#this went on longer than i expected

[fortpeat]

Because of Sky's past and his trauma Sky has decided that he will never be the one to pursue or to fall in love first but the thing is these feelings can never be controlled no matter how much we want to. Sky started falling for Pai even before he realized it and it scared the shot out of him and when he saw what he saw at the party he believed that this is it. Pai doesn't want him anymore and that he's bored. So Sky ran away instead of confronting Pai because the idea of Pai admitting that hes bored or he doesn't want Sky anymore is more than he could bare.

What Sky doesn't realize is that Pai has never let him run from his feelings while Sky turns the other way Pai faces the problems and pushes it until it's solved. Sky ignored Pai for almost 2 weeks and it was at the end of Pai's limit that he decided to confront Sky at his Dorm. The thing we have to understand is Pai has been so patient with Sky since the beginning. He has been there for him through thick and thin and the only thing Pai has asked for in return was Sky to not ignore him and to take his calls and let Pai love him. Pai is a human as well who deserves an explanation for the way Sky was acting and he realised that he wasn't gonna get it unless and until he faces Sky. In that moment Sky needed someone to push him to face his fears and insecurities coz there is only so much he can avoid or run from them and as long as he does he and Pai can never move forward in their relationship coz a part of him will always believe that Pai will one day leave him. He needed to hear from Pai himself that SKY IS THE ONE FOR HIM. THERE IS NO ONE ELSE WHO CYATCHES HIS EYES OR MAKES HIS HEART SKIP A BEAT. SKY NEEDED TO HEAR THOSE WORDS DIRECTLY WITH NO SUGAR COATING.

Pai needed to be relentless with Sky so that Sky can see clearly how much Pai loves him and is not planning on leaving anytime soon. And once he's seen that he's already half way to healing coz he also realised that he is none of the things that his SOB EX told him. He is so much more than that. And that he is valuable and worthy of being loved and adored.

Some people have to look at their demons right in their eyes and fight tooth and nail screaming and kicking to win the battle. And that's exactly what Sky was doing in this scene. Sky was yelling at his insecurities and fears that Pai was calling out to stop confronting him and to leave him alone and he fought every step of the way and when he was done and kneeling exhausted Pai came and held him and told him that he LOVED HIM.

Sky's fight with his demons are far from over but now he knows that he's not alone and that he's a lot stronger than he believed to be.

[5ftboy]

"We're all over this fucking bear."

[fistfuloflightning]

I’ll never get there, but if I put the work in, maybe I’ll get close enough that I can chase just behind perfection — and have a front-row seat as you achieve it.

Chapter 20, Cultivate by @neonghostcat

[k7nnedy]

i’ve been thinking about fucking ada for some while now

i mean, think about it: she’s on top of you, grinding her needy cunt against yours after a mission, if you think she wants to go slow? you are very wrong because she simply won’t. after weeks of using her fingers to please herself, do you really think she’d be slow and passionate about it?

no, she’s desperate. the feeling of the grinding of your swollen clits being like the best thing in the whole world. your hands would grab her hips tightly, your nails digging into her soft skin making her shiver about how exciting the small stinging sensation felt. you could hear her heavy breathing (the both of you, at this point) as she rolled her head back and squirm in pleasure, you’d just stare at her with those adorable puppy eyes full of adoration, she was a goddess. your gorgeous goddess.

your gaze would then fall into her chest, looking at those pretty perky tits jiggling with every single move, making you feel even more horny. you’d sit down in a quite aggressive way, but it’s just because of your desperation for her. you would wrap your arms around her waist and push her down pulling her into your lap, making her pant and bite her bottom lip so hard it could have drawn blood from it. lowering her head, your mouth would find her pretty nipple and you just couldn’t help but start suckling into it, ada moaned, you could hear in her moan how horny she was and how much she had missed.

“fuck.. that’s it baby, right there,” she’d use that breathy whisper in your ear that just made your pussy throb so bad, you moaned softly into her nipple, your tongue swirling around it, licking it, but not biting because you knew you’d have your ass smacked. she’d cling into you for real, her hands going to the back of your head and cradling it. “mm.. you look so sigh.. so fuckin’ pretty right now,” she’d praise as the looked into your eyes, you had that lovely look in them that showed how much she loved you.

as you both fuck, your breaths picked up and your face flushed, her arms tightened around your neck and her moans grew with more intensity just like yours.

and then you both came, your fluids mixing with each other’s as ada collapsed into you, breathing heavily and blinking slowly. she rested her head on your shoulder, looking at you with pure love and longing. “i love you so much.” she’d softly mumble, and suddenly you felt just as sleepy as she did..

[thenewgirl76]

I'll Make You Believe

While the whole "asking a ghost how they died is the worst taboo ever, so don't do it or you'll be in a world of hurt" headcanon is always fun to implement to either create temporary conflict or simply move the story along, I think it'd work just as well on both ends if it was only a minor offense.

Like if you were to ask a once living ecto being how they died the most negative response you'd get would either be some variation of "None of your business puny mortal" or an explanation using the most vividly graphic, stomach turning details as an act of petty revenge as well as insurance you never ask again.

So what could possibly be a way more serious, far more dangerous no-no when it comes to ghosts instead? Well, how about stating ghosts don't exist/there's no such things as ghosts? The reason why being you're invalidating the trauma they've experienced in their last moments.

Makes no difference whether you were aware of this or not. If they find out or worse, it's said to their face? You better hope they'll settle for beating you black-and-blue. Because the alternative is becoming a ghost yourself by the time they're done with you.

Now in dpxyj fics when Danny interacts with Wally and the whole "ghost are/aren't real" argument between them comes into play it's usually depicted as a trivial disagreement. But what if you were to make it more angsty by inserting this take on lack of ghostly etiquette?

Let's say after getting to know his teammates better Danny starts talking about his origins (in vague detail) and exploits, only to eventually be interrupted by Kid Flash declaring that he can't possibly be a ghost as they don't exist. And Robin, Aqualad, Miss Martian, and Superboy all become quite alarmed watching Danny go from easygoing to looking ready to beat Kid Flash to a pulp, as he's now fighting back his ghostly nature. To avoid giving in to the urge he abruptly leaves with a dismissive attitude, much to KF's confusion.

From there it spirals. KF, not realizing he's poking a hornets nest continuing to voice his skepticism whenever the opportunity comes up and each time Danny barely manages to keep it together. Until one day Danny in an explosive rage snatches up KF and in a tone colder than ice tells him he knows what he is, what he went through to reach that state, and that he has no need to justify any of it to him.

Then he leaves once more before he really loses it. Before going after him Miss Martian informs KF of how Danny opened his mind to her and that for his sake she hopes he never shares those memories of what he went through with him. Feeling bad now, KF tries to apologize once Danny returns. Which results in failure again and again since Danny keeps giving him the cold shoulder.

After having yet another apology disregarded KF, in mounting frustration blurts out that he wishes he understood what has Danny so convinced he's a ghost, unaware a certain wish twisting genie he was warned about had been invisibly lurking in the vicinity the instant Danny was elsewhere. Along with the rest of the regulars, as soon as KF's denials had spread to the Ghost Zone Desiree was on the warpath, intent on showing just how real ghosts truly were. By sheer spite and determination she beat everyone else to him, just in time to hear him say the forbidden word, presenting her with the perfect means of retribution.

With a "So you have wished it so shall it be" KF is magically transported to an underwater submarine, occupied by Black Manta. Unable to run as freely without potentially damaging the sub and causing it to flood, the fight upon his unexpected arrival is drawn out to the point KF starts to feel his hyper metabolism weakening him. It's when he's close to dying of starvation that one of the more incompetent goons sends him crashing into the stash of ectoplasm Manta had smuggled with the intent of using it to pollute the waters of Aquaman's Kingdom. The last thing KF sees before blacking out is Desiree looming over him with a smirk of satisfaction.

