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#lance is a farmer (no idea why that happens)

studentinpursuitofclouds · 7 months

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Random idea but imagine Camilla “accidentally” turned the farmer into a toddler. How would she react? more importantly, how would the Castle Village NPCs wod react???

Yeah, well... Even the greatest wizards and witches make mistakes, and today was the day the spirits didn't favor Camilla too much. Not that she's worried about the consequences, not really. After all, she's a very talented witch, and accidentally turning a young farmer into a toddler isn't something unfixable for her. It's just that the fact that Camilla didn't have time to hide the consequences of her failure in front of her colleagues (after all, it all happened in Magnus' tower) made the whole situation a bit more complicated, and they all started to panic and worry (quite a natural reaction). And Camilla had to listen to all the scolding from everyone before her colleagues would finally calm down and let her fix the situation in peace.

Naturally, Magnus was the first witness to the whole event. At first he didn't realize why there was some random kid sitting on the floor, who looked to be about three years old. However, when the old wizard discerns and recognizes the very similar features of the baby and sees Camilla's slightly nervous smile, a realization comes quickly. "What do you mean 'accidentally' turned them into a toddler?!" Camilla had to admit, she had never seen her coworker so angry before. Apparently, today really wasn't her day. However, Magnus' tirade immediately subsides if the loud swearing makes the little Farmer cry. So all he has to do is calm down and listen to Camilla's solution to the situation.

You can tell by the tired look on Jadu's face that he's definitely not getting paid enough for all this crap. Their meeting in the Stardew Valley is going to be a long one again, and the return to Castle Village will not be a quick one... again. The Farmer crying in the background, along with Magnus cursing, made an unbearable noise that added to Jadu's headache. It's not that he doesn't care about Farmer, he knows Camilla will quickly remedy the situation. Considering the head witch has done far stranger things, the accidental transformation story is like another Tuesday for Jadu. But at least he'll try to calm the Farmer down so they'll stop crying.

Unfortunately, the young wizard's attempts to calm the little Farmer were unsuccessful, so Jadu thought of nothing better than to hand Farmer to Isaac. The scarred adventurer was instantly freaked out, so much so that he didn't even argue with Jadu, and now he was holding the child in his arms and didn't know what to do. As if holding a fragile crystal vase, a confused Isaac glared at his other coworkers with a mute plea for help. How to hold them? Why are they still crying? Maybe they're hungry? Damn it, Jadu take the Farmer back! He's not a babysitter! What do you think he's supposed to do?

Taking pity on her coworker, Alesia gently took the baby from Isaac's arms, hearing him quietly thanking her for her help. The sniper smiled softly at them and began to gently rock the little Farmer in an effort to calm them down. And it worked. No one was quite sure if Alesia was experienced in taking care of kids or if it was her maternal instinct, but she did a great job and now Farmer had stopped crying and was only looking curiously at the people around them. She, by the way, was the one who had shushed Magnus when the purple-haired wizard wanted to start berating Camilla again. No one wanted to make Alesia angry, so everyone started talking quietly, which made Camilla smile.

While Magnus and Camilla were discussing more or less calmly about the solution to their problem, both of them didn't immediately notice that instead of crying, the tower was now filled with loud child's laughter. Lance could be thanked for that, as he decided to also help Alesia by showing the curious toddler a couple of magic spells. Lance had used such tricks to calm children many times before, and it worked every time. The gallant adventurer and the sniper smiled warmly at the happy little Farmer, and Jadu and Isaac were grateful for pink haired coworker, for laughter was much more pleasant to the ear than passing cries and screams.

#thanks for the ask!#stardew valley expanded #sve #sve jadu #sve lance #sve camilla #sve isaac #sve alesia #sve magnus #sdv wizard #sve headcanon

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glacecakes · 2 months

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I never watched season eight of voltron cause I'd heard so many bad things about it and was afraid, what happened that was so bad?

Oh boy oh BOY where do I begin

Focus on redeeming the main villains

Killing off Adam. Yes it was s7 but I’m still mad

They marry shiro off to a random extra and leaks from the show reveal it was added last second bc they did not anticipate how pissed off everyone would be about Adam

No genuinely what did they expect. To happen. When you hype up shiros ex and then kill him 3 minutes later. That’s textbook queerbait bury your gays. If you talked to anyone gay they would’ve told you it was a bad idea

Allura and Lance go from “ew I’d never date him” to “this is true love” like 30 seconds after Lotor dies. Way to make a guy feel special

There’s just an uncomfortable amount of heterosexuality tbh like my own klance love notwithstanding

Everyone gets their characters fucked over. No arcs are completed. No one gets closure

The plot is just total nonsense. I’ve forgotten most of it

Something about Hagar and Allura? And other realities????

Oh yeah Allura fucking dies

She flat out dies. Just. Why. WHY.

AND THEN LANCE. THE HISPANIC CHARACTER

GIVES UP ON HIS DREAMS

TO BECOME A FARMER

And also there’s soooo much speculation on how production just totally fell apart bc the showrunners actively hated their fan base and wanted to fuck everything up to spite them which genuinely. Like I get it but also. Damn

#voltron #Glace.txt

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books-are-my-life-stuff · 2 months

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hiii! tysm for your kind tags on my post-canon lemon post (i keep re-reading them) <333 i really wanted to draw from canon and not make stuff up so your tags mean a lot! tbh i have so many ideas for lemon, including her relationship with the boys (she'd be besties with finn and surprisingly lance too! she goes to the farmer's market with dot. and mash would confess to her but she wouldn't get the hint lol) i'll making more posts as we speak haha and ty for all your lemon posts/sets, they always make my day! do you have any ideas for lemon?

I love your post-canon Lemon headcanons so much, thank you for sharing your ideas as well! I like how your ideas are very connected to what little information we have about her in the canon, so it all makes sense!

This ask has gotten a little long so under read more!

I like the idea of how the tables are turned (after Mash does not get a hint about Lemon's feelings in the original series, eventually the situation is flipped over and Lemon is too serious in doing her job when Mash confesses so now she ends up not getting the hint!), it's very satisfying! I want to know more about your ideas about her relationship with the boys! I'm sure it's gonna be fun to read!

It's not a problem! I like Lemon as well and I have fun making simple gifsets of her, and I'm happy to find someone who likes her as well! I love all of your pastel-colored gifsets too, they're all pretty and I adore all of them! I always love pastel-colored gifs, I often find them in bigger fandoms but they're a rarity in small fandoms like this, so your gifsets make me so happy! Thank you so much!

I do have some ideas about Lemon! Though I don't feel really confident sharing them until I feel it's "polished" enough if that makes sense, because I'm afraid of making her out of character hahah. It's just how I am! I wrote a fic of her, but it's from Finn's perspective and it's just how much I want them to be friends and how I imagine their friendship would be! It's here if you're interested!

Other than that, my other idea about her is that the final battle changed her. After the battle against the Innocent Zero, Lemon realized that she couldn't do much when Mash really needed her help. Deep inside, she was frustrated that as her future wife, she wasn't able to directly protect him on the battlefield as his heart was taken away. Her possessive nature was increasing, but that was merely a facade to hide her internal frustrations and how much she blamed herself for her helplessness in the final fight. She spends so many sleepless nights crying over it.

So, she hones her magic secretly, she asks Kaldo's help for his guidance because she knows from Finn that his magic has been greatly improved after his training with Kaldo, so from that she secretly trains with Kaldo as well. So much to the point of overworking herself and that's when Mash finds out. When Lemon collapses and Mash carries her to the infirmary, Lemon apologizes for making him worry, explains what happened, and says that as a future wife, she wants to be on his side and helps him whenever he needs it and becomes the first person he can rely on. After that, she properly confesses her feelings to him instead of forcing it like how she always did. Mash, who still doesn't understand romantic feelings, appreciates Lemon's great effort for his sake, but he is worried about Lemon who works too hard to the point of falling ill. So, in exchange, Mash will take care of her as much as he can until she feels well again. Unfortunately, the best that Mash can do is to remind Lemon to eat and drink her meds at the right time and offer cream puffs, but Lemon appreciates the gesture.

I also have a MashLemon idea, separate from the above: I think the reason why Lemon is very bold at expressing her feelings is because she knows damn well that her feelings won’t possibly be reciprocated. The person she loves is a kindhearted, physically strong young man with no thoughts head empty only cream puffs. There’s no way he would know things such as love and marriage, nor would he care about it. Especially after she visited his house, which just reinforces her assumption. That’s why she can be extremely bold with her feelings and advances because she knows he won’t answer her feelings. Even if deep in her heart she wants him to see her as more than just a friend, she knows it will never be possible.

This is why when he DOES respond to her advance, she gets extremely flustered and confused about what to do. Of course, as soon as he shows even the slightest hint of that, she would immediately punch him in the face just like in S1EP8 to deny that. She did that because she knew Mash wouldn’t lift a hand to stop her even though he could. This is why when he DOES hold her fist as she attempts to punch him in the face with little effort, and says: "You’re right, Lemon. We should get married.", Lemon is left speechless with her face now dyed in red due to embarrassment. She cannot reach out to her wand to cast a spell. Besides, knowing him, he would break free anyway, it’s pointless. When Mash gets a hold of both of her hands, his yellow eyes staring right at her as if he really means what he says--he’s bad at lying anyway--when he does reply to her feelings... Well, needless to say, Lemon doesn’t expect this outcome, and she’s running out of tricks.

There's also another idea of Dot properly confessing to Lemon and putting a resolution to his unanswered feelings, and what Lemon actually feels for him, but it's not polished enough so I can't say much.

But, yeah, I guess that's it! When I have ideas that I feel are "polished" enough I often immediately turn them into fanfics, but right now I'm in the "writer's block" phase after writing lots of them lately so I can't write much at the moment, and can only put some scrambled ideas.

It's really fun talking about Lemon with you!

#edwinas #answered #mashle magic and muscles #long post #sorry i ended up rambling a lot hahahah #i had fun talking with fellow lemon enthusiast!

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aaaaaaaaaaaa-hey-its-jude-or-bee · 7 days

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EYYYYY what's up I'm back with some ideaszzswkrnfkehfn classes are OVER!!!

again not a request :-)

okok but harvey picnic date

HARVEY PICNIC DATE!!!!!2!_+#?_!!!

raging rn because hARVEY MAKING SOME CUTE LITTLE OCTO SHAPED SAUSAGES yk the ones right????, LWIKEHTKEEUEUUERRTHH *explodes*

mmmmmmm magic,,,, what if magical!farmer x rasmodius mmmmmm? Them trading recipes for potions like invisibility or trading magic spectres/staffs? Totally can see magical!farmer choosing hilltop side farm/wilderness farm for the loot ngl

djtkrhenr I'm on the angelic dragon hybrid again-

ok but farmer hiding his hybrid traits until a (dilf) bachelor and/or elliot accidentally walks in on him masking his horns and farmer's just like : 😦

AND THEN FARMER KICKS THEM OUT

broski has no idea what to do and just shoos them away like

“uhh, can you leave?” AKSNBFDBFNS

ooOOOOO ok I've said this before but farmer who crochets stuffed animals x morris

Can definitely see farmer teaching morris how to and being extra nice when his bee (hah) doesn't turn out quite right LMAO

farmer then tells him that crochet can't be machine done, explains why, and then morris suddenly falling in love with the hobby (and the verY attractive farmer too)

omg siren!farmer (who's rich) x pierre.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

- 🫚anon

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

All of them are SO GOOD OMH!!!

Harvey making cute lil foods omg wjsjsjsjs he will never make cute pancakes ☹️ he hates pancakes .... I'm still super upset about it when I bring it up m... Grrrr.mmgng

What the fuck Morris and his bee... BEE... Morris and crochet bees and stuff.. omgg,,, I have like the entire rainbow colors for each bee that's been crocheted, each color is a bee. He would love it.

I imagine them to the angelic dragon just

*waiting for them to shut the door, staring at each other. Intensely. And they're not leaving or shutting the door out of shock*

"...GET THE FUCK OUT—"

"*SCREAMS AND SLAMS THE DOOR SHUT*"

I imagine the siren male!farmer and Pierre just yayayaya!! but the siren m!farmer is like possessive about Pierre because he's a siren!! Of course he would be!! He treasures the things he loves dearly!! Meaning he treasures Pierre because he's his of course!! I think siren male!farmer would just be all over Pierre when they're at home and then stands close and by Pierre whenever he would get the chance when he's not busy, even biting him to put marks on what's his and just keeping his hands all over Pierre while he works when it's the siren male!farmers day off,,,,,

But the Magic trading is just sonaiahwisj

but like imagine fallen angel male!farmer... Hiding his background and lying, he never has any hints of lies within his words or tone, even if someone uses magic to see if he's lying it never shows, him saying he used to work at Joja but he really didn't work there and never has, he sees people working there and uses what he knows to make it fully believable that he worked there, he was working for the heavens above and then something happened to make him lose his own job from the gates of the heaven above, and he becomes a fallen angel, he is just purely angelic even if he is a fallen angel as he knows more than he seems because he's been here for over who knows how long, how many years, we will never know but he's been working up there for so long, so he's a handsome lad, never seems to be getting older as he seems more younger, rasmodius senses like there is something about you but he can never really tell even if he uses everything he knows to try and figure out what's up with you and he never gets a single thing or information about you at all but you know who he is, you know him and all of the other magical people he has came in contact with and knows, you know a lot of people, the information dug deep into your mind as sandy and lance show up once in a while to pelican town, Krobus acts much differently from Gil and Marlon to you, he senses you're more powerful and magical than you seem, you aren't just some wee lad Marlon and the wizard say you are, he knows you're older than people think you are, unlike the wizard, Sandy and Lance and even emily, who try to use their magic to see who you are or try and get information about you, he knows what you are, he feels it, he senses it, he knows you. And you know him. Yet, you two seem to have an unspoken agreement that none of you will ever say a word about who you are, even when you trade magic and knowledge to the wizard he knows there's something about you the more you give him information about some magic he wants to learn, you're young aren't you?? Like one of those young adults in pelican town, but. It's clear you aren't just a young adult, you can't be. You can act like one sometimes but he watches from afar and sees how you act, no young new wizard ever does or knows what you do, when you first visit Mr.Qi, he knew who you were, of course, he's been watching you, and you know what kind of magic and powers he possesses, you two talk often and you visit him from time to time, talking about what it was like, and what's been going on, still the others, cannot seem to figure you out. You remain a mystery to everyone, except from Mr.Qi and Krobus.

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reallyghostlypost · 2 years

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The way SVE is portraying monsters seems to be changing

Sorry for the silence, real life demanded more attention and any time I thought I will be able to finally write this whole thing I would either have no idea how to form coherent sentences or something else would come up and I would have to abandoned it for a while. But I finally finished this monstrosity that kept getting longer and more complicated the more I thought about what to write! Hope this is readable, I spent so much time looking at it I can't even tell any longer.

For a while, monsters were just mindless killing machines that would automatically attack any human on sight. In one of Marlon's heart events, deleted now, he says that monsters are beings corrupted by dark magic who always acted violently throughout history, to the point where he dismissed stories where monsters and humans got along as just legends. One of his dialogue lines further proves this idea, as he also tells us that the bugs we fight in the mines used to be normal insects that were corrupted by the magic there. Krobus was the only exception to the rule that we knew of and neither Marlon nor Magnus could figure out why Krobus was the only non-corrupted monster out there. Marlon even calls it "unprecedented". Then, in the void shard event, we found out that someone is corrupting the monsters further on purpose, using exceptionally strong dark magic. In this event, monsters are in a way just victims, just tools manipulated by a stronger power.

So, before the last few updates, monsters were beings that simply didn't belong to this world, created by dark magic or corrupted by it, with no agency, individuality or ability to choose or change their own destiny.

Now, the way the game speaks about them has changed and monsters are shown acting like normal animals. Lance speaks about camouflage, migrations, nesting and monsters hiding when conditions aren't right for them (mushroom monsters coming out only when it rains). During his six hearts event, where the farmer joins him in his research, he shows them how a wilderness golem will avoid his fires after it gets hurt by them. This is the first time we see a monster show self-preservation instincts. This also happens in Castle Village where Camilla explains how the fires around the tower keeps them safe from monster attacks, so it's not something specific to just the Highlands monsters. In Lance's event we can also see a slime family leaving together and two mushroom monsters playing/courting(?), so now monsters are also capable of forming bonds and having loving families.

Monsters feel more like they are a part of the world now. They protect themselves by avoiding harm and unfavorable weather, they nest, create families and raise their young, and camouflage themselves to blend in the foliage. They now react to the environment and what's happening around them. They aren't just creatures that belong to horror movies any more, they have became a normal part of the natural world.

Also, their origins might change in future updates. If you marry Lance one of his dialogue says "Legends say they come from dark ancient magic. I believe there's more than meets the eye". Of course, it's his job to ask these type of questions and then attempt to answer them. But with the changes in monster behavior that we discover after unlocking the Highlands it can also be a hint about future plotlines. Lance also says that "monsters are more than horrid beasts with claws" and it now makes sense why he believes that.

But SVE might go even further with it's monster portrayal. We already knew that shadow people are pretty advanced as far as monster species go. They have crossbows, which requires some advanced technology and understanding of physics to make and use. We developed them during the medieval age after all. We also know that they have their own language and Krobus can speak human languages as well, so their mental development is on par to that of humans. His last heart event in SVE, where you help make peace between humans and shadow people, further proves that they are capable of complex social organisation since they form tribes and gather around a leader.

But that event is important for other reasons too. In the cutscene, in order to repair the relations between humans and the shadow people, the farmer must collect 'void souls' from the Badlands. After you finish the quest, the game tells you that "loved ones were returned to the shadow people". The event shows us that now there's a reason why shadow people attack humans, that something happened in the past that soured the relations between the two species and led to the souls of some shadow people getting trapped in the Badlands.

So at least shadow people aren't just corrupted monsters any longer, they are on the same level as humans in terms of intelligence and culture, can learn human languages and can be negotiated with, have a logical reason why they are at war with humanity and demand a reasonable way to make peace with them, to help their lost loved ones. A huge difference from what Marlon tells us about them: "All that remains are their outer shells, mercilessly attacking any soul in their path".

