#i kept it short and sweet and perhaps way more parallels will come out now

[thenetflixadaptation]

In Between Papos & Rohod.

(A short story by Zachary (thenetflixadaptation))

My boy, oh where could he have gone? I wait upon this curb at dusk, loathing at the thought of his absence. My favorite dress, now blackened.   Where could he have made off? He should have returned by now…

 I will wait for his arrival, that is what a good mother must uphold.

My dear Gyögry, I hope you are well, I hope you are bound to come home sometime soon. I want to look into your bright green eyes again and kiss your forehead. I am your mother, I must love you.

 Please do not be your fathers son. Please come home my dearest. You know how mother gets in the   evenings.

I worry for Gyö, he tells me Vaja is too small for all he seeks to accomplish. In my heart I know he wishes to leave this place, Debrecen perhaps. I do not wish malice on him like she may believe. You are not what she says you are.

She does not know my son, oh my sharp son. He shines as bright as a coat of fresh snow, his mind vast, always eager to learn. He is a magnet to knowledge, however I am scared not to understand him, or to forget his aspirations.

I tell him stories of his father, the stories he brought back from the U.S.S.R. He reminds me so much of him. His sharp jaw, his knuckles. The way he laughs is almost parallel to his fathers. I wish I had more memories to share with Gyö, but I seem to forget so much as of recently. Night fogs my memory. 

His father would have loved the boy he grew to be, despite what she may believe. She tells me he would have despised  Gyö the way he despised her. Her distorted recollection of my husband angers me, at times I know she mistakes him for someone astray.

I remember myself holding György at birth, however I cannot remember my husband holding our son for the first time. What provokes me are the little oddities, like bringing empty bottles to the shop, but I could never recall him drinking. I wish my memory would allow me to remember him more, so I can tell György more about his father. Perhaps I should see the doctor despite her. 

I’m convinced her green eyes are those of jealousy. For as long as I can remember she has always been there looking back at me, perhaps envious of the family I possess. If she were present she would most likely be guffawing at my son’s absence, the same way she did my husband’s. 

Gyö please return, I am worried sick. I cannot lose you. I cannot stand to lose yet another. My sweet, I beg of you to turn that corner, I wish to see you, I wish to hold you and love you the way I always have. I wish to look at you again… I must remember you son, I must not be feeble.  

As I  wait for him, the scent of pálinka starts to linger. There she is, in her favorite dress. She holds out her hand, arms mutilated as per usual. Nevertheless, I want nothing to do with her. I only wish to see Gyö. I do not have time for her usual antics. I push her hand away, yet her arm remains extended. I expect her to make comments about Gyö missing or about my husband's inability to love me, but tonight she is silent. She seems at peace almost. I can’t remember her ever being calm. 

I hesitate, but I take her hand and stand in front of her. Facing her I remember our first encounter. We met before Gyö was born. I had just gotten home from the shops in Õr I believe when I went to take a nap, but upon opening my door I saw her. She was sitting on the edge of our bed, looking at herself in the mirror. She was weeping, her eyes swollen and her face blue. I first noticed her arms that day, bruises that looked as if someone beat her with a stick, or perhaps the broom we kept in the closet down the hall. 

I remember asking what happened but she insisted that I already knew. She insisted it was my husband who had done this to her, which was impossible… He wasn’t home. My  husband was deployed by that time.

I told her it couldn’t have been him, that he was deployed in the east of Poland but she insisted regardless. She tells me it was Andor. Andor had done this to her, but I told her she was mistaken. Our  husband's name is not Andor… I refuse.  

Still, in the present her eyes are swollen. She still has the dried up blood over her lip from over a decade ago. She grips my hand in hers and guides me as we walk up the hill towards our home, but why? I must wait for Gyö, she should know this. Regardless, I follow. Why, I am not certain.  She brings me to the cellar doors between the house and the garage. I go to pull the keys from my pocket but the door is already unlocked. Gyö?

The lantern is lit, but why? Has Gyö been down here the whole time? How has he managed to get into the cellar without the keys? My son is an inventive one, as are we. 

I head down the few steps descending into the cellar. It smells of iron, more so than usual. Flies filled the room, and the smell of livestock rotting began to overwhelm the smell of iron. I look back to the steps but she’s gone. I’m alone with the moonlight and the howls of the wind, rustling the trees.  I want to call for her but her name escapes me. I’m scared of what lies ahead. I feel like I’ve seen this before. 

I see the wooden table we kept  here. Andor would salt the meat in the summer. We would knock on the door but at times he wouldn't answer. The floor around the table still is home to all of my husband's cigarette butts, or at most the ones that weren't dug into her forearm. Where is she? I need her now. I’m afraid for György, what if he never returns home? I need him back. I’m his mother! 

Tunnel vision ensues, the feeling I receive late into the night. The anxiety of her, of Gyõ, of my husband making his way to our room, broom in hand. I remember his name, it’s Andor. Andor. How could I have not remembered it before? What a beautiful name for a beautiful man. The memories of him begin to fill my mind rapidly, every lucious kiss, every long walk along the pond, every time I said no… Everytime he called me nothing but a whore of a woman. 

I fall to my knees in front of the table, tears whisp down my cheeks as I recall everything he did to us. All the nights I spent pondering if this body was truly mine, wishing someone else could help me grieve, wishing I wasn’t pregnant with his spawn…

How could I resent Gyö? He is my earth, my life. He is all that I love in this world, but why does he disgust me ever so much? I looked at him with nothing but a mothers love, now it pains me to think of him. We cannot bear to gaze at him any longer, it sickens us. 

I  open our eyes to his shoes underneath the wooden table in the cellar. I look up to notice his spring jacket is dangling from atop the table. 

Gyö? 

I slowly get back on our feet. I see a white tablecloth overtop a silhouette. I don’t even have to reveal him, I know what lies underneath. My son, bruised, mangled and deceased. How have I seen this before? Why has she done this? Where is she? He is not Andor. He did not deserve this.

I pull the cloth off of my son, my oh so brilliant son. He hasn’t changed, He layed  just as I remembered him. My handsome boy, you frightened your mother! I will scold him later, for now I can only wish to embrace him. 

I am so happy to see Gyö, I was so worried he would never return home. Please never be your fathers son, always stay with me, I will protect you from all that is evil in this world. I promise my son, I will shield your well-being. 

I pick my son up off the table and wrap him in my arms. He must be exhausted, he’s dead asleep. I step from out of the cellar and bring him up to the house, where I lay him on my bed for the evening. Why was he down there to begin with? I’ll have to ask him when morning comes, I forget so much in the evenings. 

I sit on the edge of my bed and stare at our reflection,  I see her green eyes filled with envy once more.

 I know she’ll try to convince me otherwise, but I am certain my husband would be so proud of his wonderful little boy, György. 

#mental health writting #personal essay #short fiction #short story #short stories #DiD #multiple personalities #edgar allan poe #dark #dark writing #love story #mental health #mental disorder #emotional abuse #abuse #story #writing #struggle

[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

so a while ago 6th of december to be exact @bluewinnerangel got me to spin her wheel of songs a second time and there's these three to pick from:

only UAN + TMH wheel

All 1D songs wheel

All of 1D + Harry + Louis wheel

that day i felt very brave and picked the third option. and that time. i got lucky. i got

SOOOOOO AT LAST, 22 DAYS LATER, HERE I AM WITH A GOOD OLD LYRIC ANALYSIS FOR ONE OF MY FAVORITE 1D SONGS

steal my girl - a close reading

yes new notebook it's giving Less Flat and Wider

LYRIC ANALYSIS

She's been my queen since we were sixteen

This Is About A Girl

~ "I guess some queens don't need a crown", perfect now

specific age. wonder who it's about. wonder which writer of this song has been with someone since they were 16

We want the same things, we dream the same dreams, alright, alright I got it all 'cause she is the one Her mum calls me love, her dad calls me son, alright, alright

this shit is established. they've met the family, they talk about the future, they're building a life together as a team

-> this isn't a one-sided thing about the singer being possessive and holding their s/o back

~ "share a single bed and tell each other what we dream about", we made it

I know, I know, I know for sure

Everybody wanna steal my girl Everybody wanna take her heart away Couple billion in the whole wide world Find another one 'cause she belongs to me

Na na na na na na na, na na na na na na na She belongs to me

couple billion? in the whole wide world? who in 1d is together with someone like that? whose partner is desired by billions? esp desired by billions bc they don't know they're taken

sure, if one of the 1d boys is together with someone, they might get some jealousy over them, but that jealousy from fans would generally not be "i want her", but "i want to be her" (like... if it were el or sth yk)

Kisses like cream, her walk is so mean

gay

And every jaw drops when she's in those jeans, alright

legs body physical attraction where have i heard this theme before in which person's songwriting is this a theme hMmmmmm

~ "waiting to wrap your legs around me", always you

I don't exist, if I don't have her The sun doesn't shine, the world doesn't turn, alright, alright

they call each other sun

~ "summertime, butterflies, all belong to your creation", olivia

~ "If I didn't have you there would be nothing left The shell of a man who could never be his best If I didn't have you, I'd never see the sun You taught me how to be someone, yeah", drag me down

~ "'Cause you're the only one when it's said and done You make me feel like being someone good to you", perfect now

-> both consider the other as the centre of the universe, origin of life

She know, she knows That I never let her down before Oh, she know, she knows That I'm never gonna let another take her love from me now

"I" has proven they're legit. not one-sided

possessive Daddy energy. i'll make sure these leeches don't bother you

Na na na na na na na She belongs to me

*child's voice* naaanaaa nana na you'll never get her

SYNTHESIS

Established relationship. They're going strong. Sung from the perspective of someone who is quite on the possessive side, but not directed towards their partner in a "gotta keep em in line" kind of way, but in a "hey, horde of people horny for my GiRL? back the fuck off or we're gonna have a problem" and I respect that.

The love that's portrayed is very very wholesome and is to be found in other One Direction songs, like Olivia or Drag Me Down. They're the sun. Their source of light. They can't imagine life without them, because they've shaped it so intensely already. They've changed each other for the better. And oh yeah this person is so fucking hot and everyone fucking agrees. But too bad for the whole fucking world, I guess, because (s)he's taken.

This song is at the origin of so many other songs and references. Gotta love parallels and these menaces calling back to their earlier work as much as they can, leaving a huge network of links to make it very obvious that it's all about the same love story.

#lyric analysis #WOW feels good #i kept it short and sweet and perhaps way more parallels will come out now #but i'm pleased with this result #it's been a while #love it #steal my girl

[ghost-at-the-masquerade]

The Little Things

Rating: PG, for talk of preparing an animal carcass

Count: 1856

Summary: Link has dinner with a stranger out on the road

A/N: Yes, I’m going to make Link use they/them pronouns, no I don’t take criticism on this, don’t @ me

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

The smell of blood still wafted toward the camp, from where they had let the deer drain. They started at the collarbone, slicing all the way down to the groin, then up the inside of each of the legs. Someone could always use more leather, so they wanted to keep the hide well intact.

Sitting across from Link on a tree downed long ago, Stemm - a traveling chef, by his own description - started to peel carrots and potatoes. The skins he let fall among the grass, the clean vegetables he dropped into a large stockpot to wait. It was much too soon, but he needed something to do.

When Link went to wipe the sweat from their forehead with the back of their arm, they left a little smear of blood that caught a lock of hair and matted it to their eyebrow. The sight of it had Stemm’s face twisting into the most polite agony he could manage.

The time came to split open its belly and he excused himself to stoke and adjust the fires - meat and organs did better in different temperatures at different times, he said.

Link twisted around to grab another, larger pot to drop the more palatable organs in, and the rest were given back to the earth, that Farore may put them to better use.

Their boots were soiled as they worked to separate the carcass into manageable cuts, the better part of an hour drifting by them as they were engrossed in the work. Every now and again their gaze flicked over to Stemm, tutting around the camp proper. Always seeming to produce more cookware and utensils and little bottles of spices from his pack. He had a rather fine set of glass bottles he kept water in, too - as well as some spirit that stank all to hell. Highly impractical for travel compared to a waterskin, but lovely nonetheless. A pair of the ones filled with water were sitting in a half-rotted bucket with a pilfered ice rod.

They piled the meat onto a spare sheet of leather they had so they could haul it all the few feet to the fire, hefting it over the log with a grunt.

Stemm spared them a smile for all of their work. “Thank you, yes, it’ll be fine there.”

He took the opportunity to go on while they paused to take a breath, “It makes me feel like such a fraud, not doing all my own prep, but butchering is just… such ugly work.”

Link couldn’t help but cock the bloody eyebrow at him. The lock of hair came loose with the movement.

“Don’t look at me like that - it’s not that I had some… pampered upbringing, my parents did their own hunting when I was young. We just moved to a bigger town before it was my time to learn. And if someone has already prepared the meat for you, well…”

They wondered, at times, if people in their previous life had spilled their guts to them like this. Their silence left a lot of room for it.

“I suppose I was so excited to travel and to do it all myself that I didn’t think about what ‘doing it all myself’ would entail.”

Link’s expression softened some. They could sympathize with being in over one’s head.

“… What are you waiting around for? I can handle this part, you wash up.” He shooed them with one hand, pulling the meat toward himself with the other.

They huffed through their nose at his tone, but they didn’t need to be told twice.

-

Twilight’s somber blanket settled over the grass, made the soft sands twinkle as Link stepped into the shallow waters. Going in almost up to their knees, they found a rock to settle on, dipping their arms into the cool river flow and scrubbing the deer’s blood free from their arms and boots. Blood dried on skin is rather like the first layer of paint on raw wood, thin and clinging seamlessly.

Pulling back, droplets on their skin became flecks of gold in the dying light. They reached into a pouch at their hip for a bar of soap and comb. The bar was only about the length of their palm and a third of the width, off-white in color - not unlike honey diluted in milk. They rubbed a conservative lather into their palm; it would be some time before they returned to Hateno for more, but they wanted the copper smell off their hands. They only just remembered the smear on their face before rinsing off.

The comb was simple, a chunk of birch wood carved and left unfinished, but with much thicker teeth than their last one. Hair tie held between their lips, they dipped the comb into the river, closed their eyes and began to run it through their hair. Their ears twitched with every rustle of the trees behind them.

Clean and calmed, they took a deep breath and rose to return to camp.

-

Stemm greeted them heartily, in much higher spirits now that he was in his element. He already had several pounds of meat salted and packed into leather satchels, while another had been cubed for their supper.

Link took their seat at an angle to him, not quite next to him. Stemm was proving to be quite the multi-tasker around the cook pot, moving seamlessly between preserving the meat and prodding the chunk of fat he had rendering out in the bottom of the pot. It had been strung up by a chain, held aloft by three metal rods - an incredibly handy contraption, Link would have to see about finding one.

At each step, Stemm explained how staggering each ingredient’s addition would change their texture and flavor. Link sipped their chilled water and decided to keep their disagreements about what the texture should be to themself; they could deal with mushy onions in their stew for one night.

With everything coming together, he whipped out a smaller wooden spoon, took a taste and pursed his lips, looking up to the sky. “I wish I had a little sweetness to take that edge off, but I’ve just run out…”

Link’s ear twitched with a thought, and they dipped their fingers into another one of their hip pouches. From it they drew a flower, not unlike the Silent Princess, but half the size and without its luminescent qualities. They held it up as a suggestion, “Maybe this?”

“That?” Stemm leaned close to scrutinize the flower, “No, I’m afraid those are quite bitter.”

They shook their head and insisted, “Cousin of the star flower. Breeding out the glow takes out the bitterness.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Usually, yes, but they’ve been moving back that way for a while. Have you been under a rock?”

Rather than argue the point further, they popped the flower in their mouth - only to immediately stick out their tongue and let the mushed petals fall off.

Stemm laughed victoriously. “I told you!”

With their eyes unfocused on the grass, something deep within them wavered, but only momentarily. It was too silly a thing to unsettle them. Even if it was one of the few things they thought they remembered.

“The one thing I was prepared for was finding tasty plants!” He glanced again toward the dying light while digging something out of his bag.

“Don’t know how much you can do by firelight, but here-” He held out a small, leather-bound notebook, “You can copy this.”

It was soft in their hands, telling of its relative youth. The cover crackled quietly as they opened it. The pages detailed a number of edible wild plants native to central Hyrule and Necluda, including flavor profiles and notable lookalikes.

Link set it on their knee so they could sign, “Thank you, but, I don’t have anything to copy to.”

For a moment he seemed surprised. Then he shrugged, a relaxed smile crossing his face. “Keep that one, then. I can make another.”

Their mouth worked and they struggled to make the sign feel sincere enough, “Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it. It won’t do me much good when I head out to Akkala, anyway.”

With that reassurance they relaxed some, settling in to skim the notes while he finished.

The sun ducked away behind the far trees and its last light vanished, turning the camp into a bright bubble in a dark ocean.

Turned out Stemm was right about it needing a bit of sweet, but it was far from inedible. Link was more than glad to take a second helping. Simple, but warm and filling. He was definitely still wrong about onions, but the potato was good.

Stemm had no stories to tell and his sign wasn’t strong enough to keep up with Link’s, so the night air was left to the crickets, crackling of fire and the tittering of breeze through the grass and leaves. In time, they agreed to part in sleep.

Link settled down into the embrace of a nearby elm. Stemm stayed closer to the fire, with his sizable pack to prop him up. Firelight faded, gave way to the silver grace of the moon, orange glowing embers not unlike the shrines waiting for them in the distance.

——

Link woke at first light. Hummed deep in their throat and stretched, scratched their shoulder against the bark before even bothering to open their eyes. They could already feel the knot that had formed in their hair.

Sitting up, they saw Stemm still asleep, his mouth dangerously open to the sky. They shook their head, starting to fix their hair when they noticed a small line of leaves laid parallel on their thigh - korok mischief. A little smile tugged at the corner of their mouth. They carefully stacked the leaves and tucked them away in a pocket.

It was time to go - their deal was done and a number of important tasks awaited them. Link stood and took a final stretch. But still, they looked over to their companion. He had done them an extra kindness.

Stemm’s rig was still set up - perhaps they could make use of it. Link knelt with a bit of bounce, considering the remnants of the fire.

They reached into the depths of a pouch and grasped the handle of a short sword - though not short enough to keep them from having to bend over at a funny angle to get it out, falling onto their hip. Exposed to the open air, the blade flared to life with eerily silent fire. A bit of tinder, another log and the tip of the blade was all that was needed. A little extra kindness, then they would go.

Three eggs scrambled into fine curds, peppered with fresh herbs and salt flakes, gently folded over on itself with a wooden spoon. A hopefully respectable omelet they set nearby under a korok leaf.

Link put their hands on their hips and regarded a man they would likely not see again, one more time. The Dueling Peaks loomed. The sun crept higher. And strangers parted.

#The Legend of Zelda #Breath of the Wild #BotW #BotW fic

[babylooneytoonz]

Sweet Temptations - Tommy Shelby x Reader

Part-2

Read Part-1 here.

Warning - SMUT

Requested by - @girlwith-kalei-do-scope-eyes @peakyfooky @bubblegumflamingos @thomashelbyswhore

You looked at your reflection in the mirror; you were glowing. Your eyelashes curled perfectly over your eyes and the corner of your cherry painted lips puckered into a smile of your own. It had been a month since you had let that blue eyed Peaky Blinders gangster bend you over your desk and fuck you like there was no tomorrow. Since then, although you hadn't met him again, he made it a point to be a part of most of the important events that you and your husband happened to be a part of.

Lingering glances were shared, lips licked fervently and the man slowly undressed you with his piercing, blue eyes, fucking you with his eyes. The way he admired the olive green dress that hung over your ample arse at the Epsom Derby, you couldn't get the look off your mind. It was tantalizing, refreshing yet scandalizing if someone was to notice, but no one did.

You had tried hard to find yourself a minute alone with the man, your carnal desires clouding over your perfectly sane, sharp mind for a bit that day but much to your dismay, Michael was glued to your side all the time, although he paid you no heed.

You were laying in your massive king sized four postered bed, revelling in the fact that your husband was out on a business trip to London and wasn't coming back home for atleast a few days. Your newly shaved legs rubbed against the soft, silken sheets, the friction causing slight irritation and inflammation but you didn't seem to mind. A lit cigarette rested in your left hand and a half empty bottle of Irish Whiskey lay on your bedside table, the tip of the bottle imprinted with your lipstick.

A loud knock on your door caused you to sharply turn your neck towards it. There was an urgency in the knock, and the knocking wasn't dying down.

"For fuck's sake, stop trying to break the damn door, will ya? I'm coming."

You slid out of bed, wrapping your robe around your body as you made your way to the door and unlocked it. One of Michael's men was standing there, his eyes thrown open, his face and his clothes covered in dried up blood. At first, you were shocked. You threw the door wide open, letting the man get in, and followed him.

"Mrs. Button, we've fucking been cornered, those fucking Blinders, they attacked the pub in London—"

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of the Blinders; the image of the handsome Blinder devil plastering itself to the back of your eyes like a still of a black and white movie. You wanted to smile as it felt like Tommy had after all, been true to his words. You knew he had done it for you.

Donning on a mask of sudden sadness, you blinked rapidly, hoping to get fake tears to provide a blanket of cloud to your eyes, you spoke, "Michael? What about him? Is he okay?"

"Mrs Button, the news is bad, he was shot at the back of the bloody skull."

You bit hard on your tongue; trying your best not to smile.

"And?"

"You tell us what to do, eh, you're the new boss, ain't it?" The man sluggishly replied, a tiny hint of a smile on his lips; it was ghostly, barely there, but yet you noticed it.

"Well, we plan a funeral, what else?"

He nodded, finally letting himself smirk freely around you and so did you.

These were your men now. You didn't have to be scared of a dead man anymore. He could do you no harm.

"Lad, wait."

Your voice rang out in the hallway, the moment he turned to leave. He turned towards you, blinking, waiting for your command.

"Remember the crate Michael kept hidden in the barn? That fine single malt Scotch Whiskey?"

"What of it, Mrs, er, Miss?"

"Pull out a bottle, and go celebrate with the men. And get a drink for me too, will ya?"

Your smirks matched each other's as you saw him nod briefly and leave.

Freedom felt amazing.

Thomas Shelby had not only freed you; he had also given you a chance to get everything Michael owned, down from his business to the mansion you lived in— it was all yours now.

The chill at the cemetery was biting, your long black overcoat did nothing to protect you from the frost that was causing your cheeks to wither and turn stony. You stood in a corner, a few of his men on either of your sides, heads burrowed slightly. You knew it was all an act, and the minute they stepped out of the cemetery, they would be out celebrating, for Michael was not a pleasant boss to work for. But you couldn't blame them, you felt the same.

