#he copes with humor so i think him teasing shadow like this before he even accepts his crush on him makes sense

[sonicposer-sideblog]

He’ll hit, alright.

#when sonics irony posting turns into unironic posting #sonicposer #sonic boom #sonadow #sorry im so obsessed with boom sonadow #i saw this random post and immediately thought of them LOL #um.. bit ooc again but i just think shadow is going thru some character development #you can think of this as a sequel to my last boom comic #so they arent exactly friends here but working together.. and sonic is in denial of the feelings he's getting #he copes with humor so i think him teasing shadow like this before he even accepts his crush on him makes sense #also sorry for the messy comic but im tired and dont want to work too long on this LOL

[blackbat05]

I need a break

Shangqi x Reader (Platonic) 

A/N: I feel like I’m loosing steam towards the end of my placement and wow I have never needed a break this badly before. Perhaps a short Shangqi x Reader imagine where they are both University students. Seriously at this rate I’ll just be solely a Shangqi writer HAHAHA. Doing this on my phone because I don’t want to open my work computer. Let’s see where this impromptu idea takes me to. Hope you enjoy it and as always like and comment if you wish!

Genre: PG-13

Warnings: None really, just friends supporting each other! I guess there’s an inaccurate timeline if you look at the MCU but hey this is an imagine plus if you look at some of the wiki pages, Shangqi is actually born in 1998/1999. So appreciate if you’re kind enough to go with the flow to read this comfort fic! 

‘Y/N!’ Shangqi rushes to catch up with you after class. You made an effort to conceal your tiredness but he saw it right through. ‘Gosh…you alright?’

You think to yourself. Were you really alright? The answer was pretty obvious. You were ten weeks into your placement and your emotions were a jumbled up mess. Having to deal with work responsibilities was one problem, school assignments were another issue all together. At this point, you felt like you were just getting through each week for the sake of it.

At first, you believed that what you were going through was simply a transition to becoming an adult. You thought that naturally, you would be able to persevere through the stressful periods by yourself. But of course, it has been hard.

You were a social work intern at a neighborhood youth centre, thirty minutes away if you took the train and bus. The work was fulfilling in it’s own ways, but recently there were self-doubts filling your brain, if you were really cut out for the job in the future. If you weren’t, what else could you do?

As you sat with Shangqi in the school’s student-ran cafe, you found yourself pouring out the exact same concerns to him. Credit to him, Shangqi never interrupted your monologue, he just simply listened. That’s what best friends were for. That’s what you did for him to when he ran into issues with his family.

Even then, he couldn’t deny that hearing you doubt yourself broke his heart. He had known you since high school. You mostly kept to yourself and one or two close friends. Despite joining the school’s athletic team where you were one of the main athletes, you preferred to stay in the shadows unlike some of your teammates. That didn’t stop you from going out of your way to help other students in need; like helping the girl who was in an arm cast to copy the social studies notes, even if it meant you had to do it twice. Or maybe just talking to a friend who was stressed out about their results.

Basically, you had studied your ass off to get a secured spot at this university who were only one of the few that offered the degree. He remembers you telling him the moment you got your offer, ‘I’m finally good at something. I don’t have to worry anymore!’

Shangqi wasn’t stupid. The pandemic had done some crazy things. And by crazy, it affected the self-esteem that you had been working so hard on by participating in various projects and events, with you being in charge of a drama production that was promoting on mental health. That was a big deal considering that you were a major introvert.

Online engagement was never easy. In fact he has heard some of your struggles that you’ve shared with him regarding this and it only makes him admire you even more. For someone who preferred to keep to themselves, stepping out of one’s comfort zone, to take on a role that wasn’t just simply about helping people - that took guts.

‘I’m sorry I’m just loading you with all this. I just feel…’ You trailed off, suddenly becoming emotional again. Again, Shangqi does not pry. ‘That I can’t do anything right.’ You emphasize that you had ended the statement for you were unsure that you could keep your cool if you had tried to continue on.

‘If I hear you saying sorry another time,’ he chides, ‘you’re paying for our meal later.’ Your lips curved upwards slightly before returning to its somber position. Shangqi decides that a meal won’t cut it. He needs to deploy ‘Operation Y/N’. Standing up with your buzzer to collect the food, Shangqi whips out his phone. There will be a few changes for today.

Food was definitely a cure in this situation, but it was only a part of the solution. After inhaling your ramen at light speed, Shangqi tells you that today will be a different Friday. ‘And you can’t complain! It’ll be a weekend tmr,’ he tells you. So why not? You figured that even if you went back home early, your head wouldn’t be in the right place to complete the essay for your English module.

‘Hold up! The VR studio that Katy was talking about?’ You look at the tickets inside the taxi that was taking you and Shangqi to the location. ‘How did you even, it was so hard to get these tickets!’ From the time Shangqi met you outside the classroom, he had yet to see you so ecstatic. Until now.

‘Well,’ Shangqi gives his best shrug. ‘I called in a favor from a friend. Said that it was for emergency purposes.’ He raised his fingers to make connotations in the air much to your amusement.

‘Wow… just how much do I not know about you Mr Popular?’ You teased. Shangqi decides to leave the fact on him having to persuade the Wakandan Princess in giving him free tickets.

‘Please! I swear whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it! It’s for Y/N!’

‘Ey well why didn’t you say so? If it’s for that nice friend, of course!’ Shuri leaves the entrance of the compound, an exasperated Shangqi trailing behind.

Yeah, the VR studio that Katy told them about was also funded by King T’Challa himself. With stunning life like visuals thanks to Wakandan technology, the VR studio was located in a middle class neighborhood. T’Challa believed that no matter where kids came from, they should have the right to enjoy and to explore the world. For now, he wasn’t ready to share that he was on the way on becoming a full-fledged Avenger yet - you just had too much on your plate. He’ll just have to settle with this white lie.

‘Is Katy coming?’ You were on the verge of vibrating off your seat. ‘She would love this place!’ Even when you were struggling, Y/N still manages to think about other people. Today, Y/N will put her needs first.

As if to answer your previous question, you can see an equally excited Katy waiting for the two of you at the roundabout. ‘HEL-LO EVERYONE! LET’S GET OUR FRIDAY STARTED IN PROPER SHALL WE?’ Her loud voice had attracted stares, some very displeased looks too but at this point in time, you didn’t give a damn. Katy was right, it was time to enjoy!

You wished that you could slow down time, or even replay it continuously when you needed cheering up because the only thing you felt was pure happiness - euphoria even. Your stomach was in knots for laughing hysterically together with Katy when Shangqi jumped in shock from a surprise scare from a zombie. ‘I’m keeping that for leverage,’ she tells you, quietly slipping her phone into her fanny pack. 

The Wakandans had really outdone themselves this time. Your favorite VR was the paradise VR. Slipping the headgear, you say goodbye to the smiles of Katy and Shangqi, whisking away to a beach that oddly reminded you of your dream destination - Hawaii. From where you were standing, you were surrounded by green and majestic islands. Despite their sheer size, you weren’t intimidated. In fact, you were healing. 

Your mind was no longer in the room of the VR studio. How could it when the sun kissed your skin, giving you the much needed energy that you were lacking for so long? In the room, the two sees you kick your shoes to the side, going barefoot. It may have seem strange, but with the monitor beside you, your actions were perfectly logical. 

As a kid, you used to despise the prickly feeling of sand in between your toes. But now, you grew to love the sensation that each grain of sand had on your skin. It made you feel grounded, that everything was going to be ok. You raise your virtual hand to touch your face - were you crying? 

‘She must have been really stressed huh?’ Katy whispers to Shangqi who nods in return. How he hated the fact that you were giving so much to your work but still felt underappreciated. Forget the Avengers with superhuman abilities, you were the true MVP. The VR ends and you remove your headgear. ‘I’m ok,’ you automatically reassure them despite the dry tears left on both cheeks. You step down the platform slowly, trying to regain sense of the real world. 

What you didn’t expect was the two embracing you in a hug, squishing you in between them. Maybe that had set off the waterworks. For someone like Katy, she had sage advice.

‘Life can be pretty shitty right? But I’m so proud of you fighting it Y/N. Just remember that it’s ok to be weak. I mean, I’ve seen worse from Shangqi,’ she jabs her finger towards his direction, earning a glare from him. That’s Katy, always trying to add a bit of humor to this grey world. Calming down, you let go of the both of them. ‘Thanks guys, for everything.’ 

‘Hey,’ Shangqi responds, slinging his arm over your shoulder. ‘We’re friends, so we don’t leave each other behind.’ Phone beeping, he retrieves it to check the message. ‘And look at that, nice timing. Who wants Korean BBQ?’ 

Trailing behind them, you get an amusing view of Shangqi bickering with Katy on how many Soju bottles she’s allowed to order later. As San Francisco welcomed the night, you were just thankful that you had the two of them to walk through this crazy maze called life. 

‘Last one to the shop is paying!’ 

‘Oh you’re on Mister!’  

A/N: I really just think that this was also an imagine for me to cope too. So I can only hope to finish my placement/assignments/exams well! To anyone who does studies and work simultaneously, I fucking respect you (allow me to use expletives for now, these people deserve the respect). If you’re going through a stressful time, I hope this brings the slightest comfort for you and remember… YOU ARE NOT ALONE! Again, thank you for reading! 

#shang chi #xu shangqi #shangqi x reader #shangqi imagine #katy shang chi #shang chi x reader #shangqi #simu liu

[mischiefandspirits]

Are You Sure About That?

((Warning for blood and blood drinking))

The seedy streets of Gotham were filled with whispers about the demons and monsters that roamed the city, and outsiders and Gotham’s lawful scoffed at how superstitious the criminals could be.

Gordon had worked alongside Batman enough to be quite sure there were no demons in Gotham. Sure, the vigilante was a little standoffish, but it was Gotham. Likewise, the Robins and Batgirls were all good kids. Maybe the first Robin’s smiles were a little eerie, but that was likely just the contrast with his mentor. Maybe the second and third liked morbid humor, but that was just how kids were these days. Maybe the fourth Robin was a bit temperamental and harsh, but he was young. Maybe the Batgirls’ movements were a little uncanny, but that was probably just the training. Maybe Nightwing seemed a little too cheerful about the stuff they dealt with, but the kid had been doing this since he was young. He could have a worse coping mechanism. Red Hood was the only one he’d really consider monstrous, but the guy was a former crime lord turned anti-hero and he had been getting better since the Bat had taken him under his wing.

The members of the Justice League rolled their eyes whenever someone brought up the rumors. Batman was grim, overly serious, and secretive, but he was a good man who only wanted the best and always had plan after plan to help the league succeed.

The Titans thought the rumors were hilarious. Sunshine Boy Nightwing? A demon? Who could believe the guy who was always flipping around and laughing at his own bad puns was some dark monster?

The Outlaws didn’t believe it, but they understood why someone might make the mistake of thinking Red Hood was a monster. The guy was vicious and maybe a little messed up in the head, but then again so were they.

Young Justice scoffed at the rumors. Corvid was incredibly intelligent and an incredible fighter, but he was also an absolute mess who couldn’t remember to sleep, eat, or drink on his own.

The Teen Titans stared dumbly when they heard the rumors. Sure, Robin was rude, brutal, and a bit entitled, but calling him a demon was a little much, especially considering the team had a cambion member.

The Birds of Prey ignored the rumors. Oracle was a godsend, even when she had to give up the cowl because of an unknown accident. And Batgirl was a brash spitfire, but she was always willing to lend a hand. Likewise, Huntress mostly stuck to herself, but she could be kind and personable when the time came.

The public, well, as time went on they saw more and more of Batman and his companions working with their teams on the news. It was quite clear to everyone that the group was nothing more than baseline humans with incredible training who were out to make the world a better place.

Yet the rumors persisted.

Because in the shadows of Gotham, where only the darkest of souls and their victims could see you, there was no reason to hide.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nightwing licked the blood off his talons as he listened to Batgirl’s story, idly kicking the unconscious gangster at his feet every so often.

“Why didn’t you just kill him, Fatgirl?” Robin huffed from Nightwing’s side and the imp ruffled the tiefling’s hair, carefully avoiding his horns.

“Killing shouldn’t be your go-to option, hdiiga,” he chirped.

“Don’t do that! You’re getting saliva and common blood in my hair!” Robin snarled, slapping away his hand.

Nightwing smirked and leaned down to lick a speck of blood off his youngest brother’s cheek, pulling back quickly when Robin screeched and tried to punch him.

“I’d say it’s an improvement,” Red Hood teased as he finished tying up the gangster he’d had taken down.

“Mind your place or I will put you back in your grave!”

Wiping some blood off his mouth, Hood smiled at Robin. “Go right ahead. I could use the nap.”

“If you’re counting on me to resurrect you, I’ll remind you that the last time I did that, you tried to banish me,” Red Robin said, not looking up from the laptop he was hacking into as his shadows soaked up the blood on him.

Nightwing and Batgirl groaned as the zombie and demon settled into a familiar argument.

“Well maybe if you’d brought me back properly as you did for your blonds, then I wouldn’t have tried to banish you.”

“That was different! I was less experienced when I brought you back!”

“I should have been easier to bring back! I was already a zombie!”

“EXACTLY! You came with a bunch of extra complications!”

“Are you two ever going to let this go?” Batgirl asked, eyes on the gangster she had knocked out. His face was twitching with distress as she twirled her fingers across his forehead, occasionally pulling them away to see the small moment of peace he got before she began brushing them across his forehead again. The revenant looked up at Robin and winked. “And killing’s boring, Human-Bird. Everything ends way too fast.”

Robin clicked his tongue. “I will never understand why we should waste our time torturing someone who has nothing worth telling? If we’re not going to kill them then why bother attacking them at all?”

“Because it’s fun?” Nightwing and Batgirl said together.

“There’s always something you can get out of someone, even if it’s just sustenance?” Red Robin offered.

Hood shrugged when the tiefling turned to him. “Don’t look at me. I’m the white sheep, remember. The only reason I could give you is that listening to B lecture about maintaining appearances by limiting deaths and going after insignificant criminals gets really annoying after a while, and that’s never stopped me.”

“Are you five done?” Oracle’s hissing voice echoed through the alley as the green mist that had been hovering across the ground began to rise in serpentine forms.

“Just finished downloading the data you wanted,” Red Robin said, closing the laptop and passing a thumb drive to the snake coiling up him.

“Alright, the police are three minutes out so either clean yourselves up or get out of there.”

“I will head in. I need to wash off the common blood and,” Robin glared at Nightwing, “saliva.”

The imp smiled back unrepentantly. “I’ll go with you, hdiiga.”

“I should probably take off as well,” Hood said as the two left. “I still need to check on a few things in my territory. Maybe grab another bite to eat.”

“Please clean up after yourself this time. I don’t exist just to disappear all your bodies.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll behave. Not really in the mood for a lecture from His Majesty anyways,” Hood said with an eye roll and swatted the serpent on him off so he could grapple away.

“Guess it’s just you and me on babysitting duty, Red,” Batgirl said. She stood up and stretched before walking over to Red Robin. “Mind helping a lady freshen up?”

The demon snorted, but his shadows rose to clean the blood off her. As they waited, Red Robin raised his guise to make him appear human and Batgirl pulled up her scarf to hide the part of her pure-white face that wasn’t covered by the cowl.

Once they’d gone through the motions with the humans, Red Robin took off on his bike and Batgirl headed up to the roofs.

“Alright, O. Take me home!”

The green mist that had nearly disappeared in the presence of the humans flared to life and condensed into a large serpent that coiled around the revenant until she couldn’t see anything but green. The mist dispersed after a moment, leaving her standing within a summoning circle at the center of the Clocktower.

Oracle was sitting in front of her at a desk surrounded by computer screens and candles with green flames. A scrying bowl sat in front of her and a laptop was across her lap. As Batgirl stepped out of the circle, the scrying bowl stopped glowing and the candles went out all at once. The otherworlder set her keyboard on her desk and spun her chair around to face Batgirl, the white light fading from her eyes and the light from the screen catching eerily on the cracks across her skin that kept her from glamoring.

As she pulled down her cowl, Stephanie tossed Barbara a pendant glowing with psychic energy. “Brought home dinner!”

“Thanks. Your dinner is in the oven. Tiết canh.”

“You’re the best!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hdiiga is an Impish term. It directly translates to mean an infant imp, but it more generally is used as a term of endearment used by parents for their children or older siblings for their younger siblings.

