#he probably never intended for her to see the painting

[fiannans]

Yearning (noun): a strong feeling of wishing for something, especially something that you cannot have or get easily.

[qqueenofhades]

I would like to... gently shake the people going 'Dick Cheney/Alberto Gonzalez/[insert neoconservative architect here] endorsing Harris is entirely and only a bad look for Harris' because that's not the point. And like, I get feeling weird about it (I've been unimpressed with Dick's backpedaling since Liz Cheney got primaried), but: Trump is proving too extreme for THE PEOPLE WHO MADE HIM POSSIBLE. This is their consequences. THAT'S the point.

Look, this is what I think about it: I fucking hate Dick Cheney and all the architects of the Bush Junior neoconservatism-early-aughts-War-on-Terror-Patriot-Act-No-Child-Left-Behinding Republican Party that laid the groundwork for the Tea Party and then for Trump. If there was any justice in the world, Dubya would be at the Hague for a war crimes tribunal and not allowed to sit in Texas painting dogs and enjoying a quiet retirement. But he was fortunate to be the president of the most powerful country in the world, and America doesn't obey international law unless it feels like it, so that's what we get. (And yes, someone asked Dubya if he was going to endorse in 2024, following Cheney, and was told, no doubt with much pious handwringing, that "President Bush retired from presidential politics many years ago." But he's still raising money for MAGA Senate candidates in Pennsylvania, evidently. Fuck you, George W. Bush. Kids these days don't say it enough.)

However, since literally the entire pre-Trump establishment Republican party is now deciding that Trump is too insane, fascist, and dangerous even for them, I'm not surprised but still annoyed that Online Leftist Logic (TM) has translated that to "Harris must secretly be an early-noughties hard-right neocon Republican and that's why they want to vote for her!!!" Most if not all of them have said that they openly disagree with her policies but are voting for her anyway because she is the only way to maintain American constitutional democracy. And yes, we're all shocked that DICK FUCKING CHENEY, architect of the Iraq War and the Patriot Act, felt that there was in fact a line of fascist government overreach that he wasn't willing to cross, but if that's the case -- if even these completely terrible warmongering corporate assholes are like "uh Trump is too bad even for us to support," then you should, I don't know, maybe listen to that. But as ever, I search for logic in vain.

Likewise: Harris has made zero policy concessions to these Republicans and she never went fishing for Cheney's endorsement specifically. She didn't suddenly declare Iraq a totally okay and normal thing in order to get Cheney and his warhawks on board, and yes, Old Dickhead probably has no small amount of personal motive to get back at Trump considering what he did to Liz. But that's the thing where apparently political motives should only ever be pure, moral, and Perfect, and taking the right action for the "wrong" reasons is still disqualifying because you weren't thinking enough pure moral thoughts while you did it, or something. I don't give a fuck why Cheney decided to vote for Harris, because I don't respect his opinion and can't foresee myself ever doing so. But because we are in an unprecedented historical moment where even DICK GODDAMN CHENEY thinks that Donald Trump is too dangerous to ever have power again, I will thank him for doing that and that alone and then tell him to hit the f'n road if he thinks he deserves a scrap of credit or Democratic policy concessions for it. He doesn't. He sucks. But he's still making a choice that we need to see made at this moment, and people who don't get that, as usual, can STFU.

Basically: Cheney's endorsement is not directed at you, and it's not intended to move voters who already fit your profile and therefore think, like I do, that Cheney can eat shit. It's directed to all the career-Republican-politician types who can see him doing that and decide that they can do the same thing. Hell, we just had 17 former staffers of Ronald Reagan announcing their Harris endorsement (in addition to the 200+ Bush, McCain, Romney alumni who already signed on and all the ex-Trump officials at the DNC) and going so far as to insist that Ol' Ronnie Raygun himself would have supported Harris. Now look. I hate Ronald Reagan more than any other twentieth-century president. The degree to which he ALSO laid the groundwork for incredible damage to America cannot be overstated. But because I am not an idiot, I can see that this does not mean Harris has suddenly turned into Reagan in her policies. So. Yeah.

The other thing to note here is that Harris has seen the advantage in cultivating a bipartisan coalition and making a cross-party case for voting her to preserve American democracy. Now, a lot of the Republicans have said that they are going to stay Republicans and they want to purge their party of Trump and MAGAism, they are trying to buy time for that transition to happen by voting for Harris, and while I have never voted for or agreed with a Republican in my whole life, I actually think that's a good thing! I don't WANT to fear the end of American democracy every four years because the Republican Party has become a screaming shitgibboning insane vehicle of American Gilead while inciting stochastic terrorism against Springfield, Ohio and everyone else who doesn't bow down to Trumpist Dear Leader and his KKK alt-right Elon Muskified supporters! I don't WANT this howling fascist conspiracy-theory-puppet-of-Vladimir-Putin black hole of violence to be just what we have to accept as the center-right (except you know, now far-far-far-far-can't-see-it-with-a-telescope-right) party in America! I would prefer it if we had a functioning democracy again where both parties were engaging in fair competitiveness and good faith and had the basic premise of making people's lives better, even if they disagreed about how to do it! I would REALLY like it if we could go back to the days of disagreeing about taxes and foreign policy and social welfare -- you know, NORMAL THINGS -- instead of Commander Vance and the Project 2025 foot soldiers trying to install a theocratic fascist dictatorship! I WOULD LIKE THAT A WHOLE LOT!

That said: I have pretty much reached my limit with asking people to vote. I have done it for 8+ years (since before Trump was elected the first time) and I'm done. Either you know the stakes of this election at this point, or you're so blindly and stupidly committed to misunderstanding them that there's nothing I or anyone else can possibly do to convince you. I still see people posting a lot of stuff from the bad-faith anti-democratic leftist cranks and arguing with them endlessly and... why? Why? Why are you giving them the oxygen and exposure that they crave, and which is giving them more attention than anyone else is giving them? Block them. Mute them. STOP ENGAGING WITH EVERYTHING THEY SAY EVEN IF YOU'RE TRYING TO REFUTE IT. It's not going to work, and at this point, it's not remotely conducive to winning this election. The Great Myth of the Undecided Voter (TM) is another one that, I hope, can finally bite the dust, and the actual undecided voters who are out there are not the ones posting dirtbag leftist bullshit about Harris on The Website Formerly Known as Twitter. This election is now completely down to a numbers game: who can make their identified voters turn out to vote. So please. Spend your time and energy on reaching those folks, who might want to or have said they will vote but need a push or extra help to make sure they do.

That being the case, if lifelong Republicans want to vote for Harris and help defeat a Trump dictatorship, they're actually being more helpful for the cause of American democracy than every single shrieking Online Leftist out there, and maybe they should think about that. I'm amused at how they still think they can make demands of the Democrats, because -- when your entire plan from the word go has been "I'm not voting for the Democrats and there's nothing you can do to make me!!!" -- why are you surprised that they don't take your thoughts and opinions into account? That's the basic simplest Democracy 101 version of how electoral politics works. If you have removed yourself from their voter pool and laugh and scoff at any suggestion that you should enter it, then they're not gonna listen to you or think that they should make policy to appease you (which is good, because most of these people are fucking nuts). That's why they're blowing a gasket disowning AOC, still one of the most left-wing members in the House, because she wants to actually win and make real changes in society and has reached a happy-ish marriage with the Democratic party, instead of virtuously losing her seat and becoming irrelevant like some other members of the Squad who got primaried out this year. And the Democrats have accepted many of AOC's views as mainstream policy! She didn't change, but she stayed in the party and worked with it, and the party as a whole is moving to where she was all along. But because any hint of compromise or working to get results, rather than just posting self-righteous screeds on the internet, is Bad, she had to go, I guess. Or something.

Anyway. That's the that on that. If you want to win this election, target and talk to the people who have already identified themselves as likely or possible voters, they just need that extra push to become definite voters. I'm over the anti-democratic hypocritical leftist cranks as much as I am the screaming shitgibboning racist-mob-inciting fascists. If it takes some Republicans gritting their teeth and getting on board the "let's save American democracy" boat with me, then fine. They're actually willing to do the smallest tiny thing to make that outcome come about, and that means, for right now, they are the enemy of my enemy and I'll accept their help. After that, I would in fact like it if we had a sane center-right party again, once Trump is in jail and we can fumigate the MAGA rot. It's up to them.

[writingdumpster]

bob’s shirt

pairing: Bob Floyd x reader

warnings: none

summary: When you wear Bob’s shirt to The Hard Deck, your secret relationship is found out. Reader’s callsign is Fox.

You and Bob had been secretly dating for four months. You weren’t sure why it was still a secret and neither was Bob, but neither of you was willing to admit to the other that you wanted to tell people. Phoenix knew, because she was tenacious in her interrogations.

“Why are you in such a good mood today?” Phoenix asked.

“I’m normally in a good mood,” Bob said.

“Yeah, but not this good. You keep smiling at nothing.” Bob glanced over at you across the lecture hall. Phoenix followed his eyeline. “Oh my god,” she gasped.

“What?” Bob muttered, his eyes still on you.

“You and Fox finally hooked up, didn’t you?” Phoenix whispered. Bob’s neck snapped to look over at her in shock.

“What? No!” He exclaimed in a whisper. “I mean we have but—we aren’t—Fox and I—” He stuttered. Phoenix let a grin spread across her face.

“It wasn’t just a hookup, was it?” She asked. Bob blushed. He looked at you and then back at Phoenix.

“We’ve been dating for three months. It’s our anniversary,” he admitted. Phoenix smiled at Bob. She had never seen him look so happy. “Don’t tell anyone, please.”

“Secret’s safe with me, Bob,” she assured him.

That’s how you ended up taking two cars to The Hard Deck even though the both of you had left from Bob’s place and intended to return there when the night was done. When you arrived Bob was quick to order your drinks while you went to sit with the others.

“Is that Bob’s shirt, Fox?” Hangman asked with a grin as you sat down at the table nearest the piano. You looked down and realized you were in Bob’s University of Montana shirt. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you struggled to think of a response. Rooster and Fanboy had caught wind of the conversation and were now looking in your direction.

“No,” you lied.

“Really? Didn’t you go to school in California?” Fanboy asked, smirking as he lifted his beer to his lips.

“I don’t know where it’s from,” you said, trying to shut down the conversation.

“I swear I’ve seen Bob in a shirt like that before,” Rooster piped in.

“Maybe he has one like it,” you said. Bob walked up to sit beside you, handing you your drink.

“Bob! Don’t you have a shirt like the one Fox is wearing?” Hangman smirked as he pointed to your shirt. Bob’s eyes met yours and he saw the embarrassment painting your face. The two of you had clearly been found out.

“Erm…I don’t think so,” he said, a blush rising across his cheeks.

“You went to the University of Montana, though, didn’t you?” Rooster pushed.

“Ye—yeah,” Bob stuttered.

“Do you know anyone else who went to the University of Montana, Fox?” Hangman questioned.

“I don’t know. I think I got this at a thrift store,” you lied.

“Why would you pick that out?” Fanboy teased you.

“It was probably cheap,” you tried.

“Everything at thrift stores is cheap,” Hangman pointed out. You were totally flustered and unsure what to say.

“I don’t—It was—I think—”

“We’ve been dating for four months,” Bob interrupted. It was very out of character for him to be so bold, but he had been having trouble watching your nerves build while you were talking to Hangman. Your head snapped to look at him, surprised by his confession.

“Four months?” Coyote asked in shock.

“I told you,” Phoenix said snappily. “You owe me ten bucks.”

“You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!” Bob exclaimed.

“It doesn’t matter, Bob. We could all tell,” Fanboy said.

“How?” You asked.

“You hold hands every time you leave base,” Payback said.

“Yeah, but not till we get to the parking lot,” Bob countered.

“Yeah, cause we can’t see in the parking lot,” Fanboy teased.

“I told you that we shouldn’t,” you chided Bob. He shrugged.

“Couldn’t wait any longer,” he said.

“For a stealth pilot, you’re pretty bad at being undercover,” Hangman joked. Bob just smiled. The conversation moved away from you and Bob and everyone was animatedly discussing the base’s latest arrival of students. Bob scooted his chair closer to yours and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his body and kissing your forehead. You smiled and leaned into him. It was nice to feel like the two of you could really be together in front of everyone.

You left The Hard Deck hand in hand. Bob walked you to your car. He stopped you as you arrived at your door.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you?” You asked.

“I told everyone about us,” Bob said.

“It was pretty clear that they already knew,” you replied.

“That’s not the same as telling them though,” Bob said. You smiled softly at his thoughtfulness.

“I’m glad they know, Bobby,” you assured him. “We can be together everywhere now.” Bob smiled softly. There was a small pause. You could tell by looking at Bob that something was wrong and you were about to ask him when he blurted out:

“I love you.” The look on Bob’s face when he told you was one of pure admiration. He hadn’t been planning on telling you he loved you, but it had become impossible for him to hold it in any longer.

“I love you too, Robby,” you said with a smile.

“Really?” He asked in disbelief. You chuckled.

“Really. It’s hard not to fall in love with a sweet mid-western boy who kisses you like you’re gonna die,” you said. Bob laughed.

“If you weren’t so pretty, I wouldn’t have to kiss you so much,” he teased.

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m pretty then,” you said. Bob smiled. He grabbed your waist and pulled you in for a sweet kiss, his lips warm against yours. You leaned forward to give him one last peck when you pulled apart.

“Go get in your car. I’ll meet you at home,” you said.

“Home?” Bob asked with a smile. You blushed as you realized your mistake, but you decided not to retreat.

“Yeah. Home.”

[lialacleaf]

A Touch Too Personal

Chapter 2

Summary: You had a crush on Ghost since you started working for Price in communications, but the gruff, reserved Lieutenant only acknowledged your existence on the job. That starts to change with a simple, thoughtful gift. Warnings: Fluff, Simon is bad at processing emotions, past trauma

Imposter Syndrome is often described as feeling unworthy of good things. There’s no basis for this feeling, it’s simply a learned reaction.

It’s exactly how Simon felt after you’d given him that blanket.

He’d never gone out of his way to do anything nice for you. Hell, he barely regarded you when he dropped off his mission reports, which he now felt badly about. Being in that stuffy little office was probably bad enough, but being disregarded entirely by the people who counted on you was probably even worse.

After his most recent mission, he’d actually been too nervous to see you, and sent them in with Gaz. He’d fully intended to deliver them himself, and profusely thank you for the gift, but he had gotten stuck a few steps from your door, and aborted the mission entirely.

He felt like such a screw up, which lead him to his current predicament.

“You wanna do what now?” Soap asked as he sipped his morning coffee in the break room.

“I wanna get her a gift.” Ghost said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Why?”

Ghost was silent for a moment, starring Soap down with his piercing gaze. “Just ‘cause,” he said stiffly.

“You mean ‘cause of your blankie?” Soap teased and Ghost’s eyes widened. “Ah man she was so proud of that thing, couldn’t wait to give it to you.”

