#i feel like. there's some grain of truth in these tags somewhere deep down but it's very girl (gn) i need to read your tags with a cocktail

[moregraceful]

think of all the fun i could have been having if i hadn't spent two solid years thinking devon toews was a homewrecker my god lmao

[wing-ed-thing]

Lab Assistant (Szayelaporro x Reader, Part II)

Synopsis: Szayelaporro takes on a complete Arrancar.

Word Count: 2,180

Tags/Warnings: Fem!Reader, Fake Science, Science Project to Lovers, Slow Burn (Arrancar are solitary and this one’s death aspect is Madness, let’s be real here), Slow Build @blankensee​

Notes: Okay but homeboi is TӦLL. Szayelaporro is 6′1, 6′1 y’all see this? Ooh boy is it getting hot in here? The Thing-Winged series bug has officially kicked in. 

You were the only Fracción that Szayelaporro allowed into his laboratory, but even as you sat on the exam table, you couldn’t help but think that perhaps you had done something wrong. You crossed your ankles and folded your hands in your lap. Szayelaporro sat at his desk, like usual, but penned down the types of notes that he would typically leave for you. A large piece of machinery reached out a mechanical arm to encompass the whole of your hollow mask. Szayelaporro had stood to observe you quite some time ago and you were left to wait, back straight and silent. A series of artificial jewels clung to you kanzashi mask, their glow casting a crimson color over the dimly lit laboratory.

He spoke your name. His soft voice cut through the air, reverberating off of the tall walls and high ceilings. Szayelaporro rose from his seat and turned to you. You could hear a faint bubbling coming from somewhere in the dimness.

“Yes, Master Szayelaporro?” Your voice could have easily blended in with the white noise of the laboratory. He stood in front of you, fiddling with the equipment above your head. His honey colored irises lazily migrated to the corners of his eyes in a disapproving glance downward. You stared forward.

“What is it that we did wrong today?” You pursed your lips but didn’t dare to move otherwise. A phantom hourglass hung over your head. Your response best be good and come quickly.

“I did not receive an order to attack Master Nnoitra. I did not believe it to be wise to.” Szayelaporro let a frown slip from his neutral expression. He continued to tinker with his device. You could feel the cool metal on your mask like dental tools on your teeth. Szayelaporro let out a hum.

“Passing the blame onto me, are you?” The claw of the machine buckled under his firm hands and caused a tugging against your outer layer of bone. You recoiled, a hand tightly gripping the table below you. You squeezed your eyes closed, in more discomfort than in any pain. Your head tilted to your far right as you leaned upwards, attempting to decrease the tension on your mask.

“No, Master Szayelaporro. I apologize for the lack of care that went into choosing my words.” The Octava Espada said nothing. You felt him continue to work the machine above you. You shifted again.

“Stop moving, I’ve almost got it.” And when the data machine finally released you, you restrained yourself from shooting up a hand to rub your head. Instead, you sat still, letting Szayelaporro’s cold hands caress your face as he inspected his work. You could sense another look of dissatisfaction.

“Have they been repaired?” He rolled the largest of your gems between the fingers of his other hand, watching it gleam as he poured in the slightest bit of reiatsu.

“For now,” Szayelaporro answered, “We’ll see how they hold up.” He gripped your chin, turning your head to meet his stare. His expression narrowed. “When I tell you to come to my side, you do as I say. When someone like Nnoitra tries to touch you, you defend yourself. These are my additional orders to you.” You nodded, your jewelry glinting a singular time.

As he turned back to his data, you slid down from the examination table. Your heels met each other. Once again, your hands rested folded in front of you.

“Shall I get back to work now?” Szayelaporro took a moment. He ignored your inquisition and continued to type in some sort of data or another into his recording instrument. He paused, and when you thought that he’d answer, he flipped through yet more papers. You stood a few feet behind him awaiting his answer, and when he finally turned you were met with a withering scowl.

“Must I really dismiss you?” He questioned rhetorically, swiftly passing by you with a few papers in hand. You did not move. “Go restock the canyon crystals and do eat something while you’re away.” You nodded to yourself and gave a quiet farewell to your master. He did not answer, per usual, and you let yourself out of the laboratory. Szayelaporro’s glare followed you. “This better work. I am sick of having disobedient Fracciónes.”

***

Hueco Mundo didn’t hold much beauty. All in all, the landscape was mostly vast, empty, and dead. Szayelaporro didn’t seem like he enjoyed fieldwork very much. You supposed that he would prefer experimenting rather than finding his own minor lab materials. You, on the other hand, preferred spending a bit of time away from the Palace and you were grateful that Szayelaporro trusted you to do even the mundane tasks. Truth be told, you excelled in gathering quality items for the lab. You had an eye for the best spots to pick from. You caught live specimens with an almost sixth sense and your speed remained nearly unmatched in the Octava Espada’s Palace. That factoid on it’s own didn’t feel very impressive to you, but you still took pride in it nonetheless.

You trudged across the sand, a field collection kit in your arms. The whole package easily encompassed the whole of your torso. Your feet sank down into the substrate. Surely by now, the grains had begun to gather in your boots. You stopped where you stood, letting the kit droop in your desperate grasp. You looked back at the Palace which still loomed over you. You had hardly made it anywhere. With a sigh, you turned back the direction you were originally headed. Szayelaporro didn’t like when you took too long.

“Can I help you with that?” As soon as you caught sight of the slender, eye patched face, your eyes went wide. You gripped the bulky kit in your arms, lips forming a thin, panicked line. You slowly turned away before immediately speeding off. A shout came from behind you causing you to trip. “I’m not here to hurt you!”

You yelled out for Szayelaporro. A cloud of sand exploded around you as you fell. A dark shadow appeared above you and you launched your equipment up in defense. Your pursuer caught the kit in his arms, his body forced back the slightest bit at the impact.

“Stay back!” You warned, scrambling up and unsheathing your zanpakutō. The fragments in your mask glowed a deep red. Tesla raised up your box in defense, his sword hanging by his hip.

“Master Nnoitra isn’t with me!” You blinked a few times, lowering your weapon slightly, but not by much. Tesla shifted his hands, maneuvering them forward to lay flatly on the sides of the container. He held it away from himself as he lowered his posture, a silent effort to show that he meant no harm. “You looked like you could use a hand. What is this all for?”

Your knuckles turned white around your trembling sword handle. Tesla remained low, calm and still. You took a step back, sheathing your zanpakutō. You tentatively approached, letting Tesla return your equipment to you. The box dropped like a weight in your arms.

“I’ve been sent to collect canyon crystals,” You answered, picking up your knee to readjust your grip before you turned on your heel to trudge away. Tesla frowned. He followed, strolling alongside you. Your back bent backwards a bit.

Wordlessly, Tesla accompanied you all the way to the canyon, about a few miles out from the Palace. He remained eerily silent, but in his defense, so did you. Fracciónes serving under masters such as yours were discouraged from speaking early on, so smalltalk certainly didn’t come easily. You kept a close eye on the other Arrancar out of your peripheral, but his posture only screamed polite and nothing more. Another fold of your lips and you turned your attention back forward. Quite frankly, you didn’t know how to handle this. You rarely got the opportunity to be in the company of other complete Arrancar, not including Szayelaporro.

At the edge of the ravine, the kit slipped in your arms and Tesla instinctively reached out an arm to catch it if you lost your grasp. You paid him no mind and instead hiked up a knee once again and continued on. You tilted your head, focusing on your footing as you descended into the chasm. Even at the surface, the space was dark and hollows of different designations howled in the depths. Tesla followed you down, his face gradually overtaken with shadows.

And in the pitchest of pitch black you saw them. Small glimmers in the darkness. You stumbled forward, the Fifth Espada’s Fracción close behind. You sat down in front of the small gathering of luminescent crystals and finally set down your burden. Tesla preferred to stand, on guard at the many noises around you. You quickly sorted through the bounty. Upon finding a quality bundle, you opened your materials box to pluck out a small pick. You felt Tesla’s stare. Arrancar were never truly creatures of companionship in your experience, but when solidarity came, it usually came quietly.

“These are Reiatsu Gems or canyon crystals. They are known to be excellent conductors of spirit energy,” You explained, voice ever-soft. The luminescence cast a faint light upon your face. You lowered a specimen into your extraction box, the glow retreating into the contained dimness. Standing, you heaved up your kit and moved deeper into the murk. Tesla followed. You passed by another gathering of crystals, then another. You felt Tesla beside you.

“What was wrong with those?” He asked, equally as quiet as you had just been.

“Not ready to be harvested,” You answered promptly.

“How can you tell?” You stopped at a small batch. The crystals grew diagonally out of the canyon wall at about waist level. You put your kit down and crouched down.

“See these here?” You gestured to the dimmest section of gems. “This place is filled with reiatsu, they should be glowing more.” You directed your attention to the brightest of the bunch. “See? These shine a little bit brighter.” And with your pick you extracted them.

You continued on, trudging around in the immensity of the ravine. You performed your field work diligently. The kit gradually began to fill with valuable specimens. Tesla came forth from the darkness, a glowing coming from his palm. He wordlessly presented it to you to inspect. You gave a grateful nod and carefully placed it in your box.

The journey up served to be more difficult than the journey down and your load had since doubled in weight. Tesla patiently waited as you struggled back up the canyon, at that point still refusing any kind of assistance. You plopped the kit on the sand at the top before pulling yourself up. Your body half hanging into the abyss, Tesla offered you a hand. You glanced at it, then back at him, and after a second of deliberation, you placed your hand in his. But a moment after you had found your footing and had your package back in your arms, a horde of adjuchas surrounded you and quickly.

Tesla scowled and flared his spiritual pressure. You looked up at him, beginning to piece together that his scowl served more as an unfortunate resting expression than any sort of intimidating grimace. Either way, the adjuchas were not discouraged. Tesla placed a hand on his zanpakutō and you sighed. He looked on in confusion at the disappointing shake of your head and curiously accepted your kit as you handed it to him.

“I have orders,” You exhaled, unfortunately not feeling any hungrier than usual. And as the gang of adjuchas lunged, too greedy for flesh and soul energy to recognize their opponents, you struck. Your blade made short work of them and your mask ornaments glowed. You tore into mask after mask, canines bared, and when you made it to the last one, you offered it to Tesla. He wanted to decline, but after some thought, he didn’t have it in him to decline a free meal.

***

“Adequate.” That encompassed all Szayelaporro had to say about the crystals you gathered. You placed them neatly at one of the lab tables as you cleaned and reorganized the field gear. Szayelaporro toyed with your gathered gems, inspecting them with a critical eye. He lifted one to his nose, taking in a slight inhale. “And why does this one smell vaguely like Nnoitra Gilga?”

“His Fracción accompanied me on my field work today.” Szayelaporro stared at you blankly, setting the bundle of crystals back down in disdain.

“You should have told him to go away.”

“And I did. I raised my sword against him like you told me to, but he did not seem to pose any threat. He was particularly interested in the Reiatsu Gems so he followed me.” Szayelaporro nodded once, appearing to be somewhat deep in thought, but his face remained expressionless.

“Let him accompany you next time as well.” The room was cast with a dull gleam.

“Yes, Master Szayelaporro.”

Notes: As much as I feel like Szayelaporro likes to make a show, I feel like he wouldn’t be as flamboyant when he thinks he doesn’t have an audience. I have too many Szayelaporro headcanons. I tried to make a single post with all of them but it’s like too many to fit. I’ll post those at some point. It’s in my drafts rn.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

[eldritchqueerture]

Point of View - Original Statement Fic

Point of View (5004 words) by LadyNikita Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Original Statement Giver(s) (The Magnus Archives) Additional Tags: Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives), Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), this was intended as the eye but evolved into the vast as well, happens, cosmic horror, attempt at Eldritch Madness, unreality, Discussions of pointlessness and meaninglessness, Canon-Typical The Vast Content (The Magnus Archives), from the eps about space, Mentions of Death, Compulsion, discussions of free will (kind of), Dissociation, Panic, Mentions of addiction, Leitner Book (The Magnus Archives), except it was not possessed by Leitner, Pretty Colours <3, Neurodivergent Protagonist, Queer Protagonist, because I can project a bit as a treat, Can Be Read Without Prior Knowledge of the Podcast (I think)

Summary: "Humans crave understanding. They strive towards knowing more and more, that’s what all science is about, isn’t it? To study, to learn and understand; to seek answers to questions. But are we really equipped to handle the answers we seek? Even if we were able to reach them, are our minds advanced enough to grasp the truths about the world we live in? What if there are things just beyond our understanding, lurking in the shadows of reality, peeking into our world just enough to feed on us, on our uncertainty and our pathetic scrambling towards answers that would only bring madness?" --- Statement of Lyria Ellison regarding a different point of view and the dangers of knowledge.

Notes: Hiiiiii <3 I've been reading Lovecraft recently and as much as I hate the dude, The Colour Out of Space gave me so much inspiration that I immediately sat down and produced this in one sitting. I've been meaning to play with the concept of eldritch madness for a while; something about this trope is really appealing to me and I'm really enjoying my attempts at shaping it with words. Lyria is a preexisting OC of mine, I will give some background on her in the end notes because I love her very much. This is a form of practice for me; I'm playing with horror themes and I'd like to get acquainted with them to better incorporate them into my overall writing. Therefore I will accept constructive criticism if anyone wants to give it, but only in the form of DMs, either on Tumblr (your-queer-vampire-dm) or on Discord, if we know each other through a server. All of the warnings I think should be mentioned are in the tags, but if you think something should be added then please tell me!

Date: May 10th , 2018

Name: Lyria Ellison

Subject of experience: A different point of view and the dangers of knowledge.

—

How do you start telling a story that changed your heart, your mind, and your soul so profoundly that you can barely still function in a society? How do you say all that without sounding borderline insane? Nobody knows what I’ve seen, what I’ve been through. I know they would all say I’ve hallucinated it all and should seek treatment. But I know it won’t help. I know… I know so much now. Too much and not enough. Never enough. I know what happened was real . I don’t have proof so I’m guessing you won’t believe me either, but I need to tell someone about it. So I might as well tell you.

My name is Lyria Ellison and I’m a neuropsychology major. Ex-major, I should say. I dropped out after… Yeah. I dropped out; there’s not much point in continuing studying things about the feeble, insignificant human brain. Utterly pointless venture.

Humans crave understanding. They strive towards knowing more and more, that’s what all science is about, isn’t it? To study, to learn and understand; to seek answers to questions. But are we really equipped to handle the answers we seek? Even if we were able to reach them, are our minds advanced enough to grasp the truths about the world we live in? What if there are things just beyond our understanding, lurking in the shadows of reality, peeking into our world just enough to feed on us, on our uncertainty and our pathetic scrambling towards answers that would only bring madness?

Just a year ago, I was convinced I was going to finish my degree. I was so passionate about it too, eager to learn more and more, to research and seek knowledge. Curious and fascinated by the world around us. What a foolish thing it was to give into that drive. My mind was open to the supernatural, although I always approached it scientifically; I never said the supernatural existed, but I also never said it didn’t. It was plausible; all in all, every scientist must accept that there is still a vast amount of knowledge we don’t have about the world.

The ignorance was a blessing. But I shall not get ahead of myself.

It started around December last year; my dad had died, and my girlfriend, Shawala, and I were clearing out his house. There wasn’t really anyone else to do it; my mother had passed a couple years prior, I had no siblings, and extended family was out of the picture as well; and my dad had gathered a lot of things in his adventurous life; he was a traveller, and he loved the world, loved learning about it, just like me. I was feeling pretty overwhelmed with it all; my dad meant a lot to me back then, and Shawala proved an excellent support at that first shock. She promised to do some first view assessments of the ground floor, while I went to scope out how things looked in the attic.

It’s always either basements or attics, isn’t it? I used to read horror, Lovecraftian was my favourite – how ironic, isn’t it? How stupid . How utterly ignorant. The hubris of the human race at its finest.

Anyways, the attic was half-lit from the small windows in the roof, and dust was swirling in the faint light of the afternoon sun. It was cold here, but I didn’t pay much mind; the house was old, and it wasn’t surprising that there was draft. To say the space was cluttered would be an understatement; I could barely walk around the numerous boxes, old furniture, crates, and overflowing bookshelves; all of which made something in my chest curl tight, bringing tears to my eyes. I steered my steps towards the nearest bookshelf; I’ve always been a bookworm, fascinated by nearly any tome I came across; I’ve been reading popular science books since I was eight. So naturally, I was drawn to the books, taking huge steps above the cardboard boxes and careful not to hit anything else.

The books were old, of course, and dusty. Some of them had loose pages, and I treated them very gently, almost reverently. I have a little bit of a bookbinder streak, and I decided I would take them home and try to put them back together. As I rifled through them, I saw they pertained to a vast variety of subjects, from poetry, drama, and history, to science, metaphysics, and maths. The deeper I looked into this stunning collection, the more reverence rose in my heart; at my fingertips I had the oldest and the biggest accumulation of knowledge I had ever seen. I saw some books dated back even two hundred years ago.

At that point Shawala called me to check if I was alright. I put the book I had in my hands back and my knuckles brushed against the black leather cover of the next one on the shelf. I felt pleasant tingling in my palm at the touch and my heart leaped at the prospect; I didn’t know why –  the book seemed ordinary enough on the shelf and there was no title on its spine.

I sometimes wonder if I could have just left it there and gone downstairs; chosen to come back later and then maybe, it wouldn’t have enticed me as it did. If, by that point, I had had any choice left on the matter.

Alas, intrigued by the book, I placed my palm on the spine and took it out. The leather was soft and smooth, probably sheep, with familiar subtle grains all over the texture. I remember it striked me as odd that it was warmer than the rest of the books in the drafty attic, but I shrugged it off. The front cover had a title, small but visible in the centre, etched in gold – Punctum Visus .

I, by all means, cannot read or speak Latin, but I figured it was something to do with vision. I opened the book, an unknown anticipation buzzing in my stomach. The pages were worn and old, their texture was slightly rough but pleasant under my fingertips; as I opened the front page, I saw the title again, this time in thick but still elegant, black letters, and the smell came up to my nostrils.

