#and perhaps he didn't care as much before the fallout

[imagine-silk]

Hello! May I request fallout 4 companions (Nick especially) with Sole who shares the bare minimum of information about themselves? Not because Sole doesn’t trust them, they really enjoy theirs companions company. Perhaps they busy themselves so they don’t have to think about all the little and big things they miss. (I bet Codsworth would find pristine things that Sole would miss (like a favorite movie, vinyl, or comic?))

Sorry if its not something you’re interested in doing right now. The ask kinda came out as a ramble, I’m lacking sleep haha. Thanks again for considering my request!

》Honestly one of my favorite kinds of characters.

【Cait】 She doesn't appreciate it. Her contract was traded to some random weirdo who barely says anything. It took three days before the topic of your name came up. And two weeks to know what you were looking for, who. But in return you don't ask what she does on her own time or what she's done. It feels like you don't mind rather than you don't care and that makes her feel seen. It stays between you unsaid in her eyes.

♡If romanced she doesn't push for any information. You'll tell her if it's important. People think it's weird the two of you to not share about yourselves like normal people but you're happy, that's all that matters.

【Codsworth】 It's just like it was before. He, unlike the others, already knows you. He knows you very well. Not only did you do an intake for daily preferences but he also served you for a few years. While you're out and about you'll do something or say something that sounds like no information to others or out of context and he'll answer, "Just as I was thinking as well." While you camp with some of the other companions he does chores the way you like without needing to ask, making comment on recent events, which makes them jealous for sure. He digs up things from the house he preserved or found and fixes them up brand new before presenting it to you. Songs you liked or wanted to hear. Movies and shows and comics. Clothes pressed for you and the furniture is redone the way it used to be. He knows you and wants to keep it that way.

【Curie】 Low-key doesn't care. She has one thing on her mind and that's her own goal to better medicine. Finding things to do that is all she needs of you. When she goes to be a synth her feelings overwhelm her and you guide her through that. She's never ever asked about you. She'll tell you about what she's feeling but never thinks to ask what you feel. In her defense, is doesn't understand the nuance of social interactions. And to her credit, it works for the both of you.

♡If she's romanced she realizes she wants to know what you feel and if it's the same as her. She's mostly interested in what you feel now rather than what your opinion is in the past or isn't currently relevant.

【Danse】 Right away he doesn't care for it. A mercenary who talks very little can be dangerous. But you followed orders well and are a damn good shot. The way he asks is more like demanding. It was all for a vetting process but still rude. After the intake he didn't care about your lack of openness. Didn't matter to him personally. After BB he suddenly regrets not knowing you. He was so rude and dismissed you as another faceless soldier and you saved him, from the Brotherhood and himself. Now he wants to know you.

♡If romanced he makes effort to know you, like really know you. For a long time he refused individuality so his own sense of self is not great. But you know yourself and make no attempt to hide it. You are so sure of yourself you don't need to explain. That's one of the things he loves about you.

【Deacon】 He thinks you're like him, that you want to hide in plain sight. As much as he gives that to you he's nosy as fuck and takes every chance to learn about you, mostly from afar. It doesn't take any time at all for him to realize you'll just tell him. Most of them are one word answers. It takes him even less time after that to realize you'll comment on things from before the war especially.

♡If romanced he goes out of his way to show you stuff. Old posters and toys. If you follow my headcanon that he's pre-war, he makes old references and generally adds comments on things to bait your answers.

【Hancock】 He thinks it's pretty cool. "Oh, tall, dark, and handsome/beautiful." He does play twenty questions with you 24/7 and is very happy with your half-answers because an answer is still an answer. Plus he knows at least two other people like you. He is the one who figures out that you just don't have the time or think about talking about yourself rather than purposely keeping secrets the fastest. He knows people so he knows better.

♡If romanced he plays with it. You want a kiss? Tell him what's your favorite color. He'll get on his knees if you tell him what you like about your new home. But honestly he'll do it anyways. All he needs to know is that you want him like he wants you.

【MacCready】 He was more concerned about you putting a bullet in his head while his back was turned. Everyone in the Commonwealth was looking out for number one. So imagine his surprise when you were looking out for your number one and it wasn't you. Not only were you looking for your son but you stopped to help every person who asked for help. Your actions spoke to him in a way your words, he figured, couldn't. You didn't need to help him but you did. You didn't take the caps back. And you killed the gunners the second they turned their guns on him even when they said their beef wasn't with you. It was what you did, not what you told him.

♡If romanced he will ask things. Basic ones are like, "How was your day?" Normal questions that are the peak of domestic life. Then the more personal things. Some sound silly, "What's your favorite color?" But most build off of a quick thing you said in passing, "Wait, you've been to California? What was it like?" He trusts you'll tell him the truth.

【Nick】 As a private detective this simply won't do. He gets it at first, you just need him to find your son, it's business. However, you want him to stay with you after that. It confuses him because you made no indication you like him in the slightest way. He's the second fastest to realize you're not keeping to yourself on purpose. As one of the only ones who are pre-war he's able to get things the others can't. He'll talk about things and give his options and bait you into answering it. That was a common way to get people to talk back then when you were trying to be polite and keep up the conversation, even if the conversation stays a bit thin.

♡If he's romanced he makes fun of the fact you forget to say things about yourself. Don't get it wrong, he makes it clear you don't need to share. He's just poking fun.

【Piper】 This simply won't do. She asks as many question as they come up but she gets depressing short answers. You either give one word answers or say you're not really in the mood, on some occasions you admit you don't know, you never thought about it. It takes a long time for her to stop and that's only because the questions start getting old. And you still feel like a mystery even though you've told her everything.

♡If she's romanced she realizes how much you've told her and pushes it. What is your type? How do your lips feel? Why do you look so good? It becomes playful and light, never serious.

【Preston】 In the beginning he didn't realize he didn't know much about you. He took your help selfishly to get him and his people back on stable ground but you told him you were happy to help. So he takes time to learn about you and give you everything he could possibly help you with. In hopes you would share by yourself he gives things to you without any prompt. It doesn't really work most of the time.

♡If romanced he asks things with hearts in his eyes. He is so lovesick he takes all of your half-answers and files it away in his mind. It hardly matters at that point.

【X6】 It wasn't his mission so he didn't care. You owed him no explanation or justification. Doesn't mean he doesn't question you. He asks why you helped someone, why you stopped for a distraction. And of course you give short answers like, "They needed help." or "I wanted to." Later, after the Institute is gone, he sees how you carry yourself and tries to copy it. Obviously he can't so you help him too. You showed him he can figure himself out by himself and he didn't need you. So he held the same opinion; he doesn't need to know you like that.

♡If romanced he's still comfortable with you keeping things to yourself. It's only after months of being together do you realize he's never asked you a personal question, that you've never shared anything that personal. When you bring that to him he tells you that hardly matters. But seeing you make the effort after that gives him a feeling he can't describe. It's a good feeling he thinks.

[sturnsiolos0]

Unrequited-Chris Sturniolo

You were no fool.

You knew that beneath the layers of cool charisma and calculated charm, Chris was incapable of true emotions. And yet, despite all of his faults - there was something about him that simply drew you in.

Perhaps it was the fact that apparently, you were the only one so painfully aware of such behaviours that made him all the more tempting to you. It seemed that to everyone else, Chris could do no wrong, but you saw through the lies, this false character he presented himself as.

You often wondered if that made what you were doing with him all the more terrible; Hooking up with him behind closed doors. Maybe it wouldn't seem so terrible if it was not one-sided, or if he was capable of displaying true emotion beside the satisfaction of bestowing dominance over you. It would seem even less terrible if you didn't enjoy what he did.

But how could you not when those nimble fingers would dance across your skin, igniting icy flame in their wake? Or when that smirk would rest perfectly on his face as he watched you writhe beneath him? To love Chris was a conscious sin, and most definitely a sure-fire way to break your own heart, but when he would give just enough to whisper sweet nothings in your ears, you found that you didn't much care about the inevitable fallout.

Especially now, stood before his towering frame. Chris leans against the counter, as proud and casually in command as ever, casting a neutral eye over your naked form in the center of the room.

A table is between you two, hip-high and dark mahogany, polished to a gleam until it reflected the dull lighting of the room. He nods towards it, eyes never leaving yours, and there is no need for you to voice your thoughts aloud as he answers your question.

"Come around. Lay yourself face-down on the table, display yourself to me, baby." He murmurs, voice like honey.

And of course, you obey, bare feet padding against the cool floor as you circle the table, daring to lift your hand and trace your fingertips along the smooth surface edge of the wood, your eyes dropping to follow. Stood in line with Chris, turned to the side, you cast a peek at him from the corner of your eye to see his face before turning to face the table fully. Slowly, as if the silence in the room was seeping into your movements, you lean forwards, closing the distance between you and the lacquered tabletop until the soft flesh of your torso, your breasts, are pressed firmly against the cold wood.

Your cheek rests on the surface, head tilted the side as you gaze absently at the room that surrounds you, your breathing remaining slow in spite of the thrumming of your heart and the mounting anticipation coiling within the pits of your stomach. Everything is cool - the slick table that supports your weight, the air that bites your exposed skin, the fingertips that are now ghosting your spine, leaving a torrent of shudders to rupture in their wake as he traces each vertebrae.

Chris starts low, at the dip in your back before gliding up the arch, sailing between your shoulder blades, before finding the delicate discs of your neck, brushing away the stray strands of hair that tickle your sensitive skin. His touch shifts, adjusting until he's gripping softly, palm pressed against the back of your neck whilst his fingertips rest on one side of your throat and his thumb on the other. He's still, as he usually is, and your breathing grows shallow despite the lack of pressure he applies.

His fingers flex, delicate fingertips digging deeper for a moment and drawing an uncontrollable gasp to slip past your parted lips before retracing their steps to retreat back down your spine.

Chris never kissed you. It was an unspeakable rule between you, that displays of affection were not to be confused with the pure physical desire he showed you, and yet, over the course of whatever it was between you, you had found him to betray his own rules. His touches lingered for longer, explored more of your body, and though he never left you unsatisfied, he seemed - in his own way - to be paying particular attention towards trying to ensure your pleasure.

His touch continues it's descent, tracing the curve of your ass before pausing. Your breath stutters to a halt as anticipation swells, and you steel yourself with a hard bite to your lower lip. Suddenly, fingers delve between your legs, fingertips seeking out your thrumming clit as the heel of his hand grinds against your entrance. Little more than a breathless whimper escapes you as his nimble fingers brush and circle your clit, dragging through your wet folds to tease at your entrance for only a second before his middle finger sinks deep into you, his index finger returning to your clit to draw forth more liquid arousal.

Chris's ring finger joins the other within your pussy after a few thrusts, and when obscene squelches fill the air with each thrust of his fingers, he pulls away. Tongue bitten hard to hold back your protests, your eyes clench tight as you envision the sights that are paired with the sounds emitting from behind you.

The click of a metal belt buckle unfastening, the swift drag of metal teeth as a zipper was undone, the rustle of the material dropping to pool at his feet. One hand rests at your hip, the cold bite of metal from his ring seeping into your hot skin, before the tip of his cock is suddenly brushing up against your slick folds before finding your entrance. You muse that it is perhaps the warmest part of Chris that you've ever felt, but with each velvet inch of his length that slowly fills you, you find it harder and harder to focus on anything else except for the deliciously intense pressure.

His skin grazes the backs of your trembling thighs as Chris buries the rest of his cock deep inside of your pussy, walls clenching and throbbing in earnest as he stretches you until your panting breath fogs the surface of the table. "Jesus Christ," He moans, his jaw slackened and open.

You dare to thrust backwards, grinding hard against his hips, and gain the satisfaction, however temporary, of hearing his grunt of pleasured surprise. Both hands now grip at your hips, a warning, holding you still against the edge of the table, and you fight a losing battle against the smirk painting itself across your flushed face.

"Careful now, you know not to get too ahead of yourself." He grits, before leaning in close, his torso a mere fraction of an inch from brushing your naked back as he breathes in your ear. "Especially when you're beneath me like this."

Chris delivers the first thrust whilst still draped over your frame, reveling in the close-up view of your eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of his cock filling you. He's quick to straighten back up, favouring to tower over you as he begins to settle into his preferred pace; an achingly slow withdrawal of his length to savour the drag of your tight walls, followed by a sharp thrust to the hilt, filling you so entirely and deeply that you could do little more than gasp and moan wantonly.

With each roll of his hips, you found your own twitching to reciprocate, but his grip kept you pinned firmly to the table. Bruises would most certainly form, but you didn't care, the bite of the wood was a tempting contrast of pain to the waves of pleasure he filled you with. Your toes, numb against the cool stone, curl tight, your legs giving out as they spasm uncontrollably.

"Chris-" You whisper, yelping when he delivers a particularly harsh thrust in response. "Please..."

Whether or not he does so in response to your plea, or simply because his pleasure dictated him to, Chris's pace increases, settling on speed over fully withdrawing. He remains buried deep within your throbbing pussy, his pounding becoming borderline-desperate as his length twitches, once, twice, before suddenly his hips stutter to a halt, his entire cock sheathed by your clenching walls as he swells and releases, white-hot fluids filling you.

"Come on baby, it's time for you to let go." He coaxes, voice barely controlled as his cock continues to twitch. His grip dares to slacken, and he reaches between your trembling body and the hard mahogany to find your desperate clit, throbbing for his touch that you so eagerly accept.

His touch draws forth needy mewls and whines, fingertips toying with the swollen bud of nerves, and it only takes a few expert flicks and touches before you're clenching tight around him, pussy spasming as your climax crashes over you like a bolt of lightening. You are only distantly aware of your own moan, high in pitch and awash in euphoria as it echoes through the room, but when you finally come to your senses, it's to Chris's gentle voice and the light caress of the backs of his fingers against your crimson cheek, the heavy stone of his ring like a bite of ice to your heated flesh.

