#i do want some semblance of logic for travel time. and there's a LOT of travelling going on here

[em-dashes]

i have to do so much math for aphelion 😞

[nikethestatue]

How to Make An Illyrian Baby

Elriel Month 2023

Language of Love: Acts of Service

Azriel and Cassian build stuff. For their ladies. And the ladies are very happy with the results. (Canon)

Warnings: Language, some smut

“I have too many books,” Nesta stated, looking around her library. Bookshelves were groaning under the strain of endless tomes. 

Nesta had a semblance of order when it came to her books: Sellyn Drake, war books, war strategy books, book dedicated to Cassian, which she’s been collecting for the past few years–surprisingly, there were quite a few, because he was, in fact, a living, breathing legend–and then romance novels. Light erotic romance novels, heavier erotica, and then, tucked into the bookcase that was in the shadows were her faves–the smuttiest of the smuts–the ones she and Cassian liked to recreate. Her very best one was about an Illyrian war veteran and lumberjack, who wanted to find a female to carry his sons. He travelled 500 miles through the wilderness to find his mate and give her his seed. That one gave Nesta a lot of ideas, especially those revolving around Cassian being dressed as a lumberjack. A depraved, sex-starved lumberjack. 

Her husband towered, standing in the doorway, his arms crossed on his chest, her bright hazel eyes assessing the situation.

“Do you want to donate some? To a library?” he proposed.

Yes, that would be prudent and logical to do. But Nesta felt possessive of her books. The only other thing that she loved more and cherished greatly was Cassian. He was her glorious brave general, and not that she’d stroke his ego with her words and compliments, lest his head grow even bigger than it already was, but she loved him more than all of her books combined. Yet, she could not part with the books. Each one told a story of her own life, and walked alongside her on her journey. There, on the left, were the books that she read while she was here in the very beginning, when they were just Made, and Elain sat in her room, catatonic. Below those, were the books that she read when Cassian was courting her. Fine, technically fucking her, but that was their own, private manner of courting. There were books that Elain and Feyre gifted her, books that Emerie gave her, adventure novels that Gwyn was excited about. Nesta wasn’t much for adventure stories herself–she’d seen a little too much adventure in her 30 years–but she understood why Gwyn loved them and how they took her out of her own humdrum existence. 

“No. I don’t,” she said simply, her tone even, but decisive.

“Alright then,” Cassian nodded. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Maybe the House can offer more space? Create some shelves,” she proposed. 

There was no reaction from the magical House. Usually, it gave some indication of having heard its Made mistress, but this time around, there was no reaction. It didn’t suddenly gather all the books in neat piles, and didn’t create shelves out of thin air.

Nesta waited for a brief moment and then sighed and announced, “I am going to train”.

“See you later, Nes.”

Cassian flew out of the House fifteen minutes later. He circled over the training platform, where the females were sparring individually and in small groups.

It was no longer haphazard like it was before, when they started out. Now, everyone wore comfortable cotton uniforms, and no longer exercised in leather. There were females from other Courts who joined the ranks, and who brought innovative ideas, such as comfortable shoes, made for running. Nesta and Mor were sparring together, with wooden swords, their swings packing a significant punch. Mor was dressed in a red tunic and white leggings, while Nesta remained true to her subdued palette–black leggings, dark shirt, her hair woven tightly around her head.

She’s been threatening to cut her hair short–like Elain.

Elain had shocked everyone, absolutely everyone, when one day, she arrived with a cute, but very short bob, having chopped off her long thick tresses. Cassian couldn’t believe it. Nobody could. But Nesta, who always found her hair a nuisance to begin with, eyed Elain’s short hairdo enviously and with serious intent. 

The only person who didn’t seem to be put off by the short hair was Azriel. That night, at dinner, while Elain flitted back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room, Azriel insisted on helping her. Cassian, in turn, was watching them, while pretending like he wasn’t watching them, and saw how many times Azriel’s scarred palm landed on Elain’s bare, exposed neck. How the long fingers ran over the back of Elain’s neck, stroking, caressing. How his knuckles skidded over the delicate skin of her throat, and how, when they thought that no one was watching, Azriel clasped his hand over Elain’s throat and squeezed. He pulled her to him, his hand firmly circling the long, elegant neck of his not-so-secret lover, while his lips captured hers in a deep, scorching kiss, biting her lips, sucking on her tongue. The way Azriel kissed Elain–it was usually done in private, but when Cassian happened to witness it, it was utterly filthy and inappropriate. Azriel kissed Elain like he wanted to brand her. Her neck was always marked with his teeth, and now, with her short hair, the mark was obscenely obvious. Cassian wondered if it was a not very subtle ‘fuck you’ to Rhysand, who still refused to grant them permission to marry, even though he was aware of their relationship. Rhysand said that until the mate bond between Elain and Lucien was officially rejected and certified by a priestess as null and void, there would be no formal recognition of Azriel and Elain’s relationship, and they were forbidden to marry. Cassian disagreed with his High Lord on his stance, and his bullheadedness, but he didn’t have a say in the matter.

So, as it stood, Elain kept her hair short, with an elegant upsweep, which has now become fashionable across Prythian, and her neck was always marked with bruises and teeth imprints from the Shadowsinger. 

Despite how good the short ‘do looked on Elain, and how Cassian was envious of Azriel’s easy access to Elain’s lovely neck, he baulked at the idea of Nesta cutting off her hair. Nesta might have kept it braided or in a tight bun, but there was something special when Cassian pulled all the pins out and it fell like a silken waterfall around her. He vetoed the short hair thing on his wife. So far, the veto stood.

Nesta and Mor waved at him, when he flew past them, while Amren, who was lounging on a chaise and definitely not sparring or exercising, gave him a disinterested glance. No one spared him many looks in general, because most of the females were crowding around Amren’s dog, also named Amren. Varian gave the puppy to Amren as a Solstice gift, and though everyone waited with bated breath to see how she would react to this shaggy portly fluff ball of a puppy, she was…elated. Nyx burst into tears, also demanding a puppy, but Amren refused him coldly, scooping the dog in her arms and cuddling it the entire night. 

Since then, the dog hasn't left her side. She loved that damn dog more than she loved anything, and named it Amren, though it was a boy dog. Cassian supposed that the name was fine. Amren Jr. was now as large as its cranky Fae mother, and he was still growing. Cassian wondered if Amren would ever try to ride Amren Jr. like a horse.

Cassian flew across Velaris. 

It was a pretty, sunny spring day, where every tree seemed to be in bloom and bursts of pink, white, cream, purple and blue tree canopies made his flight more enjoyable.

He landed quietly at the black wrought iron fence of the townhouse. It was still a handsome white building, but Elain had repainted the front door a cobalt-blue. Branches of heavily flowering trees hung over the fence, making this a truly Fae house, with fragrant pink and azure blossoms swaying gently in the breeze.

He unlatched the gate and stepped into the courtyard. Elain was toiling on the side, planting forget-me-nots around the perimeter of the house. She looked cute, in a simple blue shirt and black leggings, with a thick headband around her short curls. 

“Hey petal!” He greeted her.

“Cass!”

“He home?”

She nodded and nodded towards the door, letting Cassian make his way in.

It was good with Elain. Comfortable. Cassian didn’t need to say too many words. The girl always had the knack for just understanding him. 

The townhouse smelled like bread and roses–as usual. There was always the rich yeasty doughy scent that permeated the air–like a bakery. But there was also a whiff of roses, as well as honey, and jasmine. It smelled uniquely like Elain and Azriel here now.

Nothing drastically changed inside the townhouse since Rhysand’s times, but it definitely wasn’t his anymore. It was Azriel’s and Elain’s. Furniture was rearranged, and the style was different–sleeker, more modern (whatever that meant). Something about this ‘modern’ thing that Bryce Quinlar had brought from her world and apparently Elain really liked. Cassian wasn’t too sure what it was, but apparently, it involved sofas that weren’t fluffy. It also wasn’t as stuffy as when Rhys lived here, because Azriel didn’t like anything ‘extra’. Things had to be functional, comfortable and minimal. 

Azriel’s office and the house library had been rearranged in the way that his desk faced the wide open kitchen. Cassian suspected that Azriel liked to watch Elain and wanted an unobstructed view of her at all times. That was the main change on the first floor–walls had been knocked down, so Azriel could always watch his girl. Whether Elain realised why it was done, Cassian wasn’t sure, but Azriel was wildly obsessed with Elain, and there was no hiding it. 

“Hey!” 

Cassian could spot Azriel from the foyer. Azriel was in his office–a bright place, with huge windows and light pouring in and bouncing off the cream walls and plain shelves. Azriel avoided the dark at all costs, and his office was like his life–full of sunshine, of his Elain. It didn’t escape Cassian that Azriel was glancing out the window, catching a glimpse of the garden and his girl working in it.

“Hey you too,” Azriel tore his eyes away from the window and looked at Cassian. “What’s going on?”

Azriel wore a simple soft hoodie–another of Bryce’s contributions–and it was Azriel’s new informal uniform. He and Elain had invested early in the manufacturing of these hoodies, as well as sweat pants, both of which became wildly popular across all of Prythian, as well as the Continent. Let’s just say that they absolutely killed on that investment and were so fucking wealthy, they singlehandedly built and supported all the orphanages and schools in Illyria, as well as training facilities for females across all of Prythian. They opened libraries, girls’ schools and vocational training colleges for Illyrian females. It was ironic that Azriel, who hated Illyrian customs and attitudes all of his life, was now the predominant supporter of the changes that were taking place there. Nesta and Elain insisted on further investments in Illyria, and now, all these hoodies and sweatpants were manufactured there. It was actually kind of incredible, the more Cassian thought about it. He had spent 400 years trying to better the lives of the Illyrian people and make something of his land, and it took something else entirely to drive the changes–a girl from a different world, and three sisters who had experienced the best and the worst of what the world threw at women. 

“You want to eat? Drink?” Azriel asked, as Cassian took a seat across him and stretched his legs.

Azriel looked healthy. Happy. It was always difficult to read him, but Cassian knew him well enough. 

“No, I am good,” Cassian assured him, watching the man’s hazel eyes track Elain outside the window. The bright light of the office really showcased Azriel’s thick raised scar that stretched from his temple all the way to his chin, slashing across his cheek and crowding his eyelid. It was a gruesome fucking thing, made by a Made dagger, and everyone knew that the scar would remain forever, though it didn’t deter from Azriel’s handsomeness. It was almost like he wore it with pride, never hiding it behind his hair, or anything else. It was a scar that he received when Elain came to rescue him from certain death, and saved him. The scar, he felt, was a small price to pay for her sacrifice for him, and her love. Because no one loved Azriel quite like Elain. She tore him from the clutches of a Death God, and fought for him, and brought him back to life. 

“I need your help,” Cassian said at last, after Azriel fixed him with a questioning gaze. Resting his laced fingers on his flat, muscular stomach, Azriel quickly announced,

“I am not helping anyone with anything if it takes me away from my girl.”

It was the first time since Cassian stepped in that a shadow popped up and circled Azriel’s feet. The shadows didn’t appear frequently anymore, and never when Azriel was at home–Azriel’s comfort and general satisfaction with life didn’t require the shadows any longer. However, Cassian knew that he brought a measure of distress to his friend right now, and he felt bad about that. 

Cassian rolled his eyes and muttered,

“You are the worst besotted person I’ve ever met!”

“I am not besotted. I am in love,” Azriel objected lazily. “What do you want?”

Before Cassian could even open his mouth, Az added roughly,

“If it’s some shit from Rhys, you can forget it. I am retired.”

“You are not retired,”

“Fuck am!” Az insisted. “I am not doing any fucking favours for anyone, especially him.”

Cass threw a meaningful glance at the stacks of reports and papers, which definitely indicated that Azriel was not, in fact, retired at all.

“What’s that, then?” he cocked his brow at the papers.

Az puffed his cheeks and said,

“Charity.”

“Charity?”

“My girl lives in this city and this Court. Her sisters too. You. I am not leaving it to go to Hel because someone missed something vital that endangers you all. I can easily pick my girl up and fly with her to my beach house which is far, far, far away from here. But..I don’t want you to be thrown in some new fuck up war, and I don’t want Nesta to become a widow, and all that,”

“Oh, generous of you!”

“I am generous,” Azriel agreed easily. “I do all of this because I can, and I have a sense of responsibility, and not because I have to. So, I repeat, if this is an order from the High Lord, you can both stuff it. So, what do you want?”

“I guess lucky for me that this has nothing to do with Rhys. But I will take that drink, because dealing with you is a pain in the arse,” Cassian sighed.

Azriel smirked and got up, going to a cart which was lined with bottles of expensive liquor. He poured them both a measure of whiskey and handed the tumbler to his brother.

Oh Cauldron boil him. Wherever Az got this whiskey from, it was sublime. Cassian smacked his lips, savouring the deep smokey taste, with hints of citrus and even cherries in it. So what if it was 9 in the morning? Good whiskey was always a good idea.

“We need to build something,” Cassian said at last, and Azriel’s eyes immediately narrowed. The thick pink scar stood in sharp contrast to Azriel’s dark skin and as he cocked his head, it became even more pronounced.

Adding quickly, Cassian said, “and no, it will not take you away from your flower.”

“I am not helping you build another cabin,” Azriel warned.

400 years ago, the three of them, Rhys, Cass and Az, built a cabin in Illyria. It was for Cassian, and it was a mammoth project, since they did absolutely everything themselves. It took a couple of years and a lot of sweat, and pain, and frustration, but the cabin stood and Cassian and Nesta went there pretty often. Nesta loved the rugged terrain, the mountains, the low, but vast skies, the dramatic waterfalls and the immense forests. It was wild and beautiful.

“Nothing quite so elaborate. My wife needs some book shelves.”

Azriel hummed under his breath and then offered a single nod.

“Fine.”

“Well, that was easy,” Cassian smirked and Az glowered at him, but it was without any bite or threat.

“How many shelves?” Azriel asked, as he went to the kitchen to rinse their tumblers.

“No idea. A lot. The books are overtaking the House and she is refusing the donate any of them,” 

Humming again, Azriel looked around the huge kitchen, which was remodelled to suit Elain’s needs. She cooked and baked voraciously, but mostly for the orphanages or to distribute the breads and the pastries to the less fortunate. Azriel was a big male, but even he couldn’t consume as much as Elain baked. She also had a bakery, where she employed human survivors of the War, who created many specialities from the Human Lands. Needless to say, the place was popular and Elain re-invested all the money that the bakery made into building housing for the humans across Prythian. 

It surprised Cassian a bit, how charitable both Azriel and Elain were, and how much effort they put into bettering the lives of others, especially children and females. When he’d asked, Azriel avoided answering for the most part, only ever saying that since he got a second chance at life, he didn’t want to waste it on destruction, but wanted to put it towards creation. And that was that.

Running his gnarled scarred fingers over the long butcher block countertop upon which Elain did most of her baking, Azriel mused, “maybe I’ll build something too…” The counter was definitely banged up–chipped in some places, scuffed, burn marks littered all over the surface, gouges from knives and scrapers and rolling pins and bowls and other utensils all peppering the once gleaming surface.

They left the house and skirted the side of the building. Azriel immediately extended his massive wing, shielding Elain from the sun. She was crouching on the ground, her hands dirty, her brow sweaty. 

“Flower, you need to wear a hat,” he admonished lightly, while she tipped her head back and smiled at him. “Your pretty face is getting all burned and red,”

“It is not!” she argued.

“You look like a beet,” he noted, and Cassian chuckled. She did. She was red and sweaty, but her brown eyes gleamed with joy.

No one would’ve thought what this smiling, soft woman was capable of. No one would’ve guessed what she did. If someone didn’t know their story, no one would believe it. It was unbelievable. It was legendary. It was the stuff of myths, where only four short years later, no one thought that it actually happened. But it did. 

Elain Archeron had bargained with the Cauldron, and offered up her own immortality to save the man she loved. Elain, the gentle flower grower, fearlessly stepped back into the ink-black waters of the Cauldron, returning to its horrific depths willingly. She, who clutched her dead lover to her chest, and who offered to share one life with him, in exchange for his own. Azriel was dead. He had no immortality. He had nothing to bargain with. He only had the love of Elain, who pleaded and begged and sacrificed on his behalf. And the Cauldron agreed. It bound Azriel to Elain’s life. One life. For both of them. If she died, he died. If he died, she died. Together. Forever. Unable to exist without each other. The Cauldron tethered them with a bond unlike any other. Elain gave up her perfect immortality, her grace, so she could live whatever years she had with Azriel. The only such bond in existence, created especially for them. Only because the Cauldron loved Elain and wanted to make her happy. Elain made the Cauldron purr. 

She was laughing now, crying “I am not a beet!” while playing with Azriel’s wing. He poked her on the head with the claw and then warned, “I better see a hat on you!”

She sighed dramatically and muttered, “fine!”

“Thank you,” he drawled and then scooped her in his arms. 

She traced his cheek with her dirty finger and then asked, “do you want beet salad for dinner?”

“My favourite,” he smiled. “With goat's cheese?”

“Yuck,’ she grimaced. “Fiiinnnneee…”

He laughed and pressed, “And almonds?”

“And almonds,” she nodded. He wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed her nose, then her mouth.

Cassian stepped aside, to give them room. 

Azriel stroked her face, her neck, before biting her at the juncture between her shoulder and her neck, sinking his teeth into her skin cruelly and possessively. She stilled in his arms, while he sucked, his mouth laving and hurting, kissing and biting her. He was always feral with her, barely controlled, completely consumed by her, and consuming her in turn. 

The bargain was harsh, but in Cassian’s opinion, perfect for them–Azriel wouldn’t have been able to live without Elain anyway. If she wasn’t with him, he’d simply hurl himself down on the ground from a great height and not unfurl his wings. Unlike most beings, Azriel didn’t fear death. Like Cassian, he walked side by side with Death all his life, and dying was the most natural thing to him. Cassian might have had a healthy respect for death, but Azriel taunted it and fought it. Though now, thankfully, he was thoughtful about it. But only because it involved Elain.

“You want to wear a flower crown?” Elain asked, once Azriel finally forced himself to pull away from her. Cassian was of mind that Azriel would just take here right then and there, on the lawn of their house. Would it surprise him? Not even a little bit.

“Sure, flower, let’s do it!” Azriel agreed easily, a smile playing on his handsome face.

She got excited and rushed to a cart, where her tools and seeds were stored, from which she retrieved not one, but two flower crowns. Azriel looked at her like she was a falling star, the most beautiful sunset of his life, like the sun at dawn. 

“Cass, you want one?” 

Well, Cassian certainly couldn’t say no to her, considering how thrilled she looked right now, so he nodded and stooped, so she could place one on his head. He was a smart man. He liked Elain, but also, he didn’t want to be beaten to death by Azriel’s boot for refusing Elain’s flower crown.

She laughed and told him ‘You look good!’

“Anything for you, petal.”

They flew to the market, and then walked down the crowded paths, while Fae gawked at them. Some dared to ask for autographs. It wasn't every day that the Commander General and the Shadowsinger were strolling down towards where lumber, metals, and construction materials were sold. Two huge Illyrian warriors, sporting flower crowns. Neither Cassian nor Azriel removed their new decorations, and didn’t really care whether they looked odd. Multiple people stopped and told Azriel to pass their regards to Lady Elain. Because Lady Elain paid for a healer for someone’s son. Lady Elain found housing for someone’s uncle. Lady Elain’s new park was wonderful. Lady Elain’s free kitchens served the best potato and sausage soup. 

Cassian didn’t comment, but he wondered if part of the animosity between Rhysand and Azriel was due to the fact that Elain was beloved, and Feyre was the High Lady. Feared and respected, but not loved. 

“Are you planning to patch things up with Rhys any time soon?” Cassian queried, as the two of the selected wood, nuts and bolts, fasteners and lacquer. 

“Not planning on it,” Azriel shrugged, filling the cart with dozens of wooden planks.

Carefully, Cassian prodded, “Is that reasonable?” 

Azriel remained placid under the scrutiny, choosing whatever he needed for his own project. Calmly, he asked, “what do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. That you’ll be the bigger male in this ridiculous standoff, and you’ll,”

Interrupting him, Azriel said, his tone dry and crisp.

“I am in love with a human woman, Cassian. Just like you. My human woman grew up believing in certain things–betrothals, marriage, weddings. Maybe it matters little to you and I, but my human woman always wanted that. She wanted love–to love and to be loved. She was betrothed and about to be married once, and she was torn from that world and that future, and given to another male. A male she didn’t know, didn’t want, and didn’t like. She was shackled with a bond she didn’t even understand, and while everyone told her how special it was, and how she should ‘give him a chance’ she was developing feelings for another male–me. She wanted me. And Rhys forced me to break her fucking heart, Cassian, because of Lucien! Because of his political agenda. When it came to him stealing Feyre from Tamlin, that was all dandy! Oh the great mate bond that was bestowed upon our High Lord. The mate bond that trumps all. Well, not only was I forced to reject the woman I love because of Rhys’s political machinations, he didn’t bat an eye when he found out that Lucien was shacking up with Vassa. In his mind, Elain had to ‘deal with the bond’, sit alone and untouched by anyone, while I was sent on missions all over the world, so he could keep us apart. 

“Elain went and did whatever Rhys commanded for the good of Prythian and his Court. She had to match wits with a Death God and bargain with the Cauldron. When it came to saving his mate and son, Rhys was dropping on his knees for Nesta, who did an exemplary and selfless thing for them. But when Elain did the same, but it was for me, and for Prythian, somehow, it wasn’t enough. 

“All I ever wanted was to offer my Elain what she dreamed of–a proper betrothal, and a wedding, and a marriage. Not some secret bullshit thing, where we have to hide it from everyone, the way we had to hide our relationship.

“But alas, we do not have the great and magnificent Mate Bond! Which apparently is the only thing that matters to Rhys. You and Nesta were mated, you were married, and you get to live your life as you please. And I am happy for you. But I live under the threat of banishment, stripped of my rank, and forbidden to marry my woman. Either I have to become an oath breaker, and a traitor to my High Lord and my Court, or I have to live in shameful silence with Elain, like we are two criminals.

“So no, I am sorry, but I am not planning on patching things up with him.”

That was the longest that Cassian ever heard Azriel speak. It was a tirade from a male who did not lower himself to tirades. There was something agonisingly sad and wretched about the betrayal that Azriel felt from Rhysand, and it pained Cassian to see things devolve like that. Five, almost six years on, and there was no resolution. And Cassian couldn’t blame his brother. 

In the end, Cassian simply said, “Elain deserves better. She deserves the world.”

Azriel nodded, saying, “that’s why I am going to build my baker girl a new counter. It’s time.”

The sun was beating down on one of the inner courtyards of the House of Wind. Thankfully, a pleasant cool breeze from the sea brought some relief, though the men preferred working shirtless anyway. 

Cassian and Azriel worked well together–they were mostly silent, knowing what needed to be done without unnecessary commentary. The camaraderie was familiar and pleasant, honed to perfection after centuries of friendship and brotherhood. Rhys didn’t like building things, and preferred to use magic when he could, so it would be done quicker, and perhaps better. But there was something about getting calluses on their hands, and the tingle of strain in their muscles from lugging all the parts and then hammering and screwing them together. There was innate satisfaction with producing something that came from them, and was built with their own hands. They’ve completed three bookshelves already, and were working on Azriel’s butcher block right now. It was a simple job, if a little tedious, but the polishing of the surface was also calming, relaxing even. While Cassian was sanding and polishing, Azriel was on his knees, attaching a fastener to the side of the block, his muscles straining and his dark golden skin gleaming with a sheen of sweat.

“We got company,” Cassian murmured with amusement.

Azriel glanced over his shoulder, and saw a bunch of females strolling about, sneaking through the columns that lined the loggia one level above. They were milling around, pretending like they had some business here, in this corner of the House, where none would ever step foot in before.

