#anyways people still want the smoke. time to read the twelve steps and twelve traditions. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

accioxreparo · 4 years

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memorias | g.w.

synopsis: You finally work up the courage to go back home for día de muertos after nearly twelve years for a trip you find that both you and George needed.

pairing: George Weasley x hispanic!reader

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of the wizarding war(s), a bit of grieving

a/n: I know, I’m bad at time management but I loved this idea too much to not post it. I know it says hispanic reader but please don’t feel like you need to be one to give this a read!

Also I’m a native spanish speaker so if you google translate the spanish it might not make too much sense so I’ve put the spanish phrases in italics and the translations will be right after [bolded and in brackets like this] just to make it a little easier to read.

I’m curious to know what you guys think about this one so feel free to hit me up with your thoughts/questions if you’d like!

The soft golds and warm reds that met every single place your eyes landed on brought back an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia. Sugar and smoke mixed together in the air like nothing else did and it was like you were seeing yourself as a child all over again. Memories floated around in your brain. Ones that were happy. Ones you knew didn’t deserve the treatment you’d been giving them recently.

“Can you tell me about these?”

The sound of George’s voice interrupted your thoughts. He was drifting towards one side of the uneven cobblestone street crowded with people and lined with booths. You couldn’t help but stare at the soft, excited smile on his face as he looked all around him. He was curious and it was a look on him you’d never get enough of.

With a smile on your face you held his hand tighter and pulled him in the direction of a booth covered in little wooden animals painted in every bright color you could imagine. You picked one up and set it in the palm of your hand, grinning in amusement when George touched the top of its head just to see it bob up and down again.

“It’s an alebrije,” You told him, setting down the little figure. Almost immediately he picked up another to examine it more closely. “It’s mostly just art. Tomorrow especially, though, they decorate almost every ofrenda since kids tend to love them.”

George nodded, hanging on every word you told him just as he had been for the last two days. It had been that long since the two of you had arrived at your mother’s house. It was only that long that you stayed and now you were headed off to the place you really wanted to visit.

“Tomorrow’s the first day, right?” George had to resist the urge to pick up every single little creature he saw and hand over a pile of colored bills. Instead he let you pull him away again, his attention being caught by all the buildings surrounding him.

“Yeah. Everything has to be prepared by nightfall to greet the spirits of children on the first of November.” You nodded and stared down at the stones underneath your feet, kicking a few across the street as you walked. George immediately noticed your silence but before he could say anything you spoke again, looking up at him with a newfound smile on your face. “Have I ever told you about my Tia Valeria?”

“Once or twice,” He laughed a bit, recalling the countless stories you’d told him before already. He dropped your hand just long enough to be able to throw an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer to him as you walked. “Tell me more.”

“We’re going to see her now actually,” When he looked at you shocked you only grinned. “She’s the one who took me in after I started at Ilvermorny. My mom wasn’t too into the whole magic thing after -”

You stopped again and George knew exactly why. It was the same reason you’d avoided being home for years now. It had been twelve years now since you’d been back and it had taken a lot of convincing along with an argument or two to get you here. He didn’t fail to notice the way you plastered another smile onto your face, pushing the topic to the back of your mind.

“Anyway places like these are called pueblos mágicos [magical towns] by the muggle government. See how every place here is a different color?” You watched as George looked around again, waiting until his attention drifted back to continue. “It’s to symbolize the town’s culture. For some places it’s the history it has, others it's the traditions that have been in place for as long as anyone can remember, and for some it's just the natural beauty they have. They’re called magic because of those reasons. There’s 121 right now all over Mexico but there’s something muggles don’t know about them.”

“What’s that?” George asked before you could say another word. When he caught you holding back a laugh he rolled his eyes playfully before leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Come see for yourself,” You turned down a seemingly normal street until you came to a steep grey staircase that looked like it was built right into the rising hillside.

But you didn’t go up the staircase. Instead you moved to the right side and placed a hand on a statue that sat on the very bottom step. Once again George focused only on your movements as you dropped his hand and traced a swirling pattern on the back of the statue, mumbling a quiet revelio.

There wasn’t a single thing you did that didn’t amaze him and this wasn’t any different. He watched as the stone stairs shifted, morphing into an archway before his own eyes revealing a whole separate part of the town that looked even more alive than the one they’d just snuck to the outskirts of.

“Almost all of them are hiding actual magical communities.” You smiled as you stepped into the shimmering archway, turning around to find George more astonished than ever before. “Well c’mon.”

George had been in awe of everything you’d shown him so far. The view of the sun setting from the peak of the little town your mother lived in. The carefully crafted decorations that hung all over. The sea of colors that blended perfectly together everywhere he looked. The way you lit up with excitement every time he asked you to tell him more about the things and places you grew up around.

This place was different though. It was so much like the places he’d visited as a kid but at the same time it was in a league of its own. There were kids running around and potions shops and small evidence of magic everywhere. But there were also items he didn’t recognize in shop windows and spells being said he hadn’t heard before. He wasn’t too sure he’d ever seen anything like it at all.

“She’s waiting for us,” You said after glancing at the pocket watch that hung on a chain on your own bag. “Trust me, we don’t want to be late.”

George didn’t move though. Instead he bit his lip momentarily before fidgeting a bit and holding on tighter to you. “I’m nervous.”

“You’re nervous? Really?” You couldn’t help but smile as you moved back in his direction.

“Don’t laugh,” As he said the words, though, he let out a laugh of his own. “Fred and I must’ve read practically all her books when we were trying to work out some of the products for the shop. It’s a little intimidating meeting somebody who has their own chocolate frog card.”

“But your own brother has one?”

“He doesn’t count,” George shook his head and gave in and started walking beside you again. He didn’t take in everything just yet, though. “Honestly, do you think she’ll like me?”

You nodded without hesitation. “I know she will.”

It took an extra hour but finally you and George had managed to weave your way through the countless streets until you reached the main square, only stopping to buy little trinkets twice.

The door you walked up to led to a shop that had papel picado decorating the outside of the windows. It wasn’t like the ones you’d seen earlier though. These had little figures dancing across the colored paper, almost looking like they were laughing.

