#The being he had only ever seen poised and dignified even in his hurt and fury

[theaceace]

Though Roderick and his followers didn't realise it at the time, the magic in the circle and the glass orb meant that the only people who could see Dream were the ones that were there when he was summoned, so as far as the guards are concerned they're guarding an empty glass sphere that a delusional old man thinks holds something. And then of course, Hob gets hired as a guard and it's dealer's choice if Dream has realised by then that no one but Burgess and his Order can see him.

But then because Hob is sort of aware that magic and esoteric things do exist, he sees Burgess (sr or jr) talking to the globe and is like, huh. Maybe there is something in there. But maybe it's a demon like the rumours say and I shouldn't let it out. But Hob starts talking to Dream anyway while the other guard takes longer and longer smoke breaks.

Whichever Burgess is around at the time realises that there must be something about this guard, because the next time he comes down to yell/bargain/threaten, Dream has moved. He's hidden his face, there are handprints against the glass, and the dreamlord's shoulders are shaking.

It doesn't take him long to figure out the pattern - that this only happens around Robert, for whatever reason, and the man himself has no notion of what's in the circle - and eventually he sends the guards out so that he can tell Dream exactly what he'll do to this Robert if Dream doesn't comply. That he may not understand what it is about this one man that compels one of the Endless so, when he has been so unaffected by everything else but the death of his familiar, but that doesn't matter. He will find out, and he will leverage it, however he needs to.

He turns and leaves, and basically I want Hob to wander back in none the wiser and settle into his chair and his usual routine of talking all moony eyed about his stranger, while Dream is roaring his fear and fury and beating his fists bloody against the glass

#dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #Sandman #On today's episode of 'fics I have in my head so vividly and Simply Cannot Put To Paper #serving up a fresh plate of angst sorry #I think it would be neat if either Hob (with Johanna's help) or Paul completely by accident smeared the one sigil that kept Dream invisible #Imagine Hob's reaction to suddenly seeing his old stranger in the once-empty glass prison #To seeing the way his head hangs between his shoulders even as something in the spell snaps #The being he had only ever seen poised and dignified even in his hurt and fury #Who had warned Hob to take care so that he didn't get hurt. Or captured #I just think it would be neat

[alderaani]

prison break (echo x reader)

A valentines gift for @just-some-girl-92 as part of the event being run by @starwarsfandomfests! Thanks so much for putting another one of these together @lilhawkeye3, and I really hope you like this Dell! I think credit for white haired Echo goes to @/amiro-art? That was the first place I saw it anyway, and I’ve really liked the headcanon that it’s like that post-techno union ever since!

Based on this prompt: Character A moves in next to Character B. They have conjoined balconies and A's pet/child wanders into B's apartment.

Fives and Echo are both reunited and well in this because everyone gets to be happy on Valentine’s Day and I said so. We don’t need canon on this blog.

The other side of the wall explodes with noise. 

It makes you pause, looking up from the knitting trailing over your knees to cock your head towards the opposite apartment. You think you hear the screech of furniture legs being pushed along the floor, then the frantic rumble of several male voices speaking over the top of each other, the clatter and clang of things as they are removed and replaced.

It’s odd. When Tith-Mar lived next door, you used to hear it every time he coughed, or swore at that awful old holodrama he used to watch every Taungsday. As much as you tried to stop yourself you couldn’t help but get invested, and that was almost worse. Out of pride you never put it on your own unit, but that just meant you ended up half pressed against the wall, eventually not even pretending you weren’t listening to Capula and Mont confess their love. It had given you something to talk about, anyway, when you went onto the balcony to water your plants and he went out there to smoke the fancy deathsticks he joked he’d live and die by.

In the year since the war ended and Tith-Mar was finally able to move back out to be with his daughter on Ryloth you’ve never quite gotten used to the quiet. There was a strange comfort in knowing that there was someone on the other side of the wall. Maybe it came from the three years of water shortages and occasional outages - or, notably, the rampage of the Zillo beast, which hadn’t come quite close enough to flatten you in your sleep, but had downed enough of the power grid that you’d been locked in your apartment for five rotations. You miss the soft Rylothi folk music he used to play in the mornings, and you miss seeing him sometimes, blowing smoke up into the brisk Coruscant mornings with his blue lek, faded now in old age, wrapped around his neck like a scarf.

You just miss the comforting assurance of having someone else there. If it wasn’t for the sound of the door going, and the occasional thump of something being moved, you’d hardly know that you had neighbours at all now. It’s almost funny to think back on the furore it caused when the Republic bought the apartment for GAR resettlement. It led to the only neighbourhood meeting the building has ever had, and you’ve been very glad for that fact after discovering that a solid faction of your fellow citizens are bigots. It’s something you knew, objectively, but witnessing it from the people you personally rub shoulders with was a harder pill to swallow than having to watch some of the anti-clone protests on the holonews. You’ve not tried to remember the more colourful misconceptions about clone troopers aired by prim soft-handed mid-levellers as they sat in a lobby you can remember the Coruscant Guard clearing rubble from with nothing but their hands. However, you do very vividly remember someone from two floors up asking you if you’d ‘really feel safe’ living next to ‘those walking warmongers’, being young and living on your own. You’d shut that down, of course, and the resulting vote had passed in favour.

You’d honestly half expected the troopers to reject the place after that, and you wouldn’t have blamed them either. 

Everyone had known the day they moved in, had pretended not to watch as a GAR issue speeder loaded with two armoured figures and a meagre quantity of possessions had pulled up on the walkway and made their way cautiously inside. You’d thought about introducing yourself, knocking or something, but concluded in the end that they didn’t need anyone else ogling them. You’d figured that there would be plenty of time for that later...and now here you are, a whole year on, and that glimpse is just about the closest you’ve ever gotten to them. You think they still spend a lot of time off-planet, helping with the reconstruction missions the now-voluntary GAR conducts throughout the Mid and Outer Rims. You hadn’t even been sure that they were home at the moment, actually. 

There’s no doubting it now, as the frantic thumps and raised voices continue. Through your balcony door, cracked open to catch some of the soft breeze the weather engineers have scheduled today, you can make out a little of what their voices are saying, one frantic and forceful, the other softer, but no less worried.

“ - kriffing hell, can’t believe we’ve lost...Rex will have our heads…”

“...can’t have gotten far...can’t even walk!”

“ - already checked the fresher, Echo!”

“It can’t hurt to check twice...knew we shouldn’t have…”

You bite your lip, turning round while debating whether you should offer your help. Then you freeze. The baby on the other side of your caf table freezes too, chubby hand poised to grab the cookie you’d been saving for later. They’re standing on legs that wobble a bit, and there’s a glint of steely determination in the dark eyes that fix on your face. 

“Hello,” you say a little weakly, realising very abruptly what the troopers must have lost.

The kid appraises you for a moment longer, brow furrowed and intent. There’s a huge amount of judgement there for such a small face, those focused eyes taking you in for several very long seconds. Then they huff, and very deliberately turn their attention back to the cookie. You smother an incredulous laugh. 

“Not impressed, huh?” You say, carefully setting your knitting aside and uncovering your legs. “Can’t say I blame you, I prefer cookies too.”

The baby doesn’t dignify this with any attention, instead making a soft crowing noise as their little fingers strike victory and retract with the cookie firmly in grasp. When they immediately move to cram it into their mouth you burst into action, leaning across the caf table to swipe it. Just those mere seconds of contact have made it slightly damp. 

The baby’s face scrunches in outrage, and they let go of the table edge, sinking down onto their padded bottom with a sharp, high noise of annoyance. They don’t cry, but the frown is something spectacular.

“Sorry, kid.” You force yourself the rest of the way up, keeping a hold on the cookie with one hand. Can kids this young even eat solid foods yet? Do they have any allergies? You don’t have any siblings, so the last time you were around a baby was when you were one. For all this one’s bravado, they look awfully breakable. “I’ll hang on to this for now, yeah?”

You don’t think that they’re old enough to understand what you’re saying, but the huff the baby lets out feels extremely pointed. You stare down at them on your rug.

“Don’t suppose you could give me any pointers on how to hold you?”

It turns out babies are wriggly. You put the cookie down long enough to hoist the kid into your arms and attempt to manoeuvre their little arms and legs so that they’re not jabbing into your vital organs, but at the sight of the food being placed far away, the kid lets out a piercing noise, right into your ear, and attempts to kamikaze their way back to it. A body that two seconds ago was ramrod solid and deliberately unwieldy is suddenly boneless and impossible to hold onto. Your brain goes empty of everything but wrestling with several pounds of struggling infant. 

You end up on the floor, eventually, but at least both of you are in one piece. You’re breathing heavily. The kid’s face is thunderous. It’s very cute, but you can’t wait to give it back and appreciate that from a distance. Somehow, you manage to settle them onto your hip.

“What the f - heck was that for?” You ask, purely to make yourself feel better. Even if the kid could answer you, you get the feeling they simply wouldn’t. “Was it because I put the biscuit down?”

The kid makes a huffing noise. You roll your eyes, but can’t help smiling. The baby’s dark, just-curling hair is soft against the skin of your upper arm, and their weight is warm and solid against your side. 

“I’m not taking it away from you. I’m gonna let you have it, just need to make sure it’s safe for womp-rats first. And return you before those poor guys tear their place apart, okay?”

You re-collect the cookie and struggle back to your feet, looking towards the open balcony. Visions flash through your mind of the baby pulling that boneless trick out there, with nothing but spacelanes separating them from the ground 50 stories below, and...no. You’re not even vaguely risking that. The front door is definitely the better option, but somehow more daunting, as you stand before the neighbouring apartment with your heart in your throat.

The second you knock, the frantic voices inside cut off abruptly, and then you hear the mad scramble that ensues to reach the door. It wooshes open, and suddenly you’re face to face with your neighbours for the first time. 

They’re less identical than you’d expected. Maybe that’s a stupid thought, but it’s the first one that stumbles, half formed and dazed, into the open void your brain has just become. The second, very unhelpful follow up, is that they’re also much prettier than you’d expected. Not that you’d necessarily expected anything, but - you’ve never seen one of the clones without their helmets before. The Corrie Guard, back during the war, had made a point of never taking them off as far as you’d ever seen. That was apparently a crying shame. One of them has thick, dark curly hair, a tidy goatee, and a tattoo on his forehead. The other’s hair is a sharp, startling white, interrupted by metal nodes of some sort. Some sort of post-war medical adaptation, you assume. He’s slightly leaner all over, his eyes a little larger in his face. But the way both of them sag against the door frame is exactly the same.

“Thank the fucking force,” The dark haired one breathes, clutching at his chest.

The other trooper elbows him sharply in the ribs. “Fives.”

“She’s ten months old, Echo. She’s not gonna repeat it.”

“She just escaped from our apartment after General Skywalker swore up and down she’s not mobile yet. It’s gonna be her first word just to spite us.”

You laugh before you can stop yourself and flush a little when all attention snaps back to you.

“That I can believe,” you force yourself to say. “Hi. I think I found something of yours.”

