#she can canonically own this clothes because she has access to other worlds

[gliphyartfan]

MY BOY...God he is just so pretty. I love him so much. Twilight Princess was my first Zelda game and so he will always be my favorite. -He did pout about losing the wolf pelt but he has settled for fur-lined jackets that are well broken in.

-Does own cowboy boots, mainly cause the other fuckers boys keep just giving them to him.

-You can see the chest tattoo peeking out...I am soooo tempted to draw them all. Definitely one of the more heavily inked along with Legend and Wild.

-Had to have room to run around as Wolfie.

-I see him wanting and maybe owning a ranch? He needs a weekend away to ride Epona and be away from the city. (Our girl BETTER have come with our boy or we RIOT)...also gives him an escape with y/n when she gets close enough with them. He'd love to show her an escape from the stress of the city...and how wonderful life with him can be.

-His clothes are more durable than comfortable. He likes broken in clothes, especially good leather. -Just as charming as Warriors but in a more, good boy way. Definitely, boy next door vibes...no one expects the violence he is capable of when you come between him and his singular reason to exist. He loves his darling so much.

GAH I COULD TALK ABOUT HIM ALL DAY

Oooh, if that man approached me... huehuehue

First off yes, If Epona can traverse through the portal in canon, she can travel beyond dimensions! (The horses of the modern world WISH they could be a single percent as amazing as Epona!)

Chest tattoo? I wish to to pull the collar of hos shirt out...and see the full view... huehuehue

Ahem, I mean, from a creative standpoint, of course...

I feel that the main house the chain reside in is nice and large. Not because they wanna be extravagant, but those dungeon crawlers learned a thing or two about making a large building veeeery complex (with traps and runes and places to hide their prisoners...)

But they do have large spaces and most of them DO have their own little properties. So Twilight would have a ranch with many acres of land and Legend would have a set of warehouses and a huge library that only the rest of the chain have access to.

Four would have a private personal forge to create things. (Not to be confused with the main forge he uses to make the chain their weapons)

Time would have probably bough some property on the water for Wind (and made sure the sailor had a few old fashioned and modern boats so he can expand his skill)

I like how it looks like a punk but the moment someone would speak to him, it's like whiplash!

(When he dresses for 'business', ooooh he is as deadly as his blade. Then again they all have that trait)

If he manages to obtain something of hers that has her scent, he stays as Wolfie, basically just drilling her scent into his memory, so he could never forget it. (Even though he acts intoxicated if he does that for too long, but the others merely swipe away whatever he's latching to in order to snap him out of it. Even though they'll probably do the same thing when somewhere private)

Remember, this boys be cray-cray, but they are gentlemen! (Even if they have some crooked morals these days. But for their beloved, they can reign them in!)

A fantastic piece! I just wanna snatch his jacket, I bet it's nice and comfy!

Phenomenal work!

[maldiaaym]

Why do I think Lily Evans (Potter) was not a good friend?

Until recently, the general opinion of the fandom was that Lily Potter was a good girl, deified and the representation of purity and goodness. But, doing a more exhaustive study of the character, we can get to see how Lily evans maybe was not so holy and made mistakes due to her education and, possibly, depending on the stage of her life where she found herself when she made those mistakes.

In relation to Severus Snape, I think she was not a good friend. Regardless of his age, which we all understand that we do not see friendship in childhood, adolescence or adulthood, she also had defects that compared to other characters in the saga, they were not a role model.

Starting from the little we know about her through the worst memory and Snape's memories, we are going to take some situations into account to assess her defects:

She blamed Snape for the letter Petunia sent to Dumbledore.

She got mad at Snape for dropping a branch on Petunia, even though he did so unconsciously and Petunia was rude to him.

The discussion with Snape about what happened with Remus (werewolf accident), his distrust of who was her friend and believing others before, not caring about Snape.

The lake scene, where she never addressed Snape once, as if he didn't know him and was just another boy to help.

The same lake scene, where she taunted Snape after he called her "Mudblood".

Now, let's talk about the problems at different levels (social, emotional, mental, physical and cultural):

Social: Snape comes from a lower social class than Lily and, although at first the girl Lily did not see the difference, I suppose that as time passed she realized that it did not look good for Snape to wear second hand clothes (surely ), he had serious problems in the family sphere, Snape's own unsociable nature that did not allow him to have a larger group of friends. In childhood we do not usually take into account the social variable when making friends with other children (pre-Hogwarts), but as she became related to the peer group at Hogwarts, she surely could not help feeling somewhat ashamed of the friendship with Snape . Let me explain, in Snape's adulthood it seems that no one knew about Lily and Snape's friendship, so it would be a secret friendship (and we all know that shame towards the other is what leads to secret friendships and relationships).

Emotional: Lily quickly connected with Snape because there was something she needed from him, and it was the knowledge and the desire to be accepted in a place like Hogwarts. Hogwarts was a new world that she did not know and Snape could offer her the security of knowing that world ... But, when she knew what she had to know, Snape had nothing more to offer her, but a clandestine and unrewarding friendship for her. It is not a mistake to think this, but it does show that she deliberately used Snape and that their friendship deteriorated over time. I think she might have felt friendship for Snape in a pure way, but when she began to be friends with the marauders, her emotional level turned towards these guys and she began to move away from Snape. I think the dark arts were an excuse to end the friendship, wanting to get away from him in an interested way ... it's easy to think that, when you really feel empathy for someone, you try to make the effort to understand that person, to know why him he likes the dark arts. However, she Lily was not able to understand him, understand his fears, his insecurities and the need to flee from the hell where he was stuck.Referring to the lake scene, I think Lily had a complete dissociation from Snape by now, she didn't defend being his friend, she didn't speak to him directly even once, and when he made a mistake due to the situation, she scoffed of him and "flirted" with James.

Mental: I think Lily never understood the true meaning of friendship, not at least as she later taught us Harry by understanding Ron and Hermione and accepting his flaws, even when this child was only 11 years old. I think that Lily, as soon as she could, got rid of Snape because she no longer wanted to have an uncomfortable friend, a friend who surely helped her for years in her studies at Hogwarts (I mean surely potions). Snape was like a teacher for Lily in her access to the magical world, he helped her in the study and knowledge of the magical world and I think that Lily stopped seeing usefulness when she already found in Gryffindor and the marauders the way to go her way . I mean, I think she coldly weighed whether or not she was interested in staying friends with Snape and she conveniently cut off the friendship when she got the chance. Lily showed herself to be a cold person who did not understand what Snape was in her whole and who did not appreciate all that he had done for her.I know that calling her "Mudbloods" was not right, but instead of trying to understand the shame and harassment that Snape felt at that time, she broke off the friendship and remained friends with the stalker, the one who emotionally blackmailed her and who continued to be a bully. No one can convince me otherwise.

Physical: here we will talk about the implications of a person who is not really physically attractive. There are studies that determine that people who do not fit the standards of beauty tend to have fewer opportunities in social relationships, love relationships or even find a job. With all this I mean that, when we are children, we do not care about anyone's physical appearance, but when we reach adolescence, our group of equals teach us the canons of beauty, which is considered handsome or what not. In this case, I think Lily was superficial. That is to say, Snape was not physically attractive, surely he did not look comfortable being with him because she was a popular, pretty girl, and he was attracted to a boy who was much more attractive than Snape (even though James was, in my opinion, uglier emotionally and disrespectful to others, adding being a bully). Lily preferred to go for the handsome boy rather than choose a loyal friend who was unattractive.

Cultural: At this level many factors enter, but here I will choose to talk about the differences of ideologies and different culture between Slytherin and Gryffindor. As we know, both houses were enemies, they were the contrast between good and evil in the Harry Potter saga. Slytherin represented everything bad and Gryffindor everything good. Here we also talk about the peer group (that is, a group of people that we consider our equals and from whom we learn cultural, social, emotional and behavioral factors), where Lily in the end ended up choosing to choose Gryffindor and be immersed in ideas prefabs that already existed about Slytherin even though, surely, many ideas were not true. Some of these ideas were hatred towards the "dirty bloods", defending the purity of blood, ambition as a negative element and cunning as if it were something bad that always leads to cheating.Where I see these preconceptions most clearly is in the scene where Lily argues with Snape for defending Mulciber, etc ... in this scene it seems that Lily puts the marauders before (she is supposed to talk about them) because they are from her house and believes that what Mulciber does is worse because he is in Slytherin. Being in Gryffindor, she is believed to have the moral superiority and the right to claim Snape to choose a position, when obviously Snape, like Lily, will choose their peer group. The point here is that Lily prefers to believe the marauders and put Snape in the guilty position, without even asking if his friend is okay or asking him what he saw ... Lily is not interested in knowing what happened because surely he was content with James's version and would always doubt any version Snape could give it.

Up to here, I did my study. It is a bit lazy, I wrote it on the fly and remembering some of the knowledge I acquired when I was studying Pedagogy. But, in essence, I hope you have understood. In the end, Lily opted for what she considered to be okay based on ideas and beliefs that she ended up having with her peer group. She put her friendship with the marauders first and decided to coldly and selfishly eliminate her friendship with Snape. In the end, we have all had friends from whom we have moved away because they no longer shared things with us (although I can presume that I never alienated anyone for thinking differently or liking things that I did not like), but also friends that we have from all our lives, with those of us who do not like things about them, but accept them and try to understand them, where the company of that person is valued more and we do not care what they tell us. It is true that the "peer group" exerts a lot of influence on us, despising those who consider strange people or have unusual habits for the majority of the population. But Snape and Lily met in childhood, this factor should not have been decisive for their estrangement and, I am afraid, that in the almost of Lily, he ended up accepting the conditions of his peer group to the detriment of maintaining a friendship that so much contributed. I don't hate Lily, I have no problem with her, for me she really is a flat character, too overrated and that only has a few three lines in the entire Harry Potter saga. It is impossible to empathize with her as we would with other characters and she hardly has any development of her. The most remarkable thing about her is that she gave her life for her son, otherwise she showed us a girl who had a strange friendship with Snape and who married the popular boy of her time.

[ganymedesclock]

Thank you for pointing out that it's really implausible for someone not a part of an official Fantasy(tm) government to have access to full plate armor and keep it maintained on their lonesome, I have this character who somehow Wanders The World and yet is also in full plate all the time? At least I can understand how to edit that idea. Shame video games lied to me on how much armor is too much or too little for travel.

Historically speaking, most figures we'd recognize as Knights In Shining Armor were people who could afford to maintain their own armor, sword, horse- usually landed nobles. 'Knight' is a class within a peerage, closer to a lord or lady than a servant. Similar story for historical samurai- they were privileged people who could afford a sword IIRC.

Another thing I try to think about is that armor is... impractical. Uncomfortable. It's not impossible to use or limiting your range of movement massively- they did an experiment where a historical reenactor in full plate ran an obstacle course against a soldier in modern field gear, I don't recall where but I remember seeing the footage, but the knight did favorably- but living in armor is an impractical, though not an impossible, decision.

You can easily lean into that- if your character is a vagrant wanderer in full plate, they had to have either come from or been employed at some point by money, or possibly had a chance to take really good armor off someone else. If they're living in their armor almost all the time, there's still probably parts they shed according to some routine or another, and what isn't regularly taken off and cleaned (or at least, y'know, scrubbed) will probably get stinky. A big oft-overlooked-in-fantasy part of armor is padding- just the metal layer will prevent cuts, but to actually have meaningful impact resistance against stabs, pierces, or bone-shattering impacts, one way or another a would-be knight is usually wearing several layers. While it's not the only option, a gambeson- a thick quilted coat- and over that a harness to attach and support the various armor pieces is very common. Armor is actually very logistics-heavy! Owning, maintaining, and wearing it is a big deal. That's not to say you can't ever depict a character who has armor but can't maintain it- but that could very well be an interesting point.

(I think about this a lot when I draw Prisoner from Dead Cells- he is the last person who can really afford armor, meaningfully, and he's also an emaciated person going through a lot of it- so I tend to draw his armor as dented, scratched up, extremely piecemeal per canon- he really only has one pauldron and maybe a breastplate depending- and literally tied on with strips of spare cloth, because he has no padding both in terms of his deeply unhealthy body weight and the unlikeliness this armor was ever tailored to him)

In the case of rpgverse, few of the core cast has much in the way of armor. Diana literally is an ex-knight; she used to be a marchioness (relatively big cheese; right below a duke), hence why it was a pretty big courtly betrayal when she joined Deimos, who kitted her out accordingly using basically magical artifice.

Diana's armor, when she regains the ability to summon it, is a bit unnaturally fitted to her figure. I designed it off of the articulations of an exoskeleton; you can see this most obviously in where it secures to her neck. Being made of an unnatural, highly flexible quasi-organic material gives it advantages in that regard- these plates can slide over each other to articulate without scratching each other to hell and back. I've also been careful to keep the spikes on her pauldrons short and flared outwards, so she can do things like raise her arms over her head without poking herself.

Even then, she's definitely going to be dispelling it (sometimes, even the left-hand gauntlet that holds her prosthetic shadow-arm in place and forces it to work more like a conventional appendage) when not needed.

Depending on how committed you are to your knight character, anon, there's plenty of fun worldbuilding or lorebuilding options you could use to still capture the image you like. I think that practical concerns and knowledge shouldn't preclude imagination in fantasy writing, but help you hone it down- have a sense of what it means if your character is always wearing armor. Diana's armor symbolizes a lot of things to her- her former status, service she both is and isn't proud of, but also her own ability to face opposition head-on. It means a lot to her, and as the drawing makes pretty clear I think, her mental health drastically improves when she's able to reforge her own connection with darkness and regain its use.

[snowycorpse]

Tate Langdon headcanons

(aka me projecting onto the poor guy)

He is bi/pansexual (doesn't mind either label)

Has internalized homophobia bc of Constance’s bullshit though

Adores fruit, one of the only things he'll gladly eat

Loves being praised

Thrifts all his clothes

He is 100% an artist

Reads constantly (and has great taste)

The library is like his escape room 

It’s quiet and secluded and has so many worlds that he can escape into

Once the internet became bigger he went absolutely wild

With all that knowledge to be consumed at his fingertips, he was enamored 

He's a little too into true crime though

Like he'll get really into one case that will consume him for weeks

You should have seen him when all the Jeffrey Dahmer stuff came to light

He was very much not okay

Kurt Cobain's death was part of the reason he snapped

Gets peeved out by eating sometimes, so he skips meals often

Really emotional pretty much 24/7

Little to no friends

When he was still alive he would try to get out of the house as much as possible because of his mother

He would still be there for Addy when she needed her brother though

He loves cuddling, especially being the little spoon

Please hold him

Constantly longs for more cardigans, he has a problem

Halloween is his favorite holiday

The Nightmare Before Christmas came out a year before he died, he loved it

Probably liked Beetlejuice too

A fan of Tim Burton's aesthetic in general

Ben prescribed him Lexapro so he probably has either anxiety or depression (at least)

Loves new technology, show him Spotify and he'll be the happiest little guy

One of those kids that pretended to be a vampire in 3rd grade

Likes causing discourse on the internet

Maybe a bit of a theater kid (?)

Probably enjoys vandalizing things/spraypaint

Also enjoys shoplifting

Just petty crimes

Almost got arrested several times but always managed to get away until the last time

Despises change

More than likely had a couple romantic partners before Violet, but only got hurt

Would run a successful aesthetic Tumblr blog

Let's be real he would live on Tumblr if he got a device with internet access

Slang confuses the shit out of though, he really is still a 90s kid

Is sad he can't go out to movies after he's dead

Would order a projector online and make his own movie theater in the attic

Invites all the other ghosts up there to join him

Laughs at portrayals of ghosts in movies

Adores slashers though

I feel like he'd love Friday the 13th and Scream specifically

He's an online shopping addict now because I said so

He can't leave the house, it only makes sense

He'd steal the current residents of Murder House's credit cards to pay for it all 

This also causes more discourse among the families, which I honestly think he might find entertaining

Speaking of addictions, he is 100% a caffeine addict

Especially loves green Monster Energy

It gives him heart palpitations but he drinks it anyway 

Back when he was alive, the caffeine addiction eventually spiraled into cocaine and meth 

But we all knew that that’s literally canon

Absolutely gets jittery for no reason, even without being on anything, so the drugs would only heighten that

Self-conscious about how scrawny he is

Definitely owns a jewelry box

Larry probably called him a sissy for owning jewelry once, so he makes a point to wear it every day

Made earrings out of his wisdom teeth

Makes earrings out of anything

He writes poetry and his own songs to get rid of his extra emotions

He carries a composition notebook around with him everywhere for scribbles and doodles 

You never know when inspiration is going to strike

If he for some reason doesn’t have his notebook on him when he gets an idea he will write on napkins, his own skin, shoes, whatever he can find

He seems like the kinda guy to save newspaper clippings, don’t ask me why

He’d keep a bunch of them on his corkboard or pasted into his notebook

Basically “lives” for music when he has nothing else to keep him going

Loves sleep but stays up way too late at the same time

His love language is touch, but he’s also afraid of being touched/is touch-starved

Gets obsessed with random topics and will research them for days

He has a bunch of miscellaneous knowledge because of this

Likes fire/ burning stuff

Fav colors are reds and greens (but absolutely not next to each other)

His fav color scheme is orange and purple/black because it reminds him of Halloween

Buy him presents and he will love you forever

Or just make him something

He didn’t ever have  a lot of people caring about him growing up, so he will  absolutely treasure any gift that is offered to him

He would love playing classic video games like Pong, Tetris, and Pac Man

This doesn’t stop him from enjoying new games too!!

I have a feeling he would be a big fan of Animal Crossing especially

Being friends with cute animals makes him feel less alone

Also seems like he would carry around a battered deck of cards with him everywhere for quick games of Solitaire

He has a wall of entertainment/distraction materials in his room (VHS tapes, CDs (both blank & burned), DVDs, records, books, games)

Fascinated by anatomy, it’s the only science class he ever did well remotely well in 

He was probably one of the “advanced” kids in elementary school, but by the time he hit high school he was too done with people to care that much anymore 

He’s smart, just done with society and conforming to its rules

Probably wanted to grow his hair out at one point, but Constance wouldn’t let him

Speaking of hair, he probably cuts his own

He started having to do that himself in middle school and at first it looked awful

He’s a pro by now though

Loves braiding Addy’s hair for her to help her look like a pretty girl

He’s a great brother, even though he’s the youngest

Mess with his siblings and you mess with him

That’s all for now, but I’ll probably come back and add more later. Please consider adopting any of these headcanons as your own and then telling me so,  as I adore validation. 

I’ve also got headcanons for Kyle in the works, and feel free to request any of your favorite Evan characters as well :) 

Thank you for reading!!!

[bookwyrminspiration]

How do you think Sophie's family/friends would react to female to male Sophie Foster? Like if it were while she was in the Lost Cities.

oo that's an interesting one! trans sophie, specifically in the lost cities (i'm assuming in the canon timeline with all the other worldbuilding still intact). I don't know if they have the concept in the Lost Cities--I mean I think it's entirely safe to assume that queer elves exist whether or not Shannon writes about them, you just can't erase us.