You smiled at the sight of them, memories of helping your aunt make and enchant them flashing through your mind. George’s eyes followed the little figures across the paper and he laughed at the sight of them, “You said she makes them herself right?”

“More than just a world renowned alchemist,” You smirked a bit as you walked into the shop with ease despite the closed sign on the door. “Though I guarantee she’s still going to yell at us for being late so get ready for that.”

It was like it was planned. The moment the words left your mouth was the moment your tias voice rang from the back of the shop. George chuckled at the way you winced and started trudging towards the source.

“Que hora es esta de llegar? Ya pasan de las seis, te dije que llegaras antes de las tres!”

[”What time do you think it is? It’s passed six and I told you to get here before three!”]

“I know, I know,” You sighed as you stepped into the backyard the shop led into. It was covered in plants of all sorts, both magical and non magical. No less than three crups ran back and forth all over the place, the biggest of which barked loudly and ran for you. “Es que este quería ver las ofrendas que pusieron en el pueblo alla afuera. Como le puedia dicer no, iralo, que lindo.”

[“Well this one wanted to see the ofrendas they put up all around the town. How was I supposed to say no, look how cute he is!”]

“Quien -” [“Who -”] She looked up suddenly, forgetting for a moment that you were bringing somebody with you. Almost immediately she sighed and she put down the large steel cauldron she’d been burning some leaves in. “Of course!”

“Tia this is -”

“Don’t bother, mija, I know exactly who he is already,” She walked over and stood beside you, staring at George as if sizing him up despite the fact that she was at least a foot shorter. He couldn’t help but feel as if she was looking into the very depths of his mind and honestly given what he knew about her he wouldn’t be surprised if she was. “Es el marido.” [“He’s the husband.”]

“Novio, tia,” [“Boyfriend, tia,”] You tried to fight the blush that crept up your face as you shook your head quickly. “We’re not quite there yet.”

“Y porque no?” [“And why not?”]

You changed the subject quickly, shooting around to face George again. He could tell you wanted to change the topic but frankly he was curious about the bits and pieces of the conversation he was able to pick up. “George meet -”

“Call me Valeria,” Your aunt immediately waved you off, shooting a momentary glare in your direction, silently telling you the conversation was one you’d be forced to continue later. “Believe me, I’ve heard so much about you, mijo, we hardly need an introduction.”

“Thanks for letting me come visit,” The quickness with which he went from feeling a little nervous to completely at ease surprised him. It felt shockingly similar to being at his own home and he loved it immediately.

“Por supuesto,” [“Of course,”] She shook her head with a smile that faltered for only a second, so fast that he almost didn’t notice it. “I think we all needed this after the year we’ve had.”

“So um,” You gulped a bit at the overwhelming sound of silence that felt much too loud. More memories flashed through your head. This time it was everything you had dealt with during the war. Things you shouldn’t have had to face but ones you did anyway without hesitation. The fights and the training and the dueling and the teaching.

It was all the reason you had gone to England in the first place. What had started off as an assignment turned into something you couldn’t have possibly imagined. Funny enough you didn’t regret parts of it at all.

“Where do we start?”

George had rarely been anxious before in his life. He didn’t like the feeling. Not at all. But as he stared down at all the things he’d brought with him with your assurance that they would do, he found himself slowly pushing the feeling away.

It was especially comforting to feel your presence right next to him despite the fact that you were as anxious as he was. It was your first time celebrating dia de muertos in twelve years. He knew all about your own struggles with accepting what had happened during the first wizarding war all those years ago.

It was then that your father had died in a duel not a couple days before the first defeat. When you were old enough to understand you’d decided immediately you would follow in his footsteps. It was the cause of the rift that had grown between you and your mother, the same one that pushed you and your aunt closer than ever before.

She was the one to support you when you decided to attend Ilvermorny over Castelobruxo. She was the one who had told you stories of your father. She was the one who had seen you off when you left for England and never once judged you for not being able to handle the overwhelming emotions and memories that flooded your mind at the beginning of every November.

And she was the one who stood with you now, helping to prepare the ofrenda that would soon hold pieces of memories you'd been ignoring for twelve years.

“Three levels,” Your voice was soft and a little hoarse as you took George’s hand in yours, each of you feeding off of the feeling of each other. “They represent the underworld, the earth, and the sky.”

You moved to hand George various pieces of papel picado before picking up the purple tablecloth and the white lace for yourself. “Hang these along the edges and above.”

He could easily recall the explanations you’d given him as the two of you had bought the rest of your necessary items earlier. George looked between you and your aunt for a moment before gently touching the tip of his wand to each piece, watching as the little figures came to life right before his eyes. “The wind right?”

“When they blow in the wind it means our difuntos [deceased] have arrived,” Valeria offered him a smile that didn’t quite look completely there before handing him the orange marigolds he’d seen everywhere the last few days. “The charm to get the petals off the cempazúchitl is simple. Scatter the petals up all the way from the front doorway to the foot of the ofrenda.”

George stared at the marigolds in his hands for a few moments, frozen in place. The color was bold and loud and reminded him too much of his brother. There was a bouquet of them sitting on the kitchen table at the Burrow and they were the exact same kind of flower he had left in front of Fred’s grave just a few days before alongside you.

You had told him the meaning of them then and your words echoed through his head now. They’ll help guide him home.

When he came back you’d finished setting up the bottom level with your Tia Valeria finished the highest level. You walked over to him the second he entered the room, wiping the ashes off of your hands before reaching up and setting a hand on his cheek.

George hadn’t realized there were a few tears in his eyes until you gently wiped them away. It was silently that you reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips and almost immediately he sighed.

“Are you ready?” You nodded behind you and when he looked he could see your aunt digging out several pictures from a cabinet on the other side of the room. “This is the most important part.”

It took George a few moments before he nodded, eying the bag he’d left in the living room carefully. “I’m ready.”

First came several mismatched cups and two large pitchers of water. Each cup was poured to the top and the pitchers were refilled before they too were set on the middle level. Next was the bread you’d picked up from a bakery, pan de muerto, along with the sugar skulls.