You felt elation, you felt free and you wanted to celebrate. Worst of all, you wanted to see him.

Your Thomas Fucking Shelby—

As the coffin was lowered to the ground, and the short, bald headed priest mumbled verses from the Bible, you looked down at your feet, your mind distracted. You needed a smoke.

"Excuse me." You mumbled to the woman standing next to you, and lowering your head, you pushed your way away from the ceremony through his men, making your way up to the embalming area, to smoke. The minute you stepped into those close confines, you took off your overcoat and dumped it on a chair, straightening the crease on your black mourning dress.

The embalming area was sheeted with a blanket of quiet, a solitary confinement. This place had a lot of stories to tell perhaps, of death, of tears and of the human mortality.

Then how could a place such morose be a cause of a start of your new life? It wouldn't even have crossed your mind, but a part of you knew, death and life, there is a fine line between it. A death can pave way for a new life— the life of a newfound love, built on the extermination of your abusive husband.

You knew Tommy would come; so it wasn't a surprise to you when you whiffed his fragrance lingering in the air— of cigarettes, alcohol and a bit of mint.

"You're here, I can feel it." You whispered into the thin air, only to feel his arms creep up behind you, in a teasing manner, his fingertips trailing against the fabric of your black mourning dress. You were not this kind of woman, a woman that would rejoice in someone's death, but the countless years of torment you had seen, in the form of your now dead husband was enough to wipe off any traces of the respect you had for him in the dead form. You couldn't care less, if outside, his coffin was being lowered into the ground.

"Thank you," your whisper came out breathy, your eyes rolled back in the back of your head and slowly, you rolled yourself to face the Blinder devil, placing your hands on either of his shoulder while his hands held you tight by your hips, holding you in place.

"Hope you gave him a peaceful death." You mumbled, nuzzling your nose into the side of his cheek, his wafting fragrance seeping through your nostrils.

You heard him hum and nod, his plump lips moving along as he peppered soft kisses down the side of your neck, "As peaceful as that bastard deserved," he mumbled into your shoulder; in his thick brummie accent.

You stayed glued to the man like two trees rooted side by side, for a few minutes. Finally, after what felt like a short period of time, but would have probably been minutes; you reluctantly pulled away, bringing your palm to cup his cheek as you leaned in to kiss him; waiting for the minute the fireworks will erupt.

The kiss was warm, his lips plump and salty, a bit dry, owing the countless cigarettes the man smoked during the day but he knew how to make you weak in the knees but just a kiss, making you want more and more. "Oh Tommy.. Tommy.." His name slipped out of your tongue, your honey like voice repeating it as though it will fly away if you stopped saying it.

Tommy grunted in response to you dragging out his name from your lips, his arms grabbing you by your hips and lifting you up slightly. The moment your feet lifted off the ground, you locked your legs behind Tommy, who had by now seated you on the embalming slab, his hands raking over your sides, trying to feel your curves and inches.

You were panting in desire by the time you felt Tommy hoist your skirt up, running his cold fingers along your inner thigh, in a teasing manner. Your core was throbbing, your panties already soaked and waiting for him.

"Tommy please." You whined, need dripping off your lips like saliva.

"Oh the things you bloody do to me." Tommy murmured, letting his palm rub over your lips over the fabric of your panties, letting out an inaudible grunt when he felt his fingers start coating with your slick, even before he'd taken off your panties, "I haven't even done anything yet, and look at you, getting all wet for me already, yeah?"

"All you have to do is look at me like that, Mr. Shelby," You purred through pursed lips, fluttering your lashes.

"I want to do a lot more than to just look at you, love."

Tommy's hands came to rest over your shoulders, and you felt the strap of your dress slide off, letting your bare shoulders glisten under the semi lit light of the embalming room. Pressing his knee in the space between your legs, Tommy bent slightly, taking in your hard, erect nipple into his mouth, letting his tongue teasingly swipe over it before he started ravishing your nipples, one by one. Instinctively, your hands flew to his head, your fingers burrowing in his matted hair, tugging on it. You arched your needy core forward towards him, hoping that the friction and the heat from his body would provide a soothing pleasure to your aching core.

"Impatient, aren't we?" Tommy smirked, slowly letting himself drop on his knees, so your core was parallel to his face.

"Tommy, please," you pleaded, your voice heavy and coated with lust.

Your panties were tugged down, and Tommy's digits ran fervently over your entrance in a teasing manner, causing you to throw your head back and let out a whimper. His finger finally slid into you, causing you to squirm at the welcome visitor to your body.

"You like that, eh, you like being my whore?"

You bit your lip, letting your palms out of Tommy's hair as you started rubbing your own breasts in a teasing manner.

"It takes two to tango, Thomas, if I'm your whore, then what are you to me?"

Your question was buried without an answer, and you didn't ask again. But this was because you felt you had lost your capacity to think. The feeling of Tommy's lips, pressed to your core, his tongue sliding in and out of your entrance, circling around your sweet spot was too much to keep your wits. You fell backwards, spreading your legs as wide as you could, to provide the man an easy passage.

"Tommy, I'm going to —"

You felt fireworks in your body, a sudden feeling of ecstacy, of what you'd call nirvana. Your eyes clouded with pleasure as you came even before you could provide Tommy with the warning, squirting all over his face. Satisfied with himself, Tommy slowly pulled back, licking your juices off his lips; and all you could think was, how hot he looked, with your juices all over his mouth.

"I thought it will take a lot bloody more to get you to do that, love," he smirked, pulling himself back up on his feet as he unbuckled his trousers and slowly let it fall to the ground. You could already see the massive tent poking out like a mountain in his boxers so you reached out, grabbing his cock over the fabric of it, stroking it, feeling it get even harder under your touch.

"Fucking hell," he grunted, letting his eyes shut for a brief second before he tugged off his boxers and adjusted himself right at your entrance.

Your eyes met his; as though he was asking your permission. You didn't know why you did it, or why he let you do it but you leaned forward, letting your lips meet his, the exact same moment he slid his erect cock into you, slowly filling you up. It wasn't just sex, it was something much more, he was making love to you.

"Am I still your whore?" You murmured, your panting heavy and bothered.

"You'll always be my whore in bed, look at you, driving me nuts with that tight little cunt." He murmured back.

When you both finally came undone, panting and moaning and covered in sweat and each other's bodily fluids, Tommy slowly fell on you, exhausted, his eyes shut, his head buried between the crevice of your breasts. You wrapped your hand gently around his neck, holding him close. It felt strangely intimate, and strangely, you felt your heartstrings being tugged at. This was an all new feeling for you; you had never experienced anything remotely close to this.

Were you falling for him?

Or was it just lust?

What if he just left you after today?

What if you were his means of getting his stress out?

These questions that you asked yourself were enough to give you an answer for your first one.

You were falling for him. And you were scared he'll leave you. And you were scared that your heart will be ripped apart, and there will be no one to mend it.

Instinctively, you winced and pushed him off you. He was startled, confused and he followed you with his eyes. You pulled up your panties and tugged the skirt of your dress back in place and pulled the straps back up, adjusting your dress again.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

"They must be looking for me, yeah?" You mumbled, absentmindedly. You couldn't, for some reason, look at him.

He didn't reply. From the corner of your ears, you heard the sound of the fabric of his trousers, that he had finally pulled back up and buttoned. He then slid on his wrinkled shirt and started shuffling through the contents of his trousers pocket to look for his packet of cigarettes.

You sighed, grabbing your box of cigarettes that was laying abandoned on the embalming table, and tossed it to him. He caught it mid air, pulling out a stick and sticking it into his mouth.

"This was just sex to you, wasn't it?" He was blunt, his voice cold, unlike what you had seen him the two times you had met him. Up close. Up front. He was now what he showed the rest of the world that he was. But his question was raw, bringing out the broken man inside him, a man who'd been trampled on, left, rejected.

"That's the funny thing, Mr. Shelby." You whispered, your voice soft, broken as you looked down at your hands, nervously fumbling with the hem of your dress, so you didn't have to meet his cold icy stare. "I wish it was just sex to me. But unfortunately, it's not. And I'm not ready to get my heart broken even before its fucking started beating again, you know?"

The man let out a soft sigh, smoke coiling around him as he exhaled and he slowly walked up to where you were standing, hesitantly.

"This has been lovely, Thomas and you have saved my life, saved me from a monster. If I can ever repay ─" Your palm mechanically flew up to his chin, slowly cupping his cheek, your thumb stroking against the side of his face. You had half expected him to move away from this affectionate embrace, but he didn't. Infact, he seemed to melt into it.

"You can repay me."

Your hand fell to your side, clenching at the fabric of your dress.

There he was, finally revealing the truth, of course he wanted something from you.

"What?" You almost snapped.

As if thinking, the man in front of you blinked , before you saw him slide his palm into his pocket and pull something out. You couldn't see it, whatever it was, was too tiny and was masked securely inside his palm, sheilded from your eyes.

"I know this is not the most appropriate places to ask, but will you marry me?"

You took a step away, or rather, your body suddenly went limp with elation. You couldn't feel your legs, it was as if your knees had turned to jelly. You'd heard it right, didn't you?

"Say that again, will ya?" You croak.

Tommy shook his head, almost faintly, with a tiny of annoyance in his eyes, but somehow he did it again. But this time, even more creatively. Your eyes widened as you saw him go down on his knees, and this time it was different. It wasn't sexual and he wasn't going to ravage your pussy with his mouth. He opened the box and in rested a beautiful diamond ring, the diamond massive enough for your heart to leap in joy. It was beautiful.

"You, Miss (Y/N) (L/N), will you finally accept my offer to marry you, yeah?"

You couldn't help but laugh. He really didn't know how to do this.

"Is this a business deal?" You chuckled, throwing your palm out that he caught with his free hand.

"A business deal for a fucking lifetime." He slowly slid the ring over your ring finger and you swear you saw a warm smile on his face, as he looked up at you, with love.

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby x reader smut

[soyforramen]

Blame @sullypants for this one since weird dreams are a common theme lately:

“Hey, Jug.”

Shaken by some unknown force, Jughead groaned and nestled further into his arms.  

“C’mon, wake up,” Archie said, his voice coming from a universe away.  

Sleep was a dense fog that settled in behind Jughead’s eyelids and he couldn’t muster the energy to push it away.  He’d fallen asleep in school again, that much he could discern from the hard table beneath him.  But at least the desk was a lot more comfortable than the janitor’s closet had been.

“Dude, let’s go,” Reggie said.  

With a hard tug, Jughead was snapped awake.  With a wide yawn he stretched out, his back giving a satisfyingly loud crack.

“What’s up?”

“School’s over, Rip Van Jones,” Reggie said.  With a roll of his eyes, he ran a hand through his already slicked back hair.  “The girls are waiting for us at Pop’s.  Apparently we have to have a set list for Sunday and they wanted to go over it after school.  Or at least we were supposed to before this knucklehead got us detention from Grundy again.”

Jughead blinked, convinced he’d heard Reggie wrong.  Grundy was dead, murdered by the Black Hood.  Even if she had come back to life, what was she doing around high schoolers?

“How was I supposed to know she meant a rhyme scheme from Donna Sweet and not Saweetie,” Archie muttered.  “Besides, if we leave right now we still might make it before they ditch us.”

Wait, sweater vest.  Why was Archie wearing a sweater vest?  And was was Reggie acting so cordial?  

Certain that this was another weird dream, Jughead reached for his Serpent’s jacket and found that the back of his chair was empty.  Serpent’s jacket?  

“I still think that we should ditch Jingle Jangle,” Reggie said as he headed out the door.

“What?  It’s my best work,” Archie said as he followed him out.  

With another yawn, Jughead picked up his books and followed them out into the cool autumn air.  With a start, he realized that it was just a dream, a really weird dream to be exact.  There was no biker gang that gave out jackets to kids like candy.  He and Archie and Reggie had always been a strange sort of friends; and Grundy was never anything more than a septuagenarian determined to drive herself into an early grade by teaching high brow literature to idiot high schoolers.

On the way to Pop’s, Jughead ignored Archie and Reggie’s argument over some girl the next town over and worked to piece together the dream.  It had all been so real that it wasn’t a wonder he’d been confused.  Everything in Riverdale had been the same as it was now, except it was all off just enough to cast a dark shadow across their sleepy little town.  

Hiram Lodge, a well known philanthropist and entrepreneur who tolerated his daughter’s friends was not a corrupt Wall-Street con-man looking to rule the world.  The Coopers, an All American family, was not rife with dark secrets that would eventually tear them apart.  The Blossom’s, while certainly devious and conniving in their own ways, were not ripped from the pages of a gothic horror novel.

And the Jones…

Jughead shuddered at the thought.  Sure, they weren’t the perfect family.  But they loved each other, took care of each other, and were as normal as they could be.  That image of his family brought up a wave of guilt about how his subconscious had portrayed his parents.

(He couldn’t help but grin, however, at the idea that baby Jellybean could not only hold her own, but was a fan of Led Zeppelin.  It was a nice touch.  Maybe he’d roundup his mother’s old records tonight and he’d teach her to appreciate the finer things in life.)

But it wasn’t until they’d walked into Pop’s to find the girls seated at their regular booth that the realization that this Betty - sweet, caring, lovely Betty - wasn’t his that he felt a pang of longing for his dream world.  Despite how horrific that dream had been, Betty was the golden lining in that dark world, a comfort meant only for him.

The feeling passed quickly when Betty’s eyes locked on Archie.  Jughead couldn’t help but wonder, though, what if things had been different?

For the rest of the afternoon, the members of The Archie’s debated and argued over the set list, while Jughead did what he did best.  While Archie was arguing for the merits of Sugar, Sugar, Jughead polished off three baskets of fries and a milkshake.  When Veronica demanded to sing Bang-Shang-A-Lang solo, Jughead ate two and a half cheeseburgers and drank half a pot of coffee.  As Reggie was arguing for… well, whatever it was he wanted, Jughead nursed a chocolate milkshake and a basket of fries (extra chili cheese, heavy on the onions and cheese, add bacon).

Occasionally he inserted his own opinion - no he would not let Reggie ruin another drum set just so he could show off to Ginger Lopez, nor was it feasible for Veronica to burst out, and ruin, his kick drum at the start of the show.  But even as he played at normalcy, his mind kept coming back to that dream.  Detention with Grundy could never be long enough to contain an entirely parallel universe, and yet it was the most realistic dream he’d ever had.

“Earth to Juggie,” Betty said as she waved her hand in front of his face.  He blinked, his gaze centering on her, and she giggled.   “Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

He glanced around and found that despite his attempts to stay present, he and Betty were the only two left.

“Veronica roped Archie into installing shelves for her,” Betty explained with an over exaggerated pout.  She then pointed over to where Reggie was chatting a short, dark haired teen.  “And Midge came in without Moose, so you know Reggie’s not going to miss that opportunity.”

Midge.

The world around Jughead spun and he felt lightheaded when he stood.  He walked over to where the pair stood at the counter, and when Midge turned to him Jughead wrapped her in a tight hug, tears threatening to pour from his eyes.

“You alright there, needle nose?” Reggie asked, his eyes filled with concern.  

Apparently Jughead hadn’t been able to play as normal as he’d thought.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said, loosening his hold.  He stared at Midge, still trying to comprehend why he felt so relieved that it was all just a dream. “I’m just… happy to see you is all.”

“I’m always happy to see you, Jughead,” Midge said.  She placed the back of her hand across his forehead, the corners of her lips pinched.  “But maybe you should let Betty take you home?”

Jughead nodded as the surreal threatened to overwhelm him.  When he turned, he found Betty behind him, her arms full of their schoolbooks.  She set a hand on his arm and gave an encouraging, if worried, smile.  It was easy enough to let her lead him out of the diner.  That way he could remind himself that the world where Midge had been slaughtered wasn’t real.

“Penny for your thoughts?  Or maybe I should offer a nickel?” Betty asked.  When he didn’t respond, she bumped her hip into his.

The contact, friendly, playing, concerned, burned his side.  It brought up just how touchy they were in his dream world, along with false memories of things he’d never paid any attention to before (especially not about her).  He shivered and quickened his step.  Betty, ever the Teflon personality, matched his stride and slipped her arm through his.  

“Just a strange dream,” he muttered, far too distracted by how much heat she gave out to come up with a good lie.

“Sounds like a pretty intense dream if you’re still thinking about it this much.”

And with that simple statement, the entire thing tumbled out of him.  Nothing was left out, though Jughead did edit some of the more intimate moments they’d spent together in his dream.  He was so wrapped up in making sure to include all the details - the corruption, the ever-burning ember of hope, the rocket - that he almost missed the fact that Betty had guided them through the town square three times as he divulged the dirty laundry about the underground boxing rings and Maple Club.

By the time they’d reached his house it was twilight and he was telling her about the prep school murders and fake FBI stings.  His mother (his real mother, thankfully, and not the drug running mom that had run out on him) brought them out dinner just as he got to his own faked death.  

And for the first time in his life, Jughead’s entire focus wasn’t on getting seconds (and thirds).

When he was finally done with his tale, Betty let out a long whistle.  She pushed around the remaining bits of pie on her plate, lost in thought.  Now that his head was empty of that bizarre dream, Jughead’s appetite came back with a vengeance. He leaned over and snatched the rest of her pie crust and popped it into his mouth.

“Well?” he prompted, curious to get her take on his dream.  

“Do you think the fish Ms. Beezley served today was off?”

He rolled his eyes and grinned at her ability to lighten the mood.   Jughead leaned back and set his elbows against the porch step behind him to look up at the sky.  Betty set her plate down and sat down next to him, primly smoothing out her skirt before she spoke.

“Do you really think we …” she paused.  “My mother?  And your dad?”

Jughead groaned and ran a hand down his face.  “I’d hate to think what Freud would say.”

“Well, he’d definitely agree it wasn’t a pipe,” she snickered.  “Maybe your subconscious is trying to tell you something?”

“Convince Archie that Jingle-Jangle is a terrible song to play to middle schoolers?”

She shrugged.  “Maybe.  Maybe not.”

As the world turned around them, they sat in companionable silence.  As curious as Jughead was to know what Betty really thought, it was these quiet moments with her that he felt truly at peace.  Perhaps that’s what the dream had signified.  With all the clamor and turmoil over senior year and applying for colleges, maybe his brain was trying to tell him to slow down and enjoy these little moments more.

Or maybe it was just a sign he shouldn’t shotgun a whole liter of soda before Grundy’s lecture on Dashiell Hammet.

“Walk me home?” Betty asked suddenly.

Without waiting for an answer, she hopped up and pulled Jughead to his feet, the same as they’d done a million times before.  Only this time Betty tugged a little too hard and Jughead stumbled into her.  He was about to apologize when he noticed the twinkle of mischief in her eyes.  To hide his smile, he bent over and tucked his shoulder into her stomach.  Betty shrieked as he lifted her up over her shoulder, precariously balancing the two of them as he picked up her books.

“Put me down Jones,” she said through her laughter, “or I’m telling Ethyl that you’d love to play D&D with her.”

“Dirty pool, Cooper,” he shot back as he casually sauntered down the block to her house.  He ignored the faint whisper of the peaches and cream lotion she used on her skin and the breathless lilt of her voice.  Because no matter how right it felt in the dream, they were only friends here. “And it’s G&G, remember?”

Once back on solid ground, Betty slipped her arm through his and they strolled along under the streetlights.  Just another night in the neighborhood without a care in the world.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad,” she said almost absentmindedly.  When she didn’t elaborate, Jughead’s heart gave a heavy, painful thump.  “I could always use more help with the B&G.”

He snorted and reached up to scratch his forehead to ignore the sudden disappointment.  “Toni does have some strong opinions about the gym’s new paint job.”

Betty stuck her tongue out at him, her face scrunched.  Jughead almost tripped trying not to kiss the tip of her nose.

His mood darkened when they reached her house.  Archie was on the front porch, napping, and the small seed of possibility withered into dust.  But instead of running towards Archie, Betty paused next to him.  Her teeth worked across her lip and she stared, unfocused at him.  Her hand on Jughead’s arm tightened and she shifted almost imperceptibly towards him.

With a small nod, Betty stood up on her toes and kissed Jughead on the cheek.  He flushed as the sun exploded in his chest.  

“Meet me at Pop’s tomorrow after school.  There’s a new French movie at the Bijou, and I’d hate it if Veronica saw it before me.”

He knew the smile on his face was just as goofy as the one’s he made fun of Archie for, but Jughead couldn’t help but wonder at this strange new turn.  For once, he was excited to spend time alone with a girl.  (He was always excited to spend time with Betty Cooper, but this time she wasn’t just Betty.)

His smile lasted all the way home and continued until he settled into bed.  Just as he was falling asleep, his phone rang with a text from Betty.

‘Some of your dream sounded nice enough to try out in real life, don’t you think?’

To say that Jughead had trouble falling asleep for the first time was an understatement.

#bughead fanfiction #bughead appreciation week #thank you sully for letting me know we're all having weird dreams lately #and boom #this #trope 1: it was all just a dream #also i'm without anything but the most basic internet so i'll be a ghost in the machine again #but also i didn't want to do my art homework (which has nothing to do with art but ya know) #so #also thank you anon ;.; got me crying over here #i will answer you just when i have functioning internet

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 22)

She is sick with over-exhaustion, with starvation and dehydration when they find her. She doesn’t have the energy to lift her head. She barely has the energy to part her lips when the man brings a waterskin to them. The woman hoists her up and tilts her head and Azula practically inhales the water. Suckling from the waterskin until it is as bone dry as her throat had been moments before. The woman helps her lay back and drapes a cool rag over her forehead.

She falls in and out of sleep and sometimes she finds herself in a state somewhere between. A state where the steady rocking and bumping of the ostrich-horse drawn caravan makes her feel as though she is a drift in the ocean. It comes with a sense of dread to think that she is somewhere floating in a vast, deep blue nowhere.

Sometimes when she manages to open her eyes the tarp is down and she can see the stars, can smell the crackling of a fire and something sizzling over it. Each time she is too fatigued to ask for a portion. The woman makes sure that she has a drink from the waterskin, even when she isn’t lucid--Azula is certain that the woman does so even when she is out cold. She never wakes up to a dry throat.

The man informs her that she is running a pretty decent fever when she comes around enough to sit herself up.

“Where am I?”

“We’re nearly across the plains.” He answers.

