#THE WRONG EAGLES HAVE LANDED WHERE..?

[thebongomediaempire]

"I'll keep tryin' to get somebody onna squawk box, but I dunno if'n it'll do no good, LT - it's been, what, 53 - aalmost 54 years..?" - Cpl. Clark "Sparky" Daughtry, from tne film

[eirianerisdar]

For the director's commentary thing: I would love a director's commentary for Icarus on what went on in Red Bull HQ after Daniel came back, specifically when he went on the sim for the first time and it all went so horribly wrong- what happened that we didn't see in the story afterwards, how did Simon and the rest of the team cope? And how did Max react when he came back, did Daniel or Christian tell him what had happened?

Hahaha this is asking more for a Director's outtake rather than commentary, but I don't mind.

For the unaware, Icarus is a platonic maxiel wingfic where Daniel is pressured into trimming his wings for speed in McLaren, and has a long, slow fall before anyone notices. Much Maxiel angst and hurt/comfort and fluff.

Have an outtake from Max's POV that would have slotted directly after chapter 28 of Icarus:

=====

It's late when Max reaches Christian's country estate at last. He guns his engine and takes the imposing driveway up to the mansion at twice the proper speed limit, manicured trees blurring past on either side.

He's probably ruining the cobblestones. He doesn't give a fuck.

He should've insisted they delay Daniel's sim session until his flight landed. He should've-

Max steps back from the door, his hand smarting. He hadn't planned on banging at the door like that. He'd planned on ringing the doorbell. But every fibre of him is screaming for his flock; his wings feel like they are on fire.

One of the house staff opens the door. "Mr Verstappen-"

Max shoulders his way past. He's probably being rude but he doesn't care.

A moment, where he stands in the cavernous, marbled entryway, with sweep of the grand staircase up to the second floor and heavy oak doors leading in every direction.

Daniel. Where's-

"Max," a voice calls softly. "You're here."

Geri. Max snaps towards her. "Where's-"

"They're in the garden," Geri says, tilting her head towards the back of the house. "I think Daniel's alseep." She doesn't seem to mind the dirt Max is tracking into her house. But maybe she has people for that.

Max moves through the house like a dream. Entryway, living area, kitchen; through a set of french glass doors and into the back garden. The garden itself is dim, but there is a bonfire in the fire pit casting the grass in ruddy reds and yellows. Silhouetted in the flickering light are two winged figures - one with golden eagle wings crouching to tend to the fire, the other bundled in a blanket on a lawn chair, bandaged macaw wings painted sanguine by the light of the fire.

Daniel.

Christian stands as Max rapidly approaches. "Shh," he says quietly, holding a finger to his lips. "He's sleeping."

Max's ignores him. He drops to his knees next to Daniel's lawn chair, reaches out with a shaking hand to brush Daniel's curls out of his face.

Daniel looks paler than when Max saw him last a week ago. The firelight makes the shadows under Daniel's eyes look bruised.

Daniel shifts in his sleep, leans into Max's touch. Even in sleep there is pain on his face.

Max twists to look over his shoulder at Christian.

"Explain," he says accusingly. He needs to understand.

Christian had promised he wouldn't force Daniel's healing wings into the sim before they were ready. Christian had promised that the team would treat Daniel with the care and respect he deserved after what that other team had done to him. After he'd almost lost his wings.

"He reopened his wounds in a couple of places," Christian says. His eyes are fixed on Daniel's bandaged wings. "But the hospital said he'd be okay. They've stitched him up."

"What the fuck does that mean," Max hisses. "How did it even happen?"

Christian puts up his hands. "Simon tells me he pushed himself," he says. "Went through the break without stopping, and he wanted to get back in the sim so we could perfect the setup for Brazil-"

"Fuck off," Max hisses. "Don't - don't fucking tell me he was bleeding into the sim and nobody noticed."

Christian looks at him. There is grief and guilt in Christian's eyes, but over it all, bitter, seething fury.

"Max," he says. "None of us noticed for a whole fucking year."

All the air is punched out of Max's chest.

It's true. Max hadn't noticed his own flock slowly fading to nothing as Daniel hid his trimmed wings from the world. Max hadn't noticed Daniel entering a wing crisis that fateful week before Monza, either.

Daniel shivers under Max's palm. His breath comes short against Max's knuckles.

Max takes a slow, shuddering breath, takes up Daniel's hands in his own to warm them. They feel like ice in the cold night air, so Max sets a hip on edge of the lawn chair and pulls Daniel into his arms. He wraps his trimmed wing as far as he can around Daniel's shoulders and drops his chin into Daniel's hair.

Daniel relaxes. His breath evens out.

Max inhales, breathes in the warm woodsmoke of Daniel's hair. "I'm taking him home."

Christian frowns. "Don't be ridiculous," he says, and he is Max's boss again, sharp-tongued, effortlessly efficient. "It's late. Geri and I'll put you up."

Max gathers Daniel closer. "I'm taking him home," he says. "Back to my apartment in Milton Keynes. We'll fly back to Monaco in the morning."

Max's apartment in Milton Keynes; the spare room that has slowly morphed into Daniel's, with Enchante merch in the closets and preening brushes in the living room, a place that smells of flock.

Christian rolls his eyes. "Max, don't be-"

"Daniel," Max whispers, pressing his forehead to Daniel's temple. "Daniel, it's time to wake up."

Daniel stirs. He blinks up at Max, brown eyes turned muddy with painkillers.

"Oh," Daniel slurs. He scrabbles at the sleeve of Max's jacket. "Maxy."

"Yeah," Max says. His heart is expanding and shattering at the same time. "It's me. I'm taking you back to my place."

Daniel blinks rapidly as his bandaged wings shift behind him. His face blanches with memory and shame. "I'm sor-"

"No," Max says. "You can apologise later. Let's get out of here."

Christian stares between them. "You're fucking serious," he says disbelievingly. "Both of you."

Max doesn't bother looking at Christian. He pulls Daniel's arm over his shoulders and gets to his feet, dragging Daniel up with him. They make their slow, swaying way back through the house, Daniel's head lolling on Max's shoulder and his breath gusting over Max's chin.

Christian is talking rapidly with Geri now, but Max doesn't care. He brushes aside Geri's well-meaning hands and hoists Daniel down the front steps and into the passenger seat of his car.

"You know what? Fine," Christian is saying from the front door. "I can't stop you two being idiots. Fucking goodnight, then."

"Christian!" Geri admonishes. "Goodnight, Daniel, Max."

Daniel acquiesces for Geri to pat his cheek, and Max shuts the door as soon as Geri steps back. He moves past Christian as he circles the car to get to the driver's seat. Christian doesn't say anything, which is good. Max doesn't want to talk to him.

They pass the stupid marble fountain and pull out of the driveway proper, on past the artificially manicured trees and into the Oxfordshire night.

The motorway is nearly empty this time of night. Max takes up a steady pace towards Milton Keynes.

Daniel wraps his blanket more tightly around himself. Max reaches over wordlessly, threads his fingers through Daniel's.

Daniel sighs as Max's thumb moves over his. His breath evens out slowly, slows into sleep.

Max doesn't let go of Daniel's hand the entire way back.

======

For the uninitiated, you can read more of Icarus here!

Send me an ask with a scene or set of lines from any of my fics and I'll give you a director's commentary! Or, send in a ⭐star⭐ to have me select a section I've been dying to talk about!

(This particular ask ended up being an outtake, but director's commentary is more in the vein of explaining choices in wording or scenes, or explaining narrative choices)

[yronnia]

[Edit: check my reblog too, screenshots from the book kindly provided by spookydazechaos]

Agnesses Nyce and not so accurate prophecies with screenshots.

The full list below.

Some are unreadable (to me), so I inserted some X-es instead, where necessary. Interesting is, that Orient Chariot is mentioned twice, in prophecy nr. 3819 anf 4019.

Prophecy nr. 3012 is only one I cant allocate, dont tell me its about Aziraphale and Crowley, when Agness adressed Aziraphale by "angel" "thyf " and "principalitee", whats the bit about the dragons? Because they have wings?

1111- An the Great Hound sharl come

and the Two Powers sharl watch in V

Goeth Where is, Where they

Notte, and he sharl name it, True to l

and Hell sharl flee it

2213- I tell ye thyf, and I charge

ye with my wordes. Four shalle

ryde and Four shalle alfo ryde,

and Three sharl ryde the Skye

as twixt and Wonne shal ryde in

flames, and theyr shall be no stopping

themme, not fish, nor rayne nor rode, neirher

Deville nor Angel. And ye shalle be theyr also

2214- In December 1980 an Apple will arise no

man can eat. Invest thy money in Master Jobbes

thinking machine and good fortune

will tend thy days.

2315- Sumsay It cometh in Londo xxx or

New Yorke, butte they be Wronge, f xxx is

Taddes fild, Stronge inne hys powr, h xxxxke

a knight inee the fief, he divideth the xxx

4 partes, he bringeth the storme.

3001- Behinde the Eagles Neste a grate Ash hath fallen.

? 3007- Brings forth

For the devil lucks in plain sight.

Under an arc of pale moonlight.

3008- When that the angel readeth these

word of mine, in his shoppe of other mmennes

books, then the final days are certes upon us. Open

thyne eyes to understand. Open thyne eyes and rede

I do say, foolish principalitee, for thy cocoa doth

grow cold

3009- Seven, who hold the Scepther shall be killed,

xxx shall become a saint.

3011- xxThe?

and churces be laid open

opressed shall prevail, and oppose the cruen

foreginers. For a Boar of Cornwall shall give his

assistance and trample their necks under his feet

3012- A shower of blood shall rain and a ragging

famine shall afflict mankind. When dhese things

happen, the Red Dragon shall grieve, but when his

fatigue is over, he shall recover his strength. Then

shall misfortunes hasten upon the White Dragon,

and the buildings of his gardens be pulled down.

3017- I see Four Riding, bringing the Ende, and

the Angells of Hell ride with them, And Three sharl

Rise. And Four and Four Together be Four, and the

Dark Angel sharl Own Defeat, Yette the Manne

sharl claim his Own.

3477- Lette the wheel of Fate turne, let harts

en- join, there are othere Fyres than mine, when

the wynd blowethe the blos- soms, reach oute one

to anothere, for the calm cometh when Redde and

Whyte and BLacke and Pale approache to Pear is

Our Professioune.

3819- When Orients chariot

inverted be, four wheles in the

skye, a man with bruises be upon

Youre Bedde, achinge his head

for willowfine, a manne who

resterh with a pyn yette his

hart be.

3988- Whene menne of crocus come frome the

Earth and green manne frome thee Sky, yette ken

not why, and Plutos barres quitte the light- ning

castels, and sunken landes riseth, and Levia- than

runneth free, and Brazil is vert, then Three cometh

together and Four arise, upon iron horses ride, I tell

you the ende draweth nigh.

3989- He is not what he says he is

4009- Where the Hoggs back end the young

beast will take the world and Adams line will end

in fire and darkness.

4019- When Orients chariot inverted be a

man with bruises up thy bed, aching his head for

willow fine

4020- Let the wheel of fate turne, let harts

enjoin, there are other fyres than myne, when the

whirl wynd whirls, reach oute one to another.

5001- When the skies are xxxx, then ye

both must stand between the world and life and the

world of wae, where the iron bird lands no more

5004- When alle is fayed and all is done, ye

must choofe your faces wisely, for soon enouff

ye will be playing with fyre

[fallenclan]

Ripplefade Fic

by Dragon Anon

"Goldenstar is going to be soooooo mad. We should probably head back. Do you think we should head back? I think we should head back."

"Ugh, Rippleplaw, shut up for five seconds or you're going to attract every eagle in the territory," Pebblepaw groaned. 

"Plus, Goldenstar won't be able to be mad, because he won't find out." Hopepaw grinned, holding an astounding amount of confidence. "Now stop dragging your paws. We're almost there!"

"I have no idea why I let you talk me into this," Rippeplaw muttered, tail swishing sullenly. Beside him, Cherrypaw leaned closer.

"Don't worry, I won't let an eagle grab you," she whispered. Ripplepaw's heart fluttered, but reality came crashing down upon him a second later.

"What do you mean 'grab'?" he hissed, beginning to truly panic. "Pebblepaw said only juvenile eagles hang around the nest, and that they can't carry full-grown cats..."

Cherrypaw blinked slowly. "I'm pretty sure juvenile eagles can pick up cats, too, and we certainly aren't full grown. Ripplepaw? You're shaking. Maybe we should--"

"Shhh!" Hopepaw hissed abruptly. "I see a nest."

"Are there any eagles on it?" Pebblepaw pressed, tail bushed up with a mixture of excitement and fear. 

"I see one... and a few fledglings, I think."

"There's no way we'll be able to grab a feather or an egg with an eagle on the nest," Cherrypaw assessed. Her tone was laced with disappointment.

"I can get a feather," Ripplepaw blurted. Three pairs of eyes landed on him at once. Ripplepaw could feel his pelt growing hot.

"Yeah, right." Pebblepaw snorted. "It's fine, I think maybe I could--"

"I mean it," Ripplepaw retorted, bristling. "I can do it."

"Ripplepaw, I don't think that's a good idea..." Cherrypaw began, but Ripplepaw had stopped listening. The tom began slinking forward, pressing himself against a steep ledge that cut past the eagle nest. He stalked closer, scanning the nest for any loose feathers. The eagle was preoccupied with her fledglings, keeping one eye on the valley below in case of danger.

Ducking low against the ground, Ripplepaw leaned towards the nest. He was careful to keep himself downwind, although he wasn't sure how well eagles could smell. Bluefern could probably tell him, but she would have been suspicious if he had asked.

A large, golden brown feather was tangling in the edge of the nest. Just as Ripplepaw was about to reach out and grab it, he chanced a look back at the other apprentices. All three of them were staring at him in horror, and Pebblepaw was violently motioning for him to come back. Ripplepaw felt a pang of irritation. Did none of them believe in him? Did they really think--

A rush of wingbeats shattered Ripplepaw's train of thoughts. A raspy cry flooded his ears, as massive talons flashed past his muzzle. The second eagle had returned to the nest.

Ripplepaw scrambled out of the way, barely avoid the lethal claws. He launched himself down the ledge, only to trip halfway and land face-first on his muzzle. He yelped in alarm, overwhelmed by the feeling of teeth sinking into his scruff as he was yanked away from the drumming of massive wings.

"Hurry!" he heard Hopepaw yowl. "Get up, Ripplepaw!" Ripplepaw was practically being dragged down the ledge by Pebblepaw, whose bushy tail was repeatedly whacking Ripplepaw's side. Twisting out of her grasp, Ripplepaw raced towards Hopepaw, Pebblepaw fast behind him. 

The moment Ripplepaw stood beside Hopepaw, he knew something was wrong. "Where's Cherrypaw?" 

"She didn't follow us?" Pebblepaw hissed in surprise.

Ripplepaw whirled around. Cherrypaw must have leapt onto the ledge with Pebblepaw, attacking the eagle while Ripplepaw's sister dragged him to safety. Instead of following their retreat, though, Cherrypaw was now locked in battle with an eagle twice her size.

The brown tabby apprentice was growling like a mad badger, ducking in and out of range of the eagle's claws while landing swift blows as she went. "Cherrypaw, get down here!" Hopepaw wailed.

Cherrypaw didn't even glance in Hopepaw's direction, continuing to dart around and snap at the eagle. After a few more agonizing moments of dodging and swiping, Cherrypaw bolted past the eagle. "Go!" she cried. 

Without need for further prompting, all four apprentices fled, racing away as fast as their legs could carry them.

***

"I cannot believe you! How could either of you be so reckless?" Newtscar's tail whipped back and forth furiously. Bluefern and Evie both stood nearby, with Pebblepaw and Ripplepaw trying to shy away from their mother's gaze.

"No one got hurt," Pebblepaw mumbled.

"'No one got hurt'? That's the best you have to offer?" Newtscar hissed. "Cherrypaw was hurt. She's in the medicine den right now, or have you forgotten?"

"Hopepaw said Cherrypaw only had a few scrapes!" Pebblepaw argued. "Eaglestripe said she'd be out of the medicine den in a day!"

"That isn't the point," Newtscar snapped. "You could have been killed. Don't you realize that? Both of you could have died. Is that what you want? Do you want to be fed to some eagle's chicks?"

"Newtscar," Evie rumbled, taking a tentative step forward. "I think they understand."

"Do they? Because Pebblepaw certainly doesn't look apologetic. I can't lose anymore kits, Evie. I can't---not to something so stupid."