Valeria put down a variety of sweets, ones she said your grandfather, uncles, and various other family members loved. You placed a few bars of a bittersweet chocolate you’d picked up at a store in the muggle part of the plaza earlier on the table. The same ones you could vaguely remember your dad always having stocked in his pockets. George put down a couple chocolate frogs and a box of Every Flavor Beans, the bad ones already picked out.

The three of you laughed together as you put a couple different bottles of alcohol, both magical and non magical, down next. A bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey brought back more than a few bittersweet memories of Order meetings at 12 Grimmauld Place.

Then it was time for the pictures. One by one photos of family members who had passed were set on the ofrenda. Your grandfather and one of his brothers who had both fought against Grindelwald years ago. Several aunts, uncles, and cousins alike. Your father who’d been a casualty of the first wizarding war.

George held on to the picture of Fred for a second, not daring to look at it just yet. You couldn’t bring yourself to either, you’d been close to both of them after all.

“Let me tell you something my brother, your father, told me when our papa died,” Valeria walked over and took the picture out of George’s hands. It was clear where you got your personality from because she placed one hand on top of your intertwined ones.

The two of you watched as she looked at the picture, smiled, then moved towards the ofrenda.

“Hay que vivir sonriendo para morir contentos,” She set the picture in the very middle right next to the chocolate frogs, a handful of ton-tongue toffees, and a faux wand. “You have to live smiling to die happy. What do you think your brother would say if he was here now?”

George suddenly let out a loud laugh and looked at you, both of you thinking the same thing. “Reckon he’d tell us to snap out of it.”

“Then snap out of it,” Valeria took out her wand and placed it at George’s temple first. “Think of your happiest memory of him.”

George closed his eyes and thought his hardest for the perfect one. When he found it he let out a shaky exhale and nodded. His eyes opened just in time to see a blue whisp at the end of the wand being placed into a vial.

Valeria repeated the same process with you, telling you to think of your dad. Then she took the vials and set them down on the ofrenda. “Memorias, memories, to remind them of how much we love them.” She then motioned towards the single bottle of firewhiskey that was left on the counter and grinned at the two of you.

“Vengan, [Come on,] that bottle isn’t going to drink itself.”

Three days later both you and George felt more at ease than you had in awhile. The celebrations had come and gone and you’d cried a bit, sure, but also laughed and took part in every celebration going on both in the magical part of town and the muggle part.

You’d even gone to visit your father’s grave for the first time since you were just five years old. The strange feeling of being at peace was one you weren’t expecting. One you weren’t sure you’d ever feel again.

But there you were sitting in the middle of your Tia Valeria’s backyard in the dark watching the fireworks dance across the sky for the third night in a row.

“Did I ever say thank you?” George asked from where his head was laying in your lap as your hands ran through his hair. He was focused only on you and chuckled a little when you grew genuinely surprised.

You shook your head, hair falling in front of your face as you looked at him. “For what, mi amor?”

He couldn’t help but grin at the name, now knowing fully well what it meant, and reached for you. “For making it easier. For being there for me when I really didn’t think I could get through it.”

A soft look of complete understanding and affection spread across your face as you took his hand. “You did the same for me, you know.”

“Guess we really did need this then, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” You nodded, kissing the palm of his hand before letting your head fall onto it. “We did.”

“Any chance we can come back soon?” George laughed again and looked up at the sky, his view a combination of you, the fireworks, and the dozens of the little wooden alebrijes he’d finally given in and bought flying all around. “I quite like it here.”

“Any time you want, mi amor.”

#is this self indulgent? maybe but i like it #george weasley x reader #george weasley #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you #poc reader #poc!reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #george weasley imagine #hp fanfic #hp fic #hp imagine #harry potter #hp #hp series

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ohdearden · 3 years

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IC PORTION; BASICS —

CHARACTER NAME/ALIAS: Mia Dearden / Speedy (the second)

FACECLAIM: Ester Exposito

AFFILIATIONS: Team Arrow, Teen Titans, the Nomads

AGE (physical age as well, if different): 23

SPECIES (human, metahuman, alien, etc): Human

IS YOUR CHARACTER’S IDENTITY SECRET OR PUBLIC? Secret

IF SECRET, OR YOUR CHARACTER IS A CIVILIAN, DO THEY HAVE A CIVILIAN OCCUPATION? Mia is new in town, and is currently focusing her efforts on aid work. She’s working hard at learning the language so that she can be of more assistance, and potentially work in town in the future.

IF YOUR CHARACTER LIVES IN THE FORTRESS, WHAT ARE THEIR DUTIES? Refugee outreach, and whatever else she might be decent at. She’s happy to help out, but can’t cook for shit.

DESCRIBE SIX TRAITS (3 positive, 3 negative) YOUR CHARACTER HAS AND HOW THESE AFFECT THEM: + Empathetic and caring: Mia, having been through as much as she has, has a strong push to help others. She has trouble turning people who need help away, and will often find herself reaching for a way to help them. She worked at the community center back home to help youth at a disadvantage (much as she had been herself), and found time to spare to volunteer time at the domestic violence shelter as well. + Bold: Mia is unafraid and outgoing, making her personality very loud and bold. She’s unafraid to speak her mind, and is often quite blunt and straight to the point. She speaks to people easily (though making friends is another matter) and is always one to make her presence known. Mia has never been one to slip through the cracks unless it was by personal choice. Mia is best described as an extrovert, and has trouble containing her feelings whether they’re positive or negative. + Determined: Mia more or less forced her way into being Speedy, which is a surefire show of her determination. Once she sets her mind on something, she will achieve it. Mia has no problems setting goals for herself and setting up steps to get to these goals (yet she struggled with school, ironic). It is hard to sway her away from an idea once she gets her mind set to it. - Stubborn: Hand in hand with determined goes stubborn. Once Mia has her opinion set on something, it’s hard to sway her opinion otherwise. She’s unfortunately very hard to persuade out of her opinions, and once she’s got her mind set on something it’s often set in stone. Even when she can feel herself losing, Mia struggles with letting things go. Hard-headed was the term her mother always used, along with the phrase stubborn as a donkey. - Angry and Confrontational: Considering everything Mia has gone through in her life, having a solid angry streak is something that had been more or less unavoidable. She has a temper that’s quick to ignite, and she often has trouble bringing herself down once it’s sparked. Mia has the type that can go from 0-100 very quickly, though not at all the other way around. Mia is the type that enjoys confrontation, and it’s something she thrives in. Arguments are her specialty, and not something she will back down from. She is certainly not the type to let things go, and would rather argue until she was blue in the face. She would much rather deal with things now rather than later (and cannot understand why people would rather just let things fester). - Defiant & Rebellious:The word ‘no’ is a trigger word for Mia. Being told she cannot do something makes Mia want to do it all the more, and she is even more likely to try once she’s been told she shouldn’t. Rebellion is something that runs deep, even if she (sometimes) tries to fight it. Sometimes with reasoning she’s able to understand the no, but it’s hard to swallow down the urge to do it anyway.

