#in every outcome of the flower game they were the final shape

[thefirstknife]

Random inquiry! Has there been any interaction between the Vex and Rasputin? I haven’t found anything but honesty I’m curious. Love the blog btw!!!!

That's an interesting question because nope, not that I can remember.

There are some indirect interactions due to the fact that he resided on Mars and Mars had a population of the Vex, especially in D1 while the entrance to the Black Garden was on Mars. Vex enemies were present on missions where we were defending Rasputin's installations and territory. Same with D2 and his bunker on Io: the Vex were present there as well.

However, to my knowledge, he never directly had any altercations with the Vex. Unlike the Eliksni who routinely break into his bunkers and the Cabal that fight anything they see, even the Hive that he had major assaults against on Mars (including freezing Nokris and Xol when he couldn't fight them), he didn't seem to have any issues with the Vex outside of them simply being near his bunkers.

When Osiris confronted Rasputin, it's shown that Osiris has seen what Rasputin truly did to Felwinter and the Iron Lords (Felwinter was Osiris' mentor) and he saw it in the Infinite Forest. This would mean that the Vex can simulate Rasputin. That's about as close as we can get for Rasputin and Vex interactions.

Fairly strange that the Vex weren't on his radar more often. Though on the other hand, he wasn't really on their radar either. They don't seem to have an explicit interest in one another, which is very intriguing.

[moon-lixie]

"Were you this touch deprived?" The amusement could be easily missed in between the calm of your voice that threatened to melt under his fingertips.

"Yes," he answered immediately, no time for thinking needed, "when it comes to you I'm always touch deprived, I can never get enough of you."

word count: 1.970k

genre: fluff, Hyunjin x gn reader.

song: Wrong About Forever - Jeff Bernat

Every great waltz has its spins that make you feel like you're flying as the music pushes you further, Hyunjin wasn't a stranger to this concept, nor was he ignorant to the part in which the two people dancing move apart, stretching their arms as far apart as physically possible while their hands stay clasped together.

He, more than anybody, knew what it was to dance, to give yourself to music and get lost quicker than he could even realise.

What he wasn't familiar with were the matters of the heart, at that he had always been clumsy and hesitant, comparing love to a dance.

That's exactly why he could never understand when you walked away; his mind couldn't wrap itself around the concept of you leaving for good, in his heart there was always hope for a last dance.

Your face was carved into his memory, he could draw your every feature down on paper as easily as he could dance with his eyes closed.

Loving you wasn't a rational decision, it was an impulse, something he had grown to adore despite the difficulties it brought along.

The music filling the room suddenly faded, leaving behind the thrumming of his heart reverberating in his eardrums.

He had to admit there was always a bitter taste when that moment arrived, his body not being able to push any further and the music coming to an end.

If it was his decision then he would spend every second of his life doing the things that he loved, without the need of a break, without knowing what an ending meant.

But wishful thinking only ended up hurting his heart, bruising it carelessly as if he wasn't the type to hope on behalf of the entire world.

With a loud exhale he allowed himself to relax, shoulders loosening and eyes opening slowly, as if rushing through the process would be a mistake.

The first thing he saw was his reflection, the rolled sleeves of his shirt, hair clamped together on the front of his face because of his effort, lips parted and chasing an extra breath.

His surroundings were one of those places that gave comfort due to the long time it had been the background of his happiness, his passion for what he did had been sprawled all across the room.

Dragging his feet across the wooden floor, he scrambled to gather his things, barely remembering to grab his phone that had been discarded on the couch when he arrived if it hadn't been for the light buzzing sound coming from it.

The device loomed like a threat over his heart, having the ability to mend everything or put an end to one of those things he loved with an inimaginable fervor.

An unseen message had been sent in blue, waiting impatiently despite not being the first one sent between the both of you.

You had contacted him first; after two weeks of radio silence you had sent four words his way, typical of you.

'Can I call you?' It was unknown to him how long he had spent staring at the dark screen, forcing his eyes to trace the eleven characters that shaped your unorthodox way of asking for forgiveness.

Forgiveness for what? That he no longer knew, perhaps this time you had gotten scared of how ever so well you two worked together and that's why you had decided to walk away, or maybe there was a chance you had just gotten tired of him, again.

The game the both of you played didn't feel like the typical love he saw portrayed in movies but he couldn't find it in him to care, after all, dancing around you had never bothered him in the slightest.

With trembling fingers he had typed an answer, one word, three letters, a simple affirmation.

He tried to be quick, direct and concise; searching the deepest corners of his mind for the answer that could please you the most and immediately regretting the dry response.

But what had been done already wasn't something that should trouble his mind, even if it came to you, the person he craved to have by his side the most.

So, he had abandoned the mobile as soon as he stepped foot in the dance studio, leaving it screen against the couch in hopes that would soothe his anxious heart if only for long enough to enjoy his dancing.

Now that it buzzed with the call that could be the one he couldn't help but walk cautiously forward and take deep breaths before picking up.

"You're done with dance practice, right?" If he had ever wanted to get high on something, it was your voice, along with every single detail about you.

His lips curled into a satisfied smile. "Oh, so you do remember my number?"

A dry chuckle resonated on the line, forcing his mind to picture the scowl twisting the features of your beautiful face, portraying the guilt you never owned up to in front of him.

"Are you free?" Of course you would dodge his comment, but yet again, he couldn't bring himself to care, simply humming in affirmation.

"Okay, then see you in a bit."

Dumbfounded, an amused laugh found its way out of his lips. "Should I know what you mean by that?"

The harmless exasperation painted itself across your every word as you answered. "Do I really need to spell it out for you, Hwang?"

He was inexperienced when it came to love, very much so, but he was an expert when it came to you, always knowing what you meant, what you wanted, the things you needed.

Walking in the direction to your apartment he answered, "I'm afraid yes, I can't know what you mean if you don't explain it, now can I?"

You laughed annoyed, staying in silence for a moment; he couldn't have pushed things far enough yet, he could never, because you happened to love him just as much as he loved you.

"I miss you, okay? Happy now?"

"Very," he said, lips curling in a lovesick grin that shielded him even from the way you abruptly ended the call.

No matter how much you tried to walk away from him, suddenly cutting yourself from his life, you always came back, always stayed in the tiniest of details around him.

Perhaps that had been his mistake, to accept you even with that quirk of getting cold feet, because if only he had stopped it at once then it wouldn't have become a habit, a necessary routine.

But to love is to get tangled so awfully that you can't find your way out, only further falling into the mess of affection and longing.

The two of you just had your special way of working and tackling things, for instance, you hadn't talked to him for half a month and still your spare key remained under the pot of his favourite flower of yours.

Victory grin plastered on, he reached for the metal piece, opening the door of your apartment as if it were his very own home.

Alerted by his steps at the entrance you came to greet him, arms crossed over your chest as if to keep a final barrier between you and the man that owned your heart.

"I missed you too." Was the very first thing he said once he found your eyes staring right at his; it made you smile and he felt accomplished.

"Of course you did." His words melted you in an instant, making you move closer to him and take his hand in yours. "You always do."

And how could he not? How could he bring himself not to miss someone like you? Someone whose mere presence was intoxicating, seeping inside his muscles and veins, putting his being at ease.

Gently, he allowed the pads of his fingers to trace the outline of your nose, your lips, your chin, before leaning in towards you.

A firm hand against his chest stopped him on his track, causing a question to paint his face with confusion.

"You're all sweaty and you stink." You scrunched your nose adorably, as if actually bothered by his smell. "Go take a shower."

"But I want to kiss you first." A pout made his lips stand out, well aware that it sometimes worked wonders with convincing you.

"Nope, no kisses while you're all smelly." And just like that the both of you were back to normal, not caring to drag things for longer than they should with explanations or apologies that fell into deaf ears.

Against your petition he moved forward and embraced you in his arms, suddenly set on stone in making you squeal in complaint.

Moments later dragging you towards the bathroom despite the verbal refusal that didn't match with your eager steps trailing behind him.

Leaving his things forgotten on the entrance along with whatever fear he had harbored in his heart about this time being the time you would leave his side for good, he closed the bathroom door and kissed you.

Your lips felt unfairly soft against his, warm as a blanket that shielded people from every possible unfavorable outcome life could have prepared for them.

Sure hands moving to clasp on the hem of your shirt, slowly moving it upwards the further he got lost into the kiss.

Piece by piece he undressed the both of you until you were down to heart and soul, truths lying bare for eyes to pry and discover the biggest vulnerability in them.

Knowing the place as well enough as his own home, he turned around to set the water into the perfect temperature for the both of you, never cold.

Then he led you like you needed to be held, careful and attentive, eyes never leaving yours in a new attempt to learn every detail embedded in your pupils.

He turned you around, pressing your back against his chest and hugging you close until there was no space in between, his lips finding the way to your shoulder, pressing soft kisses meant to fix any remnants of doubt.

"Were you this touch deprived?" The amusement could be easily missed in between the calm of your voice that threatened to melt under his fingertips.

"Yes," he answered immediately, no time for thinking needed, "when it comes to you I'm always touch deprived, I can never get enough of you."

He couldn't be more honest even if he was asked to testify in court and make a pledge that allowed him to say nothing but the absolute truth, because he loved you with an intensity that sometimes could be mistaken as meek due to it's soft and innocent nature.

Hyunjin loved you the way someone loves something unobtainable, innocent and patiently, willing to wait entire lifetimes for stars to align and give him the pleasure of being in your presence.

Your hands moved to rest atop his where they were clasped together against your bare torso, thumbs escaping to rub soothing circles into your skin.

Trailing kisses up your neck he allowed himself to hope that every one of his touches reverberated with warmth all the way to your heart in the same fashion that yours did to him.

For you he would learn how to love properly, he would even understand to let go if that was what you truly wanted at some point in the future.

"I love you." The words felt like dripping honey as they slipped in between his lips for the very first time.

"I love you too," you answered, not even leaving time for him to panic at the sudden frankness with which his deepest sentiment had been revealed.

For a love like yours, he would always wait, always fight to make things better.

[doodleimprovement]

Nell - A Brief Guide

Annabella Gracia Buonacci is an OC that I typically use in fandom content. They’re usually over the age of 25, single, and use She/They pronouns.

She is used in two main fandom - Marvel, and A Hat in Time

Click “Keep Reading” for the full post!

We’ll start with the two Marvel universes first, as those are the “simplest”.

MCU Nell (Current Age: 31)

MCU Nell is a nurse in the “Pro Bono” ER at Flushing general in Queens NY. She befriended May at a grief counseling group, and through her met Peter Parker, and shortly after that found out he was the up-and-coming superhero Spider-Man. Post Civil War, she met and befriended Tony Stark, who introduced her to Thor. She built up a relationship with Thor, starting to see each other just before Infinity War. She survived the Snap, but in the 5 years between Infinity War and Endgame, their relationship fell apart. Post Endgame she divides her time between her full time hospital job, her part time Avengers/Stark Industries/Government-ish position, her burgeoning relationship with Doctor Strange, and gaining grey hairs helping out young heroes.(Tag: MCU Nell)

Spider-Verse Nell (Current age: 36) 

Spider-Verse Nell is also a nurse, working generally in the hospital rather than in a specific wing. She knew Peter Parker, and had a similar relationship to him that she has with MCU Spider-Man. She met and dated Aaron for some time, which was how she met Miles. Aaron and Nell didn’t date for long, but remained good friends after that, and she saw Miles a few more times pre-film. Post-film, she offers Miles advice in the form of Spider-Man 1.0 anecdotes, and medical attention. There’s a running gag that she’s dating a superhero, but no one knows which one. Oh, also, she is the niece of Doctor Olivia Octavius. That’s not as important as you'd think it’d be, but still.  (Tag: Spiderverse Nell)

A Hat in Time:

AHIT “Canon” Nell (Age at “death”: 40) :

This Nell is technically a Prelude to her game self. They are the town apothecary, friendly with all and while reclusive, isn’t seen as weird. She’s divorced, and has been close with the royal family (Read: Vanessa) for well over a decade. She’s also friendly with the prince, and might be related to the florist (I never decided on that)  (Does not have specific tag, typically grouped under “Ahit Nell”, “Subconite Nell” and “Ghost Nell”)

There are two possible endings for “Canon” Nell: One where she is a ghost, and one where she is a subconite.

Subconite Nell: 

Subconite Nell is the most likely outcome, and occurs if Nell remains in Subcon when it freezes over. Subconite Nell remembers next to nothing about their past life, not even knowing that the handkerchief on their head was one they used in life. They do regular subconite things (They quite like being hung for some reason….. ) and they are the only subconite who is allowed alone in Snatcher’s lab. Their personality is quite the same to when they were alive though. Typically the default Nell for all other Post-canon AUs.(Tag: Subconite Nell)

Ghost Nell:

If Nell leaves for the coast just before the fall of Subcon, returns and is traumatically killed by Vanessa, they become a ghost much like Snatcher, but with a few notable differences. For one, They typically keep themselves in a more human shape, but at a far larger size than Snatcher normally uses. Their eyes and magic are cyan, though they don’t use it frequently. They are quite fond of Hat Kid, and the cusp of their arc confronts their mysterious (or not so mysterious now) death. They spend most of their time cultivating a field of flowers and herbs. (Tag: Ghost Nell) 

“”””Coffee Shop AU”””” Nell (Current Age: 40) : 

The School nurse at the local Elementary, She’s jaded and has a somewhat nebulous past that most people don’t even know. She loves coffee, gardening, and listening to music. Very obviously a witch but no one seems to notice. She’s a side character in every sense, but has a good sense of humor about it (self aware). Her best friend, Daph, became obsessed with the local cryptid - The “Snatcher” and started just… sending her all of this merch. Her house looks like a Snatcher museum. She takes it in stride and quite frankly, it’s a running joke at this point

Other AUs: (Might be edited at a later date)

The Little Contractor ( @bittybattybunny​ ): Very similar to Coffee Shop AU, but instead of Daph buying the merch, she does it herself and partially does it to take the piss out of Ru. She babysits for Eclipse and Ru occasionally.

Pokemon (AHIT related): Runs a small, remote Pokemon center in the middle of a forest with a Chimecho as their main assistant. There is also a Blastoise that lives out of a pond near the center. This is mostly inspired by @ahatintimepieces​ Lawyer!Eevee AU

Victorian AU: The doctor of the village of Subcon. Very no nonsense,doesn’t appear very much until the final act. 

[gremlinbehavior]

flowerfell au?

i actually have no idea if flowerfell is still relevant on tumblr, but i wrote this in high school and wanted to share in case anyone would enjoy it, because i never had the guts to post it. here y’all go. this is LOOSELY based on the flowerfell au, i do not remember the user but pls message me if you see this so i can give you creds. here goes nothing:

Part 1:

Sans clasped a small yellow flower in his phalanges, plucking away petals and letting them fall upon the soil of the grave that he sat at. A patch of the little "forget me not"s, as he called them, had worn away to reveal where the skeleton sat when he came to visit every day. He murmured "i miss you"s and "i miss you not"s as he tugged each petal. No matter the number of petals or at which phrase he started, somehow the last petal fell away with an "i miss you". How appropriate.

This was his routine. Sans would go about his day as normal, and at the end of it all he would come to the gates and plop down in the patch of plants with a "Flower you today, sweetheart?". Sometimes Flowey, no, Asrial would come. Sometimes he wouldn't. Sometimes he just couldn't. But Sans dropped everything at around the same time each day, no matter the circumstance. Asrial joked that Sans could be on his death bed and still go to see her. He would just shake his head a bit, avoiding any and all eye contact, because he was absolutely right.

The sun would set, and Sans would push himself upwards. He tried to think of a new pun for each time he'd leave, but there are only so many flower puns he could come up with. Today he just whispered an "i love you", his hands in his jacket pockets as he walked to the gates that lead to above ground. No human knew of this place, or how to get here, and all the monsters seemed to have forgotten about the underground. There was nothing for them here anymore.

Before stepping out, Sans shut his eyes, creasing his somehow-pliable bone forehead, and was soon incapsulated by a blur of blue. When the veil fell, he was human. It was something he had harnessed on his own time, being able to transform. There were humans who practiced something they called witchcraft on the surface, and Sans took to studying these practices with his brother, Papyrus,  in order to bring themselves a human form. Through months of study and practice, they finally mastered it, and were able to leave home without being gawked at.

Humans Sans was 6' or so, towering over his monster self. He had the brightest of blue eyes that were a product of the visibility of his magic, and jet black unkempt hair of which he had no idea what to do with. He had never had hair before, and never saw the appeal of it, really. It suited him, though, with his crooked smile and smooth voice.

See, Sans had been around the block quite a few times, and had rightfully earned a master's in the degree of Not Giving A Fuck Anymore. Living to see everyone around you replay the same game through the same outcome, and never being able to forget, took a toll on the mind.

Sans stepped up his apartment steps, the hood of his jacket protecting his face from the cold rain. He kicked up the welcome mat and picked up his house key, fiddling with the knob until the door pushed open. Flowey --Asrial-- sat in the same place he usually did, in a little white windowsill in the breakfast nook, and the sun had already set; The yellow flower fell asleep before Sans made it home. Pap must be out, he thought.

Sans' room was a studio of canvases covered in yellow flowers. Some canvases strewn across the room were paintings of the same familiar face, but he never liked how they turned out. He would finish them, and look at them all in disgust. A painting could never capture the beauty of that face, even though he had memorized every etch in it that he possibly could. But the flowers, the flowers that ate at Frisk's form in their last days, they looked almost real.

He did not paint tonight.

