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undercoverpena · 11 months

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a then he almost never had

summary: there is you, though. you who’s curled against him, breathing softly with skin like silk. the t-shirt you’d stolen from him had risen up, exposing the curve of your hip and the dip of your spine. his hand along it, fingers splayed out, keeping you pinned against his chest

javier peña x f!reader word count: 2.9k warnings: season two/three spoilers, angst, reader injury but ends hea. mentions of smut, growing feelings. softness, with Jo-angst. an: i poisoned myself with gluten last night (i'm a coeliac) so this was written at 3am, forgive mistakes. forgive me.

It burns. That’s the first coherent thought that slams into you. It rises, explodes like a firework behind your eyes. And then, it all just fucking burns.

It’s early.

He can tell because the sun hasn’t yet risen—its fingers not currently stretching out and brushing everything it can touch.

He knows this hour well, he wakes at it a lot.

As though it’s programmed within him. Inputted.

It allows for thinking, he supposes. A chance to reminisce, to replay both the good and the bad.

He watches clips from his life, as though he hasn’t already lived them. Unable to stop them from displaying on the back of his lids, the silence provided them a high quality to torture him.

He blames the silence for why they began in the first place.

During the day, they’re kept back through loudness, activity and busyness. But at night, when the moon hangs itself high, and the world sleeps, it allows the drawers in his mind to open—the ones with no organisation, haphazardly stuffed full of regrets, all to creep out and take chunks out of him.

Both memories and failures mixing, dancing—twirling… before shattering. Breaking into shards at his feet, occasionally piercing his soul.

There’s nothing to stop them, no noise, no disturbance. No reason was provided before he shoved the drawer closed and hid all his problems away, tucked them deep inside of himself along with his pride.

There is you, though.

You who’s curled against him, breathing softly with skin like silk. The t-shirt you’d stolen from him had risen up, exposing the curve of your hip and the dip of your spine. His hand along it, fingers splayed out, keeping you pinned against his chest—as if you’ve ever said you want to be anywhere else.

Often, it’s that night he replays the most.

You pleading, all blemished with crimson and trembling. He hears it, the rattle of your voice, the wheeze. Feels the helplessness as if he’s back there.

It doesn’t matter that it was some time ago now, the words hang in the silence when you’re frustrated with him. They blow through the trees when you smile brighter than the sun. Sometimes, they’re even there between moans of his name and silent pleas—just there, on the tip of your breath.

It took the forced time at home to stop seeing you covered in your own blood, to stop that pang of loss at seeing you go down.

Bogotá had tried to break him, but Laredo stitched him back.

At this hour, the time at home feels like a distant memory. So much so, it almost crushes him. Circles around him, reminding him—

It hurts, Javi—fuck it… Stay with me, Javi. Please. Don’t leave, don’t leave me, baby…

Complacency. It’s the reason he’d heard the words, to begin with. He’d taken you for granted, that you would always be there. Jibing him, arguing with him, fucking him.

Then, you’d met asphalt, choking words out he wanted to shove back down your throat. More spluttering from your lips, fingers clutching for him as though he could fill your lungs with breath and stop it all from hurting.

Fuck, he wished he had been able to. Wishes he could.

It doesn’t matter that he’s countlessly reminded himself that you’re alive. You made it. He’s forced himself to feel the pulse in your neck by brushing his lips against the vein in your neck. He’s felt you breathing, hand on your back as you took copious gasps of it, feeling it dance across his ear, blending with his name.

None of it had mattered for a while, not when he had seen you visibly hovering on the line, almost tipping the other way. Almost leaving him alone. He supposes it’s why it’s the fixed movie always showcasing in his mind.

A sick sort of reality check.

He glances at you sleeping, face blank of anything other than pleasant dreams. It settles him, for a moment. Allows him an interval to his usual tortured processing.

He’d always thought you were pretty. Had caught his eye the moment you’d tiptoed into his life.

It was only when you balanced on the line, did Javi wish he had told you that more. Thankfully, because of your grit, determination—and fucking stubbornness—he was able to now.

Whispered it, dropped it into your ears. Watching you go shy, hand batting him away.

It was what you felt for him that had helped you keep your claws in him. Allowed you to grip onto the present, providing the chance to speak before blue lights whizzed you from him.

Lazy mornings. I want lazy mornings following late nights, Javi… want to stop pretending I don’t like you being around…

When he recalls it, the present-him always wishes he had kissed you. Inwardly jeering at his former self for not doing so.

It’s why he hates this hour, how it allows him to tick over the wrongdoings, watching them but never being able to correct them.

Never able to stop noticing the smaller things. How your eyes had paled and how striking the scarlet stains were on your blouse.

How he had felt a hole open in his chest that mirrored the one gouged into your abdomen. How your hand shook in his, fear coursing through your bones—tears cruising down the curve of your cheek as you shoved more wishes and wants at him.

…I’ll make you breakfast— You burn bread, Bonita. I’ll burn it just for you.

It was only when your fingers had slid from his, both pulled and yet released (all at once), did he realise he wanted it too.

All of it.

Standing in that realisation, shirt clinging to his skin. It stained with your pain—your wound, your foolishness. Your wrong time, wrong place, and his sea of regrets. Just watching the ambulance take you, making him want to sink to his knees or sink his fist into the face of the one with the gun.

Mainly, Javi considers that he should have told you that you were going to be fine, that he’d be there when you woke up.

Maybe it would have allowed for an image that wasn’t terrified eyes being all he had for four days until you blessed him once again.

That’s what he thinks the most at this hour.

Not Cali.

Not getting the brothers. Not undoing it all.

Javi thinks about the fact he could have been here without you.

Absently, his fingers twitch for a smoke, tongue desperate for amber. His body even desperate to meet your skin, feel you writhe, feel you clutch him close with fingers, lips and—

It’s a coping mechanism—a distraction. One he used to welcome, used to bury himself in until he felt numb enough to get up again. Now he does this instead.

He ticks.

You’ve never asked me for anything. You never seemed like you had much to give, Javi.

You had a point.

It still stung.

The soft smile the words were delivered with doesn't lessen the ache they leave. If you had worried or thought over why he never stayed once he’d been between your thighs, you never said until that night. Never asked him for anything, not breakfast, not mornings.

Then your resolve had melted, dissolved as though it’d been dropped in acid, made never to exist.

I want to stop pretending I don’t want you around…

He didn’t fear commitment; he feared the risks it brought. The harm it would bring to your door, even if your door were close to his—your job just as perilous.

It had happened all the same.

It hadn’t mattered he had kept you at arms reach, had tried to protect you. You were hurt anyway.

His fears collided into him, bruising him—fracturing bones and searing something through his soul. His worst nightmare came to fruition there in front of his eyes, and he hadn’t been able to do a thing to stop it.