I tried to describe it in my head countless times after. I always loved the smell of old books, and I knew it very well, so it came to me as a surprise to realize it wasn’t the only smell I could feel from the book. It was… cold, somehow, distant but prickling at my nose, a little bit the way peppermint tastes. It reminded me of the night sky and distant stars somehow. The smell awakened an unease within me, as I couldn’t quite place what it was and why it seemed so weird , but it wasn’t by any means unpleasant. It was… enticing. Like a promise of a mystery.

I breathed it in again through my nose, closing my eyes, and for a moment I lost all feeling in my body. I was untethered and immaterial, somewhere in deep darkness that seemed to envelop me whole. It felt cold on my mind, stretching it thoughtlessly in the empty vastness, and I saw distant flickering lights of stars. Before I could form a coherent thought, I was back in myself, panting and shaking, staring at the front page of the Punctum Visus . I looked around with shaky breaths; the attic looked the same, and Shawala’s steps on the stairs reached my ears, with her voice calling my name. A shiver passed down my spine, causing goosebumps to bloom on my skin; was it the draft, the dread, or the excitement I couldn’t tell.

I knew I had to read this book, no matter what it took for me to do so.

I took it home, almost forgetting about the rest of the books upstairs. It had spent the next month laying in my room, as I dealt with the formalities and moving the rest of things that weren’t sold from the house either to my place or to charity. After the day we left the house for the last time, I collapsed in my bed, exhausted, but instead of closing, my eyes fell on the book unassumingly waiting on my nightstand.

A surge of excitement passed through me, waking me right up. I sat up and reached for the book. It was still warm; I couldn’t tell if it was good or bad, but warm it was. I think it made me subconsciously assign it more… being? Like, even before I knew anything, I somehow subconsciously accepted that it was more than just an object; that it was, in a sense, alive on its own. I brushed my fingers on the cover, feeling the texture of the leather and the etching of the letters. In the meantime during this month I had checked the meaning of the title – Point of Sight; a position from which a thing is or is supposed to be viewed. It makes so much sense now.

But then I didn’t know what dangers it held; or I didn’t want to think about them. I do remember feeling anxious, my hands trembling every time I opened the cover, but it was so mingled with exhilaration of the certainty I was discovering something important that I must have disregarded it. As I turned the pages, I wasn’t surprised to find the text in Latin; though I still felt a pang of frustration that it meant I couldn’t read it for now. I rifled through the pages, looking curiously at the letters that formed words yet unattainable to me. There was a hunger inside of me; a hunger to Know. As I turned the pages past various symbols, illustrations of the constellations, and of Earth, I determined it must be some sort of a metaphysical work. The point of view on the world around us.

Normally I just skim through works like this and leave them. While they are an interesting read sometimes, they’re not my favourite genre and, looking objectively, putting in the effort of learning a whole language just for the sake of reading a treatise on the meaning of cosmos by an unknown author seems strange at best. But somehow it seemed obvious to me that I had to read it. It called to me, sang into a part of my being that begged to be filled, promising knowledge that would finally leave me satisfied. I know now that it’s impossible. Once you’ve tasted the hunger for knowing, you will never find satisfaction; it’s like an addiction. You just crave more and more, and the knowledge never ends. After a certain point you know too much and when it all connects, when it starts to make sense… you slip. I didn’t know that, even though maybe I should have. I didn’t know what those things I was feeling meant then and I didn’t stop to question them; I gave into it as soon as it touched me. I was stupid.

What followed were a busy couple of months. Every waking moment that wasn’t spent keeping up the pretence of being interested in my major (back then I only thought it a brief hyperfixation, of course, and wouldn’t have called it a pretence at all), I was learning Latin online or staring into the incomprehensible words on the pages. This period of my life is a blur; I remember my friends checking up on me if I was alright, since I wasn’t particularly social anymore. Shawala got progressively more worried, but it fully escaped my mind to care. I know that staring thoughtlessly at the book took up more and more of my time; once, I remember, I returned from my classes at three PM and took the book out; when I came back to myself it was well past midnight. That’s when I started to feel truly uneasy about it. It was the second half of April; I looked back on what I’ve been doing these past months and this cold dread started creeping up to my throat. I realized I didn’t know why I wanted to read the book so much and I remembered the “vision” or the hallucination I had that first time in my dad’s attic. I had set it aside completely as unimportant, and I couldn’t wrap my head around why. I started shaking and theorizing in my head about the book being able to influence my mind somehow, to control it. Had my actions not been my own? How much of it was my own will and how much was the book? Was it even possible for it to influence me like that; could it be that it was supernatural in some way?

The house became cold, unnaturally so. It was dark and all the windows were closed, but a chill draft managed to find its way into the corridor I was in anyway. I sank to the floor and hugged my knees, trembling in panic. I was all alone in the flat, everyone I knew was surely already asleep in their homes, and I was small and weak in the face of something that maybe could have controlled my mind. I suddenly became aware of the leatherbound book in my hand, and I threw it along the corridor at the front door with a whimper, as far away from me as possible. The book thumped against the door, then the floor, and opened on a random page.

I’ve read enough horrors. I knew that the page would be significant, and that knowledge made me sob and hug my knees tighter. I didn’t know what was happening; I felt like I’d just woken up from a months-long dream… and perhaps I was right. The recent past felt alien.

I felt tears sting my eyes and that’s when the smell reached me. Again that mixture of old paper and peppermint cold, distantly sweet but freezing the blood in my veins. My breath came in ragged and shallow, and tears streamed down my face as I stared at the open book that was calling me in an inaudible whisper. The logical side of my mind was trying desperately to make sense of it, to assign the dissociative feeling to my father’s death and yeah, it was plausible, but somehow it just didn’t feel right. The whispers sounded again, swirling around my head, the golden sound almost touching the back of my neck, making me wince. It was enticing and promising, but this time, I felt terror instead of excitement. Disregarding how my mind was trying to rationalize the situation, I knew the book was cursed somehow. I knew that I was its victim. And I knew that I would not be strong enough to resist it.

I don’t know how much time I sat there, trembling, and sobbing into my knees, before I calmed down from the panic and decided I had to do something. I had to find out what this book was and how it found itself into my dad’s library. I couldn’t remember seeing anything in his diaries that would mention it at all, but then again, I didn’t read them all cover to cover. On wobbly legs I carefully made my way back to my room and searched the Internet until the sun started peeking out of the window; I found nothing about any book titled Punctum Visus . I tried all the libraries that I’d known of, that had their assortment online, all the research databases; nothing.

So, at the crack of dawn, with a fast-beating heart, I stood in the door of my room, staring out into the corridor, where the book still lay by the front door, unmoving. The golden strings of a wordless melody made it to my ears; it promised an explanation; that this time if I looked close enough, I would find what I was looking for.

What was I looking for?

Where else could I find the answers if not in the book itself?

I could feel its cold fingers slowly wrap around my mind, steering me to come closer. It called me with a hypnotising voice that awakened all the red signals in my brain, telling me to run and hide, but I didn’t. The voice meant danger, but I knew it also meant knowledge.

Dangerous knowledge. The pull dragged me through the corridor step by step; I hadn’t been fighting it as strongly as I could have had and I was about to start, since I was getting closer to the book, but suddenly I felt the chill of the influence let go, hovering close but out of reach. It was still compelling me to come, to Look, but I could move my own limbs. I had a choice to make.

Knowledge of danger. Did I believe my own warning thoughts that I would regret looking into the book? Did I take my own logical, rational side seriously? Was I ever good at resisting my own impulses?

I’ve never been addicted to anything, but then again, I never really had the opportunity, as it were; my friends were more of a no-alcohol types and I really ever smoked cigarettes once. I’ve never seen drugs in real life. So who’s to say if I’m not an addictive personality? And this, this was addictive. The thrill of mystery, the exhilarating process of learning, the anticipation of the answers.

Was it ever really my choice?

No supernatural force guided my steps that night; no cold fingers made me kneel next to the book and carefully cradle it in my arms, looking at the page with a shaky breath and tears in my eyes, as if I was coming back home like the prodigal son. But I’m sure it was by some paranormal means that this time I could understand the text on the pages.

I honestly don’t remember what it said. As I read the unfamiliar words, the meaning presented itself in my mind, not entirely unlike that first “vision” I had in the attic; as soon as I started reading I knew that I had made the choice and there was no turning back. That cold draft enveloped me, sat on my skin, and started to bite; I felt that smell again, stronger than ever before, something intangible but unmistakably inhuman . It was then that I realized that’s what had felt wrong to me about the smell since the beginning. It was inferior and alien. My hands started shaking as my eyes, glued to the text, moved now on their own down the page, drinking the words in. I was terrified out of my mind, but the pleasant tingling along my nerves was back, the anticipation of the promised understanding.

My mind was drowned with the tide of knowledge. This was just a prologue; a true discovery would require preparation, but I was almost ready. The voice said I was chosen, that I was a perfect candidate to bring It what It needs and that I would be rewarded. I cried tears of amazement and horror at the sheer scope of the voice – it seemed to encompass the entire world. I couldn’t comprehend it, but I didn’t know then that it was a blessing. I wanted to know, I craved to know what It was and how I could be of use to something so powerful, so huge. Divine. That was a word that crossed my mind, as much as I don’t like that. I don’t like many things, but I can’t change any of them.

The voice said I’m on the right path. I would Know and Understand. First, I needed to do something. As It told me what that was, doubt started to creep up to my mind. What was I doing? What was happening? How could this be real?

I came to on the floor by my front door, the cursed book in hand, with a tear-stained face and a bloody nose.

I knew what I had to do to get ready and, as I calmed down and went over everything in my head, I was surprised by how trivial it was. Honestly, by this point I was kind of afraid It would tell me to hurt someone, so I was glad this was just about reading a bunch of words in a specific location at a specific time. I was aware of the fact that this was most probably a ritual, and I was quite apprehensive. I kept arguing with myself in my head, over and over whether I should follow through, but deep down I knew that I would, no matter what I told myself. This part, I think, scared me the most; how compelling the promise of knowledge was, how reverently I’d found myself thinking of the book and its owner (which I assumed was the voice), how fanatical some of my thoughts sounded. I’ve never been religious, never really felt idealistic either. I was always focused on facts, on the here and now. Can knowledge be an ideal? Can you be a fanatic of Seeing and Knowing?

How much had I changed since I’d found Punctum Visus in that old attic.

I found a good, quiet spot, on the north-west side of the New Forest National Park near Southampton. I told no one about this, deeming it unimportant. I would come back after my big discovery, I would explain everything. I laugh at myself now; at my naivety.

The night of April 28 th was clear, and the starry sky looked back at me as I parked my car on the road in the forest and locked it. I tied a piece of a long red string to the wheel, not to lose my way in the forest, and started to walk forward. I held the book close to my chest, as if it could protect me from the dark, eerie outlines of the trees, swaying gently on the wind and whatever the darkness around me held. I didn’t light the torch; the moon was nearly full, bathing everything in its gentle light, and besides, for some reason it seemed that the crude yellow light would somehow break the sanctity of what I was about to do. I could see the ground in front of me and managed to lose sight of my car and everything else besides trees pretty fast.

I stopped when I found a small clearing. The moon was high in the sky, shining down on me like a big eye; I didn’t know why this comparison seemed the most fitting, but it did. I took a deep breath, feeling a chill plant little dots all over my skin, making my hairs stand on end. The wind died down and the trees froze, as if in anticipation. I felt something watching me closely; I was not alone here anymore.

The realization made my breath catch in my throat and the last streaks of sanity broke through my thick skull. Run! Drop the book and run! I didn’t. My hands trembled, my muscles tensed, and I stood there, frozen with fear as something stared at me, seemingly for eternity. Something bigger than me, bigger than anything I have ever seen was watching me, waiting. My eyes dropped to the book in my arms. The black leather was warm, as always, but this time I felt a pulsating sensation from it. A heartbeat.

I screamed. The book landed discarded on the ground, and I stumbled backwards and tripped, landing in the grass as well. It was cold and wet, and it glistened with something in the faint moonlight. At first I took it for water, but upon closer inspection I saw it was the grass itself that glittered – a shy rainbow, glowing iridescently in an impossible way. I froze, stunned, for I have never seen such colours before. It seemed utterly alien, something unfitting for the human eye to see; simultaneously beautiful and horrifying.

As I looked around, I noticed that everything alive in the forest – the trees, the grass, the bushes, the plants – had taken on that iridescent mixture of faint light that prickled my eyes and sent a shiver of terror down my spine. It was beautiful, utterly gorgeous in a way that nothing a human eye can perceive could be. It was horrifying in how different, alien, and other it was. My senses could tell this is not of the Earth; not of this reality, not of this world; everything in me that still had common sense tried to recoil from the inferiority of this magnificence and the danger it brought, but I had abandoned common sense a while back. Maybe even when I touched the book for the first time. I stared then, breathless and trembling, at this scenery as if from a fairy tale and decided to lock away my rational thoughts. I wanted to See, to Know; I wanted to experience and if this was the death of me then hell, it was a pretty good way to go. To behold such a sight, I thought, was a reward in and of itself.

Of course, I had no idea what any of it meant. I slowly rose to my knees and patted the ground down until I felt the book. It still pulsated with this heartbeat and the letters etched in the leather glowed with golden light. My hands were sweaty, and I didn’t know whether I was shivering from fear or the cold. I opened the book on the first page.

What I saw was not what I had expected. I remembered that the first page, after the titular one, was the beginning of the introduction, that much I had understood, but now it was a big picture in black and white; a night sky, with an almost full moon and strewn with stars. It was a shot from the ground and treetops could be seen at the edges of the picture. As the book swayed in my hands, the stars glittered, and the perspective shifted ever so slightly, as if it was in 3D. Stricken by a surge of dread and cold certainty, I looked up. My suspicion was right – the picture in the book depicted the exact image that was now above me. I gasped quietly and looked down at the book—

And this is where things started to really go horribly, horribly wrong.

The book was gone. What’s more, the ground was gone too and suddenly everything was not where it should have been. I blinked but it did nothing to ease the dizziness; and when I composed myself enough to register what I was seeing I froze, the most intense horror I have ever experienced crushing my body from all sides and inside out.

I realized that I was Seeing. I was finally Seeing, and I Understood it all.

I don’t know how to convey in words what I saw. I don’t believe it’s possible; humans were never made to see and understand such things. I should have never touched the book, I should have never asked for knowledge. All my life I believed that knowledge was the point; it was a tool, and it was power. I don’t know what I think anymore. I think some knowledge should always be hidden because we were not made to know everything. We can’t , it’s physically impossible for us to comprehend.

For one moment in my life. For one moment I became something else, and I saw the world in the way It sees the world. For one moment I shared a mind with an eldritch being, a thing that is Fear itself, and I saw the Earth through Its Eye. I can’t… I can’t tell you just how horrible it is. How… How meaningless; we’re all intertwined things, guided by strings of web that lead us through life, and we’re all connected in this maze of fear . We’re not individuals; we’re not special. We don’t have souls and none of our experiences matter. We’re just fear. These… These entities are a part of all of us. They’re our fear and they live inside of us, inside of every living creature that can feel fear. Can you comprehend that? How can you be sure you are yourself when there’s a cosmic entity, a power as old as life itself, living you ? And no one has any idea. Nobody knows and if I tell someone they’ll think I’m crazy. Sometimes I think I’m crazy. But deep down I know what I saw. I know it was real. And I’m terrified. I’m terrified because I know that this Being of eyes that I became a part of watches everything I do. I feel Its presence here very strongly, and I guess it makes sense. It will never leave me. It’s a part of me, just like the rest of them; just like they’re all a part of every one of you, yet you have no idea. But I know. And I know I’m all alone with that knowledge, the knowledge that I can’t comprehend, but I know I could in that one moment. It’s a very lonely place to be and I’m scared.

I’m scared as I have never been before; this fear doesn’t leave me anymore. Every second of every day I’m aware I’m watched by something as great as cosmos. I’m aware I shared my mind with that being and it makes my skin crawl.

I don’t know what to do now, but I don’t expect any advice from you. I’m leaving the book with you, as proof. Its heart doesn’t beat anymore, and I’ve seen what I was supposed to.

Don’t read it.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving me a comment!! For people interested in a little bit of background: Lyria is a D&D character I have created that still awaits her chance to play in a campaign. She's an arcane scholar that has a dark little secret of actually being a warlock of a being she doesn't know a lot about. She's in love with knowledge and she seeks to learn about her powers as well as the world around her. I'm currently DMing a Ravenloft campaign and I just couldn't miss the fact how much potential for a corruption arc she has. Then I listened to TMA and I was like, she would definitely become the Avatar of the Beholding.

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Set All Trappings Aside [9/9] - COMPLETE

Rating: T Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Pairing: f!Adaar/Josephine Montilyet Tags: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Class Differences Word Count: 3500 (this chapter) Summary: After months of flirtation, a contract on Josephine’s life brings Adaar’s feelings for her closer to the surface than ever. It highlights, too, all of their differences, all of the reasons a relationship between them would not last. But Adaar is a hopeful woman at heart; if Josephine can set all trappings aside, then so can she. Also on AO3. Notes: While the context for this story is the Of Somewhat Fallen Fortune questline, some of the conversations within it didn’t quite fit for this Inquisitor. The resulting fic is a twist on the canon romance. This Adaar and Josephine have featured in other fics, so you may miss a little context if you haven’t read Promising or Truth-Telling, which both come before this one.

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

It was a good party, but Adaar's mood just wasn't right for it.

She'd drunk enough to set her stomach churning, enough to dull the pain of her superficial wounds, but not enough to muddle her head. No, that seemed dangerous. Everyone in the village, even Hammond, swore up and down that all of Koster's Carvers had been caught up in the tavern and outside of it—but maybe they were mistaken. A cruel voice in the back of her head whispered, Or maybe they're lying. 

She wanted to believe that becoming Inquisitor had made her paranoid, but really, ever since that night in the cellar, ever since someone had taken a saw to one of her horns, it had been there, underlying. Her current circumstances just...exacerbated it.

She didn't like to feel that she needed to watch her back when she came home. Made it feel like it wasn't home anymore.

Maybe it wasn't, little though she wanted to admit it. Before the hole in the sky, she'd returned once a year, maybe twice if the Valo-kas happened to be passing nearby. Was it really home if she spent only a handful of nights there every year? Or was it just a place she went to visit ghosts, ghosts who'd taken home with them when they went?

