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buckyarchives · 1 year

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Domestic Life Of a Living With a Runaway Assassin. [Intro.]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x soulmate!reader

Summary: you hate many things in life. you hate soulmates. you hate the avengers. you hate guns. you hate loud snorers and complicated relationships.

Bucky Barnes is associated with all of those things, yet you can't find yourself hating him

W.c: 2.1K

Series playlist linked here

Author note: this was actually one of my first long form fics I wrote in many years, its carrys a nostalgic feeling and means a lot to me. i wrote it like last October and thought abt kinda rewriting some stuff and posting it here! I thought some of you guys woudk enjoy this story. this is only a short darbble that teases the story, next chapter shows how they met and everything after that. It takes place right after CA:TWS and it’s a soulmate AU!

Masterlist

Soulmates.

The legend goes that when the universe was created and whatever higher power you believed in created humans to have two sets of legs, two sets of arms, and two heads. Now because the world is cruel and no one can have nice things, whoever is in charge up there split us up into two beings but forever being connected by our souls. Spending the rest of our life waiting and searching for our other halves. Never being our true whole selves without them. How poetically tragic.

It turned into a weird way to make money nowadays, you felt like no one really cared about the reality of soulmates now. It was made into shitty romance movies, or stupid scientific searches for your one and only soulmate that was definitely an internet scam. People literally faking soul marks towards celebrities for their one chance with them that their delusional minds make up.

All just a desperate attempt to feel whole and loved but your one and true person. Always and forever destined to be.

What a touching story. Too bad you think it's all bullshit

No genuinely, you were supposed to believe your life's purpose was to find this one person in the entire universe that matched you, and without them, you what? you were going to be miserable for the rest of your life? The universe is a scam. You had given up on the whole mad search for your other half years ago, you didn't understand why you couldn't go out and find your own partner without having to match up those stupid words on your shoulder.

“I'm sorry, you probably don't feel very safe with me.”

Those stupid words. You hated the idea of soulmates but you couldn't stop yourself from the hours of wondering just what the hell that was supposed to mean. You had no interest in seeking out your soulmate but you could wonder what type of person they may be. Were they really a dangerous person? Would you genuinely not feel safe with the said person when you first meet? Would you even meet them?

Questions had swirled through your head since the day you got it. Those questions had died down a little, you were getting older and most of your peers had already met their soulmates. You noticed soulmates were not just romantic, they came in friendships, some didn't work out, some came between children and parents, and some came through your fire escape at night, covered in blood and knocking down your favorite plants.

With a loud crash, your feet carried you through your new york apartment to your living room. You saw the outline of him crouched down on the floor. “I'm so sorry, I know that was your favorite plant.”

Okay, spoiler. You had found your soulmate. You weren't excited about it as the rest of the world expected, but it happened. You weren't some hypocrite that would suddenly abandoned all beliefs and fell head over heels for your soulmate once you met like one of those stupid romance movies you mention earlier, you were not some cliche. Especially not with a poor excuse of a runaway-brainwashed-assassin soulmate, at least you would try convincing yourself that.

“My god Bucky, how many times do I have to tell you to just go through the door.” you pinch the bridge of your nose as the tired old man scrambles to clean up the dirt and scattered pot beneath him. “I mean, you practically live here now.”

“I'm not using the door, someone could see me.”

You think Like that's better than having someone see you climb through the fire escape, asshole. You scoff and shake your head and begin dragging yourself to the kitchen. You had a slight quirk at the end of your lips, an amused smile, you hoped Bucky didn’t see in the dark. Maybe he did, you didn’t really have enough time to ask him the deets on the effects of the serum.

You swing open the cabinet door and grab a trash bag and first aid kit. God only knows how bent out of shape bucky is tonight. Making your way back into your living room, Buckys still muttering under his breath about your stupid plant and “god dammit it's fucking freezing out there.”

throwing the trash back at him, he looks up at you. His eyes are beautiful. His hair is sopping wet and you were hoping to any god above that he wasn't bleeding out on your floor. You were not losing your security deposit for your reckless runaway assassin soulmate. God, that's a mouthful, you need to give him a new nickname.

“So, what's the damage?”

“s’ nothing, I'm just cold. It started raining hard.” he looks like a wet shaking dog. Your heart aches.

You look him up and down. Noticing the water dripping from all his clothing. “I see that.”

You sigh and take a few steps toward him. Bucky eyes follow your moments precisely. He has a bit of a staring problem. You snag the hair tie off your wrist and swiftly tie his brunette wet mop of a head into a little man bun. Cute. you shake your head.

“Stay, I'll be right back.”

Bucky watches you in awe as your body ascends back into the darkness of the room and around a corner. He's uncomfortable and his socks are wet. The leather vest is wet and he feels like he's trapped in his own skin, and Bucky feels too heavy.

Slowly, he begins to unstrap all weapons on his body and toss them to the side so you don't have to see them. You didn't like guns. He had a designated place where he hides them because god-forbid Bucky messes up your apartment aesthetic with his dozen of unsettling and quite scary weapons. Your words, not his.

Unzipping the leather top and peeling the fabric off himself was less than a nice feeling, it made him cringe and sent a quick shiver down his spine. Bucky tossed it to the side, he’ll deal with that tomorrow. His hands feel the thin black shirt that's left, it's wet too. Fucking hell. He doesn’t remember the New York weather being this bad in September, he also barely remembers anything so his memory isn’t too reliable. Bucky slowly peels the fabric over his head, he hopes he doesn't mess up the bun you did, he never did it right.

Bucky hears your feet pad against your floor. He pushes back a smile. You're holding a towel and some clothes. He watches you as you crouch down next to him on the floor, he notices that your eyes are squinted and your bed head is apparent. A twinge of guilt hits him now knowing he had woken you up. Bucky whispers, “I woke you up.”

You sigh, again. “I was having a bad dream anyways.”

“About?”

You inhale, scoffing to yourself. “I was being chased by Jimmy Fallon with a jar of pickles – because you know, I hate pickles – and he was yelling at me about the importance of eating vegetables, but he sounded just like my mom.”

Bucky didn’t remember who Jimmy Fallon was, “you must think you’re so amusing, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Bucky curls his toes and is unfortunately reminded of his very wet socks. He leans forward to untie his hefty boots. Your eyes trail along his naked back, his muscles flex and suddenly you are just a little more awake. You watch his left arm in all its glory, taking note of the ragged and scarred tissues where metal meets skin. Scratch marks are littered around the edges, and you feel sad for him, imagining how those got there. The moonlight highlights his metal arm, making it shine and look quite beautiful. You could never tell Bucky that.

“It's been a week.” you finally breathe out. Bucky freezes in place as his fingers wrap around his laces. He feels guilty again. “And you didn't leave a note this time either. I thought...”

Trailing off, you stop yourself before you say something you were going to regret. Your mind wanders, you felt so incredibly stupid right now. Truth is, you didn't agree with the whole soulmate ordeal but it seemed like ever since your unconventional first meeting with Bucky, he has stuck to you like glue. He just kept coming back and then leaving again.

It took you many of his overnight stays and weirdly domestic mornings making scrambled eggs together and then turning into a worry machine after he leaves. You realized had grown to care for him deeply. Bucky always came back, but you were scared for the day we might not.

Bucky is– literally, a lost puppy. He had been on the run and actively avoiding the few stray agents that knew he was still alive when he met you.

Bucky remembered back when he was a kid, dreaming about the day he would meet his soulmate. He and Steve would stay up all night talking about their soul marks, or just words (as they used to call it), and what they thought their soulmates would be like. Bucky was obsessed and simply put, a hopeless romantic.

Then Steve met his soulmate, Peggy. And then he technically died and Hydra happened, Bucky thought his soulmate would have been dead because he was out of his time now. After being brainwashed and having been broken and put back together by Hydra, Bucky could still never shake the feeling of you still being out there, it was like some instinctive feeling in his bones, he had hope and it was one of the only things keeping him going.

And he was right.

Bucky had many doubts when he first met you, given his situation. But you were not scared. And that was enough for him at the time.

But now he just feels guilty for giving you the burden of being his soulmate. He was trying, really.

“I'm sorry, doll.” his voice didn't sound like his own, he shrugged the rest of his boot off and followed with his socks. Finally. “I should have left a note. I'm safe, you're safe, and I'm here now.”

Bucky heard you sniffled and you turned your head with an embarrassment look and glossy eyes. Like you were ashamed for caring.

“sweetheart...” he scooted closer, hoping you wouldn't mind his damp skin on yours. Bucky reached for you, wrapping his flesh hand around yours and giving you a small squeeze. Your head turned to him, a small smile hidden on your face by the darkness of the room. He saw it. Bucky might even think you're an angel. “I won't leave without saying something next time, I'm sorry.”

“Do I even want to know what you were doing out there?”

He hated lying to you but his life was complicated. “Just trying to fix some things I did.”

You nod. “Good.”

The silence between the two of you isn't uncomfortable, the past few months have been silent– at least with bucky. He is your soulmate. He is also the winter soldier, and the winter soldier is always moving and hiding. Bucky Barnes is always moving, always. He had been that way even way back in the Howling Commandos.

You were his safe haven. Your relationship was on and off but your bond was strong, it was wordless and tentative and strung together by patching wounds at midnight and soft, domestic glances over coffee. Your house– just you were his place where he could just stop, pretend as if nothing mattered and sit on the couch and watch reality television that you loved. Bucky found it questionable but you said “it will help you get with the times.” Bucky just watched it because he knew it made you happy.

Bucky Barnes had been moving all week, fast. He had almost died, twice. He was never going to let you know that though. Bucky was due for some Hell's Kitchen or dance moms. He was also not going to tell you that.

The moonlight was fading and you could hear the faint sound of birds chirping outside, barely silenced by the bustling city life of people leaving for work. You are still sitting next to Bucky, and you nudge him with your elbow. His attention is now drawn to you. You bite your bottom lip, a horrible habit you had, bucky hated it. Bucky brings his thumb up to your face and pulls your lip away from your teeth. He wants to kiss you.

“Go take a shower, you stink.” That works too. He smiles and you laugh. Yeah, Bucky thinks he can stop for just a little longer this time.

Feedback and comments make the work go round, comment to be added to the tag list!

Tag list : @ivywasmaroon @ozwriterchick @slytherinambitious @wintermischief

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky fic #sebastian stan #bucky barns imagine #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x gender neutral reader #sebastian stan x reader

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writing-ca-ira · 11 months

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HASARDER — PART 2

YJ/Teen Titans Dick Grayson x Reader

Part 1 << MASTERLIST >> Part 3

Trying to explain something that doesn’t exist is hard… so you can only imagine what it was like trying to explain the Titans to a bunch of skeptical cops. Luckily for you, they turned you over to a couple of people who believe your story slightly more.

Reader is gender neutral.

Contains: civilian reader, mentions of death (your own), spoilers: you’re actually alive, it’s the you from the YJ universe that’s dead.

You have no idea who you are anymore.

Well, that isn’t true. You’re (Y/N) (L/N), and from how many times you’ve said your name to Leaguers (oh, yes; Leaguers, from the Justice League… but now’s certainly not the time to get starstruck all over again) from this week alone… god… it would be impossible to forget that you’re (Y/N) (L/N). You’ve told Batman, Martian Manhunter, some science guy named Adam, Doctor frickin’ Fate… not to mention all of the lab results that you’ve looked over (well, that you were allowed to look over, anyway. Dick would confide in you about the Bat’s preference for secrecy all the time, so you had a hunch what you’ve seen isn’t all there is to know)… all of them would have your name printed on them; (Y/N) (L/N).

So, yeah. The problem didn’t stem from who you were. It was… well… whose were you.

Of all of the people who got to run their little tests on you — the world’s greatest detective, a telepathic alien, a lord of order — you found it a little funny that it was the random science guy named Adam that provided some sort of lead on your situation. He did an MRI scan on you, and something emitting from your body caused the computers to fritz out a bit. Upon closer inspection, he discovered that there were traces of Zeta Beams in your body.

“Zeta Beams are what power our Zeta Tubes,” Adam explained. “You use Zeta to… teleport.”

Teleport…

Well, that would explain how you ended up on the other side of the country when you… died… in Rhode Island.

You addressed this hypothesis to Mr. Science Dude, wondering if that’s what he himself was thinking. It seemed logical, after all; it’s not like a dead person could get themselves across the country without raising a few federal eyebrows. But Adam shook his head at your words, steel eyes darkening with something unrecognizable.

“I… considered the possibility. Maybe you were somehow hit by a Zeta Beam before you died, and maybe something in string theory…” you recalled him shaking his head, as though to get rid of whatever digression he was going down. “(Y/N)… you’ve been an anomaly to us for a week straight. You died, and then showed up 2 years later in a town we know you’ve never been to. The next logical step — extreme, but still logical — was to dig up your grave, and… you’re still there. It’s still… you… in there.”

That all was his buildup to a jarring question;

“(Y/N)… how much do you know about parallel universes?”

That conversation happened a few days ago. You were now standing in front of the bathroom mirror of some random apartment Batman had you stashed you away in by Adam — a “safe house,” as he called it — studying each and every inch of your face. After waking up at 6 a.m. from a horrible dream about your towermates, you began to worry about the weirdest things. Were you a ghost? Was this all a fever dream from a coma? Did your friends randomly disappear off the face of the Earth like you did, and now they’re “dead” as well?

… Have you stopped looking like yourself?

That last one is why you were staring so intensely at your reflection in the mirror. You looked like… you. At least, you were pretty sure you looked like you. The same skin tone, eye color, hair style… yup, 100% (Y/N). And while you might’ve not been this… world’s… (Y/N), you were still your own (Y/N); the civilian housemate of the Teen Titans and Di— Robin’s best friend. You are the (Y/N) that plays fetch with Starfire and Beastboy, and watches Cyborg tinker with something in the garage while Raven reads in the corner. You are the (Y/N) that listens to Robin vent and then go out for milkshakes to make him feel better. No matter what bits and pieces you may hear about this other (Y/N), the one in the mirror is the one that’s… y’know… you.

I’m (Y/N) (L/N), you thought to yourself. And while I’m… a little lost right now, I’ll be back home with the Titans before I know it. The Justice League will make sure of it.

You watched in real time as your eyes hardened with determination. Batman promised you that they were working on something. While you weren’t exactly sure how parallel universes worked (it was hard to stomach the notion of parallel universes to begin with), you had no other choice but to believe that there was some way to get you back home. In a galaxy with super-powered humans, aliens, magicians, literal gods, what-have-you, there just has to be a way. You got here somehow in the first place, right? Surely, you can go back.

A faint knocking on your door caused you to snap out of your thoughts.

Knock knockknock knock.

Knockknockknockknock.

Knockknock knock.

Knock knock.

You furrowed your brows at the weird rhythm, until you remembered Batman’s instructions; don’t answer the door for anyone unless they knock in that specific pattern (apparently, the pattern was “chum” in Morse). If you heard the code-knock, then that meant it was him at the door, though he hadn’t visited since you since your last time in the lab. After giving yourself a final scan in the mirror, you made your way over to the door and mentally prepared yourself to be face to face with Batman.

… Except, upon opening the door, you weren’t face to face with Batman.

At the doorway stood a man around the same height as Batman, but most definitely not dressed like Batman. Instead, he was dressed like a business casual man, his crisp white button-up layered under a grey sweater and a black coat. His dark slacks looked recently ironed, and his shoes looked just polished. The entire ensemble made his worn down Gotham Knights hat look a bit out of place, but when you noticed his sunglasses, you recognized that this was no stylistic choice; he was undercover (being friends with Robin made you quite familiar with the “civvy” look).

Taking a few moments to study his face, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he looked… familiar. Not a personal kind of familiar, but a what-movie-have-I-seen-this-actor-be-in kind of familiar. That chiseled jawline, those prominent cheekbones, the slight beak of his upper lip… something about him screamed tabloid target to you, and it was eating away at the back of your brain.

Then, it finally hit you. “Bruce Wayne.”

The man in front of you grimaced, the corners of his lips twitching upwards for a fraction of a second as though he were attempted to smile. “You don’t… want an autograph, do you?”

“Uh… I’m good,” was all you could respond with. Formulating a sentence was quite difficult. What were you supposed to say to Gotham’s very own billionaire playboy? You know, they guy whose face is basically everywhere across not only the United States, but the entire world? The guy whose ward is your very own best friend Dick Grayson… who is also Robin… the sidekick of… well…

“… It really is true,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… him.”

A sigh left Bruce’s lips. “I’m guessing Dick told you everything, then.”

You shook your head at this. “Not really. He only told me his name was Dick. Then he showed me his face one day, and…” you tried to fight off the urge to look smug from your own detective skills. “Only so many people in the world have the same face as Richard Grayson.”

Just as only so many people in the world have the same face as (Y/N) (L/N).

That thought painfully reminded you of the reality of your situation. This wasn’t Bruce Wayne. Well, it was, but it wasn’t your Bruce Wayne. And his ward, Richard Grayson, wasn’t your Dick. These were all strangers that may look, sound, and act like people from your world, but… this wasn’t your world.

And one look at Mr. Wayne’s troubled face told you he was thinking something along those lines. “(Y/N)… can I come in?”

You silently nodded, stepping aside to make room. The billionaire crossed the threshold of the apartment and watched intently as you closed the door. No words were said for an uncomfortable couple of seconds, and you soon realized you would have to be the one to speak up first.

“So… is there anything new? About sending me home?”

Mr. Wayne pursed his lips together. “No. Nothing new.” One of his hands moved to soothingly plant itself on your shoulder. “But rest assured, we’re doing everything we can to figure out a way. We’ll get you home, (Y/N).”

