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allyinthekeyofx · 7 years

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Small Considerations Between Partners - 4 ‘Material Things’

AllyinthekeyofX

SMALL CONSIDERATIONS BETWEEN PARTNERS

Material things

Season Four - Cancer Arc

I’m not exactly sure what wakes me up but whatever it was has my senses already on full alert, as though my body is aware of something my conscious mind hasn’t yet quite fathomed. My first thought of course is of Scully; because if I’m honest with myself, no matter what I happen to be doing at the time my partner is never very far from my mind at the moment, invading my very core as I struggle each day to find a way to break down the painfully impenetrable walls she has built around herself; to be there for her; to care about her in a way she is seemingly unable to allow anyone to do.

Since being diagnosed with her cancer she has shut everyone out. Refusing to admit even a token shred of need – of weakness – to me, to her Mom and I suspect even to herself.

When she is standing before me, so pale that her skin seems almost translucent, the delicate network of veins that lie beneath worryingly visible as day by day she continues to fade before my terrified eyes; becoming ever weaker and more fragile as the weight continues to drop off her at an alarming rate that is all too apparent as more new suits find their way into her professional wardrobe.

She probably thinks I’m not aware, because in fairness I’ve never really took much note of Scully’s work wear – a suit is a suit is a suit after all – but somehow, during these last few months I have finely attuned my skills where she is concerned and now I notice everything.

Just by the tension in her shoulders, the way she is carrying herself, the way her pupils are slightly dilated tells me that she has a headache; that she is counting down the hours and minutes until she can surreptitiously slip a pill in to her mouth when she thinks my attention is elsewhere. The posture she adopts when sitting down, sometimes guarding her movement because her back and stomach muscles are sore from the constant vomiting she endures when the headaches get bad or when she tries to eat anything even remotely substantial.

I know when she has spent a sleepless night coughing up blood that has found its way down her throat from one of the frequent nosebleeds – nosebleeds that, despite her efforts to shrug them off – are becoming an almost daily occurrence as the tumour continues to grow and the tiny capillaries within her nasal passages continue to rupture under the ever increasing pressure.

And even when the fear is radiating off her in waves, even as she asserts again and again that she is doing just fine, refusing to meet my worried gaze, refusing to let me in, we both know that she isn’t fine; that we are both playing out this ridiculous charade to avoid acknowledging the real issue. That she is dying in degrees; moving ever closer to an end that seems as inevitable as it is incomprehensible to me. That one day she will no longer be in my life and even worse somehow is the knowledge that she will die without allowing me to show her how much she means to me. Without allowing me to just be there for her; to wrap her in my arms and just for a moment, try to chase away her fear as she has, so often in the past chased away mine.

But she is doing what she needs to do to survive right now and I have no right or reason to question her on it because a part of me knows that if she allows herself to succumb to the fear she will give up altogether. And I thank God that despite her delicate appearance and failing health, Dana Scully is strong. Stronger than I could ever hope to be and if I don’t understand anything else I at least understand that she needs to keep fighting – the cancer, me, her family, even herself – to find a way to keep going on; or at least until the day comes when it becomes impossible for her to pretend anymore. That finally she will stop hiding from me. That she won’t die without ever knowing just how much I love her, that she has made me more than I ever thought I could be and more than I can ever hope to be again.

Because I don’t think I will manage to survive without her now; maybe a few years ago I could have picked up and carried on but not now; I don’t think I even want to try. She has become everything to me, becoming such an intrinsic part of me that the thought of losing her steals the breath from my body and paralyses me on levels I didn’t even know existed and now which holds me in a state of perpetual fear so intense I can sometimes barely even force myself to look at her; because to look at her is to acknowledge the fact that she is dying. That she is destined to leave me and that this time, there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.

And now as I lay here, my eyes becoming accustomed to the darkness, I wonder if I am wrong; that my sudden awakening has nothing to do with her because right now, it seems as though all is silent in the room adjoining my own, the room where Scully resides. Not ten feet away from where I lay and which actually, might as well be miles because we no longer spend any downtime together – the comfortable routine that we both enjoyed before her cancer struck is a thing of the past. Because the second our working day has ended she retreats from me as exhaustion greys her skin and slows her movements, needing to distance herself in order to re-group, to rest sufficiently so that she is able to keep working with me out in the field. And the fact that she is sacrificing every other aspect of what life she may have left in order to do so isn’t lost on me.

I don’t pretend to fully understand her motivation and since she refuses to discuss any of it with me I can only hope that her reasons are sound. That she is doing this because it’s something she needs to do and not out of some misplaced loyalty to me because God knows I don’t deserve it, even though, selfish bastard that I am, I can’t bring myself to imagine the day when she finally admits defeat and steps away from me. My partner of four years who has remained by my side even when we both know how easy it would have been for her to have walked away, to live her life the way it should have been lived; the way she deserved it to be lived.

It’s a bitter pill for me to swallow, this knowledge that had she never met me, in all probability Scully would be living a comfortable existence somewhere else, living a life not blighted by loss and pain and suffering. Because she doesn’t deserve this; she has never deserved it and regardless of how much I love her, how much I need her, I find myself wishing fervently that she had never had the misfortune to become mixed up with the likes of me in the first place. That somehow she had never been dragged in to this fucking awful world I unwittingly created for us both.

I swallow the tightness that has formed in my throat, an all too familiar feeling that threatens to choke me as the guilt once more threatens to overwhelm me, to unravel me, to allow the darkness in my mind to send me in to a dizzying freefall from which I’m not sure I could ever recover, because self recrimination is not a luxury I can afford right now. Maybe afterwards, when this is all over and she is gone I will succumb to my own demons, but until that time comes I will remain strong for her whether she believes she needs me or not.

And so I close my eyes, willing myself to empty my mind of thoughts of what can never be, sinking back into the motel pillows that are just a little too firm to be truly comfortable, I know that it’s doubtful I will be able to fall asleep again.

Despite my restlessness though I am unwilling to get up from the bed lest my movements filter into the adjoining room through the paper-thin walls and disturb Scully. Because right now she needs all the rest she can get just to enable her to function at a decent level.

But then I hear it. The sound of her footsteps as she pads across the room, a light switching on and then the sound of water filling the bathtub. It’s just a few minutes before three and I can’t imagine any good reason as to why she would be taking a bath at such an unearthly hour. So without allowing myself to consider whether I am invading her privacy or not, I throw back the covers and cross the space from the bed to the adjoining door, praying that she hasn’t locked it from her side. But the knob turns easily and I step into her room, my heart sinking with painful realisation as I identify a second sound that is barely discernible above the running water.

The sound of my partner crying.

Scully rarely cries in front of me. In fact I can count on the fingers of one hand the amount of times I have seen her so much as shed a tear and for a moment I am torn, hovering indecisively on the threshold because I know she hates anyone to see her lose control; to show weakness; it’s a side of herself she has always kept rigidly in check and I am raging an internal battle with myself as to whether my need to see if she is okay outweighs the knowledge that she certainly won’t thank me for my concern.

But the sound draws me like a magnet, and I know that really, there is no choice to make. Because I can’t ignore her when she is in pain and to retreat from her now is just unthinkable to me.

I’m not sure exactly what I expect to see when I gently push open the bathroom door, certainly not the sight of my partner, kneeling over the half-filled tub with her arms submerged almost to the elbows in pink-tinged water and it takes a second for me to actually comprehend exactly what it is she is doing, what the white material is that she is pushing and swirling beneath the water.

And then I realise.

She is washing her bed sheets, or at least attempting to.

Because they have blood on them.

Her blood.

A nosebleed that has soiled linens that aren’t hers to soil.

“Scully?”

She starts at the sound of my voice and just for a second her movement stills, but she remains facing away from me, her breath hitching as she fights to get control, to hide the evidence of her obvious distress.

“What are you doing?”

I take a tentative step in to the small bathroom, close enough to reach out and touch her but I force myself to keep my arms by my side, knowing somehow that to touch her now would be a mistake; that she will retreat even further behind her walls. Because by the set rigidity of her shoulders and back I am all too aware that she is mortified and that she doesn’t want me here.

And sure enough

“I’m fine Mulder. I’m sorry I woke you up. Go back to bed.”

The insanity of this is so profoundly ridiculous I almost laugh out loud because my dying partner who is currently on her knees washing her blood from cotton sheets at 3am in a cold and dingy motel room in Fucksville Conneticut is apologising for waking me up. But I don’t laugh of course, because in reality there is nothing even remotely amusing about any of this and what I actually want to do is to slam my clenched fist straight through the wall beside me and just keep on punching until I’m so accustomed to the pain that I don’t feel it anymore.

And even though I know it’s the last thing she wants, I take another step towards her and as impossible as it seems, she stiffens even further.

“Please Mulder.”

Her voice is shaky, from the tears or from the cold I can’t be sure and as she turns her head very slightly toward me I see a streak of red that contrasts sharply with the whiteness of her skin, blood that she has unknowingly smeared across her face, evidence of the nosebleed that started this whole thing off.

“Please just go back to bed....”

“I can’t” I whisper, finally reaching out to her and gently placing the palm of my hand to rest on the back of her slender neck.

I only have the merest second to register the fact that she is freezing cold before she angrily twists away from my touch, shrugging off my hand in the process.

“Don’t.”

Her tone is as icy as her skin and I know that any second now she is going to tell me to fuck the hell off away from her.

And I couldn’t give a shit.

Because what she wants and what she needs right now are miles apart – that there are times for me to back right off and this isn’t even close to being one of them. So instead I simply reach down toward her, grasping her upper arms before hauling her to her feet, appalled at how weightless she seems. But weightless or not, she still has the capacity to be royally pissed at me and for a few seconds she struggles against my hold, prompting me to ease the grip I have on her, and which allows her to spin around so she is facing me, unsurprised when she delivers a stinging slap to my cheek, the sound as her hand connects with my face echoing around the small room like a gunshot.

I barely even flinch. Instead I just remain there, arms hanging loosely by my side as she begins to push against my chest with the palms of her hands, small determined movements designed to knock me off balance and make me step back. And there is no doubt in my mind that a year ago she would have achieved her aim. Scully is skilled in the art of hand to hand combat and I have seen her effortlessly drop men close to double her weight without even breaking a sweat.

But those days are gone.

I know it and she knows it but while her weakened body might betray her, the fire that burns within her is still scorching and this same intensity refuses always to ever let her back down and so she keeps up the pressure even as the tears once more begin to gather in her eyes. Tears that she fights with all that she has, so determined is she to remain in control; because when all is said and done, with Scully, it’s all about control.

Maybe I am being an asshole because it would be so easy for me to give her that control she desperately clings to; to allow her at least this small victory so that she can win this wholly insignificant battle even if not the whole fight. But I have conceded way too many times since this whole thing started, keeping my mouth shut and swallowing my concern for her a hundred times over in a show of denial and cowardice so pronounced that I can sometimes barely believe I am still able to look at myself in the mirror each morning.

Because trying to deny what is happening to her is probably the greatest disservice I have ever given either of us, and tonight, to see her knelt on this cold floor, trying to wash away the evidence of her illness, of her weakness lest, God forbid someone blows her impeccably maintained cover, has made me realise that at some point in time, we both need to stop running before we run so far away from each other that there is no going back.

So instead I wait until she is about to push me again, stepping back slightly to enable me to capture her hands and still her movement.

“Scully stop. This isn’t helping.”

She angrily tries to wrench her hands free and I know that the violence of her movement, coupled with my grip on her will no doubt leave bruises to mar her delicate skin, but nonetheless I maintain my hold even as those eyes flash at me like twin laser beams.

“ But I need to.....”

Her voice trails off as she tries again to twist away from me, leaning in the direction of the bathtub.

“I just......I just....”

Then she simply stops. Her mouth hanging open as I she begins to crumple, the tears she has suppressed for so long finally escaping their confines to stream down her face as she bows her head, and her voice is so quiet, so broken and so fragile that I can only barely hear her.

“I just need to fix it...”

And we both know that her words are no longer about the soiled sheets that float sluggishly in the cold water beyond; water that is tinged with my partners blood, evidence of her life force that is growing weaker and more tenuous as each day passes.

Because this is something that, no matter how hard she tries, how hard she fights or how hard she denies, that can’t be fixed.

By either of us.

So I just draw her towards me, gently and carefully allowing her to make the decision by herself and I am rewarded when she finally allows me to wrap my arms around her; to hold her against me; feeling her trembling from the cold as I rub small circles across her back, appalled at just how much weight she has lost as I feel the pronounced ridges of her spine through the thin flannel layer of her pyjamas. I don’t react though, afraid that if I do she will retreat from me once again and instead I concentrate all my energies on just holding her against me without breaking down. Because I know if I were to fall now, she would simply fall right along with me.

XXXX

Scully is sleeping. Bundled up in blankets and dressed in a ratty old sweatshirt of mine that I had briefly worn myself in order to infuse it with my warmth before I handed it to her; knowing that once the connection between us was severed in order for me to lead her back in to my room there would be no physical re-connect – at least not in the short term.

Because in typical Scully fashion she had retreated from me on every level possible; refusing to meet my eyes when I finally persuaded her to slip beneath the still-warm covers of my own bed. Embarrassed, ashamed even, that I had witnessed such a monumental display of weakness from her as she clung to me and allowed scalding tears to burn so deeply in to my soul that I’m not sure I will ever be able to erase them completely; evidence of a defining moment in our lives that spoke of love and loss and a reliance that has been forged over the years by our shared experience; our shared loss.

I am losing her.

Christ, I am losing her.

And I don’t know how to make things better for her; for me.

But I was at least, in some small way, able to assist her in managing the facade she has worked so hard to maintain.

A trip to Wal-mart once she was sleeping where I purchased three sets of plain white cotton sheets and pillowcases. And if it seemed like a strange purchase to be making at 4am, the clerk who gave me just scant attention didn’t comment on it as she accepted my proffered credit card with only a token attempt at congeniality.

Which was just fine with me because I wasn’t exactly in the mood for small talk.

And by the time I slipped between the fresh sheets on Scully’s bed, to give the illusion that they had been slept in, conscious of the sound of my partner breathing just a few feet away, I was already aware that when she awakens she won’t acknowledge it; that she will ignore what happened here in this room just a few hours ago and my clumsy attempts to make things right; to fix them.

But she will know I tried.

And maybe that’s enough.

For now.

End

#small considerations my fic series season 4 #cancer arc

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victorious1956 · 4 years

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My RWBY Fic List

Now that Fair Game Weekend is complete (and what a great outpouring of creativity by everyone that was), and I have no more Qrowtober fics for a couple of weeks, here's my current fic status.

With so much going on, poor old Betrayal has had to take a back seat, but I'm still working on that one, too.

These are all Fair Game focused, unless otherwise indicated.

AO3 rating shown after each title.

Recently posted/updated:

Love, Betrayal, and All That Follows (M)

When your day job is trying to save the world, the idea of discovering love along the way doesn't enter your head. So when Qrow finds himself in Atlas, dealing with love is as unexpected as the betrayal that follows. Ongoing 24/? chapters 70,148 words

The Silver Lining (T)

When it seems there might be a repeat of the disastrous pandemic of two years ago, the government loses no time in declaring a lockdown of all households. For Qrow and Clover, this presents a problem. 1 chapter 3,162 words

The Monster I've Become (T)

James/Clover James had not expected love, or anything like it, to come calling. But it does, and for a while he can be happy. Life, however, has other plans for him. 1 chapter 4,928 words

Paradigm Shift (M)

Clover's life is settled in every way except one. As he searches for the right woman for him, fate takes a hand and sets him on an unexpected path. 10/10 chapters 19,360 words

Deep (E)

Qrow sometimes teases Clover about the depth of feeling between them. But they both know that being in deep, is where they want to be. 1 chapter 1,396 words

Fair Game Weekend 2020 Series

3 fics for Fair Game Weekend, 2nd-4th October 2020. Completed Part One: Good For The Soul (G) After arriving in Atlas, Weiss initiates a plan to help the new hunters and the Ace Ops get to know each other better. The outcome, in one way at least, is more successful than even she expected. 1 chapter 4,075 words Part Two: Chasing This Starlight (T) After resolving their difficulties and deciding they want to be together, Qrow finally joins Clover on the USS Atlas. 1 chapter 2,046 words Part Three: Tantalised (T) Qrow normally has no interest in the festive season. This year he grudgingly agrees to participate, if only to keep Jimmy quiet. 1 chapter 3,260 words

Numerically Speaking Series

A series of (mostly) unconnected short stories, prompted by the numbers 1 to 10. Ongoing Part Six: Six Weeks (T) Qrow/Clover / Blake/Yang / Jaune/Marrow Yang is determined to keep working as long as she can. Luckily, when she unexpectedly goes into labour, she's with the right people. 1 chapter 3,128 words Part Seven: Seven Stars (G) An evil is rising, and the Captain of the Guard is sent from Minas Tirith to seek one who may be able to overcome it. 1 / 2 chapters 2,661 words

Qrowtober 2020 Series

Six separate fics for Qrowtober 2020. Ongoing Day Two: Flight Interrupted (T) Qrow is a bird on a mission. When he finds himself caught in a storm, it takes an unexpected turn. 1 / 2 chapters 2,040 words Day Seven: A Quiet Night In (G) Qrow / Yang & Ruby / Background Taiyang/Summer Taiyang and Summer have been married for three years, and Qrow agrees they deserve a night out to celebrate. 1 chapter 1,677 words Day Eight: Images of Yesterday (G) Qrow/Taiyang Taiyang has accumulated an attic full of memories stretching back many years. Some of them are inconsequential. Others, Qrow realises, mean so much more. 1 chapter 1,005 words

Older fics below cut

A Fair Game Rainbow Series

A series of eight unconnected short stories, prompted by the colours of the rainbow. Because why not 🌈🙂 Completed Part One: Red (G) As their first Valentine's Day approaches, Clover wants to surprise Qrow with a small, yet thoughtful, gesture. 1 chapter 1,201 words Part Two: Orange (T) Qrow and Clover finally get some time off work together, and decide to take a short vacation. 1 chapter 1,384 words Part Three: Yellow (T) Breaking the ice with a shared DIY task? It's more likely than you think. 1 chapter 1,220 words Part Four: Green (T) An unexpected visitor on board the United Star Ship Atlas proves unsettling for Lieutenant Clover Ebi. 1 chapter 2,806 words Part Five: Blue (G) It's Clover's birthday, and for the first year in a long time, he's going to celebrate. He just doesn't know it yet. 1 chapter 2,218 words Part Six: Indigo (T) All Qrow needs is a good night's sleep. All Clover wants is to help him get one. 1 chapter 1,697 words Part Seven: Violet (M) Qrow's misfortune makes itself felt at a most inopportune moment. 1 chapter1 1,233 words Part Eight: Rainbow (G) If Qrow had been offered his heart's desire years ago, he doubts he would have thought of wishing for what he has now. 2/2 chapters 2,420 words

Clover Ebi: Ace Operative Series

A short series looking at how a Fair Game relationship might work, if Clover were asexual. Completed Part One: Best of Friends (T) Qrow and Clover find they have more in common than they first thought. 1 chapter 4,158 words Part Two: Lines of Communication (G) Clover can't help fretting, which almost spoils a special day. 1 chapter 2,971 words Part Three: Part of You (M) Being together for a year is a good reason to celebrate, but things don't quite go according to plan. 1 chapter 2,433 words Part Four: Now and Always (T) Qrow and Clover take the next step. 4/4 chapters 7,857 words

Early Days Series

A series of short fics which follow Qrow and Clover as they become more friendly, leading into the start of a deeper relationship. Completed Part One: Window 1, Bird 0 (T) Qrow has a spot of bad luck. Fortunately, someone is looking out for him and is able to help. 1 chapter 1,481 words Part Two: Iron, Qrow (G) Qrow gets some unexpected domestic advice. 1 chapter 1,118 words Part Three: Search and Retrieve Mission (T) Clover suffers a loss, but Qrow is able to help. 1 chapter 1,267 words Part Four: By the Book (G) Clover finds a way to say thank you. 1 chapter 1,462 words Part Five: A Bird in the Hand (G) An afternoon of avian exploits, and a reminder of Clover's past. 1 chapter 1,993 words Part Six: Good Hair, Bad News (T) Time to trim those untidy feathers. 1 chapter 1,702 words Part Seven: Enable Cookies (G) 1 chapter 1,959 words Qrow is in need of inspiration. Lucky for him, Clover is on hand to supply it. Part Eight: Fever Pitch (G) Qrow gets an opportunity to demonstrate his bedside manner. 1 chapter 1,859 words Part Nine: The Last Dance (T) A celebratory night out for everyone gives Qrow and Clover a chance to get closer. 1 chapter 1,633 words Part Ten: Reggie's Diner (G) Finally. A kiss. 1 chapter 1,674 words

Numerically Speaking Series

A series of (mostly) unconnected short stories, prompted by the numbers 1 to 10. Ongoing Part One: One Mistake (M) One mistake. One stupid mistake. And suddenly, everything was ruined. 1 chapter 1,947 words Part Two: Two Months (T) It is hard to see past the hurt. But to heal, that is what Qrow tries to do. 1 chapter 1,417 words Part Three: Three in the Morning (G) When Qrow can't get back to sleep, he hatches a plan. It doesn't quite work. 1 chapter 1,002 words Part Four: Four in the Family (T) Three become four as Qrow and Clover welcome a new member of their family. 1 chapter 1,667 words Part Five: Five Words (T) Qrow and Clover have a date, a meal at their favourite restaurant. But this time, something seems different. 1 chapter 1,393 words

7-6 (M)

A quiet night in for Qrow and Clover ends in an unexpected battle for the two experienced fighters. 1 chapter 1,202 words

a qrow came to me (G)

A short scene which could have happened, but sadly never did. 1 chapter 672 words

A Regency Qrow (M)

Qrow returns to England after an extended trip, to find society has changed considerably in his absence. 4/4 chapters 13,918 words

A Time To Hold On, A Time To Let Go (G)

Jaune/Marrow Sometimes it can take a long while to let go, but that's okay. 1 chapter 683 words

As Tears Go By (G)

Some painful memories never leave you, but if you have a sympathetic partner there for you, it helps. 1 chapter 1,257 words

Birth Day (T)

Qrow and Clover wait anxiously for a very special delivery. 1 chapter 1,491 words

Convergence (T)

Qrow and Clover are bound to get together. Eventually. 1 chapter 1,514 words

Face the Rain (G)

Clover and Qrow have been together for some time now, but the cracks are starting to show. 1 chapter 2,324 words

i'm dreaming 'bout those dreamy eyes (G)

The importance or otherwise of eye colour. 1 chapter 478 words

In Your Eyes (T)

Not everyone believes in the idea of a soulmate. And sometimes, you don't have to. 1 chapter 6,303 words

Instinctively Yours (T)

In Springtime, every bird's thoughts turn to finding a partner. Clover never expected it to be him. 1 chapter 2,016 words

Kiss Me, Kiss Me (T)

After the trials and tribulations in Atlas, Clover and Qrow enjoy some downtime in Patch. 1 chapter 1,635 words

Letting Go (G)

Qrow/Taiyang Qrow tries to help Taiyang move on. 1 chapter 948 words

Regency Bees (G)

Blake/Yang and Qrow/Clover, but less so than usual! A desparate situation calls for a desperate remedy. Especially when you have been told you must marry a gentleman for whom you have no regard. 7/7 chapters 13,556 words

Room in Your Heart (T)

Clover would like to get to know Qrow better, but is there a place for him in Qrow's heart? 1 chapter 2,414 words

Sharp Edges (T)

There is more than one way to hurt those you care about. 1 chapter 3,208 words

Some Kind of Madness (E)

Clover enjoys the heady rush of a new relationship. But after the madness of the early, euphoric liaisons, is there anything more? 1 chapter 3,642 words

Storytime (E)

Clover is away, so he calls Qrow and tells him a bedtime story. 1 chapter 1,501 words

Straight From Your Heart (T)

Following the catastrophic fight on the tundra, Qrow and Clover try and come to terms with what happened. 4/4 chapters 4,049 words

The One Who Loved You So (G)

James/Qrow and Qrow/Clover James cares for Qrow. He sometimes wishes he didn't. 1 chapter 1,000 words

The Shape of You (T)

Qrow sees Clover in a new light. 1 chapter 900 words

Till I Die (T)

Qrow's final flight. 1 chapter 1,500 words

Who Are You? (T)

Dreams are always open to interpretation, and Clover has no idea what his means. The answer, when it eventually comes, will change his life. 4/4 chapters 12,281 words

you know i can't love (T)

Loving someone is not always enough. 1 chapter 1,901 words

#rwby fanfiction #fair game #qrow branwen #clover ebi #bumbleby #guard dogs #james ironwood #taiyang xiao long

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narcissasdaffodil · 3 years

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Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 8 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome work!