"Newtscar." It was Bluefern's turn to step forward. "Don't you remember the foolishness we got up to as apprentices? I agree with you that what they did was stupid, but they'll learn from their mistakes. Won't you?" her gaze slid to her kits imploringly.

"Of course," Ripplepaw replied immediately, still shaken from the entire ordeal. "I don't want to be eaten by an eagle," he meowed earnestly.

Bluefern sighed. A haunted look passed over her gaze, but before Ripplepaw had time to ponder it, Newtscar had scooped both him and Pebblepaw into a crushing embrace. "Never scare me like that again, do you understand? Never." 

"We won't," Pebblepaw mumbled against her mother's chest fur. Ripplepaw could tell by the look in his sister's eye that she was already plotting some new schenanigans to get into. 

"Good," Evie hummed. "Then that's settled. Now, you both need to go talk with Goldenstar and Maplethorn to see what they decided would be a fitting punishment."

"Punishment?" Pebblepaw frowned.

"Sorry, kiddo. You two aren't getting let off so easy. Neither are Hopepaw and Cherrypaw, but I heard Silverbelly's deciding their punishment."

"It'll probably be something dumb liking cleaning out the medicine den. I bet Goldenstar will make us clean out everyone's bedding for the next three moons," Pebblepaw complained.

"Don't push your luck," Newtscar grumbled. 

Sighing dramatically, Pebblepaw began making her way towards the leader's den, tail dragging against the ground. Ripplepaw followed her, risking a glance at his parents. Bluefern's gaze still held a distant, unreachable quality. Newtscar and Evie had begun discussing something in hushed tones. Both were frowning. A renewed sense of guilt wormed its way into Ripplepaw's chest.

"After we talk to Goldenstar, I'm going to go check on Cherrypaw," Ripplepaw murmured.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Pebblepaw huffed, a mirthful note creeping into her voice a moment later. "Assuming we aren't banned from talking to each other, I'll get Hopepaw out of the medicine den so you can talk to Cherrypaw alone."

"...thanks, Pebblepaw." Ripplepaw grimaced. Was he that obvious?

"Of course. What else are sisters for?"

***

"Hey, Ripplepaw." Cherrypaw yawned, blinking blearily at the other apprentice. She had taken a quick nap after Eaglestripe had patched up her scrapes. The medicine cat had repeatedly informed her of how lucky she was not to be seriously injured.

"Hi. I, um, wanted to check on you."

"Is that all?" Cherrypaw smiled playfully.

"No." Ripplepaw sighed, sitting down. "I'm sorry for endangering your life, Cherrypaw. I was being dumb and reckless."

Cherrypaw tilted her head slightly. "No more than the rest of us. We all chose to climb up to the Eagle's Talon. We knew the risks." She shrugged. "Plus, I promised I wouldn't let you get grabbed."

"Still, I..." Ripplepaw trailed off, realizing there wasn't anything wise or insightful to say. He hoped the words would just come to him, but alas, they did not. "Well, thank you for rescuing me. I didn't know you could fight like that."

Cherrypaw's smile spread into a brilliant grin. "Yeah? I'm going to be the best fighter in the clan someday. I'll make sure nothing bad ever happens to you or Hopepaw or Pebblepaw or--or anyone." She purred. 

Ripplepaw returned Cherrypaw's smile, albeit a bit more hesitantly. Scooting closer to her, he laid down, tucking his paws beneath his chest. "You're the bravest cat I know, I think."

"Yep, that's me: Cherrypaw the Brave." Her whiskers twitched with amusement. "As long as I'm around, you'll always be safe."

"Then I suppose it's a good thing you don't plan on going anywhere, right?" 

Rather than giving a verbal response, Cherrypaw simply rested her tail across Ripplepaw's flank, gaze filled with warmth. Ripplepaw ducked his head, unable to surpress the giddy feeling racing through his bones. 

"I'm glad we're friends, Cherrypaw."

"Me too."

***

"Where'd you get all these feathers?"

"Huh? Oh, Rustbee gathered some for all the nests in the nursery." Pebblefreeze chuckled. "I have no idea where he gets them all."

"Hm." Ripplefade hesitated. Frowned. "Dad--"

"He's with our moms." Pebblefreeze replied, immediate yet gentle. "I think they're happy, and they want us to be happy." Just like Hopethistle and Cherrystar was left unspoken.

"Yeah." Ripplefade crawled into the nest adjacent to Pebblefreeze, resting his chin on his paws. A stray feather tickled his nose. "You're probably right."

"I'm always right."

"Except for when you're wrong, which is most of the time."

"Bah." Pebblefreeze rolled her eyes. "Don't let my kits hear that. They're unruly enough as it is."

"Because you don't discipline them," Ripplefade huffed, amused. "Tempestkit and Frozenkit are just as wild as you and Hopekit used to be back in the day."

"Heh." Pebblefreeze chuckled, rolling onto her side. "Human will be back with the kits in a few minutes. You might want to clear out."

"No, I'll stay. I can tell them a story."

"Which one?"

"Something about our childhood, probably."

"Make sure it's something exciting. They like stories with lots of action."

Ripplefade spent a few moments considering, and then: "Do you remember that time we tried to steal feathers from an eagle's nest?"

"That's perfect."

-🐉

(dedicated to lollipop anon, who suggested ripplefade when i asked for a character to write about. i finally had time to sit down and write, so here we are! silly apprentice memory moment)

(beetle note: crying screaming throwing up. theyre so sweet eughhg i miss cherryripple so much <//3 this is absolutely fantastic as always dragon)

[aliypop]

No Baby You Can't Lick it

Word Count: 2,522

Writers Note: Alright I'm tackling writing 70's E as a smut so don't judge me on this one

Warning: SMUT MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Pairing: OC x Elvis

Plot: With Elvis now in Vegas and Cecelia back from her world tour, she finds herself at The International Hotel being reminded of the powerhouse of love that is her husband Elvis Presley

Taglist: If you wanna be tagged let me know!

@darkmoviesquotespizza

@sissylittlefeather

@richardslady121

@thegettingbyp2

@presleyenterprise

@sissylittlefeather

@dkayfixates

@rjmartin11

The International Hotel January 7th, 1972

The cameras flashed through the lobby as a dark brunette-haired, sunglasses-wearing, fur coat-toating, tawny-skinned woman was at the front desk. That woman was,

 "Mrs.Presley, We uh weren't excepting you!" The concierge looked in shock.

"Call me Cecelia, sweetheart." she laughed, taking off her shades as she looked at the young woman who was about to faint. Usually, her husband had this effect on women. 

"W-Well... Can we do anything for you, get you a room..."

"I know Mr. Presley is on stage currently... but, uh, if you could relay a message to Jerry, tell 'em the Eagle has landed." taking the key from her, Cecelia winked as she continued to walk down towards the Elevator. 

           "Mrs. Presley!"

                                 "Happy Birthday, Mrs. Presley!"

          "Welcome back, Mrs. Presley!

"Geez, Midge. I didn't know people even remembered my birthday." she laughed as they walked through the casino. She was all smiles and waves like a pageant girl when really all she wanted to do was see her loving husband, who she hadn't been around for almost a year,

"Well, I don't even think you remembered your own birthday, let alone celebrated in how many years?" 

"Not true! Last year Elvis. Bought me a rhinestone studded Gibson Guitar." 

"And what did you send him."

"The key to a custom-made roadster... With EP on the seats."

"Well, when's the last time you two Celebrated your birthdays together..."

Cecelia took in a deep sigh as she thought about it. They'd been so busy with tours and conflicting schedules and even the kids who were now teenagers that the two hadn't even had time to their actual selves. The Elevator began to ding as they reached the 32nd floor of the hotel. Midge walked out first as Cecelia took out the hotel key. In a sense, the room felt like a home away from home.

The outside of the crowded concert hall was where the Memphis Mafia was trying their best to transport,

 "Elvis, I love you!

"Love you too, honey." he winked,

Back to his hotel room, that was if he could stop kissing all the women who'd approached him, but then again, when you're the big star that is Elvis Presley, what's one more woman? Running down towards them was the concierge who had run to Jerry to tell him,

"The Eagle has landed." 

Jerry looked at the young girl as he gave her a nod and a tap on Elvis's shoulder,

 "We gotta go, E."

"Somethin wrong..." He looked up at Jerry, his hand searching for one of his many peacemakers. 

"Nah, we just gotta go..."

The view of Vegas was beautiful from the window as Cecelia stood in front of it dressed in her long boudoir pink velvet robe. Champagne in her hand as she slowly breathed in and laughed, her eyes catching a pair of red panties that definitely didn't belong to her, just another chip in their marriage she'd manage to find. But it was no different than when she witnessed him date over 25 girls while his heart set on her. Lost in thought, Cecelia didn't even hear the key in the door turn, 

"Be careful, E..."Jerry said,

"Why the hell do I have to be careful?" Elvis laughed a lit cigarillo in his mouth, "What's in there cept for what's usually in there." opening the door to his hotel room, he could smell the sweet scent of a familiar perfume. And the shift of a calming wind coming through. 

"Elvis, is that you?"

"Cece..." his tired blue eyes now magnified back with energy,

"El..." she ran to him as she engulfed him with a tender kiss on his lips,

"I'll leave you two alone," Jerry smirked, closing the door behind him. 

Cecelia had pulled away from him, taking the Cigarillo out of his mouth and setting it out. On the ashtray, "Seems somebody missed me." He whistled, looking at her frame in the robe, 

"Seems someone couldn't wait for me..." her eyes gesturing to those panties again,

"Honey, no matter how many fans may have come in trying to steal away my appetite, you'll always be my main course," he whispered in her ear. Biting at the lobe as she shivered, 

"You're lucky it's your birthday in half an hour..." she laughed,

"And you're lucky it's still yours." his lips were now on her neck, kissing and sucking all the way down to her shoulder, where her robe was now slithering down off her skin,

"Tell me, doll... you wearin anythin under that robe."

"Why don't you see for yourself." she laughed, running towards the bed as she untied her robe and ran, 

"Damnit, Cece!" He laughed, chasing after his playful wife. Oh, the things he'd do for the woman before him. Cecelia was by the piano, now draped over it, as her eyes seduced him into coming over, 

"Lord ol mighty..." 

"Like what you see?" velvet curtains as her backdrop, she looked like something a man would only dream of finding in a bordello landscape. 

"Mhmm..."

"You know... Pres, I'm liking a whole lot of what I'm seein..." Gesturing to him and his oh-so-tight blue owl jumpsuit. She wanted to pull him by the belt and get to working on him right now, but she wanted to make him work for it.

"You want me don'tcha honey,"

"I thought I was makin' my intentions clear," she smirked, beckoning him to come closer. Elvis began to walk closer towards her like a sailor drawn to a siren, 

"Not clear enough, baby..." 

"Do you want me to tell you what I want tonight..."

"Tell me, honey..."

"Well... I want you to make love to me like the beast I know you can be..." her arms around his waist as she heard the clinking of his belt hit the floor. His hands were already caressing her plump breasts.

"Easy... Mmm, tiger." her hand was now on his chest as she unzipped him slowly from the jumpsuit,

"Tell me, Mr. Presley... Did you think of me when you were fuckin those girls..."

"Every time..." he growled in her ear. As he pressed her against him, she could feel his cock against her ass. Biting her lip, "You know I love you... And only you," he whispered, biting her shoulder, "And I miss you and only you..." his fingers rubbed circles on her waist. 

"Why don't you prove it..." 

"Spread your legs, baby. And I'll show you," he commanded her. Cecelia felt her body pressed against the glass window, as his fingers were already working magic down from her heated skin to her oh-so-wet cavern. He could hear every little gasp and sharp mewl of a moan whenever his fingers would brush across the spot that made her say, 

                       "Elvis..."

Or

                                       "Right there..."

Or his favorite.

                           " Don't stop..."

"I wasn't planning on it." he laughed, "You're wet, sweetheart, and it's all for your Elvis, huh." she could hear his devilish smile through his thick southern accent, "Elvis..." she sighed, her eyelids fluttering at his finger-work, though to be fair she did love a man who was a God at the guitar. "Tell me what you want, baby..." his voice was husky and raspy and sending her on edge,

 "I ...I need you..."

"Need me to what, baby girl..."

"Fuck me..." Her voice had an innocent tone to it, and it was driving him crazy.

"Is that how we ask for things, Cece..." he asked her as he gently grabbed her face, lust-blown eyes looking into one another. Cecelia shook her head no.

"Oh, come on, little darlin, you can use your words for your Elvis, can't."

"Please..." she whined and whimpered.

"Anything for my princess." Tilting her head up from her chin, and he kissed her. Elvis could taste the faint hint of champagne and her lipstick on his tongue. Cecelia could taste the punchy scent of his Cigarillo and his beer. But it only made the kiss more intense for her. After all, she still did miss him. Gripping onto his broad shoulders, her legs wrapped around his waist as she scrunched up her nose, readjusting to his size. 

"You okay, baby?" Elvis asked with concern.

"Mhmm... it's just been..." her body shivered as her face fell into his shoulder blade, "Awhile..." 

"You've missed me, haven't you, doll..."

"Why doya ask Pres..." 

"Legs shakin worse than mine, and I ain't even start yet." he laughed. 

"Maybe cause. I'm all shook up, OH EL YES!" she moaned at the first thrust he gave her. Cecelia had her fingers caressing his sideburns. She then heard a thud as she felt the sensation of glass on her back. Elvis's thrusts were in rhythm with every whine and moan she gave him, like a que written in sheet music, 

"Fuck! Atta boy!" Cecelia growled as her eyes rolled from the jolt of his hips, 

"You like that baby girl... Heh..." holding her closer to him as if she'd slip away.

"YES... YES... YES... ELVIS YES!!!" she could hear him moaning in her ear, 

"It's nothing but sweet lovin for you, doll..." he whispered in her ear along with other sweet nothings. He could feel her nearing her end as she pulsated around his cock, but he knew she didn't want the fun to end. carrying her to the bed as he was still stuffed deeply inside her, Elvis laid down with Cecelia on top of him, 

"Can I ride you, baby..."

"Cece, we've been married fourteen years. You really gotta ask." he kissed her collarbone, as he then kissed down to the peak of her breast, 

"Tryin to keep the spark alive."

"With a body like that, it ain't never died, Cece." he groaned as his mouth latched onto her nipple. She knew there'd be a hickey. But Cecelia didn't care. After all, it was still her birthday. Grinding down on him and moving her hips, she could feel every ounce of stress leaving her body, just from feeling the tip of him touching the spot that made her go wild like a bull seeing red, 

"You like that baby, you like how I ride you..."

"Mhmm...I like the view, too." he moaned, his blue eyes rolling back as his dark lashes fluttered like butterfly wings. Elvis had one hand on her waist and the other gripping her ass. His hips followed her pace and rhythm.

          "Faster baby..."

"FuCk Cece!"

Elvis watched as he felt her tongue lick all the way down his chest. Oh, how did he get so lucky? His heart was racing, and he felt even more feverish. He needed to feel her tongue wrapped around his,

"Fuck Fuck Fuck!!" her back was arched as if she were about to do the bridge, lost in her own pleasure. He could hear the moans and feel Cecelia's quivering lips squeeze him tighter. Rolling over, Cecelia was now at the bottom, looking up at blue, lust-filled eyes. 

"Well, hello, handsome..."

"Hello, beautiful." he smirked as she laughed, "What's so funny..."

"Your jumpsuits still on..."

"Shit, you're right... mind helpin' me remove it," he asked as he felt her kissing down from his chest and towards the zipper as she unzipped the rest with her teeth, his bottom lip between his teeth. This was another reason why she was Mrs. Presley. She could put on a good show. Kissing back up the leg, she stopped at the main event, then back at Elvis as he took his index finger under her chin and traced Cecelia's plump lips with his thumb. Her mouth opened wide as he slipped his fingers in one by one, sucking on each and every one of them as they all left with a little pop, 

"Think you can take all of me now..."

"Yes, Daddy Elvis..." she was in a daze as she blushed, "Did I just..."

"Don't pay it no mind, darlin... Just show your big daddy Elvis how much that little ol mouth of yours misses me so much." Her red lips wrapped around the base of his cock. As her eyes focused on him, she could hear him moan and grunt and groan as she worked every nerve and vein with the grazing of her teeth and tongue.

 Elvis was in pure bliss as he pulled at her hair,

 "Don't stop, doll..."

"Oh shit... shit... shit..."