POWERS AND/OR ABILITIES: Mia excels in archery and acrobatics. The latter came in handy in her time on the streets, and the former is a well-honed and learned skill. Mia is quick and discreet, and able to slip through crowds with ease. Mia has become proficient in swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat as well. While she is capable of close-range fighting with mixed-martial-arts abilities, she prefers to keep her fighting from a distance when given the option. She’s also a damned good pick-pocket, but well, that’s neither here nor there.

WEAKNESSES: Her immune system is absolutely garbage, and she tends to take a bit longer to heal than she’d like. She tries to be careful to keep herself in proper health, and does her best to avoid injury. As best as a crime-fighting vigilante can, anyway. Her inability to keep her damn mouth shut can definitely be considered a weakness as well.

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER? Mia is a goddamn *rockstar.* She was absolutely groundbreaking for the comic book industry considering her positive status, and her persistence is something I admire. Mia has a fighting spirit and doesn’t really take no for an answer, which is something I absolutely love about her. She’s also not exactly popular in the rpc, and I adore her.

IC PORTION; DETAILS —

WHAT BROUGHT YOUR CHARACTER TO SOKOVIA? Honestly? A bleeding heart. Mia always felt too damn much, especially when it came to people in need. The events that transpired in Sokovia had made her nauseous. It didn’t take long for her to get wind of the Nomads, and Mia thought maybe she could be of use, someway or another.

DID THEY SIGN THE ACCORDS? WHY OR WHY NOT? Absofreakinglutely not. The Green Arrow didn’t sign either, and that would be enough reason for Mia to be deterred in the first place. All in all, Mia did not agree with the Accords whatsoever. Vigilantes existed because the law was imperfect, because sometimes there needed to be a little extra oomph applied when things just couldn’t get done legally speaking.

PROVIDE 3-5 HEADCANONS RELATED TO YOUR CHARACTER: Despite her hatred of traditional schooling, Mia is an avid reader and educated in her own way. She hated the structure of school, hated having to interact with others her own age, hated having to get up before noon (and well, she’s always had an authority problem)...but she actually likes learning. She spends a lot of her downtime reading whatever she can get her hands on. Mia also enjoys video games, and may or may not stream herself playing at times via twitch or youtube. It’s an easy way to veg out and socialize without really socializing. Mia loves boxing, and does it often. She’s found it’s a good channel for frustration as well as a good way to train. In her apartment back in Star City, she has a punching bag set up in her living room and found herself at the community center often. Mia has an adrenaline rush addiction that she struggles with daily. She left her motorcycle back home in Star City, and finds she misses the rush of riding (way too fast) more than she thought she would. She’s looking into having it shipped, or finding a local one to fix up. Semi-related, she does all the maintenance on her motorcycle herself, having taught herself with repair manuals and youtube tutorials. MIa smokes like a chimney, though is trying very hard to quit. She knows it’s not the best idea, considering her health, but she just can’t help herself. She’s tried everything - the gum, the patches, replacing the habit with something else. She’s quit several times, but has always picked it back up again.

WANTED CHARACTER CONNECTIONS: TEAM ARROW! Roy Harper, Oliver Queen, Dinah Lance: These are Mia’s people. She might not necessarily always agree or get along with her adopted family, but Mia’s loyal to them to her very bones. She respects the Green Arrow and still affiliates herself with him, so I’m eager for interactions with a potential Oliver in the future. I’m also very eager for Arrow-lady interactions with Dinah! TEEN TITANS! Mia didn’t really have too-too much interaction with the Titans, but I’m excited for potential in Sokovia!

POTENTIAL CHARACTER ARCS: Give me Nomad things! Mia made the jump to help out in Sokovia more on a whim than anything. She’s very much a sidekick out of her element, but she wants to help. That being said, I could really see herself throwing herself into the local life? She would want to help on a smaller, more personal level. Help the kids with school, help rebuild someone’s house. She’s going to do her best to try to learn the language so she can potentially work in-town with the locals as well, maybe bartending. Maybe she can serve as kind of a liaison down the road?

CHARACTER BIO — (tw include: mentions of abuse, parental death, drug use/abuse, brief touchings on child exploitation/teen dating an older man/pedophilia, HIV)

