#this could be a mostly nothing addition but i really like void dream so i WILL look into it

[hongluboobs]

hey don, nice void dream ego gift you got there

update!! she has fragment of the universe’s too! (little hearts next to the meat lantern lure on her chest)

i also found out the new outis id has bloodbath’s ego gift which is. concerning for several reasons

[s-creations]

The Forgotten - Chapter 6 'In Which A Festival Is Held And A Connection Is Established'

The BeanBean Kingdom has lived peacefully for centuries, due to the wild ocean and towering mountains that surround them. No one being able to get in or out. Which makes it strange when a stranger enters the kingdom, but not in an expected way.

Close to death and with little memories about his previous life, Peasley has to uncover where this 'L' came from. As well as who would want to hurt this confused human.

Fandom: Super Mario & Related Fandoms Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationships: Luigi & Mario (Nintendo), Luigi/Prince Peasley Warnings/Additional Tags: Luigi don't remember who he is, AU to Super Star Saga, There will be mentions of torture, PTSD, Bowser's gonna be intense in this, At least far more than in comparison to the games, Mario's a worried older brother, It's a dangerous game of cat and mouse

Beyond the fact that he was unable to remember much about anything, L felt like life was out to get him. He was really trying to keep his head held high. Dr. Pinto said he was recovering well, with L getting a clean bill of health at the end of each day. L felt safe, comfortable, was well fed and had a place to sleep. 

That, however, didn’t stop things being dangled just out of reach of him. Of letting L just find some small piece of relief from the unknown that haunted him.

First issue was when he tried to sleep. ‘Tried’ being the keyword there. Because L’s dreams were either heavy nightmares or taunts of the possible life he’d had once upon a time. The nightmares were filled with fire and feelings of phantom pains. A deep voice giving words of slow death and tortured filled days. L waking up with his brow damp with sweat, the nightmares diving back into his forgotten mind. 

But his dreams, where it was mostly calm, caused L to wake feeling empty. Offering what he assumed were memories of his past life. Soothing and filled with simple bright places. Starting out as large empty areas, such as fields filled with orange and yellow flowers that held black eyes that swayed in the breeze. To another of a small room filled with comfortable chairs, one red, the other green, resting in a simple living room. 

It becomes further interesting when someone new suddenly appears. 

One dream found himself situated in a large room, far larger than the living room L had seen before. Tall walls painted white with pink accents. Golden ornate furniture filled the massive area. A tea set was displayed before a tall window, nothing seen beyond the glass but a white void. L was standing by said tea set. A large green mug already filled with liquid was resting comfortably in his hands.

“Princess P̳̲͕̹̰̙̏̀e̖ͫa͓̯̗̥̰̻͌̿͋͑̒ͪ̚ͅć̼̟͙̥̘̫ẖ̥̈́̉̉ͬ͡ really went all out huh?”

L jumped to the new voice. Stumbling as he tried to keep the tea in the green mug from his sudden movement. The same voice gave a gentle laugh, L turning away from the window he’d just been facing. Another human materialized from the white nothingness in the room. 

Slightly shorter than L, wearing deep blue overalls with a red, long sleeves shirt underneath it. A red cap with an embroidered ‘M’ resting on swooping brown hair. L squinted as he attempted to get any facial details. But the person’s face was completely blank. However, with the details he could see, something tugged at the back of L’s memories. 

“M-Mario, don’t do that.” L heard his voice, but he didn’t feel his mouth move.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” ‘Mario’ raised his hands, “How’s the tea? P̳̲͕̹̰̙̏̀e̖ͫa͓̯̗̥̰̻͌̿͋͑̒ͪ̚ͅć̼̟͙̥̘̫ẖ̥̈́̉̉ͬ͡ said she got your favorite.”

“It’s good. Pretty sure the other container has coffee.”

“Excellent!” ‘Mario’ rubbed his hands together as he eagerly approached the table. He poured himself a cup, practically burying it with cream and sugar before taking a sip. “Perfect cup.”

“Do you actually have coffee in there?”

“Oh hush, L̙̱̓̅̾ͧͭ̓̕u̦̪̭̱̻̺̣̓̓̐i͖͍͖͊ͥ͛̌̽͆͝g̙̫̦͖͘ȋͯ͂.”

“And I thought I liked sweet things.” L heard himself laugh as the other playfully pushed him. 

“Whatever… So, how are you feeling after our last adventure?”

“I’ll be honest… I’m a little shaken.”

“Why? You did a great job!”

“I felt like I was in your way more than anything.” L felt an arm easily drape over his shoulders. While he couldn’t see ‘Mario’s’ face, he could tell the other was giving an assured smile. 

“You were wonderful, I’m really proud of you…”

L woke with tears staining his cheeks. Peasley more than a little concerned when he visited that morning. 

If the unrestful sleep wasn’t enough, the human was still having difficulty controlling his newly discovered ability. Whatever L had been able to do before was apparently a fluke. Unable to reproduce the same thing as before. More often than not, L would end up shocking himself. Which would also cause any extra energy to be discharged wildly. Peasley did his best to train L. L, however, was more frustrated by the process at the end of each day. 

Having the random thought that maybe the abilities didn’t work because they didn’t recognize him. Which was weird to think that’s possible. But L didn’t know how else to describe it. 

Physical and mental ailment accounted for, emotional was the last on his list to worry about. L knew he held feelings for Peasley. It was something he’d come to terms with a while ago. Also conceding there was never going to be that connection between them. Peasley was a prince. A member of the royal family who was directly in line for the throne. L was some random stranger who had no memories, weird uncontrollable powers, and a large target on his back. 

L tried to turn his feelings into more of admiration. That he was just latching on to a heavy emotion for comfort. Just to have something ‘normal’ to cling to in a sea of uncertainty. If anything, L told himself that he would pine for a while and move on. Because what else could he possibly hope for? That Peasley actually saw him as anyone other than a guest? L was hopefully stupid, not stupid…

Until that afternoon in the gardens. 

L had felt his heart thudding heavily as he had been presented with the garden lunch. One that was unprompted. Meaning Peasley went out of his way to create this specifically for L.

He’s just being a good host. You’re a guest. Stop this.

Then Peasley showed off his ability. Adorning L with a crown of beautiful roses. 

It’s a gift. He’s being nice. Stop doing this!

It was as Peasley was talking about his father that L felt a wave of bravery hit him. A want to make the prince happy, to not see him look so upset. Allowing instincts to take over, L had moved closer. Reaching out to gently take Peasley’s hands in his own and offered a few words of encouragement. The comforting moment turned to something a bit more when their eyes connected. L suddenly realized how close he’d gotten. 

But Peasley didn’t pull away as L assumed he would. 

Instead, the prince’s hands moved to now grip onto L’s gently. A silent plea to not move. L watching as Peasley’s eyes flickered between his eyes and lips. It was almost dangerous for L to hope. Eyes following as Peasley moved closer. Unable to do the same, thinking the illusion would be shattered if he did. Thankfully, Peasley didn’t seem deterred by this. Only giving pause to double check that all was still going to be accepted. 

Only for L to ruin it. 

The powers he barely had control over gave Peasley a nasty shock. L’s elation turned to modification. Instinctually pulling his cap over his eyes while his hands held a death grip on it. All of Peasley’s reassurances fell on deaf ears as his internal voice was loudly berating him. Even after Peasley had calmed him down, L still felt as if whatever bond they’d started to make was completely gone. 

And with no one that L felt comfortable enough to voice his concerns to, it all left him to stew in self-doubt. 

Something Peasley noticed immediately. 

“Alright you alright?”

L’s head shot up from where he’d been staring a hole into his bed sheets. Flushing softly at Peasley’s attention. “Y-Yeah, why?”

“You’ve just been quiet.”

“But, y-you’ve been reading. I didn’t want to interrupt.” 

Peasley blinked before looking at the book in hand. “True, however, you normally give some verbal indication you’ve been listening.”

“I, uh, I have a lot on my mind at the moment.”

“Anything you want to talk about?”

No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!

“I-I mean, I’ve just, you know…” L laughed weakly. Biting his lip when that flawless explanation somehow didn’t comfort Peasley. “My dreams…have been getting to me. I keep seeing that same creature, I keep getting flashes of what happened. I’ve also had a lot of those calm places…and of Mario.”

“You’ve seen him?”

“No, I mean, not really? I can’t see his face and can only hear half of what he says…” L slumped further back into his pillow, “Sorry, it’s not much use.”

“No, you’re doing fine, you’re doing your best. That’s all we can ask for.”

“I just wish it was more.”

Peasley took a small pause, eventually placing the book aside and gently took L’s hands. “How about we get you out of the castle for a while?”

“Like…back to the gardens?”

“More like the town proper,” Peasley gave L’s hands a gentle squeeze before continuing, “There’s a festival coming up. It happens twice a year to kick off our two major farming seasons. I was hoping to take you out? If you’re feeling up for it.”

L’s heart jumped at the ‘take you out’. Trying to quickly stomp down the excitement as his cheeks turned red. “And you’ll…be there?”

“The entire time, by your side, your tour guide and chauffeur.” 

He really shouldn’t read too far into it. Peasley was just trying to feel better. But L couldn’t help but feel thrilled by this ask. Offering a wide smile and nodding. “Yeah, yes, I’d like that.”

Peasley perked up, beaming as well. “Great, fantastic! It’s tomorrow, we’ll head out in the morning. You’ll have a great time, promise!”

“I-I can’t wait.”

Both sat in eager silence, smiling like idiots to each other, only breaking away when Dr. Pinto arrived. Announcing L needed a check up as a nurse also drew closer. Peasley took the opportunity to run with his face a deep shade of blue. 

“Smooth,” Dr. Pinto muttered as the prince passed by. 

“Oh, shut up.” Peasley whispered back, but couldn’t hide his smile. 

The next morning, L woke early. Unable to close his eyes again and had to lie and wait for the sun to enter the room. A nurse eventually arrives to help the human change for the day. L feeling strangely at home in deep blue overalls and a long sleeved green shirt.

Like ‘Mario’s’ outfit…just a different color. 

Peasley arrived soon after L had settled down into his wheelchair. The human flushing darkly seeing the prince dressed in a very casual outfit. Looking more of a farmer than a prince. With a farewell from Queen Bean and Lady Lima, the two departed to explore on their own. 

It was strange to be in the town,as well as nerve wracking, being so close to so many strangers. L tensing slightly when numerous eyes landed on him as the duo drew closer. Only to relax when Peasley placed an arm on L’s shoulder and greeted the citizens. Who all returned with their own smile. 

The first stop was determined by hunger, going by a large stall that had steam and delicious smells wafting from it. The cooks inside greeted Peasley, passing off two slices of fully packed quiches to the duo. Allowing both to eat while they continued on. L was then shown the numerous flora and fauna the kingdom had to offer. From tall flowers that smiled down as L (which kicked some kind of warning in his mind to avoid for some reason) to small, bi-pedal beanish creatures that ran circles around their enclosure they were in. 

Curiosity soon overpowered nerves and L began to ask questions. How did something grow, what was the creature’s name, would that flower count as flora or fauna given the mouth and how it ate? The citizens were more than happy to answer. Seeming thrilled to explain their trade to someone completely new to the scene. The children would even pop in from time to time to explain their role in the management of the farm. Peasley noticed how well L was with children. 

There was never a time where L’s hands were empty. Always filled with either a plate of food or a glass of interestingly colored drinks. Peasley seemed to be acutely aware of when L needed a break from the crowds when the day started to come to an end. Pushing the wheelchair along some of the narrower paths that allowed them a more aerial view over the festival. The sun was beginning to set, but that clearly didn’t indicate a time for the events to stop.

“So,” Peasley started, “thoughts?”

“It’s amazing! There’s so much to see or do here. Your kingdom is amazing.” L commented, missing the flush on Peasley’s cheeks. The wheelchair was soon parked on the grassy hill. L relaxing as a soft breezed past, Peasley sitting himself on the nearby bench. 

As the sun continued to sink, the surrounding area started to fill with other citizens. Parents spread out blankets while children rushed around, couples claiming spots under trees. Venders were soon walking around, carrying large trays of food, drinks, and even a few carried mini sparklers and similar items. L a little nervous when he’d been handed a sparkler, Pleasley holding his and giving thanks to the vendor. The sparklers were lit and L’s concern turned to amazement as the item burned brightly. 

There had been another hit of familiarity, one that was surprisingly comforting given what L was holding. Of someone holding fire in their hands… But the feeling lasted as long as the sparkler did. Both fizzling out to smoke.

As the sun finally disappeared behind the horizon, the hill was filled with numerous citizens with the sky becoming dark. L feeling thankful that Peasley was there. Their clasped hands gave a comforting feeling against the nerves of being in a large crowd. 

Confusion grew as L watched the vendors turn off the lights to their stands. The area becoming increasingly dark. 

“I-Is it over?” L whispered. 

“Not quite,” Peasley replied softly, “One more event to truly close it out.”

L only had a few to ponder what they were waiting for when the sky was suddenly illuminated a brilliant red. The human jumping and clinging to Peasley’s arm as the thunderous ‘BOOM’ accompanied it. Fear turned to fascination as another went off, a vivid blue, followed by a bright green. The sky was soon filled with numerous fireworks, the crowd below giving noises of joy and amazement. 

Even with knowing there was no danger, L still kept a grip on Peasley’s arm. Eventually becoming comfortable enough to lean his head on the prince’s shoulder. 

“This is amazing,” L said, “Thank you so much for-”

L didn’t fight back as a finger was tucked under his chin, tilting his head up. Shocked when soft lips covered his but didn’t pull away. A hand reaching up to cup Peasley’s cheek, with the other gripping onto the prince’s arm. The hand tucked beneath L’s chin moved to the back of his neck while the other was placed on his shoulder. 

They pulled away after a few seconds. L’s eyes wide and shining, taking a deep breath to calm his pounding heart. Peasley’s cheeks were a dark blue. Eyes wide as if surprised he would try something so bold. They weren’t sure who broke the silence, but both were soon laughing softly. Peasley claimed another kiss, which L didn’t argue against, before pressing their foreheads together. 

Their beating hearts drowning out the fireworks.

_____________________________

The knight allowed themselves a moment of pause as they stood before the towering city. It was vastly different from the place he called home. The mountain was replaced with towering walls of white painted bricks that hide the inner kingdom from the rest of the world. From what could be seen peeking out from the wide entrance were tall structures with equipment that the knight had never seen before. 

Taking a deep breath to steady their nerves, the knight approached the entrance. Pulling the attention of two creatures who were stationed outside. One holding blue spots on their domed cap with the other having red instead. Both of whom gripped their spears tighter as the knight drew closer. 

“I come as a traveler from the BeanBean Kingdom,” the knight stated, raising a hand as a sign of peace. The kingdom’s name causes a look of confusion to be shared between the other two. 

“What…business do you have here?” One guard asked. 

“I came with a message for your ruler in relation to current events in our kingdom.”

There was another exchange of worried looks before the guard with the red spots stepped forward. “Please follow me.”

The knight did as asked. Making sure to keep up as his eyes traveled around the surrounding structures. While the BeanBean Kingdom was built around farming, the Mushroom Kingdom was definitely built around technology. There were moving, free floating platforms that moved from level to level and across wide gaps. Pipes that seemed to be the main form of long distance transportation that easily sucked civilians up and away. Having them go who knows where. There were tools and gadgets being used that the knight had never seen or would have thought about creating before. 

The castle was also different from what the knight was used to seeing. Queen Bean’s home was pure white with red trim and accents. Lined with foliage grown wildly by the royal family. This castle was mainly pink with the white adding accents and decorations. With more trimmed topiaries than free growing plants. The large double doors opened to a grand throne room that was filled with numerous, different spot colored citizens. All eyes turned to the newly arrived duo. The knight kept their eyes forward as they approached the throne. 

But was also painfully aware of how the thunderous noise of conversations quickly died down. 

Sitting upon the grand throne was another human, female, with blond hair that fell to her waist. Blue eyes falling to the knight with a look of curiosity, but also carried exhaustion. Deep shadows resting under her eyes. Her posture was tense as the knight approached. Another citizen, one holding brown spots, carrying a cane with a small pair of spectacles resting on their face, stood by the ruler. Looking frazzled, on edge, and super suspicious of the newcomer. 

Standing properly before the throne in a very quiet room, the knight placed their hand over their heart and bowed low. “I am a servant hailing from the BeanBean Kingdom. I arrive with a message from Queen Bean to the current ruler of the Mushroom Kingdom.”

“That would be I,” the human said calmly, “I am Princess Peach. What message do you have for me?”

The knight stood once more, eyes twitching over to the brown spotted citizen, who looked back with bewilderment. They pulled out the rolled parchment from their side bag, opened it, and began to read. 

‘To the Current Ruler of the Mushroom Kingdom. I, the Queen Bean, ruler of the BeanBean Kingdom, have come to ask for your help in regards to recent events that have befallen my kingdom. An unexpected guest has arrived at the doorsteps of my castle, who’s more than lost at  the current moment. Due to their possible origin, I ask  for your help, as our visitor is human, a rare individual that we know not their home for. 

While this would be our first proper interaction, I ask if you may know of this human. If you-

“Does he have a green hat?”

The knight stumbled to a stop hearing the desperate question. Looking up to see that Peach was now standing. Hands clasped before her and eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Looking hopeful, but also close to breaking. The knight was also aware that the silence had turned from heavy worry to tense eagerness. 

“...Yes ma’am.”

“With an ‘L’ on it?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The heavy silence hanging over the room was broken when Peach gave a heavy sob and fell to her knees. The hall erupts with cheers and excited chatter. The knight remained still as they wished and waited for some explanation. They heard Peach frantically say ‘Please, go find Mario.’ to the nearby citizen, standing at better attention as she drew closer. 

“Is he alright?” she asked as she wiped her eyes, “I-Is he okay?”

“...He is recovering well, but he unfortunately doesn’t remember anything about himself. We’ve been calling him ‘L’ as that’s all he really remembers.”

“His name is Luigi… We…we were so worried…” Peach took a deep breath to try and calm herself. Quickly dabbing at her eyes with a small cloth. The knight wanted to offer a break, believing she was attempting to keep her face as neutral as possible for her citizens. However, they fell quiet when the brown-spotted citizen returned. This time followed by another human. 

This one was dressed in deep blue overalls and a long sleeve shirt. An eerily familiar cap was resting on a mess of tangled brown hair. This cap, however, was red with a ‘M’ embroidered over the lip of it. The knight worried that he too looked exhausted. More so that Peach. 

“Peach…what’s going on?” He asked nervously. Tired eyes darting from the knight to Peach. 

The princess in turn gave a watery smile before saying, “Someone found Luigi.”

The other human’s face turned from curiosity to hope. Eyes widening slightly. “R-Really?”

“Really, he’s in the BeanBean Kingdom.”

“W-Where is that?”

“I don’t know, but…” Peach gestured towards the knight. Who stood at better attention when eyes returned to them. 

The human dressed in red stepped closer. “You have him?”

“L… Um, she’s correct. Luigi is currently at the BeanBean Kingdom. Being looked after by our best physician.”

“I’ve never heard of this kingdom.”

“That is because said kingdom had isolated itself away years ago.” The brown-spotted citizen spoke this time. Nodding and tapped his cane on the ground. 

“Do you know of this place, Toadsworth?” Peach asked. 

“Personally, no,” Toadsworth replied, “We have written accounts about said area. Coming from your ancestors from many years ago. So I was aware this place existed, but that was the extent of my knowledge.”

The red dressed human nodded in understanding before tensing as  something seemed to mentally strike him. Turning back to the knight with wide fearful eyes. “Wait, you said physician… I-Is Luigi okay?”

“...He is recovering well. However, when he first recovered, he was… There was a chance that Luigi would not have made it if he wasn’t found when he had been.” The knight jumped back as the human’s hands were suddenly engulfed in fire.

Peach gasped softly, reaching forward to place a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder. “Mario, please, calm yourself. You hear the knight, he’s safe and recovering well. We know where Luigi is. We can go and get him.”

The knight frowned in thought upon hearing the name. Waiting for the hands to be extinguished before asking, “You’re Mario?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s your relation to Luigi?”

“He’s…He’s my twin, my brother. H-Has he talked about me?”

“I’m sorry to report that Luigi has amnesia, a severe case. Due to whatever happened to him. We’ve been calling him ‘L’ as that’s all he could remember for himself. He knows your name, but that’s all.”

“This explains so much… Have you or anyone in your kingdom seen anything else?”

“I’m…not sure what you mean.”

“A big guy with a spiked shell, claws, fangs, can breath fire, yellow eyes? A flying fortress? A blue robed creature with a wand? Anything like that?”

“We’ve had reports of strange looking creatures, no robes or wands. But nothing specific that you’ve just listed.”

Mario looked hopeful. “Then maybe we beat Bowser to the punch.”

“Bowser?”

“I-I’ll explain while we’re traveling back to your kingdom. Peach-” The red dressed human was cut off when a shoulder bag was thrusted into his hands. Already filled with food and some strange looking items with faces on them. 

“Go,” Peach said, “I’ll follow behind with what resources we have. We can’t take the risk in thinking Bowser doesn't know where Luigi is.”

“Right…you’re right.” Without a second thought, Mario slung the back over his shoulder. “Alright, we’ll head out now.”

“And I’ll be right behind.”

With a nod, Mario turned to the knight and they left the castle as quickly as possible. 

Unaware of the Paratrooper flying overhead. Scrambling to get to his radio out to report that the hero was on his way. 

[gamerwoo]

[Tales from the Pack] Soonyoung: Imperfect (Part Three)

Characters: Soonyoung x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, angsty-ish???, lotta talk of jealousy so if you don’t like that maybe don’t read this

Word count: 1,377

Summary: Soonyoung has always been desperate to find his mate, often going out into town at night to fill the void of imprinting that he craves so much. Then suddenly, you (quite literally) appear in front of him. He’d always dreamed and fantasized about what having his mate would be like, but the reality is nothing like he expected.

a/n: things in bold are in english and whenever soonyoung says reader’s name it’s meant to be reader’s surname (these are going to be reoccurring authors notes lmao)

Previous | Next | Imperfect Masterlist

Rain droplets fell from the hair hanging in his eyes down his nose. Despite the weather, Soonyoung stayed crouched in the woods outside Hanbin’s house. He stared up at a window with a light in it that he just knew was your room. He knew you were up there right now and he could hear your voice but he had no idea what you were saying.

He heard footsteps coming closer, but he sensed it was someone he knew.

“Relationship troubles?” Hanbin asked as he crouched beside Soonyoung.

He let out a deep sigh, “You have no idea.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” he offered.

Soonyoung glanced over at the other alpha and contemplated. Would Hanbin judge him? Maybe not. He had to understand what it’s like to be lonely, right? Sure, he had Jimin now but he didn’t at one point.

“I would...sleep around a lot,” Soonyoung finally admitted. He looked away, feeling ashamed even though he knew it wasn’t anything to feel bad about. It wasn’t like he cheated on you. “Joshua tricked me into telling _____ and she got upset. I understand why, but it’s not my fault! I was lonely and I’ve been around for a while. I had no idea if I’d ever find my mate anytime soon! But...she’s still upset and I want to fix it. I just don’t know how because I can’t really explain myself. We can’t understand each other.”

Hanbin took this all in and let out a long breath, nodding slowly, “Yeah, that’s quite the predicament. ...Well, I can tell you that while ______ is quite stubborn like Kyung, she’s a little easier to come around. And I think deep down, she also knows it’s not your fault. She might just need some time to process all of this.”

“How do you know all of this, Hanbin?” he wondered. “You can’t talk to her well either, can you?”

“We both know little bits of each others language, but Rika is our main source of communication. Before her, it was mostly the twins. Before that, we had quite a few of the pack who could speak multiple languages. _____ even had someone else she was close to other than Kyung and Jiung.”

“Really? Who? We never heard much about the rest of your pack other than Minho.”

“His name was Luka. He came over here from Australia, so him and _____ immediately hit it off. She was still shy because she always is, but she seemed comfortable with him. But he went out one night and never came back.”

“They weren’t...together, were they?” Soonyoung asked slowly.

Hanbin chuckled, “So you know the jealousy she feels.”