"You did very well, you always do so well."

And, it was in this act, the soft praise and the angelic touches, that you knew the reason why you kept coming back to Chris.

[elderscrollsconceptart]

This will be a long post but I've been thinking about this since last night.

I get a pit in my stomach when I think about the new Fallout TV show and the chance TES may get a show if the Fallout show is super successful.

I've been hearing the show has been pretty good, but ive also heard some grim rumblings and worries about certain directions Bethesda/Amazon are taking lore-wise in the Fallout show. Apparently Todd has said everything in the show is canon.

I've not watched it myself as I'm not a huge TV watcher in general, but I don't know if I want to see Bethesda or an outside studio make massive changes to TES lore which affect both past and future installments in TES purely for the sake of "making good TV".

I am most certainly not a "modern Bethesda" hater or of the opinion that modern TES/Fallout games are bad. I pretty much love them all. (I even enjoyed Starfield, huge glaring flaws and all!)

I genuinely believe they are trying their best to make fun games. I also understand they have had a lot of struggles over the past decade+, particularly in company direction and budgeting of necessary resources (pre-Microsoft acquisition).

The old Zenimax upper management was awful (Trumps brother was literally on the Zenimax board of Directors before he died). And infamously refused budget allocations towards serious game engine improvements that were desperately needed. Bethesda has had alot of struggles but I feel they have always tried to do the best they can, even if the final result is middling.

I am also not a Todd hater. Even if he's not necessarily the best game designer, he has a lot of heart and passion and seems to genuinely care about Bethesda and its employees. I am glad he seems to have a genuinely good relationship with Microsoft and I have high hopes for Bethesda's future in the long term.

All that said, there are just certain changes that can happen when "Hollywood comes knocking" per se., even if most of the main creative decisions still come from Bethesda. TV shows can be fantastic and lauded with praise but if they are based on an established property with established lore, they often ultimately go in creative directions which negates the lore and other non-TV entries in the series.

Just look at GOT. It started off amazingly, and GRR Martin had a direct hand in all the early series. It was the best show on TV until suddenly GRR was no longer involved directly and the show runners started making their own decisions. They started ignoring established lore and making "changes and improvements" which nose dived the series by the end.

Perhaps I am paranoid, but I can see something similar happening to Fallout if the show is big and keeps getting new series. Furthermore, I hold a deep dread that TES may be next. Just think, how many people talk about GOT anymore? How many people are hyped for the next book(s) in the series? The books didn't get bad right? Only the TV show did.

But that's my point. If Fallout or TES have these big smash initial hits on TV but begin to fail after a while, it damages the series as a whole, not just the TV show. Don't get me wrong, I'd love to see TES/Fallout TV shows be nothing but great. I just worry as I've been hearing of major major lore changes being made by the Fallout show. These changes are irrevocable and utterly change the lore of that series, and not necessarily for the better. I'll try to refrain from further judgment on that, but I'll leave with this question:

What if TES had a super quality and popular TV show which negated large parts of pre-Oblivion lore? Suddenly, due to the show, innumerable people/places/things which were iconic to the TES series were no longer around or perhaps not even canon anymore? What if those things were just lost or written off for the sake of a TV show?

As a fan of TES, and maybe even of that TV show, how would that make you feel?

I'm am not trying to stir controversy here, but I think we as a fandom need to have more public discussions about this. We also need to be prepared to not dump on any new changes to the series or lore without giving them a fair shake. Something being "new and different" does mean its awful. Changes can be good or bad but they must be carefully considered.

I hope this new Fallout show's premiere will provide us a good chance to consider the future of TES media and lore outside the games before any changes are announced or made.

[baddieladdie]

♡ Companion Shorts ♡

Fallout companions react to depressed vault dweller

Rating: Teen Charon ➼ Arcade Gannon ➼ Hancock ➼ Nick Valentine ➼ Deacon

Charon [FO3]

"What are you doing?" Charon grumbled from behind you, annoyed at the sudden stop in broad daylight. The view was nice from this vantage point, but it also meant they were in clear view of any hidden antagonists.

The burden of your loneliness beckons you to the ground. You fall to your knees, though the weight off your legs does nothing for heaviness in your spirit.

Why? You didn't know why.

Perhaps you had been too optimistic. Believed so wrongly that you could bring change to the wasteland. Or at least bring some minor degree of improvement. It was futile, all along. The wasteland was ever hungry, taking everything it was given and reducing it to rubbish. Even with the few good deeds done, the Talon company just kept sending mercenaries to kill you for the very slight of fighting the good fight. No good deed goes unpunished, right?

You look down the chasm below, half-hearted imagining your mutilated body on the rocks. Would even your death make a difference? Or would it just be one more life taken by the wastes?

"Hey," A familiar firm hand gripped your shoulder, "It's not safe here."

Tension swelled up in your sinuses as you shrugged his hand off. You clenched your hands together, digging your nails into the palm of your hand. The subtle pain was refreshing against the agony in your mind.

Charon was a victim even before the bombs fell; a constant reminder that humanity was corrupt well before apocalypse. Perhaps you really weren't so separated from the innate evil nature in the human spirit. You relied on Charon in nearly every fire fight. Taking advantage of his experience and strength through a contract you knew was akin to slavery. He obeyed every command, helped with every request. Never questioning you for a moment and always risking his life. You felt sickened on your reliance on that bloody contract. You should be finding a way to free him, and yet....where would that leave you? Dead? And what future what that be? Dead now or just dead later...

Charon grumbled as he sat beside you on the chasm's edge. He had seen ages pass, experienced more agony than he could ever be bothered to explain. For some employers, he'd leave them to their devices. But you? You are one of the few bastards crazy enough to help others selflessly in the wasteland. Even if wasteland was utterly indifferent to your efforts, it certainly be a darker place without the hope you brought others with each intentional good dead. Their very existence showed a brighter side of humanity that was a rarity in dark times.

"Tell me what troubles you," Charon's familiar gravelly voice was laced with an unfamiliar tone of... genuine concern?

"I just," You sigh heavily. "I don't know how much longer I can keep going on like this."

"I've wondered the same thing myself." Charon nodded with an empty stare.

You felt a pang of guilt at the possibility of bringing up painful memories for him.

Charon continued hesitantly. "I feel I must remind you; I am honor bound to keep you safe. From threats and, if necessary, from yourself"

"I don't want t-"

Before you can finish your thought, Charon scoops you up into his arms and walks you away from the ledge. "You need to be more careful," He complained. "You won't make a difference out here if you're dead."

He carries on walking through the awkward silence. "We passed a shelter not far from here. We could rest until you feel ready to continue again. We could uh, listen to that radio broadcast you like you so much."

"Maybe play game?" you tease.

"Don't push your luck, kid."

-Charon carries you to the shelter where he watches over you diligently until the worst of your depression episode passes-

Arcade [FNV]

You stare blankly at the ceiling above. Small particles of dust lazily hung in the air of the abandoned cabin you and Arcade took shelter in a few days ago. You really should leading the charge back out into the Mojave, but you simply couldn't find the energy to do so. Therefore, you simply rested.

Arcade knocked on the door and patiently waited for a response you couldn't be bothered to provide.

"Alright, guess I'm just going to let myself in then. I'll give you to the count of three," Arcade raised his voice from behind the wooden slat door. "You better be decent by then." you head him mumble.

Arcade cracked open the door, peering around to see your still body in the same position as when he gave you a mug of coffee hours before.

"In another one of our spells, are we?" His sarcasm brought you little comfort.

"Sorry. I just lose my heads sometimes," you sigh with a heavy heart.

"If by 'sometimes' you mean 'a lot of times', I agree. Please just....go easy on yourself, okay?"

You nodded, the vague emptiness you felt threatening to swallow you whole. Taking everything with it 'til you couldn't feel nothing at all.

"This is worse than before, isn't it?" Arcade pulled up a chair next to you. It creaked under his weight as he sat down. "Was it something I said?"

You shook your head. "No, nothing like that. I'm just....tired, Arcade. I'm fine, really." You gave a meager fake smile, hoping to appease the kindly doctor.

"Mmhm," Arcade paused for a beat. "Is that all?"

You could have sworn you were just tired, but now that you think about it, there were some troubles on your mind. Arcade waited patiently for you to open him to him about it. He did enjoy lengthy conversations more than most and always had his opinions ready.

"Ready to get back out there?"

"All right, let's not waste any time!" Arcade rested his doctor's bag on a shoulder, the enthusiasm in his voice giving away his excitement. "There are people out there to help, things to learn. Maybe not in that order, but let's get to it!"

Hancock [FO4]

Hancock chuckled, lounging on the couch next to you in the old state house. "I don't buy that shit for a minute." He shook his head, "No way, you can't fool me, sister/brother." He casually rested his hand on your thigh, immediately drawing your attention to him. "It hasn't been easy transition ya, has it?"

Your eyes began to water as Hancock looked you over with care. He nodded slowly with genuine understanding, "I didn't think so. No one should have to go through what you've been through." He gave your hand a little squeeze. "Ya always give me hope for brighter future. Cause I get to have you in my life." He smiled, "Cause the odds, it's practically impossible our paths would ever meet. I mean, you're pre-war, baby. The freshest smoothskin around and you wanna be a drugged out, dragged out ghoul?! That's how I know all that karma shit is bull, 'cause there is no way someone like you could ever end up with me."

You granted him a half-smile with the compliment. But the mayor didn't quite seem to grasp yet that you had burdens, very real and unconventionally heavy emotional baggage. Not that there was a trauma competition in nuclear wasteland, but you would have at least won a medal in most-fucked psyche. Your smooth nature stopped at skin level.

"It's been a Hell of road that brought us together, but aren't I glad I took up with you? 'Cause this person," Hancock paused, waiting patiently until you returned his gaze before continuing, " - the one I'm looking at right now. They're the one I love. I don't want to be without them ever again."

You wince slightly, his words a little too sweet. "You sure about this, Hancock? I mean, with everything I've been through...." You sigh heavily, your chest falling. "People are going to talk, Mayor" You give him a sly look, knowing how he enjoyed the occasional call to his title.

"Can't say I care much about what others think. Half the opinions out there aren't worth listening to anyway. The only opinion I care about, is yours." He grinned.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Are you sure?" "You kidding me? So long as I got you at my side, it doesn't matter the capacity. I'm with you all the way, rain or shine" "You're a damn fine man, Hancock. I'm lucky to have you at my back." "And God help any of 'em who get in our way."

Nick Valentine [FO4]

"In my line of work, you usually see folks at their worst. I can tell there's something troubling you. You want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly." You grumble. You swirled with antagonistic emotions, unable to tell where one pain started and the other ended. Guess that's just what happens after you go through one too many impossible tragedies. Losing the love of your life and child alone was unimaginable. Your years of service in the U.S. army gave you the 'gift' of surviving the nuclear attacks that transformed your home and country to a primitive wasteland. You've always tried to make the best decisions possible for your family. But if you hadn't signed up for Vault 101, would you have died peacefully alongside your love? Would that have been better? You stared into your hands, agonizing over the conversation you had with the Vault-tec sales rep.

"Not enough people out here are willing to try and do what's right. I consider myself awful lucky I fell in with one who is," Nick paused, the smoke from his cigarette seeping from the metal cracks in his feature. He glanced around the Boston shore, checking for any ne'er-do-wells. But the coast was clear, perhaps due to their combat efforts earlier that day. He cleared his throat, and continued with some insistence, "If there is something bothering you, I'd like to be the one to help lighten the load. I happen to know a thing or two about find yourself after losing the life you thought you had."

"Thanks, Nick," You snap out of momentarily. The Boston harbor air was foul. You couldn't escape the reality you were in, no matter how you tried. The smells, the sounds, the food - none of it was familiar. "I'll be fine. I just don't sleep well." That wasn't much of a lie. Whenever you try to sleep, the memory of your love screaming your name returned. Their blood painting the inside of their frozen coffin while you watched helpless from inside your own. When you eventually fell asleep, the unfamiliar sounds of gunfire, screams of terror from the wasteland, and shouts of mutants would wake you. It was all just too much.

"I think it's time we take a break from the case, friend."

"What?!" You jump up from the bench, "We can't stop now! Not with the progress we've made!"

Nick flinched in surprise, but quickly settled to a concerned frown. "You haven't been yourself lately. We-," Nick sighed, committing to genuine honesty as he often did. "Partner, I need you at your best to solve this case. Come on, let's go back to the agency. I'll review the case files and you get some rest."

You look away, anger and guilt fuming within you. "I don't feel much like resting, Nick. I want to finish this."

Nick let your words marinate in the pregnant silence. "Is that what you want? To 'finish' this?" He gripped a metal hand your shoulder and looked down into your eyes. "I understand, you must feel angry. You have every right to be. But hurting others won't bring them back."

You simply couldn't hold it in anymore. Tears of grief, rage, and pain streamed hotly down your face, pooling at the apex of your chin. Nick pulled you into a tight embrace, rubbing your back as you cried into his signature detective trench coat.

"I'm sorry, friend. Truly."

Deacon [FO4]

You take a long drag off your cigarette, savoring that ever-so-familiar lightheadedness. The weather was shit, as it always was in Boston. Cloudy, and damp. You wrapped your cloak a little tighter around yourself, but it didn't do you much good. The bitter cold you felt reached deeper than your bones and left you frozen to your core. Just an icy fraction of the vibrant person you were before. Before you lost everything you had fought for, everything that had mattered to you. It all was gone. And along with it, any reason to carry on.