(note: I will be referring to Sophie with that name and =they/they pronouns for this post simply because name and pronouns are a whole other deal)

I think their immediate family and friends would be supportive, if a little confused, but understand that whatever they're talking about with gender means a lot to them. The elven world follows so many traditional stereotypes when it comes to gender--like hair length, dresses, etc.--and all apparently at will, as Della (i think it was her, might've been Edaline) said that Sophie didn't need to wear dresses if they wanted to wear pants instead, as it was actually the capes that signified nobility and not the dresses. This leads me to believe that there has been at least one other person who has rebelled against the dresses and prefers pants, hence that answer came so easily to Della; it wasn't her first time thinking about it. However, as it never went into practice for Sophie (another thing about her wardrobe that I'll mention in another post. to the person who sent me an ask about it: I saw it! I'll get to it!), it does make me think there would be a little bit of a rocky transition into wearing more traditionally masculine clothing.

it's worth noting that just because they may be ftm, they don't need to change their wardrobe and throw away all their dresses, I'm just including this because we've seen mentions of Sophie disliking the more poofy/obviously feminine clothing throughout the series, so they seem like they might be someone who would want to change their presentation a little.

to get a little more into specifics: I don't think any of their friends or family would be hostile towards them, maybe unintentionally a little dense, but well-meaning. Edaline would be very open and welcome to their transition, whatever that entailed (if anything), and mostly grateful Sophie was comfortable sharing that with her. I think Grady would be protective, the kind of person to question them just a little bit to make sure this was something they really wanted (not because he didn't believe them, just because he'd recognize the difficulties and wouldn't want them to go through it without due cause). I don't think Sandor would particularly care, mainly concerned with keeping them safe and only thinking about it so far as to make sure they feel safe emotionally with him. He'd recognize it as not his place to question or judge, and he doesn't need to know how their gender works in order to respect and protect them.

onto the friends! I think Biana and Dex would be the most supportive upfront and ask the fewest questions. Biana might even take this as a chance to help figure out how Sophie wants to look and figure that out with them. it's right up her alley, as she loves doing others up, and it's a bonding opportunity too, a chance to let Sophie reintroduce themself to her. And maybe she'd take the opportunity to take all those lovely gowns off Sophie's hands...you know, out of support, not at all because she wants them for herself (insert knowing wink here). And then Dex is already used to living outside the norms of society, so seeing Sophie decide to do what they wanted and to stop trying to fit in to a feminine role would just make his ecstatic. Because he knows what that's like and he'd enjoy seeing one of his close friends stick it to the system--and he'd also be very supportive of their journey. I imagine he'd help with whatever technical aspects of transitioning Sophie would want, helping them access resources and all that.

i think Keefe would be a little caught off guard, but once Sophie explains how they feel and he can feel their emotions on the subject, I think he'd be very enthusiastic about them doing what they wanted. he might berate himself for not putting the pieces together sooner, as he could literally feel their discomfort with themselves throughout the years and yet he just brushed it off. I kind of get the vibe he'd help Biana with assisting Sophie in finding their style, but focus more of the appearance aspect over the clothes. Teaching them how to actually wear the clothes together and style their hair and all that. he also feels like he'd start being a little rougher with them, playing around with them and teasing them the way he usually does with Fitz as he works to unlearn the way he perceived them before. Speaking of Fitz, he feels like the kind of friend who would be like "why would you do that?" but only because he doesn't fully understand what they're talking about. Not that he wouldn't be supportive, he'd just need a little more guidance and assistance understanding what they want. he's had a very traditional mindset for a lot of the series, but I think his love and respect for Sophie would be more than enough to challenge his understanding of gender so he could support them. if they had already dated at this point in time, he might want to talk to them privately about that just to understand if that's why things didn't work out or if he'd done something wrong, but that's another conversation.

then there are the other, more sidelined friends, all of whom I think would generally react the same. I think Linh would just go with it and not ask questions, but be pleased that Sophie feels more themselves, perhaps sharing a story of her own about coming into herself and her power and accepting herself as she was. i don't imagine Tam would have much of an outward reaction, being like "why are you telling me this, I don't care" but internally reworking how he thought about them. And I imagine he'd be a little protective, seeing Sophie go outside the norms of society even more. He was scorned by society for years, so that's a subject close to his heart, so while he might not think much of it or how it will affect their relationship, I think he'd be more protective of them, just like from the background. Then Marella would probably take it in stride and say something like "I always knew there was something off about you" but not in an insulting way, just being like ah. that's what it was. you were always a little different and I couldn't figure out why you acted the way you did, but this makes sense. It might answer a question about Sophie she didn't even know she had. Maruca probably wouldn't think much of it, instead focused on the Black Swan and fighting. I imagine something similar with Wylie, both of them going okay that's not my problem, happy for you but also there's some things we need to work on. They'd use their name and pronouns and support them emotionally, but I don't think they're close enough to them to have more of a reaction. it's just...not a priority to them.

this is getting long so I'll stop there for now, but there's also the thoughts of how the black swan, neverseen, council, and elven society as a whole would react to their gender things. I think Sophie would have an excellent support system built up, they're friends and family loving them more than any confusion that might get in their way.

this was a very interesting ask!! so thank you for the opportunity! got a lot longer than I expected it to, but I enjoyed it!

[homesteadchronicles]

A Cycle of Seals: Writing Excerpt (Princess of Impotence)

After three months of continual debate on whether or not to post this excerpt, my friends convinced me to submit it on-stream tonight. While it imperfectly handles heavy topics I myself am still working through, I hope you see the heart and healing process behind it - and, most importantly, behind Eirys.

You may remember these three from my recent Character Description Challenge! I can never get enough of writing their dynamic, even as their in-canon scenes continue to dwindle through editing. Whomp.

___

Project: A Cycle of Seals Timeline: Pre-Book One Canonical? No Context:

The House of Salvation has long isolated society’s sick. The Godewine twins - Royan and Eirys - visit every dawn and tend to the condemned. While Royan attracts the masses with the supernatural power of his Timekeeper’s Seal, the powerless Eirys attends to one individual: Oeden Sincairn, locked away even from the other infirm. 

Content Warnings: Illness, Isolation, Mentions of Ableism

___

The Yoreword warns of a wickedness more contagious than any sickness, one bestowed upon the lowest amongst them. Eirys has never - paragons forgive her blasphemy - believed that. Illness did not demean one’s internal divinity. Not when the skin-deep sainthood of her fellow nobles could nauseate an angel. Even still, sacrilege guides her away from those surrounding her blessed sibling to instead seek solace with the kingdom’s most corrupted citizen.

With the crowd thoroughly enthralled by Royan’s abilities, Eirys slips outside their thinning scope of notice and down the western hall. While the main chamber had been filled to overflowing with the infirm, naught but a begrudging servant files through the passage here. Those who notice her appearance regard her with the civil disinterest paid to one of their own. Or had they purposely dismissed their princess? Nonsense, she thinks (but does not believe).

Would such insolence not make sense? She is no Shepherd. She bears no Seal. She does not sway the hearts of nobles like Isolde, does not command the arms of soldiers like Sigrid, does not awe the minds of scholars like Ciaran. She is but another stumbling block to the damned’s salvation, a scourge to kiss their scars.

Why must power inhabit those who refuse to wield it well? That question had no answer, or at least not one the spirits deign to supply.

Yet, despite her inherent impotence, one resident still awaits her entrance.

Eirys shuffles down the corridor, around the corner, and up to a room quartered off from the rest. With a knock for courtesy, she slips in without awaiting permission.

Inside, the chamber holds little else other than Oeden, perched at the edge of a bed as unkempt as he. He is dressed, thankfully - not that a medic cares much for modesty - with a tunic hanging loosely off his wiry form. The tension that inhabits his shoulders evacuates whilst registering his visitor’s identity.

You’re safe, she thinks, willing the assurance to reach him. Safe, but not saved.

A flicker of mischief lifts his lips, too weak to raise the bags beneath his eyes. “Abandoning your brother, are we?”

Eirys huffs, indignant fists finding her hips. Even Oeden thought only of Royan! “I do hope that’s not a disappointment.”

He does not answer, and so Eirys sets to work. Oeden needs attention - medically, at least - every day before sunrise, lest their superiors deny him access to the sanctuary. If coming here every morning means her friend can escape isolation? Well, it made her wartime training worthwhile. Her bag unpacked, the bedside table stands littered with supplies of every shape and size: needles and knives and salves that would unnerve even hardened warriors.

Oeden refuses to flinch.

“You should have seen them,” Eirys says as she rifles through her satchel for a binding beneath the draughts. “All those patients, pawing at his Seal like it might peel off if they rub it right. They were two fools short of a parade!”

Oeden cannot see it, can see little else beside this room, and instead snorts from imagination alone. “With Royan there, they only need one more.”

She swats him with the wad of bandages in hand but cannot hold back her laughter. How tragic that such wit must stay locked away. “At least someone pays him any mind.”

“Ironic, isn’t it? His only admirers come from ones the rest of the world admonishes.” The laugh that follows lacks all humor.

There is a sickness in Norire. One that spares the poor and spoils the pure. One whose unholy hand reaches across the nation, fingers of infirmity digging into every manse and mansion. Even her own. Eirys knows this, intrinsically. Hates it, irrefutably. But, like every other illness, she cannot cure it. Not anymore than she might will away the wickedness of kings who condone quarantining the chronic, the heresy of priests enslaving the impoverished, the sinfulness of princesses submitting to these societal normalities.

Instead, she sits down. Shuts up. Prays behind sealed lips to an imprisoned god for forgiveness, for change.

Oeden never minds the silence. His proclaimed disdain for company disproved itself with every unspoken show of appreciation. This time, it crumbled beneath a subtle repositioning atop the bed: an invitation for intimacy.

Eirys accepts his summons, scooting closer, the equipment her plus one. A once-over of his body shows no sign of his condition having spread, but she can tell little with the glove that disguises his limb. Her hand hovers above, but does not touch. “May I…?”

Oeden nods. Neither required consent – thus why she elicits it. No one asked Oeden permission to burden him with this power, any more than they had asked Eirys to deprive her of it. He deserves this small dignity.

With measured tenderness, Eirys peels back the fabric encasing his left arm. Each inch of cloth stripped away reveals the crystalline protrusions carving through calloused skin in misshapen patches. Flesh split in bloodied fissures, ore corroding the body into its personal deposit. No worse than before, she thinks. The thought does little to placate her concerns because that does not make it better than before either.

Oeden evades her gaze. Witnessing her displeasure would surely confirm a deep-whispered suspicion: that he was, even to her, grotesque. She knows that he spies her reaction when he thinks her attention lies elsewhere, awaits a well-deserved grimace or an artificial grin. Instead, Eirys freezes her face in cold indifference. It comes naturally, she realizes - her family has done the same on the throne for one hundred years, after all, for far less noble a purpose.

She pulls a rag from the pouch at her hip and dips it into one of the pungent balms scattered about the bed top. The whiff of peppermint briefly assaults her before the musty scent of Salvation overpowers it. “Ready?” she asks. His nodded ascent initiates the delicate process of cleaning the crystal. Eirys traces the edges of fractured skin with her cloth as if she painted a masterpiece - with precision, and with respect to the canvas.

Oeden winces with each misplaced press of fabric. He never complains, but none could deny the pain he endures on the nightly. The momentary sting ebbs away at the gritted teeth and tensing posture until relief resumes its rightful mantle upon him. Eirys has never seen such strength from someone so weary. Weary, she realizes, and lonely.

He needs tending to. In his body, yes, but even more so in his soul.

“It’s not, you know,” Oeden says suddenly. He still refuses to meet her eyes, but he picks up on her confusion nonetheless, for he continues, “a disappointment, I mean. That you’re here.”

Had he dwelt on her greeting this whole time?

Eirys slips her free hand into Oeden’s, clasping it with desperate compassion. You deserve deliverance, but I can only give you decency. “I’d sure hope not,” she teases, “but we both know you’d prefer my brother’s company.”

“Royan would have only worsened this,” Oeden reminds her. The Seal of Progression could do little to cease the spread of crystal. It could only comfort those who conformed to its whims - and Oeden had never been one to obey. “Besides, who knows what I would have seen, had anyone else done this…”

Ah, yes. The visions.

Eirys understands next to nothing of them, despite her supposed spirituality, but she does not doubt their existence any more than she doubts that their god remains trapped in some undiscovered vault. One touch of crystallized skin could send Oeden into an unconscious stupor. Foreseeing an unfortunate future from unprompted contact became an all-too-common occurrence.

“And with me?” Eirys entangles their fingers, drawing his hands up. “What do you see?”

Oeden’s breath hitches as she scales the goosebumps raising across his arm, but he does not deny her. His left hand rises to meet her, ore-crusted finger brushing against a freckled forehead. A breath. A moment. A hope.

“…Nothing.”

Oeden exhales like oxygen had always evaded him. His head slumps against hers. “Thank the Seals you’re safe, Eir.”

You’re safe for me, is what he means. She hopes he knows he’s safe with her, too.

They sit there, undone and unsure, in each other’s presence until time unwinds itself around them and Eirys realizes: the military, the clergy, the royalty - none of them need her. None of them need to. Oeden does. And a flustered, wistful part of herself believes she needs him too.

She always loathed her own powerlessness, but this powerlessness to resist him? She could live with that. She might even love it.

[straighttohellbuddy]

i'd really like to hear about 5, 27, and 32 for the 35 fanfiction writer question game! if it isn't a game/i misinterpreted what you meant, i'm really sorry!

It is an ask game! Also I love you thank you!!

I'm putting this one first because I've wanted to talk about it for a while, and yeah it should probably be a post of it's own but here we go;

35. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

I think there's a real art to being able to write X Reader fics, and I think the more you write, the more nuance you develop in order to weave a story around the reader's characteristics to make it inclusive while also personal. i think there's a conversation to be had about inclusivity in the YouTube x Reader community, and while the heavy prevalence of NB!Reader fics is amazing, we still have to look at what other biases we're inserting into our works. descriptions of, or moments regarding, the reader's skin tone, size, hair, clothing choices, family, etc, should be considered carefully if you're looking to make this as accessible as possible for the wide variety of readers. i appreciate people who specify if they're writing a particular type of reader (chubby!reader, or short-haired!reader, etc) because it sets a precedent for the fic, but if you go in without that caveat and suddenly the reader is being described as tanned or with long wavy hair or something, that breaks the immersion and alienates the readers who don't fit this narrow description. uh, also this is just a small thing, but when writing NB!Readers, don't forget about AMAB nb folks existing and being taken into consideration in your writing.

like i said, there's an art to being able to write around describing the reader, while still making the story feel personal. we just have to think about if what we're writing would make sense if we were not ourselves, if that makes sense???

also just personally i'd like to see more diversity in the people chosen for the representations of the read in IG/SMAU posts.

5. What’s the fic you’re most proud of?

I actually don't have one definitive answer for this because I've been writing for a very long time so I have a few favourites for different reasons.

for this blog; once you say it out loud it can't be undone {Corpse Husband} | 17K. non-fatal hanahaki au ft. bes frend ethan gameplays. of course this is my favourite, have you read it? it's good!

Feelings are fair game for nine months out of the year, but God forbid you develop a crush during Hanahaki Season; three months of coughing up petals just because you’re in love with someone who doesn’t love you back? It’s a damn inconvenience. You haven’t had an active Hanahaki Season in the four years since you started YouTube, and you think that since you’re in quarantine, not going outside, not meeting new people, you’ll be fine this year too! Except that you start playing Among Us with a group of people you’ve never met before, friends of friends, including the elusive Corpse Husband, who’s kind, and funny, and may be flirting with you, but you’re not quite sure. The point is, you make friends with him not expecting much beyond a streaming buddy, but then you get talking more often, chatting and joking at all hours in DMs, and he’s calling you sweet nicknames on stream, and you wake up on the first day of your Season coughing up flower petals and cursing yourself for falling for a man who’s first name you don’t even know!

but also because i can and will plug my own shit

Reader Insert (also my Overall favourite rn); heard your name in every love song {Ben Hardy} | 72k. fwb-to-lovers, also the author clearly has an x-men hyperfixation. actor!reader.

When you’re twelve and you have a crush on your babysitter, your parents think it’s puppy love, think it’s cute, and you’ll forget about it soon enough. When you’re fifteen, and your former babysitter’s on TV in one of the UK’s most successful soap operas, and is still decidedly hot, all you can remember is the advice he’d given you, and how he’d let you win when playing videogames. When you’re nineteen and you score a supporting role in an X-Men film, the last thing you’d expected was to be acting opposite your former babysitter, and - as it turns out - romancing his character; he’s still decidedly handsome, and you’re definitely not a little kid anymore. He doesn’t even recognize you, and you know what? You’re glad.

OC Fic; Molotov Heart {Alex Summers} | 70k (ish). follows the sequel x-men trilogy and literally spans 20 years. ALSO CLEARLY THE AUTHOR HAS AN X-MEN HYPERFIXATION

Aoibheal Cassidy didn't hesitate to follow her big brother, Sean, when he's recruited by Charles and Erik, even if she's not technically a mutant (yet). By his side, she grows up as the youngest member of Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, but world won't wait for a girl to grow up, and her life is torn apart by war and disaster; things get worse before they get better. As the years pass, she realises she always ends up on Charles's team with Alex and Hank by her side, even if she's not the little girl they once knew.

and finally, purely canon fic: not from the absence of violence | Breaking Bad. 6.5k. au where jesse gets out of the business like he wants to in season 5, and comes home to find a teenage runaway living in his house.... actually its kind of a little bit of an oc fic but not the way my oc fics usually are.

Sometimes a family is one of the (former) best meth cooks in America, his two best friends who happen to be (former) meth dealers, a teenage runaway, and five million dollars. -- "...and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it." - Richard Siken

27. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

I feel very very lucky and very blessed to receive such lovely and kind comments on the fics that I write, but I've got two that stand out the most in my mind, and it's the comments @bingusmode and @marvelsmurphy left on the aforementioned once you say it out loud it can't be undone {Corpse Husband},,,, literally i would die for both of them. i reread the comments on that fic every so often because everyone is so damn lovely, but i just grin like an idiot and turn into that picture of kermit hugging his phone whenever i read their comments specifically. i love you guys

32. Summarize a random fic of yours in 10 words or less.

for my upcoming fic that i posted those memes about a few days ago; 'god's perfect idiot {Wilbur Soot}'

light-hearted streamer joins smp; shocks everyone with capacity for angst

I loved this!! feel free to send in more!!

[sebastianshaw]

House of M fic

( @sammysdewysensitiveeyes  @the-home-kvetch Toad has a cameo in the second section and Pyro in the third. They basically disappear after that, though, then reappear at the very end for a brief but heroic mention , so if you only want to read those parts I shan’t be offended! I read a lot of stuff only for my own faves and then tap out, lol! The Gai are not Marvel canon. I needed some Generic Alien Invaders, so that’s what I came up with!) “So, now that you’ve seen what A.I.M. can truly do. . . can I count on your continued support?” Dr. Monica Rappaccini knew that she had taken a big risk bring a civilian to their Australian base and revealing so much of their operation here. But this civilian, a Ms. Radha Dastoor, given the moniker “Haven” years ago for her good deeds, had the same goals as her---human liberation from the boot of mutantkind. And what set Haven apart from so many other “sapiens” who wished the same was her resources; the woman was ridiculously rich. She’d already been a generous donator to A.I.M’s more. .  .legitimate faces, mainly concerning supplying disenfranchised human communities with medicine, clean water, and access to education. And some of her gifts had gone to these, as had been promised, but many had actually been funneled to A.I.M itself for its more. . .radical usage. Indeed, Monica was willing to bet a fair few pieces in this very facility were purchased indirectly by the unwitting Ms. Dastoor. But she wasn’t unwitting anymore. Monica’s agents had been easing her into more and more illicit aspects of their activism. While she didn’t seem ready to condone violence, she had expressed that she did not condemn it in an oppressed people either, just has she not condemned mutantkind for the same before the world’s tables had turned. Monica felt in this woman a kindred spirit, someone who wanted to even the balance, to help the helpless, and who, despite her pacifist demeanor, understood more deeply than she let on that breaking--or blowing up---a few eggs was a necessary ingredient in that omelette. She just couldn’t say so publicly, or the Red Guard would have her head in a second. Even her peaceful, benign activism surely had her on a few watchlists just because of how prominent she was. But here, she could speak freely. And Monica thought she knew what she would say. Monica thought wrong. Now, if Haven had had something affecting her mind, say a demonic entity of evil and chaos speaking to her at the most vulnerable moment of her life, Monica might have more than likely swayed her. But being in a stable mental state — “I am truly sorry, Dr. Rappaccini,” she said, and to her credit she did look it, “But I cannot be party to this methods. I understand the desperation that has driven you to them, and I even admire the---” “How can you say that?” Monica demanded, “After all I have shown you?!” “It is because you have shown me, Dr. Rappaccini, that I--” Haven was cut off again---this time by the klaxon alarm blaring throughout the building. ***