Ghost felt his face grow warm beneath his mask. “Alright, yes. She got me a gift, it’s only proper I do the same,” he said stiffly. “What do you usually get her?”

Soap took a long sip of his coffee. “Nothin’ at all.”

Ghost glared at him. “What?”

“You heard me. She doesn’t do it for something in return. She does it for the smile, the hug, and the thank you.” Ghost felt his blood go cold. “You gave her a hug, right L.T.?” Soap asked.

Ghost stared at him for a second or two, before turning on his heel and rushing out of the break room. Soap simply sighed and shook his head.

He was awful. An Awful, stupid, heartless creature. He needed to fix this, and fast, otherwise you might never regard him fondly ever again, and such an idea was suddenly very alarming despite his general disinterest in you as of a few days ago.

You’d done something so sweet for him, and he’d responded callously. He didn’t deserve the gift you’d given him.

Now he was faced with the challenge of making things right, but he didn’t know anything about you. What was he supposed to do that would redeem him in your eyes?

Soap said you liked actions more than receiving things in return. He could work with that.

~

Your fingers clacked away at your keyboard as the sun began to set, casting an orange glow through your open office window. You were sulking, hiding in your office so you didn’t risk running into him at the mess hall for dinner.

You’d finished your work an hour ago, but you were hoping if you waited until the tail end of the meal he’d be gone.

You felt so stupid, like you may as well have painted a clown face on and paraded around base telling everyone that you were a joke.

It could have been worse, you tried to reason. He could have simply not accepted it. It would have broke your heart if that had been his reaction.

With a sigh, you closed your laptop and pushed it into your bag. You could sulk more comfortably in your bunk. There was no reason to prolong your suffering in your hard-backed office chair.

Your tired feet carried you back to your room as your mind wandered. Did you really think that the Lieutenant Ghost would take an interest in someone like you? You weren’t anything special. Not like him and the rest of 141. You'd been so mystified by him that your brain had completely thrown logic out the window.

When you finally arrived at your room, there was a small, tan sticky note stuck to your door, and your brow furrowed.

My room, 20:00 -Ghost.

You felt your stomach drop. Was he mad at you? Was he going to tell you off for inappropriately giving him a gift?

You let out a sigh, shaking your head as you opened your door. You were too tired to think too long on it and instead focused on stripping your work clothes off in exchange for a comfy pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

You didn’t feel like going to the mess, even though you were starving, so you threw a package of noodles into your hot-pot and called it a day.

You didn’t bother putting on your work shoes when you slipped out to meet your Lieutenant, and slid on a pair of comfy slippers.

You knocked softly at his door, feeling awkward as a group of soldiers passed you in the hallway. You couldn't help but feel as if their whispers were somehow about you as if you were now the butt of a joke.

You hated feeling so anxious, so out of place. It was as if the rest of the world was laughing at you while you, emotionally speaking, tripped over your own feet.

His door opened with a creak, and your eyes flicked up from your feet to stare at the balaclava covering his face, not quite meeting his gaze.

You both stood quietly as you assessed each other, until he moved from the doorway and gestured for you to enter.

“Rough day?” He asked, taking in your disheveled state. His eyes seemed to linger on your slouched shoulders.

“Just long,” you stated, glancing around the room. You paused however when your gaze landed on his bed.

His blanket lay neatly folded at the foot of it, and you felt your heart jump to your throat. It was clear that he had been using it.

“Price said you’ve been working overtime.”

You jumped at the sound of his voice, and the feeling of his hand on your shoulders and he pushed you to sit on his bed.

“There’s been a lot to do,” you said, situating yourself comfortably. A lie, but you doubted he cared about what you did anyway. Your work probably didn't seem very important to him.

He hummed in response, cupping your cheeks as he gazed down at you. You felt your heart stutter as his thumbs gently dug behind your ear, rubbing soothing circles all the way to your collarbones.

“Lieutenant?” You asked in confusion.

“Hmm?” He hummed, massaging your biceps with his large, calloused hands.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes slide closed. “What…what are you doing?”

“Making sure you feel appreciated.”

You felt your face heat up at his words as he pushed you to lay on your back, massaging your calf muscles, before moving to your ankles and feet.

Appreciated didn't even begin to describe what you felt.

"You do an awful lot for us. Wanted to make sure you knew we see it."

You felt floaty, a soft feeling blanketing your mind as the day’s stress melted away. You tried to stay awake, but your body felt heavy, the intoxicating smell of Ghost lingering in your nose as a result of being in his space, and before you knew it you were softly snoring.

Ghost watched you carefully, pushing a stray hair out of your face and running his gloved thumb across your cheek.

You’d looked exhausted when you’d arrived, and he was glad to see you resting, even if it was in his bed. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he scooted in beside you. The blanket was big enough for the both of you after all. You'd made sure of that.

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[sunshine-jesse]

In defense of Andrew Graves: Facing Yourself​

Alt title: Andrew Graves: The Will to Plow Her

I think my analysis of Andrew is one of the best essays I've written so far. But since then, I think I've expanded my understanding of his character in a way that urges me to add on to my prior essay. What I intend on doing is further fleshing out my reading of Burial, and going deeper in detail on why I think Decay ends up panning out the way it does. This essay will end up sharing a lot of text with my prior one, but will add enough scattered throughout that I think it merits a complete reread instead of just scrolling down and seeing what's new.

I've focused a lot on Ashley in my past writings. She's my favorite character in the story (and depending on how episode 3 pans out, maybe ever) and I'm pretty mortified by how some parts of the fandom have reacted towards her, so I pretty much made it my life's mission to push back against that. From highlighting the ways Andrew mistreats her, to coming up with justifications for her behavior that aren't just being a manipulative bitch, I really wanted to prove that a more favorable picture of her could be painted than most were willing to.

But in doing so, I've left Andrew in the dust.

In highlighting his flaws and the ways he mistreats Ashley, I think I've implied a level of intentionality to his actions that I don't believe he has. When I say that Ashley did nothing wrong, it's in direct response to the idea that she holds the most responsibility and agency in how their dynamic plays out, when in reality, I believe she has very little. Most of her actions in-story are in reaction to a variety of stimuli that come directly from Andrew, that he has control over and are aware of how Ashley feels about. His refusal to use clear and direct language to deny her most toxic tendencies causes her more and more stress as time goes on, and instead of giving her clear answers he opts to be catty, passive-aggressive, or, at his worst, threatening. Never direct and never clear, except when establishing boundaries over his name after the choking scene. Andrew fails to help Ashley be better in some frankly depressing ways throughout the whole story, especially in their childhoods, so we never get to see where she'd fall short if given a better influence.

...

Kind of. More on that later!

In mentioning his thing about preferring to be called Andrew instead of Andy, I also implicitly mention one of the places where Ashley falls short in their dynamic and could stand to do better: recognition.

This scene says a lot. It's the most heartbreaking scene in the game, if you ask me, and probably the single most profound and well-written moment in the entire story. I could write a whole 2000 word essay on it alone, but I've already said most of what I have to say about it through what I've said in other essays, so I'll spare you all that. Instead, I'll use it to highlight something:

"I had fun."

Their dysfunction is fun to her. She's so used to abuse and alienation that even the most awful, stressful (as far as we know) route of the game is still fun to her. And that's not a sign of her being a secret evil sociopath or whatever; that's actually not abnormal behavior to develop for a lifelong victim of abuse. Those highs and lows, those strong emotional highs and lows are -addicting-. They're -fun.- Part of why abuse victims get into so many abusive relationships is because it's easy to pick up on those patterns of thought and take advantage of them, and the cycle of abuse is often furthered when a victim of abuse tries to draw out mutually abusive behaviors in someone with no interest in having that kind of dynamic.

This is where I'm willing to acknowledge Ashley's manipulative tendencies. Not just as a matter of controlling Andrew for its own sake, purely out of jealousy or possessiveness, but as a matter of trying to further the only dynamic she's ever known in her life. Better the devil you know, right?

That push and pull- that emotional rollercoaster- is all many of us know. And it's all Ashley knows. This dynamic is something she's so used to that she reacts incredibly harshly to any attempt to change it, because she doesn't know that things can be better. Because of this, she refuses to engage with who Andrew really is, and tells herself- and him- that she *hates* Andrew:

This scene is almost as heartbreaking as the above one in a lot of ways.

Andrew putting his foot down about the Andy/Andrew name dichotomy wasn't arbitrary and it wasn't just about his comfort. It was about Andrew giving a clear indication about what needs to happen for their relationship to improve. He's recognizing the cycle between them and wants to put a stop to it, because he's confident that things between them CAN get better and evolve into something healthier. Ashley, not understanding that their dynamic can get better, because their "fun" little push and pull of abuse is all she knows, rejects that. She rejects the unknown, and says- in Andrew's mind at least- that she'll never accept that new dynamic, nor will she accept who he really is.

Ouch. No wonder he looks so sad in that screenshot.

They have a conflict of understanding here, and I think it's fair to pin most of the responsibility on Ashley. Andrew was clear in what he wanted, and Ashley just... Didn't. She didn't see the importance of it ("...whatever that means in practice") and didn't really ask. This gap in communication, perfectly displayed in this scene, is likely what causes the Decay ending. He wants things to be better, and wants to treat Ashley better, and whether or not he understands the ways in which she communicates with him is in part what determines what he sees her as.

But there's a lot of evidence that he always wanted things to be better, that he always wanted to treat her better. But external factors have made it very, very difficult, and I think there are two key points in which he started to shed the importance of those external factors and seek that better relationship, both of which happening in the apartment: The killing of the warden and the 302 lady. In the first case, he was forced to do it to protect Ashley in a way he hadn't done before, or depending on how you look at it, since the death of Nina. But the intentionality was the key point here. After this point, he calls Ashley Leyley, which may or may not seem important at this point, but it's something I'll draw attention to later, so keep that in mind.

Next is the killing of the 302 lady, which is the much, much bigger point. We don't learn much about it until later on- as at first he just gives an excuse about the nail gun that doesn't line up with what we see on the map- but during the dream, it's revealed it was a calculated, intentional killing that he did to make sure there was no evidence left behind, and because Ashley (supposedly) would've wanted him to do it anyway. I say supposedly because Ashley herself doesn't seem to ever want Andrew to kill for her past Nina's death, because he only ever kills for her to defend one or both of them. If you want more evidence that violence for violence's sake isn't something she wants, look at this part in the final dream:

A knife isn't what opens the door, despite it being placed on the ground in that very map. While it seems obvious that the knife (violence) would be the key to solving the puzzle, it's put there explicitly to show you that it isn't. It's not what she wants; what she wants is a flower.

So, why is this important? Why am I centering Ashley- again- when this essay is supposed to be about Andrew?

It's because these two killings are when Andrew's self-delusion over who he really is starts to break down. It's still there, mind, as he still relies upon Ashley as an excuse to justify it, but, as well as what I've said before, the name ultimatum is an implicit confession that the normalcy he finds comfort in is starting to lose its grasp on him. There's a lot that's been said about Andy being something close to a "moral impulse" for Andrew, given his child self's reaction to Nina's death being the only thing he does that approximates a normal moral response to his and Ashley's actions, but if you do think that- which I think is a reasonable thing to think even if I don't necessarily agree- there's something you must also keep in mind:

-He- is the one who doesn't want to be called that anymore. -He- is the one who wants to let that moral impulse go, and Ashley is the one making it difficult.

That reading is assuming that Andy is a moral impulse, which I think is... either wrong or too simplistic. Every time I see that reading, it's from someone who's trying to paint him too sympathetically and absolve him of most moral responsibility. I also find it infantilizing to equate morality with childhood in such a way? But that's another tangent that I didn't sign up to talk about. What I do think, however, is that it's a useful framing device to display his own relationship with morality; the allegory to his child self doesn't have to be there for the general pattern to exist.

When Ashley starts to grill Andrew over the killing of the 302 lady, he gets mad. Very mad. Ashley sees it as pointless, as him covering his own ass, but he genuinely did it for her sake, because he thought that's what she wanted, and that it'd make her happy. But what makes her happy isn't violence- or any similarly extreme action for that matter- it's attention and validation. Something he's always reluctant to give her, despite the fact that he always chose her over the alternatives. But despite making that choice, it's always empty and meaningless, because in Ashley's mind, he never did it for her sake.

And hoo boy, does he not like it being framed like this.

He is perfectly willing to do whatever it takes to keep them happy and safe... but only for her sake. It has to be for her sake. He still needs that traditional role, and he still needs to have a narrative in which he's the good guy- a protector. Because it can't be for his sake. It can't be because that's what he wants. He has to uphold that romantic (in the literary tradition sense) ideal. His darkly romantic idealistic streak colors many of his actions and beliefs. This is most plainly visible in his quip about a double suicide being romantic, but it's also visible within the symbolism present within his dream, such as how he can only pave his own path in blood unless Ashley lights the way. It's visible within his appreciation for poetry, and it's visible with how the cultist within the dream speaks in Shakespearean English.

But the transient nature of this ideal is also revealed within this dream, because there's never a cohesive, guided path, even with Ashley there to light it up. Contrary to Ashley's dream, where you literally have maps showing you where to go, Andrew's dream has many more dead ends and no map to guide him. The symbolic role he acts out gives him no clarity, and there's no overarching narrative; merely a bunch of disconnected symbols.

This is contrasted with Ashley's dream, which has narratives so clear that the story literally gives the dream an episode title.

In a sense, he wants to view himself as an actor acting out a role in a story. He wants his life to be poetic, to represent something greater, and to have a cohesive narrative. This is why he's so disconnected from his true desires: He's more concerned with acting as a representative of an ideal than a person with agency. But every time the mask drops, every time he stops acting, his true self becomes visible. He naturally settles into being comfortable around Ashley, in treating her with warmth and kindness, and their banter becomes much less toxic. As intent as he is on acting out his role, it does nothing for him, and as his dream sequence shows, it doesn't even form a cohesive narrative, because he can't act one out. It's too contrary to who he really is, and what he really wants. But that idealization doesn't just apply to himself, it also applies to Ashley. Specifically, who Ashley is, vs who he wants her to be.

In his unique dream sequence, he sees two versions of Ashley; the child version of her- Leyley- and the adult version of her- Ashley. And the differences in the ways he interacts with the two of them are stunning. Leyley is an obstinate, annoying child. She's the one he NEEDS to take care of, and he hates that. He hates Leyley for what she did for his childhood. He hates that he needs to provide for her. He has the option of trying to kill her, even, over something as small as a candle!

But in the room with all the murders, the gilded cage, he sees Ashley as an adult. This version of Ashley is stuck in a closet that he himself has to open- and to choose to see. Their interactions are calm and friendly. She teases him a bit, sure, but she's still helpful, and they have fun together. He doesn't need her, and she doesn't need him. He needed Leyley- needed the candle- but here, there are other limbs strewn about for him to take. And, crucially, he doesn't even have the option to kill this Ashley for one of the limbs.

