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thesunloveschips · 4 months

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Eye of the Storm - Chapter 4: Introductions and Newborns

Summary: Nyra is one of the older Archeron sisters. Twin to Nesta. Plagued by a mysterious illness that her mortal body cannot endure for too long. And yet, it seems her curse is to see her family suffer. When the youngest of her sisters is whisked away into the land of fae, immortality soon follows for the rest of them. And as an immortal, there is more to her that she has yet to know.

Chapter Summary: With all the sisters now present, they dine. New shadows are born. Conversational topics include childhood trauma and prelude to war.

Click here to access the Masterlist of the Eye of the Storm

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“Nyra.” Feyre stood up immediately. The call for her older sister had been one of surprise and something else. Whatever that something else was, she couldn't identify it. That unknown feeling froze her limbs and stopped her from moving towards her sister. The others stood up after Feyre and waited. Nyra Archeron walked forward towards Feyre. She ignored Azriel and Rhysand and despite passing by their towering figures. She saw Feyre and only Feyre.

Rhys felt a tad bit offended at him being ignored by a female—how could anybody look past this? This being his gloriously crafted face, his muscular body over which he wore fine fabrics, his neck and chest with tattoos peeking out. How was it that none of these females were in awe of his beauty? Feyre had thrown a shoe at him the first time he met her after he had started recuperating and was back to his level of handsomeness. Nesta looked at him like she’d rip his head off. Elain had commendably not vomitted upon seeing him. And Nyra just walked past.

Cassian watched this female walk in. He noted that her body was weaker, her steps seemed to require more energy. And despite this female being twin to the wildfire standing next to him, he had started noting their differences. Subtle differences like Nyra's cheekbones not being as high as Nesta's. The shape of their eyebrows. And they way one of them looked at the fae murderously and the other simply ignored them. Nesta's eyes were feline-like. Eyes that narrowed at him and had his knees weakening. Nyra had larger eyes. And these little differences made it easier for him to differentiate between the two sisters.

Seeing Elain and Nesta had made Feyre quite emotional but Feyre had managed to keep it all contained. But seeing Nyra took away the lid of it all. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes. Nyra pulled her in for an embrace and Feyre began wailing like a newborn at the comfort of her sister. Nesta walked back to her chair but did not sit. Not until Nyra had taken her seat. All of them continued to stand and watched with mixed feelings of awkwardness, grief, confusion and so on as Feyre cried and Nyra hummed an old tune for her youngest.

“Let’s get you seated now, shall we?” And with that, Nyra gently led Feyre to her seat and made her sit. She leaned down just enough to kiss Feyre on the forehead. “Feeling better now?” Feyre nodded. Nyra kissed her again and then looked at Nesta and then at Elain and then at Cassian.

“Are you Feyre’s friends?” And then she looked at Rhysand and Azriel properly. She hadn’t seen any of them or even her sisters when she entered the room and headed straight for Feyre. And now that she had, she noted the difference in appearance and their presence which had created a peculiar scent in the air around them.

Rhysand was pleasantly surprised. He was the High Lord of the Night Court but he was also Rhys. He was thankful for having a family in front of whom he could be just Rhys. And he was sad that his mate had no one who let her be just Feyre. Because Feyre had always been the breadwinner for her family. The Cursebreaker for all of Prythian. A mere wife for Tamlin. But this female, his mate, was just Feyre. Neither Elain nor Nesta ever truly allowed her to be Feyre. But in this moment, Nyra did. And he felt a wave of relief. The only sister who let Feyre be a sister to her. To be just Feyre. And a sense of gratitude bloomed in his chest. Gratitude and respect. Because Nyra might not have been able to stop Feyre from going into the woods but she treated Feyre like what she was. A young girl. Just Feyre.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nyra Archeron. My name is Rhysand and I am the High Lord of the Night Court. Please feel free to call me Rhys.” Rhys bowed and raised his head with a smile. Cassian looked at Rhysand like he had sprouted a tail. Where were these manners suddenly coming from? And Rhys sounded so genuine.

Nyra’s body dipped a bit and she closed her eyes in return to Rhys’s bow. She was now confused. Wasn’t Feyre in love with the High Lord of the Spring Court? Then why was the High Lord of the Night Court here with her? Regardless, she gave him a polite smile. “It’s nice to meet you too. Apologies for not dressing properly. I had already retired for the night.”

“That is no issue, my lady. It is we who should be apologising for our unplanned visit.” Rhys bowed again to Nyra, albeit not as low as he had during his own introduction. Only he knew that the difference in his manners was because of the difference in the levels of affection Feyre had when she spoke of each of her sisters.

“That is of no issue. Please. Call me Nyra.”

“Certainly.” Nyra nodded and then moved to the seat at the head of the table.

“Shall we?” She looked around and then sat. Everyone took their seats. In a bold move that did not make her faint, Elain took the first dish and passed it on and soon, the foods were served in all plates except Nyra’s.

“Will you not be dining with us?” Azriel asked when he noticed Nyra’s empty plate.

“I have had my dinner and my medicine. I cannot take more food so soon.” She replied and then waited. He had yet to introduce himself whereas her name, it seemed, was already known among the fae.

“Pardon me,” Azriel stood up and bowed. “My name is Azriel.” He felt a tad bit awkward for not having introduced himself. And even more awkward because the first thing he said to Nyra Archeron resulted in a reminder of her illness.

“Please do not bow. In fact, let’s skip the formalities. Nice to meet you, Azriel. My name is Nyra. And would you and your friend like stools? We have never had winged people visit us. I’m not sure if the chairs are comfortable for you.”

“We are fine, my lady.”

“Are you sure? And my name is Nyra.” She had the oddest feeling rise within her. The need to tease this man. He was as flustered as a boy who was going through puberty.

“Completely sure,” The shadow singer paused for a second before saying her name. “Nyra.” It felt like a test to see how her name would be on his tongue. He liked it. And from her warm gaze, it seemed she liked it too.

She looked at Cassian who grinned at her. “My name is Cassian.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Cassian.” Her smile seemed to brighten as the fae introduced themselves and she took it with no hostility and greeted them like people. Cassian decided he liked her despite the growing sense of something that bloomed within him. It felt a lot like meeting a polite version of Rhys.

When Feyre took her first few bites of her food and grimaced, Nyra noticed. “Are you alright?”

“Is there something wrong with our food?” With Nesta’s question came a wave of awkward silence.

“No.” Feyre took a huge gulp of her water. It was too evident that she was forcing herself to eat.

“So you can’t eat normal food anymore—or are you too good for it?” Nesta posed a question and a challenge. A challenge Feyre had accepted out of habit. A challenge that had Nyra putting her hand on her forehead in anticipated exasperation.

“I can eat, drink, fuck and fight just as well as I did before. Better-“

“Mind your manners, the both of you.” Nyra’s sharp tone cut in between. With a gentle yet strict tone, she addressed the youngest sister first. “Feyre, if you don’t want to eat or cannot eat due to any reason, don’t force yourself but that is no excuse for your foul language. Nesta,” She turned to her twin. “That is no way to talk to your sister even if you have your queries about why she is not able to eat well.”

“I’m sorry, Feyre.” Nesta sounded like a thoroughly scolded child now. The situation became even more surprising when Feyre gave out a similar sounding apology for her language. Elain seemed to be more at ease now that something familiar had presented itself—even if it was her sisters at each other’s throats.

Rhysand, despite his growing fury, somehow gathered himself to address Nesta. “If you ever come to Pythian, you will discover why your food tastes so different.”

“I have little interest in ever setting foot in your land, so I’ll have to take your word on it.”

“Nesta, please,” Elain’s plea went into deaf ears when said sister realised Cassian was looking at her. She angled her body towards him properly.

“What are you looking at?”

“Someone who let her youngest sister risk her life every day in the word while she did nothing. Someone who let a fourteen-year-old child go out into that forest, so close to the wall. Your sister died—died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don’t expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she idd not get to make—and insult my people in the process.”

Cassian's words had everyone at the edge. Rhys was angry. Azriel was ready to intercept if a physical brawl began. With Nesta, it seemed like that was a huge possibility. Nesta seemed like she'd been born to fight and not to sit around like a proper lady. That seemed more like Elain but this one looked like she'd lost her appetite.

Nesta breathed once, looked at Cassian with the same fighting spirit that had risen in his bones and then turned away like he had never even spoken. Dismissed his entire existence. He was used to people cursing at him. Calling him a bastard. Calling him anything and everything. He was used to fighting and being fought against. Not at all used to being ignored, especially by the person sitting next to him.

Rhysand blinked once to process what had happened. Cassian had insulted Nesta and she had ignored him. Despite the anger rising at the truth of what his brother said, he did find the humour in the situation. Sitting next to him, Feyre coughed to the side, masking her laugh. Azriel couldn't help but smirk.

Nyra tried hard to control her laughter at Cassian's entirely feral expression upon being dismissed. She knew she had a bad habit of laughing at the wrong time. She looked around seeing how she could control it. The mischievous gleam in Rhysand's eyes was definitely not going to help. His grin was even more of an indication that she had chosen the wrong person to look at in this moment of tension between the two individuals who seemed like they could spit fire and claw into each other.

Nyra accidentally let out a laugh and then intentionally coughed thrice to cover her slip up. Her twin was immediately by her side, taking her hand and telling her to drink water. Nyra was sure she would spit it out because both Nesta and Cassian were now looking at her. And there was no way she would not laugh. She looked at Feyre whose eyes twinkled like Rhys's own. The youngest understood her predicament but she pretended not to. Azriel was smirking and she wanted to spit that water in his face to wipe off his smirk.

Despite living for more than five hundred years, Azriel felt like he had never seen a female before he saw Nyra Archeron for the first time. And he continued to watch her like he was seeing for the very first time how a female walked and talked and breathed. He was quite amused when she laughed and then pretended to cough. She would probably laugh again with how worriedly Nesta and Cassian were looking at her.

He felt everything more acutely than he had ever felt. He was a shadowsinger and those shadows told him everything. And he did feel things others did not. But this. The intensity of his own awareness alarmed him. He was suddenly aware of every breath everyone took. Every rustle of clothes. Every sound of cutlery. The sound of the food being chewed. And he could even hear his own heartbeat. It had changed slightly. The rhythm of it. He did not understand why or how. And another heartbeat. So soothingly familiar.

New shadows were now being born. They started from behind his neck. His shoulders and his hands. He noticed them only when he saw them circling his arms. Azriel knew he had left behind his shadows. Cassian was now looking at him with a raised brow and then motioned to the new shadows. He felt a gentle brush against his mental wards.

Didn’t you leave behind your shadows? Rhysand sounded confused. He had every reason to be.

Azriel himself was confused. I did. These were born just now as we started eating.

Rhysand left the compound of Azriel’s mind and the shadowsinger put up his shields. The High Lord did not know there could be newborn shadows. But then again, what did he know of shadows and shadowsinger’s except for whatever Azriel disclosed.

“What are those?” Elain’s question had everybody’s attention diverted to the newborn shadows.

“My shadows.” Azriel looked down at the black swirling around him as he answered. And then they slowly danced forward, slithering through the air towards the center of the table from where they took a sharp turn—towards Nyra.

“Pull them back.” Nesta demanded, deeming them to be a potential danger to Nyra. Azriel nodded her and willed for it but the shadows moved forward. They coiled themselves around her wrist and Nyra took her other hand to touch the shadows. They froze in place. And then they danced. Azriel could hear their cries of delight at being touched by her and he could not comprehend anything else.

Wordlessly, she continued playing with them, not bothering to see anyone looking at her with shock on their faces. Rhysand quickly looked back at Azriel who looked uncharacteristically shy.

“The queens,” Nyra began, still occupied with the shadows with faint amusement. Everyone was now listening. “Have recently had a conflict of interest. I believe one of them, the youngest, has been somehow pushed out of the picture.”

“How do you know that?” Cassian asked, receiving a glare from Nesta for speaking as he chewed his food. He seemed to revel in angering the fiery one among the twins.

“I saw a few letters. Wrote a few letters. Received a few letters. Sent a few replies. And so on and so on.” She rested her elbow on the table and lifted her hand. The shadows curled around her hand and stretched upwards. She smiled then. Azriel felt like something incredibly intimate had happened.

“Do you think a request for an artefact will be granted?” Nyra then looked at Rhys.

“The Book of Breathings?” Nyra’s mention of the book had Cassian drop his fork. “Are you alright?” She immediately turned to him and asked. The shadows froze when Nyra stopped playing with them.

Cassian sputtered a few apologies and took another fork from the cutlery stand in the middle of the table. He asked. “How do you know of the book?”

“I know of a few things.” She looked amused. Cassian shuddered at how eerily Nyra sounded like Rhysand whenever he kept secrets he did not ever want to divulge. The shadows around her arm made it seem like she fit the part. Like she could tame darkness and make it reveal whatever it concealed. She looked at the frozen shadows and gave them her hand again. She began moving her fingers slowly like how one would pet a cat. The shadows curled around them and Azriel felt their delight. "But that doesn't really help us right now. You will face far worse prejudices outside this house."

"How worse?" It was Elain who then answered Rhysand. She told him about how hard it is for the humans to accept fae due to their upbringing with all the stories about the fae crossing the wall to hurt humans. She gave the example of Clare Beddor and explained how disorienting it was.

By the end of her explanation, Elain felt a little brave. Like she achieved a milestone by talking to them. It was her personal success no matter how easily her sisters had done that. This was hers. And hers alone. Elain then addressed Cassian with newfound courage about what she had to say about Feyre hunting for their family.

"It was not Nesta's neglect alone that is to blame. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her. Her and Nyra."

Nyra's amused smile had vanished. She looked contemplative but was still playing with the shadows. Elain looked at her and knew how hopelessly she had neglected in contributing to the household during their days of poverty.

Feyre grabbed Nesta's hand and squeezed it slowly. "Can we just... start over?" She felt Nesta's pride war with Cassian's taunts, ready to take the bait with a bite that promised pain. But then Nesta agreed and Elain continued conversation.

"Can you truly fly?" Elain looked at Azriel who had been looking at Nyra and his shadows. He seemed fascinated by the one who brought such joy to his newborn shadows.

The shadowsinger looked at the gentle girl before replying. "Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We're born hearing the song of the wind." As though he felt it, Azriel looked over at Nyra who was now smiling at the shadows. Elain followed his gaze and watched her sister at the head of the table. Elain felt something in that gaze, the promise of something, perhaps more beautiful than the song of the wind. She felt a little more at ease, hoping that this feeling about whatever it was with Azriel and Nyra would remain and that this beautiful feeling would bless them.

"Song of the wind." Nyra repeated. "That sounds like a dream." Then she looked at all three men and asked. "But then how are you all so different?"

"How are we different?" Azriel asked, not quite understanding what she was getting at.

"Rhysand has pointed ears but the two of you don't. Azriel and his shadows." She raised her hands. "And Cassian doesn't have shadows. And Rhys doesn't wear seven gems like the two of you."

"I am what you would call a half breed." Rhysand announced, completely unbothered by how demeaning it sounded even when he was using the term to refer to himself.

"I don't think I've ever heard someone insult themselves so easily." Nyra looked at Rhysand with an expression of disbelief. Azriel coughed to disguise a laugh that had escaped him. Cassian did not even bother and laughed heartily.

Rhys chuckled. "I meant that I am half Illyrian and half High Fae."

"You look like High Fae," Nesta cut in, looking at Feyre. "But you're not?"

"Only the High Fae who look like them, are High Fae. Everyone else, any other differences, mark you as what they like to call 'lesser' faeries." Cassian explained. Nesta still did not look at him.

"It's become a term used for ease, but masks a long, bloody history of injustices. Many lesser faeries resent the term—and wish for us all to be called one thing." Rhysand sounded like he was used to talking about this subject and had thought about it for quite some time. Could be a few centuries since fae did probably live that long.

"Rightly so," Cassian raised his glass before drinking his water.

"But you were not High Fae—not to begin. So what do they call you?" Nesta's question sounded like something tiptoeing the lines of genuine curiosity and mockery.

"Feyre is whoever she chooses to be."

After Rhys had answered in Feyre's stead, Nesta examined all of them. She then told them to write their letter which the sisters would go and dispatch tomorrow. "And contemplate how you plan to get us all out of this mess should things go sour."

They discussed bedroom arrangements for the fae and then Nesta took one look at Nyra. Despite playing with the shadows, her twin's stare was too intense to be ignored. Nyra looked at her twin. Some silent form of communication began. None of the others ever understood how two people so unlike each other ever understood each other. But with one stare that lasted just a second, Nyra then turned to no one in particular.

"Shall we rise if everyone's done eating?" And that was dinner time.

****

While Nesta, Nyra and Elain washed the dishes, Rhysand wrote the letter while discussing with Feyre, Cassian and Azriel. They knew that this would not be the final draft and that they would have to stay up for a long time. Their discussions paused when the sisters started laughing and shrieking. The twins had started splashing droplets on each other while washing the dishes and Elain now felt fed up. She grabbed the two of them by the ear and took them to the sofa next to the table where Rhys had been stationed.

