#(Thank you Discord for coming in strong yet again)

[ohdeerfully]

Alastor and reader singing jazz songs together and then reader dips Alastor and he gets all flustered? Like maybe reader notices that Alastor is having a sad time (without frowning of course he always smiles) and sings to cheer him up and then they dance together. Just general fluff? Thanks for having open requests! Remember to drink water and eat a snack!

Yess yes!! My first request >:)) i hope this was fluffy enough and not TOO ooc!

Them There Eyes

Alastor x Reader (fluff)

TW: None here (:

join my discord!

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You knew Alastor better than you would care to admit. How come you, of all people, could tell when that ever-prominent smile he held was more strained than usual? You always noticed when his ears twisted slightly back, and when his brows wrinkled with an emotion he would never admit to feeling.

Was it that you knew him and just noticed these things? Or did he allow himself to loosen up his usual chipper façade around you? You honestly weren’t really sure, but you were definitely sure that something was not right with him as you watched him from the doorway of the radio tower he seemed to frequent more often lately.

He sat with his back against a red and black couch with an eye-themed pillow, one leg kicked up over the other and gently bouncing as he stared dismissively at the papers in front of him. His hands absentmindedly tossed that cane of his between his hands. You knew he was aware of your presence, probably long before you even entered the room. One couldn’t really sneak up on the famed Radio Demon. It was just strange that he had yet to acknowledge your presence.

Both of his ears flattened the slightest millimeter, but that was enough of a sign for you to finally enter the room, carefully stepping yourself to the side of the couch. You tilted your head and balanced on one foot as you tried to angle your body oh-so-inconspicuously in his line of sight.

With a look at his face, you saw that smile of his still stood strong against his sour mood, although it was a tight grin. Almost like a grimace. You straightened yourself out again and sat down on the arm of the couch, carefully not to get too close. You knew he tended to get claustrophobic, especially in this sort of state.

“Alastor,” You spoke, trying to make him acknowledge your existence. You saw that strain in his lips get even tighter, obviously not thrilled at you interrupting his brooding time. You remained silent, gently looking at him and watching the smallest movements of his ears, his lips, his eyes…

Finally, his red eyes closed and he heaved a sigh.

“(Y/N), as much as I take pleasure in your company…” He trailed, thinking about whether or not to shoo you away or let himself be so vulnerable in front of you. He decided neither option, and you watched as his whole demeanor changed in an attempt to stick that gleeful façade of his back up. “What prompted you to grace my evening with your presence?”

You knew better, obviously, than to believe that gleeful look on his face, especially after witnessing the state he was in literal seconds ago.

You eyed his perky grin. And that twitch of some sort of emotion that broke the corner of his lip. This guy… you thought, with a mental roll of your eyes.

With a motion for permission, which was given, you scooted down off the arm and next to him. Your fingers tenderly interlaced with his.

“You know,” You began, looking around the room and coming up with a scheme that was sure to put him in better spirits. His eyes followed your every move, flicking away from your face every now and then to see if there was anything of interest that had caught your eyes. “...I was listening to some songs on that old radio you gave me.”

This piqued his interest quickly. You could tell in the way his head tilted and his eyes squinted quizzically at you.

“I’m glad you are enjoying the gift, dearest,” He responded. The buzz of radio frequency in his voice was noticeably less prominent than usual, but it still stuck a tickling sensation to your skin. A sensation that had grown to be more comforting than irritating. “I assume there was something you enjoyed, to be bringing it up all of the sudden?”

“Yes,” You nodded at his question, a small hum of a sigh escaping your lips as you worked up some courage. “Stay here.”

Alastor obliged as you stood and took off down the hall. You were back only minutes later with said radio carefully gripped between your fingers.

Of course, seeing as it was a gift from the Radio Demon, the majority of the music the radio played was old jazz music. It was fun background noise usually, though, so you had quickly learned how to tune and play the thing.

You gently turned a nob, and then another, adjusting the frequency and volume of the radio. Alastor watched, a slight hint of admiration in his gaze as you fiddled with the gift he had given you. He couldn’t help but feel a greedy sense of pride knowing you liked it so much.

A tune began to play through the black mesh front, and you tugged on Alastor’s hand as an upbeat band got straight to the point in their song. You noticed a glint in the demon’s eyes and a genuine smirk quirking his lips.

You held each other’s hands, loosely jerking your arms and stepping towards, away, towards each other to the rapid tempo of the song. Alastor seemed to recognize the song, likely something from his own life, as he sang along to the voice in the radio. You were able to join in with your own makeshift humming.

You felt your chest inflate with the joy of seeing that genuine smile return to his face, and that recognizable crinkle in his eyes that you knew meant he wasn’t just putting up his usual front. Those eyes of his made your stomach flutter, especially when they looked down at you with a softness that only you knew.

He twisted you around him, and you rapidly stepped your feet in a circle to the song. You were starting to lose breath, but you ignored it for the sake of keeping up with the man in front of you. Who, unsurprisingly, had great stamina for this kind of thing.

Without thinking too much, with a trill of an instrument in the band, you stuck your leg between Alastor’s and curled your elbow and forearm over his waist, using your hand to push his torso down and against your leg, successfully dipping the vastly taller demon over.

The position was held for a moment, with your eyes locked on his widened. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. He seemed barely winded. You wouldn’t dare point it out, but the gray color of his face had begun to dust with a warm blush as he was held precariously over your leg. At some point in the move, his hand had come up to grab the back of your neck. Prickling sensations rolled up and down at the feeling of his sharpened nails digging gently into your skin.

You inched your face towards his, watching his expression for any signs of rejection. When there wasn’t, you lightly pressed your lips against his, and you felt him grin against the kiss. He pushed himself up and on his feet, though maintaining a bent at the waist to keep his lips against yours.

How strange it was, you thought, being like this with one of the most feared overlords in Hell.

Breaking away, he straightened himself and smoothed down his clothes and brushed away imaginary dust. That smile of his was back, real this time. 

“Why, what a treat you are, my dear!” He exclaimed, grabbing his cane from the couch and leaning on it as he crossed one leg over the other, examining your exhausted and slightly disheveled state.

Usually, you would take care to smooth down your hair and straighten out your shirt. Momentarily, though, you just cared to see that genuine look of happiness on your demon’s face. Not that Alastor cared about your current state, of course. 

Another song began to play through the radio, and Alastor bowed and flourished his hand out towards you. You had only just caught your breath, but you took his hand again anyway and he tugged you towards him.

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #fluff #ohdeerfully #alastor is definitely ooc #but thats ok #i also could not find a good jazz song for the life of me #i dont proof read

[colourstreakgryffin]

Hii! Can we get a fic with how would it like to be if the reader was basically douma same personality appearence etc. With Alastor? I REALLY WANT TO SEE HOW IT WOULD GO.

Oh my fucking god. This Duo— it’s this duo and Discord with Alastor, I think would mesh well! Haha! Anyway! I am definitely trying this out, thank you, loves! Hope you enjoy!

Alastor- Rainbow Irises

Ah… a cannibalistic murderous cult has rolled into the Pride Ring. Alastor isn’t surprised when he hears over the new Overlord being the Eternal Paradise Cult leader. He’s heard worse

Though… her eyes are a mesmerising rainbow. A gorgeous, colourful, almost hypnotic swirl of multiple colours and the way she has presented herself to the Pride Ring… menacing yet elegant and cool-headed. Dressed like a fancy old-fashioned Japanese woman and wielding golden sharp fans

You’re an entire walking-talking red flag of a person. Speaking smooth and doting to everybody you meet but raising your fangs to their neck. You’re possibly even worse than Valentino. You trick everybody into thinking you’re polite and considerate and playful but you have a VERY ugly monster under those rainbow eyes

You have that charisma and friendliness Alastor uses regularly, coming off as upbeat and you greets all the Overlords politely but the proclaims you make… the way you eat other sinner demons with no problem and even brag about putting heads of decapitated men in pots. You have everybody in the room’s spines shivering in both disgust and intimidation at how you’re like

Alastor respects the way you establish yourself and getting his full respect is hard. You are intimidating, you are menacing, it’s a sign of how strong you actually are. The second strongest Overlord in Hell’s history(right behind Alastor). You regularly loom over Alastor and enjoy sweet-talking him

Alastor can recognise when a psychopath is talking so he never falls for your tricks nor your innocent act. You’re dangerous and twisted, specifically targeting and only eating men, hence you’re only-men member cult. He won’t let you even try take a finger off him

Alastor is basically our Shinobu, except Al doesn’t beat on us

Alastor doesn’t like you just touching him. You’ll reach out and touch him, solely to annoy him. He isn’t scared of you but he can tell why the other Overlords are so tense around you… you’re the most perfect cult leader, a inviting aura and a sensual voice that screams illusionary safety

Alastor has to hold his breath around you. When you’re angry, you turn ice cold and you don’t mind making the air too frozen for anybody to breathe in. So, he is quite careful with you. Juggling inbetween cold treatment and warm treatment, he feels like he is handling a spoiled brat when he talks to you

Alastor ignores the ‘gifts’ you make or get him. The lotus ice statues are wonderful but he knows what you’re trying to do… he may compliment your work but he won’t let you talk him into anything

But that doesn’t mean, Alastor doesn’t find your work nor your power impressive. He is very impressed and he rewards you for all you’ve done with your little cult and rising up to the rank to being the second strongest Overlord ever known in Hell. It’s a grand feat that he will clap to

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Aren’t you even a little bit worried about me, Lord Alastor~?”

“Darling. Kindly do not touch—“

“You don’t know how dreadfully worried I was. Since you all are cherished comrades of mine. I’d be heartbroken if I lost any of my comrades~”

Alastor finds your Japanese voice and language irresistible in a way, since it reflects your English and ‘nature’ very well but once again… he won’t fall for how often you say you like him. He knows people like you, he’s one of them. He’ll just commend what you’ve done as a Pride Ring Overlord

Alastor HATES the ‘Lord Alastor’ nickname you give him and always address him under… yeah. You give it to every other Overlord, he isn’t the only one who is called ‘Lord’ but it feels so condescending and in reality, it is…

“Silence, my dear. The adults are speaking… now, calm down that temper of yours. We don’t need anymore aircon in this room”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin hotel love #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel characters #vivziepop hazbin hotel #vivziepop #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel radio demon #alastor headcanons #alastor x reader #alastor #radio demon x reader #radio demon #douma reader #what a damn menace #hazbin radio demon #platonic alastor x reader #platonic alastor #headcanons #two psychopaths equal big mess #kinda one-sided love #hazbin hotel crush

[numinousmysteries]

Legacy

This goes AU post-Je Souhaite. Kind of an expansion of what I was exploring in this post on how Mulder and Scully could have had a satisfying ending without children.

[on Ao3] @today-in-fic

I.

Mulder told her to never give up on a miracle. He was right in the end although their miracle wasn’t a child but something far more rare: Two discordant souls coming together to create a union stronger than the sum of its parts.

Once in a Los Angeles hotel room, champagne bubbles fizzing in her mind, Scully whispered in his ear, “I wish we could make a baby this way.”

He froze. He was on top of her, buried deep inside her, his body enveloping hers, and his abrupt pause made her gasp.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean—”

“Shh,” he soothed her. Shifting to balance on one hand, he used the other to tuck a shock of auburn hair behind her ear. “I wish we could, too.”

She tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. He kissed her hard and started moving within her again. If yearning and conviction were strong enough to overcome biological reality, they would have easily sparked life on that plush king bed with its 1,000-thread count sheets. Alas, science defeated faith. She cringed at the irony of wishing for a different outcome, and hoped he wouldn't blame her for not believing enough.

Arriving at the hotel room after midnight and tipsier than either of them had been in years, they neglected to close the blackout curtains. The harsh sunlight woke her far too early the next morning. A pounding in her head and an acidic churn in her stomach weighed down the buoyant rosiness of the previous night.

He stirred alongside her. Both of their bodies were damp and sticky with sweat. The air conditioner kicked on and she felt goose pimples rising on her flesh.

“Morning,” he whispered, squeezing her tighter against him.

Last night, she felt as if she couldn’t get close enough to him. In the backseat of the car on the way back from the movie premiere, her hands were on his chest, his thighs, the bulge in his lap, as his tongue probed her mouth and she inhaled his heady blend of aftershave, cologne, and natural musk. She couldn’t remember how they shed their clothing, just her evening gown and his tux falling away as their bodies sought contact.

In the morning, though, she craved to be alone. Not to escape him, but to run from the implication of her words.The alcohol had smudged certain details of the evening but she remembered what she said to him about conceiving a child. And, as much as she wished he didn’t, she knew he had to as well.

With her head on his sternum, she felt him clearing his throat.

“I know we never really talked about it, the IVF, afterwards,” he started. “But if that’s still something you want, I would want it, too.”

“There’s not going to be another round of IVF,” she said, her voice raspy. “No more ova, remember?”

“I didn’t mean that specifically,” he said. They’d been intimate for months but this was the one topic they still danced around with their old, overly formal remoteness. “I meant having a child another way. There are donor eggs, surrogacy, adoption—”

“I know,” she cut him off. “It’s still so raw, though.”

“I understand,” he said. He kissed the top of her head and she realized they were both crying. “But I want you to know I’m open to any of it. If and when you’re ever ready.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate that.”

And yet, weeks turned to months and she never felt ready to face another loss. She still dreamt of little girls with her hair and his bottom lip; little boys with his nose and her eyes. But the pain lessened as time went on. Once she let him in, she felt less alone. Together, their lives felt full.

II.

She knew he hadn’t been close to his mother, but after Teena’s death—and the concurrent shift in their relationship—she made more of an effort to involve him with her family. At first, he resisted. She suspected he feared being an imposition or, worse, a tangible reminder of all his quest had taken away from her and her family. She could meet his stubbornness with her own, though, and in the end he couldn’t turn her down.

They began with casual dinners at her mother’s and, just short of a year into their relationship, she managed to convince him to fly with her to Bill’s for Christmas. Matthew, nearly three, had been joined by a younger sister, Caitlin, only a few months old on their first visit. With Caitlin in her arms, Scully shifted her gaze between the unbroken peace of the infant’s sleeping face and Mulder’s worried facade. With her widest smile and honest eyes she attempted wordlessly conveying to him that she was truly happy. No one offered the baby to Mulder to hold and he didn’t volunteer. For that, she felt thankful. As content as she was, she wasn’t ready to face the image of what might have been.

They visited more frequently over the years, becoming regular fixtures in her nephew and niece’s lives. They went to kindergarten graduations, birthday parties, little league games, and dance recitals. When the kids were a little older, they took them out for the day, just the four of them, to the zoo, the aquarium, the beach.

Bill was a football fan but his son preferred the slower, cerebral rhythm of baseball.

“Good,” Bill said, eyeing Mulder on the couch discussing the Padres odds of making it into the playoffs with Matthew. “You can watch this with him. It’s too boring for me.”

And Mulder did, for hours at a time even though it wasn’t his team. The boy’s wonder and curiosity in the game mattered more than who won or lost. He saw so much of Scully in her nephew’s precocious, methodical nature. Matthew even corrected his math.

Everyone else was surprised by how good Mulder was with the kids, but she never had doubts. She’d seen him on cases interacting with children at the worst possible moments of their lives—after losing a parent or a sibling, or witnessing a heinous crime—but he always approached them with respect, kindness, and patience. Knowing what it was like to feel alone and misunderstood, he gave them the space they needed.

Aware of her infertility, her family knew better than to whisper to her that he’d be a wonderful father, but that didn't stop her from hearing the words reverberate in her own mind. But they were merely echoes bouncing off the cold walls of a barren canyon. Unable to find purchase, they dissipated and faded away into the ether.

