#lately been thinking about doing a longer atla fix. i need to get their voices down more but i feel like if i do a nano-type just write

[petricorah]

Sokka was used to the cold.

He’d spent his whole life in it. He was born into frigid and bitter temperatures. He was used to breathing burning crisp air into his lungs, used to walking when he could barely feel his feet, used to sleeping surrounded by ice, and used to the coldness that struck deep into his heart while staring out over the empty tundra. He loved it. Just the feel of winter winds whipping through his hair made his spirits soar, smiling despite the pain of icy gales against his teeth.

And then.

He melted, slowly. Traveling the world had been quite the culture shock, and he had taken some time to adjust to no longer being surrounded by snow, but he grew to love the pleasant lukewarm air and the ability to wear short sleeves. But the firebender was another thing entirely.

Being close to Zuko was as uncomfortable it was so hot. The man’s very skin was a furnace that radiated heat, and somehow, it made Sokka’s own cheeks and chest burn for reasons he didn’t understand for years. But he got used to it. Despite how stubborn he was, Sokka was good at adapting. He was still from the water tribe, after all. Soon, the heat pulsing off of Zuko as they brushed shoulders or fought side by side wasn’t unnatural. It became welcome, especially…

Well. It was purely strategic to put their sleeping bags side by side, because once the campfire died down, laying by Zuko with their shoulders almost touching was the only way to stave off the brisk night air.  

He wasn’t sure when it changed, when the embers of their friendship sparked into something more. They’d travelled the world together, trying to rebuild the world ravaged by the Fire Nation. Zuko refused to stay behind a desk, and Sokka refused to let him go at it alone. And slowly but surely, Sokka forgot what it was like to be cold. What it was like to not have Zuko by his side, to feel his warmth surround him like he was the center of a fire, the comforting lull of heat as he hugged him, that fiery, caring temper, and blazing hot fingers interlaced with his own.

And now, he was back in the Southern Water Tribe.

Alone.

And he has never felt so painfully…cold.

#uhmmmmmmmm no thoughts on this other than i wish i had time to do an in-scene longer fic of this but. anyway have this cringy poetry #zukka fic #myfic #lately been thinking about doing a longer atla fix. i need to get their voices down more but i feel like if i do a nano-type just write #a lot! it could be fun #notmyart

[bridgyrose]

Heya, it been awhile XD

As always, I've been enjoying your fluffy snippets, but if you're up for some angst...

Ruby is a newly graduated Huntress following up on a child trafficking ring in Mistral m, which ends up taking her to Atlas. There she stays at 'The Glass Unicorn' and meets a maid called 'Cinder'. A woman who has long given up on her freedom and what it means to be a Huntress...

Otherwise, if you're still enjoying the fluffy side of things, some fluffy BeesSchnees is always good XD

Ruby sighed as she looked between a paper in her hand and to the hotel standing in front of her. For a moment, she was a bit confused on what The Glass Unicorn had to do with any sort of child trafficking ring. However, the name of the woman who owned this place came up more than once on the ledgers of that old barn. And if she wanted answers, she was going to need to start her.

Rain started to pour from the sky as Ruby walked into the hotel, pausing for a moment as she felt out of place. Sure, there were hunters and huntresses from all over, but even for Atlas standards, this place was higher end. Everywhere she looked, all she saw was an excuse for wealth to be displayed. Once she regained her composure, she walked up to the front desk. “I need a room.”

The blonde woman looked Ruby over for a moment before noticing it was a huntress in front of her. With a few quick clicks on her keyboard, a card popped out of her computer. “Room 402. Meals will be brought straight to your room. And dont bother talking to the staff.”

Ruby looked at her curiously as she took the card. “Why not?”

The woman looked directly into Ruby’s eyes. “Its not their job to talk to anyone.”

Ruby sighed and put the card in her pocket, turning to start heading up the stairs. She looked around as she walked, all the patrons seeming to enjoy everything the hotel offered. It all reminded her of why she was doing this: to try to make the world a better place. And right now, Atlas was not that better place.

Ruby watched a few of the staff bring out meals to the patrons, along with anything else they needed or cleaned up any messes that were made. The longer she watched, the less convinced she became that this hotel was going to be the link to this ring. Everything she found always became a dead end and this last lead of hers seemed to be no different.

“What do you think you’re doing?!”

Ruby looked up at the third floor, watching one of the patrons yelling at one of the maids. She tried to get a better look, making her way to the stairs on the opposite side as she watched the maid drop to the ground to pick up the food that fell on the ground.

“I’m sorry, I didnt mean to-”

“Didnt mean to what? Give lousy service?” The patron spat at the maid, pushing past her and knocking her over. “Lousy maid bringing over half cooked food…”

Ruby watched the maid move her hair out of her face as she started to scrub, hearing a small sigh escape from the girl. She felt sorry for the girl, walking over to her. “Ah… miss… I was hoping I could ask you something.”

The maid didnt look up, seemingly avoiding eye contact with Ruby. “I-I’ll make sure your room is cleaned once I’m finished here.”

Ruby knelt down and picked up some of the fruit that had spilled. “That’s not what I was going to ask about. I was hoping you might be able to answer a few questions I have about this place.”

The maid stopped and slowly looked up at Ruby with tired eyes. “Y-you’re a huntress…”

“I am. What is your name?”

“Cinder.”

Ruby smiled and extended a hand to Cinder. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Cinder smiled for a moment, then it quickly disappeared as she quickly started to work again, keeping her head low. “I’m… I’m not allowed to talk to you. Please, go to your room and I’ll bring you your meal.”

Ruby was about to speak until she heard a voice coming from behind her.

“Cinder, you’re needed in the kitchen.”

Ruby watched as Cinder stood up and started hurrying off past her, making her way downstairs. “Do your staff always get treated like this?”

The woman from the front desk stood behind Ruby, shaking her head. “Only that one. She’s a bit of a… problem. The only reason I dont fire her is because she’s one of my daughters. She knows she’s only to be seen, not heard. I’ll make sure she wont bother you again.”

Ruby watched the woman turn around and head back downstairs towards the kitchen after Cinder. At this rate, even if this ended up as a dead end with the trafficking ring, then maybe there was something else that she could fix.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cinder winced a bit as she brought a tray to room 402, doing her best to keep from moving the collar that was around her neck. Everytime she messed up, all she could feel was that familiar sting. And every time, it hurt. She adjusted a small cloth she had around her neck, hiding the scars from the collar. She quietly knocked on the door, praying that whoever was in this room wasnt going to treat her like the rest of the patrons did.

Ruby slowly opened the door and smiled a bit at Cinder. “I was wondering when you’d come around.”

Cinder looked away a bit, holding out a tray to Ruby and staying quiet. The pain from her last punishment still lingered around, and she was terrified to be caught talking to anyone now.

Ruby noticed and sighed, taking the tray. “If you’re not going to talk right now, then maybe you can help me out with a few things in my room. There’s a few spots that could use a bit of cleaning.”

Cinder nodded and slowly walked into the room, pausing once she saw Ruby’s weapon laying down on a table. It wasnt the first time she had seen a hunter’s weapon within easy grabbing, and wasnt the first time she had the desire to reach out for it.

Ruby noticed and walked over, picking up her weapon and smiling a bit. “Like weapons too? You can hold her if you’d like.”

Cinder hesitated for a moment, wanting to reach towards the weapon. She stopped half way and sighed and she pulled her hand back. “I… cant.”

“Why not?”

Cinder didnt answer, looking away from Ruby. She didnt know how to tell a huntress that she had to get away from her family. That she’d do anything if it meant not being with them anymore.

Ruby sighed and sat Crescent Rose down. “You… wanted to be a huntress at one point, didnt you?”

Cinder froze on the spot. The thought had occurred to her, and there was that one huntsman, Rhodes, who taught her a few things, but he disappeared when she was younger. “Y-yes… but its… more than that…”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Cinder looked around nervously before pulling down the cloth around her neck and pulling up the sleeves of her outfit. Scars lined her wrists while one scar circled her neck exactly where her necklace, the collar she wore, sat.

Ruby frowned when she saw the scars on Cinder, picking up her weapon and heading out of the room. “Stay here.”

Cinder nodded and sat down, terrified about what was going to happen. She had spent years trying to figure out how to get away from the madam, but all of her attempts at obtaining a weapon to get away had failed. And now, an actual huntress had seen the marks that had been left, the reminders of each of her failures on running away, each mistake she had made while working.

It wasnt long before Cinder heard muffled shouts from outside the room, her sisters and the madam clearly angry at Ruby. She cowered a bit, thinking she knew exactly what to expect: Ruby was going to let the madam in just like everyone else. She’d believe the lies that were told, that she was a troubled child that was taken in by the gratitude of the madam’s heart, that she was a thief and a liar that everyone had to keep an eye on. Even after the shouts died down, she still waited, flinching as she watched the door open.

Ruby rushed into the room, blood dripping from her scythe as she grabbed her things. “Cinder, you’re coming with me.”

Cinder felt a bit confused, hesitating for a moment. “You… want me to come with you?”

“Well, currently you’re unemployed and have nowhere to go. You can either stay here in Atlas, maybe find your way down to Mantle and find a job, or you can come with me and I can help you become a huntress. I can at least teach you how to defend yourself and others from the grimm, maybe even help you take the exam for your hunter’s license. Give you a new start.”

Cinder was still a bit confused, but followed after Ruby, pausing as she saw the madam laying on the ground in a pool of her own blood. “You killed her…”

Ruby sighed as she kept walking. “She attacked me first. I thought all of this was going to be a dead end, but it seems like I ended up on the right track after all. I know you were bought through a child trafficking ring, and I know you’re not the only one she had purchased. If you can help me get a bit more proof, I think I can put an end to this. I know its a bit late and there isnt much I can do about what had happened to you, but I can at least help you with your new freedom now.”

Cinder sped up to catch up to Ruby, sticking close to her. “But why help me? I’m… I’m just a nobody. A kid that was sold into this life. I dont deserve any kindness.”

“Because if I cant help someone, then what’s the point of being a huntress?” Ruby stopped for a moment, pulling out her scroll and holding it up to Cinder to take a picture. “And besides, the world is already cruel enough. I think its time we try to make it a better place.”

#ruby rose #rwby ruby rose #cinder fall #drabbles #angst #angsty drabbles #self harm #tw self harm

[earth-ambassador-jim]

A Bad Reaction: Chapter 4

Story Summary:

“Changelings call it “Gravesand”. Derived from the  pulverized bones of fallen Gumm-Gumms, gravesand aids us changelings in  shedding our human form and embracing our more trollish nature…“

Strickler is a little off in his calculations and the gravesand draws  out an unexpected response from Jim. Hopefully he can figure out what  is wrong and how to fix it before it is too late.

Fanfiction - AO3

~~~~

“What happened?” Jim asked weakly, even as he hugged his Mom back. He felt muddled and strange and his head was pounding. The last thing he remembered, he had been in the sewers with Strickler and Nomura. “I thought I was…”

It was at that moment that Jim looked up and saw his surroundings. His eyes widened. Strickler and Nomura were still present but in troll form. They weren’t in the sewers anymore. Judging by the sleek white walls they were in the Janus Order base.

“Why are we here? What are you doing here?”

He could feel his heartrate picking up. His mom shouldn’t be here. She wasn’t supposed to know about this part of his life.

“Jim…” She said softly, grip tightening on his shoulders.

Jim’s hands twitched and the sensation echoed twofold. Jim pulled back from her in surprise and bumped into the wall.

Or rather something bumped into the wall and he felt it. Now that he was paying attention there were strange sensations coming from behind him.

Something twitched it felt like his arm but it was coming from his back. He let out a yelp and spun around, then twisted his neck and caught sight of leathery blue membranes bordered by armor coming out of his back.

“Jim.”

He reached over his shoulder and grabbed one then let go of it just as quickly the moment he felt it both in his hand and the alien appendage. He attempted to take a step back, but his foot didn’t set down right and he fell over.

“What… What’s wrong with me?!” Jim demanded.

His heart was pounding now and he could feel the Amulet’s magic pulsing alongside it as the enchanted relic responded to his panic.

Something was incredibly wrong with his body. Or he wasn’t in his body. (His breath was coming too short and fast.) That was something that could happen, right? He thought hysterically as he stared at the clawed feet at the end of his legs.

He was vaguely aware of his Mom settling beside him. She was talking to him but she sounded far away.

He remembered the gravesand, now.

What had Strickler said?

Hadn’t he said something about changes? Something about them being permanent?

Was… was he some kind of troll human monster now?

He wrapped his arms around himself and felt the strange new limbs do so as well.

~~~~

Nomora and Strickler were half turned away, watching the door, as Barbara talked her son through his panic attack; trying to be respectful to the Trollhunter in his moment of weakness. It was generally what changelings did for each other in such an event. The changeling code had never allowed for much closeness, so deliberate ignorance was sometimes their greatest kindness.

Strickler highly doubted his own proximity would make Young Atlas feel any safer at this point. All he could really do was wait and trust that Barbara knew what to do.

Now that the immediate physical danger was past Strickler found his mind mauling over the implications and possibilities of this development. It was partially out of habit and partially to distract himself so he didn’t start eavesdropping.

The Trollhunter was half-changeling. That was an even bigger game changer than him being human.

Gunmar may have destroyed the Arcadia Janus Order, but worldwide there were still more changelings. They would be enraged and bitter over their esteemed leader’s betrayal.

Jim’s new status would offer them an in that they had never had before with the larger trollish community.

Strickler paused his thoughts stumbling over that a little. He grimaced.

That was, of course, assuming that the trolls were still willing to accept Jim after discovering his heritage. A human had been hard enough for them to deal with from what he heard and a changeling would have been intolerable…

But how would they deal with a half-breed?

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. There were too many variables right now. They needed to get Jim to adjust to himself before they could go any farther.

The first test was to see if Jim’s trainer… Blinky… could get over his prejudice to accept his student’s change. If he couldn’t Strickler highly doubted they could expect any more from the rest of trollkind.

“Strickler.”

Strickler blinked and came back to attention. Jim was no longer on the floor but rather standing rather awkwardly leaning half on his mother.

“Yes, Young Atlas?”

“What happened?” Jim rasped. There was a slight lisp to his voice. “I thought you said that gravesand was safe for humans. Why did it…”

He gestured stiffly at himself. There was a hint of accusation in his tone. Strickler bit back his instinctual response, reminding himself that Jim had the right to be upset.

“I’ll explain, but I think you’d best sit down first.”

Barbara helped him over to one of the chairs and Jim awkwardly flopped down on it. He flexed the clawed toes on his feet and flinched, before turning his attention back to Strickler.

“Do you remember what I said about the effects of gravesand?”

The boy frowned, an expression made fiercer looking by the short tusks he now sported.

“You said it was supposed to bring out my feral instincts. You also said something about changes…”

Strickler nodded. He wasn’t surprised Jim would focus on that statement.

“And do you remember what I said its effects on changelings are?”

“Not really,” He admitted. He cocked his head. “But what does that have to do with me?”

Strickler sighed.

“Far more than you think.”

~~~~

“So Dad was a changeling.” Jim seemed to be rather stuck on that particular fact.

“Yes, I have his file on the computer if you would like to look at it.” Fortunately it seemed that no one had got around to banning Strickler out of the computer system.

‘No, I…” Jim trailed off and tried to run his hand through his hair but ended up catching it on his horns.

There was a moment of silence before Jim looked up through his bangs.

“Did you know him?”

“Not personally,” Strickler said. He had met most changelings in the Order in some form or another but there was a far smaller circle that he truly knew.

“Okay.”

Jim was quiet again.

“You looked at his file though. Do… What…” Jim frowned. “What did his troll form look like?”

Strickler sighed and turned back to the computer.

“Here, let me just pull it up for you.”

“You don’t have to…”

“It will be a lot easier than playing telephone, Young Atlas. Your mom has already looked through it.”

Jim closed his mouth at that.

“Here you are. Take all the time you need.”

Jim awkwardly slid the chair across the floor. It seemed he was not quite ready to try walking again.

Strickler scrolled through his emails as Jim studied the file.

“I don’t look much like him,” He said finally. “Not like this anyway.”

“Of course you don’t,” Strickler said, mater-of-factly.

“Why not?” Jim asked with a frown.

“That is because you were conceived while he was in human form. Changelings shift from fully troll to fully human. Therefore you did not receive any of his troll “DNA”.” Strickler paused. “I say use that term rather loosely in this case as trolls do not have DNA in the way that humans do.”

“Then what…”

“Your troll traits are from Nomura and me.”

Jim’s head jerked up at that, eyes widening.

“How?”

“I believe I explained the spell to you. Because Nomura and I contributed are blood and stone respectively, the magic borrowed from our traits to create your form.”

“Oh.”

Jim looked down at himself with wide eyes, examining his hands and legs and twisting to look at his wings with new understanding appearing in his eyes.

“But what about the tail?” Jim asked, flexing it and immediately stiffening at the feedback.

“That would be from me. I used to have one,” Strickler said.

Nomura looked at him in surprise.

“It didn’t match my physiology after I was made a changeling so it was… removed.” It was just as well, he supposed. With how big it was it would have been a hindrance but…

But it had not been a pleasant experience. Even after all this time he occasionally still had phantom pains.

“You shouldn’t have any problems with it though,” Strickler continued, banishing past memories. “You seem to have come out fairly well balanced.”

He wondered if the amulet had played into that.

Jim’s tail curled up into his lap and he examined it hesitantly brows furrowed.

“So I guess I’m related to you guys now?”

Strickler opened his mouth and paused. He wasn’t wrong.

Nomura started cackling.

“I guess you are, Little Gynt,” She said a broad toothy grin on her face. “Didn’t expect you to go where Peer Gynt wouldn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll have to take you to watch the play sometime. It will make more sense that way. It’s been a few years since I last saw it anyway.”

“Ah.”

Jim smiled slightly at that and then frowned.

“I think I’d like to go home now,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “How…” He paused a rather fearful expression crossing his face. “Can I shift back to human?”

“You should be able to,” Strickler said quickly. “It was your latent shifting magic that caused all this in the first place.”

“Huh. So how do I shift?”

“I’m not sure,” Strickler admitted. “It comes naturally to changelings once we’ve been bonded to our familiars but you’re a unique case.”

“Oh.” Jim frowned. “Would a gaggletack work?”

“A gaggletack?” Barbara echoed the unfamiliar word.

“Gaggletacks are what trolls call iron horseshoes. They can force a changeling to change form.”

“Horseshoes huh?”

Barbara had a bit of a strange expression; her nose wrinkling as her brows drew together.

Strickler’s attention was drawn away as Jim cleared his throat.

“So would one work?” He asked. “I mean ran around with one for a whole day and it didn’t do anything before.”

“It’s possible that it would now,” Strickler said, vaguely realizing he was starting to stray into his ‘teaching voice’. “But I would be rather hesitant to rely on that because gaggletacks burn changelings.”

“They what?!” Barbara exclaimed at the exact same time Jim’s head jerked up to stare at him in surprise.

“I suppose shouldn’t be surprised that your trainers never brought that up,” Strickler said scornfully.

“Maybe they didn’t know?” Jim offered.

“No. They most definitely did. It’s common knowledge.”

He almost went further but stopped himself. There were things the boy was not ready to hear about just yet, not today anyway. He’d been through enough.

“How about we get you home,” He said instead. “It will do you good to adjust to your new form before we push you any further physically. I can get you excused from school tomorrow so you will have more time. How does that sound?”

“…okay.”

The young Trollhunter rose awkwardly to his feet. The daylight armor clinked as he shifted his weight.

Strickler frowned.

“You might want to take that off,” He said.

Jim glanced down at himself and sighed. He tugged at the amulet. It didn’t budge.

“I’m too tense. The armor is responding to that.” His tone suggested something like this had happened before.

Strickler’s brows furrowed a little further. A memory surfaced of seeing Jim in the armor for the first time in the school. Was that why? It seemed an inconvenient design.

“I see.”

The four of them traveled in relative silence through the remains of the Janus Order. The elevator ride proved to be twice as awkward going up as it had been coming down. Nomura was glaring at the speaker as if she was contemplating putting a sword through it. Strickler wasn’t going to stop her if she tried. In fact he might have even been willing to lend her a knife.

At the cars they parted ways. Barbara and Jim returning to their house and Strickler and Nomura going to their respective apartments.

~~~~

“So… How are you doing?” Barbara asked carefully once they had gotten back into the house.

She was… Well she had no idea how to feel at this point -Aside from drained- Far too much had happened. Way too much for one day.

But she wasn’t the one who now had wings and horns and a tail.

Jim grimaced, leaning rather heavily on the wall as he glanced about the house.

“I’m… fine,” He said after a moment.

Barbara gave him a disbelieving look.

“Jim.”

His shoulders tensed slightly, his ears actually tilted down a little and the tip of his tail (and wasn’t that something that was going to take some getting used too.) twitched like an agitated cat’s.

“I don’t know. Okay?” He said, rather sharply. There was the hint of a growl in his voice, causing her to step back. He flinched again then his wings pulled close to his back. “I don’t know,” He repeated again a little more quietly, hanging his head.

Barbara hesitated and then carefully came up beside him. He glanced up at her and his lower lip trembled slightly. His face was strange, he had fangs and horns now, but the expression was familiar. She’d seen it before, after a hard day at school or when Jim had taken on a little too much for his young shoulders.