Still, maybe it was expected for the mod to change the way it portrays shadow people. It was already obvious that they were different from other monsters through our friendship with Krobus. But SVE might change the rest of the monsters too. The fact that there was a dwarf imprisoned in the Highlands is already proof that they are capable of planning ahead and not just killing everything in front of them. And I don't think it's the shadow people that are keeping him imprisoned. When we enter the small tunnel that leads to his cage we have to fight multiple shadow archers that look like they are guarding him, sure. But we also have to fight multiple monsters to reach the top of the hill and kill the pepper rex holding his key, like having to fight the regal guards before reaching the throne room. Also, by having the key it's implied it's him who decides what happens to the dwarf and he kept all the stolen treasures. He seems to be the leader here.

Of course, it could be just a video game trope thing, where you have to fight a bunch of minions before you reach the boss and of course the boss will have the best loot. But if my theory is right then this shows that monsters can form relations even outside their own kind. In this case, there are shadow people, wilderness golems and slimes working together under the command of a pepper rex. It also shows that at least these monsters are also more intelligent than previously thought.

All in all, I think it's interesting the way monsters have been portrayed in SVE since the Highlands update and that it's possible this could mean that the Castle Village update will have completely new lore regarding monsters, guilds and magic than what we know of now.

I started gathering any mention about monsters and magic in SVE to start analyzing them after but these changes in monster behavior complicate things a bit. All new mentions of monsters make them seem more complex than they used to be at the beginning of the mod and sometimes information gathered contradicts itself, like "shadow people are just empty husks" and Krobus's last event.

Even more, some of the older events, mainly Marlon's events, about monsters or the Pelican Town guild have been removed from the game completely and a few events have been modified but some dialogue referring to them haven't been changed yet, which further complicates things. In older versions, in Victor's two heart event, when he tells the farmer about the book he's reading, he says that the First Slash guild is formed of adventurers trained in spear combat and led by Ekon.

Now, according to Lance, Ekon lives in Castle Village (but he did have a blue cloak in the past) and the lore regarding the First Slash has changed. The guild's leader is Jolyne and they specialize in magic combat with no new mentions of spears anywhere, and neither Lance nor anyone else from the First Slash is seen with one in their sprites. So this was probably changed completely. But, an older dialogue line still mentions the spears. When visiting the resort Marlon about them: "They're distinguished by their blue cloaks and use of long spears".

It's possible that some of the older events and dialogue are obsolete now and will be changed completely later on. Castle Village promises to be a massive update and after a quick glance at FlashShifter's Patreon page it could very well be a completely new game (don't have access to his Patreon by the way so nothing I'll write here is taken from there).

So, any discussion about SVE lore that could be influenced by the Castle Village update is... complicated now. I wanted to get this out of the way before posting new monster theories, although it will take a while to gather all the needed data.

#Ekon has been changed multiple times now #he used to have a blue cloak #then a brown one #now his sprite has been completely removed #but Lance still speaks about him so he'll probably be in the game #sve theory #stardew valley expanded theory #sve lore #stardew valley expanded lore

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autumnslance · 3 years

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Is Avergent a original Character? I assume so but I was wondering where she was during heavensward?

She is original! Made up for this prompt response.

This is one of those times where not being too stringent with possible backstory for an OC can be both a blessing and curse. I discover new things about my OCs through writing over time; while I have a good idea of the basics of their backstories--where they're from, the general shape of their family and relationships with them, major moments/events--some things take form over time, in a sort of discovery through writing, more lore knowledge, and good ideas cropping up. Usually it's easy enough to slot in; rarely do I retcon things for a better idea had later, though it can happen.

I didn't "realize" Aeryn's father was a heretic until last year's (2020) FFXIV Write. Until then he was a nameless farmer who had been lost in a dragon attack as Nidhogg's Horde made its way to Ferndale, hitting up a few other targets along the way. The "Paternal" prompt took some thinking, musing, and ideas, and I ended up free writing about two dad-like figures in Aeryn's life (among the many in this Game of Dads), Alberic and X'rhun.

I've already written a few things about Aeryn's stepfather Tanzel (and am looking forward to more inspiration come EW when we finally get to Thavnair), but had never really written anything about Corran before last year's FFXIV Write--he didn't even have a name until that prompt, and had only briefly been seen in "When Everything Changes", the freebie writing I did that year, too, detailing how little Zaine reacted to Aeryn's birth, and from that boyish perspective.

So suddenly I had a story that "fit" into what very little Aeryn actually knew; she was five years old when Corran died and Emelia took her children back to Thavnair. I had mentioned in previous writes about Aeryn’s memories of the incident that she did, in fact, first meet Alberic then, but as the Azure Dragoon and he scared an already upset little girl. It ties them together further, especially since while Aeryn is a very good Dragoon, she's set aside the lance in favor of red magic.

I always knew I wanted Aeryn to be Coerthan in order to "justify" to myself why she can Dragoon beyond just "the WoL is special." In thinking of the prompt for yesterday, I thought back to how Aeryn is a child of both Coerthas and Thavnair, initially thinking maybe something where she was bullied for being mixed ethnicity, but I didn't really want to go there, either (I touch on it in her background, it affects her, and while I know about being bullied for other reasons, I'm too white to really wanna delve into that particular reason for fanfic). But it got me thinking about her backstory, and what I learned about Corran through that writing, and how it had to have gotten to that point where he did transform to fight Alberic.

As for where Avengret was during Heavensward? Where she is now? Not sure yet, but she may turn up again! She literally didn't exist in my mind until last night when I wrote the story. We'll see what the rest of the prompts this month do, and beyond to future writing and needing to give Aeryn some angsty revelations.

#Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIVWrite2021 #writing #character development #Backstory #Lyn Writing #Lyn Meta #Corran Striker #Aeryn Striker #Avengret

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noneatnonedotcom · 4 years

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RWBY before Oswald is stuck in a hard place the council needs a mission done but no one is willing to sully their hands and he can't bring himself to go see jaune he tries to talk to ruby only to have her publicly rip him a new one stating her beloved isn't a tool to be used by him and the council when he sees fit

right so sorry I took so long with this but as you can see I did put a lot of effort into this, I hope you all like it. also @bssaz97 I’m tagging you because I know you like this au and wanted to do a scene or two with summer and tai so figured it was best to make sure you were in on the new “cannon”

ADAM’S PEAK

This was a disaster, not just militarily but personally. It was devastating news, and Oswald wasn’t sure just what to do about it.

A white fang general had taken the faunas’ elite troops and had gone on a mad crusade through Vale’s countryside. In a little under a week, they would cross the western mountain chains and be into their heartlands.

The fact that Adam was not acting under orders would do little to calm the hatred of vale and the other kingdoms. Menagerie might very well be whipped off the map as a result.

The actual problem was that the huntsmen were not ready for combat like this, he barely had a thousand of the newly minted warriors, and adam was marching with some six-thousand-five-hundred troops. All with aura unlocked. All with years, sometimes decades of experience in human combat. And well equipped too. The only ones with an army left after his idea to rely solely on huntsmen was Atlas. And their military commanders were… less than ready for the war to come.

There was only one man who could save them, and Oswald already owed him too much to be willing to ask him himself.

But his hands were tied with the news that came in this morning. The council of Atlas had called back the expeditionary force under the command of ironwood. There was a significant uproar over this fact, and the returning general ironwood had launched an investigation, but Oswald knew the truth.

The first battle with the white fang was a disaster. While ironwood managed to get his men out fast enough, Adam had defeated the army soundly. It was only ironwood’s impeccable tactical understanding that allowed him to survive it. With most of his army but none of the provisions as their camp was ransacked and raided as they were forced to retreat.

And now only one man could save them, and Oswald couldn’t bring himself to ask.

When he explained the situation to ruby, she had been quiet for a long time before she finally asked, “Is that all he is to you? A sword you can draw in times of war and put away when you’d rather not face the dark truth? Who do you think you are to ask him for more after what he gave! His family was nearly left destitute by you! His legacy and way of life are gone! His reputation tarnished! His very dreams now taken from him, and I have to lie awake a night listening to his nightmares! All on your orders!” she was shouting, now unable to sit with the anger coursing through her. “WHAT MORE CAN YOU TAKE FROM HIM? THERE’S NOTHING LEFT FOR YOU, OSWALD. ALL THAT’S LEFT TO HIM IS HIS LIFE AND HIS HONOR!” she was crying now Oswald reached out trying to offer comfort to the girl by she smacked his hand away.

She glared at the man she once saw as a grandfather “he’ll go, we both know he’ll go. He’s a knight of Vale. He’ll always stand ready to protect those he loves. He’ll give the full measure of devotion for his kingdom” she turned away “you don’t deserve him, none of you do, but he’ll take up lance and sword for you” her final words as she shut the door behind her “you deserve eternal life.”

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In the backroom of the council chambers, Adam Taurus smirked, looking over his weapon a katana. Menagerie had ordered him to stand down. Told him that the time of heroes was at an end. But adam knew there was one last trial left for those who sought to be a hero. One final glory before the end of the age. And his name was Sir. Jaune the Just.

Though adam preferred his other name.

The butcher of anima.

The knight’s age was coming to an end, he knew it, jaune knew it, everyone knew it. But there would be one last glorious battle before the end. It was only a matter of setting things up. He needed jaune out of vale and away from his retenue. Luckily for him, the council wanted to be rid of the knight. And of Oswald. All they needed to do was have Oswald be the one who sent jaune out, and when the hero died, both would be gone.

This battle needed to happen. It was his last chance. If he missed this, it was over. His name would never be mentioned in the history books. But if he could take the head of the butcher? Then his name would live forever as the last knight of the world. And the last great general.

When the councilors came and told him the news, he was overjoyed. But he kept his mask up. All he needed from these fools was a chance to kill jaune. Once that was done, their bargain was complete.

And vale was wide open for plunder.

Yes, if this was the last act of the heroic age, let him return to menagerie with a heroes bounty.

In a week’s time, he would face jaune at a no named castle fortress. He didn’t mind that it had no name. For by the end of this, it would be known as adam’s peak!

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Jaune stood before his army, his steel-like gaze casting over the lot of them. They were not knights, not even soldiers and barely men, but they were his. Not for the first time, he cursed the council for sending these men out to die with him rather than having the courage to execute him themselves simply. But he put aside his anger; this wasn’t about the council; this was about his men.

“Nothing is more becoming of a man than to be brave before your enemy,” he began, his voice clear and level as he made eye contact with as many of these boys as he could. Seeking to let them know he was there with them, “but a man may be afraid and still be brave!”

The soldiers, despite their nerves and apparent fear, perked up at this, “And any man who goes into battle without fear is a moonstruck fool! To be brave is to go forward anyway, no matter how a-feared! That is why I go forward in the company of so many other brave men.”

Jaune shot the men before him a grim, but encouraging smile, “I will not lie to you, I can promise you nothing but a hard struggle to come.” Jaune was met with silence before he continued you on, “What would you have me say? I will not lie, not to you, and not for any matters of strategy or state. I will not shame myself as such. But there is one thing I will tell you.”

“YOUR FATE SHALL BE THE SAME AS MINE,” the men cheered at this, “whatever glories in the battle to come, I want you to know that we shall share them, I will be by your side!”

Jaune saw the enemy army marching over the last swell of the hill, having divided themselves into two separate forces consisting of thirty-five hundred men each.

“It is a great honor to be thought of by the kingdoms as an educated and well-read man. After all, it is the home of one of the greatest places of learning in the world! But I tell you this, in all of my studies, I have never encountered the likes of our foes! They would fill bestiaries yet unwritten, and good scholars would blush to write of their perversities!”

“And finally, I can tell you as a man of learning that a book can be beneficial before a battle, I would not recommend Tacitus though, the pages of his books are very rough on your nether regions!” the men laughed. Jaune raised his sword, “THEY WILL REMEMBER!”

A great cheer went up as the men rushed to their positions, forming together in tight spear walls on the mountain’s steep incline.

For Jaune, there was only one truth that rang in his head at the moment, that invincibility is found in defense, but victory can only be found in the offense. It’s why he had ignored the small wooden walls of the “castle” behind him.

No, he wouldn’t die cowering behind the wooden wall of a fort. His destiny lay down the hill before him. And with a determined look upon his face, Jaune kicked his horse into a gallop and went down the hill; his banner raised high...

… And rode right past the second army, making their way up towards him.

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Adam would give this to Jaune; he had indeed done his best to give his men every possible advantage. A lesser commander would have hidden behind those wooden walls at the top of the mountain, but not Jaune. He had sallied out and met him, man to man, on the field of battle. But Adam wasn’t worried. Even with such a steep incline helping the enemy, they were no match for trained soldiers with armor and aura.

The poor peasants that the council had sent to die with Jaune would be remembered at the very least, as they would have the privilege of taking place in the last battle of the Age of Knights. A movement out of the corner of his eyes showed him the banner of house arc proudly dancing in the breeze, with Jaune running down the mountainside right past his army.

He immediately ordered his second army to give chase as the envelopment meant nothing to him. In time these farmers with their pointy sticks would fall, but Jaune must not be allowed to escape and rally a defense elsewhere.

It was not some three minutes later when his lieutenants spoke of Jaune coming for them, leaving Adam to gape at such an action. What Lunacy, surely, no one would be foolish enough to charge an army on their own?!

Adam had little time to comprehend his enemy’s ploy, for when he turned around to the battlefield, he was greeted with a sight to behold. For there before him, plowing through his men as if they were nothing more than dominoes to be toppled over was Jaune Arc: His horse a resplendent white; His armor a polished to a perfect shine; and with his lance couched at a perfect angle as he connected with the unsuspecting Adam’s armor.

There was a moment of resistance before Adam felt weightless as he was taken off his horse from the momentum of Jaune’s weapon crashing against his armor. Then, he felt a flare of pain as Jaune’s lance tore through his armor and pierced his heart in a clean kill before his limp body crashed against the cold, hard ground in an undignified heap.

And then, there was nothing but the void of darkness to greet him.

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Lie Ren was not a knight. He wasn’t even a soldier. He was a farmer, a poor one at that, so when the council had said they needed men to act as levies, he’d signed up. He figured they’d have him digging ditches and carrying supplies, nothing too overtly complex he’d imagine.

But not this

The world was a haze of violence and pain in front of him; faunas in heavy armor struggled uphill through their wall of spears. He thrust without thinking, hoping that it might dissuade the warriors, while every few seconds, another cry would go up as one of his allies took a blow. Nearly all of them were bleeding now, yet none dared to fall, for to fall now would surely lead to their death. Before them, the mass of knights had formed a solid wall; he’d kill for a musket like the one Nora had wanted to buy him, but it was too expensive, and he wanted to save the money to get new farm equipment.

That steam tractor seemed so frivolous right now.

A flash of steel was his only warning as the man next to him died, clutching his throat. Eyes wide, begging for help the first one but most likely not the last. Ren thrust the spear, again and again, ignoring his growing fatigue as he did so. He’d survive this, and he’d make it home to Nora, that’s all that mattered.

But how? They were surrounded.

He wondered if Nora would find another, he hoped so. She deserved happiness, more than he could offer her, that was for sure. Her smile was the best thing about her. It was what drove him to work so hard. Knowing that she’d be back at home waiting for him, he could endure any hardships for that smile. He was hoping to marry her when he got back when the farm was stabilized, and they could build their lives together.

He hoped she wouldn’t mourn too long.

It was just as he was about to give up when he saw him; Sir Arc had gotten behind enemy lines. Down the massive slope, he could see the other half of the army giving chase. And it all happened in slow motion.

Sir Arc Riding up the hill

His lance lowered just as the enemy general turned to see him.

A great screeching as the lance went through the armor of the faunas.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

And then they started screaming.

Panic took the enemy that just a second before was utterly unfazed by them. But now, with their spirits broken, so too was their aura.

The battle was now a haze of red, and Ren gave chase without thinking. He needed this, needed to kill them as they had tried before. He stabbed with his spear running down the fleeing knights as they tried to escape his spear, barely having the time to rechamber as he killed with reckless abandon.

This was no longer a battle; it was a glorious red hazed slaughter, the most potent high of rage elation and victory ren had ever felt, and he needed more, and more, and more! Let the world drown in his enemy’s blood.

HE’D KILL THEM ALL!

Eventually, though, they ran out of men. And ren came down from his high, all around him were tired bloody men, but more importantly, the field was covered in a carpet of dead knights, so much so that the grass couldn’t be seen underneath.

Ren looked at the sky, and that couldn’t be right.

The sun hadn’t moved; it was still high noon.

It had felt like hours, but…

“One thousand men, and seven and a half minutes,” came the voice of Sir Arc. Ren took in the sight of their savior. His horse, once pure white, was now covered in red. His armor the same, his eyes tired. “That’s what it took to gain victory over six-thousand-eight-hundred and thirty-eight men. All consisted of the greatest knights still living after the great war, and the Faunus rights revolution. And the leadership to the militant arm of the white fang” Sir Arc laughed, “and it took me seven and a half minutes AND A THOUSAND FARMERS WITH POINTY STICKS!” and the call went up, the men cheered and hollered. Their cries echoing off the mountain.

Ren would go home to Nora; when he did, they would make love, to the point that he exhausted her. And they would keep going until a week later when Ren’s pay would show up, along with a sizable bonus, and a note.

In time all this would happen, but for now, ren stood on the pile of corpses, covered in blood, spear raised high over his head, and he screamed his victory to the gods on the slopes of what would be known as Adam’s peak.

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Legends would be told of this battle jaune knew as he looked over the clean up being done by his men, the knights of note and the leaders were being beheaded, jaune personally doing the honors for adam. He had plans for all of them. He also had a message from adam’s personal effects back at his camp. He and the council would be having words, and all the world would know of their misdeeds.

The battle itself was the deathblow to the knightly way of life though, jaune could feel it in his bones. It was jaune’s victory purely because of the weaknesses of the knightly system. Aura was based on morale, how willing to fight a man was. When things were going well in a fight, this was all well and fine but scare a man, disrupt his concentration, and he could no longer muster the will to fight, then he was just as vulnerable as any other. Perhaps worse so, as all his skill was based on what he could do with his aura.

The weak point of an army was always their order of battle and morale. And when jaune had killed adam, it had broken them, they could have rallied, but luckily one brave warrior by the name of Lie Ren had rushed forward, seizing the initiative, and as a result, inspiring all the men behind him to push forward as well.

Lie Ren had won this battle just as much as he did.

But adam had committed everything to this battle and lost everything. The knightly system was high risk, high reward, with no real way of knowing how the results would turn out.