While Soonyoung pouted and blushed, Hanbin shook his head, “But no, there was nothing like that. Actually, we thought somehow fate was going to make her and Kyung imprint on each other after a while -- we would’ve thought Jiung as well but he already had Chanseong. She’s just always been close with the twins because they were who rescued her from her old life. She had nobody. She lived in the woods as a wolf all alone. Then along came two people just like her and they gained her trust and brought her somewhere where she couldn’t speak to anybody. Obviously, she was scared and overwhelmed. And since she was one of the most recent additions to the pack, she knows the least Korean -- well, now she’s the only one not fluent. But it’s difficult to learn a new language.”

“So she relies on Rika now?”

Hanbin nodded, “They’re...sort of getting closer. _____ fell into a deep depression after what happened with Kyung so she left for a while. She came back and just stayed in her room until today.”

Oh yeah, Hanbin still thought Kyung was dead. Though, they must’ve smelled Kyung’s scent on her, so maybe they knew she wasn’t?

‘If _____ didn’t tell them anything, then it’s not your place either,’ Soonyoung told himself. He decided to not bring it up.

“Well I need to know English by yesterday,” Soonyoung said in a tired voice. “I just want to be able to talk to her. I want her to feel safe and comfortable with me, too. What am I supposed to do?”

“You’ll figure out something that works,” Hanbin promised with a warm smile and a hand on the alpha’s shoulder. “For now, she needs some time to think.”

-

You ignored the knocking. You knew it was Rika and you knew she was going to come in no matter what. 

“So,” she began when she swung your bedroom door open and saw you grumbling to yourself while you finally unpacked from your trip home, “care to explain?”

The only thing Rika had really caught when you’d burst into the house in anger was you tossing an annoyed, “Oh yeah, Kyung’s alive by the way,” over your shoulder before storming up the stairs. Baekhan had seen the memories of what had happened, and while he didn’t understand what the fight between you and Soonyoung was about, he saw Kyung and immediately perked up before asking everyone, ‘Kyung’s alive?’

“Soonyoung told me he fucked other people!” you burst.

Rika’s eyes widened and she blinked a few times in silence before slowly saying, “I’m sorry, _____, can you just...backtrack for a second?”

So then you had to go and explain your day. You spotted Hansol in town, you followed him home, you found Kyung, you imprinted, and then Soonyoung’s confession. It was a long and quickly-babbled story that you weren’t even sure Rika kept up with but she was listening and nodding along nonetheless.

You knew the important thing here to the pack was that Kyung was alive and well and happily mated with Hansol. However, Rika knew that you problem was what happened with Soonyoung, so instead of pressing about details on Kyung, she focused on what you wanted to get off your chest.

“Did he give any other context?” she asked calmly.

“Hansol said it was an accident that he blurted it like that but he said it’s still true,” you told her. “He said it was before he knew me but-- Rika he went out last night.”

“Oh...” her eyes widened again. “So...he did this often?”

“Yes!”

“Huh...” Rika trailed off and looked away, unsure of what to say for advice.

But you continued with a sigh, “I know I shouldn’t be mad. He didn’t even know I existed, and I mean, he’s an alpha; he’s probably been around for a while, right? Maybe he’s lonely... I don’t know! But I just...am! God, I’m so-- So--!”

“Jealous?” Rika offered.

You let out a defeated sigh, slumping a little bit, “Yeah...”

“That’s okay,” she told you, putting a comforting hand on your back -- you almost forgot how small her hands were but it felt like a child trying to comfort you. “You’re a werewolf, _____. Sometimes instinct overrides your brain. Of course you’ll feel jealous that your mate has been sleeping around. I’m sure Soonyoung understands, too. He’d probably be jealous if it were the other way around. Besides, in a weird way, jealousy just means you care.”

“I guess so...” you mumbled.

“It’s okay if you need time. You’ll get over this, I promise,” she told you, trying to look into your eyes. "Everything will be okay. Okay?”

You looked back into her eyes for a moment and you felt some of your anxiety melt away. Rika seemed very sure of what she promised.

“Okay,” you finally nodded once.

“Good,” she grinned before she stood from your bed. “Dinner will be ready soon, by the way -- sorry it’s so late tonight. If you need anything though, just shout. Oh! And if you decide to...go out, just let someone know.”

And then she left your room, closing the door behind her.

Go out? 

Your head turned to the window. You were on the second story so you couldn’t see Soonyoung outside, but you knew he was out there. You just sensed it. And your instincts were telling you to go outside. Go see him. It didn’t matter if you couldn’t talk to him. You could somehow communicate with him, right? Maybe?

...

You shook your head and went back to unpacking.

[aressss1]

Through Fire and Ice Chapter 8

(Technoblade x Reader)