Azriel huffed and returned to his work, while Cassian heard an audible gasp from a few ladies, when they were faced with the expanse of Azriel’s bare back, clad in thick muscles and decorated with black ink. He had added tiny pink roses to the blunt black curls of his tattoos, delicate vines that wrapped around the Illyrian markings, making him an Illyrian, but also Elain’s. Cassian had seen Elain’s own tattoo–exactly the same black swirls like Azriel possessed (actually, all of them did) for luck and glory on the battlefield–and boy, oh boy, did she need it!--swirling the side of her torso, under her left arm. She also had tiny roses dotting her skin, but they were cobalt blue. Because she was Azriel’s.

“What are they doing?” Mor raised her brow, while she wrapped her thick blond hair in a ponytail.

Gwyn Berdara, Mor’s mate and wife, mirrored her, tying her long bronze locks with a blue ribbon.

Nesta, who stood still, watching the males work on fitting a shelf into the slots, said,

“Apparently building stuff,”

“What is it?” Gwyn wondered, though it was pretty obvious what was being built, and Nesta gave her a ‘I slay my enemies’ look, at which Gwyn quickly added, “I mean, why bookshelves?”

“Told Cassian I needed bookshelves,” Nesta said bluntly.

“And he just went and built you some shelves?”

“It would seem so,” Nesta agreed and cocked her head, watching her husband, until a small smirk appeared at the corner of her mouth. 

Mor was watching them too, while doing sit ups and stretches, to ‘limber up’ according to her, because she and Gwyn and Emerie were going to be participating in a sunball tournament tomorrow. Nesta thought that the whole thing was stupid, but many people around her took this game way, way too seriously and there were complex strategies being worked out all the time. One team had Feyre, Gwyn, Emerie, Cassian and Varian, plus a few other Fae, while the other team was led by Mor, Azriel, Rhys, Cerridwen, Balthazar and others.

Nuala, Elain, Ressina and a few of their friends from the city, as well as Azriel’s younger sisters were on the cheer squad, pumping up the crowds, doing stupid and risky gymnastics for no reason.

Nesta and Amren had no interest in sunball, and thought that the whole thing was ridiculous. However, they were completely outnumbered. It was for the best that Nesta wasn’t on the teams–she’d just fight with Cassian constantly, just like Feyre did with Rhys and Mor did with Gwyn. At first, Elain was also all fired up about joining, but she could barely tackle a poodle, let alone someone like Cassian or Balthazar. Besides, everyone knew that Azriel would smite anyone who’d touch her or hurt her. Elain was pouting for a week straight when she didn’t make the teams, or even the subs. It was Varian–the Captain of the Blues–who suggested that they all needed a cheering squad, and Elain just about tackled him when she heard about it. 

Nesta had to admit that the cheer squad was pretty impressive. They did all kinds of magic, Nuala floated through things, Azriel’s sisters flew and performed acrobatics in the air, and Elain played with both fire and water. 

“Cauldron boil me,” Mor muttered under her breath, “but they are pretty.”

They were pretty. The two indescribably beautiful males sure knew how to impress. Cassian was thick and agile, powerful and rough, like the mountains and the winds of Illyria. Azriel was slender and carved, elegant and devastating, dominating and calm, like the blue waters of the ocean.

Nesta didn’t much care for Mor breathing her admiration for Cassian, or Az for that matter, but she didn't say anything. 

“Yeah, you can get pregnant just from looking at them!” Gwyn announced, and Nesta winced. 

If anyone was going to be getting pregnant here, it would be her. By Cassian. 

She could barely tolerate other females looking at her husband, but she also felt a bit smug–after all, he was building stuff for her. He wanted to please her. He loved and adored her. He was hers. 

Nesta’s learned a lot in the past six years of her marriage and matehood. She learned how to compromise and what fights were worth her time, and which weren’t…and curiously, the longer she lived with her mate, the more she realised that most fights weren’t worth it. She preferred to love him. She watched Elain and Azriel, whose temperaments were very different from her own and Cassian’s, but who always set an example with their relationship. They hardly ever disagreed, and instead of jibing and nagging, they praised and supported each other. Elain only ever sang Azriel’s accolades and while Nesta figured that they probably had some disagreements, Elain and Azriel knew how to resolve them quickly and peacefully. And Nesta realised that she kind of wanted more of that, as opposed to bickering and arguing. When there was nothing to fight about, why perpetuate the unnecessary tension? So she didn’t join the sunball teams, because she wanted to keep the peace, and right now, she felt like praising her husband.

Nesta left the others behind and went downstairs.

‘Heavy motherfucker’ she overheard Cassian grunt, his huge arms holding the heavy structure steady, while Azriel scowled as he jammed and shimmied the last of the shelves into place. Through gritted teeth he hissed, ‘next time you are buying Nesta a bookshelf! Like a normal person!’

Nesta approached Cassian from behind, admiring his sweaty back, where each divot and scar, every tendon and birthmark were familiar and beautiful. She wrapped her arms around his trim waist and pressed her cheek to his spine, between his wings.

“But Nesta likes it when her husband builds stuff for her,” she protested and Cassian’s massive body shook with laughter.

Nesta never grew to like the term ‘mate’, unlike Feyre. She always preferred ‘husband’, because that’s what Cassian was–he was her husband. Her lover. Her mountain. Her soul. And she loved to ‘husband’ him in front of others. She just wished that her sister Elain could do the same one day–because no one ever wanted to marry a male more than Elain wanted to marry Azriel. 

“Hello Nes. This was supposed to have been a surprise,” he reminded her.

“Don’t know how this was going to be a surprise,” she shrugged, “when you’ve been hammering, cursing and thrusting all morning long!”

“Thrusting?” Cassian huffed and Azriel gave him a look. “I certainly haven’t been thrusting. Otherwise, I would’ve remembered it!”

Nesta laughed softly and kissed Cassian’s back, “sounded like thrusting.”

Azriel finally wedged the last of the shelves in place and Cassian let go of the bookshelf at last and Nesta ducked under his sweaty arm, as the three of them admired the fruits of their labour.

“You like?” Cass asked, wiping his brow.

“I like,” she confirmed.

The shelves were simple, but beautiful. Made by her husband’s own hands. And what could be more precious than that?

Azriel folded his arms on his wide chest and asked, “And the House couldn't have built these for you?”

Nesta looked up at Cassian and the ferocious look of pride and satisfaction on his handsome face, and stroked his cheek.

“The House knows what’s real. I only want real.”

Nesta’s hand skidded over Cassian’s thick arm, her fingers tracing the patterns of his tattoos and then she whispered, her voice husky,

“I think I need to be alone with my husband, Az.”

“I would agree,” Azriel chuckled, as he tugged his shirt back on. “All it took is a little sweat and some rudimentary building skills,”

Cassian shrugged innocently, his big hands circling around Nesta’s thin waist.

“Ladies like a builder, brother.”

“Ladies do,” Nesta confirmed, her cool unusual eyes glazing, sliding over the panes of Cassian’s phenomenal body.

Azriel smiled, saluted them, grabbed the heavy countertop and then winnowed away.

Elain was out when Azriel returned home. He had about an hour to wrangle the old countertop off its base and affix the new one. As he got to work, he pondered if Elain would be as enamoured with his building skills as Nesta was with Cassian’s, and where that appreciation might lead. 

Despite the lovely morning, by midday the weather’s changed, and thick spring clouds rolled from the sea. Azriel opened the tall doors in the kitchen, so that the cool pre-rain breeze wafted inside from the garden, which smelled exquisite from all the flowers and the blooming trees. He watched as the heavens opened up and a swift, heavy downpour came down quickly and violently. As he screwed the new countertop in place, he hoped that Elain wasn’t caught up in the storm, but, not 10 minutes later, he heard her at the front door. Felt her. Sensed her actually. Knew that she was near him now. He walked to greet her, throwing a lingering look at the new, shiny, polished, pristine butcher’s block. It looked amazing, if he could say so himself.

Elain was soaked. Dripping water from her dress, her hair, her eyelashes, everywhere.

“Beautiful, why didn’t you winnow?” he asked, standing in the doorway, watching her, as she tossed her sopping wet shoes on the floor. 

She looked at him and a lovely light lit up her face–the same light that always came out of her when she saw him.

“I love the rain,” she said simply, and then pulled her dress up without thinking about it, scrunching it up and tossing it on the floor by the shoes. 

Azriel watched her, unmoving, though he was smirking, and said, “Please, continue and don’t stop on my account.”

Before she could retort, her eyes popped open widely and she gasped, craning her neck–’what is that??’ She could see into the kitchen from here, and the new countertop was hard to miss.

“Az…” she breathed. “You…you made this?”

“Sure did, gorgeous,” he nodded and as she tried to run by him, his arm shot out and he grabbed her firmly around the waist, pulling her to him. She only wore a silk undershirt, which was also soaked from the rain, and he didn’t waste any time tearing that off of her. 

“Az,” she croaked again, because now, she was completely naked, save for her white stockings, which moulded over her plump thighs, and he was completely dressed. Hefting her in his arms, he lifted her off the floor and her legs wrapped around his waist, as she draped her arms over his shoulders.

“You made that for me?” she breathed. And the smile that bloomed on his lips was devious, enticing and a little evil.

“I heard that girls like shit built for them,” he teased, as he walked them slowly from the foyer and into the house. His large hands gripped the backs of her thighs, before he repositioned her, so that he cupped her bare ass, his fingertips positioned precariously close to her centre. She keened into him, breath hitching higher in her chest, her breasts rising and falling.

“Girls do,” she nodded, echoing her sister’s words. “I want a big, sweaty, brawny man to build me things,” she growled, her teeth biting the tip of his ear. 

“Are you describing Cassian?” he joked, those bold fingertips tracing the rim of her entrance.

“There is only one big, sweaty, brawny man in my life,” she bit his earlobe savagely, before sliding down and nipping on the column of his neck, placing slow, open-mouthed kisses on his skin, the thick veins of his throat.

“Care to test the countertop? Make sure it’s well made?” he proposed, as she sank her teeth into his skin, biting and kissing his neck, surely leaving a mark on him. His control wavered and he picked up his pace, almost running to the kitchen and slamming her down on the new surface. She yelped and bounced on the hard wood, while he roughly parted her thighs and stepped between them, sliding his sweats down and freeing the cock that was legendary. She barely managed to prop herself on her elbow, though he wrapped his arm over her back, preventing her from falling back, while at the same time, he drove his thick, heavy shaft into her. 

She screamed from the agonisingly painful, but delicious thrust, as he filled her so suddenly and completely, she had no time to process it. 

“Oh, by the fucking Cauldon,” she wailed, trying to adjust to the pressure, and the glorious drag of that magnificent pole, while he began to pound in her relentlessly, not allowing her any time to adjust. All she could do was just take it. 

A chant of “fuckmefuckmefuckme” burst forth from her lips, and he smiled a taunting little smirk, murmuring ‘language, little Elain’, shaking his head at her, as he drove so deep inside, she was left completely breathless. Falling back on the new counter at last, she could only take the merciless ramming of that massive dick, thinking that there would probably be an imprint of her ass in the surface of the counter from how hard he fucked her. 

Apparently, roughly fucking ladies on newly built things was what the gentlemen liked. 

She clamped tightly around him in no time, her breasts bouncing wildly from the force of his thrusts, and her back arched at an unnatural angle, as she careened over, grabbing his hand and squeezing hard enough to almost break it. Not that Azriel cared how hard she pawed or squeezed him. He spilled inside of her with a hoarse, feral groan, pressing his forehead to hers, while he rolled the wet stockings down her legs. 

“Pleasure to serve my lady,” he grunted against her lips, and she burst out laughing. “How’s the counter?”

“Probably left a bruise on my butt, but otherwise, amazing!”

Ten Months Later

How does one make an Illyrian baby? 

Build furniture for the mother, and then fuck her on it, that’s how.

Azriel and Elain made their way to the House of Wind. Well, they took a carriage, like normal people, and once they were deposited in front of the red mountain and the massive building within it, Azriel picked Elain up in his arms and flew the short distance to the private quarters, where Nesta and Cassian lived. 

Cassian opened the doors on the terrace and his face broke into a wide grin.

“Lemmie see them!” he demanded impatiently. 

Azriel smiled and carefully laid two swaddled bundles into his brother’s waiting arms.

Grumbling, Cassian muttered, “I can’t believe you made two!”

Azriel wrapped his arm around Elain’s shoulder and then whistled, adding smugly,

“Well, brother, I can offer you some pointers for next time…”

“What next time??!” they heard Nesta’s voice from the lounge. 

She was laid out in a wide armchair, looking cool and unbothered as usual. 

No one would tell you that she gave birth yesterday morning.

“We are definitely going to discuss the ‘next’ part,” she warned Cassian, who sat down on the edge of the chair and scooped another baby–his own–into his arms.

“What did you name her?” Elain asked.

“Parvati,” Nesta said, gently stroking the baby’s head with her finger.

“Daughter of the Mountain.”

“Well, Parvati, it’s nice to meet you. These are your cousins, Ramiel and Isabelle.”

“The three of you will do great things together.”

credit to @gracie-rosee for Amren and her dog HC

[sidespromptblog]

Locked

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Logan is insecure, Crying (Almost), and Angst. 

Summary: After Patton skips him, Logan locks himself away in his room as the doubts about their friendship start to overwhelm him. Why had Patton done that? Had he wanted to do it all along? Was it just better this way? Should he just stop talked? Should he just...

AO3 LINK

Word Count: 3305

The door slammed shut much harder than he had meant for it to, but be that as it may… Logan couldn’t bring himself to care about that as he sank heavily into the chair next to his desk. Tossing his glasses onto his desk, he held his face in his hands trying desperately to calm the shaking that started in his shoulders and traveled all the way through his entire body. He wasn’t crying, but right now he honestly wished that he could at least get that kind of relief right now. Instead, there was only a deep well of sadness that only seemed to get bigger and bigger with each passing moment, he didn’t like it. At least with tears, it was only temporary, but this feeling… it felt like it could go on forever. 

“It’s not fair…” Logan couldn’t help but to whisper in a way that almost sounded like a whimper, his bottom lip trembled uncontrollably, and yet no tears. “Why.. he…” He honestly could not believe what Patton had done this time, he’d already expected it from Roman when he had chosen ignorance over Logan informing him. But for Patton to… to just let Janus come in and pull him out and replace him, just because he didn’t want to listen to him. Patton… who had seemed so worried when Janus had first taken his place before. “It’s not fair…” He repeated with a mumble, as he dragged his fingers through his hair messing up his usually neat and presentable hair. 

He didn’t care right now, now was not the time to be neat and presentable. 

He could allow himself this at least, to dwell in this.. this...

Betrayal.

Yes, that was an apt term for what had happened between him and Patton. Whether the other side chose to acknowledge it or not, Patton had… betrayed his trust as well as his feelings by choosing to silence him. Ordinarily, he could understand that due to heightened emotions Patton could do weird things, but it was the fact that when he had chosen to confront him about it in front of Thomas he had… tried to do damage control. Which as responsible as that sounded, only made him feel as if he were like a child being placated, and like he didn’t deserve an apology for what had been done. 

Did he though? 

Doubt curled its ugly unease around Logan, making him slump even more in the chair as he ran his hands back over his face before eventually just covering up his eyes. He knew that he could be a lot to handle sometimes, and that his many many facts could sometimes be annoying to handle well all of the time if their reactions were anything to go by. Oftentimes his input wasn’t exactly wanted, especially when it came to things with emotion. Even things involving stuff like philosophy or psychology seemed boring for the others, more so when it seemed to come from him of all sides. Even his history facts… 

But Patton had always assured him that he wanted to hear him. 

The doubt in his mind grew stronger, “Was he…” The word lying stuck on his tongue like a barb, as his heart clenched painfully in his chest. For the first time since he’d come back to his room, tears welled up in his eyes misting over everything in sight. 

It didn’t make him feel any better. 

He probably was. 

After all, if Patton had lied about his own emotions multiple times then there was no reason to assume that he hadn’t lied about things like this to all of them. It wasn’t wrong to assume that… he perhaps didn’t even like him, or maybe even that.. that he had just been humoring Logan until he grew too annoyed to bother putting up with him anymore. That he had finally reached his breaking point, and Logan just so happened to be the kind and cheerful side’s breaking point. It wasn’t an impossible thing to assume, but after Patton had dealt with both Remus and Janus… for Logan to be his breaking point kind of hurt more than a little. 

Was he really so unlikable? 

Probably…

God, why hadn’t he listened before when the others had told him to shut up? Probably his pride, he was too arrogant and far too self-absorbed. 

And he had called Roman conceited…

Logan raked his fingers through his hair again, tangling his messy hair even further. “Maybe I should just start being quiet…” He muttered dourly, even though deep down… he knew that it wouldn’t be enough. Just being quiet wouldn’t work considering the damage he’d already done to everyone around him. “Maybe I sh-”

A quick series of knocks pattered on Logan’s door, and just as quickly as it had started the words quickly died in the logical side’s throat. 

“Logan.” Janus’ cool and calm voice called from the other side of the door, he couldn’t have been standing more than a few inches away from the wood that separated them. It was just one word and his name at that, it shouldn’t have been so startling. And yet, despite that calmness that always seemed to accompany Janus’ tone, Logan couldn’t help but to detect… something else. “Logan, may I come in?”

It was... worry?

Even so, Logan fought the urge to sigh heavily at the request. Here, was the one person who had not only taken his place at Patton’s unspoken and unsaid request… but the person who seemed to delight in calling him out on all of the lies that he constantly told himself. He wasn’t exactly the kind of person that Logan really wanted to have over for tea, much less invite him into his room when he was already feeling vulnerable and on the verge of tears. But… it wasn’t like he could deny the request, should someone need him he was always to be there for them. Whether it be someone like Janus, or one of the other sides he had grown up around. He was to be there for them, and to offer them logical assistance. And maybe Janus needed that.

Or to just rub it in his face about how Patton had chosen to have lies rather than the truth. 

“What you don’t know can’t hurt you.” Deceit smirked at Logan in that knowing way of his, as if he knew that further down the line of what was to come. Or maybe because he just knew of the lies that constantly rattled off of Logan’s tongue, or the lies that just stayed inside his head constantly tormenting him. 

“Logan?” 

Another sigh rattled out of the side in question, before he painstakingly combed his tangled hair back with his fingers in an effort to get some kind of neatness back before Janus could see. 

“Do what you want Janus,” Logan called out from his desk, turning back to it to give the semblance that he had been doing some kind of work. His desk was a mess though, there would be no getting that past Janus. He attempted to neaten up a little, his shaking fingers plucking up different papers as he organized them into little stacks that hardly felt as organized as he wanted it to be. Although the light trembling of his entire body certainly didn’t help manners any, his inner turmoil certainly hadn’t gone away just because Janus had shown up. “Come in.” He muttered, half expecting the other side to just have left at the sound of the attitude clearly ringing in Logan’s voice. 

But hearing the sound of the knob of his door turning before it creaked open made the logical side turn his head a little, the streak of light from the hallway made his eyes burn a little. Although that could have just been from the fact that he had forgotten to put his glasses back on in his haste, as well as the fact that his eyes had been completely adjusted to the darkness of his own bedroom. 

But even so, there Janus stood. With his caplet draped casually over his arm and his head held in his hands, letting Logan see his smooth wavy hair that stuck up from the friction of his hat. His gloves had even been tucked away into the back pocket of his pants, letting Logan get the tiniest glimpse of the scales that gleamed like glass on his wrists. He looked…

Casual. 

Suspiciously so. 

If he hadn’t been before then the smile that came from the other most certainly sealed it. “Thank you for seeing me,” Janus carefully said as he walked from the door to Logan’s bed. Tossing his caplet onto the blankets Janus took a seat without even bothering to ask, instead just crossing his legs as he stared back at the logical side for a good long moment. “I was worried that you wouldn’t for a moment, or that you’d just turn me away… I wouldn’t blame you.” 

“Why?” 

Janus blinked at the question, “Because I took your place to-” 

“I mean why are you here right now?” Logan didn’t feel that bad about interrupting him, if anything he almost deserved it after how he had been interrupted today. “There’s no logical reason for you to be. You got what you wanted, didn’t you?” He’d hurt him, or in the very least he’d assisted Patton in hurting him. That skip button hadn’t come out of nowhere, and neither had that cane that had hooked him. 

But then again… maybe Janus had sensed what Patton secretly wanted but couldn’t say to Logan. Janus had always known the secrets that they’d all kept hidden, and… Patton not liking him and wanting him to just shut up was something that Janus could most certainly help with now as well as in the future. Janus even made logical arguments, so it wasn’t a stretch to say that he could even deliver some arguments in a way that wouldn’t bore the others too. Patton… 

Patton even seemed to like him. 

Janus cleared his throat, and just like that Logan’s mind had been dragged back to the present. 

“I just wanted to let you know,” Janus slowly began, as he fidgeted with the hat in his hands. “That I’m not good at this whole… being a vulnerable and truthful person kind of thing, but you deserve... to know the truth.” Janus lamely finished, looking like he was going to say something else before finally ending his words. “It’s not easy, especially since I’m so used to lying all of the time. But…” 

Logan just stared back tiredly, wondering when it would all be over so that he could just bury himself in work and sleep, so that he could forget this whole day ever happened to begin with. 

“Your doubts and your fears about Patton are unfounded.” Janus finally snapped, the words coming out in one massive rush as if in fear of waiting any longer would stop them from coming at all. But even so, it didn’t stop the emotions that were clearly shining in the dishonest side’s face. As he gripped his hat tighter and tighter, until his knuckles had turned white.  “He does not find you annoying, because you are not annoying. He does not want your silence.” 

I don’t want your silence. 

The words were unspoken, and yet Logan heard them all the same. 

But it still did little to alleviate the pain that had already sunk deep in his chest, while it was nice that Patton apparently felt this way… actions had more a louder call than words did. And Patton’s actions… they stung like a slap to the fact that would bruise for months to come, and even so.. even then he wasn’t sure he could trust that Patton wouldn’t do it again. 

It had hurt. 

A tired sigh fell from his lips, “Is it you or Patton that’s saying that?” He finally asked, as he finally allowed his shoulders to droop from the exhaustion he had felt from the day. There was no hiding his emotions from Janus, the side could see through whatever front he put up effortlessly, so there was no point in hiding anymore…

There never really was. 

A mixture of emotions darted over Janus’ face, “Both… both of us Logan.” He softly whispered, the look of regret and sorrow unfolding as his gaze took in all of the emotions that were freely being shown on the logical side’s face. “I’m sorry…” He honestly said, agony curling into him like a white-hot fire as Logan closed his eyes at the simple two-letter words that had left the dishonest side’s mouth. 

“Clearly,” Logan began, not callously but logically. “Otherwise I doubt you would have made the effort to come here. But…” He took in a deep breath, steadying himself for what he was about to say. “It changes nothing.” He had to put his foot down, at least this one time… he was tired of this, so very tired. “I am tired Janus, I am tired of what keeps happening to me. I had learned to accept it from some of the others at this point, as just ‘teasing’. But this… this is the last straw for me.” It hurt to say, but.. but he had to take care of himself first before he could even think about what Patton’s actions might’ve meant if it didn’t mean he was annoyed with him. “I am taking this for myself.” 

There was a moment of silence between them, and when Logan finally opened his eyes he didn’t really see what he had expected to see from Janus. Maybe some anger, some more worry, or even some annoyance at the way that Logan had chosen to go. He wasn’t really sure how he was supposed to react to the calm understanding that was reflected back in Janus’ eyes, as if… it had been something that the serpentine side was acutely familiar with. 

But even so, Janus slowly nodded. “Are you going to duck out?”  He carefully asked.

Logan couldn’t fault him for the question, it was a very valid one especially considering that Virgil had done the same exact thing months prior. But that wouldn’t solve anything, it would just be running away and waiting for the others to chase after him and show him that they care after so long of… everything. And while it was tempting and so very.. very nice sounding… he wouldn’t do that to them. Seeing how Thomas had been affected by Virgil’s absence had been enough to assure himself that even if he had the opportunity to, he wouldn’t. It wouldn’t solve the baseline problem anyways.

