#and blue and red would literally get over it within the span of a minute after a round of 'sorry for being a jerk' 'sorry for disappearing

[mountmortar]

anyway anyone who thinks that blue is the poster boy for the "jerk rival" trope when silver is quite literally right there has clearly never paid any attention to any of blue's dialogue in the games, where there are Quite Literally Multiple Instances of blue giving red advice meant to aid him on his journey in the same way that many of the later friendly rivals and neighbors do, even if the tone of it isn't as sickeningly sweet as the later rivals are. blue literally, in the game, waited in the middle of silph co. to challenge red to a battle to make SURE he was ready to take on giovanni because he was worried about him. do some of you genuinely think that blue was so mean to red when they were eleven that red is like. still traumatized by it when they're in their twenties or something.

red and blue's whole journey is actually kind of hilarious because you have professor oak very clearly favoring red to the point where blue isn't even an afterthought and blue's clearly decided that he's sick of it and hates red now but he still shows up to give him advice and check on him to make sure he can actually handle fighting team rocket and whatnot. it's just a constant loop of "yo! red! crawl around in grassy areas to find more pokémon! go visit bill (who gives red the s.s. anne pass) and thank him for creating the P.C.! i waited here in silph co. for you because i knew you'd turn up! you collected all the badges, too? that's cool! i was looking forward to seeing you!" that he buries under another loop of eleven-year-old "I'M SO MUCH BETTER THAN YOU LOOK HOW COOL AND STRONG I AM" bullshit because again. he's just up and decided he hates red now because he's clearly & understandably jealous of all the attention professor oak is giving him ("you and your rival used to play nicely together when you were little, but lately, he has become mean." -> pokémon blue manual) but that doesn't change the fact that they've been friends since they were toddlers and that never once goes away no matter WHAT happens between them. do you think blue's phone call ("I'm Blue. Man, this guy called Red brought me down in a heartbeat. I haven't seen him in a long time...I wonder where he is and what he's up to… Come to think of it, you look a little bit like Red. Yeah, you do. Just...Just a little bit. Whatever...") came from nowhere. Do you think that isn't the sound of a fourteen-year-old missing his best friend. Grabbing you all by the shoulders here. Do you think they ever stopped being friends. If you answer wrong you get tossed into a volcano

[ur-favorite-queer-queen]

Protect

For Maribat March day 18 theme protect 

Master List 

“DEAREST BIG BROTHER! I’M HOME!” A female shout came from the foyer of the manor. 

Dick, Jason, Tim, Babs, Steph, and Cass were hanging out in one of the many rooms the manor held. Alfred had just walked in with a tray of drinks but froze at the sound of the voice.

“THE HECK!” Was shouted by the same voice followed by Damian’s voice shouting, 

“WHO ARE YOU!?!?! HOW DID YOU GET IN!?!?!” 

Alfred was out of the room in an instant. He was not sprinting but he might as well be with how fast he was walking. The batkids immediately followed after him. 

They walked in on a sight none of them will ever forget. Literally, Jason had taken a picture. A strange woman who looked like a female, miniature version of Bruce had Damian’s precious katana and seemed to be taunting him with it. 

“Miss Marinette!” Alfred called and got both the woman’s and Damian’s attention. 

“Alfred!” The woman replied, running over and giving him a hug, katana still in her hand. 

“Wait, Aunt Nettie?” Dick spoke up, walking over to the pair. 

“Little Wing! Wow, you got so much bigger since the last time I saw you.” She responded, giving him a hug. 

“Wait, wait, your Aunt Nettie?” Jason asked, crossing his arms. 

“Aww, Little Blue Jay, you don’t remember me?” She shot back, crossing her arms as well. 

“Blue Jay, why is that familiar?” Jason muttered to himself, not quietly enough since everyone heard him. 

“Aunt Nettie, you only visited once when he was here.” Dick reminded her. 

“Oh, well that will explain that. Also how many more kids did Bruce adopt? I thought it was only the 2 of you, the Drake kid, and his bio kid.” She questioned, motioning to each child she remembered. 

“The only other kid he adopted is Cass, Steph and Babs are family friends.” Dick clarified. 

“Babs, the first Batgirl correct?” She asked, turning to the girl in question. Everyone froze at that, this girl who was apparently Bruce’s sister knew who they were.

“It’s fine guys, she’s known since the beginning of his time as Batman.” Dick assured. 

“Yep, speaking of my big brother, where is he?” 

“Master Bruce is currently at a WE meeting, but he will be back in time for dinner.” Alfred answered for her. 

“How come father never told us about you?” Damian voiced, glaring at her and looking like he wanted to attack her again. Probably because she still had his katana. 

“I rarely visit nowadays and he’s probably still upset after last time.” Marinette smirked, like she had won some sort of battle. Noticing she still had his katana, she handed the blade back to Damian. 

“Last time?” Tim hesitantly echoed. 

“How about Miss Marinette shares the story in the living room? I can bring snacks.” Alfred offered, Marinette looked like she was about to say something but Alfred beat her to it, “You bond with your nieces and nephews, I will be fine.” 

“Come on Marinette! You can tell them about how you helped train Bruce! Oh did you bring any kwamis with you?” Dick rambled, pulling Marinette with him into the room they were hanging out in before her appearance. 

Once they were all seated Tim started the conversation, “So I’m not hallucinating, you are actually Bruce’s sister.” 

“Yes, Bruce is 3 years older than me. I know that he is Batman and you guys are the bats and the birds.” She calmly responded. 

“What did Dick mean by you helped train Bruce? And what is a Kwami?” Babs continued. 

“Kwami are basically magical beings, kinda like gods, that are bound to jewels called miraculous. Since I’m the guardian I protect these jewels. I trained Bruce by helping my old mentor from Tibet train him.” Marinette explained. 

“What happened last time? And why don’t you visit often?” Damian asked, carefully hidden curiosity in his eyes. 

“Back in my first year of highschool, Bruce was very protective of me. Like very protective. No boy he didn’t approve of, which meant I could never talk to a single boy, could get within 10 feet of me without him present. Asking me out, out of the question. Pretty sure this one guy, Adam, wanted to ask me out but Bruce interrupted before he could. I never talked to him again after that. I got pretty tired of it so I signed up for the foreign exchange program and went to school in Paris.” 

“Wait,” Steph interrupted, “Bruce was an overprotective brother?” 

“One of the worst kinds. I’m sure if our parents were still alive he might’ve been worse than my dad.”

“What importance does this have to the questions?” Damian sneered, annoyed that he wasn’t getting any answers. 

“Hold on I’m getting there. So anyways it was in my sophomore year of highschool at Paris that a supervillain attacked. He called himself Hawkmoth, he used the butterfly miraculous to transform people into his puppets by using their emotions against them. I didn’t think much of it since it didn’t concern me, my host family agreed thinking it wouldn’t last long. But when I got to my room there was a little box sitting on my desk and that’s where I found the ladybug miraculous. The most powerful miraculous besides the cat miraculous. I told Bruce, he wasn’t too happy about it, but there wasn’t much he could do. So much happened in that amount of time that I don’t think I could summarize it all before Bruce gets back but just know that in that span of time I met the current guardian. Hawkmoth gained an ally who used the peacock miraculous, Mayura. Also a miraculous that could manipulate emotions. 

After I and my partner had defeated Hawkmoth and Mayura, sometime during my senior year, we revealed our identities, dated for a few months before I ended things. Then I went back home and Bruce was getting ready to go on his soul-searching journey to be trained by masters or whatever and I suggested he be trained by my mentor who was in Tibet. I went with him, we trained for a couple of months before he left. I decided to stay in Tibet to train to become the next guardian. Eventually my mentor died and gave me guardianship. 

Then I returned to Gotham and Bruce had adopted Little Wing over there. So I stayed here for a while before I decided to go around the world doing guardian things. Bruce didn’t like the idea but there wasn’t much he could do. I ended up catching up with an old friend of mine on one of my travels and we started dating before I came back here. That’s when I met Little Blue Jay for the first and last time.

Before you guys had gone on patrol I tried to ask Bruce to give my boyfriend a chance but he didn’t agree. I’ve always been his little sister in his eyes, I think he couldn’t handle the fact I had grown up. Nasty words were exchanged between us and I haven’t returned since. In the end me and him didn’t work out but I couldn’t bring myself to return, until now at least.” 

“Why now?” Damian immediately pressed once she finished her explanation. 

“Dusuu was missing Alfred. It has been like a decade or something.” She remarked, pulling out a peacock shaped brooch. 

“Didn’t you say that the peacock miraculous was evil?” Cass signed, raising an eyebrow at the brooch. 

“No, I said it was used for evil. The miraculous are technically neutral, can be used for good or evil. Depends on who is wielding them.” Marinette bit back, as a flash of light emitted from the brooch. Suddenly a small floating peacock creature stood in front of Marinette. 

“Is that a kwami?” Steph asked. 

“Yes, this is Dusuu, the peacock kwami of emotions.”

“Hello! It’s so nice to meet you!” Dusuu chirped, “Where’s Alfred?” 

“I am right here Dusuu. It is lovely to see you again.” Alfred spoke from the doorway, holding a tray of snacks and drinks. 

“Alfred!” Dusuu cheered before flying over and hugging the older man. 

“In all honesty Bruce doesn’t sound like the best brother.” Jason pointed out. 

“I know it may seem like he’s a shitty brother, and at the time I totally thought he was and still is, but I know where he’s coming from. Bruce was always the more reserved and protective out of the 2 of us even before what happened to our parents. I think our parents' death solidified his need to protect me from anything and anyone. And we all know how horrible Bruce is at showing his emotions so I know his heart was in the right place. Plus, we’ve had years to cool off, I’m sure we can have a mature conversation now.” Marinette explained, a fond smile gracing her lips. 

Faintly in the distance they heard Alfred say, “Welcome home, Master Bruce.” 

“That’s my cue!” Marinette said before bolting off in the direction of the foyer. 

“Alfred something’s off, what are you not telling me?” The second those words left his mouth a weight connected with his back, arms wrapped around his neck and a familiar, 

“HEY BIG BRO!” Was registered by his ears. 

The weight slipped off his back and as he turned around he was met with the familiar sight of his little sister. “Marinette.” 

“Bruce.”

“You’re here.” 

“I am.” 

“I thought-”

“That I was mad at you.”

“You didn’t visit for 10 years.” 

“Life got busy.” 

They stood in silence for a minute. 

“I missed you.” Marinette whispered, so much different from the girl that was telling them a brief summary of her life. She seemed so much more vulnerable uttering those words than when she had revealed why she hadn’t come back in the first place. 

Turns out that was the straw that broke the camel’s back as Bruce wrapped Marinette in a hug as tears slipped from his eyes. They could hear him whispering over and over again, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I did all those years ago.” 

It was weird for them all to see, including Dick who knew how much Marinette meant to Bruce. Bruce kept his emotions so closed up, master of the stoic face, but here he was breaking down in front of the all. Here he was crying and apologizing. 

“I believe we should leave them alone for now.” Alfred spoke up heading for the dining room. They followed. Later Bruce and Marinette would join them, a little red-eyed with their cheeks tear-stained, but small smiles on their faces. 

It was then that all the batkids knew that they would be seeing this ‘Aunt Nettie’ much more often. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Look at that, I’m super late again! Nothing new, I think day 14 was a one time thing unfortunately. 

I’ve seen a ton of fics where Marinette was Bruce’s older sister but what about where she’s his younger sister? Bruce would so be an overprotective older brother. 

I hoped you enjoyed this! I’m planning on making a part 2 of this for ‘contest’. So stay tuned!

@maribatmarch-2k21 

[dollfaced-erin]

Not So New Afterall (Sdv Sebastian x F!Reader)

A/n: Hi! Hi!! Rin here again! It’s been quite a while since I’ve written, and this may be one of my last chapters before I got on a hiatus. School’s opening up soon, and I’m a hostel student. Currently, this is my last year, so by the end of this year, I’ll be updating lots more! (And playing alot more Stardew valley hehe)

This chapter may be more Abigail centered, since the friendship between the two is really necessary for the plot.

Ah, one more thing, the clothing choices will be based on a mod in Stardew Valley, cute seasonal clothing for NPC’s

Oh plus, Sebastian’s gonna be that emo jerk, ya hear me? Don’t go coming at me for that please :’)

CHAPTER THREE

It’s been a few weeks since (Y/n) had moved in, and apparently, had been settling in just nicely. Not only was she doing well with the farm, she was starting to get along with the all the villagers of Pelican Town. Especially the bachelors and bachelorettes around her age. 

Namely, Abigail and Sam.

Speaking of the duo, they had been hanging out with (Y/n) whenever she was free. But she seldom was, since she had to maintain her income by doing other work such as fishing, mining for mineral goods and doing odd-jobs for those around the town and they respected her.

Sebastian too hasn’t seen her recently, except during the moments she come to his house to talk to Robin about the farm buildings when he comes out to get lunch (or breakfast, for his case), or when she passes by on her way to the mines when he was taking a smoke. She would always slip in a brief hello and the two would exchange a few words before she was well on her way.

(Y/n) wasn’t always one to take a breather, not when she has so many things to take care of. Harvey apparently told Maru who told Robin, who told Sebastian, who told Sam, who told Abigail that (Y/n) had passed out numerous times from exerting herself too much. So the two put their heads together to get her to relax a little. 

Abigail was staring out into the clear blue stream that flowed beneath the stone bridge she stood on. The fish were swimming happily beneath her and she smiled in delight. Oh how she wished she could be as carefree as the fish. 

“Ah! I got it!” a familiar voice exclaimed from behind her. 

Abigail whipped her head around, her purple locks swaying as she did, as she turned around to see her (h/c) friend with a bamboo pole clutched in her hands. 

“Oh, wow! It’s a big one!” Abigail shrieked in excitement, her green eyes shining with pure joy. “Come on, (Y/n)! You got this!” she cheered, her hands in determined fists as she watched her friend reel in the marine life. 

“Ah!” (Y/n) exclaimed, as she successfully reeled in a silver-grade Shad. 

“You did it!” Abigail cheered childishly. Then, she stopped as her face beamed red. It was quite rare of her to have an outburst like this, she was usually so reserved to people she didn’t really know. 

She glanced at the (s/c) girl next to her, who was quite pleased with her catch. But ever since this girl moved in, she, without a doubt had shared her interests with the said girl, leading to many long and exciting conversations. 

Abigail admits that (Y/n) is a worthy as a cool enough gal to hang out with the gang.

“Yo, (Y/n). Me and the gang are hanging out at the Saloon tonight. You down?” Abigail asked with occasional her city-girl slang. (Y/n)’s head whipped around to face her, her (e/c) eyes gleaming. “You and the gang? You mean Sebastian and Sam?”

Abigail nodded as she let out a slight chuckle. “You bet. It’s some kind of tradition for us, and I thought maybe you should join us sometime,” Abigail invited as she flashed a quirky smile with her pearl white teeth.

She was hoping so bad in her heart that the girl would say yes, she really wanted some girl time with another female after so long with only boys. Agh, that must have sounded so bad, she scolded herself. She was literally gonna die if (Y/n) said no after she had put up that ‘macho’ front.

“If the boys don’t mind me around, sure why not? I could use some sweet free time, with my bestie,” said (Y/n) as she nudged her elbow with the purple-haired lady, a similar teasing smile on her lips. 

“Great! Meetup starts at 5, game starts 30 minutes after,” Abigail said. (Y/n) nods her head, “Thanks, I’ll head on right over after settling my shipments for the day! Can’t go on without making progress on the farm, huh?” 

The two parted, leaving Abigail to look at her reflection one last time in the crystal clear river, before heading off to the game room of the Stardrop Saloon. Her smile was so wide, she got lots of odd stares from her parents, since she was such a cold and shut-out girl, and to see her like this really shocked her parents. 

“Honey, what’s got you in such a mood?” Caroline asked, as she passed her daughter as she lent Evelyn a hand whilst tending the community gardens. “Ah, it’s...it’s nothing, Mom!” Abigail said, her smile immediately morphing into one of shock.

“Is it Sebastian, Robin’s son?” Caroline teased, making Abigail shake her head furiously. “No, Mom! It’s not him!” she protested, her face getting slightly redder. 

“Hmm, then I don’t suppose it’s that charming farmer that hung out with you a moment ago?” the green-haired lady teased once more.

 “Uh-(Y/n)?! No! It’s really not!” Abigail protested more, more aggressively once more, realizing her mom was spot on. The woman laughed lightly at her daughter whilst the young woman stormed off in frustration. 

“I know it’s both of them,” Caroline smiled delightfully. Maybe the farmer’s presence really would bring a good change to the community, and most importantly, to her daughter.

“You said (Y/n) was joining us?” Sam said ecstatically as he plopped down on the red sofa in the corner of the arcade room. Abigail nodded triumphantly, since Sam had been trying to really hard to strike up an interesting conversation between the two before it fades down to awkward silence.

“I’m telling you, she’s this really cool girl type. She won’t let your conversation die down!” Sebastian heard the female tell, as soon as he stepped into the Saloon. 

“Yo, Seb!” Sam greeted, raising a hand, as the male responded similarly, before tucking his hands into his pockets of his hoodie once more. “So, who’s one to not let your story die, huh, Abby?” Sebastian teased, indirectly telling her just how loud she was.

“It’s not that frequent I hear you praising someone so generously,” he said, plopping himself right next to Sam. Abigail huffed and crossed her arms, “Oh, come on, Seb! You know she’s an out-going person,” she said before her expression morphed into one of teasing. 

“Oh, right. You don’t spend much time out of your room to know about the outside,” she teased, making an irk mark appear on Sebastian’s forehead. “Excuse me? I’m working my butt off from programming, mind you,” he said.

“Hey, (Y/n)!” Gus greeted, and a loud hello from Emily.

“It’s rare to see you here, but how’re you doing?” Pierre asked, as the said girl entered their vision. It seems that she had groomed and cleaned herself thoroughly before coming, her (h/c) hair slightly shiny from water, and her bright skin that was earlier much redder from heavy-duty. Her clothes also seemed to have changed from her dirt marred blue pants and black shirt to a white shirt with a light blue jacket and light blue skirt.

“I’m doing great! The seeds I got are sprouting just nicely!” the girl praised, earning a hefty laugh from Pierre.

After greeting those that have called out to her, she made her way over to the trio that had invited her over. “Wow, didn’t know she was this well-known since she’s new and all,” Sebastian muttered.

“Haven’t you heard? Mayor Lewis put (Y/n) in charge of mending the old community center, and everyone’s buzzing about it!” Sam said, quite surprised at his friend’s reaction. “She’s starting to get on great terms with my mom, and Vincent totally likes her,”

Abigail nodded in agreement, “Yeah, Dad has been boasting that (Y/n)’s been preferring our goods over Joja’s,” she said making Sebastian scoff lightly. 

“New and already a people-pleaser?” Sebastian said, quite sour with how easy (Y/n) managed to round everyone’s attention within a small time span.

Sam slapped his back in a friendly way, “Hey, sooner or later you’re gonna have fun with her too,” Sam said. Typical Sam, a cliche optimistic guy.

“I’ll see if she’s a good enough lass to hang around,” he said as he stood up and picked up his personal favourite cue stick. “Let’s see how well she plays pool,” he said, a slight smirk on his face making colour drain from Abigail and Sam’s faces. 

“Hey guys, sorry I’m late! I picked up a few things I wanted to hand out,” the girl said as she racked a hand into a small pouch. (Y/n) then approached Abigail and gestured a hand.

Abigail was legit scared that (Y/n) would put something she hated like...like spiders. But (Y/n) laughed it off and said she wouldn’t stoop that low. The said girl placed a fistful of cold small...things on the pale girl’s hand.

When she released her hand, turns out (Y/n) had placed a fistful of Amethysts in her hand. “I saw this in the mines and thought about your purple hair, do you like it?” she asked.

“Like it? I love it! You’re the absolute best, (Y/n)!” Abigail gushed before the multi-job farmer turned to Sam. 

“I heard from your mom you love this, and I got plenty,” (Y/n) said as she produced a tin of Joja cola and handed it to Sam. “Yo, thanks! I really like this! Thanks a whole bunch, (Y/n)!” 

“And, Sebastian!” she said, as she held her fist behind her back, her other hand fiddling with her pouch. “Don’t think you can be friends with me that easi--” he was cut off by a forceful pull taking his arm and stretching it out, the palm open. 

“Ah, you were already waiting for something?” the girl teased, making the other two snicker as the ravenette’s face turned red and looked away. “N-no,” he stuttered as he felt something warm then cold press into his palm.

He looked back into the open hand, a lovely crystal blue item resting on it, other than the slender body part that held his hand. A frozen tear. Sebastian looked at (Y/n) in disbelief. But the latter just smiled cheekily.

“I reached level 53 in the mines yesterday, and saw this little beauty. Looks like you, don’t you think?” she asked, a playful smirk on her lips as her gaze lingered to her feet. 

Sebastian’s eyebrow lifted, as he expected the girl to continue what she was saying. “Small, and cold, don’t you agree?” she teased as Abigail and Sam burst out laughing. 

Sebastian’s eyebrows furrowed in slight anger but more to amusement and his expression turned into his sour one (y’know, like one of his sprite design). “Sorry, sorry,” (Y/n) laughed. “But no, actually, it just reminded me of you, no lie.”

“Thanks,” Sebastian said, his face reddening as he realized he hadn’t pulled his hand from hers. “I...I really like this. How did you know..?” he trailed off. “Instinct, truthfully. You look like someone who loves things from the mines, am I wrong?”

“Right,” Sebastian said, before picking up another cue stick, handing it to her. “(Y/n). Wanna play a game of pool?” he asked, or more like challenged, as the two cheered slightly in the back. Abigail clutching onto Sam’s sleeve and he clutched her hand in slight panic to (Y/n) answer.

A small smile graced her plump pink lips, as the maiden accepted the stick the male held out for her to take. “I’m not too good at this, but I’ll give it a shot.”

[beansandavocados]

*SPOILERS FOR THE SECOND DREAM SMP WAR*

(everything I talk about is from tubbo, wilbur, and technos povs)

SHIT WENT DOWN TODAY LADS, GALS, AND PALS

okay everyone was on today. literally everyone and most of everything that happened before wilbur and tommy got on was just people bouncing from vc to vc, theorising who the traitor was, and last minute plans and loot gathering

tubbo and quackity had a moment before they gathered with techno, fundy, and niki. as they gathered, eret joined them and stated that dream stripped him of his title of king of the smp

they adopted eret into the group as wilbur and tommy joined the server

wilbur and tommy talked for a bit with each other before joining the pogtopia vc as they were yelled at by the same vc to join the call

once they did, chaos from that many people errupted and they moved from their spot to pogtopia over the span of a slow 10 minutes.

techno got tired of it and just yelled at everyone to head to his base under the lake. once they were all assembled in the public part of it, techno activated a secret door to a lower chamber with dozens of fully stocked chests full of weapons, foods, gear, and 5 full pieces of netherite armor

it was actually fucking crazy and everyone was wearing armor, except wilbur. once everyone gathered what they wanted, they returned to the surface where skeppy, bbh, and antfrost were waiting for them. the entire group of wilbur, tommy, tubbo, techno, quackity, fundy, niki, eret, bbh, skeppy, and ant made their way back to manberg

as soon as pogtopia was within range, schlatt and dream opened fire from eret's tower and the war officially started

pogtopia stormed the tower and chaos errupted. I couldn't understand anything anyone was saying but dream and schlatt ender pearled out of the tower towards manberg. idk if karl was actually fighting with dream and schlatt but he died several times but not really anyone else died

during the chaos, dream typed in chat asking to talk to wilbur. after agreeing to it and telling everyone to stand down, dream moved wilbur into a private vc. dream flat out said that schlatt's an idiot and wilbur was like yeah we know what's your point?

dream then says to join the vc with everyone else and after wilbur told everyone to shut up, dream said that they surrendered and led the group of like 15 ppl to the hto van. schlatt was there unarmed and defenseless

schlatt was washed up, drunk, and senile and it was actually really sad seeing the manburg dictator like that in the moment. jumping out of his stupor, schlatt started just punching fundy even though it pointless, he started calling quackity a flatty patty and so on and so forth. tommy eventually stepped in with an arrow loaded into dreams crossbow and pointed it at schlatt. words were exchanged and before tommy could fire the arrow, schlatt fell out of the world.

everyone was shocked but nonetheless, they started celebrating because the war was officially over and manburg was won back. in the celebration, wilbur told everyone to shut up again in order for dream to say that their was no traitor and he had lied about it.

more celebratory shouts and stuff happened, the vc was chaos, and whatever but wilbur told everyone to head to the podium. in doing so, wilbur told tommy to get on the mic as the president elect of manburg.

shocked, tommy took the stage for his first official speech as the president for manburg. tommy said it was a hard won honor to be on that stage back in manburg, and decreed that it was meant to be. he then said that manburg would again be known as l'manburg. everyone celebrated but tommy stopped them and said that he couldn't stay on as president, not until he got his disks back from skeppy. he then named wilbur as president to replace him

after tommy left the podium and wilbur stood in front of everyone, he decreed that the flag that signified schlatt's regime was to be taken down and l'manburg's yellow, red, white, and blue flag be errected once again. more cheers but wilbur stopped these as well and stated that technoblade had taught wilbur a lot and that in doing so, wilbur could no longer trust the government. wilbur conceded as president and named tubbo as president of l'manburg

wilbur left the podium and tubbo replaced him. tubbo have a fantastic speech and stated that they had a lot of work to do to fix up l'manburg but it was finally theirs again. and it was to be a place that everyone on the smp would be welcomed

everyone was finally allowed to cheer now that tubbo was the official president of l'manburg. while everyone was celebrating, wilbur said he'd be right back, exited the vc, and started making his way behind the podium. behind where the white house once stood...

wilbur than began to say chekhov's gun over and over again. he then entered the button room and sat down in the chair, looking at the button

eleven and a half stacks of tnt was rigged to blow under l'manburg and wilbur said that as long as the button was there, he just couldn't not press it

in the middle of wilbur's mental breakdown, the philza minecraft joined the vc and asked wilbur what he was doing. wilbur lied and said that he celebrating in l'manburg and trying to act cool

philza joined the game and spawned in the button room, behind wilbur

philza tried to talk sense into wilbur and tried to have him back away from the button. wilbur fully lost it and said that he was the traitor and had been all along

wilbur pressed the button, turned his back to it, and saluted philza as the tnt exploded and put a massive crater in l'manburg

philza killed wilbur and immediately took off through the crater, leaving wilbur in his madness as he laughed on. wilbur then stated that the traitor was both him and techno and that techno was going to spawn withers on top of the ruins of manburg

true to his word, techno spawned two and it was chaos, everyone was fighting a wither (one was called subscribe to technoblade)

in the chaos wilbur said that he wished the best to tubbo's presidency and that wilbur would be back very, very soon on the smp. he then ended stream and logged off

chaos ensued and tommy and tubbo managed some control after the withers were killed and asked everyone who remained on pogtopia/l'manburg's side to join a vc

techno then started lighting off his own three stacks of tnt on whatever was left of l'manburg. dream and george helped and everyone else who hadn't join the l'manburg vc just pretty much talked amongst themselves casually

in the mean time, dream said that his agreement with wilbur (I guess THE agreement about being a traitor idk) was that no matter what, l'manburg would blow up

I don't know what tommy and l'manburg talked about during this time, I had had to stop watching the streams but this is was happened today and holy fuck

*EDIT*

OKAY watching tubbo's pov and updating as I found out shit from the moment wilbur left to push the button and wtffff

they started taking down the festival decorations and dream said oh yeah no there was a traitor

cue techno immediately launching into an anarchist monologue, killing tubbo, and stating that both him and wilbur are the traitors

techno is now toeing the line of villainy with an amazing analogue and spawned the withers

philza immediately is just like alright, half of my kids are violent anarchists and so I'mma suit up in full netherite and help the other half

also george finally showing up after building a fucking house for two hours on the server

l'manburg is officially tommy, tubbo, quackity, fundy, niki, eret, karl, and philza

TOMMY AND TUBBO MOMENT IT HURTS

CONNOREATSPANTS WTF OOOOHHHHH SHIIIITTTTT and apparently someone other than connor and philza?? if I understood dream right

tubbo and quackity are talking and tubbo wants to clean up l'manburg and rebuild it on stilts and a glass tunnel through it all which is fucking cool

tubbo is president, tommy is vice president, quackity is the secretary of state, fundy is the fourman (makes everything run smoothly), phil is an advisor, and karl is the creative input

NEW L'MANBURG !!

l'manburg is not a government, it is a collective (so as not to have techno completely obliterate them for existing)

l'manburg is supposed to be peaceful and ask for permission from now on

DREAMON HUNTING IS GETTING GOVERNMENT FUNDING AND A DISCORD GROUPCHAT

okay now that's it's holy fuck

*EDIT OF THE EDIT*

IVE BEEN INFORMED THAT CAPTAIN PUFFY IS ALSO WHITELISTED

um yeah shit this was something else today and btw, this is all a bit, it's not real. don't get your panties all in a knot because of people roleplaying in a fucking block game

[hyperfixationtimego]

Happy little hcs to atone for my sins

Taka and Hina are study buddies

Sometimes Aoi manages to get Taka off track because she’s just so enthusiastic and wants to hear about all of her friends’ hyperfixations and special interests

37.2 minutes later

Taka’s infodumping about how he despises moral philosophy but also thoroughly enjoys it bc that’s how moral philosophers are

Or he’s infodumping about political science and debate tactics and how speeches were effective or not for various reasons

Sakura and Mondo work out together

It started off as a coincidence when they were in the gym at the same time but it kept happening so they called it a schedule

They talk about their SOs and they’re smiling

Sakura teaches Mondo certain stretches and exercises to help relax different muscle groups for whenever he pulls a muscle or has a flare up from the thing with the bikes

Leon constantly asks Chihiro to turn alter ego into a vocaloid or at least program a bit of that tech into their system

Bc he would rather shave his head again than talk to Sayaka about producing music

He just has so many ideas

And it’s cool when there are kinda punk rock songs that are covered in an 8-bit or a vocaloid style

Byakuya and Celeste have a small series of bets with low stakes about what their inferiors classmates will do to lead up to them jingling away morosely like the fools they are

Sayaka shamelessly advertises her group’s mercy to her classmates and friends

Everyone gets their nails painted at some point

Nobody knows how Byakuya got roped into it but it worked

Makoto has rainbow loom

Atua forgives you

anyway YEAH LEGIT?

Hina has fully and thoroughly fallen in love with all of her friends and classmates’ expressions whenever they’re talking about something that excites them omg 🥺

she sees someone rambling and having a good time and hears the enthusiastic pitch of their voice as well as the general Vibe™️ that they’re giving off and she just???? [Y E A R N]

:)

and also just???? her and taka being study buddies is so valid oh my god??? they’re really close because of it!!! And Taka always loves hanging out with her because he knows she’ll let him just Talk??? and he adores that about her????? And she’ll be ENGAGED which!!!!!! oh my god!!!!?????

hi in this house we love and adore hina

And Sakura and Mondo???? absolutely?????

they have friendly competitions over who can lift the most weights/do the most reps/etc. (they do it sparingly, ofc! bc Sakura at least knows that they’ll both be subconsciously trying to beat the other as opposed to listening to what their bodies need in the moment. Sakura is the single braincell of class 78 no I won’t take it back because it’s true)

and they totally doooooo like they both get such cute loveydovey pining expressions whenever it’s Their Turn™️ to discuss the latest cute thing their partner(s) did. and listening to the other talking???? oh my god it’s literally the neatest thing????

Sakura looking at Mondo: I would die for this man

Mondo looking at Sakura: this woman is literally beauty and perfection in human form

THEY’RE SUCH GOOD FRIENDS OKAY???

also chihiro joins them for training sometimes!!!! She obviously isn’t able to do as much as the other two are, but both Sakura and Mondo are always so proud of her progress??? They’re like “you are so cool and strong do you know that??? you better know that”

and speaking of chihiro hdbdvdvdvdvdvdvdvd on GOD Leon will Not leave them alone abt it and they’re just like

“y....you do NOT have the attention span,.......you’re gonna get frustrated within like the first five minutes......and then I’ll have done all that work for nothing..............”

but Leon’s >:( no I won’t!!!! music is my Passion!!!!!!!!

so it’s like *sigh* okay

and anyway leon genuinely does rlly like it???? like he gets burned out very easily and can only compose things in short bursts, but he’s always so so so proud of the finished products??? (Even if nobody else likes it but shush 😌)

and it makes chihiro :D to know that something she made (even if it was done with reluctance) has brought one of her closest friends so much happiness????? she’s also like good for Leon but also if he ever bothers them about something like that again they are Literally Going to Snap but that’s another story for another day vwv

AND YEAH LIKE. HE DOESN’T MIND TALKING TO HER ABT MUSIC IN GENERAL BECAUSE IT’S AN INTEREST THEY SHARE (quite possibly one of the only times they will have a conversation without one constantly insulting the other ❤️) BUT. ADMITTING TO HER THAT HE NEEDS HELP WITH IT IS THE WORST HE HATES IT HE HATES IT HSBDBSBD

god okay so. his first impression of her when they had just come to hope’s peak and met for the first time was “oh my god!!! she’s a pop idol!!! so she must know a lot about music!!! maybe she’ll help me become a popular musician!!!” and her immediate reaction when she first heard him ask was to literally roll her eyes and he was like oh okay fuck her actually

and then slow burn enemies-to-friends 💛

WHEBDVSVS CELESTE AND BYAKUYA JUST BEING RICH ASSHOLES IS SO FUNNY??? LIKE THEY HAVE WEALTH SOLIDARITY AND THEY ACT ALMOST LIKE alright your status makes you worthy of my time, I suppose-

they’ve had bets on everything from how many times kirigiri will pass out from exhaustion by the end of the school day, to how long it’ll take before Kirumi finally Loses Her Shit, to how many people will be harmed by Komaeda’s luck while hanging out with him.