Thanks for the tag @kiki-the-creator ! I’m likely going to ramble, so bear with me! There’s multiple creations I haven’t put in the wild as of yet, so I’m just doing stuff I’ve posted on either here or A03.

1: Love Can Be Chosen

Before I started LCBC, unless you count the fic collab I’m part of, I hadn’t written any fanfic in 5 years. I started LCBC at the end of July, and teaching myself how to write properly again was difficult, along with writing in my natural style without being judged for that. I stopped writing entirely due to a high amount of people being very critical of my work to the point I lost the love for writing. I never thought I’d ever get back into it either, so this is a considerable surprise.

Just as I was going to post my first chapter of LCBC, someone I’d asked to read it for me was critical of it to the point that it seriously hurt, and it went past general consecutive criticism. Telling someone that their grammar is dreadful and there’s major errors without pointing to said errors is hardly useful! For 2 days, I toyed with whether to post it or not, or if they were actually right, and I should stop writing again. I pushed through that, as I refuse to let just one person have such an impact on me. Besides, it’s only an issue one person has, and I have multiple beta readers anyway. The fact I pushed through that makes me proud in general, as I proved both myself and that person wrong.

LCBC means the world to me as it helped me gain back my love of writing. I’ve come on a lot in nearly 5 months, and I’ve found myself writing more personal stuff to me. The fact it’s so big will always wow me, my doc for it currently stands at 166k, I affectionately nickname it my fic monster. I originally called it What’s a Soulmate?, then needed a better title. It was completely unplanned, I put my Spotify on shuffle, then Love Can Be Chosen played and I had a serious brainwave. People aren’t likely to know the song itself, but it’s by Avia Butler if you’re interested! I’ll ramble about it for ages if I let myself, so I’ll cut this here.

2: this Lottie edit

I hated this style of edit for a while, as people kept asking for these edits on my Instagram for other fandoms and literally nothing else, so I was a little fed up of doing the same thing. But it was different when I wanted to make an edit like that one myself, not having people be overly pushy rocks! I absolutely adore having control of what I edit.

3: Another Lottie edit

This one is a new style, but I really, really love it! My best stuff gets made when it’s me who wants it, I went through a period of creating just to get validation, and that was majorly shitty. My other favourite edit in this style hasn’t been posted yet, but for something made on a whim, it’s pretty good! I took a small break from editing and gave myself a talking to, basically told myself that it’s okay to make stuff you want, and not constantly concede to others, especially when the end product makes you feel worse about yourself. In addition, I no longer depend on creative pursuits for happiness, sure I enjoy it, but I don’t base everything about myself on my creative abilities.

4: this oneshot!

I was nervous to write this one, never having written hurt/comfort before. But I fell head over heels in love with the thing. Deciding to do Flufftober was an awesome decision, great job October me! I’ve tried out multiple types of fics I wouldn’t have otherwise, and found a new love for writing fluff.

5: Could You Be my Friend?

This oneshot took two goes. The first go was seriously dreadful, to the point that I was so angry at myself for 2 days straight, which isn’t healthy in the slightest! Anything that causes that much rage in me of all people isn’t a good thing. I stay far away from stuff that provoke my anxiety or anger in general. This one is a HP/LITG crossover, Harry Potter used to majorly be my thing years ago. It’s not as much now, for a multitude of reasons. Because of that also, the LITG/HP fic collab isn’t my thing as much anymore. But I had an itch to scratch regarding Marilecto and a HP au, so I took the prompt competition as the perfect excuse to just chuck it out there. Writing this one was so hard, but once I’d got halfway through my second oneshot, I was good.

6: Cold Coffee

This one was my first ever Marilecto oneshot, and my first oneshot in general, so it’s special for those reasons. I’ve likely written better stuff since, but that one was pretty special to me, as writing it proved to me I could write more than just chunky fics.

7: It Would’ve Been You

This one was part of my uni AU series. My flatmates have alternated between great and challenging, and a good way to not let it get me down was writing about bits and pieces of it!

8: Leftover Sweets

This one was super unexpected to say the least, but I actually love it. I wrote it in 2 hours between 1-3am one night and woke up confused as there was a random oneshot hanging out in my docs, and I didn’t remember writing it! It did scare me a little, but once I reread the thing, I realised I was actually pretty proud of it.

Okay, I’m tagging @lucas-koh @americangrunge, @venueska and @bubblybabynailpolish I have absolutely no clue who’s already done this, so if you want to, feel free to tag me! And if you’ve done it already, oops!

#tag games #Fave works of 2020

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gumnut-logic · 4 years

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We’ll Be Home For Christmas 3.4

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day Three - If not for the courage of the fearless crew – Part 4

Prologue | 1.1 | 1.2 | 2.1 | 2.2 | 2.3 | 3.1 | 3.2 | 3.3

Author: Gumnut

29 Dec 2019 - 4 Jan 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 4342

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Artist!Virgil, Minor various ships, mostly background.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos we haven’t seen it yet.

Author’s note: For @scattergraph. This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic :D I hope you enjoy it.

I’m probably posting this before it is ready and I’m not happy with the ending so may change where it ends when I start writing the next part, but I really need a little cheering up today, so here be the next 4000-odd words of this fic. I hope you enjoy them :D

Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for cheering me on and their wonderful support through this craziness. And to @onereyofstarlight for geeking out with me over the setting.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

They stashed their luggage in the hostel, a large white and wooden building that had obviously seen many residents over the years, but was well loved and maintained.

Melissa gave them a quick tour of the compound. It consisted of series of buildings similar to the hostel but of varying sizes over looking the ocean and the adjacent Oneraki Beach. The island was basically a triangle with the encampment on the north facing side high up on Fleetwood Bluff. There was something about a Flagstaff but Virgil missed it...mainly due to the conversation Gordon and Sam were laughing over behind him.

Whatever it was called, the view was magnificent. Far below in the bay, A Little Lightning was a small white smudge on the blue of the Pacific.

Melissa ran them through the rules of conduct on the island. No one was to venture anywhere on the island outside the compound unaccompanied by a DOC employee. Please keep your luggage inside the hostel. All life is protected on the island and in the waters. It was illegal to damage or remove anything. No littering. The list went on.

It was a long one.

Apart from being a cetacean biologist and a loud talker, Sam was also apparently the resident cook on the island. Melissa put no claim to any culinary skills, so had left it to Sam.

The man had baked a cake.

A Christmas cake.

In their isolation on the boat, despite their aim to be home for Christmas, Virgil had forgotten it was the day before Christmas Eve. December twenty-three.

It wasn’t the first time he had forgotten Christmas. Three years ago he had spent Christmas dragging survivors off the Amazon flood plain when the river engulfed an entire city. Christmas had been obliterated. As had the two months after due to the damn fever he had caught from those flood waters. It hadn’t been a great start to the year.

But this year it was different. They were on vacation. A forced vacation, but a vacation nonetheless, of which the whole purpose was to get home in time for Christmas. Yet the decorations and the tree in the corner of the communal hall had taken him by surprise.

The cake was very nice. He had to hold Alan back from grabbing seconds. But it got him thinking about the day after next and what they would be doing as a family.

“He sang to the whales?!”

Virgil jumped at Sam’s exclamation somewhere behind him.

“Yeah, he did. You should have heard it. It was incredible.” Virgil’s eyes widened at the pride in Gordon’s voice.

“They didn’t pay any attention, though, did they? All previous attempts have failed.”

“Ho, Sam, I have to show you the recordings. They responded alright. Virg may not speak whale, but he knows how to speak emotion. Mamma whale definitely understood something.”

Virgil buried his face in his coffee. The experience was still raw. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it and it was inevitable that he would be asked.

“What did he use?” And the conversation dropped to normal levels. Virgil’s name was mentioned several times along with John’s. Sam was eager and excited.

Virgil felt dread.

“You okay, bro?” Alan was frowning at him while hoovering the second piece of cake Virgil had already told him he couldn’t have.

Why did he bother?

“So I guess we’ll be hauling in extra food supplies for these people after you’ve finished with them.”

“It was one piece of cake.”

“It’s the only cake, Alan.”

His brother’s eyes widened in realisation. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”

“I’ll bring them something before New Years.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Or maybe Scott can. He might want to visit.”

“What? Why?” But Alan was gesturing with his head in the direction of their eldest brother.

Deep in conversation with Melissa Fisher.

Virgil raised an eyebrow.

-o-o-o-

“So by claiming for twenty one instead of twenty volunteers we get just that extra bit of funding.”

“Clever move.” Scott had finished his cake and was drinking tea. Virgil had shot him an incredulous look when he asked for it, but if there was one thing Scott remembered about this place, it was the herbal tea. Melissa knew how to brew a great drink...even if she had to threaten him and his father to try it the first time.

“Are you still using Jack Dunning?”

“Oh, yes, the man is brilliant. And he does all our work pro bono which saves us so much. Thank you for the recommendation.”

Scott was not going to mention one Gordon Tracy jumping up and down in front of him one afternoon several years ago. His aquanaut brother had been apoplectic and at the end of a very sharp conversation, Scott had been more than willing to call in their lawyers to act on behalf of the DOC Kermadec Expedition. The fishery megacorporation challenging the validity of the Sanctuary hadn’t known what hit them.

And if Scott wanted Jack to send him all the bills, that was his prerogative. Melissa didn’t have to know everything.

“So how is Virgil?” It was a quiet question as she picked up her own cup of tea.

He eyed her a moment. He was well aware of her attraction to his brother. Gordon had made a point of stirring Virgil until his quiet brother had clapped him around the ears.

“He’s recovering. I’ll be happier when he is home.”

She eyed him as if considering whether she should breach a topic or not. Something flickered in her eyes. “How goes Tracy Island? Is the regrowth flourishing as we hoped?”

He thought back at the tracts of native vegetation his father had planted all those years ago, mostly on the other side of the island, though some covered scars from the IR excavations.The pōhutukawa and palm trees seemed to be okay, but his mind was usually on other things when he ran past them.

He shook his head. “To be honest, I don’t know. You could ask Gordon?”

She peered closer at him. “Are you okay?”

He straightened where he sat. “I’m good.” He stretched. “Got any recommendations for a good place to run? Need to stretch my legs.”

She swallowed the last of her drink. “I can show you.”

“No need, just point me in the right direction and I’ll find my way.”

A snort. “You’re not on Tracy Island, Commander. No visitors go unaccompanied on Raoul, remember. You’ve got a choice between me and Sam.” A smirk. “And you won’t get much distance out of him unless you prefer swimming.”

Internally he groaned. He had been looking forward to time alone.

“I can show you around the crater rim. You’ll get a great workout.”

The thought of finding the physical relief was just too tempting. The hike up the hill had been a teaser and he wanted more. He sculled the last of his tea. “Fine. Lead the way.” He hoped she could keep up.

Her smile was a challenge in itself. “I’ll go grab my running gear. Meet you out front in ten.”

“FAB.”

-o-o-o-

Gordon watched as Scott stood up, brushed past Virgil and said something, before following Mel out the door.

“Do you think Virgil would be willing to talk about his experience?”

Gordon glanced at Sam and then eyed his brother. His linen shirt was tight across his shoulders as the man hunched over his coffee. “I don’t know.”

“Can you ask?” Sam was all eagerness. It was understandable. The surfer had made cetaceans his life’s work and this was a fantastic opportunity.

A sucked in breath. “Leave it with me, I’ll see what I can do.”

-o-o-o-

John, drink in hand, had taken the opportunity to find himself a vantage point on the cliff. The island was very quiet, even quieter than Tracy Island was at times and considerably bigger.

He appreciated the solitude.

Of course, the boat hadn’t exactly been loud or even crowded. He truly enjoyed the time with his brothers. But it was nice to step away, even if only for a little time.

He parked himself in the long grass at the edge of the bluff and stared out into the blue of the Pacific.

An idle thought.

“Eos?”

“Hello, John.”

“Hello, Eos. Status?”

“All emergency calls are being fielded by the appropriate agencies. Mr Lemaire has entombed himself in ice at the South Pole in an attempt to locate Santa Claus. I have advised the GDF. He is safe and secure for the moment.”

John’s thoughts locked up for a second. “The South Pole? Santa Claus lives in the North Pole.”

“Ignoring the fact that Santa Claus is a myth, Mr Lemaire claimed that ‘the North Pole is an ocean and only an idiot would build a house on an ice floe that melts every summer, therefore he must be hidden at the South Pole.’ He planned to be the first human to interview the father of Christmas and used a specialised drilling machine to dig into the ice...which promptly collapsed on him twenty metres down.”

John sighed. “You are sure he is safe?”

“Colonel Casey has sent a specialist team. He and his wife have enough survival supplies to make it through to New Years if necessary.”

“Monitor the situation. Call us in only if there is no alternative.” A trip to the South Pole was something they did not need.

“FAB, John.”

“And how are you?”

“I am functioning well.”

“Do you have any results from the problem I set you?”

“I have analysed three thousand two hundred and twenty-three recordings of humpback whale communications. Unfortunately, many of the recordings are missing the lower frequencies as the equipment used was not sufficient. I do have some translation possibilities, however I am still calculating multiple variables and am hesitant to postulate a theory.”

He had expected as much. She had only been working on it for a few hours. “Are you enjoying the work?” To be honest, he wasn’t expecting a positive result. It did, however, keep a bored AI occupied.

“It is very interesting. Virgil’s response shows no pattern relative to the language he was attempting to respond to, yet he received a result.”

“I suspect there is an element of synergy in the language that enables it to become more than a sum of its parts. Perhaps that is what Virgil was able to tap into.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, John.”

John sucked in a breath. “You are a computer program, yet you are more than lines of code, you are a person. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps this language is a step beyond simple complexity. Perhaps the elements combined create a new level of communication? One that is not entirely on the conscious level.”

His daughter was silent for a moment. “How does interpretation differ between the human conscious and subconscious? The literature claims a lack of cognitive recognition of events created or observed subconsciously. How could Virgil create something he is not aware of?”

“There is much we do not yet understand. The human subconscious is well known for gathering multiple observed factors and combining them into instinct, all without conscious control. Perhaps you should explore that region of research?” Come to think of it, Virgil’s instincts in the field were very sharp. There were multiple examples of his brother acting against orders and ultimately saving lives that otherwise would have been lost, including those of his brothers.

“I will, John, thank you.”

“You are welcome.” His lips curled into a smile. “Enjoy yourself.”

-o-o-o-

It was amazing to finally get his feet moving.

Scott’s shoes pounded volcanic dust and rock so familiar it was almost as if he was home. A regular thud-thud-thud, the sea breeze, the rock, the vegetation...energy flowed through him and was used, muscles firing, skin tingling in the afternoon air. God, it was so good to get out.

Melissa said nothing to him beyond directing which path to take. She had removed her DOC uniform, reducing her clothing to a tight crop top, shorts and running shoes, and if he was honest, he had to admit he was appreciating the view.

The woman was all slim muscle. Tight waist, lightly browned skin. Her pale hair bounced behind her in a hastily tied ponytail and he found himself following it as she leapt from path to rock and over logs.

She had no trouble keeping up. In fact, it was more the other way around. He had to work to keep up with her, despite the difference in stride. She knew exactly where she was going and she was offering no handicap.

They pushed up a steep incline for some time. She had taken them off the main track and deep into the forest. Birds sung all around and the wind rustled through the blossoming trees. The pōhutukawa were in their brilliant crimson Christmas flowers, festooning the island as if to decorate for the season.

Grandma loved the pōhutukawa trees on Tracy Island and was in fact the only reason he knew the name of the plant. She cut flowers every year for their Christmas table to acknowledge the beautiful piece of land they lived on.

They reminded him of home.

This whole island reminded him of home.

Melissa ran around a particularly large tree and he followed only to come to a screeching halt as the path suddenly changed direction. A huge crater appeared in front of him.

Melissa was running on the spot. She nodded down at the lake at the bottom of the volcanic bowl. “Blue Lake.”

And it was.

A stunning, almost unnatural cobalt blue. He stared down at it, panting from his exertions. His thin grey tank top clung to his sweaty body.

She grinned at him before darting off along the crater rim.

Hmmm. An indrawn breath and he took off after her.

The crater wasn’t massive on a volcanic scale, but it was impressive nonetheless. The late afternoon sun shadowed the mountain, emphasising the extremes of the landscape.

“The far lake is Green Lake.” Melissa had stopped and was running on the spot again. A fine sheen of perspiration glistened on her skin.

He did know the geography, he had flown over the island often enough, but this perspective was considerably different. “It’s beautiful.” Not unlike its caretaker.

The random thought shook him out of contemplation and forced himself to look out at the smaller green lake in the distance.

Where the hell had that come from? A sideways glance in her direction and he found her gaze caught on the spectacle before them, her love for the island obvious.

Well, he had to admit that he did have his own island love. Just not this island.

“C’mon, slow poke, let’s up the pace.” And she darted off into the forest again.

Really?

Thighs pumping, he followed her under the trees, down the slope a little before he found himself climbing again.

She called back to him from several metres in front. “Got a full body workout coming up. I hope you’re up to it.” Her grin bounced down the mountain and off his head.

She was challenging him? Well, he had been known to hang off rocket ships and climb vertical cliff faces. Bring it on.

She did.

The path dissolved. There was no other real word for it. It became a mass of black jagged volcanic rocks, interspersed with tree regrowth.

“This was dumped here last time Virgil yanked us off the Island.” Her words were interspersed with harsh breathing as she clambered over the obstacle. As he climbed the crater once again came into view and the scar in the side of the mountain became clear.

Wow.

There was a swath of dead forest dotted with regrowth. He remembered Virgil’s report. The footage had involved billowing smoke and steam, but his brother had confined most of his readings to the encampment, his concern more for the lives endangered than any geological happenings. Brains had taken readings and read GeoNet’s reports as he did for any activity on the Kermadec Ridge, but he had reported it small and unremarkable.

Looked far more remarkable in person.

Melissa reached the top of the pile of rock and finally stopped.

He was grateful. The woman knew how to push it. He clambered up the last few and stood next to her.

The view was magnificent.

“She risks our lives, but I have to say she is beautiful.” Her love was there again, in her eyes. It was a similar expression to what he saw on Gordon’s face when he stared out across the ocean.

“You love this island, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

She turned to stare at him and he realised that her eyes were a startling multicoloured grey. “I love this place. It’s mountains, its plants, its ocean, its everything. It is one of the truly saved places on our planet. There aren’t many left.” She shrugged. “I’m just lucky to be able to experience it and contribute my little bit of help.”

He snorted. “Even I know what you are doing is anything but little. You’ve expanded the Sanctuary by hundreds of kilometres since you’ve been here.”

Her gaze turned back to him. “You’ve been reading up on me?”

Half a grin. “I like to know who I am dealing with.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And what did you find, Commander?”

His smile spread. “Someone remarkable.”

-o-o-o-

Virgil hid for the rest of the afternoon. He slunk away to the hostel, found himself a bed and curled up. At some point, he heard a brother open the door to the communal room and another brother, Alan maybe, mutter something, but they went away and he was glad for it.

The wood of the building creaked in the sun and birds squawked almost continually, but despite, or perhaps because of the soundscape, he fell into a much better sleep than he had had the entire week. Deep and complete.

The sun was heading towards the horizon when he woke, yellowing rays cutting across the hostel windows, turning the white paintwork gold.

Gordon was in the room, fossicking through a bag. “G’don?” He blinked and screwed up his face.

“Hey, Virg! Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No. Don’t think so?”

“How are you feeling?”

Virgil rolled over and pushed himself up, sitting on the side of the bed. He rubbed his hands over his face. “Okay, I guess.”

His brother snorted. “I’ll ask you again in half an hour after coffee and brain activation.”

The grunt he sent in the aquanaut’s direction only proved his point.

“Sam is very interested in what you did today.”

Crap. Another grunt.

That earned him a querying look. Virgil had no idea what his brother expected. If a simple question about how he was feeling was a stumbler, the complex concepts involving what had happened earlier in the day were a complete brain frier.