And during the choking scene, he lets her go the moment she acknowledges that he doesn't need her anymore. This is the first time we know of that he seems comfortable enough to set a clear boundary, which is acknowledging that their prior dynamic is dead and that they're now Andrew and Ashley, not Andy and Leyley. It's a bit late to express a clear boundary -after- literally acting like he was going to kill someone, but it's the first time we know of that he sets a clear standard for what, in his mind, would improve his relationship with Ashley.

After all, what he wants is to want her, not need her. He wants Ashley for Ashley's sake. Not for what she can provide him. He doesn't even need her for sleep, he just wants her. But Ashley has trouble acknowledging this, because he's never before shown that WANT. Only a NEED. She keeps trying to find ways to make him need her, because she's never seen what his desire for her is really like. She's only ever seen him desiring someone else, someone other than her.

She's only ever seen him as Andy, because she's never truly seen Andrew, only the violence he can inflict on others. But Andrew can see both:

He can see Leyley, the needy, bratty child who always needs his attention, that he needs to provide for. The one he hates and wants to get rid of. The one he kills for to protect.

And he can see Ashley, the one who engages in friendly and cute banter with him. Who comforts and shows him physical affection. The one he loves. The one he kills for to make happy.

He just can't choose which one he wants to see. Every outside influence- from his parents, to Julia, to Nina- makes him see her as Leyley. Ashley herself makes him see her as Leyley too, whenever she brings up all the things he did for her, and calls him Andy, his child self, instead of Andrew, his current self. And as long as he sees that child, he feels like one too, and can never give Ashley anything that comes from the heart.

But he really, really wants to see Ashley as an adult. He wants to take pride in her, how much she's grown, and how driven and competent she really is.

But god damn, does that bitch ever make it hard, because there IS no real difference between Ashley and Leyley. She's grown and changed over time, taking more adult (and stereotypically feminine) responsibility upon herself, but the fact that her temperament and personality hasn't changed much obfuscates that growth. When you talk to Ashley in the closet during the dream after getting the limb, Andrew asks Ashley to come out of the closet, but she refuses to come out because he won't invite Leyley over to play, which is a pretty strong metaphor for how he interfaces with different aspects of Ashley's personality and refuses to accept others. But the reality is that he needs to accept both, or rather, see her whole self as Ashley, rather than just the parts he likes.

In the end, it's him who has to make the choice how to see her. Ashley can only see what she's been shown, but Andrew can choose.

And in the basement scene, he makes that choice.

If Ashley refuses to leave him alone with their parents, that's it. In one of the most critical and important moments of his life, she couldn't give him the space needed to make up his own mind. She couldn't treat him as an adult. She couldn't see him as Andrew. If she does give him that choice, she chooses to acknowledge that Andrew is an adult who can be trusted to make his own decisions, even though she (perhaps foolishly) believes that this choice lines up with her own interests. And frankly it does either way, but in accepting their mom's offer, her chooses to see her as Leyley once and for all. He chooses not to reciprocate what Ashley showed him. He does it because he needs to, not because he wants to. Because it's his duty, not his desire.

This is what results in the Decay ending. Through his inability to see Ashley as an adult, he surrenders his agency and views all of his actions as an extension of his responsibilities, his role, which he no longer wishes to uphold. He dissociates fully from who he really is, acting in accordance with that disconnected, barely-cohesive narrative that exists only within his mind. The game starts to resemble the heartwrenching tragedy that many seem to take for granted that it is, as their dynamic fully doubles down on its painful toxicity. And, in an example of a poetic book end, Ashley's dream shows a double suicide, closing the book on their tragic tale.

It's tragic. It's heartwrenching. It's poetic. It's beautiful.

...Except it's not. Not at all.

It's actually fucking stupid, pointless, and brutal, and Burial shows us that. When we view their spiral as beautiful, we project the same darkly romantic ideal that Andrew possesses onto the story.

But the actual reality is horrifying.

Ashley spends most of Decay terrified of Andrew, the one person she found comfort in. He acts cold, distant, and aggressive towards her, showing pointless cruelty instead of any warmth. All she wants is comfort; all she wants is to not die. She doesn't want to engage in this death spiral at all, and, in her dream sequence, shows none of the same willingness to die alongside Andrew that Andrew does with her. The moment we stop focusing on the end of the Decay dream sequence, which has very striking imagery, and if you choose not to shoot, one of the most beautiful scenes in the game, we can see it for what it really is:

A scared animal running away from a predator.

The moment you see Decay through Ashley's eyes, and not the perspective of some romantic ideal, Decay becomes terrifying, tense, and painful. There is no catharsis to be had in this tragedy. It's easily avoidable as long as Andrew chooses to engage with reality, and not the empty promises of his mother and incoherent narrative of his ideal.

Finding beauty and meaning in tragedy is how we cope with the harshness of reality. But there is no coherent narrative to the tragedies we experience, just like there's no coherent narrative to the ideal Andrew wishes to uphold. It's something we create- that he creates- but it's not something that actually exists.

And when Andrew casts aside his desire for that ideal, and the responsibilities it shackles him to, it grants him clarity that he never had before. He sees the world for how it really is, and acknowledges that nobody- the least of which their mother- is as different from Ashley as they pretend to be.

They're no better than her, and he's tired of people pretending that they are. People are all the same, no matter what ideals they try to uphold and represent. They still sacrifice others in the name of advancing themselves, still punch down whenever they can, and still lay blame on those beneath them rather than try to take control of their lives. They just use those ideals to justify themselves, but Ashley, and now Andrew, reject even the need for that justification.

This is why I believe the story is nihilistic. Not in that it asserts the inherent meaninglessness of life, but in that it grapples with the ideals we uphold and how they obfuscate the reality of the world we live in. The story, intentionally or not, highlights how ideals are often but a pretense we use to justify what we were likely going to do regardless, and how holding to them too strongly can lead to our ruin- and how monstrous they make us look to those who do not share them.

Consequently, this is how I view the part of the fanbase who thinks Decay is a good ending.

(the characters themselves represent existentialism rather than nihilism but i couldn't really fit that analysis in here without it feeling forced so i might cover that another time)

From that point on, their relationship becomes a lot more friendly, lighthearted, and playful. They ironically start acting more like children, but to quote CS Lewis:

"Critics who treat adult as a term of approval, instead of as a merely descriptive term, cannot be adult themselves. To be concerned about being grown up, to admire the grown up because it is grown up, to blush at the suspicion of being childish; these things are the marks of childhood and adolescence."

He's not ashamed of being playful with Ashley, or showing affection towards her. He's grown up. He finally sees her, and himself, as an adult- although he still doesn't show that in full until much later on (more or that later). But in Decay, he still sees her as a child, and to an extent, probably himself. Let's compare the ways in which he reacts to being called Andy. In Decay, he lashes out at Ashley and gets angry, even threatening her. But in Questionable Burial, he calmly says that Andy is dead and doesn't need Ashley's comfort, but still tries to reassure her that she's still needed. He's not ashamed of or hostile towards their prior dynamic, because he's grown past it. He still acknowledges Ashley's need to feel needed, but here, he recognizes its importance to her, whereas he was hostile towards it before.

It's a display of respect towards her feelings.

This interaction doesn't happen in the Sane ending, however. He doesn't play games with her and is just a lot less fun to be around all together. Why is that? Because he still hasn't yet shaken viewing Ashley as Leyley there. He still views her as a burden, as someone who needs taking care of. He's calmly accepted that, too, mind you, but he lacks respect for her because she's still a child, in his mind. But in Questionable?

The vision did more than just make him extremely embarrassed and lay his deepest desires bare. It forced him to recognize Ashley as an adult. When choosing between "Never" and "Never say never," if Never is chosen, the burden of thought is lifted off of him. But if Ashley chooses "Never say never!", he has to reckon with the fact that Ashley is an adult, someone who can consent to those kinds of things. Someone who MIGHT. Someone who has agency, and can make her own decisions. And more importantly… someone who can trust him to make his own.

Whether he desires sex or not is secondary; he's always had those feelings and has always been ashamed of them. But now that the part of him where that shame came from is dead and buried, there's no childish impulse to grow up. There's no attachment to the hate and bitterness he had before. Look at what he worries about when he picks up that she's uncertain or confused about who he is now:

​

It's her feelings.

He wants to be fun to be around. He wants to make Ashley happy. He loves her, and not as a romantic interest or even as a sibling. He loves her independent of all that baggage.

He loves her as a person.

Their relationship runs contrary to societal ideals in some pretty huge ways. So contrary, in fact, that it's hard for some to accept it as anything good, that it can ever be best for the people involved. It's incestuous. It involves them killing and eating their parents. It involves them distancing themselves so much from society that it's hard to believe they'll ever fit in it again. It's chaotic, it's messy, it's codependent, and maybe even toxic. And yet, here they are. They're coexisting. They're happy. They're healing. They're navigating the world in the only way they can: together.

Meanwhile, in Decay, Andrew refuses to allow himself to get closer to Ashley. He surrenders all agency to her, buys into his own narrative, drinks his own Kool-Aid, and may or may not condemn one or both of them to death in the process. Like it or not, the only path where Andrew takes ownership of his life is the one where he's closest to his sister. It's the one where he decides where they will go next, the one where he decides his own feelings matter, and acts in accordance with what he wants instead of how he thinks he should act.

His agency, his freedom, and his growth don't happen in spite of his codependency; they're happen because of it. They can't grow alone. They can't heal alone.

In reading the story, one must interrogate how important those societal ideals are in the face of the realities of what makes people happy. Are those ideals worth upholding in spite of this? Can we really allow people to fall through the cracks in the name of social norms? Can we blame people for taking rash actions when the social contract has failed them?

Or are we so blinded by those ideals that we can't see that people can be happy while blatantly disregarding them?

All I know is that in Burial, Andrew, having cast aside normalcy, now appears to be truly happy for the first time in his life.

Who are we to take that from him?

[kayr0ss]

Rosewood

[Dungeon Meshi / Delicious in Dungeon, Farcille, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Proposal Fic, Woodworking / Furniture Making, Fluff and Humor, Touden Siblingisms] AO3 Link

Summary: Falin gets into woodworking, is kind of a (loveable) idiot, and Marcille loves every second of it

I.

“I believe us tall-men call it a quarter-life crisis.”

“How is it a crisis?” Marcille glared at Kabru. “Now that the kingdom’s relatively stable, she’s probably just looking for something new to do with her free time.”

Marcille ran into him at the tradesman’s courtyard—a rectangular wing of the castle with an open garden in the center. This wing housed wide rooms with high ceilings and windows facing the garden to flood them with natural light. Some were used for textiles and tailoring, others for working metal. Another section—Marcille’s intended destination—was for putting together and repairing furniture. She had stopped herself at the room’s threshold at the sight of ash-blonde hair, leaning against the doorway to allow herself a minute to just… look.

And that’s when Kabru found her—such terrible timing. She was trying to enjoy herself!

“That’s what a quarter-life crisis is,” he insisted.

Marcille scoffed. “Why can’t we just call it a hobby?”

“I mean we can.” Kabru hummed thoughtfully. “Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Falin’s interest in woodworking hadn’t come up out of the blue. Marcille remembers her having a small collection of books on it—as early as their school days. She’d read about Izgandan tools and scribble notes on the margins of her book on Eastern joinery. Marcille fondly remembers how she’d complain about neck pains—too much reading did her no favors—how she’d sigh to Falin about wanting a bookstand.

Oh, Falin had said back then. I’ll just make you one.

And she did—even if it took her a few years to get around to it.

It sat at the center of Marcille’s desk—Falin’s first ever project, imperfect and a little funny-looking but Marcille would never have it any other way. In a few short months, Falin had graduated from making cutting boards to specialized barstools for Chilchuck. Her most recent completion was a knife block for Senshi.

Today, she was starting on something new.

The most beautiful slab of rosewood was laid out on Falin’s work bench, and it seemed like she was working on flattening it. Falin worked with a large hand-planer, running it across the wood at an angle from its grain. Back and forth she went, spilling sawdust and shavings across the floor. Marcille couldn’t help but watch—she watched the way Falin’s arms moved with each pass, her brows knit together in a look of concentration. She watched the way Falin paused to fold up the sleeves of her loose, cotton shirt—further up to her elbows until Marcille could see tufts of soft, beautiful feathers. Marcille kept watching. Even as Falin wiped the sweat off her brow, running a towel across the side of her neck while she steadied her breathing. Still, Marcille kept watching—until finally, Falin gripped the handles of the planer again—her hands strong and steady, placing the tool back into position on the rosewood—

Kabru cleared his throat and Marcille quickly wondered if she could get away with murder.

“Wha—!” Marcille felt her blood pressure pitch into the high heavens. She burned, red, sputtering. “What are you even still doing here! I thought you were working?!”

“I am. It’s my job to remind the Royal Court Mage,” Kabru smiled diplomatically. “To stop ogling Lady Falin so openly in public.”

Kabru ducked—expertly dodging Ambrosia’s arc towards the back of his head.

--

II.

“What kind of wood is it?”

Marcille ran her hand along the scabbard Falin had crafted for Laios. She didn’t cover it with leather or paint, instead opting to stain it with a mild oil. Marcille had never seen wood with such odd grain patterns and color before. They curved almost anatomically, swirling into knots and unraveling like blood vessels.

“Uhm—It’s—” Falin looked to the corner of the room, nervously scratching at her check.

Marcille raised an eyebrow—then Laios excitedly barreled into the room.

“Falin!” He ran towards them, towering over his sister’s back and ruffling her hair.

“Get off!” Falin pouted, swatting him away. “Don’t ruffle my hair!”

“Did you finish it?” Laios blinked. Then he gasped, grabbing the scabbard excitedly from Marcille’s hands. “You did! My barometz scabbard!”

Marcille shrieked. “Barometz?!”

“Look, Marcille!” Laios held the scabbard right at her face—Marcille recoiled, pressing backwards against Falin who held wrapped her arms around her waist. “Do you see how the pattern branches out? It looks like wood grain but it’s actually a network of capillaries designed to provide nourishment to the creatures a baromtez grows—”

“Like a placenta!” Falin added softly.

“Exactly!” Laios laughed. “I have a sheath made out of—"

Marcille, exasperated, shoved her hands onto the two siblings’ faces to push them apart. “Barometz!?”

Falin flashed her sheepish grin.

“I just—you two!”

--

III.

Marcille was surprised to find Falin at Laios’ office—she had made a mess of the guest table at the center of the room, littering it with ribbons and decorative parchment. There were leathers laid out by the couch nearby, and Falin scrambled about, inspecting each one before coming back to a small box placed at the center of the table.

It was a beautiful jewelry box—another one of Falin’s projects. It had a body made from walnut and a checkered line that ran along its lid, made of cherry and pine. The colors reminded Marcille of the trees around her home. The lock was capped with a crest—one that surprised Marcille. Falin never cared for the posturing and ceremony that she and her brother now had to suffer, so why was her royal crest set in gold on this box?