Mfs about to die smh

and dhdbwvwbsvwvwb yeah like??? sometimes a normal conversation with maizono will turn into her being like “yeah, and by the way, if you’re looking for a change of style and wardrobe, you should check out the newest shirt my band just released as part of our merch drop, and-”

Makoto is the one who gets baited into her merch ads most often sndbsbsbdbdbw

even mentioning the word “merch” around Leon or Kaz will earn her a lot of groaning and sighing, and occasionally a pillow or other soft object being hurled at her face 💛

oh my god they all have a manicure spa day,,,,,,,class bonding 🥺

hdbdvdvdv they got Jill to break into his dorm and kidnap him ngl like the specifics they gave her were something along the lines of “use as much force as you need to without killing him” and she was like “DONE”

and okay I’m not gonna talk abt everyone’s nails but now I’m thinking about it and like-

Sayaka gets like a lighter violet background with gold and white stars smattered around them, more concentrated in some areas than others, and it’s generally very pretty 🥺

chihiro’s are a different solid pastel color on each finger!!! it’s very kidcore and fun and they love it so muchhhh!!!

leon gets a little self-conscious when it’s his turn because his nails are highkey disgusting from all the time he spends playing baseball - there’s dirt trapped under them and everything so he’s just like hhhhhhh anxiety go brrrr but anyway he gets solid black because he’s edgy and cool like that 😎

I think Taka gets a French manicure with little dark red flowers pressed towards the tips because!!! simple yet pretty!!!

Celeste probably takes the longest because her request is sooooo complicated like it’s black and red and long ass acrylics with overlapping patterns and everyone else just kinda sits there feeling h o r r i b l e for that poor nail stylist

Toko gets a checkerboard pattern, with each nail having a different neon color in place of white!!! Because she knows that Jill will find it cool and pretty and colorful the next time she fronts (visual stimming jill?? 👀)

Togami just picks whatever will get him out of the chair quickest hdbsvdvdvdbdbdb

anyway Makoto????? rainbow loom????? absolutely

he has so many bracelets!!!!! so many so many so many and he knows how to create such a wide variety of styles it’s so cool!!!!!! he wears a bunch of them at any given time because they are so fun to fidget with!!!! and rubber texture hvvvvhvv!!!!

and he creates personalized ones for his friends, too, like he knows their favorite colors and sometimes picks up on whether they prefer a certain style or not from the way they react to the other ones he’s made and it’s!!! just so neat!!!!!

I’m thinking about it and!!! he has a bi pride fishtail, a trans pride arrow stitch, a black and neon green railroad, a pastel pink/blue/purple/yellow ladder, a jelly yellow and green dragon scale, a rainbow double cross, and a bunch more!!! he also has a bunch with charms and beads added into them!!!!

He also makes them for his friends even if he knows they won’t wear them!! Like Toko, for example, isn’t the biggest fan of jewelry because she doesn’t like the texture, but he creates one for her anyway and fills it with so much love (it looks like a daisy chain!!!! because at least she’ll be able to look at it and hold it and still be interested in it without it needing to be on her wrist!!!)

he makes a ton of bright colored ones for Mukuro (usually either single or inverted fishtail because he knows she wouldn’t enjoy wearing anything too heavy or overbearing) so that she has more mobile visual stims!!!

similar for Jill!! although most of hers tend to be black and bright neon rainbow in various bulkier styles!!!! Jill will also force him to let her look at his bracelet-covered arm whenever they hang out because. my god,,,,,,so many Colors™️

he’s found that togami prefers black and white simpler styles, and that Kyoko absolutely adores singles, fishtails, and double fishtails in any shade of purple, and that Mondo likes any of the larger styles in darker colors + blacks and grays!!! Chihiro loves anything with jelly and glitter bands!!!

Leon usually only wears one at a time, but he cycles through every single one that his boyfriend’s ever made for him because????? GOD they’re so cool and his boyfriend is so crafty and incredible and just,,,,,,,,,hvvvhvv every time he looks at the one he’s wearing he’s able to calm himself down and remember that Makoto loves him........it’s also very good for stim and fidgeting <3

anyways sorry yes Makoto with a rainbow loom is filling me with serotonin and it’s canon now

[carewyncromwell]

Cinderelly, Cinderelly, night and day, it’s Cinderelly~... ^.^ Okay..before I jump into the next part of the Cinderella AU, here’s your usual appetizer of random historical/etc. notes!

Although carriages were developed centuries earlier, actual coaches like the kind we think of from Cinderella stories were first developed in the late 16th century in Hungary, specifically a little town called Kocs. (The word “coach” and its alternatives in other languages, such as the German Kutsche and the Spanish and Portuguese coche, are thought to have been derived from the Hungarian kocsi, meaning “of Kocs.”) They then really caught on in the rest of Europe after Queen Elizabeth I of England started using them in the 1580s. The terms “coach” and “carriage” are often used interchangeably, but if one wanted to pin-point the advancements coaches specifically made in contrast to carriages of the past, there are a few differences one can pick out in how they’re built. Coaches generally are four-wheeled enclosed vehicles with doors and/or windows (glass was added in later centuries), and often include a “boot” seat on the outside for a footman and/or luggage to sit on. Coaches also generally have a reputation for providing a smoother ride than previous modes of transport because they’re suspended between the wheels rather than directly over or beside them. After the invention of the coach, one can find carriages (royal ones, in particular) adopting some of these same attributes.

Sadly wheelchairs really weren’t a thing in the 16th century. The first self-propelled wheeled chairs were developed in the mid-17th century and refined in the 18th, with sedan chairs or litters (A.K.A. chairs you carried) generally being used by the nobility prior to that. But there’s no way in Hell I’m not going to give McNully the independence he deserves, so I used a completely anachronistic design inspired by this antique wheelchair I found online, made circa around the 1840′s. Hey, this is a fantasy world anyway, so bleh. :P The flower detailing on the wheel is supposed to evoke an emblem I see being on Florence’s green and gold coat of arms (get it? “Florence?” “Flora?”). You might also notice that McNully has little Snitch-like “wing” frills on each of his buttons! XD

Another fun thing I learned while doing research -- although cloaks were often worn for warmth during the medieval period and beyond, in England during the Elizabethan era, their use was actually actively discouraged and even prohibited, as they were associated with criminals and rebels! Therefore it was common for a lot of English noblemen and women to wear thicker clothing made of wool and accessories like muffs, gloves, and even jackets for warmth instead. I tried very, very hard to find historically accurate examples of period-worthy jackets and capes for women around the time of the Renaissance, and was very frustrated to find a lot of fantasy-esque costume pieces or historical clothing from later eras that were simply mislabeled -- but I did find one lovely recreation of a 16th century wool jacket, so that’s what I used as reference for Carewyn’s jacket in this sketch, though I personally imagine it as a dark red, so as to better blend with her burnt orange and beige servant’s uniform. Bill’s uniform is based off a real castle guard uniform from early 16th century France, though with a much simpler color palette (I see Royaume’s colors being blue and red). Like with McNully’s chair, there’s a crown on the chest of Bill’s uniform, which I see being on Royaume’s coat of arms (“royaume” is literally French for “kingdom”).

In her canon, Carewyn was born when Jacob was nine years old. Although in most of Carewyn and Jacob’s canon post-Portrait-Vault, they end up being only two years apart in age, that’s only because Jacob stopped aging while trapped in a Portrait for seven years. From Carewyn’s fifth year on, Jacob and Carewyn in canon therefore act much more like contemporaries, even though Jacob actually kind of ended up partially raising Carewyn alongside their mother Lane.

Previous part is here – whole tag is here – Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee and I hope you all enjoy! xoxo

x~x~x~x

Every day over the next week, Carewyn met Orion at the gate of the palace of Royaume, and the two would spend an hour or so together. Orion would ask her about life at the palace, Carewyn would playfully respond, and sooner or later, they’d end up getting diverted and talking about something else completely, whether the upcoming Winter Festival, the language of flowers, art, poetry, the meaning of life, music, fencing, or (after seeing a rather beautiful eagle flying overhead) what it might be like to fly. Carewyn honestly wasn’t entirely sure what Orion got out of their meetings besides entertainment, and naturally she couldn’t afford to indulge in such entertainment too long, when she had so much work to do around the castle and she still had to find out where Jacob was positioned. But she had to admit, with the King and Queen having invited Iris over to stay in one of the guest suites at the palace for the remainder of the month, Carewyn didn’t mind having an excuse to stay far away from her cousin. Lately Carewyn had actively planned her days so that she could clean the guest suites at teatime, when Iris would be in one of the foyers with the King, Queen, and Prince on the opposite side of the palace. She did not want a repeat of the other day, after all...particularly since she’d also need time to change out of the nicer, collared dresses she’d wear when spending time with Orion.

Orion, meanwhile, was of course getting a bit more than entertainment out of his and Carewyn’s meetings. Through speaking with Carewyn, he’d sussed out some very helpful information about Royaumanian culture, the dynamics within Royaume’s royal family, and both their and their country’s financial state. One day he told his closest confidantes at court, Skye and McNully, some of what he’d learned...but Skye didn’t react quite as favorably as Orion had expected.

“...I gave Lady Cromwell a copy of the sheet music for ‘No One is Alone’ last week -- you remember the song, of course? And from what I understand, Prince Henri and the castle staff have quite taken to it. Not that I’m surprised -- Carewyn has a very soothing voice. I’m sure she performed it very well. But the Prince listening to the words at all is a good sign -- I even asked Carewyn if the Prince enjoyed them, and she said she believed so. She also found their message meaningful...one of Florence’s best-loved anti-War songs, and one about looking through another’s eyes and forgiving past grievances, no less! That can only be a good sign, for Royaumanians to take heart in it. It surely must have been fate that Lady Cromwell and I collided at the market -- I had a feeling we were kindred spirits, when she came to my aid, but now I am most assured of it. I might hazard a guess that she wishes for peace just as much as I -- for the sake of her brother fighting in the field, yes, but also selflessly for the sake of others, not wishing to see any other person in pain...”

“She sounds like a perfect knight in shining armor,” said Skye, her voice oddly cutting.

Orion looked up at Skye, startled by her tone. Her arms were crossed over the chest of her faded blue linen dress.

“Anything else you want to tell us about the fair Lady Cromwell,” she said rather icily, “or are you actually ready to talk about how you plan to end this War?”

Orion blinked slowly. “...I thought that we were already discussing that.”

“Really?” scoffed Skye. “‘Cause it sounds to me like you were busy gushing over your new conquest.”

“Conquest?” Orion repeated. His confused tone then melted into something more soothing and indulgent, “Oh -- no, Skye...you misunderstand me. I have no interest in courting Carewyn -- she’s just my contact point, with the palace.”

Skye gave a very loud, disbelieving snort. “Ha! Right, of course she is -- that’s why you can’t stop gushing about ‘Carewyn this’ and ‘Lady Cromwell that.’”

“Skye has a point, Orion,” said McNully, though his voice was a lot less confrontational. If anything he sounded almost sheepish. “I mean, about 85% of your report was about Lady Cromwell. You used her name over ten times just in the span of a minute.”

Amazingly Orion’s calm, hard-to-read expression didn’t crack. His hands clasped lightly in front of him.

“Lady Cromwell plays an essential part in this strategy. I’m an outsider looking in, without her insight -- a ship sailing blindly, without the light from a lighthouse to give me direction.”

“A lighthouse for a lost ship -- oh yeah, those sound like the words of someone who’s focusing on winning a war and not swooning over a pretty face,” said Skye scathingly. “Maybe instead of always running off and playing dress-up, you could actually bother to do your duty and go help fight on the battlefield for once!”

Orion’s lips came together tightly, but it didn’t make his expression any less composed. McNully shot Skye an uncomfortable, faintly disapproving look.

“Easy, Skye,” he murmured. “You know Orion -- ”

But Skye didn’t seem to hear McNully. Instead she tore into Orion.

“Face it, Orion -- you just like being treated like a commoner again and being able to make believe that you don’t have any responsibilities or worries...well, guess what? You’re not a commoner anymore! You’re the Prince of Florence -- you reckon little Miss Knight-in-Shining-Armor would take kindly to that, when she finds out?”

Orion’s dark eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon Skye’s face.

“Carewyn’s not an unreasonable woman,” he said softly. “I’m certain she would understand the reason behind my secrecy.”

This, if anything, only seemed to make Skye madder.

“Of course she would,” she muttered sourly. “Little Lady Royaume can do no wrong in your eyes, can she?”

She turned on her heel and stormed out, leaving Orion feeling very resigned and confused. McNully gave a heavy sigh, before facing Orion with a more serious expression.

“She’s overreacting, as usual,” he said, “but she’s still 60% right. It’s risky enough for you to get this close to anyone right now, when your position as Crown Prince is threatened by the likes of Lord Malfoy. He’d frankly love to have something like that over you. But someone from Royaume? The granddaughter of one of the most powerful, wealthy, and feared noblemen in their country? Orion, that’s dangerous.”

Orion leaned his hands on the table, looking down at the map of Florence and Royaume laid out on top of it.

“McNully, I assure you...my objective has not changed,” he said very levelly. “Everything I have done is for Florence -- for peace and balance. I admit, Lady Cromwell is a fascinating woman, and certainly one to be admired...but I spend time with her to gather intelligence I can obtain nowhere else. That is all.”

McNully looked doubtful, but didn’t directly address it. Instead he said, “I understand she’s your eyes and ears inside the palace, and the intelligence you’re getting is valuable...but don’t forget, she isn’t on your team. She’s on Royaume’s. And right now, Royaume is kicking our tail out there, on the battlefield.”

Orion’s dark eyes drifted away from the table as McNully leaned his arms on the table himself.

“It’s getting bad again,” he murmured very seriously. “I know you said the palace of Royaume’s strapped for funds, but somehow or another, they’ve scrounged up enough to get more cannons, and their troops have been moving them around every couple of hours so that our men never know where they’re going to be firing from next. It’s been very effective. Whoever’s been giving Royaume’s King and Queen military strategy lately, they’re a bloody genius.”

McNully clearly was irritated about this, given the flash that shot through his narrowed eyes.

“Your father sent me a request for a counter-strategy this morning. You know it’s likely if the strategy isn’t one he can execute on his own, he may ask both you and me to join him there, on the front lines.”

Orion did not respond. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was something oddly detached and avoidant in his posture.

“I know you don’t want that, and you know I have faith in you,” said McNully, “but your strategy is a slow burn, Orion. It requires both patience and time...and we might not end up having as much of those as you think.”

Once again, Orion chose not to answer. McNully sighed again.

“You know I’ll be right behind you in a coach, if you need me,” he said tiredly. “Just...mind that you use your head as well as your heart, all right?”

Orion threw on his black traveling cloak and headed back to Royaume not long after, hoping to meet up with Carewyn for an evening stroll. There was a notable chill in the air -- if it got much colder, he thought that any rain might instead come down as sleet or maybe even snow.

When Orion arrived at the gate, however, he was met not by Carewyn, but by KC. She was dressed in a high-necked gown made of black velvet and holding a leather-bound book and a stack of parchment in her arms.

Orion tilted his head slightly to glance at the piece of parchment on the top of the stack, which had several “X’s” scattered over an oddly familiar map.

“Plans to bury some pirate treasure?” he asked pleasantly.

KC gave a lightly amused snort. “No, just military plans.”

Her lightly freckled face then grew a bit more serious. “I guess you’re here for Carewyn?”

Orion had been ready to ask more about the military plans KC was holding, but decided not to circle back to it when she changed the subject.

“Yes. Has she been detained?”

“I guess so...” said KC. Her lips twisted into a concerned frown as she looked out at the darkening sky.

Orion’s eyebrows knit together over his eyes slightly. “You seem concerned.”

KC bit her lip. “Mm...it’s just...well, you see, one of the royal carriages broke down earlier today, when the Queen was riding through the country with Lady Yaxley.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Lady Iris Yaxley, do you mean? Carewyn’s cousin?”

“Yes. No one was badly hurt, fortunately, but the Queen, Lady Iris, and the coachman and footman were forced to ride the horses back and leave the carriage behind. When they got back, they asked the royal carpenter, Charlie Weasley, to go fix it. Charlie said that he probably wouldn’t have the proper tools to fix it here at the castle, so Carewyn offered to ride out with him, so that their horses could drag the coach together to the Weasley family cottage, about forty minutes away. The problem is,” she said with a deepening frown, “they left over two hours ago, and they’re still not back yet. Bill headed out after them on his own horse not long before you got here...he’s Charlie’s brother, so he knows the route they would’ve taken...”

Orion’s dark eyes had narrowed significantly.

“Which road did Sir Weasley take after them?” he asked, his calm voice nonetheless touched with the faintest edge.

KC pointed. “Northwest -- toward the mountains.”

Orion nodded. “Thank you.”

And with this, he turned on his heel and rushed back toward where he thought he might find McNully’s coach. He needed to borrow a horse.

Setting one of the black horses free of the black coach, Orion rode off toward the mountains, his slightly-too-long dark hair flapping freely behind him. The road was well-marked, but it soon veered off into dense woods as it migrated up toward the mountains. Orion had never gone so far west into Royaume before, let alone far from Florence before. Despite himself, he had to acknowledge the beauty of the landscape. The views of the castle below were breathtaking -- it looked as tiny as a toy, and yet the infinite glass windows made it sparkle like some diamond-like beacon in the darkening sky. He wondered if his own palace in Florence looked so beautiful to others, at a distance. As much as he himself hadn’t been raised a prince, it was difficult for him to look at his own palace as anything other than a cage.

As he went further uphill and the sky darkened, it also grew colder. Orion was starting to see his own breath on the air. He thought of Carewyn alone in the cold, perhaps hurt, and had to take several deep breaths to sooth his nerves. He was never in a right state, when he let his thoughts run too wild or his fears chatter too loudly.

Finally Orion caught sight of two familiar ginger-headed men, standing by an overturned coach, covered in mud and missing one of its back wheels. One of the men was the tall, freckled castle guard from the other day who Carewyn called Bill, dressed in his high-collared blue and red patterned uniform tunic and matching white feathered, blue-velvet hat -- the other was much stockier, but no less freckled, dressed in a burgundy-colored tunic and loose brown pants and boots, and he wore his ginger hair in a ponytail not unlike Orion’s when he was at court. When Orion approached them, Bill immediately reacted with suspicion -- Orion explained what KC had told him and asked where Carewyn was, and was incredibly startled to hear her voice coming from over the edge of the cliff.

“I’m down here!”

Orion couldn’t help but feel a flash of concern. He raced over as if to look over the edge, but Charlie lashed out an arm in front of the taller man to stop him.

“Uh, I wouldn’t look over if I were you, mate,” he said, having trouble biting back his laughter despite himself.

He pointed at the broken carriage. Hanging over one of the doors was what looked like the burnt orange and beige skirt of a dress and several wool petticoats.

Orion blinked a few times in great surprise, his tanned cheeks darkening with a faint blush. Bill, however, reacted with anxiety.

“Carewyn!” he shouted over the ravine. “Are you in your underwear down there!?”

“Ugh -- well, I couldn’t very well climb down into this briar patch and wrench this wheel loose in my dress, could I?” Carewyn called back up rather haughtily. “At least my bloomers are slightly akin to the sorts of trousers you all wear.”

“You’ll catch a death of cold out here!” said Bill.

“I’m all right,” Carewyn reassured him. “Ulk -- ugh -- I have the wool jacket Andre made for me on...”

Charlie took a step forward, his eyes moved up toward the darkening sky pointedly so as not to look over the edge as he called down,

“Bill’s right, though, Carewyn -- it’s getting colder by the minute...and it’s getting dark too. Are you sure you can lift that thing up and over all by yourself?”

“Ugh...I admit, it’s a bit difficult!” she called back. “But I think I can manage.”

Recalling Carewyn’s blatant refusal of help in retrieving her horse, Orion -- still fighting back a slight blush -- called over the ravine himself.

“We do not question your capabilities, Carewyn,” he said patiently, “but would you like our help?”

“Ugh -- don’t be silly,” said Carewyn, sounding faintly haughty. “You, Charlie, and Bill would break your necks, climbing down here. And I’m still in my undergarments -- I have no interest in anyone seeing me prance around without proper clothes on, thank you.”

“It’s no use,” Charlie muttered under his breath, “I’ve tried to offer her help for the last hour, but she keeps putting me off, saying she’s fine. I don’t get why she feels like she has to do everything by herself...”

“Probably because she’s always had to, Charlie,” said Bill quietly. His voice betrayed a lot of sympathy and sadness as he exhaled through his nose.

Orion’s black eyes deepened with some compassion for Bill as he called back over the ravine to Carewyn,

“Your points are well made, my lady...but we’d still like to help you.”

“Ugh -- you can help me by leaving me my dignity and not looking over while I’m only half-dressed...ack...”

“Would you accept us doing more than that?”

“Urgh -- I am...sorry to have made you and Bill come out all this way -- but I’m all right, really.”

Bill glanced at Orion out the side of his eye, and then back at the cliff. Despite his distrust of the man, the eldest Weasley was sort of glad he wasn’t the only one who disliked how reticent Carewyn was to accept help.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said earnestly. “I was -- we were worried about you, Carewyn. You and Charlie.”

He and Orion glanced at each other. Bill wished the other man’s expression wasn’t so hard to read. The castle guard tried to twist his uncomfortable frown into a smile that Carewyn would hopefully be able to hear over the edge of the cliff.

“Come on...let’s get you and that wheel up and over so you can get back into your dress.”

There was a silence. Then Carewyn said a bit more quietly,

“...You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Wha -- oh, come off it, Carewyn!” said Charlie exasperatedly. “To hell we do! You think I was mucking about, calling you my pal and saying I needed to figure out a nickname for you? Now let us help you, or I’ll consider making that nickname an irritating one!”

There was another silence. Then Carewyn sighed very loudly and tiredly, and Orion couldn’t help but grin, because he could tell she’d finally given in.

“Oh, all right,” she said begrudgingly. “But I don’t really know how you’re going to help, when you can’t look at me.”

Orion closed his eyes.

“Describe your surroundings, Carewyn,” he said. “Paint a picture for me, with your words.”

“...Well, I’ve gotten the wheel out of the briar patch. I’m trying to roll it back up, but it’s as large as me, and the downward slope and the ice is making it difficult. Plus the wheel isn’t in great shape -- all of its spokes are broken, so there isn’t much for me to push up on, while rolling it uphill.”

“I would’ve told her to just forget it, but it’d be much easier for me to carve a new wheel if I have framework from the old one,” Charlie explained. “I’m already going to have to make the new spokes and hubcap completely out of wood instead of using any gold or metalwork, but it’s still going to take a lot of time...even more so if the old wheel framework can’t be saved...”

Orion considered the matter, visualizing the set-up down below on the inside of his eyelids. “...What’s left of the wheel...is it made of metal or wood?”

“Wood...but there seems to be some sort of metal lining around the rim, held on by nails.”

“That’d be for durability, I reckon,” said Charlie. “Wood alone would get chaffed badly on the ground, moving in a constant circle down cobblestones or over anything rocky.”

Orion opened his eyes and looked over the broken coach. His gaze lingered on the thick leather straps coming off of the front that no doubt would’ve attached it to their horses. Then he abruptly got up, rushing over to undo the straps from the carriage.

“What are you doing?” said Bill, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Orion quickly knotted the long, thick leather straps together with several complex-looking and strong knots.

“Carewyn,” he called over very calmly, “I’m going to lower this down to you -- use the buckle and loop it securely around the inside rim of the wheel, so that it’s tight. Give it a light tug when it’s secure.”

He blindly tossed one end of the rope made out of leather straps over the edge of the cliff. After a minute, he felt a light tug at the end.

“Gentlemen,” Orion murmured to the Weasleys, “I’ll need you to hold this, for just a moment. Carewyn,” he added, as Charlie and Bill both grabbed the end of the makeshift rope and he let go, “I’m going to need you to step onto the wheel yourself and hold on.”

“What?” said Carewyn. “Orion, you can’t lift both me and the wheel -- it’s far too much! I’ll climb up and out myself -- ”

“Not to worry, my lady -- none of us will be doing the lifting,” said Orion serenely.

He led both his black horse and Bill’s chestnut horse over by their reins, and -- taking the makeshift rope from Bill and Charlie again -- he looped the end under the straps of both his and Bill’s saddles. He gave several tugs at all of the connections to make sure they were tight and secure before mounting his horse.

“Sir Weasley, if you would assist me.”

Catching onto Orion’s idea at last, Bill rushed forward so he could jump up onto his own horse.

“Mr. Weasley, you may want to have your hands ready to help Carewyn climb out when she gets close to the top,” said Orion over his shoulder. “Sir Weasley, together now.”

With a lot of effort and strain, the two horses were able to lift Carewyn and the broken wheel up and out of the ravine. Once Carewyn was out, all three men averted their eyes so she could put her dress back on. Once she was suitably redressed in her orange-and-beige dress, snood, and dark scarlet wool jacket, she, Bill, and Orion helped Charlie secure some makeshift posts he’d carved out of some nearby tree branches under the broken coach so that their four horses could lift it up off the ground and help support it without its second back wheel. Then the four hobbled the coach up the mountain the rest of the way to the Weasley family cottage.

The home of the Weasley family, affectionately nicknamed “the Burrow,” was built up against the side of a hill. Attached to the house was a large farm with sprawling pastures and short, rustic wooden fences. Its roof had clearly been patched up multiple times over the years with whatever kind of wood was on hand, making it resemble a patchwork quilt.

When the group arrived, Bill and Charlie’s youngest sibling and only sister Ginny immediately ran out to greet them -- she’d seen them coming up over the horizon and was beyond thrilled to see that it was her eldest brothers. Bill and Charlie’s teenage brothers Percy, Fred, George, and Ron soon followed along after. Fred and George -- who were identical twins -- were quick to crow that Charlie had brought them an early birthday present (namely, the coach), and Percy scolded them that clearly it was for work and they should let it alone. Orion and Carewyn ended up staying back at a distance, both faintly baffled by the amount of warmth and noise emanating from the seven siblings as they chattered amongst themselves, constantly stepping on each other’s feet and interrupting what everyone else was saying. Neither of them had ever encountered a family quite like this before. When Bill and Charlie’s parents, Arthur and Molly Weasley, emerged from the house, however, Molly very quickly bustled every last one of them inside, including Orion and Carewyn.

“In you go, the lot of you,” she said in a forceful, but very warm tone of voice. “You all look like you need some supper-- ”

“Oh -- no, Mrs. Weasley,” said Carewyn very quickly, “I couldn’t impose -- ”

“Nonsense, dear!” said Molly, as she took Carewyn’s hands and led her inside. “Why, you’re positively freezing! To think, you came all the way out here without a proper muff for your hands...”

“I had to help Charlie with the carriage,” Carewyn said, her eyes drawn away awkwardly rather than looking at Molly, “I couldn’t hope to have my hands free, using a muff...”

“Then both of you should come inside and get warm,” said Arthur, startling Orion with an amiable clap on the back. “Any friend of Bill and Charlie’s is a friend of our family.”

Carewyn had never been the subject of such coddling and generosity before in her life. Her mother had always taught her to treat people with respect and compassion, of course, but she had been a soft-spoken and understated person, and their family life had always been very quiet. And of course at the Cromwell estate, it had been less modest and quiet, but far less affectionate as well. Never had she ever visited such a loud, crowded, and faintly uncomfortable place that still nonetheless felt like a home, full of warmth and love.

Even Orion found himself feeling a bit unsettled by the Weasley family’s overwhelming hospitality. He’d been in plenty of unruly, crowded, and loud settings like this before -- but none of them had ever been quite this...well, jovial. It made it so that Orion yearned for peace, quiet, and returned distance, and yet also couldn’t help but marvel at the positive vibes that rippled off of this family and how much they could give, despite clearly having so little. When dinner was served, Orion had to politely decline a bowl of beef stew because he didn’t eat meat, and Molly Weasley immediately handed the bowl off to Ron so she could set about making Orion his own plate, piled high with cheesy mashed potatoes, sauteed mushrooms, and roasted cauliflower seasoned with garlic and chives.

The Weasley family and their guests sat in an uncomfortable, messy half-circle around the large brick fireplace, laughing and talking as they ate. After supper came the dessert of hot, fresh apple dumplings, and after dessert came some hot tea and scones. After all, said Molly Weasley, having guests over was a rare treat, so they were going to celebrate appropriately. Neither Carewyn nor Orion could remember ever having felt so full in all their lives.

As everyone enjoyed their scones and tea, stories and songs were swapped around the fire. At one point in the evening, twelve-year-old Ginny -- who was perfectly thrilled to have another girl around, for a change -- begged Carewyn to sing for them. Apparently Bill had told his family all about her lovely voice. So, with some encouragement from Charlie, Arthur, and Molly, Carewyn bit back a broad, amused grin, took a deep breath, and started to sing.

“Mother cannot guide you...now you’re on your own.

Only me beside you -- still, you’re not alone...”

Orion had thought to himself that Carewyn must have done the song from his youth proper justice while singing for the Prince, but hearing her sing it in person, seeing her smile at him and her eyes sparkle as she did so...it was a completely different matter. As before, Orion felt all of the tension in his shoulders ebb off of him, as easily as dirt was washed away in warm water. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, tilting his head a bit so that he could hear her better, as his breathing and heart rate slowed. Even with his eyes closed, he could hear a smile in every word Carewyn sang...even when she likely wasn’t smiling at all, he thought. How could she be smiling, when lines like “sometimes people leave you half-way through the wood” and “people make mistakes -- fathers, mothers” rang with such emotion and pain? Was that pain visible on her face? Orion thought not, given Carewyn’s sense of grace and composure...but he heard it, all the same. He felt it -- her heart, aching with a kind of deep, blazing empathy Orion had never encountered in anyone else before.

When Carewyn came to the end of the song, Orion opened his eyes at last. The Weasleys all clapped, delighted, but he barely heard them as he turned to Carewyn.

“...That was remarkable,” he murmured.

Carewyn smiled. “I’m glad you think I did it justice.”

“Mm,” said Orion. “I’ve...never heard anyone drown like that, before.”

Carewyn couldn’t bite back a laugh. “Perhaps I didn’t do it justice then, if I sounded like I was drowning...”

“You were drowning in the words’ meaning,” corrected Orion. “Enveloping and submerging yourself in them -- allowing them to pull you in and take your breath away.”

He smiled, his black eyes very soft upon Carewyn’s face.

“It was...very moving.”

Molly’s face spread into an indulgent smile as she reached forward and patted Carewyn’s hand. “It was absolutely beautiful, dear.”

“Orion’s right, Carewyn,” agreed Arthur. “Your feelings really came through. I could tell the words mean something to you.”

Carewyn offered a polite smile, even as her eyes drifted away. “...I suppose they do.”

“It sounds like a lullaby, sort of,” mused Ron. “Even if it talks about your mother not being around.”

Ginny tilted her head toward Carewyn, Ron’s words prompting concern.

“...Do you not have a mother, Carewyn?”

The rest of the family went very quiet -- some like Percy shot Ginny warning looks, while others like Molly and Ron couldn’t help but glance at Carewyn in similar concern.

Carewyn’s gaze had drifted off onto the fire. Although she was turned away and her face was stoic, however, Orion could see her eyes rippling like turbulent ocean water, before she closed them solemnly.

“...I had one,” she answered softly at last. “She died when I was twelve.”

“Was she sick?” asked Ron, very hesitantly.

Carewyn bowed her head and gave a single, silent nod. Everyone in the room knew what that meant. The Plague had swept through both Royaume and Florence several times, over the span of the War -- one of the worst years was about nine years ago now...probably the same year Carewyn had lost her mother.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly upon her face. Molly looked like she wanted to envelop Carewyn in the biggest hug and was only holding back the urge because of her husband’s tight, reassuring squeeze to her hand.

“Oh, you poor dear,” she murmured.

Carewyn raised her head at last, her expression once again touched by a small, resilient, pretty smile.

“It’s all right,” she said gently, her eyes only briefly grazing each of the Weasleys’ faces. “I’ll always miss my mother...but I’m getting along all right. And I still have Jacob.”

“Your brother?” asked Percy, and Carewyn nodded.

“He left for War the same day he and I moved in with our grandfather,” Carewyn explained.

“Your brother must be quite a bit older than you, then,” said Orion.

Carewyn glanced at Orion out the side of her eye, smiling slightly. “Nine years older, yes. You know...you actually remind me of him, a bit.”

Orion raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

Carewyn was forced to stifle a giggle behind her hand. “Jacob is also the sort to do things in his own clever way. Only he’s a lot more aggressive than you -- and more talkative, and arrogant, and overprotective...”

“And uglier,” inserted Fred.

“And smellier,” added George.

“With a long crooked nose and ears like a bat’s.”

The younger Weasley siblings were all laughing now. Carewyn had to cover her mouth to stifle her giggling.

“No!” she choked. “I don’t mean it like that! He’s wonderful, really. He’s just...well, an absolute idiot about how to interact with other people. He’s completely brilliant, mind you -- he could give you whole lectures about anything from geography to mathematics to physics...but coming up with spontaneous gifts for no occasion at all, just based on someone’s interests? He’d need some prodding, to do something like that.”

She smiled at Orion, who couldn’t help but grin fully in return.

“It was truly nothing at all, Carewyn,” he said. “With your love of music, it felt like that song would be something you would appreciate.”

Arthur glanced at Orion curiously. “Where is that song from, Orion? I’ve never heard it before.”