The Red Guard was storming the base. The technological hurdles had been considerable to get over, but once those were overcome by the tech division---S.H.I.E.L.D’S mutant technopaths helped considerably with that---the sheer physical power of the agents was practically bulldozing the poor A.I.M guards. Agent “Toad” Toynbee used his agility to spring off the walls and land on the agents shoulders, jumping from on to the other, knocking them off balance with each landing, allowing his fellow agents to hit them while they were distracted. His comrade and friend Agent “Nightcrawler” Darkholme used his teleportation to scout ahead, Agent “Marrow” Rushman punctured organs and blocked guns by firing bone spikes right up the weaponry barrels, while Agent “Rogue” Darkholme and Agent “Diamond Lil” Crawley simply barreled and brawled their way through every body in their path like the bruisers they were.  “Too easy!” Crawley bragged as she slugged one of the guards, who had practically been propelled into her fist by the thrust of Toad’s feet.  “Precisely”, concurred Director Shaw gruffly, and he grabbed the nearest scientist before the cowering woman could flee. They were deep in enough that the brains the operation were starting to be sighted between the garish yellow A.I.M. suits. And unlike those suits, the white coats over office casual clothes worn by the scientists exposed skin. Just hands and faces, the occasional legs from beneath a mid-length sensible skirt, but that was more than enough. “Agent Darkholme,” he said, and though he did not specify WHICH Darkholme he meant, Rogue knew it was her. She removed a glove and brushed a single finger against the woman’s whimpering face for the briefest of moments. If Shaw wasn’t telling her to dig deep, that meant she didn’t have to, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to go sucking someone’s whole psyche into hers just for fun. But she got enough to confirm what Shaw was suspecting---a trap. “We gotta get out, y’all!” she exclaimed, the whites of her eyes widening, “If someone gets past the guards, there’s orders to blow the place to kingdom co---” *** The clearing that had once been green and dotted with trees was now scorched black, dotted with flaming wreckage of what had once been the AIM base and the bloodied, moaning remains of what had once been its members. “Save any survivors you can!” Shaw barked, “We need them for interrogation! And Allerdyce, get out here and get the fires under control! This is potoroo country!” Shaw, Rogue, and Crawley all possessed mutations that allowed them to survive the blast, allowing Nightcrawler to only need to get Toad, Marrow, and Pyro out, which he could do in one trip, albeit an exhausting one, and on to the safety of their jet. Thus, they were all safe, though Darkholme was winded and done for the day. Hearing Shaw’s command over his earpiece, Agent St. John “Pyro” Allerdyce made a swift thanks to his teammate and ran out to push the flames back from touching the rest of the forest. Potoroos were a protected species, and their safety was of utmost importance in the House of M! Meanwhile, Rogue and Crawley dug through the wreckage, the former tossing car-sized hunks of metal aside like pillows and the latter just punching a path through it, as Marrow pinned down anyone who attempted to flee using bone spears---through their clothes, since Shaw insisted on them alive—and Toad tripped them up with his tongue before pulling them back so their leader could place them in cuffs. “That’s all of them!” the amphibious mutant proclaimed proudly as the last yellow-suited AIM member—the last MOVING one, anyway---was hauled into the jet. “Clear out then” Shaw ordered, surveying the scene a final time. Something caught his eye. “Wait---Allerdyce! Those flames there, in the center---get them somewhere else, there’s someone caught in the center!” “Get them somewhere else, he says, like I can just freaking teleport them or some shit,” Pyro muttered, but he cleared the flames, revealing indeed something who had been surrounded by them. It was a wonder that her long hair and salwar kameez---yes, Pyro know the term for it, thank you---hadn’t been caught alight, but more miraculous by far was the way the wreckage encased her in such a way that she had been protected from harm. She just also couldn’t get out. Not on her own, anyway. Shaw strode towards her, flanked by the flames that Pyro had pushed aside Moses-style. He took the cage apart carefully, knowing that pulling out the wrong piece could bring the whole thing crashing down on the woman inside. It wouldn’t have mattered much to him if this had just been another AIM flunkie; they had more than enough for the Psy Division to scan for intel. But this woman. . . he recognized her, and he didn’t know what she was doing here---though he had a hunch---and he wasn’t about to let her be hurt. Not until he had the full story. “Don’t try anything, dirtbag!” Marrow hollered, coming to Shaw’s side as the last of the metal prison was removed from the soon-to-be prisoner, bones ready to hurl should she make one move that the mutants didn’t like. “That won’t be necessary, Agent Rushman,” said Shaw calmly, not looking away from the woman, to whom he reached out a hand, “Can you stand? Please, let me help you. There we are. Lean on me. We’ll have you treated for any injuries immediately. And. . . Radha Dastoor, it is my duty to inform you, that you are under arrest.” *** The AIM prisoners had been brought in, read their rights---such as their were---and the charges brought against them, given their prison jumpsuits, and put in holding awaiting prosecution after the Psi Division got through them. That was what counted for interrogation these days. The crude, ineffective ways of sapien grilling and guesswork were over. But Director Shaw still speaking with one of them personally. Just one. “Our telepaths confirm your story, Ms. Dastoor,” he said. The pair of them were seated on either side of a table. Shaw was still in his uniform. . . Haven, in her newly issued one. Orange was a good color on her, though perhaps not fitting in this amount. She was cuffed as per protocol, and while Shaw did things by the book, his eye twitched slightly at the sheer absurdity of it. But he did not remove them. He didn’t get where he was by making exceptions.  “We know you were not knowingly in league with Dr. Rappaccini,” he continued, “But we also know that you did knowingly aid and abet several illicit activities.” “Yes,” Haven replied calmly, with neither coldness nor defiance, but nor any submission or remorse, “I did.” It was matter of fact, and perfectly polite.  “Your forthcomingness strengthens the decision I’ve made,” he said, his own voice also matter of fact, though his was more frank and detached, “To advocate for leniency in your case. You have been cooperative, you have denied nothing---as some people do even when faced with their own memories as evidence---and, as noted, you were not involved in Rappaccini or AIM’s terrorist activities. Your crimes, rather, have been more along the lines of providing funds, food, and medicines to, say, illegal protestors. Given your history, I am inclined to believe you will not escalate to more extreme measures, and should not be considered a public threat.” “I appreciate that, Director Shaw.” “It’s not a gift, Ms. Dastoor. Merely my professional opinion.” “Nonetheless, I do.” “I do have to ask you now, because you will be asked on the stand---once you have served your time and are duly released, will you cease in all such activities?” “No, Director Shaw.” There was a long, grim silence. “Ms. Dastoor, I cannot give you my recommendation for a reduced sentence if I believe that you will re-offend.” “It would be very disrespectful of me to lie to you now, Director Shaw, just to help myself, after you have shown me such goodwill.” “There will be no goodwill, Ms. Dastoor, if you do not.” The conversation didn’t last long after that. He soon escorted her back to her cell. A private one, to protect her from the AIM prisoners. “You can ask the guards from anything within reason and it will be provided to you if possible. if you feel you have been mistreated in any way, get word to me and something will be done about it if your claim proves true. Shaw wasn’t bending any rules for her. None of this was outside the law, or even a gray area. It just wasn’t something he had ever told any prisoner short of the occasional foreign royal who had fucked up but still had to be handled with care to avoid political disaster.  As Haven started to thank him for the courtesy, an alarmed voice called over the intercom, ”Director Shaw---the AIM prisoners! They’re all dead!” *** The one person that hadn’t been recovered from the base was the real prize---Monica Rappaccini herself. The assumption of SHIELD was that she had escaped before setting off the blast; the idea she’d simply been blown to pieces was too optimistic.  In fact, neither was the case. Monica had a much safer plan than escaping the building---she’d stayed in it. More specifically, in a blast-proof container specifically survived to withstand it, which dropped down a shoot far underground where the bomb wouldn’t reach it anyway, and she wouldn’t be found by the accursed Red Guard. The fools---they hadn’t brought a psychic to sweep for any minds missing, but it wouldn’t have mattered, the tech was telepath-proof too. If only they could do that for the entire place, but alas, it was difficult, tricky, tended to only work on a small scale. But that was enough for her. Once the danger had passed, Monica emerged and got in contact with her best agent---Thasanee Rapaccini, aka the Scorpion. Monica’s daughter. In another world, her name was Carmilla Black and she worked for SHIELD, against her own mother! But in this world, Monica had raised her, and raised her well. She was a (mostly, usually, except for a hiccup) loyal agent to AIM and mommy dearest, and she wanted to see the mutant tyranny she’d grown up under fall as much as Monica did.  But, like all teenagers, she could be a bit rebellions. Like questioning her mother. Something Monica would never have allowed her to do and survive if she hadn’t been her own preciously bio-engineered flesh and blood. ”Is that really necessary, mother?” Thasanee asked when given her new mission, ”They’ve already psy-scanned all the agents by now for sure anyway. What are they going to get from that lady’s mouth that they didn’t get from our guy’s brains?” ”It’s not about containing information,” Monica explained, ”It’s about public opinion. Haven can do more damage to us now than Magneto himself. She’s well-respected by the rest of the humans rights activist movement and even by many mutants. If she publicly denounces our cause, it will rob us of countless new recruits, funding, everything. She’s the most dangerous threat of all---a moderate. Do you see now? They’ll offer her a deal--leniency for collaborating with us, so long as she denounces A.I.M and everything we stand for. And people, even those who share our goals, our beliefs, will listen.” ”You really think she would?” Thasanee asked “I mean, all that good stuff she did for humans. . . maybe she’s just not cut out for our work. You’ve said yourself not everyone is. But that doesn’t mean she’d hang us out to dry.” ”I wish I had your faith in people,” Monica sighed, and it was true. She certainly wished she could be certain that Radha Dastoor wouldn’t do exactly that. But, she’d been so sure that Haven, who shared her cause, would join her and begin providing direct funding, and she couldn’t have been more wrong about that. So she couldn’t take a chance on Radha here either. ”And listen,” Thasanee continued, “If you’re worried about us looking bad, won’t we look WORSE if we kill her? I think that’s what REALLY would get people mad at us! Our own allies too! ”Thasanee,” Monica’s voice turned sweet, cajoling, truly motherly, as she put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and looked loving into the girl’s green eyes, ”My beloved child. I know this is difficult to understand. But Radha Dastoor dying mysteriously while in S.H.I.E.L.D custody would be very, very good for our cause. A peaceful activist, a nonviolent offender, a model moderate. . .and after her arrest by the Red Guard, who claim such a person was in cahoots with a terrorist organization, she dies while in their hands, and they try to blame that same organization? My dear. . .connect the dots the way the Average Joe would, and see what conclusion it brings you. The kind that makes the opposition look like the monsters we know they are.” Thasanee was a clever child, and she clearly got exactly what her mother was saying. Her conflict was clear on her face, her lip twisting in thought, her eyes flitting doubtfully downwards. But she reached the right answer, as Monica knew she would. ”I’ll do it, mother. You can count on me.” *** ”So what happened to them?” Jessica Drew asked as Agent Darkholme---Mystique, who had not been on the earlier mission---returned from attending to the matter of the AIM agents dropping dead. ”Chemical implant,” Mystique replied, “Rappaccini must have put it in them when they joined up with AIM. Probably to “motivate” them if they ever get cold feet. Or, in this case, fail her by getting captured.” ”G’awful way t’go,” Rogue shuddered. Whenever she had any doubts about what the Red Guard did, people like AIM reminded her who the good guys were. ”What I wanna know,” said Agent Crawley, “is who is this Dastoor broad, that she gets the royal treatment from Sebastian Stick-Up-His-Ass Shaw?” ”No idea,” Rogue said, putting her cooling coffee to her lips. “Before your time, daughter,” Mystique explained, ”Back when mutants were actively oppressed by humanity, before the rise of Emperor Magnus, Radha “Haven” Dastoor was one of the few sapiens on our side.” ”Our side?” Rogue looked intrigued. ”A sapien?” Crawley looked doubtful.  ”Oh, she didn’t go all out for us, not by a long shot,” Mystique scoffed, “Don’t get the wrong idea---she was a peaceful protester. Didn’t get anything done. But. . .she did reach a lot of her own kind, or try. And ran with a very upscale crowd, so there was. . . influence, I suppose. Ran some shelters and such.” The blue-skinned woman sniffed slightly, torn between wanting to give credit where credit was due, but also not wanting to oversell the woman as a saint when she’d barely done the bare minimum in Raven’s view. ”Anyway. Now that the tables have turned, so has she. She’s all about her OWN kind’s rights now. As if things are as bad for them as it was for us. Ha! Not even on our best day back then, were we ever treated with the grace that Magnus has granted THEM. But trust a human to not even be able to stomach a DILUTED taste of their own medicine. She shrugged her azure shoulders, “But since Director Shaw is old enough to remember her work---such as it was---I suppose he thinks she’s earned some professional courtesy. And he is, after all, nothing if not professional.” *** As promised, Haven was well treated while she was held at the Australian S.H.I.E.L.D base. She would be taken to Genosha to stand trial tomorrow, but in the meantime. . .  In the meantime, Thasanee Rappaccini had spent all evening infiltrating the base successfully without setting off any alarm to her presence. It was no mean feat, as one might imagine, but she had been trained for this from birth. Not infiltration specifically, but anything and everything relevant to taking down Magnus’s mutant-supremascist empire. And, much like how many unlucky souls never noticed a scorpion in their shoe before it was too late, this Scorpion had creeped in subtle as a shadow, unheard and unseen and undetected by man, mutant, or machine. And now. . .now she had a clear shot with her Stinger, as she called her left arm from which she fired energy bolts containing concentrated toxins. Like the Rappccini’s daughter of myth, Thasanee was literally poisonous. Yeah, she was pretty sure her mother hadn’t been born with that surname.   Haven didn’t even notice as the slim girl slid into the room. She was busy tending to a flower in a pot, to Thasanee’s surprise. Who had given her that? Scorpion had expected to find the captive in chains, not--- BOOM! CRASH! The entire base rocked as Scorpion’s eardrums rang, and it wasn’t just shock that made it difficult for her to keep her balance.  Thas had a clear shot, not for any gun but her Stinger; the name she had given her left arm, from which she fired the accumulation of toxins and poisons her naturally immune body stored in her left lymph node. Then crash that rattled entire base. A klaxon began to sound, reminding her unpleasantly of the one that had blared throughout the AIM base before its destruction. Yells, shouts, and more smashes reached her ears through the alarm as well. Thasanee had just enough time to wonder if her mother had sent Adaptoids to attack the place before one of the hulking culprits burst through the wall, sending Thasanee leaping into the hiding among the dust and debris; she could hear Haven cough from the same, but, she noted, the woman never screamed. Odd. Maybe she was too petrified too. She’d seemed like such a refined ladylike priss, Thas would have thought--- The Gai. That’s what was causing all this. Thas had encountered them a few times before. They were alien invaders, huge and monstrous, looked part insect and part reptile with a turtle-like shell from which their six limbs extended. Some wore additional hi-tech battle armor but this one was bare. All of them were the same thought; they didn’t care who they killed, only that they killed everyone. Human or mutant, warrior or prisoner, all Earthlings were the same to them. Something to be wiped out. Why, no one knew yet; telepaths couldn’t get in their heads and they were seldom in the mood to talk, though Haven seemed to be trying as the beast advanced. Thas was about to--- BONK! It was an almost comical sound, followed by a crack, as the force from Director Shaw’s fist collided with the stone-like shell of the Gai and, a moment after impact, splintered it.  Where did he come from?! Scorpion wondered, then saw he must have rushed in after it through the hole it left, then leaped on to its back to strike his blow. And then another. And another. He was hitting it with every step he made over its back, but once he got to its head, it tossed him like a rodeo rider being thrown from a bull before he could punch its ugly skull in. Scorpion wasn’t sure who she was rooting for.  Shaw was launched into the bars of Haven’s cell, and they bent in under the force of his indestructible body like overcooked noodles. Haven, luckily for her, had moved out of the way, and he wasted no time getting in front of her as the Gai advanced. Scorpion wasn’t sure how smart the Gai were--no one knew if they were sapient beings or merely mindless drones sent down to fight by a greater intelligence---but she for one thought it must be thinking how convenient it was that Shaw had taken down this obstacle for it.  Until he wrenched off the end of a bar and impaled it through the Gai’s bulbous multifaceted left eye. However alien this creature might be, it had a commonality with most beings on Earth, which was that getting a long sharp metal rod jammed into your skull was an unpleasant sensation, and the Gai responded in kind, reeling back and . . .shrieking? Scorpion wasn’t sure that was the right word for it. She wasn’t sure there was a word to describe it. Like all the sound files in the world glitching at once. She had to cover her ears, but Shaw was apparently part deaf---it was the only explanation---because he didn’t even pause as he grabbed Haven and ran. Scorpion was fairly sure he didn’t see her on the way out though; the Director clearly had bigger things on his mind. Like the Gai, which was more dangerous than ever as it thrashed around in pain. Scorpion supposed to humane thing was to put it out of its misery. . . not to mention, it’d be valuable to know how susceptible they were to poison. . .  But she had a target already, and it had just breezed by her in a bright orange jumpsuit. No time for mercy kills; Scorpion followed them.  She didn’t notice who was following her too.  *** Shaw lead Haven at a rapid pace through the sleek corporate-esque hallways of the building, which were even more rapidly being destroyed. They dodged the claws of more Gai, huge chunks of falling walls and ceilings, sprays of crumbling dust that she might inhale. . . or rather, Shaw dodged the claws and dragged Haven with him, shielded her with his force-absorbing body from the falling walls and ceilings, and commanded her to hold her breath through the crumbling dust from the destruction. He faced a few more Gai on the way out, and while hurting them was easy once they provided him with enough energy, keeping Haven safe---his priority---was difficult to do in tandem. But Shaw was professional, and Shaw was experienced, and Shaw not only got her out alive, she didn’t have a scratch on her. “Everyone good?” he said into his ear piece as he steered Haven towards the door that would lead them out at last. In addition to guarding her, he’d been guiding the Red Guard and the rest of the personnel as best he could over the communicator. “I’m getting the prisoner secured, after that we can---hello?! Over?! Over?!” The line had gone dead. It could be an accident during the destruction. But Shaw wasn’t sure about that. He’d figure it out soon. Getting Radha Dastoor to safety came first though. And he believed he had succeeded. They made it out the front doors, to the jet, into the jet--- And then Shaw cried out and fell to the floor, green toxic energy crackling around him. Not the kind he could absorb, either----it was pure concentrated poison. Scorpion stepped out of the shadows. “Took you long enough, old man,” she said, “I made it out way sooner. Of course. . .” Her eyes traveled to Haven, her real target. “. . .I didn’t have a load to carry. You must be tired from that; please, don’t get up.” She fired another blast into Shaw, who had been rising to his feet, despite the fact the first should have been enough to kill him.  Haven cried out this time in front of Shaw, throwing herself in front of his fallen form, begging Thasanee to stop. “Don’t worry, I’ll get to you,” Scorpion assured her,  “But before I do, I want to know one thing from him.” She addressed Shaw again, “Why has a mutant fascist pig like you been risking your life to defend a human? I saw you in there. You protected her. Why? Is it because of what she used to do for you guys? Has she been a double agent all along? Is she really a mutant?”

“Because. . . “ Shaw croaked, using all the strength he had left just to lift his head as Haven knelt down beside him, “She. . . is the State’s prisoner. And I. . . am a representive of the State. Of SHIELD. Of Emperor Magnus. It is my duty. . .to protect those in our custody.” He took a moment to breathe, and then continued, less labored this time, but still unable to do more than speak. “I find her activism sentimental soft-minded tripe, and I will see her stand trial for the parts of it that break the law---but I shall NOT see her harmed while she is still my responsibility. Not by the Gai, and nor by YOU.” “Wow,” Scorpion said, and she was genuinely impressed,  “Ok, so----I don’t take back that you’re a mutant fascist pig, but you’re a mutant fascist pig with some honor. Not gonna lie---I’m surprised. Enough that I’ll let you in one something before you die---I’m not going to kill her.” Both Shaw and Haven looked shocked. “Yeah,” Scorpion said, and answered the question she knew they must have, “My mom wants her dead, and I was sent to do that, but like. . .I’m just going to fake her death, get her out of here, set her up somewhere. That way--” She turned her gaze specifically to Haven,  “That way, you can’t denounce us---if that was ever even your plan---without A.I.M knowing you’re alive and killing you for real, so you won’t, right? And I don’t have to kill you for something you haven’t even done, and maybe were never going to. Everybody wins. I mean, except grandpa there, but I count wiping out one more SHIELD fucker---the Director, no less!---a win. Talk about cutting the head from the snake; he’s one step from Emperor Magnus himself!” “I wish I could be proud of you for this, daughter.” As if she had teleported, Monica Rappapccini appeared before her daughter. Who, judging by her reaction, had NOT been expecting this. ”Invisibility device,” Monica tapped a metal bracelet on her wrist, “I’ve been by your side this whole time. And you were doing so well, too. . . .up until now.” She sighed, “I know adolescence is a time to question authority but  you have to follow orders even if you find them difficult. That’s really more what this has been than anything---a test to see how far out of line you’ve fallen. The scientist in me, always having to test a hypothesis before I consider it proven. “ “Well, consider it proven, Mom!” Thasanee barked back, her feelings akin to how a normal teenager might react to finding out her parent had been in her room, “Now what! Going to kill ME too?” “Don’t be silly, you’re far too valuable,” Monica tssked, “As are these two as hostages. Dastoor for her money, Shaw for his political worth to the House of Magnus and SHIELD---much as I truly would love to slaughter him in so many ways. Indeed, I think I might just do that anyway once he’s served his purpose. He deserves it. Do you know how many people he has---” And that was when Exodus, Toad, and Pyro teleported onboard and saved the day. They made short work of Dr. Rappaccini, but alas, Scorpion got away. Shaw made a full recovery after receiving medical aid. And Ms. Dastoor awaits trial for her crimes. 

[higuchimon]

[fanfic] While They’re Away

Without Juudai here in the infirmary, it was very, very quiet.  Misawa wasn't sure if he liked how quiet.  Rei lay on the other bed under her blanket, trembling and shaking as Ayukawa-sensei did her best to keep her calmed and quiet.  She clearly wasn't having any real luck with that.

Their best chance is if the submarine has medicine that can help.  Misawa knew that wasn't a guaranteed chance, though.  It was a chance, nothing more.  What might work out better would be if they were able to return to their original world.

The logic laid itself out neatly.  No one else here right now had a chance to get them back.  Juudai might, but he was busy getting help for Rei right now.  Misawa wished vaguely that he could get them to some of the monsters that he'd met who traveled these wastes - they might be able to help as well.  But those that he'd met were far away now and he had to work with what he had.  He rubbed at his face, not pleased at the stubble there.  How was he supposed to think with all of that on his face?