The huntsman system didn’t have this problem. It was decentralized, meaning you couldn’t kill a general to break the enemy’s will. And the loss of a team of hunters meant very little in the grand scheme of things. Vale could lose again and again now and still have more to give.

The system was simply a higher reward for lesser risk. And so jaune was faced with the unenviable knowledge that he was the one to end the age of knights. And that he would be the last commander for the final battle.

The after-action report was straightforward. After all, he was only writing it for Oswald. And that was only so ruby would know he was alive before he showed up with the heads of his enemy. Perhaps vale would hate him for this as well, but he no longer cared what happened to that den of vipers.

Jaune had been stationed in the mountains that will henceforth be known as Adam’s peak. He had one-thousand levies from the local farms, poorly trained and equipped. And he had been engaged by the enemy army of the White Fang numbering six-thousand-eight hundred and thirty-eight. Being made up of the elite knights and veteran leadership of the white fang. Knowing that the wooden castle walls would do him no good, he had set his men on the steepest slope in a choke point. It would not have granted him victory, but it had bought him time and had set up the next stage of his strategy.

Adam had sought to capture him for a grand execution and had sent half his army to ensure that he did not escape. Jaune had gambled on the fact that he was a high priority of the enemy general and had run past the second army with his banner held high. Jaune was right in that the enemy was quick to pursue him. He then made a suicidal charge through the back lines of the enemy and slew Adam in a single blow. Therefore, the morale of his enemy and their aura shattered the rest had been a simple mop-up action to ensure they could not rally. With him personally hunting down and killing the enemy commanders as his men slaughtered the rest.

Having followed him, the second army was already exhausted from the chase and, with their auras weakened, could not run away fast enough, blocking the first armies escape and ruining any chance of organizing resistance as units ran through each other to get away, utterly destroying cohesion.

In total, the battle had taken him seven and a half minutes. In seven and a half minutes, Jaune Arc had shifted the direction of fate and history and had secured for himself the title that all would know him by for the rest of his life.

Sir Jaune Arc, The Just, The Butcher Of Anima.

And The Knight of Miracles

#lancaster rwby #lancaster #rwby au #rwby earlier #jaune arc #ruby rose #soulreaver656

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loveafterthefact · 4 years

Text

Love After the Fact Chapter 9: In the Vernacular, Please be my Friend?

Lance and Keith exasperate themselves and each other, but they’re still trying to find common ground to stand on.

First Previous Next

Keith didn’t leave their quarters hardly at all for a movement after they were married. With the exceptions of the incident with Iverson and a minor confrontation with the still-angry seamsmaster (they still hadn’t gotten over the gloves debacle), Keith sequestered himself to their rooms. It seemed the alienating dining room and relatively unfriendly, unhelpful guards and courtiers made him feel unwelcome. Who could have guessed?

Despite the pointed comments from his parents, Lance did not press the issue. Adam brought him food, or Lance, when he wasn’t busy. Keith had seemed faintly surprised that Lance had bothered to do it himself. Like the idea of Lance doing something for him just because was an alien concept.

Over time, giving in to the pressure from the kings, he began to acquaint himself with the dining hall, where the royal family immediately began to invite some gaggle of courtiers or another, the library, which stored the entire civilization’s collected knowledge, and the grounds, where he occasionally absconded with some small plant he thought no one would miss.

Lance was alerted to this habit after one of the gardeners caught Keith stealing a golden regent orchid from a greenhouse. Unfortunately for the distressed gardener, the extremely rare and delicate flower was quite happy in their little garden, and thus Lance declared it would stay.

He’d watched Keith spend several vargas lying on the moss, gazing at the shimmering golden petals. He’d fallen asleep with his tail curled around the stem. Lance had made a note about the Galra kit’s curiosity, speaking to Pidge about ways to keep him busy while he eased his way into royal responsibilities.

At any rate, Keith grew somewhat accustomed to living at the Castle of Lions. By the end of the movement, Keith was starting to venture out for more than meals and stealing from the gardens. He’d even attended court with Lance, sitting on his right, holding his hand on the joined arms of their thrones. At one point, Lord Lanval had come forward to publicly apologize for his slight against the princes at their wedding banquet. Keith had graciously accepted, despite knowing the apology was a show.

In spite of all of this, Lance knows Keith wasn’t happy, and he isn’t exactly happy either. Unfortunately, there isn’t anything he can do.

Lance throws himself into his increasing duties, burying himself in the multitude of smaller concerns that his parents don’t have the time or energy for in the current political climate. Rumors ripple through the royal court and eventually the commonwealth about Crown Prince Lancel and the new practices he’s implementing, including adjusting how taxes are set.

Now, thanks to him, taxes are decided based on income against estimated needed expense. Said expense is not being estimated by courtiers, but by newly hired tax collectors, and based on specific criteria set by Lance, Adam, and Pidge. Keith had suggested that the tax collectors be required to wear pocketless uniforms while collecting, to which Lance had agreed.

“Lancel, everyone is charged the same amount on their taxes. It’s equality.”

“Yes, and farmers scrape by poaching the wilds while Lord Lanval hands us the top off his spare change at the end of the decaphob. This is better than equality, Father. This is equity .”

The appraising look he’d received from Alfor and the collection of small gifts from the agrarian population have been worth the hours-long-winded explanation he’d owed his fathers. The detail he’d had to go into had been excruciating. Coran had done his very best to speed things up, but had hindered more than helped. Lance loves him for his efforts.

Needless to say, he’s tired when he returns to their room much later with Keith’s dinner, finding him and Shiro sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace. They’re talking softly in Galran. Lance pretends not to understand as he sets Keith’s food on the end table.

“No, he didn’t,” Keith whispers, moving a piece on the board game he’d found in his upstairs loft. Lance has taken to leaving games and puzzles in places where Keith could find them. And any pretty trinkets he thinks the Galra might like. Keith doesn’t seem sure what to make of it, and frankly Lance isn’t sure he knows where the objects are even coming from. Perhaps they're more interesting to Keith as a mystery.

“Truly? That is how Alteans consummate their unions. He should have.” Keith shakes his head, and Shiro’s eyes slide to Lance. “Interesting.”

“He is interesting. I don’t hate him, I think.” Well that’s... marginally gratifying. “You don’t hate the attendant. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you like him.”

“You- You shut up!”

“I bet you just wanna eat him up, don’t you? All little and cute like he is.” Lance smiles at Adam as he prances in with the usual sigh and a swing of his hips. Shiro blusters.

“So. Are your fathers, Ancients bless them, stupid?”

“No, they’re just old. The tax system hasn’t been changed since my great-grandfather Mahi was king and it's always been enough to fund the Crown so if it’s not visibly broken, why fix it?” Lance explains. “I think Dad was on board from the beginning. And Father just wants to give me a hard time every now and then. Payback, I guess.”

Adam sighs, datapad clutched in one hand. He pushes his glasses up his nose with the other. “No, he doesn’t. He just…”

“Thinks I’m an idiot?” Lance offers. Out of the corner of his eye, Keith keeps playing with Shiro’s visibly perked ears. They bend back with Keith’s manhandling, only to bounce right back into place. Keith seems to find it very funny, snickering each time they spring forward.

“Lance, you’ve done your best to convince them both that you’re an idiot. Where does this tablet go?”

“It was swiped from the library. Just put it on the nightstand. No, no. The other nightstand. On Keith’s side.” Lance lifts yesterday’s vest from the floor. “I find it interesting that Father buys it, and Dad does not.”

“But not surprising?” Keith asks, briefly glancing at Lance, tugging on Shiro’s ear. The adult Galra seems content with the manhandling. Lance wonders if it's normal to let kits maul you.

“Oh Ancients, no. Dad’s a terrible judge of character, but he knows me too well to be fooled.”

“So King Alfor is a terrible father who doesn’t know his own son?” Shiro asks, swatting playfully at his brother’s hand.

“No, he was just on his own for a long time. After Melinor died, he had Altea, Daibazaal, me and Allura, Coran, and, well. You can guess what happened-”

Keith laughs from where he’s still seated on the floor with his brother.

Lance frowns, turning to watch them. He notices Shiro’s still-perked ears and attentive eyes, fixed on Adam as the attendant begins picking up the trail of misplaced items Lance constantly leaves in his wake. There aren’t that many.

Shiro’s ears are so expressive, their movements as important as his smile.

But Keith... Keith’s ears are mostly stationary, no matter what. They rotate when he hears a noise and they wilt or twitch sometimes, but mostly when he is unsure of himself. Otherwise, they’re just kind of there, like he’s not entirely sure how to move them. That, combined with his generally reserved demeanor, suggests to Lance that Keith doesn’t know how to express himself.

The longer Lance spends with Keith, which admittedly isn’t much, the more he suspects that Keith spent most of his life alone.

It breaks his heart, really. Keith’s actually kind of sweet. He strikes Lance as a gentle soul, and a warm one, when he’s allowed to be. His fond teasing of Shiro regarding his apparent infatuation with Adam stands as a testament to that.

“You should just talk to him.”

“Shut up.”

“He’s stopped looking like he’ll run away if you try.”

“Wait, what? He’s scared of me?”

Keith falters, tries his best to backtrack. “Oh, no, Shiro. Of course not. I’m sure he was just stressed. He’s not scared of you.”

Adam’s absolutely intimidated by the enormous Galra soldier, but Lance isn’t. The man’s adorable.

“Hey Shiro, got any hobbies?” Lance asks. Keith leans over and whispers something that set his brother’s ears aflurry.

“Oh. Um. Well, actually, I like gardening.” Out of the corner of his eye, Lance sees Adam pause before going back to fiddling with the bed canopy.

“When he retires, he wants to open an apothecary,” Keith supplies.

“Really? Well that’s very interesting,” Lance says. “Adam here has quite the interest in botany himself, don’t you? Quite the physik, actually.”

Adam smooths over a pillowcase unnecessarily. “Yes.”

“Perhaps you can exchange comunique codes and compare notes. You leave tomorrow night, don’t you Shiro?”

“Huh? Oh! Yes I do, I’m afraid. Royal Advisor Krolia has been doing both her job and mine, so I really can’t stay longer.”

“I see.” Lance notices how Keith’s mood drops drastically with the turn of conversation. “Well please come back and visit when you can. You are family now, and always welcome. Just let us know before you arrive so I can make sure you won’t starve.”

Shiro smiles with gratitude. “Thank you, Lance.” The man rises to his towering height. “I’d best begin packing my things. Keith, you stay here and at least try to be friends with your husband.”

“Shiro-”

“No, Keith.” Shiro lays a hand on Keith’s head. “It will get easier. I promise. But you need to try, too. He is.”

Keith nods, studying the half-finished board game in front of him, now devoid of an opponent. Lance turns to Adam, addressing him in Altean. “Can you give us a minute? It’s tricky to get him to talk, and he won’t if you’re here.”

Adam abandons his fiddling. “I’d best go speak to Pidge if I’m to get that comms code set up. It’ll be valuable to have another source inside the Galra fold. Perhaps the captain will be useful.”

Lance heaves a sigh, sitting down where Shiro had been before. “Hey-”

“Did you know I can speak Altean?” Keith murmurs, studying the game board. Quiznak.

“Did you know I speak Galran?” The two stare at each other for a moment. Then sigh, shoulders drooping. “We have to stop doing this. We have to stop trying to get one over on each other,” Lance says. “We’re the only people we know we can trust-”

“I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Lance bites his lip. “I trust you. I don’t think you would hurt me. Not at all.”

“Lance, I’ve been trained specially to kill you.”

“And?” Lance shrugs. “I’ve been trained how to kill you . That’s how it is... You know, we could have met in battle. We could have fought each other. One of us could have killed the other. Been celebrated for it. Rewarded.” Keith’s ears wilt. He doesn’t seem to like that idea any more than Lance does.

“What do you want, Lance?” Lance moves one of Shiro’s pieces and hands Keith the twenty-sided die. Keith tosses the die, moves a piece, and on it goes.

“Shiro leaves tomorrow,” Lance observes. The ears droop further, tail limp against the floor. “I wanted to see how you’re doing. See if there’s anything I can do.”

Keith’s quiet for a long time, amethyst eyes dull and downcast. Lance sighs, assumes he’s not going to make any progress today.

“Okay, Keith. That’s alright-”

“My brother is leaving, and I will be alone here. I miss my mother.” Of course. Of course he does. “It- It hurts.” Of course it hurts. Keith’s still a kit. He still has that powerful kit’s bond with his mother, with his pack. “There’s not a whole lot to be done.” Keith pulls out his datapad and dims the lights to nothing. It’s just the fire, no moon to shine through the domed glass roof of the tower above. “It’ll get better, the longer we’re separated.”

“I can get you a comms code-”

“No. Thank you, but that will make it worse. In a few movements, maybe a phoeb, I’d like that, but for now, this is best.”

It’s only later, when they’re in bed, that Lance realizes exactly what’s happening to Keith. Parent-child bonds are powerful things for Galra. Keith’s have remained even as his mother served in battles during the second war. Normally, such a bond fades during a Galra’s final growth.

Now, that bond is being forced apart before its time. Again.

Lance can only imagine what all of Keith’s loss and moving around and such has done to him. He notices the Galra trying to massage his own ears, self-soothing, hears a tiny, smothered chirp. Distressed. He scoots closer, reaches out, replaces Keith’s fingers with his own.

"It's alright, Keith. I've got you."

The Galra tenses for a moment, relaxes. Lance can hear him purring as he settles. He is this kit’s primary pack-member now. He’ll take good care of him. He trusts Keith to return the favor if he gets a chance.

“Keith?” A hum of acknowledgement. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I’m sorry that you’re still a kit and I’m sorry about your family and I’m sorry that you’re here.”

“If you’re sorry, then help me do better. Make sure it doesn’t have to happen to our children.”

“I swear it. On my life.”

#LoveAftertheFact #LAtF #klance #galtean au #altean lance #galra keith #adashi #altean adam #galra shiro #voltron legendary defender #vld

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jade-tnn · 4 years

Text

Okay, post-s8 Klance time

You’d think the Paladins would become like, insanely famous, right

So naturally, people from all over the world want to know more about them

This leads to people requesting interviews with the Paladins/Atlas Crew/Garrison etc

Lance obviously loves all the attention cause he’s not depressed (frick you farmer life) and convinces the team to do interviews

They do a big group interview talking about their journey in Space and their experiences in war etc

The interviewer asks if any romances blossomed within the team and everyone just kinda looks at Lance

“I might be the only one, but I definitely fell in love during our time out there.”

The interviewer nods and is like “So you’ve come to terms with your past love for Allura?”

And he just kinda blinks and he’s like “oh, right, I guess I liked her too”

And everyone just stares at him

He’s like oh wait I definitely shouldn’t have said that

Pidge and Hunk are already sharing evil looks that definitely mean they’re going to torture him for information later

Shiro clears his throat and he’s like “well, uh, although we really only had one couple form throughout our journey, many friendships were born that we will always treasure”

Hunk then is asked to talk a bit about his and Shay’s new relationship and Lance is just sitting there blushing the whole time because he realized what he said

After the interview Lance is asked to come back another time for a solo interview which he reluctantly accepts

He comes back a few weeks later and it’s mostly about his view on the team dynamic and how he felt about some decisions people made throughout their time in space and eventually they ask the dreaded question of “so who was this other person you mentioned having feelings for?” Cause the internet/world needs to know

“Uhhh, well, I don’t want to share specifics, but they were incredibly brave and I was constantly in awe of their abilities”

Lance ends up raving about them for most of the interview but people still can’t figure out who it is because he’s being incredibly vague

“Did you meet this person or alien in Space or did you already know them?”

Lance knows he can either lie or tell a vague truth, and he chooses the latter just for the sake of not having to keep up the lie in the future

“I, uh, already knew them, but not too well. We grew closer in Space but were often separated, so I didn’t think it would ever go anywhere. I surprised myself with my love for them. It was so sudden and completely uncalled for that I didn’t think it would even be possible for them to even view me as more than a friend”

The interviewer is picking up what lance is trying not to put down and shares a knowing glance with the cameraman/woman

“So you and him had more of a friendship dynamic?”

“For sure. He-“

Lance realizes he just revealed the gender on accident by agreeing with the interviewer who looks very smug

They end the interview soon after and Lance barely makes it back to the Garrison before all the calls from friends and family start coming in

They’re all trying to get him to tell them who it is but he refuses

Pidge and Hunk find him in a lounge and started hassling him with questions

He doesn’t answer any of them but his expression reveals enough

The two share a look and then walk off, Pidge saying “I guess I’ll just have to tell Keith you’re in love with him” before she disappears around the corner leaving Lance to scramble after them and try to prevent Hunk and Pidge from telling anyone

They run all the way to Shiro’s office to tell him, who already guessed as much just from watching Lance interact with the other boy

When Lance catches up word has spread to a lot of people who all said they already kind of knew

Lance runs to find Keith, finally locating him after a while of searching on the roof where the Garrison trio had once watched him break into the place Shiro was being held

Lance asks him if he’s watched the interview, to which he just nods and gives him a small smile

“They must be special, huh.”

“You have no idea”

(Sunset scene parallels anyone??)

Lance tries to be slick and convince Keith that it’s some alien they met even though that makes no sense

Keith just believes him because man his heart has been broken enough times by Lance what’s one more time

Slowly realizing that Keith seems to becoming more and more distant the longer Lance talks he asks him if he ever had someone special while they were in space

Keith softly smiles and nods

“He didn’t feel the same, though. And I made some pretty stupid mistakes while we were out there. We grew apart, and it was all my fault.”

Lance doesn’t even care that he’s not the person Keith is talking about he just wants Keith to be happy

So he grabs Keith and hugs him, telling him he’s sorry

He pulls away to look at Keith who has tears in his eyes, but he’s smiling

“It’s okay, Lance. I think he’s happier now, his life here on Earth being everything he wanted while were out there fighting. He missed the ocean, his family, his people... he’s home.”

Lance kisses him right then and there, because he just wants Keith to feel loved

Keith pulls away and stares at him for a bit looking shocked

“Why...?”

“Because this person must’ve been stupid not to fall in love with you. Or maybe I was the stupid one, loving someone so clearly more incredible than me.”

“You deserve the world, Keith. The entire universe. I wish I would’ve told you more when we were in Space. Even if it was unrequited, you still should’ve known that someone loved you.”

Keith pulls him back in for another kiss and then whispers

“It wasn’t unrequited.”