You hold out your armful of infant and - you presume Fives is his name - reaches out to take her, groaning in relief. 

“Thank you,” he says, fervent, taking a moment to bury his face into the child’s hair. She puts a determined thumb into her mouth and stares at your hand, still clutching the cookie. The trooper turns her in his arms and holds her up at eye level. “You are a menace, Leia. I thought we were gonna have to call in a search.”

It’s nice to have a name for that little displeased face. Leia regards the trooper for a moment before sticking her hand into his face. His eyes are impossibly warm as he pretends to gobble her fingers, and it is, quite frankly, cute as fuck. He turns his attention back to you, but just as he opens his mouth, the sound of a comm going off somewhere behind them cuts through the moment.

“That’ll be the General,” The white-haired trooper laughs. “You better take her and show him, before he raises down half of Coruscant trying to get here.”

Fives nods, flashing another blinding grin at you, before he and Leia are gone. The trooper you’re left with blows out a breath and scrubs a hand over his face. 

“Well,” he says, his mouth crooking into a wry smile. “That was exciting.” 

He sticks his hand out, and when you take it, his palm is rough and his grip firm. You give him your name without thinking about it, staring into the kind, golden depths of his eyes. They crinkle at the corners when he grins. 

“I’m Echo. And - I know Fives already said it, but seriously, thank you. Where the shab did you find her?”

“Trying to steal biscuits from my caf table,” you say, laughing openly when Echo drops his face back into his hand and groans with embarrassment. “I think she got in through the balcony door.”

“Force, we didn’t even think of that. What a first impression, you must think we’re idiots.” 

You shake your head, enamoured by the faint colour you can see rising in his cheeks. He brings his metal hand up to his face and presses the cool prosthetic against his skin. 

“Not at all. You should have seen the look she gave me when I found her, she knows she’s in charge.” 

Echo smiles bashfully. “It’s the first time we’ve ever won the lot to babysit the twins, our Company would have crucified us if we’d lost her.” 

“Then I’m very glad to have provided a rescue.” 

There’s a short silence as you fidget with your sleeves, strange anticipation churning in your gut. There’s no reason to keep standing here now that the pleasantries are done with, the baby exchanged, but...some part of you resists it, almost looking for an excuse to stay. He and Fives are the first new friendly faces you’ve met in a long time, soothing a sting you didn’t know was there.

“I - um -,” Echo begins suddenly, shifting a little. The colour in his face deepens. “I really like your plants. I’ve always meant to say something. We keep trying to guess what they are.” 

“Oh!” Your heart turns over in your chest and you wouldn’t be able to stop the smile bursting onto your face if you tried. Those damn things are so hard to keep alive through the unpredictable engineered weather. You don’t think you’re particularly house proud, but you do preen a little that he’s noticed. “Thank you, I, um, I water them every morning. I could...go through them with you one day? If you like?” 

Echo’s head dips an assent. “I’d really like that.” 

You linger a moment longer, a pleased thrill still lingering in your belly, but there’s no putting it off now. “I suppose I should let you go. But...please knock if you need anything.” 

Echo smiles. “Hopefully not in pursuit of any more babies.” 

You’re just about to turn away when you remember the cookie in your hand, slightly smushed now. “Oh! Can you give this to Leia? I wanted to make sure she could eat them, first, but I promised. Seemed only fair, since she went to all that trouble.” 

Echo huffs, his expression softening, taking the cookie with careful hands. “I’ll make sure her highness gets it.” 

Then you go back to your quiet apartment, somehow deflated when faced with the monotony of your knitting and your music. You hear a few more sounds from the other side of the wall, faint laughter, perhaps a child squealing, and find your curiosity has not been sated at all.

It’s a wonderful surprise, then, when two days later on a clear, sunlit morning, you slide open your balcony door to water the plants and find Echo waiting, his face tipped up to the brightening sky. There is a packet of cookies resting on the duracrete by his feet, and two steaming mugs of caf on the railing by his elbow. 

It feels like something special...It feels like a beginning. 

taglist // @nelba @leias-left-hair-bun @battletales @bad-batch-of-fics @iscream4clones @majorshiraharu @snippytano @missinashkin @808tsuika @eries45 @dom-i-nic // 

#arc trooper echo #echo #arc trooper echo x reader #echo x reader #echo x you #arc trooper fives #fives #the clone wars #star wars #the clone wars fic #alderwrites

[goofygomez]

Goodbye Pt. 2 - TWDG Oneshot

Description: After waking up in Ericson’s, Clementine must rush to Lee’s aid before it’s too late.

Wordcount: 3590

As always, reblogs and comments are more than appreciated. And if you like this story, consider checking out my other works on Ao3 or Wattpad under the username GoofyGomez. Enjoy!

---

The forest was eerily quiet in the early night. A few crickets made appearances around them, but they went silent when Clem and the rest passed them. Darkness was beginning to fall and the only remaining source of light was the moon shining down on them. Louis and Aasim led the way head of Clem and AJ, who followed diligently.

Hold on, Lee, she thought to herself. By her estimate, they had walked for about forty minutes. The plants around them and the path before them had barely changed, however. Even as they moved, she was getting restless. Did these kids even know where they were going?

“You guys sure we’re on the right track?” Clem asked hesitantly, hoping she didn’t sound rude. The last thing she needed was for Aasim and Louis to get offended and leave them in the middle of the woods.

“Yeah,” Aasim said over his shoulder. “The train station you guys were in is about two hours away, outside our safe zone.”

“Two hours?” Clem exclaimed, picking up her pace to be on par with Aasim. AJ followed close behind, fidgeting with his revolver in his hands. “We still have one hour to go?”

Louis looked to his right, giving Clem an apologetic sort of look. She noticed his forehead crease as he frowned, and the way his dimples deepened as he gave her a sad smile.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m sure your old man can take care of himself pretty good.”

“Hope so…” Clem said, trailing off. She hung back, choosing solitude over walking beside their guides.

As thankful as she was to them for offering their help, it had been their own fault they were in this mess in the first place. What had Marlon meant with “He’s an adult.”? Had they seen Lee and purposely left him to the walkers? No, Lee’s a survivor, he can handle himself.

They kept a steady pace through the trailing path. Most of it was marked by months, if not years of people walking it. At some point, however, the ground became as treacherous as the rest of the forest, and they were left with nothing but their wits to figure out the way.

“Should be a few more miles north,” Aasim commented, pointing slightly to their left.

“How do you know where north is?” AJ asked from beside Clem.

“I look at the stars,” he said, gesturing to the star-strewn sky. Indeed, a million dots of shining balls of light illuminated the sky. Some, Clem noticed, were brighter than others, yet she had never learned to read the skies as she knew sailors had once done. Mostly, she trusted her gut to tell her where to go. It had not failed her yet.

“See that bright one over there?” Aasim said, pointing to a particularly fiery-looking star almost directly above them. “That’s the North Star, which means north is that way.”

“That’s so cool,” AJ said, gazing up at the sky in wonderment. “How come you never taught me that?” he asked Clem, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugged, choosing the truth. “I didn’t know that either,” she said.

“Huh.”

“I learned about it a couple years ago,” Aasim said, eager to talk about anything to get Lee’s possible fate out of Clem’s mind. “Our school has a library chock full of books on all sorts of stuff.”

“Aasim here is a bit of nerd,” Louis translated. AJ chuckled and Clem had to suppress a grin.

“Shut up,” Aasim said, rolling his eyes. “Just because all you read about is musical theory doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t want to learn some new skills.”

“Musical ability is not something you can learn,” Louis said in a dignified, yet playful manner. “You’re born with it.”

“Whatever.”

“You play an instrument?” Clem said, thankful for Aasim’s attempt to veer the conversation away from heavier topics.

“The piano,” he said joyfully. “We got one in the admin building; right next to that place the little dude was gonna gun us down.”

“I’m sorry about that,” AJ said, scratching the back of his head.

“No need to apologize, little man,” Louis assured him, shaking his head. “If I were you, I probably would have done the same.”

Clem found it hard not to notice the small mannerisms Louis had when presenting himself. It was so unlike anyone she’d ever met, yet intriguing nonetheless. His eyes were almost constantly aglow, dark brown like AJ’s. He used his hands a lot, waving them around every which way so as to express himself more visually. It really was an interesting sight, Clem thought.

“What’s a piano?” AJ asked.

Louis feigned hurt, clutching his heart. “I’m wounded that you’d ask that,” he said dramatically.

“Sorry?” AJ said hesitantly, tilting his head.

“It’s an instrument,” Louis explained. “You have keys, and you press them to make music.”

“Huh, music,” AJ mused to himself.

In truth, Clem hadn’t really gone into detail about music to AJ. She didn’t think it was that important right now when surviving was the only thing on her mind. Lee had told them about a few bands he had listened to in his youth, but neither Clem nor AJ could relate to him, so they learned to tune it out after a while.

They fell silent after that. Around them, the scuttling of animals was the only sound they could hear. An owl hooted and flew off somewhere to Clem’s right, and the rustle of the leaves sounded eerie in the dead in night. Dry autumn leaves crunched under their boots, much too loud for Clem’s liking.

For another hour they walked, heavy thoughts weighing on Clem’s mind. Unable to will them away, she shut her eyes and shook her head. He had to be okay, he just had to. She shared a look with AJ, who walked on her left, and gave him a sad smile.

Before she could ask how much longer they had, Aasim raised his hand and halted to a stop. The rest followed suit, hunching slightly as if poised for attack. Clem looked around, searching for the train cars or any trace of their car. She saw a glint of rusted silver somewhere to their right.

“The car, was it totaled?” she asked Aasim, who nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Damn it.”

Aasim sneaked forward through a thicket of bushes, which opened up into a small clearing beside one of the trains. They hid behind a rock, surveying the area.

Dozens of walkers roamed the hallway that led to the station. Their moans and groans created a cacophony of sounds that made Clementine shiver, even though it was rather warm tonight. On the road leading away from the train cars, she saw tire tracks, skidding around until they disappeared behind a bend in the road.

“Where could he be?” Clem asked, unable to contain the fear in her voice. “I don’t see any trace of him.”

“If he’s smart, he’s probably holed up in that station,” Aasim said, pointing. “I doubt the walkers can get through that door, but I can’t say the same for the windows.”

“Thanks for that helpful commentary, Aasim,” Louis said, stepping forward. “Look, we just gotta get through the smelly patrol here and we’re golden.”

“Any idea on how to do that?” Aasim said, clearly irritated.

“Let me check it out,” Clem interjected. She feared more bickering would accomplish nothing, so she had to step in.

She raised herself a bit so as to see the area better. The walkers seemed to have no defined pattern, moving aimlessly around, sometimes hitting the fence and choosing a different path. She noticed some of them seemed to push other walkers around as if annoyed they were moving so slowly. That’s odd, she thought. She’d never seen walkers behave this way.

On the fence was the sign and bell she and Lee had seen before going in, a small string attached to it. Could be useful, she thought, taking a mental note of it. The train car on the left seemed to be tilted to the side, low enough to climb yet not so low that walkers could easily swarm it. Promising.

