNT!” the girl cackled next to Harry.

“Ye a pirate aint ye?” the girl with the sword asked in a fake ‘pirate’ accent as she kept one eye closed and a weird grin on her mouth, Harry grinned as he held up his hook.

“On of the best lass” Harry said with a grin, at this point Harry realised the boy at the head of the table hadn't said anything and was simply sitting with his hands in front of him, fingertips against the opposing hand, looking through the brim of his hat gave Harry a demeaning look.

“Ain't ye meant ta be in scool?” the bunny eared girl continued the accent as she cackled, the girl with the sword threw a cup to the bunny girl who quickly dodged the china before cackling again.

“Could ask ye the same question” Harry mumbled as he looked around the table with a cocked eyebrow, the girl with bunny ears cackled softly as she held out a tea cup before pouring the tea from above before grabbing a spoon and dumping as much sugar as she could into the liquid.

“Spoon…” the girl gasped softly as she looked to the spoon in mesmerisation. The one with the sword rolled her eyes before walking across the table to Harry and holding her hand out.

“I’m Molly Mouse! Me mum is Mallymkun Dormouse, Mally for short” the girl said as she shook Harry's hand, the pirate had a soft grin on his face as Molly let go of his hand and the girl with ears turned to him holding out her hand as a teacup dangled from one of her fingers.

“Tussle Earwicket! Daughter of Thackery Earwicket the March ‘air!” the girl exclaimed as Harry took the girls hand cautiously before she ripped it away two seconds into the shake to throw the teacup to the boy at the head of the table who simply caught it with his hand, still in his position Harry saw him in; staring past the brim of his hat, this silenced the table as both girls seemed to almost cower into their seats and their eyes drifted anywhere but the boy.

“And ‘o may you be my dear?” Harry asked moving forward on his elbows with a grin as he chin rest on his knuckles. The hatted boy twirled the china around his finger before throwing it back to Tussle who dodged it yet again before cackling loudly, so loudly and full heartedly she fell off the back of her seat, this had not seemed to faze anyone as Molly went back to sipping her tea, however the boy caught Harry off guard. Standing on his chair the hatted boy stood on top of the wobbling table and walked to Harry's direction, kicking plates, cakes, tea sets, pots, spoons and anything else in his way as he finally stood still in front of Harry, the pirate was about to look up to the boy but before he could the hatted boy swooped down and leant on the balls of his feet, knees bent. His head was bent down and only his mouth could be seen, a dark demeanor seemed to cloud the table as Tussle slowly brought herself back to the table.

“Have you any idea why a raven is like a writing desk?" the boy whispered softly, Harry's eyes widened as his breathing quickened and his throat closed in on itself all at the same time, the pirate was at a loss for words for a moment before getting pulled back into reality.

“Now why would someone like you, be asking someone like me why a raven is like a writing desk?” the pirate whispered softly, he had gotten closer to the boy and was now face to face. The boy wore brilliant eye makeup of blues, whites, yellow, orange and red as white and black mascara and eyeliner accentuated his features even more so then the white paint around his face, the boys red painted lips curled into a smile as he tipped his hat up with a flick of his finger to fully look at Harry.

“Terrence Hightopp, son of Tarrant Hightopp,” the boy paused as he took in all of Harry's face, the sharp jawbone, beautiful eyes, cheekbones and glorious black eyeliner, “also known as the Mad Hatter, the Hatter or just, Hatter” the boy spoke in a soft voice drizzled in caramel, “you, Harry Hook, have a very strange, unexpected and…” the boy paused as his smirk almost grew bigger as his eyes drifted over what felt like every inch of Harry's face and body, “mad” the boys eyebrows lifted as his eyes widened, “life ahead of you,” Terrence paused for a moment again, “since you are my soulmate” the boy whispered, Harry grinned as his eyes sparkled with mischief. Terrence grinned as he stood up to his full height, holding one hand on his shoulder as the other stretched out in front of him, he was about to declare something before a raspy voice cut through the air, it was at this moment Harry realised that the air had changed, the sky looked a little dimmer and Terrence had orange hair peeking out from under his hat.

“Down With the Bloody Big Head” the voice rasped softly, Terrence changed in that one fleeting moment as a body appeared at the opposite end of the table the hatter boy had previously sat at. Another beautiful boy with soft blue hair, large blue cat-slit eyes, black stripes, ears and a tail, his clothing seemed almost royal thought it had its rips and tears, the clothing seemed almost tiger like besides the blue and black accents. The new boy was looking at his nails in a poised femimine way, “I wouldn't suggest i ever got an invite now would i?” the new boy said softly, though he was a little ways away his voice came out as if he were in Harry's lap.

“We would suggest no invite, as you had just invited yourself” Terrence said raspily, as Harry looked up to Terrence the pirate realised his makeup had darkened to almost completely black and his eyes turned a bright vibrant orange, deranged.

“I always invite myself, you used to be the life of the party Hatter” the new boy grinned wickedly, he seemed to know the buttons he was pushing on Terrence, that was until the new boy seemed to finally realise it wasn't just the four of them and instead was five, “my my my Terrence, keeping a jewel like this to yourself; how selfish” the boy said before disappearing for a moment, a soft laughter floated through the air as Molly, Terrence and Tussle looked around hoping to spot the cat-like boy, that was before the boy appeared on Harry's lap, straddling the pirate to which his hands flew into the air and was almost terrified to touch the new boy, “‘ello lovely” the boy said softly as a finger made its way down Harry's jaw, a growl came from Terrence.

“You get your grimmy cat hands off my Harry, you guddler's scuttish pilgar-lickering, shukm-juggling sluking urpal. Bar lom muck egg brimni-!” Terrence started.

“HATTER!” Molly yelled, Harry quickly looked to the smaller girl who was standing on the table, from the distance she was at (which wasn't much compared to Terrence) she was only up to the hatters waist. Terrence turned to Molly as his eyes and makeup changed back to their original colours.

“Thank you” the hatter said in a strained voice, the cat-boy chuckled softly as he made his way off of Harry.

“You know im only ever teasing you Hightopp” the cat-boy said as he made his way to Terrences chair, he pointed a finger as an asking of ‘can I sit?’ to which Hatter nodded.

“Not this time Cess, our new guest here is son of Captain Hook from Neverland and is my soulmate, this is one you don't mess with” Terrence said, the hatter jumped down from the table and stood next to Harry, the pirate took this time to stand up, soon releasing his new boyfriend towered over him just the tiniest bit. ‘Chess’, or cat-boy Harry now dubbed the new boy nodded solemnly in understanding.

“Understood Terrence” Chess said before his eyes slid to Terrence’s hat, “you do know how much i love your hat” the cat-boy grinned with wicked sharp teeth.

“Not even if the Jabberwock killed me and my hat was the only thing that is left of me” Terrence said with a mad grin, Chess sighed softly before nodded.

“Yeah yeah” the cat-boy said sadly as he slumped in the chair, Molly and Tussle then began throwing more china at each other as Chess soon joined in; Terrence bent down ever so slightly to Harry's ear.

“Let's leave them as we get to know each other, hmm?” Terrence asked, Harry turned to the Hatter.

“Tell me about the hat” Harry said quickly, “then we walk” the pirate grinned as he knew the smile charmed the hatter.

“Fathers, family heirloom. Chess’ dad loved it and then the obsession got passed down to his kid” Terrence said with a shrug, “now let's go, the moon is out” Terrence pointed out. Harry looked to the sky and there in the middle was the biggest moon he ever saw.

“But...it was only midday when I left Auradon” Harry said as he and Terrence started walking, the hatter grinned and chuckled.

“You’re in Underland now darling,” Hatter said as he walked backwards with his arms over Harry's shoulders, Harry seemed a little scared at Terraces words but the hatter soon backtracked, “Hook, im kidding,” the Hatter said with a grin, “we get out of the forest and it'll only be like one, it a little part of Underland we have to ourselves without leaving the country” Terrence said, Harry nodded as he maneuvered the Hatter boy to his side, Terrence putting his arm over Harry's shoulder as Harry had his arm around the Hatters waist.

“I never thought I'd find my soulmate” Harry said absentmindedly, the stroll had only just started but he felt as if he knew Terrence his whole life.

“Neither did i,” Terrence said softly, “my father always loved soulmates and was thrilled when he found my mother, I was thrilled when I first read the words on my hip but I always thought I was too mad to be loved, i was a simple hat makers kid,” Terrence shrugged, “i didnt realise my dad was really famous until i was like ten, but I still believed I was too mad of a person to be loved” Terrence sighed softly as Harry turned the boy around and held the Hatters shoulders.

“Love you are amazing, i only just met you but i want to spend the rest of my life with you; im a lowlife criminal, thief, swordfighter, barfighter and chippe shoppe waiter. You are my soulmate and I am yours, i want to get to know you and I want to fall in love with you every day of my life and wake up to find your face next to mine in the same bed, holding you softly and making sure you’re okay” Harry took a breath as he looked into Hatters eyes with full generosity and honesty.

“Go on a date with me” Terrence said with a grin, “anywhere”

“I would be delighted darling” Harry said with a grin before bowing, his hooked hand was high in the air as Terrence curtsied with his coat, both grinning widely at the maddening future ahead of them.

[strife-and-discord]

Here Kitty, Kitty

Read on AO3 here

Characters: Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dedue Molinaro, Annette Fantine Dominic, Lysithea Von Ordelia 

Summary: With the war going on, Seteth agrees to open the restricted section of the library in case there could be knowledge there that could help them in battle. Instead what Lysithea and Annette find is a book of mischief (although they don't know that's what it is at the time) and poor Felix who was just there to help them with the heavy lifting accidentally becomes their victim.

This is a Catboy Felix you have been warned.

A/N: *leans real close to the mic* I would just like to thank the ten-hour version of the Tetris theme for getting me through this

Anyway this is 3.5k words of catboy felix dedicated to @corviiids. I'll admit this chapter is a little boring cause it's mostly just the set up but I swear I have other chapters planned featuring plenty of catboy felix shenanigans and I am also open to requests (don't really wanna do shippy stuff though).

also just a small trigger warning but Felix does low key refer to Dedue as a lap dog later on in the chapter and I know that bothers some people

Felix’s nose twitches when Annette slams some ancient tomb down on the table near him, the damned thing is so old Felix is surprised it doesn’t just crumble entirely into dust.

“Careful Annette, that was too loud,” Lysithea shushes from her spot over by the shelves.

Given that they were in the middle of a war and that they were all adults now, Seteth had given the Blue Lions house the keys to access the restricted section of the library. Stating that it may contain old or unconventional knowledge that could be useful in the fight against Edelgard.

Obviously- being the book worms that they are- Lysithea and Annette were the most eager for the chance to learn some forgotten magic and asked Felix to supervise them in case there was some sort of accident. He gets that to some extent this could be important to the war effort so Felix agrees to hang around while they work. However, it’s turning out to be a fairly dull experience where the most Felix has done in nearly an hour and a half is help the girls carry some of the bigger books.

“Ahh… sorry! I shouldn’t have tried to carry one so heavy, I’ll be more careful.” Despite the plume of dust currently irritating Felix’s sinuses he can’t help but roll his eyes fondly at Annette’s antics.

She says she’ll be more careful but he knows that this is far from the last mistake she’ll ever make. Although, he doesn’t seem to mind Annette’s clumsiness as much as he does other people’s. As long as she’s got people like him and Lysithea around to help her out he thinks she’ll be fine.

“What is that one anyway, it’s really dusty so it must have been laying around for a while,” Lysithea asks as she moves to join them at the table.

Annette squints to read the title of the book and Felix thinks to himself that her eyes are probably going bad from all the studying she does. “Li-bri Eo-rum Lo- Lo… Lo-contour? I’m not sure about that last one-” Annette frowns- “It's spelt a bit funny,”

“Libri Eorum Loquuntur,” Lysithea pronounces. Annette and Felix turn to her. “What? I’ve just heard this language spoken by other mages before.” She blushes and looks away.

“Does that mean you understand it?” Felix asks.

Lysithea shakes her head. “No sorry. My understanding is very basic.”

“Oh well, we can ask Seteth about that later. Let’s take a look inside!” With that Annette jams her fingers into a random part of the book and heaves it open, creating another cloud of dust.

“Ugh.. geez! Someone really should have been taking better care of these things,” Lysithea coughs and splutters.

Felix’s nose twitches again but this time he can’t keep himself from sneezing. Annette snickers, “Felix you sneeze like a kitten!”

Heat rises to his cheeks, “No I don’t!”

“Ugh, you sneezed all over the book that’s gross,” Lysithea groans.

“Sorry,” he grumbles.

Annette just giggles at him again before turning her attention to the now open book.

“Hm… weird, the book is written in the same language as the cover but someone’s added some Fodlan translations but only to the instructions. So we know how to do the spell but not what it does.”

Lysithea peaks over her shoulder. “It doesn’t look overly complicated either. Seems you just need something from your victim that ties them to the spell… and then you just say the words.”

“Wow! These are even more complicated than the title! Do you think you can figure out how to pronounce it Lys?”

Lysithea scoffs, “Of course I can. The chant is ostendere bestia est homo in interiorem”

Felix isn't’ really sure what happens after Lysithea says the chant because all at once he is struck by a blinding pain in both his head and his lower back. He collapses to the ground with a scream of anguish. He Vaguely registers Lysithea and Annette rushing over to him and talking to him in panicked tones but before he can try and reach for the words to reassure them, his world is engulfed in white light before he blacks out completely.

___________

Dedue is, as per usual, sitting at one of the pews in the cathedral that is closest to his Highness in order to keep an eye on him as he… broods. It is where Dedue can most often be found these days seeing as Gilbert took up most of his other duties in his absence. He doesn’t mind though. Dedue’s place has always been at his Highness’s side, for better or for worse.

Since Dedue now has a lot more idle time than he is used to, and he cannot indulge in his usual hobbies of cooking and gardening from the cathedral, he has taken up some new hobbies that can be done at his post such as sewing and crafts. One lucky day he was even able to convince his Highness to allow him to stitch up some of the raggedness his cloak had received during his missing five years.

The cathedral is not as busy as it was back in his academy days so, for the most part, Dedue is left to spend his days in relative peace and quiet. Today, however, the sweet eerie silence of the holy structure is greatly disturbed when his fellow housemates Lysithea and Annette come running through the place like twin hurricanes, calling for Dedue.