You were good. Too good for him. And then you were crying, bleeding out across a Colombian road, his hand doing a poor job of stopping it from spilling out.

Javi didn’t begin healing until your eyes opened after the bullet ripped through your abdomen. Not when you were out of surgery, only when you looked at him with clarity.

The bruising he felt didn’t fade until he woke with you in his arms weeks later—his bones not forgetting until he heard you whisper those three words when he was buried to the hilt in you.

Those same three words he had thought himself at your bedside, drinking coffee—soaking himself in it, keeping sleep at bay so he never missed you waking. They churned in his throat, say bitterly on his tongue as he ran his hand over his face, index finger sliding over thumb.

He didn’t say them then, though.

Kept them locked away, the key thrown somewhere within his soul.

His focus on you waking. Now, you always wake and sleep beside him. Sometimes soundly, sometimes ticking.

He wonders if you relive it. If you still feel it. If the scar on your side throbs the way his fictional one does.

You don’t flinch when he brushes it, unlike the first month or two. You don’t hide it as much as you once did, his eyes able to accept it’s healed, see the way it’s silvered from time. It still stands out, ever evident when you’re full of him, more so when you’re staring down, rolling your hips to spell his name.

Eyes full of awe and wonder, a sight he doesn’t deserve but drinks up all the same.

I love you. I know. I love you too.

He had whispered it one morning. Your eyelashes fluttered open, smothering him in kindness and hope. It was instinct, to brush his knuckles against your cheek, feeling your smile as well as watching it rise—a prettier sight than any sunrise, especially when his sun had almost been taken.

Your response hadn’t surprised him.

He’d guessed you’d know, been able to tell. Hadn’t done a good job at hiding it, really. Even if he’d poured time into not confessing it, keeping it back, just wanting you safe.

Javi had said them because he liked seeing your things mixed with his—imagined them alongside his in a case. It’s why he bought a ticket for you from Laredo to Bogotá.

You don’t have to come. I know you’re done. Do you want me to come? Yeah. I want you there, bonita. With you or working for you. With me.

Those three words thrummed in him when you walked around his place, unaware of his eyes. They’re plucked in his chest when you’re close, and even when you’re not.

At this hour, it’s too easy to let doubts swirl in.

To allow the good to have the terrible bled into it. He doesn’t need the bad to peel more from him, doesn’t need to meet each insecurity, each fear—not while he works to protect this, maintaining the two of you.

He fans his hand out across your back, hearing you sleepily murmur. It’s instinctive, how he presses a kiss to your forehead, right across the hairline. Nose taking in the scent of his shampoo in your hair, the way you’re warm, alive. Noting how your body rises and falls in slow waves, heartbeat against his ribs, all beating, loud and proud.

I’m here, Javi. I’m okay.

You’d said those for weeks in the days that passed. Healing together, growing stronger.

In time, he hopes those words replace the others—smother them until they go out with a poof. The drawer able to close.

For tonight, he manages to slide it shut.

His hold on you tightening, keeping you close—flush, no room to argue, or for fate to attempt to sneak its way in and keep you apart.

Slowly, he closes his eyes, bidding farewell to the hour—knowing there’s a good chance he’ll see it tomorrow.

Javi. That’s the second thought which collides, forcing eyelids to open. You say his name like a chorus, feeling foreign hands and voices that aren’t familiar. Javi. Javi. Javi—

There are several moments he can attest as to why he’s done.

It’s not the corruption. It’s not that winning, doesn’t feel like winning.

While he feels it should be the chunks it’s taken from him, the way his soul feels fragmented—that he prickles, unsure of who to trust and who even to believe in.

It’s not any of that. Mainly, it’s you.

You who ask for nothing, even now. Living in the same city that almost took your life.

You who doesn’t ask him to promise he’ll be home for dinner, only asking him to be safe. No requests of days that you’d like him to make sure he’s here for.

Instead, you work around him—await a call, a heads up.

I’m on my way home, Bonita. To me? I’m very lucky. Yes. To you.

Something curls out of him when he sees you, when you wrap your arms around his neck and let him taste future and happiness on your lips. It grows, widens when he slides fabric from your skin, unveiling you, allowing his eyes to drink in the sight that gets him through it all.

A sight he tries not to take for granted, but knows he does.

He does so unmeaningly. Let’s late hours slide into late nights; enacts decisions before he realises it has taken him a night in bed alongside you.

So when he’s here, when he’s able to make you his priority, he spends every second—of every minute, of every hour—showing you

Beautiful, so beautiful, mi amor.

He kisses the words across your collarbone, down your breastbone—he takes in the scent of you and flowery scent you tend to wear. Hearing you inhale when your walls tighten around his fingers.

Allows to taste your pleasure from your tongue, before parting your thighs to make you scream again.

There are other way he can treasure you, but this is his favourite—and from the way you knot your fingers in his hand, he suspects this is yours too.

Fuck, cariño—mi amor. What have I done to deserve you?

He thinks it, a lot.

Says it only when you’re atop of him, hips moving with his, hand on his chest.

It’s only when his breath is caught does it hit him. Watching your body bend at the waist, the scar moving with you as you try to dress.

That’s when he realises he’s done. The final nail. The last tally.

The acceptance of it should fill him with dread. This has been his purpose, his occupancy. His goal and his fixation. Instead, the acknowledgement allows a flicker of something in his mind to attempt to grow, bloom, and flower.

At first, it’s not clear. But then he sees you in white, a Laredo sun beating down on you. He sees flowers in your hand, and his hand wearing a ring. His mind even thinks of laughter—not just the two of yours, but one made by someone small.

A future.

Javi allows it to play. Welcoming this new movie—not one born from the past—to display across the blank wall. Tracing the tips of his fingers up and down your bare spine, rising up from his place amongst creased sheets, tasting the sweat on your skin as he kisses your shoulder.

“Cariño, I think—“

“It’s okay,” you whisper.

Knowing you, you’ve likely known for a while. Most definitely knowing from a look, a glance, you suddenly give. A mediocre smile accompanies it, one he knows you’re suppressing.

Because he knows you too.

More than he ever thought he’d allow himself to. It goes further than your coffee order or how you like your breakfast. He knows your favourite flower and that you’re a good baker (even for as bad of a cook as you are).

Javi also knows you were happy with him in Laredo—likely thinking of the same future with him as he’s just had about you.

“Is it?”

It comes out weak, like a noise more than words. Two words which force themselves up from his chest and out past his lips.

Your face cracks, shifting—whatever emotions you were holding back forcing their way through and erupting into small flutters across your face.

But it’s your hand—that same one which had once reached out for him, begging and pleading as your life dangled in the balance—cupping his cheek that lets him know. Thumb brushing over the corner crease of his lips, allowing his shoulders to slide down from his ears—

“Yes,” you whisper.