Formulating a plan, she turned back to the others. AJ listened avidly, kneeling like he always did, with his gun in his right hand. She relayed the plan to Aasim and Louis, both of whom cringed when she suggested attracting the walkers to one of them. Once she was done, she waited for a response.

“That’s all?” Louis said hesitantly, likely afraid that Clem would say no. “Doesn’t sound so bad.”

“You going up there, then?” Aasim said almost instantly, gripping his bow tightly. “You’re already pretty distracting even without a bell in your hands.”

“No way, José,” Louis said, shaking his head. “What about you, with that bow of yours?”

“You can do it, Louis,” Clem said, willing herself not to smile. “Let’s see those moves in action.”

Louis sighed, looking over Clem’s shoulder over to the swarm of walkers. “I can’t say no to a face like that,” he said finally, winking. A rather unfamiliar heat rose to Clem’s cheeks, and she averted her eyes. Aasim, on the other hand, rolled his eyes so far that they almost seemed to leave his skull.

And so, Louis and the rest approached the fence, being careful to make as little noise as they could. Louis untied the bell from the post and made sure to have it close to his chest, lest he put the plan in motion too early. He looked up to the train car. The moon shone over it, as though pointing him in the direction of his target.

“Okay, repeat the plan,” Louis said, turning to Clem.

“Climb the car, ring the bell as loud as you can, and wait for us to cross,” Clem said. “Once we’re inside, you’ll be able to keep watch from there.”

“Climb, ring, wait, watch,” Louis repeated, nodding. “Got it.”

“Good luck, man,” Aasim said, patting the dreaded boy’s shoulder.

“Thanks.” And with that, Louis disappeared behind the train car.

Clem, Aasim, and AJ waited expectantly. The walkers kept up their moaning, searching for more prey. A few moments later, they heard a loud bang as Louis rung the bell, hitting it both with a rock and against the top of the car. Most of the corpses turned their attention to him, reaching up for him. They crowded around the train car, banging on the side. This brought more of them to their aid.

Clem saw the window and made a break for it, sneaking past them as fast as she possibly could. One of the monsters seemed to have gotten stuck under the train car on the right and she took care of it with ease. Aasim and AJ followed her behind a pair of barrels. She raised her arm and signaled to Louis, who seemed to have understood because the banging stopped almost immediately.

They waited with bated breath, Clem’s heart pounding hard. What the hell is he waiting for? Through the slits that were her eyes, she saw a few walkers start to turn around, their object of interest long gone.

“Come on, Louis,” she heard Aasim whisper under his breath. His eyes were closed as well.

Before Clem had lost all hope, a sudden ringing caught the walkers’ attention away from them, and they allowed themselves to breathe deeply. As the undead made their way deeper into the front yard of the station, Clem, Aasim, and AJ sneaked past yet another straggling walker, stabbed it, and rushed to the door.

She turned the knob slowly, her heart in her throat. It creaked softly as it opened, revealing the interior of the station. It was much like she’d last seen it, though a large amount of dust had been blown from its surfaces. Small slivers of moonlight seeped through the boarded-up windows, revealing dust particles floating around the walker couple still tied to the chairs.

Clem took a tentative step forward, afraid of what she might find. It seemed the room was empty aside from them, which felt both promising and ominous to her.

“I’ll guard the door,” Aasim said, peering through the gap between the door and the frame. “Check that room over there.”

He was pointing to the ticket booth Clem and AJ had found the supplies in; and which had caused this whole mess in the first place. She gestured for AJ to follow her, taking her knife from her back pocket. She brandished it in front of her. The large grey door was ajar, and inside was-

“Lee!” AJ exclaimed, rushing to the man. AJ threw his arms around Lee, gripping him tightly. Lee was lying against the crib, clutching his side with his other hand. His shirt was dripping with sweat and his pants had an alarming amount of blood soaking them.

“Hey, little man,” Lee said, his voice much too weak. “Sweet pea, you came back.”

“Of course we did,” she said, as though the thought of doing anything else would be crazy. “Now, are you hurt?”

Lee looked down at his leg. Blood was still oozing slowly from a wound.

“Hurt my leg pretty bad in that crash,” he said, pursing his lips. “Had to drag myself up here.”

Clem cringed as she looked at it, shaking her head. “Aasim will help you walk, try to get up.”

Lee looked up at her and the expression he held chilled Clem to her very soul. Unlike his usual smile or his fatherly frown, this face was one of defeat. It conveyed to Clem thoughts and emotions she didn’t think could be reconciled. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he shook his head.

“You guys should get out of here,” he said, almost in a whisper. AJ stood to his side, confused. Clem kneeled beside her father, in all ways but one, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“What are you talking about, Lee?” she asked, much more alarmed than she wished she was letting on.

“This is it for me here,” he said, sighing. “End of the road.”

“Lee…” Clem said, almost warningly. “Don’t play jokes on me; I hate it when you do that!”

“It’s not a joke, Clem,” he said, shaking his head.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward, with more effort than Clem thought he would have needed. With one hand, he pulled the cuff of his pants, revealing his bare calf. Beneath all the blood, Clem could clearly see the outline of teeth marks on flesh, a dark liquid oozing onto the floor.

The world came crumbling around Clementine, with no sign of stopping any time soon. She refused to believe her eyes, as damning as the evidence in front of them was. She had fought for Lee and AJ for far too long for her luck to have run out. No, it must be a trick of the light. But what light, though? Barely any moonlight reached them in here. Still, something is off.

“What…?” AJ said, his eyes widening as he took a step back. “No.”

“Yes, AJ,” said Lee sadly, looking down. “I’m sorry.”

Clem still couldn’t speak, stunned into silence. She kept looking at the bite on Lee’s leg, blinking rapidly. Her heart seemed to have taken the hint and started beating faster. Faster and faster it beat until she feared it would burst through her chest and onto Lee’s lap. Somehow, after this gruesome image, she found her voice again.

“No,” she finally managed to say. “No, no, no, no! You can’t be bit, you just can’t be.”

“But I am, sweet pea,” he said, taking her hand in his. She pulled away, tears welling in her eyes. They stung her, but she did no effort to dab at them. “I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough.”

“Lee…” she croaked, trying to make sense of the jumble that was her thoughts. “You… you can’t do this to me.”

“You’ll be okay, Clementine,” he said, offering her a weak smile. “You’re strong. You both are.”

“I need you, Lee,” she said desperately. Her lower lip quivered as she mustered the courage not to launch herself over him. AJ seemed to have lost his voice, choosing instead to stare at the bite while he listened to them. “AJ and I need you. We’re a team, remember?”

“I know, I know, Clem.” Lee sighed, struggling to breathe as a fit of coughs took over him. “You’ll have to make do without me from now on.”

“We can cut it off!” she exclaimed, almost joyfully. “It’ll be just like that guy Reggie, right? Aasim and Louis can carry you out of here. It’ll be alright!”

Lee pursed his lips, looking up into Clem’s fiery gold eyes. The same eyes that had looked at him in fear and admiration and love and hatred and countless other emotions, now swelling with tears. Clem could almost hear Lee’s heartbeat, slowly dwindling as his final breath drew nearer. They had talked about this moment countless times, yet to actually be in it didn’t make it any easier to bear.

“It’s too late for that, honey,” he told her wisely, shaking his head. “It’s been hours, and I lost a bunch of blood already.”

“No, no, no, we can still fix this, Lee!” she said angrily, fumbling with the cuff of his pants and lifting it so his entire lower leg was visible now. Still more blood flowed from the wound, making Clem cringe once more.

“Clem,” Lee said, cutting her off. He knew how passionate she could get when he let her, but they had no time. “You know what to do.”

“NO!” she said, much too loudly. A few groans came from outside, but they seemed to be in the clear. Aasim had apparently stationed himself outside the door, guarding the building with his bow. “I… I can’t do it, Lee. Please don’t make me…”

“I understand,” he said, shaking his head. “No kid should have to do this sort of thing.”

Clem had stopped trying to hold back and was now sobbing, her tears falling freely onto the dusty floor, darkening the hardwood beneath the layer of dirt.

“Leave me,” she heard Lee whisper, and she willed herself to look up, unable and unwilling to believe her ears.

“What?” she whispered back, leaning in as if to catch it more clearly.

“Just go and leave me here,” he said, closing his eyes. “No need to waste ammo on me.”

“I can’t just… leave you to turn,” Clem said, still horrified by the alternative. “Not after everything we’ve seen; everything we’ve been through.”

“You are definitely the kindest soul I ever met,” Lee said fondly, lifting his arm as if to touch her cheek, yet lacking the strength to reach higher than her shoulder. “Too kind, even after the world went to shit.”

“Swear,” they heard AJ whisper, his voice as tiny as he was. Despite herself, Clem managed a laugh.

“There’s the sweet pea I know and love,” Lee said, smiling.

AJ reached over Lee and handed Clem his revolver, handle first. She took it shakily in her hands, feeling the weight that could only mean one thing: it was loaded. She looked from it to Lee, whose eyes, now yellowing, were glued to the weapon.

“You don’t have to watch this, AJ,” she said slowly, looking up at the boy. AJ seemed ready to argue, but Lee’s face said it all. Clem was right.

With a final hug for his father figure, AJ dragged himself out of the room and into the adjoining one, silently waiting by the door. Clem was left alone with Lee in the ticket booth, holding the revolver with shaky hands.

“You’re so strong, Clementine,” Lee said encouragingly. “Stronger than I ever was.”

“Not strong enough,” she said softly. Her hand coiled around the handle. “I couldn’t save you fast enough.”

“There’s nothing you could have done,” Lee said. Though his words were meant to be reassuring, they felt like poison to Clementine. If only I’d gotten here sooner… If only they hadn’t left you out here…

“I’m… I’m really gonna miss you, Lee,” she sobbed, closing her eyes and willing the tears to remain at bay. So far, she was not succeeding.

“I’ll miss you too, sweet pea.”

Clem stood up, her eyes glued to her friend and protector; the one who had given everything for her and AJ. She wanted to say something, anything, to express how thankful she was, for everything. But the words wouldn’t come. Her mind still ran a thousand miles a second, trying to make sense of it all, yet her hands knew what must be done.

She raised the revolver slowly, reveling in the final few seconds she would be able to share with Lee in life. Memories of their journey together flooded her mind, as though her brain was reminding her just how important this man had become to her. No need to remind me, she thought to herself, I remember just fine.

As her finger touched the cold trigger, Lee’s eyes closed and he let a shaky breath escape him. She pulled it sharply, just like he’d taught her on that train all those years ago, and Lee was gone.

At last, she thought, he’d be able to join Kenny and his family, while Clem carried on without him, ready to pick up the pieces of her broken heart.