For a few weeks after Frisk's death, Sans went through a period of shock. Sometimes he would even call their name out instinctively, just to remember where they were. That part was almost the worst. His brain being in denial.

Then there was the anger. He was so angry, this wasn't fair, and why him? And why the hell can't he just die already? He was so sick of living the same life, he just wanted to forget. Why can't he forget? Papyrus and Asrial didn't get much out of him for a month.

And there was the guilt. His daily visit to Frisk's grave was filled with apologies, with should've could've would've. "I should've stopped Papyrus from killing you, I knew what the flowers meant, I could have saved you if I had just stopped him sooner, I promise I would go back if I could. Sweetheart? Are you listening?" Around this time was when Sans began to practice shifting from skeleton to human, in some form of bargaining. Maybe if he was human he could get Frisk back somehow, he thought.

Finally, there was the depression.

When someone who has never had depression thinks of depression, they think of the word "sad". This is not depression. Depression is the droning on of hurt, so far past the point of normalcy that it becomes numbness. Depression is a black hole. It sucks everything up into a blur of nothing, of empty. Depression is empty. It blurs days and months so that they run together, it consumes all will to live, it drains all purpose.

A day in the life of depressed Sans went a little like this: He would wake up, only to drift in and out of consciousness until it was time to visit Frisk. For this he would stir, and go down to sit with them and watch the sunset like they always did. He had never missed one day since Frisk died, even when his bones ached with the depression.

Though, the next day was different. Sans woke up to the rain pattering against his apartment window. He stared out at the dark sky, his arms behind his head as he sighed. Acceptance. This was acceptance.

Acceptance came with stacking all of his reject canvases into his closet, and scrubbing all of the yellow paint from the hardwood floor of his room. It came with a shower. He washed his hair. He actually looked at his reflection. His forehead creased and his eyebrow raised. A chuckle.

"Not much to look at, eh?"

He ran his fingers through his hair, fingertips sliding down his jawline to graze his stubble. His build was average, except it had a kind of "V" shape at his hips and he had decent arm width. He pulled a shirt over his head and walked into the breakfast nook.

"Heya, Asriel. Y'know I used to be scared of gardening? Then I grew a Pear!-- As'?" He sighed in defeat.

"C'mon, the first pun I make in months and no one is around to hear it? Punbelievable!"

Asriel went out relatively regularly on his own, so Sans didn't think much of it. And Papyrus was always out making puzzles and solving Rubik's cubes. He had nerdy human friends. Loser.

[persnickety-persnackety]

In The Shadows of Dragons

AN: Okay, first, I want to thank everyone in the Jonsa tag who responded so warmly to my original post about posting this fic. I have major anxiety, but this fandom just made me feel so accepted and welcome that it only took me a few more hours to psyche myself up to post this. I just want to express my gratitude before I put this out there. 

Title: in the Shadows of Dragons Word Count: 3K+ Rating: T+ Pairing: Jon/Sansa Summary: Sansa entered in a marriage of convenience with the widower, Jon Targaryen, to leave the grasp of her wretched relatives, but when she comes to the realization that she has fallen in love with Jon whom she realizes will likely never love her in return because of how he felt for his lost wife, she finds that the only option left to her is to escape. An AU of Daphne Du Maurier’s Rebecca.

Run

“We’re not meant for happiness, you and I.”– Daphne Du Maurier, Rebecca 

It was the bright light streaming through her window that pulled Sansa reluctantly out of the clutches of sleep. Her head was rested on her folded arms propped on her vanity table, which had seemingly served as her bed the previous night. A groan slipped from her lips, past the sour taste of sleep that lingered on her tongue, as her body made its protest known toward her choice of sleeping place with sharp aches and stiff muscles in her arms and legs. Her neck, back, and arms were the parts of her that complained the most when she struggled to push herself into an upright sitting position and raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun’s rays. The ache in her eyes remained even when removed from the path of unwavering light, and if that pain wasn’t a startling reminder of what had put her in such a pitiful situation, the reflection that stared despondently back at her in the mirror of her vanity was quick to remedy that brief moment of blissful ignorance.

Sansa stared sullenly at her reflection and solemnly gathered the evidence of the failure that had been the previous night. Half of her crimson-red tresses were still pulled up in the elegant hairstyle she had spent hours attempting to get just right, though one wouldn’t believe it based on the disarray it was currently in. The makeup that she had also spent a great deal of time trying to perfect was in worse shape, the carefully applied lines completely destroyed by the innumerable tears that had fallen down her cheeks for hours before exhaustion won out and she had fallen asleep. The image in the mirror could have been conjured out of nightmares, and yet Sansa couldn’t bear the thought of cleaning it all up because the girl underneath the chaos was probably in even worse shape.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring miserably at herself, contemplating how far she had fallen in a mere matter of hours. It was hard to believe that at this same time yesterday, she had been seated in the same place, preparing for a night she had been counting down the days to for weeks. Her heart had been filled with more hope than she had dared to ever let herself feel in years as she had allowed herself to picture a future that she had thought herself denied for so long. She was so unaware of the fact that those dreams and hopes would be dashed so thoroughly before the night could even truly begin.

When she was finally able to tear her gaze from the mirror, Sansa sent a cursory glance around the room and saw that it was in little better shape than what she saw in her reflection. She avoided looking at the costume dress that she had tirelessly put together over the past few weeks or the shoes that she had ordered special from King’s Landing to go with it. The items were strewn across the floor, and they would remain where she had hastily discarded them until one of the maids came to pick them up. Normally, she would have been scandalized at the thought of leaving her room in such a state for the maids to see, but the part of her that cared for such things was gone, beaten away by her embarrassment and self-pity. She didn’t even seem to care that Doreah would be able to take one look at her rooms and know exactly what happened and would immediately report her findings to her conspirator. It was all a part of a game, after all, and after last night, Sansa had come to realize she had been soundly defeated by her opponents, thoroughly trounced if her current appearance was anything to go by.

The game was one she hadn’t even known existed before she had stepped foot on Dragonstone, and yet she was thrust into it six months ago with no instruction or aid. Her opponents were well-learned in the rules, and they were merciless in the execution of their turns, whereas she had been floundering and clumsy in her poor attempts at playing. It was no surprise that this was the outcome: she having so little of herself left, though most of her opponents would say there was little of her to begin with. Now in her defeat, she was left with only two avenues going forward: she could continue living in this place where she would be painfully reminded of how inadequate she was and how lacking she would always be in comparison to the one that had come before her, or she could slink back to the crooked arms of those who had already diminished her hopes and dreams over the past years with only a prayer that another rare opportunity to escape them would present itself like the one she had received at the hand of the grey-eyed man whom she had foolishly mistaken as her salvation.

There was a time that she would have said that she would rather die than return to her aunt, Lysa, and Petyr Baelish, but that was before she had seen his grey eyes filled with ire as he flung cold, stilted words at her through clenched teeth. A life being tormented and belittled by her family seemed like a paradise when compared to the way she had felt when she had been the sole subject of his fury. Never before had she ever felt so low or humiliated than when she had seen the anger and disappointment etched on his face when he had looked up and watched her coming down the staircase in her costume. His jaw had been clenched and his fists had immediately balled into fists at his side as he had thrown cold, stilted commands to take the costume off. He hadn’t even bothered to explain his reaction before he had turned and walked away from her without so much as a glance back despite her sobs being loud enough for him to hear. Even when she had found out the reason for his disdain and tried to make amends, he had refused to even look at her and had dismissed her with a curt shake of his head while he diverted his attention to a nearby guest, ignoring her presence completely. He had not wanted her near him at all, and so Sansa had had no choice but to slink away to her rooms despite the party just barely beginning.

Of course, the reason for all of his anger would always go back to her, the shadow of his previous wife – the wife he truly loved and didn’t merely pity like he did Sansa. She had worn the very same costume that Sansa had spent weeks putting together for the masquerade, and it was her that he had seen when Sansa had walked down the stairs. It was only the realization that it was Sansa and not her that had infuriated him so amidst his disappointment. The realization had become clear: he would never see her in the same way he saw his dead wife. That ghost would forever have more power over him than Sansa could ever hope to wield.

With a sudden burst of energy derived from an abrupt determination to distance herself from the memories of the previous night, Sansa rose brusquely from the seat of her vanity. She moved so quickly that she upended the stool, sending it crashing loudly to the floor. Not even sparing it a second glance, she left it there, caring little that it would serve as another clue denoting her fall from grace. Her mind was more occupied with what she was going to do from here. She had to use every ounce of what little resolve she had to follow through with her best course of action moving forward, everything else be damned. If she dawdled too long, she was certain her senses would most likely peek through, and she just couldn’t allow her mind to be changed, not from this.

Sansa couldn’t find her old, tattered carpetbag that had held the paltry items of clothing she had used in Lys, so she settled on pulling out one of the new suitcases that had been purchased for her on her honeymoon. Guilt lingered on her conscience for taking it, but she pushed such feelings aside by telling herself that she would send money back to pay for whatever she took. A lot of her original underthings and stockings had been discarded since she had been in Dragonstone, due to their poor state upon her arrival, so she was forced to pack a few of the new stockings and slips that had been purchased for her, which she added to the tally that she would pay for later. Managing to find some of her old frocks and dresses, she felt an immense sense of relief that she wouldn’t need to take any of the new dresses and rich clothing, newly purchased, in the wardrobe. What few items she was taking were placed in the suitcase along with her original three pairs of shoes and a set of gold flower combs. The latter wasn’t something she had come with, but even in her sullen misery, she couldn’t bear to leave it behind. They had been a gift from him on their honeymoon after all, and if she was going to leave with nothing else from this place, she would keep the set as a reminder that this particular time in her life hadn’t been just one long, strange dream.

Slipping into one of her old frocks and donning her old, weather-worn coat, Sansa quickly brushed out the curls and tangles from her hair and braided her long red tresses into a loose braid over her shoulder. She washed off all of the traces of makeup in her attached washroom – more than a little elbow grease needed to wipe off the dark streaks around her eyes – and reluctantly took in the reflection after. Her skin was pallid, veering dangerously toward gaunt, with her eyes, cheeks, and her nose was flushed red from the washcloth and the fresh tears she had shed while packing. Her assumption that she would look a fright underneath the makeup was affirmed, but she had little time to dwell on such trivial thoughts, especially when escape was the most important thing to consider. If she was going to slip away unnoticed, it had to be now.

Though there were a few maids up this early in the morning, Sansa knew she could avoid them fairly easily with their attention undoubtedly focused on cleaning up the dining hall and the ballroom where the party took place. Even though her night had been ruined before the grand gathering had even begun, it had still gone on without her, and she could only assume that the majority of the house staff would be focusing their attention on cleaning up the remnants of the festivities. So, on feet that were surprisingly quiet against the dark marble floor, she slipped cautiously from one shadow to the next down the hall of the family wing of the manor until she was finally able to reach the staircase that would take her down to the main entrance where she would finally be able to slip away.

Sansa’s steps felt a little lighter with every step she descended with no on in the house noticing her, but at the same time, her heart grew heavier and heavier the closer she drew to the door. As much as she tried to tell herself that she was making the right choice in escaping, that the alternative of staying was just too unbearable, a part of her knew that even when she made her escape, she would be leaving far more than her lavish clothes and jewelry behind. She was leaving a large piece of herself in the hands of the very same person who had crushed her spirits into dust.

Even in her sorrow, she couldn’t truly blame him for how she felt because he had never promised her anything more than what he had provided, which was still more than she ever thought she deserved. He had offered her a life free of her cruel aunt’s influence and her lecherous uncle’s unwanted touches, nothing more. It was her fanciful mind and inclination for fairytale endings that had overwhelmed her logic and her caution, leading her to fall in love with the mysterious Lord Targaryen with the hope of him learning to love her in return. Lysa had always said she was a selfish girl who was never satisfied with what she was given, and in this instance, Sansa hated to admit that her aunt was right. She should have just been happy to go along with the flow and accept the situation for what it was, but her heart had defied her. Now, it was shattered with only the promise of the lesser of two unbearable pains to look forward to in her near future.

When Sansa reached the large, ornate front door that opened to the stairs that would take her down to the beach, her hands were trembling, almost to the point that she nearly missed the handle completely. She took a brief moment to calm her nerves before she pulled on the large brass handle to open it to freedom. She never realized how loud the giant thing was when she had used it countless times in the past to come in and out of the manor, but when it gave a loud groan as she pulled it open, Sansa froze with her breath caught in her lungs and her fingers squeezing the handle to the point of pain. She stared behind her with wide eyes, expecting someone to come out and demand to know what she was doing, sneaking out with a suitcase full of her meager belongings, but after a tense minute of waiting with no one showing up to berate or question her, she finally forced herself to make her feet continue moving forward out the door. As soon as she felt the sun shining on her once again with the door closed behind her, she released the pent-up breath that had been built up in her lungs. She tried to make herself believe that the warmth on her skin was a good omen of things to come, that she was making the right decision, but her heart still throbbed painfully inside her chest.

If Sansa’s descent down the stairs of the manor had felt like an eternity, her descent down the giant stone steps of the manor leading to the beach felt more like a single blink of an eye, which given the enormity of the construction was a great feat to achieve. The speed was mostly attributed to the fact that her feet were working on autopilot. She had felt the first stirrings of doubt as soon as she had closed the large front door behind her, and so for her own self-preservation, she had forced her mind into a sort of limbo where her body functioned more on instinct rather than careful reaction. Where caution would have had her pausing at the older parts of the stairway that were crumbling from age, desperation had her careening over those steps with a previously unknown confidence that had luckily resulted in her feet still managing to reach the sand of the beach instead of her body being scattered over the rocks on the side of the cliffs. Such an achievement, however, was mostly lost on Sansa, who was now standing just outside the large gate, staring up at the monstrous stone manor that had served as her home for the past handful of months.

Dragonstone. The name had sounded dreary to her ears long before she had ever set eyes on the gargantuan stone castle, and when she had first laid eyes on it six months ago, she had found its name to be quite fitting. From a distance, one could imagine the giant mass of dark stone on the cliffs was a giant dragon perched, ready to spring. Up close, it was even more sinister and foreboding, though it also held its fair amount of beauty with its expert construction and detailing. Staring up at it, however, Sansa could not help but think that the dragon from afar was still there, glaring down at her as it would an intruder or even its prey.

Dragonstone was said to have housed dragons once upon a time, and had served as the home to the Targaryens throughout their occupation, who continued to claim themselves to be dragons, though the most current resident could not be counted amongst that number. He was never proud to claim that particular part of his lineage, but that blood still coursed through his veins. He could still be considered a dragon, and so he was never haunted by them like she was. Dragonstone housed the shadows of the dragons, after all, and of all those that came before, it was just one in particular whose presence had been far more prominent than the others, and it was that presence that had haunted Sansa’s steps from the moment she stepped foot in the stone halls.

“So long, you fiendish apparition,” Sansa muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowed at the manor that towered over her, silent in its foreboding reign over the horizon. Every dark brick seemed to be laughing at her in her craven retreat, but she pushed herself to tilt her chin up, holding it high as she glared back.  “You’re not going to be a witness to any more of my suffering.”

Gripping the handle of her suitcase even tighter in her hand, Sansa slowly tore her eyes from the manor and finally turned to start making her way down the path that would lead to the docks where she would be able to catch the ferry to the mainland. She had taken her wallet that had enough cash for her fare on the ferry and enough to buy a room in a decent hotel while she decided how to go on from there. That money would be added to the growing amount she would send back once she had the means. She didn’t know when that would be, especially given the situation she would be thrust into when she returned to her family, but she was determined to not be forever indebted to Dragonstone and have that be another score it held against her.

She turned her thoughts to focus more on her more immediate future like what she planned to do when she reached King’s Landing. She would have to find a way to get ahold of her family, though she suspected that they would be less than thrilled to hear from her, especially with how they parted ways months before. Reaching out to Uncle Edmure seemed like her best bet, considering he had been the only one whom she had parted with on good terms. He would most likely welcome her for a time, but no matter how things played out with him, Sansa could see no future where she would be able to evade Aunt Lysa and Petyr’s grips for good. They would find a way to get their hands back on her eventually, and the mere thought of their smug expressions made her stomach feel like lead.

Her mind was so occupied with how she was going to weather the storm of retribution that her aunt was inevitably going to bring down upon her head that Sansa failed to notice that someone was approaching her on the path, coming from the direction of the docks. She was staring at her feet, silently willing them to keep propelling her forward, when she finally noticed another pair of feet standing motionless in the middle of the path, blocking her way. It was the first person she had come across since her morning had begun, and Sansa hoped it would be the last she would face, at least until she was safely on the ferry to King’s Landing.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled quietly, her head still bowed, as she stepped off the path to make her way around the owner of the shoes standing in front of her. They made no move to give her way, even as she was practically on top of them at this point. Sansa kept her head down, knowing that most people on the island knew her, and she wished to avoid facing anyone or see their questioning gazes. She quickened her steps to bypass her current obstacle to freedom, but a gasp of surprise slipped from her mouth when the person suddenly moved with her, placing themselves firmly back in her path.

“I beg your pardon,” she spoke a bit louder and clearer, addressing her rude obstacle coolly, unable to hide her annoyance. The smell of the salt was strong, letting her know she was so close to the sea and her eventual escape from this place. Not even a boorish, rude figure could stand in her way when she was so close to her freedom.

“I would like to leave, and you’re standing in my way,” she added more forcefully, once again trying to move to the opposite side, but the person once again moved to place themselves in her path once more.

“I can see that, Sansa.”

