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armoricaroyalty · 1 year

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call your girlfriend | kelly’s playlist | armoricaroyalty

I’ve been working on-and-off on this playlist since september 2021. I’m very satisfied with the finished playlist, and I hope you enjoy it, too!

track list w/ selected lyrics and a bit of character analysis/synthesis under the cut!

The songs with bolded titles were foundational, both to the playlist and my understanding of Kelly’s character. The bolded lyrics are especially significant to my understanding of her character.

1. So Hot You’re Hurting My Feelings - Caroline Polachek

i get a little lonely get a little more close to me you’re the only one who knows me, babe

2. When Am I Gonna Lose You? - Local Natives

everything has its place now we’ll lie in our bed wondering how to explain

3. Girl of the Year - Allie X

There's a hollow inside you But, don't worry I'm here (I'm here) I don't care if you're looking for the next girl of the year

4. All This Could Be Yours - Cold War Kids

you would rather crash than go straight ahead

5. Trap Door - Stars

he told me he was young, I said ‘well what is that good for?’ nobody stays that way, day after day

6. Call Your Girlfriend - Robyn

call your girlfriend it’s time you had the talk give your reasons say it’s not her fault

7. Too Much - Carly Rae Jepsen

it’s hard to get to know me are you down, down?

8. Black Sheep - Kailee Morgue

everyone pulls away from you

9. Fast Slow Disco - St. Vincent

slip my hand from your hand leave you dancing with a ghost

10. It’s a Trip! - Joywave

when you’ve gotten what you want maybe I should start over there’s nothing left to want

11. Powder Blue/Cascine Park - Yumi Zouma

another summer in your eyes another mind made up nothing ever made you mine

12. Fresh Laundry - Allie X

these days, no one’s bothering me ‘bout nothing

13. Dancing in the Dark - Lucy Dacus

Man, I'm just tired and bored with myself Hey there, baby, I could use just a little help

Kelly surprised me. She was meant to be a one-off character, never to be seen again after kicking Freddy out of her apartment and leaking his nudes. She was supposed to be a one-note social climber, as opportunistic as Freddy was shallow. From a feminist standpoint, though, I didn’t really like having a one-note gold-digger in my story. I felt like she deserved better, so I started putting a playlist together to explore some different concepts for her character. I hit on Girl of the Year and Too Much right away, and those ended up being the songs that were instrumental (heheh) who she became in my story.

Instead of a gold-digger aggressively pushing to meet the royal family, shack up with a prince, and become a duchess, Kelly ended up being a person who is reflective, troubled, and very lonely. Girl of the Year was written about the relationship between musical artists and recording executives, but I was intrigued by the idea of a woman bringing that same attitude toward a wealthy/influential boyfriend. What would it be like to date someone knowing that you’re disposable, knowing that they might move on at any moment, knowing that the best-case scenario is coming in second place to that man’s future wife?

Kelly is a bit ambivalent about the power/money/influence gap between herself and Freddy. She isn’t a gold-digger, but she can’t help but wonder what she might be able to get out of him. I think Kelly is caught in a really difficult place of liking Freddy while understanding deep-down that the relationship doesn’t have much of a future. Her decision to remain in that relationship under those circumstances reflects both low self-worth (she doesn’t think she deserves better) and a bit of a mercenary outlook (if the relationship is doomed anyway...why not try to eke some money or notoriety out of it?).

As I’ve worked to put this post together, I was struck by how isolated Kelly is. She alludes to other people in her life (therapist, family, roommates) but we never see them. They aren’t even named. She shows up/is referenced at least nine times before we see her with anyone but Freddy, and there’s no transcribed dialogue in that post. She doesn’t actually speak to anyone until this conversation with Jacques, and they don’t have a meaningful conversation until a few pages later.

Despite her scattered references to family, roommates, and her therapist (no references to friends, notably) Freddy seems to be the only person in her life with whom she has any kind of emotional connection. And even though he was making efforts to ‘bring her into his world,’ he’s making out with someone else less than two hours after she breaks things off with him for the last time. Between their first and last appearances together, the two have switched places: he’s pushing her to take the next step in their relationship and she’s pulling back. In Kelly’s mind, Freddy was never serious about her, but he just hadn’t realized it yet.

Another thing that jumped out to me rereading Kelly’s posts is the fact that she seems to have 0 positive relationships with other women. I haven’t fleshed out her backstory, but I feel like Kelly is still recovering from a Not Like Other Girls phase and feels very alienated from womanhood in general. The first time we ever see her in the same physical space with another woman is here, more than a year after she was first introduced as a character. Notably, she and Emily don’t actually speak to one another in that scene, and Emily is unwilling to intervene when Jacques is extremely fucking shady about following a seemingly-drunk woman into a bathroom. Kelly’s first actual conversation with another woman is...this attempt to buy a bus ticket.

I think Kelly’s most important female relationship is actually the relationship she doesn’t have with Vivi. Although they never interact directly, they’re connected through that paparazzi picture and Vivi’s belief that Jacques is is the father of Kelly’s child. In this way, they’re foils for one another despite the fact they never meet. Kelly�� explicitly names the tabloid abuse Vivi as one factor in their break-up. Kelly and Vivi are both royal outsiders and are thus extremely vulnerable to cultural misogyny. They’re very different women, but from an instrumental standpoint, I think their differences in outlook/opinion is due to the differences in their support networks. Vivi has good relationships with her family, especially her older sibling. Even though Vivi is in the process of being absorbed into the royal apparatus, she still has her family to lean on. Kelly doesn’t have those resources. If she married into the royal family, she’d be alone within that structure, and she knows it.

I really like Kelly. She's messy and deeply flawed, but she’s not the one-note villain I intended her to be. She’s probably my favorite among the secondary characters, and I’m going to miss her!

#armorica extras #character: kelly farrier #music #listen this post got SO LONG but I wanted to expand on some of the lyrical choices #and include a 'cut songs' section lmao #i may still do this because i've been getting real deep into self-indulgence lately lmao

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mysticaldreamwitch · 1 year

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Its in the Blood

This was suppose to be a fanfic, but as I am currently in no headspace to write it, any of you creative people out there can feel very welcome to make this idea your own!

Please me sure to tag me tho, I'd love to read where you take this concept!

Also TRIGGERWARNING for child murder, cannibalism, incest and murder

The Line of Atreus is really fecked up guys x.x

This is about the movie Remainder from 2015, starring our beloved Tom Sturridge in the main role as a nameless man, who looses his memory after a crash and desperately tries to reclaim it, using everything, anything and anyone at his disposal to do his bidding.

He starts off somewhat sympathetic, but in his ongoing mania, he rids himself of any moral or human notion, turning into a merciless killer in the end to get what he wants, and only realizing in a final moment of clarity, that he has been running in cirlces, and that he had just repeated everything up to the moment to which the crash occurred, making him loose him memory all again, indicating that this is an endless cycle, which the character has gone through before many times.

When I first saw it, I admit, I was quite baffled and perplexed by it all and I couldn't really make sense of it. I appreciated the movie for the craft, the camera, the lighting, the acting, everything was great, but the story left me feeling hollow in a way, filled with dread.

Perhaps other people like movies like this, the kind that depict a downwards spiral, and usually I watch it once, and thats it, but this one lingered in my mind, as it did something similar, but just different enough: The downwards spiral NEVER ends. He will always loose his memory, try to reclaim it, turn into a horrible void doing it, just to be struck down and start from zero again. It has no beginning, no end, no meaning, besides the mental and physical suffering of this person and everyone around him. And that, for a lack of a better word, fucked me up. I do NOT like that, cause it just made me feel so helpless. Nothing is explain, nothing is clear, you just watch this human suffer, knowning the end of it will never come.

So it kind of got me thinking if there could be a reason for this, some kind of explanation. And I think there is perhaps an interesting viewpoint one could turn this into.

Maybe its not that interesting, idk, it is to me

Consider, the main character as a descent of House Atreus.

For explaination, the bloodline of Atreus, as well as his brothers, were cursed, first by the actions of the grandfather Tantalus, who served his son Pelops to the olympian gods for food, to test their omniscience. This action got him sent to Tartarus, a part of the underworld, where he is damed to stay in water he can never drink, under a tree with rich fruit he can never reach.

His temper was passed down to his son, who, after being reassembled by the gods as good as they were able to (this will be relevant later), went on to live a normal life. However when the time came to marry, he was not the only suitor for the hand of a princess, so he convinced a servant by the name of Myrtilus to saboage his rivals chariot, which drove the man into death. However, instead of rewarding him, Pelops pushed the servant down a cliff, so his secret may die with him. In his dying fall, the servant uttered a curse on Pelops and his entire lineage, that the gods shall punish them all.

Pelops went on to have three sons: Chrysippus, Thyestes and Atreus. The ladder killed they half-brother Chrysippus in order to get the throne, but soon grew unsatisfied, resulting in another fight, which lead to Thyestes taking the throne, an act which was later resolved through devine help, as the gods helped Atreus claim the thone.

However, Atreus soon learned that his wife and brother had an affair, an affront that enraged him so much, that he invited his brother for a feast, only later to reveal the meal servend was made of his brothers own children. His brother was exiled for the crime of cannibalism and sought revenge, looking for the help of an oracle, which told him to have a child with his own daughter, which would later kill Atreus.

He did as the oracle told him, but the mother abandoned the child, ashamed of its origin, and it was discovered by shepherds and brought to Atreus palace, where the boy was raised, only later to kill his grandfather/father, after Thyestes revealed the plot to his own brother.

However, at this point, Atreus already had children of his own, the most important being Menelaus and Argamemnon. You know...the guys that went to war with Troy over Helen of Sparta, Menelauses wife. They went out to kill Thyestes to get back their kingdom and succeeded in their goal.

Coming back to the beginning of the Trojan however Argamemnon had angered Artemis goddess of the hunt by killing one of the sacred deer and boasting about being a better hunter then her, something she didn't take to too kindly, as he made the wind still and the ships unable to sail. A sacrifice had to be made: Iphigenia, his first born daughter.

But of course Iphigenia also had a mother, Clytemnestra, twin sister to Helen. Enraged by the sacrafice of her daughter, she started an affair with Aegisthus (the incest baby of Thyestes and his daughter) and started to plot her husbands murder, which she executed in the night her husband returned from the war. She let him into a bath, where she stabbed him to his death.

However, of course, Clytemnestra and Argamemnon had more then one child, however only one son Orestes, who had taken away by his sister Electra (or was exciled, depending on the version), and raised by/with her, swearing revenge on the murder of his father.

Him and his sister planned the murder, and Orestes executed it, being cursed by his mother in turn to be haunted by the Erinyes, the Three Furies. After wandering the land with guilt in his heart for many years, the gods decided, that enough penance had been done and freed the man from the curse.

How as he have established, technically the curse should be cured, right? Well yes...and no. You see apart from the fact that most of the people mentioned before had siblings, male and female where barely their names are known, one significant person in this whole plot was not punished at all: Elektra.

Althought their is speculation, for the most part her whereabouts after the murder and during the brothers penance is unknown, and what happened to her finally is quite unclear. So let you propose this idea to you: The main character in Remainder as a descent of Electras bloodline.

This may seem like a strech, but considering how many children went barely or completely unnamed, especially if they were female (yey to that old greece, good job), there is a high chance, many descents were never cleared of the House of Atreus curse like Orestes was. Therefore, the curse is still active or simply lies dormant.

Perhaps one could entertain the idea, that it is spread throughout their children like Haemophilia, which is found primarily in men, due to the genetic defect laying in the X-Chromosome. It happens in women as well, but only rarely, when the other X has a malfunction in some capacity.

This is also the reason why I chose "In the Blood" as the title of this idea. Apart from it being an absolute banger song from the Hades videogame, I think it could be an interesting piece here as well considering its context of family and kin.

I linked it, give it a listen if you can, its amazing!

So the characters spiral and violent tendencies could be attributed to that curse, okay, but how did he end up in this repeating nightmare you ask?

Simple: He's in hell. Well Tatarus. Actually both. Lemme explain.

As mythology got convoluted over time, so could the underworld be one giant realm which consists of many parts, including the Greek Underworld, as well the the concept known as hell in Christianity. And as seen in the show Lucifer, it is not uncommon to imagine hell to be a place where people relive their worst parts of life.

But the people in Lucifer are aware they are in hell, thats the whole point of it , you'd say, and yes, that is correct. However, what if this is not for his own mind to realize, apart from that small moment right before it all starts again, but for someone else to watch, to be amused by it. Someone that habours a resentment towards him, or maybe his entire line?

Far strech I know, but bare with me. A never-ending punishment made of agony, dispair and the very short realisation that it is indeed a punshiment, that sounds quite like Tantalus himself I think. Totured in Tartarus for all eternity for what he did.

Oh, also, to come back to the Pelops thing, ha, don't think I forgot! I mentioned before that the gods tried to put Pelops together as much as possible, because, while all the other gods immediately knew they were tricked, the goddess Demeter, still grieving the loss of the daughter Persephone, ate part of Pelops shoulder, which was deplaced by an ovory shoulder crafted by Hephaistos. So all of Pelops decendence have a white spot on the back of their shoulder. A nice little detail, you might wanna include if you like.

So yeah thats it, that was my rant about this idea, aka me trying to comprehend this movie, cause my little brain can't accept that there is suffering like this for no apparent reason.

I'd like to know y'alls views on it and feel free to use the idea in your own writing if I feel like it, see you around!

witch x.

#remainder #remainder 2015 #tom sturridge #tom sturridge character #movie idea #fanfic idea #greek myth inspo #house of atreus #honestly what is this movie it hurt me physically

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astermacguffin · 3 years

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What if the Mark of Cain manifests differently when it's imprisoning God and not the Darkness? If the Darkness makes the Mark bearer go insane with unbridled want for destruction, then what does sealing God make you do?

An obsessive desire for creation? Creation to the point of corruption? (Think of the Shimmer from the film Annihilation. Continuous reproduction to the point of begetting alien, cancer-like entities. A refracted, distorted notion of creation.)

Okay, so canon divergence from The Trap. They successfully seal away Chuck, then Castiel bears the Mark. (Jack won't be back until later episodes, so he's not here yet.)

At first, they think he's fine. Cas says he's not feeling any bloodlust just yet. (He does feel a certain itch under his skin. Not a desire to murder, but a desire to do...something. He doesn't tell this to anyone.)

His grace is getting stronger, almost archangel-like (if not more). It's incredibly helpful for hunts, and Cas is happy to feel his wings healthy again after a long time. Sam is happy for him, but Dean is suspicious of things (especially since he's a previous Mark bearer).

After a while, Cas starts feeling...burdened, almost bloated by grace. (After all, he does have access to an infinite supply of it.) He needs to have an outlet for it.

Cas tells them so and Sam suggests healing people. Dean gives the green light on the condition that he remains invisible and he doesn't go Godstiel on them again.

It's a great outlet, and for the first few weeks they start feeling normal again. But unfortunately, healing stops being enough to relieve Cas of his excess grace anymore. The mass healings start to pile up all across the globe and it catches everyone's attention. Some think it's a blessed miracle, some think it's a sign of the end times. They make him slow down on the healings after that.

Without an outlet, however, Cas starts feeling antsy and pained. They brainstorm on possible alternatives. Cas suggests going to Heaven and saving it from collapse by healing his brethren's wings and creating more angels out of consenting souls in Heaven.

He explains Heaven's endangered and dwindling numbers. Sam agrees that it would hit two birds in one stone: relieve Cas from excess grace and prevent the extinction of angels. Dean doesn't like the idea of more winged dicks so he shoots down the idea. Eileen says that since Cas is the one in pain, he should be the one to decide.

Ultimately, Cas defers to Dean's judgment (as always). Sam protests, arguing that he can't just shoulder that pain. Cas replies: "I've suffered worse, Sam."

Cas doesn't complain about the pain for about a week, so for a while, everyone believes him when he said he can shoulder the pain. One day, Dean finds him outside the bunker, groaning in pain as he bleeds himself out, his grace pouring into the ground and sprouting plants. Dean sees this and is finally convinced to allow Cas to make more angels.

What follows then is a series of escalating events:

While Sam and Eileen are practicing their witchcraft for spell they need in a hunt, Cas suggests to enhance Sam's physical and magical abilities using his grace. "It will make the process faster and safer," he reasons. He agrees, but Dean eyes this suspiciously.

During one of their hunts, they encounter a young and freshly-turned vampire. The boy begs them not to kill him, and Cas gives him a proposal. "Promise not to feed on humans ever again and I shall cure you of your hungers and your pains. Pledge your allegiance to me and you shall never be afraid of yourself ever again." The boy agrees, and before Dean could even protest, Cas slices his palm and feeds the vampire his grace.

They argue about the grace-feeding in the Impala. Dean notices Sam's pointed lack of complaints and figures it out. "You're in on this, aren't you? How long has Cas been doing this? He's going Michael behind our backs and you're letting him?"

Sam argues that it's different because Cas isn't making super monsters; he's making them less "monstrous" (whatever that means). Sam's obsession with his own "purity" is key to understanding him here.

One time, Dean catches Cas in his "garden" ("forest" seems more apt with how lush the greens already are) creating butterflies and bees out of thin air using his grace alone.

Reports of the miraculously healed people suddenly gaining new abilities like increased strength, heightened senses, and prophecy start popping up. Some are experiencing phantom limbs, talking about their sprouting "wings."

Sam is becoming addicted to Cas' grace to the point that he willingly lets himself be hurt in hunts just so Cas can cure him. Dean confronts him about this, but Sam just argues that he's "never felt this pure before." Eileenn shares the same concern as Dean.

Hunts are becoming less frequent the more monsters are being "cleansed" by Cas. The world is becoming disconcertingly quiet.

Cas' "garden" is starting to emit this strange aura. The plants and creatures growing inside it are starting to look more...alien.

One of the original angels goes to Dean and tells him of Heaven's affairs. The Host is stable again, but the angels he created are...not exactly angels. They're graced up and they sustain Heaven, but their true forms are "horrifying and incomprehensible, even to an angel." The angel adds that more than 60% of Earth's creatures have already been touched by Cas' grace.

The final nail in the coffin is when Dean catches Cas in the garden fiddling with his angel blade. It's emitting a strange glow, vibrating a subtle hum and looking as if it's liquid, flowing and distorting here and there.

Dean asks him what he's holding. "Oh, this?" Cas responds. "This is the Last Blade. Last, not in terms of time but in concept, for no other blade shall ever compare to it. The spark of creation. Fiat lux."

Dean's heart sinks. Of course. The First and the Last, Alpha and Omega. "Cas...the Mark, I think i-it's scrambling your brain, man."

"I know," he replies, eyes wet and apologetic. It's a small moment of lucidity amidst weeks and months of...whatever that was.

"Okay, okay, so you're still you, that's... that's good. Okay." Dean doesn't know how to approach this. Give him a fight and he'll know what to do, but this? Watching his best friend, the love of his life, be distorted into something incomprehensible? Yeah, this is totally beyond him.

"You know, I used to hate Chuck," Cas says. "How could the Father of All Creation be this angry, petulant child? But," he continues, "knowing what I know now, it's either regressing into a petty child or being reduced to insanity."

"Cas...what are you talking about, man?"

"No mind should bear this burden, Dean. No matter how infinite they are," he says, voice trembling in exhaustion.

(more below the cut)

He continues. "The awareness of everything is the awareness of nothing at all. Imagine perceiving every possible piece of information about the world all at once. Seeing light in all its forms all at once: ultraviolet, infrared, etc. Sensing all the neutrinos zip by, sensing gravitational waves, sensing the slighest bit of seismic activity."

Dean doesn't know how to respond, so he lets him go on.

"Knowledge can only ever be a slice of the Totality of Truth. Truth is absolute chaos, and Knowledge is the partial ordering of this chaos. One can sanely approach Truth only through organized paritions of Totality. Why do you think Chuck is so obsessed with stories? Stories are linear and finite; they're sensible snippets of the endless sea of possible worlds."

"So, what? Are you trying to—"

"I'm not trying to justify Chuck's actions, Dean," he interrupts. "I just want to contextualize them. Chuck's simplistic and repetitive narratives are what they are: manifestations of a chaotic Totality, gone insane trying to understand itself. Looking for simple things to hold on to."

Cas takes a deep breath. He speaks with a shaky voice. "I'm barely holding myself together, Dean. I can feel the universe beneath my skin."

He doesn't know what possesses him to ask, but he does it anyway. "What are you holding on to?"

Cas smiles at that. "You."

They stare at each other for a while, frozen where they stand. Cas, with unrestrained affection in his face. Dean, struck by shock and indecision. It's Cas who first breaks the silence.

"I think we both know what needs to be done, while I'm still lucid enough." Cas slices his palm and lets his blood drip down the soil. He then thrusts the Last Blade into the ground, lifting it when the soil glows.

Dean stared in awe as the ground erupts and a familiar shape rises from the hollow. "Is that.."

"The Ma'Lak box, yes. I also enhanced it with the Blade to be able to house things as powerful as me."

"Cas, wait, maybe we can think of another way to—"

"Dean," he says, calmly. "You know there's no other way. I wouldn't ask this of you if there was."

In any other scenario, Dean would've kept arguing, but even he knows that they're running out of time. Sam's grace addiction is getting worse and all the creatures touched by Cas' grace are slowly mutating into eldritch horrors. Dean offers a shaky nod. "Okay."

Tension visibly releases from Cas' body. "Thank you, Dean." He opens the box and enters it with ease. "When you lock this, bury me with the garden's graced soil. Once I'm under, my influence over the world should dampen."

Dean gives a wordless nod. For a while, they just stared at each other, Cas lying down and Dean trying to memorize every inch of his face while he can.

Cas presses his hand into Dean's left shoulder where his mark used to dwell. "My untainted grace," he whisper gently. "Some of it is still inside you. That's probably why you're not as affected by me."

Dean wants to say, I'll always be affected by you, but he holds himself back.

He takes his hand back, a bloody handprint now on Dean's jacket. "I love you, Dean," he says, breathless.

"Cas..."