Barbara wrapped her arms around him, carefully avoiding the wings, and pulled him close. He didn’t resist, though he staggered slightly before readjusting his posture. He pressed his face into her neck and his shoulders jerked. The armor disappeared with a soft flash of blue. Barbara tightened her grip. She murmured soft meaningless things into his ears as he cried.

There would be time for long overdue discussions later.

~~~~

Author Notes:

Okay. I was supposed to end it at this point, but I think I'm going to do one more chapter to deal with the "long overdue conversations". Also I want to do a little more with Jim dealing with the changes that have been forced on him.

Also I continue to hold to the opinion that having armor that requires you to calm down to remove it is a very unhelpful design if you have panic attacks.

Hope you enjoy!

#Trollhunters #Tales of Arcadia #Trollhunters Fanfiction #A Bad Reaction #jim lake jr #james lake jr #Nomura #walter strickler #Barbara Lake #panic attack #gravesand #forced transformation #half changeling jim #my posts #my writing #Everyone's tired now #Jim needs a loooonnnng vacation #the author thinks the world needs more hugs #Catch me sprinkling in all my little headcannons/ ideas I know have no basis in cannon but like anyway #You can't stop me #Barbara gets to give Strickler a piece of her mind next chapter #but she's way to done to deal with him right now #anyway #see you next time #Also #Please please please give me comments #Please? #It really helps the writer brain

[atlaswilliams]

A Williams’ family gathering would never offer anything good. If he and Rion weren’t arguing, then something else was happening instead. This dinner was spent without Franny, which meant his parents weren’t on their best behavior.  Instead, they were dancing around his shortcomings and commenting on the fact he’d fallen behind on his share of the office work. Rion can’t do it all, they’d said. Of course he couldn’t do it all, but Atlas couldn’t fix every fence post on his own either. “I know,” he hummed,” hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans. They hadn’t even made it to dinner yet and they were already commenting on the shit he could do better. “I’ve been staying late to work on the back fence line. Guess the snow we got ended up weighing down a few of the lines, which screwed up the posts. Between that and some trees that needed trimming, I’ve been a little occupied. Besides, he likes that paperwork crap.” That paperwork crap was how they kept the business running in the first place, but Atlas couldn’t have cared less about that.

“Look, if you want to be pissed about something, we should talk.” He’d been wanting to tell them about Sage and about the four year old girl that walked around Providence Peak that just so happened to be their granddaughter. For once, Rion was right. He couldn’t wait any longer to tell them the truth. “I have a daughter,” he admitted weakly, the sheer look of confusion settling on both of their faces. Where the hell was his brother when he needed him? “She’s four. Long story short, that girl I was seeing at the time ended up pregnant. She didn’t reach out because I came back here and she was there.” A roll of his mother’s eyes let him know exactly what was about to come. 

“Atlas James Williams. We have a granddaughter and you never told us? How long have you known? Are you sure this little girl is even your child? Four years is a long time, son. Are you sure she isn’t coming for the rescue? Has she mentioned wanting money? Perhaps we should look into hiring a lawyer. We will not allow one your conquests to take everything we’ve worked so hard for. I cannot believe this.”

Of course. It was all about saving the rescue, wasn’t it? “C’mon, mom. Do you really think I’d let her take the rescue? The kid is mine. She has my smile. She doesn’t want money. She doesn’t want us to give her anything. She just wants our kid to have a chance to know her family. Rion knows and he thinks it’s a good thing.”

A sarcastic scoff fell from his mother’s lips, his father still stoic as he stood by his mother’s side. “Orion knew and you didn’t tell us? We are your parents, Atlas. We are supposed to support you, but it’s hard to support you when you can’t be honest with us. I still believe that hiring an attorney is for the best. Just because she isn’t coming for the rescue right now doesn’t mean she won’t change her mind. What does Francesca think about this? That poor girl doesn’t deserve this.”

Atlas swallowed down harsh words, ones that he would later regret if they fell from his trembling lips. “I needed time. Franny knows too and she’s cool with it. Everyone is cool with it, mom. Her name is Alexandria,” he continued, feeling a small ping of pride thumping in his chest at the mention of his daughter. “She’s smart. A hell of a lot smarter than I was at that age and she’s a good kid who wants to know her family. It doesn’t matter what anyone else deserves. She deserves to know her grandparents.”

Being met with silence wasn’t exactly how Atlas had planned for the confession to go, but there was more that his parents needed to know. “Sage is pregnant,” he finally hummed, voice low as he saw the tears form in his mother’s eyes. “I don’t know if you know her or not, but she gave me a copy of the ultrasound and I can show you if you,” he trailed off, stopped by his mother’s voice.

“Get out. I am going to call your brother and tell him that our dinner is cancelled. I can’t look at either of you right now. All we ever wanted for you boys was the best, but you have shown us that we failed. A four year old daughter and a baby on the way by two different women and you’re with another? This is unacceptable. We want to meet out granddaughter, but right now I can’t continue this conversation. Your father and I will look into that fence line on Monday, so please take the day to think about everything you’ve just told us.”

Wanting to speak, Atlas was yet again cut off by his father. “We’re disappointed, son. We’ve always known you liked trouble, but this isn’t how we wanted grandchildren.” Before his father could even finish, his mother had hurried out of the room. “She will come around, Atlas. She loves you. We both do. You made mistakes. Take the day off tomorrow. I think we all need a little time to cool off.”

“Kids aren’t a mistake. Maybe you two think that because you weren’t ready for me, but hey, at least you got it right with Rion,” he returned, backing out of the kitchen ass he heard his name being called out by his father. So much for a family dinner, right?

#self para. #judge me #tw pregnancy #short self para #rip

[supernutellastuff]

Endings, Beginnings - a short and fluffy Zutara fix-it

Something different from my usual style. Wrote this for my friend because neither of us could deal with our broken shipper hearts after ATLA ended. Feedback is appreciated! Read it on ao3 here :)

xxx

The streets of the Fire Nation capital are awash in the soft golden light of dawn as the new Fire Lord stands at his balcony, struggling with his red ceremonial robes. The bandages covering his chest are stiff and awkward but the only thing preventing him from ripping them off is the prospect of incurring his uncle’s displeasure. Though that doesn’t stop him from cursing out loud while trying to stuff his arms into the robes.

“Need help with that?”

Zuko turns. There she is, leaning casually against the open doorway, a teasing smile playing on her lips. She looks fresh, considering the ordeal she’s been through.

“Katara.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I thought you’d be with Aang.”

“Aang…has Avatar duties. I came to check up on you.”

“First day as the Fire Lord and I’m already failing.” He gestures ruefully at his half-open robes.

Katara rolls her eyes and walks over to him. With practiced movements, she gets his arms through the holes but pauses before tying up the front of his clothes. Her eyes linger on his chest. “Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes.”

“I still don’t know how to thank you.” She backs away, maintaining a more respectable distance.

“Then don’t,” he snaps. He still has nightmares about being a split-second too late and watching the lightning strike Katara. It hadn’t even crossed his mind to redirect it when he’d realised what Azula was going to do. Bending lightning required mastery over emotions, something which Zuko had long recognised was impossible when it came to Katara.

“You saved my life.” Her eyes are fierce.

“And you saved mine, so we’re even.”

“What about when you saved me from being crushed by rocks at the Western Air Temple?”

“Oh, we’re acknowledging that now, are we?”

“And when you helped find my mother’s killer and bring me closure?”

“It was the least I could do for betraying you in the crystal catacombs.” He’d given her every reason to hate him and yet she hadn’t hesitated in offering to heal him. He still remembers the way she’d traced his scar with her fingertips. Even Mai had never touched his scar. He thinks of Mai, now on a ship headed far far away from the Fire Nation. As soon she’d been released from prison, they had sat down and talked and this time it was she who had ended things for good. Zuko hadn’t even pretended to feel anything but relief.

She crosses her arms. “What, are you saying you’re the one in my debt?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm…” Zuko is nonplussed to see that she’s smiling. “You’ll have to put up with me a little longer then, until I figure out a way to collect on my debt.”

“I do have a way,” he blurts out before he can think twice. “Become the Southern Water Tribe ambassador to the Fire Nation. Help in the reconstruction and rehabilitation. Help in resuming trade and peace relations between the nations.” She looks taken aback so he blunders on, suddenly uncertain of the offer. “It’s a lot of boring politics and it’ll keep you away from your friends and family, so I understand why you may not—actually forget I ever said anything.”

“Sokka and Suki are thinking of travelling on their own, Toph is planning to open a metalbending academy, Aang wants to resettle the Air Nomad colonies. It’s not like I had anything else planned…” she trails off.

“You’re not going with Aang?” He toys with a stray thread, voice deliberately casual. While it was obvious the way the kid mooned over Katara, it had been a little more ambiguous on her side. But things might have changed now: who wouldn’t choose the Avatar, the hero who ended the war?

Katara’s face clouds over. “Aang needs to realise that I don’t fit into all his plans. That I don’t want to.” She tugs on her hair loops, anxious. “So it’s not about Aang or the rest. I just…I don’t know if I deserve the position,” she whispers.

Zuko snorts. “Who’s more deserving than the master waterbender who took down Azula at the height of her powers?”

Her smile grows. “In that case, I accept.”

“Good.” Their eyes meet, hold, and the moment stretches. He breaks away with difficulty; he has nations to address and he needs to look the part.

The rest of the royal raiment has been laid out on the bed. It was somehow important to him that he do this by himself so he’d dismissed his attendants. Katara, perhaps sensing this, refrains from extending a helping hand. He puts on his gold-threaded robes, gathers his hair into a topknot, slides on the ornamental headpiece and adjusts it until it stops scraping painfully against his skull. All the while, he can sense her gaze on him. It does not make him feel flustered. Not at all.

“Would you like some tea?” he asks after the fifth time accidentally catching her eye in the mirror. If one thing Iroh has taught him, it’s this: never let your guests leave without a cup of tea. Luckily he has a pot ready in his room.

Katara nods. He crosses to the little table in front of the still-burning fireplace and picks up the pot, stays the lid with one hand, and pours into a porcelain cup. The tea’s gone cold, so Zuko takes a deep breath, reaches into his chi, and exhales. The inside of his hands glow with warmth. He places his palms around the cup until steam rises gently from the surface.

She takes the cup from him and their hands brush, her fingers cool against his burning skin. An expression of delight spreads across her face at the first sip. “This is lovely!”

Zuko grins. “Uncle’s special blend—white dragon bush. ‘So delicious, it’s heart-breaking’” he quotes, fondly.

They chat about nothing and everything while he finishes his transformation into the Fire Lord and Katara her tea. She’s already bursting with ideas about her new role.

When he’s finally ready, he extinguishes the fireplace with a deft flick of his wrist, and turns to leave. And that's when the skies choose to burst open. Groaning, he cranes his head out the balcony and catches a few stray drops of water on his face. The rain comes down in waves, lashing the marbled courtyard. The walkway from his quarters to the palace where the official ceremony will be held is fully uncovered. It would’ve been easier to stay in one of the palace rooms but Zuko wasn’t fully comfortable with that idea. Living in the guest quarters had seemed like a suitable temporary solution until the weather had gone and ruined that as well.

Zuko hurries down to the gate and stops at the threshold, deeply annoyed. Water seeps through, almost soaking his feet. “Great. Just great.”

“What are you waiting for?” says Katara, coming up from behind.

He waves a listless hand at the rain and then over his ceremonial clothes and careful updo.

“Good thing you have a waterbender by your side.” Katara places a hand between his shoulders, just like the time when they’d been standing over a chained Azula, half-crazed with anger and spitting fire, and the only thing keeping him upright had been the unyielding support of Katara’s palm on his back.

She nudges him to move and they fall into step together. Her other hand cuts through the air in graceful arcs, bending away the rain directly above their heads. They shuffle slowly across the courtyard, enclosed in a bubble of dry air amidst the heavy shower. It’s like he is behind thick-plated glass; all he can hear is the sound of her breathing, all he can see are the sinuous shadows of the rain on her face.

When they’re finally safe beneath the shade on the palace steps, she releases him. “I should go find Sokka and my father,” she says. “Aang should be waiting for you inside.”

He nods, suddenly nervous.

“You’ll be fine, Zuko.” He doesn’t know what she means—the speech, ruling as the Fire Lord, climbing up the steps without tripping himself—but a spark of hope ignites in his chest.

The rain stops as abruptly as it had begun. He watches Katara walk away, stepping nimbly over puddles, her ocean blue tunic swishing around her legs. And long after she is gone, he feels the warmth of her hand on his back.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #zutara #zutara fanfiction #my writing #zuko #katara #atla fanfiction #zuko x katara #zutara fanfic

[atlasxrose]

Tagging: Atlas Rose, (Mentions of @astraearose​), (Mentions of Werewolf WC), Isaac Wright (NPC). Time Frame: April 7th, 2014, Early to Late Evening. Location: North Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada Notes: When Atlas met Isaac. tw: kidnapping, tw: blood, tw: murder

There was no sound atop the lookout over the Quay, the witch, his sister, and their childhood friend had parted ways shortly after getting into town. The wildling witches and their wolf companion had been sneaking into cities for years, usually passing their time together, occasionally parting ways to take in sites as individuals, rather than a trio. The red metal scaffolding of the lookout towered over the harbor, Atlas liked it here, coming to the Quay first only a few years ago. The coastal regions were among his favorite. And this province was no exception, the varying islands, cultures and communities were inviting, enriching, and these neighboring cities in particular were rich with international travelers and immigrants from varying walks of life. 

He’d already met so many interesting people. 

He watched the boats as they came and went, the ferry that shuttled commuters and tourists across the channel to the capital across the water. He’d only been to Vancouver once before, had he more time Atlas might have considered boarding the ferry, he was sure that if he tried he could scrape together whatever money he needed to do as such. But the sun was already beginning to set, and the trio had a long trek back to the Coven, their absence would not go unnoticed. 

“Beautiful night, isn’t?” 

Atlas turned at the voice of a stranger, almost immediately feeling an intrusion in his peripheries. The young oracle was still naive enough to not recognize the potency of the darkness that emanated from the man’s aura, the corrupt pervasive nature of the other’s magic. Atlas furrowed his brow for a moment, knowing only that the man had magic of some kind, he wasn’t like the witches from Atlas’ Coven, nor any other that he’d come across over the years. But there was power there, the oracle could not deny that, and there was a part of him that was curious. 

He was attractive, definitely too old, but duly handsome. There was a sense that he was also much older than he appeared, an aging soul that did not quite match the thirty-something year old man that stood before him now. 

“It’s going to rain later, but yeah, I guess.” Atlas returned, not particularly interested in conversing with a stranger, though there was something bizarrely familiar about this one. The past few months he’d been bothered by horrifying dreams, and they were always the same; he was being hunted, through an unfamiliar forest. With trees not native to the soil where he grew up. A pack of jackals pursued him, cackling and howling in the night. He was always running, and he was always afraid. Powerless under the burning red light of a blood moon.

His and Astraea’s birthday had passed just a week ago, it was their eighteenth, the witches had at last come of age. While the Coven celebrated, Atlas had silently lamented his fate, tortured worst of all that night by the same prophetic dream from which he could not wake. The jackals caught him that night, and under the moon they tore the oracle to pieces, feasting on his flesh before the oracle awoke, screaming in pain. 

grandmother, Atlas had asked. what does this mean? 

A darkness comes for you, my sweet one.  You must be careful.

Had Atlas truly headed his visions, had he listened to his grandmother’s advice, then he would have stayed home with the coven as he was supposed to. There was a dozen tasks he could have committed himself to instead, he had a blanket tapestry that was only half finished, the threads of his families’ tree overlaying in emerald green leaves and earthy bark, sapphire blues of a glistening ocean and a clear blue sky punctuated by distant storm clouds. 

Being in the presence of this stranger made him long for that familiarity now. Where was Astraea? Where were the companions he’d come here with. 

If he had truly headed his visions, had Atlas listened to his grandmother’s advice, then he wouldn’t have separated from them when they’d gotten to town. In the years to come, Atlas would blame his brazen youth, his curiosity for the dark, he wanted to face these jackals that tormented his dreams. He wanted to know what hunted him. Atlas wished to face his fears, and overcome them, but monsters were more than fears, they were more than sounds going bump in the night. Sometimes they came with the sharp teeth of jackals, but mostly they appeared as a stranger, with a smile that invited you to trust.

“You think so?” The man asked, “But the clouds are clear.” He moved to lean over the railing next to Atlas, though the oracle’s eyes were fixed on the strong lines of definition across hardened features. 

“I can always tell when it’s going to rain.” Atlas mused, taking his eyes away from the stranger and moving towards the sea, only barely catching sight of a peculiar ring around the engagement finger of the man’s left-hand as he did. This individual was married, so it seemed. Though the ring was unlike any that the witch had seen before. 

“I’ve always loved a good storm.” 

Atlas said nothing, wondering if silence would lead the man to carry on, before the witch had to make his own awkward departure. 

“Sorry, I should introduce myself, I’m Isaac, I live just across the water. There.”

He pointed over the Fraser towards the metropolitan center of Vancouver, he could have been pointing to any one of the high rises or condominiums, Atlas couldn’t have been sure. But he was a local. It was strange because the witch could have sworn he’d seen him before, more inland, maybe a month or so ago before the coven had moved to the forests in the mountains along the coast.

“Atlas.” The witch offered, shaking the man’s hand as it was offered to him. He felt a chill run down his spine, another warning, and after a beat too long, Atlas’ hand was slipping from the others. “But I should be going,” the sun was setting over the river now, bathing them both in an orange hue. “it’s getting late.” 

“Shhh,” Isaac reached forward, and Atlas felt his breath leave his body, darkness following soon after. In the distance he heard his voice, “what’s your rush?” Then there was nothing but the sensation of falling backwards, sinking until he was caught. Strong uncaring arms. 

*

While he slept, he dreamed now of a falling star, burning and crashing towards the Earth. As it fell, all the Gods wept as it burned and seared past them, out of reach even for divinity. When he hit the ground he was in this unknown forest once more, still burning he was not the hunted but the hunter. Running on all fours, screaming and cackling and crying as his feet struck the earth, drawing him forward though he had no desire to move. He wished to flee. He wished to drown himself in the lake. He wished to be home. He wished to wake. 

They caught their prey, a traitor in their midst.

*

Atlas awoke in the hold of a ship, outside his porthole he could see the ocean as it lapped at the glass. It was farther away somehow than he thought it should be, without being told, Atlas knew where he was, he needed only to find the one who called to him now. His vision had troubled him and while usually it was the witch’s nature to recoil into himself, Atlas instead sought out the man that had been at the center of his vision. Loyalty and love drew him from the chamber, the initial room where he’d been held was not locked, unlike the others that lined the hall outside. As Atlas passed the doors he heard the screams of those trapped within, felt their power, some he recognized, others the witch had never encountered before. 

He rose from the ship’s bowels, entering a room that he knew would be his new home, feeling every bit as attached to it as he had his own room back home. With his coven, with his family. With Astraea. There was nothing of his old life here, no personal affects for the witch to form an attachment to or bond with, yet he loved the bedding for its comforts, he loved the clothes for their fit and style, the magical relics that were now his, the power that was at Atlas’ fingertips. Forbidden secrets and instructions regarding blood magic and the divining arts. Everything the oracle would need to be of service to his master, to a one true, everlasting love. 

Atlas washed the journey from his body, scrubbed the ocean salt free from his skin, the sand his body had been dragged across while he slept, healed the scratches formed from small stones and gravel. He dressed to please, wearing something his master would approve of, finding vanity in the darkness of a situation he no longer had any capacity to comprehend. Atlas loved the man he now served, every bit of the oracle’s being was devoted to him, and before he could present his master with his vision, he needed to first be presentable. After all, his master was hosting the others this evening, and Atlas was to be presented before them. 

Without being told, the oracle knew this to be true. Knew it because of the ring of servitude that had been slid around his finger after he’d been rendered unconscious.

Atlas climbed the stairs and entered the ballroom, ornate lighting hung overheard as the oracle entered the masquerade, a mask neatly fitted over his face. He wove through the crowd, some enchanted, some not, some there on their own volition, others not. Atlas approached the head table , Isaac sat at the center, his eyes fixed upon the oracle as the rest of the coven lined the table on either side. Totaling eight, with nine seats. Atlas would come to learn that it was Isaac’s own twin sister that sat to his right, and the chair to his master’s left was reserved exclusively for the oracle.

Atlas leaned in, whispering:

Your traitor wears the jackal’s mask.