“Dedue! Deeduuuueee!” He really does wish they’d be a bit quieter, this is a church after all and he doesn’t want them to aggravate his Highness.

“There is no need to shout. I can hear you,” he informs them politely as they reach him at the back of the church.

“We messed up big time Dedue.” Annette pants from running. “You need to come with us. You have to see it to believe it and we don’t know what to do.” Lysithea is nodding enthusiastically beside her...

Dedue frowns. He is not entirely sure what sort of situation would require this kind of response. However, were someone dying he would hope that Lysithea and Annette would simply tell him outright. He believes this is something different. He stands up and places his current sewing project gently back on the seat behind him. He doubts anyone here would take it. He nods once at the two women and gestures for them to lead the way.

As they move towards wherever it is that they’re headed, Dedue notes that Lysithea and Annette do not seem to be panicked, per se, just nervous. He also notes that they seem to be heading towards the Dormitories. Perhaps someone is ill and the girls want his advice in taking care of them? Although that doesn’t explain their statement of ‘he has to see it to believe it.”

He is led to the second floor of the dormitories and towards the end of the hall. Dedue panics for a second that perhaps they have done something dreadful to his Highness’s room. While he may not be using it at the moment, Dedue would prefer it to remain intact. Fortunately, the trio stops before his Highness’s room and instead enter Felix’s.

Dedue’s brain comes to a complete standstill. Lysithea and Annette stand at Felix’s bedside looking at him with expectation and fear but Dedue can not formulate any sort of emotional response to offer them. Felix lies on his bed, stripped of his weapons and curled in a fetal position on his side, with two catlike ears sprouting from his head and a rather elegant tail curling from his lower back.

Dedue is not sure of how many moments pass in silence but it is enough that Lysithea and Annette start to shuffle awkwardly where they are standing.

“What…-” Dedue starts- “exactly has happened here.”

Lysithea won’t meet his eye and Annette seems to be biting her lip to keep from crying. He hopes, absentmindedly, that he is not intimidating them too much.

It is Lysithea who speaks up first. “Felix was helping us look through the restricted section of the library for anything we could potentially use in battle when we found a very old book in a language we didn’t understand and accidentally cast a spell from it!” Lysithea rushes the story so fast that Dedue almost doesn’t catch it.

Dedue looks at Felix again. It is probably the most peaceful Dedue has ever seen Felix in all the years they’ve known each other, he can’t help but think Felix looks very nice like this. Other than the ears and tail he can’t see anything wrong or out of the ordinary. He understands that given the current state of things both Dedue and the Professor have become the primary givers of support among the monastery but for once he does not have even the slightest of clues as to what he should do about this.

“I do not mean to sound rude but I do not believe I am the right person to assist in this. I am very much lacking in skill when it comes to the magical arts and I have little knowledge of Fodlan history. If you want my advice, it would be to speak to either Manuela or Seteth about this. Perhaps both.”

Annette and Lysithea both look crestfallen at that and Dedue cannot suppress the twinge of guilt he feels at not being able to provide them with a solution.

“Well… can you at least stay with us until he wakes up? He’s gonna be really angry when he wakes up and I don’t know if Annette’s pouty face will be enough to calm him down this time…”

Dedue sighs. He understands their concern, even if Felix does not lash out at them physically he can be just as brutal with his words but Dedue is already starting to feel anxious at being away from his Highness for so long. However, this is a fairly serious situation and the goddess knows what kind of condition Felix will be in when he wakes up. If he can’t walk, it would not be fair to leave Annette and Lysithea to carry him to the infirmary.

“Alright,” he relents, “I will stay until he wakes and help escort him to the infirmary afterwards.”

Dedue stumbles as Annette leaps to hug him with a surprising amount of might for such a small lady. “Oh thank you Dedue! This means the world to me I promise we’ll make it up to you!”

“Annette, shhh!” Lysithea scolds, “Felix is still sleeping.”

“Oh yeah, sorry!”

Lysithea just rolls her eyes and pulls out Felix’s desk chair to sit in. Dedue situates himself by the door and Annette moves towards the bed to have a closer look at Felix.

“You have to admit though… he does look really cute.” As if without thinking, Annette’s hand slowly moves towards the spot on Felix’s head between his ears.

“Annette!” Lysithea jumps up. “You can’t do that! Felix will actually kill you!”

Annette looks back guiltily, “He doesn’t have to know! I have a better chance of being able to do it now than when he’s awake.”

Assured in her logic, Annette continues her actions. Dedue can’t help but agree with Lysithea in that watching Annette move to pat Felix on the head is sending off warning bells in his head. Fortunately, Felix does not immediately awaken in a ball of rage and swords as Annette’s hand makes contact. Instead, as Annette starts to scratch gently around where his ears are, a low rumbling sound comes from Felix instead.

“Oh my goddess, he’s purring,” Annette whispers in complete awe. Dedue swears he can see stars in her eyes.

Lysithea moves from her seat to peak over Annette’s shoulder, moving cautiously as if one wrong step will cause an explosion. “I wanna have a go as well” Annette backs away carefully allowing Lysithea to take her place.

“His ears are so soft…” Lysithea mutters almost to herself as it is hard to hear her over Felix’s purring.

Suddenly, the purring cuts off and Lysithea jerks her hand back as Felix gives a yawn with way more fangs than any human is meant to have. He starts to sit up and Annette and Lysithea scramble back to hide by Dedue.

Felix doesn’t seem to notice them in his grogginess, instead opting to lick his hand and use it to clean behind his ears. Dedue understands what he is doing. He has seen real cats do the same. However, if Dedue thought his brain had been frozen earlier what it is doing now can only be considered a total breakdown. The three stand at the door in the most oppressing silence Dedue has ever felt. Annette once again looks as though she is about to cry and Lysithea is poised and ready to run at a moment's notice.

Felix, however, is completely blind to their shocked states and merely continues to groom himself as if it is the most natural thing in the world.

Felix freezes mid lick and his eyes snap wide open.

Dedue has known Felix for a number of years now even if they’ve never exactly been close and during that time Dedue would never have described himself as feeling intimidated by Felix. However, the look on Felix’s face as he slowly turns to face the trio at the doorway still in the position to lick his hand, gives Dedue chills down his spine as nothing else has in a long time.

The others must feel the same because Dedue registers that Lysithea has his arm in a death grip and a sniffle from his side indicates that Annette’s tears have finally burst forth.

Felix lowers his hand but does not relax his glare even a little. “What… Exactly… Have you done to me?” his voice is low and dangerous and Dedue does not like it one bit.

“It was an accident…” Annette squeaks out.

“That spell from the old book we cast seems to have given you the features of a cat,” Lysithea tries to explain with confidence.

“If you are willing, we’d like to take you to the infirmary to be checked by Manuela. Just to be sure there are no ill side effects,” Dedue adds.

Felix takes several deep breaths and Dedue considers shifting into a more defensive position, he’s fairly certain he can take on an unarmed Felix and if not he can at least protect the girls. Fortunately, this isn’t necessary as the breathing seems to be enough to bring Felix down for the time being. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

Both Lysithea and Annette seem to start breathing again and Dedue would be lying if he said he didn’t let out a sigh of relief as well. Felix gets up from his spot on the bed and stalks over to the mirror on the wall. His new ears twitch as he looks at them but other then shows no outward emotion towards his new appendages other than vague annoyance. Which is how Felix usually looks at things.

“Oh!” Annette jumps, “You should tuck your tail in and cover your ears with your hood! So you don’t alarm anyone.” Felix nods to her and moves to do so.

_____________

Felix’s stomach is churning as Dedue knocks on Manuela’s door. He wants nothing more than to go back to his dorm and take another nap but the fact that he wants that over going to the training grounds is enough to convince him that he needs this check-up. He doesn’t want to make a scene of being freaked out because he knows that will only make Lysithea and Annette feel worse. This really isn’t their fault, the spell probably wouldn’t have gone off if Felix hadn’t sneezed all over the book in the first place. He is pissed off, sure, but not at them.

Unfortunately for him, Manuela actually seems to be present and sober for once. Although her professional conduct seems to be just as lacking as ever. She gives them all a once over before stoping on Felix and his completely ridiculous hood.

“My, what an interesting group of people. What exactly brings you lot to my door?” Felix’s stomach does a particularly nauseating flip. He’s never liked the way she talks.

The other three all give Felix a look and he rolls his eyes before taking off his hood. Finally, his ears were getting really uncomfortable under there. Manuela’s eyes widen and he makes sure to scowl at her.

“Well, I suppose you better come in then. The rest of you wait outside or go back to whatever you were doing. This is probably going to take a while.”

Felix feels more like he’s walked into a prison sentence, as Manuela shuts the door behind him, then an infirmary and he almost wishes Dedue could be here with him since he’s pretty good rebuffing these sorts of thin-

“Alright hon, I’m gonna need you to strip.”

Huh? Felix’s brain stops and he looks at Manuela slack-jawed.

Manuela clicks her tongue at him. “Don’t give me that look, this isn’t a come on. This looks like some pretty serious transformation magic so I’m going to need to give you a full physical to try and make a record of everything that’s changed.”

“Is a full physical really necessary?” Felix cringes.

“Yes, Felix. In order to understand the extent of the changes it is very necessary.”

Felix groans but moves to start taking off his clothes none the less.

______________

After a gruelling two hours of tests that have left Felix in desperate need of a nap, he is finally released by Manuela with a file containing her initial results on Felix’s new physical nature and some suggestions he’s sure he’s going to ignore. To Felix’s surprise, Dedue is still waiting outside the infirmary although he has taken a seat on the ground and seems to have acquired some… sewing.

Dedue looks up from his project as the door opens. “Ah, you’re done. How did it go?” Dedue may be acting polite but Felix can tell it’s awkward for him. Probably because most of their previous conversations involved Felix yelling insults at him.

“That was probably one of the worst experiences of my life. However-” Felix gestures at the folder- “we now have a written record of all the know changes the spell made to me.” “That’s a great start,” Dedue nods. “The girls went to talk to Seteth to see if he knows anything useful.”

‘Why are you still here anyway? I thought you would’ve gone back to your master by now.” He would call Dedue a lap dog but he figures he has been helpful today so Felix might as well go easy on him.

Dedues face falls and Felix can’t help but feel little guilty, he hopes his ears don’t give it away. Sure it was unnecessary but he has a reputation to uphold. “I’m sure his Highness will manage to survive one day without me.” And there’s that calm dismissal that never fails to piss Felix off. His guilt quickly dissipates and he takes note of the way his tail seems to flick instinctually with his irritation.

Before the situation can devolve into a real argument, Lysithea and Annette come running up. It’s kinda mean but Felix thinks they look a bit like woodland creatures running around on their little legs.

“We spoke with Seteth!” Annette announces, out of breath.

“You do not need to run everywhere,” Dedue says with concern.

“We spoke to Seteth-” Lysithea continues- “And he said that book is actually a ‘Book of Mischief’ and that spell was to ‘reveal one’s inner creature’. So in other words, it’s a prank spell from a prank book.”

Felix sputters, “Wha- What do you mean ‘reveals one’s inner creature’?! Why the hell am I a cat!?” He should be something way cooler right? Like… like a wolf or something.

Dedue ignores Felix’s comment, “Did Seteth say anything about reversing this?”

“He said that he’d talk to Professor Hanneman and Linhardt about doing some research into reversing but for now all we can do is wait.”

So, in other words, Felix is going to be stuck like this for a while. He’s not really sure how to feel about that. There haven’t really been any negative side effects yet but it’s still freaking weird to be a person with various cat features. A voice in his head that sounds annoyingly like Ingrid and that he would rather ignore, says that this is karma for him always comparing other people to animals.

“Well…” Dedue looks down, “I suppose all that’s left to do now is to announce it to the rest of the house and the professor. It would hardly be practical for Felix to walk around all day wearing his hood.”

Dedue turns to Felix, “That reminds me, if you are willing to offer up your coat for a short time, I could sew some proper earholes into the hood so it’s not so uncomfortable.”

Felix takes a deep breath. These are the things he has to worry about now. Ear holes for his hoods, finger holes for his new claws, and probably holes in his pants for his tail. Being a cat/human hybrid seems to involve a lot of holes. It’s also going to involve a lot of explaining things, starting with the former Blue Lions

[linssikeittomies]

The Place Between Here And There - Another Excerpt From Ch 7

Masterpost

I think I’m starting to get this scene right, it’s been really difficult for me for some reason. Ch 7 is slowly gaining weight, and since I won’t be as busy as I was this last month I expect to get it done in June.