She made her way down the narrow path in the dark, putting the party at her back: Hammond, merrily passing out the local brew, espousing its virtues to Cassandra; Harriet, playing a jig on the accordion, Dorian and Bull in the midst of the dancing crowd, red with laughter; Marguerite and Wilfred and Lonnie, gathered around a card table, groaning as Josephine took another round with a look of polite glee. Josephine, drinking Hammond's beer like she didn't mind the taste. Josephine, catching Adaar's eye above the heads of the dancers...

There would be time for that. Soon.

She kept the lantern she carried shuttered, unwilling to ruin her night vision, and besides, she'd always liked the fields of Duskfield under the stars. It was a far cry from Skyhold, that was for sure. You could see Skyhold burning miles off, up there in the mountain ahead of you; if she turned back now, the fires of the celebration would already be nearly out of sight. Only the Dancing Star would remain.

She came to the turnstile. Her father's handwriting had faded with the sun, and she hadn't re-inked it in a long while—hadn't had the chance or the time. She trailed her fingers over the word they'd brought with them from Par Vollen, the word that had failed so bitterly in its duty of care to define them, the word she carried. She walked on. 

The house, merely a dark, empty shape among a missing piece of the field, came into view. Every time she returned, she found herself surprised by its size, by the idea that she and two others had fit there. It seemed desperately small now, compared to the world she'd walked, putting holes in her boots.

She veered away, off into the field on the left. The house would be there, when she was ready. But the ghosts could not wait another minute.

Through the waving grains, toward the tree that stood stark and twisted against the starry sky, oddly bleached in the moonlight. The field parted to the little clearing, its careful rock formations intact. She released a breath. Jana had kept care of this place. Even the bench beneath the tree only had a few dead leaves; Adaar carefully brushed them aside.

But she didn't sit on the bench. She stood before the gravemarkers instead, letting a little more light from the lantern out, the better to see.

Hammond had helped her carve them. He'd taken the chisel from her whenever she'd wept too bitterly to continue. Silently offered her a handkerchief when she was ready to press on. She'd seen a few tears sneak down his old face in those hours of labor, too. She'd felt, fiercely, that her parents had been loved—that she had been loved.

"This doesn't change that," she said aloud, though no one was there to hear her. "I know it doesn't. I know that's what you would say. I just wish you were here to say it, dammit." She drew a shaky breath. "Where are my manners? Hi, Ma. Hi, Dad. You would never believe what's happened to me, and I don't think I could explain it if I tried. I just want to sit with you for a while, if you don't mind."

She put the lantern on the ground beside her when she sat. The low breeze rustled in the tree's leaves, in the grain. Here, so far from everything, she could almost believe the world was the same as it had always been, that these past few months had not happened at all. It was unchanged, here, where she'd written Beloved Husband, Beloved Father; Beloved Wife, Beloved Mother on the stones. She was unchanged.

"I'll skip all the nonsense," she said, when she'd been quiet long enough to regain her composure. "But help me get this piece right in my head. I've met someone. She's...hmm. She's not what you'd expect, I think. As different from me as it is possible to be. But she's also brave, and clever, and kind. I think you'd like her." She paused, tipping her head back to let the breeze catch her hair, ruffling up her hair like her father's hand, like her mother's kiss. "I like her. But I'm afraid of her." 

With the words out in the open like that, they seemed very silly. She snorted. "I know it's stupid. But...hell, you both must have been afraid, right? You loved each other so much that you left everything else you knew. Sacrificed everything else you'd ever known. Each of your societies, and your collective society, combined. And you were happy. I saw it. I felt it." She drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't know if it's going to work out the same way for me, but you were right. What's life without a little risk, once in a while? And besides, I think...I think it might be time for me to move my roots somewhere else. For there to be a somewhere else for my roots to go. If there's a somewhere else left, after all my nonsense is through, anyway."

She brushed her fingers over the grave markers, over the words. They weren't here. Of course they weren't. They weren't sleeping forever in the dirt beneath her. Their ashes had been flung wide across these fields, over the place they'd chosen. It was the only place that had made sense to her. Give them back to the earth that had known such love, such care, from their hands.

They weren't here. But she felt them, anyway. The sharp edges of memory had faded, and she knew they would continue to crumble, but even when everything was out of focus, someday, she would still know them. Would know, always, what they wanted for her.

"You dreamed of bigger things," she said, her throat tight. "Guess I got it from somewhere, huh?"

Heartsore but decided, she stayed there, beside the markers, watching the stars, thinking. She wondered if they'd gone through this part, too. If, even when they'd decided, they'd been terrified out of their minds.

Probably. Probably they'd stayed scared for a long time. But it had been worth it.

She'd been there an hour, sore and tired and a little chilled, before she heard a voice call softly in the distance, "Adaar?"

Her heart spasmed painfully. She sat up a little from where she'd been slouched against the bench. The voice came again, closer this time, but the word had changed: "Herah? Are you out here?"

She steadied herself and called back, "Over here." She raised a hand, high enough to be seen above the grain in the slight glow of the lantern light, and waved.

Josephine emerged into the clearing, blinking a little; she carried her own lantern, but almost entirely shuttered, like Adaar's had been. She'd taken her hair out of all of its elaborate braids so that it fell, loose with waves, around her shoulders. There was a worried twist to her mouth, and Adaar felt a surge of guilt; she really ought to have told someone, anyone, that she was slipping away.

"Hammond told me you were probably out this way," Josephine said. Her eyes found the markers. "If I'm intruding—"

"Nah." Adaar waved this off. "I've been moping out here long enough. They'd want me to pull myself together."

Josephine offered a tentative smile, and sat on the ground, tucking her skirts beneath her, not terribly near Adaar but not terribly far, either. "I've never known you to mope."

"I wisely do it out of sight of other people, for the benefit of all." 

Josephine tilted her head a bit to one side. "Except you."

Adaar released a startled laugh. "How do you figure?"

Josephine looked to the markers, her eyes passing slowly over the letters. "If you mope alone, you have no one to comfort you."

"I suppose I'll have to carry on, then," Adaar said, "since you're here to comfort me."

Josephine gave her own breathless laugh, and offered her hand out, across the small distance between them. Adaar took it, intertwining their fingers.

Josephine looked up to the tree's canopy. "This is the oak?"

"Yes," Adaar said, unable to conceal how pleased she was that Josephine had remembered. "They added the bench, not long after they arrived. It felt like the right place for them, after they died. Sometimes, when I was a child, I'd wake up in the middle of the night, and I'd see this glow in the distance, beneath the tree."

"It sounds as if they truly loved one another." Adaar did not think she was imagining the wistfulness in Josephine's voice.

"It was embarrassing to me, back then. Now, I—I see how precious it was, what they had."

Josephine nodded, but didn't say anything more. They sat in a comfortable quiet for a little while; Josephine turned her face into the breeze now and then. The cozy, combined glow of their lanterns created a little pocket in this clearing, as if the rest of the world was held at bay by the shine, just for a little while. A secret, away from everything.

Adaar touched her father's gravemarker one more time, silently asking to borrow his courage. "Want to see the house?" she asked Josephine.

Josephine's face brightened. Surely she'd seen the shape of it as she'd walked past, searching for Adaar. Surely she knew it was nothing special. But she said, "Of course," as though delighted at the prospect.

Adaar got to her feet first, then helped Josephine up. They picked up their lanterns and moved away, back toward the path. As they walked, the backs of their hands brushed; Adaar took Josephine's hand this time, and she didn't pull away.

"Jana built her own place, a little further down the road," Adaar said, and pointed with her lantern past the closer house. Barely visible in the dark was another huddled shape among the fields. "She stayed in my parents' house, at first, but I think it felt too strange to her. Like I would have felt to keep living there, almost."

"Among memories," Josephine said.

"Right. But she comes through every month or so, dusts, airs the place out. I was never able to give much notice before I passed through."

"She wanted you to have a place to come back to."

"Yes," Adaar said, and left it at that.

They'd reached the clearing, the yard; together, they stood before the darkened house. She hesitated, but only for an instant.

"Come see," she said, leading the way toward the door.

The inside was much as it had always been: there, the humble kitchen off to the right with its hearth, shutters closed tight over the windows; there, the old armchair her mother had once sat in to darn socks, where she'd nursed her newborn child; there, the door to a passageway that could barely be called a hall, and two more doors at the end of it, leading to the two bedrooms. One—Adaar's—had been an addition to the original house, built by her parents. Jana and some of the other villagers had helped.

Despite the frequent airing, it still had the faint scent of misuse, of absence. It had always smelled of something delicious, a warm crackling fire, the spring breeze, when her parents had lived. Now it seemed a painful, empty shell.

There was a faint creak; she startled and looked around. Josephine moved systematically shutter to shutter, throwing them open. The night air drifted in, chasing away the stillness of neglect. Josephine leaned against one windowsill with a sigh, the breeze tugging at her hair.

"It's peaceful," she said over her shoulder. "A good place to grow up."

"It was," Adaar agreed, putting her lantern down on the kitchen table beside Josephine's. "Not…not magnificent, or anything, but still good."

Josephine turned to face her with a frown. "Not everything needs to be magnificent."

"Peace." Adaar shifted uneasily. "I know."

Josephine leaned back against the windowsill, her expression softening a little. "What's troubling you, Herah?"

A little of Adaar's anxiety melted away at that gentle voice, speaking her name. She took in a low breath. "You were right," she said. "I was afraid. I am afraid."

Josephine took a hesitant step closer. "Of what?"

"Oh, lots of stupid things." Adaar rubbed at her forehead. "That your family won't approve. That people will make snide remarks to you. That you'll have to work harder to extract what we need from our allies. That it will all add up, in the end, and we'll see that this was doomed from the start, and have only bitterness left for each other."

"Small worries," Josephine said, teasing but not dismissive. "Do not doom us before we've even had the chance to begin."

"You really don't worry about that? Any of it?"

"I can refute your points one by one, if you like."

Adaar gestured for her to go on. "Convince me, Ambassador."

She liked the coy little smile that came onto Josephine's face at those words. It was wonderfully distracting.

"My family, whenever we choose to make public declarations, will be all astonishment," she said thoughtfully. "Scandalized, but delighted. I've always been the pragmatic daughter, with no tendency toward feelings or frivolities. It will be such a relief to them that they'll hardly register who I have chosen, and when they do, they'll fall over themselves thanking you."

Adaar couldn't help but chuckle. Josephine smiled a little wider and continued.

"I have no fear of snide remarks. Frankly, the topics for condescension have been a little stale lately; perhaps this will liven them up. Besides, I have an arsenal of my own. I'm always looking for an excuse to use them. As for our allies...well, turnabout is fair play. They are hiding plenty of things that they think are salacious. I'm not above leaning on those secrets a little harder."

"You make interesting points," Adaar allowed. "And these?"

She unsheathed her daggers, dropping them one by one to the kitchen table. Josephine came forward, stopping just short of Adaar. Lightly, she touched one blade.

"You saved my life with these," she said softly. "You use them to great effect, never without thought, usually in the name of protecting others. But you have not fooled me into thinking they define you. They are only a part of you."

She looked up at Adaar; Adaar looked back, torn, wanting.

"That's the thing," she said. "It used to be simple, and now it's hideously complicated. If I went back to the Valo-kas, I wouldn't fit. Even coming back here, I don't fit. And I don't think I've quite made the leap to your world, either."

"And you don't need to. There is no my world. I do not have the authority to offer you something so abstract. There is just me. For now—to start—I would just ask you for a little time."

Josephine slipped a hand into the pocket of her dress, withdrawing a small, beautiful wooden box, polished to a high shine; even the golden hinges gleamed. She took Adaar's hand, turned it palm-up, and placed the box there. It fit neatly.

"What's this?" Adaar asked, momentarily thrown.

"A gift." Adaar got the feeling that Josephine had bitten her tongue on, Obviously.

"What for?"

She actually rolled her eyes, contrast to her fond smile. "As if you've ever made an excuse for the trinkets you give to me." At Adaar's raised brows, she huffed and said, "Very well, it is technically thanks for helping me with the House of Repose. In reality, though, I commissioned it as soon as you showed me the sketch."

"The sketch?" Adaar repeated, completely bemused now. "What sketch?"

"Open it and see."

Careful not to leave any marks in the varnish, Adaar opened the box. Nestled on a bed of dark green velvet was a delicate hourglass, gleaming in the faint light.

"I'm afraid I could only replicate one of the materials closely," Josephine said. Adaar lifted the dainty golden chain with numb fingers. "Wood, from a tree in Antiva. On the Montilyet estate, in fact. I'm certain it's not the same tree, but based on the sketch and the notes, I believe it's the same species."

Adaar could not have replied even if she'd known what to say; her tongue, usually so given to trip ahead of her thoughts, lay useless in her mouth. All the hair on her neck, her arms, stood on end. A ghost had walked right through her.

"And the gold your father used," Josephine continued, "that, of course, is irreplaceable, but the Valo-kas donated some for the purpose. The sand...Par Vollen is well out of even my reach, but I had some gathered on the shores of Haven. I remember…" Here, at last, she hesitated. "You seemed at home there. More so than in Skyhold. I thought you might like to carry it with you."

"You had the sketch in your hand for all of a moment," Adaar said, finding her voice at last. "How did you...it looks just like…"

"I have a good memory," Josephine said, with a modest smile. 

"I…" Adaar shook her head. "I don't know what to say."

"I have achieved the impossible. Herah Adaar, speechless." Some of Josephine's delight faded. "I hope I haven't overstepped. You do like it?"

Adaar held the hourglass out to Josephine. "Help me put it on?"

Josephine took it, plainly relieved. With deft fingers, she loosed the clasp, then fastened the chain around Adaar's neck; Adaar could feel her breath, just briefly, against her skin. She arranged the hourglass carefully, letting it fall into the V of Adaar's shirt, a little cool against her skin.

"I don't know how I'll ever repay you," Adaar said hoarsely.

"There is nothing to repay. This is a gift without strings. Though perhaps it lends a little weight to my request." Finally, Josephine's voice showed her nerves; it trembled a little. "I only ask for the next turn of the hourglass. That you set aside what you think might come, what might happen. Be with me, and when the sand runs out again, we will take stock of where we stand. Please?"

Adaar scraped a hand through her hair, driving the loose strands back from her face. "As we've established already, I can't say no to you."

Josephine's eyes gleamed. "That's not the same as saying yes."

There was not so much distance left between them now; Josephine had worked at it, chipping away right under Adaar's nose. The last of it fell away as she cupped Josephine's chin in her hand and bent her head to press her lips to Josephine's.

There had been a desperation, a stolen quality, to those other kisses—like a woman taking panicked gulps from the paltry spring she'd found in the desert, afraid that she would never drink again. But this was another thing entirely, a slow delight, something to be savored. She took her time, teased apart Josephine's lips with aching slowness, tangled her hand in Josephine's half-undone hair, lost herself in the sound of pleasure Josephine made in her throat.

When they parted, she drew just enough air to say, emphatically, "Yes."

Josephine did not wait for any further explanation; she, like Adaar, seemed to have decided that the time for conversation was past. She went up on tiptoe to kiss Adaar again, and Adaar picked her up to make it easier for her, arms tight around Josephine's waist. Josephine gave a breathless laugh of delight against her mouth. 

Adaar would still worry, she knew. But for now, she would set the trappings of fear aside. She would see where this turn of the hourglass took them.

[tosikoarts]

SFW Alphabet | Light Yagami

Haven’t seen anyone doing this alphabet thing so here we go. Warning: there’s a lot. Check tosikowrites tag for more.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

 Light is not the best when it comes to affection. It usually served him as a method of manipulation so in the beginning it might take some time for him to separate affection as a tool from affection as a sincere feeling.

 When he finally does his affection will depend on the point of timeline:

 If it is before the L’s death, he would be extremely cautious with everything and everyone. Nobody would know about relationship and all of affection would be in virtual form. Morning texts, good nights, deep conversations or just a daily check-ups – Light would try hard to show that he cares through words since he can’t do it in any other way. He would occasionally send flowers with a box of chocolate or other traditional gifts when circumstances allow him to do so. After the memory loss, Light probably would find one calm evening for a candlelight dinner in inconspicuous but cozy restaurant.

If it is somewhere between the L’s death and rise of his successors, he would shower his dearest with affection, both verbal and physical. He would stay classy but choose more expensive gifts like wristwatch, or bracelet, or book, or box of ideal fruits. He never asks what someone wants, but will pick every single hint to make a guess. Light prefers kisses to hugs, particularly hand kisses and kisses in the corner of the mouth. He would be the ideal traditional dating type, sweet-talker, but only where all his plans for day are accomplished and Misa is not around.

 If it is after the rise of successors, Light would become distant. He would get back to texts. They would be rare, short, but full of reassurance everything will okay soon. Light would send single “I love you” before going to before going to Yellow Box Warehouse.

 B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

 That smartass friend that knows they have to stop you from doing stupid thing but still watches you doing it. Then they help you to deal with consequences and tell you how dumb you were but they wanted you to learn on your own mistakes. Yes, that’s Light.

It’s difficult to become friends with him unless he is truly interested in your personality, skills, or social position. Friendship with Light has to be built on mutual benefit of some sort.

If he helps you, you must help him as well. No excuses. Even though he is demanding, he is ready to do a lot for his best friend too.

 Also, he is the type that still talks to you like nothing changed after a long pause in communication. Once you get to some level of trust there’s no turning back. Oh, and he will make sure to keep his best friend as far from all Kira-related stuff as possible.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

 Light doesn’t initiate cuddles ever. The chance of him initiating cuddles is around 5% on the day when all stars lineup and both of your horoscopes say something grandiose is about to happen.

Nevertheless, if someone else decides to cuddle him in private, he will not reject them. Prefers spooning and being big spoon for sure.

  Definitely needs cuddles after stressful day but, again, will never admit it. The best cuddle session has to include rainy day, cold room, and freshly washed sheets.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He doesn’t think about settling down. Light may be mediocre at cooking but, boy, he won’t leave a single speck of dust in the house. Not on his watch. Laundry? Nobody does it better. Not a clean freak, Light just likes to keep things in order where he can find everything in seconds. Probably has specific schedule for cleaning too. He hates doing dishes and still does it anyway. Can you imagine what power of will he possesses?