It brought Atlas some pleasure to see the note taken so easily, Isaac merely nodded and the witch took his rightful place at his master’s side. His raven mask perched neatly across his brow, his hazel eyes watched the room as the final song drew to a close and the dancing slowed. Isaac rose, he had the attention of the room. They were witches, humans, wolves, individuals who had aligned themselves with power, but Atlas knew that those, apart from him, that sat at the table were genasi. Once from a powerful familial coven of air witches, one by one they had turned themselves into genasi. The eight who sat at the table were all that had survived. A century had passed, and over the years they had gathered wealth, power, and a following who wanted only to be near their power.

This vessel was meant as a gathering place for all of them, something that happened maybe only once a year, though it was Isaac’s stronghold first and foremost. The blood wardings were ingrained within the metal itself, Atlas could feel the magic in the air, there was magic at work here. It was not one that he recognized, and Isaac had not simply given him the answers. It seemed the oracle’s fate to learn through observation, though he could guess easily enough the fate of a traitor. 

“My brothers and sisters,” Isaac addressed, “tonight is indeed a night for celebration, the blood moon favors us, and has presented us with a new oracle to join our ranks.” The room applauded Atlas, who remained seating, eyes trained on the masquerade before him. “But we cannot forget to mourn the one we have lost,” Atlas knew he was speaking of his predecessor, though the thought that his life was in danger never once crossed his mind. The darkness, his grandmother had spoke of, might have been a lifetime away. 

His sister. His friends. They were memories now, ones Atlas felt no attachment towards.

Isaac was his family now. 

“Come forth Telemachus.” Isaac commanded, there was a whispering about the room before the finely dressed individuals parted to reveal a man, some years older than Atlas, step forward. A jackal fixed firmly to his face. 

Isaac disappeared in a puff of black smoke and whooshed forward, winding around this Telemachus to appear before him. A blade was in his hand now, ornate and runed, Atlas could feel the power pulsing from it. Blood magic. This blade was one that had been used in sacrificial rites, Atlas had seen such tools before, but they were reserved for offerings and only used by individuals in the coven who weren’t so tempted by the power of blood magic.

“How do you answer for your crimes against the Coven? Do not lie Telemachus. I already know that it was you who murdered -”

Aware now of his fate, Telemachus shouted, “Death to the genasi! Don’t you see they’ll doom us all!” 

In a moment, Isaac had dissipated in a wisp of black smoke and enveloped Telemachus, he slipped inside of the witch and Atlas rose from his seat as Isaac took possession of the older Greek. The blade now in Telemachus’ hands as dark veins encompassed his eyes, they’d changed from the steel gray of Telemachus old eyes to the dark irises that Atlas had first met on the Lonsdale Quay. 

Words of ancient blood magic fell from his lips before Telemachus drove the blade into his own stomach and split it open, letting his innards fall to the ground as smoke rose from his frame, reforming as Isaac stood over the blood and viscera. Atlas drew closer, unphased by the grotesque flex of power and brutal display of gore, the likes of which the witch had only seen before when the coven had to butcher a pig, a deer, or an elk. 

“Telemachus murdered one of his own.” Isaac said easily as the crowd gasped, there was whispering, but none would stand against him. They all had their reasons for being drawn to the respective genasi that they served, each had a seat at the head table, and each served the man that addressed the room now. None now more faithfully than Atlas. “Tell me Oracle, what do you see?”

Atlas drew his hands over the organs that had been spilled to the ground, whispering words of power that were meant to incite knowledge and information. He aimed to move the Gods to action, beseeching them to speak, the oracle was the portal for which the movements of the Gods could be perceived, and with this power combined with Isaac’s magic driving him forward, there was nothing the witch would not command of them, on his master’s behalf. 

“The Coven will rise in power, but not in infamy, and all that you desire, will at last be yours.” 

#tw: kidnapping #tw: kidnap mention #tw: blood #tw: murder #tw: gore #self para #about #history #age 18 #act i #aesthetic

[thenovelartist]

Church Bells

Fanfiction ~ AO3

Inspired by my favorite song “Church Bells” by Carrie Underwood.

Meaning this isn’t fluffy.

Calling Hawkmoth’s villainy ‘innocent’ may seem like an oxymoron, but to Nathalie, it was the best way to describe it. It wasn’t as though she had a say in the matter anyway. Gabriel wanted his wife back, and he was doing what he could to make sure it happened. It was what any desperate man would do.

The akumas he began with were more-or-less harmless. Ladybug took care to fix the city once the battle was over. No damage was ever lasting. While Nathalie knew instinctually that what Gabriel was doing was wrong, she turned a blind eye to it. Her job was secure, Adrien was fine, and Gabriel was never changing in his resolve despite all of Nathalie’s hopes.

The years drifted by, and change was so slow it was barely noticeable. One day, Nathalie blinked and realized that Adrien was as tall as her. How and when had that happened? He used to be an optimistic young man. Now, he seemingly never cracked a smile. His resemblance to Gabriel in that regard was terrifying.

“I’m going out,” he said, before walking straight out the front door before Nathalie could protest.

The door slammed, and Nathalie sighed. There was no point in going after him. He wouldn’t come back, and they couldn’t make him. It frustrated Gabriel, but if Nathalie was honest with herself, she couldn’t say she was surprised. There was hardly any relationship between them, and that was mostly on Gabriel’s part. And Adrien, after a while, just gave up trying.

That wasn’t the only change, but again, it was almost a slap in the face when the news had turned on and Nathalie watched the akuma ravage the city.

In a way unlike any other before it.

“Sir, you need to examine yourself,” Nathalie warned Gabriel after the akuma had been defeated by Ladybug and Chat Noir. She didn’t particularly care for the superheroes, but it was clear that even they were frazzled by this akuma. “This is going too far.”

“Nothing is too far for Emilie,” he had said. “If Chat Noir and Ladybug would only give up their miraculouses, then there would be no more akumas.”

“Sir—”

“You are dismissed, Nathalie.”

She had no choice but to take her leave.

This went on for five long months. In that time, Gabriel’s aggressive manners had become perfectly clear to Nathalie. Adrien’s responses to his father had changed, too. No longer was this Gabriel being the leader of the household and Adrien submitting out of respect. That had long passed, leaving Nathalie wishing for those days over the almost daily stand-off between two alpha wolves.

Nathalie had typed and retyped her resignation, only to delete it every time. She cared for Gabriel. She cared for Adrien. She couldn’t leave, taking away the only source of stability in either of their lives.

“Sir,” she began after another particularly scary akuma had ravaged the city. “Aren’t you concerned for Adrien? He was at a photoshoot very close to the building the akuma destroyed.”

Gabriel gave a pause, one that grew far too long for Nathalie’s liking. “He’s fine,” he eventually said. “Now, leave me be.”

Nathalie was forced to bow and take her leave. It slowly killed her watching this and sitting by passively because people were getting hurt with these latest akumas, and for Gabriel to not realize his son could be the next victim caused by his own hands was tragic.

She’d even taken up caring and worrying over Ladybug and Chat Noir. The two supers had left the battle looking tragically worse for wear. Ladybug had been hit in the head, causing a nasty cut emphasized by blood pouring down her face, over her eye, down her cheek.

And Chat Noir… Nathalie felt sorry for that black cat.

He always took hits for Ladybug. Ever since the two began. But this last hit had torn open his suit all across his chest, and he’d laid there in the battle for a good moment before forcing himself up, panting and out of breath, to assist Ladybug in finishing off the akuma. Nathalie—along with everyone else in Paris—assumed they were indestructible. However, it seemed that physical damage that these latest akumas left behind didn’t disappear with the call of the miraculous ladybug.

She had to force herself numb, to be indifferent to the pain, otherwise, she’d end up shouldering the guilt of her non-action. Gabriel would insist life would go on, and her tablet reminded her that Adrien had a fencing lesson he had to go to. She had a job to do, one that could take all her attention away from the bloody mess that was the latest akuma battle.

She marched to Adrien’s room and knocked on the door. “Adrien, you have a fencing lesson.”

There was a pause on the other side. “I’m not going.”

Nathalie froze. Occasionally, Adrien would whine about his activities, particularly if it was a photoshoot, but never once did he tell her ‘no.’ “Adrien, be reasonable. You love fencing.”

“I’m not going and that’s final, Nathalie!” he snapped, voice shockingly aggressive.

She didn’t know what to do. Never had she faced this before. But Adrien was seventeen, and if he didn’t want to go, she couldn’t force him. “Are you all right, Adrien?”

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

Those words were too final for her to argue against.

The next day, she would watch the confrontation of father and son unfold. “I’m disappointed in you, Adrien. I’ve let your behavior slide, but locking yourself in your room, snapping at Nathalie, and refusing to go to fencing is unacceptable.”

“Why,” Adrien challenged. “What’s so unacceptable about it?”

Gabriel was taken aback for a second; Nathalie could tell by how Gabriel leaned back on his heels and his eyes widened the slightest amount. “Why?” he repeated, collecting himself to face off Adrien once again.

“Yes, why,” Adrien growled. “There’s no point in going other than not getting in trouble with you.”

Nathalie sucked in a breath before deciding to walk out of the room. She didn’t want to see this happening and instead chose to busy herself with anything she could find to do in order to ignore the scene happening in the household.

The stand-off ended with a fuming Adrien marching from the house and a red-faced Gabriel storming to his office, each slamming the door behind them.

The akuma that occurred as a result of Hawkmoth’s anger was a frightening one. Worse yet, it was clear that neither Ladybug nor Chat had recovered from the last fight, meaning they weren’t in as good of condition as they should be to take down the akuma properly.

That meant more severe injuries and more destruction to Paris and more people running in fear and more damage done.

Nathalie hated it.

A couple months later, and the fighting had only gotten worse, between both the supers and the akumas as well as between Adrien and his father. Nathalie caught Adrien looking for apartments in Paris, which shouldn’t have been surprising considering he was nearing eighteen and the tension in the house was getting to the point that even she could barely stand it.

“You can’t stop me,” he growled.

“I won’t,” was all she said. No point in making enemies with either man.

“And don’t tell my father.”

“I won’t.”

And she didn’t. She wouldn’t. Not when she sympathized with Adrien more than she did with Gabriel at the moment. She did her best not to think of the why and instead got lost in her work.

A month later, Adrien had yet another episode of refusing to go anywhere. Those had increased in frequency to be a few times a month, but never had he refused to go to school.

“Tell them I’m sick,” he said.

“I won’t lie, Adrien,” she snipped. “I will let this slide on your extra-curricular activities, but not for school.”

“I’m not going, Nathalie,” he growled, that aggressive tone coming up again.

“Adrien, what’s wrong?” she asked. “There has to be a reason you’re being stubborn.”

“I don’t feel well.”

“Then should I get you medicine? Or do you need to go to the doctor?”

“No!” he shouted. There was a beat of silence before he answered again. “No. I’m fine. I’ll get over it.”

Nathalie’s brow furrowed. Something was wrong. Even with this rebellious streak, this was not the Adrien she knew. “Adrien, I’m coming in.”

“No, wait—”

But it was too late. Nathalie pushed open the door, exposing the scene that Adrien clearly didn’t want her to see.

He sat on the bed, shirt off and blood dripping from several spots all over his body. Beside him sat a girl Nathalie recognized as Marinette Dupain-Cheng, one of Adrien’s friends. She had blood on her shirt and bandages covering her wrists and head. Her face turned a bright shade of red at getting caught in Adrien’s room, a bandage that was half wrapped around Adrien held loosely in her hands.

The images of Ladybug and Chat Noir after their last battle flooded Nathalie’s mind. Her tablet fell from her hand.

Adrien was fuming, his face growing red with anger as his lips curled up in a sneer. But Nathalie caught the way he shifted. He looked an awful lot like Chat Noir protecting his lady angling himself between her and Marinette.

The guilt came back, heaping upon her shoulders. Suddenly, she felt like Atlas keeping the world up. “I’ll call the school and say you’re sick. Do you want me to bring you two up anything? More bandages? Some food?”

Adrien’s lips dropped from their sneer, turning into a frown. Nathalie would take it.

“No,” he grumbled. “We’re fine.”

Nathalie nodded. “I’ll see if I can excuse Miss Dupain-Cheng’s absence as well.” And with that, she walked out and shut the door.

A day after the incident, Adrien was looking as though nothing had happened, yet Nathalie could still imagine the bruises on his face and the gashes all over his body. It scared her to realize that Adrien had simply become that good with make-up.

“Sir,” Nathalie said, staring at the sulking man hunched over his desk. “Maybe you should take it easy for another day or two. That akuma took a toll—”

“Nathalie, why didn’t Adrien go to school yesterday?”

“He wasn’t feeling well, sir. Do not change the subject.”

“The boy is fine,” Gabriel growled, his cold eyes locking on her. “Do not encourage his rebellion or I shall restrict him further to teach him properly.”

“He’s nearly eighteen—”

“As long as he lives in this house, he will submit to my authority. He’s too hot tempered like his mother.”

“Don’t you care?” Nathalie challenged.

Gabriel’s eyes were cold and hard, boring into her soul as he stared her down. She wouldn’t back down, though. She was made of sterner stuff than to cower in fear at the first sign of trouble

“You are dismissed, Nathalie. And you will not bring up what you think is best for my son.”

 It was the final straw that broke Nathalie down to her knees, the load on her shoulders too heavy to bear any longer. “So be it, sir. You’ll have my resignation by the end of the week.”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?” she said, raising a brow as she stared back at him. “I couldn’t tell.”

“Then I’ll want that miraculous back,” he warned. “Or have you face the consequences.”

“Is that a threat, sir?”

His gaze said it all.

She rose her chin. “Understood.” And with that, she marched out the door.

That night, she used the miraculous for the second and last time before vowing to give it up forever. By the time she detransformed, she felt sick enough to pass out, but she told herself that the little vial in her hands was worth it. She swore Gabriel would never make an akuma again. He would never again hurt his son, both in or out of the suit. And she’d make sure of that.

The next day, she held her resignation out to Gabriel. “Here,” she said. “My two weeks.”

He snatched it from her hands. “The miraculous?”

She paused but decided that it was best to play along with him now. She took the pin off her jacket and handed it off to him. “Here.”

He took the pin, never taking his eyes off her.

She left before he could say a word.

She closed the door behind her just as Adrien was marching down the stairs. He spared her a glance.

“I just turned in my two-weeks.”

Adrien froze before he could grab the front door’s handle. “What?”

“I’m quitting,” she said. “Just thought I’d inform you.”

He took a step to face her. His expression was passive, but Nathalie swore there was a bit of anger and hurt in his eyes. “I understand why,” he said.

She wanted to tell him more. The vial was burning in the pocket against her chest. “I’ll be here until a suitable replacement is found,” she said. “I don’t know for certain when that will be.”

Adrien gave a nod. “I understand,” he repeated, turning away from her. “I do. I wish you the best, Nathalie.”

And with that, he marched out the door.

Nathalie sighed. There were so many other words on her tongue, but none of them could be said.

Two days later, and neither Agreste man would give her a passing glance. She’d hurt them both, badly. She hated doing it, particularly to Adrien. The little vial she carried with her was a reminder that she had worse in store for Gabriel, but never had the chance to use it. To fix the problem that she’d been privy to yet ignored for far too long.

That night, she overheard Gabriel requesting wine with dinner, likely from the built-up stress she’d caused him. She watched and waited and when no one was looking, she took her chance to empty the vial into the strong liquid without anyone being the wiser.

After she’d been dismissed for the day, she tossed the empty vial into a trashcan outside a food stall that was on her way home from work, where it was sure to be taken out and tossed in a dumpster far away before anyone could think to look for it.

When she arrived the next day, she was just in time to see Adrien pack up his things to leave. “Father isn’t up yet,” he grumbled.

“You didn’t check on him?” Nathalie asked.

“Why bother?” Adrien said, slinging a bag over his shoulder. “It’s the one morning that I haven’t been yelled at.”

It was somewhat of a relief. Nathalie absently wondered if anyone had checked in on him yet. She’d hoped not.

She knocked on his door. “Sir?”

No answer.

She took a deep breath and prepared herself for this. This was her doing, and she’d see her actions through.

She entered his room and saw him laying motionlessly on his bed. Morbidly curious, she checked his pulse.

And what she found assured her that Gabriel had made his last akuma and Hawkmoth would never terrorize the city again.

Now should be the time to call for help, but she had to snatch his miraculous first.

Thankfully, it took all of three minutes do to so, grabbing them from behind the painting that she’d seen him open many a time. The emergency vehicles were on their way immediately afterwards.

By noon, the press had circulated that Gabriel Agreste was dead.

When Adrien came home, he was clearly frazzled. “Is it true, Nathalie?”

Nathalie frowned. “Adrien, you may want to have a seat.”

He frowned, crossing his arms. “I can stand,” he insisted.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Eventually, Nathalie coaxed him into a seat in the kitchen. Considering how he practically fell into the chair, he had been lying about his being able to stand. “So, he’s dead.” Adrien snipped. “I could have stood for you to tell me that.”

The barely detectable warble in his voice betrayed him.

With a heavy sigh, Nathalie gathered all her strength as she pulled the moth miraculous from her front pocket.

The color rapidly drained from Adrien’s face.

“He was Hawkmoth,” she said, holding out the gem in a way clearly indicating him to take it.

Adrien’s movements were slow. The shock was clearly overwhelming him as he slowly closed his hand around the moth miraculous.

Nathalie gave him a moment to stare at the gem before dumping another surprise on him. “And I,” she said, pulling out the peacock miraculous. “Was the one that stopped him.”

The silence that followed was long and tense. She watched as a myriad of emotions crossed Adrien’s face, yet he didn’t say a single word, nor did he move from his spot. It took a long while for Adrien’s shock to fade. Eventually, he stood and took Nathalie’s miraculous. “I have to tell Ladybug.”

“You do that.”

Sluggishly, he made his way up to his room, and shut his door silently for the first time in a long while.

The funeral was days later. Marinette attended with Adrien, which drew some press that would have to be handled, but Nathalie knew that Marinette was the only reason Adrien was keeping his composure. If Nathalie didn’t know any better, she’d say Adrien was the only thing keeping Marinette composed, too. It was hard to tell with the black veil Marinette wore to cover her face. A brilliant move, to be honest, seemingly respectful yet the perfect disguise for her emotions. After all, Ladybug was sitting next to her Chat Noir at her arch-enemy-slash-partner’s-father’s funeral. Nathalie couldn’t imagine what was going through Marinette’s head at the moment.

Adrien nor Nathalie wanted to give nor write the eulogy, so it was given by someone else who spoke of how incredibly talented the man was and how he loved his son and late wife.

Adrien quietly scoffed at that. Marinette growled, squeezing Adrien’s arm. Nathalie didn’t flinch; she’d become skilled in hiding her emotions.

The church bells rang, ending the service and officially ringing out the end of Hawkmoth’s reign.

“I hope you’ll be staying in my employ, Nathalie,” Adrien said in the car on the way home. “You, too,” he added, looking over at his driver.

“Of course,” Nathalie said. She did this all for him, because she cared enough to not let this insanity continue any longer. If anything, Adrien needed her more than ever. For support, for help, for guidance.

“My father’s company may lose some steam, but I want to keep it afloat for now. And it’s not because I care for my father’s legacy—”

“I know why,” Nathalie said, sneaking a glance at Marinette. Adrien could say his reasons were that Gabriel was a large company that employed many people who were innocent of Gabriel’s side-activities. But Nathalie knew it was so Marinette could take over and have a launch point for her own designs. She could have been a fantastic apprentice for Gabriel, a perfect option for an heir, yet it seemed Adrien had to be the one to make that rational decision.

Adrien nodded. “Thank you, Nathalie. For everything.”

The fire in his eyes as he looked at her… it reminded her of Gabriel. But it was clear Adrien had a better head on his shoulders. One that wouldn’t give to the temptation of wreaking havoc on the lives of Paris so easily.

“We also have to plan the announcement that Hawkmoth has been defeated,” Marinette said, breaking into the conversation. “That may raise suspicions.”

“So be it,” Adrien said. “The people of Paris need to know they’re safe, no matter what it says for my family name.”

“We could always reveal ourselves.”

“You’d never use your position as Ladybug to forward yourself, so I won’t use my position as Chat to keep my name clean,” Adrien countered. “All people have to know is that Hawkmoth has been permanently dealt with and that he called destruction on his own head. He made an akuma for the very last time.

“And that’s all that has to be said.”

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #one-shot #It got twisted real fast #nathalie sancoeur #gabriel agreste #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Caramel Skin Under A Purple Rain prt 9 full draft

Waking up with a soft yawn, Lance nuzzled into the warm body holding him tight, not being able to remember the last time he felt so well rested, or has slept through the night entirely. Feeling the lips, of who could only be Keith, peppering the top of his head with kisses, Lance stretched with another soft yawn as he wiggled up to lay face to face with his husband. Behind him, there was a nasally snore, causing him to nearly giggle when Shiro followed it up with one twice as loud. Brushing his hair back from his forehead, Keith's smile was filled with love. Far too much love to be waking up to. He'd acted so deplorably the day before

"I was betting he'd wake before you did"

"He's been really good to me"

"I know. How are you feeling?"

All limbs were attached. Keith's smell was drowning out Shiro's. He was still drowsy, but Keith was home so that made everything alright... plus, he only felt slightly nauseous

"I don't remember how we ended up in bed"

Keith's expression turned pained. Doing that thing where he bit the inside of his cheek as he drew his brow, yet his scent eyes gave away the pain... The last thing he remembered...

"We were sitting in... the kitchen... and... Hunk made me drink that tea... it gets kind of foggy"

"You were falling asleep in the kitchen so we went to the secondary entertainment room..."

"And Pidge was there..."

Lance could definitely remember hearing Pidge's voice recently...

"When everyone else came in, you went to get up. Before that you said you were feeling funny. You ended up having a seizure"

"In front of everyone?"

"We told them it was because you've been sick..."

  Everyone saw. Everyone saw him having a seizure...

