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hannibals-favourite-meal · 1 month

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Stilgar x plus size reader

When the sand is still and the sun has set, you reflect on what has become of your life but there is someone unexpected who wishes to show you how valued you truly are

Warnings: some Dune 2 spoilers but nothing too major, suicidal thoughts, self-hatred, fluff, love confessions, hope , mentions of death and pregnancy

WC: 1.1k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

You doubted that you would ever get used to the harshness of Arrakis. The heat and the perpetual dryness were a constant reminder about how far from home you really were but your duty was not to your own comfort, it was to your Lady Jessica. You followed her from the drowned planet of Caladin all the way here, protecting her and her son, as well as the unborn child within her.

The Fremen looked down on you, even after Jessica was named Reverend Mother and Paul became Muad'Dib, you were still the outsider, the one whose eyes had yet to be stained by the Spice. You got used to eating, sleeping and walking alone, the sand beneath your feet becoming the only thing you could count on. You trailed behind everyone else, they called you a waste of water and there were times that you couldn’t help but agree. You could not fight, nor harvest Spice, you were raised and trained to be a lady’s maid, destined to spend your days in the shadows observing the world around you as life passed you by.

You often wondered why Stilgar had fought so hard for you to stay with the Fremen when you had nothing to offer them. Even Lady Jessica couldn’t find a use for you anymore.

The moonlight cast a blue glow over the mountainous sand dunes and you could almost imagine that they were the ocean waves of your home planet. The camp was quiet, everyone having retired for the night an hour before yet you remained awake, deep in thought. No one would know you had gone until the morning, the wind would wash away your foot prints. You would give your water to the desert.

Just as you rose to your feet, a strong hand clamped down onto your shoulder, keeping you in place. “Why are you not resting Suhl?” Stilgar’s voice was quiet but it still held such power over you. You turned slowly in his hold to face him, yet he did not release your shoulder. His blue eyes shone like gems in the moonlight, making your heart jump and flutter.

“Forgive me for worrying you, I found that I couldn’t sleep.” You bowed your head. Stilgar tutted softly and hooked a finger beneath your chin, guiding your eyes back to his. His thick brows were pinched in confusion though his expression remained soft, far softer than you had seen him look at anyone else. He seemed doubtful of your excuse.

“How many times have I told you to come find me if you need something?” Your cheeks blazed with the heat of shame. Stilgar was a generous man, especially with those he cared for and inexplicably, he was almost too giving when it came to you. He gave you extra water when you had consumed yours too quickly, he showed you how to sand walk when your fear of the sand worms had mounted, he had even shared his tent with you on so many occasions that you had lost track of the number.

His hand shifted to your soft cheek, his calloused palm from a lifetime of fighting a stark reminder that you were not made for this life, this planet. “I can see that is not all that worries you Suhl. Tell me what troubles are clouding your mind.” You attempted to swallow down the thick lump trapped in your throat but when the older Fremen let his free hand wander to your lower back, his thumb gently rubbing the base of your spine, you choked on the tears you had not allowed yourself to shed.

“It is nothing.” You tried to deny and tug yourself away from the man that had been caring for you. Your eyes burned as he held you closer, a show of affection that you had never received before. He clicked his tongue at you, as if he were scolding a child.

“Suhl.” He cooed, dipping down to press his forehead to your own, the tips of your noses brushing together. You could no longer hold back.

The first tear that rolled down your full cheek shocked you both. It was quickly followed by another and another and another until they dripped down your chin and onto the loose white shirt Stilgar wore at night. You hiccuped and slumped into his strong chest. You clutched at his waist as you continued to sob but the Fremen, despite his constant insistence that absolutely no water could be wasted, gently rocked you back and forth, whispering comforting words into your hair, even if you couldn’t understand them.

“I shouldn’t be here. I should have been killed with the others when the Harkonnens. I am of no use to anyone and everyone knows it.” You pretend not to notice the way his muscles seize and he goes stiff in your arms, you wished to bask in his affections for as long as you could, before he too realised the truth.

His thumb ceased its movement and he slowly pried his chest away from yours. “Is that what you truly believe?” Your lack of an answer told him everything he needed to know.

He pulled you back into him, his thick arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders like he were fearful that you would suddenly dart away from him and into the desert where he could not follow you. Your eyes screwed shut as you curled into him. More tears stained his shirt but he did not flinch away from you.

“Do not waste your water on those who would not drink from you. You are better off crying for the dead.” A light breeze washed over the both of you, kicking up the sand around your feet. “You are not like us Suhl, you are soft where we are ruthless. It is true that you are not meant for this life but I would not have you take that light away from this world, not when I can keep you safe until this world is kind enough to let you bloom.”

“Why?”

His chuckle made your head bounce against his sternum. “I thought it obvious. You are my Suhl.” A hand came up to lovingly cup the back of your head, urging you to look him in the eyes. “Suhl means peace. And that is what you are: my peace. And one day, when the sands have disappeared beneath a sea of green and Dune is free once more, I hope that I shall be yours too.”

You can’t help but smile which in turn makes Stilgar beam, the blue of his eyes shimmering with what you now realised was love. “Thank you Suhl.” Your pronunciation was clumsy and most certainly needed some practice but still, he squeezed the base of your skull and dipped down, pressing his lips to yours.

The sun would rise soon and you would be forced back into the real world and all its dangers, but for now, you basked in the moonlight, safe in his arms. Perhaps Arrakis held more than just pain.

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theerurishipper · 11 months

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Zuko Did Not Abuse Azula in the Comics.

I'm gonna do it. After a lifetime of never posting any of my own posts in the ATLA fandom, I am gonna talk about this. "This" is the arguments sprung forth that Zuko abused Azula in the comics, more specifically The Search. Now, I don't think the comics are well-written, but what they don't do in any capacity is paint a picture of Zuko abusing Azula. And despite this, I've seen several claims about how Zuko did in fact, treat Azula cruelly and horribly and let the Gaang abuse her happily. And I might not like the comics, but that's just flat out wrong. So, I'm writing a rebuttal to all the arguments I've seen on the topic, at least, as many as I can remember. What I'll do is quote an argument and use evidence from the comic to rebut it, and hopefully people will stop claiming that the abuse victim treated his abusive sister the way she treated him all their lives. So yeah.

To be clear, I'm not making this post to hate on Azula's character or something. I'm not making this to start a fight, or to make people angry. I mostly made this to express my own frustrations about some things I've seen.

And it's probably a bit too late for this, but if you think Zuko did abuse Azula or whatever, you're entitled to your opinion, but please don't interact with this post. I've tagged the anti tags and placed my text under a read more, so y'all don't have to read it.

This gets long, so under the cut it is. Let's go.

Argument: "Azula is protesting being treated cruelly and Ty Lee chi-blocks her for no reason at all! And Zuko doesn't protest this cruel treatment of his sister! He's abusing her!"

Ty Lee chi-blocked Azula after Azula attacked Zuko and displayed violent behavior. On top of being Zuko's bodyguard and therefor responsible for protecting him, Ty Lee also has a great fear of Azula because of how Azula treated her in their past. Zuko tries to be kind to his sister by bringing her tea and she attacks him. Furthermore, Zuko also protests her being chi-blocked even after she does so. He tries to treat her with dignity and be kind to her but Azula herself is the one to sneer at his efforts.

Argument: "Zuko is awful for leaving Azula alone with her abuser! He doesn't care about her well-being!"

I agree that Azula shouldn't be allowed to talk to Ozai. Ozai abused Azula as well, and contact with him would only cause her more problems. However, Zuko doesn't know this. He himself is an abuse victim, and all he's seen his whole life is that Ozai favored Azula over him. And Azula used this to place herself in a position of power over him. She's always tried to drive it into his head that their father liked her better than him and that he was worthless in Ozai's eyes. Naturally, Zuko assumes (incorrectly) that Azula has some kind of special relationship with Ozai that he doesn't. He knows Azula has not had a perfect and healthy life, but he is not privy to the details. He doesn't know what's going on in her head. This is because he is not a mind reader, and she refuses to let herself be vulnerable in front of him because she believes she is better than him and that vulnerability is a weakness.

Even in the comic, she expresses no hatred or fear of her father, and doesn't indicate to Zuko that she does not want to be alone with him. She shouldn't have contact with him, of course, but she refuses to admit that her father is responsible for how she is now and that he has hurt her. She blames her mother, she blames Zuko and his friends, she blames Mai and Ty Lee, but she refuses to blame herself and most importantly, she refuses to blame Ozai. She's still behaving the way he wants, attacking Zuko and, if I may bring up Smoke and Shadow even if it pains me, she's trying to get Zuko to be like Ozai. She herself expresses the desire to speak with Ozai in the panels above, so if she herself hasn't acknowledged the way Ozai has hurt her or how he has abused her, and if she is still under the belief that he loves her, how is Zuko supposed to know any better? He's not doing anything he thinks might hurt her because she hasn't expressed that it hurts her, because she herself doesn't believe it does. And yes, it does hurt her, but it's not Zuko's fault for not being able to magically comprehend that, especially since she has spent her life driving the opposite message into his head, that Ozai favors her and not him.

Argument: "Zuko threw his little sister in an institution! He didn't care for her or for what became of her! He just left her in there to rot!"

What should he have done then? How should he have dealt with her? Azula may be traumatized and in need of help, but Zuko isn't the one to give that to her. He doesn't owe that to her after everything she's done to him, and he doesn't have the capability to help her himself. Azula has always expressed hatred for her brother and has been very clear about the fact that she considers him weak. He tries to help her and she rebuffs him continuously, choosing to attack him instead. She still wants him dead, and she has still not expressed any opposition to the things she learnt from Ozai. She still considers her brother a failure, she still hasn't mentioned that she thinks genocide is wrong, and she certainly doesn't think she's to blame for anything.

Given free reign, she attacks Zuko and manipulates him, and she is obviously too dangerous to let loose. The most Zuko can do is get her the help she needs, which is what he tried to do. I find the whole way these comics deal with mental health distasteful, especially with regard to Azula, but that's a flaw in the writing, not the characters. Zuko could have thrown her in prison like Ozai, since she was complicit in his war efforts. But he recognized that she needed help and tried to provide it for her. I wonder what anyone who criticizes Zuko for this would suggest he should do instead. Keep in mind that Azula is an imperialist and staunch supporter of Ozai's quest to take over the world. She also attempted to kill Zuko multiple times and has expressed no remorse for it.

And also, there is the argument that the institution is abusive and that Azula was mistreated in there. And where is the evidence of that? No, seriously, I went and looked through the comics, and I didn't see any evidence that Azula was abused in there. It seems to be a headcanon. Of course Azula resents being put in an institution, especially when she believes nothing is wrong with her and since she so adamantly refuses to let anyone help her. But nowhere does she mention that she hates it because the people there hurt her or something. And where else could she get help for her problems? Should Zuko take on a second job as her therapist? Should Iroh leave his life in Ba Sing Se behind to come and help a niece who has only ever hated him and wanted him dead? People say that the straitjacket is proof of her being abused, and I don't really like it either, but considering that she is eagerly awaiting the opportunity to attack Zuko, the straitjacket is probably a precaution to make sure she doesn't hurt anyone. Not that it stops her.

And when Zuko does try to help her some other way by offering for her to stay in the palace instead to make her more comfortable, she attacks him. So.

Also, these comics totally forgot how lightning-bending works.

Argument: "Zuko violently coerced his mentally ill sister to come with him on a mission to find his mother!"

She's also Azula's mother, actually. And he didn't coerce her. She blackmailed him and forced herself onto the trip. It was entirely her own decision to come with them and it was not Zuko who forced her to do anything.

Argument: "The Gaang attack Azula for no reason! They're threatening her violently!"

I mean, considering everything she's done to them and still hasn't given up on wanting to do, it's expected that they would be wary of her and perceive her as a threat. Remember when the Gaang pulled their weapons on Zuko, and only didn't attack him because he tried talking to them? Azula here is still antagonizing them and is still calling them derogatory terms like "peasant," so she still hasn't given up her beliefs of superiority. Which obviously doesn't give them a very positive impression.

Argument: "Iroh always expresses ill will and hatred towards Azula and thinks she's a lost cause! He encourages Zuko to hurt her because he thinks she's irredeemable!"

Iroh expresses the wish for Azula to find peace the way he believes Zuko will.

Argument: "The Gaang treated Azula cruelly and threatened her for no reason! They started abusing her the moment they got the chance to, when Azula was defenseless and unable to protect herself at all!"

Here we have exhibit A, where Aang cruelly laughs in Azula's face and greets her mockingly, while Azula is respectful of the people she has hurt many times over.

Oh wait. He greets her cheerfully and kindly, and she starts ordering the Gaang around like they're her servants.

Argument: "Sokka threatened Azula violently for no reason and Azula was just defending herself!"

Sokka didn't even do anything to her. He waves his boomerang near her and tells her not to try anything. And yet the way some people will use this scene is to suggest that he was outright attacking her when she was vulnerable or something. And yet she is well off enough to shoot lightning at him unprovoked. Considering all of Azula's actions, they are well within their rights to keep her in control. Would you say Katara was unjustified for threatening Zuko with death right after he joined them? Was she abusing Zuko then? The answer is no.

Azula has been well known for committing many acts of violence against them, including but not limited to pursuing them relentlessly, attacking them, taking over Ba Sing Se, trying to kill them, actually killing Aang, almost killing Zuko, and she is complicit in the crimes of the Fire Nation. She has done nothing to prove that she's changed her ways and that she is now not interested in killing them, and we later learn that she still does want to attack them. Sokka is well within his rights to threaten her since she has inflicted so much harm on his friends and might still do so. But Azula has no such right. The only reason she has so much free reign is because of Zuko's compassion. The Gaang are right to be suspicious and wary of her after everything she's done and she has no right to be disdainful about that. Do you think if Zuko showed up to join the Gaang and shot sparks at them when he got irritated, that they would not be in the right for perceiving it as a threat? Would you say that Zuko should be allowed to act violently with the Gaang in that situation?

She is here because she manipulated her brother and the fact that she is being allowed on this trip unbound is much more than what she realistically deserves. And she proves Sokka right by attacking him. Sokka merely waved a boomerang in her face (he wasn't even that close to her, actually, and he certainly wasn't in her face) and warned her not to try anything, and she tried something instantly. Just before this when Zuko was with her, she attacked him. No matter her mental state or her age, Azula is dangerous and deadly, and she has not changed. They have no reason to trust her. They have the right to be distrustful of her and to warn her not to step out of line. I know people like to ignore the fact that Azula is still an Ozai sympathizer and an imperialist who partook gleefully in the war efforts and like to only see her as a mentally ill 14-year-old girl, but that's not what the show says, and neither do the comics, so.

I'm guessing it's wrong of the Gaang to react when someone who has previously proved to be more than ready to hurt them and kill them tries to hurt one of their friends. Sure, Azula wasn't going to hurt him severely, but she sure did hurt him enough for him to yell out and fall down. And considering everything else, the Gaang are right to try to protect themselves from someone they perceive as a threat. Sokka wasn't even close to her, damn it. Azula has no right at all to be making demands of the Gaang, and they don't have an obligation to treat her the way she wants to be, like they are her servants and like they are inferior to her.

Argument: "Zuko threatens Azula for no reason and abuses her!"

Azula is someone who has proven to be a threat time and again, and here she is yelling strange things and inching closer with an angry look in her eye. For people like Zuko, it is understandable that this looks like a threatening situation. We know what Azula is talking about, but all they can see is her behaving in a way that could be threatening.

She yells accusatory things and looks angry, and she is moving closer to the rest of the Gaang, almost like she is ready to attack them for something. And so Zuko tells her that that's enough. And he releases some... steam, I guess? He doesn't even bend a flame. And yet he's abusing her somehow. And then she makes it sound like he's overreacting. If someone you knew was dangerous started coming closer to you while yelling with a strange look in their eyes, would you try to wonder why exactly they're behaving like this and if they're alright, or would you prepare to defend yourself?

And here we also see Azula blaming the Gaang for ruining her life and not, you know, her abuser Ozai. So sure, of course she'd accept Zuko's help when she thinks he's to blame for her misfortune and not her own actions and Ozai's abuse.

I too wish Toph was here.

Argument: "The Gaang abused a defenseless Azula, Part 2."

Defenseless Azula breaks the deal she forced Zuko to make with her and jumps off Appa when they're too high.

Aang saves her and she blasts him.

Now, we know in this scene that Azula is having visions of her mother and that she's hearing things. We know that she's not exactly of sound mind when she goes on rampages. But the Gaang doesn't know that. Zuko doesn't know that, and he has no way of knowing because she won't tell him. Even when he asks her who she is talking to, she just yells at him and rebuffs him.