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It doesn’t really depend on circumstances. Light will do it tête-à-tête somewhere where person feels comfortable and safe. He is cold and blunt with explanation, very convincing too. Light’s words turn everything upside-down so in the end you think it’s only logical to break up with him. How does he feel? Nobody knows. He probably suppresses all feelings, emotions, and dives into killing criminals with even more passion.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Well, if we talk about serious commitment, not a temporary contract for the sake of New World, it would take from 5 to 8 years for someone like Light to propose. He wants to be sure it is the right person by his side. At some point, he also will confess about him being Kira and make sure his loved one is okay with that. If they’re not he would try to manipulate them into accepting his mission. If it doesn’t work he will eliminate them. They don’t have to support his actions but they have no right to get in his way. After hearing “yes” and putting proposal ring on their finger, Light will go and finish all his previous affairs i.e. with Misa.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

 Oh, he can be gentle if he really wants to. It is a luxury few can afford. Pecks on the cheek, holding hands, back rubs – he is more about physical side of affection and gentleness. He will be extra caring and loving if his loved one did something special for him (like present for a Birthday) or made him proud. Anniversaries are another reason for Light to shower them with love.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

 He is not really into hugs due to the constant need to keep everyone at arm's length. If he sees that a person can go without hugs, he will prefer to avoid them. If they are needy, he may give up and wrap hands around their waist for a brief moment. His hugs are tight at first but he will loosen them as soon as he feels person is satisfied.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Not a single time until the Yellow Box Warehouse meeting. At least in the way it is meant to be. Until then he sticks to “I really like you” or cheesy “you make my heart skip a beat”. He expects person to understand his feelings from everything he does for them and sticks to “actions speak louder than words” philosophy. If he had another chance he would go back in time, pull them closer, and whisper every single thing he fell in love with them for in their ear.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Why would he get jealous? You have to try really hard to make this man jealous, he is too arrogant to even think that you can choose someone over him. Moreover, even if you do, he can always pull a piece of paper from the inner pocket and erase another poor soul from the face of the earth.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

 That’s an interesting topic. Kisses are perfect choice for Light: they are faster, more diverse, and way more symbolic. As said, he is fast kisser. Sometimes his kisses may feel empty or light as a flap of the butterfly's wings, however, the angrier/stressed he gets the more demanding they will become. He prefers hand kisses, kisses in the corner of the mouth or cheek pecks during the daytime, and lips/neck kisses during the nighttime. If we talk, where he likes to be kissed, the answer is everywhere, especially when the whole process is accompanied by merciless teasing and/or flattering.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

To everyone’s surprise, Light is great at babysitting and will keep kids entertained for hours. It doesn’t mean he will have tea parties with them or run around playing tag, but more likely give them a specific task and an exciting reward for finishing it. The best option for him would be working on the laptop while kids are doing something by themselves in his field of vision. He never screams at child not matter how annoying they may be, he never recourses to physical punishment either. That one person who reads every reachable book about parenting and strives to be The Best Dad in the eyes of his children.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

  Morning is the most productive time of the day in the Yagami’s house.

By the time you��re awake, Light has already got ready for a day, watched morning news, and wrote down some names too. Kitchen smells like freshly brewed coffee. If he has to leave early in the morning he would put a sticker note on the refrigerator with grocery list or anything important you need to know. If there’s no reason to hurry, he would greet you with a morning kiss to the temple and cup of coffee with savory tamagoyaki.

 On the weekends, morning routine is a little different. Light gives himself half of hour to stay in bed to enjoy mild drowsiness and warmness of person next to him. Expect some neck kisses and burnt coffee.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

 They are very… normal. Most of the times he will ask you if you want to stay inside or go out to eat. When he is too tired or just not in the mood he will suggest watching movie together until you both start feeling little drowsy. Sometimes he will start asking you random questions that lead to deep conversations and additional material for him to analyze.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Light and opening up do not go in one sentence. He gives you information he wants you to believe, in the form that suits him at the moment. Is it truth? Is it lie? You never know but it always feels like he is frank with you and it is all that matters. There is a pinch of sincerity in his words but you still have to take everything with a grain of salt.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

 So, have you ever seen picture with a breach in the dam? This breach is critical and dam will fall under the water pressure in minutes, right? This is Light’s anger control. It is difficult to piss him off, but it does not mean that he forgets your wrongdoing. His anger fills a cup of patience drop by drop and once it’s filled to the brim, catastrophe is irreversible. Until then he is great at self-control and keeping a cool head.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

 Light remembers the most important pieces of information you give out about yourself. His brain keeps filtering your words, connecting them to your facial expressions, slight changes in tone, previous conversations so day by day he learns new ways to excite you. In his head there’s a huge detective board with your name in top of it. Red threads spreads from photo to date to quotes to another photo and whenever he sees blank space he is a little confused. Did he forget anything?

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The next evening after he finishes all the business with L, his assistants (Aiber and Wedy), and Yotsuba group. An intoxicating feeling of freedom and all-encompassing power got to his head so fast he had to share overwhelming euphoria with someone. He would take you out to secluded romantic place like Meguro River where he will be unusually talkative and cheerful. He will constantly cling to your hand, squeezing it playfully, and stroking your knuckles with his thumb. At some point, he will just stop and plant a sweet slow kiss on your lips. Future that finally starts to look like he always wanted it to be will never feel complete without you.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

People who decide to threaten his loved one are those who need to be protected. Light starts acting like a personal guardian angel only in situation when he clearly sees approaching danger though. Even with the precautions taken, he always remembers the possibility of an unforeseen situation, and if it comes, he doesn’t mind putting few more names in his Note. Also, no, no one can protect Light better than Light himself and bunch of his fanatic minions, so we’ll leave it up to them.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

His everyday effort goes from 0 to 100 and back in a second like metronome needle. Today Light gives you everything and tomorrow he will send you few messages just to check how you are doing, but, generally, you both try to keep it 50/50.

 Goes 100% and beyond spoiling you rotten in the most elegant ways on special occasions like Birthday, Christmas, anniversaries. Always tries to find new ways to surprise you. He doesn’t have this huge detective board in his mind for nothing, you know.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

 Even if you do not know that he is the notorious Kira (which makes him so full of himself obviously), sooner or later Light’s bloated ego will become noticeable. He won’t rub his genius into your face. It’s the small things in your chats that constantly point to his superiority, and, honestly, it can be really annoying.

 Besides his screaming megalomania, Light is prone to periodical ghosting. Not because he lost interest but because intricate schemes occupied all of his time once again. After few days of radio silence, a message with the deepest apologies would pop out of nowhere, slightly embellished with details to make it more believable. He always tries to warn you about going mute but sometimes he simply forgets.

 I don’t know, if it can be considered bad habit, but he is, like, Kira. Just saying.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

 Light wants to look presentable so it’s not uncommon for him to stare in the mirror in search of imperfections. He is not obsessed with being Mr. Handsome but he tries to be always clean-shaven, with his nails short and his clothes well ironed.  

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

 So let’s be clear:

If it is not related to Kira’s case, he would be shocked. Light is not used to rejection so it would confuse the hell out of him. After keeping poker face for a whole day, he would eventually have a huge temper tantrum at home, making Ryuk say “aight, I’m out” while he flies out of window for an hour-long trip around the block. For a few weeks he will feel like someone tore a part of him, mad and disappointed, but this feeling would fade away after 2-3 months.

If he has to end relationship because of Kira’s case, for example, they still didn’t agree on his views after exquisite persuasion, Light will have to eliminate them. In this case he can’t get rid of unpleasant thoughts swarming in his head for almost a half of year, he tries to convince himself it was right decision but some doubts keep emerge now and then.

If they were killed because of their association with Kira, someone will have to pay. He may drag responsible person into his scheme and play them until the perfect execution time comes. Probably will feel mix of sorrow, dull rage, and incompleteness for indefinite time.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

  Light prefers long distant relationships to regular ones. They do not require a full commitment from him and do not occupy his free time: he can send a compliment + heart emoji while serving justice at the same time.

 For a long time I have a headcanon that Light is asexual. He just… doesn’t feel like it. He doesn’t care about sex, and the scene where he reads adult magazine is awkward not only for his father, but for him too.

He wishes his loved one could see Ryuk, but since he has to explain it somehow, he will never allow them to touch Death Note or a page from it. Ryuk needs new people in his life, goddamit.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Stupidity. Inability to understand obvious things drives him up to the walls. Not in Matsuda or Misa style, but hopeless stupidity in which person fails to use their logic and imagination in everyday life.

  I can see Light rolling his eyes at double texts. Any form of clinginess kind of irritates him.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

 Сonstant stress, world's best detective on his tail, responsibility for someone's life migrated to his dreams in the form of nightmares. He often wakes up in a cold sweat and stays up for quite some time, discussing different topics with Ryuk in complete darkness.

  In addition to this Light has problems with falling asleep. He usually goes to bed after his partner, so he can prepare the room (turn off everything, leave the window wide-open) and himself (take some pills) to sleep. It takes him up to hour to stop thinking and finally drift off.

[amidst-thestcrs]

TAGGED BY: Someone tagged her in this on Summer’s old blog  TAGGING: @feralspace-bitch​, @fightan0therday​, @tr0ubled-s0uls​, @starrys0nder​, @implausiblynaive​, @defactomatriarch​, and anyone else interested!! 

layer one : the outside

Name -  Summer Elise Smith  Eye colour -  Light Brown almost akin to honey, but can sometimes appear almost golden when in the sunlight! Hair style / colour -  Naturally red hair that stretches down to her midback ish area, her hair is typically worn down and straighten! If not straighten then in just loose waves. Height -  5′6″  Clothing style - I think the best way to describe Summer’s fashion would be summertime casual tbh! She wears a lot of skinny jeans, shorts, and t-shirts. Occasionally she’ll wear tank tops or crop tops if she’s staying on a planet/dimension she feels safe in as well! Always form-fitting clothing with this girl too, I don’t imagine she’d find any sort of baggy cloths really appealing. Summer is also not a huge fan of formal or winter attire either tbh. She hates the cold and purposely moved to a dimension where she wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore, so in all honesty, Summer probably owns one light jacket and dress in her entire closet. Best physical feature - Summer honestly has one of the prettiest smiles! It can light up an entire room, but I also thing it’s pretty hard to earn a genuine smile from her. She usually uses fake or “overly sweet” smiles when dealing with people who annoy her, but when people close with her tend to earn her genuine smile.

layer two : the inside

Fears -  Loss of control/power over herself, appearing weak, men (whether she wants to admit that or not), letting others in/letting her walls down (too many have proven to Summer that it’s best to trust as limited amount of people as possible), and losing the few people she does care about/trust Guilty pleasure - Honestly, coding and hacking 100%. There’s just something so relaxing about programming various electronics to Summer, like for a moment she just shut down her mind and just work/not think (which isn’t something Summer gets to do often so she revels in it when given the chance omg). Once she gets started, she can literally go on for hours, sometimes even a whole day if someone doesn’t stop her.  Biggest pet peeve -  People going through her shit or digging their nose into her business. Summer’s a very private person, so someone deciding to take it upon themselves to put to put their nose where it doesn’t belong is an instant violation of trust and overstepping so many boundaries for Summer!! Ambitions for the future - Just surviving honestly/living to see another day. Ever since Summer was little, it’s always been about making it to tomorrow, just do what you can to get by so you can hopefully wake up to see another sunrise. When she was living with Beth it was always about making sure she had the bare minimum amount of food to live, then when she first got into space it was always about having money so they didn’t freeze to death outside. It’s always been about survival for Summer, and now even though she’s in a much, much better place than before her mind is still set in survival mode. She very much lives with the logic of “Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed, so I might as well live each day as if it’s my last”. So honestly her ambition for the future is just living to maybe see it one day rip.

layer three : thoughts

First thoughts upon waking up: Honestly? “Welp, survived another day I guess, time to go make the most of it.” She very much lives life in the moment and spends every day as it’s her last. Summer tries not to think too hard on any responsibilities for the day when she first wakes up cause otherwise it’ll overwhelm her too much. Instead, on mornings like those, she just goes back to sleep for a couple of hours more.  What you think about most:  Her friends, Tammy and Tricia (both @tr0ubled-s0uls​).  I think she worries a lot about them and what they might think. Are they happy? Do they wish they hadn’t come with her and stayed on Earth instead? Would they still have stuck around with her for this long if it hadn’t been for all the shit she’s dragged them into? What would her plan be if the federation was to finally capture the three of them? Do they really like her or is it just a matter of circumstances? That kind of thing. Summer’s a ride or die kind of friend and would do anything for those two, kill or die for them (one of which she’s already done). She’s made so many sacrifices for her friends and has taken the wrap for them on multiple occasions, and I think the bigger part of Summer will always wonder if it’s enough or too little. Summer won’t say it a lot, but she truly does feel like a sinking ship sometimes, and she feels so horribly for dragging those two down with her, even though they both agreed to it entirely. If it wasn’t for them having a criminal record too because of Summer, I don’t think she’d feel so bad but that alone causes her a lot of guilt that she keeps under lock and key. What you think about before bed: I think she plays music a lot to try and quiet her mind of any thoughts or memories that always wanna come up before she goes to sleep-- so if she’d lucky, nothing. Although, if she’s not lucky, I imagine she thinks a lot on the past and she absolutely hates that. She’ll play music as loud as she can to quiet her mind before going to be if possible, if not possible, then it’s time to have a couple of drinks omg. Or if worst comes to worst, time to get up and try sleeping tomorrow night instead! What your best quality is: I know how it’s going to sound, but honestly her open-minded and accepting nature. Summer may not seem like it at first to strangers, but she actually quite understanding once you pick at all her tough layers. There’s a soft side in there somewhere, but not many people see it!! But those willing to work for it and dig hard enough that Summer deems worthy enough get to see that side of her.

layer four : what’s better ?

Single or group dates - Single - She loves her friends, but on the rare times Summer does actually go on a date, she prefers her and the other person are alone together so then she can get to know them a little bit better where as she’d be more distracted and withdrawn in a group date with some other people she may not know. To be loved or respected - Respected - Summer hasn’t seen any good side effects of being loved just yet, she’s only seen negativity come out of love so she’d much rather gain someone’s respect than love any day. Besides, in her opinion, at least she can do something useful with respect rather than love. Maybe one day she might prefer to be loved, but not until she can actually see some positivity come out of it. Beauty or brains - Brains - Summer cannot stand when someone looks so pretty but has absolutely nothing going on upstairs. She wants to be able to hold a conversation with someone that lasts more than a few sentences. Dogs or cats -  Dogs - In truth, she used to be neither, but ever since she got her boys, she’s been a dog person at heart. 

layer five : do you…

Lie - Absolutely. Summer is an amazing liar, she’s been doing it all her life to get by, one of the many skills she’s adapted along the way in order to survive. I don’t imagine she lies to those she cares about and trusts, but everyone else is fair game. Believe in yourself - For the most part, yes. I think Summer does have some days where she feels like she can’t do it anymore, but she lives by the philosophy, “I can do this, and even if I can’t, I have to.” so even if she doesn’t necessarily believe in her abilities one day she basically fakes it till she makes it. Although, Summer knows she’s smart and that she can do anything she puts her mind to so she puts a lot of faith in herself. After all, in her mind, yourself is the only person you can truly rely on so. Believe in love - No. I think Summer has been through a lot of heartache in the short time she’s been alive and that’s really jaded her a lot, to not only love but possible friendships as well. Not only just that, but I feel like Beth has literally told her from a young age that love isn’t real and to never “love” other people too much, which for the most part Summer takes anything Beth says with a grain of salt, but that’s one of the few things that stuck (mainly because Summer witnessed the effects that “love” had on Beth firsthand). However, that being said, I do feel like it would have to take a very special person (*cough cough* @fightan0therday​ 👀) that could possibly change her mind in the future omg. Want someone -  See now this is a complicated one cause I do truly that deep down a part of her does think it would be nice to have a special someone in her life, but again she just really feels like it’s all just one fairytale dream that will never happen so why even bother entertaining the thought? You could never catch her admitting that though! If you were to ask her, she would tell you no so fucking fast, it’s unreal omg. But again, there might be a special someone she’ll consider down the road ( *glances at @fightan0therday​ ) omg!!

layer six : ever been …

Been on stage: Oh gosh, I can’t think of a particular incident off hand, but I’m sure she has. Summer is not shy in the slightest so she and her friends would always get into trouble in high school, one of which being the time that she and Tammy ( @tr0ubled-s0uls​ ) pretended to be interested in cheerleading in high school just so they could do a not so school-friendly cheer routine in front of at least 20+ people. So if you count that, plus dancing on tabletops at bars among something else stupid she’s done I’m sure there’s been at least one time in her life! Done drugs:  Yes, but not so much anymore at all really. I feel like Summer has had one too many close calls while under the influence of drugs before when she used to dabble in them, so now she’d just rather not. She might occasionally smoke a joint with her friends on rare occasions, but only at a safe location with people she trusts. Other than that, she usually doesn’t because she doesn’t like not having control over herself or leaving herself vulnerable for others to do something to her. The same applies to drinking as well, she’d rather be the designated driver any day! Changed who you were to fit in: No. Summer changed because growing up at an early age was unfortunately vital to her survival, but she has never and will never change who she is a person for anyone just to “fit in”. Summer has always considered herself top dog, so why would she want to be some silly little “popular” girl?

layer seven : favorites

Favourite color -  I think it’s called peach? It’s that pale pink and orange mixture. Favourite animal - Dogs, or more specifically her Dobermans. She appreciates their undying loyalty to her. Favourite movie - Any horror movie, they’re always a good laugh for her and her friends! Favourite game - Summer used to play a little bit of softball in high school, but I’m not sure she’d say that was her favorite. Tbh I’m not sure!! Maybe trivia cause she’s really smart and it gives her a chance to show that off omg.

layer eight : age

Day your next birthday will be -   July 23rd How old will you be -  22 (Summer is always 22, I don’t typically age up my characters anymore.) Age you lost your virginity - Fifteen. It was some senior bad boy in high school that all the girls wanted and Summer had a crush on. He showed just a tad bit of interest in Summer, even going as far as flirting with her in the halls so she went for it, and then he wanted nothing to do with her after the fact. It’s still something she regrets to this day, usually just lies about her answer if anyone ever asks her this question. Or just gets defensive and changes the topic. Does age matter -  Depends on the situation. In dating, absolutely, Summer isn’t really interested in people way older than her. As far as someone telling her she’s too old/young to do something then no, cause Summer does what she wants regardless of anyone or anything.

layer nine : in a person

Best personality - Confident, intelligent, understanding, carefree, someone who won’t tuck their tail and run the second they start to learn about her past, self assured (that might not be the right word I’m looking for, but Summer doesn’t want someone who doesn’t have their own opinions/feelings and only follows along with what she says all the time) Best eye colour - I could see her being a sucker for brown or hazel eyes tbh Best hair colour - Darker hues tbh Best thing to do with a partner - Just be her true and honest self. Summer always has a front up to protect herself from others, so just having someone who she can wholeheartedly trust to put those walls down would be such a weight off her shoulders, whether she realizes that or not just yet.

layer ten : finish the sentence

I love - “my friends more than either of them will ever know. We’ve been through hell together and I’d do again if I had to.”  I feel - “like the multiverse is shit anyways and nothing matters in the end, so you might as well live life to the fullest and do what you wanna do.”  I hide - “everything... People only disappoint you, you can’t trust anyone really. I tried trusting more than two people before and it royally screwed me over, it’s a mistake I’ll never make again...”  I miss - “when things used to be simpler and it wasn’t always about running.”  I wish - “…I didn’t have to grow up being constantly reminded of how much of a mistake I was...”