His hips began to thrust into her mouth as she pulled away, 

"You fucking tease..."

"Me! a..." She played innocent as he pulled her back to his level and moved between her legs, "Tease!" she yelped as she felt him lap up all her slick wet juices. "Elvis...Elvis... Elvis..." her fingers in her own hair as she felt him nibble at her clit and lightly pull on with his teeth. sliding in his long finger, He could feel her coil about to snap at any minute, but he couldn't let her finish like this. Not after how she just left him. Cecelia's breath was hitching as she felt his finger curl into her with a beckoning motion, 

"Oh! O-O- Oh Fuck fuck fuck fuck!!!" if he hadn't known she was a singer he could, sure enough, tell by the E6 note she was hitting, he was taking her there and he could tell from the way her breathing was staggering. 

"EL I'M GONNA!"

He stopped as he smirked looking up at her,

"You fucking tease!"

"Me... A tease oh darlin..." Lining himself with Cecelia, he entered back in as a shudder escaped both of their bodies, the two were both stimulated enough to pick back up from where they left off. His hips were rutting against her like a dog in heat, the two were in pure bliss as his hand wrapped around her neck and squeezed gently as she felt the cool metal of his rings, 

"Oh God... ELVIS FUCK ME!"

"Mmmm! BABY OH SHIT!"

Cecelia collapsed on top of him as her breathing was heavy, 

"Did you uh..."

"Mhmm..." she nods.

"Did you..."

"Mhmm..." Pulling out, he got a warm towel and cleaned her up as she kissed his cheek,

 "Want anything to drink," Elvis asked,

"I could drink you..." she smirked watching him stand up as she smacked his ass, 

"Watch it there honey." he laughed as she smirked,

"How can I when I've got grade-A beef in my face."

As the night went on the pair was snuggled up together, under the sheets. Elvis had his arms around Cecelia playfully kissing her neck as she giggled, There was a knock on the door and the two groaned putting on their robes, it was now 11:56 pm, and outside the hotel room were Jerry and Midge rolling in two guitar shaped birthday cakes.

 "Happy birthday E and C..."

"What's wrong?" Elvis looked at the two as they then looked at each other, tussled hair and bite marks, both of their hearts beating faster with just one look, 

"Should we leave them..."

"Yep..."

From afar the only thing they could hear was,

 "Come here, big boy..."

                    "Yes, baby girl..."

"Should we even wake em up tomorrow ?"

"Nah."

[starsurface]

hello again! i have nightwolf on the brain again, so could i ask for him with a toddler regressor who asks to play with his spirit animals? (no im not asking this just for Kiba... or maybe.. she's my favorite out of all of his animals but still >.<) 🔮

Hi!!! I like Nightwolf's animals (I love animals in general)!!! I got the bear's and eagle's names from a quick online search. And I only know that Kiba's a girl, I don't know about the other two but I made them girls too. (Tell me if I'm incorrect!!)

Although, I did kinda throw the whole 'spirit' concept away, ish? Like, they can eat animal snacks, but Nightwolf still has to summon them, you know?

Also I'm so sorry but I realized these are so much more focused on the animals than Nightwolf himself!!! :(

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

CG Nightwolf w/ Toddler Regressor That Plays With His Spirit Animals Hcs

🐺 Nightwolf’s spirit animals are important to him, Komo (bear), Hana (eagle), and Kiba (wolf)

🐺 But you are also very important to him

🐺 He actually really likes you spending time with his animals!! Both when your big and when your little

🐺 But does have to summon his spirit animals so you have to ask to play with them :(

🐺 Although he’s rarely ever said no!! Maybe once or twice, but he probably had good reasons, like it was bath time, or he didn’t want Kiba splashing in mud . . . again

🐺 However, his animals adore you!!

🐺 They get playtime, and head scratchies, and they can go onto the bed-

🐺 You might get a small scolding for letting Komo onto the bed though, she’s too big for it!!

🐺 Komo and Hana like playing with you, but Kiba’s the main one that tries to steal your attention

🐺 Hana has to be specific where she lands and how gently she eats from your hand, especially when your tiny

🐺 And Komo’s very big!! Great fo snuggles, although she does have to watch her claws :(

🐺 Kiba though? Perfect size!! :D

🐺 She can play ball, do tricks, sit on your lap, be used as a pillow

🐺 Nightwolf finds it funny when you try to bribe any of them for cuddle time, leaving a small trail of their favorite snacks to the couch so you can steal them for yourself

🐺 He might tell you that you can’t overfeed them though, they’re still his kombat animals :\

🐺 That doesn’t stop you though, and the animals get pretty huffy when Nightwolf tries to call you out

🐺 A very fun activity was jumping outside in the rain with Kiba

🐺 You got your little rainboots on, and a coat, and jumped into some muddy puddles!! :D

🐺 . . . Although even spirit animals can get dirty, and now Nightwolf has to clean you both off 😮‍💨

🐺 Komo really likes snuggle time

🐺 She’s very big and furry, a great cuddle partner

🐺 Plus she gets to sit on the couch and watch funny cartoons >:3

🐺 Sometimes she’ll lay on top of you, and do an animal like laugh when you whine that she’s too heavy >:(

🐺 ^ Don’t worry, Nightwolf saves you . . . Until it happens again

🐺 Hana will pip (eagle chirp?) with you, sitting on your lap most times because she doesn’t want her claws to grip you wrong 

🐺 Nightwolf will usually have her on his arm so you can pet her, it’s safer that way

🐺 More about Kiba because we love Kiba in this house (and she was specifically requested <3)-

🐺 She’ll bring you things!! Sticks she wants youtube throw, your stuffie when you look upset, a pair of shoes when you're looking outside

🐺 Now, the shoes are rarely ever matching, but the thought is what counts <3

🐺 She takes you on walks, you don’t take her on walks (Nightwolf takes you both on walks, but whatever)

🐺 She’ll whine when you tug on her fur by accident, but Nightwolf will teach you that you can’t pull her fur, soft pats, love

🐺 She doesn’t mind being used as a pillow or a stuffie while your watching your show, she’ll probably take a nap or stare at the colorful screen

🐺 She’ll sit at your tea party too, put a tiara on her and pour her tea, she can’t drink it, but if you keep feeding her little snacks she’ll stay

🐺 Nightwolf totally doesn’t get jealous by how much you wanna cuddle her instead of him, why would he?

🐺 . . . . But he is your Dada, not Kiba, you should remember that every once in a while and come cuddle him instead 🙄 <3

🐺 No but seriously, he does love seeing you hang out and interact with his little friends

🐺 He will join your cuddle sessions though, you can’t get rid of him that easily, darling

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Did you know in Mortal Kombat Defenders of the Realm, Kiba is an actual wolf? And her and Nightwolf combine to give him his Shamon powers? :D (Her relationship with Styker is ridiculous and I love it)

[coeurdalene]

cento between the ending and the end

masterlist | ao3

summary: you leave home, desperate to escape the disillusionment. then you meet the avatar. (the rest is history.)

pairing: zuko x fire nation!reader

warning(s): mentions of canon-typical violence i guess?

word count: 2.65k

a/n: this is based off of cameron-awkward rich’s poem “cento between the ending and the end.” it made me think of atla so that’s what this is.

sometimes you don’t die

when you’re supposed to

Chey runs into the camp with his face flushed, his chest heaving, and his eyes burning bright. He’s beaming as he rushes over to where you and Jeong Jeong sit at opposite sides of a Pai Sho board, your mentor’s eagle eyes fixed on the game as he mulls over his options for his next move. He’s grinning as he slams his hands on the table, rattling the Pai Sho tiles and startling you out of your stupor, but failing to disturb Jeong Jeong’s unperturbed state. He’s glowing as he glances back and forth between the two of you with excitement and insuppressible hope—something you haven’t seen (or felt) in a long time. Then four words tumble out of his mouth and you understand why. The Avatar has returned. The gaping hole in your chest shivers and golden eyes light up in the back of your mind—angry, determined, ablaze.

and now i have a choice

(“Do you think he knows?” you ask as Jeong Jeong reaches out to move one of his Pai Sho tiles. “About the Avatar, I mean.” “I think that you don’t need me to answer that question for you and that you won’t figure it out by staying here,” he replies, sage and resolute. “But, let us finish this game first. I have a feeling that I am about to win.” You don’t miss the twinkle in his eye as he places the white lotus tile onto the board—in the center spot—with a soft click.)

repair a world or build

a new one inside my body

He’s standing in the middle of a tiny Earth Kingdom village, clutching an outdated and worn-out map while squinting at and attempting to decipher jumbled scribbles of names of towns and landmarks, when you accidentally bump into him. Tall, tan, topknot, toothy grin. He asks you if there are any towns nearby where he can stock up on food and supplies. You grin back. His name is Sokka from the South Pole, good with directions—when he has a proper map—and great with plans. And a nonbender, but decent with a sword and a master with the boomerang. (“Hold on, a boomerang?” you ask, one eyebrow raised as he pulls out the polished weapon from the sheath on his back, the shiny metal glinting in the sun. “Yeah, is there something wrong with that?” he counters. “No, not really,” you reply, watching as he flips it lightly into the air and as it lands neatly back in his palm. “I’ve just never met anyone who uses a boomerang as a weapon.” He laughs, “Well, I guess that makes me one of a kind, baby.”) Sokka is all sharp angles—outgoing and sarcastic, letting out a loud whoop and clapping you on the shoulder when you flash the blade of a dagger and admit that you don’t bend either. He’s boisterous at times and you quickly learn that his infectious laugh is a common occurrence, paying no attention to the slight hitch in his breath that precedes each fit of hysterics. Later, as you lead him to a bustling harbor town nearby, he introduces you to his little band of travelers. Katara. Smooth lines to complement her brother’s cacophonous nature—kind eyes and a soft smile, long hair braided down her back, calm but resolute—and a waterbender. She’s approachable and easy to talk to, immediately welcoming and easy to befriend. Yet, Katara can be sharp when she wants to be. You take note as she hurls witty insults at Sokka’s navigation skills. Appa and Momo. A flying bison and a winged lemur, two creatures you’ve only ever read about in the dusty books in your father’s library. Momo chitters and flies around you a few times out of curiosity before returning to circle Appa’s head. The bison grunts in your direction and continues to amble forward. And Aang. The Avatar. Wide-eyed, grinning, full of hope. So much so that you feel like you’re dreaming.

a white door opens

As soon as the town comes into sight, Aang and Katara rush ahead—Momo, too—eager to visit the shops and market stalls. Sokka stays behind with you and Appa. He’s quiet for a moment, then the question tumbles out of his mouth. You’re from the Fire Nation, aren’t you? You should have seen it coming from miles away.

into a place queerly brimming

(“It’s been nearly two years since I left. Most of the time, I find myself not wanting to go back.” “But it’s still home,” Sokka adds. “Yeah,” you sigh and swallow the lump in your throat. “It’s still home.”)

gold light so velvet-gold

It’s unexpected, but so sincere. Why don’t you come along with us? You can’t suppress the smile and the feeling of warmth that spreads through your body when you climb up onto Appa’s back. As the flying bison takes off into the sky, you feel the wind around you and something surging—the hole in your chest shrinking and beginning to heal.

it is like the world

hasn’t happened

You can’t push the image out of your head—Yue falling backward, her white-blonde hair pooling in the water and curling around her head like a halo. You remember the tranquility that washed over the princess’s face, the stillness in the air as she fell, and the solemnity as she sank to the bottom. Even though it’s been days, the scene is still as clear and still as haunting. To your left, Sokka laughs at one of Aang’s jokes. This time, you catch onto the slight hitch in his breath. It’s an indication—he’s lost something important and hasn’t yet forgiven himself. (You feel the same way, sometimes.) You wonder what else the war has taken from him. At night, you recall burnt skin warped around an angry eye. A startling clash of red and gold—so vivid, so noble, so hurt. Your shaking hands clutching onto his tear-stained shirt, trembling voice demanding him to come back soon. How quickly soon became a year, then two. Then three. You remember the pervading silence that followed his exile. It’s the same silence that followed Yue’s descent. The war, cruel and unforgiving, hangs overhead.

when i call out

all my friends are there

Toph Beifong is an avalanche of a girl—chaotic, strong, unable to stop once set into motion. It’s no wonder that she and Katara butt heads so quickly. But, she fits in nicely, works well with the group after she and Katara reconcile their differences, and dedicates herself to the cause. At a first glance, Toph is reckless and wild when it comes to earthbending—much like a hotheaded firebender you know. Yet, you have never seen someone push and pull at dirt and stone with as much grace and precision as the tiny blind girl. One night, after you finish describing the constellations in the sky to her, admiring them for their complexity and ineffable beauty, she shares her wisdom with you. You find something, you grab onto it, and you make it uniquely yours. Toph is the friend you always wanted and never had. One brimming with insights and always moving toward some honorable goal, but unafraid to break a few things along the way—rules, walls, bones. One who will listen intently without judging or mocking you when you have something to say—and does exactly that when you let out your pent-up resentment that had been building up for the past few years toward the values you had been raised on. One who you know you can trust. Your little band of travelers doesn’t feel so little anymore and the hole in your chest grows smaller and smaller with each passing day.

everyone we love

is still alive

His hair is grown out. It hangs messily across his forehead, let loose from the neat ponytail he used to tie it into. He looks more relaxed, less uptight, free from everything that forced him to hold his tongue, unafraid of what’s behind his back. His smile feels whole. You like him better this way. It’s a bit comical—meeting him again in a city so far from where you thought he would find comfort in, looking so different from the last time you saw him. (And working in a tea shop, something you never thought he’d ever been willing to do.) Yet, you find him standing in the middle of that small crooked building in Ba Sing Se’s Lower Ring, gracefully pouring tea into a customer’s cup before bidding them a good day and moving on to the next table. It’s no wonder that you almost don’t recognize him. But the familiarity comes flooding back the moment he pulls you into his arms after leading you out into the secluded alleyway behind the teashop. You cry into his chest. Because it’s been so long and I missed you so much. He holds you tighter. Because I’m sorry.

gathered

at the lakeside

Stepping back onto Ember Island’s shores feels surreal. Walking through the front doors of your family home, even more so. Your parents greet you warmly, ask you about your travels, fill you in on what you’ve missed. Your older brother cracks some jokes, punches your shoulder lightly, and tells you he only missed you a bit. He finds you standing on the beach that evening. Your toes buried in the sand, hands in your pockets, a contemplative look on your face. Together, you recall memories of your childhoods. Days spent sitting stiffly in stuffy classrooms with perfect posture and seemingly engaged expressions, attentively listening to lectures about “our nation’s glory.” Hours of military and political history—Sozin, Azulon, and various generals and commanders whose names and accomplishments you could rattle off. (Names and accomplishments that you forced out of your mind the second you stepped foot off Fire Nation soil.) Evenings spent running barefoot on the beach, dancing in the salty breeze with pink clouds and a sunset in the background. Or sparring, him critiquing your skills or you showing off a new technique you learned while your feet sank into the soft sand and some noisy gulls flew overhead. Nights spent angrily whispering at him to shut up and leave you alone because, somehow, he always knew when you were awake when you weren’t supposed to be, always knew where you were hiding in your father’s library, and always knew what—or rather who—was on your mind. When you go quiet, he asks what you’re thinking about. You can’t seem to find the right words.

like constellations

(“Remember when Ruon-Jian asked you out and you responded by punching him in the face?” “Yeah,” you laugh, remembering how the boy had approached you with an atrocious pick-up line and how you had so desperately wanted to wipe the smug grin off his face. “He was an asshole.” Your brother snickers, “Good times.” You echo emptily, “Good times.”)

my honeyed kin

Ba Sing Se falls overnight. The news comes in the form of your brother bursting through the doors of your father’s library, where you’re sitting peacefully in an armchair and paging through a book about stars and other celestial objects. When you look up, you’re met with a frown, eyes wavering—strained, a little bit scared. It doesn’t take you long to figure out that there’s something wrong. A letter from Azula follows and, two days later, you’re within the concentric stone walls again. You know you should let Zuko be. Let him wallow. Give him space to mourn. But Azula smirks and lets slip the shred of knowledge that gives her the upper hand. She’s seen glimpses—sunlight glinting off the blades of your daggers, blurs of the hair ribbons you always wear. Traitor.

honeyed light

The air surrounding the top deck is cold and stiff and bitter on the ship ride home, but it’s where he is, so you stay—your head resting against his shoulder, his arm around your waist. You ask him if he finds it strange to be going home after so many years away. When he doesn’t respond, you turn your gaze up to his face and find him staring out into the distance, expression blank, mouth set in a firm line. But, his eyes look so lost and he feels so far away. The hole in your chest begins to widen again.

