#vaguely thinking about fell and swap

[wr-n]

give me any unhealthy pairing and i will brainrot over them

the emotions and experiences they go through is just *chef's kiss*

[icarusdescending7]

Aquamarine - Chapter 3

Ao3 | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Your fiancé died seven years ago, and you joined the military in his wake to fill the void his death put on you. Now, you work with the 141 for an assignment, hunting associates of their enemies.

Their Lieutenant, however, given you an uneasy feeling. You have a vague sense of familiarity with him, but from where?

-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-

You sighed as you stared up at the ceiling, replaying the day's events over and over. What a… stressful first day. First, the other Lieutenant doesn’t like you, then the gift your fiancé gave you breaks, and you get the shards in your hand and have to have Soap help you pull them out. What a mess. You clenched your hand a little, sighing at the feeling of the wounds splitting open. These are the days you wish he were still- you need to stop thinking about him. He’s dead and gone. In the past. If only it were that simple. But it is that simple. It really isn’t. It is. It’s not.

You rolled over, glancing at the clock, and sighed— 1 am. You buried your face into the pillows and immediately relaxed. Your brow furrowed for only a moment before you fell asleep. The smell of citrus and cedar lulled you away to the best sleep you’d known in years.

~~

You were lying on the ground, a thick dust clouding up around you as you struggled to regain your senses, the sound of thundering boots approaching you, grabbing you by your vest, and attempting to pull you up. Keyword: attempting. You were quickly dropped as a red mist hit your cheek, the hulking man before you with a newfound hole in his head. He collapsed on top of you, and you were quick to shove his corpse off, the drop shaking you back to reality.

“Too close, Ghost.” You grumbled into your earpiece, wiping the blood off your face with the back of your hand. You recovered your rifle and shouldered it, moving to take cover.

“You’re getting sloppy. Did you eat when we told you to?” He asked, another gunshot coming over his mic. “I have a feeling you didn’t. I can see it, in the way you’re shaking.” He said, a hint of annoyance in his voice— which wasn’t lost on you.

“I meant that you almost got me too with that shot. Did you eat?” You asked, annoyed, “Why do you care? Christ, you sound like my fiancé. Always on my ass about eating…” You mumbled, turning to move forward, finally hitting the door you were trying to get to and shooting the lock off. You swapped to your sidearm, dropping low as you entered, waiting for Soap to catch up.

“What, we can’t be concerned for our teammate's health?” Soap’s voice came in over the comms, breathless like he’d been running. “We cannae do a ton with you operatin’ at fifty percent, can we?” He slipped in through the door, giving Ghost an indirect thumbs-up as he did.

“Right, because me being a little hungry is so much worse than you dodging bullets at every opportunity you get.” You rolled your eyes, looking at him. “Look at you, you’re covered in scrapes and gashes… Ghost, you got our six while we’re in here?” You asked, poking your head out and looking for the glint of his scope.

It takes him a minute to respond, then a raspy “Yeah, got an eye out.” rung in your ears.

~

“Soap! You done planting those C4 yet? We got to get the fuck outta here!” You shouted, ripping the hard drives and USB sticks from the computers you found, hoping something might be useful beyond what you were sent after. You quickly shoved it all in your pack, running down the hall and dipping into the room he sat in.

“Yeah, lass! Let’s go!” He said, grabbing your arm and dragging you along as fast as possible to get out. At some point, you ended up in a fireman carry over his shoulder, being shaken about as he ran like a bat out of hell. You let it happen, not trying to run when you could barely see straight.

He dropped you on the ground face down, a puff of dirt kicking up around you. You got up on your knees, shrugging your pack off your shoulders, and flopped onto your back, trying to cool your pulse. You were shaking like a leaf. No, you didn’t eat. Before you could fully recover, your pack was snatched off the ground by Soap and you were quickly picked up by Ghost, who carried you much more delicately if not a bit tight— bridal style. The three of you booked it, the sound of trucks rumbling on the dirt path, getting closer with each second.

After an hour of running, the three of you finally settled in a dense patch of woods, taking a moment to breathe. Before you could think, they both shoved energy bars in your face, their expressions mildly annoyed.

“Eat.” Ghost nearly demanded, opening the bar and shoving it in your mouth when you went to protest. “I’m done carryin’ your ass around.” He huffed, leaning back against a tree and closing his eyes.

Soap closed his eyes, also leaning against a tree. “Where are we, now? We must’ve missed evac by a mile by now.” He sighed, pulling a satellite GPS out of his bag. “Sorry, two miles.”

You finished eating the bar that Ghost gave you, swallowing the last bite. You took Soaps GPS, fiddling with it for a moment before locking it on a clearing about 4 miles north of you. “We could make our way there, send the coords to Watcher?” You offered, handing it over to him and plucking the other energy bar from his hand.

He showed Ghost the suggested route, shrugging. “Could work.” Ghost only nodded, sighing a bit.

~

The car ride was quiet except for the grumble of the vehicle and the occasional bump making stuff roll across the steel floors. Soap had fallen asleep at some point and was snoring loudly, and you were fighting to stay awake.

“You should sleep.” Ghost's voice broke through the silence, making you jump a little.

“Don’t want to.” You said, looking at what you could see of him. It was dark in the cabin, so all but that creepy mask of his was in shadows. “You’re creepy.”

“So I’ve heard. You gonna fight sleep the whole way or…?” He questioned, turning to look at you. “If you don’t sleep now you won't get any until we get back to base.”

“I’ll sleep when I want to. Are you gonna sleep, or do you have the whole ‘I don’t sleep mehmehmeh’ vibe going on?” You asked, your joke making him huff in amusement.

“I don’t sleep. Not when I’m in the field.” He said, “Just sleep. You’re clearly fighting it, there's no use.” His hand came up to make you lean back to rest. You could only grumble before succumbing to sleep, your head lolling from the back of the seat over to his shoulder, despite the awkward distance between you two.

~~

He watched you as you raked the leaves from your yard into a pile, your focus waning slightly as you hit the same spot for the third time now. Simon went out, taking the rake from your hands and making you take a break.

“Did you eat, sweetheart? You look dizzy.” He asked, making you look up at him. Your eyes were unconcentrated, making him frown. “That’s a no. Go inside, love. I’ll finish up.” He kissed your forehead, sending you on your way.

“Was gonna finish this then do that, but sure, okay.” You grumbled, gently touching the spot where he kissed you. “Are there leftovers from breakfast?”

“Yeah. Go eat those. I’ll be in after a bit.” He called over his shoulder.

You went in and heated up the breakfast you made, taking the plate to the couch and watching him from the window. He’s so kind that you find it hard to believe that he’s a soldier. But then again, it was easy to believe he was a soldier. The scars across his arms and neck and face told all kinds of stories. Not ones you knew, of course, he would never in a million years tell you his tales of war. You were too precious to him, and he feared that you’d fear him instead of love him if you knew the horrors he witnessed and contributed to. But you knew. Even if they were vague hints and words of the ghosts that haunt him. You’d had to ground him from PTSD flashbacks on more than one occasion, and they were never pretty. After each and every one, he’d apologize, hold you close, call you his “pretty girl” and “love of my life”. He’d worry about making you go through that with him, even though you never minded.

You broke out of your trance when he sat his hand on your shoulder, making you turn up to look at him. His cheeks were rosy from the chill of the autumn air, and his hair was messy from his stocking cap. You sat up on the couch, pulling him to eye level and examining his face. You ran your fingers over scars you’d memorized, then found a new one.

“You have a new scar. How’d you get this one?” You asked, knowing you wouldn’t get a straight answer. You ran your fingers over it, bringing him closer to kiss it.

“A battle. Like most of the other scars. Nothin’ you need to worry about” He answered quietly. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to fuss over every new scar, you know.”

“Maybe not, but is that going to stop me? No. I need you to know that I love you, even with all your battle wounds.” You hummed, closing your eyes.

[ketterdamskaelishprince]

ada the mirrorball/chameleon, a very vague and weird conversation on her character (ep 37-40)

going to off the bat make this abundantly clear that I JUST LIKE TO TALK!! if you think anything is outrageously wrong that's ok :)

anyways, this stems from me rereading nevermore and just, with hindsight, feeling a bit silly for my first opinions on ada. when i first read nevermore, i felt this overwhelming annoyance for her, and at times definitely hated her. especially at the beginning. she was a nuisance. but, i think like many others, as i continued, i just began to feel bad for her. and on my reread, i think that's just more prominent than ever.

i'm going to just be talking about general stuff from episodes 37-40, because if i talked about anything else i could probably talk until my jaw fell off. especially about her spectre, but let know if you want any rambles about that or not!

for this, i'm very much just going to ramble and then show you little pictures of where i picked this up!

so in episode 37, which as a quick summary is when ada is talking to lenore in the bathroom which can be summarised by this webtoon comment:

anyways, so as covered they have a big conversation in the bathroom where ada basically says to lenore that maybe she misjudged her and maybe they should team up/be tentative friends. it's part genuine from what i can tell and also part manipulative. but what's interesting about the conversation in the bathroom is what ada does.

take this for example:

i have absolutely no idea why that was the first thought that poked out to me, but here we are! the more i looked at it, the more i thought it was odd.

at first, i thought of it like a teen girl desperate to make friends, the same urge you get to sit beside your friend and just paint each others nails and the yearn for the closeness of a friendship where you swap clothes and stuff. girlhood and sisterhood. you know, that stuff.

but then i thought about it a bit more (and you know, could be reading a bit too much into this so excuse me if i am) and i thought about what we know about ada. obviously, this doesn't come in these episodes, but later in the series we're shown (i think) that ada fell in love with a rich man basically, and was murdered by him (i think!! correct me if i am wrong !!!) and we know she wasn't of the same class as him, something we become even more aware of in the next few episodes.

anyways, i thought about it, and then i thought about lenore and then i was like "oh is this something to do with class" and after reading too much into it i can conclude IT DOES HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH CLASS!

i think, if we look into it, ada's conversation could also suggest that ada wants to be lenore– not in the emo sad lesbian who's divorced sense but more she wants to have the life lenore has and wants the attention. i think ada sees lenore and maybe thinks subconsciously about the way she speaks and walks and assumes she's of high social standing. and since we're aware she isn't (especially with the way she says certain fancy words wrong) i think ada latches onto this and in the act of asking for trading blazers, i think she essentially is saying she wants the respect and status lenore has.

because what's one thing we definitely know about ada? she wants to be loved, she basically admits this to lenore as well in this episode.

and we already see lenore and annabel's little back and forth and the fact that people "flock" to lenore. so, i dunno guys, maybe this is ada saying she wants that? she wants that respect and she wants to be adored, loved and seen. but as herself, she doesn't get it.

again, me looking too closely into it.

but i dunno, there's something to be said about this whole scene in itself and the things ada does.

like here she's curling her hair with her fingers, something annabel literally does all the time. in that way, she tries to use people the same way annabel does, or what we see annabel do later. she curls her hair, tries to act all coy and tries to act like what she knows lenore is susceptible to. she does it i think not totally out of malice, but a place of insecurity because she wants to gain validation from her own little group. but it's funny because, even in this act, ada still fails to embody annabel. a wolf in sheep's clothing is still a wolf, and ada is still ada even if she desperately tries to act like somebody else.

then there's also the dinner scene in episode 38. we know that each of their meals is based on what they would've wanted as their last meal. and what's ada's?

beluga caviar and champagne. both items that are absolutely rooted in the upper class. beluga caviar, fun fact, is also the most expensive type of caviar! ada's whole meal is a need and a want to be like the upper class and the obscenely large bowl of caviar just shows it. also, this whole scene (i think) is our first hint that ada isn't as, i dunno, posh (?) as she claims she is. of course, that's if you ignore when she doesn't pronounce things right.

then, if you look to episode 39, you kind of see more of ada's character and how she acts.

here you see ada only pipes in when she's gotten confirmation that there's something behind it. ada is the type to stand behind anything so long as she has support– something so deeply rooted in her insecurities. take this and then take the fact girl barks like a dog in ep 40 into account, and you see something so overwhelmingly sad about her character. rereading this just made me pity ada even more.

i think, as a side note, i see a lot of people in webtoon comments and then some on tumblr make connections to morella and ada being similar, almost like two sides of the coin. and to an extent i agree with that. i think the different lies how in how they react to montresor in this episode.

you see here that morella practically pleads with montresor to stop, but ada just blindly listens. she becomes, almost, a bit pathetic here. and also, sidenote, i cannot reread this episode with having to put my phone down and take a lap because this baffles me every single time. but i read it because wow yummy artstyle. ANYWAY.

you see ada truly desperate here. desperate to be loved, desperate to be accepted, desperate to be finally seen as somebody who has worth and value and desperate to be adored by them all and most of all: to be seen by annabel as a worthy friend or pawn, whichever she can get.

i think this is truly heartbreaking when you read it, because ada just wants to be loved and she'll do anything for it. i think in that way, morella and her differ. because morella is completely different to ada in the fact that even if she wants to make friends and to please people, she has a level of respect for herself and an overwhelming sense of empathy which trumps any insecurity. ada is the complete opposite in that aspect. her need to be loved and her insecurities trump her morals and her decision making skills.

and idk, i think there's something so sad about humiliating yourself and knowing you are humiliating yourself just so you can get somebody to notice you. i think it's just so fucking sad, and i can't look at ada and think she deserves to be hated anymore.

she might be a brat, but guys she's a brat with trauma and crippling insecurities and i think in some twisted way i love her.

anyways yeah, that's the end of my ramble!

[carlyraejepsans]

Are there any "classic" aus (fell, swap, outertale, horror, etc.) that you enjoy? Or ones that you feel have an interesting concept but a pretty bad execution?