"I probably would've built up to that if we had more time but," he makes a surprised laugh, "I am, as you would say, already 'losing my marbles', so."

The air quotes would've been funny and endearing in any other scenario, but it just makes Dean's vision blur up with tears.

"Thank you for everything, Dean. I know we've done nothing but repeatedly hurt each other these past few years, but I don't want to spend a deathless eternity with that as my memory of you. I forgive you, even for the things you haven't forgiven yourself for yet. And I'm sorry for everything, especially for ending things like this."

He should probably wipe away his tears to clear his vision, but Dean can do nothing but stare at Cas in awe, in fear, in grief, in reverence. They're both fully crying now.

"Goodbye, Dean."

"Wait, Cas."

Cas looks at him, waiting.

"Can you...can you say it again?"

He doesn't need to clarify what 'it' means. They both know.

With one last mournful smile, Cas says: "I love you, Dean."

And with that, Dean finally gathers all the strength he needs to shut the lid and lock the box. He stares at it for a while, unblinking. He forgot to ask, Can you hear my prayers down there? But it's too late now to ask.

The box automatically lowers itself into the hole it arose from. Now all that's left to do is to cover it again with soil.

Dean doesn't bother with a shovel. He gently buries the box with his hands deep in the soil, some of it getting trapped under his nails. He continues the mindless task, whispering a tireless series of I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I hope you're okay I'm sorry, over and over between his quiet sobs. Cas is quiet inside the box. No screaming or crying. Dean doesn't know if that's better or worse.

When the final clump of soil is pressed into the mound, he suddenly feels it: a visceral shift that echoes throughout the world. The alien glimmer of the garden dims, and the world corrects its axis. Dean screams his agony into the air.

That's how Sam finds him: sprawled over a mound of soil, crying his heart out. Dean doesn't need to say anything: he knows what happened. He pulls his brother off the ground and brings him inside the bunker.

For the first two weeks, Dean cycles through drinking and passing out in various places in the bunker. If he's not wearing the jacket, he's holding it with close to him. Sam gives him a considerable space to grieve while he monitors the world grace problem with Eileen. The grace mutations have significantly dropped since then and everyone's going back to normal.

Unfortunately, that means monsters are getting hungry again. Sam doesn't want to leave his brother alone after going nonverbal with grief and dysfunctional due to alcohol. Eileen assures him that she can handle hunts on their own and that the hunter network that they're building will lessen the workload.

Sam's attempts to sober Dean up finally work, mostly due to the latter having very little strength to protest. Dean remains sober an entire day for the first time in weeks, and all he can think about is: I haven't prayed to Cas in a while. The longing might have reached him, but never a coherent prayer.

The first time he goes out of the bunker in a while, he heads straight to Cas' garden. Sam's glad that he's finally going out because "the sun is good for you" or something, but he's really only here for Cas. He kneels in front of the burial mound (where a patch of an unknown species of flowers is already growing).

The first prayer he says to him in a while is: I love you, Cas. I should've said it while you were still here. Not saying it out loud and just strongly thinking about the words somehow bolsters him to get the words through.

He's crying again, and he knows he's losing coherency. In his mind, he's explaining about his hangups and his regrets and his continuous denial of his own joy, but one constant remains: he's beaming all his love and affection into this prayer.

He's halfway through explaining all the traits that he finds endearing in Cas when suddenly, he feels it like a snap. If the glimmer dimmed when he buried Cas, now it's as if it was never there in the first place. With an unsettling amount of certainty, Dean just knows that Cas is gone. For real, this time.

"C-cas...?" It's the first thing he's said in a while and it sounds rough in his long unused voice.

"CAS! CAS!!! " He's now screaming, ripping away the flowerbed with his bare hands and scratching the soil away. Tears are obstructing his vision, but he has no time to wipe them away. He needs to make sure that is really gone. His hands are bleeding and he doesn't give a damn.

Eventually, Sam comes running towards him. "Dean! Dean, stop!"

He tries to hold his brother back, but Dean just keeps on clawing away soil. "Sammy, Sammy he's gone, he's not there anymore, Sammy I have to see, please, let me see Cas again, I need—" he breaks into sobs again, and like a puppet with its strings cut off, he slumps into Sam.

"Dean, it's okay, it's okay..." he says softly to his shaking brother.

Eventually, when Dean calms down, he looks at the carnage he's done and starts sobbing again. The flowers, his last evidence of Cas being here, are all destroyed. Now Cas truly is gone.

. . .

When Cas first heard Dean's confession prayer, he was overcome with joy. When he realized what that means, however, his stomach suddenly sinks.

He hears before he sees the Empty arrive, slithering like black goo.

"Wow, were you excited enough for eternal slumber that you wanted a preview?" The Shadow teases in Meg's voice.

At first, he was dreading the Empty, but now that he thinks of it, it's actually the perfect prison for him: a vast, endless nothingness for him to fill with his creations.

And if Jack wasn't in Heaven, that only means that he's in the Empty, and he can't wait to see his son again. Even when blinded by the madness of the universe, he can never forget the joy of being a father.

"Yes," he replies, "I'm actually glad you're here now."

. . .

Somewhere around the globe, Billie drops Jack back.

"Don't worry, kid. You'l reunite with your father very soon."

(to be continued)

#spn #destiel #supernatural #aster writes #destiel fic #long post #im totally obsessed with moc!cas #moc!cas

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rafaelblackbird15 · 3 years

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Teen Wolf Fic Recs Part 2: Steter

It took me quite awhile to gather all these together, so please enjoy discovering more parts to the incredible world of Teen Wolf, provided to you by the wonderful writers of our fandom.

Leave comments and kudos for these writers if you can, they really deserve it, they're wonderful. And it's my honour to try and share their creations with tumblr.

These are Steter, Stiles Stilinski/Peter Hale fanfictions. Read them at your will. Check the tags on the actual fics for warnings and such.

I have included links to authors that write a lot of Steter as well, and some of their fics for examples. I'm sorry this post got so long, haha, but enjoy the stories, they're worth it.

If any of the links don't work, just comment and I'll fix it.

Check out my other Sterek fic recs [Part 3] and [Part 4] and Steter fic recs [Part 1]

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Broken Bones and Broken Bonds by twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids) on Archive of Our Own

Words: 20148

Chapters: 4/?

Summary:

Stiles kind of wished that he’d at least tried weed before this.

Or something, you know? Maybe taken up a graffiti hobby, or even just skateboarded in front of City Hall often enough to get a citation.

He wished he’d done something to be deserving of the looks people gave him now, rather than just being the recipient of his dead father’s unused power.

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Stigmata by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids) on Archive of Our Own

Words: 1661

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

He feels so hollow that he almost wonders if he's been turned inside out. This emptiness he feels; is it the vastness of the entire world?

How do you fill a world? With people, he supposes. But his people no longer want him.

He needs people.

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Beefcake Mountain by twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids) on Archive of Our Own

Words: 14565

Chapters: 7/7

Summary:

Shortly after moving back to Beacon Hills, the left hand of the Hale Pack opened a text from a mysterious number.

"Is there a mirror in your pants? Because I can see myself in them."

What the f—

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Steter Week 2019 by twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids)

Works: 4

Complete: No

Summary:

There isn't a summary listed so I've included the first fic underneath:

Marvelous Miss and Magnificent Mischief by twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids)

Words: 3346

Chapters: 1/1

also Part 1 of the Magnificent Mischief series

Summary:

“Marvelous Miss and the Magnificent Mischief!” the carnival barker shouted just outside the corridor with all the food tents. “Come see Miss Paige do amazing tricks with her talking raven! He not only speaks, but he jokes! He teases! He philosophizes!”

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Author: twothumbsandnostakeincanon(somanyofthekids)

This author has a lot of wonderful Steter fics, and their writing of the pairing is really worth having a good look through.

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Blood Runs Cold by Smalls2233 on Archive of Our Own

Words: 111408

Chapters: 22/22

Summary:

“So then why are we letting Scott and Derek search for it if you know it's useless?”

Peter looked down at Stiles and cocked his head with a grin. “Because I think seeing my nephew and your best friend run around like headless chickens while I think up a plan is hysterical.”

“And the plan is…?”

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Trusting Peter Hale is something that Stiles had repeatedly told himself to never do. He had seen first hand the results of Peter's plans and schemes, but when a shadow began tormenting Beacon Hills, he found that sometimes he'd have to to play along with Peter's games.

This story does include a dose of Chris&Stiles interaction about midway and carries on throughout, and then Chris/Peter towards the midend, which also carries on. And it kind of dissolves into Chris/Peter/Stiles. If that's not your taste, that's fine, because the majority of the story is Stiles/Peter, and that majority is really really good Steter.

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No One Listening Tonight by Smalls2233

Words: 6985

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

That left… well it left Peter and only Peter. Relying on Peter for help was only slightly better than stabbing himself through the eye with a hot poker. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

Of course, there was always the option of packing up and letting whatever was trying to destroy the town succeed this time. Stiles snorted under his breath as he thought about how that would probably leave him with fewer injuries than dealing with Peter would. But unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. Stiles knew he needed to head downtown to Peter’s apartment and pray the man was willing to work with him.

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Stiles stumbles into a magical trap forged by a wannabe warlock.

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Author: Smalls2233

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Blue by Wynnebat on Archive of Our Own

Words: 3179

Chapters: 2/2

Summary:

Derek brings both Scott and Stiles to the hospital to prove a point about hunters, but Stiles isn’t sure the point he’s getting is the point Derek’s trying to make. Especially when his black and white world explodes into color the moment he looks into Peter Hale’s eyes.

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The Long Way Around by Wynnebat on Archive of Our Own

Words: 15569

Chapters: 3/3

Summary:

When Peter leaves Beacon Hills for good, he expects that to be it for the broken bonds of the last remaining members of the Hale pack. Fate and Stiles Stilinski aren’t of the same opinion.

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Prowl by Wynnebat on Archive of Our Own

Words: 3454

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Laura's body is never found, but instead of continuing with his murder spree, Peter gets distracted by the scent of his mate. Stiles gets very distracted by the huge wolf that starts showing up at his house all the time.

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Author: Wynnebat

This author writes some really interesting, deep stories about Steter that are really beautiful.

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your last white lie (everything is not alright) by snowdarkred on Archive of Our Own

Words: 4023

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

Stiles says yes, and things go downhill from there.

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reflect by snowdarkred on Archive of Our Own

Words: 569

Chapters: 1/1

Part 1 of the dig your teeth in and tear until you taste (peter/stiles oneshots) series

Summary:

(previously posted to tumblr)

When he dreams, he can sometimes still hear his mother’s voice, explaining it to him: Reflections are the price we pay for what we are.

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sentire by snowdarkred on Archive of Our Own

Words: 1027

Chapters: 1/1

Part 2 of the dig your teeth in and tear until you taste (peter/stiles oneshots) series

Summary:

[to feel]

Stiles hears the whisper of death before it strikes.

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Author:

snowdarkred

This author writes some really intense, interesting stories about Peter and Stiles. Not as long as some fics are, but they're really good adaptions of Steter with a lot of feeling.

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The Striking Complication by aurevell on Archive of Our Own

Words: 27235

Chapters: 4/15

Summary:

The smile slips off Stiles’s face. “Hey, um. Why am I here?” he asks, voice unsteady. “I’m—I have this weird feeling like I shouldn’t leave you. I’ve felt all day like...” He can’t finish the thought.

Peter looks as surprised as Stiles feels. A strange expression passes over his face, there and gone before Stiles can decipher it.

Stiles snaps awake each morning with the sense that he’s missing something. Weirder still, he can’t wrap his head around his sudden, inexplicable trust in Peter Hale, who seems to know way more than he’s letting on. Nor can he guess why a half-remembered nightmare seems to haunt his every move.

Rinse and repeat. Because time loops suck, apparently.

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Author: aurevell

This author has 11 Teen Wolf fics under their belt. 5 Sterek and 6 Steter. Happy rummaging!

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the teeth right down to the blood by sazzafraz on Archive of Our Own

Words: 2133

Chapters: 1/1

Summary:

‘We’re pretty fucked right now.’ Scott says. Stiles doesn’t speak but there’s something singing in his bones that says Scott got the message anyway. (In which both are bit and things are gruesome.)

This has a sprinkling of Scott/Stiles, Scott/Stiles/Peter, and Scott/Allison as well as Steter, but it's worth the read, a good story with an interesting concept.

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Author: sazzafraz

This author doesn't have that many Steter stories, although they do have a few. Although they do have some pretty lengthy Teen Wolf fics about other characters of the show.

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Everything goes (wow) by midmorning_bomb on Archive of Our Own

Words: 8215

Chapters: 5/5

Part 1 of the Aranea & Babewolf series

Summary:

It was supposed to go like this:

1. Peter summons demon to the circle.

2. Demon remains in said circle until Peter outlines their contract.

3. Demon agrees to elegantly crafted contract, becoming loyally bound to Peter and Peter alone.

Instead, the creature steps casually out of the circle, tosses its things onto the leather sofa, and starts immediately meddling in Peter’s immaculate space, touching all of Peter’s very expensive things.

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It's only by midmorning_bomb on Archive of Our Own

Words: 2905

Chapters: 3/5

Part 2 of the Aranea & Babewolf series

Summary:

“Darling, please don’t pout.”

“You’re pouting.” Stiles pouts, from the upper corner of the library, everything from his hip bones down an angry mass of hissing fangs and venomous chelicerae. “Why would we ever go back to that garbage town? Everyone there is the worst, the only good thing is the very rad and awesome curse I laid.”

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You are a memory by midmorning_bomb on Archive of Our Own

Words: 900

Chapters: 1/1

Part 2 of the Little glimpse series

Summary:

If he has to bleed to breathe warmth back into Peter’s icy body, he will.

Because Peter’s done the same for him.

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Author: midmorning_bomb

This author has 16 Steter fics. A little unfriendly to some of the other characters, but it's only kind of obvious because it's not subtle about it, and not exactly underserved. Has some really interesting ideas as well as some kind, well developed Steter. Definitely have a read through.

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177 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 3 years

Text

Alright let’s talk GVK spoilers!!!

My reactions as best I can remember them!

- love how Kong is humanized from the very first scene, like every time he shows up he’s humanized so much more than other titans are. If that was at the expense of other titans being made likable I wouldn’t enjoy it so much, but like, Godzilla is made pretty lovable over the course of Monsterverse, Mothra is too, and all the titans featured for long are given recognizable emotions that let us see them as more intelligent and feeling than “just” animals; so all of them are made understandable/likable/sympathetic. But of them all, Kong is the only one really humanized. Which makes sense, because like, big monkey! Basically our distant cousin!

- And they kept playing, like, normal songs for him, which cracked me up.

- I really appreciated how you could SEE the titans in this movie. After all the weather effects to hide the titans in KOTM, there was such a clear difference in this one from the very start. Kong in the daylight! Godzilla makes his first attack at night, and even then you can see him much more clearly than you can for most of KOTM! Nice!

- after the Iwi were portrayed as silent stoic witnesses in Skull Island, I really appreciated that they took an Iwi character, made her a main character, and gave her dialogue and a real role to play in the story while also keeping her deaf/mute. I think that was a good way to improve on the way that the Iwi got got sidelined in the last movie while still maintaining the worldbuilding!

- I didn’t appreciate so much that, y’know, they murdered the rest of her people off-screen in order to do it. Couldn’t they have gone “her parents died so she got adopted by a Monarch agent that was close to her family, but like, the rest of her tribe is fine”? Or at the very least “their island got fucked up so they had to be evacuated but like they’re settling in somewhere else”? “They’re living under this island dome with Kong and they know what’s up and Monarch’s keeping them in the loop and they decided they’re chill with their new dome home, but this one girl likes to go on adventures with Monarch”? Something? Did we have to kill them all off? Y’all make up an entire fictional indigenous culture and then murder them off-screen when you don’t need them? Just let them live.

- a few minutes in I was like “hold on, we’ve got two characters that speak sign language, we’ve got a giant gorilla, gorillas learn sign language, is there any reason they can’t teach Kong?” and then later I was like “OOOOOH!!” Humans and titans learning how to communicate with each other has been one of my favorite themes to explore in Monsterverse fanfic so I was absolutely tickled to see it getting explored in canon, too.

- That said I think it’s hilarious that the girl managed to teach Kong to sign without, like... anybody seeing. Kong’s hands are above the tree line and there are cameras everywhere, how did NOBODY with Monarch see him signing.

- Bernie’s weaponized being an annoying coworker to such a degree it can only be called an art, and I really appreciated it.

- Godzilla’s extra chonky in this movie and I dig it. Roomie noted he was extra crocodilian and I dig that too.

- “There’s been no confirmed titan sightings in three years” I don’t buy that for a minute. They’re BIG. Rodan NESTS IN VOLCANOES. They found a MOTHRA EGG. Humans have A SCARILY WELL-FUNDED ORGANIZATION DEDICATED SOLELY TO FOLLOWING TITANS AROUND. Like, most of the lore in GVK that I don’t personally like, I can be like “eh... I can tweak it just a little bit with headcanons to make it work for me...” but NO confirmed titan sightings? You expect me to believe ALL of them moved underground when we’d previously seen them all prefer to live above ground? You expect me to believe that now that they’re all AWAKE, they learned how to HIDE?? Uh-uh. And at the end of KOTM there was stuff in the credits about using titan droppings as biofuel, obviously they’re still walking around up top! Can’t take that from me. Nope.

- Who the FUCK is Ren Serizawa and how is he related to Ishiro Serizawa? IS he related? Maybe they just dropped the surname as another “yeah this is a Godzilla movie for Godzilla fans” easter egg but I have a hard time believing that he can’t be somehow related to the other character with the Very Important Last Name who was so important in the last two Godzilla movies. If he is related I’m sure it’s been explained in a tie-in comic or the novelization or something, I’ll look it up later.

- I had to look up how much weight huge battleships can carry while writing a KOTM fic where Ghidorah hitches a ride on one, and y’all, I had to pull weird gravity-negating magic to get him to ride on that boat. Godzilla and Kong woulda sunk that boat like a rock. All I could think during that scene is “this wouldn’t work and I know that because I DID THE RESEARCH and I wasn’t even getting PAID.” I’ll choose to believe that Monarch gets special heavy duty ships designed to carry titans but nobody mentioned it because it wasn’t relevant to Kong’s journey.

- The bit where they could see where Godzilla was swimming because he’d got half a ship hooked to him that was bobbing around on the surface, didn’t Jaws do something like that with a buoy? It’s been ages since I’ve seen Jaws. Anyway good reference.

- Insert “they’re gonna need a bigger boat” joke

- I LOVED the part where they shut down all the ships to get Godzilla to leave. Both because, one, it’s a spectacular callback to KOTM’s “turn off all the guns so he knows we’re not a threat” that makes it seem like now that’s just what Monarch knows what to do to get G to chill out, and two... we know that Godzilla backs off either when he’s killed his enemy or when his enemy has yielded to him. At the end of KOTM—and the end of GVK—the act of yielding is presented as very ceremonial and uniform across species: everyone lowers anything they’ve got that could be dangerous (claws, fangs, beaks, axes) and bows to show Godzilla they’re not gonna fight. Battleships, obviously, can’t bow, but even without being inducted into whatever secret titan cultural intricacies might be going on, humans have figured out their own way to “bow” to Godzilla: cut all the power, so their ships can’t move and can’t use weapons. I know the movie presented it as “playing dead,” but c’mon, if Godzilla could hear MechaG power up from halfway around the planet then he could hear that Kong’s heart was still beating, and he’s been around enough boats to know humans can turn them off and on when they want. The humans bowed to Godzilla. He accepted that they yielded and left.

- Mark Russell looked like such a dad in this movie, like he’s retired 100% from being a rugged action hero and now he’s just Pure Dad. I like him better when he’s a dad, it’s a good development for him. He got like 3 lines and I’m like “I appreciate this character development.”

- Despite all my qualms about how conspiracy theories and extremist groups are handled in Monsterverse (and WHICH conspiracy theories they decide to reference), I really love Madison and Bernie’s dynamic. The adult man who’s the excitable wide-eyed believer in every BS conspiracy you can possibly imagine; and then the serious, severe Teenage Girl On A Mission who’s hypercompetent because she was raised for five years by a friggin doomsday cult militia; and despite having wildly different personalities they’re just, in total agreement about everything. Handled just a BIT differently (like, leaving out the more gross IRL conspiracies) they would be a wildly fun comedic duo—especially with Josh the Only Sane Man coming along as the hapless sidekick. And they all play off of each other so well! Both in a comedic sense, and in more serious moments—when Bernie talked about his wife, there was a real moment of empathy between him and Madison with very little said. I’d watch an entire movie just about the three of them. I’d watch a TV show.

- On the one hand I wasn’t too much of a fan of KOTM’s “all titans... are inherently In Tune With Nature... nature has a Balance, because that’s a Real Thing and not an anthropocentric concept to describe how we like nature to act, and they automatically restore it... because they’re like, some kinda borderline divinities or something... we should probably be worshipping them...” thing; but, now that it was totally absent in GVK, I sorta miss it. Like I feel like there needs to be a balance, a few humans who are like “i lowkey worship these dudes?” and a few others who are like “they’re cool but like, that’s a lil extreme” and that neither side be presented as Right in how they regard titans’ relationship with nature.

- “All titans come from THE HOLLOW EARTH” nah I don’t buy that it’s silly. Basically, what I object to is the idea that all titans have some sort of intrinsic similarity (they all come from the same hitherto-unknown location; they all are part of the same pack that has the same alpha; they all are fueled/fed by the same energy source; etc) rather than letting them be SEPARATE species whose only unifying traits are “they’re all big enough to fuck everything up everywhere they go” and “they’re big enough that the typically-insurmountable barriers between different biomes (mountain ranges, valleys, long distances with terrible weather) aren’t insurmountable for them, so even if they’re specialized in different environments they still all have to deal with each other pretty often.” I’ll make some exceptions for convergent evolution (i.e., claiming multiple titans developed similar traits that are relatively easy to spontaneously evolve and a prerequisite for a creature to survive at such a large size). But I can’t buy “this big gorilla has more biologically in common with this big crocodile-iguana than he does with, say, gorillas,” or most of the other “all these titans have THIS IN COMMON” claims that Monsterverse makes, including “everyone’s from hollow earth.” So I’m tossing that out the window and substituting my own headcanons. Some might’ve evolved there but some evolved on the surface. Maybe a majority of them like ducking in and out of the hollow earth like some kind of titan shortcut system. Kong’s species, I can buy, IS native to hollow earth, considering that they built a whole-ass society down there with tools and architecture.