It would just make the others feel guilty about boundaries that they didn’t know existed for Logan. 

“No,” He easily answered, and he watched as Janus relaxed clearly sensing the lack of a lie in Logan’s statement. “I will continue to do my work as Thomas’ logic, and be good at it. But.. I am tired, and…” He looked over to the messy stacks of papers on his desk that he had tried to organize before Janus had come in, there was so much he needed to clean and work on. “I think that I need some time away from the others, and… some time to think about myself and how I stand with them.” Logically he knew.. he knew that they had never done anything out of any pure malice or hateful intent. Logan was just… well he was weird and he was odd at times, so there was no reason for them not to comment on it. Especially since he’d never told them not to, he should have put up clear boundaries of what he was okay with and what he wasn’t. But even so…

It didn’t stop the hurt. 

A chilly hand squeezed his own, and looking down to his lap Logan saw that Janus had reached across the distance to bridge the gap between them. “Take however long that you need to,” Janus murmured, although knowing entirely that he had no say in the matter. “I am glad that you are taking this, and doing this.” Logan would never see him making a fuss about taking some self-preservation for himself, more of the sides needed to do what Logan was doing. Better late than never, anyways. “I wish you the best of luck, and…” As Janus stood from his spot at Logan’s bed, making his way towards the door. He stopped as soon as he laid his hair on the brass doorknob. “I hope that when you come back, I can make a better opportunity at being your friend.”  

With that being said, Janus opened the door and walked out leaving Logan to his rest. The hammering of his heart had quieted almost as soon as the lies that had been surrounding Logan’s mind had faded into nothingness. He had been scared for a moment, that Logan would duck out just as Virgil did, but this time they’d have a much harder time of getting Logan back. 

He hadn’t been the only one that was worried. 

“Is he okay?” Patton softly asked from the couch, the stuffed animal that was being squeezed to death in his arms told Janus just how worried the moral side really was even if he was trying to remain calm. “Should I go up there and talk to him?” Patton fidgeted with the strings of sleeves of his cat hoodie, his leg bouncing up and down as he glanced towards the stairs that Janus had just walked down. 

He stilled as soon as Janus raised his hand to stop him. “He is fine right now,” The dishonest side said, as he sat beside Patton comfortably. “But I wouldn’t suggest going to see him, he’s…” Janus struggled to find a way to word it delicately enough to get the feelings across, but without hurting Patton too much in the process. “He was very hurt by your actions, and it’s not a feeling that I think is going to go away anytime soon. You showing up and trying to apologize when he’s not ready… it’s just going to make him feel that hurt so much worse.” Putting his hand on Patton’s shoulder, Janus looked back at the other side’s guilty look. “ I understand your guilt, but showing up before he’s ready will just make him draw away from you even more. Trust me I know this much about forgiveness…” Images of Virgil’s distrustful sneers flashed in his mind, and Janus couldn’t help but to wince at the pain that crackled over his heart. It was always better to wait than to say something you couldn’t take back, because you didn’t wait. “I don’t think he’ll be ready for a while, and I think yo-... We all need to be prepared to wait until he’s ready to come out, not us going to him. ”

As depressed as Patton looked at the prospect of leaving one of the others to stew in their own mental torment, he nodded. 

“Okay,” Patton sadly said as he hugged the stuffed animal in his arms tighter, “You’re right… I can’t make him forgive me, and I don’t want him to feel put on the spot. I just.. I just hope that he’ll be okay, I’ll miss him.” 

Janus knew, he knew so much about that feeling so much that it physically made him ache on the inside. 

He still missed Virgil to this day, even though he saw him almost every day now. 

But he’d lost his chance, so the very least he could do was ensure that Virgil and the others didn’t lose theirs with Logan. 

He wouldn’t put them through that pain.

Never. 

[cafecourage]

VIO CONTENT PEKASE PLEASE DKJNEOIAJEPLENSENEIWN OIYUEB NWPL EHAHAHAHhSNJKNKNKSLMFDLKSFNKLNFEOIFNEOWIFNEWOFNEWOFIWEMV

Thy....... ok here you didn't give me an AU so I just f***ed around and found out.

Vio headcanons (for all Au’s and general)

General HC:

- Vio crochets. People can fight me on this!!! He crochets and knits. He does it to calm his thoughts, just to slowly zone out. Catch him plotting his own story in his brain while doing so.

- Speaking of stories, this man is probably an Author. He most likely had written a fluffed-up version of their adventure. There wasn’t really a point of him doing so but it did get all of his feelings out on paper.

- Out of all the colors I feel like he would get the most night terrors. It will lead to him having bad insomnia.

General Love HC:

- Indifference. That’s the base emotion he is feeling towards a Reader that ended up traveling with the chain. He does like you! Don’t get that wrong. It’s just the situation calls for his attention to be on the goal. The other colors are better at social interactions then him.

- Reader in a normal traveling with the chain au, would be from a more modern timeline. Not fully but like one of that mixed technology and Medieval fantasy-based era.

- It honestly was weird that you just hang out with Four with him in control. You seem like you just gain energy from just talking or interacting with the others and Vio isn’t…really… that social.

- It was a slow bonding experience. It started as you sitting nearby when he was reading or working on a project. Nether talking nor really minding the other's company.

Isekai HC:

- This man is super anxious around you. The sobs when you were also convinced, he killed green, along with your cries from his betrayal still ring in his ears even now. He hates knowing that you might not trust him anymore because of that. The other Colors think he is just overthinking it because you did welcome him back with open arms after.

- Vio is kind of just dancing around you when they finally realize you’re the voice and presence that they felt during their adventures. While the other colors jumped on to the opportunity to get to know you better. He just… can’t?

- You’re his and the other’s anchor. They consider you their (ex. Imaginary) friend. The one person that was always by their side. Cheering them through the toughest of times, and Vio feels like you would leave them if he even tries to get close.

- He really, truly wants to standby you. He wants to not feel guilty enjoying your hugs. He just… wants you to be happy.

Divide and conquer. That’s normally how Four dealt with supply runs. Four was accompanied by you today. Which meant the others were in town. So, Four decided to let the colors stretch their legs. It was nice for each of them to actually speak to you one on one. However, they had limited time and still needed to get the items before sundown.

With five people it should go a lot quicker than normal. So, with the promise of being able to hang out after. Each Color and you went their separate ways. Vio was almost done with his list of items. The last thing he needed was some more personal items.

“Sneak attack!!” A warmth from behind engulfs the purple hero. Picking him up briefly to give a small squeeze. You were smiling brightly down at Vio. “Hi again.”

It was a miracle that his brain didn’t just short circuit just looking up at them. “I- Hello??” One of the many things you’ve said on their journey came out as, Vio was scrambling for a sense of, for the lack of better words, ground to root himself to. “Why are you here?”

“Is it against the law to hug someone I am closed to?”

“No, but…” he didn’t understand why you wanted to shower him, in affection and love. But how can he ask you that? You’re always giving Four hugs and small platonic kisses. He didn’t want you to stop. He and his brothers loved and craved that warmth you brought with your presence.

Vio didn’t know if he was deserving of it. The others were, that’s for sure. Despite how rough blue is, how bossy Green could be or how much Red cried in their adventure. You always had the patience of a saint. It was him that tested that and found how far that patience went. “Viiiioooooo, earth to my favorite grape color hero!” He was finally put back down on his feet. “Are you ok?”

“Define ok.” He was quick to answer, after finally getting some semblance of his ability to think back. He took his chance to back away from your presence.

That wasn’t the right thing to say apparently as your face slowly twisted to a pout. “Are you mad at me?”

“Mad… at you?” He repeated to confirm he heard you correctly. You gave a small nod now doubting your assumption. “Why?”

Your shrug didn’t give him much of an answer. “Well, it just seems when Four is influenced by you he is more distant.” You paused trying to figure out what to say next. Vio on the other hand was mortified that you were able to read his body language so well. Actually, he should have expected it. That’s how you knew that the colors exist in the first place. “If I did anything-“

“No, it’s not you!” It was him. It was all him. Vio knows logically being still hung up about the past was ridiculous. Emotions are annoying. He isn’t built to deal with them. “I just thought.” There was no nice way to explain this to you though. “You were still mad at me.”

“Oh.” Well, this got awkward really fast. Vio kept up his indifferent front hoping that his cheeks weren’t still as red as his brother’s tunic. “But I like you a lot!” You took his hands suddenly. “Don’t get me wrong I was mad. But I know you’re a good person Vio! I like you; I like your brothers and I like Four!”

Ah. There he goes.

- The first of the Colors to realized he loved you in this AU. Which just makes everything even worse for him. Since he knows the other colors feel the same but are in denial because of your connection with Four.

- He could help the others…..Nah…. Vio wants to watch them suffer.

Cafe HC:

- Coffee? If he feels like death. Yes. Tea mostly though. He tends to get the blunt of the headaches. Tea also helps with his ability to sleep.

- He is the type of customer that comes in and stays for hours. In his case just writing and/or reading. You’ve only ever spoken to him a few times before. Mostly to get his order and asking about his day. Small talk!

- Slowly you learn more about him. You learn that he has brothers. Is an author, (you’ve bought his book and teased him about having it signed now.) Had traveled around the world a few times before.

- You’ve met some of his siblings before. They actually come as often as he does. Striking up more of a conversation than him. Sometimes even getting him to talk to you more…

It’s has occurred to you how much time has passed since you last saw a Vio. It was a long time. A few months honestly. It kind of hurt that he and his brothers just up and left without giving you a fair warning but, it’s their personal business and not yours. Yet…

You thought you five were close.

It’s fine. Maybe Link was around! They were his siblings and you could just go to the forge and ask. Though you weren’t too close to Link so maybe it would be a bit awkward to ask him about his brothers.

They are probably fine.

There is no need to worry, they are all seasons’ adventurers!

It seems like this day was just going to be a slow one. Where you couldn’t get your mind off of your friends. It was almost closing time so another day without any word from your favorite color-coded brothers.

You decided to clean the shelves early tonight. Leaving some smaller bits for the Minish that may or may not be inside your small cafe. Lifting the chairs onto the tables to clean the floor. Making sure they get every nook and cranny. To make your life easier the next morning.

As you picked up the finally empty tray off of the counter you were heading into the back. Until the door to your small shop swung open and a group of similar-looking Adventurers comes stumbling in. “(Y/n)!”

“Vio?” You turned around quickly, only to see him helping to keep one of his brothers up. They looked like they ran through ten monster camps just to get to your sleepy little shop. You felt dread came in full force as the empty tray slips from your grasp. You bolt to his side ordering the others to get in the store. “You lot are staying over here.” You didn’t ask it was a demand. No room for argument. “There are potions in the back. You can use what you need.”

“Thank you, Ms.” a larger man with a scar across his eye went in the direction you pointed.

You gather the knocked-out brother to help Vio. “Thank you.” He said sheepishly.

“It’s no problem,” You smiled back at him. “Let’s make sure your brothers are safe. I was about to get dinner ready. How does something hearty sound?”

“That sounds lovely thank you.”

- You might have not known Vio and his brother for long but they really do consider your small little cafe as a safe space. A little heaven that they don’t need to be a Hero.

- Now when he stops by on this adventure you tend to give him packs of supplies and a bunch of treats for the road.

- You also started writing him letters and care packages when you can. Now that you know that he is traveling around. Though you don’t know how the mailman knows where he is… that’s… not something your gonna question really.

[unlucky-rubber-ducky]

Found

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

3265 words

Summary/warnings: Not proofread. Sleep deprived writing. Mentions of injury and fighting and sadness and all that jazz. Post-Order 66, baby.

A/n: This one is definitely a ride. If not good, I hope it is at least entertaining. It was entertaining to write. Kinda sad. As always, please let me know if there’s anything I can edit to make the story more inclusive. Thank you for reading!

The annoyance you felt as you trudged out of the marketplace was… unmatched. This was certainly not the deal. You would help Sar’pah clean up the mess he had made, and in return he would get you off of Abafar. Of course, when you had said ‘off of Abafar’, you had meant somewhere with some semblance of civilization; something to blend into. Not another Maker-forsaken desert planet.

You should have known that a ‘pit-stop’ on Tatooine meant kicking the dangerous fugitive offboard, but seeing as how Sar’pah himself was a wanted man, you had hoped he would be a little more forgiving. He had landed in Bestine, asked you to go get a few items from the market, and flew off the moment you stepped off the walkway.

Kriffing fool doesn’t even know what kind of fugitive I am. Your trusting nature may have lost you a ride, but it certainly didn’t extend far enough that you told people why you were on the run. You simply told them that working with you could be dangerous. It was up to them to decide if they wanted to take that risk.

Too many would love the reward a Jedi would bring them. And dammit, if you were going to be brought down by the Empire, it certainly wasn’t going to be for anyone else’s gain. So, here you were, stuck on another desert planet. One ruled by the Hutts, no less. A few too many brushes with them, before and during the Clone Wars, had you very wary to make your presence known to them. So, you figured that at least until you had a ride offplanet, you should try your best to avoid bigger settlements. (Well, as big as settlements on Tatooine could get.)

Which brought you back to the current moment. Republic Credits had never meant much in the Outer Rim, but you had just enough to buy some water and an admittedly sickly looking Eopie. You hadn’t really bothered to check what direction you were setting off on, just picking the horizon that looked the least difficult to navigate with a large animal. It was also in the opposite direction of Mos Eisley, where you were quite sure a few old enemies resided. 

You refused to acknowledge it, but you could feel the Force pulling you west. You were sure many Jedi had taken solace in the Force after all they had lost, but all you felt was… betrayal. You were well aware the Order itself was corrupt, you didn’t deny that- but mass murder? The will of the Force was to kill some of its most loyal followers? You had witnessed its power. You couldn’t deny its existence. But you could deny its benevolence.

So you kept going with the suns in your eyes and told yourself it was logical to go west.

“Hey!” You ignored it. You didn’t know anyone here, surely they were calling for someone else. “Hello? Excuse me?”

You finally turned to see a blue Twi’lek jogging to catch up with your Eopie. Three years of being hunted had your instincts screaming at you to reach for your lightsaber, but the friendly (if panicked) smile on her face put you at ease enough to let her get close enough to explain herself.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh you don’t have to be so formal! I’m Sasrula, just Sas if it’s easier, and if you’re willing, I could really really use some help right now.” You stopped your mount entirely, turning so the suns were at your back and the stranger couldn’t see your face. You examined her more closely, which you could tell was making her more nervous. “I just need to get out of here, somewhere a little more sparsely populated, and quickly, or else I wouldn’t be bothering you, but just since I’m pretty light and your Eopie could probably carry both-”

“You were enslaved?”

She looked down at herself, seemingly only now noticing the small bits of fabric she had been given as clothing. Before she could go on another rant, you gestured to the space behind you. 

“Hop on.” Before she could get any closer you help up your hand, stopping her in her tracks. “There’s a cloak and some water in the bag.”

 The animal beneath you protested, already struggling with your weight, but when you calmed it down enough, it began its slow progress. The first minute or so was silent, but Sasrula’s chatty entrance was an omen of the hours to come.

“Whatcha doin’ on Tatooine?”

“Passing through.”

You could sense the doubt that washed over her, and the suspicion that your lie brought onto you.

“Most people ‘passing through’ Tatooine don’t ride off into the desert.”

“I have never killed anyone that wasn’t about to kill me.” It didn’t… soothe her, but the blunt statement seemed to ease her enough into another topic of conversation. 

“...did you have a job before Tatooine?”

“Few years ago.”

“Spouse?”

“No.” It was too late, though. You had stiffened, and due to her close proximity, Sasrula easily picked up that there was more to that story than you were letting on. “He and I were never married.”

“Already have a wife then, did he?” You let out a puff through your nose.

“Something like that.”

There was a time you had resented Obi-Wan for inevitably choosing the Order over you. For leaving your quarters early in the morning, whispering empty promises of love and a happy future. Nowadays you would go to the ends of a universe just for one more moment with him. But you would never get that. Because even if Cody hadn’t been the one to kill him, and he had survived the initial execution, Obi-Wan was too courageous and too selfless and too reckless to have made it three years on the run. 

And if maybe you didn’t want to consider the idea that he hadn’t come looking for you like you had spent the first two years looking for him, you would never admit it to yourself. You weren’t sure you could survive that notion.

“Was he handsome?”

This was the most Sas had seen you emote in the little while you had now been together- she wasn’t letting your mystery man get away that easily.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Rich?” You laughed, and Sas felt just a bit of pride that she had eased you up.

“Hardly! The man never remembered to bring whatever money he did have, and I would constantly have to apologize to Dex-” You stopped yourself. No names. Don’t get familiar. “Dex was the owner of a greasy little diner.”

There was something… pleasant, about pretending that your relationship with Obi-Wan had been a normal one. There was no Jedi Council to answer to, no status to keep safe, nothing. Just you, a few memories, and an escaped Twi’lek full of questions and eager to fill the silence.

“...then, the kriffing bastard, he pushed me into his closet! Like whoever was coming in wasn’t gonna figure out something was amiss!” The giggle coming from behind you was loud, and you were glad to finally be sharing these stories with someone. 

“Oh no I entirely relate, there was a guy who- why’d you stop?”

You all but fell off of the Eopie, stumbling when you landed but quickly steady on your feet. Something felt very wrong, and you were quite sure that something was moving towards you very fast. While your hand first landed on your lightsaber, you made the decision to grab the blaster you had stolen from Sar’pah instead.

A distant cloud of dust, coming from the direction of Bestine, was moving… fast.

“How fast do sandstorms usually move?”

“Well, it depends on the pre-existing weather and geographical conditions, but they can go hundreds of miles an hour, it’s not pleasant-“ she finally turned to look at what was causing you to panic “dank farrik! That is not a dust storm!”

“Well what is it then?!”

“A lot of trouble!”

As you tried to pick out details of the approaching figures, a reflection of light let you know they were on speeders. A brief glance at the struggling eoipe let you know you wouldn’t be riding away from this, and the miles of flat desert around you hardly made for any good hiding spots.

“Are we sure it’s trouble?” You knew it was- another whisper from the Force that you were trying to keep unacknowledged. 

“Yeah. I had hoped he wouldn't notice I was missing till tomorrow.”

Now that’s just… great.

“Who is ‘he’?!”

“My previous captor. He’s, uh, not very forgiving.” Sas moved to get off of the animal, but you stopped her. “Listen, I appreciate your entrepreneurial spirit, but you’re not gonna get any money from him for my return, he’s just gonna kill you.”

“I’m not trying to get any money, you’re not going back.” The Twi’lek’s surprise was almost palpable. “At least, not while I’m standing.”

The cause of the dust cloud had gotten close enough that you could see four speeders drawing near. Three had large, intimidating riders, and the front one, the fanciest one, had a severe looking older man.

They slowed when they drew close enough, and the cold look in the man’s eyes told you everything you needed to know about him.

“I believe you’ve made off with something of mine.”

“You’ll have to enlighten me, sir.”

He paused for a moment, taking your protective stance and hood-covered face in.

“I’m not so sure I do, partner.”

“I haven’t stolen anything since I landed on your dustball of a planet.”

He snorted, still looking down on you from his position on his speeder.

“That,” he pointed at Sasrula, “is mine.”

“She is traveling with me. Has been for a while.”

“You can’t fool me, traveler. I know my own property. Don’t try to lie.”

You held your hands up in mock defeat.

“Hey, I never said exactly how long she had been with me. No lies have been told.”

“How long is this gonna go?”

“Till you either let us go, or are crushed under my boot.”

“Now, we both know that’s not gonna happen.”

In an instant you dropped to the ground, dodging blaster fire from four different directions. Even in the heat of the moment you were wary to reveal your past, so you pulled out your own blaster, desperately trying to get back on your feet whilst dodging dozens of blasts every moment. Once you finally had the chance to stand, you were able to get two of the larger men down.

It was a stressful situation, and once again you hated to admit it, but fighting felt… good. Not the chaos or death or injury of it, but the feeling of letting the Force guide your movements, feeling it flow around you and tell your limbs where to go.

Unfortunately, the method didn’t work when you were surprised out of your focus. And a cloaked figure coming out of seemingly nowhere and kicking the leader off of his speeder was enough to startle you.

You cursed as pain shot from your right shoulder, and it took everything in you not to drop to the ground. You shot the last of the body guards, and aimed at Sas’s captor, who laid in the cloaked man’s shadow. You paused when you felt a hand on your arm. You looked up to see Sasrula, who was looking at you with an unspoken request in her eyes.

You handed her the blaster and let her take the shot. You understood the desire.

Once he was dead on the ground, you turned towards the other presence, who had taken to watching your interaction with Sas. You couldn’t see his face under the hood of his cloak, and some part of you felt better knowing your face was likely just as concealed as his. 

“Thank you for the help!” Sasrula’s bright voice poked through the suspicious silence.

“It was no trouble at all.”

Your blood froze. You were almost certain you knew that voice.

“Take down your hood.”

“Excuse me? I-“

“Please just do it.”

You could see his shoulders stiffen, and you knew he recognized your voice. He lowered his hood. 

His eyes were the first thing you noticed. They were sad. The saddest they had ever been. And so tired. But there was a burning hope, a burning question, that you knew you needed to answer for him.

So you copied him, and dropped your hood.

“Hey, Obi.”

That was all it took for you both to take off in a sprint, clearing the few meters between you in less than seconds. You jumped and landed in his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist.

You buried your face in his neck, sobbing as you tried to get as close to him as you possibly could. He let out a disbelieving laugh, and you pulled back to get another look at his face. You placed your hands on his cheeks, brushing the stray tears that had fallen from his eyes.

“I thought you were dead, Obi.”

“I thought you were dead, little one.”

There was a part of you that expected him to push you away when you leaned in to kiss him. A part of you that still felt it needed to hide your relationship. 

Instead, you kissed him and all of your grief and anger and sadness and deep adoration and love were on display for him, and his for you.

You finally pulled back and stepped back down on the ground when someone cleared their throat from behind you.

“I’m assuming this is the handsome man from before?”

You blushed and looked at Obi-Wan, who raised an eyebrow at you.

“Yes, it is.” You reluctantly pulled out of Obi-Wan’s arms, taking a step back to look him over for injuries. “How long have you been here? How did you survive all of the slaughter? I heard you had killed Grievous but then there was so much chaos, and I made my way to Utapau just to be sure you weren’t there and-”

“You went to Utapau?! Darling, that was foolhardy and-” 

You took another step back.

“And?”

“And dangerous! I can only imagine that place is crawling with Imperials!”

“What was I supposed to do, Obi? Yours was the only face I cared to see, so I figured I’d start from the beginning.” Conflicting and powerful emotions caused more tears to fall from your eyes despite your best efforts. “What was I supposed to do?” It came out as a whisper, and you hated how broken you sounded. Suddenly you felt very tired, and the previously forgotten blaster wound on your shoulder was beginning to burn with pain.

“I had hoped that you would let me go.”

“Could you have?”

“What?”

“Could you have let me go?”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer immediately, and you had your answer. Suddenly all of the heartbreak and quiet crying in your quarters at the temple were worth it. The three years of not knowing if you were searching for a ghost, the sneaking suspicion that he hadn’t done the same for you.

Worth it.

“Can I stay with you?” You sounded like a child and you hated it, but now that you had him you weren’t sure you could let him go.

His continued silence turned your heart to ice. Perhaps he hadn’t looked for you because he was tired of you. Perhaps you misread the situation. Perhaps he could have let you go. 

“Have you had any run-ins with the Empire?”

“Nothing beyond what any other Jedi has encountered.” You heard Sasrula gasp, and you felt just a little bad that you had entirely forgotten she was there. “I’m sneaky, Kenobi. Surely you remember that.” The curious turn of conversation had you feeling just a little more stable. He did not, however, smile.

“I’m staying here. On Tatooine. For a long time.”

“You’re saying I can stay?”

“It’s not like I can kick you off the planet.”