Personally, I'm of the belief that a lot of them did have some amazing concepts in the beginning but were ultimately flanderized by the fandom due to just how allergic they were to any characters that weren't Sans or Papyrus, no matter how much it just didn't make sense for them to be involved. Like, I just don't understand ink!sans for example. Maybe i'm just missing smth

I feel as though you've probably answered questions about this before and if you have I am so sorry. The search function on mobile is awful </3

i think pretty much every main au landed in the "mid to ok concept, bad execution", if only because to become main aus in the first place they had to be visually distinct yet vague enough in characterization/execution for people to play around in like a sandbox. which is not exactly ground for a good story—or exploration of the original one, for what matters. if an au is really good, you're not going to hear of it getting lumped in with the multiverse extravaganza stuff. it's going to be a standalone comic. or fic. or whatever. it NEEDS its own story to exist for the characters to work, and that can't happen on a large scale like the au fandom where the entire point is to mix and match everything into the same blender and start the interactions from there.

so uh. no. not really. but i recognize that i'm also just too uninterested in that side of the fandom to look deeper and try to prove myself wrong.

[summerlovingbaby]

Aaron's eating disorder

Aaron handles himself well, in his head he likes to call himself superman, at first it was a childish notion that got him through the day, but soon it developed into a daily mantra. He is nothing short of Superman, he has good grades, a gorgeous girlfriend, a national winning Exy team and was in the gym 6 times a week, the only thing he couldn’t manage to do was eat.

At breakfast he would choke down a few bites of an apple, but it woult turn rock hard in his stomach and sit there making it ache, so for a while it was easier for him to not deal with food. It started with skipping breakfast and dinner, and then the more he thought about it, if he didn’t need breakfast and dinner he didn’t need lunch either. As far as Aaron was concerned his new eating habits were better than his old eating habits. Tilda didn’t grocery shop, and Aaron was already picky eater, even before he got clean. After he got clean for about a year his diet consisted almost exclusively of pickles, almonds, jars of frosting, M and M’s, apple juice and protein shakes.

It didn’t matter how he felt, it only mattered how people saw him. It didn’t matter that he was tired all the time, or how he found himself shivering in 90 degree weather, people only saw you as one thing, and as long as he could pace a mildly impassive expression on his face, and keep his head in his studies people would think he was fine. People only saw you as one thing, and if they saw him as fine he would be left alone. He started only viewing others as one thing. Andrew wasn’t a brother, just a teammate. Neil was just a kid who he would swap rooms with  and a nuisance and Kevin was the idiot lived next door. Nicky was too complicated for his muddled brain to classify so he avoided him as a whole.

He avoided team outings for a week before the team started to pester him about it. He lied and said he was swamped with studying or exams or writing papers, when in all reality he was farther ahead then he had ever been. 

He woke up on Saturday morning, rolling his eyes as he checked the clock, it was another morning practice Kevin insisted was necessary, so he dressed in a hoodie and a long compression shirt. He walked to the court alone, leaving Nicky alone. Nicky had been watching Aaron for weeks and he was obvious with his concerned stare was irritating. He stumbled through pratice with weak footing and a loose grip on his stick, he almost made it completely through pratice before fell over his eyes and he lost sight of the court in a dark haze. The sound of his racket hitting the wood snapped him awake, but he was still confused, as he felt firm fingers unstrap his helmet and take it off his head, and the rush of the cool air on his skin was enough to snap him into full consiouness.

“ You good?” Andrew asked.

Aaron gave him a vague impersonal nod before he was ushered to the bench, he offered little resitance mostly because he didn’t care enough to fight back, and looking his brother in the eye for the first time in weeks and it knocked all the fight out of him. Mostly he was tired, and his head hurt, and he was cold, and vaguely irritated and horribly annoyed.

He sat out for the last hour of pratice, choking down a granola bar at Wymack and Betsys instacne, and drunk an intire gatorade for good measue just to prove the point that he was fine. He had everything under strict control. But that didn’t stop Matt from helping him back to the lockerroom.

“ I don’t need your help,” he said.

“ Well you can barely stand, and I don’t want you to hit your head if you pass out or something,” he said grimly, “ don’t want you to lose your looks of you chip your tooth on the floor or something,” he added hoping to get Aaron to smile, which proved ineffective.

He sat Aaron in front of his locker, offered a prefoctonary smile and went to shower, leaving Aaron alone. Aaron took off his jersey, leaving on his under things, too tired to bother with showering, so shoved his clothes in his locker and walked through the locker room and into the lounge where Coach and Abbey were waiting.

“ You feeling okay?” Abbey said, thumbing through a magazine.

“ Stomach bug,” he lied.

By the way Wymack stared at him, Aaron could tell he wasn’t buying his lie for a second. 

“ Wanna try again?” he suggested.

“ Not really,” Aaron siad.

“ ERC is making monthly physicals madaory again, next one is in two weeks,” Wymack said turning to Abbey who nodded. He waited for Aaron to speak, but when he didn’t, he continued. “ You usually sort your shit out just fine, but if you need help its here.”

“ You don’t have to worry about me,” Aaron said. 

“ Well I’m gonna,” Wymack said, for some reason his typical casual attitude pissed Aaron off more than it should have. “ And for that matter the rest of the team is as well. Andrew and Nicky are… Concerned.”

He didn’t need or want Andrews concern or pity, and he didn’t need it from the rest of the team for that matter. Andrews pity killed his mom.

“ Is that all?” he asked, and when he got no response he left the way he came, and spent the weeked at Katelyns dorm to avoid the foxes, spending most of the night curled up in her little twin mattress. It didn’t matter how many blankets he piled ontop of himself, he hadn’t managed to get warm in a week. He ate the pickles that came with her meal, that she for some reason always ordered even though she hated, but had to return back to his dorm because he had Tuesday classes.

By the time he got there he learned that both of his classes were cancelled so he crawled into bed ignoring the way the pickle churned in his stomach. He was kicked away 3 hours later by Andew who was too busy texting on his phone to even look at him.

“ Get up,” he said bluntly,” team dinner.”

“ Not hungry” Aaron replied rolling over. He really wasn’t hungry, and the last thing he wanted was to sit in a car with them, then poke around at a plate of chicken and commensurate over small talk for 2 hour, if he wasn’t gonna sleep then he should at least study, or do something more productive.

“ Get up and come with us, or I’ll drag you by your hair,” he said.

Aaron could tell by the look of determination on Andews face he was nothing short of serious and put on his shoes before Andrew had an excuse to pull the scalp from his hair. At dinner he ordered a plate of chicken tender, fries and  a coke. He sipped the coke frequently, took a bite of two fries, but didn’t bother with the chicken tenders, spending the whole meal cutting them up into tiny pieces, smiling piolety at the teammates who bothered to talk to him.

The seating arrangement changed, leaving Andrew and Aaron alone. Kevin and Neil was going to the court, and the rest of the team was going fuck knows where, all Aaron wanted to do was go back to the dorm and study for his exam that he had to take in 5 days. His grades were dwindling down to unacceptable and every graded assignment he got back he could only picture his mothers dissatisfied and disappointed face. The car ride back was awkward and uncomfortable, Aarons headache was worse and throbbing, and being trapped in the front seat alone with Andrew bothered him more than he cared to admit. Ever since the trial he handled Andrew with cool composure, but he was really extremely pissed off for a reason that Aaron couldn’t place, nor did he care to. If Andrew wanted to not care, then Aaron would not care either. Aaron didn’t need anyone in his life that didn’t want to be.

“ Matt gave these to me, never been a fan, do you want them?”

Andrew tossed a bag of M&M’s in his lap, and Aaron bust open the package dumping a handful in his hand and popping them in his mouth without a second thought. Andrew turned up to the raido and they drove back to the dorm in silence, while Aaron quietly let the chocolate candies melt in his mouth.

The next day he was rudely woken up by the sound of someone loudly putting away groceries, he rolled his eyes slammed a pillow over his head and went back to sleep shivering.  He was woken by  Nicky 3 hours later, who shoved a plated sandwich in his face. “ Coach said you weren’t feeling well so I made you a sandwich,” he said, Aaron sat up and took a bite of the sandwich and struggled to swallow, ignoring Nickys grimmace. 

When Aaron refused Nicky chewed his cheek and went to play games at his desk.

“ If you’re having food… sensitivities-”

“ Nicky.” Aaron warned.

“ I was gonna say-”

“ I have a headache, you’re not helping.”

“ Aaron,” Nicky insisted.

“ Nicky” Aaron mocked, sitting up. Aaron was idignatnt and stubborn enough to do for hours.

Nicky paused his game and turned to glare, something that bothered Aaron beyond belif, he didn’t need platitudes or pity, and that look that Nicky gave him was a sick mix of both.

“ I’m fine,” he insisted.

Before Nicky could argue the door swung open and Andrew barged his way in. “ You’ve said that word so much in the past month it doesn’t even sound like a word. You look like shit.”

“ Thanks, real confidence booster,” Aaron sighed, wishing Nicky would close the window.

“ Andrew, be nice.” Nicky scolded.

Andrew laughed at the idea, and wordlessly unpacked the grocery bags on his arms, tossing Aaron a jar of dill pickles in the process. When he made no move of opening the jar Andrew took the jar and opened it, fished a pickle spear out with his fingers and put it on a paper plate. When Aaron looked disgusted at the sight of the pickle, with his nose wiggled up, Andrew took the plate, and sliced the pickle, sticking the plastic fork in one of the slices and sitting it in his lap.

He squat down to his level and stared with an expectant look. Aaron was uncomfortable with the weight of it, and clenching his fist was all he could do was not to cry. He hated eating infront of people, and with Andrew looking in front of him made it worse.

“ You have 5 minutes to eat before I hold you down and shove it down your throat.”

Aaron looked at the plate of cut up pickles trying hard not to frown. He knew Andrew would do it, this is the same brother who locked him in the bathroom when he found out about his drug problem. The idea of someone watching him choke down this food made his stomach flip violnetly. And the idea of being force fed made him want to run. He briefly entertained the idea, before he realized that he wouldn’t make it very far. His brother was faster than he was, and who was to say that once he made it to the other side of the door Andrew wouldn’t follow.

“ I need you to not look at me,” Aaron asked.

Andrew stood and went turned and pretended to find interest in Nickys game,and Aaron poked at his food until he put a pickle slice on his tongue, he shivered at the sourness of it, but enjoyed the satisfying crunch enough to eat the rest of them, only stopping when he gave a loud burp.

He looked up to see that Andrew had been staring at him the whole time, he tossed a pack of M&M’s at him, and poured a cup of apple juice which Aaron accepted gladly, the pickle made him thirsty and sparked his appetite.

Aaron looked at the empty plate, he had the distinct feeling that he had been had. Andrew went to the store, bought the only food Aaron would consider touching, not only that but he payed attention to his rather restrictive diet when they were kids, and remembered what he ate. Matt didn’t give Andrew M&M’s, Andrew bought them, along with an obscene amount of almonds, frosting and protein shakes. Andrew cared, hes cared all along. Aaron misinterpeted Andews cold apathey is disintrets, his lingeirng look of  He misinterpereded his lingering looks of concerns one of pity or general disinterest. And even as Andew carefully watched Aaron now, watched as he chewed and swallowed, it was careful and considerate, nothing malicious behind his glare.

“ Can I have some almonds?”

Nicky tossed him the jar, and they watched as Aaron loudly crunched on them by the handful.

Andrew settled himself on the couch, and began texting on his phone. By the chirping of Nickys phone Aaron suspected that they were talking about him.

“ Thanks,” he said without thinking. “ Sorry for-”

“ If you aplologize I will personally break your foot.”

“ Right.” Aaron looked down, with the vague notion that he should be embarrassed. Andrew cared.

“ Listen, having a restricted diet is better than starving yourself, you feel like shit because you weren’t eating at all. You’re allowed to struggle and have problems, but when you do you lean the fuck out and you talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be me, just talk to someone before you get to the point of passing out,” Andrew said. “ You have a whole team that only wants whats good for you, you lean the fuck out or I will push you out, and you won’t like how hard I shove you.”

“ Okay” he said, eating another handful of almonds.

[dyns33]

Down the Pit

I think I'll do a little Bane x reader series, because Bane is doing things to my brain lately.

Y/N is female, orphan, and from Gotham, because even if I'm not sure to put Batman in the story, I need some references.

Y/N regretted going to India.

The few people she had told about her trip had warned her. It wasn't always a good idea to go alone. But she was young, she had just finished high school, and she had always been alone since her parents died.

The first days went very well, and then it was hell.

Y/N didn't really understand how things had happened, but she had been wrongly accused of a crime, a serious crime, after having all of her things stolen.

Without her papers or her phone, not knowing who to call, she had not been able to ask for help, she had not been able to defend herself, and once she had been found guilty, she had been sent to a prison. But not an ordinary prison.

The Pit seemed bottomless when they took her away. The moon barely shone, not allowing her to see where exactly she was. It was difficult to catch the rope.

She cried and begged, but the guards didn't care, ordering her to be quiet.

Luckily for her, Y/N obeyed, going downstairs in silence. The other inmates were sleeping, not seeing her arrive, the night hiding her arrival.

A man who introduced himself as a doctor greeted her. He seemed surprised and sad to see a woman here, taking her hand to quickly lead her to a cell.

“We have to hide this.” He said giving her some loose clothing, his eyes fixed on her chest, before giving her an old knife while looking at her hair. “And we have to cut it.”

"You don't understand… I have nothing to do here, I'm innocent…"

"Cut. Cut, now, if you don't want them to take you."

There were no other women in the Pit. Obviously it was rare that they were sent there, and they did not survive long. Y/N's main crime was being a foreigner, young and stupid, whose fate didn't matter to anyone.

The doctor was kind enough to let her hide in his cell, but it was not a viable solution. The other prisoners were curious, and there was the problem of food. The old man wasn't strong enough to go to the middle of the prison and fight for some water and something to eat.

He could have swapped Y/N, but there was still some humanity left at the bottom of the Pit. The doctor spoke with another prisoner. A big guy who occupied the next cell. He had tied up some ratty sheets so no one could observe him and he only went out when necessary.

Speaking in a language she didn't understand, the doctor pointed at her. The tall prisoner observed Y/N. His eyes were the only thing she could see, the rest of his face covered by some sort of turban. He nodded slowly.