She tries to rub the fog from her eyes, shake the delirium and tiredness from her head. She feels as though she may just topple again. At the soft rumble of her belly, the woman holds out an apple. Azula takes it with eager hands. Only after several bites does she ask, “are we going to a village?”

“Little lumber and fishing town called Badgermole’s Hollow.” The man answers.

She nods and chucks the apple core over the side of the caravan. “Why are you…” she gestures to the waterskin and the blankets they have her swaddled in.

“Well we very well couldn’t just leave you there!” The woman exclaims as though that explained everything. Because the fact is, they very well could have left her, it would have been less of a burden to them. She recalls how many others have just decided to take her in as though she were a dear friend that they have just reunited with.

And perhaps this is something that the Earth Kingdom--or, at least, the more rustic parts of it--do better than the Fire Nation.

“Who are you?”

The woman laughs, “Min-Ta and this is my husband, Hao-Bai.”

“And you?” Hao-Bai asks.

Her mind wanders between Rikka and Azula before she finally settles on, “Azula.” She is too tired to keep on top of even a small lie.

She expects a question or two and she gets one, but it isn’t the question she had braced herself for. “You trying to get back to the Fire Nation?”

Azula nods at the man. She holds up a bag of coins that she has managed to hold onto. “I can get myself to Yon-Rah.” She isn’t sure what she will do then; Earth Kingdom coin won’t do her anything at all in the Fire Nation.

She lays back down and rolls onto her side, her eyes feel so very heavy. Min-Ta hums softly and carefully drapes another cool rag over her head, “you just rest now, until that fever’s run its course.”

She rests until they come to a stop that night. On slightly wobbling legs she comes to join the couple at their little fire. Min-Ta’s face lights up, “good to see that you’re feeling strong enough to join us.”

“Have some ale.” The man offers.

Azula finds herself a seat and silently drinks. Though it is somewhat bitter, it warms her belly. She isn’t sure what sort of meat the man is cooking, but it smells rather divine. She finds herself looking around. The grassland, now mostly behind them sprawls out endlessly waving and undulating beneath the stars. Dew catches in the moonlight and it brings a unique sort of sweet smell.

For the first time she truly deserves the couple and their caravan. They are a clean and well put together duo--it only just registers to her that they have kept her very clean and tidy. Their caravan is well maintained and she notices a second cart next to it. A team of four ostrich-horses graze nearby alongside another two--likely to pull the main caravan. They have a set of well cleaned and undaunted pots and pans and several other tools.

They themselves are in good condition as well. Hao-Bai is a burly man with a tamed beard. His muscles are so huge that she can see him pulling the caravan on his own if he must. He has a tattoo of a badgermole sitting on a tree stump inked onto his rather hairy chest. He looks as though he should smell musky but instead she smells only a fresh pine resin and the smoke of their fire clinging to his clothes.

His wife is decently muscular as well, her eyes are the brightest green that Azula has ever seen. Her hair is short and braided and she smells of the forest as well. With a second glance, Azula realizes that she is pregnant. She swallows and tries to put her mind anywhere else.

“Do you travel a lot?”

Hao-Bai flashes a grin. “It’s part of how we make a living.”

“I like to think that we’re experts at crossing the plains now.” Min-Ta adds.

“I wish I had the skills.”

Min-Ta quirks a brow. “If you came from Chin then you made it quite far. Most people don’t make it more than a week or so on foot. You have to know at least a little something.”

Or she simply has a strange dash of luck to cut through her misfortune. She sets her glass of ale aside.

Hao-Bai leaves the fire for a moment and comes back with a pipa. “How would you like to hear an Earth Kingdom traveling song.”

“That sounds pleasant.”

Min-Ta smiles. “Hao just loves to show off his pipa skills.” She leans in and whispers, “his vocals can use some work.”

Sometimes lessons are simple and light. That night she learns old Earth Kingdom songs.  

.oOo.

She sits in the grass with a pipa in hand. She doesn’t know how to play it very well, but it keeps her mind busy and it seems to delight the servants regardless. She wonders if she can work out the words to say if she forms them as a song first.

She thinks that she is only stalling but it doesn’t seem appropriate to just pound on Sokka’s door so late at night, now that she has put off talking to him long enough for the sun to have fallen completely.

“You’re playing off key!” The man in question accuses. “You have to tune it before playing it.”

“Have you ever played a pipa?”

“No, but I watched Aang play a few times.” Sokka smiles. “He, Katara, and Toph are gonna be here soon.”  He notes more to himself.

“Exactly how soon is soon?”

He shrugs. “I guess that depends on the sailor.”

Azula once again finds herself at least slightly perplexed. He has approached her with such ease as if nothing has happened between them at all. As if there were never any tension. She looks up from her pipa and into his soft blue eyes.

She wishes that he would just get it over with, that he would demand to know why she had been leading him on. Instead he asks, “want me to try to tune it for you?”

Azula nods and passes him her instrument. He twists a peg and gives the pipa a strum, repeating this several times until she finally asks, “shouldn’t you be mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

Azula shrugs. “You haven’t talked to me since…”

“I thought that you’d want some space to think about things.”

She nods.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Did you think about them?”

She nods again.

“And…”

“I have decided that it isn’t fair.”

Sokka’s brows scrunch and he sets the pipa aside. “What isn’t fair, Azula?”

Absently her fingers reach for the stone until she remembers that it is safely sealed up in Bao. “I still think about Hajime when I’m with you.” Even if she doesn’t mean to she often finds herself drawing parallels between the two of them.

“I don’t mind.” Sokka reassures, his hand comes to squeeze her shoulder. “Hajime is important to you, he isn’t just going to go away.  Yue didn’t, even when I was with Suki.” He pauses. “She’s still here and so is Suki. They were both so different from each other and you’re much different than both of them.”

She doesn’t think that she is different is a good way. And yet Sokka holds her as though she is. “I don’t want to compare you to Hajime all the time.”

“I don’t mind, Hajime was the first person to really love you, wasn’t he?”

Azula nods affirmatively. There was Seyhyuk, but that was much different. An example of forced love that was meant to be a friendship. That isn’t how Sokka feels.

“You can compare your relationship with him if it helps you navigate a new one.”

She is quiet for a while, simply staring at Sokka with parted lips. He laughs and tucks her hair behind her ear. “It you need some more time to think about it…”

“I don’t.”

He gives her the most delighted grin. “Great, I was hoping that you wouldn’t because I’ve been meaning to give you something.”

She tilts her head, “and what would that be.”

He tilts her chin up and offers her lips the softest kiss. When he pulls back he is still stroking her cheek with his thumb. She thinks that her face might be slightly flushed. “If you want to take it slower, just let me know.”

Azula nods again. “This is fine.” More than fine really. It is nice to be loved again. Nice to be kissed again. Nice to have someone who is willing to wait for her and work through her hesitations.

Sokka motions for her to sit on his lap. She picks up her pipa and makes herself comfortable with her head resting against his chest and her hands resting atop the pipa. He cups a hand over hers. She makes a point of ignoring TyLee and Mai creeping about in the bushes.

#Avatar The Last Airbender #Azula #Sokka #Sokkla #Fanfiction

[rebelbyrdie]

Swan Queen Fic:  The Looking Glass (2 of 3)

More Parallel Universe Shenanigans with a big dose of cuteness.  Oh and a trigger warning for mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation.

No editing.  No beta.  This is true BS writing.

Mother was gone, again.  Dead by her own hand.  Regina was curled up in her bed. She was cold but couldn’t make herself move to pull back the covers.  She was aching from head to toe.  Inside and out. ��

Everything was lost.  She had nothing and no one.  She was more alone now then she’d ever been.  

Mother, Father, Daniel. Maleficent.  Tinkerbelle. Everyone she loved was gone. Perhaps it was better that Henry left. He was young, sweet and good.  She was cancer.  She could only poison him.  Again.  She’d already almost killed him once.  

Evil Queen.  She destroyed everything she touched.  She killed everyone she loved.  She had no soul.  Evil Queen.

Perhaps it was time that the Evil Queen joined her loved ones.  It was certainly not the first time she’d entertained the thought of suicide.  It had been a sort of morbid fascination of hers for years.  Since the night she’d felt Daniel grow cold and stiff in her arms.  She had tried a few times, but had survived.  

Father had found her just after the wedding and had forced her to vomit the liqour and nightshade she’d drank.

Tinkerbelle had caught her before her leap from the balcony had come to a sudden end.

Snow’s pity and conscience had gotten the better of her and she’d stopped the arrows at her execution.

There was no one to stop her this time.  No reason to stop her.  

Regina rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.  Suicidal ideation had been the background radiation of her life for so many years that the thought of finally ending it all was almost comforting.  Peace.  She would finally have peace.

The town would probably declare it a holiday, complete with a ticker-tape parade.  Children would be excused from school.  There might even be a festival.  They might even burn her in effigy every year and set off fireworks.  Storyrbooke’s version of Bonfire Night.

Father would offer her wine and would keep her company until what he called her meloncholia had passed. He would tell her stories of his homeland and sing to her in Spanish until she fell asleep.

Mother would call her weak.  Between torture and manipulation she would twist her suicidal thoughts into homicidal ones then release her onto an unsuspecting and defenceless Storybrooke.

Tinkerbelle would get her up and moving.  Drag her out to drink and socialize.  Make her see that there was something positive in the world left to see and do.

Daniel would hold her close.  Call her sweetheart.  Make her laugh and smile until the tears stopped.

Maleficent would lay in bed with her.  They would get drunk, or perhaps high.  Sometimes they had sex, sometimes not.  She rarely said anything. She would stay, though.  She always until she was sure Regina was stable again.

They were all gone, though,  Regina was alone.  If God, or Gods, or Fate or Destiny or whatever wanted her to live, they needed to send her a sign.

Regina had screamed this, or something similar, out into the void countless times.  She’d never gotten an answer and didn’t expect one now.

Several things happened in rapid succession.  The mirror in the corner of her bedroom started to shake.  She turned her head just in time to see the glass ripple and violet smoke start to pour out of it.  A small shadow came through the glass.  Then the mirror shattered.  Glass fell everywhere and the shadow started to scream and cry.

A child’s cry.  Her instincts reacted before her brain did.  She jerked out of the bed and turned on the lamp in one move.  She hit her feet and scooped the tiny figure off of the mirror covered floor.  Then she breathed.  The lamp filled the room with a little warm light.

The shadow in her arms was a child.  A little girl, to be precise.  She was screaming, crying and clinging to her fiercely.  

It had been years since Regina had held and soothed a toddler.  She had no idea what had happened or who the girl was, but that didn’t matter. She was here and she clearly needed someone to take care of her.  How could anybody, even an Evil Queen, do anything else?  So she shushed the girl, and rocked her. 

Regina stepped around the glass then, belatedly, remembered that she had magic.  She cleared the mess away with a flick of her hand. Then she returned her attention to the girl.

“It’s okay, princess.”  She didn’t know the girls name so she improvised.  “You’re safe.  Whatevers happened is all over now.  You’re safe.  No one is going to hurt you here.  I’ve got you.”

When Henry had been this age, that was often all he’d needed to hear.  His Mommy had him and would keep him safe.  

Regina started to humm as she stroked the child’s back and carded her fingers through her tangled curls.  She hummed an old lullaby.  The same one she’d used with Henry.  The same one her father had sang to her.  She didn’t remember the words anymore, but she did know the tune.

Slowly, after several minutes of humming and rocking, the baby started to speak.  Her voice was small and shaky but Regina could hear and understand her.

“Hair, Mommy.”

The girl looked up and Regina was struck by her eye.  They were a haunting mix of blue and green.  They were familiar, but she couldn’t quite place how.  

“Where hair?”

Regina hadn’t been called Mommy in years.  She had no idea why this tiny stranger was calling her that, but it didn’t matter at the moment.

“My hair?”

She regarded the girl.  Children were odd little creatures at the best of times.  This girl was small, but based on her speech and the fact that she was not (as far as Regina could tell) wearing a diaper, she had to be around three or so.  

Big tears started to form and fall from the baby’s eyes.  “Hair.  Hair.  Hair.”  She reached up and tried to hold onto Regina’s dark hair.  It was too short for much of a grip, though.

The little girl’s breathing started to hitch and wheeze.  Regina blinked and jerked when she realized that the girl sounded like she was about to have an asthma attack.  Regina knew because she’d been afflicted with asthma when she’d been small too.

She didn’t have an inhaler.  They’d have to go to the hospital.  Her brian started to go into overdrive.  

“Hair!”  The girl was crying and her breathing was becoming worse.  She was starting to panic and Regina had no idea why.  

So she closed her eyes, concentrated and let her magic do the work.  Her hair, kept short for years, started to grow.  Her magic allowed her hair to grow long and thick quickly.  It hit then spilled over her shoulders in seconds.  Now weighed down her hair started to wave, curl, then spiral.  It kept growing.  If she had a mirror, she was sure that it would be astonishing to see.  

Little hands grabbed on and wrapped around her hair.  A little face hid against it.  The girl slowly calmed down again.  Her sobs turned to sniffles and her wheezing returned to a calm and normal breathing pattern.  Not asthma, Regina realized, panic.  The toddler had been having a panic attack and her hair was acting like a security blanket.

She stopped the spell when the girl finally calmed all the way down.  Her hair was now as long as it had been when she’d been a girl.  It was more then waist long and if she wasn’t careful, she would sit on it.  

“Mommy.”  The girl spoke quietly.  After the ordeal she had tired herself out.  “The scary lady not here?”

Most people would say that Regina was a scary lady.  This little girl obviously disagreed.  

“No, my little princess, she’s not here.”

“Safe?”  

It was such a sad and scary thing for a three year old to ask.  Regina’s heart hurt and she wondered what the girl had seen and lived through.  What had she been through to make her so scared?

“You’re safe with me.  We’re safe here.”

The baby yawned.  “Kay.  Mama sent.”

That didn’t make much sense, of course three year olds weren’t exactly fountains of information either.  

The girl pulled a  folded piece of paper out of the oversized tunic she was wearing.  

“Read please.”

Regina unfolded the paper and squinted at the writing.  She didn’t have her glasses, but even without them, she recognized thee handwriting.  It was her own.

//Dear Regina,

There is not much time now.  This is Helena.  She turns three on November the eighth//

So Regina had guessed correctly.  She was almost three, but she was very small for her age.  She was reading out loud in a slow and soft voice.  She pointed at each word.  

She had read to Henry that way too.  He’d loved being read to.  Of course she had read him Curious George and If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.  

//There is war here and we are being hunted.  Helena is not safe here so we are sending her to you.  To me.  To us.

To simplify things, I am you and you are me.  The difference is that you cast the Dark Curse and I did not.  Marcus DeLawl was right about parallel realms.//

Really?  She’d read his books and theories years ago.  Most people had considered him to be an idiot or a madman.  She had thought it was plausible.  There were separate realms:  Oz, Wonderland, The World Without Magic.  Why not alternates?  She had seen countless television shows and movies about it.  She had even read about string theory and the theoretical physics that surrounded it.  Of course she now had living and breathing proof of alternate realities.

“You-”  She looked at the girl curled up on her lap.  She-Helena- was sucking her thumb and playing with Regina’s hair.  “-are from a parallel universe?”

Helena didn’t answer, but Regina hadn’t expected her to.

//Protect her.  She is the only good thing I’ve ever done.//

She recognized her signature at the bottom.  Her heart went out to this other Regina.  They were different.  That Regina had not cast the Curse.  They were the same, they were both mothers who just wanted to protect their babies.

Her baby, Henry, was across town.  He would be an amazing brother.  It was funny.  Helena looked a bit like Henry when he was her age.  It was the shape of her nose and ears.  It was the shape of her front teeth and the way that her little incisors were a little crooked.  Henry had sucked his thumb too.  

Helena was asleep.  A sleeping baby was the most calming thing in the world.  She very carefully stood to pull the covers back from the bed so she could ease Helena into the middle of the bed.  She arranged the pillows on the far side of the bed to make sure she didn’t roll.  

She’d done the same for Henry.  She had co-slept with him for longer than the books recommended.  He had been such a cuddly little boy.  She missed him, desperately.  It was a physical pain in her chest.  

Regina looked down at the girl, Helena.  Her heart lurched in her chest.  A daughter.  A little trans-dimensional angel.  She already loved her.

Regina wanted to hide Helena away.  She wanted to keep her safe and secret.  She knew that would lead to disaster.  Emma, Henry and the Two Idiots would never leave her alone.  It would only be a matter of time.  They would eventually demand something, or blame something on her.  They would come knocking and when they saw Helena it would be war.  

Not to mention that children did not do well when they were cooped up.  No.  Helena was here now and for who knew how long.  While she was in Storybrooke, Regina wanted her to enjoy herself.  She wanted to show the little girl everything this world had to offer.

So they were going to Granny’s for Helena’s first breakfast.  After that she was taking her to the toy store.  Then they needed to get her clothes and some furniture.  Regina needed to convert one of the guest bedrooms.  Helena deserved a bedroom fit for well, a princess.

Regina dressed carefully, conservatively.  She layered fabrics like armor.  She wore a three piece suit, complete with waist coat, all black.  She put on a dark purple blouse beneath. She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror with a critical eye. She would need to do a full makeup job today.  To hide the lack of sleep and the fact that she had spent most of last night crying, mourning.  She was wearing mourning colors.  It was appropriate, she supposed. Mother had only died yesterday, after all.  

Mother.

Regina paused.  If Helena had arrived even a day earlier then Cora would have seen her.  Met her.  Hurt her.  Regina wrapped her arms around herself.  The dichotomy of pain and relief was wreaking havoc with her emotions.  

“Up.”  Helena tugged on her pants leg.  “Please.”

The little girl was very quiet and nervous.  She took everything in with wide eyes but asked very few questions.  

That worried Regina  Three year olds were practically 90% questions.  Henry had been, at least.  The girl had to be confused by what she saw around her.  Regina had spent hours in the bathroom alone in the first days of the curse.  It had all been fascinating and new.  She’d wanted to know everything.

She didn’t want to intimidate the girl, though.  She was only a baby, and had already been through enough trauma.

She sat her on the counter between the two sinks.  “Well, Princess.  What shall you wear today?”  

The little dressing gown she wore might have been acceptable in The Enchanted Forest, but it would never do in Maine.  

Helena didn’t answer.  She was playing with Regina’s hair instead.  

“Helena.”  She wasn’t sure how to talk to the girl.  She was so different then Henry.  “Do you want a dress or breeches and a tunic?”  She was careful to use words that Helena would recognize.

The girl looked up from Regina’s hair.

“You’re not wearing a dress.”  

Regina nodded.  “Today I’m wearing breeches because I want to.”

“Mama likes breetches.”

Regina frowned at the word.  She switched between Mommy and Mama occasionally.  Regina wasn’t sure if she was trying to differentiate between her and the other universe’s Regina or not.

The girl still seemed unsure, scared.  There had been so many fast and drastic changes in her little life.  

Regina smiled.  “Or we can do both?”  A dress and tights might be a good compromise.  It would, perhaps, make the decision easier and it would ensure that Helena was warm enough.  “What is your favorite color?”

Surely she knew her colors.  This alternate version of herself would have taught her that at least.

“Yellow.”  Helena answered immediately.

Regina smiled and booped the girl on the nose with a single finger.  “I like yellow too.”

She closed her eyes, pictured a little girl’s clothes in her head and conjured them. They appeared on the counter with a small purple swirl.  Helena didn’t seem surprised or impressed with the magic.  She did, however, like the dress.  It was bright yellow with a sequined duck on the front and ruffled sleeves.  White tights and underpants, and tiny yellow canvas shoes.  

“Okay, Princess.  Lets get you dressed.”

She had to adjust the sizes a little as they went, but overall it was a painless process.  

“Hair.”

Helena grabbed a hairbrush, something the same in both worlds.

“Of course, darling.  Do you want one braid or two?”

Helena’s hair, one braid like Mommy apparently, was quick, easy and topped off with a yellow bow.  Her own, much longer, hair took more time.

Helena’s hair was the same curl and texture as her own, but a couple of shades lighter.  The same went for her skintone.  It was lighter than Regina’s own.  Who had her father been?  Daniel? No she was far too young for that.  Graham, perhaps?  The timing was closer to correct.  Had there been someone else? 

“Who is you father, Helena?”

She asked while she was trying to deal with her hair.  Now she remembered why she’d kept a couple of handmaidens around as Queen.  

Helena answer came in the form of a giggle.  “No! You silly!”

Tired of fighting with her hair, she used magic to secure the rest of the intricate braid and pinned all but a small section up and back.  She left a braided section down and over her shoulder so Helena had something to hold on to.

“No, you’re the silly one!”  

Duckies.  Regina decided as she scooped the girl up.  She would need to buy rubber duckies for her.  Henry had preferred dinosaurs and, oddly, cows as his bathtime companions.  Helena would have an entire family of ducks to play with.  Bubble bath.  Children’s shampoo.  Detangling spray.  

They had so much to buy!  

“Come on.  Let’s go face the day.”

Helena grabbed onto her braid as an answer.

Regina decided that the car was too much to explain to a three year old who had never seen anything more advanced then a carriage.  So she put on her peacoat and conjured Helena a matching one in yellow.

Yesterday she had been on a rampage in town with her mother.  Today she was going shopping with her daughter from another world.  Regina was reasonably sure that shock was what allowed her to keep moving forward. She was well and truley numb to the emotional implications of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.  Eventually she would probably crumble.  

Right now was not that time.

“This is Storybrooke, Helena.  You are safe here.”  

She walked with Helena on her hip.  The closer she got to town, the more people there were.  Some stared.  Some ran.  

Regina held her head up high and ignored them.  Helena tugged on her braid and said nothing.  

“We are going to break our fasts at an inn.”  She had to force herself to use language and phrases that she had abandoned years ago.  She didn’t want to confuse the girl.

“Then we are going to go to some shops to buy some clothes and toys for you.”

Helena turned and hid her face in Regina’s neck.  She was overwhelmed.

Regina had purposely waited until after the usual morning rush to go to Granny’s.  She hoped it would be quiet.  She entered and was relieved to see that only a few people were scattered through the restaurant.  

She made a bee-line to one of the booths furthest from the door.  Granny stood in the middle of the aisle, arms crossed and glaring at her.  Regina was shocked that she didn’t have her crossbow.

“You’ve got some nerve Your Majes-”  Eugenia stopped mid-word.  “Who’s this?”

The woman was many thighs, but she wasn’t cruel.  She could see a tiny child in her arms.