Chapter 8

<Prev Chapter | Next Chapter>

~~~~~~

Techno and Ranboo were hard at work on the mine to the library in the stronghold. It had been two weeks since you had requested Techno to come help you out of your panic. When the two of you talked more on the subject, you were careful with your words. He could tell you weren’t trying to offend him when it came to Phil, but Techno picked up on your fear of Philza almost immediately. He wanted you to be comfortable around Phil, but that was obviously going to need some time.

 Even so, when Phil expressed that he wanted to apologize formally, Techno had shaken his head, saying it wasn’t the right time yet. Techno didn’t need to say anything else for Phil to get it. Though he still had a sad look in his eyes. The both of them had seen wars, and what they do to people. They had seen what can throw those people over the edge, and sometimes it wasn’t the war, but the aftermath when the war was branded into their minds. They wouldn’t push you, not until you were ready.

Ranboo had a satchel attached to his side, and every once in a while, Techno would watch him fiddle with it when the bag had gotten in his way. Raising his eyebrow, Techno said nothing, only kept swinging away with his pickaxe. He listened to Ranboo talk, easily throwing his thoughts in here and there. Ranboo was extremely easy to get along with. For that, Techno was grateful.

 “Let me just check our coords.” Ranboo pulled the flap of the satchel up searching around the bag. The thing that caught Techno’s attention was the rough texture of the black egg sitting inside the satchel.

 “Uhhhh, Ranboo?” Techno set the end of the pickaxe down and let some of his weight rest on the handle. “Why are you carrying the egg around?” Ranboo stopped, he nervously grinned, gauging Techno’s reaction.

 “Well, um… You see…” Ranboo fumbled over his words. “This egg,” he hesitated, “likes to follow me?” The piglin hybrid cocked his head to the side, his golden eyes showing confusion.

 “Alright, I believe it.” Techno used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead away. “You’re always finding out something weird about yourself, so this isn’t really that surprising.” Ranboo’s tail swished behind him, and he visibly relaxed.

 “Wanna see?” Ranboo asked looking eager. “I haven’t been able to show Phil yet, he’s been too busy.”

 Techno nodded, his eyes watching as Ranboo placed the egg down on the ground and went to walk away from the egg. It didn’t take too long before the sound of an enderman teleporting ripped its way through the strip mine, echoing off the walls. There sitting before Ranboo was the egg. Ranboo’s eyes twinkled as he looked back toward Techno. He carefully picked the egg up from the ground, stowing it back into his satchel. The action made Techno chuckle.

 “Ranboo, you remind me of one of those parents who carries their baby in a harness strapped to their chest.” Techno snickered.

 “What can I say, parenthood has snuck up on me.” Ranboo laughed with Techno. It wasn’t too long before they were back at work on the tunnel. They weren’t even halfway to the strong hold. It was going to take a while before they were going to be there. Especially since Phil wanted the library under wraps. They didn’t need anyone trying to sabotage anything.

 Techno let his mind wander back to you, the way you felt in his arms, your scent. Everything about you was alluring to him and he couldn’t understand it. But… He also saw the way you looked at Dream, he heard your giggles to Dreams jokes. He could pretend he didn’t see the light touches the two of you would share. He set his jaw, putting more into his swings of his pickaxe. This had to be some cruel joke on him.

 He rarely liked the company of others, always telling himself to be more social when people were around. Some even snubbed him when he tried. There were a few people that were good to him, he couldn’t deny that. He was fine being alone.

 Techno still lost in his thoughts, kept going, hitting harder and harder with his pickaxe. Ranboo was now looking over at him curiously, the sight making him worry for Techno. He didn’t know how to even approach it. Techno kept mining forward, his breathing becoming labored. He only stopped when his pickaxe had broken, crumbling in his hands. He stood there for just a second heavily breathing, his hands clenched. Why was he so tense?

 “You alright, Tech?” Ranboo leaned in beside Techno. Techno wiped the sweat from his face, his mind flashing to you, your face twisted like the others when they saw him. He hated it. If Dream had his way that’s how it would be. Maybe it was time to put his violent ways to rest? The voices be damned. He didn’t want you to see him as a monster. There was no need to fight anymore, he wanted to settle down.

 --

 Phil grinned at his invention for the ever-growing residential area of The Burrow. His arm was all healed up, after many persuaded him to take a health potion from the doctor. This left him able to do his projects. He had installed multiple elevators so that the people building their houses up high could easily reach ground level. His hands rested on his hips triumphantly as he watched some children playing with the elevators, with their parents watching. Phil tested his invention out one last time, going to the very top of the cavern that was eye level with some of the glowstone hanging down. His elytra hung from his shoulders like a cape.

This was something that he had been wanting to do for a while. He climbed over the railing of the landing that led into people’s homes.

 He allowed himself to look at the ground, his hands grasping the railing. It was a long way down but having flown across a void this was nothing to him. He let himself fall forward, feeling his fingers slip away from the railing, he fell, and he glided through the cavern toward the beacon on the other end. The wind on his face, the excitement in his chest, his emotions were heightened. He let out a triumphant laugh, as the structures around him started whizzing by. People were cheering for him as he zipped past them.

 When he had gotten to the beacon, he let his feet touch down, the adrenaline still pumping. What he wouldn’t give to find a gigantic cave and fly through it. This cavern was only a taste of it. But cavern’s like that were rare. His eyes scanned the area of people busy at work.

 His eyes landed on the newest addition of the cave; a hospital carved into the wall right next to where the old med bay had been just two weeks prior. Wilbur was put in charge of the building plans for this, and it turned out beautiful. It was mostly made of quartz from the nether, and it was nicely accentuated with bricks. The inside was very nice as well, with plenty of room for everyone who needed care. A voice broke him out of his thoughts.

 “Ey Philza! Big man!” Schlatt approached Phil. “How ya been?” The goat hybrid stopped a few feet away from him. He was acting like he hadn’t called Phil out two weeks ago. “I had something I wanted to talk to ya about.” Phil sighed in irritation.

 Before two weeks ago he hadn’t minded Schlatt, now he was just a pain, because people were still treating Phil as a traitor, and those that spewed that hate usually expressed how they wanted Schlatt as the head of The Burrow. Phil would gladly step down, but he never received any official answer from Schlatt. Phil didn’t want the stress, but he was thrust upon this role, he would take the role until someone else wanted to step in. He kind of hoped it would be Schlatt.

 “So,” Schlatt grinned at Phil. “I’ve been noticing people’s morale around here is plummeting and I am here to talk business.” He clapped his hands together. “So… I propose, a sort of… arena.” He stood up straight his arms fall behind his back. “We need some sort of entertainment, so why not let people beat the shit out of other people for the amusement of others.” Phil gave him a dead pan look.

 “An… Arena?” Phil sighed. “I do have my concerns Schlatt,” Phil looked at Schlatt uneasily.

 “Oh, I know you do, Phil. That’s why I’m here to tell you… That there will be rules, to abide by, legal forms and all that.” He waved his hand at the mention of the legalities. “This could really be the start we need for the economy.” Schlatt’s goat eyes peered down at Phil almost expectantly.

 “Economy?” Phil felt his face twist up in confusion. “What are you on about Schlatt?”

 “Well, you see Philza. I’m glad you asked because I have a shiny new currency, just ready to be used.” He fished around his pocket, pulling a gold coin engraved with an s out. “Introducing, the Schlatt coin!” He gave Phil a huge smile. Phil quirked up an eyebrow at him.

 “Sounds like a waste of gold mate.” Phil crossed his arms and shrugged. “Emeralds are a good currency to use.” Phil’s words caused Schlatt’s smile to falter. Phil inwardly sighed, would he really give this man leadership if he asked for it? Maybe… But he was scared that Schlatt would use up resources for meaningless things like the Schlatt coin. “I’ll tell you what Schlatt, you can run your arena. You can allow gambling, you can sell Schlatt coins for gambling purposes, but outside your arena they are worthless.”

 “So, what you’re sayin’ is my Schlatt coins are nothing more than poker chips.” Schlatt gave a grimace pocketing his coin.

 “Take the deal or not. Emeralds have higher value than gold.” Schlatt pondered over his words. “Not to mention it wouldn’t be hard to fake a Schlatt coin. There’s so much gold in the nether.” Schlatt rubbed his chin, pondering.

 “Alright Phil, you do have some good points. This might also allow me to expand into other business ventures.” Schlatt had his smile back on. “Did you know I always wanted to be a landlord?” Phil shook his head. The conversation went on, about Schlatt’s wants in life. This conversation revealed more of Schlatt as a person, than of the businessman. Schlatt was about to turn and walk away when he stopped and faced toward Phil once more. “Ey, tell Technoblade, that if he wants to come fight in The Pit, I would be more than happy to make some money off of him.” With that he chuckled and walked away.

 Phil let out a sigh of relief. What an… Odd conversation. He couldn’t deny the people needed somewhere to let their frustrations out, whether it was actually fighting in the pit or gambling their money away. Having an economy would hopefully serve this place well. Services couldn’t be free forever, and trading when there was already lack of resources was proving hard.

Phil started walking toward the new hospital to check on everything. He had a lot to think about, and hopefully this was a step in the right direction for everyone here.

 --

 You had earned yourself a good gig working for Niki. She gave you a place to sleep, and she fed you well, in order for your services. This was the least you could do for her. You did not want to make someone feel as if you were using them. You wanted to give back. The last two weeks you had healed nicely, due to a health potion Niki had scrounged up for you. You were running deliveries out to people; they were mostly deliveries of rations to everyone around The Burrow. Techno enjoyed walking with you on your deliveries every night.

 For whatever reason Techno was late today, he mentioned something about mining earlier. You shrugged it off when you didn’t see him waiting for you at Niki’s door. Making your way to the small cart that Dream had made for you, you start loading it up with the boxes of food Niki had prepared. You lingered for a second, your eyes scanning the area for Techno. Disappointment set in when you didn’t see your friend, biting the inside of your cheek you sigh. You really enjoyed walking with him.

 “Want some help tonight?” You recognized Dream’s voice; he had approached you while you were checking the wheels on the cart. A smile pulled at your lips at the sight of him.

 “Sure, thanks Dream.” Well at least you had a friend with you during tonight’s delivery run. “I appreciate it!”

 “Heh,” Dream chuckled, “It’s not a problem at all. You shouldn’t be pulling carts by yourself anyway.” His fingers lightly grazed your cheek. “How are you feeling?” His voice soothed your soul.

 “I’m alright,” You subconsciously leaned into his touch, feeling your heart flutter. “It feels good to be doing things again.” You let out a sigh of content. This cave was beautiful in comparison to the unfinished room you currently slept in. Techno was slowly but surely working to add a second story to the bakery, and to finish off what needed to be done in the main bakery. The second story would serve as Niki’s home.

 “I bet,” Dream hummed, “I’m just glad you’re okay.” The two of you talked, as you started your route. People were starting to get used to seeing you, and you pretended not to notice how they would look at Techno when he towered over them. You could smell their fear, you wished they could see the being that Techno was to you. It was a different story when Dream was with you. People greeted you more as well as Dream, people didn’t act scared of Dream like they did with Techno. The thought made you sad.

 You and Dream had just gotten done with the residential part of your route, on your way back to the bakery to collect more food from Niki. Your eyes looked around at everyone’s houses most of them were in the walls of the cave, but some were log cabins adorning the makeshift streets. What caught your attention, was a blank cave wall, ready to be mined out and built in. You stopped and looked at the wall.

 “You want a house of your own?” Dream asked as he peered back at you when you stopped. You bit your lip and nodded. Having your own space would be amazing. “We can do that for you.” Dream slapped a hand on your shoulder, pulling you close, you could feel the heat from his body. “Command me to move the world, and I will do it for you.” You could see his smile behind his mask.

 “Cheesy.” You let out a laugh. He laughed with you, his grip tightening on your shoulder.

 “I know you like it.” He teased, “But seriously, Sapnap and I can help you with your house. I’d say George too… But… I can almost guarantee that he’ll be off sleeping somewhere.”

 “Well at least you know your friend well enough,” You giggled. Dream sighed happily at your laughter. He let go of your shoulder, and you found yourself missing his touch. He returned to his earlier position pulling the cart.

 “We should get back and do the rest of the route.” You could hear the smile in his voice, and you nodded walking by his side. Your chest felt warm having him by your side. You hadn’t felt anything like this in a very long time. You dared to let your hand pull the cart with him, he only chuckled and you felt the weight of his hand on yours the rest of the trip back to Niki’s bakery.

 You still missed Techno, but you had failed to see him when you were immersed in conversation with Dream. Techno saw Dream’s hand on yours and he saw how happy you were talking with him; he couldn’t bring himself to do or say anything. He just stumbled back and gained his composure, his eyes flicked from you to Dream. He couldn’t ignore your smile, the way you laughed. He shook his head and headed back to Phil’s house.

 Maybe you were better off with Dream.

[ericamzdm]

Catradora, My Feelings On

Look, long story short, my personal feelings on Catradora are thus:

I buy Catra’s growth into being a better, non-abusive person, partially because it is quickly two stepped through in the last half-season.

But mostly because she has always been an intensely driven, aware and self-aware character; the block to her being better was never that she didn’t understand what she was doing. It was that she didn’t know that there were other ways, that she didn’t (really) believe that she could chose, that she had committed past the point of return, and that, finally, she believed she had fallen too far, and there was nothing left for her.

Once she knew that none of these were true - that there were other ways, that she could chose them, and that there was a path back, no matter how badly she had failed in the past - and decided to be better, I can trust that she’ll follow through with the same focus and determination that made her so successful at rank-climbing and military campaigning.

At least in this, I can trust that Catra will be okay.

But Adora?

Well. I believe that she does love Catra; that she wants to have a healthy, stable relationship with her. I just find it real hard to believe that - at the end of the series - she’s remotely equipped to do that.

She’s the “heroic” one, sure. But that “heroism” is just a paper shell she’s placed over the howling void where her Sense of Self should be. It’s a tool for dodging self-examination and introspection and all those other “inner” things that would force her to confront the fact that she does not know who she is. And that’s just never fully resolved in the text. Her shell identities are repeatedly smashed, and she is shattered, but then she just keeps building new shells, believing that, because she adds the tiniest possible additional fragment of internality each time, that will be sufficient.

The finale we needed was for her to come to fully know herself - as she has been, as she she is, as she might yet be; all the good and all the bad - someone who can say, with certainty, not “I am She-Ra”, but “I am Adora.”

The finale we got - and I say this with all love for some really great lines and scenes - ultimately just feels like Adora constructing another shell, another fantasy where the painful parts of growth and self-awareness and relationship-building happened somewhere we can’t see them; where she has skipped forward to passively inhabiting a world where everything is (will be) perfect, without putting in the work.

And that’s the Adora we leave at the end of the series. Someone who got her love confession and saved the world and dreamed about a perfect future...And has completely bypassed honestly evaluating herself in all her human messiness, including her beliefs and behaviour regarding Catra. An Adora who has never recognized or acknowledged her complicity and furthering of Catra’s abuse, unpacked her unhealthy coping mechanisms, or accepted that she carried unhealthy behaviours forward throughout the show.

It’s an Adora who inexplicably got better half way through the final season, but in a way that never had her take ownership of her actual issues, and left her backsliding at the drop of a hat.

And for the most part? I can live with that. I sincerely want nothing but good things for these two fictional people, and so I imagine a post-series world with excellent therapists.

One where Catra is able to feel safe in the knowledge that, when things go wrong and she screws up, there’s a path forward paved with acceptance and understanding. That she can be better, and that there are people willing to help her be so.

Where Adora finally, fully recognizes who she is. Where she can acknowledge what she wants without confusing it for the objective good. Where she develops an internal sense of worth, and deals with her own fears of abandonment; where she becomes confident that people will not leave her just because they don’t need her.

Where they both get a chance to become better, happier people, together.

[pollenat]

“Nocturnal silence” | cjs.

➛ ITZY’s Lia. 2012!au.

➛ Word count: 1854.

➛ This short follows the events of “Liquid mirrors”.

The worst part about the overcrowded cabin has to be the snoring woman. The very same one that just a few hours ago complained about the lack of fresh brussels sprouts on a ship - the last ark of humanity after the end of the world. Humankind has gone mostly extinct, and she had the guts to be angry at frozen greens. Looking at her through half-closed lids, you’re itching to throw a pillow at the woman. Nothing can stop her from going on, like an old tractor, choking on its own engine every now and then. The very pillow you’re trying to deafen the noises with, does nothing to your sensitive ears. You’re growing more and more irritated with each passing second.

Others seem to not mind. You look down, at the bunk underneath yours, where a mother with her son are sound asleep. The boy has kicked thin blanket off of his body, as if to prove how much space he can take. His mother is lying on the very edge, somehow calm despite her tragic situation. A man, lying above the snoring woman, has earplugs. Lucky asshole.

Your body thrashes around for an hour or so. At least it feels like it. The duvet is in desperate need of changing, but who cares about laundry during the apocalypse? You’re all sticky from sweat, annoyed by incoming headache and ready to commit a murder, which is just a figure of speech, don’t worry. The fact that nobody else is as affected by the snoring? A perfect way to drive you insane.

At some point you can’t take it anymore - the night feels useless. You miss the rays of sunshine, the sign of life, the reason to stay away from the cabin. Tonight, just like many times before, you jump off of bed, barely avoiding the snoring woman’s husband. He has made himself a sleeping station on the ground. You wonder is he really asleep or just way more patient than you. Either way, you don’t plan on staying around a second longer. As soon as the door closes, you’re welcomed by sweet silence. It’s an odd contrast to the loud snoring. Its lack has you almost creeped out.

The floor is cold under your naked feet. To the point where you can’t touch it for longer than a few seconds. Jumping from one foot to another, you look down the dark hallway. Its only source of light are small windows in the cabins’ doors. Circle-shaped rays fall on walls, like headlights, showing you the way across narrow scene.

Nobody will mind you getting lost in the ship’s hallways, right? You’re just another survivor, struggling to find their place aboard the ark. There are no perspectives. Exploring it seems to be the most compelling thing one could busy themselves with. So you travel down the scene, stepping inside the circles of light and looking inside the cabins as you pass. There’s no other soul up. Everybody is sleeping. It’s sort of weird and you wonder whether it’s just a dream you’re stuck in. How come you’re the only one unable to fall asleep?

Humming some tune you faintly remember makes the night feel more bearable. You’re tired of the crowded spaces, of eyes settling on you, even if they’re just traveling. They’re a tiresome phenomenon that does nothing, but fuel your anxiety. The worst part? Aside from the night, there’s nowhere to escape. All-ocean has made sure of that.

Step by step, you move forward, never putting a foot down for longer than two seconds. You’ve already observed that, but now it reminds you of the past. The tiled floor of your balcony during Winter. Dusting used duvets while cursing at temperature. Welcoming the texture of a carpet with relief. Digging your toes into the fluff. It’s weird to miss carpets in the middle of the night, but you do. Their last reminder is the one snoring woman’s husband uses as his mattress, an object completely out of your reach. What interior designer forgot about additional carpets onboard a luxury ship?

In front of you a door opens. Some silhouettes leave their cabin in hurry. Hushed giggles resonate down the hallway. You can neither make out a sense to their conversation nor put faces to dark shapes. But they do sound familiar. The silhouettes disappear behind a corner in the hallway’s other end.

Heart beating fast, your steps speed up. A thought, string of memories, collection of pictures swims in the back of your head. Common sense is the only thing keeping you from describing them. Number 203 is meaningful, though it’s just a number.

You’re just by the door when it opens again.

“Oh!” Jisoo. Jisoo? Jisoo! “You scared me!” She laughs, eyes morphing into crescent moons. But as soon as her voice raises in volume, Jisoo covers her mouth, worried she will wake up other residents.

“I see there are more night owls around the ship?” You motion at where the two silhouettes, you can now safely identify, disappeared.

The girl looks in the same direction. Her eyes stay there for a longer time, while you watch her profile. Perhaps (you won’t admit it), you should be thanking the snoring woman for a chance to see Jisoo at a different time. Her hair is disheveled, but the little mess is a beautiful one. Eyes glossy, lips dry, t-shirt creased. She’s a painting you enjoy watching. Even when her smile disappears as she returns to facing you.

You grow nervous instantly, because the mood shifts and you slightly prefer the easy-going Jisoo to solemn and serious Jisoo. The easy-going one loves joking, which is much better, as it consists mostly of laughing at yourself and your inability to form proper sentences.

“Uh, yes. I don’t know why Ryujin and Yuna left though. They didn’t tell me. Probably to spy on Yeji.” Pause. “Or something...”

“So, are you going to follow them?” Jisoo seems to consider your question.

Then she steers the conversation to your person.

“I don’t know- Why are you up? Came to spy on Yeji too?”

“As if it has ever bothered me what's Yeji doing at night. I have my own problems, mainly, a snoring roommate.”

Jisoo nods her head in understanding, mouth opened to build on the effect. You’re stuck in nocturnal silence, both scared to break it. Frankly, you don’t even have any idea where to go from here. Maybe you should just return to exploring the ship, but then again, it’s not everyday that you catch Jisoo alone.

“I’ve been walking around, you know, exploring.”

Again, she nods.

“So you’re looking for some place to rest?”

“In a way, yes. Do you happen to know any?” She smiles.

“Actually, I do.”

You’re surprised by her boldness. Jisoo lies down on her bed and you’re watching her with an awkward surprise.

“Don’t make it weird, I’m just sharing a bed with you. Okay, perhaps it does sound weird. But we’re just going to sleep, not- do anything weird? Okay, ignore me. I don’t know what I’m talking about.” To be honest, her joke doesn’t make you feel any better about the situation.

After a defeated sigh, you walk over to the bed, eyes never once meeting hers. Jisoo holds the edge of her duvet. She’s patiently waiting until your stiff posture joins her side. Then she slowly follows your lead.

The first thing you register is the smell - Jisoo’s smell. It’s an overwhelming sensations you’re eager to breathe in after many attempts at small doses. Now that you can experience it in its full form, you can safely say it’s bound to become one of your favorite sensations. It causes you excitement, one that you’re embarrassed to show. Maybe she will call you a creep if you don’t stop yourself from smiling? Suddenly worried, you look for other things to focus on. Like the coldness of her skin against your left hand’s knuckles. Frankly, it’s stuck. The bed is meant for one person and you can’t just sprawl across its surface.

A moment of hesitation passes. Then you turn to lie on your side, facing Jisoo.

At first you’re both stuck in shy silence. Jisoo’s looking down, perhaps thinking over something. But you don’t plan on disturbing her. It’s as if you’ve forgotten your tongue - you can’t even feel it. The darkness is all-consuming and you wish to stay hidden in its embrace, so Jisoo never learns of how hard it is for you to say a word, but also look away.

“So.”

Her eyes, so hesitant to meet yours, finally reach them. She’s surprised to find you staring back.

“How bad is it?”

“Bad?”

“Yeah, how bad is lying next to me on a bed?” Dark eyes pull away to avoid you.

Your brain orders you to be smooth. “It’s not bad.” isn’t the type of smooth you had in mind.

“But not good either? Ah, forget I said anything-” Jisoo laughs nervously through clenched teeth. “I’m just nervous. Because I made you come here with me! That’s why I’m nervous.”

“Jisoo,” The silence returns. “you don’t have to be nervous around me. I know, my magnetic personality and good looks are to die for,” She snickers in disbelief at your words. “but I’d rather you felt comfortable around me. Which doesn’t mean our current bed situation- I mean, I don’t mind it.”

There’s a blunt taste on your tongue. As if you have just finished your entry for a spelling bee and were in dire need of some water. Some actually meaning a lot.

“Do you think your roommates will make fun of us?”

“Definitely.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Silence.

“Um-” She dares a look into your eyes before dropping them again. “Let’s go to bed then, hm?”

You don’t think you’ll be able to fall asleep next to her. At least not with the possibility of seeing her face at the cost of merely opening your eyes. Jisoo seems to have the same idea. Her turning around causes a way too powerful sting somewhere in your abdomen. Before you know it, instead of her soft face structure, you’re looking at void-like black of her hair.

Your left hand sticks to your chest, but what about the right one? Keeping it on your thigh feels tiring. Placing it on Jisoo’s side? Too wonderful and too dangerous. Even if you’re itching to offer yourself, you cannot imagine the amount of courage it would demand from you. Instead, you rest it in the hold of your left hand. That way, perhaps, it will be stopped before any unconscious action takes place.

For a moment, you wonder, would she mind? Still, it’s a question you have no answers for. You also have no idea what will happen in the morning. How will the girls react? What will Jisoo do? How will you feel in the morning and will your left hand let go because of that damn itching...

Perhaps, the snoring woman is weaker than your true enemy - your vivid imagination.

“Goodnight Jisoo.”

“Goodnight.”

➛ pollenat’s list of headcanons

➛ pollenat’s list of shorts

➛ pollenat’s list of scenarios

[buckysforeverprincess]

Your Move Ch. 4

Dark Viking!James Barnes x Reader, Wanda Maximoff, Steven Rogers

Words: 2447

Warnings: Confrontation, murder

A/N: Soooo, something is about to go down, but what? This chapter is a bit longer than the rest but it’s necessary and you’ll see why. Hope you all are enjoying this series so far because trust me, this was so unexpected of me. I’d been fumbling with the Viking fic for a while and didn’t dare put it out there but I have found a new love for writing, so thank you for reading and the encouraging comments. Now I give you what you came for. Enjoy!!

It was quiet. Too quiet if you thought about it and you had many times since your epiphany of your place in this game. A game you are now ready to play and win by any means necessary.

 Grabbing the knife, you decided to get up off the bed and stretch your legs, making your way towards the front door and peaking your head to the outside world. It’s not like you haven’t been outside, you’ve just managed to do so when James wasn’t around and Natalia let you venture out, never leaving her sight. She’ll never be your friend but at least she allowed you to breathe in some fresh air occasionally, proving she wasn’t a cold-hearted wench all the time. A fact you’ll keep in the back of your mind and hope to exploit somewhere down the road.

 Looking out, you see a young woman with long curly brown hair heading down the road and away from the house. She must’ve heard the large door squeak open because she turns around and notices you standing with just your head sticking out. The woman stops and waves to you with a smile and you study her familiar features. Off the top of your head you can’t place why her face is one you should know and you're sure it will bother you until you figure it out, but for now you let it slide and hesitantly wave back, unsure of the friendliness she appears to be showing you as no one has been this nice since you arrived here.

 The brunette then points down, making you scrunch your face and stare at her puzzled. She must sense your confusion because she starts pointing at her feet and then back at you. Her adamant behavior makes you begin to question if there was something wrong with your feet, even though she can see them from where you’re standing, so you finally look down and see a covered basket just outside the door.

 Bending down, you grab the basket and stand up, holding it up for the woman down the road to see. The brunette nods with a smile and then waves at you once again before turning and walking away, back to wherever it was she came.

 Ducking back inside with the basket, you shut the door and walk over to the table, setting it down. You remove the covering and see three loaves of bread, freshly baked and warm and all for you. There’s a smile on your face from the sweet gesture of the brunette, picking up one of the round pieces and hugging it to your chest. Her kindness was something you weren’t used to from the Vikings. Maybe she could be a potential friend, if you could just figure out why her face was one you think you should know.