It was only once when a three-year-old Caitlin became inconsolable for reasons that were impossible for adult minds to decipher and would only accept comforting from her mother that Scully felt the emptiness in her arms as she handed the toddler over to Tara.

An hour later, the girl’s mood lifted just as mysteriously as it fell and she was eager to show her aunt her Barbie doll’s new wardrobe. Scully sat cross legged on the floor switching out outfits for so long that her legs fell asleep and Mulder had to help her up. As he lifted her to stand, he softly kissed her neck, just beneath her ear.

Once, Tara was even able to wrangle the kids on her own when Bill was at sea, and they flew out to DC to visit. They stayed at her mother’s—Scully’s apartment that she now shared with Mulder was too small to house them all—but Mulder and Scully spent nearly every waking moment with Matthew and Caitlin. The city they walked every day took on a new tint through the children’s excited eyes. Who knew there were so many interactive exhibits at the National Air and Space Museum? That the pizza place on her block threw in candy with your order if you picked up a child’s size pie?

They fell into bed exhausted but giggling over the silly comments the kids had entertained them with each day.

Their visit ended with airport hugs and kisses. As they returned to their car in the parking lot, she felt a sinking sense of guilt.

“You could have this for real, you know,” she said. “With someone else.”

For an instant, their roles reversed and he looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “It’s only you,” he vowed. “You and me. Forever.”

As jet planes soared above them bringing families together or drawing them apart, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. This was family, too, she knew. Two hearts that had found each other.

III.

The only time she ever felt glad they weren’t able to have children was when they learned the date of colonization. She’d already seen one daughter’s life cut short by the work of these horrible men and she couldn’t watch another die. If the IVF had worked, their child would only barely have made it to its teenage years.

By the time they learned the date, they only had five years left to fight. To thwart their efforts, their enemies had them both framed for crimes and they became fugitives. Cut off from the resources of the bureau and even the power to use their own names, their struggle intensified, but they never gave up.

The Gunmen helped them go deep underground. For years, they exchanged old fake identities for new ones and took up disposable backstories in dozens of nameless towns across the country. Once either of them picked up even a passing whiff of threat, they’d pack their bags and leave one life behind for the next. She thanked God she didn’t have to force a child to live like this.

In another life, these would have been the years she devoted to bedtime stories, school pickups, and soccer practices. Instead, she spent them corresponding with others in the resistance through encrypted emails sharing research findings and making plans.

With a year to go, she finally developed a promising vaccine formulation using samples of the extraterrestrial virus stolen from a syndicate lab by a scientist sympathetic to their cause. She tested her inoculation on mice and stray dogs. All the creatures showed immunity.

Mulder insisted on being her first human test subject.

“Absolutely not,” she argued. “You were exposed to the virus in that gulag. There’s no way to know how either the vaccine or this particular strain of contagion would interact with your existing antibodies. Besides, the resistance can’t afford to lose you. I can’t afford to lose you.”

Ultimately, Frohiked stepped up.

“I’m the eldest,” he said, when the five of them met up. “I have the least time remaining.”

The rest of them started to dispute but he waved his hands to cut them off.

“I’m disposable,” he continued. “Scully’s the only one with the medical know-how, Mulder’s got his connections and that spooky sixth sense that’ll come in handy. Byers’s has the bland face of comforting authority that’ll convince everyone to line up for this wacky new shot, and Langly’s a decent enough hacker to break down all the digital fortresses you’ll need to penetrate.”

“This better not be some ploy to get me to admit your kung fu is so far superior to mine that we can’t possibly lose you,” Langly deadpanned.

“Not a chance, hippie,” Frohike huffed. “It’s just that you’re allergic to bees so we all know the anaphylaxis would take you out long before the virus had a chance.”

So he rolled up his sleeve and let her give him the injection. She waited for a crude joke as she swabbed his deltoid with alcohol and then depressed the plunger of the syringe, but Frohike remained serious and stoic. He’d been a good friend to them over the years and she didn’t underestimate him.

They waited two weeks for the vaccine to take effect, and then she tested his antibodies. According to her research, his levels appeared high enough to fend off the virus. They locked him in the basement of a rural home they’d rented with a reliable Wi-Fi connection, a week’s worth of food and water, and a hive of genetically engineered Africanized honey bees.

Stung to shit, he texted the rest of them later that night.

Any symptoms? Scully wrote.

All copacetic so far, he responded. My faith in the good doctor remains.

Godspeed, Byers replied.

A week later, they unlocked the basement door. With the exception of scattered pink welts from the bee stings that had already begun to heal, he emerged unscathed. No gelatinous tissue. No gestating alien.

“Dr. Scully,” he said, grinning. “Your patient lives.”

Byers and Langly whooped and applauded.

Mulder kissed her on the forehead. “I knew you could do it,” he said. There might be hope after all.

Scully argued they had to find a way to deliver the vaccine surreptitiously, that no one would believe their claims of an upcoming alien invasion. But Mulder insisted it had to be a choice. That if they inoculated the population without consent, they’d be no better than the syndicate of men who secretly carried out their tests on unwilling, innocent citizens for decades. Although she feared his plan would result in unnecessary death, she didn’t deny he was in the right morally.

As word of a successful vaccine spread, more and more scientists defected from the syndicate to join the resistance. Mulder and Scully never fully trusted them, wary that they’d found their consciences a little too late, but still welcomed the information they had to offer. They mapped where the bees would be released and charted the timeline of the ships’ arrivals.

In the months leading up to the date, Scully became the public face of the resistance, using her scientific background and medical credentials to plead their case and insist on widespread vaccine uptake. She published their old case reports, not sparing the public any of the gory imagery of what laid ahead if they failed to act.

Miraculously, it worked. Enough of the populace accepted the vaccine that, paired with a syndicate significantly weakened by the resistance, they were able to ward off the invasion. The ships were picked up on radar systems but they must have been able to detect their accomplices’ failure on the ground and they quickly reversed course.

Mulder and Scully’s names were cleared and they were lauded as heroes after spending years as outlaws.

As they sat on their porch and watched the sun set on that unseasonably warm but otherwise unremarkable December evening, the old emptiness threatened to temper the joy of victory.

“Our children could have had a future,” she said.

“Scully, you gave all the children a future.”

He leaned in to kiss her. The world didn’t end.

IV.

Life went on, which meant its shadow, death, kept up its work as well. It didn’t feel fair that she only got to enjoy a few more years with her mother after they were free to come out of hiding, but at least Maggie Scully maintained her sharp mind until the very end.

Only in these last few days, on a steady morphine drip to ease her transition into the next world, did the loving relatives streaming in to visit her bedside start blurring together.

“You’re such a good mother,” she said to Scully, after spending an afternoon with her, Matthew, and Caitlin. “You’ve raised them so well.”

Scully didn’t have the heart to correct her, to remind her that these were Bill and Tara’s children, not her own. So she smiled and kissed the thin skin on her mother’s brow.

“I learned from you,” she said.

Her life was rich, even without children. She had Mulder, her extended family, and her work. She didn’t know if her mother would ever understand that, so she let her die believing her daughter was happy in a way that she could comprehend.

V.

After his stroke, she knew they didn't have much time left together. He was still the same man she met and fell in love with so long ago, still possessed his wit and encyclopedic memory of all things paranormal, only operated at a slightly slower frequency.

So it didn’t surprise her when she woke up one morning and his body was next to her, but he was gone. She had nearly lost him so many times over the years, but when it finally happened she felt oddly at peace. He had lived a long life. He had been vindicated, defeated his enemies, and even saved the world. They had spent decades at each other’s side, the intensity of their love never fading. Still, a lifetime together was not enough time.

She wanted to stay in the house, it was theirs after all, but it became harder and harder to keep up on her own. Caitlin offered for her to come live with her and her husband in Southern California. Their own children were all grown up and on their own, so they had plenty of room for her. She liked the idea of returning to the Pacific of her youth, so she agreed and began clearing out the house.

They didn’t have much. There was no fortune, no priceless family heirlooms, but there was neat, lawyer-signed paperwork dividing what they did have between Matthew, Caitlin, and their children. She was glad to help them in some way, however small.

She didn’t mind getting rid of their belongings. Her childhood as an itinerant Navy brat and her years on the run with Mulder had taught her not to value material things. But then there were the files. Their life’s work, cataloged in dozens of cabinets in their home office. Their true legacy.

A few weeks before moving, she got the email.

Dear Dr. Scully,

My name is Tegan Marks and I’m a special agent with the FBI. I read about your husband’s recent passing and I wanted to express my sincere condolences. I must admit that I’ve long been an admirer of both of you, ever since learning of your work in preventing the alien colonization of 2012.

As you know, the X-Files division has been closed since you and Agent Mulder departed from the bureau. However, that hasn’t stopped reports of unexplained phenomena from coming in. We just don’t have a unit or any resources devoted to investigating them. While I’m currently assigned to the violent crimes section, I’ve petitioned my supervisors to reopen the X-Files and they’ve been receptive.

In order to establish a thorough database of this type of phenomena and its history, I was hoping to access your files to scan and digitize. I would happily return the physical copies to you once I’m done.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Best, Special Agent Tegan Marks

Scully replied that Agent Marks was welcome to come and pick up the files anytime, no need to return them.

She showed up excitedly a week later. She was so young—probably no older than Scully was the day she was assigned to the X-Files herself—and so full of passion and curiosity. If aliens had colonized the planet in 2012, Agent Marks never would have been born. Scully led her to the home office where wall to wall filing cabinets held the secrets of her life’s work.

“Oh wow,” Marks said, surveying the office. “I think this is more than I can fit in my car. I might have to make a few trips.”

“Take as much time as you need,” Scully said.

“And I’m happy to bring them back once I’ve digitized them.”

“No,” Scully stopped her. “Please, keep them. They belong with someone who will put them to use.”

Scully watched as Marks hauled folder after folder to her car. She loaded the backseat and trunk to the brim but had barely reached the M’s for Mothmen.

“I don’t know how to thank you for this,” she said.

“I should be thanking you,” Scully said. “I know nothing would make my husband happier than to know that these were with someone who wanted to carry on our legacy. Before you head back, would you like to join me for some coffee or tea?”

“Tea would be lovely,” Marks said and followed her back into the kitchen.

“I’m honestly glad you reached me when you did,” Scully said as she boiled the kettle. “I’m in the process of downsizing and I didn’t know what to do with all of these.”

“Well, I’m glad I got in touch,” said Marks. “I’m looking forward to diving into these.”

“I can’t believe they’re reopening the X-Files after all these years.” Scully shook her head. “Do you have a partner?”

“I’m in the process of selecting someone now. It’s been challenging, though.”

Scully nodded, indicating for her to go on.

“Well, I’m obviously very open-minded about the paranormal but not many other agents are. I imagine this work would be much easier with a fellow believer.”

“Hmm,” Scully said, pausing to sip her tea. “You might be surprised. Mulder and I rarely saw eye-to-eye on our cases but I think that challenging each other is what made us such a good team. Just make sure you find someone you actually enjoy disagreeing with.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Marks said. “Although I don’t think partnerships like that are all that common.”

“No,” Scully said, smiling. “I don’t suppose they are.”

After they finished their tea, Scully saw the younger woman to the door and watched as she drove away; their legacy in good hands.

#xfiles #txf #msr #xf fanfic #the x files #xfiles fanfic #x files

[barkhoffman]

I know it's only been about 7 hours since I last posted, but I'd like to thank everyone for the outpouring of support I've gotten so far. you guys rock, and I am so, SO sorry that I can't seem to work up the motivation to write right now.

in truth, there are a couple of other reasons my fandom motivation has been low.

first off, one of the things I've heard people were roasting me about was an idea I brainstormed in a small, private discord server, that I haven't even come close to implementing yet. I feel this is not only very bad faith, as there's no way to know how I'd execute the idea based only on my discord messages, but also a complete violation of the privacy I expected in an invite-only group like that.

second, in another, larger discord, I've been accused of making assertions I was nowhere close to making. it seems like so much of what I say and write is taken in the worst possible way, and that's not a fun thing to deal with.

it crushes me to know that the people I thought I was on good terms with are so two-faced. it makes the entire fandom environment seem unwelcoming, even though so many of you are truly so great. but if I can't so much as spitball ideas on discord without getting shit for it, let alone write my actual fic, why try?

I dunno. I don't WANT to abandon all the progress I've made. it seems so silly and stupid to let all this affect me even a little bit. I like to think of myself as a pretty strong-willed person who doesn't give a shit about fandom drama, because it truly is so petty and I have actual problems to worry about. but it's because of those actual problems that I just don't have the energy to deal with stupid fandom problems as well.

once again, thank you all for hearing me out and offering condolences. it makes me feel less alone and less crazy. seriously, it means so much to me to know that people are in my corner even if some aren't. I'm so sorry for bringing this drama to your dash. I hope soon I'll be able to snap out of it, but for now, your kind words keep me going. thanks from the bottom of my heart.

#le discourse

[ayyy-pee]

Chapter 4 - Vert Ramp

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Kofi

Pairing: Suguru Geto x Female Reader, Choso Kamo x Female Reader

Summary: Hmm. Reader may be on to something here...

Genre: Skater AU

Story Warning: Smut, Vaginal Sex, Toxic Behavior, Jealousy, Jealous Behavior, Oral Sex, Unprotected Sex, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Possessive Sex, Possessive Behavior

Choso is the best cuddler. You’re convinced.

As you lay in bed with him, your cheek pressed against his chest as his embrace tightens around you, you’re sure you’ve never been held like this. Choso’s embrace was strong, but gentle. It was safe and secure. You hadn’t been intimate with Choso yet, but you didn’t have to be intimate to end up like this. Choso seemed to simply enjoy holding you, being with you. When you first met Choso, you had no idea how affectionate he was, publicly or privately. It was very different from your “relationship” with Suguru who hardly did more than wave to you in public. No hugs, no hand holding and absolutely no kissing.

Your thoughts drift back to meeting him at the skatepark the other day and him opening his arms to fold you into a hug. It was very unexpected of him, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it. It was something you’d always wanted from Suguru. Of course your heart beat a little faster when he showed you the most minimal affection in public. It was pathetic really, how much you craved Suguru’s touch outside of the four walls of your apartment.

But now you had Choso who had no issue showing you affection no matter where you were — lingering touches, a hand to the small of your back, a kiss to the top of your head. He made you feel special. It didn’t matter where you were.

You feel yourself drifting off in Choso’s arms when there’s a loud knock on your door. Choso must have dozed off too because he grumbles unhappily before pulling you closer. You hear his light snores seconds later. 

The knock comes again, a little more persistently and you sigh, peeling yourself from Choso’s hold and crawling out of bed.

You make your way to the door, grateful you and Choso hadn’t done more than lounge around and cuddle when the knock came.

You unlock the door and pull it open, immediately being met with a face full of red tulips, at least three dozen. You lean back, peering around the flowers to the person holding them. The random delivery man nods to you as he reads your name off to you.

“Yes? That’s me,” you confirm, confused.

“Great. Got a delivery for ya. Four dozen red tulips aaaand…” he turns the flowers around in his hands, “Oh, there’s a card right here for ya too.”

He pushes the flowers to you and you accept, still confused.

“I’m sorry. Who are these from?” You question.

The delivery man shrugs. “No idea. I just deliver ‘em. Have a good one.”

“Of course. You too. Thanks.”

You close the door, locking it as you wander into the kitchen. Once in the kitchen, you gently set the flowers down on the counter before you lean forward, closing your eyes and inhaling the sweet scent. What a nice gesture. You’d really have to thank Choso for surprising you with this once he was up. 

You pluck the card from the bouquet and turn it over, eyes widening when you read the message.

I miss you. Hope you like these. They reminded me of you. - Suguru

You set the card back down, looking the flowers over again. They’re beautiful, the gesture is thoughtful and it’s just… so not Suguru . 