For the record since they didn't appear:

Bruce is a demon king from the same demonic realm as Tim

Selina is a demigoddess who was granted powers by a cat goddess and, as a result, can reincarnate up to nine times

Helena is a cambion that came about as a result of a shared night between Bruce and one of Selina's past lives

Talia is completely human as was Damian's father (Damian's tiefling traits are a result of Talia and Ra's infusing Damian with Bruce's power during his time in the incubator in hopes of earning Demon!Bruce's favor. They are not aware that Demon!Bruce and Batman!Bruce are the same person)

Bernard is also a revenant (he and Steph were the blonds Jason mentioned)

#dick grayson #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #stephanie brown #damian wayne #batfam #fanfiction

[normal-thoughts-official]

Umm what are your thoughts on Magnus thinking Raphael doesn't need him anymore

Y̴̖̳̏͐̓͝͝͝O̴͉͔̪͙͎͌̋̊̽̚Ü̴̦ ̵̡̧͍̙͎̤̓͜F̵̺̹̼̫̳̻̖̓̈́̎Ơ̵͈̟̘̼̲O̴̤̻̭̻̟̺̖͗̆͌͒͆͊͂L̴̨͚̝̟̙̥͆̏. you absolute idiot. my thoughts on magnus thinking raphael doesn't need him anymore??????????????? C̶̨̛̖̘̜̟̪̱͗̈́̓̑̋͛́̽͛̃̑̈́Ą̵̢̣͕̥͚̩͔̗̤͙̺͝ͅN̷̢̜͇̪͖̫͓̦̟̰͎͈̫͔̹͌̓̏̐̔̊̽͝ͅ'̵̩͇͐̅͌͋̕T̵̡̡̼̰̼̯͇̝̗̼̫̝̺̝͖͑̀̒͛̈͘͜ͅ ̷̧̘̬͕̯̘͇̹̳͔̑̓͜Y̷̨̥̙̻̣̯̦̓̏̏̂̒͐̕Ơ̸̭͔̤̤̮̙͇͙͇͙̩͐̌̂̈́̐̇̌̌̕̚͝U̴̢̡͙͕̖̥̗̔̿̒̓̉̓͌ͅ ̶̺͚̯͙̘̦̻͚͒͒̍͗̌̚͜͠S̶̢͆̉́̋̈́́Ȩ̵̪͚̹͉͉͉̼̱͖̏ͅĘ̶̛̞̣͚̲̳̻̪̤̲͎̳̠̻̎̊̽̀̉̑͝ ̴̧̛̫͖͍̺͙͓͈̹͕͛͊͊̓͋̄͑͗̉͆͠͝T̵̡͍̱͍̙͈̞͍̪̭͌̄͂̎͑͂Ḩ̴̧̫̪͖̫̞̞̀̔̾̿̃͗̋͐̌͊̀̕̚È̴̢̨͓̞̠̲̱̠͉̾̀ ̴̢͇͈̣͙̝̭͔̰͔̫̦̈́̀͘Ṁ̶̡͓̖̭̩̱̗̗̘̯̖̹͖̳̭̙̺͋͐̈Ḭ̷̢̧̢͔̙̪̣̞̣͙̘̑͌̈́̐̾̅̆́̆̑̃͋͒͒̎͠Ş̵̱̘̰͓̫̦̺͚̙̹͚̗͎̭̠͆̀̏͐͋͗̈́T̷̢̡̡̛̪̝̟̻̠̼̦̦̰̦̗͓̣͌̌̐̋͊̐̔͛̕Ą̵͔͉̜̪̦͓̗̤͇͖̘͓̱̰̜̈͒̍̊͂ͅK̵̛͈̜̱͉̜̖͈̈́́̒̀̐͒́̂̔͆̾̏̂͂̕̕E̸̡͓̣̪̮͉̮̻̹̰̒́̾̋ ̴̡̮̝̝͇̫̮̭̞̦̘̙̥̥̗͒̿͝ͅY̷̡̨͙̝̰̗̗̫͛́̕͜͠͝Ō̵̬Ų̶̡̖̗͙̞̲̺͖̣͉̜̿́͒͆́̏̚͠ͅ'̵̮̭̗̙̘̰͍̥̣̪̩̖̦͂̀̋̆̓̉́̅͜R̸̼̤͙̞͚̼̤͆͛͌̄̈́̑͘Ê̸̡̢̩̳̤͙̳̘̲̞̦̳̻̩̔̐̄͐̑̒̿̒̽̈́̌͒̏̚ ̷̛̮̂̈̽̄̇̆̍̄͂̋̒͛͝͝͝M̶̧̢̛͙̮̣͎̮͍̝̪͔͎̘͔̐̊͐̄̃́̄̄͋̆̕͜͝A̵̧̮̙͖͓̭̯̘̿͊̌̉̆̄̈́̾̅́͆͋́̾̓͝��K̸̘̩̯̼̣͍̠̝͈̤̮̝̻̬̿̈́Ǐ̶͖̹͈̫͙̀͛̀̆͆͊̿͘̕͝Ṋ̸̨̨̗̰͖̳̝͉͑̏̀̀́̂͗͌̽̈G̸̢̰̟̜͎̪̬̞̲͔̘͍̋̆. not only is this one of my favorite angsts ever, nay! you just posted self promo bait!!! i have a whole ass fic about it (link). and you know what the worst part is???? im gonna make a huge ass answer to your question anyway!!!! do you understand how naive you were now??? do you have any idea what you have unleashed?????

ok ok ok ok ok ok ok ok. so i think the saddest part about this is magnus' assumption that like... if he isn't useful, he isn't desirable. which we know is 100% how magnus rolls (therapy-needing icon) and would particularly ring true in raphael's case because like... magnus took raphael in when raphael was at his lowest. their relationship was started off by the fact that raphael needed him. and that makes it even harder for magnus to shake that feeling off

like, don't misquote me, it's not raphael's fault and that is not how he sees magnus at all. and i don't think magnus singlehandedly saved raphael or whatever; raphael had to build his own network of ppl and resources to get over his addiction and get back on his feet and build himself back together, as anyone does. no one can carry a burden as big as singlehandedly taking care of any one person, nevermind one in the state rapha was in. but the fact remains: raphael and magnus met when raphael was at his lowest, and they built their relationship because magnus helped him

and magnus knows raphael's got this whole repentance thing going on, he knows that raphael feels like a monster and a burden and like his debt to magnus is unmeasurable. and that makes him second-guess everything about their relationship, imo, because like... raphael probably feels like he has to keep magnus company, he has to do as he says or whatever, because he has a debt

and to some extent it's nice that magnus is like... aware of that imbalance, which is inherent to that situation, but then i think it becomes pretty much... being convinced that raphael doesn't like him and only puts up with him because he has to since he owes magnus

and when magnus "adopted" rapha, magnus was at a particular fragile point. i'm pretty sure rapha was the first person magnus ever let into his life, fully, enough to really know him and his insecurities and his true self, after camille. his other friends - catarina, dot, ragnor, elias - all knew him from before. and we know how after camille magnus locked his heart; yes, he was referring to romantic relationships, but when you are constantly afraid of falling in love with someone in case they will abuse you, you can't fully build platonic relationships either, because there is that wall that is there, a certain level of intimacy that you won't allow yourself

and with that i don't mean that romantic relationships are inherently more intimate or deeper than platonic ones! i mean that to build any sort of intimate relationship, romantic or platonic, you need to be able to allow yourself to be vulnerable, and magnus was obviously not allowing himself that, because he was scared of being vulnerable after it was used so viciously against him the last time he opened up his heart

but magnus is still too caring of a person to leave someone in a state as bad as raphael's - no sire, battling addiction, alone in the streets, probably no knowledge of the shadow world (this is probably where i should add my mandatory disclaimer that i'm not following book canon and i don't care how it went there, i'm talking about the show), no clan, no family, basically no one - alone, so of course he's gonna bring him in for a night and feed him and try to find a way to help him

but then you add to that two facts: 1- magnus is hopelessly affection and touch-starved and desperately needs company; 2- there is not many places raphael can actually go to

so of course magnus lets raphael stay. and it's for his own sake as much as it is for his, because again, magnus is starved, and he is at a point of his recovery where he needs to let people in, even if it's slowly and in a relatively safe situation - like, what can raphael do to hurt him? okay, there's a few things, but still. it's just easier to let yourself be vulnerable when the person you're allowing to see it is someone you've seen equally as or even more vulnerable. especially if they have no connections to people you know, as it is in rapha's case

PLUS, he empathises. i've said it before and i'll say it again, raphael and magnus have so much in common. from background (immigrants, brown, downworlders, one is bi the other is ace which are two groups known for their ties and solidarity with each other, trans if you go by my headcanons which i will because this is my blog and i do what i want) to coping mechanisms (both clearly deal with their problems on their own and try to avoid letting other people help them as much as they can, even if in very different ways - magnus creates a persona so he can be surrounded by people and not let them in too close whereas raphael doesn't let them get close from the get-go), to some of their personal psychological issues (this unbearable responsibility they carry on their shoulders, like everything and everyone is dependant on them and it is on them personally to help everyone they find: see raphael and how involved he got with simon and the way he talked about the other vampires/the clan even before he became clan leader, and magnus and Literally Everyone That Came Into His Path; the feelings of monstrosity they both feel due to their downworlder status and their past; the guilt; the self sacrificial/giving til it hurts tendencies; etc), to a few personality traits (similar sense of humor, both natural leaders, both pretty bold in their own ways; they also have many differences in personality but they are quite compatible/similar in other ways as well).... i could go on. i'm not saying they are Literally The Same Character (that'd be bad writing anyway, and there are notable differences such as raphael being way more recluse than magnus, their different moral codes, etc.) but there is a lot in common, which results in a nice dynamic in which:

they have fun with each other (think "because you're totally unbiased"; that was clearly a tease, neither of them were really upset by it, raphael looked at magnus expectantly like he expected magnus to laugh and magnus just glared at him in a clearly playful way)

they care for each other deeply (think every interaction we got between them or that included them talking about each other to a third person lmao i think this one is undeniable)

they trust each other incredibly (think raphael being tortured and going to magnus before he went to his own clan, then staying at his house, he obviously feels comfortable and safe there more than anywhere else including his own supposed home; and i wish we had gotten to see more of raphael taking care of magnus as well but of course the writers always forgot magnus had friends and family beyond shadowhunters lmao, but still, i think it's undeniable that the trust goes both ways because of the sheer difference in the way magnus treated raphael as opposed to other people who came for his help, including downworlders like simon)

they are openly affectionate with each other in a way they aren't with most people (think them hugging or the way magnus casually touched raphael's face like it was perfectly normal. that is like, the only s3 raphael scene i claim lmao)

hmmm where was i going with this. man i should really get checked for ADHD or whatever

RIGHT they built a nice relationship. which magnus craved!!! he really really needed someone he could be affectionate with, someone he could trust, someone he had fun with! and again, it's not that he didn't have that, but it was the first time he was building a relationship like this again from scratch after camille. plus, i'm sure camille pushed him away from his friends because that's what abusers do, and i'm sure magnus also pushed them away to some extent because again, being vulnerable was hard. but with raphael there was no escaping it. like, he was living at magnus' house

and he needed that! and i think raphael and their relationship had such an important catalyst role in magnus' recovery from camille. not that raphael saved him - again, that's not even possible - but the way their relationship was constructed was essential for magnus to start opening up again. without it i really doubt it would have been possible for him to open up to alec, and i think their relationship and history is extremely overlooked and underrated by the fandom

but like... the fact that he was in such a vulnerable emotional state to begin with, plus the fact that their relationship was kickstarted by the fact that raphael needed him, will obviously lead to him thinking that raphael only puts up with him or whatever because he needs him/feels indebted (because magnus knows at this point that raphael is not the kind to use people, but he also knows that raphael already acts like his mere presence in the world is something he has to make up for it's the catholicism so of course he's gonna feel like he needs to make up for magnus for such a huge gesture. anyone who's not an asshole would, but like, particularly raphael). cue magnus like, probably feeling guilty for getting so attached to raphael because he's an idiot

and like of course raphael feels indebted and grateful but he also does genuinely in fact like magnus (for all the reasons listed above) and also like, he did in fact also need more connections, he had just lost all of his previous ones. but most importantly he does care for magnus and loves him immensely even beyond all that magnus did for him. and he does see magnus as a person and knows about his struggles and vulnerabilities because it's impossible not to when you live/have lived together, and he just... cares and empathises

but also raphael obviously thinks he's a burden to magnus because duh, and i don't think magnus ever really told raphael how much taking raphael in helped him, how much it meant to him and his recovery, how he was doing it for himself as much as he was doing it for rapha, because 1- he's scared of being so open and vulnerable; 2- he's scared of making raphael feel even more guilty; 3- he's stupid and i think part of him assumed it went without saying

like he was always so openly affectionate with raphael (maybe even too much in his eyes, maybe he was scared of being too attached, putting too much on his shoulders, it's not this traumatized kid's job to deal with his issues for fuck's sake) and magnus has always worn his heart in his sleeve and he feels everything so deeply i think he sometimes forgets that it's not actually plain for everyone to see and feel. particularly not non-warlocks, since it's kinda implied that warlocks have some level of sensitivity to each other going on. plus raphael is autistic af so he can't tell what magnus is feeling if magnus doesn't fucking say it, and he has a terminally low self esteem that i assume would be even lower by that point (due to, you know... the general shitshow state his life was in), so of course he doesn't assume he's as important to magnus as magnus is to him, particularly not when he is literally burdening him (in raphael's eyes). so he thinks it's obvious but it's Really Not

so we have like a lot of misunderstanding angst with both of them wanting to get closer but thinking they are imposing on the other and pulling away, and both of them taking the other pulling away as a sign that they aren't comfortable and aaaa

so like i think that rapha would mention moving out so he can get out of magnus' hair, and magnus is all crestfallen because he's so not ready to be alone at home again, but he can't be selfish and hold the kid back just because he has shit he needs to deal with, right? it's not fair

and then like lowkey spiralling afraid that after that he's going to be alone again and raphael won't want to see him anymore, or worse, that he'll force himself to out of pity or guilt, and magnus will just be a chore to him

and raphael feeling like magnus wants to get rid of him and will want him out of his hair and aaaaaaaaaaa

and magnus of course is all put together and excited about it, "yes, my boy, don't worry, i'll help you move" and playfully tilting his head and being all excited and getting into chop-chop mode because as long as he can make himself useful he can avoid thinking about how he's gonna be alone again. and rapha of course taking this as magnus being eager for him to leave

and just doijasiodjasoij they're IDIOTS. i think this would be more or less resolved by raphael because at the very least he has to thank magnus for everything he's done and tell magnus that he means so much to him, that he'll always be thankful. and magnus again is all put together, all "it was nothing, my boy" but rapha pulls him into a hug and suddenly they are Not Letting Each Other Go. like it's tight and maybe they're both shaking a little because Badly Repressed Emotions and they're just. so unwilling to let each other go for what they feel like will be forever because they are sad and dramatic. and raphael even wonders for a second if he's like, super strengthing magnus into the hug by accident, but even when he tries to let go magnus doesn't even notice and is still hugging him tight, so he's like. okay. guess i can stay for a little longer then. and keeps hugging him

and lol i have half a mind to be like "and then raphael ends up staying because neither of them actually wants raphael to leave so what's the point" and actually i think i might be going this route for this particular hc. but of course eventually raphael does leave because you know... kids grow up and all daihdsaioj and i think that they still have some things to resolve, particularly from magnus' side? i think raphael is more in touch with him than the other way around, even if mostly we've seen him coming to magnus for help, but like... that trust is there, you know, and we didn't see a lot of the opposite

i know s3 raphael was fake anyway but like i imagine him finding out that magnus lost his magic and he had no idea or that he lost his home and being like "why didn't you ask for my help?? our help??" because you know all his other friends would have wanted to help him out too, and magnus is just. he doesn't want to be a burden. he feels like if he is, he's going to lose anyone. he needs to be there for them

and it's so much bullshit of course and raphael is pissed - not at magnus, he couldn't be mad at him, but just pissed in general. and he draws magnus in for a hug and tells him that he can always come to raphael, whenever he needs, and raphael will drop everything to help him. the clan is doing okay (especially post-valentine and impending doom and all, you know, they can take care of themselves lmao. like look of course raphael is a very involved leader but you get what i mean, they won't die if he goes help magnus with something) and he has second-in-commands he trusts anyway. and he doesn't want magnus to hide his problems for him and not come for his help and aaa

just.... rapha being like "you think i wouldn't do anything i could for you? anything to make sure you're alright?" and magnus being like "you don't have to" and raphael going, "you didn't have to do it for me either. but you did" "you don't owe me anything" "i do, but this is not about that. magnus, you're my family" and magnus tearing up because it is so immense to him to be someone's family, something he almost can't grasp

and magnus slowly learning that no, raphael doesn't need him, but that's not important because he wants magnus in his life anyway. and they can always rely on each other, no matter what, even if they aren't dependant on each other - and that is a good thing :)

#shadowhunters #sh #raphael santiago #magnus bane #brotp: i'll do whatever it takes to protect them #ask #anonymous #meta #raphael santiago meta #magnus bane meta #q #anti cc #anti tsc #anti tmi #long post

[dragonswithjetpacks]

Theurgist

Chapter Five: A Quick Laugh at Death

-dragonswithjetpacks

Notes: I am so sorry it took so long. I had a busy week last week and was gone all weekend. I got really tired of trying to right this chapter so I am sorry if it seems rushed and choppy. I mainly just wanted the quirky bits. And I have so many things already pre-written I'd like to get to. Including the temple. And then tying in the bite scene later on.