Quiznak, that got long- anyways, apologies for rambling for so long but I wish this would’ve happened and wanted to write it out as a hc :)

#voltron #klance #headcanon #lance mcclain #keith kogane #keith x lance

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lizzieraindrops · 4 years

Text

Your chance to make the sun rise thrice (Chapter 3)

that a garden will grow (11,143 words)

"There are no happy endings, because nothing ends." - The Last Unicorn, Peter S. Beagle That does not mean that there is no joy.

Veera is alive.

Also on AO3 | Playlist soundtrack | Aesthetic sideblog

Happy autumn equinox, everyone.

When I started this story as a oneshot back in 2016, I had no idea that it would turn into a series spanning four years of new life for these characters, much less that it would end up taking me nearly the same amount of time to write it.

I wrote the first part during the darkest yet time of my life as an abstract fantasy of being in a better place. I finish writing it today from a better place, physically, mentally, emotionally, and even spiritually. If I've learned anything from this, it's that your own creativity saves you and is powerful enough to call the better things that seem so impossible into existence.

This is my tribute to Veera as a character and everyone like her and anyone who has identified with her. She changed my life. Even with all OB's many, many flaws (dear god there are SO many), without the explicit representation of Veera's neurodivergence in the Helsinki comics, I don't know how I would have figured out that I'm autistic. That has been both the biggest hurdle and the greatest blessing in the trajectory of my healing. Since it's been so central to this story and its writing, I've included a link to some resources for autism spectrum self-diagnosis.

Part 1: Herbs on the windowsill

Part 2: Someday colors

Part 3: Your chance to make the sun rise thrice | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

***

Veera wakes gently, early, unexpectedly so. As she sits up, her weighted blanket slips off and crumples around her waist like a shed skin. Bands of muted morning coming through the blinds slide over her as she rises from the plane of the bed. The summer sun has still risen first, of course. True dark never falls here in the summer, at this high a latitude. But right now, its light is softened and diffused by a thin veil of cloud over the city. Listening, the others aren’t up and moving yet.

Slight shifting of her relaxed limbs makes the softness of the sheets into an extravagance. She’s in a rare, delicately balanced state, one where her senses have sharpened just enough to turn ordinary sensations exquisite without overwhelming her. She’ll have to spend some time listening to music – and with Niki and Beth. That was the plan anyway. But the others aren’t up yet.

Today, there’s a restlessness in her. Most days, she gets up slow, simply waiting until her body is ready to go about the day. Yet a quiet kind of discomfort has made a home in her core, nudging her to get moving. The feel of it is neither full nor hollow, not exactly painful yet nothing like comfort. It’s just there, a subdued directionless yearning.

But her mind needs to go at its own pace waking up. Inertia drags at her when she tries to move too fast or cut corners in her daily ritual. Subtle distress quickly follows that inertia if she tries to press the issue. It shows in the incrementally increasing fine tension of her muscles, slowly winding her up like clockwork. So she sits with the feeling. Motionless except for her breath in the middle of her bed, she thinks.

Light. Leaves. Home. Hunger. She should eat soon. They’re out of cereal, though. There’s a farmer’s market a few blocks away that should have fresh summer fruit. She could go. She does, sometimes, early in the morning like now, before Niki wakes up, and just wanders around. As long as she keeps it short and doesn’t talk much, she should be able to manage it without giving herself a headache.

Twenty minutes find her feet traversing muted pink granite. Neat rectangular stone cobbles pave the street below her living room window. The rumble of a loud truck passing right by close makes her flinch, but she manages to shake the discomfort out of her neck and shoulders easily enough once it’s gone. Other than that, the streets are unusually peaceful. Most people like get out of the city this close to midsummer.

She steps lightly over the stone in snugly laced canvas shoes, toes touching down first. There’s some sort of bird hidden in the trees lining the street, singing two repeated notes on a slow loop. A flycatcher, she thinks.

Being in motion somewhat soothes her restlessness as she slips through broad swathes of clouded morning light between the shadows of buildings. The persistent sensation is nothing so strident as the hypervigilance that used to keep her so high strung. But its subtle company has been constant, lately. She can tell she’s internally processing something, but she can’t quite pin it down. Maybe that’s why she’s been waking up so much earlier than normal.

Lately, a strangeness has been gently tugging at the edges of her mind. In part, she knows it’s a growing awareness of how much things have changed since four years ago. It’s happened so gradually. It was nigh invisible until she cast far enough back along the path of her own footsteps to see how far she’s come. She almost died, but she didn’t. She’s no longer in a desperate race to survive. Now, she’s alive. The question of who and what she is now is an unnervingly open one.

These days, she wakes within a body that is soft and scarred. She is both a wounded creature walking this world with strange steps and a thing healing yet already whole. More often than not, she finds her shoulders loose and her chest open, instead of curled tight into a semblance of stone. They can still seize up when her fears circle back around to worry at invisible scars. But it’s not an endless anxious state. It isn’t everything she is anymore.

Likewise, her nightmares don’t spend as many nights haunting her. Weeks pass between them, sometimes. When they do steal back to the surface of her psyche, the quiet fear they stir up saps all her energy and trails lazily through the daylight hours like an oilslick. She spends those days baking something sweet in the apartment’s warmly lit kitchen. Or she takes inventory of the shapes and textures of the leaves that hang suspended in the air of every familiar room.

It helps, even if dreams or memories linger smoldering in the back of her mind the whole time. The sensations and sense of space keep her grounded, both within herself and outside of the fickle fear and pain that flares and fades and keeps returning. Of course, nothing is so immediately comforting as the presence – and, in this searingly ephemeral moment, presences – that remind her she is not alone. But even when they aren’t there, the space itself reminds her that she lives with and in this place she’s chosen to call a home.

The apartment is the first home she can remember that feels the way she suspects one is supposed to. It fits around her, small and enclosed enough to know every inch without uncertainty scratching at the bounds of her awareness. Tucked away up on the third floor, it nests in a quiet old brick building that’s as comfortably worn in as her favorite hoodie. Its wide windows spread big and bright in every room, reminding her to breathe freely. She is no longer a creature caged. Shadows are soft in this place, and the sunlight is as much a part of it as the walls. Its radiant forms lance through glass and smile through aches, never failing to wrap her in warmth.

Leaves unfurl gently in every window. She likes to run the living silken or waxy greenness of purposeful growth between her fingertips. Perhaps their green faces are outnumbered by all the strangely familiar human ones in the photos along the whitewashed walls, marking where friendships have germinated. But then again, perhaps not. It’s a close call, and there’s always more of both growing. They’re still something of a miracle to her, after so long alone.

Low murmurs of outdoor conversation bring her back to the pop-up stalls of the market hovering just ahead. She’s there.

There are somewhat fewer visitors than normal, but the market still appears to be proceeding about business as usual. Early on, this Saturday market tends to be quieter than the Sunday one, not quite as full of people. It's that perfect balance of un-crowded enough that she can keep to her own internal world without interruption, but bustling enough that she doesn't stand out. She's just another woman at the market. Once in a while, gazes will slide over the scars on her cheek, or her upper arm if she’s wearing short sleeves (not her leg or ankle, as she never wears anything except pants). Her skin begins to remember to crawl - but then the eyes keep on sliding past, on to the peppers or the green beans or the fresh cut flowers.

Weaving her way into the dispersed crowd, she heads for the egg stand first, just in case they run out. They often do. With a dozen blue and brown eggs in tow, she roves about until she finds a stand with peaches she can smell from several paces away. Their sweet tang fills the air as she picks them out. She also gets some fresh apricots, brushing her fingertips over their velvety little coats of fuzz. She tucks the stonefruit and eggs safely into the backpack she brought and keeps moving. A yeasty oaf of fresh bread for picnicking later joins them. The rounded tip of the long loaf pokes out the top of the zippered pocket, hovering just behind her ear. She leaves the top of its paper wrapper open so it stays crisp.

Live music rolling out from the street corner captures her, pulling her out of her trajectory mid-stride to swing toward the unadorned sidewalk stage. The resonance of shimmering metal strings and singing wood flows over her and through her, and she simply sways with it, part of it. It sparkles over her skin and hums along her bones, making her flutter her fingers in pleasure, and it’s blissful. After everything she’s been through, the long gauntlet of near misses and fires and nightmare flames, it still seems wrong somehow for things to be this okay, to feel this good.

That’s why, when visceral self-consciousness swoops down on her again without warning, its familiar fear is as much something like relief as it is a thorn in an old wound. Nothing even causes it, really: just a stray passing glance from a stranger that slid over her hands instead of her scars and didn’t even linger. But it makes her remember the oddness of the ways her hands move, when she’s happy, when she’s stressed. It makes her stand out if she doesn’t make the effort to hide them – or if she takes a little too long to think in a conversation – or if she lets on that she can be hurt so easily by the smallest, normally inconsequential things.

In more dangerous times, standing out could have ended very badly for her. The feeling of being hunted might have retreated to the back of her mind, but it has never truly left. In moments like this, she still snaps back into old habits. Her fists clench into stillness, her mind into sharp wariness, her whole self into the ache of immobility except for consciously calculated movements. It’s not quite the old full-body taut-wire tension of terror. Nonetheless, it’s a painful tender twisting inside, pulling things skewed and wrong in her chest.

The thing is, she knows she’s one of the lucky ones. For so many people, the fear never gets to recede at all. Either the danger remains ever-present in the casual cruelties of the world, or their wounds never get the care they need to heal. Not everyone can be set free by toppling a single old castle of corruption into the sea. Veera gets to try to heal, as impossibly hard as it is and always will be. She has support to fall back on now, kind hearts that hear her, arms that will hold her when she hurts. Though they’re rare, she has days where she doesn’t feel like she has to hide at all. It’s so strange. Even before the Helsinki fire, she spent so long becoming acquainted with the wariness of attracting too much attention. She’s still trying to understand who she even is if she’s not hiding.

That’s why she’s doing the work she does with CYGNet. They’re all muddling their way toward healing from their one-off odd brand of hurt, but the support system they’re building could be useful for so much more. In her mind, they’re just the beginning. One day, maybe they can expand to help even more people beyond the Leda project. The Beths with different faces but surviving the same family history. The Nikis with different nightmares but recovering from the same betrayal. The Veeras with different scars who are just as overwhelmed by the everyday world, but deserve just as much of a chance to experience it without having to hide their truth in shame and become someone they’re not.

Well. Maybe one day. For now, one thing at a time. She has to take care of herself and her own healing if she’s going to make any progress down that distant path. Sometimes, the path she’s on right now still seems to stretch so much further ahead than she can fathom.

Eyes closed, Veera takes a breath into her tense stillness. To her own fragile heart, she whispers, It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. She breathes; it passes.

Giving herself a few minutes more to listen to the music, she waits until the grip of physical memory lessens. The sound is still lovely, even if she can’t quite fall back into the two-piece symphony the way she did mere moments ago. She calms further as she carries herself onward again down the tent-lined street. Under the surface, though, in the same hollow where her restlessness lives, her heart remains sore where something still won’t settle into place.

Fortunately, there are other good things at the market that help soothe the ache. Even for someone like her who needs to limit her exposure to overstimulation and crowds, they make it worth braving all the bustle now and again.

A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth at the sight of a profusion of green fronds leaning out from beneath the awning of the stand up ahead. It's bursting with foliage in more shades of green than she knew existed, and chock full of rows of those knobbly little succulents she loves so much. The vendor is a quiet man with a ponytail and a kind face. He merely smiles at her whenever she comes by. He’s one of those strangers who are friends by the shared appreciation of silence. Sometimes words get in the way.

He nods at her in recognition as she ducks into the stand to avoid a loud group of shoppers. Though there are people in there, something about the vendor and the greenery keeps things calm. The tiny forest is an island in the flow of people. It’s nearly on the opposite end of the market from where she started, and it always provides a brief respite where she can recover a little before heading back. Besides, she likes to look over the lacy ferns and trailing philodendrons and all the tiny succulents in every color of the rainbow, even if she already has too many.

She still leaves most of the houseplants to Niki to look after. But to her own surprise, she’s quite good at taking care of the succulents. For the most part, she leaves them somewhere sunny and ignores them. They love it. Sometimes they even treat her to little shiny-papery flowers in brilliant pink or yellow.

Ranks of mini succulents line one of stall’s tables. She’s barely skimming her fingers over the surfaces of a row of flat, stone-like lithops when she sees it. One of the tiny pots is filled with what appear to be little green spheres like peas. Looking closer, they’re round, succulent leaves attached to thin trailing stems. Sprouting from the end of one string of them is a long, spindly stem curving up to a closed flower bud that bobs in the breeze. She’s never seen anything like it.

The man running the stand notices her looking at it. Veera points at the plant and tilts her head in a question. He smiles and extracts a sheet of paper for her from a messy pile half tucked under the cash box. Its a care sheet for Senecio rowleyanus, or string of pearls.

Veera did promise Niki she’d stop bringing home so many succulents. But the plant man’s pressing the little pot of pearls into her hands, waving her wide eyes away with a smile when she reaches for her wallet. This one will have to be an exception. Her small smile and wave of thanks receive another nod in acknowledgement and farewell. Cupping the pot in both hands, she ventures back into the mid-morning river of people to take herself home.

On the way back down the street, the plant cradled against her chest draws smiles from the crowd. They often transfer to her as well. Something about the green thing in her arms softens people’s expressions, even when they see her scars. It makes it easier to walk softly, and to carry her dull ache of residual fear just as gently.

As if struck, she stumbles when she remembers that today, she gets to go home to her two best friends in the entire world. The ache that knowledge calls forth is just as arresting as the kind that comes with the clinging oilslick fear, yet different. This is far stronger and far sweeter, its truth a soft clarity. Veera clutches her plant close to her chest with one hand as she catches her balance on a fruit-covered table with the other. A handful of little oranges roll off as she bumps into it.

Stammering apologies, Veera scrambles to gather up the fallen fruit. A nearby woman browsing the citrus in a purple sweater kneels down to help her. Veera wasn’t planning on buying mandarins, but she can hardly knock them all over the ground and run off. She hopes she has enough cash left. Straightening up, she looks for somewhere to sit the fruit down so she can check her wallet.

But the woman in the sweater holds her hands out for them. She’s already put the ones she picked up in a canvas bag.

“I’ll take them,” she says. “I was gonna buy some anyway.” Her sweater is a few shades bluer than the warm purple of Veera’s own hoodie.

Veera blinks at her. “Are – are you sure?” She holds out one of the mandarins, showing its dented skin, fragrant with released citrus oils.

The woman gives her a small smile. “Yeah. I’ll eat that one first.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.” Veera delicately hands three more mandarins over. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Don’t worry about it.” The woman’s voice is like her smile: small but kind.

Veera whispers her thanks again, then hurries home before she can be waylaid by any more painfully kind gestures from strangers.

***

Veera’s so relieved to walk through her own door into the kitchen that she doesn’t realize someone’s in the living room, not until she hears a soft sob. Her head snaps up. Niki’s on the couch with her face in her hands and Beth next to her with an arm around her. Alarmed, Veera drops her bag on the kitchen counter and begins to make a beeline for her. But she hesitates. She’s used to offering Niki comfort whenever she can, but is she interrupting?

Too late. Beth makes a small sound of surprise when she notices Veera hovering halfway into the room. Niki looks up too, but she wipes her eyes and gives Veera a watery smile. It’s okay.

Niki holds a hand out as Veera makes her way over to the couch. Gladly, Veera takes it. As Veera stands there before the scruffy secondhand sofa in the hazy light from the window, the three of them are briefly an interlinked chain. Beth watches the other two with soft, understanding eyes, her arm steady over Niki’s shoulders.

Niki heaves a shaky sigh. Then she gives Beth’s knee a thankful squeeze and uses Veera’s hand to lever herself up to standing. She briefly embraces Veera, who returns the gesture. “I’m okay,” Niki whispers. Veera nods. Then Niki slips away into the kitchen and starts bustling around, half-seen behind the half-wall that divides it into an alcove off the main room. Presumably, she’s taking a moment to collect herself while unpacking Veera’s groceries. She does that. Niki doesn’t mind if Veera sees her cry – or Beth, apparently. But she always takes a moment alone afterward to put herself back together.

Veera shakes her head to clear away the traces of her second unexpected fright of the morning. In its wake, the empty spot on the couch is too inviting.

She flops onto the cushions next to Beth with a sigh and goes limp. Maybe going to the market was a little too ambitious for today. She’s already had too much excitement this week with Beth visiting, and she hasn’t slept well because of it, which only saps more of her limited energy. Even good things can be so exhausting. She knows she needs to get more rest than most people do, especially when there’s so much happening. But that’s so hard to remember when she knows that this moment is such a rare blessing. Both of her most important people are right here with her right now. It’s so hard to not throw herself completely into every possible joy she can have, in this transcendent sliver of time.

She rolls her head where it rests against the back of the couch to look at Beth sideways. “I got breakfast,” she offers.

“Looks like you wiped yourself out doing it.” Beth leans against the arm of the sofa to look at her. “Morning.” Her own tired eyes twinkle.

Veera smiles. She tries to fix this moment into memory: the wisps of Beth’s unbrushed hair catching the light, the wooden clatter of Niki opening and closing cabinets in the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” Veera asks.

Beth runs a hand through her hair. “Yeah. We were just talking, about,” she waves a hand around, encompassing all the faces in all the photos on the walls, “everything. We’re so different. But some of the stuff, it’s the same. The things we’re all going through. You know?”

Veera does.

The kitchen clatter intensifies as Niki starts moving pots and pans around and clinking them down on the stovetop.

“How many eggs do you want?” Niki calls, voice more steady now. When Veera and Beth come over to investigate, she’s already got a skillet out and is debating with herself whether to start a pot of porridge, too. Veera’s always in favor of porridge no matter what, and Beth’s never had proper Finnish porridge before, so that settles that.

Niki starts scooping the mixed grains into the pan without measuring, like normal. She fills it with an unknown amount of water from the sink with some arcane skill of estimation that Veera has never understood. It always turns out fine. As Beth gets to work slicing some of the fresh fruit, Veera sidles up to Niki and lays a light hand on her arm.

Niki meets her questioning eyes. “I’m okay,” she says again. But she leans into Veera’s touch and stays there. Veera says nothing, just strokes a thumb over Niki’s shoulder and holds the space. Oats and rice swirl in the saucepan as Niki stirs them into the water with a wooden spoon.