You exhaled slowly, watching your frozen breath drift aimlessly away from your cracked lips. Deacon watched quietly from aside, nursing a chilled Nuka-cola. He cleared his throat awkwardly. Genuine words never did come easily to him. Deacon had always found it more comfortable to flirtatiously avoid the truth. Kept him safe from every getting hurt....and ever making close friends. Deacon, being a loner himself, recognized the loneliness you dwelled in.

"I know what I feels like to wear a mask. That kind of protection only ambiguity can give you. But really - are you feeling okay? Cause you can talk to me"

"Another one of your little lies?" You sigh, tapping the ash off the butt of your cigarette.

"No, not this time," Deacon kept an uncharacteristically straight face

You pause, stirred by the sincerity present in Deacon's voice. He loved the way lies could crack your usual composure. You watch his expression carefully, checking for any usual hint of his usual mischievous nature. But all that saw on his face was genuine concern for a companion he cared deeply about.

"Well, look who's acting out of character now," you tease. "Thanks, Deacon. I appreciate that. And I'll be fine. It just, uh...." you take in a deep breath. "It takes time, building up this new life. Making these new memories. Building these new relationships. Just sometimes, I uh, miss my old life. My old friends. Sometimes I see something, and I just know my spouse would have loved to see it."

"I know. But we'll stop the Insititute. For them."

"Right," You nod, filled with determination. "For them."

To.Be.Continued...

[stiltonbasket]

prompt for the fem!wwx au: what about the fallout of jyl's broken engagement?

On the morning of Wei Wuxian's first day back at Lotus Pier, she wakes to the sound of raised voices in the audience room.

Squinting against the light, she stumbles out of bed and opens the sliding door to the corridor outside, where she finds Jiang Cheng hovering on the threshold of his own doorway with his arms folded over his chest.

"What's wrong?" she yawns, rubbing her eyes. "Is it bad news?"

"Bad news for Mother," Jiang Cheng mutters. "Fuqin just told her about A-Jie's engagement."

Wei Wuxian feels as if someone had thrown cold water over her. In the midst of her private delight that Shijie's betrothal had ended, she had not thought of how Madam Yu would take the news: and now, both she and Jiang Cheng are about to find out.

"Did Jiang-shushu tell Auntie that I..."

Jiang Cheng shakes his head. "No. I don't think it would have made much of a difference, but Father didn't say a word."

They tiptoe across the narrow bridge between the family compound and the audience chamber, hardly daring to breathe; and then, like a firework bursting on a dark, still night, they hear Madam Yu's shrill voice rising over Jiang Fengmian's.

"Who will she marry now?" she shouts. "Ouyang-zongzhu has no children, and all the other men in the Jin clan take after Jin Guangshan. How can I let her go to Lanling without Yuyan's protection?"

"I thought perhaps Lan Xichen might—"

"I knew it. You've had your eye on him since the year Zixuan was born, but that boy will do no good to any woman as a husband!" shrieks Madam Yu. "He has had no one but Nie Mingjue in his eyes since he was a child. What will become of our daughter now, Jiang Fengmian? Zixuan was the only man who might have suited her, the only one—and now, just because he complained about the betrothal, you—"

She takes in a great, heaving breath, and Wei Wuxian hears the thud of her heeled boots striking the floor.

"And now, thanks to you," she chokes, "I will have to watch as Wei Ying marries Lan Wangji—" Wei Wuxian winces, "—and as she becomes mother to the next Lan-zongzhu, whilst my child must settle for the heir to some backwater clan in Changlun, or a commoner—"

Jiang-shushu sighs.

"If I had not broken Yanli's engagement," he says quietly, "then you would have had to watch A-Ying live as she ought to do, in comfort and plenty with a husband who cares for her dearly, while our daughter lived in a gilded prison with a man who has made no secret of the fact that the very mention of her name is a burden to him. You would have watched A-Ying's children growing up without a care in the world, and A-Ying adored by the whole of Gusu Lan as she deserves—and all the while, our daughter, who used to weep whenever she trod on an insect in the path, she—"

He sounds as if he might burst into tears. "Could you bear it, Ziyuan? Can you bear to think of A-Li's children, growing up in Koi Tower, and hearing some relation from the branch clan saying that their father would never have wed their mother if their nainai had not forced him to accept her? Can you bear to think of our granddaughters watching Zixuan treating A-Li unkindly, and entering their own wedded homes with the belief that that same unkindness was due to them?"

Yu Ziyuan falters for a moment. "Yuyan would never let Zixuan treat Yanli that way. I have often thought that she loves A-Li more than she loves him."

"Then you are a fool," Jiang Fengmian says wearily. "Quan Yuyan might be your sworn sister, but she is Jin Zixuan's mother before all else. She knows that A-Li will be filial to her husband, and her in-laws, and she knows no other maiden would make a better mother for her grandchildren. Do you truly think that she would let A-Li go, if the choice was left to her?"

"I—"

"What does it matter if Quan Yuyan can ensure that A-Li is treated well?" Jiang-shushu asks. "Jin Zixuan does not want her, and she knows it. For the love of heaven, the entire Jianghu knows it—so how could you even think of asking to A-Li waste her life with him?"

Madam Yu must have opened her mouth to say something, but Jiang Fengmian cuts her off before she can make a sound.

"It does not matter if A-Li likes him. In fact, that makes matters worse," he says brusquely. "If she marries him, she will not leave him, no matter how unhappy he might make her. And I would rather keep her here unmarried all her life than watch her in pain.

"And then there is Jin Guangshan," Jiang-shushu continues, now sounding faintly ill. "I will not speak of my fears regarding him, but you are a woman, Ziyuan. Ought you not to understand them better than I?"

Madam Yu is silent for a long while.

"If you had such thoughts," she hisses at last, sounding very much like Zidian usually does in the midst of strangling a particularly fierce yaoguai, "then you ought to have spoken sooner, so that we could have found a better match before Yanli came of age."

"I made my thoughts known the year Jin-zongzhu tried to lay his hands on Li Shuai," Jiang Fengmian replies. "You were convinced that I was wrong, because A-Shuai was too young to understand what he might have done to her; but I know what I saw, and you still refused to change your mind."

A moment later, he turns and walks out of the room. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng exchange panicked glances before jumping off the footbridge to keep from being noticed; and after Madam Yu stalks off in the other direction, Wei Wuxian drags herself out of the shallow water under the bridge and makes a beeline for Jiang Yanli's room.

"Wait for me!" Jiang Cheng yelps, before cursing under his breath. "Wei Wuxian, for heaven's sake—"

But she does not slow her pace until she reaches her sister's bedroom and slams the door behind her, startling Jiang Yanli out of what must have been (judging by the look on her face) a very peaceful sleep.

"I'm glad you're not going to marry that stupid peacock," Wei Wuxian blurts out, the instant Jiang Yanli opens her eyes. "You deserve better, Shijie. Your husband ought to be the most honorable man in the world, and I won't stand for less."

Her sister's mouth twitches. "I'm glad you think so," she says mirthfully, reaching out to stroke Wei Wuxian's wet hair. "Who should it be, then?"

Wei Wuxian gulps.

"What about Lan Zhan?" she asks. "You could marry him instead of me, couldn't you?"

Jiang Yanli bursts out laughing.

"A-Xian," she gasps, "when we left Gusu, didn't you say that I ought to have a husband who loved me just as much as Third Shidi loves Li Shuai?"

"Well, yes."

"Then how could you possibly imagine that I might want to marry Lan Wangji?"

"But Lan Zhan is the best junzi in the world, in all ways. I'm certain of it," Wei Wuxian insists, ignoring the sudden ache in her chest. "He loves all things that are good and true, so why wouldn't he love you? I mean, he treats me well, and I make him carry my packages at the market and chase me all over Lufeng to keep dogs away while I'm running errands. I'm sure he'd treat you a hundred times better."

Her sister leans forward and rests her brow against Wei Wuxian's.

"A-Ying?"

"Hm?"

"You're a very silly girl, and I love you very much," she says tenderly. "Now go take a warm bath, or you'll catch cold."

Puzzled, Wei Wuxian drips her way out into the corridor and back into her own bedroom, where she finds a damp Jiang Cheng lying flat on his back on the rug under her window.

"No more peacock," he sighs, propping himself up on his elbows. "You know, I almost feel sorry for him."

"What? Why?"

"Because A-Jie could have made him the happiest man in the world, if he'd only given her a chance."

"I suppose so," Wei Wuxian says reluctantly. "But, Jiang Cheng—who do you suppose Shijie will marry now?"

Jiang Cheng puts his face in his hands.

"Not Lan Wangji, definitely," he mutters. "Did you really ask A-Jie if she wanted to take your place as Madam Lan?"

"Of course I did. Didn't you hear me?"

He looks at her in disbelief. "Really?"

Wei Wuxian nods.

"Lan Wangji has the patience of a bodhisattva," Jiang Cheng groans. "When it's time for your wedding, Wei Wuxian, I am going to laugh. Just wait and see."

[lemonhemlock]

Hi Lemon! It's always a pleasure to read your thoughts on hotd so I just want to share mine and ask for your opinion :)

First of all, I completely agree with one of the recent anons about helaemond and how it would have made the story better and more logical, the characters involved more engaging and human and ofc, the motivations more clear. And yes, it's ridiculous how my fellow greenies have been screeching about it making the greens look bad and hypocritical when in reality it would have only endeared them more to the GA (if done right, of course). Aemond would have been a multi layered character, Helaena would have had more relevance and Aegon and Aemond's fallout would have been more convincing. Oh well, a missed opportunity, unfortunately. But the greens are the ones who were damaged.

Second of all, Helaena is such a mystery to me and not in a good way. She has the same gift as Daenys the dreamer and yet she won't do anything with it? Why? To make her a constantly doomed and tragic figure who can't avoid her destiny? Because that's not the best explanation and just seems lazy. She is completely detached from the narrative. I thought at first that she couldn't interpret her dreams and visions, but after the balcony scene with Aemond it's obvious she can. Also, the way she apathetically talked to Aemond abut him dying and (sort of ) no one caring rubbed me the wrong way and I actually felt bad for him in that scene, not her, even though it obviously wasn't the writers' intention (and I agree with you, %his request wasn't unreasonable at all).

Finally, them using Helaena in Daemon's vision made my blood boil. Apparently, she can be Bran like toward her own brother because he "deserves" it, but it's OK to use her to "light the way" for Daemon in his "redemption" arc. It's unbelievable and straight up offensive . What is actually the point of her character and her ability then? Anyway, I would love to read your thoughts on this. Thanks.

first of all, anon, hello & thank you & i hope you enjoy your stay on my blog! 💚

PREFACING this by saying that the full helaena-aemond scenes might offer a bit more context than we already have, but, basically, here are my takes, as of now, the friday before the season finale. subject to change!

i guess my thesis statement is that this whole season kind of destroys helaena's character, as well.

let's look at her relationship with aegon:

from what i understand, she says she was "happy" before the war. a helaegon win perhaps? if she was "happy", then she must have been content enough with her position as aegon's wife, no? that doesn't seem like a huge logical leap to make. so, whatever aegon did or didn't do, it must just not have bothered her that much to impinge on her "happiness", even if perhaps she wouldn't necessarily rate him very highly as a husband either.

but, then again, she never mentions him. he just suffered a traumatic injury and is in constant pain. helaena is not besieged by grief this season, she is not catatonic with her own trauma, she is very lucid and calm and acting normally, yet she doesn't once ask about him or visit him or offer SOME kind of condolences or feel any kind of way about him being a cripple. he is still her brother, though? and apparently she has no particular beef with him? she shares a daughter with him, yet never even considers how it will be difficult for jaehaera to see her father like that. she just doesn't give a shit. and, i have to say, this makes her look rather sociopathic.

now let's look at her relationship with aemond. she is apparently so dismissive and gives zero fucks about the concept of aemond's death. like with aegon, there is a version in which helaena could have real grievances with aemond that could lead her to act like this. does she, though?

she doesn't give a shit that aemond burned aegon

she doesn't give a shit that aemond instigated the blacks into assassinating her son

she doesn't give a shit that aemond dismissed alicent from the council

what other reason could there possibly be? does she disagree with his war strategy? does she care that he burned a village? is she a secret rhaenyra stan? did he step on her favourite cockroach when they were kids and now it's payback time?

so, to be so indifferent and apathetic and downright heartless towards her brothers for no reason, again, paints her like a sociopath. what does she even care about? just her bugs? what in the seven hells? i'm not even sure that was the writers' intention anyway, they just truly have no idea what to do with her character. she is there so her interlocutor might exhibit some of their own character traits, but it's like talking to an android.

there are also ways in which one could show helaena's reluctance regarding flying dreamfyre to war, not just "lol i don't want to be bothered" when her family's lives are at stake. at the very least show her terrified of dying or squeamish about violence or something.

and her assisting daemon's redemption arc is downright nauseating. she gives zero fucks about her brothers, but DAEMON is the one she elects to help??

from a watsonian POV, she is not likeable or understandable at all, they are basically turning her into a selfish coward infantilising herself and not bothering to take the slightest initiative to change or influence the things she disagrees with, who just wants to sit on her arse all day waiting to die. but can she truly be analysed through a watsonian POV? was this the intention of the writers? (death of the author and all - what other in-universe characterisation could you give her based on her inaction on all fronts?)

like with alicent, i, for one, cannot apply watsonian analysis to helaena, because that's not how a human person would believably act in those situations. that's not how neuro-divergent people act! they cannot keep using this as an excuse. i don't want to hear the "everyone grieves in different ways" pretext. controversial opinion, but it's downright offensive to neuro-divergent people to claim they are so soulless and don't care about anything other than their hyper-fixations and would not blink if their family were in mortal danger or lift a finger to help in any kind of way

[achaotichuman]

*Hops down from the rooftop* What are your headcannon on Rhysand and Lucien fighting over Tamlin?