[amplesalty]

Christmas 2020: Day 5 - Rudolph and Frosty's Christmas in July (1979)

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

FIVE EVIL KINGS!

“Christmas...in July?!” I hear you scoff “What a preposterous idea.” Well, maybe not. After such an unprecedented year as 2020 has been, governments around the world find themselves in the delicate position of trying to further the public health whilst trying to stimulate their economies that are circling the drain. Plus, do you want to be seen as the Grinch figure who cancelled Christmas? That’s going to look real good come next election season, isn’t it? Well, what if we didn’t cancel Christmas..just postpone it instead. Did you know that the retail industry does 50% of its business between December 1st and December 25? That’s half a year’s business in just one month’s time. But with the inherent risk of everyone piling into stores and the already lost time from all these lockdowns, why not delay things slightly to allow us all time to get this new vaccination. Seems to me that Boris Johnson would be wise to legislate a second such gift giving holiday. Create, say, a Christmas 2 next Summer to stimulate growth.

Thank you, Danny Trejo. I’m just surprised it took me this long to mention COVID-19. It took me like the very first sentence of the October marathon. I suppose the Christmas season doesn’t really lend itself to it as much, though Kevin McCallister was doing pioneering work in that whole social distancing thing back in the day.

But yes, Rudolph and Frosty. After seeing both their specials over the past couple of years, why not watch them together in some sort of superstar tag team in their own feature length motion picture epic? I’m jumping ahead slightly in the Rankin/Bass cinematic universe which apparently was a little unwise as I missed a couple of important plot points.

Like, apparently Frosty had kids at some point? How does that work? Do snowmen fuck? I mean, Frosty was always a little dim so it kinda feels a bit weird like Buddy the Elf having kids by the end of Elf. Did kids build him a wife, bring her to life and then their combined magic allows them to have sentient children? Or do they have to be built and brought to life too? How many magic hats to these kids have access to? Is there just a factory somewhere pumping these things out? I can’t believe I have so many questions about an anthropomorphic snowman.

Nevermind that shit though, there’s a whole backstory going on that we need to dive into full of evil wizards and deities appearing on Earth in human form. Many years ago the wicked King Winterbolt ruled over the land with an iron first and a frosty sceptre capable of great magic. But against him stood Lady Boreal.

Queen of the Northern Lights! Oh for God’s sake, first It’s a Wonderful Life comes back to haunt me and now this. Why do so many Christmas movies have so many instances of the goddamn aurora borealis?! Anyway, she rocks up and is like “Stop all this evil tyranny business.” and he’s like “lol, no” and tries to shoot her with his magic missile, to which she’s like “Bitch, please.” and puts him into a deep slumber. But nothing lasts forever and eventually Winterbolt awakens and finds like the North land has a much more jolly leader in the form of Santa and vows to overthrow him with a rather longwinded scheme involving him winning the love of all the children of the world by making Santa get lost in a great snow storm. Then, Winterbolt can emerge with his own supply of toys and become the new Santa!

But with her last ounce of strength, Lady Boreal transfers her remaining magic into baby Rudolph’s shiny nose. Or maybe this is some Biblical level shit and she put Rudolph upon the Earth to be the saviour of Christmas, that he might grow up to lead Santa’s sleigh through the dark and stormy night. Where was this angle in the original Rudolph?! Kinda re-writes that whole part about him being shunned by Santa and his own Father too. Does kinda take that whole ‘embrace who you are’ thing to a new level when you were pretty much created by a God to have this one seemingly life altering feature about you that actually means you’re destined for greatness. Bit of a test of these other reindeer too, this is how you treat he I have delivered unto you?!

So, now that we have some meddlesome reindeer getting in the way, Winterbolt sets off on some longwinded and convoluted plan that involves Rudolph and Frosty going to a 4th of July circus in order to trick Rudolph into committing an evil act that will void Lady Boreal’s magic. Plus, he gives Frosty and family some amulets that will prevent them from melting but only up until the last firework fades. And to do all this he uses some sort of magic snow which can implant ideas in peoples heads? So he gets this ice cream guy to encourage Rudolph and Frosty to be in the show to boost ticket sales and help his girlfriend. This guy by the way rides around in a hot air balloon and keeps a supply of ice cream at the North Pole. Dude, it’s called a freezer.

I love how they make this big thing about what an attraction Rudolph will be but his act is literally him standing in the middle of the tent, they use a fog machine on him and he uses his nose to shine through the fog. Then he just flies away. I mean, I suppose just having a flying reindeer is pretty spectacular in and of itself but give them a little more for their money, tell a joke or something.

This whole middle portion of the movie is a bit of a drag though. Just really boring and full of filler songs about the circus. I don’t know why this movie is as long as it is at like 98 mins. If you trimmed it down you’d have something a lot more solid. I’d say the one highlight in this portion is when Winterbolt goes to what seems to be this movies equivalent of a doss house and finds this really shady reindeer he can use to trick Rudolph. Just seeing this evil genius in Winterbolt interacting with this scuzzy landlord and finding this bum reindeer is just really weird.

There’s a neat version of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree too. Has this slight country, Dolly Parton feel to it and is a bit more uptempo than the original.

I was pretty disappointed during this whole section and was worried that it would end up like Frosty but it won me back again in the end by tapping into some of that uncharacteristic dark Christmas feel that Rudolph had. Where that was more cynical, this gets oddly morbid.

Like, the plan is for Santa to swing by and pick up Frosty and family in order to take them back to the North Pole before the fireworks finish so they don’t melt. Frosty is still really antsy though and is keen to duck out, even if that means missing the fireworks. Bizarrely, his kids question him on this and ask him what kind of patriot he is. I guess I never really thought of Frosty being American like that but I guess they did refer to him as having just being born when they put that hat on him. Plus he’s always saying ‘Happy birthday!’ when he wakes up so you could say he was born in America. Only trouble is, Winterbolt has whipped up a ferocious storm that means Santa is heavily delayed.

So you get these scenes of Frosty, his wife and kids all coming to terms with their own fragile mortality as they watch these 100 fireworks going off one by one, with each rocket flying into the sky acting like another grain of sand in the egg timer of their life, another second ticking away toward their impending doom. Just these kids looking up to their mother and telling her that they promise they’ll be brave...oh my God.

Or Rudolph having to give a false confession to stealing the takings from the circus in exchange for Winterbolt keeping the amulets powers going so that Frosty wont melt. Only Frosty knows the real truth, so everyone just shuns Rudolph. His friends turn their back on him, the crowd boo him and his nose wont light up anymore. Cue a mournful Rudolph solo which culminates in him crying as he sticks his nose in some glitter trying to replicate the beaming light it once gave off. Poor little guy.

But apparently not everyone has given up on Rudolph becomes he comes... a whale with a clock on it?! Apparently this guy was in one of the Rudolph films that came before this, just what in the hell did I miss?

Even after a showdown between Rudolph and Winterbolt where Rudolph gets Frosty’s hat back, Winterbolt is still out for vengeance and comes to the circus for a final showdown. To which the lady that runs the circus has the most appropriate response possible...

Reach for the skies, pilgrim! Only, her guns are just props that fire blanks so she just hurls the guns at Winterbolt and they promptly shatter his magic staff and he turns into a tree. Ooooooookay then.

I feel like Lady Boreal could have saved us a lot of hassle if she’d put Winterbolt to sleep and then took his staff away rather than just leaving it laying around for him to use again when he finally awoke.

For a second there in the middle I thought that this would be more of a Frosty than a Rudolph but it redeemed itself a bit by the end. Probably not quite to the levels of Rudolph but I enjoyed the bookends of it. If they’d cut some of the middle out and kept it under an hour, I’d be a lot happier with it. Apparently there’s another Rudolph movie that came out in the early 2000’s that revists a lot of those characters from the first one so I’m really tempted to watch that as well but I feel like I already rode my luck here and I’d really tarnish my positive memories of the original by watching a cheap cash in. I probably will just watch it anyway though so I guess we’ll find out next year.

[quinoaquinao3]

Unknowable (1/11) - dark!Crowley fic

"Oh, angel," he purred dreamily, "too good, too good for me," and Aziraphale wondered briefly whether he should be worried by how quickly Crowley got lost in this again, how easily his hesitance and caution melted away, how quickly he forgot to worry about doing the wrong thing. But Aziraphale didn't want to think about that right now, he didn't want to be smart and responsible and to play it safe. He wanted to indulge - to bathe in Crowley's praise and adoration, so intense it could only stem from something dark and dangerous, an unhealthy obsession. But God, it felt so good if he let it. 

Mind the warnings in the tags, please :) Human AU with a dark-ish Crowley and endless angst.

Chapter 1: You Can't Control What Crosses Your Mind

Spring, 1994

Anathema met Crowley when they were both children. Crowley had just moved into the neighborhood, taking up residence in what Crowley called a house but Anathema thought was a castle - turns out, as she learned many years later, castles can be houses if you're filthy fucking rich.

Naturally, Crowley's family also owned lots of beautiful, white horses, and that's how it all started - with "the horse incident".

Anathema could hear the animal's cries from where she was playing at a river nearby, and without thinking started to run as fast as she could towards the source of distress. She was out of breath when she made it to the top of the hill, bending forward to rest her hands on her knees and take a few deep breaths as she scanned the field before her. Then she saw it - a beautiful, snow-white horse lying on the ground, tied to a post with a rope. There were angry red marks running across their body, visible even from where she was standing. The horse was attempting to stand up, struggling pathetically.

Anathema noticed two figures a few feet away - an older woman was holding a boy with dark red hair - who was holding a whip. As Anathema began to run closer, she noticed that the woman's face was stained with tears, but the boy's eyes were dry. The woman let go of the boy suddenly, pushing away at him halfheartedly, and when he fell back to the ground she walked quickly to the injured horse. Anathema hurried over to the boy. As she offered her hand and helped him up, she noticed small blood splats over his clothes and hands.

When Anathema's mother came looking for her more than an hour later, the two kids were playing in a tall field of wheat. Her mom promptly dragged her away from the still blood-covered boy, and when they got home, she sat her down and told her to never go near him again. Your father saw it, she said, he beat that horse, nearly killed the poor thing.

As soon as Anathema finished her cereal the next morning though, she ran over to where she last saw the boy, and found him not far off. "I'm gonna follow you forever and make sure you never hurt another horse!" Anathema screamed at him then, and proceeded to do just that.

She followed him around the entire day. Crowley rarely spoke and was just so strange, Anathema thought, not at all like her other friends, but there were so many fun things to do in the castle Crowley lived in that Anathema soon forgot all about it. And maybe her dad was wrong, anyway. She was old enough now to know parents weren't always right about everything.

.   .   .

More than twenty years later, Anathema was still by his side. Crowley never hurt another horse again - at least as far as she knew - but he was still... him. He was still that same boy, with that sometimes unnervingly empty look in his eye that seemed to come to life at the wrong time and in all the wrong ways.

Despite all that, Crowley did seem to genuinely care about Anathema, and even went so far as to tell her he loved her a few times. She took those confessions with a grain of salt and didn't particularly enjoy hearing them in the first place - she'd learned that love meant something very different for Crowley, and wasn't sure she wanted to be on the receiving end of it. But he wanted to "be good" - he told her so often and meant it, as far as she could tell. He also trusted Anathema to teach him what that meant. And she tried, for years and years, keeping Crowley close - because he was her friend, her best friend really, but more importantly... he was her responsibility. If Crowley ever... if anything ever happened to someone, Anathema would blame herself.

So this was her life. Probably forever. Because although he did seem to be improving, even managing to feel something good every now and then, Anathema could never really be sure. She could never really know. Maybe he was just getting better at what Crowley used to call 'the performance' - swearing he only ever did it for other people, not her. Indeed, Crowley didn't pretend, not with her. Oh, no. She got to have the absolute mis-fucking-fortune of knowing him.

   Fall 2002

"Always tell me the truth, always always always," Anathema told him many years ago after finding a girl Crowley had sworn he had no interest in, passed out from drinking and locked in Crowley's dorm closet. "You said you didn't want to hurt her. Now tell me the truth, all of it."

And Crowley did as he was told - told her the truth, all of it, uncensored, with none of the usual sugar-coating. Anathema watched him as he spoke, Crowley's face as neutral and dead-looking as ever as he described... unspeakable things, awful things, and Anathema was kneeling in front of a trash can, emptying her stomach before Crowley even got to the juicy parts.

"You said the truth," Crowley said from behind her, defensively. "And I wasn't going to do any of those things."

Anathema stared at her half-digested lunch in the trashcan. She didn't want to turn around, couldn't face him, not yet. "I know," she said. Lied. Because she didn't know, not at all.

How could she possibly trust this man wouldn't do the things he'd described when he was capable of thinking them in the first place? A normal, healthy person wasn't capable of coming up with that sort of shit and- and... fuck, Anathema cursed under her breath - she couldn't let Crowley see her right now or he'd know, he'd know she was thinking those hurtful things about him. Though the fact that she just vomited merely from hearing his unfiltered thoughts might have tipped him off.

(Every now and then, Anathema swore she could sense the dark energy radiating from him, sinister and malevolent and unpredictable, and then she'd hear those... godawful screams of the white and red horse in her head and remember the blood-stained hands on that little boy, and it would all just be... too much, just too much for such a young girl to bear all on her own, and she'd be unable to stop the frustration and fear and hatred and disgust that she sometimes felt for her best friend from overpowering her love for him and becoming visible on her face. And in those moments she just went by instinct, curling her lips in disgust at him, slamming her fists against his chest, hurling objects in his direction, screaming hateful accusations at him or doing any number of things she later regretted but dammit, she just wanted to hurt the- the vile thing in front of her sometimes. Not the way he wanted to hurt others, of course - her need felt... righteous, like something she had to do, like it was good. Like pouring holy water on a demon or cutting a poisonous serpent's head off with the sharp edge of a shovel. And when she succeeded in hurting him, when her cruel words managed to shake up his shell of a soul enough for him to feel it, it would be only moments before she was apologizing and telling him she didn't mean any of it, 'but at least it made you feel something, right, this is good, it's a good thing, Crowley' and he'd nod and she'd be forgiven, and they would both try their best to do better until one of them failed again and the cycle repeated.)

Her thoughts were interrupted by a light touch on her shoulder then and she jerked violently, jumping forward and away from the touch, spilling the contents of the trashcan as she scrambled over it before turned around. Now facing Crowley, she saw something that - perhaps - looked vaguely like hurt on his face. It was too strange, too Crowley for it to be his 'performance' - he could do better than that. He seemed to recognize her reluctance.

"Sorry, sorry, it's fine, I'm fine," she said, trying her best to hide the fear and anger and revulsion she still felt throbbing in her chest. Crowley looked unconvinced.

"You're a bad liar," he told Anathema, who held his gaze.

"Yeah... You aren't though, are you?" she returned unkindly, more of a statement than a question, and Crowley was the first to look away.

"I don't lie to you," Crowley said quietly at his feet, keeping his body limp and slow as he shuffled slightly back and away from her, trying to appear harmless - just the way Anathema had taught him throughout the years. (1. "could you not freaking loom, Crowley?", 2. "stop staring at me like that", 3. "fuck, don't- don't touch me, you-!", 4. "don't raise your voice like that, it scares people".)

Ah shit, thought Anathema, he saw it. He's gonna crawl back into his shell and send out some... hologram, and play a recording of some emotion he saw somewhere, on someone else. She finally got up from the floor, standing to face him.

"Right," she sighed as she cleaned some of the sick off her shirt and pants. "You don't lie, you just don't tell me things."

"I can't tell you every single thought that crosses my mind, how would that work?"

Anathema felt a spark of anger. "Don't play stupid, Crowley. You know exactly what sort of things I'm talking about."

Crowley's eyes darted away again, and he was clearly trying to think of a way to get out of this and ah, here we go, she thought, wily fucking bastard. Anathema felt like punching him for the millionth time since they've known each other.

"You know I can't always tell," Crowley said, looking at her now, his eyes big and vulnerable and his voice soft and innocent. "That's why I need you, Anathema."

Motherfucker, she thought, her hands forming tight fists. "Don't pull that shit with me, Crowley, or I swear to god I'm gonna walk away right now and fucking disappear."

Whatever emotion Crowley was attempting to simulate on his face was gone with a blink, and Anathema was too fucking pissed off to shiver. That wicked energy of his was suddenly pouring off him in waves.

"You're not going to leave me," he said, quietly, calmly - confidently, the fucking bastard - and Anathema could hear the threat behind it. She pressed her lips into a thin line.

"You sound mighty sure of yourself there, friend," she hissed, an unkind tone to her voice. "And you're gonna make sure of that, are you?"