"Bane agrees to take you."

"What do you mean ?" panicked the young woman as she moved away from them, cowering in a corner of the cell.

"He will protect you. He tried to protect the last one, and he is the guardian of her child. Go with him."

Not really having a choice, Y/N followed Bane, completely frightened by this silent stranger.

There was indeed a child, sitting on the bed, playing with carved pieces of wood. Unlike her, the child was not afraid when he saw her, visibly delighted that a new person was visiting them.

This isolation had an explanation. The Pit was dangerous for a child, but it turned out that Bane had a secret. Talia.

Very protective, he took a while to let Y/N near the child, while the girl demanded that he play with her, tell stories from the outside world and hold her in his arms The little girl had lost her mother a few years before, only vaguely remembering the woman who gave birth to her.

“Tell me again about the snow ! And the wind ! And the ocean !”

"Yes, yes, calm down Talia. It's late, don't you want to sleep instead ?"

“Tell.” ordered Bane, who refused little to the child.

He tried not to show it, but the man loved those stories too. He listened, holding Talia against his chest until she fell asleep, his gaze only turning away from Y/N if there was a suspicious noise outside the cell.

There was only one bed and it was for the child. At first, Y/N was allowed to sit against a wall with a sheet. It wasn't comfortable, the ratty blanket was useless and she often woke up shivering.

Still speaking little, Bane ended up lifting her one evening to stick her to him, right at the foot of the bed. He was huge, warm, but soft. Several times she had seen him fight with the other inmates, but he had never been violent towards the child or her.

After several months, they began to feel like a little family. Bane provided their protection, Y/N taught them many things, and Talia was their light in this darkness.

Just as he sometimes didn't know what to do when the little girl was sulking, he didn't know how to react when the woman cried on his shoulder, thinking about her past life and realizing that she would never get out of this place. His hands gently massaged her back, but he said nothing. There was nothing to say.

The other inmates had noticed Y/N, and even while mistaking her for a man, some were envious. Another subject of fighting, for Bane's 'wife'.

“I am not your wife.” she muttered when he came back covered in blood.

"They'd be more aggressive if they thought you weren't mine."

“I am not something to own.”

"No, here you are less than an object. You are nothing. Others would ask you for favors just so that you can breathe."

"It is not fair."

"I know, Habibi."

He didn't add that she might be grateful that he took such good care of her, but the message was clear. And he wasn't wrong.

In the Pit, there were no rules. There was no kindness. Bane's behavior was special. Unlike the doctor, he had been thrown here when he was very young, practically born in this place and yet he was calmer than the others, more patient, more polite.

He didn’t ask anything from Y/N in return for his protection, other than taking care of Talia. He could have done her a lot of harm if he wanted.

Even though she didn't fully accept her situation, Y/N tried to survive by holding on to what she had. What she had was this little girl who had never seen the sky, and this taciturn giant.

One evening, after several months had passed, while everyone was asleep, she passed her hand over Bane's face, removing his shawl. He was young, younger than she had imagined. Quite handsome. Her dark eyes watched her as she touched his cheek, his nose, then his lips.

He trembled slightly when she kissed him. He didn't know anything about kissing. About love. Those kinds of things weren't useful here. He who was so tender did not know tenderness. Like beauty and joy, like women and children, all this would quickly die in the Pit.

Talia was eight years old when the other prisoners discovered that she was not a boy. They wondered about Y/N. The cell's small lock wouldn't protect them for long, and Bane couldn't do anything against the entire prison.

The doctor had told them about the escape attempts, and all the failures. The falls. There was no time to think about that. The fate that awaited them was worse than a fall.

Using his fists and all his fury, Bane blasted a path towards the climbing wall, shouting at them to run and not look back.

To make sure she wouldn't fall or get caught, Y/N had the child go first, following her while doing her best not to think about what would happen if they didn't arrive all the way to the top.

Maybe fate had mercy, maybe their determination was stronger than everything, but when the sun touched her skin, Y/N let out a scream, mixed with happiness and despair, as she took Talia in her arms.

This immense ball of fire fascinated the kid for a few moments, then she turned towards the Pit. From the top, we couldn't see anything. It was impossible to see Bane.

At the child's insistence, they stayed two days, hoping that he would join them. Then, the heat, hunger and thirst forced them to move.

“We have to find my father !” Talia declared. "Mom told me about him. He was supposed to come get us, he's very powerful. He can help Bane."

It was impossible to explain to her that finding someone with just their name wasn't that simple. The world was much bigger than the Pit. Although Ra's al Ghul wasn't a very common name.

However, it was enough to say it in the first city they found for men in black to start following them, before asking them why they were looking for Ra's al Ghul.

Obviously he was the leader of a gang of ninjas or something like that. He did not know that his wife had taken his place in prison. He didn't know he had a daughter. The news seemed to please him.

At least, that was what Y/N thought she understood, since she didn’t meet him. He had no interest in meeting her. As soon as he had his daughter back, he ordered the young woman to be sent home.

He could have abandoned her in the middle of nowhere or had her killed, but maybe he suspected that Talia wouldn't be happy if she found out what had happened.

After more than three years of absence, Y/N found herself back home in Gotham. It was complicated to explain to the authorities that she was alive, that she had nothing left, that there was a horrible prison in India. There were a lot of questions, checks, endless procedures, just to get her identity back.

Some associations helped her find money and accommodation, but there was nothing regarding the Pit. It wasn't the Gotham Police Department's problem. They were not interested in what was happening in another country.

Y/N found a small job in a cafe, and after several months an apartment. Life was returning to normal. Except her life would never be normal again.

Every night she thought of Talia and Bane. She wondered if the child was okay. She wondered if the man was alive. She often cried, singing the lullabies she whispered to the little girl, remembering the powerful arms that surrounded her.

It seemed pointless and dangerous to return to India, but Y/N kept telling herself that she would see them again one day. After everything they had been through, she had to see them again. One day.

[yurisorcerer]

I'm not gonna pretend I have anything super new or innovative to say about Mobile Suit Gundam. It's one of the most-analyzed anime ever, and I pale in comparison to some of the people who *have* analyzed it, but here I am, thinking about it regardless.

For context, I am watching this as part of a---as she called it---"comet swap" with my good friend @charaznablespeteevee, where I watch a mecha anime she is obsessed with (Gundam) and she watches one I am obsessed with (Code Geass). I'm not sure if I'm going to write a big long post like this about every episode (since I'm going to *try* to watch at least one per day, that would get quite exhausting), but I am liveblogging it more informally over on the worst website on Earth, if you're willing to put up with that Nazi-infested hellhole long enough to read some posts from yours truly.

In any case, Gundam and Code Geass. are many differences between these, the main ones being that Code Geass is more recent and also not widely hailed as a masterpiece of its form. It does *draw* notably from Gundam though despite having very different artistic aims and a different tone, so watching this makes sense in a way. I spent way too much of my teenagerhood obsessed with Lelouch, and now I'm watching the anime that his archetypal grandfather came from. (Goddess have mercy on my soul.)

My experience with Gundam as a franchise prior to this is very limited, but I do have some. For reference, I have seen all of:

Gundam 00, back when it aired on the SyFy channel when they had an anime block many years ago. I really liked this as a teenager but I don't remember it super well.

The Witch From Mercury, lesbian space combat, with a notable Code Geass staff connection. WFM was not perfect or anything but I loved it a lot and Suletta is very dear to me. I actually bought an Aerial gunpla a few months ago that is currently sitting unassembled in my closet.

the first Gundam 0079 compilation movie. Now, it might seem weird that I've seen this and am now going back to watch the TV series. But, while I remember the general outline of what happened, I was SUPER sick when I watched it, and I only remember what happened really, really vaguely. While I have some idea of the general outline of what's to come, I'm mostly going in genuinely blind.

like 4 or 5 episodes of Victory Gundam, which I liked but kind of fell off of. So we're giving the franchise a proper second go here.

I'm a mecha fan more generally, and I'll get into some of that as I write these, but for now that's the relevant stuff.

Anyway, my main impression of 0079's first episode is actually a structural one. It's REALLY well put together. We introduce the setting, we introduce our main characters, and we introduce the main conflict, all very economically and with a lot of style---more style than some shows with significantly less room to work with manage, in fact---and I'm immediately invested in the fate of our main character, Amuro Ray.

From what I gather here (and a little bit from outside information), my impression is that of a kid who loses his innocence very, very rapidly over the course of this story. Here, the space-hab-thing he lives on is attacked, and he ends up in the cockpit of an experimental superweapon called a Gundam (maybe you've heard of them?). I LOVE how the Gundam is framed here, like some kind of genuinely scary war machine. It's an intentionally othering effect i mostly associate with later mecha anime, especially those with outright monstrous mecha like Evangelion or even The Big O, so to see it here in such a comparatively early series in the genre is impressive.

The episode's climax sees him kill two soldiers from the enemy nation of Zeon, but it's not a triumphant thing, really. He's portrayed as kind of not really knowing what he's doing, flailing around inside this gigantic walking tank / mechanical war god. But then when he *does* figure things out, well, he has to deal with the fact that he just killed two dudes. Going by the cliffhangery ending here, it doesn't seem like his troubles are over, either.

[randomly--accessed--memories]

I wrote something!

Of course it's gender swap stuff that gets me to actually write– that's what happened in my last fandom, here it is, happening again. I do have an idea for a mainverse scene that I'd like to write too though, and now I'm over the hump with this, hopefully that'll be easier to start!

Word count: 733. God, writing fiction is slower than writing normally.

-

“Alice!”

“Yes, Vox?” Alice replied airily, turning her attention away from her microphone, which she had been polishing oh so diligently, and turning it toward the sound of hurried, oncoming footsteps.

She turned in her seat and was met with a flash of blue and red as Vox practically skidded to a halt before her.

“How do you like it? I think it’s pretty. Niffty made it for me— I’ve never met a man who’s such a dab hand with a needle and thread, I swear! He’s so- but I wanted to see how you liked it. I think it’s pretty, but we can change it if you think-” Goodness, she talked a lot now.

Tuning out Vox’s inane babble, Alice flicked her eyes across the new outfit that seemed to be the cause of all this excitement. A red, sleeveless button-down blouse and one of those silly, wide skirts that were in style during Vox’s time on Earth, patterned with cyan lightning bolts on top of plain, navy blue.

Far simpler than Vox’s old style. She’d always had a taste for glamor, for ostentation. Even when she’d been a young sinner without the money necessary for the silken gloves and wide-brimmed hats she favored as an overlord, Alice recalled her trying her best to at least give the facade of wealth and glamor. What a vain creature she was— or rather, had been.

The new outfit was almost girlish in its simplicity. Not practical for the handyman (handywoman?) job Alice had assigned her, but Alice highly doubted that all the brainwashing conditioning in the world could convince Vox to wear dungarees.

Alice was vaguely considering telling Vox to return to Niffty and request the outfit in black and white— the colors she had favored back when she had been safely under Alice’s wing— when her eyes fell upon the large, white rectangle that rested over Vox’s left breast.

It was a name tag. Similar to Charlie’s, in a way, but much larger, with the name “VOX” emblazoned upon it in what Alice could only assume was Vox’s own handwriting.

Oh.

The poor thing couldn’t remember her own name, so she needed a label across her chest to keep her from forgetting.

“It’s lovely, dear.” Alice said abruptly, cutting across Vox’s endless chatter— goodness, what was she going on about now? Tap-dancing?

Vox’s face lit up— literally, as her screen’s brightness appeared to jump several settings— her eyes shining with that adorable, slavish, mindlessadoration that Alice had grown so fond of these past few days. She began babbling again, even faster than before, and gave a little twirl— presumably to show off the skirt— that sent sparks flying. If one of those sparks triggered yet another electrical fire, Alice would not be taking responsibility.

“It’s only missing one last thing.” Vox froze, eyes wide; she never could handle “rejection” well. Alice smiled indulgently and extended a finger, beckoning Vox forward, then pointing down to the space beside her chair. Without hesitation, Vox hurried to the foot of Alice’s seat— the foot! Oh, this was rich— sinking down into a kneeling position at her side.

Smiling fondly, Alice delicately undid the red-and-black striped ribbon that hung at her collar. For a moment, she considered tying it around Vox’s neck (the neck whose wires she’d oh so tenderly severed one at a time all those years ago), but instead chose one of her antennas (the one she had bent in a dozen different places during the process of creating the New Vox).Vox let out a small, sharp gasp as Alice tightened the ribbon around the metal rod— those things were somewhat akin to exposed nerves, to Alice’s understanding; what a silly weakness— her facial display flickering out for a moment before reappearing with a wide-eyed, anticipatory expression.

“There. Now you look perfect.”

Once again, Vox’s face split into that same, worshipful grin from the last time Alice had complimented her. Two gifts— the new, old head and now something to wear on it— in as many days; Alice truly was in a generous mood this week.

“Thank you, Allie, thank you so, so much.”

What a sweet creature she had become.

For a moment, Alice’s eyes flicked away from Vox’s adoring face and towards the hotel bar. She met Husk’s stoney gaze, who immediately looked away, pretending not to have been watching this interaction. Alice’s eyes returned to Vox, and she smiled indulgently down at her lovely little creation.

“You’re welcome, doll.”

[asimplearchivist]

‘ 𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓭 . ’

𝐂𝐇. 𝐈𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒.

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ you manage to impress the boys’ mysterious patron. pairing(s) ☽ steven grant/reader | marc spector/reader | jake lockley/reader word count ☾ 6.8k a/n ☽ ⤏ this took wayyy too long but it’s finally done! now i get to work on the fun pieces since plot is out of the way! the next one should be a chapter taking place between i and ii, featuring the immediate aftermath of steven returning home from cairo! :) ☽ MASTERPOST ☾   ☾ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT CHAPTER [TBA] ☽

The first time Steven had met you, it had been strictly by happenstance.

The first time Marc had met you, officially, it had been an accident.