“Oh—hi, Marcille.”

“Hey,” Marcille smiled, tugging on the front of Falin’s shirt to pull her closer. She got up on her tip toes, wrapping her arms around Falin’s shoulders to steal a small kiss.

“You found me,” Falin mumbled into their kiss, holding her by the waist.

“Mhm,” Marcille finally pulled back. “What are you doing here?”

“Sending a package. It’s going all the way up North so I needed good wrapping.”

“Is it this a jewelry box you made?”

“Mhmm.”

“It looks beautiful,” Marcille walked towards the table to inspect it. “Though I’m surprised that you used such an official symbol. That’s unlike you.”

“W—Well I heard jewelry boxes were a good gift for mothers.” Falin scratched at the back of her head. “And I wanted this one to be kinda… official looking?”

“Oh!” Marcille blinked. “Well, I’m sure your mother would love it!”

“Ah, no.” Falin’s natural flush deepened. “Not for my mom—”

“Hm?”

“It’s… for yours.”

Oh.

Marcille—stunned at first—smiled. Then she laughed, pulling Falin into a hug—her wonderful, loving, thoughtful Falin.

--

IV.

“Don’t you want to go tell her yourself?” Laios asked over dinner.

“I can’t.” Falin squirmed. “I’m too nervous.”

“She can’t be that strict!”

“Do you remember how Marcille was when we first met her in the tavern?”

Laios paled. “Yes. Is she even stricter?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Understandable.

--

V.

“It’s so pretty!” Marcille swooned, hands clasped as she admired Falin’s hard work.

The rosewood desk that Falin had been working on was finally finished after weeks of work. It was polished impeccably, sealed with the finest wax to finish. It had all the drawers Marcille needed – shallow ones for her inks and pens, deeper ones for parchment and scrolls, and even a little platform towards the back where she could set her feet—Falin knew that sometimes the chair was too high for Marcille to be able to reach the ground.

“Oh, it’s perfect!” Marcille hugged Falin, who looked delightfully smug.

“No fair!” Laios pointed at his sister. “Falin—I want one too!”

“I already gave you a scabbard,” she shook her head.

“My desk is so big and boring though,” he slumped.

“It’s also a thousand-year hold antique,” Kabru supplied dryly. “It would do well for appearances to keep it.”

The new desk was heavy. Really, really heavy. It had taken nearly all of them to carry it up to Marcille’s office with how heavy and set it was. This was apparently by design, according to Falin, who can be so much like her brother and not know when to not say things, because—

“I made sure to use joinery instead of nails and angle irons,” Falin gave herself a self-satisfied nod. “I know that it bothers you how it creaks when w—”

Marcille turned so red they thought she might faint, hooking Ambrosia around Falin’s head and yanking her backwards hard enough to knock the air out of her lungs.

--

VI.

By the time winter started that year, all the furniture in Marcille’s room and office had been replaced by Falin’s handiwork: new shelves for her books and trinkets, an extension for her windowsill where she could keep plants and little felt toys.

Today, Marcille came into her office to a brand-new chair. It perfectly matched her desk, coming up a little higher than her old one to make writing and reading more comfortable.

“I asked the tailors for help with the upholstery,” Falin said, still in her apron and smelling of sawdust. “I’ve never been very good with sewing and leatherwork.”

“It’s amazing,” Marcille whispered as she traced along Falin’s simple engravings—she had started experimenting more artistically with her work. Beautiful, Marcille thought to herself. How wonderful it was to see Falin’s efforts engraved into something tangible—something permanent. “Thank you.”

Falin simply smiled back.

“You’ve gotten so good at this!”

“You think?”

“Yeah!” Marcille stood up to clasp their hands. “The gift you sent mom left such an impression on her that she’s planning to visit.”

Falin gasped. And then grinned, “I’m so glad!”

“Me too,” Marcille leaned forward, smiling against Falin’s shoulder and the feathers of her neck. “I’m happy you found a hobby you like so much. Between dungeons and politics, it seems like such a good break for you.”

“Mm, yeah.” Falin gently ran her fingers along Marcille’s hair. “I’ve always wanted to be able to build furniture for my wife one day.”

Marcille froze.

What?

She pushed herself backwards, looking up in surprise at Falin while still staying in their embrace. “Wife—? Wh—”

Falin was blinking, almost in a panic. Then she grew redder, and redder, and redder—like a kettle about to whistle. “I, uh—!” She stammered. She had that look on her face, the adorable expression of confusion as if she had just forgotten something very important. It reminded Marcille of their younger days. “You see—”

Marcille’s thoughts were running a hundred paces at a time—her mother visiting? Falin—wife?

“Marcille,” Falin looked at her resolutely. Lovingly. “Will you marry me?”

--

VII.

“You forgot to propose?” Chilchuck had his face in his hands.

“Well, technically I was still able to…” Falin said meekly.

“After all the time I put into helping you plan it!”

--

VIII.

By the next summer, Marcille found herself at the tradesman’s courtyard again. She had a tray of refreshments in her hands—one for herself and another for Falin. The condensation on the glass formed droplets of dew that ran along its side, mirroring the droplets on Falin’s brow. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail—messy with stray locks escaping this way and that. Her shirt was loose and bunched around her forearms and she was wearing a brand-new work apron that Senshi had made for her—with hooks and pockets and all.

Marcille, like so many times before, leaned against the woodshop’s doorframe to watch and wonder.

“Marcille,” Kabru cleared his throat, standing next to her with an arm full of scrolls.

“Kabru.”  

He nudged her shoulder. “May I remind the Royal Court Mage—”

“I can ogle my wife whenever I want!”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” Marcille scoffed, petulant yet still smiling.

She watched as Falin gripped the handles of her planer, firm and strong, her left hand glittering with new jewelry.

-

fin

-

A/N:

extremely self indulgent thanks i love these two, this was not beta read so sorry *throws it to AO3 and posts it* hope that you enjoyed!

[lexsssu]

Bliss (Diluc)

TAGS: Diluc/Dragoness!reader, smut, pregnancy, parenthood, drabble Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

The world is a dark and tainted place.

Behind its beauty lurked dangers all around, ready to prey upon those who’d lowered their guards enough. Diluc is certainly no stranger to the horrors that hid itself from ordinary eyes, lying in wait for even just a single moment to strike.

He would wake up every single day with trepidation in his chest, constant vigilance being his way of life ever since the day he was awakened to the cruelty of this world. Any day could be his last and any moment could be his final one alive. 

That is the reality he has come to grips with.

And yet, as you walk down the aisle with flowers in your ivory hair, so pure compared to his own flame-colored locks, you are a vision wrapped in lace as you neared him at the makeshift altar (hastily yet carefully prepared by his excited servants), Diluc found himself wondering if he was worthy of this happiness.

The Darknight Hero doesn’t believe in fate. Not when fate showed him exactly what it intended to make of his life, one filled with eternal suffering and a never-ending thirst to rid the world of its evils. 

He doesn’t think much of the disoriented young lady he finds at the outskirts of Dawn Winery, wearing clothes that didn’t seem to hail from any nation in Teyvat. But when he helps her up off the ground, he is met with a pair of innocent golden eyes and he feels something stir within the deepest recesses of his heart. 

Though what it was, he didn’t know at the time.

But now as he kisses you beneath the foot of the statue of Barbatos near Dawn Winery, the scion of the Ragnvindr family knows that despite the darkness and dangers that lurked about, there is still hope. Suffering and sadness existed so that humanity can know what happiness and love are.

And by the archons, he never knew what true happiness was until he’d whisked you off to your new shared chambers within the manor. He knew no other anxiety than that of the uncertainty of tomorrow, but even he couldn’t help but swallow the lump that formed in his throat when you fully bared your body to him for the first time. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, reverently caressing each dip and curve in your body with soft yet firm hands before latching his mouth on whatever patch of skin caught his eye, nibbling and sucking until it turned a pretty pink color. “So sweet and so soft...I could eat you right up.”

And eat you up he did.

The ginger painted your skin with bruises and lovebites, a canvas for his wandering mouth and hands. He made sure that the ones on his favorite spots would take the longest to fade, unabashedly wanting his claim over you to be obvious that only a blind man can’t see that you were utterly his.

“You’re already this excited from my mouth and hands alone? Forgive me for neglecting your most precious place then, my darling. For my negligence, I will make sure to compensate you handsomely.”

You are practically sobbing when Diluc finally relents in his assault and pulls away from you with a final obscene slurp. You could barely look at him straight as he licks off the clear viscous fluid that stained the corner of his lips all the while staring at you with clear desperation and want.

“You taste exquisite, my love. However, I believe it is about time we begin the main act. Shall we?”

And so, the rest of the night was filled with debauched screams, moans, and whimpers of pleasure as your new husband made love to you until daylight peeked out of the darkness. If you hadn’t been draconic in nature you’d have probably passed out by the 2nd hour, but thanks to your other-wordly stamina the two of you kept each other up without trouble.

Thanks to that, it wasn’t any surprise that 9 months after your wedding night, the residents of Dawn Winery welcomed their newest young master. 

Diluc sat at your bedside after you and your son had been cleaned and wrapped in new clothes. His eyes never leave you both as you fed your son his first ever meal, marvelling at the sight of this little creature that both of you created together out of love.

“What shall we name him, my love?”

“I like the name Aurick...Aurick Daemon Ragnvindr”

“A splendid name it is”

Diluc smiles and repeats the name softly under his breath.

The taste of bliss has never been sweeter than where he is right now.

[manblood]

meeting and dating xavier thorpe

01_xavier-thorpe

type________________head-cannons

word-count__________697

status______________not-requested

sypnosis-

some meeting and dating headcannons for my fav shears twin lookalike (i’ve been obsessed w the garden for a while and seeing xavier made it worse)

lowercase intended + written on my phone

preparing for launch…

you two obviously met at nevermore

the first time you talk is when you’re walking with wednesday and enid for the school tour since you transferred to nevermore at the same time as wednesday

you get lost and separated from the group and he noticed your confusion so he walked up to you to try and help you

“hey i’ve never seen you around here before. are you lost?”

unbeknownst to you, bro was already falling in love with you and the more he talked to you, the more he fell.

take what he was like with wednesday and dial it up by like x10 percent

you have a couple classes together so he makes sure that he has an open seat next to him for every one so you’ll have to sit with him and talk to him more

he draws little candid pictures of you while you’re not looking in his notebook and animates little drawings of animals with his powers to try and impress you

he isn’t the best with expressing his emotions, so he definitely finds out some of your hobbies and tries to get really good at them or learn something about them so he can talk to you about it during class the next day

you like to read? he gets the titles of the books you carry around and reads them so he can talk to you about them. you like to sing or play an instrument? he’s gonna compliment your playing so much. you like a band or an artist? oh what a coincidence! he loves them too!

you and thing are besties so you tell him about xavier and your little crush on him

pulling a classic thing move, he writes xavier a note for you asking him to the rave’n

the night of the dance you open your door to leave for the dance and there’s xavier about to knock on the door to pick you up and take you

as you’re questioning why he’s there he has stars in his eyes imagining what the night will hold and hoping this won’t be the only time he gets to take you out like this

you can consider that night your first date and the night was filled lots of dancing and laughing, as well as being enchanted by each other

when xavier dropped you off back at your dorm he asks you out on another date

“are you doing anything sunday?”

you start dating after your third or fourth date

constant secret dates, big and small, just as long as you two can be near each other and alone

i can see bianca being a little jealous at first, but then warming up to it after a little while and you two actually become friends

enid constantly asking you two to go on a double date with her and ajax

xavier makes art to express his emotions since he’s usually closed off with most, so get ready for xavier to be drawing you 24/7 but not showing you most of them

giving each other little things that remind you guys of each other

his love language is gift giving and quality time so his ideal type of date is probably one of those cute little things where you guys make build a bears for each other, go on a picnic and do that thing where every 20 minutes you guys swap paintings and work on them until you have finished ones, or going to one of those places where you paint pottery and make something for each other or together

when schools out you two stay in contact and probably make plans to visit each other once or twice

as far as i love you’s go, once you two say it or realize you love each other i can see you two not really saying it frequently but doing little things that show it

all together it’s a very comforting relationship and even though xavier’s a very private person, you two grow together

…welcome home

we hope you enjoyed your flight

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

authors_note-

thank you for reading my first ever xavier piece!! i’m kinda proud of how it turned out. keep an eye out for more writings for him to come out soon <3

[microwaveable-squish-cheese13]

🌀 promises ..

!!

this is js sm else i had in my notes too, figured id post this one since the other one didn't completely fail 😼

pairing: simon 'ghost' riley + fem!civilian!reader

WARNINGS: mentions of killing and stuff

...

you weren't pretty.

no, no...

not in his eyes. god no.

you weren't pretty.

beautiful, sure. that's a word for it. but not what he would describe you as.

you were like the summer sun on his skin, like the ripples in the water he would see at the pool he went to as a kid. you were like freezing cold water on a hot summer night.

you were like the breeze in the trees. the songs the birds would sing, only for the crickets and frogs to take over once Mother Moon rose to bathe him in her light.

you were like the reflection of the stars in his mother's eyes. the smell of strawberries in his family's kitchen.

you were his best memory.

you know how people say that you correlate certain people to certain things?

yeah.

you were everything to simon.

he saw you in everything the earth had to offer.

the way the sun set and the way it rose- it reminded him of you. of the way it would look on your skin, painting it a golden color for him to cherish.

the way the crickets chirped late at night reminded him of that one time you said that sound comforted you- helped you sleep. he smiled after that. that was the very first time you saw him smile so genuinely.

vanilla? you. simon could almost hear you tell him that vanilla was your favorite scent at some mom and pop store (you've already told him eight thousand times before). every time he would just laugh and say "noted."

these are the little things. the little itty bitty things that keep him alive.

and at night when the guns roared and his life was on a wire, he would think of these things. when his own blood smeared over his skin, tainting his body and his mind with things you'd probably leave him for.

when the head of another human was under his gun, you were what he thought of. how this action was for you- to get home to you.

if he didn't shoot this man, then how did he know this man wouldn't turn on him and keep him from fulfilling his promise to you?

"just.. come home. please?" you had whispered the night he left. simon only nodded, slipping on his mask and sighing.

"always, love. forever and always. promise."

and he'd be damned if he broke that fucking promise.

even as bullet left his gun with a shuddering snap and the man fell dead under him, he kept reminding himself this was for you. all of this pain and suffering he held on his shoulders was for you.

the woman he intended to marry.

the woman he wanted to grow old with.

the woman he would never break a promise to. never in his goddamn life.