“I was talking to her about what happened with Aleks, and mum and dad.” Niki’s voice goes soft, but not hushed. Her words aren’t directed at Beth at the other counter, but they’re not hidden from her, either. “How it made it so hard to trust anyone anymore. Especially Suvi, ‘cause she was there before. And you know how that gets me all... ugh.” She twiddles her wooden spoon in the air. Then she leans even more into Veera, into the arm that curls around her in half an embrace. To think, that Veera is someone who offers such gestures now with hardly a hesitant thought.

“She just gets it, you know?” Niki continues. “Not that you don’t, but it’s different. Like, you understand about how people are always expecting things from you. People see what they wanna see, and only take you seriously if you play along with it. It’s so frustrating. And it’s bullshit! I’ve never met anyone who understands that better than you.” She stirs the porridge again.

“And Beth... she was telling me some about her dad. She knows about having someone close to you just pull the whole rug out from under your world.” Niki pauses her stirring, and looks at Veera. “I’ve always been amazed, how you just landed on your feet and hit the ground running, when you found out. I couldn’t have done that, if I was alone.”

Veera shrugs, incidentally squeezing Niki sideways. “I never was very close with Matti.”

Watching her, Niki’s face falls a little. “I’m glad he didn’t hurt you that way. But I wish... I don’t know. I wish you’d had someone who was there for you, then. Everyone deserves that.”

“Huh.” Veera blinks. “I’d never thought of it that way.”

Arms suddenly wrap tight around her middle, a face tucked into the crook of her neck and shoulders. The handle end of a wooden spoon presses into the muscles between her shoulderblades.

“Niki!” Veera exclaims softly.

“Hey, look.” Her voice is sniffly again. “I’m having a day, okay, let me just –” She holds Veera tight.

“Nikiii,” she cajoles. “I’m fine.” Her eyes flick toward Beth over Niki’s shoulder. Her hand hovers over a peach on the cutting board as she meets her eye. Veera tucks her head down a little, embarrassed. But Beth’s smiling, if also looking a bit watery.

“I know,” Niki says into her shoulder. “I know you’re fine. You’re wonderful. But I’m here, okay? You’re always here for us. But we’re here for you, too.” Niki reaches an arm out blindly toward Beth until her fingers make contact, then gathers her in as if calling in backup. Beth gladly lays down the knife and joins the impromptu embrace next to the stove.

“Um.” Veera automatically relaxes under the extra pressure. It’s nice. But she’s still flustered. And the vociferous burbling of the porridge is getting a little concerning. “I think the porridge is going to boil over.”

Niki releases her with a groan. Veera’s sure she’s rolling her eyes, even though she’s a little too overwhelmed to look at either of them.

“That doesn’t mean you’re getting out of letting us be nice to you,” Niki says as she returns to the stove. Soon, the porridge is placated and eggs sizzle in the skillet, providing a crackling accompaniment.

When the food’s ready, they crowd around the table squeezed into the little kitchen nook below the window as if they do this every day. They pick slices of ripe peach and apricot off a cutting board in the middle. Spoons click in bowls as they do their best not to elbow each other. Stonefruit and cinnamon mix in the air with the light sulfur of fresh eggs and the pervasive aroma of the basil in the windowbox.

After a languid breakfast and a long morning spent simply enjoying each other’s company, the cloud cover is well on its way to burning off. The three head out to the nearby park, determined to make the most of the sun while the two Finns show off the splendor of the Helsinki summer to Beth. They pack up the fresh bread and cheese and the rest of the fruit for a picnic later.

Veera’s companions’ eyes are bright and animated as they leave behind the crisscrossing tracks of the train station and step into the shelter of the park’s old trees. Boughs bend and leaves whisper lazily in the light wind breathing over the bay. Veera follows them. With the hood of her jacket pulled down, the cool and verdant breeze caresses her short hair. Shade and sunlight dapple the grass between the footpaths and spatter the old blanket that they throw over the green, the one that usually lives on the couch that Beth’s currently taken over. They’re exposed to the open sky and anything else that might wander the earth with them. But branches lace and lattice across the blue, and the handful of other park-goers are too immersed in their own summer reverie to pay them any mind.

It’s surreal, almost. Niki basks like a lizard, looking like she needs nothing else in the world to keep her happy. Beth keeps running over to stick her toes in the salt water of the little bay. She takes every deliberate step into grass and gravel as if both she and the world are fresh and new. Peace settles into Veera’s bones. She spends half her time watching the others while reading an old fantasy novel in the shade. The other half, she looks upon the scene as if watching herself, absolutely bewildered by the way she both sees and cannot see the pain that still lives in the three of them, even as she still feels the scores it left trailing across her heart.

It's a long and lazy afternoon in the best understated way. By the time they return home sunwarmed, though, Veera’s starting to feel the effects of having been out all day doing too many things. Her skull is beginning to ache. But it’s familiar and cool and quiet here. She can rest.

Once they unpack the remains of their picnic, Niki makes good on her earlier threat of not letting Veera get out of being fussed over. She chivvies the other two into the living room and onto the couch. To Veera’s mild bemusement, Niki sits next to her, across from Beth, looking far too pleased with herself.

Then Niki pulls all three of them into a cuddle pile with Veera caught in the middle.

Veera lets out a little squeak of surprise as she’s smothered in limbs and warm laughter. Beth’s only too happy to help Niki tag-team her, the traitor. She squeezes Beth’s wrist in retaliation, but all that gets her is Beth slipping out of her grip just enough to tangle her fingers with her own.

With a little shuffling, Veera ends up with Niki pressed comfortably up against her side leaning her head on Veera’s shoulder. Niki also tucks an arm around her, as natural and necessary as breathing. Curled up against her other side, Beth backstops her. She lets Niki play with the ends of her long dark hair with the hand that reaches around Veera’s shoulders. Beth’s still holding onto Veera’s hand, steady like she’s never planning on letting go. The intense late afternoon light slants into the room, sending stars refracting off of the glass bottles on the sill that trail green-leaved vine cuttings.

Veera doesn’t know that she’s ever been as happy as she is right now. She watches herself in half-believing wonder, then stops. She breathes. She feels the others’ breathing like her own. She reminds herself to just be here, just exist.

But the restlessness that she awoke with doesn’t cease, even now with the two presences she treasures most on either side of her, tucked almost as close to her body as they are to her heart. It still aches and whispers in her ear with a soft insistence. Something about the fragile intensity of this moment calls to that unknown quantity like its own.

This little apartment on the edge of the city was never meant to be more than just enough for her and Niki to carve a safe space out of a terrifying world. And it has been that. But then there was more. There were the herbs keeping the kitchen and the succulents dotting the shelves. There were the colors covering the floor in rugs and memories covering the walls in photos. There was ample quiet to replace chill silence, and the fullness of kind words spoken like truth. There were pancakes. There was sunshine. There was Jade and Justyna and Janika and Sofia and Sarah and Helena and Katja and Aryanna and Danielle and Alison and Cosima and Jennifer and Tony and Femke and Fay and Krystal; and there was Beth, and there was Niki, and there was her.

Perhaps that’s the strangeness that keeps plucking at her mind. Not only have her situation and surroundings strayed so far from what her life used to be, but she herself is someone different now. She emerged changed out the other side of the two fires that consumed her entire life. Maybe the flames were bookends. She doesnt remember anything from before the first, and the space between them was long and lonely. The person she became during that in-between time is still fused into her foundations.

And yet, so much of the structure of her self has shifted. New parts of her unfurl daily. Being within her own body feels both utterly familiar and completely new. She can look back at the strange girl she once was and still recognize parts of her as the strange woman she is now. Now, she’s someone who gets called Veera with a voice full of love and Mika with sense of wonder and Leda with mild curiosity, and they are all her.

The unexpectedness of being given so many names still leaves her bemused. There’s a surprising intimacy to them, the way people speak them like they’re describing the shape of her in so many other lives. She’s unaccustomed to it. As difficult as people can be, what she has now is... good. When she thinks on it too hard, it makes her ribs feel like they’re closing in on her heart even while her lungs expand to take in the whole sky in an single endless exhilarated breath.

She’s thinking about it now. It’s not just a thought. It’s a longing and a fulfilling, an ache and a balm, a memory and a future, a call and response. It becomes all of her in this moment, and she shivers with its intensity. The shiver ripples into the bodies nestled on either side of her. Only a few years ago, she could never have imagined being so close, or wanting to. Sometimes it’s still too much, even with Niki – even with both of them, now, who are both so inexplicably easy to be around. The companionable solitude bathes her soul like the green breathing of a forest in eternal spring. She thinks about the unlikeliness, the flouted impossibility of it all. The feeling that it calls into bloom from her seed of a heart is almost too much.

“Veera?” Niki turns to face her in response to the shiver, her golden head catching and holding the gilded afternoon light.

“You alright, Veer?” She blinks at the new sound of the new name spoken in Beth’s softest-leather voice. It fits, too.

Veera inhales to speak, but words evade articulation. She releases the breath again to its own wordless purposes. The hand that’s been interlaced with hers squeezes gently as Beth makes a little questioning sound like a cat and shifts the comfortable weight of her knees in Veera’s lap. On Veera’s other side, Niki leans even further into her than she has been and rests her chin on Veera’s shoulder.

The press of their affection and concern envelop her in dearest aching, and it’s so much. She wants to stay right where she is. But she’s hardly slept for the past two nights and she’s tired and aching from overextending herself and her words have left her again. The immensity of feeling blooming inside her on top of everything else is just too much. She won’t be able to stay like this much longer. She needs to be by herself, to quietly sort through the backlog of everything she’s experiencing that’s stacking up faster than she can process it.

First, though, she needs them to know how much this means to her. Her ears pick up every breath and brush of smallest movement, and her world is filled with little strokes of sound that fall across her skin and hum in her chest as if painted there. They’re closer and dearer to her than anyone has ever been. Veera lifts Beth’s hand with her own and sweeps Niki’s hand into her grasp as well. Then, she presses both of them hard against her heartbeat. She bends her head down and locks her arms over her own chest to hold them there. No sound escapes her except a minute whimper.

Wordless murmurs and small shufflings to stay close tell her that they understand what she can’t say right now, and tell it back to her twofold. She sniffles a little, then begins to untangle herself without yet letting go. She doesn’t want to leave. But if she doesn’t, the waves of overwhelm that currently shove at her will become a tide that pulls her under and leaves her head pounding.

Niki’s voice, low. “You getting overloaded?”

Veera nods.

“Okay,” she says gently. “Go wind down. We won’t be loud.” Niki’s always been so understanding, right from the very first moment she’d shared her strangeness. Secret for a secret, she’d said, guarding Veera’s like her own and holding her trust like a treasure.

“Take care, Mika,” Beth says, mimicking Niki’s tone. Beth’s never been here here for this before. But Veera has texted with her at length numerous times in the past, when she can’t bear conversation out loud but still wants company. Veera can still hardly believe that Beth’s really here, proving herself as compassionate through soft sounds and touches as through a keyboard. “Don’t worry,” she adds as Veera still hesitates to let go. “We’ll be here later.”

Veera breathes out and nods again. She manages to stand, still holding one hand in each of hers. She squeezes them one more time, one after the other. Then she picks her way around the blue-and-brown mess of clothes spilling out of Beth’s suitcase onto the living room floor and steps softly into her own room. She closes the door.

With the blinds half shuttered against the afternoon light coming through the west-facing window, it’s cooler, dimmer, quieter than the main room. Veera likes it that way. She needs its restful seclusion as much as she needs the sun-glazed warmth of the rest of the place. Filled with muted purples and greens, there’s no dizzying array of photographs here. The only picture on the walls is a large cream and gray poster of a detailed sketch of the moon with all its craters arcing over its surface. Stubby succulents dot the heavily book-laden shelf and her cluttered desk in front of the window. They sort of glitter in the sunlight. The beams catch the water stored in the overlarge cells of their chunky little leaves, brightening their soothing shades of green, grey, dusty lavender, and mauve.

Nerves spangling, she changes out of her jeans into something softer without looking at what she’s doing. Sometimes, even just looking at things gets to be too tiring. Her hands know exactly where she keeps everything stashed in her dresser drawer, and her fingers are familiar with the texture of nearly every piece of clothing she owns. She doesn’t need to see them to tell them apart.

Veera sinks into the soft give of the comforter spread over her bed with a sigh. When she pulls the weighted blanket at the foot of it over herself with the rain-like rustle of plastic beans in its quilted pockets, it wraps her in gentle even pressure from above and below. The heaviness of it flattens out the frayed edges of her nerves. Laid out flat on her back with her arms floating loosely on either side and her elbows bent upward, the blanket covers everything except her face and hands.

As the creeping tension begins to trickle away, another sigh escapes her lungs. It’s a slow process. With how large her emotions are now, and with all the excitement and exhaustion of the past three days, it will take a few hours to wear down the worst of it. The tightness of her shoulders and the pinched feeling in her neck will fade. But they won’t completely disappear for a day or so – and that’s if she does nothing but rest her body and mind. The strain is mental as much as it is physical. Her brain just does what brains normally do, only sometimes slower and sometimes faster, and getting there via unorthodox roads. When rushed, the process only gets backed up, the road blocked, the paths tangled. Pushing it is like trying to run with a twisted ankle. It only makes it worse.

At times like this, it’s even easier than usual for the world to turn into sandpaper on her soul and senses. Overexposure to the riptide of existence all around rubs her nerves raw, living faster than she can think and burning brighter than she can bear. Sounds become ocean waves with weight behind them and lights fill her eyes with their intense brilliance. Gentle touches catch her skin like fire, while firm pressure forms a gravity well that could either pull her into a stable orbit or sling her satellite round reeling. It’s so easy for her to get overwhelmed by pain and pleasure alike. The line between them is faint and fluid.

To some degree, that vibrant intensity was always going to be part and parcel of the way she experiences the world. She was always going to be strange. Maybe if she hadn’t been put through two fires, it wouldn’t be quite so overwhelming quite so often. Probably. But she doesn’t know where the scars end and the inherent self begins, because they’re the same now. Whatever the cause, the person she is now is someone subject to both exquisite sharpness and terrible softness, captivated by so many infinitesimal pangs of ache and grace. It’s a lion’s share of pain and wonder across a lamb’s shoulders.

She wouldn’t change it, if she could. She didn’t choose it, but it’s hers. It’s her. It’s given her an unprecedented ability to be gentle in just the right ways with the people who need it most. That comes in handy considering how many traumatized Ledas she works with. Besides, she’s found all sorts of unusual yet efficient ways to do what she needs to do, because the normal ways don’t work for her. Sometimes that results in really neat new things, like the advanced cyber-security system she personally designed for CYGNet. It hasn’t been beaten yet, and if her constant updates have anything to say about it, it never will. If she ever gets tired of co-running the organization with their board of Ledas, she could always actually go into the tech field.

Right now, ever leaving CYGNet seems such a remote possibility. After a couple years of a reduced workload so she could actually finish school and take a few courses in database management to supplement her work, she’s finally returned in her full capacity. It feels good. Between her responsibilities managing the sheer volume of information DYAD had surrendered to them and protecting both it and their secure communication network, she has plenty to keep her mind busy and satisfied.

Now that Sofia and Aryanna take care of most of the administrative work, things run a lot smoother, too. Sofia’s steadied into tenacious steadfastness as her confidence grows, and she’s got a level head and a killer knack for budgets. Aryanna’s a great project manager and she’s got plenty enough charisma to handle the public-facing parts of CYGNet that Niki used to wrangle.

Niki’s stepped back a lot from CYGNet since Veera came back full time. She’d only been involved out of circumstance and necessity in the first place. For years, Niki had been the smiling face of Leda to the world, giving their story the life it needed to be told. Veera doesn’t know how she’d ever have done any of it without her. But really, all Niki wanted was a quiet life with the people she loved. So now that things were steadier and the world’s scrutiny had moved on, she was taking more time for herself. She worked part-time in a cat café downtown a few blocks away from the park, went on dates with Suvi around the city, and came home smiling to Veera and their little apartment.

Niki seems softer these days, happier. It’s like she’s settled into her natural gentleness, rather than defiantly clinging to it like a lifeline after the fire tried to burn it out of her. Her recovery is a thing of beauty. Sometimes Veera is stricken into stillness at the sound of Niki humming to herself in the next room, or at the sight of her smiling to herself while reading in a patch of sunlight, her legs stretched out on the couch. Sometimes, the memory of almost losing her so soon after finding her four years ago floats forth, casting Veera’s current joy in a sickly shade.

But they’ve talked through that fear they both have, many times. They’re both here, alive. They both care too much about the closeness they’ve created to ever choose to be too far apart. Anything else that might separate them will just be the ebb and flow of life, and that’s always true for everyone. Veera tries not to worry about it too much. She’s lucky to have Niki in her life. And these days, Veera’s gotten better at believing her when she says she wants to stay.

She finds her mind going unfocused, her body gone heavy like she needs a nap. It’s been an eventful day. Veera curls up on her side under the blanket, burying the rough texture of her scarred cheek in the softness of her pillow. To see her now, anyone might assume she was one of the others, marked only invisibly. Instead, a chapter of her story is written all down the right side of her body in curlicues of too-light ridges and and too-dark indentations, dappled from face to elbow to ankle. People don’t always read past that page to reach the rest of her. Much of the time, she still can’t, either. But at least there is another chapter now. It’s right here where she’s living in this strange new moment.

Her already heavy limbs go slack. Thoughts shift and sift and slip over each other half-defined. Maybe there will be more chapters she can’t even imagine yet, even better than this half-healed, aching glory.

***

When she wakes once again, Veera finds evening falling in its long, slow descent. It’s late. The sky glows with that particular kind of soft, omnipresent golden glow that only comes with the midnight sun at the height of summer. Niki and Beth have probably gone to bed already. They’re both early risers, and Beth is adjusting relatively well to her jetlag. As usual, the evening belongs to Veera.

Evening here is a half-seen time, gilded in twilight in the summers and shrouded in restful darkness throughout the long winter. Her eyes get a reprieve from the sharp definition of day among the soft placement of shadows. Even in winter, she rarely turns on the lights. Navigating the familiar space is easy by the sound of her feet on thin carpet and linoleum, by the brush of her fingertips on the matte whitewashed walls. She’s usually the only one awake. Even when Niki wakes up with bad dreams and seeks her out for comfort, they don’t talk much. Voices are kept low. Most of the time, it’s a space for her to be alone with her thoughts, turning them over and laying her experience of the day to rest before she sleeps.