“You up for dinner?” Gordon was suddenly sitting on the bed next to him. When had he moved? “Sam’s dragged out the barbecue. Claims he wants to test the theory of ‘throwing a prawn on the barbie’. Apparently, as an Australian he’s never cooked a shrimp on a barbecue before.” As if to punctuate the statement, the smell of cooking meat wafted in through the window.

Virgil stared at his brother.

“They had to import the shrimp for Christmas.”

The staring continued.

“They’re throwing a party because we’re here and using their Christmas supplies to do it...why the hell are you staring at me like that?”

Virgil didn’t answer him. He just wrapped an arm around him and hugged Gordon to his side.

His brother didn’t resist, but did look at him strangely. “You okay?”

“I’m good.”

Gordon didn’t say anything further and for a moment they sat there together.

Virgil’s stomach rumbled.

Gordon snorted. “C’mon, bro, food awaits.” He slipped Virgil’s hold and, turning around, offered him a hand up.

Without another word, Virgil took it and stood up beside his brother, his hand landing on his shoulder and squeezing.

That earned him another questioning look, but he ignored it.

The grassed central area of the compound had been transformed both by the golden sunlight and the lights strung between the trees. Sam was standing in front of a sizzling barbecue, someone Virgil didn’t know, laughing and holding him close. Alan and John were deep in discussion with another new person. All three of them had drinks in hand. John’s hair flickered about as if it was on fire, the sun catching it as the breeze tossed it around. And Scott...

Virgil stared.

Scott was laughing his ass off.

With Melissa Fisher.

The two of them sat beside each other in a couple of deck chairs. His brother appearing more relaxed than Virgil had seen him in a long time.

“What happened?” It came out without thought.

“They went for a run. Came back friendly as can be. I think Scott may have fallen for her charms.”

Charms? The woman was a handful. Virgil wasn’t afraid to admit he found her a challenge. Her gratitude the last time he had airlifted her and her squad of staff and volunteers off Raoul had been...exuberant.

If Kayo hadn’t escorted her out of his cockpit, he wasn’t sure what he would have done. As it was, Gordon had ribbed him until he cracked and thwapped him one.

But Scott seemed almost enthusiastic. Despite himself, Virgil broke into a grin.

Gordon echoed it. “Yeah, it’s great to finally see him relaxing.”

Quiet. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Gordon grabbed his arm and nudged him in the direction of a table piled with food and drink. “Let’s get you fuelled up so I can introduce you to Liam and Elspeth.”

Coffee, as always, solved a lot of problems and, hugging his mug like the lifeline it was, Virgil was introduced to Sam’s husband.

Liam turned out to be a meteorologist. Raoul was not only important as a wildlife sanctuary, but also supported this corner of the Pacific’s meteorological station, providing atmospheric readings crucial to both weather and climate studies.

Having no shortage of interest in weather conditions, both as a pilot and a rescue operative who often found himself in the extremes of all kinds of those conditions, Virgil fell into in a very interesting discussion regarding navigating tropical cyclones.

In appearance, Liam was taller than Sam, blond and much more reserved than his husband. Hell, it was almost like someone had grabbed John and Gordon, thrown their physical characteristics in a blender and then assembled Liam and Sam. Liam even had a similar flick of blond hair on his forehead that John had in his red hair.

Almost in contrast, where Liam was pale and tall, Elspeth was dark and petite. Long plaited black hair hung to her waist, her features in shades of sepia. The artist in him was quite drawn to her.

But not as much as his two starbound brothers, because Elspeth was an astronomer. She and Liam had been on the other side of the island earlier in the day collecting readings from the observatory. Something about a rogue object passing through the Solar System. Virgil lost the discussion at some point between the Oort cloud and the orbit of Jupiter. He kept getting distracted by Scott laughing.

Virgil hadn’t heard his brother laugh so freely in a long time. Melissa appeared to be enjoying herself. It was as if a bubble had surrounded them and cut them off from everyone else. Stuck in their own happy little world.

An irrational spark of envy and the inevitable smirk at his brother deploying his well played charms were all completely smothered by the happiness he felt seeing Scott finally relaxing and enjoying himself.

As the evening became night, Virgil continued to hover on the edges of conversation, more Gordon, Sam and Liam than John, Alan and Elspeth. The latter group’s discussion had dissolved into equations and while Virgil loved a good piece of math like any engineer, theoreticals were more than he was willing to think about right at the moment.

The food was delicious and he complimented Sam thoroughly. Liam smiled and waxed poetic about some of the meals his husband had cooked in the past. Sam blushed appropriately red on several occasions, setting Gordon off into ribbing the poor man.

A thumb in Gordon’s direction. “Ignore him, he’s just jealous. There are days on end where we don’t get time to cook a decent meal.”

“You don’t have a cook?” Sam was frowning.

“We have Grandma.” Gordon was smiling ruefully.

“She’s a good cook?”

Virgil cut in. “Grandma is the backbone of International Rescue.”

“Your grandmother works with you?”

“Often, yes.”

“A truly family business.”

“Yes, it is.”

The conversation fell quiet a moment and Virgil took a swig of the beer in his hand.

“So, how did you become a cetacean biologist?”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Oh, um, had an encounter, fell in love, now devoted to them forever.”

Liam snorted. “He asked about you and whales, not for our love story.”

His husband shrugged. “Pretty much the same story really. Found myself in dire straits off Waitpinga Beach while surfing, dolphin saved me.”

Gordon had obviously heard the story before. He grinned. “For a surfer, you really are crap at surfing.”

“It’s all about the image, Gordo. You know that.” But Sam was grinning as much as Gordon. “But on a more serious note,” and the grin turned into a mock glare at Virgil’s brother, “she saved my life. It was a big, life changing moment. Been saving the whales ever since.”

“I can understand that.” All the Tracys could understand that.

Sam sparked up, all eagerness and bright eyes. “So, you spoke to a whale today?”

-o-o-o-

End Day Three, Part Four

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #virgil tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy #alan tracy

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badchoicesposts · 5 years

Text

Don’t Dream It’s Over Chapter 5

Series Summary: Liam and Ali thought that their relationship was perfect, but their whole world came crashing down when Constantine called him back to Cordonia. Four years later they meet again at Liam’s bachelor party, determined to make things between them work even if it isn’t always easy.

In this AU, Liam and MC (Ali Moonessar) dated for a year in New York while Leo was still crown prince. They broke up when Constantine asked Liam to come back to Cordonia, but they meet again at Liam’s bachelor party before the social season. The story will contain flashbacks, which will be italicized, of their relationship and follow them as they try to navigate the season with Ali as a suitor. I’ve messed around with the timeline a bit so that it fits the story better. I’ve also added in a few OCs of my own.

Pairing: Liam x MC (Ali Moonessar)

Word Count: 3,316

Taglist: @flowerpowell, @kingliam2019, @ao719, @emceesynonymroll, @hopefulmoonobject, @dcbbw, @qammh-blog, @liamxs-world, @drakesensworld, @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction, @timmagickfrog

If you would like to be added to the tag list let me know!

A/N: In this chapter you’ll get to learn a bit more about Ali’s family.

This is my first time ever posting a fic. Please let me know if you enjoyed it and would like to read more. I thrive on validation, lol. Thanks for reading!

TRIGGER WARNING: Nothing too serious but a few mentions of anxiety

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Ali pulled another dress over her head and sighed as she watched it drop onto the increasingly large clothing pile on the floor. She had been trying to figure out what to wear for the past two hours, but everything in her closet seemed to look wrong. All of her insecurities seemed to be clawing their way out today, and everything seemed to make her look frumpy or cling to her stomach too much.

“Did a tornado rip through your closet?” Emma asked, strolling into the room.

She bent over and started rifling through the pile of clothes on the floor.

“What’s wrong with this one?” she asked, holding up a short blue dress.

“It makes me look fat,” Ali said, rifling through some hangers.

Emma rolled her eyes and dropped the dress back into the pile. She was used to her best friend berating her body because she had been doing it for years, but that didn’t mean that she was okay with it.

“No, it doesn’t. Besides, you know that your wardrobe isn’t the only thing bothering you. What’s wrong?” she argued, dropping down onto the bed.

Ali groaned angrily and sat down next to her. The other woman was right. The anxieties she had about the evening and her impending choice to follow Liam back to Cordonia were making her harsher on herself than usual. But, that didn’t mean she was in the mood to talk about her feelings. However, she knew that Emma wouldn’t leave her alone until she did.

“I haven’t been this nervous about a date since the first time I went out with Liam,” she said, resting her head on the blonde girl’s shoulder.

“Good nervous or bad nervous?”

“I’d have to give up everything to be with him, but at the same time I can’t imagine letting him go again,” she said.

“Just because it’s a change doesn’t mean you have to give everything up. Just because you won’t be living with us anymore, doesn’t mean we won’t still be a family. The only thing you’re really giving up is your shitty waitress job,” Emma reasoned.

Ali thought about what she said for a moment. It made sense, but Emma seemed to oversimplify it. Deciding to move to a whole different country was a big decision, especially if the only reason she was doing it was for a guy.

“And on a more shallow note, I want him to think I look nice,” she said in a small, embarrassed voice.

Emma smirked and rested her chin on top of her friend’s head.

“Good nervous, then. You know, I’m sure you could wear a potato sack, and the man would still think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world,” she said, a fond smile on her face.

Emma had always liked Liam. She had been upset for her friend when he left, but she had liked him. He was good for Ali. Ali had a tendency to get in her head and let her anxieties and insecurities get the best of her, but Liam had always had a way of pulling her out of it. He always seemed to know what to say when she was having a bad day, whether that be because of her mental health or because of a stressful week of classes. He had been so obviously head over heels in love with her, and he knew how to bring out the best side of her. They both had a way of doing that for each other.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not true,” Ali said, rolling her eyes and walking back to the closet.

“He still looks at you the same way, you know,” she persisted.

“What way?”

“Like you’re the light of his life. His reason for waking up in the morning,” she said, swooning dramatically, before bursting into a fit of giggles.

Ali threw a romper at her and watched as she dodged it just before it hit her in the face.

“Shut up!”

Emma laughed and walked back over to the pile on the floor, sifting through it and pulling out a simple black dress.

“Wear this. It’s simple enough for what he has planned, but it shows just enough cleavage to keep things interesting,” she said, suggestively raising one of her eyebrows.

“You know what he has planned?”

Emma nodded and walked out the door without saying another word.

Ali dressed quietly before observing her reflection critically in the mirror. She sighed, pulling at the hem of the dress nervously.

“Ali!” she heard Cole’s voice call out for her.

She looked down at her phone and felt the corners of her mouth tug up into a small smile. It was 6:59 PM. Liam always was punctual. She took a deep breath, pulled on her shoes, and made her way out to the living room.

Liam was standing in the middle of the living room with a few grocery bags in his hand, and Cole and Ezra were standing next to him, trying unsuccessfully to make themselves look intimidating.

“Okay, boys, come along,” Emma said, placing her hands on both of their shoulders. “Have fun.”

She threw Ali a smile over her shoulder and led the guys out of the apartment. Ali waved goodbye awkwardly and looked over at Liam questioningly.

“I wanted to make you dinner. I convinced them to leave the apartment for the night,” he said raising the bags in his hands.

“How did you manage that?” she asked, taking one of the bags from him and walking over to the kitchen.

“Well, I didn’t do it so much as I asked Emma to,” he confessed, pulling a smile from Ali.

She began emptying the grocery bag and had to refrain herself from laughing as she looked over canned tomatoes, package of uncooked spaghetti, and various herbs.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked, smiling widely and turning to look at him.

“I know it didn’t exactly go well the first time, but I promise I’m better at it now,” he said, walking up to her and placing his hands on her waist. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

Even in her heels he needed to lean down a considerable amount to press the small kiss to her forehead. He was about to pull away, when she made a split second decision and grabbed onto his cheeks with both of her hands. She pushed herself up onto her toes the best she could in her heels and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Thank you, and I’m helping this time. I still don’t know how you managed to ruin boxed spaghetti like that,” she said, pulling away and moving over to the cabinet where she and the Larsons kept their pots and pans.

~~~

Ali took a deep breath before knocking on the door to Liam’s apartment. This was their first real date. Well, technically it was their second. The “first” had been when he decided to tag along with her and the kids she was babysitting as they went to a small cafe after a library visit.

To say she was nervous was an understatement. She was excited too, of course. She had been practically bouncing in place when he called and asked to see her again, but she was definitely nervous.

“Hey, you look beautiful,” Liam said, opening the door to let her in.

He pulled her into a hug and placed a gentle kiss to her forehead before shutting the door behind her. Ali couldn’t help but notice that his face was flushed and his hair was mussed slightly.

She took in the large apartment. It was filled with modern furniture, and the tall windows in the living room gave a beautiful view of the lights from the buildings around them. She followed Liam into the spacious kitchen where a few pots and pans were set up on the stove, one of them emitting copious amounts of smoke.

“Your apartment is gorgeous,” she said, looking out at the counter where she could see all of the ingredients necessary for pasta and homemade tomato sauce spread out.

There as a smaller dining room table set up a little way off from the kitchen with two place settings and a few candles.

“Do you cook very often?” she asked, as she watched him open a bottle of wine and pour two glasses for them.

“Not… exactly,” he said, smiling sheepishly.

“Oh?” she asked hesitantly.

She wasn’t trying to offend him, but when he had offered to make her dinner she assumed that he had some kind of cooking experience. It didn’t help that he was looking slightly frantic.

“I’m not very much of a chef, but this is a recipe that my mother used to make when I was a child. She wasn’t the best cook either, but this was the one thing she always made well,” he said with a fond smile. “I thought I would give it a try myself.”

“Do you need any help?” she asked.

“No, just relax,” he said, handing one of the glasses and motioning for her to sit down at one of the stools by the kitchen counter. “I think it’s almost done.”

Ali did as he instructed and took a sip of the dark liquid. She had never been much of a wine person. Being a broke college student meant that she typically went with whatever alcohol she could afford. However, Ali took one more quick glance around the apartment and concluded that Liam probably didn’t have the same problem. She typically tried not to judge financial status based on where a person lived considering she herself lived in a penthouse even though she was drowning in student debt and barely made any money babysitting. But, it was obvious from the way Liam dressed and carried himself that he had expensive tastes and was able to afford his lifestyle. It wasn’t that he was pompous or arrogant, but he did seem to carry himself with an air of confidence. Or, at least he usually seemed to.

“Are you sure you don’t want a hand?” she asked again, as he cursed under his breath.

He was lifting the lid of the smoking pot with one oven-mitt covered hand and holding a piece of parmesan cheese awkwardly with the other as if he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Um, no. Everything’s okay,” he said, turning to her a strained smile on his face.

Ali held back a laugh as a timer went off on his phone, and his eyes widened dramatically.

“What was that for?” he mumbled to himself frantically.

She pushed herself off of the stool and took the cheese from his hand, placing it on the counter. A faint burning smell was filling the air, and he seemed to panic even more.

“Liam, just breathe for a second. Turn off the alarm,” she instructed.

He nodded and silenced the noise before turning back to her for further instructions. She kicked off her heels and slipped the oven mitt off of his hand before placing it on her own.

Upon opening the first pot she was met with the sight of clearly overcooked spaghetti. It seemed that Liam hadn’t boiled enough water in the first place and had then left the pasta on the heat for too long. The noodles were floating in about an inch of water, and most of them seemed to be stuck together.

Ali turned off the heat and transferred the pot onto one of the cool burners before moving to the next one, which seemed to be the source of the burning smell. This pot had been the one he was attempting to make the sauce in. When she stirred the contents, she realized that they began to stick to the bottom of the container. She turned the burner off and moved the pan off of the heat before turning to look at him with a mixture of a cringe and a smile on her face.

“So, the pasta may be a little over cooked, and the sauce may have some… charred bits, but I’m sure it’ll still taste fine,” she said in a voice that didn’t sound at all convincing.

Liam sighed, a disappointed look in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s still pretty early. I know a great pizza place about fifteen minutes away. They deliver,” she said, taking out her phone and already dialing the number.

~~~

“It wasn’t that bad,” Liam laughed as he prepared to snap the bundle of spaghetti in half.

“Liam, that spaghetti was both overcooked and undercooked at the same time. Wait! Don’t do that!” she laughed, putting down the piece of garlic that she was mincing.

“I was trying to fit it in the pot.”

“Isn’t it like completely against all cooking rules?” she said, rummaging through the cabinet to get a bigger pot.

“Is that really a thing?”

“I think so,” she responded, filling the pot with water and letting it boil as she returned to the garlic.

Liam came up behind her and pressed his chest against her back, his arms wrapping around her waist as he watched her work in silence. She finished up what she was doing and made sure that the tomato sauce was cooking on the stove before turning to look at him, catching sight of the parmesan on the counter from the corner of her eye.

“Hey, if I lean my head back will you grate cheese into my mouth?” she asked with a wide smile.

Liam threw his head back and laughed.

“Wait, you’re serious?” he questioned, his eyebrows raised at her ridiculous request.

“Completely.”

He rolled his eyes playfully and took the cheese in one hand and the grater in the other. He positioned it perfectly so that the small shreds of cheese fell directly into her mouth as he began to grate it. She chewed on the cheese happily as she brought her head back up and placed the items back on the counter.

“Did you enjoy that?” Liam asked, looking her over with an amused expression.

“Oh, definitely,” she said, walking over to where he had taken a seat at the kitchen table.

He carefully brushed the remnants of cheese off of the front of her dress, and she looked down at him fondly. He smiled back up at her, his arms curling around her hips and pulling her so that she was standing between his open legs.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he said. “I don’t think I know anyone else who would have done that.”

“You mean no one in Cordonia likes to have fun?” she joked, watching as he threw his head back and laughed.

“Not quite like that,” he responded, pulling her into a soft kiss.

She kissed him back lovingly, running her fingers slowly through his hair.

“I missed you too,” she whispered against his lips.

The pair stayed wrapped in each other’s embrace, their lips moving together slowly as their food cooked on the stove. They were pulled out of their bubble by the timer going off on Ali’s phone. They moved away from each other and finished making dinner in a comfortable silence.

The recipe was simple enough, and spaghetti with tomato sauce wasn’t a crazy concept, so Ali was surprised to realize just how flavorful the food actually was when she took the first bite.

“Okay, we have to do the Lady and the Tramp thing before we finish,” she said as their meal progressed.

She put one strand of spaghetti in her mouth and watched with enjoyment as Liam struggled to put the other end in his without breaking it They both began to move toward each other, the strand of pasta getting smaller as it disappeared into their respective mouths. Their lips met in a playful kiss in the middle, and Ali pulled back with a satisfied smile. As they looked into each other’s eyes, she fought back the urge to tell him that she loved him, opting instead to make small talk.

“So catch me up on everything,” she said, turning back to her food and allowing them to fall into an easy conversation.

After dinner they retired to the couch, bellies full and both completely relaxed.

“Dinner was amazing. I still can’t believe you fucked the recipe up that much the first time,” Ali laughed as she lay back.

Her feet were propped up in Liam’s lap, and he was gently massaging them as she lay across the couch, her head resting on the arm of it. She was glad that they had been able to do his mother’s recipe justice. Everything turned out perfect this time.

“Well, in my defense, I’d never tried cooking before that point,” he said.

“You literally couldn’t boil water,” she argued.

Liam rolled his eyes good-naturedly and smiled at her.

“Just out of curiosity, how expensive was that bottle of wine? The one we drank that night.”

“I’m not sure. Maybe three or four hundred dollars,” he answered, causing her to laugh.

“So we drank $400 wine with pizza that cost about $15. Wow, that’s like a perfect representation of our relationship,” she joked.

“How do you mean?” he asked, moving his hand up to massage her calf.

Ali sighed contentedly at his actions, enjoying the feeling of his hands on her body.

“Expensive and put together,” she said, pointing at him. “And not,” she gestured back to herself.

Liam looked at her curiously for a moment, but didn’t respond, and the two of them settled into a comfortable silence. It was easy for them to be together like this. It was comfortable, and it felt natural. It felt right. But, they weren’t allowed to have this. They weren’t allowed to have a simple life together like this.

“What are you thinking about?” Liam said quietly, pulling Ali out of her thoughts.

Ali looked into his eyes and pulled herself up into a sitting position. She began fiddling with the top button of his shirt nervously.

“I’m happy, but I wish I wasn’t.” “Why?” he asked, his touch gentle against the skin of her thigh.

“Because this isn’t fair. None of this is. I should have to uproot my entire life to be happy with you,” she said, looking up and realizing how close her face was to his.

“I know. I hate that you have to,” he whispered. “I wish I could give you the life together I promised you back then. I wish I could give everything you deserve.”

Ali’s heart was hammering in her chest as she felt his breath on her face. He was saying all of the right things. It was somehow everything she wanted to hear, but also the worst thing she could imagine. She wanted to say no to going back with him. She wanted to believe that all of her feelings for him were gone, so she would be able to go on living her regular life and pretend like this never happened once he was gone again.

But, she knew there was no hope of that as she found herself reaching up to pull him into a kiss. She threw one leg over his lap, straddling him as her kisses became more frantic. Liam’s hand gripped the back of her thighs roughly as his lips moved against hers. She tugged on his hair, and he broke away from her mouth before beginning to press kisses down her jaw and neck. After a moment he pulled away from her skin, trying his best to restrain himself.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

She pulled him back into another kiss. This one slower and more passionate.

“Not at all.”

#the royal romance #trr #the royal heir #trh #liam x mc #the royal romance fic #trr fic #liam x mc fanfic #liam #king liam #my fics #choices fics #choices #playchoices #playchoices fic #king liam fanfic #the royal romance fanfic #liam fic #playchoices fanfic

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damienthepious · 5 years

Text

oops! i did it again (ficced some Penumbra)

When The Reckoning Arrives (Chapter 1) (Complete!) [ao3] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Sir Damien, Sir Angelo, Queen Mira, Sir Caroline, Rilla, Lord Arum, The Keep, Quanyii

Additional Tags: Post-Season/Series 02, Established Relationship, Forbidden Love, (lmao), Threats of Violence, Declarations Of Love, (but probably not the way you're thinking), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Sir Absolon is here if you squint, background Sir Caroline/Quanyii

Summary: As Damien crosses the threshold into the Citadel, the sunrise at his back and moss clinging to his boots, he is stopped at spearpoint. (AKA: There are, inevitably, consequences for being too complacent while having a highly illegal affair with an enemy combatant.