The rush of relief was sudden, and altogether too much for you. That, combined with the rather serious wound you had yet to take care of; the exhaustion of the past few hours; and the hot sun, it’s really no surprise that you passed out.

“Oh dear.”

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

When you woke, you felt blessedly cooler. The bandage around your shoulder was soft, and the blankets you were wrapped in smelled like the desert and Obi-Wan, which calmed your initial alarm at waking in a foreign place. There were no windows in whatever room you were in, but the general darkness around you suggested it was nighttime. There was a doorway with just a curtain across it, from which you could hear quiet murmurs. Your sleep muddled brain told you to lay back down and close your eyes for just a little longer, but you were too curious to sleep any longer.

When you stood you realized you weren’t in your own shirt. It was much larger than your own, and a slightly different color. You were, however, still in your own pants. Which was very appreciated. You took a few steps before stumbling, still rather weak from the past few hours.

You weren’t noticed when you first stepped into (what you could only assume to be) the main room of Obi-wan’s home. Said man was currently bickering with Sasrula over how to prepare dinner, and if they should wake you up to eat. You were glad to see that the Twi’lek hadn’t run off, and you were even gladder to see Obi-Wan in a lighter mood.

You finally caught his eye when you moved further into the room, and he quickly moved to your side in order to help you to a make-shift dining room chair, kneeling in front of you. You sheepishly smiled at your two companions, who both returned your look with concern.

“I see you two have become pals.”

“I see why you spent three years without him. Your man is insufferable.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, and you both tried to pretend like Sasrula calling him ‘your man’ didn’t affect you.

“You gave us a bit of a fright, my darling. I hadn’t even realized you had been hit.” He kissed you on the forehead. “I do hope you don’t mind that I took your shirt off in order to treat your wound.”

You shrugged.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

If he wasn’t red from Sasrula’s earlier comment, he certainly was now.

The Twi’lek snorted and made her way to the kitchenette on the other side of the small space, taking her chance to prepare dinner her way.

“How long did I sleep for?”

“About two days. You left me alone with a stranger for two days.”

“That explains why you’re so chummy with Sas.”

He grimaced.

“Yes. I… don’t know that I’ve ever met such a talkative woman.”

“Giving Ahsoka a run for her money, hm?”

“Don’t remind me.”

You chuckled, and felt a warmth in your heart that you hadn’t felt since you and Obi-Wan were both Padawan’s and had the galaxy ahead of you. Except… this was different. You weren’t sure you could call it better. There was too much bloodshed and trauma for it to be better. But it was undoubtedly freer. 

“Does it make you uncomfortable to say that I love you?”

Obi-Wan smiled softly.

“Never.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “I love you deeply, little one.”

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

road less travelled - m. tkachuk

I was throwing together a list of ideas yesterday, and this one stuck out to me for some reason. So I started writing, thankfully had a pretty free weekend, and finished today! It was a fun piece to right, I hope you all enjoy it! As always, I read all my tags, so reblogs are a writer’s best friend! You’re also more than welcome to come into my inbox and yell at me if that’s more your speed.

word count: 4.5k+

March 18 (thurs)

Elsie couldn’t believe she had gotten herself in this situation again. Every time she woke up in his bed she swore it was the last time, but one drunken mistake turned into another, which turned into a threepeat, and now she wasn’t so sure it had been a mistake in the first place. There was just something about Matthew Tkachuk, something so intoxicating that she was able to ignore the every fiber of her being that was screaming at her to stop this, stop things before it turned sour. Stop it before her brother found out. 

It had been easy enough to keep things from Johnny when they first started hooking up; they’d meet at a crowded bar, somewhere where the cover of anonymity was all but guaranteed, or a late-night text, a few words by the other communicating everything they needed to know. He was lonely. And Elsie Gaudreau was the only one who could help. It had been easy enough to keep things from Johnny at the start, but then they started texting before 11 PM, and then they decided they were exclusive, and then, Matty decided that it was about time that they put a label on it. And suddenly it wasn’t so easy to keep their secret anymore. 

The team knew that he was seeing someone, but much to everyone’s surprise, he had said precious little about their relationship. He called her Leigh in the locker room, or out with the boys — her grandmother’s middle name, one he felt toed the line as well as possible between complete fabrication and some semblance of the truth — and they knew the couple had been together for a few months, that she made him laugh, and that he was more into her than they had seen him act with anyone in recent memory. She didn’t come to events because she was shy, Matthew said, and he didn’t want to subject her to the kind of spotlight he knew she might be scrutinized under the moment they went public. He wasn’t lying when he said she’d been to games — Elsie usually made it to a few a month, usually on Johnny’s invitation — but left out the part where she wore the number 13 in the stands instead of 19, or where she caught a ride home with her brother after media availability instead of her boyfriend, the man she’d been sleeping with for the past five months. 

“Leaving already?” Matty mumbled, slinging one arm over her waist as Elsie tried to sit up. 

She twisted over, kissing him softly. His stubble tickled her cheek. “Got class, remember?” Of course he remembered. Class was the whole reason she was in Alberta; most of it, at least. She had done her undergrad in astrophysics at Wellesley in Massachusetts, and when the time had come for her to decide where to do her graduate studies, Johnny had been all too quick to offer up Calgary. “It’s a great program!” he had said. And it was, but Elsie also had her doubts that her brother knew much about astronomy beyond the ability to find the Great Dipper on a clear day. They had always been close, even when he went to go play in Dubuque when she was 13, but their time together had naturally been more than a little limited ever since he turned pro. So when the opportunity arose for them to be in the same city full-time for the first time in a decade, he was jumping at the prospect of being able to look after his younger sister again. And, especially after he offered to pay her tuition, she wasn’t about to say no. International fees didn’t come cheap. 

Matty groaned, pawing at her hand as she got up from the bed, throwing the covers back over him. “Do you have to go?” he whined. 

Elsie rolled her eyes. “It’s an 8 AM, and it’s,” she glanced at her watch, “already 7. I’d love to stay in bed with you, babe, but I’ve still got to eat and get dressed and grab all my stuff. Plus, it’s at least fifteen minutes to drive and find a place to park, so I’ve got to build that in too.”

“I still think it’s dumb that they make you pay to park at your own school. You’re already paying tuition, plus you TA that one course, so it’s not like you’re doing nothing for them,” he said.

“It’s dumb,” she agreed.

Matthew clicked his tongue. “It’s highway robbery, is what it is, Els.”

She laughed, bending over the bed to run a hand through his curls. She loved those curls. “Be that as it may, Matty dear, I’ve still got to get there on time. Experimental space physics waits for no man.” 

He pouted. “Fine.”

Elsie shot him a sympathetic look. “I’ll try to swing by after my classes let out, how does that sound?”

“Can’t. Johnny and some of the guys are going to be over after morning skate, we’re going out to lunch then they’re coming back here. I’ll call you if they don’t stay too late?” he proposed, looking over at her. 

She gave a tight smile. “Works for me.”

---

Matthew couldn’t believe he had managed to keep things from Johnny for as long as he had. As pretty much anyone could tell you, he was the world’s worst secret-keeper off the ice, and even more so when it came to his friends. And every time Johnny would lean over to him in the locker room, showing him a picture Elsie had posted on Instagram, or recount a story from the intro astronomy class she TA’d, he had to bite his lip and pretend like he hadn’t been the one to take the picture, or he hadn’t been the first to hear about the kid who didn’t believe you couldn’t see the Southern Cross from Alberta. As much as Matthew hated it, he knew that part of what made his relationship with Elsie so exhilarating was the illicit nature of the whole thing. Something about sneaking around with your best friend’s little sister made everything that much more exciting. 

The first time they hooked up hadn’t been a mistake, but it hadn’t been planned in any possible sense of the word. Elsie had moved to Calgary in August, a few weeks before everyone had stated trickling back into Alberta for training camp. Matthew was pretty sure it was mostly Johnny not wanting her to only be surrounded by “space nerds” — his words, not Matty’s, because while he had endless admiration for his sister’s dedication and academic skill, he understood approximateky 0.2% of what she was studying — all day, so by late September or so, she had established herself as a core member of the Flames’ “going-out” group. Which led to one particular night at a bar in October, with Johnny having already headed home thanks to an early breakfast with his fiancée and most of the rest of the group leaving around midnight. And it was a Friday, so Elsie had let herself have a few more drinks than usual; the team didn’t have practice until noon, so Matthew let himself shrug off any worry of a hangover. And Matty and Elsie already knew each other, so they got to talking, then they got to drinking, then they got to kissing. And then Elsie cancelled her Uber to get into Matthew’s, and before she knew it they were stumbling through his doorway, her fingers tangled in his curls and her legs wrapped around his waist as he walked her back to his bedroom.

There were a few people who knew the truth, and only a few people. Matthew had Brady and his mom. His logic being, as soon as Brady knew he was even vaguely interested in someone, he never took no for an answer and would have annoyed her name out of him regardless of whether or not he was being particularly forthcoming with any personal information. His mom because if he needed any advice, if he needed someone to turn to that wasn’t the incredibly vague commentary he gave the boys in the locker room, he wanted to have someone there who wouldn’t judge him and would have his best interests at heart. Okay, scratch that. Chantal definitely judged him, lifting her eyebrows over FaceTime as he called to break the news. She knew Elsie from the one trip with Johnny she’d made out to St. Louis and the times the Tkachuks had travelled up to Canada to visit the boys, and as much as she told Matthew that keeping it a secret was just about the worst thing he could do to his friend, she couldn’t say she was exactly surprised he had fallen for Elsie. 

Elsie had Ines, her best friend from college. It was easier with her, much more straightforward with a lot fewer of the conflicts of interest she felt she got with talking with anyone in the “hockey world.” Ines knew hockey, she obviously had met Johnny and some of the other boys before. Wellesley was only a twenty-five minute drive away from the Boston city center, so the one time a year the Bruins played Calgary at home she’d go with Elsie. But Ines was compassionate, objective, and one of the smartest people Elsie had ever met in her life. She didn’t have any stake in the matter that wasn’t named Elsie Gaudreau, and she wasn’t about to mince her words because she was afraid of what Matty — or Johnny for that matter — would think. So there were people who knew, but the list was very short and, at least for the time being, they wanted to keep it that way.

For anyone on the outside looking in, who didn’t know them as well, they might have said that it was a long time coming. “It” being Matthew and Elsie’s relationship. And, if she was being honest, Elsie might have agreed. She knew Matty since he joined the team; he and her brother were thick as thieves from the beginning, and he’d visited them on the East Coast pretty much every summer since his rookie year. Visited Johnny. Not her. Johnny had made it crystal-clear from the beginning that under no circumstances was their relationship ever allowed to proceed beyond friendly. 

And it didn’t. For four years, almost, it didn’t. Sure, Elsie may have carried a torch for him from the moment they were introduced, but she was far too concerned about Matty’s physical and mental well-being to pursue anything. Even if, once or twice, she could have sworn that he felt something too. But then she moved to Calgary for grad school, and Johnny started bringing her out with the boys, and she finally got to see him in his element, really in his element. She got to see Alternate Captain Matthew Tkachuk, the one who’d go to the ends of the earth for his team, who would score goals and drop gloves and do whatever needed to be done whenever it needed to be done. And it didn’t hurt that Matty looked hot as fuck whenever he got into fights, his curls flying as he stuffed his helmet under an arm, skating over to the penalty box. It only hurt that she had let herself fall for him.

March 22 (mon)

Johnny was over at Matthew’s apartment; he had come over under a pretense of going over some tape from their last road trip, but it had quickly devolved into a very heated game of Super Smash Bros before the pair took a break for dinner. “Dude, your laundry’s in the way,” Johnny said as he made his way to the bathroom, Matthew staring at the half-cooked pot of pasta on his stove. 

“It’s clean, you can just dump it in my room,” he called down the hall. He didn’t hear the tell-tale click of the bathroom door, so he looked down the hallway, only to be greeted by a site he hoped he’d never have to see. 

A conspiratorial grin on his face, Johnny held a black, lacy pair of panties between two fingers. His sister’s panties. The half-second it took for Matthew to reach, jumping forward and grabbing them out of his hands, unfortunately wasn’t enough. He held them behind his back, almost as if he was hoping that if Johnny couldn’t see them, they weren’t really there. 

“Leigh’s?” he asked, raising one eyebrow. 

Matthew rubbed his temples with the hand that wasn’t holding the panties. “Yeah. Just...Pretend you never saw those, okay?” 

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Who would I tell? The boys? They wouldn’t care. You? You already know. Elsie?” Matthew froze. “She’d just slap me and get mad at invading your privacy.”

“And you are,” Matthew mumbles, stuffing the panties into his back pocket. 

Johnny’s brow furrowed; he leaned up against the doorframe. “Seriously, though, Chucky. What’s going on with you and this girl? You know everyone respects your decision to keep things quiet and private, but I’m your best friend on the team.” The look on his face betrayed the hurt he felt inside. “I would have thought you’d say something, to me at least.”

Matthew let out a deep breath. How was he going to talk his way out of this one? “I know, and I feel bad that it seems like I’ve been keeping things from you.” But he was keeping things. Very important things. “I think with Leigh and I, we just want to take things slow, make sure what we have is real. And I think it is,” he said, hazarding a glance at his friend. “I don’t know if it’s love, yet, but I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about a girl before. But we both agree that we need to know before we open it up to the opinions of the rest of the world, before she gets shoved into the public eye. And she understands what that’s like better than most, but it’s still not fair.” 

Johnny’s ears perked. “Better than most?” Matthew froze. “What is she, like an Instagram model or something?” 

He smirked, pushing him with one hand. “No, she’s not.” 

Johnny realized quickly that he wasn’t going to be getting any more information out of Matthew anytime soon, so much to his chagrin, he dropped it. Johnny left Matthew’s apartment that night with a weird taste in his mouth, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. And he didn’t like that. 

April 3 (sat) 

Everyone was at Gio’s house, one of his quarterly team barbecues that had quickly become one of Matthew’s favorite things as soon as he joined the team. By “everyone,” that meant the players and their families, kids, partners, parents if they were in town. Johnny hadn’t invited Elsie — he assumed she’d be getting ready for finals, which was true, but Matthew knew she could have spared an afternoon — and Matthew couldn’t think of a way to invite her himself without arousing suspicion, so she was back in her downtown apartment while the boys were busy grilling up an inhuman amount of meat for dinner.

After everyone ate and the dishwasher had been loaded, someone decided to light the fire pit, and the conversation turned to relationships. For once, Matty didn’t tune out.“It’s the little things, you know?” Gio said, tipping back his beer. “When I see Lauren in my jersey at the games, or when she’s fallen asleep on the couch waiting for us to get back from a road trip. Makes you realize that what really matters isn’t so much how many goals you score or how big a contract you have. It boils down to the quality of people in your life, and we’ve got some good ones.” 

“It’s the same thing with Leigh and I,” Matthew said. His words caused everyone to listen. There were precious few times Matthew willingly volunteered information about his relationship, and as much as his teammates genuinely did respect their penchant for privacy, that didn’t mean they wanted any fewer details. “Sometimes when she stays over and doesn’t have anywhere to be the next day, I’ll walk out to the kitchen and she’ll just be dancing around the stove, making pancakes and singing along to a Fleetwood Mac song. Usually takes her a minute or two to notice me.” 

The guys laughed, and Matty took a long pull of his beer. He wasn’t really risking anything by saying that. Plenty of people liked Fleetwood Mac. “And she’s got this little scar behind her right ear, got it from falling out of a tree as a kid. She always tries to cover it up, but I like it better when she lets it show.” Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was Matty’s frustration about not being able to say anything about the woman he was falling in love with finally coming to a head, that made him say something he maybe shouldn’t have. 

He realized, as he hesitantly met Johnny’s eyes, and could see the gears in his head turning, that he definitely shouldn’t have said anything. Johnny was looking in between his beer and Matthew, then Matthew and his beer, then his hands and Matthew’s, which were tapping nervously on the arm of his deck chair. And then he started to put things together. The orange blossom soap at Matthew’s apartment — Elsie’s favorite scents were citrus. Fleetwood Mac was one of her favorite bands. Their maternal grandma’s middle name was Leigh. And the scar. He remembered the day she got it, falling off an oak tree in their backyard in New Jersey, running into the house to get their mom and then in the car to the emergency room with a six-year-old Elsie who needed four stitches from the accident. And with an extremely uncomfortable feeling, he realized that that more likely than not, that meant the pair of panties he had picked up that one afternoon in Matthew’s apartment had been hers. He wanted to throw up. 

Matthew was sweating as Johnny finally looked him in the eyes, realizing that the secret he and Elsie had tried so hard to keep for so long wasn’t going to be a secret much longer. “Matthew,” he began, his voice dangerously low. Matthew winced. He couldn’t remember the last time Johnny had called him by his first name. “Her name’s not Leigh, is it.” He said it like a statement, because, well, it was. He knew the answer, he just needed to hear it from someone other than himself, that the one thing he had asked of his best friend had apparently proven too much. 

Matthew shook his head slowly. “No.” Everyone else’s eyes flitted between the pair, Markstrom and Gio and Andersson and everyone else very clearly confused. 

“Something going on here?” Gio asked carefully. 

“Tell them what her name is, Matthew.” Matthew squeezed his eyes shut. If he didn’t see everyone’s reactions, everyone’s disappointed faces, maybe they wouldn’t happen. 

“Elsie.” 

“Elsie what?” he prompted. 

“Elsie Gaudreau,” Matthew finished. You could have heard a pin drop, the backyard was so silent.

 “Dude, you’re dating his sister?” Noah asked. 

Matthew nodded, one hand still tightly gripping his bottle. 

“How long?” Johnny asked, looking him straight in the eyes. 

“Just under six months,” Matthew admitted. 

He sucked a breath in. “You’ve been dating my sister for six fucking months and nobody ever thought to maybe, I don’t know, tell me?”

“It didn’t start as dating, we were just—” 

Johnny cut him off. “I can see where that’s going, and I don’t want to fucking hear it, Matthew. This was the one thing I asked you to not do. You’re a fucking All-Star NHL player, Matt. You could have any girl you wanted, you could wheel half of Calgary and I wouldn’t care as long as everyone was into it. But my little sister? The one person I told you years ago was off-limits? You had to fall for Elsie?” 

“I—” Matthew stammered as he set his drink down. “I didn’t expect anything to happen. Neither of us did. But then it did, and I fell for her, and for some ungodly reason she’s decided to stay with me, and I don’t know, Johnny,” he finished weakly. “I felt terrible about keeping it from you, and for what it’s worth, Elsie does too. I feel awful about how you found out, you deserved better than this. But I won’t apologize for my feelings.”

Johnny scoffed, standing up and grabbing his keys. “She deserves better.”

April 4 (sun)

The first thing Matthew did the next day was go over to Elsie’s house. He had already called her the night before to tell her what happened; even if he didn’t, she had the numbers of half the guys on the team and more than one had texted her to check in after seeing how Johnny left things. When he opened the door, Elsie wasn’t doing well, to put it mildly. She was sitting on her couch, wrapped up in a blanket with a barely-touched mug of tea on the coffee table in front of her. She gave him a weak smile as he walked over. “Hey.”

He bent down, kissing the top of her head. “Hey, Els. How are you doing?”

“Not great.” At least she didn’t try to hide, not like it would have been any use with Matthew. He could read her almost as well as her own parents could. “I tried to call him last night and this morning, sent a few texts, just trying to explain. Asking to talk. But he hasn’t responded to anything, I called my mom and she said she hasn’t heard anything either.”

Matthew sat on the couch beside her. “He hasn’t talked to Gio either.”

She rested her head on his shoulder; his fingers carded through the soft hair at the base of her neck. “I feel like it’s my fault,” Elsie said despondently. Coming in between her brother and one of his best friends was the last thing she would have wanted, and she was starting to feel like everything was falling apart because of her. “It never would have happened if I wasn’t there,” she mumbled into Matty’s shoulder. 

Matthew immediately shook his head. “No, no, don’t say things like that, babe. It’s not your fault, don’t put all the blame on you. Everyone dropped the ball on this one, and you shouldn’t have to take responsibility for how your brother decided to react.”

They were jolted out of their relative peace by a frantic knocking on the door. Elsie furrowed her brow. “I’m not expecting anyone?” she questioned as she threw the blanket off of her lap, She opened the door to see Johnny, staring bashfully down at his hands, an apologetic look on his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

Elsie raised her eyebrows. “You should be.” After a moment, she stood aside to let him in the door.

He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding Matthew’s eyes. “I talked to Mom, she kind of chewed me out about the whole thing. Not talking to you when you called or texted, the way I kind of blew up at you yesterday,” he nodded at Matthew, “but mostly the leaving. Neither of you deserved that. You deserved to have a chance to sit down, explain yourselves, and have an adult conversation.” A flash of regret shot through his eyes, which steeled again as soon as he saw Matthew’s arms around Elsie, who had returned to the couch. “But that doesn’t mean I like it. I’m still pissed that you went behind my back, and that you two decided to do the one thing I asked you not to do, and how you blindsided me—”

“You’re not my dad, Johnny. You don’t get to decide how I live my life,” Elsie said sharply.

He screwed his eyes shut. “I know, but I love you and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, and—”

“No more ‘ands.’ I know you don’t like it, Johnny. You’ve made that much very clear,” Elsie said in frustration. “Pretty much everyone knows that if you could make a list of guys you wanted to date your little sister, Matthew Tkachuk would be in last place. But just think,” she paused, looking up at her brother. “Think about all the things you said to look for in a guy when I started getting old enough to date. Divorce who Matty is from your feelings about us being together. You always gave me three things. Someone who cares about me. Someone who respects me. And someone who’s honest.” Johnny nodded, his hands in his pockets. “Matty is all of that and more, Johnny. He treats me better than anyone I’ve ever been with, and I love him. And that’s what you’ve always wanted for me. Nothing more and nothing less.” 

Johnny leaned up against the bookshelf. “I guess you’re right.” 

Elsie cracked a tiny grin. “I’m sorry, what was that?” 

He groaned in response. “Don’t make me say it again, I’m not going to.” She shrugged. He looked between her and Matthew, sighing. “I overreacted, and I’m sorry about that. If you love him,” Elsie smiled, “and he cares about you,” Matthew frantically nodded, “then there’s really nothing more I could ask for. I think it just hurt that you two felt like you couldn’t come to me as soon as things progressed, as soon as you got together.” 

“We were afraid you’d react like you did,” Elsie said, reaching over to grab Matty’s hand. “We never wanted to hurt you, and I might only be speaking for myself, but I think I was worried you’d try to come between us, or say something about the relationship, or…” She trailed off. “I don’t know. Sure, you shouldn’t have reacted that way, but you’re not the only one to blame. We shouldn’t have kept things from you, or from Mom and Dad for that matter.” 

Johnny laughed. “Honestly? I’m pretty sure Mom called it from the beginning.” Elsie frowned. “What do you mean?” “You know when Matty came over to Jersey in the summer when you guys were about 20, and we all took that vacation on the beach?” She nodded. “There was one time when she saw you together, running into the ocean together. You were laughing as hard as I’ve ever seen you, Matthew was splashing water back at you, and you kept trying to tackle him into the waves. Mom, Dad, and I were back up on the beach. She just looked at you two, looked at me, and smiled.” 

Matthew rubbed his thumb over the back of Elsie’s hand. “You think she knew?” he asked curiously. 

Johnny nodded. “I think she knew even before you guys figured it out for yourselves.”

“How could she tell?” Elsie asked. 

Johnny gave a soft smile, looking over towards the couple. “You’ve never been a good liar, Elsie. And you can’t hide love.”

[iatethepomegranate]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences (for now)

Relationship: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast

Summary: After Aeor, Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha. For the first time in more than seventeen years, he has some semblance of stability. Caleb is not sure he's ready to handle it, but he's trying, and his friends are eager to see him live a good life, by force if necessary.

And then Soltryce Academy approaches him with a job offer, which could give Caleb the chance to protect the next generation of wizards the way he had needed at their age. Caleb's goal of preventing what happened to him from happening to anyone else, however, takes a far more personal turn than even he could have anticipated.