How could he think when he didn't even have decent clothes on?  And if he thought about it a little too much, he could even smell himself.  It wasn't a pleasant aroma.  He'd had to deal with it before in the desert.  He'd taught himself to ignore it then, because he couldn't do anything else.  Now - now he just might be able to.

Do the showers even work now?  He'd have to check.  This was the main building, where the gym was, which meant there were showers also, not just the ones in the individual dorms.  But since they weren't connected to the main water pipes, he honestly couldn't guess right now what worked and what didn't, or for how long it would work.

He ground his teeth together, then forced himself up from the bed, grabbing automatically for the staff he'd carried with him for so long.  It existed in his mind somewhere between a help for walking and a weapon - he'd used it for both - but right now he needed it more for support.  He gripped onto it hard, making sure that he wasn't likely to fall over, and took a couple of wobbly steps. 

"Misawa-kun?  What do you think you're doing?"  Ayukawa-sensei peered over at him from Rei's bed.  "You shouldn't be getting up just yet."

He shook his head.  "I"m fine.  I have to start helping."  He couldn't just lay here and vegetate, no matter how appealing it was to be in a clean bed that wasn't likely to vanish at any point.  All though his body there ran the urge to do something, to make an effort to help those who couldn't help themselves. Not, as once upon a time, for the praise that would come from it.  But because it needed to be done and he was the one who could do it, no one else. 

Ayukawa-sensei came closer to him, clearly worried.  "Are you certain?  You were very worn out yesterday."

"That was yesterday."  Who knew what could happen between now and when Juudai and the others returned?  For that matter, who knew what had happened to Rei?  They only had the faintest idea of what might be able to help her.  The submarine might have antibiotics and they might be able to counter whatever it was.  But he'd seen wounds caused by Duel Monsters before - carried several himself under his clothes - and chances weren't certainties.  At least if they returned to their own world, the doctors there could have quicker access to medicine.  Which meant that they had to get home.

But first things first.  He turned to Ayukawa-sensei.  "Are the showers working? And can you help me find a new uniform?"

"Yes,"  she nodded, eyes flicking up and down him in a professional way.  "I have a few spares; one of them should be able to fit you."  He could tell she wasn't happy with this but at least she wasn't going to argue about it.  "Are you going to need a deck as well?  Some of the students are outside guarding the school until Juudai-kun and the others get back."

Misawa considered that, then shook his head.  "I think I will,"  he decided, "but not right now.  I have other matters to take care of first."  If the main building were here, then that meant the card store would be as well.  He could check see if there were any cards there he could use.  He’d lost the deck he’d had on him when he’d fallen here to a small thieving creature and never gotten it back, no matter how hard he’d searched. He missed Water Dragon terribly.

But for now, he carefully made his way to the door.  He needed the best meal he could find and he needed to think about what he could do to solve all the riddles that were in front of him.  Untold numbers of formulas danced about in his head and he knew that was one reason he would need to eat something - just to be able to focus on what he was doing. 

A shower, shaving, something to eat, and then he could do all the math that he needed.  For once he would be able to help with his natural gifts - and this time they needed his abilities.  It might not be only up to him but until some other form of aid presented itself, this was what he would do. Cards would come later.

And if he were very lucky, by the time that Juudai and the others returned, he would have found the answer to getting them all home again.

In the back of his mind he also wondered, just what was the source of Rei’s strange wound? It looked so much like a claw…

The End

Notes: I don’t write Misawa very often. But the idea of what he did before DA showed up in the desert is fascinating. One day. One day.

[faustonastring]

Could I get headcanons for the main six with mc who is obsessed with stuffed animals?

Thanks for requesting I hope you like it :)

Request are open! :))

Main six with an mc who is obsessed with stuffed animals

Asra

He thinks it’s the cutest thing in the world

Every time he travels away from you, he always brings you one back that represents where he traveled (a modern day example would be a teddy bear with a sombrero to represent Mexico, (just so you get the picture)) he also gets to them as presents for birthdays and holidays anniversaries

In a modern au, you both more or likely have a beanie baby collection hiding somewhere in the shop, you both probably brought another beanie baby snail so you could recreate the “snesbian”(snail lesbian) wedding you saw on tiktok

Early in you’re relationship (pre-upright) before he can take you on trips with him he finds it really comforting to know that you have a cuddle buddy or two to keep you company while he’s away, but after you’ve been together for a while (post-upright) don’t be surprised when you wake up and all your stuffed animals are on the floor (that is if you sleep with them of course!)

I also really like the idea of asra trying to make you a stuffed animal for your birthday or anniversary, or any other celerbration (something a like his Faust trinket you can get from the wheel, just a little more improved, )

Apologies in advance for the angst BUT If you’ve had this obsession pre-memory lost, when you’re,,,, y’know (trying to keep this as spoiler free as I can for some of the new guys!) he clutches on to it every night while he’s trying to sleep, crying out you’re name, (and probably uses it in his studies to try to get you back,) and post-y’know, he brings it with him during all his trips because of how much he hates being away from you, and if you’ve grown fond of that one, he’ll bring another one you like a lot, he feels bad but he can’t help it, he just misses you so much

Also some of you are gonna hate me for this but piggy backing off of that angst I just wrote, imagine Julian and asra in the shop, doing...their....studies..(if you know you know) and Julian just sees the stuffed animal in the bed and asks why asra has it (and being himself try’s to make a joke about asra needing to sleep with a stuffed animal, when he can just sleep with him instead-) and asra just kicks him out, and they never talk about it again.

Nadia

She’s on it. She’ll ask you a million questions, “what kind do you like, do you need to sleep with any, do you want a custom one, or a spefic kind?”

Her room is so cluttered with stuffed animals by the end of the week, that she makes you pick out you’re favorite one (which quickly turns into ten or twenty) and the rest go to their own separate room in the palace, where they’re put on display, and easily accessible for you to switch out with any of the ones In you’re too, that you’re bored with

In a modern au I feel like Nadia would also be on bored for collecting beanie babies, but unlike asra who’s only in it for the snesbian wedding she wants all of the rare ones doesn’t matter how much they cost, she has them, it’s not even about you at this point, when Nadia gets a kick you just gotta let her ride it out.

I think it’s canon (or atleast close to canon) that Nadia loves to design clothes, I mean we all know she loves to tinker, but I think she’ll find it really relaxing destining new stuffed animals with you and clothes for some of the ones you already have if you’d want (and yes. She makes matching ones for you and you’re favorites)

If you do sleep with them, Nadia might find it a little hard to sleep with all the clutter around the bed so she’ll thoss the ones your not cuddling off the bed (or if she’s having a real sleepless night, she’ll throw them across the room) but nonetheless if you’re happy she’s happy, she’ll never get agitated at you for having your own interest (despite tripping over like three of them while trying to start her day)

Also I feel like atleast one of Nadias sisters had that stuffed animal phase as a kid, if you know baby....then you know so I feel like it’s really refreshing for her to be able to keep stuffed animals around without having to hear someone scream and whine because they couldn’t get the one they wanted

Julian

The day after you tell him he brings you a doctor teddy bear, wearing a hand-sewn eye patch witch Portia more or likely helped him make (note that I said helped he wanted to try to make it on his own... but surgical stitches are a lot diffrent from things such as cross stitches,,,, and the fabric is just a lot more flimsy then human flesh)

He likes to bring you ‘fun’ ones as he calls them, teddy bears dressed as pirates, doctors, flappers, any kind that matches you’re faveroite animal, pigs decked out in fancy clothes (the vesuvia verson of Miss piggy) espically if he knows you like them, he would do anything to see you laugh and smile, especially if it’s from one of his gifts, it makes his heart jump

In a modern au, you could spend your quality time making fun of the ridiculous beanie baby prices, but for the love of god please don’t say you find a beanie baby who’s highest bidding price is over one hundred dollars cute, because HE WILL bid on it and the price DOESNT MATTER (also- self indulgent but If you have a furby espically the older ones, it will freak Julian the hell out, and he will quickly turn it so it’s not looking at him every time he enters a room)

Every time you travel together he checks all the touristy gift shops for a stuffed animal you like, and will happily buy you any type you like, and it doesn’t matter how big it is. He WILL make it fit in his suit case, even if it means he has to leave a couple pairs of shoes behind.....

If you sleep with any of you’re stuffed animals he doesn’t mind, I mean sure he ends up laying on a couple of them, and the do end up getting tangled in his limbs, but he finds it cute and is willing to make a sacrifice, and if he were to come in late from working overtime and caught you sleeping cuddling the doctor teddy bear he gave you....with the eyepatch that he helped make....he wouldn’t want to disturb you... so he pulls up a chair and watches you sleep in the least creepy way possible

If you two are ever trying to do the do and your stuffed animal is In the room... or even better facing towards the bed... I think it would make Julian the slightest bit uncomfortable but would just laugh it off and say something along the lines of “I didn’t know we had and audience” or “looks like we have a guest” which would be terrifying if he were to say that mid-ya know

Portia

You two vibe so hard

Out of everyone I feel like she is definitely the most enthusiastic and chill about having stuffed animals in her cottage, and I mean sure they’re everywhere and she’s tripped on atleast six of them... but as long as pepi doesn’t get too any of them( again) you’re fine

I like to imagine she has something (other than Julian) that survived the ship wreck with her, wether that be a blanket or a stuffed animal (for the sake of this head canon it’s a stuffed animal) that she holds very close to her yes this is very unlikely given, well all the factors but she deserves something, and if your really against that idea, a little stuffed animal Julian gave her when she was a kid before he left

I can’t keep headcanoning that every one has a thing for beanie babies in a modern au, even though she has a snesbian wedding in her garden with a snesbian officiant which she photographs and gets tiktok famous off of.... she’ll be more into anything Sanrio related, like don’t leave this girl alone in round one because she’s already spent 150 trying to win the rilakkuma stuffed animal that’s riiiiight over the edge (after many many try’s, she does win it, and gives it to you)

She is the type to sew, or crochet, or even knit you stuffed animals, and those are usually the ones she ends up giving you, if not? They definitely were handmade from somewhere, probably a small shop or from an old lady selling them at the heart district

If you sleep with stuffed animals....well good news because so does she! Throughout the night not only are you to fighting for the blanket (if it’s during winter) but now you’re fighting over the stuffed animals, and every night as soon as one of you says you’re going to bed, it’s a race to see who can get to bed first and hog all the stuffed animals, (which may lead to a pillow fight if you’re lucky)

One time pepi tore up one of you’re faveroite stuffed animals and Portia felt so bad about it that she not only made pepi her own toys to play with, but sewed up your toes up one, and if it was beyond repair, she would make you an identical one

(Also Portia is the type to spend 100 dollars at a carnival trying to knock the milk bottles down so she can win her s/o a cheap stuffed dog that pepi is gonna claw into anyway...but it’s the thought that counts :’) )

Muriel

Does. Not. Understand. But hey! He’s trying~! A+ for effort right?

He wants to make it clear that it’s NOTHING to do with you, he finds it ADORBALE! He really really does and he’s trying hard to express that but depending where you are in your relationship with him....makes a little bit of a difference, so for the sake of the headcanon muriels headcanon is gonna be soon after his upright endeding so expect some assumptions about his character but I do know that people just don’t change over night so one things for sure....he still doses to fully understands soft nice things

I think Muriel likes to hear you talk, like sure he prefers the quiet, but out of everyone in the world, your the only person he doesn’t mind listening to (how sweet! ) so he probably asks you a lot of questions, but not necessarily like Julian, more questions that ask why you like them, because he wants to like them too, and you want him to like them too, but you do still have some work ahead of you

In a modern au.....build a bear dates @lisa-frank-cave did a headcanon on it a while back that I REALLY liked, it is a little buried so if you’re having trouble finding it lmk and I can reblog it for you, but atleast visits their page and look for it because their stuff is super good! :) so for sure go check out their head canon for it if you want something more in depth but to just elaborate my thoughts on it, it’s just something the two of you could do together (and I feel like Muriel loves spending time with you no matter what activity it is) I also feel like he’d like being able to make something with you, which works out great if you can’t whittle to save you’re life,,,and I dunno,,,it just makes me soft,,,,

I don’t like the head canon that Muriel has bug clumsy hands, he can whittle for gods sake! And used to make masquerade masks for asra to sell pre-plague times, (and made his own in every route but his own) so I feel like Muriel would atleast attempt ONCE to sew or crochet you a stuffed animal, it’s a little tragedy looking, and over time it starts to fall apart at the seams, but he made it for you, and seeing you love it so much let’s him know all his hard work payed off, and he’ll make you another one or two

He doesn’t mind if you sleep with stuffed animals, but he apologizes in advance if they get crushed (the bed is barley big enough for the both of you) and gets a little jealous if you’re cuddling you’re stuffed animal instead of him, he won’t say anything but he’ll for sure get pouty about, and as cute as he is when he’s pouty make sure you don’t cuddle you’re stuffed animals more than him, because if you do it will start to get to him if you know what I mean

Also refuses to have sex if stuffed animals are on the bed or facing the bed, if they’re on the bed, he’ll throw them off, facing the bed, he’ll turn them around, he just doesn’t like the idea of being watching while being intimate with you

Lucio

If I’m being honest will make fun of you a tiny bit at first (he’ll stop he he strikes a nerve) but soon finds the appeal

Mama morga didn’t let him have stuffed animals growing up, for a while there she didn’t even want him sleeping with a blanket, so he’s alllll over this, but yeah you’re stuffed animals are cute, but he wants a spefic type of stuffed animals.... next thing you know Lucio says he got some stuffed animals for you two to share, and it’s just about 30 diffrent variations of goats. But hey! Atleast he offered to share!

In a modern au I feel like lucio would be overly enthusiastic to go to build a bear that he nearly crushes a kid with his knock off red bottoms trying to get in there, dragging you behind him, then impatiently rushes the whole process not making too enjoyable for you (depending on who you are of course) but lucio just seems to be having fun! (Also goes on a Saturday afternoon and they are like four kids celebrating their birthday and a line that goes out the door, unlike Muriel who goes early Sunday morning or Tuesday night to beat the crowds)

He personally likes anything goat related, but also likes custom made ones made with red velvet and and gold stitching, and will happily buy you or get any kind you want customed made, and on you’re birthday? When you wake up in the morning the room is covered with all diffrent typed of stuffed animals, and lucio is beaming proudly in the middle of it

If you sleep with them then no problem! Lucio would too! But if he catches you cuddling a certain stuffed animal more than him then it might just....disappear for a while...but if he sees you upset or worried that you can’t find it, don’t worry! It will reappear again.... or something very similar to it.....

One time Mercedes and Melchior tore up one of you’re favorite stuffed animals (again) so lucio had them kicked out of his bedroom...or so he said, what really happened is while he was waiting for your replacement to come in, he wanted to act all tuff and kick Mercedes and Melchior our to assert his dominance, but secretly still played with them and let them back in you’re room when you weren’t around. You know. But you pretend that you don’t

Thanks for reading if you would like something more spefic welll.....

My request are open! :)

[thecleverdame]

Gods of Twilight - 23

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Master List 

Summary: You marry Sam, The King of Lebanon, as part of an alliance between two lands. You soon discover that nothing is as it appears and that your husband is hiding a secret that may end your relationship before it can begin.

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking.  This chapter does contain some non-con elements.

Beta:  @ilikaicalie​

*This story is complete. All 27 chapters are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

-

“I’m sorry,” you plead into his neck as he briskly carries you toward your bedchambers. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s alright.” His words are understanding but his tone is something else. He’s holding back, practically shaking with rage but managing to keep himself under control for your sake.  

And who could blame him? Dean. If Sam hadn’t appeared when he did who knows what you would have done. The very notion makes you sick to your stomach. Dean. Of all people. He loathes you and yet the way he stared at you...

“What’s wrong with me?” You look your husband in the eyes as he kicks the door shut behind him. “I woke up in that horrible place and then found your bother. I swear to you I’ve never been unfaithful, I just...I don’t understand.” Your mind is a swirl of contradictory thoughts and urges. “Why would I react like that to him. I don’t-”

“Stop,” he commands. You’re silent as he carefully sets you on the bed then kneels on the ground before you, one hand on each of your thighs. “There is much I need to tell you, that I need to explain. What you must know right now is that you are like me. You’re a shifter and the way you feel, that hunger, is your first heat. The pain, the cramping and burning inside you is your body searching for a mate.”

“I am…a wolf?” you whisper, scarcely able to comprehend what he’s telling you. How? When? “But, I don’t...how? Dean said I had a daughter. I want to see her. Can I see her, Sam?”

“As soon as you’ve calmed down you can see her and hold her.” He reaches up, tucking hair behind your ear as tears shine in his eyes. “She’s waited a long time for her mother, we both have.”

“How long?” you ask, grabbing the meat of his shoulder. “How long was I down there? How old is she?”

“She’s nearly a year,” Sam confirms, eyes darting downward.

“What? A year...” you sputter, unable to wrap your head around this new fact. “She must be so big. I want to see her now!”

“You will, but we have to be sure you’re of sound mind.”

You are confused but more than anything you’re scared. So much has happened and it’s clear you don’t know the half of it. If all this has changed, what else is there?

“What happened to me? And why can’t I remember any of it?”

“The birth of our daughter was traumatic to say the least. You were injured in an attack and when she was born you tore. You died and came back to life. For a long time you didn’t remember anything, including me. And now here we are.” Sam looks so forlorn that it makes your heart ache inside your chest. You’ve both been through more than anyone should.

“I can’t see her yet because I’m a wolf...and I might hurt her?”

“Yes.”

“What’s her name?”

Sam offers a sad little smile that lets you see the true extent of pure exhaustion and despair that has tortured him these last months.  

“She doesn’t have one. I couldn’t name her without you.” He cups your face with two hands, leaning forward to place a simple kiss on your lips. “I call her my love and that’s been enough.”

“Is she healthy? Happy?”

“No little girl has ever been more of either. Martha looks after her most of the time and we have help from others, from the pack.”

You can’t imagine that you have a daughter, a girl who’s probably walking before she’s ever met her mother. You have many questions about this last year, a lot you need to know but right now the sickly pit in your stomach is taking precedence.

“You’re in pain?” Sam asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” you wince, folding forward. “It’s getting worse. It’s stronger than it was before. Is something wrong with me?”

“No, you’re going to be fine. It’s natural.”

“Will it always be like this?” You look up in horror. “I feel as if I’m dying.”

“Not always. Once you’re claimed and mated, it’ll become less intense. As long as we’re together your heat will be abated. No pain, just a need that requires fulfillment.”

Another wave rolls through your body as you gasp, rocking back and forth, gritting your teeth to get through it.

“We shouldn’t wait any longer,” he gives your knee a squeeze before standing up. “Take off your dress.”

“I’m filthy,” you protest as he pulls his shirt over his head, horrified by the idea of anyone seeing you like this.

“I don’t care.” He shrugs.

“Well, I do care. In fact, I care very much.” You let the dress fall to the floor, leaving you naked, covered in dirt and grime. “Look at me. I don’t want to be with you like this. I might be an animal but I will protect my dignity.”

“Then I’ll wash you.”

“Why don’t we call for a bath?”

“That will take time, do you want to wait?” He raises a brow, bringing a basin of water to the bed. “I want to take care of you. Let me.”

Your husband, the king, and Alpha, drops to his knees once again. He wets a cloth in the basin of water and begins to wipe you clean, starting with your feet and working his way upward. By the time he’s between your thighs the cramps return and you lie back, allowing him to scrub until you’re relatively clean.

“What will happen now?” you whisper as he hovers above you, one giant hand spread over your naked belly.  He’s already hard, his manhood looks painfully stiff and is poking at your hip.

“Now you will take my knot, and all the pain will go away.”

“Are you sure you want me?” Your voice is a fractured whisper. “After what happened, and what I’ve done-”

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you. I thought my heart was rotting in my chest. I’ve never wanted anything more than the way I want you now. There will be plenty of time to talk later. Let me make your pain go away.”

The first few kisses are hesitant as you reacclimate yourselves to one another. His tongue glides along your bottom lip as he settles himself between your legs. Despite drowning in a sea of new sensations you can clearly recognize that your body is different than it used to be. Your skin tingles where he’s touching you, every inch of him laid over you, making you sizzle with pleasure and excitement for what’s to come.

You moan into his mouth, hands curling around his back and pulling him closer until he drops the full weight of his massive frame on top of you and it’s all-consuming. You wanted him before, you loved him and he brought you pleasure but this is incomparable. Night and day. His Alpha calls to your Omega. It sends you into an altered state, you’re drunk off him, squirming and writhing underneath him as he kisses you into delirium.

“Sam,” you suck a breath between kisses, silenced when his mouth seals back over yours. He grunts, one hand curled into the cut of your hip, the other sliding behind your head and twisting a handful of hair.

“Alpha,” he quietly corrects you, looking down with half-closed eyes. “I’m your Alpha.”

“Alpha,” you repeat. The moment his title leaves your mouth you know it’s right. As if you’ve been searching for one word to encompass all he means to you and now you’ve finally found it. “Alpha,” you whisper again, bending your knees up into his ribs, urging him into action.