The first time Jake had met you, it had been an inevitability.

The first time you met Khonshu, it was somewhat (if not mostly) expected.

It wasn’t long after you moved in with the boys (a couple of weeks, maybe)—almost a full year after officially beginning to date all three of them. It started with you finding the little Djehuty statuette that Steven had gifted you from Cairo’s backstreet markets turned onto its side where you kept it on the bookshelf over your side of the bed one morning after Jake had already left to start his driving. You had righted it, figuring that it had been knocked over by the bed shifting during the night—sometimes the books fell over because the mattress was propped up right against the shelves, and…well, sometimes things were moved around. Passionately. (Ahem.) You hadn’t given it any further thought beyond that.

…Until it happened again the next morning, anyway. Then the morning after that. And while your relationship with the boys was by no means lacking, you knew for a fact that it wasn’t your (albeit frequent) evening exertions that were upsetting the figurine that consistently.

The fourth morning in a row, you stood at the foot of the bed with your arms folded over your chest and your fingers drumming over your mouth. Steven was rustling around in the bathroom getting ready for his shift at the museum, and when he emerged, still trying to tame his unruly curls, he raised an inquisitive brow at your puzzled expression. “What’s wrong, love?”

You pointed at the statuette. “Poor Thoth keeps getting knocked over. I’m trying to figure out what’s causing it.”

“You don’t think…” He gestured vaguely towards the bed, cheeks darkening as his voice quietened bashfully. “...you know.”

“That’s what I thought at first, too, but it’s been every night recently. You guys were wiped out last night, so...” Your brow furrowed as you looked up into the rafters. “The vents aren’t strong enough to blow it over.”

“Maybe it happens when we swap the driver’s seat. I do know we toss and turn quite a bit.” Steven stepped in behind you, curling himself around your back and hooking his chin over your shoulder to tuck his nose behind your ear. “We can move him if you’re worried he’ll break.”

“Yeah…that’s probably a good idea. I’d hate for his beak to get chipped off or something.” You twisted in Steven’s arms and leaned up into his chest to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He’d gotten away with not shaving again (much to Marc’s chagrin, you were certain), and you caught a whiff of his cologne on his collar as you hugged him tightly. “Let me know if you want to meet up for lunch.”

“Will do, love. Be careful going to class.” He kissed your forehead, lingering just long enough to tempt you to drag him back to bed. “Laters, gators.”

“In a while, crocodile.” You waved him out of the door, then set about getting dressed to head up to the campus. You crawled over the mattress to scoop up the figurine carefully into the cradle of your palm, running your fingertips over the fine, hand-carved glyphs in the base of the polished lapis lazuli. You set it in the windowsill overlooking Steven’s crowded desk amongst your plants, smiling as the sunlight poured over it and cast its silhouette across his papers.

You found it knocked over again when you came home from your classes.

You got there before Steven did, thankfully, with fresh ingredients in tow for supper. You didn’t even notice it until you had put the dish in the oven to bake and wandered past his desk to grab a quick shower. The fallen statuette caught your eye because it was lying prone on top of one of the books Steven had left open, languishing in a trajectory of direct descent from where you’d set it that morning. Almost as if…well. Was the idea so far-fetched?

You had your suspicions, although you had dismissed them as silly at first. Odd, inexplicable, borderline supernatural things had happened in the time since you’d first met Jake. After a week or so of all three personalities getting acquainted with each other, Marc had sat you down to explain their story—the full one, starting with the untimely death of his brother. All the pieces that you had been given or had gathered yourself before then had been woven together that night during the long stretches of silence Marc had to take to organize his thoughts and to compose himself. It took well past midnight to get through it all since dredging up bad memories wore on Marc’s (admittedly limited) emotional threshold in ways you deeply sympathized. Despite the utter bizarreness surrounding the latter half of his life, it all made sense. You had no reasons to doubt him after everything that you’d witnessed since you’d met Steven in the first place.

…Although, the concept of him having served a real life Ancient Egyptian deity had certainly been a tough wad to chew, if you were honest. What you had always considered simple characters in the (supposed) myths related to the Ancient Egyptian pantheon were, in actuality, alive and kicking—and still involved in humanity’s affairs, to an extent (some more than others, obviously). You’d had to reassess all the knowledge you’d learned about the culture, and a long discussion with Steven about such implications had carried throughout most of the next day.

(You had thought it strangely fitting, though, for them to be the avatar of the god of the moon. It suited them in ways you could not express with words…save, perhaps, that white was one of their best colors.)

You weren’t privy to the renegotiation of the terms for their agreement with said deity, since they did it one of the following nights while you slept, but they had told you that morning that they would continue to act as the Moon Knight when time allowed or if pressing situations—strictly local, as they weren’t keen on traveling anymore unless it was strictly necessary—occurred that the rest of the pantheon couldn’t handle. They had been firm in their boundaries, for which you were thankful; hearing about the manipulation that the god had utilized to ensure Marc’s cooperation had made you sick to your stomach, so knowing that they had settled on an exchange that was comfortable for all three of them was an immense relief.

Since then, they only spoke of him like one would their annoying and somewhat demanding boss. You knew that he was condescending, arrogant, and lofty. He complained almost constantly. Steven said he reminded him of a petulant child who never got his way. But, for all that, you still had no idea how Khonshu really was in person, or what he even looked like—and you suspected part of their arrangement might have had something to do with that.

You still blamed the lunar deity for the strong drafts through opened windows that would scatter your papers while you worked on your projects, the blown light bulbs when you stayed up late with the boys, and the eerie shadows, silhouettes, or noises which you witnessed in the middle of the night while suffering with your insomnia, however. You couldn’t see nor hear him like they could, evidently, but you’d figured out rather early on that it could not be a simple coincidence that you had only just started experiencing your first paranormal activities after they had revealed their direct involvement with a primordial, eldritch entity.

Based on how infantile all three of your boys had described him to be, it would not have surprised you one bit to find out that Khonshu was defacing the one monument in the apartment dedicated to another god—even if it was completely unintentional on your part and was only meant for decoration as a sentimental keepsake (though you’d wondered about Steven, being the sneaky little troublemaker he could be when pressed to react to things spitefully).

You took a lingering gander around the apartment from where you stood, squinting into the shadows, but found no signs of the potential otherworldly intruder. Not that he would make himself known to you, you were certain—why would such a superior being stoop so low as to make himself known to a lowly mortal like you, after all? Just because you were in a relationship with his avatar? You found that notion highly unlikely.

With a sigh, you took poor Djehuty and tucked him into one of the upper drawers of Steven’s desk amongst loose papers and things in hopes that he would see no more abuse and left the room to clean up before the boys got home.

Still. If he could be so petty as to knock over such an insignificant bit of merchandise, then you could only imagine what his goals were. To frighten you? You were more intimidated by the thought of him having one wrong interaction with the boys, not with you. You didn’t have as much to lose to his malicious tactics in mental warfare. You were troubled, sure—you’d never dare claim that you were totally sound—but you were acutely and worriedly aware of the fact that Marc’s system was still more precarious than you’d like to openly acknowledge. 

They’d adjusted to each other for the most part. Consulting their therapist had helped immensely—to your great surprise, Jake had taken quite the liking to talking with her despite how closeted he’d acted with you at first. He’d fared better once he was exposed, forced to reveal himself, like you’d expected. Marc had been deeply suspicious and untrusting at first, but Steven had been the first to cross the gap to bridge mutual understanding between the three of them. They bickered endlessly, just like brothers, and now that they were fairly comfortable with each other you found it more endearing than anything. You were glad they were finally getting along…at least until another quibbling argument came up, anyway (although they were rarely serious, fortunately). They could treat each other with the silent treatment like nobody’s business; whoever caused the offense usually would come to you to try to remediate things, but you tried to stay out of their quarrels as tactfully as possible. (You knew it was healthy for them to work through their problems on their own, as their therapist had suggested to you once during one of your occasional requests for advice on how to handle them with care and respect rather than ignorance and disregard—but damn if it wasn’t hard to ignore their puppy-dog eyes.)

But they still had their bad days—everyone did, and with fewer issues and traumas to work through, too. Those were the days you worried about them most: when whoever was fronting was quiet—not from immature sulkiness, but from feeling melancholy about whatever was bothering them. Those were the nights that you guarded them jealously, holding them close and giving them all the extra love they would never readily admit that they needed nor wanted—all for fear that their own personal specter would come and haunt them at the most inopportune of times in his own avidity.

To your distress, it seemed that night would be one of those—you sensed it even before you laid eyes on the man wedging the door open and shuffling through the too-narrow gap he afforded himself. In the middle of divvying out the food onto plates, since he’d texted you when he’d reached the bus stop near the complex so you’d know it was him at the door, you’d glanced over your shoulder to confirm your unfortunate gut feeling.

Chin tucked against his clavicle, Steven went about toeing off his shoes and putting away his things as quietly as possible, almost as if he were afraid to draw your notice or to disturb you. He shed his jacket, shook it out, and hung it up without even looking in your direction.

“Steven,” you said gently, but even that low tone still made him jump and jerk to stare at you with rounded eyes. “Hey, I’m sorry. Are you okay, baby?”

And just like that, what little resolve he seemed to be clinging to crumpled like wet paper. He grabbed at his frazzled hair with both hands and hid his face behind his forearms, already startling to sniffle and shake, clearly overwhelmed and finally having reached the tipping point for the day.

You padded across the floor to him as quickly as you dared, taking care not to make any extra noise or sudden movements, recognizing his reaction and knowing that any sudden stimuli would only worsen his condition. You brushed your fingertips against his elbows to let him know you were there, lightly touched his shoulders with a soft, inquisitive hum. He lowered and opened his arms to make room for you, but he kept his head down until he could bury it into the crook of your neck with a miserable, warbly sound that rent your heart in two.

“Hey, darlin’,” you murmured, gently pulling him into a hug that he returned fiercely, like one would a life preserver. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Y’didn’t,” he mumbled, scruffy lips brushing against your shoulder as his warm breath bloomed over your skin. “Just…had a day, yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” you sympathized. “Was the noise too much again?”

“Yeah. Kids were loud. Teens were louder. Ran into Donna when I was clockin’ out.”

Ah, hell. That always made everything ten times worse. That devil woman epitomized the mountainous stress Steven had felt when he thought he was losing his mind, so when he had the bad luck to bump into her—especially when he was overstimulated—brought a lot of that back to the forefront…to him and to you, both.

You remembered that fateful morning that he’d come to the bookstore seeking solace, how hard it had been to restrict your nigh unignorable concern for him in that state wandering off chasing a lead that sounded like it had been pulled straight out of a spy film, how badly it had upset you to see him so distressed and confused and frustrated—all right before he’d disappeared off the face of the planet for two of the longest weeks of your life and had faced a hell unlike anything you could ever possibly imagine.

“You don’t have to talk it out if you don’t want to,” you told him, reaching up with one hand to run your fingertips through the curls bordering the nape of his neck while the other rubbed circles between his shoulder blades. You rested your chin on his shoulder, too, feeling his rapid heartbeat against your breast with how tightly he was crowded against you. “You want to sit for a minute? Want me to turn some of the lights off?”

“No, I’m…I’m all right. Thank you, love.” He drew in a deep, shaky breath, fingers digging into your back, and released it slowly. “Might wash off first, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” you responded. “Do you need anything in the meantime? A cup of tea?”

He paused, hesitant. “...Chamomile?”

“On it.” You turned your head to press a chaste kiss beneath his ear. “You know that you can always ask me for anything. I don’t mind doing things for you.”

“So you’ve said.” Lots of times, actually, and yet he still didn’t quite seem to believe your generosity. You’d long since learned not to take offense by that incredulity, and he’d gotten much better about accepting it since you’d both admitted your feelings for each other—but he’d been mistreated and disregarded for so long that his old insecurities bubbled back up when he hit a low like this. “Still think I’m incredibly lucky to have you, love.”

“And I’m so very blessed to have you, darlin’.” You leaned back just enough to peer up at his tender, watery eyes through his unruly, tangled curls. Out of habit you reached up to comb them back, even though you both knew they wouldn’t stay there for long. “I switched out the wash, so your favorite sweats are dry. They’re in the top of the drawer.”

“Thank you,” he sighed, smiling softly. He reciprocated the kiss between your brows, lingering there as he subtly smelled your skin and the products perfuming it. “Want to pick somethin’ on the telly in the meantime?” Meaning he wouldn’t mind the noise.

“Sure. I’ll put your plate in the oven so it doesn’t get cold.” You leaned forward and up to catch him in a full, loving kiss before releasing him. “Don’t forget that it’s your treatment night.”

“Right.” He offered you another grin, slightly more relaxed and genuine. Marc and Jake were more fastidious and consistent about tending to their hair than Steven was, since he often needed reminders of what he needed to do to it and when, but you just considered it a part of your job to help keep them looking as gorgeous as ever. “See you in a mo’.”

“Take as long as you need,” you told him, but gave him a wink. “But not too long, or I might join you.”

That managed to coax a boyish little chuckle out of him, and your nerves dissipated for the most part. It didn’t seem like the sensory overload wasn’t as bad tonight as it had been in the past, thankfully. That he was willing to watch some TV was a good sign, although you were already thinking up some lower energy series or movies that wouldn’t push it (or him).

Steven always turned into a cuddle bug when he needed some quiet time, so you made the necessary preparations. You put the kettle on the stove, turned off most of the lights despite his gentle protest, and brought the blanket from the dryer to drape over the couch so you could wrap the both of you up in it. By the time you were getting his cuppa ready, he shuffled back into the main section of the apartment while rubbing his eyes.

“Not sure I can last a full film, love,” he mumbled as you herded him to the couch, setting him down with the blanket over his lap and placing the saucer and cup in his hands. “Somethin’ quick to get us through eatin’, maybe?”

“Sounds good to me. Some of our channels updated.” You bustled back into the kitchen to grab the food, then settled in next to him. “Are you feeling fashion history or archaeology?”