--

Their next date night was once again tailored to suit Ivan’s tastes – a quiet evening at home with nothing special planned. He felt bad about not taking Alfred out more, but when the American never complained, mustering up energy to brave packs of strangers was no easy task. Truth be told, most of what they did together was geared towards making Ivan comfortable. Alfred must have felt stifled around him. But even though Ivan brought so little to the relationship, the socialite was still unflinching in his affection for Ivan. It baffled him to no end, as he saw few redeeming qualities in himself, but evidently Alfred had dug in deeper and found a buried treasure, one of pyrite. Perhaps he was fooled, perhaps not, and simply chose to keep it because it suited him better. He was a man of simple tastes, he would not even know what to do with real gold if he ever chanced upon it. Even if it would all be temporary, Ivan welcomed and held dear every moment spent with Alfred. He brought with him a tranquility Ivan had never imagined could have been possible. His mere presence was a sun in Ivan’s thoughts, driving away the blackness and leaving only cowering, thin shadows. Alfred singing enthusiastically and dancing terribly to the latest monotonous pop music was a blessing in Superman briefs. “And here I thought you were an adult man. You need to stop shopping in the children’s department.” “No one is too old for Supes! And you need some color in your wardrobe! It’s like I’m dating a formerly white shirt.” “Might I remind you that you were the one who ruined my latest wash? I should bill you for those formerly white shirts.” “Only because your washing powder had no English instructions!” Al protested, hands on hips. “Where’d you even get it? You haven’t been to Russia in years!” Ah, Katyushka and her Christmas presents. Such a lovingly practical woman. Tasha had received a knife sharpener, if he remembered correctly. Ivan was very bad at buying gifts, so he always asked if his sisters had any wishes – for Tasha, it was usually sewing supplies, and Katyusha wished for small luxuries, like fancy soap. He supposed that this year he would need to ask Alfred, as well. Unfortunately Alfred was the type of person who wanted thoughtful surprises. The surprise part would be easy – just anything he couldn’t picture Alfred using, stockings for example. The hard part was making it thoughtful. Perhaps his brother could share his insight into Alfred’s psyche. Ivan had seen Alfred’s lock pattern many times, getting Matthew’s number was no obstacle. Alfred was such an old-fashioned name, Ivan wondered if there was a reason one twin had received a much more modern name, while the other was made to sound like an old man.  He was far too youthful to be called something like Alfred, but half the world called him Al, and Ivan was no longer satisfied with being one in a million to him. He should give the man a unique nickname, one only Ivan would use, a secret code for only the two of them. Not Fred. That was lazy. It had no personal touch. Someone might call him that accidentally. Not Sunflower, that was too long, and Alfred would not understand the depth of meaning it held to Ivan. ...Fredya? Could that work? It would be unique to Ivan, and it was short enough that even Alfred would be able to remember and pronounce it. It also held an appropriate amount of affection for this stage of a relationship. If it came to it, he could add to it later. “Fredya”, he said out loud, trying it out, and it didn’t sound half bad. “I still don’t speak Russian, baby.” “No, it’s your name. Fredya.” Alfred looked at him with wide eyes, lips stretching into a delighted smile. So it had been a good idea. What a relief, Ivan had been a little worried he would reject it outright ‘cause he ain’t no commie, but a red-blooded ‘Murican who wore the stars and stripes proudly and spoke American. “Aww honeyyy! That’s so cute! Fredya?” “Fredya.” “It sounds so nice when you say it! So can I start calling you Vanya?” It was a little late to be asking for permission seeing as how he had used the diminutive from the first time they met. It was still nice of him. “You have been using Vanya for much longer than you did Ivan.” “Yeah, ‘cuz it’s cute! And you’re cute! You two go together great. You just never gave official permission -  so can I or can I not call you Vanya?” “I don’t mind.” It made him feel warm. It felt like a welcome. It was one more flower added to his barren world.

[jsalim-art]

*RE-EDITED 09/07/18* Chapter 1 Part B: Crossed Paths | Wist’s POV

Edited 2 of 3

CH 1 PT A < https://jsalim-art.tumblr.com/post/175720016257/re-edited-090718-awakening-the-city-of-hope

https://jsalim-art.tumblr.com/post/175721122847/re-edited-090718-chapter-2-part-a-old-wounds > CH 2 PT A

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Wist's own heart fluttered as she dashed to the command center, and it was not exactly a feeling of anxiety she felt, but mostly excitement. Being called over by the Captain can be a good or bad thing, and according to the Captain's second in command informed her on the summoning it sounded like the former, she has not much to worry but make sure she gets there fast. After all, her left eye hidden behind an old white sash wrapped around her head is itching instead of that dull spasm of pain that indicate of bad vibes. She was slightly frazzled as her wavy blue black hair is in disarray when she reached the command center a bit out of breath. On the entrance stood two Watcher guards before her a bit concerned for her when they saw her arrive out of breath.

She assured the guards she is fine and greeted them with the Watcher salute, by tapping her fists together, unclenching her left hand and tapped the area where her heart is and her right hand goes down fists still clenched and did a brief bow. The two guards did that in turn and gestured her in. Upon entering the command center, it is alive with activity going on, people rushing around amongst themselves.

Wist can sense the rush of emotions everyone has and years ago it would have overwhelmed her. Now she can endure enough emotional noise that she can mute out all these variety of feelings everyone gives off. She saw that the room is set in organized chaos, however her sight is set on the end of the room where a huge interactive map hang of Spero'lu on the wall, a woman looking over the interface her back turned away from Wist, very focused on what she is looking at instead of the noise behind her.

From her view, Wist saw that the woman has blood red hair on a bun, she also happened to have a pair of slender ears poking out of her head and a tail the same color as her hair with a silver tail ring. These certain traits are indicators to Wist that the woman is a Kahunore and would have been human if it were not for those features. The Kahunore woman did not respond when Wist got near enough that she could tap her on the shoulder but instead cleared her voice.

"Captain Scarlet?" Wist blurted out as clear enough, because of the noise in the background making sure she is loud enough for the Kahunore woman to hear.

Scarlet's ears twitch at the sound of Wist's voice, prompting her to face the girl. Wist is met with a woman in her twenties wearing a brown-red leather jacket, black pants and an old pair of dark brown combat boots. She has two slashes for what appears to be scars under her left eye that is seemingly painted on red, pale lightly freckled skin, golden eyes that looked like they've seen a lot in her young life but have a sparkle of kindness to them and her lips a thin line expressing a stern expression. Wist did her salute, Scarlet's expression turned from cold to warm upon seeing the girl.

"Ah Wisteria Sanchez just the cadet I need to talk with" Scarlet said.

She gestured Wist to come closer, she put her hand on the girl's shoulder and showed her the map, something that Wist never got to ever see close up until now. It is like any map she has seen of the city only it is made in such a way that Wist assumed is probably enchanted to have certain blinking lights to represent a person.

"Its been a while since we last chat, has my mother been training you well?" Captain Scarlet asked

"Yes, Miss Rosalyn said I'm improving my skills and my control on my empath powers are getting better everyday." Wist said.

"That's good, mother was just telling me the other day about your improvement, that's why I got you called over."

"What am I being called over for?"

"I'll be honest, I have my doubts at first since it has been years since you were in a serious mission and you were young back then, and mother and myself have come to the agreement you may be ready to get back."

Wist looked at her captain with confusion. "Are you sure? You think I'm ready?"

"I'm sure Wisteria, what better way to know you are ready than taking on a simple recon mission?"

Her captain's intentions felt genuine about her proposition but Wist sensed a hint of concern which she knows comes with the territory of the risks of doing missions. But that emotion faded off before Wist could read more into it. "So where am I going?" Wist asked.

Captain Scarlet pointed at an area on the map for Wist to see it's around where the border between the slums and the Brotherhood territory meet.

"You want me to go there?" Wist gasped realizing where it is.

"Obviously not on your own I can't let you off on your first mission in years. Company is better than going solo anyways, so I suggest for this mission you can take Lucas along." Scarlet advised. She pointed again at the map. "This is one of several potential areas where we can possibly cross into Brotherhood territory. I believe it's the one place the Brotherhood won't suspect us going there. I want you two to explore around the area."

"So, we just have to do that?"

"Yep, just go in and out simple as that. Also, if the area is absolutely clear install these" Scarlet explained handing Wist what looked like small knobs from her pocket. "These are scrying tabs put them around the area so that can be added to our surveillance roster."

The very idea of being back in doing missions outside from the vincity from the safe haven that is the Watcher Den excited Wist yet it made her tremble in nervousness. Scarlet noticed the girl's change in mood, she put her hands on the girl's shoulder and looked at her at the face with an encouraging smile.

Outside even a bit further from their safe haven excited Wist yet it made her tremble. Scarlet noticed her change in emotions, she put her hands on the girl's shoulders and looked her in the face.

"I understand that this may be a bit a lot to take in now but if my mother, the former Captain Madder knows you are ready then I also have faith in you as well. We may not be closer to be free from the Warlock but as long as we the Watchers still stand we will not give up, so every small effort counts. Just as long you and Lucas come back alive it does not matter if this mission is a hit or miss. Consider this a test run."

"Thank you, Captain, I- well we will do the best we can." Wist said a warm feeling in her heart. "I too will do the best I can."

"Great! You're dismissed!"

They both saluted each other before they went back to what they are doing. As Wist went to the exit she looked behind her to see the Captain still looking at the map, but next to her saw something that's off a black barely legible mass of a figure. The apparition is seen as a blur to her eye but riddled with holes and red vapor that gave her the impression of blood. Transfixed at the sight she saw the ghost put their "hand" on the Captain's shoulder in a tender manner. She blinked again, the ghost disappeared. This is not the first time she saw it, she has been seeing it for around a year now and this is the closest she has been to it.

The spectre she saw was fresh in her mind, she wondered if her Captain felt its pain and sorrow like she did. She decided for now to put this issue on hold, she has a mission to prepare as she approached the dorms. The dorm rooms are one of many lodgings areas most Watcher members live and rest in. She shares her dorm with ten other members all girls of varying races other than humans as there are at least five bunk beds between them shared. One of her roommates happened to be still lying in a lower bunk in one of the beds.

The girl who was the only one there is an Avifel, a race of humanoid feline people with soft fur mixed in with feathers, short fluffy tails and vestigial wings. This one individual in particular has white fur with a brown pattern "mask" that is an inverted V shape over her face and darker colored ears and blue eyes. She wore a one-piece black leotard like garment that reach over past her knees and elbows, a short sleeved beige midriff shirt over her and her taloned digitigrade feet are wrapped in rags. She was lounging on her bed reading a tattered old book from what Wist can see is on sewing. The Avifel girl looked up from her book when Wist entered.

"Hi Wisht!" the Avifel girl said in a somewhat singsong voice having a slight lisp and to it whenever she pronounces most of her S's. "What did boss lady shay?"

"Hey Vespera." Wist greeted her. "She says that since I did well with the training Miss Rosalyn gave me, I am ready to go on my first mission in years."

"Congratsh!" Vespera said with a chirp that sounded birdlike.

"Thanks but its just a simple recon mission nothing big."

"Shtill thats shomething!"

"I won't be alone though, the Captain said I can bring Lucas with me"

There was a far off dreamy look on Vespera's face. "Oh you're so lucky..."

"What?"

"Nothing!" Vespera voice raised a lot higher than expected as she looked down back at her book for a moment. She peeked out from her book sheepishly. "Well lasht I heard of Lucas he is in the training room jusht sho you know."

While Wist can pick up on most people's emotions, she did not have to rely on it to completely to know Vespera's feelings on Lucas. She stifled the urge to grin and went to pack her things, She was in the middle of organizing her bag which is a medium sized dark brown satchel she tied around her waist like a belt. She was trying to decide how many small throwing knives she should pack when she heard the Avifel shifting around the bed.

"Well I wasch going to give this to you on your birthday but I never finished it on time so conshider this a belated gift that doublesh as shomething to celebrate your first time back in the field."

"Really you didn't have to, I can't accept such a nice gift from you." Said Wist as she is putting some first aid supplies in her bag.

"But I inschist!" Vespera said. "Firsht gifts are nice and second of all I worked hard on this and third you can't wear that dingy rag around your face all the time.

Wist touched the area where her left eye is being covered by the white sash. "Well I've gone on alright for five years with this thing on."

"It'sh old and does not go with that ensemble of yours. This is what you need to complete it." Said Vespera and showed her what she had under the pillows.

It is an eyepatch, it is made from a velvety material and dark lilac in color with a big star with three smaller stars below lovingly embroidered supported by black leather straps. Although Wist won't admit immediately but Vespera is right, the eyepatch went well with her outfit which consisted of a white long-sleeved shirt under a turtlenecked grey shirt with billowy sleeves up to her elbows which are shredded at the hems, dark grey pants passed her knees, black ankle boots and long white socks.

"Wow that's one of your best work yet, thanks!" Wist said in awe of the craftmanship of the eyepatch's simple design.

"You flatter me and you're welcome! Before you go let me have the honorsh to fix your hair, it sheems like you forgot to braid it properly today." Verspera offered.

Wist touched her hair realizing how much in disarray it is, she laughed sheephishly. "So it seems...I must have tied it loosely and I was so excited to be summoned by the Captain I guess I was not aware."

She sat on a stool in front of Vespera's bed while the Avifel girl started doing her work. It did not take long for Vespera to braid her hair loosely making sure the hair tie stays put and replace the sash that Wist around her face with the eyepatch, when done she was handed a cracked hand mirror. She noticed that while the eyepatch does cover her eye it did not conceal the scars that peek out from it, remnants of two slash marks. It used to bother her to see the scars as they are reminders of a memory she can't remember how it happened but seeing them again peeking under her eyepatch don't seem to bother her for some reason. Such simple changes to her hair and new eyepatch she felt different, a little confident actually.

"There, now you look fabulosh!" Vespera said

"Thanks Ves!" Wist said.

Vespera tapped the girl on the shoulders encouragingly. "Now you are set! Let me know what happensch kay? And be safe!"

With the satchel prepared she tied it to her waist and excited her dorms on the way to the training rooms. She did not have long to walk to the training room is not a far walk from the dorms. Within the training room although not as chaotic as the meeting room there are a few people there, some on weights, climbing obstacles, running courses, punching bags and so on. She scanned the area until she saw who she was looking for messy brown-haired wolf boy her age with brown and blue eyes, and unusual dark and light splotches on his skin and his left wolf ear is flopped down compared to his right ear which is up and alert. He is in his training clothes and intent on working on that punching bag.

Wist watched him concentrate on it waiting for him to be done his session. Luckily, she did not have to wait long for the wolf boy to finish as he made the finishing move by slashing up the punching bag which is now spilling out sand.

"Woah Lucas, other people probably needed that to."

He swerved to see Wist who was standing nearby the whole time, he laughed nervously. "Heh heh, you saw that Wist?"

"Yes... I didn't want to break your concentration." Wist said.

"Oh, is that a new eyepatch you got there?"

Wist nodded. "Yes, Vespera made it."

"Oh she did.." His face fell into a goofy grin for a brief second at the mention of the Avifel's name, like her Wist did not need to read more into his emotions as well.

Lucas noticed Wist staring back at him, so he changed his expression to neutral as he possibly can. "So why you are here?"

"Well as you know I have been training under Miss Rosalyn for a while now and apparently she and Captain Scarlet says I am ready to do missions again. The Captain actually approved me on a recon mission, to go with you actually."

"Really?"

"Yes, I feel nervous about it, but at least I won't be on my own. And besides you're not completely busy, are you?"

"I was going to spar with uncle Red but I'm sure he will understand the rain check I will have to give him. Give me a moment kay?"