Read here on Ao3

Ferelith looked down into the reflection of the water, examining the dried blood on the side of her face. A small shard of anger slithered into her thoughts when she thought about the creature from the crash. The worm was trying to fight it, but the twirling shadow had clouded it’s thoughts. Her patron was still there, protecting her the best he could. But he would not speak. Ferelith looked up to the moon and saw it was still a few days away before she could perform the ritual to speak with him. Though there was always the option to try. She sighed, setting her gloves to the side to wipe them off later and she dipped her hands into the water. As she began to wipe off her face, Gale had approached her.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like a word once we’ve settled in for the night,” he said.

“If this is about what happened earlier,” she rose to her feet, “then I assure you I’m quite alright.”

“Actually, no,” he paused as he turned. “But I’m glad to see you’re feeling a bit more like yourself.”

A swift breeze pulled her hair into her face, but she was quick to tuck it behind her ear. Gale watched her eyes closely, but saw nothing peculiar within them. They were just as they always had been. Pale yellow with nothing of importance gleaming inside. No hint of anger or excitement. Just simply mindful and content. And the lingering dark essence he had sensed before disappeared. There was just Ferelith with her pale skin and dark hair holding her arms against her chest to brace herself against the cold wind of the river.

“You know,” she said, squeezing her arms. “I’ve met many wizards in my travels. Have you… met many warlocks?”

“A few,” he nodded.

“What were they like?”

Gale paused for a moment. A warlock was unlike a wizard in the sense of how they obtained their power. A wizard was impatient, in most cases. They desired power, but that wasn’t any different than any one else. What separated a warlock was the means in which they obtained that power and what sort of desire drove them. It varied upon the person. And when he looked at Ferelith, the quiet woman who cradled the apron with her books and her singed quill, he did not see a desire for power. He saw a woman with secrets. A woman blanketed by a protective shadow. He took a deep breath.

“Nothing like yourself,” he smiled at her in adoration.

Her eyes, once cold and gazing lost across the river came round to acknowledge the compliment of her companion. He caught the reflection of gratitude within them and knew her smile to be true.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” she looked back out to the water. “It even makes me sound a bit dangerous. But I’ll take the ambiguity as a compliment.”

“I simply don’t know enough about you to say otherwise,” he attempted to correct his statement.

“I appreciate your honesty,” she let a little sigh slip through, leading Gale to believe she was finished with his company. “For the record… you’re one of the kindest wizards I’ve ever met.”

“I do try… my lady.”

“Alright enough flattery,” she waved her hand slightly as he left her line of sight, her gaze still focused on the rolling stream in front of her. “I’ll see you later.”

His footsteps faded out, only to be replaced by another. Ferelith glanced up at the sky, realizing they had a few hours of daylight left before she could retire. There was still much to be done, but she had a sudden urge to be alone. Whoever it was behind her, they were in no rush. And she wondered how long she could stay silent before they urged her to speak.

“The breeze will just get colder as the sun goes down,” she said eyeing the colors shifting as the sun set. “It will draw me closer to the fire. Soon enough.”

“Take your time,” a male’s voice startled her.

Ferelith turned, seeing Astarion with his newly gifted bow strapped to his back, a few crude arrows in his hand.

“Oh, I though you were- well, it doesn’t matter…”

“I was just leaving,” he stated, glancing back to the rest of their party gathering around the pit as Gale prepared a fire.

“And you’re, what? Taking requests?” she smirked over her shoulder.

“I’m afraid the prime rib will be unavailable tonight,” he shifted his weight to his other foot. “But, in order to make up for it, I’ve offered a few bolts to your collection.”

Ferelith lowered her arms, granting him her full attention. “To my what?”

“The village coward dropped his quiver. There were a few arrows in there a bit too short to be considered an arrow. I tossed them onto you bedroll.”

“Oh… thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. At the quality they appear to be in, they could have just been poorly made arrows that couldn’t be used by a proper bow,” he cringed. “They might just snap straight in half.”

“Right,” she nodded, admitting that her thoughts were lost on him.

Astarion could see her drifting back out into the open evening, eyes faded into a distant plane. After what he had witnessed of her earlier that day, he had expected a change to her behavior at camp. The outburst to him meant a reveal of character. Not this reclusive woman who was lost in thought. While Ferelith had been a mostly quiet person from the beginning, there were still those snarky comments between he had rather enjoyed. This was simply just disappointing. She did not even bother to send him away as he turned to leave.

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

After an evening delegating a very passive aggressive discussion between Shadowheart and Lae’zel over what she would consider dinner, Ferelith was forced to resist the urge to turn in for the night. Her head had been pounding, likely a side affect of the illithid’s mental damage from before. Still, she had agreed to have a moment with Gale. And least with him, she knew half of what to expect. That included walking up to see him observing his own double.

“Be with you in a moment,” his voice echoed.

His attention never left the mirror image, his eyes focused upon his own face. Ferelith snorted a bit, rolling her eyes with a sigh as she glanced around for something else to keep her occupied. She allowed him a few more seconds before she grew impatient.

“Is there a reason you’re studying your own image?”

Gale turned, a smirk shot at her to acknowledge the teasing tone.

“Indulging in a spot of vanity. Handsome devil, aren’t I?” he spun around with a wave of his, causing the image to vanish. “Be that as it may.”

It slowly fizzled down to a few sparks. He folded his hands behind his back, very much in the estute sort of way she would have imagine. His brow lowered and she could feel the tone shifting to a more serious manner. Though, she felt she had enough of it that day.

“Ceremorphosis. What does it make you think of?”

“The tadpole,” she answered, knowing it was what he expected.

Still, he responded with utmost enthusiasm.

“Spot on,” he winked. “Day one: fever and memory loss. Day two: hallucinations and graying skin. Day three: hair loss and blood leaking from all orifices. Need I go on?”

“By all means,” she nodded.

“Day four: excruciating pain as the skeleton and organs reform and reposition. Day five: the host's personality has disappeared. Fingers, toes, and limbs elongate,” he became a bit aggravated as a small chuckle fell from her lips. “I take it you get the picture.”

“I’ve already committed to the lesson, Gale,” she grinned. “Might as well get my money’s worth.”

“Day six,” he lowered his brow, clearly not humored by her sarcasm, “The flesh around the mouth splits to make way for tentacles. Day seven: a mind flayer is born. This is the most annotated version, of course.”

“What you’re saying,” she shifted with crossed arms, “is that I can at least keep my sense of humor until the fifth day? I’d say we only have another night’s worth of laughs, Gale.”

“I’m glad your coping mechanism consists of deflecting the seriousness of this problem with jokes,” he replied.

“You’re no fun tonight,” she tilted her head to the side. “But no worries. We’re two days in. We should have clearly turned gray by now.”

“Spot on again,” he flicked a finger at her. “Orifices remain blissfully unbloodied. Our heads remain clear, and our blood temperature is normal. Any expert will agree: this is… abnormal.”

“Don’t question it so much,” she shrugged. “In all my existence, the only reason I owe my life to anything is because of the abnormal. I’m just lucky to be alive.”

“I’ll toast to that,” he smiled uneasily with a hint of intrigue. “The pragmatic in me, however, sees only the silence before the storm. Something to sleep on. We should get some rest.”

“Thank you for leaving me with that imagery,” she gave a slight nod. “I’m sure it will soothe me as I mediate tonight. Good night, Gale.”

“I’m only here to help,” he gave a half solute.

Ferelith grinned, waving her hand slightly to bid farewell as she retreated to her bedroll. They had acquired a few extra blankets. And she was lucky enough to procure an additional pillow. Leaning against her new luxurious cot was her pack, waiting patiently for her hands to dive into it. And standing directly across it from the fire, just as he was the night before, was Astarion. He seemed to be waiting as patiently as her pack.

“I saw you getting a lecture from our magical friend,” he said the moment she glanced in his direction.

“It was quite informative,” she took a break from straightening her blanket to address him. “Descriptive, at the very least.”

“I have to say,” he said leaning forward with narrowed eyes. “I thought you’d look worse. But no. Not a tentacle in sight.”

“Thank you?” she pulled back, turning a shoulder to him. “I’m hoping it will stay that way.”

“Naturally,” he rose a brow. “But I was thinking… what if it doesn’t?”

Ferelith had thought about what would happen if she did change. But the ever growing stubbornness inside her made her truly believe it would never happen. She was not willing to believe it. Nor was she willing to admit to anyone else that it was a possibility. He let the sentiment settle with her for a moment. Though he could see it had little impact. The blank stare with a slow blink signaled him to proceed.

“Of course,” he went on, tilting his chin to the side with a gleam in his eye, “first sign of change and I’ll have to stop that pretty little heart of yours.”

He almost seemed too excited at the thought of putting her down. Like a wild animal. She crossed her arms, as if to guard her chest from his stare. It did not matter, he could hear the sound of her pounding heart. And it had only grown louder from his statement.

“I am open to suggestions. Knives, poison, strangulation – whatever you’d prefer.”

“I’d prefer not to die,” she said dully.

“Well now you’re just being closed-minded,” he teased. “There are some lovely ways to go.”

“First I listen to Gale talk about the details of turning into a terrifying monster and now you’re telling me all the options I have in which you could kill me? Whoever said chivalry was dead must have no taste for macabre.”

“To be fair, you were the one that pushed the wizard to give those wonderful details. I am giving you these options as a gift.”

“I am ever so grateful. Do go on about the beautiful ways in which I can ensue death,” she opened her arms, flicking her wrists in a manner as if she were receiving the said gift he spoke of.

“You know, I watched urchins freeze to death on the street. It looks peaceful – just like falling asleep.”

“Very poetic… I wonder if drowning feels the same.”

“Ha!” his shoulders fell back as he lifted his head with laughter. “Oh, come on. Humor me. If you had to choose…”

“Fine,” she took a deep breath with a few seconds of thought. “I suppose a knife. Straight to the chest. That seems quick.”

“A classic,” he nodded with approval. “One good thrust to the heart and you’re gone. We need a good blade, of course. Don’t want to waste time hacking and prodding with a dinner half.”

It was the first time in a long time it had happened. The welling feeling in her chest. The tightening of her cheeks. The widening of the eyes. The burst of air from her mouths as her voice let out a loud series of rhythmic laughter. It caught her off guard. So much that she covered her mouth, leaning forward, and looking to Astarion with surprise. She rose her brows in disbelief that he had truly made her laugh.

“Well,” he said, leaning forward toward her like they were a couple of children cackling in school, “I’m getting ahead of myself. This is all a worst case scenario, obviously.”

“You’re terrible,” she giggled, lurching forward with one last tit of laughter. “What about you? Is there any way you’d like for me to end your life?”

“Oh, my dear,” he said with a condescending tone. “I’d like to see you try.”

Ferelith reared back, a bit offended that he held himself so much higher than herself. But she knew he was only testing her. Pushing her to see what sort of outcome he could obtain by doubting her strength.

“Dealer’s choice then,” she said firmly. “I’ll make sure it’s a lovely surprise.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll disappoint me,” it was meant to be a positive reinforcement, but the way he said it still made it sound more like a threat. “Now, enough of this talk. Let’s get some rest. The sooner we start tomorrow, the better our chances of keeping this hypothetical.”

“I take it you’re joining us to the tiefling camp, then?”

“Of course, darling,” he replied. “I’ll go wherever you lead.”

“I’d be careful with those words,” she said darkly. “You’ll never know what path I’ll lead you toward.”

“Even better.”

She shook her head at his advancements with a foolish smirk she could not hide. “Good night, Astarion.”

“Good night, Ferelith.”

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

The next day brought a heavy fog over the camp, dampening both their supplies and their spirits. Ferelith could smell the moisture in the air and knew it would lift as the sun rose. And sure enough, the moment they began to snack on their morning rations they could see a bit of orange illuminating the sky. Their pace quickened and they got to their feet, ready to begin to their journey into a new part of the forsaken land they had been thrown into. The human, the gith, and the two elves made their way out of camp, leaving Shadowheart to sulk to herself as they had agreed to take Lae’zel to question the tieflings and seek further assistance for themselves against her wishes. Though Ferelith had promised the temple would come soon, as she had an interest in what laid within it herself.

The path was quite clear to the camp. And Ferelith wondered how they had missed it so easily before. Or perhaps, they had been far too occupied with their troubles and each other to pay attention to path carved among the rocks. She kicked at the dirt, still a bit dry despite the wet morning, and looked up to the back of her companion who was the only one who managed to sustain any of the information the tieflings had given before. He stopped for a moment, glancing behind him to smile at her, then looking to the others.

“I think we should take a moment to really prepare ourselves for this camp,” he said with an overthought of wishful thinking. “Our main goal is information. We don’t want to overwhelm them.”

“It’ll be fine, Gale,” Ferelith stated, slinging her pack over her shoulder. “We’re only asking a few questions. Getting supplies. There won’t be enough time to do any real damage.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Gale whispered slightly to himself with a shrug. “I can think of a few things that could go wrong.”

She ignored him, rummaging through the items in her pack until she felt the cold texture of leather beneath her fingertips. Pulling them out, she gave them one good look before she turned Astarion.

“Here,” she handed him brown leather folded neatly to show the string tied at the top around the collar.

He took them, a bit disgruntled but willingly. Though he wasn’t sure what she expected him to do as she kept searching through the pack.

“Am I supposed to hold onto these?”

“Put them on,” she directed, otherwise paying no mind.

“Right now?” he dipped his head low as he questioned her, staring her in the eyes while waiting for her acknowledgment.

“Yes, right now,” she finally turned to look at him but only for a moment. “You’ve been wearing the same city clothes for days. You should put on some actual leather. One, because it’s more useful. And two, so you don’t look like a complete lost cause.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that last part because this is a very expensive doublet. And this blouse is of the finest threads in Baldur’s Gate.”

“I’m sure,” she grinned lovingly, looking back down into her pack.

Astarion tossed his new leather armor to the side to free his hands. He began to work on his doublet right away. It was already sliding down his arms when Ferelith looked up, catching the back of him in just his white shirt. He looked… nice. It almost made him feel more humble than he really was. Or at least, more approachable. His hands came up, his fingers loosening the collar. Still facing the rock, he pulled the shirt up and her eyes widened as he lifted it. His back flexed and his hands grasped the bottom of his shirt as he pulled it over. She swallowed… hard… as he turned around. What she had assumed was the doublet in all its puffed out glory… had been the actual thickness of the man’s chest. He was lean, but he far from frail. Seeing it off was a revelation and normally she would have felt annoyed at being so wrong about someone’s character. She inhaled a heavy dose of air, holding it for a few moments as she let her eyes wander. He shook the leather tunic out and she admired the muscle in his forearm tensing as he did. Slowly, she exhaled, observing him turn around with his arms raised trying to pull down the armor. She counted each curve of his abdomen with a small smile. Then, nodding with a bit of appreciation, she looked back down into her bag.

“Well, you certainly have no shame,” Gale nudged her.

“What?” she shrugged with a coy smile. “I’m in the wilderness. My eyes get hungry, too.”

“Careful. Some of the tastiest looking berries are the most poisonous.”

“Better than death by ceremorphosis.”

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

The back of Zevlor whisked away, his tail thrashed back and forth with irritation as he left. There was something about a tiefling that left an excitement behind for Ferelith. Like a small trail of flame. She breathed a heavy sigh, knowing that the flames would grow larger the longer she stared at them. After all, she had just witnessed them in battle. Turning to her comrades, she noticed a slight irritation within their faces.

“What are we messengers, now?” Astarion seemed particularly the worst.

Ferelith stepped close to him, too close for comfort. It made him shift backward, which is exactly what she wanted. He took several steps back just so she could hiss at him out of hearing range of anyone else. She kept her head down as she spoke.

“Listen, we keep all options open. There’s no agreeing. No disagreeing. If we’re stuck here, we best leave all doors open in case we need a way out. That means seeing what we can do about the druids.”

“Ah, I understand, now,” he said, his chest still out further than than his chin to keep her at bay. “This is the sort of thing we should have discussed before our arrival rather than my appearance.”

Ferelith blinked, her eyes gliding up toward him. “I didn’t expect you to complain in front of the whole sodding camp after watching one of them take an arrow to the chest.”

“Like it makes a difference? They’re all going to die anyway.”