beneath the sky

a garden blue stalks

white buds

(Ozai raises his fist. Iroh covers your eyes. “No one should have to witness something so terrible,” he tells you afterward. Something inside you shifts out of place.)

the moon’s

marble glow

You left to chase after a boy. Azula stands with her hands on her hips, looking proud of her comment. She wants you to stand up and yell back at her, prove her wrong—and she is wrong. Azula is wrong. You left because you wanted to, because you were tired, because everything you had been told was a lie. And it wasn’t Zuko’s banishment that had shown you that. Those seeds were planted years before, nurtured over the summers you spent away from home honing your skills with shiny silver knives, watered with your sweat and incessant curiosity. (“More like nosiness,” your brother would have called it.) Soon, they sprouted, stretched their roots and tied themselves down, resisting any deweeding from indoctrination attempts during the school years. Seeing Zuko, with a bandage over his eye and his shoulders slumped and his entire being so broken only gave them more room to grow. And they grew. Tendrils curling and suffocating the sickly-sweet praises of the nation’s magnificence and grandeur (and lies). Roots digging deeper until the only thing burning through you when you thought of the nation you grew up in was resentment and hatred and every other ugly feeling that made you sick to your stomach. And so, you left. Azula is wrong. But, you’re tired of fighting her. So you smile politely, in the way you’ve been taught to. Maybe I did.

the fire

distant and flickering

The air feels drier and hotter with each passing day. It’s unsettling and sets off something within you—makes you wonder what it’s leading up to and if there’s a storm on its way. At night, when Zuko stands with you on your balcony—the two of you leaning against the railing, shoulders touching, gazing at the navy blue expanse of sky—you fall into him, searching for the comfort of his arms. Because something’s coming and I don’t think it’s good. He holds you closer. Hands gripping your waist, fingers laced tightly with yours like he’s afraid you’ll slip through the cracks and fall away from him. Because I feel it, too. You receive a small package and a letter from Piandao the next day. (“Your friend Sokka is a fine swordsman,” it reads. “He is a very good student, asks a lot of questions, and is somewhat unconventional. He reminded me a bit of you.”) Something at the bottom of the letter, scribbled in the corner, catches your eye. He’s alive. You open up the package and a Pai Sho tile falls into your palm, the white lotus engraved on its face.

the body whole bright-

winged brimming

Toph and Sokka and Suki and you. (And Katara and Zuko and Aang. Where are they?) Red. Glaring brightness. Body sore. On the verge of breaking. A ringing in your ears. The smell of something burning. You can’t remember anything else.

with the hours

of the day

(Funnily enough, you’ve never felt more whole.)

beautiful

nameless planet

Afterward, he kisses you hard. Urgent, but sweet, arms wrapping tightly around your waist. Because I don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t make it out with you by my side. You kiss him back. Soft and delicate, hands resting against his chest. Because I love you, too.

oh

friends, my friends—

bloom how you must, wild

until we are free.

[arkus-rhapsode]

I want to talk about Crimson Flower and 3H as a narrative

So... after FE3H discourse makes the round every other week, I end up thinking about it for a bit until I realize, hey maybe its better to not focus on a 4 year old game at this point and occupy your time with something else. Everything has basically been said about it at this point and you know where you land.

But this time my thoughts were just getting too strong for me to ignore, so that's why I'm writing this both get it out of my system and maybe just be another voice in the crowd that some people might want to listen to on the divisive topic that is Crimson Flower route.

Now I really hate that I have to put this disclaimer up front, but I feel like the well of this discussion has become so poisoned that I have to before I make my piece. I want to say that if you enjoy Crimson Flower, if you love Edelgard and believe she did nothing wrong and this is the right route, if you are a Black Eagles stan and you genuinely do not have any issues with Crimson Flower route as a whole-that is perfectly fine.

This will be a somewhat critical examination of the narrative choices about the execution of CF, which I feel like whenever 3H, specifically Edelgard is discussed, there is often very disingenuous arguments people make. Which I believe can create more defensive fans of a particular aspect of a story that we should be able to criticize freely. Which perpetuates this never ending cycle of discourse of legit criticism and defense against that criticism becomes drowned out by trying to decouple these very disingenuous claims from legitimate flaws. So I at least want to make it known that I am going to try my best to be in good faith with this post about this tricky subject.

I also want to just say, this is also going to be mostly an examination of narrative. The thing that I personally enjoy the most in an FE game, but we need to genuinely acknowledge that narrative isn't the only reason why people may like Fire Emblem. The ability to form parasocial relationships with fictional characters and being able to experience something the genuinely brings you emotional fulfillment is not invalid. Being able to enjoy fighting against establishments or ideologies you in the real world disagree with through the experience of a video game is not invalid. The same way someone who plays this game for the experience of gameplay isn't invalid when their primary enjoyment stems from the actual mechanics rather than the "logistics" of the story. The point I'm trying to make is that everyone will engage in media in different ways and will enjoy it other ways and that you don't want to invalidate those feelings someone had with their personal experience. So this is going to be about me and my experience as someone who primarily enjoys narrative.

I am just one guy with opinions who is going to layout what I had an issue with and how I think for me that could've been improved upon. You don't have to agree with me on that, and I'm not saying my way is legitimately better. This is all opinionated.

Buckle this is a long one

First things first Im gonna say Im not going to be using any information given in Three Hopes that may contradict what Im about to say. As in my opinion Three Houses came first and does not include the content from Three Hopes so I should think that Three Houses can stand on its own merits and the content that was provided.

Next thing is I want to catch people up on what in my opinion are the points I think CF did for me that ultimately left me unsatisfied

The post time skip Fodlan was too different and felt contradictory to Byleth's role

Edelgard's Characterization in CF in comparison to the other lord's in their respected routes

The role of Rhea

The role of Those who Slither in the Dark

SO the first thing is probably the thing I'm mostly going to have to defend if I haven't lost you already, but Fire Emblem Three Houses as a narrative provides us with a five year time skip in the game that depending on the route will change who is control of the monastery at this point in the war, with each route providing a lord the chance the forge their campaign. However, something I don't think is brought up enough is talking about the liberties that CF takes with their time skip vs the other three routes. Azure Moon, Verdant Wind, and Silver snow all paint a post five years Fodlan as one where the monastery territory has been abandoned, Rhea has been captured, the Alliance territory is split between an imperialist faction and an anti imperialism faction, and the Kingdom has been split with Cornelia making an alliance with the Empire to create the Dukedom of Faerghus as the houses of Gautier and Faldarius hold up the Kingdom.

There are obviously minor changes like Dimitri camping out in the monastery in Azure Moon rather than in the care of Kingdom Allies, but for the most part there is a consistently defined world between the three routes. However, Crimson Flower's post Fodlan is much different. With a grid locked Fodlan after five years with just the church territory falling under the control of Adrestia, Rhea wasn't captured and instead made it to Faerghus, The Alliance is still feuding amongst itself, but most importantly than all, Faerghus is a complete kingdom with Dimitri as King and no Cornelia's Dukedom.

So there are two main reasons why this bothers me.

The first is that Three Houses as a game wants to present you with three options at first, with the idea that your choices will effect the outcome of the war when Byleth returns, however there's enough consistency to imply that this is what Fodlan would be like regardless of whose House you would join, with the primary effect being your class making it to the church for the festival which in turn will make the monastery your new territory for which route. However, Crimson Flower decides to do away with the consistency, implying that the effect Byleth had on the situation is far greater than that of any other route resulting in a drastically shifted Fodlan. So this is more of a problem with FE3H as a whole with the consistency of choice. Fire Emblem has never really had a BioWare style choose your own adventure type of game. There's only one real choice you're given in the case of 3H and that's which house you side with, which you are essentially locked into. Black Eagles is really the only route that offers a choice beyond that with choosing to side with Edelgard or Rhea which will effect who the class sides with in the time skip. The reason I bring this up is that it essentially means that you the player are for the most part on rails for a predetermined plot where all the choices for the series have already been made. So the Fodlan post five years being consistent makes some sense as essentially mostly everything that happened in White Clouds was the same with the acceptation of the class. However, the Crimson Flower one not being consistent and being so radically different based on a game with so minimal choice feels more like an act of narrative convenience. That this is what happened because of a writer fully independent from me the player had decided that this is how Fodlan shall be for this story because it fits what they want to tell.

Somewhere I had once read that FE3H shouldn't be treated as one story, but since its a bunch of routes they're all a different universe. Everything might look the same but everything is fundamentally altered that you should accept it as an independent universe. And I can't necessarily say that's wrong as the concept of multiverses is to create a world/scenario that allows to explore familiar characters in unfamiliar settings and you could say that Byleth effect on Edelgard in picking this universe was just so much greater that it would result in such a different universe.

I personally disagree with that which brings me to my second point as I believe this one is going to be a more philosophical point on game design. But I feel like the effort to make three routes so consistent with each other with one so different seems to deliberately undercut the core themes of the game. Offering you a choice that this is who you get to spend your happy schools days with and it is what is going to result in them returning to the monastery one the day of your return. That is the true effect of Byleth on the characters. But as you play through white clouds you can't change what happens to other characters which will result in a brand new scenario. Byleth's presence can never stop Dimitri from going blood mad, Byleth's presence can't stop Claude from discovering the Immaculate One research, and Byleths presence can't stop Edelgard from declaring war. And that is a good thing for this type of on rails route story. Byleth while a player insert who can help their lord in the future, right now everyone is on a path that Byleth can only lightly change. With the characters acting independently of what Byleth and the player desire. And the post time skip Fodlan is a sign of that. Its Five Years without Byleth. This is what these characters would do, that they were always capable of doing and that is why Byleth's return and effect on them is important. This also gives us the ability to observe what a lord is like now after the war, and Byleth's effect on them but also see what a character could be like without that Byleth effect on them. Without Byleth Dimitri stays mad, without Byleth Claude always flees Fodlan, without Byeth Edelgard... well lets put a pin in that.

The only other true choice the player can make beyond the initial one is the side with Edelgard or Rhea which radically alters her. Which honestly feels kinda defeating in a game that has locked Byleth so much on a path and the one time it can deviate actively alters everything. It just feels very hollow as there are parts that make you realize how great the effect Byleth could have on people's lives could be if the game actively wanted to integrate choice with the plot. But it didn't. It wants to make one early choice then lock you in that route for several chapters then remove Byleth and then have their return effect real change on the future of Fodlan. Except for this one route. Its why Crimson Flower feels so much like an asterisk compared to the other route. And I don't just mean the lack of chapters, but this feels like a route that can only exist because it was the one that the developers bothered to create something overly deviating from everything else.

Which brings us to Edelgard's role in Crimson Flower as a whole. Now lets just get this out of the way. Im not going to be talking at all on the morality/realistic implications of what Edelgard is doing. I feel like the "Is she a fascist/authoritarian" conversation is not really helpful to talking about FE3H as a work of narrative and mostly exists to create a bunch of petty beef. This is also not going to be a deconstruction of ever minute detail of Edelgard as a character. This is an examination of her as a character in the narrative that we are presented. This will also involve comparison's to Edelgard and other series lords and I want it to be known that this is not a talking down to the only female lord in the game as being something "lesser" than her male contemporaries. I believe there is genuinely sexism when discussing Edelgard as a character, so I want to say that I am approaching Crimson Flower and Three Houses as a whole in a good conscious that there is not a "right route." That this is a game that where all choices have their pros and their cons. Because that's why we like this entry, right? That 3H would provide us some genuinely complex lords who were all capable of doing great and terrible things regardless of gender?

That's why I had such a long winded discussion about why the change in the post time skip Fodlan is so important both for narrative consistency, but also just generally keeping with the tone, but also it reinforced that Fodlan and its lords while all righteous in their own way can be dangers in their own way. Well that's when I return to the pin about Edelgard. So first I want to go through how the lords are characterized in non devoted routes.

Dimitri in non AZ routes is portrayed as someone so damaged by loss that his who response is to avenge and fight. To never stop making those pay for the damage it has brought on his kingdom as well as any lives lost during the tragedies in places like Duscar and Remire.

Claude in non VW routes is portrayed as a brilliant individual with a lot of charm but seems to be hiding something from everyone. He's a lot smarter than one could assume and that he has some mysterious tie to the kingdom of Almyra that he departs after leaving his land to the stronger kingdom that has come so far, be it Dimitri or Edelgard or the Church.

Edelgard in non CF routes is portrayed as a conspirator to overthrow not only the church but all rule in Fodlan as she believes the Crest based system is flawed and that the only way to enact systemic change is through a single rule. And while she is aware her ideals have costs, she believes that those costs are worth it when weighed against perpetuity of the crest system.

Now I want to talk about what happens to those lords as you play them in their routes.

Dimitri in AZ is portrayed as someone burdened by loss and his quest for vengeance has led to a neglect for his own health and his own actions. That his kill everyone attitude will perpetuate more loss of those he loves and that he needs to learn to rely upon others. That is his true responsibility as king.

Claude in VW is portrayed as an individual who is outside of Fodlan's system who has observed it more as a third party and believes it can be a great place if people work through diplomatically. He too is not a fan of inequality and racism and wishes to make a Fodlan that is more accepting and able to work through negotiation. While he still leaves Fodlan at the end, this time he has been able to implement real systemic change and make one that is sustainable beyond that of a ruler.

In CF we find out that Edelgard is a traumatized girl who was experimented on for the purposes of Crest Research. This makes her a conspirator to overthrow not only the church but all rule in Fodlan as she believes the Crest based system is flawed and that the only way to enact systemic change is through a single rule. And while she is aware her ideals have costs, she believes that those costs are worth it when weighed against perpetuity of the crest system.

Hey wait a minute, that's the same?

So this is where I get to the most glaring flaw for me in this case of narrative and why I think altering the post time skip so much did a lot of damage. Edelgard is a good character and a fascinating one, but in the practice of her narrative, her character journey in her own route isn't like the other lords. Rather she is "right" from the start of the time skip and with the world altering in ways to justify why she is that way.

Now look, I know right now someone could be saying I can't read, that its clearly stated in the text that Edelgard says without Byleth she may have turned into a complete monster to see her goals through to the end. This is referring to how in non CF routes she is on the backfoot getting beaten back and forced to take more drastic measures as whoever Byleth comes closer to ending her ideals. Unlike Dimitri or Claude there's not really a psychological arc she is working through with her sociological arc. Dimitri's arc is almost entirely hinged on him as a character changing in his route. And while Claude the character is also mostly the same, you get an understanding of how his continued participation in Fodlan's politics is so important as he effects sociological change. Claude also does the less stuff that could be considered questionable in Fodlan. He neither initiates the war nor does he intimate greater conflict that is tied into a character arc like Dimitri. Claude action's through the war are mostly to keep the Alliance fighting against each other with avoids giving one side a greater advantage. The truth is Claude real "flaw" is that by being an Almyra he is from a race outside of Fodlan that is inherently untrustworthy in society so his continued prescience in his expanded campaign is done with changing that mentality.

Now one could look at everything I said about Claude and say "well isn't that Edelgard though? She's not the one who needs to change but rather society needs to and this is you making it a fruition?" And I would agree however, then why did post time skip need to change and not Edelgard? So going back to the altered Fodlan, the Fodlan post time skip we see in non CF routes has what can be argued Edelgard's biggest moment of political conquest, making an alliance with Cornelia inside of Faerghus using her authority and influence to expand and bring over a chunk of the kingdom underneath Edelgard's wing. And this makes sense with what has been proposed before us-Edelgard had released a manifesto to lords that would side with her and become her allies in the war to come. This act of subversion is something that benefits her goals for conquering all of Fodlan. However, this is one of the key alterations in CF's time skip. Faerghus is not broken in half, with Edelgard having not empowered Cornelia over the five years. In fact, you do battle with Cornelia with her as a kingdom general.

So if Edelgard isn't a character who is subject to change, why did the world change? Well there is speculation in universe that perhaps Rhea fleeing to Faerghus didn't give her the ability. But I do believe the most likely reason is that narratively the writers of 3H wanted to avoid a scenario where while Byleth was gone Edlegard may have empowered and individual like Cornelia. One of the most objectively evil characters in the game. Now I won't go into to detail if I believe Edelgard knew Cornelia was a TWSITD or not, but as it is presented to us, she seems unaware. Instead I'll focus on the primary point is where they don't want to discuss that while in her route Edelgard was capable of doing something that would potentially cast her in such a negative light. After all, the point of her campaign is the while the bloodshed is worth it to make a new Fodlan free of crests, she's willing to show lenency to those who bend the knee. Again, an action not unreasonable for her character. However, I feel like this not happening in CF genuinely robs us from exploring the flaws of Edelgard's path/showing us what Byleth's effect on her truly is.