Lucas did a half-hazard job of patching the hole on the punching bag but it held with a note attached saying it should be fixed and disappeared into the changing rooms. He came back in his usual attire his messy hair in a short ponytail, a headband tied around his forehead, wore a muddied orange shirt, a patched-up leather jacket, baggy cargo pants and short brown boots.

"Come on you can tell me the details of this mission on our way out." Lucas said.

Both made their exit to the training room, but when Wist made the first step out her head started hurting. She doubled over in pain trying to find her balance, her exposed eye glowed yellow.

"Wist? What's wrong?" Lucas said worried when he saw his friend react in such a way. "Wist?"

She did not respond as she did not hear him at all she is too much in pain that she blacked out. When she came to she noticed that although all she can see is pitch blackness, she knows her eyes are not closed. She looked down at her feet and saw a white path before her. Considering she is in an unfamiliar area, a part of her told her to stay put for a while but yet she felt compelled to walk forward.

Wist walked the path, it felt solid beneath her feet and it did not take long to find there is another path crossing hers. Where the paths meet she sees a figure shrouded in a silhouette. Its familiar because this is not the first time she saw this except the pathway crossroads is new to her. In all her visions that figure has always been walking away from her, she always following them now they just stood there as if waiting.

The closer she got to the figure the clearer the person is revealed, but their back is turned away from her. She noticed the figure had slender pointed black animal ears and a tail with a metal ring around it peeking out from under the coat, Wist wondered if this person is the same species as her Captain. The coat they wore is long, dark blue and frayed at the hem the sleeves have dark purple at the ends of the sleeves.

Her heart hard beating she realized maybe this time she gets to see whoever this may be in her vision will full look like. Her steps echoed as she walked closer but the sounds of her footsteps did not seem to rouse the person's attention. She got close enough to reach out and brush against this person's left hand which she noticed is mechanical and tugged at their sleeve.

"Who are you?" she whispered though quiet it echoed around the void as well.

This seem to catch the person's attention and they made to turn to face Wist.

"Wist?" another voice, Lucas's echoed back at her. She can feel herself slipping out of the reality she is in now.

The last thing she saw of what she thought was the person's face was the glint of a metal mask and a purple eye staring back at her. The emotions she felt coming from the stranger is a feeling of loneliness and at a loss she felt like there must be something she must do but she isn't sure how.

"Wist hello are you still in there?" she heard Lucas urging her back into reality. "Your eyes are doing the weird glowy thing again."

"Huh? Am I?" Wist said dazed as if waking up from sleep.

"Are you sure you are able to go out on a recon mission now?"

Although her mind is back where it is supposed to be that memory of the feeling of longing and loneliness lingered around. "I'm very sure I am fine Lucas. This does not happen a lot like it used to. Now let's go, Captain Scarlet is counting on us."

"Alright but if your eye does the thing again and you are getting a headache we will have to go back."

Wist just nodded and they both took the hallway that will lead them to the exit points and just when they are about to leave they bumped into someone.

"Oh funny bumping in to you two here" chuckled a pleasant sounding voice that Wist was told by most of her peers would describe that the owner of the voice is "what angels sound like", which she can hear why but it did not quite get her heart a flutter.

Standing before them stood a kahunore man of similar age to Captain Scarlet, he has a slim muscular build to him. Also, he has tousled wavy light blond hair with light blue tips and ice blue eyes to match on his seemingly well sculpted face another trait most of her peers tell her that they find attractive. He wore a white long sleeved shirt with a dark grey vest, ripped dark grey jeans and dark brown combat boots. Despite wearing clothes that Vespera would say looks quite "plain" Wist has been told that he pulls off that look quite well or it makes him look "sexy". His pointed ears were up and alert and his tail with a brass ring around it swished in curiosity.

"Vice Captain Azure, what brings you here?" Lucas said

"No need to be formal Lucas, it is Jude when I'm not in command at the moment. I'm just planning to work out myself." The Kahunore man said he then turned his attention to Wist. "Oh, Wisteria I heard from Captain Scarlet you got to do your first mission for the first time in years, congrats kid."

"Uh, thanks...Jude" WIst said still not quite used to referring to her vice captain informally.

Although the comment sounded quite genuine to Wist's ears she had a vague inkling that Jude's tone felt condescending but she can't quite tell considering just like her captain, her vice-captain is good at hiding internal emotions.

"Well I don't want to delay your mission, you two better hurry." Jude said with a wink and a thumbs up before he left. "Be careful you lovebirds."

"But we're not dating" Lucas said deadpan albeit a smidge taken aback from Jude's last comment.

But he was gone before he can say anything else. Lucas and Wist just shook their heads laughing at the comment.

"Jude can be such a kidder." WIst said

"Yeah he does, but sometimes he does catch us off guard with such comments." Lucas said.

"Hey, do you think our vice-captain is a bit off?" Wist asked still can't get over that vague feeling about Jude's possible hidden demeanor.

"What makes you say that?"

"..Nevermind lets just go then."

All of the Watcher Burrow is an underground and for them to get out of a certain area they have to take one of several exits in their network of tunnels and rooms. Every exit consists of a designated escape pod for two people to enter which Wist and Lucas entered in one. There are several buttons to press from depending where it is headed. Wist was the one that pressed the up button. This activated a sequence where the pod engulfed them in a shimmer of light, their bodies apparated and found themselves teleported in a dark room with similar buttons. Because Lucas has better night vision he found the door to exit out of the alley and the two were now in the middle of the slum district.

Their surroundings are filled with activity were the slum district residents minding their own business. Whether there are people selling their wares by the sides of the streets they passed, or just walking about, it is a normal evening at the slums. As peaceful as the scene is, Lucas and Wist watched out for red bandanas with the Brotherhood symbol on it. They caught sight of several of those individuals, but they dare not stare for too long. Lucas perked his ears around for anyone coming towards them and Wist used her empathic senses to make sure that there are no feelings of aggression targeted towards them. So far it is just sensations of indifference from passing Brotherhood members.

Wist took comfort that Lucas held onto her hand, just because she felt nervous about being out in the field again. While this is not her first time at all at the surface it's a whole different feeling to be on a mission. She hummed a simple quiet tune mostly loud enough for her and Lucas who joined in. As they went towards where they needed to go activity began to dissipate the nearer they approach their destination and the buildings more damaged. It was just quiet hums until Lucas started to talk, they had not talked this whole time.

"I know it is normal that you sometimes zone out with those visions, but what did you see this time?" Lucas said his voice in a hushed tone.

"Its this person, well it's the guy in the trench coat. Well I feel this person is a guy" Wist said back matching the volume of Lucas's tone.

"Mr. Tall, dark and mysterious." Lucas said rising his eyebrows up and down a cheeky smile on his face. "And possibly handsome?"

Wist rolled her eyes, unclasped her hand from Lucas and lightly punched him on the arm before holding his hand again. Lucas just chuckled a bit in good jest.

"I'm serious Lu. Besides I don't even know what his face looked like he wore a mask and he only had one eye showing through that mask. He has been appearing in my visions for a while now, like a year now."

"Does it bother you?"

"Not that it bothers me, it only just made me curious and in all my visions of him, he was always walking away from me and I could never catch up to him. But this time I did finally caught up with him and he was just standing there and this time I detected something." Wist explained.

"What is it anger? Annoyance?"

"No, its of loneliness or longing. It's strange though I didn't feel like he was a threat to me."

"That is strange. I mean I'm no expert on visions but maybe it means you are closer to meeting him?"

Before they knew it the two have reached where they were assigned to be where the slums and Brotherhood territory meet based on the conditions of the building between the two areas. They looked around a bit seeing if there is anything of suspicion but then both froze on their tracks. Lucas could hear footsteps, smelt a hint of alcohol and Wist sensed what might be hostility they saw two men coming towards from the side by an alleyway, they wore red bandanas with a certain symbol.

With no time to think on it, they broke into a run they can hear the men running after them. Wist heard the sound of glass crashing, she stopped short to see Lucas brought down because of a bottle thrown at him. She changed directions to her friend attempting to get him up.

"Wist! What are you doing? Go!" Lucas said, groaning in pain from the glass that hit him which made a gash on the side of his head.

"I can't leave you behind!" Wist said, struggling to get him up and by this time Lucas fell unconscious.

Her efforts were in vain, she did not pay attention to the fact one of the drunk Brotherhood members grabbed her by the arm.

"Oh lookie here a little miss and her wolfie boyfriend!" said the one who grabbed her.

Her first time on a mission in years and now she is already being held captive by members of the Brotherhood. She struggled but the one who got her arm a strong grip on her.

"What's the matter missy never seen some handsome men around?" The other one said laughing at her struggling.

"No use fighting it, we are just going to see what are in your bag of yours and get that necklace of yours." The first man said slurring his words.

She fought back the tears that are starting to well up on her eye, she wished she had listened to Lucas but she had no regrets trying to help him regardless, but she knows if they found the Watcher pin she keeps stuck at the back of her necklace, she feared she and Lucas will be found out.

"If you cooperate it will be over before you know it."

Wist braced herself using her free hand to cover the pendant as an attempt to bar the man from taking her most precious possession, but she felt a presence of sorts behind the thugs. She detected this mystery person's emotions to be determined and calculated. From a distance she saw a figure in the shadows. She could not see whoever that is but there are tendrils of purple energy emitting from them coming towards them.

In a split second the tendrils grabbed her attacker's companion into the shadows his screams emanating, she heard sounds of a struggle like the person was being beat up then silence. The other man holding her looked behind him realizing what happened to his companion.

"What the f-"

He never got to finish his sentence, he too got grabbed and dragged away the same way. Wist saw how those tendrils like snakes coil themselves around the men who tried to hurt her. She does not know what exactly happened but considering she did not hear the screams of the Brotherhood members anymore she could hope for the best they are knocked out, not killed. Then from the shadows emerged a figure, Wist squinted her eye she can't detect the exact emotions coming from the stranger but she did not feel threatened, but she got her hands on one of her throwing knives in her satchel just in case. She may not be able to sense emotions from the mysterious stranger but the emotions of determination she felt from the tendrils were strangely a projection of a soul.

As the tendrils faded, the figure got closer and Wist got to see who it is and gasped. It's him, the mysterious kahunore with the long coat, the long dark hair and the distinct metal mask, his left eye exposed. There was a certain red bandana around his arm, a Brotherhood member, but yet he saved her. Other than that, he was dressed more colorfully than the usual brotherhood member, had a purple shirt of sorts that is badly stitched on the front, grey pants and short brown boots. There was also a diamond shaped crystal yellow pendant. Everything about him is unusual according to her, she feels that in a way he stands out among the Brotherhood members she had seen so far.

She can't tell what physical emotion is coming from him because of the mask covering his face save for his left eye, but she felt a bit of wariness and concern. The kahunore walked closer and came near enough to lean down and reach if he wanted. She studied his body language and noticed while the rest of him seemed stoic his hands were shaking a little, she wondered what must have been going through his head at this moment.

Wist at first considered using one of her throwing knives at him or as a warning, but she didn't, she noticed his gaze fell from her to the unconscious body of Lucas on the ground. He made a motion with his head looking back and forth between them and with his left hand which Wist noticed is metallic pointing at Lucas. She realized that if this Brotherhood member wanted to hurt her and her friend, he would have by now.

Wist stumbled to Lucas trying to shake him awake to no avail, she heard a clink near her and saw a small bottle with a cork. She picked it up and saw it labeled "smelling salts". Opening the bottle, she raised the bottle to his nose which done the trick.

"Ugh my head!" groaned the wolf boy who grimaced at the smell emanating from the bottle.

"Its alright they are gone." Wist said. "Come on get up!"

Wist helped Lucas up when they are both on their legs, she looked back to thank the strange kahunore. Instead he was walking away his soul like tendril projections carrying the unconscious bodies of the Brotherhood members. Lucas is now her priority, curiosity rising for her mysterious rescuer.

"What just happened" Lucas said who got a look at the stranger walking away as well. "Who is that?"

"What I thought I'd never see" Wist said saying each word carefully making sure she is not imagining what had transpired. "I think our enemy saved our lives."

"Then I must be dreaming." Lucas groaned in pain.

"I wish that was true Lu, the Captain might not believe us..."

She watched him walk away like her visions until the dark swallowed him and their attackers dragged away by the astral projections of his tendrils. Wist wondered if Lucas was right about his interpretation of the recent vision she saw would be of things to come with what has happened..

[peakyblinders-au]

Chadda “Sam” Samra

Tumblr Url & Your Real Name: peakyposts/crowsvalentine, Val!

Character Full Name: Chadda Samra

Nicknames/Alias: Sam

Backstory for nicknames/alias/names: No one pronounces Chadda correctly so she chose her english name, her mom hates it though but can’t really stop people from saying it because she has to admit it’s easier

Gender: She/Her

Gender Role: Being groomed to be the perfect housewife and scholar, but rebels on the side

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Age: 10 at the beginning of the series, 18/19 by the end (staysss looking like a child tho)

Birthday: March 20th, 1908

Deathday: Nahhhh

Birthplace: Small Heath, in their home’s kitchen

Ethnicity: Indian/Punjabi/Sikh

Family Members: Not related to the mains at all, but close friends! Has her mom and dad, and no siblings

Children: I’m a child

Face shape: Angular???

Eye colour: dark brown

Hair colour: dark brown

Hairstyle: Typically one long braid over the shoulder, if open it’s never been actually cut so it’s longgg and straight (not fitting to the 20’s look because like us Indians don’t go with the norms tbh)

Skin tone: Tan/brown

Body type/Build: Rectangle…slight like slighttttt hour glass

Height: 5’5 (at some point in the series)

Weight: 120lbs

Breast size: 34C

Facial Hair: None

Scars/Birthmarks/Prominent Features: One birthmark on her back that no one can ever see

Preferred hand: Right

Health: Able-bodied but will sneeze because of literally nothing every 30 minutes

Phobias: the sea, the dark and clowns

Addictions: Sweets, chocolate

Mental Disorders: Nothing

Attitude: Sweet and kind af

Expressions: If with her parents, reserved af, if with her friends? loud, rowdy, always laughing

Residence: Small Heath, Watery Lane

Political Affiliation: Anything that doesn’t discriminate

Friends: Anyone in the gc that applies, best friends with Finn and Isaiah and the other jr peakys

Enemies: Anyone racist since she’s probably part of the only Indian family in Small Heath at the time, anyone against the Shelbys, other than that she loves everyone and everyone loves her

Boss: Indirectly Polly Gray/Tommy Shelby, her parents

Pets: None but she loves animals (Immigrant parent problems)

Finances: Working Class

Marital Status: Single

Sex Life: None existent in the show, she’s a good Indian girl! (but like laterrrrrr in the series who knows)

Lovers: She loves Finn and Isaiah, she’s close to both and loves both but she knows she shouldn’t be with either because it isn’t allowed but she just can’t help it. This distracts her from her studies because she’s constantly thinking about both of them and wtf to do about her feelings.