Look at Zuko, saying that he doesn't want to fight Azula with a sad expression. How abusive!

Azula throws the first blow here. She isn't seeing things when she attacks Zuko, she just used him to get here and now she wants to get rid of him. And Zuko is doing what he said he'd do, keeping her in line. And don't say he should have just let Azula go. He wouldn't be a very good Fire Lord if he let the lightning bending imperialist go off on her own.

And then the Gaang takes her down after she attacked them first. So if that's abuse, then I don't know what to say.

Argument: "Zuko abusing his sister, Part 3."

Very abusive, yes.

Oh, and he finds a secret she's been keeping from him! That's so abusive!

Argument: "Zuko abusing his mentally ill sister, Part 4."

She attacks him first. You could make the argument that it's because she's having visions of her mother, and yeah, she is. But Zuko doesn't know all this because she won't tell him. And also, as it should be obvious to everyone, that's not an excuse.

Then there's a fight scene.

Argument: "Zuko cruelly held Azula off a cliff to threaten her and hurt her! He's abusing her while she is clearly not well!"

Ah, this infamous scene. Where Zuko holds his weak and defenseless sister off a cliff and laughs maniacally at her suffering while she pleads with him to spare her- oh wait.

Obviously, he dragged her to a cliff just so he could hold her off it. It's not like they were fighting in that environment. It's not like she just fell near the cliff's edge and he picked her up.

I honestly don't see anything wrong with what he did. He's clearly defending himself from her, and holds her over the cliff so that she won't attack him again, and so that he can make her listen to him after she has acted out again and again in a violent and dangerous way. She was attacking him, and this was the only way he could get her to listen to him. If you think he was considering dropping her, you don't know Zuko at all.

Anyway, this is actually one of the few scenes from any of these comics that actually made me feel something. It's an expression of the tragedy of their relationship from Zuko, and also him standing up to another abuser in his life. Yes, Azula abused Zuko, that much is not up for debate. Here, Zuko is finally confronting Azula on the horrible was she's treated him their whole life. I don't begrudge him that. And him saying "since the day you were born," is obviously not literal. Like, I can't believe I have to say this unironically. If people say "I must have walked a thousand miles," do we take it literally or do we understand that it is an exaggerated way of expressing that someone has walked a long way? It's the same thing here. Just because Zuko exaggerates his speech does not mean that the sentiment he is expressing is untrue. This is such a stupid line to get hung up over, but gotta take every inch you get when the whole text is against you, I guess.

Argument: "The Gaang abusing Azula, Part 5."

Where the Gaang verbally abuse Azula who is clearly hurt by their cruel words- hold on.

Ah, yes. Call the people who are somehow still putting up with you "louts," Azula. I am sure that is a very good and proper way to treat people who have every right to throw you back in jail and be on their way. They don't even say anything back to her. The Gaang has the patience of saints, honestly.

Thank you Sokka for being the one with common sense. I suppose he's also a villain now for saying "she's tried to kill us twelve times" when that's not true, it was only about two times. Which clearly makes it better.

Argument: "Zuko abusing Azula, Part 6."

Azula antagonizes a child, Zuko tells her to knock it off.

He's being so cruel to her.

Argument: "The Gaang abusing Azula, Part 7."

She attacked them. They defended themselves. It doesn't matter if she saw her mother in a vision. That's not an excuse and it's not the Gaang's problem. It's not Zuko's obligation to help his abuser, especially since she doesn't want his help anyway.

Gee, all these arguments are starting to sound awfully similar. It's almost like Azula always instigates fights and the Gaang defend themselves. Hmm.

Argument: "Zuko abusing Azula, Part 8."

She attacked first. Again.

This time she even attacked two actually defenseless people.

Argument: "Zuko gave the Gaang permission to attack Azula for no reason at all! The used their position to abuse her!"

No, he gave them permission to take her down because she went too far and attacked innocent people who did nothing to her.

Honestly, Zuko should have done this a lot sooner. She's tried to kill them four times already. She hasn't listened to them when they tell her not to do something and she's endangered all of them many times. She's being granted more than she deserves by the Gaang, and yet she goes on to do things they explicitly tell her not to do because it might hurt the forest or other people. She's proven that she is not concerned about who she hurts as long as she gets what she wants, and it took until she attacked people who weren't the Gaang for Zuko to suggest taking her down. The fact that he didn't give the okay for this the first time she tried to kill them is honestly a testament to his character.

Azula had this coming. No amount of the excuse of mental illness is enough to justify her actions. Even if she has a mental illness, it doesn't give her the right to attack others. And Zuko has all the right to defend himself and realize that working with Azula is impossible. He doesn't look happy to be doing this. He looks quite sad, in fact. I joked around a little in this post but seriously, anyone who says Zuko is the one abusing Azula is interpreting the text in very bad faith. I know people like it when Azula is a victim so that they can justify her hurting others, but Zuko and the Gaang had every right to retaliate throughout this comic whenever Azula attacked them or hurt someone else. These two siblings aren't even the last non-Gaang people Azula hurts in this comic.

Argument: "Zuko abusing Azula, Part 9."

Wherein Azula attacks her mother who doesn't remember her and her defenseless family with the intent to kill.

Now I'm not heartless. I feel for Azula here, I really do. That panel of her with tears in her eyes truly makes me feel sad. She definitely didn't deserve what happened to her throughout her life at Ozai's hands. She didn't deserve to feel unloved and feel like her mother thought she was a monster. She didn't deserve to be abused by Ozai. Azula deserves to heal, she deserves to be loved, she deserves to be treated well and she deserves better.

None of this gives her the right to hurt other people. Innocent people. She may feel her mother has wronged her, but it's not true. And she doesn't get to attack her mother, who doesn't even remember her, out of hatred and anger. She doesn't get to kill this innocent woman and attack her family. And Zuko is not in the wrong for stopping her. Zuko is not the wrong for protecting his mother and her family. Zuko is not abusive for defending other people and himself from Azula. Because even if Azula is hurt, she is taking it out on other people who have done nothing to deserve it.

Zuko redirecting her lightning back at her doesn't kill her, and I'm sure Zuko knows that it wouldn't. He doesn't want her dead. He doesn't want to hurt her. He wouldn't have thrown her over the cliff for that very reason. Despite everything, Zuko loves Azula. He cares about her. He wants to have a good relationship with her. He's very affected by the knowledge that their relationship is so bad. He truly wants to help her. But it is Azula who is resistant to that help. It is Azula who thinks her brother is weak and deserves to be hurt. It is Azula who despite wanting love, chooses to push people away and hurt them over and over again.

He's saddened at her running away, he chases her and pleads with her to let him help. But it is Azula who refuses him, who rebuffs him and attacks him at every turn. It is Azula who is always the aggressor, it is Azula who is at fault in their relationship, all because she believes that everyone is to blame for her mistakes but herself. And the only way she can heal is if she realizes who the blame truly lies with, Ozai, and rejects everything he's taught her, that love is weakness and to rule with fear. She needs help, but Zuko is not obligated to provide it to her. And yet he does, out of the kindness and compassion in his heart, and the love he has for his sister.

Argument: "He abused her in the show, then! Since this post only talks about the comics!"

That's because it should be obvious to anyone watching that Zuko didn't abuse Azula. If anyone thinks Zuko abused Azula, I invite them to watch a show called Avatar: The Last Airbender. It's really quite good.

So I feel like I've covered most arguments I've seen. But I do want to talk some more about why exactly I wrote all this, why I wasted two hours of my life on this.

Anyone who goes through the ATLA tag on my blog will probably reach the correct conclusion that Zuko is my favorite character, and that he and his arc mean a lot to me. And so, it's honestly not great to see people undermine all of the suffering Zuko has gone through in his life, all to justify Azula's abusive behaviors. It's not wrong to like Azula and love her character. She's a complex character that many find relatable, and that's not wrong. But to accuse another character, her actual victim in the series and one whom many can relate to as well, of being her abuser and denying her abuse of him... it's not a great look. It reeks of victim blaming and abuse apologism. And it's not true. Azula is an example of how victims of abuse can become abusers themselves. This is what she represents in the show. And it is not wrong for people to call out Azula and not Zuko, because Zuko got called out in universe, called himself out and he changed. Zuko redeemed himself and became a good person.

Azula has not done that. She hasn't changed, she hasn't acknowledged that she is wrong, and therefore people are allowed to criticize her and dislike her, and they are allowed to call out her abuse and her other actions. People call out Zuko for his bad actions as well, but the fact of the matter is that he changed, and people don't feel the need to call him out anymore because he's done it himself. Zuko doesn't need the same criticism Azula does because he grew and she didn't, that's it. So all the talking points about how people don't call out Zuko as much as Azula or that they don't criticize his bad actions are moot because of his very widely acknowledged and celebrated redemption arc. Because he realized his mistakes and worked hard to fix them. So, there is really no point in criticizing him anymore the way there is for Azula, since she hasn't changed. And it is not "hate" for people to understand that despite Azula's abuse at Ozai's hands, she dealt the same thing to her brother for years. And it is not wrong for people to criticize her for it.

All this talk about how Azula is always being hurt and betrayed by everyone, and all this talk about how Zuko is weak unlike Azula is the exact same reasoning Azula uses that enables her to abuse others within the story, the reasoning that Ozai instilled in her. It is quite literally the parroting of Ozai's beliefs, that Zuko is weak and soft, and that Azula is strong and powerful and yet she's a victim of everybody. She believes that others deserve to be hurt because they are too weak or because they are responsible for her suffering, and not her or Ozai. In the end, it wasn't Zuko who drove away her friends Mai and Ty Lee, and Mai and Ty Lee did not "betray" her. It was Azula's cruel treatment of them because she controlled them through fear that drove them away from her, and when push came to shove they stood up for the people the loved and for themselves. It wasn't Zuko who drove away their mother, it was Ozai. It wasn't Iroh who hated Azula and wanted her dead, it was Azula who hated Iroh and wanted him dead, and these are all things she learnt from Ozai. She can only ever grow if she realizes her mistakes and accepts the blame for her own actions, and if she stops blaming her victims for her suffering and starts blaming her abuser.

Blaming Zuko for defending himself from her and calling that abuse is victim blaming. Whether you like it or not, Azula did abuse Zuko. She had power over him, she targeted his insecurities constantly, she lied to him multiple times and made him doubt his own perceptions, she manipulated and gaslit him and made him feel unsafe in his home. She supported Ozai's abuse of Zuko and participated in it and took pleasure in it. Zuko never did anything of the sort to her. He reacted to her abuse in a way he never did with Ozai until the end, but that does not mean he wasn't affected by it or that it didn't happen, because it did, and even though he fought back with her, he was often defeated and Azula always managed to manipulate and terrify him. For fuck's sake, he literally had a chant, "Azula always lies," so that he could comfort himself after she terrorized him, something that he's been saying to himself for years according to Zuko Alone. People will point to Zuko challenging Azula as him abusing her back, but what defines abuse is the power dynamics. There is no such thing as mutual abuse. Abuse is all about one party having power over the other, and in Azula and Zuko's relationship, she had all the power over him because she was the favored child. Of course, this was also damaging for her, very much so, but it means that she had power over him, and he didn't.

Azula is a tragic character and her life is a sad one. But that doesn't make her any less of a bad person, and it doesn't mean she is not a toxic individual. Her actions have hurt other in many ways, and she does not feel remorse. She finds pleasure in the pain of others, especially her brother, at whom she smiled in glee when he was being maimed by their father. She took over a city and killed someone and did it with a smile on her face. She tried to kill her brother and laughed about it. She gleefully suggested genocide, and wanted to take part in it. And she hasn't changed, so people are allowed to dislike her and call her out for it. Personally, I believe that Azula has the capacity to change and to redeem herself. I don't think she's too far gone or is irredeemable. She is not as bad as Ozai, and it's not too late for her.

No one deserves a redemption. It has to be something you actively work for, something you do and it is something that you have to work for. Azula can change if she truly wants to. She has people who are willing to help her if she so chooses, like Zuko for better or worse for him. But that means admitting to her mistakes, acknowledging that she is wrong and has hurt people, and making the effort to change, which so far she has not done. And Zuko is not obligated to forgive her or help her in any way, and neither are the Gaang or Iroh.

You can like a villainous character. You can like a character who is a bad person. It's not wrong. What is wrong is to paint another character in a bad light, in a false light, to justify your love for another character. And especially in this case since Azula is Zuko's abuser, turning the tables and calling him her abuser for defending himself against her all because you want to excuse Azula's actions and want her to be a victim is really not great. Accusing Iroh and Ursa of being responsible for her downfall is not great. All this is directing blame away from the real abuser, Ozai. And it veers into victim blaming and abuse apologism, like I said.

Being a fan of Azula doesn't mean you can handwave away her less than savory traits or cherry-pick the ones you like. She is a victim, but she's also an abuser. And it is not "bashing" or misogyny for people to call her out. Calling out Zuko is also okay and allowed, but it is honestly less productive since he changed himself already. I understand that people don't like when their favorite characters are criticized or hated, but that doesn't mean characters who do bad things are exempt from being called out. And it doesn't give anyone the excuse to start misrepresenting other characters and hating on them to prop up their fave. Fans of characters who are villainous should understand that. And in this case, anyone who is a fan of Azula should understand that.

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bwabys-scenarios · 1 month

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Heya! Just thinking about Kurapika cuase he my fav. Since Kurta culture is such a big deal to him, how would he try to teach his significant other about it? Would he try to teach them as they go along or would he try to distance himself from his past culture? Thanks for writing these Headcannons, they get me through my busy work week lollll

Kurapika and his culture, thoughts and HCs

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

A/N: This is less of an x reader and more of Kurta tradition HCs! Also, these are all made up and not inspired by anything specific, so any likeliness to actual cultural practices is not intended. The only tradition that is inspired by real culture is the last one, which is inspired by Dia De Los Muertos(which is obvious but I wanted to give credit where credit is due!!)

Thoughts

Absolutely! As the only Kurta left alive, he’s the only one that can keep his culture and traditions alive. It’s one of the reasons he wants children so badly, he wants to have his clan again!

I think Kurapika isn’t the type to force you to learn or expect you to participate in his culture, after all it’s not your own, but he’d very much appreciate it if you did. You’re his everything, all he has left in this world and the future mother of his children, and he’d be over the moon if you wore the traditional tabards on special holidays and practiced the traditional dance that the Kurta people would preform on their wedding nights.

He also won’t be overbearing with having his kids participate, but will be filled with joy when the little ones ask why daddy is wearing something different and praying on certain days.

Kurapika will bully his friends into celebrating with him, though. Gon and Killua have their own Kurta tabards that they have to wear when then come over during holidays. And no, Gon’s isn’t green. You’ll see why later on in this post.

HCs

-I think the Kurtas had many different traditions, which I will list here.

-One tradition I already mentioned, which is the bride and groom performing a specific dance on their wedding day. It’s a sign of devotion and love that lasts a lifetime, so it’s one of the only things Kurapika really wants you to do.

-Another is celebrating the coming of fall and harvests, alone with spring, summer, and winter. Each season has a different celebration and traditions, like dancing in the snow and leaving your favorite preserved fruit in the windowsill as an offering.

-You give that fruit during winter, a time where the fields are barren so when the fruit is ripe again, the gods give back tenfold.

-In spring, there are always flowers decorating doorframes, most families represented by a specific flower(marigolds for Kurapika’s family!), which is said to strengthen the spirits of each household.

-During summer, the children all made little dolls out of straw(or clay if their family works with it) and fill them with sweets, then leave them in the forest. This is an offering to the forest spirits so they can continue to coexists amongst each other. The Kurta people have a lot of respect for nature, always giving back what they take.

-The most important tradition takes place during late fall, right before winter. It’s a day to remember your loved ones who have passed, and obviously this holiday is especially rough for Kurapika. Before the massacre, it was a day that was spent celebrating the lives that once were, but now it is full of grief. He wears all green. Brown and earthy tones are used for grieving too, like for widows that are in states of mourning, but green is reserved for funerals. The earthy times symbolize the deceased giving their bodies back to the earth, and the inevitably of returning to dust.

-Because their scarlet eyes are treasured in the clan and green is opposite to red, red is seen as a color of mouthing. Fun fact, the first time Kurapika saw Gon, he assumed he was in a deep state of mourning because he was wearing an entirely green outfit. Of course he soon learned that the Kurta way of mourning was different than the rest of the world, but that didn’t stop him from being more gentle with Gon for a while.

-Kurapika prefers to pray alone when he’s in mourning. He gets choked up and cries sometimes, and needs time to collect himself and process the tremendous loss he feels.