"If you're going to delay washing the dishes then don't even enter the kitchen." Elain put her hands on her hips and spoke determinedly and completely annoyed at her older sisters who acted more like children no older than ten. The twins muttered their apologies.

"The two of you are going to sit here while I get the work done." And with that, Elain spun on her heel and worked on the dishes. Feyre stood up, stating that he would like to help. Elain reluctantly accepted and they began washing the dishes without conversation.

Nesta and Nyra looked like a pair of petulant girls who had been forbidden from something they loved. And Rhysand looked thoroughly amused. "And why were you two splashing water?"

"She's a grumpy cat. Ignore her." Nyra looked at Nesta with equal amusement as her twin glared at Rhysand for even daring to ask a question.

"You said something about the queens and their internal discord. Could you share more?" Azriel's request had earned him a look of surprise and a smile from Nyra that had suddenly taken all his attention. The shadows that had briefly left her when she had left to wash the dishes returned to her. They settled around her shoulders, hands and waist like a child. And Nyra's gaze was a gentle one for the shadows. And she began narrating every detail she knew.

****

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#a court of silver flames #a court of thorns and roses #acofas #acomaf #acosf #acotar #acowar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x oc #azriel x original character #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #feysand #nessian #nesta archeron #feyre archeron #elain archeron #rhysand #cassian

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forbidden-sunlight · 6 months

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yandere!beezlebub with makima!reader!headcanons

Warnings: manga spoilers for both Record of Ragnarok and Part One in Chainsaw Man, obsessive behavior, violence, and blood.

There may also be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

You are responsible for your Internet consumption!

Hey guys, hope you are all having a lovely spooky month so far! :) I will admit that this fic here is probably one of the most challenging ones I've written because Makima....well, she is the embodiment of a necessary evil and does what she wants, when she wants. She cannot be contained unless it is to her advantage. And I honestly think she would definitely shake things up in Ragnarok...especially when not many people realize who she truly is until it is too late.

Shout out to @nunezs-stuff for their feedback and help on this fic!

So with that being said, sit back, relax, and let us see what surprises await :)

You were annoyed with your current situation.

You had lost and died in a fight by the hands of someone who wasn’t Chainsaw Man, someone who hadn’t even been worthy to be the devil’s vessel. You did give Denji some credit for using his mind instead of charging towards his opponent.

No…he wasn’t the one you had fought in the cemetery that day. It had been Pochita, and he had heard every single insult meant to finally break what was left of Denji’s damaged psyche. You had dared to speak like that towards the only person you acknowledged as your equal, and you were punished for it.

Denji consumed your flesh, not as Chainsaw Man as you had always hoped if you ever lost against the legendary fiend. The humiliating memory was still fresh in your mind, but that isn’t why you were annoyed. No, you’ve come to accept that you were outwitted by a mangy dog whose scent you didn’t even bother to familiarize. Rather, it is because you were chained and collared as you had done to Denji, but it is not to a human.

A Valkyrie named Brunhilde was the one who held your leash, and she wanted you to save humanity from being destroyed by the gods by participating as a fighter in the Raganrok tournament.

You weren’t given a choice, because you would either follow her orders, including the commands of her sisters, or you would die. Kill anyone besides your target, you would die. Try to bend anyone, human, demigod, or god to your command? You would die.

Quite a conundrum, even when you still have control over your mind and body and Brunhilde says to just be grateful she’s been merciful.

You sighed. Suppose the only good thing in this predicament is that you can have coffee and do as you please without going against your contract with Brunhilde. If you weren’t wandering around Valhalla, you were either holed up in your quarters reading books or put to work to take care of some business on behalf of the Valkyries.

It wasn’t actually there, but you could feel the collar around your neck loosen and tighten at random intervals. The only way to nullify your contract with the Valkyries is to create a new one with someone else who isn’t a mortal, but even then Brunhilde would know as soon as she lost the leash.

So how can you get away from this tiresome role as a Valkyrie’s right-hand woman without getting caught?

Just when this thought passed through your mind, you felt the collar tugging towards the door from your cozy chair. Ah…it must be time. Marking your place between the pages with a laminated bookmark, you stood up and quickly changed into the suit you had worn from your days as a Public Safety officer. Time to get to work. Perhaps if everything goes well…Brunhilde will allow you to take a peek at the human world and see how your idol is faring. Chainsaw Man must be lonely without you around to praise and shower him with affection, the poor thing.

After witnessing Hades’ death by hands of Qin Shi Huang, the Philistine deity decided that it was time to end this foolish tournament in the next round. Whoever he would be fighting next will not be granted a swift, painless death…that would be too boring even for his standards. Yet when he stepped into the coliseum with the Staff of Apomyius, he froze upon seeing a woman standing idly in the middle, dressed in a suit and tie with [Hair Color] tresses pulled back in a braid. If he hadn’t seen those rings swirling in [Eye Color] orbs, he would have scoffed at the human for being too arrogant…except he now knew this wasn’t a mortal.

His opponent was none other than one of the Four Horsemen in Helheim, a harbinger that fed on mortals’ fear of control ever since Attlia the Hun’s campaign to dominate the world. The Conquest Devil. But why was she fighting the humans whom she wanted to destroy to fulfill a silly fantasy with the Chainsaw Devil? Well, no matter. He’ll just simply incapacitate her long enough to make everyone believe she had died in the fight and take her back to his laboratory as his newest lab rat.

Or so that had been the plan.

The amplified vibrations created from the Staff of Apomyuis to strengthen Palmyra would easily destroy a human’s body even if they were equipped with a Volundr, he had underestimated the Conquest Devil’s regeneration speed because within the moment he saw her body burst into bloodied, tiny pieces, they simply reassembled….and then there was a loud scream from the human’s side, followed by more horrified wailing.

She blinked at him, tilting her head with that condescending smile. “Is it my turn?” She asked coyly.

He scoffed, raising his weapon and to strike again when she suddenly blitzed towards him, pulling her dominant arm back for a strike when he activated Sorath Samekh. The backlash made the appendage fly off, and then it quickly reattached to her body. The dance repeated itself: he attacked, she regenerated. She attacked, he blocked it, and he countered it with another offensive technique that should have killed her….except no matter how many times he should have killed her, someone on the human’s side of the arena either died or screamed in agony as they lost an arm or a leg.

And the more that this fight dragged on, the Lord of the Flies felt his morbid curiosity growing more and more out of control. He wanted her. He wanted the Conquest Devil at his side, but not just as another toy to play with until he got bored. He wanted to know why she was here, how she died, what were her weaknesses and what is the root behind her obsession with the Chainsaw Devil.

Eventually, Zeus had decided to call their fight as a draw that would serve as a tiebreaker. He wasn’t pleased with this outcome, and neither was the Conquest Devil. Beezlebub could see her wanting to finish this fight, covered from head to toe in her blood and wearing a golden collar around her neck with a chain that extended from the arena to the private box on humanity’s side. Brunhilde. There was no one else how would be there, watching this show with a smile and possessing enough power to make the Conquest Devil bend to her will.

Unless….the Valkyrie had no idea the true nature of [First Name]?

He had to resist the urge to chase after her, forcing himself to retreat and take care of the wounds he had sustained from the fight. If it was true that Brunhilde did not know that her right-hand woman was one of the Four Horsemen…this unfortunate outcome to round eight might be a blessing in disguise after all.

He smiled in self-depreciation. Blessing, hm? Nothing ever good comes from those who are around me….but if there is someone who could kill me without having any remorse or becoming attached to the Priest of Gluttony…it is her. He thought, his mind drifting back to the memory of those mesmerizing, empty eyes.

Bonus Content

Brunhilde was furious with the outcome of round nine. Yes, she had allowed [First Name] to fight at half of her full capacity as per the terms of their contract and it was better to take a tie than another loss.

But how in the ever-living fuck did all the secret collaborators of the gods’ campaign to destroy mankind just happened to be in the humanity’s audience? Did [First Name] arrange all of this to happen to take down two birds with one stone? No. That wasn’t impossible. Even if these bastards had betrayed their own species, there’s no way that [First Name] would personally invite them. Not when Brunhilde limited her ‘free time’ in Valhalla, and received hourly reports on her every move.

[First Name] had a damned good sense of smell, but it was her photographic memory, and how she used it today was even worse. Once she had a face and a name memorized, all she had to do was think or say it, then poof. Any physical damage done to her body was transferred to the person whose name left her mouth. It’s why she is still standing without a single scratch on her body.

And seeing random humans getting picked off in the middle of a fight no doubt piqued the old geezer’s interest. That’s probably why he called the fight to end in a draw instead of letting it continue, thus avoiding a panic to occur.

Brunhilde chewed on her thumbnail. Shitshitshitshit! Why do things never go according to plan?!

Taglist:

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izvmimi · 3 months

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cw: gods au. fem!reader and izuku are both gods, although izuku is now a human. pining. part 2 of this.

“You should stop watching.”

The sudden voice behind you shocks you out of your reverie, and the gash that you’ve formed in the veil between your world and the human realm shrinks to almost imperceptible, yet your best friend can tell you’ve been peering behind the proverbial curtain again. You haven’t spent a millenia together for nothing.

You frown.

“How did you know?”

She scoffs, gliding over to you along marbled paths to where you sit, legs folded to the side and tucked beneath your robes, in your garden of never-wilting flowers.

“How don’t I know? You have that look in your eye.” Her voice lowers and softens as she circles around your chair, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder as she stands behind you to see from your vantage point. “There’s no use watching,” she continues, “I understand that you want to keep him safe, but all humans will deteriorate and die eventually. You cannot stop the natural flow of time and circumstance.”

As expected from one who hails from the clan that stitches the thread of mortal life into the tapestry of Fate.

You shrug her off; it’s not meant to be an act of aggression but she frowns even deeper before raising her hands in feigned surrender and letting out a sigh.

“He’s not a mere human and you know it,” you reply as you turn to glare at her.

“Yes… right.”

It’s a statement that she offers you that also is not meant to be condescending, yet somehow is. It’s been like this, for the two of you, any time he is brought into conversation. Although it’s been nearly a century since the transmutation of your lover’s soul, you have failed to come to terms with the fact that your partner is truly not ever coming back.

He’d disappeared out of the fabric of time and space after the event, and you’d been so numb from tears that you were not sure you’d make it through the next millennium without letting your soul rot from bitterness, but just a couple decades ago, you had felt him reborn, his light, although significantly dimmed reappearing again in the womb of a young woman. And although his signature was nothing like you’d known of him your entire existence, it still burned brighter than the typical human, likely owing to the fact that he was once a god. You’d wondered if there was a loophole to the punishment - this was not something that was supposed to happen - but things were different for those immortals who descended directly from the Sun, more powerful than the rest.

“Is he still feeding the cat?” your companion asks. Raye comes to sit besides you, shifting your legs so that they lay on her lap. She wants to understand. She has tried to understand for so very long now, but she fails to understand why you haven’t given up the part of your heart that longs for him. There are rituals to harden your heart that she knows very well and have often been prescribed to people with your plight, and yet you prefer to suffer this way.

So instead she indulges you with questions like this. Her gray eyes shift and watch your profile as you widen the gash between realms and watch the mortal once more. Raye peers into the hole to see from your vantage point.

Izuku Midoriya, the man, is not doing anything very interesting at this moment. You watch him on his couch, opening up a plastic bag containing a prepared dinner he must have picked up from a convenience store a few blocks away. Earlier today, he had a fanmeeting where he’d smiled and signed hundreds of autographs, and only now was getting the opportunity to eat. Sleep would probably occur to him soon and you would have to find something else to do aside from watching him tirelessly.

“I didn’t descend today,” you reply.

She lays her head on your shoulder and the two of you lay in silence. There’s a gentle warm breeze that runs in your garden and in the snap of your fingers, you could request some music to fill the pregnant pause between you too but you refrain. Your heart doesn’t hurt right now so you don’t need it. But it will soon.

“What would you do if he stopped?” she asks.

It’s a question that makes your heart pound ever so slightly in your chest. The idea of your Izuku walking by you, without even noticing, without any offer of attention to you, seems far too much to reconcile in your conscience.

But you lie.

“I’d have to accept it.”

“You wouldn’t turn into anything else?” she asks.

You pause, and lie again. “I wouldn’t.”

She blows out air from her nostrils in a slow, deliberate sigh.

“Liar,” she hisses before straightening up to a sitting position. She pauses, and then instead decides to stand before marching off to your front gate.

“I’m not-” you call after her.

“You are such a bad liar! You would never let him go, face it.”

Her lips are pressed into a tight smile, and she’s somewhere between amused and annoyed as she runs a hand through her orchid-pink hair.

And you have started to get angry too, but you bite your lip so as to not let the honeysuckles that sprout around you wilt in your rage.

“Why should I?” you demand.

“Because he’s a HUMAN.”

You grit your teeth but let your rage simmer. You can see that there’s an edge to her voice, a small plea to come back to your senses.

It’s your turn to sigh.

“He isn’t meant to be…” you try to ignore the tears that well up in your eyes, aware that by now you’ve cried a flowing river over the years.

She scoffs - not because she no longer cares but because the outcome of your moroseness is no longer beneficial to any of you. She misses him too, believe it or not, but she cannot watch you deteriorate forever.

There’s an eternity that remains, and she wants you to be happy.

—

Izuku Midoriya, aged 27, dreams of fire and felines.

He wakes up in a cold, uncomfortable sweat, panting heavily in a too-sticky mess of matted bedsheets. It’s not the first time and it likely won’t be the last time he wakes up in a shock like this.

Izuku steadies his breath and grabs his phone from the end table, rubbing his eyes as he brings himself to a sitting position before checking the time and any pending notifications from overnight. There’s a text from his mother, reminding him to eat breakfast every morning. He smiles, then immediately frowns as he remembers that he actually has nothing left in his fridge aside from ketchup and katsudon leftovers from the night before.

It’s Saturday morning, and he’s not sure what to do first, but there’s a long list of tasks and upkeep that he has to perform before the week starts. Laundry piles up in the corner of his room, overflowing from his laundry basket and he’s pretty sure the dishes in the sink have been there since last weekend. These are the moments he’s reminded that, despite being admittedly lonely in this apartment, he’s not equipped to take care of much else aside from himself, especially not a pet.

However…

There is a jet black cat that he’s been seeing constantly since he moved to this neighborhood several months ago that seems to haunt him, although it should be a sign of good luck. Golden eyes watch him, glowing and far too intense, enough so that the first time he met it, he wondered if it would speak to him in formal Japanese.

It seemed to be waiting for him, the way it sat perfectly still on his route home from work. He had been mostly lost in thought when he suddenly encountered the animal, trying to decide if it were a good idea moving so far away from his mother when he had no other compelling reason besides asserting his independence. He saw the cat from a distance - rather felt compelled to look - and stood just as still. The two beings faced each other, and the cat seemed to size him up, as though hesitating, with far more interest in him than strays usually do. Perhaps it was hungry, he figured, and that made it friendly enough to beg for scraps, but its movements towards him - when it eventually decided he was worthy - were too graceful for a being humbled by starvation.

It passed between his legs once, then twice, then stood before him with far too much familiarity in its eyes. Squatting to his knees to look at it more closely, he decided eventually to pet it, gingerly placing his hand on its fur to test the waters. It purred to his touch, its coat again far too soft for an animal that wasn’t being taken care of somehow, by someone. He looked around for a collar and saw nothing on first pass, but as the animal continued to mew, he noticed an inscription behind its ear.

It was a symbol he couldn’t recognize but felt intrinsically like he should be able to read. It bothered him for a split second, that feeling of uneasiness, but he soon forgot it, eventually realizing he had to get home. He took his time however to say goodbye to the small creature before he continued on his way, leaving the animal to watch him with newly shiny feline irises.

It almost seemed like it was sad to see him go.

As he stirs his protein shake, Izuku ponders on that symbol again, recreating it in his mind’s eye on his counter with the pad of his finger. It seemed not to be shaved in, but rather etched into its very flesh. Did it hurt? Who would brand their cat like this? Is that why it’s so oddly trusting?

He takes a sip of his drink and lets out a sigh. This is a lot of energy to be wasting on a stray and he has things to get to.

But first, he needs to make a phone call to a friend.

—

Ochaco is far better at grocery shopping than Izuku is.

“Buy the organic eggs, they’re better for you~”

“These snack bars are on sale if you buy two packs, and you can always save some for later!”

“The produce at this store isn’t high quality enough to be this expensive! Let’s go to the farmer’s market three blocks down!”

Ochaco reminds him a lot of his mother, Izuku thinks, and all he can do is nod and smile as she drags him from place to place that morning.