They stood there, watching each other, neither willing to admit to the other that they were afraid.

"Yes," Crowley replied, finally.

Anathema's nostrils flared, face contorting in anger. "How you gonna do that, Crowley?"

He was almost like a statue, unmoving and silent.

"You gonna lock me up in your closet? Huh? Gonna keep me like a fucking pet?"

Crowley said nothing, but the words that were coming from Anathema were having an effect. Snake - meet shovel.

"Yeah, you've thought about that, haven't you? Any other sick fantasies involving me I should be aware of? All that- all that- fucking- psycho shit you wanted to do to that girl? What's stopping you from doing that shit to me, huh? Why don't you just bash my fucking head in right now and-"

For what seemed like the longest moment of her life, Anathema actually thought she was going to die. So many thoughts ran through her head in those few seconds that they seemed like a fucking eternity as she stood trembling in her friend's strong hold. And on the question of fight or flight, she was, it would seem, in favour of the third option - freeze in complete terror. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. She opened her eyes when she felt a warm palm slowly and softly drawing large circles on her back. Air rushed into her lungs again, kick-starting her brain. The circles on her back continued, and slowly but surely began to relax her taut muscles. He's hugging me, she thought in disbelief. She heard Crowley whisper something but she couldn't make it out though the loud drumming of her heart.

"What?" she managed.

"I'm sorry."

"Oh."

Crowley squeezed her harder then, pressing her closer, only to loosen the embrace again when Anathema tensed. He kept moving his hand on her back.

"You said to tell you the truth. All of it," he said, sounding a little desperate.

"Yeah. I did, didn't I," Anathema returned, trying to chuckle but it sounded more like a sob. Christ. This was life with Crowley. The man who felt barely anything but made you feel so intensely a mix of emotions that did not belong together. Like affection and disgust. Love and fear. Anathema swore to herself she would be more prepared next time, she wouldn't get this hysterical again when Crowley was honest with her. (Which is what she told herself every time.) "I can't control what crosses my mind," Crowley said to her once, and Anathema told him that sounded like a lazy excuse. Crowley agreed.

But it was Anathema's responsibility to know his thoughts, wasn't it? That meant she had to be able to handle hearing him speak about these things and, more importantly, he had to be willing to speak of them and that meant she had to do better. She had to stop punishing him for thinking.

She felt the hold tighten again, only slightly.

"I won't ever harm you. Not you. I swear it."

Despite everything, Anathema believed him. That was the last time Crowley ever threatened her for a long, long time.

But then... that man came along.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22316332

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Part 16

Ao3

“People who do this don’t look at pictures of it like that.”

The plain-faced supposition of Hiccup’s innocence in Eretson’s office after Dave’s murder flashed back into Hiccup’s mind the second that Grisly saw Tuffnut.  Hiccup had looked at those crime scene photos with a shivering, pale-faced feeling of dread, something more instinctive and paralyzing than fear.  With a slow spreading numbness in the center of his brain, somewhere between clinical detachment and an abstract refusal to accept the reality of the gore.  

But when Grisly saw Tuffnut and smiled like he was imagining a duplication of the horrible scene in the alley, Hiccup wondered instantly if that’s what Eretson meant.  What if people who murder and mutilate their victims look at the pictures like Grisly stared down Tuffnut?  More than predatory.  Not a hungry lion but a bored housecat holding a trapped mouse by the end of its tail.  

Astrid’s right, it’s a basket of leaps, but leaps based on a gut feeling that gets deeper the longer that Hiccup tries to shake it off.  

He knows that theories are supposed to be based on facts, and he tries, really, but usually his theories are based on flippant comments that connect two things with a random click. A joke that amounts to pulling two random puzzle pieces out of a thousand-piece box and finding a mysterious miracle fit. The first click is enough to make him curious and that’s when he shifts to more systemic tactics, looking for corners and edges and working inward with obvious patterns until a picture starts to form.  

Johann’s ads got huge, so he must have been making money, and in comparing the dates of his biggest ads to the dates of the murders, a blurry but cohesive picture emerged. It’s eternally unfinished though, a puzzle in an elementary school library, some pieces pocketed and some chewed up and hidden away or just plain lost.  

All the pieces of this puzzle are still here though, it’s only three quarters unwrapped, and Hiccup happened to slip two miracle pieces out of the side of the box.  Grisly looks at people like he knows what’s under their skin, but wants to visually confirm.  And as Eretson glared over Hiccup’s shoulder out that bulletproof window, the corners started to take shape.  

Grisly wedges himself where he doesn’t belong.  Grisly works for the condos that do the same, muddling the character of Downtown Berk into something new and clean that just doesn’t fit.  Grisly hired Heather, who enhances unfinished puzzles from cryptid pictures of a real solution to high definition snapshots, like a thesaurus fueled scientist on CSI.  

He doesn’t want it to take shape, necessarily, but at the same time he can’t stop dwelling on it, finding grains of fact in the space of it.  Pieces craving one or two matches attach to the bigger, truth shaped possibility. And with Snotlout stuck on traffic duty, Hiccup can’t go research at the station without looking more suspicious. But then again, a few sepia toned pixels from a half-ruined older version of similar events might provide insight to the shape emerging from cool alleyway fog.  

That’s half the reason he goes to the archives two days after finding Gruffnut’s body.  He never spent that much time on the Elizabeth Smith murder, probably because no one questions a beginning.  Well, no one but Astrid, with her theory that her apartment isn’t involved at all, rewriting the root of the narration in an attempt to distance herself from it.  

He wishes that tactic was working better for her.  

The other half of his reason for visiting ticks up to an easy seventy five percent when he’s halfway down the stairs and hears Astrid’s voice, hovering just past the cusp of irritated above the sound of rustling papers.  

“…being ridiculous, Fish,” she snaps, setting something heavy down on what Hiccup assumes is her desk.

“I’m no Grimborn-ologist—”

“Not what it sounds like.”

“It’s simple pattern recognition,” Fishlegs’s arms are crossed when Hiccup comes around the corner, and Astrid is elbow deep in a dusty box of paper scraps, a brown smear across her scowling eyebrow.  “All I’m saying is that there’s reason to believe there will be a murder at your apartment in the next week and a half, and I have a guest room—”

“You’re looking for somewhere to stay?”  Hiccup blurts and they both turn to look at him.  Astrid tries to wipe the streak of dirt off of her forehead and leaves a larger smudge behind and Fishlegs sighs heavily through flaring nostrils, moustache barely budging in the breeze.  

“She’s not looking, she has one.”  

“I’m not looking because I don’t need one,” Astrid corrects him, going back to sorting through her box, “what are you doing here?”  The question starts out harsh and ends flat, but she shoots him a genuinely curious look and he shrugs.  

“I was hoping to do some research,” he says cautiously, edging a step closer to her desk to try and see what she’s looking at.  “And maybe see you, if that’s ok?”  

“I don’t know, have you done your taxes?”  Fishlegs rolls his eyes.  

“I didn’t realize I needed to pay taxes to talk to Astrid,” Hiccup tries to drag a laugh out of the room, but it doesn’t work, the air as stale and tense as the centuries old contentions in the papers around them.  “If so, is there a special form?  Or a student loan balance exemption—”

“What are you looking for?” Astrid abruptly pulls her hands out of the box, wiping dusty handprints on her jeans and gesturing back at the stacks.

“I was going to umm,” he thinks briefly about lying, given the conversation he walked in on, but thinks better of it with her paralyzing blue eyes staring straight through him. “I was going to brush up on that first Elizabeth Smith article, actually.”  

“Sure,” she waves him along after her and he follows down an unfamiliar, narrow catalog of books to the left and through a door into a dingy back room full of boxes.  

“It smells like my dead great aunt’s attic in here,” he comments, running his finger over a dusty letter box that threatens to crumble under the gentle touch.  

“Maybe she donated something,” Astrid stacks two dirty boxes on top of each other and wipes down a table with a dust cloth.  “This is the new arrivals room, but Fishlegs said if I shuffled things around, I could make it the Grimborn room.  I already moved some of the Grimborn things in here after I caught people trying to sneak out with them in their coats.”  She picks up a carefully folded but newly wrinkled newspaper and sets it down on the clean section of table, “Elizabeth Smith paper, have at it.”  

Then, with a casually familiar but all too brief pat on his shoulder, she walks back towards the door.

“Wait,” he turns around and she stops, looking at him expectantly, “I was kidding about using you as a tax loophole, I actually did come to see you.”  

“I know, but I’m working,” her lips twitch into a small but sincere smile as she shrugs and leaves the room and he can’t help but remember her kissing him goodbye after their date. He wanted to walk her home, but it felt like bad luck, just more time to peek into alleys and have another moment ruined.  He got the feeling she silently agreed and they both ended up calling rides, much to Snotlout’s instant disappointment.  

And Hiccup’s slightly delayed disappointment.  

It was the first time their dare-he-say romantic interaction didn’t get smothered by a new murder discovery or accusation in the next twenty-four hours. No, this time there have been no tours full of prying questions or alleys full of gore or faces full of suspicion, just empty hours to think about Astrid.

One time he stopped responding to a girl after three unremarkable but overall decent dates after she mentioned being the fifth wheel on a ski trip with two of her coupled up friends.  It was June. Just the thought of tying himself to a potential weekend months in the future with a girl he barely knew made him back off, even though she’d tagged along on a tour and handled meeting Snotlout with a surprising amount of grace.  

On a first date with Astrid, he offered to be her date to a family wedding at some point far in the future.

He tried to pawn it off on the fact that Eretson spent their entire interview looking at him like a perfectly healthy dog abandoned at a high kill shelter for being ugly, but being a more-than-potential murder suspect isn’t affecting his decision making as much as it probably should.  The fact of the matter is when Astrid started yelling theories down at him from her window, she did what he’d always banked on being impossible.  She made learning about the past make him think about the future. She gave him something to look forward to, to depend on.  And then she had to take over his tour with an impossible picture and kiss him surrounded by history and anchor him again and again when things kept turning for the worst.  

For the first time in five years, he’s desperate for forward motion.  And more than that forward motion towards something.  Someone.  Even scarier, with someone.  

“Finding anything?” Astrid’s voice breaks his concentration and he blinks twice at the paper he hasn’t even started to read.

“What?”  He shakes his head, watching her set down another heavy looking box and start digging through it.

“I asked if you were finding anything,” she smiles at him, a fond minimal smile he definitely hasn’t done anything to deserve, “sorry to break your deep concentration.”  

“No, you’re good, I wasn’t concentrating on the right thing anyway.”  He laughs and it feels more like a lie when she nods bemused and turns to leave, “or I mean I was, actually, concentrating on something more important than reading this old thing again.”  He smacks his knuckles on the edge of the table when he gestures at the paper and she raises an eyebrow.  “Can I help? It looks like you’re sorting through things, I could help with that.”  

“I thought you were here to research.”  

“I’ve got nothing but time,” he shrugs, “unless you don’t trust me not to pocket any of this delightfully dusty paper.”  

“I trust you,” she says it like it’s a phrase in a foreign language she’s just learning, “I just found all these boxes under that table where we were displaying some of the Enquirer correspondence, I have no idea what’s in them.”  

“Have you informed Area Fifty-One that you’re on the cusp of a big discovery?”  He asks seriously as she opens the box and she elbows him a little harder than necessary on the way to set the old lid down.  “Ok, I get it, don’t diss the Enquirer, you don’t have to break a rib.”  

“You know how I feel about the Enquirer,” she teases, voice dipping, and Hiccup’s heart jumps in his throat remembering his too big hat on her head and how fiercely beautiful she is when she’s trying to convince him that she’s right.  

“Right, it’s the clandestine shrine to the preservation of the everyman’s most rationally thought out theories about their place in the universe,” he talks too fast, like always, but Astrid keeps up, narrowing her eyes and shoving a heavy manila folder at his chest.  He promptly nearly drops it, barely saving a scrap of paper from drifting out the bottom. “This could be a priceless piece of history—”

“I’m working,” she turns back to the box and squints to decipher a handwritten date at the top of a page of notes.  “Stop.”

“Stop what?”  

“Flirting.”  The red on her cheeks is more obvious when she holds another clipping up to the light and pointedly avoids his eyeline.  

“What?  I’m not flirting,” he relishes in even the tiniest second that he has her unbalanced.  And it’s true, he didn’t think he was flirting, he was talking about the Berk Enquirer, that’s not flirting.  

Maybe Astrid thinks that’s flirting.  

“I’m working,” she repeats and Hiccup turns around to lean back against the table, studying her like she’s studying an old dusty letter.  

“I can see that.”  He cocks his head at her and she spares him a glare, the heat rising further in her cheeks when he doesn’t flinch.  

She has a face made for smiling but she holds it like she resents even the implication of that decision being made for her.  Maybe it’s because she knows he’s watching her, but the line of her jaw is tense, working quietly as she knits her brows together and sounds out an unfamiliar word to herself.  She’s all contrast, upright spine in a comfortable sweatshirt, hair in front of her ears escaping a neat ponytail, fundamentally kind eyes bristling at his persistent attention.  

“I thought you were going to help,” she breaks, setting the letter down gently with frustrated hands.

“Am I qualified to sort through the Enquirer?”  He touches a folded paper in the box, using false reverence as an excuse to step closer. “Or can you point me to some sort of bullshit subtext interpretation certification?”  He takes a notebook out of the box and starts skimming through it, carefully avoiding disturbing a century old folded corner on a page. “Some kind of supply manifesto? Doesn’t look like a big ship, maybe a private merchant?”  

“On second thought, I don’t need your help,” she takes the notebook from him, dusty fingers grazing over his hand.  Her eyes flick to his lips, almost a glare, and it would be funnier if it didn’t make the dingy room feel so much warmer.  

“Sorry,” he says even though he isn’t, backing up a step and giving her what he hopes is an at least half-convincing apologetic smile, “I didn’t believe that you actually considered making fun of the Enquirer to be flirting.  I had to check.”  

“That’s not—what is your thing with visiting me at work anyway?”  She huffs, sorting things into nonsense piles without reading them.  

“You visit me at my work every night.”  

“That’s because you bring your work to my apartment,” she says slowly like she’s disappointed she has to explain something so obvious to him.  

“Here I was feeling flattered,” he shakes his head, letting her get back to reading before continuing, “I do have a reason to visit you though.  I’m worried that too much time with Fishlegs might bring you to his side of the historic copier blood feud we have going on.”  

She snorts, “so you came to annoy so much it shoves me in that direction, ok.”  

“I was just thinking that it absolutely doesn’t bode well for me if you’re staying with him while,” he pauses, trying to think of a half-decent way to say this, “you know, your apartment is…while you’re waiting to see if—”

“If there’s a fourth murder,” she stands up straight and dares him to argue with her, “I’m not scared, or even if I am, I’m not going to run just because Fishlegs thinks I can’t take care of myself.”  

“Who said anything about running?”  Hiccup gestures at himself, “all I’m saying is that I know what it’s like to be constantly inconvenienced by where these murders keep happening.  It makes sense to umm, lean on someone who gets that unique complication, I think.  So if you need some place to stay because Eretson’s creeping you out by glowering at the chalk outline on your living room floor all day, I get that.”  He waits for her to respond but she’s just staring at him, apparently confused, all of that righteous anger fading into something tired that makes him want to hug her.  “I don’t have a fancy guest room with all the…I don’t know, little soaps and stuff that Fishlegs probably has but—” He yelps when she punches his arm, “what—”

“I said stop flirting with me while I’m working,” she tucks her hair behind her ear, “and inviting me to stay with you when you don’t have an extra bed is definitely flirting, you don’t need to double check that one.”  

“Oh, I didn’t—I can see how you—not that I don’t want, I mean, I’ve finally had a little time away from murder to clear my head and you’re so—”

“Then what did you mean?” She asks the right question, bouncing him back to the root of the issue even as he’s still trying to swallow his foot.

“I don’t like the idea of you being involved in whatever’s going on more than you already are.”  He reaches for her hand and she lets him, her stubborn expression falling slightly, “I hate feeling like I’ve involved you in this, I hate that you have to be my alibi, I—if anything else is going to happen, I want both of us, but you especially, to be far away from it.”

“I don’t think you have much say in how involved you are,” she says quietly and he hates that his heart stutters when he realizes that she’s worried about him.  It shouldn’t make him happy, especially when he’s saying how much he hates that she’s involved, but it does anyway.  

“That’s fair, given how this has gone so far, but digging a foxhole and hunkering down in your particular apartment right now doesn’t seem like a way to disentangle either of us.” He squeezes her hand and while she doesn’t back down, she seems to remember that it’s a thing she could be capable of, with much conscious effort and determination.  “Plus, I was going to offer you Snotlout’s bed, I thought you’d really appreciate all of the Patriots posters and the signed football in a glass case—”

“No,” she laughs, shaking her head, “absolutely not.”  

“Framed tickets from some big game—”

“Over my dead body.”  

00000

“Gruff’s is open?” Snotlout sits bolt upright on the couch, jerking Hiccup out of his book.  Viggo Grimborn Solved: The Admiral Haddock Connection is even better after Astrid returned it with comments, mostly half coherent swearing about how stupid it is on little blue sticky notes, because she wouldn’t write in any book, even one she thinks is this stupid.  

“I can think of one really big reason that’s not possible,” Hiccup hunkers down further in his father’s chair, carefully holding a sticky note aside to read the words underneath it.

“Just got a text from Johnson, they just broke up a fight there, it’s totally open.”  

“I don’t see how Gruff’s could be open, dude.”  He’s halfway through a sentence when Snotlout snatches the book and grabs his wrist, yanking him unwilling and stumbling to his feet.  “Give that back—”

“Astrid’s…not even dirty notes,” he wrinkles his nose in disgust, “will be here when we get back.”

“My back’s killing me, I don’t want to walk all the way down to Gruff’s just to find it predictably closed, as usually happens when bar owners are murdered.”  

“Then get an Uber,” Snotlout is undeterred, tossing Hiccup’s shoes at him, “unless you spent all the money you made with those big-ass tours on some lame book or something.”  

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to start tours again, this money might have to last a while.” Hiccup is glad that the original floor plan of 324 Harbor Road he ordered yesterday hasn’t arrived yet, even though it only looks expensive because it’s old paper.  In reality, finding something that specific and having it shipped overnight would usually cost way more than the couple hundred dollars he spent on it.  