[faunandfloraas]

It is kinda funny seeing people talk about Seungmin lately because he definitely has gotten more bold and confident for sure. He's also just getting opportunities to be perceived as an individual on his own as well for the first time in a while but it's still jarring to see people be like Aw he was always such a quiet goodie two shoes little nerd and it's like...... he was the one to leave and seek out his own vocal coach and blatantly talk about it, which of course lead to I.N and Lee Know also doing the same, he was the one to go on bubble and tell off sasaengs who used to camp outside their old dorm for invading members privacy but also because it effected other residents and staff at the complex, something that i'm certain upper management wouldnt have been happy about, and he wasn't curt or nice about it either. like he's never actually been a wallflower, he's always had a pretty strong backbone and seems to stick to his principals, its not really new.

[coolbattlegirl]

Silver and Lila 💖

[moonshine-nightlight]

Nothing's Wrong with Dale: Part Fourteen

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding  that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Chapter 14 - MoonshineNightlight - Original Work [Archive of Our Own]

[Part One][Part Two][Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six][Part Seven] [Part Seven.5] [Part Eight][Part Nine][Part Ten][Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] Part Fourteen [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two] [Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four] [Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] [Part Thirty] [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

It’s easier than you think, to find Dale’s tent—you might have guessed it would have a prominent Northridge banner on it. There isn’t a way to knock, so you cautiously pull the flap aside and ask, “Lord Dale?”

Your cheeks immediately heat because Dale’s taken the majority of his armor off and is changing his shirt. The muscles of his back ripple as leans down to pick up a fresh linen shirt, discarding the sweat stained one. “My lady?” he replies, surprised and starts to turn to face you. Without thought you spin around, knowing you’ll be unable to look him in the eye for days if you are confronted with the sight of his bare chest, alone in this small tent together. You’re not sure if simply the sight of his bare back is going to be enough to keep you from doing so anyways.

“My apologies,” you stammer. “I should have waited outside. In fact, I should—”

“It’s alright,” he says, sounding not offended, but mildly amused—which does nothing for your embarrassment. Now you feel like a sheltered child—the fact that you once were one is unhelpful in mitigating that feeling. You have seen others in various states of undress before—it's simply different with your fiance, with Dale. He’s attractive enough on his own, you knew that before, but then it was a fact, detached, when combined with his arrogance and peacocking—like the way a painting could be beautiful. Another reason for him to brag, for you to not quite meet him on his level.

This Dale, he doesn’t flaunt his appearance, for all he favors clothes that suit him still. The difference is in his attitude, in the way he bears himself. The way the sunlight lightens his dark brown hair, the dimple to his smile, the depth to his eyes, the warmer and warmer his skin has grown in color since the incident—it all catches you off guard now, at the most distracting moments, because he is not constantly shoving it to the forefront of everyone’s attention. 

“I’m clothed now.” You slowly turn back around to find Dale’s fresh white shirt on and tucked in, his quilted vest on over it but unfastened. You aren’t sure whether you are grateful or not. “You’ll forgive me if I refrain from putting back on any additional layers or armor,” Dales says, with a small smile. “I am trying to recover from the heat as best I can during this reprieve.”

“Of course, of course,” you reply, trying to catalog miscellaneous details around the room to distract and hopefully calm yourself. Unfortunately, the tent is rather plain and so you note the various armor and refreshments far too quickly.

“What brings you to see me?” Dale asks, only curiosity in his voice—no annoyance at your interrupting his likely attempt to have some time to himself, no dismissiveness at your unneeded presence. You’re able to meet his eyes again, his expression is open before he frowns slightly, reaching to his vest buttons. “Is it already time to begin the next tilt? The Field Marshal said it would be at least another quarter of an hour..” He looks over at the small table in the corner where his pocket watch lays.

“No, no,” you hurry to reassure him. “Nothing like that, or rather, if the round is reconvening so soon, I do not know of it.”

“Oh, alright,” Dale relaxes a bit at that, his fingers falling from his buttons as he twists where he stands, stretching out some of his muscles.

“However, I did wish to speak to you about the current match,” you say, interlocking your fingers together so as not to fidget with them.

Dale’s eyebrows raise and his brow furrows. “Oh? I did not think you overly interested in jousting, not enough to wish to discuss one with me in the middle of the tournament. Is something wrong?”

“I am not—or, you are right,” you hastily say, not wanting him to take offense at your general disinterest in jousting. “Jousting seems far more dangerous than its worth, in my eyes. The most recent tilts though, well, I believe that perhaps, I have noticed…” 

You bite your lip because he’s right, you’ve no idea about jousting or lance work—only minor prior knowledge and then everything you’ve overheard from your schoolmates or from the Northridges today. How can you think that you have noticed what they have not? What no one at the tournament has? What Dale himself has given no sign of thinking despite literally smashing into the man? Perhaps since you know Dale’s true nature, you might have slight informational advantage over Grandfather and the others, but Dale himself knows who he is.

“Noticed what, my Lady?” Dale’s voice cuts through your thoughts. He still doesn’t look annoyed or judgmental. He has one of his gauntlets in hand from when he thought he had to hurry, but he’s merely turning it in his hand as he often does, keeping his fingers busy while he thinks. You’ve seen him do it with his cane or a pen the other times you’ve discussed important information. He  looks as interested in hearing what you have to say here and now as he has any other time he’s asked your opinion, for whatever reason.

You take a deep breath. You’d thought strongly enough about this back in the stands to come here. Which would you rather: warning Dale when it is unnecessary or failing to warn him when it is? That at least, is no true question. Still, you should be very careful about what you say next. “I believe Eastmount is cheating,” spills out instead.

Dale pauses, fingers freezing where they hold his gauntlet. He frowns as he looks back at you. “Cheating?”

You nod, swallowing under Dale’s scrutiny. “Yes, I believe he’s enhanced his strength somehow, or done something to his shield—with materials or energies from the Depths.”

Dale’s whole body stills at that. “From the Depths?”

“When the break was called,” you hurry to explain, “his squire came out to attend to him and he seemed angry. Obviously he didn’t expect you to be as strong as you are since he hasn’t been able to unhorse you as he has the others—he was reprimanding the squire, gesturing with his gloves and at his shield and saddle. He left all three with the squire, who then called over a stablehand who looked far more like a mage.”

Dale is still too rigid as he continues to stare at you without blinking. His gaze is calculating, weighing your words. “But you suspected something before this—you wouldn’t have been paying such close attention to them otherwise.” It’s not a question.

“Yes, I did,” you admit. “Eastmount seemed too strong.” You remember that subconscious way Dale had rubbed his hand. “I…” you swallow and meet his eyes straight on, hoping he understands what you aren’t saying, hoping that isn’t a mistake. “I know your strength. While you were unhorsed earlier, through technique, not force. In fact, I do not think anyone in the tournament could do such a thing,” you admit, fighting through the tightening that you can almost feel in the air, “and it appeared to me that he was matching it in a way I don’t think…” 

You scramble for the right words as Dale stares back at you, dark eyes wide, “I don’t think possible, not without something to enhance his own.” Dale’s strength is inhuman, you think as you continue to look back at him, and so Eastmount would need something inhuman to match it.

“I see,” he says, muscles rigid and eyes still unblinking. You dare not look away, not even when the shadows seem to roil in the corner of your eyes. Slowly, he tilts his head to the side, his voice somehow emptier than it should be, echoing as if coming from a further distance away than simply his chest, “And what do you think should be done? About such a…challenge.”