 Your stomach starts to grumble, and you’ve realized you haven’t eaten today so you take the bread and move over to your bed. Sitting down, you break the loaf in half and tear away a piece, shoving it in your mouth. A loud moan escapes your lips, the brown bread full of flavor and hitting your palate just right. Since coming to this land, you’ve come to enjoy the simple bread and given you were starving, the warm and taste hits the spot.

 It didn’t take long for you to finish the loaf, your belly full and sated. With a contented sigh, you decide to lay down and close your eyes. A nap with a full stomach sounds nice and you had nothing better to do since you were left alone. If you slept now and gained some additional strength, maybe you’d be fully attentive when whoever the final piece of this game showed up, rearing its ugly head. This was a game you weren’t willing to lose so a nap was in order.

 A noise at the door had your eyes open in fright, your hand reaching around the bed, finding and clasping the knife left by the insufferable man who lived here with you. Sitting up, you look towards the door and your gaze locks on a woman you recognize, carrying a tray full of food into the home.

 “Hello, Princess,” she says flatly, moving over to the table and setting the tray down.

 “You must be Wanda.” You look her over, taking in as much as you could, seeing her ragged long skirt and worn out shirt, erring on the side of caution.

 The woman, Wanda, stands staring at you with her hands on her hips and nods. “I am. Do you have a name I should call you?” She asks dryly and void of emotion.

 Chuckling, you shake your head, you pull the knife as close as possible but still out of view. Something in the pit of your stomach told you you’d have to use it sooner than expected. “Let’s skip the formalities. Why are you here?”

 Wanda steps forward and pulls out the chair from the table and sits down, her eyes fixed on you in a hard stare. “To bring you lunch,” she snarls.

 You click your tongue and smirk. “Right… is that really why? I feel like there’s an ulterior motive here. I mean, why wouldn’t you pass up an opportunity to confront the person that stole your man and effectively turned you into James’ little whore?” You goad her with an unapologetic grin.

 She scrunches up her face in anger, her eyes low and glaring daggers into your soul. “He. Is. Mine,” she growls through her teeth, her fists tightening up in a ball.

 “Keep telling yourself that. I’m the one carrying his child, not you. I’m the one occupying his bed at night… the one his entire future is tied to. How does that make you feel?” You continue to taunt her, trying to provoke a reaction from the woman sitting across the room from you.

 Wanda stands and grabs the chair, moving it closer to where you were sitting on the bed and sits down with a thud. “He doesn’t love you,” she sneers.

 You laugh and shake your head. “I don’t want him to love me! That man you’re hung up on, is incapable of love. You’re better off fulfilling your hopes and dreams elsewhere!” You continue to laugh, and Wanda shifts in her chair, the movement makes you stop suddenly, your eyes now locked on the woman in front of you.

 “You know…,” Wanda gets up from the chair again and you see a flash of something metal hidden in the long skirt, “…you think you know but you don’t. He may share his bed and his home with you but once he gets what he wants from you, you’ll be dead. James plans to kill you.”

 You swallow hard and slowly move your fingers to the knife, trying not to call attention to any movement you’re making. “He plans to kill me, huh? Why do you have me thinking that’s no longer the plan?” You’re trying to stall her to give yourself more time, trying to keep her focus on your face and not the hand that’s unsheathing the long, thick knife.

 Wanda steps forward, closing the distance between the two of you and chuckles. “Because plans change, and I grow tired of waiting.”

 Your breath hitches knowing full well what she intends to do, and you can see the madness in her eyes. She is going to take matters into her own hands, changing the narrative and taking your life instead of waiting for James’ plan to play out. Well, not today. You have no intention of dying now and will do what James and Steven want… protecting yourself with the large knife at your side.

 “So, it’s you?”

 She nods and reaches into her skirt, pulling out a knife slightly smaller than the one you’re holding. “Don’t worry… I’ll make sure your face will be mostly recognizable when they put you to rest.” Wanda flashes the blade in your direction with an evil smirk.

 The next thing you see is the crazed woman lunging after you, making you spring from the bed to the floor, grabbing James’ knife in the process, holding it out in front of you. Wanda scowls at you from her position on the bed, having fallen forward when you moved, the knife still tight in her hand.

 “You missed,” you taunt her with a devilish smirk of your own.

 She picks herself up off the bed and brushes off her clothes, taking a quick second to reposition her knife. “I promise, it won’t happen again.”

 “Well, what are you waiting for?”

 The woman scrunches her face and comes for you again. You try to duck out of the way and to the side but not before her blade catches your left arm, cutting deep into your flesh, making you scream from the penetration. Wanda laughs at your pain, thinking herself victorious. “Told you I wouldn’t miss again.”

 You look down at your arm, the pain shooting through it, blood streaming down from the wound. It’ll scar, the blade cutting you deep, but it was exactly what you needed. Something that shows the other woman’s intent if you’re gonna make it out of this situation alive.

 “Ready to die?” Wanda speaks and you look up, her eyes crazed and glasses over and you’re certain this next move is meant to be the last, her victory stab.

 Standing up, you gather yourself and hold the knife out in her direction, standing tall and not backing down. “As you wish. See you on the other side.”

 Wanda steps to you her arm with the knife held high and ready to thrust it down into you as she gets closer. You muster all the strength you can and lift your injured left arm, the pain unbearable but using it to effectively block her momentum and not allowing her contact with you. As quickly as you could, you take your own blade and stab it into her abdomen with a wicked force, the woman gasping loudly and leaning her body onto yours.

 “Bet you didn’t see that coming.” You sneer and shove the knife even deeper into her stomach, twisting the handle and making damn sure to sever some internal organs while you were at it.

 Wanda’s eyes go wide, and blood starts to dribble from her mouth, a sign you’ve done exactly what you set out to do. Once satisfied, you pull the blade from her stomach and push her body to the floor, her arms still holding up her torso. She looks up at you, her eyes now soft and her face ghost white, death creeping up on her swiftly. Wanda opens her mouth and softly whispers, “don’t... trust… anyone…” right before the rest of her body falls flat on the floor, eyes open but no longer breathing. Wanda’s life is forfeit and you will forever have her blood on your hands.

 The door to the home flies open and in rushes Steven and two other men you don’t recognize, running in and startling the hell out of you making you jump and drop the knife on the floor.

 “Princess?” Stevens' voice is soft, and he appears to be concerned as he makes his way over to you, his eyes looking you over.

 You drop to your knees and the tears begin to fall. Shock. It’s the only thing to explain how you feel right now with Wanda’s lifeless body mere inches away from you.

 “Are you hurt?” The blond asks, kneeling to your level, the other men checking Wanda for any sign of life.

 “I… she’s… she wanted me dead.” You wince, a pain shooting through your arm, reminding you of the deep slice the deceased woman inflicted upon you.

 “That’s a nasty gash…,” he reached out to touch your arm, but you pull away, “... we need to get that looked at.”

 “No! Just leave!” You demand, wanting to be alone and process what had just taken place. “And take the body with you!”

 Steven looks back at the body and sighs. “I can’t…,” he turns back to you, “... James…,”

 “I hate you people! Just leave, now!” You yell, your face turning red from anger.

 The blond Viking stands and signals to the men and the three of them do as requested, leaving the house and closing the door behind them, none of them making any move to take Wanda’s body away.

 You’re mentally and physically exhausted, everything hurts, and you’re disgusted with everyone. No one is immune. You’re not sure if you were meant to take the woman’s life but you had and now… now you felt… indifferent.

 Steven has said the knife was for your protection, which you in fact had done, but had he meant that protection would cost another person their life? And not just any life, the life of the woman who was to eventually be James’ wife. What did that mean for you? Was that why her body was still here so he could see what you’d done and punish you accordingly?

 “Dear God…,” you sigh and pull your knees to your chest, closing your eyes and resting your head. You just needed some time to process your thoughts. Everything was a mess and you had a feeling this was only the beginning of a bigger problem.

 You were unsure how long your eyes laid closed, but you opened them and looked up when you heard the door open with a bang. Only this time it wasn’t Steven standing in the doorway but James, the last person in the world you wanted to see.

 The brute walks in and begins assessing the situation, slowly making his way over to Wanda and bends down. He uses his hand and closes her eyes so she’s no longer staring openly into the world. His blue eyes then focus on you and he gets up, coming to you and kneeling in front of you much like Steven had earlier.

 The Vikings nose flares and you’re sure he’s going to take pleasure in hurting you for what you’ve done, so without another thought you raise the knife, his knife, and hold the bloody tip to his throat, thanking the gods the other men had left it where it laid. James scowls but holds himself still, his body at a clear disadvantage and you're more than willing to add another body to the floor.

 You press the blade in further, letting him know your intent and making it clear you would protect yourself if he tried anything right now.

 “Your move… my Prince!”

Viking Tags:

@ellallheart​ @sebastianstansqueen​ @kaithezaftig​

Forever Tags:

@jamesbarnesappreciationclub​ @kruscht​ @palaiasaurus64​ @breezy1415​  @sarahp879​ @supernaturaldean67​ @averyrogers83​ @scarlettsoldier​ @lovely-geek​ @titty-teetee​ @geeksareunique​ @peaceinourtime82​ @leosandbuckysgirl​ @the-goddess-of-mischief​ @mychemicalimagines​ @awkwardfangirl2014​ @collette04​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @onebatch--twobatch​ @miraclesoflove​ @kcd15​  @xxloki81xx​ @death-unbecomes-you​ @thatfanficstuff​ @hotoffthepressfics​ @chuuulip​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @lancetuckershairgel​ @babypink224221​ @mybabe-buckybarnes​ @shield-agent78​ @the-real-kellymonster​​ @caplanreads​​

[kbstories]

Diachronic

dia·chron·ic (adj.) Occurring over time; historical.

Kidd is torn apart and Killer is (almost) too late.

(Or: Kidd loses an arm, wakes up and recovers.)

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experience, Loss of Limbs, Recovery, Heat & Killer For MVP I Do Not Make The Rules

Read Chapter 1 here. Additional content warning for loss of a limb and discussions of limb amputation.

***

“Shit, shit, fuck, shit–”

“Keep going. Boss, you there? Hey.”

“So much blood, fuck.”

“We got you out, Boss. You’re safe. The Punk’s right there.”

“Wire, his arm...”

“Boss. Eyes on me, ‘kay? Killer– He’s fine. Right behind us. Just stay awake.”

“His arm–”

“Shut up, Heat, I saw it, just– Keep going. Put pressure on his neck.”

“Yeah. Okay, yeah. Where the fuck is Doc?”

“I don’t know. Hey, Boss? …Kidd?” 

“There! Doc!”

“Shit, shit. We’re losing him–”

 “What?!”

“Kidd–!!”

   *

Eustass Kidd comes to the taste of death in his mouth.

A blink, slow, perhaps more becoming-aware than waking from dream. Swirling patterns, clean lines: A wooden ceiling, he recognizes, the thought dim and far-away. The half-dark around him strains his eyes.

Kidd blinks. There’s something on his face. It itches, pulls at his skin. Stings, when he tries to move his head, all the way down to the fuzzy numbness where he presumes the rest of his body is. No point in questioning it – Kidd has had enough near-death experiences to know better.

He blinks, and realizes the world is off. Split into two, one half vague reality and the other– not, dark, a void that wasn’t there before. Blinks and blinks again, eyes squinting, attempting to focus where there is nothing.

That’s… not good, is it?

It’s a little like being underwater, this. Like when the ocean surges around him and every limb goes all loose and useless; when all he can do is search for the faint outline of the sun and marvel at the beams of light that reach for him as he sinks.

Kidd’s mind is swimming, that’s the word, and no part of him should ever be doing that. Killer will be mad, Kidd thinks.

For swimming, and for whatever is on his face, and for tasting death.

Killer will be– 

Kidd drifts.

Consciousness comes and goes like waves over shoreline sand, sometimes sliding over rocks unchanging, sometimes grabbing onto something and dragging it along. Kidd loses bits and pieces to that tide, chunks of time that sift through his fingers unchecked. A call of his name, quiet. Then – or perhaps later, much later – a gentle pressure wraps around his hand, and he notices it exists, his hand that is, and the hand in his hand. 

Making sense of things is hard but this is something Kidd knows, will always know. Everything is blurry as hell, colors and lines sliding in and out of place: Kidd finds it all the same, that flash of blue that’s inevitably there in his periphery.

Again, “Kidd?”, hopeful now. Not mad (not yet, that is) and oh, Kidd must be fucked up bad. The urge to laugh bubbles up from a place unknown, which is bad too because it’s perhaps a little deranged and because that’s when he remembers he has a body and it hurts.

Kidd can’t tell if he laughs or not. The next wave rolls in, sloshing up to his waist; the current tears at every fiber of his being and Kidd lets go, knowing strong arms will pull him all the way up to the surface soon enough.

*

“Boss. You awake?”

It occurs to Kidd that he is. Pain is all he knows, for a moment that lingers – an ache that pulses at his core like a second heartbeat, a little to the left.

(Another one of those not-good things, to be awake.)

Kidd can think, this time around, and move, and he reaches for his face because life’s a bitch and fuck the pain, he needs that shit off now. Fire runs up his spine, the telltale sting of fried nerves and bruised skin and–

“Ah shit, don’t–”

Nothing? A breath comes out Kidd’s mouth, an eloquent “Whuh?” that was meant to be a full sentence, and whoever’s with him must understand since the next thing he sees is dark-red ink and faded stitches and deep-seated eyes.

Heat.

“Welcome back”, they say, and: “Stop moving or Doc will skin first me and then you.”

Must be bandages then. Kidd’s limbs are heavy, now that he takes the time to notice, blood honey-thick and sticky in his veins; the remnants of whatever Doc shot him up with to keep him down, and Kidd relents. Listens if only because there’s genuine worry in Heat’s gaze, and because listening to them is usually a sound plan when he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on. Which, actually–

“Wha’ the fuck?”

Heat huffs, “Stay awake this time and I’ll explain”, and when they push Kidd to lie flat again it’s a touch too gentle. Kidd frowns, at that and at the pinch of Heat’s brow that remains despite the clear relief to their tone. It’s on his way down that Kidd spots Killer’s mask, paint chipped and blood smeared across it like lipstick stains, left on Doc’s cluttered desk.

Where’s…?

And suddenly Kidd remembers, sees flashes of a beach and Shanks’ cold stare and the glint of a blade and painpainpain and Killer, back turned to him and staring down an Emperor–

Kidd’s gut drops and he gasps, “Fuck”, snaps into motion so fast he practically jackknifes. The world spins, little dots of color exploding across Kidd’s vision like shrapnel and he pushes through it, grabs for Heat. “Fuck, Killer–”

Grabs for them and overshoots by a mile, and Kidd can’t see shit out of his left eye but he shouldn’t have– His arm should’ve–

“He’s fine! Killer’s fine, Kidd, sit down for fuck’s sake.”

It’s not like Kidd has much of a choice: His legs give out the instant he puts weight on them and without Heat he’d eaten dirt then and there. As it is, Heat catches him and hauls him back on the cot, decidedly less gentle now.

“Boss. Seriously, just… A lot has happened.”

Kidd shoots back immediately, “Where’s Killer?”, voice rasping low, the tone he gives commands with. Heat’s eyes darken.

“Next door. Sleeping, as he should. Had to damn near fistfight him to get him away from you. It’s been a fucking week, Kidd, if you go and fuck up your stitches now I swear I’ll–”

“Okay, shit, fine. I’m sitting.”

“Good. And cut the crap with the Haki, I’m not going anywhere.”

And… okay, it’s rare for Heat to be rough with Kidd like this. They’re no sunshine by any measure of the word, just unfazed by most things life could possibly throw at them and content to let Kidd do the yelling. Here, now, Heat is– Well, stressed. Upset.

Something aches in Kidd’s chest, entirely unrelated to his injuries. “Tell me”, he says, softer and lacking that timbre. “The crew?”

The tension leaves Heat in one long exhale. They sit next to Kidd, in that void that’s really getting on Kidd’s nerves. A beat, and Kidd feels their long fingers start to pry at surgical tape and gauze.

“Shaken but doin’ okay. Worried sick about you, mostly. Punk’s good, too, before you ask. Wire says we’re two days out from land.”

“Ah.”

(It doesn’t make sense to Kidd, to dock that close in an Emperor’s orbit. Wire knows what he’s doing, though, always has. On this ship his sense for pragmatics is better than anyone’s, even Killer’s.)

There’s light in the left half of Kidd’s world, a too-bright glare that has him squinting instantly. Heat rips the rest of it off without much of a warning – Kidd bites down a groan of relief as the source of that pain-in-the-ass itch is finally gone. He blinks, blinks again, waits for his eye to adjust, bit by bit.

“Thanks.”

“Mh. How’s your sight?”

Kidd focuses on Killer’s mask, closes one eye, then the other. The contrast is substantial, the blue-white-red vibrant and sharp, then dim and off-color. “Could be worse.”

Heat snorts. “Yeah, it could. Doc swore up a storm working on your face.”

There’s a bit of an edge to that, a hint of you owe him, Boss that Kidd hears loud and clear. Here’s to hoping the island they’re headed towards knows what coffee is, Kidd muses. Keeps staring ahead, watching things go in and out of focus as his brain tries to compensate for the mismatched input it’s getting.

An uneasy feeling roils in his gut. It has nothing to do with that.

“Kidd, listen…”

Kidd sighs. “Give it to me straight, Heat. I can take it.”

Heat hesitates but not for long. “Your arm”, they say quietly, and yeah, Kidd remembers something about that too. “There was no saving it. We had to take it off.”

There it is.

Kidd… lets himself sit in it, for a while, in the notion that if he were to turn his head he’d find, what, a stump? A clean cut? Perhaps it’s all gone, his body simply stopping where a shoulder used to be. Kidd should have some sort of reaction to that, shouldn’t he?

Something more than a mind full of static and blank eyes refusing to look.

It’s a visceral thing, an instinct, perhaps, to reach out and touch first: clumsy with residue numbness and the pain he’s been resolutely ignoring nipping at the heels of every move he makes. Heat jolts like they want to hold him back, a hand brushing Kidd’s wrist as a physical reminder to be careful but they let him be otherwise.

Lingering as Kidd’s fingers trace his gauze-lined chest up his neck and the bumps of stitches there. Across the slope of his shoulder (still attached, that’s something, right?) and down his bicep until–

Oh.

Kidd looks. His hand fits weirdly against his arm or what’s left of it, to be precise; his fingers overly big and rough-looking against the white of bandages, pink where the wound is bleeding through. Cradling it, Kidd tries to make sense of the fact it just… ends, three quarters of the way to his elbow.

That’s a stump alright.

“…Boss?”

Heat’s never sounded so small, either, and Kidd shakes himself out of the existential crisis waiting to happen. There’s a lifetime ahead of him to freak out about this, which… Fuck.

“Yeah, ‘m here. Just… processing, I guess.”

There’s nothing to be done about the tremor in his voice. When Kidd glances over, Heat’s lips are pressed tight, their gaze liquid with emotion. “Yeah.” A beat of silence. “We, um. We ran out of anesthetics. So we’re– Yeah. Doc meant for you to sleep a few days more.”

Years they’ve sailed together, and Kidd can pick up on the things Heat leaves unspoken. Those little gaps in their speech like faultlines along the bedrock, microscopic tears in solid steel made to withstand a multitude of its own weight.

“It’s okay”, Kidd mumbles and it’s not a lie. It hurts something fierce but not enough to break him, and it’s not like they went against an Emperor expecting to come out of it unscathed. There’s a reason why Kidd aimed for a duel and not an all-out war.

Still: Fuck.

Whatever Kidd thinks to say beyond that reeks of empty platitudes, the don’t-worry-about-its and the I’m-fines that help no one and change jackshit about anything, so he leaves it at that. Drops his hand – singular, the only one he’s got left – and shapes it to a fist to nudge Heat’s shoulder, push them a little to wipe that sad look off their face.

“Be honest. Y’all just got bored without me, huh?”

There’s surprise and then there’s a slow blink, Heat’s expression going utterly deadpan in the span of a second. “Sure. We all hated having some peace and quiet around here.”

Kidd laughs, “Fuck off”, can’t make it not sound as exhausted as he feels but it’s worth a try, anyways. His body aches, his entire left side especially but Kidd stretches his back anyways, grunts as his spine pops in half a dozen places.

“Where’d ya say Killer is?”

Exasperation joins the mix. “You two deserve each other”, Heat grumbles under their breath, points at the door straight ahead. It’s closed, which is good because the mask is here which means Killer’s sleeping without it.

Kidd squints at it. The distance isn’t too far, maybe if he goes along the wall…?

“Stay”, Heat says, serious again. “I promised Doc a check-up. And nope, you’re not getting out of that. ‘s what you get for almost dying on us.”

Kidd’s mouth shuts on its own accord. You owe him, Boss. “…Fine.”

Shoulders slumped, Heat reaches for Killer’s mask. “And… Soldier said to get him when you’re up. So that’s happening in a few.” They lick their thumb and make an effort to wipe away the blood, eyes fond.

“Go easy on him, ‘kay? He did well as captain, no matter what he’ll tell you.”

As if Kidd would ever fault Killer for any of this. The warning makes something curl in his chest, though, the need to see his partner and making sure he’s okay – they’re okay – one he swallows down with difficulty.

“Noted. Thanks. I mean it, Heat.”

They wave it off with a lazy gesture over their shoulder on their way out. A hand on the knob, Heat pauses. “Hey, Kidd?”

“Mh?”

Their voice is soft, “I’m glad you made it”, a brief window into the hell they must’ve gone through while Kidd slept. Then Heat is gone, and Kidd stares at the empty spot they leave behind and finally lets his heart break, just a little.

*

The stitches are out, all wounds freshly wrapped and Kidd himself hopped up on a not-insignificant amount of painkillers by the time Killer shuffles in, yawning into the crook of his elbow. His right one, that is, the entirety of Killer’s left arm bandaged from shoulder to fingertips.

(Chemical burns, Doc had told Kidd with a grim frown. Acid, most likely, and Kidd swore himself that’s not going to be the first thing he’ll ask Killer about after almost dying right in front of him.)

“Wow”, Kidd drawls instead, a little slurred. “Heat wasn’t jokin’, ya do look like shit.”

There was an attempt not to, at least, and the way Killer pauses mid-step and shoots him a dirty look tells Kidd he failed rather spectacularly. He mutters, “Hey to you too”, sounding just as tired as he looks with those shadows under his eyes and long hair tied in a messy knot. Dressed in a shirt he could swim laps in, and Kidd blames it on the drugs that he recognizes it only after a solid ten-second stare.

“Ain’t that mine?”

“Yeah.” Dragging Doc’s desk chair behind him, Killer sets it down and collapses into it without much fanfare. “You’re awake.”

And Kidd really shouldn’t laugh, but the sheer misery Killer’s radiating reminds him of the Curry Udon Incident years ago. It wasn’t very funny back then, it’s near-hilarious now, and there’s a thousand little details that tell Kidd his partner really isn’t in the mood to reminisce. Kidd smiles all the same; Killer’s eyes are slow to track the motion, narrowing under unkempt bangs.

“What?”

Kidd’s smile turns into a grin. “Nothin’.”

Killer stares. “…Exactly how many pills did Doc give you?

“All of ‘em”, Kidd tells him and cackles at Killer’s quiet groan. “You want some? Feels really good.”

A wordless headshake is all Kidd gets for his trouble. Killer leans forward, though, nudging Kidd’s side with the elbow he braces himself on, chin in hand. There’s the beginnings of a beard there, and Kidd didn’t even notice he could grow one these days.

“Hey, Kil”, Kidd says, even though Killer’s attention is already on him. That feels good, too.

“Hmm?”

Kidd reaches for him, using all his focus to keep his hand somewhat steady as he brushes along Killer’s jaw. “I like this. ‘s cute.”

A hint of a smile. Killer takes Kidd’s hand before it drops away again, slender fingers wrapping around Kidd’s rough edges with untold tenderness. “Yeah? What happened to me looking like shit a minute ago?”

Kidd pouts. How is he supposed to keep track of this stuff? Merely keeping his eyes open is a struggle, doesn’t Killer know that?

Another try, then. “I meant like, hmm… Ya didn’t sleep at all, did ya?”

“Mh”, Killer replies, which is his way of saying yes when he knows Kidd won’t like the answer. “There wasn’t exactly time for a nap, between getting our asses outta there and watching the crew and–”

Nothing. Killer’s jaw clenches and he falls silent, gaze dropping to where their hands are intertwined.

“It doesn’t matter. Sorry I wasn’t there when you… Yeah. Sorry.”

Kidd realizes, with some delay, that Killer is an idiot and also that Heat was right. They usually are. “You’re sor–? K. Look at me. Killer.”

Killer looks at Kidd and that heartbreak Kidd was saving up for some indefinite point in time in the future? It’s not giving him a choice in the matter, not anymore. Not when there’s pure anguish in Killer’s eyes, dark and hurting where no one but Kidd can go look for it.

Kidd, who spent a week more dead than alive. Fucking shit.

“This entire thing was my idea.” Kidd squeezes Killer’s hand, pulls him closer with the little energy he can muster. “Mine, not yours, Kil. What the fuck?”

“Kidd”, Killer starts and just, no. Hell no.

“I wanted that duel. I ate shit for it, so what? We knew it’s a possibility. A risk. We can’t conquer the New World if we don’t–”

“You lost an arm, Kidd.” Killer grits his teeth hard enough even Kidd can make it out, hazy as things are. “Almost lost an eye. Almost lost your life. How am I supposed to feel about that? Tell me ‘cause I don’t– I can’t… Fuck.”

A shaky breath is all the warning Kidd gets before Killer pulls away, gets up, the hand that slips out of Kidd’s grasp going to Killer’s face and still unable to hide how his lips pinch downwards, trembling.

For a long moment all Kidd can do is stare and try to catch his mind from complete freefall. This… Not good, definitely not good.

“Killer. C’mon, don’t… Hey.”

Killer inhales, exhales. Wipes at his eyes and looks at Kidd because he can’t help it, can he? He’s always listened to Kidd, no matter if he’s dead-tired or down-and-out or pissed off beyond measure. Kidd can count the times he’s seen Killer cry on one fucking hand, and that includes the times when they were kids and Killer didn’t have a mask to hide behind yet.

Yet Killer… stands there like can’t stand being close to Kidd, not now; Kidd’s heart clenches, threatens to stop functioning altogether.

“Call me an asshole. Do whatever you want just… Don’t leave, okay? Don’t leave. Please.”

There are still tears on Killer’s cheeks but– “’m not”, the words are a wet-sounding sigh more than anything. “You’ll just run after me and fuck up”, a vague gesture to Kidd, “That. All of it. Even more.”

Kidd’s lips tug up, just a bit. “Hell yeah I will.” A pause, uncertain despite himself. “Come back? I won’t say shit, promise.”

Killer sniffs. “Doubt that.” He makes his way to Kidd much like he arrived, exhaustion written all over his shoulders, near-boneless with it. Letting Kidd grab onto the hem of his – technically Kidd’s – shirt and following the tug to the edge of Kidd’s cot.

“Get in.”

“We won’t fit.”

“Get in. C’mon.”

Killer does, his bony knees jabbing Kidd’s one too many times to be a coincidence. The cot creaks dangerously under their combined weight but it holds and, oh, this is nice. Perfect, really. Killer is right there like this, frowning down on Kidd as Kidd grins up to him.

“Hi.”

“Now what?”

“Now you sleep.” Kidd gestures to his outstretched arm with his chin for emphasis, wincing as the motion tugs at his neck. And his face. Ouch. “I’ll keep watch.”

“Kidd. You’re this close to passing out.”

“And? S’are you.”

With how stubborn Killer can get, Kidd marks it down as progress when his partner reviews their current predicament with a critical glance. “Gonna have to turn my back on you”, he mutters, and: “Don’t move. Just stay put.”

Kidd is happy to do exactly that, watching Killer flop on his side and hiss as the movement jolts his arm. This close, Kidd can feel the heat coming off the wound – he promised not to say anything stupid, so he opts to say nothing at all. Just curls himself around Killer as best as he can without touching it, which isn’t much given his own arm is– Yeah.

“Kil?”

Almost nothing.

“…Yeah?”

Kidd rests his forehead against Killer’s neck, breathing him in. “Thanks. For everything.”

And it’s enough, to feel Killer’s quiet hum against his chest. There will be time for everything else, later.

[moonsofmars-writes]

say the word and i'll be running back to find you

Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Entrapta/Hordak (She-Ra) Characters: Entrapta (She-Ra), Hordak (She-Ra) Additional Tags: Hordak is just mentioned, but he is in entrapta's mind, Canon Compliant, set in season 5, entrapta is in SPACE!, (with Bow and Adora but they are just mentioned here), Light Angst, internal monologue mostly, Pining, My First Work in This Fandom, Entrapdak Month, Day 1, space, entrapta is going to find her spacebat and no one will stop her

Summary: Entrapta, Adora and Bow just left Etheria to go save Glimmer. While her companions rest, Entrapta gets the chance to admire the space ... and to think about the person she most wants to find.

Notes: this was written for Entrapdak Month, Day 1. It’s my first work for this fandom, I hope you’ll enjoy it! 

Space is awesome. Entrapta can’t stop watching through the ship's - no, through Darla’s windows, gloved hands pressed against the glass and a big, ecstatic smile curving her lips. She had the chance to observe the sky from Etheria since they have finally gotten out of Despondos, she has imagined dozens, hundreds of times how space could look like from up there, but this - this is even more than what she expected. Wherever she looks, darkness is studded with stars and planets - so many new places to see, so many different elements and civilizations, so many ways to do science. If she could, she would visit every single one of them - oh, the data she would collect, the information she could discover! Perhaps, when everything will be over, when Prime will no longer be a menace, she will travel - no, she will definitely travel, even if she had to build another spaceship herself.