This is compounded by my issues with how CF is the only route in which you have an active choice beyond class. That by choosing to side with Edelgard when given the option in the tomb would result in this much radical history alteration. But also all of Byleth's effect on her not being as much conqueror over the last 5 years was all done pre time skip. That all that change was done at that moment rather than being something that prompted her to return to Garreg Mach where they'd remeet Byleth and then that would get them to claim it as a base of oppositions in their future war. In CF, Garreg Mach is already claimed rather than the formation of the Dukedom with no real progress. So it makes it seem as though Byleth's real effect on altering this lord's path was always possible in the short time they knew them before disappearing over five years. Of course this is again a bit miffling given that CF is the only route this is a possibility. We can't Change how Dimitri will act in the pre time skip. That he will make choices without Byleth even if they feel urged to remeet at Garreg Mach. But in the case of CF, Edelgard has apparently been changed despite the only real difference in white clouds fighting beside her in the tomb and against the church pre timeskip. But that has sociologically altered so much of Fodlan.

And maybe you genuinely believe that one extra change is enough. Perhaps that one extra choice is enough justification for such a radically new scenario. For me personally, I find that unsatisfying and feels more like the writers traded in a level of consistency for this new scenario that greater justified being on the side of someone who is portrayed as a more active antagonistic force in other routes (Reminder this not me saying the Empire route is an antagonist route. All routes are antagonistic relative to which side you are on).

This is where we get my first what I would've done to make it more narratively satisfying for me. Keep the same post time skip Fodlan as the other routes. Keep Edelgard having brokered a deal with Cornelia to establish the Dukedom and have Byleth find out about it. Be some that either Byleth or another character close to Edelgard questions the extremity of. Then have Cornelia do something evil like she's experimenting on people for TWSITD or maybe she's just abusing the power. Then have Edelgard clean it up. Have Edelgard realize that while she still wants to make her dream of a crestless Fodlan a reality she can't just back lords or nobles that are willing to go along with her for more power. She can still keep the Dukedom territory, but instead she'd be now more understanding what it means for there to be a ruler with a noble soul. So she continues her campaign of conquest but has realized that if she's going to be emperor, she can't just empower people arbitrarily.

In my opinion this not only would tie together some more TWSITD plot while also paralleling it to Edelgard's past and how there was no authority figure to step in and help her all those years ago. But now she is that authority figure. And while it doesn't call her method in question and like Dimitri and Claude she can continue her expanded influence over Fodlan, but now we actively see that Byleth has helped show her that her allies aren't just those pledging loyalty, she actually needs to empower those who are good. She gets to have her fight with Cornelia level and this won't stop her from killing Dimitri in the future.

Like I said, this is what I'd do. And in my opinion it would give Byleth's presence in CF more purpose beyond the bond with Edelgard is nice and fun. But also stay consistent with each route. Showing that there are flaws in Edelgard's sociological plan, but not undercutting what her actual goal is. You can still believe her quest is just and the only right one with her taking an active role in not making the mistakes she perceives Rhea as doing.

And if you are still with me up to my third point, lets talk about Rhea.

So Rhea as a character can best be described as a neutral evil throughout White Clouds. She doesn't really do anything but there is a lot of ominous foreshowing and presentation that Rhea may be up to something or at the very least complicit with many of her policies and tendencies. And when I say "evil" I don't mean she's bad (please don't skewer me Rhea fans). I mean that if the crest system is flawed and the church is emblematic of the systems maintenance of that flawed system. Then Rhea as the face/founder/head of that church bares some responsibility even if all she does is passive.

In all other routes, Rhea is captured by the Empire. Imprisoned in their capital. Anytime she is seen after she is characterized as somewhat docile or defeated, having been imprisoned for so long. VW goes a step farther to reveal what she did as Seiros and all of her actions leading to this point presumably all thanks to be imprisoned and rethinking her life over. CF is the only one Rhea is allowed to be an active player, she is now portrayed a ranting self righteous warrior priest who swears vengeance upon Byleth for being the reincarnation of her mother but not being a proper vessel as she intended and fighting against her. Naturally, if Byleth being the potential for the reincarnation of Sothis siding against her is what her drives her mad, that is believable, however much like the altered Fodlan Rhea in this version is not captured. This is now for Rhea to serve as Edelgard's true climatic opponent. With her symbolically killing the representation of the church and the power of crests being slain by Byleth and Edelgard. Its very poetic. But once again we reach my issue of the time skip altering so much in CF.

As stated before, Rhea was presented as a neutral evil, in doing so she's not really a direct antagonist in any route. Except of course Silver Snow. Where she is deployed as a weapon against Byleth. In this case killing the immaculate one symbolically is cleansing the church of Rhea and allowing it to pass into the hands of the new archbishop. However, Rhea in that fight is under control. Rather than be conscious as an opponent, they make her more of a beast without choice. Thus making this less a flawed character meeting their end and rather a forced confrontation by the evil cult of evil. Now Rhea I think being kept a neutral party was ultimately a good choice. We are given enough about her to understand she has done things questionable and should possibly not hold the authority she has. But she also has not instigated any open any hostility. As such Rhea is more a symbolic player. By making her an active player, CF has to make Rhea more domino and more a threat. She can't portray constant neutrality in a war. But by making her the active antagonist, it makes her less of a symbol and more if just a rotten character who Edelgard is justified in wanting dead. And much like Cornelia and the Dukedom, this alteration comes off as an attempt by the writers to never truly challenge Edelgard's plans for Fodlan. That Edelgard has no flaws in her plan and the bloodshed is beyond justified more than just philosophically. Had Edelgard captured Rhea in CF this would lead to some genuinely uncomfortable questions of keeping her a prisoner. And to 3H's credit they were actually willing to make the player uncomfortable already in Dimitri's route showing him as a mass murderer. Once again, I want to express this isn't me saying Edelgard's quest or goals are wrong and the plot should undermine it. This is me saying that for a game that wants to genuinely have nuanced and uncomfortable political choices made by their character, this is the route where they opt to alter the scenario so that Edelgard is the most justified and does less things that one could find objectionable. Flattening a lot of interesting implications this would raise and what Byleth as a force in this route could possibly able to influence.

Now one could again say, well the reason Rhea wasn't captured because Edelgard didn't use crest beasts this time. Edelgard not using crest beasts is a sign Byleth is changing her and thus that greatly alters the future. Once again, I can see that as understandable justification, but again, my issue off only ever being able to effect this lord pre time skip comes in again. If it was possible to get Edelgard to not use crest beasts, then how come it wasn't possible for me to get Claude to have Almyra support? How come I couldn't stop Dimitri before the war? The answer is again as a game the only other narrative choice that could possibly alter the story happens in CF which is the side with Edelgard in tombs choice. And while I'm not against the idea of angry pope Rhea, but I feel making her CF's full on antagonist was almost making a straw man antagonist for your opposition.

As an aside we also know Arundel is still on Edelgard's side and he is Thales so while she might not know his entire deal, I hesitate to imagine he'd stop using crest beasts in the war over the two years Byleth was gone.

If I was going to once again alter CF to be something I would personally find more satisfying. Have Rhea captured and then have Arundel use the same rage stuff he uses on her Silver Snow. This way you can facilitate an Edelgard vs TWSITD conflict AND you still get your symbolic victory of Edelgard and Byleth killing the symbol of the crests and church. Again, Edelgard is able to do what she wanted to originally, but now we are also confronted with the role TWSITD did play in her life and allowing her to rectify it as well as truly killing the old world by getting rid of Rhea and Thales.

And final point TWSITD. TWSITD are bad. They've always been bad. And they genuinely damage the overall story of CF because this is beyond just a narrative choice, its very clear CF as a story wasn't complete. I feel confident in saying that given the numerous chapters missing compared to the other routes, but also the epilogue needs to say "Oh yeah there was totally a bunch of war against them. Totally." I know this point is probably the least controversial when talking about CF, but I still think its a glaring flaw.

So what's the tl;dr?

This is not an "I hate Crimson Flower or Edelgard post" I genuinely have no interest in debating people about characters that like or enjoy. Nor did I want to turn this into a moral argument about the implication CF. I feel like these topics do real damage to any real criticisms one can have for CF as a narrative.

Which for me, CF as a route fails to really mesh with the rest of 3H as a whole. It feels like it takes a lot of narrative ways out to avoid potentially making their lord seem objectionable, despite much of this game wanting to be about how tragically flawed everyone is. Im not saying Edelgard needed a come to Jesus moment of "Are we the bad guys?" No absolutely not. In my opinion we just lack seeing Edelgard change the same way post time skip as others have due to creating an entirely brand new setting that keeping her as a mostly the same character is not questionable. Nor does she have to do anything that could truly be seen as flawed. Things that Byleth's influence may overcome.

Edelgard is a good character and her goals are understandable. I just personally find the narrative bending to accommodate her in ways so different from the other time skips genuinely make it a weaker narrative for me.

If you enjoy CF as it it. More power to you. Please keep loving CF. This isn't supposed to be a dissuading post. This is merely me as one guy who likes a lot of FE because of the stories it can tell sharing why he personally didn't enjoy this one. Maybe I helped put it words for some who might feel similar. But this is just my opinion

If you have something you'd like to add or reply in the replies or tags please flee free, but for the love god, please be cordial about it. There is so much toxicity and disingenuous takes around Fire Emblem Crimson Flower and Edelgard and Rhea in general, that I would like for us to please be able to talk about this in good faith.

[getvalentined]

Okay so while I'm 99.999999% sure that BoTW and ToTK take place on their own timeline (I've even figured out where the divergence must have occurred for the events in those games to take place as they did and wrote a spoileriffic post all about it), there is at least one other option. Maybe two.

Spoilers and 1300+ words of lore and theory nonsense under the cut.

There are some things I've noticed that, when put together, form a very interesting possibility. It's not nearly as solid as the concept of this being an entirely different timeline altogether, and separately these things don't mean much of anything. Viewed together, though, they do seem to point in a fairly distinct direction.

Key points:

The Depths are full of massive ancient fossilized tree roots

Hyrule as a whole is heavily populated with the remains of absolutely enormous fossilized tree stumps

The Koroks exist, but the Kokiri don't

The Rito exist, as do the Zora

These Zora can live in freshwater or saltwater without suffering negative effects

Ganondorf refers to Sonia as being Hyrulean, not Hylian, in spite of Hyrule as a kingdom being founded by her and Rauru

Triforce imagery already exists back in that time period, to the point that Sonia has it tattooed on her body

This...may actually be the far-flung future of the WindWaker timeline.

Points 1, 2 and 3:

In WindWaker, the Deku Tree created the Koroks out of the Kokiri so that they would survive in some capacity after the Goddesses flooded the world. They traverse the world dropping seeds in the hopes that the trees born from those seeds will take root deep enough to join together and recreate land.

The Depths are full of ancient fossilized trees. Hyrule is covered in their remains. The Koroks travel the world for reasons unknown. The Lost Woods contain both a Lake Saria and a Mido Swamp, which we can say are just shout-outs to previous titles—except that Urbosa mentions Nabooru by name in BoTW, meaning that she existed. And if she existed, in the capacity that we know her from Ocarina of Time, then Saria existed. And yet the Koroks exist, and the Kokiri don't.

Points 4 and 5:

In WindWaker, the Rito used to be the Zora. They were magically evolved over time because they couldn't survive the flood, there was something wrong with the water. In Ocarina of Time, Zoras appear to be strictly freshwater entities; there are oceanic Zora in Majora's Mask, but that's either so far back on the timeline that Hylia and Demise haven't landed yet, or it's an alternate timeline altogether. In BoTW and ToTK, the Zora are very clear that they can survive in basically any water. They've tested this. They know they'll be fine no matter what.

Rito and Zoras in BoTW and ToTK have very, very similar body shapes, with long torsos and long arms and short legs, very limited sexual dimorphism, and expression of features similar to multiple different real-world animals that live in their respective environments. Teba is a harpy eagle, Kass is a sapphire macaw, Revali is a Steller's jay, Penn is a pelican; Mipha seems to be a false killer whale, Sidon is a hammerhead shark, King Dorephan is a blue whale, Yona is a devil ray.

Unlike the Rito in WindWaker, these Rito are literally just birds. They don't have to go earn their wings, they grow flight feathers at certain levels of maturity just like normal birds. Unlike the Zora in previous titles, who seemed to age at a rate on-pace with Hylians, the Zora age similarly to some some rare deep sea animals—coelacanths, for instance, reach physical maturity around 40-60 years old. (Reminder that coelacanths were also assumed to be wiped out, leaving behind only differently-evolved relatives.)

If we assume that the Koroks' mission was successful, then the Zora could very well have come back into being intentionally, the same way that they became the Rito in the first place. Some remained as Rito, while others chose to branch off and recreate what they used to be, using magic and careful breeding to make sure that they wouldn't die if the water turned against them again. Likewise, the Rito changed alongside them to become more suited to the changing environment, until they reached a point where they don't even remember that they came from the same place. (EDIT: Lending further credence to this possibility, the Stormwind Ark literally looks like two seahorses swimming side by side. Not birds. Nothing airborne. Seahorses.)

Points 6 and 7:

The existence of the Triforce as a holy symbol and the use of "Hyrulean" to describe someone of Hylian descent indicates that Rauru and Sonia didn't create Hyrule as a place, but organized it as a nation. The land of Hyrule already existed, it just wasn't under anyone's rule. Rauru and Sonia, with the power that they possessed, were able to organize the land on which they lived to create a kingdom—it was already called Hyrule, they just took control.

This makes absolutely no sense whatsoever in any context that I can think of outside the WindWaker timeline, where the destined bearers of the Triforce and the Hylian royal family haven't existed for ages. One of three points in the timeline where Ganondorf was killed, not just sealed away. (The other two being Twilight Princess and ToTK.) Until this point, Ganondorf is always the same Ganondorf. He's the same person as he was in Ocarina of Time—the Triforce of Power made him immortal, that's why all anyone could ever do was seal him up. The Master Sword is the sword that seals the darkness, not the sword that destroys the darkness.

There's a really interesting bit in the Twilight Princess manga that, while I know it's noncanon for the games, lends a lot of credence to the idea that Ganondorf in ToTK is the first time that Ganondorf has been properly and truly reincarnated.

Trigger warning for mention of suicide, and spoiler warning for the Twilight Princess manga.

Toward the end of the manga, during the final battle, Link is losing. Link is going to lose. He comes to the realization that he can't kill Ganondorf not because Ganondorf is stronger than him, but because he's just one part of a whole—and Link and Zelda make up the rest of it. Link realizes that he doesn't have the right to kill Ganondorf, because they need each other to exist. He was chosen by Din for a reason, like Link was chosen by Farore and Zelda was chosen by Nayru, and even if nobody knows why Din allowed that to happen that doesn't make it the right of one Goddess' champion to kill another. Ganondorf refuses to accept this, and kills himself so that he can finally be swept into the reincarnation cycle along with Link and Zelda, rather that just living forever and meeting new versions of them again and again. He demands the opportunity to reset and do what he wants without the fetters of his previous attempts weighing on him, with a promise to return someday and take what he deserves.

Ganondorf dies at the end of WindWaker, and it's very possible that he wouldn't be reborn again until the time period where Hyrule would be revived. Ganondorf is the destined bearer of the Triforce of Power—and Rauru is the Sage of Light, but he very clearly serves as a stand-in for the Triforce of Courage, while Sonia presumably stood in for Wisdom until Zelda arrived. At that point, given that Zelda is the destined bearer chosen by Nayru in order to bolster her ability to interface with Hylia (or to house her outright), any protection that position could have granted Sonia was lost, and Ganondorf was able to kill her where he couldn't have killed Zelda.

Do I think this is the case? Almost certainly not. Do I think it's possible? Absolutely.

The other possibility is that Ganondorf in WindWaker succeeded in his wish to reset the timeline and undo everything and the Goddesses took advantage of the wish and rolled it back so far that they removed the Triforce from the timeline altogether in the hopes that Ganondorf would never come into being at all. This new timeline would thereby be the result of that, but there's not much to indicate that beyond the fact that the Imprisoning War is literally the events of Ocarina of Time without the Triforce or Link, down to Zelda watching him kneel in front of the King of Hyrule and ask for allegiance, then telling that king that Ganondorf is obviously evil. I swear it's almost word for word. Zelda. Don't be racist.