Notes: ahahahaha this is the literal polar opposite to my other Penumbra fic hey sorry about that? Stick with me here, things will get worse before they get better. Title taken from the Mountain Goats song, Heretic Pride. And like, basically the entire inspiration for this disaster. Saints bless.]

As Damien crosses the threshold into the Citadel, the sunrise at his back and moss clinging to his boots, he is stopped at spearpoint.

“Pardon- me?” he says, blinking, and then there are more spears, more guards glaring at him in alarm and fury over their points. Damien raises his hands in surrender, more confused than frightened, and asks with a laugh, “To what do I owe this pomp and circumstance at my arrival, friend guards?”

“Silence!” one of them barks in what Damien recognizes as a poor imitation of Sir Caroline’s authoritative tone. Apparently she has had an impact on the ranks in the months since her promotion. “You are to be detained and brought before the Queen. Do not resist, traitor.”

Damien feels a moment of worry at the word ‘traitor’, but he takes a breath and allows tranquility to fill him. Focus, wait, learn the situation before reacting. He raises an eyebrow, keeping his hands carefully above his head. “I have no such plans as of this moment,” he says calmly. “To resist, I mean. Shall I remove my weapons for you, then?”

The guard who spoke is thrown by the acquiescence, and he hesitates before glaring with renewed fury. “Drop your weapons now!”

Damien thinks that Sir Caroline could possibly have done a better job with this particular squad. He starts to lower his hands to do as told, but the guards all collectively flinch at the movement and their spears waver in a concerning way, so he pauses for a long moment to consider the best course of action. “Shall I remove my quiver first, so you know I cannot fire when I remove my bow? Or would one of you like to take them off of me, for your own peace of mind?”

There is another moment of pause before the apparent guard in charge gestures for one of his squad to move forward and disarm the knight, and Damien would be amused by their twitchy hesitance if it were not an immediate threat to him. He makes no move to stop the man as he unbuckles the quiver, then the bow, and then the sheaf of the knife at his hip. Damien almost flinches at that – the knife is borrowed, more an object of familiarity and comfort than a weapon as far as he is concerned – but he suppresses the reaction to a mere frown. The guard should bind his hands, now, Damien thinks, but the collective group seems almost afraid to even touch him. “There,” he says with levity he does not feel. “That is better, is it not? Lead on to the Queen, then, gentlemen, and I shall follow.”

It is not a particularly long walk, but Damien feels the stares of the entire Citadel as they watch him pass through. He tries not to pay it any mind, tries not to notice if there is anyone he recognizes watching as he is escorted through the streets at spearpoint, tries not to feel the lack of his bow as acutely as nakedness, but he falters in the effort once or twice.

He could have made an escape, he thinks absently, by way of distraction. He could have disarmed the lot of them, trained by Sir Caroline or no, and retreated from the Citadel before another soul managed to confront him… but what purpose would that serve? Whatever he was being detained for – and there was only one glaring, loud possibility he was trying and failing not to consider – it would not help his cause in the least if he hurt someone on the guard, or if he tried to run. Damien has worried his own sins and supposed sins over in his own mind long and hard enough that they have ground down to sand, and he finally came to the surprising realization that where Arum is concerned, his feelings and his actions are not wrong, even if the laws of the Citadel contradict what he knows.

He breathes in the cool morning air in one last long lingering lungful before they bring him inside, leading him towards the Queen.

“Sir Damien! My good friend and rival!”

Angelo’s voice booms from the other side of a wide hall and Damien winces at the number of heads it turns as Angelo hup hup hups his way over to himself and his escort. “Good morning, Sir Angelo,” Damien says as lightly as he can manage, keeping in step with the guards as he does. “I’m afraid I’ve been summoned and I cannot stay to speak with you.”

“What a terrible shame!” Sir Angelo cries, and then he pauses, eying Damien curiously for a moment before he speaks again. “Hold on a moment… your- Sir Damien, your…” he narrows his eyes, his bold voice dipping down uncertainly into a more manageable register when he notices Damien’s bow dangling improperly from the hands of one of the guards. He looks over the scene as he keeps pace with the uncomfortably hurrying squadron, his brow furrowing in thought. “Is… is there something wrong with your hands, my friend?”

“No, Sir Angelo, not as such,” Damien says with an amused sigh.

“Have the straps on your quiver broken, then?”

“No, Sir Angelo.”

“A rather strange and chivalrous favor done out of the goodness of these kind guards hearts-”

“Sir Damien has been accused of treason and is being brought into custody!” one of the guards snaps, “and I will thank you to leave us to our work, Knight.”

“Ah, that certainly explains all of the spears these fine fellows are pointing at y- Saints what possible reason could there be to accuse my best friend and rival of something so hideous as treason!? Sir Damien-”

Angelo reaches a hand for Damien’s shoulder, and the procession finally halts. The spears waver, as if carefully considering how reasonable an idea it would be to point at the intimidatingly muscular form of Sir Angelo instead of the deceptively slight Sir Damien. They don’t aim Angelo’s way, in the end, but the consideration was obvious enough in the air that Angelo’s hand doesn’t make contact with his friend.

“It’s alright, Sir Angelo,” Damien says quietly. “I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m not afraid.”

“Of course you’ve done nothing wrong!” Angelo cries, voice cracking in the middle. “And so, these fellows should clearly let you go.”

The guards tense, and Damien sighs again. “I have been summoned by the Queen, Sir Angelo. And my duty is to report as summoned, is it not?”

“Well- yes, of course, but-”

“Don’t worry for me, my friend.”

“I cannot allow them to arrest you, Sir Damien, you-”

“If you draw that sword, Sir Angelo, you will regret it.” Sir Caroline steps towards them, boots clicking on the stone, her expression unreadable beyond the usual veneer of vague disappointment.

Damien feels a pang of hurt, but he stifles it. If this detainment is because Caroline spoke out then, yes, that would be a betrayal given her stated intention to stay out of their business, but Damien cannot be sure that is what happened. Caroline doesn’t look particularly smug about his situation; only dutiful, as always.

“I would not draw on the city guard, Captain Sir Caroline!” Angelo yelps, flinging his hands away from his own body in a gesture of innocence.

“Hm.” She turns to Damien and gives a small nod, then looks at the guard. “Why have you stopped, anyway?” Their heels collectively click together, and every one of them looks overwhelmed by her mild ire. “Go on, then.”

“Er- one thing, Sir Angelo?” Damien hesitates, eyes flicking to the guards for a moment. “You- would you talk to- would you tell-”

“Rilla, of course!” Angel nods fervently, and Damien hopes that he knows that Damien is asking him to talk to both of his loves, actually. It’s a faint sort of hope, but… maybe he’ll figure it out.

“Tell- tell her not to worry, please?” Damien swallows, and makes himself smile. “And tell her to be safe.”

“Very good,” Sir Caroline says in an exquisitely bored tone. “Move along, then. Sir Angelo, I believe you have other duties to attend to, hm?” She raises an eyebrow, then gestures towards the barracks. “Off you get.”

Angelo pauses, giving one last confused, pained look towards Damien, and then he wanders off, for once silent, and Sir Caroline follows behind.

There is little to distract him then, between there and the Queen’s audience chamber.

Queen Mira watches him enter, still and cool as marble, and the moment the guards shove him forward onto his knees, she frowns and lifts a hand.

“Leave us.”

There is hesitation, while the guards struggle between the instinct to obey what the Queen instructs and the desire to stand between her and the highly skilled, treasonous knight with his hands still unbound. The obedience wins in the end, and they flee, and only when the enormous stone door is closed again do Queen Mira’s shoulders sink, her stiff stance cascading into one of exhaustion.

Damien remains kneeling, unsure what his Queen intends.

“Sir Damien,” she says, voice clear and cool and slow. “I have trusted you implicitly since you achieved your Knighthood. You have a moral core that I wish more of your order shared, and a profound sense of compassion, and the most tenacious nature of anyone in the Second Citadel.” She inhales deeply, looking down at him with an expression so utterly blank it’s like being observed by the moon. He drops his eyes to the floor instinctively. “All of those factors combined… are why it is so difficult for me to believe that you have committed the treason of which I have been made aware.”

Tranquility, Damien’s heart murmurs, even as it chugs anxiously in his chest. Tranquility, tranquility, oh Saint Damien your tranquility I beg you-

“Well, Sir Damien? Have you nothing to say for yourself?”

“I am waiting, my Queen.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For the accusation itself. I cannot defend against that of which I have not been made fully aware. The guards who brought me in were conspicuously tight-lipped on the subject, I must say.”

Damien raises his eyes again, and the Queen watches him for a long, still moment.

“Three witnesses claim to have seen you at the edge of the jungle, Sir Damien, holding a decidedly amicable conversation with a monster.” She pauses, scrutinizing Damien for a breath or two. Damien suspects that this is not the end of the accusation, and when he remains silent he is eventually proven correct. “They also claim that when this conversation was finished, you embraced the creature, and- kissed it. The monster. On the mouth,” she says pointedly.

Damien draws a mercifully steady breath and lifts his chin, meeting the eyes of his Queen.

“If this is a mistake, Sir Damien, I command you to tell me so now. If this is a curse, or a compulsion or a thrall- if you are being manipulated or coerced or blackmailed, you must tell me. I can do nothing to protect you if you do not tell me what has caused you to commit this- this betrayal.”

It’s an out, and Damien knows it. She doesn’t want to believe that he would choose to betray the Citadel, so she is grasping at any possibility that would shift the guilt of the act to the monsters, and not Damien himself. He could lie, claim a curse, claim anything, really, and Queen Mira might grant mercy or clemency or- forgiveness.

But Damien does not desire forgiveness. He knows in his heart that his love for Arum is something good. As purely good as his love for Rilla, as good as their love together. He is long since past that guilt, now, and the idea of being forgiven for loving Arum- it is incomprehensible.

As incomprehensible as the idea of turning, and blaming Arum for tricking or manipulating him into love, as the Queen seems to expect him to do right now.

“I command you to speak, Sir Damien,” Mira says, and a crack of grim humor slips into her expression for a half-second. “For what may be the first time.”

A laugh wants to bubble out of Damien, but he is too scared that it will escalate to hysterics if he lets it. He is calm now, calm only through force of will and a surety of feeling, but he needs to maintain his grip. He breathes deep, and then breathes again slowly, and then he allows himself to speak his heart.

“The monster your witnesses saw is called Lord Arum,” Damien says, softly. “He who rules the Swamp of Titan’s Blooms. He is an architect. He is quick, and clever, and proud, and I have been in love with him since the battle at Fort Terminus, at least.”

Queen Mira’s expression shatters into utter shock, which is just about what Damien expects it to do.

“He poses no threat to the Citadel,” Damien continues. “His most earnest desire is to be left alone by humanity and monsterkind alike, with the exception of- of myself.” He barely avoids blurting Rilla’s involvement. Barely. “He loves me as well.”

“It does not love you,” the Queen says, voice scathing, and Damien can’t help the bemused, disbelieving smile that curves his lips. It feels strange, to feel disappointed in his typically wise, venerable Queen, but that claim is too ridiculous for Damien to bear with a straight face. She glares at his expression, eyes going even colder. “The monster has tricked you somehow, Sir Damien.”

“He has done no such thing, my Queen.” Memory, steadying him; Arum draped over his back, leaching heat and murmuring soft complaints into his ear. Arum, watching him practice with his bow as his arm recovered, equal measures of worry and pride in his violet eyes. Arum, carrying Rilla more than was strictly necessary as her own injury healed, doting and pretending not to. Arum, throwing his weapon into the mud, looking down at him with vulnerability and hope and desire. Damien knows. Damien knows this, with utter certainty. “He loves me.”

“You are lost, Sir Damien,” she says, a new hopelessness in her voice. “It is using you to try to get to the Citadel. It is performing another trick, another manipulation, just like the last one-”

“Lord Arum helped us defeat the fear monster, actually,” Damien admits, gently. “Sir Caroline did not know, but that was how- how we learned the methods the creature used. Lord Arum told us, of his own free will and under no coercion. If he had not done so, we would have gone into the situation completely unaware of the kind of danger we were in. He did not want us to die.”

“That is impossible.” Mira slashes her hand through the air between them, as if she needs to accentuate her denial. As if it isn’t perfectly clear that she won’t believe him. “Do you have anyone who can corroborate that claim?”

Rilla can, of course, since she is the one Arum actually gave the information to, but Damien cannot say that. “Arum could not speak with Sir Caroline or Sir Angelo,” Damien deflects, shaking his head. “They would sooner have killed him than let him explain.”

“As would be their duty,” Mira says, each word clipped short. “As should yours have been. To destroy a monster that threatened our Citadel and its citizens.”

“Lord Arum is not a threat,” Damien repeats. “He may once have been, but-”

“You really think a monster would change for you, Sir Damien? Are you truly so naive as that?”

“Not for me alone,” he says, and then quickly follows with, “and I do not think he has changed all that much altogether. He was always Arum, and only his priorities and perspective have changed. He is not a threat, my Queen.”

“This is your defense,” Mira says, and she sounds disappointed. “It is no threat, so you should not be punished?”

Damien sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “It is perfectly clear that by the letter of the law, I have colluded with a monster and thereby have committed treason against the Second Citadel,” he says. “What I now understand to be true, my Queen, is that the letter of the law is wrong.”

“How dare you,” the Queen whispers. “The Second Citadel nearly came to ruin, nearly fell to fire and fear at the hands and claws and machinations of these beasts, and you try to claim that collusion is not treason?”

“All monsters are not evil,” Damien says, and the Queen inhales a gasp. “They are all so very different, my Queen. Has that not always been the most difficult challenge in fighting them, in holding them back? Every one is a unique being, just as we humans are. They are more chaotic, yes, and less predictable, but- Arum is not the only monster that would choose peace with the humans if given the opportunity.”

“You have colluded with other monsters now, Sir Damien? You admit this?”

“I have spoken to some peaceably, yes. Not many; Arum happens to be a very solitary creature,” he says, and he feels a soft smile curve his lips.

“Have you allowed every one of them to take you to bed as well?”

The Queen’s words are biting and bitter and crass, and not at all like her. Damien frowns, but brushes away the stab of hurt he feels at the question and lifts his chin defiantly. “There is no call for vulgarity, my Queen.”

Her jaw clenches, but she neither apologizes nor repeats the question. After a long moment, she speaks again. “You are determined not to repent, then,” she says, and Damien can hear her stifling a deep sadness. He pities her - and that is quite an odd feeling - but his will is like steel when he knows he is following the right path. “You will not defend yourself.”

“I have defended myself, my Queen,” Damien says, feeling very, very tired all at once. “I have defended myself as honestly as I am able. I have spoken my heart, spoken the truth of it, and told you where that self-same heart and my guiding Saint have led me. My fate lies in your judgment now, in your understanding and clarity of vision. I know who I am, my Queen, and I must believe that you know who I am as well. I love my Citadel.” There are tears burning at the corners of his eyes, the fierceness of his conviction thunders in his heart, but he ignores them both and continues. “I love the people I defend. You must know that I believe what I say, because if I thought for a moment that Arum posed a threat, you know that I could not live with myself if anyone was hurt by my inaction towards him.”

“Yes,” Mira says slowly, and Damien feels her tone creep like dread up his spine. “I can see that you believe what you say.” Damien can feel his future solidifying as the Queen speaks, his very short and unfortunate future before she inevitably sentences him to hang. “That, Sir Damien, is precisely what frightens me.”

#man oh man am i never sure how to format this shit on tumblr #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #sir damien #rad bouquet #a thousand thousand apologies to mobile users as always #also it MAY be monday still where i am but i am sleeby and i don't wanna wait until midnight so consider this my offering for #lizard kissin' tuesday #elle's fanfic #when the reckoning arrives

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crimsonsairina · 6 years

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Flissa’s Skyhold Boar Pies

When I fangirl over something, I fangirl hard. This is something @aurianavaloria got to witness as I read her wonderful fanfiction, From the Beyond. I ploughed through it in a matter of days, and not only did I start my own fanfiction spin-off, but I also spammed her with comments and signed up as a beta reader.

It didn't stop there, though. As a lover of cooking and good food in general, I found one scene in particular really peaked my curiosity. Namely in chapter 33, when Lea brings boar mini pies to Tamsyn. I immediately decided that I had to replicate them.

Anyone who's read the fic probably knows that while Flissa's cooking is described as delicious, it's also rather limited due to the general lack of ingredients. After they relocated to Skyhold, however, new ingredients started to pour in and Flissa was able to try out new things.

Mind, the boar meat is still quite prevalent, but in this case it was accompanied by spices and vegetables, which helped the taste considerably. In the story the vegetables were specifically mentioned to be carrots and onions, so that's what I went with, too.

Below follows a series of photos of my fan-pie baking adventure, an explanation for my choice of ingredients and the recipe itself. Unfortunately I was unable to make a perfect replica of what Skyhold's boar pies were probably like – no cast-iron muffin tin or hard butter – but ingredient-wise I like to think I got it right.

The Dough

While new ingredients had poured in, the Inquisition was still on a tight budget. Full-fat, all-purpose flour pie doughs are indeed quite tasty, but not only did Flissa have to use cheap ingredients, she also had to feed a lot of people. She also needed ingredients that would take longer to digest, in order to keep people full longer. Therefore, in my headcanon, she probably turned to more coarse grain – if not outright whole wheat – flour and quark.

As such, I used a mix of coarse grain and whole wheat flour, along with quark, ice water and salt. The consistency of the dough was the same and it firmed up nicely in the fridge.

The Filling

The first and obvious choice here is, of course, boar meat. It would be easy to pick regular pork instead, but after speaking to several people who had eaten boar before, I learned quickly that there was a distinct difference in flavour. Authenticity aside, I simply couldn't let such an opportunity pass me by.

However, boar meat isn't easy to get a hold of in my country. After asking at the local grocery store, I learned of a place that's about an hour's bus trip from where I live. I contacted them on facebook and they confirmed they were able to get a hold of what I needed. I'd asked for 350 grams (12 oz), but ended up getting almost an entire kilo (35 oz) more. Not that I was deterred, mind you. The cut of meat that I got was neck meat, with the fat on, as I imagine Flissa would want to use it as well. I didn't use all of the meat in the filling, however, as it was simply too much.

Next were the vegetables. Onion and carrot were much easier to get a hold of. I also decided to add garlic as that probably came with the shipments into Skyhold, as well as some grated apple to help tenderise the meat and add some sweetness to the mix. In my headcanon the apples could have either found their way to Skyhold with the rest of the food or been winter apples picked from mountain trees.

Herbs and spices would be the last, but most important ingredient. Salt would be accessible from salt mines in the mountains, and strong, hardy herbs could be harvested. Sage, rosemary and thyme, to be specific. I also threw in some bay leaves that might have come in through spice trade with Antiva. Pepper, on the other hand, I headcanon would be extremely rare and expensive, if known to Fereldans at all.

Since Ferelden is modelled after England, however, I came up with a little headcanon about the town of Wichford that can be found here. The idea is that they produce a sauce similar to the Worcestershire sauce, except it's called Wichford(shire) sauce. This is probably not very accurate, but it gave me an excuse to use it.

The muffin tin that I used was a regular, non-stick type that I sprayed with some non-stick cooking spray just for good measure. I used liquid butter to sauté the vegetables and cooked the meat in the slow cooker. For the lids on the pies I used eggwash to make sure they stuck together and on top to make sure they got nice and golden.

In total, the pie dough that I used was good for six mini pies, though it's possible to make even more if you have the proper rolling pin skills or a tortilla press. The muffin tin that I used had a total of six muffin slots available, and rather large ones at that.

Even then, however, I was left with a lot of leftover filling, as well as extra meat and broth. I found it works well in tortillas, and in mixtures with boiled potatoes and fresh green onion. You can even put it on bread if you want to.

Now, without further ado, let me bring to you the recipe:

Ingredients:

The dough:

2 dl (0,8 cup) coarse grain flour

1,5 dl (0,6 cup) whole wheat flour

150 grams (5,3 oz) quark

1/2 teaspoon salt

Ice water

The filling:

350 grams (12 oz) slow-cooked boar meat

2 large yellow onions

3 medium-sized carrots

3 large cloves of garlic

A splash of Worcestershire sauce

1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves

1/2 tablespoon chopped, fresh rosemary

1/2 tablespoon chopped, fresh sage

2 – 3 bay leaves, depending on the size

1/2 teaspoon each of dried thyme, rosemary and sage (you can always add some more fresh herbs if you're not lazy like me)

1 teaspoon salt

2 – 3 tablespoons whole wheat flour

Boar broth (from the slow cooker, make sure you strain it well first)

2 apples, grated

The broth:

3,5 dl (1,5 cup) water

A splash of Worcestershire sauce

5 whole cloves of garlic

3 – 4 bay leaves, depending on the size

The boar meat, seared

The process:

First make the pie dough in a food processor. Add the flour, salt and quark and whirl away until it has the consistency of wet sand. Add water little by little until the dough comes together. I needed only 3 – 4 teaspoons. Once you've got the right consistency, take it out of the processor and work it together. Wrap it in plastic wrap and place it in the refrigerator so it can firm up.

Next, prepare the meat. Depending on the size of your slow cooker and the size of your meat pieces, you may have to cut it into smaller pieces first. Season it generously with salt and dust it with some flour (whole wheat flour for Skyhold budget-friendliness) and sear it in a frying pan on both sides. Put it in your slow cooker and add all the ingredients for the broth. Put on a lid and check package instructions for your slow cooker for how much time you need. I put mine on high for 3 hours.

Tip: It's better to sear and slow cook all the meat than to leave raw meat in the fridge.

Chop the onion and garlic and cut the carrots into small cubes (you don't need to peel the carrots if you want to go full Flissa/Skyhold tradition, unless you're finicky about carrot peel). Sauté the onion and carrot in some butter and add a generous amount of the salt. Add the fresh herbs, bay leaves and Worcestershire (Wichford) sauce and sauté for a while. The onion should be translucent and the carrots begin to soften. Add the garlic and leave the mixture be for about 30 seconds or until the garlic smell dominates the kitchen. Stir it in and put the mixture aside until you're ready to add the meat. It's okay if it cools down, you're going to re-heat it later anyway.

Once the slow cooker is done, take the meat out and leave it to the side to cool. Strain the broth – preferably with a mesh strainer – and then strain it again through a strainer lined with a paper towel to get rid of the fat and dirt. Set it aside until you're ready to use it.

