#thinking about Rift's gray ear

[wyrm-clangen]

One day I'll be consistent with everyone's pelts and patterns. Until then just imagine WyrmClan like a living rorschach painting.

Or that they're always so covered in tunnel dust that sometimes markings just seem to change idk lol

[driftward]

A little eavesdropping never harmed anyone. Ser Zoissette de Vauban has returned to help my sister with her research, and I found a place in the stacks where I could listen to them a bit. Ah, how my ears must have perked up when I heard these most delectable morsels of information. It’s interesting, listening to them. I don’t think my sister has ever gotten on nearly so well with hardly anyone. Maybe not even Thancred, whom she needles quite a bit harder than she does this Ishgardian. And Zoissette, well, sometimes she’s canny, sometimes she’s an idiot, and apparently tonight was the latter. It’s weird, though. I’ve rarely known Shtola to be so indirect, so circumspect in how she treats with another. I’m thinking there’s more here I don’t know.

Part of me wants to press Zoissette, but I think her wary of me. Another part of me thinks my sister is about due another lecture, but she never listens to me. I fear I may just have to content myself with seeing how this plays out.

~*~

It was getting past late in Nuomenon, and so Zoissette set down a cup of a tea and a plate next to Y’shtola. The tea was a Doman blend she knew the Miqo’te favoured, and the plate held a fruit tart, to feed the woman’s insatiable sweet tooth. Y’shtola smiled up at her, gratefully taking both of them as Zoissette sat down next time with a biscuit for herself.

“Ah,” said Y’shtola. “I seem to have lost track of the time again. You simply must forgive me.”

Zoissette just shrugged, and nodded, and leaned her head back, closing her eyes as she ate her own morsel. A quick nap here next to Y’shtola, and when she awoke, she would gather the dishes back up, and both could then retire to the Annex. She’d be up before the Archon in the morning, ensuring that a hearty breakfast was waiting for her upon awaking, and then they both could get back to work.

She finished her biscuit, and opened her eyes, to gaze lazily over at Y’shtola, who had already returned to her reading. Sitting cross legged on the floor so as to better cradle a book in her lap, hunched over it, her tea in one hand and biting thoughtfully at her tart with the other. Her starlens rested on the pages, she reached down every once in a while with a pinky to nudge it to the next passage.

Gods, thought Zoissette, to anyone else Y’shtola must have appeared a mess, a bedraggled researcher, up too late and fraying at the edge of consciousness. And she was, with bags under her eyes, and her ears beginning to droop. But one only had to look at her eyes to see that even in their gray, they retained their sharpness, crinkles at their edges showing the focus of her concentration. She was passionate in the pursuit of truth, and she was beautiful for it.

Zoissette resisted the urge to sigh, and instead settled in. They had a routine, and she had her part to play in it. But something tickled at the back of her mind.

Well, few people ever had shown more than a passing tolerance of Zoissette’s never ending stream of idle questions, and one of them was right in front of her.

“Archon Y’shtola, I do not mean to interrupt your studies, but I am wondering about something.”

Y’shtola looked up at her, and sat up straight, setting her tart aside.

“Whatsoever is on your mind?”

“You started this research even before we knew of the risk to the star. I think, back during the experiment with the nixies, you said you wanted to cross the rift. Not just go to the thirteenth, but the rift, as a general goal.”

Y’shtola nodded, not interrupting.

“Since then, the scope of what we are doing has expanded. The elemental lords. Vrtra’s sister. To say nothing of your own penchant for curiosity, in the pursuit of uncovering almost any mystery.”

“My, I wonder whosoever enabled and nurtured that tendency of mine?”

Zoissette blinked, then ignored her interjection and kept going. “But for all that, I feel like there was more to what started all this than just a passing hungry desire. You are pushing. Hard. You do not just want to succeed here, you almost need to. More than I have seen in many of your pursuits, I think. I mean, you have always been intense, but… I just feel like I am missing something here. I am wondering what it is.”

Y’shtola tilted her head ever so slightly, before clearing her lap, setting book, tea, starlens, tart and all aside, and shifting to sit more comfortably.

“Well. That is no short answer, but I owe you one nonetheless.”

Zoissette turned red and suddenly turned her attention to her biscuit. “You do not owe me anything, and you do not have to answer. I am, uhm, I am just curious.”

Y’shtola made a thoughtful humming noise.

“I made a promise.”

Zoissette blinked slowly.

“There were a people I met in the First. The Night’s Blessed. It was in their company I spent most of my time whilst there. I was first drawn to their midst in the search of answers to my queries. They rebuffed me, at first. But when tragedy visited them in the form of those creatures we called ‘sin eaters’, I was quick to answer.”

Zoissette shifted how she was sitting, leaning closer, any trace of sleepiness fading from her mind to make space for her interest in this story.

“I answered the threat in kind, and carved a path to safety for them. Afterwards, they took me into their confidence. They had been suspicious of outsiders, a sentiment I understood well, and their people have had every right to be so. However, they warmed to me, and I to them, and I found them to be a kind people. They came to treat with me as one of their own, even to look to me for leadership, as they struggled to recover from their losses. In turn, I suppose I began to view them as a sort of family, lost though I was in that land.”

Y’shtola looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “They looked to me for leadership and called upon me as someone they could learn much from. In truth, however, I learned just as much if not moreso from them. One lesson in particular remains with me.”

Y’shtola looked at Zoissette, though Zoissette already knew she would not have to ask.

“I learned that duty should not be its own purpose. It should serve something greater than itself and oneself. I no longer see my tasks unto themselves. I do it for those that I love, and that which I care about most deeply.”

The first duty, thought Zoissette, but she did not speak it out loud.

Y’shtola smiled. “I learned that from one of them which I came to know personally and especially well. A man named Runar. I consider him as like unto kin, in a way. He was ever reliable, much like you. He became a leader of the Nights Blessed in his own way, though I am full certain he would never admit to such, even as he shouldered so much responsibility. I will say, he was rather more earnest than you, and his good nature perhaps came a touch more from a childish youthful vigor rather than your well-earned steel resolve, but in that, it is a matter of differences of degree, not of kind. A good man. He relied upon me to help his people, and I in turn learned to rely upon him, much as I oft have you.

“And he did remind me so much of you, my friend. Took care of those around him. Ever doing what needed to be done. Curious, but perhaps not so feckless as you are in the pursuit of such.”

Zoissette made a put-upon disdainful sniffing noise, and Y’shtola laughed at her. But as she kept going, her smile seeming to turn small and wistful to Zoissette, and her voice softening. Even as Y’shtola looked directly at Zoissette, making sure she was holding her gaze. “Kind, perhaps to a fault. Always assuming the best of everyone. Always seeing the best in me.”

Y’shtola’s eyes were piercing, and Zoissette felt as though something was aimed straight at her heart.

“It is to such a person I made my promise, that I would see them once more. And it is to that end I have placed such efforts in our research, that it may yet come true.

“Have I given succor to your wonderings?”

Zoissette sat up straighter as she answered.

“Yes. You have. Thank you. You will keep your promise. I believe that, and I believe you will meet him again, and I would like to be there when you do,” she said. “I will help you see this through.”

Y’shtola smiled. “With you at my side, how can we help but succeed?”

Zoissette nodded, feeling a surge of inspiration and renewed vigor. “Thank you, Y’shtola.”

Y’shtola tilted her head at her, and tapped her knuckles against her chin.

“…Archon?”

“You have reminded me of a curiosity of their culture,” said Y’shtola. “They believed that all things must be hidden from the light, including their own true names. However, it was permitted to use the name of another - thus, children were oft referred to by the names of their parents. Or disciples, the names of their masters. He will know me as Master Matoya. Though he may know my given name, he certainly never had cause to use it. And even if so, he does not know the formalities of Eorzea regarding it.”

Zoissette was bewildered, but nodded. “I, uhm, will make a note of that,” she said, pulling out a notebook and doing just that. “For when we meet him once more.”

Y’shtola nodded, looking thoughtful.

“As for you, you may call me Shtola, if you please. We’ve certainly known one another long enough, have we not?”

Zoissette looked at her dumbfounded, and then found herself nodding again.

“Shtola,” she said. Then a moment later, she smiled around the name, saying it once more. “…Shtola.”

The Miqo’te smiled softly at her, and began to gather her materials up to put them away. “Well. We’ve spent more than enough time here, and I well know you rather appreciate an earlier bedtime. We can return to this once more on the morrow.”

“Oh. Uh. Yes, of course,” said Zoissette, hurriedly standing to her feet, and helping to gather the plates and cups that would need to return to the Annex with her.

“…Sette.”

“Pardon?”

“You - you can call me Sette. Hardly anyone does. Just - just my brother, really. But… Sette. When you want to. If you want to.”

“Sette,” said Y’shtola, looking thoughtful. “Sette and Shtola. Very well.”

“Thank you,” said Zoissette, feeling slightly foolish for doing so.

“Well then. Shall we retire?”

Zoissette nodded, and the two headed back to the Baldesion Annex. As they went, Zoissette felt filled with new purpose. She would always be Y’shtola’s stalwart second, her quiet shadow, a reliable assistant.

She would see Y’shtola succeed.

[octocurse]

I'm bored so I'm going to talk about Junebug

What is Junebug?

  - Junebug is a video game I’ve wanted to make for a while now. It’s a bit older than Adventures with 9, but has less work and lore.

What type of video game is it?

  - Junebug is a psychological horror and adventure-type game based heavily around mental health and recovery.

What do you play as?

  - You play as Beetle, a half-blind service animal (traditionally a ginger-pointed cat, but I’m thinking about adding other designs).

What do you do?

  - In Junebug, you have 6 days (technically 7, but the 1st is a tutorial) to find the root of June’s biggest problem. Every day, you spend your hours with her and witness her day-to-day events and alert her of any issues that occur (such as seizures and heart rate). Every night you spend time in her realm of mind, and use wit and puzzle-solving to manage the “monsters,” / battle the negative ideal and overcome them.

Who is June?

  - June (nicknamed Junebug), is a 16 y/o with mental and physical disabilities. Some of these include early-onset psychosis, epilepsy, and more. They have an irregular heartbeat that the source is unknown.

  - June’s pronouns are They/She.

What does June look like?

  - I never quite finished her ref sheet (because I suck at choosing clothes), but she has curly hair that I’ve always imagined as ginger or strawberry blonde.

  - They have a larger body. Sorta like mine but wider ig lol

  - Originally, she is pale but I might change that to better fit her features 

What are the “Monsters,”?

  - They’re issues that people with mental disabilities often experience. You cannot fight them with brute strength and you cannot “kill,” or erase them entirely. You have to use your wits and logic to challenge them without harm.

  - You battle a different one every night. Here are a few I have completed:

Rexy - Based on the Doberman, Rexy is a large gray dog with small eyes and pointed (cropped) ears. They have darker, bloodshot eyes and a thin, bony body. Their mouth is stuck open with large fangs and long tongue. There are tear and drool stains on their face and their mouth extends past a normal length. Round, small eyes are scattered across their upper front legs. 

Rexy has more than one mouth, with another that ranges from the bottom of their chest and curls up to the side of their stomach. It has teeth that jut out and it can never entirely close.

Rexy is frail but rabid. The more you fight against them with brute strength, the stronger they are. The more you give in, the more powerful they become. You have to use wit to challenge negative ideals.

Rexy is based on eating disorders and the problems that occur with them. 

The Rat King - Not based on the rat king tale, I just think it's fitting. The rat king is a giant mass of writhing rats that screech and watch, planning their attack.  Every rat has several eyes dotting its body. Their fur is oily yet dry, streaked with odd fluids of several origins. 

The faces of the rat split into a star shape, and they have a long barbed tongue that shoots out to slash the player. 

The tail of each is scarred, rough, and sharp with dead skin. Each rat also has long fingers and claws that don’t quite belong. Their ears are naturally tilted back.

The rat king is based on social anxiety, the fear that nobody is telling the truth when they say that they think you’re cool. It masses into a giant mess and will overtake you if you don’t manage it well.

Little Hoof - Little Hoof is a lamb with a second, generally still head and an extra pair of front hoofs. They look innocent, prancing around and trying to keep you from harm but they get worse by the minute. The second head screams in terror for unknown reasons, shaking and distorting the world around it in the process and creating rifts in space.

Little Hoof creates a false sense of safety and a false sense of disarray, creating distortions in vision and blurring the realm until it no longer functions. It will cause random jumpscares and shift the world to its design.

Little Hoof is based on irrational paranoia. 

What do you do each day?

  - Most is yet to be decided. Each day has a different step in healing, and you absolutely can make mistakes.

Difficulty modes

  - There would be multiple difficulty modes and settings, each with its special options.

Peaceful : The enemies are simplified and the music will be set to something calming during the night. There will be no dark or unsettling imagery. No timer.

Easy : Normal mode. The game plays easily, and there's no timer. 

Average : Puzzles will be different, and there will be fewer clues. Normal timer.

Break-A-Sweat : Same as average but with doubled enemies. Few clues. Normal timer.

Terror-Town : Tough puzzles, tripled enemies. No clues. Shorter time.

Minced-Meat : You get one save and no restart. Tough puzzles, double enemies, and mistakes are force enabled. You also get less time than before to complete puzzles, tasks, and more. No clues, no tutorial day. About half the time you get on other levels. 

Extras : Vision levels, graphics

What are the tasks and mistakes?

  - Tasks would be taking care of yourself and June. 

  - Mistakes and time come in during the battle. If you fail, June wakes up and you are unable to continue. You can try again the next but it leaves less time for the one originally set for that night. The timer adds difficulty because it can automatically fail you or you will have to restart. 

Story

  - There is, of course, a story. Every day is something different and you hear about plans in advance.

  - It’s set in 2016. June lives in Hairu City, in the country of Abethstan. It's close to the equator and most of the population are immigrants.

  - I entirely erased Canada and the USA, sorry. Also russia, britain.

  - Iceland did nothing wrong but I swapped it with greenland to be silly

  - June's parents, Richmond Jake Aubel and Terrissa Lee Aubel are often at work until the night has risen. June rarely sees them and is unable to contact them most hours. 

  - June goes out on her own to grab groceries and hang out with friends. They either walk there or get picked up by said friends.

Theres obviously more but I got bored so I’ll talk abt it again later lol.

Heres some artwork that I’ve made for it. Theres more but most are very old and/or lost to time. Shout out to Mama Bear and her 11 heads, I couldn’t find her art

[kornstreifs-storys]

AoR, Chapter 3, Prelude

A strange Pokemon walked across a clearing in an alien looking forest. Gray, orange and purple leafs crackled in the breeze and the sky above was a sea of stars, even though it seemed to be daytime. At the very least the clearing was illuminated like you expect on a nice summer day. Wispy incorporeal beings rushed past the Pokemon as it continued it’s walk through the strangely beautiful landscape.

This strange place was part of the extensive forests of the Ethereal and the Pokemon in question was an Ethereon, one of the few living beings capable of crossing over into the Ethereal without dying in the process. The wispy spirits didn’t seem to mind the living intruder in their realm, still the Ethereon knew someone followed her.

The Pokemon looked behind them and sighed. “I know you’re there.” she said, “please come out already.” She was annoyed by her pursuer, why couldn’t they just come out and talk to her if they wanted something so bad. There was movement in the underbrush and then finally a big Meowscarada stepped onto the clearing, though it had the color of dead leafs and multiple holes in the leafs on it’s back. It was Zero, the first Reaper and technically her boss.

The Ethereon smiled slightly, “Well?” she asked, “What’s so important that you came to see me yourself?” Zero looked at her with a skeptical gaze, “I thought you’d be more scared to face me, I know what you and your partner did.” Now she was nervous, “You’re referring to what happened with Seraphore, right.” Zero nodded, “You know my stance on bringing anyone back from the dead.” he said.

The Ethereon nodded, “I know, but you couldn’t seriously expect me to interfere in this matter. That Pokemon, she …” Zero interrupted her, “I’m aware. I already gave Seraphore an earful about this, just don’t do it again. It’s against the cycle and with Anima currently missing we can’t risk destabilizing the world any further.” She bowed her head in agreement.

Zero sighed, “Well that aside, I didn’t come here to scold you. I actually need you to do something for me.” The Ethereon perked up, she knew that Zero would never come here just to yell at her, so she had expected her to have a job for her, but what could that be that she couldn’t just do herself? Zero sat down, “It’s about Azazels Champion,” she began to explain, “Seraphore received a prophecy and he is an Important part, it seems.”