This… was weird. Not just the fact that Bruce Wayne was comforting you, but the man that’s supposedly Batman — Gotham’s protector that strikes fear in the hearts of criminals — is being… well… kind. During your interrogations with the Caped Crusader, he was nothing but cold and distant with you, making you feel as though you’re guilty of something despite knowing you’ve done nothing wrong. And Dick tells you stories of Batman’s heartlessness all the time (by sticking his pointer fingers up by his head and doing his best Batman voice). Was it because you were talking to Bruce Wayne, and not Batman, that he was kind to you?

Maybe THIS Batman is just so different from MY Batman, you mentally noted.

Nevertheless, you offered Mr. Wayne a sad smile. “Thank you… and…” your smile dropped as you thought of this world’s (Y/N), “… I’m sorry…”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” said Mr. Wayne. “You have no idea how you ended up here, and really, this whole thing is a field day for our trusted scientists.” He offered you a lopsided grin. “Adam Strange has been talking everyone’s ear off about… stuff that I don’t really understand.”

You tried to give out a humored laugh, but it came out more as a pathetic chortle. “Always happy to help make earth-shattering discoveries in the realm of theoretical physics.”

But… of all the people in the world (well, you’re world) to be a scientific anomaly, why did it have to be you? You were just a normal civilian that just so happened to live with the Titans. There’s no reason why you should be involved with this whole parallel universe fiasco… and what if there isn’t a way to send you home? What if there’s so many parallel universes out there that it’s impossible to pinpoint yours? What if you spent the rest of your life being studied by scientist after scientist in this foreign timeline, while your own universe becomes nothing but a distant memory?

Mr. Wayne’s deep voice brought you back to reality. “(Y/N)…”

Your eyes snapped back to him. “Uh… yeah?”

“I… didn’t just want to check up on you,” the billionaire hesitantly admitted, his brows furrowed with uncertainty. “There’s… well… there’s something…”

The way he trailed off made you feel uneasy. Though you were hoping this wasn’t going where you thought it was going, you knew it had something to do with… the elephant in the room. It was the one thing for the past week that caused your stomach to churn and your throat to constrict with pure guilt.

Of course, never addressing it seemed very unlikely. “It’s about… your (Y/N), isn’t it?”

Mr. Wayne stood as Still as a statue for a brief period, but eventually let out a shaky sigh. “The only people who know about… this situation… are me, Martian Manhunter, Adam Strange, and Doctor Fate. We have a few JL-affiliated scientists working on the possibility of dimensional travel, but… your name has been kept out of those projects.” His voice was becoming more and more gruff, reminiscent of the Batman voice you were accustomed to. “You do understand why it’s preferable that way, right?”

“Everyone who knew the (Y/N) here knows they’re…” you could barely finish your sentence without the stinging sensation of bile rising in your throat. “They’re… dead. It’s just better to keep your (Y/N)’s close ones away from all of this… just so no one gets false hope.”

At your response, Mr. Wayne nodded. “Exactly. We’re trying to send you home without anyone noticing you were here.” He then bowed his head towards the floor. “At least… that was the plan…”

You dumbly blinked at him. “Was?”

The billionaire took his sunglasses off to rub his face. “… Dick… he…”

Your heart rate picked up when he mentioned Dick, but you had to remind yourself that it wasn’t your Dick he was talking about. This Dick wasn’t your best friend that you like to hang out with around Jump City. All you could do was patiently wait for Mr. Wayne to continue as apprehension ate at your brain.

“He found out,” he finally admitted. “About you. I don’t know how, but I’m sure he had… some help.” Worry lines formed on his face as his ocean-colored eyes found yours. “He wasn’t happy that he was kept out of the loop, and… he wants to see you.”

“But I’m not his (Y/N),” you quickly blurted out. “I… I mean… I’m not the (Y/N) from this world. I’m not the same (Y/N) that… knew him.”

“And he knows you aren’t.” Mr. Wayne’s frown somehow grew bigger. “At least, he says that he knows you aren’t. He just feels… kept in the dark. You were his— (Y/N) was his best friend, and he told me that… I shouldn’t keep secrets about his best friend. Even if it… isn’t…”

“… his best friend,” you finished.

Mr. Wayne slowly nodded. There was a blanket of silence that fell over the room, and it felt like hours later when the billionaire spoke up again. “He was… extremely upset. You two were close, so I… I understand. But… you were also close with so many other people that… that it’s…” he had to lean against the wall to steady himself. “I thought I… was doing the right thing. I thought I was saving him from so much pain and… and heartache by hiding all of this…”

The immense self-pity that wafted from his form reminded you so much of Dick that you struggled to breathe. Moments like these were all too familiar to you; Dick would disappear after a mission, and you would find him beating himself over the head for something. You wondered if the Dick in this universe was the same exact way, and if the Dick from your universe got it from your Batman.

“Dick never liked secrets,” you began, putting a hand on Mr. Wayne’s shoulder, much like he did for you not too long ago. “He would always tell me about some guy named B, and how B didn’t seem to trust him.” You cleared your throat in order to attempt your best Robin impression. “I’m his partner!! He needs to trust me more!! I don’t wanna have anything to do with him!!”

A sad puff of air left the man’s lips. “… That definitely sounds familiar.”

“But if there’s one thing I know about Dick…” you couldn’t help but roll your else. “He’s a giant hypocrite.” Mr. Wayne’s eyes snapped up to meet yours quizzically while you continued. “Do you know how many secrets he’s hidden from the Titans? And how many he still keeps hidden? Can’t believe that guy has the audacity to go on and on about how he hates B’s lies, only to turn around and lie to his own team.” Throwing your arms up dramatically, you let out a frustrated sigh. “And I tell him! Every time his secrets are brought to light, I tell him, Dick, why would you keep secrets from your team if you hate secrets? And you know what he says?“

Mr. Wayne continued to stare at you. You gave him a reassuring smile and answered your own question, “he says, I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“… Wow,” was all the man could mutter.

“Deep down, he knows you were trying to keep him safe,” you explained, heart squeezing as you thought about your best friend. “Because it’s the same thing he would’ve done.”

Another puff of air came from Mr. Wayne, though it sounded more humorous than the last one. “You always knew him better. Probably could predict his next move before he even thinks to make it.” Any fondness that he held in his face turned stone cold. “… It’s been hard. Without you, I mean. It’s been hard for him, for me, for everyone. If only…” he cut himself off, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I… this must be uncomfortable for you.”

A frown tugged at the corner of your lips as you watched him straighten up. “It’s okay, Mr. Wayne… I understand. It’s… probably better to get everything off of your chest, right? Maybe it’ll help with healing?”

“… You’re not (Y/N),” the man uttered, voice barely above a whisper. It was hard to tell if he was speaking to you or himself, so you didn’t respond (it was hard to tell if you even had the right to respond). Taking a few steps towards the doorway, he gave you a solemn look. “I… apologize for putting you in an awkward position, with mentioning Dick and all, but I just wanted to give you a word of warning.”

“A word of warning,” your flat voice echoed.

He nodded, fiddling with his sunglasses. “He’ll show up here eventually when he obtains the address. It’s… inevitable, and I know I can’t do anything to stop it. But… when he does…” a small pause, “be careful with what you say.”

Though he didn’t elaborate, you knew exactly what he meant; don’t give Dick any false hope. A heavy lump formed in your throat as you tried to give a response. “Of course… I will.”

And, with that, Bruce Wayne was out the door.

Your first encounter with this universe’s Bruce Wayne was officially over. This was a crazy week (to say the least), but you never thought that your next VIP visitor would be Bruce Wayne. And he seemed… very unstable. Which you totally understood; you’re a parallel version, or alternate dimension version, or a whatever version of a very dead (Y/N), and that (Y/N) was close to a lot of people (including Batman, apparently?). It didn’t help that he and Dick must’ve had a fight quite recently, and you could only imagine how hard it was to admit to your son that you were keeping secrets… for his protection… again. Yeah, you don’t blame him for that tiny pity party he had.

Putting billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne aside for a moment, your thoughts went to Dick.

He’s trying to come see you.

You had… absolutely no idea how to feel about this. Part of you was excited, relieved even, to see his face. After an entire week of not seeing your best friend’s face, it would calm you down significantly. But… of course… this wasn’t your best friend; this was another (Y/N)’s best friend. And that (Y/N) is… no longer here. Excitement boiled into dread very quickly at the thought. This Dick Grayson knew you weren’t his (Y/N) (L/N)… so why would he want to come see you? At first, you thought it might’ve been for closure. While you weren’t his (Y/N), you were still (Y/N) in general, and maybe seeing you would be enough to help him… move on.

The thought sounded nice… but you knew Richard John “Dick” Grayson better than that.

Dick is a very defensive person… especially when it comes to the honor of his friends. If things start getting rough, you can practically see him put his shields up. And if he feels like things have gone too far, he’ll go fully offensive. You’ve seen it happen countless of times with you and the Titans, where he steps in with a sharp tongue and fists ready to fly whenever some unlucky jerk comes after one of you.

This Dick Grayson wasn’t your Dick Grayson, but judging from your conversation with Mr. Wayne, he’s pretty dang similar in both worlds. And if this world’s (Y/N) was his friend…

Then you’re the unlucky jerk coming after them.

#Young Justice x reader #Teen Titans x reader #Dick Grayson x reader #Robin Dick Grayson #Nightwing Dick Grayson

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brummiereader · 1 year

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A Ghost Of A Man (PART FOUR)

Summary: With the folder she found at the antique fair, the reader goes to see Tommy once again. Will he open up about what happened the night he died?

Warnings: Language, supernatural themes

It had been a few hours since you arrived back home. Sitting on the sofa daydreaming, the TV on in the background you had the folder you found a few days ago on your lap, when all of a sudden the front door swung open.

" Fuck! Louise you scared me" you said as the folder fell to the ground.

" Hello to you too, you didn't text me by the way"

"I'm sorry, shit I've been such a crappy friend these past few days" you apologised as you started picking up the folder and it's contents, balancing your other hand in the air.

"What the hell is that?" she said as she noticed a tea bag resting precariously on your hand.

"Oh, it's just this chamomile thing for the pain" you said, oblivious to how ridiculous you looked.

"A chamomile tea bag" she laughed raising her hands in the air then dramatically slapping both her thighs with them " You know what? I'm not even gonna ask where you got this idea from" she said uncontrollably laughing.

" Alright, alright.." you replied not being able to hold back a laugh. " I was told it was good for injuries" you added as you adjusted the tea bags position.

Still laughing she sat down beside you " How is it anyway?" She asked as she nodded towards your hand.

" It's fine just need to rest it"

" Didn't go get it checked out did you?" She said with a huff. "Thought you said you were no longer using them" she added pointing to the folder in your hand.

" I'm not, just thought I'd read through it all again"

" So... what is it about this Tommy Shelby that has got my friend so captivated?" She asked moving closer to you to look at the folder.

" I'm not captivated" you said rolling your eyes fidgeting slightly. " I don't know... I just think there's more to him. Yes he was dangerous and menacing, but there's something else...I don't think he was solely a bad man".

" Not many people a purely evil, I'm sure there was good in him too" she said with a small smile, seeing that you was quite taken by this mysterious man. " Do you have a picture of him?

" Erh yeh, I do actually" you answered looking through the papers as you pulled out the picture the old lady gave you.

" Which one's Thomas Shelby?"

" That's him" you replied as you pointed to him on the old black and white picture.

" Ahh so that's why you're so captivated" She giggled nudging your arm with hers. " He may have been a dangerous man, but my god...was he hot" she said as she took the picture from you. "Mr moustache is pretty fine too" she giggled again.

Laughing you looked at the picture with her. He was good-looking, no one could deny that. He looked the same as he did in the picture, piercing eyes, sharp jaw, muscular build, impeccable sense of style. Only his complexion was different, a stark reminder of what he was now. Was he still the same man as the one in the picture you wondered, or had the years made him too bitter and angry. What if you could help him, help him change his fate, give him a second chance. Would you do that for a man as dangerous as Tommy Shelby?

The next day you decided to ditch going to Uni altogether. You planned to go back to the building back to Tommy once again. Standing In front of the mirror you pulled on your long black coat, you had actually made an effort today. Now free of its bandages and feeling far less sore, your hand seemed to be healing quickly. With the folder on Thomas and the Peaky Blinders under your arm you walked out the front door and headed for the bus stop.

Walking up the old wooden stairs for the third time, you noticed Tommy sitting on one of the secretary desks facing the large window that looked out onto the street below.

"Back so soon?" He said turning to face you.

Feeling slightly embarrassed that you had returned so quickly, you stayed near the staircase closing your open coat around you.

" I can leave if you want?" You said in quiet voice as you started to feel self-conscious at your choice of clothing, his evident glare looking at you from head to toe.

" What's that ?" He said pointing to the folder under your arm ignoring your question, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched your restlessness.

" Oh, yes, It's Mr Campbell's folder" you replied slowly making your way closer to him

" Hmm" he nodded as you was now right beside him.

" Thought you would like to see it" you said as you placed it on the table beside him.

Tommy reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a cigarette from a silver case, placing it between his lips then lighting it, all the time not losing eye contact with you once. Why did he stare so much you wondered as you tried to avoid his challenging glare, was he trying to scare you off again? Still sitting on the edge of the desk now with the lit cigarette loosely resting between his lips he turned to look at the folder beside him, opening it his fingers traced over the various documents. A little overly enthusiastically you pulled out the photo of him and his family from within the folder, moving his hand out the way. His cold fingers felt polar opposite to your warm hands and with that Tommy pulled his hand away from yours swallowing harshly as he stretched out his fingers from your touch. It had been so long since he had felt the now unfamiliar warm heat of a woman, the softness of the skin, like silk under his fingers. Watching his reaction you stepped back, uncertainty in your eyes. But then Tommy picked up the picture of his family, glancing up at you he gave you a faint smile.

" I remember having this picture taken" he said reminiscing. " Took four goes until everyone stopped fucking arguing" he slightly chuckled as he watched you smile at his memory.

" Who was Mr Campbell?" You asked looking up at him from the picture.

" Chief Inspector Chester Campbell" he replied correcting you as he walked away from the desk taking a drag of his cigarette. "He was hired by Winston Churchill to recover a missing consignment of guns from the BSA factory" he added clearing his throat.

"Missing?" You said with a small smile. "Why did he have a folder on you and your family?"

" I think you know why miss Y/L/N" he replied as he cocked an eyebrow.

" What really happened that night you died" you asked overly confident.

Huffing Tommy strided over to you " You ask a lot of question you know that? And I rarely answer questions. You know everything about me and yet I know so little about you"

" Do you want to know about me?" You asked slightly embarrassed by your bombardment of questions.

Taking a drag of his cigarette leaning against the wall he gestured with his hand for you to talk. He did want to know more about you. Who was this young girl that had suddenly entered his world like a freight train coming at full speed, he was more than intrigued by you.

" Well... You already know my name". You said standing up from sitting on the edge of the desk. " I'm in my mid 20s, i'm a student at the University of Birmingham studying history. I live in Sparkhill with my roommate in this old converted attic. My family are from the area. I moved to the city a year ago, I work at the Sparkhill library. I like the history of this city...i erh I like to collect antiques" you said like you was reciting a checklist.

Tommy watched on with amusement as you paced arms folded with a flustered face back and forth in front of him, trying to think of something even a little more interesting to say.

"That's it" you said coming to a stop In front of him, your eyes avoiding his out of embarrassment.

" It's that why you like busying yourself in other people's history, because your life is so mundane" He said with a cocky smirk.

" Fuck" you sighed quietly turning your face away from him, your eyes welling up as you shook your head in disbelief at his brutal remark and the realisation that it was true. You had always thrown yourself into the history of other people's lives, so much so that you had forgotten to live your own life and make your own history, the realisation was uncomfortable.

Not intending you to take it that way, Tommy walked over to you turning your chin with his thumb to face him, you flinched at his coldness but he kept his thumb in place.

" I was only teasing" he said lowering his head trying to get you to look at him " Maybe you just need a bit of excitement, eh?" He said as he brushed a lone tear away with his thumb.

" Maybe" you sniffled as you gazed into his eyes. They were the bluest eyes you had ever seen and you found yourself getting lost in them, pulling yourself away from your daydreaming you looked down at the floor.

" I was heading to my car" he said letting go of your chin. " Sabini and his men jumped me, beat me within an inch of my life" he added as his eyes glazed over, no emotion omitting from his body. Had he become so accustomed to that life you wondered as you watched him talk like he had recounted this story a thousand times.

" How did you get back to your office?"

" I barely did" he said as he turned his head and looked at you. "I was trying to get back to phone my brother...i think you know the rest" he added as he took a long drag of his cigarette, straightening his posture out.

You remembered the article and the old ladies words. Tommy was found dead slouched in his office chair, he was too weak, barely alive. He never made that call in time.

" You get to go back, each year...to try and change the outcome though? You asked him, a hint of hope in your eyes for him.

"Now how do you know that?" He said as he tilted his head narrowing his eyes at you.

" The old lady on Watery Lane" you replied apprehensively, like you was not supposed to be entrusted with this knowledge.

He scoffed shaking his head in disbelief as he made his way back over to sit on the old secretary desk.

" She talks too much that one" he said as he went to light another cigarette. You watched him as he lit the match once again, the small glow of the flame warming his face for a brief moment. You found yourself unknowingly staring at him once again. Shit, was your friend right? Were you captivated by him.

Tommy however noticed your staring, a cocky smile formed on his mouth as his lit cigarette burned between his lips.

"Y/L/N" he said aloud pulling you from whatever daydream you had entered this time.

"What?" You answered flustered, cheeks now an embarrassing shade of red.

"Y/L/N" he replied once more. " You wouldn't happen to be related to the Y/L/N's that live just outside of north Birmingham, would you?"

" There's lots of Y/L/N that live around Birmingham" You said looking at him as his eyes sparked with mischievousness.

"I know everyone in and outside of the city love, and your last name I have only heard a few times" He said shaking his finger at you. " Mill Street, no?"