Set your oven to 200°C (390°F). Spray your muffin tin with some non-stick cooking spray. Remove the bay leaves from the vegetable mixture and heat it back up. Trim off the fat from the boar meat and tear it apart. Add it to the pot and give it a good mix. Add the dried herbs, the remaining salt and the flour. Stir until you no longer see any raw bits of flour. Add about 2 – 3 ladles full of the broth. The mixture should be thick and not runny. Add the grated apples and stir them in. Taste for seasoning – if it needs more salt, herbs or Worcestershire sauce, then add it. Once the flavour is to your liking, set it aside to cool a bit.

Take the dough out of the refrigerator and either roll it out with a rolling pin or press it flat with a tortilla press. Use either a ramekin or cups to cut out the pieces. I used two cups of different sizes – a bigger one for the bottom piece and a smaller one for the lids. Place the bigger rounds in the muffin tins and add the filling. Make sure the filling doesn't tower above the dough. Brush some eggwash on the edge of the dough to help the lids stick. Place the lids on top and make sure they're pressed tightly together with the bottoms. Brush more eggwash on top and cut little x-shaped incisions into the lids.

Once the oven is hot enough, place the pies inside and let them bake until the dough is golden and flaky. The total time depends on how thick the dough is. In my case it took about 22 – 25 minutes.

When the pies are ready, take them out of the oven and set them aside to cool for a bit. They'll cool faster if you take them out of the tins, but be careful as it's hot!

Serve alongside your choice of iced tea (ginger and lemon mixed with apple juice is my favourite) and enjoy!

#long post #fan pies #from the beyond #skyhold #dragon age inquisition #aurianavaloria #boar pies #mini pies #recipe #recipe post #fangirling

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littlespacestars · 6 years

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Shallura Fic Rec #3

Time for another Shallura fic rec list! (categorized to the best of my ability)

Shallura Rec List #1

Shallura Rec List #2

Mulitchapter/Long Fics

(I’m including fics that have been updated/concluded since the last fic rec list)

Into the Woods - (3/3) - @andtheblueberrymuffin

Something wet and cold splatters against Allura’s cheek.

A moment later, a second drop lands on her forehead, and she groans, raising a hand to rub at her face. She feels… groggy, as though she just woke from a long, deep sleep. The wetness on her face makes no sense. She cracks her eyes open and finds that she is staring up at a gray sky, full of storm clouds, heavy with rain.

This is not where she last remembers being.

Or: The one where Allura and Shiro end up lost in space.

Slow burn, hurt/comfort, plot, huddling for warmth, mystery, feelings, gore related to hunting

The Princess and the Pilot - (5/?) - @ashesandhoney

In an alternate timeline, Shiro gets picked up by the Galra before the war starts and eventually ends up being given to the Princess of the Alteans as a joke or an attempt to start a war or as a mistake. Whatever their motive was for sending him, Allura is now left trying to figure out what to do with him.

Alternate universe, slow burn, prisoner Shiro

The Space Between Stars - (6/?) - wordswithdragons ( @shiroallura)

Stranded across the galaxy, Shiro and Keith must survive the cold blooded creatures that lurk upon the planet they crash landed on. Pidge, Hunk and Lance find themselves caught up on a Galra infested planet of winged aliens, while Allura and Coran face coming to terms with their greatest hope and sorrow: Altea. // A rewriting, fix-it fic of season two, featuring families, backstories, aliens, loss, and love. More info inside.

No Need To Say Goodbye - (1/1) - @smolsarcasticraspberry

The juniberry tree blossoms every seven years, and when it does, a gateway opens up to another world - a world that Shiro first explores as a child. There, he meets Allura. They do not speak the same language, but children do not need words to play. Every seven years, when the gateway opens again, Shiro steps through to visit the girl he knows on the other side. But the gateway only stays open as long as the juniberry flowers bloom...

AU, angst, childhood friends, reunion

Masks - (1/5) - @braincoins

Shiro screws-up and Allura has to cover for him by pretending they're married. This means Shiro is now involved in the negotiations with an alien race rumored to have sent the Galra packing. They could be a great help to the Coalition, so long as they're not offended or insulted in some way. So it's Allura's job to convince them to sign on, and it's Shiro's job to be her consort. Neither of those should be that difficult... right?

Fake/pretend relationship, semi-au, Fluff & Politics, pining!Shiro, the other paladins & Coran are here too but not as much

When We Were Young - (8/8) - @ashesandhoney

When they were young they had hidden under tables at embassy events and eaten stolen pieces of cake. They had climbed up onto the roof at school and made up stories about the teachers walking to their cars at the end of the day. They weren’t the same species but that had never stopped them before.

It’s been tens years since he last saw her.

Childhood friends, AU - canon divergence, marriage proposal, alien culture, no Voltron

Find Me In The Night - (2/2) - @smolsarcasticraspberry

"Ah, yes. Charged particles from your local star interact with the magnetic field of the planet in areas where the magnetic field lines are close together."

Shiro laughs, in spite of himself. She's the nerdiest princess he's ever met. Not that he's met many, of course. Or any at all, before her.

"We call it an aurora. It's beautiful, isn't it?"

***

When aliens land on Earth looking for a mysterious weapon under the Arctic ice, Captain Shirogane of the Galaxy Garrison is tasked with accompanying an alien Princess in her quest.

Mature, Shallura Holidays Month 2017, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Earth AU, winter fic

Touch - (3/3) - @ashesandhoney

The Sacred Alteans could bend quintessence to their whims but wielding that much power couldn't be consequence free.

Allura loses her sense of touch and has to learn to function without it.

A fic with scenes including: nearly bleeding to death, some angst over being the last of a species, fancy ballgowns and space pirates, tickling, sparring practice, Shiro being really into Allura wearing track pants, blow job jokes, quite a bit of pining, Allura glowing, some smut.

Explicit, mutual pining, fluff, mild hurt/comfort, AU - Canon Divergence, light angst

Of Small Talks and Forget-me-nots - (6/6) - Part 1 - Opl_Mor

Shiro has been chasing Allura since he was six and she stumbled into his land of make believe- his escape from the strain between his parents. A misfit pair with no one but each other try to navigate an often cruel and unforgiving world. Unfortunately, fate isn't always kind and sometimes pairs are pulled apart. This is a story of hardships and heartbreak, but more than that, it's about the power of mending those parts of life. This is about a modern princess saving a lonely boy in more ways than she could possibly know.

Childhood friends, friends to lovers, bullying, divorce, Shiro’s got a lisp, Allura is a ballerina black belt

Woman King - (20/20) - @juniperallura

Queen Allura rules over the Altean court, in the company of her young cousin Lance. As the bloody war with the Galra drags on, she searches for unlikely allies- including a supposed defector dwelling on the edge of the palace village. A Shallura historical/fantasy AU (with side Klance).

AU - historical, AU - fantasy, side Klance, light angst, slow burn, pining, mutul pining, secret relationship

When the Sun Sets - (4/?) - rainingWolf

Out of everyone in the entire galaxy, Shiro just so happened to chance upon Allura on a starry night. Set in a zombie apocalypse AU.

Zombie apocalypse, Zombie AU, romance, drama, action/adventure, angst, Altea, alien planet

Across the Universe - (2/?) - saintgenevieve

Allura takes a deep breath. “Pidge…what is a soulmate?”

“What?”

“Shiro told Keith I was his ‘soulmate,’ but I don’t really understand what that word means.”

Mature, Pining, serious pining and angst, Allura’s relationship with the paladins, friendship, love confessions, true love, grieving, some Klance

Loving the Alien - (3/?) - hatandgoggles

The story takes place in 1954, in a town in New Mexico. Roughly seven years after a mysterious object crashed into the nearby desert, a woman Shiro met that night returns to his diner when he needs it the most. Or will she only drag him into an adventure he never asked for?

AU - 1950s

Let Go Darling - (1/?) - evelyn_hayes

Allura blinks. She's suddenly outside, the pale moon shining down on her and the old house behind her. There's a man gripping her hand. Tall and shrouded in a peculiar jacket. His hood shadows his face, but she makes out a scar across his nose and a patch of white hair dangling from the front of his head. She searches his face and sees-

Black eyes.

Witch!Allura, Hunter!Allura, Demon!Shiro, alchemy, magic, crossover, feat. the IMPALA BABY, but in white, guadian demon, self-harm, road trips, true names, vassal and liege, angst, klance fluff, Shiro has PTSD, protective Shiro, implied/referenced abuse/torture, businessman Lotor

There is Love in Your Body (But You Can’t Get it Out) - (1/1) - @andtheblueberrymuffin

In the end, it doesn’t matter how exactly Shiro falls in love with Allura. He just does and it’s… Not a problem, exactly, but a consideration that lurks in the back of his thoughts. He doesn’t plan to do anything about it. They’re in the middle of a war. This isn’t the time for love. And even if it was, he is what he is and she is…. Beyond him.

Or: The one where mistakes were made and Shiro has to crash a wedding that shouldn't be happening in the first place.

Angst with happy ending, feelings, wedding crashing, emotional trauma is the real villain here

Duties of Heart - (1/1) - anglmukhii

They were both Jedi, but she was also a Queen. There were worlds of differences between them, yet they can only find peace and solace in each other. But between an Order that forbids it and her position that demands that if she marry, it must be for the good of her people: is there truly any hope for them?

AU - Star Wars Setting, break up, making up, angst, fluff, one fight scene, Jedi Shiro, Allura’s a Jedi too but she’s a queen as well, mentions of Keith, Shallura Secret Santa 2017

The Lost Kingdom (1/?) - littlewinterwonderland

"…in a single day and night of misfortune, the kingdom of Altea, perhaps the greatest civilization on earth, disappeared into the depths of the sea. It left behind only mystery, gloom and a boy with a heart made for the unknown"

Atlantis AU, Shiro is a nerd

Day to Day - (7/7) One-shot Collection - TKipani

Seven days when Shiro and Allura were a little more than paladin and princess. Series of drabbles/oneshots for Shallura Week 2016. These drabbles are sequential and connected.

Shallura Week 2016, sequential, the whole gang makes an appearance, drabbles and oneshots, connections, vague Klance if you squint

Lose It - (1/1) - viiisenya

Shiro is a decent enough hitman sometimes doubling as a thief, when the occasion (and payout) called for it. The last person he thinks would call for his services is influential businessman Alfor Altea of Voltron Inc., and what Shiro thought would be an easy job turned out to be a little more complicated thanks to one company heiress. He's usually the one that does the stealing but he didn't think he'd be the victim of a theft himself.

Hitman/thief AU, implied Klance, one-shot

We Were Young Once (We Are Young Again) - (1/1) - @andtheblueberrymuffin

They win.

In the aftermath, Shiro can’t quite wrap his mind around it. The war consumed every thought he had and every bit of his energy for so long that its sudden absence leaves behind a gaping hole. He expects to wake up, to find that Zarkon and Haggar are still out there and that the victory was just some cruel trick executed by his mind.

Or: The one where Shiro and Allura learn how to live outside of the war that's defined their lives for so long.

Slow burn, mutual pining, domestic fluff, post-war, recovery, some angst, arguing, emotional glowing

Throughout the Ages - (11/11) - MinnieTheMoocherDA

Shallura modern au where they've known each other since kindergarten. A collection of various one-shots depicting events in their lives as they grow up.

AU - Modern Setting, AU - High School, Keith and Shiro are adopted brothers, Allura and Lance are cousins

Fluff

Snooze Button - @alteanrituals (thesoulsikeep)

Mornings are the worst, especially after a battle.

Fluff, cuddling and snuggling, lazy mornings, established Shiro/Allura

Have a Magical Day - nayanroo ( @teslatricity)

The universe is mostly at peace again, and so it's time for its defenders to take a vacation. What better place to do that than Disney World?

Disney World & DisneyLand, established Shallura, minor background Klance, background Hunay, Allura doesn’t want any Mickey ears, she wants the right Mickey ears, and to kiss her boyfriend as much as possible

Compatible - thir13enth ( @ahumanintraining)

"I wonder what marks you would have, if you were Altean."

Fluff, exploration of a headcanon, beautiful beautiful fluff and cute humor

De-Stress - TKipani

Politics and battles are difficult, but Allura finds ways to de-stress. And Shiro is happy to help.

One-shot, battle sequences, fighting sequences, the couple that kicks ass together stays together, takes place sometime within season 4, ignores clone theory

Ice Deck - @ebonynightwriter

The Paladins awake to a chill in the Castleship – and a very different training deck.

Fun/Humor, ice skating, ship repairs, friendship, one-shot, canon universe, Shallura Month 2017

Just You and Me (Or Thank the Stars the Kids Aren’t Home) - thir13enth ( @ahumanintraining)

Domestic fluff, actual parents Shiro and Allura, ft. starrycove’s shallura children!

A Matter of Time - nayanroo ( @teslatricity)

The war's over, and the universe is starting to rebuild. As Allura leads the charge in forming new alliances, looking to the future, Shiro considers the kind of future he wants for them. But being a paladin means that your plans tend to go awry and your timing is never the greatest...

Shiro’s parents, engagement, Shiro is a bit of a disaster, he loves her so much y’all

“Shallura Fanfiction” - @clairelutra

Mutual pining/feelings, humor

Something Sparkly - @pensversusswords

“I’d love something sparkly,” Allura says.

Shiro is powerless when it comes to giving Allura what she wants.

First kiss, getting together, fluff, misunderstandings, Altean traditions

Contagion - @andtheblueberrymuffin

Based on my week, have some Shallura + paladins fluff wherein all the earthlings come down with the space flu and are not great patients.

Learn By Heart - @braincoins

It's Allura's first semester teaching, and she's prepared for anything ...except Takashi Shirogane.

Modern AU, Shallura Secret Santa 2017, College/University AU, hot for teacher, pining, fluff

Autumn Wishes - @juniperallura

For prompt "hold my hand/shooting star"

Shiro & Allura spend a day at the farm

Fluff, fluff without plot, Earth AU, Modern AU, fall vibes

Shiro and Allura Both Can’t Sleep - mckinlily

It is a generally held assumption that Shiro and Allura, both being unable to sleep, met up in the quiet of the night, and over the course pouring out their hearts to each other, fell in love. And while it is true neither Shiro nor Allura is very good at sleeping and they have met up at god-forsaken hours in the Castle, the heart-wrenching conversations are more a fiction than reality. This is due to the fact that—despite all attempts to appear otherwise—Shiro and Allura are actually both very young adults and just as susceptible terrible 2am ideas as anyone.

They do fall in love though. But it goes like this:

OR How Shiro and Allura got a lifetime ban from Hunk's kitchen and other fun stories.

Caught in the Act - @andtheblueberrymuffin

Established relationship, fic prompt, stuck in the elevator

Once Upon a December - RukiaG ( @rukia-g)

One-shots for Shallura Holiday Month. Some may be AU, some post-canon.

Shallura Holiday Month 2017, AU - bodyguard, Protect AU, AU - modern setting, AU - fairy tale, post-canon

Lost in Your Light - Cyan ( @vehicroids)

It hadn't been long at all since they found the blue lion, since they were all forced into an unknown part of the universe. Shiro struggled to sleep, thinking on it all. Thankfully, he wouldn't be alone that night.

Tooth-rotting fluff, fluff, traveling, post-canon, post-series, mutual pining, secret santa

Snow Angels - @bosstoaster (ChaoticReactions)

Advent Challenge, warm and fuzzy feelings, snow angels

Peace - @plumeriafairy14

Many decades in the future after team Voltron defeated the evil plagues of the Galra Empire, Allura sits in the palace gazebo with her husband, Shiro. They go through the photo albums they have collected over the years and Allura savors the intimate moment as the former Black Paladin holds her in his embrace while narrating the memory of each photograph.

Allura basks in his love and takes what she can; her time is running out, after all.

Future fic, Illness, bittersweet ending, Shiro and Allura as emperor and empress, minor Klance, reminiscing

The Aftermath - Rosey_Vasilia

After a particularly rough attempt to rescue a planet from Galra occupation, Shiro decides to try and help Allura stop blaming herself.

Background Klance, literally Shallura being soft, short fluffy one-shot, a mission goes wrong so Shiro comforts Allura

Basorexia - 13Vivacious13

It was ridiculous. Completely, utterly, inexplicably ridiculous. No one should want to kiss the back of someone's neck as much as she wanted to right now.

Movie night, space family time, fluff, pining

In a Snap - KatherineKatie ( @kittykattykatherine)

AU - Modern Setting, First dates, wingman, Keith means so well, snapchat, texting, light angst, flower shops, carnivals, humor, comedy, fluff

The Day Of - thir13enth ( @ahumanintraining)

in which Shiro tries to propose, but Allura is too confused to figure it out.

Definitely fluffy, marriage proposal, AU, Shiro’s parents

Artist’s Block - befuddle

Allura's suffering from artist's block, and Shiro just wants to help.

Artist and model AU, Modern AU

Sparkles - Meli_writes (@meli-writes)

Shiro wants to get out of the castle for a bit. When Allura agrees to go out with him he decides to get her something sparkly.

Space Mall, sparkly things, date, kisses, space dad, space mom, human vocab lesson, fluffy, cute, silly

Flight - littlespacestars (the shameless self-promo)

“Dad, I’m going to fly Blue!” A little girl speeds into the hangar with her arms out at her sides, triumphantly making a beeline towards the lions.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Shiro lifts his daughter away from the blue lion and props her on his hip, holding up a finger. “Just so we’re clear. I said Uncle Lance could fly Blue with you in his lap. This isn’t like you and me in Black.”

Lance strolls up behind them and leans against Blue, grinning from ear to ear.

“With a safety belt,” Shiro enunciates. “Lance.”

Tooth-rotting fluff, overprotective Space Dad, actual space parents, Uncle Klance, star babies, Shallura babies

Birthday - littlespacestars (the shameless self promo)

“Uh, Allura?” He doesn’t move an inch, only side glances at her and then back at the plump mouse standing upright on its hind legs. “There’s a giant—”

“Oh, don’t be alarmed, Shiro!” Allura sets aside her watering can and quickly scoops the stout mouse into her hands. She strokes the top of its head and gives it a fond smile. “This is just Platt, no need to worry.”

“Platt,” he repeats, still a little dumbfounded. “Okay, so it’s normal for you to have a yellow and green mouse. Noted.”

AU, minor angst, hurt/comfort, Shiro is human, Allura is still an alien, Shiro wants to celebrate her birthday, fluff, Shiro’s a dork, space mice, Shiro likes Lord of the Rings, Allura’s been stranded on Earth for six years now

Angst

Try Your Best (And Don’t Succeed) - mckinlily

Grief/mourning, Shiro has PTSD, Allura is a mess, Shiro is a mess, everyone is a mess but they’re trying the best they can, angst with a hopeful ending, set in season 2, gen or pre-slash, Allura-centric

Things Will Turn Out Fine - distinctive_pineapples (@obscure-sentimentalist)

“Would you mind telling me a story?” he asks, brushing a hand against the back of his head as if embarrassed by the request. “Maybe an Altean folktale, or something about your family. I… I’d just like to have something to remember you by.”

And oh, does that make her want to weep.

Future fic, Shallurangst, inspired by another show, angst with a happy ending, hopeful ending

Past and Future - @ebonynightwriter

During a Rebel training mission, Shiro and Allura are cut off from the group, and stranded on an unknown planet. Pushing to reunite with their team, they move forward, unaware of the dangerous forces around them…

Drama, tension, fighting, space battles, PTSD, psychological drama, mind control, mind games, developing relationship, feelings, one-shot, canon universe, season 4, Shallura Month 2017

S5 Shallurangst Drabbles - wordswithdragons ( @shiroallura)

this is a series of shallurangst drabbles posted to my tumblr over at shiroallura. do not all follow the same timeline, although many of them do fit together, the bottom three each individual takes of different possibilities set after s5. enjoy and maybe have tissues if you're weepy like me

Protect AU: I Have a Princess (and she has me) - killashilla

After a royal Altean gala is violently interrupted, Princess Allura and her bodyguard Shiro wait out the chaos alone while testing the boundaries of their strict roles in each others lives.

Shallura Protect AU, AU - bodyguard, AU - Real World, angst with feels, pining, mutual pining, blood and injury, undressing, forbidden love

I Miss You - SirFangirl

The princess who lost everything managed to lose something once more.

Angst, spoilers for season five, Allura knows a fake Shiro when she sees one but won’t admit it, the white lion knows what’s up, Shiro misses his friends and doesn’t deserve to suffer like this

Home (It’s in Her Hands) - palladioaigis

She's the light at the end of the tunnel, his everything, his home, and his love for her transcends time and space.

[[ Written for the Shallura zine Stars Aligned, Issue Two: Onwards.]]

Shallura Zine, Shiro needs therapy or a hug dammit, reunion

Stay With Me - nachseon

It’s not fair. It never is.

Angst, heavy angst, emotional hurt/comfort, mutual pining

Checkmate - rainingWolf

Shallura, Klance, drama, angst, action, romance, remix, VLD Fanfiction Remix 2017

Kintsukuroi - 13Vivacious13

Shiro is still coming to terms with the past. Allura notices and tries to help the best she can.

Emotional hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending sorta, mentions of non-consensual body modifications, nothing too serious happens, I promise, mostly just reflecting on the past, established Allura/Shiro

Only Human - @bosstoaster (ChaoticReactions)

Collection of whump fics, tumblr prompt, leaning against walls to hide needing support, injury, hurt/comfort

Kuron/Clone Theory

Exchanges - thir13enth ( @ahumanintraining)

no returns, no refunds.

Clone theory, some angst

The Return of the Real Shiro - Meli_writes ( @meli-writes)

The real Shiro returns to the castle and finds a man with HIS face pretending to be HIM.

In his search to find a paladin he runs into Allura and he's so relieved because that last he heard from her she was screaming in pain.

Now, he has to explain that he is the real Shiro not that phony walking around the castle.

Shallura hugs, the real Shiro, Shiro returns, from wherever

Gravity - @braincoins

He looked at the clone. Monster, he thought. You didn’t mean to be, didn’t even want to be, but that’s what you are. He couldn’t help thinking that perhaps he and this clone had more in common after all.

Shallura Month 2017, angst, emotional hurt/comfort

Clone - littlespacestars (shameless self-promo)

Kuron is aware he’s a clone. He tries deciding whether or not to come clean to Allura about it, or let it surface on its own.