#twdg clementine #twdg louis #twdg telltale #twdg season 4 #twdg aj #twdg lee #au #fanfic #fanfiction #clouis #louisentine #twdg clouis #hurt/comfort #angst #tears

[petaldancing]

fic: your choice, and mine

fandom: fire emblem three houses characters: caspar, petra summary: caspar has always seen the world divided into two: the ones he’s supposed to fight, and the ones he’s supposed to protect. — AU where caspar joins the blue lions and petra stays with the black eagles. read: on AO3 or below

notes: Takes place post-timeskip but nothing directly spoilery?

Based off Caspar and Petra’s support (which made me hurt) and assumes that they never had their A-support chat because in-game, it only happens post-timeskip. So, spoilers for their A-support if you’ve not read it!

----

He hears Petra before anything else.

And it’s not her voice. It is the beating of a wyvern’s mighty wings, the high-pitched clash of iron and steel, frantic shouting. Their troops are falling back in a scramble and Caspar is nearly knocked over a few times from the wave of Kingdom soldiers pushing past him. He rolls his shoulders back and takes a deep breath. He must wade through a river of unmoving horses and soldiers before the shape of her is outlined in the rain.

“Flank them and take out the other wyverns. Leave the general to me.” Caspar doesn’t look back to his battalion. He knows if he takes his eyes off her, he’ll be giving her an easy opening. And this reunion is going to be anything but easy.

“Petra!” he calls out. He hasn’t said her name in so long, he’s almost happy, almost forgetting the circumstances they’re tangled up in. But Petra, focused as ever, does not flinch. In one quick motion, her wyvern lunges at him. Caspar’s axe deflects the blade of hers just inches from his shoulder. She immediately raises it once more in one swift motion to go for the other shoulder, and Caspar catches it in with his silver gauntlets just barely. He didn’t think the maneuver would work and had been prepared to lose a hand. Only up close does he realise that Petra’s axe has dulled after scraping through so much armour in the battle. It’s more luck than skill that saved his neck. Undiscouraged, he doesn’t let go of the weapon. In fact, he tries to pull it towards him, and Petra is almost yanked off her mount, her wyvern shrieking. She locks her narrowed eyes with his, and Caspar feels his grip slip under the pressure of her gaze.

It’s the first time they’ve seen each other in five long years.

Petra’s piercing glare softens for a split second as she wrests her axe back.

“Caspar.”

“Uh… hi, Petra.” His voice cracks.

“I did not recognise you. You have grown bigger. And you are stronger.”

“I… I guess so—!” he grunts as he rams his entire body into the lithe body of the wyvern in an attempt to throw Petra off her saddle. Petra recovers easily, like she’s just been tapped on the shoulder instead of being bulldozed by all his might.

“What?!” Caspar reminds himself not to be awestruck. He should have expected Petra to be this good. She always was, even when they’d been students and trained together, always dodging his right hooks and haphazard swings like it’d been nothing. She was supposed to teach him how to do that, but then things got awkward between them because of his father (alive) and hers (dead), and Caspar never found chance to talk to her properly. He made it up to her by watching her back during missions, leaving the last bit of pie on the dining table for her: stuff that didn’t need them to talk. He’d been okay with that because he always thought he’d have the time to come up with the right thing to say—then Edelgard declared war on the church.

And as he watched the Empire soldiers trample across peaceful monastery grounds, Caspar made his choice.

Petra’s wyvern lands in front of him in one heavy motion crunching bones and metal beneath it. Petra stands atop the dragon’s back, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, hair dripping with rain. “I will not be giving ease to you, Caspar. I fight for Brigid and the Empire!”

Caspar furrows his brow at this and shouts: “I fight for justice! For what’s right!”

Petra’s reply is a calculated axe throw that catches Caspar at an odd angle. The moment he lurches back to avoid it, he knows Petra’s got him in a bad spot. She brandishes a bow out from the red quiver on her back and lets loose an arrow that digs into his thigh. Caspar locks his knees to stop himself from crumpling. He bites his tongue through the pain and charges forward, tearing his axe through the wyvern’s right wing and immediately into its hind leg before it can react. As the wyvern screeches and tries to claw at him, he rolls underneath the beast, splashing into a puddle of rainwater and blood. It buys him just barely enough time to snap the arrow off his leg and catch his breath.

The next instant, the wyvern’s tail slams into his side and throws him onto the ground a few feet away, his axe sliding out of his grip and into the mud. Caspar curses as he props himself onto his good leg and faces Petra. She lets another arrow fly, but Caspar is ready, leaping out of the way and towards the direction of his axe. He picks it up and advances towards Petra once more, blinking the rain out of his eyes. Another arrow whistles through the air, and it ricochets off Caspar’s gauntlets.

Something’s not right. The only person in class who had better aim than Petra was Bernadetta. Caspar knows he’s strong, but he also knows he’s not fast enough, that in a match with Petra, she should’ve gotten an arrow in his chest by now. He should be dead by now. More than irritated, he’s confused. He couldn’t sleep yesterday because he’d dreaded this face-off, and Petra—Petra was lying. She was going easy on him for some reason.

“Petra!” Caspar yells. “You hate me, right?”

Petra presses her lips into a thin line and doesn’t give him a reply. She chooses to jump off her injured wyvern, and unsheathe a silver sword from her side. Unlike the soldiers around them, her armour is pristine and unmarked. She shifts into a familiar sword-fighting stance, one that Jeralt taught them: a defensive posture.

“My father killed yours.” Caspar urges her on, even as he feels his palms grow sweaty inside his gauntlets. “You’ve… you’ve been waiting for this day, haven’t you?”

Petra remains silent, watching his movements carefully. They’re circling one another, stepping over shattered weapons and bodies of troops whose crests have been covered by dust and muck. He can’t tell who’s from the Empire and who’s from the Kingdom now.

He’s always seen the world divided into two: the ones he’s supposed to fight, and the ones he’s supposed to protect. But the past years have muddled with his brain and now, he’s facing one of the people he’s never wanted to hurt. And yet, he knows his very existence must be an eyesore for Petra.

“Just do it already!” he yells, heart racing. “Stop making this harder than it should be!” He breaks into a mad dash towards her, ignoring the pain that shoots up his leg. Petra’s sword sings into a clumsy, wide arc and Caspar leaps to avoid it, lifting his axe as he breaks through her defenses.

He’s so close to her now he can see the colourful beads around her neck, the small braids in her hair. It’s different from how she used to dress, and it’s the closest they’ve been in ages. He hesitates before he realises it, and that split second is enough for Petra to raise her sword to meet his axe. They lock their weapons, and it becomes a battle of strength.

“Come on!” Caspar shouts even though their faces are only inches apart. “Just say you hate me!”

Petra manages to hold her sword up, even as her ankles dig deeper into the mud. “I do not hate you, Caspar. Not even now. It hurts my heart to do this.”

“Don’t—! Don’t say that right now!” Caspar shakes his head furiously and tenses his muscles. “Please, it’s easier if you hate me. Then all of this would make sense.”

“It is not making the sense. My heart has not been making the sense at all. I know I should be killing you, I must be killing you.” Petra continues to hold her sword up against his axe, straining but refusing to budge.

Caspar knew it was going to hurt, he just didn’t expect it to hurt this much. Before he can react, a loud, strangled cry breaks through the rain.

It’s Hubert’s voice.

Caspar recognises it. But he has never heard Hubert so emotional, so discomposed. It is followed by an Empire soldier’s hoarse, sobbing yell through the din of battle.

“The emperor has fallen!”

The last words the professor said before the battle began rise above the noise of Caspar’s thoughts: “Leave Edelgard to Dimitri and me.”

At this, sharp panic flashes across Petra’s eyes and she glances away for a moment. Caspar sees his chance. He lowers his axe and sweeps his good leg underneath her to knock her off balance. Without pausing, he throws a punch into her chest plate, hard enough to create a dent in the Empire’s crest. The force of the punch causes Petra to skid across the hard ground, sword clattering out of her hands and quiver breaking off her shoulder. In the background, he finally registers that his battalion has taken out most of the Empire's wyverns riders, but barely half of them are left alive. The skirmishes around them are standing down, waiting for the next order.

Caspar is shaking as he stands over Petra, axe nearly slipping out of his grip. “Why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?” he asks.

She sits up on her elbows. There is blood on her face and in her teeth, but Petra still manages to look dignified and poised. “Because... more than wanting to kill you, I am wanting to see you live.”

Caspar’s chest tightens. After all this time, he still hasn’t figured out what to say to her inevitable hatred, and now—to her gentle love.

They’re interrupted by another soldier’s voice: “King Dimitri orders all remaining Empire troops to be eliminated! Let none of them get away!” This one’s on their side. But why are there still sides? Haven’t they already won with Edelgard’s defeat?

As the Empire’s soldiers begin to retreat behind them and the Kingdom’s forces give chase, Petra does not get up to run. She watches them go, and lets one of the soldiers take her beat up wyvern in an attempt to escape.

She stares at his clenched fists, encased in metal and rust, eyes unblinking, and then tips her chin in resignation. “Go on, Caspar. I won’t be thinking any less of you.”

Shamir would give him an earful if she knew he’d let an enemy get a word out before landing the final blow. “That’s how they get you to lower your guard,” she hissed out the first time she saved him when he went easy on a bandit.

But Petra isn’t an enemy. Not now. Not since that summer afternoon in the training grounds, when she said: "Our parents had conflict, but we are not them."

His axe sinks into the ground as he falls onto his knees next to her.

“I’m not my father,” he whispers, more to himself than to her. “I… there’s no reason to kill you now. And I, I never wanted to either.” He removes his gauntlets and tries to rub the tears out of his eyes, but there is dirt on his hands and it stings.

He feels a cold touch pry his fingers off his face. Petra’s coarse hands cradle his, and he notices that both of their palms are covered in scars. “You have the kindest heart I know of, Caspar. And I know you will ever be like your father, which is why I am hating the man who killed my father, but I have decided I cannot be hating you.”

Caspar identifies the exact moment an excruciating weight lifts from his shoulders. He wants to tell Petra everything that’s happened, how he lost sleep over this battle, tossed and turned about what he was going to say. Instead, all that comes out is a relieved: “Oh…”

The tattoo under her eye curves as she offers a small smile.

“My eyes tell me how much you have grown, but... my heart told me that you have not changed since I was last seeing you. I was right, to say that you should be living. You have been living marvellously.”

Caspar tilts his face upwards and lets the rain wash the dirt and tears out of his eyes. “I’m sorry, Petra.”

“Do not apologise, Caspar. I won’t apologise either. You made your choice, and I made mine.” She squeezes his hands in hers. “Now, we must live to bear the consequences of our choices together.”

“Together,” Caspar repeats, and doesn’t let go.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #caspar von bergliez #petra macneary #caspar/petra #fic #(o... this support hurt me)

[365daysoftododeku]

28th January 2019

Author: Elaine

________________________________________________________________

It just had to come down to this, didn’t it?

Izuku tugs the thick woolen coat around him more tightly and takes a deep breath. And then another. And then another. That’s three breaths done in less than twenty seconds and so far, no scary, fire-breathing, icicle-wielding. . . .whatever had made any move to swallow him in a snap. Or even show itself, in that case.