  "Babe, it's ok"

"It's not ok"

There were things he wasn't ready to talk to everyone about yet. He still needed time... He didn't want to admit to Hunk and Pidge that his torture had resulted in seizures due to a serious brain injury

"Look, Shiro and I told them it was because you were sick. We told Daehra it was because you pushed yourself too far. We covered for you"

They shouldn't have to cover for him. He was a grown arse adult

"Stop giving me that look. You can make it up to everyone at breakfast this morning"

"I had a seizure in front of everyone"

"And all everyone wanted to go know was if you were ok. No one was laughing. No one was judging you. Do you really think Shiro or I would have let them keep their teeth if they had?"

"I haven't seen anyone today... how am I supposed to know if they all have teeth still"

  Nuzzling into his face, Keith rolled him away from Shiro so he was forced to lay on top of his husband. His stomach and his bladder protesting laying front down

"That's my man. God, Lance. You're so quiznakkingly beautiful"

Feeling himself blush, Lance dropped his head next to Keith's so he didn't have to meet his husband's eyes

"Shut up..."

Sliding his hands down Lance's back, Keith massaged at his lower back with his fingertips

"Don't tell me to shut up. I know you're smiling"

"Who's fault is that? It's too early in the morning... and it's the first morning I haven't woken up feeling worse than when I went to sleep"

"That's good... hey, lift your face for me. I want to look at you"

"That sounds like the perfect reason not to"

"Why? You're beautiful. Waking up with you still feels like a dream"

"Keeeith"

Whining his husband's name, Lance mouthed at his husband's neck. If Keith was going to tease him so soon after waking up, then his husband was going to have to face the consequences

"Mmm... I won't say no this kind of wake up when we're on Daibazaal"

  Parting his lips, Lance sucked hard, Keith jerking under him as he tried to push his face off the place Lance was sucking a hickey. Stopping when he tasted blood, the Cuban let his husband finally have his wish of seeing his face. He hope he was showing the right emotions... as he wasn't exactly sure what he was feeling emotionally. His head felt better for having slept, and for having fluids in his system, but everything else was frustratingly muddled. He was embarrassed over having a seizure. Scared to face everyone after collapsing in front of them. He didn't want to lie to everyone, but he also didn't want them disgusted over his body... buuuut, with the way Keith was looking at him so softy, he wanted to throw everything away and cling to Keith. Have Keith keep him calm in their bed. Their space he'd opened up to Shiro without asking Keith's permission. Then there were all those thoughts. He felt like absolutely quiznak for not being able to come out of his own head for Shiro. It'd been hard to reach out, and now he didn't know how to apologise for Keith being the only one to fix this broken side of him. Leaning up, Keith was lucky Lance was flexible as nuzzled into his face. Apparently he hadn't been enough of a shit to get his revenge for Keith being stupidly perfect

"You scared the shit out of me last night. When you fell like that. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't get your mouth open and you kept throwing up. I was scared you were going to drown... and I was scared for our babies..."

"I'm sorry... I wanted to see everyone last night..."

  Lance was absolutely terrified at the idea of seeing everyone all at once. All their scents. All their voices and things he needed to keep up with. But yesterday felt like if he didn't man up and do it then, he'd only run when the time came. It's kind of been nice to listen to Keith and Hunk talk, but he had no idea what he'd talked to Pidge about. He hoped it wasn't about the fact he was still yet to use the finger she'd gone to all that effort to make him.

  "I know. You were too sick and I should have pushed harder at you to rest. You're not disappointing any of us by being ill. You're pregnant with our babies, and... that's some kind of miracle"

"Your babies are making me sick... I can tell they're going to be trouble"

Not that he was attached to them... He was... but he was trying to be realistic. Keith was still not the "enthusiasm" stage of things. Not the... Oh fuck...

"Babe. How do we get them out!?"

All of a sudden the "real" stage of things popped its ugly head up and smacked him a dose of reality he did not need. Watching Keith's eyes widen like his, his husband's scent shifted so dramatically with fear that he was sent running to the bathroom.

  Following Lance into the bathroom, Keith sat behind him. Rubbing his back as he reacquainted himself with the toilet bowl, tears streamed down his face as he panicked over how he was supposed to give birth. He didn't want them coming out the same way they'd come in. That would hurt!

"Babe! How do I give birth? I don't want to give birth out my buuutt..."

Wailing at his husband, Keith laughed softly

"We woke Shiro up. He reminded me that c-sections are a thing..."

He wasn't sure he wanted a caesarean either...

"My stomach's going to be sooo fat and then they're going to cut it!"

Throwing up, the sound blocked out Keith's reply. Shuffling up further behind him, Keith pulled his hair back from his face before tying the longer bits into a ponytail much like the one Bob had made his husband wear. He really needed a hair cut, but his self care and pampering had gone to shit as he now appreciated practicality over everything

"You're not going to be fat. You're going to be all round from our babies"

"But my butt... what if they can't take them out?"

Nearly hyperventilating, he choked on the vomity spit in his throaty. Moving up from rubbing his back, Keith rubbed his shoulder

"Shhhh... we've got phoebs to work it out"

"I don't want to give birth! I like my arse! You like my arse! What if you don't love me when I'm fat!"

"Baby, I'm always going to love you. Always. Even if we fight or something, we'll make up"

"I don't know how to have a baby"

He imagined it was going to hurt a lot. Miscarrying hurt so bad... but that wasn't a fully formed baby... babies don't have small heads...

"I don't know either. But we're going to get through this and have our beautiful twins"

"My butt has to hurt twice"

 Yes. He was concerned about his butt.. His butt. Hips. Stomach... breasts... was he going to get breasts? Keith loved him because he was a boy. With boy bits... Now his husband was fucking laughing

  "When you get further along we can explore your options"

His options? What?! With wide eyes, he continued his freak out

"My options!? Where are you going to be!? If I have to go through this, you have to be there too! I'm not going through this without you!"

Gagging, Lance wanted it to stop already as he turned back to the toilet to vomit. Keith nuzzling into his hair line like all of this wasn't gross

"I mean how you feel most comfortable giving birth. I'm going to be there"

"You don't know that. Mum's having a baby too... she needs you! What if you're on a mission"

"I won't be"

"Keith!"

His husband was acting far too relaxed about this... and now he was laughing again

"Babe. I'm going to be there. I promise you this. If I'm not, you can castrate me"

Scrunching his nose up, Lance didn't find the humour in it. He'd cut off Klearo's dick, then slit his throat. He was trying not to think of him... and trying not compare the difference in morning sickness as it was

"Not funny"

"Sorry. Are you done here? I have no idea what the time is but breakfast should be ready. Or there's some vegetable soup in the fridge that Hunk dropped off last night"

 Oh Keith. Poor sweet Keith. Lance almost pitied his husband's naivety... Morning sickness had a mind of its own... something that was proven when they were both stuck there for the next 2 vargas.

    *

Joining everyone in the secondary entertainment room for a late breakfast, Lance had an armful of Pidge almost immediately after he and Keith walked into the room. Shiro had been on a call to Curtis who'd decided to bring the Atlas out to the outpost sooner, so had left to greet his boyfriend. Patting Pidge on the head, he'd never really committed her scent to memory, most probably because he hadn't had the chance. As weird as it was, she smelt like the oil you used on creaking hinge mixed with something floral... When he thought about it, it made sense given her love of robotics and her former status as the Green Paladin

"Don't you ever do that to me again! I was scared you dumb arsehole"

"I'm sorry, Pidgeon. I'm feeling much better than I did yesterday"

"What was that, even? You said you felt funny... then you were... I don't think I've been that scared since I returned home and had to face my mother"

"I'm ok. I'll be ok..."

 He didn't want to talk about the seizure, yet before he knew what was happening, Keith's team was also hugging him. It was weird... their smells not sitting well with his delicate nose, and it left him uncomfortable knowing they'd never have hugged him if he hadn't made a fool out of himself. Growling at the group, Keith pulled him backwards so his back hit his husband's broad chest

"That's enough pawing at my husband. He's fine"

Zethrid and Ezor didn't say anything, shrugging at each other and returning to where they'd been playing cards with two soldiers that must have been recruits. One looked like a smaller version of Zethrid, like if one was to cut her off at her knees, while the other... for a split tick looked so much like Lotor that he found himself staring. Not quite smiling at him, Acxa hesitated before asking

"We were just learning how to play UNO with Katie. Would you like to join us?"

Pidge hissed at the name Katie, Lance dropped his head back onto Keith's shoulder. His husband's scent was filled with annoyance and possessiveness. Lance swore he could taste Keith's warning to others on the tip of his tongue

"He needs to eat breakfast first"

"He needs to explain last night too"

Lance gut rolled. Pidge was too smart for her own good. There was no way he couldn't tell them... despite how embarrassing he found it

"I... I'm not going to get out of this, am I?"

"Not as long as your sick"

Kissing the side of his head and rubbing his hands up and down Lance's upper arms, Keith tried to buy him more time

"It's a good thing he's not sick"

"Babe..."

"You're not sick anymore. And it's not like you're contagious"

"I don't know... there seems to be something in the air. If I pinky promise that I'm ok, will you believe me?"

Pidge sighed dramatically at the pair of them

"Pinky promising on the finger you refuse to wear doesn't count"

"I don't need it"

"All that hard work! I even put in a vibration setting for you and Keith"

Lance wasn't sure whether to laugh or be mortified... As it stood, option b seemed the way to go

"Pidge!"

"What? I was trying to make it practical"

"Alright you two, no more arguing. Lance, come sit down babe. Maybe if we get lucky, we can watch Pidge lose at UNO"

"Pffft. See if I worry about you in the future. As for losing at UNO, these poor losers are about to make me rich"

  Guided to sit a few chairs down, Keith moved his chair up behind him so Lance could sit sideways and watch the game. Pidge was ruthless. He almost felt bad for the two Galra

"Babe, who are they?"

"Just recruits"

Mentally rolling his eyes, Lance sighed

"I know that. I wanted to know their names. That tall one looks like he's the son of Lotor and Acxa... He's actually kind of cute"

Growling, Lance found himself man handled into Keith's lap

"You're my husband"

"I know that. I was simply making the observation. Plus... he keeps looking at us and I don't know what to do"

It was true. Each time the Galra's pinky-purple eyes were cast their way, Lance felt a chill run down his spine. He hadn't even met the stranger, so wasn't sure how he could have insulted him

"You don't have to do anything. They're probably shocked from how cuddly I am with you"

"You're as bad as Kosmo when it comes to pats and love"

"Only from you. We need to make plans after this. We're both going to need to pack"

  Lance wasn't looking forward to packing or to moving. He was all for being with Keith constantly, because he found it nearly impossible to truly be mad with the man, but they'd only need back together and Keith was acting seriously possessive, especially with the way he was pressing against his stomach like he was trying to shield their twins. His husband knew his stomach hurt, yet had lifted him out of his chair like it was nothing. Taking Keith's hands off of his stomach, he interlaced their fingers, leaning back to whisper

"Can you not move me like that?"

"What? Why? Is something wrong?"

Now Lance felt bad... Keith didn't seem to realise that they were going to adjust their actions to accomodate his new "condition", his husband merely wanted to hold him. Kissing Keith's jaw, he hoped he'd softened the harshness of his whispered request

"No... no, you're pressing on my stomach, and... I'm a bit nervy with everyone here"

"Quiznak... I'm sorry, babe. I should have..."

"Keith, don't. I didn't mean to imply anything, or to upset you..."

"I should have thought... you were just sick..."

Fuck... He'd really upset Keith, or rather because of him Keith was upset with himself. Turning in Keith's hold, he gave Keith a soft smile

"And I'm not going to break. My nerves are being stupid and my stomach still feels tense. I don't know about you, but I don't want to wind up back in the bathroom so soon"

"I don't either... is... has it been that bad?"

"It wasn't too bad this morning. It's more annoying than anything"

"I'm sorry..."

How was he supposed to try and be happy about the pregnancy if Keith was apologising?

"Please stop apologising. I don't want you to treat me like I'm made of glass. I don't want your pity or your sympathy. You said you were happy about this, so I want you to be happy"

"I don't want to see you suffer"

"I'm not. We just need to find a new rhythm now it's not just us to think about. I love you, and I love your cuddles, but I'm not up for suddenly being picked up or manhandled right now. It's a new situation for us, so of course things are going to happen... but we can talk about it, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, baby. I want you to be able to talk to me about anything. I'm... mad for not thinking about it"

"You didn't have to think about it because it's been a long time since your touch caused us any major issues. I'm still getting better, and I... feel shitty for telling you that I can't do this long distance thing anymore. I feel like I failed you because I can't cope without you"

"No. No you haven't. You're so fucking strong"

"I haven't felt that strong lately"

"That's not your fault. You didn't ask for these panic attacks, or for this... sickness..."

Dropping his gaze to his lap, Lance's heart felt heavy

"Still. I should be better by now"

"You are doing so much better"

"I had a seizure in front of everyone... I feel like shit lying to them"

"If you don't want to lie, I'll support you. I've got your back, no matter what"

  Sighing to himself, Lance wished he could see in himself what Keith seemed to see. Pidge had been so shaken by his seizure. He'd scared Keith and Shiro... and poor Curtis... he'd basically stolen the man's boyfriend away with no explanation. He wasn't particularly close to Curtis, yet he respected the man and knew Shiro loved him deeply. He also didn't want to be the cause of further complications between them

"Um... babe... do you know when the Atlas will be arriving?"

"Probably about now. Why? What is it?"

"I want to apologise to Curtis... and I want to explain things to him"

"You don't need to do that. He'll understand"

"He shouldn't have to understand. He adores Shiro. Shiro... he talked to me about how Curtis helps him through his nightmares and panic attacks. I... thanks to you, I know I'm not going to get better without being honest and Shiro said much the same thing. I want to explain to him, maybe not that I'm pregnant yet, but that I had a major episode and that nothing happened"

"You don't need to explain, but we can if you really want to"

He wanted to for Shiro's sake. He wanted to help preserve Shiro's happiness

"I think I need to. Can we go before we eat? While there aren't that many people around and before Veronica finds me?"

"You're scared of what she'll say, aren't you?"

"A bit... I haven't even explained things to mami. She worries so much with me being out here and the time thing makes it really hard... It's been several phoebs for me. She get confused with the time, then I get confused..."

"I know I've had issues with Veronica in the past, but I think she'd understand if we, if you, wanted to tell her"

"I don't want to make her worry. Do you know how much she'll nag about all the missions and supply runs I've done alone? I want to feel normal"

 In other words he mentally couldn't handle being pregnant and everyone constantly keeping an eye on his every move because they thought he was going to have a sudden seizure. Kissing his hair, Keith nodded

"We can go find Shiro and Curtis right now. I can message Shiro, that's probably going to be easier"

"Yeah... um... do you think he can meet us near the staff door around the side? I don't want anyone overhearing us"

"Sure. I'm proud of you, babe"

"Don't be too proud, I still have time to chicken out"

"You won't. You're so much stronger than you know"

    Heading back through the outpost, Shiro and Curtis were waiting for them when they arrived. Despite standing close to each other, Lance was sure there was some kind of lingering tension there. Feeling Keith's hand on his shoulder tighten, it seemed his husband had noticed it too. Raising his hand to greet them, Shiro's smile seemed slightly faked

"Hey, Lance. Keith. I got your message, you said you wanted to talk?"

"Lance wants to talk to Curtis, if that's alright?"

Curtis looked mildly surprised, as Lance nodded at Keith's words

"You want to talk to me? Are you sure?"

Curtis's tone rubbed his instincts the wrong way, despite there being no malice in it

"Yeah. Umm... if that's ok. It won't take very long, I promise"

Shiro seemed as confused as Curtis was

"Lance, is something the matter? Did something happen?"

"No. No, it's ok. I just need to borrow your boyfriend for a tick. I thought maybe we could talk on the other side of the door?"

Originally he'd intended to explain things in front of Shiro and Keith, but with both of them being overly concerned about him, he didn't want them interrupting

"Sure. I don't see why not. Keith and I will wait here for you"

"Thanks, Shiro"

Leaning into him, Keith softly whispered

"I thought we were going to talk in a group"

"I know... but... I really want to do this right. I'll be on the other side of the door, just there. Ok?"

"I don't know..."

"Babe. If something happens, you are literally two ticks away. Let me do this for myself"

"Alright..."

Kissing Keith's cheek, his husband released him. Walking forward, Lance used his hand to open the door, grateful that his biometrics could be read through the glove.

   Following him outside, Curtis leaned back against the outpost wall, while Lance wrapped his arms around himself in a self hug of support. Now they were alone, he needed a moment to figure out his words

"Lance, what did you want to talk about?"

Nearly flinching, once again Curtis had done nothing wrong

"I want to explain why Shiro came to pick me up"

"Oh, is that all? He already explained it"

"I know he did. But I wanted to talk to you myself about it..."

"You don't need to"

"I do!"

Yelling at Curtis, Curtis raised an eyebrow

"Sorry. Sorry. Dios. I'm so bad at this. Last movement when I was on Altea, I had a major appointment scheduled. I don't know if Shiro explained to you, or you know what I went through, but this appointment was really important to me. Keith was supposed to be there for it, and I ended up having a full blown panic attack because he wasn't... I... something bad happened to me, and it's left me not able to trust a lot of people, even people I see as friends..."

"Shiro explained that you were tortured..."

That was pretty much common knowledge despite how he wished it wasn't

"Yeah... I have... I have permanent brain damage from it. Not everyone knows and I don't like talking about it.  But Shiro... he's so stupidly "Space Dad" like. I hated him... for a while there I really hated him. His clone Kuron..."

Shaking his head, he didn't want to go there even if his mouth did

"Basically I was hurt and hating everyone. Keith came along and forced so much love down my throat that it still scares me. He encouraged me to try and open up... and to trust. Shiro was... well, he's in that circle of trust. And I feel really bad that he had to come to help me. I wasn't in a good mental space. It was like being in a panic attack days... I um... I also get seizures, especially when I'm stressing. You're the first person outside of this circle that I wanted to tell because I know how much you love Shiro and Shiro adores you. Hunk told me about that article, so I wanted to explain what really happened that day. Shiro found me in the bushes at the hospital. He helped calm me down from my appointment. That attack was so bad I couldn't walk without help... I guess what I really wanted to say was that there's nothing going on there. I panicked and didn't know who else to call when I couldn't get through to Keith. Shiro stayed in my room while he was here because I... I sometimes hurt myself during an attack... and... I just don't want to hurt Shiro or ruin his happiness. He's so in love with you, and he's done so much for me... and for Keith..."

 Wiping his eyes, he hoped Curtis didn't think he was aiming for a sympathy vote. He was simply so nervous that his body defaulted to tears

"And he deserves to be happy. I wanted to explain things to you myself, because I felt you deserved to understand. It's not easy being on the outside... it really kind of quiznakking sucks. I want Shiro to be able to talk to you and not feel he has to hide everything... I haven't told my friends about my seizures... I don't want any kind of pity. I don't want them to feel they have to babysit me... I'm sorry... Keith says I ramble"

  Curtis took a few ticks before pinching the bridge of his nose in a very Shiro manner

"Shiro did explain things. But I appreciate how hard it had to have been for you to approach me. And I thank you for doing it face to face. Can I ask you something?"

Slowly Lance nodded, not sure where this was going

"Are you getting help for this?"

Brushing off the slightly insulted feeling, Lance nodded again

"I have a counsellor I talk to regularly and I'm going to be moving to Daibazaal with Keith until my health improves. Everything is really complicated and it just got even more complicated. I haven't melted down that bad since... in a long while and I only panicked more when I couldn't calm down. I didn't even know about the article until Hunk told me. I don't follow news from that side of the universe. Shiro really loves you. He talked about how good you are too him, and how you work through his PTS... That's why I wanted to tell you everything myself without him or Keith interrupting and doing that thing where they assure it's ok, and don't let you talk properly"

"Shiro's "space dad" role?"

Curtis gave him a smile, loosening the tendrils of dread around his stomach

"Yeah... He's worse than my own dad half the time"

"He cares a lot for all of you"

"I know he does. That's part of what made it so hard to let him back in. I want him to... I guess I want him to be there as a friend, but at the same time, I want him to be selfish and to pursue the things he loves, and wants, like a future with him. We all lost so much... so I never want to get in the way of his happiness"

"I wasn't impressed that he dropped everything the way he did, but I'm glad he could be here for you. I knew nothing would have happened between the two of you, but with how evasive he was..."

Curtis trailed off, so Lance finished his sentence for him

"It really fucking sucked?"

"Yeah. That"

"I might... not be able to let you in... to trust you. But I don't want to disclude you either. I want to try and be friends. So I really need to apologise if I fuck things up before hand, because I don't realise sometimes that I have... I really hope this is making more sense to you than it sounds like it's making me to me"

"You're a good guy Lance. Not everyone would admit things like this for the sake of their friend. I hope we can be good friends too, not just for Shiro's sake"

"I'd like that"

Feeling somewhat self conscious and annoyed at himself, Lance nodded again

"Good. That's good... and can I ask you not tell anyone about my seizures being caused by brain damage"

"I won't, but can I ask why? They're not something you can control"

"I know they're not... I just... I know they care, yet when people know they start acting like I'm not me. I can't stand them watching me, like they're waiting for something to go wrong"