“I learned it as a boy,” Orion answered. “I would hear it sung outside the window of the workhouse, sometimes.”

Molly looked very troubled. “Workhouse? Orion dear, you don’t mean to say you grew up in one of those terrible places?”

Orion felt Carewyn’s gaze on him. When he looked back at her, her almond-shaped blue eyes were rippling with concern as well, though much gentler and more empathetic than Molly’s. He tried to offer her a smile.

“Let’s just say the words spoke to me as well, at the time,” he said lightly. “Not just to me, either...all of the boys there, one way or another, were where they were because of other people’s ‘terrible mistakes.’”

Orion’s gaze drifted down to his own hands as he lightly clasped them in his lap.

“...The War doesn’t touch you the same way here, but...the closer you are to Florence...the more the reality of it hits you in the face, every day. Even when you’re not on the battlefield itself -- even when you’re just at the border -- you, and the ones you care for, run the risk of getting caught in the crossfire. And on the border of Florence and Royaume...in those towns where it’s hard to tell where one country starts and another begins...tensions are like gunpowder. One spark from the tiniest match can set it ablaze -- can make everything implode, and force you to start all over again.”

His face was unreadable, but his black eyes were endless, rippling with the recollection of the fire and smoke -- the red and blue colors of Royaume, on the saddles of horses -- the life leaving his mother’s eyes -- his own heavy, terrified hyperventilating...

He closed his eyes and took several very deep, measured breaths before continuing.

“In such a place...one can find people desperate enough to want to lash out at others, to avenge their pain,” said Orion solemnly. “But there was one sweet old woman who owned a flower and herb shop near the workhouse. She’d had to rebuild her establishment several times over the years, and from what I understand, she finally had to leave town not long after I did...but every time she caught wind that the army was coming to town, looking for new recruits...she’d sing the song just loudly enough that we boys could hear it through our window.”

He absently played with the crudely carved circular charm on the cord around his neck in one hand.

“And although there were those who still enlisted afterwards...many others did not.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened.

“‘While we’re seeing our side,’ ” she sang again, more softly, “‘maybe we forgot...they are not alone. No one is alone.’ ”

Orion’s lips spread into a smile as he looked at Carewyn, his black eyes rippling gently as he nodded.

“So it’s against the War, then,” murmured Charlie. He glanced at his parents, who both looked concerned.

“Did that woman with the flower shop give you that?” asked Ginny curiously, indicating the charm around Orion’s neck.

“Yes,” said Orion. “She gave it to me one night when I tried to run away, to soothe my nerves. Its effects wore off by the next morning, but I’ve never really had the heart to throw it out.”

Percy sputtered, looking very pale. “Th-then she was a witch?”

“Whoa,” said Fred and George, looking almost too eager.

“Did she turn all the army into pigs?” asked George.

“Did she lure you in and try to cook you in a soup?” said Fred.

Orion smiled indulgently. “Of course not -- ”

“Well, thank Heavens for that!” said Molly, shooting the twins a very reproachful look. “Magic isn’t something to make fun of, you two -- it’s frankly a wonder you weren’t hurt, dear...”

Orion frowned. “There was no danger, Madam Weasley, I assure you.”

“No danger! Orion,” Molly scolded him indulgently, “I applaud your courage...but nature has its own way of things, and any magic that twists it out of shape is more dangerous than it’s worth.”

To the Weasley family’s surprise, Carewyn actually spoke up.

“Mrs. Weasley, men tend fields, plant seeds, domesticate horses and dogs...treat illnesses and injuries...cut hair and wear makeup and put on heeled shoes to make ourselves appear taller. Would that not also be twisting nature’s intent?”

Molly actually faltered somewhat. “Well, yes, but...that’s very different from magic, Carewyn! Magic is...well, it’s wild. Uncontrollable.”

“It’s untamed chaos,” said Arthur more levelly than his wife. “A kind that’s done a lot more harm than good.”

“But it still can be used for good,” said Carewyn very firmly. “And if it has that potential, why must we treat it as though it and all of its users are inherently reprehensible? If magic can be used to save lives, or heal the sick, or even just calm a scared boy down after something horrible...”

She glanced at Orion out the side of her eye.

“...Then it seems to be like any other weapon or tool, or even any other person -- something that could protect or hurt.”

Orion felt like his heart was being flooded with warmth, and his entire expression melted with pride and something like affection as he stared at Carewyn.

She truly is a woman to be admired. The memory of Skye’s irritation and McNully’s warning rippled over Orion’s mind and he found himself faltering. Admire...yes. Anyone could grow to admire such a woman, couldn’t they? To respect and esteem her...to...grow an attachment, to her... Even I? Could I...?

The Weasleys exchanged uncertain looks amongst themselves.

“Come to think of it,” said Ron thoughtfully, “wasn’t there that old myth about fairy godmothers who grant you wishes?”

Fred brought an arm roughly around his younger brother’s neck and put him in a rough choke hold. “Aww, ickle Ronnie wanting a pwetty new dress?”

“‘Oh fairy godmother, I just gotta have a new dress for the Winter Festival!’” said George in a high-pitched squeal.

“Geroff!” growled Ron, as he pulled free.

“Oh, but that would be fun!” sighed Ginny. “Dancing at the Winter Festival, in the prettiest dress you’ve ever seen...you’re going to the Festival, aren’t you, Carewyn?”

“Probably not, Ginny,” said Carewyn gently, “I’ve got so much work to do...”

“Oh, but you have to!” whined Ginny. “The Festival’s tradition! Right, Orion?”

“So I’ve heard,” Orion said modestly, “but I’m afraid I’ve never attended a Winter Festival either.”

“What?!” said all of the Weasley children except Bill in thoroughly aghast unison.

“It’s the biggest celebration of the entire year -- ”

“Everybody in town will be there -- ”

“ -- well, aside from the noble tarts -- ”

“ -- but hey, who needs them?”

“Everybody makes the best mince pies and hot apple cider -- ”

“There’s dancing and singing and games and gift-giving -- ”

“You just can’t miss it -- ”

Before long, they’d completely gotten off the topic of magic all together, so the Weasleys could tell Orion all about the Winter Festival. Carewyn took the opportunity to start carrying dishes into the kitchen so that she could help Molly clean up. While she did so, Bill pulled her aside.

“Carewyn...can I talk to you? Alone?”

Carewyn blinked, but nonetheless put down the dishes she was carrying and followed Bill off into a secluded corner.

“What’s wrong?” she asked in concern.

Bill bit the inside of his lip, his brown eyes drifting over in the direction of the fireplace where the rest of his family was sitting with Orion.

“Carewyn,” he said slowly, “who is that man, really?”

Carewyn’s eyebrows knit together. Bill ran a hand over the undone collar of his tunic absently.

“He’s hiding something, I know it. And I’m sure you see it too. He dodges questions he doesn’t want to answer, and as much as he’s even told us tonight about himself, he never gives important details. He lived near the border, but he didn’t mention what town he’s from. He lived in a workhouse, presumably after losing his parents, but he never said what he lost them to.”

“Those things might not be easy for him to talk about, Bill,” Carewyn said softly.

“Yes,” said Bill in a bracing voice, “but he also hopped the walls of the palace, completely ignorant of how tight royal security is and why, has enough time to chase after you most every day, and gets paints from people he can’t identify and learns songs from people who, from the sound of things, practice witchcraft.”

Bill crossed his arms. He clearly was trying to be considerate to Carewyn’s feelings, but couldn’t hold back his concerns.

“Look, I...I understand you like the man. And I understand why -- Ginny and the others seem to have taken to him pretty well, too. But there’s no reason for someone to hold back that many secrets, unless they’re up to no good. He could be a cad, or a criminal, or maybe even something worse. Judging by his stance on magic, he could even be a magician himself...”

His brown eyes narrowed slightly upon Carewyn’s face.

“I’m just...worried about you, that’s all,” he said lowly.

Carewyn considered Bill for a long moment. Then, reaching out a hand, she gently took hold of Bill’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Bill...I understand how you feel. And I’m grateful, truly grateful, for your caring. I hardly deserve it, and it...it means a lot to me.”

Bill frowned deeply, ready to say something, but Carewyn cut him off.

“But believe me when I say that people don’t just keep secrets because they mean to do harm. Sometimes -- for some people -- they’ve had to learn to hide themselves and shield their hearts...so much so that even when they encounter good people, it’s hard for them to let their guard down. Sometimes they’ve known so much pain that, even though they’re kind people, they’ve numbed themselves to a degree, just to protect themselves. Lied so much...that it becomes second-nature. Or worse, lie because they don’t know who they can really trust...because so many people have hurt them that they don’t know what trust even feels like anymore.”

Bill’s expression lost some of its edge, though it still looked wary.

“...And if he is a magic user?”

“Then he’s one of the good ones,” said Carewyn firmly.

Bill still looked a bit unsure. Carewyn squeezed his shoulder a bit more tightly, her eyes resting there instead of on his face.

“Bill, my brother is only alive, thanks to magic.”

Bill was startled.

“The Plague swept through our whole house,” said Carewyn lowly. “First the landlord and his family -- then my mother...and then Jacob. We were living hand-to-mouth, and I didn’t have anyone else to go to...so I went to the Cromwell estate.”

Bill’s brown eyes became a little smaller, darkening with grim understanding.

“...You went to your grandfather.”

Carewyn nodded. “He disowned Mum long ago, but he was still our family, so I thought he might be willing to help us. He agreed to take Jacob and me in and nurse Jacob back to health, so long as we paid back his generosity. Grandfather then tracked down a witch who could cast a spell to save Jacob’s life.”

Bill’s eyebrows furrowed. “Lord Cromwell hired a -- ?”

“Do not repeat this, Bill!” Carewyn said very sharply and urgently. “To anyone, do you understand? No one.”

Her eyes then softened visibly, becoming grimmer and sadder.

“Jacob was dying. There was no other option.”

Bill looked like he was in pain, just hearing this second-hand. He swallowed, and then gave a nod.

“So that witch saved your brother’s life,” he said quietly.

Carewyn nodded, her eyes full of emotion despite the stoicism of her features.

“The spell she cast bound Jacob’s life to Grandfather’s will. Jacob was brought into the house on a stretcher just after dawn, and within a half-hour...he was up on his own two feet again.”

Carewyn closed her eyes. She could still remember Jacob’s blazing, relieved smile as he barreled down the stairs and threw his arms around her, cradling her like a baby.

“My Wyn -- my sweet Wyn -- ”

Not long after that, though...Jacob’s arms were yanked away -- all of him was yanked away -- held back by Blaise and Claire and Pearl’s husbands, who all had work to together just to restrain Jacob as he fought to reach her, screaming and raging like a mad man --

“WYN! NO! GET OFF OF ME -- WYN! I WON’T LET YOU -- CAREWYN!”

Carewyn opened her eyes, the soft longing fading from her face completely and leaving a much more stony expression behind.

Bill himself, however, looked more troubled than ever.

“You said your brother left for War the same day you and he arrived at the Cromwell estate,” he whispered shakily. “Do you mean that, right after saving your brother’s life...Lord Cromwell immediately sent him off to War -- all while knowing how few men return home alive?”

Carewyn’s lips came together tightly.

“Grandfather sent him to the front, so that Jacob could start paying back the debt I owed him,” she said, her voice very soft and oddly distant. “After all...a man who wouldn’t die, so long as he willed it...would make an excellent soldier.”

Bill looked horrified.

“Then...” he whispered, “...then Jacob’s only alive because your grandfather decides whether he lives or dies? You only know your brother’s still alive after so many years at war...because Lord Cromwell is bound to him through magic, and he’s holding his life over your head?”

Carewyn withdrew her hand from Bill’s shoulder and turned away.

“Carewyn...that’s monstrous!” said Bill, and he was unable to keep his voice from rising. “I didn’t even know magic could do something like that -- but -- but that’s nothing, compared to...”

He couldn’t restrain himself. He actually threw an arm around Carewyn and pulled her into a hug from behind. The small ginger-haired woman stiffened like a startled cat.

“Bill?”

Carewyn looked up at him -- were those tears, in his eyes?

“Have you...never told anyone else, about this?” Bill murmured.

Carewyn tried to turn around, her blue eyes welling up with regret and pain. “Bill...”

She brought a hand through his hair, trying to soothe him the way she used to for Jacob.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I -- I didn’t mean to upset you -- I only wanted to explain why I’m not scared of magic...please forgive me.”

Bill closed his eyes to try to hold back both his righteous anger and his tears.

“Forgive you?” he repeated in a choked voice. “For what, trusting me with the truth?”

“For making you worry unnecessarily,” Carewyn said forcefully, trying to ignore how uncomfortably her stomach was squirming.

Bill opened his eyes, looking both flabbergasted and more upset than ever. “Unnecessarily?”

He roughly grabbed both of Carewyn’s shoulders and forced her to look up at him.

“Now you listen here, Carewyn Cromwell,” he said, taking on the sort of tone he only ever used with his younger siblings when they were being rowdy, “you may get to decide if you want to interact with me or not, or rely on me or not, or accept my help or not. But you don’t get to decide whether I worry about you or not. And from here on out...”

Bill’s brown eyes were blazing with resolve.

“...I’m going to worry about you. Because I hate the thought of someone feeling like anybody else worrying about them is somehow a problem.”

Carewyn was left speechless.

Bill’s face broke into a broad smile through his tears. “Until your brother’s back from the War, Carey, I’ll be looking after you for him -- no arguments, no dismissals, no saying you’re fine on your own. Got it?”

Carewyn looked at Bill, perfectly stunned. Then her gaze fell away toward the floor.

“...It sounds like...I really don’t get a choice in the matter, then,” she whispered.

“Nope,” said Bill, grinning broadly.

Carewyn was unable to fight back the weak smile prickling at the sides of her lips, nor the emotion flooding her eyes, even as she kept her face turned away.

“...And I suppose ‘Carey’...is a suggestion of a nickname you plan to give Charlie, for me?”

Bill’s eyes sparkled fondly. “Well, every one of my siblings has a nickname, in case you haven’t noticed.”

[bad-bitch-beauchamp]

Songs About Me - Chapter Three

After karaoke night and Claire's impromptu performance, both Claire and Jamie spend the next day reconciling with their choices from the night before.

Read on AO3

“Stay, Sassenach! One more drink!” 

“One more drink might be the death of me, Mr. Fraser, and if you’d like to watch me embarrass myself again next week, I can’t be on my deathbed tonight!” 

He had tried to convince her to let him walk her home, but she waved him off and pulled the sweater that had fallen off her shoulder back up to its rightful place at the junction of neck and shoulder -- a place Jamie couldn’t tear himself away from until that moment. She wrangled a loose curl behind her ear, tugged on her coat, and caught Jamie watching her every move, drink at his lips, eyes just over the rim of the glass. She could’ve stayed, could’ve responded, could’ve reacted to what she was feeling right then… no. A couple of hours together in a bar and a poor excuse for a solo at closing time did not change the fact she didn’t know this man. This very handsome man, she reminded herself. No. You came out here for yourself. Leave by yourself.

She met his eyes one last time, gave a nervous laugh, declared “Hope to see you next weekend!” all too loudly, and spun on her heel. She had stepped over the threshold when she thought she heard her name from inside, but she didn’t turn to find out. 

———

Claire realized exactly three things when she awoke the next morning: The sun was shining too brightly, the street musician playing on the corner directly below her bedroom window was playing too loudly, and the memories of the last night with the redhead who loved music and books were coming on too fast. Somehow, in the span of a few hours, he had literally become her waking thoughts. She sat up in bed, still cocooned in a cloud of white cotton sheets and linen comforters. What do you even know about him? Probably not even anything. She pulled herself from the warmth of the bed, her feet landing on a soft oriental rug in shades of blues and greens. His eyes were the colors in this rug. Just like the ocean itself. Okay, she remembered one thing about him. The woven textile gave way to worn hardwood floors, on to cool hexagon tiles lining her bathroom floor as she passed through glass french doors between bookshelves on the wall. 

When Claire inherited her Uncle Lamb’s brownstone, she could remember only one thing about the place from her visits: the upstairs was magical. Quentin Lambert Beauchamp was an archaeologist, and although it rarely happened, he had decided he needed a home base to work from. In the historic brownstone, he neglected to update much besides the upper level. As the brownstone was on a corner lot, Lamb declared it must have every window possible to let in the light. Days were too gloomy and cloudy in England, and he would soak up all the light he could while teaching here at Harvard, thank you very much. The most magical room in the entire home (according to both Beauchamps) was lined from front to back with alternating windows and storage -- wide bookshelves on the top, long cabinets on the bottom. The opposite side was almost entirely made of the same bookshelves, save for two sets of french doors leading to a large closet and a larger master bathroom, respectively. The bookshelves traveled up to a curved ceiling, rails and ladders lined the walls to reach the highest and most precious of his belongs (now hers as well). Claire had painted the walls and trim shades of white and cream and ivory. The shelves were stripped and stained with a neutral-tone light wood with white filler. The brass fixtures and ladder rails sparkled in the warm morning light. Claire placed plants wherever she could fit them, and donned the shelves with memories to mingle with the ones Lamb left behind. This room, this place, was her favorite in the whole world. 

Back in the bathroom and walking to the walk-in shower, Claire bent down to reach the sweater she tossed aside the night before. The underside of his hair is this color. Right at the base of his neck, with the extra curls. She shook her head and started the tap. Maybe all his curls would turn that color when he got wet. She turned the faucet as hot as she could stand it, reached an arm for her phone, and set Spotify to only play Blink-182. We’re done with those feelings! No feelings, only the angst possible with punk rock! 

Cold tile brought her down to earth again when she stepped out of the shower, the trails of water dripping down her back and breasts a refreshing break from the onslaught of pounding heat. He felt like a breath of fresh air. Just like this. 

With a towel wrapped around head and a t-shirt tossed on, she made her way back to the bedroom and took a seat on her bed. She desperately wished she had stayed for that last drink. Or at least got his number? Why didn’t I get his number?! Now, she’d have to wait another six days before seeing him again. Maybe her attraction to him was nothing more than lust, but if she could text with him, get to know him better, maybe she could find out. With no way of reaching him, she opted to get dressed and head out to clear her head. Maybe find a place to write? Since her decision to put herself first, she’d put letting off steam by writing and singing. It fell in live with the general creativity that fueled her life, while still being different enough from the greenhouse to give her a bit of rest and peace. As she contemplated where to adventure off that morning and pondered the correct way to lace her Doc Marten boots, her phone rang. A photo of three fresh faces graced her screen, a woman with wild dark curls with her mouth gaping with laughter, another woman with a waterfall of red hair and piercing green eyes made less intimidating by the crinkles at the edges, and a man with deep dimples surrounding his smile and an eyebrow raised in surprise at the camera taking their picture. Claire hit the accept button on the call, and thus the inquisition arrived. 

“We need to talk about last night!” The screen was split in two, with Geillis’ video on top and Joe’s on the bottom with Claire’s in the corner. 

“What about last night? I honestly thought our song was pretty good! I was thinking next week we could do--”

“That’s obviously not what we’re talking about, LJ! But agreed, we did a damn good job.”

“Will you two quit it?” Geillis cut them off and brought her face closer to her screen. “We need to talk about Claire, that viking, and the unreal chemistry. Spill it ALL, Claire.”

———

Jamie had woke nursing a headache, but alas, today would not be the day for rest. He flipped the sign in the window of Fraser Literature from closed to open, and began to check off the list of opening duties. On the list was to water the plants. Set on a table in a small alcove, on top of side table next to an worn leather chair for patrons to sit and peruse a story in, hanging from simple planters in the window that stretched from edge to edge in front of the shop, guarding the aisles of books ready to be enjoyed by people who hadn’t read them yet. Jamie often visited a greenhouse just outside town for the shop’s plants. While a small place, it was teeming with love, peacefulness, and a sense of adventure with green as far as the eye could see, boarding the windows with giant leaves and trailing vines. The feeling inside was something he wanted to emulate in his own place, and so he started adding a wee bit of flora here and there. Rupert and Angus initially laughed off his efforts, claiming Jamie was “destroying the manly vibe” they were aiming for. With every bit of decoration, every little bit of effort however, the shop grew in reputation and success. Jamie was immensely proud of the shop he built, and even more grateful he was able to spend his days surrounded by the words of great men and women, constantly inspired and in awe of the endless stories at his fingertips. 

The boys -- Angus and Rupert, that is -- had brought up the idea of expanding into a few other fine art ideas within the shop. Jamie had been reluctant to agree to anything that wasn’t directly related to literature. As they stood around the front counter, Rupert led the charge: 

“Jamie, man. The people who like books are also the ones who like art and music and such. Why not try to bring them all together?” 

“What if they don’t care about the books? What if they don’t even look at them, and don’t care? What’s the point in having the shop, then?”

It was Angus’ turn to reply with, “Well the point is getting people in the door, and letting your “wee shop” as ye always call it speak for itself, aye?” 

Jamie had to agree with that point. He settled for telling the lads that if they could come up with a suitable idea, he’d agree to it. Twenty minutes later, Angus and Rupert stood in his office doorway saying they would be asking for local musicians to come and perform. 

“Doesn’t seem like yer asking for approval.” 

Jamie didn’t look up from his computer, but could hear the grin in Rupert’s voice as he replied, “‘Tis because ye know it’s a good idea, and ye wouldn’t refuse a good idea.” 

Jamie sat back in the rolling leather chair behind his antique desk and sighed, then laughed. “Why do I even try to control what ye two do? Yer jes’ going to do it anyway.” The lads grinned at each other and shrugged. “Go on then, see if ye can have some posters made up to put in the window.” 

He stood as Rupert saluted him and Angus muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Aye aye, captain,” and stretched his long, lean, muscles. He needed to get a few errands completed, so opted to spend the next few hours outside both to complete his tasks and to get out in the fresh air. He told his friends he’d be back soon, and to let them know if he needed anything. 

With one step out into the sunlight, he immediately regretted the amount he had drunk the night before. Two in the morning was not a suitable time to be out, but for the lass with the dark curls and the whisky eyes, he’d give every moment of his time. From the moment he woke, he thought of her. Thought of how she made him laugh. Thought of how bonny she felt under his fingers, her hips on the barstool as she wiggled back into place, her thigh touching his under the booth table. He thought of how she’d gone up on stage as an act of defiance against him for the insult to her friend’s song, but how instead she ended up showing a piece of her soul to him, and him alone. He thought of how her eyes matched the swirling liquid in his glass. He thought of her abrupt departure after he had asked her to stay, and how he almost ran out after. He thought of how he was so incredibly stupid as to not have asked for her number before she ran. Look what ye did -- now ye have to wait to see her, and yer barely functional as it is. While Angus and Rupert had been gauging his interest for the musical talent in his office earlier, he had been searching the Facebook page for the 21st Amendment, combing it for references to her. To Claire. Maybe she had performed there? Perhaps she and her friends had tagged the place in one of their pictures? There was no sign of her, and she hadn’t told him her last name. Six days to go, mate. Ye can do this. She’s just a lass. Ye don’t know her. 

After a few hours of tedious tasks (could the post office ever be efficient, just this once?), he made his way back to Fraser Literature. It was a warm day for autumn, and the shop would have a cart with discount books out on the sidewalk and the door propped open for fresh air. He would never tire of seeing his name on something he built, something he was so proud of. As he neared the shop however, it wasn’t the name on the window that drew his attention -- it was the many people standing inside, facing the window, looking outside. Jamie stopped and looked around, but not finding anything out of place around him. He took a few steps closer. They weren’t looking outside, but rather at the inside corner of the shop, the corner where the window meets the wall. He was only a few steps away when he saw it, when he heard it. A woman with bouncy curls and a round arse, sitting with her back to the window at a keyboard bench. He didn’t have to see her face to know. Her voice was enough. It was enough at two in the morning to imprint on him forever. 

She was there, in his shop. His place. Claire. God, his Claire. 

With one shaky step and an attempt at a steadying breath, he moved inside his sanctuary.

[bqstqnbruin]

Never Again

This took my forever to write, but in my defense, I was working on my lesson plan for my honors students on Monday morning. I still have more requests which I LOVE and will work on but I do have an assignment due on Tuesday on top of teaching so I might be slow because I have the attention span of a walnut and can’t sit and write for long periods of time without getting distracted by my phone.

I also have an idea for another story that I want to do set in Philadelphia, but I don’t want a flyer for the story and need a boy, so if you have an idea, send it!

BUT here it is and if you have requests, keep them coming I love this!

Here is the original request!

____________________

Enemies

You never thought you would have to see him again once he moved away to go play hockey somewhere else in the country. You didn’t even know what team he played for. When you moved to Columbus, Ohio, you found out who it was. 

“You’ve got to be kidding, right?” you hear as you turn around to face the doorway of your new office. The voice gave you chills; you thought you never had to hear it again.

You had just been hired as the social media director for the Columbus Blue Jackets. Hockey was ruined for you thanks to him, but this was the only job that gave you an offer, so you had to take it. You moved there from Burlington last week, and today was your first day. 

“Jesus Christ,” you say, seeing none other than Josh Anderson standing in the doorway. “Why are you here?” 

“I was told to come see the new social media director, why are you here?” he snaps.

“Apparently, you were told to come see me. They didn’t tell me I was going to be seeing an absolute ass.”

The two of you guys were friends at one point. When you guys were fifteen, he had begged you to go to his hockey game. He shot the puck at the net, but it went rogue. It ended up sailing over the glass and hitting you in the head. After the game, he didn’t even apologize for it. You asked him about it and he said it wasn’t his fault you got his by the puck he shot. That’s what started argument after argument between the two of you for the next two years before he left for hockey. The day he got drafted and left was the day you told yourself you would never have to talk to him again, and it was the best time of your life. You kept your promise and didn’t even think of him, talk about him, or hear his name.

Until today. 

“You’re still not over that? How old are you?” 

“The same age as you except I have the human decency to apologize to people if I do something wrong.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong to you, you just started yelling at me for no reason.”

“You shot the puck that gave me a concussion and took me out of school for three weeks. I almost had to repeat the school year!”

“Maybe if you actually paid attention to the game then you would have seen the puck and not let it hit you in the head.”

“Look,” you snap, trying to cut this off before someone heard the two of you fighting. One step out of line and you both knew it would be your job on the line a lot faster than his would be, “If we have to work together, we’re civil for that and no other reason. Deal?” 

“Fine, whatever,” he rolls his eyes. This is definitely going to be harder than it needs to be, “What am I supposed to be doing here.” 

“I’m supposed to be doing a player profile on you for Insta as a countdown of the days before the season. It’s 77 days out, and since you wear number 77, you’re today.” 

He takes a deep breath before sitting down in the chair opposite your desk, “So are we doing this in here? Or what do I need to be doing so this can be done as soon as possible?” 

You roll your eyes as you walk to the other side of your desk to find the memo that was sent to you this. “It looks like the two of us are going to on the ice and in the locker room, so you need to have your jersey on and get up there in the next half hour.”

“Fine.” he says, getting up to leave, “See ya in half an hour, Y/N.” 

At least you could be civil.

Half an hour later, you were surprised to see he had actually listened to you.

“Hey, my name is Y/N Y/L/N and I’m one of the newest members of the Blue Jacket’s family. I’m here today to get to know your one and only Josh Anderson, and everything I learn, you guys get to learn, too!” You put on your fake cheery attitude knowing that you had to be with him. “So, Josh,” you turn the camera towards him, “the first thing we want to know is about your childhood relationship to hockey.” You just have to follow the script you were given, you can’t imagine that you would have any reason to deviate from it.

“Uh, well, like pretty much every hockey player, I was skating when I was young, playing on youth teams my entire life and dreamed of playing in the NHL. My best and my worst memories are related to the rink.”

“Best and worst?” There’s that deviation.

“Best would be winning the Calder Cup in 2016, helping get the Jackets to the second round of the playoffs in 2019. Worst would be losing, obviously,” he laughs and sighs, “And a 

good friendship ended because of hockey.”

Friends

“C’mon, Anderson, show the people what they want!” You yell from the bench. The boys had morning practice in Calgary, and you were in charge of the social media, that being your job and all. You were trying to get Josh to come over and say ‘hi’ to the fans; every time he was on camera, the socials were blowing up with comments. He was one of the most requested players to appear besides PLD and Alexander. 

Josh was purposefully skating away from you as you tried to get him on camera. You got a video of him looking directly at you as you called his name, him laughing, and skating away. You captioned it “Andy’s shy today” with the emoji that has the single tear. 

The season was almost up. Because of how much time you and Josh had spent faking being nice to each other, you actually started to be nice to each other. You would even say that the friendship you had when you were younger was back. 

Pierre-Luc came up to you instead. “Can I get you saying hi to the Jacket’s fans?” You beg, “Josh is being an ass.” 

“Of course, get my good side,” he says, striking a pose. You burst out laughing, pulling up the camera. Giving him the thumbs up, he starts, “”Hi Blue Jackets fans! Thanks for your support, we’re looking forward to getting two points against the flames tonigh-” he jets cut off by Josh sneaking up behind him and scaring him, pushing him a little closer to you. “Josh!” he yells, both of them laughing, Josh nearly falling over.

“That’s going on the story.” You say, trying to catch your breath. “I thought you didn’t want to be on the story!” 

“Once I saw pretty boy over here flirting with you, I had to come stop it obviously. You know what they say about us hockey players: you get close to them only to hit you in the head with a puck.” He teases. He winks at you, skating away once the coach calls his line. 

“Flirting?” you tease. PLD would never.

“If anyone was flirting, it was him with you. That’s all he ever does.” 

“No, he doesn’t,” you argue, “We just got back to being friends from being literal enemies.”

“What are you guys talking so intensely about?” Alexander comes over to get some water.

“I don’t think intensely is the right word there,” you say quietly.

“Josh and Y/N always flirting.” Pierre-Luc spits out.

“Oh, yeah. Everyone knows about that.”

Lovers

“Alright, guys. Tonight we’re coming into some of your rooms so fans can see what it’s like on the road. So that means you can’t be disgusting or rude, so, basically, don’t be yourselves.” You tell the team once everyone is on the bus. Tonight the guys were staying over in Tampa Bay before their game tomorrow. The guys start screaming about being crude.

“So does this mean you won’t be in Anderson’s room tonight?” Zach teases, causing the entire bus to erupt in laughter, resulting in more crude comments.

Josh became your best friend on the team, and the guys knew that. They saw you turn from enemies to friends since you started last season. They also were all convinced that you and Josh were going to end up together, and they made no effort in hiding that.

“No, but it can mean that I can have you benched for being insubordinate to game day staff.” You shoot back with a smile, “If the Bruins can do it to Seguin for missing team breakfast.” All the guys start screaming again as Zach turned bright red. The bus started moving, but you had to keep talking so the guys knew what they had to do two hours after check-in, “So, I need the ok from Werenski, MacInnis, Merzlikins, Anderson, and Atkinson. If not I have backups, but these are who the fans voted on for this.”

The boys all say ok, still getting teased for having Josh on the list, but it was the fans who decided that, not you. You sit down in your seat near the front with the rest of the staff to feel your phone buzzing in your jacket.

“Please let me go last.” Josh sends you with the praying hands emoji.

“Fine,” you send back, “But that just means your room has to be the best.” 

You take the free time to prep what you’re going to ask each of the boys. The questions are supposed to be minimal and different; the guys are supposed to show the fans what they want to show them.

Werenski was a pain in your ass, as always. He kept teasing about Josh the entire time; it took you almost an hour to get in and out of his room and get enough footage for the video that you had to make before the team was done with the roadie in five days. MacInnis was no problem, but only gave you maybe five minutes of something usable. Merzlikins was an angel, as always, Atkinson was no problem, but it took three hours to get through the four of them. You were exhausted by the time you texted Josh that you were on your way to his room. 

“Your teammates are a pain in my ass,” you say walking into his room. You look around his weirdly clean and neat room, “You never keep your hotel room like this. When we were in Dallas it looked like a tornado hit within five minutes of you getting your key card.” 

“I want to present well to the fans,” he says, throwing his hands up in defense.

“Josh, no! This was supposed to be real. I’m not recording this, I’ll text Pierre-Luc,” you tell him, pulling out your phone to call him and ask if you could do his room tonight instead, turning to leave his room

“Wait, no, Y/N,” Josh says, grabbing your arm. He spins you around, causing your phone to go flying, his lips crashing into yours. For a second you don’t think you can move your body, the utter shock of your lips moving with his, until your body practically melts into his, your arms up around his shoulder, your hands running through his hair as his hands find his way around your waist. 

When he finally pulls away, all you can say is, “wow.” 

“So if I need a messier room, what do you say we start with the bed,” he smirks.

“Watch it,” you laugh, pulling him in to kiss again. And to think: you never thought you would have to see him again. 