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liminalpebble · 5 months

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Stray: Part 10 and Epilogue

Masterlist link

Stray: Part 10

Loki and Frigga sat across from each other in her private parlor. The younger prince was tapping his foot and fiddling with his hair nervously as he asked, “Are you sure she'll be okay? This must all be so overwhelming for her.”

Frigga smiled placidly and reached out her hand to hold her son's, stilling his restless movements. “She'll be more than fine. They'll take very good care of her. You have my word.”

Frigga let the silence settle for a moment before she said. “I'm glad to meet her. Surprised, but glad nonetheless. I can see why you are so taken with her. She has a good heart...a grateful heart.”

Loki sighed, trying to hide the depth of his feelings in front of the one person whom he could never fool. “You've met many of the men and women I'd grown fond of over the years. Is this so different for you?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant as he eased back into his chair, crossing his long legs, and stroking a finger pensively over his lips.

Frigga nodded, “For you, yes. It's very different. Or rather, you are very different. It's never been anything...real...before, has it? I've never really seen you in love before.”

“What makes you think I'm in love?”

“Love...real love...makes us all spill open a little, and I can see it. She has melted some of that ice around your heart. I didn't think it possible.”

“So you've been watching me, Mother?” he said with a smirk, which Frigga mirrored.

“Perhaps, a bit. I thought it best to let things unfold naturally. But I think the time has come to involved myself. Come with me.”

He followed her to a corner of her study, to a golden chest, where she reached in to lift out a glowing golden apple. “Do you love her, my son? Do you want a lifetime with her? Our lifetime...surpassing her own.”

He took a deep fortifying breath. “I do. So much...so much that it feels like a sort of insanity, a madness. Now that I've known her care and companionship, I can't imagine the remainder of my life without her.”

Frigga grinned and her eyes welled slightly, “Then offer her this. Help her become one of us. Help her learn and explore everything your curious minds crave. Have your adventures with your beloved for eons to come.”

Loki smiled, but just as quickly, it faded and he looked down, eyebrows furrowed with worry. “But Mother, what if she says 'no'? What if she refuses me...now or centuries from now? What if I don't deserve her? What if...”

Frigga put a finger to his mouth to silence him, “Loki, that is how love works. You risk, and you trust and you doubt and you fear, for the sake of another person. It's not a tournament to be won. It's a leap of faith.”

Without any further words, but with tears in both of their eyes, they embraced each other tightly as the prince whispered to his mother, “thank you.”

------

Loki found his human in lavish chambers, adorned in a fine Asgardian gown, and charming half a dozen ladies in waiting with your disarming demeanor. You were twirling around in the voluminous dress with a big smile, like a little girl. You were startled and blushed a little when you realized he was standing there.

“Whew! You scared me! I didn't hear you coming.”

He chuckled, offering his widest, most charming smile. His heart was bursting out of his chest at the mere sight you. “Apologies, darling. No one ever does. You look absolutely ravishing, my lovely princess,” he declared as he spun you around in his arms. He set you down lightly then held both of your hands in his.

You gave him a worried look. “What...what's wrong. Have you been crying?” you asked gently, holding your warm palm to his cheek.

“Yes. Yes I have, but they are tears of the greatest joy. I have to ask you something very important.”

He gestured the ladies away, leaving the two of you alone. You nodded, and felt the breath stop in your throat. The world came to a stand still as you wondered what he was about to say. Loki's hand gleamed green then a radiant flawless golden apple appeared in his hands. “I want to offer you a bite of this apple. If you eat of it, you will have a life as long as mine, become a goddess by my side for ages as we traverse the universe. I can't imagine a life without you...without your love and kindness and cleverness and care and your laugh and the look of joy and gratitude in your eyes when you I've pleased you. I love you...so much. Will you do me the honor of spending eternity with me?”

Giddy excitement shot up like a rocket within you, making your cheeks piping hot and bringing tears to your eyes as you met his intense ones of aquamarine. “I...I don't deserve this.” was the first thought that escaped your lips.

“Darling...you deserve all of this and more,” Loki said, pulling you close to kiss you warmly and softly, holding your face in his careful elegant hands. “Please, be my princess.”

“Yes...yes....yes! I love you, too. Yes,” was all you could say, breathing out the words over and over again as you nodded vehemently. Loki interrupted this stream of affirmation by meeting your lips again, taking his time to taste you. It would be your last kiss with him as a mere mortal.

When you finally took a bite of that otherworldly golden apple, it was the sweetest fruit you had ever tasted; almost as sweet and divine as the destiny ahead of you, almost as sweet and divine as the god holding you.

----

Epilogue

It was a gleaming bright white December morning in Seattle. Rather than rain, ice had dominated every inch of the terrain and snow glistened off the buildings. It was so cold, you thought, but at least it was sunny for a change. As you stood on the balcony of the most luxurious hotel the city had to offer, you were grateful to have this as your final memory of your city (at least for awhile). The sun was shining on you, as bright and fresh as your new life.

In another part of town, a small apartment stood clean and empty, ready for the stories of someone else's life to fill it. A polite letter and the final month's rent were dropped quietly into the landlord's mailbox. All your beloved books, records, and anything else you wanted to hang onto was tucked away, safe and sound, in what Loki called his “pocket universe”. You considered just letting go of everything you owned, pondered the appeal of a blank slate, but Loki dissuaded you. He begged you to keep your records. He wanted to dance with you to the soundtrack of your love's origin story over and over again. He could be sentimental that way.

It felt good to tie up loose ends. You made sure a gracious letter of resignation made its way to Mr. Mullen. Although Loki insisted it was far more polite than what that worm deserved, you were determined to take the high road, and he loved you all the more for that.

The last loose end was your favorite to tie up, and you did so with a big golden ribbon. Janet found a gift and an envelope tucked under the cash register that morning; her name gracing the front in elegant calligraphy. The note was a simple one.

Janet, you are always worthy. You are so young, and I know you're afraid and uncertain, but you will grow and do great things. I know it. I've run off with my prince charming. I hope to see you again someday. All my love. P.S. The gift is something to keep you warm.

Janet read it with tears in her eyes, then she opened the package to find a soft blue scarf. She held it tightly against herself. She was a little startled when her first customer of the day asked her a question, and hurried to dry her eyes.

“Oh! Sir, I'm so sorry! How can I help you?”

She looked up to see the largest man she had ever seen smiling brightly at her as his stunning blue eyes met hers. “I'm so sorry, dear lady. I hope you're not in distress. I wonder if you might aide me in selecting a 'tie'.”

He nodded his head of long blonde hair and took her hand to kiss it.

Janet's eyes went as wide as they could go in shock, and then she giggled uncontrollably, thinking, Jeez, maybe Henry does have a brother after all.

----

Loki stepped lightly over to you as he adjusted his tie and smoothed out the crisp lines of his black suit. “Almost ready, darling?” he asked in his dulcet baritone, as he came up behind you to kiss your bejeweled neck.

“Almost. Can you help me with this zipper?” You asked, giving up your struggle with the very smartly tailored traveling dress. It was a dream of soft royal purple that hugged all of your curves well (which delighted your prince). You'd swear he helped you pick out the ones with zippers in the back just so he had an excuse to do this.

Loki came up close behind you and kissed your cheek. As he deftly slid the pull all the way up he said, “Of course, but you know I enjoy sliding you out of this oh so much more.”

You both let out a mischievous chuckle then kissed sweetly, sighing with satisfaction. He helped you into your pea coat, hat and gloves, before donning his own. Opening the hotel room door for you to exit ahead of him, he said with his biggest dimpled grin, “Ready?”.

You nodded and took his offered arm. “Yes, but where are we going?”

As your polished dress shoes clicked down the hallway side by side, Loki slid his other hand in his pocket, holding tightly to a tattered green loop of leather with his name written on it. He felt his heart warm as he said, meeting your eyes, “Wherever you'd like. The sky's the limit, my love.”

@averagetmblrusser @primrosesposts @fruityfucker @arunabrak @mischief2sarawr @ladyofthestayingpower @acidcasualties @unlucky-number-13 @goblingirlsarah @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokihiddleston @chokeanddagger @lokischambermaid @lokisgoodgirl @marcotheflychair @smolvenger @alexakeyloveloki @littlespaceyelf @little-wormwood @loopsisloops @joyful-enchantress @eleniblue @loz-3 @the-haven-of-fiction @sweetsigyn @muddyorbs @icytrickster17 @holdmytesseract @thenerdyoldersister @thedistractedagglomeration @sailorholly @coldnique @peaches1958 @infinitystoner @peachyjinx @mischiefmaker615 @jennyggggrrr @tripleyeeet @itsybitchylittlewitchy @mochie85 @huntress-artemiss @madi0987 @buttercupcookies-blog @annoyingsweetsstranger @anukulee @aesonmae @angelofasgard16 @salempoe @n3rdybirdee

End Note: My dear sweet readers, I can't thank you enough for all of the love and comments and sharing and feedback. And a big thank you to @mischief2sarawr for the idea request. I fell into this story because I really really needed some softness and love and fluff right now. I hope those of you who read this in need of the same thing have found that comfort too. Sending you all of my love and gratitude, Peb.

#loki fanfic #lokitty #D.B Cooper Loki #loki fluff #pre-Thor 1 Loki #loki x reader

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samstree · 2 years

Text

“You have a birthmark here.”

Jaskier traces the familiar map of scars on Geralt’s shoulder as his witchers lies prone between tangled sheets, his fingers threading into white hair, moving it to one side.

The passion of sex fades in the air. Sweat cools on Geralt’s skin with his back exposed, his head facing away and pillowed comfortably.

A small birthmark rests on the back of Geralt’s nape, right below his hairline.

“Right here.” Jaskier smiles, tapping on the tiny, inconspicuous thing.

A lazy noise rumbles from his witcher’s chest, warm and languid.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier leans down to kiss the mark, tasting the salt on Geralt’s skin.

“Must you always be so eloquent? You’d think a few orgasms should trade me more than a half-pleased hmm.”

“It was an exceedingly pleased one.” Geralt sighs long-sufferingly. “Why do you never just roll over and sleep like most men?”

With that, the muscles under Jaskier’s palm flex, and Geralt shifts on his side, finally facing Jaskier, his cheeks dusted with pink and his eyes sated. White hair pools on the pillow like molten silver.

“Well.” Jaskier mirrors Geralt’s pose so they are face to face. “Most men are terribly rude.”

Geralt brings Jaskier in for another kiss, the pull of his callused hand feather-light. “You are terribly rude,” he says against Jaskier’s lips, into their shared smile.

A poet’s weapon is his word. The cutting edge of it is only part of the job.

“I am,” Jaskier breathes, “but not here. Not to you.”

“Is that so?”

“Have I not proven it? Does my attention not please you? Or do you not wish to be admired for a little while?” Jaskier nuzzles into the crook of Geralt’s neck, carefully avoiding crushing his hair. “It’s my way of showing gratitude, dear witcher. Plus, I love it, exploring…you. There’s always something new to find.”

Geralt snorts quietly. “Like a birthmark.”

“You laugh, but,” Jaskier muses, looking up at his witcher who barely has one eye cracked open, indulging him, fighting sleep for him, “it’s strange that I never noticed it before. You wear your hair down, and I’ve only seen it today. I bet even you didn’t know.”

“I did. My mother pointed it out once.” Geralt’s voice grows heavy the way he does when speaking of his childhood. “Said it was a sign of luck.”

“Oh.”

Jaskier is quiet, but not for long. It’s true that he can never fall asleep right after sex with all that energy still humming in his bones. So he keeps on bothering Geralt.

“Will you tell me more?” he asks.

“About what?”

“About you.” Jaskier finds Geralt’s hand and pats gently. “Things like this. Small things. Inconsequential things.”

The answer comes as an incoherent mumble. For a moment, Jaskier thinks Geralt has fallen asleep, leaving him alone in his wakefulness. Disappointed, he lets out a dramatic sigh.

“I…” Geralt starts after a pause, his whisper soft as a breath. “I wouldn’t know.”

Jaskier blinks. “What do you mean?”

Geralt gives a faint shrug. “A birthmark, forgotten a century ago, but you notice it. I wouldn’t know what it is that you might find…fascinating.”

“So many things are fascinating when it’s you.”

“I know. That’s the thing about you. You see me, in ways I don’t.”

Pride rises in Jaskier’s chest, making him giddy, but perhaps he shouldn’t tease Geralt for too long. His witcher is truly worn out, barely hanging there just to entertain him.

“I don’t think you realize how easy that is,” Jaskier murmurs, pressing a kiss to the thin crease between Geralt’s brows.

But it’s not without effort on Geralt’s part, lowering his walls over the years to let Jaskier in, letting himself be seen. In the end, his happiness and his sorrows are no different from any other man, and Jaskier can paint it all across his heart just from memory.

“Sleep, bard,” Geralt says, finally.

Right now, there are more pressing matters.

“Yes, sleep,” Jaskier answers. “We have time.”

He has a lifetime to delight in discovering new things about his witcher, and he has a lifetime to celebrate each one of them.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #post sex #fluff #another tuck-you-in-bed fic #that should be a genre on its own

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leafkingofbirds · 1 month

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WIP Wednesday

More Jack/Kieran conversation!!

Please forgive my verbosity haha (this is so long omg it needs editing)

Jack stares at Kieran, uncomprehending and wary.

“I could hate you for all you’ve done,” Kieran begins. “In fact, I wish that I could. It would be far, far easier to hate you. To condemn you, kill you, and feel vindicated, without ever having to accept the truth. Instead, I must confront the facts. I must acknowledge that, despite the abhorrent actions you took, the offenses you committed against me...they were not entirely unwarranted. Your crimes deserve punishment – for the murder of my most beloved knight, whose innocence and lifetime of dedication to my family demands I bring his spirit justice. But I will not kill you, Jack. There must be peace between our peoples, at long last, and killing you would only continue a destructive cycle. For the sake of everyone I love and have ever loved, I am compelled to make this right. Somehow, we must find a way to change things. And I can’t do that without you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re their leader. They will follow you, Jack. I’ve seen them. Few mortals would find the bravery to invade the Moon Court without such a general at their head. Your people will not trust me, and, I admit, they have no reason to. But your job is not finished. Join your army with my cause, and let us together take down Opulence.”

Jack makes a face toward Ella, her aura of magic softened - but still evident. “You have your super-charged mortal weapon right there. Use it. Use her. No army of mine can compare.”

Kieran resists the urge to bristle at the dehumanization. He’s angry, lashing out like a wounded animal. Trying to inflict any wound he can.

Kieran knew exactly how that felt.

He took a moment to ensure his voice was calm, no to rise to Jack’s bait. “Perhaps Ella’s magic is enough to take back the Sources - but she is still just one person. And this fight concerns us all.”

“No,” Jack says immediately. “They’ve suffered enough under my command. I won’t lead them into certain death.”

“I can’t die,” Ella interjects, making them both turn to look at her. Her arms crossed in front of her, she looks haughty, almost bored. “I’m not Fae. No weapon can stop me. Let me lead them.”

Kieran can’t help but flinch at how eagerly she jumps to violence, remembering her callous disregard for life on either side of the battle, destroying everything without restraint.

That is not my Ella. That is a stranger wearing her face.

“Ella,” Kieran says, unable to bare looking at her. “Could you give me a moment alone with Jack, please?”

“Suit yourself. I’ll be outside the door. If you try anything, Jack–”

“He won’t,” Kieran assures them both, locking eyes with Jack. Ella leaves, closing the door behind her.

Jack’s gaze fits uncomfortably to Kieran, and somehow, without knowing this man – without knowing he ever existed until a scant time ago – there is something of an aching familiarity, pulled deep from the recesses of his heart and memory. To look upon someone of his own blood, when he thought he never would do such a thing again…

“Why did you do that?”

“To gain your trust. At the moment, Ella is not herself, and her magic is more than both of us combined. This is between us - let us stand on equal ground and speak man to man. Without my secret weapon.” Kieran sighs audibly, hating himself, hating what he knows he must do. “I look at you, Jack…and I cannot help but see the resemblances between us. Had our fates been reversed, I very well may have followed the same path you forged that found us here today. I would feel the need to make others suffer the way I have suffered. You’ve committed a grievous wound to me, and it’s one that will not heal quickly, if it ever shall. But…I look at you and I see our mother’s eyes. I see a man who should have grown up beside me…who should have been my brother. I see many wrongs that can never be put right.”

Kieran is surprised at how much the urge to pummel Jack lessens as he speaks. Whatever spirit of grace Ella had infused in him was still at work, even now that her own merciful heart was gone.

Jack sucks in a pained breath, and Kieran falters only briefly at the glimpse of this alternate life that flashes before his eyes. He had never once aired these thoughts, not even to Ella. Had scarcely allowed himself to entertain the idealistic imaginings that he should have long since outgrown.