“You could get a normal job—”

“Fine, I’ll come look at the locked front door of Gruff’s with you,” he starts putting on his shoes, “just leave the concept of a job out of it.”  

So Hiccup hasn’t been having the easiest time of it lately and he spent some time trying to find the shift between his original holding pattern and the quick descending chaos of the last couple months.  His mind immediately jumps to Astrid and her toothbrush and the midnight tour that entangled them in something bigger and more horrible than he could have imagined, but if he thinks a little deeper, his trouble started way before her.  

Hiccup’s life took a turn for the dismal when Snotlout started having frequent opportunities to say ‘I told you so’.  

Gruff’s is definitely open. If anything, it has more than its usual crowd and Hiccup spots a few people in Ripped Tavern shirts around a booth when they first step inside.  Of course, Gruffnut’s murder would have caused a real increase in a certain kind of business, but as seedy as he was, Hiccup can’t see how he would have managed to take advantage of it.

When they finally make it through the crowd, there’s a split second where Hiccup thinks that Gruffnut has miraculously done exactly that, but then the doppelganger behind the bar tries to twirl a bottle like Tom Cruise and when it shatters on the floor, he breaks into an unmistakably authentic grin.  In years of coming here, Hiccup never saw Gruffnut smile.  

“If this is your bar, that’s your gin you just threw on the floor, idiot,” Ruffnut is leaning on the bar and pleading with who Hiccup obviously must accept is her brother, even though it’s still really creepy.  

“I’ll get the hang of it,” Tuffnut assures, picking up another bottle and starting to throw it.

“If you’re just going to smash that, can I have it?”  Snotlout tries, sliding onto a stool beside Ruffnut and holding out his hand.  

“No,” Ruffnut chastises him, “at least pay for it.”  

“Here you go,” Tuffnut sets it on the counter with a couple of shot glasses, “it’s on the house. I’ve always wanted to say that.  I don’t know who calls a bar a house though, that’s never made sense to me, you can’t live in a bar.”  

“That means that the business is eating the cost of the drink,” Ruff groans, but she doesn’t think twice about accepting a shot from Snotlout.  

“Good, down with the business.”  Tuffnut pours himself a shot out of the bottle and clinks it with Snotlout’s, “and the man and the establishment and—”

“Tuff, you are the business. That’s your money now.”  Ruffnut points to an official looking piece of paper that was recently on the bad end of an attempted bartending trick involving blue curacao.  “You have to sell this place.”  

“Sell?”  Hiccup sits down, leaning on the bar to relieve the aggravated ache in his lower back.  Just leaning doesn’t do much and he accepts a shot from Snotlout, who seems to be doing more actual bartending than the person behind the bar.  “When did you buy it?”  

“Like five years ago, apparently,” Tuffnut shrugs, wiping the filthy bar with a rag and refilling a glass someone brings him.  “Do I look cool or what?”  

“Gruffnut put it in Tuff’s name,” Ruffnut tosses a shot glass at him and it misses, shattering on the floor, “look over here, Tuff, I mean it.  Look at what that asshole did to your credit score.”  

“Uh, you already showed me that, my credit score is perfect.  Beautiful bastard had one more gift to give me.”  He pauses to wipe a fake tear, absently glugging vodka into someone’s highball glass as they come up to the bar to order again.  

“Um, can I get a well whisky, neat?”  The would-be paying customer asks and Tuffnut rolls his eyes.  

“Well, whisky is pretty neat, but this vodka is fancy.”  

“How much?”  They look dubiously at the mostly full glass of alcohol and Tuffnut shrugs.  

“On the house.”  

Hiccup reaches in front of Snotlout and grabs the piece of paper, a bank statement of some kind, and raises his eyebrow, “your credit score is 420?”  

“Nice,” Snotlout holds his hand out for a high five and Tuffnut narrows his eyes.  

“Aren’t you a cop?”  

“Yeah.”  

“Oh,” Tuffnut claps his hand to Snotlout’s over the bar and pours another sloppy round that Hiccup decides to sip rather than knock back all at once, “I didn’t know you guys were in on the code.  Hip to the lingo, as it were.”  

“Did you come with Astrid?” Ruffnut asks, looking genuinely concerned when Tuffnut makes sloppy change for a tray of beers and struggles to slam the register door shut.  

“No,” Hiccup instantly wishes he’d changed his shirt or looked in a mirror before leaving.  In his defense, he thought he was going to a bar that was closed due to murder, but that doesn’t matter now.  “Is she coming?”  

“She said she was on her way.”  

Hiccup isn’t really used to panic.  His first reaction to a problem is usually more along the lines of breaking it down or figuring it out.  And he knows he doesn’t have proof, he doesn’t have anything but a gut feeling and the memory of feeling chilled to the bone when Grisly looked at Astrid at the archives, but thinking of her walking alone still makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.      

“How long ago?”  He tries to sound buoyantly curious but Ruffnut sees through it.  

“A little early to be keeping tabs, isn’t it?  You two have been on like one date.”  

“He was reading her dorky little notes in his book all afternoon,” Snotlout snorts, “he’s probably wondering if he has time to go get it so they can discuss.”  The last word is in Snotlout’s favorite, completely inaccurate nasal tone and Hiccup rolls his eyes.  

“They’re over here!” Tuffnut shouts in the vague direction of the door from the other end of the bar, all while pouring beer and spilling most of it on the floor when he uses a full glass to point towards Hiccup.

“So it’s true,” Astrid fights her way through the crowd a second later, catching herself on Hiccup’s shoulder when someone jostles her, “this is exactly what I would have guessed Tuffnut playing bartender would look like.”  

“I’m winning bartender, thanks,” he gestures at the shelves behind him, “or I will be when I figure out how to reach the bottles on the top shelf.”  

“Keep giving those out for free,” Snotlout nods and Tuffnut points at him.  

“Good call, why should I use storage I can’t even reach?”  He turns around and starts staring at the liquor shelves, “does not spark joy…”  

“Does he know that’s all his now?”  Astrid leans in close enough to ask Hiccup in particular, her breath cool against his ear in the over-crowded bar.  

“There have been attempts to explain it to him, I don’t think any have sunk in.”  He laughs and she leans a little harder on his shoulder, “so Gruff had the bar in Tuffnut’s name?”  

“Apparently,” she shifts, lips nearly against his ear when she speaks again, “a letter showed up at the twins apartment earlier with no return address and a copy of the deed inside.”

“No return address?” Hiccup frowns and turns to face her, momentarily preoccupied by the mystery enough to fend off being overwhelmed by her proximity and the tickle of her hair against his cheek, “did you recognize the handwriting?”  

“It wasn’t Comic Sans,” her smile is tight and not quite comforting, teasing and oddly protective at the same time.  “If that’s what you’re asking.”  

“Not in so many words.” He scrambles when Astrid half falls into his lap, half catching her and flinching when she pushes herself back upright with a hand on his head.  

“Snotlout, oh my god,” she snaps and Hiccup can hear Snotlout rolling his eyes.  

“I’m just trying to hand you a shot, get the rest of the way onto Hiccup’s lap if you’re so clumsy.”  

“I’m not clumsy,” she fixes her shirt but keeps her elbow on Hiccup’s shoulder, “and it’s Wednesday, you know that, right?”  

“We’re celebrating the fact that this bar doesn’t suck anymore without Gruffnut being a dick to cops,” he shoves a shot into her hand and half of it sloshes onto Hiccup’s leg, thankfully cooling the idea of Astrid on his lap.  He’s doubly thankful for the sudden chill when she shifts behind him to let someone through, her fingernails almost habitually raking across the nape of his neck.  

She pauses and he wonders if she caught his shiver, but then an unmistakably familiar voice attached to partially familiar biceps next to them announces itself.  

“What do you mean Gruffnut Thorston didn’t get along with the police?”  Eretson leans on the bar, almost unrecognizable in a black tee-shirt with the sleeves ripped off.  Almost, except for the absolutely familiar, business-like scowl he’s directing at Snotlout.

“Oh come on,” Snotlout throws his head back but still manages to slap Tuffnut’s hand when he sets a free high ball glass of something from the top shelf in front of Eretson, “don’t serve him—“

“This is Gruffnut Thorston’s bar, isn’t it?”  Eretson shakes his head and does a double-take when he catches sight of Astrid out of the corner of his eye.  “And you’re here.”  He looks at Hiccup and then pans past Tuffnut to Ruffnut on Snotlout’s other side, “you’re all here.”  

“I am,” Ruffnut nods, “but your sleeves aren’t, and I have to ask, are those guns standard issue?”  

“Come on,” Snotlout groans, spinning on his seat to face Eretson and nearly jabbing him in the chest with an intentional but thankfully hesitant finger.  “What are you doing here?”  

“Some friends invited me,” Eretson sounds almost bashful, like he’s not supposed to tell suspects that he has friends, and maybe he’s not.  That sounds like the kind of protocol Snotlout wouldn’t mention breaking.

“Now you’re bragging about having friends—“  Snotlout starts but Eretson stops him with a clap on the shoulder firm enough to at least attempt to anchor him back to his sensibility, that is if he had any.  

“Wait, how do you all know each other?”  

The pause is long enough that the initial awkward silence fades back into the indistinguishable din of the crowded bar and Hiccup clears his throat.  

“So, again, I gave a Viggo Grimborn tour to Astrid’s apartment and Snotlout is my cousin and at some point he went by Astrid’s place and met Ruffnut and—“

“Shut up,” Snotlout hisses, kicking Hiccup a little too hard in the shin.  His left shin.  The metallic ringing echoes in Hiccup’s ears and he waits for Eretson to hear it.  For the air in the room to shatter.  

“My office. Eight o’clock tomorrow.  Be on time or I’ll send officers to collect you.”  Eretson slaps the bar and turns around, disappearing back into the crowd.

[superjumpintomyheart]

I love m4rie with all my heart u think u can do a Marie x female agent 4...

Im gonna be honest with you anon, this is reeeaaaally similar to the male agent 4 x Marie I did but I wrote this one way beforehand and I actually based that male agent 4 fix off of this one so here’s the original, I can definitely do something different in the future by I love m4rie

-

Marie couldn’t believe she was crushing on an agent.

An agent she recruited, to be exact. Cod, she would never see daylight again if Callie found out, she could her her now, shouting about how she’d only recruited her so she could try and make a move. That wasn’t her intention at all, it never had been. She was worried about saving her cousin, then the Great Zapfish, and somehow along the way she found herself noticing all the little things Four did. Then she was admiring the way she trained for a boss kettle, how her hair flipped around when she dodge rolled, the pointed teeth in her smile, she could go on.

It was beginning to become a problem when the final boss battle ended, after Callie was rescued as well as the Great Zapfish, Four stopped coming down to the canyon as often. She saw her agent less and less, and her heart practically ached for a romance she didn’t have. It drove her right up to the edge so many times, enough that she would almost run up to Four herself, look her in the eye and tell her how much she loved her. But every time she decided if she didn’t see those beautiful eyes and bright tentacles in the next day or two, there was Agent Four, coming down to say hello and check up on the Squid Sisters.

She was killing herself by not saying anything, to Callie, to Four. Marie was stuck, she didn’t know what to do and it was beginning to tear her apart.

One day as she sat in the canyon with Callie, she decided she’d take the teasing from her cousin head on and tell her everything. All the emotions that had been building up for months, the pain, the longing, she was ready. So when Callie was done telling a story about a time from their childhood, Marie finally said, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

The inkling had looked surprised at the sudden serious tone of voice, but accepted it with a cautious, “What is it?”

Deep breaths.

“So… well, I know that I’m not supposed to do this and I’m sorry, but I can’t control how I feel especially with this and, I… I just—I like Four.” It all come out in a rush, but Callie’s ears were too sharp to miss a single syllable.

“I know.”

Marie stopped dead in her tracks, “What do you mean?”

“I know you like Agent Four, you aren’t exactly that shy with the compliments around her. Let’s not forget the tint of green that I always see on your ears whenever you talk to her, and you’re always so mopey without her around, not even I can cheer you up.”

Of course she hadn’t been hiding it well enough, Four probably already knew too, but she had to remind herself that Callie had known her since day one, it only made sense that she’d be able to spot when she had a crush on somebody. She internally facepalmed at her stupidity, but she also was relieved to know that her cousin already knew and wouldn’t take the news badly. Or, at least, she didn’t appear to be taking the news badly.

“Anyways, the reason I’m telling you, Callie, is because I don’t know what to do,” Marie continued. “Four hardly comes down here anymore, and at first I thought it would be a good way to get rid of my feelings but… they’re just worse now. I miss seeing her all the time, training her, talking to her even though she’s always been kind of quiet.”

“Okay, I get it, don’t go all lovesick puppy on me now. I know just what you need to do,” she responded. “You want to see Agent Four more, so you have to make an effort to do that, invite her somewhere! Go work a shift, grab a bite at Crusty Sean’s, play a round of turf, anything that gets you out of this canyon and into her heart.”

Callie always did give blunt advice, but it was the best kind. She was telling the truth, what she said she meant, so this was definitely the green inkling’s best chance at a relationship with Four. With this new plan, Marie was already thinking of some good ideas for how to ask, she would try to play it off as friendly yet flirty, hopefully borderline enough that Four could be the one to decide. Maybe she would catch on and feel the same? Or maybe willing enough to try? That was the best case scenario, but the worst… she didn’t want to think about.

“How did I not think of that? That’s a perfect plan,”

“Well, I always have been the smart one,”

Marie shook her head and giggled, she had missed her cousin so much. That was another reason she had to admire Four, she helped rescue one of the most important things to her. There was no Marie without Callie, just as there was no Four without Marie. “You sure have, Cal, you sure have.”

Luckily, there had only been a few days between the cousins initial talk about how to win over Agent Four and the time she actually showed up in the canyon. She jumped through the grate, landing on her feet as she morphed back into her regular form. Her tentacles were tied up in a bun, green from the last round of turf war she played.

“How are my favorite Squids holding up down here?” She asked as she approached the two, happy to see them both.

“Oh it’s terrible without you, Agent Four,” Callie said in an overdramatic voice. “Marie is practically dying from lack of Vitamin Four, you have to help her quickly! Before she suffers anymore pain!”

Marie smiled and waved to the agent who returned the gesture, adding, “Is that so? How can I help with this Vitamin issue?”

“Well, I was actually wondering if you’d like to go out sometime soon? I feel like I don’t get to see you enough, and Callie can get pretty… interesting after a while if you know what I mean.” She delighted in the way Four laughed at her joke, beaming with a bright, pointy smile. When she dared to glance over at her cousin, she gave an encouraging wink and smirk.

Four nodded, “I’d love to, how about Crusty Sean’s today? I’ve got nothing better to do.”

That was surprisingly easy.

“Perfect, let’s meet at noon?”

“Sounds like a plan, I’ll see you then Marie. Before I head out, Callie what’s the weapon fortune for today?”

The inkling thought for a moment, humming and making dramatic sound effects to go with the act. “I’ve got it! The recommended weapon of the day is the sloshing machine!”

Four did a fist pump in the air, followed by, “Yes! I love the sloshing machine!”

“Don’t forget to take that with a grain of salt,” Marie added.

“I’ll be out playing turf for a bit before lunch, don’t worry if I’m a few minutes late,” The agent told her friend before slowly walking back to the grate that would lead to inkopolis.

Both the cousins waved their agent goodbye and turned to each other immediately after she had disappeared through the grate. Marie wore a surprised expression while Callie’s jaw was on the floor, as it processed more in their heads, they both became more excited and shocked.

“Did that…?” Callie asked, trailing off her sentence.

“I think so,” Marie confirmed then smiled and hurried into cuttlefish cabin to look for a change of clothes. “I’m going on a date with Four!”

“You’re going on a date with Four!”

She couldn’t believe it had been so simple to just ask her to go somewhere, and it had been even easier to decide where to go since the agent picked that one. Her instinct for date attire was casual but she did have to dress a little differently to reduce the amount of people that would recognize her in the square. A beanie would fit nicely over her tentacles and her green hoodie would match with it, along with a pair of cream basics. She wished she could dress a little nicer for Four, but going out in public anytime as a celebrity was a bit of a struggle.

After she had changed, she showed Callie her outfit, who approved only because they were going to be in the middle of Inkopolis square. If they were going to be in a private place, she would have forced Marie to change into something more presentable. Even if that was just her kimono.

“What if she doesn’t want it to be a date and she just thinks we’re hanging out as friends?” The inkling worried, she was more of a logical thinker, but the idea of dating, relationships, love… it had her overthinking more than ever.

“Relax, if she thought you were just hanging out as friends, I would have tagged along too,” Callie reasoned.

“You do have a point,”

“I know I do, now listen to me Marie,” her cousin made eye contact with her and held a stern expression. “You’re going to freeze up, I just know it. I’m not going to be next to you to help you through it so try to remember this, make eye contact but don’t stare. Show that your listening but don’t get distracted by her eye color or worse case scenario, her lips.

“If you do end up staring, try to recover as smoothly as possible, this could be a prime opportunity to toss some flirting in. Next, don’t worry if you run out of conversation, you can give yourself some time to think by eating or looking around the square to jog your memory. Besides, if the silence is comfortable, that means you’re doing it right.

“And finally, if she starts flirting, clam it Marie, you better flirt back. If you don’t, she might start thinking you aren’t interested in her the way she hoped you were, and that is what is gonna ruin your chance. Okay?”

The inkling nodded to show she understood everything that had been said, be smooth, comfortable, relaxed, and don’t be afraid to flirt. She could do all that… maybe. It seemed simple enough but some things were easier said than done, she knew from experience. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard, she had always been good at starting conversations when Four wouldn’t talk to her first, there was nothing to worry about.

When the time for their date had finally rolled around, Callie wished Marie good luck as she jumped through the grate back to Inkopolis. Arriving on the surface again always made her happy, as peaceful as it was down in the canyon, she was a city girl at heart. She made her way to the tables by Crusty Sean’s food truck and found Four at one of the tables, idly tapping on her phone.

The movement of the inkling approaching her made her look up from the small device in her hands, “Hey you made it!”

“Of course, sorry for my lack of style, being a celebrity and trying to go places is always a bit of a problem.”