[tactyl-ymon]

DnD session recap - Demons and Disappointments

We open several days after Tactyl Y’mon’s devastating defeat in the Principium fight pits against a group of frankly better equipped fighters who tried beat the magic of friendship and teamwork into everyone and Emmi leaving for horizons unknown on a ship with her mother, with everyone else partway through a series of group training exercises under the watchful eyes of Sukaren and Core, each offering their own version of helpful criticism to strengthen the groups teamwork. After several drawn out battles and training montages even Sukaren is left speechless although whether that was due to her being impressed by the groups teamwork or frustrated by their upsetting amount of dumb luck is yet to be discovered. As the group catches their breath, Core approaches and asks if the group think they’ve had enough only to be met with a mostly exhausted sounding chorus of yeses before Core smiles like a proud parent and mentions that one of his acquaintances, an elderly seer who lives in Principium has had a dream about the group and asked everyone to come see her when possible for guidance and that they should leave now before Sukaren finds another beast for them to fight so she could keep criticising them. While walking to the city, the group encounters their sometimes dragon, sometimes halfling, all time nerd friend, Fulgur who seemed excited to discuss what the group saw of the outside world and the seemingly endless storm overhead. They discuss how everyone felt a vague pull in their hearts towards the portal that led here, the druids in Kincaid village who knew most of the group from when they came and how time didn’t match up outside, Septima and Fulgur discussed old friends and acquaintances like the high elf inventor, Hattori, disgraced and kicked out of their society due to the nature of his experiments and who was responsible for Septima’s current form. With Hattori’s mention, Whisky pipes up that she knows a high elf named Hattori as well, in a jungle far to the east, he was her old teacher and taught her everything she knows about fighting, although he was very secretive about his life outside of her direct teachings. As fate would have it, most of the team has encountered him or his works with Fulgur mentioning that the hammer dangling from Eridol’s side was also made by him and the rapier that Veiraen stabbed himself with was also the inventors creation. After several silent beats, conversation continues on to the Night Roc that still lives in the Jaunted Pillars and the dragon Nervilyth that escaped it’s soulbound prison with part of Septima’s essence. With the mention of the undead dragon, Fulgur falters and tells us that should be impossible, Nervilyth should have died centuries ago before Osteria was created. After several minutes of the possibly millenia old dragon umming and ahhing over how Nervilyth still being out and about is a bad situation for literally everyone, the conversation moves back to the very large bird that tried to eat everyone after their impromptu trip through the sentient fast travel system known as the slyph. The group give as many details as possible about the night roc, the general surroundings of the Jaunted Pillars and how it’s become an overgrown mushroom forest that you should absolutely not burn because it’ll mess you up, but if you ask nicely, the group does have 2 pounds of the stuff in the bag of holding … for science. With the impromptu drug deal out of the way, the group discusses how the Roc almost ate Eridol and some possible spots the bird could relocate outside of the fungal hellscape that was poisoning the forest and was definitely not the type of environment to raise a child, even if that child is very large bird that could probably deepthroat a cow. The group leaves Fulgur outside his shop as they continue southward through the city towards the newly gentrified slums of the city to the patchwork tent of the elderly seer that had asked for them. We see the physical embodiment of what you think of when you envision grandma vibes but with dirty, short scraggly hair, enough teeth to count on one hand and milky non responsive eyes. Introductions are made over fresh brewed tea. Core explains that the seer had seen glimpses of the past that seemed to tie in with our undead dragon problem before she interrupts and mentions that we carry a strange scent with us, earthy, very potent, possibly magical and while everyone instinctively looks at Septima, she scoots over and somehow suddenly deaf to our protests begins rummaging through our packs until she finds the magic mushrooms and gets very excited. Mentioning these will do nicely and would allow her vision to extend to encompass us as well so we could see what she sees, makes it easier than having to put into words what she sees. With everyone weirdly eager to take a trip with their new grandma, we arrange ourselves around a fire, all hold hands and get our edible on. The tent disappears around us as everyone feels a pull in their brain far to the east, they find themselves sitting far above an empty expanse of desert, a monstrously large range of mountains to the side as time begins to rewind itself. A bright flash appears and the expanse of desert is replaced with a continent spanning city, bejewelled and twinking like the night sky itself. Centuries and millennia pass in an instant. The mountains themself begin to shudder and shake as the rock recedes and forms into a immense draconic skeleton, the earth shudders open and closed over the eons as golden flesh returns to the great wyrm and it jerks back to life next to a burning and nearly destroyed city, fire curling back and returning to the dragon in a sick reversal that left large patches of the city undisturbed. As time begins to slow it’s reversal and begins slingshotting back to where we came from the seer points to the golden great wyrm, proclaiming it as Aggadon, a powerful tyrant who’s bones hold together the earth itself. The city under attack is Aggadon’s Reach, the home of Septima, Fulgur and others from centuries ago. In the seconds before the city disappears in a flash, we see several small coloured dots racing towards it from all directions. Blue, Green, Black, White and Red. Septima is the one to confirm that they were Nervilyth and several other dragons that had come to shatter the hold Aggadon’s bones had over the earth itself and usher in a new age of destruction. As the vision fades, everyone finds themself in a grey expanse before a flash of violent purple light can be seen from within the seers still unresponsive eyes as she begins writhing unnaturally on the ground, she screams that the dreamwalker approaches and to run before the screams are cut short and she stops convulsing, body still contorted in a grim knot, rising slightly off the ground like a marionette on its strings. Her eyes replaced with a void of stars as she looks through everyone present and in a cacophony of voices says it looks west for strength and with a flick of her hand, three small specks of light appear in the seers withered hand as Core, Septima and Veiraen fall to the ground dead. She looks past Whisky and Donnatello, towards the small faltering figure of Eridol, a look of annoyance flashes across the elderly face as the voices whisper “God-touched” before the rictus grin reappears and the seer’s body begins folding in on itself. Each sickening snap and scrape the only sounds in the void before the body drops, whatever forced connection severed by the entity calling itself the dreamwalker. The expanse disappears and everyone is back in the tent. The already muffled sounds of outside were muted by the carnage inside the tent. Eridol screams and begins shakily reciting the prayers to resurrect the fallen comrades. Whisky and Donnatello try to make the seer comfortable while Eridol works. It feels like hours later when he finishes, Core, Septima and Veiraen conscious and the seer clinging to life. The group determines that whatever this is it’s above what they can deal with and petition Core to let them take it to the remaining council members of Ostaria. Upon hearing the news of what they have seen the council members mention that there is little they can do here. These entities are far older than anything their libraries would contain and if the group needs information they would need to leave the general safety of the country and travel abroad, quiet discussions occur about the available destinations and two options are given that garner a split vote. They could travel to the libraries of a magical city to the east or the religious archives of Eridol’s home country of Falthresh, far to the west. With a an even split of votes on where to go, the group splits, Septima, Whisky and Donnatello set to gather supplies and organise transport while Veiraen goes with Eridol to the large central temple in the city for Eridol to ask for guidance from his god as to where they should travel first. The Travel trio organise a lush carriage for the group with horses to pull it before coming across a travelling salesman the group had recently encountered and somehow charmed into liking us. Mentioning that he could teleport us to either location if we really needed but it would be up to us to make our way from there. Meanwhile at the large central church in the city Eridol tries and fails to commune with Tyr as Veiraen watches, growing frustrated the cleric asks if Veiraen could step outside and wait for a second as he begins another self pitying attempt to garner the gods attention, talking about how he is lost and needs guidance … he needs orders to server Tyr better. The room goes dark as Eridol finds himself in a misty void very similar to the one he found himself in earlier that day, the only light source being an immensely large, bright blue eye. As it slowly turns to focus on the small cleric, wisps of smoke begin to rise from the ground and form into several humanoid shapes. Before Eridol stands ghostly visions of his old military scouting platoon, they stand perfectly still, like a moment paused in time before turning towards Eridol and the very air itself shakes as an all encompassing voice shouts “YOU DISHONOUR THEM” The figures reach out pleadingly for Eridol as spectral gauntleted hands reach up and drag them down into the fog. The light begins to change to a sickly green as the figures are consumed and Eridol falls to his knees clutching his side, a familiar burning sensation tracing its way across his abdomen. Eridol sees flashes of the people he’s failed, of his home, of his family before he is back in the small church room, a worried drow rogue standing over him looking at the very clear unholy symbol of Bane branded into his side. Eridol heals the wound to the best of his abilities and asks that Veiraen not tell the others about this, not yet anyway. Veiraen, disappointed that Eridol is still so unwilling to trust him and the group, agrees not to say anything for now and they leave to catch up with everyone. With everyone back together and the obligatory showing off of the fancy new fantasy campervan the group sits down and Eridol mentions that he’s changed his mind and thinks they should go to the religious archives in Falthresh and that there’s definitely nothing that happened to influence his decision. After several pokes and prods from Whisky and Septima, Eridol mentions the vision he saw in the church and knowing that he would be physically unable to answer any questions on his own about what it represented, decides to cast zone of truth on himself and the deluge of secrets come out. He shamefully tells the group about his time in the military, his bonds with the platoon members, the cultists who ambushed them, the dungeon under the mountain they ended up in, the torture he endured at thehands of a so called Scholar until he broke, the despicable acts he did under their influence that earned him a heretics brand, the rescue by clerics of Tyr and not knowing what became of his found family, his abandoning the military, abandoning Sutha, his fiance and his family and his begging to the gods for strength to stop anyone else from following in his footsteps, the possible fate that awaits him once they begin travelling and that he is trying to do better, but he understands if they can’t forgive his past. The silence that follows is broken eventually by Whisky asking if anyone else needs a drink after that and that they’ve got a long day of teleporting half a world away to look forward to tomorrow. The group wakes early the next morning in several different shades of hungover and makes their way outside the city to the temporary camp of their travelling salesman companion and after an impromptu shopping session that nets the group several enchanted items, the destination is set, an oasis a couple miles out from the Falthreshian border crossing to avoid any military presence at the border and to avoid questions about why a carriage of heavily armed individuals is just appearing within the country. The salesman mutters some things as he does the mental math for the teleportation circle before very confidently rubbing out one of the glyphs and replacing it with a slight variation. The smell of chalk dust and ozone fill the air as the magic sparks to life and everyone boards the carriage and trundles through the gateway. It takes several seconds for the spots in their eyes to clear and see not a small, little oasis in the dunes but a mountain looming above them, gnarled and sinister trees surrounding the group on all sides and Eridol’s gut drops. He realises he is infinitely familiar with this mountain and the secrets held beneath it, everyone sees the panic and fear setting in on their small friends face as he wildly takes control of the carriage and begins rocketing in any direction away from it. The carriage narrowly missing trees and ditches large enough to bury a horse, until they don’t and several group members are launched forward into boulders and fallen trees and under one particularly angry coach horse with a broken leg. In the minutes it takes them to untangle themselves from the woods and heal the horse they hear a loud inhumane screeching come from above and a voice in their heads “Scholar Al-Halrazi sends his regards” as a giant demonic entity bashes its way into the camp, throwing an already injured Eridol closer towards death. A swift and brutal battle ensues before the creature falls and disappears in a violent explosion of sulfur and soot. Their victory is short lived as a flash of lightning illuminates the countless unnatural forms from within the clouds as dozens of Vrocks begin diving towards the group, intent on taking their prizes and Eridol does something he desperately does not want to do, he calls for his mother, telling her about the demons on their tail and hoping she can gather whatever help they can and intercept them outside his hometown of Brightbattern. Without waiting for an answer, everyone piles back into the carriage and continues their panicked descent trying to dodge divots and demons alike, hoping and praying that their message didn’t fall on deaf ears. 

[thepandapopo]

Sylvix Week 2020 Day 1: Wedding

Synopsis: No matter what world or what timeline they exist in, Felix and Sylvain will always find each other.

OR

Byleth becomes an omniscient immortal goddess that lists her top three favourite SylVix weddings that span across a variety of alternate universes and worlds.

OR

You gave me a wedding prompt and I gave you a three for one deal.

Written for Sylvix Week 2020

AU in which all the canon stuff happens but Sothis is actually the goddess of multiple universes and when Byleth merges with her, she gets to see Sylvix reincarnated in world after world, but no matter what they always find each other. This is her POV recalling her three favourite weddings.

The pirate one was definitely inspired by Pirates of the Carribean because that scene was so ridiculous and all I could think about was how it was SylVix level dumb.

There are not many things in this existence that Byleth finds beautiful, not anymore at least. After living for centuries upon centuries and in worlds that one could only dream of, it was safe to say that Byleth had pretty much exhausted all there was to see in terms of beautiful things.

But one thing she will always watch over fondly and with such heart rending piety that makes her wonder if perhaps there is a god even greater than her, is the way Felix and Sylvain’s souls always find their way back to each other, regardless of what life, regardless of what world, and regardless of what circumstances shape them.

----

The first world that Byleth has the pleasure of attending their wedding is in her original life. It is the life that she remembers the most vividly and fondly, back when everything was so new and yet not because of the soul of the progenitor god that resides within her.

The cathedral in Garreg Mach is strewn with swathes of teal and maroon fabrics, hanging from the ceilings in graceful arcs interspersed with pristine white. Blue and Red Salvia pepper the towering columns in the empty pockets where the ivy parts way to reveal long expanses of white stone, restored over years of hard work and loving care.

At the base of the altar near the head of the room, Byleth stands tall and proud as the officiant of this historical event, the joining of two territories through marriage in the traditional sense, but also so wholly untraditional in the fact that it is a Duke and Margrave committing to each other in a gesture that has nothing to do with politics and everything to do with building a future free of unspoken rules and obligations.

“Stop fidgeting,” Ingrid hisses at Sylvain from her position as Best Maiden. She is a vision herself in her Gautier red gown that is just practical enough that Hilda and Annette didn’t have to blackmail her too much into wearing.

Across from her, Dimitri – Felix’s Best Man - is also staring at the shifty groom who looks like he is half a minute away from bursting into either hysterical laughter or tears. It’s a bit of an odd sight seeing the King of Fodlan not standing center stage for once, but just for today, he has gladly traded in his royal garments for a simple, but smart looking military style get up (not unlike their old school uniform) in Fraldarius blue.

And in the middle of all of them standing right by Byleth’s side is their very own Sylvain Jose Gautier, dressed in his finest linens with a black jacket lined with crimson fur and golden thread. Draped across his front is an expanse of teal cloth that sweeps back over his shoulders and billows out in a magnificent cape emblazoned with both the Gautier and Fraldarius crests. Although Sylvain has always looked noble in his own way, his roguish grin has always softened the edges of his appearance with a mask of carefree immaturity. Today though, he looks every bit the mature esteemed war general turned Margrave; his shoulders are pulled back and he stands tall even though they all know that there are more than a few individuals in the crowd who oppose this marriage. Standing next to him, Byleth can literally feel the air of assured confidence that a person exudes when they know that they are doing something so fundamentally right, that there is no way that it isn’t fate.

If anyone had told them that Sylvain would be the first person among them to be married, a trip to the infirmary for hallucination would have been the follow up course of action. But here, standing at the altar under the beaming mid afternoon sun streaming through the windows, there is nothing that seems more natural.

Even if Sylvain won’t stop fidgeting.

“Sylvain,” Dimitri’s eyes are wide with suspicion and dread, “you’re not getting cold feet, are you? Goddess, Felix will kill you.”

“Yeah, and not even the pretend kill either. He’s going to really, truly run you through with his favourite sword. That you happened to get him, might I remind you.” Ingrid elbows him again, the sharp pain a gentler reminder of what pain he might be subject to in the near future if he really is considering ditching his own wedding. In the middle of the ceremony. With hundreds of guests around them.

“No, I’m not getting cold feet.” Sylvain rolls his eyes and tenderly rubs his ribs where Ingrid keeps jabbing him. “I’m just… I don’t know. I’m impatient. We’ve been standing up here forever.”

And of course, in typical Felix fashion, he just has to be proven wrong when the massive oaken doors at the entrance of the cathedral open with a groan, just barely audible over the swelling sound of the music changing and the rustling of clothes as their guests stand to welcome in the other groom.

The first time that Byleth gets to witness Sylvain’s entire world fall apart and click back together like two perfect puzzle pieces, is when he catches sight of Felix, led down the aisle by a beaming Annette, and breathtakingly resplendent in all white.

Blown out pupils obscure burnt sienna as they rake over the vision that is Duke Fraldarius walking slowly towards him with what looks to be the most obnoxiously long dress coat ever tailed. It clings to his lithe form sinfully from his shoulders down to his hips in such a way that coax’s Sylvain’s tongue to swipe across his lips, before draping and flaring back in a style reminiscent of a bridal train. The very same golden stitching that weaves through Sylvain’s jacket also glows ethereally in Felix’s clothes, which only serves to emphasize the silky midnight waterfall that has been tamed and woven into a side braid. Atop his crown sits a golden circlet that dips and meets in the center of his brow, adorned with a topaz flanked by two garnet rubies.

It is the first time that Byleth prays to the goddess and thanks Sothis for allowing these two souls, who are just so right for each other, to finally, finally get the happiness they so deserve.

When Felix’s golden gaze finally flutters up beneath inky lashes to meet Sylvain’s, the air in the room charges with tangible electricity and chuckles murmur through the crowd as both Ingrid and Annette reach out simultaneously to stop their respective grooms from bolting towards each other.

By the time Annette hands Felix off to Sylvain, both men are staring at each other with such blatant reverence and awe that Byleth almost feels bad for clearing her throat and ruining the moment.

“Dearly beloved, thank you all for gathering here today to celebrate the union of Duke Felix Hugo Fraldarius and Margrave Sylvain Jose Gautier.”

Somewhere to her right, Annette stifles a happy sob and the couple share a small, amused smile.

“The most remarkable moment in life is when you meet the person who makes you feel complete; the person with whom you share a bond so special that it transcends time and space and is something so pure and so wonderful, that you cannot imagine a life or world without them. For Felix and Sylvain, that moment happened back when they were children and too young to know what love meant, but old enough to know how love felt. Many of you know their story already; some of you have had the privilege to walk along side them as they each wrote their tale. But what we all have in common today is that we get to witness the moment when they begin to write their story together.”

Later in the evening, Sylvain will tease Dimitri about how constipated he looked trying to unsuccessfully supress his tears while also desperately trying not to crush the small pouch in his hands that contained Sylvain’s wedding band.

“Now, I do believe that you two have written your own vows. Sylvain, would you like to go first?”

There is a beat after Byleth asks her question before Sylvain can escape the fogginess of his mind that is filled with thoughts of Fe, Fe, Fe and comprehend what is being asked of him.

“It’s in your breast pocket,” Ingrid hisses behind him.

It’s true. Sylvain can feel the folded piece of parchment tucked snugly against his chest above his heart, but there is something in Felix’s mesmerized gaze that stays his hand and sends it reaching instead for smaller, scarred and callous ones.

“Felix…” his breath escapes him like a prayer. “My darling and dearest Fe.”

Honey brown eyes shimmer with unshed tears and Sylvain feels his chest tighten, squeezing out the lyrics of the song his heart has long been singing, but never aloud.

“For a person who has always had a silver tongue, it’s a wonder how you manage to steal all the words from me every single time. I could still try to wax poetic about how lovely you are or how lethal you look with a blade in your hand, but I feel like if I do either or those, you might just stab me.”

A soft snort and misty glare confirm his suspicion and Sylvain lets out a watery chuckle.

“Do you remember the promise we made as kids? Back then, we didn’t really know what it meant to die together, but we promised each other that anyways because the only thing we knew for certain was that we didn’t want to live without each other.”

Sylvain’s lungs burn with the effort it takes to inhale through the sobs that want to escape him. The rapid thumping of his heart threatens to burst out of his chest, and it nearly overwhelms him before a gentle hand brushes away a stray tear that has managed to escape its confines. Unwittingly, more tears fall even as Sylvain grounds himself with Felix’s touch and forges on.

“Fe, I have loved you for a very long time, even though I may not have known it. I have loved you since we were young children and you would sit in my lap for hours as I read story after story to you. I have loved you since we were old enough to train together and you would trounce me spectacularly even though I had the weapon advantage and you were such a scrawny brat. I loved you even through Glenn’s death when you shoved everyone around you away, building up the walls around your heart that I wanted so desperately to see again. I loved you when we met again at the officer’s academy and I tried to drown my problems in women and empty dalliances, and even through the war where I was so terrified that you would die before I could ever confess my feelings for you.

But Fe… despite how long I’ve loved you, I vow to you today that I will continue to love you for even longer in the years ahead. Dying is easy, but living is so much harder, and so that is why I want to build on our promise and vow to always stand by your side and live the rest of my life with you. I have loved you all my life, Felix Hugo, and I cannot imagine what my life would be without that constant. It grows each and every day, filling my heart more than I ever thought possible. Goddess… I love you Fe. I love you so very much, my beloved, and I hope that one day I’ll find the perfect words to tell you that, but for now, before all these people, I give you my heart and soul because it has always been yours from the start.”

Sylvain’s heart aches with the raw truth and gravity of his words that are so filled with love, bursting from his heart and overflowing from his eyes only to be brushed away gently by the very man who encompasses his thoughts every minute of every day. But despite how shaky his breath is, Sylvain’s hands are steady as he slips the onyx band onto the ring finger of Felix’s left hand.

“Felix? Would you like to read your vows?” It is dead silent in the cathedral, save for the few sniffs and hiccups from their closest friends.

“Sylvain.”

Byleth can see the moment that Felix steels his resolve in the same way he does right before entering battle. Right now, Felix is fighting his own demons, but he is determined to win because he owes it to Sylvain to be just as raw and open as he has laid himself out to be.

“Sylvain. I… we both know that I’m not good at words, but I want to try, for you, because I know that sometimes the voices in your head try to convince you that you’re not worthy of love, and I want to shut them up once and for all by laying everything bare in front of all these people.”

It’s funny and honestly a little bit unfair, Felix thinks to himself, how Sylvain still looks so breathtakingly beautiful even while dripping snot and fully on ugly crying.

“I’m not a good partner, Sylvain. And before you interrupt me, just shut up and listen to the rest of what I have to say. I’m not a good partner because unlike you, I don’t know how to use my words to communicate my feelings. No matter how hard I try, it always comes out sharp and… and wrong. But even though I’m just so fucking awful at it, you somehow always seem to understand me.” Felix pauses to steady his breathing and blink away the tears that are beginning to blur his favourite view.

“I honestly never thought I could have this. I didn’t think there was a future for us because I was so sure that one day you would get fed up with me and leave. But you didn’t. No matter how much I pushed you away, or how many insults I threw your way even though what I really wanted to say was the complete opposite, you always stayed there by my side through thick and thin. And what’s more, you always understood what I was really trying to say.

I hate illogical things. I hate the idea of dying for someone or doing something I hate just because someone else happens to like it. But you… Sylvain, you make me want to do all of those things.”

Felix falters a little, swallowing the lump in his throat that wants to stop his closest guarded secret from slipping out.

“It doesn’t make any sense and it honestly frustrates me just how unwaveringly confident I am that I would die for you in a heartbeat. I would willingly go to those operas that you love so much even though I can’t stand them just so I can see that one smile that makes the world around me fall away. With you, I want to do the things that I’ve always shunned. I want to get married to you. I want to become your husband. I want to adopt children and raise a family with you. I want to grow old with you and spend our days sitting in front of a fire watching our grandchildren run around causing all sorts of mayhem that they probably learned from you.”

“So today, I will vow to you to live with you through whatever bullshit might come our way. I vow to love you until our dying breaths and beyond. But the greatest vow I will make you today, is the vow to lay down my blade and put to rest any lingering thoughts of becoming a mercenary because… because a life with you… loving you… I want that more than anything in the world. I love you, Syl.”

All around them, their friends beam at them through tears and, in Annette and surprisingly Dimitri’s case, elated blubbering. Felix wastes no time grabbing the ring from his king and slipping it onto Sylvain’s ring finger because one minute longer not being married to his favourite idiot is one more minute wasted.

No one cares that Byleth doesn’t even get to say her final line prompting them to kiss because they both lunge at each other at the same time, the crowd around them cheering and whooping, their voices echoing through the halls and much longer in Byleth’s memories.

----

Byleth’s second favourite wedding between Felix and Sylvain is unfortunately not one that she gets to officiate.

Instead, she’s busy parrying the downward strike of a soggy half pirate, half sea creature and returning a blow of her own and painting the floor beneath them a murky ink color as she cuts into its shoulder. Their ship has been boarded by Davy Jones’ and they barely have time to fire an SOS flare into the sky before they are overrun with the cursed pirates.

“Did someone call for backup?”

Sylvain’s hair is plastered to his forehead from the salty spray, but his crimson hair is still more than easy to spot from where it pops up from their starboard side where his own ship has anchored itself to the Aegis. His men let out a mighty battle cry as they dash across the wooden planks connecting their ships while others swing in from above on ropes hanging from the towering mast.

“You’re late, you fucking asshole!” Felix shouts above the sound of his handheld pistol firing straight into the face of an unfortunate pirate. The thick clam like shells around his body is explanation enough of why Felix is using his gun instead of his sword which he favors.

“Aw, Fe. Don’t be like that! You know I’d never ignore a distress call from you!”

“Then next time answer it sooner!”

Felix ducks when Sylvain jumps off the ledge over him and thrusts his own sword into an enemy that had been sneaking up behind him. Despite being rival captains of their own pirate ships, Sylvain and Felix fight like a well-oiled machine, slipping in and out of each other’s space and covering any blind spots that are exposed. It’s a bit odd seeing them fight in such a different style, but Byleth still admires the fierce skill in which Felix takes down his opponents while Sylvain always approaches more cautiously, using tactics and ploys that befit his strategic mind.

Absolute chaos reigns around the two of them and the clashing of swords peppered intermittently with the loud cracks of gunpowder igniting fill the air. The smell of the sea all around them is thick with the lingering smell of burnt sulphur and even more so the irony tint of blood.

“Are the two lovebirds bickering again?” Claude grins at Byleth as he sidesteps a tackle and plunges his blade through the back of the stumbling figure. His Golden Deer cape billows out as he turns and the bright yellow is a beacon of hope to the rest of their crew. Normally, Byleth herself would be wearing one as well, but she has been on loan from Claude and spending the past month or so aboard the Aegis with Felix helping him navigate some truly terrible waters.

“Yes. Although I do wish they would find a better time to do so.” Claude can practically hear her eye roll which just makes it all the more amusing to him.

“Byleth, you wound me! There’s never a better time for… well, anything really, than the present!” Sylvain laughs, but immediately grimaces when the body whose head he lopped off drenches him in black ichor.

Beside him, Felix looks at the new stains on his already disgusting pants and scowls. “Be more careful, you idiot! I can’t save you if you poison yourself by accidentally ingesting some of that toxic shit.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, regret burns through him and ignites his cheeks with flames.

“Oooh. Is Felix Fraldarius actually worried about me?”

“Shut up before I run you through with my sword.”

“You wouldn’t do that, Fe. Because you loooooove me.”

“Sylvain. I swear I’m going to-“

Suddenly a body goes sailing past them and Hilda stomps out from below decks where she has clearly fought her way out of. She points her axe menacingly at the two captains and if Felix didn’t just see her send a full-grown man six flying feet, Felix would have laughed. “If you’re not going to fight, then at least kiss already. We’re all sick and tired of you guys polluting the high seas with your stupid, angsty, rival love.”

“Well just because you’re bitter that your brother chases away all your-“

Sylvain doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before Hilda swings her axe in a side swipe. It’s only from years of fighting that the red haired captain is able to duck in time, letting the blade of the axe connect with a unsuspecting enemy instead.

“Okay, okay! Touchy subject. I get it.”

Thankfully, their squabble fades into the chaos as they double down to repel the ghostly abominations from their ships.

However, like all the other worlds and lives in which Byleth has known Sylvain, he just can’t seem to keep his mouth shut for very long and is calling out for Felix even while more enemies somehow appear from the depths of the sea, truly outnumbering them two to one now.

“Hey Fe! Marry me.”

“What?”

“Marry me!”

There’s an awkward pause, only punctuated with Felix quickly shoving his sword into an oncoming enemy.

“Sylvain, this is not the time!”

“Come on, professor! Things are looking kinda bleak and I don’t really want to die without having married Fe.” Sylvain grins and shoots another enemy over his shoulder without even looking. “and plus it would totally boost morale!”

“I’m not marrying the two of you right now. Felix hasn’t even said yes yet, for crying out loud!”

Seriously, Byleth thinks to herself, she is getting way too old for this shit.

“Claude! If you won’t marry us, then Claude can! He’s a captain too, right?” Sylvain shouts up at the golden garbed leader who is sniping people from the safety of the foretop.

“Consent, Sylvain! Consent is important!” Hilda screams.

Another enemy falls from behind Felix and he turns to face Sylvain who has the biggest shit eating grin on his face. “Well, Fe? What do you say? Wanna get hitched?”

There’s a beat.

And then another.

And then,

“Claude. Marry us.”

Sylvain’s smirk is bigger than the time he struck literal gold.

“Gladly!” Claude laughs and doesn’t even blink as he shoots down enemies left and right. “Deerly beloved, we are gathered here today to-“

“Fuck your deer puns! Just get to the important shit.”

Clearly, Pirate Captain Felix is a lot less patient than Duke Felix. Or perhaps it is more to do with their current circumstance than the actual virtue.

“Jeez, fine fine! Uncultured swine, the lot of you, truly. Do you, Felix Hugo Fraldarius, take Sylvain Jose Gautier to be your lawfully wedded husband? In sickness and in health, in scurvy and even at the bottom of Davy Jones’ locker?”

“I do.” Each word is punctuated by a sword slash and the enemies around their odd band of allies begins to thin.

“And do you, Sylvain Jose Gautier take Felix Hugo Fraldarius to be your lawfully wedded pirate booty husband? To treasure him more than literal treasure? To have him in all his grumpy glory and to hold him even when he threatens to stab you?”

For someone who is very likely to die in the next ten minutes and also covered in guts and ichor, Sylvain is incredibly happy when he chirps back a gleeful “I do!”.

“Then, by the power vested in me by the guy whose ship I stole after I killed him, I now pronounce you husband and husband. So fucking kiss already.”

It’s by no means their most glamourous wedding, but Byleth can’t help but remember fondly on the matching grins on Felix and Sylvain’s faces as they kissed in the middle of that god forsaken hell of a boat, looking for all the world like the two puzzle pieces that have always fit together perfectly no matter what color or shape they may morph into with the crossing of time and dimensions.

It is such a shame really, that their small moment of respite and happiness breaks when a terrified voice pierces through the cacophony of sound.

“KRAKEN!”

----

Byleth’s third favourite Felix and Sylvain wedding is one where she unfortunately doesn’t get to be there with them, no matter how much her heart aches. Instead, she watches them from above, in a space that no mortal (and honestly not even any god) can truly begin to comprehend nor describe.

“Close it, close it. Hurry the fuck up!” Felix’s voice echoes in the dilapidated church even though his voice is hardly louder than a whisper. “We can push the pews up against the door to bar it.”

Sylvain is exhausted and his chest is heaving from being on the run for the past day and a half, but he nods and gets to work anyways, heaving the heavy wooden benches over to where Felix is bracing his shoulder against the door in case any undead try to get in.

It takes a good while before either man feel safe enough to leave the door unattended. In a world overrun by zombies, there aren’t any second chances or lessons learned – one slip up is all it takes for death, or worse yet, turning into the undead.

When Sylvain’s heart and mind finally slow down enough to observe their surroundings, he wants to laugh at the absurd irony of it all. “A church? Seriously, Fe? I’m kinda surprised we didn’t burst into flames as soon as we crossed the threshold.”

“It was the best option. All the other buildings had too many entrances. This one only has the one door and all the windows are boarded up already.”

Felix is already unpacking their travel bag and setting up camp in a far corner away, tucked away from any line of vision from potential cracks in the boards or windows.

“It’s just, I thought you would automatically avoid churches; especially with how our parents tried to raise us.”

It’s a bit of a sore topic between the two of them, both having grown up as close family friend and their parents being extremely religious. Felix more so after his older brother died in the line of duty and Rodrigue fell to religion to cope.

When Felix and Sylvain came out as gay to their families, it was nothing short of awful. The Gautiers had immediately disowned Sylvain, and although he was expecting it – given their track record with Miklan who was also disowned for the same thing – it still hurt and left a large, gaping hole in his heart. Rodrigue on the other hand had only Felix left. Despite their differences, he was reluctant to lose the last family member he had, instead opting to pile brochures after brochures of conversion therapy camps on Felix’s desk until the metaphorical house of cards finally gave way to years of anger and resentment.

If either of them had known that would be the last time they would see their families before the world went to hell in a handbasket, Sylvain likes to think that maybe they would have tried a little harder to keep them in their lives.

“What’s wrong?”

Felix is looking at him with those piercing golden eyes that Sylvain adores so much. Right now, it’s the gaze that Felix uses whenever his curiosity is piqued but he knows not to push any boundaries. It’s because Felix knows when to push and pull, and how to follow the ebb and flow of his mind that Sylvain loves him with every fibre of his being.

“Just thinking,” he hums. He drags a dirt streaked hand through his hair and ignores the grimy feel of the sunset locks. “About how you’re the only family I have. The only family I want.” He clarifies when he sees the strange look on Felix’s face where he is stirring the can of soup over a pitiful fire.

They are silent for a while, letting only the wind whistling through the empty rafters overhead fill the gaps between them. If they were anyone else, the loud echoey hall would have allowed loneliness to slip its way into their space, but they’re not; they’re Felix and Sylvain, the two boys turned men who have always been at each other’s sides from diapers to survivors.

“You’re my family too.”

It’s only a whisper, but Sylvain hears the declaration clear as day and it sends his heart soaring to heights that are only possible whenever Felix is involved. So high, that a random thought manages to worm its way into his head and burrow itself deeper and deeper until Sylvain cannot help but blurt out:

“Have you ever thought about getting married? Us, I mean?”

Felix startles for a moment, staring at him with wide eyes and Sylvain can see the beginnings of a blush sneak its way up his turtleneck collar.

“What?”

“Have you ever thought about us getting married?”

“Where is this coming from? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse here.”

Felix isn’t wrong, but his flaw was that he could never really see beyond the immediate task. Which is exactly why they worked so well together – Sylvain, admittedly, was all about smelling the flowers and walking wherever his path took him, while Felix had the discipline and determination to focus in one goal and hound it with unwavering precision.

Instead of answer, Sylvain walks up to the altar at the front of the room and lays a hand against the podium, his fingers dragging through the thick layer of dust and debris, leaving behind a trail of shiny wood that peaked at him from below.

“I’ve always dreamed of marrying you, you know.”