But he couldn’t help picturing what childhood might have been like, trailing in the footsteps of an elder brother. Someone he could have looked up to and admired. Who could have given him advice. Been there beside him, as a comfort, a guide. Perhaps it would have been Jack learning swordplay with Sir Monty, Jack laughing as he bested his teacher for the first time, with a friendly rivalry.

The path of those thoughts was a downward spiral, too painful to continue. Kieran quickly pulled himself away before it drowned him.

Even now, looking into Jack’s eyes, still so full of suspicion and an unwillingness to surrender, Kieran can see the young man Jack once was, and know that he would have idolized these same traits in his elder brother. This strength, bravery, and determination.

Kieran has to force away the emotion in his voice. “I spent a long century cursed and alone, Jack. I pushed away, or frightened away, everyone but Longclaw and Sir Montgomery. Until Ella came along, it was a century empty of love or hope. And now, knowing that all along, you were experiencing the same? It fills me with grief. But I was given a second chance, and it changed everything. Tis only fair I offer you the same. You should have been allowed to grow up a prince. To be welcomed home to your…family.”

I wouldn’t have been alone. Neither of us would have been alone.

It would have caused no end of scandal, Kieran knew, if he had known of Jack and welcomed him into his court. It might have even sparked a way between the courts. But there was a part of Kieran that wished it could have happened. He would have fought that battle if it meant none of the rest of this had ever happened.

Jack’s throat bobs on a swallow. He says nothing for a moment, then… “You can’t tell me a halfling bastard would have been allowed to become a prince of Fae. And if my parents had stayed together in defiance of the Sun Court, you would not have been born.”

Kieran grimaces. Jack isn’t wrong. The most likely outcome, if Jack’s father and their mother ran off together with the infant Jack, all three of them would be dead now, and Kieran would have never existed.

“I’d like to believe we could have changed things, given time. The crown grants many privileges of rule. Once my mother was gone…Well. We can’t say what might have been. But I wish I had known. I would have sought you myself. All of this could have been avoided.”

Jack’s mouth screws up into a petulant frown, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “Really?. What would you have done, Night Prince? Welcomed me to sit on the throne? Given over your crown, and shared dominion over half of the realm?”

Kieran feels the urge to rip out his hair. “Gods, you are infuriating. Now I see what my parents had to endure with me. Jack, listen to me, damn you. I am offering to share that power now.”

If anything, Jack’s suspicious eyes only narrow more.

“You have shown yourself a good leader – I’ve seen how you take care of your people, not risking their lives unnecessarily. You’ve managed to take down both courts with an army of mortals, something that has never been done since their creation. I have no choice but to respect that. And what Fae remain will have no choice but respect you. Or fear you.”

“So you wish to install me as a puppet to pacify the unwashed masses? I set out to destroy the courts, not join them!”

“You set out to save your father, Jack. Perhaps abolishing the courts was simply a convenient bonus, and I understand why. But the courts were formed because Fae are too powerful to exist without laws governing their behavior. So consider that in order to gain something out of all of this disastrous mess, you may have to compromise a little.”

Jack glares at Kieran, but he’s no longer arguing. Which meant he was listening, at long last.

“I want mortals to have a place in the future of this realm. I want this realm to have a future. The responsibility of these lands has rested on my shoulders since I was old enough to stand.” Kieran glares. “This goes against my nature, I hope you appreciate that. If we had met a year ago, things would have been very different - but I am a changed man. I owe many things to Ella, but most of all I have learned to admit when I am wrong. Here and now, Jack, I offer the hand of peace. And with it, an offering to change centuries of injustice.”

Jack stares at him in disbelief. “I don’t believe a word of this.”

“I do not lie,” Kieran hisses, insulted. “A tyrant now holds all the power of Fae. That is your fault. We are going to win it back, or die trying. Join me. Take the first step in showing that Fae and changeling need not be enemies. For whatever it may be worth, coming from a crownless, mortal, powerless prince – I’m offering you a chance to help shape the world we rebuild from the ashes into something better. For us all.”

There is no lessening of Jack’s suspicion. “If I refuse, are you going to let your consort kill me? What strange curse have you put upon her to make her so powerful?”

“I did nothing,” Kieran growls. “Ella made the only choice she thought could save the ones she loves - from you. She sacrificed her heart to gain magic no mortal was meant to possess, and it stole away everything that she was.”

Jack’s eyes went wide. “She used the mortality cure.”

“It is no cure. It is a curse,” Kieran tells Jack viciously, who glares back, unrepentant. “It stole Ella away from me and made her empty. And it would have done the same to your father. No magic can stave off death forever. But my Ella would not want you to die. And in her stead, I must do what she would have wanted.”

Jack doesn’t fully believe him, Kieran can tell. But he’s beginning to.

“Help me fix this,” Kieran urges.

“You acknowledge the world can’t return to what it was?” Jack asks, venom in his voice. “I won’t help you return Fae to power while mortals beg for scraps.”

“You did a fairly thorough job of dismantling the Sun Court,” Kieran muses. “So I imagine the world cannot return to what it was, no matter what happens next. But the magic of Fae must always be held in balance. Someone must be strong enough to hold the key to the sources of magic, and willing to keep unruly Fae in line by whatever means necessary.”

“So you propose yourself for the role, I assume?” Jack sneers. “Trading one tyrant for another.”

“No,” Kieran snaps, insulted. “I propose we return to the Moon Palace to reunite with whoever is left. And that we all work together to determine what our shared future will look like. We aren’t bound by the constraints of the past any longer. None remain who installed those unequal structures of power. I’m offering you a chance no other Fae has ever offered a mortal, let alone a changeling, to influence what comes next.”

Jack’s eyes widen slightly, a flash of surprise. “You want credit for doing the bare minimum? Why would any Fae ever give up one iota of their power? Let alone a prince?” He sneers the word with derision.

Kieran’s irritation flares, and he tamps it down with some effort. “Because despite what you may believe, I have known what it means to suffer. In fact I have known little else. I have watched every last member of my family die at the hands of those who professed peace, until I alone was left to defend and uphold my court. I have been betrayed and cursed heartless by someone I believed to love me, forced to roam the night as a thoughtless beast for a hundred years, unable to feel love or happiness. I offer this because you are the last of my blood, and you too have suffered unjustly. Because I have found peace in the love of a mortal, and I must save her from this curse. Because I tire of pain. I have had my fill of it. And I’m not the only one.”

Kieran glances behind him, where Ella has gone. Despair spins into a whirlpool inside him at how empty Ella's eyes have become, knowing she won't be there to give them the advice he needs. He turns back to Jack, who at long last has the decent to look shaken. “I’m tired, Jack. I’m tired of losing those I love. Aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, Jack looks toward his father’s body, and he squeezes his eyes closed.

Kieran softens his voice. “More than vengeance, more than anything, what I want now is to create a world in which these things cannot happen to another generation.”

“The selfless Fae prince,” Jack scoffs bitterly, not looking at him. There's tears in his voice. “Such an unlikely choice of hero for this fairy tale.”

Kieran, fed up, grabs Jack and hauls him to his feet, forcing him to look Kieran in the eye. “Do not mistake me: I am a selfish man. I am not merciful or kind. But while my Ella cannot be…” Kieran closes his eyes briefly, trying to remember her smile. “Then I must be both, for her sake. The reason you are still alive is not because I lack magic, but because I choose to break this cycle. You may be stronger than most mortals, but even without my magic, you are no match for me."

Jack glares and bristles, an argument ready in his mouth. Kieran can see it, and the beast in him roars its ugly head and dares him to say it, wants the fight, wants to be justified in venting his rage with fists and more pointless bloodshed that would solve nothing.

Instead, Kieran lets go of Jack, and steps away. “You don't trust me; that's fine. I wouldn't trust me, either. But you must decide if your cause is worth more than your ego. For I will create a new world from the ashes of what you have destroyed. I will move heaven and earth, do whatever must be done, because I wish to finally know what it is to live in peace. I want to know what it is to have hope in a better future. And I want to love my Ella as well and as long as fate grants us. It is not only for our mother’s sake that I spare your life, but mine as well. I do not want to live a life chained to hatred and vengeance any longer. I want to learn what it’s like to have a brother, to create a new kind of family. I want to live my life with a clear conscience. The question is…do you?”

Jack’s lips part, as if he means to speak, but no words come out. He pushes himself away from the wall, his legs trembling.

“It seems I am not the only stubborn, foolishly idealistic one in this room.” Jack’s eyes move to his father’s deathbed once more. He’s exhausted, wounded, weakened. There is blood pooling where he fell. And yet he sets his jaw and thrusts out his hand. “This will not be easy. Even with your secret weapon. Even if we best Opulence, the rest of Fae will fight you tooth and nail. They will resist any attempts at change.”

Kieran can’t help but smirk. “I know my countrymen perhaps better than you, Jack. But I am their prince. And they will bow when I tell them to.”

“With that kind of confidence…” Jack coughs, hacking and wet, blood in his teeth. Kieran had wounded him perhaps worse than Jack had let on. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Kieran allows himself a smile. “My thoughts exactly.”

"That world you describe…” Jack begins, his voice choking only a little. “It's something my father always hoped to live long enough to see. Perhaps...perhaps we can yet fulfill his dream. I think I owe him...that much."

Jack's shaking hand takes hold of Kieran’s, and the brothers touch for the first time in peace instead of in violence.

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sailorshadzter · 8 months

Text

remember when i said jon x alayne had struck me?

yeah. this is what came from that day lol

When the music swells, he’s already making his way across the great hall.

For the last hour, he’s done little else but stare at the beautiful, dark-haired woman with eyes so blue they remind him of the summer skies of childhood. She’s lost in conversation with another young woman, but they both turn at his approaching footsteps, both thinking he’s coming for the other. “Lady Alayne,” he greets, bobbing her a quick bow as she curtsies quite prettily, her sage green silk gown shifting with her every move. He’s never been this sort of man before, but there’s just something about her that makes him want to be something more. Something new. “May I have this dance?” Those blue eyes widen slightly and her friend gives a little giggle before she slips away, leaving Alayne standing there alone with him. After what feels like a lifetime, she gives a nod, her hand reaching out for him to take.

As his hand encloses around hers, warmth spreads through her like she’s stepped out into the sunlight, a feeling she’s not felt in oh-so long. A pain of longing rushes through her but she smiles all the same, allowing for him to sweep her out into the center of the floor. From where he stands at the back of the room, Lord Baelish can only smile, a chuckle escaping.

“You are graceful, my lord,” she speaks with a teasing sort of smile, rosy lips curving with a smile as they fall into the steps of the dance. She’s recalling the days of youth so long gone, days of dance lessons in Winterfell’s hall, where even Jon had learned to dance at her mother’s instructions. It’s been many years since those days and not so many less since they last saw one another- children grown into young adults, she cannot blame him for not knowing her now. He looks so much like a Stark, there wouldn’t be a single man in the realm who wouldn’t know him, and it brings her an ounce of comfort to know that at least one of her siblings still lives.

“I learned as a boy,” he replies, recalling the very same memories as she did, ones where he and Robb had hemmed and hawed over such lessons, but now as a man nearly grown he’s thankful to have had them. “But you are far superior,” he observes as he spins her out and back in, falling into perfect step with the other couples out on the floor. However, many eyes have turned to watch the bastard of Winterfell dance with the bastard of Baelish.

They dance until the music fades and ends, followed by a rousing round of applause from the many guests within the room. “Walk with me?” Jon asks and she surprisingly nods, taking his arm for the second time that night, walking alongside him through the crowd and out the doors into the mostly empty main corridor. But still they do not stop. Out the side doors and into the gardens, the ones she spent much of her time in upon her arrival there in the Vale. “Here,” he slips his furs from his shoulders, simply so he can drape them over hers instead, shaking his head when she opens her mouth to protest. “I’ve faced colder than this.” He grins as they take to the nearest stone bench, but as they settle into place, he finds she’s not smiling. In fact, to his horror, tears are welling in her eyes and he doesn’t know what he’s done to upset her. “Lady Alayne… I…”

“You’ve done nothing,” she assures him, swiping at her eyes before a single tear can fall. “It’s just… You remind me of someone I once loved.” She thinks of her father, of Robb, of Arya, of Bran, and even little Rickon… All lost to her now. Once she had only dreamed of this moment, to see Jon again, bastard born or not, he was still her brother. She only wishes she could have seen this when they had been children. And now, at this moment, she cannot even reveal herself to him. Forever, she will only be Alayne.

Jon swallows, for does he not feel the very same thing for her? There was a part of him that kept screaming; he knows her, but he cannot place who she might be, for he knows almost no women but his sisters. Ygritte was the only other woman he knew, but she was lost to him now. “It is as if we’ve met in a life before this one,” he murmurs softly and her gaze snaps back up, blue eyes wide in her startled features. “I feel it too,” he admits, reaching for her hand without hesitation, without fear of what might come next.

To his surprise, she leans in, tenderly brushing her lips against his cheek, leaving the spot warm long after they’ve parted ways. “I am glad I met you, Jon Snow,” she says quietly, her lips curving with a smile as a single tear falls, though it’s his fingertips that catch it. “Perhaps we will meet again and you will be King in the North.” She thinks of their brother, dead before his time, and the little siblings lost to them, dead or alive they would probably never know. Jon scoffs at her words but she shakes her head, the image clear within her mind. “It will come to pass, you will see.” She rises up then, his furs slipping from her shoulders as she stands, back into his arms as she sweeps him a curtsy. In that moment, for some reason, it is Sansa he thinks 0f- who once practiced her curtsies until she could not walk the next day. “Good bye, Jon.” She smiles and then she is gone, disappearing back through the doors they once had come through, leaving Jon there on that bench, snow collecting in his dark curls.

He would leave the Vale the next morning, but he would never forget her, that Lady Alayne.

#NO I DONT KNOW WHY JON WOULD BE IN THE VALE #so please use your imagination #jonsa #jon x sansa #jon x alayne #actuallyjonsa #my writing #i wrote this

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fullscoreshenanigans · 8 months

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Hey =) I would like to ask you something. I work on my fics and i would like to have your opinion of what kind of job Isabella, Mathilda and Sienne would/could have in the human world?

I think that a lot of sisters/mothers have enough qualifications to be nursery nurse (especially Isabella and the others mothers of the differents premium farms, who have raised like 100 kids in 12 years at least), maybe one of the three could decide to become one. Or elementary school teacher? I could see some of all the sisters/mothers choose this way because they didn't have as much possibilities than that with their skills :/ (and some of them loves taking care of kids)

Maybe that if Mathilda or Sienna love to cook, they could open (together or only one of them alone) a little tea saloon/coffee shop? Some Sisters/Mothers have skills in cooking so maybe some would open alone or together a backery, a cofffee shop, ect... so maybe Mathilda and Sienna could do that together? (Not Isabella because cooking isn't her best skill ^^")

Maybe a florist?

Maybe Isabella has spend enough time to raises babies and would want a change? And would open a library?

I could see some of all the sisters/mothers choose this way because they didn't have as much possibilities than that with their skills :/ (and some of them loves taking care of kids)

I'd be really careful with implementing this framing and phrasing in the narrative unless it's coming from one of the moms/sisters who's feeling overwhelmed or downcast about their future and struggling with adjusting to the human world. They're all victims of the farm system, and what they experienced at headquarters was traumatic—they were forced into an environment that dehumanized them and pitted them against each other, and before the end of their early twenties they were forced to endure systemic medical rape—but it shouldn't be the sole thing that defines them going forward.

Krone's story in the second light novel talks about how sisters would retrain due to how few were able to obtain one of the five mom positions at Grace Field during their lifetimes:

So even if we're defining sisters as those who haven't retrained and branched out into other fields besides childcare, it's incredibly antithetical for a series that's centered around screwing destiny to frame their futures as limited and tied up in bioessentialism. At the same time, there shouldn't be any shame directed at the ones who do end up gravitating toward childcare. With how many children and sisters were brought over, there's going to be a vast array of answers for what each one finds personally fulfilling in life.

(Chapter 170)

With how driven Matilda was at rising in the ranks at headquarters by becoming second in command to Sarah and later Isabella, I could see her starting her own business or working with a non-profit. Something where she's coordinating multiple projects because her Type A personality enjoys the challenge.

Sienna seems like she'd prefer something a bit less stressful, so a coffee shop owner where she can perfect latte art and foster a relaxed environment with live music could be a reasonable future for her.

I've seen Isabella as a florist as part of the backdrop in an AU (specifically every flower's reaching for the sun if you're in the mood for a RE fic) so my mind has been open to the viability of that career path for her for a while. I have such a soft spot for librarian Ray due to @salsae's vowsverse and my own relationship with reading in uni, and with Isabella's similar history of being a voracious reader (albeit under different circumstances), becoming a library director actively involved in the community around her is equally appealing to me.