(In other words, here is a fic about Caleb settling down and learning how to be a person again. Also Professor Widogast will be a thing. Fic title is a lyric from I Have Made Mistakes by the Oh Hellos. Chapter title is a lyric from Mind by Sleeping At Last. More detailed tagging and notes are available on AO3.)

_____

Chapter 1: It's the first brush stroke of a self-portrait

Caleb had mixed feelings returning to Rexxentrum after spending so long in Aeor… and everywhere else he had been, including a fucking flesh city in the Astral Sea. Sure, he had popped back to Rexxentrum regularly to update the Cobalt Soul on his discoveries, and to testify at Trent’s trial, during the conclusion of which he had the satisfaction of turning down Da’leth’s offer to assume Trent’s position as the Archmage of Civil Influence. But now he was back on a more permanent basis.

He didn’t know what to do with that information. With this place, that was both so familiar and so foreign. Full of some of his best memories, and some of his worst.

Caleb had spent so long avoiding this place, or at least the challenging parts of it, and now Beauregard was dragging him and Yasha down the street, infodumping about a house she wanted the three of them to buy together.

“Caleb, don’t give me that look,” she said. “You’re gonna love this place. I know you like your space, dude, and this is the best of both worlds. It’s technically two houses, but there’s, like, a door between them so we can visit each other. Because you’re a fucking genius but you also forget to feed yourself.”

Yasha smiled at Caleb over Beau’s head. “She’s not wrong, Caleb.” Her soft tone made Caleb a little emotional, but he categorically refused to start crying in the street. “I like my space, too. This is a good balance. And there’s room for a garden.”

“Yasha’s not an Empire citizen,” said Beau. “It looks better if there’s two of us Empire kids on the deed so no one thinks any weird shit about her.”

Caleb sighed at her. “I will look at the house, Beauregard.”

Beau yanked them around the street corner. “It’s a great location. You can walk anywhere. I can get to the Archive, and you can get to the Academy.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“Maybe. Astrid says hi.”

The implication that Astrid and Beauregard had been speaking to each other recently was of concern. Caleb was too tired to unpack it. He would find out what that was about eventually. It was not worth Beauregard’s sibling-level mockery if he tried to extract the information early.

“Oh, and Veth sent you this,” said Yasha, passing a wrapped package over Beau’s head.

“Yeah, I might’ve told her we’re buying a house together,” said Beau. “She made Yussa send that to the Soul so I could grab it for you.”

Caleb didn’t open the package, but he did shake and squeeze it a little. It felt like coins. A lot of coins. Oh, Veth. Still taking care of him from miles upon miles away. They’d both come so far from Veth sneaking coins into his pockets because he had felt strange about taking her money even when he desperately needed it.

“Danke,” he said softly. That was all he could say, before he risked bursting into tears again. That was happening to him a lot lately. It… wasn’t the worst thing. More of an inconvenience. He chose not to unpack it.

Beauregard was looking at him strangely. He elbowed her. It probably hurt his elbow more than it hurt her, but she was successfully distracted from his bullshit. She punched his arm. Even holding back like she did, his arm did go numb for a few seconds.

Yasha sighed. “Children, we’re almost there.”

Caleb had been down this street before. Rarely, as it was entirely residential. But sometimes he, Astrid and Eadwulf would explore the city to find excuses to get away from the Academy, especially after they had commenced their training with Trent. But, with Caleb’s memory, he could call upon the map he had drawn in his mind. This was a middle-income area on the southern edge of The Tangles, home to mostly professionals--well-off storeowners, any researchers who did not live in the Shimmer Ward or have access to quarters with the Cobalt Soul, some teachers, architects. Largely people looking to settle down with the money to stay out of the Mudtop Ward.

It was close to the Shimmer Ward, a little southwest from the gate, but not so close that Caleb felt an itch on the back of his neck. The Tangles were the oldest part of the city, with narrow looping streets with little logic to them. This area was slightly newer than most of The Tangles, but still old. Regardless, The Tangles were fairly central to the city and an easy starting point for any travel. If you didn’t get lost on the way out.

This far south in the area, the houses were a little more spaced out. A little more green space, more gardens. Duplex-style houses were common, mostly built of old stone or lumpy brick on the first floor and clay bolstered by wooden frames above that. Children were out in force, running and screaming through the narrow streets while their parents watched from the porch of their homes. Well, for those who had porches.

“There she is,” said Beauregard. They had stopped in front of another duplex-style building, newer than some of the others but still respectable in age. The first floor was made from dark reddish brick and the upper two floors panelled with dark wood to bolster the white clay walls. The first two floors were full in width, and the third consisted of two dormers peeking through the darkly thatched roof.

There were two entrance doors on the ground floor, each spaced a third of the house’s width from the outer corners. The rectangular windows were framed in white-painted wood, dividing the glass on each window into six little squares.

Before the three of them was a low wooden fence, also painted white. The paint was chipping a little, revealing the deep brown heartwood that Caleb suspected was oak. There were a number of oak trees in the Pearlbow Wilderness. Caleb had slept under them several times in worse days. Oak was rather expensive, if he remembered correctly. He usually remembered correctly.

“She’s pretty hot, right, Caleb?” Beau said, snapping out of his hyperfocus on the history of timber in the Zemni Fields.

“Oh… ja.”

“Cool, so the owner will be here in a few minutes to let us in so we can have a look. She wants to sell the place as a package deal.”

Caleb had, in some ways, trained himself out of being too attached to places or most material things (with a few exceptions such as his spell components, spellbook, and the letters he had written to his parents). Unless there was something horrifically wrong inside, he didn’t care where Beauregard and Yasha wanted to live. It was practical that they live together, after all. Caleb had healed immensely this past year, but he was self-aware enough to understand he probably shouldn’t live alone. Of the Nein, Beauregard knew how to call him on his bullshit and Yasha understood him pretty well and knew he needed space sometimes, so it was a reasonable arrangement.

“I am really not picky, Beauregard.”

“Yeah, because you still don’t care enough about yourself to give a fuck about this. We know.” Beauregard looped her arm around his neck, dragging him down to her level so she could rub her knuckles across his scalp, ruining the two narrow braids Essek had worked from Caleb’s hairline to his messy ponytail that morning before they had parted ways beside the secret entrance to Aeor. Caleb talked himself out of getting upset with Beauregard over it. She couldn’t have known, and she was being affectionate like he really was her brother.

Once he was free, Yasha fixed the braids, and Caleb had to stop himself from crying again because she had noticed it bothered him and just… fixed it without making it a thing. Beau straightened her expositor’s garb, clearing her throat.

“Sorry, dude.”

Caleb conjured a mage hand to tug on her ponytail. Beau swatted at it, but her hand went right through it. She gave him the finger. Yasha finished fixing the braids. Everything was normal again.

The owner, a half-elf woman with long blonde hair coiled into a bun that looked like a cinnamon scroll, arrived and immediately shook Caleb’s hand.

“Mr Widogast, a pleasure. These ladies have told me a lot about you. My name is Alphira Winterheart. I teach evocation at the Soltryce Academy.”

Caleb still felt a spike of anxiety when he heard the name of that place. At this point it was ingrained, even if he held out a small amount of hope he would get to teach there one day. It would be easier to fight corruption if he had some say over what the Academy put into those children’s heads.

“A pleasure,” Caleb replied, a little flatter than he had intended. He mentally shook himself, remembering to actually grip her hand for a proper handshake. “Evocation? I used to specialise in that area.”

“Ja, Ms Lionett told me you are now a Transmutation specialist but still frequently partake in the Evocation school in your travels. I’m glad to hear you intend to put down roots here in Rexxentrum. I would love to exchange theories over coffee.”

Beauregard smirked. Caleb remembered a conversation with Essek where they had agreed to return to Aeor and exchange theories. They had meant that literally. But it had indeed sounded like a euphemism to someone like Beauregard. Well, she hadn’t been wrong in the end, but certainly the intent at the time had been more about a meeting of minds than a meeting of…

Caleb concentrated on the conversation in front of him instead.

“Ja, I would enjoy that,” he replied. “What level of Evocation do you teach?”

“Oh, I teach the beginners.”

“And you live here in the Tangles?”

“I did,” said Alphira. “Archmage Beck has offered me lodging on her estate, so I am selling this house. It was always a little large for one person, and it seems you three could make better use of it than I did.” She leaned closer to Caleb, as if to tell him a secret. “The place on the left is where I prefer to experiment and study. I would recommend you look at that one in particular. The dormer is slightly larger. You could even put a teleportation circle up there if you were so inclined, given your need to travel.”

“Danke.” Caleb still felt a little weird about Rexxentrum mages not wanting to kill him, but he didn’t sense any untoward motives from this woman. She seemed genuinely friendly. “How… is the new Archmage settling in?”

“I have no complaints. She seems competent, if a little terrifying. I am uncertain if that is her past as a Volstrucker, or a necessity of the job. She has been nothing but kind to me, and I would certainly prefer to be her friend than her enemy.”

“Ja, we are familiar with her,” said Caleb.

“Caleb most of all,” said Yasha.

Beauregard had to turn away before she burst out laughing.

“We should look at the house,” Caleb said before the conversation could go anywhere strange. Gods, he missed Aeor already.

Alphira unlocked both front doors. They checked the one on the right first.

“This one has a larger living area,” said Alphira, leading them through the entrance. “I am offering the furniture as part of the sale. I have already taken everything I need.”

Beauregard threw herself onto the large couch in the centre of the room. “Yasha and I call dibs on this side of the house. Since you’re gonna spend so much time here with us anyway. We’re taking the larger living area.”

“Beauregard, we have already established that I do not mind.”

The floor underfoot was a pleasant hardwood, probably more oak, and a large rug occupied much of the space. They would have to purchase candles for the evening, but it was well-lit during the day. Caleb followed the women through each of the rooms on the ground floor on this side, largely going through the motions. The kitchen was equally large, and had a good oven for Yasha to practice baking. They would need to purchase a larger dining table.

There was one large bedroom upstairs and two smaller ones, alongside private areas for bathing and other such activities. This was where they found the door between the two houses. The top floor dormer was full of assorted furniture and household items Alphira didn’t need, but they would likely use. Beauregard and Yasha discussed the possibility of turning this into another bedroom for when they had friends over. Or perhaps converting one of the lower bedrooms into a workout space and using this as a replacement. Caleb did not need to contribute much to the conversation, aside from promising he would help move furniture with telekinesis.

Truth be told, Caleb was having a hard time concentrating on the whole thing. He hadn’t really had a home in a long time, and he could not wrangle his mind into understanding the change. The Xhorhaus had been easier to stomach, as nobody had expected to live there forever. But this? Putting down roots? Real , long-term roots?

Maybe Caleb had been homeless for too long. It was beyond his comprehension at this point. And maybe it frightened him a little. He could not afford to inspect those feelings, not right now.

He pulled himself together in time to inspect the other side of the building. His side. His house. Scheisse .

The living area was a little smaller, but could still easily welcome the Nein (just in rather cosy quarters). The kitchen, also smaller but still respectable--a little larger than his childhood home in Blumenthal. There was less furniture on this side; Alphira had evidently used this side more and therefore had more furniture to take. There were two bedrooms on the second floor, one slightly larger than the other. Caleb found himself thinking that he would probably take the larger one just so there was enough room when Essek was over, or maybe he would take the smaller one so Veth could bring her family with her. Fuck. He didn’t know what to do.

And then they visited the dormer. It was indeed larger than the other one. There was a table in front of the window, with a few dark ink stains, and plenty of floorspace to spread out notes or create a teleportation circle. A few chairs were stacked in the corner, seemingly in good condition, and one wall was lined with empty shelves.

Caleb had always been partial to a tower, and this was pretty close. It would make a great study.

He was genuinely excited over a house. In Rexxentrum. A short journey from where his childhood home once stood. He was going to hyperventilate if he thought about this too hard.

“There are already plenty of shelves in my new house,” Alphira said. “These are all yours.”

Caleb nodded slowly, pulling his mind back into his skull. “Wundervoll, danke.” He took a calming breath. “This is a nice place, Professor.”

Alphira smiled. “Yes, I did not make nearly enough use out of it. But I hear you three have a lot of friends from out of town.”

“Ja, we do not see them enough.”

“Perhaps you will see them more once you have a place to welcome them.” Alphira led them back downstairs, and into the other side of the house where they could sit around the small dining table. Alphira already had the paperwork they needed to sign; Caleb got the impression Beau and Yasha had already decided to buy the house before they spoke to him about it. He was glad the decision was out of his hands.

He signed the paperwork, using both his legal name and the name he now wore (Alphira had apparently been briefed on this, and had consulted a contract lawyer on how to make it work on a binding document). Caleb had needed to sign various statements as part of Trent’s trial, so signing in Bren’s name was not as strange as he feared it would be. He was relieved. Beau and Yasha had insisted on finding a way that his new name would also be included, given he had not gone through any legal name-change process. The money Veth gave him more than covered his part of the cost. He needed to hug her. He needed to hug all of them.

Alphira gave them three copies of the contract and handed over the deed to the property. “I will head to the housing authority and file the paperwork immediately.” She slid the keys over the table to them. “Congratulations on your new home.”

She left. Caleb traced the shapes of the letters on his copy of the contract, over and over, letting reality sink in. He had a house. A house in Rexxentrum. A house in Rexxentrum with two of his best friends. It wasn’t at all what he imagined he would have when he was seventeen, when he thought he and Astrid and Wulf would one day have done their duty for the empire and settled down together.

But this was good. This was right .

He cried. Yasha was probably crying, too, but he couldn't see. The three of them hugged across the table, the edges jabbing their ribs.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Protective Service

John Wick x Reader (A/n-What happens when you click on instinct without looking you ask? Well, you delete a perfectly edited chapter. At least that's what happened to me the first time I tried to post this.)

Masterlist  Protective Service Masterlist

Warnings- The tiniest NSFW mentions, infidelity (sort of)

Chapter 10 All of Nothing

Y/n sat at her vanity, sifting through an antique jewelry box in search of a pair of earrings that would suit the outfit she'd picked. For the most part, she was so consumed with her menial task that Y/n hadn't noticed the person coming to stand behind her until he placed one hand on her silk clad shoulder, using the other to sweep her hair away from her neck. "Hi," her mirth was audible and her lashes fluttered as she raised her head, meeting John's softened gaze through the rounded mirror. 

"Hey," he threaded rough fingers through her soft locks, moving on to trailing them along the column of her neck when he’d swept her hair away, “You look beautiful this morning, you always look beautiful,” he corrected, grinning at the blush painting her cheeks. No one had ever made her feel what John did, the giddiness, the glee, the little flutter in her heart when she recognized another thing in him that complemented her perfectly.

“Thank you,” Y/n leaned into his touch, admiring how relaxed and at ease John looked; no shirt, hair still damp from his shower and exuding this warm aura of safety that made her just want to lose herself beside him. “What are you doing?” She taunted lightly when he started edging the top of her robe open, never breaking their shared gaze. 

Smirking, John licked his lips when one side of the garment finally gave way, revealing the top of one lace clad breast, the scalloped edges of the fine material standing out against her skin exquisitely. “That depends on what you want me to be doing,” his low, husky words were intertwined with desire and when he slid his finger beneath the strap of her bra teasingly, a shiver ran up Y/n spine. She watched closely as John crouched down behind her, just so he could lean forward and press his lips to the back of her shoulder, his straying hand travelling lower to undo the knot holding her robe closed as the other felt around her curves. 

“Why don’t you put this away for now?” He probed quietly, weaning the carved box out of her smaller hands before letting a calloused palm venture to the valley between Y/n’s silken thighs, “Do you have anything important this morning?”

Reluctantly, Y/n recoiled, knowing that if they continued, she would certainly be late. “I do actually,” she cringed, her expression only falling further when John pulled away altogether, bracing himself with a grip on the cushioned armrest, offering her a look that suggested that anything but ‘no’ was the wrong answer, “I have a meeting with Balinski and his head of campaign finance. It really is important,” shifting slightly to face him, hooking one leg under herself, Y/n reached out, laying an affectionate touch on his arm, hoping he’d understand.

Huffing an exasperated sigh, “Fine,” John leaned forward to quickly peck her lips, “Rain check until this evening then,” already, he’d repositioned his hand to her lower back, his thumb rubbing absent circles into the fabric.

“Uhh,” hesitating, Y/n gnawed on her lower lip, only succumbing to telling the whole truth after John’s gentle nudging, “Maybe later in the night?” Scrunching her nose, she broached the matter with great caution, bracing herself for the worst, “I’m having dinner with Donavan tonight, we might be a while.”

Even if they’d lapsed into some semblance of a relationship, things had really just happened unconsciously; one night together turning into waking up in Y/n’s bed, intimate touches became unconscious caresses in quieter moments and steamy kisses turned to sweet endearments. They hadn’t discussed mutual exclusivity though, yet John had somehow assumed that the talk they’d had at the Continental had implied it. Or maybe he just hadn’t thought of Y/n’s relations with Donavan at all. 

Sensing the shift in his mood, Y/n searched his features,  “John, it’s….it’s just….we know we haven’t really figured this out yet.” In that moment, Y/n knew that whatever the right words were, she had not just used them. She did however, manage to make things worse, in record time too. 

"Oh," standing abruptly, he was about to stalk off when Y/n grabbed his wrist, her eyes pleading with him to stay and hear her out as she tried to fix things, "I should go finish getting dressed," he mumbled when she wouldn't let up. 

"Can we talk about this later?" Her plea was genuine, Y/n really wanted to make things right, even if she didn't quite know how to do that.

Shaking his head, John resisted, "You don't have to say that because you think it's what I want. I know what I mean to you," he huffed, finally breaking away from Y/n, "And clearly it's not the same as what you mean to me. You can do whatever you want later," he grumbled, snatching his shirt off the foot of her bed. 

The legs of the little bench scraped loudly against the tile as Y/n stood, following John as he neared the door, "That is not true  and you know it. But things are complicated with me and Donavan, I need to work them out and what I want later is to talk about this, about us, with you." He stopped, his hand closed in over the knob and his stance stiff, "Please John."

When he released the knob and turned back to her, Y/n let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, the tingle of relief spreading to her toes and fingers. "Fix this, by tonight, or we're done." 

She wasn't used to ultimatums, or at least, Y/n wasn't used to receiving them. But she knew that arguing with John wouldn't fare well and all she wanted to have things go back to the way the were mere minutes ago, "Okay, I'll fix it and not because I think it's what you want," stepping forward, Y/n took his hand again, bringing it up to her lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles as she drew closer, "But because of how much you mean to me and because I don't want anything or anyone to make you question that, okay?"

Swallowing thickly, John nodded slowly, bending his head so his forehead was pressed against hers, "Okay," he kissed her, his free arm engulfing Y/n as they continued, smiling at how she sighed against his lips and melted into his chest. It felt right when they were like that, as if every moment tangled up in Y/n’s arms had been meticulously orchestrated to ensure that there was nowhere else that he’d rather be. She was becoming his safe place, his haven, his peace. John didn’t know how she’d react if he told her, but he didn’t have any plans of letting her know soon anyway. Though, he did, for dear life, hang onto the hope that she felt the same, after all, what was the point of a second chance if it was going to slip right out of your grasp in the end?

She shouldn’t have felt guilty, just over a month ago, she wouldn’t have. But that evening, laying there in the mess of sheets with Donavan, right after they’d touched each other in the way they had for years, Y/n had never felt dirtier. Of course, she’d never guaranteed him exclusivity, and she had also firmly reminded herself that she had done the same with John, but still, the thought gnawed at Y/n. The wounded expression he’d flashed her that morning before playing it off and the way John had kissed her when she promised to fix things for them, like he trusted her. Not a lot of people trusted her, but knowing John did paled everything else. She did want from others what she’d found in him.

So she had to fix things. For him, for them.

Shoving the sheets down her bare body, Y/n worked on easing off the bed, ignoring Donavan until he roused her attention, “You’re leaving already?” They’d gone to his place in Manhattan and Y/n had found herself preferring it that way, at least she could leave when she wanted to, not have to pay the extra effort to drive him out. “I thought you’d stay a little longer,” he stated, a strange air about his tone as he followed her out of the bed, pulling on a pair of sweats.

“I can’t,” Y/n offered briskly, already pulling on her grey, tweed slacks, quickly looking for her blouse after closing up the front, “And I uh-”

“I have a proposal,” he cut her off, surprising Y/n just as she was shrugging on her black shirt, pausing before she could do the buttons.

Taken aback, Y/n eventually continued with the task at hand, though slowly, keeping her eyes on her old friend as he approached his dresser, rummaging through a drawer in search of a t shirt, “Okay,” she encouraged, “Well what is it?”

He was just turning, pulling on the cotton jersey before finally approaching Y/n. Donavan only stopped when he was less than a foot away, towering over her, leaving her face to face with his broad chest, “Will you marry me?”

To say the least, Y/n was definitely not expecting a literal proposal, worse yet one that casual. Though, she supposed that Donavan wasn’t the get on his knees type anyway. And she wasn’t the marry her fuck buddy type either. “Excuse me?” Was perhaps the most polite thing Y/n could muster up.

“I said-”

“I heard you,” heading to an accent chair near the bedroom door to collect her suit jacket, Y/n got into it as she spoke, chuckling and hoping her dismissiveness would speak for itself, “Donny, I think you’re mistaking this for something it's not. Why would I marry you?” Y/n chortled again quietly, her grin faltering when she met his more serious expression. 

“Because I-” He cut himself off, presumably before saying something they would both regret, “Because, this partnership with Balinski could expand your enterprise, I just thought that you might need help running things. And seeing as I’m the only one that knows the ropes almost as well as you do, I thought it would be the most logical way forward.”

Smirking, Y/n shifted her weight from one leg to the next, folding her arms, “So you’re suggesting some sort of political marriage?”

“In a nutshell,” he nodded.

Humming, Y/n straighten her back, ready to clear the air once and for all so she could get back to trying to make things work with John, “The sentiment is……sweet,” she hadn’t meant for her words to sound so taunting, but they had, and there was no taking them back, “But I’m not interested. I don't want you to help run things, I’ve got this.”

Sighing heavily, Donavan seemed desperate to get her on board, “Vila,” he pleaded, “Please, just consider it.”

But Y/n was already done with the conversation, and not knowing how to let him down easy, and not thinking that he needed it anyway, she did things the way she thought best, letting her icy disposition ring through, “I don’t need to. This conversation is over,” she started out the door, collecting her handbag as she entered his living room, “And we need to stop seeing each other like this.”

“What?” Confused, he probed incredulously, following her to the door.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow Donny,” Y/n pulled his front door open, not even sparing him one last glace, “And only at work.”

Merely two hours later, Y/n stood in front of John's door, swallowing down the events of the evening before knocking in three brisk taps. He didn't need to know the specifics, he just needed to know that she'd ended things with Donavan. Before she could even raise her fist again, he was pulling the door open, "Hi," she smiled softly, hoping he'd returned the gesture. 

John took a minute to drink Y/n in. She looked so young, more like her age actually, dressed simply in a black lace robe with a short matching nightgown beneath it, her fluffy slippers not affording her much height and the absence of makeup allowing the glow of youth to radiate unhampered. She looked lovely like that, softer somehow. "Hey," John breathed, longing to reach out, but wanting to know for sure where they stood first. 

She'd showered before coming to him, and that in itself said so much, too much. "How was dinner with Donavan?"

Quickly, her tongue darted out to moisten her lips, barely glancing down at herself before meeting his stare again. Y/n knew what he was thinking, and they both knew he was right. In retrospect, she couldn't really put her finger on the reasoning for having Donavan one last time; maybe it was her way of trying to soften to blow. As if to tell him that it wasn't his fault, but he just wasn't the man for her. "It went well," she began stiffly, not knowing how to continue. Y/n wasn't used to that sort of thing, and knowing that John could tell she'd been with Donavan before coming to him was making things harder. "It's over now, but John-"

She was so, so close to telling him everything. Everything that he knew, and then probably much more that he didn't. And deep down, or perhaps right on the surface, John knew it would hurt him; he didn't want to see her differently or hear her reasoning for why she'd done things that way. Besides, as long as she didn't confirm it, it could all just be in his head, and he would much rather keep guessing until he could manage to bury it down instead of hearing the painful truth. "Doesn't matter," John cut her off before anything too damaging to depart from her lips, "You're here now," he bent, pressing a slow, sensual kiss to her soft lips.