The admission slips from his lips like a dew drop off a petal, slowly at first, but then falling to gravity and splattering on the floor between them leaving moisture pooling at the corners of Felix’s eyes.

“You… wanted to marry me?”

It’s unfathomable. It’s outlandish and impossible and all things incomprehensible but God, if Felix doesn’t want it with a burning passion that threatens to disintegrate him from the inside out.

“Want to marry you. Still do.” Sylvain flashes him that crooked grin that he loves oh so much. So much so that his heart rends every time he sees it and fills him with so much love that he finds himself uncharacteristically stepping off the metaphorical ledge and praying that he can fly with his next words.

“Sylvain. Marry me. Right here, right now.”

This time it’s the red head’s turn to gawk and splutter, and damn if it doesn’t fill Felix with a giddy smugness.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“You heard me. Marry me. We’re in a church aren’t we? Isn’t that all churches are good for?”

Sylvain wants to scold him and tell him that churches are also for praying, but bites his tongue on the bitterness that begins to coat it; Sylvain used to pray, but what’s the point when no one really listens?

(Byleth wants to go to them. She really, truly, does. But even a Goddess is not all powerful.)

Instead, Sylvain wordlessly extends his hand towards Felix and pointedly keeps his gaze to the crumbling statue of Mother Mary and the large cross that hangs ominously over their heads. When he finally feels familiar calloused hands in his, he pulls and Felix allows himself to fall into warm arms that have made him feel loved for so many years.

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius. Words cannot describe how much I love you. You’ve always been there by my side, through thick and thin, and honestly, I don’t really deserve you. But I vow to keep striving to become a person who is worthy of your love. I vow to live my life to the fullest everyday to become a better person for you because you make me want to be a better person.”

Each promise is punctuated with a chaste peck on the lips, each filled with more love than the last until Sylvain is murmuring his words against the plushness of Felix’s mouth.

“I vow to love you until the day I die and to protect you with everything that I am. You are my family, Fe. You are my home. And I will always come back to you – no matter where, when, or what world; I swear, I will always find my way back to you.”

Felix buries one hand in the collar of Sylvain’s fur lined jacket while the other tangles in his hair, trying to desperately pull him closer even though they are already pressed up against each other, chest to chest and hip to hip.

“Sylvain Jose Gautier. You’re an absolute idiot if you don’t know how much I love you.”

(“Fe, why are you insulting me during our vows?” “shut up.”)

“We’ve known each other forever and sometimes I take for granted just how much of my life you occupy until you’re suddenly not there, and all I’m left with is loneliness and a giant Sylvain shaped hole where my heart should be. I vow to never take you for granted ever again, because despite what you think, you are worthy of love, Sylvain. And you deserve to be happy.”

Something wet plops onto Felix’s cheek but he pays it no mind and continues with his vows, keeping his temple pressed against Sylvain’s jawline and his eyes closed.

“I vow to live by your side for the rest of my days so that I can remind you of that when the voices in your head become too loud. But above all, I vow to love you in such a way that lets you be the Sylvain that you really are, wholly and unapologetically so that you never have to hide behind a fake smile ever again. You are my home, Sylvain. I’ll always come home to you.”

When Felix raises his gaze to look at Sylvain, he cannot help but smile fondly at the teary, lovestruck expression on his face.

“You don’t have to cry about it, dummy.” He says, even as he raises himself on his tip toes to kiss away the droplets clinging to wispy lashes.

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, clinging to each other in this space that they have made their vows and tied their lives together in the way that they should have long ago. They continue holding each other even as the night falls and the chill settles in, and into the morning when the tell-tale sound of unearthly groaning arrives at their doorstep.

“You have my back?” Felix asks completely nonchalantly as he unsheathes his katana and falls into a battle stance that he has long since mastered from after school lessons and then polished in real life survival.

Sylvain grins at his husband from his position perched on the highest ground available, his rifle and scope already set up and a variety of other guns, locked and loaded, littered around him.

“Always.”

----

Byleth dreads the day that Felix and Sylvain’s souls reach the end of their life spans and fizzle into nothingness, dissolving back to the void from which all souls are created and returned. But until that day comes, she continues to watch over them as they are born, and as they grow and fall in love over and over again.

Sometimes she will be allowed to step in and take a more active role in their stories, but in the times that she cannot, she knows without a doubt that they’ll be okay.

Because, after all, even if they weren’t soulmates, Byleth knows without a shadow of a doubt that Felix will always choose Sylvain, and Sylvain will always find his way back home.

XxXxXxXxX

Want to get the latest updates on my progress and fic postings? Check out my writing twitter.

[angelsandacceptance]

Genie of the Lamp

Chase and Harley’s plane touches down on the tarmac in Oahu, Hawaii. After everyone leaves the plane the girls head to their hotel with an ocean view. On the plane Harley had started rereading the Harry Potter series for the thousandth time. Chase, rather, had binge watched horror movies while cross-stitching (and has now made up her mind to never admit how many times she stabs herself).

 “This is the nicest place we’ve stayed in a while,” Harley comments when the two enter the hotel room. The room is quaint, but lavish compared to the motels they were used to staying in. This room had high, white walls, a large bathroom, with a jacuzzi tub and shower. Ornate mirrors hang on the walls opposite each bed, with a large flat screen tv in the center.

Chase sighs, running and landing on her back as she jumps onto one of the beds with a laugh. “This place is awesome! Ugh, just what we’ve needed. When’s the last time either of us had an actual vacation?”

“There was that week I decided to visit my family.”

“Yeah, but that was still a while ago. This is also like, real vacation. I mean, look at that view!” Chase points out the large window, spanning most of the far wall, curtains pulled back to display the gorgeous view; they can both see the beach, with the waves lapping at the shore, few people dotting the shoreline as they relax in the sun. Green, lush wildlife grows abundantly all around them. “We don’t see that everyday. Can’t tell you when the last time I was at the beach was.”

“Me either. I can’t wait to be in the ocean again.”

“Same! Let’s change real quick, then we can head down to the water.”

The girls change in their swimsuits, before grabbing towels and running down to the beach. Harley has to chastise Chase, who forgets to put sunscreen on and begins to turn pink within minutes.

After Harley is satisfied with Chase’s cover of sunscreen, which only helps to make her look somehow paler than normal, they race to the water. Chase grabs Harley in a bridal style hold, only to quickly drop her in the surprisingly warm waves. Chase, however, is not thinking clearly when she does this, because Harley’s arms are laced around her neck, dragging her into the water as well. They both surface, spluttering, wiping the water from their eyes. They both shriek and laugh at each other’s reactions as they dive further into the waves, splashing each other. 

***

The girls head to a food shack on the beach soaking wet, towels loosely tied around their hips, though not bothering to catch the water dripping from their hair. Chase brushes hers back with her fingers, pushing the accidental pink strands from her face (accidental because the die was purple but didn’t stick). Harley simply ignores her own Auburn-red hair, which drips slightly from her bangs. 

A waiter comes by, asking if they are ready to order. Having known what their first meal in Hawaii would be, they both nod excitedly. They each order fish and chips and Chase gets a fruity cocktail. 

“God, I love fish.” Harley says, eating a piece.

Chase, taking a bite of her cod, nods enthusiastically. “This is so amazing. Ugh, the boys are missing out.”

“Yeah, too bad Dean’s afraid of flying. If he wasn’t they might’ve come.”

“I don’t know. Sam did say that he didn’t want to go so far. But yeah, Dean probably could have changed his mind. I mean, c’mon dude I’m scared of heights and everything, but you don’t see that stopping me.”

“True, guess he’s just a scaredy cat.”

Chase laughs. “Don’t let him catch you saying that. It might hurt his feelings.”

“Then he’s a sensitive scaredy cat.”

“Another thing to not let him catch you saying.”

“Let him hear it. I’ve caught him saying worse about me.”

“Yeah, he probably wouldn’t say anything he’d just go in the corner and pout.”

“That would be hilarious.”

Chase nods agreeing, taking another bite of her food.

***

The girls got back to their hotel room to find a collective amount of 30 missed calls from Dean and texts from Sam saying he tried to stop him. Harley immediately calls him back and he picks up before the first ring. 

“Where the hell were you? I thought the plane went down!” Dean shouts.

“We just went swimming. Chill,” Harley says, trying to calm him down.

“Would it’ve killed you to call... Wait, you went swimming? What are you wearing?”

“Gross!” Chase yells into the phone.

Dean hesitates before defending himself, “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“You’re Dean, of course you did,” Chase says. 

“Maybe I’ll tell you later,” Harley teases.

Chase turns to Harley with wide eyes, mouthing, ‘Oh, we are so talking about that later.’ before turning back to the phone. “Don’t get any funny ideas there, Deano. I can and will kick your ass.”

Dean and Sam both laugh over the phone, Dean having obviously put the girls on speaker. 

“Ten bucks on Chase,” Sam comments. 

“Hey!” Dean exclaims.

“I’m so not getting involved in this one,” Harley says.

“So no one’s betting on me?”

“Course not, Dean. Why would they?” Chase laughs. The girls can both just imagine the pout on his face. “Look, now you know we aren’t dead, so can we go to enjoy our vacation please?”

“What if I want to talk to you?” Dean asks. 

“You literally could have come with us, but noooo. You’re too much of a scaredy cat to.”

“Hey, you’re afraid of heights, Chase,” Dean says in defense. 

“Yeah, but you don’t see that stopping me. I promise, we will talk to you later, okay?”

“I want nightly and morning updates!”

“Nightly,” Harley says, trying to compromise.

“And pictures,” Sam says. 

“Okay, okay, we promise.” “Good,” Dean says. “I will talk to you two later.”

The girls bid their goodbyes, then hang up, sighing in relief before looking at each other in disbelief. They both burst out laughing, thinking of how Dean is paranoid, but how it is also endearing. 

“Morning and night. I mean really? Once a day is more than enough,” Harley mutters.

“Really though. What does he think’s gonna happen?”

“Who knows what goes on in that brain of his.”

“Well obviously what goes on in that brain of his is ideas of you in a swimsuit.”

“Any girl in a swimsuit more like.”

“I dunno about that. He seems very keen on just you. However, I have to ask. ‘Maybe I’ll tell you later’ probably did not help him think about anything else. What was with that comment?” Chase fake shudders. “It was in front of me and everything.”

“I was just teasing him. It’s not like it meant anything,” Harley says plopping down on her bed.

“Right. It meant nothing. Nothing at all. I bet that is definitely the truth,” Chase says, sarcasm dripping heavily from each word. “Because thinking that you would say that and not mean it in any way would be preposterous. Of course I know you were teasing him! My point is you wouldn’t be teasing him without due cause.”

“I really would be though.”

Chase raises an eyebrow. “Mmmhmmm. Sure. Let me just call bullshit real quick.”

“Okay maybe I wanted him to think of me a little, but that’s it.” Harley says defending herself.

“Yeah,” Chase scoffs. “Just ‘A little’.”

***

The girls woke up the next morning, well, Chase woke up. Mainly because Harley didn’t know how to be quiet while she’s getting ready.

Sitting up onto her elbows, Chase checks her phone, groaning at the sight of a steady 7:21 staring back at her. She turns to Harley with a frown and creased brows. “You seriously couldn’t have waited nine more minutes for my alarm to go off?”

“Sorry, Scooby wasn’t cutting it for me anymore,” Harley says as South Nashville Blues plays at full volume in the bathroom and she does her makeup.

Chase, meanwhile, flops backwards onto her bed, simultaneously grabbing a pillow and covering her face. “Wake me up in nine minutes.”

“Six minutes now.”

“Wake me up in six minutes then!” Chase exclaims, her voice muffled by the pillow. 

“Fine,” Harley sighs, dragging the word out before asking herself, “Should I even bother doing my hair? It’s just going to get wet. We’ll probably get some photos on land though. Right?”

“I’m curling mine, then I’m not gonna care until after we get back out of the water. After that, I’ll probably just braid it.”

“I can’t stand when my hair’s curly. I think I’m gonna straighten it. Just in case. Hey, did you bring any hairspray? I didn’t pack any.”

“Oh yeah, I did. I wanted to make sure my curls stayed even if it got windy. Why? You don’t need it to straighten your hair.”

“Yeah, but you can use it to waterproof your makeup.”

Chase shoots up in bed. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. I’ve done it before.”

“Okay, I’ve got to try this! I was just planning on skipping eyeliner, but now I don’t have to.” Chase gets out of bed, silencing her alarm before it could go off, joining Harley in the bathroom. 

***

Harley fiddles with the radio before giving up and playing something on her phone.

Chase groans, letting up on the gas. “Why is this car so touchy?”  She turns to Harley, gesturing slightly to the speedometer. “This car is so annoying! Jack would never do this to me.”

“It’s because it’s a newer car. That’s why it’s so touchy.”

Chase scoffs. “That doesn’t give it the right.”

“It’s just for a couple of days.”

“The audacity!” Chase exclaims dramatically.

“Calm down, it’s just for a little while.”

Chase sighs, continuing as though Harley hadn’t spoken. “Just like the audacity you have, claiming you don’t like my brother.”

“Hey, we're not in Jack. No talk about me liking Dean.”

Chase rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say.”

“Thank you.”

Sudden realization dawns on Chase. “Wait, you just admitted you liked him!” Chase refrains from screeching-but just barely. 

“I didn’t mean I liked him. I just meant you think I like him.”

“Ugh. Okay, okay, fine whatever. Be in denial. What’s our first scene gonna look like for pictures?”

“We could do a shot like the main poster for H2O.”

“Ooo, yes.”

“And then I brought my waterproof camera.”

“Wait, you did bring it? I forgot my polaroid sadly.”

“Yeah, I remembered thankfully.”

“Okay, cool. Now here we are! Surf  ‘N’ Shack. Think they sell food? I didn’t eat breakfast.”

“I’m sure they sell food.”

“Good.”

***

The girls smile, looking out at the wake crashing onto the shore. Plenty of beach is in front of them, but there is also rocky cliffs situated to their right. The perfect place to take photos. The girls had their rented silicone mermaid tails and struggled to put them on for longer than they would like to admit.

“That was exhausting.” Harley admits as she finally gets her tail on.

“That was… unpleasant. But the pictures will be well worth it.”

“They better be,” Harley says, flipping herself over so she’s not sitting on her dorsal fin.

Chase struggles to her feet, using the surrounding rocks to help her hop closer to the water. “This is gonna take a while,” she laughs after three hops. 

Harley starts crawling across the sand towards the water dragging her tail behind her. Chase laughs at her, before losing balance and falling over.

“It’s easier this way,” Harley chuckles.

“Well, it looks weird. Oh my God! I just realized. It is going to be so much harder to get this off when it’s wet!”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Well, it’ll definitely be more uncomfortable.”

“It’ll be weird for sure. Like shedding your skin.”

“I never asked, wanted, or imagined that mental image until now. So thank you for that.” 

“You’re welcome. Wait, we should take the H2O photo before we reach the water.”

Chase gasps. “That’s brilliant!”

“I have my moments.”

“You mean moment, because you’re never not brilliant.”

“Aww! Thanks!”

“Well duh.” Chase scoots closer to the water. “Now, let’s get this done with so we can go swimming!”

Harley takes the photo as her arms are longer. Then they continued to crawl till they reach deep enough water to swim.

***

“I’m beached! I’m a beached whale!” Harley yells as she reaches the shore.

“I’ll save you,” Chase shouts, swimming and then scooting up the shore to Harley. Then, she lays there, tired out. “Shit, now I’m beached.”

The two girls started laughing uncontrollably at their beached state.

“Best vacation ever,” Harley says between laughs.

“I’m just glad that we get to relax and nothing is going wrong.”

“Oh god, did you just jinx it?”

Chase shrugs, peeling her tail back a little at a time. “I doubt it,” she huffs. “Seriously. We are in Hawaii on vacation for Thanksgiving. We deserve a break. I’m sure God, wherever the hell he is, recognizes our efforts, and will grant us some peace.”

“Sure, like he’s been much help before.”

“Well, he will give us peace this week, or he will be punched very, very hard when I meet him.” Chase looks to the sky. “And that’s a promise!”

Harley begins trying to kick out of her monofin before pulling the tail skin down.

Chase shimmies out of hers, kicking her legs slightly, her hands brace on the ground behind her for support. “This is one of the most annoying things I’ve ever had to deal with.” Blowing the hair out of her eyes, she continues, “What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“The spa and that hike to the Kaniakapupu ruins.”

“Oh, yes, a spa. That sounds like heaven.”

“It does, doesn’t it. I wanna get some gel nails so I don’t constantly have to redo them.”

“I want a fucking massage.”

“Honestly. I probably need one. Either that or a chiropractor.”

“Same. Or death.”

“You are not allowed to die on me.”

“No promises,” Chase laughs.

“Fine, but you have to come back.”

“That, I will figure out how to do. There’s no way I’m going to die and miss out on the rest of our adventures together. That, and Dean owes me twenty bucks and pie that he still hasn’t paid up for.”

“What bet was it this time?”

“Like, I don’t remember, a month ago or so, Dean told me I couldn’t eat a whole pie in ten minutes. I bet him twenty bucks and another pie. Guess who won?”

“You.”

“Oh hell yes. Anyway, you wanna get food? I could go for some good Hawaiian bbq right now.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a fun new experience.”

***

Chase puts the phone on speaker as the dial rings exactly one and a half times before Dean picks up the phone. “Chase! Thank God you called. I was about to get upset that you’d break your promise.”

The girls hear Sam sigh over the phone. “We saw those pictures you sent. You two look like you’re having fun.”

“You look hot.” Dean pauses. “Obviously I’m talking to Harley.”

“Wow, Dean. I feel so much better now,” Chase says sarcastically.

“You look nice too, Chase,” Sam amends. 

“Thanks, boys. We miss you too,” Harley laughs.

“Of course you do,” Dean says, “No one to cuddle with at night.”

Chase rolls her eyes. 

“You flatter yourself,” Harley retorts.

“I do,” Dean responds cheekily. “All the time. But guess what?”

“So do I?” Harley guesses.

“You flatter me too, wait- How’d you know I’d say that?”

“Because you’re predictable?” Chase guesses. 

“I’m not predictable,” Dean says feigning hurt.

“I thought you were gonna say I flatter myself actually,” Harley counters.

“Well, see, I’m not predictable.”

“You kinda are, Dean,” Sam says.

“My own brother, betraying me like this.”

“What am I?” Chase asks. “I’m your sister and you’re not as offended? Rude.”

“You’re rude saying I’m predictable.”

“Well, you’re rude because-”

“Guys, really?” Sam asks, sounding tired.

“What?” Chase demands. “He started it.”

“Well, you guys are weird. I’m gonna go wash the sand out of my hair. So, bye, love you guys,” Harley says before getting up and heading to the bathroom.

“Was that an invitation?” Dean asks, thinking Harley is still near the phone. 

“Ew, gross, goodbye,” Chase says, hanging up the phone, despite her brother’s protests.

Shaking her head, Chase lays down onto the bed, waiting for her turn in the shower.

***

Today the girls head out to a group tour of the Kaniakapupu Ruins. “When was the last time we went sightseeing?” Harley asks.

“Other than everytime you stare at Dean? Don’t know.”

“I don’t stare at him.”

“Yeah, okay, and I don’t- uh. I don’t. Shit, I totally forgot what I was going to say,” Chase says, turning a light shade of pink. “Anyway, these ruins sure are pretty!”

“Yeah, and so is the land around it. Absolutely stunning.”

“You’re stunning. Quick, go over there and I’ll take your picture!”

Harley goes to stand in front of a fallen archway and Chase takes her picture. “Your turn!” Harley says, stealing the camera.

Chase laughs, shaking her head, but strikes a ridiculous pose nonetheless, a hand on her hip, the other on the back of her head, sticking her tongue out at the camera. “Okay, now we should probably catch up,” Chase says, gesturing to the group a few paces ahead of them. 

The rest of the tour went as normal as possible with Chase and Harley around. At least that’s what the girls thought until they overheard their tour guide talking to someone else about how a girl, Megan Brown, didn’t come back from the tour.

“Excuse me, ma’am, are you saying one of the girls disappeared?” Chase asks, interrupting the tour guide, who seemed to be talking to a head officer of some sort. “Is the tour route going to be closed down then?”

The tour guide shakes his head. “No need. It seems every couple months when we do this tour, a couple people wander off and get lost. There haven’t been any signs of animal attacks or kidnappings.”

“And you haven’t thought to handle the situation more thoroughly?”

“Have you even looked into the disappearances?” Harley asks. 

“Of course,” the officer says. “But it isn’t anything you two need to be concerned about.”

“It seems that it is,” Chase continues. “If this happens so often, you’d think you would have a better handle on things.”

“As long as you two don’t wander off, you will be fine. You two girls run along and don’t get into any trouble.”

Harley and Chase huff, but listen to the instructions. 

***

As Chase and Harley enter the spa, they’re surrounded by three people each. Harley has one man along with one woman, while Chase is surrounded by two women, each of them in their early thirties at the latest. 

Chase and Harley give each other a thumbs up as they are led to their own spa stations, close enough to hear, talk to, and make weird faces to each other, in hopes of getting one to laugh. 

“I’m Kai,” the man introduces. “And this is Kayla. The two lovely women attending you are Sarah and Halola.” 

“Nice to meet you.”

“So where did you two come from?” Kayla asks. “And what are you here on? Honeymoon perhaps?”

Harley shakes her head with a laugh. “No, actually. Just vacation.”

“We just came for the early holidays. We were just at the Kaniakapupu ruins.”

“Oh! That tour. It’s always so...interesting to hear the stories once visitors come back.”

“How so?” Chase asks.

“Well, you see-”

Kayla is cut off by Halola, who says something rushed in what the girls assume is Hawaiian. Turning back to the girls, Halola smiles. “It is nothing. Just petty gossip surrounding people who aren’t smart. We really shouldn’t talk about it or bother you.”

“You mean the disappearances. Well, a girl went missing on the tour before ours.  Does that really happen often?”

“Sadly, yes,” Kai says, ignoring the rolled eyes of Halola and Sarah. “But really, what happens to them is just a legend told to tourists by us locals to scare you. Really, I wouldn’t think much about it, at least for the time being. Now is your time to relax.”

“What’s the legend say?” Harley asks.

Kai smiles. “Well, legend is, King Kaniakapupu had an affair with another woman who wasn’t his queen. Driven mad with jealousy and rage, Queen Kanua’pele killed both him and his lover. Distraught over how the queen let the kingdom go after his death, he haunts the ruins, seeking revenge on any person who dares intrude in his home.”

Chase and Harley stare at him, slightly unimpressed. 

“Huh. That’s a good story,” Chase says. 

“Yes, yes, a story and nothing more. Not even a good story at that.”

Kai shoots Halola a look. “Ah yes, because I’m sure you prefer the older beliefs.” Halola stiffens slightly. She relaxes within a second, however. 

“I simply don’t believe in ghost stories and you shouldn’t be telling them to visitors that already are aware of the very real disappearances that occur.”

“It’s alright,” Harley says. 

“Yeah, trust me. Not much scares us away,” Chase laughs. 

“Even so,” Halola continues. “At least relax and we can finish this process. Next, you’ll be having your massage and then manicures.”

Chase and Harley grin at each other, pushing the story Kai told them aside for the time being. Next, they were getting massages. 

***

“So, that was the best thing ever!” Chase exclaims, flopping backwards onto the bed. 

“Agreed! Today was awesome! Except for the whole we might have a hunt thing.”

“Uh, no. No, no, and no. I might have allowed myself to be curious, but this is my vacation, and I will not be working on it!”

“Fine, I’ll just go it alone on this one.”

“Yeah, also not happening. I know you can hold your own and everything, but I would rather not have Dean trying to kill me.”

“He won’t try to kill you.”

Chase raises an eyebrow. “Right. I guess he didn’t give you the same pep talk.”

“Seriously, Dean?”

“Yes, seriously! You leave her alone for a moment, I’ll kill you. And you better not be running off on your own either. You are to go, have fun or whatever, and then come back. NO hunts, NO jobs, NO nothing. Capisce?”

Chase rolls her eyes. “Why would either of us need to go off on our own?”

“Because it’s you and her. Somehow, you guys are gonna do something or you’ll say something and boom. You’re separated and she’s in trouble or you are, and then you’ll fix it.”

“So you think we would fix it though?”

“That won’t keep me from killing you if something goes wrong.”

“Of course, blame me!”

“That’s what I plan on.”

“Fine, fine, okay! I’ll be careful. We won’t go off on our own. We’ll keep you posted.”

“Good. Now go have fun. And call me when you land.”

Chase makes a face at him. “Yes, dad.”

“Wait, he said all that?” Harley asks.

“Yep! So now we know who his favorite is. And it isn’t me, his own flesh and blood,” Chase sighs dramatically. 

“Wow,” Harley says, so low it barely registers.

“I know, right? It’s like he doesn’t trust us!”

“He really said all that?”

“Yeah. He sure is a buzzkill.”

“So we don’t listen to him. I mean we rarely do anyway.” Chase pauses, thinking for a moment. “You’re right about that. But I still say we don’t get involved unless we have to, okay?”

“Just one last look around the ruins?” Chase glares at Harley before sighing loudly. “Fine, I guess. But we go with a guide and group again. If something happens on that trip, then we can investigate.”

“Deal!”

***

“I told you there wasn’t any reason to be here again,” Chase complains, staring down at the EMF reader. 

“Wait, do you smell something?”

“Does bullshit count?”

“No, it smells like metallic-y.”

“Thought you were gonna say sulfur there for a moment. But yeah. Smells like blood,” Chase says, glancing back at the group. She takes a head count, then frowns. “See anyone missing from the group?”

“The chick with the giant sun hat?”

“Yeah, and the tour guide.”

“He didn’t want us looking into the disappearances,” Harley points out.

“Yeah, and now he and another woman are gone. What should we do?”

“We should split up and look for clues.”

“You watch too much Scooby Doo. Honestly, best plan right now is to probably stay with the group and see if the tour guide comes back. What’s his name?”

“Paulo, I think. And yeah you’re right, about both.”

“Of course I am.”

Ten or fifteen minutes later, the girls can’t be sure, Paulo seems to have reappeared from nowhere. He stands with a few others, pointing out carvings in the pillars against the far entrance. However, upon further inspection, the woman who had disappeared along with him is still gone.

“Okay, maybe it’s a good thing we came back,” Chase relents. 

“Told you.”

“Oh, don’t pull that card.”

“I’m pulling that card.”

“Rude,” Chase pouts. 

“Well, I’m not the nicest person in the world.”

“Fair. To be honest, if you were, we probably wouldn’t get along nearly as much as we do. Speaking of doing, what do we do about Pablo over there.”

“Paulo.”

“Same difference.”

“Find out what he is and gank him,” Harley shrugs.

“Guess that ghost story is just that. A story. Of course, a ghost would have been too easy.”

“I don’t know some are pretty nasty.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. Still, we at least would have known what to do. Now, we don’t have many leads, other than that,” Chase emphasizes ‘that’, nodding her head at Paulo. “We should go back to the hotel and come back here tonight.”

“Agreed.” 

***

Harley takes up dialling Dean for the night. “Hey, we’re still alive,” she says as soon as he picks up.

“Good,” Dean says dead serious.

“Let a little laughter in your life. Jeez.”

“I’m good thanks.”

“Buzzkill.”

“I am a joy to be around.”

“Ladies, ladies, you’re both very pretty. Moving along?” Chase says breaking the two up.

“Duh, have you seen me?” Harley jokes.

“I have and I can’t help but like what I see,” Dean flirts.

“Oh shush, I’m not gonna be one of your one night stands.”

“I never said that.”

“It’s what you were thinking.”

“Sweetheart, you have no idea what I think of you.”

“Good things I hope.”

“More than good.”

“Ackomygodthatissoackkkeee,” Chase squeals in a high pitched tone, almost incoherently. 

“What was that?” Dean asks. 

“That was me puking because you’re disgusting, duh.”

“Yeah, right, okay.”

“I mean it was disgustingly sweet,” Harley says laughing, “I thought you didn’t like chick flick moments.”

“I don’t.”

“Suuuure you don’t. How’s Sam doing? I haven’t heard from him.”

“I’m good, just tired,” The girls could hear Sam say in the background. 

Harley rolls her eyes before saying, “We miss you tons.”

“I miss you guys too,” Sam laughs.

“I miss you moreeee,” Chase over exaggerates. 

“Yeah, probably,” Sam quips. 

“Ouch,” Chase mutters.

“Well I’m gonna let you guys go so Sammy can get some beauty sleep before he kills me,” Dean says.

“He’ll kill you anyway. You’re just that annoying,” Chase says.

“Says you!” Dean fires back. 

“Yeah, says me, the least annoying sibling.”

“You are so not the least annoying,” Dean says.

“You’re both annoying. Shut up!” Sam shouts from wherever he is in the room (his voice sounds muffled, as though buried in a pillow).

“Bye Dean, bye Sam!” Harley calls out.

“Can you believe the gall of that man?” Chase exclaims after the phone call ends. “The nerve?”

“I thought it was hilarious,” Harley says.

“Of course you did. You were still distracted about Dean’s previous comment!”

“Which one?”

“You’re actually asking me that? As if you haven’t been replaying that sentence in your head for the past ten minutes? Please. I’m not that dumb.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, sure you don’t.”

“I don’t!”

“Okay, okay, whatever you say.”

***

The two hunters stand in front of the ruins, flashlights illuminating the dirt path in front of them as they stare up at the crumbling walls of the old palace. 

“I guess we should sp-”

I swear to God, if you say the words “split up”, I’m going to super glue you to my side.”

“You got a better idea?”

“No,” Chase mutters dejectedly. 

“Then yes, we should split up.”

“Fine, but the moment something happens, call me, okay?”

“Duh. I’m not an idiot.”

“Jury’s out on that one. Let’s go.”

“Oh my god, you’re so rude.”

“You’re the one suggesting we split up so, am I wrong?”

“Yes, you are, because we’ll probably be fine.”

“We’ll see.”

***

Chase wanders down yet another corridor, softly humming AC/DC under her breath, a habit she has for when she’s nervous. Flashing her light against the walls turns up nothing, though the sight is pretty. 

Suddenly, after about half an hour, something flickers in her peripheral vision. She whirls around quickly, all sound being cut off. Cautiously, she walks over to the doorway she’d seen the movement coming from. 

She pokes the flashlight through the doorway first, before following with her head. She looks left. Nothing. She looks right. Also nothing. 

Chase sighs, placing a hand to her head, squinting her eyes tightly, as though that could make her headache disappear. Turning on her heel, she walks back into the corridor, only to collide into something hard. She stumbles back, before noticing she’d walked into a wall. 

She really shouldn’t walk with her eyes closed. 

She growls under her breath, walking through a high arch, leading into a large open space, equally as dusty as the past few rooms. She checks behind the large pillars, hoping to see some evidence of...anything, really. Just as she’s about to leave into another hallway, she spots a flicker of movement again. Turning her light to the center far wall of the room, she sees a large stage-like stone, atop it what looked like human remains of some kind. 

“Perfect,” Chase mutters, wandering over. “Just perfect.”

Chase grabs her phone, bringing up the name “Harley Quinn”, pressing the number. 

“Yeah? Find something?”

“Yeah. Human remains. You know, body parts, some bones. The usual.”

“Lovely,” Harley mutters. 

“Yeah, anyway, I think there’s something still here because I keep seeing movement. I don’t know, I may just be paranoid. But- oh for fuck’s sake.”

“What’s up?”

Chase whips out her gun, firing a couple shots at the figure looming over her, of course, making little headway in keeping it at bay. 

“You stupid Aladdin character looking ass,” Chase mutters, dropping her phone after the figure makes a swipe at her. The woman, djinn, grins at her, reaching out a hand.

“Chase? Chase!” She hears Harley’s voice shouting from the other side of the phone call, before her vision turns white.

***

Harley searched the ruins high and low for any sign of Chase before finding her phone on the ground. She pocketed it before surveying the area. She noted the body drained of blood. That and Chase calling the creature an ‘Aladdin character looking ass’ clued her into it being a djinn they were hunting. She headed to the hotel room pocketing a silver knife.

Harley drove to the nearest sheep farm. She picked the locks and found a lamb before calling Sam.

“Hello?” He asked, yawning.

“Hey. Do not put it on speakerphone. Don’t tell Dean it’s me.”

“Dean’s asleep. Why are you calling?”

“Swear none of this leaves this phone call first.”

“I swear. Now, what’s going on?”

“Chase and I were hunting a djinn, but we didn’t know it was a djinn yet so we didn’t have the proper weapons. Basically she got kidnapped by the djinn and now I have to murder a lamb and I’m freakin’ out man.”

“Okay, slow down. Chase got kidnapped?”

“Yeah, please don’t be mad.” “I’m not mad, just worried. Do you need backup?”

“No, I just need to kill this lamb, but like it’s so precious and sweet.”

“Who do you care about more? Chase or the lamb?”

“Chase, but the lamb is really up there.”

“Look, just stab it. You just need the blood. You don’t have to kill it.”

“Right, yeah, I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I still blame myself for all my fish dying after I cleaned their tank when I was in grade school. I still feel guilty about that shit.”

“That’s...okay, um just pretend it’s a werewolf.”

“I have aphantasia, Sam! I literally can’t do that!”

“Okay, then you’re just going to have to do it. Don’t think, just do.”

“Okay?” Harley squeezes her eyes shut blindly bringing the knife down until she hears the bleat of the lamb. She opened her eyes and saw the white of the lambs fluff turn red. The knife was coated in the lamb’s blood. “I did it, oh god, I did it. Fuck, I’m a monster. I mean I’m always a monster, but now I’m even more of a monster.”

“Harley, calm down. You’re not a monster.”

“Yes, I am,” She says, tears building up in her eyes.