Shallurangst, One-sided attraction, Kuron wishes he were the real Shiro, angst

Like Real People Do - (5/5) - @andtheblueberrymuffin (Part 1 of Like Real People Do)

“Shiro knows this is wrong. Everything is wrong. But they need him. Keith said so, and Shiro knows, he knows, that if they need him he has to help them. It’s what he would do. It’s what he does. (Everything is fine.)

Or: The one where something is very wrong with Shiro after his second escape from the Galra.”

Tragedy, Post-Season/Series 03, Speculation about Shiro post season 3, ‘Shiro’, Implied/Referenced mind control, mind control aftermath & recovery, clone Shiro, prepare your tissues and cry deeply

Survivor's Rites (3/3) - (Part 2 of Like Real People Do) - @andtheblueberrymuffin

The Paladins have suffered losses before, but nothing quite like the one they're dealing with now. It's difficult to find the time to grieve when dealing with betrayals and Lotor's continued attacks. None of them are well-equipped to move on, in any case.

Or: the sequel to 'Like Real People Do.' Now with more misery.

Past character death, grief/mourning, post season 3, lion swapping, angst

Heartlines (8/8) - (Part 3 of Like Real People Do) - @andtheblueberrymuffin

After months of searching, Shiro has finally found his way back to the Castle of Lions, but nothing is quite how he remembers it. Everyone looks at him like they're seeing a ghost, for one thing....

Or: the conclusion to the 'Like Real People Do' series, where the fallout from the Galra Empire's experiments with human cloning nearly destroys everything the team has worked so hard to build. Takes place directly after the end of 'Survivor's Rites.'

Angst, emotional hurt/comfort, normal hurt/comfort in later chapters, clones, lion swapping, trauma, grief/mourning, plot, slow build, post season 3, implied/referenced underage drinking, original character death(s), attempted sexual assault, DOES NOT GET FAR

NSFW

Unconventional Piloting Methods - Pixie_rings ( @materassassino)

Flying a giant robot lion while having sex isn't the best idea.

Unsafe flight practices, do not attempt at home, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, higher than the mile high club

Make You Feel Pure - sublimation ( @667-darkavenue)

“After all he’d been through, it couldn’t be clearer that universal forces had bent themselves backwards to pull him into the orbit of someone who cared for him, who trusted him, and who needed his care and trust just as much...”

Pool sex, breast play, outercourse, oral sex, praise kink, attention kink, praise kink, body worship, existential crisis midsex, stumbling upon all the embarrassing kinks you’re into midsex, sex with your girlfriend so good it opens your third eye, soft dom Allura

Playlist - befuddle

“If there’s anyone to blame for cockblocking, blame your shitty taste in music!”

Domestic AU where Shiro tries to get his groove on, and Allura just isn't having it.

Sex in public, car sex, fluff

Infomercials - befuddle

“We need it! We can’t keep replacing my bedframe at the crack of a new quintant to avoid suspicion. This will solve all our problems!”

Not graphic, suggestive content, humor, Shiro and Allura keep breaking the bedframe, this is the Shallura discord’s fault, the Shallura discord’s legacy, shitpost

Incandescent - CalicoTomcat

Shiro and Allura share an intimate evening and morning together, savoring a peaceful moment on the Castle of Lions.

Established relationship, oral sex, vaginal sex, genital piercing, fluffy and adorkable

Belong To You Alone - sublimation ( @667-darkavenue)

“Smile back, ask questions about him, go along with his suggestions. You’ve seen me do it.”

He thought it over. “Isn’t that… We have to leave in a day, with or without the army.”

“Oh, Shiro.” Allura smiled. “He’s not trying to ask for your hand, he just thinks you’re nice to look at. It’s harmless.”

“Well. I’ll give it a shot.”

When Shiro gave something a shot, he didn’t hold back.

Space politics, throwing Shiro under the bus as sexy leverage, blow jobs, frustration, jealousy, smut w/ plot, attention kink, praise kink, misunderstanding & miscommunication

Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts - Meli_writes ( @meli-writes)

Allura has always wondered what The Paladins meant when they shouted things like: "Fuck you!" or "Suck my dick!" in the middle of a fight against Zarkon's army. One night she asks Shiro what it all means and he tries his best to explain. ;)

Funny, sexy, dirty talk, dirty thoughts, angst, smut, embarrassed Shiro, flirty Allura, sexy Shiro

Alien Anatomy Altean - FeyduBois

Shiro and Allura's first time does not go as planned due to differences in biology.

Alien sex, alien biology, anal fingering, crack, smut

Une Petite Mort Thermique - pixie_rings ( @materassassino)

The one sexual taboo Altea had, and she is about to break it.

Anal sex, alien biology, kink meme

Just So I Can Feel Something - @smolsarcasticraspberry

Sometimes you can't sleep and the only thing that helps is fucking your co-worker in the break room cos you haven't been kissed in 10,000 years.

OR: that time after Crystal Venom when Shiro and Allura hooked up on the sofas and tried to act like it didn't mean anything.

"Allura took a sip of her tea, hoping the hot steam would hide her blush, and leaned over to put her mug down on the coffee table. Her body shifted with the movement, and her hand drew away from Shiro's. To her surprise, his fingers tightened around her own. As if he didn't want to let go.

She glanced down at his hand where it gripped hers, and then up at his face.

"Sorry," he said. "I just… I haven't been touched in a long time. It's nice.""

Smut, fluff, flut, porn with feelings, post Crystal Venom, canon compliant

Reunited - bittergoldilocks

Before Shiro disappeared they had been at the beginning of a tentative relationship which had amounted to stolen kisses, secret meetings, hushed affections, and one adventurous encounter in a supply closet. When “Shiro”- the clone- had “returned”, Allura thought it was over. Not only did the meetings stop, eventually even the kind words did too. She had been devastated. And Shiro seemed to somehow understand this now.

Reunion sex, praise kink, crying, slight angst, Real Shiro, love confessions

Relinquish - @braincoins

The Coalition's newest allies are annoying and picky and Allura's on the verge of losing her cool with them. Shiro steps in to give her a night away from responsibility and decision-making.

softdom!Shiro, oral sex, fingering, how to be sweet and loving while also fucking someone senseless, and also still be goofy dorks

She Still Pulls on Me - nayanroo ( @teslatricity)

some nights, shiro can't sleep. on those nights, allura sets aside her crown.

Mention of nightmares, throne sex, shallura exchange

To the New Morning - babyfairy ( @babyfairybaekhyun)

Morning showers are often Shiro’s favorite kind of showers.

PWP, smut, shower sex, fluff

Relaxing - head_and_heart

Shiro has an idea of how to help Allura relax after a long mission

Porn without plot, oral sex, vaginal fingering, sex, no excuse for this just smutty smut

Silk and Tongue - Meli_writes ( @meli-writes)

“I have something in mind that I think you’ll enjoy, want to try it?,” he asked her again. She was flushed and her pink body marks glowed a little brighter from her arousal.

“What did you have in mind because I kind of like it here,” she said while she rocked her hips to grind against him.

He smirked and brought his hands to rest on her hips. “I like you there too, but I was thinking you might like doing that against my mouth,” he said.

Allura’s hips stopped, but Shiro noticed her breath quicken in excitement.

Pure smut, silk robes, hungry licks, porn without plot, Allura tries something new, shameless smut

Galaxies Collide - @smolsarcasticraspberry

Shiro and Allura take a joyride in the Black Lion. IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

Mind Link AU, flut, smut, some plot, dom Shiro, not super dom, but like a lil bit, soft dom Shiro, they’re gonna bang in the Black lion okay, it was inevitable

Please support these lovely writers and give them some kudos and a comment! I actually discovered a lot of fics I haven’t gotten around to fully reading yet, so I need to go back and do the same! Thanks for the lovely fics, guys! <3

#shallura fic rec #shallura #fic recs #shiro #allura #takashi shirogane #princess allura #vld #voltron #I would put a READ MORE thing on this but when I do it screws up the text??#fml #idek guys #i'M SORRY

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entamewitchlulu · 6 years

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Year of Yu-Gi-Oh Part II: Toei Adaptation

After the manga comes the anime adaptation known infamously among the fandom as “season zero.”

Aired in 1998, “”season zero”” has no actual season relation to the main series Duel Monster anime. Instead, it as produced and run by Toei Animation, and follows the basic storyline of the first seven volumes of the manga, mostly in a game-of-the-week style format. Like the manga, the story follows Yugi Mutou, a boy who solves the mysterious Millennium Puzzle which awakens a spirit in him that challenges his bullies, enemies, and other opponents to magical games. Unlike the manga, however, the anime version heavily alters many scenes, including the content of the games, their results (few, if any characters actually die from the games, unlike the manga), filler episode plots, and most drastically, the addition of Miho Nosaka, a former oneshot character, as a recurring major character.

But you all already know all of that, probably! So here’s the important stuff: what did I think of my rewatch? Well...

The sad thing is, I seem to recall enjoying this anime a LOT more the first time I watched it. The second watchthrough was...less interesting.

Good stuff first, though. Most of the main voice cast is absolutely stunning. Megumi Ogata as Yugi/Yami Yugi in particular is incredibly strong, and I will never love a Yami Yugi voice more than hers; the soft, unassuming sort of confidence fits and characterizes Yami Yugi in a way that I don’t think any other adaptation of Yami Yugi ever could (sorry, Dan Green).

Also, I really, really love seeing the smaller, visibly young looking Yami Yugi animated in general. Yami Yugi absolutely becomes significantly older looking than Yugi in DM and in the later half of the manga, which makes little sense considering he is using the exact same body as Yugi. I much prefer this younger, cuter Yami Yugi, which, in my opinion, makes his entire schtick far more intimidating. Small, childish looking Yugi Mutou challenging you to a death game? Far more frightening and eerie than loud, brash Dan Green-ified Yami Yugi just shouting at you, imo. Jonouchi and Anzu’s voices really stand out as a personification of their manga characters, as well.

I may be in the minority here, but I also really, really loved Miho’s addition to the main cast. She didn’t fit into every scene, of course, and there were bits where even I felt like her inclusion was forced, but for good chunks of the series, especially in filler episodes, she absolutely shone and stood out as her own character with her own goals and motivations, who was still a part of the group and participated--and even won!!--in many of the group’s challenges. I also just like having another girl in the group, ya know?

Smaller details that I did like: overall color palette aside, I really, REALLY love Yami Yugi’s red eyes, and I continue to describe Yami Yugi with red eyes in every fic I ever include him in. Ryo’s green eyes are also a fave of mine. Also: NO JOHJI!!!! Miho basically replaces him completely in Death-T and wow, that’s honestly an even better idea than to replace him with Honda’s dog!

Now before I move on to the more negative part of this review, lemme leave you with a cute picture of Miho Nosaka:

the rest is under the cut so as to avoid clogging up the dash even more, and so that y’all can avoid my negative bits if ya want.

So, down to business. Why didn’t I really enjoy my rewatch of the Toei adaptation?

1) Pacing. The plot episodes seem to rush themselves along as fast as they can, to try and fit as much from the manga chapter in as possible. Filler episodes, or episodes based on filler chapters, drag out so long that it becomes a slog to get through.

2) Low animation budget. Unfortunately, the limits of the time this anime was produced didn’t help it’s case either. The color palette is a goddamn oversaturated mess, and some of the color choices are truly head-scratching. Seto Kaiba with green hair? Who decided that? Wasn’t he already colored with brown hair on a manga volume prior to this adaptation? Palette aside, action scenes are considerably muted due to lack of budget to fully animate them, resulting in strange cuts and boring shots. A LOT of the charm and intensity that gave a lot of moments in the manga their punch is lost in the adaptation, as Takahashi’s more horror manga-esque style is heavily simplified and stylized to get to the screen. The extra cartoonish coloring also contributes to a lot of the more intense scenes from the manga falling flat.

3) Sound direction. It’s just boring. Only Yami Yugi’s theme stands out, and even that’s not really top of the line. Sound effects are silly and cartoonish, and I’ll be honest, I do not like the OP or ED. And outside of the main cast....? A lot of the voice acting sounds pretty dull and unmemorable.

4) Adaptation changes pt 1. Listen...I’m not here to be all Edgy and say this show was bad because it refused to kill people. But this anime completely pulls its punches when it comes to...everything. As far as I can remember, not a single person actually dies during the series, despite Yami Yugi killing or hospitalizing at least five-six people in the manga. It just hits a lot less hard when all he’s done is given someone an illusion of being burned to death instead of him actually dropping his cigarette butt into the alcohol and lighting himself on fire. For some reason, it just makes everything feel a bit flatter.

5) Adaptation changes pt 2. The games!!! They’re boring!!! The real draw, for me, of the manga was when Yami Yugi used ordinary items in his surroundings to pull together a game. In the anime, he just pops them into a weird, nightmare dimension where weird shit happens and the games never make sense. Not to mention, the anime adds a lot of extra encounters with Kaiba than the manga had, including extra Duel Monsters games. And while Takahashi had little to no rules for the game in the first place, in the anime, when they don’t have a manga script to follow, it is a goddamn free for all. It’s like Calvinball up in here, making up shit left and right, even WORSE than the manga ever did, and it’s...not fun to watch. At all. Not understanding what’s happening just makes me, as a viewer, feel cheated and let down.

6) Adaptation changes pt 3. Due to the nature of the adaptation, a lot of bits and pieces of character arcs were switched around, cut out, or straight up ignored. Mokuba does not go rescue Honda from the blocks game in Death-T. The Jonouchi-Hirutani arc is condensed from its original several chapters span into a single episode. And there are other examples as well, that I think overall do a disservice to the cast and the individual characters.

So, my overall verdict? Unless you are a super die-hard fan of Yu-Gi-Oh, particular DM, I don’t think the anime is worth the time. It’s quirky, funny, and can be fun in places, but overall, it at least wasn’t really worth my second watch.

I’m still stealing Miho for my own purposes, though.

#yugioh #yugioh season 0 #yugioh season zero #lulu talks #year of yugioh #tbu

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flightyrock · 6 years

Text

Laundry Day

Summary: It’s laundry day for a certain pair of half ghosts. But when Vlad digs deeper than he should, he finds more than dirty laundry, testing the bonds between father and son.

A shameless fluff fic in which Vlad is too hard on himself (as usual), Daniel does his best to reassure him, and Vlad proves he is father of the year material.

Featuring: accidental naps, hugs galore, and rambling internal monologues.

Characters: Vlad Masters, Daniel Masters

Tags and Warnings: Father/son relationships, Backstory, Emotional fluff/pain, Really Long Flashbacks, invasion of privacy, miscommunication, allusions to suicide, hopelessness, fake science, grey ethics, fake medical jargon, dehumanization, Vlad’s special brand of angst, mild body horror, clichéd tropes, happy ending, cuteness

If you’re concerned, feel free to PM me and I will be more than happy to provide a detailed summary or tell you what parts to avoid. All of the iffy ones, save for the emotional hurt/comfort, only last for a few paragraphs. Most of them are contained in the flashbacks, which are in italics. But on a whole, it’s father/son fluff and feels. Be safe!

Word Count: ~10,500

I’ll also make this available on AO3 for your viewing pleasure, since I know some people (myself included) prefer that format better. But tumblr makes it easier to share, so that won’t be linked for awhile; I’m thinking a week?

Some notes before we dive in, since this is the first fic I’ve written in this particular universe, so there are a few (read: a lot) of things I need to cover. Explanation and story under the cut!

Update: This isn’t posting right, so I’m going to remove the links for now. If this works, I’ll make a separate post with the links.

This fic takes place in what I’ve nicknamed the “Perfect Son AU,” an alternate universe to Danny Phantom where Vlad successfully created a clone, which he named Daniel. It’s a working title, and someone else might have already come up with something better, but I’m running with it for now.

I did not create Daniel; he was originally introduced as an unnamed character along with a possible future version of Vlad in Butch Hartman’s second “Danny Phantom: 10 Years Later video.” All we’re told is that he’s a mixed clone of Danny and Vlad.

Of course, this premise has tons of potential, and several artists have created content for him. I fell head over heels for @schnivel‘s interpretation; the designs and characterization are just incredible, and gave me that creative itch. I live for that cute picture of Vlad and Daniel at a Packer’s game. There are also a bunch of doodles, and the tags provide fun details, hinting at character dynamics and firmly establishing Daniel’s presence in-universe. The rest of his art is awesome, too; it’s incredibly expressive (facial expressions and body language are always SPOT ON), and he has some really neat OCs, so be sure to check him out!

Schnivel also took the time to chat with me, and answered many of my questions regarding Daniel’s characterization. Thank you so much!

I discovered that other artists loved this version of the character as well, and during one of schnivel’s discussions with prom during one of @promsien‘s streams, she had the fun idea that Vlad knits Daniel sweaters, and heaven help anyone who ruins one of those.

Needless to say, this (and other details surrounding the fallout) gave me…ideas. This incident is only hinted at in this fic, which started out as a cute 1500 word fluff piece I thought up on the bus back to school after Thanksgiving break. But then plot and angst snuck in, and the characters just weren’t quite right, so four rewrites, 9000 words, and about two months later, here we are; the longest piece I’ve ever written.

Keep in mind that this is just my interpretation of schnivel’s canon, based on details from several sources, so the events described here may or may not have occurred; essentially, it’s a fanfic of schnivel’s AU.

This story takes place after about a year after Daniel’s creation, in the transition period between schnivel’s 16 y/o and post puberty designs. While not necessary to enjoy the story, I strongly recommend taking a look at these before you begin reading; you won’t be sorry. Some other quick details to keep in mind:

1. Daniel is still in high school, and is enrolled in Casper High.

2. Daniel =/= Danny

3. Yes, Daniel knows Danny and they do not get along.

4. Vlad and Daniel live together, and share a healthy (and frequently adorable) father/son relationship. They get along incredibly well most of the time, and genuinely care about each other. Vlad is finally happy (mostly), and it’s my favorite thing ever. Do me a favor and do not tag this as ship, please and thank you.

5. Danny is not in this fic, but he is referenced a couple of times; once, confusingly, as Daniel. (I’m sorry; blame Vlad.) It’s not mentioned in this fic, but he doesn’t call Danny “Daniel” anymore, for obvious reasons.

Alright, enough notes! I’ve rambled long enough! Kudos to you for reading this far; I do think the context is necessary to fully appreciate this story, so if you skimmed, I completely understand, but I urge you to check out the five-point list and links [sorry guys, removed these to see if they were the problem] above. And remember to check out @schnivel and @promsien. Thanks, guys! So, without further ado, enjoy!

“Daniel, laundry!”

The amiable call echoed off the interior walls of a luxurious but tasteful mansion overlooking Amity Park; walls that had changed extensively in the past year. Previously, the nondescript barriers existed out of necessity, stabilizing the considerable load of the structure and dividing too much space into too many cold, empty rooms.

One wall in particular, located between the entry and the main staircase, changed dramatically, and now proudly announced to visitors that two shared the space, and quite happily at that.

An eclectic selection of frames housing amateur photographs were mounted artfully in a quantity bordering on excessive. From this, an outsider could reasonably assume that the curator was either an overly-enthusiastic hobbyist or a new parent.

In this case, both assumptions would be correct. Indeed, most of the photos focused on a single boy, specifically, a teenager, sporting unique, striped locks and a smile.

But this wasn’t your average, awkward, get-me-out-of-here, oh-my-god-are-we-still-not-done-taking-pictures-yet kind of smile that most teenagers plastered on instinctively to escape the camera: No, this was a genuine, candid expression of happiness that would make any photographer worth their salt dissolve into blissful tears. It would have been hard to believe the boy was truly a teenager, if not for the distinctive, almost puppy-like proportions that suggested there was still growing left to do.

He was occasionally joined by an older gentleman wearing a smile of his own; more guarded, but no less genuine. In these photos, the boy veritably beamed at the camera or the man himself, expression all the brighter in his company, leaving no doubt just who was responsible for cultivating such joy. Likewise, the boy coaxed the man out of his shell, steadily transforming a shyly quirked corner of the mouth into a joyful grin as the series progressed.

The gentleman in question was currently strolling around the house, dressed casually in socks, slacks, and a button-down. His sleeves were neatly rolled above the elbows, exposing muscular forearms that strained to maintain an awkward hold on the large basket of casual wear. His burden couldn’t have been too cumbersome, however, as he took a moment to admire the photo wall, as he always did.

He shifted the basket, clamping it against his left hip with the same arm, freeing his right to compulsively straighten an already perfectly-aligned portrait of the boy, providing an excuse to linger.

It was one of his favorites; a candid shot he had snagged during one of their first snows together. He was quite proud of it. Daniel kneeled on the plush window seat, dwarfed by the dual floor-to-ceiling windows. His features were alight with childlike wonder and the soft, winter sun, breath fogging the glass as he peered out of the pane, entranced by dancing flakes. Vlad’s eyes grew misty, recalling cold, damp clothes, laughter, and hot chocolate His shoulders softened a touch, mouth pulling upward fondly.

The reverie was broken by an uncomfortable burn in his forearms as the basket slipped slowly downwards under gravity’s influence, prompting him to readjust his hold and resume his search.

It was that time of year again; the relentless heatwave had broken at last. Residents of Amity Park gave a collective sigh of relief, enjoying cool days and brisk evenings just shy of uncomfortable as summer gave way to autumn. Full suits were no longer suffocating. And football season was in full swing.

In short, life couldn’t be better. There was something invigorating about the crisp, cool air that accompanied the changing seasons, putting Vlad in the rare mood to do some tidying. Housework was a small pleasure he had rediscovered recently; busy hands left the mind free for reflection, something that Vlad wasn’t as eager to avoid these days. The reason for this? Well…

“Daniel!” he called again, perplexed by the continued lack of response from his young charge. No, his son, he reminded himself, distracted for a moment by the thrill of excitement and anxiety that still shot through him at that thought. Against all odds, he was a father.

He savored the feeling as he searched, peeking around the corner to the living room on a whim, and bit back another call. Warm affection swelled in his chest at the rare and, admittedly, adorable sight.

His son, Daniel, was sprawled lengthwise across the couch, out like a light. Sleep had hit him hard and fast; the awkward position of his limbs was telling, and looked anything but comfortable.

A socked foot was braced on the floor while its twin was slung over the couch’s far arm, still trapped in a sneaker, laces tangled from an abandoned attempt at removal. One arm hung limply to the side, while the other was likely going numb, trapped against the back and beneath the Maddies, who were taking full advantage of their human’s compromised position.

The opportunistic felines were curled up on the half-ghost’s broad chest, passive-aggressively close to one another, soaking up the warmth. Like many cats, they managed to radiate smug bliss even from the depths of slumber, much to Vlad’s amusement.