Turn-ons: Good Indian Girl remember??? (but she’s still a girl so like… the basics)

Turn-offs: Being rude, making race jokes, pda (parents have eyes everywhere okay), excessive swearing, idk the usual

Dom or Sub: Doesn’t really apply to the character but sub af if it ever comes to it

Fantasies: The freedom of having a relationship that won’t have to be hidden from her family (lol I know it was supposed to be sexual but this is realistic)

Occupation: Mom has a hair salon in their home and she helps out sometimes (Polly’s a regular costumer)

Income: a roof over her head and food on the table

Work Experience: She usually just cleans

Religion: Sikh but not religious if she had a choice, but her parents don’t want her falling into the life of the Whites so she has to go to the temple with them whenever they go

Criminal Record: None

Morals: She is the moral compass, but sometimes she breaks it because it was partially built by her parents and she does anything to defy them

Main Goal: Just have fun and break out of the second generation immigrant life

Ambitions: Actually get accepted into a uni that wouldn’t penalize her for her race or sex

Regrets: Literally doesn’t do anything worth regretting

Secrets: She’s like Hannah Montana, one life with her family, one life with her friends, and the latter is kept a secret from the former

Best memories: Anytime she’s with her friends, some days when her mom is in the salon singing along to the only punjabi record they own

Worst memories: Getting her ass beat by her parents, that time she was caught just sitting with Finn and Isaiah and her dad flipped

Hobbies: Overall tomfoolery but her parents think she likes to read  

Skills: Good at sewing/fixing clothes, gets good at cutting hair when she gets old enough (even guy hair, practises on Finn sometimes), good dancer even if it’s just for fun, Math

Likes: the colour red, anything sugary, music, the carnival (she’s only gone once in her life), big cities (London), stars, Freedom

Dislikes: Restrictions, crowds, school, homework

Superstitions: Can’t start a journey right after someone sneezes (drink a glass of water or something first)

Quirks: Snorts when laughing, always carrying a book even if she isn’t even planning on reading it it’s just for the Look, the highest pitched sneezes you’ll ever hear, if there’s a pen and paper she’ll be doodling

Guilty Pleasures: Dressing up really fancy because she dresses so dull on a regular basis

Strengths: Hiding emotions, keeping secrets, Drinking (heavyweight champ, it’s in her punjabi genes), organized and can weirdly get anything done the moment it’s asked of her like oh you’re craving that one tart from that bakery all the way in London? She can find a way to get it for you without even leaving the city

Weaknesses: Paranoid (that her family is watching), compulsive liar (feels the need to lie about everything because she’s not sure what could set her parents off), Zones out like all the time, Gets distracted easily, anddddd It’s a no for an physical activity

Languages: Speaks Punjabi and English fluently (Roasts everyone in Punjabi because literally no one but her family understands her and she just smiles to herself while everyone looks confused)

Accent: Brummie!

Speech Impediments: slight lisp (some letters just don’t come out right)

Voice: idk normal?

Reputation: “That nice brown girl from down the street” or “That loud Indian girl who always comes ‘round”

Backstory: Her parents immigrated from Punjab, India before she was born, they moved into the same house they still live in years later and she’s born a year after they move there. Her dad owns the sweetshop that’s in the train station and her mom uses the house as her hair salon. A lot of women come to her, even some men who are willing to trust a woman with their hair. She’s brought up believing she owes her parents everything, that she needs to be successful for them and not for herself. So for a long time she’s just school school school, even as a little kid. She’s known Finn her whole life because Polly is a regular customer since before she was even born and sometimes brought him with her when he had no one else to watch him. They’re friends but her parents don’t like her hanging out with boys, so it’s more of a during and right after school thing until her parents finally give her an ounce of freedom. She’s set to go to uni and do the whole ride and that’s what she wants to do, but she still wants to have fun while getting there. So like if she’s “going to the library” she might actually be going to the library…but also to sit with Finn by a canal and just hangout. She’s never really looking for a boyfriend because she always just assumes her parents will find her someone from India because that’s the threat her dad uses all the time, so when she starts realizing she actually starts liking Finn she suppresses the fuck out of those emotions. But then she starts realizing she likes Isaiah too and she thinks her whole world is going to shit because Finn was already a bad idea and now Isaiah would be worse. She never does jobs for the Peaky Blinders but if she’s in the betting shop or in the Garrison she’ll correct some math if she’s just looking over someone’s shoulder, Tommy asks her constantly to just do their books for them but she always says she’s too busy, that’s about it.

Face Claim: Neelam Gill (not like perfect but pretty close!)

[qqueenofhades]

Jack/Sam: "We're not going to die." Make of that what you will XD

Sutherland, Scotland

April 1748

The tiny, ancient, roofless church was the only shelter formiles, in the low ground between the rugged munros and towering stacks ofgranite, swept by lonely winds and open to the elements. It was the bleakestbloody place that Sam had ever seen; after leaving the last croft, they hadwalked for three days without encountering another human. Most unfortunately,the next human had been a redcoat patrol. Apparently they had made it up from Invernessand were making the rounds to ensure strict adherence to the Act ofProscription, the Dress Act, the Disarming Act, the Heritable JurisdictionsAct, and the other armada of punitive legislation that Parliament had passed inthe wake of the Jacobites’ defeat at Culloden two years ago, and no part of theHighlands was getting away from it. Nor were the redcoats terribly conscientiousabout checking whether a given Scottish croft had actually had a damn thing todo with Bonnie Prince Charlie before they commenced beating and burning theplace and shaking it down for any miserly half-pennies they could be arsed toseize. No wonder Jack had plenty to do.

That, however, had led them to their current place ofrefuge, and Sam wasn’t sure how much longer it would remain one. The night was bitterlycold, and Jack had been perched in the remnants of the roof beams for at leastan hour, tensely watching the redcoats’ camp half a mile down the glen, justvisible by the pinprick of its fire. They didn’t think the soldiers were going to march off in the middle of the nightinto the remote Scottish wilderness – they had heard howling from the highground earlier, there were wolves here – but they couldn’t be sure. Likewise,fugitives could claim sanctuary from their pursuers in an intact church, but itwas a point of contention as to whether that flimsy legal right extended to a ruinedone. They hadn’t had anything to eat in two days. Sam could practically feelhis stomach withering to a husk.

“Come down,” he said at last, his voice sounding loud in thehush. “I’m freezing.”

Jack glanced down at him with a wry smile. “I’m sorrythis is – well. What it is.”

“Funnily enough, I didn’t think that sneaking through theHighlands for you to perform secret medical assistance on people the Englishhave unjustly beat up was going to be glamorous.” Sam gingerly stretched hislegs, then stopped. “But down here by myself, it really is terrible.”

Jack sighed, his breath making cold silver clouds in thehalf-light, and stole a final look down the valley. “I don’t think they’removing. Hopefully we can sneak out of here in the morning.”

“If we don’t get eaten by wolves.” They had one rather balkyflintlock musket to their name – the carrying of all guns had been strictlyoutlawed in the Highlands, and they were running enough of a risk with that –and Sam didn’t see that being a terrible deterrence to a frothing pack,probably as hungry as the rest of this place. Periodic scars of smoke rose tothe horizon wherever the redcoats were burning fields and crofts, ruining thesubsistence harvest on which these people depended. For a moment, Sam felt thesame all-consuming hatred of the British that had driven his family, particularly hisgrandfather and then his father, in their war. Why do they always get to do this, and we can’t even really fight back?

“I promise.” Jack jumped down from the beam, landing with apuff of dust and dirt. “I will not let you get eaten by wolves or shot by redcoats.”

To Sam’s mind, this still left plenty of potential deaths,not least freezing solid, but he held his arms out, shivering, and Jack came tosit down close next to him, gathering Sam onto his lap and resting hischin on his head. He pulled his cloak around both of them, sharing whatmeager heat they had; they couldn’t risk a fire of their own. Finally he said, “Thankyou. For being – being here.”

Sam didn’t answer immediately, tracing a finger across Jack’schest. Despite the considerable and obvious drawbacks – viz. sitting in afreezing, roofless church up the arse-end of the Highlands, death of one sortor another too uncomfortably close at hand – he didn’t want to be anywhereelse, not really. Even as nice as warm Georgia sounded – hell, even drizzlyEdinburgh would be a sight for sore eyes – here was where Jack was. Here washim helping people who had nothing else, being the most gentle and patient andempathetic that Sam had ever seen him, putting that medical education to work.He didn’t want to go. Not now. Not ever.

Something that was almost definitely a wolf howled. Not faroff.

“If we…” Sam didn’t know what he was asking, exactly,but it bubbled to his lips. “If we do die tonight…”

“We’re not going to die.” Jack looked down at him fiercely. “Remember?”

“Aye, but…” Sam threaded their cold fingers together,feeling Jack’s calluses, the long, elegant hands he loved so well, that couldsew up a little girl’s hands torn by a spindle or a young man on the wrong endof a redcoat’s musket. “I’d like to die as your…well. Yours.”

“You are mine.” Jack kissed his hair lightly. “And I’myours. Always.”

“Yes, but…” Sam glanced up at their surroundings – thestark, haunted church open to the sky, the altar crumbling to stones and moss,the ghosts of long-ago worshipers – Viking raiders from Orkney, perhaps, ormedieval lords in their tunics and brooches, anyone else who had foundthemselves here in the night and mist and wilds. “We are in a church. And forbloody sure nobody else is going to do it for us, so…”

“Sam.” Jack put a hand under his chin. “What are you asking?”

“Will you…” Sam screwed up all his courage, pushing pastthe small, frightened part of him that always expected rejection, even andespecially from someone he loved past all reason, to distraction, to here, tothis. “Will you marry me?”

Jack stared at him, then laughed in surprise. “Marry you,eh?”

“I just thought… it’s stupid, but – ”

Jack cut him off, as he could tend to do when Sam startedprattling, with a firm and comprehensive kiss. It felt somewhat less cold whenthey finally pulled apart, though not to do with any improvement in the weather,as Jack shifted Sam off his lap and tugged him to his feet, as they stoodrather self-consciously before the broken altar. They stared at each other fora long moment, and then Jack cleared his throat. “Do you, Samuel James Jones,take me, Jack Bellamy, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to holdfrom this day forward, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, as longas we both should live?”

“Yes.” Sam had never heard anything he needed to think aboutless, wanted to say it again. “I do. I do. I do.”

Jack smiled at him gently, as if reminding him that it onlytook one, and Sam steadied himself. “Do you, Jack Bellamy, take me, SamuelJames Jones, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from thisday forward, for richer or poorer, in sick – sickness and in health, as long as.. . we both… we both should live?”

Jack looked at him as if trying to memorize his face,everything about this. This, after all, was not his first wedding – he hadmarried Charlotte Goode in a Marylebone parish church in May 1738, as part of aneffort for both of them to escape London and try to reunite with Charlotte’sreal lover, Alix St. Clair – and Sam had to fight a brief fear that of coursethat one would have been better somehow. Realer, deeper, truer, even thoughJack and Charlotte had had their marriage cordially annulled seven years ago,and had never been lovers in a carnal sense. But it was with face and eyes andvoice and breath full of Sam that Jack said tenderly, “I do.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, having ageneral recollection that there was usually more to weddings – prayers andpronouncements, blessings and vows, the affirmation of witnesses, a lot oftaradiddle from the priest about why the estate of matrimony had been created,so on and so forth. But there was nothing familiar about this, nothing ordinaryor usual, nothing sanctioned by the church or the world at large, and so,somehow and simply, that was enough. To pledge their troth and make theirpromise, the affirmation of a life they had already been living for the betterpart of a decade already. There was not really just one of them anymore, orrather there was, but as two halves of a whole, rather than any separatecreature. This was all they needed.

At last, as the moon broke out from behind an anvil of cloudand shone down on them in a soft silver light, Sam Jones and Jack Bellamy steppedforward, took hold of each other’s faces, and kissed, soft and musingly andsweet and slow, in joy and grief at once. They pulled back, but only to restcheeks and noses and foreheads together, to kiss again, and stand there likeone of the church’s broken pillars. They grinned at each other shakily, morethan a little tearily, and Jack brought Sam’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “God,”he said roughly. “God, I love you.”

Sam didn’t even want to answer just yet, wanted to hold thewords against his heart, as they stood there in each other’s arms, then sankback down into the dubious shelter of the broken bricks. It was not much of awedding night, and trying to turn it into one would probably result in severalpertinent bits being frozen off, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was this, andalways had. Me. Mine. Ours.

Sam Jones-Bellamy laid his head against his husband’sshoulder, and waited for eternity.

[whimsically-ominously-auspice]

As you see the icons are all WHITE.

Every person even the two birds are white.

I have finally established full ownership of all Congra brands (excluding stock holders and bla bla bla)

Congra was established as a CONGlomoRAate between unlawful invading aliens and myself. CON like conman and G-RAated as in grating my fucking teeth at feeling forced to due to my kindness.

There's a bit more Brian can post for you. Im excited to tell you the what i consider to be

GOOD NEWS!!!

the name Congra will be established as the past and history that will never again occur in the future thus the name is eradicated as is allowing alien life to enter our universe's atmosphere.

The name will become

The Niggers' Foods.

The back label will say "The Niggers' Foods" as opposed to Congra and the stock number will change to NGR

All recipes will state "brought to you by "The Niggers' Foods"

Our country. Our world was all black. All African. We all lived in Africa since we allowed Venus to inhabit the Earth for protection.

We used the word Nigger to mean teacher.

Duncan Hienz Wil change the spelling to the Spanish DUOcan Heinz

But no other changes will occur.

The icons will remain white.

In the commercials and advertisements it will become biracial.