At that, you can’t help but spread your empty hands. “I’ve no notion of what can be done. Particularly given the severity of the accusation and of what your grandmother’s response could be.” He straightens his head and you worry he’ll take that as a threat, when it's not what you mean so you stumble on, “You know how she feels about such things. A test of all competitors and their equipment would be likely and that is not the…ideal situation.”

He offers no response and while you try to convey your sincerity, you’re not sure it's getting across. He seems far less human than usual and your decision to meet him alone feels foolish now. What if he decides that you knowing what he is is a danger he cannot afford?

Then, something in his shoulders eases and he finally, finally blinks. “No,” he says, sounding wryly amused. “Not particularly. I’d noticed how tilting him felt rather like driving my lance into a brick wall. That his lance struck with a force more akin to a much larger foe on a much larger horse. I’d simply thought him particularly skilled. This makes more sense,” he admits ruefully.

You feel tension drain from you at Dale’s reaction, a weight you’d not realized you were carrying, lifts. 

Dale taps his chin thoughtfully with the gauntlet. “This also puts what he said at the start of the match in a different context.” When you frown quizzically, Dale flaps his hand dismissively. “Something about seeing who had the most skill and may the smarter man win. I’d thought it odd since he doesn’t particularly like me and we’ve never jousted—now I remember, the last time he saw me, there was an argument about methods and which scholar had the better insight.”

Ah. The Dale from then and Eastmount must have both been interested in demonic power—Eastmount favoring tools, or so it appears to you, and Dale obviously having intended to enhance himself. While you’re not sure how the current result reflects on either of them, it also would further explain Eastmount’s particular frustration—he clearly has no idea he isn’t truly facing Dale and must feel he’s at a standstill in an intellectual debate in addition to a physical one.

“But what is there to do? From what I could see and from what you tell, clearly his shield and likely gauntlets and saddle are all steeped in power,” you say, frowning as you try to work through the problem. “I fail to see how anything that could be done to overpower him would be helpful or achievable.”

“Eastmount’s short-sighted,” Dale says, thoughtfully, “and unimaginative. His designs are likely all to do with strength and solid seating, anything to push his opponent away and to keep the same from happening to him. And I likely would have continued to simply put more of my strength into my tilts, but if that can’t work…” 

His eyes light up. “Then I simply have to outmaneuver him.”

“He could be changing his strategy as we speak, same as you,” you caution, more because you feel you should than anything else because you’re not sure you believe he will. You recall his anger, his frustration, the way he berated his allies and then stormed off in a huff. As Dale says, he seems more likely to dig himself in deeper rather than one to adapt.

“Perhaps,” Dale nods before shrugging. “But staying my course at this point is foolish.”

You nod because you agree and a thoughtful silence fills the tent. Just as you begin to feel awkward, a smile spreads across Dale’s face. He lifts a hand, as if to reach for you, but ultimately, he merely adjusts his vest, as if thinking better of it. “I appreciate your insight, my Lady. If we had continued to clash as we have been… I’m certain someone one other than you would have noticed. And then who knows what sort of suspicion would have consumed this tournament.”

You feel heat flood your cheeks at the sincerity, the compliment. “I merely did not wish for any misfortune to befall you, if I could be of assistance in preventing such an event.”

Some of the ease in Dale vanishes at that and his gaze is far more calculating than it had been. “Yes, and why is that? Not that I do not appreciate your… delicate handling of such a matter.”

You know he must be referring to your disclosure of your knowledge of his own inhuman nature, though it's clear he’s unsure of what exactly you know. You don’t know what to say, any more than you did with Steward Bilmont. Somehow, admitting you prefer this him feels like a far too vulnerable admission on your part. As such, you simply give him a polite smile, “You are my fiance, how could I not?”

Slowly, very slowly, he nods for all he’s no longer blinking again. It's clear he doesn’t understand, but he’s not pushing you on it. “Still, I thank you.”

“You are welcome,” you reply before the urge to run, which you’ve been fighting since you left the stands to some degree or another, is irresistible. “I believe I should return to my seat. No doubt you shall be recalled to tilt soon enough and I would not want to interrupt such preparations.”

“Of course,” Dale says, fading back to his more blunted way of being human. Still, even then, there is some amusement to him as he says, “I shall see you when the tournament is over.”

You freeze, having forgotten that Grandmother had named you as the one to present the prizes to the winners. Between the joust and the melee, you’ll need to move to join her in the judges booth. “Yes, right. I shall see you then.”

You find yourself back in your seat surprisingly quickly, though you know you’ve been gone for longer than expected. You hope the wine you had the sense to procure on the way back is excuse enough. You let the talk wash over you, mostly listening for an increase in speculation. Luckily, you hear none, only grumbles about shoddy craftsmanship, the high heat of the sun, the time it's taking to resume the joust. Speculation regarding victors is still high, with only eight competitors left. 

Dale has seemingly good odds to make it into the final four, even given the current tie with Eastmount. Knight Alry is also a favorite, who won against Dale in the elimination jousting round and so is a Knight from Genry. You overhear a comment from someone who must think you’re already seated with Grandmother and the judges, wondering aloud why a knight from the bride’s family isn’t here to compete.

You stiffen, keeping your eyes forward, and fail to hear the answer when an increase in crowd volume tells you that the Field Marshal has returned with fresh lances. You’re relieved to have missed the reply, wondering what they might have even said. Truthfully, your family did not see it necessary to send someone to compete for Portsmith, not for this simple marriage of their youngest. Honestly, you doubt it even crossed their mind to send someone. 

Both of your brothers are skilled knights, but risking Asher, who is set to inherit, would not be an option and his children were too young to compete. Douglas likely would have competed out of his own desire, except that he’s on a military campaign in the North. You’re not even sure if your parents have mentioned your upcoming wedding to him, let alone if he’ll bother to put in a request to come to the wedding itself. Your sisters do not have the necessary martial skills for this type of tournament—your oldest sister skilled in the combat traditions of her husband and your other sister uninterested in anything of the sort, even more so than you are.

Other cousins are scattered about, but none are particularly close to you. You don’t think your parents considered whether it might be seen as an insult to not send someone to represent them, to bolster you, because the marriage itself is the key in their mind—and neither like tournaments as it is. You wonder how much of your own distaste is from them. You know they would not have thought to send someone to make you feel less alone, by yourself in Northridge for the last month and for the rest—it doesn’t matter, in the end.

A flash of red makes you realize you’ve been starting sightlessly at the field for likely too long and you blink yourself back to awareness. You’re relieved no one seems to have noticed your mental absence. Swallowing, you straighten in your seat and focus on that red that your eyes were already drawn to—Eastmount’s tunic with his coat of arms on it. Your eyes travel along from his gloves, which are already on, to the look on his face. Whatever frustration he previously felt has been replaced with smug confidence once more. 

You strain your eyes as his squire hands him his shield, looking for changes, for differences to it, but you can’t identify any change—you don’t doubt there has been one though. In the very least the influence, the energy, has been refreshed. It must have been for Eastmount to no longer be concerned. You bite your lip and turn away from him, eyes landing on Dale at the opposite end of the lane. He’s adjusting his shield, his squire holding his lance for him while he does so. Once he’s happy with the shield, he glances around, scanning the stands and you swear he meets your eyes for just a split second, before his helm covers his face and he takes up his lance.

You take a fortifying gulp of wine as he gets in position. A hand lands on your arm and you jump in your seat. Turning, you see one of Dale’s cousins, his face pinched with what might be concern. “Are you alright, my Lady?”

“Yes, thank you for your inquiry,” you reply reflexively, but his frown only deepens, so you try for a sheepish smile. “My family is not overly fond of tournaments and I admit my nerves only grow each time it is Lord Dale’s turn for a tilt.”