Also have a cookie 🍪🍪🍪

*Takes cookie and eats it, begins talking with my mouth full* Well I have quite a few headcanons on Rhysand and Lucien fighting over Tamlin, I'm so glad you asked about them. Here are the scenes I imagine.

When Lucien waltzed in alongside Tamlin to the High lord meeting, Rhysand initially thought nothing of it. So, the fox boy he had heard so much of had run off to Spring when his little lover was slaughtered. Of course, Tamlin, the bleeding heart, let him in and gave him a fancy title. Anything to save his broken ego. A stupid decision of course, letting in the disowned son of Autumn into the Court semi-new untrained High lord. But that was Tamlin, never thinking beyond whatever injured, pleading Fae laid at his feet.

Too kind, untrained, unknowing, untested. That would be killed soon enough, perhaps the fox would have something to do with it.

But Rhysand was quickly taken aback by just the sort of person Lucien Vanserra proved himself to be.

Tamlin had said something, adding to the conversation about trade between Summer and its neighboring Courts. Rhysand made a snickering comment he didn't care to remember, why would he? He made many snickering comments about Tamlin.

Then Lucien had looked him dead in the eyes, fire burning in his gaze, cracking in the air, he had murmured in a low tone, "Watch that forked tongue, Rhysand, we wouldn't want the new High lord of Night to be proven as a witless fool."

Rhysand's eye had twitched, but he smirked and drawled, "And what is the disowned Prince talking about? Surely you know better than to invoke a High lord's wrath, we do know what happened last time you tried that." Rhysand flicked his eyes pointedly to Beron.

Lucien had simply lounged back in his chair, "Would invoking your wrath lead for a more interesting subject of conversation? Every word that has so far come from your side of the meeting has been nothing more than bland. Though I suppose I shouldn't expect more from someone who wears the exact same jacket every day."

Rhysand blinked, and Tamlin snickered under his breath. That snicker, the look of mischief in the Spring Lords eyes when he turned to Lucien was what pushed Rhysand over the edge.

"I'll have you know; I do not wear the same jacket every day, little Lucien." Rhysand drawled.

"Ahh, so it is the latter option." Lucien looked at Tamlin and quirked an eyebrow, at which Tamlin had to bit down on his lip and look away from his emissary, lest he burst out laughing.

"Excuse me?" Rhysand said, confused.

Lucien then turned his sly fox eyes back to the Night Lord, "Well, Tamlin and I were just discussing on our journey here whether or not you wore the same jacket every day or had a wardrobe full of the exact same clothes. We both decided it was in the fact the latter that was more pathetic."

Every High lord had then pointedly looked at the floor or celling. No one meeting Rhysand's eyes.

That day a war was waged, and Rhysand swore he would win it.

***

Tamlin had always been receptive to Rhysand, always. Even before he considered them 'friends' the Springling was drawn to the realm of Night. Asking one to many probing questions at meetings, watching Rhysand and his circle at parties. Even following Illyrian warriors around at a distance when the Night and Spring armies had a brief few weeks of training with each other.

Even after their fallout, even after Rhysand couldn't look him in the eye and see his friend anymore. The Night Lord enjoyed toying with him. A conversation here, a whispered comment there, a torturous trailing of fingers along the collarbone or thigh would have Tamlin ready to fall to his knees. Whether to beg for forgiveness or beg in another... more sensual way, Rhysand would decide once he got him that point of desperation.

But Rhysand was never able to get him to that point. Because a certain red-headed bastard who had no right playing in territories that weren't his always managed to intervene.

Helion's father had thrown some gathering, of course Rhysand was invited. Everyone was invited, including Tamlin.

It hadn't taken long before Rhysand decided he wished to play. He snuck up behind the Spring Lord, whispered a few back-handed compliments and hidden insults about his reign. Along with the cutting words, his fingers danced on Tamlin's waist.

The Spring Lord had taken in deep breath, closing his eyes briefly as if praying to the Mother for strength. She would not answer his calls, she had gifted Rhysand with his powers after all, the Mother was yet another delightful worshipper of the ground the Nightling walked upon.

Rhysand finally whispered a cruel taunt in Tamlin's ear, something about his mother being a bitch-slave to her mate. Claws had shot through Tamlin's fingers but he couldn't lay a hand on Rhysand, lest he start a battle he would not win.

Rhysand then wrapped his hands around Tamlin's hips and slowly began to pull him away from the party, back into the shadows.

"Come play in the dark with me, won't you Tamlin?" Rhysand spoke softly in his ear. Tamlin nearly fell back into him, lulled into the false sense of safety that was the Night Court.

Then there were clicking footsteps. A shock of red hair appeared before them, and then Tamlin was being reeled away from Rhysand. The Night Lord stood shocked for a moment, then he saw the offender.

Lucien Vanserra grinned at Rhysand, only innocence in that beautiful face. But fire crackled in his eyes, a warning that had Rhysand stepping back and brushing himself off.

"Tamlin, I'm so thankful to have found you." Lucien said, turning back to his High lord, pointedly ignoring Rhysand.

"There are some esteemed courtiers that would love to meet your acquaintance, I have told them all about your ideas for installing a filter through-" Lucien wrapped a hand around Tamlin's waist, keeping him close, far, far too close for Rhysand's liking.

Rhysand cleared his throat, cutting Lucien off abruptly. He turned to face the Night Lord, his face still perfect and calm, but those eyes... Rhysand nearly shuddered.

The Night Lord straightened, "A pleasure to see you as well, Lord Lucien Vanserra."

Lucien looked him up and down slowly, then he looked over at Tamlin who was glancing between the two of them, looking at Rhysand like he wanted to cut his throat and the only thing stopping him was Lucien.

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Rhysand. Now Tamlin, if you aren't preoccupied, I must take you to meet these guests."

With that Lucien swept Tamlin away into the ground, but not without a final glance over his shoulder at Rhysand.

Rhysand wanted to pounce, to run forward and drag Tamlin, drag his Tamlin back into the darkness.

Then the Night Lord nearly jumped when something like fire burned at the entrance of his mental wards. Nothing to suggest a daemati playing in his head, but some person with a great deal of power asking for an audience in his mind.

Rhysand allowed a small window to reach and speak to this unknown power.

"Don't ever touch him, Night Lord. Don't even come near him." Lucien whispered along the makeshift bridge between them.

"Or what Fire Lord?" Rhysand taunted.

"Or I will see to it your death is worse than that of your own sister's."

Rhysand stilled, he felt all the blood drain from his face as anger took hold but before he could latch onto Lucien's mind and make him pay for his words, the Fire Lord was gone.

Still when Rhysand looked around the party he saw them. Lucien and Tamlin together. Tamlin now happily enjoying the conversations he was having, no doubt forgetting about his earlier encounter with Rhysand.

But Lucien caught his eye. Lucien saw right through his diplomatic act.

Violet on burning embers.

Lucien grinned. It was full of fury and hatred.

Rhysand grinned back. It was laced with the promise of retribution.

***

"What is your problem?" Rhysand hissed, pulling Lucien aside and into the shadows, where they couldn't be seen or heard.

They were in Spring. Celebrations were under way for Calanmai. Tamlin's tenth Calanmai since taking to the throne. Rhysand loved to blend into the celebrations, appearing beside the Spring Lord when he least expected it.

Morrigan had asked he stay in his own court for this Calanmai, considering he never seemed to partake in the celebrations of Night. He didn't know why he had to, considering it wasn't as if Night took the holiday nearly as seriously as Spring, there was no 'renewal of the earth' in Night, if there was rest assured Rhysand would be there. As it were, he preferred to join in on Spring.

He preferred to fuck around with Tamlin's heard. He liked to set off the already on edge High lord. Liked to prove he had little control on his temper, which Rhysand already knew he tried hard to keep in check.

However, the last few years Lucien had landed a keen eye on Rhysand. Swooping in and intervening whenever Rhysand managed to rile Tamlin up almost to the point of attempting to strangle Rhysand.

At first it had been funny to watch Lucien intercept Rhysand's dealings with Tamlin, now it was getting old.

"My problem, Rhysand, is that you just can't get over your obsession with him." Lucien hissed back.

Rhysand let out a barking laugh, "Obsession?!"

"Yes," Lucien crossed his arms, "Why is it that you are all over Tamlin at any given opportunity? I first thought it was because of what went down between you that night, but now.... watching you try again and again to get your grimy hands onto him, it just looks like some creepy fetish you're chasing."

Rhysand balked. He let out a wild laugh, "Have you lost your mind? Have you forgotten exactly who you're speaking too?"

"I have not forgotten who you are at all. You are the creep who continues to try and prey on my best friend." Lucien said, eyes lighting up with that fire, "And I sincerely suggest you step away from him."

"If he doesn't want me around, why does he not send me away himself? Tell me Lucien, if he afraid of me?"

Lucien leaned back on his heels, looking Rhysand up and down like he was little more than a bug under his foot. Rhysand found his own anger starting to push to the surface.

"If you want to be picked by the High lord." Lucien said slowly, "Go line up with the other maidens by that cave and wait your turn."

Rhysand was stunned into silence. Lucien took the window too walk out of the darkness and back into the light of Spring.

"Oh, you're good Vanserra." Rhysand whispered to nothing, "But not better than me."

***

"I'll forgive you." Rhysand said.

Tamlin's green eyes welled up with tears, glistening in the moonlight, he could only manage a weak, "Really?"

No, never, "Yes. I'll forgive you, Tamlin Darling."

Rhysand reached out and took Tamlin's hand intertwining their fingers, the smell of roses from the gardens around them was sickeningly sweet, "I'll forgive it all."

"Rhysand." Tamlin whispered.

"Come back with me to Night, Tamlin, I've forgiven you." Rhysand whispered.

Oh, he was too easy. Tamlin gave him a smile that the Night Lord would've once said was brighter than any star in the sky. But as they were, Rhysand hated it and couldn't wait to ruin it.

He wouldn't lie, there had been a time Rhysand had truly loved him. Had admired and respected Tamlin. Had cleaned the wounds his brothers gave him, had sung soft songs in his ear in the language of his mother. They had held each other in the coldest, darkest nights. They had hidden under blankets during the fiercest storms.

He hadn't always wanted Tamlin's ruin.

But he wanted it now.

He wanted to sweep Tamlin away, pretending to take him back to Velaris. Then leave him in the Court of Nightmares to find his own way out, to find his own way back to the Spring Court.

He wanted to see him break again.

Tamlin stepped closer to Rhysand, hesitating, like it couldn't believe this was real.

"I forgive you." Rhysand whispered again. '

"No, he doesn't." A cunning voice cut through the dark of Spring night.

Tamlin and Rhysand looked up to see Lucien pacing leisurely towards them.

"Lucien-" Tamlin started.

Lucien cut him off, "He doesn't forgive you Tam. There's nothing to forgive."

The Fire Lord held Rhysand's gave with every lethal word he said, cutting through the trance Rhysand had carefully lulled Tamlin into with his sweet words and promises of forgiveness.

"You did nothing wrong. You were drugged against your will. You were kidnapped by your own flesh and blood and forced to watch this low life's sister and mother killed. There is nothing to forgive of you. You did nothing wrong."

"That is not true!" Rhysand snapped, finally and fully fed up with this fox's lies, "You weren't there, you have no clue of what went down! He is guilty of their deaths, and I won't have you coming along and trying to rewrite the narrative!"

Rhysand in a blast of anger had caused the very sky to darken. His eyes blazed with power as he surged towards Lucien, fully prepared to take his head off.

Then vines wrapped around his arms and legs, reeling him right back. Rhysand whipped his head around to see Tamlin standing there, staring into nothing but with his hand raised as he called on the power of the earth to hold Rhysand.

"He lied to you Tam." Lucien said, brushing past Rhysand in favor of standing before his High lord, "He'll never not hold you accountable for what happened, no matter what the truth actually is."

"You lied to me." Tamlin whispered in Rhysand's direction.

Rhysand barked a laugh, finally being released by those vines. He straightened and brushed his jacket off, "You're actually going to believe this little Autumn reject over someone you've known almost all your life?!"

Tamlin's eyes turned from blank to rage. He squeezed his hands into fists. At that second a gust of wind blew through nearly knocking Rhysand off his feet. Tamlin remained upright like a rock in a storm, holding onto Lucien to keep the fox steady.

Rhysand stared at their conjoined hands, wanting nothing more than to cut Lucien's off.

Tamlin's voice then rang through the gardens with the power of a High lord, "You have come into my Court, insulted my emissary, sewn discord and chaos amongst my people and to top it all off you have played with my head like I am just a toy to you."

Roots shot up out of the ground, all around Rhysand like a cage growing from the very land.

"You have five seconds to take off and never set foot in my territories without an explicit invitation ever again. And you will never dare speak an untrue word or lay a hand on my Lucien for as long as your miserable life continues."

Rhysand stared at Tamlin, stared at those glowing green eyes, alight with power. He was serious. He was actually banishing Rhysand from his Court.

"You-"

Those roots shot up faster, and Rhysand had no choice but to grit his teeth, extend his wings and take off into the night.

When he returned to the Night Court, he found Azriel in the threshold of the townhouse, his arms crossed and his eyes... disappointed.

"Come on Rhysand, time to give up."

Rhysand snarled and he strode past his brother, "Never."

***

When Rhysand was finally gone Tamlin fell to his knees. Those roots going back down into the ground. Lucien was done in the dirt beside him in a second.

Lucien put his hands on his friend's shoulders, "He's gone now, you're okay."