Please understand from white to black includes tan.

And those also will be included in the background but the main advertising will be DUO.

Bi racial.

Cause we always look for a great slam dunk.

It can still be pronounced Duncan and likely will but the spelling will change as the fore runner for our overall change

This will occur late next year.

When the world is safer.

Not because im afraid people will not purchase our foods but because until then we will still be accompanied by racists in Our world and they are not worthy of our food.

This was a request of George Floyd because he saw how I always picked on Snoop for saying niggha day in and day out. He said "why don't you honor him like you will us with the torches?"

I said "because he won't say the R. He's afraid to. And when I push him to say it he always blushes"

"So then here's what you do...." George Floyd told me.

He is also from Venus and he will be ghosted back to life in a firm and stout physical body. More on that later.

And so while I'm "just a lil ole white girl" in the midst of tragedy after tragedy. This comes from a completely different economic and political reason than several companies.

Of course y'all know me. And you know i wouldn't politicalize on economic gain.

And in fact due to him mentioning the torches and I had to stand to argue that he can't base one on the other when one removes all economical growth

And he interrupted "just make it cheaper then" as he looked into the McDonald's bag presented to him for lunch. Said Thank you then chewed on a fry and said "you know what I mean?"

So our costs to the customer will cut on average 75%

Packages will change to reflect this price change. Instead of a cake mix coming in a box and a bag it will come in one, likely a cotton sac that can be reused.

"How does that cut cost tho?! Sounds like it would be more expensive" said George Floyd "unless you use like a dispenser in the store to dispense the cake mix into the reusable bag"

"Sounds unsanitary. We will just have the machines make them. But I like you George Floyd! You're real industrial!"

"No one's ever told me that before. That I'm smart, just that you can't read" and he couldn't. But he learned he began the next day. And he could read a bit more than he thought he could. Just from signs and labels. He finished a whole comic book in 2 and a half days with help.

He had looked shocked because I had said that then I had continued. "I really like that though. I was all for it until I thought sanitary then i thought just put the bags next to the dispenser but then there's no point to make them reusable .. So I thought paper? Then I realized your question was in relation to the economy and so i went back to that and i thought cotton gin and instead of making people sew just have the machines do it all! We will still have to employ people for machines safefy but not that many and we can afford it especially since cotton is grown just as trees and then we have two factories running progress on the packaging. Now its just one and therefore economical. If you will excuse me my kid isn't eating and I have to tell her to or she acts like it's positioned or something and i don't want her food to get cold"

While i finished eating I thought about how he said he couldn't read. They say that about my Uncle and even Blackfeet but I knew they could. They just took slower and then I had an opportunity that is rare.

"George Floyd. I'm going to write to what we just discovered with Dunking to Duo" and i did. And i said it out loud I told him to verify our discussion.

And then i slid the laptop to look at him "now explain to me why you can't read"

It took some convincing ... "Now what's that word right here"

"Principle and just in case you need me to tell you it goes with the word economic before it"

"Well why didn't you just write economy?!"

"And that George Floyd is how they got the black man ineligible to vote. They taught one word then used the same meaning of two other words or vice versa and failed them all... They weren't... They weren't... They were terrible Niggers, George Floyd. Just terrible"

And so that's how we got George Floyd on his determination to read and write better.

And he did.

So we're very proud of him, he had his girlfriend fly down and and see he wasnt lying that he had learned.

And he learned a lot by listening then reading what i typed and he even got some of the others who didn't read or write well to look it over as well.

"Well we already knows what it says" he told them "now we just have to find the hidden words so we can vote" he understood it was a long ago thing back in slave days but it was the importance of reading it together.

So eventually we had it printed and we did "find the mistake" so it was the same passage from what i typed during our meeting copy and pasted to add in spelling and grammar errors they could find

Rayshard Brooks actually requested that. And he earned him a torch.

So these criminals .... Reading and writing was their issue. And they knew it had some bearing on their skin color and where they went to school as to why their education wasn't good enough.

So i ask that schools don't reconvene.

We have hooked on phonics and so on.

Yes. I do want schools. But until racism is over if schools can skip the school year so to speak, we can fast track a lot better

We have a new program based on this learning concept where kids and adults speak into a microphone. And it is typed.

Different levels will change the words in a thesaurus manner.

Then the grammar and spelling difference.

And even it will take simple words like "the cat" and change it to "dog" to see that the author can catch that extreme meaning change.

And tree has and will offer to pay for learning in this manner.

Michael Jordan had interest in the software being developed and it was his idea

And we named it Torches' (for Reading) and he and his father developed Torches' Publishing for the recently illiterate to publish their own books with help of editors to show them what a fluently reading human can read and catch what the computer reading can't. And to publish has differentiating fees. Ebooks cost $15 to publish with professional editing of 25 different people and different races and ages.

$150 to $250 for paperback to hardback books.

And it says in the fine print, "brought to you by nighas" in honor of Snoop which is why this fine existence of these 3 companies came to be.

.... .... ....

We have a special medal award system

You've heard of the Caldacott medal.

We have an Independence Parks Medal. For those that are illiterate previously as adults and write books of historocal truths

You will want to seek that award medal. Tree gives them.

So you may wanna order those books into paper authors, nothing feels better than an embossed medal which Will actually be printed with a special ink of crushed diamonds and iron.

[princelucivaryaslana]

It’s D&D and i’m bad at it and talk too much HEYOOOO

So Mercy is fucking dead forever.

Which I mean, he was an excellent character and the player i thought hated him actually enjoyed our character dynamic so it’s bittersweet, but god he was bad at things. Also, he’d officially died-died three times, the 13-year-old goliath that served as the party lil brother and the little purple kobald everyone loved that was the goliath’s best friend were dead-dead too, Mercy had found his mom in the afterlife after agonizing over her the whole year and a half he inhabited Prince Valafar’s body, and he was (as I have been) agonizingly cognizant that he was more of a hindrance than a help when it came to achieving party goals, so he didn’t really have a reason to come back (although he would have come back as an aarakocra and finally been able to fly again and that would have been cool but whatever I did this).

SO

I’ve started playing a Madness domain cleric named Ban (pronounced “Bahn”). 

       Backstory: Ban’s parents were a changeling trouper (who was open about their status as a changeling and used their talents for acting) and a changeling living in town disguised as an elderly elven weaver. The weaver excitedly met with the trouper in secret the night the troupe arrived, having not knowingly met another changeling in years, and the two had a short, secret romantic foray during the troupe's week-long stay in town before they parted ways.          The weaver ended up having Ban a little while later and kept them a secret until Ban was old enough to be taught how to shapeshift, whereupon Ban was taught how to look like an albino human child so as to be easily discernible from the other children in town, as well as to create a simple excuse as to why an elderly elven woman suddenly had a child (”I found him sleeping in an alley. His mother must have abandoned him due to his condition, poor thing.”).         The early years of Ban’s life were warm and happy. Ban was clever and quickly taught themself how to read, spending a lot of their time with their nose in a book when they weren’t out playing with the other children. Their parent taught them how to subtly age, about the art of acting, and about the cultures of the other races. They also taught Ban how to weave and sew, and they took great pains and pride in teaching Ban how to transform into the elderly elven weaver themself, a persona named Shi (short for Shilaena Nivarian) that had been passed down through the family for generations.         Unfortunately, it couldn’t last. Ban’s parent was very old, and they died in their sleep one night when Ban was about 8 years old, reverting back to their default form. Ban took their trade tools and as much of the most expensive wares as they could carry and ran north to the capital, as they’d been instructed to do if their parent ever died.         They lived on the streets in the capital of their country for almost 6 years, learning through practice how to quickly learn enough about other people to convincingly portray them, as well as how to sneak and steal. When they were around 14 years old they finally sold the last of the wares they’d taken with them from home (though they kept a small square of thread-of-gold cloth to remember their parent by), so they moved farther north, using the money they got from that final sale to rent a kiosk in the marketplace of the first big city they entered and play the part of Shi for the first time in years. When they made enough money to feed themself between cities while still having enough left over to rent a shopspace, they moved on, and they slowly traveled northward with that routine for about 2 years.         When Ban was 16, they were living in a city that claimed to guard the third of the Seven Seals, a group of massive monsters who, through magic runes kept in a tower built in the very spot where all the planes converge, were kept alive but controlled to seal away a powerful blood mage who threatened the entire world (it’s all very complicated and dramatic). The city had an annual tradition of selecting a child, usually an orphan, and throwing them into the cave where the Third Seal, Everbleed the Webbed, resides, to appease the beast and keep it in its prison.         Guess who got picked as sacrifice because they were young and new in town?         So Ban was caught, blindfolded, knocked unconscious, and thrown into the cave the spider-thing lived in. Whilst in the cave, they had a dream wherein a voice told them they weren’t going to die there. When they awoke, there was a gem embedded in the flesh of their throat, and the Seal was chewing on their shoulder. After slashing the beast in the face with a blade made of blood (i won’t apologize, it’s a rad weapon and is going to make me very useful as a tank) and getting out of its grasp, Ban ran through the cave, fumbling through webs covered in acid, pursued by Everbleed and other creatures that lived in the spider’s cave, their head full of the sound of powerful winds. Winds that screamed. Winds that never ceased. Winds that threatened to drive Ban mad.         Winds that succeeded.

Turns out, during Mercy’s character arc, we ended up killing the First Seal trying to get Prince Valafar’s girlfriend out of the dungeon, which initiated the decay of the other seals, so our party has been given the task of killing all of the rest of the monsters before they can start to run rampant again. Ban was called upon by the elderly archdruid Moody Blue, a PC from the first campaign and one of the founders of the Allegiance of the Nine, to give the party information about Everbleed so they can kill it and save the Warforged wizard’s creator, another first campaign PC (he’s a tortle gunslinger-turned-wizard who steals people’s bodies to stay alive like an asshole lol) who’s stuck in Everbleed’s rune seal. Apparently, he true-iced and then Sequestered himself on it after being mortally wounded by one of this campaign’s BBEGs, and he can’t get out to be healed until the seal breaks.

All that aside, lemme tell ya how I’m still real bad at D&D.

Ban and Rush (a really cute otterfolk paladin from Moody’s order of the Nine) joined the party after Moody sent out four letters asking for help. We were supposed to go fight Everbleed that session, but Moody let slip that there were rumors of weird goings-on in other parts of the continent, and Tome and Aliara (the Warforged transmutation wizard and the half-elf beastmaster ranger, respectively) were not terribly eager to go fight the spider without a few more allies in light of what they’d just gone through, so, despite Moody warning us that it might not go well, we set out to deal with the other issues in the realms and hopefully accumulate forces in the process.

We started with a town that claimed a bunch of portals were popping up everywhere with horrible monstrosities coming out of them. When we arrived, about four hours from sundown, the outer fringes of the town were on fire and the townsfolk were running about, boarding up their windows and locking themselves indoors. We managed to bully the town innkeeper into letting us inside his tavern, and after he tried to aggressively swindle us and failed, he told us about the whispy black ghosts and the lanky, bony, long-fingered abominations with glowing red eyes that were coming out of the portals and killing everyone.  We ended up finding such a portal in an alleyway across the street from the tavern, and we fought and killed 4 wraiths there, though not before they reduced our paladin’s hp maximum to 43 (that’s important for later). After we killed the wraiths, while I was trying to get up the nerve to have my literally crazy cleriboy stick their head into the portal to see what was up....the paladin stuck his head in the portal to see what was up. Inside the portal was a room made of smooth stone and tile with a giant purple eyeball chained inside of it and three of those white bony motherfuckers surrounding it. After alerting the bony bitches to his presence (he literally said “gross” out loud he was so stupid what a good boy), the paladin popped his head back out and told us what he’d seen. While the rest of the party was standing IN THE ALLEY trying to decide if they were going to run or stay and fight, Ban stuck their head in and saw the boneclaws were making their way to the portal already. Ban told them so just as the innkeep yelled at us to get inside, where he insulted us some more and started freaking out.  While the otter was trying to sleep to get his HP back, the boneclaws broke in and interrupted his rest. They attacked and we started to fight them, and we were doing pretty well after Tome turned the big one into a sheep. Unfortunately, just as the sheep ran outside of the tavern, Tome’s player forgot about the sheep (tbh all of us except the DM did) and had Tome cast Haste on himself, and the big one came back with a vengeance. I tried to get a Turn Undead off on it and failed despite the fact that the damn thing didn’t have advantage on its Wisdom save because of one of my domain features, and it ended up murdering the otter paladin before I could heal the damage he’d taken from the other boneclaws. We managed to kill it by remembering that oh, yes, of course, we intended to Polymorph the innkeep into something not a little bitch, and turned him into a giant ape to help us fight. We managed to kill the boneclaw priest pretty quickly after that, and the session ended there.

“But Winter,” you might exclaim, “you’re playing a cleric! Why didn’t you just use Turn Undead on the wraiths in the alley and prevent this whole disaster instead of waiting until the boneclaws attacked?” Well, you see, the thing is, I’m a fucking idiot and have also never played a cleric in a campaign with undead in it. Mostly though I’m an idiot.

I will say that I offered to fix it since it’s my fault the otter died (Gentle Repose is useful and I just need one more level to be able to cast Raise Dead), but the DM and the player have already moved on and made a different character.

Oh, also Ban’s god is Ghaunadaur, but they didn’t know that until after the boneclaw fight. Tome had done an Arcana check in the alley when Ban and Rush described what they saw in the portal and had told us all that what we described sounded a lot like a shrine of Ghaunadaur, also known as The Elder Eye. After the boneclaw fight, Ban had heard the voice that talked to them sometimes say, “You will make that up to me, child,” and had put two and two together and now has to keep yet another secret from their new buddies.

I love D&D

[aliceinthewritingrepublic]

Leave a Light On

Title: Leave a Light On

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Pairing: Prompto Argentum/Reader

Rating: MA

Word Count: 2961

-

After Prompto comes back from the darkness injured, he and Alathea need to reassure themselves and each other that they are still here.

Slowly, but surely, Alathea was growing restless. A glance at the clock told her it was past midnight already. Of course, the time of the day did not matter much anymore these days – the sky was not going to get any darker than it was. It had been three years since the sun had not risen one morning. It had never risen since. The daemons had only grown stronger during that time, and no longer were they constricted to the night hours. After all, night was all there was now.