Oh fuck, it had never occurred to you that he might have known your ancestors. What was he going to do, go back and have them offed for their great granddaughters incessant nosiness into the life of Birmingham's most dangerous Gangster.

" It must be another Y/L/N family, mine only moved to Birmingham recently" you lied through your teeth.

Getting up from the desk his hands in his pockets, he walked over to the other side of the room all the time watching you with a smirk on his face. He knew you was lying. You wasn't exactly very good at it, fidgeting hands, eyes down to the floor cheeks crimson red. He found it almost endearing, watching you stumble out a lie to protect your family. From what he remembered your family were good people, your great grandfather a respected man and a force to be reckoned with, not that different from himself, but nonetheless hardworking and honest.

"Don't worry love, I'm not going to go back and have them killed" he said like he was reading your mind.

" I wasn't thinking that" you replied as confidently as you could only to be betrayed by your restless hands once more. "...I need to get going" you added looking at him as he nodded to you.

Walking over to the desk you started putting all the various newspaper clippings, documents and papers back in the folder.

"Leave the photo" he said as he watched you.

Nodding, you started heading for the stairs until Tommy's hand caught you by your hip.

"Will you come back?" He asked turning his head to face you as he looked down into your eyes, his hand still on your waist.

"Yes" you nodded smiling to him as he smiled back. Now at the top of the stairs you turned around to face him.

"Bye Tommy"

"Goodbye Y/N"

NEXT PART

Tag list: @theshelbyclan

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby fanfic #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby

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dmwrites · 4 months

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2023 fic roundup! Thanks for reading my stuff this year!

Below is all of the fic links, summaries, and any additional notes (in chronological order) from yours truly:)

NPC Bdubs: an in-game explanation to why Bdubs didn’t upload his Limited Life pov- Cleo notices that Bdubs is acting a little weird, almost like some kind of non-playable character.

The Coral Kids’ Keeper: Martyn and Scott live out on a island on the sea on the Limited Life server, and a sea creature that calls himself xbcrafted take interest in them. He protects them. He is here to protect them, right? (Dm note: oh my goddd I love this one still I love the horror at the end [I may just be biased to xb tbh lol])

Impulse’s post-death affirmation: Impulse got second place in Limited Life, and Skizz is so proud of him.

Clock Full of Love: Impulse gave Bdubs a clock in the beginning of Limited Life. At the end, Cleo adds her own touch to it.

Grian and Scar’s punishment: It all started when Grian and Scar touched his (Doc’s) redstone (tunnel bore). Their punishment? Zombiecleo scolding them.

Talks of Adoration on the Tower of Team TIES: Etho and Impulse have more in common then they think, and reflect on it all one sleepless night in the Team TIES base

Big and Handsome God Has A Big Sad: the empires s2 server can’t be empty, right? Sure, Joel hasn’t seen anyone in forever, but people still love him, surely, right? They wouldn’t all leave him. They wouldn’t. Right? (Dm note: this idea wasn’t executed as well as I would have liked, but I really like the crumbling reality vibes of this one)

Cuddling with the Homies: Grian, Impulse, Scar, and Skizz playing Sons of the Forest. They get one tiny-ass tent to all sleep in. It’s if the “only one bed” trope was four dudes being idiots in the woods in a tent.

I know how to keep you warm;)): the new life smp folks wonder if Chillager Martyn will freeze up if he gets flustered. Scott is up to the task. It’s all silly.

Copper Pearlo takes on The Button (2): Grian and Mumbo stumble upon copper golem Pearl

One Year Later: Double Life ended one year ago (when I posted this fic lol). Impulse makes Bdubs another clock

The CuteGuy Who Stepped Up: Scar needs a CuteGuy sidekick, and Grian does not want to be a sidekick in the slightest. Enter Joe Hills from Nashville, Tennessee. (Dm note: the CuteGuy main character was decided by a poll. This is also my second most-liked fic of 2023)

The Slime Code: Gem is a slime in New Life! She calls Jevin on Hermitcraft to ask about any slime rules she now needs to follow

A Dream of Pink: Joel has a dream of showing a pretty girl with pink hair (who roasts him) his hardcore world builds. She seems familiar…

3rd Life x NightVale: the radio transcript when Cecil Palmer from the town of NightVale interviews a strange man with a red sweater and split knuckles and keeps talking about something that happened in a desert. (Dm note: love this one, definitely caters to a very specific audience, but this one shows up in my notifs almost every day. I think I did a good job at the ad breaks and such.)

Sacrificial Impulse: Grian, Scar, and Skizz died while hunting ghosts with Impulse. Impulse wants to bring them back, no matter the cost. Also, EvilNotion is the ghost hunters’ boss.

xB’s Revenge- a Blood on the Clocktower story: based on the first session of hermitcraft’s BOTC, Iskall accuses xbcrafted of being the demon, and xB becomes the first innocent to die. But xB sticks around after death, and wants the sweetest revenge on Iskall. (Dm note: this one is long as hell but man the concept was so good. Drowned!xb is so good.)

Bdoubledown? How Cute: a brief conversation between Impulse and Skizz about Impulse’s brand new soulmate in Double Life

GIGS gets another G: Gem is jealous that Grian, Impulse, Scar, and Skizz are hunting ghosts, and wants to join in. Pearl, local odd woman, has a way. Possession is fun among friends! (Dm note: this is the most liked fic of this year, which is definitely not what I expected lol)

The Dungeon Is Hungry: Hypno thinks all the superstitions around the Decked Out 2 dungeon are stupid. That is until everything goes sideways and Cub is covered in sculk and pointing a sword at him down in level 4.

The Impossible Task: Martyn gets a very simple, two-word task in Secret Life: find RenTheDog. But Ren isn’t here… right? (Dm note: when I thought of this idea I literally said “ouch!” in my head lol)

GIGGS Hunts a Ghost!: the GIGGS crew gets called on by Zedaph to find and capture evidence of a ghost he claims he has seen haunting hermitcraft. (Dm note: the b-plot grian and zed rivalry is so funny to me idk why I decided they hate each other lolll)

A Moment of Peace: Martyn and Cleo are estranged soulmates in Double Life, and they take a moment to drink some tea and talk about what soulmate they’d like to have if they had a choice.

It Feels Different Now (and that’s a good thing): Pearl has to hurt people on the Secret Life server as part of her task, but she takes no joy in it now. She harkens back to what has changed between Double Life and now.

Jimmy’s Grave: Cleo made Jimmy a grave before he died in Secret Life. He did end up dying that very day, and a mourner comes by his grave when it’s all said and done.

Red: Pearl’s favorite color is red. She is made to be a red name, even when she’s not.

Becoming the Villain of the Server: (secret life) Scar digs up Jimmy’s grave to take his spine, to sell it to Joel, pretending that it’s Lizzie’s. Hey, what else is a man to do? (Dm note: this one fucks so hard, i love how fucked up the idea of it is, what Scar would have to do to make it happen. Eating this.)

From One Lonely Winner to Another: Scar wins Secret Life. Sunflowers grow from his skin to be with him as he goes to succeed the final task. (Dm note: another one I love, I just love the aesthetic of it all.)

#seriously thank you #I honestly can’t believe anyone reads my stuff at all #it’s been so fun and rewarding #here’s to another year of putting blorbos into situations

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mm2022ll · 1 month

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Happy Birthday, Richard O'Brien, the most wonderful man on earth!

Let this magnificent creature be the happiest on the entire planet! May all the gods and fate protect him, may inspiration never leave his life, and may his heart be full of warmth and joy)))

I want to tell you a little about how I got into this beautiful universe, which was created by the amazing Richard O’Brien, which appeared thanks to the phenomenon of his existence and creativity, and which literally saved my life.

I was born and raised in a country and at a time where the bulk of my generation knew absolutely nothing about his “Rocky”, and I greatly regret this. Personally, I myself watched it relatively recently, a few years ago after I found out that it was one of Freddie Mercury’s favorite films (I just went to the cinema to see “Bohemian Rhapsody”, just for fun). I really liked Rocky. When I saw Riff Raff, I thought - wow, what a colorful guy! Very much to my taste). And how he sings, what energy is in his voice when he calls light into his life in “Over at the Frankenstein place”, what willpower is to defeat the main ... villain, or hero, depending on how you look at it). But “on the wave” of Freddie, I was captivated by Frank-n-Furter performed by Tim Curry. I also thought that the film was excellent, especially considering the years of release, everything was beautiful, high quality, understandable and appropriate. In general, a living classic and style icon. However, I still wasn't a fan). I didn’t even realize the significance of Richard for this creation, looking between the lines, and almost immediately conveniently forgetting who played whom. Because immediately after this, several events happened in my life that made me forget about films, and hobbies, and in general, all kinds of entertainment, in general, not very good events.

When, after a couple of years, everything went a little back to normal, I wanted to watch something in the noir style (I like, among other things, noir, as well as gothic and a little horror, although I watch everything that is filmed, in my opinion, good, because in almost any style you can find good examples). I read good reviews for the movie "Dark City" and decided to watch it.

My God! The effect was simply amazing! The film evoked a strong reaction and response in me! I just fell in love with it, with its idea, atmosphere, scenery, characters, and most of all I was hooked by the image of Mr. Hand. I was simply hypnotized by him, he was so good! What grace, what manners, figure, but most importantly - what eyes! Expressive and deep, bright, like stars, and piercing right through you, like two daggers, and at the same time looking a little reproachfully, but understanding everything! Beautiful eyes for which you can give your soul and heart, if demanded. And his smile! It was like I saw heaven when he smiled at Emma in the pier scene, it was just incredible! It was as if the warm sun warmed me in the middle of winter, as if the brightest star in the universe had been lit... He was simply amazing)

Oh, how I wanted to develop his storyline! How I wanted a battle between him and Murdoch, and not just with Mr. Book)) Considering the grace and artistry, skill and photogenicity, colorfulness and appearance of Richard O’Brien, it would be incredible and exciting! He was simply created for such things, and I sincerely don’t understand why so few of him were filmed, including in such films, because he is simply the decoration of everyone in which he played. I think martial arts with dance elements would suit him perfectly). And how I wanted to preserve the inquisitive and most humane of the Strangers! I cried at the end of the film - from the happiness that people will gain relative freedom and the joy of seeing the light, and also from the fact that Mr. Hand died. Some will consider me crazy, and probably very naive, but in my fan version of events it seems to me that if it were not for the memories of the killer that were injected into him, Mr. Hand would still have turned out to be a person, an individual.

Be that as it may, the image of Mr. Hand turned out to be simply magnificent, “Dark City” was a gorgeous film, and I became interested in the actor who played Hand (I didn’t recognize him right away, although I saw that his face seemed familiar to me, and especially his incredible eyes). When I realized that this was the same actor who played Riff Raff in Rocky, I was simply delighted and decided to continue my acquaintance by reading more about him).

And... I disappeared! I entered his world through the back door, fell through and fell like Alice through the rabbit hole into Wonderland, and this door to Richard O’Brien’s universe was Dark City, not Rocky). It turned out to be not just an actor, not just a person, but an absolutely incredible, unimaginable, bright and brilliant personality! Divinely talented, versatile, smart, sarcastic, but at the same time very kind, very complex and deep, beautiful, sophisticated, fragile and at the same time very strong and strong-willed - and all this is one incredible person! I embarked on a journey through his universe, and this journey is still ongoing, and he never ceases to amaze me, and never disappoints me. I learn many things from him, his philosophy of life, I can understand his point of view, I like his perception of this world, I feel the energy in him that is kindred to me (no matter how arrogant it may sound, sorry).

Thanks to Richard O'Brien, I came out of a deep depression. If I may say so, he saved my soul. I am incredibly grateful to him! The fact that I discovered his world, gave my life more color, I wanted to live again. I realized that this world is not as bad as I began to think. Looking through his work, listening to songs, interviews, enjoying shows with his participation - in particular, “The Crystal Labyrinth” (in which you can see him in all his beauty, live, close and a lot) and “The Ink Thief”, I heal my heart from old and new wounds, I draw inspiration and strength - and thank him for this, thank you a thousand times! I think he will never be forgotten; I think he left a mark on this world forever. I think that with his creativity he did something very important in life for each of his fans, helped a huge number of people realize themselves, and for the whole society he showed what real freedom is, what it means to truly live for art and embody art, to be yourself and a muse for others, to be the Sun, and inspire others with your pure, positive thousand-megawatt energy! Happy Birthday to the most wonderful person in the universe! Happy Birthday Richard O'Brien!

#Happy Birthday #Richard O'Brien #Reckless Rick #Dark City #Mr.Hand #The most wonderful man on earth #rocky horror picture show #Crystal maze #Incredible and exciting #Amazing

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joyfulapostate · 2 months

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hi!!

for context, i was raised baptist, im queer, my mother converted in her late 20s i believe? and my father was raised strictly baptist as well. my mom has been listening to sermons on youtube obsessively, and my father will lose his mind if you (collective) say ANYTHING that has even the slightest chance of questioning the bible in any way. i’m closer with my mom than my dad, we both have adhd and im autistic, my dad is emotionally and verbally abusive.

i started questioning pretty much everything since mid 2020 ish??, and i just started accepting the idea that my parents would probably disown me, or at the very least ground me until they’re dead, if they knew anything about me that’s not an ✨image i’ve made specifically for them✨. (my main spotify acc has seen so many mental breakdowns it’s not even funny at this point😐)

anyways i just was wondering if there’s a Specific Reason i’ve been really really drawn to catholicism, catholic guilt, and really anything regarding that? it’s just been like A Thing for me especially really recently and i’m just always sitting there like “why tf do i feel like i have catholic guilt i’ve only stepped foot in a catholic church one single time and it was for a craft show????”

if there’s no specific answer that’s totally cool i just thought i’d try to ask someone who seems to know what they’re talking about bc ive been thinking about it a LOT recently

(i also feel like im letting down my grandma, she was the sweetest lady and she absolutely made my childhood so much better and im so grateful for her. she was pretty much the backbone of her church, she died seven years ago and i just feel like if she saw me now she wouldn’t recognize me even if she had every form of proof in the world it was me. i don’t know if she would even accept i was her grandkid at this point.)

It’s so great that you are giving yourself room to become more than what others expect you to be. We all deserve that. And it takes courage to create space for yourself, especially in a worldview that tends to reduce our self image.

I am so sorry that you are dealing with an abusive situation. Your safety is important and you deserve to have a healthy support system.

I think that the idea of “Catholic guilt” is a more popular trope than guilt from Protestant traditions. I see it mentioned more in personal conversations and in books, TV, and movies. It absolutely makes sense that this idea would resonate with you.

It can be helpful to study other traditions to give you context for your own experience, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to claim something from another religious tradition as your own. It doesn’t sound like that’s what you’re doing, I just try to be careful about stuff like that.

I was also raised in a Protestant faith, but I had Catholic friends and attended Mass at several points in my life. When I was still a believer, it seemed like there was a great chasm between these belief systems. But now that I have some distance from my former faith, I see that they have more similarities than differences. Shame and guilt run through them both. There’s guilt about familial obligations, Jesus’ death, and “sinful” actions. (I personally think that sin is just one god’s opinion and it matters more that we try to treat each other well than follow a non-negotiable rulebook.)

It may not be possible to be totally open now now, but I believe it will be in the future. I didn’t share my doubts when I was still dependent on my parents and it felt awful at the time to keep anything private. Because it felt like privacy implied guilt. But now I am grateful to my past self for waiting until I felt secure enough to share my doubts. I found people who felt safe and confided in them. I built relationships based on mutual respect and informed choices, which hadn't felt possible before.

I still have distance with some of my religious family members. But some of my more progressive family members and I have made a lot of progress in understanding each other. Love can overcome doctrine in many relationships, but not others. It’s a difficult reality to face, especially when you don’t have the opportunity to communicate with them. I know that I had to grieve the people I’d lost and the idea that I would see them in heaven. But there are people in this world who will understand you, support you, and hope for you to have a wonderful and fulfilling life that allows you to grow beyond their expectations. And it sounds like you already are that kind of person for yourself, and that is an impressive accomplishment in its own right.

#exchristian #asks

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aquadestinyswriting · 5 months

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Writing Snippet: A 'What If?'

Alright, so I did a bit of "speculative" writing for the Destiny's New Servants campaign before I took over as GM, trying to figure out where the first GM was going with the story. I've lost most of that writing due to changing laptops and being careless with file transfers over the years (make sure you back up your work kids), but I found this one hidden in the depths of my external hard drive about a month ago.

I vividly recall writing the following piece over the course of about a week. I started the morning after the session where Starhammer died because I wanted to remember every detail of that session, then just... carried on with my ideas of what might happen next.

Now, I was also wondering how best to have Merri leave the picture once I took hold of the reins of the campaign at this point. I had an idea of what I had planned to happen back in Fangthane, but the fact was, the first DM was not going to go easy on us, and it was very likely at least one of the characters would die in the fight against Darkhide. We also knew that Darkhide wanted to rip open the portal to the Pit again, and we'd used up all the God Clay that was left on Titan; what the hell were we going to do if he succeeded? So I wrote something to cover that exact scenario. It all becomes a bit self-indulgent, but that's part of why I like it so much. I apologise in advance to anyone using screen readers, I couldn't think of a decent way to split up the different sections of the story. I'll change it once I come up with something that isn't so much of a pain in the backside for you.

This fairly long piece covers the aftermath of Starhammer's death then skips forward a bit, just as a heads up. The speculative stuff starts after Merri's conversation with Elowyn and Enezeage.