He hummed a bit into his tea, then set it down on the coffee table so he could dig in to the meal you’d prepared. “Fashion. That hand-stitching is so mesmerizin’.”

It also put him to sleep faster than any ASMR he’d ever tried at the peak of his supposed sleepwalking issues—he’d laughed at that realization once you’d introduced him to the genre, shaking his head all while fighting to keep his eyes open.

You leaned over to bump your shoulder against his affectionately as you grabbed the remote and began to scroll through the tabs. “Look, she’s made a Darcy shirt this time. I should make you one, too—course it would probably spend more time on the floor than on you, sadly.”

“All that hard work, just to catch dust,” he mused, eyes glittering with mirth. “I love you.”

“A shame, truly.” You pressed your cheek against his arm as you pressed play. “I love you, too, baby. We’ll hit the hay early tonight so you can recuperate better, okay? I’m tired, too.”

“Yeah.” He nuzzled the top of your head with a low, rumbling sigh of contentment. “Can’t argue with that.”

You forgot to bring up the statuette like you’d planned to.

You had always been a heavy sleeper by nature, growing up never having to share a bed and owning a room all to yourself. Perfect darkness and background noise usually in the form of the AC or thunderstorms on a noisemaker helped to lull you asleep since you were a bit of a chronic night owl. Once you succumbed, though, you slept like a corpse—or so you’d been told.

But when you’d moved in with the boys, you’d faced a long adjustment period. It didn’t help that they were relatively light sleepers—and while Marc struggled the most with night terrors, the others didn’t have an easy go of it, either. Insomnia reared its ugly head at times, and you always tried your best to stay up with them when their body couldn’t shut down, but—more often than not, unfortunately—you ended up drifting off despite your best of efforts. They didn’t seem to mind, though, and Steven had been the most vocal about it; he cited that it was soothing to have you there, even if you were “snoozin’ away,” because it gave them a reason to stay still. Whether you were holding them or vice versa, each one of them had confessed that having you there resting at their side helped them to relax to an extent, even if they didn’t end up catching a wink. You told them once that simply laying there with their eyes closed still gave their body much-needed time to decompress, and their restless frustration seemed to ease after that.

Thankfully your body had finally grown accustomed to sharing a bed with someone else since then—and your quality of rest had even improved by being so close to the men you loved.

Despite their mental struggles, you did wonder why they struggled as much as they did at times because they worked their collective ass off constantly. Two jobs to keep the bills paid plus occasional ventures out into the night at Khonshu’s behest meant that—when their schedules overlapped too frequently for too long—they’d get overloaded and thus severely fatigued faster than what made you comfortable. This often led into the mental breakdowns usually prompted by overstimulation and thus resulted in taxing them beyond what a single night’s rest could manage. 

Poor Steven could barely keep his eyes awake once he fed himself full (and didn’t manage to eat the whole serving, either). He slipped off at some point during the meal, head falling to rest on your shoulder. You almost hadn’t the heart to rouse him again, even if it was to gently coax him to go brush his teeth and settle into bed while you put the dishes in the sink to be washed in the morning. By the time you turned out all the lights, cleaned yourself up, and climbed under the covers, Steven was adamantly futzing with his phone in a plain effort to remain awake—for your sake, likely.

“Want me to put that on the charger?” you asked softly as you crawled closer to him.

He glanced at you, eyes bleary, and nodded as he handed it to you. “Yeah. Thanks, love.”

“Of course.” You took it and twisted onto your side, fumbling for the cord and setting it on the shelf over your side of the bed. You then snuggled up to his side since he opened his arms to you. You maneuvered your pillow to cushion his bicep and you laid your temple there with a contented sigh, curling an arm over his chest and relaxing as his own coiled around you. You tipped your head to kiss his shoulder. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, poppet,” he mumbled, and with a quick peek you saw that his eyelids were already shut. “G’night.”

You smiled softly and stilled. “Good night, boys. See you in the morning.”

Steven hummed, an absentminded sound indicating how close he was to tipping. You weren’t terribly far behind him yourself.

It wasn’t until the faint flicker of a light against your eyelids in the other end of the apartment made you realize you’d dozed off.

You sluggishly lifted your head and blinked rapidly to clear your vision, squinting through the dim into the cavernous room. The bookshelves were arranged in such a way that the majority of the bedroom space was hidden away from the rest of the apartment, but through the narrow gaps between and above the rows upon rows of books you saw only darkness. The few beams of moonlight spilling through the windows offered little in the way of illumination. 

You watched for a moment, confused and dazed and struggling to keep your eyes open. After at least half a minute of not seeing anything, you dropped your head back onto your pillow with a soft sigh. The man next to you snuffled in his sleep, tugging you a bit closer with an indistinct mumble. You closed your eyes with a low, flat hum.

Clack. Thump. Clack. Thump. Clack. Thump.

Your body jolted, neck straining as your head jerked back up. The surge of alarm that coursed through your bloodstream in an instant cleared more of the fog from your mind. You shivered as the temperature of the room seemed to dip. Frissons rocketed over your skin and caused every last hair to stand on end. You braced an elbow beneath you to sit up, apprehensive.

Was that…a silhouette in the dark, or were you seeing things?

The lights flickered again. A looming, eldritch specter cast a shadow over the bed in that split second of clarity that stung your eyes and caused them to water before the room was plunged once more into pitch black. You reached down on instinct, hand lighting on the arm still slung around your waist. Your voice emerged shaky and hoarse, terribly quiet. “Baby.”

Like the result of an incantation, the man lurched. You didn’t dare to tear your eyes away from the now empty space where you swore you had seen a ghost, but your pulse began to thrum in the pit of your throat as he stirred with a grumble. “...Wh’s’it?”

“Tell me I’m not seeing things,” you whispered, so softly that you almost didn’t hear it over the thundering in your ears—was that ringing simply tinnitus or something else?

“What’re you…talking about?” The hand at your abdomen cupped your belly, and you stole a glance down at the heavy-lidded eyes peering up at you bracketed by thick lashes. Marc looked confused, and you wondered at this being the one time that the body seemed to have relaxed enough to enter such a deep sleep…or whether they had simply been that tired.

“Marc,” you breathed, tipping your head forward. “I don’t know, but…I think…is it—?”

A cold chill made you shiver again, and this time you felt Marc’s body stiffen. His hand slipped up to your sternum, fingers spreading over your chest, flat and firm as though ready to pull you down with him. He was still struggling to wake up, you could tell, but the sharp crescents of the white of his sclerae against his umber irises cutting towards the same direction at which you’d been staring was telling enough.

You found yourself holding your breath as he watched for a long, tense moment. His arm flexed, ready to anchor you down. Then he let out a gruff, low huff and croaked, “...You’re not supposed to be here.”

You strained your ears and eyes, trying to pick out any indication of what—or whom—he spoke to, but now you only saw the bookshelves amongst the moonlight and the shadows.

“I don’t care. This was part of our agreement.”

You glanced back at him again in trepidation.

“No. It doesn’t matter. You know that you’re supposed to—” His jaw clicked shut, and you watched the tendon flex at his temple in agitation. He scowled. “You can’t be serious.”

“Marc,” you said softly, stomach twisting.

He squeezed his eyes shut, drew in a deep breath, and held it. You felt his fingertips drum in time over your shirt: one, two, three…then he exhaled slowly. Then he looked up at you. “Got to go, baby,” he murmured, and you saw that he could scarcely still keep his eyes open.

You stared at him for a long moment. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was going on. You frowned at him. “No.”

Marc’s brow softened just slightly as he pressed lightly on your chest. “Hey, it’s fine. Something came up. I’ve got a job to do. I’ve tried not to let it interfere so far, and nothing’s really happened, but there’s—”

“It is in the middle of the fucking night, Marc Spector,” you hissed. “It’s obvious that you’ve all had a day from hell, and you don’t need to be gallivanting across rooftops as exhausted as you are. It would benefit no one if you got hurt in the process, or slipped up and accidentally got someone innocent involved.”

“I know it’s not ideal,” he tried to soothe, tipping his chin up and relaxing his expression. “But it’s not just something that I can let slip by.”

“I think the fuck not,” you muttered, pushing his shoulder down as you sat up and faced the darkened interior of the flat. Your voice grew firm, echoing off the walls. “Khonshu?”

Marc tensed, his fingers coiling around your wrist as he opened his mouth, but you didn’t falter.

“Steven and Jake are working two different jobs to make ends meet since you don’t exactly offer any benefits,” you began tartly, “on top of taking many of their nights to follow you around…God knows where doing God knows what. They’ve had a long week to boot. I respect that you’re trying to keep us all safe in your own weird, misguided little way, but I’m sure putting away petty criminals can wait. If you don’t have a world-ending emergency queued up for them to solve, then I don’t want you to set foot near them again until the weekend is over. They need to get some damned sleep.”

Marc murmured your name, but he was obviously fading fast despite his persistence—a testament to their weariness. You smoothed your palm over the slope of his arm without looking away from the shadows stretched out across the hardwood floors. The eerie, anticipatory silence made you shiver again, the weight of the air in the room threatening to suffocate you.

Marc flinched under your touch at the same time that the lights flickered ominously. His eyes cracked open again—but just barely—and fixed on an otherwise empty portion of the room (closer to the bed, you noticed). His free hand curled into the sheets with whitened knuckles.

You had the distinct impression that someone was staring right at you. The prey-driven portion of your brain, the flight instinct, was screaming at you to cower and duck, hide and wait until the danger passed over. But this was the love of your damned life, and you would sooner die than back down to some dusty ancient deity who felt a little too entitled to the body he inadvertently shared with you, now. So you ground your jaw, held your ground, and trained your glare on the place Marc was watching with bated breath.

You swallowed thickly. “With all due respect,” you said, low and terse, “fuck right back off into the cosmos where you came from, Khonshu. Come back Monday night.”

Marc breathed your name, something like fear couched in his raspy tone.

You waited. No more lights, no more sounds. Then, like taking a breath of fresh air after being underwater, the pressure in the room lifted in a heartbeat—you swore that the temperature rose by several degrees. Your anxiety settled almost instantly, but you only let your guard down once Marc’s rigid frame loosened and sank back into the mattress.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled.

You released a heavy, shaky breath. “He’s gone?”

“Yeah. I didn’t think he’d—”

“I’m tired, honey.” You clamped a hand over your mouth as a yawn forcibly rent your jaw open. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Baby—”

“Marc,” you sighed, just a hint of a whine creeping into the edge of his name. “Please. Just go back to sleep.”

His hands guided you as you settled back down against his chest. He tugged the sheets up and over your shoulder, fingertips brushing the shell of your ear in so doing. He nuzzled into the nape of your neck and let out a sound of disbelief.

“What?” you mumbled, already fading fast after the unexpected adrenaline surge.

“...You didn’t have to do that,” he said softly. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” you returned dryly. “He’s not going to come into my damn house and jerk you around like you don’t belong to someone else.”

Marc’s sleepy chuckle was warm, low, and rumbled against your spine. “He won’t be happy about it.”

“He can go cry to pantheon HR or whatever the hell. I won’t let him walk all over you.”

“I think he’s learned that now.” He laid a gentle, lingering kiss below and behind your ear. “...I love you, baby.”

You leaned back to press the length of your body against his. “I love you, too.”

“I had an interesting conversation this morning, querida.”

You roused, mostly from the voice rumbling in your ear, but also from the lips skimming up the slope of your shoulder and neck. You shivered as the stubble scraped against your sensitive skin, fumbling with a heavy hand behind your head until your fingers wove their way into the meticulously gelled curls brushing the shell of your ear. The resulting sigh that shuddered over your warm flesh sent gooseflesh erupting over your skin.

“Mmm? With whom?” you mumbled, tilting your chin to allow him more room.

“El pájaro de la muerte,” Jake murmured.

Your eyes shot open and you leaned back enough to squint at him through the crust blurring your vision. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t meant to get you guys in trouble, I just wanted—”

“Ssh,” he chuckled, reaching over you to cup a hand around your cheek to draw you into a sweet, chaste kiss. “No one’s in trouble, least of all you or me.”

You frowned, wiping your eyes clean with your fingertips before resting your hand over his. “But…Khonshu isn’t upset?”

“Oh, no, he’s livid.” Jake’s eyes glittered with mischief.

You sat up slowly, glancing across the interior of the apartment with no small amount of trepidation. The tepid morning light steeped through the windows, providing lukewarm gray light that offered little warmth or illumination. So goulish silhouettes were to be seen, no haunting supernatural phenomena to be had.

“He’s not here—off pouting on top of a skyscraper all sulled up, more than likely.”

“I wasn’t trying to butt into your business. I know that it’s…complicated between you two.” Your lips thinned. “I just don’t like that he jerks you boys around, even after you talked things out with him and made an agreement. Supposedly. But I worry about Marc especially.”

“Oh, he knows by now that he’s stuck in here with us, not the other way around.” Jake flashed you a devilish grin and tapped his temple. “I made sure of that. Between Steven and I, he won’t give Marc any more trouble like he used to. That’s why I made it a point to talk to him this morning.”

You gave him a soft smile of relief. As far as he had come—as all of them had come—you still fretted. Needlessly, perhaps, but…well, it was one of your greatest talents.

But despite the fright it had given you, and the agitation you’d felt towards the deity (about whom you couldn’t decide was more realistic an option: that he simply felt he stood too far above you to reveal himself, or that he felt too uneasy to do so…had your bluff worked?), you had to admit to your curiosity—which had arguably piqued since you’d inadvertently interacted with him for the first time on a somewhat official basis.

“...What did he say about me?” you asked him with no small amount of trepidation.

“He said you have ‘too much audacity to contain in one frail mortal body’ and that you ‘would only bring trouble in your wake’. You royally pissed him off.”

Your brows furrowed in concern. “Then why do you look so smug?”

Jake’s grin broke out into a full, beaming smile. “Because I’ve never seen anyone able to get under his skin like that—not even the last guy. He didn’t stop talking about you the whole damn night, kept tossing around threats that he’d send you packing.” He laughed, then, a bright, boyish sound. “I think he likes you.”