Joel’s smile gentles. “I understand your trepidation, but Cousin Dale is skilled, we have physicians standing by—all will be well.”

You widen your smile and nod, not fully mollified, but strangely his words do help. “Thank you, perhaps I simply needed to hear it from someone other than myself.”

Before either of you can say anything more, a trumpet blast brings your attention back firmly to the riders. They’re already in motion, charging for each other, and before you know it, their lances hit shields. It’s almost predictable at this point, the way they both shatter. What isn’t expected is the way Dale leans in and catches Eastmont’s shield with his own. They lock together and Dale seems to pull him forward and sideways, twisting his very caught off guard opponent and then shoving him. Eastmont goes sprawling into the dirt.

Half the crowd stands up as cheers ring through the stands at his maneuver. While it wasn’t unheard of for someone to do such a thing, it was unexpected enough that the crowd was quite entertained. In response to the noise, Dale pulls off his helm, tucking it under his arm as he bows in the saddle to his grandmother and then to the audience at large. He leans over the barrier to say something to Eastmont, back on his feet but clearly furious over the outcome.  Grudgingly he accepts Dale’s offered handshaking, knowing the only thing worse than a loss is one suffered disgracefully. 

As Dale lets go and starts to guide his horse back to where his squire waits to accept the reins, he looks back to the stands and you swear that he looks directly at you—and winks.

[Part Fifteen]

[akai-anna]

Now for my dear DCMK exchange gift giver. I come with some fic recs and a couple of headcanons for our favourite certified lil guy.

A selection of personal fic recs of the platonic/familial/friendship kind (sprinkled with a bit of romance too). Please note that all these fics come back to one thing: Shinichi/Conan is involved, as he tends to be my main focus (also I'm a huge Found Family trope lover, as you might be able to tell from some of these recs). I also decided to forgo my soulmate AU recs, since it seems you likely know those! (Though, if you'd ever like more fic recs... just let me know. And I hope you'll find one or two on this list that you haven't yet read and you'll like!)

warm soup on a frigid night: Detective Boys centric, my heart melted gosh.

Once and For All: another Detective Boys centric fic, I'M SCREAMING thEY ARE SO PRECIOUS.

A Friend In Need: Kaitou KID centric, really love how organic this fic is, both from KID's and Shinichi's POV.

You Have an Hour: Sonoko's POV and an extremely funny and relatable fic.

You're okay, you're safe: oh, my beloved Sakura Trio, also from Sonoko's POV which I adore, and Sonoko's feelings in this... I feel her.

Switched: KID centric, FREAKING BODY SWAP, and so well written too, very fun read.

Guide you home: I love the Guide/Sentinel universe so much, this has romantic KaiAo, Heizuha, ShinRan, and lots of other platonic combinations, this is also a case fic and emotional.

Identity: One of my favourite scenarios, OCCHAN AND RAN BEING AWARE FROM THE BEGINNING, MY HEART-

Code Red: KOGOROU CENTRIC, let him shine!

The Cloning Secret: do you want to read something absolutely heart-wrenching, disturbing, yet absolutely brilliant? Go no further. We warned: this is a work in progress.

Misconceptions, Illusions, and Lies (and Other Forms of Fair Play): I absolutely adore this fic, the idea of Ran and KID working together, also bonus points for different POVs, also a work in progress.

Shenanigans in Beika: one of my ultimate favourite fic series, off all time, the interactions in this are just way too charming and precious and dear. Also a work in progress.

until the flowers bloom again: same author (yes, one of my favourite authors, sue me) as Shenanigans in Beika, involves the Detective Boys and ShinRan, and my heart just... gosh, this fic is so precious.

Hidden Epidemic: I love the first part the most, but this as a whole has a lot of headcanons incorporated into it that I love to bits. Lots of POV changes, and so many characters (Detective Boys, Heiji, Kazuha, KID, Ran and so on)

pet: super short, but also SUPER CUTE, absolutely in love with the idea of Ai having a cat. (one of my favourite authors for the fandom)

(the space between) where you smile and hide: one of the very few and precious Kazuha POV fics, especially her thinking about Shinichi. (also one of my favourite authors, and if you like one Hattori Heiji, I highly rec holly's other fics too)

Observations: my ultimate favourite fic involving Takagi Wataru, part of it is from his POV too, and it has so many great things about it. (VERMOUTH!!! Also Heiji and Satou working together! And most importantly: Takagi finally getting an answer to his Question.)

All Night Gang: I ADORE THIS FIC SO SO SO MUCH, THE FACT THAT KAZUHA AND RAN GET TO FINALLY KNOW. Also the adorable chatting in the first part. All the different POVs later on. And all the FEELINGS AND HEADCANONS AND THE THING THIS FIXES ABOUT CANON FOR ME. I'M so grateful for the existence of this fic.

Nothing To Lose: Detective Boys, PRECIOUS CHILDREN, they just miss their friend, this fic made me so emotional, dammit. SHINICHI YOU FCKIN IDIOT-

Family of the heart: God. This fic. THIS FIC. I LOVE PARENTAL MOURI KOGOROU WITH A PASSION.

never were and not anymore: this series? Damn. The shapeshifter concept in it is MARVELOUS AND MASTERFUL. The way it got merged into the universe, and how it changed events. Also THE RELATIONSHIPS IN THIS KILL ME in the best way.

Scion: I absolutely adore this author, and this is one of my ultimate favourite fics involving Shinichi and KID. The supernatural element is so exquisitely fitting into the universe, and how Shinichi's feelings are so complex, and the teamwork... just. Everything about this fic pulls at my heartstrings.

As for personal headcanons for Shinichi/Conan, here is a few:

Shinichi/Conan is neurodivergent as fck. I personally like to think he is on the autism spectrum, but I'm very flexible on the exact nature. One thing for sure: he is not neurotypical. At. All.

HE'S A CERTIFIED PENCIL BITER YOUR HONOUR!!! (IT'S NOT EVEN A HEADCANON AT THIS POINT- *GETS HIT*)

No one can tell me, No One, that after all these traumatic experiences this child doesn't experience panic attacks or PTSD.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE STOPPED PLAYING SOCCER, HE LOVES SOCCER!! (The kids are totally the reason he got more involved in soccer again, YOU HEAR ME-)

Shinichi keeping gloves on his person for Crime Scene Examination Purposes, At All Times.

Shinichi having his own shorthand, you cannot tell me he doesn't TAKE NOTES, he so totally WOULD. (HE HAS A NOTEBOOK ON HIM!!! AND SOMETHING TO WRITE WITH!!! OFC HE WOULD HAVE AN EFFECTIVE WAY TO TAKE NOTES!!!)

Thank you for your attention, may you have a blessed day, darling!

[cat-mentality]

I wonder how fucking scared Cellbit must be all the time.

How every time anyone on the Island, but mostly his family, go anywhere near any building of the Federation or any close to Cucurucho the only thing going through his mind is the crippling fear that they will not come back.

Or not whole at least.

I wonder if he thinks about Felps. About a body trapped in ice, so cold to the touch that it hurt to hold him but he still pushed through it to hold him to his chest, Felps looking so still, pale and lifeless, breathing so slow he feared for the worst.

I wonder if he thinks about a long corridor and the pain as the chainsaw made contact with his flesh, of the warmth of the blood, if he is haunted by the echo of the mechanical laughter.

I wonder if he thinks about the missing days.

If he keeps awake at night trying to remember anything that happened. Anything he may have done. Wonders in the dark of the nights what was so terrible, so secretive the Federation didn't allow him to remember doing.

I wonder if every time someone is gone for too long Cellbit fears for the worst.