Tags: @druidx, @sparrow-orion-writes , @homesteadchronicles, @warriorbookworm, @mariahwritesstuff, @writeblrsupport, @ashirisu, @thesorcerersapprentice, @blind-the-winds, @freedominique

Elowyn grumbled as Enezeage shimmied down the wall and back onto the street. She got down as the half-orc rolled his shoulders,

“Should we go in after them?” he asked, cracking his knuckles. Elowyn shook her head,

“No, first we need to find Meredith and find out if she wants to press charges.” She said firmly, “We can’t just go in and start arresting people.” Enezeage grumbled, but nodded and looked up the street, noticing that the Celestial Dog had paused in front of what seemed to be a grove of trees. He pointed to it,

“What’s that?” he asked. Elowyn wracked her brain for a moment,

“That’s the Grove of Obad-Hai.” She replied, cautiously running up to it and stopping as she saw a very pale and shaken looking Meredith come out of the trees, along with a man in dark brown clerical robes. The man bowed slightly to the Woodling and turned to Meredith,

“Remember what we said, Daughter of Moradin.” He said sternly, before melding with a nearby tree. Elowyn made a face as the Grove seemed to retract and create a firm barrier around the outside,

“I hate those trees.” She muttered, before turning her attention to Meredith. Upon seeing the look on the Dwarf’s face, she rushed up to her and wrapped her arms around her shoulders,

“Meredith, oh by all the Gods, what happened?” she asked as the other woman began to shake, quite violently, the Woodling noticed. Meredith’s breath hitched as she tried to speak but couldn’t seem to quite manage. Elowyn rubbed her shoulders, “Come on Merri, talk to us.” She said in as soothing as voice as she could manage, waving a hovering Enezeage back slightly. Meredith took a few shallow, shaky breaths and clutched the book she was carrying to her chest tightly,

“St–Starham–mer… he’s– he’s dead.” She finally managed to choke out, tears streaking down her face as the events of the whole evening finally hit her. Elowyn’s hands stopped abruptly, staring at the dwarf with wide-eyed shock,

“Wh–what happened?” she asked in a low voice. Meredith hugged herself tighter,

“The beer… the traitorous swine, he spiked the beer wi–wi’ ooze.” Elowyn’s heart dropped into her stomach,

“Oh no.” she moaned, bringing the traumatized dwarf into a tight hug, “Merri, I’m so, so sorry.” She said, tears stinging her own eyes. Enezeage grunted,

“What about those robed dudes?” he asked gruffly. Elowyn sighed and nodded, gently pushing the dwarf back so she could look at her again,

“I take it those guys showed up when you came outside?” she asked. Meredith nodded,

“Aye, they wanted tae know who I wis an– an’ whit I wis doiin’.” She replied, her voice raw, “I summoned the dug when they drew their swords an’ chased me doon the street.” She finally met Elowyn’s eyes, “They s–said they were bounty hunters.” Elowyn nodded,

“Right ok, Merri I have to ask you this because it’s important.” She said her tone turning a bit firmer, “Do you want to press charges against those guys?” she asked. Meredith fell silent for several long moments, chewing her bottom lip as she thought the question over. Finally, she slowly shook her head. Elowyn bit back a growl of frustration,

“Are you sure? We can get these guys arrested and taken off the streets.” She said. Meredith glanced down at the floor,

“I– It’s no’ worth it.” She said quietly, “D– dinna take this the wrong way, but… I dinna trust that they won’t just get away’ with it.” Elowyn sighed and forced Meredith to look at her. When this was accomplished she pointed to her badge,

“You see this badge?” she said, “That means that I can go arrest those hooligans and get them locked up and make sure they never get out onto the streets again.” Meredith gave the Woodling a sullen glare,

“Then why don’t ye tell that to the officer who tried to kill me when they paid him off.” She retorted bitterly. Enezeage growled,

“Let’s just go take care of them, Elowyn. We know what they’re doing is wrong anyway.” Elowyn looked up at the Monk and shook her head as she came to the realisation that perhaps Meredith might be right,

“No, if Meredith doesn’t want to press charges, then we have no choice in the matter.” She told him firmly. She turned back to the Dwarf, who was still huddled into herself, “Are you sure you don’t want to press any charges?” she asked. Meredith nodded,

“Aye, it’s not as though anyone's gonna waste their time with the only dwarf left in the city anyway.” She muttered darkly. Elowyn sighed heavily,

“Alright.” She said, “Can you at least remember what this officer you ran into looked like?” Elowyn made up a mental image of the man as Meredith described him and nodded firmly. She recalled that he was likely one of the Road Wardens.

‘Right then, looks like I’ll need to go have a word with someone’s superior officer.’ She thought to herself, gently looping her arm around Meredith and guiding the poor woman away from the Grove,

“Come on then, let’s get you home.” She said gently, motioning with her head for Enezeage to take point. The Half-Orc grumbled, but did what he was silently told, tucking his arms into the sleeves of his own robe as the little group finally began to make their way back to Acacia Avenue.

~*~

Meredith rocked back on her heels with a sigh, she was devoted to Moradin, no question about that. However, even as she reached for His grace this morning, there was… nothing. The hollow feeling that was left behind after Starhammer’s death was hitting the young dwarf hard. Darkhide was still a massive threat that needed to be taken care of, but could she even be of any help to the others at this point? That she could not reach her God scared the cleric, although she knew it was unlikely that Moradin had forsaken her it was still disconcerting to receive no response to her daily prayers.

‘Not only that, but the High Priest and Archlector will have felt the shift by now as well.’ She thought to herself as she got up and made her way downstairs to the kitchen.

~*~

Orock had held a lovely service to Starhammer’s memory, Meredith thought, but that she could not hold a proper Dwarven ceremony upset her more than the knowledge that the older dwarf was gone. Elowyn, bless her, had tried to help but the Woodling just could not understand just how deeply Dwarves held their traditions. Unfortunately, even if there had been a body to bury, Moradin was not available to grant any Blessings and Meredith doubted that Throff would want to stick around either. Meredith was still nursing the first mug of ale she had been handed, unable to really bring herself to drink all that much, when a lanky human came rushing into the back room,

“Elowyn! We got a situation at the Garden of Galana!” Farren yelled as he dodged an irate Khord Inititate whose drink he had knocked over. The Woodling was on her feet instantly,

“What kind of situation?” she demanded, kicking Enezeage in the shin to wake him back up and rounding up the rest of her group. Farren grunted,

“Apparently, a bunch of men in black cloaks have a problem with the church’s High Priest and are trying to get into the Garden to ‘have a word’.” Elowyn frowned,

“But why would they…?” Elowyn muttered, trailing off as she realised what the problem was. She glanced over to Meredith, who had grabbed her mace and Book of Moradin and was looking over at the Paladin expectantly. Elowyn sighed and turned to Farren,

“Has the local Watch House responded yet?” she asked. Farren shook his head,

“The Captain in charge said something about it being an ‘ecumenical matter’.” He said, clearly not happy with that explanation. Elowyn frowned and turned to Meredith,

“You’re staying here.” She said simply, gesturing for the rest to follow her. She expected to hear an angry exclamation and to be asked why, so when it didn’t come, Elowyn looked back over her shoulder with a worried frown. Meredith had gone back to her seat, without comment and was back to staring into the mug of ale she had been nursing. Orock frowned as he looked between the dwarf and Woodling, and made his way to stand behind Meredith,

“I’ll keep an eye on her.” He rumbled, “You’d better get going.” He said, laying a large hand on the dwarf’s comparatively tiny shoulder. Elowyn nodded,

“Once we’ve sorted this whole thing out, I’ll get someone to come back and get her.” She said, running out of the Plot Hook and making her way, with the rest of her companions to the other side of the city.

~*~

Elowyn almost skidded to a stop as she finally made it to the Garden of Galana. She had expected that the Abouna would use some clerical magic to keep the area safe. What she hadn’t expected was the sight of a tall human Wizard with auburn hair and spectacles, standing in front of the entrance to the Garden, holding back a very irate group of humans in black cloaks.

“Step aside!” the leader of the people in black cloaks hissed, “There’s a stunty in there that has a very good price on his head.” The Wizard snorted,

“I’m giving you gentleman one last chance to leave before I get upset.” She replied evenly, gripping the Yew staff in her hand a little tighter. Elowyn smiled a little,

“Hey Derren, what do you say we let these fine men know who they’re back-chatting?” she asked, looking up at her partner. Farren, catching the look in the Woodling’s face, grinned,

“Yeah, why not?” he asked, grabbing his cosh. Elowyn looked back at Felix and Enezeage,

“You guys stay back here with Aurri and grab the ones that decide to scarper.” She said, “I think Abouna Shiverstaff and Grand Wizard Frigidwake are a bit more likely to try pressing charges so we can nick this sorry lot.” Enezeage grinned around his tusks and nodded,

“Finally.” He growled. Felix brought his hands into a casting position and nodded. Elowyn looked up to Farren again and nodded, casually walking around the group of men until she came around to the front.

“Is there a problem, Grand Magus?” Elowyn asked, using her best ‘on the beat copper’ voice. The leader whirled around, a little panicked as he suddenly seemed to realise just who it was he was up against. Selene smirked a little and looked over to Elowyn,

“Good afternoon, Officer O’Toreguard, Officer Breakwood.” She greeted happily, “I was just asking these fine gentlemen to leave the area.” She explained, “They seem to have this ridiculous notion that they can collect a bounty on the good Abouna’s head, despite Toreguard Law clearly stating that all religious figures are under the full protection of the Drakemarie Empire.” She added. Elowyn tapped her chin thoughtfully,

“Really now?” she asked, turning to the group of humans, “What do you lot have to say about these accusations then?” she asked politely. The leader, who had backed off, glowered at the Woodling,

“Seems like there was a bit of a misunderstanding.” He said in a low voice, “We weren’t aware that the… dwarf that was in the area was the High Priest of the church.” He said. Elowyn looked at her fingernails and tutted,

“Well you see, that’s a bit of a problem. I was under the impression that the few Dwarves still in the city were still protected from murder and abuse under general Toreguard Law, not just the religious figures.” She said, glancing up to her partner, “Officer Breakwood, what do you think?” she asked. Farren tapped his cosh against his boot,

“I think you’re right, O'Toreguard.” He said, “I don’t recall any news about changes to the law, I think I’d remember if someone said something about Dwarves being fair game.” The leader of the other group backed up some more,

“Well, we’ll just be on our way then.” He said, turning around in an attempt to get away, only to find that the people at the back had already been either knocked out or frozen in place as they tried to flee. Enezeage cracked his knuckles,

“Hullo there sunshine.” He growled, grinning somewhat menacingly. The human grunted as Farren grabbed his wrists and cuffed him. Elowyn turned to Selene,

“Well at least now we can get this lot booked once we get them to the nearest station.” She said. The Wizard nodded,

“I believe I can help with that.” She smiled. She looked up to a nearby rooftop and whistled. Almost immediately a large magpie flew down and fluttered onto her shoulder. Selene tickled the bird under his beak, “Chrackle, take this down to the nearest Watch House, we need a couple of wagons to take these fine gentlemen there.” She said, quickly taking out a slip of parchment and quill and making a note. The magpie chuckled as she tied the note to its leg. Selene rolled her eyes,

“After you get back. Stop being greedy.” She chastised. The magpie chuckled again as it flew off. Selene looked at the group of men, who were being rounded up by Farren and Enezeage, then turned to Elowyn,

“Thank you for the help Elowyn.” She sighed, pushing her glasses up her nose, “I didn’t want to have to resort to casting anything to scare them off.” Elowyn nodded as she leaned against the outer wall around the Garden, watching as Farren read the whole group their rights

“I know, at least I’ve managed to get a hold of these guys now.” She sighed, shaking her head. Selene frowned down at the Woodling,

“What happened?” she asked in a low voice. Elowyn shook her head sadly,

“These guys don’t know it, but Enezeage and I know exactly what they’re about. Merri sent a Celestial Dog to find us because she was in trouble. She ran into these guys last night and they chased her all the way from the Dwarven District to the Grove of Obad-Hai.” Selene frowned,

“Why didn’t she stay in the temple?” she asked, “Between them she and Starhammer should have…” Elowyn was shaking her head again,

“Starhammer’s dead Selene.” The Woodling said, her voice tight. “By the time ‘Zeage and I got there, the temple didn’t look too good either.” Selene sighed heavily and pushed her glasses up her nose,

“Egrim’s not going to be pleased with the news.” She muttered, “Once word reaches Fangthane about that, every dwarf in the vicinity is going to get called back there and Father Shiverstaff only just got this place back up and running.” The two women watched as a paddy wagon rumbled up the street and the robed men were loaded onto. Chrackle landed on Selene’s shoulder with a satisfied croak. The Wizard fished out a regular gold coin from her purse and handed it to the bird, who chuckled happily. The captain of the nearby watchhouse approached and saluted Selene smartly,

“Do we know if the High Priest wishes to press charges?” he asked. Elowyn stepped forward,

“Elowyn O’Toreguard, watchhouse eight sir.” She greeted smartly with a salute of her own, “If you will allow the Grand Wizard and myself an hour or so to talk to the Abouna about the matter we can let you know as soon as we can.” The Captain narrowed his eyes slightly, but nodded,

“Very well then. I will get these lads back to the watchhouse while we wait.” He said stiffly. Once he was gone, both Elowyn and Selene frowned in concern,

“ Do you think they might get away with it after all that?” Elowyn asked quietly. Selene sighed,

“Almost certainly.” She replied heavily, “But we can’t dwell on that right now. I think we’d better let Egrim know they’re gone.” The Wizard looked expectantly at her familiar, who croaked in acknowledgement and fluttered to a heavy vine. The bird cocked its head for a moment before tapping on the wood. After a moment the vines retracted and another Woodling popped her head out of the door to the church,

“Elowyn, Selene?!” she exclaimed, rushing out and pulling the Paladin into a hug, “Oh, I’m so glad you’re safe! I was so worried!” Selene smiled and nodded in greeting, while Elowyn hugged the other woman,

“I know mum. Look, can we come in and see the Abouna? It’s important.” Oakrose nodded,

“Of course dear, come on in, all of you. I’ll get the kettle on.” The whole group were ushered inside and told to wait in the refectory. Selene held up a hand before going inside. She quickly gestured and muttered a few words, a silver shimmer hanging in the air for a few moments before dissipating. The Wizard nodded, satisfied,

“That should keep out any further, unwanted guests.” She said as Oakrose gave her a concerned look. The older Woodling shrugged and went back to work while Selene joined the others. After a few moments a dwarf with a wood-brown beard and blue(?) eyes bustled into the room. He seemed relieved to see who had shown up,

“Ta fer gettin’ rid of’ those idiots out there.” He said giving everyone a grateful smile, “ I wis off a mind tae ask the Council what the bloody hells they were playin’ at an’ getting’ help from the Druids.” Selene shook her head,

“You honestly didn’t think I would leave you to deal with those hooligans yourself, Egrim?” she asked. The dwarf waved his hand,

“Ach! I ken you would’t Sel, ye’re pretty much the only one on tha bloody thing that's no’ a backstabbing–” Elowyn held up her hand,

“Ok I think we get the idea Abouna.” She chuckled, “The ‘idiots’ as you call them, have all been arrested on various charges so they shouldn’t be bothering you again.” Egrim snorted derisively,

“Until they’re all released again in a week, tops.” He retorted. He shook his head upon seeing the expression on Elowyn’s face at his comment, “Dinna get me wrong, child, but I’m no’ blind nor deaf. Aside from myself, yon wee cleric friend an’ a handfull o’ Slayers, there’s no one else left this side o’ Fangthane.” He pointed out. Elowyn’s face fell,

“If I can get enough evidence…” She said desperately. The dwarf sighed heavily,

“Elowyn, lass, I ken ye’re tryin’ yer best, but ye’re only one of a very few that actually care about this.” He nodded to Farren, who was making up a fresh rollie. The human shrugged,

“Hate to break it to you kid, but ours is the only Watchhouse that was still going anywhere near the Dwarven district.” He lit the cigarette and took a drag, “I think the Council are pretty much just looking the other way until it all ‘blows over’, especially since we’ll be under siege by a massive horde of undead in about a day or so.” Egrim barked out a humourless laugh,

“’Blows over’ he says. Bah!” the dwarf went over to a nearby ale cask, drew himself a tankard, checked the contents and took a swig, “Given what happened last night, they’ll be lucky if they’re no’ fightin’ a fresh war immediately after this.” Elowyn’s eyes went wide and looked between the Abouna and Selene,

“But why would they do something like that?” she asked plaintively. Selene sighed heavily,

“Mostly because the whole city has likely been placed on the Fangthane Book of Grudges, Elowyn.” She explained, “From what Edwin told me the last time I contacted him, the Low King is under a lot of pressure from the displaced dwarves that are now living there to get some kind of retribution for the people that have lost their homes, livelihoods and even family members.” Elwoyn shook her head,

“But Starhammer wasn’t even killed by this Brotherhood of the Cleave. They were still outside and waiting when Merri came out of the temple.” She protested. That earned her a confused look from the Abouna, who paused while taking another swig of ale,

“Wait, what?” he asked, putting his tankard down, “So if those bastards weren’t responsible, who was?” Enezeage snorted,

“From what Meredith told us last night, it looks like it was that Grinbeard guy.”

“Grimebeard? Garl Grimebeard?” the dwarf asked, looking between the rest of Elowyn’s group. Elowyn nodded,

“Yeah, turns out he had forsaken Moradin and was poisoning people with Oozes disguised as beer. I thought we took care of him?” she asked looking over to Felix and Enezeage. Felix shook his head slowly,

“No, it was one of the other members of his family, remember?” he replied, “The others had long gone by the time we took care of the Clay Golem created out of that poor gnome and the Oozes in the cauldrons.” Both Elowyn and Egrim looked like they were going to be sick,

“We never got around to trying to find the rest of them.” Elowyn muttered, “I honestly thought it was Garl we took care of and the rest just scarpered.” She buried her head in her hands. Selene looked over to Egrim with worry,

“What’s the matter, Egrim?” she asked. The dwarf sat down heavily,

“I’ve been in contact with Fangthane a lot recently, fer obvious reasons. I wis wonderin’ aboot tha rumours goin’ about around some folk goin’ missing’ recently. I don’t think the activities of ol’ Grimebeard has been limited tae Toreguard.”