“I have an incredible recipe for an apple pie, “ she chirps, holding two apples to her face with a grin. The light red tones of the fruit compliment the pinks of her cheeks well, he notices, and his own face reddens ever so slightly as he realizes he’s staring.

He should tell her how he feels, he thinks. One day, when the dust settles, and his dreams are no longer dreams, he should tell her what she means to him. She’s always been there for him after all. The one constant in his hectic life, the only person he has never had to prove anything to.

Someone who knows all of him.

Izuku digs through the first heavenly bite of his longtime crush’s apple pie and excitedly exclaims that it’s the most delicious thing he’s had in a while. Ochaco beams, and she cuts herself a piece before slipping into the chair next to him and taking a bite.

“It’s best with vanilla ice cream too!” she adds. “We should get some next time,” she hums, kicking her feet as she enjoys her pie.

Izuku nods emphatically and Ochaco grins widely, brushing a few crumbs off his mouth. Her eyes linger just too long on his lips, but then she looks away and smiles. The air in the room gets quiet and he wonders if now is the time to kiss her. She tenses and right before he considers holding her hand, she jumps off the barstool and circles back around to the freezer.

His heart slows and then he chuckles gently to himself before occupying himself with finishing his desert.

In the skies, millions of miles above, pink hydrangeas wilt to nothing.

#izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x ochaco #mimi's notes #daydreams: bnha

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adaptacy · 5 months

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A Found Flame {Pt.5}

Pairing: Mentor!Gale Dekarios x Apprentice!GN!Reader

(Previous Chapter) – (Next Chapter) ➔ (AO3)

A/N: Happy thanksgiving y'all!!! full chapter is up on the ao3, splitting the tumblr portion into 2 parts as per usual. :)

Word Count: 2.3k

“I struggle to see the amusement in this.” The statement is harsh, nearly spat out as he paces the room. Having sent out his apprentice to retrieve groceries from the inner city, he and his familiar are able to talk freely about the new development in his plan. Of course, Tara seems more keen on bragging about it than truly discussing it, only adding to the mountain of stress resting on the wizard’s shoulders.

“Is it too brash to say ‘I told you so’?” She taunts, splayed over a velvet lounge chair in the room. “I knew all along, if you can believe it. You never were the sort to give up. No matter what task you’re faced with. ‘Twas merely a phase, just as I originally predicted.”

“Save me the boasting. Gods, this discussion is useless. There’s no point in arguing fate. I cannot act out of selfishness.” He takes a deep breath, collapsing back in the chair at his desk, the upper half of his hair messily pulled into a bun, though it does little to contain a few spare strands hanging in front of his face. The orb burns, feeding off of his emotions as they slowly build to a frustrated rage – one he has nobody but himself to blame for. His breathing is heavy, fighting to wade through the thick ocean of thoughts in his head, and his leg bouncing as he tries to come up with any possible way around this ‘problem’ of his.

But he’s tried to come up with solutions before, and everything his mind produced was a dead end. He was a hopeless case, he’d come to accept that, and he’d stopped wishing to be more – he’d lived with the fact for so long, he’d truly forgotten what it felt like to have a reason to want otherwise. Gale’s eyes close, his head tilting back as he attempts to steady himself, both physically and mentally. Of course, he does so to no avail, and only finds himself more irritated, despising the familiarity of his helplessness. He grips the arm of the chair, leg still bouncing rapidly, and even such firm contact with physicality leads to nothing.

With a groan, he shoves himself back onto his feet, quite nearly stomping towards one of his many bookshelves, though this one contains more scrolls than leatherbacks. He grabs several, maybe eight, all crumpling in his hands as he hauls them over to his desk, shoving the misc trinkets there out of the way. Two books fall off of the desk, hitting the rug below with a thud, but he pays them no mind.

Now faced with a pile of spells contained in rolls of paper, he begins to sort through them, tossing some behind him, making a larger mess of the floor. In his rush, a few of the scrolls develop small tears and rips in the paper, but he hardly feels he has the time to check on them. All of them, spells he knows. All of them, as useless as his own mortal hands.

Eventually, he reaches the bottom of the pile, grumbling to himself at the inadequacy of the scriptures, even forming a fist and nearly slamming it on the desk, but he forces some composure before he acts too quickly. Knowing he has more that he can look through, he whips around, only to be met with the presence of a brown and orange creature, forcing a startled gasp out of him as he presses a hand to his chest, and his back against the desk.

“Whatever are you looking for? You’ve surely gone mad! You ought to pick those up, sir, especially seeing as how this room was just straightened,” Tara demands, her wings waving as she hovers in the air, perfectly eye-level with the man she was scolding.

“I don’t have the time to worry about keeping up appearances. I need to find a solution. Sooner, rather than later – as I expect waiting too long will give the weave ample opportunity to strike.” Gale shakes his head, leaning off of his desk and moving back over to the shelf of scrolls. Tara finds a landing spot amongst the scrolls, sitting firmly on top of the wooden surface as she spectates Gale’s anxious search.

He gathers up the remaining scrolls, though both of the study’s current inhabitants both know that they won’t offer any solutions. This isn’t the first, third, or even fifth time he’s combed through them, desperate for a way to repair his damaged body.

Unfortunately, this may be his last.

“Slow down, dear. You’re only going to stress yourself out more,” Tara sighs, her words met with a displeased frown from Gale, who now stands before her, scrolls stacked upon his arms.

“Move. Please.”

“Put them back. Sit down – take a breath, Mr. Dekarios.” As stubborn as ever, Tara lays down on his desk, her wings extending on either side of her, taking up as much room as tressym-ly possible. Gale’s expression hardens, equally as stubborn, and he steps closer, threatening to bury her underneath the papers. Tara shakes her head. “What would your mother think?”

There’s a switch in his eyes, and Tara instantly knows that she’s won. With a sigh of defeat, he drops the scrolls to the floor and sits back down in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. The tressym relaxes, sitting up once more, unable to help but feel ashamed of the state the study now resides in. She hopes that they’re able to pick up the mess before his apprentice returns.

Gale’s eyes close, and his thumb crosses over the creases under his left eye, touching faint purple lines that are nothing but visual – yet he swears he can feel them under his finger. Artificial Netherese arteries nestled comfortably alongside his real veins, as though they have any right to belong under his skin.

Even with as handsome of a face as he knew he had, he wonders if they take away from the appeal. If they make him appear sickly – or perhaps cursed. Cursed, he is, but even a cursed man can be an attractive one. Maybe his priorities are amiss, to desire vanity when his survival is on the line, but maybe it’s the minor inconveniences that keep him sane.

He’s lost, mentally, and it’s such a strange occurrence to simultaneously be so physically comfortable, surrounded by stark familiarity. His apprentice was right; he is still Gale Dekarios. A blighted, wrecked, mess of a man – but a man nonetheless. His face, however doctored by the weave, is still his own. It’s grounding in a way; knowing that no matter the perils, he is still the man, the prodigy, he always has been.

And, just as well, he knows that Gale Dekarios has never been a quitter. Giving up is a shame that would be wrought upon his family, his goddess, himself – and now his apprentice. Once, had he not been everything he’d worked to become, to surrender to fate would be meaningless. Of course, if he wasn’t the prodigy he’d trained and studied to become, fate would never be such a dire threat. Tara has as much of a point as his apprentice; people will suffer from his actions. He’s doomed either way, really – abandoning his allegiant alongside his ancestors to chase an idealized suicide.

He cringes at the thought; his own death is his best-case-scenario. Wherever did things go so terribly wrong? The entire situation is nothing short of convoluted, and while he’s never been the type to shy away from complex subjects in pursuit of higher understanding, he feels that there is no end goal, no reason, to keep fighting. To risk the lives of those around him just to engage in a wild goose chase of potential solutions is strikingly dangerous and quite impossibly, arrogantly selfish.

Is turning his back on the ones he loves an even worse fate?

Gale sits up, eyes wide with a sharp realization. At last, an idea; “I must seek Elminster. If anyone, he’d be the man capable of an answer. Since Mystra has so fervently refused me any assistance, I’ll pursue my next best chance. My only chance,” he informs his familiar, and she tilts her chin up, tail flicking proudly.

“An ingenious plan, Mr. Dekarios. Make the most of these remaining days – secure yourself the promise of more dawns. Save me the trouble of informing your mother of your death. How sadistic you must’ve been to believe a letter would do the trick!” She scolds, though her tone is brimming with enthusiasm, pleased that he was able to come up with a resolution. Or, at the very least, a potential resolution.

“Twelve days. Perhaps eleven – even ten, if I cut through the Far Hills. I’ll require artifacts to settle any cravings on the journey. And gold for the necessary rations.” Gale rises to his feet, making his way over to a long roll of paper. He grabs it, returns to his desk, pushing the remaining scrolls away, and lays out a map showcasing the mid-section of Faerûn. His finger follows a path towards Shadowdale – a long trek, but one that will be entirely worth its perils and time if it guarantees him a longer life. “I could secure a mount at Daggerford, then proceed to…” His index travels down, and he rests on a new location. “Boareskyr bridge.”

“Even with as powerful as you are, it would still be safest to remain on the trade way,” Tara advises, and Gale shrugs in a begrudging agreement. He continues to trace his planned path, traveling down to Scornubel, and then east to the Far Hills, directly towards Arabel, and eventually he stops his finger on Archwood in the Dalelands.

“Four artifacts should be plenty to keep me – to keep it happy. And I’m quite sure Elminster will be willing to spare extras for my trip back. As gluttonous as he often is, I believe he’ll understand and aid the mission to quell my own appetite.” Assuring himself, he nods along with his own words, only turning his attention to his familiar once he’s burned the path into his mind. What he finds staring back at him is a gratified smirk – or at least the closest thing to a smirk that a muzzle can manage – as Tara tilts her chin up, giving him a nod.

“I’m pleased to find that your intellect has not yet slipped away from you,” she praises, lifting a paw and running her tongue over the back of it, smoothing the brown hairs there. “I do believe Elminster would be quite honored to meet your apprentice.”

“Oh, no – the two of you will remain here.”

Tara continues to groom herself for a few seconds, and then she freezes, throwing her paws to the desk and standing up, her wings jutting out as she takes a defensive pose, paws stationed in a wide square, coming close to hissing. “How wrong I am! Have you lost all sense?” She cries out, dramatic and hurt. “Tell me you mean to fool me!”

“Hush now, Tara, I’m being entirely rational. It isn’t too long of a journey, I should be darkening this doorstep before a third week comes to pass, you’ll barely even–”

“Preposterous! First, you dare threaten the loss of an acute mind such as your own, and now you gloat a newfound arrogance! To leave us behind is entirely for the birds – a madman, you must be. Whatever have you done with my darling wizard?” Tara lets out a mawkish yowl, her tail straightening, wings extending more thoroughly, flaunting feathers usually hidden in the folds.

“Someone must look after the tower, no? I don’t wish to keep them from the opportunity to study, and by extension, you’ll need to remain here to keep them company. Mentor them in my place.” Gale reaches forward, fingers curled and ready to provide a reassuring scratch, but Tara ducks out of the way, hopping to the side with a certain kitten-like playfulness. The reaction draws a chuckle from Gale, having not seen such energy from her in many years.

“A wise sage once said ‘books can only get one so far’. Lest you truly be an impostor, I do assume you recall your own words?” She huffs, taking an extra step as she puts another inch of distance between the two of them, wary of his plans.

“Yes, I recall. There’s hardly much room for practice when confined to a saddle for a tenday or two. Anyhow, I reckon Elminster might just scare them off the path of magic dare I let them accompany me. A tragic tale, he spins – quite overbearing for such an elderly man. I’d much rather my trip be quick and concise,” Gale explains, his hands waving as he speaks, his animated mannerisms being just enough to reassure Tara that she was, indeed, speaking to the Dekarios she trusted.

“You may as well turn this tower into a prison! Oh, how you bruise me. You mean to reduce them to an arrant worrywart, do you? Mr. Dekarios, you only just informed them that your body will soon waste away; the sole matter on their mind right now is your approaching demise. As well-meaning as you may very well be, I can only predict that they will fall quite short in any attempt to understand your intentions.” Tara finally relaxes, her feathered appendages closing in on her sides as she sits. Her whiskers twitch, and a soft, defeated sigh escapes her. “Come now, out with it – I can smell your scheming from miles away.”

Gale nods, splitting a smile, proud of his ability to problem-solve so quickly. “Right, yes, I expected as much. Should every section of this journey go off without a hitch, the entire trip will take twenty-one days. More realistically – as I am nothing if not rational – it will be closer to twenty-four,” he explains, and Tara squints, finding his rambling completely unnecessary.

“I am plenty capable of mathematics, sir. Spare me the technicalities. I ask again, dear – What is your plan?”

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios x reader #gale bg3 x reader #bg3 gale #gale x reader #tara the tressym

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rose-sophia-isabella-rogers · 3 months

Text

A Steel That Went Through Hottest Fire: Chapter XIV - A Diamond Is Forever

Chapter Summary: The Saints explain the situation to you. Nikolai trains to once and for all get rid of the monster inside him. You and Zoya train as well, but to become better Grisha. Or maybe even something more. But when the ritual finally takes place, not everything goes according to plan. Well. It depends whose plan…

Pairing: Aleksander Kirigan/Reader, Nikolai Lantsov/Zoya Nazyalensky

Characters: Aleksander Kirigan, Reader, Zoya Nazyalensky, Nikolai Lantsov, Yuri Vedenen, Sankt Juris, Sankta Elizaveta, Sankt Grigori

Word Count: 5464

A/N: This chapter contains excerpts from "King of Scars". Inspired by prompts: https://pl.pinterest.com/pin/207306389089798509/ https://pl.pinterest.com/pin/207306389089792244/

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed):

@budugu

@intothesoul

@mizelophsun11

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy

@zeeader

@marrymonrich

@wonderland2425

@chelseyyouraverageluigi

@thehufflepuffavenger1

@drinix

The sands carry you toward the palace. The closer you are to it, the more in awe and impressed you are. If the circumstances were different, you'd probably be glad for the opportunity to see such a novel architecture. Alas, right now you're more focused on wondering whether you're actually going to get out of this alive.

You finish your journey in a circular room. Sands become stone underneath your feet, while table and chairs emerge from it. You sit down and demand answers. While everyone talks, you only listen and ponder about what you find out.

Three Saints tell you they've been trapped here for four hundred years because of the Darkling. This place, a version of the Shadow Fold, has always been sacred. And they, woven into the fabric of the world in a way no other Grisha are, were drawn to it when Kirigan created his masterpiece. They cannot leave this place nor assume physical form anywhere but here. They believed it would end with Aleksander's death. But it didn't, because his powers live on in Nikolai.

The King questions why bring him here and not kill him during the battle if they need him dead. But it turns out they don't want him dead. One, they don't wish to destabilise Ravka. Two, the power might survive. It must be burnt out of Lantsov. Obisbaya.

'Congratulations, Yuri,' Nikolai says. 'Looks like you do get to put me on a pyre.'

'Pyre?' asks Grigori.

'No pyre,' denies Elizaveta. 'The thorn wood is older than all of us, older than the first magic. It is the wood from which the first altars were made and from which the walls of the Little Palace were constructed. I can raise it from the roots that survive beneath the Fold to begin the ritual, but then it will be up to you to summon the monster from inside and slay it.'

'You created those miracles,' you realise, speaking up for the first time. 'The bridge, the roses, the earthquake, the bleeding statues, the black disk, all of them, to bring us here.'

'The Age of Saints,' Yuri declares. 'Just as he promised.'

'Our power can still reach beyond the limits of the Fold, but only in places where we are still worshipped,' Elizaveta explains. You notice that her vine that is around the monk's shoulders curls a bit more tightly. You frown at that, ignoring the exchange between Juris and Zoya.

Nikolai says that the monster doesn't follow his orders. The Saints tell him he must teach it to do so, otherwise during the ritual the thorns will burn him inside out. It is dangerous and there is no guarantee the King will survive. But if he does, the life will return to the Fold, he'll be free and so will the Saints. But for them it means they're going to lose their powers, become mortal. However, after such a long life this is what they want.

'You will want to discuss it,' says Grigori. 'But make your choices quickly. Merzost is unpredictable and every day the monster inside you takes firmer hold.'

'There is nothing to discuss,' Nikolai denies. 'When do we begin?'

And so for the next weeks he trains with Elizaveta calling the monster and sending him away. They use Zoya for it. The Saint puts her in danger and the King has to change into the creature to save her. In time, he becomes better and better at it.

When they're not training with Elizaveta, the Squaller has her own training with Juris. He teaches her how to gain more power. True power of Grisha. How to become the storm instead of just summoning it. And when you sometimes observe their fights, you're amazed how it looks and how more powerful your friend already is.

'You'd like that as well, wouldn't you?' you hear next to you during one of your secret observations. You turn and see Elizaveta and her bees. She smiles kindly at you.