“Mrs. Lucas.  This is Helena and before you run off to call the cavalcade of heroes, sit down and I will explain.”

Granny huffed and narrowed her eyes, but let Regina pass.

“Sit.”  She paused before sitting across from Regina.  “Does the little one need a booster?”

Regina shook her head.  She was very sure that getting Helena off of her lap would be an impossible task.

“Darling, we’re going to sit down.  I have someone I’d like you to meet.”  She quickly removed Helena’s coat and then her own overcoat.  

She and Helena settled into the booth seat.  

“Helena, this is Mrs-Granny.  This is Granny.  Granny, this is Helena.  She just arrived last night.”  

Helena didn’t hide her face, but she kept a tight grip on Regina’s braid.

“Manners, please, Helena.”

The little girl straitened up.  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Granny.” 

It was the longest sentence Regina had heard the girl say.  It was also, obviously, practiced.  

“And a pleasure to meet you, Helena.”

Granny looked between the two of them and Regina could see the cogs turning in her head.

“She arrived through my mirror last night.”  Regina pulled the letter from her inside blazer pocket.  “She had this with her.”  She handed the letter to Granny.  “She calls me Mommy and is absolutely terrified.”

It was, Regina knew, an outrageous story.  She also knew that her credibility was not exactly stellar.

Granny read over the note then looked at the two of them.  “That explains the smell.”

Regina raised a brow.  

“The little princess reeks of the old world, magic and something odd.  Sometime I’ve never smelled before.  Another world could explain it.”   

Said princess was currently staring at Granny with her head cocked to the side. Almost as if she recognized her, but not quite.

“But you don’t recognize her?”  Regina knew it was a ridiculous question, but she had to ask.

“No.  She favors you, though.  Your father too, for that matter.  Not so much your moth-”  Granny stopped abruptly.  “My condolences, Regina.  I don’t have any nice words to say about her, but she was your mother.”  Her mouth twisted.  “Lost a mother and gained a daughter on the same day.  The universe works in mysterious ways.”

Regina blinked.  She hadn’t expected any of this.  Not the condolences.  Not for someone to call Helena her daughter.  Not the kindness nor the understanding.

“What are you going to do?”  Granny smiled.  “Besides get this baby some breakfast?”

Regina remembered this.  Granny had been kind to her like this before.  When Henry had been small and she had been struggling to learn how to be a mother.

“I-”  She didn’t know.  “-am going to buy her some things.  I don’t know how long she’ll be here.  I want to take care of her while she is.”

Granny nodded.  “And in the grand scheme of things?”

Regina chuckled.  It was a dark and bitter sound.  “I have no idea.”

She had no idea where the honesty was coming from.  “It will only be a matter of time before everyone knows about her and then.”  She sighed.  “I don’t know.  I just don’t know.”

Granny nodded.  “Red!”  

Her grandaughter instantly jerked around and scurried over.  She got about halfway there when she sped up to an almost run.  She’d obviously spotted Regina and was about to rescue her grandmother from the Evil Quen.

Regina could tell, right down to the second, when she saw Helena.  Ruby almost tripped over her own feet.

“Is that a kid?”

Helena suddenly stood up.  Her feet dug into Reginas thighs painfully.

“Auntie Red?”  She finally let Regina’s braid go. “You has two eyes.”

Everyone went silent.

“Where’s my Bell-Bell?”

Regina was absolutely flabbergasted.  Had she just called Ruby her aunt and asked for Belle French?

“What the fu-”

Granny’s glare stopped the curse from coming out of Ruby’s mouth.

“-ddle is going on?”

“Do you know her, Ruby?”

Ruby shook her head.  “She looks like you and smells weird.”

Regina could not believe what was happening.

“I’ll go get some pancakes.”  Granny stood up.  “While you bring Ruby up to speed.”

The explanation was short and Ruby nodded along.

“Princess?”  Regina held Helena’s little hands in her own.  “You know Ruby-I mean Red?  Can you tell me.”

“Silly Mommy.”  Helena rolled her eyes.  It was like watching a miniature of herself be sarcastic.  It was odd yet endearing.  “Safe is Mommy, Mama, Abuelo, Auntie Red and Bell Bell.”  

Again it sounded practiced, like something that had been drilled into the toddler.

“If no safe be Jane.”

“Jane?”  Regina didn’t understand.

“If no safe then I Jane.  Jane from Potter Field.  Mommy gone.  Daddy farm.”

A three year old had been taught to lie about her identity?  Wait.  Abuelo?

“You know your Abuelo, Princess?”  

Helena shook her head, almost amused by Regina’s questions.  “Him Henry.  With Bell Bell.”

Her father was alive.  Of course.  If she hadn’t cast the curse then she hadn’t murdered him.  He was alive.  He had a grandchild that he got to meet and know.

Completely unaffected by Regina’s emotions and Red’s confusion, Helena kept speaking.

“Red.  How you get two eyes?”  She covered her left eye with her hand.  “Awoos?”

She looked around, far more alert and interested in her surroundings now.  “Abuelo and Bell Bell here too?”

Regina felt her heart crack and tears burn in her eyes.  “No.”  She had to push the word out around the lump in her throat.  “No, Baby, Abuelo isn’t here.”

Granny came back by with a mug of coffee and a cup of milk.

“Here you go.”

Regina tried to pick up the mug but her hand was shaking.

“She knows about my wolf.”  Red sounded amazed.  “And keeps asking for Belle.”  Ruby paused.  “And her paternal grandfather.  This is weird.  Even for Storybrooke, and that is saying something.”

Now comfortable and seemingly happy, Helena took a drink of milk, which gave her a large milk mustache.

“Oh my god she is so cute.  She looks just like Hen when he was that age.”  Ruby all but squealed.  “I remember when you guys would come in just like this.  He was a lap baby too.  Oh.  I mean.  Sorry, Regina.”

Ruby blinked and had an odd look on her face.  Like she had forgotten that they had all remembered.  For a second everything had been normal again.

“Jeeze this is weird.  Just.  So.  Weird.”

The enormity of the situation was hitting Regina now.  The numbness was fading.  Pain and fear were creeping in.  

“Are we supposed to fight now?”

Ruby sounded genuinely confused.  Like she had just stepped through a mirror into an alternate world too.  Regina felt that way too.  Everything was twisting, turning and warping.  She didn’t know what to say next.  

Regina didn’t have any fight left in her.  She wasn’t even sure she would be out of bed if not for Helena.  The next time she asked the universe for a sign, she would be more specific.

“Please, no.”

Red was loyal to Snow, and Regina knew that the woman was itching to run to her friend.

Wait.  Red was loyal to Snow.  Why would she be a safe person for Helena?  She and Snow were bitter enemies.  Therefore so were she and Red.  Was the other world that different?

The bell over the diner door rang and Ruby turned her head to see who it was.  Regina didn’t bother to look.  She didn’t care.  She had too much to worry about already.

Suddenly, Helena jumped up again.  She clambored onto the table and then jumped down. 

“Mama!”  

She ran as fast as her little legs could go and crashed right into the newcomer.

Regina stood to go get her and apologize when the word Mama registered in her mind.  Then she looked up and saw a very bewildered Emma Swan.

The stress of the last two days.  The death of her mother.  The apperance of her daughter.  An alternate world.  Now this.  Emma Swan was the mama, the other mother, of her child.  Again.

She felt like she was under water.  She was moving, but slowly.  She could see people speaking, but couldn’t hear them.  She couldn’t breath.

Dark dots danced in her eyes then she was gone.

***

One normal day.  That was all Emma wanted.  One day without witches, goblins, dragons or magical shenanigans.  She just wanted coffee, a doughnut (or three), and some peace and quiet.

She had a lot on her mind.  Like more than she’d ever had to fit in her brain at the same time ever.  

Neal, like the jackass who had knocked up, framed up and fucked her all up, was Rumplestiltskin’s son.  He was a fucking fairytale character too.  Who had abandoned her for her destiny, or so he said.  She called bullshit, but whatever.

Snow.  She had withdrawl into her bed and was acting like a zombie.  Which was sort of ridiculous, if you asked Emma.  It hadn’t been her Mom that had died.  Not that Emma was pro Cora or anything, but still.  Snow had been way out of line and was now acting like she was the victim.  David was fawning over her too.  Emma didn’t think any of it was right or sane.  What did she know though, she was new to all of this fairy tale bullshit.

Henry.  She had a kid.  Who relied on her and wanted her to be his parent.  Like, full time.  She was starting to realize that she didn’t know how to be a parent.  She was the cool, fun, cut class and eat pizza mom.  She didn’t know how to do homework or laundry or, like, groceries.  She could barely take care of herself.  She was currently living with her own parents for fucks sake.  She had exactly no idea what she was doing.  The Kid kne that too, because he’d grown up with a perfect mom.  Regina.

Regina.  Good God, Regina.  She was.  Well, Emma wasn’t even sure how to describe Regina.  Regina punched me in then face once, it was awesome.  Emma rolled her eyes at her own stupid brain joke.  Seriously, though, Regina did pack a punch.  She also loved Henry with every bit of her batshit insane heart and soul.  She also loved her mother.  Which Emma sort of understood.  People with abusive parents (and she had no doubts that Cora had abused Regina) still loved them.  Now Cora was dead and Regina was alone.  Like, totally alone. Emma hated that she felt guilty.  She knew she hadn’t killed Cora, but she certainly hadn’t helped either.

She had even threatened Regina, had hurt her.  A fight was a fight and Regina had given as good as she’d got.  Emma wasn’t sure why she felt so shitty about the whole thing.

Because.  She reminded herself.  You have a big ol’ lesbian crush on her.

Emma really needed to stop binge watching old movies.  Movie quote or not, it was true.  She did, sort of, have a thing for Regina.  A tiny thing.  Like lust with some extras.  Not love or anything.  Not that.  Just intense interest and worry and stuff.

So yeah.  She had a lot on her plate.  So she just wanted to fill up an actual plate with sugar and carbs.  She wanted five damn minutes to think.  She wanted to not be the savior anymore.  She wasn’t even sure she wanted to be the Sheriff either.  She just wanted a day, an hour, a damn minute, to herself.  

So when she walked into Granny’s, of course all hell broke lose.  

Hell came in the form of a toddler running at her.

“Mama!”  A kid, a very tiny human, launched themselves at her legs and squeezed like their little life depended on it.

“Mama!  Up!”

Emma didn’t know what the hell to do.  When a kid, no a tot really, asked to be picked up, you had to do it.  It was, like, the law or something.  She picked up the tot, a girl, and took a good look at her.  

The little girl was dressed in yellow, had dark curly hair and.  Emma felt the rug being pulled out from under her.  The world turned upside down and inside out.  The tot had her eyes.  Same shape, same color, same everything.

She looked away from the girl.  Regina was standing there, staring at them.

Regina, of course it was Regina.  Why wouldn’t it be her?

She opened her mouth to say something.  To demand an explanation.  To ask her if she was okay.  To ask who this tot really was. Emma didn’t get to say anything.

Regina’s eyes fluttered, rolled back and then she fell.  She fainted and would have smacked the ground if Ruby hadn’t been right there to catch her.

“Mommy!”  The girl screamed and squirmed.  “Mommy!”  She was fighting to get out of Emma’s arms.  So she put the girl down.  Shewent right to Regina.  “Mommy.”  She grabbed Regina’s hair and tugged on it.  “Mommy!”  She was starting to cry.

Emma felt completely and utterly helpless.  Regina was a mommy again.  Henry’s and now, apparently, Helena’s mommy.  A mommy who had fainted.  Her baby mommy?

“What.”  Emma choked out.  “The.  Hell.”

Ruby picked Regina up like she weighed nothing.  “C’mon.  I’ve got the Queen.  You get the princess.”  Ruby shook her head.  “Freaking Wierd.”

Emma followed Ruby back into the Inn’s parlor.  Regina was unconcious.  The kidlet was squealing.  Emma had no idea what was going on and already hated it.

Ruby arranged Regina on the couch and frowned down at her.  “Probably hasn’t eaten in a while.  Since, uh, you know.”

Sure.  Yeah.

“Go ahead and sit down, Ems.  I’ll catch you up.”  She motioned to one of the nearby overstuffed chairs.  “Trust me, you’re gonna want to sit for this.”

The tot went to Regina.  She fussed around with her hair and grabbed a chunk of it.  Emma blinked.  A big chunk.  Regina’s hair had grown by like five times since she’d last seen her.  Which made about the same amount of sense as anything else.

“So.  We’re kind of pieceing this together as we go.”  Ruby sighed.  “But pretty much.  This is Helena and we’re pretty sure she’s your and Regina’s daughter from another dimension sent here to escape a war.  She got here last night through a magical mirror portal.  She calls me Auntie Red and might know Belle too.  Regina’s uh-”

Ruby looked at the unconscious woman.  “Handling it pretty well, or she was until the whole fainting thing.”

Emma frowned.  Regina had fainted.  That wasn’t right, right?  Like it wasn’t healthy.  Also the tot was super upset about it.  She should do something?  Right?

She looked at Ruby for answers, but the other woman seemed just as clueless.

Emma stood up and went over the the couch.  She carefully patted Regina’s shoulder.

“Um, Regina?”  She patted her again.  “You okay?”

Regina didn’t stir an inch.  Emma sank down to the carpet beside the couch.  She looked over at the kid.  “So, Tatertot, I guess we’re going to wait until Mommy wakes up.”

“Kiss, Mama.  Kiss.  Wake up Mommy.”  She tugged on Emma’s sleeve.  “Kiss!”

Granny came in with a couple of plates.  

“Apparently you and Regina were a couple in her world.  She believes in true love.”  

Well the Tatertot was way wrong.  In this world she and Regina weren’t lovers, in love or even like.  Regina hated her and Emma had confusing feelings.  Not exactly a true love scenario.

“Here, Little One.”  Granny brought her a plate of silver-dollar pancakes with a smiley face made out of whipped cream.  “Your Mommy wanted you to eat.”

Emma watched the girl.  She looked at the plate with big hungry eyes, but she hadn’t let go of Regina’s hair.  It was like her teddy bear or something.

“Hey.  I’ve got Mommy.  I’m right here to keep her and you safe.  You eat and then we’ll figure out the rest.”

Emma looked over Regina’s still face.  Despite the makeup, she could see that she was exhausted.  At this angle she tell that Regina had lost weight.  It showed in her hollow cheeks and slender-gone bony hands.  She had felt thin in Emma’s arms yesterday, almost boney - fragile in more ways than one.

Yesterday.

God, Emma didn’t want to think about that.

“Oh.”

Well, she didn’t have time to think.  Now she had to figure out what to say and fast.

“My head.”

“Mommy!”  Helena immediately jumped into action.  She put a little hand each of Regina’s cheeks.  “Safe.  Mama here.”

Regina’s eyes darted to the side to see Emma.  “You’re Helena’s other mother?”

It was freakishly like the first time they’d met.  “Um.”  Emma hadn’t known what to say that night with Henry either.  “Hi?”

So one thing had lead to another and after everyone had been properly fed and caffeinated, Emma walked with Regina and Helena to every store in town.  Like it was a normal, every day, situation.

Like having a magical-lesbians-daughter from another dimension was totally normal.  Sure! 

#wip

[twdmusicboxmystery]

ABC’s Big Sky Parallels

Hey Everyone! Today’s theory is short and sweet. It was pointed out to me by the wonderful @monroe0626librarian (IG).  

So, we can file this under the heading of when actors from TWD do small shows on AMC. If you don’t know what I mean, check out THESE THEORIES.

The gist is that when an actor leaves TWD, we’ve seen a pattern of them doing small shows on ABC. By small, I just mean short-running (usually only 1 season) shows that don’t have a huge audience. We’ve seen it happen again and again over the years.

Examples:

Emily Kinney: Conviction (1 season) and Ten Days in the Valley (mini-series)

Lauren Cohan: Whiskey Cavalier (1 season)

Sydney Park: Pretty Little Liars: The Perfectionists (1 season)

Michael Cudlitz: The Kids are All Right (1 season)

This list isn’t exhaustive. I think there are a few others. And I haven’t, by far, done theories on them all. This is just something I’ve kept an eye on.

But I want to draw everyone’s attention especially to Lauren Cohan and Sydney Park. And to some extent, Michael Cudlitz. Neither Lauren nor Sydney “died” on the show, but they were gone for extended periods of time before being brought back. 

So the biggest pattern I’m seeing here is actors that TWD wants to keep around, but because they won’t be on the show for a time, they need to find some other reason to pay them and keep them from seeking jobs elsewhere. So they find them jobs with ABC, which is a sister company to AMC. And in each case, the shows are small, one-season series, because the point is for them NOT to be continuous jobs, so the actor can come back to TWD at the appointed time.

With Michael Cudlitz, obviously he is dead on the show, but most of us think that we’ll see Abraham again, perhaps in the second spinoff (not the Daryl/Carol one, but the “Tales of the Walking Dead” one) in a origins story about him and Eugene. Plus, we also know they really like him for behind-the-camera work and he’s directed several episodes and such.

So, the point of all of this is that 1) Emily has done not 1 but 2 abc series, which suggests the AMC/ABC entity is keeping her around for some reason. That’s also why she hasn’t gotten any major jobs on any other big show. 2) We’ve often seen parallels to TWD in these little ABC shows.

Now, let me first say that I haven’t watched most of the ABC shows. So, if there were parallels in all of them, I probably wouldn’t know. But I do know that at the end of TDITV, Emily’s character was shot in the head. Just like Beth. I also know that many TDers saw tons of parallels to her character in Conviction, though I only watched a couple of episodes of that myself.

So, this is a lot of background to prepare you for today’s theory, which has to do with a show called Big Sky. I watched the first half of season 1, and honestly wasn’t even thinking about TD parallels until @monroe0626librarian pointed them out to me.

*Warning: spoilers for the MSF of Big Sky are below. If you don’t want to be spoiled, stop reading!*

I watched this show it because it was a crime show. I thought it would be about a serial killer (I like those types of shows) but it turned out to be more of a human trafficking thing. Anyway, I watched it and liked it and never even thought to connect it to TD. I probably should have, but it was Christmastime and I was distracted. ;D

But what @monroe0626librarian pointed out is that in the mid-season finale of this series, a guy (a cop) was shot in the head. And he actually said a few words before he hit the ground. So, her theory is that he’s actually still alive, and will be revealed so when the show returns.

Now, I get that that, in itself, is a fairly small tie, but there are other things I haven’t told you. This guy is a state trooper and he’s involved in the trafficking operation. He’s doing it to increase his retirement pension. He’s played by John Carroll Lynch (guy that played Eastman).

Now, as I said, I never thought to connect this to TWD in any way. I knew who JCL was before he was on TWD, and it’s common for him to play villain roles. But when @monroe0626librarian mentioned this, I started thinking about it, and realized there really are quite a few ties.

First, he’s a cop, which made me think of Grady cops. Two girls are taken. One is blond, and the other does display some Beth-like gusto. There’s even a bow-and-arrow involved. I honestly can’t remember if it’s a crossbow or a long bow.

I’m also wondering about Ryan Phillipe’s character. This is just a wondering, and I’ll have to watch the rest of the season to know for sure, but I’m wondering if he’ll end up being paralleled with Beth’s character as well. I won’t say too much more about that, but I’ll let you know.

Now,  I think you all know I don’t particularly like going outside the show for symbolism. I only do it when there’s ample evidence that we should be looking at something beyond the scope of the show.

I watched this show on the Hulu app, and for some reason, I was thinking it was CBS that put it out. And that wouldn’t have any particular ties to AMC. But when I considered that JCL was in it, I looked up the company and found I was wrong. It wasn’t put out by CBS. It was made by ABC. Because I simply didn’t realize that, my mouth dropped open when I discovered it.

Yeah, I’m a convert. Too many suspicious ABC series with TWD actors in them to not side-eye this.

And because this character was shot in the forehead, @monroelibrarian suggested he was pretty much shot where Beth was, which is true, but I think we could even argue that he was shot exactly where Daryl shot Dawn. You know, the cop?

So yeah. That’s pretty much the gist. Kinda small potatoes, but yet another ABC show, with previous TWD actors in it, that has Beth ties in it. I doubt it will amount to much more than that, but I’ll keep watching the show, whenever it returns, and report on anything else I find.

Did anyone else watch this show?

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, RACHEL! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF CAPHRIEL.

Admin Cas: This decision felt practically impossible to me. We received two applications for Caphriel, and each application offered a completely different perspective of her, tapped into two totally opposite aspects of her character, but what drew me back to your application, Rachel, was your eagerness to tackle the — ah, less savoury aspects of Caphriel, shall we say? You said it yourself, it would be easy to look at Caphriel through rose-tinted glasses, given all she’s sacrificed and all she insists on doing for mortal-kind, but the matter of the fact is that she’s still an Angel. Yes, she’s kind, she’s selfless, she’s sombre; but she’s also haughty, she’s also resolute, she’s also violent. I think it was this line that sold me: “Though she despises war, Caphriel carries her sword wherever she goes – can she not say that she is prepared, if she must, to cut down those that stand in the way of her love?” I can’t wait to see what other terrible things Caphriel is willing to do in the name of love in your capable hands! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Rachel

Age | 22

Personal Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | Inspiration comes in waves, but I try my best to keep a net one or two posts per day. It might mean I spam the dash with all my replies on one day and then am lurking the rest of the week, it might actually mean one reply a day, it all depends on work and life and such. I am around every day to chat about things, though! You can count on me lurking on discord an alarming amount of the day.

Timezone | PST

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the group? | Rosey was like Hey. I think you’ll enjoy this. and she was right!

IN CHARACTER

Character | Caphriel

What drew you to this character? | It took me a long while to settle myself on Caphriel. I was torn between a number of characters as they were posted, but I kept circling back to her – her radiant kindness, the exquisite pain of loving wholeheartedly, despite the weight of sorrows that she carries for others. She is a breath of light that is so deeply compelling to me. It could be easy to see her through rose tinted glasses, but I think there’s an edge to her that I really want to try to draw out.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? |

I. TAKE UP THY BLADE

Love has brought Caphriel to violence, and it shall do so again. She committed unspeakable acts against God and her fellow angels in their great coup all for the sake of humanity, acts she would repeat tenfold if it meant they remain as they are: stumbling towards a light of their own making, figuring out their place as they define it. Though she despises war, Caphriel carries her sword wherever she goes – can she not say that she is prepared, if she must, to cut down those that stand in the way of her love?

If and when the divine beings start to chafe at their self-imposed equality with the human race, if and when they seek to be once again revered without question, Caphriel will once again take up her sword against her brethren. It is an inevitability, one she feels in her bones. 