...

sometimes when he gets home he's scared to see you.

he's not scared of you. never.

he's scared of the chance that maybe you'd finally realize all the lives he holds on his hands, that maybe when you fuck late at night that the blood on his hands will shine through and stain your beautiful skin.

stain and ruin the last perfect thing he has in his life.

he's scared that maybe, you'll realize that you're sleeping with and loving a murderer. maybe you'll turn him away once you see the blood on the mask he tries desperately to hide from you. he didn't want Ghost and Simon to mingle.

you got Simon. you never got Ghost.

he's scared that when he grows the balls to drop to one knee and solidify the bond between you that you'll turn him down. that you'll frown in disgust at this war criminal for even assuming that you'd love a creature such as him.

but deep down, he knows that's all irrational. that you'd never do such sinful things. say such hurtful things.

and he's right. you'd never.

because you were as hopelessly in love with him as he was with you.

and you promised it to him.

"i love you." were the words uttered late into the night as they laid in the shadows of their bedroom. simon almost cried every time you said that to him. the last time he'd heard that was when his nephew told it to him.

now it was you saying those three words.

three words that could tear a man like him

down to his last thread. "i love you too."

a few heartbeats later, he spoke again.

"you promise?" his voice was so soft you thought you imagined it. you tilted your head up at him. "what?"

"you promise that you love me?"

it tore him apart to ask it. it sounded to him like he was questioning your affection. but you knew he wasn't.

"yeah." you smiled, laying your head back on his shoulder.

the moon was high, smiling down and shining her light through the glass and onto them in neat squares through the window.

the crickets chirped, and the frogs croaked back as they sung their songs to the stars. somewhere out there water rippled and a dove cried, pleading out into the night about a tragedy mankind will never know about.

"i promise."

[x-uno]

Brewing Blooms: Florist!Sanji x Barista!Reader

note : indecisive me couldn't decide on whether I should make Sanji a barista or a florist ;v; I STRUGGLED FOR THE WHOLE DAY but ultimately ended on him being a florist - :DDDD LIKE HEAR ME OUT IT'S LITERALLY PERFECT FOR HIM

| 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃

THE FIRST RAYS OF DAWN'S GENTLE LIGHT pierced through the half-closed blinds, painting a soft, golden canvas across the snug interior of your coffee shop. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans intermingled with a hint of cinnamon, creating an aromatic symphony of warmth and comfort.

You, a dedicated barista and the proud owner of this intimate coffee sanctuary, were no stranger to the early hours. The soothing hum of espresso machines, the rich fragrance of freshly ground coffee, and the hushed conversations of your loyal patrons composed the daily chorus that cradled your mornings. Yet, on this particular day, the serenity of your routine was disrupted by an explosion of energy and excitement. 

Amid the soft pre-dawn glow, Nami flung the coffee shop's door wide with an enthusiastic flourish, clutching a bouquet of fresh flowers in her hand. "Y/N! Flowers for you!" she cried out, her voice brimming with excitement. Your heart skipped a beat, and you blinked, startled and confused. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in surprise as you turned to face Nami, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Flowers? For me? Who on earth...?" Your mind raced, wondering who could possibly be sending you flowers. It had been a while since you'd been involved in any kind of romantic relationship. You didn't recall mentioning any recent love interests to Nami.

Nami's gaze danced with amusement, her lips curving mischievously. "You never told me you had a boyfriend!’"

You chuckled at the assumption. "Believe me, Nami, if I had a boyfriend, you'd be the first to know. This is quite a surprise, though." You carefully picked up the card attached to the bouquet, your fingers deftly sliding it out from among the blossoms. 

Nami leaned closer, her curiosity piqued. "Well, what does it say?" With a puzzled expression, you read aloud, "For Petal Paradise?" 

"Petal Paradise…Petal - OH!" Nami snapped her fingers in realization. "It’s the flower shop that just opened nearby."

You raised an eyebrow. "Petal Paradise, huh? They must have had a mix-up with the delivery. I should probably return these." You murmured, adjusting your hold on the bouquet.  "Can you manage without me for a bit?’"

Nami waved her hand dismissively. "Of course, Don't worry about the café. Just go next door and play nice with the florist." She winked mischievously. 

You chuckled at her playfulness and nodded. "Thanks, Nami. I'll be quick." 

With that, you headed next door to Petal Paradise, your curiosity growing as you approached the charming flower shop. The little bell above the door tinkled softly as you entered, and the fragrant air of the flower shop enveloped you. 

Sanji, the talented florist, was busy arranging a stunning bouquet, his nimble fingers carefully selecting each flower and placing it with precision. 

You cleared your throat to get his attention. "Excuse me," you began, "I think there was a mix-up with a flower delivery. I received these at my café, but they seem to be intended for Petal Paradise." You held out the bouquet to him. 

Sanji, with his hands still delicately arranging the blossoms, looked up with a warm smile. His eyes sparkled with appreciation as he examined the bouquet you held out. 

"Ah, a mix-up, you say? Well, it's fortunate that you're the one who received them. After all, these flowers deserve to be in the presence of someone as radiant as you."

"Are all florists in this neighborhood so skilled in flattery?"

Sanji chuckled, his confidence unwavering. "Only the ones who recognize true beauty when they see it." 

Rolling your eyes playfully, you retorted, "Flattery will get you everywhere, won't it?’’ Sanji flashed a grin and leaned in a bit closer, his eyes filled with playful mischief. 

"Everywhere and anywhere, bubs. It's a florist's secret weapon, you know."

"Oookay, casanova," you said, shaking your head with a grin, "Are you taking the flowers or not?" You gestured to the bouquet in your already outstretched hand, bringing the conversation back to its original purpose.

Sanji's composure snapped back to the task at hand as he accepted the bouquet, his fingers gently brushing against yours. "Oh, right! Sorry!" 

With the bouquet now in his care, Sanji straightened up and extended a hand toward you, a friendly smile gracing his features. "I should have started with a proper introduction. I'm Sanji." 

You returned his smile, placing your hand in his. "Y/N. I own the coffee shop next door."

As you spoke, your gaze naturally drifted to the intricate tattoos adorning his arm, peeking out from beneath his rolled-up sleeves. The designs were an intriguing mixture of vibrant blooms and winding vines, a testament to his deep connection with the world of flowers. Your eyes followed the intricate details, captivated by the colors and the artistry behind them, unable to hide your curiosity. But just as quickly as your gaze lingered, you averted your eyes, not wanting to appear too intrusive.

"Neighbor!" He grinned widely. "Well, I guess it might be fate, madam!"

"Fate, huh?" 

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't, but I'll be counting on you to visit me whenever the need arises." He handed you a card with a wink.

"The need to get flowers, you mean?"

"Well, of course! But also the need to get to know me better."

His cheeky response took you by surprise, and you found yourself laughing at his audacity.

"We'll see about that." you replied, the words were more of a playful challenge than anything else.

taglist: reply to be added !

© 2023 x-uno ── all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, edit, alter, or redistribute my work. 

[wrathofrats]

idk why but I thought you may like the idea of Aurora, when she's new to performing publicly, fears that the fans may see her as "the innocent one" or something similar due to her being Very Obviously Smol in comparison to the other ghouls, ghoulettes, and of course, Papa. Being, y'know, a demon, she instead decides she wants to be the raunchiest one on stage...

So she decides to try and sneak a flash of some kind to the crowd during a ritual and it may go a bit further than she intends :]

I hope this is ok!! I modified the request a bit bc I was having thoughts and ideas. It’s maybe a bit misogynistic, dew and Swiss really teasing Aurora over the whole innocent thing. But I am a gay woman so I’m allowed to perpetuate sexist stereotypes and if you disagree you’re also sexist. (THIS IS A JOKE) but know the banter is in good fun, they’re obv all some kind of poly bonded pack thing so auroras gucci.

Or aurora decides to throw her panties into the crowd, and things don’t exactly go her way (based on that panties on dews guitar gif you know the one)

“I’m not doing this with you right now dew” Aurora grumbles, batting his hands off of her.

Dew looks too smug. Like hes won some secret game that Aurora doesn’t know about. A mischievous glint in his eye that makes Aurora want to kick him in the balls to hopefully neuter his perpetual horniness.

It’s their own little tradition at this point in the tour. Swiss and dew and whoever else was bored would come hang out in the ghoulettes dressing room while they pinned their hair to fit neatly under their helmets and to apply the black face paint. Dew usually showed up to steal cumulus’ never ending supply of bobby pins, and swiss was there to help with smearing the paint onto everyone.

“Iighten up your highness” dew laughs, backing away from her with his hands up as if he didn’t just wrap them around her body to grab at her waist. “You’re not this prudish when you come knocking at my hotel door”

“I’m not a prude,” Aurora grumbles. Swiss and dew giggle to themselves as Aurora swipes her hands at them to make them back up from where she’s placed herself on the counter. She can feel cirrus’ glare through the mirror, directed at the two idiots that are currently still laughing among themselves.

“You’re telling me you’re not ms ‘don’t mention sex around the other ghouls! They can’t know I’ve fucked you!’” Swiss teases, his voice pitching to mock auroras. “Come on princess, I don’t know why you demand to be seen as so innocent.”

Aurora wants to scream at them to leave their dressing room already. Dew and Swiss can tend to be idiots while they’re separated, but together? Aurora isn’t sure how they manage to lose brain cells when they combine.

“I just didn’t want anyone knowing I’ve fucked you, I don’t care about anyone else”

She’s not innocent like Swiss says, is she? Sure she’s smaller, tends to be more reserved in that regard, but Aurora thinks it’s unfair to call her innocent of all terms. She could be worse sure, not tending to go as far as humping the stage or groping her bandmates like dumb and dumber, but she likes her little act. She likes her swishy cape and little dances with her tambourine, and how she twirls and -

God maybe she is a princess.

The boys continue to laugh, mostly shoving each other around at this point. Aurora can hear cirrus yell at Swiss to shut up and help her with her paint, even now lost in her own thoughts. Ideas come and go, staring at her lap and swinging her legs. She’s not innocent. She’s just as bad as the rest of them and they all know that. The fans know that too, right? She’s a demon, a fucking creature from hell.

She’s not innocent.

She hops off her perch to shove her way past dew and into the bathroom to pull her uniform bottoms off. Her idea is probably stupid, will probably get her reprimanded and placed on whatever terrible chore imperator comes up with when they get back. But the reactions from the other ghouls, especially Swiss and dew, will make it worth it.

Aurora quickly takes off her panties and pulls her uniform back up, cringing at the feeling of the rough fabric against her. It’s not exactly uncomfortable, but the weird insecurity of not wearing underwear makes every sensation feel tenfold.

A 5 minute call sounds through the rooms. She grabs her underwear and hastily puts them in her pocket before running out to get in her position.

Her movements are meant to tease. Hands running over her body, jutting her hips behind her hoping Swiss will look back at her. She wants him to come on her platform, wants him to take her on the innocent act she’s been offering. She wants him to smell her through her uniform.

It’s just an extra personal part in her plan. She tries not to bounce giddily as he does notice and run behind the different set pieces to come walk up into her space. He can feel his breath on her neck as he approaches her, his all too wide smile trying to intimidate her, mock her after their conversation earlier.

Auroras lucky Swiss is good at improv, and an even better performer. Barely reacts as she shoves him to his knees. Even grabs her thighs and mock drags his tongue along her legs. Hes fucking obscene, she should’ve known the reaction she would get like this.

The real reward is the way she can see Swiss’ mouth twitch as he shoves his face right next to her cunt. He can smell her, would nose against the outline if they weren’t still performing in front of thousands of people, honestly she’s sure he’s forgotten considering the way his face turns into a snarl. Aurora is positive she will pay for this later, but for now? She couldn’t be happier.

The second phase of her plan comes once Swiss leaves. She eyes the audience carefully, eyes her bandmates to wait for the perfect opportunity. Dew turns to mess with rain, while phantom moves to mess with the audience on his side of the stage. All the ghouls are occupied, not paying attention.

Aurora pulls her panties out of her pocket, balling them in her fist so they can’t be seen through her hand. Hastily she throws them towards the crowd, praying they make it to their destination.

Whatever she prayed to however, is not listening.

They land directly next to dewdrop, right by his feet as he steps back onto them. He pulls his foot up, eyeing the black fabric in confusion. She watches in horror as he swings them around his finger, looking back at her as if he knows they’re hers,

Before hanging them on the head of his guitar. Displaying them for the whole crowd.

[tallymonster]

Memories of Us

Chapter 1 (you are here!) || Masterlist

So, I like many others had seen this gorgeous fan art by @cheesy-cryptid and I was utterly hypnotized by it. I couldn't stop thinking about it and from that constant thought growing came my silly fic.

This has been a labor of love for the last month. I'm still working on it and so far I have about 10 parts 🙃 depending on the feedback is how quickly I'm going to be posting since it's still a work in progress. I want to thank my best friend and my main support for this @micropoe10 ❤️ without her I wouldn't have pushed myself to even post this, so thanks boo 😘

This is also my first long fic, so please be gentle 🥺

Summary: Octavia is a new assistant at the Baldur's Gate Museum of History, her new boss is elusive and mysterious. Good thing his right hand man, Gale, is there to help her out for the first few weeks.

Tags: Nothing too bad for the first few parts, fluff, establishing storyline mostly, generational lineage mentioned.

Chapter 1

Never Caught My Breath

The day Octavia was incredibly nervous about had arrived. After her graduation (which seemed like a lifetime ago), endless stack of paperwork and at least 3 different interviews; Octavia made it to the Baldur's Gate Museum of History, the end of her long and difficult studies.

Here, she would start as the new assistant curator. What's strange though, is that after the last interview she thought she'd get to meet her boss, but it was his main assistant, Gale.

"I must apologize", he begins, "but our lead is currently out of the office for another week, maybe two, so I must conduct the final round, I hope you understand."

Strange, but not unheard of. The majority of the work would be with Gale directly, but it was at the least, the most basic courtesy for her boss to introduce himself by this point.

As she walks into the museum, relics from the past line the cabinets; old armor and gloves from heroes of legends from long ago, tons of jewelry and books, rare spell scrolls, and most prized of all, paintings recovered from the fall of the Szarr Manor prominently hung on the walls. Their subjects long gone, they now serve to be viewed by those who would be their victims under different circumstances.

Octavia stops at one of the many paintings of a pale elf, his silver hair in perfect tendrils, piercing red eyes glare back at her and she feels a slight shudder run down her spine, it was probably just a little bit of nerves. Still, she couldn't help but notice that same subject surrounding her in other works. If not as the main feature, but in the background of at least a dozen. Who was this person? She drifts off in thought.

"Miss Octavia? Hello? Can you hear me?" Snapping back from the daydream, she sees Gale standing beside her. His positive attitude ever present, notebook in hand he greets her with a small wave. "Lots to do this morning! We got a delivery of religious artifacts from a Sharran temple in the Underdark that was previously thought to be lost." His eyes glimmer with excitement.

"We're looking at at least a day to see what was delivered, another to catalog it all, and then, my favorite part, writing the plaques for all of it." He chuckles "Altogether at least a month of work, maybe two if there's a particular item that's more mysterious than the others." He finishes his explanation with a tilt of his head.