(TPN Light Novel 2: Moms’ Song of Remembrance - “The Starry Sky and Leslie’s List” Chapter 3)

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sammysvanfeet · 2 years

Text

Secret Soulmate || Part Three

Jake x Reader - Soulmate AU

Word Count: 3.6k

WARNINGS: nudity, cursing, alcohol use, mentions of war, smut - oral sex (m receiving) and penetrative sex, angst/mourning, main character death

A/N: Thank you so much for your patience besties! It's a sad one.

There is a rhythmic noise coming from somewhere, it sounds both distant yet too loud at the same time. It’s not a steady beeping of a heart rate monitor, it’s more subdued. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. My eyes are not yet open but I can visualize the image of my clock, a black cat wagging its tail against the wall as it measures time. Time. It’s all relative, isn’t it? I’ve seen so many of my lifetimes, some long and others not so much. Right now I’m cursing time, wishing I was on that beach in a suspended sort of purgatory.

I slowly roll over, stretching and letting my eyes flutter open slowly. My vision is blurred and the light filtering through my blinds is entirely too bright. I groan, feeling an ache in my limbs, the small twin bed making me feel more cramped than I already am. How long had I been out?

“What happened?” I speak aloud to no-one, bringing a hand to my aching head.

“You’re up!” Polly proclaimed, her unwelcome voice startling me. “I was so worried about you.”

“You were worried about me?” I asked skeptically, moving to sit up and against the uncomfortable wooden headboard, “I feel hungover but I don’t remember drinking. I don’t even remember going to sleep.”

“Mom called Dr. Williams, he came and checked on you while you were out. He thinks it was just a case of dehydration and lack of sleep. Have you been taking care of yourself since I’ve been gone? Have you been taking care of mom? Jesus, Y/N.” She looks at me with pity and a little bit of contempt, I can see it in her eyes.

“Don’t, Polly. If you cared about mom you wouldn’t have left.” That was a low blow and I knew it, but I wasn’t in the state to fight fair right now.

“Real mature, you know I left for a reason. If you had tried harder maybe you would have also got a scholarship to a good school and not had to wait tables just to put yourself through community college.” She spat, raising from the battered armchair in the corner of my room, “Oh, you might want to get up and make yourself presentable, we’re having family breakfast and you still need to be introduced to Jake properly.”

Jake. Fuck.

Polly stormed out of my room, slamming my bedroom door dramatically. The smiling black cat rattled against the wall, disturbed by her outburst. If it weren’t inanimate I’m sure it would be scowling now, stretching its claws out sinisterly. I hesitate before trailing my gaze to the door, consumed by the thoughts of what would be waiting for me on the other side. Knowing what I did now, knowing that Jake was not Polly’s soulmate, but mine, made things infinitely more difficult. I could tell her the truth and then I could have Jake to myself to get to know, the way I had seen us together in the past, two lovers cooing over their newborn. I could tell Polly that her soulmate was dead, sweet Josh whom I had only met fleetingly in a flashback, who I would never meet in this lifetime.

I sighed deeply, knowing that as much as I loved to bicker with my sister, I couldn’t hurt her this way. I’d already shouldered the burden of watching my mother lose my father, watching how broken she had become being forced to live out the rest of her life without her other half. I couldn’t imagine the toll of watching my sister go through that, too. She is still so young and now she’ll never have the chance to know and feel what true love is. Could I stand by Jake’s side and watch my mother and Polly as they mourned together? Could I handle the repercussions of bringing my sister such loss, such hopelessness, while I had everything she’d ever dreamed?

I swallowed down the lump in my throat, nodding my head in acceptance. Jake was right, we had to pretend. I barely knew this man but the thought of myself going through this life alone made me feel like I had a gaping hole in my chest, so deep and empty, never to be whole again. I would have to watch Jake live out our lifetime with my own sister. Would she wonder why their feelings were so shallow? Would she convince herself that it was true love? Would they have babies? A happy family, little curly headed babe’s that looked just like Josh - the soulmate Polly would never know?

Before I could spiral any further, my mother’s trilling voice called from the kitchen, wafting into my room along with the smell of french toast. “Coming!” I yelled, begrudgingly dragging myself to the small bathroom attached to my room. It was dated, as were most things in our home, untouched from when my father was still around. Bold black and white square tiles covered the small room. I took in my appearance in the mirror above the vanity. I looked disheveled, but I didn’t have time for a shower. I suppose it didn’t matter, who was I making appearances for?

I finger-combed my hair, separating some of the tangles from where my head had laid upon my pillow for God-knows-how-long. I quickly, yet efficiently, brushed my teeth and washed my face before shedding my pajamas and placing them in my hamper. Pondering over what I would wear, I trotted back into my room, barely registering that I was no longer alone.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” I gasped, reaching for my bathrobe and hurriedly securing it around my waist.

“It’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before.” Jake smirked, an outstretched hand gesturing to my body.

“Look anything like my sisters?” I retorted, causing Jake to recoil at my words.

“I wouldn’t know.” He punctuated the last word.

“Oh, so the fake soulmates haven’t fucked yet?”

“Jesus, Y/N. We haven’t even kissed yet. We’re trying to take things slow.”

“So Polly bringing you here to meet the family is… slow?” I raised an eyebrow, scoffing in disbelief.

He sighs, rubbing his jaw, a nervous tick that felt so familiar to me now. “It meant a lot to her. I can’t give her everything, but at least I could give her this. This visit. A reassurance to your widowed mother that her eldest daughter would no longer be alone.”

I laughed darkly, “And what about the youngest daughter?”

“You have to believe me, if I'd known it would have been you…”

“Please. I can’t listen to this anymore.” My voice cracked, giving away my pain, “I would like you to leave now.”

*Flashback - 1940s, Midwestern USA, North America*

“When are you leaving again?” I asked meekly, fiddling with the solitaire ring on my left hand, still getting used to the feeling of it.

“I hate how you say that… leaving, as if I have a choice, as if I’m never coming back.”

I swallowed down the lump in my throat, looking anywhere but into his eyes. This was not the time nor place to make a scene. I took slow, deep breaths, blinking away the tears pricking at the corners.

“Your return isn’t promised, Jake.”

“I don’t want you to worry for me when I am gone. I want you to go about your life, find a little apartment for us and make it a home. Something for me to look forward to.” He pulled me close, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple.

“But it’s war, Jake. I can’t bear the thought of waking to a knock at my door with a flag and a letter thanking me for your sacrifice.” I began to cry at the thought of his absence, cursing my tears at this inconvenient time.

“Darling, if there were any other way…” He sighs, knowing we have had this very conversation so many times.

“Let’s run away together,” I plead, knowing it is fruitless, “How am I supposed to go on without you here? How am I supposed to continue on as normal, not knowing if you’re alive or dead.”

I’m full on sobbing now, making a scene surely in the dance hall we were seated in. This was supposed to be a happy occasion, a celebration of our engagement and a night full of dancing, but instead we were drowning our sorrows, clutching at straws and cursing the damned letter we had received earlier that week with the news of Jake’s draft.

He takes my face tenderly between his palms, warm and calloused from his mechanical work. “My sweet, Y/N, soon to be wife. I promise you, with everything I have, that I will make it home to you. I swear it.” He reaches in to kiss my nose, before rubbing his own against mine, causing me to giggle, “I swear on my twin brother’s life.”

Before I could swat him away and chide him for such absurdity, Josh cuts in, “Brother, how you wound me! And here I was about to ask your fiancé for a dance. She looks utterly miserable in your company.”

At Josh’s dramatics, I smile wider, momentarily forgetting why all of us were here. Men having their last hurrah before heading off into the brutal uncertainty of war, and the women, pining and waiting and terrified that their lovers may not return. Clinging to one last happy memory, because a happy reunion could not be guaranteed.

“One dance, Y/N. Polly is utterly dizzy from me twirling her around the room, maybe Jake’s conversation will bore her enough to bring her back to Earth.” He guffaws at his own joke, earning a glare from Jake.

“I accept your request for a dance, Josh.” I say, softly. “But no funny business.”

“As if I would let my sister make a move on my soulmate.” Polly chimes in, appearing with a round of drinks, dark liquid in crystal glasses. “Besides, Jake would never stand for it. He loves you too much.”

“Damn right.” He agrees, throwing back the amber liquid without flinching. He swats my ass playfully, pushing me towards the dance floor.

Josh hooks his arm in mine, guiding me throughout the crowd of twirling couples. We situate ourselves in the center of the room, both of us gazing in awe at the glittering mirrorball hanging above our heads, illuminating all around the room like little stars.

“Look.” Josh grabbed my hand in his, gesturing to my ring, “Look how it sparkles as it catches the light.”

I watched it shine, a brilliant rainbow of colors as I moved my hand this way and that, “He sure did good.” I smiled fondly.

“I told him to pick this one, you should be thanking me.”

I rolled my eyes at his playfulness, “Don’t let war change you.”

He scoffed, “Who, me?” But underneath his comical exterior, I knew he was sweet and vulnerable and too pure for the brutality of war. Jake was the twin far better suited to it: observant, aloof, with a toughness to him. I worried for the both of them, for how it would change them, for who they would be if they made it home. We stayed like that for a while, both needing the physical hold on each other. Two friends wishing to anchor themselves in the moment.

“Get out of your head.” A voice from behind startled me, interrupting the gentle back and forth I’d been unconsciously doing, dancing a dance I’d done so often I could surely do it in my sleep. “Mind if I have my lover back?”

“Of course, brother. I’m going to take my girl home, we have a lot of goodbyes to do before we leave tomorrow.”

“You’re disgusting.” I retort, at the same time Jake smiles and says ‘Nice’.

I swat him in the shoulder, earning a fake groan of pain. Josh walks away grinning like a cheshire cat, rushing to my sister who had no idea that she was about to be in for a very long night. I hoped I would be, too. If I could stop myself from wanting to burst into tears, that is.

“Darling,” Jake called, bringing my attention back to him. “Promise me no more tears for tonight? I want to take you home and make sweet love to you and I need to see that pretty little smile. That’s the memory I want to bring with me, the one that will keep me warm on even the coldest nights.”

I smiled at his words, “Is it my smile or my naked body that will be warming you up?”

“Both.”

Dozens of flickering candles and the soft glow of the lamp in my room kissed Jake’s bare skin, he looked angelic and otherworldly, despite our current actions being downright sinful. My mouth slowly bobbed up and down the length of him, tongue massaging and occasionally flicking over the sensitive spot below the tip.

“So beautiful, so perfect for me like this. When my hand is wrapped tight around my cock, I’ll think of you like this. Your pretty little mouth working me over.”

Jake’s hand gathered my hair into a makeshift ponytail on top of my head, ever the gentleman. His breathing began to pick up, I watched as the gradual rise and fall of his chest increased. I could tell he was getting close to his release, but we both needed to make this last. We needed to savor this moment. I removed his cock from my mouth, just enough to beg him to fuck me.

“No fucking, sweetheart. I told you that I was going to make love to you.”

I whined, “But Jake, I want it. I need you so bad.”

He motioned for me to join him, I straddled my way up his legs until my center was hovering over his achingly hard cock. “Ride me, sweet girl.” I lined the tip up and sank down on him slowly, both of us moaning at the feeling. “Like velvet.” Jake said, always praising my pussy.

I started to circle my hips, nice and slow. The approving look on his face was enough to incentivize me to continue the pace. I planted my hands on his stomach to steady me. His soft, perfect stomach. He had expressed his insecurities about it in the past, but it was easily one of my favorite things about him. I hoped he would return to me the same way, still soft, not hardened physically and emotionally by the toll of battle.

Jake thrust up into me, causing me to moan. He began to palm at my tits, massaging and squeezing. He toyed with my nipples, pinching just enough to elicit a hiss from my mouth, the sting heightening the sensations. “Jake, I’m close.” I whined, bouncing up and down.

“That’s it, darling. Let’s let go together, want to feel you hug me so tight. This pussy needs to give my cock a proper goodbye.” His voice was strained, teeth clenched in an attempt to ward off his orgasm, “Give it to me, pretty girl.”

I bounced and bounced and then I was toppling over, falling forward onto Jake’s chest. He held me closely as we shuddered and pulsed, a rush of warmth and pleasure radiating from where the two of us connected. He stroked my hair as we both came down from our respective highs, breathing in tandem now, deep and slow.

“I’m going to miss you.” Jake said, breaking the silence, before sniffing and clearing his throat.

I craned my neck to look up at him, “You said no tears.”

“I made you promise, I never agreed to anything.” He joked, eyes still glassy and full of hurt, “Now, do you promise you’ll write to me? Tell me it all… even if it’s about what you made for dinner that day or a song that made you think of me?”

“Always. You know you’ll always be a part of my day, even when we’re not together. And I’ll be with you. As long as the Sun comes up, I’ll still be in your heart.” I murmured, drawing circles on his chest.

“And as long as the Moon follows, I’ll be with you too. Keep me safe inside your heart.”

“I’ll wait for you, Mr Kiszka.” I promised.

He smiled so sweetly, “And I’ll always find you, future Mrs Kiszka. You’re all mine.”

My hands nimbly guided the fabric through the sewing machine, it hammered down stitches at lightning fast speed. The whirring of the machines from my fellow seamstresses was monotonous, but it was a sound I had become used to. Polly and I started working at the textile factory to keep us both busy and to save money for when our men came home to us. It had been months, Jake’s letters not coming as often as I would have hoped, but I treasured them all. I’d tied them all pretty and gently stored them in a hat box underneath my bed. When my heart ached for him, I reread his words. He was so eloquent and poetic without even trying. He almost made it seem like he was on some grand adventure and not shooting down men in enemy territory.

A cacophony of gasps and the sudden halt of machinery usage caused a pit in my stomach. This happened often, maybe once or twice every week. The dozens of us all stood, raising from our seats slowly, not sure which one of us was about to have our hearts broken. A defeated soldier stood anxiously in front of the room of us women.

“I’m looking for the next of kin of Mr. Kiszka.” The somber man states, his expression gives away his obvious discomfort, still not used to delivering this kind of news.

I drop the spool in my hand, haphazardly tossing the fabric aside and rushing through the rows of seamstresses to where the soldier stood in his uniform. Polly was hot on my heels, reaching her arm around me to pull me into her, both of us beginning to clutch one another in anticipation. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Surely we had misheard, maybe Kiszka was a common family name.

“I’m so sorry to have to deliver this news.” The soldier cleared his throat, his stance moved from foot to foot, visibly uncomfortable and possibly confused at the two bewildered women that stood before him. “I want you to know he was a good man. I served with him briefly before my own injury.” He gestured to his leg, pulling the fabric up and revealing a wooden prosthetic. “The two of them together, always finding the humor even on the darkest day.”

Polly let out a choked sob, knowing how Josh was the one with a penchant for jokes and laughter. I rubbed her shoulder soothingly, my heart ached for her, imagining the possibility that Josh had been killed in combat.

“I am so sorry. He was a good man.” The soldier repeated. “I have been asked to inform you that your fiancé, Jacob Thomas Kiszka, died in combat last week.”

The moment the words hit my ears, my whole world fell on its axis, I was no longer present, I was floating, an observer outside of my body. I watched as my knees buckled, as the soldier and Polly scrambled to contain me, as my body hit the cold hard concrete and my vision went black.

The service was simple, paid for by the government, a ‘thank-you’ and an ‘I’m sorry’ all in one shiny wooden casket. The few relatives Jake had came, but it was mostly attended by the many friends he’d made and some surviving soldiers he’d fought beside. Josh even came home for the funeral. I wish I could say I was happy to see him, but it made the hole in my heart grow wider.

The skies opened, a sudden downpour soaking the congregation. Women shrieked and men shielded them with their jackets, running for the trees to find cover from the rain. I remained in place, staring at the casket before me. I let myself cry freely now, no longer being watched or given smiles of pity. I cried and cried. I wanted to cry until I had drowned the whole world. I wanted everyone to feel my pain, I wanted them to hurt too. But mostly, I wanted my soulmate back.

“Y/N!” Polly called, the sheets of rain distorting her voice. “We need to get you inside, the service is over now. We can come visit him tomorrow.”

“No!” I screamed, raw and angry. “I’m not leaving him.”

I walked towards his casket, placing my hand on top. I let my tears fall, mixing with the drops of rain trailing down the simple wooden box. How fitting. Jake wouldn’t have wanted anything over the top.

“I’ll love you forever. I’ll find you in the next life.”

I closed my eyes, feeling that familiar fuzziness as an image came into my mind. I saw a beach, pristine sand and salty blue water. There was Jake with hair even longer than I could have ever imagined, a beaming smile on his face and a silly straw hat atop his head. I could smell apple pie and whiskey. There was a black cat. I was seeing flickers of another time, but I knew it wasn’t a memory. It was a… premonition?

