#understandably

[paranormal-taters]

I really really really REALLY want to believe that this moment in The Screaming Staircase when they're in the Red Room and they're going around investigating the walls is like, one of the first instances of Lockwood physically reaching out for Lucy for a moment of providing comfort in an incredibly tense situation, and Lucy just doesn't really pick up on it because no one's ever done that before and why would it mean anything for Lockwood's hand to meet hers and linger there in the dark for only a moment?

I don't know. I may be grasping but I really don't think I am. The wording of "after a moment" feels incredibly intentional to me.

[sidetongue]

this dog came for foster with a horrifically shattered leg which had gone untreated and i fell in love with her instantly and i fought not to euthanise her for over 2 weeks even though she had heart disease and luxating patellas and aforementioned shattered leg and then they gave her to me on account of being in the vet industry and being able to provide her with everything she needs and i was the happiest person in the world for 48 hours until we went to surgery to fix her leg and she fucking carked it

[kaialone]

Sounds like in English Slayer might be saying "A strange concoction..." when drinking A.B.A's blood, but

I'm pretty sure in Japanese he literally just says "Mazui..." which basically means "Tastes awful..."

[antaripirate]

lila bard core

(but also she absolutely can beat you in a fight)

[left-handed-spaghetti]

Watched Swing kids last night

That’s all I wanted to say.

[weshallbegolden]

My Rook is down bad for Peepaw.

[notagoodomen]

funniest thing i found out today is that grandpa’s fascist parrot saying ‘duce duce duce’ was voiced by ludobesse himself

[balladofahomeschooledgirlxx]

i do feel for shauna. imagine having all your friends worship your dead baby when they dont even really fuck with you

[ghysry]

You know what's sad? TUA s4 was so bad I had to make a new tumblr account, a new wattpad account, and journeyed the net for a TUA RPG chatbot that was good enough for my taste. I will write my own ending. And if the writers can't take that, I will film my own show.

[da-man-si]

Jiafu: *utterly scared and desperately seeking a way to permanently be with Youan* Marry me!

Youan: no.

Jiafu:

[pink-lizard-diaries]

Heyyy this is my very first FFXIV fic!

After reading around a bit, I noticed that most people think the narrative moves past the events of "In From the Cold" awfully fast, and I happen to agree. So I wanted to inject some extra drama/angst (and wolgraha) into this scene, because what else is fanfiction for?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Thank the gods, she’s awake!”

If Anzu was awake, she certainly didn’t feel like it. Her every sense was murky, sounds swirling in a distorted haze around her, the world blurry and dark as she tried to open her eyes. She ripped off a glove and felt for the scales on her face and the horns on either side of her head, then gasped out a sigh of relief—she was back in her own body at last.

Her entire body shivered and tingled, whether from the cold of the snow she lay in or the shock of her soul returning to its rightful vessel, she wasn’t sure. She tried to raise herself up a little on her arms, but they trembled and buckled beneath her, bringing her back toward the frozen ground.

“Steady, now.” She felt G’raha’s presence beside her, his gentle voice like a warm tonic to her addled mind. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “How do you feel?”

“Like…myself,” she mumbled. “I think.”

“That is well,” Alphinaud chimed in. “You gave us quite a fright.” He knelt nearby with nouliths drawn, inspecting her carefully. “For a mercy, you appear to be unharmed.”

Unharmed perhaps, but she didn’t feel well…nor entirely right, despite being back in the correct body. There was a strange thrumming throughout, an eerie vibration that echoed around her various limbs and organs. With great effort Anzu raised herself to her hands and knees, fighting back a rush of dizziness. “Is everyone all right?” she asked. “Did I…hurt…?”

“No one is hurt, thanks to you,” Alisaie cut in. “And you aren’t to blame for whatever that madman was doing with your body, so don’t even start with any apologies. I won’t hear them.” Alisaie flashed her a cheeky smile, but somehow Anzu just felt worse.

“I presume you heard Fandaniel’s little speech?” She glanced up to see Y’shtola regarding her with concern. “‘Tis good to see you returned to us, but we cannot afford to tarry for long. I’m afraid we have another primal to slay.”

Anzu noticed G'raha inspecting her, and felt his grip on her shoulder tighten just a little. "Mayhap we should give her a little while to recover," he said, looking up at Y’shtola.

"I've no doubt it was a trying ordeal, but she is unharmed and her aether is perfectly normal," Y'shtola insisted. "We could all use a rest, but we haven't the luxury at present."