One word. Simple.

But there’s a story embedded in between each letter. A story that has chapters and sequels, that he can tell you could ramble on about until his ears bleed and his hair turns grey.

You don’t say them, somehow knowing they’re not needed—somehow always knowing him, even if he tries to stop you from seeing that side of him.

The vulnerable side. The one full of cracks.

He knows you’ve caught glimpses. Like when he’d come back from rescuing Christina.

Instead of asking him, you just took his hand and led him to the shower, running fingers through his hair as you frothed soap and kept him close. A silent exchange of words, soft kisses punctuating paragraphs he can’t say.

It’s like that now. A secret knowing. An understanding.

Things hanging, swinging in the wind between the two of you, not needing to be said, yet spelt out all the same.

“I’ll finish this, then…”

Twisting towards him, both hands cupping his face, he almost loses himself in your eyes. How the darkness makes the black larger, but doesn’t distinguish the love, the hope, the kindness…

“And then,” you whisper.

Then. He thinks.

Fingers cupping your hip, thumb brushing across your scar.

A then he almost never had.

But won’t ever surrender now.

“I love—“

“I know,” you whisper, forehead to his.

an: still love me?

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viviennevermillion · 10 months

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ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ

❝ always there to warm you in the winter.... always there with shelter from the rain... always there to catch you when you're falling... always there to stand you up again... family...❞ — Lady & the Tramp 2

notes: i see chapter 7 part 4 did things to our puny little minds. part of @briarvalleyarchives "anthems of old" event. a short story about lilia, malleus and whom they've lost.

warnings: character death, major chapter 7 spoilers

The winter after the beloved princess had passed was a cruel and solemn one. The snowflakes would travel through the cold air of Briar Valley as they had done so many times in the years prior and hit the ground, melting into the ones that had come before; a fate that was all too familiar to the residents of the small nation. The war had left its scars upon the lands. Beasts had run rampant in the villages; destroying homes that had been carefully built with love and dedication. The caves in the mountains were stripped of their glamour, the crystals that had reflected the sunlight that would, despite all odds, break through the cracks, were stolen by beasts unfamiliar to the once peaceful home of the fae.

Because some beasts were not as easy to handle as the demon beasts that came from the mountains to wreak havoc in the settlements. No one knew that better than the fearsome General Vanrouge. From the moment Lady Mallenoa had entered her eternal slumber; with no amount of love able to wake her once more, it was as though winter never ended. Memories of times gone by would flash through his mind; the way they had played in the snow as children and the young princess would never go easy on him; using her magic to turn the previously innocent game into a battlefield of snowballs that left Lilia no room to fight back. It took centuries for him to be able to hold a candle to her power.

Now the snow was stained with the blood of his enemies. At the time, the general had never taken a moment to think about whether the Silver Owls he had slain had a family waiting for them at home as well. They had taken his, so they were undeserving of theirs. General Vanrouge had been consumed by the rage and bitterness in his heart, destroying all who dared stand in his path, for his heart now belonged to battle. This way, he wouldn't have to mourn the past.

He remembered vividly, always, the day they laid her to rest. It seemed as though the whole kingdom was present to say their goodbyes to her. Each citizen who attended the burial was dressed in black for this day, illuminated in the dead of night only by the candles they held as the princess was carried in a casket to her final resting place. The queen had placed a single rose on the ground that to Lilia seemed as though it had swallowed her. Lilia had walked up to the grave later when everyone had left. He thought of the egg still rested and protected within the chambers of the castle. "I promise, for as long as I live, no harm shall come to it. And not a day will go by....that I don't miss your smile", his voice cracked as the tears started streaming down his face. The seasons would go by and yet the cold never passed. Not when the sun would rise on the next day, not when it had risen a hundred years later.

General Vanrouge remembered how she had taught him to play stringed instruments, something he found boring and pointless as a child. Princess Mallenoa always had such a soothing voice. He remembered how she'd sit next to her egg with Prince Levan and sing a soft song to the unborn child. Now Lilia's heart sang without a sound; a quiet melody of grief and unrest. Her funeral was the last time he had allowed himself to cry. The numbness in his heart when he'd open his eyes in the morning didn't fade for decades, centuries even. These were lifespans in the eyes of a child of man; and they seemed to have forgotten all about the devastation they had brought to Briar Valley just a few hundred years later. But a soldier's heart never forgets. It never forgives. That was what Lilia thought at the time. Pain had made him heartless and his heart had been locked away for he feared the pain it held more than any foe on the battlefield. He only hoped, wherever she was now, that she had found peace.

How many times had he wished to feel again? To wake up in the morning and hear her pounding on his door, angry about something. It had annoyed him at the time. But she had been alive.

Yes, the seasons had gone by, yet eternal winter resided in the hearts of the people. But nothing stopped another day. Nothing stopped the inevitable; that the general's heart would thaw one day and spring would arrive in Briar Valley.

It was a miracle. At this point, the egg was more of a reminder of a future that would never be. A memory. Something to make one realize that the royal family would die with Queen Maleficia; the future of the kingdom as uncertain as it had been since the day the war ended. And who would blame anyone? It had been centuries.

But Malleus was spring.

He was the reason General Vanrouge shed a tear once more. One of relief and of love he thought he no longer had inside him. He had smiled when he first saw the little dragon fae with his eggshell on his small face. A smile he was sure the princess would have teased him for. After all, wasn't it him who had always said that he hated children? Who had refused to hold her egg when she had offered it to him? Yet in that moment, he couldn't help to do so. He had picked the little prince up and looked at the queen with the brightest smile she had seen on him in centuries. Tears were streaming down his face as the small fae was just looking up at him with awe and curiosity in his eyes. People say that when someone passes, in a way they are still with you. Lilia had always thought that this was bullshit, he had been far too bitter to notice. But in that moment, he realized that Mallenoa was all around him. He held her legacy in his arms. "She saved us once again, didn't she?", he had whispered quietly, wiping the tears from his face.

The little prince grew up healthy and not one bit less of a fire hazard than his mother had been. He grew up unaware of the bloodshed that had stained his beloved homeland when his egg had come into existence. Unaware of what his parents had sacrificed, of what Lilia had sacrificed, so that he could live and grow. But he had often wondered what it would be like if his parents were still around. Sometimes Malleus would sneak out of the castle, quietly observing the people in the village at the foot of the mountain in awe. He saw little children, not much older than him, protesting under tears because they didn't want to go clothes shopping for their uncle's 900th birthday as they were dragged by their parents' hand and promised their favorite candy if they would go along without making a fuss. He witnessed a mother explaining to her toddler what a bird was. He watched and listened as a father read his son a story on a bench by the fountain. Lilia had read him lots of stories before. But Malleus had always wondered what his father's voice would have sounded like doing this.