"I don't think they'll judge you, or treat you any differently"

"But they do. I had a seizure last night in front of everyone. Pidge was hysterical, so was Hunk from what Keith told me in the bathroom this morning. Plus, they've already made a fuss over it this morning. It makes it hard to focus on everything else"

"I still think it's in your best interests to tell everyone, or at least those you're close to"

"If you mean Veronica, she scares me. She scared everyone. That's why I wanted to talk to you away from her, or I'd never hear the end of it"

Curtis gave a sigh

"She certainly is headstrong"

"I know... Anyway, we should head back in before Keith and Shiro worry any further. All your meals and stuff here are on the house, just let the staff know I said as much. I don't know how long you guys want to be on land"

  With its size the Atlas had to currently orbiting the planet, as there was no way it'd fit in the parking area without walking up to the outpost being one hell of a trek. It was the only logical conclusion Lance could make.

 "We intend to leave once you've had time to talk to your staff. Shiro explained that the decision was reached last night, so I'm assuming you'll need time to pack"

"You don't mind?"

"No. If something happens, we have wormhole capabilities"

"This is true. Right now I'd give my right arm for a generator. It's a movement long flight to Erathus, or a movement and a bit flight to Daibazaal"

"I expected it'd be much longer"

"The Telula, my ship, is pretty fast for her class size. A smaller ship would probably take about two movements either way, maybe longer if it was something small like a pod"

"You seem to know your ships"

Shrugging, Lance dropped his self hug

"You get to learn a thing or two out here or you'd never survive"

"I suppose not..."

    Letting the conversation run dry, Lance let them back into the outposts. Shiro was leaning against one side of the hallway with Keith leaning against the other

"Lance. How'd it go?"

Rolling his eyes at his husband, Keith didn't need to say his name

"I think it went good... Curtis?"

Curtis laughed softly, before smiling at Shiro. Shiro reaching out his hand, with Curtis moving to take it it in his

"Lance was telling me how you came to his rescue. He's a good guy. We talked about some things, and he's given us permission to talk about his seizures and what you've been helping him through with his panic attacks"

 Glancing past his boyfriend, Lance shook his head as Shiro silently asked if he knew about the pregnancy. The poor man probably would have... actually, no. He didn't know how Curtis would react. He might have tried to take the first step with Curtis, but that was as far as he could go right now

"I am sorry that I left like that"

"I know you are. Lance wanted to make sure that I wasn't mad at you, is misunderstood anything. It seems like you've helped him through a lot"

"He has. He's done so much for both of us"

Kissing his hairline, Lance wasn't sure why Keith had agreed with Curtis when he was clearly talking to Shiro

"You're both family to me. As your "Space Dad", I'm putting my foot down and we're all going to have breakfast now that is out of the way. Lance, you need to keep eating"

 Stupid "Space Dad" mode had been activated. When Shiro married Curtis, would that make both of them "Space Dad"? Or did he need to find a name for Curtis? "Space Dad" kind of felt like a special name between them all. He didn't know Curtis well enough to give him a nickname. Maybe he could think of something during breakfast?

"I know I do. I was going to, but you know what it's like"

"I do. Now it's time to eat, then time to pack"

[opalsiren]

W.I.T.C.H. Reboot! W.I.T.C.H. Reboot! W.I.T.C.H. Reboot!

hi love! so, with the plethora of reboots kicking around mainstream media these days, its no surprise that the question of a w.i.t.c.h reboot has been broached by its fans. i have so, so, so many thoughts and this, but ill divide them into three categories for the purpose of brevity: firstly, general thoughts on what i would like to see if a w.i.t.c.h reboot is on the cards; secondly, what i would like to see in a live-action w.i.t.c.h reboot; and finally, what a decent animated reboot of w.i.t.c.h might entail. this is not an exhaustive list so please feel free to add onto this if youve any more thoughts! without further ado because jesus, we might be here a while….

general thoughts:

a w.i.t.c.h live action reboot should largely use the comics are source material. while the cartoons are beloved by many including myself, i reckon the good parts of each should be combined to be thematically consistent, fix plot holes etc. but the comics should be the bible here

the target demographic of younger women and girls would need to be established early on by the producers (personally i would love to see a slightly more mature, w.i.t.c.h college AU where the target demographic could be teens/young adult women and girls, but more on that later). this isnt to say that young men and boys would be absolutely excluded as an audience, but misogyny is alive and well in 2019, and our voices as women need to be uplifted. this is exemplified by the fact that caleb was given far, far, far too much screentime in the cartoon so that the show could reach a young, male audience, and his characters was mangled by chauvinistic tendencies. thank u, next.

i have my own preferences wrt to ships, but i think we can all agree that introducing male characters as mere plot devices for drama/conflict only to put them ‘on a bus’ when theyre no longer useful is just plain bad writing. this is a critique levelled both at the cartoon and comics, but largely the comics (see: Eric)(rip in peace).

i also believe that sticking to the conventions of a particular genre, or hybrid genre, would be preferable if a w.i.t.c.h reboot were to take place. some shows get it right, but I’ve seen a ton of shows go off the rails when they try to be a fantasy/comedy/crime/drama/horror/sci-fi/occult/soap-opera extravaganza all in one. i reckon a YA fantasy drama with comedic moments, something with a similar vibe to Shadowhunters or The Shannara Chronicles, could work really well. if we’re talking animated reboot, something with a similar tonal atmosphere to The Dragon Prince or Into the Spiderverse, would also be great

this shouldnt even need to be said but please, for the love of god, no musical episodes (heres looking at you, Riverdale).

i think i speak on everyones behalf when i say that, irrespective of the age demographic of the show, LGBT rep in w.i.t.c.h would be amazing. irma/cornelia have always been a practically canon fan favourite, but cassidy and nerissa’s relationship is definitely more than strictly platonic, so that could be developed upon too. trans/nonbinary!will is also a popular headcanon that could work. once there are lgbt heroes, and not just lgbt villains, i think we’ll all be happy.

similarly, seeing some neurodivergency in the characters could also be great: elyon dealing with pts after the fallout with phobos; irma struggling with adhd in school or college; hay lin and taranee also exhibit some traits of anxiety in canon. autistic!will would also work, and someone else in the squad is bound to be affected by depression given its pervasive nature these days.

much and all as i adore the guardian outfits, i think there would need to be a few changes made. the midriff-and-leg-baring get-ups, though very cute, become very jarring when you realise the characters are meant to range in age from 12 to 14. i dont have any specific thoughts on how improvements could be made, but lengthening hemlines could be a start. if anyone has any more thoughts, i’d love to hear them!

of course, there needs to be women in the writers room, lgbt people in the writers room, poc in the writers room, people with neurodivergencies in the writers room, etc. we all know what happens when writers rooms lack diversity, and it sure as hell aint pretty.

body diversity was something that was tentatively approached in the comics (irma is curvier than the others, at least in her mundane form), but eschewed almost entirely in the cartoon, with all the girls maintaining similar heights and waifish proportions. it would be worthwhile, not to mention realistic, for the girls to go through some body-image hang ups. maybe will is insecure about her ‘underdeveloped’ body, or maybe taranee longs to have the same curvaceous figures as other dancers her age. i think if they were to go for a message of body positivity, irma, loud and brash with no fucks to give, should love every inch of her fat body and encourage the girls to adopt her 'devil-may-care’ attitude. the patriarchy be damned.

one flaw with the comics AND the cartoons are that they dont really explore the worldbuilding a lot. we do spend some time on meridian in the comics and the cartoon, but largely from the perspective of either elyon, or caleb and the rebels. i wonder what a day on meridian would look like for the average meridianite peasant? what do meridianites do for fun? what language(s) do they speak? what are their religious/spiritual belief(s)? what are the styles of dress dictated by? meridian is based on medieval societies, and a caste system is suggested, but i would have loved to see the social hierarchies expanded on a little more. does the matriarchal nature of meridian rule value women and their labour? what about LGBT people on meridian? people with disabilities and neurodivergencies? is there any discrimination against the different species on meridian? in fact, i dont know if it was ever explicitly outlined to us the different species of peoples on meridian, in the cartoon or the comics. honestly id be happy to see a filler, AtLA Tales of Ba Sing Se-esque episode on meridian to cover all of these bases

one thing i loved from the comics that didnt translate as well in the cartoon were the girls’ passions and interests. will is obsessed with frogs, she rides her bike to her job at pet store, she swims, stresses over math homework. irma loves music and talking to her pet turtle, leafy; i could totally see her doing a stint at the college radio station or working part time at a record store. cornelia loves ice skating and has received tons of awards and accolades for her achievements on the ice. taranee is an avid photographer and dancer, but i could totally see her spending her spare time at rallies and protests too. hay lin is a proficient artist, making her own clothes and poring over paintings between shifts at the silver dragon. all of these things and more are what make these characters so well-rounded, relatable, likeable. their hobbies need to be weaved into the fabric of the show (not just brought up once for a silly plot device in cornelia’s case, or never brought up at all in taranee’s, as seen in the cartoon) in order for it to work

live action reboot thoughts:

this should go out without saying, but a live action w.i.t.c.h reboot should cast actors of colour to play characters of colour. hay lin, and by extension her family, need to be played by Chinese actors, while taranee needs to be played by a black actor, preferably one of east asian descent, etc. if they add a little more diversity to the cast i would be totally pleased. latina!irma is a popular headcanon that i ascribe to, and will has always been kinda ambiguously brown, so adding less ambiguous representation for poc to the cast would really be excellent

of course, age-appropriate casting is a must. more specifically, there should not be any 25-30 year olds playing characters in their mid-late teens, unless ofc they could actually pass for the age they are trying to play. shows like The OA and The End of the Fucking World really get this right (most other teen/YA dramas, not so much. less of the chiseled abs and rock hard pecs on teens, please)

this one might be tricky to get right, particularly with budget constraints, but i think a really good CGI/visual effects team is necessary for a w.i.t.c.h reboot to work. unless an adequate amount of the budget is spent on making sure the magic looks realistic, almost plausible, it will make everything else look cheap by comparison

also, this is more of a personal preference, but i’d love to see someone with a really beautiful visual aesthetic and scope of cinematography. i’m talking Sense8-esque levels of cinematographic beauty

i’m really rambling now but, similarly, it’d be so cool to see someone who could use lighting/colour theory in very particular ways. in Marvel’s Netflix Originals, each character has their own theme colour; in Jessica Jones, for example, all of the scenes are very blue and almost leeched of warmth, while in Luke Cage there seems to be a warm yellow filter over everything. how cool would it be if all Taranee-centric scenes had a slight gold hue? or if all of cornelia’s scenes were lit with green? maybe all of the colours could combine in the a subtle yet effective way when all of the guardians are together to show their unity and combined strength.

thoughts on an animated reboot:

i know very little about animation so these thoughts will be brief, but an art and animation style something like that of Into the Spiderverse would be really gorgeous. it is fluid, dynamic, beautiful to look at and, most importantly, reflects the comic format in a moving image perfectly. alternatively, the animation studio behind The Legend of Korra could also be wonderful. the visual effects used for magic would look absolutely incredible

one thing i have to praise the Jetix cartoon for is their choice of voice actors, which were, in many cases, spot on. while cornelia’s VA was annoying and shrill, the actors playing characters of colour were themselves people of colour. if an animated reboot was on the cards, i think it could be a great opportunity to once again include some diversity to the cast, namely hiring actors of colour to play characters of colour

please let no one who worked on voltron near a w.i.t.c.h animated reboot with a ten foot pole. no i will not elaborate

tl;dr at the risk of sounding like an entitled millennial, a w.i.t.c.h reboot should be less about creating something entirely new for a brand new audience, and more about building on what the longtime fans of w.i.t.c.h already love and bringing it forward for the older generation. all on all, we grew up with w.i.t.c.h, so it’s time for us to have our reboot. thanks for coming to my TED talk!

#phew! #w.i.t.c.h. #w.i.t.c.h. reboot #will vandom #irma lair #taranee cook #cornelia hale #hay lin #elyon brown #elyon escanor #phobos #cedric #finally got around to this adfds #anyway if anyone has any thoughts or disagrees with anything pls add on!! or msg me!!! idm either #always down to talk w.i.t.c.h reboots #since it could go sooo well if its ever on the cards #or it could go to absolute shit #ask to tag #i know it seems like a rambled a lot here but there are a lot of things i could rant aboutfor days so if anyone wants anything elaborared o #n you know what to do

[hamlets-ghost-zaddy]

st. jude (the patron of lost causes)

Part 1/8 Donald Malarkey x Reader

Summary: Bombs aren’t discerning, they aren’t sentimental, and they kill without discretion. It’s the truth that got you through Bastogne, when men came to you in tatters and their life blood flooded past the stoppage of your hands. It’s the harsh reality that whispers through your mind as you wonder why Renee and Anna died, and not you--why you were sent on a scavenging run at that precise moment. Then, when the church was shelled.

Moved to an evacuation hospital to tend to soldiers with ghosts in their eyes, you meet Buck Compton and his loyal sergeant, a man with a weight on his shoulders unknown to even Atlas. His name means bullshit, and somehow you find that appropriate: what he’s seen, what he’s gone through? It’s complete bullshit.

You can’t distinguish night from day, sunrise from sunset, not in these few mad days after Bastogne is bombed and you emerge, unscathed and cruelly alive, going to treat the wounded in an evacuation hospital. You don’t count the days; you count the phantom lurking in the shadowy corners of the hospital tents, the faces painted in deathly pallor staring out from reflections in bowls of washing water. You see the faces of the men you lost, the friends you couldn’t save, and only dipping a bloody rag in to soak banishes them (at least for a minute or two).

He came in with luminescent eyes, bluer than frostbite, and you saw the specters crowding his reality until he has become completely disconnected from the waking world. You’ve seen it in numerous soldiers recently pulled off the line—fuck, you’d seen it in your own eyes—and you read his evaluation chart for his name. “Lieutenant Compton? Buck?” you say, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, going to ease him down into lying on his coat. The sitting and staring listlessly at his unfurled fingers, limp in his lap, won’t do him or the other patients any good. You know; your hospital landed in Normandy on June 8, you witnessed the mess in Belgium first hand: the wounds that are beneath the skin, they’re the most in danger of infection and quickest to spread.

Buck looks at you, following your hand on his shoulder up to your face, blinking once, twice, before really seeing you. It takes everything in you to keep your hand there, to smile and say, “Come on, soldier; I need you to lie down and get better.” The words are all confused, wobbly and weak, because when he looked at you, you saw ghosts hiding in the darker flecks of his pale irises. You’ve never seen ghosts linger like that; well, not so many of them, anyway.

But it seems to convince him, or he’s become so automated to taking orders, that he nods and allows you ease him back, fixing a pillow behind his back and another for his head. “There you are,” you say, just to say something, busying yourself with arranging a blanket over his dirtied fatigues and organizing the cluster of notes and water on the stool at his bedside. “We’ll get you nicely fixed up, Lieutenant. We have hot food, showers, and everything. You’ll be right as rain.”

You straighten, smoothing down the front of your nurse’s uniform if only to hide the tremors in your fingers. You’ve chanted those same assurances to countless patients, you used to say it to yourself every night as you lay in bed waiting for sleep but listening to the whining whizz-bang-pop of the German artillery and wondering if this one (or the next, or the next) was meant for the hospital. Buck is looking up at you, because you both know what you said is a lie. “Sorry,” you offer after a moment, unsure why you spoke. Then: “I think I just say that out of habit. It’s one of those things I’ve repeated so often, they’ve lost their meaning.”

His voice is craggy, perforated and with enough holes to crumble in an instant. “I think…I think I know what you mean.” He pauses, his luminescent eyes flicking away from you and focusing. You watch him blink only once, recognition smoothing his face for a moment before his face darkens. “Malark?” he says to the silent man who has appeared at the end of his cot. The man—Malark—ducks his head in a show of bashfulness but he doesn’t look all that sorry. “What are you doing here? Going AWOL already?”

You steal a glance at Buck, mentally filing away this attempt at humor to examine later and determine what it means for his battlefield fatigue.

Wool cap twisting in his hands, Malark—a sergeant from the chevrons on his shoulders—replies with something like a grin. “I’ve been sent to deliver your mail, sir.” You get the feeling he tacked on a ‘sir’ for your benefit, the way his eyes flicker to you—all fleeting warmth and clarity. Something winds once, tightening, in your stomach.

“Vest suddenly unable to do his job?” Buck asks, an approximation of a laugh chasing the joke out of his mouth.

“I offered,” Malark replies with a twitching smile. The expression falls, the weight of a proper smile too heavy to wear. You glance between the two men, your attention inclined to settle on Malark, and wonder—if you squinted enough and studied long enough—how many phantoms you could count in their shadows.

Buck snorts, sitting up again and spilling his blanket half onto the grass—there goes all my work, you think—to accept a letter from Malark. “Thanks.” He glances at the return address, his nose wrinkling fleetingly. His hand drops, the letter with it. “She’s still writing to me.”

Malark nods. “Dames,” he sympathizes, again glancing at you. It’s easy to deduce he wants to say another word.

Turning away to gather sheets to be washed on the cot next to Buck, you hide your smile. “I’ll leave you boys to talk,” you say, regulating the amusement from your voice. Unwanted, obnoxious girls writing handsome boys, you think What could be more natural, and millions of lives away from this war?

And its these fleeting moments that tap politely on your shoulder, begging attention and careful coveting—when peacetime, mundane things manage to slip into the war—that you can no longer count the ghosts. As you busy yourself around the ward, gathering dirtied sheets, or administrating medicine, or replacing bandages, or giggling with the other nurse on duty (Constance, from Texas and green as springtime) over her third marriage proposal of the week, you keep an eye on Malark and Lieutenant Compton. They don’t talk much, or just not in the usual way of men with brief snatches of jokes exchanged like cigarettes and lighters. Malark instead talks quietly, slow so his voice doesn’t carry, and Buck nods occasionally. When Malark nods to Buck in farewell, another smile trying to work across his mouth, you make a quick excuse to Constance to leave off counting the morphine supply, hurrying after him.

You burst into the late afternoon sunlight, weak and almost as cold as if there was no sun at all, daring to raise your voice after his retreating back: “Sergeant?”

He turns in a quick movement. Much like Buck, he defaults to an automated response at orders, at the sound of his rank. That same something in your chest from earlier winds again, tighter still. You nibble your lip, suddenly girlish under those eyes—those eyes that see past the phantoms hiding in them. “Um,” you offer, intelligently, before trying again: “Sergeant, I don’t know if it’s at all likely, but would you mind trying to visit the Lieutenant as often as possible?”

One of his eyebrows, russet with the hint of red, quirks upward. You rush on: “It’s just that, well, the Lieutenant could use a friendly face. Someone he knows who’s not,” you gesture at yourself, “me every day.” It’s the wounds no one can see that spread, infected, the most—they called it battlefield fatigue, the doctors during training. And if they meant soldiers became so tired of daily death, daily depravities and suffering, that their brains simply refuse to function so as to not have to process everything they saw, well then, you’d agree.

You do know, however, that the presence of Malark made Buck try to smile, try to laugh. Made his brain attempt to function again for at least a little while.

“Um, well,” he says, hat still twisting in his hands. “It’s not really up to me, ma’am—”

“Y/n, please. Call me y/n,” you interrupt.

“Y/n,” he agrees.

A small smile blossoms on your face; it seemed imperative he know your name. You can’t say why—or, you can, but you dare not (not when so many men’s lifeblood slips between your fingers that are trying to stopper it).

Malark continues, “Um, I’m Don Malarkey, by the way.” He offers a hand, you take it, your hands drop, leaving a tingle in the tips of your fingers.

“A sergeant named bullshit?” you ask before you can stop.

You’re sure he’s heard it before, his name has probably plagued him all his life, but he has the good humor to grin—a proper grin now, but this one still just as fleeting. “I know, you should have heard what my old CO thought about that.”

You shrug. “I don’t know, it’s fitting.” Seeing his blink, his surprise, and feeling horror yawning its jaws open in your chest, you rush on, “Just that this war is, you know, bullshit. What you deal with…it’s all bullshit.”

His grin, you’re pleased to find, doesn’t disappear now. “Yeah, I never thought of it like that.” He smiles like he savors the idea, as if he wants to examine it from every angle for hours on end. “A bullshit sergeant to deal with a bullshit war.”

You don’t think you’ve said ‘bullshit’ so many times in a minute before, and it sends a thrill up your arms, humming through your muscles. Still, you’re a professional. He’s a professional. You say, “So, do you think you’ll be able to come back sometime soon?”

“I don’t know,” he replies, his smile melting from his face and you resent yourself just a little bit for chasing it away. “It depends on orders from my CO.”

“Not the same one who gave you a hard time, I hope?” you ask.

“Oh, no, no. Thank fu—I mean, thank the Lord. Um, no. But, still, I have to wait on orders.” He pauses, glancing down at his hat in his hands, now completely formless in his hands, before stealing a look up at you. A breath catches in your throat: those eyes, they see past the ghosts, but it’s the toll those ghosts have left on him physically. Darkness dwells in the bags under his eyes, in the crags under his cheekbones. He carries the shadows constantly, even in the afternoon sun. “But, I’ll, uh, try to come back. Really soon, if I can.”