Ferelith crossed her arms, her fingers tapping against her forearm. “If we’re not careful, we’ll die too.”

“Fine, fine,” he waved his hand.

“If you’re done,” Gale interrupted. “I believe there’s a merchant just down the hill.”

She gave him one last warning glance before she turned to the direction Gale was pointing. There was a small set up just on the edge of the camp beneath a stretch of a rock archway. It was a grand entrance, nothing at all comparable to a refugee camp. They followed the trail down, glancing further into it and noticing the make shift buildings and rails along the sides. They seemed misplaced to her. Even the shop they approached looked more like a scatter array of things more than any kind of marketplace.

“Refugees… adventurers. No one in years. And suddenly, we’re overwhelmed. Well me,” he greeted them begrudgingly. “Thank you for beating back those goblins. Most brave of you.”

“I do what I can,” she shrugged, not feeling quite worthy of his gratitude just yet.

“Is there anything you need? Act fast if you do. The ritual will be complete before too long.”

“I do,” she paused, observing Astarion round the display. “We’re a bit short on supplies. But we do have a bit of coin. Are they really locking down the grove? I was hoping to rely on the business here for a short time.”

“I know it’s drastic, but more monsters seem to terrorize this region every day.”

“And the tieflings?”

“We druids will be safe-”

The sound of the merchant drowned as she became distracted by Astarion looking through the array of weaponry. She watched as he ran his fingers over the blades along the table, glancing at her with a mischievous smirk. Her eyes shifted back to the vendor, trying to pay attention as best she could. But she kept wandering back to the rogue. He held up a knife, displaying it for her with a raised brow. She shook her head slightly. But he ignored her, giving the air a few jabs and shrugging, setting it back down with a frown. The next one he picked up, waving a hand down in it like it were a grand prize. She swallowed the lump forming to stop herself from bursting with laughter. It did not work and she was forced to clear her throat rather loudly.

“It sounds like these are dire times,” she blinked to regain her focus.

“You sound just like Khaga.”

“Are these the only weapons for sale?” Astarion interrupted, setting down the knife he was holding with a loud thud.

“These are the only ones I am selling,” he lowered his brow. “There’s a blacksmith further into the camp. Though I’m not sure he has much to offer.”

“Thank you,” Ferelith said loud enough to draw his attention back. “Here’s what I have for… oh, I think a few potions will do.”

“Of course.”

She passed Gale the bottles as they were handed to her who began to slip them into the back of her pack. Astarion had lost interest in the wares and moved back to Lae’zel who was impatiently waiting behind them. Her stare was into the gorge, examining the tieflings as if she were able to spot the one with the information she needed. Ferelith was certain she would have already caused chaos if they were not with her. As she turned around, she could hear Astarion grumbling into her ear.

“Things are about to get a lot more dire with those sad excuses for weapons.”

“You’re going to get us kicked out,” she said as she brushed by the two of them. “Let’s find the blacksmith. Find the lead. And get out.”

“Is the blacksmith necessary?” the gith rolled her eyes.

“Yes,” Ferelith said firmly. “I’ve only got two bolts for my crossbow. The ones Astarion found are useless.”

“I warned you,” he shrugged.

“A snapped bolt could have meant my death.”

“It wouldn’t have been my first attempt to kill you.”

“Nor the last,” she said over her shoulder as she trailed further down into the camp.

#astarion #astarion x pc #astarion x mc #astarion x ferelith #astarion fic #ferelith #ferelith moonshade #medium burn #ferelith writing tag #dwjp writing tag

[cutegirlmayra]

#NotAPrompt saddly:( Anyways hello hope ur having a good! So from an amazing writer to your fellow beginner writer. How do you organize ur ideas or outline it before you start a sonamy story?

Thank you and great question!~

When you start any story, there needs to be a written Outline, or spine, of a story. Loglines also help to organize a clear direction for your story– example: Sonic, a free-spirited and adventurous hedgehog, and his friends must collect all 7 chaos emeralds to stop Eggman and a released, ancient god of destruction from threatening their world. - Logline I made up for Sonic Adventure. A logline is one sentence that clearly establishes a character and conflict.

Once you have some ideas, let’s say maybe you have the middle worked out or the exciting incident, you then create an Outline. Act 1, Act 2, Act 3. Act 2 should be the longest and biggest portion.

In my prompts, I usually hurry through Act 1 to get you to the exciting incident and then smoothly transition through a wrapped up conclusion.

Act 1 should be small, almost equal to Act 3′s plot points. Act 1 is you introducing the normal life before something twists it around, the conflict. The conflict is the starting point to Act 2, where you begin the rising action.

(the most simplest form. There are other arcs, such as ‘Character Obstacles’, ‘Character Tragedy’, and ‘Character Hero Story’. There are a few more too, but those are the ones I write the most of :)b There’s even a romantic one! Look them up and find your favorites in your own stories, comics, or movies ;)b)

For example, in my lastest Sonamy story, the turning point for the characters was when Amy also got sick with Sonic. This changed the normality which was that Sonic was originally sick, and now, the conflict begins of how are they gonna hide from the robots while both being squished together sharing leaves and turning ditzy in their sickness? I then lead that to Act 3, where silliness does ensue but they end up having a memorable, although disgustingly funny, platonic moment together that turned sweeter and even romantic as the conclusion unfolded. (Prompt: x)

Granted, this story is NOT a work of art haha XD I was inspired to make it, but the plot to it was extremely simple, which is why no real ‘action’ takes place and it’s all character emotion that drive the plot forward.

OR

OR

Many ways a character can express or subtly hint at their emotions. Sometimes they’re impulsive and transparent, wearing their hearts on their sleeves. (AMY) Sometimes their shy or subtle, opting to mask their emotions deep below the surface until they can’t help but ‘leak’ their emotions out during the climactic reveal and ‘breaking point’ for their character or plot summary. (Sonic.) Sometimes their so out of it, or not even in tune with their own emotions that they play them off and go cynical with it all. (Sometimes, I see this as Classic Sonic, but not always.), there are many more. Find them all! lol

As for my bigger fanfictions, I do make a summary, which is the full story condensed into a page or so worth of ‘notes’ as I refer to them. It’s not as neat as labeling Act 1-3, but it does give me a basic outline.

For Example, you can’t use your summary outline for your summary to your story. Your summary should have the reader asking questions so they’ll want to engage with the story. Instead, your Summary Outline should look like this:

Sonic and Amy, during a normal fight with Eggman, suddenly mention a tough topic for the both of them that causes some bickering and tension. When the tension accelerates beyond normal teasing, the two end up accidentally losing their tempers and hurting each other. Eggman, deciding drama’s not what he wanted today, sends a fully-armed attack at them while their distracted, thinking it a good opportunity to catch Sonic off-guard. However, though Sonic looks like he’s about to get whammed by the ambush, Amy pushes him out of the way and they survive. Amazed, Sonic rushes over to her, “Amy! W-why… Why did you jump in the way like that? I don’t get it… Weren’t you mad?” He hovers over her as she weakly squints an eye up at him (NOTE: This part is getting more detailed, can you tell? It’s the climax of the story and should have much more detail and notes going on. Even dialogue that can be rewritten or changed. It’s okay to have notes like this for your most dramatic scene, and keep the rest of it generally swift, but try not to go too vague. If you do, you may forget how you wanted to write that part, and that’s NO GOOD! -Sonic reference, lol!) “S-Sonic… Don’t you understand?!” She wobbly gets up to lean up into his face, “No matter how mad you may make me, or how awful our bantering gets, I will still love you no matter what!” (Exciting Incident, Amy’s confession, which will lead to a reaction in not only Sonic but the audience. This is the height of the climax and when things start to go down, but Sonic’s climax is right after this– example: ) Sonic, taken back by her words, suddenly smiles, “I can do no wrong by you… can I?” Amy smiles, and when Sonic realizes she’s not teasing or messing around this time, loses the smile and has his eyes scan her for any sign of humor. When none is found, he embraces her, “…Thank you… Amy.” (This is the point you begin the falling action, which is also the beginning of Act 3, which starts at the ending of the climax and continues towards the resolution, the lasting effect or result of the climax. What has now changed for the characters? What is their new reality? In Drama, there needs to be a few players: Victim, Villian, and Rescuer. Rescuer has to lose every time, then the dynamic will change to Victim as a Villain, and Villian as Victim. This then turns into ‘Creator of the drama’ which is neither victim nor villain, to two supports, ‘Challenger’ Sonic then turns to Eggman, cocky and snarky as usual, but this time, with an arm around Amy’s shoulders. They fight together and beat Eggman, still lightly joking with one another, but not as bad as before. Eggman is confused, defeated, he asks what happened. Amy and Sonic confidently look to each other, and together, wink slyly and say, “Friends fight together!” Before Sonic says, “Doesn’t mean they’ll leave ya if you have different opinions then them.” He smiles to her as she nods and continues his sentence for him, looking to him with love and admiration. “It just means you’re two different people, and that’s just fine by me! Otherwise, the world would be so boring!” (The lesson is usually delivered towards the end of Act 3, maybe not as strongly as this was. Sometimes, the lesson can be subtle and should be too. You don’t want to write ‘on the nose’ unless you’re writing for children very young, but in my opinion, Children are super smart too and pick up on a lot! My advice is to write strongly and powerfully even if it’s just for children audiences. They’re smarter than you think!) “And dull!” Sonic remarks, as the two of them laugh. Unable to comprehend their strange mood swings, Eggman grips his head and ducks down, frowning profusely, “Ahh… Now I have a headache…” (

And by the end, your audience will have understood the climb your characters took to reach that resolution, and they–themselves–reach a conclusion to their emotional relief. (People hate cliffhangers so much because you leave the Audience suspended in their need for closure, but that also addicts them to your story… so Authors can’t help but use it XD But we hate having it used on ourselves!!! Curiosity doesn’t kill your story, only your cat! And the satisfaction of knowing brings it back ;)b)

Was it hard for your characters to reach a conclusion?

Did that help? Lol This plot I made was rather simple, but I hope it taught it some stuff I like to think about when making a story! :D Drama is SO IMPORTANT! Remember to think of their character cores as well, what traits could create conflict in them and in others? What traits could help them learn and cope through that trauma? These are all important, and Romance usually has a ‘revelation’ or ‘impulsive excitement push’ around 10-15 pages/minutes when writing or watching a romance plot. I call it the ‘push’ because you can tell the writer is trying to nudge the two together. In film, you see them get bumped up against each other and then apologize but the girl moves her hair as a distraction and the boy looks away, but both are nervous and awkwardly blushing. That’s another ‘push’ in my book towards the romantic subplot.)

(Then they notice their cute, they keep seeing each other, la-de-dah, even AMY wanted this to happen!)

(Remember, this is Amy’s ‘day-dream’ sequence, it’s interesting how she thinks of Sonic, versus how he actually portrays himself. Useful info for writing Sonamy XD)

Alright! How’d I do? What Sonic and Amy stories will you create, my precious Anon friend? Good luck! And I can’t wait to see the success you find!

#ask cutegirlmayra #sonamy #sonicxamy #sonic #sonic prompts #sonic fanfiction #cutegirlmayra ask #cutegirlmayra #story writing #me story advice #me advice #cutegirlmayra advice

[lepidotrichia]

almagest

Summary

"So you know how life is made up of stardust? Like you and I both are made up of the same things that used to make up a star, right?" "Right." "And you know how people make wishes on stars?" "...Yes?" "What if someone ends up being made up of the stardust from one of those wishing stars?" Snorting, he said, "You calling me a dream come true?" "No. I'm a dream come true. You're probably made of the stardust of an evil sun that cursed every living thing around it." "Fuck off."

They were both laughing, music dancing through the night.

Characters

Noriaki Kakyoin, Jotaro Kujo, (BRIEF APPEARANCE) Joseph Joestar, Mohammad Avdul, Jean-Pierre Polnareff

Relationship(s)

Noriaki Kakyoin & Jotaro Kujo (If you wanna read it that way. Technically Pre-Relationship)

Themes, Motifs, and Additional Info

Stargazing, Constellations, Mention of Nightmare, Comfort

Takes place after the fight with Death 13

Word Count

2312

Story below the break! You can also read it here.

While collecting the stars, I connected the dots     I don’t know who I am, but now I know who I’m not     I’m just a curious speck that got caught up in orbit, in orbit     Like a magnet it beckoned my metals toward it, toward it  

Joseph’s snores sounded throughout the campsite, harmonizing with the crackling campfire. Jean, Mohammad, and Iggy were huddled nearby, the fire’s steady light dancing across their sleeping figures. A rock’s shadow loomed over the ground. Perched upon it were Jotaro and Noriaki, huddled in a blanket to keep out the January desert night’s chill.  

The average seventeen-year-old isn’t equipped to fight a living god. Fear of what’s to come, of what failure would mean for the world, keeping them awake. Both of them were too proud to name that fear out loud, but they knew. Specters tearing apart everything and everyone they ever cared for haunted their dreams.  

At times like this, the company of another was a small mercy.  

“And that one,” Noriaki continued, pointing at the diagram Hierophant had drawn in the sand, “is Lyra. The one that looks like a parallelogram with the line sticking out of it.”

Hand pressed against his cheek, Jotaro mumbled, “What’s it supposed to be?”

“A lyre. Have you heard of it? It looks like a small harp, but its structure is more like a lute. It was commonly used during the Greek classical period.”  

Jotaro carefully considered the sky etched into the ground. Noriaki had wanted to tell him about all the constellations they were missing out on since it wasn’t the right season to catch a glimpse of them in this hemisphere. Breathing out another cloud of smoke, he replied,“I don’t see it. All just looks like a bunch of dots to me.”  

Noriaki shook his head. “You’re not looking hard enough. I mean, they are just “a bunch of dots, but humans always manage to find patterns. We find icons and symbols, make stories out of them.”

“What’s the story for this one?”  

Noriaki grinned, “I’m glad you asked!”

Gazing into the peaceful darkness, Jotaro eased into his skin. He’d much rather be in a hotel room right now, but he had to admit, he was glad he was here to see the night sky. It looked so vibrant. He’d never seen the milky way in person like this. The city lights back home overwhelmed the stars’ distant glow, rendering them invisible. Here, there was no excess light or noise. Just the stars, the campfire, and Noriaki’s soft voice streaming bits of trivia.  

“Do you know the story of Orpheus?" Noriaki toyed with his hair as he began. "Supposedly, he played the first lyre ever made. Legend has it, his music was so beautiful that it charmed even the sirens and the gods. When his lover, Eurydice, died, he went to the Underworld to beg the god of the dead, Hades, to bring her back to life. Can you guess how he got Hades to say yes?"  

Without waiting for a reply, he answered, "By playing for him on his Lyre! Thus, Eurydice was allowed to leave the Underworld under one condition." Noriaki leaned in, the dim glow of the campfire casting a shadow on his face. "Orpheus couldn’t look at her until they were back to the land of the living.”  

Taking a breath, he continued, “Of course, like most of these stories, it ends with a tragedy. Orpheus couldn’t help himself. He’d missed Eurydice so much. He just couldn’t believe that they’d be together again. And you know, it’s hard not to want to reach out towards someone you’d loved and lost. So Orpheus ended up looking back at Eurydice as they were leaving the Underworld, despite Hades’ warning."

Noriaki leaned back on his hands, tone turning nonchalant as he finished. "So Eurydice was sent back, never to return to the land of the living. Orpheus would spend the rest of his life wandering around aimlessly while playing his lyre, and no one lived happily ever after. The end."

Jotaro’s mouth twitched into a frown, “That’s stupid. If I was Orpheus, I just wouldn’t have looked back.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Noriaki inclined his head as if to say "really now?".

 “No. I mean, why would I go through all that trouble just to fuck up and do the one thing I wasn’t supposed to do? What’s the point?"  

“Well, it’s a story in the end.”  

“Hmph, dumb story."

“It was probably a rhetorical question—” Jotaro nodded, “but the point of the story is to talk about how death is absolute. At least, that’s what I think. No matter how much Orpheus and Eurydice loved each other, love alone wasn’t enough to overcome death.”

Jotaro furrowed his brows. “But it was Orpheus’s fault.”  

“Was it?" Noriaki rebutted. "Gods are supposed to be omnipotent. See, I think Hades knew that Orpheus wouldn’t be able to resist looking back, so he gave him this impossible condition to follow. He was humoring the funny little man with his pretty-sounding lyre. I mean," his hands were animated now as he spoke excitedly, "how are you just going to waltz into the realm of the god of the dead demanding your lover be brought back to life just because you miss her? Hades was never actually going to bring Eurydice back to life.”  

Bringing his hands back down behind him, skin pressing into stone, Noriaki gave Jotaro a sad smile and said, “No matter how brutal it is to have someone you love ripped away, the universe doesn’t grant any favors.”