Mia does not like to talk about her childhood. A quick overview would detail her father’s abuse of her mother, and her mother’s drug use. Her father used too, but drinking was more his style. Next would be her mother’s death when she was young. Her father’s abuse then turned to her instead, which she was forced to tolerate for several years. She was eleven when she ran away from home. Mia decided that she would sooner take her chances on the street than stay in that house any longer, and unfortunately, that was the fate she found. Living on the streets was still favorable to living at home, but it wasn’t without struggles. Mia was hungry more often than not, and often couldn’t sleep in the same place for more than a few nights in a row. A smaller-than-average homeless eleven-year-old certainly did bring in some sympathy donations, but it was never enough. The shelters in Star City were often full, and eleven was much too young to even consider a hotel or an apartment. She was twelve when she met Richard, who was over twice her age, and that was when things took a spin for the worse. She thought he loved her, he promised to take care of her, and she was too young and desperate (with very skewed feelings of what love was after all she’d lived through) to realize this was just abuse of a different kind.She was with him for over a year - sometimes out on the streets again, sometimes holed up in a seedy motel and for a few months, a scuzzy apartment. Richard gave her a taste of the drugs that had taken her mother, and Mia suddenly understood why her mother had been so willing to do whatever it took just to get high. But before long Mia was wondering when she would escape this, when things would get better, and thought maybe it would be better to be on her own again. He wouldn’t let her, the abusive pattern she’d survived as a child returning. Dependent on him for shelter, food and drugs, Mia felt more trapped than she ever had. Until she was saved by the Green Arrow. Mia immediately had adoration for the man that saved her life, and she felt ever-indebted to him for helping to get her off the streets, clean herself up and piece together her life. While he was reluctant at first, Mia began to train with him. This gave her life a purpose that she’d never had before, and Mia found herself feeling better than she ever had. She learned she excelled at archery with a little bit of training, and the scrappy fighting skills she’d adopted on the streets became more defined as she learned hand-to-hand combat skills. When not training or in school (something she fought tooth and nail), Mia spent the majority of her free time volunteering and later working at the Star City Recreational Center, and later the domestic violence shelter in town. Mia fantasized of eventually becoming a sidekick to the Green Arrow, even though he squashed that idea from the start. She would persuade him some way, somehow. Mia had just started to feel stable for the first time in her life when things took a downward spiral. It had started with a fever and just general feelings of illness, though things progressively got worse. She finally dragged herself into the clinic in Star City, and would find that things were much worse than she ever could have thought. What she thought was the flu turned out to be HIV, a permanent reminder of the mistakes she’d made and her time on the streets. The doctor assured her that while serious, the diagnosis was not the death sentence it had once been. If Mia was responsible and took the prescribed medications and took precautions, then her prognosis was very promising. HIV wasn’t curable, but controllable. And well, Mia had already been pretty successful at taking control of her life. If anything, her diagnosis was even more of a push for her to become the sidekick she dreamed of being. It took persuasion, but Mia finally donned the title of Speedy (the second), the sidekick to the Green Arrow. She took care to extra-hone in on her long distance fighting skills in hopes to avoid close-contact fighting and end up in a potentially extra-hairy situation. With Oliver’s insistence, Mia joined up with the Teen Titans.T his was done reluctantly, and Mia did not stay with the Titans long. She did, however, feel comfortable enough with them to disclose her status, and occasionally returned to help them on missions. Her passion was with Team Arrow, and that was made even more clear when working with others. The events at Sokovia were devastating, and MIa struggled with her decision making process for quite some time. She’d always been interested in refugee work - as she’d gotten older she volunteered with the Red Cross as well as with various agencies around Star City. The innate instinct to help those in need was strong, and it was pulling her towards Sokovia. Speedy was helpful, sure, but Mia was fairly certain that her experiences as Mia Dearden might be more helpful when it came to the situation at hand. She knew what it felt like to have your world falling apart, and she was more than happy to help others put their pieces back together.

EXTRAS —

Myers-Briggs: ESTP Hogwarts House: Gryffindor Zodiac: Aries Sin: A tie between Wrath and Pride

#srisingintro #not me realizing i never posted this oop

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queenmorgawse · 5 years

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i am in the birds that sing (i am in each lovely thing)

THIS FIC HAS SPOILERS FOR CHAPTERS 123-124 OF TGCF. as a disclaimer, though, i'm only caught up with suika's translation, so i don't know how these two actually end up. pls don't spoil me!! content warnings : suicidal thoughts / ....suicide equivalent? think what mo xuanyu pulled in mdzs canon. nothing graphic, but it's not lightly implied either. please take care! here's some soundtrack, if reading with music is your thing.�� read on ao3 + end notes.

He Xuan,

This is a graceless beginning to a graceless letter, isn’t it? Of course, it hardly matters. I wish for you to never read this at all, so you can remain as happy as you can be. I don’t even know if this will survive my endeavor. If it has, and if you’re reading it, I urge you to fold it again and burn it. It will bring you no joy.

Why write the letter at all, then? The truth is, I am awfully lonely, these days, and this is hardly something I can simply tell my neighbour when I invite her over for tea. She’s a sweet young woman. I hope she fares well after this. I’ll have to ask her to leave the pinwheels where they are, and see that they don’t get blown away.

I keep getting lost in thoughts, but again, it doesn’t matter. All I have to waste is paper and time, and though I’ve spent much of one already, I shall not run out of the other before I am done.

I suppose I just want to clear my head and go...wherever I am going serenely, without dragging a heavy heart behind. I am also selfish in that special way humans are, and want to cling to the possibility, as infinitesimal as it is, that someone somewhere will know of me.

To the core of the problem, then ⎯ or, actually, the core of the solution.

I have a little divinity left in me, you see. Oh, not much ; figuratively, barely enough to fill a teacup. It will not keep me immortal, or give me my spiritual devices back. Ultimately, it will not save me, so I thought I might devote it to something that will be worth it.

I’ve been doing an awful ton of research. My brother attempted the impossible and, against all odds, succeeded. I made my best attempt at doing the same. There are many spells forbidden and forgotten to find, if one works with single-minded purpose.

I unearthed the one I wanted, after a while.

Shi Wudu’s sixth birthday goes by without a hitch. So does the year that follows it, and the next, and the next. He never presses his ear against his mother’s door, waiting with baited breath for a newborn’s first wail. There is no longer a nursery and no new cradle in the Shi family’s mansion.

When he leaves, stubbornly holding his head high as whispers and gossip surround him, what remains of his belongings tucked in the bag hanging at his shoulder, he leaves alone.

I thought of looking for a way to bring your family and fiancée back to life, at first. Then I realized that if they did, they would still be mortal, and your happiness would be fleeting. It was a great shame to lose them once ; it would have been a tragedy to watch them die again. I discarded that idea soon after I came up with it.

A group of children wades through the shallow current of the stream that runs like a silver ribbon around the town of Fu Gu. The boys rolled up their pants to their knees, the girls hiked up their skirts as high as they dared. They kick and splash water at each other, and the air rings with startled yelps and breathless laughter.

One of the girls latches onto the shoulders of the boy next to her and bears down with all her weight, dragging them both into the river. She bolts to her feet as fast as she can, expecting him to catch her and pull her back again, giggles and wrings water out of her soaked mess of a dress. Instead, he stares at her like he’s never seen her before, like she caught the sun shining high above them and set it into her smile.

Not for the first time, she is mesmerizing. For the first time, he is charmed.