You convince yourself the slight pink hue in his cheeks is your wishful thinking. “Thank you, Sergeant Malarkey. I’d really appreciate it.”

He nods, mumbling ‘ma’am’ more to your shoes than you, before hurrying towards an orderly in a Jeep. Shielding your eyes from the sun, more to hide your eyes following him than to protect from the light, you watch him until the Jeep has been swallowed by the gray trees of the Ardennes.

(That night, you forget to repeat those lies to lull yourself to sleep; instead, a face hollowed by shadows and eyes housing phantoms surfaces over and over in your imagination no matter how many times you push it aside. It always returns, until his ghosts feel more your ghosts.)

#donald malarkey #donald malarkey imagine #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers fic #donald malarkey x reader #fan fic #haha its been so long since i've written fanfiction but i need to get out of my writing slump so please enjoy #this ones going to hurt #angst #hurt/comfort #romance #fanfic #hbo war #buck compton #friendship #my writing

[washiwrites]

I Want To Be A Paladin

This was for the Paladin / Thief square on the Bingo card, but I did NOT get it written in time. I’ve got an outline for one more story based on the bingo card after this that I didn’t get to do, but since I’ve got them outlined, I’d like to still do them.

I hope this appeals to someone else besides me XD

Warnings: Angst, Shance / Pre-Shance (Although it can be read as friendship)

EDIT: Edited the story to be less bad AND put it on AO3!

Read on AO3 HERE

Shiro’s steps slowed as he walked, body hesitating without his consent as he approached the door to Lance’s room. The halls of the military hospital were quiet at night, only the night staff moving between the rooms on their rounds. Well, only the staff and himself. One of the perks of being ‘Takashi Shirogane: Captain of the Atlas’ was that the staff were willing to bend the rules for visiting hours slightly to allow him to visit his former team - his friends - while they recovered from the injuries they sustained in the last battle.

Lance was the last of the human Paladins Shiro had yet to visit in the hospital.

As soon as he could get away from his duties he’d gone to see Keith. The Black Paladin was still suffering the effects of the concussion he’d sustained during their last battle, although he'd refused any of the stronger painkillers he’d been offered despite the pounding headache he had. Instead he’d opted for as much nausea medication as he was allowed and conversations held in low voices only, which Shiro disapprovingly complied with. At least he was lucid; according to Kroalia he’d been worse in the varga or so immediately after he woke up, calling her ‘Crystal’ and asking her several times to slow the bed down because they were going too fast for him to steer it properly.

He drifted off to sleep mid-sentence, so Shiro had left him to rest and gone to visit Pidge next, sparing a quick but fond greeting to Matt and Sam Holt as they left her room to hunt down a late dinner for themselves. Pidge was still a bundle of energy despite being bedridden, talking easily with Shiro about what her family had been doing and how things were in the universe outside the Garrison while slowly making her way through what was left of her own dinner. Shiro stayed talking with her much longer than he should have, content to sit beside her and listen as she jumped from one topic to the next, some combination of her injuries,the painkillers she was on, and exhaustion rendering her unable to stay fixed on any single thing long enough to really finish a thought. By the time she was nearing the end of one idea she was already moving on to the next improvement she could make or the next thing she needed to look up. Shiro excused himself with instructions for her to sleep once the flow of words slowed down.

Hunk was the next closest, so Shiro made sure to check in on him to make sure he was okay. His family had snuck him extra food for dinner; The fact that he still had some tako poke left to offer Shiro told him more about how Hunk was really feeling than any number of assurances that he was doing fine and was just a little banged up around the middle.

Shiro had eaten all of the offered squid embarrassingly fast, not realising exactly how hungry he was until he’d started. It didn’t hurt that the food was amazing, which he’d mentioned about half a dozen times before Hunk had laughed, followed immediately by a pained grimace and a promise to tell his Mom how good Shiro thought her poke was.

Shiro beat a rather guilty retreat from Hunk’s room after that.

That left him here, slowly approaching Lance’s door. He hadn’t spoken much to Lance since his resurrection, at first because he was unconscious, then because Keith was a constant shadow at his side, then because he’d been traveling with Pidge… There were a lot of excuses as to why he hadn’t talked to Lance, but they all amounted to the same thing: Shiro knew he should talk to talk to Lance at some point, and he hadn’t. He didn’t even know why he hadn’t. Perhaps it was because he’d connected with Lance for a moment within Voltron when he’d been unable to reach anyone else.

Maybe it was because his clone been closer to Lance and worked with him more than Shiro had before his untimely demise, and Shiro hadn’t quite integrated all those memories. He’d spoken to Pidge about what happened during his time inside the Black Lion while riding with her, and she’d given him the cliff-notes version of everything his doppleganger had done, helping give context to the few scattered memories and sensations that had been trickling back into his mind through the cracks, but he still felt like there was a lot missing. Fleeting moments where an ache bloomed in his chest that felt familiar and completely foreign all at once, where he wanted to turn one way or move another, expecting something that just wasn’t there. A sensation that he should remember why he felt the way he felt, only to find nothing.

He’d stalled for long enough. He was going to go see Lance now, and if he was already asleep, that was fine. If he wasn’t, Shiro was going to sit next to him and talk to him like an actual adult. Holding that decision firmly in his mind, he covered the final three steps across the hall to Lance’s door and raised his floating hand to knock.

A pained, rasping sound beyond the door had him freezing before he made contact.

A shock of cold panic flooded over him as he shouldered the door open and dashed in, mind already racing itself to provide the worst case scenario. How badly had Lance been hurt? Was he having trouble breathing? Should Shiro be calling a nurse? His chest had been damaged, right? What if his lung had been punctured or collapsed or something, and the medical staff had somehow missed it, and now Lance was-

-Sitting on the hospital bed with his blankets pooled around his waist, staring at him in uncomprehending surprise. Shiro scanned over him quickly, checking for any visible sign of an untreated injury only to find treated bruises and bandages, nothing more. Tears ran over Lance's cheeks to drip from his chin and the tip of his nose, and his eyes were red and puffy, making both their natural blue colour and the dark circles under them stand out in equal measure.

As Shiro watched, Lance’s expression fell from surprise to horror before he turned deliberately away to hide his face and slide his hands under the blankets. Shiro’s panic faded into confusion and concern. It was obvious that Lance had been crying, so why was he trying to hide it? And what had he hidden under the blankets as soon as he’d realised that Shiro was there?

Lance scrubbed his face on his shoulder, using the hospital clothes he’d been put in to wipe some of the tears of his face while sniffing as subtly as he was able. “Shiro,” he croaked in greeting, voice low and rasped. Shiro flinched in surprise at the sound - his throat sounded like it had been badly injured during the fight, although Shiro didn't want to think about how. “I wasn’t expecting any other visitors today.”

“Lance?” Shiro stepped towards the bed, hesitating at the edge before sitting. “What’s wrong?”

Lance’s shoulders hunched up, his whole being tense for a long moment before he slumped and turned back towards Shiro. Something in Lance’s expression was familiar to him; a combination of hurt, defeat and sadness shining in his eyes as they met Shiro’s own.

He felt that familiar ache all over again, but he tamped down on the sensation and forced himself to smile as encouragingly as he could manage.

With a sigh, Lance pulled his hands out from under the blankets and held them out towards Shiro. “Veronica found these in the cockpit after the fight.” He paused to clear his throat, doing little to make his voice sound less rough than it had before. If anything it sounded more raw. “She thought they might be important to me, so she bought them here. Laughed at me a bit for being a big nerd first though.”

Shiro held out his floating hand, allowing Lance to place two objects on his palm. Lance’s hands lingered for a breath before he drew them back, letting his fingers brush briefly over the tips of Shiro’s own on the way back to his lap.

It took a long moment of staring at the gray figurines in his hand in confusion for a memory to spark.

They were Monsters and Mana figures. Lance’s Thief and Shiro’s Paladin. “You...you kept these?” He whispered.

Lance bit his lip and nodded. “It- It’s stupid, I know. I keep having to tell myself that he - it - He wasn’t really you, that he was sent in as a spy or sleeper agent or something. And I’m dumb, so I keep trying to tell myself none of it was real, we didn’t really…” he paused, taking another rasping breath, “we didn’t…” he tried again, only to choke back another sob before regaining control of his voice. “But then I look at that figure, and all I can think is that, whoever he really was, he just-”

Lance’s hands tightened on the sheets over his lap, words tumbling over each other as they fought to be first out of his mouth. “All he wanted was to be a Paladin. That was the best thing he could think of. He tried so hard to get back to us, and even though he was in pain all the time he just wanted to be a Paladin, and- I mean, I know it was just his programming or something Haggar did to him to make him want to fill your position, but I just- I just…”

Shiro didn’t catch the rest of Lance’s rambling. Too many thoughts and feelings were suddenly assaulting him, drowning out the rest of the world in a rush.

- Being in the Black Lion, but this time from within the Clone’s body. Begging them to let him pilot because the people he cared about most in the universe were in danger, and he could do nothing. Genuine fear of being without a way to help, being useless -

- Sitting with his team, playing an adventure game that made him feel foolish and carefree. Getting to play out all the ridiculous fantasies of being a hero he’d always had -

- Wanting so badly to be someone who was unequivocally good. Someone who would always be good, no matter what he had to do. Someone who was still him, but certain beyond any doubt that they were a good person -

- A Paladin. All Shiro - that other Shiro - wanted to be was a Paladin -

- Lance joining him on subsequent playthroughs, playing a Bard once and an Alchemist once, before switching back to his Assassin / Thief character again so that Shiro didn’t feel so awkward always playing his Paladin -

- The feeling of Lance beside him, feeling the warmth of his body whenever they traded the dice back and forth, whenever Lance would nudge him after a particularly daring maneuver -

- Nights spent together re-working their stats and build, planning the next part of their grand, meaningless adventure. A feeling of camaraderie he hadn’t had in a long time, as equals rather than captain and subordinate -

- The feeling of being alone with Lance, of laughing and being invested in what they were doing -

- Corran’s baffled enthusiasm, always coming up with new adventures for them even though the pair spent an entire session on a meaningless quest to set up a random turnip seller with the local tavern owner -

- Nights spent with Lance talking about their characters relationships bleeding into talking about themselves -

- The feeling of Lance hovering beside him, always watching him, always ready to step in -

- Knowing that he was someone doing good, letting himself believe that he was doing good things -

- The way Lance looked at him, smiled at him -

That hollow ache came back in full force, knocking the breath out of Shiro as the barrage of new memories clamoured for attention, not letting themselves be sorted or settled into a timeline yet. He’d originally chalked the feeling up to his missing bond with the Black Lion now that Keith had taken over full time as their Paladin, but he didn’t believe that was all it was any more. That was part of it, there was definitely a new empty place inside him where the Black Lion used to sit that he dealt with by keeping busy and taking command of the Atlas. But that wasn’t all of it. That hole hadn’t only held one thing. It was naive to think it had.

“- And I don’t know if I’m the bigger jerk for being sad that I don’t have that anymore when I know how much worse it is for you! I mean, how selfish do I have to be? It’s disgusting, but I can’t just make those memories go away, and… I’m so sorry, Shiro. I don’t think I can say it enough, but I’m so, so sorry.” Lance finished breathlessly, fresh tears rolling down his face. “I don’t think I can ever make it up to you, but I promise I’ll try, okay? I promise, every day I’ll try.”

Shiro wasn’t sure exactly how much of Lance pouring his heart out he’d missed, but that last bit was something he could try to respond to. He could tell Lance not to regret anything he did with the Clone. He could tell Lance that the Clone was him, just a him that was always in pain and afraid. He could tell Lance how much his presence meant to that other Shiro, how much it was starting to mean to him…

“I…” Shiro gasped, feeling tears spring unbidden to his eyes. He would absolutely tell Lance all of that. As soon as he could get out more than a few words, he’d tell Lance everything. He promised himself that.

Lance’s eyes widened, the flow of words stopping as he took in Shiro’s shaking form. He reached forwards cautiously, hands sliding up Shro’s arms to rest on his shoulders and neck, a gently offer of physical contact that Shiro ate up and dived in for more of. In a heartbeat he’d fallen forwards to wrap his arms around Lance’s chest, careful of the bandages and tubes that wound their way under his scrubs. Gentle over the bruises.

The only thing that he could force out of his mouth was a single phrase.

“I want to be a Paladin again.”

Lance’s arms tightened around Shiro as sobs rattled his frame, pulling him in and letting his own head rest atop Shiro’s. It felt like understanding.

Post Credits Note:

I swear to god I can write happy and fluffy. But it’s not this story. Or the next one. Maybe I should challenge myself to make the one after that be pure candy fluff and niceness without smut.

Or I could write my first Hanahaki, since I’m a fandom rube and haven’t done a bunch of stuff >_>

Anyway, in case you couldn’t tell, it’s unbeta’d and not my best work, but I wanted it. So there :P

#shance #Shiro #Lance #Voltron #voltronbingo #Monsters and Mana #Those figurines were awesome #Someone better have kept them #shangst

[bridgyrose]

Pyrrha walked down the hall, taking a deep breath as things started to look unfamiliar to her. Instead of the Atlas halls, she saw the halls of another Academy, one not quite like the major four. Students rushed past her to class, one of them even gripping her arm.

“Come on Amber, you’re going to be late!”

Pyrrha nodded, taking a few steps forward, just before everything went black. She felt pain as power flowed through her, her heart pumping as she watched her hands engulf themselves in flames and the other students started to step away from her, calling her a monster. She gripped a chair, ice forming around it, the wind outside picked up, knocking tree branches into the glass.

“Pyrrha.”

Pyrrha paused as she felt a hand touch her shoulder, her own arms shaking. She blinked a few times, finally looking around and seeing herself on her hands and knees, ice building up on the floor where her hands touched.

Winter kept a calm hand on Pyrrha’s shoulder. “Pyrrha? Are you okay?”

Pyrrha nodded, slowly picking herself up. “Y-yeah, I’m fine.”

“I was on my way to Fria when I saw you drop to the ground. You looked like you were in pain.”

“I’m fine now. It’s… it’s nothing.”

Winter sighed and continued walking, motioning for Pyrrha to follow her. “I know you ended up getting your powers differently than tradition, using the aura transfer machine instead of having a connection to the last maiden or even getting them by chance.”

Pyrrha held her prosthetic arm, letting out a deep sigh. “I’ve… been having visions. Some are my own, watching Cinder fight me at Beacon, and others are… foreign to me. I saw myself back at school, but it wasnt Beacon, it was… someplace else.”

“That… isn’t quite unexpected. We knew there would be complications when transferring aura from one person to another, but I dont think we really knew what those would be.”

“How do we fix it?”

“We dont.” Winter opened up a door, leading Pyrrha into a room overlooking the winter maiden. “And truthfully, it scares me.”

Pyrrha slowly walked over to the glass window, looking down at Fria. “That’s the winter maiden?”

Winter nodded, walking up next to Pyrrha. “Unlike you, when Ironwood picked me as the successor of the winter maiden, he made sure I would be ready for it. And, since he has ordered me to finally take those powers-”

“But then… you’d be taking her life…”

“I know…”

“So, what are you going to do?”

Winter paused for a moment, unsure of what she really could do. With Ironwood starting to lose it now that he knew the truth about Salem, and she was ordered to take the powers that Atlas was trying to protect… “With Salem on the way, I… dont exactly have a choice.”

Pyrrha sighed, sitting down in a chair. “Fria will suffer if you go through with it. And even if she doesnt, Weiss looks up to you. Do you really think you can look her in the eye and tell her it had to happen this way? There has to be something else we can do. Maybe wait a little longer-”

Winter shook her head and started heading downstairs. “I know you and your friends want another way, but right now, there isnt. Ironwood will do anything he can to protect Atlas. And so will I.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Are you sure you dont want to be with your sister?” asked Blake.

Weiss sighed as she kept an eye on Yang, whispering into her earpiece. “You know I’d rather be with her, but I worry about Yang too. And I still have plenty of time to be with Winter.”

“She did seem rather upset earlier.”

“We did tell her that Salem couldnt-” Weiss paused as the screens around Mantle came to life, Ironwood’s face appearing on the screens.

Ironwood’s voice started to fill the air. “As of right now, the kingdom of Atlas will be under martial law. A few dangerous criminals are wandering the streets and until they have been dealt with, a curfew will be in place. Anyone who violates it will be placed under arrest. As well, the election for the newest council opening will be postponed until these criminals are in custody. Thank you.”

Weiss stared in disbelief as she watched the message play again after a few minutes, once again telling everyone that martial law was being implemented. “Blake, you heard that, right?”

Blake nodded silently, her voice coming through Weiss’s earpiece once more. “This is going to complicate things.”

Weiss looked over the city as she watched grimm lights turn on and the grimm sirens started to blare as more grimm entered Mantle. “We’re going to need Jaune and the others down on the ground now. People are panicking and drawing grimm.”

“I’ll get them.”

Weiss turned her earpiece off and sighed, rushing to the closet batch of grimm. “We have to fix this.”

#rwby #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #pyrrha nikos #winter schnee #james ironwood #sleeper agent ruby #sleeper agent ruby au #drabbles #everything is progressing a bit quicker now that Ironwood is starting to panic and keep things under control #and with Pyrrha actively not supporting Winter taking the maiden powers yet #things are about to get interesting quicker

[terraclae]

Discussions

As usually all characters mentioned are in bipedal forms. A longer piece for the time being. 

Lore Pings: @cityofinoue @yuushanoah-fr

Atlas was a friendly yet imposing presence to Arodan. ‘You know, if you're gonna sleep with one of my weapons near you, you're probably gonna have to learn to use it.’ He currently sat on a railing on the second floor of the library. He looked smug in the way his smile pushed up in his hands. ‘What's a weapon to an untrained figure?’

‘Implying I don't know how to use knives? Or weapons?’ Arodan looked up at Atlas with eyebrows quirked in peculiar fashion. ‘I can use swords and bows.’ Among other things, through his life he had made sure to immerse himself in as many crafts as possible.

‘Knives are lighter and have their own little nuances.’ Atlas got up and elegantly like an acrobat might he walked along the thin railing until he was practically above Arodan. ‘You're gonna stab it like a sword and find it lacks a whole lot of length.’

‘Obviously.’ He leant back in his chair so he could actually look Atlas in the eye. ‘But I think I can manage.’

‘Aight. You're missing out on private lessons with me though.’ Atlas jumped off the railing and landed gracefully before Arodan's desk. ‘Isn't there anything I can teach you?’

‘I've never entertained the thought of learning chess.’ Arodan smugly remarked. He looked up from his journal to see Atlas seemed humored by his remark.

‘I can play checkers. Well enough to beat most people in this castle, if I do say so myself.’ Atlas leant forward to see what Arodan was doing. ‘I can teach you that.’

‘I might have more patience for checkers.’ He put an arm over his journal to block Atlas’ peering eyes but smiled nonetheless. ‘Is this a business offer or casual offer though?’

‘Both. I want you to know how to defend yourself decently, and I like hanging around people, people like you.’ Atlas answered, shrugging. ‘I'm not sure how checkers is going to defend you from swords and cannons but it fills the casual bracket for me.’

‘Maybe I can throw the pieces and make my opponents trip over them. I've seen people make weapons from stranger things.’ Arodan remarked. What came to mind had been a particular dragon that had weaponized her lucky charms into a very peculiar short-range whip. ‘Sometimes bows and swords grow too dull.’

‘Sure. But if it ain't broke, don't fix it.’ Atlas laughed and came to sit against Arodan's desk, something Arodan only barely minded now. It occurred to him how quickly adjusted he had become and it startled him then. Atlas continued to speak. ‘You know though, the most interesting use of weaponry I've seen to this day was with this guy who was the former bodyguard of President Odin.’ He turned to look at Arodan knowing by his vague look he didn't know who he was talking about. ‘Of the Stratus Corporation. They're based in the Shifting Expanse in the city of Glasir but started out on the Windswept Plateau.’

Arodan nodded in understanding. ‘So, this bodyguard, he was real efficient, but very specifically efficient. The gist of it was that anything he could strap a rope to was something he could weaponize and as such a rope dart was his primary weapon.’ He pinched two fingers on one hand and held his other hand open in a wide gesture as if he was holding on to a rope himself. ‘You should have seen him, man, he once tied a rope to an anvil and swung that thing right into a yeti’s face to protect his boss!’

‘That sounds absurd. How did he get the anvil?’

‘Supply caravan for cities in the Ashfall Wastes!’ Atlas exclaimed.

‘And how would you know this happened?’

‘Because he was there dork.’ A third voice chimed in and Atlas and Arodan saw Caer enter the library. ‘Atlas gets outside way more than we do.’

‘Thank you Caer.’ Atlas beamed and flashed Arodan a triumphant look. He briefly noticed Arodan shoving his drawers shut in self conscious fashion and wondered if he should ask him about it. Yet, he continued. ‘How long have you been listening?’

‘Long enough to know you’re telling stories again.’ Caer said almost stoically. She marched up to join the two. ‘He tells good stories, no?’ She asked Arodan this.

‘Yes, I'm just habitually skeptic. By now you all should know that.’ He wanted to assure them he did believe them but a lot of things lately had felt too much like fiction. ‘Forgive me for doubting you.’

‘Nah, tales about folks swinging impossibly large objects above their heads to beat up yetis can sound unrealistic.’ Atlas held up his hands in apologetic fashion. ‘‘That guy Striker uses his mic as a weapon, right?’