'It's alright,' she says. 'I saw the way you look at the palace, when you take a stroll around it. With a childlike wonder. And a mind of a Durast, desperate to learn how it was made. How to recreate it.'

'Sometimes I can't stop my mind from analysing things,' you say, shrugging. The Saint smiles and starts walking. She motions for you to follow her. You feel a bit weird around her, but you still go after her.

'You're already more powerful than an average Durast,' Elizaveta says after a moment. 'Mostly thanks to him, isn't it? He opened the door for you. And it's hard to close such doors once you open them.'

'He showed me I was meant for more,' you say after a beat. 'I might have made some wrong decisions in his name, but I will never regret making them, if only because thanks to all that I understood this.'

'And because you cared about him,' the Saint says and hums. 'It's alright. I can understand that, since I've met him.'

'I shouldn't be surprised you crossed paths, since you've both lived for hundreds of years,' you say after a pause. 'What was he like then?'

'Arrogant. Idealistic. Beautiful. I met him many times throughout the years and he adopted many guises to hide his true self. But the faces he chose were always lovely. He was vain.'

'Rather smart. People value beauty. They can't help but respond to it. But that's not why I followed him. I did it because he saw me. The real me. And he helped me see her, too.'

'And now, as you watch Juris and Zoya, you see there's still more for you to achieve, to have.'

'Isn't that the way of life? Shouldn't a person always learn, always aspire to be someone greater?'

Elizaveta smiles. She nods.

'Perhaps,' she agrees and thinks for a moment. 'Perhaps… It would be only fair if I showed you how you can become more, since your friend is being taught by Juris, don't you think?'

Your eyes light up. You're not a fool, you suspect it's a trap, that the Saint has some ulterior motive for it. But you're also not stupid enough not to take this opportunity.

'Are we going to fight as well?' you ask.

'Not at first,' Elizaveta says, shaking her head. 'But we may get to that part. First, you need to understand this: you must open the door. Stop thinking what you can make of something and become it instead. When your mind is free, the door to the making at the heart of the world opens. And you'd be able to do things Grisha can only dream of.'

'Well,' you say after a pause. 'Good think I have no problem in trying to think differently than I usually do.'

And so, you start your own training. When Elizaveta is not helping Nikolai, she's helping you. You quickly see the change in you and your powers. Sand changes into a solid rock at your mere thought and the other way around. You almost feel sad that your goal is to get out of here and say goodbyes to the Saints. Who knows what you could learn if you had more time?

The time has come for the ritual. You, Nikolai, Yuri and Zoya arrive at the place where it all started. But to your surprise only Elizaveta is there from the Saints. You find it suspicious, so once she calls the wood to the surface, you slip away and return to the palace. But the moment you enter it, walls surround you from all sides and the rock underneath you become an amber liquid that starts to rise.

'I knew not to trust her,' you sigh. The liquid rises, becoming more solid when it touches your skin. Soon, it reaches your waist.

'I did not survive two and a half years in prison, to go down like that,' you growl and bring your hands together. You frown and the liquid freezes. It tries to resist your will, but you're angry. It withdraws and the walls disappear. You drop your hands.

'You shouldn't have offered to teach me, Sankta,' you snort and hurry to Juris cavern. But once you reach it, you stop dead in your tracks.

The Saint is lying on the ground, dead. Zoya is kneeling beside him, mourning. Her kefta is torn. She's holding something in her hands.

'Zoya,' you call, rushing to your friend, whose head shots up at your voice. 'What happened?'

'Where did you go?' she asks, eyeing your clothes that are still covered with the amber liquid. 'You disappeared suddenly…'

'I went to find Juris and Grigori,' you explain. 'Once I got back here…'

You point at your clothes. The Squaller scoffs.

'She's given Juris fuel,' she explains. 'Only their own power can destroy them. His flames burnt him from the inside. He was almost dead when I reached him.'

You look at her hands. You see now she's holding his scales. You understand what happened.

'Didn't he condemn amplifiers?' you ask.

'Only if we don't give something in return,' Zoya answers. You glance at her torn kefta. Ah.

'May I?' you ask, extending your hand. Your friend eyes it for a moment. Finally, she gently passes you the scales. You take them and let them guide you.

You feel the shape they want to take. A crown. You smile. Juris, pushy to the last moment. But you know Zoya won't like it. Instead, you convince the scales to form two cuffs.

Once you're done, your friend offers you her hands. You put the cuffs around her wrists and seal them together. You see the change in Zoya immediately. You take a step back and wait for her to come back. When she does, she looks at you.

'What is Elizaveta trying to do?' you ask. 'And what happened to Nikolai?'

'He… he won,' the Squaller says slowly. 'And he almost destroyed the monster. But she stopped him. She never wanted him to get rid of it, get rid of the Fold. She wanted to… bring him back.'

'Who?' you ask, blinking. Your friend looks you in the eyes. You see hesitance in hers. And you understand. Your shoulders slump.

'Kirigan,' you whisper. 'She wants to leave the Fold, bound to him. But his body-'

'She saved it,' Zoya laughs bitterly. 'Switched it somehow, like we did with Alina. I don't understand exactly what she's trying to do, I can only guess from seeing his body. Nikolai is trying to fight back. Last time I saw him, he was attacking Yuri, who was apparently colluding with Elizaveta all this time. They both try to bring him back.'

She looks at you, tense. She's clearly wondering on which side you will stand this time. You look at her and once again offer her your hand.

'Over our dead bodies,' you say, your eyes burning. After a moment, Zoya smiles and takes your hand. You help her up.

'So,' you say. 'How are we going to get back there?'

You fly there on the storm of Zoya's creation. You don't scream. But you want to. Even more when you see Grigori trying to keep Elizaveta and Yuri away from Nikolai and his shadow self. Elizaveta's thorns stab Grigori, who keeps shifting, again and again. But the insects she unleashes are the one that cause him the real harm, slowly devouring him.

Finally, he shudders and collapses. Elizaveta shouts in triumph and descends upon the pinned bodies of Nikolai and the monster, both of them held in place by the wines of the thorn wood. But Zoya, who's been training with Juris to bend the borders of Grisha's orders, sends a gout of flame at the Saint, who rears back in surprise. You stand side by side, facing amused Elizaveta.

'I thought you were wise enough to run, Zoya,' she says. 'You're too late. The Darkling's spirit will soon re-enter his body. There's no reason for you to be a casualty of this battle. And you, [Y/N], should not try to stop this. Didn't his death break you?'

'Our king lies bleeding,' the Squaller says, as you glare at the Saint. 'We are his subjects and his soldiers, and we come to fight for him.'

'You are Grisha, Zoya Nazyalensky, [Y/N] [L/N],' Elizaveta says. 'You need be subject to no one and nothing.'

'Subjects to no one but you? The Darkling?' the Squaller asks. Elizaveta laughs.

'We will not be rulers,' she says. 'We will be gods. If it's a crown you want, take it. Sit the Ravkan throne. We will hold dominion over the world.'

'We saw his body on the pyre,' Nazyalensky says. 'We watched him burn.'

'I stole him from the sands of the Fold and left a facsimile in his place,' the Saint explains. 'It was well within my power.'

Zoya keeps her talking. You, in the meantime, slowly and discreetly use your powers. The sands move under your command, bringing the bier on which the Darkling's preserved body rested. In the corner of your eye, you see Yuri taking out a glowing thorn from the creature's chest. You'll deal with him later.

Zoya reveals her amplifier and starts fighting with Elizaveta. You're close, but not quite there. But that's alright. Zoya can move the rest of the way.

'I have the advantage of eternity,' you hear the Saint say. You whistle, letting your friend know it's time.

'I'll settle for the advantage of surprise,' Nazyalensky says. She raises the sands for cover and let herself plummet in a flash toward the Darkling's body. You move the torn wood out of her way. After a second, she lifts her arms.

'No!' cries Elizaveta. The Squaller thrusts her arm down and lightning flow in a precise, ear-splitting crack. It strikes the bier in a blaze of sparks and blooming flame. You see a shadow emerge from the fire, as if trying to flee the heat.

'What have you done?' the Saint screams. She hurtles at Kirigan as the thorn wood tries to lift him to safety. But Zoya makes the wood collapse on itself, burning it. Stalks twist around hers and your ankles. She burns them and you force them away.

Elizaveta tries to retrieve what's left of Aleksander's body. Zoya attacks Yuri and takes the glowing thorn from his hand. She immobilizes him with sands and rushes to Nikolai. You turn your attention to the Saint.

'It's too late, Elizaveta,' you say, walking toward her. 'You can't save the body.'

'How could you?!' she shrieks, turning to face you, her form shifting from bees to meadow to woman. 'Weren't you loyal to him?! Didn't you care for him?! Don't tell me you don't wish for him to come back!'

You don't answer her. You just look at her with pain and grief in your eyes. Thorns rise and try to pierce you but you stop them with your hands. The Saint snarls.

'You were an apt pupil, but I haven't passed you most of my knowledge,' she says. Vines quickly surround your body. Elizaveta flies at you and stops mere inches from your face.

'All of our training was just to keep you occupied so you wouldn't find his body,' she hisses. 'You're not a match for me. Maybe you would be if you weren't so lost, so broken. You're simply too fragile to face me and win.'

'Oh, but that's the irony,' you say and look at her with fire in your eyes. 'Broken people are not fragile.'

You have only a second. You use it to make the vines let go of you and grab Elizaveta. She gasps, surprised, and tries to change into bees. Part of her manages that, but her chest doesn't. Not in time to dodge the thorn you force to rise and thrust itself into her heart. Just as another one, guided by Elizaveta, pierces your chest.

Her eyes go wide. Bees fall onto the sands. You grit your teeth, trying not to cry out from pain. You feel blood soaking your kefta. You lean to the Saint's face and stare into her eyes that are losing light.

'Don't worry,' you say quietly. 'In a way, you'll get your wish.'

You snatch the bees that were a part of her and let them guide you. They change shape. And the moment Elizaveta dies, you make a necklace bind itself with your neck and you feel no pain, your wound already healed.

The Saint's power and strength flows through you. You open the door. You feel her past, her life trying to overwhelm and kill you. You surrender yourself, share your own life with her. Finally, she draws back, defeated. And you fall on the sands, letting out a soft sigh.

Nikolai is first to wake up. He sees you lying on your face in front of impaled body of Elizaveta that slowly turns to ashes. Same as the palace and Grigori's body. Zoya is lying not far from him, so he goes to check on her first. Once she comes to, they walk to Yuri, who's fainted. They consider what to do with him, when they feel the ground shake underneath them.

'What now?!' Zoya growls, grabbing Nikolai's arm to support her. The King turns his head, looking for you to see if you're in danger of falling into the sands. He finds you. But not fighting for your life.

You're on your knees, your palms pressed to the ground. You're causing the ground to shake.

'[Y/N]?!' Nazyalensky shouts, surprised. You don't even look at her, focused on whatever it is you're doing. And they see what it is a moment later, when something rises from the sands.

'Oh, you've gotta be kidding me,' Zoya scoffs. 'How many more are there?!'

Nikolai stares, stunned, at another bier with the Darkling's perfectly preserved body.

'All is not lost then!' Yuri, who's come to, cries in relief.

'Over my dead body,' Nazyalensky snarls and throws herself at you. She lands on you, causing you to fall and tumble down the sand dune you were on. You land on your back and she on top of you. Your eyes meet. Yours, calm but with a hint of guilt. Hers, full of anger and betrayal. For a moment none of you moves. Until a familiar voice says:

'Touch her and I'll break your neck.'

Your heart skips a beat. Zoya freezes, her eyes widening. She lifts her head and her face pales. You see in her eyes fear and disbelief. You almost hear her thoughts, begging for this to be a nightmare. Shocked, she slips from your body and stares ahead numbly.

You sit up. For a moment you stay still, fearing this is a dream. Finally, you slowly turn. You almost cry out in relief. You only feel tears filling your eyes. You still think this is not real.

But no, he really is there. Aleksander. Alive. Standing on the sand dune and staring at you softly with a small smile. You see his hand twitching, as if he wants to reach out to you.

'No,' Zoya murmurs next to you. 'It can't be true.'

You use that she's still in shock (and Nikolai probably as well) and jump to your feet. You throw yourself at Kirigan. You manage to notice his face relaxing in relief, before you land in his arms that enwrap you tightly. Safe. You're finally safe. And whole. No longer broken.

'Moya milaya,' the Darkling whispers in your ear and you almost whimper. 'It's alright. I'm here. I'm with you and I swear I will never leave you. Not again.'

His voice is shaking a bit and only thanks to his words you realise you're crying. You don't force yourself to stop. You just hold his kefta tighter and press yourself closer to him. You inhale his scent. Saints, how you missed it. How you missed him…

Suddenly, you feel him stiffen. You pull slightly away and turn your head. Nikolai is now standing next to Zoya, his revolvers in his hands. The Squaller's hands are shaking, but she brings them together. Their eyes are filled with determination. They're weak, tired. Nikolai is wounded. But they're still ready to fight the Darkling. And you if necessary.

You almost feel shadows shifting around you. Aleksander gets ready to defend you. You quickly grab his hands and look at him.

'No,' you say sternly. 'You promised.'

He stares at you for a moment. Finally, he relents. He sighs and shadows back away. He looks at Nikolai and Zoya. He smirks and spreads his hands, showing them his palms.

'I imagine you'd like to tie me up now,' he says. 'I won't resist, I promise. I do not wish to fight you.'

The King and his general narrow their eyes with suspicion. They talk with hushed voices. The conversation becomes heated. Finally, the Squaller huffs and crosses her arms, glaring at Kirigan. Lantsov puts on his calm mask and looks at you two grimly.

You, the Darkling and Yuri are bound and gagged. You think you walk for hours until finally you find shelter in some farmer's shed. The night has fallen while you were still walking. You fall asleep quickly and have no dreams, you're just so exhausted.

Before dawn, Zoya sets out for Kribirsk. She's not happy to leave Nikolai alone with you three, but the King is too weak to be the one to travel. So, she leaves and Lantsov turns to you.

'Alright,' he says after a minute of staring at you. He walks to you and gently lifts you to your feet. He leads you to the door.

'I won't harm her,' he says. You turn your head and see Aleksander staring at the King with his eyes narrowed, his body stiff. He looks you in the eyes. You nod, so he relaxes.

Nikolai takes you to a nearby plum orchard. You can see he's uncomfortable and you honestly can't blame him for what he's been through. He finds some stool and sits you on it. Then, he steps a bit away from you and stares at you with his arms crossed and a grim expression.

'I have many questions,' he says after a long moment.

'I can imagine,' you say quietly. He opens and closes his mouth a few times. He sighs, frustrated, and runs a hand through his hair.

'I have to admit, you're a brilliant actress,' he finally says. 'We all've been fooled by your act of feeling guilty.'

'That was not an act,' you protest. 'I am feeling guilty for everything I've done. Same as betraying your trust. I just don't regret it.'

'I can understand a Saint stealing the body from under our noses,' he says after a beat. 'But how did you do it? It was guarded all the time.'

'Oh, Nikolai,' you sigh. 'You gave me an opportunity yourself, don't you remember?'

His blood runs cold as he remembers your request to prepare the Darkling's body for his final journey. You looked so sad and vulnerable… he couldn't say 'no' to you. He curses under his breath. He brought this on himself. Didn't Baghra warned them, when she, Alina and Mal returned from Morozova's workshop?

Don't underestimate her. She may look meek, small and weak… but there is a reason she got his attention.

Nikolai assumed that after the Darkling's death, you have no reason to be their enemy. The conversation he had with you strengthen that belief. He clearly was a fool. He honestly didn't think you'd steal the body to bring Kirigan back. But…

'I remember you were guarded all the time,' he says, frowning. You smile wryly.

'Oh, that poor guard really never told you he… fell asleep… on duty?' you ask. The King blinks.

'What did you do?' he asks.

'Me?' you ask innocently and shrug. 'Nothing. At least not to him. All I did, was hiding Kirigan's body in the sands, preserved it.'

'You had help,' Nikolai guesses. 'I guess not his worshippers. They haven't existed yet back then. Someone from his army. Who- Oh. Right. We've never caught them.'

'Ivan and Fedyor,' you confirm, smiling softly. 'They got into my tent pretty soon after I was put there. They wanted to rescue me. But I told them I was exactly where I needed to be and asked them to get into the tent with the Darkling's body when I'll be taken there. They didn't want to leave me, bless them, but they did what I asked. They slowed the guard's heartbeat enough to put him to sleep. They found a dead man looking close enough like Kirigan that with their poor Tailors' skills they managed to make him look exactly like him. It wasn't supposed to be for long after all. Just enough to be burnt. I didn't anticipate Elizaveta stealing that body, though. Still, either she forgot how he looked like or Tailor powers work differently on dead bodies, or Fedyor and Ivan are better at it than I thought.'

The King wants to bang his head on a tree in front of him. Repeatedly.