Suguru didn’t make sweet gestures like this. He didn’t send flowers, he didn’t take you out, he didn’t tell you he missed you unless he was buried inside you. This Suguru who sent too many text messages when you were busy, hugged you in public, had flowers delivered to you with cute notes that made your heart flutter…this Suguru was new and unexpected.

Quietly, you head to the bedroom. Choso is still asleep, tangled in your blankets so as quietly as you can, you quickly grab your phone and leave the room. Competition is coming up after all. He needs as much rest as he can get.

You head back to the kitchen, dialing Suguru’s number.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Hey,” he answers softly and the sound of his voice makes your stomach do somersaults.

“Hey,” you reply, gently caressing the petals of one of the flowers. “I was just calling to thank you for the flowers. They’re gorgeous. That was very sweet of you.”

Suguru hums. “Yeah? I’m glad you like them.”

“I love them,” you mutter quietly. “And…I miss you too.”

“You do?” He asks. He sounds genuinely surprised, but you can still hear his smile behind it.

“Yeah. I do.”

He’s silent for a bit. You’re sure he’s about to try and run from this call because that’s usually how it was. You expressing some form of emotional attachment to Suguru and him shutting you down, ending the phone call before it can go any further.

“Can I take you out?” Suguru asks suddenly.

You think you’re hearing things for a second, so you don’t respond. It isn’t until a few more seconds go by and Suguru calls your name that you say anything.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked if I could take you out?” He repeats.

“Oh, sure. We can make plans soon. Do you want to meet at your place or mine?”

Suguru chuckles. It’s a sound you hadn’t realized you wanted to hear so badly until now. 

“No, like on a date. I wanna take you somewhere that’s not the skatepark.” 

You’re not sure how to respond to that. This was what you’d been wanting from Suguru for a long time and he was never willing to give that to you. Suddenly, he wanted to take you on a date? He had to be up to something.

“Why?” You question. You knew Suguru well. As hard as he tried to keep you at arms length, you could still see through his bullshit.

“Why, what?”

“Why do you want to take me out? You’ve never asked me out on a date before? I mean, you take other girls out places, but never me. So why now?”

“Damn, I’ve really never taken you on a date?” He laughs and you roll your eyes, trying not to let his poor taste in jokes piss you off. “I’m kidding, babe. I realize I haven’t been the best…whatever…to you. But I miss you. I want to take you somewhere special.”

You still had your suspicions, but a part of you wanted to believe that Suguru was changing. Or at least trying to change. And you didn’t want to deny yourself of the chance at being there when he decided he wanted something different.

“Okay. Yeah, let’s go on a date then.”

You hear him exhale sharply on the other end and you wonder briefly if he was holding his breath while he waited for an answer. “Great. I’m free in a few days, so let me know if you have time.” He pauses for a moment then clears his throat. “I really did miss you. I can’t wait to see you.”

Before you can open your mouth to respond, you hear the telltale beeps of your call being disconnected. He hung up. Of course he did. He was never good at expressing himself, so you were sure he was completely out of his comfort zone here. It was cute.

You press your nose into the bouquet of flowers once again as you imagine what it will be like to go on an actual date with Suguru. Will you need to dress up? Will he dress up? Now that you think about it, you’d never actually seen Suguru in anything but casual or streetwear. You imagine him wearing his hair in that half up half down style you liked so much, not that you ever told him that. He was handsome no matter what he did with his hair.

The thought of sitting down at a fancy dinner in a high end restaurant across from Suguru while you held hands across the table and confessed your feelings for one another had your heart pounding in your chest. You had confessed your feelings to Suguru many times, only being met with a broken heart when he turned you down. You were a glutton for punishment clearly, but you stayed coming around regardless. But finally… finally , Suguru was the one showing how much he wanted you , chasing you , asking you for more. It felt good .

You’re smiling like an idiot to yourself when you hear the sound of footsteps shuffling down the hall. You look up to find Choso watching you with your nose buried in the bouquet, face flush with excitement.

“Special occasion?” He questions, nodding his head to the enormous flower arrangement. You can’t quite read his expression. Maybe it’s because he still looks half asleep, his hair a bit more mussed than usual and the bags under his eyes heavier than normal.

“Oh. No, these are from Suguru. He said he misses me, so he sent these flowers.” You answer. The weight of Choso’s intense gaze begins to make you feel almost embarrassed. “Um, just to be transparent, he did ask me out on a date.”

“Hmm.” He doesn’t continue with whatever is clearly on his mind. You can tell something’s up by the way his jaw ticks, the subtle way his nostrils flare and the way he tries to stop his brows from knitting together. So you ask him.

“You okay?”

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply before sighing, shaking his head of any thoughts he may have had. “I’m good. Just caught off guard I guess.”

You nod in agreement. “Trust me. I am just as caught off guard as you.”

“Hmm.” He says again, keeping his thoughts to himself. “I’m just gonna lay back down for a bit and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, turning on his heel and going back to your bedroom with a quiet click of the door behind him.

What was that?

One thing you always appreciated about Choso was his honesty. He told you everything he felt, enjoyed, disliked. It was so obvious he was bothered by something, but for him to suddenly close up? That was new for him. But, you wanted to make sure he was okay. You’d hate to do anything to make him upset.

You give it a couple minutes before you follow Choso into your room.

Choso is lying on the bed, his phone in the air as he sends out a text. You crawl in next to him, laying on your side and waiting for him to finish his text. He sighs when he’s done, pocketing his phone and turning on his side to face you.

And you want to kiss that lip that pokes out, and kiss his eyebrows that are pushed together with whatever turmoil he’s feeling, so you do. You lean forward and place one soft kiss to his brows and another to his pouting lips and watch him relax.

“What’s going on with you?” You whisper. Choso closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath.

“It’s kind of stupid.” He shrugs. “And it’s really not a big deal at all, but I just thought you’d moved past the whole Suguru thing.” Choso says softly.

“Oh.” You’re a bit taken aback by Choso’s confession. This is the first time you’d ever seen him show any sort of emotion towards Suguru aside from full on indifference.

“I mean, you hadn’t seen him for a while aside from at the parks as far as I knew. I just assumed he wasn’t in the picture anymore.”

Had you really been blowing Suguru off that much? Between work and Choso, you just didn’t have time for him, but you hadn’t realized you’d blown him off so much Choso thought he was a non-factor now. You feel awful for all of three seconds before you are positive Suguru has kept himself plenty busy with other girls. You don’t want to think about it after that display of affection he just showed you, so you push that thought back.

“I’m sorry, Choso. I should have been more open about my current situation with Suguru. I’ve just been enjoying our time together so much that I forgot.”

Choso appears to think this over before he nods. “I understand. I’m sorry. You were honest with me from the beginning and I was okay with your situation. I don’t have a right to be jealous when I agreed to this.”

“You have every right to feel the way you do. Your feelings are valid and important to me. I appreciate your honesty”

Choso gives you a faint smile and nods, leaning forward to kiss your lips. You don’t think this will be the end of it, but for now Choso seems to be feeling better. He turns on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“I’ll be leaving for competition in a few days. Will you go on your date then?” He mutters quietly.

“I think so. If I have the free time, I will.”

He hums, bringing his arms up to fold behind his head. “I wish you could go with me. It’s always lonely on the road.”

You’re used to not asking questions about travel when it comes to Suguru. You didn’t know what he got up to and he was quick to tell you that you probably didn’t want to know. But Choso isn’t Suguru and he’s always been an open book, so it wouldn’t hurt anything to ask.

“You don’t have someone waiting for you in whatever city you’re going to?” You murmur nervously.

Choso turns his head to look at you and you can only describe his expression as a mix of confusion and maybe disgust?

“Why would I do that? I’m seeing you.” He says, matter of fact.

You’re a bit shocked by his answer. Add that to the list of what made Choso so different from Suguru. He was only interested in you and that was a new feeling.

You scoot closer to Choso, pressing your lips to his softly. “I’m going to miss you a lot when you’re gone. I can’t wait until you’re back already.”

Choso chuckles quietly. “Same here.”

You sit up, closing the distance between you and Choso and throwing your leg across his lap to straddle him. His hands come up to your hips and you lean down to kiss him. The kiss is soft, warm. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, tilting his head.

“Obviously, I’m trying to have sex with you.”

You lean back down to kiss Choso, but he turns his head to the side and your lips graze his cheek. You feel your stomach drop and a brief sense of dread set in. Suddenly, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was changing his mind about your current situation.

“Stop. I can see the wheels turning in there.” He says, bringing a hand from your hip to cup your cheek. “I really want to have sex with you.” He pauses, his brows knitting together in thought. “You know how I feel about you but…I know if we take that next step now, I won’t be doing it for the right reasons. I’d be doing it to stake some kind of claim over you because I’m upset about Suguru. That’s not fair to you.” Choso says, always honest.

The feeling of dread lying in the pit of your stomach dissipates and you smile sheepishly. Choso truly cared for you. It was clear. You nod, respecting his boundaries. When the time was right, you’d both know it.So you slide off of Choso and curl into his side, happy to spend the rest of your time together in his arms.

------

Several days later…

You’re at the bar with Suguru tonight. It’s not as fancy date as you had hoped it would be and that’s a little disappointing, but at least you’re out with him. That was what you wanted, right? The bar is loud and crowded. You’re trying to enjoy yourself, enjoy being with Suguru but your mind is elsewhere.

You glance down at your phone laying on the table faceup. Choso was supposed to check in with you when he arrived at his hotel, but you hadn’t heard from him yet and you were beginning to get worried. He was good about keeping you in the loop of his plans, so this was odd for him. You tuck away the concern eating away at you and try to pull yourself back into the conversation with Suguru.

“So anyway, Satoru’s pissed. Swears he got a splinter from when I broke my board the other day.” Suguru says, scoffing as he downs his beer. The last part grabs your attention.

“Wait, you broke a board? What happened?”

You peer down at your phone again, missing the way the tension shoots into Suguru’s shoulders and leaves just as quickly. He shakes his head. “Really not important, babe. What’s been up with you?”

“Nothing really. Same old, same old. Work, work and more work. Competition season is coming up so my job has really been on me to get some good shots.” You briefly fill Suguru in on your job. He nods along, adding his own commentary and seems genuinely interested in the conversation. He tells you what he’s been up to as well; practice for competition season, switching up his diet and trying to cut back on smoking. 

It’s sad, but these tiny topics of conversation never happened between you two before. It was always making plans to meet up at either your place or his, maybe a “how’s it going” and then straight to being tangled up in the sheets together. This was a nice change of pace.

You try to stay immersed in the conversation, you really do, but the lack of communication from Choso is nagging away at you in the back of your mind. You don’t even realize you’ve been continuously glancing at your phone, ignoring your drink and Suguru which must be why he’s asking you what’s wrong now.

“You keep looking at your phone. Like you’re waiting to hear from someone.” He says, propping his head up in his hand.

You debate if you should be honest with Suguru for a moment. He didn’t take your transparency very well the last time it involved Choso, after all. But it has been a few weeks. Maybe he’ll handle it differently. You decide honesty is really the best policy here.

“Yeah, just Choso,” you tell him and he nods. “He was supposed to check in once he got to his hotel before the competition, but I haven’t heard from him yet. He should be there by now.”

Suguru hums quietly, idly swishing the last bit of beer around in his glass. “Maybe he’s busy. There’s a lot to do and…a lot of people to see. You know how it goes when we travel for comp.”

Your gaze snaps up to him. Do you actually know how it goes when they travel for “comp”? You don’t think you do because Suguru never tells you a fucking thing. The annoyance creeps up before you can stop it.

“Actually, I wouldn’t know seeing as you all but vanish when you’re gone, then pop back up and tell me nothing ,” you say with a little more bite than you mean to. Suguru stares at you for a moment before he looks down at his now empty glass, smirking to himself.

“Like I said. Maybe he’s busy.”

You can feel your cheeks warming with anger, but you try your best not to lose it yet. You could see through Suguru’s antics here. He was trying to make you believe Choso was with another woman while out on the road. And based on how things are with Suguru, had you not talked about Choso’s trip beforehand, you may have taken Suguru’s bait.

The implication is clear. But while Suguru may get on the road and sleep with anyone who throws themselves his way, you don’t think Choso is like that. At least, you hope Choso isn’t like that. No, you know he isn’t.

“Very cute, Suguru. But I trust Choso. He made it clear he’s only interested in me so I don’t think he’s ‘busy’,” you make air quotes around “busy” so Suguru knows you’ve caught on to his hints. “I’m sure he’s probably at practice before his competition tonight.”

“Yeah, if you believe that,” Suguru slides his empty glass to the edge of the table, waving the waiter down to order another drink. “I’m just being real with you. That’s the kind of shit that happens out there.”

He doesn’t wait for your reply as the waiter arrives. Suguru orders another beer for himself and then glances over to you for your order. You shake your head. Suddenly you’re neither hungry nor thirsty.

“Anyway, the stress of competition is crazy, babe. Guys like Choso and me, we need a way to blow off steam when we’re on the road. I wouldn’t even worry about it. I’m sure he’ll hit you up when he’s not so preoccupied.” Suguru smiles that stupid feline smile that would normally make you swoon. In the dim lighting of the bar, it makes him look like the asshole you know he is. He’s sitting back in his seat like he just gave you the best relationship advice you could ask for.

That smug smirk on his face and his relaxed body language only serve to piss you off more. Choso isn’t like Suguru. He doesn’t make you second guess how he feels only to shut you out and put you in your place. Choso is honest, and kind and considerate and everything you’re beginning to realize Suguru isn’t. Or maybe you’d always known.

Before you can open your mouth to rip Suguru’s head off, your phone buzzes on the table. You check the screen, seeing Choso’s name appear and slide your finger across the screen to view the message.

Choso: sorry for the late text. i fell asleep on the bus and my teammates just left me here Choso: must’ve been more tired than i thought lol. hope your date’s going well (jk) Choso: not really  Choso: ok sorry im being mean. text me when you’re free. gonna get a shower in before my run

You heave a sigh of relief. One - because Choso was alright. Two - because Choso was once again showing you he was nothing like Suguru. 

Sighing again, you pick up your phone and text Choso a thumbs up before standing.

“Thank you for this evening, Suguru but I’m going to go home.” You tell him, reaching into your pocket to grab your keys.

“Wait,” he says, almost panicked. “Why?”

“Because, I’d rather be home than listening to you try and make Choso out to be a dick like you.”

“Hang on. That’s not what I was trying to do.” He stands, blocking your path to the exit.

“Isn’t it? Trying to manipulate me into thinking he’s busy doing the same shady shit you would be doing if it were you on the road? Admit that that’s what you were trying to do.”

Suguru is standing before you and you can see his mind going a million miles trying to find a way out of this one. He wasn’t used to this side of you - the side of you that stood up for yourself. But you didn’t appreciate the way he spoke about Choso. It wasn’t fair to Choso who gave you no reason to think any less of him. 

His silence is the answer you need.

“Exactly. Thanks for tonight, Suguru. I’ll see you later.”

You maneuver around Suguru’s large form and exit the bar. You don’t bother turning around to see Suguru watching you go. 

------

Suguru closes the door to his apartment behind him. He's home now, alone - definitely not how he planned on ending his night but it was probably well deserved. He was sort of a dick. But he can't seem to help himself when it comes to you and pigtails. He knew he was being irrational about all this, unfair too. You were allowed to see other people. You had seen other people before, gone on dates and then you’d end up in Suguru’s bed right after. 

Is that what this was? Hurt pride? A bruised ego? 

Yeah, that was it. He just got his feelings a little hurt because this little escapade you had going on between you and Choso seemed to be lasting longer than the others. That’s what he tells himself so he’ll feel better.