The Ethereon understood, “You want me to look for him? I thought he disappeared just like the other humans.” “Many Pokemon think that,” Zero replied, “but he is still alive that much I know. Though I heard he’s no longer a human, so keep that in mind,” The Ethereon bowed, she knew why he wanted her to look for the Champion. With Anima gone Zero was the acting god of death, he couldn’t neglect his duties for long.

“I see,” she said, “Do you have any clues on where to look for him?” Zero nodded and grabbed a bag they carried, “I managed to gather that he seems to be hiding in a divine sanctuary, which would make sense since that’s part of his patrons domain.” they gave the Ethereon the bag, “I’ve prepared a map with all known rifts in Hisui, as that’s were he was supposedly last seen.”

The Ethereon grabbed the bag and with a bit of difficulty managed to shoulder it. “Thanks, was that all or is there more I should know.” Zero shook her head, “That’s all I know about the champion.” she said, “Just one more thing. The one Seraphore revived is also looking for the last Human, if you find them before them I want you to guide them to him. … It could be crucial for the prophecy.”

The Ethereon paused, “But…, how am I meant to find them? You know I searched for her for a long time but we never managed to cross paths.” she cloud feel tears creeping up. It had been so long. Zero interrupted her thoughts, “She is supposed to be dead and currently lives on the time of another. You are a reaper yourself, you shouldn’t have any trouble finding her if you want.”

Then Zero got up and before the Ethereon could say another word he had vanished into thin air. She gazed upon the spot were he had been, stunned. She felt ecstatic, she could do it, finally she could see her child again. She turned around to head for the next Spirit Vortex to take her back to the material. There was a lot of work to be done.

================================================

Start / previous / next (Cover ch. 3)

And were back. I decided to give each chapter a little prelude from now on. It'll be posted before the cover of the chapter and so the chapters name is not jet disclosed.

I'll post the cover here in a few days so stay tuned.

Anyway I hope you enjoyed todays update. We get to meet some new faces, though is one of the charakter really new?

Well you'll find out soon enough. See you next time.

[lily-of-rabanastre]

Ascilia, Chapter 14—Excerpt 01

Good God, my writer's block has been absurd these past two months. Here's hoping there's still an interest in this fic. Here's an excerpt, though when I say that I really mean it's all I've managed to write.

The earth and stone shuddered beneath Ascilia’s boots, smoldering ash trickling down upon the wind, gracing her cheek with its stinging warmth. The sounds of cascading water rang about her ears as the ocean overheard rained down upon and around the ruins of Radz-at-Han. Amidst it all were wisps of black-gray smoke, the telltale sign of Ahewann’s impending transformation. To hesitate now might spell the end of countless lives.

Yet trepidation welled within herself, and her concentration began to waver.

Before her knelt the voidsent Garmr, a towering golden hound. Her body shimmered with the wind, her soul half-faded as it coalesced into a violet crystal between Ascilia’s palms. Yet she was still here. There was still hope for her… so long as Ascilia stayed her hand.

“... Now is not the time for reluctance,” Garmr chided, her voice firm in spite of her fading soul. “Thine allies await thy return. Prithee, hasten mine end and rejoin the fray, lest thy souls be consumed utterly in the wake of a newly born blasphemy.”

“I’m sorry. I know I agreed to do this, but…” With a soft sigh, Ascilia lowered her head in shame, averting her eyes. “I just can’t seem to bring myself to do this again. I can’t bring myself to take another life in vain.”

“Bit of a bleeding heart, ain’tcha?” asked Curlax, rolling their eyes as they zoomed through the air beneath her gaze. “Just a moment ago you and the big mutt were enemies. What makes you think she won’t kill you if you refuse?”

“That lunk head’s got a point,” Moebius chipped in, their gossamer wings beating close to her ear. “Back when she was Cerberus, she had to be kept on a pair of tight leashes, else she’d snack on anything that moved—voidsent or otherwise.”

“Must thou bare my shame so carelessly?” Garmr complained, shaking her head. “But nay. Though well intentioned, thy worries are misplaced. I will not bring harm upon your master or her allies… so long as my will remaineth mine own.” Then, leaning forward, she gently pressed a hooked claw into Ascilia’s cheek. “Nevertheless, ‘tis better to unburden thy guilty conscience sooner than later. Speak thy mind, child.”

With another sigh, this one far heavier than the first, Ascilia moved to grasp the claw. They hardly had the time for this, but if it would set her mind at ease, she saw no reason not to bear her heart to her would-be ally. “In what feels like a lifetime ago, I sacrificed my living flesh and bound my soul to Hydaelyn, that I might serve as a vessel for Her will. And though She soon regained the strength needed to survive without my aid, I was then sent across the rift between worlds, that I might intervene to save a world from a fate precariously close to your own.”

At this, Laragorn tilted their head and furrowed their brow. “Wait, you’ve been to another world before?”

“What would that make her, a lightsent?” asked Curlax, before leaning in to sniff Ascilia. “Ehh, that’s more floral than light…”

With a sudden slap of their hand, Moebius reprimanded the fiery sprite. “Cut that out! Do you have any idea how rude—”

“Carry on with thy crude antics at thine own peril!” Garmr barked, baring a furious toothy grin. All at once, the sprites scattered, hiding themselves behind a spot of rubble. Seemingly satisfied, she returned her attention to Ascilia. “Pray continue. They will not interrupt thee again.”

“Thank you, hm hm. As I was saying…”

As she retold the story of her efforts on the First, Ascilia’s gaze drifted towards the churning black sea above. There was little she needed to share. Her success in halting the Flood of Light, her subsequent reincarnation—in truth little more than a case of body snatching. The life she led as the “new” Minfilia, training alongside a boy named Ran’jit, and her inevitable second death. The resolve she felt to carry forward onto the next vessel, and the guilt burying her own will, leaving each subsequent child to carry that legacy herself. Death, rebirth, and life, again and again, until at last her final successor stood before her...

“... In the end, I gave up any hope of true rebirth to grant a girl named Ryne the power Hydaelyn bequeathed to me. Were it not for Her own guilt for Her part in my sacrifice and suffering…” Taking a deep breath, she lowered her gaze to meet Garmr’s once more, catching sight of her own reflection in the hound’s glowing eyes. “In spite of the natural order, I live again. But ever since the day I came back, my mind began to wander o’er the past, wondering whether the choices I’ve made were the right ones after all.”

From a fair distance behind her, Ascilia heard the Dream Stooges whispering and muttering to themselves. Though their words were unintelligible amidst the din of roaring floodwaters, the feelings behind them were clear to her. Confusion and skepticism gave way to acceptance alongside a bizarre sense of kinship—it seemed their pasts as voidsent resonated with her own fate as the Oracle of Light. Such feelings were a sign of their continued loyalty, if nothing else.

But what truly touched her was the gentle look in Garmr’s eyes as the towering hound laid down beside her, resting her disheveled face against Ascilia’s thighs. “We are the same in some respects. Slaves to Fate, bound inextricably upon Her wheel. Yet though I empathize with thy sorrow, I can only wonder at its depths.”

“And I yours,” Ascilia nodded sagely. Though her Echo could easily lay those depths bare for both of them, it seemed they’d already reached an understanding. “But your understand now why I can’t simply bind your soul into memoria—”

“Thou dost not want to,” Garmr corrected her. “But thou must. If thou dost not—”

“You’ll become a monster again, I know.”

Pausing for a moment, Ascilia did her best to compose herself. There had to be something she could do for this creature. Something to entice her to keep living. Something to justify her continued existence, when her soul longed for oblivion. But only one dismal prospect came to mind.

“If the cause of your insatiable hunger is your existence as a voidsent,” she began, her voice firm, “I believe I have the means to cure it. Here in this dream world, you are lucid. Though many ages have passed since your transformation, you still remember. And therein lies the path to salvation.”

“Do not make promises thou canst not keep,” Garmr grumbled, shifting her weight. “... Go on.”

Reaching down to stroke the hound’s furry ears, Ascilia continued. “Roughly half a year ago, a… friend of mine devised a means to not only rebalance the recipient’s aether, but also purge them of a primal’s influence on their mind and soul.”

“Wait a minute,” Laragorn interjected, fluttering back into her peripheral view. “Does that mean it can detransform us?”

As Garmr bared her teeth at the sudden intrusion, the hair on her back grew visibly tense. “Did I not warn you—”

“Tis alright, Garmr. Be at ease,” Ascilia soothed, breathing a sigh of relief as the hound lowered her head once more. Glancing over to the fiery sprite, she frowned and shook her head. “I’m afraid it’s not quite that simple. The transformation into a voidsent is not only mental and spiritual, but physical as well. But as souls without bodies, that shouldn’t be a problem for the four of you.”

“True enough,” Laragorn nodded. “We’ll have to fix that. Can’t say I’m thrilled with the idea of sharing a body again. No offense.”

“Nor am I,” Garmr grumbled, drawing their attention to her. “But regarding these means you speak of—dost thou have them on hand?”

“I… I don’t,” she answered, her lips curling into a frown. “But I can procure them within a day at most, if you’ll just give me a chance.”

“And thou wouldst attempt to contain my voracity until then? Knowing full well the price of thy failure?” With a shuddering sigh, Garmr pulled away from Ascilia, towering over her as she sat down once more. For a moment her expression was firm. But soon a solemn smile graced her lips, and she continued to speak. “Not since the death of my master have I known such kindness. Yet my stance remains firm. Thou wilt finish what thee started, and seal mine essence in memoria. ‘Tis for the good of all, yourself and mine.”

Ascilia lowered her gaze, her heart sinking deeper and deeper. So dearly did she wish to bear that burden, and not merely for her newfound acquaintance’s sake. In this golden beast she witnessed a reflection of herself. One who had walked a path not dissimilar to her own. To save her soul and grant her life anew was to justify her continued existence in a world that had long left her behind.

And yet, at the same time, she could not help but admire her resolve. That, too, had been the same as her own.

“... I want to live this new life of mine on my own terms,” she declared at last. “I’m sorry, but I can’t—I won’t take your life from you.”

“As stubborn and sentimental as her to boot,” Garmr grumbled, before uttering what Ascilia could only assume was laughter. “Pfah! Have it thy way, child of Hydaelyn. Thou needn’t deliver my memoria unto the sea of souls. Pray, keep it with thee. Mayhap one day thou wilt find a means to awaken me from mine eternal slumber.”

“Hey, that’s a great turnaround!” came the voice of Curlax from behind her. As she turned her head to glance at them, she snickered at the sight. It appeared that, while she had been focusing on the task at hand, they and Moebius had silently been fighting. The latter now held the former firmly in a headlock, much to her bemusement. “And here I thought you’d have to fight the big mutt all on your lonesome!”

“She’d have had our help, knucklehead!” Moebius berated their companion, before catching sight of Ascilia and sheepishly letting go. “Uh-um, I wasn’t… sorry, I mean. We just wanted to get all the… shenanigans… out of our system. Ain’t that right knuck-uh, Curly?”

“What they said!” Curlax squeaked, effortlessly slipping out of the headlock. “We’re just having fun, that’s all!”

“I swear, those two never change,” Laragorn declared, rolling their eyes before slipping their hands behind their head. “Neither do I, really. We sprites try to live every moment in the moment until we’re gone. If it weren’t for the flood—but we’re trying to put the past behind us, right?”

“We’ve all a nasty habit of poorly timed reminiscing, hm hm,” Ascilia chuckled. Turning back towards the towering hound Garmr, she bowed her head and put forth her open palms. “Apologies for the delays. Are you still prepared?”

“Mh,” Garmr grunted. And as Ascilia began the process of drawing her essence apart, her soul fading into an indistinct core of light, she let out a loud yawn. “What a curious sensation. I did not expect to feel the warmth of thy soul… ‘tis slightly skewed towards water, and possessed of a gentle light…”

“So I’ve been told,” replied Ascilia. “How are you feeling…? This isn’t hurting you, is it?”

“Nay. I am… merely… tired…”

As the last of her essence coalesced into the space before Ascilia, she closed her palms around it, forcing it to compress. Smaller and denser the cloud became, until at last it was small enough to fit into the palm of her hand. From there it shifted and hardened, taking the form of a crystal the size of her hand. For just a moment it kept the same hue as Garmr—golden yellow, a sign of immense light-aspected aether. Swiftly, however, that color began to change. At first it merely seemed to refract that selfsame light, taking on the many hues of the aetheric spectrum. Yet soon after a black-violet mist began to course up from somewhere within its depths, growing along the contours of its surface until it completely obscured its depths.

“So that’s a memoria,” Laragorn remarked, eyeing the crystal. “Never had the chance to see one up close. Poor Garmr, though. I guess since she’s lost consciousness, her aether returned to its, er, ‘natural’ state.”

“It should still be possible to purify this crystal,” Ascilia suggested, though in truth she wasn’t entirely certain. “And once I’ve learned how to reverse the process, I should be able to restore her to life. All things considered, this arrangement—”

Just then there was a bright flash, and the sound of crackling thunder. The ground shook beneath her feet, and a wicked wind kicked up all around her. Though she’d hardly been around her long enough to know her magicks by heart, it was clear to her that Mikoto had gone on the offensive. She, Lily, and Rubedo had engaged the enemy.

Slipping Garmr’s memoria away for safekeeping, she summoned a sword and shield into her firm grip. “‘Tis best we get moving. Laragorn, will you and your kin scout the skies and guide me to my allies?”

“Right away, boss!” Laragorn chirped, giving her a stiff salute. “Come on Larry, Moe! We’ve gotta fly!”

[volleychumps]

Heyy! Can you do one where Osamu, kuroo, akaashi and Tsukishima, say something mean to their s/o and their s/o avoids them for days? When they finally get ahold of their s/o, their s/o just sorta cries because it hit their insecure spot? Fluff in the end🥺

Listen, I can’t not write this. 

Irrevocable Words. 

- the one in which they accidentally make you give them the silent treatment because of their lashing out. -

~ Osamu Miya, Kuroo Tetsurou, Akaashi Keiji, and Tsukishima Kei~ 

TW: Cursing, angst to fluff, timeskip! for Osamu, 

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

Osamu Miya

“Those are important files, ya know?” 

“Samu, I’m sorry. You should’ve told me you needed last month’s earnings and I would’ve looked for them before we came this morning.” The hand you tried to settle onto Osamu’s bicep was shaken off as your movements faltered. 

Your voice wobbled at the sight of your stoic fiance, an annoyed glint in his eye as he rummages through his files. Osamu felt a flare in his stomach, a lack of sleep contributing to his impatient state. The day had been a busy one, Osamu deciding that he needed this particular file for his business call tomorrow before the two of you headed home for the night. 

“I told ya not to move anything back to the place.”

“I didn’t.” You bit the inside of your cheek. “Here, just let me help-” 

“Don’t touch a goddamn thing, I’ll do it myself.” There it was. The lashing out that was bound to happen occurred with a pointed tongue as he refused to look at you, rummaging through his file cabinets. “As I do everything else.” 

He closes the cabinet sharply. “The least ya could do is try your best not to be a nuisance-” 

Osamu flinches at the slam of one of the office desk drawers, chest sinking when he sees the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The paper he needed is thrown on the desk carelessly as you shove your jacket on, wetness slipping down your cheeks.

“And I’m not your goddamn secretary. I’m heading home first.” 

“Y/N-” 

“And don’t worry, I promise I’ll manage to do this by myself somehow.” Your voice cracks bitterly, the bell by the door jingling mockingly in Osamu’s ears as you exit, the chef hanging his head with a sigh and regret tinging his chest.

He was wrong to pray this would blow over, not expecting to wake without your warmth by his side. You avoided him on the way to the restaurant, cleaning quietly while giving vague answers to his questions, shifting out of his attempts to embrace you with apologies. 

Deciding to give you space, he softly tells you to take the next few days off, unprepared for the tired look you had given him, simply nodding in response as you slipped into your side of the bed with your back turned to him.

“Where’s your pretty girlfriend?” 

“Fiance.” Osamu forces a smile at his two elderly regulars two days later, the wife’s smile widening at his correction. 

“Oho! Cherish each other while you youths still can, she really does brighten this place up, doesn’t she?” 