The two sat in contemplative silence. Hierophant’s tendrils shifted beneath the sand, mapping out their surroundings out of habit.  

“I still wouldn’t have turned around”, Jotaro broke the silence.  

“Hmm?”  

Turning to face Noriaki, he continued, “I wouldn’t have turned around. Orpheus was thinking about how much he missed Eurydice. That’s why he turned around. That was his mistake.”

Noriaki tilted his head, a teasing gleam in his eyes, “You’re saying Orpheus was being selfish?”

“I’m saying he cared more about how much he missed her than actually bringing her back to life.”  

“You’re telling me he deserved to be punished for missing someone?”  

Jotaro sighed irritably, “I’m saying he put his wants before someone else’s needs. His feelings shouldn’t matter when someone’s life is on the line.”

Noriaki hummed. “Impressive, Jotaro. You know, Mr. Abdul told me how you locked yourself up in jail after you found out you had a Stand because you were afraid you’d hurt someone." He reached out to sweep aside a curl resting uncomfortably on Jotaro's left eye. "Something about an “evil spirit”? Did you have the same mindset when you did that?

Jotaro pulled back. “Fuck off”, he dismissed, stubbing his cigarette against the rock’s side, dropping it into the sand below. Noriaki winced as the cigarette landed on a part of Hierophant, ashes burning into their tendrils. Hierophant quickly withdrew themself.  

“Shit", he breathed in sharply." Fuck, sorry.”  

“You’re fine you’re fine", waving the incident away. Stifling a yawn, Noriaki closed his eyes, chin dropping. His loose curls fell against the side of his face, the red of his hair burning bright against his silhouette. Basking in the faint warmth of the fire, he spoke slowly, apologizing, “Not much I can tell you about the sky right now. I’m only really familiar with the summertime constellations.”

Pressing his face into his palm more, Jotaro stared at him, jaw tensed in quiet worry. “Kakyoin.  

"Yeah?"  

"Go sleep.”  

“What?" Noriaki opened his eyes, sitting back up. "No, I’m fine.” Jotaro gave him a side-eye. “Dude, I’m wide awake.”

A wicked grin took over, as Noriaki pressed, “Is it that you’re tired, Jotaro? Is it past your bedtime? I know Ms. Kujo wouldn’t want her baby boy up so late—”

“Oh my  god, I’m going to kick your ass”, Jotaro complained, shoving at Noriaki. There was no hiding the smile growing on his face. Noriaki’s laugh carried in the air as he pushed himself back to lean into Jotaro, the latter dissolving into silent, shaky laughter himself.

After some time, the two caught their breath. Below a sky full of stars, they sat resting against each other. Noriaki spoke gently, “Are you worried about her?”

Jotaro huffed, “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“We’re going to win, you know. We’ll save her.” Noriaki squeezed the other’s arm, “You hear me, Jojo?”

"Yeah.” He was quieter now.  

“I promise.”  

Hiding below the brim of his hat, he mumbled, “Thanks, Kakyoin.”

“Do you wanna play a game?” Noriaki poked up at the hat’s brim so he could see Jotaro’s eyes again. “Let’s make up our own constellations.”

“That sounds stupid.”  

“Exactly. Haven’t you ever tried to do something stupid to cope with something serious? It’ll be fun.”  

Sighing, he gave in, “Fine.”

 “You first?”  

“What? Why? I don’t even want to pl—”  

“You’re older, so you go first.”  

“That’s so stupid. This is so stupid.”  

“If you complain or say “stupid” one more time, I’m going to have Hierophant pour sand down your uniform.”

“You’re one evil bastard.” Noriaki grinned as if he’d just been complimented. “Fine. Okay um”, Jotaro squinted at the sky before him. “That one looks like a cat stretching.”

“Really? It looks more like a horse to me. See, its face is too long to be a cat’s.”  

Jotaro sneered, “Hey, it’s my constellation. I’m the one who says what it is.”

“Okay okay!” Noriaki laughed, raising his hands in surrender. “What’s its story?

“Fuck, I don’t know. It’s just a cat. Does it have to have one?”  

“It’s more fun if it does.”  

“I think our definitions of “fun” are very fucking different, Kakyoin.”

“Fine! You’re taking too long anyways.” Noriaki scanned the scene before him. “That one looks like someone asking for a dance.”

“How do you even see that?”  

“See? That’s his arm and it’s outstretched. He’s in a dancer's pose, and anyways, it’s my constellation. I’m the one who says—”  

“You’re so annoying.”  

“So I think his story is that he was this great dancer, so great that he could never find a dance partner. He always performed alone. No one could ever understand him because no one could ever keep up with him. One day, during one of his performances, he was suddenly overcome with so much grief that he danced himself to death. So now he dances in the stars.”  

“That’s dark. How did he end up in the stars?”  

“Even though he always felt lonely, the people around him admired him a lot. They loved to see him, even if they didn’t really understand him. So although he lived as this untouchable being, he still left a mark on his admirers’ lives. So now he dances with the stars for the whole world to see.”  

“That’s depressing.”  

Noriaki grumbled, “Come up with a cheerier story then.”

“I’m not good at storytelling.” After searching for a moment, Jotoro said, “That one looks like a fish.”

“No story?”  

“No…but I can tell you what kind of fish it is.”  

“How do you know about the kinds of fish?” Noriaki questioned curiously.  

Jotaro shrugged, “I’m getting into marine biology. Anyways, we’re near the Red Sea, so I’ll say it’s a Bigeye Houndshark.”

“Why a shark?”  

“I like sharks.”  

“I learn something new about you every day”, Noriaki nudged him with a smile, pulling the blanket tighter around them. “One more?”

“Sure.”  

“Hierophant”, Noriaki called out. Hierophant materialized before them, starting at the two. Messages seemed to pass between the Stand and their user, and, after a moment, Hierophant chirped affirmingly. Floating higher up, they unraveled themself, aligning their tendrils to match what the boys saw as the position of the stars. Jotaro blinked at Hierophant as they settled themself in, seemingly pleased with their work.

“What’s this supposed to be?”  

Noriaki smiled and replied, “If I remembered it right, it’s supposed to be a map of our journey so far. See that bright star near Hierophant’s head? I recognize it. Polaris, I think. People used to use it to navigate.”

"What’s it supposed to stand for now?”  

“Cairo, or our end goal in general. The story of this “constellation” is the story of our crusade, I guess.”

Jotaro stared for a moment longer, trying to think of something to say. A certain feeling tugged at his chest, and in his rush to beat it down, he was rendered speechless.

“We’re awfully close to figuring out how this story ends, don’t you think?”  

Jotaro scanned the distance between Hierophant’s head to Polaris. They weren’t all that far from the end now, were they. “Yeah.”

“Are you ready?” 

Their eyes met. Jotoro shook his head.  

“Me neither”, Noriaki sighed as he called Hierophant back in. “We’ll get there when we get there I suppose.”

“Kakyoin.”  

“Mhm?”  

“We’ll win. Promise.”  

Noriaki stared in surprise before softening his eyes. Smiling, he replied, “Thanks, Jojo.”

"Do you want to stay up a little longer?” It was Jotaro who pulled the blanket around them tighter this time, silently voicing his own answer.

"Please.”  

"Alright.”  

The campfire crackled, sharing in the warmth of its company, both asleep and awake. The Red Sea’s coast was only a few kilometers away. The group's 50 days and 50 nights were drawing to an end. Maybe no one else would witness their efforts to save the world, but the stars above have burned on longer than any human life. Joining together, they form constellations. They are the archivists of times long passed, stories mapped out in the heavens. They are the storytellers of histories long forgotten. They are the witnesses of the things that happen in the dark, hope carried through dots of light.  

Make my messes matter Make this chaos count Let every little fracture in me Shatter out loud 

Author’s Note

If you were wondering, the constellations they're referencing in their game are:

Monoceros

Orion

Pisces

#jojo's bizarre adventure #jojoba #jjba #stardust crusaders #jotakak #<-- cringing #jotaro kujo #kakyoin noriaki #kakyoin tenmei #kujo jotaro #jotaro #kakyoin #mywriting #jojo part 3

[gintamajustaway]

(1) I finally finished gintama today! A bittersweet ride, wish I can forget everything and read this wonderful series again. Also I am a sucker for your character analyses, so how do you think the joui 3 cope with all of this? A death of a friend & a sensei. i don't know how the kihetai will be after all that too. It's just even if sorachi made a new status quo that resembles the old one, I can't imagine Gin being as happy go lucky as before despite his snark at the last few pages.

Congrats on finishing Gintama! Answer below the cut:

I’ve felt that way about certain stories too. Wishing I could just blank it out of my head and redo it like it’s new and relive all those feelings. The rest of this is just going to be my thoughts and I by no means think anyone has to agree with me. It��s just how I feel and if anyone disagrees that’s completely fine, I don’t care.

The Joui coping with the death of Shouyou isn’t exactly new. Shouyou has died before and since Gintoki had to be the one to kill him in such a graphic way in front of his closest friends, it had a lot to deal with for years because of that. He also learned how to heal -- his kids, family, and friends helped him with those lessons -- so learning to cope with Shouyou’s death a second time would be easier, I would think. Not only because of the huge support system he has now, but also because he has had to do it before and at least this time around he knows it’s final and he got closure and an explanation which he didn’t have the first time around. I also think -- and again this is just a personal opinion -- Shouyou/Utsuro got to the point where the cycle was overused too many times by the end of it. So having Shouyou die, then come back, then be killed, then be reborn, then die again -- eventually you’ve just kind of got to thrown in the towel with it. Plus, this time around, Gintoki got to somewhat return the favor Shouyou did for him and that in itself was a huge closure for him.

Dealing with Takasugi’s death would be the difficult one to parse this time around, but he was also reborn. Whether or not he retained his memories I don’t think has been revealed and I’ve made a post talking about that. In a way, Takasugi’s suffering ended, which is good, but then the rest of the Joui lost a friend. Takasugi’s death, to me, was not unexpected. I’ve said before, but when I wrote the 89 page fic for the GinHiji / HijiGin zine which took place after the end of the series, I excluded Takasugi from the entire thing because I was so confident he was going to die. This was a year before the series even ended. I like to think that the Joui had some inkling that not all of them were going to make it through the experience. 

Side note: Something I’m a little annoyed Sorachi either forgot about or completely brushed over is the big speech Katsura made. After he found out what really happened when Gintoki killed Shouyou, Katsura went off and told Gintoki that he wouldn’t have to be the one to shoulder the burden this time around and then that’s exactly what happened. 

Mourning Takasugi would be difficult, but then again, Takasugi had done a really good job of ceding himself from the rest of the Joui. So, in a way, Katsura and especially Gintoki had already... I don’t want to say they’d written Takasugi off, but after Gintoki beheaded Shouyou, he knew there would be no going back from that and he’d likely considered both Katsura and Takasugi lost to him forever after that. He mended things slowly over time with Katsura, but Takasugi wanted to destroy Gintoki’s whole world so really, Gintoki -- and later Katsura --spent a lot of time knowing Takasugi was out of their reach. They got good closure in the end, but losing Takasugi for real, though it would ache and hurt, they’d also lost him before.

No, Gintoki wouldn’t necessarily be “happy go lucky,” but no one would be after the deaths of people you’ve loved. He has better coping mechanisms now and he has his support system, but the shadow of everything that happened will always hang over Gintoki. The difference now is that his mindset has changed and he’s looking forward to the future. He knows he’ll be alright and he also knows some part of him is always going to hurt and that that’s okay. Gintoki is not the same person he was at the beginning of the story and it took him a looooong ass time to see any worth in himself. He’ll still have his bad days, but those will be dwarfed by the good ones as he moves ahead with everyone. That’s the way I see it, anyway. 

And this is not meant in an offensive way whatsoever, but I don’t agree with the Yorozuya and Shinsengumi not changing except for Gintoki and Hijikata. They all changed, to me. The episode that really highlights this is episode 316. Kagura and Sougo aren’t just rivals, they’re friends. A lot of people like to give Sougo a lot of shit, but he’s actually a really good character and while I don’t ship Sougo and Kagura, they’re great friends. They can be immature at times, but they’re also young and are allowed to act stupid and say dumb stuff sometimes. I’ve never been a huge fan of Kondo’s stalking habits, I always thought it was a bit odd even if it’s only done for humor value, but that episode shows both Otae and Shinpachi opening their door to him and offering him a drink as they invite him back when the Shinsengumi returns. Otae may not love him back, but both she and Shinpachi value him as a person because Kondo has a ton of great traits that often get swept aside in favor of “gorilla stalker” jokes. I do agree that Gintoki and Hijikata went through the greatest transition out of all of them and I’ve talked so much about this LOL Their friendship is so awesome to me and I’ll never tire of it. 

Their bantering won’t change, that’s part of their dynamic and that’s what resonates so much with me because I love teasing and bantering with those closest to me. Making jokes, laughing together, using quips and witticisms, etc -- Gintoki and Hijikata do this, too, and it makes a lot of sense to me personally because they’re themselves when they’re with each other. There are no fronts and no shields between them at the end of the story. They get to go out for drinks together, have fun together, tell each other truths that they literally don’t tell anyone else in the story. It still blows me away that Hijikata is the one person Gintoki ever willingly and with no prompting mentioned his mother to. They each told the other that home isn’t home without them there. When the Yorozuya left, Hijikata’s first instinct was to go fucking find them. When Gintoki lost his sword, Hijikata was the one to keep it for him and give it back to him. When Hijikata was in trouble and losing his way, Gintoki is the one that took him home and they opened the gates to the barracks together. I could go on and on and on about them, their journey is so well written. Sorachi put more time and effort into the Yorozuya and Shinsengumi dynamics than any other in the series and it shows in the best way. 

Anyway, I’ve talked enough probably, but there are some thoughts for you to consider. If there’s more you want to talk about, hit me up. Congrats again on finishing Gintama, I’m happy you enjoyed it! 

#anon #meta

[vaultofqueenorion]

Review of The Handmaid’s Tale

This book hit me like a ton of bricks. I get a sick feeling every time I think seriously of it, and it chilled me all the way to the bone. And yet, it is such an incredible book, in all its psychological horror. I think the worst part is that I see attributes and slivers of the book in everyday life. There’s a truth to it, and it doesn’t ring hollow. 

Read the book. But read the book only if you can stomach it, because it is truly gruelling. I would never call this a good book. Interesting, observant, thought-provoking, yes. But it is not one that has ever or ever will bring me entertainment.

Trigger warnings / TW / Content warnings: the book goes into detached detail with rape, forced pregnancy, murder, hanging, angry mobs tearing apart living people, shootings, killings, massacres and total oppression. Do not read if you are sensitive to any of these subjects. 

The Title

The title befits the book in two ways; first, it is the tale of Offred (as we know her only), a handmaiden to the Commander. The Commander is likely Frederick R. Waterford, as is discussed in the epilogue of the book, but that is never confirmed. 

What is a handmaiden, you ask, if you have never seen the popular Hulu series or heard of the book. A handmaiden is a woman (girl in the book to remove agency) that is ‘bound’ to a married couple who are unable to conceive children - in the book, we hear only of the whereabouts of the handmaidens of the Commanders and their Wives. 

The handmaiden is stripped of her name, her family, her identity, and she has to serve the couple - she is forced to give them children in a twisted ritual that apparently has root in biblical texts. Basically, she is raped in the presence of the couple in order to bear children for barren women who could otherwise not do so. 

The title also refers to the name of the ‘item’ which is a series of cassettes written into a manuscript discussed at the conference of the ‘Twelfth Symposium on Gileadean Studies’ in the year 2195. 

It is a has-been; a recollection of the events recorded by the same woman from whom we read the story, and the speaker at the conference makes several jokes throughout his speech to keep the mood light and the audience entertained. 

It is a detached study in the history of America when it crumbled to a totalitarian patriarchal society that oppressed women in drastical terms and through drastic means. 

The Characters

Offred is meek yet strong-willed. Outspoken yet scared. It is as if she lives as a chameleon, never quite touching the ground of who she really is, but instead latching on to the world and society around her. 

The most remarkable thing about her is, in fact, her normality. She wonders, she becomes angry and yet she doesn’t do anything. Because what can one person do against overwhelming odds? When the other option is death, do you choose to live in submission?

The quote is one that I feel sums up her character. Instead of raging at the world like the heroes we see in stories, she tries to change the very core of her being to align with the wishes of new society. 

She does what many ordinary people would do, simply because fear is one damn powerful motivator. She feels she has no other choice. And she holds on to hope, throughout it all. Hope that she might - just might - see her daughter or her husband again. Hope that she might break free. 

We never do find out whether she finds absolution for that hope or not. 