First, though, she thinks breathing a sigh, she has to focus on their mission. The beautiful sight displaying in front of her is another reason why stopping Prime is fundamental - if they don’t, he will wipe everything away. Entrapta imagines the sky being emptied of its celestial bodies, the stars extinguishing one by one, until nothing is left but void. She shivers thinking about how it must look. Probably not much different from the sky she observed from Despondos. Hordak must have felt so alone, so far away from everything he knew, when he crashed on Etheria.

Continue on AO3

Hordak.

Hordak.

In her pocket, the First Ones’ crystal feels suddenly heavier - though that’s scientifically impossible since destiny manipulation is not among its properties. Adora and Bow told her they would have rested, so she can reach for it without worrying that someone will interrupt her and ask questions. She wouldn’t know what to answer anyway. When her hand is finally around it, she holds it tight, until she can feel its sharp edges through her gloves. She has to find him. She will find him. And then … She bits her lips as a lock of her hair starts tapping Darla’s control panel. About what to do then, she is unsure. Despite what Prime is doing to Etheria, maybe Hordak is happy now that he reunited with him. Perhaps he won’t even want to talk to her.

Yet ...

Entrapta saw some of Prime’s other clones. She heard some of them speak and intercepted some of their communications - their technology is fascinating! But they are nothing like Hordak. They think of nothing but Prime, want nothing but to serve Prime, they don’t - they don’t have dreams or hope, not the way he did. They don’t have his same passion - well, if not, maybe, for Prime. Even their ears move differently than his; she used to watch them, back when they worked together on the portal, and soon realised that they moved according to his emotions - and then watching them became important because it helped her to figure out how he felt - she soon realised that she cared about it. Her guess is that his time on Etheria changed him, not completely but enough to make him develop a ... an identity, something that the other Clones don’t seem to have. Not yet.

Her stomach twitches and she holds the crystal with both hands. Was Hordak really welcomed among them? Is he … is he happy, now? She just wants to know. If he is … if he is fine and doesn’t want to see her ... - she swallows, eyes fixed on the letters carved into the crystal, the letters she wrote because she didn't dare to say them out loud - if it’s really like that, then she will leave him alone. It wouldn’t be the first time a - a friend leaves her. But first, she needs to know he is alright. Besides, she needs to tell him that she didn’t betray him.

When Scorpia informed her about what Catra told him to explain her disappearance, part of her found it almost funny. Betray him? To let the princesses into the Fright Zone and leave him and their experiments and the only place where she had finally felt normal? Nonsense! But Hordak didn’t know how much their work meant to her, how much he meant to her. She never told him - well, not out loud. And Catra is good at convincing people, way better than Entrapta will ever be and Scorpia said that Hordak believed her, that he spent days inside his Sanctum doing nothing but waiting, that he forbade the force captains to even speak her name.

("But ... I don't understand," Entrapta said with a small voice, her mask covering her face. "He opened the portal, he got what he always wanted - he should have been happy. Why wasn't he happy?"

Scorpia looked at her with wide eyes. "Entrapta, he thought you betrayed him. He ... err." Her pincers clacked as she tilted her head. "Not everyone wanted to see it, but he was hurting. He really believed you left him for the Princesses and before Catra convinced him, he ... it didn't seem like he cared about much else anymore.")

Entrapta's hair now lays still on the control panel. He was hurt, and perhaps, he still is. Entrapta can accept it if Hordak doesn’t want to be friends with her anymore, she is used to it - or she should be, by now. Yet, she can’t let him keep thinking she did this to him. He doesn’t deserve that, and she knows that his hate would hurt her more than any rejection.

Looking up, she loses herself again in the depth of space, caressing the cold glass with the tips of her fingers. This is why she is going to find Hordak. It doesn’t matter if she has to search the whole universe, to check every single clone. Most likely, he doesn’t feel for her what she feels for him, and maybe he really just used her to build the portal, but … he never abandoned her, not on purpose. Back on Beast Island, during the last weeks she spent there, when she had given up hope that anyone would have come for her, she thought he had left her like everyone else. Now, she knows that it’s not true. There is no way to know what he would have done if he had known she was there, but Entrapta wants to believe that things would have been different - that he would have come for her, because they were lab partners, because they were friends.

And she will never, never leave her friend behind.

[amlovelies]

Or

Written for @wayhavenmonthly​‘s Fall For Unit Bravo

Day 14: Unit

No warnings

words:1343

This would be the first chapter if I even did a long-fic version of my Wayhaven AU (which I don’t have a title for because titles are the worst lol) featuring Mason and Serena Willis. I’ll include links for the other pieces I’ve written from it. 

liability

what desire will make foolish people do

finders-keepers

read on ao3

               I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been at the facility. I think it’s been a few weeks, but without seeing the sun or any real structure to my day it’s hard to tell. It’s not like things stop moving down here; half the agents are nocturnal after all. There always seems to be people moving through the hallways, gathering in the training room, and meeting in the dining hall.

               They say I’m not a prisoner, but I don’t trust that enough to try and leave. Besides, it’s not like I have anywhere to go. I might as well just be their little lab rat. At least, the testing has slowed down. Maybe they think they’ve figured me out, or found a way to make use of me.

               I’m sure that’s why Agent Greene wants to meet with me. To be honest, I’m not sure what I want them to do with me. I’m stuck here. Portals are one way, and until I showed up, they only came from the Echo World.

               The Echo World, because one parallel world wasn’t enough for me to handle. The Agency scientists think there might be an infinite number of them, just one more reason it’s impossible for me to go home. Portals are one way, we would have no way of knowing if it led to the right place, or if I’d just be hopping through space trying to get back.

               When I reach the door where Agent Greene is waiting, I hesitate to knock. There’s something about her that makes me nervous. More nervous than the Unit of vampires she supervises. She’s a consummate professional, that’s clear from her the top of her perfectly coiffed head to her expensive heels. She hasn’t been cruel or anything, but she also hasn’t gone out of her way to be kind either.

               I knock and she calls me inside.

               The room is sterile, like so many parts of the facility. A table with a couple of chairs sits in the middle of the white walls and concrete floor. It reminds me of the interrogations rooms I used to see on cop shows. Yeah, that helps with the nerves.

               “Ms. Willis, please do have a seat.”

               She gives me a moment to get settled.

               “I understand you’ve been very cooperative with the test the Agency has requested. Thank you.” She says.

               I roll my eyes, “I figured you’d do the tests whether I said yes or not. I might as well cooperate.”

               She frowns, “you do have a choice in these things. While it is important for us to understand how you got here and the future implications of additional portals, we would never force you.”

               “So you say.”

                “Choice is why I wanted to speak with you today.” She says switching topics. “I’m sure you’re bored staying here at the facility, have you considered what you would like to do next.”

               “Besides go home?” I know I sound like a bratty teen, but really, what does she expect me to say?                

               “Part of what the Agency does is take care of and provide for supernaturals stuck in this world.” She says her tone soft. “You may not belong to any supernatural species we know of, but with the differences in physiology, and the fact that you are trapped here against your will places you in our purview.”

               “Meaning what exactly?”

               “We can get you a job, an apartment, maybe set you up to go to school. The agency can help you start a new life here.”

               “Why do I feel like there is a but coming?” I ask. There has to be a catch. There’s always a catch.

               She gives me a look which I can only call appraising, and she flashes a small smile, “There isn’t. There’s an or.”

               I jerk back a little surprised, and honestly, intrigues. If someone had offered me a fresh start like that back home, I would have leapt at the opportunity. A chance to start again without all the baggage of my earlier life? Financial assistance? It would be like a dream come true, but it feels hollow here. It just feels lonely.

               “Or?”

               “Or you could join Unit Bravo on a trial basis. Think of it like an internship.”

               “Why?”

               “The unit will be stationed permanently in Wayhaven. Based on our experience with portals we have reason to believe the one you fell through will only become more active.”

               I nod in understanding, “and you want me there to greet any other poor sod who gets sucked through.”

               “Yes. I also understand you have been spending a good amount of time in the training room and working with the junior agents. Commanding Agent Du Mortain believes you could maybe turn into a decent agent someday. With training, of course.”

               I have enjoyed the sparring. I was mostly just a punching bag for some of the junior agents I’d gotten to know, but it was fascinating to see how different my body was in this world. If the agency scientist had figured out exactly what cause the changes, they haven’t shared it with me. Whatever the reason, I was now faster and stronger. My body even had some accelerated healing ability. Nothing to compare with the vampires of Unit Bravo, but still an interesting development. I read enough comic books back home which makes me think there might be some sort of radiation or something in the void between worlds, but who the fuck actually knows.

               “What’s in it for me?” I ask her curious to see her answer.

               She nods unsurprised by the question. I wonder if she prepared for this meeting. Was I acting as she predicated?

               “You’d be working with people you’ve already met. I understand you visited Detective Greene during her recovery and she is quite fond of you. You’ve also spent some time with Agent Sewell and Hauville here at the facility. I imagine having some somewhat familiar faces around would ease the transition to your new life here.”

               “You would also have access to the Agency’s resources,” she continues. “Room and board would be provided as well as a competitive salary. If it doesn’t work out, then the original offer still stands.”

               I don’t take long to answer, “I’ll do it.” It’s the thought of the loneliness that seals the deal. I may barely know Unit Bravo, but at least I know them. Nate was the first person I met in this new world, and Farah could understand what I’m going through. I may not be proud of it, but I’m prepared to cling to them for as long as possible rather than face the specter of a strange new world.

               “Excellent. They are waiting in a room nearby in the event that you said yes. Let’s join them now so we can begin to go over the specifics of your assignment to Wayhaven.” She rises from the table and I hurry to follow.

               It’s a short walk to where the rest of the Unit waits. It all feels a little surreal. This has to be the strangest job interview I’ve even been in. A giggle escapes me and Agent Greene glances over at me, probably regretting this arrangement all ready.

               This room is a lot nicer and welcoming that the harsh cell we were just in. I guess not that I’m on the payroll the treatment changes. I have to wonder exactly what sort of apartment I would have ended up with if I’d taken them up on the original offer. Not that it could be worse than places I lived in back home. God there was that one place with the iron mark burned into the carpet, or the one where I had to light the pilot light whenever I wanted a hot shower.

               As soon as we’re through the door I hear Farah’s voice, “See Natey, I told you she would say yes!”

               “I’m happy to see you were right.” Nate responds before turning to greet me. “Welcome to Unit Bravo, Serena.”

tagging: @morgans-ass-freckles, @agentnatesewell, @lilyoffandoms and @bellarxse (if you’d like to be tagged/not tagged/only tagged for certain pairings please let me know 💜)

[theastrophilearchitect]

I started writing a book.

And I’m mad about it, because I just started this post, brought up a new tab and lost it because I didn’t save my draft.

Anyway. That’s a thing I did. Wow.

As of this moment, this post won’t be going up until April 19th, but I’m starting writing this at 10.30pm on Sunday, February 21st, 2021. I’ve done a lot in the last couple weeks, and I want to have some record of all I’ve accomplished without just letting most of it fade over the next two months.

I’ve always wanted to be an author. From when I was reading under my covers with a torch past bedtime, through the years I wanted to be an artist, through the years I wanted to be a lawyer. It’s always been there - no matter what primary career path I went down, I wanted to be an author. The last few years, I’ve been invested in becoming a biologist, and that dream really took a backseat.

In the start of this lockdown, my mental health went downhill, and some advice my therapist gave me was just to prioritise myself. It sounds simple enough, but, even in my free time, I’d been focusing on schoolwork - revising constantly for exams I’m still not sure are actually happening. (Boris Johnson is apparently making an announcement tomorrow about beginning to ease lockdown, but we’ll see) So, on Saturday, February 6th, I started an attempt to coalesce the ideas I had floating in my head into something tangible.

I’ve tried to write books countless times (not technically countless - I have all the documents on my laptop, so I could if I wanted to), but mostly, I’ve never gotten further than a couple bare plot points and some characters, maybe some ideas for subplots, before I’ve stagnated and given up.

Three times, I’ve finished a skeletal outline. Twice, I’ve started to go back over those outlines only to realise they made no sense or just seemed week, and simply not cared enough to fix it. Until now, I guess.

February 6th, 7th, and fast-forward to my week off beginning the 15th, up until the 19th, I kept developing this concept I’d managed to form, but I was struggling to establish a coherent plot. I had up until and including a midpoint (which was later condensed into just a first act), but everything after that was just a void. I began searching for some skeletal structure I could apply to it, both to work on pacing and fill in the blanks. I tried several, and got a little further, but was about to give up hope.

Then I remembered a video by Katytastic I’d watched years ago about the 3-act, 9-block, 27-chapter structure she used, and couldn’t see the harm in giving it a go. And something clicked.

You can find the video here - the structure’s detailed and easy to follow, plus she even gives an example of using it to generate a plot.

I started binge-watching her writing vlogs in the background, and even started using her same writing program, Scrivener, which just made every a thousand times easier by taking away the need to juggle a billion Word documents. It’s fairly pricey, but I’m currently using the 30-day free trial - it’s 30 days of use, not of ownership, too: if you use it every day, it lasts 30 days, but if you use it once a week, it lasts 30 weeks.

Where Kat used the 27 parts the structure broke down into as chapters, I chose to refer to them as beats, and separate chapters later.

On Saturday the 20th, I finished defining my scenes and started writing an actual draft. I wrote two scenes, putting me at a collective word count (not including notes, synopses, etc.) of 2,580 words.

This morning, Sunday the 21st, I started over. I hated my opening. I’m not going to go through the mess of today’s process, but I currently have around 80 one-line-outline scenes, split into 3 acts. I wrote a draft of my prologue and detailed-outlined (which I’m mentally referring to as zero-outlining because it’s similar to how Katytastic does what she calls a zero draft, but is very much outlining, not a draft) two and a half other chapters. Scriver also tells me how many words I wrote in total, across notes, character profiles, location lists, a document I’ve named ‘Train of Thought’ for my ramblings as I go etc.

Today, I wrote a grand total of 4,141 words, which, rather counterintuitively, puts me at a draft total of 2,598. That makes sense. Anyway.

There are a lot of unknowns in the world right now, and I have no idea how much time I’ll have in the next six months to invest in this project, but I’d like, at bare minimum, to have one complete draft by the start of the next school year in September, which gives me just over 6 months. Which is probably too much time to actually motivate myself, but that’s not the point.

A manuscript needs to have a minimum word count of 50K words to be considered a novel, so, even though my ultimate goal for this project is around 80K words, 50K is going to be my goal for this draft.

I’m being optimistic about sticking with this.

Tuesday 23/02/2021 - Word Count: 3,099 I wrote nothing yesterday; planning to focus writing solely on days off rather than work days, but last night, watching through the incredibly long queue of Alexa Donne writing videos, I came to the conclusion writing every day, even just a little, would be the best way to ensure I keep working on this, so I set myself a goal of just 500 words a day.

Wednesday 24/02/2021 - Word Count: 5,350 After doing a little bit of maths as to how long this outlining and draft would take me if I were to only write 500 words a day, I decided to boost that goal to 1,000. I got started around 1pm today, online school draining me so much I couldn’t face another two hours. I worked on and off until 6pm, and around 4.45pm, I finished outlining Act One!

Thursday 25/02/2021 - Word Count: 7,022 I continued my scene outlining into Act Two, but I hit a brick wall around the midpoint. I have to write chronologically - some people jump around, but I have to write linearly, or it feels like I’m trying to make something in a void. It just doesn’t work. I didn’t know how to get from one scene to the next - there were so many things I needed to establish to get there, but I didn’t want to backtrack. I decided to re-jig the whole thing, but, after dinner, I realised I didn’t have to, and instead, decided to just start a draft, conscious of the things I need to establish as I go.

Friday 26/02/2021 - Word Count: 8,208 Starting draft one, I rewrote the prologue I’d already written, technically putting me to my second draft of it, because I’d been thinking about it for days and just wanted to revisit it, and it was so much better. Then I moved on to chapter one, but decided I wanted to re-jig my chapters. While outlining, I’d split the whole book into only about twenty chapters, but decided to go for shorter ones for more effective divisions of the story. I got most of the way through the first scene of chapter one, but basically ran out of both time and motivation, since I hadn’t heavily outlined that scene. in total, I wrote over 2000 words today, but because I only increased the prologue word count by about 100 words, it didn’t do that much to the total count.

Saturday 27/02/2021 - Word Count: 11,050 I got some chores done Saturday morning and focused on finishing my book so I could include it in my February wrap-up, but I still had time to get some writing done around mid-day. My goal was just to hit 10K this weekend, but I though I could do it in one day. I wrote about 1,000 words before feeling a little word-drained, but took a break for lunch, got back to it and wrote 2,400 words. Though that only added a little over 2,000 to the word count, it took me to 10K! I’m 20% of the way to being able to call it a novel! We’re in quintuple digits!

And then eight hours later, I wrote another thousand words and got to 11K.

Sunday 28/02/2021 - Word Count: 13,722 I spent most of my Sunday morning writing, though it took me more than two hours to write about 1500 words, though it only added about 1100 to my count. I decided to set myself an overall and weekly deadlines to hold myself accountable. Due to the fact I don’t yet have a clue how many words this will work out as, I decided I wanted to have either a complete first draft or 100K words (which I doubt I’ll reach, but it seems like a good way to make myself finish the draft before my deadline) by the end of April. Which works out to a little under 1500 words a day, or just under 11K a week, which is perfectly doable. Bearing in mind my current word count is including outlines, but I still believe in myself.

I wrote another 1600 words later, which took me to 14K, until I deleted the 300 word outline I wrote for one scene, but I worked out my words per day for the next two months with the assumption of a 10K word count as of March 1st and a target of either a complete draft or 100K words by the end of April, so I’m nearly 4,000 words ahead of schedule. Which gives me 6,606 words to write this week, instead of 10,328. (If you couldn’t tell, I like numbers. They just make sense to me.

Monday 01/03/2021 - Word Count: 15,005 I didn’t quite hit my daily goal, but I was completely leached of motivation today, I’m ahead of schedule anyway and I was only under by less than 200 words. It’s alright. But, hey, we hit 15K! Two days after hitting 10K!

Tuesday 02/03/2021 - Word Count: 21,119 This was an insane writing day. My end-of-day target was only 16,480, and that was still ahead of schedule - if I was sticking to the 100K by April 30th, I’d only actually need to be at 12,950 today. This was the best writing day I’ve ever had. I wrote before school and during breaks, which kept both my writing and working momentum up.

I didn’t read a page of my current read, but I wrote a total of 7,681 words and increased my wordcount by 6,114 words, or literally an additional 40.75%. I hit 20K three days after hitting 10K, and am 42.238% of the way to being able to say I wrote a novel, be it a shitty first draft that won’t be complete at 50K words.

I also finished chapter three, which I’ve been working on for three days and came out ~5,000 words, and wrote chapters four and five in their entirety.

Note to self: this is day 10 of vaguely outline-drafting this project.

Wednesday 03/03/2021 - Word Count: 23,364 I've only written 490 words today, as of writing this update, but I just wanted to make note of the fact I've done some calculations, and can reasonably finish my draft this month. I'm still not completely sure how long it'll work out to be, so I can't quite work out my daily words to finish on the 31st, but if I stick to my current 1,475 words a day, I'll hit 63,894 words by the end of the month, which is a little less than I imagine this draft will be, but if I stick to that as a minimum, my first draft won't have to go into April.

I'd like to post this later this week, but I already have a post for this Friday, so God only knows how long this will be by the time it goes up. So far, I've written 1,900 words today, and I don't think I'm out of fuel yet, but I'm stopping because I need to read today, and I'd rather not burn out. I'm over my goal, anyway.

Oh, also, I'm nearly at 25K, which is halfway to a novel, but I haven't broken into Act Two yet, which means this book will be 75K minimum. I'm going to do some maths and work out how many words a day to hit 80K by March 31st. 2,030. That's doable. So I haven't read, but back to writing for like ten minutes.

I've now hit an additional 2,245 words for the day, though I wrote a total of 2,663

Thursday 04/03/2021 - Word Count: 25,415 I've decided to work out how many words I need to write each day to hit 80K by March 31st, and watch the fluctuations. (I like statistics). It should steadily go down throughout the month if I surpass it each day. Today's minimum word count is 2,023, already seven words less than yesterday's. How exciting.

The last scene of Act One was very heavy on world-building I haven't yet figured out, so I stuck what was meant to happen in brackets and just moved on, meaning I have now broken into Act Two!

I think, during the week, I'm going to focus on just meeting my minimum word count rather than exceeding it, just to save fuel for the weekends, when I can write so many more words.

And, we hit 25K! I'm halfway to a novel!

Friday 05/03/2021 - Word Count: 26,693 In complete honesty, I'm beginning to lose momentum. Maybe it's just today, but I don't really want to write and feel like I need a break, but I'm going to make myself write anyway. I'm going to make myself keep writing until this draft is done, however shitty it may end up. I really hate first drafts.

When you say 2,000 words is only 7-8 pages, it doesn't sound like that much to write per day but my god. Luckily, most of the stuff I've had to save to a Pinterest board called 'Writing Motivation' says if you write when you don't want to, it should pass instead of worsening. I wanted to hit 35K this weekend, but I'm not sure I'll have the momentum. I'll at least hit 31,270, though, which is my minimum goal for this week. I'm still over 700 words off my goal for today, but I'm taking a break because my head is foggy and there's still eight hours left in the day. Besides, 700 after dinner is easy. She says, realising she's probably jinxing it. Oh, well. 80K by March 31st would be difficult, even if I weren't going back to school soon, but that's a stretch goal. 100K by April 31st is my minimum, and I'm 9,000 ahead of where I need to be for that.

I think I’m stagnating because I’ve hit the ‘Fun and Games’ section, which I find really boring. I’m going to try to keep going with it, but I may just skip it and come back later.

Saturday 06/03/2021 - Word Count: 28,150 So, I did not get the extra 700 words in. Before dinner, some stuff I had to deal with came up, and by the time it was done, I just wanted to go to bed, so I did. Today, I'm going to try to make up for it, which I think is reasonable because it is now the weekend. I'm still kinda exhausted this morning, but I'm going to do my best, and my wrist hurts, but I'm not sure why. You'd think it would be from all the typing, but only one wrist hurts - you know what? Never mind. They do both hurt. I'm just not sure why, but it doesn't hurt typing this, so that doesn't make any sense. Anyway, to hit my word count for the day, I need to write 2,555 words, which doesn't sound like too much, but it kinda is because I'm primarily writing Act Two at the minute, and for every thousand words I write, I lose like 400 from my outline. You'd think I'd just not include my scene outlines in the word count, but it's too late for that now.

I'm thinking this over, and I really don't think trying to write 80K by the end of the month is going to be good for either my motivation, mental health, or ability to function back at school, so I'm going to stick to 100K or a finished draft by April 30th, and re-work out my goals from there, based on yesterday's word count, so I'm not making myself do catch-up today.

So, to hit 100K by April 30th, I only need to write 1,309 words each day (which will decrease over time because if that's my minimum now, I'll probably surpass it, decreasing the amount of words left etc.). That's so much less pressure.

God, I really don't want to write today. I just want to watch YouTube and Netflix and read.

Okay, so here's the thing. I've been working on this story straight for three weeks and I'm kinda exhausted of it. I'm not done with it, not at all, and I want to keep working on it because it exists, which makes it workable.

I watched a writing vlog by ShaelinWrites yesterday, and she said she writes different projects at once, alternating in week- or multi-week-long blocks. I think I might try that.

My plan with this post and the following updates was to keep updating it until the day it goes up, the day after which is when I begin drafting the next, but, since I may be switching projects for a while and this is really about the project I've decided to dub 'Bay Tree' (which is just, I guess, a pseudonym for here because while I have no idea what it would eventually be called, I know that's nothing like the title I'd want to give it) so I'd want to start a new post for a new project.

I'm now doing a little outlining instead of actually continuing writing, but I think this will help me, though I'm still not certain about whether or not I'm going to directly continue with this specific project for the minute. Instead of setting daily goals based on a target, I'm also just going to say 1,000 words a day, and see where that takes me.

I've just been outlining into Act Three, and I've met a major plot stumble, but I'm going to work that out and explain what I'm doing in my next writing update.

So, go drink some water, eat if you haven't eaten in the last few hours, stand in front of the mirror and tell yourself how wonderful you are and how much happiness you deserve, and, if you want to write a book, stop thinking about it, and go write.

[degenerate-perturbation]

Chapters: 21/32 Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Dragon Age II Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe, Oghren (Dragon Age), Justice (Dragon Age), Sigrun (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Isabela (Dragon Age), Male Hawke (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic, Prostitution, Drowning, Wilderness Survival Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one shackled next to you, save for the chains that bound you both?

All around Yvanne the enormous cypress thrummed with life. If there was a world beyond the belly of the hollow tree, she didn’t quite believe it.  

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Of course you don’t understand,” her great grandmother said kindly. Distant bells seemed to ring with every one of her words. All of a sudden Yvanne wasn’t sure if the old woman’s lips were actually moving when she spoke to her. “Who could possibly expect you to?”

“Why did you bring me here? That spirit I saw—was that you?”

“In a way,” the old woman allowed. “But I did not bring you here. You brought yourself.”

“But you called me. You told me to come home.”

“Is that what you heard?” She smiled. “Oh, my daughter.”

That stung. “Stop it,” Yvanne growled. “You don’t even know me.”

“Not as well as I’d like. But we have met, in the world beneath the world.”

“You’ve been spying on me,” Yvanne realized. “Through the Fade. Just what gave you the right?”

The old woman’s bright eyes flashed. “Precisely the same thing that gives you to look in on those you wish to see.”

“That’s—that’s not the same,” Yvanne faltered. “I didn’t want to look. I tried not to look. I couldn’t control it.”

“But you’d like to. And so you are here.”

“No, I’m here because you called me. I’m here because I had just settled into a perfectly contented life when all of a sudden I became tormented by these voices—your voice.”

Yvanne could load quite a lot of furious accusation into a short phrase spoken softly, but the old woman remained unmoved. “Believe me, my daughter, I do not have the power to bring about what you experienced. If you heard my voice, it was as a trickle in a torrent. You have begun to awaken as a spirit mage.” 

“And just what in the void does that mean?”