“You think he might be responsible for the disappearances?” Selene asked. The Abouna nodded,

“Ragnarsson mentioned somethin’ about finding some bad beer in the Cathedral’s cellar. I didn't think anything’ of it at first, even dwarven beer goes bad if it’s kept long enough, but…”

“They’re trying to get rid of every Moradin worshipper they can.” Selene muttered, “But why?” the wizard looked up at her old friend, “We need to get word to Fangthane about this, now.” She said firmly, “

“There might be a problem with that, lovies.” Oakrose said as she came into the refectory, handing Egrim a scroll. The Dwarf unrolled it and quickly read through it. He crumpled the parchment not long after,

“Bollocks tae that.” He swore, tossing the balled up parchment to the floor. Selene sighed,

“Let me guess, all communications out of the city have been forbidden, including all scrying and other magical means?” she asked lightly. Elowyn groaned as the dwarf nodded with a weary sigh,

“An’ afore ye ask, I rather think they’ll include familiars as magical objects.” Selene snorted,

“I’m well aware of that Egrim.” She snipped, “Luckily, if there’s one thing Alexis did manage to teach me in the time I travelled with her, it’s to never just rely on one or two methods of communication. That and to never kowtow to a giant red lizard who thinks he’s smarter than you.” She added. Elowyn frowned in confusion,

“What are you going to do?” she asked nervously. The Wizard honestly scared her sometimes. Selene sent the Woodling a reassuring smile,

“Just going to visit an old friend to ask for a bit of help.” She said, “But first, I think I’d better go and fetch your cleric. She’ll be safer here.”

~*~

Much, much later

Darkhide laughed maniacally even as the last of his life seeped from him,

“You’re too late.” he coughed wetly, spraying blood, “The portal is open, the way is clear. A– and you have no God Clay to– to save you.” He chuckled, his throat gargling. Elowyn dropped to her knees, despair written all over her features. Enezeage had bowed his head and placed his hands in his sleeves, while Felix cried out in anger and anguish. Quintin closed his eyes and prayed silently to Correlon Lorethion for a swift death. Meredith, however, struggled to her feet,

“No.” she growled, wincing from the beating Darkhide had given her earlier, “I am not admitting any sort of defeat to you.” She spat, glaring at the Necromancer. Darkhide grinned darkly,

“Do I need… to remind you girl? Moradin… is dead.” He said, now gasping for air. Meredith snorted, looking over at the giant rend in the earth in front of the group.

“I heard ye the first time, ye bag o’ wind.” She said flatly, “But ye never said anything’ about Throff.” She added, glancing back at the dying human. Darkhide frowned momentarily, then his eyes widened,

“No.” he croaked, his last breath finally leaving him as he attempted to reach out towards Meredith, who was staggering over to the portal’s edge. Elowyn jumped to her feet,

“Merri? What are you doing?” the Paladin yelped, racing up next to the dwarf. Meredith looked down at the chasm with a determined expression,

“Finishing’ this.” She replied. She looked up at Elowyn, “Take the others, and run.” She commanded, “If this doesn’t work, ye’ll need tae evacuate as many people as ye can from the Plains.” Elowyn frowned and shook her head quickly,

“But what about you?” she asked. Meredith sighed and glanced back at the chasm,

“That doesn’t matter.” She said quietly, she looked back up at the Woodling sharply, “Now get goin’!” she snapped, a ripple of power washing over Elowyn. The Paladin tried to resist, but found herself unable to. She glared back at the dwarf, even as her feet took her away, tears stinging in her eyes. Meredith watched her friends leave, guilt tearing at her heart,

“I’m sorry.” She muttered, “But this is my burden to bear.” The Inquisitor turned back to the portal, took a deep breath and knelt. She took a moment and then began to cast,

“Throff, gentle Mother of my people, know that I do not make this request of You lightly. I am fully aware of the cost involved and I will pay it.” She prayed, gathering up as much power as she could muster, “Please, grant me the strength to close this abomination, to heal this world that has been wounded so badly already.” She begged, tears stinging her eyes. After a moment, Meredith felt the earth beneath her ripple slightly. She smiled softly; there may not have been any spare God Clay left, but wasn’t Titan made of the stuff? The Dwarf closed her eyes tightly, pushing yet more power into the spell, feeling it drain her very soul as the earth finally began to move, closing the portal to the Abyss. Demons, who had been making their way up from the bottom of the Pit, screeched as slowly, their means of escape closed in around them. They pushed back and the spell wavered.

Meredith was almost completely tapped out, black spots obscured her vision as she felt the resistance,

“No,” she breathed, “I–I am not letting…” her breathing became shallower as she tried to push yet more power into the Shaping spell. It was then she felt a gentle brush on her shoulder. She blinked back the blackness creeping into her vision and looked in the direction the touch had come from. Stringwhiskers, limned in a golden light, twitched his nose at her,

“We know what you doing.” He squeaked, “We come to help.”

“You got this Merri, keep going.” Alphonse’s voice encouraged from somewhere behind her. Looking around at the faces of her deceased friends and travelling companions, Meredith nodded and glared at the portal, which was slowly pushing back open. Gathering up what little strength she had left, the dwarf pushed it all into the spell. The earth rumbled violently as the two opposing forces clashed, but finally, with a deafening ‘boom!’ the portal snapped shut. The hand of a Balor that had been unlucky enough to get in the way, wavered then disintegrated into dust on the wind as everything finally settled. A weak ray of sunlight lit up the ground where the portal had been and a bird flew over and perched on the out of place hammer that glinted as the clouds above Castle Dire finally broke.

When the Command spell finally wore off Elowyn and the others, they were most of the way along the road to Toreguard. Almost immediately, the Woodling spun around and began marching back up the road towards Castle Dire,

“When I get a hold of that girl, she is getting the earbashing of the century!” she snarled. Felix tugged on her arm nervously,

“What was Merri even doing?” he asked. Elowyn shook her head,

“The stupid woman’s probably trying to close the portal by herself.” She replied. Enezeage strode in front of the Woodling,

“Then maybe, it’s a good idea to do what we were told?” he suggested. Elowyn was about to give the Monk a scathing reply, when the earth under their feet rumbled. Felix squeaked and grabbed a hold of Quintin’s leg. The Elf staggered a little at the sudden gesture, but was quick to find his footing again. Enezeage grabbed a hold of Elowyn’s arm as the Paladin fell back with the sudden movement, a large, squat sea of calm amidst the chaos. Felix looked around in awe as the tremor ceased,

“Whoa, someone’s either being really stupid or really brave to try casting this big a spell.” He said, his eyes wide. Elowyn frowned and checked to see if there was anyone evil nearby that was attempting to cast something new. The only hint of red she found though, was a brilliant glow up where the portal had been opened.

“OK, ow. Remember that big ass portals to the Abyss don’t need to be checked for Evil.” She muttered as she blinked her vision back. Felix shook his head,

“It’s not an arcane spell.” He called as another, larger rumble shook the road beneath them. He waited until the new tremor had passed before continuing as he studied the lines of power only he could see, “I think… yeah, it’s Divine Magic. It’s all white and gold.” Elowyn paled and looked up towards Castle Dire,

“Merri, what are you playing at?” she whispered. Aurianna mewled from her perch on the Paladin’s shoulder,

“I think she’s trying to use a Shape spell to close the portal.” She said quietly. Elowyn frowned,

“How? There’s no God Clay left, right?” she asked, now beginning to panic. Enezeage hummed as he realised something,

“That’s true,” he rumbled, “but what did Titan make the world out of?” he asked. Elowyn’s eyes went wide as an even bigger tremor rumbled through the earth, causing everyone to lose their footing. Once it was over, a massive ‘Boom!’ rent the air then… the earth stilled. The group looked at one another questioningly as they got up. After no further tremors came along, Elowyn rushed up the road as fast as her legs could carry her, at least until Enezeage hoisted her onto his shoulder and ran the rest of the way for her.

Once they reached the top, the group looked around in shock. Darkhide’s body was still pretty much exactly where it had been left, as had the bodies of the other Cabal members and the undead. There was, however, no sign of the portal. Or of Meredith. Elowyn was let down as Enezeage looked around in confused awe,

“MERRI!” Elowyn called desperately. She ran around the grounds of Castle Dire, looking for any sign of her old friend, “MEREDITH!” She ran around the rest of the huge courtyard, “Meredith Gruksdottir, you get your ass over here right now!” There was no reply, aside from the croaking of the ravens that had come along to feast on the dead. Quintin quickly came around the corner,

“Elo, I think you need to come have a look at this.” He called. The elf looked confused and upset. Elowyn rushed over to him,

“What’s going on?” she asked. The Ranger held out an elaborate mace. It was made of the best Iron and etched all over with Dwarven Runes. Meredith’s warmace. Elowyn reached out to touch it, but quickly withdrew her hand,

“Where did you find this?” she asked sharply. Quintin turned around and nodded to the courtyard behind him,

“Next to the edge of where the portal should have been.” He replied heavily, “We’ve looked everywhere in the area. There’s no sign of her besides this.” Elowyn glared at the elf,

“There has to be!” she snapped, her voice tight with emotion as she ran over to where the portal had been less than an hour before. Quintin sighed and followed the Woodling at a more sedate pace, tickling a raven that had landed on his shoulder under its beak.

Elowyn reached the knoll where the portal had not long before torn a hole through reality to the Abyss and looked around desperately, tears streaming down her face. The rest of her party finally arrived in the area, looking as lost and confused as the Woodling felt. She looked at each other them, still hoping there was something, anything else. Slowly they shook their heads. Cragspine approached the Woodling, who was now hugging her knees into her chest and sobbing. He gently touched the Paladin’s hand,

“Meredith might not be here, but portal is gone.” He said in a low voice, “This place saturated with Divine Magic, she obviously successful.” He pointed out. Elowyn really didn’t take too much comfort in the little Kobold’s words. The Dwarf, despite some of her faults, had managed to more or less survive their entire journey and had been a welcome, steady presence when everything had, as they often said to one another, ‘turned to shit’.

“It’s not fair.” She sniffled, “Why did all the big stuff have to fall on just her?” Cragspine shook his head,

“The Gods are fickle.” He reminded her, “Come, we go tell big human peoples news.” He said gently, tugging on the sleeve of the Woodling’s overcoat. Elowyn lifted her head and slowly shook her head,

“You guys go on ahead, I need a minute.” Cragspine looked back at Enezeage with a questioning expression. The Half-Orc nodded and shooed everyone else back to the road to Toreguard. The Monk turned to Elowyn,

“Don’t be too long.” He rumbled. Elowyn nodded as he turned around and followed the others. When she was finally alone, Elowyn knelt on the grass and prayed,

“I hope you managed to find wherever it was you wanted to go.” She said, fresh tears making their way down her cheeks, “You really do have a bad habit of wanting to outdo yourself though, don’t you?” she laughed, “I will personally make sure that what you managed to accomplish today is properly recognised though. Maybe once word gets out about it, people back home will stop being such dicks to Dwarves again.” She looked at her hands, which were balled up on her knees, “I’m going to really miss you. I mean, it’s no fun being the only girl with a bunch of men and who am I going to complain about Gorgeous with now?” The Paladin sighed heavily, “Sleep well, Sister. Hope you’re waiting with a mug of decent beer by the time I join you up there.” She said with a faint smile. The Woodling pulled herself to her feet and looked up at the sky above her, saluted and finally left.

~*~

Even though it was well after dark by the time Elowyn and what remained of her party got back to Toreguard, General Strucker was waiting at the gates for them,

“Did you manage to stop him?” he asked, clearly nervous about the answer he was about to receive. Enezeage, who had picked up Darkhide’s body on his way back, dropped it at the General’s feet,

“There’s the evidence.” He grunted. The General slowly grinned at the sight,

“So it’s over.” He breathed, “At last.” He gestured for one of the guards with him to take the body, “Get that to the Wizard’s Tower, no doubt they’ll want to make sure that there’s no chance of him being resurrected or have any other means of coming back.” He ordered. Two of the guards saluted, picked up the body and carted it off immediately. The General frowned as he looked the group over, “Hang on a minute, what happened to your Dwarf friend?” he asked. Elowyn stepped forward, Meredith’s mace in her hands,

“She fell closing a new portal to the Abyss that Darkhide managed to open before he died.” She said quietly, “If it’s all the same to you, General, I’d rather explain the situation in front of people who know more about magic than I do.” She requested. The General’s face fell as he regarded the beautiful weapon and nodded,

“Indeed. Come, I’ll arrange for a full Wizard’s council in the main Council Chambers for you. Grand Magus Frigidwake is something of a night owl these days and I’ve no doubt she’ll want to know exactly what happened.” He said. Felix coughed, getting the man’s attention,

“You might want to call on some of the religious leaders as well.” The gnome said, “Meredith was, after all, a cleric of Moradin.” The General nodded again,

“Duly noted, Master Gnome, I shall take note of that. But enough, I rather think you all deserve a bit of rest before you get bombarded from all sides with questions.” He said rather more gently, “We’ve arranged for you to stay in the Plot Hook overnight so that you can have a bit of a lie in.” Everyone nodded tiredly, following the General to a rather large and luxurious carriage and piling inside. By the time Orock showed them all to their rooms, they were all already mostly asleep and dead to the world by the time their heads hit their pillows.

~*~

Elowyn found herself feeling oddly calm as she waited outside the main council chambers the next morning. Perhaps, she thought, it was the absence of the Merchant’s Guild, or maybe it was because she had a decent night’s sleep for the first time in what seemed like forever. No matter what the reason, she walked confidently into the large chamber, alongside her friends, who also seemed far more at ease. Selene smiled at the group warmly as she took her seat at the head of the chamber and waited for the rest of the Wizard’s Council and Toreguard’s Religious Council to sit. This done, she leaned forward in her chair,

“Elowyn O’Toreguard, Paladin of the Light and Sergeant of Watchhouse 8, Northwest Precinct, can you please explain to the council what, exactly, transpired at Castle Dire yesterday morning and afternoon?” she asked calmly. The Woodling nodded and stepped forward, telling the combined Head Wizards and Religious leaders of the fight with Darkhide and the rest of the Cabal, of Darkhide’s apparent defeat then his opening of a new portal to the Abyss that was made permanent with the sacrifice of what seemed to be the population of a nearby village. She then went on to explain how, despite being beaten bloody and almost to death earlier, Meredith, Inquisitor of Moradin, had refused to admit defeat and sent the rest of her party away.

“We’re not sure what she did,” Elowyn said, her throat tightening at the memory, “but whatever it was, she managed to completely and utterly seal the portal. The only thing we could find of her when we returned to Castle Dire, was her warmace.” She finished, gesturing to the item, which had been placed on a plush cushion on a table near the front of the room. The Head Priest of Pellor stood and regarded the mace with a curious expression,

“I must admit, my fellows and I felt a very large pull of Divine Magic just before the earthquakes started.” He said, looking around at his fellow High Priests, who were all nodding, “How this single cleric accomplished such a thing is… well none of us have been able to work it out.” He admitted, “Normally a large ritual has to be involved to pull such a large amount of magic into a single area.”

“Perhaps I can help with your query.” A voice quavered from behind Elowyn. She frowned as Selene’s eyes went wide and the Wizard stood with a hasty, deep bow. She looked over her shoulder to find a very elderly dwarf come into the room, escorted by several beardlings and leaning heavily on an elaborate metalwork staff. Elowyn bowed deeply as well, though noting with worry that the old dwarf appeared to be quite unwell.

“Archlector Vanskleig, it is a real honour to have you visit us.” Selene said, her tone worried as, she too, noted that the old dwarf was clearly unfit to have travelled such a long distance, “Someone get him a seat!” she snapped as she hurried down from her position to assist the beardlings in helping him to a chair that was conjoured by a junior wizard. The elderly dwarf smiled warmly at the Wizard as she knelt in front of him,

“Do you require anything, Archlector, a drink of water perhaps?” she asked Vanskleig shook his head,

“No, child. I am here to find out what happened yesterday.” He replied evenly, “I am afraid I do not travel well using portals.” He added. Selene nodded and stepped back, looking over to Elowyn,

“Elowyn, dear, can you quickly summarise what happened at Castle Dire again?” she asked. Elowyn, despite how soul sick she felt to recall the events again, nodded,

“Of course, Grand Magus.” She replied. Taking a moment to centre herself again before repeating what she had told the Council. Once she was done, the Archlector nodded,

“You recall that Meredith was a Shaper, correct?” he asked. Elowyn thought back to when the group had visited Fangthane the first time and nodded,

“Yes, Your Holiness, I do.” She replied, “However, I do not see how that would have helped matters.” She admitted. Vanskleig smiled, his grey eyes twinkling,

“Ah, but it does help. Quite a lot actually.” He replied with a weary chuckle. He looked around the rest of the Council, “The ability to Shape is a rare one.” He said, “It only occurs once in every three or four Dwarven generations, and has only ever been found in one family line.” He explained, “Few know of the Redhammer Clan, but when they were exiled from Fangthane we believed the ability to Shape had been lost to the worshippers of Moradin and Throff forever.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, “That is, until young Meredith Gruksdottir displayed the ability; at a very young age as I recall.” He shook his head, “The gift of Shaping is a blessing from Throff, She who found the Magic Clay. It would seem that when the portal to the Abyss was opened, Meredith realised that the only way to close it permanently was using what had since become known as God Clay.” He explained. Selene shook her head as several voices piped up,

“Wasn’t it used to seal up the portal under the Wizard’s Tower?”

“I didn’t think there was any of it left.”

“Where would you even get the stuff from anyway.”