He really couldn’t blame them. Naps for Daniel were a rare occurrence, after all; the boy rarely slowed down long enough.

But Vlad had almost forgotten what else autumn meant; school was once again in full swing. A ridiculous amount of coursework accompanied Daniel’s ambitious class load, pushing the limits of an already-taxing daily schedule.

In addition to coursework, he participated in several extracurricular activities, made time for friends, and dedicated himself to a rigorous training and tutoring regimen of Vlad’s own design. No wonder the boy was exhausted.

Not that he had so much as hinted at fatigue, eager to prove himself.

Vlad mentally shook his head, pride mixing with fond exasperation. He had, admittedly, forgotten just how difficult it was to be a teenager (though he thinks he can be excused for this oversight given that it’s been over twenty years since then; twenty long years). He vaguely recalled expectations to tackle a workload any self-respecting, paid employee would strike over.

Daniel, like many teenagers, did that and more with only a fraction of useable energy at his disposal at any given time, resources diverted to accommodate the emotional and physical stress the body underwent as it matured. Puberty had hit Daniel late and with a vengeance. The boy had been shooting up like a weed lately, the gap between his cuff and ankle widening at an alarming rate (not surprising given the state of the pantry at the end of any given week; the teen had to be burning through massive amounts of energy in the process).

As his coach, Vlad had noticed he was struggling physically; his center of balance shifted so rapidly he just couldn’t keep up. Daniel’s frustration was all but tangible at times, face heating with anger and humiliation when he fumbled through warm-ups and drills that had once been simple. Recently, more often than not, he left their practice sessions drained and irritable, shower doing little to dispel a dark mood that carried over into their evening lessons.

Vlad wondered if he was sleeping enough.

Judging from his current state alone, the poor boy needed all the rest he could get. Vlad quelled a rush of remorse for pushing him so hard, reminding himself that Daniel had set the pace.

Insisted, really. He was normally eager, almost desperate, to improve, diving into training with a single-minded intensity that rivaled Vlad’s own. Daniel had protested furiously when Vlad had suggested they take it a bit easier during the school year, pushing himself even harder.

Vlad chuckled fondly; Daniel was his son, after all. But perhaps he could persuade him to revise their schedule to an every other day kind of thing; in hindsight, it was a bit ambitious to have lessons and physical training on the same day…

Musing about schedules, he set the basket aside and approached, debating whether the merits of repositioning gangly limbs into a more comfortable position outweighed the risk of waking the boy.

No, better to let him rest. He was young, after all; he probably wouldn’t suffer from the stiff neck Vlad wouldn’t admit to getting if he slept at the demonstrated awkward though, admittedly, impressive angle. (His neck definitely did not twinge in sympathy. He wasn’t old.)

He settled for carefully prying off the remaining shoe before unfurling a fuzzy throw that hung over the back of the couch, settling it gently over long legs, careful not to disturb the felines. They, of course, would have no such qualms about waking Daniel in their subsequent bid for freedom should they be trapped beneath the heavy fabric.

His fond gaze migrated upward upon completion of his task, settling on Daniel’s face, relaxed in slumber. It was a rare treat to observe his son in such a peaceful state, and he was somewhat tempted to take a picture (too bad his camera was in his room).

Daniel looked so young this way. The man’s eyebrows bunched, oddly nostalgic as he took in the boy’s strengthening features, an early sign that he wouldn’t be one for much longer. Soon, soft lines would vanish completely, giving way to the strong jaw and defined cheeks that were already taking shape.

He would miss these days. Vlad felt an irrational surge of longing and loss, feeling absurdly cheated out of the early years, of a tiny Daniel smiling at him, of endless questions and childlike wonder (which was absolutely insane, considering he didn’t even like children. There was a reason he’d decided to create a teenaged clone). But if that was the case, Vlad supposed he wouldn’t be the Daniel he knew now. It was probably for the best.

He sighed, and ran a gentle hand through thick stripped locks, marveling at the silky softness as it slid through his fingers. It really was getting long, Vlad thought idly, scratching lightly across the scalp, delighted when the crease between Daniel’s eyes smoothed, and he sunk deeper into sleep with a content sigh.

Vlad lingered for a moment before withdrawing reluctantly, gathering up the basket again with a sigh of his own. A nap would do the boy good, he reminded himself, so he’d best leave Daniel to it.

Of course, this meant he was back to square one with the laundry. He was looking for Daniel in the first place to gather his dirty clothes so Vlad could start a load or two before dinner.

Well, perhaps he could still do that. He could always take a detour into the boy’s room himself. He was certain Daniel wouldn’t mind the intrusion; after all, he was simply retrieving laundry, so he wouldn’t be there long.

Decision made, he turned back, pausing to empty his basket in the laundry room before ascending the stairs once again to the wing that housed their personal quarters, hesitating for a moment before cracking open the door and entering Daniel’s room.

It was strange, being here without the room’s main occupant. He felt a bit like an intruder. The space was shockingly well-kempt for belonging to a teenager, not that he was surprised; Daniel was hardly your average teenager.

As expected, his dirty laundry was in the hamper, and Vlad wasted no time in sorting through it.

Something was off, though. Vlad lived with his son, so of course he noticed that Daniel had started sweater season as soon as he no longer ran the risk of suffering heat stroke. That meant there should be about two weeks’ worth of ripening knitwear, as none had been sent out recently. But there were none to be found in the hamper, and, despite the fibers’ natural resistance to sweat and grime, it was certainly time for a wash.

Most, if not all, of Daniel’s sweaters were handmade, knitted by Vlad himself, so required special care. He supposed Daniel could be keeping such garments separate in a display of caution. Conscientious, as always.

Not that it was necessary; Vlad only hired the best, and, of course, always ran a brief inspection of the sorted garments before they were taken to the proper cleaning facilities. Details meant everything in his line of work, and his appearance was one of many he monitored personally. Sure, he was a billionaire, and could afford purchase a new wardrobe any time he wished, but it hadn’t always been this way. He was taught to take pride in his possessions, and waste was unthinkable; far be it for him to neglect his roots.

Shaking himself out of his musings (he certainly was distracted today), he got back to the task at hand; finding the sweaters. He supposed he could simply wait and ask Daniel during their evening session, but leaving the job half-done would bother him.

Vlad was a completionist to a fault, and knew that if he put this off, he ran the risk of losing his productive mood. Not to mention the thought of the laundry sitting half-finished would torture him all evening; it would have been better to have not started at all. And he wouldn’t wake the boy. But this also toed the line of invasion of privacy.

He weighed his options, and decided that a taking a brief look couldn’t hurt; he was already here, after all. In such a neat space, there weren’t exactly an abundance of hiding places.

He checked the walk-in closet first. A thorough search left him baffled by the complete lack of sweaters, dirty or otherwise. He had checked the drawers (meticulously folded), hangers (formal wear was sorted by degree of formality then color), and even the floor (his shoes were lined up so perfectly he put showrooms to shame).

Daniel clearly treasured his possessions, and Vlad felt a rush of pride. His son kept his space in perfect order, and everything had a logical place. Except for the sweaters, it would seem. Which didn’t make any sense.

His frustration grew as he continued to pace the room and failed to find a single one. He was running out of ideas, and was uncomfortable at the thought of exploring much further. On a whim, he ducked his head under the bed, admittedly feeling a bit foolish; this was one of the oldest clichés in the book.

But his eyes were immediately drawn to a large cedar chest, a copy of the one he himself used for keepsakes. He had forgotten the boy had one as well; Daniel had been delighted with the gift, especially when Vlad had shown him the contents of its twin in his private study.

Vlad slid the heavy container out, running a hand across the sanded, weighty lid, hesitating for only a moment before giving in to his curiosity and lifting it before he could change his mind.

Sure enough, here were Daniel’s sweaters. He let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. Mystery solved. The quantity bordered on insane, way more than he remembered making, Vlad observed somewhat sheepishly. What could he say? He was a stress knitter.

But he was particularly fascinated with the way the garments were packed. Despite the large quantity, each sweater was folded with a degree of precision that spoke wordless volumes of care. Handmade garments often had quirks; small flaws that made each piece unique, making it nearly impossible to pack them away neatly. Daniel had somehow managed it by treating each sweater as an individual, modifying his folding technique slightly to ensure optimal fit. Even the dirty ones were carefully folded, and placed on the smaller, right-hand side of the central divider. It made his closet look sloppy in comparison.

Reluctant to ruin what was clearly several hours of work, Vlad carefully flipped through layers of sweaters, separated with tissue paper, the garments growing smaller as he descended. He was sure most of these didn’t have a hope of fitting Daniel any longer.

One stood out from the others, though. It rested at the very bottom of the heavy chest, and was individually wrapped, obscured by many layers of delicate tissue and tied loosely with string. This deviation from the established system sparked Vlad’s curiosity further, overriding common sense, and before he knew it, he was carefully removing the wrappings.

He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

He drew in a sharp breath, unnerved, and delicately traced the ragged edge of a black-rimmed tear with shaking fingers, transfixed. It extended downward from right shoulder to sternum in a great slice, like it had been severed with a hot knife.

Bafflingly, someone had also gone to great lengths to attempt repair; the edges were joined with neat, if pointless, stitches. Only the lack of patching material revealed that this was a rush job. Admirable effort, but an exercise in futility nonetheless; nothing could hope to fix the charred edges.

The garment was utterly ruined. No wonder Daniel kept this one covered so well; it likely brought back unpleasant memories, but the boy clearly didn’t have the heart to get rid of it.

Upon closer inspection, Vlad realized he recognized this sweater. The vague unease grew into a feeling far more unpleasant.

It was the first one he’d ever made for Daniel, not that he’d known that at the time. It had been started with his own dimensions in mind, but modified on a whim; gold and green, stitched together with hands bathed in the eerie green glow of the incubation chamber.

He had been a different person then, twisted by hatred and blinded by his obsession with the Fentons.

Each stitch had been formed in bitter anger, to keep him grounded, patient. Clicking needles helped to cover up the maddening hiss of the central air system and the relentless beep of monitoring equipment.

He knew at his core that this would be the last plot, his last attempt to take what was rightfully his; should he fail yet again, the fallout would be devastating. He would be unable to stop himself from giving up, from descending irrevocably into madness. Because at the end of the day, hate was all he had, his only constant along with his pride. But hatred took energy, and he was tired. So tired.

Lips curled in disgust as he ran the clumsily-constructed fabric sitting in his lap through his fingers, reliving the turmoil through the record of amateurish mistakes that littered the garment. Each pucker and twist, invisible to the untrained eye, glared at him accusingly, reminding him of sins he could never atone for. Made him sick with guilt as they whispered to him, reminded him of a time when Daniel had been merely an “it” and “the clone,” a tool he had every intention to use for revenge.

He was practically living in the dim, sterile, underground room, on standby to respond in a moment should the clone destabilize again. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in his own bed (he kept a cot down here), gotten more than two consecutive hours of sleep, or eaten something more substantial than the occasional protein bar. He carefully refrained from imagining the state of the companies he was neglecting.

But this stage of the project was too unpredictable to leave unattended, the clone’s outline in the cloudy fluid filling the tube bobbing peacefully up and down, blissfully unaware that its existence could end in an instant. But he wouldn’t let that happen. He would have his prize. With a completely obedient half ghost by his side, he would rule. He had taken no chances, had combined a stolen sample of the Fenton boy’s DNA with his own. It was his ultimate weapon. No one would be able to stop him. No one could keep him from his rightful place.

But throughout human history, it is in moments like these that astounding things can happen. Picture a person building a perfect pyramid, finally reaching the absolute top, standing on that tiny, sharp pinnacle, at the very highest they can go.

It is when we are at this peak, feel the most unstoppable, have the firmest foundation, are the most confident in our convictions, that the smallest breeze can topple us over and force us to rethink the foundations of our self-constructed realities as we fall, force us to shift our reality; rebuild, or cease to exist.

It is the small things that shake us to the core, that have the power to change us forever.

Be it stroke of luck, fate, divine intervention or pure coincidence, one such moment occurred in that sterile lab when a rare set of circumstances coincided. The fluid ensconcing the clone ran clear for several minutes, reflex prompted new eyes to flutter open, and Vlad happened to look up.

And looked into a familiar set of blue eyes that he hadn’t seen anywhere other than a mirror since his mother had passed away all those years ago (he had searched for her desperately after he learned the nature of his transformation, to no avail). They may have been obscured by fluid, but the shape and shade were unmistakable; they were her eyes. His eyes. Staring unseeingly back at him.

It was…disturbing, to say the least. Blame it on sleep deprivation if you will, but he felt his mother’s eyes cut right through him, accusingly, judging him for his behavior in her absence. Forcing himself to do something he had done his very best to avoid, in a way only she ever could.

So Vlad Masters took an honest look at himself for the first time in several decades.

And he wept, because he knew that she didn’t like what she saw, was disappointed in him. He had known this, on some level; it was why he had been putting off this realization for years. But, he was surprised to find that she wasn’t disappointed he had fallen so far; no, because she knew and he knew now, too, that he had fallen. Which meant that he was capable of picking himself back up and hadn’t. He had chosen not to, had chosen temporary comfort over the harder but healthier path. But he could do better. He would do better. If not for her than for himself.

And on that paradigm shift, he rebuilt his world. The eyes closed.

And Vlad, with fresh eyes, truly looked into the face of the being he created for the first time. But dread overtook him when he realized he wasn’t seeing the face of a clone. No, instead, he was looking into the face of a child.

It took him back to the first time he had met young Daniel at the college reunion, blindsided by an irrational rush of paternal pride and unspeakable longing to get to know this boy, realizing that he wasn’t, didn’t have to be alone anymore. (How wrong he was).

That familiar, fierce longing again surged to the surface, become part of his world once again. A desire he had buried long ago when the hopelessness simply became too much to bear.

All he had ever wanted was someone to love.

He thanked everything he could think of that he hadn’t started the programming, that is, the brainwashing, yet. And he wouldn’t. He’d keep the basic learning protocols, so the boy could communicate, have basic knowledge about the world, but nothing else. If he wanted a son, he’d earn his trust and affection the old-fashioned way. The right way.

But he was forgetting something. New hope warred with sick dread. But why? What threatened his happiness now? Because this being he created wasn’t a tool, this was a child. His child. So still. So fragile.

The realization opened the floodgates, and he fought to keep the rush of panic at bay. What had he done!?

Once again, in a display of arrogance and ignorance, he had put someone at risk. He already cared too much about the boy, was once again on the verge of losing everything. Because the child, Daniel, was dangerously unstable. He could die.

Vlad couldn’t let that happen.

For the first time in years, he was truly terrified of the consequences of failure. Because he wasn’t used to consequences. In an instant, the project had evolved into a horrible tightrope walk between life and death. He hoped the anxiety wouldn’t kill him first.

It was touch and go for a small eternity. Vlad lost sleep, hair, and his lunch to far more close calls than he cared to recall. He was certain he aged about twenty years that month, trapped in a micro-hell of his own design; he still had nightmares about that innocent face devolving into ectoplasm, but awake, screaming in agony from the confines of the tube at a pitch that made his hair stand on end…

Vlad mentally shook himself. No. He thought about this quite enough at night, no sense in dwelling on it during waking hours as well.

Preoccupied with the stressful task of keeping Daniel alive, sleeping in the lab even after the boy had stabilized out of sheer paranoia, he realized he was woefully unprepared to care for a child; embarrassingly so. He panicked when Daniel emerged from the tube, realizing he hadn’t given a thought about basic needs. Like clothing, for example.

His “newborn” was freezing; his small frame shook uncontrollably in the thin sterile gown as he was propped upright on a cot so Vlad could monitor his vitals, a pile of medical blankets doing little to combat the chill. The boy was in tears; uncomfortable and confused, agoraphobic and overwhelmed by this strange new world, so Vlad had grabbed the completed sweater instinctively and helped the boy into it, hoping the warm weight would ground him, rambling about inconsequential things to distract from the alarming machines as he worked to reattach feeds and wires.

He cringed; in hindsight, he had risked further overstimulation that way, and the outcome could have been disastrous. His palms still grew slick with cold sweat, and his blood pressure skyrocketed whenever he thought about everything that could have gone wrong, all the mistakes he had made in those early days. He cursed his stupidity.

Vlad shook off his self-disgust in favor of gathering up the old sweaters, having forgotten his original task, otherwise occupied with the chaos of his memories. They didn’t fit Daniel any longer, so there really wasn’t any sense in keeping them.

It was embarrassing how amateurish they looked now. They were an unwelcome reminder of a time when he was at an absolute low. He just wanted them gone. Especially that first one. The marred fabric seemed to mock him. Yes, better to dispose of it, and bury the anxiety and fear that came with it.

He gathered his legs under him with mild difficulty, surprised to discover he was a bit stiff—he had been kneeling on the floor longer than he thought—and glanced up at the doorway.

Only to lock eyes with Daniel, who stood, gaping, in the doorway, hand frozen in an abandoned attempt to straighten tousled locks. Tension radiated from his too-still frame, and wide eyes flickered from confusion to shock to panic.

Vlad froze as well, uneasy; he had never seen this look in the boy’s eyes before, and never cared to again. Sick dread pooled heavily in his stomach as all other thoughts evaporated; he knew without a doubt that something was very wrong.

“Dad,” Daniel whispered, hand dropping abruptly. “What are you doing with those?”

His gaze lowered, fixed on the pile of sweaters in Vlad’s arms. Vlad looked down as well, and blinked, bemused by the sudden lack of sweaters there.

Daniel hugged the garments to his chest tenderly, like a young child would cuddle a favorite stuffed toy for reassurance after a scare. In moments like these, Vlad was reminded of how new to the world the boy really was; it was too easy to forget when he wore the skin of a teenager.

A familiar, irrational stab of loss joined the budding guilt and self-loathing; that strange yearning for early years that never occurred.

Nostalgia must be a theme today, he thought idly.

Reason returned as he watched Daniel drop carefully to his knees a deliberate distance away to begin refolding the stack. Vlad’s inquisitive and concerned gaze was studiously avoided as the boy focused entirely on the task at hand.

Careful hands guided handmade fabric into precise creases reverently, deep blue eyes gleaming with a look of concentration so intense, it might have been comical under different circumstances. If he didn’t recognize the carefully constructed front for what it was.

Upset was an understatement; and despite an admirable effort, Daniel was unable to conceal the slight tremble that made his hands clumsy and slow, an obvious tell that only intensified the harder he tried to hide it.

Overall, he gave the impression of one who had survived a close shave. As the shock slowly abated, Vlad’s mental alarm bells became more insistent. This reaction was a bit extreme, even for someone experiencing the emotional fragility that was part and parcel of an unplanned nap. Something wasn’t quite right; he was missing some crucial detail.

“Daniel, what…” Vlad trailed off, at a loss, hands reaching toward the boy helplessly, then falling short, uncertain. “What did I—”

“You were going to get rid of them, weren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. The words were tight, clipped. His eyes remained fixed studiously downward, even though it was obvious that he wasn’t truly looking at the abandoned sweater in front of him, fists clenched in an a futile attempt to suppress trembling fingers.

Daniel abruptly rocked back on his heels and wiped roughly at his face, shattering the invisible barrier between them, allowing Vlad to finally take action. He scrambled in his haste to close the gap.

He gathered the boy clumsily into his arms, and Daniel practically melted into the firm embrace before returning it fiercely, clinging to him in turn. A striped head filled his peripheral vision, resting its comfortable weight on his shoulder, and soaked the light fabric covering it in warm wetness.

It was unclear how long they remained that way, respecting an unspoken agreement to set aside the circumstances for awhile in favor of comforting another; indulging in the unique security that came from holding a kindred spirit close.

After a while, Daniel pulled away reluctantly, sniffling wetly and wiping halfheartedly at his nose. Vlad produced a fresh handkerchief and settled into a cross-legged position, facing the teen, waiting patiently for him to collect himself while he gathered his own thoughts.

“I apologize, Daniel,” he began, slowly, when the sniffles had eased, and the boy settled into a similar position, rolling edges of soft fabric anxiously between his fingers as he met Vlad’s gaze.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I know that I am at fault here, but I do admit that I’m not entirely sure what exactly I did to cause you this much distress. Regardless, I should not have been in your room or searched through your things without your express permission. I knew better, but I did it anyway. I invaded your privacy, and for that, I am sorry.”

Daniel maintained eye contact, reddened and puffy appearance doing nothing to diminish the sincerity evident in their depths.

“I forgive you.”

There was no hesitation. The honest declaration mowed through Vlad’s emotional barriers, and his vision blurred as identical blue eyes prickled with tears of their own.

He bit his lip. His mistakes had long entrapped him, clinging fast and weighing him down. Experience taught him that, once made, he would never be rid of them. This knowledge, this fear, were iron shackles. It was his curse. But this boy…

Never before had he known such forgiveness.

Daniel absolutely hated to see his dad cry. There was just something fundamentally wrong about seeing someone you cared about in distress. So he was quick to reassure, hoping to fend off the flood and the inevitable interrogation.

“There’s really no harm done. They’re all here, they’re safe.”

Honestly, this assurance was just as much for himself. Of course, he would have forgiven Vlad regardless of the outcome; his dad was way more important to him than keepsakes, but this had come completely out of left field.

He had always been so careful, and seeing his collection spread across the floor had been the last thing he had expected after trudging upstairs to finish his homework before training, cursing himself bitterly for falling asleep.

He had really only meant to rest his eyes for a second or two, having gone distractingly cross-eyed while undoing his laces, falling instead into the deep kind of sleep that left one feeling fuzzy-headed and irritable upon waking instead of rested.

Daniel looked over at his favorite sweater, the one he had taken the most care to preserve. As always, fury at the damage was tempered with fond warmth. He flushed lightly, briefly recalling the circumstances of its repair.

His dad, who had since pulled himself together, followed his line of sight, brows drawing together in confusion, focused on the blackened article.

“Why keep these? Most are much too small, and this one,” he pulled the garment closer, “is damaged beyond repair.”

Daniel’s hands twitched instinctively, ready to come to the rescue at any moment.

Honestly? The thought of getting rid of them had never even crossed his mind, so he hadn’t. And he felt much too strongly about the garments to ever consider it.

But his dad was looking at him expectantly, obviously waiting for an answer. He had no idea how to put his jumbled thoughts and feelings on the matter into words, so he called upon the time-tested art of stalling.