"And I wouldn't rather be anywhere else," she mumbled against John's bourbon flavored lips, letting him lead her into his bedroom, kicking the door closed behind her. 

******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

[osir-ethria]

...... I have ideas and all but if anyone finds my head canons interesting enough feel free to ask me about a topic that I can turn into a head canon or scenario/drabble/mini story/one shot. If anyone does do this then fair warning I may not immediately respond or it may take me a bit to think of something or create said something. Or I may not choose to respond to it if I don’t feel comfortable to do so.

_____________________________

For now, Happy B-Day Weiss! (I finally got an idea and it’s probably late to some people but it’s still May 15th for me so here we go.)

_____________________________

How RWBYJNRWWWQEOK+AceOps and maybe Sun and Neptune act today... Maybe Raven and Tai too, I want Raven to join them and Tai to reunite. More so let’s just have the entire found family.

(Setting they are in a building, not a tent. Like maybe a room in Haven or after Salem fight and they survive but making sure the world doesn’t break is becoming stressful on the group because they were main figures in the war. Now hold leading positions that I won’t get into but y’know it be hard for them.)

First is the mutual agreement to LET WEISS SLEEP IN TILL LIKE NOON. They be letting the Ice Queen rest especially with all the bullshit she has to put up with on a daily basis and the fact she hasn’t slept properly in days.

Weiss does try to wake up, thinking it’s a normal day but it isn’t, Ruby pins her to the bed where she is laying on top of Ice Queen. Weiss doesn’t have the strength to resist and just lays there asking Blake and Yang for help but no response. She eventually passes out again and Ruby gives Weiss her cape before sneaking out.

Yang and Blake go out to get ingredients and anything they need to make a meal of the size of the party they are going host for Weiss.

Ruby is making cookies with the current ingredients, Yang’s style based on Summer’s recipe, and Winter is getting some coffee ready.

Whitley, Ren, and Jaune are organizing presents. I’ll list what they got Weiss.

Ruby: A pocketknife she made, girl be way into weapons. (I’m giving you choice here, choose the design.)

Yang: (She be making the cake but y’know) I like the idea she gets Bumblebee back and it would be upgraded. Taking Weiss on a ride with it.

Blake: Simple but gets the new White Fang badge with the Schnee insignia as an acceptance. Would offer to help her with duel wielding after learning that she can and had to do so when they fell.

Jaune & Neptune: They’d go off on how much of assholes they were during Beacon. Jaune for not taking “No” as an answer and Neptune acting the way he did. Weiss would get a good laugh then retaliate with “I was just as much of an asshole as you two but thanks for saying that.”

Ren: Would carve out the flower he associates Weiss with the most out of wood and paint it over perfectly.

Nora: Depending on the timeline either new kitchen ware or take over any manual labor tasks for the next week for her. Maybe both.

Willow: She found a store filled with puzzles of all sorts. Buy Weiss three and a book on puzzle making and concept. Probably get her a lot of information based books but she knows by now that Weiss likes them and isn’t weary on if it’s the right thing to buy.

Whitley (Depending on if CVFY joins then with Coco): New stylized clothing of both grouped “feminine” and “masculine”... Do you hear my sarcasm. They just styled and got tailored Weiss’ new wardrobe. Whitley has the courtesy of a sweater/hoodie with FIGHT on the back representing her response to Jacques’s abuse. Also got Winter one with ‘Flight to Fight’, Willow one with “Froze but Thawed”, and himself “Fawned but Freed”. Just something nice. (Klein got a hoodie with “True Schnee Dad” on it and I don’t take no for an answer).

Winter: Got Myrenaster sharpened, taking over all ‘logically enduring’ tasks of the next week that don’t require Weiss specifically. Going out to dinner the next day but that’s the next day. With the help of Ruby she picked out new jewelry. The one she thought would suit Weiss the most was a custom made necklace with silver, the Schnee emblem, and small rubies.

Klein: Did a stand up comedy act with his many split personalities with a little help from Neo. There, that’s Neo contribution. Acts like his butler self for the day which brings a rather nice nostalgia to a poor past.

Qrow: After years of traveling together, much to Winter’s dismay, he has allowed Weiss to refer to him as Uncle if she wants to. Paid for the material to her new wardrobe by Whitley and Coco.

Tai: Helps her with hand to hand combat. Knitted a sweater for her that has some goofy dad joke on it in reference to her. (Btw, as much as Weiss cringed she loves the damn thing.)

Raven: Goes on the whole apology, she did a big one for everyone but this one was directly for Weiss. She teaches Weiss how she made the dust blades and the whole concept, and to Weiss’s request, will be teaching Ruby the same thing. (I wouldn’t take it as an unknown thing, dust blades, but it’s difficult to craft and you need to master it perfectly.)

Emerald: Probably also put on something funny but this time she’d disguise herself as Jacques for an hour as Weiss goes all out on how much he hates him. Best thing to watch and the entire time Emerald has to keep herself from breaking down by the reminder that this is towards Jacques not her. After the whole ordeal Weiss hugs Emrald thanking her and said she acted him out perfectly.

(You guys got to think of other characters, I can’t think of anything else for presents right now while writing this.)

Weiss wakes up after, after Ruby finished cookies and Winter coffee and Klein a proper breakfast, and she is greeted by both of them along with Whitley and Willow. Ruby is smiling animatedly which always gets Weiss to grin, Winter sits down on the edge of the bed with a calmer smile but she has gotten better with emotion, Willow is at the edge with a motherly look that Weiss starts to cry a bit, and Whitley has climbed onto the bed and is on the other side of his sister, sitting there, smiling.

Ruby places her breakfast down before using her semblance in a quick burst to get directly to Weiss’s right side and lean on her. A few rose petals are there but nothing has been disturbed. (At this point the Schnees have gotten used to Ruby’s and Weiss’ closeness, either as partners or if you ship them like me then maybe more.)

After brunch she is dragged out by Ruby again to just lounge about the town or city. Weiss is saying that she should be doing tasks and Ruby is always responding with “nope” which leads Weiss to give up.

When dinner comes they go back and to Weiss’s surprise their entire group is there with presents, food, and a huge cake. They all scream happy birthday to Weiss and she starts crying. Past birthdays for her weren’t great and she has gotten used to smaller celebrations by her team, but seeing all those she considers family here, she breaks.

Gets all the hugs, Ice Queen deserves them.

Afterwards she just outright says-

“I honestly forgot it was my birthday, just thought everyone was being soft for no reason.”

Everyone is stunned but in the end everyone is laughing.

The rest of the night is a blast, everyone is having fun, Weiss roles her eyes at most of the presents or smiles genuinely. Just Weiss smiling the entire time because of pure joy. They get Sun to use a aura clone to take a picture of their entire group which is huge. That was using Velvet’s camera.

(Weiss treasures that photo like it’s more expensive than any jewel/gem one will find.)

As a last gift given by her team they all do a snuggle pile when they sleep. Yang holding all of them, Blake snuggling into Yang’s left side, Ruby either snuggling into Yang’s right side or Weiss, Weiss’s arms a little under Yang and just wrapping around far enough to just meet Blake, and Blake has her arm, like Weiss, going as far as it can.

It’s loving Weiss day and I wrote this as me showing how much I love her.

[nat-20s]

this is a Wild™ prompt so no pressure to actually do it, but i’ve had the scenario of “somehow s5 martin ends up in s1-s2, has to figure out how to deal with that” and if u want a narrower thing, maybe how he reacts to seeing someone again/for the first time? (Sasha, Juergen Leitner, Prentiss, etc)

Please have fun with Whatever this is:

“Don’t go wandering off in the middle of the apocalypse” seems like a pretty simple rule to follow. “Especially don’t go through any weird doors, Christ, Martin, how can that possibly be a good idea on any level, do you remember nothing from the last five years of your existence?” also seems like a generally easy thing to keep in mind. And yet, Martin is guilty of the same sin that appears to be intrinsic of all of those who find themselves under the influence of the eye, his need to know something overriding his common sense. In his defense, the door was only like 2 meters away and he wasn’t planning on going through it or even touching it at all. He just wanted to look, because it appeared to be made of a liquid version of frosted glass, and it was translucent enough that he could sort of make out the other side of it. As he got closer, he confirmed that the other side of the door a: definitely didn’t match the rest of their own little hell-scape, and b: seemed familiar in a way he couldn’t quite make sense of.  

Of course, in the dream logic of their reality, you don’t have to place your hand on the door knob in order for you to enter some place new. All it takes is getting within a foot of the door, squinting to futilely try and bring the scene across from him into better focus, and a blink and suddenly he is not where he’s supposed to be. Instead, he is staring down the hallway of his former apartment complex, watching as a familiar woman attired in a red dress and countless words is steadily knocking at his door. There’s a weight in his hands that wasn’t there before, and he looks down to find a fire extinguisher in prime position to be fired. Huh. How serendipitous.

Martin’s surprised to find that he doesn’t feel afraid, not in this moment. It appears that for all the two weeks spent hiding from her still frequent more often than not in his nightmares, for all that the sight of canned peaches still makes him nauseous, in his (probably) waking hours, she is far less intimidating than the myriad of horrors he has faced since. Or, perhaps, it’s simply that he is actually equipped to face her, and that takes away some of the teeth of his fear. Any semblance of preparation, of a plan, has given him comfort when he had little else, and that continues on now. Admittedly, though, while he does have preparation for this encounter, his plan is little more than “get Prentiss off of my fucking lawn and then see where we go from there” before he’s striding towards her.

He’s able to get close to her, about as close as he’s willing to get, before she takes any notice of him. Once he’s about five feet away, she turns her head, and briefly pauses that incessant, infuriating knocking. She gets as far as saying, “Oh, aren’t you inter-” before he sends a spray of foam directly to her face. It’s far from enough to kill her, but it’s enough to kill off some of the worms, so there’s no way that it doesn’t at least sting quite a bit. The CO2 makes her stutter and take several steps back, swatting at the foam at an attempt to get it off.

He considers pulling the handle once again, but he’s really more concerned with getting her to leave than hurting her further, and he doesn’t to run out of ammo this early should she recover and decide to go on the attack. However, he likes to think he’s not too much of a fool, so he keeps the nozzle trained on her as she becomes less frantic.

Finally she stills her swatting, breathing heavily and glaring at him, as much as she can make any sort of facial expression with what’s left of her face. “That was rather rude of you, little one. And we are trying to offer you an escape from being so tragically singular.”

Martin raises the nozzle slightly higher, just enough to bring focus to the motion as he replies, “Yeah, well, it was rude of you to stalk my apartment for two weeks and try to kill me and my coworkers, so forgive me if I don’t feel all that grateful for your oh so generous offer.”

“Hmm. So you are his future. That’s a shame. We are made so loneliness is impossible, it would not wrap itself so throughly into your form. Our love could still be given to you, in this time.”

“I have no interest in your hollow version of love. He has no interest in it. Now, leave.”

Prentiss give an airy wave of her hand, and the worms that had been trying to find any crack in the sealed door come crawling back to their home. “Fine, fine. This was just a bit of fun, anyway. I’ll be seeing him soon enough anyway.”

Martin makes a hum of acknowledgement, though he response makes little difference to her taking her leave. There’s a few silver-grey disgusting stragglers that be promptly and throughly kills with a combination of the fire extinguisher and some well placed stomps. It’s only after he finishes this that the hesitation hits him, the trepidation curling low in his stomach until it solidifies into something akin to fear. He’ll take a worm monster over facing himself any time of any day.

What would he even say to himself? Good luck, the next years of your life are completely fucked? Hey, congratulations, you actually made it to your 30s, so that’s a bit of surprise, but you’re almost certainly not going to get to 35? Don’t talk to a man named Peter Lukas, or maybe just avoid any Lukases in general? Maybe he should lie, tell him things are going to turn out okay when they’re definitely not?

Wait, okay, maybe he has something with the Peter tip. If there’s an opportunity to give this version of him some advice that could prevent future grief, he might as well go for it. It’s like, how badly could he actually mess up the time line with his interference? The world could end again? Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Upon the realization that basically no matter what he does right now there’s basically no where to go up but up, he makes an executive decision to go in there and confront himself head on. Hell, maybe that’s the Thing that’s needed to get him back to Jon.

As he goes to turn the door handle he also, briefly, thinks that he should bring up that he’s madly in love with someone who feels the same. It’s not immediately relevant for trying to prevent some of the mistakes he’s made, but Martin remembers being 28, utterly convinced both that love was real and something that was completely unattainable for something like him. Being wrong on the second part of that conviction is one of the few true comforting things he can provide.

The door is, of course, locked, so he goes with plan B. Turns out fire extinguishers are rather handy for smashing things, and he brings it down several times in rapid succession until the knob breaks. There’s one step down, but he had forgotten about the furniture barricade that had been put in place. He can get the door open about 7 centimeters before it refuses to budge, and he begins to wonder if all of this is an exercise in futility. At least his voice won’t be muffled when he calls out, “Martin? You in there?”

There’s nothing but silence, and he sighs and leans his head against the apartment door. “Seriously, Martin, could you respond? And maybe move some of this furniture? If you’re dead that means things are way more messed up than I expected.”

After a beat, a strained voice calls out, “Oh, so a bad impersonation of me is part of your dumb monster powers now? Piss off!”

After a groan and an eyeroll, Martin calls back “I’m not-!” before cutting himself off. He meant to say “I’m not a monster, I’m you” but both of those things are only about 60-70% true. Instead he goes with, “I’m not an impersonation. If I was something pretending to be someone else to get inside, wouldn’t I pick one of your coworkers coming to get you? Like Tim or Jon or Sa- you know, um, one of them?”

Silence.

“You have a peephole, right? You could look through it, confirm that I’m not worm-infested?”

He doesn’t hear a response with words, but he does hear the sounds of motion coming from inside. After a few minutes, the furniture is pushed aside, and the door is opened for him. Jesus, the guy on the other side of the door looks like shit. He probably doesn’t look much better, apocalypse grime covering every inch of him, but still. The man in front of him has deep bags under his eyes and a gauntness to his face that will take a while to ease. Worst of all, he looks painfully young and painfully afraid, and while Martin can recognize himself on a logical level, there’s a forced disconnect that makes him feel like he’s looking at a stranger. The knife that’s being held between them probably doesn’t help matters.

His former self’s voice shakes with a mix of adrenaline and exhaustion. “You got the hair color wrong. And the age.”

“That’s because I’m 32. Also, still not an impersonation.”

“My hair goes white in 5 years?”

“Not in the natural way. You know those hokey stories where people are so scared their hair turns white? That’s...sort of what happened. And it’s not going to happen to you, if I can help it.”

That’s the wrong thing to say, apparently, as the younger Martin’s face twists up. It’s a lot, Martin thinks it’s a lot and he’s far more experienced in the reality of the esoteric, but sometimes things being a lot is unavoidable, and he’s pretty sure time travel is one of those cases. He shrugs in response to the younger’s confusion, and says, “Can I come in? I think I’m here to dole out some advice, and I’d honestly prefer to do while not standing in worm corpses.”

He’s studied for a few brief moments, before he’s told, “You broke my doorknob.”

“You’re never gonna live here again, and it’s not like you were getting the security deposit back anyway. Does it matter?”

The younger one’s face collapses, despondent when he replies, “But. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Martin’s been experiencing a nauseating mixture of anger, pity, and compassion while seeing his past self, but that’s enough to kick in his care-taking instincts, and he really just wants to wrap the guy in a blanket. That’s not going to help either of them, but what he says next might. With a frankly ridiculous wave of fondness for that uncomfortable cot (or, more accurately, for the memory of a certain someone offering said cot), “You will. After you go back to the institute, you, um, you won’t have to stay here again.”

Martin, junior edition, only looks more lost, but he does step aside to let Martin inside the apartment even if he doesn’t lose his death grip on the knife. Martin pulls the door behind him, and as he does so, it transforms into the door that got him in this mess, so looks like he made the right choice. It doesn’t immediately take him (hopefully) back to his own time, but Martin’s gut is telling him that he won’t be spending much longer here. “Okay, so, you have a notebook around here, right? Because I’m about to dump quite a bit of information on you all at once, and I happen to know that our memory for things of this sort is not fantastic.”

The younger one glances over to the table where a notebook and pen are laying and while he moves towards it, he’s clearly hesitant to occupy both his hands with writing. The precaution makes sense, but Martin’s getting tired of it nonetheless due to a combination of running out of time and generally being tired of people seeing him as a threat. With a sigh, he tries his best to evenly say, “The next few years are going to be, um, messed up, to say the least, but hopefully if you have more information than I did, they’ll be less messed up.”

Younger Martin finally concedes, putting the knife down to pick up the pen, and flips the notebook open. Primed to start writing, he gives slight nod of his head to tell Martin to keep talking. Martin takes a breath, lets it out, and spills everything he can think of. “Okay, most immediately, CO2 kills Prentiss’s worms, and enough of it will kill her. A fire suppressant system will do the trick, but make sure there’s a way to actually trigger it inside of the archives. Makes sure the weird spooky table doesn’t get destroyed, it seems like it should be destroyed, this instinct is wrong. Generally speaking, you should get a buddy system set up, as it’s usually when people go off on their own that particularly bad things start to happen, whether it’s on an investigation or going to America. Speaking of, don’t let Jon go to America. Don’t let Tim go to stop the Unknowing. The Unknowing won’t work anyway, but you’ll probably still want to have the circus blown up, just make sure everyone is doing it from a distance. Don’t let yourself work for Peter Lukas, actually don’t interact with Peter Lukas, except maybe to, I don’t know, hit him with a shovel. And most importantly, kill Elias Bouchard as soon as possible-”

“-What?!-”

“-and in particular make sure you destroy the eyes, that’s vital to this whole thing. Turns out he’s actually a 200 year old scumbag named Jonah Magnus, you know, the founder of the institute, and by getting rid of him, you’ll save yourself a quite literal world of pain.”

“I don’t, what, I don’t think I could kill somebody-”

Martin felt a sharp tug towards the door, and he knew his time here was up. “Oh, wow, I really have changed, huh. Anyway, uh, final notes: you’re not going to end up alone and unloved and forgotten before you’re even fully gone, so feel free to lay that fear that occupies a disconcertingly large amount of your mental space to rest. Good luck, and try not to die!”

Before he can hear his other self’s response, he’s back in the wastelands he currently calls a twisted version of home, and Jon’s arms are wrapped around his neck in a fierce hug. As far as he can tell, nothing’s changed from his little literal trip down memory lane. There’s a few explanations for it, but since Martin’s not going to go out of his way trying to prove any of them, he choses to believe in the one that’s the most hopeful; that somewhere, out there, with some well timed words, there’s a universe that has turned out kinder than their own.

[punz4lyfe]

Now you've been asked what you do like about him what about the opposite what don't you like about goh?

Aw man, this is gonna hurt.

TL;DR - Goh’s a completely lovable character, but I have three particular issues with him that I feel could become worse if not taken care of properly.

First off, DISCLAIMERS!! To all my fellow Goh fans, please know that writing this, I do not mean any hatred to Goh in anyway. I LOVE Goh, and if you’ve seen literally ANY of my past anipoke posts, you would already know that. These are just issues I find with his character that I want to be changed for the best.

Now with that outta the way, here’s what I don’t like about Goh:

1. His iffy character development. While he’s doing fine in becoming more open to people and more willing to help Pokemon, his fighting skills are what I have trouble with it. Let’s go back to his first ever official battle.

It was at Hoenn’s Frontier Cup where he used Scorbunny and Scyther against a trainer’s Mightyena. Despite having a type advantage with Scyther, he lost horribly, which is completely understandable. He’s a beginner and doesn’t possess the same kind of street smarts and experience Ash and many other trainers have. Alright then, so maybe this will lead to a change in character of wanting to become better in battles by getting some training with Ash, who made quick work of that Mightyena trainer. Surely we’ll get some development over this topic after this episode!

He beats Saffron City’s Karate Master and scores a free Hitmonchan.

...Okaaaay, I mean, we’ve never seen the Karate Master in battle before, so perhaps it was just another fodder trainer the anime is filled of. I sure we’ll get some more Goh development after thi-

He easily defeats and captures a powerful Flygon.

.....Alright, alright, it was only a wild Pokemon. Everyone can beat those, right? Heck, in the next episode, he technically suffers a curbstomp loss against Kiawe and admits he only battles Ash every so often. Perhaps this loss will encourage Goh to train more with Ash so he could become a stronger trainer. I mean, despite his good luck with Pokeballs, he’s gonna need to be as strong as he can be for tougher mons, like Legendaries. I’m 100% sure we’ll get something out of thi-

He takes down a wild Zapdos and NEARLY captures it.

.........Uh, okie dokes, it wasn’t a successful capture, and who knows? Even though we have not seen him battle/train that much on-screen, maybe he just got a little lucky. Even in the games, it happens to the best of us. Perhaps this barely missed victory will finally give Goh the time to actually development more on-screen so that he could have a better chance agai-

He defeats Oleana’s Milotic, using his fire-type Raboot who only wanted to use a weak fire-type move.

..............Allllriiiiight, maybe Oleana just got a little cocky later on. Plus, Raboot finished Milotic by evolving in Cinderace and finishing it off with Pyro Ball. With this powerful evolution in hand, maybe Goh will finally realize that, in order for Cinderace to reach its greatest potential, he must start training for once and obtain some proper development for a chance against stronger threa-

Cinderace fights decently well against Mewtwo, even lasting longer than Pikachu and being on-par with the more trained Lucario.

....................At this point, I’m all out of excuses for him. Overall, Goh’s development as a trainer is very rushed to the point seeing him achieve numerous victories despite all odds being against his favor to be iffy.

2. Slightly touchy topic, but there are some negatives with his whole catching all Pokemon goal. So Goh wants to catch every single mon he can in order to reach up to Mew, as he said to Mewtwo in episode 46. And yes, this includes Legendaries as well. Unfortunately, this is where my issues with his goal starts. First off, where in the world will Goh keep any Legendary he encounters? Cerise’s glorified garden dome? Yeah, keep Dialga and Palkia, literal beings of space and time, inside a glass dome with a bunch of weaker mons. And speaking of which, wouldn’t catching mons like the Creation Trio or the Island Guardians cause quite the upset in, well, y’know, the natural balance of things? Sure, Goh technically hasn’t caught a single Legendary yet (Eternatus doesn’t count because it had to be sealed away), with how the anime is playing out, issues like this will surely rise throughout the series.

And yes, the anime is playing it out for Goh to indeed catch every single mon before reaching Mew. If you pay attention to the openings as well as many of Goh’s own character moments, such as episode 46, then you can easily see the signs telling us that Goh is bound to catch them all, just as Ash is bound on defeating Leon. In the past, pretty much all of Ash’s traveling companions had their own goals as well, but it’s usually because of those goals is why they leave Ash by the end of their journeys, like May and Dawn pursuing contests in other regions, Brock wanting to become a doctor, Iris wanting to find more Dragon types, Kiawe wanting to become an Island Kahuna etc. Because of that, it becomes up to the audience’s interpretation (and fanfics) on how they achieve their dreams and what challenges they could face throughout the way. With Goh, there will a lot more focus and emphasis placed on his goal, and while this isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it’s too bad there aren’t really any stakes or obstacles in Goh’s journey!