The prince spent most of his days alone in the castle. Lilia still had work to do and his grandmother was busy ruling an entire country as he would come to do one day as well. So as soon as Malleus had learnt to read, he would spend his time in the library, curiously exploring stories from a world beyond the castle walls; hoping that he would one day spread his wings to set off and see it for himself. Lots of the stories contained themes of family but few of the families looked quite like his. There was always a mother, a father and at least one child. Malleus would take the books and show it to his guardian, asking Lilia what his father was like and whether he would have taken him fishing like the farmer did with his son in the picture book. There was a flash of pain on Lilia's expression that Malleus had never noticed back then. "I'm sure he would have", the older fae had answered. The stories Malleus heard about his own parents were always short and vague. But Lilia had told him that they were exceptional people who would be proud of him if they could see him now.

Malleus had always wondered what having a father was like. He would get his answer when Lilia took a small human into his custody. Malleus was curious about the baby, always sneaking out to visit the cottage in the forest to see what his guardian was up to. At first he was pouting because Lilia was now giving most of his attention to someone else. But with time he had grown to care for the little child of man. Lilia seemed much happier now. Time had healed his wounds despite the scars of battle and loss never truly fading. He would arrive at the castle to do a task the queen had assigned to him and the prince would greet him to ask about how Silver was doing. Malleus was happy that Silver got to grew up with a father. He never fathomed that both of them could lose him.

The world was simple back then. It was just the castle, Malleus, his grandmother, Lilia and the little human he was raising and that Malleus would often play with or read to when Lilia had work to do at the palace. He couldn't ever have imagined going to Night Raven College and finding the world had changed so much from the one he read about in books. Or that his third year would mark his last with Lilia. That he would see Silver cry and grieve like this.

The world outside of Briar Valley was one he had always longed to see and that brought him many curious, but happy memories. He had learnt about the Halloween traditions of other nations and celebrated the holiday together with them. He had cooked a meal for the first time and the person he had served it to had enjoyed it. He had seen other countries and took part in their culture.

Even Lilia still found the school to be a place for new experiences. He had met a friend on this strange invention called the "Internet" and treasured that friendship despite never having met this friend in person. This online friend would often talk to Lilia in the chat, casually mentioning how he had obtained the newest addition of his favorite manga or played a game with his brother. Lilia would hesitate for a moment, recalling memories that seemed so long ago to him now.

"I had a sister... once."

He deleted the words before he had sent them. No need to bother Gloomurai with a sob story from his life that happened centuries ago. Little did he know that the stranger on the other side of the screen understood all about the struggle of losing a sibling.

Yes, Night Raven College was full of new beginnings for Malleus and his family. But it was the way of the world that nothing could truly last forever, tragic and unfair as it was. Nothing stops another day. Not even a sleeping curse or an overblot dragon. The spell laid waste to Sage's Island, and although the damage was way less than it could have been, the aftermath of it could still be seen everywhere one looked. Malleus felt ashamed of what he had done and Lilia was reminded of scenes from the war long ago.

But everyone joined together to help and rebuild what had been destroyed. Night Raven College and Royal Sword Academy. Fairies and Humans.

"Seems as though we avoided the worst case, huh?", Lilia mused as he noticed Queen Maleficia, the dragon fairy who had raised him since he was a baby, standing next to him. The queen nodded and noted what a bureaucratical nightmare this whole ordeal would be despite all.

Lilia looked at the scene that was unfolding before his eyes. The fae who had come to the island to break through the spell and fight against Malleus's overblot were now helping the locals rebuild their houses with magic. The students would hand out meals to everyone who helped. The citizens were already planting new seeds in place of the trees and fields that had been destroyed. They would one day grow into an idyllic image of a peaceful home. Just as Malleus and Silver had grown into formidable people. The young prince had fallen further than he ever did before, but now the old general was certain that he could stand on his own feet at last. Both of his sons could. And the bat fae was glad that he could depart knowing this much.

"It seems the children of man truly know no rest when it comes to progress", the queen remarked, looking at the humans who fixed the fields beside the village and the fae soldiers who were assisting them.

"It appears so"

"What are they planting?"

Lilia looked at the rising sun, remembering the faith that Princess Mallenoa once had; that mankind and fae would one day live in peace and help each other grow. He had called it foolish at the time, mocking his sister's words by calling them a fever dream. Yet this was just another way in which she had changed his world, just as the little prince he raised had been. There was a smile on his face as he thought about how this day might just mark the beginning of the future the princess had envisioned.

"Hope."

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst chapter 7 spoilers #twst spoilers #twst chapter 7 #malleus draconia #malleus #lilia vanrouge #lilia #general lilia #twst fanfic #twst fanfiction #mallenoa draconia #maleficia draconia #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia x reader

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 3 months

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a good omens grieving update because if I'm crying at 5 am you better be too.

Good morning, maggoty loves of mine. Despite all attempts to distract myself and you all with wedding cakes and dresses and textposts, it is five in the fucking morning, and I've been crying for half an hour already.

I'm listening to the Pentatonix cover of Hallelujah on loop and I will never be normal about anything ever again and there is nothing you, I, God, Satan or even Neil can do about it.

@mirrorleaf was kind enough to hijack my stupid royal family post with this fucking gorgeous edit of season 1 set to Hallelujah. Thank you, I'm now fucking sobbing and I found another edit again of season 1 and then I read fics and now I'm NOT FUCKING OKAY.

All the times Aziraphale looks up to Heaven and prays, how hopeful and desperate he is, and then the way he looks at Crowley while he's pinned against the wall, entirely calm and sure and safe.

And the song playing with Love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah over Crowley crying over alcohol when he thought Aziraphale had died. I'm not okay.

I need to watch season 1 again. When I watched it first, it was in two installments with you maggots on livestream, and the first installment was like two days after I was kidnapped as Mascot of Good Omens. Needless to say, it was all a fever dream.

Then I watched this edit now and there's so much. There's so much fucking layers and emotion and nuance that I didn't notice. And it's absolutely going to wreck me and then I'll have to rewatch season 2 and by then I'll have no self-preservation and I'll have read the book and I'll never ever be okay again and I'll have to live with it.

You all really just found a guy on the internet and fucking wrecked him, huh. This fandom really just did that. Now salt and pepper shakers made me think about Crowley's Fall and the inherent transience of human nature and The angel you knew is not me.

It hurts. I thought I was ridiculous about Drarry. No I was entirely fucking reasonable about Drarry. This is a gut punch except to the throat. Repeatedly.

I remember when I made a post a day or two after finishing season 2 and someone, @thescholarlystrumpet it was probably you, told me that grief isn't a linear process and to take care. To anyone outside this broken fandom, that would seem like a disproportional response to a show's season 2 finale when we know that it will end happily. Everyone in this fandom knows how much that reminder is needed, though.