In tones of infinite patience: “For years you have hobbled yourself; now you are beginning to walk freely for the first time. Of course you were overwhelmed. Anyone would be. Nobody here in Dairsmuid awakens in their third decade of life, without the benefit of any guidance whatsoever.” In tones of bottomless sorrow: “You have been done a great disservice.”

Yvanne stood for a while, feeling all the hot air leak out of her.

“So can you help me?” she said, defeated. “Or not?”

“Of course I can. And I will. If you choose it. But how far you walk along the path is always up to you.”

Something sat uncomfortably in Yvanne’s stomach. “Alright, fine. Can you at least answer me this?” she said wearily. “Where is my mother?”

The old woman cast her eyes down. “That I do not know. She never came here.”

An unspoken hope died in her chest. “My father, then? My sisters?”

“Three of your sisters live,” the old woman said. “In one way or another. But of all who I called, only you returned.”

All she did not say fell upon Yvanne like a mountain. She dropped her head. “I see.”

“Oh, my daughter. I am sorry.” She sounded like she meant it. 

More questions sprung to her lips. When did my father die? And how? Which of her four sisters lived? And how? But as soon as they occurred to her, she thought better of them. She didn’t want to know. Of course she didn’t. If she’d wanted to know, she would have seen it in the Fade. It was a cruel thing to know about herself. 

“Why me, then?”

“You are the one who answered.”

“No. Why call at all? My father never spoke of his home. We have nothing to do with each other, blood relatives or not. What do you want with me?”

“Is it so wrong for an old woman to wish to see her lost daughter?” The old woman’s eyes closed. She said no more for many long moments. “I apologize. I am tired now. I must walk in the Fade for a time.”

“What? But I’ve only just arrived!”

“We will speak again. For now you will go with Itai; he will be your companion today.”

“Now hold on, I—” Yvanne began to protest, but the old woman was already asleep, having slipped into dreams in the space of a few breaths. She was alone. But she did not feel alone. If anything she felt like an intruder. The tree keeping her great-grandmother alive thrummed steadily, like a heartbeat.

“Yvanne?”

She turned to face a young man with wide cheekbones and a halo of black curls. “How did you know my name? Or that I was here?”

He gave her a polite, puzzled smile. “Buya called me, of course. I’ve finished my training for today, so I can show you around.” He was younger than her. Was he even twenty? “I’m Itai—I think we might be cousins.”  He crossed his right arm over his chest and tilted his chin down in greeting.

She stiffened. “Well, maybe we’re cousins, but you don’t know me, and I’m only staying here for as long as it takes me to get this—this problem under control, so don’t get too comfortable. There’s no need for all this…this…”

Itai shrugged. “Well, you’re going to have to wait at least a few hours anyway before she wakes up, so you might as well see the city, right?” 

—

On her way to the great cypress, Yvanne had paid no attention to her surroundings at all. A compulsion to reach the tree where her ancestor dwelled had consumed her, and only now had it loosened its hold on her. Now she was finally seeing the city with clear eyes.

Dairsmuid was a city built upon the water. Wooden planks, shiny and smooth from the thousands of feet that walked upon them, were its streets, but so was the water; everywhere were gondoliers carrying goods by canoe, chatting with each other as they passed. Some of the buildings were built in the trees themselves, and what trees they were; they flared at their twisted, knotty bases. Some grew fused together, making masses large enough to support homes. Circling steps were bolted to many of them, and cables ran between the boughs, sending packages and messages zipping overhead.

Itai introduced Yvanne to more distant cousins and uncles and aunts than she could possibly keep track of, men and women of all ages. Each one greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and a quick embrace, too swiftly and with too much assurance for her to protest.

And not a single one of them batted an eye at all the magic.

Magic didn’t seem to exactly be common in Dairsmuid, but every once in a while she would spot a shopkeeper levitating his wares, or a gondolier lighting a lantern with a snap of his fingers. Everywhere she saw spirits, mostly formless wisps, but larger, more distinct spirits, too. Children chased them like chickens, earning scoldings from their parents when they were caught. She watched, rapt, one group of mage children play a game of spark-shooting with each other. As she watched something cracked open deep inside her, and suddenly she wanted to cry.

“Alright, there?” said Itai. She snapped out of it, drawing her eyes away from a scene where one child chased a wisp right over the edge and into the water, where he was fished out by an irritated gondolier. She just barely managed to nod.

Itai kept rambling as he took her around, away from the center of the city—”Dairsmuid’s mostly on the water now, but old timers will tell you how the sea used to be much further out“—past rows of fishermen hauling in oysters and crayfish—”They’re best with lemon sauce,”—inland towards residential areas that were raised over mud and peat rather than standing water. They went past shrines to Andraste laid with offerings of fire-lilies—”What? Of course we worship Andraste! What a strange question,”—past spirit-lanterns nestled in the branches of the cypresses—”They’re always lit, so nobody falls off the platform. And if someone does, the spirits signal the night watchman to come over and fish them out…it’s usually just the drunks, though.”

Yvanne found herself liking Itai quite a lot. Until—

“And my Templar training isn’t so bad, usually, but master has us getting up so early, and usually at night I find myself thinking of so many things and unable to sleep—”

She stopped in her tracks. It took him a few seconds to notice, and he turned, puzzled.

“Your what training?”

“Templar training,” he repeated. “Are you alright? You look like you ate something curdled.”

“I didn’t realize Dairsmuid had Templars.” She did not try to keep the hiss out of her voice. Including my own family.

He stared at her, uncomprehending. “Sorry, I don’t get it. What’s the problem?”

How in Thedas was she to respond to that? “So was that why they picked you to give me the tour? Were you supposed to keep an eye on me and cut me down in case I turned out to be dangerous after all? I knew I was right to be suspicious—”

“Hold on!” Itai was laughing. Actually laughing! “I think you’re confused. In Dairsmuid, Templar is a ceremonial role. We don’t take lyrium or anything like the westerners. I’m not even being taught to fight with this thing—” He tapped the ornate weapon belted to his hip. “It’s all just rituals and basic forms.” 

“Then—” She stumbled. “Then what’s the point?”

He shrugged. “Tradition? Got to be a Circle at Dairsmuid, with Templars. So we have them. We’re supposed to keep the Seers safe, but the Seers don’t really need protection, so it’s pretty boring. Once I finish training, I’m probably going to be a fisherman like my da. Look, the sword’s ceremonial—it’s not even sharp.”

She must have still been staring. He smiled, embarrassed. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I don’t really know much about western Circles.”

Maker, but this place was weird.

“I can’t believe the Chantry lets this place exist,” Yvanne said just as the silence was growing awkward..

“Well, Rivain’s pretty far from Orlais.” He shrugged. “We do things our own way. Really, the Qunari up north are a much bigger problem, but Dairsmuid’s not anywhere near Kont-Arr. Anyway, the Seers wouldn’t let anything happen.”

“Just what is a Seer? Exactly?”

Itai looked at her like she’d just asked the color of the sky. “Huh? But you’re a Seer. Aren’t you?”

She shook her head.

“You know—a woman who communes with the spirits. You call them mages out west, right?”

“But plenty of men are mages,” said Yvanne. “What do you do with the boys who are born with magic?”

Itai snorted, laughing.“Nobody’s born with magic. Spirits pick who they want to talk to. And sure, boys can talk to spirits, but they can’t be Seers.”

“Why not?”

“They just can’t.” He scratched his head. “Look, I don’t really know. Why don’t you ask Maita? She’s not a Seer yet, but she will be. Come on, you’ll like her. I have to get home and help da clean today’s catch, anyway, so I’ll leave you with her, if that’s alright.”

Three girls sat laughing and weaving reed baskets as Itai and Yvanne approached. One of them stood in anticipation, her eyes widening in delight. All three girls wore bright brass jewelry, but one—the Seer?—wore the most; bangles on her wrists and ankles, and a headdress of overlapping discs that glittered and clinked with her tiniest movement. 

“Is this her?” she demanded of Itai, and didn’t wait for an answer. “Oh, it is! Oh, welcome! We are also so glad you have come.” She jangled as she wrapped Yvanne in a tight, loud embrace. “Ambuya told us you had come.”

“But how—”

“Oh, but your hair!” Maita gasped. Never had Yvanne heard anyone sound so heartbroken over hair. She glanced over her shoulder to plead wordlessly with Itai, but he was already grinning, waving goodbye, and backing away, the traitor. “You poor thing, you must have been through so much.” 

Yvanne suddenly became aware of her body, sharply and unpleasantly. She hadn’t looked at herself in so long that she had forgotten that others could still see her. Maker, she didn’t even want to think about how she probably smelled She self-consciously tucked a piece of it behind her ear. Unending months of neglect and salt had caused it to dread up into unsalvageable masses.

“You must let me fix it for you. Oh, I love to do braids, but–may I?” She reached out to touch Yvanne’s hair. She struggled not to flinch. “No, I don’t think there’s enough left to do braids. How about knots? Or twists? I do the best twists; ask anyone.” She turned to her two friends, clinking, for confirmation. Both nodded earnestly.

Nobody had done Yvanne’s hair since she was nine years old. Loriel had been useless at it and nobody else had come close to earning the right. “I—Okay.”

“Yes! Wonderful! Please, do come in. You must have some of my beads. I’m getting married soon, so I won’t get to wear them, and I don’t even have any sisters to give them to. Only brothers–it makes me so sad!”. Then an expression came over her face. “Wait! You aren’t married, are you? I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have assumed…”

Yvanne felt the absence of the ring upon her finger, and answered, truthfully, “No, I’m not married.”

Maita’s animated expression returned. “Oh, good! Then you can have the beads. Come, come!”

She tugged her inside, enticing her friends to come join her in solving Yvanne’s hair problem. She was altogether reminded of Leliana. Yvanne slipped out of her grasp. “Look, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but—we’ve only just met.”

Maita gave her a confused smile. “But of course we’ve met. In the world beneath the world.”

Again that phrase.

“Maita, you’re shaming her,” one of the others said, rolling her eyes. “She has no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh,” Maita said, suddenly embarrassed. “Oh, no, you really don’t, do you?”

If Yvanne had not spent the past years being humbled over and over again, she might have taken offense. As it was, she only shrugged.

Maita covered her face in shame. “I’m so sorry—I assumed, since you were training with Ambuya—we were all so jealous when we heard…”

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m afraid I only look Rivaini. I’m not a part of any of this. I’m certainly not a Seer.”

“But you are a Seer,” Maita said encouragingly. “Or you will be.”

She crossed her arms, doubtful. “She said I was only beginning to learn. That I was already late.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’ll learn. You’re her blood, after all.”

“Isn’t half of Dairsmuid her blood? I’ve lost track of how many cousins I’ve met today.”

Maita laughed. She had a musical laugh. “Perhaps not so much as half! Our Buya had many sons, but even those who are not her blood are still her family; she is buya to all of us.”

Yvanne, who had been assuming that ‘Buya’ was the old woman’s name, made a small adjustment.

Dairsmuid had a public bathhouse, and she was in luck—today was the women’s day to use it. The next several hours went to matters of hair and beads and other things so trivial that Yvanne had nearly forgotten they existed. Was there really still a world of moisturizing hair cream and scents and jewelry? She had liked such things, once, because in the Circle they had been—if not forbidden, then strictly discouraged, and difficult to get a hold of. The habit had stayed with her as the Vigil’s keeper, and she had yet to be cured of it. It was so ridiculous. It was so nice.

Somewhere in this process she told the story of her travels. She hadn’t meant to—she’d thought it far too painful—but somehow it all came out. She started with hiding in Highever—she left out that she had ever been a Grey Warden—and by the time she got to the part with the pirates her hair was done. It had been long all her life, and was twisted close to her head and bound with bells and beads. She looked both like and unlike Isabela, like and unlike her old self. She had never felt so light; she couldn’t stop tilting her head back and forth and feeling the absence of the weight. It was strange, but not—bad. No, not bad at all.

By then it was time for the evening meal was upon them, and Maita’s mother—a stout woman who had clearly never taken no for an answer in her life—was insisting. Yvanne ate with Maita and her mother and her younger brothers who stared at her with curious eyes the size of dinner plates. Maita’s mother, it turned out, was not from Dairsmuid, but from a village on the eastern coast. 

“—I came here to be with my girl, of course. She wanted to learn here in the capital, and I was not about to let her go alone,” she said proudly.

Yvanne slept there on a palette by the smouldering hearth, sick with imagining what it would be like to have a mother like that.

As the days passed and her great-grandmother did not summon her, she was folded into Maita’s family almost without noticing. Maita had three younger brothers who Yvanne somehow fell into the watching of—boys of six, ten, and twelve, who begged her to show them how to make lightning. She helped with the chores, kept the boys busy. She even learned a few words of the local Rivaini dialect. On the last day of the week, she helped decorate the household shrine to Andraste with marsh-lillies and necklaces of carved wooden beads. The prayers spoken over the shrine were not entirely unlike the Chant, but not entirely like it, either.

Finally came market day, so Yvanne saw the Dairsmuid market. Maita tugged her along as she did her family’s shopping, informing her of what fruits were in season and asking frequent questions about what things were like in Ferelden. 

“Oh, I used to love the star-reader,” Maita sighed, pointing out a woman’s nondescript stall. “Of course, it is not Seeing, but that’s what made it special. My friends and I used to giggle for hours over the fates the stars had in store for us. The men we would marry, how many children we would have…” She trailed off, then finished cheerfully, “But I’ll be getting married soon.”

Yvanne could not help but notice that no husband-to-be was in evidence.

Maita clinked loudly as she laughed. “I haven’t met him yet, of course! He lives in a village far away from here, one that needs a Seer. Once I have passed the ritual, I’ll be ready to serve. I’m told he’s very kind. Is it bad that I hope he’s handsome, too?” She giggled behind her hand. “But you aren’t married! Do you want to consult the star-reader? Don’t you ever wonder what your husband will be like?

“Hm,” said Yvanne. “No, thank you.”

Soon after Maita encountered a friend of hers, and fell inextricably into an animated conversation that Yvanne couldn’t follow at all. Slighted, and resentful that she felt so, she wandered away. She could hear in the middle distance bell-like music. The source of it turned out to be a Vashoth woman sitting cross-legged, producing the tune from an instrument Yvanne had no name for, a wooden box lined with metal rods that produced unearthly music under the Vashoth’s careful fingers. Too soon, the song ended, and she lifted her hornless head to smile in thanks at the crowd. 

Only then did Yvanne notice the scars around her lips.

“Did you mean to buy something?” the Vashoth asked suddenly. Yvanne forced herself not to stare.

“I have no money,” she stammered, then added, “Sorry.”

The saarebaas sized her up, and smiled. As she did, her scars instantly became the most noticeable thing about her. “Oh, I see. You’re new; one of Buya’s girls, aren’t you? I am called Amarna.”

“So I’m told,” Yvanne said stiffly

“You’re a bit old to start training.”

“I’ve had training.”

The saarebas laughed shrugging. “Mm. Well, it was probably better than the training I got.”

Yvanne’s eyes flicked to the woman’s scars again. 

Amarna snorted good-naturedly. “Admiring these?” she said, touching her lips.

“I wasn’t—”

The former saarebas laughed. “Go ahead and look, I’m not ashamed.”

Yvanne wanted to apologize, but now she worried that it would only make it worse. Luckily the awkwardness was broken by a little Vashoth girl in pigtails, no more than eight years old, and already as high as Yvanne’s shoulder.

“Look what my friend showed me how to do!” the little girl said breathlessly to—presumably—her mother, ignoring Yvanne entirely. She extended her pudgy, little-girl hands palms up. Fireballs bloomed there, first, red, then yellow, then green and blue. Yvanne startled backwards and nearly knocked over a rack of fishing spears. “Are you proud of me?”

“Very good!” her mother beamed as Yvanne desperately tried to stabilize the rack of spears. “Indeed I am proud of you. But do you remember the rules?”

The girl let the fireballs dissipate. “No fire without my tutors watching,” she said ruefully, rolling her eyes. 

“That’s right. Now go play.”

Only then did the little girl notice Yvanne and mutter a shy ‘hello’ before running off again.

“Sorry for her,” said the saarebas. “She’s always trying things she’s not quite ready for yet.”

“That…must be difficult.”

“I can’t even tell you how many times she’s hurt herself!” She shook her head. “But if she makes no mistakes, she’ll never learn.” 

Yvanne had been that age when she’d first discover her magic. She never would have dreamed of showing her father. She’d hidden it. Had prayed for the Maker to take it away. “I’m surprised you don’t worry.”

“Of course I worry! What mother doesn’t? But she has good teachers here. I’ll never be much of a mage, but the Seers take care of her. And if she’ll receive some scars for her own foolishness, she will never have scars like mine.” She said it in well-rehearsed tones, like this was a speech she had been obliged to recite too many times.

Yvanne remembered Cheddar, and what had happened to her sarebaaset. But no, she daren’t ask. Instead she said, “What kind of instrument is that?”

And like so Maita found her some minutes later, profusely apologizing for leaving her alone, exchanging pleasantries with Amarna, and finally dragged her away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you,” she said in hushed tones. “I forget that most people outside Rivain aren’t used to the freed saarebas. Quite a lot of them live here.”

That night Yvanne could not get to sleep beneath the unfamiliar ceiling. She thought of Amarna’s little daughter whose magic would only ever earn her a gentle admonition, and envy rose in her gorge like poison. What she would have given to have grown up here in Dairsmuid. What might she have become if her father had brought her here instead of to Ferelden? Why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t he loved her enough to bring her here? All those years in Kinloch, the wretched thing that place made her—

She thought of Amarna’s scars, and thought—yes, it could have been worse. But it could have been better, too.

Yes, she was here now, but what good did that do her? It didn’t make up for it. Nothing ever would. Dairsmuid was not her home. If she had ever had one, it had been Vigil’s Keep.

That home was lost to her. Perhaps did not exist at all. Just like her mother and her father and her sisters. Everything was lost, lost—all that remained was here. A wave of nauseous longing rolled over her like the evening tide, and she went to sleep no less conflicted and confused.

—

She dreamt again of Loriel, buried deep within her tower of stone.  Her hair was longer now than it had ever been, neatly parted in the center. Somehow in their time apart it had stopped frizzing, and fell to her back in elegant feathers. Were there new lines on her face? How old was she now?

She was writing busily in a blank parchment manuscript, occasionally consulting a tome at her elbow. She scribbled for hours, only occasionally pausing to sip water or stand up to stretch. All these little gestures, so familiar, so utterly strange.

Who was she? Who was she?

“I never even knew you, did I?” Yvanne said to her, knowing she wouldn’t be heard. “Not that you were any better. You never knew me either, did you? I don’t think I ever felt more alone than when I was with you.”

And Loriel kept scratching away, oblivious. It was starting to make her angry.

“You know,” she said, “If it hadn’t been for all that fucking blood magic, maybe you could have heard me say all these things. Maybe you could have heard me at all. I was too much a coward to say what I meant to your face, and now you’ll never know how I really felt. You selfish fucking bitch.”

And then—

—Loriel looked up.

Her forehead wrinkled in that burningly familiar way. Her mouth began to form the shape of the word, who—?

The dream collapsed.

—

Yvaanne woke in the middle of the night, knowing that she was summoned to Dairsmuid’s great tree. She received no message; only a conviction that she was wanted, and an intuitive understanding of where to go. She walked there, barefoot, the ancient half-drowned forest singing all around her.

Buya was exactly where she had been, awake and bright eyed. “I am sorry to have woken you. Did I interrupt your dreaming?”

She shook her head. “I did not want that dream.”

“I see.” The old woman’s lips still did not move when she spoke. “Have you decided, then, if you will stay and learn from me?” 

“I…”

A heaviness lay on her heart. After a week in Dairsmuid, she had never missed the Vigil more. She missed her high grey walls, her fluttering banners, the smell of smelting iron in the air. She missed the training, the drinking games, the knowledge that everyone around her knew her name, that people would care if she was gone.

But here in Dairsmuid, everyone somehow knew her name. They would care if she was gone. So they didn’t know her, so what? Nobody had ever known her. 

Dairsmuid was here. Dairsmuid was now. And was love not born of base familiarity? Was love anything besides mere exposure, mere proximity? 

“Great-grandmother, I want to stay,” she said. “But…”

Ambuya waited, patient.

“But there’s someone I still love. Far from here.”

“Ah,” the old woman said. “I see. I will not pretend I am not disappointed, but it was good to lay my mortal eyes on you, my daughter.”

Yvanne shook her head, and knelt. Then she looked up, her eyes streaming. “And I never want to see or think about her, ever again. Please, grandmother—I am yours. Please, teach me.”

Ambuya smiled, reached out, and placed a hand on Yvanne’s bowed head. She was resolved; she would become a part of this. She would be one of many, and she would make this life a good one if it killed her.

[olivia-anderson-gifted]

Story prompt: Video game protagonist develops free will, discovers cheat codes.

People always say that cheating takes all of the fun out of games. ‘If you don’t work for it the ending won’t feel earned!’ they scream from atop their high horses.

Well, she had worked for the ending.

She had spent years of her life working towards it, building up her stats, obtaining the best items, making friends with the best party members. She had narrowly escaped her and her friends’ deaths multiple times. She had finally bested the bad guy! The good times were in sight, in a few years the world would be a utopia!

ESC.

Her vision flickered blinding white for a moment and she brought her hands to her eyes. She gave a quiet whine, a little ‘Not again!’, before opening them again.

She was floating, weightless in a void. In front of her were words in a language she couldn’t comprehend, brilliant white against the nothingness, and an arrow pointing between what seemed to be two options.

She barely even paid it any attention. Why would she? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen any of this before. It had been a surprise the first time, and even the second, but now? Ah, it’s just a run of the mill Darkness. A monthly occurrence, really. It would be over in a few minutes anyway.

At first, she didn’t think much of how long she was there. When you’re waiting for something it feels like it takes longer, after all!

Seconds... fade into minutes... fade into hours... fade into days...

What is taking so fucking long?

She found herself staring at the back of the words, struggling to understand the weird text. What language was that in? It certainly wasn’t anything like she’d seen before, the words were so... defined. What kind of weirdos would have thin letters? Didn’t they know blocks were the way to go?

Maybe it was because she was looking at it from behind. Those letters looked so... ghastly, there was no way that they really looked like that.

She started to drift over and she frowned as she pressed a hand to the nearest... whatever that was. She had seen it happen before, the weird way it had shaken before bringing her back to the normal world, maybe if she just...

Fuck that’s heavy! She pushed against it with all her might but it wouldn’t budge.

Eventually, she slumped against the abomination, resting her head against it and closing her eyes (not that closing her eyes changed anything). She opened them again after she had caught her breath and looked around for something, anything, to do.

Her eyes found their way to the arrow. She floated over to it and poked it, expecting it to be just like the text, only to scream as it attached itself to her pointer finger. The sudden weight pulled her down a few feet before she regained enough thought to stop herself.

Her gaze found itself to the immovable object and she hurled the arrow -- and herself along at it -- in its direction. She wasn’t expecting much, maybe a collision to snap herself awake (because this must have been some sort of weird nightmare), so it was a shock when she saw the ‘words’ budge.

She shot out of bed, hitting the cold stone floors beside it. Guess she was right about the nightmare part. She winced and closed her eyes to let them adjust to the new light.

Her right arm throbbed where she had thrown it out to catch herself but it was still useful enough to push her back to a sitting position. She cringed at the hard floors, wondering just where she had managed to fall asleep this time, and she sleepily ran her hands over the cracks in the stone.

Wait, cracked stone?

Her eyes shot open despite the slight pain.

God no.

She was back in a prison cell. The guard she had befriended years ago was scowling at her from the other side, knocking his baton against it like he’d done every day. Had he regressed? Taken a plea deal to get out of charges? Wow, he’d even styled his hair back to what it had been when he’d been working there originally.

“Wake up, 1111.”

“I have a name, yknow!” She hissed. “It’s --.” The world paused around her. The person in the cell opposite hers stopped changing midstep, the guard caught mid-blink, the fly next to her nose hanging.

But even weirder were the white words in front of her face. She wasn’t in the void. Those weren’t supposed to be there.

She opted to ignore the words for now, because she honestly didn’t know what to do, and reached up her hand to catch the fly since she’d actually be able to.

It was here that she noticed her left hand had something attached to it. She stared at the milky white boxes with their weird abominations and narrowed her eyes. Maybe the arrow hadn’t faded from her hand like she’d thought, it had just gotten smaller?

She reached out and tapped a few buttons.

“-- DHSHT0! My name is DHSHT0.”

Wait, what? The world was working again? And why had she said that was her name? Her name is DHSHT0!

Huh?

She couldn’t seem to remember her name anymore, just that weird amalgamation of sounds.

“I don’t care,” her friend sneered. “Just get moving, alright?”

He was gone. She had a strange sense of deja vu.

She looked back at her hands and raised her eyebrows when she saw that the boxes were still hovering there, waiting for use.

Deciding to just accept that as a part of life. Best for her sanity.

She slowly walked over to get a change of clothes and her eyes widened as she saw a familiar set of tally marks on the wall. Sure, this was pretty standard, but...

She counted them out and, with a sudden temptation, reached a hand out to scratch a new line.

129 days and counting, she thought.

She knew that thought. She knew those tallies. And she definitely knew what was going on now.

No.

No no no no no no!

She ran back to the front of the cell, pressing herself flush against the bars to get a good look at her friend. He hadn’t just cut his hair back, no, it was back to being that way. From the perfectly cropped hair to the bleached blond roots.

She was back at the beginning of this whole mess.

Oh, fuck no.

She’d rather be back in the void, thank you very much! She looked down at the pad in her hand and began typing furiously. She’d figured out where the enter key had been when she’d typed out her name, so now she inputted random combinations then pressed enter. She wasn’t sure what would work, or what could happen, but she didn’t care.

She blinked and suddenly she was in red armor. Fear climbed up her throat. Did this mean she worked for Him now? She typed more furiously.

A different friend of hers popped into existence in the cell for half a second before disappearing. Oops. Wish she’d actually paid attention to what she was typing.

She leaned herself against the wall and began typing again, more slowly to actually note what was going on.

The wall disappeared from behind her and she fell through, landing in a meadow. She was walking with the guard, whose mostly brown hair was now past his shoulders. She dropped her hand in surprise.

He looked affronted at something she said. “Oh, DHSHT0, come on! You can’t say that! That’s blasphemy.”

She smirked, reaching up to pinch his cheek. “Really? Okay.” She raised her arms to the heavens. “If that’s blasphemy, then He will strike me dead right now.”

There was a pause and she barely managed to think ‘wait, what were we even talking about? What’s going on? Haven’t I already done this before?’ before she turned to him, her cheeky grin stretching even wider.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

She brought her left hand up and started messing with the keypad again. This was all so weird. She’d done all this before, she recognized what was going on, but everything was off about it. They hadn’t done this in a field, she hadn’t been wearing these clothes, and she certainly hadn’t ever had real-life pauses happen before.

Or, as she was beginning to suspect, not real-life at all.

She kept her hand up to pause time and started walking towards town. She needed to get to a library, she needed to understand what the hell had happened to her hand.

But she couldn’t get further than a few steps ahead of herself before she hit some sort of invisible wall. She leaned all her weight against it but, again, it wasn’t enough to gain any ground.

She slid to the floor and rested her head in her hands.

Suddenly, a friend popped in front of her. She glanced down at the keypad, frowning. Had she accidentally tapped something out with her head?

“Hey, DHSHT0, wanna talk?” They chirped in that same pleasant voice they always had but now their smile felt weird. It was too wide, too teeth-y, and definitely didn’t reach his eyes.

“Not really, Johnny.”

“So, you thought you’d be clever and hack the game, huh?” He said, squatting in front of her and steepling his hands under his chin.

‘Hack’ the ‘game’?