“It’s alright, you actually look… really cute.”

Shit, this was the kind of stuff Callie was talking about, Marie thought as she laughed softly, “You don’t look bad yourself.”

Her hearts were beating a million miles a minute as she watched Four giggle in response, her face did appear a bit darker too, was that blush? If so, she was doing something right.

Their lunch date carried on for a few hours, between eating and all the talking they did time seemed to fly by. The only reason they stopped chatting was due to the announcements, when Four realized that she needed to get going soon. She seemed upset that she had to be the one to end their outing, perhaps she had wanted it to go on for longer, Marie sure wanted it to.

“This really has been fun, Marie. Great call on going out today,” Four confessed with a bit of a shy smile as she walked back to the entrance to the canyon with Marie.

“I had a great time too, maybe we could…” the idol trailed off, not sure if she should call it a second date or just hanging out again.

“Do it again?” The agent finished.

Marie smiled, “Yeah, when can we do this again?”

Four hummed, presumably thinking about her schedule for the week, “Well, I’ve got some missions I have to complete tomorrow and the day after, how about Friday?”

“Works for me,” she didn’t tell the other inkling that she would have cleared anything on her schedule to go out with her again.

“Great it’s… a second date?”

There it was, the bombshell that just exploded in Marie’s chest. Four did consider it a date, which meant she was totally into her. This day was one she thought she’d never see, and it was all thanks to her indecisive mind finally picking the right choice.

“It’s a second date,” she smiled fondly and she felt her ears heat up slightly from saying the words. Despite her embarrassment, she felt a wave of confidence rush over her and she reached over to give Four a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you on Friday.”

The Agent stood dumbfounded at the entrance, blush spreading across her cheeks and ears easily. She shook herself out of the trance the small peck had put her in and stuttered, “Yeah, Friday… I’ll, uh, see you then.”

Marie giggled and waved goodbye as she jumped through the grate, smiling like a dork the whole trip back.

[flowerpowell]

Secrets VI (Liam x MC // Drake x MC)

Part 6 is up!! I think there will be ten parts only so we’re getting closer to an end. This chapter, as well as a few next ones, will be shorter. I still hope you’ll enjoy! And feedback, as always, is much appreaciated!! 

All rights for characters go to Pixelberry, the storyline is inspired by Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, I don’t own these rights either.

Rating: Normal

Tagging: @flynnomalleys @choices-sideblog @syltti78 @walkerduchess @kingliamthirst @kickbuttbookworm @client327 @lilsouthernsunflower @damienazariostan @katurrade @confessionsofabrokegirl @mynameiskaylabella @bizzyschoices @katurrade @furiousherringoperatortoad @jared2612 @speedyoperarascalparty @diamond-dreamland @drakelover78 @darley1101 @laniquelove @umccall71 @hopefulmoonobject @theroyalweisme ♥

Riley was running, completely lost, in the woods. Her white dress was stained in blood. She reached a cabin but it was closed. She screamed but no one answered. There was no one. She was the only person on Earth. She started crying remembering faces of the people she knew. She saw her mom, her dad. Her college friends. She saw Liam and Amelia, then Maxwell and Hana. Bertrand. Drake. Justin. Olivia. They all disappeared. Then she saw her. Pale, almost white, looking at her with devilish smile. She, however, didn’t disappear. Riley knew she was real. With one last breath she screamed for help, knowing there was no one to help.

Very slowly Riley opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry but after a minute of blinking she finally adjusted. Still a little shaken, she realized the room was awfully unfamiliar. 

It was big, the walls were painted white and gold, and the bed she was lying was much softer than she remembered. 

She wasn’t in her room anymore. 

Her breath quickened when she tried to sit up, but fell on the pillow with terrible headache. 

“You woke up.” She turned her head towards the voice and saw Liam sitting on the chair, his blue eyes, very tired, staring at her. “How are you feeling?” 

Riley swallowed hard and asked, “What happened?” 

Liam stood up and walked closer to her. He studied her frightened face for a moment. “You had a nightmare and passed out. I heard your scream and found you in your bed.” He touched her head. “You must have hit yourself here when you fainted.” 

Riley’s eyes widened.  A nightmare? It wasn’t a dream, she could swear there was someone on her room. “I was attacked Liam” she said quietly. He frowned. “I’m sure I didn’t see anyone in your room. You hit yourself--” 

“I was attacked. I saw her. I felt her. She-she tried to kill me.” 

Liam turned back to her. “It was a bad dream Riley. You have very vivid imagination.” Riley was furious. How could he not believe her? 

“Liam, I swear, I woke up when she was touching me,” she shivered at the memory, “she laughed at me and then hit me in the head.” 

Liam took a deep breath before speaking. “Riley I believe that you saw someone but it was in your dream. If someone did try to kill you why are you here, alive?” Before she had a chance to say something he added, “Get some rest. You can stay in my room for as long as you want. I’ll be in my office.” Liam left Riley even more confused than ever. 

Maybe it was a dream? Maybe it didn’t happen? Liam said he heard a scream...I tried to scream but that woman didn’t let me. 

Riley slowly sat up on the bed and waited till her dizziness went away. At this point she believed that it really could have been a nightmare. She walked up to the mirror on the wall and looked at her tired self. She looked awful. 

Just before walking away something caught her eye. She looked closer and spotted a few scratches on her neck, done probably by someone with longs nails. Riley in horror realized that her own nails are too short for that and that dream...wasn’t really a dream. And that she really met the attacker.

When she reached her room, Drake was already waiting for her. “Geez, Hastings, are you okay? Liam said that you...passed out?” Riley rolled her eyes and opened the door. “I was attacked. It wasn’t a dream no matter how hard Liam tries to make me believe that.”

Drake’s eyes widened. “You were what?! By whom?” 

“Didn’t have time to ask for her name. She tried to kill me right away.” 

Drake snorted at her response. “You know what I mean. Do you know her? What did she look like?” 

Riley took a deep breath. “I don’t know her and she was very pale, super light hair, short I would say, light eyes, white dress.” Drake frowned and thought about what she just said. “How are you sure it wasn’t a dream?” Riley approached him and turned her head a little so the scratches were visible. “There. I didn’t do it, my nails are too short.” 

Drake studied her neck for a moment before finally speaking. “How are you feeling? Do you maybe prefer to sleep at my place?” Riley smiled at him. “I feel dizzy but okay. And don’t worry, I’m staying here and will be waiting for that ghost with a knife next time.” 

Drake chuckled, “Well then, I’m sorry for the ghost already.” He looked at her again and said, “I’m glad you’re okay. But if anything happens, I’m here. Always.” 

“I know Drake. Thank you.” He walked towards the door. “Just, be safe okay?” he asked and she nodded. “Yes sir!” She saw him smiling when he left her room. 

Riley lay down in her bed and wanted to understand what happened and why exactly Liam lied to her. She was lost in her thoughts when she heard someone knocking on the door. 

“Come in” she said sitting up. Hesitantly, little Amelia appeared in her room and Riley couldn’t help but smile. “Hi Ms. Riley. I heard you had un mauvais rêve, un cauchemar, umm, nighmare? Comment ça va?” 

Riley opened her arms and hugged Amelia. “I’m much better, merci.” Amelia played with her necklace. “Nigtmares are terrible but mommy says they have un grain de vérité, something true. Something you’re afraid of.” 

Something true, something you’re afraid of...mommy?! 

“Amelia...I thought you were an orphan?” Little girl nodded. “I am.” 

“So who is that ‘mommy’ you mentioned?” 

Amelia smiled and griped her necklace. “My mommy. Ma mère.” 

“But...” Riley was confued. “How can you be orphan when you have a mother?” Amelia started losing her patience. “Je ne sais pas, I have mom but I don’t know what orphan means.” 

Riley took a few deep breaths. Another lie? “Who is your mommy then? Does she live here? Do I know her?” 

Amelia brightened up. “Non, she lives somewhere else but visits me sometimes. Her name is Maddy.” Riley was sure she never heard of that name. “And Liam is your father?” Amelia shook her head. “Non, Liam non, je ne sais pas who is mon père.” 

“Oh, I see. So... do you have any photos of your mother? Does she look as pretty as you?” The girl sat down next to Riley and showed her necklace. “I have a photo here,” she said and opened up the necklace. In a very old photo, she noticed a woman. A young, blond woman. A woman who looked exactly like the attacker from last night. The ghost.

After Amelia left, Riley ran straight to Liam’s bedroom. He said she could stay there as long as she wanted and she planned to use that time to look for some information on “Maddy.” She frantically searched thorugh his desk, closet, table. Nothing interesting to be found. Lots of documents regarding finances, some complaints about apples, whatever that meant, a few résumés for the governess position, including Riley’s, some receips and bills. Liam probably wouldn’t be so stupid to hide anything about Maddy here. He probably hides it in his study. Riley sighed. She knew Liam wouldn’t leave his office with her in it. She needed to think fast. Really fast.

She risked that her plan may fail but she had to know. Fortunately, Amelia agreed to distract Liam for a while. 

The plan was simple, Riley was supposed to go to Liam’s study and tell him Amelia needs him immediately. Hopefully he’ll react before thinking and go to her. Riley knew her plan was super basic but at this point she was ready to do anything to learn the truth. 

Confidently, she opened the door of Liam’s study and ran inside. Breathing faster than necessary she tried to make herself look fatigued and panicked. Liam jumped on his chair when he saw her, his face worried. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “I-I don’t know, there’s something with Amelia I think, she’s locked in her room and screams your name!” Riley answered trying her best at sounding very dramatic. 

To make him believe her even more she started shaking and added, “What if the attacker is back and tries to kill Amelia?!” 

Liam quickly stood up and took his jacket. “I don’t think so...but I need to check it. Come with me.” 

Dammit. 

“Umm, sure boss!” He was leaving the study when she deliberately kicked a wall. “Oww!” Liam turned back. “Are you okay?” Trying to sound as if she was really suffering she said, “No! My ankle! Ow! Go to Amelia, I’ll just massage it and I will join you in a second.” He nodded and left. She was finally alone, in his study. 

Firstly, she closed the door. Not being able to find a lock on the inside of the door, she built a mini barricade from stools and a table. Her heart was beating fast and her hands were shaking. She never felt so much adrenaline, not even during her finals. Here she was, in her boss’s office trying to find something about the mysterious woman named Maddy. The attacker. 

Riley was flipping through some of Liam’s notepads, she looked into his folders. She checked all drawers but she couldn’t find anything. I knew it was a stupid idea. Amelia could have made that up. 

Riley was just about to give up when she noticed a black box. A normal box, looked like one of these shoe boxes only painted black. She reached for it and put it on the desk. Slowly, she opened the lid and gasped. She found what she was looking for. Pictures, lots of them. Some documents too but first she took a look on the photos. 

She saw little Amelia smiling, little Amelia with Christmas tree, little Amelia with Betrand, Maxwell and Hana. She saw a few photos of Amelia and Liam but these were a rarity. And then she saw her. A photo of that Maddy, of the person who attacked her. 

She looked exactly like Riley saw her last night. Even the dress was the same. The picture was captioned Madeleine 29.09.17. Riley looked at her in disbelief. Why would that person attack her? She flipped through some more photos, there was one, very old, with Madeleine and Amelia, who probably was one or two. 

Apart from learning her name, there was nothing else. No information about her. 

That is, until Riley tried to put the photos back, her hand felt something hard under the pile of papers. She pulled out a framed document. She gasped one again, this time however, she was horrified. 

The document was actually a marriage certificate, it came from two years ago and was between Madeleine Karlington and...Liam Rys.

[letdecemberburninflames]

Bucky Barnes x Reader | Part 7

Summary: You and your best friend have been property of Hydra since you were children. You disappeared during WWII and were never seen again.

James Buchanan Barnes is struggling. He can’t tell the difference between memory and dreams. The counselor tells him you aren’t real. He’d do anything to prove her wrong.

Parts: Introduction  Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 8

Fic Type: Bucky Barnes x Reader Series

Warnings: blood, sweat, tears

Author’s Note: nobody really reads these anyway, but you guys have been super supportive and I’m super happy I lost that bet.

It was a week before anyone, including Bucky, was allowed back into the medical ward. Not wanting to take any chances, Tony had the area reinforced with fire retardant materials. He also continued to joke about how he should have built a giant freezer for 003, and how Steve would feel right at home there. The doctors had managed to chip her out of the ice block and thaw the rest with a tool that strongly resembled an overpriced hair blow dryer. But it hardly mattered as she remained comatose.

According to the doctors, they were unsuccessful in getting 002 to rest much. She spent her time at the other woman’s bedside, prompting her to wake up. However, from what he had heard, she didn’t know her. The girl in the ice… 002 didn’t recognize her. Finding this out only made Bucky’s heart ache more, and he would have given anything to go comfort her.

No one could make him do anything. Not anymore. So one day, after hearing a particularly nasty report about how a nurse who had tried to sedate her had gotten practically seared and filleted, Bucky made an executive decision to ignore the Tony-induced mandate of zero contact outside of medical staff.

He easily gained access to the room, but not without a few aggressive negotiations. With his heart pounding in his chest, Bucky laid his hand on the cool metal handle of the door to their room. He stared at the wood grain in front of him. The only thing between him and many more horrible memories was this door. He stood there, expressionless, until the cool metal door handle turned warm beneath his touch. And finally, with a deep breath, he turned the handle and stepped into the room.

002’s head whipped around at the sound of the door handle turning. Bucky walked into the room, quiet except for the sound of his boots on the floor. His eyes swept the room microanalysing every detail. On the bedside table, a plate of food sat untouched. The bed was made and clearly hadn’t been disturbed. The beeping of different monitors was a soft lullaby. The walls, floor, and sheets; everything was either white or black or gray. He had spent to many years in pristine and sanitary labs, and he knew she must have felt the same. To have been woken up from over seventy years of cryosleep only to be thrust back into a Hydra compound-esque environment by people she didn't know or understand so many years past her time must have been beyond terrifying. The near loss of her only companion only would have made it worse.

She was dressed in a hospital gown, which hung off her frame like a pillow case. Her cheeks were sunken, and her eyes were underlined with streaks of purple and blue, the marks of a person who hasn't slept properly in a day or more. Her amber eyes, once glowing with life, were dull and without movement, like a dying fire.

002 stared at Bucky, formerly blank eyes widening with recognition. The fear faded from those embers that had once held so much pain and uncertainty. “It’s you.” She said. “James. James Barnes, the American.” American, Bucky.

Bucky's heart skipped a beat at her recognition. “Yeah.”

She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I- She… This is my fault.”

He walked across the room to join 002 at 003’s bedside. “I have a friend… He was frozen in ice too. These people got him out and woke him up. They can save her too.”

They sat there in silence for a while. 002 watching 003, and Bucky watching 002.

“Who is she?” 002 asked.

Bucky stared at her. “...The one in the ice.”

“Yes.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. He couldn’t believe what he had heard was true. “You really don’t know?” He took her silence as a yes. Bucky paused, unsure of how to answer without frightening the already weak woman. “She was your friend. Your best friend.” He looked at the ground. “You gave up everything for each other.”

002’s hollow eyes studied his face, gauging whether he was telling the truth or not. Deciding he was honest, she cocked her head to the side. “Tell me.”

Bucky heaved a sigh, shrugging his massive shoulders that dwarfed her easily. He dug through his mind, searching for a memory. “When you were children… She protected you. She fought Hydra tooth and nail. She fought and fought and fought until finally they broke her.” I broke her, Bucky thought of all the extra sessions he had had with the girl alone. “And then she was nothing, and you had learned to fight. From then on, you protected her.”

“What was she protecting me from?”

“An evil organization. Hydra.”

Something, something faint and far away, like a star in an endless ink black sky, flickers in the back of 002’s mind. “Hydra, evil.” She whispers.

“Uh… Yes.”

“You knew her name.” Bucky says suddenly.

“What?”

“Her name. Even after you had forgotten your own name, you remembered hers.” Bucky says, hope spiralling through him. “I read somewhere that coma patients can still hear everything that is said. They are alive inside their minds only. If you could say her name, maybe it would trigger a reaction strong enough to wake her up.”

002 looked down. “Buck… I barely remember anything. It would take a miracle-”

“Please. If you remember anything, you gotta remember how much you loved her.” Bucky took 002’s hand. “You would have given anything to protect her. You endured punishment after punishment just so she was safe.”

She nodded, eyes never leaving the face of the woman who lay so close to death. She studied her features, her F/H/C hair and peaceful expression. “I will try my best.”

---

“Tell me about the other one.”

Bucky spoke so frequently about 002, that Steve felt he knew nothing about 003 in comparison. The two girls were as different as, well, ice and fire. Something about her though… Steve couldn’t put his finger on it, but she was familiar. Like the way a passing scent on a drifting breeze can send you tumbling back to a specific date, a specific moment from years ago.

Blue eyes snapped shut, and in his mind’s eye, Bucky could see her. Eyes like crystals, sharp and cold. Defiant. Terrified. Broken.

“She used to speak,” He began, opening his eyes again. “She fought, even when she was a kid. Always fighting, never following orders.” He laughed grimly. “Could’ve stood up to all of Hydra, and Hitler to boot… especially when it came to 002.”

“What happened?”

Bucky frowned, the bridge of his nose wrinkled in concentration.

An empty room. He needed nothing but his hands anyway. Cold, metallic, unforgiving. He sat on the floor, facing the ten year old girl. Her arms were crossed, face contorted into a glare, with a gaze sharper than icicles.

Images flashed through his mind. That had been the day Hydra had decided that they had had enough of her insubordination. His orders? Make her comply, and if she didn’t, kill her. They could always find another mutant. They had before.

“Buck?”

“... I… I broke her.”

That day had nearly brought an end to the girl’s life. They had returned to find him standing in the center of the room, the small body mangled at his feet. Torn clothes, bruises in black and purple and yellow and green. A pool of blood so large it was a wonder she hadn’t died from exsanguination alone.

“Bucky-”

“Steve, I nearly killed her. She couldn’t’ve been older than ten, Steve. Ten! She nearly bled to death. The least I could’ve done was put her out of her misery. And do you know what I got in return for breaking her? Fuckin’ frostbite, and a steak for dinner and a shower.”

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