Izuku sighs – that’s another one – and trudges on up the snowy, pine-tree-covered, ice-capped hunk of rock the people his age in his village dubbed “The Death Mountain.” Not very surprising considering it was historically used as an ancient ritual place for sacrifices to the gods.

Which he was.

Not a god of course. (His luck wouldn’t have it.)

A sacrifice.

He feels a familiar tingle in his nape as he hikes above a particularly slippery-looking slab of earth, hunching over and huffing right after to catch his breath. If he were a god, he definitely wouldn’t be caught up here in this dumb ritual, burning his lungs climbing up this dumb mountain, on his way to become a dumb sacrifice just because of some dumb –

Snap.

Izuku stills. He whips his head towards the source of the offending noise, eyes trained steadily for any further sign of danger in the snow-kissed bush he could’ve sworn had moved. “H-hello?” His hands clench slowly into fists, his mind resigned to his fate, but his body poised, refusing to go down that easily and here it is, here it is, here it is –

Oh.

Great.

Totally fantastic.

Here he was: Midoriya Izuku. Born on the 15th day of the 7th moon. Cause of demise: one fluffy, completely harmless, pure white rabbit. It scrunches its nose at him, completing an obviously dismissive once-over – Oh, another one for the higher ups, it probably thought – before bounding away with its bouncy tail in tow.

For yet another time today, Izuku sighs. Oh, gods.

Maybe he shouldn’t have gotten caught up too much in his train of thought – it’s always been that way with him, always a problem that even his mother had picked up on that sometimes he thinks that maybe it isn’t a problem and that it just happened to be the way he was to say his thoughts out loud because for some reason just having them there felt so much better and helped him think more clearly and –

Izuku really needed to get a hold of his thoughts.

“Who’s there?”

This sound was definitely louder, and it was definitely nearer. It was more than enough to make Izuku crouch back into a familiar stance, muscles ready and wound like springs ready to burst into action, heart pounding so wildly that it almost painful. The single strand of long blond hair his mentor had gifted him burned uncomfortably in the pocket of his wool trousers, Izuku now extremely aware of its presence but – no, not yet, not yet, he’s not ready yet –

A beat.

And then another.

And then another.

Low sunlight filtered through ashen clouds falls on rich russet and gleaming silvery fur, on a pair of sharp mismatched eyes, and on black polished hooves that take one wary trot forward. There’s a patch of angry red skin around a bright turquoise eye, Izuku notes, and yet . . .

It’s easily one of the most majestic thing Izuku has seen. Not even the most honored hunt in his village could have brought back a reindeer as beautiful as this.

He steps forward slowly, almost unthinking of his actions, but keenly aware of the cautious glint in a pair of mismatched eyes that watch his every more. “Hey there. It’s ok.” His arm leaves his side, palm facing forward and fingers spread apart slightly in a show of complete surrender. “It’s alright. I won’t hurt you.”

Not that he’d ever try to in any other circumstance, Izuku thinks to himself. Even if animals the size of a family’s hut and with fur split straight down the middle with two opposing colors almost immediately warranted a Please do not attack, probably supernatural notice, Izuku wagers he’d be too stunned by its beauty and too excited to study the beast to remember its nature.

More than that, his stomach recoiled at the thought of raising a fist unless it was to protect – a lesson he’d learned early on.

Which is exactly why, after surveying its apprehensive stance, his eyes fall immediately to the trail of bright red spots on the snow where the reindeer had stepped.

Oh no.

His heart sinks in both pity and rage.

Creatures like this weren’t to be trifled with, he remembers angrily, and they definitely were not to be hunted like this. If Izuku had been having doubts about befriending this reindeer, those thoughts were forgotten completely. He kneels carefully before the creature, quick to shove aside a small thought involving the reindeer kicking him off the mountain, and sets down the satchel the village had given him.

Rather thoughtful of them, actually, to send him off to his death with such bounty. 

“I . . . I have something that could help you.” Izuku says, taking out a skin of water and a long piece of folded fabric meant for any multitude of uses. “You’re hurt.” He inches forward, ever so slowly. “I could . . . if you want. If you’d let me.”

For a second, there’s a flare of unusual intelligence in that pair of mismatched eyes that makes Izuku’s heart jump. It was unreadable, but Izuku knew it could’ve been suspicion. Hesitance. Even alarm. Whichever it was, it’s gone just as quickly as it came, and the reindeer limps the distance between them to drop itself, still looking more dignified than I ever could, Izuku thinks at the back of his mind, to rest closely to the green-haired boy.

“Thank you,” Izuku murmurs, swiftly washing both hands before skilled fingers hold the bleeding limb gently to scan the wound. He’ll have his mother to thank for his trained eye. It wasn’t deep and by the looks of it, neither was it old. He lets out a quiet sigh of relief. “That’s good,” he mutters to himself. “It looks new enough for it not to fester. You’re pretty lucky.”

They stay that way for some time, Izuku mumbling quietly to himself as he wraps the reindeer’s leg in fresh fabric, the reindeer turning to Izuku occasionally in slight interest, later being comfortable enough to look away at the sprawling pine forest below them.

It’s almost sundown when Izuku finishes gently tying a firm knot on the makeshift bandage. “There you go,” he says, slightly admiring his handiwork. The reindeer pushes itself up, wobbling slightly before returning to its regal stand. “I hope whoever did this to you doesn’t come back.” The reindeer gives him an inquisitive look. Or at least, Izuku imagines it does. “I’d give them a good beating if they did.” This time it’s an amused snort. Izuku smiles despite himself. Well. At least that’s one of them guaranteed happy and alive after today.

“I’ll be going now. Find shelter and all since it’s . . . you know. Getting dark.” This was absolutely ridiculous, asking permission and talking to the reindeer as if it could understand him. As if it were a person. But there’s a strange inkling in the pit of his stomach that tells him it didn’t deserve anything less.

The reindeer turns away, walks a few paces and stops, turning to look back at Izuku, eyes seemingly almost aggravated. If it could talk, Izuku was pretty sure it would say, Well? He stands reluctantly.

That’s ridiculous, Izuku. Animals don’t talk.  

With budding resolve, he steps by the reindeer’s side, and together they walk deeper into the snow-laden forest.

Animals aren’t usually so . . . human, he repeats to himself in his head. But that same, strange feeling from before tells him otherwise as he lingers on that final word.

This one might be.

  They reach a cave before night fully sets in; it’s a slightly damp but well-shielded hollow at a relatively secure side of the mountain. By this time, Izuku, feeling the fatigue seep into his bones, would love nothing more than be to dead to the world – either temporarily by sleep or permanently by the hands of some god who clearly decided some things were more important than their once-a-century sacrifice.

He rests his head against a soft tunic, bundling it into something vaguely resembling a pillow.

Though entirely uncomplaining of how generous the village elders may be, it baffled him that they’d given him food and water to last more than a few days. Not to mention a spare change of clothes. That wasn’t even considering several other items that would’ve normally been on the more luxurious side for his status.

The reindeer stares at him with an unwavering gaze. This time, however, Izuku doesn’t feel hostility nor frigidness. Just . . . warmth. And reassurance.

“Good night,” he whispers, eyelids easily falling shut.

And this weariness truly must have been of a different sort, because he imagines a solid but gentle rumble reply to him in return.

Good night.

  There are only two possible explanations right now for what’s in front of his own two, sleep-dusted but perfectly working eyes. The first is that during the night, his new reindeer friend had abandoned him after decently repaying Izuku’s kind gesture, and its spot was now taken over by a lean, albeit muscular, boy around Izuku’s age. The second was . . .

Impossible. Absolutely irrational. But in a world of gods and magical reindeer, this had to be the more plausible one.

He stares at crimson red hair neatly giving way to pale ivory. At a strip of deep rosy skin surrounding a watchful turquoise eye. Izuku’s own gaze falls then to firmly set lips, strong arms, a bare chest, and . . .

Dear gods.

It wasn’t an entirely bad sight to awaken to, if Izuku was going to be honest with himself. Just a surprising one, able to still him as soon as he’d seen the intruder catch him in the act.

Izuku looks down, a slight prickle on his face painfully informing of the blush now dusting his cheeks. How in Tartarus could it be so warm while inside a clammy cave? With the winter winds howling outside?

It’s the boy opposite him that clears his throat to break the heavy, uncomfortable silence.

“Thank you. For doing what you did.” The boy twists slightly, letting the grey morning light fall on a wiry leg, completely pale if not for a jagged stretch of vicious red. Even then, Izuku could already note how it seemed to calmly pale into pink. “You didn’t have to.”

Izuku’s eyes snap up, immediately looking for guile in the other and finding none. There clearly was no question now of who this boy was. “You were hurt. I couldn’t . . .” he trails off when he realizes how intently the other gazed at him. “I couldn’t just do nothing.”

The other boy looks down, face falling and voice sounding unbelievably timid if he was who Izuku thought he was. “For what it’s worth, I’d still like to thank you.” This boy stands then, hands reaching out to gather a thick brown cloth – a cloak ­– Izuku had never seen until now. Looking at the boy now, he was every bit as dignified as he had been in his animal form.

It makes Izuku’s heart stutter for two, very different reasons. The boy in front of him was incredibly handsome, yes, but . . .

“Are you going to kill me now?” Izuku asks, his words surprising him with their steadfast tone. It was a reasonable conclusion, the only conclusion that his logic lead to. The boy in front of him was undeniably whom Izuku belonged to now. And not just for any purpose. Yes, the gods were benevolent, but as unpredictable as the skies were, they could be equally malevolent. Such was the nature of the gods.

The boy looks at him curiously and – ah.

Izuku almost regrets saying his thoughts aloud. The boy leans forward, deliberately, not close enough to touch, but close enough that Izuku could easily touch a shoulder if he reached with his arm. If his life weren’t conceivably at risk, he might’ve fancied that thought for much longer.

The eyes trained intently at him are both harsh and yet pitying at the same time. But it’s the words this god says that for once, accomplishes a rare feat, rendering Izuku totally speechless.

“Why would I do that to my husband?”

Izuku’s eyes narrow and widen at a dangerous rate. The gods must truly enjoy seeing him suffer so.

His jaw drops before he remembers how disrespectful and slightly unattractive that must look. To his new and supposed husband, no less. “Your . . . your what?”

“My husband.” This time, it’s the other boy’s face that slightly contorts into a semblance of confusion. “Is that not what you’re here for? Not just anyone can be allowed passage up this mountain the way you were.”

Passage up the mountain?

Then . . . then all those times he’d felt a whisper of guidance, pushing him around particularly treacherous passes and ice-slicked expanses . . .

Izuku groans in realization.

He allows the weight of his head to fall into his hands, breathing deeply as he does so. This was wrong. All very wrong, and yet it made so much sense – just like everything that has happened to him so far since he was chosen by the elders to ascend the mountain. “Your village,” Izuku looks up, the other boy taking it upon himself to fill the silence again. “. . . does it worship the Yuuei pantheon?”

“Yes.” Izuku nods.