[chimachapterbooks]

THE LONG CLIMB

“Hold on!" yelled Laval.

"No kidding!" growled Cragger. "Go any more original ideas?"

Some fifty feet below, Eris gasped. Cragger was dangling by one hand from an icy ledge, his feet swinging wildly in the air. Up above, Laval was reaching down to grab the Crocodile, but couldn't quite make it. If Cragger lost his grip, it would be a long fall to the ground below.

"Laval, can you reach him?" Eris cried.

"I think so-just wait there, Cragger," Laval shouted. "I'll climb down to you."

"Where am I going to go?" Cragger answered, yelling to be heard over the howl of the wind.

"It's hang on here or be a Croc pancake!"

Eris couldn't believe how quickly everything had gone wrong. Chima was facing a crisis: Icy creatures called Hunters had rampaged across the land, freezing everything in their path. Right around the time that the Hunters showed up, she had also begun having strange dreams. No, not dreams... they were more like visions.

In them, Eris kept seeing flashes of Mount Cavora on fire. And past the flames, burning bright in the center, was a shining temple on top of the mountain. Somehow, Eris just knew that if they could reach the top of the mystice mountain, hidden inside was an answer that would help them save all of Chima.

But Mount Cavora floated high in the air. In order to reach it, Eris had tricked one of the Hunter Tribes, the Vultures, into freezing the waterfalls. Now, she and her friends were trying to reach the top of the mountain by climbing the frozen waterfalls that stretched from the ground up to the face of the rock.

At first, Laval and Cragger hadn't believed her. But the battle against the Hunters was going poorly. Cragger's parents had been frozen solid, and more and more tribe members were falling victim to the ice daily. Laval and Cragger realized that Eris's dreams might actually be a vision of how to save Chima. So they had agreed to make the climb with her. Now they were halfway up to the top.

The question was, could they make it any farther?

"I’m on my way!" Eris shouted. "My wings are half-frozen. I can't fly! But I’m climbing as fast as I can."

"I’ll wave to you on my way down," Cragger yelled back. "Can somebody help me out here? Crocs do mud and swamps and swimming and diving. But ice climbing? Not so much."

"Well, I do have one idea," Eris shouted up. "But it's really dangerous."

"Dangerous for who?" asked Cragger.

"Well... all of us."

"On a scale of one to ten, how dangerous are we talking about?" asked the Crocodile.

"Umm... fifteen," Eris answered.

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass," said Cragger. “I got myself into this, I'll get myself out... somehow."

Eris shook her head. "You've said that before, Cragger. Remember?"

Cragger did indeed remember. It was many years ago on a similar climb the three of them had made together, when they were much younger...

—————

"I know this is important," said Cragger. "But remind me why I am doing it with you two?"

Laval glanced at the Croc. He had known Cragger since they were both little, but he had never really gotten to be too friendly with the Crocodile.

As for Eris, Laval barely knew her at all. Yet here they were, about to scale a peak together. They were each on the verge of becoming full-fledged warriors in their tribes. But first... the mountain.

It had no name. Somehow, the mountain seemed too powerful and too great a symbol to have a random title attached to it. For as long as anyone could remember, climbing it was a ritual every young member of every tribe carried out. Reaching the top meant you were ready for anything your tribe might ask of you in the future.

The "rules" of the climb said that you should do it with members of other tribes, but preferably not ones you were already friends with. The point of the journey was to learn to work with others, even if they were strangers That's how a Lion, an Eagle, and a Crocodile came to be making their treks on the same day.

"Save your breath for climbing," Laval said to Cragger.

"We won't need the rope or the spikes on the lower part of the peak, but it gets a lot steeper as we get higher up.”

"And the last one up is a skunk's uncle," Cragger said, grinning.

Eris rolled her eyes. "Wow, you're so mature... not."

The Crocodile flashed his sharp teeth at her. "Thats what I don't like about Eagles. They always have their beaks in the air... along with everything else."

"Come on, you two," Laval said in as commanding a voice as he could. "Are we going or not?"

Like Laval had said, the early part of their climb was easy. The base of the mountain was a gentle slope that wound this way and that. Laval tried to make small talk with Eris, but she seemed to be a little shy. The one subject she did chatter away on was mountains and some of the dangers about them.

"I've flown over lots and lots of peaks," she explained.

"So I've seen all kinds of mountain paths. Winding ones, rocky ones, steep ones, even one that was basically a flowing river—"

"Give me a swamp any day," Cragger intercted. "You always know where you stand in a swamp

"Yeah." Laval laughed. "In the mud."

A short while later, the climb began to get tougher.

Of the three, Laval was the best at scrambling up the slopes, but even he struggled at times. When they were about halfway up, they came to a part of the mountain that was so steep it seemed impossible to climb.

"There's a ledge way up there," Eris pointed out. "If we could reach that, we could keep going."

"Well, you can fly up to it, right?" asked Laval.

Eris shook her head. "No. The rules say you have to climb. No using wings."

"Al right," said Cragger. "You guys give me a boost, and I’ll pull you up. Im the strongest, after all.”

"Ha!" said Laval. "You're not stronger than me! Why don’t you give me a boost?”

"Oh I’ll you a boost, all right." growled Cragger.

"Um, are we going to stand here all day while you two argue?" asked Eris. "Tell you what, I’ll pick. Cragger, you go first."

The Crocodile smiled broadly as he stepped on the shoulders of the Eagle and Lion to get up to the ledge.

Laval glared at Eris. "What's the big idea?" he whispered.

"If you want him to be part of the team, you have to let him be a hero sometimes," whispered Eris. "Lions aren't the only ones with pride, you know."

Once atop the ledge, Cragger leaned over and grabbed Eris's hand. He pulled her up beside him. Then the two of them helped Laval up as well.

"See? Nothing to it," Cragger said. "There's nothing a Croc can't do when he puts his mind to it."

Laval started to say something, then glanced at Eris and changed his mind. He wasn't happy with the decision she had made, but he thought he understood it, at least a little. He decided she was pretty smart, for someone who wasn't a Lion.

They kept climbing. Cragger seemed to be really enjoying himself now, telling tales of life in the swamp.

Beneath his rough manner, it seemed like Cragger real did want to be friends. Eris wondered if Crocodiles just assumed others didn't like them, so they acted unpleasant to keep everyone away. Once they felt accepted, they warmed up. Eris had to admit Cragger's stories were funny. Even Laval laughed a few times.

Now they were three-quarters of the way to the peak. They still had plenty of hours of daylight left. Eris figured they would be able to make it all the way up and back down and still be home for supper.

Then she heard the noise.

At first, she thought it was thunder. But there weren't any clouds in the sky. Then, as the rumbling grew louder and the ground started to shake, she realized with a sinking feeling exactly what it was.

"Rockslide!" she yelled.

Laval and Cragger looked up and gasped. It seemed like half the mountain was sliding down toward them!

They were too high up to leap out of the way, and there was no place to take cover.

"Oh, no!" shouted Cragger.

Laval thought fast. "There's just one chance, but you’re going to have to trust me—both of you!"

Cragger hesitated. Crocodiles were raised to take care of themselves and not rely on help from outsiders. It was a hard habit to break.

"I'll get out of this on my own!" he said.

"No. You won't," Laval said firmly, grabbing the Croc with one hand and Eris with the other.

What followed was a display of skill, speed, and luck like neither Cragger nor Eris had ever seen before Laval leaped into the air, pulling them along with him. He landed on one of the rocks tumbling down the mountain.

Quickly, he jumped from rock to rock, not only surfing the rockslide-but surfing it up the mountain! At any moment, a misstep or a badly timed leap could have meant disaster. But Laval somehow managed to keep going, guiding his companions to safety.

When the rockslide was finally over, the three found themselves almost at the peak. They had survived the climb and the incredible danger as well.

"Wow," said Cragger. "I have to admit, that was amazing."

"Told you," gasped Laval, out of breath. "You just had to trust me. I know what l'm doing... most of the time, he added, with a smile.

"Yeah, well ... okay," said Cragger.

"I sure will!" said Eris, grinning.

————————

A lot has happened since then, Eris thought as she struggled to climb up to where Cragger was still dangling from the icy ledge. But one thing's the same-we have to trust one another if we're going to make it through this!

"I can't climb down to him," Laval yelled above the gusting wind. "The ice is too slippery. And I can't reach him from here!"

"Yes, you can," said Eris. "Loop the rope around your feet, Laval, and hang upside down."

"I knew it," said Cragger. "She's crazy."

Laval looked uncertain. "Are you sure about this, Eris?"

"Trust me!" Eris replied.

Laval did as Eris asked, first securing his feet with the rope to a thick, sturdy icicle, and then flipping over so that his back was against the ice wall. He reached down and grabbed Cragger's free hand. "I've got him, but I can't pull him up like this!"

"Now comes the hard part," said Eris. "Cragger, you have to let go of your handhold on the ice!"

"What?!" exclaimed Cragger. "I'm not letting go of anything!"

"Trust me!" yelled Eris. "It's the only way!"

Reluctantly, Cragger let go of the icy ledge he had been clinging to. Laval grunted, struggling to hold onto his friend now that he was supporting the Crocodile's full weight.

"Now, Laval—" Eris began.

"I know what to dol" said the Lion. "You just be ready!"

Laval began to swing back and forth, relying on the rope to keep him secured to the ice. Like a pendulum, he swung Cragger to the right and left, building up momentum with each pass. He went higher and higher with each swing, until Cragger was actually above Laval.

"Now, Cragger!" yelled the Lion. "Let go and grab the rope!"

Cragger waited until he was as high as Laval could swing him. Then he let go of his friend and leaped for the rope. He managed to catch it with one hand. But below him, the rope had slipped from Laval's feet-the Lion was falling!

"Hang on, Laval!" Eris cried. She sprang off the side of the ice and caught Lava in midair, her wings struggling to keep the two of them aloft. Just before they were going to tumble out of the sky, she banked back toward the ice. Laval was able to grab onto the rope and to her, but couldn't manage to get a foothold on the ice. He could feel his hand starting to slip.

The next thing Laval knew, a strong grip had seized his wrist. He looked up to see Cragger smiling. "Come on," said the Crocodile. "We can't do this without you, fur-face."

With Cragger's help, Laval and Eris climbed back securely onto the ice. Laval clapped a hand on Cragger's shoulder. "Yeah, you're pretty good to have around, too, scale-head."

Eris sighed. "Some things never change," she said.

"And am I glad of that!"

[cobrakaisb]

birds are taking over

summary: inside the shenanigans of y/n, kent, and owen’s friendship (because i miss 1322)

based off this youtube video

“it’s not unknown, but like birds. it’s not unknown that they’re here but it’s unknown that they’re a threat,” y/n started, jumping off the countertop that she was previously sitting on. “oh god,” owen mumbled from his seat at the kitchen table where he was elbow deep in physics notes. “here we go,” kent whispered as he grabbed a gatorade from the fridge.    

“wanna know why?” she yelled, when kent and owen’s faces showed nothing but annoyance and disbelief. “if all the birds in the world were to go into a cave and be like we need to max out our population,” she continued, gesturing wildly with her hands. “what are you saying?” kent interrupted her. “i’m so lost,” he continued. “if they repopulated enough birds. would. take. over,” she replied, punctuating each word. “oh my god,” owen groaned, throwing his head back in frustration. 

“y/n you could say the same thing about fucking--” kent started but y/n interrupted him. “kent they can fly! one strong bird, comes down, grabs you, goes in the air. what are you doing when the bird lets go?” she shouted, nothing but seriousness on her face. “y/n,” owen started, causing her attention to focus on him. “what are you doing? you gonna fly too? are you gonna fly to safety? are you gonna land on a soft mat? you’re smacking on the fucking concrete! you’re dead!” she shouted, pointing at both owen and kent who were full on laughing now. 

“enough big birds repopulate we are toast!” she finished, throwing her hands up in the air to get her point across. there was a moment of silence. “okay moving on” owen started, clearly about to ask a question and change the topic. “wait a minute. get ten of any bird: eagle, vulture, pigeon, house-finch fuck it. i could take any of them with a fucking broom. y/n you pick any of them and thy’re gone with a fucking broom,” kent said, getting her all riled up again. 

“no! the only thing that could technically beat the birds is if you had military gear. like a gun,” y/n defended causing kent to roll his eyes. “no you’re wrong.” “no i’m not. right now, if we were to walk outside and a swarm of birds came at us, how are you defending yourself?” she asked, hands on her hips. “we’ll i don’t have my broom but when i do--” kent started but she cut him off. “they aren’t gonna come when it’s expected. what you think they’re gonna be like ‘hey let’s attack this person on wednesday?’ no!” she said.

“okay enough!” owen shouted, causing the two of them to stop talking. “listen i get the whole bird thing,” he said. “okay but you don’t. you’re just saying that too appease me,” she replied, crossing her arms and frowning. “yeah because birds aren’t fucking taking over,” kent sassed. and the whole cycle started up again.

[esthermitchell-author]

"HIs Sheltering Wings" (FanFic based on Good Omens by Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett)

Quick Note: I changed the title. Was originally going to be "Under His Wings" but I like the new title better. :) I also gave the church from 1941 an ID (based on a real church bombed in the Blitz), because I couldn't find any name mentioned anywhere, which I thought was odd. If I'm wrong, mea culpa.

Now, without further ado...

-------------------- "His Sheltering Wings"--------------------------

Saint Mary Adermanbury Church Ruins, London – 1967

It'd been twenty-six years since he was here last. Back then it was holy ground. Someplace he'd have sworn he'd rather be discorporated than end up. Then Aziraphale went and wandered into the clutches of that trio of Nazi thugs. Naturally, he couldn't leave his angel in there. The mere thought of what could have happened still made his head hurt and his skin crawl.

Crowley would have braved a full-on exorcism in progress, if it meant hauling Aziraphale out of there alive. He was still coming to grips with just how quickly the millennia of simmering interest coalesced that night, starting right across the road from where he sat in his Bentley, staring out at the hollow where old ghosts still roamed.

There wasn't much left of the church, now – not even a trace of sanctity remained on the grounds. What little of the stonework survived his well-placed bomb had been dismantled and hauled off to America last year, leaving only sad lines of a foundation and the stone effigy of a bird – an eagle, once, if he remembered correctly. Honestly, he hadn't really paid it any attention, at the time. He'd just been focused on getting his angel out of there before the shooting started or the bomb landed. Either one.

He sat there, staring at the stone bird -- rising from amidst the verdant garden like a phoenix frozen before it could burst into reviving flame – as he battled memories.

He empathized with the singed, scarred ruin of a bird more than he cared to admit. He often felt trapped halfway between the Hell he was forced to report to and his own personal idea of what Heaven should be, tucked away in amongst the shops of Whickber Street, in Soho. Both he and the bird were scarred, broken, ugly remnants of something once brighter, stronger, and more beautiful. With every decade that passed, he felt the brittle anger of abandonment more. Not God's – that was wasted effort. Not Satan's, either. Both were ultimately pointless.

Instead, he felt the keen blade of his own abandonment. He somehow got himself caught on a wheel of perpetual inadequacy. Oh, he hid it well. It was amazing what just the right head tilt and sarcastic quip could deflect. Most people never gave him a second glance. They just called him an arsehole and moved on.

To be fair, he was a bloody arshehole, with most people. Fuck, he didn't even know why he came back here, tonight.

Nostalgia, maybe.

Nah, not likely. Wasn't too much about that night he had any desire to remember.

Trust me.

The words, mouthed without a single sound while he stared through the sight of a rifle and wondered who he should pray to that his fingers quit shaking and he didn't discorporate the being he'd only just realized he couldn't face life on Earth without. If he had, the moment would have ended him, too. There wasn't any coming back from that kind of act. And with a human war on at the time, it was doubtful Heaven would have let Aziraphale have another body to come back for a long while, if ever.

His hands shook against the Bentley's steering wheel and his gaze went unerringly to the tartan thermos laying on the passenger seat, the cap carefully pointed away from him. He really was a liar, because he knew exactly why he came back here, tonight. It was the same reason he forced himself to stay away from Soho as much as possible for the past two decades. He was only so strong, and he had enough living nightmares. Anyone who ever walked the corridors of Hell did, whether demon or damned.