When I found what I was looking for, it took me one year to translate it, then another to check it over again and practice. Aren’t arrays that must be drawn perfectly in a single line so very annoying? I had to make sure it worked.

These are bold words from me, though. Even as I sit here, writing this, I do not know whether it will succeed. All I know is that I won’t be able to live with myself if I do not try.

Red robes rustle as the couple kneel and bow their heads before the family shrine.

There is no gold to line the bride’s veil, and the clothes themselves have been handed down three generations. But the joy ⎯ the joy they radiate changes everything. In that aspect, an emperor couldn’t dream of a lovelier wedding.

As is tradition, the bride and groom bow thrice : once to the heaven and the earth, once to the aging couples looking on with tears in their eyes, and once to each other. They rise to the sound of cheers, their hands still clasped in each other’s. The wedding party wishes them good luck, prosperity, healthy children, their words running together like songs.

Blessings come raining down on them, and the road ahead is endless.

Here is how it works : the only person who needs to disappear is me. The rest is all consequences, like ripples in a pond. Without me in the middle, there is no stone to be thrown, and the surface remains peaceful. There will be no newborn baby for a hungry spirit to latch on. My brother will never go to the lengths he did for someone who never existed to begin with.

You will have the life you should have had from the beginning, without knowing you ever suffered.

In a beautiful two-storied house, a young woman slumps against the bed frame, her face flushed, breathless but somehow glowing. The midwife hands her a small, wailing bundle. She takes it into her arms with infinite gentleness, cradling it to her chest.

The door opens. A young man in dark robes half runs, half flies into the room, a little girl on his heels. The child climbs onto the bed, babbling at her mother the entire time, while her husband leans over her, his gaze softening.

Three dark heads bend together, cooing at the newborn. The baby opens its eyes and chirps at them, small and soft. The mother starts to cry, while the girl whoops and claps until her father shushes her.

A few minutes later, another woman bursts into the room. Gege! she calls, then gasps. Oh, she’s so cute!

He Chunhua, they call the infant, for the spring flowers blooming outside the mother’s window.

It is a simple and elegant solution. The best I could come up with, anyway.

Don’t think I rushed headlong into this. I could have, as I rushed into many other messes ⎯ but I thought this time, neither ge nor you would be here to catch me if I fell, and so I proceeded as carefully as I knew how.

I made a list of everyone my disappearance might affect. Of course, my brother and yourself were the first. I used to be upset at this, but now, I am glad the other heavenly officials were never as fond of me as they claimed to be. Fewer ripples in the pond to mind.

I thought of all the prayers I answered over the years, the little demands and the big. But I trust that you, the version of He Xuan I never knew, are a good person, and that you will attend to your worshipers as I have to mine. Hopefully, you will also help His Highness in his time of need.

I suppose that with all this covered, there is not much more for me to say.

Three children tug each other by the hand. One is, to tell the truth, a teenager already ; the second doesn’t appear older than eleven or twelve, and the third is only a small boy, eight years old at most. The eldest leads them up the temple’s steps and into the semi-darkness.

There, the shadows are broken by thousands of candles lit by a steady stream of worshipers. Even now, as the dusky sky stretches into night, many still pray at the god’s feet. They ask for kind winds on their journeys, for good fortune for their businesses, for beneficial matches for their children. A hundred prayers rise into the sky, with the smoke of a hundred merits. All over the land, there are such temples, with such people sending the Lord Wind Master their wishes and hoping for his blessing.

The eldest sister lights an incense stick for each of her younger siblings. Together, they kneel among the other devotees.

Unlike the others, their prayers do not ask for anything. They tell the god about their mother, and how hard she’s been working lately. They talk about their grandmother, whose health has been improving a little with the death of winter, and about their grandfather, whose extraordinary resilience still has him running the family’s shop despite his old age. They talk about themselves, too ; how their education goes, the friends they’ve made, the life ahead of them.

It always ends the same way. Father, I hope you are doing well. We miss you very much.

They will come back next week.

If you’ve read up until here, you have thoroughly disregarded the advice I’ve given in the first lines, and I must scold you for it. I understand, though. There are few things more tempting than the truth, once it has shown even a glimpse of itself. I hope this doesn’t upset you too much. You were in so much pain that first time ; even after all that has happened, I do not want to add to it, even in a lifetime where you will not remember.

Well, now you know. If this letter exists at all, that is. The person who wrote it was never here, so it is unlikely, but I cling to the childish hope that it will make it through somehow.

I don’t know what will happen to me. The ritual says very little, only that it goes against the rules of the world. I don’t know whether I will be able to enter the cycle of reincarnation again, or if it is forever barred to me.

What I said that day is true. I wanted to die then, and even now, I cannot bring myself to mind the idea. What changed since I left the island is that I decided I would rather not die in vain. If the letter survived, then at least one person in the world will remember my name. I’m quite happy with that.

I hope it doesn't hurt. I hope it feels just like falling asleep.

I want to say more, I really do. But, He Xuan, if you have read this to the end, I don’t want to burden you with anything you might feel towards the shadow of a ghost, be it hatred, or guilt, or (dare I hope) gratefulness.

Once again, I am sorry. The wrongs of this lifetime will never appear in yours, but I will remember them all the same. I cannot bring myself to forgive that version of you for what you did, no more than I can forgive myself for what I took part in.

It is all right, though. There will soon be a blank slate, a world in which neither of these things happened, and we are happy ⎯ or at least, at peace.

Just know that even though you might think I have done much for a stranger’s sake, you were the furthest thing from a stranger to me.

With hope once again,

Shi Qingxuan

In the middle of a convoluted array stands a forgotten god. Blood drips down their fingertips as they bend down to complete the circle with a swift, decisive stroke.

The dawn explodes into shards of light.

When the dust settles, the field is almost empty. A gentle spring breeze blows across neat rows of pinwheels.

All is quiet, and all is new.

#tgcf #tian guan ci fu #heaven officials blessing #shi qing xuan #shuangxuan #tgcf spoilers #kim's fics #tgcf fic

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theburninglilac · 3 years

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Journal Entry #1

Okay, so here’s the thing. I'm not good at journaling! I want to be so badly, but I’m just not. Alas, we will power through and I want to tell you all a story. I have had a good life, overall. I love my family, and they love me. I’m surrounded by a great support system that aids me through my everyday life -- I’m content. But, I miss my grandmother.