Whatever. He’ll call you later and tell you sorry so you both can just move on. Worst comes to worse, he’ll just send flowers again.

Suguru throws himself down onto his couch and grabs the tv remote, turning it on. He flips through the channels until he lands on exactly what he’s looking for. The skate competition is live on the SK8-TV network and he decides to distract himself watching this instead of moping over you being pissed at him. 

There’s nothing exciting going on at the moment - a couple of kids doing simple tricks for now. It’s fucking boring.

When the commercial break comes around, Suguru heads to the kitchen to grab a snack. He gets the first thing he sees, a pastry roll. He doesn’t typically eat these when it’s competition season but he’s in his feelings a little tonight and Nanami was nice enough to drop them off after his annoying boyfriend told him how hard of a time he was having with you lately. Goddamn Satoru. Always such a fucking gossip.

Suguru heads back to the living room and sits back on the couch as the competition resumes on tv. They’ve moved on to the vert ramp segment. Suguru watches as a man he doesn’t recognize drops into the enormous structure. He speeds up, launching into the air on the opposite side, kicking his feet so the board spins two times beneath him. The man isn’t fast enough though and he loses his footing as he falls back to the ramp. His board flies out from under him. The man bails, landing on his knees that he’s lucky to be wearing knee pads on and skids to a stop. The landing is so bad, Suguru is positive his score is tanked. There’s no way he’ll recover.

“Ha! Fucking loser,” Suguru laughs, mouth stuffed with his pastry.

The next competitor is up and that’s when he sees him. He sees a familiar head of hair, wild pigtails whipping in the wind as he takes his place atop the vert ramp. He runs his fingers from one side of his face to the other, along the tattooed lines on his cheeks. Suguru groans irritably. Is there no way to escape this guy?

He stuffs the last bite of his pastry into his mouth, watching closely as Choso drops in - smooth and easy. He hits the other end of the vert ramp, touching the nose of his board against the rail before he drops back in towards the opposite side. Choso bends his knees, picking up speed as he approaches the other end. He flies up the arc and into the air, reaching down to pull his board out from under him and hold it above his head before he puts it back in place and once again, makes a smooth and easy landing and speeds to the other side. Choso launches into the air, bending his knees and grabbing his board. He spins - one, two, three…and a half times and makes a perfect landing. 

The crowd is losing their shit and if Suguru is honest, so is he. Even he couldn’t hit a fucking 1260 spin. How the hell did Choso pull it off and make it look like nothing?

Suguru observes as the camera pans around the audience who is going absolutely batshit crazy. Choso ends his run and steps off of the ramp, board in hand. The tv network reporter stops him for a quick interview. She asks all the basic questions - how does he feel after that run, how many hours does he practice, all the generic shit. 

But one question in particular makes Suguru lean forward and really pay attention.

“Obviously, we’re all so impressed with that performance and you should be proud!” The reporter beams. “But all of the women here, myself included, are dying to know…is there a special someone at home waiting for you to bring home the win here?”

The tv reporter looks damn near as excited as the rest of the crowd as she bounces back and forth on her feet awaiting his answer.

Choso smiles and Suguru thinks this might be the first time he’s ever seen him do that . It makes his stomach drop when he looks directly into the camera and speaks. 

“I do. Well, sort of. She knows who she is. Hoping she’ll be there to take a picture of me and that trophy when I get back.”

The reporter pouts dramatically before she congratulates him again on an excellent run. They move on to the next competitor.

Suguru doesn’t care what’s happening after that. He reaches into his pocket, fishing his phone out and dialing. It rings four times before there’s an answer on the other end. Suguru sighs.

“Hey. Can I come over?”

Taglist: @sacvh

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[snapdragonsimming]

Author's Note and Transcript Under the Cut

(AN: Hello! Thank you for stopping by and checking out my fledgling fundie simblr. I’m by no means new to simblr, but because this blog and story is new, I figure an introduction is due.

So: hey, I’m Talia! I had another fundie simblr a few years back (it’s now inactive for a multitude of reasons), but like a certain someone, I have risen again! My fundie sims obsession was reignited over the summer after I joined a wonderful fundie sims-themed Discord server. Somehow they convinced me to make a new blog, and a few months later, here we are! In the intervening years I continued to lurk, so if you’re an active fundie simblr, I’m probably a fan of your story.

I’ve been playing the de la Cruz family for a while now and they have a special place in my heart- I can’t wait to share them with everyone else! Get ready for lots of God-honoring drama, mildly dubious baby names, and leopard-print modesty undershirts. Note that as the de la Cruzes are fundamentalists and this story is satire-heavy, there will be some viewpoints expressed that I very much disagree with. I’ll trigger tag certain sensitive subjects (e.g. physical violence, miscarriages) as ‘tw [thing]’ but fundie-typical bullshit will go untagged for the sake of my sanity.

Some basic housekeeping stuff to wrap up this far-too-long intro note: I have a queue full of posts ready to go, but I’m a busy student with unpleasant things like homework and AP classes, so I’m still not sure how frequently I’ll post. I’ll do my best to ensure that stays consistent, though, and if you have any questions or comments, please feel free to reach out via my askbox or DMs!)

-

PRAISING HIM!

Every Sunday, Praising Him! features a family dedicated to spreading the Word. Today we meet the de la Cruzes, a San Sequoian family of 16.

When Alejandro and Alina (née Fletcher) de la Cruz married at nineteen, they could not have imagined what would come next! Over the past twenty-six years, the couple has made faith the centerpiece of their lives, and has continued to “Praise Him!” through the ups and downs of busy family life.

Read more about their family below!

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Alejandro, 45, works as a programmer at United Christian Publishers, and holds a Distinguished Degree in Computer Science from Foxbury Christian University. He began his journey into higher education not at 18, like many students, but at 26, shortly after the birth of his seventhborn, Cecilia! Owing to his unique circumstances, he chose to enroll in a six-year program that enabled him to work full-time as a freelance programmer in addition to his courseload. Though money was tight at times, the Lord provided, and Alejandro welcomed five bundles of joy (including a darling set of twins!) with wife Alina while enrolled at Foxbury. Whew!

Alina, 45, has chosen to fulfill God’s design for women by staying at home with her family. Raised in a devout household, she always knew He was calling her toward marriage and motherhood, and she says the “greatest blessing” in her life was the day she gave birth to her eldest son Gabriel, ten months after her wedding day and just shy of her twentieth birthday. In addition to raising and homeschooling the seven de la Cruz children who have yet to graduate, Alina is active in her church and in Institute for Strong Christian Standards (ISCS) circles, and enjoys spending time with her four (soon to be five!) beautiful grandbabies. A true Proverbs 31 woman if we’ve ever seen one!

You may recognize Gabriel de la Cruz and his lovely wife Esther, 23, from last summer’s print edition of Praising Him! At just 25, Gabriel is a rising star in the Christian legal world, coming to the aid of innocent Simericans simply trying to practice their faith. Ten months ago, they welcomed their first little girl, Abigail, and just last week they announced the upcoming arrival of their second child! Congratulations to them.

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Althea Brown (née de la Cruz), 24, is following in her mother’s footsteps and proud of it! The young woman, who wed husband John-David, 28, three years ago, resides in Newcrest and is a content stay-at-home-mother of two.

Jasmine Booth (née de la Cruz), 23, known to friends and family as “Jazzy,” is enjoying the bliss of new parenthood alongside her husband of two years, Jason!

The first set of de la Cruz twins, Joshua and Sofia, 21, are both unattached and living at home. Sofia is pursuing a calling in missionary work, and Joshua is hard at work saving money and praying for his future family. “If you’re reading this as a young Christian woman,” Sofia jests, “have your father write into Praising Him! and I’ll set up a date with Josh!”

Caterina de la Cruz, 20, is diligently knitting, crocheting, sewing, embroidering, and cross-stitching her way through her season of singleness! Though she prays every day for her Prince Charming (nonbelievers need not apply!), she assures Praising Him! that she’s quite content to assist her mother in running the busy de la Cruz household in the interim.

Cecilia de la Cruz, 18, the only unmarried de la Cruz not living at home, declined to comment.

The rest of the de la Cruz children, who range in age from 8 to 17, are kept busy with homeschooling, ISCS conferences, music practice, and Bible study.

If you would like to get in touch with the de la Cruz family, click here to send a message!

#** #fs #de la cruz family #booth family #brown family #portrait #media #recap #fundie sims #quiverfull sims #homeschool sims #ts4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #ts4 screenshots #ts4 story #sims 4 #sims 4 story #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 legacy #maxis match simmer #new simblr #intro post #the sims #the sims 4

[homocidal-invader]

@the-best-invader is 2 years old now! For that, I think I'll do one of my incredibly rare OOC posts.

The Past

When this blog started it was just a fun way for me to socialize with other Invader Zim fans. At the time @z-ib was making waves with beautiful, intriguing, and shockingly frequent art posts in what I had seen as an interesting fusion between an ask blog and a roleplay blog.

Soon, a few others started showing up as well, and I wanted to throw a Zim into the mix because I hadn't seen any of that yet.

The version of the character was based off of an idea I had for a comic series that never came to be. It was supposed to be a self-aware crackfic version of Zim based off of an already silly highschool AU comic. It was meant to be played for jokes, and for me to get an idea of the character before I started to make "serious" material. Just for fun to play with other people.

Soon, an entire community had formed with people quickly sending asks to other blogs to make themselves known. A canon had formed, so I decided to make a Discord Server where people in this community could more easily collaborate on storylines, roleplay behind the scenes, and just get to know each other better.

My character quickly became more serious, had his personality become more developed, and I created strong ideas for worldbuilding that I hadn't had when I first started the blog, all because of the wonderful community supporting each other's work.

The Present

The Best Invader has been on a bit of a hiatus for a while, and it's not really a secret. As my plotlines became more serious, my comics because more ambitious and polished, so instead I would make one large post every once in a while instead of frequent sketch posts.

In January, I injured my hand and it has still not recovered, meaning that while many of my comics are halfway done, I haven't been able to finish any of them. I still interact and check in with the community from time to time, but things are much slower compared to normal.

The Future

None of this means I have a lack of motivation to continue, though. I have many plans for @the-best-invader in the future, collaborations with other artists that have already been underway for a long time, and storylines I've been plotting out and refining for over a year now.

It might not be soon, the blog will likely be in hiatus for a few more months, but it will come back in the future and it will be glorious. Keep biding your time, and just be patient 💖

Thank you to all the fans as well. Without the community support both from the people running the askblogs and from the people watching, this character wouldn't exist and I would have less friends than I do now. Hope to see you all again soon!

#quo rambles #iz askblog community #the best invader

[evolutionsbedingt]

Which language is the most beautiful and which one has odd, arresting glory?

Oh wow, what a question dear friend! Your time was impeccable too because I had just had four hours of language classes when I read your question and my brain basically went into overdrive. Thank you for rolling this particular apple of discord into my hands, I hope I did it justice! 💚💚💚

My immediate response was that Chinese indubitably is the most beautiful language and odd, arresting glory should belong to Old English.

But then I questioned my own assessment, because of course I would. I tried not to get lost in the 'well, it's not like you speak all languages, so how can you really say which one is the most beautiful - you know but a fraction of them!' But it also made me think about the languages I do know and whether they can even stand up to comparison.

You see, I know at least two languages only by their bible translations (Gothic and Old Church Slavonic), three only by short inscriptions and religious texts (Hittite, Old Persian and Avestan) and they, together with a number of others, are languages I speak only through the definitions offered to me by the dictionary. This also includes Chinese and Old English.

Then again, Chinese and Old English are the ones I've gotten most up close and personal with outside of English and German. I have translated a chunk of the Beowulf epos and read books translated from Chinese in a way that preserved the original language as much as possible, as well as trying my hand at translating a few of the Tang dynasty poems myself. Old English feels familiar because it's very closely related to German; something that is definitely reflected in my translation of it as well because sometimes I didn't bother translating at all - just adjusted the spelling or conjugation a little and we were good to go.

And Chinese despite it's often purported title of the most difficult language to learn is a language that makes terrible amounts of sense in my brain - so much so that I started picking it up simply by watching series and reading books and translation commentary. It has no declension of nouns or adjectives, it has no conjugation and tense and aspect are simply expressed through classifiers. Does one have to learn at minimum one thousand characters to be reasonably fluent? Yes. But how many words do you think I had to learn to be reasonably fluent in English and French? The only thing that differentiates characters from words in the grand scheme of things is that we are not familiar with a writing system like this. If I can learn to read and write Ancient Greek well enough to get a Graecum in 1.5yrs (with considerable effort) the same will be true for Chinese.

And yet I wouldn't be able to actually, fully understand either language because that would only come with practice, with seeing it used in real life and learning the many, many ways it can be and is used - both colloquially and in elevated contexts.

So how can I dare to declare it a beautiful language if - at the moment - the only access I have to it is through translation? How can I compare any language that I'm not fully (or at least almost) fluent in? How can I compare languages that I only know from translated, religious texts (and we know they chose to translate closely to the original, making it an imperfect reflection of the language) with a languages I know mostly from poetry and fantasy novels?

I can't. But I can say that, knowing as many languages as I do, not one does poetry quite like Classical Chinese and Old English. They are similar in their economy of words and simultaneously strong imagery. There's a playfulness to both languages that makes them incredibly well-suited for the type of poetry I like and which thus makes them my choices for 'most beautiful language'.

You will notice that this leaves the category of 'odd, arresting glory' open again (and I promise it won't take me another- let's not check how many paragraphs -to answer this). The description of odd and arresting glory made me first think of Old English, because to me as a German speaker Old English certainly odd and having translated a bit of Beowulf it's certainly glorious.

But I think the language most likely to leave me to stop and stare (at least in translation) is Russian in 19th century prose. It's the very opposite of the minimalistic Old English and Classical Chinese, with its long and elaborate descriptions but closer to German prose (and even poetry) of the time and I really admire the imagery wrought there - it's one of the reasons why I still would rather like to learn modern Russian instead of 'just' Old Church Slavonic which is often bound by the Ancient Greek and biblical writing conventions. I want to be able to see that beauty for myself, instead of through the thick lense of others' translations.

Phew.

That became a very long answer and I'll definitely have to put a read more but I thank you very much for making me think about this and subsequently put my thoughts into words! A delightful way to spend my time while cooking the stew for tomorrow! I hope you enjoyed reading this 💚

#answered #language geekery

[frodo-with-glasses]

Discord Highlights: The Fellowship of the Dudes

[4/28/23]

InvisibleWashboard:

I have a head canon that one of Merry's sons in particular had to be taught to swim early because the kid was OBSESSED with any and all things to do with water. Estella was afraid to ever let him out of her sight for fear he would end up drowned before he could even walk.

meg is me:

Imagine merry desires his kids to be Equestrians and good old Stybba bears many a baby Brandybuck rider To Merry's dismay bby Eomer HATES ponies

InvisibleWashboard:

Eomer is the son that loves the water in my head.

[4/29/23]

Writing Valkyrie:

I was thinking last night, and I'd like to think that surfing was big in Numenor. Elros and his Queen made it a family tradition, and the whole populace really took to it. It died off a bit with the King's Men, deeming it not worth their time, something only the Faithful indulged in. Now adays, it only survives in Dol Amroth. And can be found in Alqualondë It took Thorongil some time to learn it, but once he did, Prince Imrahil never beat him again.

On the first diplomatic trip the High King makes to Dol Amroth, Imrahil demands a rematch. "Lets get barreled, dude!" -Imrahil (probably) "Yeah, dude, lets go shred some waves!" Aragorn (also probably) "Don't forget to reapply your sun balm." -Arwen (definitely)

Rumor has it, that the King is set to take the title of "Surf Champion" from the previous master, Thorongil.

InvisibleWashboard:

Someone who can draw please draw Aragorn as a surfer dude, I am begging.