If when Etoiles is gone for some faraway dungeon he worries he will go missing and they wouldn't even know. If when Felps goes mining, deep underground when no one can reach him not even his own memories, Cellbit will sometimes go to his square just to hear the noise, to calm himself.

If he keeps track of when Roier or any of the FavelaFive leave any building, if he pays attention to where they are going and whether or not they are alone because no one really paid attention to Quackity leaving and look at how he is now. I wonder if he checks in the map from time to time just to make sure he knows where they are in case they need help, or even to know where to look if they don't come back when they are supposed to.

I wonder if he feels dread polling in his insides when he can't find their location. I wonder if he tries to keep optimistic, understand that sometimes people just need a bit of privacy and quiet, but another part is dreading the connotations, is wondering if the lack of location was not something forced.

I wonder if he worries about all those people accepting tasks from Cucurucho. I don't think Cellbit is truly angry about it, or at least not angry for the obvious reasons (He tortured me, a voice he tries to bury still screeches somewhere inside, do none of you care about all the pain he caused me? Traitors, traitors) but because he knows what the Federation is capable off, if when he hears Jaiden insist that Cucurucho is not so bad he is terrified they will use her ability to see the good on anyone to hurt her.

I wonder if when he sees what Pac and Mike are building he always keeps an eye on his surroundings, expecting to see a white figure with a gun in hand, if he bites his tongue and only lets the praises out because what right does he have to tell them what to do? How do you explain to them how terrified it makes him when they push the rules? How does he convey his worries when maybe all they will hear are the echoes of a man with a bloodied knife who tried to control them?

I wonder if Cellbit makes an effort to speak lower when Pac is around, if he grips his emotions and pushes them down, down, down, if he screams so loudly inside his own head that the voices are forced to silence themselves. I wonder how he feels when Pac flinches away from his anger even when said anger is on his behalf.

Does Cellbit see too much of himself in Tubbo?

Does he look at this scrappy looking kid, (is he a kid? Cellbit wasn't one, he doesn't know, but Tubbo does not have the soulless eyes he is so familiar with), and is haunted by how familiar it all is? His brashness, his unwillingness to accept things as they are, his determination to mess with the Federation, his bravado when Cucurucho comes to insure a warning, his plans to obtain answers, his curiosity.

Cellbit was like that once.

Before a chainsaw, before a betrayal, before missing days, before he started to fear.

I wonder if Cellbit looks at Tubbo and asks himself how long until he breaks.

Because he will break.

Because that is what the Island does to people- It breaks them, it twists their emotions and their bodies and their minds until they don't know what is right, what is and what isn't.

And this is why Cellbit need to find a way for them to leave this cursed land.

The Island has given him everything he has, Cellbit is nothing without his son, without his husband, without his found family, without his friends.

But he would rather be nothing, than to watch as they get hurt over and over again.

[youngpettyqueen]

Hi!!! You wanted fic requests from that prompt list right?

For the prompts, I think 5 and 65 go well together, so maybe something with those two and Julian/garak, if you want?

YES THANK YOU youre so right those do work really well together... love me some hurt/comfort time to inflict it on these two

“I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

“Look at me—just breathe, okay?”

Julian comes to smelling nothing but smoke and tasting nothing but blood.

He tries to open his eyes. Only one does. The other isn't cooperating- feels like it's glued shut. He finds himself looking out over the floor of the promenade. He's on the floor, then. On his stomach, from the feel of it, one arm caught underneath him.

Smell of smoke. Flickering lights. Everything's bathed in orange light. He can see flames, flickering in the corner of his vision.

Julian squeezes his eye shut again, trying to think. His head's pounding like a drum. He was on the promenade, he remembers that much. And he was... he was sitting. He was having lunch. But try as he might, he can't remember how he got to the floor. One second he was sitting, the next he was here.

The context clues make it easy to figure out. Smoke, fire, the vicious hammering in his skull. There must've been an explosion. Which means he's hurt. Which means a lot of other people are probably hurt. Which means he needs to get up, and get to work.

He starts pushing himself up to do just that, but he doesn't get very far. The arm that's caught under him doesn't want to cooperate, and trying to force the issue makes pain rip through his nerves like fire. He ends up buckling onto his side, gasping painfully. The pain centres at his shoulder, white-hot and stabbing- there's something stuck there, right under his collarbone.

Julian opens his eye again. This time, staring out across the smoking promenade, he can see somebody. He tries to call out, but his voice doesn't come, and the attempt leaves him coughing up a lungful of smoke. This does his injured shoulder no favours, and makes him aware of a deep ache in his ribs. He manages to roll himself onto his back to minimize how much he's jostling himself, bracing his ribs with his good arm, still coughing up ash and grit.

This is bad. This is very, very bad.

"Doctor!"

A voice cuts through the ringing in his ears. A familiar voice, only his head is too scrambled to remember who it belongs to. He looks over, and sees the person he'd spotted hurrying towards him.

"Doctor!" They call again. And he realizes who it is, right as his beautiful face comes into view.

Garak drops to his knees beside him. His eyes are wide with alarm, while Julian can only look up at him and smile weakly. Maybe it's sappy, but seeing Garak makes things feel a little less awful.

"G-Garak..." He manages to get out, sounding and feeling like he's talking around a throat full of sand. He coughs uncomfortably, wincing slightly. Then, he remembers just why he was sitting at lunch, and his weak little smile grows as he throws out the accusation, "You're late."

Garak looks like he's on the verge of three different panic attacks. "Yes, well, how fortunate that I was," He says, his tone and his eyes not at all matching his joking words, "Otherwise I might have been caught in this, and then where would you be?" His eyes keep flicking to Julian's injured shoulder, confirming what he already knows.

Julian manages a weak nod. "There's something in my shoulder." He acknowledges.

"A sizeable piece of metal," Garak supplies him, since Julian can't see it, "And you've got a nasty cut on your forehead."

"I'm concussed," Julian adds, "And I've got some bruised ribs. Can't tell how many. They may be broken. Hard to judge the pain with... you know." He nods weakly to his shoulder.

"Oh, is that all?" Garak asks, his sarcasm sounding genuine, of course, "Any other injuries I should know about, Doctor?"

"I'll let you know if any make themselves known," Julian rasps, "Now, could you be a dear and- and hit my comm badge? I can't really move all that much." He admits.

"There's no point," Garak tells him, "Comms are down. So are transporters. From what I can tell, several bombs have gone off. Here, ops, at least one in the habitat ring, and maybe one in the infirmary," He gives Julian a grim look, "We seem to be in quite the dire situation, Doctor." He observes.

Julian huffs something that might be a laugh. "I'd noticed," He puffs out, "So, just you and me, then. Tell me, Mr. Garak..." He hopes his nerves aren't showing as he asks, "How are your medical skills?"

Garak's expression gives nothing away. "Subpar, compared to yours," He replies, "Though I suspect we have no other choice."

"None at all," Julian agrees, "Either you stop all this bleeding I'm currently doing, or I'm going to be in... quite a bit of trouble." He's already lightheaded. He hopes that's just the concussion.

"Alright," Garak nods, "Alright, yes. Yes. Stop the bleeding," He nods again, and leans back to start tearing at his tunic, "I can certainly do that." He continues, sounding like he's talking to himself more than he's talking to Julian.

Julian manages to raise a brow at him. "Garak."

"Yes, Doctor?" Garak doesn't look up.

"Try to sound a bit more confident," Julian suggests, "Makes patients feel... at ease."

Despite everything, Garak still manages to give him an unimpressed look as he tears a sizeable chunk of fabric away from his tunic. "I'll keep that in mind," He replies flatly, shifting in closer. His expression softens as his eyes return to what Julian is sure must be a grisly wound, "Now, I'm going to take care of you, ok? And I need you to advise me on the best way to do that."