While they spoke, Fandaniel’s words crept back through Anzu’s mind, and as she struggled to make sense of it all, a wave of nausea overtook her. She sank back to the ground and retched as her stomach betrayed her.

“Anzu!”

When she was done being sick, she realized G’raha was still beside her. He held her hair to one side and slowly rubbed her back as she coughed and took deep, shuddering breaths. Anzu felt an overwhelming rush of affection for him, and squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the urge to cry.

Whatever doubt or uncertainty she’d had about her growing feelings toward him these past few moons were swept away in the tide of her emotions. She loved him, so much that she thought her heart might burst. She was sure of that now. But she didn’t want him to see her like this. Not again…

“She clearly isn’t well,” G’raha spoke again, but there was a harsh edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “I know the situation is dire, but we cannot ask her to fight in such a condition. We must give her time to—”

“There isn’t time!”

Everyone went quiet. Anzu’s heart pounded against her chest, shocked at her own outburst. She hung her head and made tight fists in the snow. Images of their close call darted past her eyes again and again, of G’raha and Alisaie cowering before their attacker—before her…

“I have to…we have to stop them,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper. She looked up at G’raha and saw his eyes full of worry, his ears pulled back. He seemed as if he wanted to speak, but was lost for words. She tried to smile. “I’m all right…” No, that was a lie. “I’ll…be all right. I promise.”

The distress did not leave his face. He stared at her for a long moment, lips parted as if about to speak, but in the end he said nothing and nodded resignedly.

Anzu pushed herself to her feet, letting G’raha and Alphinaud steady her on either side until she was certain she could stand on her own. The other Scions crowded around her, expressing relief at her safe return and offering words of encouragement. Then, they began to make for the pavilion at Camp Broken Glass to plan their attack on the Tower of Babil.

Anzu walked carefully down the cobblestone path, watching her footing so she wouldn’t slip on any hidden ice. The strange hum throughout her body had finally subsided, like a tuning fork gone still, but her stomach still roiled. She felt rotten for yelling—it was unlike her. Remembering the look on G’raha’s face was nearly enough to bring up whatever was left in her gut.

“Anzu.” She snapped back to reality and turned her head, and there he was, as if her thoughts had summoned him. “A moment, if you would…”

“G’raha…I-I’m so sorry, I…” she sputtered, but he put up a hand to stop her.

“All that matters is that you are safe.” He appeared calmer now, but there were still lines of worry around his eyes. “Just…take care you do not strain yourself beyond your limits. Please. I…”

He paused, as if trying to decide how to continue, but it seemed the words would not come. Instead, Anzu nodded silently in response. She was still exhausted and shaken from the day’s events, her thoughts too jumbled to make sense of at the moment, even were there time to speak them. But the last thing she wanted was for G’raha to worry over her any longer.

His expression softened. “Thank you. There is more I would say, but mayhap it is best left until the current crisis has been resolved.”

She wondered what it was, but supposed she would find out later. She nodded again, and forced another smile, trying to make it genuine. “You don’t need to worry,” she told him, placing a hand on her chest. “I won’t let you all down.”

G’raha seemed pained, somehow. “…You never could.”

They resumed the walk back together in silence, and the weight of G’raha’s words settled like a stone upon her heart. Even after he had nearly died at her hand, his faith in her was as unshakeable as it had ever been.

She only hoped she could live up to it.

[jonathanbyersphd]

POV: Steve just told them about the 6 piece chicken nuggets happy meal

[yurifier3000]

my cute daughter i will defend you for the rest of my life

[lakewinnipeg]

[autisticlancemcclain]

1.

Her first memory of the birthday song is so faint that she’s not even sure it’s real. She only hears it in her dreams, and it sounds blurry around the edges, like file that’s been long corrupted. She can never recall it when she tries, but sometimes in the dead of night as she watches nothing but the inside of her eyelids, she’ll hear a voice, deep and low and musical, and feel a gentle rocking against a soft chest.

The stars brought you here, one decaphoebe now

And I’m so happy and grateful

Let the stars keep you here one decaphoebe more

As long as they are able

Allura has no real memory of her mother. Any idea of the Queen’s face is born only from gathered photographs, regal and beautiful and strong; but those are portraits of Queen Melenor.

Allura has no memory of Mama.

Sometimes she wonders how her brain knew to hold on to this memory, when she was barely old enough to recognise colours. How her brain knew that this would be important, this first time she ever heard the birthday song, the first time someone held her gently on the anniversary of her birth and thanked the stars that she came to be. Her mother, holding her gently, rocking her, singing softly and quietly, maybe even singing her to sleep. It is her most prized and cherished memory.