- I’m SO curious about the little underground Kong home, the Godzilla motif in the floor, and the axe that appeared to be made with a Godzilla scute. What’s the story there??? We know Godzilla’s species and Kong’s species are ancient rivals. Is it because Kong’s species hunted Godzilla’s to steal their scutes to make weapons, seeing them as a valuable resource the way, like, early humans considered woolly mammoths a valuable resource—thus making that Godzilla on the floor equivalent to cave art of mammoths made by people who hunted them—until the Godzillas got pissed and started fighting back en masse? Or were Godzillas and Kongs already enemies when Kongs decided to start making weapons out of their corpses? Did they use to be allies, fighting together, with Godzillas voluntarily offering shed scutes and/or bones of their deceased members to Kongs, and that place used to be a shared home until they started fighting?

- What about that power source, is it something that was already there that both Kongs and Godzillas started to deliberately harvest for technology/atomic breath? Or did Godzillas automatically channel that stuff and Kongs exploited/borrowed/traded with Godzillas to utilize it too? Or is the power from Godzillas who collaboratively poured a bunch of power into the place thus that Kongs were able to use it too? I doubt Godzilla’s species CREATED all that weird energy but the question remains of whether, like, they channel it FROM underground, or naturally produce the same thing in their own bodies, or what.

- Godzilla using his atomic breath to dig a hole STRAIGHT TO KONG just to KICK HIS ASS is hilarious. How lucky that Hong Kong just HAPPENS to be straight over Kong’s house! Were all the tunnels to the hollow earth made by pissed off Godzillas who wanted to kick monkey ass??

- I loved the aesthetic of the battle scene in Hong Kong, with the brightly colored neon building outlines, VERY cool look. The choreography of the battle scene was great too, especially

- we literally broke into applause when Kong shoved the axe handle in Godzilla’s mouth. Love it, perfect callback, that was the ONE thing from the original King Kong Vs Godzilla I was hoping to see referenced and there it was.

- You could really see a difference in how Kong and Godzilla fought—Kong doing a better job at using tools and the environment, Godzilla fighting more like a reptile. They seemed to emphasize Godzilla’s more animalistic behaviors in this movie to accomplish that contrast—he was down on all fours and moving like a crocodile more often, he was clawing at Kong’s chest—but even though it seemed a bit different of a combat technique it also didn’t seem out of place compared to how he fought in prior movies. And we’ve already seen that if Godzilla’s involved in a fight and one of the combatants knows how to use the environment, it’s typically not gonna be Godzilla. (See: Ghidorah using the reflection in a building’s windows to see what’s behind him, and recognizing a nearby power source and biting it to juice himself up.)

- So many of Godzilla’s enemies seem to have specialized in negating his atomic breath in order to combat him! The MUTOs directly suppress his ability to use it—and it makes sense that that’s an inborn ability they have, since they evolved to use Godzilla’s species as prey. Kong has a weapon that both acts as a shield to absorb the breath and turn it back against Godzilla’s species—they didn’t evolve to counter Godzilla, but they developed tools once a rivalry happened. Ghidorah’s the exception—which makes sense, since he came from space—but even at that we see him using tactics specifically to take into account Godzilla’s most powerful weapon (such as keeping one head on lookout for when he starts glowing so that they know when they need to dodge).

- LOVED the reveal that MechaG was based off of Ghidorah’s brain, it has vibes of both the Kiryu Saga and the way that Heisei MechaG is based off of Mecha-King Ghidorah. Not the most surprising plot twist, since we’d theorized that they might use San to make MechaG, but I wasn’t 100% sure they were gonna go with it until they finally did. Even when I was going “huh, the mecha pilot’s chamber looks weirdly organic” I didn’t make the connection to WHY until the reveal, lol.

- “Ghidorah’s necks are so long that the heads have to communicate with each other telepathically” that’s COMPLETELY WILD but I love it, it follows very well from their prior portrayal as telepathic empaths in Heisei, it lines up with their emphasis on electricity (because BRAINWAVES AND ELECTRICITY, hey ho movie monster pseudo science!), and it very much compliments my own private headcanon that they’ve got some psychic/mind control abilities.

- The movie ended with both “Godzilla won, technically” but also “since they teamed up as equals, the ending doesn’t FEEL like ‘Godzilla wins, Kong loses’ but rather ‘they both won against a common foe’” and since I’m on both Team Godzilla and Team They Should Be Friends, I’m happy with this outcome. Plus since the last time they fought, the Japanese movie company graciously let the American monster win, so it’s only polite that the American movie company graciously let the Japanese monster win.

- There were just a few too many humans in this movie. I was intrigued by Ren but we didn’t get much out of him, but like I guess somebody had to be in the pilot’s seat other than the Apex CEO. Didn’t care for the author of the hollow earth book, I feel like his role was superfluous. Didn’t need the Apex CEO’s daughter there at all, coulda done without her. How about this, combine all three roles. Instead of having a whole-ass author who knows about the hollow earth, just casually reference that Rick from KOTM wrote a book about it since he was the expert, and (since he wasn’t in this movie) say that he tragically died going to explore the hollow earth himself, and that way we’ve got the book with the “titans are from there” theory AND an excuse to share the “humans die when they go underground” info. Now, have Ren be working for Apex as a pilot for Mechagodzilla, but have him be MechaG’s pilot because he’s also a good pilot in general, and can fly those HEAV things. Have Apex send him to Monarch to be like “hey, you guys trust me right, since I’m Ishiro Serizawa’s relative? We at Apex have heard all about your failed hollow earth expedition, and due to Ishiro I’ve got some past ties to Monarch so I’ve got high clearance with y’all, so I could bring over this useful Apex tech that’d let you go underground and use what I know about hollow earth from my past time at Monarch to help guide things.” Once they’ve got the little chunk of energy stuff and go topside, he hustles it straight to Apex and straps into his seat to run MechaG. Bam, you’ve combined “person who knows enough about hollow earth to help the expedition,” “person who represents Apex’s interests and gets the energy,” and “person who pilots MechaG” into one character, in a way that takes three flat/underdeveloped characters and turns them into a single interesting character with a lot going on and some intriguing ties to the rest of the cast.

I think that’s everything?? Hoo.

#gvk #godzilla vs kong #gvk spoilers #godzilla vs kong spoilers #godzilla #meta

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kaijurakunsobs · 3 years

Text

Seeds

remember guys! you can ask me to tag them on future updates

Summary: The idea of a soulmate is well known, they will come to you one day, either as a lover or a friend. A single bond made of invisible thread is what will let you feel their emotions, joys and worries, to experience their pain and for them to feel yours.

But beware, for not all blessed unions are meant to be, if you were to hate and push them away, a slow death shall consume them and a garden will bloom within their chest, the flowers will fight and push to feel the sun from the outside, a poetic dead of a broken lover. A beautiful dead for your hollow existence.

You know that your mother was never a good person, or so you have been told.

Miranda meet her when she came from the city to the village, four months pregnant and with the false story of being “sick”, her sickness? She decided to cheat on her rich husband and she wanted to have you away from prying eyes and possibly abandon you here. Your birth giver was upfront about how "Having a bastard could ruin my lifestyle!", Mother Miranda smiled sweetly and had Alcina give your mother refugee and help during the birth, the Lady agreed and housed the woman.

On the night of your birth, Alcina held you in her arms, begging Miranda to let her keep you, but she denied. You were hers and hers alone.

As for your mother? Only Miranda knows what happened to her, but you suspect, that her body is buried somewhere in the forest, alone and forgotten, you couldn’t care any less.

Miranda was the one to raise you, to love you, the one who would be there when you were sick, to kiss your tears away when nightmares woke you up. She was the one to break your body apart and scream in our face how much of a failure you were, just like Alcina or Donna or those pesky lycans running amok outside, but within your failure, she saw minimal success, you were quick to learn how to care for her experiments, which were the signs of cadou rejection and how to treat it, at least, you could be useful until she placed you in the mansion the villagers were building for you.

You have seen so many people been brought to the lab, so many lives being taken for a selfish reason, that you grew numb, there was no anger or pain, you felt no grief when the test subjects saw you and begged for help, you did nothing for there was nothing inside you.

You are surprised when Miranda begins to show interest in a kid, you know he was brought here years ago and somehow had managed to survive the horrors your mother put him through. Interest grew into an obsession and then into pride, hope, you will forever remember how hard Miranda screamed when her golden child came out a failure too, cursing at the skies and asking why? He had been so close to being her perfect little boy and he turned out to be yet another fuck up.

But she doesn’t throw him away, her favoritism shows when she moved him from the medical area into a room in her private chambers, never allowing you to go close to him, slapping you and kicking up a storm whenever she saw you too close to his door, even if you were passing by. But you never resent him, you can’t hate him or her, all you can do is nod and go away.

But curiosity is something hard to get rid of, and so you waited for days almost a month until Mother left to meet up with Alcina, using the moment to sneak into his room. A beautiful room, compared to yours, he had a big bed with a canopy, the thick curtains prevent you from seeing him, it feels like a fairy tale when you part the curtain to peer inside.

Truly like a fairy tale...a beautiful boy lays there, his golden hair is going gray, probably out of stress. He has a couple of scars on his face and some new ones on his arms. You feel like reaching inside and kiss him to break the spell, but it feels...wrong, like if you could tarnish him even further by touching him, like if your mother would appear and toss you aside for laying one of your dirty hands on his skin. No matter how bad you wish to be his Knight and save him, the terror you feel over defying Mother Miranda’s orders makes you stay still.

And then, it happened.

It began as an agonizing stab in your chest, it made you trip backwards painfully slamming your head against the wall, gasping for air when the pain as a needle began to pierce through you slowly making its way to your heart, a pitiful sob left your mouth, rendering you useless while your body overcomes the initial discomfort. It takes all of your willpower to get straight and look up at the ceiling through your tears, the light it's blinding and it leaves you dizzy, almost ready to empty your stomach.

Karl Heisenberg, age eleven, lays on his luxurious-looking bed, his entire body shakes painfully, breaking through his mouth, and the fever that's racking his body is the only thing keeping him from noticing that, his soulmate is standing a couple of steps away from his bed.

But how do you even know this?

Because Miranda told you about the concept of someone blindingly loving you for all eternity, who would be your other half and the missing piece to your broken existence, Dimitrescu once said that those stories were silly little fantasies, that love should be won over and one should prove to be the right person for someone else and not just have it “hand it over”.

You used to dream of the day you would feel the connection between yourself and another person, of being able to experience their joy when their eyes fell on you. But this is far from what you wanted, what you always wished for! All you can feel is pain, radiating from so many places in your body, rendering you useless, overwhelmed with anger, grief, sorrow for “yourself”.

Everything quickly piles up, so consumed by what Karl is feeling that you don’t hear the tray that falls and the porcelain plates that shatter, you vaguely register the sting of Miranda slapping you and the distant sound of her screams.

She drags you out of the room and into the cold world outside her home, across the heartless forest and you wonder...if you might end up like your mother, buried under some tree to be forgotten. But Miranda keeps walking until she throws you at the feet of Lady Dimitrescu, speaking to the tall woman and leaving you under her care, forever.

When you were younger, you used to fear the Lady. She was imposing and so strong, a self-made matriarch, but she's so careful when helping you up and guiding you through her beautiful home, her hands are so kind when she helps you to undress and sit in the tub filled with warm water, racking her fingers through your messy hair...so this is what a mother truly is like?

She only leaves you alone when she goes to fetch anything you could wear, looking displeased when she hands you a maid's uniform "We must send for the seamstress, I cannot have you wearing those shabby clothes" that, for some reason gets you to smile.

Later, her movements are soft as she runs a brush through your hair, the fire makes the wood crack and explode, filling the room with a nice warmth, something you never lacked off but that never truly permeated your body.

"Y/N, care to explain why mother Miranda was so angry, earlier?" you hear the concern in her voice, a bit of worry hidden in a stern tone.

Alcina can see you shrink a bit, as if ashamed of what you had done “I saw the kid mother keeps in her chambers” it comes out like a whisper, scared of Miranda appearing at that moment to slap you again “I think he’s my soul mate, Alcina!”

Lady Dimitrescu chuckles lightly and smiles when you turn around to look at her ”Your soul mate, some dirty man-thing? Oh my sweet girl I hope it isn’t real and you were just revolted by the sight of a man!”

“But I felt his pain and his emotions...it was scary, but maybe he will love me!”

“Just because you can feel what he feels, doesn’t mean everything will be alright. That’s why those romances are so volatile, darling! There’s no real reason for them to work beyond being stubborn and tell yourself that it will work out” the lady is classy and gracious in her movements as she poured herself another glass of wine “That the other person at the end of your bond will fall to their knees the moment they see you, but in reality, they might resent your sole existence and end up killing you!”

“Killing me?” that comes as a surprise, you have never heard of this.

“Yes...a cruel and unjust dead” Alcina brings you to her lap letting one of her hands spread over your small chest with a sorrowful look on her face “Your lungs will get infested with flowers, a bouquet of throe will bloom within your body, each day the garden will grow and fight to see the sun beyond your mouth and it will rob you of all air and kill you in no time”

She sees you wonder about it, a million questions that you wish to ask, everything falling apart when her curious daughters come into the room, moved by the rumors some maids had shared about their mother adopting another child. All too eager to know their new sister.

After that day, the topic is never brought up.

You grow and learn everything under Alcina’s guidance, the woman is hellbent on making a lady out of you. She teaches you how to read and write, about math and how to sing, applauding when you show her the gift the cadou in your stomach gave you, Midas' touch.

Her daughters and your self-appointed sisters, all laugh and joke around you, treat you like if you were another human when you are no different from their mother, another failed creation, a remainder that Miranda was cursed to not have what she wants. But the love of your little family drowns those thoughts, leaving the happiness of your existence in a nice home and the ever-presence of pain and resentment in the back of your head.

As you grow you notice, each cut and wound that leaves a scar on your skin turns to gold when made by you, but looks as pale lines when made by Heisenberg. You can’t help but laugh when the idea of being a piece of pottery repaired via kintsugi pops in your head, and for a moment you ask yourself if Heisenberg also has golden scars to match yours?

You cry the day when you finally leave the castle, trying hard to convey your love for your mother and sisters with hugs and kisses, in low whispers, promises of coming over as much as you can. The Lady kisses your forehead and sends you off with some final words of advice.

"Never lower your head and always do your best, remember you have us and we would never let you fall"

You are eighteen when you become the miracle worker of the village, crafting medicines with alchemy, signing at the church when the congregation asks you to, turning anything into gold with your touch, smiling with grace, and claiming to have been blessed with a precious gift by Mother Miranda to help the poor and keep the village off absolute agony. In the end, everything tastes like vile and ash, the forced smiles and the sweet tone of your voice make you gang behind the long veil that covers your face.

The days when you sing at the church, are the only ones when you can feel all his hatred directed at you, each painful stab making your eyes tear, yet you keep on making the people happy with hymns crafted before you were even born. If you could let him feel how similar your anger for Miranda is, perhaps the pain in your chest would dissipate, but you can't because you are hollow.

Among the villagers you are Lady Y/N L/N, the golden touch child, you are adored and blindly loved, Miranda smiles radiantly whenever she hears nothing but good words from her cattle, how much they dote on you, ready to serve without a thought, the eagerness to work under you. You may have been a failed vessel but you are a success as a flycatcher, bringing the sheep down to the slaughterhouse to be sent to the other Lords.

On meeting day, the pain and emotions that you feel seem to amplify the closer you are to Heisenberg.

As you sit beside your adoptive mother, your smaller hand in hers, while Mother Miranda speaks and praises each one of her children, lingering a bit too much on her golden child. The pressure in your chest grows, it feels like when you submerge in the tub as if your lungs were being crushed under an invisible force, ready to cough and gasp for air.

Across from you, he sits, posture closed and annoyed beyond belief when Miranda asks him to stay a bit longer after the meeting is done, you feel relief when Lady Dimitrescu gets up, opting to ignore Heisenberg in favor of bringing you back to the castle for your scheduled visit.

You two aren't even halfway through your journey back when you notice you are missing something, a small gift for today's reunion, a bag of fine jasmine tea.

"Mother, I need to get back. It seems I misplaced something, you go ahead!"

There's no time for Alcina to respond before you volt back to the church, the soft lace of your veil beautifully flying behind your hurried steps, slowly dropping your speed the closer you get to the entrance of the building, from it you can see Miranda, she as shed her mask off and is touching Heisenberg's face the way you have seen brides or wives touch their husbands' faces.

A pulse of repugnance and despise make you stumble back, pressing your back against the outer wall, it feels like the first time you met him, it's blinding and leaves you disoriented for a second, a hand flies up to your mouth when a wave of nausea hits you. He's not only pissed, he feels filthy and is suppressing a murderous intent behind a mask of indifference.

The sensation grows and grows until it's crushing you. One look up and you see him standing before you, a hand caging you between him and pillar.

"What are you doing here, freak? The tall bitch sent you to spy on me? tell her to fuck off" this isn't the first time you hear his voice, but it feels like it, even if his words are filled with malice, they taste like bitter wine for you.

"NO!...I mean...no, Lord Heisenberg. I came back because I lost something, a small bag"

"So you are afraid the dog stole from you, are you calling me a thief?" your mouth opens to explain to him once more, but the burly man only growls and steps away "Think whatever you want, I can't care any less for whatever the scum thinks of me"

Later, in the solitude of your home, you will call yourself an idiot, asking yourself why you reached for his empty hand when he turned around ready to leave, why you didn't revealed who you were, why you didn't cried when the man slammed your body against the wall.

"DON'T YOU DARE TO TOUCH ME, BITCH!" Heisenberg's tobacco infused breath hits your face, the painful stab of hatred felt like if your body were being torn apart "I CAN'T STAND PEOPLE LIKE YOU, YOU MAKE SICK!"

This time, when he turns around to leave, you don't reach out, you stay there, gasping for hair and coughing like if you were drowning, a slick sensation in your throat makes you gag and cough harder than before, both of your hands are cupped over your mouth, scared at the idea of throwing up.

Thank God you don't.

The moment passes and your body calms down, but your eyes grow wide when you see what made you gag.

A single yellow carnation petal covered in spit rests between your hands.

-----

Yelow Carnation: rejection and disdain

tag list: @happygalaxymilkshake @mightybeeb @kittyb2000

#re8 #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader

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tyrantisterror · 3 years

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The ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest 3-D: Entry Roundup

You’ve been patiently waiting for the results of the ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest 3-D, and now... you have to wait a bit longer, but at least you’ve got an entry roundup with lots of sketches and a good bit of feedback for all the entrants! My goal is to get the finalists illustrated in a week or two, and after that, the grand prize winner will be announced. But, for now, the official entry roundup! After the cut:

I should note that while I sketched these in the order they were submitted, my scanner saved the documents with random names, so they’re a bit jumbled. You know, just in case you’re like me and would get confused noticing that it’s almost in chronological order but with some entries jumbled around.

@bugcthulhu’s Obsideban was designed as a counterpart to Rohobaron - the Black King to Rohobaron’s Red King, if you will. Or, well, Black Queen in this case, as Obsideban also takes her personality from the “delinquent girl” archetype in Japanese media. Bug’s designs always ooze personality, and I had a lot of fun translating this big, gnarly retrosaur into my own style.

@toothlessloveshiccup‘s Argonox is the first - but far from the last - monster in this breakdown that brings in a bit of fantasy influence to ATOM’s roster. A golden-fleeced ram with a vicious streak, this sheep is both treasure and dragon at once. And while it wasn’t written in the monster’s profile, given the Yamaneon-rich nature of its wool, Argonox might be able to replicate the healing power of the golden fleece too! A very fun mammalian kaiju and excellent entry.

@highly-radioactive-nerd submitted Gunmetal Jeeves, a robot butler who can gigantomax temporarily create a holographic/hard light version of himself to fight kaiju. That detail was a late revision added to the entry before the contest’s deadline, made after the creator realized that ATOM allows for some truly ludicrous bullshit, which is something everyone should exploit when making entries for this in my opinion. Also, this is a robot butler who can size shift. Revel in its awesome absurdity!

Ultranerd submitted Rajasaurus, a dimetrodon-like synapsid kaiju with electric powers. His origin specifies that the electric powers are a result of the volatile nature of the Yamaneon deposits he mutated under, which is an interesting idea. That’s another theme that cropped up a lot in this contest’s entries, actually - people really wanted to play with what Yamaneon can do.

Case in point, @polygonfighter’s Yamaneolith takes the Monolith Monsters homage at the heart of Yamaneon even more apparent. I like the implication that there is a second mineral-based lifeform at the root of this Yamaneon cluster’s anomalous behavior - a parasite, perhaps? It brings up some interesting possibilities.

@ariccio50 submitted Kukulkuzana, and damn is this a cool spin on the body plan of my martians. I made a few changes here and there (splitting its tail into two is probably the biggest one), but tried to keep true to the original design, because holy hell is it gorgeous. The idea that this is a mountain-dwelling creature is really intriguing to me, as it looks like a sea creature, but at the same time, that flexible and low-slung build WOULD work pretty well in mountains, and it’s just the right mix of plausible weirdness that makes for a fun alien design.

@akitymh submitted Aramzados, a Venusian monster that’s basically an organic hot rod car. I like the idea of organic machinery being the gimmick for Venusian kaiju, and Aramzado’s does it subtly enough to not feel like that gimmick is the sole thing going for it. I especially love this monster’s stange, apparently mouth-less blade-beaked face.