The cramps are all but gone and you’re lost in a lustful stupor. His mouth moves down your neck, kissing and nipping until he finds your breast and sucks a nipple into his mouth, hot and waiting as he ruts his manhood against your sex.

You’ve been wet since the moment he laid his hands on you, but now you’re a slick, desperate mess as everything between your thighs throbs with need. You understand now, the pull of one wolf to another. The desperation of one body calling out and another answering in return.

“Please,” you grasp his arms, rolling your hips against his erection. “I need you now.”

His mouth pops off your breast, lifting himself onto both his arms as he looks down at you. His hair is longer than before, hanging unruly around his face and his beard is thick. He looks wild, like half-man with an untamed animal lurking just under the surface, and you’ve never felt as captivated by him as you do at this moment.

His hands disappear between your bodies and he lowers down, staring into your eyes while he lines himself up. His cock pushes inside with no resistance, stretching you open after a year apart. Your eyes roll back into your skull. The first stroke fills you completely and the world is white-hot with satisfaction.

He buries his face in your neck, mouth grinning against sweating skin. He pulls out, only to sink back inside and you cry out, clutching at his spine, rocking with him as the pleasure grows, a fire being stoked with each new slide of his hips into your thighs.

When he pulls himself away from your body you cry out, eyes snapping open as he leans down to kiss you and offering a breathy order.

“Turn over.”

You blink one time and then roll into your belly. Two big hands curl around your ribs as he pulls you up and you find yourself on hands and knees while he nudges your legs wider. With one powerful thrust, he slides back inside, deeper than before. He works his cock faster, plunging in to the hilt with every thrust. Your hands dig in the bedding, toes curling as he groans and grunts with each stroke.

When you feel his knot begin to swell an old familiar fear rises, but you have little time to let it take hold as he grows thicker and thicker, holding himself deep for the final moments. When his knot pops you howl as your own orgasm washes over you. It’s nothing but unbridled lust as you squeeze and pulse around him, feeling the perfect stretch of his knot buried in your channel.

“Omega,” he growls, curling forward. His belly presses into your lower back as he empties inside you.

For a long time, you lie under him twitching and jerking from the aftershocks of it all. Mouth opening and closing, eyes blinking slowly, muscles contracting and releasing until you are nothing more than a puddle of a woman.

“Are you alive my queen?” His mouth is at the shell of your ear, lips curling into a satisfied smirk.

You nod, making a squeaky little sound that’s all you can muster.

You used to imagine what it would be like to truly be like him. To be a wolf and open your legs without hesitation. You knew it would feel different, better, but nothing could have prepared you for this life-altering pleasure.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same again,” you whisper, face down in the bed.

He chuckles from behind, wrapping a forearm around your belly and jostling you onto your side. His knot tugs, sending extra zips of gratification from between your legs out in all directions.

You lie together as his fingers trail over your thigh, floating across your ribs to cup breasts as his mouth sucks at your shoulder. Somewhere in the midst of postcoital haze, rational thoughts behind to take shape.

You have a child.

You’re a shapeshifter.

You would have offered yourself up to his brother if you had the opportunity.

Guilt settles back into your gut as his knot recedes. He pulls free, sending a rush of his seed from deep inside.

“What is wrong?” He rolls you onto your back to look at him. He can feel the shifting attitude, your body stiffening.  “You were happy a moment ago and now you’re miles away.”

Looking at him, you move onto your side to face him. His handsome, tired face is full of genuine concern. He slides a hand over the curve of your hip, his fingers playing along the base of your spine.

“I love you,” you whisper, staring at his chest, ashamed to look at him. “I don’t understand what happened with your brother, but I hope you can forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Sam sighs. “It is you that are in a position to offer forgiveness. I was prepared to let you die. I didn’t want to turn you. Dean did what I could not. He bit you, turned you. He saved your life. It’s why you feel a connection to him.”

“I do not want to feel this way about him. I feel dirty and ashamed.” You close your eyes, trying to not picture Dean and his sweet, wonderful scent. “What can I do to make it stop?”

“I’ll claim you,” Sam explains. He moves his hand to your hair, rubbing his fingers over your scalp. “While you may always experience some allegiance to him, my claim should put an end to the more intimate urges.”

“Will you do it now?” You run a hand over his chest, rough hair and hot skin under your open palm. “I’m not comfortable with the idea of being like this, an unclaimed Omega. I want to be yours.”

“You will be,” he promises softly. “Try not to upset yourself. You’ve been through so much. You need rest and calm and time to heal.”

“Then claim me,” you implore, searching his eyes. “I want you to claim me now.”

“We should wait for my rut.” He pulls you close, soothing your agitation with his own body. And it works, the sensation of an Alpha’s skin pressing against yours works like a drug as you melt into him. “Our bond will be the strongest during my rut. I want it now too, but we have to wait. It’s for the best.”

“How long?” You breathe in, letting his scent curl inside.

“A few weeks. Not long.”

“That sounds like a lifetime,” you mutter, nuzzling into his neck, pressing your nose right under his jaw.

“It will be here before you know it. I’ll be with you, as often as you need. And we’ll keep my brother away. Everything will be fine, you just have to trust me.”

“I trust you.” You’re fighting sleep, overcome with exhaustion and nestled into this warm, inviting body curled around you. “I want to see my daughter...and Golda. I’ve missed so much.”

Sam doesn’t respond, he just holds you as you slip into sleep blissfully unaware of the horrors the truth will hold.

[okay-victoria]

Status of Women in The Empire

Summary: LN gives some evidence women have a better status than they did in OTL Germany. It gives little to nothing in the way of evidence that we are in post-sexual-revolution territory. It presents little enough evidence generally that you can use this issue in your own story as you wish; however, using how humans actually work as your baseline, it would be a very definite handwave to think that gender equality is much more than marginally better than OTL would have been at the time, or that Tanya wouldn’t be negatively affected by it in some significant ways in daily life. On the other hand, the original story handwaves an eight year old enrolling in a modern military and getting promoted to a mid-ranking officer by age eleven, so as a reader, I’m obviously pretty down for handwaving some realism for the sake of a good story.

Evidence:

V1/C1

“The armed forces have a practical exception in place for just about everything.” <= I think in fanon the entire Empire as seen as this sort of “everything we do is logical” territory where gender discrimination would have had to be eliminated, but in reality it’s presented as the military, and they are making an exception for a rare and incredibly militarily useful type of person to be able to be put to use by them without gender discrimination stopping it.

V1/C4

“But in the far-from-gender-free world of “ladies first,” Tanya with her outwardly girlish appearance is, albeit only relatively, blessed compared to the other students” <= YMMV, but I would not describe modern society as a world of “ladies first”. Do people do/say it to hark back to pre-1960s chivalry? Sure. Is it really the standard we live by anymore? Not so much. Tanya seems to pretty definitely still be living in those days.

“Basically, apart from the mage branch, the army is a man’s world. Actually, even most of the mages are men.” <= this is notable because it is said when Tanya is in War College, at which point the war has been going on for long enough that available mages have been conscripted, so there is no selection bias that men have simply chosen to pursue a career as a mage more often than women. This is actually weirdly important because it either means:

Magic talent is like, an X chromosome trait and men are thus more likely to have it [in which case, it would probably be taken as natural evidence that men are superior and worsen the gender equality situation]; or

There in fact is a Youjo Konki-esque exception for married women and/or mothers. A nation has to still be relatively in the infancy of gender equality if Female Mage #102 has children with Infantryman #1,000,102 and the military decides that since it can’t leave these children parentless, it has to conscript the dude who is substitutable for literally anyone else and not the human weapon.

Tanya has a long-ish reflection on women in the military. Important points are, the rules have only been overhauled recently to make it practical for women to serve in combat. Women in combat didn’t really exist prior to this war, and women in the military were basically limited to noble/imperial families having their daughters serve out nominal duties. Whatever boost women as a whole get from serving in a capacity that people are used to seeing men in, it has not had time to transform society all that much.

V2/C2

“Women administrators are not uncommon, but in the Empire where gender equality still has a ways to go, their qualifications are always questioned.” <= YMMV as to what degree this is meant to be a statement on something that still troubles women in modern times, or something that indicates gender equality is not particularly close to modern.

V2/C5

“After all, now that I’ve been turned into a girl, I’m faced with this annoying military framework where men are superior. Just the thought of my promotions being blocked by an invisible glass ceiling is enough to dampen any desire I might have to act all girlish for propaganda…apart from that, the Empire’s personnel system has adapted extremely meritocratic principles for the war, in a way, so I’m more or less satisfied with it.” <= sort of same as above, YMMV on whether this is just Tanya realizing what life is like for a woman in modern society or meant as a “no, it was worse” point.

However, I will say this: I highly, highly doubt any men chosen for high military honors were photographed doing anything other than looking ultra manly in uniform. Women serving in modern militaries are not forced to put on showy dresses when they get their photos taken, they are treated, at least in photos, with the same respect as their male colleagues. The fact that anyone found it appropriate to only photograph the recipient of the highest military honor in cute girl clothes speaks to some deep discomfort with anyone outside the military seeing women not doing what they’re supposed to.

V6/C6

“The Imperial Army has already tapped all the population pools that can be mobilized, but it still has two options. One is to begin the general conscription of women. That said, they’ve already been mobilized in the industrial sector.” <= YMMV, again, on how willing a modern country would be to conscript women to fight a world war, but if you are as deep into a world war as the Empire is and no one’s trying it, at the least we can say the Empire is not the bastion of cold logic it fanonically is outside the military. Also, it pretty much seems like women working in large numbers has only become a thing because all the guys are off fighting, which very much sticks us in pre-1950s territory.

V8/C1

Andrew reacts surprised to see a female reporter from the Federation, and reflects that they are quite liberal in some ways <= while this is a non-Imperial guy, given his familiarity with the Empire, it would seem weird that if the Empire was particularly more advanced than his country that he would still be so surprised.

Other Working Knowledge Your Author Has On This Subject:

Women serving in the military, while certainly helpful to the cause of gender equality, by itself is not going to create a broad-based transformation in society. That sounds a bit like saying: As we all know, the US dropped any racist laws or regulations as soon as we started allowing non-white units in the military. After Elizabeth I serving as the Ruler of England, a very manly role that her tiny woman-brain didn’t fuck up too bad, the people who thought women were naturally stupider than men were quickly relegated to the margins and gender discrimination mostly became more of an annoyance than a real hindrance to the average woman’s goals. It just doesn’t work that way. And I’m not here to say that the US is a post-gender paradise, but the US, which has never had a woman president and is pretty slow about expanding military opportunities for women, nonetheless is a lot better on the gender equality front than some countries that have had women leaders and allow women a fuller range of military opportunities. There’s a lot more complexity to it than: My country respects military => military allows women => guess I’m going to stop being sexist

The same goes for something that isn’t about gender equality at large but how it relates to Tanya: The view that while gender equality may be non-advanced, Tanya specifically is exempt from dealing with it because she is “one of the boys”. It Does Not Work Like That. At All. And the further you go back in time, the less it worked like that. Within the military specifically Tanya will probably be alright, but society at large punishes men & women that break gender roles as brazenly as she does more than it rewards them. This is an entire essay unto itself, Google is your friend.

This is going to sound silly and facetious but I’m being dead serious, from what little we know of fashion in the YS world, it matches what would have been the case in the real world in the WW1 era. If society at large was really that different, that wouldn’t be the case.

There is no canon evidence that magic has made any scientific advancements outside the military sphere of influence. Before the advent of things like dishwashers, vacuums, microwaves, especially refrigerators, and especially laundry machines being common household items, the ideal family model was: one person makes money outside home, one person takes care of house. There wasn’t enough time in the day to work and run a household. Many women in poor households had to work, generally at the expense of being able to keep their own household running smoothly, and even then they often worked in capacities that allowed them to be at home or ones that allowed them the flexibility to take care of some of this stuff. It really just isn’t possible to have a society remotely approaching equality when one gender is automatically assigned to home unless necessary.

Same goes for something else - contraception. Women having access to a contraceptive device that they control is a major component of setting a society on a path towards equality. Birth control pills didn’t become widely available until the 1960s. Without being unable to at least kind of balance the outcome of sex (even between married couples) between men and women, women as a class have a hard time escaping from the housewife-mother archetype.

Not to get too political here, but the Empire matches OTL Germanic-Prussianness too much to ignore. Living under a military-worshipping, religiously-inclined traditional monarchy has not, in any real life example I’m aware of, gone hand-in-hand with anything other than a fairly conservative and patriarchal society, and I feel like the burden of proof is on the other side to explain why that isn’t the case in the Empire, and our original author makes approximately zero effort to do this.

Being X turns Tanya into a woman for the purpose of making her life worse. It seems simply illogical [although I guess Being X’s decision-making skills are questionable] that he would then drop her into a world that had undergone broad-based gender reform instead of a world that was just barely tweaked from our own in such a way that it would allow Tanya to serve in the military.

My conclusion: the most likely option is that gender equality is exactly enough better as it needs to be to allow the military to convince the lawmakers that they should be able to use a very rare & dangerous ability to be part of their arsenal without respect to gender, or age, and no more. That difference is not likely to make life for women significantly better than it was in the equivalent OTL time period.

[courage-a-word-of-justice]

Cyberpunk!HypMic

This is an extension of the cyberpunk outfits from this AU.

Originally, these outfits did not have their own universe to exist in - they were just made to fit a theme - but it just so happens HypMic already has a lot of the components required for cyberpunk...(but yikes, this is the densest AU - in terms of worldbuilding - I've had yet...)

TDD, MCD, Kuujaku Posse and NB existed in the past, but not in the context of the DRB - they were just groups of unlikely friends with differing reputations that retroactively came to be known under popular monikers and they ended up accepting those names over time. After WW3 and Chuohku's take over, technology rapidly advanced but society as a whole was wrecked.

As a reminder, the base outfit in this world is a silver body suit which only exposes the head, hands and feet, with black combat boots and a black belt.

In this world, this outfit is typically issued by Chuohku via people like Ramuda, although as you can tell by the outfits given in the magical boy AU, what you put on top of the base outfit can vary wildly. The boots and the belt can be swapped with something else without any trouble - the only thing that can get you into trouble with the authorities is ditching the suit. The body suit is able to purify polluted air within a short distance of itself, but only for the user.

All suit users have an accent colour, typically found on places like the top edge of the boots and on buttons, and the accents glow faintly in the dark. The colours have been adjusted slightly from the magical boy AU to create better glow effects.

...For the outfits that aren't specified, known from the magical boy AU or the same as canon in cases where the character does not rely on the suit, I'll leave them to your imagination, dear readers.

BB:

A team of brothers and odd jobs workers who navigate the digital and the real world to help those in need.

Ichiro: The owner of Odd Jobs Yamada. Prone to poking around with the latest in virtual reality, as well as illegal or semi-legal cybernetics. Resents Samatoki because he interferes with the Yamadas' business often enough to be a nuisance. Accent colour: Bright red.

Jiro: A delinquent and the more physical member of Odd Jobs Yamada (i.e. instead of trying to shut down bad guys using digital trickery, he's more likely to punch them instead). Was going to high school before circumstances shut schools down. Accent colour: Bright (royal) blue.

Saburo: A genius hacker. Was going to middle school before circumstances shut schools down. Accent colour: Bright yellow.

MTC:

An ad hoc crew who, in this world, have much weaker relationships than they do in canon.

Samatoki: A yakuza second-in-command, currently in possession of a strange black cybernetic glove which covers his right arm from the hand up to the elbow. The glove is able to control the air purification feature of the suits, so it's a particularly nasty bit of contraband. Resents Ichiro because Ichiro made a prototype of the glove and that was the last chance Samatoki had of convincing Nemu not to join Chuohku, but she joined them anyway. Also came into possession of an humanoid mecha, via Riou, which became the base of the new Yotsutsuji. Wears his TDD jacket over his shoulders. Accent colour: Indigo.

(Nemu: Currently with Chuohku to improve the world from within the government. Sent the completed glove to her brother because she knew he would keep it safe. Accent colour: Magenta (aka "Chuohku pink").)

Jyuto: A corrupt cop, currently investigating the glove in Samatoki's possession. More overworked than his canon counterpart...Even his trademark glasses have been digitised - they have a small antenna on the left side and can display information on the lenses when Jyuto gives them a mental signal (the display is in his accent colour). Accent colour: Maroon.

Riou: A former navyman who lives in nature, despite it being irreparably wrecked, and would rather not deal with the digital world, considering he's a cyborg (this is how he gets around not having the suit - he was experimented on in Chuohku's pursuit of creating a new supersoldier). Gave Samatoki an ancient industrial military-grade humanoid mecha which is about as tall as he (Samatoki) is.

FP:

Gentaro doesn't know Ramuda and Dice in this world.

Ramuda: A fashion designer who hands out government-mandated suits (for a small fee) while trying to ask out as many ladies as possible. Also sells other items to go with the suits, as would be expected of a typical fashion designer. His allegiance to Chuohku is a lot clearer in this world, but he's not a clone in this - just a normal human with hair dyed pink. Accent colour: Light orange (as per the magical boy AU).

Gentaro: A writer who makes his stories "real" via virtual reality and partnerships with others, such as Odd Jobs Yamada. Has material in some of his stories which he can use to blackmail Chuohku with. Hides his suit under traditional Japanese clothes. Accent colour: Bright purple.

Dice: Officially, he's a gambler who gambles with digital money and can't afford the suit. (Ramuda is not only something like a debt collector to him, he's also Dice's minder and enabler of sorts.) Unofficially, he's the son of Otome, the leader of Chuohku, who, when he was disowned by his family, lost access to the suits. As a result, he occasionally struggles to breathe and has to be helped by someone every so often. (Maybe if Hitoya or Jakurai met him in this world, Dice would be properly saved...?)

MTR:

Jakurai: A doctor, albeit one who prefers to use old-fashioned (that's "modern" to us) methods where possible. Chuohku believes gathering data from his brainwaves is necessary for the progress of developing new medical technology (or so they say...), so he wears a strange device which loops around the back half of his head and sits over his hair, attached to his head by two round (glowing) suction cups just above his ears. Wears his doctor's coat over the suit. Acts as Doppo and Hifumi's therapist and/or meditates in his spare time. Accent colour: Cyan.

Yotsutsuji: Currently in a coma after Chuohku's experiments for new supersoldiers. With the help of the former TDD, Jakurai has placed what could be salvaged of Yotsutsuji's consciousness into a humanoid mecha.

Hifumi: The no. 1 host of Fragrance. Uses virtual reality, projection mapping and other technologies to create entertainment for his clients. Afraid of women, but rather than his jacket, in this world he uses the same technology that aids him in his work to escape them. Accent colour: Neon green.

Doppo: A salaryman with appallingly low pay, no matter how hard he works, due to the fact technology is advanced enough in this world to give him a run for his money...He's lucky he has Jakurai and Hifumi to keep him sane... Accent colour: Teal.

DH:

Rei knows about Sasara and Rosho in this world, but they don't know about him.

Sasara: A comedian, currently under the heel of Chuohku. To this end, there are only certain kinds of jokes he's allowed to say while performing in public, although Sasara tries to get around this as much as he can when he can and secretly wishes to tear down the system with the former TDD + MCD so he can say what he likes again. Remotely communicates with Rosho via a visor and wears a leather jacket similar to Samatoki's TDD jacket in memory of MCD. Accent colour: Bright pink (as per the magical boy AU).

Rosho: A teacher, who lost his job when the school system broke down. He relies on Sasara to provide his basic necessities, but also takes occasional jobs to teach children in small groups or one-on-one, even teaching them comedy skills if he deems it necessary for them to survive in this wartorn world. Remotely communicates with Sasara via a display built into his glasses (which he otherwise wears purely for cosmetic reasons). Accent colour: Purple.

Rei: The creator of various technologies and creations prior to the war, most notably the ubiquitous suits. Currently gathering Jakurai's brainwave data for his own purposes. Has a strange relationship with the upper management of Chuohku, particularly Otome. Instead of sunglasses, he wears a (purely cosmetic) sniper's monocle over his left eye. Accent colour: Orange.

BAT:

Kuko: Back to being a delinquent, after people stopped believing in religion in exchange for technology. However, he still holds on to his beliefs, with the idea that one day, he can bring Buddhism back to a world that needs something to believe in. To this end, he uses virtual reality to recreate the pre-war world as he remembers it. Wears a teal happi coat over his suit and his prayer beads dangle out of his pocket. Accent colour: Mint green. Also known to commonly ditch the government-mandated suit for a particular respirator system created by Hitoya, which has a mess of wires going from the back of his head and going to either his neck or his shoulders (it looks similar to how the robot from the cover art of In My Mind's Axwell Mix has it) - this is due to the fact it looks intimidating and cool, yet it can be a pain to move around with at times.

Jyushi: A visual kei musician who enhances his shows with virtual reality, projection mapping and so on. People get confused when they involve Amanda "coming to life", but they roll with it anyway. Accent colour: Gold (essentially, a darker yellow than Saburo's).