You do.

Osamu’s eyes feel hot as he does a messy job of cleaning up the restaurant, closing up shop early and stopping by your favorite bakery to pick up the ridiculously expensive cake he only ever buys for your birthday. 

Throwing the door open to your shared apartment hastily, you gasp at the gray-haired man’s sudden entry, dropping the spoon you were about to use to taste the dish you were making on the stove.

“Samu, y-you’re home early-” 

“What’s all this?” He tries to steady his breaths at the sight of a nicely prepared table, something you hardly ever got to share ever since the night shifts overtook your lives and caused a rift between the two of you. 

You’re silent for a second, looking away from his warm stare as you shift under his gaze. 

“...I miss you.” Dark eyes widen when you begin to hiccup over your words, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. “But I didn’t wanna be a nusciance-”

“Oh god, darlin’ no.” You’re pulled tightly into his chest as you cry, whole body shaking with tremors as Osamu’s inner turmoil merely increases.

If Osamu could go back in time and punch himself he would, unknowing of the torment he caused you over the past few days, thinking you just needed space. 

“I want to marry ya Y/N, I’m so sorry.” 

“I love you so much Samu.” You sniffle into his chest, causing him to smile softly, a hand sifting through your hair to hold you tighter to him. 

“I brought cake.” 

You laugh through the onslaught of tears. 

“And I made dinner.” 

“Then what are we waitin’ for?” 

“Just hold me like this for awhile?”

“Y/N.” He kisses the top of your head, finally feeling at ease with your figure in his arms. Osamu whispers a confession he hardly shared with you, wanting those words in particular to be special as he bridged the gap between the two of you.

“I love ya so much more, don’t you go forgettin’ it.”

Kuroo Tetsurou

“I said I was sorry!” 

“Is sorry supposed to just fix everything, Tetsurou?” 

“Tetsurou? Are you seriously withholding me from my nickname privileges?” 

You cross your arms at his attempt to make you laugh, thoroughly angry with the mess your boyfriend made of things as his smile fades at your peeved stare. 

“Look, what was I supposed to do?” 

“How about not leaving my parents waiting for you at the restaurant that you invited them to for another one of your spontaneous volleyball practices?” 

“I texted you I had to cancel!” 

“That was a half hour before we were supposed to meet, Kuroo! They were so excited to meet you they got there early. God, why can’t you ever take things seriously?” 

“You’re right.” A bitter chuckle slips Kuroo’s lips as you falter at the sudden tone change, the volleyball gym seeming bigger than ever as his next sentence makes your lips tremble.

“Since I can’t ever take things seriously, then I must not need my serious girlfriend then, right?” Your eyes widen. “I can just find somebody else who won’t fucking hound me all the time.”

His cat-like eyes widen as the words slip his tongue, unintentionally coming out crueler than he intended. To make it worse, you simply stayed silent, your body physically backing down and away from him as you turned on your heel. 

“Wait, I didn’t-” 

“Do it then.” His chest just about shatters as your shoulders tremble, refusing to turn back around as your voice takes on an uncharasterically defeated tone. “I hope they make you fucking happy.” 

Kuroo runs a hand through his raven hair frustratedly at the way you rushed out of the gym, throwing a stray ball so hard at the wall before his vision becomes skewed with heat. 

He should have expected the next week to be utter hell. You left class before he could catch you by escaping to the bathroom with all your things, leaving school another way instead of the exit you always took together before he had to start club activities. 

“Kenma, what are you doing?” 

“You can’t come in here.” 

“I’m missing class for this. Let me through.” 

“She doesn’t want to see you.” Kenma shrugged, eyes on his handheld. “I told her I’d watch the door so you can’t surprise her during our breaktime.” 

“I’m her boyfriend. And you’re not her guarddog.” 

“No, I’m her friend.” Kenma’s eyes narrow at his childhood friend. “And last time I checked, you’re on the search for someone who isn’t her.” 

“So she told you.” 

“Dick move, by the way.” 

Kuroo’s calls go straight to voicemail, his emotions affecting his playing with each passing day. He leaves little notes in your shoe locker to meet him, heart sinking more and more with every time you stood him up. 

And it wasn’t until he saw you smiling again at a joke Yaku made that he truly felt like he was losing you. 

“Go home.” 

The sight wasn’t one you were expecting to see, Kuroo sitting on the steps to your house with his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, the dark bags under his eyes sparking worry within you. 

“It’s probably better if my parents don’t see you-” 

“I’m sorry.” His eyes seem to have lost a little of their glint, regret swimming in the tall boy’s pupils as your guard softens. “I’m so goddamn sorry I ran my mouth and said shit I didn’t even mean-” 

“Tetsurou-” 

“And I hurt you in the process. I hurt the one thing that matters to me the most, and I’m sitting here playing the creepy ex that stalks the girl he loves-” 

“You love me?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it? You’re done with me, and I deserve it-” 

He’s cut off with the sight of tears hitting the wood in front of him, lifting his head to see tears streaking down your cheeks. On instinct, he reaches out softly, rising to his feet to cup your cheek, astonished when you curl into his touch. 

“I’m so fucking mad at you right now.” 

“Noted.” Kuroo laughs somberly, a wave of emotion hitting him as you do something you hadn’t done in days. 

You look him in the eye, tugging him closer by the sides of his jacket. 

“But I love you too, you absolute idiot.” 

Kuroo grins into the kiss you press onto his lips, heart lifting in weight as he pulls you closer. 

“Does this mean we can go back to Tetsu?” 

“I’m going back to ignoring you-” 

“No.” Kuroo’s tone turns serious as he holds you a little tighter. “I can’t do that again.” 

You smile as he presses a kiss to your temple lovingly. 

“Being away from you was complete and utter hell, sweetheart.” 

Akaashi Keiji

“Tell me how to make this right.”

“Right, Y/N.” Akaashi refused to meet your eyes as he loosens his school tie, not slowing his pace for you to catch up with as he throws the doors open to the volleyball club. The usually put-together setter had an angry glint in his eye that silenced his awaiting teammates. “Let’s just go back in time before you agreed to be his partner.”

“Hey hey, what’s going on you two?” Bokuto jogs up, his worried tone making your lips tremble even more at the sight of Akaashi’s turned back.

“I came to you as soon as he made a move! I didn’t let him-”

“There shouldn’t have been an opportunity for him to make a move in the first place.” Akaashi’s jaw clenched as you shuffle in place.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, you think I wanted him to try to kiss me?!” You fight the waver in your voice, standing your ground. “It was a project for class. I didn’t know his intentions-“

“I told you what his intentions were, but you never listen.” Akaashi turns hastily, startling you and causing you to stumble slightly backwards into Bokuto.

“Akaashi-“

“Stop defending her. She never listens to me, and then comes crying to me when it turns out I’m right.” Akaashi snips at his best friend, ignoring the silent stares from his quiet teammates. “Why can’t you get it through your head, Y/N? I’m not your goddamn babysitter-“

“You’re right.” You interrupt, fingernails biting into your palms as you choke back a sob. “You’re not, you’re my boyfriend. I just wanted to respect you by coming to you with something like this, but it turns out I’m just a hinderance.”

Akaashi falters for a second, blue eyes widening a fraction at the angry heat that fills your eyes as regret begins to bubble in his stomach at his harsh words.

“Y/N-“

“Give me some space, Keiji.” You say softly, patting Bokuto’s arm to let you through as your shoulders sink in a defeated manner. “I promise I won’t come crying to you about anything else.”

Your steps echo as you walk out of the gym, Konoha breaking the silence first when the door shuts behind you.

“Hate to say it, but that was well-deserved, man.”

Akaashi closes his eyes, head falling back towards the ceiling as he tries to steady his breathing, pretending like he wasn’t scared of you slipping through his fingers. He willed himself to not allow himself to chase after you, his anger directed towards you fading as he forces himself to respect your wishes. 

It was obvious you were avoiding him. Akaashi had blinked when Bokuto had self-proclaimed that he needed you as his “study buddy” during breaks when you weren’t even in the same year as the owlish boy. It got worse when you seemed to panic when Akaashi willed you to talk to him, eyes refusing to meet his watery blue ones as you pushed him further away.

So he gave you your space, wilting with each passing day. It wasn’t until he accidentally bumped into you a week later, the setter turning hastily on his heel to walk in the opposite direction before a soft tug on the back of his school shirt wills him to stop. 

“Keiji.” Your wobbly voice makes him turn back around immediately, a soft palm already cupping your cheek gently. “I’m s-” 

“I’m sorry for being cruel.” The words are whispered against your forehead, Akaashi’s heartstrings tugging in the worst way possible. “I was angry at the situation, my love. And that sorry excuse you call a classmate. Please,” 

His grip tightens just a little more as he feels wet warmth drip into the palm that was cupping your face.

“Forgive me.” 

“I told you I wouldn’t come crying to you-” 

“I want it all, Y/N.” Akaashi pulls back slightly, voice cracking slightly as blue stares intensely into your irises. “I want all of you. Tears included.”

You swat his chest playfully as Akaashi manages a soft smile, hand threaded through your hair as he presses you against his chest.

“Do you still need space?” He murmurs, and you smile at the sound of his hearbeat picking up as he awaited your answer fearfully. 

“Nope. The exact opposite, please hold me?” 

His embrace relaxes immediately, and your heart skips a beat at the sound of his relieved sigh, his slight nod making the weight lift off your chest. 

“Good, now I can take care of your classmate-” 

“Keiji-”

“Nope, my love.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, Akaashi’s eyes swirling with devotion. 

“No one gets to try anything with you so long as you’re safe with me.” 

Tsukishima Kei 

“So I’m the bad guy again.” 

“Do you want the honest answer, Kei?” You exhaustedly run a hand through your hair as Tsukishima’s scowl deepens, his long legs easily catching up with you in stride as he tugs on your wrist as the rambunctious court gets further and further away. 

“It’s not my fault you’re insecure.” 

You flinch. “Well maybe you shouldn’t let the girls in the stands cling to you after your matches. They were all over you, Tsukki! And you didn’t seem to mind it one bit.” 

“What?” Annoyance brims the blonde’s voice as he takes another step forward, clenching his jaw when he sees the quiver in your lip, distrust filling the atmosphere between the two of you. 

“Afraid that they’re prettier or better than you’ll ever be?” 

You feel as if the wind was knocked out of your lungs, breath catching in your throat at his insinuation. His guard slackens almost immediately, clicking his tongue before turning away, too proud to apologize for the words he regretted as soon as they slipped his tongue like venom. 

“Yeah.” You laugh humorlessly, making brown eyes dart over to your expression immediately. “You’re 100% correct. I am afraid you’ll find someone better than me in all aspects. Because I love you, you absolute asshole. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

The silence that befalls the two of you in the deserted hall is broken when you flinch away when Tsukishima tries to take a step towards you. 

“I didn’t-” 

“You never mean to do anything, Kei.” You say in a hushed tone, turning your back on him in an attempt to shield the hot tears slipping down your cheeks. “But you somehow always manage to.” 

The win for Karasuno didn’t mean much to the blonde that night, hoping that this would just go away and things would be back to normal. However, it was anything but. You didn’t look his way once in class, disappearing when it was over. Your voice trembled as you had avoided his seemingly stoic eyes through his frames, simply stating that you wished for some time away from him. 

He was fine. Or at least pretending to be on the outside. In truth, he would never find better, because you were it for him, words that you would never catch slipping his mouth. So he put on a front, pretending that your absence had zero effect on him whatsoever. Pretending the brush of your body against him in the hall as you pass each other didn’t make the blonde want to cave. 

It was the smile you shot at Hinata during one of your breaks that caused him to. The first glint in your eye in awhile, and it had been caused by him of all people, prompting the tall middle blocker to tug you by the forearm into the corridor.

“Tsukishima-” 

“I hate this.” 

You falter for a second, guard back up in a flash as your back touches the wall. “What did I do?” 

“You didn’t do anything, and it’s pissing me off.” 

“I don’t follow-” 

“I was wrong.” His forehead touches your shoulder as you stiffen before relaxing against his familiar touch. “I don’t care how many times I have to apologize. You win, okay? I’m sorry.” 

“This is a rather aggressive apology-” 

“Y/N.” Tsukishima lifts his head so it’s level with your height, unprepared for the way tears brimmed your eyes at the proximity, your guard diminishing. 

“What if you do find someone better one day, Tsukki?” Your voice cracks, inner fears trickling to the surface. “Do I need to prepare myself to lose you-?” 

You gasp as Tsukishima’s jaw ticks before kissing you intensely, his hand touching your lower back to pull you closer. 

“No. You don’t need to do something stupid like that.” His eyes were slightly glaring at you, a flush across both his cheeks. “Because there is no one better than you, okay?” 

It was your turn for heat to flood your cheeks as your eyes widen a fraction, his breath tickling your ear as you stutter. “Kei-” 

“I love you too. I said it, are you satisfied now?”  

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

General works: @takemetovalhalla  @faesbae  @savemesteeb @dreebbles @yams046   @let-me-have-my-own-name  @deadontheinsidebut @lifeisntjustblackandwhite   @curiouslilbeast  @aprettyfruit   @wisepandaslimeland   @h0ngh0ngh0ng   @lmkjimin   @orangegiraffe7   @dai-tsukki-desu   @kac-chowsballs   @spikertrash   @yamaguwuchi   @lord-suneater-explosion   @holaaaf  @babyybokutoakaashi   @lexysclubhouse   @disneyloving-muggle   @kuuuuroo   @theonep1ece  @that-chick212  @mjoork

[visceral-stories]

College is Transformative: The Lecture Hall, Part 1 

This two-part story is a collab with my friend and wonderful TF writer @soul-controller (whose Tumblr stories and Patreon you should certainly check out) You can find his part here. Part two will be coming toward the end of the month!

The faint murmur of traffic in the distance was the only sound that filled Nate and Sam’s ears as they walked across their college campus in silence. As two friends walked, they absorbed the serenity of the warm night to reflect on the possibilities of what would happen next semester. The last one had been one of many to instill a sense of dread in Nate about his future. The 24-year-old man was smart, but also indecisive. While this was clear from just talking to him, the biggest example to showcase this was the fact that he’d been attending college classes since he was 14, proving that he was nothing short of prestigious. Since then, he’d gotten an Associate’s degree in biology and a Bachelor’s in psychology. Upon graduation, he’d been unfulfilled, and with his life for that matter, so he returned back to college in hopes of getting a degree. 

That was why he and Sam had become such good friends over the last semester. The duo first met in English class and quickly struck up a friendship over their shared angst and desire to find personal fulfillment. Nate found it extremely validating to find someone with similar interests. After all, he had endured more college than his 22 year old friend. Over the last semester, the two became closer and closer, confiding more of their plights with each other. Their bond had grown so tight that they had decided to become roommates.

It seemed only natural that the two take a voyage to a nearby gay bar and drown their trepidation in tequila. After slamming shots, both men had been reminded of their tolerances and had drank much more than they had planned. After clearing five city blocks, the duo begun their trek through campus to return to their apartment 

had to pass through campus to get to their apartment. The undisturbed silence of the night was breathtaking. 

“Hhheyy…where’d my shoe go?” Sam drunkenly slurred, his languid voice instantly a rift in the serenity.

Nate slowly turned around. “I think it’s…right there,” he said, pointing at a black sneaker right behind them.

“Thankssss, I didn’t even notice I lost it,” Sam replied as he swung around to put it back on his foot, which proved to be a laborious process. At one point, Sam tripped again and Nate, who was 230 pounds, quickly hoisted his 140 pound friend back up, using his large arms to pull the young man back on his feet. Nate chuckled, he was glad his friend knew how to party. 

The two continued walking until they came across a magnificent-looking fountain. Sam stopped again and didn’t say anything for a brief second and Nate remembered how drunk they really were. “Wha- how have I never seen this before?”

“The *hic!* fountain?” Nate asked while adjusting the rectangular glasses on his face. 

“Yeah. I’ve never seen it before. I s...swear I walk by here all the time.”

“Oh yeah, the Wishing Fountain,” Nate said, swaying on his larger legs while he stood in place. “D…did you know that people think it’s magical? Apparently, it grants wishes.”

“Pffft. No way.”