@virovac submitted Rurzar and Zar Rider, a Beyonder kaiju and mecha (respecitvely) that were both modified and repurposed by humans reverse engineering Beyonder technology to make, like, a motorcycle-saurus essentially. It is a delightfully absurd concept, and a very, very detailed one (13 pages of description). There’s a dark undercurrent beneath the sillyness, though, as this pair show that humanity might still be following the same path as the Beyonders before them.

@dinosaurana brings us Krangor, a humanoid monstrosity of living kelp! The goal here was to create a Jack Kirby-esque monster dude, complete with the gibberish name and all. He’s also made out of kelp, which feels very classic 1950′s monster-y despite me not being able to think of any monsters that were explicitly made of kelp. I love him.

@kiryuthechimera submitted Genkakurah, a psychic retrosaur with some draconic features. Though his substantial powerset is probably the biggest distinguishing feature of this kaiju (given that most ATOM kaiju pretty much have the same standard powers), what really draws me to him is that reptilian pseudo-beard. It’s just a fun detail!

@glarnboudin submits Tiratola, and see, there’s that fantasy influence again! Even more explicitly dragon-y than Kraydi, Tiratola still manages to toe the line between sci-fi and fantasy enough to fit ATOM as is while still cementing its ties to my own slice of fantasy fiction. Man it’s good I’m doing a Midgaheim book next, huh?

@dragonzzilla submitted Scuttlebutt/Argonautilus, a hermit crab kaiju who lives in/with a hollowed out mecha. That’s a twist I can’t recall ever hearing before, and the idea of a kaiju and a mecha having an equal partnership that doesn’t involve one being grafted to the other is really intriguing to me. A very unique concept!

@evolutionsvoid submitted Fleagor, an enormous flea who has no idea what to do with itself now that there’s no creature large enough for it to parasitize. I love that concept - it takes the core idea of the giant bug kaiju archetype (i.e. unsettling the audience by showing how terrifying small, “insignificant” creatures would be if our sizes were reversed) and really turns it on its head. The name also plays on the Universal Monsters, who were a huge part of 1950′s pop culture thanks to their movies being re-released in that era, so all and all this one is very on brand for ATOM!

@skarmorysilver submitted Lilacorn, another entry that plays up that Midgaheim/ATOM connection. Reinterpreting the mythological unicorn as an Cenozoic wooly rhinoceros-inspired monster gives it a very unique look, both in ATOM and in the general world of unicorns, and she has a bad-girl with a heart of gold personality to boot!

dracosaurus-rex submitted Florasaura, a two-headed plant/retrosaur hybrid monster. I love me some plant monsters, I love me some retrosaurs, and I love me some rhyming the word “flora” with other words that contain similar vowell sounds, so this one has me written all over it!

@downtofragglerock submitted Sauroguana, a delightfully odd flying retrosaur. There’s a great deal of charm to the original illustration that this sketch doesn’t quite capture - it’s a deceptively simple design with a lot of personality in it, and with those unique leg-wings it really doesn’t need a whole lot of frills to stand out.

Draxi submitted Brakan, an unimpressive burrowing retrosaur kaiju whose mastery of illusions allows it to convince other kaiju it’s actually a big, super-powerful badass that’s the ultimate fighter in the universe. It’s a delightful parody of the concept of a fan self-insert god-mode character, with a really fun story built into it to boot!

@quinnred submitted O.N.I.A.C., a mysterious cocooned kaiju whose chrysalis has been turned into an organic computer of sorts by the people studying it, and seems to possess a fairly advanced intelligence for a kaiju. It’s a really bizarre and ominous idea, with built in intrigue given how vague its nature is. Is it just a kaijufied butterfly/moth who got stuck mid transformation? A relative of the Mothmanuds? Something else, perhaps equally alien? Good story potential here.

shadyserpent submitted Vespilitor, a bat/retrosaur hybrid made by the nefarious Spooks Organization. A mercurial prankster whose tendency to stir up trouble never crosses the line into maliciousness, he’s the kind of monster who would make a great foil to a lot of ATOM’s cast. I’d especially like to see him in a prank off with Ahuul - it’d be like Bugs Bunny fighting Daffy Duck, but on a kaiju scale.

@multiversefan submitted the Yamaneon King, a nomadic kaiju whose refusal to settle down causes problems as he stirs up trouble at kaiju sanctuaries all over the globe by showing up unannounced and stirring up the locals. He was basically designed to be a monster that the kaiju sanctuary initiative would struggle to deal with, which is a good idea for a post-ATOM Volume 2 story conflict.

Sir K submitted Jadeera, a kirin kaiju that can actually forcibly convert most of its body to Yamaneon to enter a dormant, statue-like state in a loose homage to King Shisa. Though the fantasy elements are far more present than I usually prefer for ATOM kaiju, I think it should be noted they’re pushed that far for a purpose - a theme in Jadeera’s entry, which continues where its creator left off with their submission to the previous ATOM create a kaiju contest (Yokaigon), is that the world of kaiju is more complicated and challenging than many are willing to accept, which is a theme in ATOM itself. Yokaigon’s more supernatural/occult powers are based on the ghost parascience of my setting, which ATOM has delved into a bit (Pathogen being the big example), so it’s not as out of left field as some might think.

@cerothenull brings us our final entry (unless some got lost thanks to tumblr’s shitty tagging system), the flying spider Naeranti. She’s a kaiju spider who uses silk to make complicate hot-air balloons, more or less, and that’s just delightful. ATOM could always use more spider-monsters, and with a really unique gimmick backing up a wonderfully distinct look, Naeranti is sure to stand out among her fellow giant arachnids.

Well, that’s the roundup! In a week (or two, depending on how much my hand cramps) we’ll have the five finalists, and sometime after that, the grand prize winner!

#The Atomic Time of Monsters #The ATOM Create a Kaiju Contest 3D

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cozy-the-overlord · 3 years

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Just One Last Word

Summary: As children, she swore she'd become the greatest author in all of Asgard. Loki had his doubts.

Word Count: 4,360

Pairing: Loki x OFC

A/N: Look who's back! I got this idea from a made-up fic title sent to me by an anon a while back and I just loved the concept so much I had to write it. What can I say? I’m a glutton for childhood romance and angst

Thanks for reading! :)

Warnings: Implied/referenced domestic violence/child abuse

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @the-emo-asgardian

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask/message :)

Read it on Ao3!

The first time Loki heard about Sága’s extraordinary book was the day Lady Gudrun decided that the spring weather was just too lovely to ignore and took her literature students to give them their lessons in the gardens rather than the stuffy palace classrooms. He couldn’t quite recall what year they were—childhood seemed so long ago that all of his primary classes had melted into one amorphous blur—but they had to have been young because Sága hadn’t yet chopped off both her braids in the middle of arithmetic, claiming that they were too heavy to think properly whilst wearing them. No, her braids still hung at her shoulders, and as Lady Gudrun read aloud to them on the lawn, Sága was busy weaving dandelion flowers into their intricate patterns.

“This is going in my book!” she whispered to Loki with a grin. “In my book, all the girls wear dandelions in their hair.”

Loki frowned. “What book?”

“The one I’m writing,” she said, fiddling with another flower stem. “It’s going to be the best book in all of Asgard.”

He had been going to say that there was no way in all the realms she was capable of writing the best book in all of Asgard, but then Lady Gudrun asked them if there was something they wanted to share with the rest of their classmates, since they seemed to be having such an intriguing conversation by themselves, and Loki had shaken his head, blushing. Sága wasn’t bothered. She kept playing with her dandelions and humming softly to herself, some horrifically out of tune melody Loki was almost positive she was just making up as she went along.

Sága Svanhilddottir was a strange girl. One day she had just plopped her bulging crocheted bookbag onto the desk next to his, and she never really went away. There were plenty of whispers about her—her mother was an Asgardian noble who had run away to Alfheim to marry a man in the Elvish court, only to return nine years later with a child in her arms and no husband to be found. At dinner, Loki would overhear the noblewomen’s hushed speculations on what could possessed her to leave in the first place, and what prompted her return. How had the Elf bewitched her so? A love potion? A spell? Had she gotten with child and fled to preserve her dignity? But then why return? Was he unfaithful? Was she unfaithful?

Sága had her own story. She told Loki very seriously before class one day that her mother had come back to Asgard because her father had been turned into a dragon by a wicked witch and now every time he sneezed he spat out enormous balls of fire into the air, and that her mother was afraid that the next time he caught a cold he’d burn the whole apartment down. She pulled down her dress sleeve to show Loki her burn scar, angry red flesh that stretched from her wrist all the way across her shoulders—a scar, she explained, she had gotten when she had tried to give her dragon father a handkerchief.

Loki didn’t believe her.

“Witches don’t turn people into dragons,” he bristled. “My mother’s a witch, and she would never turn anyone into a dragon.”

“That’s because your mother’s a nice witch,” Sága explained impatiently. “This was a mean old witch, with pointy teeth and spiky hair, who hated everybody.” Ruffling her shorn locks (this was after the ill-fated math lesson), she bared her teeth in demonstration. “She was mad at my father because he forgot to bring her mousetail pudding for her birthday like he promised.”

“He—what?”

But Sága only waved him off dismissively. “You’ll have to read my book,” she said. “I explain it all there.”

Oh, that damn book. It seemed like it was the only thing she ever talked about, this stupid, imaginary book. Because it had to be imaginary. Loki had never even seen the girl hold a pen, let alone write a sentence. No, she was too busy prattling on about her wonderous book, this book that would one day become the pinnacle of Asgardian literature.

“Someday, they’ll be making students read my book instead of this nonsense,” she’d whisper to Loki as their teacher read to them in the front of the classroom. “It’ll be much more interesting.”

Or when he ran into her in the library, and she’d drag him to the shelf where they kept all the classics.

“This is where they’ll keep my book!” she’d grin, having the audacity to pat the dusty wood where the great authors of millennia long past rested.

And then there was that one time during one of the feasts, when he turned around to find her staring at him intently from across the ballroom, a studious expression on her face. He shot what he hoped was an intimidating glare at her, but she only skipped across the room to join him.

“What are you doing?” he asked sourly.

“Looking at you,” she said, grinning as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I need to remember how you look like, so I can put you in my book.”

Loki scowled. “I don’t want to be in your book.”

“Well, I want you in it,” Sága retorted. “And, since I’m the author, that’s all that matters.” She grabbed his hand and began pulling him towards the dessert table. “Come on, Prince Loki. Let’s get some cake!”

Thor said that he must be harboring a crush on her, to seemingly hate her so and yet be constantly spending time with her. Loki nearly threw a fit when he accused him of such at the dinner table. He didn’t like Sága. She was strange and irritating and talked far too much and he wanted her to go away. He spent time with her because she followed him around, not because he wanted to! She was annoying. And weird. And …

And yet.

One day she wasn’t in class. Loki thought he’d be relieved—finally, a lesson where he could listen to the teacher without having to filter out her constant chatter. But … it didn’t feel right. It was too quiet—he hated the empty stretches of silence that hung over the classroom every time Lady Gudrun stopped talking. For some reason, it seemed even more difficult to focus without the familiar presence of his deskmate hunched over the table and picking splinters out of the wood with her fingernail.

The library was more of the same. Loki perused the shelves, gaze lingering on the spot Sága had claimed for her own. She was the only person he really talked to, he realized. Without her, the day felt hollow.

She was gone for the rest of the week. Her mother was gone too, and rumors began to fly that she had decided to take her daughter back to Alfheim to rejoin her mysterious husband. Loki couldn’t help but remember her story about her father the dragon.

Just when he was starting to fear she had left for good, one morning a ratty old crotched bag smacked the desk next to his before class started.

He scowled to mask his sigh of relief. “Where have you been?”

But Sága wouldn’t say. She only grinned at him from under her crown of dandelions. “I was working on my book. Why?” she asked. “Did you miss me, Prince Loki?”

Loki flushed bright red.

It was strange to think about now, with everything that had happened. At the time, Loki thought he would have fallen on his sword before he ever referred to Sága as a friend. And yet, she was not only a friend, but the closest one he had. She continued finding ways to spend time with him even after they graduated Lady Gudrun’s class—she’d track him down and ask him for help with her arithmetic, or to wish him luck on an upcoming test, or to tell him about a book she thought he’d like. Thor and his companions drove Loki up the wall with their merciless teasing, but their words couldn’t quell the odd sort of fluttering in his stomach every time she came running up to him clutching some new story against her chest.

“Is it your book?” he’d ask jokingly, even as he took the novel from her hands.

“No,” she laughed. “I’m still working on that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you now?”

Sága patted his shoulder, still grinning. “Don’t worry,” she said. “When I’m done, you’ll be the first to read it.”

She was pretty. Loki wasn’t quite certain when that happened. Sága didn’t really change all that much, even as everyone else grew and morphed into something resembling maturity. She continued cutting her own hair, keeping it messy and uneven and even shorter than his. She’d weave dandelion stalks into the shorn clumps and walk around in gauzy yellow dresses with cuffed sleeves that went past her fingers, looking like one of her fairy-story creatures come to life. It was generally accepted that she looked ridiculous, and Loki didn’t disagree. He just felt that she made ridiculous look good.

He noticed it when she came down to the sparring pit to watch him practice with his daggers. There she was, perched on the railing, beaming like the sun as she waved at him. She was pretty. Very pretty.

Loki turned around without waving back. There was a heat rising in his cheeks that he wasn’t quite sure how to address. He missed the target completely on his next throw.

He wasn’t the only person who noticed. The other boys his age were beginning to be quite drawn to Sága Svanhilddottir as well, although Loki suspected it was less due to actual interest and more because of her proclivity for disregarding traditional decorum. She loved to dance. It seemed every ball she was spinning across the floor in the arms of some new beau, giggling so loudly that her voice echoed down the hall. Loki hated the way they’d hold her, gripping her tightly to their bodies as if she belonged to them, but Sága didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it. She’d laugh and whoop and make a show of it as they twirled through the song.

It might have made her popular with the young men, but older members of the court weren’t as amused. After all, such displays weren’t exactly becoming of an unmarried woman. But Sága didn’t mind that they whispered things like “promiscuous” and “loose” as she walked by. Unlike her fellow ladies, Sága wasn’t particularly interested in catching a husband. In fact, she once told Loki in no uncertain terms that she had no intentions of ever giving her hand in marriage.

“Marriage is horrible,” she said. Loki could barely hear her over the ruckus—it was Thor’s Nameday Feast, and such a raucous celebration was hardly ideal for intimate conversation. He thought Sága might have been enjoying the festivities a bit too much as well—she was swaying on her feet as she leaned in to speak. “You’re tied down forever to some person, and you don’t even know what they’re going to be like! Sure, they might seem nice, but who knows!” She hiccupped, and Loki found himself reaching out to steady her without realizing he was doing it, accidentally grabbing the shoulder he knew to be scarred under her sleeve.

Sága brushed him off. There was a bitterness in her eyes that made his chest ache. “I don’t want to get married,” she said. “I just want to have fun.”

He walked her back to her rooms that night. He had started doing that recently—partially because with the way she was staggering he didn’t trust her to be able to make it herself, and partially because the voracious looks some of her dance partners had been giving her were making the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up.

Sága grinned at him when they made it back to her door. The dandelions in her hair were beginning to wilt. One was nearly falling off her head, held there only by a tangled strand.

“Are you going to kiss me, Prince Loki?” she asked.

Loki started. All at once, the fluttering was back. “What?”

“You’re my prince, aren’t you?” She was swaying quite a bit, but she didn’t look away. Her breath stank of wine. “Aren’t you supposed to kiss the lady goodnight?” She leaned forward as if meaning to demonstrate, but ended up falling right into his chest, giggling all the way. Loki caught her, hoping she couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating.

My prince.

“I—I don’t think it would be very princely of me to kiss you right now,” he whispered.

“Maybe not,” she yawned against his armor. “But I’d like it anyways.”

Loki inhaled. I’d like it too. But she was drunk, practically incoherent—she didn’t mean any of the words coming out of her mouth right now, and he knew it.

And so, he helped her back up and through the doorway. “Not tonight.”

Sága perked up. “Tomorrow?”

She looked so childishly excited that Loki couldn’t hold back his chuckle. “Sure. Tomorrow.” Maybe he had had too much wine as well, because the thought of such a silly promise exhilarated him far more than it should have. “You come find me and I’ll kiss you.”

They never spoke about that night again. Sága didn’t seem to remember it—when he ran into her the next day she was nursing a headache and a new idea for her book and wanted to ask him a question about the mechanics of water seidr. Loki didn’t mention it either. The whole thing felt much sillier doused in daylight. What, did he think she was just going to knock on his door and cash in a kiss like a raffle ticket? No, it was better that the whole thing just fade into obscurity. Loki told himself he was relieved that Sága didn’t remember his promise.

It didn’t stop his thoughts from racing every time he saw her.

What would it be like to kiss her, he wondered? Would she let him pull her close? Would she wrap her arms around his neck and run her fingers through his hair? How would it feel to press his lips to hers, to close his eyes and just drink her in as if she were the only thing that existed?

He wished he could find out.

Loki remembered the last time he saw her. Her father had passed away, and she and her mother were returning to Alfheim for his funeral and to clear up several issues regarding his estate. They weren’t sure how long they’d be gone, but Sága predicted that the legal affairs would take years to resolve.

“Is it bad that I don’t want to go?” she asked in a whisper the night before she was set to leave. Loki looked at her, huddled against the balcony railing besides him. Inside, the feast raged on, but in the moonlight the world seemed almost tranquil.

“I don’t think it’s bad,” he said slowly. “Funerals aren’t exactly joyful occasions. I doubt anyone ever wants to go to them.”

She was silent for a moment, staring across the gardens spread beneath them. “I was happy when they told me he was dead,” she said finally, voice hoarse. “That’s bad, isn’t it? You’re not supposed to be happy because your father’s dead.”

Loki wasn’t sure what to say to that. He didn’t know much about Sága’s father—she almost never spoke of him, and Loki never asked—but he never could quite forget the stories she would tell when they were children, about witches and dragons and violent, fiery breath.

He inhaled. “I don’t think that’s bad either.” A part of him wanted to reach out and squeeze her hand, but he wasn’t sure if that was right. “If he was a good father, you’d feel differently. But he wasn’t, and you don’t. That’s all there is to it.”

Sága only nodded.

The next morning was less somber. When Sága came to say goodbye, she seemed her normal, airy self, bouncing and bubbling over every small detail.

“Hopefully, by the time I’m back, I’ll have my book done!” she beamed. “And I’ll bring it back for you to read!”

“Well, in that case, I’ll be counting the seconds,” he drawled. Sága laughed, and he found himself gazing into her eyes. They were lovely, those eyes—warm, like liquid amber, brown and sparkling with mirth. He had never really stopped to think about it before, but she had to have the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen.

Perhaps he was staring too intently, because Sága had stopped laughing. Loki felt his cheeks flush. He was about to apologize when she threw her arms around his shoulders.

He was so thrown off by the embrace that he couldn’t really comprehend what had happened until after she had let go. It was a quick hug, spur of the moment and over as soon as it began. It meant nothing.

Still there was something in the air as Sága pulled away, something he didn’t think either of them had the capability to describe. She patted his shoulder, nodding as if in agreement with something neither of them had said.

“Goodbye, Prince Loki,” she said thickly.

He nodded too. “Goodbye, Sága.”

It was the last time he saw her.

Loki stared at the book on the table. He had told his mother that he didn’t want any more books—he was beginning to feel less like a person and more like a pity case with each shipment she sent in.

Enough with it! Just let me rot in peace.

And she had agreed. The flood of books had ceased.

Except for this one.

He hadn’t heard them come in to drop it off, which was concerning. Loki had always been a light sleeper, and that had increased a hundredfold by the time he had returned to Asgard. He wondered if they were drugging him.

The book itself was crisp and clean—freshly bound. He always used to like those books as a child, so new that the spine let out a satisfying crack as he opened them for the first time. Now, he was almost afraid to touch it.

The mossy green cover was unassuming. No artwork, no patterns, just the title and author in simple gold lettering.

Dandelion

Sága Svanhilddottir

Loki didn’t know how long he stared at it. The dungeons made it hard to keep track of time in general, but in that moment it felt as if everything around him ceased to exist. He couldn’t tear his eyes from it.

Damn. She actually did it.

Sága … when was the last time he thought of Sága? She seemed to exist in a different lifetime, a character in a story that had long since been shelved. He remembered her, though—a scrawny little girl on the grass, weaving yellow flowers through her braids.

In my book, all the girls wear dandelions in their hair.

He picked it up. It wasn’t particularly heavy, nor particularly thick—certainly nothing like the texts of old she had once proclaimed herself equal to. It appeared quite average, really. Maybe he wouldn’t read it. The whole thing was birthed out of a childish fancy, and he no longer held any appreciation for fairy-stories.

But who was he kidding?

The story was about a girl named Dandelion (Loki groaned aloud upon reading it, although such puerility was to be expected from an author who went about her days with weeds dangling from her hair) who lived with her mother and her beast of a father off in some nonexistent realm, far away from Asgard. While her father had not the form of a dragon, he certainly had the temperament. He spent the days raging about their household, ranting and raving at every little inconvenience until he’d worked himself up into a violent frenzy.

Her mother didn’t know what to do. She was alone in a strange land, having forfeited her freedom to irrevocably tie herself to this monster of a man. She had nowhere to go, no family to turn to. And so she grit her teeth and took the beatings and the curses and prayed for a miracle.

Of course, little Dandelion was too young to understand this. She didn’t know why her mother cried herself to sleep at night, nor could she comprehend the foulness of the words that her father spat into the air. She had never known anything else. And so, every night she sat upon her father’s knee as he brushed out and braided her long, silky hair and read aloud to her from his rotted old storybook. Dandelion loved those stories, of monstrous dragons and evil witches who feasted on rats and tarantulas, fair maidens locked away in towers and dashing princes fighting their way through bramble-choked woods to awaken them with a kiss.