Hell didn't have anything on the bloody nightmare he lived through in 1941. First, hearing through his spy network about the double agent in Military Intelligence and how she'd roped Aziraphale into some half-arsed Nazi scheme under the pretense of an arrest. Then he arrived at the bookshop to warn Aziraphale, only to find his angel already gone. Of course the adorable, overly excited idiot had to be punctual.

Crowley'd put the Bentley's engine to the test, that night, pressing it as fast as it would go and then begging for just a little more. The car wasn't the only thing in overdrive, either. His imagination kept creating images of a world with no Aziraphale. The bleak pit opening in his chest, that night, was one he never wanted to experience again.

Except, in his panic, he forgot God hated him. God wanted him punished, which meant him watching his angel stare down the barrel of a gun twice that night back in 1941.

Once, he might have been able to get past, in time. He'd already had a rescue plan cobbled together before he hit Wood Street. And it worked – well, up until Hell stuck their interfering noses in his life. He even managed to remember to save Aziraphale's books and ignore the soft light emanating from his angel's cerulean eyes. It'd been a struggle, but he managed to hang onto his gruff mask by the skin of his teeth and tell Aziraphale to shut up.

He'd thought his angel was safe. Right up until Aziraphale opened his mouth and tried to help him with the offer of a magic act. Long before they reached that magic shop, Crowley knew he was fucked – and not in the way he'd prefer. He'd wanted to blame Aziraphale for doing some kind of miracle on him, except... Except the only miracle in the entire bookshop was Aziraphale, and Crowley's heart had already rolled over, run up the white flag, and utterly surrendered the moment Aziraphale gave him that soft little look and murmured he'd get used to Crowley's first name, left over from his time in Florence.

He'd wondered in that moment what else Aziraphale might be willing or able to get used to, as it pertained to him. Until he realized -- standing on the Windmill Theatre's stage, aware neither of their miracles were working as he pointed an actual gun at his angel, his entire being screaming to drop it, grab Aziraphale, and get the Heaven out of there before things went any more wrong -- that the best way to protect his angel was to stay the Heaven away from him.

Crowley sighed to himself, his attention going back across the road to the last traces of the bombed-out church. Yeah, he knew why he was here. That blessed bloody statue had been calling his name for twenty-six years, hadn't it? Demanding he put it somewhere it could remind him on the daily not to be a fucking idiot ever again. He was a broken, marred, ugly thing, on the inside. He didn't deserve an angel's grace. He certainly didn't deserve Aziraphale's love or trust.

Yet, his angel showed up earlier tonight to offer him trust, if not love. His angel was trusting him to handle a loaded weapon, yet again, and this time not off himself in the process.

"Let's get this over with," he muttered to himself as he slid from the Bentley and went to claim his reminder to watch his back, before his wings got singed again.

In the end, it always came down to feathers and flames, didn't it?

*****

Crowley's Flat, Mayfair, London – Night after Armageddon't, Mark I

He wasn't sure what to make of Aziraphale's strange reaction to the Mona Lisa sketch. There was a weird feeling in the air – he could feel it rasping against his skin like invisible sandpaper the entire time they hashed out their plan to deal with Agnes Nutter's impending final prophecy. He'd had to reassure his angel repeatedly – and prove it once with a brief "test run" – that they could swap appearances without any difficulty or side effects.

Still, the flashes of pain he kept seeing in Aziraphale's eyes before his angel would swiftly look away bothered Crowley. His angel never avoided his gaze. If anything, Aziraphale sought out his gaze, unafraid of him. It was humbling, and though he'd never admit it, Crowley felt seen when Aziraphale looked at him.

This avoidance – new since they'd arrived at the flat -- was like having someone prod around beneath his ribcage with a dull pair of scissors. Not sharp enough to do permanent damage, but uncomfortable enough to make having his fingernails pulled out one at a time sound like a fun alternative.

Crowley figured it was the angel stressing over the upcoming face swap.

"Quit worrying, angel. You'll be fine," he tried again, careful to keep the soft concern he felt out of his voice.

"I'm not worried, Crowley. I'm..." Aziraphale's mouth pressed shut in that prim, pursed little line that always drove Crowley insane and looked away. The clear distress on what Crowley could see of his angel's face poured acid into his already aching chest.

He had to keep reminding himself not to touch, long fingers shoved into the pocket of his jeans. He almost made a mess of everything at Tadfield Manor the moment he grabbed Aziraphale's lapels, his frustration overriding good sense and personal safety. Had that nun from St. Beryl's not interrupted, he feared he might have given in. After all, Aziraphale was right there, and Crowley'd been desperate for him since 1941. Longer, even.

Before Crowley could question what Aziraphale was so afraid to say, his angel cast another indecipherable glance at Leonardo's sketch, sighed heavily, and made his way into the room where Crowley kept all his plants. Crowley let him go without comment. Aziraphale made it clear back in 1967 that they weren't even close to on the same page. Maybe being around the plants would help settle his angel, because that he was unsettled couldn't be clearer.

Crowley leaned back against the wall next to the sketch, his head tipped back and his eyes closed as his fingers drummed restlessly against the wall.

I have a plan. We just need to get through this last prophecy... Then we can have some peace.

Maybe he could even finally get Aziraphale on the same page as him regarding what they meant to each other. They could be their own side, finally, and he could stop jumping at the shadows of their pasts...

"Crowley..."

His eyes popped open, immediately hypervigilant. Aziraphale's voice sounded thin, faraway, and pitched high with fear.

Had he underestimated Hell? Shit, shit, shit.

He was moving before he responded. "Aziraphale!"

Crowley nearly melted to the floor in relief when found his angel standing in the middle of the plant room, facing him. Relief evaporated as he saw the rigid expression on Aziraphale's face. The angel looked frozen in place, except for the swift rise and fall of his chest and shoulders to match his quick, frightened breaths.

"Angel, what's wrong?" He crossed the room in two panicked strides, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What the Heaven is wrong with you? There's nothing there!"

"What is that," Aziraphale's arm lifted, his finger jabbing past Crowley with an emphatic tremble, "doing here?"

Crowley followed his gesture, and realization settled over him like a lead-lined blanket, dragging his hope straight through the floor. Fuck. He saw the statue every day. Had for over half a century. Familiarity numbed the sting of memory... for him. He forgot Aziraphale probably hadn't seen the blessed thing since 1941, or that he might have similarly strong negative reactions to it like Crowley had in 1967. After all, his angel had been the one with the gun almost literally to his head.

"Right. Fuck. I'm sorry, angel," he apologized immediately. "I sort of forgot it was there, or I'd have warned you."

Aziraphale's attention turned slowly his way, even as the angel's arm lowered back to his side. "Crowley, why on earth would you even have that wretched thing?"

Crowley raised one eyebrow, surprised. He'd thought, of anyone on this planet, Aziraphale would understand why he brought it here. "Why do you insist on continuing to play at being a magician?"

Aziraphale huffed out an affronted breath. "It's hardly the same thing. I happen to enjoy magic." A look of horror dawned on his face. "Don't tell me you actually enjoy remembering having a bomb dropped on your head? Or nearly getting dragged off to Hell?"

"'Course not. That thing," Crowley nodded toward the statue, "is here to remind me to never let my guard down. Last time I did, some idiot got the drop on us and nearly made me shoot you in the face."

Crowley watched the tension drain out of Aziraphale, even as the angel's expression softened. The uncomfortable, scratchy feeling in the air and the dull digging beneath his ribs vanished, and he only just stifled a relieved sigh.

His gaze was drawn back to the statue, and he made a silent promise. The day he could be sure neither Heaven nor Hell were going to show up looking to destroy them, he was leaving this miserable flat and that fucking bird behind. He and his angel needed someplace to just be them.

They were both due a little peace, and he intended to create it.

******

A.Z. Fell and Co Bookshop, Soho, London – 3 Weeks Post-Thwarting the Second Coming

Aziraphale peered anxiously out the window above his desk, uncertain if he was more excited by the surprise he spent so long planning, or worried he was about to finally send his demonic love completely around the proverbial bend for good.

To say Crowley was still adjusting to a world where he didn't have to look over his shoulder every second of the day -- or wait for some apocalyptic, unspeakable plot of Heaven or Hell's to either try to kill one of them or drive a wedge between them -- would be tantamount to calling the Dead Sea mildly brackish. Even in their own little corner of Soho, Crowley still couldn't completely relax when they were out in public. He reminded Aziraphale a little too much of one of those shell-shocked soldiers he tended to back during the Great War, and the worry his beloved Anthony might never truly be able to let himself accept the peaceful life they finally had a real chance at plagued him. He so wanted to give Crowley peace.

When they'd packed up the few possessions – and the plants, of course – Crowley had in his flat, last week, the demon was adamant they leave behind the battered stone eagle sculpture -- its wings still spread wide, if chipped a bit – that once sat in the sanctuary of Saint Mary Adermanbury's Church. He'd called it a "wretched thing," and Aziraphale heard in his voice what Crowley didn't say. Sweet, mischievous Anthony, with his quick wit, cleverness, and good heart, thought he was a wretched thing, too. He still thought he was somehow less, somehow unforgiveable and undeserving, even after hearing the Almighty declare him beloved – even after Aziraphale told him how loved he was.

Aziraphale closed his eyes against the desire to cry. He battled the urge a lot, aware all the love he had to give -- and that was a lot -- couldn't heal all Crowley's wounds. While helping Crowley pack up his flat, Aziraphale realized he needed something grander -- a gesture that couldn't be mistaken. Knowing what Crowley thought, how could he leave the statue behind? How could he not do everything in his power to prove it wasn't – that Crowley wasn't – a wretched, unlovable thing?

He only hoped he hadn't done the wrong thing, in what he did, because if he inadvertently harmed his precious demon again, he didn't think he could bear it.

"What's got you looking all guilty this time, angel?" The words, full of familiar teasing, nearly catapulted him out of his skin with how close behind him they were. He spun around to find Crowley barely a step away, shades hanging from his long fingers as he eyed Aziraphale with mock suspicion and a teasing smirk. "Better not be any other naked Archangels."

"Of course—Crowley, that's not funny," he protested, blushing, even as his demon's smirk widened. Crowley tossed his shades onto the desk and reached out to thread their hands together, lifting each of Aziraphale's to his lips as his golden, serpentine eyes met and held the angel's.

"Sorry, angel, but the last time you looked like that, Nina had just mentioned your 'naked man friend'." Crowley's wicked chuckle sent a warm shiver through the angel. "I wasn't sure at the time if I should be jealous or laugh."

"I'm thankful you did neither."

Crowley hummed a vague agreement. "You're avoiding the point."

Aziraphale smiled without answering, fighting down his nerves as he disengaged one hand from Crowley's grasp and tugged the demon along as he headed for the staircase. He was going to trust his heart to lead him right, and his heart told him Crowley needed this. It was time.

"Angel, what the Heaven are you up to?" Crowley protested warily, though he followed without breaking his hold on Aziraphale's hand. He did that a lot, lately -- clung as if he feared something was going to rip Aziraphale away. A wave of sorrow and love washed through the angel.

"Hush. I have something to show you."

Crowley's gaze flicked to the top of the steps, before a downright sinful grin spread across his lips and he waggled his eyebrows. "I've seen it, but by all means..."

"Behave," Aziraphale scolded with a mock reproachful look. He huffed out a half-sigh, half-laugh. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I told you, angel. I'm a demon. I don't know how. And I have a few suggestions..."

"Crowley!" He let it go at that admonishment, then stopped at the door to the room where they'd situated Crowley's beloved plants – not that the demon got around to admitting he cared, yet. But he would, in time. Aziraphale was sure of that. The real question was, would he still want this life they were painstakingly building, after he saw what Aziraphale had done?

Yes. The angel told himself. He wasn't going to start doubting everything now. Crowley loved him. Even if what he'd done caused pain, they'd find a way past it. They were moving past the days of talking around and through each other, or just not talking at all. They were working their way through all the difficult conversations they spent so very long avoiding.

"I know you said to leave it," he murmured, "but I saw your face, Anthony. I saw what you weren't telling me."

He forced his hand steady as he turned the doorknob, pushing open the door into the sunlight-drenched room they'd turned into a veritable indoor garden, complete with a small, freestanding pond full of koi fish and a bench much like their bench in Saint James's Park. And now, it also contained Aziraphale's gift to Crowley -- he had it commissioned by a local stone sculptor who had promised to work the old stone without cleaning away the traces of burn marks, smoke, and dust while creating exactly the image Aziraphale drew for her.

He felt the hard clench of Crowley's grip on his hand and winced, but forced himself to look at his demon, his love, the other half of his heart. He looked, even expecting anger, or fear, or...

"It's the statue from the church, Anthony. At least, that's what it started out as."

Crowley was staring at the statue, but his expression was none of the things Aziraphale feared. His expression was slack in the same kind of awe Aziraphale was used to seeing from humans who experienced the grace of the Divine. His golden eyes were wide, and his face was damp with tears.

"Angel. Aziraphale... What... what did you do?"

"I took something believed to be wretched and broken," he whispered, afraid if he spoke too loudly, it would shatter the moment, "and showed it just how loved, and beautiful, it really was, all along."

Before he could move or say anything else, he found himself enveloped in Crowley's hard embrace, his demon's face burrowed against his neck as Crowley wept tears Aziraphale was certain he'd never let himself cry, in entire lifetimes of being a demon. The angel wrapped his arms around this beloved, beautiful creature who had never, no matter his protestations otherwise, been anything less than cherished and worthy, and let Crowley cry. Whispering soft words of love and healing, Aziraphale smiled at the stone statue of a smudged, tarnished angel with pitch-black wings, cupping his palms around a small nightingale in mid-song, while his dark, soot-stained wings lovingly sheltered three seated children holding baby goats.

"You asked me yesterday how long I've loved you. The answer, my love, is forever," he whispered against Crowley's ear, planting a soft kiss there. "That's how long I've loved you. Angel. Demon. The trappings never mattered because it was always you. Underneath it all, I only saw you, Crowley."

THE END

[beardedmrbean]

The constitutional standoff between Texas Governor Greg Abbott and the Biden administration over the Texas-Mexico border will "very likely" be decided by the Supreme Court, according to prominent legal experts, with one predicting it could "side with the state in its quest to usurp the federal government's authority."

On January 22 the Supreme Court decided in a 5-4 verdict to overturn an injunction from the Fifth Circuit court that blocked the Biden administration from ordering federal agents to remove razor wire from the Texas-Mexico border, which was placed there to discourage migrants from crossing on the orders of Governor Abbott.

At Abbott's instruction the Texas National Guard also took control of Shelby Park in Eagle Pass, a frequently used migrant arrival point, and refused to allow federal Customs Border and Protection officials access to the site.

Abbott reacted with fury to the Supreme Court judgment, saying he was invoking "Texas's constitutional authority to defend and protect itself." He argued that, under the Constitution, this is "the supreme law of the land and supersedes any federal statutes to the contrary." He received a joint statement from 25 other Republican governors offering "solidarity."

In an article published by politics site Public Notice, which describes its purpose as "explaining what's happening on the American right for a largely progressive audience," attorney Lisa Needham said it is "almost inevitable" that the dispute will come back to the Supreme Court where based on the January 22 ruling "at least four justices already agree with Texas."

Despite the January 22 ruling going against Abbott, she suggested if the Supreme Court decides to examine the case in full it could allow the governor's border controls to remain, with Chief Justice John Roberts and Justice Amy Coney Barrett likely to be the key swing voters.

Needham wrote: "The Supreme Court has already weighed in, but that was only on Texas's request that the federal government be enjoined, on an emergency basis, from cutting the razor wire. No court has yet ruled on the substance of the matter, meaning there has been no complete review of all the facts and law in the case.

"The full case still needs to make its way through the lower courts, and it is almost inevitable that it will then be back up at the Supreme Court again, where it seems that at least four justices already agree with Texas."

She added: "Simply because the Supreme Court vote to vacate the injunction was a 5-4 split in favor of the federal government doesn't mean an ultimate ruling on the case would come out the same.

"Roberts and Barrett may have only believed that Texas was wrong to ask for an emergency injunction, but they could eventually side with the state in its quest to usurp the federal government's authority."

Speaking to Newsweek Neama Rahmani, president of West Coast Trial Lawyers, agreed the issue will "very likely end up before the Supreme Court" as it is "exactly the type of case the justices are meant to resolve."

He argued the justices could end up supporting Texas, despite the Constitution's supremacy clause that gives primacy to federal over state laws, saying: "The previous ruling was limited to whether Texas can prevent Border Patrol agents from removing or cutting the barbed wire. There are potentially bigger issues at play here though, and the conservative justices haven't been shy to craft broad rulings to reverse years of precedent.