Really now, another glaring issue with Goh’s goal is that he has NO trouble going through with it at all. From his very first fodder capture, all he has to do is get a good throw and then PING! Pokemon caught. Guess the thing of having to weaken a Pokemon first before capturing it has been retconned out of the anime forever. With that said, there’s absolutely no struggle for Goh to overcome in his journey, which kinda makes things boring. Where’s the challenge? Where are his rivals? Are there any doubts? Does he have any issue of having to catch and connect every single mon in existence? No, well then good for him I guess! Sad thing too is that he catches so many Pokemon with so much potential, but they then disappear completely after their debut.

Remember that free Hitmonchan he scored from Saffron’s Fighting Dojo who seemed completely willing to train with Riolu and Farfetch’d? Never seen again. That female Raichu who loves giving berries? Completely forgotten about. That Aerodactyl Goh resurrected and bonded with before catching? Thanos snapped. The Heracross Goh obtained from a trade at the cost of a second Pinsir he worked hard to find? Literally who?

3. And my biggest issue with Goh. The fact he’s somehow on the same scale as Ash.

Don’t believe me? Well, let’s go back to the ending of episode 46. After Mewtwo teleported him, Ash, Pikachu, Lucario, and Cinderace back home, Goh said this: “We’ve still got a long way to go.”

Excuse me, but WHAT?!?!?!

You BOTH got a long way to go, even though you both suffered a complete curbstomp from a mon that would probably even make the likes of Lance, Cynthia, and Leon comparable to Youngster Joey?!?! What the Distortion World?!?! Why is Goh and, by extension, the writers implying he and Ash are on even terms when it comes to being a trainer? Goh, as a reminder, you literally only began your trainer career 45 episodes ago!!

Alright, let’s talk about Ash for a second and what he’s been through since he started his trainer career. Ash started in Kanto, and while he really only fairly achieved three out of his eight badges (Brock and Misty’s were givens, Erika’s was a thank-you gift, Sabrina’s was all Haunter’s doing, and Jessie and James are complete jokes that no one should take seriously), he still partook in as many battles as he could against tough trainers while getting some pointers from the much more experienced Misty and Brock. After that, he went on to become a much more impressive trainer in later journeys. Instead of a full recap, I’ll just list two impressive things Ash has done in each region he’s journeyed through after losing in the Kanto League.

Orange Islands: Won his first official double battle with Pikachu and Charizard despite neither initially getting along at first and then defeated the Orange League champ, Drake.

Johto: Survived an entire forest of bloodthirsty Ursaring with his friends and defeated Gary’s Blastoise with his Charizard.

Hoenn: Helped stopped both Team Magma and Team Aqua’s elemental threats and reached Top 8 in the Hoenn League despite only two of his mons being fully evolved with one being a glass cannon bird.

Kanto again: Conquered the Battle Frontier and tied with May in his first ever contest.

Sinnoh: Helped protect a Riolu from the famed Hunter J and knocked out two of Tobias’ Legendary Pokemon.

Unova: Defeated Iris’ Dragonite twice (Charizard pretty much had the high ground in their fight) and helped protect Meloetta.

Kalos: Defeated four Mega Evolutions (Lucario, Abomasnow, Absol, and Sceptile) and was one of the main heroes against Lysandre.

Alola: Became an Ultra Guardian and conquered the Alola League.

And right now as of Journeys: Defeated Korinna’s Mienfoo and Mega Lucario with only Dragonite right after the two curbstomped Gengar and defeated Chairman Rose.

And this isn’t even scratching the surface, and yet, somehow, Ash is still on the same scale of Goh. This doesn’t make any logical sense, it completely negates Ash’s experience while over-wanking Goh’s, and it ruins any semblance of power scaling between the two. Logically, Ash should be leagues above Goh and the latter should always confide to Ash whenever he needs assistance or pointers, not “Oh, we both lost to a powerful legendary, guess that means we both have stuff to learn and we’re both beginners lul”. It’s like Deku and All Might both losing a villain that’s beyond both of their capabilities, and then Deku saying that they BOTH have much to learn afterwards! Does it make sense? HECK NO.

If they had to have Goh comment about their loss, why couldn’t he say something that would’ve made more sense? Maybe say something like “Wow, I can’t believe I lasted that long, honestly.” And then Ash would say, “Hey, you’re only getting better. And me and my team will always be there in case you need more training.” Have the two acknowledge the fact that even trainers like Leon wouldn’t fare any better than them against Mewtwo. Just absolutely anything that doesn’t completely ruin what we know of these characters to the point the two are considered equals, despite all the evidence saying otherwise.

I’m getting a little exhausted now, so I’m done, but thanks for asking, anon!

And for anyone reading, please feel free to agree or disagree. I’m completely acceptable to anyone else’s thoughts/opinions over Goh and would love to hear them.

[komoryriku]

Queering KH: Part 2

How to Queer this Anime Game? By me, an American nerd lol

Pictured: Dream. Drop. Distance. Sequel. 8)))

What is Queering 

I’m so excited to talk about this okay this is literally the only fun thing I get to do as an English major anymore lmao.

“Queering a text” is the academic term for taking a given text and extracting the queer subtext of it, or applying a queer reading to it. It is taking a piece of literature, film, or art and reading into it for the gay coding. It is an especially important tool for reading old literature written during periods of extreme homosexual oppression, wherein the author would be forced to hide hints of homosexuality under layers and layers of superficial text.

Pictured: Sora and Riku battling Ursula as she means to wreck their ship, mirroring the disaster that Sora’s friends Eric and Ariel (lovers) faced at sea.

As a post-structuralist, I am also here to inform you that every text is made up of intertextual influence. This means whether the JK Rowlings of the world intended it or not, their characters may well be queer coded because of the unconscious influence of homoerotic customs in our culture that have permeated the text. It’s why people speculated that Newt Scamander was gay, because he showed little interest in Tina and preferred to focus on his beasts, which is not normative for a male protagonist in straight media. People likewise considered that Merida from Pixar’s Brave might be gay, because she had no interest in dating men and wanted to live a wild lifestyle traditionally associated with masuculinity, things that are pretty in line with lesbian coding. And let me tell you, lgbt claimed Queen Elsa IMMEDIATELY for very good reason. Pretty much everything about her journey, purposefully or not, makes for an strikingly overt gay metaphor. Let it Go is a coming out song for a woman suffocating under normativity all her life, deal with it.

Same, Elsa.

Oh whoops I accidentally pasted this picture of Riku here.

Keep Cultural Distinctions in Mind

Something else important I want to point out is that different cultures are- different lol. They are going to vary. What is queer coding here is not necessarily queer coding in Japan. A man presenting femininely in American media would certainly get him coded as gay. A bishonen in an anime though? Not so much. Men bathing together in Japan is common practice so that would mean nothing gay over there. In America however, you have things like this vine. 

In which 2 dudes are chilling as far away as possible from each other in a hot tub to prove they are not gay lol.

So when I say the male members of Organization XIII bathe together, it means literally nothing in a Japanese context.  

But let me tell you this: homosexual mlm tend to enjoy bathing with other dudes. Sexual attraction is sexual attraction no matter where you go. So how would you queer code a Japanese character as gay in a hot tub context? 

By American logic, if the straight thing to do is sit 5 feet apart in a hot tub, then the inverse, the gay thing to do, would be 2 men sitting very close together in a hot tub. So if I were to code 2 American male characters as gay in a hot tub context, that is what I would do. But if I really wanted to hammer it home, I would ALSO have them blushing so there is no straight explanation for their closeness. 

And for a Japanese character, for whom bathing with men might well mean nothing, I’d definitely have them physically blush, so that you know it does NOT just “mean nothing” to him...

Oh look at that. Amano went out of her way to draw Roxas blushing at the concept of bathing with men. So when I say “the members of Orginization XIII bathe together”, you know that means something to Roxas, cuz the coding tells us so. There are indeed certain ways you can depict a shonen being either interested in or at least affected by that idea. You just have to mind those codes telling you what the character really feels, especially when they can’t really say it.

Speaking of blushes, Amano uses them a lot. 

They’re a pretty effective tool for hiding gay coding into your characters cuz an anime character might blush for any number of reasons, from being flustered by their crush, 

to being flustered because they don’t have a crush.

If you’ve ever translated Japanese media, (I haven’t, but I have friends who do), you know that Japanese is very vague which means you need the whole context to properly understand a scene. It’s a similar situation with queer coding. Consider this scene of Roxas blushing. 

If Roxas felt positively about the insinuation that he and Xion are holding hands, how might one code this? Well, if he’s feeling really excited about it in a positive way, you might draw him smiling or expressing flattery on his blushing face. However, Roxas reacts negatively, with a frown on his blushing face. This insinuates he does not like this idea at all, especially since he also shuts it down right away in his dialogue.

But you might say “Well how do we know he isn’t just shy?” to which I say- well we can’t know. That’s the whole point of queer coding in literature. It is to say a character is queer but without actually saying it, to give plausible deniability for safety. It is to suggest a character is queer but without any confirmation. It does not mean that the character isn’t queer, however. It just means it cannot be confirmed by the text alone. However, a bold text that is very determined to have hidden queer characters without any straight explanations, will provide coding that has very little or no straight explanation. 

Back to the Roxas and Xion dialogue^. This scene alone cannot confirm or deny anything. As I explained however, the suggestion that Roxas is not straight IS there. Considering the whole context, also, this scene is another piece of “evidence” to add to the pile of suggestions that Roxas isn’t straight. This coupled with the bathing panel, and this panel of him admiring Axel, his male mentor, with deep flattery during his first day of adventuring, all exist.

Roxas does not express negative sentiments in his blushing at men, nor does he say anything dismissive to them. When he blushes at Xion’s comment, however, it is with a negative reaction. Consider also that if the author wanted Roxas to appear straight, she would present them in ways that allude to straightness and NOT in ways that allude to queerness. Roxas would not do suggestively queer things like blush in flattery at Axel calling him special and then dismiss Xion’s suggestion that they are holding hands if he were simply coded as straight. Queering a text sometimes requires a lot of critical thought like this. This is because again, these things are hidden, and sometimes hidden really well so that unsuspecting straight people will not even consider the queer suggestions. This is one of the advantages Nomura has in his favor with Kingdom Hearts: by making it so convoluted, the gay text can be forward, strong, and blatant but remain undetected by straight powers. This keeps the series safe from oppressive scrutiny. Characters like Namine and Xion can exist as literal illustrations of compulsory-heterosexuality. And people will still think Sora and Riku are straight. 

Even if I don’t know all the queer codes Japanese culture might specifically have, (and I do not, I do not live in Japan nor have any semblance of what that is like beyond what my friends who have lived there can tell me, and what I can research while sitting in my pajamas in Kentucky lol), there are certain things that are rather universal. Blushing, physical contact, lingering gazes, etc etc. Attraction is attraction and certain body language and other physical symbols will translate and will travel. So that’s the majority of what I will have to focus on. 

But I do want you to know that rainbows are still gay in Japan. 

Finally I also want to express that cultural intermingling is a thing. We do not live in bubbles, especially with the internet. Our cultures affect each other ALL the time. Although Kingdom Hearts is primarily a Japanese series, it is consciously tailored to appeal to both America and Japan. This is by design given the idea was to marry a Japanese hit like Final Fantasy with an American phenomenon like Disney’s media. This is why they take special care in minding the English translations and dubbing of the KH games (when they are able to do so, mistakes are still very often made and i hate it cuz they’re usually heterosexual-agenda-pushing “mistakes” =~=). The games are so intimately tied to both the Japanese and American cultures they are derived from which is part of why accurate translations are so important. And given what they would mean for queer audiences, what they represent for queer people makes accurate translations even MORE important. Some things get quite lost in translation, and some things are grossly added in translation. We will discuss that down the line...   

A brief aside that I implore you to ignore:

On the subject of Roxas not being straight, I have heard of one really fun queer motif in Japanese media which is ”ryoutoutsukai (両刀使い)”, “the two sword fencer”: the dual wielding bisexual. Now- I do not necessarily think this is a means of coding Roxas as bisexual, and beyond that, from what I’ve heard in my research on bisexuality in Japan, certain age groups don’t even believe in bisexuality there. However, a love of more than one gender exists no matter who is willing to acknowledge it or not, and this motif is there. And Promisekeeper and Oblivion do rather fit the bill of representing homosexuality (Oblivion/Soriku) and heteronormativity (Promisekeeper/Sora and his childhood friend Kairi). So- while i don’t think it means anything, this fun idea is there~  I will say, however, that as far as I can tell, Nomura and his staff know exactly what they’re doing with their queer coding and are well connected to it in both cultures. So I mean- if any anime team would know bisexuality exists and how to code it, I firmly believe the KH team would, so. There is some food for thought for you~

Get ready for part 3, I hope you like TWEWY~ B)

[bssaz97]

One of the Lancaster kids travels through time and tries to prove to the team that they're Jaune and Ruby's kid.

Rowan’s Trip to Beacon (Sorta...)

-Beacon Academy (Volume 2 time)-

Ruby and Jaune sit down by a tree as they talk about the

Jaune: Man I can’t still can’t believe your team actually stopped a mad scientist.

Ruby: Yeah Merlot was really a nut case but I sorta feel bad for him. He seemed so convinced that his research was the key to Remnant’s advancements. Even if I don’t agree with his actions and the way he went about it, it’s hard to not understand where he was coming from.

Jaune: Well maybe you just try to see the good in everyone. Not a lot of people in the world can. That’s what makes you good person.

Ruby: Yeah I guess so. Thanks...Buuuuuut I did manage to snag this though! *pulls out a metal cylinder with blue circuits*

Jaune: WHOA! What’s that thing?

Ruby: Shhh! Someone could hear you. *whispers*

Jaune: Ohhhh. Why are we whispering? *whispers back*

Ruby: Because I don’t want people, particularly the professors or Weiss to know I have this. *whispers*

Jaune: What is it? *whispers*

Ruby: It’s.....I don’t know. But it looked cool when I saw it in Merlot’s lab. *whispers*

Jaune: Wait you took that from Merlot’s lab?! Isn’t that like evidence or something?!*whispers loudly*

Ruby: Not if they don’t know I have it. *whispers*

Jaune: I take back what I said earlier, you’re a devious little gremlin in disguise. *whispers*

Ruby: Oh come on where’s your sense of adventure? *whispers*

Jaune: Your ‘sense’ of adventure often gets me in trouble. *whispers*

Ruby: Come on please! I’ll owe you big time! *whispers*

Jaune: ‘sigh’ I really don’t have a choice now that I’ve seen the evidence. Ok, so what do you want to do with it? *speaks normally*

Ruby: Well my plan was to try to open it but -Hrgh!- it’s a little -Grh!- hard to -Nnne!- open!

Jaune: Want me to try?

Ruby: No, no, I think I ggggooooo-!

*TSSST!*

Ruby: ‘huff!’ Got it!

The tube starts to hum and shake violently in Ruby’s hand as both leaders look at said metal tube.

Jaune: Say you wouldn’t have I don’t know, taken a copy of that things manual did you?

Ruby: Nope.

Jaune: Mind if I take a look at it?

Ruby: Sure. *gives him the tube*

Jaune: Thank you. *turns it around*

*O’ Fortuna plays*

“0:11...0:10...0:09...”

Ruby: It’s a bomb isn’t it?

Jaune: Looks like. *nods*

Ruby: And I activated the countdown by messing with it didn’t I?

Jaune: Most likely.

Ruby: We’re gonna get in trouble for this aren’t we?

Jaune: Oh yeah definitely. *nods*

Ruby: ...bring it on. *takes the tube back and throws it as far she could*

“0:03...0:02...0:01...”

As the tube explodes, a large blue orb of pure energy illuminated the courtyard in the middle of the day. Lightning currents flowing outside it and burning parts of the courtyard.

Ruby: ‘sniff’ Jaune. If we somehow live through the punishment we get from Professor Goodwitch, you’re a good friend.

Jaune: You too Ruby, you too.

Ruby: ... *holds his hand*

*BOOM!!!*

The light from the explosion lessens and leaves the courtyard a mess almost beyond repair. Both leaders uncover their eyes and view the aftermath of the tubes detonation. Not even a few seconds more, their teams come racing towards them.

Weiss: Ruby are you-..... What. Have you done....

Ruby: Oh. My. Gods. Goodwitch is sooo gonna KILL us.

Jaune: Yep. *whimpers*

Blake: Wait what’s that? *points to the center of the crater*

From the outlook from them it looked like a person sprawled out on the floor.

Ruby: ‘yelp!’ Was someone there before?! I could have sworn there wasn’t anyone there an second ago! OH NO! *petal bursts ahead*

Jaune: Ruby hold on! *chases after her*

Jaune along with the rest of their teams decided to chase after Ruby and hopefully get away before any of the teachers (particularly Goodwitch) discover the destroyed courtyard. Ruby arrived at the center of the crater and takes a look to see who was caught in the blast. At first glance the boy looks much younger than a student, maybe a year younger than her....... This was not good.

Ruby: Oh No, I Killed A Kid!

Jaune: Ruby what’s wrong? What the-Is that a kid?!

Ruby: *cradles the young boy* What do we do Jaune?!

Pyrrha: I’m... I’m not sure we could do anything for him. He looks so injured.

Ruby: Oh no! ‘sobbing’

????: Mmmm who’s at?

Everyone: Huh?

The two leaders plus teams look down to see that the young boy is starting to wake up, blinking his eyes as he looks at the two of them in particular. He turns towards Ruby with the most confused expression on his face.

????: ...Mom?

Ruby: Eh?

Jaune: Hey there, are you ok? Are you hurt?!

????: ........ *eyes widened then faints*

Ruby: DON’T DIE!!!

????: Was at?! Oh I’m sorry Mom. I had this weird dream where I saw... *looks at Jaune again and then faints again*

Ruby: LITTLE BOY!!!

Jaune: *scratches his hair* The heck is going on?

????: Eh?! What the-? *looks around* This-This isn’t a dream is it?

Ren: Dream? Why would you be dreaming? Nevermind that are you hurt?

????: Hurt? ‘hiss!’ Oh yeah, I’m definitely hurt. Mr. Pine must have accidentally used his semblance again.

Ruby: Mr. Pine?...

Weiss: Again?

????: *moves to stand* It’s ok, this isn’t something I’m not used to experiencing.

Pyrrha: Hold on! You shouldn’t push yourself!

????: Don’t worry I’ll be ok. Just give me a moment. *breathes in*

Suddenly the boy starts to glow a bright golden glow that surrounds his entire body. In under a minute all of the boy’s injuries started healing themselves and soon the light faded.

????: *breathes out* Boy, I feel much better! Guess it helps when you have a semblance like mine.

Ruby/Jaune: Whoa...

????: *looks over to them* Hey I’m sorry to bother but do you mind if I ask who you two are?

Ruby: Oh. Well my name is Ruby Rose

Jaune: I’m Jaune Arc.

????: .....oh boy Rowan. What did you do now? *mutters to himself*

Yang: Are you sure you’re ok kid? We don’t know exactly what was in that explosion so maybe we should go get you checked out.

????: Wha? Oh no you’re here too Auntie? Oh man this is just gets better and better... *scratches his hair in distress*

Yang: Auntie? *very confused*

Pyrrha: Are you sure you don’t require assistance, perhaps you’re still fatigued.

????: Oh that won’t be a problem, I’m completely fine now. It’s more ....well, I have no idea how I got here in the first place.

Weiss: What exactly do you mean?

????: But more importantly than that, my name is Rowan. If you were wondering.

Ruby: Rowan... Huh. That’s a nice name.

Rowan: Thanks.

Nora: So what’s the story are some kind of space kid trying to conquer the world? *says in a spooky voice*

Rowan: Nope. I’m just a normal kid learning to be a huntsman.

Nora: Oh. *says flatly*

Ren: I don’t mean to pry but what exactly did you mean you didn’t know how you got here?

Rowan: Oh that. Well.... How to say this? Have any of you ever heard of time travel?

Ruby/Jaune: ...yes?

Rowan: Ok good that makes this explanation much more simpler. Ok so you see the problem is I’m from the future and I must’ve accidentally been sent back in time by Mr. Pine’s semblance. He’s a friend so you know.

Ruby: ....sent back in time?

Jaune: The future?....

Weiss: That’s preposterous! Such a thing is impossible and defies the logic of space-time!

Rowan: Not if you’re Mr. Pine and your semblance allows you to accidentally sneeze somebody into the dark ages. Hehe.

Weiss: .....I do hope you’re joking.

Rowan: Yeah I know it sounds crazy but it’s true. I really am from the future. And.....also I’m kinda Ruby and Jaune’s son.

Everyone: HUH?!

Rowan: Look I know this may be asking a lot but could you mind taking me to Headmistress Goodwitch? I really should talk to her about this.

Yang: Hold on? Do you really expect us to believe you just because you claim you’re their son?! How do we know you’re not lying?!

Rowan: Ohhhh you need proof. *slams one hand on his other palm* Right, I shouldn’t expect you to believe me so quick. Proof, um... let’s see. Hmmmm. Oh I know! *takes out his scroll and shows them a picture* Here’s a picture of my family!

Ruby and Jaune look at Rowan’s scroll while the others peek over them and are surprised to see the picture was indeed of a family. What surprised them more was that the mother in the image looked like an older Ruby alongside a blonde girl the same age as Rowan, but had the cerulean eyes like Jaune. Rowan then changes the image to show one of an older Jaune and Ruby with a bigger than normal belly.

Weiss: This is impossible! Those images are clearly photo edited, and therefore can’t be real.

Rowan: WOW. Mr. Whitley was right you did scream a lot when you were younger.

Weiss: Wha-? How... Mr. Whitley? I knew it! This is a prank of his isn’t it?!

Rowan: No it’s not a prank I swear. Look what must I do to prove you believe me?

Ren: Well physically he looks very much like Ruby but appears to bear some resemblance to Jaune. But looks can be deceiving.

Blake: Ren’s right. Rowan, if you really who you say you are. What is something only your ‘parents’ would know about?

Rowan: Something only mom and dad know,? Ok. Let’s see........... Oh, I got it! The way you two met was when Mom blew up a crater in this courtyard after Auntie Weiss sprayed aroma veil of Dust, in which moved Dad to come help Mom out of the crater. There was also this one time where you all were at a dance, but then Dad went to talk to his partner and while Mom was waiting, she took a sip from his punch!

Ruby: How could you possibly know that?!

Rowan: Auntie Yang told me. *points to Yang*

Yang: WOW way to throw me under the bus kid!

Jaune: Wait Ruby did now?

-Fin-

Let me know if you guys enjoyed this one. My plan is to post the next chapter of RWBY Ancestries next, but after that I’ll start finishing some of the asks some of you have sent me. Hope you have a good day and be good people.

[skvaderarts]

Apocrypha Chapter Thirty Seven: Opposition

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Opposition

Notes: And here I sit, having to go to work in 10 hours, and I’m just starting this chapter. Not the best decision, but I’ll find a way to make it work. And then tomorrow I’m gonna relax and try to knock out both chapters for next week early. I can only imagine that Black Friday (which I’m firmly refusing to work this year!) is gonna keep me busy all week.

(-~-)

Sunday, August 25th, 2:00 am

A cursory look at how the situation was unfolding immediately lent to the idea that any and all police would probably be converging on the vicinity of the attack shortly. Despite the fact that there was very little that the local police (or the military, for that matter) could do against hordes of demons, they were obligated to try, even if only a little. If the Redgrave City attack was anything to go by, the region was woefully underprepared for another demonic attack, but the youngest Son of Sparda was admittedly hopeful that some sort of initiative would be taken by the local government to see to it that the next time something like that happened, they would be able to do more than throw useless grunts at the problem and blow up bridges to keep the demons at bay.

Why did there always have to be a next time?

Despite the fact that it would bring a swift and permanent end to Dante’s demon-hunting career, he couldn’t help but wish for a day where the population of the underworld lost the ability to travel two and from worlds. Their father had spent a considerable amount of time seeing to that, and had made untenable strides in that regard, but here they were, over two thousand years later and still fighting the same foe. It seemed that there would always be a need for their family’s experience in devil hunting; a fact that troubled the devil hunter in red slightly. Was this it, then? Was their entire bloodline cursed to do battle against their father’s kin for the remainder of their existence until the day came when they no longer could? Were none of them allowed to pursue their own wants and goals outside of this admittedly limited field? It was all a bit fatalistic and heavy for his tastes, but he found his mind wandering to the topic on occasion these days when he considered his family and everything they had sacrificed as a whole to protect the general public. It was all very heroic, but was there to be nothing more to their lives than endless self-sacrifice and then a glorious and inevitable death in battle?