Julian nods. "Of course," He agrees, "My shoulder needs immediate attention. You have to stop the bleeding there, but don't... don't remove the piece of metal," He advises, "Sort of... wrap that fabric around it, and press down on the wound. Try not to move the metal," He adds, "It might make the bleeding worse."

Garak listens intently, eyeing his task up. "Seems simple enough," He says. Then, with an almost... sympathetic look to Julian, he tells him, "I will have to hold you down, Doctor."

"I know," Julian replies, "It's going to hurt. I'm probably going to scream bloody murder." He warns him.

"You know I'd never want to hurt you." Garak adds.

Julian manages a faint smile. "If the choice comes down to you hurting me, or me bleeding to death, I hope you don't mind if I'd much rather have you hurt me." He murmurs.

Garak takes a breath. "Very well," He says, "Brace yourself, my dear." He shifts himself into position, placing himself in such a way that he can hold Julian down against the floor as he gets his makeshift bandage ready.

Julian gets to take half a bracing breath before the pain spikes. Garak moves in quickly, clamping down on the wound with both hands, and it feels like someone's set his shoulder ablaze. Julian screams like he's just been shot, instinctively trying to jerk away, but Garak doesn't let up on him. He's trapped, pinned down, and thank god for that, but he can't help but howl again as the piece of metal buried in his shoulder jostles with the movement.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry-" Garak gasps, continuing to hold him down and keeping steady pressure on the wound. It feels like he's also holding onto the metal, keeping it still as best he can, "Look at- look at me, Doctor, look at me- just breathe, yes?" He tries, with a smile that is not at all convincing, "Just breathe. Try to breathe."

Julian manages to still himself, gasping shallowly and painfully, black spots dancing in his vision. "I have damaged ribs!" He manages to hiss out, "This is the best I can do!"

"I'm not exactly a trained professional!" Garak reminds him, voice pitched with anxiety, "I'm just saying what you always seem to say to your patients! What else would you have me say?" He demands.

"Just- just distract me," Julian gets out between gasps, "Tell me a story. True, false, doesn't- doesn't matter, just- just anything, Elim, please-" He begs. He's tempted to ask him to bash his head off the floor and knock him out, but he doesn't think that would help Garak's current state. He can feel his hands trembling against him.

Garak's eyes search his face, the panic in them clear and unguarded. And then, almost hysterically, he asks, "Did you know one of my first jobs was as a server?"

The absurdity of that question almost makes Julian forget about his current agony. Almost. "What?"

"Yes, I was a server," Garak continues, looking and sounding like he's flying by the seat of his pants, "A waiter, as you Humans might say. It was a fine dining establishment, only for the highest of high classes. Have I truly never mentioned this?"

"Never," Julian gasps, "Do- do go on."

"Oh, gladly," Garak takes one hand away from the wound in his shoulder, and reaches over to gently brush some of Julian's hair away from his forehead- looking at his head wound, "I served some very high profile individuals, including one you're all too familiar with," He starts gingerly probing around where the wound must be, and Julian grinds his teeth as he presses on bruising, "You remember our good friend, Gul Dukat."

"I wish I didn't." Julian growls, more out of pain than anything else.

Garak manages a chuckle at that. "How rude, my dear. I seem to be rubbing off on you," He observes, "But yes, I would serve our dear Dukat often. The man can't hold his liquor," He tells him, "It's rather embarrassing, actually. One time, he..."

And Garak continues to ramble, concocting a story out of thin air that holds absolutely no truth. Still, Julian hangs onto every word, clinging to them as he desperately clings to consciousness. Garak's hand finds its way into his good one, holding tight, and it stays there until help finally finds them.

[thenokistation]

How the Archie Cast Lives On in IDW Sonic (Mini Essay)

Archie Sonic happened and we all just have to live with it.

While the series ran for nearly 300 mainline issues, this was only because it spun out of Sonic's earliest days. Long before he had a more concrete world and cast.

I go into it more here, but Archie Sonic's cast of Freedom Fighters has had their identities and purposes lost as the canonical cast expanded and the roles of these Freedom Fighters were overlapped by more interesting characters. Despite the reboot giving the chance to reinvent the Archie cast, these problems still largely remained.

However, that isn't to say that there wasn't some good to be gleaned from these characters. And the team behind the IDW Sonic series has recognized this by using these bits and pieces to invent new characters from the ground up and show the true potential of these characters if they were invented in the modern day.

This is how some of the Archie cast lives on and is improved through the IDW cast.

Whisper the Wolf

Whisper has been hurt. She is obviously traumatized and deals with the mental wounds inflicted on her by Eggman everyday. She lost the people closest to her and is terrified of the people she has now grown close to.

This is much in the same way that Bunnie Rabbot was half-roboticized by Eggman. Some of her most memorable stories in the original Archie run have her dealing with her roboticization. Her fear that it will fully take it over, that it will kill her and possibly harm her friends.

Both of these characters use part of the trauma inflicted on them to fight. Bunnie with her mechanical parts while Whisper uses a modified Wispon with aid of her former team's wisps.

However, these characters aren't the same. Whisper is so much her own character that these bits of inspiration easily slip through the cracks.

Bunnie is a joyous character, despite everything. Hell, she survives the reboot with her marriage intact because the joy it brings her is so intrigal to her character. Whisper, though, is still sore. She usually works alone, lashes out when her trauma is triggered, and nearly actually murders Eggman.

As a bonus, Whisper's wisp weaponry seems to be taking a few notes from Eclipse the Darkling. Eclipse raised dark, corrupted wisps and used them to fight much in the same way Whisper now fosters her former team's wisps. This could be the rare time in an action series a character is a light reflection of an established one instead of the other way around.

Surge the Tenrac

This is absolutely the most blatent of the bunch with its inspiration, but the parallels can be a bit harder to nail down.

Sure, S(co)urge is a green-furred rival to Sonic who is dead-set to best him and essentially take his role in the world, but is that really where the similarities end?

Scourge is just Evil Sonic. Same moves, same speed, etc. Before he turned green, he was literally just called Evil Sonic.

Surge is more complicated. She and Kitsunami don't know their past. They feel abandoned by the world. They've been cybernetically enhanced and have the undying desire to best Sonic instilled in them.

But between them, there is still that lust for power. Scourge's motivation may be fairly Joker-esc while Surge literally cannot stop herself, but both still want to essentially end their respective worlds.

Jewel the Beetle and Lanolin the Sheep

It may be a bit odd to put these characters together, but there is a good reason for it. Why? Because we need to talk about Sally Acorn.

Sally has always been a strange character that never really worked. While the Freedom Fighters did need a leader, she usually just became someone keeping Sonic on a leash while also being his love interest despite the two never seeing eye-to-eye.

The problem is, she never really evolved from that. As the franchise grew, a powerless leader-type grew more and more worthless. So she mainly fell into the role of bringing drama to the plot. Will Sally die during the Endgame arc? Can Sally rebel against her own father now that he has returned? Is she a good enough leader? Is it Wednesday and she has to break up with Sonic again?

Even worse is the identity crisis of Sally's character. A question asked and never really answered is if she belongs in the field or leading the free world. An attempt at stirring drama from this is still being raged about by Sally's fans and mocked by just about everyone else. Even the IDW comics made an intrinsic promise to not go anywhere near the character drama Sally lived in.

(For the record, this entire issue is basically a long conversation between Sonic and Amy about the same dilemma that caused The Slap™)

The reboot tries to solve this by having her simply be the commander of the flying airship the Freedom Fighters worked from, but it still led to her being mostly pointless. At best, Sally was inoffensive and boring while at worst she caused drama that is still being debated to this day.