That oh so familiar voice, so low and husky, froze Sansa in place, her legs suddenly becoming petrified as she lifted her head quickly to look up into the face of the absolute last person she had wanted to run into. Grey eyes that had become fixtures in both her fantasies and her nightmares stared directly back into her own, and she could feel the judgment rolling off of them in waves, making her wish the sand would just swallow her whole. Even if she had not already blatantly stated her intentions, she understood that he was all too aware of what she was doing by the way his eyes flicked down to her suitcase clutched at her side. She was caught, her quiet escape now turning into a war of wills, though Sansa silently prayed hers, though lacking, would overcome.

“Jon,” she mumbled quietly, her voice sounding frail to her ears. Still, in that single word, she filled her tone with a desperate plea for him to just step aside and let her go. It was, after all, for his benefit as much as it was for hers.

A cold, thin smile spread across Jon’s lips as he gazed at her challengingly, seeming to understand exactly what this moment was. A single twitch of the lips was all she needed to see to know that he had no intention of making her escape easy.

“Sansa, my dear wife. Were you planning on going somewhere?”

Sansa closed her eyes and bowed her head. She had been so close.

 Part 2

[multi-fandom-writer]

the boy with the colors - h.o.

part 5

Masterlist

taglist: open, just send me an ask!! word count: ~2.9k warnings: mentions of medical stuff, lots of angst, maybe some fluff at the end

After Harrison left, you settled on doing the household chores that you’d been putting off for so long. Ten exhausting hours later and you had finished almost everything on your list: clean the kitchen, pick up the living room, wash your sheets and your clothes. The only thing left to do was to fold your laundry before you could check in for the night and fall asleep in your nice clean sheets.

You were folding your laundry when you noticed your usually bright yellow sundress had faded to be a duller yellow. Your instinct was to call Harrison right away to make sure he was okay. You knew what happened when someone’s soulmate died; the colors started fading. While your gut tugged at you to call him, you knew it was late and he was with Tom. It was more than likely that Harrison was going to be fine. You were still on edge when you pulled one of his shirts out of his laundry basket. You could have sworn that the flowers were supposed to be light pink instead of light grey but your memory could be playing tricks on you. 

As you pulled your phone out of your sweats pocket, Tom’s picture popped up on your screen. “Tom, is everything okay?” you answered your phone. You had a horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach and your nerves were on edge. You could feel your palms getting sweaty and your was heart beating out of your chest. You were hoping he would tell you that Harrison would just be staying with him tonight. Or maybe they needed a ride. Unfortunately, part of you knew that neither of those would happen. 

“There’s been an accident,” Tom breathed out heavily. With those four simple words, you could feel your heart shattering. Your legs gave out on you as you crumpled to the floor. Your phone fell to the floor near you, Tom’s voice still echoing through it. The hot tears were running down your cheeks as you brought your phone back to your ear. “We’re at the hospital and he’s in surgery right now.” Tom’s words went in one ear and out the other. Accident, hospital, surgery. “Y/n. Y/n, I need you to listen to me. He isn’t doing to good. You need to get here as soon as you can.” You knew Harrison wasn’t doing well. Your world was teetering between the dull blacks and whites you were used to and the vibrant colors that you were new to.

The next few minutes were a blur. You got to the hospital but you don’t remember how you got there. You could feel your heart beating in your head still. When you walked into the hospital, time slowed down. You weren’t supposed to be here. This isn’t a place for you. Harrison shouldn’t be here either; he should be at home with you, cuddling on the couch. His arm should be wrapped tightly around you as you two were watching a movie or playing a board game with Tom and maybe his brothers too. You should be talking about your future kids, not worrying about if you were going to have any at all. You two should be watching dinosaur movies that looked so much more realistic in color. 

Even though it was late at night, the hospital was bursting with life. You noticed the small details of everything. One of the nurses was scurrying with five different charts in her arms; she must have been having a long night, too. Another nurse was talking with a family, who looked too hopeful for good news. You hoped against everything you knew that they would be getting the good outcome that they looked like they needed so badly.

It felt like an hour before a nurse walked over to you. She was obviously exhausted as her light strawberry hair was pulled into a messy bun. The dark bags under her eyes stood out against her pale skin. Her voice was gentle as she started, “are you Y/n?” Knowing your voice wasn’t going to work for you, you didn’t even try talking and instead just nodded. “I’m Talia, and I’m one of the nurses working on Harrison. Let me show you to where Tom is, he’s been waiting for you,” she said as she started leading you to where Tom was. 

The way Tom looked was worse than you expected, and it made you that much more nervous. It was obvious that he had been crying; his eyes were puffy and red and his leg was shaking. What worried you most was the fact that his hair was darker than it usually was and his shirt was no longer colorful. Your soulmate was dying. You knew this, but you couldn’t accept it.

He couldn’t be though. You just met him and you just started getting to know him. You couldn’t lose him yet; you couldn’t let him go. You still had to laugh with him and cry with him. You hadn’t fallen asleep next to him enough, yet. He was your dear and you were his peach. You loved him. You really truly loved him. The tears running down your cheeks were full of fear that you would never get to be held by him again. He might never get to make you feel safe ever again. As you sat next to Tom, your mind drifted back to that first night. You wanted more than anything for him to throw popcorn at you again. Hoping that you would get to experience life with him, you let more tears escape from your eyes. Harrison was the boy that made your world alive with color.

Tom’s voice broke the cold silence between you two, “he got this made for you, he was really proud of it.” His voice was empty as he held out a necklace with a pendant shaped like a peach, that was thankfully still in color. Looking at it closer, you noticed it said ‘I love you, my peach’ in messy handwriting that you could only assume belonged to Harrison. You took the necklace from Tom and put in on. It was oddly comforting to you, but it wasn’t the same as having his strong arms holding you tightly against him. 

After what felt like an eternity, even though it was realistically an hour or two at most, Talia came back into the room with a small smile adorning her pale face. In your tired and anxious state, you noticed she was the simple and natural kind of beautiful, but her hair was now light grey instead of strawberry blonde. “They’re finishing up surgery now and we’ll bring him in here when they’re done. He’s stable for now, so we can take a deep breath and relax a little. Do you have any questions for me?”

You and Tom both shook your heads and she left without another word. You weren’t about to ask her why the colors were fading if Harrison was supposedly stable. You didn’t want to think about a world without color - a world without Harrison. A few minutes passed before a team of nurses wheeled Harrison in on a bed. You thought your heart couldn’t break anymore that night, but you were wrong. He still had a tube down his throat and he had bruises covering most of his usually tan skin. He barely resembled the man that you had fallen in love with. What hurt you to see the most was the scar you could see in the middle of his chest. Most of it was thankfully covered by the blankets, but you could still see a sliver of it.

You and Tom slowly moved to sit in the chairs on opposite sides of him. Delicately taking Harrison’s hand in yours, you placed a soft kiss on the back of his hand. The dark bruises contrasted against his pale body. Leaning closer to him, you pressed a kiss to his temple and whispered, “I am so in love with you, Harrison James. And I need you here. I need you to fight the good fight for me, for us. You aren’t allowed to give up because I love you and I need you to love me, too.” As you leaned back in the less than comfortable chair, sleep overtook you. It wasn’t a peaceful sleep, though. You woke up every few minutes, before finally settling into a deeper sleep. 

You were only asleep for what felt like a minute when you were woken by the sound of a flatline. You were awake and moving before you even knew it. A horde of nurses and doctors were running into the room almost directly after you dashed out. Tom was already in the hallway, watching with a vacant expression. The dull blues of the hospitals simultaneously faded together into a mix of greys as you watched a doctor try to give him CPR. An ear piercing screech ripped through your body as you felt everything inside of you shatter. You were trying to run to his side but a pair of strong arms was stopping you. They weren’t strong like Harrison’s, though. They were forceful, not protective. You were trying to pry the hands off of your waist, but they were stuck where they were; you accepted that you weren’t going anywhere and your body fell slump against the person holding you back.

“Y/n, you need to breath. We’re going to be okay, even if he isn’t.” For the second time that night, Tom’s words went in one ear and out the other. Sobs wracked through your body as he pulled you into his chest, letting you fully fall apart in his arms. It only took a few seconds for your exhaustion to take over and pull you back into sleep. 

By the way the sunlight was just starting to shine in your eyes, you guessed it was early morning. There was still a steady beeping in the background and Harrison’s messy blonde hair was just that - blonde. Taking a few moments to register, you realized that you still held the beautiful gift that Harrison had given you. Which meant that Harrison was still alive. You sat up from the chair and slowly looked around the room. Harrison was still unconscious, but Tom was awake and scrolling through his phone.

As he looked over to you, he held out an iced caramel latte. “I didn’t think you cared about him that much,” his voice was soft and judgement free. After your mental breakdown last night, it became apparent to Tom how much Harrison really meant to you. Looking back at it now, you wished you would’ve told him you loved him earlier that day, when he could definitely hear you and maybe he could even say it back. And now, he may never know.

Nevertheless you did love him. You loved his ocean blue eyes and his soft blonde hair. You loved his beautiful laugh and his delicate voice. You loved wasting time with him, whether that was going on walks or watching movies together. You loved thinking about your future with him. You wanted three kids with him and you wanted to watch him teach your son football and have tea parties with your daughters. You wanted to give him everything he deserved in life and more. But you couldn’t explain that to Tom. While you were busy getting lost in pain and suffering, Tom was holding himself together. You weren’t the only person that was at risk of losing somebody important to them, somebody they loved. “Tom, I’m sorry for falling apart-”

“You don’t need to apologize. After you went to sleep, I broke down, too. I just know how to act like everything is okay, at least for a little bit. . .” his words trailed off toward the end. Tom knew how to lose someone who could change his entire life, it had happened to him before. The look in his eye told you that he was hopeful. It also asked you the one question he wouldn’t dare to ask out loud. If you could still see in color, that meant Harrison was still alive. You could keep yourself in check with how he was, but no matter how much Tom cared about and loved his best friend, he didn’t have that kind of link to him. Knowing you couldn’t deny Tom of simply knowing Harrison was okay, you gave him a small nod. He seemed to understand as he nodded in return. 

“I don’t want to take him away from you. I really don’t,” you said softly, looking from Tom to Harrison. You could only hold your gaze for a few seconds before the tube in his throat forced you to look away. Even though you knew he was alive, it hurt to think about how a machine was still breathing for him. He wasn’t out of the woods yet.

“It’s okay, actually. By some twisted fate, I think I found the girl that’s my soulmate,” Tom should have sounded happy when he said that, but instead, he had tears threatening to roll down his cheeks yet again. “I wanted Haz to be the first person I told, honestly. But, I’m okay with you knowing,” Tom finished as he looked up at you, letting a single tear escape and roll down his already stained cheek.

The radiant smile on your face seemed to lighten his mood a little. “It’s the nurse, isn’t it?” you asked in a hushed tone. With a cheeky smile and a slight nod of his head, Tom confirmed your suspicion.  “You should go talk to her,” you continued, “I can keep an eye on Harrison.”

After a pinky promise to let him know if anything happened with Harrison, Tom left to go find the nurse, whom he hoped and prayed was his soulmate. You knew Tom wasn’t the kind of person to leave his best friend’s side, but he needed to get away for just a few minutes and you couldn’t blame him. Once Tom was gone, you settled on scrolling through Instagram while drinking your coffee. Your walk with Harrison the day before was all over social media, as was the accident that landed you in the present situation. Before long, you heard a small choking. Looking over to Harrison, you noticed his eyes were wide open as he was coughing on the tube. You were pushed to the side as a couple of nurses rushed into the room to help him, Talia being the last to arrive. 

Talia must have noticed the worried look on your face. “Choking is a good thing. It means he’s trying to breath on his own,” she spoke as she and the other nurses started working to get the tube out of his throat. You couldn’t bring yourself to watch, but after another loud choking sound and a few scratchy breaths, you assumed it was safe to look.

Harrison was still drowsy, but he was awake. As the nurses cleared out of the room, his sleepy eyes landed on you and the laziest smile spread across his face. It looked out of place when you looked down to see the bruises still blossoming on his chest and surrounding the terrifying stitches. He carefully reached his hand out for you. You took his hand in one of yours and a glass of water with a straw in another. Holding the cup for him, he started drinking the cold water. His voice was raspy and just above a whisper, “I love you too, peach.”

Your heart swelled at the five simple words; happiness bubbled over in your stomach as you smiled. There was still a long way to go with Harrison’s recovery, but he was safe and alive and he loved you, too. “Go back to sleep, you need to rest, my dear,” you whispered, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. 

He shook his head barely and whispered, “Tom?” Even though Harrison had every right to just be worried about himself, he was still thinking about Tom. 

“I’m right here mate,” Tom’s voice echoed from the doorway, “and I agree with Y/n. Get some more sleep, I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Harrison gave you an irresistible pair of puppy dog eyes as he patted the bed next to him. “Let me hold you, peach?” He accompanied the request with a smile he knew you couldn’t say no to. If you were being honest, the puppy dog eyes weren’t necessary. Every part of you ached to lay next to him again.

With a sigh, you carefully crawled into the bed next to him. His head rested against your chest and his arms wrapped around your waist as his eyes fluttered shut. One of your hands went to draw little patterns on his back and the other went to peacefully play with his hair. It barely took a minute before the love of your life was safely asleep on your chest. Tom flashed you a small smile before leaving the doorway, you assumed to go find the nurse that was his soulmate. Everything was okay for now, and that was all you could ask for.

tagging: @mrs-hollandstan @stuckonspidey @thollandss @yo-sugg

[victoodles]

Fleur Sauvage

yeehaws but softly. back again, read it on AO3 and i hope you enjoy

Arthur is uncomfortable.

The sleeves of his stupid tuxedo are too tight and the cotton of his stupid bowtie is too itchy against his neck. But mostly, it’s because he’s surrounded on all sides by pompous displays of how the other half live.

Arthur has been encircled by wolves before, ravenous beasts of varying shapes and sizes. Unfortunately this time around he can’t shoot his way through the pack. If he had a say in the matter, he would take fangs and claws over coiffed hair and expensive suits any day of the week.

But he doesn’t. He rarely does, so here he stays.

The air is heavy with cigar smoke and foreign chatter. Arthur always presumed other languages would have an essence of beauty to them. Though as he overhears these gentlemen prattle on, cackling at their own self-proclaimed witticisms, he finds it to be extremely grating. Dutch insists though, as he is prone to do, that they continue to meet with the true master of Saint Denis.

Angelo Bronte.

A man with all the charm of a cottonmouth snake and twice as deadly. Every word that falls from his mouth is dripping with so much venom, Arthur is surprised listening to him hasn’t been fatal. Among those words is the promise of money; a key to freedom from the shackles of a modern word.

Now Arthur is the one to insist that Dutch reconsider his faith in this “parasite", as Arthur so fondly described. Dutch disregards it, telling him that home is just “one more score” out of reach. Arthur thinks that these grandiose fantasies are going to get them in over their heads more so then they already are. Hosea shares the sentiment but their unconditional loyalty has them tethered to this plan for the time being.

Angelo cackles from his perch on the manor’s balcony. He finds himself (both literally and figuratively) above the party-goers and that seems to fill him with malicious glee. They are merely bugs under his expensive shoes, and he’ll go well out of his way to stomp on them.

He sorts through the crowd one by one, expressing his contempt and expansive knowledge of Saint Denis’ denizens. Each one has a filthy secret that Angelo pours forth like fine wine. A jeer follows every name until his gaze falls upon a certain young lady, arm secured around Hosea’s.

“And who is this? I’ve never seen her before,” Angelo turns to his men with a smirk, “I’d certainly remember one so pretty.” Arthur tracks Angelo’s leering gaze to you, and his ire is sparked like flint. Taking a step forward to act, he aims to silence this lecherous cretin permanently.

Unfortunately, he is promptly stopped by Dutch’s hand, a silent plea to contain himself. It’s a small one and Dutch hopes Angelo doesn’t notice, they’re already on thin enough ice. Thankfully, he doesn’t.  

“Is she one of yours?” It’s posed as a question but Dutch knows he expects an answer - the right answer.

“Yes,” he answers immediately, “she’s like a daughter to me.” Dutch is careful not to give out too much information but still emphasizes you are no part of their meeting. “Just wanted to show her a good time away from the debauchery of our lifestyle. We think she deserved it, didn’t we Arthur?”

Every muscle in Arthur’s body is wound tight, ready to fight if you’re put in Angelo’s crosshairs. He clenches his jaw and manages to grit out an affirmation.

Another smirk spreads across Angelo’s lips. “Is that right?” He says something in Italian to his men, most likely a derogatory comment, before turning his attention back to the outlaws.

“It’s quite a crime to keep a flower like that out of reach. Such a beauty should,” he pauses to take another drag of his cigar, licking his lips lasciviously afterwords, “be enjoyed by all.”

Angelo seems to revel in the heat of Arthur’s rage; he’s garnered what you mean to him by reactions alone. Arthur’s trigger finger is suddenly restless; he wishes he had the sense to conceal a weapon. Dutch speaks again before Arthur sets this whole party ablaze.  

“We shall keep that in mind, Signore Bronte. Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Dutch begins to lead Arthur back inside.

“Yes, yes go! Enjoy, my friends!” He says with a dismissive wave before he returns to his own festivities. Angelo wears a mask of gracious host but Arthur can see the cracks in it, revealing the true monster underneath.

That doesn’t matter right now though. Arthur needs to get back to you.