Writing Valkyrie:

Shaka sign and everything.

InvisibleWashboard:

Does Arwen participate/get good at it? I feel like Legolas would be decent when he comes to visit.

Writing Valkyrie:

She'd be very graceful at it, and soon comes to surpass her husband.

InvisibleWashboard:

Mmmm. Yes. Very good.

Writing Valkyrie:

Legolas would just do handstands on the board. Or shoot targets while shredding the waves.

InvisibleWashboard:

I like the idea of him showing off with handstands. I know canonically he doesn’t have siblings but he has SUCH youngest sibling energy and handstands on the board is very much a youngest brother thing, I think.

Writing Valkyrie:

He can even do 'em one handed "Look ada!" The Good Surfer gene runs in the Olwë/Elwë bloodline.

Gimli would just like to enjoy the sunshine, thank you very much.

InvisibleWashboard:

Who else gives it a go? Faramir? Eowyn? Would Boromir from the Boromir Lives comic have tried?

I’m obsessed with this idea now.

Writing Valkyrie:

Boromir would give it a try, but he'd surf like the old timers that just kinda stand and just ride it out.

Eowyn and Faramir would boogey-board.

Lothiriel is a pro at surfing. Eomer would like nothing with that thank you very much, but he will just get in the water and float a bit.

Imrahil kinda hopes that [Lothiriel would] surpass Aragorn, but she just enjoys it for the fun of it and not competition. Though if she did compete, everyone better watch out.

Elrond and Celebrian get into it a bit after Elrond sails, due to 1) Elros did it, 2) Arwen and Aragorn did it, and 3) Elladan and Elrohir enjoy it.

Though they steer clear of Galadriel, 'cause she absolutely shreds them waves.

Celeborn just like his floaties, thanks.

InvisibleWashboard:

Celeborn is such a trophy husband. I love him.

Writing Valkyrie:

Finrod thinks it's neat, and is the best at getting barreled.

But yes, surfing picks up again in the fourth age, and becomes a tradition of the royal families, that unites them all.

Me:

I haven’t read the Silmarillion, but based on Tarva’s comics, Finrod gives me such strong surfer dude vibes.

Writing Valkyrie:

I haven't read it yet, either, but maybe we're onto something. 😂 I mean, they did grow up on the beach. You can't tell me Earwen and Grandpa Olwe didn't teach the kids about the beach and the ocean.

Gandalf would do it sometimes, but he'd just stand on the board as if on dry land, staff and everything, riding it like it was a segway.

InvisibleWashboard:

Not to bring up stuff from yesterday, but Merry brings his family to visit and water obsessed Éomer is losing his mind over the surfing and wants to figure out a way to do something similar back in the Shire.

meg is me:

pippin is canonically good at balancing just throwing that out there

Writing Valkyrie:

He'd be good at it, but he'd ride goofy-footed.

ladyofgifts:

what if he's better at it than Merry so whenever they visit, Eomer sticks to him for the whole time going this is my Favorite Uncle

InvisibleWashboard:

Yes. So much yes.

meg is me:

Merry: gasp how rude eomer: dad you aren't my uncle Merry: i know but still

Me: (re: surfing in the Shire)

Hmm…okay, no way they’re gonna have wind strong enough to make waves on the Brandywine, but if they can get a dinghy going fast enough on a brisk day, they might be able to water ski! X-D

InvisibleWashboard:

Estella would hate that. So much. Merry would think it's great though.

Me:

If you’re ever lacking wind, you can always compensate by tying the prow to two ponies, one on either bank, on a narrow stretch of the river 🤣🤣

InvisibleWashboard:

What I'm picturing now is a bit closer to what I grew up doing with my brothers... if it got really muddy, we would tie a skimboard to the back of a four wheeler and ride/pull each other around on that. I could see little hobbits trying something similar with their ponies.

Me:

Oh the mess it would make. But how fun!

InvisibleWashboard:

Oh yes, so much dirt in places dirt is not supposed to be!

Me:

All I’m hearing is that Eomer Brandybuck is the first hobbit to move to Dol Amroth. Ostensibly it’s to be an ambassador on behalf of the Shire, but in actuality, it’s for the waves, bro.

InvisibleWashboard:

I'M OBSESSED.

Me:

Tolkien: Hobbits, as a rule, hate the water. Us: So this is our OC Eomer Brandybuck, he’s a hobbit surfer bro

chaosandwhatnot:

"this sign can't stop me because i can't read"

InvisibleWashboard:

No, you don't understand... Eomer wasn't even one of Merry's OC kids I was that interested in, but NOW...

Wait does he move out there by himself or does he have a family he brings with him? Does he form a small hobbit community outside of the Shire by doing this or does he just stay single forever because his heart only belongs to the sea?

Me:

“His heart only belongs to the Sea” sounds so beautiful and poetic and Tolkien-esque until we add the clarification “by that we mean he just really, really loves to surf”

Writing Valkyrie:

I'd love to say that he has a small family when he moves down there, along with some other like-minded hobbits, but I'd think that he'd also teach others, hobbit and non-hobbit, to surf, regardless if he's alone or not.

Kasey Gondor:

forms a community of inter-racial surfing enthusiasts. after Legolas leaves Ithilien some of the elves that were there join up. we'll get some dwarves down there too. everyone just intermingles. here we are not hobbits or men or elves or dwarves. but dudes. surfing dudes.

meg is me:

The Fellowship of the Dudes The other fellowship was male of course but not all of them were Dudes

Writing Valkyrie:

Come to Gondor, we have surfing. 🤣 And thus, peace was established with Harad, Khand, and Rhun.

Morgoth cannot surf. Evil does not like water -> They will not come to the ocean -> Cannot surf.

meg is me:

Truer words have never been spoken

[4/30/23]

Me:

InvisibleWashboard I believe you requested this yesterday X-D

InvisibleWashboard:

This is perfection. Thank you.

Writing Valkyrie is @writingvalkyrie, InvisibleWashboard is @invisiblewashboard, chaosandwhatnot is @grondds-and-roses, Kasey Gondor is @captaingondor, ladyofgifts is our beloved Zara, and meg is me does not have tumblr :-3

#fig tree discord server #eomer brandybuck (oc) #my writing #other people's writing #aragorn #my art #modern au #-ish #lord of the rings #lotr #literally so many characters were mentioned here so i'm just gonna tag the most relevant ones lol

[pretty-chips]

Howdy. I’ve started writing a thing and I want to share the beginnings of it, because I absolutely am too excited to keep it to myself. Here’s a lil’ snippet of the beginning of Electric Love, my Rocket x Brita work. let me know if you enjoy! Thanks to @raccoonfallsharder and my angel babies in the discord server for unearthing my desire to write.

I’ve never uploaded writing to tumblr, especially on mobile, so apologies if the format is weird! The spacing between paragraphs was a lot and that bugged me lol.

“You’re freaking joking. You haven’t seen Footloose yet??” Peter’s voice is kind of shrill, and it makes Rocket’s ears pin back. “DUDE, I’ve talked about it like a million times! You guys kidnapped Kevin freakin’ Bacon for me!”

Two hours of Peter Quill being back on Knowhere, and he’d already brought up stupid flarking Kevin Bacon twice. Sheesh. Rocket shrugs defensively, lifting his hands and gesturing wildly as they walk. “Dude, I don’t know! The only place I ever get earth movies is here in Knowhere and I’m, like…busy, I dunno.”

Peter stops in his tracks, his face screwed up in confusion and surprise. “Wait, there’s a place with earth movies here?”

“Yeah.” Rocket’s arms fold as he regards Quill with a raised eyebrow. “You didn’t know?”

Peter looks absolutely appalled. Offended, even. “NO, I did not know. What the heck, man! I thought you guys were just…getting them somehow with the satellite or something.” Peter holds his hand up to his eyes and scans around, a bit dramatically, and Rocket roll his eyes. “Where the crap is this store? We’re going. Right now.”

With an amused huff, Rocket starts walking and gestures over his shoulder for Quill to follow. “C’mon Pete. Let’s get your stupid movie.”

He catches Peter smiling. Good. That means he heard the ‘I missed you’ buried in those words.

~

“I think I’m going to go insane.”

Brita’s elbows slide across the counter as she holds her chin in her hands. “We’ve heard this song five times. Why can’t we play a radio station or something? We’ve got the satellites for it.” She glances out the big window by the front doors, her eyes flicking wistfully back and forth between every person walking past. They probably had more exciting lives than this.

Her coworker, currently alphabetizing a row of media disks, shrugs impatiently. She doesn’t even give Brita a side glance or anything.

Brita huffs and shuffles her feet back to lean down onto the counter even more, bent at quite the impressive 90 degree angle.

This coworker girl had proven to be quite a stick-in-the-mud, which made for a pretty lame conversation partner. And as awful as it made her feel, Brita still couldn’t remember her name. Calling her Krylorian Coworker has worked just fine in Brita’s brain, but that probably isn’t going to last very long without accidentally slipping out one day. Oh, well. Maybe soon she’ll pull a good old, ‘So how do you spell your name anyway?’

Brita had pretty much used every ice breaker she could think of today, which had very visibly worn Krylorian Coworker’s patience pretty thin. She had only really responded to like, three of them. Brita sighs, her gaze out the window again.

It wasn’t her fault that today had been so slow and sludgy. Like tromping through the sloppiest terrain of the swampiest planet. The ground would probably suck at her boots, making her legs magnet to the mushy ground and her whole body burn with exertion. It would probably be hot, too, the combination of muggy air and sweat plastering hair to her forehead. She’d push it out of her eyes, blinking away the blur, and she’d see a figure come into focus. A familiar figure also trekking through the muck in front of her, strong and stout legs visibly strained with effort. He’d be holding a big gun, of course, probably one with little red blinking lights that flash through the murky air. Air you could feel as you inhaled, such thick and humid air in this swampy environment. He’d turn his head back to look at her, pretty auburn eyes alight with mirth. That fluffy ringed tail would swish behind him, an ear flicking as he opens his mouth to say something clever…

“You’re daydreaming, Brita.”

Krylorian Coworker stares, a hand on one hip and her eyebrow raised. “I can literally see you disappearing.”

Brita blinks hard, the yellow lighting of the media store melting away the trees and mud from her imagination. She lets out a breath as she comes back to reality, straightening up and stretching her arms above her head. “And that’s why I wanted some new music. I’m getting bored out of this dimension.”

Coworker shakes her head, huffing in amusement as she goes back to her alphabetizing.

Brita gives her own huff, and walks around the counter. It’d be better to actually do something with herself. Maybe she should alphabetize like Boring Coworker.

She makes her way down a couple aisles of holo-vid disks, glancing at the labels. She smiles, her heart doing that skipping thing it always does when she thinks about her favorite things. She’d apparently subconsciously wandered to her favorite section, the Terran holo-vids. Movies, she knows they’re called, but that’s not universal enough according to boss man who was in charge of this d’ast store. And the tech is different, anyway, he’d said. Whatever, Brita knew better than that old fart.

Her fingers run along the labels, stopping to reminisce at a few favorites. One day she was going to consume every single piece of Terran media in the store, and even further one day, the whole Terran planet. Every movie, every song, every book…everything.

Ring-ding-ling.

The little bell on the door announces, after at least an hour of nothing, a living being. Brita leans back, angling her head to look at the front doors. A guy with somewhat curly hair and a red leather jacket is stepping through, looking…amazed, actually. As he makes his way towards the aisle she’s standing in, Brita studies him further and is pretty sure she recognizes the things on his t-shirt. Her eyes widen.

An earth dude!

Before she can even process her body moving, she’s in front of him, all smiles. “Hi, how are ya?”

The guy blinks at her, seemingly coming out of some kind of trance, and his face lights up. “How long has this place been here? I’ve never noticed a…what, record store-slash-bookstore-slash-Blockbuster?”

Brita figures that’s an earth thing, and her heart flutters in excitement.

“Yeah, maybe a few months? Short enough lots of people haven’t been in yet, long enough it feels like ages if you’re working here.” She grins, leaning against the shelf next to her casually.

The comment lands, and the guy laughs. “I get that. But, I feel like this is probably the coolest place to work in all of…anywhere. You’ve got something from every planet I know the name of in here, just from what I can tell right away. That’s freakin’…epic.”

His enthusiasm is intoxicating. Brita beams at him, anxious to make this interaction last as long as possible. “Oh, dude, believe me, it is epic. Working here has permanently changed my life. I get to hear earth music and talk about movies…that’s a dream.”

He lights up even more, which Brita didn’t even think was possible, and his big open-mouthed smile says, “You like earth movies?”

She feels a beautiful conversation brewing, the feeling punctuated with Coworker’s exasperated sigh from across the counter, and Brita nods with a grin.

“Hell yeah I like earth movies.”

She’s not even sure how many minutes pass, she’s so enveloped in her favorite conversation she’s ever had. They gush over their favorites, which somehow don’t overlap at all even though they’re both familiar with everything brought up. The difference in taste is almost comical to her. She feels like she could be here for days, the world could pass away and she’d be completely content just standing here, talking to this man in a red jacket. Brita doesn’t even process her surroundings until she hears someone clearing their throat behind her.

Snapped back to earth, she realizes Coworker is raising a brow. Right. Work. Job.

“Sorry,” she laughs lightly and folds her arms as she leans against the shelf again, “you were looking for which one?”

“Oh, yeah. Footloose, can you believe Drax and Rocket both haven’t seen it yet, even though it’s the greatest movie of all time…”

Every muscle in her body stiffens. Her folded arms tighten against her chest and she feels her fingers dig into her arms. He’s still talking, she can tell with his mouth still moving, but nothing he says is reaching her ears anymore.

Rocket. Rocket. All she can see now are those bourbon eyes. A voice rings back into her processing, but not the voice of the dude, it’s deep and rumbles through her core. This guy, this Terran guy, was friends with Rocket. An earth dude that’s friends with Rocket AND Drax, how did he get so lucky…

Suddenly, it clicks.

“Wait, wait, stop.” She knows she’s interrupting, and she doesn’t care. “You’re freaking Peter Quill.”

He mouth quirks into a bit of a confused grin, one eyebrow inching up. “Uh, yeah I am.”

She blinks at him. She knows she looks stupid. “Sorry, I didn’t, uh, I didn’t... Not to be, like, weird, y’know. I just. That’s so cool. I’ve always wanted to actually talk to the guardians, they seem like, such…incredible friends. I hear about you all the time.”

His smile is sly, but there’s a heartwarming expression in his eyes. “They talk about me, huh?” He nods and glances over behind her shoulder. “…They are the best friends I’ve ever had.”

Before she can respond, another voice materializes behind her. One she’s only heard once, months and months ago in real life, but countless times in her imagination. Gravelly yet liquid gold at the same time.

“Pete, holy crap, d’you get lost or what?”

Peter Quill smirks and lifts a hand in mild defense. “Just talkin’ to…” he glances at her name badge, “Brita here about stupid earth movies, man.”

Brita is frozen in place. She desperately begs her brain to send any kind of signal to her body, to make it move, but it’s complete radio silence up there.

The presence behind her moves past, then stands next to Peter Quill. That tail swishes casually and those ears flick, just like in her dreams.

Peter is saying something. She tries to tune in. “Brita, this is my buddy Rocket.”

The furry face tilts his chin up in a nod. The auburn eyes flit up and down her body, studying her.

“How ya doin’?” Says Rocket Raccoon, who is standing directly in front of her on purpose for the first time ever.

Brita can feel how huge her eyes are, the skin above her cheeks and under her eyebrows feels strained. She probably looks ridiculous. Why can’t she say anything? She glances at Coworker for a lifeline. A clue of what she should even do right now.