“And what were you told?”

Izuku falls back to lean against hard damp rock, letting the village elders’ words flow through him as easily as their memorized stories. “That every hundred years, a sacrifice must be sent to the god of this mountain, our sacred ritual place, to protect us. Until the next hundred years that is,” he adds.

For the first time since they’ve met today the boy – no, the god – before him cracked emotion that ironically looked more human than heavenly deity. “A sacrifice,” the god repeats impassively, almost as if this ordeal could not be more entirely unamusing.

“Yes?”

“Gods.” That’s new. Izuku didn’t know gods could swear at themselves. Or was it for themselves? Or was this a young god who wasn’t fully educated on the etiquette of godhood which probably had included not swearing in their own name? But this mountain had been around for just a little bit longer than his village. If the stories were to be believed anyway. It was impossible for this god to be so young, even for immortals like them. Or perhaps humanity had underestimated the aging process of the gods, that they were indeed born as is and stayed –

“You’re mumbling, you know.”

Gods damn it.

Izuku yelps as if stung, immediately stumbling over his words again for an excuse, an explanation, but the god just raises his hand to brush it off. Despite that, the cave floor was starting to look really interesting right now. Which, in hindsight clear as day, he should have regretted. He wouldn’t have missed the small grudging smile on the god’s face otherwise.

It’s the frustrated sigh afterwards that gives Izuku the courage to look up again. “Alright,” the god said, baffled in the way he subconsciously clenched and released a fist as he spoke. “So you’re telling me that you were expecting to die by my hand and yet you stayed?”

Izuku nods.

“Even after I revealed myself to you?”

Izuku nods again.

A tick of quiet settles between them.

“. . . have you no sense of self-preservation at all?”

That sparks something into Izuku, but it isn’t righteous anger at all. It felt less like molten lead, but instead it was something sprightlier. Easier, even. It was almost as if the god himself invited him into a playful match of banter, dual-colored eyes almost twinkling with jest. And Izuku has no idea why, but for the first time since he’d set foot on this mountain, the heavy weight on his chest felt lighter. He felt freer. “Hey! I wasn’t the one traipsing on Death Mountain with a bleeding leg.”

“Death Mountain?” the god parrots, almost as if he couldn’t comprehend how . . . creative, for lack of a better term, humans were for what was probably a sacred mountain to his kind. Ah, yes, indeed. Truly, that was completely and unequivocally solid evidence of Midoriya Izuku’s race.

Still, it was a long story on Izuku’s part, if not a rather obvious one. “Whatever,” he shoots back reflexively, grin wide on his face. It’s there that it dawns on him how disrespectful he must be to a god – to his god, he imagines unwittingly, a not so unpleasant tingle crawling down to the base of his spine – so Izuku opts to peek at him through his lashes, searching as subtly as he can for any sign of anger, and . . .

And he’s greeted with a look that he’s never seen directed at him before. And quite frankly, it takes his breath away. “You’re quite brave.”

For accepting his challenge or for binding his wound, Izuku doesn’t know. Still, it’s all he could do not to blush to the roots of his hair. Good gods. Is this what it feels like to be a living human furnace? Would definitely not recommend. He turns his gaze away, not trusting himself enough to speak at this moment, and fervently hopes the small smile tugging at his lips is enough of a reply.

Another bout of silence stretches between them. This time, there was a charge in the air, and yet it was more comfortable than before.

“Look, this is a long story but,” the god begins, breaking his own state of thought. “Huh. I think you should come with me.”

Izuku’s eyebrows furrow, curious, a tiny ember of his earlier urge to fight coming to life. “Where exactly are we going?” he asks as he returns all he had brought out from his satchel back in the best way he could.

“To my home.” The god throws on a thick vest, reclasping his cloak before staring somberly into Izuku’s eyes, the air previously lighthearted around them suddenly weighing heavy and cold.

“There’s one more reason why no one’s ever returned from ritual places like this. You’d stray from the path if you tried because your guide to the passage would be lost. The cold would kill you in hours, and if it didn’t, lack of food would if lack of water didn’t do it first. The mountain’s spelled that way to . . .”

“To keep anyone from running back.” Izuku finishes, voice falling to a whisper at the end. It’s not that he hadn’t resigned himself to an end away from his village, from his mother. But that he would continue to live, but to live without their presence, was a future he never thought he would have to face. True, he was assured his life, and yet somehow . . .

Somehow it feels worse than the nauseating feeling of dread when he’d been chosen.

“Tell me something,” the god says when the two of them stand ready at the cave’s entrance.

“What’s that?”

“When we met, you seemed fully ready to fight.” The god faces him in full now, his scar pale pink in the cold. “But even then, your eyes were calm. Resigned even. Why is that?”

“Ah.” Izuku smiles, a watery one that he’s sure does not reach his eyes. “I – You already know, I thought I was going to be a sacrifice, right? It isn’t exactly the best future for anyone.” It’s too much to look at the god’s unfathomable eyes, but Izuku forces himself to anyway. “But I . . . it was what my village needed.” What his mother needed.” And I thought that if I could do this, if I could make it easier for them, then why wouldn’t I? But some part of me wanted to live. I wanted to fight because, gods this is embarrassing now, but . . . I wanted to know why it had to be this way.” Whatever warmth remained in the cave seemed to have seeped away, turning into inhospitable frigidness.

The god looks at him then, eyes unreadable. He steps closely to Izuku, their arms almost brushing, before a strange sort of heat starts to envelop Izuku, warming him to his very bones. Now this, this almost made him sigh in relief. Of what, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t entirely certain either if this came from the god’s body or from a magic he possessed. It didn’t matter either way, because that itself . . .

It calmed his heart with a different kind of warmth. Comfort, Izuku realizes with a start. This god was trying to comfort him.

“For what it’s worth, I apologize. Neither did I have a choice in the matter as well.” Strands of white and red fall against blue and greyish brown. “But I can’t leave you here for more reasons than one.” It meets him then, striking eyes against his own green ones. “I’m sure you’ve felt it too, haven’t you? Since we’ve met, you and I, as god and mortal on this mountain.” There’s a quiver in the god’s voice that Izuku can’t pinpoint, one that makes him tremble for no reason at all.

They’re bound to one another.

Of course. Not as lord and offering as Izuku had expected, but as two souls joined to one another. His heart races.

If this was what it took to ensure the survival of his village, of his friends and his mother, if this was what would safeguard his friends’ happiness, his mother’s protection, and his people’s lives – then perhaps to be married off to an immortal wasn’t the worst of it after all.

“I believe it would be right for us to know the other’s name. It wouldn’t sit well to have a married couple not know that, don’t you think?” The line of the god’s cheek and brow stood smoothly impassive, but it was his eyes that pulled Izuku to him effortlessly, as easy as breathing. Dark and light, so commanding because they were so different, heavy and scrutinizing and yet still alive with a flicker of something Izuku would never have thought to see on the face of a god. “My name is Shouto.”

That something jumps into his chest, blazing like a comet through his body and singing sweetly underneath his skin. “Shouto”, he whispers, testing the name on his tongue and pleased to find how easily it curled on his lips. A name to the face. It made Shouto realer, more tangible. It made Izuku feel like a final stone had come loose, setting into motion a great number of things he didn’t know he was ready to face. But he was who he was for a reason, and who was he if he didn’t endure? His eyes now bright with fierce determination, he smiles, small, but resolute, electricity dancing in his eyes – and Shouto must have noticed because he gifts Izuku a look that makes him feel worthy.

He’ll soldier on like he always did. Like he always will.

“I’m Izuku.”

 ______________________________________________________

Would you like your work to be featured in the 365 Days of TodoDeku Project? Apply here! (≧∇≦)/

#Story #doublesidedpan #TodoDeku #365DaysofTodoDeku #TodoDeku365 #365 Days of TodoDeku #tddk #Shouto Todoroki #Todoroki Shouto #Izuku Midoriya #Midoriya Izuku #Boku no Hero Academia #BNHA #My Hero Academia #MHA #Todoroki x Midoriya #Shouto x Izuku #TodoIzu #long post

[astraldragons]

For Fire Emblem g/t *the one with Celica and Saber meeting* will Saber ever have a moment with Mae, Boey, and Genny

jrgtmk only took me a million years to find inspiration to do this one, oops

“Alright, hop on.”

Celica, Mae, Boey, and Genny all have varying degrees of bewildered looks on their faces as they stare up at the giant mercenary who is currently kneeling, his hands outstretched towards them.

Finally, Celica pipes up, an uncertain look on her face. “Ah- what?”

Saber gives them all an odd look, raising a brow. “C’mon, I’m not gonna hurt you. What’s the matter?”

Mae frowns before piping up. “We can walk just fine, you know!”

Saber blinks in surprise at Mae’s outburst- as peppy as the small girl is, she’s hardly even spoken to Saber, presumably out of nervousness. He pauses before sighing. “Look. I know you’d prefer not to be carried- and, frankly? I’d prefer not to have to carry my clients around like some kind of pack mule. Buuuut,” he pauses, dryly gesturing to their surroundings. “It’ll take you forever to reach Mila’s temple if you walk… and I’d rather not spend months on an escort mission, no offense. Plus, weren’t you kids in a hurry?”

There’s a long moment of tense, uncomfortable silence… and then Celica’s brows furrow, walking towards Saber. Her shoulders are tense, but there’s a certain air of dignity and poise about her. “You’re right. We need to get to Mila’s temple as soon as possible.”

The others flinch at Celica’s bold movement but, reluctantly, follow after her.

Celica, after a moment of deliberation, takes a breath and places her hand on the pad of Saber’s finger. Her searching eyes meet his gaze for a moment- he’s almost surprised by just how fiery she looks, all while remaining completely composed- before gracefully hoisting herself up into his left hand.

The air between all of them seems to go still- and, after taking a moment to compose herself and recognizing that Celica wasn’t being hurt by the giant man, Mae huffs and strides forward. Boey hisses as she moves towards Saber, but Mae stands tall (as tall as she can at four inches, anyway), a determined look on her face.

“Alright, Celica. C’mon, scoot over!”

Celica finally cracks a small smile before adjusting her position. Mae, without another moment of hesitation, scrambles up into Saber’s hand in a less-than-dignified manner. This serves to further amuse Celica, surprise Saber, and, frankly, dismay Boey even further. Genny looks on with a rather unreadable expression, but it’s clear enough to the trained eye (i.e. her older friends) that she’s conflicted.

Mae blinks as she settles on Saber’s hand, wiggling a bit to make herself comfortable. And then she grins, beckoning to Boey and Genny. “C’mon, you two slowpokes! It’s actually not too bad!”

Boey grimaces before burying his face in his hands. “Gods, what would the priests think of us, being willingly carried by a human of all things, urgh-”

And then he jolts in surprise as he hears Genny’s footsteps… heading right towards Saber.

Although she’s rather tentative, the small girl shakily manages to pull herself up into Saber’s right hand, crawling forward before sitting down in his palm. She looks rather nervous but she shoots Boey a hesitant smile. “M-Mae’s right, this… this isn’t so bad, really!”