Hitoya: A former lawyer, whose services are no longer needed now that the rules of society the law should operate in do not apply. This freed up his time to pursue his own interests, including creating portable respirator technology which Kuko and Jyushi try out for him (he does this with some help from some connections in the medical field, including Jakurai).

[thompsborn]

I'm ~indecisive~ so either parkner, parksborn, or ot3 (Peter/harley/harry), OR just something Harley centric pleeaassee love you hope you're doing well 😊💗💗

wasteland, baby by hozier

be still, my indelible friend

you are unbreaking

though quaking

though crazy

that's just wasteland, baby

[send me a character/ship/dynamic/etc. and i’ll put my music on shuffle and write a drabble/one shot based on the first song that plays!]

-

i have literally no clue what happened with this, literally i saw the song and was like wow yes hozier song for a harley centric ot3 one shot? perfect! and then it just. devolved? evolved? developed. somehow. into this gay panic lonely tennessee boy meeting two dumb fucked up and traumatized boys on a road trip before they start college and ??? i have no fucking clue tbh

tw: internalized homophobia, classic southern rose hill homophobia, a much thicker version of southern accent typing than i usually do, vague mentions/hints of toxic/abusive home life via one mr harry osborn, basically just canon based trauma but only talked about in passing

-

Harley feels life like a pressure pushing down on his chest.

It isn’t heavy, per se, but it isn’t light, either - rather a constant weight, comfortable at times, overwhelming at others. He will carry it down the street like a backpack strapped around his shoulders and pressed into the dimples at the base of his spine and he may wince and he may want to whine, but he’ll just smile with the warmth of sunshine radiating from his skin like he is the sun itself, and he will nod his head in greeting at any lonesome soul he passes.

Lonesome as him, at least. Lonesome as lonesome could ever really get.

He’s got his Mama, is the thing—and he loves his Mama with all he’s got, feels it seize up in his chest sometimes, his heart palpitating rapidly as it tries to process just how much love he holds in his chest like a secret he can’t quite share. Got his Mama and his sister, Annabelle, and her missing teeth that she loves to show off with every dimple cheeked grin that she flashes them, a nine year old girl who loves to have her hair braided back and resting between her shoulder blades like a signature, something that is solely hers. Harley can’t see braids without thinking of Belle and her crinkly nose and the laugh lines around her eyes when she can’t stop the chortles that rise from her chest. Belle and their Mama are all that he’s really got, and he wouldn’t trade them for the world.

But he wonders if there’s anyone out there who would really understand what he means when he says, “Life just feels a bit heavy today.” His Mama tries to, but she doesn’t get it, feels the pressures and the struggles of life differently than he does, because he knows she feels the aches and pains just as much as him, if not more so, but she has an energy that he doesn’t seem to have access to, an ability to chime a laugh without feeling like it’s too heavy in her poor lungs to make much of a sound. Belle doesn’t show any of the signs that Harley did when he was her age of any sort of weight pushing down her shoulders, because he felt it early, early, early—far too early than any child ever deserves, but he saw his father walk out that door with a half-assed smile and an unconvincing promise to return and that weight appeared like a lump in his throat and a stinging of tears behind his eyes and it’s only grown and shifted and intensified since then, really, but Belle doesn’t seem to have that weight, or any weight at all, and Harley hopes to the heavens above (that scare him shitless on a good day, really) that she never has to feel like him.

Because he is horribly, terrifyingly alone, sometimes. Sitting on the sofa with his Mama sitting to his right, his sister curled up in between them, letting out endearing little snorts when something funny happens in whatever show they’re watching, and his Mama could be brushing back his hair like she did when he was a kid, Belle could be snuggled in his lap and laughing into his chest, he could be surrounded by the two most important people in his life, the only two people in his life, and he could still stare at that television screen and feel a gaping wound in his chest that nothing can fill. There’s weight, pressure, heaviness--and an emptiness, in the center of it all. A vacancy that may never be filled. Like the eye of a hurricane that never seems to rest.

Then a far too fancy looking car rolls up in Rose Hill, parks itself in the dirt lot of the only motel in town, and everything seems to shift.

“I’m Harry,” one of the oddities tells him, when Harley stops by Rita’s Diner because his Mama is taking Belle to a doctor’s appointment in the next town over but wanted him to pick up her paycheck for her. The guy looks nothing like anyone in Rose Hill ever has, a sleek black blazer over a white shirt with a slogan that Harley can’t read from where he’s standing, dark blue skinny jeans and a fancy kind of tennis shoes that don’t have a smudge of dirt on them, his hand extended towards Harley, head tilted to the side, eyes green and piercing as they scan over Harley in some kind of intrigue.

Harley’s been born and raised to be polite, so he shakes the guys hand and says, “Harley Keener. Nice t’meet you, Harry...?”

The ends of Harry’s lips curve, twist. “Lyman,” he fills in, brow quirking. There’s a quiet snort that fills in the gap of silence that follows, and then Harry is turning, hand still clutching Harley’s in an almost hand shake, looking at the guy sitting beside him and reading the menu with amusement on his features. “What?”

“Nothing,” the guy says, glancing towards Harry before immediately looking away and having to smother a laugh in his palm. Harley takes a moment to examine this guy, too - sticking out just as much as Harry is with his beige skinny jeans (kind of like khaki’s, but nothing like them, at the same time) and a dark grey hoodie, looking far too thick for the sunny day outside. His hair is swooped across his forehead in wisps of curls, brown eyes glimmering. “Nothing,” he says again, more insistent, though it doesn’t sound convincing as he giggles more.

Harry rolls his eyes, turning back to Harley with a grimace, though his eyes shine in a way that makes it obvious that he isn’t actually annoyed. “Don’t mind him,” he says, gaze flickering down to where Harley is still clasping his hand. Harley pulls back as soon as he notices, yanks his hand away a little too fast. It makes Harry’s nose crinkle, for a second, and then smooth. “That’s Peter.”

Giggles waves a hand vaguely in Harley’s direction, then looks away. Harley isn’t sure what to make of that. “What’s he laughing at?”

“Nothing important,” Harry assures with a shrug. “You’re from here, I’m guessing?” Then, with his newly freed hand, he gestures towards Harley’s clothes, the smudge of dirt on his cheek, the slight sunburn on the bridge of his nose and the freckles dotting his skin. “I don’t mean to assume, you just look a lot like a local.”

“Well, I’d bet I do, since you definitely don’t,” Harley muses, brow quirking, resting a hip on the edge of the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t mean to assume either, but neither of you are from ‘round here, huh?”

Harry’s smile widens while Peter flips a fork round and round between his nimble looking fingers. If Harley looks closer, he thinks he can see those fingers shaking, yet it doesn’t seem to hinder Peter’s ability to spin the fork with a flawless sort of ease. It makes him intrigued. Confused, too. A bit unsure. He doesn’t get the chance to voice any of it, though.

Julianna, the manager that’s working today, brings Harley his mama’s paycheck, wrapped up in a neat white envelope with Keener scrawled across the front in scratchy script. Harley tips his head in parting when he leaves, and he catches a glimpse of Peter leaning towards Harry with something forming through a whisper of his lips, so close that he brushes against Harry’s ear as he speaks.

He thinks of them the rest of the day. He isn’t quite sure why, but he does.

(Maybe it was the hand in his, or the way Peter couldn’t stop giggling under his breath like there was a joke that no one else knew but him. Maybe the curiosity that Harley felt bubbling in his chest had, for even just a fraction of a moment, filled that cavern the slightest bit.)

-

“You seem distracted, honeybun,” Margaret Keener says over dinner that night, swooping blonde bangs out of her eyes as she glances towards her eldest child, her eighteen year old son with his shoulders hunched down on himself as he uses his fork to push his food around his plate. Maggie keeps her eyes on Harley, but turns her head to address Belle as she says, “Doesn’t he look distracted, Tinker Bell? Looks a little lost in his head, don’t he?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Annabelle responds, nodding her head politely before shoveling a bite of broccoli salad into her mouth. She speaks around her food, using her own fork to gesture towards her brother, and tells their mama, “Candy Jones was tellin’ me that her daddy saw Harley talkin’ to those city boys stayin’ at the inn.”

Harley shoots his sister a sharp glare while a flicker of understanding sparks in their mama’s eyes. “I see,” she drawls, setting her fork down to prop her chin in her hand, resting in the curve of her palm as she smiles at her son.

“It’s nothin’, Mama,” he grumbles, shrinking in his seat under her knowing stare.

Sounding amused, Maggie says, “Doesn’t sound like nothin’, honeybun. If Annabelle can tell me about her crushes, then you can tell me about yours.”

Instantly, Harley is looking at his sister in bewilderment. “You got crushes?”

Annabelle shovels more food in her mouth. “Maybe,” she says around it all, brows raising in a way that challenges him to say something about it.

“But you’re a baby,” Harley says.

“I’m almost ten,” Belle corrects. “Mama said it was okay, Harls. Right, Mama?”

Maggie nods. “Yes I did,” she says, though her eyes are glued to her son. “’Cause there ain’t nothin’ wrong with having crushes. It’s a natural part of life. So, Harley, why don’t you tell me about these city boys?”

“There’s nothin’ to tell,” Harley insists, looking at his mama with wide eyes. “Honest, Mama. I talked to ‘em for a few minutes while I was waitin’ for Julianna to bring me your check, but nothin’ happened. We just talked. I don’t even know how y’all know that they’re from a city.”

Belle lets out a huff. “Word spreads fast in this town, Harley,” she tells him. “You’d know that if you had any friends that you could talk to.”

“Annabelle Ray Keener, you watch yourself,” Maggie scolds, turning her eyes to her daughter with lowered brows. Belle ducks her head, looks away with red creeping up the back of her neck. “You say sorry to your brother. That was uncalled for, little miss. We don’t talk to each other that way, you hear me?”

Belle sighs. “Sorry, Harls,” she murmurs.

Harley’s head is bowed, ends of his lips tugged down in a frown. “S’alright,” he mutters in response, glancing up at Maggie through his lashes and sounding like nothing but a boy rather than the fresh adult that he is. “I ain’t got nothin’ else to say, Mama. We just talked for a few minutes. They seemed weird, but nice.”

“If you say so, baby,” Maggie softly replies, smile gentle and kind.

He doesn’t say much else for the rest of dinner.

-

Only a few days later, as Harley is strolling down the streets leading from his house to the mechanic shop that he works at part time during the summers, he sees them again. It’s a particularly hot day, and the weight of life is particularly heavy, and he sees them in the only park resting near the center of Rose Hill, small and meek but all that the town really needs. Peter is siting on one of the swings on the old rickety swing set that Harley has personally had to fix dozens of times since learning how to at the age of eleven, and Harry is pushing him, the two of them looking bright and happy under the sunlight. Laughter chimes in the air when Peter says something that has Harry doubling over, and the smug sort of grin that grows on Peter’s face says that he was hoping for that reaction.

Harley stands there for a few short moments, just watches in silent curiosity, and then he walks over without a second thought. Takes his time, doesn’t want to interrupt but can’t stop himself as he approaches, until they spot him, no more than ten feet away, and they quiet quickly, watching as he slows to a stop just a short distance from them. “You’re from the city,” he says - first thing that comes to mind, and the silence makes him itch, so he throws caution to the wind. Adds, as an afterthought, “My sister heard people in town talkin’ ‘bout it. Is that true?”

There’s a short pause, where Peter looks over his shoulder and Harry meets his eyes briefly, and then they’re looking back and Peter is saying, “Yeah, it’s true.”

“Which one?” Harley questions, curious. He makes a point of raking his eyes over their outfits, which still stand out just as much as the ones that they were wearing last time did. “Doesn’t look like anywhere in Tennessee, I assume?”

“Good assumption, cowboy,” Harry grins. “We’re New York, born and raised.”

Harley tilts his head, brows raising. “Cowboy?”

Peter clicks his tongue, tilts back on the swing until he’s practically hanging upside down, hair brushing against the wood chips of the playground, and then he kicks out his legs and uses an odd sort of momentum to swing back up until he’s sitting, grin wide and toothy as he meets Harley’s eyes. “Southern people use nicknames,” he says with a light laugh. “We thought cowboy suited you.”

“It does?” Harley asks, even more confused. “Y’all were talkin’ about me?”

“Y’all,” Harry repeats, an overjoyed and amused sort of look on his face.

Peter cocks his head slightly to the side, brows quirking, just a bit. “Of course we were talking about you,” he says. “Not everyday you meet a cute cowboy, right?”

That makes Harley freeze, heart stuttering over a beat in his chest, and it feels like what he always thought a stupid high school crush should feel like, his lungs weak and his face warm as he looks away, brings up a hand to run his fingers nervously through his hair. “Oh.”

Harry yanks Peter’s ear lobe lightly and snarkily asks, “What happened to subtlety, Parker?”

“What happened to transparency, Osborn?”

Instantly, Harry is shoving Peter’s shoulder, not too harsh but not exactly kindly, either. Peter exaggerates the push and falls out of the swing dramatically, tumbling into the wood chips with a bright laugh. Harry murmurs, “You’re such a dick,” even as he rounds the swing to help pull Peter to his feet, brushing off the dirt from Peter’s shirt and shaking his head with a sigh.

“You chose me,” Peter counters, grinning.

Harry rolls his eyes, but a smile pulls at his lips, like he can’t quite fight it. “Dumbest decision I’ve ever made,” he says, pulling Peter closer to him, until they’re chest to chest. “And I let you talk me into this trip, so that says a lot, Pete.”

Peter huffs. “Play the part of the Negative Nancy,” he says, leaning in until their noses brush. “Act like I don’t know any better. As if I don’t know you better than you know yourself.”

“Cocky,” Harry grins. “Y’know, we could put some of that confidence to work if you—”

And then Peter kisses him.

Harley feels like he’s intruding on a moment that was never meant for him, standing a few feet away, feeling frozen and unsure. Part of him knows that the proper thing to do would be to walk away, to leave the situation before it can get too awkward, but there’s a pull, something in his gut that tugs and insists he stay exactly where he is. Not that he could resist that insistence even if he wanted to, because his feet are rooted to the ground like a tree that’s been growing in place for centuries, an unwavering and unmovable object.

Warmth climbs up his neck, blossoms across his cheeks as he simply watches, unable to do much else, while Harry brings up a hand to cup Peter’s jaw, as Peter rests his hands on Harry’s waist and they mould together, like they’re filling in the spaces of one another. It looks as natural as breathing, the way they lean together, the way they pull away in sync, how everything seems to be perfectly timed with one another. Harley feels it clog in his throat, that suffocating lonesome feeling he carries around so much—has to clear his throat in order to breathe around it, but the noise just draws two pairs of eyes to him.

There isn’t any surprise or embarrassment, like they had forgotten he was there—rather, there’s an equal sense of content, as if they were happy to see he hadn’t fled. He clears his throat again, looks over Harry’s shoulder to stare unseeingly at the trees behind the swingset. “I didn’t know...” he trails off, tongue tied.

“We don’t usually flaunt it,” Harry offers, hand sliding from Peter’s jaw to his shoulder, keeps it there even as they step apart. One of Peter’s hands continues to clutch the fabric of Harry’s jacket, like he simply refuses to let him go.

Harley swallows roughly. “Usually?”

A smile tugs at Peter’s lips. “Usually.”

“Huh.” Harley looks away, over his shoulder, rubs at the back of his neck. They’re intriguing, is the thing—something about them is pulling him in, making it impossible to walk away. He can’t place his finger on it. “Um, I... I heard—you said trip? That’s why y’all are here? On a trip?”

“A getaway,” Harry offers, tilting his head back and forth, nose crinkled. “Of sorts. I’m emancipated and told Pete that I was thinking about spending a few weeks away from the city, just to take a break before we start our first year at college. He thought of a road trip, and we just... we just started driving. No destination in mind, you know? Just enough shit to last a couple weeks and enough money to keep the tank full, and then we ended up here.”

Harley looks back at them suddenly, because that... he has always wanted to do that. To leave, if just for a little bit, and take a break from how empty and lonely he feels in Rose Hill. He’s always wanted to drive to the nearest city, drive out of the state, explore. But it costs so much, it takes so much time, and his mama... his sister... leaving them, even temporarily—

That’s why he stays. For them. Always.

It takes a moment for him to string together a response, struggling to remember the conversation, what he wanted to say. Eventually, he manages to ask, “Why here?”

Peter rakes his eyes over Harley, the farthest thing from subtle. “Seems interesting,” he says.

“Why not?” Harry asks, his grin wide, toothy.

Harley smiles back—slow, careful, but he does.

-

There’s an old backpack thrown over his shoulders, dusty and dingy from sitting in the hall closet for so long, but it’s stocked up with snacks, jams and jellies and crackers and a couple jars of his mama’s homemade lemonade, lids screwed up tight.

He tells himself he grabbed so much food because he knows he’s gonna spend the whole day at the pond near the edge of Mr. Samson’s property, the one that Harley helps maintain during the winter months that he’s been given permission to go swimming in whenever he wants. He tells himself that he goes to town first to grab a loaf of bread because he has the feeling he’ll be craving jam sandwiches later, too. Tells himself all these lies until he finally comes across them, sitting besides the road with ice cream cones in hand, chatting to themselves under the warm sun.

As soon as Harley sees them, he freezes, doubt creeping into his mind. None of this was for him, he knows—he packed so much and came up with excuses to wander around town in the hopes of seeing them, of inviting them, but now that they’re in front of his eyes, nerves start to crawl up his throat and lock his jaw shut. He tightens his fingers around one of the backpack straps, knuckles turning white.

Harry happens to see him while glancing around, and then he grins, featuring lighting up as if he was hoping to see Harley just as much as Harley was hoping to run into them. As soon as Harry’s posture changes, Peter spins around, scans their surroundings until he finds Harley, too, and then it isn’t a matter of Harley approaching them—rather, the two of them scramble to their feet and make their way towards him, instead. The hands that aren’t holding their ice cream cones are twisted together between them, swinging lightly.

“There’s—” Harley falters, scrapes his teeth over his lower lip and looks around anxiously. “I just... there are a lotta not-so-friendly people here. People that... frown on—on gay people, y’know? I dunno—I just... if you care, I, um—”

The sun bounces off of Harry’s emerald eyes on a way that might have been menacing, if it weren’t paired with the small smile gracing his lips. “People can think what they want,” he says with the wave of his hand. “We don’t care.”

Harley shifts his weight from one foot to the other, keeps glancing around nervously. “I don’t think you understand. They’ll get violent, if they see—if they see y’all holding hands. They’re ruthless. You could get really hurt.”

There’s something sharp and understanding in Peter’s features. “Have they hurt you?”

“I’m not—” Harley stops, bites back the instinctive denial that tries to claw it’s way out from the back of his throat. It’s been years since he told his mama and his sister, since he spit bloody globs of saliva onto the contrete and cried because the bullies weren’t just ruthless, they were right, they knew, somehow, what he refused to admit for so long. It’s why he hides it now, from everyone other than Mama and Belle. He never knows if they’ll hurt him or not. But there’s a genuine knowing reflected in both Harry and Peter’s eyes, like they could see his pain, like they’ve felt it. He doesn’t feel the need to lie to them.

That fact terrifies him endlessly.

He clenches his jaw, juts his chin up in a choppy sort of nod. “They used to,” he says. “Before I learned how’ta fight back. Still spout shit ‘bout me all god damn day, but words don’t matter. I know better ‘en to listen to ‘em. But y’all... you’re city boys, right? The guys in town, they’ll think you’re weak. They’ll start shit, and they always finish whatever shit they start.”

“I can take ‘em,” Peter assures.

Harley pauses. “Um...”

“He looks scrawny,” Harry says, “but he’s right. If anyone bugs us, he’ll win.”

Harley wants to protest that, mostly because Peter is at least three inches shorter than him and looks like he’d struggle to do a push up underneath the sweatshirts he keeps on wearing, but there’s so much confidence in both if their voices that Harley feels like it’d be stupid to disagree. Instead, he adjusts his backpack and wets his lower lip, battling internally for a moment before blurting out, “Do y’all wanna go swimming with me?”

There’s a short pause, before Harry shares a smile with Peter. “Come again, cowboy?”

Harley flushes, just a bit, and stares down at the toes of his shoes with narrowed eyes. “There’s a pond,” he says, tone almost defensive, already expecting this to go wrong somehow. “It’s a little bit out of town, but it’s nice, kept clean and looked after, y’know? And it’s never busy like the lake out past the school. I was gonna go, and it was brought to my attention that I don’t have any friends and I don’t wanna go alone, and I—I thought—”

“We’ll go,” Peter says. “Right now?”

Harley shifts the weight of his backpack again, glances up in surprise, but knows better than to question a miracle. “If y’all aren’t busy.”

Peter looks at Harry. “Are we busy?”

“Not at all,” Harry answers with a grin.

It takes a quick stop at the motel for them to change into something they can swim in and multiple stammered out reassurances that there’s plenty of food and drinks in his bag for them to share, but they eventually amble over to the pond on foot, Peter and Harry scanning over the place in appreciation while Harley sets down his backpack and starts to unload it all.