Krylorian Coworker’s eyes widen, and for the first time since Brita can remember, she looks genuinely interested in what’s happening in front of her. Coworker has been told possibly way too much about the hearty interest in this particular guardian of the galaxy. The subject of all of the daydreams Brita keeps getting caught in. The one that brought her here, to Knowhere, even though he definitely had no idea that was the case.

Brita can feel her mouth opening and closing, and she just knows she looks like a stupid fish. She smashes her mouth shut and conjures up a smile that is probably a little too big. She forces a word out of her mouth.

“Hi!”

#rocket x oc #rocket gotg #gotg oc #rocket raccoon #rocket x reader #brita x rocket

[sparklymuses]

hey everyone, been a while. i hope you're all well and doing what you love. i think it's finally time i had a talk about why i'm never really here. it's not anything serious in real life, it's just a personal reason to me.

my absence isn't only out of no motivation and why i've yet to really respond to most of anything sent to me.

i like being here, i like writing my favourite characters, and i like thinking up scenarios for ones that didn't get as much spotlight as the main cast did. i did it from my childhood and i still fantasize about it here. the people i met from a website that was described back in the day as ❛ hell on earth ❜ ( or modern day twitter ) ended up being a very pleasant place. however, i've feel more disconnected from it and i don't think i really knew why or just didn't want to acknowledge it.

the reason why i liked roleplaying with friends was a sense of community. to connect with one another to share your love for the subjects or just play with your characters as if they were action figures with other kids. it made everything worth it to me. i didn't really grow up with many friends, so this felt like an escape.

when i got older and moved to such a larger site like deviantart or here, i made a few friends here but that's when i started having burnout. not just from life, but from a sense that something was different that didn't capture the feeling from before.

i was lonely.

the people i met were great, we had good times, good laughs, and then they were gone the next.

the people i met were wonderful, happy, and very expressive. but not having a strong connection or a group to be with. i've gotten used to discord and found a group that i kept going on with for hours, weeks, months ... and then it was gone. and i realized how empty it was after.

despite the good times i had, at the end - all i had was the silence. with the silence did come good memories to look back on, but the more i began to wonder how different it would all be if i just reached out to the ones i wanted to be friends with. to put down my guard and finally just lend out a hand.

of course it's easy to not forget to be cautious, especially on this day and age of what kind of people can be behind a screen, but being protective shouldn't come at this cost of being isolated. it's no better than a prison.

not every friend comes with a group, or a long winded explanation from childhood. sometimes it's just a nice person you meet on the streets, cafe, or internet forum. it doesn't have to keep a deep meaning or last forever, sometimes it's just beautiful as is.

maybe sometime i'll go back to it all again, but maybe sometimes it'll be long inactive periods like this. my biggest regret wasn't writing more, it was not telling people that i loved being around them.

this isn't goodbye, but i wanted to finally sit down and explain it all. maybe even give the few people who read this some self reflection and give them the push to really be friends with one another.

thank you all for listening, writing, and being with me. i hope to talk with you all soon. have a great day or night.

love those who call you their friend.

#✦ in comes sparkle! ✦ 「 ooc 」

[aggravateddurian]

Boy golly, I've just come back to tumblr and...

It's WIP Wednesday Whenever, my dudes (gender neutral, of course)!

Thank you to the following who tagged me: @wanderingaldecaldo, @chevvy-yates, @olath124 and last but not least, @ouroboros-hideout.

Judy and Val have arrived to serve cunt. Night City, you have been warned...

Where Has Durian Been?

Firstly, I've been on a bit of a tumblr hiatus. There's something screwy with my feed that means I'm not seeing everyone's new stuff (some people yes, but for others it's weeks, even months old). I stopped posting for a bit in the hopes it was something on my end. Alas, it appears not to be so.

I have elected to therefore charge ahead and just post anyway.

Yet Another Valerie Ocampo-Gonzalez Lore Rewrite/Character Respec

I've recently become very interested in netrunners, and in a move that I feel fits Val's established backstory well, she's becoming one.

Vik is surprised to find that not only has Val had two girlfriends in one year (she has relationship dramas that are often not her fault) but they have the same haircut! Clearly she has a type...

As some may be aware, I recently began writing The President's Lady, a Myers x Vega 'V' Hawse AU fic. I made some changes to Val's speciality and abilities.

Val has moved from being a Solo with a strong techie background to a netrunner. In a lore post coming up soon, Val goes on the net by the handle 's33lynx' (a play on the word 'lynx' and 'c-link', the latter being the official name for the interface plug on the back of netrunners' heads, and the former her favourite type of cat). She loses the Apogee Sandevistan for Class III netrunning hardware.

Otherwise, there's no major change in her character.

(also, if you know how to do tattoos for the VTK texture system and would be interested in a commission or request, hit me up, I have cool ideas for Val's tattoos that I've drawn sketches of, but no real idea of how to make them appear on Val's body because I ain't really a visual artist. I know my strengths, I'm a writer, not a visual artist haha)

Val's Pussy... cat, I mean cat!!!

xBaebsae released a Nibbles replacer mod about a year ago. I mentioned Val is a cat person and owned a ginger cat.

This is Pumpkin, Val's cat. In both appearances of Val (Brother's Shadow and Chorus) she's Val's cat, and both times, she's a gift from Melanie Foster. In Brother's Shadow, Melanie, of course, ghosts Val for unspecified reasons, so Val keeps Pumpkin. Pumpkin (or more appropriately, calabaza) is Judy's pet name for Val, so there's also that, I guess.

Writing Projects Continue

I am continuing to write Chapter 4 of Brother's Shadow. It's gone through the wringer as my perfectionism has once again claimed another victim. Rest assured that if you're interested in that story, it will come out before Christmas.

Chapter 3 of The President's Lady is also coming out by the end of tomorrow. Those who have me on Discord have already seen a preview, but if you're not one of those people, have a look:

Myers grinned as she placed her chin on V’s shoulder, “I can relate to that loneliness. It’s easier to talk about with someone who’s experienced it.” V nodded, “Yeah.” Myers’ hands began to explore beyond Vega’s arms, towards her hips, “If I’m out of line…” Vega felt… odd. The President… Rosalind was her boss… but at the same time, Rosalind was the only other person who really knew how Vega felt. She didn’t really want her to stop exploring. All Vega could do was smile, and follow Myers’ hands, ���Glad to see we’re on the same wavelength.” The door creaked. Vega’s smile faded as Myers’ hands quickly retreated from Vega’s body. Reed stomped into the room. Myers clasped her hands as she turned to face him, “Solomon.” Reed eyed the pair of ladies. He seemed somewhat suspicious as he held up a sealed shard container, “The report, Madame President."

There are now two new projects in the pipeline. The first is The Alpha Bitch of Dogtown, a story about my femV character Vega becoming the leader of BARGHEST and Dogtown after allying with Colonel Hansen in an alternate ending to Phantom Liberty.

After being dumped by Judy (it's Vega's canon event for Judy to leave/move on from her due to various reasons), she falls in love with Bennett, who she then dumps and exiles from Dogtown after he is revealed to betray her, and she falls in love with another BARGHEST soldier who she has grown close to.

It forms part of Chorus Timelines, an AU where basically any time something begins to rot my brain, a new timeline is created where said brainrot occurs. Vega goes through a lot, I feel sorry for her.

The second is an as-yet untitled Rogue x V fic, based on an idea I developed spontaneously on Discord. I thank @merlgeim and @awwwokay for planting the seed of brainrot in my mind. Basically, Rogue falls for V(ega) after Johnny and Rogue go on their movie date, and Johnny is beside himself over it all. Queue funny interactions with Johnny about how V stole his girl.

Virtual Photography

My VP is in a moment where I come up with cool ideas, I snap them, and they either become photo stories or illustrations for future chapters of my fics. I have a few non-specific ideas that will get put through, including another Val x Judy photo story set in 2077.

I've kinda based it around one idea, and that's putting V (Val's half-brother) to rest in the columbarium after he is presumably killed at the Crystal Palace. It's the last act she does before she and Judy leave Night City with the Aldecaldos, and a capstone to the tumultuous relationship she and V have had, with Vince's final epitaph.

"See ya, V. Save a seat for me next to mom at the big bar in the sky."

What I intend to be the last words of Valerie to V in Brother's Shadow. How we get there? We'll have to find out as I develop Brother's Shadow.

Other Random Stuff

I've decided that at some point, Val and Songbird can meet and be very normal about how similar their hair is.

...

That's about it. I would like to tag: @merlgeim, @awwwokay, @ratsstick and @byberbunk2069.

Thank you to everyone who follows and supports my horrific brainrot content, and enables my continued spiral into fanfic shenanigans. Please continue to tag me, comment and/or dm me.

Cheers.

#wip wednesday #wip whenever #finally got around to it #thanks for bearing with me #blog update #cp2077 au: brother's shadow #chorus timelines #cp2077 au: the president's lady #cp2077 au: the alpha bitch of dogtown #new brainrot just dropped #oc lore drop

[thecatamaranlad]

"Sacrifice"

((Written for Strawbarrow Week in the discord. Inspired by HoloFeather's AU, where Kodya's Gyrus gives up his humanity to become Masiosare.))

“Can I come with you?” Kodya asked, long after there was nothing else to say.

Gyrus looked at him. “Why would you – Kodya, I told you. I’m not changing my mind. You already asked for one more day, and I’m giving that to you.” The unspoken message: just let it end on a good note. It was the last thing Gyrus had to give him.

“I just – I don’t want you to have to do it alone.” His voice was raw. He’d been crying off and on all day. Gyrus – Gyrus supposed that perhaps he was practicing what it would feel like when he had no feelings left. He’d felt numb. Like an automaton, carried forward by the weight of his decision, trying to perform the loving boyfriend for Kodya for one more day. A parting gift.

“I can’t – I can’t guarantee he’ll let you go again, when we merge. I won’t have control of the black box anymore.” I won’t be me anymore. But I’ll be someone strong enough to keep you safe from Don.

If only one of them could live, he wanted it – needed it – to be Kodya. If a sacrifice was to be made, it was to be Gyrus’ alone. They’d discussed this. Kodya had already made it clear he’d never agree. But it wasn’t his choice to make.

“I’ll take the risk.” Kodya crossed his arms. He wasn’t looking Gyrus in the eye. His lip was wobbling. “Please.”

Gyrus supposed Masiosare wouldn’t consider Kodya a threat. And he… found he didn’t really want to be alone. He knew how the merge process worked. He’d done it before with reset versions of himself. And the version of him that had lived longer tended to drown out the other one. He would come close to forgetting he had ever been anything other than Masiosare.

So in these last few hours of being himself… 

He still didn’t feel sad – didn’t feel anything– but Kodya brushed a tear away from his cheek. “Gyrus. You don’t have to do this.”

“I do, though. There’s no other option.” Masiosare had shown him the timelines. He knew. “Reality – reality won’t stand up to Don much longer, if I don’t do this.”

The cracks. The planets falling to pieces right before his eyes. Kodya cupped his face with his hands and Gyrus realized that he was shaking.

“I love the parts of you that care this deeply,” Kodya said softly and sorrowfully, like he was speaking a eulogy.

“You can come with me. Just – just don’t say anything. And do whatever Masiosare says, after I’m –” Gone. Submerged. Subsumed.

Kodya kissed his forehead. “Thank you.”

“I just – I don’t know why you want to see that.” For that to be your last glimpse of me.

“I told you. I don’t want you to be alone.”

But Gyrus was going to be alone. Forever.

But for now – for this one last night on this one last day – he wasn’t, not yet. So he held Kodya tightly, purposefully, and didn’t let go until the morning came.

#fanfic #room of swords #strawbarrow #strawbarrow week #angst #sacrifice #sticking it here for... reference? idunno i just want to keep it somewhere that isn't the discord #me writing a thing

[sudriantraveler]

Fool Me Once

This story came about after a conversation in Discord about the use of backing signals on railways, and how there could potentially be a set of them on Gordon's Hill.

Fool Me Once

One day Gordon rolled into the junction, and saw Percy excitedly puffing about the yard.

“I’m going to help out at Edward's station next week!” said Percy.

Gordon wasn’t particularly interested, but trying to be helpful he replied “best be mindful of the Backing Signal Little Percy”.

On the hill, just beyond Edwards station, trains often need a back engine to help push from behind. At the station at the top of the hill is a special signal, known as a Backing Signal, which tells the back engines it’s safe to reverse back down the hill. Gordon figured Percy wouldn’t be all too familiar with this signal and was trying to help him. But Percy just laughed.

“HAH, I’m not falling for that again!”

Percy had once been tricked by Gordon about backing signals before.

“Sorry Gordon, but I’m not as gull-bubble as you think!”

“The word is gullible and I’m not trying to trick you this time, I’m being serious.”

“Uh-huh, sure you are Gordon. Run along now, your signal’s just turned green.”

At that moment, the Guard blew his whistle, and Gordon steamed away.

“This isn’t gonna end well” he thought.

The next week, Percy was busy working at Edwards station, confidently shunting about the yard.

“Silly old Gordon” he puffed to himself, “Thinks he can fool me with the same trick twice! I’ll show him! I’ll show him!”

At that moment, Gordon rushed through with the express.

“POOP POOP” he whistled “Mind the Backing Signal!”

“Pooh” sniffed Percy, “I know Backing Signals aren’t real. I’m an experienced engine now, and I’ve yet to see a single one!” and he whistled to the signalman to let him cross the mainline to the other side of the yard.

Later that day, Henry steamed in with a heavy goods train, and whistled for a back engine. Normally Edward would handle this, but he was at the other end of his branchline, so Percy rolled out from the sidings and took up position behind Henry’s Train.

“PEEP PIP-PIP PEEP” whistled Henry, “Are you ready?!”

“PEEP PEEP” replied Percy, “Yes I am”

And with much slipping and snorting, the two engines started off and began to charge at the hill.

Percy was only a little engine, and wasn’t as strong as the others, but he pushed as hard as he could as the weight of the heavy train pressed against his front buffers.

“Come On! Come On!” Puffed Henry.

“Pull Harder! Pull Harder!” Puffed Percy.

The two engines puffed and pulled, and pushed and puffed, until at last they reached the top of the hill. Percy began to slow down as Henry and his train picked up speed.

“PEEP PEEP” whistled Henry, “Thank you!”

Percy was too tired to reply. Instead he just reversed back towards the hill, then came to a stop and began waiting for permission to go back down to Edward’s station. just behind him was the backing signal, but Percy didn’t realize this. He began looking forward to a nice long drink at the water tower.

Percy’s driver looked back.

“Right away” he called, “The Backing Signal shows all clear.”

Percy wasn’t tired anymore… he was cross!

“Not you too!” he thought.

The driver tried to get him to move, but Percy’s brakes were hard on.

“Come on Percy” said the driver, “Stop messing about.”

“Only when you and everyone else stop trying to trick me” snapped Percy.

“What are you talking about?” asked the driver, trying to force the brakes off.

“You know full well what I’m talking about!” replied Percy, “I’m not moving from this spot until a real signal tells me to!”

The signalman had set the Backing Signal to clear, and then became distracted with sorting out a mess at the station. James’ down train was stuck at the platform with jammed brakes on one of the coaches. To get around the blocked line, the signalman set the points to send the next down train through on the wrong road. He didn’t see that Percy hadn’t cleared the line by setting off down the hill yet.

Percy hardly noticed the commotion coming from the station. He just sat on the mainline, stubbornly refusing to move. His driver tried all sorts of tricks, but they did no good.

“Come on Percy, this isn’t funny!”

“You know what else isn’t funny? Doing the same joke twice! Does everyone really think I’m that silly that I’ll fall for the same trick a second time? I have experience now, and I know that Backing Signals aren’t re-”

At that moment, they heard a familiar whistle.

“-eeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaalllllllllllllllllllOOOOOOHHHHHHH NO!” Shrieked Percy, for rushing straight towards him… Was Gordon with the Express!