Cautiously, in case Beth’s asleep in the living room, Veera pries her door open so it doesn’t clunk in its uneven frame. Sure enough, Beth’s curled up in her nest of blankets on the couch. Niki’s bedroom door is ajar, and through it she can just catch the barely-heard sounds of an occupied room, the imperceptible breath or rustle of presence simply felt. It’s the difference between quiet and silence. It's subtle, but worlds away from the dullness that permeates an empty space. Having grown up roaming two floors of dim, silent rooms with only the click of the keyboard from ‘uncle’ Matti’s office for company, Veera is endlessly familiar with that emptiness. This is something else: a living seed hidden under the soil; a flower that’s closed its petals for the night.

Pulling the hood of her well-loved purple hoodie up to shield her ears from the mechanical hum of the fridge, she slips out of her room and heads into the kitchen. Things are less sharp now, but she's still unusually sensitive, especially her ears. Retrieving a tall glass of room temperature water and a tin of chicken soup tipped into a bowl takes only a minute. She doesn’t heat it. The quiet is worth more to her than the warmth, in this comfortable stillness. She retreats to her room with the bowl clutched in her hands and curls up at the foot of her bed for a quiet dinner.

She’s far more relaxed and grounded now than she was earlier. But, checking the clock, she’s just woken up from one of her exhausted five-hour recovery naps. She’s too awake, if in a mild and focused sort of way, to go to sleep like she normally would around now.

Well. Though she’s mostly taking the time Beth’s here off from CYGNet work, she has been checking once a day just to make sure nothing critical or time-sensitive has come up. She hasn’t done that yet today because she was absolutely and completely passed out and dead to the world for half of it, so she might as well get that done now.

She cracks her door partly open so that the presences of the others can better keep her company at a distance. Then she boots up her computer and dials down the display to a dim setting in the endless dusk.

Everything looks fairly normal. There’s nothing of note in the security reports, just the usual bots automatically blocked. Other than that, there’s only two messages in her inbox that have been flagged for immediate attention by her custom filters.

The first is a notice of identity confirmation for Jennifer Fitzsimmons in the States. She filed a request not long ago for all her information retrieved from DYAD to be destroyed. It’s one of the solutions they originally came up with to make sure CYGNet didn’t just replace DYAD as a repository of excruciating detail. The whole point of the organization was to help them all reclaim the autonomy that had been stolen from them. That meant making sure every Leda had full control over their own records. CYGNet couldn’t do much for those who didn’t contact them except seal and guard their data in case they wanted it someday, which Veera did dutifully. But they could make sure that anyone who heard about the organization knew they had the option to cut that unauthorized tie.

Veera was surprised how few chose to do so - only 34 of the 113 Ledas in contact with CYGNet. Many seemed to simply consider it a comprehensive if unnervingly detailed medical history that they could refer to for their own use. Others, like herself, saw the data as a window into otherwise lost parts of their lives. After she’d decidedly parted ways with Matti, she had no one to tell her anything about the times she was too young to remember. Still others, like Beth, wanted nothing to do with their records, but chose to preserve them as proof of their ordeals.

On the other hand, a minority including Jennifer had made contact for the exclusive purpose of requesting their data be destroyed and didn’t seek any engagement with it. CYGNet verified their identities to make sure the files in question pertained to the one who was actually making the request. But they made a point of doing the verification by traditional means. They’d all had enough of blood tests and lab rats.

It was more common for people to decide to delete their data after actually accessing some of their records, the way Niki did. After confirming the identities of her monitors, she’d wanted nothing to do with any of it. She said all it did was hurt. She’d already experienced enough of the sharpness of betrayal without knowing the prickly details of every last lie. Her DYAD records were the first ones they erased. Veera deleted the digital files, and Niki burned the hard copies herself, her smile strangely grim yet satisfied as she set them alight with shaking hands. She seemed lighter, after, and less wary of the warmth of flames.

Veera spends a few minutes completing the second half of double-authorizations for Jennifer’s digital and physical record destruction (permanent removal needed confirmation from two board members) before initiating file deletion. She watches the progress bar creep toward 100% while sending the requisite forms off to Danielle in record storage. She’ll put the hard copies in the incinerator. Set to its lowest volume, Veera’s computer gives a small congratulatory bloop as Jennifer’s digital data disappears for good.

Finally, the only other thing that needs her attention is a request for the general Leda health packet from a new sender, [email protected]. Piquing Veera’s curiosity, it specifically asks after the packet’s chapter on the autism spectrum and common comorbids, even though the sender “would hardly deem it necessary, but my new psychiatrist wants to be thorough.”

As she delves further into the odd letter, it hurts a little to read. It’s laced through with the kind of disdainfully certain air of superiority that reveals just how deeply someone has internalized the cruel views that the world holds of certain ways of being. Veera’s found that this attitude is particularly common in people who actually are on the spectrum, but have been taught since before memory, consciously or unconsciously, to suppress every natural expression of their own differences from the norm. They’re more likely to notice and disparage any deviations in others, specifically because they’ve spent so long trying to disavow their own. They’ve gone so long unsupported, learning to see support only as a weakness instead of as a natural and too-often-denied necessity.

It’s heartbreaking, because Veera’s recognized so many of her own eccentricities in so many of the others, and hardly any of them know what it probably means. She sees it again and again, over CYGNet video conferences and at the occasional Leda meet-ups. Cosima’s hands dance while she talks in much the same way that her own flutter when she’s nervous. Tony’s always blasting his music like his life depends on it, and as far as sensory regulation is concerned, it probably does. Rachel deliberately tilts her head in just such a way that Veera can tell she’s masking, trying to remain poised while she takes an extra moment to process and adapt to a situation.

It’s not that surprising, really, since they all share the same genetics. Most people don’t notice, though, because they only know the broadest and most inaccurate stereotypes. That’s why Veera had insisted on adding the neurodiversity chapter to the health packet.

Veera lightly skims her fingers back and forth over the keyboard without pressing down, thinking. The clicks of the barely jostled keys clatter out a tiny rhythm. Normally, they’d want new contacts to establish a secure CYGNet account. This email’s tone and its throwaway address, though, suggests that it’s either from someone who either isn’t comfortable making contact, or who is struggling too hard with internalized shame to ask for help without doing so anonymously.

It’s an easy decision. Veera attaches the health packet PDF to her reply and sends it along with just a few words of her own.

Hey,

Here’s the health packet, including the neurodiversity chapter. Whether or not any of it applies to you, I hope it helps you find your way closer to yourself. We’ve all got a long way to go if we’re going to build lives we can call our own.

Veera’s fingers hover over the keys. She wants to somehow tell whoever this is that it’s okay. It’s okay to wonder, to look into their own strangeness, to perhaps embrace it. But they’re probably not ready to hear it.

If looking into neurodivergence ends up being a path you need to walk to do that, you’re not alone. I’m here, and so are a lot of the others. You know where to find us.

She signs off as merely MK, hoping that whoever it is might feel more comfortable with another semblance of anonymity. That’s all she can do, and for herself, that’s enough.

All at once, weariness weighs her down. Synthesizing such a delicate appropriate response takes so much effort. She’s gotten better at it, especially when she has time to compose and distill her thoughts. But such nuances don’t come naturally to her. She sags, shoulders loose. Though the light is still golden, it’s actually past midnight now. She hadn’t realized how long she spent trying to craft her words into the right shape. She folds her laptop away and sits on the end of her bed, opening the blinds to stare at the glowing amber of the summer night sky.

Now that her senses are less flooded than they were this afternoon, they itch in the way that means they’re craving some kind of input to regulate them, to calibrate her back into balance. Her vast collection of shared music is her go-to for that. There’s really nothing for it quite like becoming a song for a little while. It lets a steady measured flow of clean water smooth down the troubled riverbed of her nerves, torn up by the passing of the flood.

With her headphones on, she’s bathed in a swell of sound that washes over her like the cool sea on a warm day and just as refreshing. Her widely varied tastes change from hour to hour and minute to minute, but she always comes back to metal. The density and intensity of it literally drown out everything else with that single symphony of sensation. Now, she sways to its current in much the same way she wanted to at the market earlier – was that just this morning? Except now she can because she’s alone, and the only people near are the ones she trusts most. She lets herself dance in it, soothingly rock herself back and forth within its waves, shake out her hands along its endless ripples. She forgets the passage of time for awhile, existing only in the sound and the single present moment.

She emerges from her reverie far more relaxed and substantially more grounded. Setting the headphones aside and stretching her spine out along the bedspread, her limbs have gone soft and slow. Even with her long nap earlier, her overload was exhausting enough that she can probably manage to sleep again til morning. The thought is barely formed before she’s already drifting off.

***

She knows what’s different, when she wakes in soul-deep stillness. Lingering tendrils of vague golden-glazed dreams might just be yesterday’s memories. They retract from her consciousness like opening petals, only to birth her into that same sunlight. She can see the brightness without even opening her eyes, warmth flooding into her room through the door she’s left open.

It’s not just that she’s different now; it’s that she’s actually okay, sort of. And even after years, she’s also clearly not. And somehow... it’s enough.

The truth of it holds her in stillness for a nascent moment, like gentle hands around the wings of a bird about to be released into the sky. Then her eyes open to a room washed in brightness. Her neck and shoulders still ache, but her sight is sharp and clear. The bedroom is the same it’s been for years now, furnished simply, with a mess of cords spilling over her desk to the power strip and the too many favorite books crowding the shelves. But she can see it now, the way it’s filled with life in a way that these traces only barely begin to show. It’s not alive because she moves things around and grows plants in it now. She grows plants in it because she is vulnerably, tenaciously, heart-breakingly alive. She is what is filling the space.

Her life is now full of joy in ways she once could never have imagined. Her happiness feels strange because she is not used to it. She is healing, but she is also just beginning to understand the shape and nature of the scars on her heart and mind. They are just as deep and real as the ones on her skin. They may never truly leave her, and she has made peace with that. But that has done absolutely nothing to stop beauty from seeding her life and springing from every fracture like grass from cracks in concrete.

The restless discomfort that’s been plaguing her has been nothing more than her own hesitance, holding back from fully inhabiting this current joy. Some part of her must still believe that it’s undeserved, or that it’s impossible until she is completely okay.

But it’s not. It’s right here and already making itself hers, as broken and whole as she is. She’s been looking at every new leaf wondering if she’s allowed to love it, even while it’s sinking roots into her life and breathing life into the air.

Few people like her get the opportunities she has; to heal, to help, to grow. She’s already trying so hard to give back as many of those chances as possible, even if it's just to the handful of Ledas she’s been able to help. But that doesn’t change the fact that these opportunities are hers; and yet she’s still half holding back.

She could take them. Not from anyone, but for all of them – and for herself. She could choose it in the unknown names of all her people who have been so lost and alone and longing, the ones who never will be found and the ones who are still hoping. She could believe for all of them that she deserves the joy right in front of her. Maybe this whole time she’s been trying to help the others, she’s been trying to heal herself.

It's a terrifying prospect. But maybe doing right by people like her means doing right by her self, too. Maybe it’s as simple, as impossibly hard, as just letting herself be where she is.

With a shock that catches her breath, she realizes that she’s already made her choice. Somewhere deep inside, something has already shifted like a flower turning toward the sun. She has changed.

It’s never going to be easy. She is going to be healing for the rest of her life. Not to mention, she’ll have to do it in a world where she knows all to well that people are often cruel. But there are also people it’s easy to be around. People like her, and unlike her, but kind people, understanding people, even strangers like the plant vendor at the market and the woman with the oranges. Perhaps she needs to mourn the fact that it took her so long to find any. But now... oh, now.

She tumbles out of bed in yesterday’s clothes. She makes her way out of the room past the crusty soup bowl that she left on her desk last night. Brushing past the great glossy leaves of the swiss cheese plant like a forest creature through the undergrowth, she steps into the central room that’s blazing with light and color and life.

As she enters the kitchen, she ignores the twin cries of greeting from the stove. She casts about for her new little pearls plant. Looking around, she spies it in the kitchen window half hidden under the canopy of the basil. She marches right up to it and into the vault of sunlight streaming in.

One by one, each round little bead of a leaf leads up to the stem holding its spindly floating flower - and it's actually a compound flowerhead. It’s opened up several miniscule pinkish-white flowerets with five pointed petals each. They’re giving off the most incredible, intense smell that fills that whole corner of the kitchen and seems like it couldn’t possibly be produced by something so tiny. Her hands flutter near her shoulders in absolute delight. As she breathes in, the little flower’s fragrance mixes with the pungent aroma of the herbs growing next to it. She drinks it all in deeply, breathes in the smell until it fills her lungs. Sometimes she feels as if she could survive on the richness of such things alone, like a hummingbird subsisting on nothing but nectar.

Nonsense. Her world is so much larger than she ever thought it could be, and she wants it, chooses it. Unlatching the window, she flings the shutters open wide to the trees just outside dancing in a kaleidoscope of green and brown and gold and the sunny city beyond and the blue sky above. The summer breeze that rushes in ruffles her messy hair with a wonderful effervescent sensation.

She laughs out loud, then turns around and practically throws herself at Niki and Beth with arms outspread. She seizes them both in a messy hug that somehow manages to include that wooden spoon again. Veera still laughs, and she feels tears on her cheeks, too.

“Whoa! Hey, girl.”

“Oh, shit! Hi Mika.”

“Hey, Veera, are you okay?”

No. Yes. Always. Never. She finds herself crying harder than she’s ever cried in her life. But she’s still smiling, steeped in a deeper kind of joy and certainty than she’s ever felt before. Someone threads their fingers through her hair and strokes her head until the tide turns and sets her free. And then, still, she is held.

None of this will last. Nothing does. There is more elation and agony and monotony and uncertainty and wonder up ahead. And yet, they’re still here, and she’s beyond grateful. She’s never stopped being here. Maybe this really is exactly where she needs to be. Maybe all she needs to do is tell the garden of her heart that it doesn’t have to stop growing.

When she can, Veera breathes in deeply, her ribs pressing against the arms circling her. She feels the way her exhale blusters soft and warm in the small space between her face and the shoulders she leans it into. The yielding soft pressure of the embrace engraves itself into the very bones of her arms, and she will never ever be able to forget the ache of it and will never want to.

Fuck the fires – this is what’s real now. She wants this to be what makes her who she is. This dance of joy in strangeness can be the story she makes of the rest of her life. All she needs to do is remember her choice, and make it, again and again and again.

“Hey, there, hey... there you are,” Beth murmurs. “You’re here. I’m here. We’re here.”

She is; they are.

They are.

#orphan black #clone club #veera suominen #beth childs #niki lintula #mk ob #fic #long post #herbs on the windowsill au #queerplatonic #aroace #lizzie's adventures in writing #lizzie taking up space #it's here!#it's done.

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cupcakezys · 4 years

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Fun challenge for you! (If you wanna do it): Re-write an Arwen scene to Merthur😉

Oooooo yes! Sorry this took a while, I just had so many different ideas and life did not want to give me a break to write any of them. Also, I know you said an Arwen scene… but I might have written a little more than that. So have this way-bigger-than-I-meant-it-to-be fic. ^_^

Read on AO3.

Merthur under the cut!

“I can’t believe you convinced me to stay with you.” Arthur groaned, looking around Merlin’s tiny room. “Was there nowhere else I could stay?”

Merlin rolled his eyes and shoved his semi-clean tunics back into his closet. “We need to keep you out of sight, and Gaius may not know you’re here but he does know your magical beast is about as real as-“

“Your serving skills?” Arthur asked, amused, as he lifts an old bowl Merlin had been meaning to clean for weeks now. The inside had turned a slight red from the soup that had been in it. “Truly, Merlin, this is disgusting. You can’t expect me to stay here.”

Merlin, having spotted his magic book peeking out from under his bed, dived for it, feigning grabbing for his fallen pillows. “You really can’t go without your big bed and your soft pillows? Maybe I could ask Gwen if she’d let you stay with her, or we could hide you in Morgana’s chambers if you really can’t live without your precious royal bed.”

Arthur’s face pinched and he turned away from Merlin, allowing him to grab the book and throw it into the bottom of his closet. He breathed a silent sigh of relief and went back to fixing his bed.

“This will be fine.” Arthur finally said, tense like Merlin was telling him he needed to walk through hot coals.

He rolled his eyes. “Prat.”

Arthur pretended not to hear him. “How are the preparations coming along? Have we found someone to play our knight in the tournament?”

We, he said, like it wasn’t Merlin doing all the work. “Absolutely. He’s a farmer from one of the outlying villages, and no one will recognise him.”

Arthur didn’t look convinced. “But does he look the part?”

Merlin shrugged. “Well…”

“Merlin.” Arthur hissed the moment he opened his bedroom door, making him drop the large pile of washing in his arms, and gods, why did he have to do that.

“What?” He snapped, irritated. He’d only half cleaned the leech tank and still had to do the laundry and scrub the floor. His knees hurt just thinking about it.

“Do you think anyone suspects us?”

Merlin sighed and sat on the edge of his bed. Arthur had taken it the first night, and though Merlin could have complained and gotten it back, he didn’t. Arthur had offered to sleep on the floor the instant he’d seen Merlin lay down, of course, because he may be a prat, but he was a noble knight too. Merlin had refused and gotten a pillow to the face, Arthur’s laughter following him into sleep.

Now he shifted so he was facing Arthur, just barely able to make him out in the darkness. “I doubt it. From what Gwen’s told me, the ladies of the court are quite impressed with Sir William. They think he’s very handsome.”

Arthur snorted. “Typical. He wouldn’t know a real knight if he whacked him round the head with his lance.”

Merlin shook his head, though he couldn’t stop the grin crawling onto his face. “Is all this really worth it?”

Arthur sighed. “Yes. I don’t expect you to understand, but when I’m competing as William, my title doesn’t matter, nobody gives me any special treatment. So when I win this tournament-if I win this tournament, it will be because I deserve it and not because I am Prince Arthur.”

“I think I understand.” Merlin said, though he wished he didn’t. If Arthur’s status as the future king of Camelot kept him from harm then Merlin wasn’t complaining. He hesitated a moment, but Arthur didn’t say anything more, so he stood. “I need to finish these chores for Gaius.”

Arthur sighed, tired and quiet. Merlin gathered his washing and slipped from the room, careful not to wake him.