So when it came time for IDW to replace her, many thought Amy would fall into this role. She was head of the Restoration and naturally fit into the role.

However, Amy may love the world, but she's no leader. Like Sonic, she values freedom. Enter Jewel the Beetle.

Jewel ran a jewelry store and then got promoted to basically running the free world. She has no combat abilities but isn't supposed to be in combat situations to begin with. Jewel is an improvement on Sally's confidence issues and her role as a more political leader. She organizes the Restoration and the defense groups much in the way Sally was the political face of the Freedom Fighters when dealing with the Acorn Kingdom.

Lanolin, meanwhile, is a newcomer and very much an improvement on Sally in the field. Instead of being powerless or a basic melee-brawler like in the reboot, Lanolin focuses on defense and more specialized situations thanks to her Magenta (Music Note) Wisp. While she also exhibits some confidence issues, she is given more focus on the flaws that Archie left mostly ignored.

While she's only just been introduced, the IDW team acknowledging these faults is already giving her far more potential than Sally ever reached in nearly 300 comics.

Even better, both of these characters have actual motivations and histories. While Sally's motivation is mostly just a vague 'I was the princess so I guess I'm a leader now', Jewel just genuinely wants to help in a way she can while Lanolin was inspired by Sonic to help others and eventually found herself as a combatant.

Archie Sonic was mired with a long history that only allowed one chance for change: the reboot. However, too much change and the fans would be mad. Too little, it would feel like a wasted opportunity. Unfortunately Archie Sonic took the route of doing too little. However, the IDW team took the removal of the Archie cast as a chance to do more with them and they succeeded.

[ghostieagere]

I usually don't ask...

But i tonight my legs hurted so much at each movement i did and i couldn't calm down...

Can you write about Mountain having problems with his legs but not wanting to ask for help because he's strong enough (he's the one who care about everyone not the one to care about, he can't be weak,no?) to deal alone with that, suffering in his room till Aether founds him?

[i dont know if it's a good idea for writing but... feel free to ignore this 🥺, sorry to bother]

hi, loves <3 i'm sorry to hear both of you have been having a rough time recently :( hopefully this can help you both a tiny bit <3 (and you aren't bothering me at all, anon !!)

cw: mountain struggles to walk, severe leg pain, mountain loves fried rice, brief mention of accidentally skipping a meal, regressed (child, not toddler) mountain, cg aether. mightn't be the easiest read for littles.

~

The hill leading up from the greenhouses to the Abbey is a decent size. Mountain has never really thought of it as big, but he knows the littles get adorably exhausted trying to climb back up it at the end of a long, exciting da with him in the greenhouses. He always delights when their faces light up after he offers them a piggyback. When it's him who's struggling to climb back up the hill with no one to offer their help however, he thinks it's much less adorable.

Each step he takes has his knees screaming at him for putting them under so much pressure, joints wobbling dangerously in their sockets as he moves forward and upward. The path under his feet is slippery with loose stones and gravel, which means that with his weakened legs, every step he takes sends him sliding back another two. It's always an impossible task getting back to the Ministry on a bad pain day, but Mountain doesn't remember ever having quite this much difficulty, even when he regresses.

Speaking of, as he gets more and more frustrated for not being able to make his way up the hill, he feels his mind slipping slowly into a horribly familiar void of fog and annoyance; a mirror of his actions when his legs give out under him and he slides back to the bottom of the hill, all his progress lost. Again.

He tries again and again, and each time ends with him falling flat on his face, knees giving out from underneath him as he cries out in pain over and over again. Once it's clear he's not going to make it if he walks, he tries crawling up, but the path is so rocky that he scrapes his hands and knees barely five metres into his attempt.

He curses himself for not bringing his crutches or his cane down to the greenhouses with him earlier. Not that they would be much good on the sliding, unstable gravel, but maybe if he'd been using them during the day, his legs wouldn't have become this painful. Alas, his imposter syndrome never stops reminding him that he doesn't need mobility aids all the time, therefore he shouldn't be allowed to use them at all. It's a thought process he's trying to break, but he never seems to have much luck with it. One day he'll be able to break it, and he can only hope that day comes soon; he's getting tired of having to spend his nights alone in a freezing greenhouse.

He sighs, tears of annoyance in his eyes as he slowly makes his way back into the main greenhouse. His knees buckle and legs give out under him at least twice, but the earth ghoul is so exhausted from trying to climb back up the hill that he can barely keep track of putting one foot in front of the other, let alone how many times he wobbles on his feet.

Once he's inside the greenhouse, he collapses, sobbing. He hadn't properly registered it while he was walking, but now that he's stopped, he hurts. His knees ache, feeling like they're on fire and pressed up against dry ice all at once, the hot and cold mixing not to create a perfect balance, but a hellscape of pain and sensation. Once the sobs subside, Mountain crawls very slowly over to his makeshift bed on the greenhouse floor and tries to get comfortable; this happens often enough that he's had to create a space that's comfortable enough for him to sleep on several nights a week.

The bed is a humble thing. Straw, spare bags of fertiliser and layers hessian bags make up the mattress, and Mountain has brought down his least favourite pillows and blankets to keep him relatively comfortable throughout the long, painful nights. Usually, this is fine, but the fog clouding his brain hasn't gone away—if anything, it's getting stronger with every movement of his legs that shoots pain right through his whole body—and all he wants is comfort; his favourite blankets, his non-lumpy pillows, maybe even the weight and warmth of that microwavable plushie Sunshine bought for him the other week.

He sighs. Wishing for any of these things won't make them magically appear. He'd better get as comfortable as he can with what he's got here. As soon as he tucks himself into the bed, pulling the scratchy blankets up to his neck, his stomach rumbles. He's hungry; hasn't eaten since breakfast, accidentally continuing his work in the greenhouse well into the afternoon until it was too late to go back up for lunch. It's a choice he's really starting to regret now. Unable to climb the hill and return to the Ministry, Mountain won't be eating tonight. He lets out a decidedly kit-like whine at this realisation; normally he'd be embarrassed but since there's no one around to hear or help him, he can't find it in himself to care.

When another rumble sounds from his stomach, he wraps his arms around his middle and curls in on himself, crying quietly. He's all alone, and no one's going to come help him. Even if they did, how could they help? He's in too much pain, he's crying, and everything is so big and so much that he can barely stand to think about it, let alone handle it.

He's so in his head, vision so blurred by his tears and hearing obscured by the sound of his sobbing, that he doesn't notice Aether until the quintessence ghoul is crouched right in front of him.

"Oh, eden, what am I going to do with you, hmm?"

"Ae– Aether...?" Mountain doesn't want to sound too hopeful. He's partially convinced that the ghoul in front of him is some hallucination provided by his mind to give him some comfort. Either that or the fumes from the fertiliser are starting to get to him.

"I'm here, sprout," Aether assures him, reaching out to gently caress the earth ghoul's cheek. "I'm here."

Mountain breaks down all over again, sobbing so hard that his head begins to hurt. He's so relieved that someone is here. He's not going to be left alone. He's safe now.

"M– My legs are hurting and I– I couldn't get up the hill and then I am crying and– and– and–" He cuts himself off, heaving big breaths in between his sobs and sniffles.

"Hey, shh, love. Slow down, one thought at a time, little eden," Aether reminds him. "Breathe with me, c'mon. Yeah, that's it, love, iiiiiiiiiiin." Aether inhales slowly, and Mountain does his best to mirror the quintessence ghoul's actions. "And now we breath ooouuut..."

Mountain lets go of his breath in a huff, making Aether chuckle.

"You need to breathe out a bit slower than that, eden. As slowly as we did when we breathed in. D'you want to try again?"