My grandmother passed away when I was just nearing eleven years old. This isn’t a sob story, trust me. Well, I mean, it really depends on how you look at it. I don’t see it as a sob story, I just see it as a realization that could have been avoided if I tried a bit harder. What does that mean, you ask? Well, let’s chat.

For real this time . . .

My grandmother used to be my best friend, we were just the same. We both were practically blind, hated country music, and had an undying love for Cherry Garcia ice cream. Basically twins.

Well, Sundays in my family were extremely important. Not for religious reasons per se (I was religious, but usually that was focused on my father's side.) Sundays were a day of relaxation and good food. And trust me, my great-grandmother knew good food. Great-Grandma was a woman with taste. You didn’t know heaven until you broke off the head of her gingerbread men at Christmas time. She could make something delicious out of nothing.

She had birthed ten kids. Ten kids, can you imagine? I’m an only child, and sometimes hearing stories about my youth is too much for me. Anyways, nine of her ten children went on to have kids. Some went on to have multiple, and some had one. My grandmother, or meem, (childhood nicknames never cease to amaze me. Like, seriously, ‘meem’? What does that even mean? Where in the world did I even get that name?) Anyways . . . my grandmother had one biological child, my mother. But, she had one step-daughter, who was my grandfather’s, “peep” (again, with the childhood nicknames . . . ) biological daughter. My aunt. My aunt was always close with my grandmother. Always. And, so was my mother. My grandmother was a loving woman, who smoked a bit too much and drove an unmistakable green jeep for most of my life.

I always had an issue with her smoking. I hated that she was ruining her lungs because the second you heard that specific cough; the one that would start small and build and build and build, until you never knew if it was going to stop, scared me. I grew up with most of my family on my mother’s side smoking. It was always an afterthought seeing my family gathered on the porch with their lighters and packs of Camels in hand. The smell of cigarettes was never exactly comforting growing up, but it was familiar.

My mom hated when everyone smoked around me. I was diagnosed with asthma at a very young age. I’ve been to the ER more times than I’d like to admit for my crappy lungs, and cigarette smoke never helped. Well, my grandmother was one of the worst smokers in my family. She would smoke up to a pack or more in a day, and it got to the point where she had to be put on oxygen.

I’m not sure if I have any pictures of her without an oxygen tank strapped to her person.

Anyways, Sundays were my favorite. At my great-grandmother’s we’d all laugh and eat, gossip and smile. Those breakfasts will always be a fond memory in my mind.

Everyone seemed genuinely happy . . . I was genuinely happy. My parents were yet to be divorced, everyone was alive and well, and there was a whole lot of love being spread.

As much as I love breakfast with my family, after breakfast was my favorite part of the day. Meem and Peep’s house.

My grandparents lived in a small trailer located on the Hudson River. It was a single wide, molding in some areas, and no appliance was from the 2010s. Nonetheless, it was my favorite place in the world. Because I adored my grandmother.

She was a painter, and I loved watching her particular strokes on the pieces she worked on. She never was mad at me either, unlike my grandfather. My grandfather is a stern man. He is brute and terribly blunt, but he has a good heart. His passions include hunting and rodeos, which I was never a fan of, so it was hard seeing eye to eye with him all the time.

As an only child, I made my own fun, playing with dolls by myself, making up stories that only I heard, and reading books that I borrowed from the public library. I wasn’t allowed any electronic devices until I was in middle school, so for years, I made my own fun.

One of my favorite activities was having my grandmother lie down with me and make up stories as I napped in her room. I’m sure if she were still alive today she would roll her eyes at the thought, because I asked her to make up story after story . . . but, she always did.

As a child, I was never “in the know” about my family’s finances. My father is a factory worker, and my mother is a manager at a store, but also ran a babysitting service when a was young. We were your everyday middle-class folk, living in a boring middle-class house, on a boring middle-class street, in a boring middle-class town. I liked boring though because as a child, I didn’t know boring. Boring wasn’t a concept I understood.

I remember one Christmas I really wanted a doll called “Lalaloopsy.” I wanted it so bad, and that year, they were all the rage for young children between the ages of five to twelve. As Christmas day approached, I remembered opening up the present from my grandmother and shrieking with joy. It was the doll I wanted. The very doll that I wanted for the majority of the year. It was in my hands, and I couldn't have been any happier.

I hugged my grandparents tightly and thanked them, but as I did, I remembered the smile my grandmother had on her face. It wasn’t happy. It was almost sad . . . but why would that be? It’s Christmas day! We're opening presents! This is fun!

Come to find out, my grandparents struggled financially that year. That present was from my mother and father, with a gift tag that was from my grandparents. They couldn't afford gifts that year. And knowing that after my grandmother’s passing broke my heart.

It’s not just because of the money, that this news broke my heart. It was the fact that my grandmother was willing to give anyone anything. She went as far as giving her neighbors, a couple who struggled even worse financially, their beautiful faux Christmas tree. I was disappointed, because as a child I had zero concept of money, and thought this completely ridiculous. Instead of their beautiful Christmas tree, my grandparents opted for a small two-foot faux tree that couldn’t fit ornaments.

As I’ve grown, I can finally appreciate the selflessness of my grandmother and her services to so many people. Will I ever know if she actually wanted to keep her tree? No. But, do I know it most likely made the day of a couple who were more in need of holiday cheer? No doubt.

As the years passed, my grandmother’s health decreased rapidly. And, as this happened, my parents filed for divorce. Most people said it was completely out of the blue -- I thought it was completely out of the blue. But, I grew older and realized just how different my parents were. And just how their differences hurt each other, rather than encouraging each other.