Octavia nods, her mind still on the portrait, "Quick question, Gale? Do you know who that subject is? They're featured in a lot of the paintings, but there's no information about them?" He glances up, "Well, we've done some research into the subjects of all the paintings, luckily we've put some names to faces..." He trails off, brows furrowing slightly at the face staring at them both "that particular subject, though, unfortunately not."

He turns wearing a wistful smile "I do wish to put a name to that face, and I intend to, but our wonderful curator often reminds me that not every mystery has to be solved." He scoffs with a grin and shrugs "Of course he would, he loves to give me a hard time about my dedication to the museum, you'd think he would appreciate the tireless research but to each their own."

Octavia relaxes a bit and ask "Have you known each other long? I mean, since he's been gone this whole time I haven't gotten to meet him yet. Is he....nice?" She says the last word quietly, almost a whisper.

Gale picks up on the anxious question and lowers his notebook, his eyes softened as he leans in, "There's nothing to be nervous about with him, he's much more bark than bite, as they say. He's really wonderful once you get to know him. Just a little rough around the edges...you know these eccentrics..they're all so guarded but deep down, they're just like us regular boring people."

He grins in assurance and goes back to his notebook, "Before I forget, said eccentric has reached back out to me and he'll be returning tomorrow evening! He'd like to make your acquaintance as soon as possible and apologize for his absence." Oh, shit. "Wonderful!" She does an okay job at hiding the crack in her voice, she clears throat, grimaces a bit and adjusts the badge clipped to her smock. "When and where?"

[afewfantasies]

🏔️The Retreat 🏔️- Chapter II

Prologue | Chapter I | Misc references & details

Summary:  Set about a month after the first Chapter, Gale heads into town for supplies and to make a reunion with the survivors of 'the bloody hundredth'. Lorena accompanies him on this journey, while the road-trip together is new territory - the reunion proves a success. Gale and Lorena get to see glimpses of each other at their best, in their elements and the new perceptions of each other are complimentary. Setting the foundation for bonds built to last.

Pairing: Gale Cleven x Lorena (black fem oc), everyones favorite Bucky Egan makes an appearance.

Warnings:  Race is a factor but there will be no overwhelmingly racist outbursts. It is more so a discovery element and explorations, different worlds, a little forbidden love element.

Tropes: Slow Burn, opposites attract, forbidden love

Word Count: 3.3K

Chapter II

Sitting in the car Lorena takes inventory of her purse for a third time. The drive into the nearest major city is five hours and Gale makes the trip once a month to pick up necessities without the markup of the local city. With his current profit margins it’s no need but he’s a man of routine. Lorena looks him over realizing this is the only time he’s freshly shaven with coiffed hair. His clothes are pressed and starched to perfection and he looks like he could belong in the pictures. Turning back to her window she wonders if he has someone in town or if it’s a bid to get someone in particular’s attention. She’d never asked any questions about his romantic life in the four months she’d been with him. Rose had disclosed the important stuff. He had been engaged prior to the war, but then before victory his intended decided to leave him for a Hollywood producer. Gale’s fiance was beautiful, Rose says they looked like a Hollywood couple. It was now weeks since Lorena’s breakdown and things were closer to normal again now. She was back to her easy going nature. Reaching into her purse she gets out a book getting Gales attention as she flips through pages before starting at the beginning. He focuses on the road for about five minutes until Lorena grows restless again. It makes him smile remembering his best friend.

“My best friend’s gonna meet us in town,” Gale says, breaking the silence.

“You have friends?” Lorena asks, surprised.

“I do” he nods and Lorena smiles pleased for him.

“So you speak to him? Full sentences or … how was the friendship developed?” She asks, her tone slightly teasing.

“Bucky talks enough for the both of us, you two are very similar” Gale responds with a shady smile.

“Bucky’s a woman?” Lorena asks, being cheeky.

“No, he’s one of my brothers from the war. We trained together, flew in together and were prisoners of war together” he says candidly, sometimes it felt good to tell the truth.

“Sorry” Lorena says not wanting to mock anything about what was undoubtedly a painful time in his life.

“It’s fine,” he says. “Bucky’s a flirt but he means nothing by it, he’ll probably tease the both of us unmercifully but it’s just his character. He can be juvenile at times but there’s no better man to have on your side in a pinch” Gale says with reverence for his comrade.

“I’m not easily offended” Lorena comments. “Also, I’d rather not interrupt a reunion of soldiers” she says with the wounds still fresh from her own ejection of Reggies life and times as a soldier.

“It’s fine, some of the guys will have sisters, wives, girlfriends and such with them. Rose thought it would be a good idea. You could shop and have some female company.” Gale proposes always the Major, always considering others. Somehow, it wasn’t infuriating to Lorena that they were discussing her behind her back. Gale and Rose really did seem to have her best interest at heart.

Lorena takes in her surroundings the drive in had been so full of strife and anxiety that there was no time to enjoy the mountain ranges. Everything looked far more picturesque than any painting she’d ever seen of the west. If her granny was still alive she would tell Lorena that this was the kind of place you survived at god's mercy. Her childhood experiences lead her to think of exodus, or maybe this was her Joseph moment as a girl. She hoped her grandmother's prayers would protect her in this new journey, through her rebellion and absconding of her home and family. Her grandmother would be proud of her survival instincts. Gale pulls over into a gas station to top up the tank.

“I can drive if you’d like?” Lorena offers.

“I’m fine, doll.  I’ve managed longer with more challenging hardware” Gale smiles, seeming happier than ever before. There was a gleam in his eye that she’d somehow seemed to miss every day at breakfast and dinner.

“Okay” Lorena nods, heading into the station with Gale. He checks the bathroom before allowing her inside. He stands outside the door considerate of the world’s ugliness and prejudice. Lorena found Gale even more protective than her own older brother. He was always hyper vigilant, assessing levels of danger and prospective threats. It was a symptom of the sickness the war left behind according to the mature ladies who’d lived through the return of men from the Great War. Gale catches all the eyes looking at Lorena and decides against using the restroom for the next few hours of his drive. He had his demons and didn’t need to risk letting that part of himself out while in the presence of a woman who’d never known that level of dysfunction. His daddy was a drunk man with a predisposition for violence. The very opposite of the kind of man Gale wanted to be.

“I’m fine to wait here” Lorena says.

“No” Gale swallows.

“You could ruin your bladder” Lorena tells Gale who smiles.

“I’ll be fine, doll” he scoffs.

“My Pa is a physician, he had a lot of patients in their old age suffering from incontinence, which means they can’t control their bladders.” Lorena explains.

“I know what it means, I’ll be fine Lorena” Gale says in an even tone. Smiling, Lorena turns away looking out the window as the sun begins to set. It was another thing that set Gale apart from the rest. She’d gone through life with the ability to charm the opposite sex with sweet smiles and fluttering lashes. Her granny always told her it was a danger to be so pretty - Gale seemed to think so too.

“What?” He asks, noticing her dimples.

“Just thinking about my Granny” she shares.

“Granny? You don’t send her any letters”

“No she’s passed on, something about you just now reminded me of her. She didn’t like many people either and was very protective. Took no advice or no nonsense, people gave her space and respect” Lorena explains. Gale shakes his head scoffing without comment. 

“A woman” he says finally, a callback to the Bucky debacle.

“I meant no offense Gale and besides, Granny was knockout - way prettier than you” Lorena teases getting a genuine laugh out of him. He’d received the pretty boy jokes his entire life, especially in the war. Never from a woman though. It reminded him of something Bucky would say. It was a strange thing to find the qualities you admire in someone who’d entered your life so unexpectedly but it was settling to both Gale and Lorena. Granny and Bucky have both been pillars of their lives during the times they were becoming the core of the people they were now. It’s dark when they arrive in the city, Gale takes the cases up to a room leaving Lorena confused. There was only one bedroom and one bed.

“Is there another room?” She asks looking up at Gale who seems ashamed.

“Not tonight, take the bedroom. I’ll take the couch, it’ll be safer that way” he explains as Lorena turns towards the door again. He’d spent practically an entire day on the road in an uncomfortable car, a couch would not suffice. “Before you start, I’ve slept in far worse conditions” Gale says, taking a seat.

Sighing Lorena says not another word to avoid a quarrel, she heads to the bathroom to freshen up and ready for bed. When Lorena had shown up at his door he was suspicious at first, a beautiful woman, young and with an unbelievable story. At first he was sure someone had sent her for him, then he was sure she was pregnant and looking to hide a child and then he was puzzled. She was remarkable and somehow through dumb luck or divine intervention she managed to travel all this way without knowing the evils of this world. Divorcee’s were usually more prickly around the edges but Lorena’s naivete shone through. Perhaps Gale hadn’t yet placed it but it had helped him come a long way. Done a lot to show him that his sacrifice had meant something to this world. That there were eyes that would never see the worst of it.

__________________

Noise startles Lorena, rousing her from a deep sleep. Turning she finds the other side of the bed empty once again. Waking, she swallows her bitterness like she had every day since she’d discovered another woman was a part of her marriage. Pulling on a housecoat she pads to the bedroom door only to find a sleepy looking Gale speaking to a tall smiling brunette.

“Gale, where’d you find her?” The man says pushing past Gale breaking all rules of decorum to shake Lorena’s hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips as he looks her in the eyes.

“You must be Bucky” Lorena smiles amused by his pageantry.

“That’s right,” Bucky smiles.

“I’m Lorena” she says and it takes some time for it to register. Bucky frowns a bit before turning to Gale in confusion.

“Buck, you didn’t say she was gorgeous. That’s not the kind of thing you leave out.” Bucky exclaims before turning back to Lorena. “Lorena, it’s a pleasure doll” Bucky says more respectably.

“Gales, a man of few words, he was conserving ink” you tease.

“Ohhhhh, I like her,” Bucky laughs, turning to Gale who nods knowingly.

“Come on, I'll introduce you to the rest of the women.” Bucky suggests.

“Not like this! I have to get ready!” Lorena says, alarmed.

“Might as well sit Egan, she’ll be awhile” Gale comments putting on a kettle.

“If you wake up like an angel, I’m all for seeing how you look all done up” Bucky says with his special brand of charm, it makes Lorena giggle. Gale had gotten used to her pageantry. At first it seemed silly, but he noticed how uncomfortable not being put together made her. Marge was beautiful too, drop dead gorgeous, the first time he’d laid eyes on her his heart stopped. They hadn’t had time to get to know each other really before the war. She was this woman who was perfect every time she appeared in front of him. There were no hairspray, cans and palettes of makeup and products, rollers and itons. There were no bottles of nail polish and strange scents about the house. Perhaps that was one of the reasons she’d left him for someone else. Perhaps he’d taken her for granted, perhaps he was too quiet, boring, reclusive and all the other things people said about him. He’d heard the commentary, grouchy recluse, tyrant, miserable hoot. He’d also heard the rumors started by the women. He was impotent or maybe the Germans had castrated him when he was captured. None of it was true, it was heartbreak although no one saw it that was. Just like no one could see through all Lorena’s pretty that she spent some nights sobbing. That sometimes all the makeup and pageantry was used to cover her puffy eyes and flushed skin. Sometimes the partying and drinking was her only medicine. It had occurred to Gale, watching Lorena over the past four months, that the women of the war had their own pain they had no outlets for. That they didn’t think twice about setting their pain aside for their men.

“She’s nice and beautiful - why’s she in the middle of nowhere with you?” Bucky whispers curiously.

“Her husband… ex-husband found someone in Europe and brought her back home. That’s about all I know, she doesn’t talk about it much”

“I bet you never asked” Bucky swallows, turning back to her door.

“I hate to see her upset Egan, whatever it is she’s run pretty far she clearly doesn’t want to face it” Gale explains.

“Is she a flirt?” Bucky asks.

“Not genuinely no, her hearts still hemmed up in her ex. I think it was real” Gale shares with a close eye on the door.

“Well she doesn’t look hard to love” Egan comments leaving Buck to shake his head. “What about Marge, you hear from her?” He asks.

Gale sighs, tasting bitterness in his mouth, “No, but I think she'd be doing well in Hollywood, with that big producer. The mountains aren't her idea of happiness. I tried fighting for her - she doesn’t want me” he confesses with defeat.

“Screw it, there are plenty of good women out there, bad ones too - I know where to find those” Egan winks, making Buck laugh.

“Ready” Lorena smiles all done up in her finery. A touch more than even Gale was used to but they were in the city now and it seemed appropriate to bring her nicer items out of hiding.

“Where the hell did you find her?” Egan whispers as the three of them take the stairs to the party.

It had been months since Lorena was truly happy to throw a party. It was like a fish getting back in the water, she couldn’t help but smile along with the other women. In two hours she had the hall all done up for the 100th Bombardment Groups reunion. It looked swell, especially the champagne tower she’d managed all on her own. Everyone likes her sunny disposition and warm smile. She’d also disappeared with the women for the first two hours of the reunion, Gale knew it was to beautify them. He’d never met a person that enjoyed seeing others at their best as much as Lorena. The way the other woman clung to her and the way they laughed made his day. He hadn’t seen her laugh like that ever, he’d never seen her so happy. This seemed to be her element. She was a people person, generous with her time and natural abilities. She seemed to be so comfortable entertaining, a debutant of sorts. Even the wait staff was at her mercy getting drinks and hors d'oeuvres to the men and women of the reunion. Every time Gale took his eyes off of her she’d magically teleport to another corner of the room.

This reunion was therapeutic for Lorena, to see the men smiling and whole after all they’d endured. They were generous with the stories of their experiences both good and bad. She wasn’t prepared for some of the horrors she heard but they only made her appreciate the men all the more. Reggie had been on land while they had been in the sky. After learning about their “bloody hundredth' moniker she found herself thankful that Reggie had made it home whole, even if he didn’t love her the way he did before he left. Lorena hadn’t expected to host parties every weekend but she’d hoped to make a home for him, invite his comrades over, host, have children and give him something to look forward to so he could put the horrors of the past behind him.

Feeling her mood dip Lorena heads to the bar trading the happy bubbly for her newly acquired bad habit of whisky. The bartender gives her a glass and she turns to the party happening around her. Sipping the strong liquid she turns away from Alexander Jefferson and his wife. They share a kiss and it brings back fond memories. Spinning around on the barstool she looks at the glass of the liquor display trying to quiet the heartbreak in her chest. Reggie had been devoted to her like that once upon a time.

“Whisky” she hears from behind her only to see Bucky.

“A touch more ladylike than the moonshine the boys drink at the lakehouse” Lorena smiles.

“Don’t do that, not for me. Don’t pretend to be happy Lo - there’s nothing sadder” Bucky comments with sympathetic eyes. Smiling, she blinks away her tears. “I had all these grand plans and then I was in prison and week after week not a single letter. All the guys had their sweethearts and I had to find my own reasons” Bucky tells her candidly. It’s a deeply personal thing to share and incredibly vulnerable.