Tamlin opened and closed his mouth, looking at the place Rhysand had been and then back at Lucien.

Then he all but fell into Lucien's arms, hugging him tightly and burying his face into the crook of Lucien's neck. Lucien hummed softly and rubbed circles into his back, just being close to him.

"I'm such a fucking idiot." Tamlin spat, voice breaking.

"No, no you're not. You're hurting and he took advantage of that, Tamlin he manipulated you, you aren't at fault for that."

"Yes, I am, I'm a High lord, I should at least expect that from him."

Lucien sighed and started to rock gently from side to side, "Maybe, but I don't know how well I would fare if I was in your position."

"You're smarter than me, you would've figured it all out."

"Hindsight is 20/20 Tam. Rhysand is a snake; we just need to keep him out of our gardens."

A moment of silence passed them, one heartbeat, then the next.

"He'll be back." Tamlin whispered.

Lucien pulled back just enough so that he could see Tamlin's face, he pressed their foreheads together and murmured, "And I will stand by your side and fight him to any ends if that's what it takes to keep you safe."

Tamlin screwed his eyes shut, "I don't deserve you."

"I love you." Lucien just managed to say.

Tamlin finally opened his eyes again, "I don't deserve you."

When they kissed it was like sweet wine. Delicious like honey and sending them higher than the clouds. Everything in the world slowed to a halt. No Night Lords, no Inner Circle, no darkness could have torn them apart.

Rhysand would be back.

But Lucien would fight him. Tamlin would fight him.

No matter how long it took, no matter how much strength it drained them of.

They would fight.

I know this isn't really a list of headcanons but I couldn't resist writing these scenes. Thank you for the ask!

[paper-mario-wiki]

since you play Fallout 4 without fast travel and with an emphasis on immersion, have you played or considered playing on survival mode? because like, I'm someone who doesn't care for survival mechanics in games much at all, but I love Fallout 4's it's honestly really well implemented and honestly feels like it could be the intended experience, everything is just that much more immersive and surviving the Commonwealth feels that much more rewarding as a result. i'd say, maybe at least give it a chance if you haven't, it really is a game changer

I spent most of yesterday doing all the Institute quests and finishing the main campaign since Dana had been trying to do something without confronting them directly, but eventually she decided there was no other way. I did a BUNCH of quests in a short amount of time, and it took a few months of in-game time that went by in a few hours, which I decided the canon reason for was Dana knowingly putting herself in the most dangerous position in the entire Commonwealth, working as a Railroad double agent in the institute while under heavy scrutiny, and so a lot of it was happening all at once and pretty impossible to process. For this time she had to leave Piper behind for a few months, as she didn't want her getting hurt, and all of this pressure and responsibility was an extreme toll on her, resulting in her memory of her time working for the Institute being a blur.

There was a really powerful character moment while Dana was in power-armor, walking out to capture a synth for the institute, very rainy and dark on an overcast night walking through a field way out of town, and a couple of raiders tried to ambush her. And as she stood still there, watching through her rain-covered visor, letting them strike her with their pool cues and having their .38 bullets ricochet off of her advanced stolen military hardware suit of armor, she reflected on how a year ago, when she came-to, these guys were the biggest of her problems. She used to get a kick out of scheming around these guys and outsmarting them. But now, after caving in the skull of one of these two with a single swing of her baseball bat and looking at his terrified partner, still frantically swinging his crude weapon as before, but now with a much deeper desperation and fear, perhaps knowing that he's going to die over what he thought was going to be an easy score, Dana has a lot to think about. About how her heart is that of a Wanderer, but how sad and scared it made her that she may never be able to walk through the Commonwealth as an equal again. She wasn't scared of being famous, she knew word didn't travel like that for just anyone in the wasteland. She was just scared that she may never encounter anything that surprised her again, and that prospect was terrifying to her. The idea of being too complete in her understanding of the world.

Anyway, all that is to say: I think I'm nearing the end of Dana's story in the Commonwealth, and if I play again I've got an idea for a new character (a piece of shit) who is gonna be on survival difficulty!

[ghoul-foolery]

Dirty Windows | 24

Hancock x Nora - A Fallout 4 Soulmate AU

//

Fic Summary:

Hancock never thought he would find his soulmate. Once a common occurrence, soulmates turned into a bit of a rarity after the bombs dropped. It was to be expected when there was an influx of people getting shot in the face on a daily basis. So when Hancock discovered that he had a soulmate he was ecstatic; all of the people in the Commonwealth, and he was one of the lucky few.

Too bad his soulmate didn't want anything to do with him.

//

[ 1 ] <- [ 19 ] [ 20 ] [ 21 ] [ 22 ] [ 23 ]

//

Two weeks had come and gone since Nora had taken up residence at the Slog, and she was sure that if she ever had it her way she’d never leave. The people were so willing to accept her into their social circles, and that in itself was borderline mind blowing. Striking up conversation with the Sanctuary crew felt so stilted, so forced. Perhaps it was because the expectations for her in Sanctuary were so high. The ghouls in the Slog didn’t expect anything out of her, but they were more than willing to teach valuable post-war life skills and Nora was an incredibly eager student. In the midst of it all, under Arlen’s gentle guidance, Nora was learning how to build a water purifier. 

All it took was a passing complaint about Sanctuary and the water purifier debacle; about how they seemed to assume she just had that sort of mechanical knowledge, or would be able to magically procure one. It was just some idle venting as she visited with the older ghoul in his workshop; nothing more, nothing less. Arlen had hummed thoughtfully, then promptly guided her out of his workshop, telling Nora to go offer Jones and Holly some help in the garden. It was a couple hours later, as she was chopping tatos for dinner, when Arlen emerged from his workshop. He called her name, and once she reached him, he passed her a slip of ancient notebook paper. It was a schematic, a blueprint. In clean writing off to the side, he listed the required components, and what sort of machinery she could dig around to find them. 

“If you want to get the parts, we can work on it together,” he had told her. His gentle smile was so fatherly, so caring. Nora couldn’t help it, she pulled the man into a tight hug. 

It felt as if Nora had cashed in every ounce of good karma she had saved up. No one in the Slog would accept any compensation for their time, and tutelage. No one would accept caps as a thanks. It didn’t feel like it was nearly enough, but all they would take from her was her gratitude and on some days they made that seem as if it were too much. Or, Holly would just get a little fed up with all the thank yous, and would tell Nora to stop saying it…

Though Nora still experienced moments of extreme guilt when she realized how little progress she had made when it came to finding her boy, it was quickly quelled when she reminded herself that she didn’t know how to survive on her own. If she managed to find Shaun, she wouldn’t know how to take care of him, she barely knew how to take care of herself. Nora didn’t want to be the reason why her son fell ill, or went hungry. So she learned what plants were acceptable to eat. She learned how to harvest vegetables, and razor grain. She learned how they stored their meat, and how to keep it properly preserved. And with Arlen Glass’ help, she would learn how to create a source of clean drinking water. Baby steps were still steps.

After accepting the blueprint from Arlen, Nora finally ventured away from the Slog to hunt down the supplies that she needed to build the water purifier. Every morning, after helping with breakfast, Nora would set out to scrounge up whatever scraps and machinery that she could. She siphoned gasoline, she hoarded fan belts, screws, and bolts. She would haul bags of gear back to the Slog, depositing them on Arlen’s workbench before setting out again. In the evenings, after she got back, Nora would help with dinner and then take a shift at evening watch. In the midst of it all, as she worked, as she traveled, her and John got to know each other.

They would go through daily idle chatter (”How was your day, dear?”), then continue on with any number of things. They covered a vast spectrum of topics, from favorite colors and foods, to more philosophical things. John divulged childhood memories, and awkward teenage experiences, and Nora would follow suit. As the days went on, Nora found herself becoming incredibly fond of the man. He was charismatic, and he was a whole lot smarter than he gave himself credit for. He was loyal to the people he considered his, and as loyal as he was he was even more protective. Nate would have loved him. The more Nora got to know John Hancock of Goodneighbor, the more certain she was that Nate and John would have been fast friends. They were both stubborn and loyal to a fault. They were both strong, and capable men, and even though she had only known John for a short while, she knew without a doubt that both men would bend over backwards to make her happy. John had helped her with so many things. She owed him so much. 

Bit by bit, she gathered the things on Arlen’s list and, after days of meticulous searching, she had everything that they needed. She stopped her daily wandering, and took up a spot in Arlen’s workshop where, together, they started constructing the water purifier. 

“Sounds like all he wants from you is a chance,” Arlen said, passing her a pair of needle nose pliers. “When you’re ready, I think you should give that to him.”

Arlen Glass had become her best friend, her confidant. After giving her tea on her first night he had somehow become a post-apocalypse father figure. His guidance helped Nora rediscover her confidence.

“Nate would want me to be happy, but – Ouch!” she recoiled, eyeballing a small bleeding cut on her finger. Nora leaned in close to the chassis of the under-construction water purifier. She nearly stuck her head inside as she searched for what had done the damage. “But I’m… afraid, I guess?”

“Afraid of being happy, when you think you shouldn’t be allowed to?”

Nora’s eyes shot to Arlen’s in surprise. Arlen was usually a little more gentle with his advice. He would pass her the seeds, but he would let her plant and sow things on her own. He wasn’t typically so blunt, but having heard Arlen’s story, she understood where he was coming from. He’d had a family, a beautiful one; but he had sacrificed happiness for work, and then he lost everything.

“Well when you say it like that, it sounds dumb,” she grumbled almost petulantly. She turned her attention back to their project.

Arlen chuckled in that airy way of his as he said, “You smile when you talk about Nate and John, you know. I don’t know if you’ve noticed.

Nora’s gaze tore away from her project yet again. Arlen had settled back in the old chair in his workshop. It was his typical sitting place whenever he read his morning paper. Instead of reclining back in the chair he was leaning forward, knees on his elbows, with a small, knowing smile. 

“You’re a smart woman, Eleanor. You should know that you wouldn’t be betraying Nathan by finding happiness again. If he was anything like you’ve said, he would want you safe, and happy. He’d want you to love and be loved.”

There was a sudden tightness in Nora’s throat. She did her best to swallow it down, and turn her attention back to the purifier but Arlen was suddenly at her side, cupping her face in his hands. They were hearty, weathered and overly textured, but they were also warm and grounding. 

“It’s okay for you to be happy, Eleanor,” he said it slowly, deliberately. “It’s okay.”

Nora’s hands rested over Arlen’s as she warbled, dangerously close to crying, “What if I fall in love with him and—“

“Honey, I think you might have already. Even if only a little bit.” The statement was like a kick to the gut, delivered with a smile. It knocked Nora’s world off its axis. Arlen continued, “If there is anything that can be learned from loss, it’s that you need to love the people in your life as strongly, and as fiercely as you can, because we never know when those special people will be taken away. Just remember, he will never replace Nate. You have a big heart, Eleanor. There is space for John in there, too.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice tight. That’s all she said because that’s all she could muster. 

“I’m not saying that you need to hurry up and stop mourning; and I’m not saying that you need to hurry up and fall in love.” The old ghoul placed a kiss to the crown of her head before leveling his eyes with hers. “But you need to know that it’s okay when you do. Grief doesn’t have an expiration date. If you wait for it to go away naturally, you’ll be waiting for forever and a day.”

“So it never goes away? It’s… This? Forever?” The guilt for growing fond of another man, the feeling of replacing someone she loved, the lingering dredges of hurt that hung around in her chest.

Arlen withdrew, turning his eyes to the in-progress water purifier, and then the pieces of an old Giddyup Buttercup. “They say that time heals all wounds, but it doesn’t. It just makes it easier to deal with.”

“Hey, smoothskin!” It was Wiseman’s voice, calling her from the front of the pool house.

Nora closed her eyes, swallowing at the lump in her throat, “Yeah?” She called out as Arlen picked up the needle nose pliers, and took over the task at hand.

“You got a visitor!”

The frown that had been marring Nora’s features deepened. Damn near every single person she knew who would want to visit her already lived in the Slog. Unless it was Preston for some reason. Or John. She was too aware of the way her heart leapt. Slowly, she peaked out of one of the broken windows to get eyes on the visitor. From a glance, it wasn’t anyone that she recognized from Sanctuary, and it most definitely wasn’t John. Nora’s hand immediately began to drift down to the pistol holstered at her thigh. 

“Go on,” Arlen said. “I’ll finish up this bit, and we can pick it up later.”

“Arlen?” 

“Mm?” He hummed, haltingly. 

She placed a hand on his forearm, leaning in to kiss the older man’s cheek. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

He tossed his head and said again, “Go on.”

With no small amount of hesitance, she left Arlen’s shop, stepping out into the early evening air. It had been a warm day, enough so that Nora had unzipped the top half of her vault suit in favor of adorning an oversized t-shirt. The arms of the suit were tied securely around her waist, and her hair was tied back into a ponytail. Her hands were greasy, scraped, and she could make out the dark smear of oil across her nose. She wasn’t really dressed for company, but she supposed that she never would be. 

Stepping around the building, Nora cleared her throat. The newcomer turned to face her. A smoothskin, like her. He wore an old conductor styled hat, a long coat, and he had a rifle hanging off his shoulder from a makeshift sling that looked to be fastened from an old belt. As she grew closer, she noted that he was handsome. Cheekbones that she could cut herself on, a proud, straight nose. Tanned, blue eyes, and a confident smile. 

“Well,” he said at length, “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Nora held her distance, fishing an old rag from her pocket so she could start cleaning her hands. The tenuous grasp on her emotions turned steely as she stared the stranger down. No one would know that she had been on the brink of crying (ugh, again) thirty seconds ago. She eyed him warily, “Do I know you?”

His smile grew, “No. But I know you.”