“Oh my God.” I choked out, now falling to my knees. I crawled over and curled up by his gravestone, I could still feel him somehow. I could still feel the connection here. “I’ll spend every day here with you, Jake. Until I find you in the next life.”

TAG LIST:

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cxnsolatio · 1 year

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✚✚✚ sanji — @kickxsscook

*sneeze* I am *sneeze* more man than you are!!

Sanji's sneezes, albeit involuntary as all others, may very well be a declaration of belligerent intent; a campaign against that rule of both social etiquette and the simplest medical guideline, that sneezes ought to be contained in some kind of handkerchief or, in the absence of a square of fabric, projected sideways over a shirt or coat sleeve.

Law budged his body in a direction paralell to that of Sanji's expulsions, avoiding the rain of mucus in one suave step of his heeled boot. Some of the droplets coursed not just forwards into the open space, but downwards as well, splashing translucent over the cook's shirt, leaving behind tiny dots of wetness like a more revolting morning dew. He eyed them with distaste.

❝ Oh, yes.❞ He commented with a twisted nose and a more than deserved scowl. Though the glower set on his features as an unavoidable response to Sanji’s bold declaration, it quickly bloomed into a triumphant smirk, this expression so much more his. There was a certain grace to handling an affront with articulate mordacity in lieu of physical effort, and persuasion fit him like the proverbial glove. ❝ The very portrait of masculinity you are, what with your puffy, red eyes and shirt covered in nasal matter. An astonishing example of maleness no woman can refuse; I’m sure your navigator would agree. ❞

Bravado aside, Law did empathise with Sanji, as only befitting of a doctor in regards to a patient. In a tone of voice devoid of derision, so much so it sounded mellow by comparison, he added with professional worry, ❝ You don't have asthma, do you, Black Leg? ❞ All tomfoolery would cease at once should the patient bear the respiratory condition, and all feline visitors would have to be removed from the ship’s premises until Sanji’s organism cleared of allergens.

Mors, who had been sniffing the floorboards of the Sunny with the dedication of the chief-mouser he was — either not understanding his contract to be exclusive to the submarine and the jumpsuited crew, or too career-driven to get himself concerned over the human viewpoint of ownership — leapt into Law’s arms, causing Kikoku to waltz perilously for a moment before Law could catch both sword and cat. Mors purred, satisfied both with the result of his inspection and with his new position in Law’s arms. He stared at Sanji, green eyes flickering yellow in the direct sunlight, not too unlike Law's amber-turned-gold irises.

❝ Of course, you could wait for the reaction to pass once its cause has been removed. That’s what a virile man would do. ❞ Roronoa’s type, Law nigh advanced so as to further rile up his interlocutor. But a quick assertion of the Sunny’s current situation, with Mors and Nami’s fostered cats onboard, sufficed for an astute man to know Sanji’s allergies would be plaguing him for a while longer. His smarter choices were to either stow himself away from the bean-pawed guests or take some antihistamine and partake in everyone’s company.

Mors's eyes narrowed into slits. Looking into them, one could not help think the cat resented Sanji's allergies to a deep, personal level. He was a competent predator, a creature of independence who stalked the darkness. But he was also a very much coddled replacement for a more intimate companion his human of choice did not have as well. Thus, Mors was spoiled, and couldn’t fathom why anyone would not adore him. Or so he would, if cats shared the same psyche humans did.

❝ But seeing as you are the chef of the ship,❞ Law continued, cradling arms buffeted by the swishing of Mors’s tail, ❝ I won't risk you contaminating us all by sneezing into our luncheon. ❞ A practicality, yes, as well as a courtesy. It was not like Sanji’s suffering amused him — perhaps it did, the tiniest bit.

Speaking of exposure to infectious substances. Mayhap corrupted by the whimsical atmosphere which the Straw Hats bred and maintained, Law's hands locked under the cat’s front legs, holding them out as though they were arms. Very patiently did Mors allow Law his theatrics, his soft belly exposed and tail hanging in lazy circular motions. Law then puppeteered Mors’s spotted legs like a child would move their arms from beneath a white sheet in the manner of a ghost for a practical joke. The phantom of susceptibility to offer some help.

❝ I’ll ask Tony for some loratadine for you, shall I? ❞

#kickxsscook #implicit mention of chatcambrioleur #✚ | ❝ i have seen many things in a lifetime alone / mother love is no more ; bring this savage back home ❞ { v / main }#✚ | ❝ though i am blessed with an inner strength / some they would call it a penance ❞ { ic }

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starlsssankt · 2 months

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RE: this gifset

Where do I even begin?

I mean, I'll preface this all with "yes, yes, atrocities committed and countless lives lost and he's a murderous immortal" blah blah blah. I know what the story is trying to say with this character, but bear with me, okay?

One of the things I love about villains/morally grey characters is the reasons behind why they do what they do. I need the nuances, I need the explanations, the whole "why why why" answered. I need to be able to get in their head and reasonably explain the thoughts behind what led to certain actions.

Which is why I cannot STAND it when some shows/books/etc. diminish those complex characters down to one-dimensional "Disney villains". But that's a rant for another day.

When it comes to the Darkling, I think this set shows really well (and it was one of the better scenes done in s2 of the show, let's be honest) how many times he's gone through the same old path, the same old fight, lost more people than anyone can remotely imagine...

I've always head-canoned, of course, that he tried to work "within" the system at first. He tried the peaceful approach, the "let's get more rights for Grisha, let's get them a safe place in society" by whispering in different ears of the nobility/royalty, by trying to orchestrate it as, I don't know, "legally" as he could.

Every single time, it didn't work. It either wasn't enough, or he didn't have the power to truly affect the change he wanted, or whatever the reason, he came to the conclusion that the only language those in current power would understand was VIOLENCE.

(To reference different real life things, you have it with every sort of marginalized group in history, every sort of revolution/rebellion/etc. There are those who work in the "peaceful" way and then those who are more "radical" about it. I firmly believe Aleksander started as the former and after so many (life)times, became the latter.)

The only other being that he knows that is enough like him that he doesn't really fear losing them, is his mother. Until such a point that Alina comes along and ...

Yeah. Another topic for another day.

But even then, ultimately, he does lose Baghra. And in that moment, he feels that overwhelming pressure of being utterly, truly alone. No one else bears what he does, no one else has seen what he has, has endured what he has--so how could they possibly understand?

Of course, after all those lifetimes, of seeing the same thing happening again and again and again-- He cracked, for lack of better words.

I mean, we see in Demon in the Wood how he was as a child, how Grisha lives in general were. Think of any marginalized group in history, and imagine being not only a part of that group, but marginalized even within that group.

That is what he and Baghra endured. Not only were they marginalized because they were Grisha (which dealt with enough prejudice on that fact alone), but they were shadow summoners, which marginalized them even from other Grisha. (Tack on the whole "he's an amplifier" and you get even more distance.)

So of course, after (who knows how many) lifetimes and decades and centuries, after losing friends and lovers and every single person he meets and knows (outside of Baghra) to (and I quote) "sickness, desperation, hate, and time", he's closed himself off from letting anyone in.

What's the point, when he'd just lose them? Why let himself feel anything for anyone else when they'd fall in one way or another, and he'd continue trudging onward...?

And there's the whole "reinvent yourself" aspect he names here, too. Because yes, think about it: He can't just continue in the same line. He has to become an entirely new person. Lies and half-truths that make up one identity after another... To never quite be known by the truth of who you are, to the point even your true name isn't what you're called?

What sort of mess does that do to a person's sense of self? Their identity? He clings to his name tattooed on his heart because he doesn't want to lose who he is-- and I don't even want to think of the mess his head ultimately is in, after doing all of this for literal centuries. (Dude needs major therapy but yeah...)

I mean, has he ever known a moment's peace? Because let's remember:

Grisha (marginalized)

Shadow Summoner (further marginalization within that)

Amplifier (secrets b/c lack of touch, assassination attempts, etc.)

Immortal (literally outlives every single other being save one and then ultimately even does that when Baghra dies)

All those facets of who he is, not a single one of them let him know peace. Prejudiced with some of them by others, literally hunted and killing attempts by others (amplifier)...

I mean, this guy was totally messed up from the get-go. (Again, dude needs major therapy.)

But yeah... ultimately, his intentions were right. And can we really blame him (completely) for shattering after all this? After a past like this? For finally saying "you know what, fuck it. they want a monster, i'll give them a monster to get the result" or whatever.

And I will now end (sort of) this rambling post with the fact that I don't think anyone could have acted the hell out of this character like Ben did. To put forth those nuances and give him depth that even the pages themselves sometimes lacked.

I've said it before and I'll say it one more time here: I love the Grishaverse for a lot of the potential it had. The avenues to really dig in and explore, the nuances and the motifs of light and dark and yin and yang...

I'd kill for some more of that... yeah...

Okay. I'll stop now.

(Sorry this got so long... Oops.)

#headcanon / a name long hidden #about & musings / like calls to like #// it's that time of the night when we decide to RAMBLE about this sort of topic #// forgive the lack of cohesion in this post #// I typed the thoughts as they came to me #// and I did NOT edit #// thank you very much #// long post

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mpsansy · 8 months

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*phew* Okay.

It’s a real bummer to be talking about this with little to no audience cause i'd love to talk and explore these types of things. However, I’d like to write up a few concepts I have on Casper, his uncles, and other miscellaneous pieces while it’s still going through my head. Most of which are not too out of the box, but hey. I’m just trying to entertain myself with all of them here. Anyway, getting back on track:

-When they all were alive, it wasn’t odd for young Casper to be raised around the trio. As a matter of fact, most of the boys would use this to get the ladies. You’d be surprised at how many pretty faces went to converse with whoever brother had the little bundle. Though if you were to see it with your own eyes, you would notice that Stretch kinda had the motherly side to him that wasn’t seen with other men. Guess that soft natured stuff really hit home for a lot of people.

-Those brothers, even in life, stuck together like glue. They had the kind of bond that felt almost unbreakable. To which case, you’d be right! It was practically impossible to break the bond they had. Sure there’s going to be some butting heads, yet that’s typical to have. You’d be delusional if you think they’d live all a happy go lucky life with no arguments. You're dreaming, bud.

-Unsurprisingly, Casper looked more like his mother when he was alive. Their eyes and hair color were nearly identical. However, his facial expressions and personality would resemble more of his father than anything. Though by the time the trio saw young Casper, they would joke around about how his father’s genes were really fighting their all just to be present.

-If Casper were to have lived a longer life, he more than likely would’ve grown up to look like his father. What he would’ve done in his lifetime could’ve been anything. However, it seems that this family was dealt with misfortune that evidently ended in death for each person.

-Speaking of death, the only survivor of this misfortune was Casper’s father, who might as well turned mad at the discovery of his family members passing away. First, it was his wife, then his son, and now? His three elder brothers. And just to say with this telling, he was no scientist. But he soon pursued that career. One could even say that in starting this new career, he soon discovered that magic was indeed a reality. Among other horrors that he once thought to be fiction.

-The world of monsters and humans are so intertwined that it’s practically hiding in plain sight. So just imagine how scary or fascinating it would be to know that your friend could be… I don’t know? A ghoul. A werewolf?? A vampire!?! What a concept indeed.

-I’d like to say that with time, a spirit can slowly forget themselves. Which means that their physical presence also melts away from them, and a new form is created. An empty canvas if you will. Who they once were in life does transition into this newly ghostly form, yet one could argue that their presence is exaggerated. To a cartoonish degree, mind you. But I’m sure they can gain some resemblance of who they once were. Somehow.

-Heading back to the family demise, I’d say that the trio died in not the best fashions. It started out with Stinkie (not a nickname he used in life) getting ambushed by a group of men and dumping his dead body in the dumpster for his brothers to find. And then the two sought out a little payback for what happened. They got most of the men, but unfortunately we’re both shot down. However, they weren’t done yet. They still had one more person to seek.

And it seems like the trio in death reunited just to cause great terror to the man that took their lives away. You think they’re going to kill the man after all this? No. That’s not satisfying anymore. They made it their sole purpose to torment the man all the way till he died of fright as an old man. All alone in a home. No wife, no kid, no friends. Just the manic laughters of ghostly figures that only he could see. Just so it’s to no one’s surprise, that’s not their “unfinished business”. Because in doing this, they began having a new purpose. Scaring. Who would’ve thought that it would be so much fun?

-The shame in all this, however, is that all the good traits the trio had as humans were hidden away. Not to say it isn’t there, but with their last moments of living, all their emotions were negative and bitter. Slowly manifesting into the haunting spirits in the afterlife. But opposed to this would be Casper, who still had love left in his heart. As such, a good-natured spirit was created. Something to rival their wicked uncles.

-Unbeknownst to all these spirits, or just the trio in this case. They do care about Casper. But with forgetting about their past and all, they just can’t understand why that is. All they know is that this is their nephew. And as disgusting as it is to admit. They don’t want him to disappear. There are a bunch of complex emotions they each have. Too much that they just ens up disregarding it and settle for lightly tormenting the little guy instead of being soft and learning more about WHY they care.

DAMN! Okay, that was a bit much. I Didn’t realize till now. But these are just things that I couldn’t help but write down.

#sansy speaking here #I am so embarrassed sharing this #casper the friendly ghost #the ghostly trio #monsters #horror concept #monster concept #death mention tw

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thetrinitarianmystery · 4 days

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When the Light's Indigo: On Heaven and Hell

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

When the Light's Indigo (On Heaven and Hell)

Relaxing a fist that you didn’t know was closed.

Radishes—how they wave their magenta reds Through photon fields to find me.

How mother’s voice gets softer when she sings.

Where will I go when the light’s indigo? (and oh what a silly thing to say)

But while I am still, you can bet that

Brick by brick by brick by brick(you get the point)I’ll build a bridge across the sky so—

When I have to go, when the light’s indigo, I’ll Find a certain way to find you. -------------------

From a young age, I was terrified by thoughts of hell. My conception of hell was that it was a place to which one goes if they die with a mortal sin on their conscience. It was a place of fire, eternal suffering, and torment, overseen by a super-powerful demonic overlord, Satan. By contrast, I understood heaven to be a place of bliss, reunion with one's dead relatives, and eternal dwelling in a big Disney-esque kingdom of God.

It seemed obvious to me that, given the existence of hell and heaven, the main or even sole purpose of life was to avoid hellfire and to attain a place in heaven. In fact, given even the possibility of eternal dwelling in either bliss or torment, it seemed like this should more or less be our main focus.

This is basically a reiteration of Pascal's Wager. The Wager works like this: if heaven and hell are NOT real, and if one acts as if they ARE real, then the loss one incurs over their lifetime is some finite measure of pleasure (from not doing all the "bad" or self-indulgent things that they would otherwise have done). However, if heaven and hell ARE real, and if one acts as if they are NOT, then there is risk of infinite loss. Given this situation, it seems like the safer bet is to assume the existence of heaven and hell and to act accordingly.

Many people have problematized Pascal's Wager. For example, one might note that the conception of heaven and hell as respectively eternal bliss and eternal torment is not universally held, even by Catholics. To some, hell is merely separation from God, an eternal lack of fulfillment, whereas heaven is a merger with an participation is God's ongoing creation. Moreover, if death is mere annihilation, or if there is some form of reincarnation, then the wager changes.

But I think this objection misses the point. The point is that if there is any nonzero probability at all of an eternal bliss/torment dichotomy, then by the infinite nature of eternity, any rational response to the wager turns out the same.

Another objection to this line of thinking is that the Wager focuses heavily on self-interest rather than morality or truth. Shouldn't we care about doing what is actually right and believing what is actually true, rather than just picking the safest bet? Moreover, belief and worship under duress could be seen as insincere and self-serving rather than a loving choice. An all-knowing God may "see through" such calculated belief.

To this my response is two-fold: first, if you can show me a way of discerning the ultimate "truth" of any matter, let alone one of such import as this, then I will follow you there. Until such a time, we must choose what proposed truths to endorse. Second, I'm not sure that a God that has set up an eternal bliss/torment dichotomy is so worried after all about morality and loving choices after all. It would seem like an act of great barbarism to establish such a test for humans, and such a God would seem to be concerned more with submission and worship than genuine loving and truth-seeking.

A further (and, I think, better) objection to the Wager is that it isn't clearly actionable. After all, many societies have believed in an eternal bliss/torment dichotomy, and they have different ideas about how to attain eternal bliss. Even if one accept the conclusions of Pascal's Wager, which path should they follow? How should they concretely make decisions in their life?

A simple response to this would be to choose one such society and follow its precepts. Better to guess at one than to throw up one's hands and follow none at all.