She’d dream about those stories as she lay in bed, writing her own in her head to drown out the crashes and cries ricocheting off the walls on the floor below her. In her mind’s eye, Dandelion could see herself as the maiden, nose pressed against the window as she waited for her prince to scale her tower and carry her to safety.

He never came.

But she was not long for this way of life. One night, during dinner, her father in a fit of anger overturned the candle on the tablecloth. The fabric went up in flames. They spread fast across the table and caught on Dandelion’s cuff, setting her sleeve ablaze. She survived—her father was quick to come to his senses and douse the flames—but her arm was badly burned. It was at that moment that her mother had had enough. She took her daughter and ran for it.

After a long struggle to secure the funds they needed, they were able to book passage back to her mother’s home realm. There, they found sanctuary.

She found something else there too. There, sitting in the very back row of the classroom with his head hidden behind a book, was a real, living, breathing prince. Dandelion was entranced—she had always thought princes to be some mythical creature that existed only within the pages of storybook. And yet, here was one right in front of her, like the most normal thing in the world. He didn’t seem very princely. He just seemed like a boy, a quiet boy who preferred reading to conversation. Dandelion would have never known him to be anything else if her mother hadn’t pointed him out to her.

But she was curious, and so when given the opportunity to choose her spot, she sat down next to him. He was a strange prince. He’d argue with her about the stories she told, but that only meant he was listening to her. He’d say he didn’t want to see her when she bumped into him outside of class, but he’d still follow her down the hall when she turned to leave. He didn’t strike her as the dragon-slaying tower-scaling type, but that was okay. Dandelion liked him just the way he was.

The story went on. Dandelion grew up to the whooshing of letters slipped under the door—her dragon father, asking her mother to come back, to come home, promising that he was different and everything would be all right. There were times when her mother seemed almost swayed by his sweet words—she’d sigh and say that it would be nice to see their family safe and back together again and stare off into the distance as if remembering something other than the screaming or the fighting or the burning, as if she had forgotten the way Dandelion would wake screaming in the night convinced she could smell her flesh burning. It sent cold shivers down Dandelion’s spine. She began tossing the letters into the fire before her mother had the chance to read them.

She’d turn to her prince for comfort. He didn’t know about the letters, but somehow, he made her feel better all the same. He was light and safe and everything she needed—she always seemed to be laughing when she was with him. And when he laughed—something about that laugh made Dandelion’s chest feel awash with a lovely sort of warmth.

She was in love with him.

But Dandelion didn’t say anything about that. She knew he only saw her as a friend—a silly, trivial friend who he could tease and laugh with without having to concern himself with the solemnity of his station. If he knew how she felt … she could lose him entirely. Dandelion couldn’t face such a prospect.

Instead, she danced with everyone but her prince, drowned herself in wine and spent her nights in the arms of any faceless man who wanted her, all in some vain attempt to sway her feelings in another direction. It only made things worse.

But life went on. Another letter came in from the realm of her birth, written in a different hand than usual. Her father had passed in his sleep, it explained. At long last, the dragon had been defeated. Dandelion was to return home immediately. And so, she bid her prince a friendly farewell.

The fallout of her father’s death was horrifically complicated. She was his legal heir, but she had also spent a majority of her life estranged from him and she found his representatives unwilling to hand over control of his estate to her. It was years before she could come back. And when she did—

Loki couldn’t bring himself to finish it. He knew very well what “Dandelion” found when she returned to Asgard—or more aptly, what she didn’t find.

You’re my prince, aren’t you?

He wished he had kissed her.

#loki marvel #loki fanfic #loki x ofc #just one last word #cozy writes

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youuuimeanmee · 3 years

Text

Eren Meta From 139

Many people believe chapter 139 butchered Eren's character because of this scene.

Because out of nowhere, Eren's motivation is to reach Mikasa's choice to satisfy Ymir's wish; thus, everything he said from the beginning about his motivation is all lies or meaningless.

No. And I'm no writing this to justify or condemn him. This post is more for myself, because I'm trying to understand his character.

Now let's see at his words. "All of it, was to arrive at that result. That's why I moved forward." What does he mean by it? Which actions?

This.

All the events, starting from ch 123-139, are going according to Ymir's wish.

Right after Eren told her to decide for herself.

She wants to end the world, at least 80% of it. She wants to push Eren's friends to stop him, even if they have to betray their nation. The Battle of Heaven and Earth, all of the clusterfucks in chapter 135-138 happens because it's Ymir's will to push Mikasa to make a choice. She chooses to end the titan curse after she gets to see what she wants.

Ymir did all of this, she watched all the events that unfold because Eren released her.

Then, what about Eren's will?

This is why I'm okay with the idea of Eren following Ymir; Eren doesn't have a reason to reject Ymir's wish because he got what he wants. He got the future he saw on the medal ceremony, the eradication of titans. He got the "freedom" to flatten the earth, and if his gamble paid off, he'd get his friends' safety; because they will become the world's savior after they stop him. It's a win-win situation, thus, putting him in a position where he becomes Ymir's ally and stands by her side.

The reason why Ymir chose Mikasa is not clear, but Eren had a hunch and it's something he could relate to; another reason for him to not object to Ymir's wish. It has something to do with that day when Mikasa practically confessed her love for him, the day where he could use the Founder's power for the first time. I leave this scene up to your interpretation.

What about Eren's will from before 123? What did he try so hard to achieve?

This scenery. Aside from the eradication of titans.

Here's the thing. Doesn't matter if fate favors you or not, you have to work hard to get what you want. To work hard, you need to know the reason. I take Isayama's artistic choice that the future memories he saw are fragments without context; he doesn't know why it happens the way it would. So, even if he saw the scenery, even if he saw the eradication of titans, why he has to go to hell first? Why he has to go through all of the suffering? Why he has to keep moving forward? He doesn't have to; but the world, destiny or whatever keeps feeding him reasons to move forward, until he reached a conclusion that the titan world is fucked up system and has been going for far too long. For Eren, this needs to end, and he wants to reach that scenery no matter what.

This is the man who saw how unforgiving the outside world is. The fact that a little girl got eaten by dogs just because she's an Eldia is proof that a subject of Ymir can never gain freedom, can never gain the privilege of human rights the way a normal human does. (I suggest you to read Gross' monologue from ch 87). The man saw how the world keeps pushing Paradis to be the source of evil without listening to what the other parties have to say. The man is manipulated to euthanize his own people as if Eldia doesn't deserve to be born. He saw the fucked up history of titans from 2000 years ago. He was so disappointed the world is not like in Armin's book, it's not like his ideal world. So he wants to wipe it away. He wants to bury the history and the civilization that created it, deep to the ground. He wants to destroy every last one of those animals, that's on this earth; titans or humans alike. He wants to leave the surface a blank plain. This is his ideal world, his freedom.

Eren said it himself. Even if he didn't know that his friends would stop him; even if it's not Ymir's will, he'd still trample the earth. To me, the reason why Eren commit genocide, the reason he said to Armin is no different than the reason he said to Zeke.

It's just the way he is ever since he was born.

A freedom seeker.

The wording is different with the receiver. With Zeke, it's different, because he's trying to make a point that this is who he is. But with Armin? He is going to die, with his best friend as his judge. He knew exactly why he wanted it: because he is free, ever since he was born. But somehow he couldn't say it outright with confidence. Maybe he's afraid to be judged as a monster by the person closest to him, or maybe he started to question his definition of freedom. Because to me, his eyes look like wonders.

Now. What is freedom? Many people believe that any acts out of violence is not freedom. But to Eren, that is freedom, his freedom. There's a meta that perfectly explains Eren's version of freedom, up until he did the rumbling. This is my highlight from that meta:

So freedom is the power of the individual to do as one wants. When you do something, you are imposing your internal desires onto the external world. If freedom is thus the power to impose your individual Will onto the outside world, then whoever has more power has more freedom.

This concept was highlighted when he told his friends in Paths that he's free to destroy the world and they're free to defend it; meaning that they're bound to clash, and they have to fight.

Freedom is not good. Nor is it bad. It is a force beyond good and evil, and that is precisely why it is terrifying. This, I believe, is why so many baulk at the idea that such a ruthless manipulator could be the avatar of freedom in this story. What I have always loved about SNK is how it delves ever deeper into its themes as the story goes on and discovers such fundamental paradoxes that your understanding of the idea is changed forever. If this is the horrifying face of freedom, perhaps we should not be free.

I don't know how much Isayama's involvement in this, but Grisha's commentary from the Lost Girls captures this concept perfectly.

For Eren, that "great power" is his own concept of freedom: A world without oppression. Doing what you want to do. He's free to protect his homeland by whatever necessary, whatever cost, and leave the rest of the world as an open plain.

Usually, the more we're obsessed with something, the more we stray from our humanity. After witnessing firsthand the vision-he-so-called-freedom, he doesn't know how to feel. He gets what he wants, but he's not happy at all, only the hollow scenery remains.

Eren realized how messed up he is, even before he did this. He tried to reach out to Mikasa that night after he saved Ramzi, to save his humanity left. It's one of the reasons why he asked her, "what is he to her?" Surely if he was loved –even after he killed those men when he saved her that day– would mean he's still human, right? And by running away with her, he could live in peace, maybe he could free himself from his obsession. But he's doing it so half-heartedly, that when everyone interrupted them, he just... let it go. He didn't bother to sneak with her or anything. He couldn't let go of the future he saw, he's losing himself to his desire/inner demon, to his obsession of freedom. Or maybe he's winning over his pathetic self so he could focus on what he needs to do? One could interpret this scene as Eren trying to break free from his obsession for "freedom." One could interpret this scene as Eren trying to break free from the shackles of his conscience. It's up to you.

Eren's outburst over Mikasa in this chapter is his pent-up feeling over her. It is, but after I write this meta, maybe it's more than that. It's because she's the proof of his humanity left. Many, many times, Mikasa is there to stop him from ruining himself. Mikasa's love creates a subconscious understanding that she will always be there for him. That's a part of her that he loves, and by feeling love, it means his humanity still exists. If Mikasa chooses to move on with another man, it means she will forget all the times they had together, she will forget the most human side of him. The only person who loves him as who he is, his home, would be lost. He would be lost. That idea scares him, even though he knows he doesn't deserve her love after everything he has done.

One more thing; another reason why Eren doesn't mind to be stopped, aside from Ymir's wish will get him what he wants –as I already explained. People argue that the conflict won't end until Paradis or the rest of the world remains; thus, Eren's half-hearted genocide is meaningless. No. No matter how angry he is that he wants to eradicate everything, he has enough maturity to understand, even back from the Battle of Trost, that humanity is far from united even if they're faced against a threat beyond human understanding. During the after-party night before the Battle of Shiganshina, he accepts that great power comes from joining ourselves together. We all need to find our own roles. Humans are created differently, because of times like this. By sparing the rest of the world, it keeps both Paradis and the world from collapsing. By keeping the diversity of people, someday it will open a path for peace because it's a part of human nature to try to understand each other; he learned it from the SC. Eren believes Armin could take him there, after he died. Maybe he forgot all of that because he's too caught up in his hate and anger up until 122, the same way he forgot back in the days.

Even if it's not explicitly explained in this chapter, I'd like to think that Eren got plenty of time to reflect on this matter when he did the Rumbling, to fill the emptiness he felt after he reached what he wants wanted.

Eren wins in the end, but at what cost? This chapter is calling out his tyrannical mindset, and it's great to see him realized his error, even if it's too late for him to go back.

Maybe this is what Isayama decided to focus on the last chapter, even if it's rushed. Maybe he (or his editor, idk) wanted the ending to focus on the protagonist's story about humans vs titans. The way Eren is so determined to wipe it out from this world, no matter how messed up his method, no matter how much he suffers, it doesn't matter if it's predestined or not. Because "freedom" is what he seeks ever since he was born. Because Eldia, every person deserves to be born in this world. Yes, every person, including everyone he killed. He knew the gravity of his action and choose to accept his death. Maybe it's the reason why Isayama doesn't delve into the aftermath of genocide further.

He wants the ending to be about Eren Yeager, The Attack Titan's journey about Attack. On. Titan.

#eren's character writing is still great in my eyes #or am i just too blind?#shingeki no kyojin #snk #snk spoilers #snk 139 #attack on titan #aot #aot 139 #aot spoilers #eren yeager #eren jaeger #snk meta #snk analyses

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prettywordsyouleft · 3 years

Text

Miss Writer

Pairing: Brian Kang x female reader

World: To Be Continued

Genre: writer au / fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: So I had no intentions of returning to the TBC world so soon, but as you can read below, I had a bit of trouble trying to write something for 2021 and this is the result of my nonsense thoughts at the time. I really am happy I wrote this as it feels like a good opening act for what’s to come this year!

Word count: 1558

“Hey! Did you hear about the writer who didn’t want to write?”

“They what?”

“She sat there for hours on end, just avoiding every idea that came to mind.”

“But why? Aren’t writers meant to write?”

“Why am I writing this?” you complained out loud, sighing heavily and leaning back in your computer chair. Staring at the basic dialogue in your word document, you groaned.

Why was it so hard to write?

You had been through this before. Where the words wouldn’t flow the right way, and your characters felt hollow.

But that was because Brian wasn’t in the story at the time.

You couldn’t solve this the way you had back then either. Once Brian had gone back into the world he had stepped out of, you finished the story without any further mishaps. In this case, you didn’t have any other fictional characters stepping out of any novel you had written to send back in. You didn’t even have a character to write about.

That was no doubt the whole problem.

“Miss Writer,” a voice called out, and you turned, smiling warmly at the man leaning against the threshold. Brian tipped his head in your direction. “How’s it going? Is your next bestseller getting ready to leap onto the pages?”

“Ha! At the rate I’m going, I might as well retire.”

“What?” Walking over to your side, Brian then leaned down to inspect your laptop’s screen. “You’ve written only four lines in two hours.”

“Four lines are better than none, though, I can’t say they’re four impressive lines,” you muttered, pouting up at the man. “I’m broken.”

“Shall I fix you?” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you. His lips were almost on yours when the doorbell rang. Brian heaved in a heavy breath. “If that’s Sungjin, I swear…”

“It’s probably Lily,” you mentioned with a knowing smile, climbing out of your chair and heading down to the front door to answer it. When you swung it open, however, you merely stared back at the woman standing there.

“Can we help you?” Brian asked from over your shoulder, right when you gasped noisily. “Y/N?”

“You’re… you’re… no way.”

Sungjin leaned around the side of the house and grinned. “Y/N! You need to stop making people so realistic that they come to life.”

“I’m confused,” Brian announced as you began to bounce with excitement, reaching out to touch the woman’s hand before you.

She grabbed it warmly and grinned at you. “I’m so amazed to finally meet you!”

“Ella,” you murmured and then glanced at Sungjin standing all too protectively at her side. “You found your Constable.”

“Ella?” Brian echoed and then lurched forward, leaning over you. “Ella from the Protector story?!”

Ella nodded and held out her hand to Brian. “You must be the first of our kind, Brian Kang, right?”

“Our kind?”

“Well, I had to explain it somehow to Ella,” Sungjin admitted with a chuckle. “It’s not every day that characters step out of documents, now is it?”

“Maybe that’s why I can’t write,” you murmured, watching the instant despair cross over your friend’s face, whilst a smug smile appeared on your partner’s. Rolling your eyes, you shunted Brian in the side before stepping aside and letting them inside. “Come, I promise this time I’m more equipped to dealing with my characters in the flesh. I won’t be fainting this time.”

“I’m starting to get worried now,” Brian confessed later in the evening as he carried your cat Binks around. “If Ella’s here too, who’s going to be next?”

“Well, considering I can’t seem to create anyone, you won’t have a problem any time soon.”

Brian pointed at you in warning. “Don’t you dare go opening Destined’s file.”

“Ooh, now there’s an idea!” you teased, grinning at Brian as you approached him. Stretching up to kiss him softly, you shook your head. “I doubt I could love anymore more than you if I tried.”

“And you always say I’m the charmer yet here you are causing my heart to go erratic with lines like that,” Brian stated with a giddy smile, his eyes disappearing and turning into little crescents.

“Well, you can’t be the one with the upper hand all the time.”

“Miss Writer.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think Ella is the problem this time. I think you’re just putting too much pressure on your shoulders.”

“Pressure?” you repeated with a frown and Brian placed Binks down before nodding at you. “Of course, I’m under pressure! I have to get my first chapter to Lily by next week, and I have nothing, not even a name.”

“You’re trying to write the next best thing, aren’t you?”

“That’s the whole concept of being an author, Brian. Writing something better than your last story. We’re always on the path of personal growth during this journey, Brian.”

“I know,” he agreed initially, rubbing your shoulders affectionately. You let out a small whine, not realising how tense your body was until he touched you. Brian instantly moved behind you and started working out the knots residing there. He stopped, leaning close to your ear. “But can’t you just write something for fun?”

“Fun?”

“Isn’t that the whole point of writing? To enjoy the world you create. You’ve been non-stop since I’ve known you. Before my world, you write a four part series with Jinyoung, then a three part series with me and Charli. Right after that, you completed Protector, and now you’re looking to follow that up as quickly as you can even though it’s only in the publication stages.”

Brian stepped around to face you, his face growing concerned. “Why don’t you slow down? Write something just for yourself.”

“I have. I wrote you into existence,” you reminded, and Brian slid his hands around your waist and tugged you closer. Placing your palms upon his chest, you gazed up at him lovingly. “I have to write something worth publishing.”

“Do you?”

“Huh?”

“Why not write something that the world will never see?” Brian offered and you chewed on your bottom lip in thought. “I think you’ve forgotten the joy of writing just for yourself, Miss Writer.”

The following morning, you sat at your desk deep in thought. Brian’s words had played over in your mind throughout the night and still were at the forefront of your mind now.

Did he think you had lost your personal enjoyment along the way as an author?

“Hey, that can’t be right,” you hummed, shaking your head before posing your index finger back up to your lips.

Had you?

The last time you had written something just for your own pure enjoyment was Destined. Sure, you had been excited by your ideas ever since, and laughed, cried, grown frustrated and been endlessly happy with the words you had crafted. But you were also contracted to write down those words. Since the third part of Destined, you had been signed under the publishing house you belonged to and had written consistently since. You hadn’t taken any time to write for yourself, aside from short stories here and there when you didn’t feel like working on a bigger story.

Even though you had enjoyed the journey thus far, it hadn’t been one you took alone.

“Maybe Brian’s right,” you said, blinking a couple of times before reaching into the top drawer of your desk for your external hard-drive. Glancing at the clock to see how much time you had left before Brian got home from running errands, you took in a deep breath, opening up your older fiction files.

Back here you were full of naivety and fresh ideas. The world was your oyster, as the saying went, and you had been hoarding many of them. As you scanned the title of projects you once hoped to write, you shook your head in amazement.

“There’s so many ideas here that I haven’t tried yet,” you breathed, stopping on one and clicking to expand the notes on it. “Wow, an enemies to lovers story.”

You continued to make your way through, finding an assortment of ideas. From fluff to angst, and all those in between, you had ample inspiration here to fill an entire year of stories.

“Should I indulge myself in writing these for a bit and come back to writing my next novel at a later date?” you wondered, your smile growing as your computer’s cursor hovered over an idea that piqued your interest.

“I’m back!” a voice called out and you spun around in your chair, leaping up and dashing into the arms of the man you loved. Brian chuckled. “Well, I missed you too!”

“You were right! Instead of looking for the best idea for my next story, I need to take some time off and write for me.”

“I was, huh?” he mused with satisfaction, cupping your face within his hands. “So what do you plan to write next?”

“I have so many ideas! There’s general domestic stories and a murder mystery, some periodic pieces about pilots and regency era based ideas. Of course, there’s a bunch of fluffy ideas, with a few royal au ones and even pirates! But you know, there’s one I really want to try first.”

“Which is?”

You grinned before poking his nose fondly. “You’ll just have to wait and find out what’s to come.”

_________________

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

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“Twinkle, twinkle, little star, So we'll know where you are -- Gleaming in the skies above, Lead me to the one who loves me...”

~“The Second Star to the Right (cover),” by Simone

x~x~x~x

HEY PETER PAN ANON! I MADE YOU SOMETHING!! 8D

Hahaha, yes! This is Peter-Pan!Orion and Wendy!Carewyn (Carewyndy?). No, I won’t be writing this AU before the Tangled AU at least (and yes, I should have that up hopefully by next week)...but I couldn’t resist doodling these and talking a bit about the daydreaming I did based on this concept. Orion’s ripped pants were kind of based on how the pants are ripped in the 2003 Peter Pan’s costume, but I just couldn’t resist giving him his canon fingerless armwarmers. (I see them being forest green just like his pants, though, while his tunic is a light tan.)

Basically I see eternally 12-1/2-year old Orion Amari taking a strong liking to 10-year-old Carewyn Cromwell when she comes to Neverland. Even though she does act a bit too grown-up sometimes, it’s largely because of how deeply she feels for other people -- she’s determined to protect others, whether from bullying or actual danger, and she hates the thought of anyone feeling alone. She actually is the only person who’s ever asked Orion if he was lonely, being the only child who was destined to never grow up. And as much as Orion will airily state that “to die would be an awfully big adventure,” he finds that it’s Carewyn who believes this most, for the idea of growing older doesn’t frighten her the way it does her grandfather, the man now called Captain Hook. If anything, what makes her saddest about leaving Neverland is not for her sake, but for Orion’s -- she, Jacob, Charlie, and Bill were all going home to London, along with a good chunk of Orion’s friends among the Lost Kids...and Carewyn hated the thought that she’d never see her friend Orion again. So she reminded Orion that she would always have her window open at night, if he ever wanted to come and visit, hear her read a story or two, or even just listen to her singing while she did her evening chores. Sensing Orion’s hesitance, she reassured him that she’d never forget him.