Sam sighs, “Just do me a favor and go rescue Chase.”

“Right, yeah, bye. I’ll call you after I rescue her.”

“Alright, bye, Harley.”

***

Chase laughs, pointing mockingly at one of her best friends. Harley sits close by her side, twirling a knife. Setting the camera up to take another picture, Nathaniel flips off the moon. 

“Shit, this is not going to come out right. We should’ve picked a different night.”

“Hey, you invited me out, not the other way around,” Chase says. 

The horizon is surprisingly easy to make out, considering it’s eleven at night. The full moon illuminates the scenery, a small town in the distance, it’s lights twinkling lazily.

“Can you fix this for me?” Harley asks.

“Sure,” Chase responds, starting to braid Harley’s hair.

“Ah! Got one I actually like,” Nathaniel shouts in victory. 

“Hey, we wanna see!” Harley says.

Nathaniel bends down, showing the two girls a photo of them, sitting next to each other, looking out in the distance. You can’t see much detail, but the two are relaxed and enjoying themselves.

---

Chase runs through the house, getting chased by an overly loud man. 

“Dean, Dean, stop! It wasn’t me!”

Getting scooped up by her older brother, she dissolves into a fit of laughter, getting tickled in all of the worst places. “Then who was it?” Dean demands playfully.

“Sam, okay, it was Sam!” 

Dean lets go of Chase and turns to slowly look at their youngest brother. “It was you!”

Sam looks at Chase. “Snitch.” He takes off down the stairs and all three can distantly hear Bobby yell, “No running in the house, ya idjits!”

Chase watches on, taking deep breaths, laughing slightly still.

---

“I did it, I did it!”

“Um, hello?” Harley asks.

“Okay, fine, we did it.”

“Was that so hard?”

Bobby comes up behind the two girls, hugging them both. “I’m so proud of you two.”

“Stop, Bobby, you’re gonna wrinkle the gown.”

“You’ve already graduated, what does it matter now?” Dean asks, taking yet another picture.

“It’s about the pride,” Sam says. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t understand. I may not have graduated from a fancy college like you three, but I am still the coolest one here.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Dean,” Chase says.

“Yeah, obviously, I’m the coolest one,” Harley adds.

“Okay, okay, I relent. Obviously, I am the coolest one here, other than my smartass fiancee.”

Dean wraps Harley up in a hug, while Sam and Chase roll their eyes, mouthing ‘I told you so’ to themselves.

“Okay, okay, I want one last picture of all of us,” Sam says.

Sam asks a random family to take a picture and they oblige. Sam stands at the very back, his arms around Dean and Bobby’s shoulders, while Harley and Chase stand side by side in the very front. Their smiles are wide, and their hearts content. They wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

   ***

Harley arrives at the ruins, african dream root in her messenger bag and silver knife in hand. She began searching in the djinn-eral area that Chase disappeared from. She found Chase’s phone before she found her in a cavern by the ruins.

“Chase!” Harley yells as soon as she sees her. She runs up to her friend's limp hanging body, and gently slaps her cheek trying to wake her up. It doesn’t work so instead she gently cuts her friend free and lays her on the cavern floor and takes out her IV. Harley then frees who she assumes is Sunhat Lady. She assumes as she has since lost her hat.

The djinn enters the cave and it takes a moment for Harley to place her heavily tattooed face. “Halola, right?” Harley asks.

“You remembered, I’m surprised.”

“I never forget a pretty face. Too bad I’ll have to kill you.” Harley frowns before lunging at Halola. She dodges and tries to grab Harley’s neck. Harley ducks and drives the silver blade through the djinn’s heart. Halola screams then goes limp.

***

“Chase! Thank god you’re alive!” Harley yells hugging her for dear life.

Chase moves away slightly, very confused.“Look, I know I said I was stressed about the job interview, but it’s nice to know you have so much faith in me. Could you possibly extract your limbs from me now?”

“No you don’t get it. This isn’t your life. We’re hunters. We were in Hawaii hunting a djinn when you got attacked,” Harley says extracting her limbs from Chase, “All this is fake.”

Chase looks at Harley with an increasing degree of bewilderment on her face as Harley continues to talk. “Uh huh, sure. And you and I haven’t been roommates since college, you’re not engaged to my brother, I’m not about to work for the high end firm I’ve been trying for years to get, and Sam isn’t a bad singer.”

“I’m sorry what?! Me and I’m assuming, Dean are engaged? Wow this is a weird world you’ve created.”

“Dean and I.” Chase gives Harley a blank look. “And no. Sam.”

“Me and Sam?! What the actual fuck!”

“Sam and I. And that was sarcasm, dumbass. How much sleep did you get last night?”

“None. Vampire remember.”

“Okay, so no more mixing alcohol and horror movies for you. Got it.” Chase stands up from her seat. “You should probably get some rest. You’re not acting like yourself.”

“I don’t drink. The whole murderous bloodlust thing doesn’t mix well with alcohol. And I am acting like myself, because I african dream rooted into your brain.”

“Okay, so do I have to go along with what I’m assuming is another improv thing or can I ask- what the hell is african dream root and what is going on?”

“Improv? Okay. Well african dream root lets you go into other people’s dream so you can talk to them-”

“Uh huh, sounds fake but continue,” Chase says, waving a hand.

“And you got touched by a djinn while we were on vacation in Hawaii.” Harley says increasingly impatiently.

“Wait, we went to hawaii?” Chase thinks for a moment. “Djinn. Djinn, djinn, why does that ring a bell? Isn’t that like a genie. Like Aladdin?”

**“You stupid Aladdin character looking ass,” Chase mutters, dropping her phone after the figure makes a swipe at her. The woman, djinn, grins at her, reaching out a hand.

“Chase? Chase!” **

Chase lurches forward, a hand on her head, as though suddenly dizzy.

“Yes! Thank god! Yes!”

“What was that?”

“My best bet? You remembered something from your real life.”

“This is my real life,” Chase says forcefully. “My name is Chase Winchester. I am a graduate from Harvard, I volunteer at the library, and you’re my best friend. I’m twenty-eight. I’m going to be your maid of honor. Bobby and Ellen are practically my parents and my two brothers are Sam and Dean. This is real,” Chase says, as though trying to convince herself more than Harley.

“No, it’s not. Travelling across the country in Jack is real. You relentlessly teasing me about the fact that I might like Dean. You totally crushing on Cas, and us saving the world. That’s real.”

“Who’s Cas?”

“An angel and a friend. He gave us pie.”

**“Harley? Chase? Are you two okay?” Cas asks. 

Chase nods, whilst Harley can barely breathe enough to answer, just putting a thumbs up. “Yeah, we’re fine. Why do you ask?” Chase asks nonchalantly. 

“You were running, screaming, and you’ve got burns on your arm.”

Chase looks down to see that the bleach that had spilled on her earlier had indeed burned her slightly. “Oh this is nothing. Harley got some in her eyes, so I mean. It’s whatever.”

Cas frowns at Chase. He moves one of his hands, both of which were still holding onto Chase’s biceps, and places it over the burns. A second later, they’re gone. 

“Oh, thanks. Anyway, you can let go of me now. I’m sure I’m less inclined to fall at the given moment.”

“Oh, right, yes. Of course, I’m sorry,” Cas stutters, stepping back. **

Chase clutches her head with both hands, her vision blurring and refocusing suddenly, leaving a nauseous feeling in her stomach.

“What the hell is going on?!”

“I think you wanted this life so bad you repressed your actual memories and now they’re coming back. But that's just a theory.”

“What?” Chase asks incredulously. “Tell me, if this isn’t real. What is? You?”

“Well, yeah, like I said I african dream rooted myself. Now I’m in your dream world.”

“Convince me then. Go on. Tell me what you know about me.”

“We met when I was twenty and you were twenty-one. We were chasing an orange eyed demon who went by Hank. We started helping each other on hunts. You won Jack, that’s our car, in a poker game a year later and we finally hit the road together and we haven’t looked back since. I also happen to know you have a folder on your computer that’s just pictures of me and Dean sleeping.”

“Wait, you know about that folder?”

“Yes, I know about that folder and it’s all perfectly innocent.”

“How? I hid it behind a folder of lore on poltergeists, which you never read about-” Chase cuts herself off, frowning. “I don’t know where that came from. I don’t have any folders on my computer like that.”

“You do on your real computer.”

“But-but- Keep telling me stuff.”

“We went to visit Sam at Stanford then went to go fight a sphinx. We hunted the demon that  killed your mum and dad. You found out I’m half vamp when I got kidnapped by some friendly vampires who were trying to prove a point. We have fought so many monsters together and this one is no different. You gotta believe me.”

Chase, confused and slightly dazed by the rush of images flooding her brain, notices Harley beginning to freak out. “Okay, say I believe you. Then what do I do?”

“Well, um, you have to kill yourself,” Harley says looking away, her voice strained.

Chase blinks. She blinks twice. “Come again?”

“You have to kill yourself.”

“Yeah, let me go take a long walk off a short pier. How am I supposed to kill myself? I haven’t shot a gun since I was twelve! I haven’t held a knife outside the kitchen ever. And I see no rope or high ledges because I'm not crazy!”

“Well, that’s how Dean got out.”

“You got something to help me then?” Chase asks jokingly, only for her eyes to widen as she sees Harley pull a silver knife covered in blood out of her jacket. “Okay, what the fuck?”

“I killed a djinn with it, and stabbed a lamb. So it’s not the cleanest blade ever, but it’ll get the job done.”

“You killed- you stabbed a- of course you did. Hand it over.”

Harley hands the knife over.

“Okay, Harley. I’m going to go through this logically. If you’re messing with me, you wouldn’t give me an actual knife. This is fake or you’ll somehow stop me and it’ll be fine. Or, if I’m dreaming, I’ll wake up because your brain can’t process dying so you wake up when you die in dreams.

“Or, or somehow. In some fucked up way, you’re telling the truth. Tell me. What is it worth to go back?”

“For starters you’ll die if you stay in here. And also none of the people here are real. None of this is real. Cas isn’t here. Trust me you wanna wake up.”

Chase pauses for a moment, fear reflecting in her eyes. Screwing her eyes shut, her face scrunched in concentration, she pulls the knife towards her, a stinging sensation rushing through her abdomen before she feels nothing.

***

Chase opens her eyes to see Harley hovering over her, worry etched onto her features. 

“Man, no need to look so worried. When have I ever turned down the offer to kill myself?” Chase jokes. Harley cracks a smile, shaking her head. “I know, I know, that was awful. Can we get going though? If we don’t call Dean in the next half hour, he’ll freak.”

“It’s kinda almost morning.”

“Wait, already? Shit. I’m still so tired,” Chase says, sitting up. She winces. “And sore.”

“It’s fine we’ll just say we had an early night. Let's get to the hotel and you can rest up.” Harley says as she shoots Sam a text.

“Wait, did you really kill a lamb successfully without freaking out?”

“No. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Chase sighs. “Figures. Let’s head back.”

***

Harley dialled Dean as Chase slept recuperating from her djinn ordeal. He picked up on the first ring.

“Before you say anything, sorry, we fell asleep early.”

“Bullshit! Y’all never fall asleep early!” Dean yells. Harley has to hold the phone away from her ear.

“Yeah, well we spent all day hiking, walking, and swimming, so we got a bit exhausted. Sorry. Look I just woke up, Chase is still out. What more do you want from me?”

“I want a lot from you, but right now I want an explanation.”

“You want a lot from me? Like what?”

“I want you screaming my name as I fuck you against the motel table.”

“Dean!” Harley yells. “I told you I don’t mess around like that.”

“I know,” Dean sighs defeated.

***

Chase and Harley sigh heavily, their bags falling off their shoulders as they slump against the wall. 

“Remind me again to choose a later time to fly out from wherever we are. I never want to get to an airport that early again,” Chase complains. 

Harley nods, grabbing her water bottle. “Where are the boys anyway? Weren’t they supposed to be here?”

“Who knows?” Chase rolls her eyes. “Dean probably got distracted by something. Or maybe they got lost. That’s something they would do.”

“The only place Dean gets lost is in New York,” Harley counters.

“Yeah, but Sam?”

“Yeah, but Dean’s probably driving.”

“Oh, I meant in the airport. God knows, they probably didn’t bother looking at the signs.”

“Probably not,” Harley sighs.

Chase sighs, sliding her back down the wall, settling into a comfortable position. “Tell me when they get here.”

“When,” Harley says as the boys round the corner. 

“What?” Chase opens her eyes to see Sam, an annoyed expression gracing his features, and Dean, an uncomfortable one on his. “Of fucking course.”

“Sorry it took so long; we thought we could beeline here, but it’s been a while since we’ve been in an airport,” Sam says, side eyeing Dean. 

Dean immediately just hugs Harley, who had opened her arms slightly, indicating she wanted attention. Sam helps Chase off the floor, before grabbing her bags. 

Harley and Chase share a knowing look, stifling a laugh that screams, ‘knew it’. 

Rolling his eyes, Dean kisses Harley’s forehead, before reaching down and grabbing her luggage.

Walking out of the airport, Dean and Sam pester them with questions about their trip. They, in turn, pester the boys about what they’d been doing in their absence. 

“I’m just happy we’re back,” Harley says, getting into the backseat of the Impala.

Chase nods, “Me too.”

[feminarrie]

basic instincts [c.e]

a/n: this is my first real public venture into A/B/O dynamics. thank you again to @pastelshawns for lending me this concept! also thank you to chris evans for having uhh the best thighs! 

18+ below the cut!

Two months she’s been away from him. A total of ninety-three days since she met him at the airport when he quite literally bumped into her as he rushed to catch his flight after his gate had changed. When she felt the electricity surge through her when his palms had pressed to her bicep and fingers curled to keep her steady. A furrow of his brow that melted when he locked eyes with her; his eyes flashing a golden honey with confusion, understanding, and then pain. If she thinks about the day for too long—which she does, routinely—she can still feel the ghost of his lips along her knuckles as he urged her to let him know when she lands. The scrunch of his nose when he looks back as he boards, the shadow of sadness fading with the light of hope of their bright future.

Even as his omega, she thinks he’s been more generous than need be. This is her second trip to see Chris in a span of three months and again, he had funded it fully. He’s spoiled her with a seat in first class and worked his schedule around so that it’s him that picks her up from the airport.

Turkish blue eyes scan the crowd for her, but he scents her before he sees her. A low rumble in his chest that can only be likened to a purr emits from his chest when he sees her. She’s swimming in a sweatshirt that he had bought for her during her last visit. He had kept it nearby, his scent weaving itself into the cotton and fleece blend. When she’s wrapped up in his arms, he tucks his nose into her shoulder and all he can smell is her. It’s overwhelming and comforting all at once. Captivating, sweet, and warm and Chris is happy he’s been able to take the next three days off to do nothing more than nose at her mark and let her command all of his senses.

“Missed you, sweetheart.” Chris murmurs into her neck before turning his head to press a lingering kiss to her shoulder. She hums at the pillowy kisses at the sliver of exposed skin, eyes glittering with flecks of gold that only Chris can conjure up. Her fingers search out his hand, cupping it in her much smaller hand so that she can run a thumb over his knuckles. Her thumb undulates across them, the pad of it gliding easily over soft skin. Briefly does she contemplate asking to use whatever expensive hand cream he must use. The thought flitters away with ease, replaced with the idea of curling up next to her alpha and existing solely in that pocket of safety and comfort for the next week.

. . . . . .

For the first three days, they both exist in that pocket. In being newly mated, the two of them hardly know each other. She knows that he’s relinquished his title as the current Captain America and gets a little pouty when he’s hungry. Chris knows that she is a blanket hog and that Dodger much preferred her snuggles over his when he had invited her to his home the first time. They spent the vast majority of those days filling in the gaps, giving and taking as much information as they feel comfortable, while holed up in Chris’ apartment.

Day four is when she wakes up with a subtle ache in her lower tummy and the lack of warmth that is usually provided by Chris’ sleeping form. She is quick to recognize that she is in the early stages of her heat and for a moment, she’s grateful that Chris is filming for the next sixteen or so hours. It gives her the chance to rid herself of the slowly warming coil in her tummy without the embarrassment she would feel for keening at the simple, innocent touches her alpha spoils her with. Even though she knows it’s natural, instinctual, she and Chris have hardly been that type of intimate. Physical touches only turning sinful when Chris traps her bottom lip between his teeth and presses a palm to the mark on her neck.

She ignores the dull ache between her thighs until she’s in the shower. The remnants of Chris’ time in the spacious glass shower consume all of her senses in the few seconds it takes for the water to heat up. His scent is still thick despite the fact that he’s been gone nearly six hours already. It’s heady and woody—all sandalwood and smoke—when the steam further amplifies it. Her eyes drift shut as she inhales deeply and the ache within her becomes far more noticeable.

She cums once, twice, three times in the shower before the water runs cold. Her fingers and toes are pruned, but she feels satiated and content in the post glow of her orgasms. Enough so that fatigue sets in her bones and leaves her with just enough energy to pull a black, baggy shirt over her head and some pretty baby blue boyshorts over the swell of her ass. She thinks there no sense in doing much more than that when she has every plan to take a short nap before cooking dinner for Chris to come home to after a long day of filming.

Her feet only leave the floor when she’s crawling onto the California king mattress where she plops herself right in the middle. She reaches for Chris’ pillow without hesitation, pulling it to her chest with one hand while the other pushes the comforter toward her legs. Sinking into the warmth of the comforter is easy with the bed still unmade; it lulls her to sleep in no time at all. The smell of her alpha just under her nose as she cradles the downy pillow to her chest.

She swears she only meant to sleep for an hour or two. Yet, she wakes hours later with the press of Chris’ lips at her forehead, cheeks, and then her Cupid’s bow when she blinks up at him. He’s half sitting up, most of his weight is held up by his forearm as he rolls to his left side. It allows him enough mobility to reach his right hand up to stroke at her cheek with his thumb, large palm cupping her jaw. She returns his kind gestures with a warm smile and long tired blinks before she presses a kiss to the heel of his palm.

“You’re back.” Her voice is soft and slow as molasses as she blinks up at him. Chris nods with a quiet laugh as to not pop the quiet of the dark room. Her face is washed in the golden rays of the setting sun, catching the flecks and swirls of gold in her eyes that never really seem to go away when she’s with him. The distinct sound of sheets rustling render Chris’ attempts useless, but he doesn’t mind when she leans forward to press their lips together. Even chapped, he’s content to know that he’ll be privileged to her kisses in this life and the many thereafter—mated and destined to find one another until the end of time. “I’ve missed you.” He says, pressing another chaste to her lips. The admission warms her and tugs at the corners of her lips in a tired smile. She repeats the sentiment with a soft sigh that is timed perfectly with a low growling in her stomach.

“S’late and you’re hungry, bug. You want to order in?” He asks and drops the hand at her cheek to place it at her hip beneath the comforter. He croons when he realizes she’s in nothing more than a shirt and underwear. The fatigue that has darkened the skin beneath his eyes and her pliancy does more to soften him than arouse him. Her rubs the skin just above the waistband, tilting his head slightly in question. She hums her affirmation and content, nodding her head ever so slightly.

They decide on some Korean place just ten minutes away that Chris discovered his first week of filming. He leaves her to wake up some more, pulling a baseball cap over lengthy brown hair and kissing her half a dozen times before he steps out the door. Chris isn’t time for too long, but long enough that she’s able to shuffle out into the living room and queue up something for something to watch. She settles on reruns of Criminal Minds, knowing it’ll hold their attention if they choose, but at a volume that allows it to fade into background noise.

It starts out as background noise as they eat, Chris talking about his day between mouthfuls of food. She prompts him with more questions about his day which warms something in Chris’ chest, spreads to his fingers and toes in waves of heat and electricity. It hums within him as he asks about her day though she answers with how mundane it had been. She also conveniently omits the fact that her heat is just around the corner because it simply doesn’t seem pertinent to their conversation.

(Really, she thinks mentioning how she’d been so wound up that she got off to his scent alone doesn’t exactly fit the picture of domesticity they exist in currently).

Eventually, the conversation dies down and with it, her energy wanes until Chris is beckoning her to lay her head down in his lap. An offer that she accepts willingly, shuffling down the couch to rest her head on his left thigh. His leg hair tickles her cheek as she pushes the fabric of his grey jogger shorts up so that she may feel the warmth of his body without barriers. His arm comes down to rest on a sliver of skin between her boyshorts and shirt, once again stroking at the expanse of warm skin. It lulls her into a safe, happy space that has her eyelids feeling heavy as she watches the television. 

It’s the picture of honeymoon phase bliss and innocence until it’s not. 

She’s never felt the ache quite this deep or robust. It feels red hot and more animalistic than anything she has ever felt before. If her thoughts weren’t so preoccupied with the way Chris’ thighs feel beneath her cheek, she would’ve made the connection between her impending heat and the presence of her alpha. Instead, she’s turning her head before she even thinks to stop herself and presses a lingering kiss just above his knee. Then another just above that and a trail of them before her lips ghost over the fraying hem of his shorts. 

“Omega.” 

She stills in her movements, but not out of fear or embarrassment. The deep, rumbly tone is something she has never heard from Chris. It’s authoritative and questioning all at once, and has her insides scrambling in anticipation. Eagerly does she look up at him beneath her lashes when she lifts her head. A mistake on her part, really. Chris’ lips are parted and his eyes a deep golden yellow. His nostrils flaring as he gets the first trace of her arousal. She smells of the earth after rain and something sweet that he can’t quite place, but it’s uniquely her—his omega. 

He doesn’t stop her when she nips along the top of his thigh, peppering his pale skin with tints of red and pink. He simply tucks his lower lip between his teeth and grips her hip, thumb pressing into her Adonis belt. A low growl of her name stops the worrying of his lower lip for just a moment, but does little to stop her from kissing at his inner thigh once she’s shifted to gain better access. Her left hand reaches across to rub at his other thigh, squeezing when she sucks and bites a mark into the smooth skin of the innermost part of his thigh. The flat of her tongue soothes over it before she does the same just diagonal of the previous mark that has begun to blossom with pretty shades of red and tinges of purple. It earns her a deep, warning growl from somewhere in Chris’ chest and she halts her movements. Something about the noise above her has her backing down into submission. 

“M’sorry, alpha.” The title rolls off her tongue with ease and it only serves to make Chris that much more aroused. He is painfully hard and straining even in the looser fabric of his shorts. Something that she is obviously aware of, tongue swiping over her bottom lip when she glances down between them. “Don’t apologize. Come here.” He says, patting his lap with one hand and she all, but scrambles to fit herself in his lap; fits her knee between his thighs and straddles his right one. It’s undoubtedly to relieve some of the pressure that is building in her core, but Chris doesn’t say a word about it. He only pushes up the hem of her shirt so that his hands can rest on the warm, bare skin of her hips. 

“I want you so bad, sweetheart. I really do, but m’tired.” He watches as her look down, lips quivering around an apology. “I just don’t feel it’d be right for me to do that to you, hm? You’re close to your heat and deserve all that I can give, don’t you think?” Chris continues and feels the way her body heats up with his words. From the way her body feels as though it’s buzzing above him, he thinks she had no plans to tell him of her impending heat. Yet, it was obvious the moment her lips met the spot just above his knee. In fact, she was damn near nuzzling at him and that was his first hint that she was likely approaching her heat. “I just want to take care of you, little omega.”

She ruts against his thigh at his words, a low whine and apology following soon after. It’s then that Chris realizes how wet she really is. She has already soaked through her boyshorts and feels slick against his thigh. His eyes fall shut, his nose scrunching as if he is in pain. Which is not so far from the truth because fuck, he really wishes that he had enough energy in him to give her exactly what she wants—what they both want. But, a long day of action sequences on set has generated an unmistakeable ache in his muscles. 

Chris feels terrible, he really does. It’s that unsatisfied desire and guilt that have him tilting his head at her in thought. Her own eyes, clouded with desperation and lust, scan his face as he thinks. An eyebrow quirks at him when he leans forward to press a kiss at the corner of her lips and comes away with a mischievous glint in his eye that glitters in the light of the television. She doesn’t have to question what he is thinking about for long because his grip on her hips tighten, moving her forward and then back again. 

“Oh.” She whispers when Chris does it again, her clit pressed to his thigh. His hands never leave her hips even when she begins to ride his thigh on her own, her own hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders. Nails dig into his back despite the layer of fabric between them as if she’s attempting to ground herself in the moment. Her eyes are closed as she fucks herself on Chris’ thighs, her hip muscles straining just slightly as she shifts to balance herself better. 

“Look so pretty for me, little omega.” Chris praises her as she glides across his thigh. She moans, soft and breathy, in response. He thinks it’s quite possibly the most beautiful and sensual sounds he’s ever heard, if he’s honest. Her next words, however, are by far the filthiest. “Want your knot, alpha. Need it.” She mewls, hips stuttering as she nears the edge. He can feel the way her body winds up tight—muscles taut, jaw clenched—and smell how close she is. A predatory, animalistic growl rips from Chris’ chest as the strings holding her together begin to snap. 

“Gonna fill you up with it tomorrow, sweetheart. Promise.” It’s the sweet, but sinful admission that is her undoing. Her head falls forward, forehead pressed against his shoulder as her orgasm runs through her; makes her shiver and quake above him as he squeezes at her hips, helping her ride through her high. He presses kisses into her temple and along her cheekbones all while listening to the way her heart works to calm itself. Though, he notices the telltale sound of a skipped beat when he pulls back to press a kiss to her lips. Smiles up at her with a sated, content look that holds something just a little bit more. Though, Chris thinks he’ll wait to tell her that, that “little bit more” is the beginnings of love that have started to take root in his chest. 

[mysticalcrusadeobject]

An entirely objective rewiew of episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker

Legend: red is bad (or rather: dumb shit I can't ignore), blue is objective good, black is neutral and orange is random shit I love (aka subjective good).

Okay, the exposition following the title crawl just makes me feel like I've somehow missed a movie, or two. All of this happened in the span of, what? A couple months? A year? We aren't told.

I was going to ask why Kylo Ren was even looking for Palpatine in the first place, but you know what? I don't really care. I won't complain about Ben in this movie.

Palpatine can see the future, right? That's the only way this makes sense. I mean, he's telling Kylo to "kill the girl" (and presumably become Emperor of the Galaxy?) but... why? Later, he'll want Rey to kill him and become Empress, but then he'll just want to kill her, too. Is Palpatine an idiot, or is he just insane?

"She's not who you think she is." Honey, she's not who the screenwriters thought she'd be.

I genuinely love the Finn/Poe/Chewy/Rey dinamic in this movie. They don't feel like friends yet (which they shouldn't), but there's still a camaraderie and genuine caring for one another there. It's great.

"How do we thank you?" - "Win the war."

Rey is a badass, as per usual. Also, I love how Kylo's just fucking with her here. That girl could cut him in half.

"Somehow Palpatine returned." The 'somehow' is a key word there.

Oh, good, Rose is a non-character now.

While I adore the actors' chemistry, Rey doesn't really need this big of a party to come with her. Chewy's the co-pilot, so his presence is justified, then Finn could come as well and use the blasters, Poe too, because him and Finn didn't get enough screentime in the last movie, but the droids? No. Have them stay with Leia. We don't need C-3PO explaining everything to us, thank you very much.

Oh, yeah. That reminds me.

C-3PO.

They're foreshadowing C-3PO and Leia's deaths so hard here.

The mother-daughter dinamic between Leia and Rey is good. That's all.

That mask was left in pieces. Is it even possible to fix at this point?

Oh, cool, the Knights of Ren exist. For about three minutes of screentime.

The humor in this movie works pretty well for me. Hux's assurance that Kylo looks, in fact, great, is gold.

The New Guy.

"Serving another master?" - "No." Um, yeah? Yeah, you are. What is your plan, Kylo Ren? Because, to me, it see that y- Oh, yeah, I've promised to leave him be. Shit.

A simple conversation would have made this movie so much shorter and so, so much better. "Oh, hey, Rey. Where you off to?" - "Yo, Ben. Oh, you know, looking for Palpatine so that I can kill him." - "Oh, cool. That was my plan, too. Wanna come with?" - "Sure." - "He's your grandfather, btw." - "Cool. Wanna rule the Galaxy?" - "Sure.

Rey's over here casually cutting ships into pieces.

Also, I love how people complain that Rey is OP in this scene, while Kylo just strolls away from a burning husk of a ship, unscathed.

"The inscription that was on the dagger is in your memory?" Yeah, that's how computers works, Poe.

Also, I love how no one cares about shat C-3PO thinks/wants. These characters and this script dislike him as much as I do.

The No-Thank-You droid is adorable.

"You were a spice runner?" - "Were you a Stormtrooper?"

Babu Frik. Baby Yoda ain't got nothing on this guy.

Daisy Ridley is sooo so good in this movie.

"Does she do that to us?"

"I pushed you in the desert-" Baby, you struggled in the desert.

The directing of this scene is so good!

"I'm the spy." (I love it 'cause it makes me laugh. Hux is such a petty little shit that he'll join the Resistance just to see Kylo lose. I appreciate that."

Rey being a Palpatine bothers me about as much as the CGI Carrie Fisher, which is to say: a little bit.

"People keep telling me they know me; I'm afraid no-one does" with Kylo Ren's leitmotif playing in the background. *chef's kiss*

That blade is the most plastic-looking thing I've ever seen. (The Wayfinder)

"Babu Frik! He's one of my oldest friends." Alright, 3PO, that was pretty funny.

I have literally nothing to say about the next fifteen minutes, or so. I feel bad for these actors. Daisy Ridley and Adam Driver have gorgeous chemistry, and though they're trying their damndest, you can kind of tell that they're weary of these movies by now.

Two words: Harrison fucking Ford.

This scene.

"I know what I have to do, but I don't know if I have the strength to do it."

Good job, honey. Now you have no weapon for the final battle. Takes after Anakin, this one.

Every ship is a Star Destroyer.

"A Jedi's weapon deserves more respect."

The reverse Kylo Ren leitmotif that's within Rey's theme playing while Rey is wondering why everyone trusts her despite her being a Palpatine is kind of cute.

As I watch the Resistance/First Order battle unfold, I can't help but wonder why they can't just- sign a peace treaty. How long has this war been going on for? Surely, they must've gotten bored of fighting.

Oh, but I do love the design of Palpatine's throne.

"I never wanted you dead. I wanted you here." I feel like you don't really know what you want, sir.

I love how confused Rey looks while Palpatine talks about how much she apparently hates him.

Ben's just been chillin' for the past 20-ish minutes. I like the redeemed theme they've made for him, though.

Why are the Knights of Ren here? They should be loyal to their Master, no? Also, Ben, honey, you have the Force. You've used it in the first movie to stop a blaster shot mid-air. Surely, levitating six people way up in the air, then letting them fall into the chasm below can't be much more difficult.

This battle. Also, I love how the Knights back the fuck up when Rey sends Ben the saber.

And now he wants to be the Emperor. WHAT DO YOU WANT?!

Ow. That's- that's a broken spine right there. Good thing our dude's indestructable.

I realize I'm quoting Sideways here, but seriously, why don't they play the Force Theme when Rey communicates with every Jedi ever?

The final scene between Ben and Rey (minus the kiss - y'all know how I feel about shoehorned romance). It's still so, so beautiful. This scene is more beautiful than this movie - nay, this franchise - deserves.

Oh, is the Stormtrooper lady Lando's daughter? That's... You know what, actually? I don't care.

The ending is so damned strange. She just returned to Jakku, disposes of Leia's and the Skywalker lightsabers (rude!), steals BB-8 and just- nothing.

I do like her new lightsaber, though. It suits her.

Yeah, there's one Skywalker missing next to Luke and Leia. I guess that Rey just didn't give a shit about him, huh? Oh, well.

This movie is odd to me. Many people hate it, some like it, but I'm in this in-betweeny stage. I like it more than The Last Jedi, but only because I don't observe these two movies as agregates, but more as collections of good and bad scenes (since they both feel scrapped together), and thus, RoS just has more elements which I like, though it's objectively the worst movie of this trilogy. Rey is the best she's ever been, Ben Solo is *chef's kiss*, Poe is awesome, Finn is... there (the underdevelopment of this character is still the worst thing they've done), but he does have some good moments, some of the side characters are pretty great (the long helmet lady and Babu Frik come to mind immediately), the music is always a highlight and... yeah.

As for the negatives, Palpatine is right up there. His plan is stupid. That's all I'm gonna say about that. Other than that and the demolition of Rose Tico, everything else are nitpicks for me. This movie could have been great only if they'd scrapped this story entirely and either:

a) made an entirely new movie and utilized some of the original concepts they had, or

b) made at least two new movies with the ideas presented here.

Overall, I've enjoyed this movie. It's one of those movies which I can watch after a long day of studying to relax my brain a bit, one that is supposed to be thought about as much as the scriptwriters have done - which is to say, a bit.

[illegiblewords]

5 Questions for Writers!

               5 Questions for Writers                                                        

I got tagged by @kunstpause, it looked like fun so figured I’d go for it! THANKS TO KUNST!

Tagging @wouldyouliketoseemymask, @nilim, @azwoodbomb, @peregrineroad, @frostmantle, @autumnslance, @strangefellows, @redbud-tree, @nozomikei​, and @rivenroad​. No obligation to anyone but full permission to steal granted to anyone else who might like to. I’ll literally be delighted if you pick this up spontaneously and blame me as an excuse lmao.

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

I made long answers so have a cut!

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

It depends heavily on what fandom and where I am mentally, but I’ve figured out I tend to love writing angsty lameass dudes with blonde hair who are prone to doing really silly things despite taking themselves entirely too seriously. Honestly, I have a pretty huge track record at this point. Harvey Dent, Vexen, Dmitri, Lahabrea, probably more besides. Every one of them fits the right balance of lameass to angst. I like seeing them grow and find fulfillment as people and they are very very cute while still having an edge of badassery and cleverness. Also they’re funny.