Nate stumbled towards a gray plaque at the base of the fountain. “W..why dontcha just read it here thennn?” he stammered. Sure enough, the plaque read “Wishing Fountain.” “It says that here that it is common legend that the fountain can fulfill any wish,” Nate said as he read the description on the plaque. 

“If only,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “Do you think it’s real?” 

Nate couldn’t tell if he was being earnest or not. “I mean, maybe. I dunno, anything’s possible.” An excited look appeared in his eyes. “There’s only one way to find out.” He dug into his jeans pocket. “You got any quarters?”

“Nah. I gave away all my cash at the bar to the queens,” Sam replied with a drunken chuckle. He then looked over to his friend. “Well…why don’t we just grab a quarter from the well?” 

Nate raised an eyebrow. “Who the hell does that? Isn’t that bad luck or something?”

“Eh, I doubt it,” Sam replied as he bent over and grabbed a shiny quarter from the well. Nate promptly did the same. 

The two looked at each other for a brief moment before Sam spoke with a much more serious tone than before. “I want to be recognized for all my hard work in college.” He threw the quarter back in the fountain. “Your turn.”

Nate too decided to act serious for a moment. “Alright. I wish that I could stay in college forever so I could always learn.” He threw the quarter in and the two chuckled at how superstitious the activity was. 

“I hope that well really is magical,” Nate said before chuckling at that crazy that statement sounded. 

“You and me both,” Sam replied as the two headed toward home. 

The sound of a blaring alarm woke Nate from his sleep. He turned it off and noticed that the time read 9 AM. Oh shit! That was right. He and Sam had an English class together in a lecture hall at 10. Nate drowsily sat upright in bed for an additional minute. There was a pounding in his head and he knew it was from last night. Nate itched his shaggy brunette hair and sluggishly hopped out of bed before moving his 230 pound frame towards his bathroom. He felt heavier than usual for some reason. As he glanced down at his stomach, it almost looked like it stuck out a little bit farther than usual. Maybe the 10 shots of tequila was the culprit. “Man, I feel bloated,” he muttered groggily to himself as he stepped into the bathroom. 

Gazing at his reflection in the mirror, Nate noticed how unflattering the dark circles around his eyes looked. It even looked like his face was drooping a bit, almost like he had jowls. Glancing further down at his midsection, he noticed that his black t-shirt looked rather tight around his gut. Must be a trick of the light, Nate thought. Thinking nothing more of it, the hungover young man started the shower and began undressing. As he did, he happened to catch a sight of his body in the mirror and subsequently froze with confusion. 

“What the…” he said as he glanced down at his exposed chest. For some reason, there were a few long black strands extending from it. They looked long enough to be fake. Nate plucked one and winced in pain. Yep, they were definitely real. Opening up the bathroom cabinet, he grabbed an electric razor and promptly buzzed off the unsightly hairs. Much better, he thought, although he wondered how chest hair that thick could appear that quickly on his body. It wasn’t like he was a hairy guy. Quite the opposite, in fact. 

Still half-asleep, Nate stripped and hopped in the shower, feeling the warm sensate his awakening nerves. As he began cleaning himself, he marveled at his slightly larger gut and how he swore it distended further than before. The muscles in his stomach, usually tight and sturdy, felt much looser and weaker this morning. Nate rolled his shoulders in an effort to rouse his muscles to try and feel more energized Unfortunately, the motion seemed to strengthen that sluggish feeling, giving him an uncomfortable heaviness that radiated across his whole body, not just his stomach. The joints in his arms and legs also felt oddly sore and he had a faint pain emanating from his spine. Nate had played soccer and tennis for years, but he had never experienced a pain as sharp as this. “MMFF!” he grunted in discomfort. Even bending over to grab a shampoo bottle from the tub’s ledge caused a sharp tingle to run through his bones. 

During the rest of his shwoer, the ache didn’t disintegrate. By the time, Nate had turned off the water and grabbed a towel, he felt a stinging sensation coming from his arms. “ACK!” he exclaimed, wondering what on earth was wrong with him. Maybe he had slept funny? 

Brushing his teeth proved to be much less painful, however he was forced to look at his weary reflection. He had to learn not to drink like that. He’d been hungover before, but this was ridiculous. The subtle gastrointestinal anarchy he was feeling in his gut was enough to make him want to put down the bottle forever. An irritable frown hung on his face as he walked back to his bedroom and promptly grabbed some brown cargo shorts and socks. As he got dressed, his clothing felt rather tight around his figure, like it had shrunk in the wash. Or as if Nate had grown a size larger somehow. 

Not wanting to be late, Nate tried not to think about that as he grabbed the first black t-shirt he saw. Like his shorts, it too felt tight around his frame. It was so tight in fact, that the faint outline of his nipples could be seen through it. Nate grunted, frustrated by how ridiculous he looked. He’d never thought that one night of drinking could make someone feel this bloated. As if to reaffirm his vexation, Nate’s stomach growled, filling the young man with and a hunger more intense than he’d ever felt in his whole life. Quickly, he darted downstairs and hoped that Sam was as hungry as he was. 

To his surprise, Sam was already down there drinking a cup of coffee and eating breakfast. “Hey Nate, how’d you sleep last night?” he called out, sounding rather chipper.

“Not great,” Nate yawned and squinted his eyes. “I feel hungover and bloated. You?” 

“I feel great,” Sam replied as he took a bite of his cereal. “I don’t feel hungover at all. I feel like I’m ready to take on the day, boring classes and all!” He was smiling very broadly now, however it quickly morphed into a more serious expression when he looked at Nate. “Whoa, not to be rude or anything, but you do kinda look bloated.”

“I do?” Nate asked. “I was hoping it was only me who thought that,” he said with an awkward laugh. He looked at his friend closer and noticed something different. It almost looked like he took up more of the chair than usual. “Whoa,” Nate said as he glided closer to the kitchen table, although it was closer to a lethargic waddle. “You look…kinda buff.”

“Nahhh,” Sam scoffed with a wave of his hand. “You think?”

“Yeah, I swear your arms look larger,” Nate said with a twinge of jealousy. He could've sworn that Sam’s arms filled out his shirt more than before. Nate suddenly coughed loudly and he realized how dry his throat felt. “You sure you haven’t been working out?”

Sam laughed. “I’m positive, Nathan.”

Nate wondered why Sam had used his full name, but his strong thirst quickly distracted himself from that thought. He spun around and noticed he had left his empty water bottle sitting by the sink last night. Turning on the faucet, he promptly filled the large bottle halfway and downed half of its contents in record speed. With the dryness in his throat alleviated, he started making himself a bowl of cereal. As he did, he felt his round stomach bounce slightly as he walked. It felt very unusual to his more firm, somewhat beefy build. “Samuel, I don’t wanna drink ever again,” he confessed as he placed his full bowl on the table. Why had he said his full name?

“Samuel, I like that,” his friend grinned. “It makes me sound more…professional.”

Nate laughed in response. “You always want to be professional, huh?” he asked while wondering what he even meant.

Samuel didn’t care though. “Of course Nathan. I think school is very important.” 

Nathan blinked. He was confused by both the excessive usage of his full name, but also his friend’s vocal affinity for school. Weren’t the two of them both tired of college? Well, Nathan certainly was, but the longer he thought about it, the more he could recall Samuel’s scholarly habits. He was always up early and always full of pep by the time he had to start his day. Something about the memories felt spurious, but Nathan couldn’t quite place his finger on why. 

In an attempt to distract himself, Nathan pulled out his phone and opened up his social media. That was odd. His phone looked different. He swore his gray-colored phone case looked like it had a darker shade than usual. Even the screen looked a little dimmer. Maybe his eyes were still readjusting to the natural light in the kitchen. After all, he still felt more tired than usual. Luckily, Samuel had been nice enough to prepare him a cup of hot coffee, which he began lightly sipping.

The two ate in silence for a few moments before Sam stood up and placed his empty bowl in the sink. “Hopefully the first day of this semester isn't as boring as all the other first days. You know, hearing about the syllabus and junk.”

“You know it will be,” Nathan said pessimistically as he took one last spoonful of his cereal. Wow, he had eaten that kind of fast. “Hey, could you grab me the cereal box?” 

“Yeah,” Samuel replied. He sat down and he placed the box in front of Nathan who filled his bowl with more cereal. Samuel took another sip of his coffee and continued his thoughts. “I feel like the English classes try to spice it up instead of repeating the same old stuff.”

“I suppose,” Nathan replied after taking a massive bite. It took him a second to realize that Samuel was talking about the English class they would be starting soon. After that, Nathan was too preoccupied by his hunger as he ravenously devoted his extra serving. As he stood up, the sharp ache returned to his legs. He hissed through his teeth and wondered why this soreness was so persistent. If this kept up all day, he might need to see a doctor. Oh well, he thought, trying not to agonize about it. At least his stomach was full now and hopefully, getting to class would snap him out of this funk. 

Samuel noticed his friend put his dishes in the sink and his bubbly demeanor resurfaced. A quick check on his phone revealed that the two had fifteen minutes until class started. “Alright, let’s head out in 5, alright?” he said excitedly.

“Ok,” Nathan replied, still plagued with a persistent sense of fatigue. He wished he felt as eager as his friend. 

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

“Finally, we’re here,” Samuel said happily as the two arrived at the door to the lecture hall. 

As the two stepped inside, Samuel held the door open for Nathan, who still walked at a snail’s pace. As they entered the enormous room filled with students, he started to feel self-conscious. Even during their brief walk to class, Samuel had slowed his pace to make sure he didn’t leave his friend behind. 

There had to be more than 100 students in this room. In fact, some of the only remaining were in the back rows, which were positioned much higher than the other rows. Samuel effortlessly scaled up the many steps, while Nathan trailed behind. Hauling his lumbering frame up each step was an increasingly laborious task. He was so tired that he held onto the railing with each step. Meanwhile, Samuel had chosen two open seats in the aisle and had just glided over to secure them. He sat down and started getting ready, oblivious to far behind his friend was. 

A drop of sweat slipped from Nathan’s forehead as he finally reached the level where Samuel was. At this point, his cheeks were flushed pink and a layer of sweat formed across his back. Any remnants of Nathan’s natural stride were eliminated as he trudged over to his chair next to Sam, who was already unzipping his bag.

CRREEEAAKK…

Nathan’s face went a darker shade of red as his chair let out a wail that filled the quiet room. A few students turned their heads at him turn and Nathan averted their gaze. Great. As if I don’t feel like enough of a fatass, he thought as he wiped some beads of sweat from his forehead. Nathan also could tell he was breathing heavier now. Even from that short walk, he felt a little winded. 

The bloated feeling in his stomach had not gone away either. It felt like it was made of jelly. His stomach had also never pressed into the table like it was currently. It had also never looked this round before. As he glanced down at his body, he noticed a long black hair sticking out of his t-shirt. Crap, he must’ve missed that one while shaving. Nathan squirmed around in his chair, wondering how he would even sit through this lecture while feeling this uncomfortable. His belly felt like a lead weight, its heavy girth crushing his thighs. 

However as he bent over to unzip his bag, he learned that he did not have the same flexibility that he once had. “Urrghh,” Nathan moaned, feeling his stomach shift with his abrupt movement. 

Having just finished placing his notebook on the table, Samuel noticed his friend’s discomfort. “Whoa, are you okay?” he asked. 

“Y..yeah…I think,” Nathan replied as he sat back up in an effort to alleviate the discomfort. That seemed to do the trick. As he did, his stomach gurgled which did little to help his case.

“Are you sure?” Samuel asked, unconvinced. 

Before Nathan could respond, there was a loud “PING!” that echoed through the classroom. A lightness around Nathan’s groin indicated the change. The button to his cargo shorts had flown off and collided withe the chair in front of him. In its wake, it exposed not only his black boxer shorts, but also a section of his stomach.“Ooof,” he exhaled as he felt his stomach escape its confines. That felt so much better. His brief reprieve was quickly tarnished by a heavy feeling from his gut. “URRRGH!” he grunted, much louder than he had meant to. He must’ve been hallucinating because he swore his stomach bulged out even further than before. He had to get out of there.

With a sense of urgency, Nathan hoisted himself up. His face was as red as a cherry and he was only getting sweatier. “I…I think I need to leave…” was all he could say to Samuel.

“Whoa, whoa,” Samuel interjected, noticing his friend’s distress. He stood up and placed a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “Tell me what’s going on. How can I help?”

Although Nathan appreciated his friend’s sympathy, he knew he had to leave and figure out what was happening to him. “I’m just gonna…use the restroom. I’ll be right back,” he said without turning around and headed back down the stairs. Unfortunately, any hope of quietly leaving the lecture hall was dashed as Nathan could only walk with a pace more sluggish than when he had entered the room. Clambering down each step, his gut started to feel like it was getting even wider since it was stretching the waistband of his already strained cargo shorts. Nathan had to awkwardly hold them up with one hand in an attempt to keep them around his changing frame. Luckily, his legs hurt a little bit less going down the stairs than climbing up them. This had to be the weirdest day of his life. And it seemed like it was getting stranger and stranger...

[kdramabrainrotstation]

Saw your post in defense of Ga On, and honestly? 10000% agree. I never once considered it his fault, even though it did irk me. I mostly blame the professor; he knew Ga On was very emotionally vulnerable at the time after losing Soo Hyeon, and took advantage of it by pushing his "Kang Yo Han is Evil" agenda on him, all the while knowing that he himself was partly responsible for her death and consequently, Ga On's mental state. He knew that Ga On trusted him, and took advantage of that trust. And I can't even blame Ga On for wanting to cling onto the last remnant of his childhood. I know everyone gushes about how great a character Yo Han is, and while they're absolutely right, I think Ga On is an equally complex, well written character. And that's what makes the show so great (and GaHan perfect for each other)

i couldn't agree more. honestly, gaon is a prime example of how malleable humans are. he is a genuinely good person, albeit quite misguided, but he did what he did because like you mentioned, he was influenced to do so. he had a bug in his ear buzzing nonstop about how dangerous yohan was.

on top of that, he had a very real right to be against what was happening. being honest, i wouldn't have been mad if that little bamboo spear asshole fried in the electric chair, but i get why it freaked gaon out so much. it was less about how the dude deserved to die and more about giving citizens the murder weapon.

add in gaon's realization that yohan wasn't going to stop even if the dude didn't talk and jungho's nonstop insistence that yohan is evil and of course gaon was going to try and put a stop to it.

he didn't want to see yohan cross the point of no return, even if that cost him their relationship. he loves yohan so much that if he did go too far, he'd stick by his side, but he was also willing to create a rift between them in order to stop the label of 'monster' from becoming a reality. this was all without knowing what yohan was really concealing, though it's debatable whether his actions would have been any different in such an extreme situation or not.

that being said, while extreme, yohan's choices made sense in their own way. he is very much a person who does things with purpose. every decision he makes comes with a reason. it may seem crazy to others, and while against it, i think gaon of all people understands the motive behind it better than others (not including yohan's team--k, lawyer ko, etc). he doesn't want to see yohan destroy himself in the process, probably because he had just about done the same thing to himself when soohyun stopped him.

which is why they're made for each other, let's be real. gaon constantly has yohan's and elijah's best interest at heart even when he's wavering, and yohan knows why gaon reacts the way he does and meets it with patience and understanding. because he's seen it--gaon always comes back. they need each other, and that means gaon needs yohan's morally-gray standpoint on matters and yohan needs gaon's compassion for humanity and his love for family.

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 7

Helmetless + Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: Maybe you should have tried harder, or held onto him tighter. Maybe then you wouldn't be feeling this gaping hole in your chest where your heart used to beat.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,297

Warnings: Description of a dead body, major character death (but technically you already know it happened, just not how it did...so...), heartbreak, major angst, a bit of fluff at the end, a couple familiar faces may or may not show up

Author Note: Seriously, you all are the best readers I could ever hope to have. The response to Part 6 was unbelievable and I can’t thank everyone enough for the support, especially when I continue to be evil and end the segments with such horrible cliffhangers. 

Links to Part 1 and Part 6 and Part 8

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

Maker, your head hurts. 

It throbs angrily as if a mudhorn has impaled your brain on its horn. In fact, your whole body feels like one giant bruise. Grimacing, you take a deep breath, only to enter a coughing fit when you inhale a lungful of smoke. 

Cracking an eye open, panic seizes you when all you see is smoke. Ash gray and thick, it obscures your immediate surroundings from view. You can’t even tell if it’s night or day. 