“Have you found anyone yet?” Lorena asks hopefully.

“Not yet, the guys write to me though” Bucky says.

“I will too and I’ll keep an eye out for you” Lorena adds, making Bucky smile.

“What’s your story, how does a city girl end up in the mountains?” Bucky asks, causing Lorena to drain her glass. Tapping the glass onto the bartop she beckons another needing more liquid courage for her truth.

“Reggie, my ex husband, was in the war. We were just married before he left, newly weds of sorts at least it was still the honeymoon. We had friends and a home and people say perfection doesn’t exist but I had no complaints. We were so complimentary, nothing he did annoyed me. He went over and heaven only knows what he saw, I understand it was horrible, I do, and my heart seems a small price to pay for his life but it's hard all the same” Lorena confesses wiping away stray tears. “He came back and it was different. He was trying to fill the shoes of what we had been. Bucky he’d never tried before. It was as easy as breathing, then I found letters from her and then I saw them together and as much as it hurt I was relieved. You know when you love someone that much it hurts to live with a ghost or a shell of them. So when I saw them and all my intuition was confirmed I left. Reggie didn’t need another great battle and it would’ve soured into resentment if I stayed. If I stayed at home I couldn’t survive it so I drove.” Lorena shrugs, wiping away more teats.

Bucky nods a few stray tears falling out of his own eyes.

“If I ever meet that sorry son of a bitch” he comments, making her smile. She takes her new glass of whisky, taking a sip as he stares at her. “I can tell you one thing for sure Lorena and I know men, your Reggie is a coward. A real man would’ve told the truth and carried the burden. You shouldn’t have had to run, you did nothing wrong but I’m glad to have met you. Glad to know you.” Bucky smiles, holding out a hand to her. Smiling, she shakes it.

“Likewise” Lorena agrees.

“I know what I’m gonna call you,” he smiles.

“What? Buck-ette?” Lorena teases, making him laugh.

“Angel,” he nods.

“Why Angel?” Lorena asks.

“Cause you're too good for this world” Bucky nods. “The kind of woman us men pray for” Bucky says.

Sitting at the bar Lorena finishes her drink and Bucky gets through three before he's up dancing and singing. He’s a hell of a good time, they dance together as friends until she overheats and finds a seat. Fanning herself as she watches Bucky go off on a tear she can't help but laugh. Familiar cologne tells her Gale is near and he sits in his perfectly tailored uniform. Lorena had known he was a good man but she never dreamed he was the kind of hero he was to these men. Brave, loyal, dependable and adventurous.

“Haven't seen you dance” Lorena comments.

“I don't dance,” Gale responds.

“No of course not” Lorena smiles watching Bucky belt out the words to the record playing.

“You have quite the moves”

“I was a debutant, there were lessons upon lessons and then there were lots of parties and I loved to dance. Seems silly now, but it's still a good time” Lorena confesses happily.

“Angel, I need you for the next one!” Bucky walls from the floor.

“Angel?”

“I’m officially one of you now, I’ve got my nickname” Lorena winks standing to smooth her dress. Watching them, Gale feels a curious longing in his chest. She fit so well he wondered if maybe the warm reception from his comrades at arms and neighbors in the mountains meant maybe they could be something more.

[tealclover]

This Way Out

So, Tails slipped up. Not only did he manage to get himself snagged, but he dragged Belle into this with him. To make matters worse, Starline was unbearably smug about the whole thing. Yeah, yeah, he got the Sonic the Hedgehog’s sidekick. Whoop-de-friggin-doo.

Just when Tails was starting to prove himself again. Ugh. How embarrassing. 

Well, enough of that. He promised Sonic he’d be fine, and he intended to keep his word. All he had to do was find a way to get Belle and himself out safely. … But who exactly were those two Mobians hanging around the facility?

(Alternate ending to Sonic IDW Issue #36, featuring a snarky fox. Some angst, some crack.)

Even before fully regaining consciousness, Tails knew he was in for a headache. And not just literally, though the pulsing in his temple was certainly noteworthy.

For starters, before even opening his eyes, he was lying stiffly on his back of all places. Tails never slept on his back if he could help it – his namesakes made resting much more reasonable on his side or belly. Sleeping on his tails was both uncomfortable and impractical. Impractical because it left his belly and other more vulnerable parts exposed. Uncomfortable due to the cold and the fact that his namesakes trapped underneath him, occasionally numb from lack of bloodflow. Which they were. But so were his arms and his legs, and, oh, he couldn’t move at all actually. 

It was probably too much to hope that that beeping indicated that he’d spent the last fifteen hours on a stone-hard hospital bed, seeing how his last waking recollection involved him and Belle separating, tons of snow, and…

Starline. Who wanted to kidnap him. For supposedly scientific purposes.

Ugh.

With no small amount of trepidation, the fox bleerily opened his eyes. He was immediately rewarded for his efforts with too much light why couldn’t he live like the nocturnal creatures foxes were meant to be and a sinister chuckle that grated on his nerves.

“Ah, Young Master Prower. I see you are awake.”

Yup. And he wished he wasn’t.

“Starline.” Oof. Voice crack. That wasn’t doing his credibility any favors. How long had he been out? He coughed, trying to get his voice back before roughly continuing: “I hope you’ve got a five star meal on the way; otherwise I’m going to have to give this stay a poor review. Don’t tell me this is a hospital bed,” he grimaced at the surface he was strapped to, arms, tails, and all. He was trapped for the time being, but appeared to be intact, at least. If the bindings were ignored, he could have passed for a patient – the presence of the finger pulse oximeter amongst other diagnostic tools were certainly intriguing, if not concerning. Were those vials of blood his? “Or do. Cause I’m not sure there’s much I can do for you if you think it’s acceptable to let your guests sleep on tables.”

The platypus stared at him for a few seconds, like he hadn’t expected the witty response. It was actually kind of funny to watch him visibly reboot and reassess the fox. Finally, he sighed. “I suppose you were raised by Sonic. It makes sense that you would share his poor taste in humor.”

“It clearly beats your taste in decor,” Tails sniped back. Starline hummed at that.

“Public perception of you paints you to be a polite boy genius. It seems that isn’t entirely true.”

Tails shrugged. Or tried to, anyway. “The general population wouldn’t consider strapping me to an examination table. Care to explain that, by the way?”

Starline smiled a sweet-sick smile. “Oh, you’re curious, are you? To be quite frank, I want to see if you can find out. Why don’t you and Miss Belle take a moment to catch up?”

Tails froze. “Belle?”

“I'm here, Tails…” the voice came from his left. He peered over as far as he could to see the robotic marionette on a second table a short distance away. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but from what he could see of her… she looked distraught. Not fearful, necessarily, but despairing, which was somehow even more worrisome. 

“Belle, are you okay?” He asked gently. She sniffled, ducking her head into her chest as best as she could. Were those… tear tracks on her cheeks? She could cry? Why was she crying? He took a second to shoot a gleeful Starline a sharp glare before refocusing on his newest companion. “Belle, are you hurt?” 

“... No,” she whispered.

Tails didn’t know if he believed that, but he didn’t know how to press the issue with the correct amount of sensitivity, especially with Starline hovering over them. What a creep. Couldn’t he leave? “Okay… okay. It’s going to be alright, I promise.” He waited for Belle’s tiny nod before continuing. “How long have you been active?”

“About… twenty minutes. I’ve been offline s-since the avalanche. I… I’m sorry, Tails. You came back for me and now-”

“I’m not worried about that, Belle,” he told her, firmly but not unkindly. “We’ll figure it out. Can you tell me what you remember?”

“I…” She made a strangled sound, but forced herself to continue. “My d-d… my creator was Mr. Tinker.” Tails gut sank. He wasn’t surprised, not with their matching attire, but it was still a sad confirmation to hear. “That… that jerk figured it out. He, he told me-” she hiccuped again. “It’s his fault Mr. Tinker is gone. He changed him into Eggman.”

“... I’m sorry, Belle.” What could he say to that? This wasn’t something he could fix with a wrench and a bit of mechanical know-how. Belle was a robot, but her feelings were hardly artificial. After Emerl, Gamma, and their successors, Tails was very well aware of that. She was just as much of a person as anyone organic; something that was clear to him from the moment they met. He couldn’t just reprogram her to feel better. Or, well, maybe he could, but that wouldn’t be right. To do so would likely be robbing her memories and cheapening her experiences, changing who she was in the process. It wouldn’t truly fix anything; frankly, it would likely lead to an identity crisis later on.

And so, all he had to offer her was kindness, and time to recover once they escaped.

“I… don’t know how to help with Mr. Tinker, but my friends and I would be happy to have you, if you want. I have space for you back at my workshop, and the Restoration accepts anyone who wants to to have a part of it. If you want a home, we’ll give you one. We can try to figure out the rest in time.”

Belle was quiet. Finally, she tearfully confessed, “That would be nice.”

He offered her a smile even though she still wasn’t looking. “I’m glad you think so. We’ll do our best to make it worth your while.” He hesitantly continued. “Did Starline do anything else?”

She shook her head. “He just… listened to me talk a-about Dad. About home, Windmill Village, and how the villagers kicked me out after the Metal Virus cleared up. I got so mad, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t care. He doesn’t care at all about what he did. He only wanted the code.”

“Code…?” At that, Tails shot another glance in their captor’s direction, though the platypus had since turned his attention to the monitor at Tails’ side, turned so that the fox couldn’t read any of the details. Were Belle’s readings stashed away in that device? … No. At least, it wasn’t just her information. Starline was gathering his vitals as well. But why? From the sounds of things, he was trying to get a reaction out of Belle earlier, and now, he was… testing Tails? Did he truly want him to uncover the motivations behind their kidnappings or was he simply fishing for another set of reactions from a different subject? He wouldn’t put it past Starline to have something of a sadistic streak – most villains lately did – but not one without purpose. If that was all he did, there had to have been some sort of incentive, something to be gained…

Why him? Why Belle? Her thoughts and feelings, and his-

Was he trying to record them both?

Was Starline in his head right now? 

A delighted laugh at his side told him that yes, he probably was.

“Positively remarkable, young Master Prower! You are truly one of a kind.” The platypus’ hands clapped together. “It is no wonder Sonic has prevailed for so long! He is powerful on his own, but you, you can keep pace with him, you adapt to his spontaneity and can plan in the heat of the moment so that he is successful in his every endeavor, no matter how foolish or impossible.  It is little wonder that the two of you alone keep Doctor Eggman on his toes, despite his armies, his keen intellect, and his prowess…” He stood to approach Tails again, looking down upon him with glee. “You truly are the greatest of combinations.”

That would have been a heart-warming compliment, had it not come from the mouth of a madman. As it stood, the fox had to resist the urge to squirm under that predatory gaze. He would not give Belle another reason to be afraid. 

“And, in spite of knowing all of that,” Tails mildly remarked, “you brought me straight to your base.”

Starline was likely to overestimate himself. In his eyes, he had a useful enemy at his mercy. He was less likely to seriously consider the fact that, in the process, he had invited that very foe into his base, to say nothing of the others that would come knocking down his door later.

… Let him read those thoughts.

“Is that a threat?” The doctor mockingly inquired, unfazed and clearly quite confident. “You hardly have the advantage, fox.”

“I've gotten out of stickier situations.” This wasn't even the first time somebody thought to make a labrat of him, his first encounter with the Deadly Six coming to mind. … Hopefully, this wasn't going to become a trend. 

“Perhaps, but I've taken precautions. Escape won't come easily for you.” The villain adjusted his glove with a self-assured smirk. “You are now quite the valuable asset to my plans.”

“Which are…?” Tails pressed, earning him a condescending pat on the head that made his skin crawl.

“All in due time, little specimen. As it stands, I've already shared too much with you, and I really must get back to work. You have such fascinating insights; it’s a pity we won’t be discussing this further, seeing how you will have no recollection of this conversation,” he coolly lamented, hand shifting from his bangs to his eyes.

“Now, it is time for you to go back to sleep.”

So... yup! Here's a glimpse of a brainworm I've had for a little while regarding Issue #36. It's a little rough and is absolutely a WIP (the end is particularly prone to change), but I felt like sharing a bit of it! Hope whoever finds it likes it! :)

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

Can we get Riddler's reaction to SO coming home with an injured animal, maybe with a side of 'no, we are not keeping it' but they end up keeping it anyway?

"We are not keeping the damn thing-" Riddler Party x S/O

Oh this is something I'm very familiar with LMAO. I tried to include a variety of animals here.

Not to be lame or a square or w/e but as a general reminder, if you ever find injured wildlife, please contact your local shelters or animal control. These are fantasy scenarios and in most cases- wildlife is either better left alone, you will need strict temporary guidance or they need to be taken care of by professionals. In many places, you need a license to care and keep undomesticated animals.

TW: animal harm and abuse, mentions of dog fighting, medical procedures

Gotham

It all happens so quickly one day when the pair are driving in Gotham. His S/O notices what looks like a small brown bundle in the middle of the road and panics for Edward to stop. Before he can really get an explanation, they're shouting over their shoulder about a turtle, taking off their jacket. Then he's the one panicking as he watches them stop traffic to scoop up the animal.

The painted turtle has a huge crack in it's shell and a hurt leg. Not knowing what to do, they take it to a vet to see if anything can be done. Surgery, a fiberglass covering... A free sexing to determine the turtle is otherwise a healthy girl. Edward is already devouring the informational packet given to him in the waiting room. A lot he already knew but, well, it pays to learn more!

He's probably one of the few riddlers that doesn't actually say "no we can't keep it." There might be a brief moment where he questions his S/O if they even want a turtle- for the most part it's kind of... fascinating? They keep visiting the turtle in the hospital before she's released and he asks so very many questions about care and what they've been doing for her-

Before it's even been officially decided she's coming home and not being released back out, he's getting a tank ready. Heat lamps, a UVA/UVB light, pond, a dock for basking. A very strange amount of decorations related to questions marks and his special interests that you might not expect decor for.

This turtle won the lottery. She gets a very fancy omnivore diet with vitamin and mineral supplements. He even ends up cultivating species appropriate plants in the tank for her to enjoy and snack on occasionally. She's never bothered much other than the routine tank cleanings. Edward just likes watching her and watching his S/O gush over how pretty she is.

If anyone asks to pick her up, he will give a speech on how actually, human contact stresses them out so if you could never ask again, he'd appreciate it. He intends on her making it many more decades despite not having any clue how old she is now.

Penguin is going to hear so many fun facts about turtles now. Oswald might consider trying to murder him... again.

60s

A baby bird that fell from it's nest. He watched as his S/O tried and failed to reintroduce the bird back to it's mother. He even helped them weave a fake nest and put it up in the tree to see if their parents would take the babe back. To no avail. He was prepared to comfort his love if the little thing passed on.

Yet he watched his S/O roll up their sleeves and start making a nest of their own. A heat lamp that was originally used for one of Edward's plots, now for the chick. He insisted they could probably find someone to take care of it. He's certain he could light a cigarette in a public place and get Batman's attention if they wanted a more heroic figure for the job. With a sidekick named Robin, surely he has a thing for lost little birds.