The Grand Magus sighed and slammed her staff on the floor,

“If you must ask questions, do so one at a time!” she snapped, “I should not need to remind any of you about good manners!” The High Priests and Wizards who had stood up to ask their questions all at once sat back down, looking suitably embarrassed with themselves. Selene turned back to the Archlector, who was chuckling,

“Ah, now that’s the young Wizard I remember hearing about ten years ago, I did wonder what had happened to her.” He noted with a warm, grandfatherly smile. Selene bit back an embarrassed laugh as the Archlector proceeded to look around the Council Chamber again,

“As to your questions. Yes, there is no more spare God Clay that we know of, however is not Titan made of the stuff?” he asked. Before anyone could answer, he was talking again, “From what has been described, it would seem that Throff, upon seeing the calamity that was unfolding, granted young Meredith a chance to use Titan itself to seal this new portal.” The Archlector sighed heavily, “Of course, such a casting requires a significant cost.” He looked over to the mace at the far end of the room, suddenly seeming so much older than he already was, “Clearly young Gruksdottir felt that the price asked was worth the safety of Allansia, if not all of Titan.” He said, his voice low and heavy with grief. Silence reigned as the enormity of what had actually happened settled on the rest of the Chamber. That one lone dwarf had sacrificed everything to prevent a disaster worse than had occurred ten years ago from happening again was, clearly, quite a lot to take in. Selene nodded gravely,

“Thank you, Archlector. It looks like we all have rather a lot to reflect upon. Especially given the behaviour of some of the city’s people towards the Dwarven people as of late.” She stood and regarded her fellows, “I think it would be best if we took a recess for the next four hours. When we get back, we will discuss what needs to be done to properly celebrate and honour those who have already given this city so much.” She glanced over to Elowyn and the others as she spoke, striking her oaken staff on the floor and sweeping out of the room. Elowyn ignored the mumble of conversation going on as she approached the Archlector and knelt before him,

“Your Grace, I have a couple of questions if I may.” She said quietly, Aurianna quickly scampering up beside her. The Archlector regarded the Paladin and nodded, waving off his beardling assistants,

“I’ll be alright, I will call when we are done.” He assured them gently. The eldest of them bowed politely and ushered the other outside, knowing that this was a private matter. Elowyn smiled gratefully to the old dwarf,

“Thank you.” She said. Vanskleig motioned for her to sit,

“It is no trouble, child. You are clearly worried about something and wish for guidance. I would be a poor cleric to ignore such a request.” He assured her. Elowyn shifted uncomfortably,

“Darkhide said during the fight against him that… he said Moradin was dead.” She said, trying not to avoid the subject, “I assumed he was merely trying to scare Meredith, but before we left the city, she mentioned that she had not been able to reach Him.” She looked up at the Archlector with worry, “Was Darkhide telling the truth? I thought Moradin had merely forsaken Toreguard following Starhammer’s untimely death.” Vanskleig sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair thoughtfully,

“As a friend of Meredith, I feel safe in letting you know what has happened.” He said, “However, this information is to go no further than us unless it becomes something that needs to be dealt with.” He told her firmly. Elowyn nodded, hugging her knees to her chest by now,

“You have my word Archlector.” She said. The elderly dwarf nodded, satisfied,

“The Dwarven people are currently in crisis, my dear.” He explained, “There is much upheaval occurring at the moment both in Fangthane, and until recently, here in Toreguard. As a result of what has happened here of late, Moradin’s followers have become… unsure of themselves and their faith is wavering. As a result, Moradin is less powerful than He would normally be and is attempting to consolidate Himself.” Vanskleig sighed, “My faith in the Dwarf Father is as strong as ever, my dear, however, I am old and while I have a replacement, I worry for my people following my passing.” Elowyn nodded,

“That’s– That’s some heavy stuff. But I am glad to know that Moradin still exists. It eases my heart just a little.” The Archlector smiled,

“You cared very deeply for her, that much is clear.” He said in a low voice, “When I return to Fangthane, I will ensure that young Meredith is properly remembered by all under the mountain. While she passed far, far too young, she was devoted not just to Moradin, but to her people and her world. Take strength in the knowledge that you knew Meredith for who she truly was, not the legend she will obviously become.” He advised. Elowyn nodded, wiping at her eyes as they welled up again,

“Thank you Archlector, I will.” She replied, getting up and bowing, even as the Archlector called for his assistants.

~*~

Later:

“I ‘eard a little about what happened.” Mrs Higgins said quietly once everyone else had left the kitchen, leaving the Woodling alone with her thoughts. Elowyn looked up at the house’s matron,

“I think the news has made its way most of the way around the city by now.” She said with a weak chuckle. The old human fished out an envelope from the pocket in the front of her pinnie,

“Miss Meredith left this with me before you left to go to Castle Dire.” She said quietly, “Said I should give it you when you got back.” Elowyn took the envelope, her hands shaking slightly as she regarded the firm, almost runic strokes of her old friend’s handwriting. The Woodling nodded to Mrs Higgins,

“Thank you, can you go and fetch me a pot of tea? I think I’ll probably need it after reading this.” She asked in a small voice. The maid nodded in sympathy,

“I’ll go fetch a small pot of brandy to go with as well, dear.” She said, bobbing in a curtsey, before bustling off to the other end of the large kitchen. Elowyn stared at the unopened envelope for several long moments, both longing to read the letter inside, and not yet willing to acknowledge that the dwarf was never coming back. Finally, she broke the wax seal on the back and took out the parchment inside:

Dearest Elowyn,

If you have received this letter, then that means the inevitable has happened. Whatever form this has taken, know that I do not want you, or any of the others, to blame yourselves. When Moradin comes calling, I kind of have to answer Him, right? I wanted to let you know just how much the time we have managed to spend with one another has meant to me.

I know that you love your city and pray to Moradin and Throff both that, once time has had a chance to dull the wounds left behind by this most recent conflict, that our people can live in peace with one another again. I trust that Justice will be done for the atrocities that have been committed, and know that, somehow, you’ll be right there in the middle of it. Please never lose sight of that goal, for I know that it might be the only thing that you have left to cling to when the shadows gather and fate feels like it’s ripped everything and everyone out from under your feet. I tell you this as a reminder. In these last days before we finally face Darkhide, the Light that you have brought into my life has been the only thing keeping me going when I truly believed that I had lost everything.

Even though we have had our differences in opinion, know that I have ever seen you as a Sister and, therefore regard you as kin. No matter the challenges that lay ahead of you, know that I am proud to have stood by your side as you grew from a simple Officer of the Watch into a Paladin that has learned the hard way how to lead and inspire others. Even as both of our peoples face dark and uncertain futures I know that you will be there to help light the way to a better future for all.

Should you ever have need to pass through the lands around Fangthane in your travels, please take the enclosed with you. It will identify you as a close and trusted friend of the Dwarven people and ought to keep you and your travelling companions safe despite the Grudge that will likely be in place by now.

Stay safe òrdugh piuthar and while I hope to meet you again when you finally pass to this next life, I hope it is a very long time coming.

May the rocks stay ever true under your feet,

Meredith, Daughter of Gruk, Son of Ovak

Inquisitor of Moradin 13th level

The sheafs of parchment shook and drops of water splotched the ink as Elowyn finished reading through the letter. Meredith had clearly known that it was unlikely that she would survive the fight against Darkhide. The Woodling frowned through her tears as she realised that there was something else still in the envelope. She gingerly shook whatever it was out onto the table, her heart breaking even further than she ever thought possible as she regarded the item. It was a simple Mythril necklace with a finely crafted dwarven Warhammer attached to it. Both were covered in intricate dwarven runes. Meredith’s Holy Symbol. Elowyn had seen the dwarf use it often enough to Turn the undead to recognise it immediately.

#aquadestinyswriting #titan fighting fantasy #destiny's new servants #titan fighting fantasy au #“speculative” fiction #elowyn o'toregaurde #meredith gruksdottir #enezeage #felix parker-tinker #quentin goldenrose #selene frigidwake #egrim shiverstaff

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thevaudevilledemon · 1 year

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Duck Musings - Why kill off Hortense?

An interesting question popped into my mind recently. It was revealed not too long ago that in the DuckTales 2017 verse, Donald’s and Della’s parents, Hortense McDuck and Quackmore Duck, were actually still alive, even though it has been commonly accepted amongst comic fans that it was safe to assume that the two were dead. Which does beg the question, if Hortense is the youngest of the McDuck children, and both Scrooge and Matilda are alive in the comics, why do we kill off Hortense?

Well the easy answer is that A) it explains why she’s never seen and why it appears that Donald was raised by Grandma Duck and B) fits in with the whole dead Disney Moms cliché. Of course we never get much confirmation that Donald’s parents are dead, but the idea fits in.

However, I think that’s only the surface answer, and by God, if I can overthink something about the Duck Comics, I’m going to overthink it.

Something I find a lot of Duck fans really enjoy, is the tragedy of the characters. I touched upon this when I talked about Gladstone Gander, but his tragedy falls along the lines of “it is lonely at the top”. A lot of writers and fans will explore the tragedy of Gladstone’s complicated relationship with Magica De Spell, Scrooge’s past and his love of wealth, it even slips into fans of the 2017 series, with people making headcanons of fanfictions of Fethry’s isolation in the abandoned sea lab. Why do these characters invite us taking such a tragic look at them? Why is it we want Gladstone and Magica to never get together? Why is it we want Fethry to get some retribution for his time in the Sea Lab? Why is it we want the characters to lose their loving parents?

However, it is this tragedy that can bring the characters together. Fans of DuckTales 2017 have noticed that Gladstone, Fethry and Della have spent most, if not all of the ten years Donald spent mad at Scrooge in isolation, noting that they all share that tragedy, albeit in separate ways, Gladstone being stuck in a casino that feeds off his luck, Fethry being stuck in a dilapidating sea lab, Della being stuck on the moon, and her only way home destroyed by a giant bug. It’s also easy to assume that Scrooge as well, was in some form of isolation. When we first see him, interacting with his money, he isn’t diving into it like we normally associate the character doing, he looks down almost depressingly at the vault as he drops a few coins in. It’s easy to believe that the only people Scrooge interacted with before Donald came back into his life, were his business partners, and Beakley and Webby.

This makes you wonder if the characters share other traumas and depressions, something they can all bond over. Something like, the death of their parents. It is common knowledge that Gladstone Gander’s parents, Daphne Duck and Gustave Gander, met an unfortunate fate on Daphne’s birthday, where they received a free picnic, and overate, or more realistically, choked on something. The tragedy of it is, Daphne shared the same birthday with her only son, Gladstone. Duck fan-comic writer Sarah Jolley, otherwise known as ModMad, did a fantastic take on this story in their comic The White Balloon, which adds even more tragedy to the story by tying it up with Gladstone’s insane bad luck on his Birthday, and also implying that Gladstone himself had something to do with it.

Canonically, Donald and Fethry do not share this tragedy with Gladstone, as there has never been confirmation of either of their parents dying, at least to my knowledge. But it is often headcanoned that Hortense and Quackmore died, leaving Donald to be raised by Grandma Duck, and it’s often been thought, though not by everyone, that Fethry’s parents, Eider Duck and Lullabelle Loon, also died. In a way, it brings the three cousins together, and it does tie into how they see family. In Ducktales 17, we know a big reason that Donald is overprotective of his nephews is because of Della’s mishap in space, that he fears losing someone else so close to him, especially Della’s kids. It isn’t hard to see that Donald feels similar about Gladstone and Fethry, that the loss of his parents, and his aunts and uncles, is a large reason that despite everything, he still loves his cousins. It can also tie in to readers who believe that Della died in space or on the moon, that this is some kind of curse for the Duck Family, Donald’s mother died, and when his sister became a mother, she died too.

One of my all time favourite Alternate Universes for the Duckverse is Solbabydraws’ “Teenage Cousin Shenanigans” which explores the universe where Donald, Della, Gladstone and Fethry grew up on Grandma Ducks farm, and it does not shy away from the fact that their parents are all dead. It even gives them character traits that might have stemmed from the trauma of having lost their parents at such young ages. Gladstone’s parents died from something food related so he has an eating disorder, Donald’s parents died in a car accident, so he takes road safety super seriously, Fehtry’s parents died unexpectedly and his brother, Abner (Sort of comics canon) was sent away, so he is kind of clingy. It doesn’t just look at how their tragedy effected them on a surface level, it does add some depth to it.

I looked at the possibility of how a tragedy effected Donald in this post here, where I talk about how Donald might not just be jealous of Gladstone’s luck, but also resent it, tying it to the loss of Della. And in another post, I talk about how Gladstone’s life of ease and luxury could simply just be a coping mechanism for him, toping it off with this post where I call Gladstone “Disney’s greatest Tragic Figure”. So, in some ways it is interesting to think about how these different tragedies have affected the characters, from Gladstone having an eating disorder, to Donald having PTSD from his time in the military.

Circling back to the original question, if it is unconfirmed that Donald’s parents are dead, then why do assume they are? Well, the basic answer, I believe is because at the end of the day, we do like exploring this tragic side of these characters. One of the greatest Duck comics ever written was a Topolino story called “The Solitude of the Four-Leaf Clover”, which asks the question, “What if Gladstone felt his luck was a bad thing?”. In some ways, this tragedy can help make the characters more relatable, easier to empathize with, and in some ways understandable. In the end, Hortense and Quackmore are not casualties or the vicious off-screen disease, but simply because their demises, make for a more interesting character study.

...

But, why does it? Why do we want these characters to go through hardships, misery and trauma? For that, I have theories, but nothing more.

#ducktales #donald duck #duck family #scrooge mcduck #Gladstone Gander #Fethry Duck #cousin fethry #hortense mcduck #quackmore duck #daphne duck #duckverse #duck comics #duck cousins #cw: death #modmad #solbabydraws #duck musings

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kuraitsune · 2 years

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iN THE MAKiNG

PARiNGS - ...Ike Eveland x GN!Reader

MENTiONS - ...Shoto & Mysta Rias.

SUMMARY - ...in which a novelist from the past starts to form a deeper relationship with a primordial being.

READER'S PROFiLE - ...you are an independent vtuber with a decent amount of fans behind you. your vtuber model is a primordial being-akin to a god- with the belief of "hope" as your rein.

DiSCLAiMERS- in no way am i a professional writer, i just like english lol. please know that these writings are a work of fiction and are the appearance and persona of the character! not the person behind the screen.

You were collabing with Ike, Shoto, and Mysta in Stickfight, and you were absoluting destroying everyone.

"AAAAAAAAAAGGGHH WHY DOES IT SEEM LIKE I'M THE ONE TO DIE FIRST TO [name]?!?!" Mysta screeched as he died with your lovely gun that you picked up.

"YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD WIN AGAINST A PRIMORDIAL BEING, DID YOU?" you merely replied, casually obliterating Shoto in the process. Your eyes locked onto Ike's stick figure while Mysta and Shoto spectated, chatting a bit.

"[name], I beg mercy upon you to not shoot me to death," the novelist's figure picked up a snake bazooka and hid on a ledge, away from you.

"Ikey wikey~ I see what you have there, why don't you come down and fight me to a 1v1?" you asked, standing below the ledge.

"...Sure why not, better end it quickly than extend it," he sighed, hopping down the ledge and initiated a quick battle. Though unexpectedly, Ike won.

"IKE LET'S GO MAN! TAKE THAT [name]!!" Mysta cheered, a smile evident on the detective's model.

After the collab ended and ended all their streams, Shoto and Mysta hopped off the VC while you and Ike chatted some more.

"How did you make up your concept for your model, [name]? I'm just curious, that's all," the two toned haired man asked.

"Oh, hm... I'm actually not too sure, it was a long time ago now but I think I was just talking to one of my friends about vtuber concepts. She came up with an idea for me, and here I am! A primordial being of hope."

"That's nice!"

"Ah! What made you join NIJI EN?"

"Joining NIJI EN... I suppose to let people know the wonderful world of NIJISANJI itself and to entertain people."

"You suppose?" you cocked an eyebrow up, teasing Ike just a bit.

"Of course? I joined NIJISANJI over half a year ago, [name]."

"Heh, just teasing you, y'know?" you laughed a bit. A laugh that Ike will cherish. Wait, what?

NOTE - i apologize if this is super short & a bit rushed, writer's block go brrr ig. other than that, I NOW REALLY WANNA WRITE FOR ILUNA!! but i'm gonna be waiting a few weeks after their debut to get to know them a bit better hehe-

DO NOT: repost or copy any of @kuraitsune's works! sharing is fine with credits.

#kura writings | 🦜#nijisanji en x reader #luxiem x reader #ike eveland x reader #ike eveland

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chrysoula · 5 months

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seals and wars

This is a bunch of musing I've been doing in the wake of 4.2AQ that I'm just dumping here. First, a brief history: Start with a 40 year war of subjugation (started by the Primordial One), ending in a covenant that allowed elemental life to continue to exist, and even thrive, at certain costs (maybe: Visions, an empowered Primordial governor). Humanity was unpacked and managed via the Seelie. But a rebellious conquered people sought for aid from afar, and brought in the Second Who Came. Eventually, the Second Who Came switched sides, and they sealed the Dragon King away. (I think somehow the Second Who Came ended up making the gods.) After this, Celestia makes them fight the Archon War for their promised 7 seats in Celestia, and just to make it fair (an actual threat), loyal elemental life was permitted to enter the contest. And that's the Archon War for you. (I think Egeria's people-creating privileges were revoked to stop Neuvillette from being born. Oopsie.)