What the kriff is going on?

Swallowing against the dryness of your throat, you slowly sit up and feel pieces of grit and rubble dig into the tender flesh of your palms. A quick look shows no blood, soulmate mark unaffected, and you sigh a quiet breath of relief. But then worry starts to sink in when you realize you can’t remember where you are or what knocked you unconscious. Before you can spiral into a panic attack, the ground beneath you starts to tremble, causing the tiny fragments of gravel to wildly bounce around.

A shrill metallic screech pierces your ears followed immediately by a massive burst of vibrant orange flames erupting in the distance. You yelp, hastily pushing yourself onto your feet and start to run in the opposite direction, ignoring the howl of protest from your aching body. 

You can’t even see two steps in front of you, effectively ruining your attempt at a quick escape as you clumsily skirt around piles of debris that appear out of the smoke and threaten to block your way. Every breath is a wheeze, lungs making it painfully clear they cannot draw in enough oxygen from the smoky atmosphere to support your chosen pace. But the mere thought of dying here in this nightmarish inferno is enough to urge you to keep moving, keep putting one foot in front of the other, even as it simultaneously creates a tight, anxious knot in your stomach.

Another explosion detonates behind you. The ground quakes and groans, cracks appearing at an alarming rate as if the planet itself is being torn apart by the chaos. Your foot catches on one of the rifts, eliciting a cry of shock to tear itself out of your throat when you’re unable to reclaim your balance and plummet forward.

Except it’s not the ground that rises up to meet you. 

No. 

It’s a body. 

A dead body, to be precise. Burnt to a blackened crisp, as if the person had been dropped directly into a sun. Their skeletal features are frozen in an expression of torture, mouth gaping wide in a silent scream. The stench of their seared flesh overwhelms your nostrils and ingrains itself in your brain, ensuring you’ll never forget the horrific smell for the rest of your lifetime.

Whimpering, you scramble backwards, curling your legs tight against your heaving chest. You look around, bile rising in your throat when you glimpse through the sea of smoke more charred corpses surrounding you. It’s as if you’ve stumbled upon a mass grave, and again the thought crosses your mind: what the kriff is going on?

You stand up, not wanting to linger another second in their presence, and continue moving forward, each footstep slow and careful as you maneuver around the bodies. The smoke is marginally thinner the further away you move from the fiery blasts, just enough for you to make out the faint outlines of collapsed buildings on either side of you, homes of families destroyed for reasons you don’t understand. Gut instinct keeps insisting that everything you’re seeing is wrong, that none of this destruction and carnage should have ever happened. 

Again, you attempt to string together your memories, forcing your brain to comply despite the pounding ache it produces in your temples. Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if you had a concussion. 

Details slowly start coming to mind, little and meaningless by themselves, but when put together form a grander picture. You came here to visit your best friend. ‘Here’ being a Mid-Rim planet with a ridiculously long and multisyllabic name you couldn’t pronounce then, and your poor head certainly can’t identify now. The transport flight had been long and you’d arrived later than anticipated, verging on late afternoon when you’d stepped off the craft. 

On your way to your friend’s house, the sun had abruptly gone dark. Everyone had stopped to look to the sky, yourself included. A light cruiser, kite-shaped and unmistakable, hovered directly overhead. Its presence was ominous, evoking the crowd of civilian spectators to murmur amongst themselves. 

Then its weapons unleashed a storm of hellfire.

Oh, Maker. How could you have ever forgotten the screams?

You’re pulled out of your dismal thoughts by the appearance of a dark shape ahead of you, its outline standing out as noticeably different than the surrounding rubble. Gradually, your brain starts to distinguish human features: a head, broad shoulders and limbs. 

It also occurs to you that they’re coming straight at you.

Before you can decide whether to flee or fight or do anything remotely conducive to increasing your odds of survival, the human-shaped blur barrels straight into you, hitting you with such force you instinctively grip onto their coat, just above their wrists, to keep from falling backwards. The feather-light grazing of the edge of your palm against their skin elicits a buzz of shocking warmth, as if you’ve touched a live wire instead of flesh.

It’s you, the thought pops into your head unprompted, like a fact you’ve always known since you were born. The feeling is breathtaking and electric, a lightning bolt striking the center of your heart. Every cell in your body is radiating exuberance and cheering: it’s you, it’s you, it’s you! The one I’ve been waiting for!

You’re pushed sideways, a small cry of surprise escaping your lips.

“Get out of my way.” It’s a masculine voice, sharp with impatience yet it wraps itself around your heart all the same. He doesn’t spare you a second glance as he continues heading in the direction you’ve been coming from.

“Wait,” you protest, because it’s not supposed to be like this. You’ve started shaking, from adrenaline or the shock of his dismissal, you’re not sure. 

The man pauses, keeping his back facing you. His dark clothes are conspicuously clean, and you can’t help comparing them to your own which are sooty and torn in places. For the second time, your gut instinct is telling you something is wrong, but this time you ignore it in favor of listening to the screaming of your heart urging you to never let this man out of your sight.

“We’re soulmates,” you say, desperate for him to stay.

His fingers curl into fists, the only forewarning you have before he snaps your heart in half as he mutters, “You could never be my soulmate.”

And then you’re watching as he disappears into the smoke, not once looking back to gauge the aftermath of his rejection. You had always been a hopeless romantic, dreaming that you and your soulmate would meet and live a long, happy life together until Death came to reap your souls. In less than thirty seconds, your soulmate had just cruelly crushed those dreams without either of you exchanging names or seeing each other’s faces.

Maybe you should have tried harder, or held onto him tighter. Maybe then you wouldn't be feeling this gaping hole in your chest where your heart used to beat.

Acting on impulse, you start running after him. If you can just have a second chance to make a better impression, maybe you can change his mind. Maybe you can convince him to accept you as his soulmate, agree to take your hand and never let go. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll fall in love with you, deeply and profoundly, just like every soulmate pairing you’ve heard about.

 With a head full of maybes, you don’t even hear the bomb drop.

It hits the ground with a resounding thud, and then your world is an explosion of red and orange heat, consuming you whole without leaving behind any evidence you’d ever existed at all. Your vision shifts and blurs, memories of your lifetime flashing by too quickly to recognize each one, but through it all you hear a voice, his voice, echoing those dreadful words over and over again.