The Commander lives a parallel life to the handmaidens. In all actuality it seems he lives a parallel life to the women of the dystopian world. He says that he wants Offred to have a pleasant or at least bearable existence, but what he does is that he gets her to indulge in things that he wants to do. He dresses her up and parades her around in secret bars where other girls are ‘working’ as if he owns her - which shows us that he kind of believes that he does. 

Even when he gives Offred something - a magazine - he doesn’t really think of how it is for her.

It is not only ignorance - it is also a lack of wanting to know. He simply doesn’t care enough about her existence to know that she cannot do so. Or he pretends to, playing the ‘good guy’ who doesn’t have anything to do with the hellscape Offred lives in. 

The thing is, this kind of ignorance is commonly participated in throughout society - just take a look at the men who say that they suddenly ‘understand how women feel’ when they pose as women online. Or the white people who ‘never knew how bad POC had it’ because they simply never bothered to look. 

It just hits a little too close to home, that’s all.

Serena Joy / the Commander’s wife is a chilling person. To be a woman, to see what is being done to other women, and yet still somehow hating them for it, as if it isn’t the higher up around her - including her own husband - who have orchestrated this. 

And then there’s this quote:

It does have several meanings to it. To Joy it means that she longs for children, that she wants them so badly that she will do anything in her power to get them. To Offred it means that if she cannot provide a strange family with children through rape, she will be shipped off to a faraway place where she will likely starve to death

Perspective, indeed.

Offred wants so desperately for her friend and the personification of the rebellion in her mind, Moira, to go out in a ball of fire. To burn the whole damn thing to the ground and either walk away, a cigarette in hand, or die trying. 

It seems that there is something in her that longs to be near her, as if Moira is the ideal that she strives towards, and when she never hears from her or sees her again, there is a melancholy and yet an emptiness to her words. 

She talks about their relationship once, before it all went to hell, and this quote is from that:

Luke. Luke, Luke, Luke. Offred misses Luke, and of course she does. He was her husband, the man she was waiting on while he cheated on his then partner, and the father of Offred’s daughter. And yet. 

I hated him so much. 

Just the mention of him sent spiders crawling down my spine, and really, the cheating was bad enough. Even worse was the small signs of misogyny - him saying that Offred losing her job was no big deal, that they would get through it together. Him joking with her about it - about how she could stay at home now, how he would have the power. 

No, I really didn’t like that casual display of superiority. 

Offred’s daughter is part of the next generation of Wives. Sent off to some lucky childless family, this eight year old girl will be groomed and bred into the oppression around her, and at some point, she will stop questioning the world. 

After all, as Aunt Lydia said to Offred:

Offred’s mother is a full-blooded feminist, which causes her to be shipped off to die early on. She’s an abortion advocate, and one of her most telling quotes is:

As a reply to when Offred in the past says that Luke’s teasings are nothing. But the mother understands. Understands the work that it has taken to get this far, and the work that needs to be done, lest they slip back into oppression.

And you know what? People languished in their complacency at the time of the coup, and the totalitarian society crept into the shadows, settling more and more and consuming the light as time passed by.

The Plot

The plot is really not the remarkable part of this story. Yes, Offred goes to town, befriends a fellow handmaid (this one is part of the resistance, peeps!), attends the ceremony, is taken to the Commander’s office, then later to the forbidden bar. 

The places aren’t so much important as what Offred observes. The small injustices, the doctors and scientists handing from the Wall, the Particicution in which the handmaids tear a man apart because he has allegedly raped someone (which is then told to be untrue; he is part of the resistance group, and handmaids murdering him with their bare hands is a good way for the totalitarian government to get rid of him). 

In truth, the handmaids have no real chance of getting themselves out, if they do not collaborate with Mayday, the resistance group. In truth, they are stuck in their miserable places, and that is why one of the earliest quotes from Offred is so chilling:

This is also why the handmaids live with the bare minimum of utilities - they are watched as they bathe, no light fixtures are present, matches are forbidden, knives unsupervised are forbidden. 

Because so many have killed themselves in desperation to get out of the hell that they have found themselves in. 

The Language

Margaret Atwood especially puts focus on the horror of the world that Offred lives in through two means; the conference / historical notes at the end of the story which brings a light and humorous view on the totalitarian society, and the on-the-verge-but-not-quite tone of hopelessness that Offred uses to describe her tales through. 

Aunt Lydia is often the catalyst for this kind of hopelessness. In the times where Offred tried to convince herself that this really is better. That the world is not quite as bleak, and that she actually has it better now than before.

It is a form of brainwashing that is already beginning to form. And what else can she do, one might think. She has to survive somehow. 

And yet, she brings herself to rekindle a fire once in a while. To open the lid on the anger, the resentment, the fierce cruelty of the world that she is faced with. It is something that she does internally, and one of the more prominent moments of this is when she is faced with the Commander in his office. 

The butter in this scenario refers to a tiny rebellion - an act of survival in a way that goes against the schemes and oppression of the world around the handmaidens. The most telling thing is that he laughs at her - as if the way of coping, the secret tips that are being shared between the handmaidens is nothing more than child’s play.

And it probably is to him. 

With a good standing, a good life and a sweet deal compared to the majority of this society that he helped create, he would never think to ‘stoop’ to such methods. 

The oppression is strong in this one, is all I have to say. 

Notes and worthy mentions

The Ceremony. Ooooh, the Ceremony. Of the most convoluted, terrible scenes I have ever had the displeasure of reading, this detached form of rape, explained as the rape is occuring, was terrifying and horrifying and I really, truly never want to read anything like it again.

Also, Offred calls it something else. She doesn’t want to call it rape, because she feels as if she had a choice - not much choice, but still choice. 

One thing that ticked me off was the mention of Mayday and the Underground Femaleroad - the latter a smuggling ring made to get the women out of their horrible positions. 

And the person at the historical conference calls it a Frailroad. Yes, it’s a shortening of female and road, but dang. And the worst thing is? It is totally realistic as to how it would probably be called - just look at how we treat the witch trials or say feminazi if a feminist speaks up about something that’s a ‘little too radical’. I call BS, is all, even if it just goes to show that Margaret Atwood knows what she’s doing when she writes. 

In conclusion

It is not a good book. It is magnificent in the way it portrays something that many women feel at least slivers of and amplifies them in a way that pierces your heart and leaves you dangling at its mercy. 

Books are meant to entertain, yes, but they are also meant to challenge, to inquire, and to make you think. Rarely has a book stayed with me for this long after I have read it, and rarely have I seen more parallels from the world we live in capable of being drawn to this hellscape that Margaret Atwood has created.

There is truth in this horrifically fantastic book. And this means that I cannot help but give it five paws out of five. The alternative would have been to have given it zero, but the thing is that I have seen society in such a new light after reading this that it wouldn’t have been fair. 

#the handmaid's tale #Offred #review #book review #bookblr #Book #dystopia #serena joy #moira #feminist #oppression

[clansayeed]

The Price ― a Bound by Destiny drabble

⥼ Summary ⥽

Nadya's visions of the past are starting to take their toll, but Adrian is always there to help her recover. A century ago Gaius makes sure Adrian stays loyal to him through manipulative means.

note: This piece takes place in the year between Bound by Destiny I & II, and sheds a little more light on how Nadya coped with her visions before she knew the truth; as well as offering a glimpse into the Trinity’s movements during the 1910s.

The flashback that takes up the second half of this piece references a real historical event, but all implications, names, and the like are purely fictitious in nature and should not be taken as fact.

word count: 2,518 rating: teen+ content warnings: references to past emotional manipulation/abuse, death, grief, mention of physical violence (brief), historical references find out more: HERE

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

[READ IT ON AO3]

“Nadya?”

Her eyes are watering; sting with the burn of being held open. When she blinks it off the barest beginnings of tears cling to her lashes.

A dark blue handkerchief is held out in offering before she can even reach for her desk drawer.

“Here, just use this,” comes Adrian’s voice above her — that bare hint of concern he always seems to carry. The hallmark trait of the kindest of hearts.

“I don’t want to get mascara on it.”

“Nadya.”

“Okay, okay — fine.”

She half expects that to be that. Instead feels Adrian’s eyes on her while she takes delicate care and attention not to mess up her wingtip because it had taken a full hour that afternoon and sometimes a girl just has to be proud of a steady hand.

Only when she’s sure her hard work is spared does she look at her boss properly. Gives him a sheepish, ashamed smile because there’s no way he’s getting the dark smears out of silk. “I’ll buy you a new one?”

Because she’d go crazy if she doesn’t offer, and Adrian will humor her with a chuckle and a nod because he’s kind like that. But they both know he has half a dozen back at his loft and it doesn’t really matter. Even with all of his years of wealth he’s remained an admirable type of level-headed and frugal.

But he surprises her in pushing their usual witty banter aside, doesn’t just take the pocket square back but instead covers her hand with his. Only in his steady hold does she realize she’s shaking.

Where did that come from?

“Are you okay?” That tone should only be reserved for dire situations — like being chased through a secret museum by a crazed politician or when she caught on the news that the Grumpy Cat had passed away. Not for this.

She nods, lets him take the crumpled fabric and brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes. A careful tactic many young girls learn early to hide their expressions for just long enough to steel them into cooperating.

“Of course I am —”

But of course he doesn’t let her finish. “You were crying.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“So what would you call that?”

“Seeing how long I can go without blinking.”

Okay she totally gets it if that does the exact opposite of putting him off the investigation because it’s a crappy excuse. One even she doesn’t believe. And it’s just crappy enough to convey the message I don’t want to talk about it.

He’s both silent and loud all at once. Says everything he needs to say in the slight furrow in his brow; the way the left side of his mouth is just a little pulled back.

You know you can tell me anything. You know I’m here for you. Adrian doesn’t say it because he doesn’t have to — because he knows she gets it. Risking your life sneaking into a vampire dungeon and taking on a pair of very weird recluse vamps does pretty well in establishing that you’d do anything for someone.

I know. Instead she smiles, pushes her chair back a little so she isn’t getting neck cramps looking at him. “How was the meeting?”

Its slow going to get him actually talking. He knows its a distraction tactic, doesn’t want to take away from the fact he walked in on her pretty much fully zonked out with tears in her eyes. Lucky for her the meeting went, quote, “better and more productive than thought possible,” and once they get out of the office tonight he can head down to the Shadow Den with only good news to give Jax. Lucky because it means she can keep up said tactic with question after question until he definitely can’t waste any more time, needs to make a few calls to this company and that contributor, and if she’s sure she’s okay and doesn’t need to take the rest of the night off then he’s going to go get that done.

Though he stops mid-stride into his office and that makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. So close to getting away with it.

“Did you happen to mention to Lily about my idea for the memorial?”

The only reason she doesn’t exhale in audible relief is because it would put her right back at square one. “Yeah — and she agrees. She’s just waiting until after Halloween to bring it up to Mari in case Mari doesn’t agree.”

“Why would Halloween have anything to do with it?” Adrian asks, puzzled.

“Because it’s Halloween.”

“And?”

“‘And’ you’ve met Lily, right? Lily Spencer, my roommate? The girl who loves horror things more than life itself? Who definitely has something weird and probably kinky planned with hers and Mari’s couple costumes that I specifically begged her not to give me the details of?”

Yeah, her face at the time looked a little like Adrian’s does now. Neither of them prudish by any means but there are some things better left to the people involved and not their entire friend group.

“Of course. You’ll let me know though when she —”

“Relax,” she gives him an easy smile with a hidden meaning — he can relax about her too, “you’re overthinking it. Jax made you promise to make life better for the Clanless and you’re sticking to it because you believe in the cause. Even if they talk and decide they don’t want a plaque of names on the plaza fountain, that doesn’t devalue what you’re doing to help.”

Sometimes he just has to be reminded that what he’s doing is enough. More than, in Nadya’s opinion, but Adrian’s just… just a good person. And good people never think they’re doing enough.

And if what scraps Kamilah has given her over the months are any indication, Adrian isn’t entirely to blame for his self-sacrificing nature.

But their Maker is already taken care of. All she can do now is be there, be supportive, and help them heal the wounds Gaius gave them.

Now he’s the one looking a bit ashamed. “Thank you.” He means it more than mere language can provide. She knows that.

Leaves her alone with her work and her thoughts as he makes sure his office door is closed behind him like he always does when he’s going to be making calls. It’s probably the most normal profession-related thing they do together; give each other space when there’s real work that needs doing.

And her thoughts have been itching in wait for the chance to overwhelm her when they can. They try to needlessly, relentlessly. Teasing like a schoolyard bully — offering the things she can’t quite recall in a treasure chest at her feet before sending it slamming shut and to the depths of her mind before she can even catch a glimpse.

Thats the hardest part about these stupid visions of hers. They consume her mind and even sometimes her body — as evidenced by the zombie-Nadya that met Adrian following his return. They make her feel things she’s never felt and experience sensations, actions she’s never acted upon and for good reason.

No one should have to know what it feels like to slaughter hundreds, thousands of people — to keep the blood on their hands and not only that but savor it like a trophy — not when the very thought of hurting anyone at all sends their stomach into knots.

But thanks to them she has a body count and is still too meek to tell the midnight door guard that her name isn’t ‘Nadine.’

On a whole she forgot the details after the vision passed. At first.

But they want to be seen. They want to be remembered.

So Nadya does what she always does. Listens intently until she can hear Adrian dutifully on the phone in his office, makes sure the coast is clear before she digs into the hidden pocket in her purse — pulls out her dark secret and grabs for a pen.

She jots down all she can remember — which isn’t much this time, thank Christ — on the back of the entry she’d scribbled that morning before Kamilah could wake up and discover her shame. Pens in the date at the top corner and tucks the journal away without letting herself linger on just how full that terrible little book is getting.

At this rate she’ll need to start a new one before Christmas.

New York City, 1911

He doesn’t miss the look Kamilah gives him out of the corner of her eye. Nose crinkled and lashes heavy — repulsed with the thing between his lips and yet, almost as if against her will, made to recall other better things he had done with that same mouth.

His darling Queen abhors cigarettes, has told him as much in complaints of kisses that quickly turn into moans of desire, of satisfaction. Something about the smoke and memories of a history called ancient now — it was so long ago. Scrolls turned to ash and scattered to the winds; knowledge and lives lost together. But history cared about one of those things more than the other. Kamilah, too.

And so he stares back; tempts her to say something about it. If she really has such a problem with smoke then she’s in the wrong place.

Instead she turns her focus on the blackness still billowing up towards the night sky all these hours later.

“Is this…?”

“Yes.”

She snaps a sharp look his way. “And does Adrian know?”

Behind them a fire engine carriage goes ballistic with noise; the horses trapped in their harnesses despite their rearing, their whinnies high-pitched and filled with a familiar terror. Yet if one were to glance at the commotion they wouldn’t find the source of their startled fear. There are no snakes on the paved roads beneath their hooves. No whips lashing at them from the hands of overworked masters.

Gaius and Kamilah don’t have to look to know where their predator is.

He sucks on the filter of his cigarette heavy. “He does now.”

“Poor taste, my love.”

“A necessary evil.”

“Committed by an evil equally so?”

Gaius doesn’t have to breathe for her to know she’s spoken out of turn. She sees it in the shift of his stance. The way he decides he’s done with her attention for the moment and trains his eyes forward instead.

Families, friends, passersby are still mourning loudly at the fire and the lives it took.

His beloved Soldier now among them — jaw slack at the loss of human life. All these years and Gaius has yet to really beat that sentiment for the human condition out from under his skin. The wail his fellow vampires can hear even from their distance that grows with each second it takes to realize just which building caught on fire earlier that day, which floors were consumed in the blaze, and who was among them.

Adrian crumples to his knees in grief. Its a sight his Maker takes no pleasure in despite any — even his Queen — who might accuse otherwise. She knows better though — chooses not to start an argument already lost and rushes forward to console her brother in blood at his loss.

“It’s okay Adrian,” her lies carry on the wind with the rest of the remains of the factory blaze, “I’m so sorry for your loss, but we will endure. We always have.”

It pains Gaius to hear the crack in his Soldier’s voice when he musters the ability to speak; “She — Kamilah—I— she can’t be —”

But she was. She had been a distraction; an influence Gaius hadn’t approved of yet a reason for Adrian to commit heresy for still. The proof was right before his eyes — all that weakness bubbling just under the surface of Adrian’s skin now burst forth.

One day Adrian would understand he had done this for the best. For the greater good of their Kingdom.

Gaius tosses the remains of the cigarette aside — goes to grind it to a powder under his foot but another beats him to it. The boot is brown yet black with soot.

“You really ought to change, lest you be discovered and accused.”

“Accused of what?” lilts the vampire behind him, “a bad spark and scrap bin started the fire, or haven’t you been listening in on the police’s conclusions?”

Gaius looks passed the tall young man to where indeed a group of officials are gathered. They must think they’re speaking in hushed tones. Fools.

“A novel idea. Now they won’t be searching mindlessly for a suspect.”