Merlin startled awake to Gaius standing over him, eyebrow raised, and his head pounding from a night spent sprawled uncomfortably on the floor. A quick glance outside showed the late morning sun shining brightly in the sky. Arthur would have left by now, nervous as he had been this whole tournament. Merlin wasn’t sure why he hadn’t woken him, but he knew he’d be in for it when he went down to the tournament grounds today.

“Merlin, on your feet.” Gaius said sternly. “Arthur may be away, but I’m not. And why is my leech tank still dirty? Where do you get the idea you can sit around all day doing nothing?”

“Wha-?” Merlin pushed himself up, irritation and anger born from all the stress and exhaustion of the past few days rising up before he could stop it. “Do you think I sit around doing nothing?! I haven’t had a chance to sit around and do nothing since the day I arrived in Camelot! I’m too busy running around after Arthur! Do this, Merlin! Do that, Merlin! And when I’m not running around after Arthur, I’m doing chores for you! And if I’m not doing that, I’m fulfilling my destiny! Do you know how many times I’ve saved Arthur’s life?”

Gaius opened his mouth, but Merlin didn’t give him the chance to say anything. He was too angry, and it was like a dam had been broken within him. He didn’t think he could stop himself now, even if he wanted to.

“I’ve lost count. Do I get any thanks? No. I have fought griffins, witches, erm- bandits! I have been punched, poisoned, pelted with fruit, and all the while I have to hide who I really am, because if anyone finds out, Uther will have me executed! Sometimes I feel like I’m being pulled in so many directions, I don’t know which way to turn!”

He was panting by the end of his rant, and all of a sudden he felt exhausted. Gaius was looking at him like he’d never seen him before, but Merlin didn’t feel like talking anymore, let alone apologising, so he spun on his feet and all but ran for his room. He slammed the door behind him and all but collapsed against it.

He heard a door close, knew Gaius had left, and sighed.

Then promptly screamed when he opened his eyes and saw Arthur sitting in his bed, hair sleep tousled and eyes wide.

He clapped his hands over his mouth. “How much did you hear?”

Arthur blinked. “Why would my father have you executed?”

“Arthur-!” Merlin stepped forward, only to jerk back when Arthur flinched, reaching for a sword he didn’t have.

“Are you a spy?” Arthur hissed, more awake now, and Merlin panicked.

“No! I was just- I was born differently. In a way that the king wouldn’t approve of.” He wanted to run, rather than have this conversation.

But Arthur was staring at him in confusion, and Merlin knew if he ran now he might never get the chance to explain himself. He wasn’t sure if it would even matter, if he could lie his way out of this one, but he had to try.

Arthur frowned. “You were born- what, because of magic? Some sort of spell?”

“No.” Merlin shivered, his voice dropping to a whisper. He didn’t even think, too caught up in his earlier anger and the panic now making his heart pound. “Arthur. I was born with magic.”

He immediately clamped his hands back over his mouth. Damnit. Curse his stupid mouth for speaking before he could think. Fear crawled up his back as he watched the prince closely.

Arthur blinked twice before he slowly shook his head. “No. You don’t- I would know if you had magic!”

“I’ve had to hide it all my life, for fear of what would happen if the wrong person found out.” Merlin swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “If your father found out. How was I supposed to tell you?”

They stared at each other for a long time, until Arthur grabbed his cloak and pulled it around himself. Merlin pressed himself into the door as Arthur approached him, and hated that Arthur refused to even look at him.

“Move.” Arthur growled.

Merlin shivered. “What are you going to do?”

Arthur’s jaw twitched. “I have a tournament to win.”

“O-oh.” He slid out of the way, shoulders hunched, as Arthur slipped past him.

Arthur paused. “Your services are no longer required.”

And then he was gone, and Merlin collapsed onto the ground, heart shrivelling in his chest.

Merlin wondered the marketplace in a daze. He had no idea where Gaius was. He suspected he was at the tournament – watching in case anyone got hurt, ready to tend the stupid, bull-headed knights that liked to stab at each other with sharp objects.

Merlin didn’t know for sure. He couldn’t know for sure, because he refused to go anywhere near the tourney grounds. The risk of running into Arthur wasn’t too high, considering the prince was pretending to be away on a mission, but still Merlin didn’t want to risk it. He was afraid of what he might do – whether he’d beg Arthur to forgive him or scream at him for being such a prat when it was Merlin that had to live his life in fear.

No, it was best to stay far away, and that was why he was wondering the marketplace, a bag full of his belongings over his shoulder, as he contemplated leaving.

He wasn’t sure he actually could. Camelot had become his home this past year, and he was reluctant to leave it, whether Arthur hated him or not. He didn’t want to leave Gaius, or Gwen, or Morgana, and who knew how long Kilgharrah might have to wait alone in the dark before someone made their way down to his cave and spoke to him again. The old dragon might have been selfish and just a little manipulative, but Merlin couldn’t imagine spending twenty years alone in the dark, and the idea of leaving anyone to that fate made his gut twist uncomfortably.

On the other hand, if Arthur truly did hate him now, could he trust him to keep his secret? Merlin didn’t know, and it was both terrifying and infuriating. If Arthur couldn’t see all that Merlin had done for him, maybe he wasn’t the once and future king Kilgharrah had foretold he would be.

Maybe he wasn’t everything Merlin had believed him to be.

“Merlin?” A voice called, startling him out of his thoughts.

He jerked around. “Gwen?”

She hurried over to him, a basket in her arms, and Merlin idly wondered what was in it. “What are you doing here? I thought you were helping Sir William.”

Merlin felt his smile turn forced. “He didn’t need me today.”

“Does that mean you missed his bout against Sir Leon?’

Merlin didn’t want to be curious, but he was. “Why? What happened?”

Gwen bit her lip. “Well, he looked really distracted. Sir Leon almost unseated him twice before Sir William managed to catch him in the side and knock him off. He made it into the final.”

Merlin released a quiet breath. “That’s good.”

“I also happened to pass by his tent after the match.” Gwen said, in that knowing way of hers, and Merlin immediately winced.

“Gwen-“

She held up a hand. “It’s alright. He explained. I mean, I understand, to an extent, why but- I mean obviously I couldn’t ever really understand why, I’m not a knight but- you know what I mean.”

Merlin smiled, a real one this time, even if it was only small. Trust Gwen to cheer him up by just being herself.

“He also asked me the best way to apologise to someone he cared for.” She glanced at him meaningly, then chuckled to herself. “Well, he asked in his own way, without asking.”

Merlin swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly dry. “What did you say?”

“I told him that actions speak louder than words, and if he really wanted to apologise he should do something to prove it.” Merlin would be surprised that Gwen had spoken up to the Prince of Camelot, but he knew how determined she could be when allowed the courage to speak freely. Arthur wasn’t someone she needed to hold her tongue around. “So he came up with a plan.”

Merlin leaned close, trying to ignore the way his heart was beating faster by the second. “And what is this grand plan of his?”

Gwen grinned. “He’s going to cook you dinner.”

Merlin jolted. That he was not expecting. “He’s… cooking? Arthur?”

Gwen nodded, almost laughing now, and Merlin had to wonder if this was all some elaborate prank.

Then he imagined Arthur, Prince of Camelot, cooking him dinner, and the fear for Gaius’s tower had him sprinting for the castle.

Merlin only slowed when he reached the bottom of Gaius’s tower. He could hear the faint sounds of cursing coming from the top, and although Gaius should be making potions for tomorrows patients, he suspected his mentor wasn’t the one currently condemning all chickens to an eternity in hell.

He pushed open the door slowly, almost afraid of what he would see.

Thankfully, nothing was on fire. Arthur stood in the corner of the room by the fire, a raw chicken in his hands, and as Merlin watched he frantically tried to find a way to dispose of the chicken in the fire. Eventually the prince threw it in the empty cooking pot and turned back to the rest of the room.

Two dinners from the palace kitchens sat on the bench, and Merlin wasn’t sure if he felt relieved or disappointed.

Looking at Gaius’s still-intact rooms, he decided he was very relieved.

He swallowed and opened the door. “Gwen told me you were cooking.”

Arthur jumped and glanced up at him, guilt and just a touch of fear on his face before he swallowed it back behind his princely mask. “Merlin.”

He inclined his head to the dinners on the table. “You’re not cooking.”

Arthur glanced at it and grimaced. “Look, I can kill a chicken from a thousand paces, just don’t ask me to cook it. That’s what servants are for.” Merlin raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. Arthur winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Merlin sighed and pushed the door closed behind him. “I’m not ashamed to be a servant. I told you before, didn’t I? I’m happy to be your servant until the day I die.”

Arthur made a small, strangled sound. “Why?”

Merlin turned around and shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “Because I believe in the world you will build.”

“Even though you’re a sorcerer?”

Arthur’s voice was tense, hard, but it wasn’t cold like Merlin had feared.

“Yes.” Merlin met Arthur’s eyes, the first time he had since he had admitted his secret, and was surprised to find Arthur unwilling to look away. “I know you will create a land free and full of peace, a world where ordinary people no longer have to fear for their lives and the rulers of Albion don’t fight each other, but join together to create a golden age of prosperity unlike any other.”

He shifted, looked at his feet as his hands clenched behind his back.

“Even if you never learned of my magic.” He whispered. “Even if it was still banned and you only ever believed it was evil, I would still believe in you. I would still protect you, no matter the cost.”

This time, Arthur sounded a little bit awed, and a little bit broken when he spoke. “How can you be so sure?”

Merlin simply smiled at his boots, a sad thing, and shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Arthur moved forward slowly, giving Merlin plenty of time to move away. He didn’t. A hand rested on his shoulder, another on his chin, tilting his head up gently, and Merlin didn’t resist. Arthur’s eyes were a storm this close, all dark and deep and blue.

He swallowed, and saw Arthur do the same.

“I know I have much to learn. There are some things that I am terrible at – cooking being one of them, and knowing what to say to someone I care about.” He sucked in a breath. “And also apologising when I know I’ve done wrong.”

Merlin’s breath stuttered. “Arthur-“

“Let me finish.”

Merlin hesitated. He’d never heard Arthur sound like that. Like he was begging. He nodded, as much as the fingers on his jaw would allow.

“I’ve had some time to think. About what I heard, and what you said.”

Merlin was tempted to ask about the bout with Sir Leon, but he’d promised to let Arthur finish, and he was almost afraid to interrupt him now, in case this was all a dream.

I’m sorry.” Arthur whispered, and Merlin had to wonder if that was the first time Arthur’s lips had ever formed the words. “I’m sorry you grew up with such fear. I’m sorry you still live with it, every day. I’m sorry it was my farther that forced you to live a life of hiding. And most of all I’m sorry I made you feel too unsafe to tell me.”

Merlin, embarrassingly, felt tears welling up in his eyes. “And I’m sorry I lied to you. I know it hurt you.”

Arthur nodded, accepting the apology easily, and then he released a shaky breath. “Your magic-“

His voice seemed to give out on the word, like he couldn’t force the rest of his sentence past it. Merlin understood. It was difficult, terrifying even, speaking of magic in the heart of Camelot without condemning it.

“My magic?” Merlin prompted, because he needed to hear what Arthur was going to say.

Arthur licked his lips nervously and moved away. Merlin’s chin tingled where his fingers used to be.

“I know you’re not evil. I know if it’s yours then the magic isn’t bad.” Arthur forced out, and now it was his turn to avoid eye contact. “but…”

“It still makes you uncomfortable.” Merlin said, understanding.

Arthur went to protest, but Merlin knew him too well, and Arthur knew it. His face twisted into a slight grimace instead, and rather than admit it he turned to their cooling dinner.

“Come on, let’s eat.”

Merlin smiled hesitantly and joined Arthur at the table. “Does this apology meal include you washing the dishes too?”

“Shut up Merlin.”

Merlin laughed, but after they had finished eating Arthur took his plate, and when they went to sleep that night Arthur slept on the floor, no matter how much Merlin protested.

They woke the next day and silently got ready, Merlin helping Arthur into his clothes as he always did. It felt unreal, that Arthur knew and still trusted him to do this. That he still saw Merlin as Merlin, despite the lies and his father’s hatred of all things magic influencing him his whole life.

“One more match.” Arthur murmured, breaking the silence. “Then the tournament will be over.”

Merlin fixed his cloak around him and stood back. “Then you can go back to being Prince Arthur. To being waited on hand and foot, the giant comfy bed, with the ability to order around innocent servants and knock around your thick-headed knights.”

Arthur frowned in mock offense. “My knights aren’t thick-headed. Some servants are just too much of an idiot to understand the mind of a knight.”

Merlin pressed a hand to his heart dramatically, and then they were both laughing and smiling softly at each other, and Merlin’s heart missed a beat at the look in Arthur’s eyes. He reached up for his neckerchief and gently tugged it free from his neck, ducking his head shyly as he offered it to Arthur.

“For luck.” He said by way of explanation, and hoped that would be enough.

Arthur rolled the fabric between two of his fingers. “Is it… you know?”

Merlin looked up. “Charmed? No, it’s just an ordinary favour.”

Arthur took it, a slight grin on his lips. “An ordinary favour? Do you know what favours are, Merlin?”

Merlin’s breath caught. “Yes.”

Arthur stared at him, unblinking, before he slowly wound the cloth around his arm. He stared at the red bit of cloth for a moment, breathing shallowly, before turning back to Merlin.

“Thank you.”

Merlin grinned, was going to say no problem prat, now try not to die out there, when suddenly Arthur’s lips were on his and he couldn’t think, let alone speak. He simply allowed himself to be kissed, and when Arthur tried to pull away he tugged him back, throwing his fear and inexperience to the wind and kissing his prince with everything he had.

Finally Arthur managed to pull himself away, and Merlin let him go, no matter how he wished he didn’t have to.

“I must go.” Arthur whispered, and Merlin nodded, because he knew he did, and then he was gone, leaving Merlin alone in his room.

He raised a hand to his lips. They tingled, and Merlin couldn’t wait until this stupid tournament was over so he could kiss Arthur again, preferably in the prat’s rooms, where they could lock the door and not be disturbed for hours.

When Arthur inevitably won the tournament – with only a little help from Merlin and his magic, considering his knightly opponent had mysteriously been replaced with a deadly assassin – Merlin was the first one to congratulate him. It was also the first time he told Arthur he had saved his life, and exactly how, and they first time Arthur had reacted to the mention of magic without a flicker of hate or fear.

It was also the first time Arthur allowed Merlin to use magic on him, the deep cut in his side fading to a thin scar, near invisible unless you knew what you were looking for. Arthur had been uncomfortable, but he hadn’t told Merlin to stop, and after he was healed he had ordered Sir William of Daira to go collect his trophy.

Merlin had kissed him senseless for that.

It was later, late at night in Arthur’s chambers, when Arthur addressed what they had both been avoiding thinking about. Merlin had an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, Arthur’s head on his chest, and Arthur’s fingers tracing patterns onto his side.

“What we have between us, my father would never understand. Least of all if he were to discover your magic.”

Merlin shushed him. “I know. You don’t have to explain it to me.”

“We’ll have to be careful.” Arthur continued, as if he hadn’t heard him.

Merlin snorted. “I know how to be careful Arthur.”

Arthur sighed. “I know you do.”

Merlin pulled him closer, and golden hair tickled his nose. “Things will be different when you’re king.”

He felt Arthur smile. “They will. I swear it.”

It was dangerous, but Merlin was used to danger. Living in Camelot was dangerous, but it was worth it. Similarly, loving Arthur was dangerous, but Merlin knew it was worth it, had the moment he’d saw what a noble man the prince was inside. So Merlin let himself fall asleep, Arthur curled up in his arms much in the same way he had curled up in his heart, and dreamt of the golden future they would bring.

It was their destiny, after all.

If you enjoyed please leave a like or reblog! It really helps me out. :)

If you want to support me please consider donating to my PayPal.

#caketalks #merlin #bbc merlin #merthur #my writing #cakeswriting #thank you for this!#it was very fun

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studentinpursuitofclouds · 3 months

Note

Hear me out!

Drunk SVE adventurer (bonus Camilla and Magnus). Imagine them being so so drunk, they started to talk/do weird stuffs around the farmer, like it would be hilarious.

Additional idea, which one of them would get drunk easily?

I heard you out, dear anon, and your idea is wonderful! Thank you so much for the inspiration and I hope you enjoy this little hc ��️❤️ (I also added Jadu, hope it's ok 😃)

_________________________________________

Lance:

Lance handles his alcohol pretty well, so it takes at least two or three bottles of good strong wine to notice a difference in his behavior. He becomes more energetic and flirtatious, and more persistent in gaining attention if his drunken ass sees the object of his admiration (*cough cough* Farmer). That said, his tongue will not lash out and his speech will remain confident. At times, the pink-haired adventurer may utter a phrase that his conscience and upbringing would not allow when sober. He would break a couple of minor rules by showing Farmer magic he shouldn't have used without a good reason, but Lance is usually forgiven (privileged bitch). Will get up in the morning without a hangover, and won't forget to apologize if he went too far in last night's binge.

Isaac:

In Isaac's case, the mood varies: the silent adventurer will either finally shed his mask of the perpetually frowning monster hunter and have a little fun, or he will completely withdraw into himself and just get drunk, not really wanting to talk to anyone. How he will behave depends on the situation, the company and the place where he empties the mugs of beer. His attitude towards the Farmer also varies. He may yell at them, or he may pull them in by the collar to have a drink with him. If the Farmer is at all lucky, Isaac will share stories from his past and won't punch Farmer in the face if they asks questions about his life. He becomes louder and more aggressive after the third bottle of strong liquor, and he will have a terrible hangover, but because of his pride he won't tell anyone about it.

Alesia:

Getting together after a tough mission with friends, drinking stronger beverage, sharing stories and tales of adventures? Alesia will not miss the opportunity to relax in the company, because with her work and huge responsibility such an gathering is very rare. The sniper tolerates strong whiskey or ale quite well, and even with alcohol in the blood will behave calmly and remain "the voice of reason" in the company. If Alesia drinks an extra mug, she will become much more agile and cheerful - starting to tell Farmer and other younglings about her adventures, making toasts more often than anyone else, something like that. But please stop her if she gets the idea of "archery" in this state. Alesia take a hangover like a champ when she wakes up. Another fond memory with a great group of friends and colleagues, it was a good night!