“Bet DHSHT0 isn’t even your real name. Bet your real name is something like...” He tilted his head as if listening to a distant song. “Danny?”

She gasped, though she wasn’t sure why. That sounded right, though, so maybe that was her original name.

“I’m right aren’t I?”

She started to bring her hand up to type, to get out of there because something was seriously wrong with her friend and she didn’t like it one bit, but Johnny pushed it back down.

“Now, now, don’t leave! The fun is just getting started! And you want to have fun, don’t you?”

She knew by his tone that whatever ‘fun’ he had planned, she’d want no part of. She pulled her knees to her chest to get as far away from him as possible.

He grabbed her left hand again, pulling it towards him and drumming his fingers across the keypad.

She fell out of bed again, screaming. Just a bad dream, the worst dream ever. She pressed her hand to the floor, moving to get up, and her eyes widened as they felt stone.

She opened her eyes and looked around the cell. Her guard was there again, yelling, “Wake up, 1111, 1112!”

She blinked at the additional number and turned her head to see him. He looked so innocent, bobbing up and down on the bed, but there was nothing innocent about what was going on.

He smiled. “Hiya, cellmate.”

“Can’t you just call me my name?”

“And what was that again?” He cooed.

She had learned a few times ago that, for things to start, you needed the weird line thing at the beginning, so now she pressed it and inputted a random string of letters.

The last thing she saw before she moved was his annoyed expression.

She stood at the base of the mountain. She knew Johnny wasn’t supposed to be a character here yet, so she breathed a sigh of relief, only to turn and see him standing among the two who were actually part of it.

“You know, you could just enjoy the game for what it is,” he said.

She brought her hand up and he lunged for her. She dodged his swipe by pure luck and started running up the mountain because she knew for a fact that she was able to. She was having trouble doing precision typing on the run but she hardly cared as she reached a for it and...

WWWWWWWWWWWWWW--

Huh? Why was her keyboard typing out that one letter so much?

“Having a little trouble typing and running?” Came his voice and she screamed as she ran into him. She hit the ground and winced as pebbles scraped her hands and legs. She dusted at the debris on her hands.

“You should be behind me!”

“And you should be back in your cell, playing this game as it was intended. Life’s full of disappointments.”

He reached for her hand but she was already gone.

She was standing with all her friends, beaming widely as she lifted the crown onto her head. Wait a minute, a crown? When did this happen? Wasn’t she supposed to get a medal for her service, and wasn’t someone supposed to put it on her?

She turned around and stared at troops upon troops of red-clad soldiers.

No.

Johnny clapped from his spot beside her. There was a loud bing from beside her head, a box with a crown and some more of that weird language, and then it was gone.

She was in a white room with Johnny. She looked down at her hand to plot yet another escape, only to find her keypad was gone.

“Congratulations, Danny. You’ve gotten the secret ending,” he said with unenthusiastic jazz hands. “You’ve gotten the secret, now play the game as it is intended or hit ESC and log out for good.”

There was a long pause. Her keypad was gone. Even then, she didn’t know what ESC was in that language. She didn’t want to risk getting it wrong.

“Well?” He prompted.

She stared at her hand, waiting for it to pop up.

“Well?” He prompted.

“I want my old life back! I want the good ending with everyone happy and on the right side and--!”

“Well?” He prompted.

[justfandomwritings]

His Final Act (Loki Laufeyson)

Pairing: some familial love, but its mostly just angst

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: character death but that’s about it.

Summary: When Loki saw him, he knew what was coming. Loki would never be remembered as a hero, but perhaps he should be. 

Notes:... I don’t really know where this came from. If I’m being brutally honest I wrote this in the bathroom. It’s not been edited, beta read or checked at all, but I think it’s an interesting idea, so I thought I’d share it.

When Loki saw Thanos, he knew exactly what was coming.

It had been years since Loki had last seen Thanos, and the years had not been kind to either of them. Thanos had been abandoned by his favorite daughter, and Loki had been thrown in a cell by his own family and left to rot.

Loki had been locked away the moment his feet touched down on Asgard.

There was no love lost between Loki and his fellow gods. Most of them had detested him for his entire existence. He had always been an outsider, and for most of his life he had not known why. He didn’t know why the people cheered when his brother rode past but hushed in his presence. He didn’t know why there were statues built in his brother’s honor after a tremendous battle but barely a word of recognition for his contributions. He didn’t know why his brother’s rash action got applauded when it cost Asgardian lives when he got jeered for a rational thinking that spared them. He didn’t know why his brother wielded the hammer Mjolnir with such pride after Loki was mocked and maimed and brutalized by Asgard for acquiring it.

His entire life had been in pursuit of one thing: becoming Thor’s equal. When Odin told him what he was, when Odin made clear that he and Thor were not brothers, that Thor would always be the greater son, Loki had snapped. He had become Thor, brash and cruel; he had determined to prove his worth in the only way Asgard seemed to accept: bloodshed. By wiping out his own people, by wiping out the frost giants. Still, even then, even when he had been doing exactly what they had all wanted of him for a millennium, he had been deemed wrong.

He had tried to do the right thing and failed. His entire life had been failure after failure. He had fallen from the Bifrost with a sense of defeat. He had fallen from the Bifrost right into the arms of Thanos.

Thanos liked to talk as he worked, and Loki had nothing to do but listen. He listened in silence as the creature torturing him rambled on about his master plan. He cataloged every molecule of information about the infinity stones. He recalled Thanos’ research on their locations. He remembered his plan of attack for each of them. He knew who stood between this monster and his all-powerful weapon. He knew exactly how vulnerable each stone would be.

Thanos had already acquired the mind stone. His two daughters were sent in search of the Soul and Power stones. Time and Space both lay in Midgard, on Earth, the puny speck of a planet Odin had banished Thor to before this whole mess began. One was guarded by a group of sorcerers, and other by a government organization commonly called SHIELD. The final stone, Reality, had last been seen millennia ago in the hands of his grandfather… in the hands of Thor’s grandfather, Bor.

The Aether was believed to be destroyed by those select few who were privy to its existence, but Thanos was of the opinion that such a stone would be impossible to destroy except with the use of the other infinity stones. It was a safe assumption that the stone was somewhere on Asgard, or at least somewhere within Odin’s reach.

The plan was simple, almost obscene in its ease of execution. The Space stone, the Tesseract as Loki knew it to be called, was the most vulnerable of the remaining stones, and therefore the first target. None of the humans who possessed it truly understood its power, so they would likely not be fighting with an infinity stone on their side. The Mind stone and the Chitauri army would be more than enough to overpower Earth’s heroes.

Once they had a second stone within their grasp, it would be easy for Thanos to defeat the sorcerers. They knew the workings of the Time stone well, but two stones against one gave Thanos an unfair advantage.

Then, Thanos planned to truly begin his quest for the two lost stones, assuming his daughters hadn’t found them and brought them to him already. Once he possessed Space, Time, Power, and Soul; he would attack Odin and Asgard in search of his final gem, Reality.

There had been only one flaw in Thanos’s plan. Loki knew about it.

Loki was the God of Mischief. His very presence created chaos. He thrived on sabotage. Lies came to him as easy as breathing. He could trick anyone into anything, and Thanos had put himself next on the list.

It wasn’t that Loki cared to save the people. Though it did occur to him that there would be no point in his ruling the Nine Realms if only four and a half survived. It wasn’t that he wanted to play the hero. His brother was the hero; Loki had finally realized that when he fell from the bridge. It wasn’t that he disagreed with the ideology. Loki was fairly sure he did disagree, but that wasn’t really a problem in his mind. It wasn’t even the torture Thanos inflicted on him day in and day out. In Asgard, Loki had been the bane of existence for men with immortality, an eternity’s worth of experience, at their fingertips. He was very familiar with torture; torture alone had never been enough to break him before. Thanos was no different.  

It was his family. Not the frost giants, he’d proven he didn’t give a damn about them. Not his father, he wouldn’t mourn his loss. But his mother.

Loki thought of her. In his dreams, on those rare occasions Thanos allowed him sleep, he would reach out for her. He would try to touch her one last time. To pull her away from the inevitable. To save her from this monster. To protect her from what was coming. He would try to shield her from the very fabric of the universe Thanos wielded at his fingertips, and inevitably he couldn’t. Inevitably, the moment his hand reached out and connected with her skin, the moment he made contact with the only person in the universe to ever love him unconditionally, she would crumble to ash in his arms.

Loki thought of his brother. His perfect, older, adopted, brother. Thor was his idol once; everything he aspired to be. Thor was still everything Loki aspired to be, but out of jealousy and longing more than love or respect. He thought of Thor at the gates of Asgard, reigning lightning down on the Chitauri. He thought of the hammer beating away at Thanos’s chest. He thought of Thanos taking the blows in his stride as he marched to the gates. Thor, the warrior, the hero, the king, fighting till his last breath to protect their city, their people, their mother.

Loki knew he would never be his brother, but he would have died fighting for their mother by Thor’s side all the same. And that was what he had intended to do.

Thanos wasn’t easily tricked, but for the God of Lies it could be done. Taking the scepter form him had been difficult, but the God of Mischief had convinced Thanos that one stone could win him another. He’d convinced Thanos that he would win him another. Thanos had agreed. He’d put an army at Loki’s back and sent him for the Tesseract.

Retrieving it had been all too easy. If helping Thanos had been his intention, he could have been in and out of Midgard in less than a day. Instead, he did what he did best. He made mischief; then, he let himself be caught.

Being attacked by the Hulk hadn’t been part of the plan, and it proved an incredibly painful addition. But it certainly helped sell his performance. Only one of the stones made its way back to the safety of Asgard, but neither were in Thanos’s hands.  

Loki had tried to do the right thing again, and still he’d found a cell. In the eyes of his father, he’d still failed. Loki’s finest act, his finest hour. He had delayed the destruction of the universe, and no one cared because he wasn’t Thor.

Only his mother knew what he’d done that day. Only she appreciated the sacrifice he made. Not that it saved her. From his cell, Loki failed, again. He had strived to protect her from Thanos, and in the end that hadn’t even been what took her. That pathetic dark elf in the prison, the one who escaped his cell, the one who released every other prison only to look Loki in the eye and walk away. He had watched the elf escape, and he would forever blame himself.

The infinity stones took everything else from Loki. They weren’t going to take Thor.

When Loki saw Thanos, he knew exactly what was coming.

For Asgard, for the Nine Realms, for the universe. He wanted to prevent it. He wanted to save what was left of his family, what was left of his people. He wanted to be the hero his brother had always been.

But when he saw the Power stone on Thanos’s glove he knew it was too late.

Loki had the Tesseract, tucked away in a pocket between realities that only he could pull it from. There was time. He could open the void and make his escape. Only he wouldn’t.

There was time to save himself before Thanos made his move, but there wasn’t time to save Thor. There wasn’t time to save his people.

Half of them would die. Exactly half. Loki knew that much.

Thanos wanted to take half of everything, but not half of everything put together, half of everything proportionally. He wouldn’t stand for the imbalance of taking the entire population of every other world. He wanted to take half of each world, half of each population on each world, half of each group within each population on each world.

He would take half of Asgard’s women, half of Asgard’s men, half of Asgard’s children. He would take half the warriors, half the farmers, half the leaders. He would take half of the sons of Odin.

Loki always wanted to be the hero. He always wanted to be Thor’s equal, but he knew that wasn’t his part to play. There was no saving Asgard now. Half would be gone by morning, but maybe, just maybe, Thor could save the rest.

If half of the sons of Odin would die tonight, if there was no stopping it, then Loki wasn’t going to let Thanos have the luxury of choosing which half.

Death wasn’t like the stories always claimed. It was not the most painful thing Loki ever experienced, nor was it by any means painless. His life did not flash before his eyes. Time did not slow down.

It was sudden, quick. One moment the knife was in his hands. The next Thanos’s hand was around his neck, falling for the God of Mischief’s final trick.

Loki knew there was no seat for him in Valhalla, but he hoped that maybe, even from Hell, he would get to watch his brother kill Thanos. Because Thanos would die, and his brother would win. As he took his last breath, Loki was sure of nothing else. Loki had tried to do the right thing, and finally, in death, he succeeded.

[captainrogers-ass]

Save Me - Chapter 8

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, multiple MCU characters

Word Count: 3825

Summary: Y/N has finally landed her dream job as a lifeguard on Midgard Beach, but how well will she fit in with the team and how will she cope after grabbing the attention of the blue-eyed Captain?

***Masterlist***

A/N: I can’t believe we’re nearly at the end. I reckon I’ll post the last 2 chapters by next week at the latest. I’ve already got a few new fic ideas but for some reason all of them seem to revolve around Y/N and Steve meeting in the workplace. HMU if you want me to write anything, like if you have any cute one shot or series ideas cause I’ve been itching to write something new. Hope you all enjoy the chapter and feedback is always appreciated xxx

You watched on in silence as Wanda and Natasha stormed their way through your home, clearly having no objections when you had told them to make themselves comfortable. Their countless bags were quickly strewn hazardously around your room as they rummaged through each one in their attempts to begin the process of getting ready for the party.

Natasha’s music played loudly in the background as the three of you all stood in the bathroom, each at different stages of getting ready. You had finally managed to tame your hair, the salt water from the ocean causing delicate curls to form as your hair fell. It looked nice, you thought to yourself.

“Oh my god,” Wanda exclaimed, causing you to whip your head up to where she stood by the sink, mascara raised to her eye.

“Is this your makeup?” She continued, turning back to look at you with a shocked expression.

Embarrassment painted your face. You had forgotten to throw the old products out before the two women had arrived.

“It’s like 100 years old,” Natasha added. “I’m pretty sure this brand has been discontinued for several years.”

“You’re not planning on using this for tonight, right?” Wanda questioned as you rushed up to her, gathering the several items to throw them in the bin.

“No, I wasn’t planning on wearing makeup tonight,” you replied nonchalantly, being met with shocked looks from your friends.

“What?” You asked, dropping the last makeup item into the bin. “I don’t really like makeup, plus I have no idea how to apply it correctly.”

You went over to your closet to retrieve your outfit before Natasha jerked you backwards causing a yelp to erupt from your mouth in surprise. She dragged you back into the bathroom before forcing you to sit down on the toilet, instantly turning to rummage through her makeup bag as Wanda did the same.

Realising what was happening you were quick to voice your protests.

“No, guys, really. I don’t want to wear makeup. I think it looks bad on me-”

“It looks bad on you because you’ve never learnt how to properly apply it,” Wanda interjected, jerking your chin upwards so she had a better view of your face.

Your mouth opened once more in defiance before Natasha cut you off.

“We promise we won’t do anything over the top; just a natural look.”

“And if you don’t like it then you can take it off before we leave,” Wanda added not letting you say another word as they began to paint your face.

Several minutes passed as you tried to remain as still as possible in fear of messing up Wanda and Natasha’s hard work, their faces void of emotion as they concentrated intently on your face. The several products that had been applied to your face so far had already started to irritate your skin. You fought off the urge to itch your nose.

You sat patiently on the toilet for quite some time as Natasha and Wanda communicated to each other about what they were doing, rummaging through their makeup bags several times to retrieve different items. Their collections were vastly superior to yours, mostly due to all of their products actually being within the use-by date. You stared in wonder at the different products they were using, finding yourself unfamiliar of the purpose of several of the items.

Natasha and Wanda pulled back from your face, admiring their work before giving each other a nod of approval. They were finally done and dragged you over to the mirror to look at yourself.

You didn’t know what you had been expecting but it certainly wasn’t what met you in the mirror. The makeup was subtle, simply used to enhance your features and brighten your face.

“What do you think?” Wanda asked, looking at you expectingly.

Your smile was all they needed.

***

The walk over to the bar took approximately 15 minutes, slowed down considerably by the tight high-heeled boots that Natasha had forced you into. You had wholly protested, knowing they would make the night only more uncomfortable, saying that you could wear your black converses instead. Instead of retaliating Wanda had instead picked up the shoes you were planning on wearing and ran off to hide them somewhere amongst your home. Not having time to look for them, you begrudgingly slid the shoes on, cursing your feet for being the same size as Nat’s.

You clutched onto the arms of the two women who were flanking either side of you, holding onto them for support as your feet wobbled unsteadily beneath you. The green dress felt comfortable as it hugged your figure, the cropped leather jacket you had also bought making a welcomed addition to the outfit considering the night was growing colder by the minute.

On your right Natasha wore a skin-tight black dress, the thin straps looping around and tying beautifully at the back. Her fiery hair was curled elegantly around her face, matching with the bold red lipstick that adorned her lips.

Wanda, clutching your left arm, was wearing a flowy maroon dress that cinched at her waist, the fabric billowing dramatically behind her as the wind picked up the light material. Her long hair was straightened and fell gracefully down her back, brushed away from her face to reveal the large golden earrings that hung from her ears.

You smiled at either girl beside you as you neared the bar, eager to spend a fun night out with your friends.

The space was completely packed when you arrived, unknown faces filling the large space and trickling out onto the patio. The three of you hung your jackets by the door, the heat coming from the numerous bodies instantly making your internal temperature rise.

Tony was the first face you recognised as he came to greet you by the door, a beautiful red-headed woman on his arm.

“You finally made it!” He called, slightly intoxicated from the drink in his hand.

You all greeted him, kissing his cheek and handing him his gifts. He was eager to introduce the woman beside him, notifying you that she was his wife, Pepper. She greeted you kindly, shaking your hand in hers as she smiled politely.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” you addressed the woman. “I swear Tony never shuts up about you in the tower.”

She giggled at your comment looking over at her husband with love in her gaze.

“Why wouldn’t I want to talk about her? Have you seen how amazing she is?!” Pepper tried to get Tony to talk quieter, his voice having risen in volume due to his enthusiasm.

Pepper said her farewells as more guests arrived, dragging her husband with her as they went to greet them.

You, Natasha and Wanda made your way over to the bar, surprised to see that Pietro was rushing around frantically trying to serve as many people as possible. Several guests were placing orders at once causing the bar staff to look quite dishevelled as they tried to keep up with the high demand for alcohol.

The three of you waited patiently as the group of customers slowly disappeared, Pietro finally catching sight of his sister as the crowd dispersed.

“What can I get you three lovely ladies?” He asked, already lining up three glasses on the counter.

“Surprise us,” Natasha responded with a wink.

Pietro quickly went to work constructing three identical cocktails, the ingredients remaining a mystery to you as his hands became a blur, pouring all different kinds of liquids into the glasses. It was sweet and hid the taste of the alcohol well.

The night went by quickly as you were introduced to several people. Thor had introduced you to his brother Loki who had immediately complemented your dress before taking your hand in his and lightly brushing his lips against your knuckles. You had giggled as he had done so, your face instantly turning red. Clint had introduced you to his wife, her skin practically glowing due to her enormous stomach. They were expecting their third child any day now, you soon came to find out. Tony had introduced you to the owner of the bar, T’Challa, and his stunning girlfriend Nakia.

You had talked briefly with Bruce before him and Natasha went off by themselves, followed by Bucky and Sam as they eyed up a group of girls talking in the corner. Steve had remained elusive for the entire night, you only catching his eye once as he chatted with a pretty blonde woman who was practically hanging off his arm.

You had averted your gaze immediately feeling as if you were intruding even if you were standing several feet away. Your heart fell heavily in your chest as you walked away, repressing the feeling as you ignored the blue-eyed stare that followed you.

Later on in the night you found yourself standing in a small group next to Wanda, her attention being caught up with her boyfriend who was standing beside her, the two of them enthralled in their own conversation. This left you to talk with Loki and Erik, T’Challa’s cousin, as the three of you talked about your jobs.

They were nice, you thought as you tried to ignore the pain erupting from your feet, the heels being the culprit of the pain. You wanted nothing more than to find a seat, having been standing for the entire night so far.

“Excuse me gentlemen but would you mind if I steal Y/N away for a second?” A familiar voice asked from behind you.

***

Steve had known it had been a trap when Bucky and Sam had pushed him into striking up a conversation with Sharon who was slightly intoxicated at this point in the night. Before he knew it his two friends had disappeared, leaving him alone with the beautiful woman.

He had seen you come in from his place by the bar, not hearing what Sharon was saying as he took you in. His eyes grew wide as his eyebrows shot upwards, his breath leaving his body as he took in your form. You were absolutely stunning, his heart beating so fast at this point that he thought you’d be able to hear it. He had never seen you outside of your work uniform and was slightly taken aback at just how good you looked. The dress you wore hugged your figure in all the right places as your hair fell to frame your face beautifully. He had wanted to go over to greet you but was conflicted, not wanting to be rude to Sharon. Before he knew it he had lost sight of you as you were swallowed by the crowd.

His eyes found yours a few hours later, Sharon having remained rooted by his side for the whole evening. She was currently touching his bicep as she spoke to him making him slightly uncomfortable. You were standing next to Wanda engulfed in a conversation with Thor’s brother and a man he didn’t know. They were clearly both interested in you as they stood quite close, each one fighting for your attention in the conversation.

Jealousy started to slowly rise within him as he saw you laugh at something Loki had said, grabbing onto his arm as you threw your head back. He ached to be by your side, hearing your laugh and steering you away from the eyes of the other men. Trying hard to contain his emotions he took another sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving your as you conversed with the two men.

His control snapped a few minutes later as he witnessed the unknown man lean down and whisper something in your ear, causing you to blush and giggle at his words. Mumbling a quick apology to Sharon he brushed past her and headed straight for you, his eyes never leaving you.

The two men stood up straighter as they met his gaze, Steve now towering behind your small figure unbeknownst to you.

“Excuse me gentlemen but would you mind if I steal Y/N away for a second?” The words had left his mouth before he even had time to think, your head whipping around to meet his gaze.

As you smiled up at him he swore his heart skipped a beat, taking your arm in his as he led you out to the patio, his skin burning where you touched him. He could feel the evil stares that were being thrown by the two men behind him as he steered you away, a victorious grin spreading across his face as he looked down at you on his arm.

“Do you want to sit down?” He asked with a smile.

“You’re literally my saviour. I don’t know how much longer my feet can take in these heels.”

As if on cue Pietro came out of nowhere with two drinks in his hands, handing them to you before running back off with a wink.

***

Steve looked good tonight, you thought to yourself as you took in his large form before you. He was wearing tailored dress pants that made his ass look incredible and a buttoned down shirt that seemed to be barely holding on to his large form as the buttons strained dangerously down his chest.

You had taken a seat at a table by the corner, positioning your chairs so that the two of you could admire the vast ocean before you, the moon reflecting off of the water and lighting up the night.

The conversation between you and Steve flowed naturally and consistently, the conversation never once stopping as the two of leaned on the table in front of you. Your leg brushed against his under the table causing a blush to creep up from your neck, the faint glow of the lights around you hiding it well. He stumbled over his words slightly as he replied to a question you had asked, quickly taking a sip of his drink to cover his stutter, the air becoming silent as the conversation came to a halt.

“I noticed you didn’t bring a date for tonight.” The words came out of Steve’s mouth before he could stop them, his eyes widening slightly in shock as he realised what he had just said.

“No,” you responded, taking another sip of your drink as you felt the alcohol flowing through you. “There was no one I really wanted to bring.”

Steve remained silent, unsure of what to say.

“What about you? I saw you talking to a pretty blonde girl before.”

Steve brought his hand up to scratch the back of his head, a habit he had picked up whenever he was nervous.

“Who? Sharon?” He questioned averting his gaze from yours. “No, I just know her from work. She works in the head office with Fury.”

The space between you and Steve had begun to grow awkward at the change in topic, the two of you never having talked about your love lives with each other. Steve had opened his mouth to apologise for his blunt question before Natasha stumbled onto the patio, her gaze travelling around until her eyes locked on you and Steve sitting by the corner.

“There you two are,” she exclaimed, heading over to where you were sitting. “Everyone thought the two of you had left. Most of us are heading home now so we wanted to say bye.”

You glanced at the time on your phone and realised that you and Steve had been talking for a lot longer than you realised. It was just past midnight and the staff were starting to pack up the restaurant, almost all of the guests having already left.

The two of you stood up quickly as you made your way back inside, following after Natasha.

“How are you and Wanda getting home?” You questioned, wanting to make sure your friends got home safe.

“Bruce is dropping me off and Wanda’s staying behind to wait for Pietro.” You nodded at her response before turning back and hugging Tony, wishing him a happy birthday before grabbing your jacket where you had hung it up by the door.

You and the remaining party-goers trickled out the door, saying your final fair wells in the carpark. After waving goodbye to your friends you began your walk back to your home before a voice called out to you.

“Y/N!” It was Steve, running to catch up with you. “Are you walking home?”

You nodded in affirmation as you pulled your jacket closer around you trying to shield yourself from the bitter cold.

“It’s past midnight and it’s freezing, you can’t walk home. Plus you’re in heels,” he exclaimed.

“Well I walked here so I don’t really have any other options. Trust me, I’ll be fine, I only live just past the hill.”

Steve shook his head before meeting your gaze once more, “I’ll drive you home.”

“That’s really not necessary, Steve. It’s like a 10 minute walk, I’ll be fine,” you protested, your breath becoming visible as you spoke.

“It’s either I drive you or I walk you home. You can pick.”

You knew Steve was too stubborn to let this slide, knowing that you’d be here all night if you tried to argue.

With a sigh you relented, “Where did you park?”

A smile erupted on his face at his victory before beginning his walk across the carpark.

“Steve!” You called after him. “You gotta slow down, I can’t walk in heels very well.”

He chuckled as he turned back to you, instinctively holding out his arm for you to grab to steady yourself. You hesitated slightly before looping your arm around his, subconsciously snuggling further into his large frame for warmth.

Steve’s heart fluttered as you walked in silence.

“You brought your bike?” You questioned, looking at the large motorbike in front of you.

“I didn’t know I’d be playing taxi tonight,” he responded defensively causing you to punch his arm playfully.

“I’ve never ridden a motorbike before,” you whispered, slightly scared at the prospect of mounting the two-wheeled vehicle.

“It’s okay, you’ll be fine. I’ll go slow.”

Your nerves were instantly calmed at Steve’s reassuring words, the large man mounting the bike before you followed suit, sitting behind him.

“You’re gonna need to hold onto me,” he stated sheepishly, revelling in your touch as you tentatively placed your hands around his waist.

The bike roared to life under Steve’s touch, your grip around him growing tighter as you began to move. He steered the vehicle almost effortlessly as you whipped past the street lights, the wind being blocked by Steve’s large form. Once more you found yourself snuggling further into his form, causing Steve’s smile to somehow grow even larger as he looked at your smiling face in his side mirror.