“Christ,” Harry says with a laugh when he sees just how much there is. “Were you planning on having a party or something? That’s a lot.”

Harley shakes his head, feels his face burn, just the slightest bit. “Nah, jus’ wanted to make sure there was plenty to last all day.” Then, holding out the loaf of bread, Harley asks, “Sandwich? I got blackberry jam, and raspberry, and—and some apple butter, and there’s—peanut butter and almond butter, so if either of y’all’re allergic to peanuts, I—”

Peter reaches over, settles nimble fingers around Harley’s wrist and smiles. “You packed all this food for us, didn’t you?”

“I...” Harley has to swallow the lump that forms suddenly in his throat. “I just wanted to make sure that there were plenty of options.”

“You’re so sweet,” Peter coos, bringing Harley’s hand down to rest against his chest, palm settled over his beating heart. Harley feels his own heart start to march over the contact, features burning with a bright blush that must look even more sharp under the summer sun.

Harley settles in that for a long moment, breathes in slowly, glances through his lashes to see the way Harry is watching them with intrigue and interest in his eyes. Not knowing what else to do, Harley just clears his throat and croaks out, “Y’all wanna go swimmin’ now?”

With a playful grin and something sharp shining in his eyes, Harry says, “Sure, cowboy,” and reaches down to pull his shirt off.

Harley should have thought this through.

He should have—Christ, does he feel dumber than all hell right now, looking like those idiot pre-teens that burn scarlet at the pool parties in all those stupid movies, the blush reaching the tips of his ears in seconds as he immediately turns his eyes upward to stare at the clouds, almost holding his breath until he realizes that’ll just make his face even redder than it already is. How had the fact that swimming would likely entail a lot of bare skin not crossed his mind? He could have thought of anything else, like going to a movie, or—or roller skating, at the rink a couple towns over, or—

Anything other than this, because it’s a lot harder to act like he isn’t a (mostly) closeted gay dumbass when the most attractive boys he has ever seen are standing five feet away from him, shirtless and grinning like sharks, powerful and hungry and knowing the power they hold.

At least, that’s what it feels like when one of Harry’s hands wraps ‘round Peter’s wrist while Peter’s other hand taps a knuckle lightly against Harley’s chin, a gentle gesture that encourages Harley to lower his gaze—which he does, after a few moments, having to remind himself to breathe normally as he brings his eyes down to glance between swirling chocolate’s and dazzling green’s.

“You can look,” Peter tells him, head tilted, corners of his eyes crinkled with a lovable, boyish sort of grin. “We don’t mind.”

Harley’s mouth feels dry.

Before Harley can try to string together an attempt at a response, Harry cuts in, sounds matter of fact and damn near professional when he informs Harley, “And you can like what you see. It’s okay. We like what we see, too.”

“That’s...” Harley trails off, looks away and looks back because there’s a gravitational pull that he just can’t seem to fight. “That’s... allowed?”

With his nose crinkling up, Harry laughs. “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Harley wets his lower lip. “‘Cause y’all’re... you’re together, yeah? And on a trip, gonna be leavin’ soon, I bet, and I’m—I’m the idiot from the close minded Southern town. And you don’t... y’all don’t know me. I don’t know you, either, really, jus’ that I—I, um—uh—”

It’s Peter that steps forward, head tilting to the side, just slightly. Almost puppy like, if it weren’t for the sharpness in his eyes. The ends of his lips pull back, until he’s sporting a soft and gentle sort of smile, but something about it feels damaged, too, in a way that Harley can’t quite put a finger on. “Give yourself some credit, cowboy,” he says. “Harry thinks you’re hot and I can’t get enough of your accent, and that’s just what we thought after three minutes of talking at that diner, alright? Sure, we don’t know you, and, fuck, you definitely don’t know shit about us, but there’s something, right?”

The thing is, Harley isn’t an articulate guy. His brain is capable of endless things, he’s smarter than anyone will ever be able to give him credit for, sure, but when he’s nervous, in a situation that’s unfamiliar and hard to maneuver, his instinct is to duck his head and change the subject. Which is why he freezes completely, even though he knows this is an opening, even though Peter and Harry just fully and openly admitted to being attracted to him, at least on a surface level, and Harley—he’s never had anyone interested in him before. None of the girls at school ever swooned over him, none of the boys tried to woo him with flowers and cheesy dates. He was just the Keener boy, with the blond waves that sometimes dry in ringlets that hang in his eyes when it rains, the sloped nose that’s just a bit crooked from breaking it a few too many times over the years (clumsy, at times; unlucky run ins with bullies, for the most part), the jean jacket that almost always has on, pulled over plain t-shirts in the summer, thick flannels in the winter, dark blue jeans that are old and ripped at the knees, but he can’t bother to replace them. He’s a graduate barely two months out of high school and his future’s already set, laid out and chosen for him.

Stay in Rose Hill. Die in Rose Hill. Maybe grow old, somewhere in between. Hopefully content, at peace, but he ain’t bettin’ money on that. Probably work at the mechanic shop full time once it becomes clear that he’ll never afford to go to college and he won’t get anywhere without a degree. Besides, Mama says that Rose Hill is home, and he says that home is wherever Mama and Belle are, so there’s no real harm in just going with the flow of things.

But it feels like being offered a taste of forbidden fruit (and, Christ, would his Catholic grandma turn over in her grave if she heard him using such a phrase, daring to reference the holy text in his sin) when gentle fingers brush across his cheek, bringing him back to reality as he sucks in a sharp breath and finds green eyes looking into his, brown ones scanning over his features just as closely, as intently.

Harry smiles, all lopsided. “Wanna swim?”

It’s an offer, an ability to ease the nervous (excited?) churning in his stomach. Harley swallows roughly, waits until his tongue no longer feels tangled up and knotted in his mouth, before saying, “Y-Yeah. Okay.”

(They’re swimming ‘round the pond like little kids until sunset, and Harley walks them back to the motel, ‘cause it’s the nice thing to do, and by the time he gets home, his hair still hanging in his eyes in damp ringlets that Harry had called cute while Peter brushed gentle fingers through them with a grin, there’s a swelling feeling of contentment in his chest.

For a moment, it makes the pressure, weight, heaviness, and that chasm of emptiness in the center of it all that so often overwhelms him, pains him so much, seem like nothing.)

-

They go to the movies the next day, and rollerskating a couple days after that, just because Harley keeps wandering around town while his Mama is at work and Belle is with her friends, going to the lake and having sleepovers because it’s summer and she’s nine and, in a place like Rose Hill, kids start to wander off on their own around the place as soon as they hit first grade. Harley’s got the occasional part time shift at the mechanics, sure, but it’s only ‘bout fifteen hours a week if he’s lucky—five hour shifts, up to three days a week, and with his Mama working so much and Belle having the kind of social life that Harley has never been capable of grasping himself, it’s safe to say there isn’t much else to do to fill up his summer days. Usually, this leaves him terribly lonely, even more so than usual, spending most of his summers in the garage with things to tinker with and a haze over his every thought.

This year, though.

It’s that gravitational pull that Harley thought of before, an otherworldly source guiding him towards these city boys like it’s where he’s supposed to be. He’s always been in the belief that there isn’t a place for him, that he’s just a floater drifting his way among those who really belong, and these two... Harry and Peter are dating—have been for over two years, now, told Harley that they started dating when they were sixteen—and with them is, logically, the last place Harley should feel the most welcome. But, it’s like there’s a space with them, somewhere for him to nestle in, and it feels like it’s purely his own. It feels like his.

Peter is the first to kiss him.

It’s after a day where he wakes up feeling heavier than usual, brain hazed just a bit, chest caving in on that void of emptiness at the center of it all. Mama has a graveyard shift tonight so she passes him in the hall when he shuffles towards the bathroom, presses a kiss to his forehead like he’s a little kid and then makes her way to her room to sleep until it’s time for her to get ready for work, which means that Belle—and her plans to go a few towns over, to go to the sorry excuse for a mall that’s over there, with a couple of her friends—becomes his responsibility to drive around. Which is something he agreed to over dinner last night, but maybe he would have fibbed a bit and said he had his own shift at work if he knew he would wake up feeling like this.

But he takes them, Belle and her two best friends, and spends hours walking ‘round the mall, making sure they’re safe and don’t get lost, holding their bags and offering to pay for all their food when they get hungry at about lunch time, just ‘cause that’s how he was raised to be. By the time he finally parks in the driveway again, all of them having been dropped off at one of the the other girls’ house for a sleepover, his arms are tired, his limbs feel like lead, everything is unclear and slow in his grogginess. He sits behind the wheel for a long time, just trying to breathe like a normal human being, before making his way inside, being greeted bu lights off and silence—Mama already left for work, then. He’s alone.

He’s lonely.

This isn’t anything new—he’s been lonely his whole life, felt it carved into the cavity of his chest like a brand—but it really resonates as he stands there in the entryway, the only light in the room being the slowly setting sun as it shines through the window, illuminates the room with a golden sort of glow. His turns his head so that it’s angled down, curls falling in front of his eyes like a curtain, but even when blocking his vision he can feel it, can hear the distinct lack of sound like a gun shot, save for the distant sound of the washer spinning a load of Mama’s comfy clothes that echoes within his school like an eerie reminder of the fact that no one else is there, and it shouldn’t matter, he’s felt this before and been just fine, but he’s been getting all these little tastes and hints of feeling like he actually belongs somewhere when he’s with Harry and Peter, and knowing what a fraction of companionship feels like...

Harley doesn’t have a cell phone, ‘cause there ain’t no signal in Rose Hill unless you’re on the main road, but that main road is where the diner is, where the bars are, and, of course, the motel. And he happens to have the numbers of two city boys staying at that motel scribbled on a napkin from the rollerskating rink that’s sitting on his nightstand, only just upstairs.

There’s barely a minute of thought before he starts moving towards the staircase, grabbing the house phone along the way, and, a mere fifteen minutes later, he isn’t alone anymore.

He gives them a quick tour of the house after letting them in, mostly because he didn’t actually think of something to do, had only been aching with the need to have someone there, and now he’s basking in the warmth of their presence while trying to figure out something to do in order to not give himself away, but Harry seems a bit more softspoken, Peter keeps brushing fingers against Harley’s shoulder’s, the small of his back, and—

(“I just...” Harley had said over the phone, completely unaware of the empty tone to his words, unable to see the way that the couple had looked at one another, concern and worry and troubled fondness in their eyes. “I’m not busy,” is what Harley had settled on saying, not a lie, but certaintly not the truth. “Are you?”

Peter had been sporting pinched brows and a slight frown. Harry had said, “Never too busy for you, cowboy. What’s the plan?”)

And they end up outside, because Harley takes them out on the backporch for a quick view of the yard and the garden that the Keener’s split responsibility to tend to, and Peter had seen the little campfire set up and insisted they get the stuff for s’mores and have a bonfire. There’s such a simplistic sort of innocent excitement that lights up his features, and it makes Harley wonder— “Have y’all had a campfire b’fore?”

Harry shakes his head. “Always wanted to,” he says. “Pete’s Uncle was actually gonna take us both camping for Pete’s fifteenth birthday, but... um—it didn’t work out, I guess.”

“He passed away,” Peter supplies, when Harley’s brows quirk just slightly, curious but unsure if he should ask. Even Harry looks mildly surprised by the admission, giving Peter a wide eyed look, to which Peter just shrugs and says, “What? I can tell when not to trust someone.” Then, back to Harley, he explains, “My parents died when I was four, so I was raised by my Aunt May and Uncle Ben, but Ben got shot when I was fourteen. I tried to slow the bleeding enough to keep him alive until the ambulance got there, but—yeah. Wasn’t able to, I guess.”

Everything else from before—the heaviness, the loneliness, the ache—it all goes away in an instant, morphing into a shocked sense of dread as he looks into the eyes of the guy he literally called giggles in his head when they met. His tongue is tangled. He has to untangle it slowly before he can ask, “You were there?”

Peter shrugs again, but he looks away.

“Christ, Darlin’,” Harley chokes out, shaking his head. “Yeah, we can have s’mores. We can—so many s’mores, as many as ya’want. Jesus.”

“Shit cards,” Peter says. “They happen.” Then, perking up like they weren’t just talking about him witnessing his uncle’s murder, he looks back to Harley and asks, “Do you maybe have some of those jumbo marshmellows?”

Harry rolls his eyes and groans, and, just like that, it’s like the heavy topic never came up. Not in a let’s just ignore that and let it fester uncomfortably below the surface sort of way, but in a that’s all that needs to be said for now so let’s just move on kind of way instead. It feels natural and comforting rather than cold and dismissive, and it makes that chasm within Harley’s chest feel a little less empty.

It’s after the sun has set, when there’s a fire that’s glowing across them and softening their features in the gentle, flickering light. Harley is sat in the middle because they always seem to want him there, the corner of his mouth sticky from melted marshmellow and the taste of chocolate on his tongue, feeling warm and full. Harry’s leaning into Harley, just a bit, but Peter is sitting a couple inches away, features a bit pinched with a thoughtful sort of expression.

Before Harley can voice his curiosity, Peter glances over at them, practically melts at the sight of Harry settling his head to rest on Harley’s shoulder, and slowly says, “Har...?”

“Mm?” Harry responds, eyes fluttering shut.

“I think—I mean, I wanna—do you think—?”

Harry huffs, one eyes squinting over to look at Peter. “Just do it, Parker. Don’t be a pussy.”

Harley barely has time to murmur a confused little, “Um,” before Peter’s brushing gentle fingertips beneath his chin and turning his head and Harley sees beautiful brown eyes getting closer and closer and—a few freckles, dotting along the bridge of Peter’s nose.

And then they’re kissing.

It’s a basic kind of kiss—lips pressed to lips in what often is only a meaningless point of skin on skin, but Harley’s heart races in his chest as soon as he realizes what’s happening, a tingle running down his spine and—warmth, so much warmth that envelopes him in somethiny soft and cozy and his, it’s his in a way that nothing ever has been, and he pushes in, presses into Peter with a hitch in his breath and kisses back like his life fucking counts on it, ‘cause it does.

Christ Almighty, it does.

(Harry kisses him next, while Harley is still dazed and blinking away the stars in his eyes, but Harry is half asleep and doesn’t do much more than hum against his lips before slumping back down, head on Harley’s shoulder, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks, and it’s so much different yet entirely just the same.)

-

He didn’t invite them to stay the night.

He also didn’t tell them to leave.

When Harley blinks awake, rising with the sun like he was raised to do, there’s hair ticking his nose and a weight pressed up against his side. It takes a moment for him to clear his eyes of grogginess and make them really focus, but when he does, he finds Harry’s head resting on his chest, curled up against him, snoring softly.

Peter is separate from them, curled up on himself on the far corner of Harley’s bed, wide awake and shivering lightly. Harley feels choked up with the moment and everything that it is, everything that it can be, but the worry clouds over that when he hears Peter’s teeth chatter.

“Cold, Darlin’?”

Instantly, Peter’s head snaps up, wide eyed and sheepish. “Um—I, uh—I’m good, I’m—”

Harley lifts the arm that Harry doesn’t have pinned beneath him, shifts the blanket that they must have fallen asleep on top of and somehow manages to maneuver it from underneath them to over them without moving too much, then keeps a corner held up as he looks to Peter. “C’mon,” he coaxes. “I’ve heard I’m like a heater. C’mere, s’alright.”

Peter hesitates, but then he’s moving, crawling under the blankets and curling into Harley with a shaky sort of sigh. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

“Dunno how you’re so cold,” Harley mutters back, because you’re welcome feels a bit too obvious. “Summertime in Rose Hill can be brutal. Surprised we’re not all dyin’ of heat.”

“M’not actually cold,” Peter tells him. “Just had a nightmare. Almost drowned, once, and I always feel cold after I dream about it.”

Christ, Harley thinks—remembers so suddenly that he doesn’t really know these guys, feels it shock him like a taser. He doesn’t particularly understand why Peter is telling him this, or why he told Harley about his parents and his uncle last night—remembers the shock on even Harry’s face when he had—but it doesn’y feel scary or overwhelming. Just a bit hard to process, feally. Peter doesn’t really act the way Harley suspects someone would after that.

But Harry also doesn’t act like he’s all that traumatized, either, yet Harley can feel the exact moment he goes tense in the shoulders and his breathing takes a hitch. Peter lets out a hum, all too knowing and sad, and reaches out a hand to comb through Harry’s hair. “There he goes,” Peter practically whispers. “Almost had a full night’s rest, too. That would’ve been a god damn miracle, but he needs it, eventually.”

“What happened to you two?” Harley founds himself asking—not maliciously, not demanding, but curious and... upset, maybe, but not at them, of course, rather at the fact that he’s only know these two for a handful of weeks—a month, almost, which is just an odd thought to linger on—and if anyone deserves to never face a bad day in their life, it’s them.

Peter puffs out a sigh as Harry really starts to struggle, brows furrowed, features pinched. “I think we’ll tell you,” he says softly. “One day.”

Harry lets out a pitiful sort of cry in his sleep, and then that’s all that matters, Peter coaxing his partner awake while Harley tries to offer a soothing presence and coo calming words.

Even now, it doesn’t feel like Harley’s an intruder. It feels like he was always supposed to be right here with them, good mornings or bad.

-

Mama comes home from work with grizzy hair that’s sticking up at random spots and finds three eighteen year old boys curled up together on the sofa with a morning children’s cartoon playing on the screen. Despite the shock and the exhaustion etched deep into her features, she only blink once in surprise before smiling wide at them. “These’re the city boys, I’m guessin’?” she asks, plopping her purse down on the coffee table as she looks them over.

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter says before Harley can do much more than nod. “I’m Peter Parker. This is Harry Os—um. Harry Lyman. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Keener. You have a lovely home.”

“Honey, you can just call me Maggie,” his Mama assures. She flickers her eyes over to Harry, who is so obviously trying to offer a smile and focus on the conversation but is still so rumpled from his rude awakening, borrowed sweatpants and Peter’s shirt askew, eyes a bit glazed over and features a little sad. Still, his Mama gives Harry a smile. “Both of you.”

Harry looks a bit unsure and grateful by that, while Peter offers a quiet, “Okay, Miss Maggie.”

Mama chuckles, looks to Harley with a soft amusement in her eyes. “Honeybun, I think you must’ve found the only polite city boys around,” she says. “You boys have any breakfast yet?”

Harley feels scolded even before he gives an answer, looks down at his lap sheepishly before telling her, “No, Mama, we haven’t eaten yet.”

“Harley James Keener,” Maggie says—not just Mama, not with that tone of voice, sharp and sure but also exasperated and loving. “I know I raised you knowin’ how we treat our guests. C’mon, up you get, we’re cookin’ up some food before anyone starves into an early grave.”

It looks like Peter is about to protest, but he looks at Harry and bites his tongue, instead offering a grateful smile when Harley squeezes his hand lightly before getting up with a simple little, “Yes, ma’am,” and heading to the kitchen.

He’s flipping over the first of the pancakes when his Mama lets out a soft sort of sigh, glancing up from where she’s mixing together the egg wash for the french toast. Harley knows better than to voicea question just yet, waits patient and proper until she’s ready to speak up, though the last thing he expects her to say is a resigned, “You’re gonna be leavin’, huh?”

The spaltula damn near slips from his fingers in his haste to look at he. “Wh—Mama, what?”

“You were never a Rose Hill kinda boy,” she says, smile soft and sad as she looks back down at the bowl she’s mixing. “I knew it when you were just a kid, Harls. Born and raised don’t mean that it’s home, honeybun, and a small town was never gonna be your place. Too much smart in that brain of yours to stay here.”

“Mama...” Harley trails off, only looks away in order to avoid burning the pancake. “I’d never leave you and Belle here. You gotta know that.”

Maggie clicks her tongue and shakes her head, action sharp as her tone. “Harley Keener, there ain’t no way in hell that I’d let you waste your potential just to stay here with us. Rose Hill’s where I wanna be, where I fit—but it isn’t that for you and you shouldn’t make it be. Hard to tell with Tinker Bell, she could go either way, but you? Honey, the world ain’t ready for you, and you’ve been hidin’ yourself here and not usin’ up all that potential you’ve got for too long. You’re gonna leave, honeybun. Stayin’ here was never supposed to be your future.”

Harley wants to fight tooth and nail against this, but the more she speaks, the more her words start to settle over him like a blanket. He’s always wanted to leave, and he’s always felt awfully selfish for wanting it, but the way she says it... there’s not argument. He doesn’t belong here. Up until recently, he just assumed he wouldn’t belong anywhere at all.

“Besides,” Maggie adds, glancing at her son with a curl to her lips. “You’ve got two city boys sittin’ in the other room waitin’ for you.”

“I—I don’t know ‘em all that well,” Harley says.

Maggie shakes her head. “I didn’t know your Daddy all that well when I fell in love with ‘im. Of course, your Daddy changed—wasn’t the man I loved by the time he left us, but that’s not the point. Love ain’t knowin’ someone all the way, honeybun. It’s learnin’ as you go and lovin’ all those bits and pieces that you learn.”