The man’s eyes followed her hand as it dropped down to her side, resting casually by her pistol. Off to the side, she could see Wiseman tense and reach for her own weapon. 

Suddenly, the man laughed, “Calm down, girl! Shi-oot, I’m a friendly.” He’d almost said ‘shit’ but he had redirected. She didn’t know why, but that seemed important. She’d stow that away for later.

“You’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t believe you.”

“Why don’t you, uh…” his index finger tapped his temple. 

At this point, the Slog ghouls knew that Nora had a soulmate. It was hard to keep things secret when the space was so open, and communal. Especially when they noticed just how much she seemed to talk to herself. She couldn’t find the ability to look any of them in the eye and just insist that she was a touch crazy.

Without breaking eye contact with the stranger, Nora opened her end of the bond and reached. “John?”

The answer was immediate, ”What’s crackin’, doll fa – shit, is that MacCready? Fuck, he works fast…”

“You know him?” she asked, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders. She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath. Wiseman waved his hand, catching her attention. He made a gesture, indicating that he was going to be inside. She nodded, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’.

”Yeah, I know him. He’s out that way runnin’ an errand or two for me. I didn’t expect for him to get to you for another week or so.”

“Wh-why didn’t you tell me that he was coming? I… God, I was getting freaked out.” It could have been another one of those sickos from the drive-in. It could have been someone much, more worse.

“Easy, angel,” the man known as MacCready drawled. “I told you, I’m a friendly.”

”Don’t you call her that, you little shit.”

Nora snorted, then immediately covered her mouth to stifle her laughter. She wanted to be irritated, dang it. The second he had made arrangements for someone to come meet her, she should have known about it. She composed herself, dropping her hand. “He said your name was MacCready?”

“Yep! RJ MacCready, and you must be Nora,” he held out his hand, and Nora reached to shake it. Only for her hand to be lifted, she watched with almost wide eyes as he pursed his thin lips to plant a kiss to her skin. 

”Goddammit, MacCready!”

MacCready stopped, a mere centimeter from making contact, and then he snickered, giving her hand a firm shake. He was laughing, eyes glittering with his amusement. He seemed to be banking on John seeing the interaction, and had been aiming to irritate Nora’s soulmate for fun.

”Tell that little fucker that he ain’t gettin’ paid for shit!”

It didn’t matter how much she wanted to be angry, she couldn’t even manage a bit of irritation to shoot in John’s direction. 

“He mad?” MacCready asked, his smile stretched from ear-to-ear..

Maybe it was the total relief that she felt, but Nora couldn’t help but laugh as she replied, “He seems to be a little annoyed, yeah.”

“Awesome.”

\\

Tag List: @takottai / @a-little-pebbl  / @yamatra

[bakersgrief]

Inspired by @ndoandou and their twin!alt!keith shitpost comic.

Keith always slept with his curtains open. The light from the moon and stars would bathe his room in the most ethereal glow. Not that he was awake to enjoy much of it. But the gentle light sang him to sleep like a lullaby when his mind wouldn't calm down enough to allow him his much needed rest.

Perhaps this was what lured the Creature to him. On a night like any other, Keith slept peacefully beneath his covers; the blankets carefully smoothed down and tucked around him. Perhaps it was the noise of his restless mind that had only recently died down; or perhaps it was the glinting of the moonlight off of the large panes of his window. Or perhaps, it was something entirely different that caused the pixie-like fairy to dance into Keith's room that night with a rhythmic thunk, thunk, thunking.

Now, fae-creatures do not give out their names. They most often use a pseudonym of some sort. This one called their self "Gil". A creature with fluttery, translucent wings and an unearthly glow. The Gil-fairy smiled a polite smile, the kind filled with frost and threat, as he waved his little star-shaped wand over the slumbering Keith. An odd sort of "heehee" sound filled the air as he did so, but most wouldn't recognize it as a laugh. At the very least, it lacked any sort of mirth. However, it was filled with the mischief fae-creatures are so infamous for.

The "heehee" had no time to crash upon the peaceful Keith's consciousness. The fairy's spell shocked the sleeping Keith awake with a violently bright burst of light. His body jolted so hard both his blanket and his night cap were thrown away from him.

Keith lay there panting, feeling as if his soul had left his body and was now laying atop him with a crushing weight. Wait...

What was crushing him right now? The answer was a very surprised and confused... Keith?!! Keith was what was lying on top of Keith! At least, it looked like him...

But it was quickly obvious that it was not Him. He was him, and yet he was not. As both stood up and regained their bearings, too many emotions to name flitted through both their heads.

The kind Keith was fearful. This was the other person who had been living inside him until recently. The one who would hurt others while wearing his face and leaving him to deal with the fallout. The one who was rough and unpredictable, untrustworthy and barely restrained at times. The one who was so much more successful than him... if only Keith could have been able to see through his eyes even once.

Instead, it seemed as if a stranger seized his body and his consciousness on a whim and used his face for some dark purpose. Well, this other side of him couldn't have been all bad, at least. He often did things to help the kingdom that Kind Keith could not.

However... the look in his eyes was much darker and more predatory than Keith had ever seen himself look, and he shuddered as he wondered if he always looked like that when He was in control.

The other Keith... was quite pleased. At last. Somehow, he seemed to be free. He stared at the trembling failure he was so often forced to masquerade as. The mean Keith had no idea what was going on, but he couldn't give a shit at the moment.

Was this truly real? The alternate Keith didn't notice, or perhaps didn't care, how frightened the kind Keith was by his pleased smirk. Not another second of using his right hand, smiling calmly at rude nobility, or wearing that damned jacket buttoned up all the way to his neck. Keith could have run and jumped for joy in that moment, could have walked right past that trembling failure who had owned the body he was born in before his conception.

He could finally be free...

Of course, he wouldn't actually leave the life of a prince behind. The wicked Keith cared for Jade and its people in his own way. But the high of finally having his own body filled his mind with images of running topless through the forest and jumping naked into streams and sleeping in other people's beds and-

The wicked Keith was brought out of his reverie by the sound of an opening door and the sight of a stunned Liam. The half-asleep man seemed shocked into wakefulness as his pale green eyes bugged out of his head at the sight of two Keith's, his black ponytail seeming to bristle like a cat's tail.

The mean Keith snatched the candle holder that Liam nearly dropped from him, wondering if he should poke his eyes back into his head for him. Ya know, pay him back for all his kindness and shit, calling him a piece of trash and whatnot.

He decided to explain the situation as simply and quickly as possible to avoid having to converse with either too long.

"Me and the failure no longer share bodies."

Ah. So it was true. This really was the other person that had begun inhabiting his body after the death of his brother. Keith trembled with emotion; fear, anger, curiosity, hope, questions- His eyes began to tear with helplessness at how overwhelming the entire situation was. He weakly called for help.

"Liam..."

Liam was still stunned. Too stunned for any eloquent speeches as he stared at the two princes in front of him. All he could say was one thing.

"What the fuck."

Edit: Wow this is the first thing I ever wrote on Tubmlr. A relic.

Taglist: @shadowylakes @floydsteeth @sh0jun @rou-luxe @letter-from-afar @mxrmaid-poet @anonymousnamedhera @kanatashinkaifr @rookkunt

Ikepri tags: @keithsandwich @littlewitty @awheeee

[tideswept]

Hello!!! For the game, perhaps time travel? 👀

never have I ever

Technically no? I've had a few plots in mind, but nothing made it to the writing stage as the scope and potential of it has intimidated me. I feel like I need to have an intimate understanding of the characters and their relationship to successfully pull it off.

As well as a dang good reason for it. It feels like, I dunno, a forbidden indulgence to go into it without a Plan™.

Here's how I'd do it, using the Kingsman idea that probably got the closest to almost making it on paper.

A few months after the end of Kingsman, Eggsy is sent into the past. But far into the past--as in, when Chester was a young agent, perhaps even a trainee.

(I've given some consideration to Chester having held the title of Lancelot originally, which would have, I think, added some delicious flavoring to his rejection of a pleb coming along to possibly take up his title, but I really feel like they would have mentioned that little detail at some point if that were true. Same goes for him having been Galahad. Thus, I arbitrarily decided that it was Lamorak. Though Percival is a close second.)

So Eggsy finds himself weirded out by how much he and Chester have in common as he infiltrates Kingsman. We know from the original Kingsman script and a very clever accent slip-up during his death scene that Chester's background was likely more similar to Eggsy's than Chester ever wanted to admit.

Eggsy's goal may be to save Harry, but he doesn't want to fuck up time too badly, so he has no choice but to play along for a while, only, whoops, now he's being shoved X amount of years into the future (so from the 50s to the 60s) and Chester still remembers him, so he knows Something Is Up about Eggsy, but he cares about Eggsy (friendship? or more? who knows) so he doesn't turn him in. Cue another time jump to the 70s. Eggsy is still trying to evaluate what the best way to handle this is. Kill Chester? Tell him what's going to happen? Ask him to make sure a Harry Hart never gets chosen as a trainee?

But before he can decide, it's the 80s, and despite his best efforts to avoid them meeting, Harry is there. And Eggsy falls head over heels for this Harry, who is so different from the man he knows, but it's still Harry, after all.

Chester, now having left Lamorak behind and being made Arthur, notices and puts two and two together that this is the reason why Eggsy has been coming in and out of his life now for almost forty years. It was never about him, or Kingsman, or anything else that had occurred to him.

... but it still takes until the next time skip (hello 90s) for Eggsy to pull the trigger, so to speak. He has to make a decision now. What to change, and how, in a way that doesn't completely mess up the future? He might have trusted Chester a little the first couple of jumps, but now this is the Chester who was a callous fuck about Lee dying.

Meanwhile, Harry is hurt and furious and confused that Eggsy vanished and Arthur (nee whatever his original title was) seemed to know exactly what happened and only infuriatingly told him to be patient and wait.

(And that's another oof for Eggsy -- has he already changed things too much? Harry in the future will recognize him, won't he?)

Eggsy makes the difficult choice to kill Arthur, but Chester talks him down from that, and asks him the real story of what's been happening, pointing out that he's kept Eggsy's secret for fifty years; if that's not a sign that he can be trusted, well...

Eggsy decides to gamble it all on this Chester not being a complete bastard and tells him an edited version of the story (mostly withholding specific names and dates). Not just what happened in Kingsman, but also how fucking stupid Valentine's plan actually was, and the disasters that it caused even when it didn't fully go through. How close the world came to nuclear fallout.

Eggsy then is propped to 21st century, but he stays under the radar for this final visit to the past, not wanting to meddle further with time. At least as far as Kingsman is concerned.

(Dean, on the other hand, gets a very scary visit from a man that promises to slit his throat if he ever lays a finger on his wife and stepson again. )

When he's finally returned to the present, nothing has changed. Fuck. Fuck. He shouldn't have trusted Chester. Or maybe it was all futile to begin with. As far as he can check, everything played out almost the same way, which means that maybe time just can't truly be changed.

Some time passes. And then he receives a message. From an account named Lamorak, asking to meet in a location that only Eggsy and Chester knew about. Eggsy shows up armed to the teeth, not sure what to expect, but sure as hell not expecting to find Chester and Harry alive.

Both of them had put together what they'd both been told (intentionally or unintentionally) by Eggsy and come up with a plan. They'd play out events to the best of their ability, aware that the Eggsy they'd one day meet was not the same that they'd already met--with some insurance. There was never a poison in Eggsy's drink, it was always a drug so that Arthur could pretend to be dead. Harry didn't get shot in the head, he grabbed Valentine's hand and got shot in the heart instead.

You know. Supposedly.

They've both been lying in wait, unsure of exactly when Eggsy went back into the past, and taking the chance that enough time (ba dum tish) has passed and it's safe to come out. They've come up with an excuse for Harry to still be alive and have the trail of paperwork to back it up, but Chester is done. He's not coming back. He's fine with being known as a traitor. It was about time that Kingsman had a good shake up, anyway.

Low-key bittersweet parting, with lots of hugs (Eggsy insists because it's a long-running joke that Chester finds hugs insufferably twee and ridiculous) and Chester disappearing, and Harry and Eggsy getting their happily ever after.

we do not accept Kingsman 2 in this household, thank you.

[bluebellsinburbank]

✊🏽 Protecting

Even now, after everything, Peter didn't use words so much. Peter was subtle. Too subtle sometimes even for Neal to notice. But he did, because Peter might not talk about the way he felt, but he showed it.

It was in the way Peter acted - not around Neal exactly, but around the people around Neal. A shift from easy to alert, from acting like it was just the two of them, to acting as if it were the two of them against the whole world.

The first times Peter had done it, Neal didn't pay much attention. He was far too preoccupied. Neal remembered it now though; the way Peter had immediately stepped in front of Neal, reached his arm out, curled his fingers around Neal's wrist. Never in ways that restrained him or excluded him, rather ways that warmed him even if he didn't know why at the time.

Peter had made himself Neal's shield.

Wherever they went, whether proving he wasn't dead or - eventually - back on cases with the team, Peter put himself between Neal and the world. Between Neal and Diana's incandescent grief-stricken fury, Jones's quieter but no less intense grief.

Peter never stopped them from coming closer - not the few Neal considered family - but he made it clear who's side he was on. He let them yell and cry and even send Neal away until they were ready to acknowledge what he'd done, but he'd never once let Neal think that he was alone.

In retrospect, it was so painfully obvious; a truth Neal should never have forgotten.

Peter stood in front of him, shoulders tense and gun drawn; the only thing between Neal and a criminal who really didn't appreciate Neal waltzing in and announcing all the reasons his supposed lost masterpiece was really an awful forgery.