In truth, Dante couldn’t say that he really minded going out that way, but every time he saw Nero with his family and V trying his best to acclimate to a new and unfamiliar world, he couldn’t help but feel… something that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. If asked, he’d probably say that it was remorse for the lives that they could have had if not for the fact that they had been born into this mess, but he wasn’t sure that was what he really thought. There was no denying that he was glad they were a part of his family, but there were days, especially after Nero had been nearly killed when his twin brother had attacked him that day, that he wished they could have both lived in blissful ignorance, unaware of the danger that their seemingly cursed bloodline carried with it.

The idea of never having met them pained him greatly, but if it meant that they would not have to deal with the trials and tribulations ahead of them and the weight their lineage carried, then he would have slept better at night knowing that they were not doomed to the same fate that he and his older twin were. He wondered how they felt now, and how knowing what he felt would affect them. Dante would never say any of what he was thinking out loud to either of them, but he’d think it nonetheless. And every time that he saw them, it would be a reminder.

Perhaps the two of them together could achieve some semblance of normality for the rest of their little family. Was that such an unreasonable fantasy? It was not impossible to believe that there might be a day where they no longer needed to participate in this endless battle. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. Still, the devil hunter in red needed something to strive for. He wasn’t getting any younger, and the idea of doing battle against their foes was still just as exhilarating to him as it had always been, especially now that his own identical twin was no longer one of those foes. But still, there was much work to be done.

“So whatda think the odds are of this being that cult again?” Dante said as the twins headed towards the building in question. The onslaught of demons had stopped for the time being, signaling that something more might be going on here than they originally thought.”

Vergil stayed quiet for a moment, shifting Yamato to his non dominate hand in an effort to prepare for another attack. There was no way that the eldest Son of Sparda was going to simply waltz into a dark, decrepit building that he’d never been inside of before and just assume that everything was going to be fine. The Darkslayer hadn’t lived as long as he had by being an absolute tool, and he expected that Dante wasn’t that foolish, either. After all, his brother was many things, but a complete idiot was not one of them. While the younger of the two was prone to do foolish things, that didn’t mean that he had a psychotic death wish. And if he did, he wasn’t going to act on it in any way, shape, or form tonight. There were matters to attend to, and he intended to see things through to the end.

“I would imagine the odds of that being the case are about on par with the possibility of this being an obvious trap staged by our opponent.” Vergil lowered his voice as the pair entered the building, making an effort not to give themselves away too prematurely. From what he could tell, they seemed to have the element of surprise, at least for the time being. There was no need to squander that.” But then again, if this is a product of one of Belial’s schemes, then it could very well be an obvious trap meant to throw us off so that we fall victim to another less obvious trap. He likes to indulge in those kinds of games from time to time.’

Dante shot Vergil a curious look as they continued forward. So this Belial demon truly wasn’t playing around, then? Good. He enjoyed a good fight from time to time. He just hoped that no one else got dragged into the conflict. And then there was the mater of V and his connection to this cult. While they had a reasonable hunch as to why this powerful demon prince might want to capture V and what the cult planned to do, there was still no certainty as to what and why this was happening. How had he even known that V was alive in the first place? Dante had spent nearly the entirety of both of his nephews’ lives ignorant to their existence, only for them to go and yank a misplaced soul out of the netherworld and for a demon of this caliber to send someone after him? What were the odds of that?

He needed more in-depth details as to what was going on here…

“So if you think it’s a trap, what are we doing here?” Dante said, not so much expecting an answer from his twin as he was from himself. As if by instinct, they’d both just walked into the building, knowing full well that this wasn’t a logical idea. And yet, here they were. Maybe they were both just insane. “Or maybe there just aren’t a whole lot of things that can stop both of us if we’re working together. And we are, for once.” Dante considered internally for a moment. Yes, maybe that was it. But getting too cocky couldn’t end well in the long run. They had to keep their option open, lest they fall victim to their own naivete. 

The youngest of the two brothers couldn’t help but imagine that V would have something to say about this kind of thing; some wise homily to spin about the dangers of hubris and such. Who could say? He wasn’t here, after all. And what a lucky turn of events that had turned out to be. 

Dante didn’t really mind V’s presence in the slightest, but keeping him as far as they could from any possible cult activity was probably a good policy. He could only imagine that his oldest nephew had made a swift recovery by now, but that could all change in an instant if they ran up against a super-powerful demon or a powerful summoner. While V was formidable in a battle (at least from what Dante had seen) there was a certain level of risk that he knowingly undertook anytime he entered battle that none of the rest of them took. Despite his obvious skill, V had the least training out of the lot of them, and the youngest Son of Sparda couldn’t help but imagine what he might be capable of if they showed him how a devil arm worked or he gained further proficiency over his abilities. It had taken Nero a while to get where he was now, but the difference showed in every conceivable way.

Once they returned to the office, the next step would be to return the Arcana to Vie de Marli where it belonged, they would have to see to it that V received some sort of mentorship. But first, they had to make him put down his books long enough to show him anything. Dante couldn’t help but think that V would do better as a librarian or working in some sort of museum than he would in a vicious battle to the death against demons. And yet, somehow he held his own just fine for the most part. The devil hunter in red had to give his nephew credit for one thing: he was an extraordinarily fast learner.

“Because that is where we will more than likely locate our assailant. I have some questions for them.” Vergil said under his breath as they neared what appeared to be a large, open room. He wasn’t so much irritated with Dante as he was the lack of knowledge in this situation, at least for the time being. He refused to tolerate this severe lack of insight any longer than he had to.

The instant that they rounded the corner and walked into the central chamber of the old factory, the two of them were faced with a literal wall of demonic energy. The entire building suddenly reeked of it, confirming their suspicion that this was the place that they had been looking for. And much to their surprise, there was a man standing at the far end of the room with their back turned to them, seemingly unaware of the fact that they had arrived. The twins halted, deciding in silent unison to take the opportunity to see what was going on since a large, glowing portal stood before the unknown man. He shook his head, nodding along to something they couldn’t hear before a loud, otherworldly voice echoed throughout the chamber they currently occupied. Vergil closed his eyes for a moment, a wave of obvious displeasure taking over his features. It was rare that the eldest Son of Sparda wished that he was wrong about something, but this certainly counted as one of those occasions. Dante glanced over at him, searching for silent confirmation of what he’d already surmised from Vergil’s shift in tone. This was the Belial he’d heard so much about, then? Well, they certainly sounded the part. The deep, bellowing tone he spoke in was accited by a certain level of cold, calculating intelligence that Dante was accustomed to associating with the demons he’d spent so long doing battle against, putting the likes of Balrog and Burial to shame despite their obvious sentience. Not, this devil was conniving, and he clearly knew what he was talking about, even if neither of them did.

“From what I can tell, things are going to plan. Well, I assume, that is. I don’t have a way of checking.”

“You see, that is where you and I differ most, servant. I do not assume. I know.”

The man shivered slightly, clearly shaken by the words of the powerful being that he served. To say that he was in way over his head would be an understatement, but then again, so we’re practically all humans that dared do business with a Prince of Darkness.

“Do you desire anything else from me, master?”

“Oh, I can assure you, I do not require the services of you or any other wayward stragglers any longer. My little cult has proven to be an entertaining diversion for some time now, but it seems that Vergil has once again inadvertently served my best interests by eliminating the vast majority of you. Now I need not do the tidying up on this joyous occasion myself. Truly splendid indeed.”

If they could have seen the face of the being who he spoke to, Dante got the impression that he had just smirked in self-satisfaction, readjusting himself on his metaphorical throne. There was no way of knowing for sure, but they were willing to bet that the man standing before them had no idea how truly dead he was, and their assumption was proven correct meer moment later when the man suddenly began choking and screaming, violently thrashing about before falling onto the floor. He went into some sort of fit before going totally still, clearly dead to anyone unlucky enough to discover him. Blood ran down his face from his nose and mouth as he gave his last breath, clearly quite distressed as he perished at the hands of his former master.

For a moment, everything went quiet. Dante and Vergil watched, unmoving as the portal continued to glow brightly, knowing that it needed to be closed but unsure as to how it had managed to be opened in the first place. There was a part of Vergil that was furious that he’d missed the opportunity to question the man himself, but he got the impression that Belial wasn’t stupid enough to leave witnesses walking around who his detractors could interrogate. But just as Vergil considered suggesting that they vacate the premises, a low, genuinely pleased laugh bellowed forward from the rift that stood before them.

“You know, I should thank you, Son of Sparda. Truly, It’s not every day that I get to indulge in such activities. It’s nothing personal, really. I don’t do personal. But I’m not sorry to say that I won’t be showing you any form of gratitude. You shall see in due time.” He paused for a moment, seemingly waiting for Vergil to speak or respond in some way, but he didn’t. He simply stayed there, unmoving and internally cursing himself for coming here. How had he forgotten about that little facet of his foe’s abilities?” I trust that you remember what happened the last time our paths crossed. I can’t imagine that you’ve forgotten already. After all, our meeting was so… memorable. I kid, of course. You remember very little of that encounter, as was my will. But do take your time to concoct your own clever schemes as you always do. Some day soon I shall remind you why my will is absolute.”

With no further fanfare, the portal went dark but remained open. Vergil waited a moment before allowing a long, almost tormented sigh to escape his lungs and exit his mouth. Yes, of course, Belial had known he was there. Didn’t he always. He stood up from the crouched position they’d taken behind the broken and abandoned factory equipment and walked over to the portal, unsheathing Yamato and using it to close the gateway. A criss-cross of delayed swipes closed the gate the instant Vergil returned his devil arm to its sheath, the Darkslayer shaking his head slightly as he rested his hand on his forehead and pinched the top of the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

“... Should I ask why you and the nightmare demon are on a first-name basis? And how did he know you were here?” Dante approached Vergil slowly, unsure as to where he should even begin, considering everything he’d just heard.” What’s all this about you forgetting? Did he wipe your memory or somethin’?”

Vergil sighed and dropped his hand from his face, swiftly walking away from the place where the gate had once stood and towards the exit. He suddenly felt an immense and overwhelming desire to leave this place and never return. Dante followed closely behind him, somewhat relieved that the attack was at least over for the time being and that massive amounts of damage were not dealt this time around. It had only been about a city block or so, and casualties, if there were any, had been scarce. After the dumpster fire that the Redgrave City incident had turned into, Dante was eager and willing to take any victories he would take part in, even if those victories were short-lived and slightly situational. This was over because the devil that had willed it into existence had grown bored of it, and that was a fact that Dante wasn’t blind to. And he was not keen on it.

Once they reached the exit and stepped back out onto the street, Vergil crossed his arms for a moment and sighed, unable to find even temporary pleasure in the cool night air. This situation had just taken a rather unorthodox turn for the worst out of nowhere, and he didn’t like that one bit.

”To answer your ceaseless questions, brother, we met some time before I returned to the human world. He demanded that I serve him after the demon thrown was left… unattended. Most were unwilling to contest his rise to power at that time, but I refused and usurped him.” Vergil glanced away for a moment, noting the distant lights that accompanied the fire trucks that had just pulled up about two blocks down the road from where they currently stood.” As for how he knew I was there, I can only assume he can still sense my presence from the underworld so long as I am within a certain proximity to a portal. We might as be standing in the same room as far as his abilities are concerned. He does not forget something once he’s experienced it.”

Dante nodded, not at all pleased by any of what his brother had just said. He didn’t need to know how that worked to know that it wasn’t good.” I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess that’s how he killed that guy?”

Vergil nodded.” Yes, in much the same way he attempted to kill me when last we met. Belial has access to a primordial source of power somewhat akin to Nightmare’s that allows him to… suggest an experience for you relive, especially when that memory was never yours, to begin with. That and the pressure he exudes when near someone is enough to send most beings spiraling into an early death, or a coma at the very least. It’s rare to be able to resist pure terror. That’s how he managed to fragment my memory of our full encounter, and he clearly revels in that fact. I suppose you could say that his true power is trauma itself.”

This time it was Dante’s turn to cross his arms and look unamused.” So he can, what, literally scare someone to death? Tranutize you so badly that you forget entire events or think something else happened?”

“In essence, yes. And so long as he has physically been in the presence of the individual he wishes to exert his will over, he is basically unavoidable. Thankfully his range is limited, but the extent of his cruelty and the range his machinations are willing to extend to is not. He cares little for petty sentiments such as honor or decency.” Vergil looked distant for a moment as though he were considering something unfathomable, something that he was truly unable to make himself consider.” He would absolutely destroy the minds of anyone necessary to harm his actual larget and leave them a husk of their former selves, decimated beyond repair. I’ve seen him do it. And all that purely to see his opponent break. He is a plague in that sense. And now you understand why I have so little tolerance for anyone who willingly serves him, hence the reason I cut down his cult where they stood. This cannot be allowed to continue.”

For a moment, Dante just stared at Vergil, unsure of what to even say about the mental image that his twin had just painted for him. It was a bit difficult to defeat an enemy that could destroy you from the inside out. How were they supposed to stop him? And although neither of them said it, they were admittedly concerned to some degree when it came to what this demon might want with V and these plans that he was working on. Everything about this situation seemed dire, and the youngest Son of Sparda was starting to grasp the severity of what this could mean for them.

This was now a war.

“Yea… none of that is good, Vergil. None of it.” Dante sighed and shook his head, the weight of the situation they were now in truly affecting them. They needed to act fast and smart, something they didn’t tend to do.” Can’t believe I’m saying this, but we should probably head back to the office and start coming up with a plan or something. Oh, and put that knife back where it belongs.”

Vergil nodded wordlessly, his mind a thousand miles away. He was still combing over the situation at hand. There was a part of him that couldn’t’ shake the feeling that this was all a misdirection of some sort, meant to leave them open to a larger threat. That was generally how Belial operated. While he believed every word of their enemy’s threat, it just wasn’t like the demon prince to be so… direct.

Just a moment later, the two of them glanced up the street, noting that there was a person in a safety vest standing on top of a vehicle. The man addressed the growing crowd of people gathering around them, all of the locals seeming terrified out of their minds. “Please vacate the area! We are investigating the cause of this event. We have also received news of a mild earthquake due west of here. It caused some kind of underground cave-in deep in the woods near the waterfront which we will be investigating as well. If you reside in that area, do take care when returning home. Thank you for your time!”

Both Dante and Vergil shared a knowing look, relatively positive that they knew where this cave-in had occurred. It seemed that they were not returning to the office just yet. They had a conduit to double-check.

(-~-)

And just like that, it’s 5:55 am! I have to work today from noon to 7 pm. Looks like it’s going to be a long, energy drink filled day. But that’s okay. It was worth it to finish this chapter! No lie, I might carry this over into a book three as I did with Soliloquy a while back just to keep the pacing in this fic consistent. I’ll think about that when I’m more awake though. Anyway, I look forward to reading what you thought about this chapter! I’m using a new document editor, so I hope it did the trick! I think I’ll post this fic a few hours early, too. See you next week!

[itsclydebitches]

i don't think that passive semblances are necessarily always active--at least wrt qrow's and clover's semblances, i've always assumed they just activated spontaneously. so it'd be like if ruby just randomly burst into petals and zoomed every once in a while, not that their semblances are constantly active. otherwise qrow wouldn't be able to take a step without something breaking or otherwise going wrong. so i don't think they necessarily drain much aura--just activate at random moments.

Which I think is a great explanation if the show actually established that. From what I can gather, what we actually know about Qrow’s semblance is: 

He has no control over when his semblance does or does not activate

He has no control over who it impacts (whether it’s bad luck for him or bad luck for others, aka good luck for him)

There’s a range around him where others can be impacted (“Don’t come any closer!”) 

Potentially his semblance is more likely to activate once someone gets within that range (Ruby is nearly hit as soon as she gets re-involved in the Tyrian fight) 

Potentially his semblance remains active even while a good luck semblance is also active nearby (Qrow tripping and Clover easily catching him) 

As said, random activation is a good way to deal with the aura issue, but the show hasn’t actually explained that. It also, by extension, hasn’t established why Qrow thinks that occasional randomness is worth the distance he creates between himself and others. When he travels with the group to Haven and Argus his semblance is, to be frank, pretty much a non-issue. Yeah, Ruby almost got hit, but would a beam have even hurt her with her own aura? I doubt it. Maybe if Tyrian did enough damage in his first attack, but given what these characters can survive that moment never struck me as particularly dangerous. Then Qrow breaks a table. A tire blows out. None of these random activations (that I remember anyway) are particularly terrible. Qrow’s view of his semblance makes more sense if he was experiencing varying degrees of bad luck all the time, rather than random little blips that, really, don’t have much of an impact on his life based on what we’ve seen. 

What I’m getting at in a round-about way is that the issue isn’t so much “Qrow’s semblance makes no sense” because, as you say, we can provide an explanation. Rather, the issue is how that explanation lines up with the rest of the story. Qrow made the decision not to travel with Ruby because of his semblance. He nearly didn’t reach her in time to prevent Tyrian’s poison because of that distance, because of his semblance. This implicitly tells us that his semblance is really, really bad... but it’s not? If you have a character making huge decisions like keeping distance between himself and his family for years, or not joining a party when this group clearly needs help out in the wild, then that motivation - and the consequences attached to it - needs to carry over into later scenes. When Qrow is forced to travel with the group we need to see why he was so hell bent on avoiding this situation, but all we actually see is some pretty simple bad luck that could have happened to anyone, semblance or no semblance. All of which comes back to the need to firmly establish how Qrow’s semblance works and what is the impact of that. If it happens randomly how did he figure out there’s a range? How did anyone realize it was his semblance at all and not just normal bad luck? Can Qrow feel his aura draining a bit each time it happens? Could he potentially take a hit on his aura at an incredibly inopportune time? Even if it’s random, if it’s supposedly activating enough to negatively impact others around him to the point where Qrow creates that distance, then surely he’s taking aura hits multiple times a day. Does that still mean he potentially can’t rely on aura like another huntsmen would? 

There are a lot of implications and questions attached to giving one (now two with Clover) characters a semblance that’s staggeringly different from what anyone else has. Obviously I’m nitpicking with some of the stuff above, but the takeaway is that RWBY barely explains any of it. We don’t even have characters asking, “Hey, Uncle Qrow, why in the world is your semblance Like That?” These characters should be intrigued by these differences given that such differences make up their job, their personal life, and are attached to their family. Just like they should be asking about magical silver eye powers or the existence of gods. Each thing you introduce impacts how the viewer reads the next bit of info. If we go, “They wouldn’t ask about Qrow’s semblance because all semblances are super weird. Weird is normal here!” then by extension we have to ask, “If weird is normal how can you justify the group’s horror at the bird transformation?” Having a conversation about Qrow’s semblance, even one where he admits he doesn’t understand it entirely himself, would go a long way towards a) making the characters seem less stupid, b) reassuring the viewer that RT has a handle on their own world building, c) lessens the work the viewer has to do to get things to make sense (aka long anon conversations trying to explain how Qrow’s semblance might logically function) and d) firmly sets up the sort of expectations we should have going forward. No more confusion along the lines of, “Why was Qrow’s semblance so horrible it drove him away but now that we get to see it in action it’s like... breaking things every two to three days. I break things at least once a week. Never needed a semblance to achieve that...” 

For me, Qrow’s semblance and the lack of canonical thought put into it represents far larger issues regarding RWBY’s tendency to introduce “cool” concepts that the writers then include or ignore at a whim. If you include a character with a bad luck semblance that has been presented as Very Bad for the last three volumes, then his presence in the group should be a major factor that drives the plot moving forward. Stuff like, “Well, since Qrow is with them 24/7 now and he was adamant that no one get near him during a battle, we should see the group experiencing at least some bad luck (that’s clearly tied to him) during the Cordovin fight. His presences needs to impact their chances at winning." Not “Well, we don’t want to deal with Qrow making the fight harder so we’ll just conveniently turn off his semblance for a while.” Creating rules and explaining them in the story helps the writers adhere to them. They’re accountable now and the story benefits, far more than it does from our current situation of, “Qrow’s semblance is really bad, pretty whatever, on, off, interacting with Clover’s, not interacting with Clover’s, maybe caused that unfortunate thing in that particular scene but you don’t actually know - all depending on what result the writers want at any given moment.” 

[rosetintedgunman]

Headcanon - The Struggles of being W.ilford

Not okay to reblog, since a lot of it relates to blog lore! :D

I don’t think I’ve gone into detail about how big of a deal it is that W.ilford is still here in the here and now, have I? While I make jokes about him being a himbo, dummy thicc, and so on, he actually has several hurdles that would throw others for a loop if they had to live a day in W.ilford’s mind. To start, he knows he would be viewed by outsiders as being ‘crazy’, but he knows he has far more semblance than that.

I’ve mentioned before about the importance of keeping grounded. In the last few years, W.ilford has made some wonderful friends that have given him a reason to see them every day (or as often as he can). Back in the days of Mo.therloving, he would ‘lose’ days, even weeks, by falling out of time. He would have no recollection of the lost days (almost like he fell asleep in February and woke up the next day and it was April), and no one else would have seen him. These days, he has a small collection of notebooks that he makes sure to write something in daily, especially scheduled events. That way, he’ll know if he ‘lost’ days. It’s also the best way to check he is indeed travelling through time in the right direction, one day at a time. These days, lost days are few and far between (despite his worries at times of missing longer periods of time).  Related to this: He has a very very very important reason to keep track of the days.

His memory is also an issue. It’s common sense that he forgets lots of things. But since he still has natural black strands in his moustache (and thus still is William rather than a W.ilford completely lost to madness. In a way, that’s the special thing that makes him ‘Rose’), he’s not at the stage where everything slips by. When talking to people smarter than him, he makes a considerable effort to focus and try taking in what’s being told. It’s not a guarantee, and he may still forget things (not as often as before, but it’s still a possibility). He always feels terrible when he realises he forgot something important, since many people link forgetting with ‘not caring’, when it was likely the opposite for him. Like a colander, the information slipped out completely without him realising. Also important to know that him forgetting due to trauma is the only reason Wilford hasn’t apologised for his part in the events in the manor. If the memories ever came back (even for a few moments), he absolutely would.

On that, his ability to focus is rather strained. Imagine sitting in a room where two people have a conversation, the radio plays, the television plays, a stereo plays, but no two things are the same; all while you try to write a different topic to what you can hear. You can’t turn anything off, and you can’t leave the room, so you have to make do. This, in essence, is Wilford’s mind. In order for him to keep focused, it actually takes a lot more energy than it looks, and that is the result of years of being unable to do so. He is at the stage where he can ignore the thoughts when he wants to relax or sleep, but he’s rarely had time where his mind is empty. When you factor in his own fluctuating attention span (thanks William!), it’s hit and miss on how long he can work with you before needing to do something else for a little while. Now I think about it, I should look into the idea of fidget toys for him.

Finally... Remember what I said about keeping grounded? Applies literally too. In the same way that he could teleport across the Manor as William, Wilford can too. Doors are both his greatest ally and biggest enemy. On a good day, he can open a door and have it go somewhere else entirely (such as open a closet door and walk into the meeting room). It can be a factor in how he timeline hops in verses where that’s applicable. But on rather bad days? Entering a new room can be risky, and could land him in another place entirely, which would have him going in and out of rooms in a panic to get to the right room (but these days are rarer than they used to be). Related to that, it’s the same logic that lets him slot his stolen apartment in a door that used to be a broom closet of the current - and completely different - apartment complex he crept into a few years ago (yes, you did read that right. Click that link). Also, it’s how the closet on his corridor that should hold towels now connects to a farm somewhere instead. He’s just accepted that sometimes he’ll find chickens or goats in his corridor some days when the door blew open overnight.