Harley’s face is burning. “I don’t love ‘em, Ma.”

“Not yet,” Maggie says. “But you will.”

-

Two and a half weeks later, as June turns to July, Harley finds himself packing his things.

“I’ve got an apartment,” Harry says, looking far too put together to be the same guy who was damn near silent in the aftershocks of his nightmare (and the three other nightmare’s Harley has seen since). “If you think you wanna move to the city, you can just stay with me until you either find your footing or decide to come back here. Pete basically lives there, too, with how much he’s stayed over since I got emancipated and moved into their at sixteen.”

Harley looks up from the shirt he’s folding, a single brow arching. “Sixteen?” he questions. “Same year y’all started datin’, you mean?”

The ends up Harry’s lips pull up, amused beyond belief. Peter’s snorin’ on Harley’s bed, tired (couldn’t sleep super well the night befors, Harley was told) and completely unaware of the way that Harry’s eyes glimmer. “Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “Probably got away with shit we shouldn’t have in there, but May was working and doing school to get promoted at the hospital, so there weren’t any adults giving us the you’re too young talk, you know?”

“Your dad...” Harley doesn’t keep talking, mostly because he’s only gotten a slight scratch against the surface with that topic, so he doesn’t want to push. Still, Harry nods.

“He wouldn’t have done much talking,” is all that Harry offers. “That’s why I was emancipated. I’ll tell you about it, probably, when Pete is up to sharing that shit.”

Harley glances at Peter, sleeping soundly still. “Peter had problems with your dad, too?”

Harry winces. “To put it lightly, yeah.”

“Any chance I can find this guy and beat his ass?” Harley questions—mostly for the way that Harry chuckles fondly, but it’s a semi-legitimate question, as well. He doesn’t take well to assholes who treat kids like shit, even more so when it’s his—when—when it’s Harry and Pete.

“He’s not in our lives anymore,” Harry says, stalks forward and brushes a kiss to the corner of Harley’s mouth. “No worries, cowboy. ‘Sides, Pete got a good few hits in, towards the end.”

Christ. “A sight to see, I’m guessin’?”

“Don’t know. I wasn’t there for it.”

Harley shakes his head. “So many stories.”

“So much time to tell them,” Harry counters, a wide grin growing across his face.

From the bed, Peter groans. “Stop bein’ sappy,” he grumbles, words slightly slurred from sleep as he turns his face into the only one of Harley’s pillows that hasn’t been packed yet. “M’sleepin’. Can’t sleep if you’re bein’ all—all fuckin’ gay.”

A light laugh rumbles out from the center of Harley’s chest, while Harry just rolls his eyes and walks over to the bed, plopping down next to Peter with a drawn out sigh. “Dramatic asshole,” Harry grouches, even as he pulls Peter into his side and curls an arm around him, features going soft when Peter doesn’t hesitate to lean against him with a happy hum. “We’re driving back to New York in, like, five hours, Pete. You can’t just wait and sleep in the car?”

Peter cracks an eye open, looking absolutwly scandalized. “And miss out on showing our favorite cowboy all our car games?”

“I already know car games,” Harley says.

“Not ours,” Peter says. “Not yet.”

Not yet. Like his Mama said.

Harley smiles. He likes the silent, unspoken yet powerful promise that comes with not yet.

He likes it a whole lot.

[spookyc]

Thank YOU for answering! And omg is there more than one mastermind? Spill the tea! ❤

There sure is! Okay, so initially I planned on just Kiibo being the mastermind, as opposite to kokichi, he takes his position as ultimate supreme leader very seriously and so no one takes him seriously in turn. This results in the twist being that he actually did genuinely mean everything he said and was in fact the villain he portrayed himself to be. And while I liked this idea, I didn't think it was enough, I mean, "the bad guy was actually a bad guy" isn't really that fulfilling by itself. But then I had the idea of having two masterminds and suddenly things became interesting. But enough background, let's get into it.

So, the two masterminds we have in this au are Kiibo and Miu, and their partnership was formed during the killing game, or rather, right before. Orginally, Kiibo had no intention of seeking help from his fellow classmates as he simply saw them as subjects under his control. Or, you could even say he them as machines under his control. And the most dangerous of these machines was Miu, because she's the ultimate survivor in this au. Kiibo knew he wanted to get rid of her as soon as possible due to her unfair advantages and inconvenient talent.

He planned to have her killed until an idea suddenly occurred to him. Why get rid of the threat when you can use it to your advantage? He saw how frantic Miu was about not knowing her talent, and so he formed a plan. He asked to meet her in the library and once she arrived, he told her he knew where she would be able to find about her talent. When she asked where, he revealed the hidden door and used his card to enter the room inside. Then he beckoned her inside and closed the door behind her and revealed his true identity as the mastermind of this killing game.

When she inevitably didn't believe him, he referred back to the idea that the mastermind must have a machine that can create Monokuma and reveals Motherkuma. He then tells Motherkuma to "birth a Monokuma" and Motherkuma creates a new Monokuma on the spot. After witnessing this, Miu replies saying, "how fucking typical" this is and asks Kiibo if he intends to kill her now that she, "knows too much." Kiibo is of course offended by this notion and he corrects her saying that he has no intentions of harming her, as long as she listens to what he has to say. Miu rolls her eyes but reluctantly hears him out. Kiibo goes on to explain that he will do his best to uncover the secret of her talent as long as she helps him run the killing game.

He states that he cannot reveal her talent outright because he himself does not know everything it entails and wishes to properly inform Miu when he has figured it out. He also adds that agreeing to this deal will guarantee her survival in the long run. Now, I know this may seem like a one-sided deal on Kiibo's part, and while partially it is, you have to think about this through Miu's perspective. See, Miu is far more antsy about learning her talent than Rantaro was. Because of her inquisitive mind, she can't stand not knowing something, even more so when it's concerning herself. Secondly, I think that Miu might fear that her forgetting her talent had to do with her accident that landed her in a coma.

She might think that she's relapsing and so she's desperate for any clues towards her missing talent. Also, as much as I love Miu, she's kinda selfish, no, more like really selfish. Yeah a lot of things that Miu did in the canon ended up helping others, but she did all of those things out of her own self interest. So, while Miu isn't cool with killing people, it's a necessary evil so that she can discover her talent. And this deal will also ensure that she doesn't die before she's able to find it out. So, she agrees and this is how the two masterminds are established.

Kiibo then tells her everything, the truth of the outside world, his plans for the killing game, etc. He also allows her access to Motherkuma and the creation of Monokumas. From here on, the two work together to monitor the students and to subtly influence the killing game. Or well, Miu does at least. Kiibo leaves most of the technical work to Miu, monitoring the students, asking Motherkuma for security footage, directing Monokuma and the Monokubs according to Kiibo's instruction, and distributing the flashback lights. Kiibo is too preoccupied with his image around the other students to be bothered to do any of the work himself. And while Miu despises having to do all of Kiibo's dirty work, she finds her own enjoyment in her work.

Often times she'll program Monokuma and the Monokub's AI to say something crude, or she'll place one of the flashback lights in a particular obscure place. But regardless of her own enjoyment, if doing this will help her grow closer towards finding her talent, she'll put up with it, if being very snarky about it. She deals with this corrupt bargain for 2 chapters without much complaint, but after the third she goes impatient and begins to doubt if Kiibo intends to keep his end of the deal. When she confronts him about this, he tells her he's working as hard as he can but that the only thing he knows is that her research lab is located on the 5th floor. Miu did not know of the research lab as Kiibo hid the survivor perk from her. Miu grumbles about the lack of info and contradictory story, but after pondering the information about the 5th floor, she starts to conceive a plan.

After the 4th chapter, when Kiibo tells the class about the truth of the outside world, he demands that Miu come up with a way to reinvigorate the killing game. Miu says that she will, as long as Kiibo tells her what her talent is. When he refuses, she tells him that she can summon as many Monokuma as she wants. He argues that he can do the same, and that's when Miu pulls a knife she had hidden under her clothing. She points it towards Kiibo with a smug grin on her face. She says that he is free to try, but that ultimately he will still be outnumbered 2:1.

Realizing that he no longer has a choice in this matter, he finally reveals that Miu is the ultimate survivor. When she asks him what that means, he gives her the key, the survivor perk, and the usb port to her research lab and tells her she can learn more there. She thanks him, and extends a hand saying that she'll take care of the killing game issue as soon as possible. With his signature naivety, he takes her hand and she pulls him close, plunging the knife into his stomach. As he gasps in pain and grasps onto her, she gets close to his ear and says, "How's that for starting up the killing game?"

And she gives a extra twist in his stomach for measure before she retrieves her knife and leaves him to bleed out on the ground. And so the power becomes transferred to Miu, making her the new singular mastermind.

Now I'd love to get more into Miu's character and what she does from here on out but I'll save that for a Miu specific post. Had a lot of fun with this one, especially because it's one of my bigger divergences from canon and I'm quite happy with it. Anyways, thanks for the ask!

[creampuffqueen]

Broken Jars - Sukka Week Day 1

hello everyone!!! this is my very first atla fic i’ve ever written, and i’m super excited to share it with y’all!! this is why i didn’t participate in tlc shipweeks lol, i’ve been super busy trying to get stuff for sukka week because these kiddos need more content!!

the prompt for today was post-canon, so i wrote what i write best: a kid fic. rip to whoever said suki died young because that’s not possible. she and sokka got married and live a quiet life on kyoshi island to raise their babies.

anyway, hope y’all enjoy!!

word count: 2,418

~~~~

The house is so silent when Suki walks in, carefully removing her headdress, taking off the thick gloves of her uniform. Silence isn’t something she’s used to anymore. 

It’s later than she normally gets home, the sun high in the sky and sweltering at this time of year. She has to resist swiping a hand over her sweaty brow, lest the face paint rubs off.

She had stayed late at the dojo, after a younger student practically got on her knees and begged for an extra lesson, desperate to keep up with the older girls. Suki couldn’t say no.

Normally when she gets home the house is joyful chaos, the by-product of two four-year-olds fully rested from a good night’s sleep and energetic from their lunch. Now, the only sounds to be heard are the creaking of the floorboards and… is that snoring?

She finds the source a moment later, chuckling softly to herself when she finds her husband asleep on the couch, laundry strewn about in the process of folding, looking for all the world like he just intended to rest his eyes for a moment.

“Sokka,” She croons gently, leaning over his sleeping form to drop a soft kiss on his cheek. Those blue eyes of his flutter open, lips parting into a sleepy smile when he recognizes her.

“Hey,” He grins back, voice slightly hoarse from sleep. “Are you home early?”

She laughs at that, glancing over at the clock hanging over the bedroom doorway. “No, actually. I’m home late. Are the twins napping?”

Sokka lets out a loud groan, sitting up, rubbing his neck. “They should still be. I put them down about an hour ago. After Kolla stole Koda’s stuffed badger-mole and both of them started crying, I knew it was time.”

Suki shakes her head at that. “They both have the same stuffed badger-mole, why does she do that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. She just likes taking Koda’s stuff.”

Suki sits down on the couch beside him, resting her head on his shoulder with a sigh. “I’m glad they’re both asleep. I always get home before their nap, and then we both have things to do.”

“Well, I have things to do.” Sokka snorts. “Laundry. Somehow they’ve managed to dirty more clothes than when they were babies, and that’s saying something.”

“So there’s nothing else you’d rather be doing?” Suki asks coyly, batting her eyelashes exaggeratedly. She drapes a leg over her husband’s lap, leaning into the couch.

“Absolutely nothing.” Sokka gives her that lopsided grin that makes her heart race, blue eyes full of amusement. 

They stare at each other for only half a moment before Suki sighs, done with playing games, and pulls him down for a kiss.

“You got me.” He smiles against her mouth in a way that makes her heart swell, “I’d much rather do this than the laundry.”

She laughs as he kisses her, quick pecks on her nose, her cheeks, her forehead. Suki leans in to kiss his nose, and his smile increases tenfold. 

It’s then that she notices the red stain on his lips, the white on his nose. And she giggles harder, shaking in his arms as she points it out.

“Great Spirits,” Sokka sighs, “how hot was it out there? Your makeup has never melted before.”

Suki doesn’t answer him, just presses more kisses around her face, laughing in hysterical delight at the red marks she leaves in her wake. Her husband rolls his eyes but lets her have her way, a small grin turning up the side of his mouth.

When the novelty finally wears off, Suki leans her head against his chest, still giggling slightly. “You need a bath.”

“Thanks for that,” He snorts. His fingers shoot to her side, tickling her even through the thick Kyoshi uniform.

Very few things make Suki come undone faster than when he tickles her. As much as she hates it, she is very ticklish, and Sokka uses this to his full advantage.

Even after years of elite training, the Kyoshi warrior is rendered completely helpless as her husband’s fingers dance on her sides and her stomach and underneath her arms, her squeals of laughter echoing off the walls of their home. 

“You’re gonna make me wake them-” Suki manages to get out between the laughter, but Sokka ignores her, yanking off one of her shoes to have access to her sensitive feet. 

She shrieks again, laughing so hard she can barely breathe, when something crashes to the floor in another room, shattering-

Both of them pause, eyes widening, both of their minds racing. Their bedroom, something fell, something broke-

“The twins!” Suki gasps out, frantic, hurling herself off the couch and towards the door, makeup still smeared, one shoe on. Her fans, which she hadn’t removed from her waistband, appear in her hands as she scrambles inside, searching for the intruder; nobody is getting near her babies. She can hear Sokka outside, running for the twins’ bedrooms, ready to gather up the toddlers and get out. 

Even though the world has known peace for years now, the fear still lingers, and even now Suki and Sokka wake up in the middle of the night gasping, visions of fire and death and loss all they can see. 

For Suki, it was so much worse after she had the twins.

Before, her nightmares were awful. Sokka, lifeless in her arms. Her friends, separated and in danger. And her warriors, taken from her, captured by Azula, tortured with lightning running through their bodies. 

After Kolla and Koda were born, their tiny shapes were added to the mix. 

It didn’t help that their birth was so traumatic. She and Sokka had prepared for one baby, had smiled at every little movement and kick they’d felt from the outside. 

She went into labor, and it was long and it was hard and Spirits, it hurt, but in the end little Kolla came screaming her way into the world, waving her tiny fists, a warrior from the start. 

But the pain didn’t stop. And by the time the midwives figured out what was going on, that there was another baby, it’s heartbeat was so, so slow. Koda slipped into the world and he was so, so quiet. And he was so, so small. 

He was still, the tiniest baby Suki had ever seen, a head of brown hair to his twin’s auburn, and he was silent. 

She’d felt her heart break, then. Shatter, like it never had before. That was her baby right there, her son, and he was so tiny and so still and the world was so wrong.

She couldn’t even hear her daughter’s screaming over the sound of her own sobs, the roaring in her ears as the world stood still and moved too fast at the same time.

I’m sorry, the midwife had said, wrapping him up in a towel and passing him so gently into her arms. He didn’t make it. 

Sokka was holding Kolla then, and she cried and cried and cried, like her heart was breaking too, a piece of her that could never be replaced.

Then a miracle happened.

In the dead of night on a summer solstice, the moon was full. It shone through the window, illuminating the tiny face Suki held so carefully in her arms. 

Koda started crying, then. Just like him, it was tiny and small, but every single wail healed another crack in Suki’s ruined heart. A single stripe of his baby-soft hair lightened, turned moon-white, as he continued crying. 

Suki knew then, what had saved her baby. Who had saved her baby. 

Thank you, Yue. 

In the years that passed, Koda was always so much smaller than Kolla. He was shy and quiet and so thoughtful, while his twin was wild with energy, and loud loud loud. 

Even with their differences, they were still best friends. It also helped that Koda was a waterbender- one of the only things he was better at than his sister. Kolla so admired it. 

And all of these thoughts bombard Suki as she runs into the room, fans at the ready, thinking about how hard she’ll fight, what she’ll do to make sure her children are safe-

“Mommy’s home!” Kolla’s sweet voice chirps, and the four-year-old runs into her mother’s arms, not at all bothered by the makeup, the uniform, the fans. 

Suki accepts the hug, just as Sokka runs into the bedroom, shouting for her. “Suki, the kids-”

“Daddy!” And then he, too, is put under the spell of his daughter. 

Suki spots the source of the crash, eyes widening as they settle on Koda, attempting to hide behind the dresser. The boy’s whole face is covered in red and black, and a smashed pot of white face paint is shattered on the wooden floor. 

Suki’s makeup.

She notices, too, that Kolla’s hands have white paint on them, as well as a smear of red on her eyelid, the paint all coming off on Sokka’s shirt as she hugs him. 

“What are you two doing awake? I thought you were napping.” Suki sighs, sheathing the fans back into her waistband. 

“Koda and me wanted to do our faces like Mommy!” Kolla says happily, bubbling with excitement as she shows off how she put the red paint on her face. “But Koko reached too far for the white and now it’s broken!”

“You told me to!” Koda protests, hiding his face behind the dresser. “I said we’d get in trouble.”

“Come here, both of you.” Suki leans down, holding out her hands for her shy baby boy. “I don’t want you two to get hurt on the pot, okay?”

Koda starts crying then, and Suki holds him close, not worried about the face paint. That stuff stays on, and even if it doesn’t, she cares far more about her baby than an easily washable uniform.

“Koko, don’t cry!” Kolla says earnestly, dragging Sokka over to them so she can hug her parents and her twin.

“I’m- I’m sorry, Mommy.” Koda blubbers. 

“Hey, buddy, it was an accident, okay?” Sokka soothes. “We can clean it all up in no time. It’s going to be alright.”

Still, it takes all three of them to calm Koda down, and in the end Suki picks him up and cradles him like a baby while he sucks his thumb, and Sokka cleans up the smashed jar of makeup. 

Koda and Kolla both still have the paint smeared all over, not to mention Sokka’s own red-stained face, and Suki is sure her own is a mess. 

“Koda, would you like it if we all went down to the ocean?” Suki offers, smiling as the toddler instantly perks up. If nothing else could cheer him, the prospect of swimming always did. “We can all get on our swimsuits and wash off the face paint.”

“I wanna go swimming too, Mommy!” Kolla giggles, dancing around her ankles. 

“Then let’s go!” Sokka scoops her up, and Suki follows him into the bathroom, where the twins’ swimsuits are kept. She helps them put them on while Sokka changes in the other room, and then they switch. 

It’s still hot outside, but it helps that they walk together under the trees on the way to the little ocean cove. The area is small and shallow, perfect for little swimmers. 

Kolla runs around excitedly, as always, while Sokka stays behind, smiling at Suki, hand clasped with her own. They walk hand-in-hand to the water, their kids running off to splash in it. 

Relaxing in the warm cove, Suki tugs her husband close, grinning as she washes the makeup from his face with gentle strokes. Kolla squeals in the background as Koda splashes her, the two of them sitting on the sandy bottom and having the time of their lives. 

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” Sokka says cheekily, helping her to rub the face paint off. 

“You may have mentioned it once or twice,” she laughs, thinking back to only this morning, where he pressed sleepy kisses over her body and whispered the words over and over in attempt to convince her to stay in bed. It almost worked. 

“Well, let me mention it again. I love you, Suki.”

She can’t hide the smile and the tug in her heart that he produces. They’ve been together for years, married for a long time, and even have two babies. Still, she can’t help blushing like she did when she was just a teenager, brand new to love and diving into it headfirst. 

“Stop, you’re gonna make me cry,” she sighs, laughter bubbling up. Overhearing their words, Kolla pushes her way in between them with a determined pout.

“Daddy, stop. Don’t make Mommy cry.” She has her hands on her hips in a way that reminds Suki a lot of Katara, but the expression is all Sokka. Koda trails over to see the commotion, draping himself into his father’s lap. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I was joking.” She soothes her daughter, and Kolla, satisfied, bounces back into the water to search for shells. 

Sokka starts to clean up Koda’s face while Suki washes her own, then pulls her daughter back to wipe her down as well. 

“I hope this is a lesson, you two.” Sokka chides, gently swiping his fingers over Koda’s cheeks to smooth off the smears of black face paint. “The makeup is for Mommy only.”

“But I’m gonna be a ‘Yoshi warrior too!” Kolla protests, attempting to squirm away from her mother. 

“If you want to be a Kyoshi warrior when you’re older, my love, go ahead.” Suki tells her. “But right now you’re only four years old. You’ve gotta get a little bigger.”

Kolla pouts, but it’s soon forgotten in place of splashing her brother. Koda yelps, scrambling away, throwing out a hand behind him to send the water back at his twin. 

Both kids clean, Suki lets them go free to work out their own differences. A moment later both toddlers are squealing with laughter, splashing water back and forth. 

She glances back over at her husband, at Sokka’s fond look as he takes them in. Years ago, none of this was a possibility, not in a war-torn earth. The idea of a peaceful life, with someone they loved, friends all over the world, and now… two little ones to share it with. 

Suki leans her head on her husband’s shoulder and smiles. 

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there it is! i hope you all liked it! remember, reblogs >>>>> likes (not that i don’t appreciate likes as well!)