As the two of them head back downstairs (Arthur a little more briskly in contrast) Arthur starts up with Dutch. “I told you bringing her along was a bad idea,” he growls. It’s clear Dutch doesn’t have the patience to placate Arthur right now.

“And I told you that we needed her! She still can speak their pretentious language. Discover leads that we couldn’t with our “barbaric” intellects.” Dutch says sardonically, paired with a roll of his eyes.

“Dutch,” Arthur warns but is once again interrupted.

“I will keep her safe, son. As I have done for all of us.” Dutch smiles fondly then. “You’ve got yourself quite a woman there, a true sheep in wolf’s clothing. I gather she won’t need much assistance from either of us.”

Arthur is momentarily rendered speechless. It was true, you were beyond capable of fending for yourself. But he still did not want to take any chances.

A man who held the world in the palm of his hand? What could someone with that type of power do to a woman closely associated with a (potential) enemy gang?

Arthur didn’t think himself overly imaginative but he could picture possible outcomes vividly. Too vividly.

One of many servants opened the main doors before those thoughts could evolve into more grotesque nightmares. Arthur is cruelly reminded of the events transpiring just beyond. However his racing mind is thankful for the distraction. He finds on the other side a dapper Hosea and Bill, looking even more miserable than himself.

But no you.

Arthur opens his mouth to inquire and Hosea has the answer before he can ask. It seems everyone’s in the habit of cutting Arthur off tonight.

Hosea tilts his head towards the courtyard. “Down there. She’s getting a head start on the mingling,” he informs his frantic son. Arthur’s feet carry him so fast he barely catches Dutch’s request to stay out of trouble. Wishful thinking but he’ll try his best regardless.

To Arthur, you stand out amongst the throng of people, clear as day. Your pink dress (you tell him it’s peach) compliments you completely. From the way it hugs your waist to the roses embroidered along the skirts. How fitting of a design, a wild rose with her own kind.  

An array of golden hair pins - courtesy of Miss Grimshaw’s heydey - keep your complicated braid in place. They shine like stars in the lamplight, twinkling faintly with every turn of your head. Your decolletage is bare of any jewelry, save for some cream colored lace along the sleeves of your gown. Arthur is oddly more distracted, eyeing the exposed skin hungrily.

Your beauty doesn’t hold a candle to any of the satin clad or feathered fan socialites. You are elegance personified and he aims to immortalize that within the confines of his journal later.  

Arthur makes his way forward, drawn to you as he often finds is the case. Obstacles in the form of other guests stand in his way and he wades through them. He doesn’t mean to push and shove; he is quite colossal when next to these dainty women. An apology comes in the form of a flute of champagne as to not stir up any more trouble before he presses onward.

Your company is being enjoyed by the mayor himself and his entourage. The gentlemen are enraptured by whatever it is you’re regaling them with. Hanging onto every pretty word and starring at you like you hung the moon. Arthur finds himself in the same position more often than not.

Laughter, airy and delicate, tugs at Arthur’s heart as he approaches. It envelops him; it’s a warmth he still isn’t accustomed to, especially in his line of work. But you coax him into it, and he learns his hands are still capable of gentleness.

You notice Arthur, a grin playing on your lips, and you stop mid-sentence to acknowledge him.  

“Oh Tacitus, my darling,” You coo, waltzing up and wrapping your arms snugly around Arthur’s neck. He fights to contain his guffaw at your act: the high society primadonna. It’s your favorite role to play whenever Hosea needs you for a swindle. And you play it exceptionally well.

A kiss is placed on his cheek, tantalizingly close to the corner of his lips. It’s a promise of more to come.

The mayor and his colleagues chuckle at this impromptu display of affection. “It seems your new bride is quite taken with you. What a shame for us, eh gentlemen?” The mayor asks, feigning disappointment which earns him a wave of laughter. You titter yourself, finding a new place around Arthur’s arm this time.

Arthur looks at you bemused, but humored. You take that as your cue to subtly fill him in on your little game. You smile affectionately at Arthur before turning attention back to the mayor. “I’m terribly sorry my good men, but my heart utterly belongs to my Tacitus,” you keen, dramatically casting a hand over your chest. If he wasn’t an actor in this play, Arthur would quite enjoy watching the performance.

"Mon coeur, it is broken!” The mayor jests and you playfully swat at his hand.

“Ne sois pas bête!” You tease back.

This French tit for tat goes right over Arthur’s head but he does understand something. Dutch was absolutely right in bringing you along. Not even an hour later and you already have a major city official wrapped around your finger. Color Arthur impressed (and slightly jealous). But then he remembers he is your “husband” after all, and the petty emotions are assuaged.

“And,” the mayor finally turns his focus to Arthur, “whose pleasure is it to have this delight of a woman for a wife?” Arthur sheds his skin of an outlaw and adapts, following your lead.

“Good evening,” he says smoothly, extending a hand out. “Tacitus Gilgore.” The mayor seems pleased at the gesture and eagerly shakes Arthur’s hand. You’re beaming at Arthur’s side at the interaction.

“Well it certainly is a pleasure Mister Gilgore. Henri Lemieux, mayor of this fine city.” There’s a hint of disgust in his words; Arthur doesn’t blame him. Henri gestures to his surrounding accompaniment and begins to introduce them. Arthur tunes it out - they don’t matter. Finding the mayor was his goal, not these buffoons.

Though his attention does perk up at the mention of a familiar name. “And this is Monsieur Evelyn Miller.”

“Like the writer?” Arthur inquires, earning another giggle from you.

“Yes darling,” you chirp enthusiastically. “He wrote all those books your father positively adored.” Your conversation takes a turn. “Tacitus is the sole inheritor of his father’s oil company,” you inform with a coy smile. A few of the men raise their eyebrows, impressed. The mayor included.

“Ah an oil proprietor?” Henri inquires. “Well, congratulations are in order. A beautiful wife and a flourishing business? You sir, are a very lucky man.” He reaches out and takes Arthur’s hand firmly in his.

“I look forward to speaking more with you, Monsieur Gilgore. But for now,” he relinquishes his hold on Arthur, “why don’t you and your young bride enjoy yourselves?”

Arthur places his now free hand on the small of your back. The satin feels soft under his calloused palms but he yearns more for skin to skin contact. Time and place, unfortunately.

“I think we will. Thank you for your hospitality, good sir.” Arthur takes his leave with a tip of his head before he escorts you away from the crowds. He thinks he deserves some semblance of peace for now. While the excess of unwanted company isn’t ideal, as long as you’re there he feels calm.

An impressive gazebo at the apex of the courtyard is devoid of any guests. It seems the majority of them strive to be in the limelight of this affair for reasons Arthur can’t seem to care about. Regardless, he is grateful for the temporary isolation as he leads you there.

The crowd begins to progressively wane much to Arthur's delight. A few still linger and you placate them with your arsenal of bonjour's and merci's. Once again Arthur finds himself grateful for you. He's reached his "mingling" threshold for the night a long time ago. Your's on the other hand seems to have just begun as you keen and wave to every passing sir and madam. It's rather amusing and Arthur chuckles lightly.

"Another minute there and I think he woulda' handed you the key to the city," Arthur teases. It's a rare occurrence for his bark have no bite, just playful nips You welcome it eagerly.

"That would've been ideal. I could have given it to Dutch so he can sell all of Saint Denis for a few mangoes." You respond back coolly. Arthur snorts.

"Seems like a fair trade."

You nudge him for his cheekiness. "Mind your tongue, Gilgore," you jab. He concedes to your wishes (as always).

"My apologies to my lady." Arthur's inner gentleman (the one he vehemently refuses is there) is showing. You want to say something, acknowledge the sides he wants to reveal. 

But now isn't the place for him to sink into that place of vulnerability. The predators here are too hungry. So you continue on as if it were a game still, keeping things lighthearted.

Placing a finger to your chin, you pretend to mull his words over. "I suppose," you begin, twirling out of his arms and swiftly dashing up the gazebo's steps. "I can forgive you," you spin around a column, "if you come sit with me for a moment?" You plop down on one of the many benches facing the river, tapping the empty space next to you. 

Arthur finds your impishness endearing, but now isn't the time. There's work to be done, people to mislead, men to k-

You can practically hear the discordance in his head. "Just for a moment," you plead, hoping it will alleviate some of his tension. It does, and he wordlessly complies as he sits down with you.

While Arthur doesn't claim to be an expert on the finer things in life, he is awestruck at the view. The gazebo seems to be on its own wooden isle in the middle of the water, surrounded on all sides by flowers. Gentle waves lap at the platform and it creates a steady, lulling rhythm. Petals drift lazily along the river, continually cascading down from the gentle push of an evening breeze.

The swamp he detests is transformed into an ethereal landscape as the lanterns’ reflections sparkle on the water’s surface. It appears that the rich can even buy the better parts of nature as well. Who would’ve thought.

The two of you are settled in comfortable silence, admiring the picturesque scenery as the party’s twittering becomes mere background noise.

Arthur speaks first. “So,” he begins bashfully. In this suit, he looks as awkward as he feels. A familiar hand on his knee, while slightly flirtatious, is a kind reminder he can be himself. It’s a freedom he still has trouble getting accustomed to at times. He lets his shoulders relax, “You think yer folks are around ‘ere somewhere?” It’s a question made in jest and you answer with a dry laugh.

“My parents wish they could be invited to a mayoral affair,” you say with a scoff. “Would’ve tried to sell me off twice as young if it meant they could eat the leftovers.” Though you try to hide it, Arthur picks up on hurt in your voice.

You hear it too, and you turn your head away from him for a moment. On instinct, you look out to the shoreline and see the manor you once called home. It's the same despite the ten years that have gone by: imposing and grand. You wonder if mother and father are awake, scornfully starring over at what they have continually failed to achieve. A jovial party serving as a painful reminder. The irony makes you feel a little bit better.

Walking up to that house every day for sixteen years had instilled fear into your core. Now, it was just an ugly scar across Saint Denis. The pain wasn't permanent, but you would always remember it. You're regarding the house apathetically, not being able to bring yourself away.

Arthur notices and begins to worry. “Hey,” Arthur begins gently, tracing circles over your knuckles. His voice summons you back and you look at him expectantly, gaze tender. You render him speechless; he’s ensnared and the simple control you exude over him has his nerves singing.

Arthur manages to compose himself and finds a way to bring your smile back. “What will people think if they see my beautiful wife so upset?” Again you laugh, this time sincerely. He finds himself smiling back, "They'll say I'm a beast of a man."

Tears threaten to spill from his sincerity. You try to shoo them away. “Oh lovely Tacitus,” your accent is back full swing. “You are just the kindest husband. How in this cruel world did I find myself so blessed?” While the titles are just pretend, he’s finding himself addicted to their honied sweetness. He wants more and your lips have the power to temporarily quell his want.

Leaning closer, falling further in love.

His lips are a whisper away, practically feeling the heat of your blush radiating off you. There’s a crowd of people just beyond a few white pillars but he doubts anyone is paying them any mind. And if they do, well, Dutch didn’t specify his distaste for getting into an upper class brawl.    

“I ask myself that question every day,” Arthur says reverently, a hand coming up to rest on your cheek. Your eyes flutter shut as his places his lips against your own with a gentleness reserved for you. This is a song and dance he is pleasantly more accustomed to, moving against you effortlessly. Each pass of his lips draws a sigh from you satisfied than the last.

Inhibition rears its ugly head again once Arthur thinks he actually has the luxury to enjoy himself. He pulls back slightly, much to your dismay but you don’t pursue. Like a deer, you don’t want to startle him. Instead you wait, a patience that Arthur is grateful you provide.

Arthur almost forgot why they’re here, and loyalty has always come before his happiness. “I gotta,” he mumbles. “Gotta do something for Dutch. I-” his words fall short when you silence him with another kiss. It appears chaste, but there's a fire behind it that’s nipping at his lips as the tip of your tongue traces over them.

Your poor cowboy would deny himself everything, so long as Dutch said the word. So you took some of the weight off his already bad shoulders for him.

Arthur’s eyes go comically wide as you withdraw from him, hand sliding down between your breasts. Realization (and relief) sweeps over him when it returns with a small envelope in tow, labeled "Classified".  

“What? How did you-”

“I wasn’t just talking to those old men for the caliber of their conversation,” you simper, tucking the envelope securely back into your bosom. “Managed to pilfer these documents pertaining to Cornwall off poor Monsieur Lemiux,” you purse your lips in a faux pout. Arthur continues to stare at you in awe.

You may have been planted in a gilded garden, but you had uprooted yourself, new roots digging their way deep into the forest floor. Growing thorns and blooming within the wild: free and untamed.

Wolf in sheep’s clothing indeed.

“So,” Arthur’s musing is ceased by you. Let him enjoy himself, as many this night have told him do. Yes he was on a mission, but let him have a moment to breathe. With you.

“Worry about what you ‘gotta’ do for Dutch later. But for now-” you lean in and purr against the shell of his ear, “let’s just be.”

The softness of your words is paired with a clap of man-made thunder cutting through the sky followed by a brilliant array of colors. Fireworks begin to dance across the night and gasps of wonder fill the air. The stars are met with blooms of blues, greens, and yellow to rival them. It's quite the spectacle; Arthur had never seen fireworks before. He had only heard Hosea' numerous tellings about taking Bessie to see them. The concept fascinated him; gunpowder igniting but instead of death, it brings magic.

But as they continue to burst, casting vibrant shades of gold and red across your face, Arthur thinks he’s found a new kind of magic to believe in.  

[thekytchensynk]

An Honorable Challenge (Fictober Prompt 7)

Prompt number: 7

Fanfiction Fandom: Natsume’s Book of Friends

Rating: G

Warnings: No warnings

Read this story on AO3

There’s never a good time to hear your friend’s parents ask if you’ve seen them, but Natsume isn’t sure it can ever feel worse than this.

“Ah, well thank you,” the monk on the other end of the phone line says. Natsume can tell he’s trying to sound upbeat, but concern bleeds through. Who could blame him. Coming home early from a work trip, only to find his son missing, bed un-slept-in?

“I can call some of our other classmates if you’d like?”

Mr. Tanuma pauses. Trying to think if he knows the other classmates, Natsume guesses. Their names. Their numbers. “That would be kind of you,” he says after a lengthy pause. There is a subtle sadness there. His job keeps him away from home a lot, Natsume knows. Long hours. Sometimes days at a time. He knows some of his son’s friends, but assumes he doesn’t know all of them.

It makes Natsume feel a little bad for the man.

He calls around, but no one’s seen Tanuma since they were leaving school earlier that day. He looks outside at the darkness that’s settled over the countryside. He sees Aunt Touko watching him, her own worry in her eyes, and refrains from asking if he can go out to look. He’ll only worry her more.

It’s not until an hour later, after he’s retired to his room and is trying ineffectually to work on his math homework, that he realizes how quiet Nyanko-Sensei has been. What a sly expression he’s watching Natsume with. And of course, of COURSE when he asks, Sensei knows something. Of course.

“It took you a while to bother asking,” he says, nibbling on a meat-stuffed pastry he swiped from somewhere. “Though I expected you’d find the invitation before asking me.”

“Invitation?”

Sensei gestures with one stubby paw toward the window. And when Natsume crosses to the window and peers outside, he can see fireflies milling around a section of the yard. Once the house grows quiet, he prowls downstairs to check out the spot more closely.

The little flowers he finds there aren’t a type he thinks he’s seen before, pale yellow and glowing like tired stars. They spell out, “I challenge. Arch of Stars.”

“Arch of stars?” murmurs Natsume.

“It’s a place, but not in the human world,” Sensei says, as though explaining such mundane things is a chore for him. “It’s not far.”

The bored attitude is grinding on Natsume’s nerves. “And this has to do with Tanuma?”

“Not to do with him. But it’s probably connected to his disappearance.” How can he be so calm?

They travel through the night mostly in silence, broken only when discussing directions or when Sensei grumbles about needing a drink. And at last, with the moon peeking through the trees, they arrive in a weedy clearing and the remains of a house.

Natsume has no eye for the age of human things, but this home has clearly been here a long time. Been empty for a long time. He can see the remnants of it, what had once been a modest home with a little stone garden, but the garden can only be seen as seams between the weeds and the house only shows a skeleton of its former self. The weathered remains of the stout timbers that marked the intersections of walls pointed accusations at the sky. The doorway still stands, a sketchy shadow against the night.

“Through there,” Sensei says, looking at the doorway then back at his ward. “You’ll find the arch of stars on the other side.” At the doubtful look on Natsume’s face, he adds, “Trust me, you don’t want the story of how this became a doorway to the spirit world. We don’t have time for you to have an emotional moment. Come on.” Then he walks up to the doorway and disappears.

Natsume still hesitates at the threshold. Most of the building is gone, but the crumbled remains have tumbled inward, turning the interior of the old house into a minefield of splinters and jagged chunks of wood. But Sensei, whatever his faults, wouldn’t lie about something like this. So steeling himself, he steps through.

Into a blue twilight.

He stops after that first step, just looking around and drinking it all in. A series of blue flowers grow off slender vines which have wound into all the trees in the area. The pollen in the center of each bloom glows like a dusting of moonlight. He twists to look at the arch he stepped through to find that it’s seemingly made entirely of the vines. Their light makes his hands and clothing luminescent. A faint smell, summer and vanilla and something otherworldly, hangs in the air.

A few paces ahead of him stands Sensei. And beyond that hulks a giant yokai, watching him with eyes like polished obsidian. When Sensei just watches him impatiently, Natsume addresses the creature. “Are you the one who left the message?”