You could never be my soulmate. Never. Never. Never.

~~~

You wake up with a jolt, throat raw as if you really had been inhaling smoke. You’re drenched in sweat and you push away the heavy blanket covering you before realizing it is definitely not your blanket nor are you currently in your own bed. Looking around, panic begins to prickle along your nerve endings when you fail to recognize anything familiar about your location.

You’re in someone’s home, that much is obvious from the furnishings. The ceiling overhead is made of overlapping metal and is slightly rounded, reminding you of a cave or burrow. There is a lantern hanging on a nearby hook, but the light it emanates is dim compared to the sunshine pouring in from the four small, square-shaped windows cut into the wall behind you above the bed. The view through the windows is slightly blurry, but you can make out the blue sky and what you think is a corral of some kind. 

Rubbing a hand over your face to wipe away the lingering exhaustion, you’re surprised when your hand encounters something rough covering the side of your forehead. A bandage. Strange, you must have hit your head somewhere—

The past comes back in flashes: Din confessing his feelings, touching his hand, the spark of warmth, falling unconscious on the floor.

Where is Din?

“You are awake.”

The voice is expressionless and mechanical in tone, stating the obvious. Even so, you jump, not having noticed the droid sitting in the far corner of the room during your initial survey. Its red sensors and dark colored plating would make it look menacing if not for the tray it clutches in its hands, balancing cups and a pitcher.

“I am IG-11,” the droid says as it approaches.

“IG?” you echo hoarsely, sitting up with alarm. “As in one of those assassin droids?”

“I have been reprogrammed as a nurse.” It considers you for a moment, internal mechanisms whirring, and then the tray is held out closer for you to reach. “Tea?”

Hesitantly, you pour yourself some and hold the cup with both hands as you take a sip. The tea is warm as it slides down your throat, flavorful and far more exotic than the kind you’ve tasted back home in Umbriel. 

“Where am I?” you ask after you’ve swallowed two more gulps.

“Arvala-7.”

You blink, barely familiar with the name which only intensifies your worry about Din’s absence.

“Okay, but like, where exactly on Arvala-7?” you press, gesturing around the room. “How did I even get here?”

“Your current location is a moisture farm owned and operated by Kuiil,” IG-11 says, moving away to set the tray on a nearby table, though its head remains facing your direction. “Death brought you here unconscious with an injury to your central processing unit.”

“My central…” you trail off, squinting. “Was that supposed to be a joke?”

“Yes. It was meant to put you at ease.”

“Right.” You nod to yourself, reaching a decision. Downing the last of your drink, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and make a move to stand. “This has been great, but I’ve really got to go find Death so—”

A wave of dizziness washes over you, forcing you to sit back down. Kriff, you think, closing your eyes until you’re certain you won’t be seeing double anymore. 

“You won’t find Death here.” A new voice, crackling with age, informs you. His words are ominous, but his tone isn’t one of malice or ill-intent. 

Turning, you see an Ugnaught approaching from the entrance of the house. He stops beside IG-11, green eyes peering at you from beneath bushy white eyebrows, but you don’t feel threatened by his nearness. 

“I am Kuiil. Death entrusted me with looking after you until his return from Nevarro,” he says, sitting down upon a stool with his arms braced upon his knees. “You must continue to rest until you are well. I have spoken.”

You press a hand to your chest, feeling a pang of hurt at Din’s decision. “He left?”

“Death is bound by creed to the universe to reap the dead. Nothing, not even his soulmate, can be put before it.”

You choke on your spit. “Soulmate? We’re not—”

“Even if he had not told me,” Kuiil interrupts, unwilling to hear your dissuading opinion when he is certain of his own. “I would have known it from how he stubbornly stayed at your side and by how loathsome he was to leave you behind. In all my years, I have not seen him behave in such a twitterpated manner.” 

“He…” Your voice wavers, torn between hopefulness and disbelief. “He really told you we’re soulmates?”

Kuiil, reaching towards the table for the pitcher of tea, pauses and slowly turns back to look at you. “You were unaware of your matched connection with Death? Did you two not touch hands as most fated pairs often do?”

Any reply you might have said falters when you look down at your hands in your lap. More specifically, your left hand. The one Din had grasped.  The one that in your past life had brushed against your soulmate minutes before you died. 

Right there in the middle of your palm, innocently gleaming like it’s always been there and therefore isn’t at all responsible for the rapid increase of your heartbeat, is a soulmate marking.

Tag List: @leilei-draws​​, @theocatkov​​, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph​​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @eleine-t1d​, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk, @captain-jebi​, @aerynwrites, @promiscuoussatan, @stilllivindue2spite, @coaaster​

[sparrowsworkshop]

“Star Sky” by OneWingedSparrow

Summary: Sometimes during his travels, Link dreams of a starry sky and the princess he used to know...but these dreams are not ordinary, and Zelda knows it too. Tags: BotW, Link / Zelda, Light Angst and Feels, Mutual Pining, Dreamsharing, Memory Loss, Amnesiac Link, Promises, Hylia is at work, don’t blink or you’ll miss it, references to other TLoZ games, shoutout to those who catch them Reblogs are appreciated! Read on AO3 ~ The only time he could see her was when his eyes were closed. During the daytime, sometimes he could hear her voice drift over the land and enter his ears like the gentlest of breezes. In those moments, he tried to think hard back at her, just in case she could catch his voice; but he never knew if she could hear him in turn. However, in the evening, long after the sun had slipped past the mountains and the fire he had lit was finally burning strongly, he would close his eyes for a few precious hours of sleep...and see. The starry sky before his eyes, bejeweled with thousands upon thousands of glittering gems set in a rich black setting, as if his Sheikah Slate had taken a crisp photograph of the heavens and slipped an even more polished image into his mind. Wispy clouds drifted across this expanse, dancing around each star; and the way they moved seemed to split the sky in his mind like a curtain drawing, preparing for the grand arrival. Hers. Was there something magical about the night, something enchanted in the moon that cast a spell on everyone under its gaze? Was someone behind the backdrop of the night sky, orchestrating these ethereal meetings between the two of them? Though dreams, he knew they were real. He knew they were true, for he could speak to her...and she could hear him.

“Princess,” Link said softly. As all the other times before, when this had happened, she descended from the rift in the sky, walking with stately grace upon an unseen staircase till her bare feet touched the grassy earth upon which he stood. The same breeze that tossed his hair around his face whisked around her as well, billowing the flowing skirt of her pristine white dress and whipping her long blonde hair behind her. “As I told you before, we discarded formalities a century ago,” she said, a somewhat hurt look flickering in her eyes. “Did you forget this as well?” He shook his head quickly, tongue stumbling over an explanation. “No, but….” | "You are the only friend I have left, Link,” Zelda said, clasping her hands and fiddling with her fingers. “Surely you can grant me this small request and call me by name. It would...it would mean very much to me.” Link bowed his head. “Okay.” She raised a hand and took a breath as if to say more, but stopped herself. Her hand paused, floating for a moment. Starlight flitted across the golden bracelets on her arms, like fairies traipsing around a fountain.Zelda sighed deeply, shaking her head. “I…I trust your journey is a safe one thus far,” she said at last, glancing at him. “For the most part.” A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he recalled. In response to his remembrance, the stars in the sky shifted pattern, and a thick gray haze blew in and swirled around them. In the fog, the form of a Lynel materialized. Eyes red and furious, a huff shooting from its nostrils, the fearsome creature raised the weapon in its hand, swinging a massive Crusher down right upon Link. Unconcerned, he didn’t move. The moment the weapon impacted, the Lynel vanished in a puff of white smoke. Sheepishly, Link rolled up the left sleeve of his Champion’s tunic, underneath which a giant, ugly bruise had formed—a physical testament to his most recent escapade. “Link,” Zelda gasped. “It’s not much.” He shrugged, letting the sleeve fall back in place. “Left a mark, but that’s about it. Could have been worse if I hadn’t been given...the grace of a friend.” “You must be more careful, Link.” “I try. Sometimes there’s no helping it.” “I saw you fall once,” she said softly. “I would give anything to prevent seeing that again.” A chill shot down his back, and not from the breeze. He didn’t know what to say to that. He had not yet recovered that memory of his past, and guilt from his ignorance gnawed at him. He was unable to remember what he knew she would never be able to forget. The hardest part was noticing her pain as she spoke of this. The faintest hint of tears, the slightest dip of her chin, the subtlest tensing of her shoulders. She hid her sorrow well, but he could see it. He had always been able to. He was certain of that. Link took a step closer to her. Slow, but deliberate. Then another, and another. The wind picked up, rushing at his face to push him back, but he pressed forward until he was mere inches away from her. Staring, his blue eyes to hers, Link solemnly placed his right hand over his heart. “I swear,” he whispered, “I won’t ever do that to you again, Zelda.” Zelda tucked her hair behind her ear, swallowing. “Good,” she mumbled. A tear visibly fell down her cheek now, and she choked on a laugh as she brushed it away. “Oh...I wish I could truly see you face to face again, Link. One hundred years is such a very long time….” Her words extinguished, like a tender flame suffocating under the raw power of the uncaring wind. Link glanced down, and then slowly extended his hand to her, palm open in silent invitation. Zelda reached out her own, their fingers the smallest of distances apart. Until they hit the glass. They both startled, and recoiled in alarm as their fingers impacted a previously unseen—and very hard—barrier between them. Now, however, this barrier became undeniably present; Link realized there was a vessel of golden orange glass encasing Zelda completely, almost like a crystal of amber holding her captive. Their eyes met again, though vision was obscured by the translucent orange film. The wind encircled this crystal, violently whipping Link’s ponytail back and forth, but inside the crystal the wind was lacking, and Zelda’s hair fell limply against her back. “What is this?” Link exclaimed, pounding his fists on the glass a few times before anxiously pressing his palms against the surface of the crystal. “Zelda? Are you all right?” “I’m fine,” Zelda replied brokenly, her voice muted. She sighed, blinking at him behind the barrier. “There is a place where you can hear me...and a place where I can meet you….” She gave him a sad and helpless smile. “Yet, the place for us to touch is clearly not here.” Unexplainable grief overcame him, splitting his heart asunder. Link bit his lip as tears stung his eyes. He could not recall everything about her, but this pain...this memory of being hurt, and therefore hurting her in the process...seemed born of another time, a past just out of reach...and impossible to forget. This surreal sensation ached in each piece of his heart—each broken shard that he had never felt until this moment—taunting him with ghosts of memories he could only dream of ever understanding. “I’ll come for you,” Link vowed, voice cracking. His words were scarcely more than a mumble, but he willed his voice to pierce the divide. “Please. Just wait a little while longer. I’ll find that place, and I’ll come for you, Zelda.” She pressed her hands to the glass as well, resting her fingertips on the same place where his were on the other side. So near, yet, so very distant. “I know,” Zelda whispered. This time, her voice was not emanating from the crystal, but rather was resounding in his ears, as he had grown accustomed to hearing in his waking hours. “I shall be ready for you, Link.” The wind blasted with fury from the ground, nearly knocking him off his feet. While he struggled to regain balance, the wind caught the crystal in invisible hands, and lifted Zelda into the air, hoisting her to the heavens from whence she had descended. All too soon, the orange crystal floated back up into the rift, drifting behind the curtain of clouds until it was no longer distinguishable from any of the other jewels in the starlit sky. Link’s eyes opened, and he sat bolt upright with a gasp. The fire was out, and dawn was peeking over the mountaintops as birdsong serenaded the arriving day. He blinked. He hadn’t meant to sleep that long. It was a miracle he hadn’t been murdered by monsters in the night. Then again, perhaps someone had been protecting him while he slept. Dazedly, Link pressed a hand to his forehead, his fingers still tingling with an otherworldly cold. ~

[iscribble]

pairing | youtuber!renjun x student!reader genre(s) | fluff, slice of life, strangers to potential lovers, college au word count | 1.8k summary | you’re always the type to be punctual, so it takes you by surprise that you’re willing to give up your time for something else - someone else, rather; a stranger.  author’s note | havent written in so long that i just had to put something out there. im really sorry for being so inactive! :( 

An extended but lonely crack slithers down the bathroom mirror, grazing your reflection on the glass that is opaque with moisture. Through the corner of your eye you perceive one-fourth of the aged, spreading tree outside your apartment whenever the old creaking door swings open with the wind. The quiet—but prominent—plop of the water that leaks through the apertures on the pipe hits your ears, and it is only after a while that you find it fills the little space between your toe and the tip of your shoe. The leak doesn’t bother you though. Neither does the crack, nor the random wind gusts. A yellow lip balm bounces in your palm, cap greasy from applying too much on your finger. You would exchange a mere lip balm for a heat pack, but you put it on anyway. The harsh cracks on your lips are now tucked away underneath a tacky layer of cream, and you find it amusing how easily it wears away. 

You are late, for the first time in months. Nothing really bothers you as much as glancing at the clock and seeing its hands where you least expect them to be.

In your defense, it was an afternoon class. You don’t usually have afternoon classes unless your professor needs to reschedule, which, inevitably, resets your agenda for the rest of the day. You, on the other hand, are not used to rescheduling. So when you can’t feel the warm shaft of sunlight skim across your eyelids, instead, only the feeling of cold air brushing past your skin and the faint sound of your alarm, you jolt awake, guilty of sleeping in. You try not blame yourself though—this doesn’t happen everyday and you are still not used to it. 

The station is disposed with a boring facade and a duller interior. The giant vintage clock shows 15:18. The three seater bench still holds too many people.  There is that man with the navy-coloured down jacket behind the counter, uninterested in the regulars who flock to their respective platforms. These are the same sequences, the same faces, like people are helpless boats going with the current. You scrunch up your nose, admitting you are one of them too. 

You make your way inside the train, opting to sit near no one else. It takes a while for you to settle down, but when you do, you catch someone looking at you. Harbor gray coat, brown hair, black mask. You don’t recognise him anywhere on campus. You think maybe he attends one of the afternoon classes, but you don’t assume further. 

15:29.

You leave the train with a spring in your step, but not out of enthusiasm. The familiar crisp white frontage of the building comes into view, your heart skipping a beat as you think of the worst that could happen upon stepping inside the lecture hall. One strap of your tote slides down your shoulder, and just as you are about to pick it up, the other strap goes loose and drags your bag down with it. A couple of coloured pens roll out, you grumble to yourself and crouch down to stop them from rolling any farther. You fail at this, when you turn around to pick up a blue pen and realise that someone else beat you to it. The stranger from the train. 

“Got it,” he chuckles, and you feel embarrassed. He returns your pen, but his eyes don’t stop at your hands. His gaze lowers a short distance, you’re almost sure he’s looking at the brick road beneath you, but you’re not really sure why. When you stand back up he vaguely shakes his head, like he’s been thinking about something else, but you don’t miss it.  

“Thank you,” you say, too fast that it almost sounds insolent. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he returns with a smile behind his mask. “I’m Renjun, by the way.” He extends his hand for you to shake. What’s he doing? Why's he acting like he’s about to proceed with an interview or something?

You learn that he really does want to “interview” you. “I’m a youtuber,” he informs. It is only then that you realise someone else is standing behind him, occupied with a camera. 

“Oh,” you eventually reply, but nothing else. He waits for the typical “that’s cool!” but you are too quiet, Renjun can practically hear someone making a fuss about her peppermint hot chocolate being too hot in the distance. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? It’s for a youtube video.” He speaks up. You say nothing at first. Your fingers that hide underneath the rib-knit cuff curl into a ball. You feel the crack that litters your lower lip flaunt itself, the thick lip balm that conceals it long gone. You seem even more conscious of your worn out shoes that somehow feel damper than they already are. Putting your weight on one leg, you try your best to decline him in the most mannerly way possible. 

“I’m really sorry but I’m actually late to class.”

You can’t see his smile but you know it falters. His glasses droop a little, you see the red marks on the bridge of his nose. “I see.” Is all he says. He looks back at his friend and shrugs. “Thank you, anyways.” Your stomach churns. You don’t want to be the reason he leaves empty handed, yet he is leaving, empty handed and all. Somehow, your concern for punctuality slowly withers away.

“No, wait,” you catch his fingers just before he turns the other way. He winces. Not because of the sudden swell of your voice, but because your hands are a little too cold. You steal a glance at the watch on your wrist. 15:32. Renjun finds your eyes. He doesn’t say it, that your hands are too cold, but he takes them in his own, warming them up. Strangely enough, your whole body heats up at the gesture. 

“Class can wait, whatever. What’d you want to ask me?”

Renjun’s eyes all but light up. He signals for his friend to start filming. “Alright, a few questions about college, I’m going to try and guess your major.”

“Oh, that’s new,” you raise an eyebrow. “Did you come up with the idea?”

“Nah,” Renjun laughs, he brings up a hand to push his hair back. “Just following a trend.”

15:33. You nod. “Alright, go on.”

You notice a few things about Renjun. The way he speaks, like you’ve known each other for a long time. The way his hair isn’t exactly brown, rather russet, a little red. When you look closer into his eyes, you see they match his hair. You wish you could see his lips, see if they’re as cracked as yours, if he puts lip balm on a little too much, but the black mask he wears that almost reaches his eyes tells you it’s too early for that. Perhaps, if he lowers the article just a few inches, you’ll understand that the circles beneath his eyes mean that he’s equally as tired as you. He asks you questions, not rushed, and though you are definitely late to class, you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore.

“Might have an idea,” he looks to the camera tentatively, then back to you. “Chemistry?”

“You’re good,” your compliment reaches his ears. “How’d you guess?”

Renjun punches the air in glee as if he won the lottery. “Honestly, couldn’t get a single clue from what you said. But I saw your Analytical Chemistry book peeking out from your tote when it fell.” 

“Whoops, my bad.” You share a laugh. 

“And as a thank you for the—” he scrutinizes his watch, “—five minutes I just took from your time, this is for you.” A heat pack. You didn’t know how much you needed one until your hands reach for the item almost immediately.

15:38. You squeeze the pad as heat begins to radiate from it. Renjun’s friend lowers the camera as soon as you’re done filming, and it is then that Renjun seems like he has something else on his mind.

“Uhm,” he half-whispers. You look at him, confused. “Your shoes.”

You know what he means. Your shoes leave ambiguous trails of dirt, just slightly. Renjun notices it though. Your shoes are rather soggy, like they were deliberately dipped in water. Traces of soil scatter the outsole, centimetres up and you’ll see a small patch of fabric, sewn on to cover the hole that’s exposing your toes. You tremble slightly, bringing your right foot behind your left in an attempt to hide it from him. No one has ever pointed it out.

“Oh. They’re old, but, they work.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he scoffs lightly. “Let me buy you new ones.”

“No.” You realise that comes out too abruptly. “Please, that’s really unnecessary.”

15:39.

“You’re late to class,” he reasons with you. “At least let me make it up to you.” The obscure rift on your bottom lip bleeds a little. You like to bite it whenever you feel nervous. Renjun reaches for his phone in the pocket of his ivory trousers and hands it to you. 

“We can go over the details through text,” he subtly looks at his friend, wanting to know if the gesture is okay. “If you don’t mind, of course.”

15:40. You give in. Your fingers are stiff—you realise you’re giving your number to a stranger, so you take some time to secretly ponder over the situation, although you hate to admit Renjun feels more like a new friend. He sends you a message once you give him his phone back just to make sure you get his number. 