If it was past midnight that meant Prompto had been gone for more than twelve hours now. He had left earlier today to go hunting. He would not have had to go far to encounter daemons, so his long absence was a substantial cause of worry on Alathea’s part. She wished she had gone with him. They had made a great team for the months and years they had spent at each other’s backs out there. But nowadays he refused to let her come with him. It bothered her, but she could hardly fault him for his insistence considering her… predicament.

The floor she was pacing belonged to the small cottage they had moved into together after all the world had gone to hell. It was somewhat remote, but if one were to walk up the hill out back for a little while, one would eventually be able to spot the lights of Hammerhead in the far distance. A testament to the fact that they had not given up hope and were ready to join a fight larger than either of them at a moment’s notice if the day ever came.

Prompto, Gladiolus and Ignis had drifted apart as time went on. Perhaps the hole that Noctis had left behind burned too deeply whenever they were together. Still, Prompto refused to give up hope. He was certain that one day, all they had fought for would come to its conclusion. His belief was so strong it made Alathea believe in it as well.

The minute hand was pointing straight upwards once more and she was still alone. She knew she would not be able to find sleep until he had returned. Once, he had been gone for two and a half days. Thus, she had been awake for just as long, her consciousness wavering after so many hours had passed, but never quite allowing her to find rest. It made sense, she thought, unintentionally reaching up and running a fingertip along the thin black line circling around her neck. As long as she was unable to sleep, it meant he was wide awake somewhere out there. She held onto that source of hope as tightly as she could.

Then, a sound outside. Her ears perked up and… yes! There were footsteps outside, quiet and distant at first, then suddenly louder on the wooden porch. Alathea was overwhelmed by how glad she felt. She rushed to open the door and threw herself into her lover’s arms, digging her nose into the side of his neck. The sudden calmness that washed over her when holding him twisted back into concern when he winced in her embrace.

She stepped back and took a good look at him. He was standing upright, that much was the good news. But on a closer look, he seemed a little… asymmetrical. His right arm was hanging straight downward, the angle of his shoulder less pronounced than on the other side. His bare arms were covered in dirt and cuts, the bruises forming on his skin too numerous to count, especially without a proper light source.

“Thea,” he said softly, his exhaustion tangible. He seemed too weak to say anything more than that.

Alathea’s eyes widened in worry. “Prompto, you… I…” She swallowed and took a moment to get her thoughts in order. “You’re hurt. Quick, come inside and lie down. I’ll patch you up.”

He nodded gratefully and slowly stumbled past her into the cabin, softly brushing his uninjured arm against her own in passing. As if he were apologizing for being too weak to greet her properly. Something tightened inside her chest at the reminder of how profoundly good he was, both in general and in his treatment of her specifically. Even now, when he was so clearly the one who needed tending to far more than she did.

She followed him inside and urged him to lie down on their shared bed. He inhaled sharply when his back and thus his shoulder hit the mattress, breaths slowly calming as he waited for her to return to his side. She did as soon as she had collected the medical supplies they kept in one of the cabinets. They had done this for each other too many times over the years.

He was watching her every movement as she sat everything down on the nightstand.

“Do you have any cuts that need to be sewn up, or is your shoulder the first thing that has to be taken care of?” she asked, eyes running over his body in evaluation, but unable to draw any final conclusions while he was still wearing his shirt.

“None of them that bad. Shoulder first.” His voice was exhausted from the pain, but steady.

“Okay. Gotta take your shirt off first though, so that I’ll know what I’m working with.” He winced at her words and their implication and it stung her heart. “I’m sorry. I know you’re in a lot of pain. Let me help you.”

Slowly, as carefully as she could, she helped him out of his black top. Before, she had already been able to see part of the bruising on his shoulder. Now, it was obvious that the hematoma went further, across his collarbone until it faded out near his sternum. She almost went ahead and ran her fingers over the battered skin, but caught herself just in time and held back with her fingertips hovering only millimeters above him.

“Your collarbone’s bruised, but it doesn’t look broken. Neither does your upper arm. The shoulder’s definitely dislocated, though,” she informed him.

“Thought so,” he breathed. “Think you can reset it?”

She considered for a moment. While she had never done it to another person, she had had her own shoulder reduced before. It had been a long while since then, but it was not like there was much of a choice. She nodded.

Alathea had Prompto advance to the side until his arm was splayed from his body perpendicularly. She took his arm in both of her hands. He tried to wrap his hand around her own lower arm to help, but had to forfeit his intention due to the reduced mobility in his muscles. Then, she set her sock-clad foot against the side of his ribcage, careful to choose an area with as few bruises as possible. A ridiculous, yet necessary position.

“This is probably gonna hurt a lot. I’m sorry, love.”

All he did was nod, the urgency to find relief visible in his movements. Unable to watch his face while she was causing him pain, Alathea squeezed her eyes shut tightly and then began to pull. She kept her strength as steady as she could, pulling hard enough to make her own muscles protest.

Then, there was a sickening sound that mixed with Prompto’s loud and pained groan.

She let go of his limb carefully, sitting down on the bed softly and putting a hand on his face, caressing his cheek with her thumb while he slowly calmed back down. Soon, his breathing slowed again. He reached up with his uninjured hand to cover hers.

“Thank you,” he whispered and then pressed a kiss to her wrist.

“Are you ready for a potion to numb the pain and heal those cuts a little?” she asked instead of telling him he was welcome. It seemed out of place to say something like that when she had caused him pain, even if it had been for the greater good.

“Please,” he answered. He did not have to ask twice. Alathea helped him prop up his head while she held the vial to his lips, watching his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed the liquid.

Afterwards, they simply stayed like that for a while. The cuts littering Prompto’s chest were scabbing and turning into red welts. Still visible, but far less crass to look at already. Nonetheless, she felt a heaviness in her heart as she ran her fingers along the ones less likely to scar lest she hurt him. If she had been out there with him, perhaps he would not have been injured as badly. Then again, he might also have been distracted by his need to protect her and things might have turned out even worse.

If any possible choice was the wrong choice, maybe it was simply the world that was wrong.

Eventually, she reached into the bag with medical supplies, grateful that she had not had to sew him up. She pulled out an ointment and unscrewed the tin, beginning to spread the salve on every single cut she saw. There were many, interspersed with lighter pink and white lines where old wounds had left marks. He did not need any more scars. They were both covered in them already.

“I wish you did not have to put yourself into danger like this,” she mumbled.

“If I didn’t, we’d have no money to live off. And every daemon I kill is one less out there to harm some innocent person.” Noble as ever.

“I know. I understand. I just wish it didn’t have to be like this.” Alathea closed the tin again and put it back with the other supplies. She pulled her legs onto the bed, sitting sideways so their hips were touching. She needed the contact to reassure herself that he was still here. That was also why she could not stop running her fingertips over his skin.

“You know that I’d never not come back to you.” He was right. She did know. Being apart hurt him as much as it hurt her.

“Not at long as it’s your choice. But whenever you’re out there, I can’t help but spend every second worrying about what might go wrong. You know I have a vivid imagination.”

He reached out with his good hand, lovingly squeezing her hand and then moving up across her elbow, over her shoulder, until he had reached her neck. Softly, he pushed two fingertips against the slim, black line of ink that ran across her pulse.

“If anything like that happened, you would know,” he reminded her. Once again, he was right.

She took his hand in both of hers, pulling off his fingerless glove and pressing a kiss to the inside of his palm. Then, she pushed her cheek into it, enjoying the sensation of the callouses from his firearms against her softer skin.

He moved to skip his fingertips along her lips. “Come here,” he whispered, encouraging her to turn her head and lean down towards him.

She went along with it, as usual unable to resist him. Their breaths were mixing, his respiration still more labored than hers. She attributed it to his body needing the energy to translate the potion into actual healing. Their eyes met. His pupils were dilated, deep pools of warm darkness pulling her in. His mouth ghosted over hers, the softness of the touch reaching inside her and pulling her against him magnetically. For the first few seconds, she did not respond to his kiss, pliable like putty against his motions.

Then, she felt herself slipping and responded, welcoming his tongue into her mouth. No matter how many times she had kissed him – and it must have been thousands and thousands of times after all these years – it always felt like the first time. All the nerves in her lips and tongue were on fire in the best of ways as he licked into her mouth, coaxing a reaction from her to every one of his actions.

Lost in their passionate kissing, she let Prompto pull her on top of him, movements a little awkward with his one arm still splayed across the bed and not yet ready to be used again. She held his face in both hands, running her fingers through his hair, reassuring herself that he was here with her and no longer out there at risk of being killed at any moment. His presence was grounding her, and she let all the intensity with which she had been fearing for him flow into their touches.

The hardness pressing into her from below was impossible to mistake for anything but what it was. Breaking away from her lips for a moment, Prompto exhaled harshly. “Thea, I need you,” he breathed, rocking his hips up emphatically.

“Prompto,” she answered with worry in her voice. “You’re injured. Are you sure now’s the time?”

“I need you,” he repeated, not the slightest hint of shame detectable in the way he looked up at her. He did not exactly sound demanding, but his need for her was more than apparent.

And if Alathea was honest with herself, she needed him just as badly. Needed to know that he was real, that he was here, that they had each other now and always. As such, she did not question him again.

“We’ll have to be careful with your shoulder,” she noted instead, reaching down and pulling her shirt over her head in one swift movement.

His good hand was on her in an instant, grasping one breast and running his thumb along the flesh that was spilling over the bra. Her cleavage had been the first noticeable change about her body.

“Isn’t it too tight?” he wondered, squeezing the flesh in his hand carefully.

“Yeah. But it’s the largest bra I own.” Resources were sparse in this dark world. Those resources included both fitting bras and most methods of contraception.

His hand continued its path and found her stomach where a small bump was by now clearly visible. His eyes took the same path as his hand and the expression in them changed into something not entirely unlike reverence.

“You’re radiant,” he thought out loud. It seemed to Alathea that he had not intentionally said it, but did not mind having voiced his appraisal.

She could have said the same thing about him. Even with his injuries, the thing that stood out most about his chest were the myriad of freckles spanning from his neck across his collarbones and further down. His nipples were a soft pink that was perfectly complimented by the redness that had spread across his cheeks and neck.

She could not keep herself from kissing every kind of mark on his skin, diligently trying not to miss a single spot. “Thea,” he whispered in encouragement, sighing and moaning in response to her caresses.

His abs seemed to vibrate underneath his skin as she went lower. Every kiss against his skin demanded a reaction from his body, and she was ever amazed at how perfect he was from head to toe. It aroused her to know that it was her of all people that could make him respond so wonderfully to each and every touch.

His pale skin became almost translucent in places where his bones pushed against the skin. She could see a small net of veins spanning his hipbone. He was living, and he was beautiful.

She had never taken off his boots in her earlier hurry to treat his injuries.

After they were gone, both his and her pairs of pants and socks soon followed. As did her too-tight bra.

When she mounted him, she had long since been ready. It was simply what he did to her. She rocked herself up and down carefully, supporting her weight with one hand on his chest. Not daring to go any faster lest she hurt his shoulder, Alathea’s gaze caught on Prompto’s. She did not dare look away again. The intensity and adoration in his eyes only underlined the sensation of his cock entering her over and over.

“Prompto,” she whispered, eyes never leaving his, pace slow and steady. “Touch me.”

He reached for her convex stomach at first, a little as if he had to be careful not to forget what it meant.

“You’re perfect,” he said as if he were reminding her of an important fact.

Then, his fingers slipped to that place between her legs and she swore she began to see stars as he rubbed circles against her clit.

She rode him through her own orgasm and further, soon drawing him into the realm of bliss along with her. Only then did she still on top of him, her insides yet squeezing him erratically.

Even now, he was looking up at her as if she were supernatural, as if he had to remind himself again and again who she was, what she was, what they were.

“Thank you,” he whispered, exhausted and content. Alathea was glad to have been able to provide what he had needed. What they had both needed.

She sat back a little and moved the hand she had been holding herself up with from his chest to his upper arm – the injured one. She ran her fingers along the tattoo there. The one he had always been covering up with a piece of cloth when he had been younger. When they had not yet found each other.

“I love you,” she emphasized, a verbal declaration joining the nonverbal one.

He mirrored the gesture, once more touching her neck softly, feeling her pulse jumping underneath his fingertips.

“I love you, too.”

[thestrangerproject2014]

June 18, 2017

It was still dark.

“Hey. Sorry to wake you up, I need your help,” he said, in a gruff half-whisper.

He didn't turn on the light. There was  a silhouette against the light coming from the bathroom, across the hall.

My bedroom was the smallest in our house. It was what the Scots call a box room. Eight feet by ten feet.

Even though I didn’t share my bedroom, I had bunk beds. Someone my father worked with had given them to me, and of course, I slept on the top bunk.

As I fought against opening my eyes, my focus still blurred, I could see my father’s face, level with mine, and up close.

“Can you thread this for me?”

Suddenly, both of his hands were in my face. There was a needle and what appeared to be the thickest, black thread imaginable, right in front of me.  That thread, was thick enough for embroidery.

“What are you doing?” I asked, sitting up in bed.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t get this goddamn thing threaded. Can you please do it for me?” he asked, his voice raspy in a hushed tone, impatience simmering just below the surface.

“I have to go get some groceries around the corner, and then get off to work. I just need you to thread this for me! Cn you?”

We had been living in Scotland for little over a year. My father was escaping his second failed marriage, and as he would teach time and time again, his answer to life’s problems was to leave.

Literally.

Just get up, and go. I was ten, and my brother was thirteen when we abandoned everyone else in the family, and took off to the old country.

For the first while, we lived with my grandmother, my father’s mother. That proved unsuccessful and short-term.

Looking back I guess you could say it was a culture shock.

While it was without doubt, an exciting adventure, it had, at times, been a difficult and emotional transition.

We moved into our own flat, with little furniture other than a few pieces from Gran. It was sparse, and so far removed from life back in Canada.

There was no flooring to speak of.  Just the bare floorboards of construction. We had no carpeting or carpets. There were no appliances. We had no fridge; the kitchen had a built-in ‘larder’ which was essentially a cupboard with a thick, stone slab, and two vents that opened to outside.