Next: Khaenri'ah. The wrath of the dragon king infects the Eclipse Dynasty. An apocalyptic war results. The divine nature of the Third is harvested/sacrificed to make the Gnoses, which form yet another seal over the Dragon King. The world recovers. Remnants of the Third are left to wander around. The dragon king, who will not accept a world shared with the invader's spawn at any cost, still has hooks in the Abyss Order. He's the sinner and he's temptation. He's bad. All Khaenri'ah wanted was seats at the table, but that got warped until the worst of all wars happened. I'm pretty sure Teyvat can't handle another one. There are missing pieces here. Even if you can't see them, they're there. I'm going to represent the missing links with a random set of letters. Say, ISTAROTH. There's nothing actually there to see. They're just a placeholder for the truth we don't know. A marker for absence. You know, in most of the nations we've travelled through, we've encountered cults to dead gods. Havria, Orobashi, Deshret, Egeria... They're all over, these people who still tend shrines for gods who died centuries or millennia ago. That's not too much of a shocker, really. There's something about a dead god that you really feel you can connect to. A living god, well, they have a life, they're busy, they don't have time for you and your concerns, but a dead god can be a small, still voice in your soul (and they definitely understand suffering). Hey, where have I heard rhetoric like that in Genshin? Hello, Mondstadt, where you have the Absent God and an extremely traditional church that venerates him, as well as many references to "time and wind".

Decarabian doesn't have that. (tho ask me sometime about the storm watchers and their vigil).

Istaroth doesn't have that. Or.... does she? I've been wondering for a while if Istaroth was erased from Irminsul, and why we've still heard her. Are there ways to preserve history, in fables and songs, greetings and farewells, in traditions carved into stone? Is there a way to worship an absence? In fact. we know hints can be preserved and decoded. Consider this. What if truths you understand completely on your own can't be erased from Irminsul? And the only way to pass on certain knowledge is with quests, and puzzles, and curious absences? The stories that nobody tells you are the ones you can't forget. At least not completely. When Venti came back to Mondstadt, he was attacked by an Eye of the Storm. You know, those shields of wind around a vaccuum, that famously drop nothing when defeated? An absence again.

I can only conclude that Venti is protecting the remains of ISTAROTH (which might or might not be "Istaroth") in a giant vault below Church of Favonius. (The idea that Venti might be entrapping something is ludicrous, and hiding somebody else's worshippers as his church would make him laugh.) Although, you know. There's a lot of seals around Stormterror's Lair, and Venti got us to unseal each and every one of them. Right after that, the Tsarita started collecting Gnoses. I wondered what had triggered that. But if she's planning to unseal something, maybe she was waiting for a signal... ISTAROTH, huh?

#genshin impact #genshin lore #genshin theory #neuvillette #abyss sibling #before sun and moon #4.2 spoilers #istaroth #gnosticism

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bluiex · 1 year

Note

hi bluie. i had a dream about this concept that i'm now going to just spew it out free form because blood loss coupled with general sleepiness makes it very hard to pre-plan ficlets ___________ Ten years is a long time to dedicate yourself to something. Be it a person, a love you hold close, a place, somewhere that brings you solace and peace, or even an idea, worship towards a high being, a decade is an incredible length of time to hold yourself fast to something.

Scar had visited the Watcher's temple, without fail, every day for the last ten years. Rain or shine, with a smile on his face, or, like that first night, tear stains streaking down, he was faultless in his devotion to the place.

Of his home village, a few wondered why he bothered; the Watcher of their world had gone quiet many centuries ago, his temple in disarray. If there was a god living there, it was once upon a time, and he had been buried under the weight of his followers.

There was no god, many of them thought, living in the ruined temple.

Others shook there head solemnly, thinking, "there he goes again, looking for answers where there are none. He'll give up his mourning soon enough."

Scar was never particularly religious in his youth, the Watchers to him back then nothing more than a fairy tale. But time and tragedy changes you, and the repetition of walking the several miles to the temple every evening, slowly and meticulously cleaning and maintaining the space into something beautiful once more, it gave him hope.

Besides, he knew that their Watcher wasn't gone. He was a small voice tucked into the corner of Scar's ear, whispering. Tell him fortunes that soon became true, predictions about the people around him, the ill wills and wonderful joys that would come into their lives.

Scar became a prophet, and the town came to one conclusion: grief had driven him mad.

Because it didn't matter if he was right down to the second about rainfall, or who would fall gravely ill, or who would have triplets under a waning moon, none could move past the looming pain that Scar had underwent.

Ten years was a long time to mourn someone. And as far as devotion went, ten years brought the feeble Watcher strength, and a physical form once more.

The Watcher, however, did not choose what form he took. With only a single follower to his name, he took on the former of that who Scar loved most, who his devotion was really for.

"You're not him," Scar said quietly, broom in hand, dusting away as he felt the Watcher stare at him from across the room. "You look like him, and sound like him, but you're not him. You're not my Grian."

"Then why do you stay?" the Watcher asked him.

"Because you let me pretend that he's still here," Scar smiled, finally turning to look at the Watcher properly. "And, one other thing."

The Watcher looked every bit like Grian did the day before he died: short and thin, but his face still full and pink. Golden hair sitting messily, like a bird's nest, lay atop his head, the faintest dusting of freckles painted across his cheeks. An emerald pendant, Scar's proposal gift, still hung from his neck, atop a dark red, hand-sewn cable knit sweater.

But his eyes were wrong. A piercing, amethyst hue stared back at Scar, though he couldn't fault the Watcher for it. Those eyes kept Scar grounded after all, that this being wasn't his to love. It wasn't something worth loving at all.

"You've given me a decade of time he should have gotten, instead," Scar added, going back to his dusting. "He was devoted to you first, after all." "You still have not forgiven me for that," the Watcher reasoned.

"My husband was killed by his devotion to you," Scar answered, though you could not see a line of anger in his face. "He acted out your whims and followed your every word, and you let him die in your name." Scar looked back up at the Watcher, his glare piercing enough to make even the god shudder. "Everyone thinks I've lost my mind. They all think that you're not real, and those who do think that you might exist, are scared of becoming what I am now: a mindless, grieving widower." He smiled once more, only now the Watcher realized that it was not a smile of kindness, but carefully planned deception. "I am your very last follower. When I die, you'll die with me. I've made sure of it."

______

-☾

BRO I GOT GOOSEBUMPS AT THE END

BRUUUUH

your dream- blessed. amazing. omg

#bluie gets an ask poggers #scarian #long post

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whatisreggieshortfor · 2 years

Text

Renewed Fancy

For @sunshinejihyun, MC left unnamed as requested

Gary x MC, former Bobby x MC

She shouldn’t be surprised by the number of people they met that were shocked at the fact that she and Bobby stayed friends after they fell out of love.

At the fact that they kept their place together in Rochester and took up separate bedrooms now.

At the fact they were able to coparent their son, who was starting first grade in a week, without questioning each other’s decisions.

It wasn’t that they didn’t love each other. They loved each other a lot, actually.

They had just fallen out of love.

It was two very different things, and a point she often made known.

Bobby had even gotten a new girlfriend just before their son turned one, and Tuesday had become her second best friend in the world. Only after Bobby himself.

And their son seemed to understand. They had decided to separate the relationship before he was born, before they even knew about him, so by the time he turned six he understood why his mum and dad weren’t together anymore.

But it had been nearly ten years now since the Villa, and they’d had no contact for the most part with more than half of their fellow former Islanders. Social media became a lost option, after a deletion years ago, for keeping up with their lives when the media and the public kept scouting and scouring their pages for any sign to tear them down. Texts came every now and then, but hang outs hadn’t happened in a few years- not since before Nero. She had lost a good bit of her friends from before the show after it ended, they claimed it changed her. But at least she still had a friend in Bobby. It was easy to figure what the others had been up to in their own heads. They knew Lottie was off in America working her make up artist dreams. They knew from the internet that Chelsea, Lucas, Henrik, and Rahim had kept up their old jobs but with more notoriety now. They’ve seen Priya’s name on a clothing brand. Bobby had seen Noah at work in his library, and just a quick search of Hope’s company showed her as the thriving VP. Gary was their biggest question mark. His Nan must not have come around to the idea of a talk show, but they wondered if he was still working with cranes every day.

She ended up getting her answer in a way she didn’t expect.

Driving out to her parents to pick up Nero from his weekend with them, her car died. She called Bobby, let him know that she wouldn’t make it and he was immediately ready to run to meet her after picking him up, but she assured him that she called a tow truck already and just needed to wait.

It was only a few minutes before the truck pulled up, and as the driver climbed out, she recognized a still very familiar head of blonde hair.

“Gary? That you?”

His head snapped up from where it was going over his clipboard of the job, and a brief look a surprise flickered across his face before it was overtaken with a beaming grin, “Mate! I thought I recognized the name, but bloody hell I didn’t think it’d actually be you.”

She giggled, unable to keep her own smile from stretching wider as she raced up to give him a hug, “Bloody hell, thank god it’s you. I get so anxious dealing with strangers in these situations.”

“I’ll take a look, see if it’s not something I can fix now and get ya back on the road, but I need you to keep me company and catch me up on your life. Fair?”

“Fair! But you gotta catch me up on yours, too. We thought you’d still be up in cranes!”

He shook his head with a smile, “You got a deal, mate.”

“Great! Well, as for my life let’s see…” She tapped a finger to her chin and he chuckled at it as he got under the hood and started checking for any issues, “Well, I finished my degree since I last saw you. Got a PhD, actually, which wasn’t even the original plan. Got a job offer with the British Space Programme, but I took a remote job working for NASA now.”

He let out a low whistle as he checked the fluid levels, “Damn, mate. That’s impressive. What about Bobs?”

She beamed, “Bobby’s Boops has been up and running for a few years now. I help out there when I can, he actually had to hire on extra bakers to keep up with demand.”

“You tellin’ me ya learned to bake?”

She gasped, smacking his arm as he chuckled to himself, “Excuse you, I make better pies than he does. But no. I actually help with the business side of things.”

“Good to hear you two are still making things work.”

Her brow furrowed before realization hit, “Oh! Oh, no. We broke up years ago. But we stayed best mates. He’s been seeing someone else for a couple years now.” He looked concerned but she waved him off, “Don’t you worry, Gaz. I actually adore her. And it’s not like exes can’t be friends. You and Lottie got along fine at Chelsea’s Murder Mystery party.” He nodded at that, conceding her point.

They kept talking as he fixed the minor issue, he told her about going back to trade school and getting his certification as a mechanic and how proud it made his nan.

Before she knew it, Gary had her on her way in no time. But she desperately wanted to keep in contact again. So she got his new number- he had to change it after productions kept calling him at work. And a day didn’t go by that one of them wasn’t reaching out to the other.

Gary was finally free for a day to make the short trip to hang out, and she was still busy getting ready when the knock came. Tuesday volunteered to get it for her, and she agreed without a second thought. She’d been living with them for close to four years now, it wasn’t something that often occurred to her.

“Oh, hey, are ya Bob’s sister or something?”

“What? Oh, no, I’m-“

“Gary!” She called, finally entering the living room, “This is Tuesday. Bobby’s fiancé.”

“Not yet!” The other girl squawked.

“Mummy! The monsters got daddy!” The interruption called, little feet padded quickly down the hall, and she spun with ease, scooping up the child.

“The monsters? Oh, no, poor daddy. Is it the one under the bed, or the one in the closet?”

“His closet!”

“The ones in his closet? Oh, no!” She glanced at Gary, who looked stunned. “Gary, you mind helping me take down this monster and then we’ll answer whatever questions are brewing in that big brain of yours.” Tuesday took hold of Nero, gesturing them down the hall as she carried him behind them.

They found Bobby ‘dead’, laying on the floor of his closet, half tucked under the clean clothes Tuesday had been telling him all day to fold and put away. She just shook her head, motioning for everyone to be quiet and she took a broom handle and passed it to Gary with a wink, “For our brave knight.”

He raised an eyebrow but then her son spoke up, “You gotta defeat the monsters, knight!”

Gary laughed at the child’s desperate enthusiasm, before ‘charging’ into the closet and attacking the monsters. Bobby sprung to his feet after, bowing deeply, “Sir Gareth, thank you for your pertinent assistance.” Following it up with a cheeky smile, “Good to see ya, mate.”

“Good to see you, too, Bobs.”

Bobby took hold of their son, claiming it was lunch time, and she took Gary back to the living room. She hadn’t planned much for the day, just a few drinks together while they hung out, but as she stood up to get them he stopped her, “I didn’t realize you and Bobby had a kid.”

“Oh.” She blinked, “Well, we didn’t even realize I was pregnant when we broke up. Around four months in I noticed, and we agreed not to be one of those couples that only stayed together for the child. We have this place together, bedrooms on opposite ends, his in the middle. And he absolutely loves Tuesday. She’s been there since he was one, so she’s just…ya know, his second mum.”

“That’s…incredible, honestly, mate.” Gary gave her a soft smile, and she was almost startled at the things it did to her heart. She knew when she saw him again that the feelings that had been long forgotten were brewing back to the surface, only encouraged by every text they had exchanged in between. Then his grin turned cheeky, “Did I see an Alabama jersey on him?”

She flushed, “Guilty pleasure, okay? I have cousins in the states that bleed Crimson Tide, so I always stream the games. He loves watching with me, so for Christmas last year Tuesday got us matching jerseys for his favorite player.”

He laughed, “That’s actually really sweet.”

It became a weekly hang out at some point. Gary was actually an Alabama fan, too, back from his own sports days when he took an interest in American football, so he took to hanging out with the two of them on Sundays to watch the game. She surprised him with how loud and into the game she would get, but then he watched her mini me imitate it and he found himself getting just as intense. Bobby had taken more pictures than Gary would admit he saved to his phone of the scenes, the three of them wearing jerseys with the same number- he’d never tell anyone that he made one his home screen on his phone.

It only took two months before Bobby cornered him in the kitchen during halftime though, “You fancy her again, dontcha mate?”

Gary choked on his tongue, “Fancy- I never said-“

Bobby snorted, “You don’t have to say anything. I can tell. Just like I know she fancies you, too.”

Gary shook his head, “Doesn’t matter much. She’s got enough on her plate. She’s got you, your lass, him, work, your shop. I don’t need to add to it.”

Bobby’s brow furrowed, but Gary bustled passed him before he could respond. So instead he planned. Planned for a day that didn’t take place for nearly another year.

“Gary!” He almost had to pull the phone away from the loud voice as soon as he answered, setting his tools back into his truck after getting a customer’s car to the shop.

“Bobs, what’s up, mate?”

“Dinner, this weekend. Huge news. Think you can make it?”

Gary glanced at his calendar, not that he needed to. He hadn’t made plans with anyone else but his nan since he’d reunited with them. “Should be able to.”

“Perfect. I’ll pick you up at five on Saturday. Pack a bag, please.”

Gary raised an eyebrow to himself, but didn’t protest as the call ended. It wouldn’t be the first time he crashed on their couch lately.

Bobby picked him up that weekend, practically bouncing in his seat, and wouldn’t give Gary any details about what was happening, but he did thrust a bag of clothes at him and told him to change into them.

Gary was confused, but accepted, changing into the dress trousers and button up he’d been handed- much different from his usual style and he wondered how Bobby knew his size before figuring he probably gave nan a call. He’d been talking to her a lot since they started hanging out again.

He was surprised again when Bobby pulled up to a fancy restaurant, telling him to give the hostess his name and saying he needed to park the car.

Again Gary didn’t argue. Offering Bobby’s name to the hostess and following her back to a table with one person sitting at it.

Her.

At a table for two.

Oh, he was gonna kill Bobby.

Just as he depending leaving, his phone pinged with a message from Bobby, telling him that he left him there. And before he could reply, she looked up at spotted him, an embarrassed smile taking over her face.

He approached slowly, much slower than he needed to as he took deep breaths, trying to get over how stunning she looked in her dress. “Hey,” she offered shyly, “I guess you’re the blind date Bobby has been talking up for days now. Everything he said fits.”

He snorted, and several of the other patrons shot short glares in his direction, but she flipped them off. “At least you were told it was date.” He offered as he sat down, but he immediately wished he could take it back when he saw the disappointment and insecurity flash across her face before she gave him a careful smile.

“You don’t have to stay.” She shrugged, “I was gonna bail out anyway if it had been someone else. Claim I wasn’t feeling well or something.”

“Not now?” He really didn’t want to be hopeful. But when she was looking at him with those shining eyes that reminded him of all the times he almost chose her in the Villa, only to end up being too late in the line up… “For the record, I’m not against it being a date.” He clarified, “So long as it’s you.”

“Oh yeah?” She grinned cheekily, the mirth in her eyes making them shine brighter, “So you’ve thought about taking me on a date, have you?”

“Only every day since I met ya.” She was clearly shocked at the statement, or maybe the seriousness in which he said it, he just shrugged, “I told ya back then. I fancy ya. A lot. But you had Bobby. So I didn’t push. And it’s not like I didn’t like Lottie. I did.”

“Just wasn’t the same.” She added, her cheeks slightly flushed, “I thought about picking you a time or two. But I was never sure how you felt. And Bobby was always there, never made me feel like I was a back burner. And after Rocco…” they both winced at the mention of what he’d put her through, “I just didn’t want to risk it being a one way thing between us, I guess. And I did fancy Bobby that way. The years I had with him- I don’t regret them. I just mean-“

“I get it.” Gary interjected, gently placing his hand on hers, “You can care for two people the same way, at the same time.” She nodded.

“I’ve never understood that saying, ‘if they fall in love with two people, tell them to choose the second. Because-‘“

“‘Because if they loved you, they wouldn’t have fallen for them.’” He finished, “Never made sense to me either. Just because I had feelings for more than one person, doesn’t mean my feelings for either were worth any less or meant any less.”

“Exactly.” She smiled, hopeful, “What about your feelings now?”

Gary hummed playfully, wrapping his larger fingers around her slender ones, “Now, I would really like to probably wine and dine you. No pressure, just figure out where we are after all these years. Show ya I still fancy you.”

“That sounds really nice.” She agreed.

Dinner sped by, and when she drove them to the flat that evening, he gave her a sweet kiss. Nothing spicy, or sexy, but it was still intense. All the feelings he’d been holding back since they reconnected.