"Immigration has historically been exclusively a federal issue, but I wouldn't be surprised if the Supreme Court finds a creative way to allow for state action to enforce our nation's immigration laws notwithstanding the supremacy clause and pre-emption doctrine. Justices Roberts or Barrett are far from locks to support the Biden administration, so all eyes will be on them."

V. James DeSimone, a Los Angeles-based civil rights attorney, accused Texan authorities of "causing death and injury to vulnerable families in the name of protecting property rights" in an interview with Newsweek, adding: "If this isn't a case for the United States Supreme Court to resolve then nothing is."

If this does happen DeSimone said the Biden administration has a "solid legal basis for its position" due to the supremacy clause, adding: "A justice who would change his or her vote to side with Texas in this dispute would be on shaky ground."

If the case reaches the Supreme Court, DeSimone said judges "should side with the Biden administration in this dispute, even if it's a narrow majority of justices." He added: "The 5th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals gave short shrift to the Supremacy Clause of the Constitution when it sided with Texas. Instead, the appeals court said the principle of sovereign immunity provided no justification for the Border Patrol to cut down razor wire that had been installed by the Texas National Guard."

DeSimone argued Supreme Court justices likely considered the supremacy clause in their judgment of January 22, suggesting it would be a big call for them to reverse course if they end up ruling on the case again.

Needham concluded her article by arguing the dispute is now a win-win for Abbott, commenting: "Either way, Abbott gets what he wants.

"He now has the full-throated support of conservative elected officials who don't believe the federal government should have any authority if Democrats are in power, and he has private citizens willing to show the same eager violence as those who supported Trump's insurrection. There's just no way in which this ends well."

Newsweek contacted Abbott's office by telephone, voicemail and online contact form at 5:50 a.m. ET on Wednesday. This article will be updated if they wish to provide a comment.

[calliecwrites]

The Final Ice

Every year, winter came earlier, and the snows fell further south. Lands that had once been hot were now temperate. Lands that had once been temperate were snow-bound well into what should be spring. People and animals moved south. Something was very wrong.

The humans came to me for help. They wanted me to join their expedition to the north. I had a reputation for being able to endure the harshest conditions – and I knew snow and ice, I had lived high in the mountains for years. They had more chance of surviving if I was with them.

The world was cooling. That was the conclusion we all came to. Something must have changed in the north, something must be the source of all this, and it was up to us to find out what. But we knew almost nothing of the uttermost north – only rumours. Even the nomads who drove their herds south into previously-settled lands told only contradictory tales. No one went there, they said, even in good times. Nothing could live there for long. Things were strange there – though they wouldn’t, or couldn’t, say how.

So we travelled north. Those coming south thought we were mad. Soon we left them behind, and were alone in the abandoned forests. During the day, I took on eagle-form and scouted ahead. At night, when my companions shivered in their tents, I took on wolf-form and hunted. Without me, they would have gone hungry more nights than not. There were fewer animals than there should have been. And when we sat around the fire, picking apart the meat with our hands, they told stories. Some of the stories were about me. After all, I had been living on the edges of their lands for longer than a dozen of their lifetimes. Some of the stories were even true.

I made them uneasy. That much was obvious. But mine was a familiar strangeness, and this time, I was on their side. Easier to talk about me than the unknown we were heading for.

There came a point where the trees were cracked and dead. As the world cooled, the line beyond which nothing could grow was moving south, into the forest. For days, we stayed in one place, hunting, scavenging, stocking up on all the food we could carry. Then we continued north.

Gradually the dead forest gave way to dead scrubland, then tundra, and then, at last, the final ice. Bare, blinding white, snow whipping against our faces, nothing able to keep out the wind. This was where our knowledge ended. From here was unknown.

I became a great white bear, the only form I knew hardy enough for this landscape. The others stayed behind me to get some shelter from the wind. Hauling our sledges became harder every day. The ice creaked, and sometimes crevasses opened at our feet. More than once, my changing, my wolf-quickness and bear-strength even when I walked in human form, saved the others from disaster.

Then the strangeness began. At first, we dismissed it as a trick of the mind. We were exhausted, half-frozen, blinded by the glare. It was easy to hallucinate here. But day by day, the air became thicker. The hard ice became sticky. The water we defrosted to drink was sluggish. The few fires we managed to light gave off less heat, and the flames moved slowly. Eventually they wouldn’t light at all.

At that point, my companions could go no further. Breathing was hard. The air wasn’t thin, like on a mountain, but thick, like syrup. Moving was slow, like wading in water, even though the wind had died days before. Stand still, and your feet would begin to sink into seemingly-solid ice. Words didn’t carry. Food didn’t nourish. The white plains stretched away northward.

I told the others to turn back. I was the only one who could go further. I still had a chance to find the source of this strangeness.

Sometimes I ran and sometimes I flew. But as the days passed, running became a stumbling scramble, and flight became a struggle to move forward at all. The cold pierced my fur, my feathers, whatever clothes I formed to keep myself warm.

In the end I couldn’t tell the difference between the land and the sky, the snow and the air. It was all white. It was all one, semi-solid, semi-liquid. I could be a mile in the sky, or deep in the ice, and it would all be the same. It was so cold, all difference had been erased. It was something primordial. It was something terrible.

It was moving south. If I stayed still, I could feel my own form starting to fray. If I stayed here, I would dissolve into this sameness.

This was as far as I could go.

I would turn back. I would carry word of this to my companions, and to our home. But what would we do? We had no answers. All that had changed, was that we knew what awaited us. This was the world’s fate: everything would become one, and in becoming one, would become nothing.

Also on Instagram.

The strangeness here was inspired by the ancient Greek explorer Pytheas's weird descriptions of sea ice. From the wikipedia page, quoting Strabo: "Pytheas also spoke of the waters around Thule and of those places where land properly speaking no longer exists, nor sea nor air, but a mixture of these things, like a "marine lung" [jellyfish], in which it was said that earth and water and all things are in suspension as if this something was a link between all these elements, on which one can neither walk nor sail."

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Better Than None

1200 words for 1200 followers #12

A/N: Hi friends! Welcome to the 12-A-Palooza! This event is my way of saying thank you for sticking with me. Your support and kindness toward me and my writing is out of this world and I’m grateful for every last one of you! This was the one that I posted that silly & fun vs. dark & gritty poll for, and I cannot tell you all how glad I was that the overwhelming majority went for the fun option. This one made me laugh to myself as I wrote it, and it was an absolute pleasure to write something so light for Joel. It goes back to a HC I posted about many moons ago, about Joel + video games, and is not connected to anything I have written for these characters, or anything I am currently planning. It is a true stand alone that's only purpose is to make you all warm and smiley, so I very much hope you all enjoy it!

Warnings: absolutely none aside from campy Mortal Kombat graphics & a terrible (but hopefully believable) made up finishing move.

Requested by: @jessahmewren Song: Kiss With A Fist Character Choice: Joel Miller - I went back and forth and back and forth and BACK and FORTH on this one, but I decided to be a little cheeky with the prompt instead of taking it literally ;)

Summary: Just a normal night at the Miller residence.

“Hey! Don’t-” 

A string of grunts and meaty thwacks interrupted your protests, blood splattering in the corners of the television screen. 

“Can’t what? Hm?” Joel asked, the barrage of attacks continuing without relent. “Can’t beat the sh-” 

It was your turn to cut his sentence short, a grin curving your lips to wipe the one off his face. Another round of frenzied blows landed, followed by more grunts. “Who’s beating the shit out of who now, Miller?” 

Before he could reply, another voice chimed in. “Um… Neither of you are beating the shit out of anything.” Ellie snorted. “I mean, look at the bars.” She pointed at the top of the screen where two long bars displayed your characters’ health. “They’re both still practically full. Your kicks aren’t even landing.” 

You laughed, shooting a look over your shoulder at the girl. “Well, you know, I thought I was coming over to watch The Breakfast Club, not to play a game I’ve never been good at.” 

Joel and Ellie had been in Jackson roughly two weeks when you were assigned to a patrol with him. You’d heard from others - Tommy included - that he could be gruff, standoffish. But either they were wrong or you were lucky, because he’d proven to be neither. Quiet, and clearly carrying heartache on those broad shoulders. But everyone did these days. Every newcomer who walked through those tall gates for the first time did so as a revenant of sorts, worn ragged by what the world had become. What they’d lost. What they’d done. You hadn’t forgotten what it was like to try to put your suffering to rest. 

It was clear that that was all Joel - and the girl he cared for as a daughter - were trying to do. 

So you’d matched his quiet. You hadn’t asked questions or tried to provide comfort. You hadn’t flirted  like you knew some women in town would do when paired up with a man as handsome as Joel. Four hours into your shift you were rewarded by his first attempt at small talk, pointing up at a cluster of stars.

“Think that one’s called Cygnus. It’s a bird. Maybe an eagle?” 

You glanced over to see him still looking up, starlight shining in his eyes, showing you strands of soft leather amongst the dark brown. Like that he hardly resembled the road-roughened wanderer he’d been when he arrived. It was that night that you met the true Joel Miller, that night that would stick in your mind and your heart as you continued to get to know him. 

“You like astronomy?” 

“Ellie does.” He shrugged. “Tryin’ to learn so I have somethin’ to talk to her about. Girl loves space. She’d live on the moon if she could.” 

His answer was simple and you found it sweet that he was trying to find common ground with her. It made you smile. “Who wouldn’t?” That earned you a small huff of laughter so you went on, raising your own pointer finger. “You were right about it being Cygnus, but it’s a swan. Aquila is the eagle, and that one should be…” Moving your hand across the sky, you located the other constellation. “Right over there.” 

Two days later you’d gone through the shelves of books you’d been collecting, finding the one you were searching for - The Idiot’s Guide to Space - and bringing it over to his house. He wasn’t home then, so you’d left it with a note. You’re not an idiot, but I thought this might help anyway.

That gesture had gone a long way with both Joel and Ellie, and before you knew it you had been accepted into their little family. The budding friendship between you had slowly turned to something more, until you found yourself invited to movie nights and dinners, falling asleep on his couch with his arm around you and your head on his shoulder. 

But Tommy and Joel had come across a working playstation with a small cache of games on their last rotation outside of town, so this month’s movie night had been swapped for a game night, you and Joel currently engaged in the first round of fights after a crash course in button smashing from Ellie. 

On the other couch, Tommy and Ellie watched, commenting on every misstep and failed attack.

“I thought you said you taught ‘em how to play this game, squirt.” Tommy gave Ellie’s elbow a bump and reached for a handful of popcorn, voice low as he spoke through a smirk. 

“Okay, one?” Ellie bumped him back and pulled the bowl into her lap. “Don’t call me that.” 

“Grow, then.” Tommy tossed a kernel into his mouth and chewed around a wink. 

Rolling her eyes, Ellie ignored him and continued. “And two, I tried to.” She stuffed a handful of popcorn into her mouth and used her salty hand to gesture at the couch where you and Joel sat. “It’s not my fault they still suck at it.” 

Tommy chuckled. “No, I guess it ain’t.” Narrowing his eyes, he watched as your character jabbed her fists through air. With a tilt of his head, he pointed at the television. “You get next and make quick work’a whichever one of ‘em winds up winnin’. Then you’n me’ll show ‘em how it’s really done.” 

“Please. I’m gonna kick your ass, old man.”

“Old? Who you callin’-” He reached into the bowl of popcorn to grab another small handful. Instead of eating this one, he tossed it at Ellie’s head, the girl responding with a scoff. “You’ll see, you little smartass.”

Her faux annoyance melted into laughter as she wrinkled her nose. “Austin’s a lucky kid. You’re gonna be a cool dad, Tommy.” 

Tommy blinked, mouth dropping open. He wasn’t expecting a genuine compliment, especially one that so readily put his worries to rest. If there was one thing he knew about his adopted niece though, it was that she didn’t mince her words when she was talking to people she trusted. 

“Take… that!” You broke the moment with a shout, jamming a random combination of buttons to unlock a finishing move. 

Your character delivered one of her signature lines - how ‘bout a kiss, loverboy? - and then as she locked lips with Joel’s fighter, brought both of her glowing, powered-up fists to his temples and punched, smashing his digital head between them. On screen, the word FATALITY flashed in big block letters, your character lifting both arms before the message changed and read GAME OVER.

“Did you just… punch kiss me? To death?” Joel blinked incredulously at you, the controller in his hands falling to his lap. 

Biting your lower lip, you laughed. “I did. A deadly kiss is better than none at all though, right?” 

With that he grabbed your controller from your hands and leaned in to press his lips to yours. “Good thing I don’t have to settle for that one then.” 

Once again the moment was broken from across the living room. “Uh, hello? Time to give up your controller, Joel.” He pulled back and gave the girl a faux glare that only made her snort out a laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll avenge you.”

.

.

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list, please feel free to let me know. You can also fill out the form on my Masterlist! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @amb11 @mindidjarin @jk7789 @tentacruels @harriedandharassed @joelmillerscoffee @woodlandmouth @thescarletfang @sleepylunarwolf @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @mumma-moonchild @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @spishsstuff @noisynightmarepoetry

[autisticempathydaemon]

Redacted-tober 2023 Day Twenty-Three

Prompt: William & Haunting

Pairing: William/Original Listener Character

cw: discussion of the Surge accident, William calls his listener Cher (French for “dear”)

Summary: Yet another human goes traipsing into Worldworld at night… Fifth time’s the charm.

Read on AO3 here!

<- Previous Day

“Now, let me tell you why this isn’t like your typical haunting,” you say excitedly to the camera, traipsing through the abandoned amusement park with the joy and gracelessness of the toddlers of its glory days. “In addition to the lives lost in the Surge tragedy and the slew of mysterious incidents that plagued park goers beforehand, Wonderworld has been a hotbed of suspicious, supernatural activity the whole twenty years that it’s been closed. Disappearances, attacks, and unexplained, nightly wailing are just a few of the phenom- phennem- phenomenee? Fuck.”

You jam your thumb on the pause button and stomp your boots in the dirt and debris, thwacking yourself on the forehead with the selfie stick. The cheery, onscreen persona falls, and you groan in frustration. Again, you wonder how an ambitious skeptic with a masters degree in journalism and a bachelor’s in history ended up ghost hunting in the muck and cold and dark. Then you remember the state of the job market and the experience required for an entry level position and paste the wide smile back on your face.

‘Another eight months-’ you think to yourself, checking your ring light and positioning yourself with your back to the overgrowth of dark, rustling trees. ‘-then we can go apply to better places, places that won’t send you to dilapidated, condemned sites alone. Then there won’t be anymore shitty cell phone footage or sound quality or weird shadows behind me in the shape of a creature… wait, what?’ You whip your whole body around, your heel spinning and slipping on fallen, rotting leaves, and your sight shimmers black and red and white as you hit your head and look up at the man standing over you.

“Are you alright, cher?” he asks, a soft French lilt to his words a complement to his sweet, gentle voice. If he wants to laugh at the mortifying spill you just took, you think he hides it well, though you can’t see his face because of the moon looming behind him. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Didn’t mean to- are you fucking serious? Why else would you be lurking like fucking Dracula if not to fucking frighten?” The figure above you makes a sound akin to a sputter, a stifled laugh, and your face burns red hot at the humiliation, at how idiotic you must look splayed spread eagle on the ground with mud in your hair.

“Because I own this land,” he says, coughing delicately to cover his amusement. “And I was alerted to an intruder with a camera and ungainly gait. You wouldn’t happen to know where they’d be, would you, dear?” You pray to some sort of god you’re also shrouded in shadow because you can feel heat in your face spread from your cheeks to your ears and neck, and the realization this dulcet, charming gentleman might see that just makes it worse.

“I was told this was public property,” you sputter, lying through your teeth. Your boss had informed you the land was owned by some eccentric millionaire but also that security was few and far between. You try to get up and head out before he calls the police, but your ankle gives out from under you, dropping you back in the mud to add insult to injury.

“You were told wrong. Thankfully, I quite pride myself on being a good host, and I refuse to let any guest, invited or not, leave my care worse than they came into it.” The still anonymous man shifts his body weight, offering you a hand, and you worry you may have concussion when the refracting light makes his eyes gleam a hypnotizing swirl of silver and red, when the shadows make his teeth seem impossibly long. Despite these tricks of the light, he is irresistibly beautiful, and you place your hand in his and your trust in him. “My name is William Solaire. Let’s see how my family and I might help you.”