The criminal wasn't even all that dangerous, just a little skittish and quick on the draw. Their team would be there in moments. But Peter hadn't even hesitated, throwing Neal behind him, standing tall and shielding Neal from view.

And Neal understood. He stayed exactly where Peter had put him, one hand curled into the back of Peter's jacket.

It didn't matter that Jones and Diana were already there, already securing the criminal and reading him his rights. Peter needed to do this. And Neal needed it too.

Peter had been protecting him all this time. Protecting him from the worst of the fallout from his betrayal of them all, protecting him from random criminals, protecting him from the crushing weight of his own guilt ridden loneliness.

Perhaps part of it was Peter making up for the one time he couldn't protect Neal - the time Peter still couldn't forgive himself for, lie though it was. But the truth of it was this was who Peter was. Peter was a father; a protector through and through. And, from the minute he had decided Neal was worthy of his love, that had become his self-appointed place. Standing between Neal and any-and-everything that might hurt him.

Because Peter loved Neal like he was his own, and he showed it every day by protecting him.

He'd done it before Neal had faked his death and he'd undoubtedly still be doing it when Neal was old and grey and hiding from other residents in the care home because they knew Neal had stolen their pudding.

And so, Neal stayed put, waiting until Peter had decided it was safe. Then, he pulled Peter into a hug, smiling into his shoulder. "Thank you."

For protecting me, for loving me.

Peter's held him tight, maybe not knowing exactly what Neal was thanking him for but inherently understanding just the same. "Always."

[anotherblblog]

Dead Friend Forever episode 12 blurb/series retrospective

wellllllllllllllllllllll that was the goriest, slasheriest, kill 'em-ness I've seen in Thai or any bl series

the episode was kinda short and the pacing made it seem rushed but not I'm sure if I really felt rushed or if it was just a breakneck pace

I do like that a lot of the theories and wishes weren't achieved/realized and the series still feels good. Like I know I wanted White and TanNew to live and at times Jin and Phee too but all of them ending up in this ceaseless purgatory slaughterhouse is kinda fitting. Non couldn't escape his fate due to the actions of others and the rest of the group couldn't escape the fallout aka TanNew's life implosion and his pursuit of vengeance for his brother and family

Cuz like yeah White, it truly seems, was just at the wrong place and wrong time. The theories and sentiment of White being part of some Perth and TanNew third killer ace in hole was nice and could have worked but it didn't happen and I don't feel the show really lacked for it

Like we saw one of the masked killers with crutches and the killer always had a maybe magic, maybe mundane vibe the show liked to play with. So perhaps Non really did survive somehow or maybe he just really had a rather unmarkable end after his harrowing captivity and enslavement

anywho standouts for the episode and series -

TanNew going full slasher - lovely, wonderful, great job Mio. You sold and I bought. And as an elder sibling, bitch I don't necessarily condone your behavior but I motherfucking understand you and also why you were Phee were destined to have a falling out. Phee did geniunely love and care for Non but the information that Phee had because Non specifically and intentionally lied to Phee meant that Phee could ultimately move on with Jin but TanNew was frozen in that grief and by Phee interrupting TanNew's attempt, Phee sealed his own fated too

Jin's hallucation montage - kinda campy in a good way and also like really modern. Like this type of voyuerism enabled by modern technology is really scary. Like gays have been fucking and sucking in bathrooms since before bathrooms were existed and will continue to (and last night at this bar I was at - there were several gays keeping me from peeing because they were fucking in the bathroom stall). So I compare how the leaked sex tape was used in this series with Only Friends and I do feel DFF really did that subplot and theme so much better

The first third of ep 12 aka the slaughter house - like it's a series so total suspension of disbelief to let the series tell me that Top can get shot in the stomach (or near enough) after a series of beatings and days of high stress and still have the gas in the tank for a final fight. But the tension and motivations were really high and going from the joker class clown who kinda started a lot of the Non ends up a slave plot by Top breaking Por's camera and Fluke mister always trying to keep my hands clean but always being near and having the truth but not sharing taking themselves out together was obvious symbolism to me and still really good. Then going from that to Tee being made to inadvertently kill his lover and the person who inspired him to better himself while White's last images are his boyfriend who he like 3 minutes ago learned was a really massive piece of shit and a victim and victimizer and (I don't know about Thai laws and accidental death or manslaughter and all that) but learning your bf is connected and inarguably one of the biggest participants in this Non situation surely must have not felt good, then he stabs you while you think it's because you're not pretty. Madness and chaos and really cool scene.

Phee, Phee, Phee, our series lead - overall I think Ta did a fantastic job. Like so many times, he would enter a scene and I would think "this dude has stage presence" - highlight of him was the revealation he was Non's boyfriend as he saves Non from his attempt. That episode and the one prior with this abscene were fine and good but when he came back onscreen, it was like, yeah, you've got IT. Now the finale arc with him is frustrating because of the discourse and the piety of people and shipping. Yes Non was groomed. Por is the closest person in series to call out the massive inappropriateness of Keng and Non. But it is critical to point out, that Phee did not know about that and saw Non being hugged and comforted by Keng, so he made the deduction that Non was hot for teacher. And then the disappearance and police stuff happened and Phee was motivated to find the truth. He was fueled by his own guilt at his last words to Non but even as he was trying to find Non, as he told his dad, he wasn't sure how he felt about forgiving Non because Non told Phee to his face there was nothing wrong and then Phee watches Non and Keng fucking. So yeah, it makes sense he could could join in on TanNew's plan but he didn't have the same stakes that TanNew did.

The mean girl messy clique worked because you saw that it was largely a friend of convenience for them and you had two different type of alpha girls (Por and Tee) and then a lacky Top and two people who seemed to be voting for the leopard eating face party because they didn't want their own faces ate

The heat was decently high and the NC scenes were really good, that ass slap is iconic

Lows

we didn't get enough with Jin. He was arguably the 2nd or 3rd most "important" character to this maybe and we just didn't get enough of him or his character for him to be fully realized for me

Overall BoC's second series was really good. I think they avoided the sophomore slump.

Maybe the dead friend forever is the friends we made along the way

[zalrb]

I MUST REALLY LOVE MY FOLLOWERS - BRIDGETON 3.01 review

1. "Dearest gentle reader, did you miss me?" Me:

2. I'm not doing this recap.

3. I maintain that Nicola should be Belle in the next live action we'll eventually do.

4. Idk man, Kathony just feel SO unnatural.

5. MINI MOUSE MAN NEXT TO BIGGER MOUSE MAN

6. Who will be the prize of the season? And it's Colin?

7. All of these women are gorgeous and all of these men are like basic white bread. I -

8. I'm upset because this is supposed to do something for me

and it's resolutely not.

9. Oh please. Francesca looks like every other woman there.

10. Prudence is probably the only character I somewhat like. I think. She's the terrible one, right?

11. I might like that family the most because they're the schemers. They're actually DOING QUASI-INTERESRTING THINGS.

12. Colin is a fuck boy without fuck boy good looks. Please stop it.

13. And I'm not saying he's ugly. I am saying he's plain.

14. This is my problem with Bridgerton. It SHOULD be fun. And it's punishing.

15. Where the fuck is Edwina? I DON'T CARE ABOUT KATE.

16. They should shock us all and have Edwina come back and just murder everyone like Carrie.

17. Leave her alone, Colin.

18. I know the point of this season is Polin but I already know she deserves better.

19. GIVE ME MORE OF THE BICKERING SISTERS. They're terrible. I'm interested.

20. "Well that's your fault for marrying men without title!" But Prudence's man is one of the, like, two most good looking of them all, so you know.

21. OOOOOOOH IS PENELOPE GONNA WEAR LAVENDER NOW? THE COLOUR OF LOOOOOOOOVE.

22. Considering that I barely pay attention to this show, did Penelope do like irreparable damage to Eloise and her family for this fallout to be as serious as it's meant to be?

23. That's a genuine question.

24. This Kanthony love scene is ... awkward.

25. Kanthony? Kathony? Whichever. Whatever.

26. And even when he goes down on her I'm like idk, Outlander would like a word.

Someone is BANGING ON THE DOOR and Jamie does not stop until Claire orgasms, so.

27. So Penelope is basically "draw me like one of your French girls, Jack" but with clothes.

28. The one thing Bridgerton had going for it was the music and I'm not hearing any classical renditions of pop songs. What is the POINT?

29. This ball looks like every other ball in this show.

30. Oh, there's the music. abcdefu is a good choice for her, I do have to say the music choices are at least better than TSITP. She SHOULD be talking to Colin as it plays though.

31. I'm not sure why I hate him, I just do.

32. If she enjoys embroidery let her enjoy embroidery, Eloise. Don't "not like OTHER girls" them please. Jesus.

33. "D-do you all like to read?" I get it, Pen.

34. TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF. NOW. Isn't Francesca meant to have a chaperone? Isn't there a dance card or something? Aren't there RULES?

35. I'M ONLY 30 MINUTES IN?

36. Original Mouse Man, what are you doing? Aren't you a viscount with responsibilities?

37. "I expected conversation, I did not expect to be inspected--" then you weren't prepared at all for this. This is the ERA for that, should you not KNOW? WHAT?

38. Everything is muted and dramatic at the same time.

39. Oh, Kathony in another scene. Are they going to try and have sex?

40. Yes.

41. "I've already spent YEARS taking care of Edwina" I mean, did you?

42. "So why don't we put ourselves first for once?" I MEAN, DIDN'T YOU?

43. BRO, WHERE IS YOUR SISTER?

44. "We have our lives to be viscount and viscountess" man, pull a Downton Abbey and kill him.

45. "Think of the balls as..." You should've had this conversation BEFORE the ball.

46. "It pains me to see you upset." "Then perhaps you should not have come." Ha.

47. "and what I have learned is charmed can be taught" which is funny because Colin isn't charming no matter how much the show tries to convince me he is.

48. I suppose it's better than watching Theo James.

49. AND HE WILL FALL FOR HER DURING THE LESSONS.

50. The handshake is supposed to be a Moment and it's interesting because it's called attention to and yet also breezed by at the exact same time.

51. LOL what she wrote was SO TAME especially for a MAN in THIS society? "Is this new character the real him or is it a ploy for attention?" DAS IT??? Please be serious.

52. oooh drama, if he finds out who Lady Whistledown is, he'll destroy her life. It's just hard to think there are stakes when it's ... Colin.

DONE.

[thedo0zyslider]

28! or 37 or 39 👀

Sorry this took so long to get too! I did all of them lmao. Because of course I did :3. Hope u guys enjoy (ask game here!)

28. "...I don't hate you." "...you don't?" (Bonus: "No. Not yet.")

Jimmy stands in the entrance of Gobland, just sort of looking at it. He should go in. He doesn't really know how to, even if part of him wants too. The Sheriff isn't really sure why he's here, but he is. The blonde had simply felt a pull to come here once more. To do something probably, but he isn't sure what.

Eventually, after what's probably a ridiculous amount of time idly standing there, Jimmy decides to get it over with. He takes a few steps, rather hesitant ones, and walks into Gobland for one first time in what has to be.....well months at this point. Several of them. Maybe even half a year by now

Walking through the city is different now, after him and fWhip’s fallout. The people do not wave at him, or make small talk. No, not anymore. Now they just awkwardly shuffled past, and averted their eyes. He heard as whispers were made and spread around, making their way all around the empire in what has to be just a few minutes.

They'll reach the King sooner rather than a later. Which is either going to be good or bad, depending on if fWhip wants to even see him. He wouldn't blame him if he doesn’t, and doesn’t know if he even would want to that day.

They aren't close like that anymore. The two of them can't tell all those little cues from each other anymore.

Its almost sad, or perhaps even tragic, when you think about it.

So Jimmy doesn't, and keeps on walking.

He keeps on walking for a few minutes, navigating down paths he is no longer welcome on. The stone beneath him is more worn than before. He wonders what's been going on since their......breakup. The Sheriff wonders if he'd even be at home in this city again.

fWhip finds him in front of the storage room. The Goblin King stands at the entrance to the large room, his hands clutched at his side. Jimmy stops when he sees him, feeling his body go a little stiff. Now that there's here, he's not really sure what to do. Never quite thought that far, now did he.

"Hey, old friend." fWhip says, scanning over him catuously. His words are a call back to one of their other meetings before, when those weird little Hermits had been on the server. Jimmy pretends not to notice, and also tries not to flinch.

"Howdy." He says, acutely aware of his more southern accent and how it sounds. He's never really been too self conscious of it before, not really. (Expect for at the start, when fWhip would make blush and his heart flutter and Jimmy suddenly cared a whole lot about how the goblin perceived him. But that was a long time ago now)

"What brings you down here?" fWhip asks, idly shuffling his weight from side to side. Something Jimmy knows he only really does when he's nervous about something.

"I'm...not really sure." The Sheriff mutters, ignoring any urge to nervously fidget. He didn't feel like he should do that, lest it make this whole thing worse than it already was. "I just had a feeling...that I needed to come here."

"Oh, okay." fWhip responded, a little confused, but not saying much else.

It takes a few minutes of akward staring and standing there, before one of them had the confidence to speak once more. fWhip clears his throat, and finally looks Jimmy in the eyes for the first time that day. ".....Did that feeling have to lead you to me?"

"Probably, yeah." Jimmy says back, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them still. Well, as still as they can be.

fWhip let out a snort, and flicked his tail in what seemed to be amusement. The Sheriff frowned at that, his ears moving downwards in displeasure as the goblin spoke. "Funny, it lead you to the one guy who hates you and-"

"I don't hate you." Jimmy interrupts, surprising even himself. He kicks his boots against the stone floor anxiously, the spurs on the back making a sound as he does so. fWhip cannot do anything but look at him in what has to be a confused sort of wonder.