Caphriel may not go to bat for every human that she encounters, but there are individuals whom she found fight tooth and nail to spare the horrors of the world. She would put herself on the line for humanity as a whole in a heartbeat, if it came to it, though she would prefer to teach her brethren the things she’s learned from the humans first, instill in them the same deference that she holds. Break from them the desire to be worshipped, for that era seems firmly in the past. I think it would be very interesting to have her interfacing with her fellow angels, attempting to teach this point – in all likelihood, it would go poorly, especially among those that still crave power over anything. She cannot force love when it is absent, but she would bleed herself dry if it would make them understand.

Perhaps the angels get restless. Perhaps her shared animosity with Nerissa comes to a head. Perhaps someone dares to harm those that are beloved to her. I feel there are many paths that can lead to her digging back into that measure of destruction she holds within herself, all varying degrees of boundary-testing. This would be a longer-term arc for her as the plot develops, as there are a lot of dominoes that would have to fall first in order to get her to turn to violence – all other avenues must be closed, or she must really, truly feel like it is the right thing.

II. I WOULD DROWN IN THE FAVOR OF YOUR EYES

As an immortal being, Caphriel has lost a great many things. She watches the decay of mortals with a bittersweet resignation, but there are always a special few mortals whose loss she feels keenly, who she weeps for ages down the line. Luca Riche is one of these, though she has not lost him yet – and she is determined to keep him, greedy and indulgent, for as long as she can. 

History repeats itself, it seems – she loved Abel then as she loves Luca now, but this time she is at his side, an equal rather than a distant observer. He is not hers to protect, but she aches to do so, would likely turn at an instant on one who did him harm. The thing is: did she love Cain less, for his sin? Did she resent him for his violence against his brother? She had wept for him as he bore the mark even as she turned her back on the darkness he harbored within himself. Her draw towards Luca unwittingly brings Jasper into her sphere, and she can sense a similar darkness about him. The brothers have her transfixed once again, but can the violence between them remain unfulfilled?

I would love to explore the established connection with Luca and how that affects her connections to Jasper. Does she see the animosity harbored by Jasper? Is she blinded to the issues by Luca’s own love for his brother, and her love for him in turn? She is a bit of a meddler, albeit a well-meaning one, so there’s a distinct possibility that she would try to facilitate some form of reconciliation, especially if the strain between the brothers begins to reflect negatively onto Luca. It might just blow up in her face.

Whether she eventually learns they are Cain and Abel does not, I think, truly matter – either way there is still the push and pull of her benevolent love vs. the specific instances of Jasper’s darker leanings, the sickly sweet danger of her love for Luca. She was not a direct actor in their story initially, but she could be now – I think she will cling to this, and it may eat at her. This possessive love could so easily turn to rot – she hovers on a precipice which, really, either brother could knock her over the edge of.

III. THERE IS BLOOD ON THE WALLS OF YOUR HOME

Caphriel’s position within the hierarchy of angels feels, despite her mantle as virtue of Charity, quite tenuous. She shuns Caelum in favor of Sanctus Terra, adores humanity more than she ever has her brethren. She took up the sword with the rest of them, followed Michael into the fray not because she believed in him, but because she believed that God had turned against His people. All that she has done has been for humanity – how plain is that for other angels to see? It is etched into the very marrow of her bones – it seems impossible that the other angels would not be wary of this, unsettled by this almost lack of loyalty. 

Michael made her the virtue of Charity – but does he trust her? She had walked away while he was building his empire – does this not smart? Do the other angels view her has naïve for placing her lot so heavily with humanity? Her ferocity still lingers in their memory, but the goodness that she radiates now may turn the stomach of those angels lingering in the darker corners of Caelum. 

She spends most of her time in Sanctus Terra, and I would like to really dig into her feelings about coming ‘home’ to Caelum. Whether she is drawn in some official capacity or simply visiting as part of her travels, there are a lot of mixed feelings about the place and the people. She harbors no ill will for her brethren, but their pride chafes on her after too long a stay. 

It would be interesting to push this divide to the brink, test the limits of Caphriel’s love and loyalty. When given an ultimatum, which side would she choose? She was made to love and protect humanity, but can she really turn aside from her own divinity so easily?

IV. A HEART IS A MUSCLE LIKE ANY OTHER

This is building off something Minnie had in her sample app! I think it’s really compelling that Arianne and Caphriel occupy the same niche in a strange way. They both can assuage the suffering of another being, though Caphriel’s empathy is a bit less immediate of a fix than Arianne’s manipulation of the heart. There is an element of violence to both of their pathways – for Caphriel to take a memory permanently rather than just see it, she must wield her sword; for Arianne, it is easy to simply stop a heart entirely. Caphriel aims to soothe from a place of love; it seems that Arianne seeks the power that comes from dependance. 

They are strange parallels, and I would love to have a possible confrontation between the two. Caphriel tries so hard to love all humanity, but I think that Arianne would push at her limits. She has made herself into humanity’s protector, though the threats she works against are myriad and deeply, deeply unexpected. Arianne’s ability poses a particularly strange threat, one that I believe Caphriel would keep an eye on, especially if she got wind that people were really hooked on Arianne. Her interest is equally a strange sort of covetousness for the position of humanity’s aid and wanting to mitigate what could be a real threat to people.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | If she were to go, it would not be without a fight. In short, yes, but only if it’s really compelling for the narrative/serves a strong purpose.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation |

Love. A deep, abiding love for humanity in all their glorious failures and corruptions, their triumphs and joys. Caphriel cannot rid the world of all its woes but she can ease the pain of them, and the desire to do so has driven her to the ends of the earth and back again. Her love is a ferocious thing, not the gauzy lightness of poetry but rich and radiant, forged in blood and tears.

Before God’s defeat, Caphriel ached to understand the woes of humanity on a more intimate level, to feel them herself rather than observe their effects from afar. Her empathic power allows her to do that, and she gladly takes humanity’s pain onto herself. She is a hardier being, at the end of it – they will not weigh her down as they do the frailer humans. She will not let them.

Her love is not always good. This is, I think, the crux of her character, and what keeps her from becoming something flimsy. She has spilled blood for this love. Overthrown her creator. Likely even committed violence against the humans she so loves for the sake of sparing the masses further pain. Though her love comes from a place of righteousness, it is, ultimately, her own, and there are those that would see it as a curse or as the delusions of one individual. Her love can blind her to elements of reality and she can lose herself in the memories of others. 

She exists in a strange middle ground – not quite angel, not quite human. It is her divine nature that allows her to act as she does, yet she has always hungered to know the depths of humanity. This counterbalance propels her, though she may not even understand the true extent of it.

Character Traits |

+ STEADFAST

Caphriel’s love for humanity has not wavered for eons. She remains committed to them, driven by the desire to help, to ease their suffering, to feel as one with them. Her unwavering devotion to humanity has shaped her life and all her most important actions: her turn away from God, her participation in the coup, her retreat to Sanctus Terra once it became habitable. Though this devotion is overall a net positive, it can, in certain cases, take on a negative aspect.

- OBSESSIVE

There are certain things that she cannot let go of. Her love can turn to obsession, to covetousness, blinding her to the dangers of her actions. Her hunger for connection to humanity has gnawed at her for eons, driving her forward at times against her better nature. She can lose sight of the forest for the trees if she is not careful in moderating herself.

+ COMPASSIONATE

Her powers of empathy heighten her already compassionate nature. She wants to help, to listen to others when they talk of pain, of suffering, to work with them to ease their burdens.

- MEDDLESOME

Her acts of charity are not always welcomed by those she bestows them upon. Her ministrations and particularly her empathic ability often pry deep into a person’s psyche, which she doesn’t realize may alienate those that have not sought her presence.

+ GENTLE

Angels can be fearsome things. The sword worn across her back and the brilliant white sweep of her wings may be unsettling, but Caphriel’s calm and kind demeanor puts that to rest. She radiates a sense of contentment, in harmony with the hum of her blade, the sweep of her wings through the air.

- VIOLENT

She does not often give into her baser natures, but when Caphriel is incited to a fight, she is vicious. She made a name for herself among the angels during the war with God, her greatsword forged by Michael himself whetted on the bones of her kin. Her mild demeanor may belie her fighting prowess, but the truth is: every angel is terrible. Even one built for love such as she.

In-Character Para Sample |

When she descends to the earth at the end of it all, after the bones of her Lord God have stripped themselves bare, after the Blood Plague has ravaged the new, fledgling land, she weeps. The first touch of her foot to the land of Sanctus Terra breaks her chest open, pain and joy and love, uncompromising love, spilling from the very core of her, mirrored in the souls around her. She walks, heart open, into the fold, sword a comforting weight upon her back, wings a blinding mass behind her. She learns to fold them away, over time; saves the revelation of her erstwhile divinity for more intimate things. She tucks the gleaming herald of her wings out of sight, but still she glows, lit from within by the undying flame of her love.

She walks the length of the land, leaving no corner unexplored. Her footsteps are those of Moses, of John. Of all those that wandered the earth, driven by love for their people, for their Lord. She trails a path through the indelible marks of history, the eons crumbled to ash in the reformation of the world. She carries these pilgrims with her, their memory mingling with new stories, their pain and grief and love cradled between her ribs.   

It is her sword that announces her presence now, its gentle hum blown by the breeze into the small town she has wandered to. Her cloak is heavy and warm in the noonday sun, her body one large and familiar ache that comes from hours on foot. A small child stops in their tracks at the sight of her – she offers them a warm smile. That seems to spook them more than anything, and they run to hide behind the legs of a woman who bustles around the yard of a nearby home. People peer from windows as she passes, pause in their ministrations to watch her go by. They listen to the radiant hum of the sword that glints on her back and they wonder.

She takes a deep breath, lets the energy of the town seep under her skin. They are all so tired, these people – they all seem to be, the further she moves from the center of the Holy Land. Settlers bending the will of the natural world to their own, terraforming the same soil their ancestors had once turned, eons ago. She has drawn up a crowd by the time she arrives in what seems to be the main square, a rough dirt clearing amidst the houses. The people keep their distance, intrigued but wary – she cannot begrudge them this, though she aches to close the space between them, to take them up in her arms and sooth the furrows from their brows. To nurture them as they nurture the land.

There are people in the square – older, she thinks, though she’s never been good at gauging these things, so used to faces that do not line with age. Humans pass so quickly, their meagre collected years a blip in her existence, yet she yearns to understand the scope of their lives, the honors of reaching fifty years, sixty, when all she knows are millennia. She sees the child from before in the corner of her eye, trailing behind her with their mother, so small. A man and a woman speak in hushed tones as she approaches - snippets blow to her, but she captures none but their names - Gideon, the woman says, Sarah, he responds. Old names, familiar ones, and Caphriel is overcome with her desperate adoration of a people too stubborn to die out, rooted deep into lives eons ago whose stories no longer grace people’s lips but in their most basic form: the name of it all.

“My name is Caphriel,” she intones, as the man named Gideon steps forward to meet her. “I come seeking shelter and to bring aid where it is needed.”

“Why do you hide your wings, Angel?” The man before her says. She sees the glint of mistrust in his eyes, the tension in his stance. She had hoped, once, that she might someday no longer be recognizable at first glance – her brothers had laughed at her when she’d said it, so she buried that seed deep within herself. Her cloak was a small concession to herself, though it seems in this case it had been a misstep. It is no hardship to her to assuage his fears, so she bows her head briefly and removes her cloak, unfurling her wings behind her, a blaze of white stark against the dirt road, the richness of her dark skin. She sees the spark of wonder in the man’s eyes and she smiles, a small but radiant thing. 

“I do not mean to hide what I am, or to dissemble and take your hospitality under false pretenses.” The low murmur of the crowd quiets as she speaks. “I take solace in walking where my brethren would fly, and have found it convenient to cover them when they are not in use to shield them from the wind and dirt.” She cocks her head, coy, lets her smile bloom wider, drops her voice like she is telling a secret. “They are a true pain to clean when they get dirty.”

She hears a ripple of laughter from behind her, bright feminine voices, and she knows she has settled into the hearts of these people. Even Gideon, frame still stoic, returns her smile. “Come,” he says, gesturing her into a home along the central square. She folds her cloak in her arms as she walks beside him, eyes adjusting to the change in light as they duck indoors. It is sparse but comfortable, and Caphriel feels at peace. “We don’t get many visitors here, let alone the start of a host of angels.”

“No host,” she says, unlacing her scabbard from her back, laying it alongside her folded cloak. “Just me.”

“Well, that’s lucky,” he replies, “Seeing as I’ve only got one spare bed.”

Her laugh is melodic, filling up the space between them, bright and bubbling with happiness. “Gideon,” she smiles, tasting the prophet’s name on her tongue, rich with history and repetition. “I want to help you. If you tell me what you and your people need, I swear I will do everything in my power to aid you. All I ask in return is a roof over my head for as long as it takes.” She holds out her hand, palm up, a minute act of supplication. “Let me help you.”

“Well,” the man before her says, “Caphriel.” He clasps her hand to shake. She feels the warmth radiate up her arm, into her heart. “Let’s get started, then.”

#accepted #accepted: caphriel

[mr-ys-phantasma]

Soprano and the Phantom Chapter 1

My entry for the “Once Upon Another Time” project by @a-partofthenarrative

Beauty and the Beast, Phantom of the Opera version. Enjoy.

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

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was spoiled, selfish, and unkind. But then, one winter's night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold.

Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away, but she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. And when he dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress.

The prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart, and as punishment, she transformed him into a deformed hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle, and all who lived there. Ashamed of his monstrous form, the beast concealed himself inside his castle, with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world.

The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until his 31st year. If he could learn to love another and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed, he fell into despair, and lost all hope, for who could ever learn to love a beast?

===============================

In the nice small town of Rouen, a bright new day had started for all. The town, not too big and consisting of small cottages and two-storey houses, some of them packed together. Stands and small shops were at the bottom, selling and serving local products.

The streets of the town were paved by limestone rock, giving it a nice crème-yellow appearance. It matched most of the houses and lead people all around the city as it forked into roads and alleys.

In one of the houses at the outskirts of the town, a true beauty lived once with her father. Her name was Christine Daee, daughter of a Swedish violinist who retreated into the small town for both health but also escape.

Christine exited the house, her curly brown hair bouncing with each of her steps while she gave a white pearly smile to the people.

She had many hobbies, one of them was singing and found her songs accompanying her lonely life. Fuelling the fire of adventure she so much wanted.

"Little town, it's a quiet village. Every day, like the one before. Little town, full of little people Waking up to say…"

She walked her brown woven basket at her right hand and waved at her fellow townsfolk.

"Bonjour!"

"Bonjour!"

"Bonjour!"

"There goes the baker with his tray like always. The same old bread and rolls to sell. Every morning just the same. Since the morning that we came to this poor provincial town"

The Baker noticed her and smiled. "Good morning, Christine"

She returned her smile and jumped over to him. "Morning, monsieur!"

"Where are you off to?"

"The bookshop! I just finished the most wonderful story, about a beanstalk and an ogre and…"

He ignored her happy talk and turned his attention inside. "That's nice…Marie, the baguettes! Hurry up!"

She shook her head but kept her smile. Unlike everyone else, Christine had a love for books. It was her retreat into mystical adventures she could never have, and all started when her father would spend hours telling her stories and legends of the north.

It was rare for a woman to be educated, especially with books but she was an exception. She never felt ashamed for it and followed her heart which yearned for a change, for something new but knew she would never have.

"Look there she goes, that girl is strange no question. Dazed and distracted, can't you tell?" a woman gossiped, leaning to her friend.

"Never part of any crowd."

"Cause her head's up on some cloud" the Barber joined, overhearing them from his shop.

"No denying she's a funny girl, that Christine"

The smiley woman ignored them, not really caring about what they thought of her. Perhaps she did have her head in the clouds, but things were so much better up there than down below. Once getting some bread, she jumped on the back of the wagon that rides through town.

Everyone greeted and smiled at each other, starting small discussion; they were a small community after al. Everyone knew everyone and gossip travelled faster than wildfire.

Christine left out a sigh and jumped down once she had reached her stop, the book shop. "There must be more than this provincial life!"

She entered the small shop, overcrowded with dozens of books of all genres. Too bad she had read all of them and no one seemed interested in their content other than her.

"Ah, Christine" the bookseller greeted her, a smile on his face from seeing his favourite customer.

She smiled, feeling a relief once being inside the shop. The short man was the only one who never judged her for her love of books and needs for adventure. He was her supporter from the very first day along with her father.

"Good morning. I've come to return the book I borrowed" she said and handed him the book which she had inside her basket.

"Finished already?" the man asked, slightly impressed since it had been only a few days.

"Oh, I couldn't put it down! Have you got anything new?"

He laughed and shook his head before placing the book back on the self "Not since yesterday"

Christine was unfazed by the news and she quickly climbed the ladder, going to the 4th self. Her eyes scanned the titles. "That's all right. I'll borrow… this one"

"That one? But you've read it twice!"

She chuckled. "Well it's my favourite!" she explained as she swung off side of the ladder, rolling down its track. "Far off places, daring swordfights, magic spells, a prince in disguise!"

Her mind replayed the scenes, a feeling of excitement to read the story all over again and let herself be submerged into the adventures it held. She walked towards him with the book and the man smiled.

"Well, if you like it all that much, it's yours!"

She was taken back; such an act of generosity was too much for her. "But sir!"

"I insist!"

She quickly hugged the man, finding it hard to express in words how she felt. She released him and gave him one of her most sweet smiles, her brown eyes sparkling with happiness.

"Well thank you. Thank you very much!"

She then left the bookshop, skipping a step once in a while. A small change in her routine fixed everything and she daydreamed the adventures of her book while her townsfolk judging her from the background.

She zoomed everyone out, keeping locked inside her thoughts and emotions. Her imagination running wild while the need to be the heroine of that book kept growing.

"Look there she goes That girl is so peculiar! I wonder if she's feeling well!"

"With a dreamy far-off look!"

"And her nose stuck in a book!"

"What a puzzle to the rest of us is Christine!"

She found her way to the small fountain in the middle of the town. It was her favourite place when she needed an escape and often, she had company; the local sheep. She would sing and talk to them, being her true friends that listened without judging.

"Oh! Isn't this amazing! It's my favourite part because you'll see! Here's where she meets Prince Charming… But she won't discover that it's him 'til chapter 3!" she sang and petted the sheep closer to her.

"Now it's no wonder that everyone called her a 'beauty' Her looks have got no parallel!" a woman in the background sang, observing the peculiar brunette from afar.

"But behind that fair facade, I'm afraid she's rather odd Very different from the rest of us…"

"She's nothing like the rest of us. Yes, different from the rest of us is Christine!"

====================.

Not too far away, closer to a more open area of the town a Geeze hunt was taking place. The majestic birds flew across the blue sky, only for one to be shot down. It fell on the ground, not alive any longer and a slightly tanned man walked towards it.

He had a slightly exotic complex and stood out due to the red fez on top of his head. He was skinny and not that tall, but his green eyes showed some intelligence. He walked over and quickly put the dead animal into a bag before turning to the shooter.

"Wow! You didn't miss a shot, Raoul! You're the greatest hunter in the whole world!"

Raoul De Changy was a charismatic man with short light brown hair and stunning blue eyes. His body was trained, and his clothing showed the wealth of his family, along with the insignia sewed on his jacket.

He let his gun down, a smug smirk of pride on his cupid shaped lips. "I know"

"Huh. No beast alive stands a chance against you…and no girl for that matter!"

"It's true, Nadir and I've got my sights set on that one!" he said and pointed at the faint figure of Christine by the fountain.

He knew her since they were children but as they grew older, they also grew apart. She became distant and buried her nose into old books, preferring an imaginary world than the real one. He grew responsible, carrying on his family name and focusing on skills he needed.

"The violinist's daughter?" Nadir asked as he joined his side, and both watched the young woman.

He gave a nod. "She's the one! The lucky girl I'm going to marry"

"But she's—"

Ignoring him, Raoul continued. "The most beautiful girl in town"

"I know-

"And that makes her the best. And don't I deserve the best?"

"Well, of course, I mean you do, but I mean…"

Once again, poor Nadir was interrupted. The man by his side too caught up in his own world to listen.

"Right from the moment when I met her, saw her. I said she's gorgeous and I fell. Here in town, there's only she, who is beautiful as me. So I'm making plans to woo and marry Christine"

He started walking towards her, earning the attention of any other woman in the town and most specifically, the young women.

"Look there he goes, isn't he dreamy? Monsieur Raoul, oh he's so cute! Be still my heart, I'm hardly breathing! He's such a tall, strong and handsome Vicomte!" One woman sang, talking to her friend and trying her best not to faint.

Christine by now she was walking back to her house, easily passing through the crowd. Raoul tried to follow but struggled to catch up.

"Scuse me!" he tried while people chatted and continued with their day. "Please let me through!" he was once again ignored. "Just watch I'm going to make Christine my wife!"

At last, she managed to catch up with her.

#once upon another time project #The Phantom of the Opera #AU #beauty and the beast #amateur writing #just for fun #Soprano and the Phantom #a-partofthenarrative

[capnmarvell]

Here is a whole thought dump from me after seeing Frozen 2 tonight

(Mind you, I am not a “super fan” as a lot of people on tumblr are, I’m simply a fan of Disney and animation so I’m not interested in arguing over all this lol)

A big factor of seeing this movie was the animation. I had honestly forgotten about Frozen for a hot minute over the years, and when the first trailer dropped a few months ago I was completely stunned by that opening shot. The shot alone sold me to see it for the animation, I didn’t do too much digging into the plot.

I did see the spoilers a few weeks ago, and I wasn’t too excited about it all. I don’t expect Disney to actually do something so big as to openly have Elsa be a lesbian, they don’t want to risk that money from Christian homophobe parents. But I did expect something...more...storywise.

Look, animation was stunning. The details were great. I wish I was talented enough to go to school for animation because wow. This movie was stunning to me. I still love that water scene with Elsa, and the scene with Anna during “The Next Right Thing” was also another favorite in animation.

I enjoyed the songs, as well. I really liked “The Next Right Thing” and “Lost in The Woods.” I would have liked a duet between Kristoff and Anna, as it’s still odd we have a duet between the actual villain and Anna in the first one, but nothing for the actual love interests in either film.

But I just keep going back to the actual plot in my head.

Now, I could understand Elsa’s apprehension with being Queen, since we’ve seen her apprehensive about it in the first film. However, that was solely because she was hiding her powers. We see at the end of the first Frozen she is more confident in herself now that her powers aren’t a secret, therefore she becomes a better Queen, a better Ruler.