'So, you weren't working with Elizaveta?' he asks. You scoff.

'I killed her, remember?' you ask. 'And she tried to kill me. No, we weren't working together. We weren't aware we have the same goal. More or less. I knew someone else is working to bring him back, but I wasn't aware who.'

'Did you have vision as well?' Lantsov asks doubtfully. Your look softens and you look away.

'I'm not sure I'd call it visions,' you say after a pause and Nikolai raises his eyebrows at the use of plural form. 'I… dreamt of him. I'm not sure how much of it was just normal dreams and how much was him talking to me. I will have to discuss that with him. But yes, during one such dream he told me about someone else trying to bring him back.'

'Did he tell you to kill her as well?' Nikolai asks. 'Because I'm sure she'd be a powerful ally for him.'

'He just told me to let the events unfold during the ritual and once at least a fragment of his power with separate itself from you I can do what I please,' you answer and your eyes darken. 'You may think of me what you like, but I care for Ravka. I didn't want Elizaveta to bring terror and fear to it. Nor I couldn't allow her to kill you. You're a great king, Nikolai. I believe you can fix this country. But not alone.'

'You told me that before,' Lantsov sighs, remembering your conversation in the tent. 'And since we're going to be at war… I'm going to need every resource I can have. The question is… is he going to help or fight with us?'

'I didn't bring him back so he could start another civil war. And he knows it. If he as much as tries to hurt any of you and take your crown… he loses me.'

'Forgive me, but why exactly am I to believe you're that important to him that he won't risk losing you? I mean, I know he confessed his feelings before he died- Oh. Oh.'

He snorts and shakes his head. They were so stupid.

'It appears our mistake was to assume that since he said it with his last breath, you were friends until the end,' he says and looks you in the eyes. 'But you weren't, were you?'

'We've been much more since David's escape,' you admit and sadness flashes in your eyes. 'But while I confessed my feelings, he did only admit them just before he died. But I knew he cared about me more than for a friend. I had some doubts, of course. Maybe I still do. But you can be sure that even if he does risk losing me, I also promised to kill him personally if he hurts any of you. He knows I won't hesitate. Not after everything I've lived through.'

Lantsov shivers at the look in your eyes. Nope. Never underestimating you again. Ever.

'One thing I don't get,' he admits. 'How did you even know it's possible to bring him back? I mean, you didn't know a nichevo hurt me back then.'

You smile. And Nikolai finds that smile very unsettling.

'Point your revolver at me,' you say. The King's eyes widen.

'I beg your pardon?' he asks, dumbfounded.

'Just point it,' you encourage him. 'Then I'll explain. Do it.'

He eyes you with suspicion. Finally, he sighs. He sure hopes so the Darkling won't come barging out of this shed and attacks him for pointing his revolver at you. But he grabs his revolver and starts raising it… but finds himself unable to make it go higher, to point it at you.

The monster that's still inside him snarls and causes him physical pain, stopping him from as much as pointing his revolver at you. He drops his head, exhaling shakily. He looks at you, stunned.

'Why?' he demands.

'I'm sure Baghra, Mal and Alina told you I could control nichevoy'a,' you say and he nods. 'Do you know why? When he created his first, he did it because I was being taken away by a Volcra. He created it to save me. And while he was their master and they protected him at all cost… protecting me came first. That's why they listened to me, even when my life was in danger. We became connected. So, when I saw Alina getting Mal back after he died and I felt this awful anger… I felt one nichevo ready for my command. I didn't know where it was back then. But when you walked into that tent… I knew somehow a part of it is in you. And that I could use it in some way to bring him back. My dream later that night confirmed it.'

Ready for my command…

Nikolai's face goes pale when realisation downs on him. You smile sadly at him.

'First time it took control… it was short after you were released from your cell,' he says. 'You were the one who caused it. You were doing it all this time.'

'Except for the last time,' you correct him. 'That was Elizaveta by Yuri. You know, so she thought she's the one pulling all the strings. That night I was supposed to just came across Zoya, Tolya and Tamar and follow them. To show I can control the monster, so you would take me with you to the Fold.'

The King stares at you speechless. He shakes his head.

'You've been very patient, I give you that,' he says. 'I mean… you couldn't have known we would ask for your help with jurda parem two and a half years after we had locked you up.'

'No,' you admit. 'But I knew you'd need my help for something sooner or later. And I was ready to wait a lot longer. Mind you, I'm glad I didn't have to. I fear I would eventually go mad in there.'

You twist a bit, starting to feel uncomfortable. Your necklace from Elizaveta shines in the sun. Nikolay eyes it.

'I picked a very wrong place for a conversation, didn't I?' he asks. 'If you wanted to, you could break out of your bonds and attack me with trees, couldn't you?'

'Not necessarily in that order, but yes,' you confirm. Lantsov sighs and massages his temples.

'What do you want?' he asks. 'In return for your and the Darkling's help in fixing Ravka, keeping our enemies at bay.'

'The same thing I've always wanted,' you answer. 'Him. I want a life with him. Peaceful. With no one threatening us, no wars, no fights, no deaths.'

'And how can you be sure he wants the same?' Nikolai asks. You stare at him with sadness.

'I'm not,' you admit. 'I just have to hope… that I'm enough.'

For a moment, Lantsov feels a need to hug you. But then he reminds himself how you played them all. He settles for a compassionate look.

'You, him and Yuri are going to be taken as prisoners back to Os Alta,' he decides after a moment of silence. 'Then… with others we'll decide what to do next.'

'As long as he's safe and alive, I'm at your service… your majesty,' you say, bowing your head.

'Can you say the same about him?' he asks. You smile slightly.

'He'll behave,' you say and look him in the eyes. 'You have my word.'

A/N: Thank you for reading! Let me know your thoughts! Reblog, like and comment if you could. Every comment makes my day!

This can also be found on Archive of Our Own: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52696933/chapters/134901757

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two-hands-toward-the-sun · 10 months

Note

Hiding by Florence + The Machine is such a Calliope and Dream song

Hi anon!! Florence + The Machine isn’t my usual type of music but your ask made me 👀👀👀 so I listened to the song and ohmygod. I hope you don’t mind if I write a breakdown of some of the lyrics? I…may have gotten a bit carried away. I’ll stick most of this under a read-more because there is simply Too Much.

I think you hide / When all the world’s asleep and tired / You cry a little

ALL RIGHT STRAIGHT OFF THE BAT WE’VE GOT SOME EMOTIONS HERE. I will say it a thousand times, it speaks volumes to me that though Dream is billions of years old and has had a number of lovers, Calliope is the only one he married. As we see in Brief Lives, Dream does sometimes break down. You know that panel of him sitting in his chair with his hand over his face? Yeah. Fuck. As his lover, as his wife, Calliope may have witnessed something like this or at least suspected it. I’m imagining a situation where Orpheus as a young child has an minor accident, and Calliope and Dream have to just. Stop. And cope with the knowledge of his mortality together.

I know that you’re hiding / I know there’s a part of you that I just cannot reach / You don’t have to let me in / Just know that I’m still here

Now this is GOOD SHIT. It goes both ways with these two!!! Dream would never know what it was like to experience the abuse Calliope survived, would never force her to tell him about it. Calliope would never understand the weight of what it means to contain the world’s collective unconscious, to have to be so rigid with yourself to the point of pain. But these lyrics speak to steadfastness. While we don’t see much indication (either comics or show) that they will be there for each other in the future, in the show we see the tenderness between them so clearly in Calliope pressing her cheek to Dream’s, Dream’s eyelids fluttering shut. It’s VERY easy to expand on that and explore in fic and headcanon that they would again forge a supportive relationship—bolstered by the character development Dream has had since their marriage—and work together to try to heal. I’ve written that myself!

I know you’ve tried / But something stops you every time

Hahahahahaha. Oh my god. I am hitting Dream with a stick.

And it’s your pride / That’s keeping us still so far apart / But if you give a little / So will I

HELLOOOOO. Okay, so I know the initial reaction is to probably apply this to Dream, which, yes, he is one proud motherfucker. But I think Calliope certainly has her own share of pride, although not to the extent of her ex-husband. (I’d say in her episode, we see more of the like, self-worth, I-know-what-I-deserve type of pride. Which is good!!! I adore that about her!!!) She did not want to yield over those thousands of years, either. And she will not beg. She will request—may I visit you in the Dream Realm sometime, so that we may finally talk about our son, and grieve him properly?—but she will not beg. But! If Dream gives a little!! So will she!!!

I know I seem shaky / These hands not fit for holding

THESE HANDS NOT FIT FOR HOLDING. JESUS CHRIST. This is, of course, a lyric that shouts and screams Dream at me. I am in pain. I’m thinking of the way he says, “I owe you that much.” The word owe stands out to me—I think it may indicate that he has become aware he did not always treat Calliope as she should be treated, and he feels he has to make up for that in some way. I’m thinking about how he says, “I’ve learnt much in recent times,” and how that suggests he may have been reevaluating his role in Orpheus’s fate. How he could have acted differently. And with that, I think it made him consider Calliope’s reproach in a new way. It doesn’t seem like too much of a stretch to me that Dream would feel like his hands are not fit for holding Calliope’s anymore.

ANYWAY. That was a whole lot of probably incoherent chatter and I hope at least you enjoyed reading it, anon. Anyone reading this, feel free to send me asks about songs that remind you of the characters or dynamics that I post about often. Although I have to say, if it’s a Taylor Swift song I probably won’t listen to it, sorry.

Thanks again for the ask, anon!!!

#dream x calliope #calliope x dream #dreamuse #the sandman #the sandman netflix #asks #hey nonny nonny

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autumnslance · 2 years

Text

Prompt #24: Vicissitudes

((Revised and posted to Ao3. Wordy old jerks took 1500 words to discuss the malleability of their forms from two very opposite directions. Also I still have a lot of Vampire: the Masquerade associations with this word...))

“Another new one?”

Lahabrea paused as he stepped into the stark chamber to meet his colleague. He inclined his head in question.

Emet-Selch sprawled in a low chair and gestured vaguely in Lahabrea’s direction. “That body. It’s new.”

Lahabrea shrugged. “I required it for my current plan. Particularly if your own new scheme is to work.” He took a long moment to rake his gaze over the gangly Garlean form his fellow inhabited. “And you’re one to talk.”

Emet-Selch shrugged expansively. “As in your case, ‘tis required for this plan. And the old one was spent, besides.”

“You spend too long a time with each host.”

“And you spend too little,” Emet-Selch said, though his usual sting was absent from his tone. “When was the last time you truly settled into skin and bone?”

Lahabrea snorted. “Whyever should I want to? These fragile mortal forms are but tools for our work.”

Emet-Selch took a drink from his wine glass. It served to remind Lahabrea that he had consumed naught since taking this body, the mouth dry and stomach empty. How wretchedly inconvenient.

“They are that,” Emet-Selch agreed. “But they also wish to conform to who we truly are.” He paused—was he hesitating? Emet-Selch, of all beings?—And turned his gaze toward Lahabrea.

It was startling how properly golden the eyes already looked. The pupils were still wrong, though; Lahabrea held onto that fact.

“I find, my friend, I cannot always recall clearly your true face,” Emet-Selch said quietly.

“It is not important,” Lahabrea said. “And shall not matter until we have restored the world and ourselves properly. Until then, the faces of these mortals suffice.”

Emet-Selch frowned and took another sip of his wine. “As you say.” Then he gave one of his theatrical shrugs and gestured to the seat opposite his. “But come; we do have work to discuss, now that I have secured my position and begun expanding this fledgling empire.”

Lahabrea suppressed a sigh, but sat as bade. He drank and ate as well when offered, out of a ghostly memory of decorum, and to keep his sentimental colleague mollified.

—

“How do you stand it?” Lahabrea asked as he stepped into the opulent stateroom.

“You shall have to be more specific,” Emet-Selch replied as he sat hunched over his desk, signing paperwork.

“The sheer tedium of these little mortal lives.”

Emet-Selch looked up and Lahabrea almost stepped back. After decades containing the aetheric presence of the ancient sorcerer, the face looking at him was almost—not quite—the same as his memories of his colleague's true, unsundered form, having consciously and unconsciously altered the frail mortal body to suit. Lahabrea managed to stand firm, and not let his nostalgic realization show on his most recently borrowed face.

Perhaps; this one was rather twitchy, he was finding.

“‘Tis not so different from our lives Before,” Emet-Selch replied. “Though I do find myself counting the time; in this case, thirty years, five months, and thirteen days since we last met.”

He would be that petty in his sentiment; some things were not so malleable as flesh.

“And your empire has grown. Is growing still. Yet it strikes me as less structured than some of your previous attempts.”

Emet-Selch grinned. “Caught on, did you? I don’t plan on this one lasting for an age. A flash in the pan is what we need now; a swift rise over most of a century, to be brought crashing down in the wake of its Emperor’s loss, leaving the people despondent, lost—”

“And in desperate need of comfort from the half-forgotten divine.”

Emet-Selch cheekily pointed a finger as he poured a glass of wine. “The stricter the regime the better, though I must balance it carefully, with some spaces for freedom of expression—”

“Yes, I noticed you indulging your penchant for their pathetic arts.” A mere ghost of what mankind should be capable of; a reminder full of pain and hope both, Lahabrea knew.

“—And yet the assassination attempts have already begun,” Emet-Selch continued. “I must needs handle them carefully, which is a bother, but not an unexpected one. Solus zos Galvus’s demise shall be carefully orchestrated at the right moment.”

“I see,” Lahabrea said, then continued before his fellow could continue to wax on. “And have you identified those I should watch?”

“A few among the Legati with ambition and ego and dreams of empire they believe in fully, poor wretches. Some rebels who shall be glad of the aid eikons can provide their cause.”

“Then give them to me and I shall begin my part of the work.”

“And what face shall they see?” Emet-Selch’s question was far too casual.

Lahabrea frowned. “They only need to know my mask.”

Emet-Selch shook his head. “You discard them too quickly; they have their uses.”

“Not to me,” Lahabrea reminded him. “My work differs from your own; changing bodies is more beneficial.”

“Why are you so afraid of your own face?”

Now his sigil flared as he rounded on his comrade. “See to your own work, Emet-Selch! How I conduct mine own duties is not your concern!”

Emet-Selch was far from intimidated of course, staring evenly at Lahabrea with that disturbingly familiar face, those almost-correct eyes.

“Very well.”

Lahabrea departed in a swirl of shadow.

—

“Didn’t you just select a new host?” Emet-Selch asked, yawning.

“Didn’t yours finally die?”

Emet-Selch shrugged, still appearing as Solus zos Galvus, though as the body had looked in its middle years, not the decrepit elder of the last dozen or so. “Until I find a new form, ‘tis familiar enough, and shaped by now to be much like mine own. A comfortable indulgence, if you will.” He turned his almost-correct gold eyes to Lahabrea, looking his new body up and down. “What is your excuse? And I see that he’s still alive in there?”

“I’ve a need to infiltrate that bothersome order of Her servants, while I keep your erstwhile Legatus occupied with promises and boons to fuel Ultima. The man’s memories and personality are yet useful to maintain the charade until they can be dealt with.”

“Ah, yes. Those idealistic fools shouldn’t give you too much trouble.”

Lahabrea almost mentioned the champion collecting Crystals of Light, but thought better of it. He would snuff the child’s growing flame easily enough.

Otherwise Emet-Selch might grow curious and start poking around to see if he recognized the fragmented soul, and the last thing Lahabrea needed was his sentimental comrade underfoot.

“In any event,” Emet-Selch was saying now. “I am going to shed mortal form for a time and rest; spending decades as one man is exhausting.”

“Yet you insist I ought to try it.”

“I suggest you not burn through bodies like a wildfire through dry forest.” Emet-Selch shook his head. “Elidibus is returned to the Source, so you know.” He paused once more. “He’s forgetting again, and refuses to look upon his crystal. Perhaps you could speak with him.”

“Why?”

Emet-Selch frowned. “Having our Emissary forget the reason for his work does not seem…optimal.”

Lahabrea harrumphed. “So long as he recalls his duty—and his conviction there has never wavered—I see no reason to keep reintroducing him to those painful memories, to lose and remember them yet again.”

“What else is it for?” Emet-Selch demanded. “All that we do is for them! The people we loved; our friends, our families! And when he was yet a man, he was friends with your—”

“Don’t,” Lahabrea warned, sigil flaring over his newly-assumed face.

They stared at one another for a long, silent moment.

“This is why you burn through them so quickly, isn’t it?” Emet-Selch finally said, the weariness of millennia heavy in his voice. “You don’t want to remember, either. To look on your true face, and think of his.”

“You presume much. Mine own presumption, then, is you cling so tightly to those fragile little forms to wallow in your own memories.”