“Thank you,” you smile at him. “That’s really kind of you.”

15:41.

You hesitate before a hand comes up to wave at him and his friend, though the heat pack is still crushed between your fingers. Renjun pulls his mask down for the first time, and it would be weird to say you were waiting for it. For his smile. You can perceive through the white fabric whenever it shifts that he is smiling underneath there, but now it’s irrefutable, the evidence that he actually is smiling, and you’re glad that’s the last thing you see before the customary sight moulds into view, once again. 

If someone had told you this morning that you’d be willing to sacrifice your punctuality for a stranger, you’d knock some sense into them. But as you stand before the doors to the lecture hall, phone in your grip as you stare at the cerulean waters you fancy as your lock screen, no, rather, the notification that overlays it “let me know when you’re in class, i feel responsible lol”, the unusual feeling that blooms inside your chest reminds you that you could live a little less orderly and a little more self-willed.

15:43.

You’re thirteen minutes late. Though now, nothing really bothers you as much as not being able to concentrate in class because he’s all you can think about. 

[remmushound]

Beyond the Bay chapter 11: Mystery thief!

Summary - Things go missing out of Donatello lab and everyone wonders who’s to blame

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @ilo-artistry

Content warning: Swearing

“We have a problem.” Donatello said bluntly as he came into the living room, right up to Donnie and Leo, “You’re not going home any time soon.”

“What?” Leo’s beak crinkled, more out of confusion than any concern.

With a condescending smile on his face, Donatello pulled the M-shaped artifact from his pocket and slammed it down on the table in front of the two box turtles.  The mystic artifact was gray and cold with no hint of the colorful, almost living veins that had once crossed it.

“It’s dead.” Donatello deadpanned, his voice a viper’s, “Cold, used up, and empty, just like your world will be. Now, pray-tell, why would that be when this liiiiittle artifact should have had enough juice for two trips, here and back?”

Leo and Donnie stared down at the artifact with furred eyeridges, frowns deepening as both naturally reached a hand out to touch the stone-cold metal.

“I don’t understand…” Leo said softly, shaking his head.

“I bet you don’t.” Donatello flashed his teeth, “See, I know my calculations aren’t off, and just to be sure, I double checked it. So that means one of you lovely fellows have made a major oopsie daisy and wasted both trips. We know you had to use one to get here, and I also know the second didn't just up and walk away. So what happened to it?”

There was silence between the Splinterson brothers. Then, “MIKEY!”

Mikey’s head appeared in the doorway. Then, slightly below, popped Leonardo’s, and slightly above popped Raph.

“I didn't do it.” Mikey said immediately, quickly followed by, “What is it that I didn't do?”

Mikey, Raph, and Leonardo all flooded into the room; Leonardo was stretching out his muscles, still dressed in sleep wear, looking as if he hasn’t slept a wink. Raph was coated in a heavy layer of fresh sweat from his waking workout and Mikey seemed just happy to be alive. Leonardo’s smile turned into a curious frown as he poked at the artifact on the table.

“You look well rested…” Donnie commented, looking over Mikey with an unreadable expression; his younger brother seemed completely relaxed, and at first glance could almost be normal. His right arm was still slumped a little lower than the left, tucked to his body as if incredibly tender, but his muscles weren’t so pronounced anymore. Donnie made a mental note to palpate the muscles when he got a chance.

“Yeah, I guess.” Mikey shrugged, “What’s up?”

“You tell us.” Leo stood up, taking the medallion in his hands and showing it to Mikey, “What did you do?”

Mikey stared, his eyes unfocused and lips pressed tightly together. “I’m not following.”

“Donatello here says that you messed with the artifact.”

“Those are not the words I said, no.” Donatello interrupted from the background.

“You said that someone had opened another rift.”

“Yeah, I didn't say it was Mikey though.” Donatello muttered bitterly.

“Well someone did it.” Leo’s confusion had turned to agitation.

“It wasn’t me bro!” Mikey threw his hands up in surrender, trying to hide a wince as he pulled the sore muscles.

When Leo looked next at Raph, the bigger mutant had much the same reaction. “Now don’t you be lookin’ at me, you know I ain’t did it!”

“Well it wasn’t me or Donnie!” Leo declared, motioning to the tallest brother. “So one of you is clearly lying.”

“Dude, what’s the big deal?” Leonardo asked as he leaned ever so casually against the wall, arms crossed and hat lopsided on his head.

“Without that artifact, we can’t go home.” Leo explained slowly as if talking to a young child.

“You’re talking to the turtle who had a mystic odachi! I could just make you a new rift, no big deal, same way we made the old one! With my magic! No reason to get at each other's throats.”

Donatello bullied his way to the front of the group so he was practically nose to nose with the amused Leonardo, who was still smiling. “Where is your odachi, by the way?”

“It’s in Mikey’s room where I left it; you know I can’t sleep without it.”

Donatello moved a little closer so his nose actually touched against Leonardo’s. “Really?”

“Yes.” Leonardo said with all the confidence in the world.

“Then come along everyone!” Donatello started to wave his arms around, forcing all of the turtles out of the room in a single file line, “We’re going on a little field trip! Come on, come on!”

Donatello ushered everyone out, ignoring any resistance they offered. Off they went to Michelangelo’s room, where the blankets that had warmed the Hamato brothers were folded and neatly tucked away in a corner. Mikey whistled at the sight of Mikey’s racecar.

“DUUUDES!” Mikey gasped, “I so need to get me one of those!”

“Nardo, if you would be as so kind to point to us the whereabouts of your odachi, I’m sure we’d all appreciate it.” Donatello bowed to Leonardo and motioned him forward.

“I will.” Leonardo said sharply, walking across the room with a powerful strut and reaching to grab at thin air without looking. When his hand met nothing, it was like a light went out in his eyes. His attention snapped to the space, then scanned across the entire room, and then he dropped on his hands and knees in a desperate scramble. “It— it’s not here!”

“Oh really?” Donatello feigned dramatic shock, “Well, where could it be?”

“Cut it with the sarcasm, Donald. Mikey probably just moved it when he cleaned.” Leonardo tried to reason, but the beads of sweat on his forehead betrayed him.

“Let’s go ask him then, shall we?” Donatello flashed his teeth.

“You know what? We shall!”

They located Michelangelo quickly and asked him about it.

“I didn't touch your odachi.” Michelangelo said, “And I definitely wouldn’t do it without telling you! What do you take me for?”

Leonardo was speechless, unable to do anything but gawk with eyes that were growing wider and more terrified by the moment.

“I’m sure you just misplaced it Leo.” Michelangelo assured with a gentle pat to his brother's shoulder before skipping away, humming happily all the while.


“My odachi…” Leonardo whimpered, slumped and unblinking as he stared out at nothing.

“Ready to admit something’s wrong now?” Donatello asked, the snark leaving his voice to be replaced with nothing but a tired energy.

“How did you know his odachi was missing?” Donnie asked, leaning close to his counterpart.

“Because I checked, genius.” Donatello pinched the bridge of his nose, “The minute I realized something was wrong with the artifact, I checked for Leonardo’s odachi, and when I couldn’t find that, I checked my lab, and someone’s been poking around in it.”

“Oh no.” Donnie sucked in a gasp; Raph hissed through his teeth and shook his head while Leo and Mikey shared an uneasy glance. “Nothing’s broken, is it?”

“No; I’d be busting some shells if it were.” Donatello said, “But our mysterious goldilocks moved my stuff around and decided that any and all mystic rifters were ‘just right’. Anything I could have used to create a controlled black hole to your world? Gone.”

Leo felt cold, breathing becoming more of a pained chore with each passing moment. Donatello’s words seemed to fade away, his ears tuning them out in favor of a powerful, relentless humming.

“So either one of you four have been going through my drawers with your grubby little sewer hands, touching my stuff, or someone snuck in here with their grubby little sewer hands, snuck right past nine expertly trained ninjas, and stole from me. I don’t like either of those options.”

“They took my odachi…” Leonardo said, still not paying attention.

“Does that mean we’re stuck here?” Mikey frowned as he looked to Donnie.


Donnie shook his head and sighed. “Fraid so, Mike…”

Mikey tried not to make his happiness too obvious, but his smile was one thing he couldn’t hide. Donatello was focused on Mikey in particular and, when the turtle seemed excited at the thought of being trapped, the softshell narrowed his eyes.

“Wait, don’t you have cameras or some shit?” Raph asked, his expression concerned and almost soft.

“Yes I do, dear Raphael, and I have already reviewed them. And since all four of you are here, and I know who the thief is, I wanted to give them the chance to fess up and save themself some honor. So?”

Donatello looked out expectantly over all four of the Splinterson brothers. The four of them were shoulder to shoulder with each other, none of them with the confidence to look the snappy softshell in the eye; instead, they sought other things to focus on, be it the ground or the ceiling or something in between. Each of them had their own anxious little tics, some of them shifting their weight while others cleared their throat or rubbed their arm or bit their lips. When they started to realize that the others weren’t saying anything, they looked around at each other, trying to read the expressions of each of their brothers.

Donatello sighed and shook his head. “Great. Just great.” He started to walk away.

“Wait!” Leo raised a hand to call after Donatello, “Aren’t you gonna tell us who it is?” His mind was still focused on Mikey as the main suspect.

“No.” Donatello sighed, “I don’t know who it is. My cameras are all broken. Just thought I’d try to scare the perpetrator into admitting it.”

“Where are you going?” Leo asked when Donatello kept leaving.

“To make a few calls.” Donatello said, turning to face the group while continuing to moonwalk backward, “Gotta find you a way home somehow. If you can’t home-make a portal, store bought is fine!”

“My odachi…” Leonardo was on his knees, “My odachi my odachi my odachi…”

“Dudes, I think he’s broken.” Mikey leaned over to whisper to his brothers.

“Mikey, enough is enough.” Leo said, grabbing Mikey harshly by the shoulders to make the box turtle look at him, “The joke’s over, and it was never funny. What did you do with Donnie’s stuff?”

“Dude, I didn't touch any of it!” Mikey insisted, “I swear!”

“I’m finding it hard to believe you.” Leo said in a low tone. “If I find out you’re lying to me…”

“I’m not!”

“Fine.” Leo crossed his arms as he sat down. “Then we can just sit here and wait until one of your fesses up or until Donatello returns.”

Three groaning complaints came from three younger brothers, but Leo didn't falter in his stance. An hour passed in silence and growing resentment between the family before Donatello returned.

“What news, Donatello?” Leo rised to greet the softshell.

“Fuck off, will you? I’m getting there.”

Leo physically recoiled at the sharp tone, sitting back down to give the other mutant space. Satisfied that he had properly put the box turtle in his shell, Donatello let himself smile.

“Good news. I asked around, made a few calls, and I think I know where we can get a brand new rifter! It might take a bit of tinkering to get it juiced enough to take you home, but should be doable.”

“Great— that’s great news, right Leo?” Donnie said optimistically, appealing to Leo.

“Yeah.” Leo sighed and nodded. “Right. This little setback just gives us a chance to prepare, right guys? Those dinosaurs won’t be able to catch us off guard again.”

“Wonderful. Get up, Leon.” Donatello smacked his brother on the back of the head to call Leonardo’s attention back to the task at hand. “Raphael and Michael are already waiting for us.”

Leonardo shook his head, his brain rattling back into focus. “Wait— If they're coming, whose watching dad?”

“Other-splinter.” Donatello shrugged, “Now grab your spare odachi and the rest of the peanut gallery, we’re going.”

“I don’t think you’re using that slang right.” Leonardo muttered bitterly.

“Wait, now?” Raph asked, leaning forward with owl-like eyes.

“Well I’m not doing it tomorrow.” Donatello scoffed, “Tomorrow's karaoke night! I’m gonna get razzle dazzled!”

Donatello stuck a dramatic pose, dragging his arm across his head as if pulling back hair despite his baldness. Looks were exchanged between the Splinterson’s, frowns and furrowed eyeridges.

“But… the sun's out.” Donnie said slowly, pointing upward, “It’s only four.”

Donatello scoffed and shook his head. “Donald, Donald, Donald. Where we’re going, we don’t need shadows! Now come along, don’t dilly dally!”

At Donatello’s swirling hand motion and beaconing wave, Leonardo followed after his brother. Leo shrugged and followed after the softshell, the rest of his brothers following suit.

“If I didn't know any better, I’d say bossy softy over there was the leader.” Raph muttered to Donnie, who gave an amused snort and nodded.

Leo looked back to order silence among his brothers and witnessed Mikey following at the back of the group. The leader pushed his way through and put a hand to Mikey’s plastron to press him back.

“Michelangelo, you’re staying here.”

“What?” Mikey scoffed, pulling back as if Leo has physically struck him.

“You’re not coming with us.” Leo said, “You’re staying here.”

“But—” Mikey ran forward, trying to push past Leo to join the rest of their brothers; he didn't get far before Leo shoved him back. “Come on man!”

“You’re staying here and that’s an order.” Leo said, this time with more force. His voice softened just for a moment before saying, “Sorry Mikey.”

Mikey made no further attempts to follow as his brothers left him alone.

[soulwillower]

i wanna see you but you’re not mine • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader) 

not a request, just something i wrote, lmk what u guys think 

warnings: swearing, sexual themes but no explicit smut, references to sex, references and mentions of drug use, references and mentions of addiction, vague allusions to cheating but no cheating!, i think thats it! unedited haha

[based off the song undo by the 1975] 

(losers + reader are in college in this.)

1.5k words

♡

the boys' house is bathed in the morning light when bill answers the door shirtless, leaning against the doorframe. birds chirp in the distance when he smiles.

"y/n. hi." he says, and you greet him with the same smile as he lets you in the door. you hand him a coffee, following him with light steps as he leads you to his room.

"did you just wake up?" you ask in amusement as you follow him down the hall, past richie's closed door. their house smells like incense, and you're about seventy percent sure it's mike's.

you watch bill's muscles flex and move as he chuckles, opening the door to his messy-but-neat room and pulling on a hoodie. 

"no. not j-just, i at least had time to brush my teeth." and then he gives you a goofy grin, showing off his pristine teeth. it makes you snort, shaking your head as you shove him.

bill invited you over this morning to study for your upcoming exam together, figuring that his house that he shared with mike and richie would be better than trying to study at a busy coffee shop.

studying with bill has become a bit of a habit that you picked up back in freshman year, when you'd met in your introduction to rhetoric writing class. you'd had a crush on him at first, but when you first met his dorm roommate richie, that crush flew out the window almost immediately.

years later, and you're still studying with bill. and still harboring a rough crush for his trashmouth roommate.

an hour and a half goes by smoothly, most of your work finished by the time you get startled out of your studying by a noise. 

"what was that?" you ask after a noise muffled by bill and richie's shared wall makes you both perk up.

bill shakes his head, "n-nothing. what did you get for m-model a?" he asks, leaning close enough that you smell his cologne. you frown, wondering why he seems so suspicious.  

it happens again, more clear this time.

a moan echoes through the stuffy walls and bill looks almost regretful, gripping his highlighter so hard his knuckles turn white. you blanch a bit, meeting his eye.

"does richie have a girlfriend-" you start, but bill shakes his head, "no." he says quickly, cutting you off. you hum, feeling sick to your stomach. it should comfort you, but it doesn’t. 

a few minutes later, another string of moans echo through the whole house, along with a, "fuck, richie!"

and then it's like that for the next ten minutes straight - the ambiance of bill's shut blinds, the smell of coffee still lovely but the taste bitter in your mouth as high pitched moans reverberate through the shared wall. one look over shows that bill looks like he may cry.

you only stay for maybe five minutes after the moans stop before you get up, "alright, i think i should head out." you rush out, feeling slightly hollow.

bill nods, stretching and then rising with you, hand falling to your shoulder gently. you stop, looking up at him. "he's... g-going through some weird stuff right now, y/n. it'll work out." he insists, voice gentle. your lips twitch downward slightly.

you think you could roll your eyes, but bill is too damn well meaning and sweet for you to take out your misplaced anger on. you pull him into a hug, and he kisses your temple. it's calming, for a second.

you're in the kitchen messing around with mike and bill when richie's door slams, footsteps echoing down the hall towards the front room.

and then a girl appears from the hallway, a small grin on her flushed cheeks and hair tangled, tank strap slipping off her shoulder a bit. richie trails behind her with a lazy smirk and you turn your head so they don't see you from behind mike. 

you watch secretly with curious, self-destructive eyes as he walks her to the door, hands not even leaving his sides as she leans up to whisper something along the lines of you'll call me? into his ear. 

richie barely makes an attempt to say yes, instead humming and looking up at the wall. you almost snort. but then he slaps her ass with a small smirk as she leaves out the door, making her squeal as the door shuts. your stomach drops a bit.

when the door shuts, mike and bill make lame excuses to go back to their rooms and you're stuck by yourself to face richie. fuck.

the air is stale and suffocating as his glowing eyes roam around and then land on you. it's painful the way his expression changes when he sees you.

"long time no see, y/n." richie says with barely a grin, avoiding looking at you as he crosses the kitchen to pour himself a steaming cup from the coffee machine. you feel the tension and wish that you could disappear.

"yeah, we’ve all been so busy." you say, feeling almost awkward now that bill's left back to his room. you rock on the ball of your heels, still feeling a little hurt. it's quiet for a few more moments.

you feel like you’re going to burst, so you say the first thing you think. 

"i could hear you giving her head." you say abruptly, unsure if the bitterness in your voice is justified or not. you think it is. richie hums, lifting a brow at you as he lifts the mug of coffee to his lips.

"and?" he asks after a gulp of the black coffee. the sun bathes the entire house in bright morning light, giving richie a kind of sunny silhouette - a halo of sorts that you don't know if he really deserves.

you huff, resisting the urge to punch richie in the face. "it's ten in the morning." he fixes you with a look, as if you didn't just prove any point. "again, toots, i don't see the issue." he says, but it's without any of his usual teasing grins or winks. 

“i thought you didn’t have sleepovers with your guests.” you say, definitely sounding bitter. richie rolls his eyes. he doesn’t justify you with an answer until he takes a deep breath. 

“i don’t. but sometimes i change my mind, if someone’s special enough. remember when i told you that, too?” he quips back. you swallow. 

you don’t know what to say, recalling that night when he had whispered that into your neck as you were tangled up in his sheets, his shirt hanging off your bare frame and your hand trailing on his bare chest. 

“she wasn’t one of them.” he adds, “she came over a few hours ago.” 

you're still frustrated. 

he's searching through his pockets for something as he tosses a lighter onto the counter. despite this, he's still quite a vision in his t shirt and gray sweats, his lips red like the color of a cough drop and eyelashes long and dark behind his frames. he's still, despite the blank demeanor, the most beautiful person you've ever laid your eyes on.

"fuck." he mutters, his hands coming out of his pockets empty. "bombs have run out. you got any j’s?"

you don't want to tell him about the joint that you’d just given to bill minutes ago, just out of spite. if he's that dependent on the fucking weed, you're not going to help his habit. 

you pretended not to notice the rows of pills lined up and the busted up credit card next to them in the bathroom, for bill and mike’s sake - but you can’t go easy on richie. 

“no.” you say bluntly. 

richie sighs, looking at you sharply with a look that could kill. “why are you acting like a brat all of a sudden?” 

you both know he already knows the answer. you think he just wants to hear you admit it out loud. 

you stare back, biting your lip. fine, you’ll take the fucking bait. 

 “just didn’t realize you seeing someone.” 

richie looks exhausted, his skin pale and eyes dark. he shakes his head. "we tried this. it didn't work." he mutters, veins popping out of his hands as his palms press hard into the counter. you shake your head, "richie, we-"

"-you were the one who told me to fuck other people." he says, making you stop and take a breath. 

he's right, too. 

but only because you were afraid and didn't know if you and richie being together as more than just the few and far between hook ups would cause a rift in the friend group.

"only because i didn't know how much i liked you, rich." you say gently, pleadingly - desperately. you sound just as pathetic as you probably look. you just can’t do this anymore. 

"look, y/n. i didn't even see you when i liked you.”

it hurts when he says that, like a knife is twisting in your gut with a frozen blade. it’s true, and that feels like the worst part. 