Lahabrea is my favorite at the moment, and him reaching that position is an accomplishment considering how stiff the competition is in FFXIV. Loser tricked his way to the top while I was busy laughing at him.

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

I really, really, really love redemption arcs and people recovering from fucked up experiences. Latter case especially I love seeing characters in those situations successfully connect to the people and world around them, especially if they get to grow together with a partner. I also LOVE “hero saves the villain and villain takes it to heart”.

(You may be sensing a theme here haha.)

There are a few reason these concepts resonate with me, the first being I think they’re really hopeful, inspiring, and something I always wanted to see growing up but rarely did.

People fuck up in life. People get hurt in horrible ways that bring out the worst in them. Sometimes when that happens they dig themselves deeper and deeper into ugliness. The more a person’s bad side comes out, the more hopeless it can feel. And for mental illness especially I’ve found this can be a major issue.

Everyone makes mistakes and everyone has flaws, but I think there’s something really significant in seeing someone who has hit rock bottom, who can no longer imagine a way out, get offered a hand for support and take it. While recovery and redemption (not synonymous of course) ultimately need to be carried by the individual struggling, I really can’t understate how important it is to know in those situations that you’re not alone and someone believes in you.

I think a big part of why this theme is important to me is because mental illness, both genetic and due to trauma, is something unbelievably difficult and painful not only for the sufferer but those around them. The most mentally ill characters in fiction tend to be villains, and are disproportionately more likely to be suffering severe trauma. It frustrated me since I was pretty young to see over and over again cases where a mess could have been avoided if there was any support system in place.

Seeing compassion and connection given that kind of power means a lot to me, as does recognizing that villains are people before they are villains. It’s also very reassuring in the sense of “If this person fucked up that badly but still tried to better themself, I can too. And odds are I’m also worthy of love and compassion, even when my issues make things harder for others. I just have to keep working to improve.”

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

Eff.

Straight up I think I’ve written too much to have just one favorite description. It’s been a lot of years and I have hundreds of fics and I’m lame. So I’m going to put a few of my favs.

Anytime there’s a gap in block quotes it’s a different section within the same fic.

22 - A Batman Fanfic

He trembles beneath the weight of their expectations but his smile never fades flashes before cameras microphones under his nose crowds screaming questions bleeding together he answers like clockwork the District Attorney who must bring justice to us all paying tribute to false idols with golden hair and silver tongues we the people bow down in worship to this guardian of the law with words and deeds I believe in Harvey Dent so he swears in hallowed halls to bring prosperity to smite the wicked to damn the criminal with authority invested in him by Gotham’s dutiful children and himself.

***

On the precipice of victory we stand united our voice raised like a torch like a spear like a golden arrow against the beast of Lerna we are gods and monsters we are so much more than good and evil we are order in the court cauterizing corruption our head held high and mighty manifest in Harvey of the doubletalk Harvey who writes himself into the fabric of Gotham’s history Harvey who will not bend before the Roman we command you the unworthy we condemn you the unrighteous we will not be merciful and you will fall before our eyes.

***

I am Dionysus divided at the altar of Tyche O Fortuna O Fortuna give me guidance in the light of the moon you dance sacred silver dollar I see and obey the wax and wane your whim Wheel of Fortune the card I am dealt your servant your slave venerated puppet of flesh blessed is your wisdom bestowed upon I am your disciple wine-mad twisted chanting your word becomes law holy splendor against gavels desecrating your name defiant in denial extend your will through me and we shall strike the innocent enlighten the ignorant or spare them all for now.

Doppelganger - A Spider-Man Fanfic

She asks him to tell the story of himself, and like Scheherazade he begins anew each day.

As with many other things, this comparison is imperfect. The Ravencroft Institute is hardly a palace and neither of them could pass for royalty. She sits in a chair across from him over a carpet the color of sawdust. Her walls are lined with insects pinned on display. Not many butterflies, quite a few beetles. On a bookshelf Dmitri sees The Metamorphosis nestled between non-fiction texts more relevant to her profession. He thinks maybe it's an inside joke she has with herself, but doesn't say so.

He's received an invitation to call her Ashley instead of Dr. Kafka and doesn't know whether to accept. It might be to make him more comfortable. It might be something else. In her late fifties Kafka is built from delicate features, and he suspects the lines around her eyes mean they crinkle when she smiles. Short black hair, beige suit, only jewelry a pair of diamond stud earrings. Dmitri thinks she looks like a mother, but not his.

Her weight sinks into leather, darker than the floor. The couch he rests on matches. He finds himself leaning forward with one elbow propped on his thigh, the other locked in a cast suspended by his neck. There is something reassuringly empty in the gray fabric of his uniform, cheap and utilitarian and harmless. Dmitri’s wrists are thin, but then he's lost a lot of weight recently. He probably wouldn't be able to run as fast as he used to, but then circumstances would be the same anywhere he went so that really doesn't matter. His espionage days are over. His free arm is shedding in flakes but at least his skin is dry. Clean.

Dmitri no longer looks like anyone, unrecognizable to himself. A face without much in the way of edges, short nose. Weak chin. Mismatched eyes that shift between green and blue and brown and every other natural hue as moments pass into minutes pass into hours. Dark blotches interrupt his forehead and chin. They will peel in new patterns across a span of days. For the most part though, he is pale enough to trace veins where his body seems on the brink of spilling out.

It's been a while since he shaved his head and the hair that grows back is almost foreign. An unruly mess of black, blond, brunet, and red—strands as unlike in texture as anything else. The mask that made him Chameleon was white plastic embedded with hardware. Left deformed after trying to resemble others in flesh too many times, it allowed him to duplicate any face, any body he could remember. More than holograms, the most complete sensory illusions technology could perform.

Without it, Dmitri feels stripped.

When Kafka looks at him she’s receiving constant signals and missing none of them. The moments he needs to turn away, flat monosyllabic turns of phrase he chooses or resorts to or blankly accepts as his own. It doesn’t have to be this way. It isn’t comfortable and he doesn’t even trust it’s not calculated. But she’s going to notice no matter what he does at this point, and lying about it doesn’t do anyone much good. They both know why he’s here.

***

“We were poor. We worked hard to keep ourselves fed and clothed and less than an embarrassment. I probably could have worked harder. Mother,” he begins before stumbling over himself.

The story he’s telling isn’t hers. Whatever else she was, Sonya Smerdyakov wasn’t Mrs. Bates. He remembers her voice as the beginning of an echo, forever following someone else’s lead.

And so he followed her.

She was bright like a light going out. She was gentle without being kind. Her fingers were short and delicate and she touched him as little as possible. He found her attention in the way she avoided his name.

***

In the privacy of his room, Dmitri began talking to himself.

Celebrities. Teachers. Children. The flat, steady rhythm of his father’s voice. The words and intonations favored by mother. Sergei’s laugh. He lost himself in a fantasy of conversations, strode through space to mimic confidence he didn’t feel, flashed teeth in front of his mirror like other people.

Once, Dmitri raised his voice. And when his older brother came, eyebrows knitting in confusion, he found himself full of stammered explanations, hands fumbling at his elbows, stumbling over his tongue to make sense of it.

Just making stories for himself. A game with no ending. That was all.

***

He would have died in that town under the eyes of speechless parents. Dmitri remembers the confusion that took his peers when he found a job for people who spoke for themselves. They thought he might be growing up.

He could lie. And when he began he understood it would always be a game with no ending.

Dmitri lost himself in a fantasy of conversations with real people and a voice that didn’t belong to him.

They asked a stranger to sign their yearbooks without even realizing it.

And then he was eighteen, and he left to continue elsewhere.

He didn’t announce his departure.

From Umbra - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

It was probably a dream.

Lukewarm water crept down his throat, nearly making him choke. A skin pressed to his lips, insistent. He coughed, and for the first time there was moisture enough for resistance.

The face that obscured his vision was shrouded in white cloth. Cenric found he couldn’t focus on it. Mismatched eyes, one light and the other dark. Impossible to say if blindness caused the inconsistency.

A string of shells dangled from the figure’s neck, rattling gently. The skin pulled back for a moment. Careful. Patient.

It returned only once he'd grown quiet. Cenric drank for as long as he could. Impossibly, a great deal remained by the time he relinquished his hold.

There wasn't enough of him present to say thank you. Cenric barely registered being dragged, being carried onto a cart. Awareness was altogether gone by the time they started to move.

***

…to the blessed traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn aether born fire-walker your will sees us to rest we entrust ourselves to your sight forged of oschon for peace and prosperity and an ending you do not weep for father azeyma lives in the earth with you her fan brings no breeze the air is hot and thick and breathless your domain a silent place that does not stir have you forgotten the sound of your own voice have you known what it is to live and fail have you been alone do you know what it is to die how can a god pass judgment without being judged nald’thal lord of departures of flame and sand whose coin purse overflows who knows not what it means to starve what it means to spoil the legacy of one who loved you nald’thal who holds shells and souls and precious stones as if their worth were equal nald’thal who cannot know mercy without knowing pain who are you to weigh mortal affairs?

***

In darkness he unwinds the black bandana, steps first from his slops and then his kurta. Yuyudana has provided robes, which rest neatly on a small rock nearby. It crosses Cenric’s mind that the bones of his knees, his hips, his wrists, even his face have all started to protrude strangely. He looks less hyuran than before, maybe less than he ever has. Closer to something priests would exorcise than anyone deserving aid.

He wonders if this idea has occurred to them.

The water, when he advances, is cold. Goosebumps raise across his skin as slowly, gingerly, he wades in to his waist.

Cenric ducks under.

His hair is a long and tangled wreck. Being wet only disguises this slightly. It drifts past his neck, comes to float near the surface. Cenric holds himself in silence, eyes open, watching the silver scatter of light over stones and plants and fish. He remains for as long as he can bear.

His vision stings afterward. Gasping, he can’t tell if the cause is exposure or something else. For a time he simply waits, breathing hard through his nose, hunched so that his lips are partially submerged.

He thinks of nothing, pretends that this time instead of no future he has no past.

Only one moon remains. Maybe the sky aches for losing Dalamud, but better that than the blow which scarred Eorzea.

Stalemate - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

He is presented with impressions of a horse, gaunt and fetid and decayed. Spreading ruin wheresoever it goes. Occasionally it sloughs off portions of its own flesh, which collect flies and blacken any land that surrounds. On its back rests a world, and alongside it does the herd struggle under their own burdens. But even beasts of such endurance have limits. Theirs are reached. When the rotten steed lags, its companions cannot afford to falter. Cannot turn. Without its ability to bear loads, this aberration has no place. Falling is inevitable.

Yet a heart still beats and lungs yet swell.

The Ascian shivers in his grasp, but does not attempt escape.

Here, something festers. Something bleeds. An old wound exacerbated over time.

Fevered, coated in a film of self-disgust, the core of Lahabrea convulses.

 Don’t…

 Don’t leave me like this…

***

Teeth and tongue. Lingering, wet, disembodied. Another finds his hip. Another his thigh, slipping beneath what clothes remain.

And another.

And another.

Warm, human, seeking. The Warrior tightens his hold, uses the moan crawling from his own chest as incentive. Barred by naught but fabric, driving close as he can manage. Lahabrea makes a strangled sound, his gasp crushed empty. A new mouth finds the dark knight’s ear in response.

These are parts of him no one dares touch, no one dares acknowledge. Slick now, attended with something like reverence. Supplication.

He resolves to fuck the Ascian senseless for this, presses his intent deep into Lahabrea’s aether. He is going to steal all his fancy words away. Make him squirm.

“I… I…” Tight, airless, like a plucked string. The Warrior feels Lahabrea’s voice reverberate against the roof of his mouth.

The feeling is difficult to describe. Cracked ice. A fraying rope. Such is Lahabrea's response, fumbling and disoriented as it is.

The Warrior lets go.

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

Just imagine me weeping over here lmao. Same deal as before, I’VE DONE TOO MUCH SHIT.

Spare Change - A Batman Fanfic

"Stop," he gasps, "I wouldn’t—"

"You would Harvey. You did. It’s what makes you such a damn good instrument. You had to test yourself, prove that you’re not a real person.” He can feel fingers grinding against bone. His knees bend. Harvey kneels, shuddering, gazing up into the destruction of his own visage. Two-Face meets his eyes, blue on blue. “People are weak. People are ruled by what they want and don’t want. You’re capable of anything if the wind blows just right. You can’t even stop yourself.”

"I wouldn’t," he repeats, numbly.

"Did you," demands Two-Face, forcing him down further, "or did you not flip for their lives, Harvey Dent?"

"We…We aren’t the same people anymore."

"Of COURSE we’re the same people!" Another shove and he’s on the ground, Two-Face sitting on his chest, teeth bared, coin clenched tight between them. "Do you really think you can close your eyes and pretend you aren’t capable of these things? They’re alive," and there is something hideous in his expression, something certain, "because they were lucky. No other reason.”

"The coin is gone! Even if I wanted to listen to it—I can’t!”

"If you’re so sure," says Two-Face, "then how about you improvise?”

And with one motion the silver dollar is under his tongue, forced back so hard he feels himself gag and begin to choke before his eyes open.

The Inquisitor’s Letters - A Dragon Age: Inquisition Fanfic

To His Worship Inquisitor Mahanon Lavellan of Skyhold, My name is Isell from Amaranthine and I’m seven. My mum is helping but says I can send you all by myself. Thank you for fixing the hole in the sky and also the one by the dead man’s house. There were demons but they’re mostly gone now and people are going outside now. Da says Amaranthine has been through too much and can survive anything and he says you’re an elf like us and the Hero of Ferelden was an elf too. He says people used to think elves can’t be heroes but now they don’t. Have you met the Hero of Ferelden? Also I heard that even though you’re Dalish Andraste helped you in the Fade and that humans let you be in the Chantry because anyone Andraste likes must be a really good person. What’s Andraste like? The Chant says a lot but it’s different meeting someone I think. Also I think I saw you a little before but Mum wasn’t sure because you had a helmet on and we were far away and there were a lot of people but I bet it was you. Da wasn’t sure I should write because he says the Dalish don’t like city elves like we are but I think you must be nice and Mum agrees with me. I’ve been playing demon hunters with my brother Arrion (he’s just five still) and Da said templars are who fights demons usually and elves can’t be templars. People thought elves couldn’t be heroes and inquisitors though and we are so I bet I could too. Is it hard fighting demons? Da says they’re real scary but I’m not scared. Thank you for helping us and everyone and I hope you kill lots of demons. Sincerely, Isell U’venlan

From Umbra - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

Cenric sits on the floor, draped in a white cotton tunic. It might have been snug on a Roegadyn but anyone else would find ample room. Behind him, Memesu stands on a cot holding shears. Gold earrings dangle on either side of her face.

“I fought at Carteneau, you know,” she mentions casually. There is a soft hsssssshhhh. Click.

Hair hits the floor. Coils.

He starts to shake his head, aborts the gesture partway through. Stills. “…you saw Bahamut?”

Memesu snorts. “I’m sure everyone this side of Hydaelyn saw Bahamut.” Click.

“That’s probably true,” he concedes. The dragon is what everyone knows, everyone remembers. He can't imagine the proximity. “What about the Warriors of Light?”

“Pff.” Gentle tugging at his scalp. Cenric does not open his eyes but leans into the motion. “I wasn’t of rank to see their like. Not that I’d remember. Stop moving.” Click.

Cenric hesitates.

“What do you remember, then?”

For a time, the only sound comes from blades and a thousand strands cut short. This lasts for several minutes. Cenric resigns himself to secrets.

Then, “I used to think I was special too. As a twin. My sister was Memeni. We studied together.”

 Was.

The exhale hits him slowly, quietly.

“She died?”

He can feel the shrug in her hip against his shoulder.

“It was Carteneau,” says Memesu. “Of course she died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Click. “It had nothing too do with you. If you keep trying to claim responsibility for every misfortune you find, you’re going to get self-important.”

Cenric only grunts, quiet and non-committal.

 Click.

 Click.

 Click.

“Carteneu was so much worse than people remember. Only four years later and already we hurry to dispose of details.” There is a hard undercurrent to Memesu’s voice, but what contact she makes remains light. Careful. “I remember the arcanist from Limsa who didn’t dodge a magitek canon in time. Miqo’te. Spells come faster in that discipline, so there’s less stress on distance than thaumaturgy. Girl got careless.” Click. “The mess smelled like rotten eggs and charcoal. Her face was… melted.” Click. “I try not to look in those situations. They only make casting harder. But she was so close.”

Cenric doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word.

Memesu continues. “One of our own gladiators, an Ala Mhigan, took to mutilating any pureblooded Garleans he could catch. The man had a string of eyes hanging around his neck. I’m pretty sure one enemy officer wet himself before he started to beg. Not that it particularly mattered.”

 Click.

“Memeni… didn’t anticipate what she was getting herself into. She saw magic as a way of being useful to craftsmen. My focus has always been theoretical. Right side.” Startled, Cenric lets her guide his jaw to get a better view of his profile. Click. Click. “Meni used to think I was a priss. She preferred to develop magitek kettles alongside alchemists. See if she could find a way to capture light like the Mhachi did. She still enjoyed fishing when she could, even though it smelled awful. Never outgrew the braids she wore growing up. ” Memesu sighs. “…just understand she died afraid, in pain, and with things left undone. My sister didn’t even resemble herself at the end.”

Cenric is very still. Thinks carefully.

“…I wish it could have gone differently,” he says at last.

Memesu’s mouth slides up in a small, crooked smile. She tousles the neat, ear-length hair before her. “So do I.”

Eclipse - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

It ends at Elidibus’ untimely arrival.

“Lord Zodiark,” he says, so smoothly that were he not searching for it that the anger would be undetectable, “appreciates your attentions.”  His gaze does not waver from Lahabrea as he speaks. “But there is work to be done and I’m afraid there are words I would have with your Speaker.”

They disperse.

Nabriales, careful and curious, folds himself out of sight beyond the chamber then makes his way back to its edge.

Lahabrea, farthest from the exit, attempts to steal some small dignity. Turns to face Elidibus.

The Emissary makes him wait. Expressionless red masks matched by those who wear them.

Then, with more speed and force than typical for his demeanor, the Emissary closes distance to trap his colleague against the wall.

“It was my error,” hisses Elidibus, leaning in, “to have stayed silent upon rescuing you. A mistake I will remedy now, so we can be on no uncertain terms.”

Lahabrea lowers his eyes. Nabriales notes that despite the dread they all share of such reprimands, the man does not brace.

“You know as well as I that these words offer less succor to our Lord than action,” continues Elidibus, his fury quiet and no less sharp for that, “just as we both know your thoughtless action is the cause of repeated missteps these past centuries. Make no mistake—for all the strides you’ve made, your fixation and your impatience have cost the rest of us considerable time.”

Silence.

“Do you truly think this is your best service to Him?” asks Elidibus. “To us? Compromising your ability to fill the hours? Even Emet-Selch agrees these displays are disgraceful. You have ever borne them poorly, but being a 'paragon among paragons' naturally you continue ignoring your own better judgment with ours to continue this exercise in futility. Idiot.”

A twitch of the head. Almost a flinch.

It is one of few moments Nabriales has seen the Emissary express his anger so openly. Even after the Thirteenth fell to Igeyorhm’s error, Elidibus allowed the Angel of Truth to lead and voiced his own reproach with a more typical icy demeanor. Scathing though it was.

“I can be of use,” says Lahabrea softly. “Only three of us remain, and I—“

“You,” Elidibus snaps, “cannot follow the most simple instructions for the good of us all. Not for Him, not for Amaurot, not even for yourself. Your pride has made you not simply an embarrassment but a liability.”

Neither man speaks for several moments after that.

And then, at length, Elidibus exhales.

Says the Speaker’s name.

Receives his attention.

“What would you have me do?” the Emissary asks. His tone now is almost weary. “Clearly it would be unreasonable to trust you’d simply listen. Must I mind you like a child?” This is what breaks Lahabrea’s composure.

Knowing the man’s temper, Nabriales had expected him to lash out. Even on the back foot their orator is perfectly capable of defending himself from insults.

Instead, he embraces Elidibus fiercely—face just within the bounds of his pauldrons. Jaw locked shut firmly enough to hurt. Expression downcast.

Elidibus remains perfectly still at first. In the absence of conversation it is possible to hear the rush of Lahabrea’s breathing. Only through the nose, withheld briefly between each inhale as if that offers some means to steady himself.

As if that would make it better.

Tentatively, Elidibus holds him back. Lahabrea's fingers contract, and though he remains upright when his knees begin to give it is the Emissary who helps him kneel.

“Easy,” he murmurs, and Lahabrea removes one hand to run it reflexively over his face—coming against the mask.

Nabriales finds himself staring, searching. A puzzle with missing pieces whose image he may yet divine

“It was not,” says Lahabrea roughly, “my intention to…���

Elidibus reaches beneath the other man’s cowl, finds the hair and skin beneath. Draws him in once more.

Naught that would be shared with or among the Sundered. Nothing so personal as that.

Nabriales has worn his own share of flesh. Bedded lovers, adopted companions and families of vessels to fulfill a purpose. Passable enough, perhaps, but never for him. Not in truth.

It’s as if he looks upon two strangers.

Parched - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

The door closes behind them. Lahabrea, projecting his preferred likeness over the host, waits on a couch within.

It’s admittedly a surreal sight. Ishgardian finery with its gilded edges, its elaborate wallpapers and marble floors. A collection of creams and blues and greens, fine furniture with velvet seat cushions. All ostentatious in the extreme… and then Lahabrea. Masked and cowled. Pouring three glasses of La Noscean arrack.

Elidibus freezes, and though none of them can see his eyes the confusion is clear enough.

“What is this?”

“Your turn,” says Emet-Selch, lightly but less flippant than he might have been.

Lahabrea proffers a cup from where he sits.

Elidibus neither moves nor speaks.

Emet-Selch approaches. Takes the drink. Presses it carefully into the other man’s hand.

“Don’t think,” he says smoothly,” that I won’t let you drop it.”

Mercifully, Elidibus has a good grip.

“Sit,” says Lahabrea, gesturing with his own glass to the sofa across from him.

Elidibus sits.

Emet-Selch sits.

Takes his own glass, perhaps a bit pointedly.

Elidibus’ mouth is pressed tight. It opens briefly, as if to speak. Shuts again.

“Explain,” the Emissary manages eventually.

Lahabrea meets his co-conspirator’s eye. Downs his arrack in a single attempt.

It is a long attempt.

It lasts several moments.

The other Ascians watch.

“Elidibus,” says Emet-Selch as Lahabrea endeavors to catch his breath in the aftermath, “Lahabrea and I are concerned that you may be experiencing some difficulties in recent years.”

“I’m fine,” replies Elidibus coldly. Holding his drink. “Why did you think this necessary?”

“Because—“ wheezes Lahabrea.

“Because you’re practically a mammet,” says Emet-Selch, picking up Lahabrea’s glass. Moving it just out of reach. “Truly. It’s been what, two hundred years? Three? Neither of us can remember the last time you so much as spoke of matters unrelated to the Rejoining.”

Lahabrea reaches. Elidibus pours his arrack into the other man’s glass before nudging it back toward him.

Elidibus makes eye contact with Emet-Selch.

“I remain focused,” he says evenly. “Nothing more.”

Emet-Selch gestures to the bottle.

Elidibus sighs.

Refills his own glass.

“There are matters I must attend myself. As is the case with each of you.”

“Undoubtedly,” replies Lahabrea more evenly. “But with few exceptions, you haven’t done so.”

A hard stare from behind the mask.

“What would you have me do? I can’t very well take time off.”

Emet-Selch sips.

“A negligible amount of time,” he says, “taken sparingly, may be forgivable.”

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

Lmao see this is a plus side/minus side deal. Minus side, it’s being asked just before I embark on a MASSIVE ASS FANFIC. And I basically am excited for all of it. Plus side, there are things I refuse to spoil.

So... putting it vaguely, in no particular order:

- Lahabrea and Hydaelyn meet a second time after Praetorium.

- Moonfire Faire

- Thancred

- Conversations over mulled wine

- Silvertear Lake

Some of these are sex scenes. Most aren’t. But I am very hyped.

[mister-tom-a-dildo-lover]

Strive Pt. 22

{PART 1} {PART 2} {PART 3} {PART 4} {PART 5} {PART 6} {PART 7} {PART 8} {PART 9} {PART 10} {PART 11} {PART 12} {PART 13} {PART 14} {PART 15} {PART 16} {PART 17} {PART 18} {PART 19} {PART 20} {PART 21}

Pair: Tomarry

Rating: M-E(depends)

Tags: Mild Language, Homosexuality, Sexism, Obsessed Tom, Time-Travel/Dimension-Travel, Teacher/Student, Eventual Romance, Teacher-Harry, Grey!Harry, MoD(sort of), Death!being,

"You know, I don't want to try to control the way you do things in your life, but if you go and get a Mastery in Magical Smithing, it'll look very good on any resume you decide to build in the future."

Tom's tea cup paused against his lips as he considered Harry's words. Applying for a Mastery was a free process. And he was very young. People his age didn't often get Masteries. Especially ones centered around dying arts that were rarely mentioned anymore since it usually took extra effort to find information about them and he had the benefit of Salazar's knowledge on his side.

"Technically, you could apply for a Mastery in many subjects. Magical Smithing, Runes, Arithmancy, Legilimency, Occlumency, Defence, Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions. And for a few of those, you were self-taught. Such notes would go over well with most people and even if you end up in another profession, your status as a Master would have you called upon often by others. Few people in our community are Masters in Legilimency or Occlumency for example and you could be called in to help the Unspeakables should they have need of your… abilities."

Suddenly the idea had become very appealing. "Having multiple Masteries would make me come across as more capable, yes?" Trustworthy. Hard-working. Dedicated. If someone was to see that he'd achieved Masteries in many subjects, they'd be impressed and more willing to put their faith in him. They'd most likely take him more seriously then, and consider everything he had to say as something valuable.

If he ever personally got into politics, that could greatly help with his ideas in moving forward. And it would draw his acquaintances even closer to him because it was in a Slytherin's nature to want to be near greatness.

"You're already Apprenticed to a Defence Master who will be going for a Runes Mastery soon. With a proper attitude, good support base, and necessary skills, you could probably obtain all those Masteries before you're thirty," Harry told him confidently.

It would be around twelve years until then, but at the same time that was such a short span of time for wizards. Nine Masteries in twelve years sounded impossible to the ear, but Tom did like challenges and he always came out on top eventually.

And he liked the benefits. If Tom was one of the very few Masters of a certain Art in Britain alone, he would be asked for assistance. Could probably charge outlandish prices simply because someone's desperation didn't let them think clearly. He very much liked the idea of it.

Also proving himself better than others by holding multiple Masteries at once sounded appealing. Tom was a narcissist first and foremost.

~.O.~

"We're going to explore my memories of the duels," said Harry as he held up a kit full of several vials of different colours, all bearing a different label on them. "Unaltered as promised. Choose which you wish to start with."

Tom squinted at the man's atrocious writing and plucked Duel 5 from the case.

According to Potter, they were borrowing the Headmaster's Pensieve for this lesson. He'd never seen one in person before, and committed the ornate markings in the bowl to memory. They looked like Runes, but unfamiliar ones, so mostly likely those from another culture.

"Pour the memory into the basin and dip your head inside."

The memory was silver as it poured out, but turned black the moment it hit the liquid within the Pensieve. Tom took a deep breath and followed Harry's order.

The Dueling Championship had been held in a massive outdoor stadium as large as Hogwarts' Quidditch Pitch. And the space where the duels took place was just like his and Harry's Room of Requirement training had been. Every element available to make things interesting.

The stands were filled with people holding up flags from different countries and cheering on their favourite competitors.

Said competitors were standing on the sidelines looking agitated as they had to wait for their turns.

A horn blew and a portly witch in bright yellow and black striped robes took center-field, her wand activating the Sonorous Charm. "We are ready to begin the Fifth Round! The first competitors up are Harry Potter of Great Britain and John Crawford of the United States!"

The cheers erupted from the stands.

Tom backed up until he was certain he was out of the way of the entire duel as the announcer shot off red sparks with her wand.

The four duels Harry had been through before this one were enough to make his opponent skeptical of him. He didn't rush in with his wand waving and spells flying. Instead, the blond man across the field stood perfectly still and waited, his blue eyes trained only on Harry in a manner that Tom did not appreciate.

Harry mimicked his opponent, stance casual and face passive. The two let the minutes pass them by, the silence rendering the crowd into a mass of confusion.

Eventually, it seemed that Crawford had lost whatever patience he'd been trying to show off, and whipped his wand out in an upward arc. A streak of flames followed the movement like a whip, and when the wand lashed out again, the whip snapped toward Harry's position.

Of course Harry quickly proved why the majority of Slytherin was looking to him to defeat Grindelwald. Instead of pulling up a barrier of any sort to protect himself, Harry quite literally took two steps to his right, allowing the fire whip to pass his left shoulder without a backwards glance. He didn't even blink.

The whip retracted and then lashed out once again, and once again, Harry manoeuvered himself around it, avoiding what would no doubt be a painful feeling if he had been unfortunate enough to get wrapped up in it.

There wasn't even a magical application to this, it was simply Harry being observant enough to predict where the whip would go specifically and simply moving to a position away from the targeted area.

Crawford didn't seem to appreciate Harry's treatment of his skills. Perhaps to a fool it looked as if Harry was mocking him, but if Harry was honestly good enough to avoid damage without having to use magic, then why tire himself out of he didn't have to? It would be pointless otherwise.

Common sense should be a thing utilised by everyone in Tom's opinion. It could honestly save one's life one day.

"Fight back, damn you!" Crawford eventually yelled.

Harry cocked an arched, perfectly plucked brow, and flicked his Holly wand once. Nothing seemed to happen and Crawford cackled. "Not so talented, are you? That's why you keep running away!"

And then Crawford's entire body jerked out of nowhere, and his hands rushed to his face to rub at his nose. He seemed to forget that he was holding a literal whip of fire and with his wand suddenly in his face again, the whip snapped back the way it came and Crawford got a face full of burns as punishment for his boasting.

The stadium erupted in applause and cheering, the astounded faces hanging out so openly. It was because Harry wasn't very intimidating in figure and didn't look like someone capable of much beyond looking pretty. But he'd proved their assumptions wrong so effortlessly!

Harry had won using only a tickling charm. Honestly, Tom shouldn't be surprised by his strange approach to magic.

~.O.~

"What did you observe?" Harry asked pensively the moment he was freed from the memory.

Tom shook himself in order to center his thoughts and stop the mild vertigo he was feeling. "He was very cocksure, but mostly in an attempt to hide that he was actually unnerved by you. You got that far so you had to be a threat in some way and when you didn't use magic to fight back and just kept avoiding his attacks, he became even more frustrated and attempted to goad you into fighting."

It was a pathetic attempt. Crawford was not so good with words as to manipulate anyone into anything. He would be a poor public speaker.

"He also knew how to use a whip," Tom added. "Very well. The flickings of his wrist spoke of experience." Tom was very well aware of how a whip was used. It took a lot of time to acclimate oneself to the proper motions if one wanted the best results.

"Correct. Anything else?"

He had to think for a moment. "He was impatient but also lacked common sense. He should have tried something else when you dodged the whip for the third time. Simply relying on the same technique for several minutes was foolish of him, and it rendered his arm tired after a certain amount of time elapsed. His form became sloppy and slow and even more predictable than before."

"Exactly. In essence, nothing particularly impressive. What would you have done differently?"

Against Harry? Tom already knew Harry. He'd been dueling Harry for weeks. Compared to Crawford, Tom already had a bit over him in terms of 'knowing his enemy'. He could formulate better ideas easily, though whether they'd actually work against Harry was an entirely different thing altogether.

Still…

"I would have learned a better version of the spell. A single whip is relatively easy to dodge because it is thin and can only go in one direction, but a cat o' nine tails is not. You aren't fast enough to dodge nine individual strips of flame no matter how talented you are."

Harry nodded, seemingly envisioning the very scenario and twirling his wand experimentally. "And if that failed?"

"Probably something involving animals. I've very good at controlling animals and most people are very hesitant to harm an animal, especially if they think it looks cute." He could capitalise off their hesitancy and then take them down.

"Interesting."

~.O.~

Dinner with the Malfoy family. It hadn't been since Yule that Tom had visited the Malfoys and he honestly found himself bored of them. Though it was incredibly useful that they felt indebted to him(and that was only because of Harry) he just didn't find them as interesting as he had before.

It was so strange how his way of thinking had changed so much.

During dinner, Tom had been asked a simple question. "How have things been for you, Tom?"

And he had to think about it for a moment.

"Considerably well if I ignore Dumbledore stalking my every movement," he'd answered. "I am Apprenticed to Harry Potter now."

Abraxas beamed, looking as if he had a million questions that he was only barely keeping himself from asking. His father however, merely looked politely interested.

"Our son told us you seemed less enthused the last time you met up for lunch," Lord Malfoy said calmly, not even looking up from his plate. "Are you well?"

An interesting place to insert this information. "I am am merely conflicted after I learned some sensitive information about the Slytherin family."

All three Malfoy's stiffened and turned to look at him with full interest.

"Oh?" Lady Malfoy asked.

"Indeed. Professor Potter is actually also related to the Gaunts and he is also a Parselmouth. As such he has managed to acquire many tomes about both the Slytherins and the Gaunts and has allowed me to study them. They are in Parselscript however, so it took time. I have learned that the enmity between Salazar and Godric had nothing to do with Mundanes, and everything to do with Godric's wife's younger sister starting a fight with Salazar's son over his pet snake."