Suddenly, in Frozen 2, Elsa seems enticed by the idea of Freedom and Exploring, as the Calling she hears is pulling her into another adventure. She’s never given any real indication in the first film that she wants adventure, that she wants to explore. Honestly, I would expect Anna to want the freedom and to travel and see the world after she’s been forced inside the Castle most of her life without any real reason.

I liked the hijinks of Kristoff trying to propose to Anna, I thought it was a sweet storyline. However, I could have done without the comedy of the “Torn Music Video Style” animation with his “Lost in The Woods” song. If it had been done with more realism, similar to Anna’s “The Next Right Thing” it would have been a nice parallel. Instead I just kind of cringed the entire time. I enjoyed his song, but damn was it just a big cringe-fest. Lots of people laughed in the theatre, but his song wasn’t funny to me. And the comedy really misses the mark of his song regarding his feelings for Anna and the situation he’s in. Great song, but poor choice to make it funny for the audience. ( I get it’s a kids movie and you gotta keep the kids attention, but it’s a disservice to Kristoff and the song).

With Elsa’s journey, I really felt like they didn’t actually tell us anything. They just kind of...explain Elsa’s powers as a gift from the forest spirits because Iduna saved Agnarr. and Then Elsa and Anna are basically the 5th spirit of the forest? Because they’re the bridge that connects magic and humans?

Is it just me, or is that just...not satisfying at all? The explanation of her powers is solely because Iduna saved Agnarr and got the two of them out of the forest before the spirits locked everyone in?

Not only that, but there weren’t any real consequences. Elsa “drowned” and froze, and was able to warn Anna in her final moment, but once the day was saved, Elsa was brought back to life.

Like, Disney has done some dark shit before. It REALLY would have impressed me if they had actually kept Elsa dead, and have her be “brought back” as an ACTUAL spirit - the 5th spirit of the forest. They could have Elsa come back for one final goodbye to Anna after the dam breaks, like in the movie, and perhaps the movie ends with Anna telling her own children the magical story of Elsa, Snow Queen of Arendelle and spirit of the forest.

But of course Disney needs a happy ending, and Elsa alive, for merchandise and the potential Frozen shorts and possible third movie - anything for the money.

Not to mention how meta the movie was too. It just kept...bringing up the first movie and that moment with Olaf explaining the whole first movie in the forest. Or Elsa cringing when she was reliving all those moments from the first movie and she walked past the ice sculpture of her singing “Let it Go.”

Now look, in a perfect world we would have a gotten a movie with a much better origin story of Elsa’s powers, and perhaps some flirting with Elsa and Honeymaren (I can see it), and Elsa is still Queen because she does make a good Queen, and Anna and Kristoff get married and maybe Elsa names their first born as her next heir or something.

I think Anna will make a great Queen too, but Elsa just deciding to fuck off into the woods all of a sudden didn’t make much sense. The logic just...wasn’t there or it just wasn’t enough.

I think it’s realistic, though, to separate the sisters. I’ve seen people say they were angry about the two not being together after all these years apart, but I mean...? Idk the idea from hardcore fans that I’ve seen defending the idea of two grown siblings NEEDING to be stuck at the hip in their adulthood isn’t realistic to me.

I think perhaps it was definitely the plan to have Elsa die, since it really did seem like it was going that way. But I remember reading the other day that they apparently changed up the ending or something after some test screenings, so perhaps that’s why it gives off that feeling.

I absolutely don’t want Elsa to die. I enjoy her character, and I headcanon her as a lesbian too and love that kind of representation, but with the story they gave us in Frozen 2, the stakes would have felt much higher if she - and Olaf too - really did die. I personally, would have liked an altered story with an actual villain (their grandfather started all the drama of this story, but I honestly do miss the old fashioned Disney with hero vs. villain) and better story of Elsa’s powers, and Disney actually taking some strong choices with it.

This movie was very safe, and very weak storywise.

The songs and animation were good.

I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Disney milked the Frozen money maker by doing a third film, but I doubt they’d actually do anything big with that one either.

Overall, it was mostly pleasing to the eye (I’m still cringing at the “Lost in The Woods” montage) but the story was weak, but not surprising with how safe Disney tends to play it.

I’ll give it a 6.5/10, mostly because that animation is really pretty.

#Frozen #Frozen 2 #Frozen 2 spoilers #disney #personal #hey I did a thought dump #if I get hate for this I'm just gonna laugh lmao

[theflashdriver]

Silvaze: Fiction and a First

The atmosphere following Iblis' defeat was strangely comforting to Blaze. She knew the monster would return in a few weeks and its flames still dominated the city but as she lay, sprawled across an old couch with a poetry book in hand, those facts found no quarter in her mind. Instead, she found herself whisked away by the words in front of her; thoroughly capable of indulging herself.

Well, the beast's defeat wasn't the only factor contributing to her comfort. The good health of a certain grey hedgehog, lounging atop a beanbag chair just a little out of reach, relieved her to no end. Silver the Hedgehog, her partner in combat and in life. After the battle with Iblis, they'd had more than a few injuries to tend. Both Blaze's shoulder and knee had been injured during the fight but Silver's wounds had been relatively minor. A grazed elbow where he hadn't fully deflected a hurled boulder and a small burn on the right side of his muzzle were really the only ones of note but, of course, she'd tended his wounds as thoroughly as he'd tended hers; despite his protesting over the difference in scale.

Daring to throw him a glance, Blaze was forced to suppress a giggle. He'd thoroughly sunken into his chair, legs crossed in front of him while the rest of his body arched back. His arms were stretched toward the ceiling as he slowly flicked his way through a book. She had no idea how he could find the position comfortable but, for now, she concluded there was no harm in his silliness. After all, she wasn't sat upright either.

As her eyes returned to her book a yawn managed to slip past her lips. They'd, perhaps, made themselves a little too comfortable in their new home. What'd once been a youth centre, a gathering place for teenagers and young adults, had been converted into a two-floor house. The first floor didn't see much use, the street-level was too susceptible to monster attacks, but the second floor had been thoroughly customised. Powerless computers and televisions had been thrown out, quickly being replaced with books and board games. Posters of bygone football teams had been replaced with maps of the world and star atlases, they'd constructed a bed in a snug room with no windows and brought with various additional comforts. Safe to say, she slept more easily here than she had in their prior, ramshackle, homes.

The fact she was wearing pyjamas likely contributed to her sleepy state. She'd chosen them over her usual garb for the sake of comfort, donning a mauve tank top had allowed Silver to easily tend her shoulder and her black shorts kept her injured knee free from chafing. Still, regardless of intent, the usual purpose of these softer clothes was too heavily ingrained; another yawn broke free and tears filled the corners of her eyes. Deciding she'd won enough fights today, Blaze set the book atop her chest (careful to keep her page) and allowed her eyes to close.

For a while she simply lay there, content to drift asleep, but a voice managed to rouse her, "Blaze?"

"Hmm?" She hummed, managing to half acknowledge her partner.

"How much do you know about kissing?"

Blaze's eyes shot open; she raced to sit up, almost sliding from the couch as she did so. His words had granted her a pulse-pounding second wind, her tiredness was fully transmuted to surprise, "Wh-What?!"

Silver, meanwhile, despite what he'd just asked, was still sprawled atop the beanbag; looking at his book rather than daring to face her, "I was just wondering how much you know about kissing because… I don't really get it?"

"Where did you even learn that word?" That was stupid to ask; of course Silver knew what kissing was. He'd surely read about it at some point, "W-Why do you want to know?"

"Oh, it just came up in this book I'm reading?" Silver replied, "I've known about kissing for a while but this story makes it seem a whole lot more important…?"

He finally shifted to sit upright, his quills briefly cascading into his face before being pushed back by a wave of psychic energy. As Blaze caught sight of the book in his hands she felt her blush grow brighter still; all of a sudden she was on her feet, fists clenched as she struggled to keep herself from snatching it. There was no mistaking the book's title, it stood out so clearly against the book's otherwise featureless navy cover. Emblazoned on the front, written in a cursive font, were the words, 'The Cure for a Petrified Heart.' It was a romance novel aimed at teenage girls. A romance novel a certain, fire manipulating, purple, teenaged feline had read several times.

"Where did you find that?! Th-That's a…" She didn't dare finish her sentence, the words 'Romance Novel' weighed much too heavily on her tongue. "You don't read… those. You read history books and books about nature, n-not young adult fiction about "

Blaze knew she was being more than a little hypocritical; after all, she'd only recently started reading romance novels herself. Her first had been The Cure for a Petrified Heart, the very book he now held. She'd mistaken the tome for a poetry book but, having finished her other tomes, she'd decided to give it a go. Blaze wasn't willing to admit how quickly she'd fallen in love with the story, let alone its characters. She'd become immersed in the tale a teenaged hedgehog named Ivory, a girl who spends most of her time studying to appease her restrictive parents, and her burgeoning affection for her best friend, a feline by the name of Star. Of course, the hedgehog's feelings come into conflict with her need to study and soon she's fighting to choose between stargazing with her beloved and doing advanced trigonometry.

"I know it's not what I usually read but I saw you reading it a while ago. Whenever you did, it looked like it was making you really happy, so I figured it was worth reading myself," He must have caught the shock in her eyes, wincing slightly he asked, "Should I not have? You left it on the shelf ages ago and you hadn't marked a page, so I thought you were done with it. If you're not you can have it back, I'm sorry."

Ignoring his query, she couldn't help but ask a question of her own, "How much have you read?"

"I think I'm about halfway through it? Ivory has been hiding up in her room, pretending to be sick and not even going to school, because Star keeps accidentally distracting her in class and her grades have started to slip. Her parents aren't happy about it and neither is she, but she's sure that if she doesn't study on her own things will get worse," Silver expunged and, as he did, Blaze felt her blush grow brighter still, "Star doesn't seem to understand that he's the problem though, judging by the chapter I've almost finished. He made copies of all his notes to give her but, rather than just give them to her parents; he climbed her wall to knock on her bedroom window."

Of all the scenes in the book, Blaze knew that one the best and that truth embarrassed her most of all. She had read and reread that chapter on no fewer than twenty separate occasions; she could recall it from memory, practically word for word.

"He wanted to give her the notes and leave but she took his hand instead, it was raining so she insisted that he stayed for a while. They talked for a bit, she kept looking at his lips and, well, eventually they just… kissed," He concluded, so very bluntly.

That moment was the reason Blaze was embarrassed that he was reading the book. It was during that chapter that the Blaze couldn't help drawing parallels between the studious, serious, hedgehog and herself. Ivory's feline lover on the other hand, contradictory as it was, matched Silver all too well. The character of Star was painfully honest, overly curious, genuine and very naïve indeed; going out of his way for Ivory far more often than he truly should have. Additionally, although Blaze had never lived as a normal girl in a normal house, the concept of Star scaling Ivory's wall to see her could so easily be swapped with Silver floating his way to Blaze's windowsill to stay for a little while. Just long enough for a kiss of course, long enough to sweep her off her feet but not to carry her away; enough to leave her wanting just a little more.

Blaze would never admit, not even to herself, how many times she'd imagined and reimagined that scene.

The only response she could muster were two, quiet, words, "I-I see."

"I've been enjoying it, it's really nice to see what high school was like way back when it existed, but kissing keeps coming up. Ivory kept thinking about him kissing her, she kept considering kissing him and stuff like that. I thought when they actually did it I'd be able to understand why she thought about it so much, but I still don't?" Silver embarrassingly extrapolated, "They built up kissing as this wonderful thing and that it's really special, but isn't it just two people pushing their mouths together? I've read about kissing in encyclopaedias, and kisses have been mentioned in other stories I've read, but it never seemed all that important to me. Ever since I started this book, I can't stop thinking about it."

Blaze tried her hardest to keep her tail under control as those last words slipped free from his lips. Her arms folded across her chest, her ears pinned back and her eyes found themselves magnetically drawn away from his face and toward by a patch of burnt carpet.

"Well, um," She tried her best to think of some brief, yet thorough, explanation but embarrassment forced the truth from her, "It's rather difficult to describe the appeal of kissing."

"I've reread that passage a ton and I just don't get it…" He nodded in agreement, "Kissing is supposed to feel nice, I can tell that much, but, in the book, it's described as feeling like an explosion in your chest? But Ivory also says that it feels soft and sweet and tender, how can it be so many different things?"

"I'm," She nervously swallowed, now pondering on it herself. Thinking back to how she imagined kissing Silver would feel, "N-Not entirely sure."

"And why didn't people kiss more often? If it feels so amazing, wouldn't you want to do it all the time? Wouldn't lots of people just… kiss each other?" He'd asked yet another question, Blaze felt like she had to give some kind of answer this time.

"W-Well, I always thought that it wasn't kissing itself that feels like that, it's the fact you are kissing the right person; that's what makes it feel so wonderful. It's the fact that you're sharing such an intimate moment with someone you care deeply for; the person you care for the most. You're showing them how much you care about them by drawing them in close and exchanging a touch reserved for them and no other. The two of you get to share a moment born of your intimacy, m-made real by your closeness. You couldn't ask just anyone to kiss you and expect it to be wonderful, it has to be that special person. If it wasn't, then it wouldn't matter so you wouldn't get that feeling," The feline felt herself stumbling over her words. Though her understanding of kissing was clearly more developed than his, she, of course, hadn't actually kissed anyone. "At least, I think that's how it's supposed to be…"

"No, I think you're right. I think that makes way more sense than just touching lips and feeling a magic spark or some kind of nice earthquake. It having to be the right person would explain why everyone wasn't kissing all the time..." Silver seemed to pause for a moment, deep in through, "Can we try it?"

What puzzled her most of all was how nonchalant he was being. Had her explanation been that poor? Did he not understand he'd been reading a romance novel? Did he really think it was some kind of historical document, detailing an actual young girl's time at high school? Even then, the book focused so much on Ivory's crush while her schooling was more of a backdrop that occasionally pushed the narrative in an interesting direction. He had to know kisses occurred between loved ones rather than friends, didn't he? Despite how flustered she felt and how her blush was surely showing, he seemed totally unfazed by their situation; not in the least bit bashful about his proposal! Had she not explained this was one of the most intimate acts a pair could perform, reserved for only-

"I care about you more than I care about anyone or anything else, so if kissing works like you said then you're the person I should be kissing," He explained, entirely serious and more than half confident in his hypothesis, "Right?"

It was as though her brain was misfiring, Blaze was left completely speechless. Here he was, asking if he could kiss her and asking her to kiss him. There was zero hesitation in his voice, not an iota of contemplation or a speck of bashfulness. As was ever so common, the hedgehog's heart was on his sleeve and his intentions were much too easily discerned. They cared a lot about each other, the bandages they wore were more than evidence of that, but for him to so bluntly surmise their mutual care still caught her off guard. Not only that, but he truly wanted to try it; he wasn't joking, he wasn't the type to do that, Silver genuinely wanted to try kissing. He wanted to kiss her.

She must have been staring into space for too long because, when he finally broke the silence, concern hung on his voice; "We don't have to if you don't want to Blaze, it's ok-

"N-No I…" Blaze caught herself before she could finish that sentence; she swallowed her stutter and steeled herself, "Get up! You want to do this so we're doing it!"

"Really?!" The smile on his face was overwhelming, Silver bounded to his feet without hesitation but he paused before he could approach any further, "Are you sure? I don't know much about kissing, but the book made it out to be a big deal. A person's first kiss especially, that one's supposed to be really special. "

"I just agreed, didn't I? I'm more than certain, " A realisation dawned upon Blaze, she posed a similar question, "Are you okay with me being your first kiss?"

"Of course I am Blaze! There's no one else I'd even consider, you're really important to me and this is meant to be really important so it only makes sense," He was beaming at her, clearly overexcited, "As long as you're sure, I'm sure. As long as you're okay, I'm okay."

"Just," She felt a warmth she could only describe as bubbling giddiness; it was growing too powerful, "Give me a moment."

Blaze fully turned away from him in an attempt to compose herself, her eyes shut and arms still tightly folded across her chest. A bizarre shudder raked through her; she imagined it was the combined symptom of anticipation and, admittedly, a little bit of fear. Though she'd thought about it, Blaze hadn't anticipated something like this actually happening for years, if it ever did. She'd assumed, at the very least, neither of them would have the will to broach the subject until after Iblis was defeated for good. Furthermore, she'd imagined it'd be her dropping hints and to struggling to gently show interest. This was all just a little too fast, all just a little too sudden. Blaze felt her tail wriggle and writhe, it was as though her embarrassment was attempting to break free of her body and manifest as its own, awkward, entity. Were it not for today's endeavour, had she not fought and drained herself, Blaze was certain that her flames would have sprung forth long ago.

It was only as she reopened her eyes that she noticed he'd shifted. Not only had Silver drawn a few steps closer but his bright yellow eyes were shining down on her, carrying upon them an innocent worry that pierced her heart.

"I'm fine, I said I was… you're so naïve," Blaze caught herself half growling, reflexively puffing herself up in an attempt to look more confident than she actually was. One of her arms fell to her side, her remaining hand still gripping at her elbow. She sighed, trying to relax just a little, "This is all very new to me too and I want to do it right. I'm trying to think how we should… start."

"We could just do it like they did?" Despite her state, he still seemed oblivious to the connotations of their immanent embrace. She couldn't tell if that was for better or worse, "Like Star and Ivory."

The first kiss between Star the Cat and Ivory the Hedgehog, while not as heated as kisses she'd read about in later books, was a rather intimate affair. As she recalled, it remained surface level (that, or anything beyond the lips was left purely to the imagination) but the position they managed and the time spent in lip-lock was a feat in and of itself. To call that moment between them their first kiss would be to put it too lightly, too simply; it was much more than an awkward peck. But it wasn't too much more, she hoped at least.

"L-Like Star and Ivory," Blaze managed to repeat, half reflecting on what she wanted out of this first kiss and half on what she thought was possible, "I don't think that's beyond being possible?"

Having said that, Blaze did realise (now putting herself in Ivory's shoes) she would have to guide him. Even though he knew the hold, she was going to imitate this. Blaze, struggling not to turn away as her embarrassment maximised, reached across with her left hand; fumbling to find his hand only for him to find hers. Their fingers slowly interlocked and, as they did, she gingerly crossed her thumb across his.

"W-Wrap your arm around my waist," With the embarrassment behind her breath, it sounded almost as though she'd commanded him.

Despite her rashness, his arm immediately coiled around her waist. Blaze stumbled forward slightly; her chin had almost met with his chest fur. The gap between their frames was so very small; as her gaze dropped again she saw that her feet were between his. As she felt his right hand come to rest, only her tank top kept his fingers from her hip and his palm from the small of her back.

It was close, but this wasn't quite the complete hold Star and Ivory had shared. After all, Blaze still had one free hand. She wasn't brave enough to sink her fingers into his quills, not yet at least. For now, the less intimate contact would do; she'd have to build up to it.

Another realisation struck, only furthering Blaze's embarrassment. Despite the fact she was leading, despite her telling him what to do and how to kiss her, she was almost half a head shorter than him. The feline wore her heels so often (and she'd been so distracted by her embarrassment) that she'd completely forgotten the difference between their heights. Getting Silver to bend down and kiss her was, somehow, more embarrassing than the alternative. She would have to rise, climbing to her tiptoes in order to kiss him. It wasn't helping that, with so little distance between them, she was on eye level with the lips she'd soon be kissing. Try as she might, she couldn't stop staring.

"Is this okay Blaze? Am I holding you too tight?" He innocently inquired.

"N-No, that's good, I…" Her mouth felt dry all of a sudden, she assumed it was the heat, "We'll also need to tilt our heads, o-otherwise our lips won't meet properly," He blinked at her. Once again, he hadn't fully understood, "Lets both tilt right?"

"Like this?" Without hesitation, Silver tilted his head too far right. His muzzle was pressing against his shoulder, it seemed she would have to take more initiative than simply rising to her tiptoes.

"A little less, more like…" Blaze, without even thinking, reached up and sunk her hand into his quills, thus completing the hold as described in the book and the position they'd often taken in her mind's eye. Lines she'd read about pairs sharing passionate embraces, fingers running through hair and quills alike, quickly rushed to the forefront of her mind. Despite this, the feline couldn't bring herself to remove her hand from his overgrown spines. As she tilted her head to match his, she convinced herself that her hand should stay there. This way she could course-correct if they made a mistake, "There, th-that's perfect."

Innocent, excited, yellow eyes sparkled, but at this distance Blaze managed to spot something interesting. Now, with that promised kiss no more than a few moments away, a pink tinge had gently spread across his cheeks.

"Are you starting to understand? I've been feeling like this ever since you asked about kissing. Warm and nervous and…" Blaze forced herself to continue the explanation, after all; she was supposed to lead this, "Like my heart is exploding."

"I-I," He very almost forgot her hold as he shot up straight, eyes widening at his own stutter. Suddenly, his eyes darted to part from hers; unfortunately, there weren't many other places to look. He managed to half mumble, "I think I am."

"Do you still want to…" She led, once again finding herself unable to finish her sentence. It wasn't that she wanted to stop, in fact now she'd faintly invigorated, but she had to be sure he was comfortable.

Those bright yellow orbs flickered back to her amber ones as he gave as best a nod as he could, "I'm starting to get it, b-but now I want to know what it's actually like."

Silver's blush was creeping further, threatening to scale his ears with each passing moment. Well, at least they were flustered together; to Blaze, that somehow made this all just a little less embarrassing. She didn't have much time to consider that though, the tension between them seemed to be growing thicker by the second. She felt those often-described butterflies in her stomach but, as long as he did too, she knew that was fine. As long as it was mutual, as long as they were on the same wavelength, she knew everything would be okay.

"Alright, I'll lean in and, once I start kissing you, try to make your lips match mine," She instructed, managing to properly hold eye contact for the first time since he'd asked.

The hedgehog's brow furrowed, "What do you mean?"

"Just," She had no idea how to elegantly phrase what she wanted to say, "When I push my lips against yours, you're supposed to push back…? You can use your neck a little but I-I think you're supposed to just use your lips," Clearly still befuddled, Silver started to shape his lips into various (likely useless) forms. Not wanting to add humour to the dangerous concoction of emotions she was feeling, she quickly told him, "W-Watch and feel as I lead, I think the best way to learn is by doing it."

A look of realisation overcame his muzzle, fighting against his blush, "Oh, okay. So this is like practice?"