“I…how on earth would you get that conclusion?” you questioned dubiously.

“Because I finally told him that you weren’t going anywhere,” Jake said plainly. “You’re our girl—you take care of us, make sure we stay running at top efficiency. If he wanted you gone, then he’d have to find a new avatar, too. He got real quiet after that.”

You shook your head. “...I still don’t see how that could possibly mean that he likes me.”

“Because he told me that you’d make a suitable replacement.” Jake’s eyes twinkled, belying the worry you might have felt knowing that Khonshu would ever consider you to be his ‘fist of vengeance’. “He used that as leverage against Marc while he was still married to Layla, but I’ve learned that Khonshu is very picky about who he chooses to be his fantoche. Only those he thinks have the most potential make the cut. We know better than we used to—you’d have to agree to his terms and conditions for that to happen, and you’re a smart enough cookie to call him on his bullshit, just like Layla did—just like you already have.” He stooped down and nuzzled into your neck, laughter still brimming from his belly. “I told him that he’s going soft.”

You couldn’t say that your peace of mind was any more alleviated than before, or that you understood completely, but as long as a literal ancient god wasn’t threatening the wellbeing of yourself or your lovers, then you supposed you shouldn’t press the issue.

“So…” you started tentatively, “does this mean I have his seal of approval?”

“Not that you needed it in the first place from a dusty old dirtbag like him,” he snorted, pulling back to eye you appreciatively, “but I’d say he likes your spit and vinegar. He did say he was surprised that you didn’t back down from him.”

“I didn’t even see him.” You raised a brow. “Did he really say that?”

“Basically. But the semantics don’t really matter.” Jake nudged your chin with the crook of his finger. His tone deepened. “You stood up to the god of vengeance without flinching once—for our sake. I’d say that you’re deserving of a reward after that.”

Heat crowded your cheeks as your body instinctively responded to the memory of that particular register. And even as he leaned in to pepper kisses along your mandible, fingers closing carefully around your throat to anchor you in place, your mind recalled the one detail that had consequently initiated your exasperation with their patron to start with.

“Will you ask him to stop knocking over the figurine that Steven got me in Cairo?” you complained, making him draw back slightly in surprise. “I don’t want him to break it, but if he does then he’s getting me a new one. It’s special to me.”

“It’s an image of another god,” Jake chuckled, lips curving as he returned his attention to your neck. “Of course he’d be jealous.”

“Jealous?!” you protested, hands falling onto his shoulders. “Why would he be jealous?”

“He’s used to commanding total devotion. Iconography not related to him is offensive.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as his lips found the tender place behind your ear once again. “That sounds like something Steven would say.”

“He did, actually.”

“Steven acted confused about it, though.”

Jake chuckled, wedging himself closer. His hand slipped to the middle of your back so he could leverage you back into the mattress. “Oh, he was, but you know him—he figured it out pretty quick.”

You gave him a dubious look. “Why didn’t he say anything? I was almost convinced I was going crazy.”

“He was being a smug little shit about it. He likes getting under Khonshu’s feathers.”

“He has feathers?”

“Not that I’ve seen—it’s figurative.” He snorted and kissed you. “Now hush and let me do my thing.”

“And here I thought you didn’t like referring to women as objects.”

Jake huffed a laugh and reached for the hem of your sleep shirt.

[icarusdescending7]

Aquamarine - Chapter 4

Ao3 | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Your fiancé died seven years ago, and you joined the military in his wake to fill the void his death put on you. Now, you work with the 141 for an assignment, hunting associates of their enemies.

Their Lieutenant, however, given you an uneasy feeling. You have a vague sense of familiarity with him, but from where?

-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-

You woke up still tired in the transport, still leaning on Ghost. He hadn’t moved since you landed on him, what a sweetheart. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as your gut was telling you.

You sat up yawning, looking around and noting that the drivers had swapped sides and Soap was still dead asleep— now lying in your lap. You didn’t bother to shove him off like you normally would have, being too tired to care.

“Five hours.” Ghost mumbled next to you, opening his eyes as daylight shone into the window next to him. “You slept for five hours, on the worst roads we could be driving on, after eating both of our energy bars.”

You grumbled, leaning back against him scooting a bit closer to be more comfortable. “Aye, greedy gal, isn’t she?” Soap chimed in, catching himself just before his head fell off the seat. Instead of sitting up, he also scooted closer, still using your lap as a pillow. “Now I’m gettin’ peckish and don’t get nothing to eat. Gonna have to scrounge on the floor before long.” This made Ghost chuckle, shaking you.

“Oh be quiet, both of you. I have spares in my pack, you can have those.” You grumbled, swatting both of their chests. “Not that you’d want to, they're probably as crumbly as a nature valley bar by now. Considering how much I got thrown around tonight.” You said, making Soap snicker at the minor innuendo you’d made— and earning another quick swat.

“Soap threw you around. I was nice about carryin’ you. Should be thankful I didn't toss you to the wolves.” Ghost said, a bit smugly.

“Not that you could, Price would bite your head off if he found out either of you willingly watched me get hurt.” You stated smugly. “I am only here “temporarily”, after all. He’d hate to lose a soldier that wasn't his in the first place.”

“You think he doesn’t think of you as part of the team?” Soap asked, “Lass, the second you set foot on a base with him, you were part of the team, no ifs ands or buts about it. He’ll care for you like he does the rest of us.” He yawned, laying back down without a word.

“Do you know how long until we hit base?” You asked, looking up at Ghost, who was in the process of removing the plastic mask from his face.

“Few hours. You should finish resting.” He said, strapping it to his thigh holster, then leaning back. “I’ll probably join you and Soap here in a bit.” You could hear the yawn brewing in his voice. Poor man was tired.

~

Sleep talkers— the both of them! They had both talked the entire time they slept! Johnny kept going on and on about his sisters and kelpies, how they “was gonna take ‘em and never see him again” and Ghost was just mumbling loudly to himself, talking about yard work and food and he kept saying “sorry”. That last one made you feel like bad for being upset with his sleep-talking— but it was really annoying. By the time you fell asleep, you only got about an hours worth!

The transport came to a harsh stop, jolting you awake as the door swung open. The late-morning sun blinded you as you opened your bleary eyes, only to see Price— who seemed glad to see you, but less than happy with your performance. However, his upset was subsided temporarily by the sight of the three of you piled on each other, mostly asleep. It made him chuckle a little and turn to call Gaz over, who burst into a fit of laughter. This woke up Soap and Ghost, who got embarrassed and annoyed respectively.

“Be quiet.” Ghost grumbled at Gaz, gently pushing your head off his shoulder and getting out, leaving you barely enough time to catch yourself as you started to topple over in the seat. He walked past Price sluggishly, shuddering as he stretched lazily. “Let's finish all this so I can go to bed.”

“Agreed.” Soap said, waiting for you to jump out. When you did, he followed suit and shoulder-checked Gaz. You only mumbled and tried to stand up straight as you followed the other two.

~~

You watched what little movement you could on base from your vantage point in an empty watchtower tonight, listening to music from days long since past. It was your birthday, and since you hadn’t been with the task force very long, you’d assumed they wouldn’t care to celebrate. You usually ended up drinking yourself into a puddle of tears and anger on your birthday, but Price tried to discourage drinking the pain away so you’d try to make him proud. You’d decided to take the night slow and quiet, instead of spending your wallet at the bar.

Sighing, you laid back on the cold metal grate of the platform, staring up at the stars. Memories stirred but didn’t surface, making tears well but not spill over.

“Rough night?” A low, rough voice asked you. You rolled your head to look at the source, seeing Ghost. He wore a lower face covering, that hid everything up to his cheekbones, revealing a torn ear and messy blond hair. “It’s only 8pm and you look like you’ve been through the wringer.”

“More than.” You replied, turning back to the sky. The stars were barely visible over the light of the base, but you could still pick out a few. “Missing someone. Today has been overall pretty shitty. But nightfall always makes it worse.” Your hand went to your tags, fiddling with the ring on them.

He hummed, going to sit next to you. He stayed silent for a bit, eyes flicking between the sky and base. “Happy birthday, by the way.” He said finally, sighing at the end of it. “Price mentioned it briefly this morning but we were pretty busy so we couldn’t do anything for you, if that’s okay.” He looked down at you, but you couldn’t tell what emotion he had going on.

“Thanks. I don’t mind,” You said, sitting up. “Haven’t celebrated my birthday with anyone in a little over seven years, so I’m used to it. Does the Task Force celebrate everyone’s birthdays?” Looking at him, his brow seemed to furrow at that comment. “Probably not, huh?”

“Price tries when he can. We don’t do mine though, because that’s classified.” He shrugged. “He’ll probably try to make it up to you. He’s not one to forget.”

“You’re super classified, huh? I wonder what that’s like. Must be nice having no one know who you really are. Well—” You paused, thinking. “Probably not. I was hearing legends of you even before I got sent this way.”

“More painful than anything, both metaphorically and physically.” He answered. “Only four people know what I look like. Only one knows my full name. It’s not great that everyone approaches me in fear, either. It’s not all fun and games.”

You nodded, getting what he was saying. After a long moments silence, you spoke again. “Do you have anyone back home? Do you think they miss you?” You asked him, standing to lean against the railing. He took a moment to think about his answer, knowing the answer to the first one, but not sure about the second.

“Not anymore. Only person I had disappeared after I did. Don’t blame her, though. I would too.” He stared up at you for a moment, still thinking about his answer to the next question. “I know she misses me. What I wonder is if she’s angry with me. I up and disappeared from her life, not thinking about the consequences.” He said, a hint of regret in his tone.

“I’d be pretty upset. I know the pain of being left behind… That’s pretty shitty of you, don’t you think?” You asked, looking down at him. He grumbled and sighed a little.

“Yeah. I know it is. But I did it for a reason though. I was being sent on a series of missions that would’ve put her in… in a lot of danger. The best route to avoid that was to cut all ties and disappear.” He bit his tongue. “I found her recently. Seems she’s holding up well enough. A deep dive told me she’s never really gotten over me, though. Adds to the rest of the guilt I suppose.”

“Good. Even if you were being chased by the worst monsters in the world, I don’t think she deserved that. You could’ve at least told her it was for her safety!” You scoffed without thinking. You groaned as the words that had left your mouth sank in, and you expected him to get up and walk away or give you a lecture. Instead, he stayed where he was, looking off into the distance. “Shit, I’m sorry. That just slipped out. My own anger got the better of me. That couldn’t have been easy, leaving her—”

“No, you’re right.” He cut you off. “She definitely didn’t deserve to be abandoned. Especially not in the way I did it. But that’s what I did and I have to live with it. Even if I regret it every day of my life.” Standing, he pulled a small pouch out of his pocket, passing it over to you. “Happy Birthday. Later, Firefly.”

You took the pouch and watched as he walked away. When he was out of sight, you opened it and held it up to look at. It was a small, expertly carved firefly figurine. It made you smile and you tucked it back into its pouch, deciding you’d display it on your desk.

[delimeful]

to know that song (and all its words) (9)

warnings: injury, lack of self care, fear, misunderstandings, a little bit of kidnapping, mistrust, cliffhanger

-

The dread set in as soon as Virgil dragged himself back to consciousness.

Even before he really knew what was going on, the sensation weighed heavy on him. His memories of the past three cycles were smeared into vague undefined blur, like a sand sculpture lapped at by seafoam, but the moment he opened his eyes, a distinct sense of foreboding curled up in his lungs and refused to leave.

The strangest part was that nobody else seemed to feel the suffocating weight of it.

The Humans seemed almost glued to his bedside, swapping places so smoothly that the chair set by his bedside was almost never unoccupied. He would have suspected it was a more intensive effort to keep him under watch if it weren’t for the complete lack of actual guarding going on.

(Half the time Heartfelt came in, they fell asleep with their head pillowed on their arms within a quarter-tide of sitting down. Not exactly strict warden behavior.)

It was strange. The Humans hadn’t quite reverted to their former hunted postures and exhausted eyes, but they’d unarguably been impacted by the invasion. There was a focused tension to their movements, murmured conversations in halls, an alert sort of attentiveness that they wore like a second skin.

And yet, they hadn’t turned any of that tightly-drawn energy on him.

Maybe if things were the same as before, with their weird unspoken agreement that Virgil would perform his role and not do anything stupid, and in turn they wouldn’t make the last however-long period of his life miserable with restrictions, this wouldn’t be so stressful.

But things weren’t the same. Virgil’s only useful skills involved having full use of both arms, and he’d been stripped of each and every one the moment his bone snapped on impact with the floor.

His life had been dependent on their need for someone small enough to fly the vessel for them this entire time, and now he couldn’t pilot.

They should be furious, frantic, trying to find solutions and making demands of him. Frankly, they should’ve just left him to die of shock once they realized what had happened and what it meant.

Instead, they’d settled him in the medbay with just about every medical device that might be even peripherally useful strewn about, constantly checked the information on his vital monitors, and the closest thing to a demand he received was the frequent questioning about how he felt and if he was in any pain or needed anything.

He didn’t know why they bothered asking, since they gave him dubious, disbelieving looks almost every time he brushed the question off. It wasn’t like they were his crewmates or anything, so who had tipped them off to his dislike of pain meds? They’d never even seen him injured before! Could Humans smell pain or something?

Stars and seas, he hoped not. His current plan was to bank on their ignorance of how long Ampens took to heal and get back in the pilot’s chair as quickly as possible, but that required they also be ignorant of the finer details of his injury. He’d be utterly screwed if they could somehow sense every time he re-agitated his fracture.

He would actually get started on that plan, too, except it required he was left alone long enough to actually test out how bad the pain was and sneak over to the piloting capsule, and that simply hadn’t happened even once in the past cycle of him being mostly-conscious.

Virgil felt insane for even thinking it, but the facts added up: The Humans were being clingy.

It was more subtle than expected, but once he realized, it became impossible to deny. Between the three of them, Virgil was receiving the same amount of fretting and hovering as a fledgling under the care of a first-time mother.