There was a tic in Emet-Selch’s jaw, though Lahabrea took no satisfaction in seeing it. “Seems after all this time, we still do not understand one another,” Emet-Selch finally said. “Or perhaps, in the intervening eons, we have each changed enough to seem strangers again.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lahabrea replied. “Only the Ardor. We keep ourselves focused on our tasks. Once we have completed our mission, ask me again.”

“I shall,” Emet-Selch promised, turning away. He gave Lahabrea his dismissive, disrespectful wave as he departed for the space between, to recharge his being in pure aether.

Hopefully he would rediscover some perspective. If anyone had changed, Lahabrea thought, it was surely Emet-Selch, and not himself. Lahabrea wasn’t the one clinging to a pale imitation of the man he used to be, after all. None of his bodies lasted long enough for his aether to warp in that way over time, nor did he do it on purpose.

Twould be counterproductive in this most recent instance; he needed this man’s body to keep track of those meddlesome lightbearers.

So long as he kept to his course, kept to the goal of the final Rejoining and what would follow, all else was mutable.

#FFXIVWrite2022 #Final Fantasy XIV #Lyn Writing #Emet-Selch #Lahabrea #Ascians

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crewman-penelope · 1 year

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From one botanist to another - Part 6

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

06 Poisoned Garden

You woke up along, startling the moment your mind brought back the memory of the last night.

Patting yourself down, chest and limbs, you checked your body in a flare of panic. Seems all good, though.

There were no brushes, cuts, bond marks, so you assumed he had left you slept in peace.

Safe and sound?

Eventually you realized to be alone in his room.

It was clean but not coldly furnished, grey and blue with a hint of green, shown by small bonsai trees.

Holding the soft silken sheets around your body you wandered around, until you found the entry to the bathroom.

On a chair there laid your clothes, as it looked brushed out, prepared to be used again.

You didn't take much time, but made a cat wash at the huge basin, before dressing up again.

You were still confused - and hungry. Eager to find your host, you walked out of Morningstar's room, chin up, as if you would belong here.

While waking down the corridor you reminded yourself of the fuzzy scenery your brain still had.

Lucifer. What a unusual name..

The bright daylight leaded you to an open entrance you remember. The garden.

Of course

Between the blooming flowers you had not really enjoyed the night before, Morningstar's lean, blue dressed figure walked along, the master of his garden. Looking left and right, checking the bloom, sometimes pointing at a plant, while gardener keenly rushed to their places.

Sunbeam soften Morningstar's bitter visage, giving the whole scenery a dreamy illusion.

Eventually his eyes catched you and he straighten his composure.

“Lupine.” His voice this morning soft and warm as wild honey.

“Mor- Lucifer.”, you answered. Walking closer to stopped at the entrance of the garden. A encouraging nod of him let you go forward.

Bashfully, you stepped closer to confess: “I would like to stay with Lupine - even that I believe you know my real name. I do believe you know a lot of me?”

Morningstar smiled. “I do. I'm fond of your name, so I see no problem with that. You may call me further Morningstar, if you like that better.”

Your finger tangled selfacting into the fabric of his wide sleaves. A anchor to hold on, while looking around.

“It is more beautiful in the morning.”, you stuttered out, unsure how to keep on conversation with your kitnapper.

“Thank you. It is my pride and joy. May I lead you though it? If you feel like it?”

“Yes. Please.”

You longed for an subject you could understand, especially by this still lightly thread.

Morningstar rested a gloved hand on yours. "Hold on then.”

He walked a moment, then stopped to point out a plant.

“Daphne mezereum”

You nodded and automatically started to lecture.

“Ingestion of plant parts leads within a few hours to severe irritation and a burning sensation in the mouth, with swelling of the lips and face, increased salivation, hoarseness and difficulty in swallowing. These symptoms are soon followed by severe abdominal pain, headache, numbness, nausea and bloody diarrhoea...”

You stopped yourself as you realized what you were doing. With burning face you apologized.

Morningstar chuckled. “One cannot resist, right? It is good to hear you know your subject. But I thought not different.”

He pointed to another plant.

“Digitalis. My favourite. The entire plant is toxic. Mortality is rare, except it is forced. I.. In the past I did use this plant to my favour.”

A cold rush caused through your body. He spoke so simple of... murder? Did he really?”

“Brugmansia”, you went on by the next plant. “The most toxic of ornamental plants, containing tropane alkaloids of the type also responsible for the toxicity and deliriant effects of both jimsonweed and the infamous deadly nightshade.

Eating them can include paralysis of smooth muscles, confusion, tachycardia, dry mouth, constipation, tremors, migraine headaches, poor coordination, delusions, visual and auditory hallucinations, mydriasis, rapid onset cycloplegia, and death...”

Morningstar nodded solemn, but rocking on his heel in pressed down excitement. It seemed the dark cherishing of his poisoned garden satisfied him.

Eventually you both paused by a beautifully pink-reddish flower I full bloom, the scent sweet with a hint of bitterness.

“Pieris japonica”, you whispered.

“Most victims of this gorgeous plant are children and pets. Uncomfortable for grown-up, as long their are healthy. The bloom looks so innocent though.”

The moment you spoke up again, your stomach grumbled up. Quickly you placed your free hand on it.

Morningstar showed a shocked impression.

“You must forgive me. I wasn't aware - well, I wasn't thinking.”

He turned to you and reached out. Lifting your chin with his finger he went on: “You must think me a horrible host. Let us go in for a proper breakfast.”

Taglist: @lokis-tardis-companion19 @infinitegalahad @koshi-sama @daughterofthesilmaril @cynic-spirit @ladyl0wkey @elliotmalek @ellen-the-wise @villainworshiper

#safin sunday #lyutsifer safin #rami malek #lyutsifer safin x you #lyutsifer safin x reader #Safin #lyutsifer safin fanfiction #james bond fandom #james bond fanfiction #Lyutsifer Safin imagination #From one botanist to another #From one botanist to another 6

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david-tennant-in-chairs · 3 months

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Something is slutty in the state of Denmark

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 2 years

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Perfection - Perfect Justice

Aziraphale and Crowley live in a heartbreakingly perfect world. There is no sadness. There is no loss. Every day, the sun rises on an idyllic peace far behond mortal imagination. The end of the old world brought Salvation. Justice. Perfection.

But not everything is what it seems. And one angel learns that perfection cannot be bought without great pain.

In this chapter, Aziraphale learns the truth about the humans who have taken him in...

(CW: quite a few, particularly violence, t*rture, abuse. Please mind the tags!)

Read it on AO3!

“So.” The woman with the blue-and-green braid, who Dolly-Rose had called Saima, dropped into Katya’s vacated chair with a thud, studying Aziraphale with piercing blue eyes. “You’re from the City, right? I mean. You have to be. Where else is there?” Then, in a lowered voice, “Is there somewhere else? Other than here?”

Yes, Aziraphale started, trying to keep up with the questions as the other diners leaned forward, craning their necks or standing on seats, hoping to catch a glimpse of his words. I was in the City until quite recently. I believe there are other groups outside the walls, like yours, though I don’t know how large.

Her eyes scanned the paper even as he wrote, and she started up again as soon as his hand stopped moving. “Why were you looking for us? Who sent you? Are you a spy?”

No. No. I wasn’t sent, I simply left. And, really, my dear, I‘d hardly be an effective spy if I admitted to it. Why would anyone need to spy on you?

“Why did you leave, then?” she pressed. “And why were you covered in blood? It’s still all over you! Who did you fight? Did you kill them?”

I didn’t fight anyone, Aziraphale insisted, trying to keep up. He had no particular wish to deceive any of the humans, but the idea of explaining what had happened made his chest tight and his head spin. And you must know that no one can be killed here.

“Yeah, you say that. How do you know no one can die? Did you test it?”

A chill ran through Aziraphale, some half-remembered dream echoing in his mind. Angels experimenting on the captive demons, trying to find out what they could survive. What happened when their bodies and spirits were destroyed. Tearing them apart. Breaking them. Snuffing them out. A nightmare, perhaps, but he could remember all too well what went on just outside the Tower, in full view of the wall. And the things that would be thrown out the windows. Not demons, but… pieces…

Yes, he wrote numbly. It has been tested.

Saima slapped her hand on the table. “I knew it!” She tore the pad from Aziraphale’s grip, holding it up for the rest to see, though his handwriting couldn’t have been large enough for that. “And why? What do you need to know that for?” He held out his hands helplessly. “Is it for another war? Has it already started? What are you all planning?”

Aziraphale looked around the tables again, hostile eyes pinning him from every direction. A few had risen to their feet, fists clenched, jaws tight. Beside him, Isley had gone pale, sinking so deep into their seat, they almost vanished.

He quickly pushed aside his bowl and spread out a napkin of undyed cotton, writing on that. Of course not. There’s no war, and I know of no reason why there would be one. What would be the point? The demons are contained. Everything is peaceful here. You all have everything you need, everything you could want. Everyone is happy.

“Bullshit,” said the man with the red hair—Declan, Aziraphale thought—leaning over Isley’s chair to see what the angel wrote. “No one’s happy.”

Read the rest on AO3!

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #good omens prime #aziraphale and crowley #hurt/comfort #emotional h/c #au heaven won the apocalypse #post apocalypse #fanfiction #my wriring #my fanfiction #ao3fic #perfection

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beeirifulmer · 2 years

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A Faerie New Year

//Warning, this does contain all book spoilers

Here’s a little new years thing for you lovely people.

“It’s 11:58,” Cardan looked to his wife with a smile.

“Indeed, are you excited?” Jude smiled, watching the countdown on Heather’s TV. Another holiday Cardan was invested in that the mortal world dabbles in, New Years. Again, the family came to Heather’s and Vivienne’s to celebrate. Larkin and Taryn came with Lysander, who immediately began playing with Oak. Cardan and Jude came with their twins.

Earlier, not too many moments ago, Larkin and Heather dragged Cardan away from his wife for a few. When the three returned with smirks, and when it comes to Cardan and smirks, nothing means good news.

“What did you do?” Jude arched a brow to her husband, who denied he did anything bad.

“Mom! It’s almost midnight!” Eva bounced up and down, her tail batting left and right until it hit Cardan’s and she giggled at the ticklish feeling. Jude grinned at her daughter and husband, looking around for her nephew, brother and son. Eva was the only one not passed out on the couch.

Oak and Lysander were tangled in one another, and Tamani was sleeping upside down, drooling. “They look like brothers.”

“Well, Taryn. Since they’re all related.” Jude laughed a little, Taryn rolling her eyes at her twin. Cardan’s arm wrapped around Jude with a kiss to her temple, sharing a look with Larkin and Heather.

“Not what I meant.” Taryn took a sip of her club soda, noticing the three. “Okay what is your guys’ deal?!”

“Exactly. Something is up with you three.” Jude looked at her husband. “You better tell me right now.” Cardan shrugged when they all heard the countdown start from ten.

“We can in ten seconds.”

“Oh God they’re gonna kill us at midnight.” Vivi took a larger sip of her alcoholic drink Jude could never remember the name of. Jude began to try and think about what it was, a confused face saying it all. “Pornstar, Jude.”

“Thank you,” the sister chuckled as Cardan grabbed Jude by the hips and pulled her closer. “Well hello there.” Jude looked at the TV, noticing they had three seconds left. Just enough time for Cardan to guide Jude’s chin to him and press his lips to hers just as the crowd screamed Happy New Year.

Jude has kissed Cardan many, many times. Yet this one felt different. It felt like their kiss on Christmas, soft, delicate. Like Cardan was grateful for spending this time with someone he loved. There was no eagerness inside, no hunger. It was just Jude amd Cardan, Cardan holding Jude as if she’ll break if he held her too tight, lips delicate against hers.

“I love you,” Cardan murmured after they finished their longing kiss.

“I did you know about that?” Jude asked, looking around now noticing Heather pinning Vivienne between her and the counter, lips merely apart. She then noticed Larkin hugging Taryn, the girl biting her lip and internally freaking out. “You assholes.” Jude laughed a little, Heather shrugging.

“Listen, you guys wanted the full mortal experience. So I explained the New Year's kiss.” The girl explained.

When Jude looked back to her husband, she saw nothing but love as she kissed him again. “I cannot wait to spend yet another year with my Queen by my side.” Cardan smiled into the kiss as he just held her.

“I love you too, my King.” Jude buried her face into Cardan’s neck, hearing her daughter now snoring against the chair.

#jurdan #cardanandjude #jude greenbriar #jude duarte #high queen jude #cardan greenbriar #high king cardan #cardan my beloved #the cruel prince #the wicked king #queen of nothing #fota #newyears #larkin #tarynduarte

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theratsareinspace · 3 years

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Cigar Smoke and Metal-Karl Heisenberg x Reader

Check out the Masterlist for the complete fic!

Chapter 2

Time passed. You didn’t know how much, or how little. After the veiled woman and her weird doll left, you were alone with your thoughts. You tried to block out the idea that there was a good chance you were going to die after you left this cell. Either die, or clean house for that greasy steampunk man. Neither of those options sounded very appealing. Then again, weird metal dude didn’t seem like he would seriously harm you. The other ‘people’ on the other hand… yeah.

After mulling over it some more, you decided if, on the slim chance you were given a choice, you’d go with the weird guy and plot your escape from there.

Some time after you had made your decision, Miranda returned. Restraints appeared on your arms and legs, and a gag was tied around your mouth. Miranda waved her hand, and you began to float, flailing wildly. She walked out of the room; you involuntarily followed her. You soon arrived at a strange room, where inhuman creatures forced you into a kneeling position and tied you down. Miranda stood at the front of the room. The weird fish man stood on her left. The veiled lady and her weird doll were on her right. Two others were present: a very, very tall, attractive woman wearing a large hat, and the steampunk man from earlier.

“My Children!” Miranda said. “It has come to my attention that there is a dispute over whether this vessel would be suitable for our purposes. Heisenberg. Explain.”

“Mother Mirander.” The steampunk man, presumably Heisenberg, spoke. “Although I do not doubt your… expertise, our experiments on outsiders have always gone… sour. We know she cannot leave, she knows too much, so I’d be willing to take her off your hands.” “Mother Miranda, I must protest this proposal.” The tall lady stood, showing her full height. “My daughters and I are having more and more difficulty finding our prey. She looks healthy and full of blood that would sustain us for quite a while.”

“Oh please, super-sized. There’s plenty of girls in the village to get your food from.” Heisenberg also stood and leaned on his large hammer. “Miranda always gives you or Moreau the outsiders she gets. I think it’s my turn, don’t you?”

“You’re such a child. What use do you even have for a human? Besides… perversity, that is?” Big lady took a drag from her cigarette stick.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” You mumbled.

“Oh, come on, grow up, maybe one day your head may actually fit that ego of yours…” Heisenberg flipped his hammer around.

“Silence, children. I have made my decision.” Miranda raised her arms and flared her wings. “Heisenberg. The mortal goes to you.”

Heisenberg tipped his hat to Miranda. “Thank you, mother.” Big lady sat in her chair. She was obviously displeased.

Your restraints disintegrated, and for a moment, you thought of running. You realized you had nowhere to go. You looked at your new captor, who was smiling almost sadistically at you.

“Alright, sweetheart.” He took your wrist and forced you to sit next to him for the rest of the meeting, where the group mulled over issues you didn’t care about. All you could feel is this man uncomfortably holding your wrist.

As soon as the meeting was adjourned, the man pulled you out of her chair and dragged you out of the room and out into the cold snow.

“Are you cold?” He asked after what seemed like an eternity of silence.

“Yes” You answered without hesitation.

“Get used to it. Oh, good, we’re here.”

You had arrived at a small carriage containing an absolutely massive man.

“Duke, I need a dress. What do ya’ got?”

“Why certainly, Lord Heisenberg. Let me show you my stock. For the young lady, I presume?” Duke leaned behind him and brought out a selection of dresses in several different colors and styles.

Heisenberg picked out the first one he saw without looking through the others.

“Oh, come now, Lord Heisenberg, I thought you would let the young lady decide. You wouldn’t want to waste coin on something she wouldn’t enjoy, now would you?”

“UUUGH. Fine.” Heisenberg shoved you forward. “Pick.”

You mouthed silent thanks to the Duke and looked through the selection. You ended up picking the warmest looking one-- a dark green, long sleeved, mid-calf length dress.

Heisenberg gruffly paid the duke, took your wrist again, and dragged you away. “Now, to the factory.”

“You’re going to leave a bruise, Heisenberg.” You spat, tired of the pain in your wrist.

“Ah, she finally speaks!” He tightened his grip on your wrist. “I’m sorry, I can’t risk my new little prisoner running away.”

“You honestly think I’m going to run away? Where would I go? I’m miles from home with a broken phone. I’m in a crazy village ruled by crazy people who wanted to do crazy occult experiments on me! I think after all I’ve been through in the past I-don’t-even-know-how-many- hours, I deserve a little respect!” He paused for a moment and released your wrist. “Fine. But if you run, I’m going to chase you. And just to make sure everyone knows you belong to me…” He removed one of the pendants tied around his neck and put it around your own. “There. It’s not too much farther to the factory.”