Besides, though we know that the show ends happily, we know that Aziraphale and Crowley will be together and it is inevitable, how does it still fucking hurt so much? I knew all the spoilers, technically, of the show before I started, and it still surprised me with the emotions.

I had to stop writing this post for a few minutes because an image came to my mind and I had to sketch it. Of how I'd felt when I came here, lonely and frightened, and how the fandom grabbed me and forced me to watch the show and how much it hurts and how beautiful it is and how it feels like a mirror. A shattered mirror, one that's soaked with all our blood and tears, but it showed me I wasn't alone. So here, have this brief sketch and do NOT come at with about pretentiousness my beloved maggots because for one, I have always aspired to be pretentious and for another, THE SUN HASN'T FUCKING RISEN AND I'VE BEEN IN TEARS WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?

Congratulations, the next time anyone asks you if you've ever killed anyone, every one of you can confidently say that yes, you are indeed directly responsible for murder. My blood is on your hands, motherfuckers, you adopted a Mascot and then killed him.

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wynought · 5 months

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The Horror in Burrow's End

I have been having Thoughts (TM) about the horror aspect of Burrow's End for a while now, and I think I can put at least some of those Thoughts (TM) into words now. Spoilers for Burrow's End (up to, and including episode 8) and Neverafter below.

Many people have pointed out that Burrow's End has been more horrifying (or at least felt more horrifying) than Neverafter, Dimension 20's proclaimed Horror Season. There has been a lot of terrifying body horror and gruesome gore, and with the latest episode (episode 8, as of writing this) we've also seemingly risen to another level with the absolutely stunning Wenabocker tapes (kudos again to Carlos Luna, the acting and sound design were legitimately masterful).

But we've also had that with Neverafter; the opening scene with Rosamund waking up is a perfect example of body horror, the Stepmother is an advanced lesson in eldritch horror, there are powerful and unknowable antagonists all throughout the Neverafter. So why is it that so many (if not all of us) feel that Burrow's End is so much scarier than Neverafter? I think there's a multitude of factors at play here.

Of course, we have the difference in the cast - the Intrepid Heroes are a well-oiled machine of tight comedy at this point, they know each other, their strengths, their comedic timing, they know what they can get away with in terms of shenanigans. The Stupendous Stoats are all incredible performers and have obviously worked together before in various constellations. However, they don't have an Established Dynamic in the way the Intrepid Heroes do. It is also the first time that Aabria is DMing a full-on D&D game in the dome, with battlesets and minis, and everything that entails, and she has said herself that she usually does theatre of the mind - there's a good possibility she wasn't even aware herself, how exactly this would influence her own style and the atmosphere she would create. All of this contributes to a vastly different feel of Burrow's End compared to Neverafter.

Additionally, both players and their characters in Neverafter were genre savvy, as was the audience. Neverafter was marketed as a horror season. We knew the tone going in, the Intrepid Heroes knew it going in, their characters were conceived as being horror versions of commonly known fairy tale characters. The marketing for Burrow's End was different; sure, we all immediately made the connection to Watership Down and The Secret of NIMH, and those aren't exactly known for their easy and happy themes, but I don't think any of us from the audience, or even the players were expecting the bear. This also ties into the player characters themselves. The Intrepid Heroes' characters didn't know each other beforehand; they grow together and they have/develop familial vibes, but they aren't family with all the added baggage that entails. Rosamund and Gerard may be cousins, but they're 100 years apart in age and have never met before. Pib and Pinocchio are successfully running scams together and do care for each other, but they don't quite have that long-time sibling dynamic. Mother Goose and Ylfa are arguably the closest to each other before the events of Neverafter, with Goose taking on a parental role, but they are stuck in their own recent traumas and seem to have gravitated towards each other more out of the need to fill the respective holes in their lives than out of a genuine, pre-established bond. Destiny's Children do grow and go on to become important people in each others' lives, but there's a difference between bonds forged by danger and choice, and bonds forced by necessity. The Stupendous Stoats were conceived as a family. Viola is Ava's daughter, and also Tula's sister, and also Thorn's wife, and also the kids' aunt, and also the co-leader of a cult. She has so many roles to fulfill already that 'horror protagonist' isn't even on anybody's list, least of all her own - and that goes for all the player characters. Their established dynamics mean that, for a bit, they don't, no they can't even realise what kind of story they are in. Thorn is living in a story where he is the tragic hero destined to save his people, Tula lives in a story about grief and loss and acceptance, Viola lives in a story of political intrigue, the kids live in a YA adventure novel a la Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. Ava lives in Encanto (but don't tell her, she'd hate that). Then they encounter the bear and there's a slight record scratch, but, after having dealt with that mess, they go right back to their established roles. They react to the horror in a very, for lack of a better word, human way, they treat it as incidental to the reality they live in. They feel like a real family, slowly finding out just how scary their world truly is. The horror's impact on their lives is very different from the way Neverafter impacted the protagonists. We get to see the stoats' realisation that they're horror protagonists, but Destiny's Children had already gotten that message by the time they come together.

Another huge factor is the season length. Neverafter ran for 20 episodes, while Burrow's End is half as long. A lot of horror hinges on the audience and the protagonists being unaware of how exactly the antagonist/monster/spooky thing works. The audience usually knows on some level that there have to be some rules the horror has to abide by, the protagonists may or may not; but especially in something like an actual play TTRPG show there have to be some rules because this is a game, after all, and it would be incredibly unfun for the players, the DM, and the audience to have a fully unsolvable mystery. The problem with this is that the actual terror goes away once the rules are solved - sure, you can still do gore and disturbing stuff, and you can scare the protagonists, but your audience will expect an action-based story now, instead of a reaction-based story (e.g. the protagonist figures out that a silver bullet can hurt the werewolf, so now the audience expects them to stop running and make/find silver bullets in order to protect themselves, and either succeed in killing the monster or die trying). The longer your story is, the harder it is to keep up this level of suspense. You will either start to tread ground and the story will begin to feel stale, or you will reveal too much too early and lose that sweet sweet terror of the unknown. I think Neverafter was too long for an effective horror season; I don't think it is bad how many episodes we got, I enjoyed every single one of them. But I do believe that much of the horror aspect was lost around the halfway point - one of the worst things to happen to a D&D party, the TPK, happened in episode 2 and was "solved" (in the sense I talked about above) in episode 3. The Lines Between and the Authors were introduced in episode 8. The world's rules were established by then, and the Intrepid Heroes could start acting on them. Of course, there were still scary elements (the fact that Death itself had been imprisoned and was being tortured, the undead Dwarven army, Rapunzel's trickery and unsettling personality, etc. etc.), but to me this felt more like a very dark fantasy story, instead of a tale of horror. Burrow's End is so much shorter than Neverafter, and I think this works to its advantage as a horror story. The protagonist stoats' limited perspective on what is going on in the Blue Forest, in Last Bast, with the Blue in general, their general lack of knowledge on all things human make for so many different vectors of horror, and the abundance of mysteries means that even after 8 episodes there are still aspects of the world we are unaware of.