The creature moves, and Natsume realizes it had been kneeling before, but now it is unfolding, taller and taller, until it’s a good twenty feet tall. It speaks, its voice like two rocks grinding against one another, low and slow, so slow that it takes Natsume’s brain a bit of stitching to put the words together.

“Accept. Challenge?” The words make the ground underfoot tremble slightly.

“First, have you seen my friend?” Natsume asks.

The creature regards him for several long seconds, then to his surprise, it lowers its head to look at Sensei. Natsume’s not sure if they have some way of talking he can’t hear, but a moment later, Sensei says to him, “Tanuma is here somewhere. He’s fine. He’ll be released safely after the challenge, whatever the outcome.”

Sensei’s not lying, he can tell that much. And some sense of tension saps out of him at the news his friend is actually here and will be OK. Can be kept safe.

And it was only then he finally thinks to ask, “why challenge me?”

“Name,” comes the rumbling reply.

Natsume almost laughs in relief. “You want your name returned?” The creature nods once, moving with aching slowness. “Then I’ll be happy to. If you just tell me what-”

“NO!”

Each word before made the ground vibrate, but now it tremors violently, as though the forest itself were reacting to the power of that one word. Natsume loses his balance, falls to the ground awkwardly, then looks up, expecting the creature to attack. But it just stands there, watching him with the glassy eyes.

“Reiko. Says. Gifts. Are. Debt.” It grinds out. “Fight. Me. For. My. Name.”

Fight?! The creature was a giant, strong and solid and the trees themselves seem afraid of it. But what choice did he have?

“Very Well.”

The creature doesn’t reply, it just raises one enormous fist into the air and starts to bring it down. Natsume scrambles to the left… but no impact comes. The ground remains still. He looks up. The creature looks quizzically back down at him. Seeing Natsume looking at him again, he starts the motion again. Fist up. Fist down halfway once. Twice.

Natsume understands on the third repeat of the gesture. And on what would have been the fourth, he put his hand out, palm down.

The creature studies his hand. Then its own hand, in the same configuration.

“Tie,” It mutters.

“Tie,” Agreed Sensei, sounding thoroughly bored.

Ten minutes later (and after an unusual number of ties) Natsume loses the game of roshambo and returns the name -- Hikarihana, fittingly -- to the giant. It’s smile was strangely pretty, like the unfolding of a flower’s petals.

Then he’s led down a path to a little enclosure of the flowering vines. At their approach, the vines part like a curtain to reveal Tanuma. He sit on the ground, head leaning on his hand, elbow propped up on a rough table made of more vines, all wound together, eyes closed. He’s dozed off waiting here in this quiet little room. A few pieces of fruit, untouched, lat on the other side of the table, presumably for if he got hungry.

“Hey,” Natsume says, crossing to his friend and shaking his shoulder gently. “Tanuma?”

Tanuma’s eyes flutter open, and he looks puzzled for a moment, before sleep releases its hold and he seems to recognize where he is. “Ah. So it’s over?” he asks with a smile. "Did you lose?”

“Did I …” How does he know that? And when Tanuma casts a glance at Sensei, he knows, he KNOWS that the cat had known everything all along. He rounds on Sensei. “You knew about this!”

“Yes I did,” the cat replies. “What about it?

Natsume can’t find the words, but assumes his expression does the talking for him.

After his moment of defiance, at least Sensei has the good grace to look a bit ashamed. “That one was adamant about the right way to challenge for his name,” he explains, hopping up on the table, where Tanuma pats his head absentmindedly. “I tried to tell him you weren’t Reiko, that challenging you would be different, but he’s basically a rock, and once he has the shape of a thought, it’s hard to change it. He was convinced the proper form was to steal something important of Reiko’s as a challenge. She would come and they would play. He always lost. How one can lose at a game like that every time…” he shakes his head.

“Why didn’t you just come get me?”

“There wasn’t a lot of time,” he retorts. “He was planning on taking Touko, you know. So I went to your friend to set this up before he could.”

Natsume blanched. “Aunt Touko?”

“Yeah. You can reward me for my quick thinking and negotiating skills later,” Sensei says, seeming mollified now that the blame had gone out of Natsume’s voice. “Since the temple was near, I asked Tanuma.”

“I wasn’t doing anything tonight anyway, so just sitting around here to help out your aunt seemed like the right decision” the latter says apologetically. “And my father’s out of town until Monday, so-”

“Uh…”

He doesn’t even have to say anything more. Tanuma looks confused for a second, then his eyes widen and shift toward the wall of the little room as though he can see the temple from there if he tries hard enough. “I gotta go,” he says, looking up at the giant, who nods ponderously. Then, more formally, he adds, “Thank you for the hospitality.” Then he is following Natsume out, through the glowing woods and under the arch and into the old yard where no one had lived for decades.

As they make their way rapidly toward the temple, Natsume seeths. “I can’t believe he did that.”

“He was trying to protect your family, you know,” Tanuma says, not exactly chiding but more … clarifying, Natsume guesses. Which wasn’t wrong. He just doesn’t like how long Sensei had kept silent about it despite knowing what was going on.

Although … if he’d said something, Natsume would have run out right away. Worrying Aunt Touko. Which would have defeated the purpose of the plan they’d put in place.

Sometimes, he thinks ruefully, having people looking out for you could be more stressful than going it alone.

They cobble together an explanation for Tanuma’s dad about him falling asleep while reading in the forest, and the prospect that his son just dropped off to sleep for this long in the middle of nowhere clearly worries the man, but the worry isn’t enough to overcome the relief at seeing him back. He offers to let Natsume stay the night, but Natsume thinks guiltily of Aunt Touko wishing him a good night with worry in her eyes, and politely declines. He makes his way home and goes to bed sometime after two in the morning.

Sensei doesn’t return until the next morning, drunk and with a lingering glow like the flower pollen around the edges of his mouth, which gives him some idea why Sensei did all this instead of just cowing the spirit into submission right away.

But he can’t find it in himself to scold him. Everyone’s safe.

So, he supposes, it’s fine.

[fantasyinvader]

A while back I made a post, joking about a death battle encounter between Edelgard (Leader of the Black Eagles and the Flame Emperor of Adrestia) and Elric (Eternal Champion and the last of the Bright Emperors of Melnibone). I’ve been running this through my head a for a bit, and here’s my take on who would win between these two.

Weapons

Edelgard wield the Amyr, a Crest Stone weapon axe created by TWSITD. This allows Edelgard to use the attack Raging Storm, which allows her to act again if her attack hits, and is effective against dragons. However, going by game mechaninc Amyr can only be used 20 times before being repaired, and Raging Storm uses up 3 charges. Edelgard is also shown to have the Sword of Seiros on her person in non-CF routes, which if equipped would restore her vitality especially since it matches her Crest. She stops using throwing axes post-timeskip, instead using the counterattack ability to magically strike back at foes that try to attack from a distance.

Elric has Stormbringer, a semi-sentient black runesword that drinks the souls of those it kills. This funnels strength back into Elric. If an attack hits, Elric does gain some strength from it (aside from some mentions that being cut by the sword is enough to kill a la tyrfing, though Yrrkoon was cut by it and lived) but nothing compared to what happens if they are slain. Stormbringer has also been shown to use additional soul energy to pierce spell-strengthened armor. The sword is also shown to control Elric to some degree, guiding his movements in addition sending him into a battle high once it has eaten enough, be it in quantity or quality. Stormbringer is powerful enough to slay gods, though it does tend to be less effective when facing enemies without souls such as the undead. Stormbringer can only be used by the dragon lords of Melnibone, and will devour the soul of anyone else who tries to wield it. Finally, Elric has been shown to be given strength equal to Conan the Barbarian in a crossover from his black runesword.

Armor

Edelgard prefers heavy armor, as seen by her Emperor class. This includes a large shield...though swapping it out for an iron shield increases her defenses. Game mechanics, am I right? The Emperor class does give her the Flickering Flower combat ability, which prevents her enemies from moving.

As a travelling sell-sword, Elric goes about in the garb of one albeit in extremely gaudy colors due to his Melnibonean upbringing. When he equips the Imperial armor, it’s black heavy armor that has been strengthened by ancient spells. While he is shown wearing a dragon-shaped helm, in the final battle he went out with a circlet instead. Elric also has the Chaos shield in his possession during the final stories, a magic shield that can ward off the effects being exposed to chaos can inflict (such as being mutated into an abomination pleading for death). It’s also been shown to take a beating when Elric fought Xiombarg, Queen of the Swords and stronger then Elrics (then former) patron god Arioch.

Magic

While Edelgard can be an magical powerhouse if the player chooses, with some of the best spells in the game at her disposal, without that input she defaults back to using brute strength and skills to synergize with it. As such, the only time when she does go for magic is when she throws away her humanity and becomes the Hegemon Husk. This form makes her a lot more dangerous due to her vantage, wraith and desperation abilities in addition to larger attack range. She’s also not bound by weapon uses. Her Crest of Flames can also restore her vitality at points.

Elric is a powerful sorcerer, but not the type to sling fireballs willy-nilly. His spells instead focus on summoning elemenatals, demons, and the like to aid him in battle. These chants require him to focus on their runes, and as a result he usually does this before a battle, from a safe distance or when someone is drawing aggro. He can go into a trance to make this easier, but this causes him to lose awareness of his surroundings so he never does it. And he needs to maintain control over his summons, lest they decide to turn on him. The exception is him invoking Arioch, his patron evil god, which Elric just needs to call for him but that is no guarantee Arioch will show (especially if Elric is acting against his wishes). Elric also learned a rune which allowed him to summon every black sword in the multiverse, and act that powered up Stormbringer by allowing it to defeat the earthly bodies of Chaos gods.

Potions,

Edelgard is shown to keep some healing potions on her.

Elric can use potions to give him vitality, and even make him invulnerable though this last one requires rare ingredients from a specific place. They can give him strength to fight, but it’s nothing compared to Stormbringer’s life-steal. As such, he keeps some potions on him in case of emergencies but more often then not relies on Stormbringer to travel (much to his distaste).

Other notes.

Edelgard does have her own personal battalion, which combined with her high charisma creates a devastating gambit (if it doesn’t fizzle out).

Elric’s main drawback is his inherit weaknesses. While he uses potions and Stormbringer to give him strength, using magic or prolonged combat without restoring his vitality can result in him being in the enemy’s power. He also travels with Moonglum, but as time went on Moonglum would fight with Elric but not beside him due to Elric striking down allies when in a combat high. Elric also rides a dragon, but they are not readily available.

Outcome?

Magic is not going to be a deciding factor early in this fight, due to Edelgard not employing it herself and Elric needing to do so from a point of safety. Considering I’m taking this from the end of Elric’s journey, Arioch is off the table. Edelgard’s counterattack ability is a non-issue due to Elric being a swordsman.

Edelgard’s best bet would be to try and wear Elric down. 1v1 lest her troops end up feeding Stormbringer and empowering the Melnibonean. Using Raging Storm for hit and run tactics could work due to her axe focus, thought the Sword of Seiros constantly restoring her health would be a lot more beneficial because it can prolong the fight. But Edelgard leans more into being the juggernaut who smashes through her foes while the subtle stuff is best left to Hubert or TWSITD so she’s unlikely to act in such a manner.

If Edelgard did have to retreat, sending more bodies Elric’s way, then Hegemon Husk does become a possibility. However, Elric’s Chaos shield would likely be able to tank the attack. But the whole point is Edelgard wearing Elric down since while he can recover strength he doesn’t heal. And of course, if she were to grab Stormbringer and try to use it against Elric it’s game over for her.

Retreating though would give Elric a chance to summon something. While he can be single-minded when it comes to seeking revenge, Elric is not afraid to summon. The only exception to this is if Edelgard feeds him enough that he gets the aforementioned combat high, at which point he’s extremely dangerous but not prone to thinking. Just theatrics.

But in the end, there is a clear difference in strength. Remember how I mentioned Elric has a crossover with Conan the Barbarian (...which would make Elric canon to Marvel comics. Elric in the MCU WHEN?)? Conan has some impressive feats for a mortal, including soloing “gods” and wrestling Death itself into submission. Elric himself is referred to as God Slayer during his final battle. While this strength is fleeting, Elric would have the means to overwhelm Edelgard in early combat.

Way it plays out would be like this, Elric would overwhelm Edelgard in terms of raw power early on. Edelgard would likely try to smash through Elric with Amyr’s Raging Storm ability, but the durability issue would leave it quickly broken. While she would equip the Sword of Seiros out of necessity, she would still attempt to flee the battle while calling for men to cover her escape. This allows Elric to regain some of his strength, and if enough are sent enter a theatrical berserker state. Going with option B, he pursues Edelgard only to come up against her Hegemon Husk form. Elric takes some ranged damage and comes back to his senses.

By now, the Imperial army is in fear of the White wolf and his soul eating sword so they would be less likely to stay and fight him. After all, how many battalions flee once their leader is killed even against a solo unit? This would cut off Elric from being able to keep his strength up. Hiding behind the Chaos Shield, Elric would attempt a summoning. Arioch is out of the question due to Elric siding with Law in the war. Elric’s best bet would be attempting to summon Stormbringer’s brothers, which would then swarm Edelgard and devour her soul.

Elric would be left extremely weak after this, enough to be captured (not uncommon after using magic) likely using one of his potions to restore his strength before departing. Maybe not enough strength to travel to another world, but enough to continue searching for a purpose in life.

KO

[kindcstguardian]

MISC.

i. / basics.

Name. Lynn Darcy. Nicknames. Troublemaker, sweetie, Candy Birthday. Age. 17-23 years old. Nationality. French. Languages. French, English &&. Spanish. Gender. Cis female. Sexuality. Bisexual. Status. Single. Occupation. Student &&. part-time worker in Cosy Bear Café. Speciality. Finding solutions to problems that aren’t hers and, instead, causing them in her own. Hobbies. Jogging, boxing, taking care of plants, ocasionally playing basketball.

ii. / physical.

Height. 160cm / 5′ 3″ Weight. 50kg / 110 lb Hair color. Brown. Eye color. Green. Blood type. O + Appearance. A petite female with a slightly built body  ( at the moment due her newfound interesting in boxing ).  Long hair naturally straight with chocolate brown pigment alongside green eyes.

VERSES.

Main verse. TAG.  「 MAIN ／ Lynn 」

Highschool student, 17 years old.  As a transfer student, she is a bit clueless and lost at the beggining. However, she quickly got used to the institute and learnt every little secret of it. Still, this does not apply to actual people. Lynn does have a lot of friends, though, and is quite close to Kim due having her as lab partner in Chemistry. But she doesn’t get along with Amber, Capuccine, Li or Charlotte. Peggy is on thin ice. Ah but, ever so caring Lynn — she can’t help but always want to help everyone.

MCLUL verse. TAG.  「 SECOND MAIN   ／ Lynn 」

College student, 23 years old. Canon divergent.  Mostly based on what’s taking place in the canon of My Candy Love University Life — except that Lynn never cut ties with all friends and kept in touch with Kentin alone, she still has a hopeless crush on Nathaniel but hasn’t gotten herself involved with anyone, keeping everysingle friend at arm length. So, no route Lynn?

Third main verse. / A different outcome TAG. 「 THIRD MAIN ／ Lynn 」

College student, part-time worker in Kentin’s bakery, 23 year old.  She didn’t want to be bossed around by her parents, neither leaving the city she grew to love. In fact, she wanted her freedom but Lynn wasn’t having it so easy.   From a side, her parents had stood their ground but so she did, fully determinated to stay. They all bickered and argued, raising their tone than trying to find a solution — that was, until Aunt Agatha got in the middle and decided to take care of the situation.   After much talking and convincing, she persuaded Lucia and Philip. Thus, leading Lynn to win only one obstacle from the many that would appear in her road.   Happily that she got to stay rather than losing all connections, she first started to help Kentin before deciding what she wanted to do with her future.

Fourth main verse. / What if? TAG. 「 FOURTH MAIN ／ Lynn 」

Highschool student, 17 years old.  So what if she could see the relationship stats that she had with other people? Like, a visual novel game? Well, that was about it! It was strange but she could not see options at all, she had free speech ( thankfully ) which allowed her faster to either improve or fuck up further her relationships.

Persona 5 verse. TAG. 「P5 ／ Lynn」

Highschool transfer student, Star, 17 years old.   ‘ You have truly made me wait, I am known for being impatient, ma fille, but I will allow it this time ’ , the brunette fell to knees, holding her head while she screamed in utter pain, tears rolling down her cheeks while her eyes were shut, trying to somehow make the pain bereable. All background noise was blocked, overpowered by a female voice inside her mind. ’ You have always clenched your fists and withdrawn for the fight, doing little to nothing. Finally, you have grown tired; let us form a pact, shall we? ’.     The voice was right, Lynn had enough. Taking blow after blow, being ridiculized, embarrassed and tossed aside — being the stepping stone others needed to feel superior while she put on a show, the happy pierrot that everyone relied onto but whom never spoke a single struggle. It was time for her to realize her own worth and speak her mind, yell to the four winds her heart’s desires; to defend and attack instead of being a mere broken shield.   ’ I am thou, thou art I we cannot tear out a single page of our life, but we can throw the whole book in the fire! They can bind our body and tie our hands but nothing can be done nor can shatter our will! ’, the hands that once had been holding her head were now on the floor underneath her, helping her to push herself up slowly — green hues had turned yellow and filled with such aggresive determination that she had never felt before. Straightening her back, her right hand placed itself before the mask that had manifested to existence, gripping it hard, she pulled away at once — blood running down her eyes.   “ We shall show them what we are made of, come to me Amantine! ”

Eldarya verse TAG. 「Eldarya ／ Lynn 」

College student, 23 years old. Absynthe Garde / Alchemist.  As a descendant of a human, her father Philip, and a fairy, her mother Lucia, Lynn is a faerie. However, she was never told about the truth and because of her clueless nature, she never suspected anything weird  ( not even when her aunt would show up in particular clothes which she lied that it was part of her job as a dentist not to scare children, including wings on her back as part of the costume ).  Which is precisely how she stepped in the thin line of human world and magic world, the blindfold had been finally removed. Currently stuck in Eldarya and unable to return nor communicate with her parents, Lynn spends her days working to win the meal of the day alongside an elf named Ezarel as an assistant for the potions he needs to create, but mostly errand girl: running here and there to provide everything on time.