"....You don't?" The goblin asks, clearly curious despite himself. It shines in his eyes almost hopefully. Like he's desperate for Jimmy not to hate him. The Sheriff doesn't want to dwell on why he would hope for that, so he keeps talking to avoid doing so.

"No." Jimmy says, wholly honest. "Not yet."

"Oh." fWhip nearly whispers it, just stating at him in what seems to be shock. The Sheriff kicks his boots against the floor again, doing nothing but simply existing under his gaze. (He wishes he could do so lovingly again. He wishes the goblin would look at him with stars in his eyes once more.)

The Sheriff soon leaves after that, not knowing how else fo further this interaction. fWhip doesn't even say goodbye, just watches him leave in what seems ro be bewilderment. Like he's processing all of that. Which is honestly fair.

In the coming days, Jimmy will wonder what would've happened if he stayed. He'll almost wish he had.

37. "Why? Why are you helping me?"

Cleo finally gets a chance to breath, quickly hiding herself behind a tree. Their chest heaves as they try to catch their breath. She'd just spent twenty minutes running from above five zombies, and was pretty exhausted from it. Cleo is amazed their rotting legs haven't literally fallen off yet from all the running and jumping and whatnot she'd been doing.

After a moment, another person slides in beside her. Cleo tries not to shift away as he does so. The person is Etho, her teammate. Or former teammate, they could say. Since he'd been infected a few hours ago. Yet still the white haired man refused to leave her side, and even gave his fellow zombies false hunts about her location.

And for the life of her Cleo couldn't not understand why.

"You okay?" Etho says, crouching next to them, a genuine concern lacing his tone. Cleo, whos plopped herself down on the floor while she can, just lightly glares up at him. Etho doesn't even seek to flinch under the harsh gaze and just takes it with grace.

"Yeah, I'm good." The zombie says, finally catching her breath enough to speak. Etho says nothing still, just starts to quietly shuffle around in his inventory for it. Cleo is almost glad, because she still wants some time to collect their very hectic thoughts.

A moment later Etho reaches down, holding some cooked mutton in his hands. Mutton from their sheep back at home. God Cleo misses home. "Here, take some extra food. I don't need it." He says, eyes blank and emotionless. Cleo wonders if these unnatural zombies can even feel emotions anymore.

"Thanks.....but why?" She asks, taking the food from him. But Cleo doesn't eat it. Some part of her is still scared that it's poisoned, even though Etho has yet to kill them. Or even try to for that matter.

"Why?" Etho repeats, titling his head to the side curiously. Like a cat. He always acts like a cat, even when he's not fully himself.

"Why? Why are you helping me?" Cleo asks, shifting a bit further away from her teammates. He is possessed now, but helps her still. She can't understand why Etho would do so, but desperately wants to.

She wants to know why he won't kill her, when his body should be screaming for him to do so.

"Because you're my teammate. And I don't wanna betray my teammates." Etho says it simply, like it's the most normal and non complicated thing in the world. Cleo just looks at him in bewilderment.

"But you're a zombie! You have a virus in you! It's not your fault if you go berserk and kill me! It's none of your faults!" She exclaims, throwing her arms up in the air. The zombie still doesn't get it. That explanation doesn't make sense. Etho isn't himself, they would never blame him for that! And they both know it!

"It doesn't matter to me." Etho says. "Your my teammate, from the start till the end." He still says it like it's the most simplest thing in the world, and Cleo kinda wants to punch the hell out of him for it.

"You promise?" She asks, filling that frustration away for later. They have bugger things to worry about during the apocalypse after all, like not dying.

"I promise." Etho says, and goes to sit down next to him. Cleo does not shuffle away.

They rest their head on his shoulder after a second, and decide their comfortable to stay like this until the rest of the zombies come to kill them once more.

39. "You have nothing to apologize for."

Jimmy finds himself at the Olipeligo one day, his boots crunching against the sand. He's never really been to the colorful, beach side empire before, having only seen it in passing glances, so he finds himself staring at the tents and large cherry blossom tree as he walks down the empires beach. He should've visited more really, maybe even come for a beach vacation. That would've been a nice stress reliver, especially in those darker months a while back.

It's easy to find the man he's looking for, the empire's ruler and its namesake. Mostly because Oli is currently playing a tune on his little lute, the sound coming from inside the biggest and main tent. Jimmy approaches it slowly, not wanting to startle the other, and slowly peaks through the open tent door.

Oli, who's currently sitting on the floor strumming, jumps in surprise when the Sheriff's shadow fall across his tent. He makes a yelp, and whips his head around quickly to see his new visitor. He almost looks like a cartoon character doing so.

Jimmy holds back a giggle at the sight. "Hi." He says, offering a friendly wave. Oli ignores the clear amusement on his face, and stands, wiping the sand from his clothes. Jimmy has to wonder how sand even got in this tent in the first place, or if it's just permanently stuck to the other like glue.

"Hello there!" Oli says, cheerful as ever, and puts his instrument against the tent's back wall. "Haven't spoken in a while, have we Mr. Sheriff?"

"No, not since I freed you, I think. Or the rift festival." Jimmy hums in response, trying to dig right into the reason he came here for. He wanted to say sorry, for the man he was all those months ago. Staying in Tumble Town and not running had given him a lot of clarity, and made him a better man. Facing the consequences of your own self destructive actions ill do that to someone.

Oli had stayed too, inside of running off to god knows what world. And it's been over a year since they talked, at all. It feels like they cannot have a conversation without discussing what had gone on in the past between them. And today, the bard seemed more than willing to drop his usual comedic persona for a bit. Or that he just wasn't in the mood to pretend, as evidenced by the frown he was failing to fight off his face.

"Oh yeah, that." Oli says, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. he very clearly, yet understandably, does not like reminders of his imprisonment in Gobland. "Didn't really mean to cause you trouble with all that."

"It's fine, really. I've had to lock up worse criminals that you." Jimmy says, waving his hands in a dismissive manner. Oli invites him into the tent by holding the door flaps open, and Jimmy ducks his head as he steps inside. He's still surprised to feel no one swiping for his hat when he walks by, even if most people have long since stopped that behavior.

The bard goes to sit down on the carpet he had been before, his usual persona now dropped entirely as he speaks. "I still wanna say sorry for it. And for the weird stuff I said-"

"You have nothing to apologize for." Jimmy cuts him off, taking a seat next to the bard. Their decently close, and one man will occasionally shift closer, as if some magnetic field is drawing them together. The Sheriff finds he isn't bothered by that at all.

"I don't?" Oli says, a little stunned and his eyes widened. Like he had been convinced to believe that stupid imprisonment was truly his fault. Jimmy feels his stomach turn into knots at the thought of that.

"No, you don't." Jimmy says, and acts on a small impulse. He puts one of his hands over the bard's, and squeezes it in the most comforting manner he can muster. "It's not your fault fWhip has dumb rules about stealing."

"Finally someone understands a poor bard's perspective!" Oli exclaims, not even glancing at their now connected hands. He sounds more like his normal self for a moment, which reassures the Sheriff quite a lot. It shows he's not as upset or angry as Jimmy feared. Meaning this relationship is one of the fixable ones, thankfully.

"I should probably be saying sorry to you, actually." The Sheriff continues, years old memories flashing through his mind and the doubts he had felt at the time beginning to resurface. "I knew jailing you was a little unfair, but I went along with it anyways."

"No hard feelings Sheriff!" Oli smiles, bright like the sun. And Jimmy cannot help but return the expression, only doing so with a tiny bit of hesitance

"Really?" He asks, squeezing Oli's hand again. The bard squeezes this own hand back this time, and the Sheriff feels himself smile more confidently than before.

"None at all! Mainly because I quite like you, dear Jim." Oli says, and leans in like a cat would. His normal persona is back in full swing. It had been there earlier, just a little weak. Now he was doing all the endearingly weird voices again.

"You do..?" Jimmy asks, feeling his cheeks start to turn a little red at the words. Even though they shouldn't, because that's a phrase the bard would say to literally anyone. Oli sees the effect his words have, and grins an impish little grin.

"I do indeed~" Oli hums, leaning closer. Their shoulders brushed as he did so, the contact almost feeling warm and fiery. Jimmy just had to lean away from the other, the blush extending down to his neck. Not because he hated it, but because it was simply too tempting. And he didn't want to do anything stupid.

"Well if you like me so much, might as well show me around." He mutters, the Sheriff sounding a little sheepish even to his own ears. Even though he moved back, Oli had been a stupid little tease and moved closer once more. Jimmy was going to strangle him for it (lovingly, of course.) "I've always wanted to see this place!"

"Well let me take you on a tour then!" Oli says, standing suddenly. He takes advantage of their hands still touching as he does so, and locks their fingers together. Jimmy holds back a yelp as his body is suddenly jolted upwards. stumbling to keep his balance. "I'll even sing you a little tune as well!"

"That would be lovely." Jimmy smiles a little softly once he is steady on his feet again, letting Oli lead him out the tent. He ducks his head on the way out, no longer paranoid of something snatching his hat.

"....Thank you, by the way." Oli says, his shoes crunching against the sand when they are outside once more. He doesn't elaborate, because he doesn't need too.

"No problem." Jimmy says. The tour begins after that, and the Sheriff gets a pretty nice vacation day, if he does say so himself.

(And if that day ends with the both of them back in the main tent, tired and snuggled against each other in a sleeping bag only made for one, then that was for the Sheriff and the Bard to know, and absolutely no one else.)

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

Nie-Centric Ideas, Part Two

The only variant of bonfire fallout I haven't covered is what if Nie Huaisang just... left? 

Permanently? 

After all, the servants and disciples went along with the order to burn his possessions, so clearly (to him), he's not just worn out his brother's care for him, but everyone else's too.

So in the middle of the night, he releases all his birds except for the ones that just absolutely refuse to leave him, takes some dried food from the kitchens and a set of servants' robes from the stores (since the only clothes of his remaining are the ones he was wearing) and just walks out one of the hidden entrances with no one the wiser.

He leaves the jianghu entirely.

He winds up as a scribe for an archivist somewhere near one of the two imperial cities. It's not a great job, but it keeps him and his few remaining birds fed with a place to stay.

While delivering some documents for his boss, he notices some falcon hunters who seem to be having trouble figuring out what's wrong with one of their birds.

He spots the problem instantly and tells them so, and they laugh at him, so he sighs and goes on his way, but then one of the hunters shows up at his job three days later and it turns out his advice stopped an infection from spreading to the entire eyrie.

Which is very good news for the hunters, because it turns out the birds all belong to the emperor.

And now they want him to come work for them helping care for the emperor's prized falcons.

It's not really an offer he can refuse, even though he really doesn't want to be anywhere closer to politics. He'd been pushing it just being where he already was!

But again, saying no is out of the question. so he ends up in a room in the far corners of the palace and spends his days between the emperor's birds and his own.

He still misses home sometimes. 

But, whatever, it's not like anyone misses him, so he puts it out of his mind as much as possible and keeps his head down... especially on the rare occasion that his boss is hosting visiting cultivators.

There's some kind of fancy banquet being hosted, and his presence is demanded in order to show off the prize birds.

He has a bad feeling about this.

And that feeling only intensifies when he answers the summons and finds himself staring at some very familiar faces.

(Meanwhile back home, Mingjue is struggling to pretend that he doesn't miss and isn't worried about his little brother, but everyone can see he's starting to crack.)

----------

(based on a previous idea)

Huaisang willingly trades all his memories to some magical something-or-other in order to bring his da-ge back to life hale and whole.

Maybe it was before he knew the truth, or because he didn't have time to leave a message, but Nie Mingjue doesn't know that he was murdered, and thus only has his original suspicions and annoyance.

Nie Mingjue looking at his little brother, who is now a complete blank slate. 

He'll have to re-learn even the most basic things like talking or bathing or feeding himself.

He could learn anything, and indeed the possibility of taking the opportunity to make him a proper heir has been brought up by other members of the sect.

He could press upon his brother the importance of training. 

Make him more studious.

(Make him avoid people Nie Mingjue didn't like him associating with.)

But... the whole thing sits sour in his stomach.

Huaisang, for all his annoying faults, had loved him enough to rip out everything that made him Huaisang in order to give back his life and health.

How would it be fair to repay that by turning him into someone wholly unrecognizable?

He decides that the best thing to do would be to take a wait and see approach. 

Perhaps as Huaisang is relearning the basics of how to function, he will show some sign of which direction should be taken, or if the correct answer is in fact somewhere in the middle. 

----------

Huaisang getting stuck in a reverse universe where everyone is the opposite of what he knows (awkwardly funny to see Jin Guangshan as a loving monogamous family man, not nearly as funny to see his brother as a megalomaniacal schemer).

It's also not funny at all to find that in this universe, neither he nor Meng Yao were ever even born at all. Meng Yao for obvious reasons, and him because his mother was discarded by the much crueler reverse-Papa Nie when she started taking ill during her pregnancy.

This place sucks and he's terrified of this strange cold Da-ge who looks at him like a game piece, and all he wants is to go home, but he has no idea how.

(Since everyone's personalities are reversed, that also means a lot more flirtatious yandere assholes among the heirs. They find out Nie Huaisang exists and want to eat this cute little birdie alive.)

----------

There's a sneaky unspoken arrangement that whenever a conference is supposed to take place in Yunmeng, it's always in the dead-hottest part of the summer so that everyone gets to enjoy the eye candy of the Nie sect walking around in almost-skivvies to deal with the heat they aren't used to.

----------

Huaisang should start making friends with bats too. More clever little spies, and Mingjue might end up being more fond of these because of the creepy aesthetic. (Imagine Mingjue opening his arms and bats go flying out of his sleeves. Scares the shit out of some annoying people.)