“The… the factory?” “Yup! My factory. That’s where you’ll spend the rest of your measly little life, cooking and cleaning for yours truly.” Ew.

“Cooking and cleaning, huh?” You mumbled to yourself.

“I live on the top floor of the factory, so you’ll even get to see some sunlight. Better than ol’ super-sized woulda’ done.”

“... so was that like… the council?” “Yup! Mirander oversees us all, and we all have some form of control over the village.” He sounded weirdly mad about being under Miranda.

“Miranda seems… interesting.”

“Don’t even get me started on Miranda, babydoll. You don’t wanna know.” “My name is y/n. Not ‘babydoll’, Heisenberg.”

He smirked over his shoulder at you. “Whatever you say… babydoll.”

You rolled your eyes.

As you came to the top of the hill, a factory became visible on the horizon.

“There she is!” Heisenberg said with a laugh.

Thick, black smoke was rolling out of the chimneys, and the land around the building was bare and desolate.

Oh boy.

#Karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenburg #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #lady dimitrescu #Karl #Donna Beneviento #resident evil viii #reader insert

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theelvenhaven · 2 years

Text

Hallows Eve Preparations

Caranthir x Reader ft. Míron

1.5k words

Odhril - s. Parent

* * *

There was the sound of laughter and giggling that floated down the hall, garnering curious glances from those that passed by your room. You could scarcely contain it, with Míron laughing along with you in his cute child laughter that filled the room. Looking at him, the makeup you were trying to apply was smudged slightly as he had been so wiggly.

Hard for the five year old to sit still long enough for you to properly apply it… The humans had taught you about their custom for Hallows Eve. One where they decorated their stoops with what they called jack-o-lanterns, wore masks and costumes and make up! All supposedly to keep the dead and malevolent spirits at bay.

Yet they had spoken of it with such lightheartedness you could scarcely resist wanting to take part in it as well! The humans well enough invited you and Caranthir to join them for the festivities, they mentioned how there would be sweets and games and that Míron was welcome to join in on the fun. Many of the mortal children would be there as well partaking in the all night fun.

If it had not been for your quickness to agree to join in on the festivities, you knew your husband would have said no.

“Míron my love, I cannot keep painting your face if you are squirming in your seat.” You laughed out to the little elfling who only giggled in return, just as the door opened. Your husband stepping in with a heavy sigh, though he looked between you both with curiosity. Before you could bring your brush to apply more yellow paint to Míron’s face as a beard, he jumped up from his seat.

“Ada!! Look Ada!! I am Tulkas!!!” Míron bellowed out excitedly as he ran across the room to hug Caranthir’s legs, smiling up at him and only serving to smear the yellow paint across his pants. You watched the corners of his mouth twitch upwards as he stooped down to pick him up and hold him.

“Mm I see that you are.” He answered coolly, before approaching where you stood,

“I am just as strong too!!!” Míron exclaimed, holding both arms out to flex them, leaving Caranthir to snort out with amusement.

“My son I have no doubt of your strength, you nearly toppled me at the door.” He said assuring Míron of such great strength. Leaving the elfling to giggle out and wrap his arms around Caranthir’s neck.

“And who is Odhril?” Caranthir asked the little one, who looked immediately back to you. You were dressed in deep blue robes with hundreds of hand stitched flecks of silver all throughout with matching silver painted stars on your face. Your hair was left out and with pins of stars in your hair.

“They are the starry sky!” He said wiggling in Caranthirs arms with excitement, eyes widening and a grin coming to his face.

“And Ada! You are to be Ithil!” You gave Caranthir a smile seeing his hesitance, knowing your poor husband was not comfortable in things that weren’t black. You knew he was convinced you were going to dress him in a bright blindingly silver outfit. One that his brothers would profusely make fun of him if you did.

“Don’t worry meleth, it is still black like you asked for. Just with the different phases of Ithil on it.” You assured him, and heard him sigh in relief at your words. Praise the stars, he thought to himself.

“Mír-” You went to say but were interrupted quickly by Míron.

“No! I am Tulkas!!” He growled out with a big grin on his face, leaving both you and Caranthir to laugh at his reaction,

“Tulkas, go and dress into your costume.” You answered him with a laugh and at this Caranthir put him down onto the ground. At this “Tulkas” hurried to a different part of your room to begin undressing and redressing. Caranthir approached you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips and you smiled against them.

“When will your brothers be joining us?” You asked him softly as you began to usher him to sit in the chair Míron had been in so you could paint his face with the same silver paint you were wearing. Caranthir sighed at the sight, but relented, trusting that you wouldn’t make him look so ridiculous.

“It would appear we will be joining them in the village. They’ve gone off ahead without us.” Caranthir didn’t know if this brought on more or less anxiety, it was less time to be picked on about his costume. But if they started drinking before him… Well then Celegorm would be apt to find something wrong with his outfit shamelessly in front of the humans.

“What have they gone as?” You asked him curiously as you began to apply the silver paint on his face in a sweeping motion, choosing to do a bright silver crescent of Ithil on his face.

“Celegorm has gone as Orome… I know not what Curufin is. I wouldn’t doubt if he chose not to participate.” You looked away for a moment, noticing the way he tensely gripped the arm of the chair. Knowing that his anxiety was getting the better of him,

“Well it is his loss… And don’t worry about how you’re dressing up, meleth nin. If your brothers have something to say I will simply sick little Tulkas on them. He is feeling… fighty.” You couldn’t help but snicker at your own words, leaving Caranthir to let out a soft chuckle.

“Yes I am surprised I was not punched upon arrival.” He said raising his brows, feeling the wet paint glide across the side of his face. You laughed at his words, quickly removing your paint brush to steal a kiss from the paint free side of his face.

“Mm that would be because I told little Tulkas a bed time would be enacted if he did. I told him to save his strength for uncle Celegorm.” In the background you and Caranthir could hear Míron singing loudly and excitedly about being able to go to a festival. Leaving you both to chuckle as you tried to focus on painting his face filling in the empty space now that the moon was outlined.

A comfortable silence between the two of you fell over you for a moment, Míron was still singing in the background, voice growing closer as he came from the other part of your room. His shirt on hastily and crooked but at least his pants were on correctly this time and with his little boots to match.

“Why must I wear a shirt Odhril!? You said Tulkas was shirtless!” You stood from your hunched position finished with Caranthirs face and washing the brush. The Lord of Thargelion took it as his cue to stand from his spot at the chair and to move to the changing screen where black robes hung behind it.

“Because it is cold outside even for you. I am sure if Tulkas were here he’d put on a shirt too.” You chuckled out to him as you approached to straighten his shirt, hoping to reason with your elfling.

“I bet Uncle Celegorm isn’t wearing a shirt.” He pouted as you laughed again, beginning to tuck his shirt into his trousers. Pressing a kiss to his little forehead at his words.

“Mm and Uncle Celegorm will be trying to steal your Ada’s overcoat before the night is over. You’ll see.” You assured him, knowing that Míron was more than likely correct. You only heard Caranthir scoff behind the screen,

“And he shan’t get it, for the fool is shirtless.” He grumbled under his breath leaving you to snicker at Caranthirs words. You only continued to fuss over Míron’s shirt as he began to sing again, the little elfling letting you do so. After a moment Caranthir walked from behind the screen and Míron was the first to see him, with a big gasp.

“Ada!! You look beautiful!!!” He said in a giddy voice, pulling from you to run over to him, Caranthir merely smiled softly as he reached down to pick him back up. Though the little boy only wiggled and squirmed to be put back down.

“No Ada! I should carry you since I am so strong!” Míron exclaimed,

“You are Tulkas not Tilion.” You chuckled out at Míron’s words, folding your arms over your chest as you watched him flop right out of Caranthir’s arms. Going to his leg to try and lift him.

“Then I want to be Tilion! He must be stronger than Tulkas!” The little elfling exclaimed releasing Caranthir’s leg with a pout,

“Mm Míron Tulkas is stronger, it is just that you are not as large as Tulkas yet.” Caranthir assured him with a soft smile still on his lips. The little one sighed out in defeat at his Ada’s words folding his arms over his chest,

“But one day you will be, I am sure of it.” He mused softly to Míron which seemed to cheer him up some as the pout left his lips. You smiled at the scene and moving to approach and reaching your hand out to grab Míron’s.

“Are we all ready?” You asked, your husband smartly nodding his head as Míron excitedly screamed out a yes. With that you both were ushered to the door by a giddy little elfling, ready to celebrate Hallow’s Eve.

* * *

tags: @saviorsong @lilmelily @dicksoutformtl @fandomhoe101 @icarus-fell-in-spring @iwenttomordor @red-riding @miriel-estelwen @ta-ka-shi-ma @nerdyely @thegirlwithoutaname87 @anunexpectedsideblog @achasiel

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wolvesandpetals · 3 years

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Loki x Sylvie Post-Finale Fanfiction (Angst, Rated Teen) Part 2 of 2

Part 1 is here:

She never knew it would hurt this much when the person she loves is right in front of her, but she can't reach out and touch him; when she is still her, he is still him, but everything else has changed, like an invisible lever in an old theatre changing the scenery in the background, bringing them both to the part of the play where they are hopelessly lost.

[[MORE]]

All it took was one single moment, one single decision, and everything feels irrevocably broken now. It makes her contemplate on the true nature of relationships, how fragile they are, and how easy it is to shatter them- and her.

The smoke is slowly clearing, and all that seems to be left is a man who is doing his best to keep his distance from her, physically and emotionally.

She can tell from the way he stands with his arms crossed, or his fists clenced when his hands are by his side, that he really doesn't want to hold her hand. How can something so simple as the touch of his fingers be so vital to her existence that it feels like something has been ripped out from inside her?

She wants to reach out and touch him, but she is scared that if he pulls away outright, any hope of reconciliation that she still has left will shatter into pieces.

And she really needs this hope. It's the only thing she still has left. It's the only thing that keeps her going.

---

He looks like a man with a mission.

They spent quite a long time together, running from the TVA, running towards the citadel at the end of time, hoping to achieve their goal of bringing down the one behind the curtains.

But that was her mission, and he was there for her. She was the one behind the wheels, he was the one keeping the sails afloat.

Now it's different. Now he has a defined goal, a glorious purpose.

She's seeing him in a whole new light now, and not just because he has switched to Asgardian leather and metal armors.

As far as she is concerned, she is better off doing it all alone. One woman army, nobody to get in her way, nobody to screw up her plans. Nobody to blame her if it all goes to shit.

Or so it was, until two months ago, when Mobius decided to enlist her help in fixing the multiversal madness.

She has never really worked with people before, and it's weird, to say the least. She never considered herself a team player, but she is finding herself hating the idea less and less lately.

And she swears it has nothing to do with him. Not the fact that they are working together, and seeing his face first thing in the morning brings her a sense of calm that she quite can't explain. Or the fact that their rooms are next to each other and it makes her feel secure enough to finally get some rest at nights. Or that this whole arrangement has kept them on talking terms, when they had gone their own separate ways otherwise.

Nothing to do with that at all.

---

Humans are stupid, and the biggest evidence of this is how they decided that two extremely powerful Gods skilled at magic, enchantment, and defeating an evil extra dimensional cloud that swallows everything it touches, should be delegated to the role of research. "You're clever. You're good at reading people. You can put yourselves in the shoes of the bad guys, no offense", they said, but really, what they meant was, "We can't trust you out in the field much." She knows it, he knows it. She just doesn't know why he's complying.

That's how they find themselves researching every single day.

She likes to think he's not the only reason why she's studying in the library instead of in the comfort of her room, but that'd be a lie.

At first, he chooses to sit at a separate table. But she keeps going over to his to "get his opinion" on something in the file she's reading, and finally, he gives in. Their current arrangement consists of him sitting in the chair in front of her, to the left, prim and proper, while she hoists her feet up on the table.

He falls asleep on the desk one night, face smacked against a file, the tiniest bit of drool forming at the corner of his mouth. It would be a hilarious sight, if her heart wasn't feeling what she can only describe as longing.

They should probably talk about it, like mature adults, but neither of them know how to do that.

All she can do right now is gather the courage to run her fingers through his hair. The touch is hesitant at first, as if one wrong move would make him wake up and push her back to square one. Slowly, she relaxes, letting her fingers dance on his scalp.

He stirs in his sleep. "Please Sif. I'm sorry. Don't cut off my glorious locks, please."

Now this is a story she must hear when things are better.

If things are better.

---

Doctor Strange joins them very briefly, very rarely, but the tension between him and Loki is hard to miss. It's worse than the current situation with her, and that's saying something.

"You don't really like Stephen, do you?"

Something inside him seems to shift, but he masks it behind a non-chalant look immediately and just arches an eyebrow at her. "He's Stephen now, is he?"

"Well, that is his name." She shrugs. "What do you call him?"

"Strange", he spits the word out with an amount of irritation that indicates there definitely is a story there. "That is his name", he mimics.

She can't help the smirk that spreads across her lips. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing", he lies, ignoring the horrifying flashbacks of thirty minutes of endless falling. Not a single soul must ever know a mere human got the best of him. "What can he do to me? I'm a God among those mortals. He just irks me because he is so pompous, and arrogant, and he ceaselessly uses magic to toy with others."

She pretends to think deeply. "Now where have I seen that before?"

He scoffs. "You mock me, but I am nothing like him. For one, I am not rude."

"He seems fine to me", she declares decisively.

It's the first time in months that he gives her a cheeky grin. "That's because you're rude too."

---

They are still just containing the threats to their world, instead of finding a way to fortify the barriers between worlds and stop the threats from coming.

"Shouldn't we have a plan to seal off the other worlds from ours?" She asks him one day.

"They are working on it." He tells her, and then with a look of worry, adds, "I hope."

There are debates on what to do at the Avengers tower and at the TVA. Nobody seems to agree on what the best course of action is, but everyone seems to be following the general instructions of Doctor Strange.

During one such meeting, a Minuteman makes the mistake of voicing out loud how she wondered if things would be better if they were running according to their old boss's plans.

Sylvie feels the guilt wash over her once more.

"No", Loki tells them all firmly. The determination in his voice takes her completely by surprise. "Evil is evil. Lesser, greater, middling, makes no difference. The degree is arbitrary. The definition’s blurred." She catches him steal a glance at her direction. "We couldn't have left a dictator in charge just because it's convenient. Listen, I'm the bad guy. I've done horrible, unspeakable things. I thought humans needed to be ruled. I wanted to rule. But even I know that it's not right to take away a person's life completely. These are innocent people. You are innocent people. You have families back home, parents, children", a pause and a softening of his features, "-love. A whole past, a whole future. That man had no right to take it away from you."

His powers of persuasion are foreign to her, and it's mesmerizing to watch. Her enchantments cannot hold a candle to how he is able to just talk people into doing what he wants, thinking what he thinks, seeing what he sees.

"He who remains had a plan. One, singular plan, from one, singular man." There is absolute conviction in his voice. "It's not the only way. We'll find another way. A better way."

She has never known what it is like to have someone see you for who you are- broken and flawed, and defend you- even your well-intentioned actions that yielded different results than what you expected and hurt them in the process. She suspects it has been the same for him, a lifetime of not having anyone have his back.

The warm feeling inside her is brand new. What is the name of this? Comfort? Relief?

Happiness?

---

This will be their first time out in the field in a long time, and she feels a little sick to the stomach.

He notices. "Are you alright?"

The concern in his voice tugs at her heartstrings. She nods. She has faced way worse, she shouldn't be so nervous about this, but she is. "I've never done this before."

"We can always just kill him and blame it on the Chitauris", he suggests with a serious face.

"I heard that", Peter yells from the other room, where he is doing whatever it is that teenagers do to prepare for battle.

She shakes her head in disbelief. "I can't believe we're babysitting."

"I've done this before", he assures her, and it surprises her to picture him being entrusted with such a serious task. "The trick is to conjure up illusions that keep them distracted enough to not cry."

She laughs. "You're thinking of infants. This one is a little older."

"I'm over a thousand years old, Sylvie. They're all infants to me."

Peter joins them, mask covering his face so that he doesn't reveal his identity. "So what do I call you? Loki and Loki? That's confusing. How about Loki and Lady Loki? Or is that offensive? I'm not suggesting women are inferior, because they're absolutely not..."

"Does he come with an off switch?" She whispers in horror as Peter rambles on.

Loki grins. With one wave of his hand and a flash of green, Peter's own webbing shoots out and seals his mouth shut.

---

Things are fine but not fine at the same time. He's right there beside her, but not there at all. They have their banters, they have their stolen glances, but they haven't had a meaningful conversation since that first day when she got back. She's been putting it off for a long time, but she knows they really do need to have the talk.

She corners him in his room one evening while he's tinkering with a temporal collar. She takes a seat in the chair next to his bed and rests her hand on the table, leaning her head against her palm, before switching position and crossing her arms and legs. Everything about her posture screams uneasiness. If he notices- he probably does- he doesn't say anything.