Sure, he’d heard rumors of Humans having fierce protective instincts, especially when it came to their young, but this level of brooding was ridiculous! Virgil was a fully-fledged adult, not a member of their pack, and completely capable of taking care of himself.

Now, he just had to make sure they knew that. Ideally without making them remember that he was currently a worthless liability to them.

Totally not stress-inducing at all, as Janus would say.

He waited until the next time Noisy was the only one watching him, since Heartfelt might not understand exactly what he was trying to say and Square looked far too exhausted and intense for him to feel good about his odds of directly asking to break a rule.

“You guys are smothering me,” he said, too wrung-out to dance around the issue. “Can I just have some time to myself, already?”

He forced himself not to bristle at the reluctant tinge that automatically sprung up to Noisy’s aether, both so the conversation didn’t escalate and because his feathers were already borderline painful from lack of grooming.

“It could be dangerous,” Noisy said, crossing his arms. “You’re not fully healed, and there’s—,” he trailed off, muttering a few phrases in Human like he was searching for a word.

Virgil struggled not to scrape his nails together in irritation. They were lucky he was going the negotiation route. If it had been his crewmates, he would already be well into biting people by now.

“I need a break,” he tried again, and then reluctantly added, “I’ll show you my pigment collection. But you can’t use them all!”

He gestured to the badly smeared and faded pigment that was still coating the downy small feathers around his eyes, a substance that his noisiest Human had asked about over and over.

Noisy brightened in delight, undeterred by Virgil’s tacked-on condition, before hesitating at the obvious bribe.

Man, they really were invested in keeping an eye on him, weren’t they? Noisy had been unbearably annoying about trying to get his hands on some pigment powder (he didn’t even have feathers?!) for ages, and now that he was being offered the opportunity, he was torn? It didn’t make any sense.

“Please,” Virgil was desperate enough to add.

“Okay, okay,” Noisy said, the tension in his aether snapping and settling into worried resignation. “I’ll go to sleep room. But only for a little while. And door open, so call and I’ll hear, okay?”

Somehow, it sounded more like a reassurance than a threat. Virgil shook himself, trying not to let stupid idealistic misinterpretations throw him off. He agreed hurriedly and waved Noisy out of the room with an impatience that clearly amused him.

Finally.

—

After a painstakingly slow climb out of the medcot, Virgil found he was actually extremely glad he hadn’t tried to remove his bulky sling just yet.

He’d started overheating from the strain before he even passed through the medbay doors. By the time he reached the cockpit, his ruff feathers were visibly vibrating from gular fluttering and his hand pads were well past damp.

He’d definitely need a dust bath after this.

To his surprise, the entrance was blocked off by a considerably large pile of materials. The array was a mishmash of everything, some items looking alarmingly expensive while others were barely more than scrap.

“What…,” he muttered, trying to puzzle out why this latest obstacle to his plan had been placed here, of all places.

A head popped up from behind the scrap. “Oh, thank Khiqea!”

Virgil made a short little alarm whistle, nearly toppling over as he scrambled back a few steps. “What are you doing on my ship?!”

The alien— they had curling mandibles and stout horned shoulders, Virgil recognized the species but couldn’t recall the name— stared at him with shiny black eyes for a long moment before speaking again, now with a slight buzz. “Your Humans kidnapped me here.”

They shuffled to the side slightly and lifted their arm, revealing that it was cuffed to… was that a medbay chair? And a chunk of medbay flooring?!

Did those idiots even know how much internal ship furnishing cost?

“Oh, I am gonna kill them,” he muttered to himself, and blinked when there was a high placating chitter from the stranger.

Right. Kidnapping victim. That was super bad, actually. “Why’d they kidnap you?”

“Did you not—,” the stranger cut themself off, before continuing in shorter, sharper words. “I was the only nonessential medic on the Hanssloane. It was part of the deal.”

The raiders. His injury. Some of it was coming back now. The Humans had abducted a whole person to make sure he didn’t die from his wounds? Why?

Instead of blurting any of that out, Virgil glanced down at where they were holding a clipboard and a simple welding tool. “You seem a little under equipped for a medic. Are you trying to bandage scrap metal, or what?”

“I— I know how to engineer,” they said hurriedly, their limbs drawing in defensively. “I have other uses! I can work for as long as you need, just— please.”

Well, if that wasn’t a familiar refrain, Virgil didn’t know what was.

“You’re a multitalented guy. Got it,” he said shortly. He wasn’t going to make any promises he couldn’t keep, but if they were so willing to talk… “What’s your name?”

“I go by Sveve,” they responded, running through a surprising number of politeness signals for a raider.

“Great,” Virgil replied, pretending not to notice the expectant pause. “Have you seen the other Humans around?”

If he wanted answers, he’d have to get them himself.

Sveve did that silent-surprise stare again, though this one was shorter. “Neither are onboard at the moment, Captain. They’re retrieving more machinery from the Hanssloane.”

Virgil resisted the urge to frown automatically at the formal address— the only time his crewmates called him that was when they were poking fun at him. Belatedly, the rest of the sentence registered.

“We’re still attached to the raider ship?” he asked, half horrified and half incredulous.

“The Humans negotiated the deal without you,” Sveve said, the words accompanied by a low click-click of realization. “They’re rogue agents. Grenghal’s balls, I’m so screwed.”

Virgil didn’t have time for their crisis. He was too busy having his own crisis.

“What was the deal? What happened while I was out?”

“You really don’t know. You weren’t there for the slaughter. And it’s not like you can trust me.” Sveve tapped their mandibles together consideringly, and then turned to check both sides of the hall before switching to a whispering buzz.

“There’s only one Human aboard now, so it might be the only chance you get. Check the footage of our boarding if you want to know the truth. Once you see it, you’ll understand the kind of monsters they really are, what they’ll do to me, to you. If we work together, we can escape.”

Virgil’s antennae pressed back as he shied away from the intent plea, but the paranoid part of him couldn’t help but perk up.

The records room was connected to Nav, more of a closet than anything. If the Humans really weren’t onboard, this might be the only chance he’d get to check without Square in the way.

Slowly, wordlessly, he edged around the pile of junk and continued down the hall towards Navigation.

He felt Sveve’s eyes follow him until he passed the curve, a familiar desperation in them that he hadn’t let himself dwell on.

He moved as quietly as possible, straining for any trace of Square or Heartfelt as he approached Nav. The Humans could be deathly silent when they wanted, but it was a habit they hadn’t kept up all the time.

The corridor was silent, and when he plucked up his courage and peered into the navigation room, it was empty, the lights low from a lack of detected motion.

Virgil took a deep breath and smoothed down his ruff as best he could, steeling himself. This was his last chance to turn back.

No. He needed to know.

He let his steps grow quicker and quicker as he crossed the room, eyes flicking from place to place warily as though Square could somehow wriggle out of an Ampen tunnel and descend upon him.

The records room door opened easily at his touch, and he let out a tense breath as he closed it behind himself. It was soundproofed, so he was as safe as he could be, for the moment.

The camera feed logs were all present and untampered with. It took only a few moments to locate the timestamps for the cycle the raiders had attacked, and he wound it back to shortly after his arm had snapped, feeling a little ill at the sight.

He ignored the urge to let it go, to ignore the gaps in his memory and the new hostage, to try and return to the status quo. Whatever he was missing, he would find out now.

He reached forward and started the footage.

[heartfullofleeches]

can i wish good morning, evening, afternoon, night to the lil bird?

morning cuddles and sleep well kisses.

fck the illness, doc needs tlc

He's always gone by morning.

And its getting on your last nerve. Mal was a saint in every other aspect of your relationship- something you didn't quite expect from the one who's been following you home for months, but you made your peace with once it was clear he would be a permanent entity in your life. Weekly check ups, breakfast waiting for you on the table, long chats well into the eve. These moments were times you wouldn't trade for anything, but there was one issuse separating the two of you.

Intimacy.

Mal has never touched you for long, the current record being roughly two minutes. You have never experienced skin to skin contact with him and likely never would. You understood this was due to his illness, as vague as he was about it - but you still longed for some resemblance of domestic bliss. It was driving you mad, and you could tell he felt the same pain. There were times he lost himself in the moment and reached out to touch you, just to pull away before either of your needs could be met. He declared his undying love to you in every way imaginable without taking that final step. And tonight you were going to cross that bridge for him.

-

"Goodnight, Dove." Mal tucks your blankets up to your shoulder and fluffs your pillow, placing two fingers where his lips should be and setting them against yours. For this ritual, he swapped his usual leather gloves for a lacey pair just a hair thinner. It was the closest you'd ever gotten to a real kiss or feeling his skin. You could see and even feel the protruding veins along the flesh of his palms.

"Night"

He heads over to his side of the room and climbs in bed, turning away from you as he lifts his mask and removes the same pair of glasses beneath. He puts them on the nightstand and turns off the lamp, facing you as he lies down.

"Do you have any preferences for breakfast?"

You remain quiet, shutting your eyes and breathing through your mouth to simulate sleeping. You hear him shift around in bed.

"Have you fallen asleep already? I suppose being so enchanting can be taxing on a person. Sleep well, my love."

Mal gets comfortable and attempts to fall asleep himself. With how much work he does and the physical tax his condition takes, the doctor is out like a light. You wait a couple more minutes before creeping out of bed and over to his to check. Mal was a surprisingly heavy sleeper, but you wanted nothing jeopardizing your palm.

After flicking his nose and poking various areas of his body, you consider it save to climb in. You get in his bed and snuggle up to his side, resting your head on his shoulder. He leans into your embrace, the hand resting over his chest shifting onto yours. It was just normal tossing and turning, but you like to think that it's his body unconsciously giggling in to what he needs. You kiss the tip of his beak and fall asleep for the first time in a while without trouble.

-

Mal wakes up to the bleeding sunlight scorching his eyes. The left side of his body feels heavy and his neck is sweaty. He could've sworn he took another dosage of medication before heading to bed. He tries to get up, but can't. Upon inspection he finds that the fluid isn't sweat - it's drool, and the weight on his chest was not from his body failing on him. He fights back a scream as your eyes open. You wipe the sleep from them and kiss his cheek.

"Good morning."

The lens of his mask fog as he hyperventilates. "Y/n? What on earth are you doing here? How long have you been here?"

"Since you fell asleep."

"Since I- Good God, Y/n. That's roughly seven hours you've been in contact. We have to get you to my office."

You yank him back down as he tries to get up. "Five more minutes...."

"Five more minutes?!" Mal hates to raise his voice, but his anxiety levels are through the roof. "You could be dead in five minutes, Y/n. Or much worse. Please, this is serious."

"So am I. You say you love me, but you feel so distance. We sleep in different beds for christ sake. I know you want to protect me, but we've been living together for months. Don't you want this too?"

Of course he does. It was all he ever dreamed of, but it was too dangerous. You grab his hand, locking your fingers with his. They're so cold, completely draining your skin of warmth - but you don't mind. Mal struggles to breath as you bring it to your cheek, trying so hard not to give in to your embrace.

"Just five minutes.. Please Mal."

Mal lays back down, thankful for his mask's aid to hide his tears. Five minutes. That's all this would be. He had to let you go once they were up.

If that were true, then why did he stay by your side until the sun had set in a different part of the sky.

[elysianstars]

Part of being a fan of the Fell Xenologue, is frantically trying to come up with explanations for weird stuff the plot does.

Why do some people confuse both Alears, despite the gender swap? Why does Rafal not seem invested in Ivy's attempt to revive Sombron? What was Sombron actually trying to achieve with his heir/legacy nonsense, and how did Rafal expect to do that properly without understanding it? Why was Nil, the weaker and less useful twin, getting sent off to battlefields without Nel? Why could Alear only sense something strange about Nel's dragonstone, and Zelestia identify that as Sombron's magic, after it was shattered? How did Sombron, the world's worst parent, manage to spot the difference between Nil and Rafal? Why are Nel and Rafal not doing anything during Chapter 21 of the main story, if you have them recruited at that point? When did Gradlon sink during the Xenologue timeline, and if it was after Sombron's first defeat then where were all his surviving offspring hanging out for the next thousand years?

I've got elaborate headcanon answers for the majority of those, which let me sleep at night, but literally every time I replay, more questions manifest to torment me. Here's the latest set.

1. After the battle in Firene, why does nobody ask how the Bracelet of the Brash General came to be awakened with Fell power? Obviously 'Nil' knows, because he did it. Nel suspected the royals were Corrupted, and it would make sense that whatever Fell sibling was responsible for that would have woken the Bracelet at the same time. So she's got a working theory that she'd rather not discuss yet. But neither Alear nor Zelestia suspects that, so why do they never question who's going around messing with these Emblems, without actually stealing them?

2. I always had the strong impression that Nel and 'Nil' ditched their family a long time ago, and were living in Lythos for most of the thousand year peace. But in one of Zelestia's supports with Madeline, she claims the twins didn't appear until Sombron 'showed signs of returning'. Which makes far less sense, since where does that place them for the last several centuries? In a Gradlon which may or may not have been underwater? Surrounded by hostile siblings, who only learned not to openly talk about murdering 'Nil' because Nel slaughtered the last group who did that? Choosing to deal with an atmosphere like that for centuries? Or were they just wandering the world minding their own business, in which case why is that period never referenced, and why bother ever showing up at Lythos? It doesn't give Nel much time to fall in love with Xeno Alear either, when it's said she felt that way for years.

The other possibility – and I've never considered it before, but the Xenologue is SO agonisingly vague with timelines that I suppose it can't be fully discounted – is that Nel and Rafal aren't actually thousand-year-old dragons born during the first war, they're only teenagers born during the second war. But that also doesn't make sense, since it would have necessitated Sombron being around for at least a couple of decades after his return, plus where did the mothers of these brand new children come from? Were they just floating around in possibly-underwater Gradlon, waiting a thousand years to be impregnated while having no ambitions of their own? Or did they get resurrected alongside him in a package deal?