“I wouldn’t care much if they did. We depart tonight for England.”

But he wouldn’t be making idle conversation if there was nothing important to say. Makes Gaius drag his eyes upwards to see himself reflected in spectacles diligently cleaned of evidence from their time sparking the very flames the Vampire King of New York needed to ensure Adrian’s loyalty stayed where it belonged. With him.

“Speak, if you have words.”

The vampire inhales deep. “I did as you asked. Now tell me what I need to hear.”

Because he can, because its fun, he feigns ignorance. “And what would that be, dear Cynbel?” And he quickly learns the Trinity’s temper is true to rumor.

“Tell me Valdas has your permission to leave this fucking cesspool!”

“Why would I wish for my oldest Child to leave my side — especially when my plans are nearly ready to be enacted?”

“Because I did as you asked for that sole purpose!”

It’s a struggle Gaius has never known; the desire to act but the bone-deep acceptance of a singular truth. That he can’t. He can’t attack Gaius; the progenitor of his beloved so-called deity. Not only in strength but in sheer force of will. There was a time, once… long ago when he knew he would never achieve the level of power, of love, that consumed him at the sight of the One who set him free…

But that was history that made ancient look newly born.

“I am a man of my word, even if Valdemaras is not,” he waves flippantly — bored now with those fools and their notions of eternal love, “he has my permission to leave.”

Cynbel visibly deflates. “Thank you, Godmaker.”

“Though I will expect more than a favor should you three wish to join my Kingdom when it comes time. I remember those who stay loyal.”

The younger vampire surprises him when he casts a look back to his charred masterpiece; to where Kamilah has taken knee beside Adrian in an attempt to shoulder some of his burden.

“I’ve seen the price that loyalty to you demands. A high price indeed.”

He’s smart — flees before his insolence earns him Gaius’ wrath. It doesn’t matter to him either way.

To have his Queen, his Soldier standing at his side and basking in the glory of his Kingdom? There is nothing he would not do.

Everything he does is for Her, still.

#bloodbound #bloodbound fanfiction #choices fanfiction #adrian raines #kamilah sayeed #gaius augustine #bloodbound mc #mc: nadya al jamil #oc: cynbel #oblv: bound by destiny #oblv: drabble #; my fics

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

When I Look and Find, I Still Love You.

“Do you think death could ever stop me from loving you?”

It was a such a poignant question yet far too abstract to comprehend. Did anyone have an answer? Could anyone answer? Could he? He could barely wrap his mind around the thought. He couldn’t process it further than one dimensionally. And it seemed death could.

Death took away. It took away people, bodies, lives and most importantly, love. It took away the vessel of your affections, leaving you bleeding out love with no one to give it to. Until you drowned in it.

John shook his head, lips opening and closing uselessly. There weren’t enough words to express what he felt. All he knew was that if Freddie died, he’d die too. Maybe it’d take decades for his body to fail and stop, but he would’ve been long gone by then.

Freddie smiled, grabbing John’s hand into his own, skinny and dry one, giving it a squeeze. His eyes were sunken in, the bags made to look purple by the sunlight pouring in from the window. His hair was all wispy, a shadow of its former thick curly glory. He looked so sickly and frail, a terrifying degradation from just a few months ago. He used to be the biggest man in the world, but now, he looked so small. But John felt smaller, kneeling by his bedside, fighting back the tears.

“John, I know it’s difficult to believe, but I’m not leaving you. My body won’t be here, but I’m not going anywhere,” Freddie said, his teeth looking big in his mouth.

For John, it wasn’t difficult to believe, it was difficult to understand. “But, you’re dying, Fred. Dying. They’ll put you under the ground and that’ll be it. I’ll be all alone and I don’t want to be alone. I don’t like being alone,” John said, his voice threatening to crack. He wanted to run away, hide and scream. His palms were twitching, begging to let out some angry flaps. But Freddie called him over. He needed to listen to what he had to say.

“You’ll never be alone, okay? Roger and Brian wouldn’t allow that. And neither will I,” Freddie said, his own voice sounding thick, although it always sounded thick these days.

“It doesn’t make sense. When my dad died, that was it. He didn’t come back, because it’s impossible,” John’s mind ran through brief memories of his father’s passing. He was only 11 but didn’t understand the concept of the permanence of death. Even after seeing his father’s stiff corpse in the casket, he asked his mum when he’d come back home.

As an adult, he knew better now. He knew dead meant gone forever. He didn’t understand how Freddie could still be with him when he died.

Freddie was pensive for a moment, bringing John’s knuckles up to his cracked lips, pressing a few kisses into them. “You know how Brian is a scientist?” he asked. John nodded.

“And how he goes around saying energy can’t be created nor destroyed?” John nodded again.

“Think of my love for you as an energy. When I pass, it’s not going with me. It’s not disappearing. It’s gonna stay with you. And as long as you have bits of me with you, you won’t be alone. It’ll be different. We can’t talk like this anymore. But you can talk to me and I’ll hear it. I’ll know when you’re sad or happy. I’ll be here for you,”

John looked down, a few tears leaking from his eyes. He was trying so hard to be open minded, but nothing made sense.

“I’ll miss you so much,” was the only thing he could think to say. Freddie squeezed his hand, mouth forming a tight line.

“I know. I’ll miss you too,”

“I don’t know what I’ll do without you…I don’t think I can do this again, Fred. I don’t think I can,” John said, throat tightening as the tears fell faster.

“Nonsense. You’re a fighter. I raised you that way, didn’t I?” Freddie tried to be humorous, but John didn’t find it funny. His world was shifting, and it was going to shatter any day now. His foundation, his rock. It was going to disappear, and he didn’t know how to cope with it. He tried ignoring Freddie’s illness and then Freddie himself, but it didn’t work. He knew Freddie was on borrowed time. He wanted to die too. Die with Freddie. It was the only way he imagined he could deal with this all.

Freddie sighed, his grip on John’s hand faltering. His fingers went to John’s face, wiping away some tears before he cupped his chin, bringing him up to eye level.

“Look at my boy. The sweetest heart I’ve ever seen. I’m so sorry I’m going to break it. I wouldn’t had I known. But you’ll make it through, alright?” he whispered, his strength leaving him. It was time for a nap soon. John shook his head no, unable to imagine a scenario where he came out the other end even remotely okay.

Freddie’s hands cradled John’s cheeks, his brown eyes so genuine and fond, even when facing death. “I’m so honored you gave me the privilege of being your best friend, your father, your brother. John, I’m so sorry I’m leaving you sooner than expected. I love you and that’ll never change. Even when I’ve gone cold. The love we have for each other is beyond this realm. Cosmic. Nothing can get in its way,”

John was sobbing, his whole body trembling. He didn’t want to hear those words. He didn’t want to think those things. He wanted Freddie to get better. He wanted to grow old with Freddie. He wanted to spend so many more days with him. He wanted Freddie’s big laugh and teasing. He wanted Freddie to look at during concerts. He wanted Freddie’s arms to lay in after rough days. He wanted Freddie. He needed him.

Freddie was strong but struggling. He pressed his lips to John’s forehead, looking up hoping to prevent any tears of his own. Saying goodbye to someone you felt you raised wasn’t easy, but Freddie did have it easier. In some days or weeks’ time, he wouldn’t be feeling anymore. It’d be John’s job to carry all that pain by himself. It wasn’t fair but it was life.

“I love you so much John. I’ll be here, just you see. Every yellow ladybug you come across, that’s me. I always looked so good in yellow,” Freddie said, voice dipping and crackling, trying so hard to put on a smile and to give one to John.

John only cried harder, clambering onto the bed to be closer to Freddie. They hugged for what felt like hours, whispering goodbyes and I love you’s, wiping away each other’s tears. Even when Freddie fell asleep, physically unable to stay awake. Even when Jim came in to see how everyone was doing.

John didn’t leave until late that night, a crack in his heart having formed. He knew things would only get worse from there but at least they talked. At least John was beginning to understand.

♚

John never liked suits. There were too many layers, too many fabrics, all rubbing up against him uncomfortably. He especially hated the ties. He used clip-ons instead, but that didn’t make him feel even marginally better.

He was fiddling with his black tie that was flapping wildly in the wind as he stood outside his home. He wondered if he ripped it off and let the wind carry it away, would Freddie be mad? Freddie said he wanted everyone to look sharp for his funeral, obsessing over fashion even on his death bed.

And Freddie said he would be watching, although John didn’t feel any eyes on him. He was always good at knowing when people were staring at him.

But Freddie also said he wanted him to be happy. John wasn’t happy. He wouldn’t be for a long time, maybe for the rest of his life. He wasn’t too sure how he felt about that, but he did know that if he took the stupid tie off, he’d feel a little bit better. For now, that seemed to be his only course of action. Making things better, not happier.

John reached into his shirt collar, plucking off the tie. He held it in his hand, looking down at the muted fabric, running a thumb alongside it. He had the urge to throw it but thought it was a stupid idea. He was going to clip it back on, prepared for discomfort in an even more uncomfortable situation, when something fell onto the tie.

A spec of yellow.

John squinted, blinking his eyes. There, padding carefree and aimlessly on his tie, was a ladybug. A yellow one.

John’s stomach flopped and fluttered, his eyes becoming wet. He had that familiar nagging feeling of a pair of eyes on him.

“H-Hi, Fred,” he stammered, his lips tugging upwards. The ladybug stopped in it’s tracks before continuing its mindless wanderings.

“I miss you, you know. Lot’s. B-But, I’ll get through this. ‘Cuz I love you and you love me,”

The ladybug’s wings opened, readying itself for flight. John figured it was a goodbye, but when the little bug took off, it flew right to his nose, staying there for a few moments. John gasped, his smile turning into a grin.

“I love you too,” he whispered.

And then, the yellow bug was off, taking off into the sky. The only ladybug alive in England during November.

John was stunned, having to take some time to process and appreciate what happened. A rather large gust of wind rattled him from his thoughts, his eyes going back down to the tie on his hand. He palmed it before he simply let go, the black tie whizzing into the air, farther and farther until it was gone. Out of sight.

Just then, he heard tires rolling on his pavement, followed by a honk of the horn. It was Roger, his ride to the funeral.

John walked down the driveway, flashing Roger a genuine smile when their eyes met. Roger was a little surprised to see John so together, having expected him to need to be dragged to the car. He unlocked the car, looking over at John who slipped into the passenger seat.

“How are you, Deacy?” he asked softly, unsure of John’s true state.

“I’m fine,” John replied. He was fine. He wasn’t whole or happy, but he was fine. He could do this. Now more so than just five minutes ago.

“Fantastic,” Roger said, putting the car into reverse, stepping on the breaks almost immediately.

“No tie?” he asked, looking at John’s getup.

John shook his head with a laugh. “No. Freddie said I don’t need to wear one.”

Roger hummed, figuring this was prearranged. He continued his trek out of John’s house and to the funeral home.

“That’s nice of him,” he said absentmindedly, more in his own head and feelings then in the present.

John hummed a reply, looking at the world outside the car window. If he focused hard enough, he could still see his tie out there, flying along the wind current, flapping and wriggling in the breeze. Utterly free.

These are the days of our lives.

They've flown in the swiftness of time.

These days are all gone now but some things remain,

When I look and I find, no change.

#john #autistic!john #sick!freddie #freddie #tw death #death mention #queen fanfiction #deacury #platonic deacury

[katsen13]

Sting-Op Mixup

I wrote this as a response to a writing prompt and reblogged it a few days ago. The story took way longer than expected because it just kept growing and life got in the way as it does, so the reblog came three weeks after the original post. On top of that, for whatever reason my ‘read more’ link didn’t work so it pretty much died after that because its a bit on the long side for a short story. To be honest though, I worked too hard on it though to let that happen. I really got invested in this one to a degree that I haven’t with my other stories so far, so this is my attempt to revive it. If you want to see the original reblog and the prompt itself click here. Again, it is a bit long so you have been warned! Feedback is welcome. Hope you like it! :D

Thanks to @writing-prompt-s for the inspiration!

*If you like this and want to take a look at my other stories, click here.*

You stare dumbfounded at the group of people gathered in the dingy warehouse in front of you, as the door slams shut behind you.

Hey…! You thought. Thats my jacket!

Standing in the middle of the group was a worn, denim, military-green jacket with long sleeves faded a bit at the elbows and pockets on the sides as well as one on the wearer’s left side of the zipper. You would know that jacket anywhere. It had been your favorite one before you donated it last week to the old clothing collection for the undercover units.

You look up in disbelief at the man wearing it as realization dawns on you. The jacket aside, there was no way you’d ever believe this guy was a drug dealer. He was too clean-shaven with no missing teeth or visible scars. The guy looked like an actor playing a drug dealer more than he did an actual drug dealer. He was at least a few inches taller than you, yet your jacket seemed to fit him quite well. It makes sense; after all it was a men’s jacket. He had dark, short hair that was a little messy, with just a hint of a five o’ clock shadow and sharp, blue-grey eyes. Your brow furrows as you notice his eyes. Something’s not right here, you think to yourself. As you look around, you begin to notice some vaguely familiar faces. The guy in the corner dressed as a biker/muscle for the ‘drug dealer’ was from the K9 unit in your old precinct. The quiet, scrawny man who opened the door for you was a computer analyst. You only got a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye as he quickly retreated to another room, but you’re sure it was him because he had helped you analyze footage from a few robberies back when you were a beat cop. Kevin was probably recording you and everyone in the room from at least twenty different angles.

The man wearing the jacket turns to you. You notice his eyes again and frown. You can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right, but you can’t quite place what it was.“Its about damn time!” He exclaims, exasperated. I was starting to regret giving you a chance. What took you so long, princess? Had to do your makeup?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. You’d grown accustom to this teasing. Law enforcement officials have their own sense of humor that those on the outside don’t understand. When you see and deal with the stuff you do on a regular basis, you develop a twisted sense of humor just for the sake of dealing with it all. It happens out of necessity, as a coping mechanism. Since you were a female, the teasing you received was often based on gender-stereotypes. You would take it in stride and on more than one occasion had dealt it right back. This guy had some nerve though and he sounded serious. Giving me a chance? Who the hell does he think he is?!

You put your hands on your hips and shift your weight to your right side. “Look who’s talking. You could use some makeup. Seriously dude, you really think anyone will buy you as a dealer with teeth like that? I mean geez, maybe next time skip a shower or two and the hair gel? I wouldn’t even take you seriously as a drug mule, let alone a dealer, and I’ve seen actual models used to smuggle stuff!”

You hear a muffled snicker from somewhere in the room. For his part though, the actor didn’t even falter. “What? Are you saying I’m too attractive to be a dealer? I don’t know if I should be offended or flattered!” He grins at his own joke. A smattering of laughter ripples across the room. To the right of the actor you notice the worst fake meth-mouth you had ever seen in your life. You can’t help but crack up, forgetting your anger and laughing so hard tears fill your eyes.

“Hey!” You gasp for air between laughs, doubled over with one arm across your stomach, wiping a tear from your eye with your other hand. “At least this guy tried!” You jerk your head toward Meth-Mouth. “No offense,” you apologize, turning to him. “They actually look real enough, but the fit is all wrong.” You put your hand on the actor’s shoulder as you straighten, finally catching your breath.

“In all seriousness though man, if you want you can run to the bathroom and do something with that,” you gesture to his face. “We’ve got time, if we even get to continue tonight. I have a mini kit in my car I can run and get. If I hear one more princess joke though, you won’t need a makeover to look bad.” You cock an eyebrow and look up at him.

The room grew silent and you see something flash in his eyes before the actor responds. What was that? You wonder. He glares at you, eyes blazing. “Who the hell do you think you are, some fashionista or a goddamned queen?!” Wow, this guy is pretty serious…

“Bravo, really, do go on.” You slowly clap your hands sarcastically before crossing your arms. You have had enough of this. “You know, you should give up police work and become an actor. God knows you’ve already got the arrogance of one.” You roll your eyes again. “With a good makeup artist and a decent hairdresser you could be the next Robert Downey Jr. Now give it a rest already so we can figure out how much the higher ups on the inter-precinct task force board managed to screw us over this time.”

“RDJ” stares at you blankly, blinking once. He looks over his right shoulder, turning slightly. “Shut up Harry, I don’t care if you were right!” He turns back to you, seething. He steps so close the toes of his black, scuffed boots are touching the toes of your grey tennis shoes.

“Listen, your fucking majesty,” he says menacingly, leaning in your face. “If you want to leave here in one piece, I’d suggest doing it now. We usually kill people who show up late, makes the boys think they’re cops. We don’t make exceptions for nobody, not even royalty.”

You stare back at him, your mouth opening slightly. Your eyes widen and your arms slowly unfold and slip to your sides as you begin to realize he is serious. He doesn’t seem to believe you’re a cop, yet he at least thinks you know that he is one. If thats the case though, then why is he giving me an out? Your eyebrows furrow slightly. You look in his eyes again, and finally realize what it was that you had noticed earlier- urgency and pleading, almost… desperation.