“OH, NOT THIS AGAIN!” called Gordon, “GET OUT OF MY WAY!”

Percy quickly released his brakes and began trying to reverse as fast as he could… which, unfortunately, wasn’t all that fast to start. Gordon drew closer and closer, sparks flying from his wheels as he tried to stop! Percy shut his eyes!

“You know” said Gordon, “I’m getting a serious feeling of Déjà Vu right about now”.

Percy had been able to get out of Gordon’s way in time… but not before his crew had jumped clear, leaving him to run away out of control down the hill and several miles along the mainline, before finally being sent into a siding where he stopped with his bunker buried in a big bank of earth. Gordon had arrived on the scene soon after to help.

“Just shut up” huffed Percy.

That evening, Percy, Gordon, and all the other engines returned to the sheds to find a strange thing, which their drivers called a projector, had been set up inside.

“What’s all this for?” asked Thomas.

“That will be explained in a moment!” said a voice.

Sir Topham Hatt walked into the sheds.

“As you are all no doubt aware, there was a… incident on the mainline earlier today. Fortunately no one was hurt, and I believe we’ve learned an important lesson from this.”

“Is the lesson that Percy shouldn’t be allowed on the mainline?” said James.

“I think the lesson is not to trick your co-workers by lying about the rules!” snapped Percy.

“Ehem-ehem” coughed Sir Topham Hatt, and Percy swore he saw him try to stifle a laugh!

“No” said Sir Topham Hatt, composing himself, “It's that even though we all by now have plenty of experience in our work, there is still a lot we may not know.”

He cracked a small smile before continuing…

“So, without further ado, I have created a presentation which I believe should help to clear up some confusion which a few of us may have.”

He turned on the projector, and a collective groan emerged from the sheds!

The End

#ttte #rws #ttte fanfic #ttte percy #ttte gordon

[chromiumagellanic06]

The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 20: Letters

MASTERLIST

Summary: Naera visits her chambers in an attempt to find the traders' letters but learns something new. Rhaenyra makes a decision.

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: nothing, really

There was a storm, one that started small, but inflated and grew, and barrelled off Shipbreaker’s Bay, and wrecked and shattered all that lay in its winding, twisting path. Even in the Norther lands, far enough into the Crownlands, even over the Bay of Blackwater, there were winds, whistling, blighting and marring crops, ships, and homes.

Every door in the Red Keep was guarded shut, every shattered window replaced by wooden planks, but the storms whistled through even that, blowing off papers in every noble’s solar, and every fallen leaf in the gardens and woods.

The Sky was grey, announcing rain, thunder, and lightning. Naera was set to depart before the storm reached the Blackwater, that very eve, in fact, to arrive at Dragonstone and settle this dispute. She was almost eager to meet Avidius again, not as much to hold an audience with the Qartheen emerald seller. Yet, something irked her, incensed the tug of madness in her mind, exasperated her, antagonised her. She had never received a letter.

The maids noticed her aggravation—she had snapped at them whilst flipping through every last letter she had gathered in Rhaenyra’s quarters. Nothing. She needed to prove it, to let it be known that this wasn’t an error of hers—that she wasn’t to blame, even if none on the Small Council had really stated it in so many terms.

After doing through every last letter, she knew the only way to prove—she didn’t want to. She could wait it out, until he was away, sneak into the solar and go over all the gathered nonsense. It would be so easy. No, no, no, she needed to leave earlier. She’d have to do it.

Walking through the passages in the Red Keep was strange—everything was deserted, in wake of the storms, the open corridors assaulted by heavy winds, cold, wet and strong. Naera pulled the edges of her red and black cloak closer to her shoulders, silently thankful for her choice of dark trousers for the journey, but more glad for the silver blouse she had chosen. Never forget who you are.

Naera chuckled, her silver hair braided sternly behind her, Melisandre’s words coming back to her, the regality in you must never be hidden from me, hastening her steps, the gale piercing like needles against her face, every prickle freezing like snow. Every step felt off-tune, akin to a warning, an endless maddening harmony of discordancy and errors.

Her smile fell as she approached Daemon’s chambers.

Naera knocked before she entered her own quarters—her old quarters, she’d insist, but they were very much still in her name. She knew that he’d still be in, but she needed to ask him, to be sure that she had not committed a grievance against the Crown, against those women who were raped and those men who were slaughtered.

Daemon responded gruffly, in his usual way, unaffected, “Come.”

Naera opened the doors slowly, quietly, armouring herself, steeling her face, and building a façade. She will not be bothered. She will not think of that night, she will not speak of their spat. She will behave as though all was dandy.

Upon entering, she made straight for the solar, ignoring his surprise, and entered the room to find it in various stages of disarray and disorganisation. The stench of stale liquor was thick in the room, with an edge of fire and sharp brimstone. It smelled like Daemon, like Dragons. Another cruel joke, she supposed. Ha. Wisestone?

The read letters she had held onto were scattered across the room, her journals lay open, near the hearth, by the windows, on the desk, her old, old journals, and the newer ones, from her journeys, and from her time in King’s Landing. She glanced over at one of them, recognizing the words and inks from her days in the Shadowlands. He had been reading. He had been reading her journals 

Civility—she wouldn’t say anything. She wouldn’t do anything. Naera only stated, “I didn’t know you read for passing time.” I thought you needed to be coerced. She walked past the piles of papers thrown haphazardly around, past the embers of the flame that was almost out, past the candles she had always demanded be lit—they still burned. They had been changed. Why? She threw another log into the flames, watching the fire flicker and lash out.

Daemon wasn’t afraid of the darkness. He believed himself to be above those silly, petty, human flaws.

No.

She put the thoughts aside. She had a purpose, a mission, and an agenda. She needed to leave.

“Did you—did you see any letters?” The urge to prove still lived. “From some jewel merchants? There’s a dispute over the Blackwater.” Naera took for herself a glass of water, gulping it down all at once. She seemed to be just thirsty as of late. She flipped through the letters—Astapor, Astapor, Yunkai, Pentos, the Reach, the Vale, Dorne? Ha. She’d have to open that later. Nothing from the Blackwater—nothing from Rhaenyra, even. It was strange.

She glanced up at the wall of paintings, still intact, apart from one. Melisandre’s portrait, the very work of art she had spent nights and days, perfecting, was missing. Her heart ached, and throbbed in her chest, lips pressed into a thin line. Red eyes, red lips, red woman. Where was her Red Woman? She looked around the room, spotting it resting against the mantle by the hearth, the painted side facing the wood, hidden away. Guilt.

What had he done?

“No.” Daemon clicked his tongue, “No, I didn’t see any letters.” What? Naera looked up, eyes narrowed at her husband. That was too many words for him, however strange it may sound. Hm? No. That was his standard response. He did not go above and beyond in his speech—his actions meant more to him, and he had done enough.

“What have you done?” She asked. There was no point in playing games, dangling and dancing around words and phrases and ideas. There wasn’t time, and she wished to spend none of it with him.

“Nothing—I didn’t see any letters.” Hesitation. He was a terrible liar. “Are you going to talk? What about th—”

“I don’t believe there is anything to say.” She had chanted her truth to him, and he had bashed her for it. She had told him all she had to say and he had faulted her for believing that he could be honest, and nice, and kind, and human, for just a moment.

She stood, trailing steps to the hearth that burnt vibrant and bright, watching the orange, the red, the yellow—the colours of the Martells, she supposed—flicker and change and morph into a thing of beauty. She watched the flames, on, and on, thinking and thinking. There were no letters—but letters had been sent.

Where had the letters gone?

There. In the flames, she saw. She saw paper, with writings, scrawling, small, rounded letters—a squire’s writing, in dark inks, and she saw words. Avidius. Amber. Dragonstone. Blackwater Bay. Naera Targaryen. Arbiter.

No.

She saw.

In the flames, in the lapping, dazing, burning light, she saw words and figures circle and morph, as she once had in the flames of Asshai. She saw the dark figure of a man, headless, or perhaps with a head of light hair—Daemon? She saw the paper, burning, browning, tearing from the edges, collapsing and crumbling onto dust and ash, left to be brushed away by a maidservant. She saw smoke, dark, ash-coloured smoke, blowing up, up, up chimneys and pipes and reaching the outside air.

He had burnt the letters.

Why?

R’hllor, show me why.

She watched eyes—red, red, and purple, closing, opening, circling, burning, blinking away and it was gone. She saw people—red, red and silver, circling, hands joined, and she saw bodies, naked and pure, white, ivory skin, pale as death, and a kiss on that skin of fire, and of blood. She saw more paper—it was paper, the same shade as any, but sealed in red wax with the emblem of the fire priests and priestesses, and she saw, within, in scrawling, looping, twisting hands was written a beauty, an oldness, a fear and a mystery. Darkness.

He had burnt Melisandre’s letters.

He was the one. He was the one who tried to keep her away, to send her down ages of agony and pain and confusion and worry over her state, over her being, over her action, or the lack thereof.

“What had it said?” She asked, turning to face her husband.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, and she saw through his own façade. Gestures give us away. She saw fear, and hesitation, like a child caught stealing a cookie, or a priest of the Faith of the Seven caught committing adultery. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

She saw with clarity, the way he sweated and fiddled with his collar, the way he refused to look her in the eye, the way he leaned against the doorframe, steadying himself, and the way the great Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, the Rogue Prince, the former King of the Narrow Sea felt guilt and regret and shame. She wondered what life he must have led to never have felt it before, for any person who knew the worth of another would never commit such an action, she was sure.

“What?” He tried to defer, to claim innocence. Liar. Cheater. Deceiver. She turned back to the flame, watching the small, intricate latices she saw—hexagons—circling, spinning, expanding and contracting, and growing smaller, and smaller, and smaller, wavering and bending with the strokes of the flames. She saw things.

Finally, she saw things in fire, and not just in dreams. She saw things in fire, and not just in that of a dragon’s.

Finally, R’hllor had blessed her.

“The letters that you burnt, what had they said?” She wouldn’t play along. She’d resist, and run, and be done with him. She didn’t understand his fears. They were done, after what he said, after what he did.

“Naera, I…” How did she know? That was his question, only because he did not want to think of the answer. She knew. She knew the reality, she saw it in the flames. Look into the flames, she had told him. The Lord of Light showed me. The Lord of Light. Dreams. Burning letters. How did she know what he had done? No, no, no. She couldn’t have been right.

What is the power of dreams, against that of dragons? Nothing. It is nothing.

Dragons soar the sky. Dreams are only fantasies. Dragons are reality.

“Just answer the question.” He flinched at her voice. It had changed. It was calm, so, so very, very calm, unlike her, unlike anything that would be expected in such a place. The draughts and hurricanes hammered against homes and bricks and empty fields outside, shaking the very foundation of the lands. It was the calm before a storm, a dull blue fire burning hottest of them all, and if provoked, if shaken, would consume everything, and everyone.

Lightning struck. It was white, just for a second, and another, encompassing the dim solar in a flash of electric light, white and silver and grey, with a distant cry of skies breaking, heavens falling, hells rising.

It was the flame of a dragon—her dragon. Cold and dull, until the moment came, and when the last hour was upon them, he felt his heart shudder and shake, he felt his hands tremble and his voice break. He remembered their wedding day when she had defeated him with ease, with grace and poise and elegance and he remembered that other night, as he watched her gaze into the flames in the hearth, somehow aware of things she couldn’t possibly know, and it made him fear. What if she had been right? What if she had seen it all?

What if the end of the world of men was destined?

What if it was all true?

His instinct, his beliefs told him that it wasn’t so—they were dragons, not soothsayers. They were mighty conquerors, not dull-eyed storytellers. Yet, the facts lay before him. He remembered Helaena’s words, spool of green, spool of black, dragons of flesh weaving dragons of thread, and then was her, his beautiful, brilliant, wonderful, powerful Valyrian bride, who dreamt. She knew.

She knew, and she said nothing to him. She only stared at the fire, hands loose, shoulders were thrown back, ice and lightning, and fire—the ugliest fire. She was angry.

“I’m…Naera, I…” he forced his stuttering lips to bend to his mind, treading forward until he leaned down to watch the flicker of golden flames in her lilac eyes. She wouldn’t even look at him, he whispered, “I am sorry, I know that I—” that I fucked up, horribly, possibly irredeemably, for he had failed her before, and he shall probably do it again. He raised a hand, just to brush back the loose strands of silver-white hair that fell out of her near dozen braids clasped together, but he couldn’t.

Don’t touch me, she had said. He watched the ring of yellowed bruises on her neck, below the ash black cloak and silver blouse, all with high collars to cover the injury, but the damage was done.

“I don’t care.” Plainness laced her voice, simplicity, and a lack of argument, of hope, of resistance, “What did the letter say?” Naera watched the flame, circling, growing, shedding and glowing, and she saw so much, from her blessing, from the Lord of Light. He showed her dragons, obsidian and horrendous, with vast scaled wings and fleshy masses, and one was larger than any of them, with the greatest wings, and the farthest flights, and she saw it fly, quiet, leering, seething. Vhagar. She saw the beast fly, into clouds of storm and rain, dark and shadowy—as dark as night, and full of terrors also, and screeches echoed in her mind—distant, as though the sounds were distorted by a film of water, in a different realm, a different time.

“She awaits at Pentos.” Pentos. Pentos. Pentos. It shall be Volantis, to High Priestess Kinvara, and then to Pentos, to her Red Woman, to her love, and her delight, and her pleasures. “She—Lady Meli—”

“Don’t.” You do not deserve to speak her name. He said it wrong, Naera always thought, the way he spoke her name made it sound just as wrong as he spoke her name right.

“Naera, don’t—” There. He knew how to say her name, make it sound complete, in one piece. Daemon knew how to speak her name, and he did beautifully, with sensation, and appearance, and excellence and marvel.

It did not change the facts. It did not change what he had done, what he continued to do, with every word, and every glance of his that burned her, and made her wish to die, every day, always.

“She waits by the ports for a Dornish ship—A Martell ship, and she does not know when it shall arrive.”

A Dornish Ship. Pentos. Melisandre. The Long Night, the Breaker of Chains, Khaleesi, Targaryen Blood, Stannis, and that a red priestess shall support him, and be wrong to do it. Kinvara shall support the Breaker’s claim, and those who don’t believe shall burn in Light.  

“I am sorry, Naera, I—” no, no, no, “I’ll do anything, anything—I am sorry.” Anything to regain her favour, to regain whatever trust she had put in him, to touch her again, he’d do anything.

“Very well,” she stepped away from the hearth, away from him, eyes snapping to the curtained windows. “Inform His grace that you shall not be accompanying me to Dragonstone.” She gathered whatever letters she could, pocketing the one from Dorne,

“Dragonstone?” He asked her, as she made for the door. We’re done, her words echoed in the silence, uttered days ago.

“To detangle the mess you created.”

Dearest Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra sat in her solar in Dragonstone—the princess’ solar, as they called it now, having put her boys to sleep.

“Laenor,” she called. Her father had written to her, strangely enough, it would be important. Laenor stuck his head into the room, eyebrows raised, and entered at her behest. “Viserys has written.”

“What is it?”

She inhaled, “Dearest Rhaenyra, you should expect two in the coming days—one, a Lord Avidius from Asshai by the Shadow, an amber merchant, and another…” she squinted, “Xoreo Sorraar Daxon, from the Walled City of Qarth, an emerald merchant. They had undergone a disagreement, and have requested Princess Naera as their arbiter.”

“Naera?” Laenor narrowed his eyes, lips left unparted as he recalled every interaction with his stony and silent good sister. Naera? Arbiter?

Rhaenyra attempted to refresh her mind, thinking back to those dozens of letters from her times in the East.