Mountain nods, biting his lip as he stares up at Aether.

"Okay, follow my lead again. That's it." Aether leads the two of them through the cycle of in's and out's as many times as it takes for Mountain's tears to slow and for his breathing to even back out. When they're done, Aether smiles at him widely and leans down to press a gentle kiss to Mountain's forehead. "Well done, little eden. I know you're hurting, and you're being so brave."

Aether's praise brings tears to his eyes all over again, and he only just manages to keep them from spilling over. "Th– Thank you, Aethy..."

"You're welcome, love." Aether kisses his forehead again, pulling a quiet laugh out of Mountain. "And, oh!" Aether exclaims suddenly. "I almost forgot! I brought something for you, love."

Mountain cocks his head in question, his eyebrows furrowing as he tries to imagine what Aether could have possibly brought.

The quintessence ghoul reaches behind him and pulls out a tupperware container and a fork. Mountain's eyes widen and he sits up immediately. "You broughted food?"

Aether hums the affirmative and opens the lid to show the little earth ghoul the contents of the container. "Rain and Cirrus made fish, but I know that's not really your favourite, so I swiped some fried rice from the main kitchens."

Mountain barely lets Aether finish his sentence before he's grabbing the container and messily scooping the dinner into his mouth. "Iths good Aef!" He says, grinning around a mouthful of rice.

Aether smiles. "I'm glad. I figured you'd be hungry, you skipped lunch, eden."

Mountain has the good sense to look ashamed as he swallows his rice. "I know... Wan'ed to finish my plant things... 'M sorry, Aethy."

Aether hums and reaches out to stroke Mountain's hair softly. "I know your plants are important, but you're important too, little eden. You gotta take care of yourself as well as your plants, even if it's hard."

"M– Maybe," Mountain considers. "Maybe if I had comed up for lunch, I would not be stuck in here now...?"

"Maybe," Aether says. "But it's best to not think about what might have happened, yeah? Better to think about what's happening now, love."

"Well, I have got my rice and my itchy blankets and my Aether now," Mountain grins. "But I do not have, um... Being warm...?"

"You don't have being warm?" Aether clarifies, clearly amused as he continues carding his fingers through the little earth ghoul's hair.

"I don't have being warm!" Mountain repeats. "I wanna go in the warm, but I can't go up the hill..." He can feel the pout in his voice as he leans into Aether's hand on his head.

"Well..." Aether starts. "How about I carry you up the hill?"

Mountain gapes. "You can do that?"

Aether assures him that he can, pretending to flex his muscles and making Mountain giggle uncontrollably. "I know the hill's very steep, but if we need, I can get someone else to come down and we can carry you up together, okay?"

Mountain nods, already excited by the prospect of not having to spend the night in the cold, damp greenhouse. "Can I eat my rice more when you carry me?"

"If you can hold onto me and eat your rice at the same time, you can absolutely eat the rest of your rice as we walk up," Aether assures him. "But if you can't hold on, you need to promise me that you'll drop the rice, okay? I'd rather have to clean up rice than clean my little eden up from off the ground."

"I can do that!" Mountain says enthusiastically. "Do I drop the fork too?"

Aether nods. "You're all over this, love! A master of fork and rice safety, that's what you are."

Mountain grins and puffs out his chest proudly, holding his arms out ready for Aether to pick him up.

"This might hurt a bit while I get your legs in a comfy position, okay, little eden?"

Mountain nods, wincing as his legs change position when Aether gets his hands under the little earth ghoul's armpits and lifts. He lets out a quiet cry of pain as Aether repositions him in his arms, but once he's settled, the pain disappears. Without the warmth of his blanket covering him however, he starts shivering in the quintessence ghoul's arms.

"You ready to go, love?"

Mountain nods, burrowing further into Aether's arms for warmth while simultaneously still trying to eat his fried rice.

Aether laughs affectionately at his antics. "You comfy now?"

"Uh huh. 'S good."

"Great! Alright, my little eden. Let's go get you warmed up."

[secondhandjokess]

"I had planned more to say, to speak to the nature of your character and the bravery that you have exhibited in this Bloom, but I now know that my stature is of a nature that those compliments would be unworthy. You deserve this more than I."

Hob is accustomed to humiliation, but it stings worse now than ever. Listening to Rue's words about how the Goblin court had used, and continued to use him to their own ends, one phrase kept repeating in Hob's mind.

Blunt instrument.

That's all he is, and he knows that, and he's made his peace with it. Or he's attempted to. He's a servant of the Goblin court, he serves at their pleasure, and he is to be used to further their aims. And what does it matter if a hammer doesn't like the tasks it is used for? It is fulfilling its purpose, and there has to be some contentment in that. There has to be. And he has often been reminded that nothing good can ever come of any attempt he might make to be anything other than a tool in the hands of his masters.

But hearing it from Rue is mortifying in new and horrible ways. He's been used, Rue said. Used in a way, judging by Rue's implication, that compromised Hob's honor. And all Hob can think is that of course he's been used, he's a blunt instrument. He is meant to be used. It shouldn't feel this shameful to hear it said out loud by someone he admires. But right now, there's no peace to be found in his purpose, in serving his betters, with no thought to his own desires. Rue implored him to protect himself, and to consider his own feelings, and he feels nothing but the humiliation of abject failure. He had only been trying not to fail his court, and now, suddenly, he realizes that he's been failing utterly to possess even a sliver of the integrity and courage and strength of character that Rue has demonstrated.

He had wanted to express his admiration for Rue's bravery. He had wanted to apologize for the role he played in instigating a false rumor. He had wanted, maybe, even though it's so far above his station as to be absurd, to express a feeling of camaraderie with Rue. But no. No, he truly has nothing in common with them. They are self-possessed, self-reliant. To express his admiration would only serve to point out the insurmountable gap between them, and to express camaraderie would likely amount to an insult to Rue. Someone as courageous as Rue could have no fellowship with someone who would allow himself to be used, again and again, by people who gave him no consideration in return.

Hob had wanted to give Rue his Medal of Courage is symbol of the esteem in which he holds them. But that thought is gone from his mind as he presses it into Rue's claws. All he can think now is that he knows what true courage is, because it stands before him, and he has never once in his life demonstrated it.

[isfjmel-phleg]

🌋

[my-dumb-obsessions]

Reishni & Lae'zel

THEM!!! Them Them Them!

In camp sometime between Acts 2 and 3, Isobel (btw, that she survived Act 2 when Reishni wanted SO badly to kill her is a trip and a half)...Isobel asks him, "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

Reishni thinks back to the moment he met Lae'zel, when she threatened him at sword point, and answers, "Absolutely, there's magic in a look."

He didn't actually know then - he didn't know much of anything but his name and the shattered flashes of violence in his head. But she made sense to him, made him feel normal, without even trying. An offhand comment here or there, "Killing is good, it culls the weak." Agreeing that sometimes violence is the answer and any warrior worth their salt thirsts for blood.

And she is such a warrior herself. Brutal, efficient, intelligent...

But it was her wistful look as she gazed at the moon and the scattering of rocks that ringed it, one of which was her home, when she fondly remembered it as the place she murdered her cousin on her teacher's command that made him go, "Oh..."

Of course he'd submit to her when she asked, let go of the reins on himself he tried to hold so tightly. If he lost control, she'd put him down without hesitation. Of course he would prove himself worthy of her in a language they both understood, with a force of will and desire that left them both bloody. And when she asked him for tenderness, he'd turn his heart inside out to give it to her, and admit that he wanted it, too.

She defied her queen - she defies all logic sometimes, and even the laws of physics. She is indomitable, and together, they can surely put down a god...or three.