...I really don't think any explanation works, aside from Nel and Rafal being long-term residents of Lythos.

Nel says she cut ties with Sombron during the last war, but you could interpret that as either running away, or openly fighting against him. Sombron, in the flashback that seems to be placed shortly before Xeno Alear kills him, says it had been 'some time' since the twins betrayed him, and that Nil died 'long ago' (yet isn't it the Bracelet of the Three Houses he's shown with, and wasn't that in Divine Dragon hands, so it could be sealed in the Somniel?). Rafal refers to his residence in Lythos as an 'age of lies'. Everything is 'for a time' and 'not long after' without giving numbers, and those phrases become increasingly vague when they're being spoken by individuals who measure their lifespans in thousands of years. We don't even know how long the Divine Dragon has been dead for – months? Years?

'Showed signs of' is another unspecific phrase. You can show signs of something that doesn't actually happen in full until many years later. You can show signs of something you've already been doing for many years in secret. I don't have the energy to compare the JP text and see if there's any differences. Sorry Zelestia, I'm going to have to ignore your single obscure comment as either a mistake by the writing team, or just you being forgetful because you're so old.

Otherwise I'd have to rewrite around 100,000 words of fanfic as not being canon compliant enough, can you imagine the pain of that.

3. In one of Rafal's bond conversations with Emblem Celica, he asks if her warp magic could be used to travel between countries. But isn't that exactly what he does, after showing his true colours in the Xenologue? How else does he transport an unconscious Alear from Elusia to Solm, seal them in the desert ruins, then race all the way back to Elusia in time for Nel to be none the wiser? His later warping has a stronger basis in the game's mechanics (abducting Nel in a way that's similar to an Entrap staff, then blinking over to the Somniel because the previous Divine Dragon must have given him the blessing). But that particular cross-country event? If he can do it regularly, it would also explain how he can rampage around Corrupting the entire world's royals without Nel realising, but hello, where does this power come from? And where does it go, once he's recruited and just has to walk places normally like a loser.

Additionally, I do enjoy when characters say things which are painfully ironic in hindsight. Zelestia saying in an early chapter how it's so fortunate Nel and 'Nil' never lost their other half, and 'Nil' is just like yeah, haha, that sure is great isn't it...

Sadly I will continue to try and deal with Fell Xenologue's problems forever, because it gave us the gift of not one but two hot murderous bisexual dragons acting completely unhinged, and to me that's worth digging through any number of plot holes for.

[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Miss

Written for @hinnymicrofic December 2023 - Prompt 3

So - after chatting on Discord about a Muggle AU story I’m (maybe) writing, I woke up with this in my head. Did I look for a prompt that I could somehow vaguely attach it to? Yes. Yes I did.

Rating - Teen and Upwards, for a bit of bad language and some slightly racy content.

It was late evening, and Harry Potter, Private Investigator, was in his office. His suit, once sharply tailored, was rumpled and threadbare, his appearance made respectable only by his polished boots and fedora hat. The only source of light was from the brass lamp on the battered desk in front of him, the one with the cracked, green glass shade, casting shadows across the peeling wallpaper. A dented filing cabinet and an elderly coat stand occupied opposite corners, somehow making the room feel even emptier and more down at heel.

Potter could have gone home, but what for? Just swapping one empty room for another didn’t appeal to him. Besides, instincts honed over years as an investigator told him that now wasn’t the moment to leave. He poured himself a shot of cheap whiskey from the bottle he kept in the drawer, and leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on the desk, waiting. 

Sure enough, in the distance, he heard the sound of heels clacking against the tiled corridor outside, drawing ever closer. Moments later he saw her, just the outline of a dame through the frosted glass. She hesitated outside, looking left then right, checking that she was unobserved, before raising her hand to knock. 

“Come in,” he called.

Potter stood, as the dame opened the door and slid into the room, his eyebrows raising a little, because she was an absolute knock-out. Her red hair fell in perfect waves down the side of her face, where wide, wanton eyes blazed brown above cherry painted lips. She wore a pillbox hat, and a trench coat belted at the waist hinted at a bombshell figure hidden below.

“Are you Harry Potter? The private detective?” she asked, her voice low and breathy.

He shrugged, playing it cool. “That’s what it says on the door. How can I help you, Miss…?

She dropped her chin and looked up at him seductively, lips curling into a smile. “Weasley. Ginevra Weasley.”

Potter moved around the side of the desk and approached her. “Let me take your coat, Miss Weasley,”

Obediently, she slipped out of the coat and handed it to him, and he tried not to stare when the dress below was revealed, cut demurely but clinging to every curve of her body as sinfully as anything he’d ever seen. 

The dame turned and leaned back against his desk, her palms spread to either side of her and her hips turned to the side, ankles crossed, looking like a goddamn oil painting. She fixed Potter with those alluring brown eyes again. “I need your help, Detective. I believe I’m in danger,” she announced, dramatically.

Potter moved a little closer to her, intrigued. “Danger, you say? What… kind of danger?”

“Yes! I’m being threatened! Followed!” The dame lifted her hand to her chest dramatically, tilting her chin upwards, showing him a long expanse of pale throat. “I’m scared for my life, detective! Can you… protect me?” She turned her face towards him, her expression beseeching and her scarlet lips parted.

Potter took a step towards her. “Well, Miss Weasley. I’m afraid that protection isn’t normally part of the services I offer.”

“But, you’re the best, Mr Potter!” she protested. “Everyone knows that. Name your price!”

Now Potter was standing right in front of her, towering over her. His pulse quickened. “I don’t think you’re ready to pay it, Miss Weasley,” he growled.

She gazed up at him, defiant, pupils dilated, perfect breasts heaving with her rapid breathing. “Oh, Mr Potter,” she whispered, raising her hand and placing it softly against his chest. “I assure you that I am.”

For a moment, they stayed like that, frozen in time. Then unable to hold back any longer, he wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her up towards him. Their lips met in a kiss that was urgent and messy, filled with hunger and need, mouths open, tongues connecting.

Potter pushed the dame back against his desk, and she curled her stockinged leg around behind his calf as he ran his hand up her thigh. She, in turn, pulled at the waistband of his trousers, untucking his shirt, letting her fingers trail across the taut skin of his abdomen, the muscles tingling at her cool touch. 

Just at that moment, the door burst open. Potter and the dame sprang apart as a tall, red-headed man strolled in. 

“What the fuck are you doing here Ron?” demanded Harry, blushing furiously, attempting to tuck himself back in as quickly as possible.

“Oh!” exclaimed Ron, looking surprised. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to be here at this time of night. We’ve been out for dinner, and Hermione thought she must have left her umbrella in here when she was down here to review the case prep earlier so I said I’d pop in and grab for her.”

“Merlin, Ron! You had to pick tonight to be helpful?” asked Ginny, tugging the hem of her dress back down.

“Ginny! You’re here too?” Ron greeted her cheerfully. “But… why would you be here, at this time of night?” Slowly, he looked around, taking in his surroundings for the first time, appearing confused. “What the fuck have you done to your office, Harry? Have you transfigured it? And… why are you dressed like that?” Then a horrible realisation seemed to creep across Ron’s face. “Oh fucking hell - is this… did I just walk into some sort of sex game?”

Harry couldn’t meet his eyes. “Erm…”

“No!” spat Ron. “Forget I asked - I do not want to know! I am leaving now, and we are never mentioning this again.”

“Er, Ron?” said Harry, as Ron turned to leave. Ron glanced back, and Harry sheepishly handed him the errant umbrella. Ron snatched it from his hand and scuttled out.

Utterly mortified, Harry looked to where his wife was still sitting on his desk, to find that her eyes were dancing with amusement. She burst out into a peel of giggles as he glowered at her. 

“Well I’m glad you find it amusing,” he muttered, raising his wand. “Finite!”

Harry’s office blurred a little around them, and then was suddenly returned to the much more familiar, and far less scruffy, office the Head Auror usually inhabited.

“Oh, relax, Harry. You don’t want to pick up where we left off?” she asked him, sounding disappointed.

“I think your brother might have killed the mood a little,” he told her, wryly.

“Oh. That’s a shame,” she pouted, looking down at the floor. Then she straightened her back, crossed her legs and shot him a look filled with some much fire that he inhaled sharply. “It’s just that my house is in a rough neighbourhood,” she told him, her voice soft and breathy again, “and I thought that maybe Potter P.I. could escort me home and check that there aren’t any bad guys lying in wait for me?”

Harry couldn’t help smirking at her. His wife really was both incorrigible, and irresistible. He retrieved her trench coat from the (now much less shabby) rack by the door and handed it to her. “Well, since you asked so nicely, I guess I could help out. You know me - I never could resist a dame in distress.”

[hybbart]

Now that you mention tango in skinny jeans im just thinking of your rancher designs but their legs are swapped and im dying of laughter right now. Not trying to diss the art or anything btw figured i should clarify that

You don't need to, it was an intentional design choice on my part to make tango's limbs and especially his legs incredibly vague and Unknown beyond his pants for that kids cartoony look. I ended up breaking it for his arms but his legs are just Beyond Me at this point.

(It was also a very intentional design choice on my part to draw jimmy with as skinny a hips and flat a butt as possible for very foreseeable reasons I fell into anyways despite everything, but also because bird legs)

Absolutely and completely unrelated in any capacity whatsoever, but there's nothing like a cloudy morning where you can feel and smell the about-to-rain in the air. Sorry, I've been indulging in the weather for the past week or so thanks to plants and I didn't feel like making another post. Please everyone enjoy the wonderful weather while you can, fall will be here too soon.

[dandelion-wings]

Dendro Delusion AU. spill.

Ahahaha that's a small (but important! for the porn!) part of a larger AU that @theabysscomeshome and I first came up with... years ago when Inazuma first came out, which I mention mostly because some of the lore/worldbuilding premises have been jossed and we have not updated them. XD;; (In particular I actually wrote fragments of the initial Jean-Diluc-Kaeya meeting that are now thoroughly upturned re: both the Abyss and hilichurl biology, and I'm sad about both.) @theabysscomeshome describes it occasionally as a "sexy evil mirrorverse au," and it is, but I also think of it as a double role-swap AU: Jean and Childe, and Venti and the Tsaritsa.

See, the aforementioned Jean-Diluc-Kaeya meeting happens when Jean and Diluc end up in the Abyss (initially they fell in by accident, we've since revised it to "they plunged in to rescue Barbara from something" and thus Barbara ends up there too), and meet a Kaeya whose father was taking him to Mondstadt via the Abyss and fell afoul of monsters before they could get there. Diluc's Vision, in this premise, protects him from the corrupting effects of the Abyss, but Kaeya (due to the Abyss effects + the curse) is at this point at least 10%, maybe 20% a little samachurl, and Jean ends up Childeified! (Barbara to some extent too, in the revision.) Kaeya leads them to an exit from the Abyss and gets them out, but they are all Forever Changed to greater or lesser extents.

And the Venti-Tsaritsa end occurs because Venti, in this AU, does not get any of his canonical naps. This is very bad for him and essentially sends him off the deep end and leaves him conceiving some very bad and sleep-deprived plans to storm Celestia. So when he shows up in Mondstadt with those plans in hand and finds 16-ish-year-old Jean Gunnhildr working on body disposal because she, Diluc, and Kaeya just finished ~interrogating~ Eroch for Suspicious Behavior (IDK who he's spying for in this universe. It might still be the Tsaritsa and her subordinates, who've we've kind of put into a role as Venti's main opposition, but left vague because we Know Nothing about her yet), he looks at this Gunnhildr who is a lot more willing to do violent murders than he's accustomed to and is like. Perfect. He's just found his foremost assistant :> and the other two look great, too, he'll keep them also. A wonderful start to what turns into an off-the-rails aggressively martial theocracy.

Anyway this includes Delusion development and research (there's a whole side-thing where Crepus is put in charge of that because he's totally willing to use his family funds for that in exchange for acknowledgement from Barbatos Himself, then dies while personally testing an early model--possibly because he has a useful subordinate named Zendik--and it's not the only reason Diluc eventually ragequits but it's a major factor), and Venti ends up with Harbingers but not Fatui because "Jean Gunnhildr, 1st Harbinger of the Knights of Favonius" sounds badass and rolls nicely off the tongue. The "sexy evil mirrorverse" part comes in because between the Abyss influences we imagined and the Delusion-caused mental influences we imagined, almost everyone's moral compass has been turned roughly upside down. There is a lot of torture, war crimes, summary execution, etc. going on here. Lisa's vines are useful for restraining Jean at Jean's request both in and out of the bedroom (sometimes Jean is overwhelmed by the urge to kill when she rationally knows she needs to not be killing), but they are also useful for holding one of Kaeya's interrogation subjects still while he flays them alive. :> They're besties engaging in fun friendship activities together~!

A few people have not had their moral compasses turned upside down here, which provides some extra fun. I love writing Fredrica so she is present and ends up gathering up other Knights who have had issues with all of this and allying with Diluc and Lumine in our imagined endgame as they take Jean and Venti down. (A lot of Diluc's motivation in teaming up with Lumine in the first place is that he wants an ally strong enough to face them but who is willing to let Jean and Kaeya live, which is hard to find in a Teyvat that has suffered a lot from the KoF trampling both national and ethical boundaries all over the place in pursuit of Venti's goals.*) Klee is still as innocent as ever, she's just encouraged to set off her bombs in places that canon Jean would have a heart attack about. Amber is Kaeya's best spy and secret agent because she's just so fucking cheerful and sincere. A nice little bit of juxtaposition for what is mostly Knights of Favonius: War Crimes Edition.

*Except for Watatsumi, which got full, non-just-for-our-own-goals support from militarized Mondstadt for their rebellion and thus did not just get a peace treaty but full-out won their war in this universe. Jean successfully killing Ei (and uuuuh Yae Miko and Kujou Sara in the process. rip) did not hurt.

And, yeah, Jean and Lisa and Kaeya have so, so much extremely kinky and often deeply problematic sex. :>