This is more or less where I stand today on Pascal's Wager. But the truth is that I don't grapple with this question anymore. Whether heaven and hell continue beyond this life I cannot say, but I am sure that they start here.

Is there a fire worse than fire? And isn't fire here, now?

And can't we already achieve a merger with God, such that we exist as a subprocess of and participant in His ongoing creation?

Indeed, Luke 17: 20-21 reads: "Once, on being asked by the Pharisees when the kingdom of God would come, Jesus replied, 'The coming of the kingdom of God is not something that can be observed, nor will people say, "Here it is," or "There it is," because the kingdom of God is in your midst.'"

Heaven and hell are largely unearned states in this life. Our foremost orientation should be to "free the captives," as it were. I feel very lucky to have experienced a slice of heaven, and I wish the same for all conscious beings.

To take up this orientation is to "build a bridge across the sky," to bring the Divine and the metaphysical into contact with the everyday; and, possibly, to earn a place for oneself in heaven.

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#god #heaven #hell #love #philosophy #poem #poetry #religion #spirituality

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dadsbongos · 2 years

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why did you ask me out (2)

1 / chapter 2 - just how it used to be / 3 / 4 / 5

5.1K words

warnings - speedrun enemies to friends to lovers trope

summary - You and Chrissy are long-lost best friends that join sides to pull one over on the girls hoping to make you prom queen as a bet. Things don't always go to plan - sometimes you realize you're in love and sometimes the girls shoot back at you.

1977. Third Grade.

“I’m sorry nobody came,” Chrissy’s pouting, but you know her and you know she’s being nothing but genuine, “They’re all missing out.”

You shrug and remove the party hat from around your head, “I don’t really care.”

“How can you not care?” she gapes at you now.

“I have you,” you grin when she giggles, “I don’t need anybody else here when my best friend comes.”

“I’ll always come,” she takes your hand and squeezes, “Besides we get the cake to ourselves, right?”

“Duh!” you hop off the chair and Chrissy chases after you as you run into the kitchen.

Your present, the hottest toy of ‘73 - a Baby Alive, was abandoned on the dining table in favor of the Jell-O poke cake your mother so kindly spent the entire morning making. You didn’t have much preference between that and something else, but you knew it was popular and you knew Chrissy had been dying to try some.

It didn’t matter that your entire class flaked at your birthday party because she came, and that was always more than enough. Now there was nobody to impress or host - just you and Chrissy and not waiting thirty minutes between eating cake and jumping into your family’s pool.

1986. Senior Year.

You’re in the middle of a changing room - stuffed into a dress you hate and flanked at both sides with girls that hate you in each neighboring stall. The only reason you’re here is her. Chrissy Cunningham.

You poke your head out of the curtain and spot the blond staring at the floor, a pink dress hanging off her arm.

“Hey, you,” she grins when you call, and you hate the way your heart lights up. You nudge your head back, “wanna help me outta this sucker?”

“You know it,” Chrissy’s more careful in keeping the curtain from exposing you as she gets in than you’ve ever seen her before.

She hangs up her dress and you turn, eyes falling on the mirror and you make a point to look at the floor. You feel her soft, nimble fingers as they fly to your zipper.

“Found one you liked yet?”

“Not really.”

To say you didn’t expect to be here is the understatement of your lifetime. If it weren’t for the bet, you’re sure Chrissy never would’ve approached you again.

But here you were. Chrissy’s careful hands help you slide down yet another rejected prom dress as Pat Benatar’s Love Is A Battlefield echoes through the store. The dress eventually pools at your feet and Chrissy picks out the last one in your lineup. A more ball gown type of dress that requires lacing in the back, one you only picked when Chrissy said you’d look like a princess in it.

“Why did you ask me out?” you’re quieter than you wanted to be, you sound afraid and it makes your stomach coil in disgust, “If you were just gonna tell me it was a bet, anyway, why’d you even ask?”

“Just thought you’d like to go to prom with us,” she grins and you can’t even tell that it twitches downward for a moment, “I wanted to hang out with you again. I miss you.”

“Really?” you can’t help the laugh that bubbles from you.

Her fingers work quickly at lacing the back, “Of course.”

You find that hard to believe, but Chrissy is so willing to give you tender attention so you take it. You’re not surprised that she and her friends would spark this bet about you - that dreadful rumor that floated around Hawkins about you most likely helped. But it was one that you’d thought would put her off.

But Chrissy’s always been especially charitable. She’s sweet and you can’t bring yourself to hate her no matter how many nights you spent alone because of her. And Chrissy isn’t lying, not for a second. You’ve always been her person. The one she ran to in tears, happy or sad, the first person to hear any news, the first person she’d approach at a party (on the off chance you two didn’t just arrive together).

But you two are not friends anymore. And if you remember correctly - and you absolutely do - Chrissy left you during that summer of ‘82. And Chrissy’s friends are the ones that like to torment you and your friends. And Chrissy’s friends are the ones calling you all freaks, throwing food and drinks, scribbling on your lockers, stepping on your things - the list goes on and on.

You have no idea what possessed Chrissy to even tell you about the bet and you’re honestly too afraid to ask. Because you know her, and you know that the second she says her sickly sweet “I really did just miss you”, you’ll never leave her side.

“It hurt, you know,” her fingers pause and she looks at the mirror to see you staring at her, “I’m not gonna sit here and lie, Chris, it really fucking hurt.”

“Well,” her voice shakes as she finishes tying the lace, “that’s why we’re here, right? Make amends and such?”

“No, you’re not listening,” you huff and turn to face her, “This isn’t just gonna disappear because we get drunk at prom together.”

“We’re not getting drunk,” Chrissy’s eyes widen - scandalized.

“Jesus,” you shake your head, “I’m saying this point blank, Chris, just because you’re taking me to prom, doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

“Well, you don’t have to forgive me, but just- can’t we try?” you hate the way she squirms and you hate knowing it’s because of you. No matter what you do, there’s no way you can shake the love for her that lies in your heart, “Why can’t we just be like we used to?”

1978. Fourth Grade.

“So,” Chrissy’s laying back on your bed, hair fanning out on your bedspread, “what’d you wanna show me?”

You’re standing at your stereo system - something your parents only got you under the promise you wouldn’t ask for anything expensive for the next four birthdays. You’re facing Chrissy and you tap your fingers against the smooth wood. Voice level as you speak, “Moving fast, down 95. Hit top speed, but I'm still moving much too slow. I feel so good, I'm so alive. Hear my song playin' on the radio.”

Chrissy sits up at that, brows furrowed and head tilting, “Huh?”

As if she would somehow know what the hell you were talking about, you simply continue, “It goes: Get up! Everybody's gonna move their feet. Get down. Everybody's gonna leave their seat,” you give the blond a pointed look and knock quietly on the wood, “You gotta lose your life in Detroit Rock City.”

“Still no clue what you’re saying,” she shakes her head.

“Detroit Rock City,” you turn to hit play and a repetitive riff (that 9-year-old you would die for) comes through your speakers, “as in the ‘76 album Destroyer as in KISS.”

“Oh my God,” Chrissy throws her head back but she’s really just trying to hide her smile, “You’re really into this, aren’t you?”

It isn’t mocking - not at all. Simply inquisitive.

“Hell yeah,” you’re practically vibrating in excitement and you lean forward to rest your hands on the mattress, “‘m gonna get big like this one day, Chris. Just you watch - I’ll be kickin’ it with Cherie Currie and Joan Jett on big stages in bigger cities and Hawkins will be a stain on the map of places I play.”

“With The Runaways?” Chrissy fixes her head to look at you and just now, she realizes how close you really are, “Dream on. You’d be buggin’ the whole time.”

“Nah, I’d be chill. They’d love me.”

“I’m sure,” Chrissy rolls her eyes just to tease. You notice her foot tapping to the beat and she leans somehow closer to you - almost nose to nose, “Don’t you think this music is kind of intense?”

“That’s KISS, bitch,” you jab a finger to her shoulder and flick the volume of the stereo higher. Your head bobs to the rhythm and Chrissy’s eyes widen.

“You swear in your house?”

“When I’m alone,” you shrug and move towards your bed, a pep in your step as the voice of Paul Stanley breaks through your speakers, “or with you.”

You and Chrissy both lay back on your bed, your head still bounces to the song and Chrissy can’t help but beam at the sight.

You’ve always had a connection to music - different than the one she does. She likes to dance and she likes to listen, but you seem to come alive at the gruff voices and loud instruments. She thinks it’s cute, the way you’re so enthusiastic about rock, even if it isn’t her taste. Well, she likes Blondie and The Runaways - but only a few songs.

You don’t judge though, just ribs and jabs, but that’s normal of you two.

“Next we can put on Heart Of Glass,” you turn your head and Chrissy copies, “You still like that song, right?”

You know she does, but her heart swells at how you ask - just to be sure. She nods and you sit up as KISS comes to a close. It feels like barely a second passes before drums open up to a soft “once I had a love and it was a gas”.

Chrissy called you a dreamer about your rock dreams, but she believed in you wholeheartedly. Your most recent expensive birthday present had taken the form of a bass guitar; the calluses and shallow indents along your fingers were evidence enough that you’d been faithful in practicing.

Hawkins will be a stain on the map of places I play, you said. Chrissy knew that would be true, but she didn’t want you to go to bigger places and do bigger things without her.

“You’ll take me, right?”

You whirl around at that, “Huh?”

“When you’re on the road and playing in big cities,” she sits up on her knees, “you’ll take me, right?”

Chrissy relishes in the way you smile, “Duh, no way I’d go without you,” you sit on your knees as well, “Every band needs groupies.”

“I wouldn’t be a groupie!” Chrissy laughs, shoving your shoulder, “I’d already know you, so it’s totally different.”

“Whatever you say, groupie.”

That earns you another (rather light) shove.

1986. Senior Year.

“‘Why can’t we- '" you don’t even get out the whole quote before you’re laughing, “You’re kidding. You know why.”

“I don’t,” Chrissy crosses her arms, growing increasingly frustrated as you fight her on this, “I thought you didn’t care about cliques and social groups.”

“I don’t!” you’re certain the cheerleaders on either side of you heard that, but you’re not in the right mind to give a shit right now, “Your friends do though, and we’re in completely different legs of the hierarchy. Not to mention, which one of us stood by while a life crumbling rumor was spread about them?”

“And I’m sorry,” Chrissy looks away, desperation scrawling up her throat, “but nobody’s even talking about it now, it all blew over, right?”

“That doesn’t change the fact that it happened, Cunningham.”

“C’mon, don’t- “ Chrissy wets her lips, her voice breaks and you can tell she’s about to cry. Guilt gnaws at your conscience but you’re too deep into the fight to backtrack, “Don’t call me that. I thought we were doing well,” she bites her bottom lip, her voice is hoarse and her question is nearly a whisper, “Why can’t things just go back to how they used to be?”

“Because- ! I know that in your head everyone just loves everyone and we’re all capable of being friends, but that’s so far from the truth that you might as well be in the Mariana Trench of delusion right now. Whether you wanna look it in the face or not, there is such a huge fucking difference between you and the average student in Hawkins, and there is an even bigger difference between you and me.”

So maybe you’re a little bitter.

Your hands rub over your face to ease the ache you feel behind your eyes, “You want us to be kids again because it was so fucking easy for us before I was living in a trailer and had my own opinions! Before you started dating Jason and before…” you swallow and look away, “before that stupid fucking rumor.”

You’d never say it, but part of you thinks that Chrissy said something to spark that rumor. Not directly. She’s just a bit of a blabbermouth sometimes.

“I want us to be kids again so that I can do right by you,” Chrissy takes a hesitant approach to holding your hand and eventually decides not to, “I don’t want you to turn out any different than you are now, I just wish I could go back and redo everything I did wrong.”

“Then why’d you do it in the first place?” your eyes start to spring with tears. You waited at that lunch table with Gareth and Jeff and Grant and Eddie. You told them you had a friend coming. You waited after school by the bus bay. You waited in the seat that afternoon and the next morning.

You waited for five weeks before you accepted she wasn’t coming.

Chrissy’s collapsing from the inside, her heart feels like it's being strangled and all she wants is for you to pry the clutching hands away. But the clutching hands are yours and she deserves this.

“My mom,” you sigh but you know it’s an honest answer, “she didn’t want us hanging out after you moved. I didn’t really know why at the time, but I- I know now.”

“Your mom always hated me.”

“She did,” Chrissy nods slowly, grimacing, “I never did, though.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I’m sorry,” her voice snaps completely and she sniffles, wiping away the tears already decorating the skin beneath her eye, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left and I shouldn’t have just stood by. I miss you,” she looks at you and you feel yourself cave under her teary eyes, “I just want you back. I don’t even care about prom, I just want you back.”

Chrissy’s always been prone to tears, but you’ve always been prone to drying those tears. Maybe she said something like that to Lola Carter and that’s why she started the rumor.

You always had such a soft heart when it came to Chrissy. Malleable and dough-like.

She was probably trying to reason out why you weren’t such a bad person to the cruelest of Hawkins’ students and it ended up biting her in the ass.

Lola Carter most likely heard Chrissy say something like “She’s always protected me, she doesn’t deserve to be treated like that, you guys.” because that’s just the sweet person Chrissy is - and that’s why Lola spread that stupid fucking rumor.

1978. Fifth Grade.

The winter dance is something you hate and love. You hate most of the kids at your school and their obnoxious behaviors that suddenly ramp up to the max at a dance. You love watching those kids make asses of themselves. You hate the aftertaste of the punch. You love some of the decor (most of it was still tacky, though). You hate getting your feet stepped on. You love the hours leading up to the dance, where it’s just you and Chrissy and music as you get ready. You hate that Chrissy has been swept up and away from you for most of the night.

You hate that the most.

You’re not particularly clingy, but seeing her dance with other people tonight just makes something inside you ugly. You don’t like that ugliness. You try to swallow it but it’s always climbing up your throat when a new boy approaches and she grants them the pleasure of dancing with her.

The fastest runners, the quickest at math, the least stuttery readers, the fit-throwers in gym - they all wanted a dance with her.

So yes, you’re jealous, but it’s not because you want to be Chrissy. And yes, you’re upset, but it’s only really because you know Chrissy’s not confrontational enough to tell them no.

At one point, in the middle of John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John’s You’re The One That I Want, Chrissy’s stone blue eyes finally meet your gaze. She rolls her eyes and mocks a gun to her head over Chase Vabin’s shoulder as they dance; she mouths a quick ‘putz’ as she looks at Chase’s side profile, just to truly emphasize her misery. You finally crack a smile and shake your head.

Just as the song reaches its climax, Chrissy steps back politely and spews a reason that you both know is bullshit. Chase takes it, though, and moves on quickly to Lisa Hughes.

Chrissy’s short heels clack against the gymnasium floor when she runs for you, taking your hand and pulling you into the bathroom. It’s empty and as soon as she’s sure of that, she lets out a huff.

“I hate these things,” she grumbles but soon finds her fingers plucking at the sash tied around your waist, “Nice threads.”

“You saw them earlier,” you laugh, batting her hand away.

Dusty Springfield’s voice comes over the speakers and while it’s echoey and dampened, you can still hear You Don't Have To Say You Love Me through the thick bathroom door.

“My mom says Dusty’s no good,” Chrissy mocks a Southern accent as she says it.

You grab her hands and pull her closer, “Your mom’s insane.”

She barely gets to whine out a “Hey!” before you’re tugging her along to sway with you to the tempo of Dusty Springfield.

“Closet disco queens,” Chrissy mutters.

“‘s not disco,” you chuckle.

“Could be, if we just pretended it was.”

“I’m not a good pretender.”

“Well, I am.”

“So, show me,” she looks at you incredulously and you break away from the dance, throwing out your hands dramatically, “C’mon, dancing queen,” you kick your mary janes against her wedges, “young and sweet. Seventeen.”

“I’m not seventeen,” she crosses her arms.

“I thought you could pretend.”

“It’s so embarrassing to just…” Chrissy tosses her head back but she’s smiling the entire time, “It’s embarrassing.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, I’ll cheer for ya,” you watch her raise a brow at you and you nod securely, “Come on, Chris, show me what you got.”

So she does. Hesitantly at first, but the more you root her on the more sincere her moves become. More bold. More empowered. Chrissy’s always loved to dance and she’s always loved that you never wavered in supporting her.

When you’re older and you’re looking back on this memory, you’ll realize you fell in love with Chrissy Cunningham that night. Under the yellowish lights of the bathroom and in front of cracked, water-spotted mirrors, you fell in love with your best friend.

1986. Senior Year.

That stupid fucking rumor. That you were gay.

What made it worse? There was some truth to it, but you could never admit that.