Orion proceeded to return to life in Neverland, embarking on those same old adventures that make the days blur and make it easy to forget things. Forgetting was part of Neverland’s magic -- even Bill had almost forgotten he had a new baby sister back in London, when he, Charlie, and Carewyn had been there with Orion and the Lost Kids. But, as Orion would often tell himself, adults forgot things in the other world too: they forgot the joys of childhood, they forgot the freedom and the simple pleasures and the bottomless daydreams. All of them, every last one of them, eventually forgot how to fly.

But perhaps because of Carewyn’s final promise, every time Orion thought of how easy it was to forget things in Neverland, and therefore how easy it was to forget things outside of it, Carewyn’s face and words always returned to his mind. And so, the memory of her conviction and caring never strayed too far from his mind...and with it, other thoughts would crop up too. How stable things had been, when Carewyn was around. How well she understood him and how easy it was to talk to her and trust in her. And it was then that Orion realized that he really, truly missed Carewyn. It was a feeling he’d never really experienced that deeply before, not even for the other children who had eventually returned home to their families. Even Bill and Charlie, who Orion likewise grew reasonably fond of, didn’t make him feel like his stomach was always empty, no matter how much food he ate -- like his heart was scraping at the inside of his chest like a hungry animal desperate to devour something outside its cage. And that feeling only intensified when his fairy guardian Merula would try to urge him to go challenge Torvus and the centaurs to a race or splash around with the mermaids, even when Orion wasn’t in the mood to do so.

Orion felt restless, unsure of quite what was wrong with him and not knowing how to explain his muddled thought process to McNully and his remaining Lost Kids. One day Orion was eventually persuaded by McNully to lead an expedition to find a lost chest of pirate treasure, and for a short while, the Boy Who Never Grew Up was simply able to enjoy pulling one over on his old enemy and sharing the loot with his gang. That changed, though, when Captain Hook crashed the party.

Orion and Hook traded as many blows as ever, throwing insults at each other like they always did -- but this day, Hook said one barbed phrase that stuck in Orion’s ear more than he ever would’ve admitted.

“Already forgotten my dear Winnie, I see. But I guess I can’t be surprised. After all, the only thing that can break through Neverland’s curse -- that thing that makes everyone forget...is love. And you -- ha -- you don’t know anything about that, do you, boy?”

Love. Yes. That was the thing that made Carewyn remember her lost brother and mother, even while she was a Lost Girl. That was the thing that had made Charlie remember his parents, even after he’d forgotten London altogether. That was the thing that made Bill remember his other siblings, once he remembered how his baby sister Ginny would always cry after her afternoon nap until he came home from his newspaper route and bounced her up and down for a minute or two. That was the thing that had made Jacob remember his little sister in London, even after he was kidnapped by Hook and commandeered into piracy. And, Orion realized, it was the thing that he missed most about Carewyn -- her ability to love more deeply than anyone else he had ever known...like a mother would, and yet like an equal...a companion, more than just someone to go on adventures with.

Orion tried to broach this topic with Merula, but the huffy little fairy put up her walls and stubbornly refused to let them down. Feelings were grown-up things, and Orion didn’t need grown-up things! Orion wanted to agree, but the feelings he felt were becoming heavy -- so heavy, in fact, that he found it harder for him to find his center, to think thoughts happy enough that he could fly to any height he wanted. He actually found himself hovering and floating more than flying...and this troubled him. It made him more anxious than he could remember ever being.

Then the thought struck him -- why didn’t he just go and visit Carewyn? She said he could, whenever he wanted. She could tell him some stories and sing some songs for him -- maybe she could even sew him a new pocket for his shirt! These thoughts perked Orion up a bit, and he decided to leave for London straightaway.

He hadn’t expected it to be so cold -- for you see, in Neverland, it’s every season all year ‘round, all except winter. It was a fact Carewyn had lamented, for winter was her favorite season. She loved the Christmas holidays and how everyone would gather around the fireplace with warm food together and sing Christmas songs and tell stories. It had actually sounded kind of nice to Orion, when she described it to him and the Lost Kids -- but on this day in London, Orion didn’t think the cold was so nice, nor the gray, dreary city itself. There were buildings that had been crushed and holes in cobblestone streets, made by bombs that had been dropped by German Zeppelins, and just about nobody raised their heads enough to look skyward. The adults prowling the streets were just as lacking of joy as Orion had always imagined them to be, yet it wasn’t due to stupid grown-up things like wearing a tie to work or paying bills. Instead there was exhaustion, sadness...pain. Orion hated these people’s wrinkles even more than the ones he’d see on the pirates’ faces, from dwelling on mindless things like how much treasure they had or what their daily duties were.

But none of that mattered, of course. What mattered was seeing Carewyn. But alas, when Orion arrived at the Weasleys’ house, it was still daytime...and the window to the room Carewyn, Bill, and Charlie once shared was locked.

Orion rattled at the window desperately, slapping the glass and pulling at its handles as he cried her name. All logic left his mind -- his breathing became raspier and weaker even as he shouted louder.

She had to be there -- she had to be there -- she couldn’t have forgotten -- she wouldn’t have forgotten -- she promised -- she promised she wouldn’t forget him -- love was what kept someone from forgetting -- Carewyn knew love better than anyone -- she loved her brother -- she loved the Weasleys -- she loved the Lost Kids and Torvus and the mermaids and the fairies -- she loved Orion -- didn’t she love -- ?

As Orion’s anxiety spiked, the magic of Merula’s fairy dust began to abandon him. He found himself becoming heavier. He tried to cling onto the windowsill, pulling at and smacking the window, but it wasn’t wide enough for him to hold onto while it was closed. Soon enough he found himself falling slowly, like someone drifting down to the bottom of a pool...and when he landed on the ground, he landed on his knees, shaking. He clasped his hands together, his eyes wide and hollow upon the frosty ground as wintry condensation fell from his panting lips.

He’d lost his happy thought. He’d lost it.

He tried to fly. He tried desperately to fly, only to fall and scrape his knees and hands. Never in his life had Orion Amari ever been so frightened, shuddering from head to toe in the freezing cold.

He shakily got to his bare feet and, barely knowing where he was going, he walked. He wandered aimlessly, his eyes glassing over as he gasped for air, searching every revolted and anxious face that he passed as the faces’ owners cringed at the state of his long hair, ripped clothes, and lack of shoes.

Orion wandered for what felt like hours, until at long last, as if by fate, he ended up not far away from a Church-funded school, which taught both elementary and higher-elementary-level students. One of those such students was a girl with a ginger braid and almond-shaped blue eyes, walking home with several classmates, including a black-haired girl with glasses carrying a bunch of books, a rather pretty blonde with pigtail braids, and a rather cowardly-looking boy with blond hair, brown eyes, and a very thick sweater and mittens over his Church-provided uniform. The ginger-haired girl herself was wrapped up in a rather thick old dark blue blanket she’d turned into a shawl after it got ripped and had been holding it tightly around herself when, all of a sudden, she heard her name being cried by a misty, and yet anxious voice.

“Carewyn! Carewyn...!”

One can only imagine what Carewyn’s school friends Rowan Khanna, Penny Haywood, and Ben Copper thought, seeing such a scrawny, ragamuffin street boy running toward their friend. Rowan actually tried to step in front of Carewyn as if to protect her, while Ben made as if to cling onto Carewyn’s arm in terror. But Carewyn herself, her eyes very wide upon the boy, immediately tore away from both Rowan and Ben and ran to Orion without a single shred of hesitation.

“Orion?!”

She barreled over, whipping the shawl off her shoulders and wrapping it around his instead.

“Orion, what are you doing here?! You’re going to catch a death of cold!”

Orion hadn’t been able to stop shaking for an instant, but her shouting his name, rushing to take care of him -- her remembering him -- it made his heart feel like a beast craving food again. Her concern wet his appetite. He wanted it. He wanted her caring. He wanted her love...

She was as tall as him. She’d been so tiny before...

“Carewyn...you know this boy?” asked Rowan, looking bewildered.

“Yes,” said Carewyn, glancing over her shoulder, “he’s a friend. Rowan, this is Orion. Orion, this is -- ”

“You’ve...grown older,” Orion’s absent mumble cut her off.

Carewyn fixed him with a faintly reproachful look. “I’m afraid that does happen, in the span of three years...”

Thirteen. She was thirteen. ...She was older than him.

Carewyn’s eyes welled up with concern as she looked Orion over. She turned to her friends quickly.

“...I’d better get him inside and warm...I’ll see you all tomorrow, okay?”

She quickly bid her friends goodbye, before wrapping an arm tightly around Orion’s shoulders as best she could, rubbing his arm through her shawl in an attempt to warm him.

“Orion, what were you thinking?” she whispered, her voice full of concern as her eyes stayed locked ahead at their path. “Coming here in broad daylight, in this cold...”

Orion had started to shake again, his hands clasping more tightly.

“Your window was shut,” he mumbled.

Carewyn looked very upset. “...My old window, you mean? The one I shared with Bill and Charlie? Oh, Orion, I don’t share a room with Bill and Charlie anymore -- I share with Ginny now. Girls’ room, you know. Charlie and Percy actually share that room now...Bill’s sharing a flat with several other boys, closer to the newspaper’s headquarters in the East End...”

Her eyes rippled with pain.

“...Ginny’s and my room doesn’t have a window,” she explained. “I’ve told Charlie and Percy to keep their window open for me, but...well, Percy’s grown up way too fast. He must have closed it to block out the air raid sirens last night and forgotten to reopen it...”

Orion didn’t understand half of what Carewyn was saying, but the tone she spoke with held such reassurance and remorse that it soothed the racing anxiety that had so paralyzed him. He closed his eyes as the adrenaline his anxiety had built up ebbed away, leaving him oddly drained and colder than ever. He was so out of it that he barely seemed to acknowledge that his head flopped down onto her shoulder.

“Orion?” said Carewyn, startled and worried.

But Orion merely inhaled and exhaled slowly. Her caring fed that beast in his chest. He wanted a bit more.

“Carewyn,” he murmured, “did...did you think of me?”

He felt Carewyn adjust her arm around him.

“Of course I did,” she said softly. “I told you I would never forget you.”

The tenseness in Orion’s clasped hands and face loosened its grasp. “...Because you love me.”

Carewyn looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed with confusion. “What?”

But Orion barely reacted -- as if he didn’t think what he’d said was the least bit weird.

“There’s only one thing that can prevent someone from forgetting...and that’s love. For once you love someone, your heart never really forgets them. Instead they become part of you...an indispensable piece...that would make you feel incomplete, if it was ever removed.”

Orion slowly opened his eyes, his lips spreading into a small, rather soft smile that made him look a bit more like his usual self.

“...It’s what helped you remember your brother and the Weasleys, while you were with me...and your brother remember you, while he was with Hook,” he said. “It’s something I know nothing about...but I know you know it very well.”

Carewyn considered him for a moment, before returning her gaze back to the road. Plenty of people passing by gave her and Orion the side-eye, but she didn’t care.

“I don’t know if I’d say you know nothing about it,” she said at last. “You remembered me just as much as I remembered you, did you not?”

Orion’s smile faded from his lips as his eyes widened ever-so-slightly. Then his expression slowly relaxed.

“...Perhaps...”

His black eyes trailed over her arm around his shoulders and her hand rubbing up and down his arm hesitantly. His arm beside her chest twitched slightly -- then, very, very tentatively, he tried to wrap his arm around her shoulders in return. It was a bit awkward, with the shawl wrapped around him...but once Carewyn sussed out what he was doing, she adjusted enough to give the shawl enough slack that he could successfully hold her in return. Once he had gotten his arm around her, he seemed oddly proud of himself, his smile spreading and his eyes closing again as he leaned into her, his head beside hers on her shoulder.

They stayed that way for several blocks, walking in silence and simply enjoying each others’ company. Orion felt his center of balance returning to him. It was like having this stable place, with his arms wrapped around Carewyn’s shoulders and hers around his, was the earth he needed under his feet to launch himself back up into the air. He felt like he might even be able to fly again at some point...maybe not yet, but soon. Time always moved more slowly in Neverland than in London anyhow, so no one would mind if he took his time...

“...Carewyn?”

“Hmm?”

“I...don’t know if I can make it back to Neverland,” he confessed.

Carewyn looked at him, her eyes once again flooding with concern.

“I fell, when I failed to open your window,” Orion explained. “I’ve only ever fallen like that once before...when...”

“...When Grandfather made you think unhappy thoughts,” Carewyn finished grimly. She turned away from him, facing the road again.

Orion nodded. His black eyes flickered across her face, even though she was no longer looking at him.

Hook had taunted him then that Carewyn had no reason to stay in Neverland -- that she preferred the thought of growing old and dying to staying with him -- that he could never meet her high standards. He’d taunted that one day, Orion would go back to find her window locked and barred -- a grown woman who’s forgotten all about him, about Neverland, about how to fly...who’s replaced all of it with adult things Orion could never understand. Ambition. Family. ...Husband.

Carewyn wasn’t an adult yet, but she certainly wasn’t a child anymore either. There was a practicality to her posture -- a steadiness and gravity to how she walked. There was a neatness and meticulousness in how she handled her appearance. And yet even so, her hands were still so warm and her eyes were still so soft...and the sincerity in the little wrinkles that creased her brow and eyes and kissed at the corners of her lips was just the same.

Carewyn raised her head in Orion’s direction, but her eyes couldn’t quite reach his. Instead they landed vaguely on his shoulder.

“...I never told you...Grandfather was wrong, did I?” she asked quietly.

Orion tilted his head. “...I suppose it depends on which thing he said that you’re thinking of. You did say you’d never forget me, or Neverland...or how to fly.”

“Yes,” said Carewyn, “but I didn’t say that he was wrong, that you’d never understand ambition or family. That’s definitely not true. Ambition isn’t just an adult thing -- you dream of never growing up, of never losing your freedom or your independence...your spirit. That’s a wonderful ambition. And you have a wonderful family too, in Neverland. The centaurs and mermaids -- Merula and the fairies -- the Lost Kids! You take care of them as if they were your family.”

Orion stared at her for a moment, his face very unreadable, but his black eyes rippling with a strange emotion. Then he curled his fingers into the puffy white sleeve of her shirt.

“...And...the last thing?” he asked softly. “‘Husband?’”

Carewyn frowned deeply. “Is marriage something you even want to understand?”

“No!” said Orion instantly, looking revolted. “No...but...well...”

He swallowed, his own gaze drifting away. “...If you grow up...you’ll eventually want one, won’t you?”

Carewyn cocked her brows coolly. “It’s possible. But honestly, marriage seems like a bit of a bother. I’ve had to answer to plenty of adults in my life: I’d hate to have to answer to one more by choice. Especially if it means I have to give up Jacob, my friends, and my dreams just to make him comfortable.”

She said this so huffily, and yet it comforted Orion more than he could ever properly express. His own chest seemed to lighten and he felt better able to breathe again. His eyes softened upon Carewyn’s face.

“...I see.”

The two finally reached the Weasley home again. Orion noticed the house across the street that Carewyn had once pointed out was hers and Jacob’s had been boarded up.

“It’ll get torn down soon,” said Carewyn, noticing Orion’s gaze. “The family that lived there had their house ransacked, just because they were German...”

Her eyes narrowed.

“...It’s disgusting, how they were treated,” she added to herself. “They were very nice to Jacob and me, when we first came home...”

“Where is your brother?” asked Orion.

Carewyn deflated.

“...The war front,” she said sadly. “He’d been saving up so we could move into our own place, but...well, the army needed soldiers, so both he and Mr. Weasley signed up. Mrs. Weasley let me stay here, so I wouldn’t have to struggle to find a place to stay myself.”

Orion felt something oddly like pity prickling at his chest. “You mean you’ve lost him again, after only just getting him back?”

Carewyn didn’t answer as she opened the door of the Weasley home and bustled him inside. Once the door was closed, she guided him over to the main room and into an armchair, wrapping several more blankets around him.

“Wait here,” she said. Her lips spread into a fuller smile. “I’ll make you some hot cocoa -- that’s sure to help you fly again.”

Orion felt his heart give a somersault.

“Do you remember?” he said very quickly, before she could leave the room. “...Do you remember how to fly?”

Carewyn beamed.

“Of course. All you need is faith and trust, and to have been brushed with fairy dust. Then you think happy, wonderful thoughts, and...”

She spread her arms, and -- amazingly -- her feet actually came up off the ground.

Orion’s black eyes widened. Then his mouth slowly spread into the fullest, brightest smile as he found himself coming up off the ground himself. He floated just below her, spreading both of his arms too so as to take her hands and hold them out on either side of them.

Even when the world was so miserable -- even when she had so much reason to forget...Carewyn still knew how to fly.

“You’re flying,” said Carewyn with a warm smile.

Orion’s eyes sparkled as he guided her around in a circle, just as he had when they danced with the fairies. “I found a happy thought.”

“Did you? What is it?”

“A person whose company makes you feel stronger, when you’re at your worst.”

Carewyn smiled. “I believe that’s what’s called a ‘friend,’ Orion Amari.”

Orion’s midnight-black eyes gleamed.

Yes. A friend. Not just someone to go on adventures with, or look after, or play make-believe with, or give direction -- but someone to be your shoulder to lean on. To listen, to comfort...to love. That was a friend. As much as he cherished the Lost Kids, he was the one who had found them -- they answered to him, seeing him as leader, since there was supposedly no one else who could.

This friend...he wanted this friend by his side forever. “Forever,” as Carewyn had once reminded him, was an awfully long time -- but he didn’t hesitate in this thought at all.

And so, not long after, the Boy Who Never Grew Up returned to Neverland. He passed his mantle of leadership onto Lost Boy McNully, said a quick goodbye to all of the members of his Neverland family...and decided to leave for good. Even his short trip back to the Second Star to the Right took up a few weeks, but when he returned to London, his friend was waiting for him. And Orion and Carewyn grew up together, as close of friends as teenagers and later adults as they were as children. Orion grew more than just a fraction of an inch -- he soon towered a good head over Carewyn once more. He even grew a mustache, and a beard too! And yet even with this, it was never beneath his dignity to climb a tree, nor to engage in food fights, nor to read adventure books about pirates, nor to crow like a rooster upon winning a game. No matter how much his other classmates at school would frown, and no matter how much the adults would disdain and scold him, Orion never cared -- and neither did Carewyn, or Bill or Charlie, or any of the other friends he made over the years.

So you see, even if Orion grew older, he never truly grew up...for all children grow up, except one. And one day -- many, many years down the road from when Orion first made the choice to stay -- he looked at Carewyn and realized that his first and dearest friend had become something even more precious: a friend he wished to love, cherish, and live beside far longer than forever. A friend he would call “lover.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #peter pan au #my art #my writing #orion amari #carewyn cromwell #damn it I didn't mean this to be so long but I just couldn't stop XD #my two favorite peter pan adaptations are peter pan (2003) and hook so that DEFINITELY influenced this #I'm sorry but I think peter finding a reason to grow up is sweet #I know there's the whole fan interpretation of peter guiding dead children to the afterlife and all but...#well we see kids leave neverland not just the darlings but the lost boys #and honestly hook is right in the 2003 version -- peter IS a tragedy as he is!#in the end he'll always end up alone #so really eventually every child *should* grow up...it's a scary thing but something that must be faced anyway #because through that hardship one can find even more fulfilling happiness #because it's happiness that's fought for #that's my two cents anyway XD;#geez orion looks so different without his facial hair LOL

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kiragecko · 3 years

Text

Reviews of Christian Allegorical FANTASY

Note: Christianity is a broad, varied thing. I can only write from my perspective, and it’s hard to describe that perspective to an international audience. Words have different meanings in different countries. But this is what I think about the various Christian allegorical fiction I’ve read, measured by writing quality, allegorical quality, and ability to make me happy. Your perspective may vary.

Chronicles of Narnia, by C.S. Lewis –

Writing: Y’all know this guy is good.

Allegory: Shockingly strong for something with such mass appeal. And deeper than you thought as a kid. Never sidelines the story, because he’s integrated the two so well.

Problems: So, you don’t notice the colonialism, racism, classism, sexism, and mild ableism as a kid. Dude was a white British man during the early and mid 1900s. He does not entirely rise above his culture. Some of the dehumanization of species/cultures that are obvious stand-ins for real world cultures horrified me during my latest reread. And it’s subtle enough that it’s hard to point out to kids.

Story: The story is great. I’ve read ‘The Horse And His Boy’ so many times that my papa’s copy is held together with tape. He wouldn’t let me take them when I moved out. Had to buy my own. It was tragic.

The Archives of Anthropos, by John White –

Writing: Reminds me of Terry Brooks, a little. In that the writing is servicable, and some of the fantasy is pretty derivative, but it’s definitely not bad. The roots are strong, but he didn’t have enough experience to cut all the weaker bits and ruthlessly rewrite.

Allegory: Solid. Not tacked on, not super deep. Really good for a Narnia imitation.

Problems: Not sure, haven’t reread in a while. Pika didn’t like a battle near the beginning, so we had to stop.

Story: It’s set in Winnipeg!!! Unashamed about being heavily inspired by Narnia, this series is a delight. Not as good as it’s inspiration, of course, but it feels like a heartfelt fan letter. Some of the ideas are REALLY cool. This series is worth reading, you guys! Especially the first 2 books.

The Circle (Black, Red, and White), by Ted Dekker –

Writing: Readable. Slick. Masculine.

Allegory: Lacked both the desired subtly and the necessary depth. Felt like it was written for fantasy fans that felt guilty about reading secular books, rather than to say something important.

Story: Don’t like Narnia-esque books aimed at adults. Allegories shouldn’t be trying to be cool. Not a fan. (But please note that these opinions were formed 15-20 years ago. I may have been missing something.)

The Space Trilogy, by C.S. Lewis –

Writing: Again, this is C.S. Lewis. He’s good at writing.

Allegory: A little weird, for me. But I struggle with allegory for adults. One of the books is Adam and Eve on Venus, with original sin working slightly differently? I don’t get it.

Problems: My problem is that I don’t like it! Sometimes it reads like Douglas Adams, but not funny. That makes no sense!

Story: Don’t like Narnia-esque books aimed at adults, even if they’re written by the authour of Narnia. This is Sci-Fi. There is romance. Really not for me.