But she wakes up every morning, and forgets it.

2.

The day Allura turns six decaphoebes old, she finally manages to sneak away from the castle unsurpervised.

It takes months of planning. She follows her father as she usually does, wherever she is allowed, carefully keeping track of the guards and their schedules. She gives her tutors and nannies and Coran the runaround as often as she can, slipping away and reappearing when they look for her so they get used to not seeing her. She spends hours after her bedtime, blanket thrown over her head, holding a small Balmeran crystal between her teeth as she studies her carefully-copied map from the castle library. She memorizes every bend of every curving path, every street name and courtyard. She bides her time until she knows everyone will be distracted with ridiculously overzealous birthday preparations, and she quietly slips away.

Her heart pounds even as she’s miles away from the castle; so far it is hardly the size of her small pointer finger. She feels as if she is checking over her shoulder constantly, terrified that at any moment she will discovered she has been followed, and she’ll be dragged back to the castle for a day of stuffy too-tight dresses and balls with no other children to dance with and fathers who are far too busy to give her all the attention she needs.

She doesn’t want to spend her birthday at the castle. And by the skies, she will not.

Forcing herself to act braver than she feels, she marches into the nearest town, past amused merchants and shop-dwellers and farmers who know exactly who this young child is and exactly why she is out on her own. Finally she makes it to a large fountain in the middle of what she knows to be Cuttleberry Square, of the township of Quintel’ro in the Cuttleorn province. She sits on the stone edge, legs crossed and tucked under her thighs, watching the elegant fish swim about. Several silver tokens rest at the basin of the pool.

Wishes.

Coran told her, once, that wishes are granted by ritual. The more powerful the ritual, the more powerful the wish. Most wishes are small, though, and don’t need much ritual at all, which is why a simple coin in a puddle of water will grant them, or the burning of a meteor, or even the celebration of one’s birth. Small things for small wishes.

Allura carefully takes out a silver coin from her little purse and clenches it in a small hand. She glances at the sky — too bright for shooting stars — and hopes that she can make do with two out of three. She squeezes her eyes shut, pressing the coin to her lips as she murmurs, and then tosses it into the fountain.

Then, she sits and waits.

Unfortunately, Coran didn’t mention how long these sorts of things would take, but she can’t imagine they would take long. The universe is vast and strong, after all. And she eats all her goo and mediates every day just like Coran tells her to, so her quintessence should be strong to match. Resolute and determined, she waits.

And waits.

And waits.

“Something has gone wrong,” she decides eventually. She glances down at the token she threw in the fountain, frowning at it. “You are defective.”

“Who’s defective? The fish?”

Allura yelps, startled by the sudden voice beside her. In her shock she loses her balance, tipping over, but her legs are too tangled to catch herself, and she goes splashing into the pond, making all the poor fishes swim away in terror.

She glares at the stupid token. Double defective. The stupid thing has cursed her!

“I’m so sorry,” the voice from earlier says. Allura looks up to meet the eyes of another child, with short, curly black hair and big dark eyes, pink marks on their cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” they continue. “I was just wondering why the Princess was yelling at a fountain.”

“I wasn’t yelling,” Allura grumbles. She holds a hand out for them to take, and they helpfully yank her out of the pool, stumbling back onto the cobblestone. The take their hand back as soon as Allura is stable, crossing it behind themself and rocking back and forth on their heels.

“Sure sounded like it.”

“Well, it sounded wrong.”

They hold up their hands in surrender, frowning. “Sorry, Princess. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Allura deflates. “I’m not — I’m not upset with you, I’m sorry. I’m only — I’m upset because it’s my birthday, today, and my father didn’t sing to me like he promised he would. He is too busy.”

Her new friend brightens. “Well, that’s an easy fix!” They clear their throat, then sing in a loud, clear voice, so inviting that people listening in happily join as well:

The stars brought you here, 6 decaphoebes now

And I’m so happy and grateful

Let the stars kee you here 6 decaphoebes more

As long as they are able.

Allura smiles bashfully as they all finish, toeing the ground and avoiding their whoops and applause. It’s not the attention from her father that she really wished for, but it’s love and affection all the same, even if it’s from strangers.

“Come on,” the other child says, grabbing her hand. “My mama has some dry clothes for you to borrow, and then you can play with me and my friends!”

Allura dashes off to play with the group, gleefully using the wooden swords they find to play knights and paladins. She never learns the name of her friend — Coran finds her before she has the chance, too busy having fun — but she never forgets the sound of them singing to her proudly in the square, when everyone else forgot.