This neatly brings me to my last point: There is a unique dynamic at play in Burrow's End that contributes a lot to the uncanniness of the story. Namely, that the protagonists are stoats with no/minimal knowledge of humanity, while the players and the audience know so much more than the protagonists. TTRPGs oftentimes make it hard not to metagame, not to let your prior knowledge influence your character's decisions, and Burrow's End takes this to an extreme level. There is a difference between the "my husband was killed by the thunder on a cloudless day" kind of horror, and the "this stoat was shot by a gun, but his body wasn't collected immediately, meaning that probably wasn't a hunter, so why are people shooting stoats?" kind of horror; a difference between "humans are faceless monsters with hairless, yellow, smooth skin" kind of horror, and the "that's a person in a hazmat suit, why are they wearing hazmat suits?" kind of horror. The beauty of this is that we as the audience (and also the players, because the fun thing about TTRPGs is that you can be both audience and protagonist at the same time) get to experience double the horror. We can feel for the protagonists and their struggles in this dangerous, deadly world, where everything seems out to get them, and we get to understand things that they don't or even can't grasp. We get to put the clues together, painting by numbers in the negative space left by the stoats' explanations, while still reeling from trying to understand why the world works the way it does. We can piece the kind of environmental disaster together that caused the Blue, while being surprised by a horde of carnivorous chipmunks piloting a dying bear. We get to feel twice as afraid of this world by virtue of hearing the words "loss of coolant accident in reactor charlie" spoken by a human, but understood by stoats, and understanding what those words imply.

All in all, I am very happy with Burrow's End. I have previously stated that as a horror fan I was disappointed by Neverafter; I did enjoy it a lot, but it just didn't scratch that itch (not trying to badmouth Neverafter here, just stating my personal experience). Burrow's End is more than making up for that, especially since I didn't expect it going in. I am extremely impressed by Aabria's ability to first create, and then hand us the tools to unravel a mystery on this scale where every new piece of information makes the whole picture seem more terrifying, and her nerves of steel to not reveal too much information, even this late in the game (reminds me a lot of how long it took to figure out everything about Kalina in Fantasy High Sophomore Year, to the point of only fully understanding her in the finale episodes, while she had been a mystery for almost all of the season). It takes a lot to not spill all your very cool lore as soon as you get the chance, and the organic way things have been revealed to the stoats and to us is really something else. I'm just really looking forward to episodes 9 and 10 of Burrow's End, and also all of Aabria's future projects with D20. Thank you @quiddie for this beautiful season, I'm enjoying myself so much!

#burrow's end #d20 #d20 burrow's end #stupendous stoats #aabria iyengar #burrow's end spoilers #d20 spoilers #f: burrow's end #f: d20 #horror in burrow's end

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felassan · 5 months

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let's talk a lil bit about the new Thedas Calls teaser and the new blog post, in relation to revisiting the DA:D leaks from around 10 months ago (potential DA:D spoiler warning for those last 2 links, as well as for under the cut below):

(I won't be posting the images and gif themselves from that leak here, not directly. here and here are some previous posts of mine talking/speculating about those leaks so that I don't repeat myself too much. and here is my DA:D spoiler tag in general in case it's of interest to anyone to browse or anyone wishes to blacklist it. also, the usual set of disclaimers that accompany all leaks applies - might not be real, unable to verify, games change a fair bit between development phases and final release, take with grain of salt etc).

okay, so really in this post I am just looking to tie the new teaser&blog info with that leak.

the new teaser indicates Weisshaupt as a location we'll be visiting in DA:D, seeming to confirm the leak, which shows the possible Player Character, Rook, and their companions including Davrin fighting through Weisshaupt ("Weisshaupt" can be seen in the top right text).

the new teaser implies something bad has happened to Weisshaupt (see bottom paragraph in that post) and when the 'Speaker 2' Warden character speaks their line, we hear the roar of battle, a battle cry, the clang of weapons etc. I wrote elsewhere that Speaker 2 (who insists that Wardens don't hide in their castle, they fight)

sounds like a hardened fighter, a seasoned commander. he is speaking when he’s about to be attacked, or in a pause in battle

and in the leak, text shows that Rook has the objective "Defeat the darkspawn", and shows them fighting through Weisshaupt in combat with darkspawn. this is not the worst of it however - per the dialogue there's "worse than darkspawn on the way", and the walls won't hold it back. we see Rook fighting what looks like those red lyrium-affected darkspawn creatures. Could the thing that is worse and on the way be the cause of the "tremors in the Anderfels" described in the blog post, or one of the "risen gods" mentioned in the teaser? I feel like if you squint, in some of the images from the leak, there looks to be the silhouette of a great beast in the background, maybe a dragon.

this location in the leak, also noted as Weisshaupt, looks to be this location from the teaser, just from a different angle/position on that 'level'. it has the same night-time, lighting, dark atmosphere, rocky cliffs, cloudyness, ruined buildings/structures, ominous feel, vaguely green tint etc.

the blue dome in that location also seems to show up as an asset in the Rivain segment of the teaser.

apart from the red lyrium darkspawn, the red lighting here in the leak (and potentially the reference to "Spawn Boils"), as well as the ominous spreading tendrils in the leak images in general, bring to mind the red lyrium-esque glow in part of this shot from the teaser.

the leak describes Rook as a "Level [x] Grey Warden" - interesting considering the prominence of Grey Wardens as a highlighted faction, locale (via Anderfels and their HQ), 'Warden Speaker' in the teaser and all. (remembering also the speculation that Warden is a potential background of some kind for the PC)

I also wonder if the big door with griffons on it in the leak is what looks to me like a door/gateway covered by the suggestion of red lyrium in the teaser. I feel like if you squint you can just about make out the pattern of the engraved griffons' wings on it, or those rayed lines from the bottom half of the door. (or is this just me seeing things hh?) in the leak the characters are trying to hold the door shut and there's no red lyrium on it. I guess they fail and it becomes tainted by red lyrium and destroyed/grown over or something, or the dragon etc that I presume they're trying to keep out, does end up busting through, with the walls around it becoming destroyed too. (easily done by a dragon, magic, red lyrium or stuff magic-warping bc of Fade shenanigans etc)