"You defended me that day."

He briefly looks up from the task at hand and gives her a soft smile. "Of course."

She blinks. "I don't understand." Her hands involuntary rise up to rub her temples. "If you can justify my actions to them, then how can you still be mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you", he says without missing a beat.

"Rubbish", her words come out angrier than she intended. This frustration is the result of the months of status quo they have had. She has to know now, one way or the other. "You're distant. You're guarded", she accuses. Then her voice breaks, as she feels a part of her break all over again with her next words. "You don't hold my hand. Why? Tell me."

He abandons the collar and focuses his full attention on her. Staring straight into her eyes, he answers her. "You know why."

"I wouldn't be asking if I did. Look, if it's because I chose the mission over you-"

"-Of course it's not that." He says decisively. Then a sad smile clouds his face. It's the same look he had when she accused him of conning her to gain the throne. "Do you think I'm the type of man who would want a woman to abandon her life-long ambitions just because she has met someone?"

She knows he isn't. But it still doesn't answer why he is so cross with her. "What is it then?"

He pauses for a moment, trying to decide whether he wants to bare his soul out to her once more or not. There are two ways he can go from here- choose to not let her in again and save himself from the hurt, or trust her again and open himself up to potential pain.

Who is he kidding? Pushing her away- keeping her away- doesn't hurt any less.

There were a thousand things that had to go wrong to bring two Lokis from two universes together. A connection like that, it doesn't just happen.

And it doesn't just go away. The pain is constant, it's a part of him, pounding like a second heart every second he has to stop himself from reaching out for her hand.

This has to come to an end.

He takes in a deep breath, bracing himself. "You didn't have to send me away, Sylvie. I wanted to stop you from making the same mistakes I did. But in the end, I didn't care what you chose. I just wanted us to do it together."

She never even imagined this could be the reason for his hurt. All these months spent thinking he hates her for her choices, and now it turns out he is hurt simply because she chose to do it alone? "I'm sorry." She says sincerely. "I just wanted you to be safe."

"And I just wanted to be there with you till the end." He confesses. His eyes shimmer with the emotions he has kept bottled in for so long. "You go, I go."

She doesn't know what to say to that. She has never been good at articulating her feelings. Tears stream down her cheeks at the realisation that even after everything, he is still there for her.

She didn't cry even back at Lamentis when they thought they were going to die. She doesn't let anyone see her cry when she is sad or scared. That's all she has known her whole life. She's used to it by now.

This is new. These are tears of relief. Comfort.

Happiness.

Tentatively, she crosses over to the bed and sits by his side.

It's quiet for a few minutes. But unlike the months of tension so thick she could cut it into splices with her daggers, this is comfortable silence. The kind they had before it all went wrong.

"Did you even miss me?" He whispers.

"What kind of silly question is that? Of course I did." Her shaking hands grab his, and oh how she missed this.

He intertwines their fingers. His eyes draw closed. Bliss. That's the only word for this feeling.

He opens his eyes again and studies her. She's staring back at him, teary-eyed, but with a hopeful smile. "Really? Because you have a really unique way of showing it. You didn't even come looking for me."

"I didn't know how to face you", she tells him honestly. No tricks, no enchantment, no treachery. Not with him. "I didn't know if you even wanted to see me." Her voice grows quieter, dropping to a timbre that perfectly encapsulates her deepest fear. "I thought you hated me."

"Hate you?" He is shocked that she thinks that is even possible, specially after seeing him these last few months. "Sylvie, I'm working with the Avengers. The Avengers. Do you know how much I hate them? They are my nemesis. They're self-righteous, condescending, and so completely dull. Every second with them makes me want to rip their hearts out. Why do you think I'm here with them?"

She thinks she knows. But she needs to hear it anyway.

"It's because of you." He lays it all out on the table. All cards on deck, win or lose. "You've been running away. I have been the one who has been here, trying to hold down the fort, working to fix everything. Because that is what one does when one loves-"

Shit. The word slips out before he realises it.

Their eyes go wide in unison.

"Sylvie, I-"

"-Don't you dare take it back now." She warns him. "I-" She doesn't know how to say it either. They make such a great pair, both equally daft at saying how they feel, like they are teenagers, not Gods who have lived for centuries. "I've been running because I didn't think I could bear the burden of knowing I found you and then I lost you. I don't want to lose you. Not now, not ever."

He kisses the back of her hand, before letting it go. He cups her face, gently caressing her cheeks with his thumbs. "I don't want to lose you either."

She leans in closer, until their foreheads touch. She can feel his breath on her face, warm and soft. That is exactly how she feels inside. "You won't", she promises. "You go, I go."

---

(Quote on Lesser Evil from The Witcher. Thanks for reading!!)

#fanfiction #fanfic #loki #loki disney+#loki x sylvie #sylki #sylvie laufeydottir #sylvie x loki #pro sylki

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nataliedanovelist · 3 years

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GF & MvsM - Wanna Talk About Dinos?

This crossover was inevitable. It just works too well. Maybe one day i’ll write a fic about how the folks at Gravity Falls handled the robot-apocalypse. Probably shrugged it off. “Eh. We’ve had worse.” Haha! What if Stan and Ford, cuz they were out sailing, had no clue what happened and when they came back they were like, “Wait, what?”

For now, please enjoy this fic of Aaron making a new friend...

(credit goes to @stephreynaart for her OC Jacob) ~~~~~~~~~~ “Hi, would you like to talk to me about dinosaurs?”

Aaron asked this question more times than he could keep track of, but that wasn’t going to stop him from asking it. It started as a dare from his big sister two years ago, but now it’s a fun hobby. When fifth grade isn’t overwhelming him, scaring him with mountains of homework and horror stories about how hard middle school is going to be, and when he’s run out of YouTube videos to catch up on, he is on the hunt for fellow giant-lizard-lovers like a hungry Ceratosaurus.

“No, okay bye.” But it did get a little tiring to always cross out names and phone-numbers on the phone book with red ink. Hey, a dinosaur of a way to find phone-numbers was appropriate. He read the next number, dialed it, and after a ring or two he asked, “How would you like to talk with me about dinosaurs? No, okay thank you.”

Aaron crossed out another name and sighed, taking a break since he reached the end of a line of numbers. Maybe he should just be grateful for Abbey and accept that no one else wants to talk about the Jurassic Period. Or the Cretaceous Period. Or the Triassic Period. But then a big, old, gray-tinted ad distracted him. He grinned, thinking it would at least be fun to give them a call, and he dialed the number.

Private home phone-numbers were fun, but businesses were also fun! Poor, bored workers would gladly talk to him rather than crabby Karens, and they got paid for it! So Aaron smiled as the phone rang, and he grinned when someone picked up.

“Thanks for calling the Mystery Shack, you’re talking to Mr. Mystery himself! How may I befuddle or bewilder you?”

“Hi! How would you like to talk with me about dinosaurs?”

“Oh, dude! I’d love to, but I’m scheduled for a tour of the Oddity Museum in three minutes.” The man said, and Aaron grinned continuously, because it sounded like Mr. Mystery really wanted to talk with him about dinosaurs. “But hey! Can you hold on for one minute, I think I know a guy!”

“Yeah, sure mister!” And Aaron was greeted by the sound of a catchy jingle about buying t-shirts and mugs and snowglobes. He smiled and wiggled his feet along to the music as he looked outside at the beautiful late-fall afternoon, entertained while he waited.

~~~~~~~~~~

Soos was on the hunt. He planned out the house in his head. Abuelita was taking a nap upstairs, Melody was organizing the upcoming tour, and Stan took Jacob out for ice cream, so he might be…

The owner of the Shack grinned when he stopped at the doorway and saw the man he was looking for, sitting in Stan’s chair, reading a book.

“Uncle Ford!”

The old sailor smiled up at the young man. “Yes, wh-...”

“Do you think you could answer the phone for me? I have a tour and I think this customer’s request is right up your alley.”

“Uh… sure, but w-...”

“Thanks, you’re the best!” And Soos was gone before he could address Ford’s confusion.

Ford was a bit lost, having little to no business with business, but he had learned at this point to trust Soos, so he picked up the phone beside him and was immediately greeted with a sweet, “How would you like to talk with me about dinosaurs?”

Ford grinned and closed his book. “I would love to! All three periods are equally as fascinating to study, but the Triassic contains some of my favorite dinosaurs!”

A young voice gasped on the other line. “Mine, too! Everyone thinks the Jurassic period is so great, and it’s pretty cool, but the Triassic gave us Plateosaurus and the Brachiosaurus!”

“That’s very true! You know, it’s very interesting, maybe depictions don’t include feathers at all, which is a bit frustrating, but perhaps after the news has spread they will incorporate more feathers on merchandise and textbooks.”

“YES! That’s what I wanna do when I grow up, help draw better-accurate dinosaurs!”

~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rang on Sunday. The Shack was closed today, so Stan lazily answered it and was greeted with, “Wanna talk about dinosaurs?”

“Sixer, phone for you!”

Ford ran into the living room, elbowed his twin out of the chair, and took the phone. “Hello again, Aaron! Now, where were we? Right, so Australopithecus. … No, I don’t think… Oh! No, homo habilis was erect, Australopithecus was never fully erect.”

“Maybe he was nervous.” Stan groaned, getting to his feet.

Ford shot him a look as thankfully the young boy on the other end didn’t catch that and happily shared some more fun-facts about homo habilis.

~~~~~~~~~~

While most college students were excited for Spring Break so they could get drunk or lose their virginity, Katie was excited because her family had planned a special secret roadtrip. She was careful to keep up with her family and talk to her parents and brother frequently, but Aaron had a hobby he wasn’t talking about that his parents found out and were thrilled about. Aaron had made another friend.

Rick and Katie did some research and the tourist attraction sounded right up their alley! In the middle of the woods, tons of weird stuff, and a fun roadtrip filled with diners and attractions. They decided to surprise Aaron, and they made up a lie that they would spend Spring Break in California with Katie so she could show her family around San Francisco, when in actuality they would be traveling up the state to the Redwood Highway and see the oddity place, and maybe even allow Aaron to meet his new pen-pal. Or, um, phone-pal.

So after bombarding Katie with hugs the Mitchells threw her luggage into the car and drove off. Aaron turned to Katie and excitingly asked, “So where are we going first? Can we go fix the Golden Gate bridge by painting it gold?”

Katie laughed and ruffled his hair. “Maybe later, right now I wanna show you guys this fun store right outside of town. Here, check out the videos I made for my classes!” And she pulled out some airpods and gave one to Aaron.

“Cool!”

Rick and Linda smirked at each other as they drove north. By the time they reached a little diner in Redding, CA, it was very clear to Aaron that they weren’t in San Francisco anymore. “Come on, just tell me where we’re going!” The boy begged as he fed Monchi a fry.

“The best kind of prizes are the surprises.” Linda quoted.

“Eric, Deborahbot5000, where are we going?”

“Sorry, Aaron, we cannot give that information.” Eric said, he and the other robot sitting politely in their seats, happy to be a part of the social interaction.

“Yes, Mother will bury us if we disobey.” Deborahbot said matter-of-factly.

“What?! No I won’t, sweeties.”

“Won’t you ground us?”

The family laughed and Aaron let the topic go; if he was honest, he loved a good surprise. The big family stopped in a motel just at the California-Oregon border, and the next morning after muffins and coffee and orange juice they were on the road again, passing dozens of trees that made Rick feel at home. Katie happily recorded the trip, trusted to be the documenter for another fun roadtrip, with hopefully not as much mortal peril.

Aaron watched as they left the highway for a simple road, and they passed a big sign. The boy gasped and caught what was happening. “No WAY! Really?!”

“You know, I hear this Mystery Shack even has a Sasquatch.” Rick commented while Linda pulled out a pamphlet from the glove box.

“It says here it’s full of odd things you’ll never see anywhere else, even a dinosaur footprint…”

“Wasn’t there a rumor of there being a Bottomless Pit?” Katie asked, pointing her camera at Aaron to get his reaction.

“Thank you thank you THANK YOU!!!” Aaron cheered, hugging his Dad’s neck and kissing his Mom’s cheek.

“Hey, no worries, buddy.” Rick eased, fixing his shewed glasses. “We wanted to see this place, too!”

“Why don’t we eat a quick lunch and then we’ll take the backroad for the attraction? There’s a coupon in here for a diner made from a giant log!”

And so after being served by a pretty blonde teenager at Greasy’s, they drove through town to get to the backroad. Signs made them confident that they were going the correct way, as well as Eric and Deborahbot5000’s GPS. Then as they turned a corner, a big triangle-shaped building came into view. Aaron grinned at the giant sign with a missing letter. People were already leaving, arms full of souvenirs and one or two already wearing their new hats or t-shirts. Once Rick parked in the Free Parking Lot, Aaron spilled out of the car and ran for the shack, but he stopped.

Katie caught up to him and patted his back. “You cool, man?”

Aaron shrugged, holding his hands in front of him and his shoulders up to hide his face a bit. “I-I dunno… What if… What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Hey, I get it.” Katie admitted. “When I first met my friends I was really nervous. I had talked to them online for weeks and I was worried it wasn’t gonna be what it was all cracked up to be, but it was. Your system worked! You found another dino-lover! You earned this moment. Just take in a deep breath and be yourself, cuz you’re a pretty cool dude.”

Aaron smiled up at his big sister. “Thanks.”

Trusting Eric and Deborahbot5000 to watch Monchi and make sure he used the bathroom, the Mitchells went inside the shack. On the porch there was an ice cooler, a sign reading schedule times for tours of the Oddity Museum, a Help Wanted sign, and two rocking chairs with a game of checkers between them.

Inside the store a few customers filled up the gift shop, alongside t-shirts, snowglobes, a vending machine, a door beside ti that read Employees Only, a bookshelf full of comic on one side and old newspapers claiming alien sightings on the other, a fish tank holding a monkey-mermaid, and barrels full of spaceship keychains and dino claws. A new section called Camping Stuff caught Rick’s eye, selling backpacks, lanterns, flashlights, batteries, canteens, and compasses. Katie opened a comic called Lil’Stanley and laughed at the swears, taking a pic and sending it to her friends’ group chat. Linda looked into the barrel full of patches and grinned at all the fun designs, while Aaron stared happily at the mer-monkey.

The Employees Only door opened and closed and Rick watched as a man in a suit, fez, and eyepatch walked up to the lady at the register and kissed her cheek. The woman smiled lovingly and left while the guy who resembled a gopher checked a customer out. Rick waited until the buyer left to approach the register, leaning an arm on the counter.

“Welcome to the Mystery Shack, dude!”

“Thanks! So, this is gonna sound weird, but my son Aaron talks to a guy here about dinosaurs…”

“No way!” The owner interrupted excitedly. “Good to see you, dudes! I’m Mr. Mystery! Wow, you guys came a long way, huh?”

“Nah, only from California. My daughter is attending art school there.”

While the men chit-chatted and Linda joined them, Katie noticed a guy walking up to Aaron and looking at the mer-monkey. She smiled and tried to read the comic without being too nosy, but she kept her senses on her brother.

“Hm, quite fascinating, isn’t it?” The man in the blue hoodie said. “But I think my favorite is the fossilized footprint. Could be Nanuqsaurus hoglundi.”

“The Polar Bear Lizard?” Aaron clarified, touching his chin as he looked at the dino-print, his back to the man he was talking to. “Maybe, but they’re from Alaska. It’s possible plate tectonics did cause some fossils to be relocated here, but it could also be a Nanotyrannosaurus lancensis footprint.”

“The Dwarf Tyrant? Could very well be. Would you like to talk about dinosaurs after your tour?”

Aaron’s eyes widened as the voice was finally familiar to him. He turned and looked up to find an old man smiling up at him. He had fluffy gray hair with a white stripe running around his scalp, wrinkles by his eyes due to smiling, a cleft chin, glasses, and wore a blue hoodie with a maroon sweater underneath. His hands were behind his back and he smiled down at Aaron warmly, while the boy was jittery and overly-excited. He took in a sharp breath and had to fight every muscle to keep from leaping through the screen door.

“H-H-Hi…” He peeped. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Y-Yeah, sure! I’d love to! I’m Aaron! Er, wait, you already knew that.” And he held out a hand to shake.

His phone-pal, Ford, chuckled and got on one knee to be eye-level. “Greeting, Aaron! It’s nice to formally meet you.”

Aaron shook his hand and noticed something. He had six fingers on his right hand. A quick glance told Aaron he also had six fingers on his left hand. Aaron grinned with sparkling eyes at his new friend, while the old sailor smiled warmly at the boy that reminds him of his niece and nephew when they were young.

#GF #mvsm #mitchells vs the machines #gravity falls #ford pines #soos ramirez #aaron mitchell #katie mitchell #rick mitchell #linda mitchell #eric and deborahbot5000

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