"Mundanes?" Abraxas repeated with obvious confusion.

"Their older term for Muggles," Tom clarified. "Salazar sent his son away because Godric overreacted and when he found out he was in the wrong, he refused to take anything he'd done and said back, which lead to Salazar leaving as well after a time because he was too frustrated with Godric's childish behaviour."

"Ho-how did the story change then?" asked Abraxas, looking a good mix between horrified and baffled. "How could a fight over a snake escalate into him being pure evil?"

"It seems we've allowed the other Houses to dictate our Founder to us," said Tom plainly. "The whole story about the his monster is a lie. The Basilisk exists but not to cleanse the school of Muggleborns. All the Founders had a 'monster' that served to protect the school. Godric had a dragon that fell in battle, Helga had a Phoenix that still lingers around the property when it wants to be seen, Rowena had a Sphinx that was sold off centuries ago, and Salazar had a Basilisk that fell alongside Godric's dragon. So Salazar bred another to protect the children and left it there for any of his blood to make use of should the school need its greatest defence again."

The looks of shock and minor outrage on their faces was somewhat amusing and also sad at the same time. This went against everything they had ever learned about their House Founder after all.

"Essentially, we've been lead astray by the very people who hate us for the House we're Sorted into." If Tom was going to change something, he'd at least make certain proper blame was placed.

~.O.~

A knock on door of his rooms made Tom frown. No one ever visited him because there was no one around that would need or want to. And it was always him going to see Harry.

When he opened the door, he was greeted by the sight of one Ella Potter smiling up at him with mischief all over her face. "Hello, Tom. Care to come on a walk with this old woman?"

And the first thing out of his mouth was an offended, "You are not old. Dumbledore is old. Ancient even." He added last bit just to be petty.

Ella snorted behind her hand in a very unladylike fashion and nodded. "Such a charmer, Tom. He's only seven years older than me."

Briefly he had to wonder what happened because she looked so young and Dumbledore didn't.

Tom held his hand out and his cloak laid itself over his arm a second later. He didn't know why Elle was there at all but he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to speak with her if she really wanted to talk to him. He actually liked her company.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked as he stepped into the third floor corridor swinging his cloak over his shoulders.

"Not really. I'm merely going to have lunch with Harry and I thought you'd like to join us. You're always so alone down here. It's not healthy, you know."

"I'm not alone. I spend a lot of time with Harry," he defended since it was the literal truth. He spent so much time with Harry and still managed to not be bored of seeing his beautiful face.

She sent him an unimpressed look, left brow angled down to give the look more character. "All this time with him and you still haven't made a move. You need help."

Oh Merlin! He was getting courtship assistance from Harry's aunt. He didn't know if he should be embarrassed that his interest was so obvious to her, or grateful that she was in full support of it and wanted to see it blossom into something more.

Ella linked arms with him and gave his shoulder a fond by pitying pat. "It's really not that difficult. Harry is a bit dense but once things are more clear he will be more than receptive."

The entire afternoon was filled with Ella making certain to drag complements out of the both of them for each other. She also managed to get Tom to blush, which was a feat no other but Harry had managed. It was obvious she'd been a Slytherin. She was devious and single-minded in her purpose and didn't bat a single lash at her nephew's mortified sputtering.

And yet it was all worth it in the end just to see Harry so carefree and happy. While he hadn't been sad or dispassionate while teaching, he held a personal belief on how teachers should act when around their students. So the familiarity and fun behaviour he had shown all afternoon, was something new.

Tom felt privileged that he even got to witness it. Seeing sides of Harry Potter that others didn't get to, made him float.

Literally.

Sometimes he got so excited about Harry that he'd lose his connection to the Earth for a few seconds. It was embarrassing. Thankfully no one had noticed it yet.

~.O.~

"The school year is starting next week," remarked Harry that evening at dinner. They'd had a long day of training in dueling and this was the time they could indulge. Harry was eying up the platter of treacle tart the House Elves had brought for after supper.

"It'll be interesting to see the Great hall from a different angle." They took their meals together for the most part. Or Tom went to the kitchens personally in an effort to avoid Dumbledore. He hadn't stepped foot in the Great hall once that summer, and it had been marvelous!

Harry snorted. "You'll realise just how big it is then. It can almost feel overwhelming at times. So many students. So many faces. You can't even see them all perfectly near the double doors at the far end."

To Tom it sounded spectacular. Of course it could just be his happiness over getting to be in Hogwarts still. Not having to leave his true home behind could be blinding him.

"Have you already worked out your schedules?" Harry asked him, setting his plate aside and pulled the entire platter of treacle tart closer. As they were for him to begin with, Tom wasn't offended by the the gluttonous reaction.

They'd already discussed it. Tom would be taking over the classes for the first through third years. Harry had deemed him prepared enough to handle that much work, and had already bestowed much wisdom on how to handle assignments and such. And he had Harry's own example to base his own teaching style off of. Despite him originally being incensed in regards to it, Harry's method truly worked. He raised the grade average of the entire school simply because his class touched upon applications from nearly every other class in the school and his Dueling Club had been a great help.

With Tom taking on some classes, Harry's schedule would be freed up so he could dedicate the proper time to his Deputy duties. And there were so many to see to! Every day he had something to do, even in the summer!

"I have everything set up," he told the man confidently. "Though I wouldn't mind if you'd like to look over what I've come up with."

Harry's smile could make him believe in angels, it was just that fetching. That innocent. How had he existed this long and manage to be so untarnished?

"You've come a long way, Tom. I'm proud of your progress."

Tom was not blushing he was simply a little overheated still from the intense workout Harry had put him through. His clothes were hot and there was even still sweat on his brow!

There was sweat on Harry too. It made his hair shine and his skin glisten just a bit in the candlelight. And Tom's mouth felt dry suddenly.

"Are you okay, Tom?"

"Fine! Just fine."

He was not fine.

A/N: This chapter was finished months ago, for the most part. It was long enough and everything, but I chose to hold off on posting because it didn't feel right to me. Last night I got a review and decided to re-read the whole fic, plus this chap to see what was missing. I found it too. It was just detail. Some of the writing was just bland. I fixed it while I added 1,000 words!

[boundless-limbo-deviation]

Part 1 - Chapter 2: The Grass is Greener

A pair of sturdy, brown, leather walking boots plodded along an elegantly maintained brick road. Horse-driven carriages creaked on their wheels through the streets of a sprawling city. Whilst the scale and splendour of this city neared what one would expect from a modern metropolis, it was contrastingly dated in appearance. For miles upon miles, stretched a city of the middle ages; Thanton. Whilst it followed the foundations comparable to medieval architecture, its buildings had clearly stood the test of time for centuries. Certain archaic towers even scratched the sky with their scale, with the very tallest being the central tower of a giant palace overlooking its community. The only thing standing higher than this castle's tower was the very mountain that cradled it amidst its southern cliffs. The mountain stood like a watchful deity over Thanton's vastness, which spanned every side of the craggy mass of rock, all the way up to the coastal harbour in the north.

The boots' steady pace came to a halt before the city’s immense front-gates. A traditional drawbridge that was vast enough in size to boast the sheer amount of commerce going in and out of the city. Naturally, this drawbridge was one of many along the walls stretching miles around the city’s circumference.

A young girl stood at the gate, her vibrant amber eyes staring puzzled at the unusual sight of the drawbridge being closed, carriages filled with befuddled traders and travellers queued up for an exit to the city, growing impatient with the wall of wood inconveniencing their day. The youth neatened up her elegantly curled hair, a vibrant ginger flowing halfway down her back like an intricately controlled fire, only further heated by the scarlet-red (and almost comparatively modern) princess coat that hung down to her calves, astonishingly groomed and clean compared to those well-worked leather boots.

“Sir Nasos!” A surprisingly powerful, authoritative voice bellowed from the petite teen’s chords, her stern expression holding impatience. In response to her voice, a flustered, heavily armoured guard’s head peeked over from the castellations of the wall, the girl bending her head right back to make attempted eye-contact with the man, with difficulty due to his helmet-masked face.

“Lady Thanos! Please, you needn’t refer to me with such formality!” He responded nervously.

The girl’s stoic expression cracked a grin, struggling to withhold a chuckle. “You ought to follow your own advice, Steve. Why is the drawbridge closed? Open it! All of these busy people are waiting, myself included!” She crossed her arms and tilted her head expectantly.

The man’s helmet almost fell from his head as he dangled nearly half of his body over the edge of the wall, clearing his throat in his fluster. “A-Apologies, Miss Haraki! There have been sightings of strange monsters emerging from the woods! I’ve been given orders to shut the gate until further notice!” Every word from his mouth was yelled dutifully, though nervous in the face of this child before him.

Haraki looked bewildered by such an order, placing her hands back down on her hips. “I’ll be your ‘further notice’, Steve! So open the gate, and if you get in trouble with the Captain, I’ll have a word with him myself, okay?--Honestly, the main gate?--Look just how much congestion this is causing! If we see monsters, we can close them promptly. It could very well just be an old farmer mistaking a black cat for a demon. We cannot be closing our gates based on sightings alone. We’re supposed to have a shipment of new medicine from Dardonia today too! We need as little traffic as possible!” She tapped her foot impatiently on the floor.

"Wouldn't a Dardonian delivery just fly into the city?"

"Steve!"

“O-Okay! Yes, right away!” Apparently intimidated by this small girl's level of authority, the guard's head vanished from the top of the wall, and after thirty seconds or so, the heavy wooden gate began to descend with a loud, impressive creak. Dense chains brought the drawbridge down with a deep 'clink clink clink clink’, until a reverberating 'clonk’ announced the bridge securely locking into place, revealing the vast countryside beyond the walls. Without delay, carriages started to roll off, several passengers waving to the young girl from their windows, shouting words of appreciation. The girl could only smile and wave back, before continuing her walk through the city gates.

“Miss Haraki! Wait! Please do be careful! If there truly are monsters, your life could be in danger!” Suddenly, the chrome helmet of Steve emerged from the wall’s castellations again, waving an arm frantically. The young girl’s eyes rolled with amused irritation, swivelling around on her heel to stare up at the concerned guardsman.

“Oh, heavens forbid; An adorable black cat meows at me. I can imagine the bloodshed now.” Spoken with an indulgent topping of sarcasm, waving a hand dismissively. Despite her elegant demeanour, the girl’s hands, much like her boots, were coarse and roughened. “Concern yourself not, my good sir. This will be just like yesterday, and the day before that. A mere sighting cannot scratch me.” She shrugged her shoulders, grinning smugly before turning around again.

“But Princess-Haaargh!” The man gave a struggled groan as his oversized helmet, too big for his own head, slid out from its amateurishly fastened straps, plummeting down onto the bridge with a hefty ‘bonk’. This left the bizarrely beautiful, flowing brown locks of the young man flow freely as he muttered curses of blunder under his breath.

The so-called royal youth turned herself around for a second time with an exasperated sigh, picking the helmet up begrudgingly. “Formalities, Sir Nasos!” She bluntly jeered back. Grasping the helmet’s loose strap, and with a powerful swing of her arm, launched it back up towards the man upon the wall, before sauntering away without another word. Unbeknown to her; the helmet came crashing down onto the brick road, all the way on the other side of the wall. She'd missed the flailing hands of Steve by a long shot.

  Brick soon turned to dirt as Haraki distanced herself further from the city, the road becoming more beaten in parallel to the rolling fields of green surrounding her. The countryside was dotted with farmhouses, smaller settlements of homes, and an absolute abundance of cows, horses and sheep. The green was only interrupted by wheat stalks spreading between alternating fields like patchwork. Whilst the weather was clear and skies were blue, off the coast to the west was shroud of grey clouds, obscurring the horizon in a light mizzle of rain.

The frequency of horse-drawn carriages and merchant carts along the roads had slowed to near-nothing once Haraki was off the main brick roads. The girl’s brisk jogging was steadily paced as if it were second nature to her, showing no signs of tiring any moment soon. She closed in on the densely wooded forest, a bright smile of excitement spread across her face, as a thrilling image conjured up in her head.

Just a couple of days prior, the young royal had found something deeply unusual in one of her otherwise regular excursions into Foloway Forest. The Kingdom’s largest forest hid many secrets, and somehow this one had eluded Haraki throughout her adventurous childhood. She blamed not finding it earlier on the fact that she’d only been permitted to leave the city without a caretaker within the last few years due to her age, but she never once felt like her freedom was suppressed.

Those worn leather boots were proving their worth, with the girl fearlessly marching off any beaten path to make a faster journey of finding her goal. If a shrub or bush of nettles so much as stood in her path, she barged on through like a battering ram. No petty piece of underbrush stood a chance.

After about twenty straight minutes of violated vegetation, where the trees were reaching their tallest and the leaves were at their densest; Haraki reached her destination. Lightly reflecting the dappled sunlight through the treetops, were the age-eroded stones of a remarkable ruin. What could have originally been a collection of small buildings, was now a pile of rubble surrounding a bunker-like structure rearing its head up from the earth. Little rounded sculptures dotted the various steps and nooks around the unidentifiable architecture. Arguably adorable, yet far too worn to resemble anything in particular.

Dried leaves and twigs cracked audibly with each cautious step the young girl took towards the structure. Her research in the library didn’t yield a thing as to what it could be, though that could be partially because she got bored trying to find out anything about this ruin via reading. Much better to face her curiosity directly by visiting again. That was her mindset in most ventures and it had served her well enough so far, with the occasional scuffed elbow or scraped knee.

‘Let’s see what you are.’ The girl pondered to herself. Just before she was able to step upon the cold surface of the ruined stone steps however, an unsettling chill ran up her spine. Looking down at her feet, she noticed the leaves and moss beneath her had turned an eerie, lifeless grey. Something about it made the young girl wince distastefully, urgently lifting her foot away and onto the stone step in front of her as if she’d just stepped in a pile of dung.

Swivelling around, Haraki examined the literally greyed-out space of plant life. Kneeling down to take a closer look, it seemed to spread directly outwards from the ruined bunker she was standing on. The same pattern continued consistently around the entire structure. She was admittedly starting to have second thoughts, but tried to shrug the effect off as a kind of chemical reaction from the materials of this ruin. She didn’t really need to care about the science of it, that was for the scholars to think about.

Making a mental note to raise this unusual phenomenon with a bookish individual when she got back home, she turned on her heels once again and regained her fearless resolve to explore this enigmatic structure. Circling around the outer path of the bunker, she gave a gasp of intrigue to find a clear, intact entrance; stairs descending into the buried building. Her heart was thumping with anticipation, eager to be sated. The lass set off downwards, the heavy pacing of her boots echoed in the abandoned corridor of stone, spiralling downwards into the ground.

The stairs continued on for a lot longer than Haraki deemed normal, and the light from outside was dwindling. The princess gave an impatient sigh, narrowing her eyes as she lifted a hand, staring at what little was left to see in this limited lighting. She made repeated gestures with her hand; clenching it shut and opening it again, growing increasingly annoyed at whatever she was trying to do. She firmly clicked her fingers, waved them in the air repeatedly, made a circle with her hand... Nothing worked. Her eyes shut, jaw clenched and teeth bared, before one more, particularly satisfying click of her fingers enticed a sudden ball of light to erupt from the palm of her hand.

Caught by the surprise of her struggled, but successful spell to light her way, the young girl gave a sigh of relief and continued her downwards spiral into the unknown.

This obscured structure was probably around six storeys into the ground when Haraki finally saw an end to the stairwell. She stopped and looked blankly along the corridor at the steps’ base. A short path leading directly towards an archway into a larger chamber; her goal was right there!

Only wishing that the arch didn’t lead to yet more stairs, she was ready to take her last few steps downwards, before a bone-chilling sound and a slithering movement slipped past the corner of her eye. She gave a sharp gasp, almost losing her footing when trying to turn, getting better look at the source of her shock.

Her amber eyes, reflecting the light of her spell, widened for a moment before narrowing in disgust; On the wall was a nondescript, unsettling creature. An insect or mollusc? It was around the length of her forearm and appeared to have legs with plates of glossy exoskeleton, but the way it squirmed was contrastingly amorphic. Firmly clenching her teeth, Haraki took a shaken breath, carefully leaning down to grab a loose brick from the ancient steps.

She firmly held her back against the inner-most wall of the staircase, trying to slip past the nightmarish entity without disturbing it further. The second she passed, an unpleasant, alarming ‘Thwop’ threw her into action as the creature immediately fell from the wall and onto the step beside her. With a panicked yelp, followed by a fast roar of action, the young lady bent her knees and brought both hands down, slamming the brick upon the creature’s uncertain shape. A most revolting ‘Shplock!’ echoed through the underground chambers, as her encounter with the alien-like creature ended as quickly as it began.

The young noblewoman had chosen not to wait and find out if the creature was harmful or not. She stood up straight, kicking the brick down the remaining stairs to get a glimpse of the crushed ‘bug's’ corpse. The slab of stone peeled away from what was now just a mess of off-pink flesh and cracked shell. She hadn’t a clue what she’d just killed, it just oozed viscous fluids down the stone steps. She could only stand a few more seconds even trying to figure it out before scurrying towards her original goal at the bottom of the stairs. Yet another question for the scientists.

Down the remaining stairs and through the archway, the girl in red gave a sigh of relief; she’d evidently reached the bottom. All that greeted her for now was darkness, and from how her footsteps echoed on the cold stone floor, this chamber was large and empty. She tried to brighten her spell, to no avail. With another agitated roll of her eyes, she cautiously paced further into the room, watching her footing due to only seeing a few meters ahead.

The girl only had the echo of her steps for company--so she thought--before the light of her spell reflected off of something in the darkness; two reddish lights glared back at her, beckoning the girl to gasp with a shrill yelp! “Aah! What the—” Her initial scare was cooled quickly, realising that staring back at her was the familiar glow of a cat’s eyes in the darkness.

“O-Oh gosh! Kitty? You frightened me.” She sighed in relief and slowly knelt down, holding out her glowing hand. “How did you get down here sweetie? Right out in the woods too, awh...” She muttered in a high, silly pitch, the likes of which people often resort to when in the close proximity of a cute animal.

As the girl’s voice resounded against the chamber walls, a deep humming began to speak back. Haraki’s fiery head of hair flung back and forth, standing up straight again as she tried to identify the source. It was as if the whole room started buzzing, and as the sound intensified, light began to seep from between the bricks, white crystals lining the walls illuminated, quickly bringing the whole chamber into clarity.

“Oh wow... There are magic installations in here?” She found herself speaking aloud, as if the company of a cat somehow justified it. The crystals distracted the girl only momentarily as the room reacted to the sounds of her presence and came to life. It must not have been activated in a long time judging from how long it took to start up. Turning her attention back to the pair of feline eyes she spotted earlier, she suddenly clutched a hand to her chest in shock, dispelling the light she'd conjured. Her startle wasn't because of the black, red-eyed cat staring quietly back at her, but because of the unconscious figure sprawled on the ground beside it.

“What—Oh my god!” Without a second’s pause, she ran closer to the body, almost skidding to a halt and kneeling by the person’s side. “Hello! Are you okay? Oh, goodness...” She was left in a fleeting panic. Everything about them was shrouded in a flowing mess of silver hair, but Haraki gently rolling them over revealed the stranger’s face.

“A boy?” Haraki muttered under her breath. It didn’t take her long to realise he was breathing steadily, alleviating her concerns. She gazed over at the red-eyed cat, who had paced a few feet away from her. “Are you with him?” She made a mental note of the cat’s eyes, and the boy’s hair, silently remarking on the unusual qualities. A shudder of mystery gave her goosebumps; finding an unusual cat and unconscious boy at the bottom of a mysterious ruin? Her day went from exciting to surreal! Not even taking into account the grotesque eldritch... thing she killed a few minutes ago.

She carefully lay the young man on his side, doing her best to remember the staple recovery position. The cat watched on studiously, with a deep, wide-eyed curiosity, until Haraki shifted her attention back towards him. “You’re adorable! Look at your amazing eyes...” She stood up and edged herself towards the feline, who sat observantly as the girl knelt down and held her hand outwards. Common cat courtesy; let the cat smell your hand first and foremost. But this cat showed no signs of flinching, nor a desire to take a whiff. The two of them merely exchanged a silent stare.

“Your ears are all curved, like horns...” Her hands fearlessly went for the petting, the response she received was the cat lowering his head back into his neck awkwardly, but not enough to truly escape the girl’s hand. She mostly just wanted to run a finger along the backs of those arched ears.

  Ten or so minutes passed with Haraki and the enigmatic cat sitting by the unconscious body of the boy. The cat seemed intrigued by the girl’s eagerness to stay and keep watch, but did not even inch from where he sat. The girl eventually had to relent from petting the cat, understanding that whilst he didn’t move, he didn’t seem too fond of it either. Eventually, the two lively figures sprang up in startle as the boy began to move.

“Hello? Hi! Are you alright?” Her concern was met by an abrupt gasp from the young man, sharply sitting up and throwing his weight backwards. Haraki stayed low, holding out a hand, (much like she did for the cat, really) and spoke calmly. “Hey hey, it’s okay; it’s fine! I’m Haraki, okay? I just found you here, do you—uhm, understand me?”

The boy took several deep, anxious breaths before nodding his head frantically. “Y-Yes... Am I—?” He glanced about his surroundings. Towering over him was a tall, familiar monolith, just like the last thing he saw before losing consciousness. This time, however, his location was completely different. Upon spotting the cat, who finally stood up from his position and moved closer, the boy exclaimed; “Yang! Did we make it?”

The boy was clearly experiencing a complete overload of emotion, unsure of where to direct his attention. The room around him, the otherworldly stranger who greeted him, or his familiar mentor, who remained quiet, glancing between his student and the stranger.

The three of them cast awkward gazes amongst one another, before the silver-haired boy spoke again. “Yang? Say something!” He uttered, stammering on his words amidst his heightened breathing.

A very human-like sigh emanated from the small animal beside Haraki, before the cat finally broke his cover with that refined, charming tone of his. “I was trying to remain discreet in the presence of a stranger, Kiyoshi.”

The girl’s eyes widened, her lips silently parting as her head turned away from the boy, to stare in disbelief at the cute critter to her side, who returned her gaze, except calmly.

“To naturally avoid frightening the lass. She’s shown nothing but courtesy upon finding us.” Kiyoshi had his turn to feel the fright; now it was Haraki’s. She fell off her heels where she knelt, staggering to the side as her legs frantically kicked along the ground, putting just a meter of extra distance between herself and the others.

The roles had quickly reversed, Kiyoshi holding his hand out and waving it with flustered dismissal. “N-No no no! it’s okay! We don’t mean you any harm!” The poor fellow dropping the most staple line of reassurance he could find in his emotionally shaken, awkward self.

Yang tilted his head back softly, with a slow blink of those blood-red eyes. “As mentioned, young lady, sorry for frightening you.”

Rather than continuing her brief tizzy, the girl was taking deep, concise breaths to try and calm herself down. “I-I believe you! I think—Oh my god...” Her shaken tone betrayed her words. She gulped down her next sentence, taking another moment to compose. “I’m um... This is just very different, I—” Her amber eyes flickered between two enigmatic entities, where initially the boy had been the most mysterious, the cat now outranked him vastly.

Kiyoshi nodded slowly, the boy and cat sitting in silence to allow the girl space and time to digest the situation. Yang wordlessly admired her bravery. He was well aware that human beings weren’t widely accustomed to silver hair and talking cats, and they very well could have sent the girl fleeing entirely.

Haraki took a long, deep breath. Her hands covered her face in an attempt to arrange her thoughts, before holding them both out as if to say; 'wait a minute'. “Are you both from... a black rock atop a hill?” Her silence-breaker struck both of the otherworldly visitors to their cores. Yang’s ears twitched and turned, Kiyoshi inhaled sharply through his nose.

“How could... Why would you say that?” Kiyoshi stuttered back, being reminded of home again so quickly felt like a dagger in his gut. He bit the inside of his lip, a hand desperately kneading into the glimmering blue garment he had been clinging to.

Yang could tell Kiyoshi was hurting, and interjected to take ownership of the question. “I’m astounded by the sudden, sheer precision of your inquiry, young lady. I didn’t expect the first human we met to be familiar with our home. May I ask how you know this?”

Haraki watched the cat speaking like an intricately orchestrated symphony. Almost mesmerised by the bizarreness, She blinked once realising he had asked a question. “Oh wow, sorry.” She paused. “It's just a bit odd, that I was petting you a moment ago and talking to you like a... Cat.”

The thought alone was enough to dispel some of Kiyoshi’s anxiety for the moment, a soft laugh uttered from the boy as Haraki continued.

“I heard it from stories my father told me. Well, rather, they were stories he heard from my mother before she passed away. I never knew her, myself.” She said, at which Kiyoshi had dropped back into reserved silence again, as Yang listened with full intent.

“He told me she travelled to the world of demons, and that it wasn’t a scary place at all! She described it as a beautiful landscape of twilight--Is that all real?--You believe these stories as a little kid, obviously, but...”

“Then we are your proof." Yang interjected. "Though you could imagine the scenery becomes rather mundane to the Underworld’s inhabitants. I suppose after some time we’ll no doubt look back on our memories of it and grow nostalgic.”

“Wait, wait--You’re not going back?” The girl was concerned by Yang's dismissive tone.

The black cat sternly cast a glance over at his pupil's visible grief. “I shouldn’t go into detail at this point, as much as I appreciate your hospitality. To keep it short; Our homeland has been ravaged by illness, and is no longer a safe, or pleasant place to be.”

“What?” Haraki’s reaction was loud and abrupt, her hands gripping anxiously into her coat as a shiver ran through her body. “Illness? Like a plague?” Yang gave a slow nod in response, staring expectantly at her. “See, there’s a massive epidemic here too, and I mean--not just here--the whole world’s been hit by it.” Haraki clarified, even Yang’s steadfast composure seemed to be shaken by the notion that this plague was spread across two dimensions.

Kiyoshi had question after question piling up in his mind, weighing down on all the stress attempting to erupt. He sat there with an ache in the pit of his stomach that refused to go away, and he didn’t expect it to anytime soon either.

“How could... How could that even be possible? What are the symptoms here? Is it terminal?” The fur on Yang’s back twitched, starting to lift and stand on end with cautious intrigue.

“Uhm, it's killed a lot of people, but it isn't definitely terminal... I'm not very good with medical things like symptoms. My father has it, uh... he feels cold and exhausted all the time. His muscles hurt a lot. He, uh..." She began making circular gestures with her hands away from her mouth.

"Vomits?" Yang bluntly said it for her, garnering a reluctant nod from the youth. Yang simply narrowed his eyes and continued. “I am truly sorry to hear about your father. Is there any discolouration of the skin and hair, or loss of sight?”

Haraki made an uncertain shrug with her shoulders and hands. “My father's become pale, but... No change to his eyes or hair. I'm sorry, I don't actually know anything specific about the sickness outside of Thanton--That is--my city. Was it... Uh, different for you?" The young woman seemed afraid to ask.

“Almost every case is severe, and fatal. I won't elaborate further on that right now.” Likely to save more grief for himself, but especially Kiyoshi. It wasn't worth giving their life story to a stranger, no matter how friendly she might be.

Haraki felt her muscles tense. She couldn't swallow this tinge of guilt no matter how many times she tried, because the dread in the air was clear as day. “O-Oh my god... I’m so sorry. I didn't mean to pry.” She stood back up frantically, her mind hitting a block on what else to say.

Yang performed another one of his very cat-like slow blinks. "You did nothing of the sort. I understand you already feel shaken by the reality of this encounter." Kiyoshi's attention was elsewhere, completely silent and empty.

"No no! I mean, yes but, it's nothing compared to what you--" She stopped herself for another deep breath, looking away to gather her thoughts. "I should... Leave you to yourselves? I'll, uhm, just..." She turned on her heels towards the way she entered and took a whole three brisk steps before Yang stopped her.

"Hold on, young lady. Please let me properly introduce ourselves. My name is Yang, and this boy is my apprentice, Kiyoshi. I understand such formalities were lost amidst our mutual... Culture shock, let's say."

Whatever Yang did with his polite cut-in, it worked miracles in dispelling Haraki's guilt. The girl turned to face them again, and with a sharp inhale through flared nostrils, she performed a clumsy curtsy. "Haraki." She smiled in appreciation at Yang's courtesy, emboldening her to speak further. "Would you two... Please join me outside? It would be my honour to escort you."

The cat's eyes widened, body language relaxing considerably. "Your hospitality knows no bounds, Haraki." As the cat lifted his back legs off the ground, he stared intently at Kiyoshi, who on the other hand, showed little sign of moving. Slouched over where has was sat, both arms folded tensely across his abdomen. He could barely return his mentor's gaze. Despite the boy's mourning, Yang had to give him the push. "Come, Kiyoshi. Just a bit further; Remember why you are here."

Kiyoshi finally lifted his head. During Yang and Haraki's dialogue, he'd been left to sink into the company of his dark thoughts. "Mm." He murmured. But Yang's words stirred a budding motivation inside him at the very least, urging the young man to finally stand before nodding his head in silent thanks at the welcoming lass.

"Thank you, um." Haraki found it difficult addressing the boy. What could she even say to him that didn't come across as empty or shallow? So instead she nodded awkwardly back at him, clapping her hands together assertively. "Great! Uh, let's go then!" Her somewhat forced pep added to her tone echoed through the chamber, as she yet again turned to walk just a few steps ahead. The chamber remained illuminated for now, but the stairwell remained dark and decrepit, meaning Haraki had to struggle and re-kindle her poor display of magic to guide the way, of which Yang stared, taking silent note. "Oh, um, I don't suppose either of you know what this thing might be? It's rather... repulsive, I think I sort of squashed it on my way down. Mind your step." Haraki was of course, referring to the revolting carcass of the 'blob' she splattered earlier.

The young man only gave a passing "Eugh..." as his line of sight passed over it. Seeing any instance of viscera again would be too soon.

Yang on the other hand, stayed true to the ways of his kind by cautiously leaning in and sniffing it, only to pull back and wince in disgust. "How vile. I'm content to have never seen any creature of the sort."

The princess felt no more at ease that her guests had no information to give on the abomination. She'd just have to describe it to a researcher at the palace library. The girl maintained a brisk pace up the stairs, with Yang remaining furthest behind to keep his student moving. As the light from above began to fill the tunnel, Haraki snuffed out her spell.

The moment they stepped outside, the human girl's breath of fresh air paled in comparison to the sheer awe in the eyes of her company. Yang was stunned, and Kiyoshi wordlessly took steps of his own ahead of the group, almost losing his footing and instead leaning his weight against the closest tree he could reach. Haraki was taken aback by how anyone could react like this to what she considered to be the mundane. The cat and girl stepped away from the cold stone entrance, each of them feeling their feet settle on the forest soil. Yang sat himself on the earth with his tail wrapping around his front paws, pushing those pads down into the fallen leaves, feline nose twitching as it sniffed the clean forest air.

Green grass, blue skies, trees in vast abundance. To Kiyoshi, this was his fairy tale. After having mustered the courage to stand before, his hand dragged down the tree's bark. He was once again brought to his knees by a surge of emotion he couldn't suppress, but this was far more bittersweet than dread. "Mom, Dad... I'm here, I made it. I can't... I can't believe I'm here." Kiyoshi's mourning no longer echoed in isolation, but instead carried on the wind through the branches of the wood. The others remained in silence, allowing Kiyoshi one more moment of release, one he truly needed.

  Given their necessary moment of reflection, the two Underworld refugees were able to stand and move on. Kiyoshi's spirits had lifted significantly, feeling more comfortable around the girl who had offered to guide them through Foloway Forest after having broken down before her like that. He couldn't stop remarking on the colour of the vegetation and sky. Each and every plant was like seeing an alien, Kiyoshi was taking excessive care with everything he laid hands on, in fear of breaking or damaging literally anything, from fragile plants right down to one particularly shiny pebble in the midst of a stream. Everybody's mood was lifted by his vibrant curiosity.

Once they had left the woods, as the rolling hills of farmland spread out before them, it dawned on Kiyoshi all over again just how much he could see. His jaw dropped, gasping and turning his head frantically, as if desperately searching for the spot where the land drops off into a sea of cloud, but instead he only saw the cliffs by the coast.

"Oh my goodness..." An open-mouthed smile of giddy awe spread across his face, green eyes basically twinkling from the lingering tears and bright light of the sun beaming down on them. "Is that seriously all water?" Far more cat-like than his mentor right now, Kiyoshi's attention was rapidly tugged from one place to the next, throwing his head back to look at the sky. "W-We're so far beneath the clouds!"

Haraki could only exchange an expression of amusement with Yang. Not that the cat's face was prone to much outside of the usual cat-like spectrum of expression. "His reaction is sort of lining up with what my Father told me about your world." She said down to him, to which he silently blinked in acknowledgement before the princess marched ahead towards the silver-haired boy who had now begun to gasp at the presence of a field full of cows in the distance. Haraki had her eye caught on the horizon out at sea, her eyes widening in intrigue as the mist from earlier had lifted significantly.

"Hey!" She called out to him. "Look back out at sea again, really carefully now. Look, look!"

Kiyoshi responded with an idle "Huh?" before doing as she asked, the girl pointing her finger sharply at a particular point where the sky had been clearing, and everything soon became apparent.

A positively colossal silhouette stretched up from the distant sea, a tower of such remarkable size and haphazard shape that its very existence should have been impossible, stretching far beyond the clouds. Even Yang approached in disbelief, his narrow pupils widening visibly.

"I had heard of a structure of fantastic proportions, but seeing it in person far outmatches any expectations..." The wise cat admitted.

"What... is it?" Asked Kiyoshi to the steadily brightening expression of the princess.

"That's Dardonia Citadel; The world's largest manmade structure, and home to the people who are going to cure my Father!"