"If that helps then yes, th-think of it like practice," Blaze wasn't sure what she was saying at this point.

Practice for what? Practice for who? The only person she'd ever considered kissing was Silver and he'd only started to question kissing today, he'd even admitted she was the right person for him to kiss. Did he mean practice for the future? When she'd agreed, did she mean practice for the future? Blaze felt her hands grow sweatier as she contemplated that. She knew that even if Silver couldn't feel her sweat, he'd surely feel the heat that accompanied it. Thankfully, he hadn't mentioned it yet.

Swallowing one last time, she felt her grip grow just a little tighter, "Are you ready?"

"I-I think so?" Once again, caught off-guard by his own stutter, the blush on his cheeks grew a shade warmer. He managed to return her query, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Blaze half-nodded, there was nothing more to do. The moment was finally upon them, "Close your eyes and stick out your lips, I'll…" Synapses failed to fire as she struggled to give her final instruction. Eventually, she decided to draw upon their reference material, "I-I'll be Ivory, I-I'll lead and you … just do what you can."

For a moment he hesitated, perhaps he thought he'd be taking the hedgehog's position, but he quickly complied; closing his eyes and puckering up. He looked more than a little silly, clearly not sure of what to do with his mouth and his brows were strongly furrowed, but it was rather endearing. Just as neither of them knew what this would feel like, neither of them really knew what they were doing. For whatever reason, that thought relaxed Blaze just a little.

Blaze took a deep breath, squinting incredulously at Silver; expecting reality to, somehow, fall away before their lips could meet. She shifted onto to her tiptoes, maintaining her stare as matched the hedgehog's height. His eyes were shut much too tightly and his shoulders looked much too tense; it was as though he was bracing for a literal explosion rather than a figurative one. Deep within her chest, Blaze felt a fluttering warmth. It was soft and yet, somehow, prickly. It was calming yet exhilarating; soothing yet overwhelming. It was as if her blood had been replaced with crackling energy; fuzzy feelings were flowing throughout her body but her heart couldn't handle the strain. As the distance between them shrank her temperature continued to rise, the feeling was just as contradictory as the books made it out to be. It was too strange to verbalise yet unabashedly wonderful.

Her eyelids grew heavy, her head tilted to mirror his alignment and three stuttered words managed to slip from her mouth. It was a phrase she couldn't help but use whenever these feelings grew just a little too palpable, "Y-You're so naïve…"

Eyes fully shut, Blaze pressed her muzzle against his; their lips met for the very first time. Surprised caused his fingers to tense, his grip around her waist tightened so suddenly that Blaze very almost ended their lip lock there and then; but her own hold on his quills kept them connected. Admittedly, however, a muffled, not unlike a squeak, did push past her lips. She kept hold of the back of his head, trying to make sure that he didn't mistake the sound for some kind of regret. Blaze felt herself almost melt into Silver, despite the strength with which they were surely holding each other; three of their four contact points faded into obscurity while the fourth drew all of her attention.

Electrifying was a word Blaze had never truly understood, electricity belonged to a long lost past, but, finally, she could match a sensation to its definition. Despite the heat and her nervousness, or perhaps even due to it, Blaze was thoroughly enjoying this.

It was only as she began to understand this feeling that it metamorphosed into something even greater. Silver had overcome his surprise and was fighting to return her kiss! She felt him shift in her grasp, contrary to what she'd advised he'd shifted his head and leant in closer still; pressing his mouth into hers. Despite the clumsiness behind his effort, it was more than enough to draw muffled purrs from her throat and send what remained of her senses into disarray. She felt her tail whip wildly and her ears press angle down further; as if urging her to somehow close the distance even further.

This was achieved by tugging his quills, she'd tilted his head just a little more and thus allowed their contact to deepen. His lips pushed against hers, he'd overcome his shock and remembered her advice. The warmth of her face now mingled and matched with that in her chest, culminating in a combined heat the likes of which she'd never felt. It was unlike any flame she could conjure and must have been the antithesis of Iblis' lava. It was like a roaring hearth, a heat that comforted despite its ferocity. Blaze found herself sifting through his quills and felt herself unravel just a little more; giving in to feelings she'd previously quarantined. If it was only going to be this once, this one and only test, she wanted to make the very most of it.

When they finally separated the sound of their panting filled the room and Blaze felt more than a little lightheaded. Were it not for their shared grip, one of them would have surely stumbled. Blaze wasn't sure how long that silence lasted but, equally, she didn't care. She was much too distracted by the lingering warmth on her lips.

"That was incredible, Blaze! I-I think I get it now!" Silver, meanwhile, was recovering in his own way. Trying to reassure her thus reassuring himself. Still, he wasn't wrong, "I-It's even better than the book said!"

With her embarrassment returning to its highest point, Blaze's voice was robbed from her and her eyes returned to that patch of burnt carpet. But, regardless of her capacity to speak, the feline's uncontrollable purrs were most certainly conveying mutuality of his statement.

"Can we do it again?"

#silvaze #Silver the Hedgehog #Blaze the Cat #sonic the hedgehog #sonic

[dpillustrations]

A Discourse on Communication and Storytelling Part II: The Idealization of Nihilism

In my previous post, I outlined the flawed narrative structure of the conclusion of Game of Thrones. I focused primarily on Daenerys and how her story did not communicate effectively what Benioff and Weiss were wanting to accomplish with her, i.e. her becoming “Mad Queen” Targaryen. I then asked what it was that they did communicate through her story. Here is where I would like to begin.

As an artist and visual storyteller, I have become exceedingly grieved and disgusted with a lot of the stories in our entertainment today. Every one of my favorite shows one right after another ended in disappointment for me. I asked myself, why? Why were all these amazing shows, many of whom have exceptional talent working on them, crashing and burning, in my less than humble opinion? I believe the answer is multi-faceted, but I am going to zero in on one aspect for the sake of time and my argument. In short, cynicism and a nihilistic world view have poisoned the storytelling landscape.

I mean I get it. You only have to open your social media or major news page and you can find tons of reasons to bemoan the state of our society, our country, and the world. I understand the disappointment, the bitterness, the seething rage – I get it! I have felt it myself! I know precisely how everyone is feeling because I am feeling it too. I know that feeling of being utterly useless to help or stop any injustice or wrong from happening. The struggle is real. 

However, the struggle is not all there is, and I believe that is the crucial thing to remember because something much more sinister than our own despair is happening, which is that we are coming to love our despair. Our bitterness and anger is becoming a part of how we are defining ourselves every day. Suddenly instead of these ideas and attitudes being recognized as the poison that they are, we drink it like it is sweet nectar. And to me that is exceedingly more grieving than feeling negative emotions in of themselves. We all feel negative emotions, we all feel the pain of life to one degree or another. This is a part of life, but to actually redefine and look upon those attitudes and thoughts as beneficial, glorious, and wise? That is the truly terrible thing.

My own piece entitled: 美  which is the Chinese pictogram for “beauty”. 

Now let us dig deeper into what I mean. If you recall from Game of Thrones Season 4 where Tyrion tells Jaime the story about their cousin Orson Lannister. He describes how in his simpleness, Orson would crush beetles all the day long, and Tyrion became obsessed with divining why Orson was doing this. He felt there had to be a reason, that there had to be some meaning behind what he was doing. Obviously, this story is an analogy. What Tyrion was really expressing was the aged old question, what does it all mean. I will paste the discussion below:

Tyrion: [...] In any case, I found nothing that illuminated the nature of Orson's affliction or the reason behind his relentless beetles slaughter. So I went back to the source. I may not have been able to speak with Orson, but I could observe him, watch him, the way men watch animals to come to a deeper understanding of their behavior. And as I watched, I became more and more sure of it: there was something happening there. His face was like the page of a book written in a language I didn't understand, but he wasn't mindless, he had his reasons. And I became possessed with knowing what they were. I began spending inordinate amounts of time watching him. I would eat my lunch in the garden, chewing my mutton to the music of "kun kun kun". And when I wasn't watching him, I was thinking about him. Father droned on about the family legacy and I thought about Orson's beetles. I read the histories of Targaryen conquests. Did I hear dragon wings? No, I heard "kun kun kun". And I still couldn't figure out why he was doing it. And I had to know because it was horrible, that all these beetles would be dying for no reason.

Jaime: Every day around the world, men, women, and children are murdered by the score. Who gives a dusty f*** about a bunch of beetles?

Tyrion: I know, I know, but still it filled me with dread. Piles and piles of them, years and years of them. How many countless living, crawling things smashed, dried out, and returned to the dirt? In my dreams, I found myself standing on a beach made of beetle husks stretching as far as the eye can see. I woke up, crying, weeping for their shattered little bodies. I tried to stop Orson once.

Jaime: He was twice your size.

Tyrion: He just pushed me aside with a "kun", kept on smashing. Every day. Until that mule kicked him in the chest and killed him. So what do you think? Why did he do it? What's it all about?

Jaime: I don't know.

This here is a perfect encapsulation of what I have observed in so many of our stories of late, stories which by their very nature are asking that aged old question, what does it all mean. Benioff and Weiss have just expressed it with a heavy hand here, while other writers and artists have a more subtle approach. 

To make it clear what I am talking about, I want to draw a parallel between Tyrion’s story and what happened with Daenerys Targaryen. In this story, the audience is Tyrion – we are drawn to the story of Daenerys like Tyrion was drawn to the story of Orson. We were enraptured by her struggles as a character and divining the meaning of her story just as Tyrion sought to know the why of Orsen’s actions with the beetles. I mean isn’t that what we do as fans? We love going online and theorizing with other fans about what is going to happen, why it is going to happen, observing all the details of the plot and character arcs. We love seeking things out! 

I cannot remember where I heard it, but it was in something I watched where they pointed out that audiences love to discover things on their own. They like being able to feel like they figured out something, that they found out something the writer had hidden or perhaps may not have been aware of. There is excitement in exploring the story, just as Tyrion was enthralled with understanding the truth and meaning behind Orson’s beetle slaughter. Yet what happened after all of Tyrion’s study, observations, ruminations, and questions? What happened to us the audience when we came to the end of Daenerys’ story? What happened to all that time and effort spent in watching, theorizing, and discussing? Despite Daenerys’ struggle as the underdog in her own story suffering abuse and pain - despite the awe of witnessing dragons coming to life from dormant eggs - despite all the lessons Daenerys learned as a ruler through her mistakes - all of it came to nothing. Just as Tyrion never divined the meaning behind Orson’s senseless slaughter, so we came to the end of Game of Thrones, having gained no beneficial understanding by our journey. Mad Queen Targaryen. Jon kills her. Orson gets killed by a mule. All the world burns. Beetles die for no reason. The End. 

Tyrion: So what do you think? Why did he do it? What's it all about?

Jaime: I don't know.

Game of Thrones isn’t the only show with these problems. In the FX show Legion, David Haller, the protagonist of the story, is suddenly twisted to become the show’s villain. He’s been Daenerys Targaryen-ed. 

Trish Walker from Jessica Jones Season 3, also Daenerys Targaryen-ed.

This one is from a movie (it isn’t only in tv shows) and it is a little more subtle, but Professor X in Dark Phoenix was suddenly twisted as this arrogant douche who was controlling and manipulative - the “idol” of the X-Men school brought low. The “idealistic delusion” of Professor X as a heroic leader unveiled to show us the true frailties underneath! *GASP*

As you can see within the very fabric of Benioff and Weiss’s writing, nihilism pervades. It isn’t just in Daenerys’ story, but scattered throughout the stories of Game of Thrones - i.e. how Jaime Lannister went from redemption story to dying under a pile of rocks. Yet not only is nihilism pervading, but it is being romanticized, like there is something profound and powerful in its telling - like we are achieving some enlightened ideal in heralding its tenets. Many storytellers, not just Benioff and Weiss, have become just like that whole scene where Tyrion goes underground and discovers the dead bodies of Jaime and Cersei. Observe how the whole sequence was filmed in excruciating reverence, as we watch Tyrion walk through one ruin to the next. It is is a sobering moment, almost holy in how it is filmed - Tyrion’s silent pilgrimage as he approaches the thing he has dreaded most... 

Remember how I mentioned in my previous post that every aspect of the cinematic arts is communicating something? The dialogue, the lighting, the way something is framed, what is shown vs what is not shown, the music, the colors, etc. I would encourage you to rewatch this scene and pay attention to how Benioff and Weiss are wanting you to feel as all these elements are spun together. And when Tyrion does finally arrive, after seeing Jaime’s golden hand amongst the rubble, Tyrion expresses a kind of ritualistic act as he removes the stones one by one, uncovering the truth. Oh, the existential dread! Tyrion weeps and thrashes in the horror and pain of it all! Woe, woe, woe! How powerful, how terrible, how divine!  

Observe the way Jaime and Cersei are orchestrated here. Despite being crushed by an onslaught of incredibly heavy stones and rocks, they are pictured here in peaceful and reverent positions - something akin to a Renaissance painting. How does that make you feel when you look upon it? The gentle, diffused white light, the atmosphere of ecclesiastical reflection - it is romantic, is it not? It is showing a glorified ideal! Behold the profundity of the nothingness! 

Do you see what I mean? There is this glorification of showing the meaninglessness of life, of uncovering “the truth” that this life is full of ugliness and pain, of unmasking our delusions, of showing that there is always “someone behind the curtain”, our idols become monsters, our heroes become villains, it was all a lie, it was all a sick cosmic joke - and this is what empowers us and makes us wise. Oh, look how discerning and insightful we are as we reflect back to you the despair of a twisted humanity!

Me to Writers about how they believe their cynical worldviews are working in their stories:

Now, I am not at all saying that stories cannot speak to the ugliness of this world, because there is truth in ugliness. There is pain, suffering, dread, brokenness, disillusionment, bitterness, anger, hate, and a myriad of dark and terrible things. I am not saying we should only tell feel-good stories where everyone lives “happily ever after”. No, what I am pointing out is an attitude that many storytellers have towards that ugliness. All artists have an obligation to speak to all truth, but there is huge difference between telling a story about ugliness vs making making that ugliness seem romantic. There is a difference between showing how life feels arbitrary and meaningless vs saying life is meaningless and arbitrary. There is such a big gap there.

So, I speak to all storytellers now: you are not profound for making statements about the despair of reality. You are not wise. You are not enlightened. It is easy for anyone to despair. It is much more difficult to rejoice in the face of that despair. It is easy to grow in bitterness and disappointment, much more difficult to believe in hope in the face of that disappointment. It is easy to observe ugliness, much more difficult to discern the beauty underneath, within, and despite it. And so that is what it really comes down to – it is easy to write a story like Daenerys “Mad Queen” Targaryen. It is easy to have her twist her own ideals and dreams into the dying screams of a burning city. It is easy to tell a story where someone falls than it is to tell a convincing and realistic story of redemption. It doesn’t require any work – nihilism is the lazy man’s philosophy. If all is meaningless, if nothing truly has any value, than that means you hold no responsibility to anyone or anything. It means you do not have to change the way you are doing things, that you can coast, lay back, and just watch the world burn. You can pat yourself on the back for being “woke” and not falling for the opiates of the masses. You don’t have to do any soul searching. You do not have analyze your own world view or assumptions. You don’t have to work at trying to understand what life truly means or try to find the purpose amidst all the chaos. There is no truth except the truth of nothing, therefore you are free to do nothing without guilt or shame. Nihilism is one big fat existential cop out! 

Therefore, I say to all artists, storytellers, writers, showrunners, and creators – stop dishing out this crap for audiences to eat and get off your lazy asses and get to work!  

#my thoughts #game of thrones #daenerys targaryen

[therealraewest]

I didn’t want to risk posting my gift late so I’m posting it a bit early. Here’s my TPoH Secret Santa for @rosyabomination! You requested Julienne/Melody fluff and I hope you enjoy! Fic under the cut, and check the notes for the ao3 link

 Sempre Piu

Sometimes there are things in the world that fit together perfectly. Often things come in pairs, but too often those pairs are equals and opposites. The sky and the sea. Darkness and light. The sun and the moon.

           Hate and Time.

           But for two things to exist, parallel but never truly coexisting without losing bits of themselves, was a lonely life indeed. Julienne felt sorry for them, in a way. In a world she used to live in, laws of gravity could keep two bodies orbiting in a steady and ever-moving dance around each other without ever allowing those two bodies to touch. She wasn’t sure if gravity were quite so strict in this world, as it did pull her ever towards the ground below, but the sun surely didn’t care for a regular orbit. Or, well, the Light didn’t, at least.

           Gravity tugged at sugar-floss wings, though she knew she could power through and stay airborne for several hours yet. There were no signs that the Light’s master had any intention to let it fall away into night anytime soon, and on a day as clear as today she could nearly see straight from one side of the world to the other. The sky was liberating, but these days it was empty. She was often the only one for miles, if at all. Those who flew were only too wary since the sky itself had caught fire. Their numbers had fallen dramatically that awful day, and the market was the only place most of her feathered brethren felt safe anymore. It wasn’t that she blamed them, no. They had all lost so much in the fire. But she simply couldn’t allow herself to remain cooped in the market. It was a bright and colorful and crowded place at ground level, and short visits were always nice, but the dark and deadly ceiling loomed too low, too heavy. Even with the danger, she preferred the open sky any day.

           Below, there came a call more compelling than gravity, and at this Julienne angled downwards. Her new flight brought the ground soaring upwards as she grew closer and closer to her lover’s cadenza. It was a beautiful song, a melancholy thing played mostly in strings that Julienne had never heard before. Melody was a hell of a composer. She had been even before she became the walking ensemble that she was, always plucking out new tunes and juggling instruments in an attempt to capture the depth of the songs that played inside her head. Her final form had been shaped around that habit. Melody could now play as many instruments in tandem as she wished as easily as if they were extensions of herself, for the simple reason that now they very much were.

           The song shifted as Julienne swooped into frame. Less melancholy, more dulce, a tone Melody saved exclusively for her. Julienne’s chocolate heart threatened to melt as it swelled with affection. Her wings beat a couple more times, easing out of her relative dive to make a soft and easy landing beside her wife, placing both of them in the same octave.

           “Hello to you too, my love,” she said, nuzzling the side of the lyre face with her own. Melody’s song drifted off on a fond note.

           Those who did not know them well often inquired how the two of them ever managed to hold a conversation. When one half of the pair spoke only in what tones and rhythms could be provided by her symphonic form, it was easy for an outsider to question how anything meaningful was ever said.

           Julienne called those people idiots.

           The harp plucked out a questioning tone, Melody’s hollow eyes tilting upwards towards the blue sky above.

           “I could see all the way across the Sea of Limen today. It’s a lovely view, I only wish I could share it with you.”

           Drums beat out a bouncy rhythm in reply, Melody’s tempo becoming more of a skip.

           “Ah, yes, the elastic valley still stands as surely as it ever did. The fence does it well, but,” she faltered a moment, which Melody noticed immediately, letting out another curious note.

           “There’s Nothing where the Forest of Wisdom used to be.”

           A horrified clatter, the glockenspiel on the crown of Melody’s head shaking like leaves in a stiff wind.

           “I know, but at the very least if I can see it I know where it is, or at the least where it isn’t.” She nuzzled further into her wife’s accordion neck. “We are safe, and that’s what matters.” She didn’t mention the grief she’d seen in the Plains of Hesitation, probably plaguing some unfortunate soul, nor did she mention how empty the land seemed these days, with few wanderers still left.  So long as she knew where the threats were, she could keep the two of them far, far away from those places. Not that they were incapable of holding their own, but there was no need to tempt fate, especially now when She was getting more bold with each passing day.

           Melody made a soft sound, angling her head up and back. Julienne understood and accepted the invitation, climbing aboard. She sent a small thanks to the long-since-fallen stars that their forms seemed so perfectly matched, and that she was able to settle upon her wife’s back as naturally as a smaller bird might rest upon a branch.

           “In brighter news, there seems to be a new type of flower in bloom,” Julienne angled the knife-point of her head towards the horizon. “That way. They seem to be growing in a great circle.”

           There was a cymbal-roll as Melody shifted her direction. A brisk Andante began as they started towards the direction Julienne had indicated.

           “You’re quite right,” mused Julienne. “There’s so little in this world we haven’t seen, I’d love to investigate this new mystery with you.” She rested her head atop her wife’s, resting delicately beside glockenspiels and knowing she would be safe from each mallet. Melody was large, yes, but so, so gentile, especially when it came to Julienne. She never worried at all about her own relatively delicate form when it came to her love. “Feels almost like a hero’s work again, doesn’t it?”

           The accordion wheezed out a laugh beneath her.

           “Wandering towards a vague and unspecified destination without reason? All we need is that electric fool filling our heads with riddles.”

           The laugh deepened, light percussion falling like rain upon a roof. Julienne missed the rain, and she allowed herself to close her no-longer-physical eyes and pretend she was home in a flat resting near a window, hearing rain patter against the glass as she held the love of her life close to her, their human forms fitting together like neighboring pieces of the same puzzle.

           “I love you,” she said, knowing Melody would understand despite her abrupt change of topic. “Unconditionally and eternally, for all the time we have in this dying world.”

           Below her, a soft motif played, and Julienne knew it well enough to know that the sentiment was returned with all the strings of Melody’s musical heart.

           As if on cue, the sky began to dull from its vibrant blue. The dulling turned to darkening, and soon the two of them knew that if they kept on they’d be travelling through the night. One should never be caught travelling at night in this world, so Melody stretched right where she was and made a soft noise that indicated Julienne should dismount.

           Weaker monsters than them were often advised to find either a strong dreamer or the shelter of trees when night came, but the two of them were anything but weak. While they remained close to one another, hardly anything would dare to threaten them, and so it was no issue when Melody settled herself in a relaxed half-moon right in the middle of the open plain. Her earlier noise was repeated, a soft invitation that Julienne accepted. She settled her avian figure so that she filled the crescent that Melody had provided, resting her head beside her wife’s as she gave her wings a final stretch before they rested.

           A soft and sweet lullaby lulled from Melody. It was a sleepy thing, the woman’s equivalent of humming, and it reverberated through Julienne like the affectionate purring of a cat all around her.

           “Goodnight to you, too, my dearest,” she murmured, already letting the heavy blanket of sleep pull over them both. As they lay like this, Julienne’s dreams took her not quite backwards but perhaps sideways in time, where she as a ballerina had met a rather quiet musician with striking eyes and a kind smile, who spoke softly but played loudly, whose laugh sounded like the playing notes of a rain-stick overturned, and the two of them lived simply but happily in their own world of make-believe far from monsters or fears or doubts or griefs or hate.