‘Dunno why you bring him up, I don't really care how good he is at things.’ She said sternly and gave Arodan a look that could only mean she'd prefer not to talk about anything fighting pit related in the company of Atlas.

‘Yeah, but it is kind of cool how he-’

‘Atlas, I told you many times I don't agree with you on that on basis of what Striker’s job is.’ She hissed, and stubbornly folded her arms. ‘I don't like him and I don't like Stratus Corporation.’

‘Okay, that's fine but please don't interrupt me when I'm talking.’ Arodan had somewhere expected Atlas to get angrier than he was but he only looked mildly annoyed. He knew it would get a rise out of him either way. ‘I've actually met people from Stratus corp, they're really not as bad as you think they are.’

‘Yeah, well, they're bothering my mate so I have different thoughts about that.’

‘Yeah but they're-’

‘Silence!’ Arodan slammed his hands down on his desk and rose from his chair. It effectively quieted the bickering before him. ‘There will be no yelling in my library.’ He turned to Atlas then. ‘Also my apologies for interrupting you Atlas, but can you two take your bickering elsewhere or come to a compromise and be quiet?’

There was a pause between Caer and Atlas in which they glanced between Arodan and each other, holding their breaths. Caer was first to speak. ‘I'm really getting old.’ She slouched, seemingly resigned. ‘Sorry Atlas, I'm being narrow minded.’

‘It's fine, I know better than to get upset with you.’ Atlas sighed. She had her reasons to have the opinions she did. ‘Apology accepted.’

‘Now that's over, I need to borrow you for a bit Atlas.’ She put her hand on his shoulder and gently tugged him along. ‘Would you mind that Arodan?’’

‘No, please get him out of my sight.’ Arodan said, but with a smile that Atlas could understand from that he was joking. ‘I have better things to do.’

‘Babe, that's cold.’ Atlas dramatically whined, near dropping himself to the floor to complete the gesture. It didn't deter Caer from dragging him out. ‘Am I not a better thing?’

‘No. Scram!’ Arodan yelled after him, grinning from ear to ear now. He waved and he could see Atlas do the same as him and Caer disappeared through the library doors. They could discuss checkers later, he thought.

‘... Thanks.’

He peeked up and looked around upon hearing the voice. Had he overlooked a visitor? ‘Excuse me?’

‘T’was a little too loud friend. Thanks.’

He moved to see if there was anyone else in the library. The feminine voice that spoke seemed to come from all around him and initially he blamed the natural echo the library produced. ‘You're welcome? Where and who are you?’ No response came and he looked down the hall into the library to see a lone figure standing at the very end. They stood center in the hall and from this distance Arodan couldn't see their face. It occurred to him at that moment Carmen had warned him about this. ‘Are you… Are you the spirit of the library?’

‘Yes.’ It responded. He couldn't see the figure speak from where he stood. ‘Come closer Librarian. Let me see your face.’

‘No, I think I'll stay here.’ He shuffled over to a shelf in an attempt to not seem suspicious. ‘I have a lot of work to do you see, dusting shelves, arranging books, I think as a library you wouldn't mind that right?’ Maybe this was a way to appease the spirit, and he turned to the shelf.

‘Oh, aren't you responsible.’

It occurred the voice that despite the echo the voice seemed much closer. ‘I try to be.’

‘You're doing your job well.’

There was actual breathing in his neck now and Arodan knew he was going to scold Carmen later for telling him he shouldn't be worried. ‘Um… Can I help you?’

‘I'm just checking you up close. You have grey hairs on the back of your head you know?’

‘Right.’ Arodan hummed, continuing his work and not trying to focus on the presence behind him too much. ‘As long as you don't eat me I don't mind you standing behind me.’

‘The last time I ate anyone was ages ago and it was a spy.’

Comforting. Arodan continued, with a shaking voice. ‘Neat.’ And that was that. He felt very watched at the moment but that wasn't new. How he hadn't run into the spirit of the library earlier was a miracle. ‘So… Can I turn around?’

‘I don't know, can you?’

‘Ha ha, very funny.’ He snapped, and turned around ready to retort. This was in fact, a mistake that he only recognized as one once he woke up again.

‘Oh wow, she really did a number on him huh?’

‘He's still doing better than most of them.’

It was difficult to open his eyes but Kassa’s nasal twang and Balam’s deep booming voice were instantly recognizable to him. Whose massive hand it was on his head was a little bit more difficult to discern to him but he concluded that too was Balam’s. ‘... Where am I?’ Asked Arodan, wiggling out from under the heavy blanket on top of him.

‘Your room darling, we found you slumped against a shelf in the library.’ Kassa chimed in. This was the first time Arodan had seen them without their glasses but only because Kassa was currently in the process of cleaning them in their hands. ‘Talked to the spirit of the library, didn't you?’

‘Hey, Carmen said I should be fine as long as I didn't approach them.’ Arodan snapped. As soon as he tried to right himself he dropped back down, his limbs feeling as if they were made of soft clay. ‘They walked up to me, I just tried to do my job.’

‘We know.’ Balam said, and smoothed out Arodan's hair. He looked as if he wanted to put the blanket on him again. ‘This happens more often than I'd care to admit. But there's a first time for everything.’ He seemed solemn and to Arodan as if he'd got run over by a herd of centaurs. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Tired but I'll probably be fine.’ He couldn't complain, at least he had been brought to his room. Arodan admitted to himself however that he was a little embarrassed of being found unconscious. ‘I'll get back to work soon sir.’

‘Well that’s great, but please don't overwork yourself.’ Balam apologetically raised his hands. ‘You don't have to go into the library tomorrow if you're too tired.’

‘As I said, I think I'll be fine.’ He smiled, and first picked up on how grim both Kassa and Balam looked. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘We have our battle plans prepared. It's just been…’ Balam shrugged, making the pelt slung over his shoulder bristle strangely. ‘Straining. But we're ready.’

‘Well, it's a plan.’ Kassa hummed. They rested their head on their hands and looked like they clearly didn't agree to this plan. ‘We'll be fine though, probably. It means I get to fashion you some armor soon.’

‘What weapons should I pick up? How do you want me to fight?’ Arodan was already attempting to shift off his bed but was pushed back by Balam. ‘Let me help.’

‘No. It'd be best if you, Epoch and Carmen stay within the city's bounds to stay safe.’ Balam said. ‘He remained stern. ‘I have not told them yet but we need people to guide Paramo’s residents away if the army fails.’

‘I don't-’

‘Carmen and Epoch know the tunnels. They'll inform you once I have given them their tasks.’

A tense silence fell in the room and Arodan searched Balam’s eyes for any hints of that he maybe was joking or lying. He found none. ‘Sir… No offense but, I refuse that. If I die, I want to die fighting, and I am not someone good at leading people.’ His eyes darted to Kassa who didn't look particularly interested in the conversation. ‘Let me fight. I know how to handle weapons, I know my strategy, so please let me help.’

‘I don't want you to, there's already enough people who might be sacrificed in the oncoming battle, every life put on the line is one too many.’ He seemed actively upset now. ‘You've been drained of most of your energy, you need time to recover.’

‘In a week’s worth of time I'll be up and running and if I got this right then that's the time I have.’ Arodan grunted and made a second attempt at sitting up. He wobbled once this time but succeeded. ‘Sir, I've been meaning to talk to you, so do not just show up and tell me I should twiddle my thumbs, that's not something I can accept.’

‘Well, I can just lock you up again.’ Balam said this as if it was meant as a joke but his body language spoke volumes of that he wasn't amused by Arodan's tone. ‘Just do your job.’

‘If I should do my job then I'll go back to the library and wait for Lux Laterna’s forces to stroll in merrily.’ Arodan snapped in return. ‘Should I offer them to read the Paramo family history for them while they're there then?’

‘I don't think they particularly care for books anyway. Or librarians.’ Kassa hummed, filing their nails. ‘Unless you're useful to them you're dead meat.’

‘I know that.’ Balam lowered his head into his hands and glanced at Kassa between his fingers. ‘That is exactly what I'm worried about. King Alexander doesn't fight by rules, doesn't take prisoners.’

‘How much do you know about him?’ Arodan asked, bending down so he was on king Balam's eye level. ‘Sir? What else did you expect?’

‘That this place would be safe. I know what being a king means and that it requires sacrifice. For these people I'd give my own life.’ He lifted his head from his hand. With a heavy thwack he moved his tail so it lay a little differently for no other reason than that he was frustrated. ‘We've had a spy inside Lux Laterna’s court for ages now because we had suspicious, but King Alexander is…’

‘He's beloved and feared. Wound an entire people around his claws with those not following his rule being silenced.’ Kassa added. Their lips had curled into a small knowing smile as if they thought it was a funny situation. ‘His army isn't strong in numbers but in its setup. He anticipates terrain well and is quick at spotting weaknesses in the armies of others. It's how he keeps winning. Formidable, no?’

‘You sound almost sympathetic towards him.’ Arodan said with a narrowing gaze. ‘Are you?’

‘Darling, I just like studying my enemies. Don't fault me for admiring a good army when I see one.’ They started, leaning back in their chair. ‘Magically adept, daring, they're even well dressed. There's only two- no, three major weaknesses they have.’ They threw Arodan another knowing, smug look. ‘They aren't particularly well versed against beastclans due to their often marvelously creative strategies, they don't have stamina, and don't fare well against shade ridden beings.’

‘How can they not be prepared for any of those?’ Arodan felt a strange hopefulness at that statement despite his condition. If he could make it into something useful he would have it, but he'd need to practice then. ‘How do you know?’

‘I've been there. I've heard.’ They said, and their grin widened. ‘Yet…’ And immediately their smile fell. There was a moment of silence and they only shook their head. ‘Well, we should not stick around too long my liege.’

‘You're right.’ Balam murmured. He got up and avoided looking at Kassa, instead opting to grin at Arodan. ‘Well, forgive me for being grim. After passing out against a shelf I'm sure you didn't  want to discuss gloom and demise. If you want to fight along with us then by all means, do so, just don't get yourself killed.’

‘It’s fine, and thank you sir.’ Arodan said. He returned a fond smile of his own with an odd hollowness settling in his chest. ‘I can see you not having time off yet but if you'd like, Sir, I can set books aside you'd like to read. I think I know what sort of books might strike a chord with you.’

‘If I have time the first thing I will do is sleep Arodan.’ Balam jested. ‘But after I have to show you the kitchen too. Maybe show you my skills, because nothing bands people together like food.’ He reached out to place his hand once more on Arodan’s head. ‘Then, I can read the books you set aside for me.’

‘You cook?’

‘It's one of my favorite things to do.’

‘Huh. I was under the impression you had people that did that for you.’ Arodan looked up at him wide eyed and wondered what that would look like. For some reason the image came to mind of Balam having a particularly difficult time not crushing eggs accidentally. ‘I didn't peg you to sorta…’

‘If you just depend on people to do things for you you're not going to survive long.’ Balam said, and characteristically let out a hearty laugh. ‘Now I have to prove you wrong though. Can't have anyone doubting my baking skills.’

‘If you do that in your good cloak my liege I will not hesitate to kill you.’ Kassa immediately chimed in. They seemed dead serious in their statement but their unhelpful chuckle that followed and which sounded more like a hiss lightened the situation. ‘Do you know how difficult those kind of stains are to remove from wool?’

‘I can't imagine, but Epoch gets them out somehow.’ Balam hummed. He giggled as he made his way to the door. ‘Sometime. We should all get together sometime.’ He stopped in the doorway and turned to face the room. ‘You're invited by the way, Arodan. After this all is over.’

‘I'd love to be there.’ Arodan said, and Balam accepted that as a proper goodnight for now. He left swift and oddly silent and he came to the conclusion that perhaps moving so quietly was a trademark of Paramo’s residents. ‘It's been a while.’

‘Well, saccharine sweetness aside-’ Kassa spoke up and put their hand on Arodan's chest. ‘You still got that heart Danny?’

‘It hasn't left my neck since I showed it to you.’ He whispered in response. ‘Why the question?’

‘Well, if you're gonna go out there and fight like a good boy, then maybe, just maybe…’ Their jaw fell open momentarily as if they remembered something important. From their bag, they retrieved a book, Arodan’s journal. ‘Hold up the heart if you find yourself in trouble. You'll find it useful. Also here's your little diary, it wasn't very interesting.’

‘Did you read it?’ Arodan asked, offended, horrified and suspicious all at the same time.

‘Just the page that lay open.’ They knew immediately what page to open and held it out to Arodan. ‘Mimir is quite the adorable name, I can't believe you named your book.’ They started to move away. ‘I should try that with my garments. For now, ta ta and good night to you.’ They glanced over their shoulder, but left it at that and pulled the door closed.

He had no way to check if Kassa was lying but Arodan would take their words at face value for now. What he read on the open page was interesting and a little concerning however. Mimir seemingly had started an entire conversation which what Arodan thought was an unknown reader but who he soon realized had to be the spirit of the library.

This was… Fascinating, in fact. The text written by the spirit conveyed anxiety and uncertainty eerily clear, winding and scratching as if the hand that wrote it had shaken. The way Mimir’s text bounced and sleek and he could almost hear a lilting voice speaking those exact words. Like this, Mimir learned about the library that apparently didn't like all the carpets on the floor and wished they were laid out more single file. Good to know, Arodan thought. He read further over the conversation, about shelves and what was to him a strange account on what it was like to be an inanimate object. Even stranger so was the fact that the two concluded it'd be nice to walk around like dragons did. At the very end though, it seemed Mimir, in a similar vein to how it had gotten its name had given the library a name. Mimir had chosen the name Solaire, and the library, which apparently referred to itself in feminine manner, liked her new name.

‘Cute.’ Arodan wondered aloud. Immediately a response popped up on the page.

‘I am not cute. The Mistress of the library is a rather charming lady however.’

‘Can it, you are kind of adorable.’ Arodan hummed, closing the journal. He would have to retrieve the rest of his belongings tomorrow. He laid it under his bed, felt once more under his pillow, and was asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

#my lore #fr #ch: Arodan #ch: Atlas #ch: Caer #ch: Balam #ch: Kassa #ch: Mimir #also as a special surprise though brief #ch: Solaire #Also known as the spirit of the Library

[ravenstyx]

Atlas Downtown

Rated: M/A for angst, sexual content, and mature themes

Summary: Sometimes, noise and lights and nightlife aren't enough to remind them that they're living, too.

Also found Here

Neon takes everything ugly and makes it beautiful. Crumbling sidewalk? As soon as it's hit with that electric green light, it transforms. Women whose makeup has been smeared from hours of sweating, doing the hard work on their knees? Bathe them not with water but with the light of a pink flamingo ignited in the window of some bar on the strip and she is golden. Good to go again. Cars with dents, men in cement, people doing anything to pay their rent. This city has it all and when the sun is up, its best to be sleeping because you don't want to see all that dilapidation creeping. Save your viewing for the midnight hour when everything is under that spectacular neon glow.

His knock on the door always sounds the same. It’s his ring that makes what would be a rhythmic thump uneven. That ring. That ring. That ring makes everything uneven. Lisanna smooths her dress before she answers it. The ruffled skirt ruffles again in no time. It’s been sitting in her closet for too long. Lisanna almost calls out ‘one second!’ so she can change again but now that she’s in her dress, she doesn’t want to get out of it. It’s almost like she’s there and Lisanna desperately needs to believe that. Everything’s been a mess without Mira.

She pulls open the door and Laxus doesn’t look at her immediately, he’s watching the entertainment strip whirl by in its neon glory. Girls with crowns of feathers in their short hair, wearing dresses shorter than anything Lisanna has ever seen before, men with cigars between their teeth, shaking hands, laughing, getting into their Coupes and rolling down the streets with ladies hanging out the windows. Carts selling hotdogs beneath blinking signs that scream Casino! And Mafioso’s sliding through the revolving doors, checking on their profits.

Laxus doesn’t look overwhelmed. Lisanna thinks it’s because like her, he needs the noise. “Hi,” she says, because if they stand there any longer, immobile, she thinks she’ll scream. Being stationary is hard now.

“Hey.” Laxus looks away from a girl with huge breasts spilling out of a bunny suit and focuses on Lisanna. He sees the dress and his facial expression goes through several evolutions. Horror. Lisanna smooths the dress again. Distaste. She wraps her arms around her middle self-consciously. And then his expression softens into something she understands: relief. Mira isn’t alive, but this dress makes it seem like she almost is. It’s sick and it’s gross and it’s wrong but Lisanna doesn’t take the dress off and Laxus doesn’t ask her to. Lisanna takes her arms away from her middle and steps back, inviting Laxus in.

“Thanks for coming.”

Laxus’ shoulders are stiff. He’s been pretending to be Atlas for months and Lisanna is waiting for him to shrug. He’s a man, not a titan, after all, and men aren’t meant to bear the weight of the world. Laxus, who is always one for few words, says, “Which sink is it?”

“The bathroom.” Lisanna leads him into her apartment. It’s small—it has to be. Living in the downtown core, in the entertainment district, no less is expensive. The hallway barely accommodates Laxus’ shoulders. His foot scrapes one of Lisanna’s many stacks of newspapers and almost sends them flying. He puts his hands against the darkly painted wall to guide his progress—only two lights are on in the apartment, one in the bathroom and one in the kitchen, and neither are very bright, certainly not bright enough to combat the black paint.

Laxus moves by Lisanna when they get to the small square she calls a bathroom and crouches beneath the sink. All of the piping is exposed so he’ll have an easy time. Lisanna is almost sad for that—this connection to her sister will be gone before she can blink and she’ll be alone once again. She supposes she could call Elfman over and would have if Laxus didn’t agree to come do this menial task that she probably could have done on her own, but she likes having Laxus there—he knew a Mira that neither she nor Elfman did and it is a breath of fresh air. It’s not just her same old memories bringing Mira back from the dead, it’s Laxus’ and she can never get enough.

He identifies the problem almost immediately. “The glue holding the pipes together’s rotted.”

“You can fix it?”

“Yeah.” He gets himself a cigarette from his pocket first and lights it without asking if it’s okay, then goes through the tool belt on his hip, getting out a pipe wrench and a type of glue Lisanna’s never seen before. She leaves him there because Laxus is looking at her in a way she can’t misinterpret. He wants to be left alone to work. He always does lately.

She goes to her kitchen first and finds him a beer in the fridge. It isn’t anything craft, it’s domestic and it’s cheap but it’s cold. She opens it and takes it into the living room with her. There, she puts the beer on the scored end table and waits for him to be done. Silence is interrupted by Laxus’ clanging in the washroom and that’s it. Lisanna puts a record on her turntable and listens to Petula Clark sing,

When you're alone, and life is making you lonely You can always go Downtown

How many times has she listened to this one song? It’s what dragged her out of her country home after the accident and it’s what keeps her here when she thinks that everything is terrible, that she’s not got what it takes to cut it in the big world, because,

When you've got worries, all the noise and the hurry Seems to help, I know Downtown

She goes to the window and watches the nightlife thrive below. It seems to be in tune with Downtown.

Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city Linger on the sidewalk where the neon signs are pretty How can you lose?

A girl on the sidewalk tugs on the ballet-style skirt she’s wearing in preparation for her show at the Casino. There’s a man behind her that smacks her bottom when she does it. She straightens and she’s laughing and leaning into him. Is he her beau or is she just putting on an act? Either way, she’s not suffocating in an apartment painted black, she’s living and loving and touching someone real, she’s taking her mind off things. Lisanna thinks that tomorrow, she’ll waltz into that casino in her best dress and she’ll ask for a job. She’s never danced before. A small, mean voice gnaws at her and she again thinks she’s made a mistake leaving her home behind.

Just listen to the rhythm of a gentle bossa nova You'll be dancing with him too before the night is over Happy again

The lights are much brighter there You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares So go downtown, where all the lights are bright Downtown, waiting for you tonight Downtown, you're gonna be alright now

She knows he’s finished in the washroom because she feels him fill the living room. He’s too large for this apartment. He looks at her for a long time, standing in the window. Lisanna lets him, knowing that sometimes he does this and sometimes, his shoulders look less burdened when he’s through. She has no illusions, he sees Mira and not her. Her heart breaks all over again when she sees ghosts in Laxus’ eyes. If she can just scare them away for a moment, then they could,

Forget all your troubles. Forget. Forget.

“It’s fixed.”

“Thank you.”

Now comes the hardest part: goodbye, but he’s still just standing there. Lisanna’s fingers ache and she realizes she’s been clenching her curtains. She doesn’t let them go but she does loosen her hold until he steps in close enough that she can feel his body heat and then her fingers are aching yet again.

Laxus, the man of few words, speaks again and his voice is raspy. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“I know.”

“You keep doing this to me.”

“It feels better.”

“And then it feels worse.”

She knows that, too. It’s like getting high and then crashing. It’s like sewing a gash and ripping it open again. It is like breathing. She does it automatically and cannot stop. “I like seeing you.”

He does what he never has before and touches her shoulder. His fingers tighten in the fabric of Mira’s dress and he pulls Lisanna around. Neon lights make him beautiful, too. His pain. His confusion. Lisanna lets go of the curtain and takes Laxus’ shirt instead. The white fabric is clammy and beneath it, his chest is rising and falling too fast. “I’m losing my mind.”

Downtown, downtown Downtown! Downtown! And you may find somebody kind to help and understand you Someone who is just like you and needs a gentle hand to Guide them along

“I’m sorry.”

If he knows how inauthentic she is, he doesn’t seem to care.  His fingers squeeze her dress again and she realizes he’s also taken her by the hip. Her heart beats and she thinks no, no, no. She doesn’t do a damn thing because she wants to be like the girl on the street, feeling something other than the lead weight in her chest. He is leaning down and she is rising on tiptoe and Lisanna isn’t thinking about how overwhelming everything is. She’s living.

His kiss is full of abandon at first, and then it’s full of desperation. He pulls her in and Lisanna feels the world lift, and then slump. Atlas has shrugged and the fall for the mortals is fine at first. She’s weightless, she’s without pain. She will eventually stop the descent, though, Gravity demands it.