Boey blinks, his folded hands covering his mouth.

He uneasily looks up at Saber, earning a raised brow and a slightly amused look from the mercenary.

“Gods, am I the only one with any sense of self-preservation around here?” Boey grumbles under his breath before reluctantly approaching Saber’s right hand. It takes him a second, but he uneasily clambers up onto Saber’s fingers before scooting to sit next to Genny.

Saber pauses, eyeing all four of them- he has to admit, carrying them all feels rather odd; they’re both heavier and lighter than he’d expected, and they seem even smaller, huddled up in his hands. He pauses before speaking up. “Alright, now that that’s all taken care of… I’m going to stand up now, so hold on.”

Fairly unanimously, the kids all dig their tiny fingers into his gloves. A little cute, really, but Saber isn’t going to mention it to them. He then straightens up, ever-so-slowly so as to not throw off the kids’ balance. Although he can hear a few small gasps (and a high-pitched whimper from Boey, but again, he has the decency to not mention it), they seem otherwise fine as he completely straightens up. It causes another round of shocked murmurs amongst them as he begins walking, but after a few moments, the kids all quiet down, watching the ground race by beneath them.

Genny leans in a little closer to Boey before whispering almost excitedly. “We’re so high up… this is incredible…!”

Boey, looking more than a little ill, covers his eyes and tersely clutches at Saber’s glove even harder. “Y. Yeah. Incredible. Right.”

Mae, meanwhile, seems to be completely enjoying herself- almost to the point where Celica has to keep a grip on the pink-haired mage, lest she fall off the edge of Saber’s hand.

“Wooow, Celica, look how fast we’re going! This is so cool- oh, and I’ve never seen those kinds of flowers look so small before!”

Celica chuckles, but she’s ready to make a dive for Mae’s arm at any second. “It really is incredible, but please be careful.” She pauses, her gaze softening. “I haven’t done something like this in years…”

Mae almost looks like she hasn’t heard Celica, but after a moment, she whips her head around to curiously glance over at Celica. “What? Wait, Celica, you’re telling me you’ve been carried by a human before?”

Celica makes a quick shushing gesture, holding a finger over her lips. She then glances up at Saber- but, fortunately enough, he doesn’t seem to be paying attention.

“I… Yes. Don’t tell anyone, but… Hm.”

She looks off into the distance, a fond smile forming on her face. “I had a dear friend who would carry me around much like this, actually.”

Mae gasps loudly before quickly quieting down. “Whoa, what? Really?”

Celica nods. “Yes… he was truly fantastic.” A sad smile spreads across her face. “…I often wonder how he’s doing. He always told me how he was going to become a knight, protecting everyone and fighting for equality…” Another pause

“I miss him a lot.”

Mae looks at Celica quizzically- she has several questions but she doubts she’d get an answer, considering how secretive Celica’s past is- but then she puts a hand on her friend’s shoulder and shoots her a comforting look.

“I’m sure you’ll see him again someday. And if you do while I’m around… you’ll have to introduce me, hah!”

Celica blinks back into the real world and out of her memories, and then she nods. “Of course. I’m sure you’ll like him a lot, Mae.”

Saber eyes the two girls in his left hand before looking back up to the path ahead.

Hm… interesting. Wonder what that’s all about.

It’s probably nothing.

But why do I feel like there’s more to this little journey than meets the eye?

…No, just some tiny kids from a priory, on a mission to see the Temple of Mila, that’s all.

How much trouble could they possibly get into?

#my writing #fe g/t #goo answers #nightmarejasmine

[themurphyzone]

Double Team Ch 2

Ch 2: Infiltrate the Castle

They covered the plane in a large tarp, leaving it behind in the clearing. While Perry would’ve liked to land closer to the castle, doing so was ill-advised with a large group. He wouldn’t be surprised if the castle was equipped with sensors too. Now they had to walk through the woods and hope no witches or wood trolls found them. Not that Perry believed in them, of course. 

Spooky forests did funny things to people’s brains. 

“He chose a bad location for an evil lair,” Heinz said. “It is a little cliche. I don’t know why some people enjoy choosing isolated places. Personally I’d rather be in the middle of civilization so it wouldn’t be painful to pick groceries. Speaking of which, what do you think I should make for dinner this weekend, Perry the Platypus?” 

Perry pointed to Heinz. It was only fair that he should choose the course for the evening. 

“Aw, you’re letting me choose?” Heinz asked, wiping an invisible tear from his eye. “Do you like stir fry? Or sausages? I’m just tossing out suggestions right now. You have a few days to decide what you want, so no rush.” 

Balthazar cursed in frustration, extracting himself from a thorn bush. “Do you ever know when to keep your mouth shut? You’re worse than Dakota on anesthesia.” 

“Hey, that was one time,” Vinnie complained. “In my defense, you really shouldn’t have locked us in the broom closet. That’s what started the gossip in the first place.”

“You didn’t give me a choice, you dolt,” Balthazar muttered. “Not when you were about to unleash the laboratory’s squirrels on Blockhead’s mixed nut supply.”

As they argued, Perry heard a small growl from his left. A pair of slitted eyes peeked out from the undergrowth. Just his luck they’d have to deal with a predator. He assumed a fighting stance, his tail poised to slap whatever was planning to eat him. 

“Perry the Platypus, hold on,” Heinz said, holding his hands in a time out gesture. “Let me have a look.”

He crouched in front of the bush, trying to see what was hiding behind it. Then a tiny ball of fluff flew out and landed on Heinz’s face, covering his eyes. Heinz yelped and fell on his rear. Perry jumped on his shoulder, using his tail to pry the fluff off. It fell with a barely audible mew.  

“Do I have any marks on my face?” Heinz asked. Perry wasn’t surprised he’d recovered so quickly. He’d seen Heinz survive much worse. “Man, not bad for a kitten.” 

“And I have no desire to be mauled by wild cats when the parents show up,” Balthazar said. “Let us continue with the mission.” 

“‘Let us continue with the mission,’” Heinz mimicked. Balthazar stiffened at Heinz’s mockery of his British accent. “Come on. An ocelot kitten won’t hurt you.” 

“Aw, so cute!” Vinnie exclaimed, holding out his hand for the kitten to sniff. “We should name her!” 

Not even a minute and they were already attached. This wasn’t going to bode well for the mission. Perry was more surprised her parents hadn’t shown up yet. This kitten was clearly too young to be by herself. 

“You come up with a name,” Heinz said. “I’m terrible with them. I’d probably wind up calling her Kitten-inator or something.” 

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe you two have decided the kitten’s a girl based on one look.” 

“Perry the Platypus, can you tell?” Heinz asked. “Thought I’d ask, since you’re also an animal. Well, you act more human. But in terms of DNA, you’re an animal.”

The kitten lost interest in Vinnie, curiously sniffing Perry instead. He nudged the feline with his bill. Then he nodded at Heinz. 

“Okay, so we were right,” Heinz confirmed. “It’s strange that this kitten is all alone. The ocelots here have better familial instincts than people. I should know. I lived with them for a while.” 

“We’ll help Oatmeal find her parents then!” Vinnie said. Balthazar groaned. “Hey, you know I always name stuff after food.” 

Oatmeal rubbed her head against Heinz’s hand, purring. “She likes me,” Heinz grinned. “I guess I’m still popular with ocelots after all this time. Not a bad thing at all. Oatmeal, we’re on a mission to defeat this Lord Doom guy, but we’ll help find your parents afterwards. And if it turns out that you had the rare kind of ocelot parents that were heartless enough to abandon you, I’m taking you home. I think Vanessa would like you. She’s a cat person.”

No. Heinz was not removing a wild animal from its natural habitat and domesticating it. If necessary, Perry would try to locate a wildlife refuge, but even that would take some time. 

His tail flicked in annoyance. Why did being around Heinz always put weird thoughts in his head?

“Fine,” Balthazar grunted. “But I’m not handling the little runt.”

The best place for Oatmeal turned out to be the inside of Vinnie’s jacket. He zipped it up all the way and left her head poking out under his chin. “She’s so fuzzy and soft,” Vinnie said. “It’s like having a stuffed animal strapped to my chest.” She rubbed the top of her head against him, purring softly. “You should try it sometime, Balthy. It might take off some stress.” 

“Unlike you and the clumsy oafs we’re currently working with, I have some dignity,” Balthazar retorted. He immediately slammed into a tree, stumbling away in a daze. 

Heinz burst into laughter. “That’s karma. Man, I wish I brought a camera for these moments!” Perry hid a smile beneath his hand. 

Balthazar straightened his hat, doing his best to appear dignified. “You’ve all had your laugh at my expense. Let’s get on with it.” 

After walking for ten minutes, they came face to face with a giant stone wall. Perry shot a grappling line above the wall as an experiment. However, there wasn’t anything at the top for the hook to grip, and the entire line fell uselessly to the ground. 

“Did you bring a bazooka by any chance?” Heinz asked. “We would’ve brought one, but OWCA ordered all the agents to turn in theirs for some tweaking. The original model was kinda touchy. I offered to help with the design, but Monobrow was all, ‘Doofenshmirtz, I don’t trust you to handle a bazooka without blowing something up and you still owe me a car’. He needs to let that go.” 

“I don’t think I’d trust you with a bazooka either,” Balthazar said, folding his arms. “Your file mentioned you had a penchant for blowing things up.”

“None of those were intentional though. It’s an occupational hazard of putting self-destruct buttons on my things,” Heinz retorted. “You didn’t exactly have the best track record either.”

Balthazar huffed. “I mastered twenty different forms of martial arts. I had a 4.0 GPA in Time Traveler’s College. It took me a long time to get this position in the Bureau.” 

Vinnie tapped him on the shoulder. “Calm down. We want this mission to be a success, remember? And besides, we really shouldn’t be drawing attention to ourselves by arguing.” 

Perry agreed. He didn’t see any security cameras at the moment, but Lord Doom’s file didn’t go into a lot of detail about the technology he employed. Maybe all his security was concentrated on the interior. 

Oatmeal jumped out of Vinnie’s jacket and scampered to the end of the wall, disappearing around a corner. “Oatmeal! Wait up!” Vinnie shouted, running after her. “Don’t run off like that! I’m not in the best shape for chase games! Agh!” 

A spotted paw caught Vinnie by the torso and dragged him behind the corner. Perry, Heinz, and Balthazar quickly dashed towards him. A spotted blur caught Perry by surprise, and his tail lashed out in defense. It slammed into something solid, a yowl of pain coming from the creature. 

An ocelot, to be exact.

The ocelot called out, and at least fifty others slunk out of the bushes, growling fiercely. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many ocelots in one place,” Heinz said, barely dodging an ocelot that tried to swipe at his legs. “Not that I’m complaining. But they’re usually friendlier than this!” Perry kicked one that tried to jump on Heinz, then punched another in the shoulder. 

“Any idea how we can fend them off?” Balthazar and Vinnie were positioned back to back, each armed with a large stick. They were completely surrounded by a pack of snarling felines. 