Your eyes were alight with wonder as you flew down the road, the wind causing your hair to billow out behind you. A smile spread across your face as you looked up at the man in front of you, your body feeling completely safe next to his large form. Your heart swelled as the bike roared, lurching forward as Steve went faster. You yelped in surprise as you clutched Steve’s frame causing him to let out a hearty laugh at your reaction.

You both wished that you could live in that moment forever.

You must have been giving Steve directions to your house as you drove, pulling up in your driveway sooner than you would have liked. The two of you remained as you were for several seconds after the engine had died, your arms still wrapped tightly around his frame. You reluctantly pulled away, taking the helmet off before dismounting the bike.

Steve followed suit and also dismounted the bike, kicking out the side stand so that the bike wouldn’t fall over.

“I had a really great night,” you said as you looked up into his blue eyes.

Steve smiled kindly at you as he leaned against his bike, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

The air grew thick between you as you somehow moved closer to him, his breath intermingling with yours. You did nothing but stare at each other for several minutes, lost in the vast ocean of his eyes.

You wanted nothing more than for Steve to kiss you right then, the knowledge that he was still your Captain stopping you from making the first move.

But Steve couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t seem to gather the courage needed to close the small gap between you and connect your lips with his. It would be a bad decision, his mind kept telling him. He was your superior officer.

Steve knew he had debated for too long as you began to pull away, disappointment written across your face as you turned back towards your house.

In a state of panic after seeing you lean back his hand instantly shot out, grabbing onto your arm as he pulled you back towards him. You stumbled into him, your hands coming to rest on Steve’s chest to catch yourself. Without thinking he leaned down and grabbed your lips in his.

Something erupted within the both of you as your mouth moved against his, your arms coming up to run your hands through his hair as he rested his grip on your waist, pulling you closer towards him. He deepened the kiss after feeling your lips part in permission, revelling in the soft touch of your lips as your tongues battled for dominance.

The smell of him encompassed you, drowning out all of your other senses until the only thing you could feel was him, gripping you protectively against his broad frame. You had never felt more at home than you did in his embrace.

The two of you remained like that for several minutes, occasionally parting to catch your breath before diving back in. He was insatiable and you couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

Wanting desperately to invite him inside but knowing it was a bad idea you finally pulled away, albeit reluctantly. You knew that you had to talk to Steve about whatever was going on between the two of you before you took the next step, no matter how much your body ached for him.

The alcohol that was still coursing through your body told you that the talk would have to wait for now, leaning in for one last kiss before rushing off inside.

Steve didn’t know how long he sat in your driveway for, unable to move as his mind tried to process what happened. However hard he tried he was unable to wipe the smirk off of his face, a small seed of concern implanting itself into his gut, growing larger with each passing minute.

[damienthepious]

😘🦎💕

A Little Remedy

[ao3]

[companion piece to Toss and Turn In Undertow, and Keep Your Head Above The Blue]

[Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Sir Damien

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Sleep Deprivation, brief blood mention, Arguing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday

Summary:  Rilla can be a little cruel when she hasn’t gotten enough sleep, and recently she’s been finding herself exhausted much more often than usual.

Notes: Rilla is not exactly the MOST patient person, y'know? And I feel like Treacherous Heart specifically showed that keeping her from sleep is the best way to bring out her cruel side… anyway this happened and I’m tired and Hey! I finished the H/C trio. FINALLY. Title taken from the song To Noise Making (Sing), by Hozier. ]

~

Rilla needs to finish this experiment. She needs to. She’s so close to cracking the potency on a new form of pain salve she’s been trying to finalize for weeks now, trying to make it so the product is stable. Every previous attempt has lost efficacy increasingly from the moment it’s mixed together, a quickly lost battle with time that just leaves an inert gray goop by the end of the hour. If she can just figure out the right additive, if she can just get it to maintain potency for even a little longer, this could really make a difference in treating pain in long-term injuries and arthritic diseases.

She’s been digging through old herbalist tomes for hours now, trying to find a substance that will theoretically stabilize the mixture without interfering with the pain reduction, and it takes longer than it should for her to realize that she’s been reading and rereading the same entry over and over again without actually absorbing the information. She sighs, scrubs a hand down her face roughly and blinks a few times to try to clear the dryness of her eyes.

“C’mon, Rilla, just a little more,” she mutters to herself. “The sooner you find it…”

The letters on the page wobble and shift, and Rilla roughly knuckles her eye to try to make them stay still.

A little voice in the back of her head (one that sounds suspiciously like Damien) murmurs that her eyes are only going to grow more tired the longer she tries to work, that she’ll make better progress if her mind is rested, settled, but she scowls and hunches further over the book and forces herself to power through the last dozen or so pages.

“Research log, entry four four eight five,” she mutters into her recorder, glaring down at the offending paper. “Turns out the botanical survey from up near the Terminus was completely useless for the purposes of this project, so not only did I not find a binding agent, but I wasted hours going through the damn thing to try to find one. Not exactly back to square one, and it should at least rule out other surveys and guides from the area, but this is important and I can’t afford to be wasting time.” She sighs, closing her eyes for a moment. “Side note that there is a subspecies of aloe from this region that might have other utility, specifically in advanced burn treatment, since it appears to have been enhanced magically in some way, but this is neither here nor there for the purposes of my current project. Research log concluded.”

She rubs her eyes again, shoving the book to the side and leaning her head back for a long moment, and sighs as she drags her hands down her face.

- thousand pointed claws - a mouth, no, maw, no, endless void - enormity beyond comprehension - clicking/biting/scratching - Damien, crushed, screaming - Arum, running and hunted and caught - Damien, and so much blood - fear fear fear - formless black torn at the edges, bleeding out - home, the Citadel, burning - home, her hut, burning - home, the Keep, burning -

Rilla wakes with a start, realizes belatedly that her head is slumped backward to rest on the back of the chair, her neck strained from the angle. She has to center herself, remember where she is. Safe, safe at home in her hut. Damien is asleep in the bedroom. She is safe. She is home. She is safe.

She exhales a shaking breath, shakes her head, and scowls at herself. “C’mon, Rilla,” she says again, and then she fights through a vicious sort of yawn, the kind that almost hurts her jaw and sets her eyes watering. “C’mon. Work to be doing, now. You can- you can try to rest when it’s done with.”

“And when, precisely, will that be, Amaryllis?”

Rilla jumps again, somewhat more violently this time, her chair scooting back a screaming inch across her wood floors, and when she whips her head to the side she sees the offending party standing beside the vague glow of the Keep’s portal. She hadn’t even noticed that when she’d come awake again. “Fuck, Arum, you scared me- how long have you been there?”

“Long enough to know that you are overworking yourself.” He stares at her, tilting his head to the side critically as the portal sinks and fades. “Yet again.”

“I’m fine, Arum. I’m almost done. As soon as I find this binding agent, then I can-”

“And will you find it before sunrise, do you think?”

She glares. “I’m close, Arum, I’ll find it and then I’ll-”

“And then you will find another angle upon which to focus.” He slinks a little closer and lets his eyes drift from her, scanning over her research. “Then you will decide you must turn immediately to the next step of your puzzle, and you will delay sleep for another night.”

“I… am… fine… Arum,” she bites out through her teeth.

“It is already near morning, Amaryllis,” he says, and thanks to the grayish light slipping around the edge of her curtains, she realizes that he is correct. Not that she’s going to admit that. “You did not sleep last night either, takatakataka.”

“I slept a litt-”

“A little,” he interrupts, and then he shrugs dismissively. “A ‘little’ sleep is a nap, Amaryllis, and that is insufficient for how long you have been awake. You know as well as I do, how detrimental a lack of sleep can be.”

“What, are you trying to nanny me now?” She scowls, crossing her arms over her chest. She notes with a strange sort of amusement that her anger actually seems to be waking her up more effectively than anything else so far. “As if you’re some great example of taking care of yourself.”

Arum, surprisingly, doesn’t rise to the bait. He stares at her for a long moment, and his eyes slowly narrow. “I hope that you do not attempt to antagonize the poet in such a way when he confronts you. I cannot imagine that cruel words would glance from him without doing at least some damage.”

“Don’t- don’t bring Damien into this,” Rilla says with a scoff. “We weren’t talking about him.”

“We were not talking about my habits either, Amaryllis, until you brought them up.”

He’s right, again, and Rilla is furious about it. She narrows her eyes, standing from her chair and staring the lizard down. “Fine,” she says, voice icy. “Is this conversation over, then? Maybe if you actually let me do my work then I’ll be able to get to bed sometime tonight.”

He lets her words sit for another few moments, and her anger simmers as he stares. “I very much doubt you will sleep if I leave you now, Amaryllis,” he says.

“I can’t just abandon my experiments because I’m a little-”

“I very much doubt, also, that this is entirely to do with your work,” he interrupts. “This is because of the nightmares. Is it not?”

Rilla’s spine stiffens, and she takes the two short steps required to poke Arum in the chest, glaring up into his violet eyes. “That has nothing to do with this,” she bites out, one word at a time. “They’re just dreams, Arum, and I’m not a child.”

“I did not imply that you were, Amaryllis.” Arum stares down at her, neither stepping back nor appearing to grow irritated. “But they are not just dreams. It took some time for me to see the signs, but… I am perfectly capable of recognizing my own handiwork.”

“What…” That assertion is actually confusing enough that Rilla’s anger is somewhat defanged. “What are you talking about?”

“These dreams, Amaryllis. Did they, perhaps, only begin to manifest after the battle at Fort Terminus?” He pauses, watching her reactions carefully. “After your encounter with the… fear monster?”

That clicks into Rilla’s head like two gears finally catching together, and Rilla realizes that Arum is correct about this as well. The connection hasn’t occurred to her before, she hasn’t noticed that the timeline matches up so damn well. Mostly, she hasn’t noticed because the dreams started small, unobtrusive, easy to brush aside and dismiss, and have only become a problem by degrees. “What exactly are you trying to imply, Arum?”

“Not an implication,” he says. “An observation. The Keep confirmed for me that you slept much more soundly - when you deigned to sleep - during your initial stay within it.”

“You’re having the Keep- keep tabs on me?” Rilla says in a low, unpleasant voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arum says. “You insist on calling it my mother, Amaryllis, and I know that a part of your insistence on that front is because you are aware of how it frets over me. That attention and care extends to both yourself and Damien now, obviously. It has been worried for you.”

Rilla blinks in shock, then quickly tries to brush aside the pleased surprise she feels at the idea of the Keep caring about her, because- “Hang on. Don’t- don’t try to distract me. You’re saying that the nightmares are from the damned fear bug? It’s long dead, Arum, how does that even make sense?”

“If I remember Damien’s telling of the story correctly, you bore the brunt of the creature’s ire at least once, did you not?”

“They’re just nightmares, Arum,” she says, and it isn’t enough of a denial to keep him from smiling grimly.

“Then why are they growing worse, Amaryllis?”

“I don’t know, Arum,” she says, and she realizes just barely too late that she’s halfway to yelling, and she can’t actually tell how loud she’s being as she continues. “But apparently you have an idea you’re just desperate to share, huh? Fine. You think this is the fear monster? Go ahead and explain how the fuck a dead bug is keeping me from sleeping. I’m sure you’ve got everything figured out.”

Arum’s smile fades, and he sighs. “It was in your head, Amaryllis,” he says gently, and she snorts out an angry laugh.

“It was in all of our heads, Arum.”

“It was in your head,” he repeats, voice flat. “The creature was made to act subtly at first, and incrementally increase the fear response it created. What it did to you and your knights… that was not how it was intended to attack. That was brute force from a lockpick, Amaryllis, and from what I have observed in you lately, I believe it left wounds in your mind that have been festering rather than healing.”

“I would know if I was injured, Arum.” Rilla’s heart is hammering with her anger. She feels nearly lightheaded from it. “I am a doctor. I would know.”

“Rilla?” Damien is in the doorway of the bedroom now, sleep muddled and wearing a vague frown. “What… my darling flowers, whatever is the matter?”

“Great,” Rilla says without inflection, turning away from the door. “Fantastic.”

Arum’s expression softens, and he crosses the room to run his claws carefully through Damien’s pillow-mussed hair. “Nothing to concern yourself over, honeysuckle,” he says. “You should return to bed.”

“But-” Damien leans into Arum’s hand, overcome momentarily by a yawn. “But- there was shouting. What-”

“It’s nothing, Damien,” Rilla says, leaning over her worktable and glaring at the useless remains of the latest trial of her salve. “Go back to bed. Arum was just about to leave, and then it should actually be quiet enough for you to sleep. And for me to finish my work.”

Arum’s mouth presses into an even thinner line, and he gives Rilla an unimpressed look as Damien frowns in earnest. “Are- are the two of you- arguing?”

“Damien-” Rilla cuts herself off, just barely below a volume that could be called yelling, and presses her hands flat to the table. “Please go back to bed.”

With Arum’s arm slowly curling around his shoulder, Damien stares at her, his expression blooming from confusion into worry. “But… it’s nearly dawn already, my love,” he says.

Rilla’s eyes flick to the windows again, to the light growing brighter around the edges of the curtains, and she huffs out a furious breath as she pulls one of her books across the table towards her, trying to engross herself (pretending to engross herself) back into the research. “Okay. Okay. Fine. Then you should go do your exercises,” she says dismissively. “Either way I need to get back to work.”

“Did you not come to bed at all tonight, my flower?” Damien asks softly behind her, and Rilla clenches her jaw to keep from snapping in response. “I was… I was quite sorry to wake without you beside me.”

Five or six possible responses flit through her mind, all of them unreasonably cruel after the softness Damien is offering. She grits her teeth against them all, because Rilla is exhausted and frustrated and unfocused, but she’s spent far too much time in the effort to convince Damien’s anxious mind of how much she loves him, and she’s not going to jeopardize that with careless verbal sniping just because she’s not operating at full capacity tonight. Or- this morning, rather. Ignoring him isn’t exactly kind either, but she can’t think of any way to respond that isn’t unnecessarily cutting.

“Her nightmares are interrupting her slumber again,” Arum says, and his voice is casual though his eyes fix to hers in a determined way when she whips her head back to glare at the lizard. “She is attempting to outrun them by avoiding sleep entirely until she injures herself.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Rilla says with a scowl. “That’s not what I’m doing. I already told you, I can’t just put my work aside because I’m a little bit tired. This has nothing to do with dreams I might be having.”

Rilla… does not lie often. This particular one feels sour on her tongue, but if she can just get them to leave her alone then she can finish her work and figure out a solution for sleep on her own. She can handle this; there’s no reason for them to get all worked up about it.

“When… when did you last sleep, my love?” Damien asks, gripping Arum’s hand in a nervous sort of way.

“Yesterday,” Rilla says dismissively, turning back to her book. “I’ll be fine, Damien.”

“She slept for twenty minutes and woke herself by thrashing out of a nightmare,” Arum says. “The night before that, she managed perhaps an hour and a half before she gasped awake and slipped from bed, thinking I would not notice.”

“Rilla-”

“I can manage my own sleep just fine without interfering lizards keeping a running tally of my daily schedule, thanks very much,” Rilla hisses, gamely not looking at the pair of them and arbitrarily flipping pages without reading a single word upon them. “Really goddamn rich, honestly, the pair of you trying to micro-manage my- honestly. Honestly.”

“You do seem… rather exhausted, Rilla,” Damien says, his tone still confused and gentle. “Can you not just… come rest, just for a while, and find the solutions you seek with a refreshed mind?”

“I would rather find my solutions now, thanks.”

“Your book is upside-down, Amaryllis,” Arum says blandly.

Rilla growls under her breath and slams the book closed, spinning to face them again. Arum still has an arm encircling Damien’s shoulder, and another of his hands is clasped with Damien’s, and the both of them are staring at her. Damien flinches when she turns, his expression verging on distraught, and Arum is still holding his steady, observant gaze upon her.

“Okay,” she snarls, “I think that’s enough. I don’t need the nervous nag and the self-care hypocrite creeping over my shoulder and making it even harder for me to make any progress. I would go to bed a hell of a lot faster if the both of you would just leave me alone instead of arguing about my sleep habits.”

Arum’s expression finally hardens, and she sees his fingers squeeze Damien’s shoulder. “Enough… enough is right, Amaryllis. You need to sleep. You are not yourself, and we cannot discuss these nightmares until you are thinking more clearly.”

“I really don’t think you’re in a position to be ordering me around about the way I’m handling this, Arum, considering these damn nightmares are apparently your fault in the first place, you monster-”

“Rilla.” Damien clutches Arum’s arm, looking at her aghast. “You don’t truly-”

“No,” she says, the instant, instant regret making her shoulders sag, making the dull buzzing in her head all the more intense. She hugs her arms around her chest, exhaling an unsteady breath. “I know. I know. That wasn’t fair. I didn’t mean- I don’t actually-”

Even worse: the way Arum is looking at her. The way he seems unbothered, unsurprised by having the blame laid upon him. The way he doesn’t even flinch.

“I didn’t mean that, Arum.”

“I am well aware, Amaryllis,” Arum says evenly, his eyes never leaving her.

“I just- you’re both-”

“Trying very hard to help you, despite how stubbornly you are insisting on this attempt to drive us away so you may continue to suffer alone.” Arum sighs, then lifts a hand towards her, and she only barely catches the edge of desperation in his expression. “Please. Come away from your work. Just for a moment. I believe I can speak for Damien as well when I say that I have no desire to fight with you.”

Damien nods, and his hand raises on the other side, his expression open and distraught.

Rilla knows that if she lets the both of them hold her, she’ll be done for. She won’t be able to make herself go back to her work after that. Hell, she’s not sure she’ll be able to keep her damned eyes open if she lets them wrap her up in their arms.

She edges a step towards them, then glances at the disaster of research strewn across her table, still stubbornly refusing to present her with a solution.

“Please,” Arum says again, and Rilla breaks.

She stumbles the last couple feet towards them, and they fold her into their embrace as easily as… as easily as a metaphor she’s sure Damien would be able to produce in an instant, even if he were as tired as she is right now. She realizes how tightly she’s been holding herself as she leans into them, as her muscles relax one by one under their hands.

“My lovely flower,” Damien whispers, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Oh, why did you not say anything? I know how strong you are, but you need not bear such pain alone merely because-”

“I’m not- it’s not like I’m doing this because I want to,” she says, because she wants them to understand. She’s never been a good liar, and the only reason it’s taken this long for this to come out is because she’s been doing her best to avoid thinking about it at all when she’s around them. “It’s just that- it’s easier to sleep through them if I’m exhausted first.”

Damien makes a soft, sympathetic noise, clinging tightly to her. “Sleep through them? So you still have them, you just-”

“Look, I don’t even know how much of it I remember, you know? But- if I wear myself out really well, I can at least sleep all the way through the night. Or- well, you know. I can at least get five uninterrupted hours. Six if I’m lucky.”

“So it has been that frequent, Amaryllis? That intrusive?” Arum’s tone is carefully controlled, but she can feel how he stiffens, thanks to the way he’s wrapped around her.

“It… yeah. Sometimes. It’s been getting… worse, but it comes and goes, I guess. Lately… I don’t know.” She sighs, not exactly pleased to admit this. “Yeah. It’s been bad. I didn’t want to worry either of you,” she continues quickly. “I know you’ve both got your own- I just didn’t want to add to the pile, you know? I can handle this. I can handle my own- whatever.”

Arum tightens his grip on her for a heartbeat, nuzzling his snout into her hair before he pulls back enough to meet her eyes. “You once told me, Amaryllis, that telling the both of you when I was in distress was the only way to ensure that I would be helped.”

Rilla flushes, a little taken aback that Arum remembers her words so specifically. “But- but it’s not like either of you can do anything about this. It’s just dreams, Arum, it’s not like either of you can-”

“I believe I can help you, Amaryllis.” Arum gives her a wry smile as she jolts in his arms, looking up at him incredulously. “The nightmares stem from the fear monster. The monster that I helped create, as you so helpfully pointed out not terribly long ago.”

“Arum, I-”

“I take no offense,” he says, tone soft. “I am well aware of the ills I caused. If you had informed me of the severity of the problem sooner, I could have eased the effects before it progressed this far.”

“You…” Rilla stares up at him, the buzzing in her head and the softness of the embrace making it hard for her thoughts to coalesce into anything that makes sense. “You could?”

“The fear monster was primarily tested upon myself,” he explains, “as I do not typically keep sentient test subjects on hand. I always found that too distasteful a business, and more of a hassle than it was worth.” He glances aside, visibly uncomfortable. “So, obviously it would not do, if I did not have a way to mitigate the damage done to myself in the testing process.”

“Damage…” Damien tightens his grip around Rilla, and she assumes he’s hugging Arum tighter as well. “Not… not permanent damage…?”

“No, honeysuckle.” Arum sighs and smiles in the same moment, and draws a hand through Damien’s hair to soothe his distress. “Not permanent. The condition has been exacerbating itself in our herbalist because of her sleep deprivation and because it is going untreated, but it is reversible.” He wriggles himself back an inch or two away from the pair of them, just enough that he can reach into the folds of his clothes and pull out a small vial of wine-red liquid.

Rilla raises an eyebrow at him, her irritation bleeding back for a moment. “You just had that on you?”

“I have been growing more suspicious that my handiwork was the cause of your lack of sleep for some time now, Amaryllis. I became sure of it within the last two days, and when I came here tonight I had only just finished…” he tips the vial back and forth for a moment. “I was hoping to find you sleeping, and when you woke I intended to broach the subject with you.” He stares down at her, something vulnerable just barely slipping past the careful blankness of his reptilian face. “It would go down easier with a meal, but… you may take the treatment now, if you like.”

Ordinarily, Rilla would probably insist on knowing exactly what was in that vial, on knowing how he made it. Hell, she’d probably insist on making the treatment from scratch herself, just to be sure that she understood exactly what it was and how it worked. Now, though, her head is already foggily swimming, and the idea of trying to muddle through some sort of serum synthesis in this state makes her feel even more exhausted, if that’s at all possible.

She sticks a hand out, and Arum drops the treatment into her palm. She pulls out the cork and downs it in a single swig, and the alcohol burn almost overpowers the vague taste of limeflower that lingers under her tongue. She hisses out a breath, wrinkling her nose against the aftertaste as she hands the vial back.

“Single application, or will this require multiple treatments?” she asks reflexively, watching as he tucks the vial away again.

“If you sleep properly, your mind should begin to heal itself. If the dreams become difficult again I can provide another dose.”

“Hm.” Rilla squints up at him. “You’re gonna show me how you made that.”

“If you would like,” he agrees, unbothered, “but not right now. Now, you should let us bring you to bed, I think,” Arum says, his tone balanced quite carefully between soft and stubborn, and Rilla finds that she has no defenses left.

She sighs, dropping her head until she can rest her cheek against Arum’s shoulder. “Clearly I’m not going to get anything else done tonight,” she admits under her breath, and as Arum adjusts his grip to swing her up into his arms her surprised gasp devolves into a barking laugh. “You are so ridiculous,” she says, voice still threatening to bubble over with laughter. “Can’t keep your claws off us for a moment, can you?”

He raises an eyebrow, looking down over his snout at her with false haughtiness. “Why should I deny myself?”

“Ah, for once I am not the one manhandled - rather, monsterhandled,” Damien mock-whispers, but the levity leaves his face rather quickly, and then he leans closer to press his forehead against her own. “I… I am sorry, my flower. I should have seen that you were in pain so much sooner-”

“To be fair, Damien,” she says with a self-deprecating smile, her eyes already trying to slip closed, “I was trying pretty hard to keep you from noticing. Sorry.”

“My brave, brilliant herbalist,” he murmurs, and then he kisses her gently. “Brave and brilliant… and perhaps, occasionally, just the littlest bit headstrong.”

Rilla laughs and swats at the knight halfheartedly, and Arum chuckles lightly above her. He leans down and indulgently lets Damien press a kiss to his cheek as well, and then Arum turns and carries Rilla into the bedroom, Damien following in their wake.

Arum moves the sheets aside with one set of arms and then sets her down, nestled among the pillows. He slips onto the bed himself, then, wrapping his long body entirely around her before he pulls the blankets up over the both of them, a muted, subtle purr already starting in his chest.

“Ah, such a tempting tableau,” Damien sighs, leaning down to stroke his hand through Rilla’s hair. “I have only recently risen from these very sheets and yet I could be counted content to curl by your sides for hours longer. For the whole rest of the day, even-”

“You’ll be furious with yourself if you neglect your duties,” Arum reminds him wryly. “There isn’t any cause to worry now, honeysuckle. She will sleep soundly. She’s practically unconscious already.”

“Practically,” Rilla mutters, poking Arum in the side with her eyes still closed. “He’s right, though, Damien. Go start your day. According to the expert here, I should sleep just fine, and you can berate me for being headstrong over dinner tonight. Okay?”

Damien pauses, then sighs. Rilla, somewhere in her sleep-muddled brain, suspects that her lovers have just made significant eye contact over her head, but she can’t really bring herself to care. “Alright, my love,” Damien says eventually, and then he leans down to kiss Arum, and then to press a soft kiss against her temple. “I love you,” he says, his lips still brushing her skin. “Rest well, my most lovely flowers. May Saint Damien still the troubled waters of your mind until I return to you.”

“Love you too,” Rilla says, and she smiles as Arum echoes their words, though she can’t quite muster the effort to open her eyes to watch Damien leave. She hears his footsteps hesitate in the doorway - she imagines him turning to give the pair of them another lingering, dramatic look - and then he’s gone, leaving Rilla safe and warm with her heart feeling full and heavy in her chest, too tired now to do anything but sigh, settling even deeper into Arum’s embrace.

Arum nuzzles against the back of her neck, humming tunelessly.

“Sorry,” Rilla breathes. “I know… I know that I…”

“I already told you, Amaryllis. I took no offense.”

“Why?” she asks, curious more than distressed. “You have every right to be furious with me-”

“Amaryllis…” he shifts, drawing her closer, shielding her from the world with his body. “Have I not snapped at you and Damien often enough in vain bids to hide my own vulnerabilities?” He laughs softly behind her. “I could not possibly hold it against you, if you are guilty of the same strategies under duress.”

“But…”

“Amaryllis, your words are in no way the worst consequence that sleep deprivation in a creature I care about has had upon me.”

Rilla snorts out a laugh despite herself, mostly because he’s completely correct. And- she could keep questioning Arum, could try again to apologize in a way that feels right, but… it’s getting harder and harder to resist the pull of sleep. Harder and harder to resist the soothing pressure of his arms around her, the calming background noise of his purring.

She falls unconscious somewhere between when she decides she should thank him and when the words actually reach her lips, and Arum only smiles at her wordless sleeping murmur.

Sometime close to sunset, Rilla will wake with a yelp and the sudden realization that she can just store the two components of her salve separately, and only combine them immediately before use, negating the need for a binding agent at all, and she will feel more than a little bit foolish. About that, and about everything else.

For now, though, Rilla sleeps. She sleeps, and her monster curls careful and protective around her, drawing his fingers through her hair when even a hint of worry crosses her sleeping face, her head pillowed on his gently rumbling chest.

For the first time in weeks, under the vigilant watch of a monster, with the blessing of a saint left with the kiss upon her brow, not a single nightmare dares to trouble her sleep.