The Story of the Other Wise Man, by Henry Van Dyke –

Writing: Good, if I remember correctly. Feels dated and classic, like it should be from Victorian times. (I just checked, it’s from 1895.)

Allegory: Like most morality from more than a century ago, it reads a bit weird. Just, life was a lot harsher then. Nice clear simple message, just taught from a mindset I don’t totally understand.

Story: As a kid, this one made me SAD! He loses everything and feels like a failure! Does have a good message, teaching is sound, good storytelling, but it wasn’t fun enough to make the lesson stick.

Left Behind, by Tim Lahaye and Jerry B. Jenkins -

Writing: I remember the writing being fine. They read like thrillers, which isn’t a bad thing. I’ve enjoyed some thrillers.

Allegory: Revelations is ALREADY an allegory. This is just an uninspired expansion.

Problems: Everything.

Story: I hate apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic stories. This series wasn’t written by someone who was bothered by the suffering of everyone who made ‘wrong’ choices, and that makes it hollow and awful. ‘We’re so good and smart and better than other people!’ NO. That is not Christianity.

A Wrinkle In Time, by Madeleine L’Engle –

I still don’t get how this series is Christian?? Really freaked me out as a kid. Had quite a few nightmares.

After a little research, it turns out that she has a very different understanding of Christianity then me. You’ll have to get a review from someone who can see from that perspective.

Duncton Wood, by William Horwood –

Writing: Extremely good. Heavy and beautiful. Kept me reading as I got more and more weirded out.

Allegory: Not a Christian allegory. And yet Christian enough, in a weird Anglican(??) way, to make it difficult to interpret as non-Christian. There’s a Jesus figure who gets martyred. There are schisms. It’s weird.

Problems: Almost certainly shouldn’t be on this list, yet I spent half an hour searching for it because I was so sure it was supposed to be on this list.

Story: Moles and their experiences with religion. There are similarities to Watership Down and Redwall, Narnia and Lord of the Rings. (The last mostly in language/writing style). If it wasn’t so close to Christian allegory as to be in the uncanny valley, I would have loved it! As it is, I would have prefered LESS Christ.

Christian ALLEGORICAL Fantasy

The Pilgrim’s Progress, by Paul Bunyan –

Writing: (Note: I’ve only read versions rewritten for kids. At least one was heavily abridged.) This was written in 1678. That is a LONG time ago. The worldview is really different from ours. Also, the versions I read were not inspired updates.

Allegory: This was written only 100 years after the Protestant Reformation. Punishments are incredibly disproportionate. Rich people have completely different rules than the poor, and this is seen as Godly. It’s been over 20 years since I read this book, and I don’t remember much, but it’s a weird read if you’re expecting modern concepts of right and wrong.

Story: Fascinating! Did not enjoy. Might as an adult. Reading an allegory that you can’t relate to at all is a weird experience.

Hind’s Feet On High Places, by Hannah Hunnard -

Writing: (Note: I’ve only read the version rewritten for kids.) Writing is really good.

Allegory: Names that are just English words have always annoyed me. Other than that pet peeve, this is extremely good. Straight-forward enough to be read to a 7 year old, complex enough for me to reference when I’m trying to describe my experiences to my husband. Solid Christianity, with enough hard stuff to challenge you, while still managing to be fun.

Problems: We’ve got some nasty ableism baked into the setting (disability as metaphor for sin and bondage), and the images are painfully white.

Story: I love this book! This is a Pilgrim’s Progress that actually matches with Christianity as I understand it. If you’re looking for a fun fantasy with a good message, this isn’t it. If you’re looking for a distillation of Christianity, told as a story because that makes it more accessible – this is a good one.

The Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri –

Haven’t read it.

Tales of the Kingdom, by David and Karen Mains -

Writing: The first collection of stories is really strong. The next 2 get weaker. Short stories read differently than novels, and the writing style works well for that format.

Allegory: TOO strong. Some of the stories still make me mad to think about, because the messages are HARD. (Also, names that are just English words still annoy me, no matter now much I love the series.)

Problems: Ableism – true selves don’t have disabilities and are always beautiful. Art is not 100% white, but all the most beautiful people seem to be. And I love lizards far too much to handle the dragon story.

Story: These stories mean a lot to me. They are very much not something a non-believer is going to enjoy. They tend to focus on the parts of Christianity that are hard, uncomfortable, and/or different from mainstream culture. They also stick with you for decades. Narnia is my favourite series on this list to read, but Tales of the Kingdom might be the best for exploring your faith. Highly, highly recommend.

#religion #christianity #gecko recs stuff #people write things #these were the ones I could think of #anyone else know good allegories #(preferably aimed at kids but not tiny kids)#?

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noneatnonedotcom · 4 years

Note

RWBY Earlier; Ruby is training at Beacon Academy and encounters a group of Huntsmen who learn about her relationship with Jaune and mock her for it. Ruby takes exception to that and gives them a lesson in manners.

here’s what I came up with for this. if you wanna try writing for it as well feel free. I’m always curious to see what other people do with the same premise. everyone always has their own ideas it’s fascinating.

either way, I hope you like it RWBY Earlier

Chapter 2

The Lady Arc

Ruby was not so delicate a maiden that she didn’t know the truth of war. She might have specialized in fighting Grimm but she was by no means naive about what jaune did as a knight of the realm. She knew that when given the opportunity even normal men would become monsters and she knew that fighting those monsters ran the risk of becoming one of them.

Grimm were far easier to deal with.

So when jaune had come home with that bone-tired look on his face she had cared for her husband (and boy was calling him that still something that made her feel giddy). All in all, they had grown closer for it. And ruby had assured him that she would take no other than him. She loved him and had yang been around still she was sure her older sister would agree with her.

She did hope yang got back soon, her job as spring maiden had Oswald keeping her in minstrel. Which if you asked her was kinda stupid, why not have the spring maiden in vale so if something happened they had to go all the way to anima. It would only give them more time.

A paranoid part of her thought that perhaps it was Oswald trying to isolate her so she was more likely to leave her husband. The other part knew that was giving the old man far too much credit. In reality, she and her sister represented his best set of new agents. And that meant they were constantly busy

Jaune would probably help too but she and Oswald both knew that jaune wouldn’t follow orders from a man who had destroyed jaune’s way of life and had nearly left his family destitute after the great war. His ideals of democracy were great and all but ruby wasn’t really sold on the concept. Still, she and her sister were heroes just like their mother before them. She would fight Salem and her minions to the end.

Well as soon as both she and yang graduated that was. In truth, yang was being used as a diplomat to minstral purely because of her connection to lady Branwen. Even if the nobility was gone, the people remembered. Though just where the former lady had gone to after her family was betrayed by the last king of Vale was a mystery. Same with her uncle qrow.

She missed them both dearly. But at least her mother was able to raise both her and yang together. She felt confidant that they would both be home soon from their mission.

Now if only she could get Oswald and his other agents to stop hating jaune.

Her husband hated himself enough for all of them.

It was actually a surprise though not much of one that the butcher of Anima wasn’t the only title jaune had gained from his expedition. The savior of humanity was a far more popular one. Second only to his true moniker

Sir. Jaune The Just

His actions in defeating the monsters of the faunas rights rebellions and then his actions to protect Menagerie when Atlas threatened to invade had earned him quite a bit of respect. Though Vale remained firmly against him and she had the good headmaster to thank for that.

She found it funny, everyone but the country he fought for respected jaune. But jaune was so much a patriot that he hated himself. He truly was a son of Vale.

Ruby shook the morbid thought away with a rueful smile. Jaune would recover, he was already bouncing back with only a few days of them having been back together. And his knights still loved him. In time the people of vale would love him as well and be able to see that his actions while not right morally were necessary.

Her optimism was shattered with a call of “hey it’s the butcher’s whore! Done sucking the cock of that monster you call your man? Or maybe you came to see what a real man can do and not some coward who preys on the weak” shouted the former lordling Winchester.

She found it somewhat ironic that the man was disparaging jaune for his actions when he himself had owned slaves not ten years ago before the practice was well and truly outlawed. Oh certainly the family might argue that they were former criminals indentured to serve but that was hollow reasoning when they only took pretty looking faunas women.

She did as she had always done and simply ignored the idiots that made up his team. Yang would have probably beaten them up. And her mom probably would have destroyed them politically but she had better things to do than waste her time. Weiss was waiting for her and they both had classes to get to.

“Walking away huh? Hey, ruby? How’s old jauney boy holding up anyways? It’s a lot harder to do anything without an army backing you up huh? I bet the coward is probably hiding back in his room crying for his little wifey to come and hold him” she truly tried to ignore the cackling of the idiots. And if Weiss asked she’d explain that she didn’t intend on being late.

But jaune would do far worse to them if he heard. It was best to settle up debts as soon as possible. She loved her husband but the man was overzealous about protecting her and her honor at times.

So that’s why when she deployed her war scythe all she did was smile.

Even as she launched Sky away with a single swing she smiled.

Even as she took a single step back before cleaving clean through Cardin’s armor with her counter strike she smiled.

And even as she chased the other two idiots down and made them bleed she smiled

Jaune really was such a sweetheart.

Weiss looked at the slightly bloody ruby with a sigh and a smile “they’re not dead, are they? It’s bad enough we might be late for class but murder will be even harder to explain”

Ruby shook her head “no they’re fine. terrified, but fine.”

Weiss smiled politely “you would think they’d learn by now that angering a prodigy at combat is nearly as bad as angering jaune”

Ruby leaned over and mock whispered “truth be told i just think Cardin’s jealous”

Weiss raised an eyebrow “I had heard that his father had put forth a bride price for you but…”

Ruby shook her head “not of Jaune silly! Of Me!”

Weiss broke out laughing “ah I see, so he’s upset you got jaune for yourself”

Ruby nodded “jaune’s a pretty great husband, but honestly the fact that Cardin spends every waking moment thinking about him is the reason why it just wouldn’t work out.”

They walked in silence for a while before Weiss spoke up “so what’s the real reason you went so far?”

Ruby thought for a moment “you know why Cardin spends so much time thinking about jaune? Because he’s terrified of him. From a young age, jaune’s always been more powerful than Cardin. In politics, in economics, in prestige, and in charisma. The Arc family and jaune, in particular, have always been the one thing that his family didn’t dare act against.” she stopped in front of the statue to jaune’s father, the best friend of the last king of vale who had died protecting his king. “Up until now, Cardin had been able to say that he was at least physically stronger and better at combat then Cardin. Jaune’s victory proved that wrong. And the fact that he’s a hero in other continents, basically everywhere but Vale and Vacuo, it got to him.”

Weiss nodded “that doesn’t answer my question though, why did you go so far against them?” she reached out and hugged ruby “tell me the truth please”

Ruby tried to hold back tears but eventually, the dam broke “everything being said by those idiots is the things jaune says about himself” she hugged Weiss to her as hard as she could “AND IT’S NOT FAIR, JAUNE DID WHAT HE HAD TO! HE’S NOT A MONSTER WEISS AND I HATE THAT I CAN’T CONVINCE HIM OF THAT.” she fell to her knees and sobbed into her friend’s shoulder “Why should he suffer! He only did what they asked him to! The council sent him Oswald sent him! But they throw him away the second he does something that might look bad to their voters and those idiots who’ve never fought a day in their lives! So why Weiss Why my jaune!”

Weiss held her, ruby knew she didn’t have the answers but this wasn’t about answers this was about getting it out. And ruby had needed this. She hated that jaune was suffering and she couldn’t do anything to help. Some hero she was if she couldn’t even save her husband. And she cried for a while at the injustice of it clinging to Weiss like a lifeline.

Eventually, she calmed down, and still, Weiss held her in the quiet of the courtyard. Ruby sniffed bringing her head up “we’re definitely late for class”

“Those old fossils can stuff it, you’re more important”

Something about the Lady of White saying it made it funny to ruby and she laughed as her friend held her.

Not too far from where the two girls had their moment Ozma was left to ponder something. He found he couldn’t look at the statue of his old friend. Julius Arc was the previous wielder of Croceia Mors. and was the man who had died protecting him in his previous life as the last king of Vale. showing more loyalty and kindness to him than he’d experienced in all his lives.

And now he had cast away his son without even asking his side of the story.

“Have I truly fallen so far, old friend? Am I truly such a monster?” there was no response but Ozma couldn’t help but feel he’d lost the respect of the brave knight.

#lancaster #bssaz97 #lacaster rwby #ruby rose #Weiss #weiss schnee #rwby #rwby au

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darkpoisonouslove · 3 years

Text

Until Color

Summary: An encounter with the most dangerous creature of all bled color into Faragonda’s world. Now temptation calls her away from the limited existence of an angel. Is there a choice between goodness and happiness or are things not at all the way an angel perceives them?

I wrote this about a month ago and I thought it would be on time for Femslash February. Hehe! Funny, funny. My brain vetoed that so it only comes now. The first three sentences are a prompt I got from tumblr and saw lying around in my notes. I thought of subverting every damn concept in them, though. Enjoy this torrid love affair!

"Mine," the siren murmured, dragging her lover into the ocean and ever deeper.

That was the day the angels learned their own could be tempted. Tempted and devoured like any other creature the sirens got their claws into. That was the day the full story got thrown down in the dark depths of the sirens' minds for only them to remember it once heaven turned away from the two writing it and history never bothered to even learn their names.

"Are you sure you want to come down with me?" Griffin didn't offer a hand along with the words to let Faragonda relax in the undisturbed waves around them. She couldn't have taken it when she knew what came flooding in with the touch of the siren's skin. She'd seen enough of it.

She nodded before looking up to the sky, more to make sure it wasn't descending upon her to snatch her out of the ocean and keep her suspended in a cold trap midair rather than to catch a last glimpse of it. It looked just like the sea. Colorless. Just like Griffin. All the difference came from the siren swimming in the excited waters while the weightless mass above remained silent and unmoved.

"You're sure no one will suffer from my choice?" Her insides lurched in all possible directions as if to rip themselves apart at the idea.

"I am sure all of the angels you left behind won't be pleased," Griffin's lips curled in the shape of a fishhook to pierce through her willingness to be the bait for the rest of her kind to follow her downfall, "but since angels can't suffer..." Griffin drove a finger through her own hair brutally but the only drops of water on her skin still carried just the salt of the sea. "You can't feel much at all, can you?"

"No humans will be sacrificed in this, you promised." The calmness of her voice was like bile bubbling up from inside her but nothing came out. Was there even anything inside her or was she hollow? Yet another question without answer when she couldn't let herself ask the creature in front of her. She'd already asked enough of her.

Griffin rolled her eyes, a huff falling from her lips to steer the water around them. "There's only one soul I can give you."

The sweetness of her voice lured Faragonda closer to taste it from her lips unlike all the fruit the flavor of which was lost on her tongue in her ethereal nature. Sirens didn't have that problem but she'd seen Griffin turn erratic at the smell of blood at the other end of the ocean.

"Mine," the word dripped more power than that of the sea from all the defiance packed into the meaning of it being uttered. "Follow me."

The waves swirled around them into a funnel to hide them from the world above and open a passage to the depths. Faragonda was caught in the water pressing against her in a way her own magic never touched her when she used it to help others. Her wings fluttered weakly like a folded leaf twirled by a hurricane and she felt no lighter. No heavier either. Always the same. Her old self.

She let her imagination run free further than she could reach into the abyss she'd avoided despite her immunity to most of its threats. With no drowning soul to rescue there was only colorless vastness in her sight to tint in the only blue she'd ever seen at the brush of Griffin's hand against hers. It had been a moment that had never died, her immortality along with Griffin's taking them through centuries at an arm's length. She didn't know the precise amount of time for it to be revealed to her if she opened her mouth and asked Griffin. Just the thought of the action caused pain deep inside her and not in her jaw with her limited knowledge of the world and her limited feelings on the paradox Griffin was.

She'd plunged in the ocean after the screams of a drowning man only to be hit with silence on the way there. She'd been late. She'd barely had the words, or the feelings, for the unprecedented occurrence. That had been before she'd seen the siren.

No human carried themselves like that in the water despite the lack of differences Faragonda's eyes could spot in the forms of the two species. The fast pace and unmistakable intent in the shape approaching her had gripped her mind and body with opposing impulses. The heavens had hissed in her head to remove herself from danger's path but the calm waters around had lulled her reflexes to sleep as she'd watched the familiar body of an unfamiliar but infamous creature close in on her. Just as colorless as all the rest of existence to raise no alarm. Until she'd opened her mouth to see Faragonda bolting towards the surface, her wings struggling against the density of the foreign realm.

The siren hadn't caught her but she'd caught a feel of her hand, the warmth of skin ripping through her like fire in a way it never did with humans through whom her fingers almost passed. Color had bled in to plunge her world in blue–like she'd heard people call the sea–as she'd shot out of the water. And underneath her – two eyes in faint gold–the color of a dying sunset–and a whiff of the purple Griffin's hair was woven from. Wisteria.

She'd crossed a line when she'd lingered behind after her job had been done, the powder from her wings already having healed the stab wound gaping in the wholeness of the body in front of her. The color had risen in her mind again stinging her eyes with the inability to see it and she'd let it wash the blood out of the head of the man she'd helped and drown out any other thought. He'd walked for miles until he'd found the answer to the impulse she'd infected him with. A tree with blossoms still appearing colorless to her but the shape of which had seared into her mind for her to color them in the shade she remembered every time she saw them. Or Griffin. Wisteria. The name of her ache.

It had been at first, when she'd blamed the siren for planting temptation in her heart. Until she'd touched her again and more color had bled in – an angry sun and dark amethyst. Griffin wasn't the source of the yearning in the center of her being. It was the ability to see colors that she didn't have, the nature of being something other than an angel that wasn't hers to have. Griffin was the solution. And the betrayal to her self and all her kind was all hers.

They reached a bottom that was supposed to be dark but to her was all the same. To any angel it would be if they dared enter the sirens' domain. It was almost an instinct–much like rushing to a suffering soul they couldn't avoid hearing scream for help–to evade sirens. Saving drowning people was done with swiftness and caution – not just for the person, but also for minimizing the chances of contact. The chances of a siren's voice latching on to them like a trap springing.

"After the kiss is over, we'll both be human," Griffin explained, her voice as alluring as it'd been the first time and during any other interaction, normal. Faragonda couldn't help the pull of the knowledge Griffin shared freely. And to think a kiss held such power. "We won't be able to breathe underwater and I'll have to get us back to the surface as soon as possible. You have to hold on all the way through. Especially at the end. Understand?"

Faragonda nodded, her lips moving of their own will. "Why me?" Was she after Griffin's voice or her own? They had both agreed to sacrifice everything they were so why stall now? "Was it because I am the only angel you could tempt down here?"

Griffin looked at her with emotion she couldn't decipher when all she saw were the contours of it, not the colors and intricacies. "I haven't done a thing to tempt you. I couldn't." The words came out forceful, like they always did when Faragonda asked questions about the world. Yet, Griffin answered them anyway. She was the only one who did. "Sirens can't tempt angels. We don't have that kind of power."

The wings fluttered on Faragonda's back like an angry wasp's in demand of an explanation. Not from Griffin, but Griffin was the only one that would give it to her. If it were all lies, heaven sure was putting her to the test. She couldn't blame herself for falling.

"In the beginning of the world there were no angels or sirens," Griffin filled the void her silence had carved in the water around them. "There were just people and some of them were blessed with magic by the Great Dragon. There were different kinda of magic users but the most prominent one were fairies. Their fairy dust could heal wounds and abolish darkness." Like the powder of her wings.

She'd heard fairies were the human equivalent of angels. They had magic and wings and while their fairy dust was a weaker version of her powder, they were tangible beings. They could touch and see in color, and be seen, the warmth of a smile not unfamiliar to them just like the warmth of a hand. Of happiness.

"Then the fairies rebelled against the exploitation of their abilities to cleanse everyone's souls from darkness while people put little to no effort in doing it for themselves. Their fairy dust had limits. It was bound to their life force and they had only so much of it." An unfamiliar concept when her powder was as plentiful as the colorless horizon in front of her was vast every time she looked at the world. "Seven fairies who became known as the Ancestral Fairies gathered resources and magic to create a safe haven for all fairies like them who had had enough of being exploited."

"Did they make it?" It was her own voice she was looking for. To make sure she hadn't lost it. Hadn't had it stolen by just a story of the pain and horror of what had transpired... and lived in Griffin's mind.

"They were captured," Griffin's voice didn't tempt but burned now – through her eyes as if to burn the images in them. "And so were all of their followers, to be brought to a place called Light Rock where the darkness was drained out of them via the shine of the Water Stars to leave behind only the bright flames of the Dragon Fire. Their essence was reduced until they lost their tangibility and any sight as they themselves were made of light."

Faragonda clenched her eyes shut. "Angels." They'd lost their ability to cry as well. To feel anything but positive emotions. But how are you to tell you're happy when that's all you've ever been? To her it was all the same – every day and every feeling. Until the yearning for wisteria had exploded in her to leave her aching.

"The Water Stars were obscured in darkness and cast away into the ocean they'd created." The harshness of the words stood out even more in contrast with Griffin's melodic voice making Faragonda look to make sure it hadn't cut her in half. "As if they weren't the opposite of the Dragon Fire in power and element. They shed the darkness for it to spread over the bottom of the ocean that had once been lit by the stars in the sky and make it impossible to see in the deep instead. That was where the sirens were born from the stardust of the Water Stars mixing with the darkness." Griffin blinked as if the abyss staring right at her had won. "The colors we see are so intense. They stab through our minds and burrow themselves there to never be washed away. So do smells and tastes, touch, all sorts of information we can never forget. We hold it inside our minds like the darkness of space holds the stars and the planets, and all the life on them."

Her questions. They reminded Griffin of the vessel she'd been made. "What about sounds?" She had to know. She couldn't stay blind anymore.

"Sounds are the worst," Griffin's voice trembled like a string pulled too hard and wailing for mercy. Faragonda had always heard similar cries from musical instruments and nature – not human souls but touched by them and left with more than just fingerprints smudged over them. She was there to listen at least if not offer the power to grant the plea. "Sounds always remind us of our own screams that everyone not only ignores but calls beautiful."