“But you made them for me,” he settled on a basic truth, trying to buy a bit of time as he scrambled, struggling to string his thoughts into a pattern his dad would accept.

“I can make more, you know,” Vlad pointed out reasonably. “There’s no sense holding on to something that’s outlived its usefulness. At this point, they’re just clutter—”

“They’re important to me!” Daniel snapped, and Vlad blanched, drawing back in shock.

Daniel’s eyes widened, immediately regretting his outburst.

He didn’t mean to yell at his father! But that statement hit distressingly close to home. It was like Vlad wasn’t talking about the sweaters at all. For a moment, his nightmares were playing out before his eyes…

He forcefully shoved his insecurities to the back of his mind in favor of running damage control; he had hurt his dad, and he looked on guiltily as his father struggled to school his features into a neutral position.

“I’m sorry, Dad!” Daniel rushed to explain, mentally kicking himself for his tone.

“I would never get rid of these. I just can’t. You spent so much time on them, and it makes me feel cared for, kind of important, you know?”

He traced the hem of the special one, eyes softening as his face heated up, but he was determined to get this out before he could talk himself out of it. “Not to mention they’re basically portable hugs. You’re with me all day this way.”

He hadn’t exactly wanted to give quite that much away. But if he had to choose between his pride and his dad, his dad would win every time. It was the truth, after all, and he knew he had made the right choice when his dad’s eyes softened, and he was swallowed in his embrace once again.

Daniel had learned a long time ago that his father’s hugs went beyond the physical; they were part of an extensive nonverbal language, expressing what words simply could not.

Because he maintained a stern public image, a necessity in his line of work, most people didn’t realize that his father was a very emotional man. Daniel had seen how often he was misunderstood and slighted by his peers (to Daniel’s fury) because they never experienced this.

For someone who claimed to have little experience in the area of affection, he sure didn’t act like it. Daniel still had no idea how he managed it, how exactly he coordinated the variations of timing and pressure into such clear but complex expressions. This time, Vlad was conveying relief, awe, gratitude, and as always, more than anything, love.

The guilt intensified, sitting heavy and low in his stomach. He didn’t deserve this. He’s such a hypocrite, furious when others fail to appreciate his father, but hasn’t he done the same thing? Vlad cared so much, almost too much, about other people; he would do anything for the ones he loved, for Daniel. Anything. And yet, Daniel was upset because he had tried to declutter.

Of course, Daniel is fully aware that this isn’t exactly the reason he’s upset, but he’s very careful to avoid the thought. Now is not the time to think about this. It’s much easier to tell himself he’s simply sentimental. Nothing else.

Vlad’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly, seeking reassurance, and Daniel pushed aside the painful train of thought, eager to provide it.

He returned the embrace fiercely; he loves his dad more than anything, and he was determined to convey this. He knows he can’t hold a candle to Vlad’s raw skill in this area, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.

He must have succeeded to some degree, because he feels his dad relax a bit. Daniel sighed, settling his head once again onto a broad shoulder, still a bit damp from earlier, and takes the opportunity to burn this moment into his memory, to add it to his collection.

He savored the slight tickle of grey locks on his upper check, sprung loose from their ties; the pleasant burn of cologne mixed with a scent that was simply Vlad drying his sinuses and coating the back of his tongue; the unnatural heat radiating through his silky shirt, warm and comfortable. For a small eternity, he knows nothing but safety, comfort, and love, and basks in the feeling.

They eventually break apart and, once again, take a moment to collect themselves before Vlad looks again to Daniel’s favorite sweater.

“What happened?” he ventured, concerned by the implication that someone had attacked his son in human form (and rightfully so), but reluctant to upset Daniel further.

Daniel gathered it up with a sigh, reluctant to delve into complicated memories again. He began to refold the garment, grateful for the excuse to avoid eye contact as he, fumbled for an answer that would satisfy his father, struck with an annoying sense of déjà vu.

“I took care of it. Doesn’t exactly fix this, though.”

Vlad sighed; he knew that truth all too well.

They kneeled there awkwardly for a moment, neither entirely what to do, caught in that strange limbo that followed any major argument; that period where you tell yourself everything’s okay now, but you know deep down that it’s a lie. Because the cycle of injury, apology, and forgiveness isn’t some magic fix, and no relationship pops back to how it was before even though the issue has been resolved. Things weren’t really okay yet, and they probably wouldn’t be for a little while.

Honestly, the invasion of privacy didn’t sting nearly as much as his own insecurities; he’d move on. But would Vlad?

Daniel glanced surreptitiously his father. Vlad was an expert at the practiced neutral face, but Daniel knew better; his poor father would be beating himself up about this for days.

Sure, he was still a bit shaken, but nothing had happened. Vlad was just too hard on himself. He had been a mess for weeks that time he had broken Daniel’s nose after opening a door too quickly, despite the fact it had healed without a scare in a matter of days. He had hated the way his father had tiptoed around him, hated that tortured look in his eyes as the incident no doubt looped in his mind, on repeat; over and over again.

If only there was a way to reassure his dad that he still had Daniel’s trust, a way to break through his uncertainly. He played with a loose hem pensively, cursing the circumstances that had led Vlad to rummage through his sweater box in the first place…

Sweaters. It was so obvious.

He gathered up the unwearable sweaters into a neat pile again. He was embarrassed by how reluctant he was to go through with this, but if he had to choose between his dad’s happiness and sweaters that didn’t even fit anymore, well…

There really wasn’t a choice at all.

He got to his feet, and hefted the pile (there really were a lot of them), depositing them in his father’s arms. He smiled wryly as his dad looked down at the pile, bewildered, before raising his gaze and quirking an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Take them.”

Vlad blinked, lips parted slightly to respond, before they shut again. He glanced to the side, brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to reconcile the large volume of mixed messages he had received that afternoon.

“What?” he asked, settling on the explanation that, somehow, he had simply misheard.

“Take them.” Daniel maintained firm eye contact, staring into blue pools identical to his own. “You were right, they don’t even fit me anymore.”

“But, Daniel, those are yours,” Vlad sputtered, intelligently.

Daniel smiled softly.

“They were. But now I want you to have them.”

Vlad looked helplessly at the pile, as if it held the answer to the puzzle that was currently throwing him for a loop.

“But why, Daniel? You told me you love those sweaters.”

He left his father on the floor and walked to the door, grabbing his backpack on the way. He’d do some homework at the kitchen table for a while, give his dad some time alone to process. He paused in the doorway, a melancholy smile pulling at his lips as he gave his answer over his shoulder.

“I do. But I love you more.”

><><

This particular project normally would have taken months; Vlad had it done in one. But not because he had rushed; no, he made absolutely certain it was perfect. Nothing less for Daniel. He didn’t sleep much anyways.

Daniel’s demonstration had the intended effect; knowing he still had his son’s trust even after his mistake meant the world to him.

It had been a shock, at first. He hadn’t known what to think when the boy handed his treasured pile of clothing over with barely an explanation. It had been more difficult than he’d like to admit, allowing his son to walk away after sharing such a sentiment, leaving him on the floor to collect his thoughts. But after the shock (finally) wore off, the implications of the gesture warmed him to the core.

(He also was trying his best not to dwell on the implication that someone attacked Daniel. His son. In human form, no less. Because if he thought about that for too long, it took him to a dark place. He trusted Daniel. He did. But surely it hadn’t been out of line to investigate the incident himself, not that he found anything, to his frustration.)

By the time training had begun that evening, Daniel appeared to have forgotten all about the incident. To the untrained eye, that is. Vlad had to give credit where credit was due; he had admirable focus during training and finished all his homework, but he’d caught a glimpse of him with the cedar chest out again later that evening on his way to bed; reorganizing.

Vlad truly had no idea the boy was so fond of the sweaters. He could have kicked himself. He thought he knew his son so well; how had he missed something so important to him? Sure, he always beamed and hugged him whenever Vlad presented him with a new one (which may have contributed to the vast number now that he thinks about it, hmm…) but then again, Daniel always thanked him for gifts, equally delighted be it a motorbike or a new toothbrush.

In hindsight, though, the favoritism for knitwear was obvious, in the way his eyes would light up just that much brighter, how he’d wear it the very next day. And his words…

They’re basically portable hugs. You’re with me all day this way.

He had replayed this exchange countless times over the past month, the warmth in his chest just as strong as day one. Never before had he known such happiness. Such love.

His eyes prickled a bit. It was strange kind of responsibility, to have such a significant role in the happiness of someone else. He both cherished and feared it in equal measure, terrified he would wake up one day, and he’d realize he’d imagined this whole thing. Or worse, that he would drive Daniel away himself one day, just like every other important person in his life. He’d be alone again.

For years, he chased a mirage of this feeling, feeding his obsession with a woman who would never return his affections, and later, her son. At some point, he had given up, resigned himself to a lifetime of loneliness and swore revenge instead. He had cursed his failures, then.

Now, he thanked whatever power was responsible for those failures; any “victory” he may have achieved during that time, which now felt like lifetimes ago, would have been a mockery of the affection he craved, a mere taste that would have eventually driven him mad with longing. Daniel had freely given him what he’d never dreamed could exist. And it meant the world to him.

He didn’t deserve Daniel. But for some unknown reason, he had decided to stay. He was the first person who had chosen Vlad above all others, and Vlad longed to show him how much he meant to him.

He would continue to make the boy sweaters. Socks. Hats. Scarves. Heck, he’d learn how to sew properly and make all his clothes, if it meant this much to him. But one step at a time.

On that note, Vlad put the finishing touches on the piece, feeling the strange mixture of melancholy and satisfaction he experienced whenever he completed a long-term project.

And to his delight, it turned out much better than he had hoped. He had conducted extensive research regarding design and technique; it was pretty far out of his comfort zone, and he only had one chance to get it right. But it was worth it. Anything for Daniel.

He took a moment to appreciate the fruits of his labor before packing it away with the utmost care.

Everything had to be perfect.

><><

Something was up. Daniel’s eyes narrowed as he watched his dad make breakfast. The change was subtle. Only someone who saw the man on a daily basis would notice the difference; he was almost twitchy, movements sharp and almost harried as he fixed Daniel’s plate.

His Dad placed the food in front of him with a quiet “good morning” and a tired smile. Daniel noted the bruises under his eyes were darker than usual. Daniel thanked him before focusing on his plate, inhaling sharply at its contents.

Pancakes. In fun shapes.

Oh no. It was worse than he thought.

He kept stealing glances at his dad as he ate, watched him worry at the handle of his coffee mug and pick at his own pancakes. Daniel hated to leave him like this, but really, there wasn’t anything to be done when Vlad was in one of these moods. And his dad wouldn’t want him to miss school.

If he lingered a bit during his goodbye hug, his dad didn’t comment. Just bid him to have a good day, like usual.

Daniel tried to go about his day as he normally did, but was unable to shake the concern for his father. They texted as per their habit during his lunch break, in between laughing with his friends, but Vlad seemed a bit…distracted, he supposed.

(His friends could have told him that Vlad wasn’t the only one, but, like all good friends, they didn’t comment, opting instead to respect his privacy, confident that he would talk when and if he wanted to.)

Needless to say, Daniel wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when he crossed the Masters’ threshold that afternoon, hanging his jacket on the rack and shouldering his backpack, anxious to check on his father.

“Dad, I’m home!”

No answer.

He deposited his keys in the dish, and moved through the entryway, calling twice more, trying not to worry when he was met with silence.

While uncommon, it wasn’t unheard of for Daniel to get home before Vlad. But with the mood his dad was in that day, he was on edge. Normally, he would text Daniel when he was working late.

Daniel sighed, running his fingers lightly along the wall of pictures as he made his way down the hall and up the staircase, deciding to distract himself with a bit of schoolwork while he waited for his dad to get back. He hoped he was alright.

Daniel deposited his backpack beside his desk, taking a moment to kick off his shoes before pulling out his phone to text his dad, making his way over to sit on his bed, glancing up to check the height (his muscle memory wasn’t the most reliable these days; he was running into furniture and walls so often that his dad often joked about childproofing) only to stop short. There was already something sitting there.

It was a box of medium size, just short of being too large to hold comfortably with two hands, wrapped simply but neatly in white paper. Resting on top was a light green envelope, with his name inked in gold in a familiar hand.

He furrowed his brows, perplexed, and set aside his phone to pick up the envelope. Unless he was very much mistaken, this was a present from his dad. Strange.

Not that surprise presents were an unusual occurrence; on the contrary, his dad loved giving him gifts, much more than Daniel enjoyed receiving them. The quantity had been truly ridiculous at first. It took a while for him to convince his father to relax, admitting that while he appreciated the thought and attention, he felt guilty that he was unable to reciprocate. So they had compromised, agreeing to save gifting for special occasions.

Of course, Vlad pushed the boundaries of this rule, but it made him so happy to do nice things for Daniel that the teenager didn’t have the heart to call him out. As long as he didn’t go overboard, Daniel had decided he could live with the occasional surprise.

He picked at the flap of the heavy paper envelope.

But, unlike any other time his dad gave him a gift, he wasn’t here. Daniel knew from experience that the real fun of gift-giving came from watching the recipient’s reaction.

And his dad’s absence was clearly intentional. Vlad was a master of presentation; the private location combined with the open and inviting position of the box and envelope was not coincidental. Not to mention his unusual absence from the house at large. And no audience meant no pressure, no need to control his reactions with the feelings of other in mind, free to be himself.

Which meant it was a gift intended for Daniel and Daniel alone. He was touched. And intrigued.

He finally managed to get a thumb under the tight seal, prying the glue apart slowly, careful to leave the envelope intact. He pulled out a sheet of simple off-white stationary, revealing a message in his father’s distinctive hand.

Daniel chuckled a bit; for someone so detail-oriented, his handwriting was atrocious. He sat down, and began to read.

Dear Daniel,

I apologize for violating your privacy and your trust about a month ago. I have no excuse. I allowed my curiosity to overrule my common sense and overstepped your boundaries. Worse, I used this knowledge to impose my will when it was neither wanted nor necessary, failing to respect your space, and by extension, you. I am sorry, Daniel, for this, and any similar past missteps that I failed to recognize.

I cannot promise you that something similar will not happen again; I promise to try my best, but as much as I pretend otherwise, truly, I have no idea what I’m doing. You are the first person I have shared a space with in over twenty years, and those past examples did not end well. Despite my best efforts to the contrary, I successfully drove away everyone close to me. I hurt people. I’d like to think that I’m a bit wiser now, but I know that’s not entirely true.

To be completely honest, I’m terrified, Daniel. You are my only son. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hurt you as well. And I did hurt you, that day. Others have left for far less.

Imagine my surprise when you forgave me so easily. I simply couldn’t believe that it could be that easy. You know that I trust you, Daniel, but you have to understand that years of evidence to the contrary are not so easily ignored.

And then you decided to prove that there were no hard feelings; you gave the subject of my betrayal back to me, as a sign of good faith. Your prized possessions. Given freely.

I suspect you don’t have any idea clue how truly special you are. So selfless, so kind. If I hadn’t had such an involved role in your creation, I never would have believed that you were my child.

So thank you, Daniel. Thank you for being you.

Daniel blinked back tears, taken aback by the forthright nature of the letter. It was just so honest, so Vlad that he wasn’t sure if he should shake his head or cry. Honestly, he was a bit disappointed; he had thought that his show of trust with the old sweaters had been enough to assure him of Daniel’s sincerity, and relieve him of guilt.

He loved the man, but it killed him how stubborn he could be. He didn’t need to apologize again; Daniel had been tired that day, and overreacted, reading farther into the situation than he should have. They were just a bunch of old sweaters. This was his dad. Why couldn’t his dad see that?

He decided to move on, rubbing at his eyes, unable to suppress a snort at the next line:

Now, because I know you, I’m certain that unlike every other teenager in existence, you read the card first. So do me a favor, please; open up the box before you read the rest.

He shook his head. No one knew him like his dad. He’d worry about the implications of his predictability later.

For now, he took the box into his lap; it had heft, but wasn’t heavy, per se. He turned the package over, searching for the seams, and methodically pried tape away from the wrappings, careful not to tear the paper, savoring the anticipation.

He set the paper aside, and grasped the lid of the oversized white cardboard clothing box, prying it away from the bottom half, and brushed aside green and yellow tissue paper. His hands began to shake.

He was greeted with something familiar, yet new. He traced the old knit pattern, yarn soft from wear, but freshly laundered. He tried a couple of times to lift the bulky block of fabric from the box, but it was packed tight, and he was unable to find purchase. So he gave up and turned the box over onto the sheets instead, then unfolded its contents, eager to see the piece in its entirety. He gaped.

They were all here. All of his old sweaters, the ones that he had given to Vlad that day. The ones that he reluctantly put aside one by one when he could no longer slip into their warm embrace. He had mourned the loss of the memories that went with each one, resigned to enjoy them as mere keepsakes.

He didn’t regret giving them to his dad, but he had missed them.

Here they were, but not as they were; the torsos had been divested of the sleeves and divided in half down the sides, former front and back forming large patches that were sewn methodically onto an oversized sheet of ultra-soft fabric. Parts of the sleeves had been repurposed into artful borders to separate individual sweaters. The construction had been stuffed lightly, and formed a type of quilt.

Overall, the effect was stunning, striking a perfect balance between respect for the past and celebration of a new era.

As far as he could tell, every salvageable part of his collection had a place.

In the middle, framed like a piece of art, was the front of his favorite sweater. His first one, complete with mar and repair job. He traced his friend’s handiwork reverently, taking a moment to reflect before taking action.

He arranged the quilt on top of his comforter, admiring the personal touch it brought to his space. He itched to burrow under it immediately, but he knew better; there was no way he’d be able to avoid falling asleep right now if he was that warm.

It was, without question, the most thoughtful gift he had ever received. So much time and care had been poured into this. He had no idea how his dad had managed to organize the diverse collection into the aesthetically-pleasing and functional piece of art resting on his bed. He felt a rush of concern for his dad. When had he found time to sleep this month?

With a jolt, Daniel remembered that he still had half a letter to read.

He bit his bottom lip, conflicted, and decided to take a calculated risk; he burrowed socked feet under the quilt and shimmied down to his hips, sighing in delight. The warm weight was unbelievably comfortable, and his feeling of nostalgia only intensified with contact. He had missed this. His dad’s voice colored the rest of the text.

Life is full of change. I often did my best to resist it, believing it could bring only pain. You have taught me that this isn’t always the case. Change can bring pain, but it often brings benefits as well. Especially when it brings about growth.

Take your sweaters for example. You were, and still are, incredibly fond of them, despite the fit becoming uncomfortable as you outgrew them. To continue to grow unhindered, you had to take the small sweaters off.

You’ll continue to grow in many different ways. I look forward to seeing who you will become.

But you will find that you will outgrow more than old sweaters in the course of your life. Mindsets, routines, places. At some point, you’ll realize that they’re no longer as comfortable as you remember, but moving on can be hard.

When you reach the point of no return, Daniel, you must promise me you won’t linger. Trying to fit into that “old sweater” again, as tempting as it is, will only bring you pain.

I regret to say I speak from experience. I was stuck, for many years, trying to fit into my own “sweater,” denying the restriction because it was all I had. I was stuck, longing to change my circumstances, but unwilling to release my hold on the “then” and embrace the “now.”

It was painful, to say the least. I wallowed in anger for years, refusing to share blame, placing it fully on the shoulders of my friends, pushing them away. Then I wondered why I was always unhappy and alone, with only my dark thoughts to keep me company.

I was still that person when you came along. No hope, intent on using you as a tool for revenge and conquest. But you were greater than I ever dreamed, far more than I could ever hope: A person. My son.

It terrified me; you were too good for this world, too good for me. And I was ashamed, thought myself unworthy to be your father, terrified I’d ruin you. That I’d fail you.

Please don’t make my mistakes. Make your own. Grow. Live.

Let this quilt remind you that it’s okay to remember the past, but not to dwell on it. With some imagination, your memories can grow with you. The past has its place, but life can only continue when you let go.

You taught me this, Daniel. Let me return the favor.

And no matter what else in your life may change, you can rest easy with the knowledge that I will always be here for you, for as long as you’ll have me.

I am so proud of you, son. I can’t wait to see what kind of man you’ll become.

I love you.

-Vlad

An ugly mix of tears and snot streamed unchecked down Daniel’s face, dripping off his chin onto his shirt, arms carefully outstretched to preserve the letter.

Sure, parts were a bit embarrassing. And sad. But while his dad expressed his love often enough verbally, it was a different experience altogether see it in writing. It felt more authentic, somehow. Perhaps it was the deliberation that was required to record such a sentiment on paper; completely separate from the heat of the moment. Sincere.

Today had been a roller coaster of emotion, from pancakes to quilts; he was exhausted.

When he first slid under the blanket, he had thought he’d never want to get up, reminded of his dad’s embrace. But now, he found himself longing for nothing less than the real thing, confident he knew where his dad had been hiding under the circumstances.

In his haste, he elected to phase out from under the quilt, pausing only to set the letter carefully on his desk before phasing through several walls into Vlad’s private study.

Sure enough, there he was. Daniel barely registered that the man was staring blankly, hunched over an old photo album before it was lost from sight as he released the transformation and buried him in a hug from behind, over his shoulders and the desk chair.

Vlad tensed at first, so lost in thought that he hadn’t heard the boy come in.

“Thank you,” Daniel whispered.

Vlad relaxed, closing the book before turning around with a tentative smile.

Daniel let go, and Vlad stood so he could hug his son properly.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! I hope you had just as much fun as I did writing it! I’m pretty new to writing fiction (I normally write research papers), so I’d appreciate any feedback you’d be willing to give me. Feel free to point out any mistakes or oversights! Overall, I’m really happy with how this turned out. I guess fifth times’ the charm and all that. I was concerned about the pacing being too slow, so I’m curious to see what you guys think.

I’m also open to requests! Feel free to hit me up. I have a few more shorts planned in this universe, namely, the story of how Daniel’s favorite sweater was damaged and an, admittedly, crack-ish short where Vlad and Daniel react to the sketch that started it all (Vlad commissions a family portrait, but has mixed feelings about the result); but after that, nothing’s planned, but I do have a couple of vague ideas.

Thanks for reading!

#flightyfiction #danny phantom #fanfiction #vlad masters #daniel masters #au #this got really long #oops #long post #tumblr didnt like it the first time #i hope its fixed #update: progress has been made but it still doesnt show up in search #maybe its the links #i might try a link-less version later #here it is #if this fixes it ill post the links seperately #technical difficulties

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