Mystic Messenger. / MC1. TAG. 「MysMe ／ Lynn 」

College student, 23 years old.   Actually, Lynn isn’t sure how she found herself in Korea. Mostly, trying to be a good friend for Hyun and be his emotional support friend when he needed one given his grandfather had gotten terribly ill and chances were… No, no. She shouldn’t focus there. In fact, she should focus on finding the place her friend had indicated that both were staying at — yet, things rarely go as planned. Sometimes, the female felt that she was a magnet to problems. A message, an adress and a distressed person were the formula to lure her towards an unknown appartment in which she ended up locked. Stuck in a position of party hoster of sorts, Lynn Darcy chose not to fight her fate and assume her role. Kim Yoosung, Kang Jaehee, Hyun Ryu, Han Jumin and Choi Luciel needed her, after all. And God knows how big her heart is to leave without providing the needed help.

Shall we date? Destiny Ninja 2 + TAG. 「Destiny Ninja 2 +／ Lynn 」

Living in the Spring Village has been a wonderful experience since she can recall, to wake up everyday and see how flowers would blossom — new ones that would arrive because of the ocasional windy days and carry along new seeds for the view to change, take different shape and colors. Yet that lovely experience started to come to an end when the Yamato Island began to get corrupted. Was the story they told her as kids to make her fear true? All Lynn can do is pray and keep up with her training; she might not be an expert, but basic defense moves could safe her. Besides, her father had always taught her how to use a gun since possessing a sword was more of an honor, a lifestyle.

Shall we date? Blood in roses + TAG. 「Blood in roses ／ Lynn 」

It was a poor idea for a human to wander into a castle, but after having lost her family, the brunette found no better choice than try to find a temporal refugee. Much to her horror, it turned out to be the rumored Hotel Libra Sincera — unable to return nor escape because she had nowhere to go, she decided to step inside that place.   Truthfully, Lynn never thought she would use a Humphrey’s bottle of False Mist that her mother had bought to her at age nine in case something bad would happen to them. It was easy to forget about it but Lucia has insisted for Lynn to carry it at all times; and now, she could finally use it.

Wizardess heart + TAG. 「Wizardess heart + ／ Lynn 」

Student &&. buddyless, 17 years old, spellsinger. TBA.

Ephemeral: Residents in the dark. TAG. 「Ephemeral ／ 010」

Student, 120 years old, half-breed.   A lovechild from a vampire and a human, a horrible sin for all creatures that should have been killed hasn’t been that she was born with the strongest gen as expected, which is the single reason she had managed to survive thus far in the world were ranks meant everything.   However, her mother had been murdered by other humans as soon as it was discovered that there were vampires within their world — Philippe had returned with shame and head hung low back to his family. Forced into a marriage with another woman, a mermaid that grew to terribly hate Lynn going as far as to dig her nails into Lynn’s wrists due being young and beautiful.   To say Lynn was grateful to being accepted into that prestigious institution wasn’t enough, she decided to stay and live there. Refusing to return to a place where her stepmother wanted her head in a spike — yet, her secret keeps her awake at night, what would happen if she was discovered?

ANIMAL.

Main verse.

TAG. 

23 years old. WIP. 

Aggrestuko verse./ Publishing department. TAG. 

Office lady, 24 years old. Lynn Darcy had studied art history, however, she did not find many jobs suitable for that and ended up undergoing trainment to become a ‘desk person'—work in an office and fall into a comfortable routine for another year and a half.

TAGS.

「 Lynn Darcy   ／   𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓭𝔂 ┊ swcctlcve 」

「 Lynn Darcy ／ INQUIRY」

「 Lynn Darcy ／ MUSINGS 」

「 Lynn Darcy ／ VISAGE 」

「 Lynn Darcy ／ MANNERISMS 」

「 Lynn Darcy ／ INTROSPECTION」

「 Lynn Darcy ／ ROMANCE 」

「 Lynn Darcy ／ CRACK 」

RELATIONSHIPS.

DISCLAIMER.  I will not ship with the same character more than once unless my partner tells me they will no longer write said character and, therefore, the ship spot is free again. Please, do not force the issue.   001. Will you have exclusives?   If my partner and I discuss it before hand, then yes.   002. Will you have mains?   This will be more popular but yes, I will have limit of three mains.

KENTIN BRONSWORTH. ROMANTIC TAG.  ✘ · Kentin Bronsworth ♡（ ᵒᵘʳ ʰᵉᵃʳᵗˢ ᵇᵉᵃᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵃˢ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵃᵗ ˡᵃˢᵗ ⁻ ⁱ'ᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃⁱᵗ ） FRIENDSHIP TAG.  kcntin ; ʜᴏᴘᴇ（ φιλíα ） ABOUT.

RAVEN KENDALL. ROMANTIC TAG.  ✘ · Raven Kendall ♡「 ᴵᶠ ᴵ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵗᵉˡˡ ʰᵉʳ ʰᵒʷ ˢʰᵉ'ˢ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ ᵇᵘᵗ ʷᵉ'ʳᵉ ᵃ ᵐⁱˡˡⁱᵒⁿ ʷᵒʳˡᵈˢ ᵃᵖᵃʳᵗ」 FRIENDSHIP TAG. ABOUT.

HAIDA HYENA. ROMANTIC TAG.  ✘ · Haida Hyena ♡「 ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ⁱᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵃˡˡ ᴵ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵃᵗᶜʰ ʸᵒᵘ ／ starryburglar 」 FRIENDSHIP TAG. ABOUT.

✘ ·   ♡（ ）

✘ ·  ♡（  ）

[whereisvanderwood]

Interleave

At last, this is my full contribution for @saeranzine I had the honor in taking part in this year. The project had equal parts challenges and achievements, and the fun shared with every other writer, artist and mod during this time is an experience I’ll never forget as my first zine being part of. Thank you everyone who supported us!

Please enjoy the piece :) Happy holidays, everyone!

☆☆☆☆☆

You’d gotten the good ending, the normal one, too. All that was left was to break his heart five times for that one-hundred percent completion of his love story. It was a bittersweet feeling upon realizing that your journey was on the home-stretch. The more you thought about it, however, you couldn’t bring yourself to break his heart like that after all the brokenness he’d been subjected to before. Especially since you knew what the bad endings for the RFA members were -- Ray’s could only be tenfold more devastating. You wouldn’t do it. You couldn’t do it.

The familiar ping of the messenger popped your bubble of thought and enticed you to pick up your phone as it sat on the marble-finish coffee table. It was the 10:23am chatroom of Day Six. You knew what it meant for you if you opened it -- the kinds of answers you would have to choose to get a new outcome. You refused to play along, tapping onto Ray’s contact to give him a call instead.

One ring… Two rings… Three rings… No answer.

You rose from the table and carried yourself to the lancet windows. The morning was young and the garden flickered with quartz-like raindrops under the dawning of the day’s first light. You knew he wouldn’t pick up at this time on the sixth day, but your thumb wouldn’t desist in tapping his name again and again as though you were in a stupor.

A shrill of static noise ripped through the air, causing you to block your ears and drop your phone. As you frantically inspected the device for cracks, you noticed the screen displaying that you were in a phone call. You held the phone to your ear and timidly spoke.

“Ray...?”

“MC! Did something happen? I got worried something happened to you.”

“Oh, uh… no, I’m okay. Were you, um, working?”

“Saviour said I can’t speak with you until I finish improvements. I’m sorry I didn’t pick up the first time… Are you mad?”

“N-No, of course not! I just… I was wondering if you wanted to maybe… go out?”

“Go out? As in... leave?”

“Yeah! I mean, not like that, but with you!”

“I… I can’t, MC. Saviour would be upset if I did. There’s so much to be done.”

“We’ll come back by the end of the day -- just for a few hours. It’ll be good for you, too!”

He exhaled, the sound of his breath dragging past his lips. “MC, you don’t have to do this for me. I don’t deserve it. I’m weak, and an airhead--”

“You’re not to me. I want to spend time with you.”

“But what if something bad happens to you because of me? I… I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“Ray, I swear nothing will happen to you, or me. I just want to… see you smile.”

He sighed a second time. “Meet me in the garden. Hide next to the geraniums where security won’t see you. I’ll be there in a few minutes... Please, don’t go anywhere.”

Once the call ended, you sat on the bed with a hand on your chest, your heart pounding with adrenaline every passing second. He’d answered the call when you could’ve sworn he wasn’t meant to, and that wasn’t an ordinary conversation. It was too ordinary to be ‘normal’ by the route’s standards.

You snuck out from your suite to meet him, going with the flow of the unexpected turn.

…

You gazed silently outside the moving car’s window as distance grew between you and Mint Eye. Maple leaves dusted the asphalt with their fiery hues of red and orange, adding colour to the seemingly grey road. Nothing could beat the beauty of mother nature and her sky-scraping pine trees high up in the mountains.

“We’re almost there…” Ray spoke quietly as he gripped the steering wheel.

“Thank you for lending me a Believer’s uniform.”

“I didn’t want you to get cold.. A-and I had to make sure we wouldn’t be seen leaving. I want to make sure you’re safe.”

“I know… I think it’s really brave of you to come out with me like this.”

It wasn’t long before the familiar bustling of people came into view around the last corner.  Ray parked the car a good distance away to avoid being spotted by the security cameras. It seemed much more vast than you’d last remembered. For a place that you could only enjoy in the prologue for a scarce moment, you wished you were granted more time for exploration.

Together, you walked along the brick road of the metropolis, the splashes of colours from cafes and clothing boutiques catching your eye wherever you looked. Finally free from your beautified prison after a number of repeated weeks, you couldn’t help but feel giddy.

Before long, you found yourself standing in front of the same cafe you were first picked up from. You felt your stomach grumble.

“I heard they have really good ice-cream here… Should we get some?”

“I-If you’d like,” Ray smiled.

Many people had queued in line to enjoy the mouth-watering delight on the cloudless morning. How long had it been since he’d taken gladness from this secret pleasure of his? It must’ve been an awful number of months.

“My treat,” you insisted as you pulled out a coin purse from the cloak’s pocket.

“Oh no, MC, I really don’t think--”

“You deserve it, Ray. I won’t let you think otherwise.” Without another word, you approached the counter, Ray following you closely behind.

With icy scoops of the sweet dessert in hand, you both ambled down the promenade and admired the sights of the gaily store fronts. Distant echoes of buskers danced to your ears and you found yourself swaying with the melodies in your steps. A few times you looked over to Ray, who looked like a kid in a candy store with his obvious intrigue.

Scattered flower-beds along the stone pavement caught his attention with their vibrant petals and he felt tantalized enough to brush his finger along the the petals of a white daisy. Mint Eye’s garden succeeded in elegance ten-fold when compared to this place, and yet they seemed much prettier here.

His eyes sparkled with wonder and curiosity the further you strolled, but he only really glowed when beyond all of the outlets was a wide open field, devoid of any other soul. It was just you and him -- the perfect scenario.

Florae of many kinds scattered across the green blades of grass like splashes of paint on a canvas. Entranced by their beauty, you took him by the hand and led him through the field, finding a perfect patch to sit in and bathe in sunlight surrounded by colours of grace. You felt content, the back-burner-nagging of your conscience telling you “you can’t do this” finally silenced. It didn’t matter what was to become of this -- what truly mattered to you was that you were able to do this for Ray outside of the game’s limitations.

After all, you’d probably never get to do this again.

“Hey…” you mumbled, “have you ever made a flower crown?”

“A crown? From flowers? I don’t think I have.”

You sprang at the opportunity as you swiftly picked as many flowers around you as you could. “I’ll show you! They’re really easy, just watch what I do.”

He observed from over your shoulder as you intertwined the delicate stems of each flower into one another. There was a moment of peaceful silence as you both created your flower circlets, until he broke the quiet.

“MC… why did you want to do this for me?”

“Do what?”

“Take me out. Eating ice-cream with me, making crowns from flowers, just doing nice things for me. I haven’t done anything that deserves your praise.”

“Not everything has to be a prize, Ray. Most things should be done for someone out of love, not as a reward for good behaviour.” You saw his weaving slow, knowing your words were reaching him. “You know what I’m talking about… right?”

“If it wasn’t for Saviour, I wouldn’t be who I am today.”

You paused. “I’m sorry if I shouldn’t be saying this, but… is who you are right now really who you want to be?”

He turned his head and gazed deeply into your eyes. The wind swayed your hair across your face, making you appear even more so as an angel sent for him with your words of wisdom and love. His face showed an expression that couldn’t be put so easily into words. You reciprocated as you felt the same way, but made yourself busy again.

“Here, this is for you,” you smiled as you gently placed your finished work onto his head. It was a treasure shaped from orchids and gypsophila, together meaning ‘beauty, strength and undying love’.

Tenderly, he placed his own crown of ‘lily of the valley’ on your head, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I shouldn’t be in love with you,” he muttered closely to your ear.

Every hair on your limbs were raised with anticipation as you felt his breath on your neck. He was so close, right there in front of you, alas he felt so far away no matter what you could say. The sweet, earthy perfume of the flowers surrounding you both filled your nostrils, bringing a new calmness to ease both your nerves.

His face hadn’t retreated from yours yet, and your heart was beating harder the more he lingered. Was this true affection? Or had the game somehow reprogrammed his character to act this way to compensate for the new turn of events? You eyed the shrinking space between your lips.

“Is this real?” the whispered words escaped your mouth.

At last, the gap was closed with a gentle kiss. His lips were chapped, but you didn’t mind. His cold hand found the side of your neck, soon cupping your cheek as you both grew passionate. All the uncertainty melted away with intimacy -- this was the realest thing you’d experienced with him, with any of them, and you didn’t want the moment to end.

…

Tip-toeing through the lantern-lit hallways, Ray led the way as he guided you back to your room while attempting to remain unseen. Once the door to your room was finally reached, he hurried you inside when he could hear footsteps approaching from a distance.

“You should go before someone sees you,” you urged him.

“I will… I’ll see you again soon, my Princess.” He smiled before swiftly planting one last kiss on your forehead, then closing the door.

You sighed in bliss, letting yourself twirl a few times before flopping onto your soft mattress. You knew that nothing could top what you had managed to do for Ray today, and the reward of euphoria from both parties was more than enough to satiate your desire to be with him. Having lost track of the time of day, you checked your phone for the first time in a number of hours.

Nothing could’ve made you sick to the stomach faster than what your screen displayed — a seemingly endless list of notifications full of missed texts, calls and chatrooms from the RFA. You quickly opened the app and saw the day had already reached the route’s first bridge. You didn’t need a mirror to know that your face had drained its colour. You covered your mouth.

“Crap… the participation target...”

You tried to be hopeful that the previous day’s progress would be enough to get you over, but you doubted it. You wished you could’ve said goodbye to Ray properly if you’d known this was going to happen. The guilt you’d worked to avoid came rushing back. Your throat closed up and your hands became clammy with anxiety. There was nothing more you could do. The damage was done.

You looked away from the screen as you unlocked the story mode, waiting for what was about to happen. Normally, you would leave your room and meet Mint Eye’s leader outside your door; the plot progressing forward.

So when a Believer entered your room unannounced, demanding your audience with the Saviour, you knew it was over.

☆

[zhoto-bodoroki-blog]

Promise..

Bakugo x reader

Chapter two: The middle 

enjoy x

-flashback- 

“Hey, Bakugo? What do you think happens when you...die? Do you think it’s just darkness and you have no conscious whatsoever? What do you think?” You asked looking up at the beautiful sky. You two were laying down on top of a hill with a picnic blanket underneath you. The clouds were slowly moving and the sky was turning in to a beautiful sunset, the chilly breeze hit your skin, making you shiver. The wonderful aroma of flowers that surround you made you feel at peace, like this was the best decision you’ve ever made in your life. It was just perfect. 

This was the first date you’ve had with Bakugo. After months of being close friends, he finally decided to ask you out. 

The way he asked you out was pretty romantic. You two were walking home from school when all of a sudden he stopped walking. You looked back and tilted your head, his hands were in his pockets as he was looking away from you. 

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 7. Don’t be late” and with that, he awkwardly walked the other direction. You were speechless, you honestly never expected out of all people Bakugo would be the one to ask you out. But you were happy that he did. All night you were picking out clothes to wear and messing around with your makeup to make it look as perfect as you could. You were so excited to go out with him…it kinda creeped you out. 

~

He took a while to respond. He never really thought about death so questions like this never crossed his mind 

“I wouldn’t know what would happen when someone dies. But I would like to think that people who had goodness in their hearts...they’ll have more than just darkness, they’ll go back with their loved ones and be happy with them once again” he said so kindheartedly. You looked over to where he was and smiled at his remark. Your heart melted at how sweet he was. Stuff like this is what made you fall in love with the poor bastard. 