           Some things fit together perfectly, not opposites but equals. Trees and Flowers. The Moon and the Stars. Wood, Water and Darkness.

           Dance and Music.

           Julienne and Melody.

#tpohsecretsanta2018 #tpoh #the property of hate #julienne/melody #buffalo wings #julienne #melody #rosyabomination #fic #fanfic

[littlesilverplatinum]

Happy Birthday, Little Lamb – Oh, How you Have Grown

---

For all intents and purposes, Hikari was at peace.

In the inky depths of nothingness, never falling yet never staying in one place for long enough to remember it. The open field around her sat littered with stars, lights and fireflies. If she looked to her hands, she could not see them. Only glimpses, here and there – shapes formed through shadows.

……. Hikari…….

A voice hummed against her chest, deep and hollow. Close yet far away. Distant… and closer than it should be. Her gaze cast over a shape – something – moving behind her. Slithered like a serpent, eyes shut tight.

……. Hikari…….

Uselessly, she tried to find a way to move around. To help herself find footing in a sea of nothing but darkness. The young girl kicks her feet, moves her arms – swims where water was nonexistent. --Her back hit something hard. And though she cannot see it, she knows that she has found what she was looking for. Cold, rough but when she smoothed her hands over it, she could at least make out it was a platform of sort. Hikari heaved herself onto it, gravity suddenly taking hold of her and had it not been for the fact that she already had her torso laid flat on the piece of land, she would’ve fallen.

Back into nothingness.

“Land…” She whispered to herself, feeling around with numb fingers. Had it always been cold? She could not tell.

… It was in a stumble that she stood.

There was a brush against her skin, over her bare ankles and feet with lilac touches and butterfly wings. Somehow, in her mind’s eye – she knew what it was. Though clouded in complete darkness, she knew it. Its name, its meaning.

Anemone. -Forsaken.

---

These days, she slept more than she ever had in any earlier stage of her life. As a kid, she refused to take naps – which had often been much to the dismay of her mother. A child that doesn’t sleep isn’t a happy one. Not in mind, not in soul. Even when on her journey, Hikari barely slept even though she very well could’ve. Now, as she felt the soft, feathery pillow of her childhood bed – she couldn’t comprehend how she ever stayed awake. Hikari moved, only to feel the soft, plush covers over her resting shape. Only to feel the heat of having fallen sleep fully clothed.

--Not everything about naps was… pleasant.

Through the blinds covering her window, she could catch glimpses of starlight. Of streetlights having come on to guide the late-night goers back home. The shadows they cast over her were straight lines, broken up but parallel to each other. She found it to be… Pretty. Mesmerizing, if nothing more.

The soft sounds of footsteps coming to her door broke her out of those thoughts. Johanna, her mother, knocked on the closed door leading to her room three times – with the back of her wrist, not her knuckles – before pushing it open.

“Hikari.” Johanna whispered for her daughter, who by now had turned around to make a show of sleeping. “I hope you haven’t forgotten what day it is today,” mother continued. Her voice sat soft and gentle and so, so familiar. Caring. She had only ever wanted the best for her daughter.

There was silence for a moment before Hikari replied. “My birthday… I know.”

The soft click of the door closing was all she needed to hear before she moved herself outside the confines of her bed. Pushing the covers to the side, she unbuttoned her dress in the back to change into something less bed-matted and sweaty.

A t-shirt and cardigan, paired with a long skirt, was her items of choice.

When she came downstairs, the scent of something she hadn’t smelled in what felt like years washed over her. Rose and sugar sat as the most prominent scents, wafting through the kitchen and into the living room like a spring breeze. On the three-seat couch sat Hanish, though this time with significantly less sharp talons to avoid any major tearing – a repeat of yesterday’s happenings wasn’t anything anyone wanted. Least not her mom. --Hikari padded over on light feet and took a seat – which was directly followed by the owl taking three leaps to land upon her shoulder. The weight of him caused her wounds to flare with pain, though only momentarily and not enough so for her to really react to it. A flinch, perhaps, but nothing more.

Soon after, Johanna entered the living room with napkins and plates. The nicer kind, the ones that they kept in a special cabinet and would only use during holidays and special occasions. Today (or rather, tonight) was one of those occasions.

Even though, perhaps, it wasn’t so special to her.

“I just took the cake out from the fridge,” mother spoke, kneeling carefully to place the dishware to its intended place. The low couch table was not their most common seating arrangement, but sometimes you may forgo manners for comfort. “Let’s keep it out for just a moment before we have a bite, alright?”

Hikari responded with a nod – something her mother couldn’t see, though none of the women commented on the fact. Once the plates were set, Johanna returned to the kitchen to fetch cutlery and glasses.

“It was a while since we celebrated your birthday, was it not Hikari?” A nostalgic tone came over Johanna’s words. Reminiscence about days long gone. --It took everything within Hikari to not explain that it happened just last year.

For her.

Something vile begun to form in back of her throat, though she pushed it down. Forced it down. Reminded herself that… There had not been any ill intent, in her mother’s words. For Johanna, it truly had been three years since she last got to celebrate her only child’s birthday.

… She shouldn’t have such a reaction to it all.

“Yeah,” she answered, long after the moment had passed.

---

Eighteen candles. That is how many she would’ve had to blow out. Eighteen candles, one for each year she should’ve lived.

Three of those meant nothing to her. She hadn’t been there to experience them and never would get the chance to. When the rose jam cake her mother had made from scratch came to sit upon the table, a rush relief came over her. --Because in reality, there were no candles. Nothing to show what her intended age was – nothing but soft-pink icing and strawberry ornaments.

“Happy birthday, dear.” Words of honest and deep love – whenever her mother spoke to her now, it was with intent behind each syllable. A tilt to her tone to show compassion and care. Because that was who she was. Had always been.

Hikari sat on the edge of the couch seat, her skirt tucked close around her limbs. The arms over her cardigan covered her knuckles, hid away burns she gained in her travels. --At her side, Hanish rested against her. Slept as he always did – never fully, always alert, but cuddled up against her in search of warmth.

What hit Hikari was how… Normal everything felt. No pain in her chest, no direct worry or anxiety that festered within her throat. Just… normal. Of no real importance.

If this didn’t take place right now, nothing in the world would change.

It was with numb fingers that she got herself a piece of the cake, a soft sound of gratitude escaping her lips in a breath. The soft cake easily bent under the weight of the knife – parted, just as it should.

It was normal.

Johanna told her about the process of making rose jam – ‘You would need to learn eventually, Hikari. It’s a family sort of thing.’ – and how this time, it had turned out particularly sweet.

Hikari couldn’t really taste it, but didn’t say so. It would only lessen her mother’s bright mood.

She fed part of her piece to Hanish – the owl having woken himself up by ruffling his feathers and getting himself pretty. A small stash of feathers laid beside him. Ones he had deemed unworthy to stay, dirtied or bent in ways he didn’t enjoy. --Hikari instinctively rolled her left shoulder, tested its given mobility.

She shouldn’t be able to move it, something in her said. Claw at it, break it away.

But she had already done that enough, had she not? The thick gauze pad pressed against her shoulder blade told as much. Yet, she reached to feel it. Reminded herself that it was there.

“Is there anything you wish for, Hikari?”

Johanna’s voice broke through her thoughts, bringing her back to the present. Candles flared to life at the corner of her eyes, her mother having forgone artificial lighting for more cozy ones. ‘Just like last time’, she had said. And Hikari couldn’t bring herself to remember such a thing.

“That I… Wish for?”

I wish my arm was gone.

“I… Don’t really think I wish for anything.”

I wish you wouldn’t look at me with pity.

One last spoon went to her bird, who promptly after took to fly over to the kitchen. With his feet, he got the tap working and washed his beak off. --Hikari placed her half empty plate back onto the table.

After a moment, Johanna spoke again. “Nothing?” She questioned. “Nothing at all?”

I wish I could go back to before everything happened.

“Nothing at all,” she repeated, leaning back against the soft cushions of the couch. Hikari tucked her knees against her chest, making sure to pull down her skirt to cover her feet. Mother watched daughter for another moment, before she stood up and crossed the room. A cabinet was opened with a key, hidden behind a framed picture of Hikari – age six.

“Well,” Johanna began, locking the cabinet door behind her after grabbing what she had come for. “I hope my gift will make you happy, anyways.”

Instead of going back to her original seat – the two-seat couch, Johanna sat down next to her daughter. Perhaps not as close as she wanted to be, but close enough for Hikari to feel that it was enough.

In her hands sat a box, something Hikari recognized as a jewelry container. Tucked between two fingers – a letter. Nothing was written on the outside. No return address, not even the address to their house.

“Since you’re eighteen now… I can give you this.” Her mother held out the box for her to take, which Hikari took with just a short moment of hesitation.

The box was velvet clad, soft to the touch and fit nicely in her palm. It didn’t weigh much, if anything.

“Go on,” Johanna ushered. Hikari decided to get it over with. Opening the case and the item laid within was… expected.

Stud earrings, small and pleasant. Framed by silver, a glass textured crystal sat nestled inside.

“They are… Pretty.”

She had nothing to say about them, in reality. Hikari never often wore jewelry – hadn’t really been able to, out of fear of losing them while out on her journey. At most, she had worn a necklace once or twice but then quickly shipped it back home for safekeeping.

She did, however, wear small plastic earrings. Nothing too valuable, with one hole in the right and two in the left. She had gotten them done long, long ago...

“They are something my mother got me when I turned sixteen. But,” almost apologetically, she moved strands of hair away from the shape of her ears. Her mother never got them pierced. “I never wore them.”

“So I thought… Now is the chance for them to get used.”

Hikari nodded her head, more out of manners instilled in her at a young age than anything else. Listen to adults, even when they are wrong.

“Thank you.” She expressed, closing the box in her palm. “I will… Put them in tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds good. Oh, and Hikari?”

“Yes?”

“Open this before you go to bed, would you? It’s something special.” Johanna handed her the envelope, sealed and bare. Hikari took it, though didn’t pay it much mind. It was just a letter, after all.

As Hikari rose from her seat, she clicked her tongue to bring her bird to her. He flew to her, taking great care in landing on her outstretched arm before adjusting himself to sit upon her shoulder. The right one, this time. As she exited the living room, taking her first step back upstairs – she turned.

Johanna was starting to clean up, gathering the dishes for washing. When she caught her daughter looking, she smiled.

“Thank you for the meal,” Hikari said, before taking two steps at a time to leave it all behind.

---

The letter, as it were, meant nothing.

It was from her father, or so it said. Its content expressed love towards her – asking her how she must have grown so much since he last saw her. Did she remember their trips, or were those memories gone with the years past? --If the lack of an address didn’t give it away, the handwriting did.

Hikari placed it down on her vanity, along with other items she never had any use for.

She knew her mother did it out of compassion. Out of love. But it didn’t save it from meaning absolutely nothing to her. Why would she want empty words from a mother who knew as little about her father whereabouts as she?

The girl starring back at her wasn’t herself, but she already knew that. Still, as she saw the lines of her features – the bruise that hadn’t healed – she found herself fingering at her hair. --Brushed it aside, to reveal those black, plastic studs she had worn since she was eleven.

Four years, not counting those she hasn’t experienced.

Perhaps it was time for something… new.

The velvet box sat before her, closed and dull with sentimental treasures inside. Not for her, but for her mother. Hikari flipped the lid open, the dull lights of her room doing nothing for the look of those charms. They weren’t ugly by any means – surely, they cost a good amount for what you got. But Hikari had never thought herself to like pretty things.

Still, as she took the old ones out – a small sense of excitement filled her chest. Not tight, not heavy or unpleasant. Just a flutter. A heartbeat skipping.

Hikari leaned over the desk space of the vanity to see herself in the mirror, hair falling over her shoulder like inky curtains. After the first one was in, she changed sides. When she got them both, she tucked her hair behind both her ears and looked at herself.

Nothing really changed. She was still Hikari.

“What do you do… when you turn eighteen?” She asked, aloud to herself.

The soft coo’s of Hanish was of no help. The voices she heard said nothing of use.

Come back to me, if you’re lost.

… Was anemone really such a bad flower?

#(ic - muse) #Story Progression - Hikari #-drabble- #important

[alittlepieceofwarcraft]

A Meeting of Minds: Part II

Of course, the Prophet had been beside himself with worry. They’d missed the evening meal and it was reaching close to midnight. He’d been moments away from sending a search party out into the darkness when all five stumbled in, each out of breath from rushing to his quarters in the Exodar. They rambled at first, until sat down with a cool glass of water, each being encouraged to calm down and collect themselves. They spoke of a new friendly race with strange face markings and big, pointed ears to which Velen seemed apprehensive about –  until they mentioned the orcs. They knew the orcs? The orcs were here, in this land? How could this be?

 Another expedition was formed and sent out, just two days after the first encounter. Kali was instructed to extend a formal invitation to the kaldorei to come to the Exodar wherein O’ros would be able to decipher their words with more ease that the previous party had. In an act of good faith, they brought with them baskets of gifts: gorgeous gems of warm amber, glistening emerald and a vibrant violet were set in a shining silver to create necklaces and rings to adorn their new friends. Silken robes dyed in hues of blood red, bright turquoise and glorious jade had been specially tailored just for them. Roasted meat was wrapped in cotton, heaped on top of a grand serving of root vegetables the draenei had discovered. Recalling the child she’d interacted with, Kali ensured that a large box was filled with soft plush elekks for their younglings to appreciate. The extravagant display was welcomed on behalf on the kaldorei by a group of unaware scouts, one of which was the pink skinned one from before. Recognising Kali, she’d flagged down the boat with an exaggerated wave, a pearly beaming smile spread across her face. Kali returned the grin as she docked and unloaded the piles of presents, pointing at them and then to the kaldorei, trying to say, “these are for you”. After the pleasantries had been clumsily given and received through a lengthy translation process of waving hands and pointing, she managed to indicate that she wanted the pink one to come back with them by beckoning.

“You may bring your friends, and more if you wish,” Kali had tried to suggest, flapping her arms around to attempt to make the invitation clear. Nodding at the vegetables, miming eating, waving her hands a little more before saluting, she wanted to say, “please come and dine with us and speak to our leader.” She dropped her sword to the ground, making a cross with her arms over her chest, “No weapons, you will be safe.” The pink one had paused after each charade, nodding in understanding most sentiments, but not others. After a short while, the kaldorei grasped the concept. She bowed, nodded at the boat, pointed towards her companions, then lifted a hand to present a single finger upwards before gesturing at the sun.

“Thank you for the gifts,” Kali gathered from her motions, “we will come with others, but in one day.”

 And so, it was. True to their word, they arrived at midday sharp. A group of kaldorei strung up their boat upon the shores of the draenei-claimed isle and gifted their own tributes to in return. Blocks of wood had been elegantly carved; chipped into intricate depictions of woodland creatures or twirling patterns. Wind mobiles fashioned from twigs were bound in twine, marble-like shells from the beach clinked against smoothed crystal when hung up. They too brought food and drink: sweet, rich wine that the draenei had greatly craved was shipped in by the barrel. But by far the greatest present were a small pack of giant saddled cats, beasts of which none of the draenei had never seen before. White coats were almost cut through with slashes of black markings, eyes glowing a ghostly grey. At least a dozen had been brought over the narrow sea to be handed to the draenei. They’d been unsure if they had mounts and the forest could be thick with enemies, the kaldorei later explained, these cats would be a much safer getaway should a hunting group encounter the wrong enemy. Although they bore no weapons, the two dozen kaldorei were armoured an indigo plating, almost blending in with those who were of a purple shade, feathered paldrons shielding their broad shoulders. Velen himself was there as they docked, giving a deep bow to the small army of kaldorei that had accepted his invite to their now-home.

“Greetings to the kaldorei,” he announced from the front of the draenei gathering as he tried to wrap his tongue around the softer kaldorei dialect, using as many words from their language as he could remember from the recitation of phrases the original scouting party had relayed to him. He opted to replace words he did not know with draenei and using hand gestures to convey the meaning, “I am Velen and I lead these draenei. I am most glad that you accepted the invite, and that you were pleased enough with our humble gifts that you brought your own. It was most kind.” One stepped forward, smiling warmly. Her hair was a blue shade, azure even, contrasting brightly against Velen’s own alabaster hue.

“I am Shandris Feathermoon,” she replied, giving a slight nod of the head to Velen, “I lead the kaldorei Sentinels. We were happy to return the favour and see the place you call home.” Velen pressed his lips together puzzled, unsure of what exactly she represented. “Sentinel” was not a word he knew of, but O’ros would grant clarity once they had reached his chamber. He stretched an arm out toward the direction of the Exodar.

“The vessel that is now our city lays just beyond. Please, we will lead you there.”

 All formed an orderly line when it was time to enter the Exodar that rested to the other side of the isle, all gave small gasps of amazement to the alien architecture none of their kind had ever beheld before. The walls almost hummed with a foreign energy, nearly sang with a sense of fractured peace from centuries of travel. They were fascinated by the tall ceilings that paralleled their own stooped roofs, the smell of sweet and spicy draenic seasonings wafting out of nearby bubbling pots, so different to the warm vegetable brews and slow roasted meats of kaldorei meals. Perhaps the most intriguing sensation was being able to witness a bright being of glimmering navy: a collection of geometric shapes floating up from the ground, echoing a gentle buzz around the small hall in which it dwelled. O’ros’ blessing reached around every member of both parties, almost whispering within their minds to unite their thoughts and bridge the linguistic divide between them. Through his power, the draenei and kaldorei managed to speak freely without restrictions, shedding light by further explaining past conversations that had previously spoken in a string of broken words and simple scribbles in the dirt, and learning much more about both sides.

The draenei discovered many things. The kaldorei were a race of elves, specifically night elves, and at least one other race – known as high elves – lived across on another continent. Ah yes, another continent, two more even, existed on the world of Azeroth: this one was Kalimdor, across the sea lay the Eastern Kingdoms, concluding with an icy domain known as Northrend.

Noon turned to evening, too quickly for either party to realise and would have happy chatted on for hours more if the draenei cooks hadn’t notified them that the banquet was ready. A lavish feast was prepared for the guests: smoked deer meat and slow roasted tender boar dripped with peppery gravy; steamed root vegetables of fluffy potatoes, juicy leeks and sweet turnips, all accompanied by the aged vintage of the night elves poured into silver goblets. The grand meal was laid out on a long dining table almost reaching one end of the city’s main auditorium to the other to host the honoured guests as well as those chosen to entertain them. Velen ensured that Shandris would be seated at the head and decided to seat himself to her left, concluding that conversation between representatives would be easier there rather than having to raise voices from one end to another. Velen had wanted to sit down properly to discuss other races of the land. A topic he both was mightily interested in, but also heavily concerned about. Past traumas kept him off the subject until his plate was nearly emptying. Unable to put it off for much longer, he asked her.

 “Clearly, you night elves are a successful and thriving people,” he said, reaching out to a goblet and taking a sip of wine, “and you mentioned your Quel’dorei cousins.” He prayed that he’d pronounced it efficiently through his thick draeneic accent. “Do you know of other races that live in these lands?” Kalimdor’s natives would be a much more efficient starting point before brancing out into the Eastern Kingdoms. Shandris chewed on the last slice of meat upon her plate, slowly to savour the flavour. After swallowing, she gave a small smile.

 She gave a briefing Velen on those who shared their continent. The Tauren, from how she described them, sounded to be quite the gentle giants: some standing at ten feet tall, horns curving out from their skulls and fine fur coating their bodies. Shandris spoke of a long war thousands of years ago in which the Tauren aided the elves in against terrifying foes, as well as one of the beasts later going on to be tutored in the ways of the druid by a prominent leader of their people. She noted a civil passiveness between the two races, until an orc had overthrown the tyranny of his captors and rallied the bovine-like beings into a horde of sorts. Velen winced at the mention of an orc but let her continue verbally depicting the other races across the world. Gnomes, funny little creatures, were a stark contrast to the towering Tauren; most growing to a mere three foot. However, they appeared to have a large interest in tinkering and inventions. Goblins appeared to be an unsavoury counterpart, standing a little taller but baring smaller pointed ears, their skin an olive hue. The Prophet listened politely, occasionally pressing a detail he thought he’d missed, asking a question about the culture of the people in question. From this, he noted that innovative dwarves possessed a mountain city housing a vast forge to satisfy their smelting and blacksmithing interests. Rumours of wolf-man monsters had travelled across from the east, but yet not confirmed.

“What is a man?” Velen enquired, reeling from the extensive life Azeroth offered in wonder.

“Human,” Shandris extended, and pondered for a moment. “I suppose they are much like us night elves. A little shorter, and they have strange tiny ears and eyes. They rallied many races together into what they call “The Alliance”: the humans, the dwarves, the gnomes and more recently my people. To fight the new Horde.”

“New Horde?” Shandris nodded. The general went on to explain the events of three wars Azeroth endured: the invasion of the orcs, destruction of the human capital, the end to the Dark Portal. Names Velen knew of were spoken: Blackhand, Durotan, Orgrim, Gul’dan. All had met their ends in this new world, their blinded followers only managing to find clarity within the internment camps of the humans. Her accounts were hazy, the information second-hand to her, however her recall became much clearer towards recanting the Third.

“My own people assisted the orcs and humans during a conflict that did not involve the Horde and Alliance. The dead rose, and our world tree was sacrificed for the sake of the mortal races.” Velen’s face froze in puzzlement.

“The dead rose? How can this be?”

“They call themselves the Burning Legion: an unending army of demons. Meddling in foul forces, draining life and giving life back to the dead to create mindless puppets. The right hand of their vile leader tried to use the magics of my people to gain great power. The Defiler Archimonde was ended by our shan’do… oddly enough, he and some other demons appear to be a far more crimson version of your own people, with bigger horns and fiery eyes now that I come to think of it.” Velen’s face did not move upon hearing the name, nor did it upon her epiphany of the eredar and draenei’s similar appearances. Wearily, he merely lay back in his chair, giving a sad smile, his eyes’ twinkle fading a little.

“You have told me much of your past, Sentinel,” he inclined his head at her, “perhaps it is time that you hear of ours. Our tales are more intertwined that one may expect.”

Concludes with A Meeting of Minds: Part III.

#draenei #eredar #velen #prophet velen #shandris feathermoon #nelf #night elf #kaldorei #sargeras #tbc #the burning crusade #the burning legion #tyrande whisperwind #Malfurion Stormrage #WoW RP character blogs #wow #wow rp #roleplay #fanfic #wow rp character blog #archimedes #kil'jaeden