According to sources that spoke to Tom Henderson's Insider Gaming, "It’s understood that you’ll be able to move from your hub to missions by passing through a mirrored portal." I know the games have always had Fast Travel all over Ferelden as in DA:O or all over Ferelden and Orlais as in DA:I etc. and it's a game, so you don't really need an explanation for jumping around travel-wise due to gameplay-story segregation. the mirrored portal obviously sounds like an eluvian though and to tie this to the new teaser, with so many different locales shown across vast swathes of northern Thedas - Anderfels, Tevinter, Antiva and Rivain at least - I have to wonder again if the PC and their companions are travelling around these many different countries and across such distances via eluvians. I wrote elsewhere,

moving from a hub to missions through eluvians was exactly what we did in Trespasser from the Winter Palace, and it worked really well. Trespasser’s setup was really enjoyable. it was a fun mechanic that helped explain fast travel and apparent teleportation. it also allowed for travelling to places all over, from the Deep Roads to ancient elven ruins to places in-between the waking world and the Fade - a variety of handcrafted places to explore still but with a tighter storyline threading through them, as opposed to open-world that felt like it was probably mandatory to include during development because of other games on the market like Skyrim and AC, but which then struggled to be filled with meaningful content to fill the space and in which that struggle was apparent. I’d be down for that. I’m just daydreaming and speculating wildly now for real (bc it’s fun) but we could travel all over Thedas that way. We did that in [previous DA games] I know but you know what I mean?

at the very least from the new teaser we now know we're travelling to at least 4 different nations in DA:D. :>

Some leak-text on Reddit also accompanied the gif and screenshots from the leak. it again mentioned the darkspawn attacking Weisshaupt. as I wrote at the time, this "explains why Weisshaupt looks wrecked", now it seems like we are also seeing this in the new teaser (wrecked Weisshaupt). it seemed to confirm the influence of red lyrium also, mentioning that some of the enemy darkspawn "have red lyrium attacks", and confirmed the attacking dragon. I wrote at the time

The dragon is also Concerning.. like. Darkspawn attacking, with a dragon involved. That sounds like a Blight and an Archdemon. Is this the Sixth Blight? is it a Red Lyrium Blight? I'm reminded of this concept art. also HELLO?

not sure about a 'red lyrium Blight' / 'sixth Blight' exactly per se, but what it reminds me of again is the Anderfels blurb from the new blog,

ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀʀ ᴡᴇꜱᴛ, ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ɢʀᴇʏ ᴡᴀʀᴅᴇɴꜱ ᴘᴀᴛʀᴏʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴᴅᴇʀꜰᴇʟꜱ. ᴛʀᴇᴍᴏʀꜱ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴅɪꜱᴛᴜʀʙᴀɴᴄᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ʟᴀᴛᴇ. ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ɪꜱ ᴜɴᴋɴᴏᴡɴ. ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅɪꜱᴛᴀɴᴛ ʜᴏʀɪᴢᴏɴ, ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀᴍ ᴏꜰ ᴏᴍɪɴᴏᴜꜱ ɪɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʙʀᴇᴡꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀʀᴋᴇɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋɪᴇꜱ.

as in, the contents of the leaks sure sounds like this 'storm of ominous intent that darkened the Anderfels skies' has now struck, and hit Weisshaupt.

In the leak it was noted that

"The objective is to fight through the Darkspawn to get to the library, but as you are doing so there is also a big ass dragon attacking from above. And the dragon creates occasional environmental and traversal hazards. It ends once you reach the library, close the gates, "and then come face to face with the dragon. It appears you are then supposed to try and chain the dragon up, but it ends before the player completes that."

(I said of this, "I guess the big lever we see has something to do with trying to chain the dragon up.") I feel like here in the new teaser we can see some hints of occasional environmental and traversal hazards, like lightning strikes (some dragons have lightning / electricity abilities right? like Vinsomer from the DA:D codex they shared with us), broken bridges and different places where we might have to jump to, hang from, or climb onto etc (and the leak had also mentioned that jumping returns). I also feel like, perhaps the ring-things in that shot from the new teaser have something to do with the chain-system mentioned in the leak, where it seems that you're supposed to then try and chain the dragon up. the leak also said that

"Basically, buildings and whatnot are all modeled and textured but the skybox itself is very dark and makes it seem as though the entire fortress is underground, although it is clearly not. I suspect the skybox could contain some giant world event, similar to the Breach, they hadn't finished."

given that in the new teaser Weisshaupt still looks dark, it seems like this was intentional? and likely due to the attack on the fortress and whatever giant world event may be appearing in the sky[box] that was theorized to being something similar to the Breach (and in that concept art of Weisshaupt).

#dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age: dreadwolf spoilers #<- my da:d spoilers tag btw including for leaks and potential leaks. so you can blacklist as needed #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #long post #longpost

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cbrownjc · 2 months

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The first part of my next fanfic in The Forgotten Years series, which I am writing with @faerywhimsy, is now done. Please check it out over on AO3.

Title: Half-Forgotten Dreams

Pairings: Armand/Daniel, Daniel/Louis (past), Armand/Louis (past), Armand/Daniel/Louis (past), Lestat/Louis (past)

Summary: Though his interview with Louis is now at its end, Daniel continues to regain memories of his past that reveal things he’s not prepared to face.

End of Season Two — Show Canon with Book Canon Elements — Daniel’s POV

ACT I (of II) — 14,443 words — Mature

Warning: This story might contain possible spoilers for the end of Season Two (as it references later books in the series). If that is something you may want to avoid, please wait to read this story later.

* * *

Excerpt:

Al Shafar Tower, Dubai, United Arab Emirates, June 30, 2022, 1:08 a.m.

“And so now? The only thing before me now is to go on, night after night. Detached. Unchangeable. Empty.”

Once again, Daniel listened to the recording of the final words spoken by Louis just a few hours before.

After all the drama, twists and turns, and painful remembrances and revelations, Daniel Molloy’s interview with the vampire Louis de Pointe du Lac was now over. Finished.

Once he had spoken those final words, Louis had quietly risen from his chair in the sitting room and disappeared down a hallway, without so much as another word to Daniel.

The Vampire Armand, too, had only paused for a few moments after Louis had departed before taking his leave as well, also without a word to Daniel.

It was late, and Daniel was already way past when he should have already gone to bed. He was feeling drowsy and his Parkinson’s tremors were always worse at night when he was tired and still awake at such an hour.

However, the fact that the interview was now, officially over, didn’t feel like a relief. Or even some great unfinished accomplishment that he’d finally finished, and could cross off a bucket list.

No. What Daniel mostly felt about it all, at the moment, was a strange sort of . . . sorrow.

He didn’t feel celebratory about having uncovered all the hidden truths and obfuscation that had been thrown his way since the moment he walked through the door of the Dubai Penthouse. Usually when catching an interview subject trying to do such things, Daniel took an almost sadistic delight in upending the person in question, trapping them into at least facing the truth — a truth Daniel always made sure he knew as well, with facts on hand to back it up, before he did so — even if they remained loathed to admit that truth to him or themselves.