3.

Like most other thirteen year olds, her first birthday as a teenager is not one she handles with particular grace.

She’s overheard stories from various parents in her father’s court for years. Terrible twos all over again, mothers and fathers and guardians whisper, only this time they know how to argue.

Allura used to be scared of becoming a teenager, when she was little. She was convinced she was going to turn into some kind of monster.

Now that she is a teenager, she knows the truth — everyone is monstrous to her.

It sounds bratty and entitled, even in her own mind, but she knows that she’s right. Everyone treats her warily now, like they’re expecting her to be volatile, which only makes her volatile. Her studies have increased tenfold, and as have her chores, so she constantly feels like she’s busy and has no time for herself. Besides that, every morning she wakes up feeling as if she’s been stretched overnight, and her pants are somehow always too short whether or not she had just seen the tailor a week ago.

It’s miserable. She’s tired all the time. She’s lonely. Her father is busier than ever, and nothing is as fun as it was when she was a kid.

A knock on her door drags her from her slumber, and in a fit of half-asleep rage, she throws a shoe at it, shouting for whomever it is to go away. It doesn’t work, because of course it doesn’t, and Coran slips through the doorway.

Her heart sinks slightly, because she had hoped it would be her father. (Although she knew it wouldn’t. Her father has not been the first person to see her on her birthday since she was five years old. She is lucky if he is the last. She knows things are getting tense — things are always getting tense — but she would appreciate it if her father would consider her a daughter rather than an heir).

Although it is not Coran’s fault, and it is perhaps a point in his favour that he is here at all, Allura is furious with him, because he is not Alfor, and he is certainly not Melenor, and Allura wants her parents, the reasons she was born, to be happy that she is alive.

“Go away,” she growls.

“Happy birthday, my dear,” Coran says quietly.

Hurt blinds her. It cracks her in half and bleeds into all her broken parts. Tears sting in her eyes, because her arms ache with growing pains and she knows in her heart that the special outfit she had set aside for her birthday will not fit her when she tries to tug it on and it is too early in the morning for her to be awake and today she will have to attend her stupid birthday ball that she hates and that is only ever attended by people who do not know her and there is a picture on her nightstand, of her as a baby in her mother’s arms as her father and Coran look at Allura-in-the-picture in what can only be described as awe, and Coran is the only one here right now, and no one has looked at her in awe is as long as she can remember, and she does not have the energy in her to pretend to be okay.

“Go away!” she shouts, louder, voice cracking on the words, “I hate you!”

She regrets the words as soon as they’re out of her mouth. Coran face tightens, briefly, real pain twisting his features before he pulls them into a mask of calm. Guilt eats at her insides.

“Coran —”

“I’ll make sure no one comes to bother you for a few vargas yet,” Coran says quietly. He pats her twice on the shoulder before turning away. It is paternal and loving and more than she deserves. He walks quickly back to the door, and Allura can’t hold it anymore.

“Coran, wait, please,” she begs, voice cracking. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m a monster and it burst out of me. I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

The advisor stops at the heavy wood doors, gloved hand resting on the frame. He is visibly tense through his uniform. Allura has never seen him angry — playfully, of course, and many times annoyed or worried or exasperated or protective, but never angry — and she’s sure she’s about to see it now, in the quiet way kind people get angry. She is sure his hand will clench into a fist, and he will say to her ‘yes, Princess (because he has always called her Allura or a pet name, he does not call her Princess, because only those who do not love her call her Princess), you are a monster. You are a mess. You are too much to handle, and you are not my job.’ She is sure of it. She sobs, hearing the words already in her head.

Instead, his raspy, accented voice rings through the room, so soft she misses the first part through her tears:

The stars brought you here, 13 decaphoebes now

And I’m so happy and grateful

Let the stars keep you here 13 decaphoebes more

As long as they are able.

He says nothing for a moment after his final note rests, still ar the doorway. Allura stares at him in a twisted mixture of shock and fear and hope.

“I am grateful,” he whispers, finally turning around. “That the stars brought you to me. You are not a monster, Allura. You can never be a monster.”

Allura’s face crumples. “I said I hated you. That is monstrous.”

“Did you mean it?”

She is quick to answer. “No.”

Coran walks back over to her, cupping her face and smiling kindly so the wrinkles on his face deepen. “I know, child. I know. You are angry and hurting and I am here. It was bound to happen. I forgive you, Allura. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Allura chokes out. “Thank you.”