“-you knew damn well that i was into you, and you did nothing about it." he says sharply, his warm eyes cutting through you and making your stomach drop.

"you can't just decide it's time for us to be together, just because you’re bored." he shakes his head, cutting himself off. your mouth feels dry. "i don’t have the time." he says with a shake of his head, his hair unruly in the way that drives you mad with yearning. 

“richie, i want to be with you.” you say, pleading with him. he looks more mad than you’ve seen him in a long time. 

"you rejected me, y/n. and i liked you." he says, rubbing a hand over his face. you've never seen him so serious, and it's freaking you out. he shakes his head.

 "i really have to go to work, doll. i'll see you around." he mutters, getting up and leaving out the front door in a gust of air that smells like him and also vaguely another girl’s perfume. 

you know he was lying to get out of talking to you - he wasn’t even wearing shoes, let alone clothes for work. your head falls into your hands, eyes squeezing shut. he doesn't want to see you. 

the thought leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth and an empty heart.

tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @simplesammyx   @brxken-heartsclub @clownsloveyou @moon-shine-baby @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @finnskindofwoman  @kait-tozier @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @cowbellies @deepestofwaters

[todoiidoriya]

*slaps the roof of this drawing* This bad boy can hold so many personal headcanons in it!

Here’s university-aged Jon, on his way to a pride event, picture courtesy of Georgie :) @jonsimsbipride​

(There is lore under the ID because I’m autistic and can’t help myself, but I’ll add a read more because I have So Much to say.)

[ID: A full-body drawing of a younger Jon Sims from The Magnus Archives. Jon is short and chubby, with dark brown skin and black hair that reaches to right above his chin. He has brown eyes, and wears square glasses and blue stud earrings. He is wearing a pink t-shirt, dark blue cuffed jeans, and gray Velcro tennis shoes. He is wearing a necklace with a bi flag on a heart at the end, a bead bracelet with the asexual flag colors on his left wrist, and a black ring on the middle finger of his right hand, which is holding a cane. He is smiling toward the viewer and making a peace sign with his left hand. End ID.]

First of all: Chubby Jon !! Do not fight me on this!! I’m all for canon-era Jon being scrawny (he’s under a lot of stress and I can’t imagine that leads to very good self-care) but 18/19yo Jon, who has been living on Grandma Food his entire life?? He’s chubby!! I will die on this hill!! 

He and Georgie went to get their ears pierced together! He’s still pretty new to it, I imagine the earrings in the drawing are still his piercing studs. I think he tries to get a second one/cartilage piercing at a party or something in his third year, but it gets infected and he ends up having to give it up. Georgie teases him about it when she’s done being concerned. 

This is the longest he’s ever had his hair so far! His grandma is the only person that he’s ever had cut his hair, and he’s too anxious to have anyone else do it, so he just leaves it alone. He ends up growing it a lot longer, though. (He cuts it when he and Georgie eventually break up, and it feels like a fresh start.)

The pink shirt is one of his first experiments with his gender. He’s really nervous about dressing “less masculine” so it’s basically the most subtle thing he could think of. He gets more comfortable as time goes on, and he spends most of his twenties in skirts/dresses, but he’s not quite there yet. (Also!! GTCU has just made me associate Jon with pink now lol)

He doesn’t usually cuff his jeans- it just gives him Bad Autism Feelings- but Georgie made a joke about cuffed-jeans bisexuals and he decided to try it this once. He will un-cuff them before they even get to the event. 

He bought all of his pride gear at Spencer’s (or the equivalent) when he was like sixteen. He never really wore it at the time, because high school was rough and, while his grandmother had no way of recognizing pride flags, he didn’t want to risk it. He brought all of it with him to uni, though. This is the first time he’s had the opportunity to wear it. 

He has to use the cane because of a childhood injury! He was a very adventurous kid, and very understimulated about 99% of the time, so one day he just started climbing on things. It was fun for a long time, but when his grandma finally caught him, she surprised him and he lost his grip. He hurt his hip and leg really badly when he fell. He can walk without it, but it’s uncomfortable and he can’t do it for long periods of time. When he’s young, I imagine him mostly using it when he’s out, and not as often when he’s at home. As he gets older/gets injured via various monsters, he shifts to using it all the time. The accident made a sort of rift between him and his grandmother, though. They both feel really guilty about it, and it could probably be fixed by actually talking about it, but neither of them are too good at that. 

The Velcro shoes !!! I got so excited when I thought of this!! Jon is autistic, and when he was a kid, he had a really hard time learning how to tie his shoes. Like, for whatever reason, it just would not click for him. And when his grandma tied them for him, they would always be too tight, or too loose, and it was just Bad Autism Feelings all around. It got to the point where they were both just absolutely fed up with it- he was crying/having meltdowns every morning before school because of it, and she was so frustrated with all of it, so she just gave in and bought him Velcro, and he’s worn them ever since. 

[dreadfutures]

WIP Wednesday at BTV: @kita-lavellan | @silvanils | @noire-pandora | @ellie-effie | @musetta3 | @jarakrisafis | @nivenor-krosis | @kittynomsdeplume | @inquisitoracorn | @ohhgren | @medlilove | @morganlefaye79 | @hollyand-writes

And @crackinglamb who also tagged me!

I’ve had a really awful week but I’ve been slowly chipping away at this very important conversation between Ixchel and Solas. And I’d actually appreciate thoughts on this. I’ll just listen to whatever anyone has to say. This is long though so I’m going to put it under the cut.

Question: Specifically, I'm trying to navigate this complicated cause/effect and question of autonomy and individuality in their relationship, which happens to hold the weight of the apocalypse over both their heads in different ways. It is important that they both can operate as they wish, without fearing they will misstep and drive the other away

Ixchel definitely is one of the reasons Solas ultimately confronts some of his stubbornness/willful blindness, as his friend and someone he respects--it’s the way she lives her life and the way she hopes and fights and the world she believes in that ultimately makes him see more paths available than his din’an’shiral. It's not that she loves him or he loves her.

And he's aware that because of so many complications and questions about her resurrection, that she constantly feels like it might indeed be her love--and lovability--that’s holding back the apocalypse. And their relationship will never be equal and truly healthy until she stops carrying that burden. Somehow she needs to learn to trust that he has made his decision and will continue to make decisions based off of himself, and not her.

But also at the same time, he loves her, and she loves him, and they do help each other with like, reinforcing each other's hope, and reminding each other what they're fighting for, that the fight is worth it, and when the other one is tired, being able to prop them up and help them keep going as equals. There are the shadows of her own anxieties and depression that aren't entirely based in reality, but there are also these fears that are so deeply founded in reality. idk.

The Excerpt:

Ixchel and Solas finished bathing and washed their clothes—smiling like the foolish da'lenala neither of them had ever had the luxury to be. She was full of wine and laughter, and she knew that there would only be more waiting back in the Hold.

But as they dried off in the warm evening sun and she thought about the celebration of Hakkon's rebirth, her mind strayed to the name the Spirits of the Basin had given her, and what she had done to earn it. The shock and gratitude she had felt upon hearing herself called 'God-Song' had faded some, and now the chill of anxiety returned to the pit of her stomach. She shivered despite the golden light that surrounded them, and she felt Solas's attention shift from the sky down to her again. He did not speak, but she felt the question in his eyes on her bare back. "Vhenan," she began in a low voice, "should I… The Spirits called to Mythal through me. Was it her power that they summoned with that song? Or my own? Or theirs?" His grip around her waist tightened. "Do not be afraid," he said, but of course that solidified the cold tendrils of anxiety into hard, heavy dread in her gut. "The Spirits here are older than many," Solas said haltingly, "but they are still young. They remember only echoes of…'elf songs,' they call them. The echoes by themselves have power, even if the subjects of the songs cannot hear. That is the power of a prayer, spoken where the Veil is thin." He took a deep breath, and after a moment of consideration he sat up beside her. He rested one arm across his knees and began to trace idle patterns across her cursed forearm with the other. "I do not think she heard you." She stared across at his tense jaw, though his eyes remained on the horizon. "We summoned Flemeth at Mythal's altar in the Arbor Wilds, with a song," she whispered. He tilted his head slightly. "Did you not have the Well of Sorrows in your company?" "Ah." She gave a shuddering laugh as something, not quite relief, swept through her. "That's true." Solas responded with a shallow nod, but then, for a moment, his chest seemed filled with words. She waited, but he did not speak them before sighing again. "What is it?" she asked, and bit her lip. Solas slipped his arm around her waist to shift her closer, and then he sought out the Anchor. He spread her palm open, and with deliberate slowness, he dipped the pads of his fingers into the shining tear of magic her skin. It was as though he might slip through her hand and into the Fade that way. A vicious shudder wracked her frame; the penetration itself felt strange and dull, like a cramp, and yet the magic in her hand came to life with a hot flare. She could see the spirals of his orb across her skin, as she often could if she examined her palm closely, but now she could see the green tendrils of green rift magic as they wound their way up her wrist and her forearm. To her horror, it was clear that the Anchor had embedded itself almost halfway up to her elbow. She could feel Solas draw upon it with his concentration, and yet the reaching veins of the Anchor did not retreat. The damage had been done. Her fingers had curled around his instinctively, until the bones in his hand seemed to creak in protest. "I will not let them have you," he said. The finality with which he spoke made her feel as though he were not quite answering her question. Some other conversation had played out in his mind, and he had come to this answer. She did not know exactly whether he spoke of Flemeth and Mythal, or even perhaps the all-consuming power of the Anchor. She stared down at their joined hands, eyes burning, which was likely a sign that she was too exhausted to handle these conversations. When she heard and saw the resolve in him, she should have been able to stifle the part of her that remembered how he spoke to her of the din'an'shiral he must walk alone. She should not have immediately been afraid that the calculation he had done in his head was about his loyalties. It should have been a settled matter, and yet, still, it was not. Ixchel took a deep breath and tried to swallow that part of her. "I am more concerned about what she might do with you, Solas," she said truthfully. "How did I end up with Old God's spent soul within me? How did he come to possess it, when Mythal had taken it? Was he moving to the beat of her drum—knowingly, or not?" She saw the slightest twitch of his ear and knew that she had touched on a raw topic there, too. But this was a better topic, and one that was just as important for her to know the answer to. "If I have enticed you from the path that she wanted you on… Should I not be afraid, to stand against Mythal?" He turned his head abruptly, and she met his piercing gray eyes dead-on. After a moment's consideration, he reached around her to stroke her cheek gently with the backs of his knuckles. And she knew immediately that he had heard, beneath this line of questioning, the doubt that still ate at her. There was no challenge in his gaze, but the look with which he pinned her was not soft, either. "My loyalty is to our People above all else," he said, to make her heart seize in her chest. He continued in a measured voice that was heavy with blood and wine. "In Wycome. In Halamshiral. In Serault, and Minrathous, in Skyhold, and across the Veil… If Mythal indeed remains, she would not keep me from such a duty. For all the fearsome tales of the Witch of the Wilds, I cannot believe the All-Mother, if she truly remains, would undercut that work." She gripped his hand ever tighter. "And you… You are not afraid of Mythal," he said, a bitter note coloring his words. "You are afraid of walking your path alone. You are afraid that you cannot hold the Dread Wolf at bay with the strength of your love. And you cannot. You have not." His breath was hot across her face as he drew closer—not to kiss her, of course not, but rather as though he might impress upon her the full weight of his words with the strength in his silver eyes. "You are the Champion of the People. You have sworn, and I have believed." He squeezed her hand back, to emphasize his point. "For as long as you hold true to your purpose, you are my Champion, 'ma'lath, 'ma'av'in. But as you insisted, you chose yourself first. You gave yourself a name, decided its meaning." He brushed her hair behind her ear and then settled his hand firmly at the back of her neck, fingers tangled in her hair to hold her, ground her. He gave her the smallest shake. "Let me do the same." Ixchel swallowed. "Hope is a choice," she murmured. "Yes," he replied, "it is. So is trust." He kissed her gently then, and she tried to lose herself to it. The hand at the back of her neck slipped back to her ribs, to pull her close against his chest. She could feel his heart beat steadily beneath their skin, a steady, certain rhythm. She sighed into his mouth, and he hummed in response. "Ir abelas," she whispered as she broke away. They rested their foreheads together, eyes closed. "Do not be," he said, more gently than before. He raised their joined hands between them and traced the scar that ran down her chest, over her heart. "For all your stalwart strength, Ixchel, for all that you have reforged yourself from ruin, you cannot be blamed for fearing the one who shattered you. Especially when you have given him the very tools with which to shatter you again." Ixchel lost her breath as his words impacted her physically, and she opened her eyes to see that he had, too. For a moment, they were no longer silver—but rather they burned with the blue light of a god's power. That terrible gaze was focused on something deep within her chest…something that responded, and reflected his power back at him in painful resonance. "If there is one burden you can put down," he said, voice falling to a lilting whisper, "it is that you still carry the responsibility of the death of a world in your heart. Please… You must know it was not your failure." The magic in his eyes faded, and his lashes flicked up as he caught her staring at him. There were creases of grief at the corners of his eyes. "My mistakes will always be my own." The grief in his face might have seemed incongruent with the hard and heavy weight of his words, but she could feel how they hurt him as much as they hurt her. "I have told you that you have changed everything, but it was not your love for me, nor even my love for you, that has changed my course. It is the harm I have done to the world, the harm I know I might yet do, that stays my hand. Ane mala vasreëm." Perhaps it was the tears he saw well up in her eyes, or maybe it was simply his anxious mind trying to cut off any possible way he could hurt her more than he had already, but his own face was suddenly torn with pain and apology. "In saying this, I might seem to take away from your perceived victory—" "No," she said suddenly. "Solas, I do not need to believe it a war between us." She freed her hands from his so she could brush briefly at her eyes. "Thank you. I have only ever cared for your path as a friend... I love you, but--" she could not stem the flow of her tears, and she laughed at herself.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. He obliged and held her tightly; warm, smooth skin pressed against her rough constellation of scars, and she was enveloped in his smell, his warmth, his magic. She knew that she was safe in his embrace. And she knew that he was right. Perhaps she could have thwarted the Dread Wolf's plans, had she not killed herself. But he had chosen his path, chosen to excise his heart and give it to her, and she had been right to think that to carry it—to redeem it, to return it—was a futile task. Solas had never betrayed her. He had never promised anything. Cole was right: Solas was only ever his own. It was Solas who had watched her walk her path. Solas had chosen to follow, open-eyed. And ultimately, it would be Solas who chose to stay. Life is a story written by two hands, after all.

[neurodiverse-myfanwy]

ianto and jack and gwen helping each other cope post exit wounds in the ways they all need

Oh I have so many ideas for this I could write a series (/hj) but I hope this suffices!

Coping

a/n: Presenting the third fic for my 25-follower celebration!  Minor content warning for nightmares.  WC: 906

The sound of yelling from upstairs in the Hub startled Ianto.

No.  Not again.  He sprinted up three flights from the archives to the main Hub, taking the steps two at a time, and followed the sound of the shouting without noticing where he was or where it was actually coming from.

It was Gwen’s voice, he processed through the adrenaline that set his heart to racing and his blood to pounding in his ears, and that was worse, because if Gray was somehow awake like Beth had been or if John was back, Jack could deal with them--he shouldn’t have to, but he could, and Ianto hated himself for thinking it--but Gwen was just as mortal as Tosh and Owen, and he couldn’t lose her.

He found himself in the rest and recreation room, where the couch was--where Gwen was asleep on the couch, yelling nonsensically, and Jack was standing over her, pleading with her to just wake up and breathe and calm down.

Ianto paused, breathing slowly and deeply for a moment and trying to focus past Gwen’s outward reaction to her nightmare.  When he was shaking a little less from the adrenaline crash, he came up to the arm of her couch, behind her head, and stroked her hair gently, carding his hand through it near the roots where she could feel it.  It was soft--a little oily, but then none of them had been doing much outside of the Hub since Gray, so if she wasn’t getting a chance to wash her hair as often as she needed Ianto certainly wasn’t going to judge.

Jack gave Ianto a grateful look, but Gwen still slept, still yelled.  She must be exhausted, Ianto thought, and continued his gentle smoothing down of her hair.

Eventually, Gwen began to calm under his ministrations, and Jack folded himself into the narrow space on the couch behind her where he could barely fit to wrap himself around her and hold her close, providing the comfort he could.  Gwen and Jack were both so tactile, and had only become more so after Gray.

Her yelling calmed to murmuring, to snuffling, and to snoring, until she was peacefully asleep again.  Ianto continued to caress the top of her head anyway, because he wasn’t sure how else to help.  He was still shaking a bit, though, and didn’t want to go back down into the archives alone, especially if Gwen was at risk for further nightmares.

Jack’s face was buried in the crook between Gwen’s neck and shoulder, but he looked up at Ianto.  “You two need to go home,” he said, softly, so as not to wake her (though if her shouting and her nightmare hadn’t, she was probably still fast asleep).

“You know we can’t,” Ianto replied, voice just as low.  “There’s too much--”

“I know.  There’s too much to do around here.”  Jack sighed, and Ianto watched the air of it stir some of Gwen’s stray hairs.  “You can’t keep going like this.”

“Neither can you, Jack,” Ianto reminded him.  Just because he couldn’t stay dead didn’t mean he couldn’t die, and he was not about to succumb to sheer exhaustion on Ianto’s watch.  “Have you talked to Martha?”

Jack’s lips pursed.

It was Ianto’s turn to sigh, though he found that despite his mild discontent, talking with Jack was calming.  The trembling in his hands slowed and stalled as they spoke in low tones.

Eventually, Gwen stirred in Jack’s arms, under Ianto’s hand.

“Good morning, Rhys,” she said blearily.

Jack chuckled, and Ianto flushed.

“Actually, you’re still at the Hub,” Jack told her.

Gwen grumbled.  “Of course it’s you.  Bloody Jack Harkness.”

Jack’s chuckles grew into a full belly laugh.  “Now that you’re awake from your nap, I’m afraid I’m sending you home to get some real sleep.  I don’t want you back here for at least twelve hours.”

Gwen’s eyes flew open at that.  “We can’t leave the Rift unattended for that long--” she began.

“I know,” Jack said, and at least his tone was more solemn.  “The Rift isn’t as important as you and Ianto, and you’re working yourselves to exhaustion.”

“Not as important?” Gwen asked, incredulous.  “If the wrong thing, or god forbid, person, comes through the Rift, it could be a matter of life or death for the entire city!”

“I know and I don’t care,” Jack replied, with just the hint of a defensive growl in his tone.  “You and Ianto are more important than the entire city.  Do you understand me?”

Ianto’s brow furrowed when he looked at Jack.  What a difference, what a remarkable change loss could make even in a person who had lived well over two millennia.

“Go home, Gwen Cooper.  Don’t let it drift.”  Jack kissed her on the cheek and urged her to get up.  “You too, Ianto.”

Ianto leveled a look at Jack as Gwen stood, rolled her shoulders a few times, and went to find her coat.

“You’re the only thing I have to let drift,” Ianto said when she was out of earshot.  “If I’m going home, you’re coming with me.”

Jack’s expression softened.  “We really can’t leave the Rift unattended--”

“We get notifications from Tosh’s Rift monitoring program,” Ianto said, and the timing of the wrench in his gut and Jack’s flinch was impeccable and painful.  Oh, how he missed her.  “We won’t be leaving the Rift unattended.  Come home, Jack.  Sleep.”