However, after all the truths that were finally revealed during Louis de Pointe du Lac’s interview, all Daniel felt about it now, was melancholy.

Daniel Molloy wouldn’t have believed it of himself just two weeks ago but after this interview, with Louis’ final words, Daniel felt himself almost wishing he’d just let Louis hold onto the illusions he’d built around himself about everything that had happened.

Especially regarding Claudia, his never-sister and forever-daughter. Claudia, who had broken Louis’ heart, (maybe even more than Lestat had), and who was now gone forever.

It was strange how, after everything, Daniel now felt a kind of kinship toward Louis. Even a real sense of trust now. He couldn’t say how or when it had come about, but it was there.

Louis had never lied to him about things in the beginning with any malicious intent behind it. Once his true memories began to reveal themselves, Louis didn’t try to hide from them anymore. He faced them, despite the utter pain it caused him to do so.

And Daniel couldn’t help but admire, and have his heart go out to Louis for that.

Which was very much not the same feelings Daniel held toward Louis’ erstwhile vampire companion Armand.

When the full truth about Armand’s role in Claudia’s fate had been revealed — specifically what acts he’d committed in the lead into her final fate — had been revealed, Daniel had listened to it all with the same cold and quiet dispassion Armand had displayed in his telling of it.

However, underneath that, Daniel had also continued to be confused by the five-centuries-old immortal, just as he had been after both he and Louis had revealed Armand’s true identity to him after the Rashid subterfuge.

Even before now, Daniel had wondered what Rashid’s true goal and endgame were regarding Louis — regarding all of this.

And now, after the interview was concluded, Daniel still didn’t know.

And not knowing, not having figured it out when he was now at the end of it all, continued to pick at his mind. None of it was helped by the fact that Armand had been playing a major role in all the lost memories Daniel had never known, until now, that he’d even forgotten. Events from after the failed first interview with Louis back in 1973.

Every time Daniel closed his eyes, it wasn’t only his forever-reoccurring dream he saw behind them now. The reoccurring dream — or more accurately, nightmare — he’d been having off and on since 2005.

No. Now, along with that, it would also be some forgotten memory flooding back to him, returning to him, as well.

And he knew they were memories. They always felt more real, more tangible, than his dreams did.

[ Read on AO3 ]

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flutteringfable · 25 days

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hi everypony!! i finally finished that arin and sora thing ive been working on, here it is! i love writing cuddles so so much; i hope reading this makes you feel as cozy as i did writing it hehe. there’s no spoilers as this takes place in like early-mid dr season 1!

crossposted to my ao3, as per usual :3 it’s only visible to registered users to keep yucky ai scrapers off my work.

if you’d like to listen to the song i used for the title, you can find it here!

the moon had already fully risen by the time arin trudged back inside from training. he yawned, and almost tripped over riyu as the little dragon weaved between his legs in an almost catlike fashion. he smiled, crouching down to pat riyu’s head, but almost immediately regretted it as the ache of his muscles roared in protest.

“hey, arin,” sora chirped as she sauntered over from the living room. “i was wondering when you were gonna turn in for the night.”

arin groaned as he slowly stood back up. “sorry i was out for so long; i got so focused on training that i lost track of time.”

“why am i not surprised?” chuckled sora. “i left you some food on the counter; you might wanna heat it back up.”

riyu perked up at the mention of food. sora shot him a look of disapproval, which did little to reduce the thump-thump-thumping��of the little dragon’s tail agaist the wooden floor.

“thanks,” arin replied. as he walked to the kitchen, riyu followed eagerly.

after reheating the leftovers sora left for him, arin slumped onto the sofa. sora joined him and leaned casually against his side, as she often did. riyu sniffed a few times at arin’s plate, but eventually realized he wasn’t going to get any and instead hopped up to lie with his head in sora’s lap.

“you should start setting reminders or something; this is like, the fourth time this has happened? if you overwork yourself this often, it’ll be harder to recover and improve your skills.” sora sighed.

arin nodded sheepishly. “i know, but i just get so focused on perfecting a move or improving my stamina that i just kinda… forget? like, i’ll register the sun going down, but then i’ll practice for another few hours until i finally realize how late it is.”

even riyu let out a soft grumble at that. sora smiled, patting his head.

“i know, buddy. what are we gonna do with this guy?” she teased.

arin chuckled. he and sora sat in comfortable silence for a bit, and riyu dozed off as he was pet. arin couldn’t help but be reminded of their time before lloyd had rescued them, when they were both still living in the crossroads with little to worry about besides winning races and pie baking competitions.

in the span of just a few days, the course of his and sora’s lives had changed drastically, mostly for the better. there was still the fate of the world to worry about, of course, but putting that aside, arin had decided he was incredibly lucky to have met his hero. he sighed, slouching further against sora.

“you good?” asked sora, patting his shoulder.

“mhm,” arin nodded. “just thinking about everything that’s happened. it still feels so surreal to me that we’re training under the green ninja.”

“yeah. i didn’t even know the guy that well and i’m still kind of in awe.”

arin grinned. “so…. you’re saying think he’s cool?”

“…yeah, i guess i am,” sora sighed, smiling exasperatedly at her friend. “i still think you’re a nerd for knowing so much about him, though.”

she grinned, poking his head teasingly. arin pouted back before setting his plate on the coffee table. he leaned back against sora and reached over to pat riyu’s head.

footsteps came from down the hall, and lloyd poked his head into the room. riyu slowly raised his head, letting out a small yawn as he looked in lloyd’s direction.

“hey, you two. it’s getting kinda late, you should probably head to bed soon.”

sora shot a thumbs up at lloyd. “will do.”

“i mean it,” lloyd insisted, a knowing look on his face. “no sneaking out. you guys need as much rest as you can get.”

arin glanced away sheepishly as he rubbed his eyes, replying, “we won’t. honestly, i don’t even have the energy to do anything else tonight.”

“yeah, i’ve noticed you training a lot more recently.” lloyd looked concerned. “you’re doing just fine, arin. you should let yourself rest more.”

“i’ll try and remember to. thanks, lloyd,” arin yawned.

lloyd smiled gently. “alright. go get some rest; i’ll see you both in the morning.”

when lloyd left, arin shifted and sat up. he turned and hugged sora, nosing into her hair sleepily. she returned the hug and patted his back.

“‘night, sora,” he mumbled.

“‘night. goodnight to you too, riyu,” sora added, giving riyu a chin scratch.

“‘night, riyu..!” arin echoed softly as he sat back up.

he slowly stood up and stretched with a groan before heading to his room.

#fable writes 💫#arin ninjago #sora ninjago #ninjago dragons rising #lloyd garmadon #ninjago #me when the family is found amirite folks (implodes /pos)

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