For now, she kisses this man and lets him pour out his ache. She kisses this man and it’s like bloodletting and mutilating herself all at once. She kisses this man and she’s not suffocating in a black apartment, reaching for the neon lights, she’s seeing in colour for the first time in months, she’s bathing in it, and pink flamingo banners are a symphony. Synthetic, their glow.

Lisanna doesn’t think and doesn’t do, she lets Laxus lead. He starts to take off her dress but only lets it get halfway down her middle; it seems he needs it in a different way than Lisanna does. He touches her hair; he touches her breasts still confined in her white lace bra. He kisses her and his eyes are closed. The noise he makes is strangled and sharp and he’s shaking. If Lisanna looks closely, the neon lights shine on his cheeks in two narrow lines. She brushes the tears away. It’s a mistake. He breaks from her and turns her around so she can’t see a thing and he can’t see the truth.

She plants her hands on the window and leaves palm prints while Laxus feels an almost familiar body. She spreads her legs wide when the time comes and feels her dress come up on her hips. Her panties are shucked to the floor and rest wrapped around one of her bare feet. He steps into her and leaves kisses on her neck, packed full of things he can’t or won’t say. Things that aren’t meant for her ears. She doesn’t need him to talk, she needs him to make her feel.

He slides in and at first, it hurts, but he’s the drug she didn’t know she needed and he takes everything, the ache, and he pounds it out of her. Her breath leaves fog on the window, her cheek a smear of makeup because she can’t keep herself up and Laxus is barely doing it for her. He’s busy filling his hands and panting and keeping the noise from becoming a sob.

Lisanna touches between her legs and starts doing the work on her own. Laxus pulls himself out of his stupor just enough to realize what she’s doing. He brushes her hand aside and his fingers work. She’s shaking in no time, pressing her body into the window when her legs get weak. She feels Laxus’ girth broaden and she anticipates his orgasm. He pulls out and comes on the swell of her behind. Lisanna just sits there for a moment, and Laxus, too. He’s eyeing his art, Lisanna’s dress, the smeared window. He takes a breath in and it’s noisy, then takes a step away, and another, before pulling up his pants. He doesn’t say anything as he re-attaches his tool belt, nor when he disappears into the washroom. Lisanna hears the taps turn on and shut off and she figures he was right, the sink really doesn’t leak anymore.

He comes out again and stands in the doorway just beyond the reach of the neon lights. Lisanna feels his gaze. It’s heavy. It’s powerful. It makes her hate herself and love herself, too. He sighs and leaves without another word. Lisanna watches from the window as he takes to the street, Atlas escaping downtown.

#lisanna strauss #laxus dreyar #au #ft #angst #someone stop me #just kidding #i'll cut a bitch #and go downtown!

[athenasnina]

Wherever You Are Is My Home

An old fic I wrote forever ago. AO3 Enjoy :)

It'd taken forever getting everyone down the tower and through the long trip out of Polis, but they were finally back at Arkadia. All their people safe and sound - physically anyway. Mentally... everyone would be dealing with the repercussions of ALIE for a long time to come.

If they survived this coming apocalypse, that is.

When Clarke had told Bellamy of what was coming - of how much time they had – he’d been speechless. The ground, it seemed, was only one horror after another. And there are some times - late at night, when he's drunk too much or just in a gloomy, contemplative mood - when he wonders if it was worth it. Was leaving the Ark worth all this pain? All this suffering? There's been so much death and destruction in the six months they've been here.

But then he remembers Octavia's smile as her feet touched the ground for the first time, riding Helios and slowly coming into her own. She'd come so far from the little girl he hid beneath the floor.

He still feels the sting of healing cuts on his face - tight and itchy. They'll heal and they'll fade, but his guilt, his remorse, the memory of the look on his sister's face as she became a wild and vengeful thing taking out her grief on him, would always stay with him. Would always haunt him.

And he’d like to say that was the only horror he’d remember when it came to the people he cared for most, but the ground is never that kind. Memories of Kane’s face, cold and determined as he choked the life out of him crop up in his mind’s eye, making every breath he takes burn just a little bit more. The man had been under ALIE’s control, Bellamy knows that, but that face – that expression. It was almost as painful as the dismissive, disappointed one he’d held for Bellamy after everything that’d gone down with Pike.

With a low groan of the door Bellamy's head snaps to the right. Jackson had promised to return shortly to begin Bellamy's examination. Abby's young protégé informing Bellamy that everyone was to be checked out - even grumpy guardsmen who insisted they were fine. Bellamy had eyed him as the man skittishly reviewed Bellamy's file, reading down the list of his medical history. His hands shook, and his eyes never met Bellamy's, shifting everywhere but.

He was obviously still reeling from being under ALIE's control, and for a long moment Bellamy wondered how wise a decision it was to allow this man to treat others while still so broken himself. But the awful truth was, there was no one on this Earth who wasn't broken in some way. And sadly, there were only a handful of medically trained professionals.

But when the heavy door slides open it's not a head of short brown hair that sneaks in, but short blonde hair, newly shorn just above slender shoulders.

"Clarke." It comes out hoarse and broken, and he can feel himself blush.

She closes the door with a clang before striding confidently to the small table that sits against the wall, footfalls echoing in the tiny room.

He tries clearing his throat, but damn that just hurts like a motherfucker, sharp and raw, and he actually has to take a moment to hold back the tears that spring up at the sudden pain.

"What are you doing here?" he croaks, trying again. It isn’t any better, but he’s determined to ignore it as best he can.

His eyes fix on the short hair as she studies his medial chart. It's mesmerizing to see it that way - her hair. All the time he's ever known her it was always so long. Longer even when he found her tide to a post underground. He remembers the feel of it, the stiff strands dirty against his calloused fingers as he pushed it from her face with such affection.

The word makes his stomach roll and his heart stutter. He hadn't known then - he'd felt it, felt his heart soar and nearly burst with... something - but he hadn't known what it was, hadn't allowed himself to admit it.

He loved her. He loves her.

When she turns to look at him he can only blink, inhaling deeply and wincing. "You cut your hair." It's obviously said as a statement and he suddenly feels like the biggest idiot. Of course she's aware of the fact that she cut her own damn hair.

"Yeah," she says tentatively. "I uh..." She presses her lips together. "I just needed a change."

Her eyes are sad - a deep shade of blue that shifts like mist. "And the knots were ridiculous. I practically forced Raven to cut the damn thing."

Bellamy nods, solemnly at first, but then with a small quirk of his lips, because he realizes that's what she needs right now. A lightness, or at least a pretense of it to cast over the gloom of everything too heavy to take at the moment.

"Looks good." And that was definitely true. It looked very good. Clean and shining. The natural waves sweeping down past her chin, curling around each other like golden silk.

"Well, as long as I have your approval," she says dryly.

He rolls his eyes, leaning a forearm on his knee as he releases a sigh. "I was giving you a compliment."

"I know," she admits with a small smile. "Thank you." She runs her fingers through the blonde locks. "Feels lighter, that's a lot nicer."

He nods, trying to show his interest without it being too obvious how interested he really is. When the silence reaches out between them for too long he clears his throat without thinking. His flinch earns him a dirty look. "So what are you doing here? Thought Jackson was coming back?"

"He was but... my... mom needed him."

Bellamy frowns at the stilted sentence.

"He asked me to come check on you," she whips out hastily. Her head ducks down suddenly at the medical report in her hand. "So, it says everything is fine—”

“I told him that.”

“But,” she starts, giving him a look, “you may have some damage to your throat.”

“Really?” he deadpans, voice rough like sandpaper over skin. “Ya think?”

She scowls disapprovingly, and he has an urge to smooth that small crease between her brows. What would she do if he touched her like that, he wonders. Without preamble or any real excuse, just touching for the sake of making each other feel better. He’s about to do with that thought what he always does with such wanderings of his mind, and push it as far back as he can, hide it far away until another moment comes up and it’s once again thrust into the spotlight. But before he can her fingers are on him, calloused yet gentle round his bruised neck. He’s so surprised he starts at her touch.

She pulls away, hands hanging in the air between them. “I’m sorry. Too cold?”

Compared to him she’s a fucking ice cube, but that’s not really the problem. “It’s fine,” he relents gruffly, which has less to do with his damaged throat and more to do the affect her touch has on him.

He tries to control his breathing when her hands return to his neck – he’s given up on his frantic heart – taking steady, shallow breaths, mesmerized by the way her hair sways lightly with every slow release of air.

“It’s definitely bruised.” Her thumb brushes beneath his eye. “Petechiae may take a few days to disappear.” And with her hands ghosting gently across the soft skin between his jaw and his throat, her eyes inspect the broken, discolored skin around his neck. “Along with any abrasions,” she adds sadly.

His already swollen throat feels suddenly tighter. His chest taut as he tries to hold back the onslaught of emotions that have crept up out of nowhere. He thinks he has it all under control until her eyes finally meet his, and they’re swimming in tears, chin trembling.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice just as hoarse as is.

He blinks slowly, hand wrapping around her forearm as she cradles his jaw.

“Don’t.” And he knows it’s not just about him, knows that she’s not only apologizing for his injury but also her mother’s, Jackson’s, Kane’s and every other fucking person that she had no control over, because that’s who Clarke Griffin is. Octavia liked to joke, calling him Atlas, heavy with the weight of the world on his shoulders, but the truth was it was Clarke. So desperate to fix the world and take all its ills onto herself.

A tear drops fat and heavy from her eye, and his heart shatters at the sight. “I can’t save anyone.”

He slides his hand around the back of her neck, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape, thumb stroking her jaw so that they are a mirror image of each other. And it’s meant to be hard, be grounding, to force her to listen because what he’s about to say is absolutely the most important thing he ever has.

“You save me.”

He squeezes her forearm, brows raising. “You always save me.” He licks his lips, hesitant to continue, to make himself so vulnerable, but she deserved to hear it, even if she had to know already.

“I need you.”

He isn’t sure what he was expecting from her after that, to deny it and shake her head perhaps. Maybe breakdown and start crying anew. But this- this sudden resolve in her eyes as she blinks away her tears, her chin raising just a bit higher, is certainly not it.

She pulls him forward, leaning in herself till their foreheads are touching. It’s so surprising, so intimate he can’t help but release a sudden breath, running like fire up his throat and mingling with her own. She moves minutely, nuzzling her nose against his and he feels like he’s fucking floating. The pain in his throat and around his neck, the bruises and cuts that litter his body, the memories of all his past mistakes; all gone.

“You have me.”

#this was supposed to be for the kink meme #but it was neither short nor smutty #just my usual angst tbh #bellarke fanfiction #the 100 fanfiction #mine #nina’s fanfiction

[fireinclined]

in an era long past, before capellans had their inclinations as we know them, a girl named atlas was born with a wondrous gift- the ability to see the future. she was one of the very first capellan augurs- there were only 12 augurs in the universe at that time.

when she was but a child, atlas was brought to a warm and vibrant planet to train- a far cry from the icy tundra she hailed from.  here atlas excelled, and finally began to make sense of the murky visions that had plagued her all her life.

atlas could see the END OF THE UNIVERSE. in all the different ways it could end, at all the different times it might finally cease to be- she could see them all. and after every end…there was nothing.

atlas believed, with all her being, that there must be something after. capellan philosophy and culture taught her that everything is destroyed for a reason, that something must rise to take it’s place. so what happened after the end of the universe?

this question ATE HER ALIVE. as she grew up, atlas trained harder, pushed herself further, trying to break through that nothingness in her visions- trying to see past it. nothing worked. it was not a barrier she could break through her will alone.

when atlas was not training, she loved building and inventing. she was a bright young capellan, and excelled at the creation of automatons. the other augurs requested that she create a thinking automaton that could be relied upon to carry on the teachings of the augurs, should they die out before another augur is born- a very real possibility.

after four years of designing and building said automaton, THEA was created. atlas gave her creation beautiful wings that looked like they were made of stained glass, and an elegant, beak like mask to cover up her mechanical face.

thea was an augur like the rest of them, naturally. she became atlas’ close friend and confidant, and helped her try to augment her clairvoyance through means outside of training…she began seeking power wherever she could find it.

thea created her a mask- one that should enhance her abilities. she made one for every single augur, in fact. atlas’ didn’t work.

years passed. atlas still couldn’t see past the end. she grew ever more powerful.

over time, atlas’ power began to warp her mind, and at some point she decided that if she could not see past the end through her visions, then she would bring about the end HERSELF.

and where was thea, you ask? right by atlas’ side, unable to work up the courage to speak up against her friend, her creator, until it was too late.

until atlas had amassed so much power that her body looked she was made of the night sky itself. until the other augurs, who rose up to stand against atlas, were slaughtered by the monster thea had been created by. until atlas was strong enough to actually bring about the end.

only then did thea act.

she sealed atlas away, contained her a glass orb, and brought atlas back to the frozen hell she came from- CAPELLA. the capellans were tasked with looking after atlas and making sure she stayed contained.

thea retreated back to the empty world of augurs, and waited for the next generation of augurs to be born.

she made masks. she grieved. she looked ahead. she waited.

parallels between cassandra and atlas

in case it’s not clear- atlas and thea are supposed to parallel cassandra and paola. hell, i even made atlas look like cassandra a bit to hammer this home. mm…well, they’re more foils of each other, really.

atlas

desperate to get off capella

can see big picture (end of universe)

intentionally made thea for a specific purpose

views thea as not quite being her equal

thea does not keep her grounded

thea does not speak up against her until it’s too late

cassandra

wants nothing more than to be able to go back to capella

can see the small picture (only her own future)

accidentally made paola

views paola as her equal

paola keeps her grounded 

paola is very much willing to shoot down cassandra’s ideas and speak up against her

honestly, it's the relationships these capellans have with their inorganic sidekicks that make or break them. had atlas seen and treated thea as an equal, thea would have felt comfortable telling her that maybe ending the universe is a bad idea. if paola had just been a yes man to cassandra, it’s very possible that while she wouldn’t have gone nuts and tried to destroy the universe…cassandra definitely would have killed herself by now.

moral of the story: treat your robotic sidekicks right, they might just be the voice of reason when you’re about to destroy the universe

fragments of atlas

if atlas is still around inside cassandra, she’s much weaker- more of a fragment of her former self than simply a weaker version. as such, with a bit of getting used to it, atlas would be something cassandra can keep contained inside her until she dies (and atlas with her).

atlas just becomes this asshole voice that pipes up every now and then that cassandra either ignores or makes sarcastic comments back at.

but of course…this is after a good deal of panicking and weeks of anxiety after learning atlas is still around at all

what happened with dulcie & atlas

atlas possessed dulcie for over a decade after the fall of capella. however, dulcie was so strong mentally and fought back so hard that she managed to immobilize both herself and atlas most of the time. whenever it was just atlas in control, dulcie was screaming and fighting- enough so that atlas really wasn’t able to destroy any other worlds. when dulcie was in control, however….she was either looking for ways to separate them, or trying to kill herself.

dulcie eventually succeeded in separating herself from atlas, and temporarily contained her, knowing that eventually atlas would break free and not really caring so long as she was far away from the monster. after this, dulcie managed to get out an sos signal…to cassandra’s ship, which was coincidentally nearby.

cassandra and dulcie catch up and start travelling together, and eventually fall in love. however…the guilt of just leaving atlas and the fear of her coming after her eats away at dulcie, and she tells cassandra everything. they go to new capella to talk to keandra and brooklyn- the only other capellans who know about what happened so many years ago. they all agree to do everything in their power to stop atlas, and go to the planet that atlas was contained on.

it goes horribly. atlas is indeed free, and waiting for them to come back- she could have left, but why leave when her chosen vessel is being served to her on a silver platter?

atlas possesses cassandra, the one she always wanted- the augur, and just flies the fuck away. cassandra is much weaker mentally than dulcie, and can only barely stop her from killing her loved ones and in general destroying the galaxy.

paola and the gang chase after atlas- the only way they’re able to keep track of her is by the star map in cassandra’s breast pocket. on thea’s small planet, dulcie and thea are able to separate atlas from cassandra, and dulcie, in an attempt to end it all, and out of a need for revenge against atlas….dulcie uses her vitakinesis to kill atlas, which also ends her own life.

when cassandra regains consciousness, atlas is gone and dulcie is dead. cassandra hates herself because dulcie died fixing a mistake they both made.

note: atlas possesses cassandra for a way longer time period than i’ve made it sound like - she’s possessed for three months.

anyway- the easiest way to send cassandra into a panic is to imply that atlas is still alive. just the implication will have her breaking down. even worse- the idea that a part of atlas still lives on inside of her. it was something dulcie was always afraid of, and something that terrifies cassandra as well.

if atlas is still alive, then it means that dulcie died for nothing, and that…that would just destroy cassandra.

keeping atlas secret

the lengths cassandra went to to keep what happened to atlas a secret is really just astounding. and when she finally decides to fess up, to tell her mother and the rest of the capellans what happened and accept their punishment…brooklyn tells her she can’t, because revealing that would have much wider effects than just the consequences cassandra would face.

cassandra & revealing the truth on earth

cassandra will not reveal what happened on capella to anyone easily. honestly, its highly likely she’ll never tell you. there’s a reason she told splinter it, which will hopefully become apparent as that story unfolds. and the ONLY reason she told the boys is because she didn’t want them somehow finding out from someone else.

cassandra may grow close enough to april to tell her the truth about capella, but i don’t see cassandra telling casey or karai…EVER.

this is cassandra’s deepest, darkest secret and she is deeply ashamed of it. the boys knows this, and would know to never tell anyone else about it.

paola finding out

paola wouldn’t know about atlas unless cassandra told her or ava let it slip, and it could go one of two ways

cassandra accepting paola for who she is and letting go of who cassandra wanted her to be, them building up trust and respect and friendship until cassandra finally tells her one night, it all coming out in one long tear filled rush. 

ava letting it slip before cassandra’s worked through her issues with paola and cassandra being terrified that paola’s going to think less of her and then getting angry at her own fear, and lashing out. eventually breaking down into tears because she cares immensely about what paola thinks of her, but doesn’t want to care. meanwhile, paola’s just…confused. why would she blame cassandra for something that has nothing to do with paola?

the world atlas made for cassandra

atlas tried to keep cassandra complacent by sticking her in this dream of a reality where everything went ‘right’- essentially, she stuck her in the cassalyn au in this dream. except..things were even better. instead of losing contact with her childhood friends, the way cassalyn does, cassandra is still close to all of them, and is engaged to dulcie (note: dulcie has not died at this point.), and cassandra is a captain in the capellan fleet as opposed to a diplomat. cassandra also is under the illusion that this is how things have always been

the thing that nags at cassandra until she wakes up is paola. cassandra feels like something’s missing, that something’s not quite right, and all she has to go off of is the name paola. instead of being like creepily “there’s no one named paola :) :) “ everyone’s like “oh, maybe it’s someone you used to know”- everyone acts like real people instead of creepy smiley people.

anyway. cassandra keeps searching for paola, finding nothing. but little things keep adding up- cassandra not being used to the name cassalyn and introducing herself as cassandra despite (in the dream) not using that name for close to 25 years, trying to use the fire inclination instead of the light inclination and this feeling that something’s not right when she looks in the mirror.

everything comes to a head in this ball scene where cassandra’s looking at her reflection in the window, and the window’s frosted over. cassandra makes a line down her reflection’s cheek, where her scar would be normally, and that just. sets everything off. cassandra starts screaming for paola, glass is cracking everywhere, all the ppl at the ball have frozen like goddamn statues.

then, someone comes walking through the mass of people. a rather short, blonde capellan with a sky blue dress on approaches cassandra with her hands behind her back. she has this smile on her face that would make anyone nervous.

she says that cassandra could have had everything she ever want if she’d just stopped looking for holes, for loose threads. she says that just like in the outside world, the biggest threat to cassandra’s happiness is herself.

this is, of course, atlas. i want it to feel so incredibly creepy and unnerving when atlas shows up- i want it to feel like the meeting with c.hara in the genocide ending of u.ndertale. and during the whole encounter atlas is slowly dripping star…goop? and then at the end when the whole fake world is destroyed she melts back into her monstrous form.

#🌠 and the universe said everything you need is within you. ( headcanons : all. ) #🌠 and the universe said you are the universe reading its own code. ( headcanons : general worldbuilding. ) #🌠 and the universe said you are not alone ( headcanons : friends. family. foes. )