Birds aren't really his thing, you see. Not part of the gimmick. He has nothing against them, love, but... perhaps Penguin? Still no, huh? The determination of his S/O is rather inspiring, even if it goes against his own wishes. Feedings every few hours, changing papers and blankets. Checking the crop. He noticed the collection of bird care books from Gotham Library.

He starts feeling more affection for the thing once it grows fluff. As his S/O gently holds his hand out to teach the bird to step up. There's something endearing about all of it. How passionate they are. How could he truly say no? It's when the feathers appear and the soft cries begin that they confirm they have a little mourning dove.

In devotion to his partner and their new animal child, he sets up a bird cage and perches himself. Reads the same care books, albeit in half the time. Once the time is right, he even builds an outdoor cage to allow the bird fresh air and stimulation that is safe from predators.

While he doesn't appreciate the mess the bird leaves, he doesn't mind the shoulder buddy. It does, however, make him slightly less intimidating towards Batman, as if he needed anything to help with that.

Zero Year

His S/O had a habit of bringing home animals. They had some... special certification, he wasn't paying terribly much attention to what- What it meant was that after they moved in together, there would occasionally be a small furred or feathered creature in the spare room off his workshop that needed to be bottle fed. He wasn't sure how he felt about the habit. It was something he almost admired. Wanting to care for something small and weak. Yet it was a vulnerability he could see being taken advantage of.

Good thing he's such a pleasant and non-needy personality that doesn't need all his S/O's attention! He lived with it. Perhaps he was better for it. Personal growth... even if at moments he felt jealous and despised it. He supposed they needed a hobby of their own considering how his "hobby" was so all-consuming.

Then they brought home the red fox. A fur-farm rescue. Nowhere else to go, they said. Edward tried to put his foot down. How would they even care for it? A fox... Ridiculous! He also knows it can't be tossed back out into the wild. It would die. His stubbornness holds even as he watches his partner cut their hands open on wire fencing to make an enclosure.

It isn't until they ask him, truly ask him, if he hates that they save animals. Seeing the pain in their eyes and sensing the possibility that they might even leave- he makes a decision. No amount of avoiding annoyances is worth losing the one person he truly trusts in this life. He builds an outdoor enclosure with catch doors and even sits down with the thing.

Winning him over was as simple as the vixen stealing his screwdriver and laughing at him as she played keep away. He was irritated with her, at first, yet as he caught her and all she wanted was pets and affection... He supposed it was also cute the way she would hoard boiled eggs out of his hand. Alright, maybe, just maybe- Maybe she could stay. Only out of his good will.

He gets to a point where she'll sit in his lap while he trims her nails and brushes her fur. His S/O can do the yucky medical stuff she hates, this is his time.

BTAS

It was a kitten that set his life upside down. His partner, his darling beloved, found it abandoned and hypothermic in a box after a storm. No indication of mother or another human coming to find it. His eyes weren't even open. A little tuxedo that mewled for any kind of nourishment and warmth. Edward was ready to call Selina to come pick it up- until he remembered she was currently incarcerated by Batman for a diamond heist.

It wasn't his bathroom being overtaken as a quarantine zone that made him upset. It wasn't even the alarm that went off every two hours for feedings, even in the middle of the night. No, it was how exhausted and emotionally tired his S/O looked after two days of taking care of him. When he said they were not, could not keep the cat, his partner insisted on doing everything themselves.

He was regretting it, to say the least. At 3am, while he was working, he could hear the alarm going... and his S/O snoring through it. With a sigh, he turned it off and began to prepare the formula. He went through the steps in his mind as he had seen his partner do for the past week and a half. Feed, burp, stimulate for the bathroom, make sure he's warm. Then he got in there and found a creature shouting and demanding to be fed and loved now.

Putting the kitten on his chest, watching his ears wiggle and feeling the tiniest muffins being made on his chest... that was the moment he fell in love. In that instant, he understood. This little sootball that looked like lint that exploded in the dryer- he was worth the hardship.

After that, Edward took on the nightshift for his partner. A few more weeks and their schedules could get back to normal. Ish. And their fancy well dressed man could be released into the rest of the house to cause chaos galore. Kitten energy is a bit too much for Edward, but he adjusts.

Telltale

When his S/O had stumbled into his workplace, bloodied and holding a blanket close to their chest, he feared the worst. He was prepared to dismember whoever had done this to his partner- and then they mentioned it wasn't their blood. Irritating, yet relief flooded his system.

He cleared a nearby table and watched as his S/O unraveled a bleeding, wounded dog. Struggling to breathe. Whining. A prong collar embedded into its neck. In the haze of panic, he extrapolates that his partner found it thrown away like trash in an alley. Even in this state he could make out the bite marks of other dogs on her body. Dog fighting.

Yet the mottled colored mutt seemed disinterested in attacking, even in this vulnerable state. Had she already given up? He was prepared to euthanize her himself until his partner looked at him with wet eyes asking if there was anything he could do. A tired sigh.

He knew some people with the proper equipment. Yet even as he contacted them, he insisted the two of them were not keeping the dog. He would help take care of the dog. Then they would figure out where she could go.

This lasted until one night in the lab as he sat at his desk, he felt a heavy head lay on his leg. As he looked down, there she was, staring up at him- tail wagging. Even after everything they'd put her through... she was putting all her trust and affection in a human. He would never admit it, but it reminded him of himself in some small way towards his S/O. Finding that love after pain atop of pain.

He stopped mentioning getting rid of the dog. Insists no one else will want a former fighting dog, so she might as well stay. It has nothing to do with how she cuddles between her "parents" on the couch. That she'll fetch things for her master with a dopey pleased look. And of course not because she gets accustomed to waking Eddie when he's experiencing night terrors associated with his past. Lowkey she's his emotional support dog and he's her emotional support human and his S/O gets to watch that relationship bloom.

Arkham

Despite Edward's lack of care towards the many strays in Gotham, his S/O seemed rather enamored with them. He comments that they should leave feeding the mangy things to Selina. Yet, he doesn't stop them. Then there was one cat in the neighborhood that wouldn't escape either of their notice. A mean feral that wouldn't let anyone near it. He'd wait for everyone else to eat food before picking off scraps.

He thought it was sort of charming how his S/O asked him for a trap to catch the beast. He asked them why they'd bother. It would appear the creature had gotten an eye injury, likely from fighting. He'd never expected them to actually catch the beast, no matter how genius his craftsmanship on the trap. And yet...

One eye enucleation and spay surgery later, his next question was when they were going to release the cat back out. Or call catwoman to deal with it. As his S/O told him neither would be happening, he began to try to put his foot down. No, never. You will not be keeping him. If they'd really wanted a pet, he could make one! Not this... possible mixed breed of a wild cat with a domestic one.

Fortunately they had a small spare room they could clear out for a kennel to allow the cat some comfort while he healed. Edward would listen as his partner going into the room and cooing. Followed by hissing and "no... No, c'mon-" and more bargaining. He shook his head. What were they expecting? You can't just bring a creature like that back with that kind of hate.

It isn't until one night when he's working that he hears... a meowing. It's strained and croaking. He goes to inspect the room and seen the one eyed cat staring up at him. A soft meow. Then a head bonk on the cage bars. Yet as he knelt down, the cat reared back and hissed.

Over the next week, he would visit the cat with his S/O. He noticed this scraggly, scarred cat looking up at them. Hissing less and less. Hesitantly approaching until his S/O was able to touch his head. Then they heard it for the first time: his purr. It was then Edward knew he was not going to be able to get rid of this ugly as sin cat.

The cat absolutely chose his S/O as his person, but that doesn't leave out Edward. The cat likes sleeping on some of his machinery when it's warm. Jumping on his shoulders when he falls asleep at his desk. Edward finds himself petting deep into his now-soft fur when he's stressed.

Selina will give him so much shit about this cat. Forever.

Batman 2022/Nashton

His S/O found the little creature after a dog had gotten hold it. A possum joey without a mother anywhere in sight. A few calls later, a wildlife shelter visit and lots of stress and worrying, they were told the possum was going to live... But not in the wild. There was enough damage to its body that even after healing, he might not be able to defend himself properly.

Edward tried to reason why it should stay with someone else. They'd have better care. They'd become an education ambassador, maybe! He... It's so tiny and fragile, and that makes him so nervous.

Edward is projecting a lot of feelings onto this little thing that mostly wants to hiss and cling to his sweatshirt. He'll just fuck it up, you know. The problem that arises is too many rehabbers in the area are full up. There might not be any space for the little guy- Faced with the possibility of euthanasia, Edward's S/O looks at him with dewy eyes.

How can he say no to that face? And the face of, he supposes, their newest companion. After faking some paperwork and certifications, they are bringing home a small possum.

Over time, he ends up relating a lot to the possum considering their reputation. They're just scavengers! They can't even get rabies! Yet everyone just seems to hate them for being born. He knows what that's like...

He does so much research on dietary needs since possums require such a variety of care. Protein, proper phosphorous levels, fruits and veggies. He really likes feeding him cooked chicken hearts out of his hand. Since they walk so much in the night, he makes an exercise wheel for the little guy to use. Builds climbing walls and poles for him to hang from if he wants. His S/O gets to help hammer nails in!

Sometimes Edward's S/O is looking for the possum and asks Edward... only to see a little black and white head poke out from his hoodie. The two of them know they won't have the possum for long (in the wild, they only live around three years!), but he's kind of used to shorter lifespans with his rats.

He's going to make sure the years they have, though, are going to be enriching and full of happiness.

[thelurkershideout]

summerfest day 3!

ghost or hungry

Notes: I don't think this one needs warnings. This one was full of experiments for me I hope it works. I love these characters so much but I struggle to write them. Hope you like angst!

Brynjolf let out a deep sigh as he stepped from the silent Cistern into the rabble of the Flagon. It had been a while since he'd seen it this busy. Seemed like everyone in the Guild's fortunes were turning. Even if Mercer refused to see it.

He settled at the bar, sitting sideways to watch the card game at one of the nearby tables. It was good to see everyone enjoying these brighter days.

“I hear you're a Bard.” Thrynn’s voice cut through the noise, drawing his attention to the small table at the far end of the wooden platform that made up the majority of the tavern. Thrynn leaned across it, the tankard in his hand titled precariously as he tried to get Fjora to meet his eyes. She sat curled up on the chair, her knees serving as a support for the notebook she was writing in. She didn't look up.

“I was.”

“Never had a Bard in the Flagon.” His voice raised slightly. “Know any good drinking songs?”

“Not my specialty, and you seem to be doing just fine without one.”

Thrynn let out an obnoxiously loud and exaggerated laugh.

“Come on new blood! Give us a song!” He looked to the nearby tables for anyone to support his call for entertainment. Aside from Brynjolf, few seemed to notice.

“I don't perform for free.” Fjora’s writing stopped, “not that you could afford it anyway.”

“Are you that good?”

“The Jarl of Solitude wanted me to play at all her Palace events.”

“Oh, well look at fancy little –”

“Fjora!” Tonilia emerged from a back room holding what appeared to be some kind of bundle of cloth.

“I need your expertise.” She said, pushing past the busy tables towards them. Brynjolf, stifled a laugh in his drink as she nearly smacked her mysterious bundle against Viper's head.

“My expertise? You must be desperate,” Fjora looked up as Tonilia jostled Thrynn away from the table to place the parcel down. She quickly undid the twine holding it together, and began unwrapping it.

“Some meathead brought this to me last night,” the shine of green lacquer caught the candlelight. “He claimed it was one of a kind”

A beautiful green and gold lute sat on the table between the two women.

“How much did you pay for this?” Fjora stood, her gray eyes wide.

“How much is it worth?”

Fjora lifted the lute from the table. Turning it over in her hands she examined every inch of it. Running her hands along the neck. Gently strumming and tuning the strings. Thoroughly inspecting the decorative carvings. Her careful ministrations had begun to attract the attention of her fellow thieves.

“Well?” 

“First of all, every lute is one of a kind. Even two lutes made to be as identical as possible have differences, simply by virtue of being hand made.” She turned the lute over in her hands again.

“This one was made in Cyrodiil, it's a fairly common style.”

“So it's not worth the 600 gold I paid?”

“The paint color is a bit unusual. It doesn't seem to have ever been played. Pitty, the resonance of the wood is ex–”

“I don't care about the damn things life story, I want to know how much it's worth!”

“The most basic lute you could ever buy is typically 500 gold.” She ran her fingers across the swirls of golden vines. “The College operates on a system where you use the money you earn during your student performances to pay to keep the one provided to you.”

Brynjolf could see the frustration and irritation building in Tonilia’s eyes.

“This lute was probably intended to be a display piece, but would only fool someone who didn't know what they were looking at. It's a simple style dressed up with pretty paint. Its original buyer probably spent around 1000 on it, if the maker knew how to sell.”

Tonilia let out a sigh of relief, and sank into one of the chairs at the table.

“So I didn't waste my money.”

“I'll give you 700 for it right now.” Her eyes stayed fixed on the lute.

“What!? You just said it was worth 1000!”

“I said the original buyer might have spent 1000. The instrument itself probably would have sold for 600 with a more simple paint job, and you won't find anyone willing to pay full price for a preowned instrument.” She smiled at Tonilia. “I would be doing you a favor.”

It seemed like the entire Flagon had become invested in this exchange.

“900.”

“750.” 

“850.”

“800, final offer.”

“Deal.”

The Flagon rumbled back to life as the two women exchanged coin, and continued to talk over drinks. Paid for by Tonilia, Brynjolf noted. The lute never left Fjora's hands. She continued turning it over, and fiddling with the strings as the evening went on. Slowly, people started to stumble off to bed. 

The first few notes sounded like rain. Brynjolf was drawn back to Fjora, sitting alone. He watched as her fingers seemed to dance along the strings. A strange familiar sadness eased into him, like it was sinking into a comfortable chair. 

I've heard some of the locals call her ‘the gray child.’ The voice of a dead man whispered from the depths of his memories. She clings to the corners of rooms. The Flagon seemed so empty. She won't talk to us, maybe she'll talk to you. The song's swell felt like it was going to rip his heart from his chest. I want to know what she knows.

A little girl with wide gray eyes; sitting alone, under the docks. That's your first job.

The song ended. The Flagon stayed silent. Brynjolf finished his drink.

“I thought you didn't perform for free?” Thrynn plopped himself down across from her. Fjora stood, gathering up her notebook and lute. Had her cheeks been red the whole time? Was it the drinks or him? 

“You alright Bryn?” The bouncer's large hand slapped against his shoulder. Brynjolf nearly dropped his tankard. 

“I'm fine.”

“You look like you just saw a ghost.” He turned his head following Brynjolf’s gaze, as Fjora brushed past them.

“I'm fine, Dirge. Just turning in for the night.”