“What do you think I’ll have when I die?” You asked. He grinned and looked back at you 

“Obviously darkness. “ he joked. You rolled your eyes and hit him softly in the arm. Stuff like this made you also hate him…but in a loving way. 

“I’m kidding, loser. I bet you’ll go beyond that place and be with the angels once again” you blushed and covered your face with your hands, feeling flattered by his remark

“Wow Bakugo. I never would’ve imagined you were so romantic” he chuckled 

“I meant back with the devils' angels. Don’t get carried away “ you uncovered your face and hit him once again. Pouting at his remark. 

“I’ll be waiting for you, asswhipe “ 

-end of flashback-

You were still in bed with Bakugo until sunrise, losing track of time. The whole night you two were talking about how happy you two made each other and how in love you two were. Something Bakugo never thought he’d cared about until you showed up. 

You smiled at the memory you just had. Those simpler times when you didn’t have to think about death so much. Those times when you didn’t have to be scared that maybe today would be your last day. You would give anything to go back to those times.

“Bakugo?” You whispered not sure if he was still awake or not. 

“Hmm?” You heard him hum. You weren’t sure if talking about death right now was a good idea …but when will it be a good time? You decided to take your chance and hope things won’t go downhill. 

“Remember our first date?” You asked tracing shapes on his forearm. 

“You mean the one where we were at Chuck E. Cheese and I was kicking your ass at every game?” He asked while grinning. You covered your face with your hand, feeling embarrassing about that. 

“That wasn’t our first date katsuki. I had to babysit and the little rascal wanted to go there. I didn’t want to be alone around those kids. “ you could feel his stomach vibrating from his chuckles. 

“Yeah. I know. I do remember our first date. How could I forget? You were wearing that beautiful white sundress with the flowers on it. It’s a shame It accidentally got destroyed. I loved seeing you with that little dress on” you pressed your lips together, it really was a shame that your dress got ruin. That dress made your curves pop out like no other dress could. 

“Yeah. What a shame…there are better ways to kill a fly than using your quirk and blast it everywhere, ya know” you said with a sigh. Who even tries to kill a fly using a blast? That’s not what normal people do. But even though he ruined your favorite dress this world had to offer you still kept going out with him, not even him ruining the perfect dress could make you stop loving him. 

“But anyways. Do you remember what we talked about when we were laying down on top of the hill? “ you asked a bit more serious. 

“You mean when you talked about those weird theories about how the government is controlling us by putting toxics into the air to brainwash us and the ‘only way to not get brainwashed is to stop breathing’? How can I forget? I spent the whole night rethinking that and laughing my ass off” he chuckled. You pressed your lips together, you knew he was dogging the actual question. You wouldn’t bring it up if it wasn’t something you didn’t have to. You then heard a sigh coming from his direction.  

“Yeah…I know. And I still stand for what I said.” Your lip began to tremble. You held on tightly onto his shirt. Even though you knew you were going to go soon you were scared, you were terrified at the outcome. 

“Bakugo…I’m…I'm terrified Bakugo. I’m scared that everything will just be darkness. I’m terrified that I’ll be in a pit of darkness forever and ever... It’s terrifying to think about-“ 

“(Y/n). Look at me” he said cutting you off from your rambling. You looked up at him, his beautiful crimson eyes met yours. 

“You won’t have darkness, you won’t. You’re a good fucking person, the best person this shitty world has to offer. I know for a fact that you’ll be reunited with your loved ones…and be happy once again” he said with the kindest smile you’ve ever seen on him. Hearing that made tears start to pour down your cheeks. You then hugged Bakugo tightly 

“My happiness is with you katsuki. I don’t want to leave you…I don’t want to leave you katsuki. You’re the only one that makes me feel the happiest. When I wake up and you’re by my side I feel what I felt when we first met. Whenever you smile my heart melts and I fall in love all over again. I don’t think anything will make me feel as happy and alive like you being by my side. Not even heaven can bring me happiness if you’re not with me” Your voice was shaky, he could hear your sadness and so much pain. He hugged you tightly, trying so hard to hold back his tears. 

“Everything will be ok (y/n). Everything will be ok. Have faith, my beautiful angel. You’ll soon be back with the angels you once were with. I’ll always be with you my beautiful, deep in your heart. Just know that I love you so damn much. So…so fucking much (y/n)(l/n)” he whispered. Your heartfelt so warm when he whispered those words to you. All of the pain you felt vanished and was replaced with warmth. 

“I love you so fucking much, Katsuki Bakugo “ 

-

The worse feeling in the world would have to be waking up next to the person you love so much without a pulse. The attempts you try to bring them back are hurtful. That’s how bakugo felt when you perished in his arms. The night before the two of you laid in bed, talking about how you first met, how you made him feel, and how he made you feel. The first kiss he stole from you, and the first time you two made love. The way he smiled when you told him you were pregnant, and the way he looked when he first laid eyes on your baby girl. Precious memories you cherished until the end. 

You two stayed up all night talking about all those beautiful memories, you never talked about anything that would bring pain into either one of your hearts. He never batted an eye when he was with you, he was afraid that if he even closed his eyes for a second he would lose you forever…then the one night he rested his eyes he lost you forever. 

Pain filled every muscle in his body. Tears were pouring down endlessly. His screams were filled with so much pain and sorrow. His painful cries made the next door neighbors call the cops, thinking villains were attacking him. 

“(Y/n)! Wake up! Please wake up! You cant…you can't leave now! Not when we have so much to do…please don't leave me! I’ll do anything! please” his whimpers could be heard from the whole apartment building. 

“You can't leave yet…not when I need you the most.…please come back” he whispered, his shaky hand caressed your cold cheek. 

“It’s not fair…IT’S NOT FAIR!”

-

:) x

<- Prev

[yonaih]

requiem [ Connor x Reader ]

title: requiem: lacrimosa

length: ~920 words

summary: their can only be one outcome in a game of heaven or hell

a/n: SO THIS IS SOMETHING NEW!! i wrote this turning lunch break and it’s like a lil test. also i tried writing for my other series but i can’t even break 1000 words so i’ll take a break yknow cos school got me fried

Inhale. Exhale. This was a fine day to die.

There would be no more petty fights with Connor over the smallest things on the smallest cases because there would be no more you. This would be your finale, the end of all symphonies and operas. Perhaps too short, but it was your symphony in the end. This case would mark the end of the line and you were ready to take the first step. No drug bust had ever gone so wrong. Your heart and soul, poured into your work as a crime stopper. You had lead the man away from Connor. You had saved him, and you were going to pay for it. Nothing else mattered to you more than his well being. He was your whole world, all wrapped up and tied with a neat, sleek, black tie with the Cyberlife logo printed meticulously on the back. He was a gift, blessed with a swoop of the softest, chocolate brown hair and the kindest and deepest eyes that pierced every cell in your body to find the one he loved most. Of course he was perfection, he was an android after all. Each and every blemish on his body was intentional, and every freckle was placed there. They didn’t appear in random, they were selected. Connor was a masterpiece of carefully selected attributes, beauty, and absolute intelligence. The two of you adored each other and even the prettiest of fights never swayed you from your intertwining paths. Even so, the star crossed lovers story had to reach its end. You didn’t care, all you knew was that your precious Connor wouldn’t see the end of life until the time was truly right.

He had only just started living.

That day had been a beautiful day.

Bleeding neither blue nor red, you dizzily watched as a mixture of colours you had never seen in your life seeped from the bullet wound in your chest and you felt your entire world spin. You swore flashes of Connor’s perfectly shaped face haunted the shadows cast by nearby buildings and tall, curving trees. Warmth spread across your front and you watched clouds of strange, fuzzy colours block your vision and you lost your balance. A slowed descent, a quick fall.

And as you stared into the brilliant blue sky reminiscent of a thirium blue hue, you sighed. Small dots appeared in the corners of your vision, but you paid no mind. You watched the barrel of the gun come even closer until the cool point touched your sticky, warm forehead. A long, high pitched drone clouded your hearing. Before the culprit could fire a final round, you hummed to the tune of an angel’s chorus from up above. There it was, in broad daylight. Your own sense of heaven, filled to the brim with everything you could have ever known. Silky harps and flowing fabrics reached out their pearly arms to bring you to the love in the sky, but not all was golden and not all was fine. Dark, spindly hands of sheer hell crawled out of the earth around you and grasped for your weak form, trying to convince you with its low bell tones that their side was where you belonged. Two contradictory feelings of eternal happiness and eternal mourning pulled at every single heartstring caught in the middle of the crossfire.

You were sorry for Connor.

Maybe there wasn’t a heaven for androids.

Maybe if he died, his program would simply stop working.

The sorrowful realization of his ultimate oblivion rained upon you as the hauntingly beautiful requiem of the pearly gates fought against every dark thought that had ever consumed you. Heaven was calling, Hell was the receiver. This was your battle, your decision. There would be no time to ponder the pros and the cons, for all your time was spent on keeping Connor safe. You couldn’t hear your own thoughts over the obnoxious screeching of breathtaking music. Each voice carried over another, layers upon layers of arguing ideals pulling you by the arms and legs. Tugging in opposite directions, the once beautiful music took a deeper turn, emitting true emotions. There was something about the way the deep, rich bass resonated within you, bringing for a kind of devastation designed for the most tragic of events. The lilting of the harp sprang out like flowers in bloom and you felt euphoric. The conflict in feelings and conflict internally began an infinite war of cancelling each other out for as long as you will have ever known. You wished to stay on the hell of a planet, just to see Connor’s face for the rest of your life, but you were a damned, selfish human being and you yearned for the life after death that you had dreamed of all your life.

It all happened in a flash. The crescendo of life, the pianissimo of death. Blares of lively trumpets drowning in the deep tones of the bass as bands of separate beliefs fought to keep your life on their side. Waves of sound and dynamics tossed you around and turned you every which way. Your heart cycled through happy, sad, angry, scared, and back to happy. The sounds and the pure, raw emotion blurred your vision as the gun was reloaded. The music swelled and you felt decrescendo as the finale played. The once roaring, deafening tune reduced itself to a hush train of thought. There was only one instrument, one note that made up your final piece:

The bang of a gun.

tag tag tag: @angelwrote @connorshero @mypasteljimin

[lopezayiesha01]

How a Chinese 메이저놀이터리스트 Conquered a Piece of America #2690

If the player switches all five cards, then he must raise.The player may either fold or raise.If player folds, then he forfeits his cards, ante bet, and side bet (if made).If player raises, then he must make a raise wager exactly equal to twice the ante. http://www.bbc.co.uk/search?q=안전공원 The authors claimed that Cepheus would lose at most 0.001 big blinds per game on average against its worst-case opponent, and the strategy is thus so "close to optimal" that "it can't be beaten with statistical significance within a lifetime of human poker playing". ery few examples of early English playing cards survive to this day. One of the reasons is that most of them were of such bad quality they simply didn't endure the centuries to appear in the modern day. Little, therefore is known about English manufacturers. The best known are Hewson from the 17th Century and Blanchard from the 18th Century. This example by L. Hewson shows the standard smudged beneath crude workmanship. Already by 1680 some important elements of the Rouen design had disappeared or were blurred beyond recognition, while others, though present, were much simpler and less detailed in form.A comparison between this rendition by Hewson with the Rouen Pattern clearly shows its heritage. In some games a player wins extra by getting five cards without “going bust” (going over 21).

Straight hands of five cards are sometimes used as a final showdown, but poker is almost always played in a more complex form to allow for additional strategy. French settlers in New Orleans in the mid-1700s kept Hazard alive, but over time, the combination of French and English-speaking players and changes to the game's rules slowly turned "crabs" into "craps" (for some reason) and a whole new game was born, eventually leaving Hazard nothing but a distant memory. If the dealer has a mid-card total of 4 to 6 then stop hitting when you reach 12 or above. Spanish-suited cards are still used in France, mostly in Northern Catalonia, and Brittany and the Vendée with the latter two using the archaic Aluette cards.

Ultimately, the casino is selling excitement, which is comprised of hope and variance. For example, in traditional poker players bank their own games. Instead the round flowers with six yellow petals, labelled as "Roses" - the rose used to have a similar shape on heraldic shields and coats of arms - does not seem to have a direct relation with any of the German signs; it has been suggested that Coins (from Italian tarots) may have inspired the Swiss Roses, as the texture that decorated the pips, still found in some regional patterns, may suggest the petals of a flower. The oldest surviving cards in the world are four fragments found in the Keir Collection and one in the Benaki Museum.

It is a game that is played like a five card stud poker game, but on a table that resembles a blackjack table. The game makes use of a standard 52 card deck and the players have to beat the dealer, not the other players. In order to win, the dealer must first qualify, so players can win even with low ranking hands if the dealer doesn't have a qualifying opening hand. Something that has gone on to prove most popular in recent years, the most famous being the MIT Blackjack Team who have won millions throughout their historic past. 스포츠중계 Two Pairs – two sets of two cards of matching rank with one unmatched card (Example – 4 of Clubs and Hearts, 8 Clubs and Spades and a fifth unmatched card). Where the player and dealer both have two pairs, the hand with the highest pair is considered the winner. If both hands have matching top pair, the higher of the two lower pairs is considered the winner. The dealer shall be required to count the stub at least once every five rounds of play in order to determine that the correct number of cards are still present in the deck. The dealer shall determine the number of cards in the stub by counting the cards face down on the layout.

Most prominently, it is universally considered bad luck to say the word "seven" (after the "come-out", a roll of 7 is a loss for "pass" bets). Also, if a ten-card is dealt to one of these aces, the payoff is equal to the bet (not one and one-half to one, as with a blackjack at any other time).The don't pass bet pays even money. A specialized surveillance department operates the casino's closed circuit television system, known in the industry as the eye in the sky.

That means that if the shooter rolls a 7 on the come-out roll, any players with active come bets waiting for a come-bet point lose their initial wager but will have their odds bets returned to them. But in video poker, the payoff for three of a kind is usually 3-for-1.The 20th Battalion of Foot Chasseurs were stationed in Baccarat from 1906 to 1918. Successful casinos take in billions of dollars each year for the companies, corporations, investors, and Native American tribes that own and operate them.

If the dealer has an ace, and counting it as 11 would bring the total to 17 or more (but not over 21), the dealer must count the ace as 11 and stand. Most multi-roll bets may fall into the situation where a point is made by the shooter before the outcome of the multi-roll bet is decided.The desire with this poor holding is to let the dealer hit and hopefully go over 21. Individual players, however, will likely define price as the cost of the spin.

The biblical "Number of the Beast" makes an appearance in every casino with a roulette wheel: if you add up all the numbers on the wheel, you get 666! Slot machines and gaming tables are arranged in a maze-like fashion so that wandering patrons are continuously enticed by more gambling options.Card counting is not thrown out of the casino and casinos will give you the opportunity to get things right and work the cards in your favour. Tickets are sold as for other numbers games, and the players get receipts with their numbers arranged as on a regular bingo card.

[loveiscosmicsin]

Dreaming of the Dawn

Post-canon Noctis (or should I say Post-Episode Ignis canon as of December 13th 2017? Well, it was written long before the DLC came out) and Ignis visit the old apartment building. A spontaneous decision led by another, they would always be at each other's side no matter the outcome.

Inspired by this tweet thread by titansatemysoul / @nokuigu : https://twitter.com/nokuigu/status/930533797438816257 Written with her permission. I love the headcanon and how well now it fits better than ever. Posted on my Ao3.

-

“In all the world, there is no heart for me like yours. In all the world, there is no love for you like mine.” - Maya Angelou

-

“What do you see?” “I...” Noctis struggled to articulate the view. “It’s different. And in much better shape than I thought it’d be.” Before the attack on the Crown City, there used to be a grand wisteria tree that grew in the centre of the courtyard. The very same tree where Ignis parked his car under one day in spring and found it overwhelmed by the fallen flowers. While Ignis lamented over retracting the roof, Noctis made no comment and compelled by some adventitious force, reached out to pluck the lavender blue blossom from the chamberlain’s chestnut locks and innocently, “You look so good in purple, Ig.” What remained of the tree now was a dead charred stump with its years before it was cut prematurely engraved in it, but beside it, two saplings had sprouted from the icy, withered ground. “Does it look safe to go inside?” Ignis asked, readjusting the plum scarf around his neck and removing the frosted visor over his scarred face. “Yeah,” Noctis forced the lump in his throat down. “Just... a lot to take in at once.”