Oatmeal rubbed herself against the largest ocelot, purring. “Oatmeal,” Vinnie singsonged, tapping his leg. “Come here, kitty. Papa doesn’t want you getting mauled.”

She paid no attention. 

The lead ocelot growled, and the others began roughly pushing the group towards the drawbridge. Oatmeal mewed, walking towards Vinnie. Before he could pick her up, another ocelot placed herself between them and snapped at Vinnie’s hands. 

“Well, at least we get to take the direct route,” Heinz commented as the drawbridge lowered. “I’m terrible at stealth.” 

None of them were eyeing Perry for a meal. He was thankful for that. But Lord Doom had to be doing something to these ocelots. There weren’t any fedoras, so they couldn’t be OWCA agents. He didn’t see any mind controlling flea collars either. There had to be a device inside somewhere. That was the only explanation Perry could think of. 

“When all is said and done, I’m fabricating the report,” Balthazar said. “Our cover shall be that Heinz got knocked out by an ocelot and the rest of us heroically stormed the castle to save him.”

“Wait, why am I the guy that gets knocked out?” Heinz scowled, stopping to glare at him. An ocelot hissed. “Okay, I’m moving. Happy?” 

They were not fabricating any reports. Did Balthazar always have to do things that would land them in more hot water? And Perry definitely didn’t appreciate Heinz being the designated knocked out guy either. He was a better fighter than most people gave him credit for. 

The ocelots herded them towards a spiral staircase, then left to guard the entrance. Perry looked up, then regretted it. Just looking at the staircase made his head spin. 

“On second thought, maybe I’ll just stay here,” Vinnie said “Stairs don’t agree with me.” Balthazar grabbed Vinnie’s gold chain and hauled up him the stairs.

“Come, Dakota,” Balthazar said. “You are not becoming cat food.” 

“Do you need a lift, Perry the Platypus?” Heinz asked. “I never understood the obsession castles have with stairs. Sure, elevators weren’t invented at the time they built these things, But they could at least make the steps not so high.” 

Perry shook his head, taking his first step up. However, the step was so high that Perry’s legs and tails hung in the air before he was able to haul himself up. 

“Well, go ahead and struggle then,” Heinz smirked. “We’ll defeat Lord Doom without you. But no worries, we’ll fill you in.” 

Sighing in defeat, Perry climbed up Heinz and sat piggyback style on his shoulders. It wouldn’t hurt to conserve his strength, he supposed. 

Heinz laughed. Perry grabbed his hair so he didn’t fall off as his shoulders rocked up and down. “Thought so.” 

#milo murphy's law #balthazar cavendish #vinnie dakota #perry the platypus #heinz doofenshmirtz #phineas and ferb #double team

[demarogue]

Lethologica, Chapter 4

A short in-between chapter that I’m not terribly proud of but it’s a step in the direction of angst. And there is nothing I love more than angst.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2+3

It’s also all on AO3.

Alethea had to admit – if the situation hadn’t been so perilous, it might have been funny.

There were so many reasons, prior to the Inquisition, that she had wanted to visit Val Royeaux. The element of religious devotion was one. The famed beauty of the city was another. As a noble-born mage of some refinement, the treasures beckoning from every shop and petit boutique sang a siren’s song; she had heard impossible things about the city’s dress-makers and jewelers, patisseries and purveyors of wine. She had kept an aspirational stash of coin, once, in case she ever made it that paradise.

But now, having been there and seen the place for herself, she was in no position to appreciate its charms. Too much of her energy was being spent feeling uncharitable toward its stuck-up, ignorant, petty, mindless citizens.

“Please, listen to me! I don’t know if I’m the Herald of Andraste – I never made that claim! But I believe in her, I believe in the Maker, just like all of you. I want nothing more than to do his will. And there must be a reason I have this mark, there must be a reason I can help!”

The townspeople had actually spat on her; the Chantry mothers were unmoved. And then, the “templars” had arrived. Alethea had seen many rogue templars since being conscripted to the Inquisition, but nobody could have convinced her that the order itself had become what she’d just seen. At least it simplified the choice they had to make; by comparison, Grand Enchanter Fiona had seemed utterly level-headed.

“But perhaps she was only so measured because you are a fellow mage,” Cassandra pointed out when she brought this up.

“I doubt she considers me her fellow. She knows that the majority of my circle opposed the rebellion, and even when we were forced to leave…we left before our templars had time to organize the annulment. We did not want to fight them, even then.” Alethea could feel the warrior’s probing gaze, but kept her own fixed studiously on the path before them. Her hands tightened on the reins. “Besides, does it matter why she was civil? The Lord Seeker is a lunatic. His lackey punched an old Chantry mother in the head.”

“He certainly did not seem to be himself,” Cassandra confirmed.

“Then why are we even having this conversation?”

“Because the mages may be more desperate than you realize.”

“Of course they are desperate,” Alethea groaned, dismounting. One scout took her horse, and another – in Leliana’s livery – approached with an outfit draped over each arm. She smiled at him, amazed as usual that the spymaster’s men could carry word so quickly. The clothing was practical, road-ready but finely made, probably by Orlesian hands. Her fingers danced over the careful stitches; she picked the one in a color that flattered her hair.  A tiny taste of the delicacies she had longed for and would never have.

A dress would have been better, but obviously the Inquisition wanted to send the message to Madame de Fer that their Herald was not making a social visit.

“I suppose on the return trip, we’ll follow up with this “Red Jenny” character?” Alethea inquired of her cohort, after scrubbing herself as well as she could with a cloth and bucket, and re-dressing in the slightly prettier garments. Unbelievably, the clothing fit like a glove – she wondered how long Leliana had had her measurements, how she’d procured them, and when the garments had been made. With a practiced gesture, she adjusted the silk cravat so that it bloused just so. “I wonder if First Enchanter Vivienne has heard of her?”

First Enchanter Vivienne had not.

The journey back to Haven managed to be even more surreal than the one to Val Royeux. Madame de Fer insisted they take her carriage, though she was a capable rider…and Sera, the “Red Jenny,” insisted in turn on riding up top with the driver, “out-the-way of horses’ farts.” Now, the elf was tittering on in her too loud, incomprehensible cadence, stomping her foot with laughter on the boards directly behind Vivienne’s head. The Enchanter, remarkably, seemed not to notice – or was practiced at rising above such distractions.

“Senior Enchanter Lydia was a dear friend of mine. Were you at all acquainted?” She asked at one point, barely batting an eye at a particularly loud THUMP. With her dignified air and immaculate poise, the woman was even more intimidating than Alethea had expected.

“Yes, Madame Vivienne. She is–was my mentor, like family to me. She, ah…I assume you heard that she did not survive the dissolution of our circle.”

“I did. Such a pity; she was a remarkable woman.”

“She was,” Alethea agreed, swallowing past the tightness in her throat. Her eyes darted beyond the velvet curtains, into the landscape rolling past.

“I am so sorry for your loss, my dear. I wish I could tell you that it will be the last. But we must steel ourselves, and hone our very hearts into weapons. It is the only way we will survive.”

Alethea forced herself to meet the older woman’s gaze again, nod her understanding. Without the mask, it was easy to see how Vivienne had come to be called the Iron Lady – her stare was flinty and direct, even when her tone was tuned to sympathy. The barest hint of a frown over her painted lips was the only true indication that she felt anything at all. Alethea’s own expression felt heavy, resigned. It was not the first time she’d been told to be harder, to feel less, to be less herself. Apparently she would have to give up even her grief. As if on cue, their conversation turned to superficial things – the First Enchanter’s tailor, her ideas for the Ambassador, court gossip, the dismal weather they were riding into. Vivienne could serve up a quip as savory as an amuse bouche; Alethea could laugh like a trained bird, repeating the notes she had been taught, singing from her cage.

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

“This is insane.”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, his left hand gripping the pommel of his sword. Leliana’s people had delivered word a full two days before Trevelyan’s return, but the news had been so concerning that they had waited to confirm it before examining their options. And now that they had Cassandra and Trevelyan’s accounts, it seemed everything was even worse than their worst fears. Or at least, his worst fears.

“We can’t just write off the Templars. You said Ser Barris seemed unconvinced – he cannot be the only one.”

“Of course he’s not the only one, Commander, but we don’t need a handful of Templar defectors; we need all of the Templars or all of the Mages if we are going to seal the bloody breach!” Alethea swore in a way that indicated she reserved such terms for moments when no other words would do. Her cheeks were flush with barely-contained fury. In the beat of silence that followed, Josephine cleared her throat.

“I agree with the Herald,” Leliana cut in. “Grand Enchanter Fiona has offered to speak with us, while Lord Seeker Lucius has closed ranks in a remote fortress, admitting only supply caravans and turning the traders out as soon as they have unloaded their wares. I could get my people in, but it would be difficult, and very risky. Why should we scoff at the group that is willing to negotiate?”

“Furthermore, the Mages need an opportunity to prove the worth of their cause – we cannot underestimate the value in providing that chance. They will be grateful to us, and King Alistair will be grateful if we convince them to leave Redcliff. It would not hurt to be owed a favor by Ferelden.” Josephine delivered her assessment with the finality of a deciding vote. Cullen groaned, dropped his fist on the table.

“But we cannot just leave the Templars at the mercy of the Lord Seeker! They didn’t sign up for this!”

“The Mages didn’t sign up at all,” Alethea countered, fuming. “The “Mage Rebellion” is composed of as many loyalists and children as it is of rebel apostates. And not one of them chose to be a mage.”

“That’s not the comparison I was trying to make,” Cullen growled.

“If we can find a way to help those questioning the order to escape, we will, won’t we, Leliana?” The mage turned her sharp look on the spymaster, who nodded with a diplomatic smile. “But I will not offer my hand in friendship to the man who paraded into Val Royeaux just to terrify and intimidate people. I will not. He was involved in what happened at the Conclave; there is no other explanation for choosing that moment, when people were most uncertain and afraid, to assert that killing mages is more important than protecting innocents from demons. And who knows how deep that corruption has spread?”

“Not so far as Ser Barris,” the Commander countered, though he knew he was defeated. He scowled at her from across the table, drawn up to his full height. “Cassandra?” He entreated, barely directing his attention away from Trevelyan. Cassandra sighed.

“You know where my heart lies, Cullen, but our friends are not wrong.” Cullen made an exasperated sound. “Regardless, we must investigate this Templar fortress further. For one who was so keen to wipe out the scourge of magic, it is odd for the Lord Seeker to be holed up like a bear in winter. He is up to something, and we need to know what that is. If we can get any dissenters out–"

He had heard enough. Excusing himself with a gruff apology, Cullen left the war room, letting the door bang against the wall. Cassandra frowned at his retreating back.

“Perhaps I should–"

Alethea turned heel and abruptly stormed out after him. Cassandra took a steadying breath.

“It is difficult to finish a sentence in this room.”

#lethologica #dragonage #dragon age #da:i #fanfic #my writing #new fanfic #Cullen/Trevelyan #cullen #mage!trevelyan