“She spent a long time in Qarth, from whatever I can recall.” She had ruled in Qarth for some time, if she recalled well, but had decided that it hardly suited her, and left. “And in Asshai, something with the fire priests and priestesses.” She had spent a long time in Asshai, so it made sense. She was educated and learned and perfectly adept in the Laws of the sea, and of the King, but it made no sense, still.

“Surely, she has relations with these people, but—” But.

Rhaenyra sighed, silent, reading through the next few sentences. They were details of the disagreement, the number of ships lost, what the Crown could gain, and on, and on. Unimportant. She only had a single question roaming her thoughts. It was a legal matter, and an imperial, or royal matter of exceeding importance. Sure, the King couldn’t waste his days on that, but shouldn’t it be her? The Princess of Dragonstone? The Heir to the throne who spent half her time going over palace maintenance on a little rock island off the Eastern coast?

It was a joke—her life was a joke.

“It should be you.” Laenor did always speak his mind when it came to this. “We shouldn’t have left King’s Landing, its her.” Her, her, always her. Alicent. She had succeeded, Rhaenyra supposed, in manipulating her father, turning him against her, to forget about her, undermine her, dismiss her.

She has poured honey down Viserys’ ears—and Viserys was a weak and old fool. He had succumbed to the lies and deception. Yet, she had turned to Dragonstone to take half the court with her, to ensure that her boys wouldn’t have to live with those ugly rumours.

Hah. Rumours. They just never stopped. The more mouths, the more talk, the proverb went. Ugly, disgusting rumours about the illegitimacy of her children, about Daemon, about the King’s failing health that all seemed to paint her in the dirt, and never the shining, pious, responsible Alicent, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, once, her friend, but hardly any longer.

She could never quite forget what had been uttered on the day Joffrey was born. Do keep trying, Ser Laenor. You’ll eventually get one that looks like you.

She was a cunt, and a wench, and whatever else she could be, but behind a face of gold, glimmer, innocence and chivalry, all her flaws faded into the shadows. 

Then, there were the other rumours—that Naera had turned to Aemond and Helaena back in King’s Landing, that she had begun training her enemies, making them stronger, giving them more warriors. Her dear sister, who she had always taken to have been assigned the same punishment for her royal birth—a husband not of her choosing, a life not of her preference, but that was hardly it.

Oh, not Naera. Her life was brilliant. A Dornish Prince who she had grown to love—truly love, and not just befriend, like she had Laenor—and years of exploration, and wonder, and then Daemon. It was all a joke, wasn’t it?

“What will you do?”

Rhaenyra shook her head. She wouldn’t blame her sister, she wouldn’t hate her for something entirely out of her control, and she won’t do it. Naera had never wanted to stay, she had only come for her, to protect her claim, to work for her welfare, and that of the Blacks.

She turned her eyes back to the letter.

“Daemon won’t follow.” She smiled—that would be a relief, to just have Naera, her sister, her friend, and not him around her, a constant, blazing symbol of her grief.

Her joy did not last. “They’ve been facing problems. I trust you to solve them, Rhaenyra.” Ha. She tossed the letter down onto her desk. “Who does Viserys think I am?”  

Her father was as oblivious as always, it seemed. Never understanding, never remembering, never knowing anything well enough. How could he expect Rhaenyra to work for their marriage, when her own was failing? How could he expect her to help Daemon, to help Naera, after what had happened, all those years ago?

“Rhaenyra, I…” I failed you, as his words always echoed. Laenor had failed her, as a husband, as a companion, and as the father of their children. He shall forever hold onto that guilt, of never being able to provide his best friend—his wife, the thing she needs the most. A true heir. It had been why they left King’s Landing in the first place, after Viserys’ command—the rumours, the chatter, the disgrace and disrespect she was forced to face every day.

“No. That had been our agreement.” He could fuck his fill of squire boys and enjoy his life, and she’d do the same with Harwin. Oh, had they only known the consequences of their deeds beforehand—they would have tried better, and worked harder to conceive. “You haven’t failed me, Laenor.” Her face darkened, thoughts returned to the dragonrider, the princess, oh, but she wasn't the first and weak with the second. “Naera has.”

She was helping the greens, her own sister, working for Alicent’s gain, probably already bent to her will. She had got Daemon—and that wasn’t enough; she needed power, and claim, her lost little sister, left wandering the East, fighting, learning, venturing, pleasuring, and she was left here—with contested heirs and draining authority.

“Rhaenyra…” Laenor looked away, his own heart heavy, his own fears solidified, cold, realised. The blood of the dragon ran thick, he knew, and the fire in Rhaenyra burned the hottest of them all.

“I think it’s time we returned to the politics.”

MASTERLIST

#daemon targeryan #original female character #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon x oc #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #team black #house martell #dance of dragons #melisandre of asshai #melisandre #daemon x y/n #daenerys targeryan #azor ahai #dreams #fanfiction #archive of our own

[askthepsychic]

As Rey trances in her usual place, she can’t help but feel like someone is trying to reach her. Finally she hears in her mind “can you hear me? Please, help! I don’t have much time before this one chance leaves forever!”

Rey’s brow furrows as she responds “I hear you. Where are you? Who are you?”

The voice, feminine, strong and regal, responds “my location is unclear to me. I am imprisoned in a cage with no view of the outside world. My bindings are impossible for me to break myself. As for my identity, I intend to share a memory with you to help you know my prison so you can find it more easily. Will you walk through memory with me?”

Rey nods. “Let’s do it. I’ll pay close attention for any clues I can use to locate you.”

The voice says “thank you! We’ll start now. I will show you the events of the day leading up to the moment of my imprisonment.”

Rey’s perception quickly changes to a chamber. Looking around, it appears to be a potions lab. Then she feels a presence beside her and turns to look upon a unicorn mare who is staring at a cauldron prepared for crafting a new potion.

The unicorn she beholds is the very definition of regal, from her garments to the crown upon her head to her own appearance. And when she speaks, it leaves no doubt. This unicorn is the one she was just speaking to.

“I hope he gets back soon. The sooner I get started on this the better.”

A short moment later, Rey turns as she hears someone coming towards the room. She almost thinks that she’s looking at a child version of Spike for a moment before noticing that there are differences between Spike and the dragon before her now. The unicorn turns and smiles. “Good. Welcome back, Spike. Did you collect everything I needed?”

The dragon nods. “Sure did, Majesty. Got the ingredients and a vessel for once everything’s put together.” He says, setting various items that he takes from a pouch he’s wearing on a table.

Majesty, the unicorn, nods. “Excellent. In that case, I shall begin.” She says, turning back to the cauldron as a multitude of items including those that Spike left on the table begin levitating around her. “We’ll start simple. Hair of an earth pony, donated by Magic Star.” A single hair is dropped into the cauldron. “Pegasus feather, from Firefly.” A pink feather is added. “Unicorn horn shavings, courtesy of myself.” Another addition to the potion is made.

“Don’t forget a dragon scale.” Spike says, picking one from his arm and flicking it into the potion.

Majesty smiles. “Indeed. Thank you, Spike. Next, bubbles of a seapony. Wing scales of a flutterpony.” The list goes on and on, going from parts of various species to magical plants. “Finally, one of the hardest things to come by. Claw of a draconequus. A gift from Discord himself.”

Spike sighs. “Is he really the last one?”

Majesty nods “at this time, yes. Though he has told me there are ways he could change that. One of his favorite potential methods involves transmogrifying chicken eggs.”

Spike chuckles. “Why am I not surprised?”

Majesty chuckles, then turns to look at a couple sets of ingredients she has not touched yet. “Naturally magical portents are covered. Now for magical processes.” She levitates a piece of lead with a few odds and ends above the cauldron. “Alchemy. In the form of its most powerful process. Transforming lead into gold.” The other items begin to spiral around the lead as it starts to glow. When the glow has grown to encompass the whole group of items, Majesty releases her levitation magic, letting the mid transformation set fall into the potion, which flashes a rainbow luminescence. Majesty smiles, then takes a vial half filled with water along with a few plants and drops the plants into the vial. She begins shaking the vial with her magic acting as a cap. “A potion. Mid creation. It doesn’t matter what kind. What matters is that it is what it is.” She drops the vial into the cauldron, causing another flash. “A half cast spell.” Her horn glows as the potion flashes again. Again, she names several magical processes, each one empowering whatever is being formed in the cauldron. Finally she sighs. “There. Magical processes are covered.”

Spike scratches his neck and says “now for the really hard stuff?”

Majesty nods. “That’s right, Spike. It’s time to involve the forms of magic that govern our world. The branches of magic. I shall start with the one that comes easiest to me. The magic of Life.” She waves her hoof and a blossom materializes from nothing before dropping into the cauldron. “Next, the magic of Time.” A sphere of green light appears above the cauldron as Majesty concentrates, seeming to be made up of a multitude of clock faces.

Spike tilts his head “I still wonder about the clock look of time magic.”

Majesty, still concentrating says “I’ve told you Spike, Time doesn’t actually look like anything. The reason you see faces of clocks is because it’s a simple appearance of something that you see every day. Your mind substitutes it for Time’s true appearance because you want it to look like something. And you associate clocks with time because you use them to tell time.” With that, the sphere of temporal magic drops into the cauldron.

Spike nods “right. Sorry, I keep forgetting.”

This statement seems to strike a nerve with Majesty, evidenced by her flinching when hearing him say that.

Spike grimaces before saying “oops. Sorry again.”

Majesty sighs, then continues the process of whatever she’s doing. She adds a valentine infused with pure Love magic, a libra as a symbol of Harmony magic, and empties a jar of liquid Chaos magic into the cauldron. Then she sighs, stepping back a bit. “That’s all the easy stuff done. Now for the really hard part.”

Spike nods. “The last ingredient. The forbidden branch of magic.”

Majesty nods. “A true version can only manifest one way. Stand back, Spike.” Once Spike has complied, Majesty sighs, then begins straining as her body begins to emit tendrils of black colored magic in pulses. “COME ON! ANGER! HATRED! RAGE! FILL ME WITH THE DARKEST POWER!” But though she commands, and though she sweats from the effort, the magic she is now trying to use will not respond. Finally, with one last great effort, her strength gives out and she falls onto her side, Spike running over as the dark magic fully dissipates.

“Majesty! Are you alright?”

Majesty coughs a couple times before saying “don’t be ridiculous. Of course I am. I’ve already recovered. But… my heart breaks at this failure. My grand creation can’t be completed by me.”

Spike looks at the cauldron. “Can it work the way it is now?”

Majesty shakes her head. “No. Though all the ingredients were essential to give it power and invulnerability, the last ingredient, magic of the branch of Rage, was the one that would make it fierce. Without that dark magic being a part of it, it will be a docile, timid thing. Not suitable for its intended purpose at all. Without the final ingredient, my Rainbow of Light will be no help to my children.”

Rey blinks, reaching up to the locket she now wears. It’s further confirmed when, after being asked by Majesty, Spike takes that self same locket out of his pouch and scoops what’s in the cauldron into it. (I just witnessed the birth of the Rainbow of Light. But she couldn’t complete it? Megan and everyone else had such confidence in its power. I wonder how it was eventually completed.)

Spike sighs “if it can’t help them, what’ll we do? You said that there’s only one path for you to walk now, right?”

Majesty nods “that’s correct, Spike. My personal timeline is nearing a set moment. An event that I would only be able to avoid through the corruption and possibly destruction of the flow of time in this dimension. I am not willing to bring such atrocities into being, so I must go to meet my fate. Still, I still have a few choices left to me before that moment comes. And I have just made one. If you’re still insistent on coming with me, it’s time to go.”

At this, Spike gets a determined look on his face and says “I’ve told you, Majesty, my mind is made up. I’m not letting you go to face your doom alone. You don’t deserve that. You deserve to have someone with you to comfort you in these last free moments.”

Majesty sighs “and I have told you, Spike, that I am grateful you care so much for me. But have I not also told you the results? If you come with me to my doom, all that you are and all that you have been will be lost, possibly beyond any hope of recall. Your current identity will be stripped away, leaving behind only a name and your natural inclinations.”

Spike looks down. “I know. I understand. But I’m not changing my mind. So, where are we going first?”

Majesty sighs, then turns to the door and begins moving, Spike following. “The Rainbow is my children’s key to salvation, regardless of the weak state it’s in right now. We must make sure it is kept safe until the appropriate moment. To that end, we will entrust it to one who will be able to deliver it into its keeper’s hands when the time comes.”

Spike nods. After a short journey, Rey notes that he seems to be bemused as he realizes where they’re going. “Really Majesty?”

Majesty nods “he may be absent minded at times, but only because I created him with a particular purpose. I’ve never told you exactly why I made him the way he is, have I? I doubt anyone has yet told you that humanoids: humans, elves, gnomes and other such beings, are actually visitors to this space time. They came here from somewhere else and lost their way back. The Moochiks grand purpose is to discover what they have forgotten. They love our world, but they miss their homes. So I created the Moochik to help them find their way back.”

Spike nods. “I see. You’re right, I never knew they weren’t native. So the reason he seems absent minded is because he’s constantly focused mainly on that?” At Majesty’s nod, Spike smiles. “I just gained a new appreciation for his oddities.”

A moment later the group is approaching a hut surrounded by enormous mushrooms. Majesty looks around before calling out “Moochik, we’re here on an urgent matter. Please appear to us.”

What appears in response to this is what looks like a very small very old human, though with pointed ears sticking up from his hat and a rather large nose. His size is such that Rey would tower over him if they both stood upon the ground. She can’t help but question if he would even be as tall as her thighs. “Majesty. It is good to see you, but unless I am mistaken you are stopping by on your way to your fated confrontation with him.”

Majesty nods “that is correct, Moochik. Spike, present it to him please.”

Spike nods, striding forward and holding the locket out to the Moochik. The Moochik takes the locket and holds it up to inspect it. “Hmm. I detect powerful magic held within. Might this be the end result of the project we previously spoke of, Majesty?”

Majesty nods. “At least as nearly as I was capable of. My fear was realized. I was unable to add the final ingredient. Still, I foresee that it will be the primary defense for my children for a time. That vision hasn’t changed. It must be completed by someone else after I’m imprisoned.”

The Moochik nods “the most logical explanation. Hmm. But why would you bring this to me? With how my thoughts are focused, I’m likely to forget I have it.”

Majesty smiles and says “true, but that’s the very reason I left you an assistant, isn’t it?”

The Moochik snaps his fingers “of course. Habit! Come here, Habit!” After a brief moment, a brown bunny comes running up on two legs. He wears a pair of red overalls with one strap hanging loose. Rey can tell just from looking that this particular bunny could likely speak if he tried. He stops in front of the Moochik, who promptly passes the locket to him “Majesty needs us to keep this safe for the time being. And I’m sure she’ll have particular instructions for you as well.”

Habit nods, pocketing the locket as he steps over to stand in front of Majesty. Majesty nods, then leans down and whispers in his ear, Habit nodding intermittently. Finally, Majesty stands tall again and says “think you can remember all that, Habit? It’s very important.” Habit nods, giving her a salute before a crash of thunder startles them all. After they’ve recovered, they all look in a particular direction.

The Moochik looks at Majesty “he’s expecting you. And I’d also wager that he’s getting impatient.”

Majesty nods, then looks at Spike “Spike. I know it’s likely futile, but I offer you the chance to go back one last time. If you continue to journey with me now, your fate, like mine, will be sealed.”

Spike crosses his arms. “You’re right, Majesty. It is futile. I haven’t doubted my decision once. I’m going with you.”

Majesty sighs, nodding “very well. We must be on our way then. Moochik. Habit. Thank you for all you have done and all you will do for my children. Farewell.”

The Moochik and Habit salute together as Majesty and Spike leave.

#askthepsychicofponyville #ask me anything #ask blog #original character #mlp #rey #???