“Then we have little to fear.” Ignis pressed a gloved finger to his lips, pensive before cocking his head assertively. “May I remind you that it was your idea to come to this place? We mustn’t drift from the goal now.” Whether Ignis was aware or felt exhausted hearing it time and time again, Noctis knew he was right. It was his idea and stopping halfway would be unsatisfactory to the both of them. With one hand holding the bag containing their lunch and the other finding catharsis from the emanating warmth of Ignis’ hand, Noctis led him inside the building. Despite its haunted and somber exterior, he can’t help but to feel relief to finally approach this piece of his past. Electricity was one of the vital resources that withstood the passages of time and underground conduits extended to all parts of the city. The apartment complex was no exception. The elevators responded when summoned and lifted the two men to the top floor. Noctis had lived in Insomnia Tower when he was fifteen and had vacated the premises five years later for Altissia. For a time, he lived a normal life and his duties as crown prince were lenient, but at the cost of being kept out of the loop of his father’s failing health. Death had followed the young prince since the beginning. Succession to the throne meant his father’s death and the frailty of his own mortality and it drove him to distance from anything and anyone that reminded him of it. “Well?” Ignis turned his head after Noctis got them inside the apartment, waiting for the grand tour he had been promised. “Don’t keep me in suspense.” “I’ll, uh, let me get the lights.” Noctis hit the switch by the entrance and light flooded the hall leading to the living room and kitchen. “Abandoned,” he paused, holding his breath to stop himself from sneezing. “And pretty dusty. Watch out.” “Duly noted.” Noctis swore he heard an eye roll with that. Ignis removed his gloves and carefully tucked them away in his pocket before feeling his way against the walls, tracing cracks and peeling wallpaper. “It’s rather drafty here, wouldn’t you say? I fear we’ll catch our death of cold.” The king agreed, it was musty and freezing inside, but he didn’t have the heart to let a gentleman suffer. “I can think of a couple ways to keep warm.” “Not so fast, Majesty. See if we can heat this room up a bit.” The power still worked, but it was too much to hope that the heating system would as well. They would just have to endure. Curiosity was the best cure to keeping minds off the cold. Ignis was more eager about coming here than he showed, examining the condition of the interior and making comments every now and then. Save for the cupboards, counters, and appliances bolted down, the apartment was stripped bare. Not a single piece of furniture remained. Not even the bed frames in the main bedroom and guest room. Noctis walked around the living room, the floorboards reverberated and eerily welcomed its visitors. He mostly remembered where everything was and the accidents that occurred. Every spot, though the physical markers long gone, carried fragments of his closest relationships. By the veranda, Cogsworth, a resilient house plant he received from Iris, was either swollen from excessive watering or went through days without a drop of water. Taking advantage of their strongest to weakest subjects, Prompto and Noctis had intense study sessions on the couch, comparing answers in preparation for exams with lots of junk food involved. Not taking no for an answer, Gladiolus had always came over with a deck of cards and despite the bitter taste of defeat more rounds than victory, somehow, became life lessons about decision making. Noctis had kept the red leather notebook that he used to write to Luna in a bookshelf, sending trading cards and limited edition stickers her way, knowing she loved collecting them. And Ignis, no matter what kind of day Noctis was having after school or work, the chamberlain had one of the vinyl records in the collection playing and a home-cooked meal waiting, starting a tradition that he would wait until they were able to eat together.

Deciding to head to the veranda, Noctis noticed that the velvet curtains swayed as if possessed, and pulled them wide open. Many times a young prince stood outside and stared out to the metropolis that he was to inherit, a myriad of thoughts plagued him. Insomnia at night had life, a cacophonous and yet, harmonious energy to that was easy to lose himself in. He was part of the city as it was of him. He wasn’t the prince, he was just Noctis and it was okay to forget for a while.   “Found what’s making the place cold.” There was a massive crack in the window and it allowed gentle gusts of air to come through. “I wonder who lived here after we left. If there was a somebody,” he pondered aloud. If someone did, maybe they saw Insomnia differently than he did. “Best not to ponder over less than savory thoughts.” Ignis said, close by, assessing the kitchen and finding that the facet ran dry.

“Yeah, you’re right. Having fun yet?” “I was just recalling our game nights. How far a man would go to get the last slice of pizza.”

“Those were the days.” The king agreed, remembering the best and cheapest pizza on the block. Through the best and worst days, Noctis treasured those memories. Ignis didn’t live with him, he stayed over often, and it was perfect even if it was only overnight and having to leave before Noctis woke up. Knowing that it wouldn’t last, the young prince pretended that they would live here forever without the burden of the royal family name looming over them. A futile and foolish fantasy. A few weeks after he survived the blood prophecy, Noctis knew not what to do next. He had no plan. No goal. Death was the last and only plan, he entrusted Lucis to his retinue and allies. Since then, rebuilding was the only thing he managed to stay focused on. He bore no weight on his own future. Ignis believed in him. Blind loyalty, he claimed, but Noctis knew better: Ignis never once lost the light in his eyes. “Shall we take a break? I’m feeling a bit peckish.” Noctis wasn’t done looking around and while they could always return, he hadn’t been fully truthful to Ignis that he informed the others that they were here. There was something here to be uncovered and he thought if he didn’t have the answer, Ignis might provide input. “You sure? There’s nowhere to sit.” “We’ll settle for the floor then.” The king and the strategist sat on the floor across each from other where the dining table used to be, and dined on what contents Noctis brought in the bag. “What kind of sandwich—” “PB and J,” Noctis answered cheerfully with his mouth full. “Of course.” Ignis chuckled as he bit into his sandwich. “Compliments to the chef as always.” “I know my way ‘round a jar or two,” the king replied, licking the peanut butter off his digits. They ate their food in comfortable silence and tidied up before resuming to the investigation of the apartment together. “We’ve achieved much in the past several months,” Ignis remarked, joining Noctis at the veranda. “The progress of repairs in the Citadel have exceedingly gone beyond expectations.” “It’s because everyone’s been so willing to help,” Noctis explained, giving credit where credit was due. “Men, women, even the kids pitched in. Everyone’s giving their all.” “They’ve been inspired by their king and his trusty pickaxe, toiling away to clear the rubble with his own two hands. It sounds like a folktale, given your new honorific as the Dawn-Bringer.” The strategist crossed his arms. “Let’s turn our attention to this place next.” “Huh? Didn’t know we’re playing real estate now. You sure love taking your roleplaying seriously.” “Come now, it’s more of a personal interest. I thought we ought to restore what memories we can.” “We can always make new ones, right?” “Is that not what we’re doing now?” “Yeah, but...” Noctis’ mind painted of what used to be there. Yes, it was where he lived, precarious circumstances aside, but it wasn’t home. Home was in the people, not the place. In a way, his heart moved out when Prompto, Gladiolus, and Ignis helped him pack that day. If he were asked to provide a definition of home, Ignis’ smiling at him was the thought that came to mind. Since the first moment Ignis breathed his name in absolution, Noctis had thought of the future even when the universe fought so viciously to deny him of it. Ignis had never left Noctis’ side. When Noctis returned from his time in the Crystal, he had thought Ignis would treat him as a stranger and after all that time, the strategist would have a change of heart. It was a cruel reality that he was ready to accept, ten years was more than enough time for a person to change. He was glad he was wrong. Nothing changed. “Noct?” “Back when you, we, had our doubts about how this would turn out, I promised you that every morning when you wake up, you’ll never regret being with me, right?” “Of course. I never regretted you or us, cherishing the time we have together.” “And we agreed to one day going to Caem and locking ourselves in a cottage for a week. Finally get that peace and quiet we talked about.” “Mhm. After Insomnia’s rebuilt. Not before,” Ignis reminded him of that condition for good measure. “You were quite persistent that I wear that swimsuit when we both know how inappropriate it is for harvesting mussels.” “Hey, hunting for seafood is your idea, not mine.” The king realized that the conversation was starting to go off-track and revealed the first five words without hesitation, “Ignis, will you marry me?” Ignis’ eye widened and his body stiffened for a moment. He made a sound as if the puzzle pieces in his ever-calculating mind have finally clicked in place. “Are you...” Noctis took Ignis’ left hand and his lips caressed the knuckles, unable to look at his face while his own warmed. “I... don’t have a ring. Yet. But I can ask this again when I do.” A soft, rueful laugh escaped him as his forehead touched Ignis’ chest. He didn’t have a speech prepared, but that didn’t mean the desire to spend his life with the man he loved wasn’t without certainty. “Not once we talked about this, but in my head, I see us tying the knot already and it always felt so right. So... You don’t have to give me an answer now. Just think about it.” Draping an arm around him, Ignis rested his chin on the king’s crown, his voice unexpectedly low that it raised goosebumps. “That won’t be necessary.” His chest rose and fell once with ecstatic conviction. “Nothing would make me happier.” Noctis’ heart thundered in his chest at the vagueness of that answer. “Do you—”

“I do.” “Wait, you didn’t let me finish,” the king frowned, untangling himself from the strategist’s embrace. “Is that a yes or a no?” Ignis tilted his head, a teasing smirk on his lips. “I didn’t wish to waste a single second to give you my answer. Twice. And yet, you certainly love to keep me waiting.” His fingers twined in Noctis’. “You may not realize this, but the thought about marriage has crossed my mind. I swore to love you until the last star in the galaxy is extinguished, have I not?” He said, bringing Noctis’ palm to his lips, adding, “I aim to keep my vow.”

The king pouted, tracing the thin scar on the lower lip. “You could’ve said something.”

“Patience is a virtue. I can account that the quality of is quite rewarding. Your spontaneous proposal caught me by surprise.”

“If anyone asks, it’s because of your ‘patience’ that we’re not married right now.” “Perhaps,” Ignis admitted and he reached out with his free hand to stroke Noctis’ cheek. “However, I will tell you this once more and for as many times as need be: I do.”

Noctis grinned, standing on his toes as he circled his arms around Ignis. He could never get sick of hearing those words. There were many ways to express their love and those two words were enough for now.

“I do, too,” he murmured before he kissed him.

With every atom of his existence and all the light that shined on their world.

[hasansonsuzceliktas]

Mean and Skeptical Comments about the Astrological Signs

What's the Trouble with Them? Aries If you ever see a trouble seeker, he or she will surely be an Aries! If you hate an Aries for acting in whatever way, don’t bother to seek revenge. They don’t need a curse or a vicious trap to suffer like their poor victims, as Arians are masters of messing with trouble. One morning, an Arian rises up, finds himself in good shape and perfect health, so he decides to “seize the day!” Oh my! They believe so deeply in their capability to do anything that pops into their minds. They are also extremely capable of justifying their poor choices. Don’t ever try to explain to them the possible consequences of their plans. Just wait and see! An Arian will never disappoint the passionate grudge-holders that wait for the spectacular fall of the infallible hero. Taurus Any mishap that befalls Taureans will be a result of their addiction to pleasure. God forbid that I would ever deny their sensible attitude toward worldly matters. They are the unquestionable pillars of the human conscience and sanity. Indeed, their down-to-earth essence is the very quality that improves their tendency to overestimate the cravings of the flesh. Well, don’t you know that our strengths are also our weaknesses? Taureans like to collect nice things and keep them in their lives, no matter what! Unfortunately, such deep attachments are the stones that pave the Taurean road to hell. Their loved ones also take a part in this tendency to objectify. Taureans stick to their objects of desire until they get so sick and tired of them that they cannot even bear to remember their existence. The moment when they start to despise something is so worth seeing! Gemini Any misfortune that happens to them is caused by them not handling their “possessions” with due care and attention. They reach out to grab almost everything that sparkles, asking for them ceaselessly. People mostly just give them whatever they ask for, just so they can have some peace! Because they are filled with a meaningless abundance, they get dizzy and become unable to behave properly. You see? It’s not “their” fault that they cannot make good use of anything! Oh, the burden of an unmanageable pile of possessions and an unbearable amount of attention! Of course, they should fly away toward the nearest colorful flower. Geminis miss all chances to establish a strong foundation on anything just because of the overly demanding people around them. Actually, Geminis do not really give a damn about these missed opportunities, because they are already busy troubling another person with their problems. Cancer The main trouble with Cancerians is their lightheadedness … Oh yeah, sorry! I meant their unique and contemplative way of thinking! They only get a little lost while trying to perfectly define and figure out every aspect of a matter. Thanks to some “mean and unfriendly” astrologers, Cancerians are famous for lacking a proper sense of timing! Well, these are merely vicious accusations by dark souls that cannot perceive Cancer’s irresistible need for wholeness! Let me open a window to the undiscovered depths of a Cancerian’s mind with the aid of an example: A Cancerian can spend half an hour shopping for the perfect shoes to match his or her clothes for a very important meeting, a meeting that began ten minutes ago! You should never be surprised when a Cancerian comes out of the shop with a new suit that matches the old shoes. You should also never even consider criticizing this behavior, because it would be very unbalancing for such a gentle soul on the verge of such an important meeting, a meeting for which he or she is already late. Leo Well, any problem that casts a shadow on the sunny, shiny world of Leos results from their stubborn need to patronize every living soul in reach. What else should a Leo do other than to give a precise definition of the expected outcome? Why should such royal beings bother themselves with the boring technicalities of other people’s concerns and limitations? How could they possibly bear the cold reality that even the most important people in the world cannot always get what they want? Or should they just accept that they might not be that important? Seriously? Leos are merry people, but they can be ruthless when exercising power. They know best, period! Instead of arguing with them, people should get up on their humble feet and do as they are told! When life gets lonely and boring, Leos want to cheer up! The king or queen needs to feel the warmth of human closeness and the tender security of unconditional acceptance. Phrases like “Emperors can be lonely too!’’ must come from the grim moments that are experienced in the utter silence of an empty palace. Virgo Every unfortunate thing happens to Virgos by pure accident! Yes, of course, what else could it be? Virgos put every little thing in their realm under strict control, so there’s no space for unwanted errors! Whatever mishaps occur despite a Virgo’s determined efforts must come from the bad influence of outsiders or unknown factors. Virgos cannot bear the burden of doing something wrong, and if anything should go wrong, they can only be the victims! Failures shake their very souls, and they find it very hard to repair their “already low” self-esteem. Still, pure Virgos immediately start to define the evils and eliminate their effects on their perfect setup. Sometimes the Heavens feel mercy for these beloved, hardworking  control freaks and decide to spoil them with minor miracles. However, Virgos don’t like surprises, and if they would find a fancy package on their doorstep, they would call the police and ask for the bomb squad. If they won a car in a competition, they would just complain about the paperwork and the additional expenses. Libra Inertia is the mother of all evils, and this is especially true for Librans. Everything happens to Librans because of their tendency to avoid any unwanted effort. Librans deliberately delay making difficult decisions and taking critical actions. They wait for things to happen, so they can keep their hands clean and make the right move to maintain their preferred position. They have many such open-ended issues, which are not seen by observers. Librans are extremely cool and calm on the surface, but internally, they are like an untidy room where no one else can find a place to sit or make a move. They freeze life in their own unique manner, so they can avoid confrontations and focus on the things that give them the most pleasure or excitement. When a crisis blows up, they skillfully mock the resulting scene! An admirer will surely soon be there to handle the situation and pamper our “poor victim.” In other words, nothing much happens to Librans, but the people who get involved with them should be ready to deal with their problems. Scorpio Boundless desires and a relentless will urge Scorpios to try any possible means to succeed. Would anyone need any other curse? Scorpios are usually coolheaded. They may take offense very easily, but they do not seek immediate revenge! While everyone is going crazy, they remain capable of observing the situation and finding a way out of trouble. The solutions they come up with may cause some unwanted complications for others, however, but hey, that’s life! They may feel guilty inside, yet they won’t shed many tears of regret or make many apologetic gestures. Know that this indifference is not the worst thing you can experience with Scorpios. When you see them in a state of total disillusionment, or reaching a point of no return, get lost! From that moment on, there is no such thing as the “Scorpio’s trouble.” Scorpios turn into Zippo lighters, and the trouble becomes entirely yours. Sagittaurus These never take no for an answer! This is why they become embroiled in every possible trouble, meaning trouble for the people who dare to refuse them. No one other than a Sagittarian could ask, ‘’Why?’’ in such a relentless manner! Even when they hear someone say no to another person, they may stop just to play their game, and say, “Hang on. Why do you reject this? Tell me, and maybe I can show you why you should say yes.” Sagittarians become tense like a bow until they find the weak point of their target. Once they discover it, the target starts to feel this tension, because Sagittarians do not limit their attacks. They hug, they bug, they beg, and they finally make you say, “YES!” And this is the turning point. Suddenly, the wind calms, the attention fades, and the intentions disappear. The Sagittarian has already set his or her mind on another target and gone! Capricorn It all happens thanks to Capricorn’s uncanny desire to play the savior. Why on earth do they have to be so dutiful? Why can they never turn down a call or, better still, switch their phones off at night and when on vacation? Why must they always have an opinion on how to do it better, even when they were never asked for an opinion? The answer is simple: They don’t know a better way of living other than trying to be useful! They must always be in charge or at least ready to take action. Capricorns are the only group of people in this world who feel weird when they are relaxed, experiencing a sort of depression when their agenda looks empty for the coming week. Under these circumstances, it seems they deserve trouble, because they subconsciously crave it! Aquarius Nothing other than their “concerns” is a source of trouble for Aquarians! It’s surprising, isn’t it? They have a weird obsession with foreseeing things, and this is because they secretly want to play God and direct events according to their own scenario. Thus, they feel a need to analyze each and every detail and take odd-looking measures to avoid unwanted twists of fate. Where an Aquarian is involved, be prepared to hear last-minute requests to correct trivial details that seem to have major importance to him or her. Aquarians may even suggest a major change in the course of something, or request it to be cancelled, for reasons not apparent to anyone else! It seems as if they look at things with the purpose of finding trouble, so they cause problems for the people they mingle with. Yeah, they’re the poorly appreciated saviors of humankind, doing good at the expense of their popularity. Pisces Oh my! It is simply goodwill paving the road to hell for Pisces. As you may well know, they look somewhat absentminded and too depressed to be interested in worldly matters. Indeed, their indifference is a gift from God! This is their natural protection that keeps them from getting messed up with trouble. Feeling good is never a good thing for a Pisces! When they feel good, their feet no longer touch the earth. They walk over the mean dirt of  life as if they were floating on the holy waters of the Heavens, feeling ready to fall in love with anything they see. When Pisceans fall in love with something, the world stops turning. The moment they feel happy and lucky, Pisceans lose the ability to develop a critical approach, avoid focusing on facts, and form all their plans based on “angelic inspirations,” getting lost in the flow in the process. From that point on, anything that doesn’t come to a Piscean’s mind takes place in his or her life! Read the full article