Jadu:

Dedicating most of his free time to studying manuscripts and brewing potions, Jadu rarely drinks alcohol with company, so a few mugs of beer/ale are enough to get him tipsy. The first sips of alcohol give him a boost of energy that can't be compared to anything else - Jadu is ready to conquer mountains and tame dragons! The next sips knock all his bravado away and he becomes very sleepy. Someone's comment about Jadu not being able to handle drink hurts his ego and he demands another mug, proving to everyone that he can (and perhaps secretly showing off in front of Farmer). What happened after the third mug of booze Jadu no longer remembers, as he woke up in bed with a headache. Some say he was wild, others say he just passed out and fell asleep. Who to believe now is unclear.

Camilla:

If this woman allowed herself to do as she pleased when sober, after a couple of bottles of the best wine, Camilla will party like it's her last chance. Magical banter, table dancing, arguing and coaxing someone to kiss/flirt/kick someone. Will pay special attention (hell knows why) to the Farmer and start dragging them into dodgy adventures. A magic carpet ride? No problem, she'll conjure it up and you can get on and fly! Want to see mythical creatures? One snap of the fingers and a griffin or some other beast will appear. In the morning, the witch is not afraid of a hangover: one elixir - and the headache is like a hand removed. With a smug smile Camilla will walk around her domain, help others with fixing broken things after the "night", and no one will do anything to her for mischief.

Magnus Rasmodius:

Magnus is probably the most careful and responsible of the whole company when it comes to alcohol. Because he knows very well that after an extra glass of wine he can become quite chatty (and maybe a little sad). Noisy parties are preferred to quiet gatherings in his tower or in the forest. Farmer might notice, while drinking wine with the wizard, that the more glasses Magnus drains, the stranger the atmosphere becomes. They probably question their own ability to withstand alcohol, but Magnus will assure them that it's his magic just... slightly out of control. Because of the wine. Not a big deal, but it looks pretty funny. And beautiful - magic in the air. Magnus won't go wild and drink more than he can handle, so don't expect anything weird from him.

#sve #stardew valley expanded #sve lance #sve isaac #sdv wizard #sdv rasmodius #sve magnus #sve camilla #sve jadu #sve alesia #sdv #sve headcanons #thanks for the ask!

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annelixa · 4 years

Text

Trust Chapter 32

Previous Chapter

Can also be read on AO3

Summary: Cassandra seeks Varian shortly after she stole the Moonstone so that she can use his intellectual gifts. Lucky for her, no one seems to be telling him what happened at the Dark Kingdom and he still sees her as the wise and trusted person he always knew. Utilizing that image of herself, she takes him for herself while under the guise of protection.

Fandom: Tangled the Series

The castle was in ruins yet the occupants still returned. It had been torn apart before and they had put it back together so they could do it again. Most of the residents had come back to town and were wearily repairing their homes and businesses. Some volunteered to help restore the castle and renovations had already begun. The injured were returned to the infirmary to be tended to by the healers while guards stood watch at all the entrances. Cassandra had walked herself down to the dungeons and willingly entered the remaining cell. She knew she had committed a long list of crimes against the kingdom and was ready to pay for it.

Rapunzel allowed her parents to lead the restoration while she tried not to collapse under the weight of everything that had happened in the past few months. Instead, she split her time between laying silently in her room and sitting at Varian’s bedside. Quirin had returned to the infirmary, not because of any injury but to stay by his son. All those in the room recognized him after Lance had explained who he was. Nearly a week had passed since they had defeated Zhan Tiri but he had yet to open his eyes. The healers had said that he would wake eventually. It seemed that his body was taking its time to heal mentally before he would wake. Quirin had barely left his side since he had been brought to the castle, determined not to be away from him again.

As Rapunzel was lying face down on her bed, Eugene entered the room. All he said was, “He’s awake.” At those words, the princess jumped to her feet and dashed to the infirmary. Bursting inside, she hurried to Varian’s bed to see him sitting up with his father supporting him. As she approached, she could see that his eyes were still blank and unfocused. His father was trying to speak to him but he wasn’t responding. Placing her hand on his shoulder, Rapunzel drew the large man’s attention to her.

“Why don’t you rest, Quirin? I’ll watch over him.”

The man opened his mouth to argue but decided not to speak back to the princess. Facing his son, he whispered, “I’ll be back soon, Varian. The princess would like to talk to you.”

The boy didn’t move as Rapunzel took the farmer’s seat.

“It’s nice to see you, Varian,” she began, smiling at him. He didn’t respond. “You’ve been out for almost a week.” She continued, updating him on the repair status of the castle and the town, telling him how citizens were recovering, and just saying anything she could think of as she tried desperately to get the boy to say something. As she ran out of things to talk about, she reached out and gently touched his arm. Flinching violently, he pulled his arm out of her grasp. “Varian,” she whispered, trying to get through to him. “Please, say something. Whatever is on your mind. I’ll listen. I promise.”

Turning to stare blankly at the wall, he muttered, “I wish I was just a dumb, normal kid.” Sliding closer, Rapunzel asked why he would want that. “I’m tired, so tired.” Locking eyes with her, the princess could see that just how broken he was, his soul crushed. “I feel like I can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t walk. I’m always going to have to be looking over my shoulder to see who is going to seek me out for their own use next. Everyone wants to possess me, to own me. I’m so tired of it. The Saporians, Cass, Zhan Tiri, even you have sought me so that you can use me for your own goals.” Tears started to slip down his cheeks as he was overwhelmed with spilling the thoughts he had been keeping to himself for weeks. “I hate it. I hate it. I hate it!” More tears burst from his eyes. “I hated the idea of staying with Zhan Tiri and being forced to become her disciple but that idea made me feel safe for the first time in so long. She was a powerful demon and would be able to keep anyone from taking me away again. She promised that I wouldn’t be made to hurt anyone I cared about but she didn’t say if I would be made to hurt other people.” Putting his head in his hands, he murmured, “Now she’s gone. People can get to me again. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t. I’d rather die.” Rapunzel froze as she heard him say in a low voice, “I want to die.”

Concerned, she moved closer to him. “V-Varian,” she choked out, terrified of his words. “Surely you don’t mean that?”

“I do though,” he said as he revealed his broken eyes again. “If I die, no one can come after me anymore.”

Pulling him into her arms, she allowed him to cry.

“Varian, Eugene and I will be there for you. I know you’re overwhelmed right now but things will get better. Death is not the answer.” The boy continued to sob into her shoulder. “Varian, I need to tell you something.” Leaning back, he rubbed his eyes with his uninjured hand. “When I asked you to translate the Demanitus scroll, you asked me where Cass was.” At the name, Varian’s breath hitched but he was still listening closely. “I should have told you at the time but I couldn’t bring myself to do so. Just weeks before Cass had betrayed me in the Dark Kingdom by taking the Moonstone and the pain of that betrayal was too much for me at the time.” She shook her head, guilt settling heavily in her stomach. “I should have told you anyway. You could have been on the lookout for her and would have known what she had done. If I have told you, she wouldn’t have taken you and manipulated you like that. I couldn’t though. You had liked Cass so much, had looked up to her. I was hoping that you wouldn’t lose that image of her. I was hoping that the two of us could work things out before you had to learn the truth. I lost my best friend that day and I didn’t want you to go through the same pain that I did.” She sighed. “But I didn’t and you went through so much worse pain instead.”

Realizing something, the boy looked around.

“Where is Cass…?”

“She’s in prison,” the princess explained. “She allowed herself to be locked up for her crimes.”

Panic suddenly seized Varian and he tried to force himself out of the bed. Worried, Rapunzel pushed him down gently but he continued to fight.

“I…I need her!” he cried, terrified. “Please! Please, I need her!”

Rapunzel quickly thought it over. The warrior was currently in a cell far below their feet, only about a week into her sentence but Varian’s breathing had picked up and she was worried he would render himself unconscious. Making a decision, she yelled for someone to bring Cassandra to the infirmary. A few guards hurried to the prison and dragged the woman to the room. She was confused as to why she had been taken from her cell until she saw Varian thrashing on the bed. Running to his side, she pushed Rapunzel to the side and started whispering to him in a soothing voice.

When he continued to jerk, she carefully slipped onto the bed and wrapped her arms around him tightly. He yelled but she continued to whisper to him, holding him still. Slowly he calmed down and laid limp in her lap. Letting out a breath, she ran her hand through his hair to keep him relaxed. As she did so, she was careful not to let the manacles around her wrists or the chain between them hit his head.

Shocked by her actions, Rapunzel simply stared at the pair. What had the warrior done? Why had she done it? How had she known to do it? A soft humming reached her ears and she noticed that it was coming from Cass who had a small smile on her face while Varian was asleep in her lap.

“What happened in the tower?” she asked quietly, wanting to understand what was going on.

“Hmm?” Cassandra took her eyes off the boy to look at the confused princess. “Did you not read his journal? He wrote everything in that thing.” She pointed at the bag of his possessions that was on the floor by the foot of the bed. “He explained it better than I can.”

Interested, she pulled the journal out of the bag and started reading it. Almost an hour passed while the pair focused on their previous tasks. A guard entered the room after a short time to keep an eye on Cassandra but he kept a respectable distance.

As she finished reading, she set it down, lost in thought. The way Varian had written about Cassandra confused her. Even in the midst of captivity, he wrote about her in such a caring way. A thought popped into the princess’ head.

“Cass, you called Varian your boy before.”

“I suppose I did.”

“And you both seem to care for each other and look out for each other.” Wondering where she was going with her train of thought, Cassandra met her eyes as she continued to soothe Varian. A few minutes passed before the princess finally said what was on her mind. “Cass, I have a deal that you might be interested in.”

“Oh?”

“I want you to be Varian’s personal guard.”

Cassandra paused, trying to figure out what she meant.

“You want me to be what?”

“Varian’s guard.” Taking a deep breath, Rapunzel looked down at Varian. He was asleep and seemed far more peaceful than he had when he had been awake. The warrior had easily been able to calm him down, leaping into action when she noticed what was happening. “Varian…Varian isn’t in a good mindset right now. I think it would help him quite a bit if you stayed by his side so he would feel safe. Another guard would accompany you since you are still a criminal but you could work off your sentence by protecting Varian instead of sitting in a cell. How does that sound?”

The warrior was skeptical.

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll try to kidnap him again?”

Shaking her head, Rapunzel replied, “No. You did that before and even though you didn’t treat him too badly, you still felt horrible about it and were willing to release him. You were going to destroy all the weapons he had made for you and were going to bring him back to his father.” A small smile appeared on her face as she gently touched the warrior’s shoulder. “And even if I was worried before, I couldn’t be now. Not after I watched you die to protect him. Varian will be safe around you.”

The two discussed the arrangements and she asked Eugene to explain it to the guards while she told her parents what she had done. They weren’t keen on the idea but were willing to trust her and allowed her to continue. Cassandra stayed at Varian’s side with a guard always in the room with her. Quirin returned shortly after Rapunzel had departed and was furious that she had been allowed to be anywhere near his son. He had shouted and tried to force her out of the room but when he woke Varian and he began panicking, he changed his mind. The way the warrior had run to his side, ignoring his yells and his fists, quietly soothing him had shown him that she had changed her ways. That his son would be safe around her and that someone would be able to comfort him when he couldn’t. He granted her permission to become Varian’s guard and finally allowed himself to get some quality rest.

When Varian had healed enough that he could leave the infirmary, he returned home with Quirin. After months away from his father, he was eager to spend time with him. Cassandra and a guard followed and moved into a spare room in Quirin’s home. Rapunzel had been sad to see him go but understood his reasons and promised to visit whenever she could. Gradually life returned to normal and peace reigned over the kingdom once more.

#tangled tv show #rapunzels tangled adventure #varian #cassandra #Rapunzel #Eugene Fitzherbert #Quirin #tts #tts varian #tts cassandra #tts Rapunzel #tts eugene #tts quirin #fanfiction #fanfic

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nomadicism · 4 years

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Lotor for the character thing 💜

But which Lotor!? (I’ll go with VLD)

First impression: Cool entrance, cautiously optimistic that he’s not a stalker space barbarian.

Impression now: Lotor deserved better.

Favorite moment: When he’s finished spanking the paladins and says: “It appears the reality of Voltron does not live up to the legend.”

Idea for a story: Farmer Lance and the Altean Cabbage Patch of Reincarnation.

Unpopular opinion: S6-S8 never happened.

Favorite relationship: with Happiness, wherever that may be.

Favorite headcanon: that he found Happiness instead of shitty writing.

Why are my faves always doomed?

#character ask #lotor #vld asks #voltron: legendary defender #ask me anything #asennnaa #no thanks s6 s7 s8

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blushbot · 4 years

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owo ocs u say? have u got a lot? Just a few? Would you give a brief rundown of your favs? I like other people's ocs.

TRIPS OVER MYSELF TO ANSWER THIS

I have...like.......I wanna say like 8 main ocs right now, related to my would-be comic A Thorn Stood Between (usually abbreviated to ATSB) and like of those 5 that I really focus in on as my faves.

My current icon is (very old) art of one of them! His name is Gautier he’s a 516 year old vampire, he’s genderfluid (more masculine than anything else but there is wiggle room in there...) and he was born in Paris. He’s a bastard BUt he loves his family. All of them. The whole family tree. Even the ones who don’t accept the gift of vampirism. He’s telepathic and can fuck with peoples dreams also. He was turned by another of my ocs, an ancient Roman vampire who currently goes by the name Aurelio (it was originally Aurelius!) and they were lovers for uh... maybe a century before Aurelio had to go to Egypt for a currently indeterminate amount of time (this part of his backstory is barely fleshed out right now sorry) and didn’t leave any indication of why he had to leave and never sent any letters back to Rome or anything... Once he came home, no worse for wear, gautier got pissed because he figured Rello was dead and he stormed out, never to be seen again.

Aurelio is in his 2000s... he’s forgotten his exact birthdate so for simplicity’s sake he always says he’s 2000 and that his birthday is on January first. He’s demiromantic/pansexual, he kinda sorta has depression, and he’s a writer! He’s got his work published under many different names spanning... his whole life pretty much. He can also turn stuff into gold. I like to call it a selective Midas touch. I have the idea of him being a Roman emperor who faked his own death to not get assassinated for real rattling around in my head but idk if I want that to actually be canon.

My main character and current favorite boy is named Benji. He’s a piece of shit stoner who self medicates with weed for his anxiety and ADHD because he refuses to take his actual meds. He also kind of gets murdery if he doesn’t smoke weed because he’s only been a vampire for about 100 years. Gautier turned him when he was just 25 because Benji had watched his then-lover, Lance, die in some sort of work related accident, while he was in New York to go to school. He went back home to Montreal, gautier saw the state he was in, and... Benji was afraid of dying so he accepted gau’s “gift.” He almost went blind the first night he was a vampire because he stayed outside at sunrise and looked at the sun and now he has to wear glasses forever. In like the 50’s he reached the murdery phase that all young vampires go through and somehow got himself a wife at the same time? Who he got pregnant? But then he tried Drugs for the first time and it fucked with his head and he almost killed his wife but he decided to just leave instead because he was like actually lucid for once and realized he was a menace to society. He ended up living in a hippie commune for a while, got into punk subculture in like the 80s, dated another character, Desdemona, in the 90s until she cheated on him. A few years before ATSB starts a vampire hunter shows up in Montreal and almost kills him so he flees to the city he and Desdemona lived in, Theodore, hoping that she still lived there in the same apartment. She did and she let him live there! But Desdemona has a dickhead boyfriend named Luca who happens to be an alpha werewolf and he and benji do not get along but it’s fine. Really. Benji was really uncomfortable sleeping on their couch at first but he got over it. Until he crashed his car. Despite that he kept putting off finding his own place. He did manage to find himself a boyfriend though! Another main character and best boy, in fact :]

Zeb is a big buff himbo and he’s GAY and TRANS because I like to project. Zeb is an ex-Catholic satanist and part of him and Benji bonding at first was Zeb telling benji about how he beat up a nun and got expelled from catholic school when he was like 13. ...truth be told, the two met on Grindr and were SUPPOSED to just hook up but. Benji fell in love with Zeb immediately upon laying eyes on him (plus Zeb kind of looks like lance...) and insisted they go on a date instead. Zeb agreed and now 2.5 years later at the beginning of ATSB they are living together and in wuv. Zeb has a Pomeranian named princess and if anything were to happen to her he would kill everyone in the room and then himself. Princess is very small. Zeb can hold her with one hand. That makes him cry sometimes but unless you’re benji or his best friend Monica he will End you if you ever see him crying. He has a shitty mom and doesn’t like to talk about it. Zeb is a mechanic and works for his dad’s rival, which is the only thing his dad is unsupportive of. He has an older brother named Ray who lives in like Seattle or something whom he hasn’t seen in person for a while and he kind of dreads Ray eventually visiting because Ray is a vegan and zeb doesn’t know how to feed a vegan. Zeb really likes muscle cars and motorcycles and benji fucking bought him a vintage muscle car for his birthday or something one year because benji doesn’t have a good grasp on the value of money and zeb cried.

The last of the main 5 is Wiley...he’s the very oldest of my current ocs out of universe but the youngest in universe. He’s a 23 year old and he still lives with his parents on their family’s farm. He’s a werewolf BUT NOT THE SAME KIND AS LUCA. He’s a beta which I assure you isn’t related to a/b/o please believe me please. (I can explain the difference if you want) he’s a good ol country boy from the south but he’s actually good I mean that genuinely. He’s gay because I can’t resist having exclusively mlm in my main cast. He is just a simple farmer with self esteem issues. He was kind of a dickhead in middle school and to overcompensate for that he’s overly nice to everyone he meets. Part of why he acted a fool is because he hadn’t come to terms with being gay yet, part of is it because his folks moved up to Theodore, NY (as far as I know that isn’t the name of a real place. That’s a fictional city that I made up to be the setting if that’s the name of a real place I’m gonna die) because that’s where his grandpappy went to retire and Wiley’s dad, Baxter, wanted to be with his pa when he died. And Wiley wasn’t really able to properly process all of that when he was like 13. So he acted out... he and benji are best friends nowadays and benji and his younger brother, Grayson, are the only people he can really be rude to. He just can’t do it. He sells his family’s produce at a local farmers market every Saturday.

I’d talk about desdemona, Luca, and Monica a bit more but I’ve written a damn novel already Jesus Christ. I have a toyhouse if you wanna take a look there though!!! A lot of pages are kind of outdated and only four characters have proper profiles (gau, Aurelio, benji, And Zeb. I’m sorry Wiley) but you can at least see what my guys look like on there!

#anonymous #i seriously did not mean to write this much BGNHMFH #oc stuff #long post

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