Coran presses a kiss to her forehead. “Of course.

———

(Allura does not know where the change comes from. Not really.

But for the next six years, her father is the first through the door on her birthday. He is the first to sing her the star song. He is the first to hug her tightly and look at her with awe. He treats her like a daughter, again, and not his heir.

She does not know where the change comes from. But she observes a difference in the way Coran and her father interact. A stiffness, almost.

She almost feels sorry that she may have caused it. But Coran looks at her, and smiles, and the guilt fades away.)

———

4.

There is no celebration of anything on her nineteenth birthday, weeks after she wakes from a cryo pod and her world crashes to her feet. She lies to the paladins when they ask. To them, Alteans don’t celebrate birthdays. There are no special traditions. There is no awe or joy.

It hurts less that way.

+1.

“So,” Lance says the second she walks in the kitchen for breakfast on the morning of her twenty-first birthday. The way he says it makes he freeze.

He knows. He must.

It’s not that that’s a bad thing, exactly. She has been living with and fighting alongside the paladins for two years, now. They are as much of a family as she has ever had, as Coran — and her father, although her view of him has become significantly less idolising over the years — has been. She trusts them. She trusts Lance, who has proved himself over and over again, in two different lions, that he is dependable, that he knows when to push a subject and when to drop it.

But, still. The rest of the paladins are gathered, also making note of Lance’s tone, looking at her curiously. She has lied to them for two years, even with good reason.

Two years since she has heard the star song. The paladins have their own traditions. She has not known how to share hers without revealing more of herself than she is quite ready to.

“Today is a very special day on Earth,” he continues. “June 21st. The summer solstice. The longest, brightest day of the year; the strongest day of the year, for many. In some places the sun does not set at all. It’s honestly celebrated in some way all over the world, in some small way at least.”

Again, his words are casual. He idly stirs his goo around with his spork, offering half to the mice as he usually does. He does not look up even when Allura takes her hesitant seat in front of him, feeling the weight below his words.

“It’s the day of new beginnings,” he says softly. This time he looks at her, finally, brown eyes as steely as they are soft. “The day of shedding the dark hardships of winter, however long it may have been, and basking in the light of the sun.” His speech is practiced, poetic. Lance is no poor speaker by any means, but he does not usually speak so carefully. This is planned. “This is a day to start anew.”

The rest of the paladins watch them sharply, not even feigning otherwise. Coran is the only one who looks knowingly, who hides a smile behind his hand. The rest are as confused as they are intrigued.

Allura would not be surprised to learn that Coran has told his favourite human of her birthday. She would also not be surprised to learn that Lance has discovered this for himself.

“There are no such seasons on Altea,” Allura says quietly. “Rain comes in small, unpredictable waves. No one on Altea had such long hardships as your winters.”

Lance hums. “Not everywhere on Earth had summers or winters. But people still felt the difference. The summer solstice still feels brighter than the other days.”

Allura says nothing. She pokes around at her goo, hand at her temple, gaze pointedly away.

It would be nice, to hear the song again. To hear the well wishes.

“We had this tradition,” she whispers. “The star song.”

“For the summer solstice?” Pidge asks, the first to speak up.

Allura smiles reflexively at her. “No. For — birthdays.”

“…Oh.”

“Sing it for us,” Keith asks quietly. He doesn’t look at her, but his gloved hand reaches for hers and squeezes tightly. She squeezes back, swallowing the lump in her throat. If there is anyone at this table who can most closely feel the pain she feels every single year, the pain of having no one to thank for her very existence, it would be Keith, and she’s grateful for his support.

She clears her throat, ready to sing.

The stars brought you here, 21 decaphoebes now

And I’m so happy and —

The lump in her throat grows too large for her to push past any words. The melody dies on her tongue. Tears drip down her face, steady, into her bowl, and her shoulders shake. Silence — pained, both from her and for her — blares through the room.

Someone clears their throat from behind her, and song picks up again.

— grateful

Let the stars keep you here 21 decaphoebes more

As long as they’re able.

Coran places a steady hand on her shoulder, and she leans into it, desperate to siphon the support. Before she knows it, another hand grips her fingers, and then there’s a smiling face in front of her, and her entire family squishes in front all sides, soft smiles and gentle hands, holding her together with all of their strength put together. At the same time, without anyone counting them in, they behind to quietly sing:

The stars brought you here, 21 decaphoebes now

And we’re so happy and grateful

Let the stars keep you keep you here many decaphoebes more

Longer than they are able.