When I was eleven I dealt with a lot. At least in my opinion. My dog died, and being that I had no siblings, this was a difficult loss. She had cancer . . . everywhere. She couldn’t be saved, and when she was put down, it pained me. Secondly, we moved. Not far, sure . . . but, we moved. I didn’t want to leave my boring house, on my boring street. But, we did. And I still miss that house. Thirdly, my parents' divorce. I cried for days because of this news. I loved my parents being together. I really did. The idea of having parents divorce, when I lived in a family (my father’s side) that said divorce was sinful, scared me. I grew up listening to my family a lot, to which I regret. They taught me ideals that I simply don’t hold anymore, thanks to their traditional views and outlooks. But, nonetheless, I needed my parents to stay together. See, here is the thing. I‘d like to believe I’m religious. I think God is real to an extent, but I believe in science. I’d like to think there is something after death, but I'm terrified of the idea of Hell.

I think that’s what I’ve always struggled with when dealing with religion. I don’t want to be scared to devote myself to a religion, because frankly, I am scared of it. If it wasn’t worse than divorce, I’m a bastard. Yeah, I said it. I was born out of wedlock, and my parents didn’t “tie the knot” until I was eight. They had been together for more than a decade before their wedding, but when they had me, the bible had declared me a sin. Not even my choice. I was a sin the second I was brought into this world. Not that I believe that anymore, but as a child, I doubted my self worth. Though, I didn’t exactly know the concept of “self-worth” as an eleven year old, I did know that sometimes I felt ashamed for no reason. I’d look around at my family, my cousins, and aunts and uncles who lived happily together. I wanted that.

When I had these thoughts I constantly confined to my grandmother, she always knew what to say. She always made me feel like I was worth it. She loved me through thick and thin.

This leads to my fourth reason of, ‘Why I Dealt with A Lot When I Was Eleven.’

My grandmother was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer and died, all within ten days.

I know this isn’t a sob story, but God, I sobbed. A lot. Remember how I said she was a smoker? Well, once she went on oxygen, she quit. She did it! She was the first sibling in her family to quit smoking. But, she was the first to pass away.

Ironic right?

Well, as the days went on, my grandmother couldn't speak. It physically hurt her to speak. I remember leaving the hospital on one of her last days on this Earth feeling mad. Little ole’ me, mad at my grandmother because she had cancer. I wasn’t mad at the fucking cancer, I was mad at her.

I left the hospital with my dad, and she hadn’t said she loved me. It’s not because she didn't want to, it’s because she fucking couldn’t. I called my mom in tears, I just wanted to hear my grandmother. That’s all I wanted. So, my mother put my grandmother on the line with her small flip phone to tell me she loved me.

Her voice was so scratchy, I knew it hurt. I had to have hurt. But, between the tears and anger I had towards her, I didn’t care about her pain. She said she loved me. But, that wasn’t MY grandmother. That wasn’t the woman I had known for my entire life. That wasn’t the woman who liked orange flavored cinnamon buns, and The Golden Girls. This sounded like a complete stranger.

I gave the phone back to my dad. I didn’t want to hear her. Because hearing her say “I love you” on repeat felt too painful. I knew that this was going to be my last call with her, and instead of saying “I love you too,” . . . I cried and handed the phone back to my dad.

I regret that to this day.

Because, two days later, she died. I had no grandmother anymore. And, I had been too scared and angry to say “I love you,” because I knew that would have been the last time I did so.

At the funeral, I couldn’t get out of my mother’s car. I was too sad. My tears had puffed my eyes so much I couldn’t see. And with my parents' fresh divorce, there was tension in the air. Could you imagine? On top of the grief and sorrow, the tension between my parents was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

In the days leading up to my grandmother's funeral, I told my mom I wanted to write a speech. I wanted to speak to the crowd of people in front of me and redeem myself from my last phone call with her. But, when I built up enough courage to walk into the funeral home, I saw everyone. Tears were being shed, people were hugging one another, and suddenly the tiny piece of composition notebook paper in my hand didn’t feel important.

I’ve always been uncomfortable around deceased people. This is funny because I live right across the road from a cemetery. But, when deceased people are on display, I can never build up the bravery it takes to approach them. Because they look alive. With makeup done nicely, and a beautiful outfit to go along with the makeup. Seeing a deceased body never felt real, because by all means of appearance -- they looked alive.

It took a lot that day to approach my grandmother. This was the first time I had seen her without an oxygen tank by her side in years, and she wasn’t wearing her glasses. I studied her face for a long time, then I prayed. My grandmother wasn’t intensely religious. I think she believed in God, but to what extent -- I’ll never know. So, as an eleven-year-old kneeling down and “praying” I spoke to whoever was willing to listen. Whether it was a God, or my grandmother, maybe no one, who knows . . . I still spoke. After my praying, I plucked up all the courage I had to hold my grandmother’s cold lifeless hand. I wanted to throw up, that I remember. I was so overwhelmed, but it felt nice in some sense. Because at that very moment, I was in my own world with just my grandmother again. I couldn’t say it was a happy moment, but maybe somber is a good word for it.

I placed the speech I had written for my grandmother in her palm and wrapped her hand around it. It was our secret. One last secret, before I said goodbye.

The months after her passing were tough for everyone in my family. Arguments were made, feuds were started, and by six months of fighting, Sunday morning breakfasts no longer happened. I had never realized how much my grandmother affected the entire family. Once she was gone, siblings were blaming each other for her death, my grandfather practically fell dormant, and my parents fell into what would become a multiple-year distaste for each other. All because of my grandmother.

I suppose no one in my family had a heart like hers. I never felt the warmth of happiness around anyone, that I had felt with her. She was pure magic.

I’ve grown up my entire teenage life, turning adult life, without her. There are days where I beg her to give me a sign that she’s watching. Some days they come, some days they don’t. My family was never too tech-savvy when I was a child, so there is a lack of pictures of my youth. This means there’s a lack of pictures including my grandmother.

I miss her. Sometimes I still feel anger at myself, because as I grow older it’s harder to remember what she looks like.

I no longer can remember the sound of her voice.

I wish I could hug her once more. Or drive around in her ridiculous green jeep once more. Maybe even make fun of country music together.

I wish she could have watched me grow older. Maybe watch my graduation. Drop me off at college. Help me decide on my prom dresses. God, the things I wish we could’ve done. But, life moves on. I miss her, but I can’t dwell in the past, because she simply wouldn’t have agreed with that decision.

I pray she doesn’t hold a grudge against me because of our final goodbye.

I pray that she watches over me and smiles because of my achievements.

I just hope she’s happy now.

#journal #story #family #love

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