We had no television. My father compensated for this by getting us a ping-pong table. There we nights we played the hours away.

We had a coal bunker; every flat in the ‘close’ had coal bunker.   Every close, or stairway, in every row of tenements had coal bunkers.

Street after street, of rows and rows of tenement housing. I soon learned how to set and light a good coal fire. I found it almost magical that having a coal fire burning in the ‘front room’ meant our water tank had hot water too.

There was no constant running hot water supply, and I didn’t understand it was out of necessity. We couldn't afford such luxuries. We couldn’t afford to keep the water tank heated. Many couldn't.

There were times when we had no coal, and my father would begrudgingly turn the water heater on, so we could have a bath. Sometimes, we had to share the water.

My father had found an old, torn, dirty parka in the cupboard, behind the water tank.   The coat was a dusty, almost camouflage-like military green. It had bright red flannel lining, which showed through some of the holes where the seams had come apart.

That he was attempting to sew it, with thick, black, thread that felt like cord, didn't occur to me, at first.

“Dad. Do you want me to stitch something up for you? I can do it later.”

No, he wanted the needle threaded.

“Look, it’s early. Just do this for me and then go back to sleep. I’ll do it myself. I just can’t get the needle threaded. You’re good at these things.”

He turned the light on. Again, I squinted and blinked. I grabbed the needle and the thread.

Holding the needle up to the light, I took the thread in my other hand, and by way of demonstration, I put the end of the thread in my mouth, licking it.

I slowly reached out, and, closing one eye, focussed on the hole at the end of the needle. Boom! In one attempt, I passed that thick rope through it’s intended tiny target.

I handed the carefully threaded needle back to my father, and lay back down, covering myself with the blankets.

“It’s cold in here. Can I turn the heater on for a few minutes?”

I asked him this knowing that he would find it hard to say no. It was cold. Despite the miracle of a coal fire heating our water tank, and the front room, it didn’t extend to the bedrooms. Or the kitchen. The bathroom was the coldest.

We had small, 'one bar' electric heaters in each bedroom, but my father didn’t like to use them too often, trying to keep our electric bills small.

He smiled at me.

“Thanks for helping with the needle. I knew you could do it. I’ll plug the heater in now, but you have to turn it off in five minutes, okay?” as he leaned in, kissing my forehead.

“Have a good day. I’ll see you tonight,” he said, after plugging in the heater.

"You have a good day too, Dad."

As he turned out the light, I snuggled down, anticipating the warm orange glow of the electric heater to fill my room with light and warmth.

I must have fallen asleep again. I stirred suddenly, hearing the deadbolt lock ‘click’ as my father returned from getting groceries.

Leaping down out of the top bunk, I unplugged the heater. I opened my bedroom door in time to see my father’s arm coming in the front door.

He was fidgeting with his keys still in the lock, and a loaf of bread in that same hand. I knew he was about to curse. It was just what he did. He reacted to everything.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he barked, as the silver skeleton key came out of the lock.

The bread, in it’s waxed paper wrapping, fell out of his hand, and in his attempt to catch it, he lurched forward. It bounced slightly, and fumbled it's way down the hall.

His other arm got caught on the door handle, or, the sleeve of that dusty green parka got caught on the door handle.

As he lurched forward to catch the bread, the pint of milk that was wedged in under his left arm, slipped out of his grip.

It all happened in slow-motion, as we both watched the glass bottle fall towards the floor.

My father’s cursing rose louder, ruder, sounding more personal. A seemingly direct affront to him, like no other had ever endured.

“Fuck! God damn fucking bastard!” “SHIT!”

“That's all the fucking money we have, for fuck’s sake! I'm going to be late now. Fuck, fuck FUCK!”

He was spitting angry, and red with rage.

As the milk bottle tumbled in slow-motion, I noticed that the sleeve of my father’s dusty green parka was adorned with perfectly placed, equally sized, thick, black stitches, almost puckering the seams they held together, pulled so tightly.

Blanket stitches.

I spotted another wound on the sleeve that was now firmly jammed up against the door handle. It was like a battle field, that jacket, with it’s trench-like stitching.

Utilitarian without concern for aesthetics. Yet, warranting full marks for the uniformity of stitches.

I’m sure over the years, memory has coloured the story somewhat. I’m not so sure my thought process was that sophisticated at eleven years old. I do remember those stitches, though. Clearly, like I had just seen that parka hanging in my hall closet.

In that moment's infinite timespan, I knew what was going to happen.

And it did.

That milk bottle shattered upon impact.

The glass and milk and cursing splattered all over the floor, pooling, then running in-between the floorboard crevices.

Splashes of milk trickled down the wall.

The sound of the bottle breaking was like an explosion, only slightly less far-reaching than my father’s violent outburst of swear words.

Each curse, singularly pronounced, as if to inflict damnation upon those milk-soaked floorboards.

His furiously loud voice ricocheted through the cold, empty stairwell of the close.

“Fuck it! FUCK IT!”

“Fuck.”

He sounded defeated now.

“Dad, it’s okay. I’ll get a…”

“NO! Go to your room. Leave it!” he yelled, not even looking at me.

He was watching the milk run through the cracks, leaving puddles cupped in some of the pieces of broken glass scattered across the hallway.

"Just fucking leave it. I’ll clean it up. I don’t want you to cut yourself. Go back to bed, please.”

I don’t remember what happened after that.

I remember the shame I felt when I saw him wearing that parka, with it’s rope stitching. Those tears in the fabric that would never heal. The wounds. I was embarrassed that he had to wear it.

We never spoke about it, but I know he wouldn’t have asked me to wear that coat. The hand-me-down, found by chance in an empty flat. Yet, it didn’t bother him.

We were that poor.

I don’t remember the next couple of days, other than knowing that we didn’t have any milk. That really had been the last of the money my father had. There wasn’t another pint of milk to replace that one. Not that day.

I’ve carried this story with me for over forty years.

I’m pretty sure I might have told one person, some of it, but I don’t remember who.

I’ve certainly never written about it before.

My brother has never mentioned it. Not this particular instance of going without. Not the cursing, not the sound of that bottle, smashing it’s way into the floorboards.

I don’t remember even talking about not having milk for a couple of days.

We never really got along, my brother and I. We fought like cat and dog, constantly. But we were in the same ring. Two brothers, each other's keeper in the battlefield. Often unspoken, if not, pared down reassurances and comforts. We were child soldiers in the same war.

My father passed away last year, and this is the first ‘Father’s Day’ since his death.

Almost, a year of firsts.

I don’t remember the last time I gave him a card. Not for his birthday, not for Christmas or any occasion like today, another hallmark moment.

Years had gone by without my father and I even talking.

Nonetheless, I did think of him, every year, on Father’s Day, despite myself.

We didn’t speak last year, at all.

I'm pretty sure I called him the year before that, as a gesture of friendship, not love.

To let him know I was thinking of him.

I didn’t hate him. Nor do I love him. I don’t know the last time I felt love for him.

I’m okay with that. Now.

I have a few fond memories; standing on his feet while he danced, passionately talking him out of opening all the gifts on Christmas Eve.

He taught me how to skip stones on water.

For me, there aren’t any of those often quoted 'Thanks to my Dad', or 'Dad, I’m so grateful you taught me X, Y or Z’ moments.

I still carry bits of anger. I still grieve.

I understand it never fully ends.

As I’ve told a few close friends, "We just learn to drive differently."

Over time, it finds a groove, and settles in.

I can say this, though, with insistence, ironic happiness, and profound honesty.

For at least the last two decades, I’ve acknowledged this to myself, time and time again. It was just what I did. It's just what I do.

No matter how often, I always smile. No matter how unfortunate, I always smile. I’ve even laughed out loud, ridiculously, while others scurry around in anxious despair.

Every time I spill something, I think of you.

[sylvaniaschoolofmagic]

Adjustment

[Knuckles’s first year is nothing but culture shock, mourning, and detachment...]

[Takes place the year before Sonic arrives at the school.]

Knuckles is alone, but that’s normal. He’s been alone for three years, irrevocably, completely alone. In fact, his aloneness was so complete until just a few days ago that being around people all the time is overwhelming. He finds himself yearning for the silence of the Island, craving, longing so much, especially at night, for the gentle pulse of Chaos and the whisper of the birds and the scritch of the squirrels and the sound of his own breathing in his ears. He can’t hear himself anymore, isn’t sure if his heart is beating or his blood is moving. It’s unnerving.

He doesn’t like it.

But, he was basically forced to come here. He may be eleven, but he’s not stupid. The council owned him now, even if they couldn’t find him most of the time, and he had to come to school or... Well, he didn’t know the or, but he figured it wasn’t good. Of course, he could take to the sky, but he’s curious about magic in an insatiable way. It is barely outweighed by his dedication to the Master Emerald, and he solved that problem by bringing the Emerald with him. Currently, it is still shrunk down to normal Emerald size because he can’t find a place to keep it, but he can feel it getting impatient. Its whispers are getting louder and louder in his head, demanding to be put back to its proper size and power.

He has to find an empty classroom, which is why he’s out now, looking. It’s a bit past curfew, but he can sense the Chaos in everyone—a new development—if they get close enough, so he knows when anyone is close to happening upon him. He can move pretty easily without being caught, which is a bit of a rush, but it also lets him feel alone for a few minutes. He likes it out here after curfew; it’s quiet. In his dorm, things are loud, nothing but other boys breathing and snoring, laughing and roughhousing. Knuckles can’t meditate. He can feel it affecting him as the days go on. If he doesn’t find a place for the Master soon, not only will he be stuck with a large, pulsing gem in his dorm room, but he’ll also be on the verge of Chaos poisoning.

So, it’s getting a bit desperate. He’s needs to be alone, truly alone. Yes, he is alone here at school because he doesn’t have friends, is a sort of outcast because he’s an echidna, but also because he doesn’t want to talk to anyone. He doesn’t know how to not be gruff, how to be calm, how to interpret surface idioms and gestures. He knows he’s gullible, and that makes him irate and suspicious of everyone. He never knows when anyone’s trying to get the better of him, and he knows from his time in Guardian training before— Well, he knows how cruel kids can be.

He just needs an out of the way room, somewhere he can disappear to for a few hours every day to let the Emerald free and to meditate. He doesn’t need friends; he doesn’t need socialization; he doesn’t need someone to eat lunch with; he just needs to be alone.

Is that so much?

 “My mom said that the echidnas were called the Knuckles Clan. Why’d your mom name you that, huh? Did she choose you to be the last one?”

Knuckles has become adept at ignoring the other first years, especially when they get onto topics they have no business asking about. He merely ignores the Ravenclaw (of course it’s a Ravenclaw) and continues to work on his homework, waiting for Professor Robotnik to come in and start class. He’s got two essays due in a few days, one for Eggman and the other for Marine, and if there’s one thing he’s got to do, it’s get good grades. He knows that the Council is watching his grades to ensure that he’s taking to magic like a good little wizard. They think he was isolated from his family at a young enough age that he doesn’t have any of the Chaos teachings left in his head. It’s why they’re still looking for the Master Emerald, as if it can fly off like the other Emeralds, and he’s not about to give them reason to doubt that. He has to keep his culture within his ribs now, protect it from the people that want to destroy it, even as the Muggles are searching for ways to protect him and his culture.

The thing about Chaos is that it’s seeded throughout both magical and muggle cultures. Neither can completely claim it like Knuckles can, but both have very different versions of the dead echidna culture. The wizards pass it off as a battle, a massive thing that only ignored one, while the Muggles see it as a complete death, gone for centuries now. His people attached themselves to the wizards because they shared the secretive values that his society was founded on, and drew away from the Muggles even as they opened their arms to accept Chaos as a mystical force, both the stuff to be worshiped and studied by scientists. As a result, the Muggles are a bit more accepting of it than the wizards, probably because the culture that practiced it more than any other was long gone to them.

The wizards, meanwhile, accepted Chaos as something like magic, a force to be harnessed and practiced, at least in theory. The thing about wizards is that they’re scared of anything different; it’s been beaten into Knuckles’s head since he was young—never trust the wizards when they say they want to learn about Chaos. Often, it’s just to find something to fear, something to destroy, because magic is the only way. He knows more than any that he must do well in magic in order to be accepted by the only society that will still accept him.

Still, he can’t give up his own culture even as they try to press it out of him. He’ll continue to sew it through his ribs until he dies, because he’s the only one that can.

“C’mon, Knuckles, don’t you want people to understand you? You’re so strange to us! Just tell—”

“That’s enough, Mister Blaire.” And that’s Professor Robotnik, sweeping into the room with barely a sound. “The way to cultural understanding is not to force it out of someone, but to shut up and listen. Sit down and leave Knuckles alone.”

 Knuckles can speak Mobian in theory. In practice, he’s rusty, the idioms are beyond him, everyone talks too fast, and his vowels are too wide and he can’t quite get the TH sound under control so it just ends up as a T. The resulting accent only gets him ridiculed, and then he spends a touch too long answering questions because he has to process the words through his language barrier first and that just adds to it. After the first week, he just decided to not talk and now he’s basically a mute. It’s easier for everything, especially because he has to really focus to write his notes in Mobian and not the language of his birth, but the letters swim before him. The script of his people makes a lot more sense, but he doesn’t have symbols for the more modern wizarding concepts, so he’s forced to write shaky Mobian letters.

Frankly, he’s fed up and frustrated.

Every candidate for Guardian learned Mobian. It was a necessity in case they ever had to return to the surface, but it wasn’t actively spoken in the every day. He learned the language from his mother, which wasn’t that unusual, except everyone else in his age group learned it directly from the elders. Granted, Knuckles had a leg up, but he was isolated from a young age because of his family legacy, and he knows now that he was the only wizard in that group of children. He was to be the thread between the wizards and the echidnas and his mother was the most well-equipped to teach him the language, considering she had been to the surface multiple times to broker trade deals. But, at the time and now, he felt a disconnect between himself and his peers. It’s more pronounced now, considering there’s a difference of culture and that whole genocide thing, but he doesn’t want to fix it this go around.

So, he keeps to himself. He doesn’t talk. At night, he sits by the Master Emerald and mouths Mobian words to it, wrapping his lips around the vowels and trying to fix them so they’re right. He doesn’t want to sound like a fool in class at least, even if he’ll never have any friends.