You always had a soft heart for Chrissy, and Chrissy always had a problem where if her mother told her to jump she’d only ask “how high?” and you could barely fault her for that.

It’s hard to watch her in tears now and it’s hard to admit you’re still in love with her and it’s hard to not take her face in your hands and brush away every drop of her wrenching heart.

1979. Sixth Grade.

“Three minutes left,” you stretch your back until there’s a satisfying pop and you giggle when Chrissy cringes at the sound.

“It sort of sucks,” Chrissy sighs, throwing her head back against the couch.

ABC’s Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve is playing before you two on the TV and there’s a party popper in both your hands. Your parents left for a party an hour ago and Chrissy’s mom was asleep by ten.

“What does? The music?”

“No,” she purses her lips, “We’re eleven and haven’t had a single New Year’s kiss yet.”

“So?” you shake your head, toying with the string of your popper, “It’s not like we’re teenagers yet.”

“Still, though. Johnny and Ruby are going steady and get to have a kiss every year.”

“They break up all the time,” you cross your legs under you and turn to face Chrissy, “Ruby was holding hands with Mikey during recess on Friday.”

“What?!”

“Yeah,” you lean forward, an elbow on each knee and your chin resting on your hands, “New Year’s kisses are dumb anyway. Why would you wanna open the year without being able to breathe?”

“It’s like a grand gesture,” ever the romantic, Chrissy bunches the material of her sweater right above her heart, “opening the year with love, it’s sweet!” suddenly, the pout is back on her face, “I wish I had one.”

Neither of you are paying attention, but the TV broadcast turns to the ball drop in New York. A minute left of 1979 until the brand new decade rolls in.

“Well, you’ll get one eventually,” you wave off, “You’re pretty. Who wouldn’t wanna kiss you?”

“Why don’t we be each other’s New Year’s kiss?”

“Stop joking.”

“I’m serious!” she huffs, “Why not?” when you think of no reason, she throws out her arms, “So- !”

“Fine,” you shake your head and sit up straight - you don’t realize it yet, but the swimming feeling in your gut is called butterflies and you’ll soon discover they always pop up around Chrissy.

Dick Clark and all of New York and all of the world count back from ten, ready and welcoming to 1980. You stare at Chrissy and she stares right back, waiting with furrowed brows and uneasy breaths for that cheer of ‘one!’ to finally end the awkward silence.

But it’s never truly awkward with Chrissy, is it?

Finally, the cheer comes and your noses hurt when they crash together.

It was a mere peck. Just a moment. But you weirdly want the moment replayed as soon as you two break apart.

Chrissy grins and pulls the string on her party popper, “See? Fun!”

You laugh and pull the string on your popper, “Yeah, super fun.”

You hope it’s just you two next New Year’s too, and unbeknownst to you - Chrissy is hoping the exact same thing.

1986. Senior Year.

“Do you really wanna be friends again?” you whisper into the quiet changing stall.

“More than anything,” Chrissy hiccups.

You don’t, though. You want a little more affection. A little more freedom. A little more of her attention. But friendship is the closest you’ll come, so you decide to settle before the market busts.

“Alright,” you turn back around to face the mirror, “I’ll forget and forgive, Chris.”

“Oh my God,” she loops her arms around your neck and squeezes, you can feel the imprint of her upturned lips against your shoulder, “thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you elbow her jokingly, “stop strangling me ‘n’ tell me what you think of the dress.”

“You look like a princess,” she nods definitively, “just like I said.”

“I like it, too.”

It’s dark. Wine purple and fluffy at the skirt. You like it a lot, actually.

“Then let’s go,” Chrissy leans in, chin resting on your shoulder and she wiggles her eyebrows in the reflection, “Dad’s paying.”

…

You didn’t like to seem arrogant or overly prideful, but the way the cheerleaders’ jaws drop at the dress hanging off your arm has your chest puffing out just a little more.

Stacey Bennet, a girl you recognize vaguely from Eddie’s deals, reaches out to brush her fingers over the material, “Where’d you find that?”

She was one of the nice popular kids - nothing like Chrissy, but she never made your life hell. Her and Grant went out for milkshakes once in freshman year, but you suspect she just felt bad that her friends made fun of him. It was an appreciated gesture, though.

“No clue,” you shrug, following after the group as they begin towards the next store, “Chris found it.”

1980. Seventh Grade.

“It’s not that different,” you insist.

“Everything’s changed,” Chrissy grumbles, nervously unfolding her class schedule, “Now we have different classes and periods and lunch times - what if we don’t even get to see each other?”

“Don’t be a bunny,” you knock your sneakers into hers, the two of you huddle into a corner of the hall before first period, “We’ll see each other.”

“But what if?” her bottom lip tucks out and you roll your eyes, taking her schedule to compare it to yours.

“See? We got, like, four classes together. And lunch. We’ll see each other all the time.”

“But I’m gonna miss you so much,” she huffs, less for dramatics and now you can sense the insecurity building behind her skin, “What if you find a new best friend?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m stoked to make best friends with,” you look up and point to a few kids, “everyone that just learned how to stop drooling when they talk to a girl and everyone who hates girls. Honestly, Chris,” you hand back the paper and bump your shoulder with hers, “you’ve gotta chill. Do I look like a flat leaver to you?”

“No,” she relents, carefully folding the paper back up, “I’m just so nervous, everything is so new.”

“You’ll be fine, sunshine,” you tease, “Just smile and wave ‘n’ if anybody gives you trouble, I’ll give them a shiner.”

“No, you won’t,” she counters, “You’ve gone soft.”

“Have not, I just like you,” you don’t pay much attention to the way she blushes before the bell is ringing. You pat Chrissy on the shoulder and wish for nothing more than to keep your hand there, “Do me a solid and don’t lose your head, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” she nods, anxiously fiddling with her fingers, “Can you walk me to my first class?”

You have just as much a clue to where that is as she does, but that doesn’t mean you say no.

1986. Senior Year.

You’ve never been to the makeup aisles or stores for yourself, your mother wasn’t much one for makeup and by the time you were beginning to show interest - your family’s money was cutting tight. So, it’s more than safe to say you have no idea what to do among the lipsticks and eyeshadows. You’re just following Chrissy around and she’s more than content to entertain you.

She’s using your exposed arm to apply shades to and you just like the way her brows furrow as she judges the shades.

A long while ago, you and Chrissy would do this. Exactly this. And to be here again is almost disorienting.

Chrissy’s iconic eyeshadow wasn’t always blue. It used to be purple. And before that it was pink. And for a week it was solid red - until she realized how much it looked like she had an infection and promptly took it off during lunch.

And you can’t help but chuckle when you see her eyeing an apple red shade, her attention flies to you and she laughs, “I’ll go lighter this time - promise!”

“Yeah?” you step closer to the palette she’s looking at, eyes sinking to the price tag, “Should’ve gotten a green dress - just to match.”

“Shut up,” she’s grinning though. Big and bright.

You missed this, too. You missed her.

The other cheerleaders had fled to different corners of the store and it feels like it’s just how it used to be. You and Chrissy. Best friends forever.

Just best friends.

Only best friends.

1982. Eighth Grade.

You went on a single date in your entire middle school career and it was this - dinner with Gareth in March during spring break.

It was friendly and warm and you had fun, but that’s all it was. It felt like you two were hanging out - not on a date, and that was your doing. You refused every romantic gesture and you kept the discussion casual and you don’t even know why you agreed to go out with him.

Next to Chrissy, Gareth was your oldest friend (of only a year, give or take - not that it’s very important). You two were consistently told you should date, you suppose that’s why you said yes. That’s probably why he even asked.

The bright fluorescents of the diner light up your backs as you two sit on the curb, waiting for his mother to pick you both up. It’s a cold night and you brought your own jacket so Gareth wouldn’t have to drape his over your shoulders.

It’s quiet.

He smells like smoke and if you didn’t know him, you’d assume the worst, but you do know him and you know it’s from his dad.

You know so many little things like that about him. How he prefers soft serve ice cream because it’s easier on his teeth. How he hates milk because of the way it smells. How he always buys his clothes three sizes too big because he hates when they hug his body. How the word “turbo” makes his skin crawl. How he plays country music when he studies because it’s easier to tune out than music he actually likes. You know many things about him, but there’s nothing there.

A car passes and you perk up, but it’s red and Gareth’s Mom’s car is black. So you return to slouching as Gareth picks at loose threads at the bottom of his zipper.

He’s cute, you know that, but he’s not cute, cute.

“I don’t like you,” you blurt, “Romantically.”

“Yeah,” he nods and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, “I know.”

There’s nobody else around. You close your eyes and sigh, “I think I like girls.”

Gareth is quiet and for a moment you regret your confession. But then he shrugs, head hanging down so he stares at his shoes, “I get it. Girls are dope.”

That makes you smile, and it’s all Gareth can ask for right now.

“Cunningham?”

“Yeah.”

He laughs and you decide that’s a good thing.

Gareth doesn’t ask how you feel about boys - it’s none of his business and he doesn’t really care. Yes, he has a small crush on you, but it’ll fade and he’ll cheer you on when you get a girlfriend or boyfriend or whoever the hell you end up with. It’s probably better you two cut off any romance now, while Gareth still likes Kimmy Miles and before he could fall too deep for you.

Gareth would go on to get a girlfriend (Kimmy Miles, ironically enough) at the same time Jeff did and the two would become best friends. You didn’t mind because you were quickly taken under Eddie’s wing - and it was only helped when you moved into his trailer park.

You’d go on to still daydream about Chrissy Cunningham.

#chrissy cunningham #chrissy cunningham x reader #chrissy cunningham x you #chrissy cunningham fic #stranger things x you #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #wdyamo fic #chrissy.🍑

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luverofralts · 10 months

Text

Arkhelios Adventures

"Wanda! It's great to see you here! Happy feast day."

Evren Thorne embraced Wanda Bellamy like she was an old friend and not the bane of his existence. The bossy, tasteless witch hugged him back, completely obvious to his feelings, just as she always was.

"Evren! Look at you, looking so formal!" Wanda gushed, eying the man carefully. "Those robes are fantastic, where did you get them?"

It took everything within Evren not to react to the witch who was playing games far out of her experience.

"I earned them for passing my mastery exam and serving on the secondary council," he explained. "When I proved that I had the experience from my own universe, I was granted my proper rank here as well. It takes years of training and study to wear these robes."

"Hmm. Neat."

Wanda stared at the warlock darkly and Evren finally got the sense that Wanda was reevaluating her image of him. He wasn't just an architect that she could boss around, or a student like her nephew Theo. Evren knew his limits of course, he wasn't about to suggest that he run for the primary witch council or anything crazy like that, but it felt good to finally have Wanda see him for the trained warlock he was and not just the man she could dump unrealistic or hideous projects on. Truthfully, he didn’t much care for witch politics in his own Pleasantview or this one, but finally seeing Wanda unable to come up with a reply to him was worth the many years of magical theory classes.

"Theo! Theo, it's me, Aunt Wanda! Theo! Excuse me, Evren. I'll see you around."

Evren watched with satisfaction as Wanda bolted for her great-nephew, unable to respond to Evren's silent judgement of her.

"Aunt Wanda? What are you wearing?"

Wanda sighed as she saw the horror in her great-nephew's eyes at being seen anywhere near her. She just couldn't win it seemed.

"Hi, Theo. How are you today?" Wanda said stoically, giving the young demon hybrid a stern look. "I'm wearing a dress that I commissioned specially for the festival that was quite expensive. As a small coven, Arkhelios doesn't have uniforms or robes or councils, but at least we have money.”

“I’m pretty sure Pleasantview has money too,” Theo mumbled, trying to avoid poking his eye out on whatever head accessory his great-aunt had chosen. “Dad had to buy this uniform for formal events on top of my school uniform and he kept complaining about the price of everything.”

“Remy! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Remy turned around to face her mother, Duchess Edana Darktide-Traver. Truthfully, Remy had been hoping to avoid her parents in order to spend time with Malika. Both of them were busy helping run the event, so Remy had expected to be left alone for most of the night.

“Hi. I like your dress.”

Too late, Remy realized that complimenting her mother’s formal attire meant acknowledging that she had forgotten her own uniform in her bedroom. Her story was officially that she forgot it, but the truth was that she never intended to wear the stupid dress in the first place. She would be able to sneak past her parents easier if they saw her dressed as a tourist.

“Remy, we talked about today,” Edana said with a tired sigh. “You are representing your school, our country and our family. Your sister is marrying the queen and your father’s leadership on the council needs us to show the world that we support him. Your brother managed to put on his formal robes today. We all must play our part.”

“Why are you and Dad the only divorced parents that have to agree with each other?” Remy whined. “All my friends with divorced parents can do whatever they want!”

“Because we both love you and your brother very much and wish the best for you,” Edana replied, her words sounding sharper than she’d meant them to. “Family and magic are two things that cannot be overlooked or ignored because of hurt feelings. A commitment to a family lasts a lifetime, however long it is. Now teleport home and change immediately. I won’t allow you to risk our family’s future on teenage rebellion.”

“But what if I don’t want to be a witch or sit on the council one day?” Remy demanded. “What if I transfer schools to the Princess Zarah Academy? I could still go into politics or work at the magical archives. Or I could join another coven, like the Arkhelios one and be an ambassador for our coven. Lots of people don’t stay on a path to a magical career after school. I could do so much elsewhere and-”

“Other people are not my daughter,” Edana said sternly. “You are a Darktide and a Maricourt. Our families lead the magical community in several countries. After we lost your uncle, you, your siblings, your two cousins and I are all that are left of the Darktide family. I won’t betray the oath I made to my own father at your age. I won’t lose the magical potential that flows in your veins so that you can throw your talent away. Elowen knows her place in our dynasty and so does your brother. You have an even larger burden to bear being your father’s daughter and a Maricourt as well. Elowen looks to you for guidance and inspiration because of it. You are destined for great things, Remy. I wish that you could see what I see in you; you’re remarkable.”

Remy’s heart sank at the reminder of her ‘station in life’. Her half-sister Elowen was pushed pretty hard by their mother, and Elowen didn’t have a magical father like Remy and Adam did. So what if she came from a gene pool of talented witches? Surely one of the great witches in her family tree had liked watching tv on the weekend in their pajamas and snuggling with their girlfriend. Why couldn’t Elowen be the one with a magical legacy dooming her future? Elowen loved magic probably as much as Adam did. Remy just didn’t have the passion for magic that a fully trained witch needed to pass her studies.

“Fine, I’ll go change,” Remy lied, folding her arms defiantly. “I’ll go put on a robe, and pretend that magic is the greatest thing ever, just so that you and Dad can be happy. Even if it means that I have to suffer for it.”

Remy had no intention of following through with her promise, but a small guilt trip never hurt to try with her parents. There were times when they gave in to her, though this didn’t look to be one of those times.

“Thank you Remy. Today is an important day and your father and I appreciate your help very much.”

Before Remy could think of another way to spin the situation to her advantage, someone called Edana from across the room. She gave her daughter a quick hug and smiled at her.

“One day, when you have kids of your own, you’ll understand. I’m not trying to be unreasonable or ruin your day. You’ll understand, I promise.”

“Yeah right,” Remy muttered as she watched her mother effortlessly insert herself into a conversation across the hall. “That’s never going to happen.”

“So how’s school going? I heard that you found a special someone, congratulations! You two are just too adorable; I saw you together earlier this morning.”

“Aunt Wanda,” Theo groaned, looking over his shoulder for any witnesses to this conversation. “People are going to hear you. Adam and I are a serious, mature couple. We’re thirteen after all.”

“Very mature,” Adam added, suddenly appearing beside his boyfriend from the hallway. “My dad is going to let us start the closing fireworks tonight. He just gave me the spell, so we need to practice it.” Wanda could see the excitement dancing in her great-nephew’s face at the mere mention of fireworks.

“Oh my god, for real?” Theo looked excited until a new thought crossed his mind. “We have to go right now! What if I forget how to do it when they start? What if I screw up and everyone laughs at me? What if your dad sees and I fail out of school?”

Wanda couldn’t help laughing at the teenage anxiety. The reasons for panicking changed over the years, but the anxiety had stayed the same. She had spent her own teen years worrying about math tests and her embarrassing mother while worrying about her girlfriend’s feelings changing.

“Trust me Theo, from what I’ve seen, you’ll have no trouble starting fires or fireworks,” she laughed, patting her great-nephew on the back reassuringly. “But I’ll leave you two alone to practice as ‘mature’ young men. Good luck.”

#sims 2 #arkhelios #arkhelios adventures #sim: theo bellamy #theo bellamy #sim: Adam Darktide #adam darktide #wanda hydes #evren thorne #Remy Darktide #sim: edana darktide #edana darktide

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