No!

"Hypnotizing even."

She couldn't have missed it.

"Tempting."

"Your song." How had she not heard it? Had she been so wrapped up in herself that she'd missed the suffering of another soul? Had she gone rogue because she'd always been a bad angel? "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Sorry is no good coming from an angel." Griffin swallowed as if the words were harder to say than to hear. "Tell me again when you're no longer one."

Faragonda nodded. The first promise she was giving. It dug inside her mind like no blessing had ever stayed with her. She always forgot the faces, never even knew the lives she saved. This time she knew the colors of the future she breathed life into.

"Siren voices don't work on angels because the species used to be one. Sirens were the darkness of the soul of which angels were the light. Light that was forced to shine. It will never hear the cries of the darkness it was made to obliterate." Yet, the words were coming out in a downpour now. "That's why sirens sing to humans. We couldn't leave the depths of the ocean but even the darkness pierces our perception with excessive details and the blood of killed fish makes us sick. Ships are a moving hell bustling with life that offers a chance at escape."

Griffin's eyes were looking through her and for the first time it hurt in a different way. It hurt that she couldn't block the pain from clouding Griffin's gaze.

"When we touch someone, they feel what we feel, and when we kiss them, all our feelings and the sensations we experience pass into them."

Bright blue. Deep gold and dripping purple. A warm hand. Salt in the air making its way down her lungs. Griffin's life had flown in her and she'd been jealous. Now all she wanted was to give her some of her calm.

"Humans provide but a brief relief as they're already a mix of light and darkness and don't live nearly as long as we do. The only way to complete the process is for an angel to mix their light with a siren's darkness."

A kiss. Soft lips. Warm lips. Red she hadn't seen and couldn't imagine. A taste of fullness. A taste of peace. A promise to keep.

"Siren's don't go after angels, though," Griffin wasn't finished unburdening her heart yet. "Humans jump off of ships lured by the bountifulness our voices let them touch themselves to. But angels are too pure. All an angel cares about is goodness and a siren has none of that, only the self-serving interest of relief, peace, calmness. You can't hear our song so no siren bothers luring what is out of reach to break their own heart." Griffin looked down at her, a deep crease running through her forehead like a crack.

Sinking? She was sinking. Another thing an angel couldn't do. She had to be the worst of them and gold bled into the thought to elicit a smile. "Will you try it for me?" her wings shuddered as she forced them to line her up with Griffin once again. "Maybe we were meant to meet if you never tried to lure me closer." It wasn't that she hadn't heard her. Griffin had never sang. "Maybe I can hear you."

Griffin looked right into her this time carving deeper than Faragonda had ever managed to reach inside herself. Carving through something inside her. She had to be. Otherwise, how could she feel the path of Griffin's gaze in her being?

Whatever was filling out the hollowness inside her she'd feared was enough for Griffin. She opened her mouth and what came out of there was less a song and more a single sound of bubbling intensity. There was so much of it, in it, that Faragonda could drown in it herself as it filled her up to overflowing, to sensation, to... pain. There was a sharp pulsing inside her caught in the rhythm of Griffin's anguish. Perhaps not a heart–not in the traditional sense–but she wasn't empty. She wasn't cold. She could feel for someone else.

Griffin's mouth hung open even as the sound died. "You can hear it." No question. Just rapid blinking. Tears, from a siren. Impact of a positive emotion slicing through all of her pain.

"Do you know why I looked for you?" No pause for thinking. "Not because of all the things I could see and feel with you." A temptation like none before but she could have resisted if it came from outside. Just some colors she would've gotten used to the same way she no longer noticed her colorless existence. Smells and tastes she would've familiarized herself with until they only ever evoked memories inside her instead of creating new ones. Feelings as constant in duration and content that she would've confused them with her own after a certain point. But it had been Griffin's outside world that had resonated with her inner one to bring it to life. "You never told me what I could and couldn't do." It was the first time the words formed in front of her eyes without her mind sweeping them away like dust before she could say them. She'd become a complementary part–not a missing one, for any other siren could give her what Griffin could, yet, she had been the only one who had approached her–and together they'd done the impossible. An angel hurting and a siren crying.

"I was always close by when you were at sea or near the shore," the huskier sound of Griffin's voice stabbed her with the rawness of the words, of speaking at all after their miracle had cut through who they were down to the bone. "Not because of the limited touches we shared. I could get more relief from a human drowned in my kiss." All those humans Faragonda hadn't saved in her fear of corruption as temptation had lingered under her skin long after Griffin had been out of reach. "I hadn't had many close encounters with angels before–you're all conditioned to run from sirens–but you were different. A good soul instead of a good angel."

What did Griffin know of goodness as she killed for a drop of relief that only left her yearning for more? "I've thrown away everything that makes an angel."

"Exactly!" Griffin grabbed fistfuls of the water around them in her fieriness. "You're not just good because it is all you can be. There's at least a touch of darkness inside you, a free will, but your first thought is always protecting people."

People. She'd be a human but how much could she do for them?

"Trust me, they'll be safer with a siren out of the way," Griffin said as if reading her thoughts. Unless they were written over her–still impossible to read in her own colorlessness–then Griffin understood. She had good in her, too. "And you can still help even if you do it through other means. We both can."

"Kiss me."

The siren's lips on hers were starved for the contact as if she was the one who couldn't taste and her fervor only grew as her perception flowed into Faragonda. There was the salt again, already familiar but much stronger now, almost burning her taste buds after the drought they'd been subjected to. The warmth of Griffin's body pressed into her sent shivers swimming over her spine like a school of fish making the water tingle as it splashed over her skin, but that was the heat spilling over her. Purple imbued her vision–violet, the word popping into her mind from another flow she'd almost missed–as Griffin's hair was the first thing she saw sprawling around like the threads of a net.

She ran a hand through it to absorb the intense shade while the siren's–was she still clinging to her previous self?–eyes were closed. The color of her own skin caught her eye as it grew richer and in her wonder she tugged on the purple strands. A bursting moan flooded her senses to break through her fascination with the process but Griffin's grip on her tightened. Her tongue was more insistent in Faragonda's mouth to explore every corner of it.

A pleasant heaviness set inside her as her heart pounded in her ears overshadowing the gentle whimpers leaving Griffin's throat. They were weaker in volume but grew steady in consistency as Griffin's skin glowed with blinding lightness. A sight to die for had Faragonda gotten to see the gold of her eyes as well. But without it the burning in her lungs unsettled the magical atmosphere to send her kicking her feet, her wings not responding.

Her fingers dug into Griffin's shoulders to bruising but she didn't let go until they were swimming towards the light above. All the blue flooding her vision relaxed her grip but she held on. She wasn't letting go of Griffin unless she asked her to. She herself had no more questions for... the other woman.

They were human. The stinging in her lungs as the first gulps of breath pierced through them when the liplock broke and the vibrant colors she was squinting at told her that much. But there was more. There was a breeze on her face and water drops sliding down her skin, cold and warmth enveloping her from the water and Griffin, wet hair sticking to her back and swollen lips to scream of the kiss that had fogged her mind.

"I'm sorry." The kept promise tasted even sweeter than when she'd given it to leave her senses overwhelmed and craving the salt on Griffin's breath once again.

Griffin's eyes shined on her with a mellow light in the sun's stead as it had yet to climb on the sky and blind her with its rays. But for now she was met with wisteria and rich honey while Griffin's even breaths brushed over her wet skin.

She reached out to stroke the purple strands, the feeling of them between her fingers perfectly new. She missed the golden brown when Griffin closed her eyes but the purring that filled its absence occupied her attention as well. Right until she remembered Griffin's hair wasn't the one she was seeing or touching for the first time.

She ran a hand through her own hair, the same softness startling when it came from herself, before gingerly catching a lock to look at. "Chestnut."

"Chestnut," Griffin repeated while consuming the sight in front of her, a small smile stretching her lips in recognition as she reached out to touch the brown strands herself.

She ran her fingers through them gently, never once tugging on the tangled wet mess. What stroked a shudder over Faragonda's spine was the meaning attached to the gesture. They were both free of their longing for what the other could give them, yet touching was even more natural now. Like they longed for each other.

Her stomach fluttered with countless butterflies to cut her with the stillness from her back. Her wings weren't responding, only bending slightly under the rule of the breeze. They were dead on her back. Reaching behind, she couldn't even touch them. All she could ever feel in them again was the elements. Why leave them strapped to her back then?

A finger traced over them in tact with Griffin's chest pressing against hers to set her whole body alive with sensation. A ticklish touch on her wings that pulled a gasp out of her as she flung herself forward and further into Griffin's warm, naked body against her.

"I'm afraid they'll never move with your will again," Griffin's voice was higher, lighter, unburdened and even more alluring than before. "They are transparent now, no powder in them anymore. That is all in me. But they can still bring you sensation. You should be careful with them. It could be a very painful experience." So that was what they were for. To remind her she had wanted to feel it all.

"I wish I could look at my eyes," the sentence slipped from her lips so easily. No strings for it to get tangled into now that she was free of her duty as angel. Only the somber realization that she still didn't know the color of her own eyes.

"You are," Griffin pointed to the far end of the sky where black was just making room for the deepest blue. Blue that got to touch wisteria.

"I most certainly am not," she locked eyes with Griffin, the honey enveloping her mind plentiful and sweet. And so were Griffin's lips when she met her for a kiss.

That was the day two people learned what happiness was and changed the world refusing to acknowledge them.

#winx club #winx griffin #winx faragonda #griffin x faragonda #siren!griffin #angel faragonda #yet another siren au #s x a au #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing

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actuallylorelaigilmore · 3 years

Text

a primary walks into a bar...

jennifer x deacon, 12 monkeys. also on ao3.

the first fic i drafted for these two, just a bit of fun set immediately post-canon. jennifer POV.

(i’ve decided to embrace imperfections instead of holding onto my stories for these two until i feel better acquainted with them. if my later fics are more in character, then at least i’ll have written more fics, which is a net positive.)

“I don’t want to forget the past.” She tried to press meaning into every syllable, tried to gift him their history in code, if only it were possible. “I want to keep the past.”

He nodded, still leaned in close, like he actually cared about what she had to say. Excellent customer service. Five stars, above and beyond.

“But I’m not here to remember it, either. I don’t need a bar, or a drink, for that.” Jennifer grinned at him, the unbalanced scales of her smile a contrast to the sharp edges of his. “I just wish I could do it over again.”

“Don’t we all.” He glanced at the door when the bell above it rang. A new customer, somebody else to focus on, to cater to. He was good at this, Jennifer thought, the way she had every night she visited. It suited him, this destiny, the one he was always meant to have.

Just sucked that hers was meant to be so separate from his.

“But I guess until somebody invents time travel, we’re all stuck with the lives we’ve got, huh?” Deacon asked, and Jennifer’s eyes snapped to his, searching.

What was a Primary, once Time wasn’t broken anymore?

Jennifer could still see it, see it all: how things fit together, how they should run. But now things ran as they should. Parallel tracks, a train she didn’t have to fall in front of. Time didn’t need her, to hold itself together or to make sense.

Nobody needed her, now that the world was saved.

When Time rewound and she waited on that beach for Cole, salt in the air and her lungs, sun making it stick to her skin...most of her was just grateful she could finally rest. Take a breath on the beach. Close her eyes against the sun. Feel what Time was like when it didn’t need her so much.

She was free.

Freedom was lonely.

People who couldn’t see Time’s motions, those people were leading singular ordinary lives. Though she could visit Cassie and Cole in their happy after, it wasn’t her life to share.

And the small part of Jennifer that missed Deacon, a man who was now a boy who didn’t know her, again--she could live with that part. She could console that part the way she consoled her lonely Daughters when they needed it. This mood will pass, you are better off as you are, everything is as it should be.

So she waited.

She lived her life.

Jennifer Goines--genius CEO girlboss--had better things to do than spend decades wishing for a reunion with one guy.

She monitored his budding business because she had time to spare, Jennifer told herself. Not because she wanted to see him. Certainly not because she needed to. That cat dying of curiosity was an awfully convenient explanation anyway.

But the need was there. Ignoring it didn’t lessen it--made it worse, in fact. A new voice in her head, one that didn’t sound like her at all, but also not like a Primary calling out across time.

Just a voice inside, saying, go to him. Saying, it doesn’t matter if he can’t see it, if he doesn’t know you now.

Go, and there you’ll find home.

************************************

“Forget or remember?”

Jennifer blinked. Time kept on ticking.

“What?”

It was Deacon asking, and she’d heard him, but her mind had been elsewhere before he spoke. Other than taking her order when she sat down at the bar, he hadn’t spoken to her all night.

Not like she expected him to; not like she was there at Brothers Deacon waiting for long heart-to-hearts with a guy who didn’t know her.

We saved the world together, she thought whenever he looked her way. Sometimes she yelled it internally, raising a voice only she could hear. We saved them all, together, you were there! And now you don’t even know my name.

“Are you drinking to forget, or to remember?” Deacon tried again, more slowly. “I like to ask. I always wonder.”

It was a slow Tuesday evening, which might explain his stab at conversation. Maybe he was curious because she’d come in every night that week--staking her claim as a new regular. An irregular regular, she thought with a snort.

The other days, he’d left her alone, letting her people-watch and laugh at her own jokes. But now, he noticed her, turning her world around just like he did the first time.

He was the only one who ever had, who saw her as a person-not-Primary and deemed her worthy of notice. In another life, Jennifer reminded herself, tugging her focus back to this one.

“Do people drink to remember?” She considered that concept. Not one she’d thought about before, but it sounded plausible. Like the first time she saw a unicorn and thought, I believe it. If that’s not real it should be. Then, of course, it was. Good times.

Deacon offered her an easy grin, relaxed against the bar like they had all the time in the world for a philosophical discussion. There was an intimacy to it that Jennifer wanted to believe came from experience--that some piece of Deacon was linked to some piece of her, no matter what Time had to say about it.

“Sure they do. Haven’t you ever missed somebody?”

“Yes.” You, she told him with her eyes. His were mirrors reflecting back; she couldn’t tell if the reflection was one-way. Wrong room for an interrogation. Even worse for ballet.

She had taken ballet classes as a little girl--Mother’s idea, of course. The funhouse mirrors never blinked, always staring, staring with their watchful eyes. Jennifer switched to tap.

“Well, I can tell you, as a proprietor of this fine establishment, lots of people find it a little bit easier...a little less painful...to lubricate the process. You want to forget the past, you get blind drunk until you can barely stumble home from here. You want to remember it, you nurse rounds slowly; you savor.”

Deacon grinned at her again, that slice of a smile she could feel down to her toes. “I keep myself entertained when it’s not busy, trying to guess which customers are which. Most people are easy, but you--I’m still trying to figure it out.”

She laughed. “Easy is definitely not a word that’s often applied to me.”

All the words that had been still lived inside her like brands, burning hot and painful even then. Murderer. Crazy. Fool. Once upon a time he gave her better ones, ones that sparkled. Sorry. Purpose. Take it.

Deacon didn’t know that, though. She could keep his words in her pockets like gifts but he was not the giver. Jennifer shook her head, cleared it of the past-future. Never was, in this reality.

“Wanna give me a hint?” Theodore of the Brothers Deacon asked, shifting closer so his elbows were resting on the clean bar.

Call it wishful thinking--wouldn’t be the first time, she remembered a pair of otter eyes and a head full of lies--but it almost felt flirtatious, the way he was looking at her and waiting to see what she said.

The tragedy of time was that when they were walking parallel lines, he just kept dying--and now that the world was saved, her line was thirty years too late. Didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun, Jennifer decided. If Deacon had a thing for older women, who was she to argue?

So she curled her fingers into her palms, roots into the earth grounding her where she sat, and told the truth. Wrapped her lips around the words like Jennifer would wrap herself around Deacon again, if she could go back. Time is a snake that only moves forward; no going back, not anymore.

“I don’t want to forget the past.” She tried to press meaning into every syllable, tried to gift him their history in code, if only it were possible. “I want to keep the past.”

He nodded, still leaned in close, like he actually cared about what she had to say. Excellent customer service. Five stars, above and beyond.

Just sucked that hers was meant to be so separate from his.

“But I guess until somebody invents time travel, we’re all stuck with the lives we’ve got, huh?” Deacon asked, and Jennifer’s eyes snapped to his, searching.

Too good to be true, too easy to hope. Somewhere in there, she wanted to see the man she used to believe in, the one she believed loved her a little.

A little was everything, compared to what she’d had before.

So Jennifer knew better than to believe her lying hopeful heart, coming here to drink and pass the hours and cross her fingers in case today was the day time unfurled again and they’d have to team back up to fix it.

Cole and Cassie were out of the pool, they got their happy future and it was where Time needed them to stay...so if anybody was gonna be called to new adventures, it might as well be her. And if anything else was going to be asked of her, there was no one she would trust by her side more than Deacon.

Excuses, really. It’d been thirty years, and Time was still ticking along, no hiccups.

And while those two had landed a little bit outside of Time, just enough to remember what happened, most people only seemed to have room for one reality in their heads. Nothing felt more lonely than being Primary in a world where Jones and Hannah didn’t know her...except maybe being Primary in this bar, missing Deacon while he was three feet away.

“Yep,” she told him with a hollow laugh. It was just a coincidence, his comment. She could find needles anywhere with a big enough magnet. What did that prove to the haystack? “I guess we’re all stuck.”

He was already shifting his weight in the direction of the guy who came through the door, ready to move on to other business, but Deacon paused long enough to aim that smile at her a final time.

“How about the next round’s on me.” Well, now. He’d certainly never done that before, offered to pay for her beer.

First time for everything, she thought, wondering what had gotten into him that made the day different from other days. Frequent drinker program nobody told her about? Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to complain.

Deacon passed the drink to her before crossing to the other side of the bar, tossing his last words over his shoulder--she could barely hear them above the music that filled the space. In every reality, he was still stuck in the 80s.

“Let me know if you need me for anything else, ma’am.”

A part of her bristled at the end of that sentence, annoyed by the way strangers treated her these days with extra years sketched on her face. Everybody likes a good chicken, until it clucks for itself.

She couldn’t take it personally coming from him, though, Jennifer decided. After all, Deacon called her ma’am when she was his own age, when he barely knew her yet.

Wait.

Something about his use of the word, the glint in his eyes, the ease of his handing her a pint. It tripped that fucking hope again, and she couldn’t help it, her eyes followed him as he worked down the other end of the bar.

Taking folded bills from the new guy, pouring him a shot, then another. Polishing a glass while New Guy knocked them back, nodding when he held up a finger.

Deacon served the only other person sitting in front of him, and Jennifer wondered how long it would take for him to head back in her direction. Would she be able to see it, if there was something in his eyes? Was there any difference in the way he carried himself, now that he wasn’t carrying a lifetime of scars?

Her head was a magic eight ball brimming with questions, like always. Shake it, you get answers. Or ask again later, seventeen times in a row ‘til you want to smash it against the wall and make the truth come out.

From her vantage point on the stool she couldn’t make guesses about his eyes, and he moved like always--coiled energy, potential for danger. Indoors in winter, nobody but Deacon could list his own scars.

New Guy was talking to him about a football game, and Deacon was making engaged listening noises, though it was obvious he didn’t really care.

She should have known better, of course, Jennifer scolded herself later. Time wasted looking for hints, subtle traces. Of all the things Theodore Deacon is-was-will-forever-be, subtle never made it onto the list.

His customer was a quick drunk--looking to forget, she thought with a twitch of her lips--and he required the barest show of interest. Deacon’s volume grew alongside his, their discussion more spirited, and her eyes were starting to glaze over.

But Jennifer was still facing their way, and in the end it didn’t matter that she wasn’t actively listening. When it came to Deacon, she was pretty sure she could hear him in a hurricane.

She could hear him even when he was silent. He was the hurricane.

After he slid New Guy another shot, Deacon glanced Jennifer’s way. His carelessly friendly expression faded, replaced by an unblinking intensity.

The bar wasn’t packed, but it held noise and people enough to entertain her on a slow night. She shouldn’t have been able to sense the room closing in, a narrowing tunnel and a ringing in her ears.

Among the noise and the oblivious customers, Deacon was staring at her like they were the only two people left on Earth, and Jennifer felt the kind of shiver she hadn’t in thirty years, because nobody looked at her that way anymore.

Nobody else ever had, swallowing hard across a table like his words were bees that would sting them both if they escaped. Jennifer wasn’t allergic to bees; she still wondered what they might have spelled out in the sky if he’d let them fly.

Sometimes after Time took what it was owed, it gave a little something back. She’d assumed that gift was reserved for Cole alone, but maybe Time had generosity left for its favorite cog in the wheel. Maybe it took pity on her fall from Primary grace to ordinary human living on a barstool.

The reason didn’t really matter, did it? Not when the horse was there, to keep its mouth closed and unexamined?

Sometimes, Jennifer remembered as Deacon’s eyes stayed on hers, Time understood that it owed you, too.

She’d already set her drink down, knew her mouth was gaping a little, didn’t care if she looked like a moron. Deacon tipped back his own beer before he smiled at her again, and she let the shiver repeat, run through her.

Maybe hope wasn’t dead, a man on his knees in a crowd filled with blades. Maybe hope had been hibernating.

Deacon pointed at her beer, raised his eyebrows like he was asking if she wanted another, and she nodded, answering whatever question might’ve been buried beneath that one.

He took his time getting to her with it, dusting off a shelf and straightening a handful of vodka bottles along the way.

“Here you go,” he said when he arrived, the click of his tongue a punctuation mark and a memory.

Deacon set the fresh beer down in front of her, leaned against the back wall of his bar, and winked.

#honestly i shouldn't be posting this before bed i'm sleepy and if there are typos i'll catch them tomorrow--but i want it out there #jennifer goines #theodore deacon #jennifer x deacon #12 monkeys #otp: like a fox #jennifer goines fic #theodore deacon fic #jennifer x deacon fic #12 monkeys fic #my fic

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