She didn’t let him sleep on the couch either. While they agreed to take things slow, no big bits happening until they were sure, he had to admit it was nice to fall asleep pulling her into a cuddle.

And when they were together for six months, Nero ran up to him as soon as he walked through the front door, “Papa!” Gary couldn’t even react before the little boy, now eight, was throwing himself at him for a hug. All he could do was catch him. He caught her eye too, wide and obviously terrified for his reaction, but Gary just smirked.

“Hey, how’s my favorite little man? You been good for mummy and daddy?”

Nero nodded, “And mum, too! I promise!”

“You promise, huh? Bloody hell, you must’ve been good, then.” He hoisted the boy up with him as he stood up straight, pulling her into his side and pressing a kiss to her head.

“Mummy, when does Papa get to live with us like Mum does?”

Gary watched her eyes bulge, but he just laughed, teasing, “Yeah, mummy. What about Papa?”

To his surprise, she smirked at him, “Whenever he thinks he’s ready.”

God, he was ready. He wanted forever with her. She wasn’t the one that got away anymore. She was his. And the ring in his pocket meant one thing. He was hoping she stayed that way.

Masterlist

@justtuesdays

#litg #litg season 2 #litg gary x mc #litg gary #post villa #reunion #friends to lovers #s2litgexchange

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kentuckywrites · 4 months

Text

The End of All Things - REWRITE

On July 6th, 2018, I succumbed to some self indulgence. Six years later, let's do it again. Featuring @deltheor 's Sydney ~

Pongo knew.

The official BLADE report never made it into the public eye, but he knew Elma, and Elma knew everything, so he got the information out of her. While Pongo had been out on a forced vacation, Sydney had Brainjacked seventy percent of NLA’s population and had taken them to Cauldros, where he’d set himself up in a Ganglion fortress to play the role of false king. Elma showed him the witness reports, people recounting being controlled, people recounting their efforts to stop him. An elite team of Brainjack users were able to take him down, in the end, but even that almost hadn’t been enough.

The rumors spread like a disease throughout NLA. He still walks among us, Pongo once heard. He’s been stripped of his rank, so hopefully he won’t be allowed anywhere near a knife again. I saw him in the residential district once - do you think he’s planning how to do it again?

It hurt. The rumors had nothing to do with Pongo, yet he still felt their sting. He could only imagine how deeply it was affecting Sydney.

In the end, the rumors and the official reports combined were enough for Pongo to make a decision.

He pulled out his comm device and called Sydney just after noon. Someone had given Pongo his number a long time ago, long enough that Pongo couldn’t quite remember who it was. Sydney didn’t respond. Frantic, Pongo kept dialing and calling, dialing and calling, dialing and calling, come on Sydney why won’t you pick up -

“The fuck do you want?!”

And suddenly, everything Pongo had planned to say vanished into thin air. Gods above, Sydney’s anger was something to behold. Pongo knew he had to be quick, or Sydney would hang up.

“H-Hi, Sydney,” Pongo started. “We, um…we need to talk.”

“We’re talking right now, dipshit.”

Damn it. Damn him. Pongo released a shaky breath, trying to keep himself composed. “I meant in person. This is not something I can talk to you about over the comm device.”

“I’m busy. You should spit it out and stop wasting my time -”

“Not over the comm device.”

Pongo hadn’t meant for his tone to get so strained, so forceful. Sydney didn’t respond immediately, and he almost wondered if the (former?) Interceptor had hung up after that little outburst. However, after a moment of silence, he got a response.

“Alright, fine. When would you like to plan our little date?”

Pongo swallowed hard. No, Pongo, it is not a date. Do not get your hopes up. He shook his head, then responded, “Well, um…do you know of that elevator by the West Gate? The one that leads to the very top of the walls of NLA?”

The location held many good memories for Pongo; that was the same elevator he’d taken down to the Industrial District, the very first time he’d stepped foot into the city. Back then, he had no idea who he was, or who he was meant to be. In recent months Pongo found himself revisiting the location, if only to reminisce on the past. Others had called this insight into himself and the hearts of others a blessing, and perhaps he could use this talent to…well. To see Sydney.

“I know the place,” Sydney said, again knocking Pongo out of his stray thoughts.

“Would you be able to meet me there tonight? Maybe around eight?” Pongo asked.

“Sure, I guess. See ya then.”

“Right,” Pongo said, but the dial tone hit his ears before he had gotten his full response out. With a sigh, his hand lowered, and pressure built behind his eyes. Shoving his comm device in his back pocket, he looked to the horizon. The sun was high above him, a promise that the day was still young. It would be a painful wait until the appointed hour arrived.

Pongo found himself waiting at the bottom of the elevator fifteen minutes before eight. This corner of the city was quieter than he expected, but then again, this was the Industrial District. Outfitters, arms manufacturers, and construction workers hurried about the district in a mad frenzy. The chaos usually calmed his nerves; he felt at home in the hustle and bustle, the high energy that came with BLADE’s intellectual conquests. Yet tonight, as he’d been walking towards the meeting point, Pongo had briefly considered getting a drink at the Repenta Diner. Frye had once told him that spiking a coffee wasn’t out of the ordinary, and Pongo had seen first-hand how alcohol soothed aching hearts.

This was something he needed to be sober for, though, so in the end, Pongo had gotten a water from the diner. He’d nursed it in his hands and had taken two sips before discarding the cup. He wish he’d kept it now, as he had nothing to do with his hands aside from wringing them together. Sweat built beneath his palms, the friction of his gloves providing some level of distraction from his own thoughts. Funny, how he allowed himself to feel this. Funny, how it didn’t serve to distract him from the truth.

“Pongo? Helloooo? Anybody home in there?”

Pongo blinked a few times, and when he regained focus, he saw Sydney standing right in front of him. How long had he been standing there?! Gods above, Pongo was out of it, huh? He could even smell Sydney’s cologne - it was one of his favorites. Jasmin, saffron, cedarwood. An expensive blend. Pongo stepped back, his heart fluttering under his chest.

He did not wear this for you. Stop it.

“H-Hi,” Pongo stammered, “sorry about that, I just…”

“Lost in your own head?” Sydney guessed, raising one of his pierced eyebrows in annoyance. “Happens, I guess.”

“Right. Yeah,” Pongo grinned sheepishly, finally making eye contact with Sydney. What was the human saying again, something about eyes being windows to the soul? If that was the case, Pongo could see through Sydney, and in that brief moment, he saw the truth. Sydney was happy to see him.

That made Pongo want to cry.

“So what’s so important that you couldn’t tell me through comms, huh?” Sydney asked. “You’re an old-fashioned fucker if you prefer talking to people in person.”

“Then call me old-fashioned, I suppose,” Pongo laughed nervously, “I, um…I think this is going to be too important for comm messages, is all.”

“Guess I’ll be the judge of that,” he huffed, “so get on with it. I don’t have all night.”

Right, he said he was busy. Pongo needed to get to the point. But at the same time, BLADEs were flying past them both, some casting looks over their shoulders. Damn it, he should’ve thought about how busy it’d be here.

“We should find somewhere quieter,” he suggested, expecting some form of backlash.

To his surprise, however, Sydney shrugged. “Whatever floats your yacht.”

“I do not own a yacht.”

“...I’ll rent you one of mine, sometime. Maybe I’ll throw in a one percent discount on the rental fee, too.”

Pongo’s eyes started to sting as he held back tears. The offer sounded so genuine, so real. Do not get your hopes up.

“I would like that,” he said softly, feeling his heart begin to rip itself apart. He turned away from Sydney before he could say anything else.

Pongo stepped onto the elevator platform, using the controls to send it to the top floor after Sydney had embarked. It was a long way to the top, so once the elevator fence came up and they began to ascend, Pongo found himself sneaking a glance at Sydney. He was facing away, observing the city below. It was an array of colors and lights under the darkened sky, replacements for the stars that didn’t shine that night. Sydney’s head turned slightly, and Pongo could see those same lights reflected in his eyes. What a vibrant red they were, the color of power and blood and undying strength.

Red, the color of love.

The first tear fell. Pongo wiped it away with the back of his glove, wincing when he pulled his arm back. He’d done it too rough, and now his cheek hurt. Not enough to leave a bruise, but enough to leave a memory.

The elevator came to a stop at the top floor. Pongo stepped out once the railings came down without acknowledging Sydney. He came to rest his arms on the fencing along the platform, staring down at NLA. This was where Elma had taken him when he’d first entered the city, when Pongo was unsure about who and what he was. There was a kind of poetic satisfaction in returning here, a satisfaction in knowing that he had found himself.

Though…had he?

No. Pongo wasn’t here to throw himself a pity party. Just push the feelings down, as you always have and always will.

“So…” Sydney said, leaning back on the railing to Pongo’s right, “what do you want?”

Pongo didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he let it go in a shaky exhale. Maybe he could save himself. Maybe he could find a silly excuse and have Sydney get mad at him for wasting his time. Maybe he could find another way to get the answers he needed.

But he couldn’t do any of that in good conscience. He had to face this - and so did Sydney.

“Elma gave me access to the BLADE reports,” he finally said. “They, um…you Brainjacked over seventy percent of the population.”

Silence. Pongo didn’t have the strength to look up at Sydney, to gauge his reaction through his facial expressions. Yet the air shifted, a tension that was nearly unbearable. Pongo opened his mouth, too uncomfortable to remain quiet, but Sydney beat him to the punch.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

A confession. Pongo gazed upwards at that, finding that Sydney had turned around to assume the same position as him. He was staring out at the city lights, his brow furrowed. From the profile, he looked…

He looked sad.

That was what Pongo had been searching for. That was the answer he needed.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Sydney spat out in response.

“Sydney -”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, sharper this time, “why do you even care?”

Because I care about you.

He couldn’t say that. He shouldn’t.

“Because Elma also told me you suffered some kind of amnesia afterwards,” Pongo answered, “that you did not remember most of the time in Cauldros. It just…from everything I heard, I do not think that the one who Brainjacked everyone was truly you.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Sydney’s voice rose, “Of course it was me!”

“No, no, Sydney, listen to me, that was not you -”

“SHUT UP!!”

Pongo flinched back at Sydney’s order. Sydney’s eyes were glazed over, tears trailing down his cheeks. He hunched over to hide his face, an ugly sob emanating from the back of his throat. It took every bit of willpower to resist rushing forward, to resist wrapping him up in a hug, to resist telling him that everything would be alright.

I will not be able to let go if I hold him now.

“I don’t even know why you wanted to see me,” Sydney nearly shouted as he straightened his spine, spinning around to finally face him. “You know what I did. The entire fucking city knows what I did, but I don’t even fucking remember what happened. What, did you wanna point and laugh at the asshole who ruined lives for shits and giggles?!”

“It was not you,” Pongo pleaded, unable to hold back his own tears.

“Then who the fuck do you think I am, huh?! Who are you to tell me who I am and what I’m capable of?! I’m a fucking monster -”

“You are not a monster!!” Pongo cried, “You are not the same person as the one who Brainjacked the city!!”

“Oooh, so that was a fucking clone who did that, then?!” Sydney retorted, “Answer the fucking question, asshole - who am I?!”

Pongo swallowed hard, forcing himself to stare into Sydney’s eyes. His makeup was starting to smear, a black tar staining his cheeks. As Pongo spoke, his voice rose, gaining more and more strength.

“You act vain and narcissistic and you hardly care about anyone other than yourself. You buy things because you think it makes you happy, but you are never happy, because you think you are undeserving of everything you have been given. You act as though you only care about yourself because you do not want anyone showing you the slightest hint of compassion, and it is because you are terrified, Sydney, you are terrified of being loved because you think you do not deserve it, but damn it Sydney you do!!”

“I don’t deserve shit,” Sydney faltered, but now Pongo was shouting, now he felt too deeply.

“YES YOU DO!! Are you living?! Breathing?! Then you deserve someone who loves you, someone who will be there for you through thick and thin, someone who sees past all of your flaws and sees you for your heart!! Fucking hell, Sydney, I lo-”

He caught himself.

“I know you deserve to be loved because I know you are a good person deep down!! Everyone deserves to be loved no matter how many times they have fucked up, and I will not sit back and watch you believe you are undeserving, because YOU ARE!!”

Pongo’s voice was cracking, a mirror to his heart. His breaths deep and painful, he stepped back, hitting the rail. The metal provided a cool sensation against his hands, welcome in the heated moment. Sydney looked shellshocked, eyes wide and unblinking. Pongo had never seen this expression before, and despite his fury, the sight made him near-nauseous. He had to close his eyes, a gentle breeze finally coming to soothe him, caressing the hair sticking to his face.

“The fact of the matter is that you have changed,” Pongo quietly said, controlling how his voice shook. “You put on the same act as before, but deep down…I see you, Sydney. I do.”

Silence, eternal. Pongo sighed. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t keep doing this. Getting attached, getting his heart broken when there was nothing left to break.

“I am sorry if you had somewhere else to be,” he apologized, “I got my answer. I will leave you alone, if that is what you want.”

Pongo let go of the railing, straightening his spine and turning back towards the elevator. The silence remained deafening, and his thoughts raced to devour it whole. His own voice echoed in his ears, remnants of his anger, reflections of his soul. The anger was not towards Sydney, he concluded quickly, but rather towards himself. How could Pongo have been so stupid, to get this close to Sydney? The happy-go-lucky Interceptor with a heart of gold, with friends in every corner of the city and beyond, a man who dreamed and hoped and wished for more. That was selfish. That was greedy. That was wrong. He wasn’t allowed to wish for a deeper connection because he was destined to love and never be loved in return. That was his punishment, his sentence, his -

A hand, quickly grasping his. Metal under his skin. A whisper, a plea in the dark.

“Don’t go.”

Pongo wasn’t strong enough to keep his gaze fixed forward. He looked to Sydney, to the quivering form that had stopped him from leaving. He was a shell - or perhaps, this was the original Sydney, the one who was showing his true colors after years and years of hiding in plain sight. And his true colors were beautiful in every sense, vibrant red and gold and white. His palm pressed in Pongo’s own was a dream, a hope, a wish come true.

Pongo looked down at their intertwined hands. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

And yet…

Could he allow himself to be selfish, just this once?

He didn’t give himself enough time to answer that question. Pongo brought Sydney closer, wrapping his other hand around the back of Sydney’s neck, pulling him in, in, in - and their foreheads touched, skin upon skin. Pongo forced himself to keep the space between their mouths, though he cherished the small contact made between their noses. Do not get closer, he told himself, his last shred of control.

But the little voice in the back of his mind, once smothered, echoed out. You are allowed to want this.

His resolve finally shattered.

“Okay,” Pongo breathed. “I am here.”

And he sealed the distance between their lips.

Sydney was wearing lipstick, Pongo discovered, and he wondered if this sudden kiss would smudge it. It would certainly appear on Pongo’s mouth, and he battled with whether or not that was a point of excitement or defeat. He tilted his head ever so slightly, adjusting so he didn’t aggravate Sydney’s piercings. Sydney’s cologne overwhelmed him, that same mix of jasmin, saffron, cedarwood. Pongo could drink deep of it and never be satisfied.

But he pulled away, eventually - after he realized that Sydney was not reciprocating the kiss. Pongo didn’t meet Sydney’s gaze, everything crashing down on him all at once. He had to say something. He had to come up with an excuse. This is the end of everything. You never deserved to get this close, and now you have to pay for it.

“I am so sorry,” Pongo whispered, “I should have…I should have asked first. I know this would not work, but I just...”

He wiped his tears from his face, turning away. His heart had skipped several beats, and he wasn’t sure why the air suddenly felt so heavy, so constricting. He deserved it, still. He deserved to get smothered in the pain. Friend of the world, closest to none. How could someone like him ever hope for more?

The elevator was enticing, too enticing. But he told Sydney he was here, that he’d stay. The honor took hold of him, so his feet refused to move. Better for him anyways - he had to be here for the fallout, both self-inflicted and external. Gods, he should’ve left when he had the chance. He should’ve ripped his hand out of Sydney’s and spared them both the pain. How deeply, horribly selfish indeed. A hypocrite, a fool, and above all else -

Sydney’s hands found their way to Pongo’s cheeks and pulled him back in.

There they were, kissing under the moonlit sky. It took Pongo only a moment to recover from the initial shock, and then he crumbled, his defenses completely destroyed. One of Sydney’s hands shifted backwards, entangling in Pongo’s hair, and the other fell down to cup the space between his neck and shoulder. Pongo’s arms, out of desperation, wrapped themselves around Sydney’s hips to draw him in closer. He thought this would ground him, but instead he found his thoughts floating in a pastel haze.

Sydney was the first to pull away. Chasing the high, Pongo nearly followed his lips, but as they caught their breath, Pongo couldn’t hold back his relief. He laughed, soft and warm, keeping his hands around Sydney’s waist. Hells, he’d been right before - he couldn’t let go, now that he’d taken hold. He didn’t even realize he was crying until Sydney’s thumb came to trace the skin under his eye, wiping away a wet streak of newborn tears.

“I don’t know what this means,” Sydney whispered. “For you, for me…I don’t know what any of this means.”

“It does not have to mean anything if you do not want it to,” Pongo replied, his smile weak but honest.

“But I want this to mean something. You deserve that.”

“You deserve it, too. You always have.”

Sydney swallowed hard. “I…I don’t know if I believe you, yet. But I want to. Damn, do I want to.”

Pongo didn’t respond, but his smile strengthened. He knew Sydney believed that, and he’d do everything he could to prove him right. That he was deserving. That he was loved, loved so much that it hurt.

And maybe…maybe Pongo could believe that for himself, too. That he deserved the same.

They stared out into the city after that, hand in hand. The silence became their friend.

#xenoblade x #The End of All Things REWRITE: Short Story #sydney #yea. yeah #i dont really know what to put here tbh #damn this self indulgent shit...PART TWO #also if you saw this accidentally posted to my main acc #no you didnt! i fought tumbles and won!!

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