You look around the room and notice the slightest shift in posture and stance in everyone in the room. Its harder to see everyone now because RDJ was practically standing on your feet, but you notice more hands closer to their pockets. One guy was scratching his shoulder, and another glanced quickly at his right foot. He notices you watching him as he looks up and his eyes widen slightly. That was when it clicked.

Fuck. You feel the color leave your face as you shut your eyes tight, bracing yourself for what you know is coming next. Your eyes snap open and you quickly make your move.

Various weapons are drawn, all pointed at you. In one swift motion you land a solid uppercut to the actor’s chin. You catch him off guard, stunning him. As he stumbles a few steps backward, a deafening crack rings out echoing off the walls all through the warehouse. Time seemingly stopped and everyone freezes with baited breath- everyone, except the actor. He clutches his side as he collapses. You grab his right hand with yours and yank him around toward you, catching him in a headlock with your left arm. You pull your taser out of its holster at the small of your back and bring it to his chest.

“Don’t move!” Someone in the group shouts. You could read clear as day every thought by the group, written by their body language- they want him. You don’t know their motivation or reasoning, but they want him, which means he’s your way out.

“I don’t want to hurt anybody…” you start slowly, but are interrupted.

“A little late for that, don’t ya think?” your hostage choked, grabbing at your arm with his hands. His body tensed up and his jaw clenched, wincing. You noticed a wet, dark patch growing at an alarming rate on your old jacket. You knew he needed medical attention, and he would need it sooner than later. “Why…” he gasped, shifting his eyes, trying to look up at you. “Why didn’t you take the out?”

Ignoring him, you slowly lower your taser, moving it around to your pocket, never taking your eyes off the group.“Sorry about this.” You murmur, as you tighten your arm around RDJ’s neck slightly. You reach across his chest to the pocket on the front of the jacket. You hear a few clicks as several of the guns are raised, ready to fire.

“Easy guys, easy. I saw a handkerchief sticking out of his pocket. I’m just getting it to bandage the wound. He’s no good to any of us dead.”

Keeping a weary eye on the corner where you saw the biker/muscle earlier, you slowly inch your hand back towards the pocket. You carefully pull out a small, thin metal tube. Before anyone realized what you had done, you bring it to your lips and give it three, quick, sharp blows and… nothing. No sound, no calvary charge, nothing. Some of the group start looking around in expectation, hints of worry on their faces. Others begin to mutter to each other.

“Enough!” Meth-Mouth shouts, silencing them all, the chill in his icy stare met only by the fire in his voice. “I don’t care who you are or who you think you are. We’re killing them both. We’ve come to far for anything less.” He walks up to you quickly closing the gap and before you could even react, he has the muzzle of a gun pressing into your forehead.

You stare back at him right in his eyes, your voice as cool and calm as the nighttime breeze outside “You sure about that? I could be of use. Being royalty, I’ve got my connections. I know a dentist with an A-list clientele who owes me. I could get you in to see him. He’s no miracle worker, but I’m sure he could figure a way to help those teeth. Whiten them at least, maybe straighten. Braces do wonders.”

Meth-Mouth snarls. You hear a click as the gun cocks but don’t even flinch, staring back at him defiantly. He opens his tragedy of a mouth to say something when suddenly the door behind you crashes open. A pack of dogs fly in, closely followed by a S.W.A.T team with their full arsenal at the ready. You drop to the ground pulling RDJ with you, shielding him. You cover his ears with your hands and shut your eyes as tight as possible. You brace yourself as a blinding light sears through your eyelids and a deafening explosion goes off. As soon as it passes you grab RDJ and drag him out the door onto the grassy front lawn. The cool air washes over you as you lay him down gently on the ground and crouch next to him, the ringing in your ears starting to fade. You take off your new jacket and ball it up, tucking it under his head. You notice a bloodstain on it and sigh.

“Every time.” You mutter to yourself.

“What?” RDJ asked, grimacing as he tried to sit up. He doubled in pain as his muscles contracted in protest.

“You got blood on my new jacket.” You answered, doing your best to sound irritated as you put pressure on the wound with part of your old jacket “And on my old one. Every time I get a new jacket, something happens to it.” You reach over him and push on his right shoulder gently but firmly, forcing him to lay back. “Now lay down.” You say, teeth gritted in mock anger as you turn to him. You pray he doesn’t see through your facade.

“My apologies, your grace.” he snorted, lifting his head in obstinance. He gasped his face contorting. “I’ll get you another one.” His muscles start to relax, releasing their tension from the pain. His eyes close as he eases his head back on the makeshift pillow with a sigh. Your brows furrow in worry as you watch his chest rise and fall slowly. You grab his hand and lay it in your lap, feeling the faintest pulse in your fingertips as they rest against his wrist. His eyelids twitch as you gently place your hand against his forehead, cool and clammy to the touch. Some lights flicker across his face as an ambulance draws closer. They grow brighter and bathe everything around you in red and orange as the ambulance pulls up alongside your car. The paramedics come around with a stretcher and carefully lift him onto it. You watch them drive away as a pair of EMTs approach and attempt to check you over for injuries. You wave them off, their protests not even registering through the shock setting in. One of them stuffed some gauze damp with alcohol in your hand and lifted it to your head, pressing it against your ear with a mildly annoyed look on their face before walking off shaking their head. A commotion in the corner of your eye catches your attention. You watch as several members of the group are led out in handcuffs, some in leg restraints. Another stretcher rolls by you and you see Meth-Mouth with his eyes and ears covered in bandages, his arms and legs restrained to the rails. You lower your hand to your lap and just stare at the blood soaked gauze, shivering as the adrenaline leaves your body.

Two weeks later you are in your precinct, holding a file. You’re wearing a black blazer, matching dress pants and shoes, with a powder blue collared work shirt underneath. Its not as comfortable as your undercover clothes, but its better than having to wear your uniform. You had finished your report for the events at the warehouse and were on your way to pass it up the chain of command. You walk by your office and stop, doing a double take. Hanging on the back of your chair you see a familiar jacket. You stare at it for a second before slowly walking over. You pick it up, a hint of a smile forming at the corners of your mouth.

“See? Just like the old one. You know, minus the blood stains and bullet hole.”

“Well, its definitely an improvement.” You look up and grin at the man you had begun to think of as RDJ, though you weren’t sure why. He didn’t look much like him or even sound like him really. In a way he looked more like the guy from 8 Simple Rules, aside from the hair and facial hair.  “Speaking of improvements…”

He walks in the door, his left arm in a sling. Behind the sling you could just make out some wrinkles in his shirt where the bandages were underneath. “The doctors say I’ll be fine but I’m on desk duty for a month. So far I’ve hated every second of it but I’ll take it. Its better than having to stay home.”

“Well thats too bad. I was actually just going to say you really could pass for a drug dealer now, but I’m glad to hear you’re better.”

RDJ chuckled, raising his eyebrows. “Yeah, about that. Did you get debriefed?”

“Yeah, I did. Now I know why you didn’t look like a drug dealer! What about you?”

“Just finished. I don’t remember too much from that night, but they filled me in on the important details. When I woke up from surgery I asked about the jackets. Some of the EMTs who were at the warehouse said they belonged to ‘my partner’. They also wanted me to remind her to keep her ear covered.” He glances at your ear and smirks when he doesn’t see any bandages. You just shrug your shoulders. “After awhile I figured out who they meant. I learned the debriefing would be here, so I thought I’d drop it off when I came. How are you holding up?”

“Pretty much the same. They said there’s a good chance that I’ll have inner ear damage so I can’t walk in a straight line or do anything else fun until it heals. I do have a question though. How did you get my jacket already? I just donated it last week. I’m surprised they had it processed already.”

“I was too,” he gave a lopsided grin. “Thats one reason why I picked it. I was there when they brought it in that Tuesday and I picked it up on Wednesday. I figured if anyone recognized it, they would think I stole it.”

You nod and pick up your file. “That would make sense for a dirty cop. What was the other reason though?”

“The tears on the left sleeve. I figured I could come up with a story to go with them to better sell my cover. So were those the thing that happened to make you get rid of it?”

You chuckle at the memory. “I was playing with the new K9 recruits after their last run. One of them was a still a little hyped up.”

“Ouch,” he grins. “Sound’s painful. I was wondering about the whistle in the pocket though.”

“Eh, it wasn’t too bad, though I don’t know what we were expecting, naming him Cujo.” You both laugh at that. RDJ winces slightly and shifts his sling a little, bringing his arm closer to brace his side. You pretend not to notice and act busy, rummaging through the file. He watches you quietly for a moment with his head tilted. “You never did answer my question. Why didn’t you take the out?”

You look up and shrug. “The whole thing felt off from the beginning. I was wondering why you would give me an out if you thought I was a dealer, but then you stood right between me and the line of fire. I knew then whether or not you thought I was a cop, you were clean. The other guys, not so much. I recognized Don from my old precinct. Rumor was going around last year that he got suspended for dipping into drug money. I figured since I was there, it was only a matter of time before they found you out. Sorry, I didn’t mean to out you. Why didn’t you have backup?”

“It wasn’t your fault. They were onto me long before you came. Turns out my calvary had a mole amongst it’s ranks. They knew for weeks and were just waiting for the right time. I was trying to figure a way out when you arrived. I guess I’m just lucky the board messed up. If you hadn’t shown up…”

“I just can’t believe they sent me to the wrong sting op!” You interrupt, ruffling through the pages in your file again. You really didn’t want to think about what might’ve happened if you hadn’t been there. You had lost too many brothers and sisters on the force over the past couple of years.

“I swear, everyone on the board has been out of the field too long. They forget what its like to be out there, to be the one taking the risks. They sit there and make the rules and come up with regulations that they’ll never have to live by. Kind of like royalty, eh princess?”

“You know, a black eye would really complete the whole under-cover look.” You reply, giving him a flat look.

He laughed, “No thanks, I’m still recovering from your last improvements. How about you just give me your name? I bet its better than being called princess.”

“Not by much,” you snort. “Not anymore at least. Its Katherine, but everyone calls me Kate.”

“No wonder you hate being called princess!” He laughs again, his eyes shining and his face relaxed. You smile as you look at him. Thats better, you think to yourself.

“Yeah yeah,” you shake your head, rolling your eyes. “Now its your turn.”

He extends his good arm and holds out his hand. “David.”

You stop just short of reaching his hand and stare at him. “You’re joking.”

He frowns. “Uh no… why?”

“No reason,” you smile, shaking his hand.

#writing prompt #long short story #short story

[shannaraisles]

A Rose By Any Name - Chapter 13

In which Felicita realizes she’s in deeper than she thought, and experiences just a little self-doubt. Banner created by the superb @kagetsukai.

[Read on AO3] OR [Read from the beginning]

Felicita could not honestly put her hand on her heart and say she enjoyed watching horse racing. It would be a different matter if she were allowed to be more than a spectator, though she doubted she had the skill to ride the beautiful Ferelden breeds that were thundering around the circular track cut into the Gathering fields outside Denerim's walls. They were beautiful horses - thicker in the leg and neck than she was used to, but no less graceful or swift for their added muscle. Unfortunately, watching young noblemen gambling on whether or not their particular horse was going to beat the others was no more enthralling than the racing itself.

But if the king - Alistair, she reminded herself - if Alistair had to endure it, then so would she, and she would do it with grace. That seemed to be the motto of the other ladies as well; even Leona had been persuaded to join them in the cold air outside the city today, though Felicita privately thought that might have had something to do with the letter the Starkhaven girl had received from her city's prince the day before. Leona had not engaged in courting the king at all thus far - no doubt her sponsors were growing concerned at that lack of interest. And why should she? It was obvious to anyone who spoke to her that Leona should have been dedicated to the Chantry years ago. Her faith was fire, with all the warmth and none of the destruction. No doubt a devout queen would suit the Chantry, but Felicita had her doubts that it would suit the king.

A king who was not enjoying himself today, either, if his expression was anything to go by. She lifted her eyes to the dais where Alistair sat among the worthies of his court, a sympathetic wince on her face for the stiff way he held himself, the carefully blank expression on his handsome features. She could not guess what Arl Eamon was saying, unfamiliar with the politics of Ferelden as she was, but the man had been talking near-constantly for at least an hour, likely more. Whatever he had to say, it did not seem to be to Alistair's liking, but the king was not a man who would openly show disfavor without distinct cause, even to someone who appeared to be pushing his luck. His eyes met hers briefly and, without pausing for thought, she smiled at him, inclining her head just enough to acknowledge that glance. She thought she saw his lips tighten into a harried smile for a bare moment, her heart thumping at even that tiny sign of favor.

Maria, holding her hand, looked up at her smile and giggled, in turn bringing a wider smile to Felicita's face.

"You really like Mr. Kingness, don't you?" the child asked innocently.

Felicita felt the blush before it made itself known, sitting herself down to wrap an arm about the little girl fondly.

"I do like him, Maria," she agreed softly. "But I do not know if I like him enough to marry him."

"Well, it seems obvious that he likes someone enough to marry them."

The princess looked up, surprised to find Delphine inserting herself into the conversation. The Orlesian lady had steadfastly refused to be friendly to any of them for the last two weeks and more, yet here she was, apparently deciding to change her mind. Blonde and busty, and decidedly put out by the lack of attention she was receiving, Delphine narrowed her focus onto the princess and Maria.

"Apparently, his majesty was seen with one of our number after he brought you back last night, your highness," she said with something of a sneer. "Laughing and embracing in the shadows. It is despicable behavior - he should simply name her his chosen bride and allow us to go home instead of continuing this humiliating farce."

Felicita blinked in surprise. She wasn't given to believing much that came out of Delphine's mouth, and this was not going to be an exception.

"How would you know this, Lady Delphine?" she asked, choosing not to mention that her conversation had been private. The sooner Delphine vented her spleen and was gone, the better for all concerned.

"The servants gossip all the time, your highness," the Orlesian girl told her, with just a hint more condescension than Felicita was prepared to put up with from her. "The king was seen with one of our number late last night, hiding away on the balcony outside our quarters. And who was the last to return last night but little Madame Ciara? It is brazen behavior."

"That is a little hypocritical coming from you, Lady Delphine," Felicita said, her voice unexpectedly sharp. "Perhaps if you learned to dress yourself more modestly, you would have better luck at holding a conversation with the gentleman you wish."

"My dear princess, I am not the one who bored him so greatly that he immediately took refuge in another's arms the moment I was out of sight," Delphine countered, with a creditable attempt at a superior tone.

"No," Felicita answered. "You are the one he ran away from and hid in a cupboard to escape."

It was a petty thing to say, and definitely beneath her, but she felt suddenly off-balance. She had heard some of the gossip that morning herself, dismissing it as nothing more than gossip, assuring herself that Alistair had likely been talking to Demelza, not one of the other ladies. But it had planted a doubt, and having Delphine, of all people, insist that it was truth pricked at her pride. Had he not enjoyed the day as much as he claimed to? Was the reason he had walked her back to the door that he wanted to be able to quickly join the woman he actually wanted to marry? And if he had made his decision already, then Delphine was, unfortunately, quite right - extending this charade was even more humiliating for the women than it was to begin with.

Felicta could feel her good mood crashing as Delphine huffed and spluttered and walked away, leaving her to try and rescue at least a smile for Maria as the child continued her conversation as though they had not been interrupted at all.

"Because if you like him, and he likes you, then you could stay here, and I could stay here with you and with him, and we could be all together ..."

Her pride was hurt, Felicita was sure of it. To come from such an enjoyable day, to have spent so many hours in his company and come to appreciate his humor, his kindness, at a personal level, only to discover that it had meant so little to him that he had left her at the door and run to the arms of another woman ... it stung. But her pride had been hurt before, and she had never felt her heart ache like this in response. Did she truly just like Alistair? Or had she been foolish enough to become infatuated with him, to merge her delight in his robust country and people with her enjoyment of his company, her appreciation of his face and form? Sweet Maker, have I done something too foolish even for a princess ... am I falling in love with a man who has already given his heart to a woman I consider a friend?

And what of that friend? Ciara had been brighter today, certainly; less afraid of her own shadow, confident enough to hold her own in conversation with nobles that had intimidated her before now. With Delphine's snide insinuations cantering through her mind, Felicita could not help but feel resentful of her younger friend's newfound confidence. Jealous, even, of the apparent warmth between Ciara and the king. And she was ashamed of herself for feeling it, too; ashamed of herself for pretending that she was not interested in the humiliating contest she found herself in, only to find herself deeply invested ... and already among the losers. Angry with herself for laying so much blame on others, when she had only herself to blame for the loss of her heart in such a short time. Whether it was truly love, or just the hopeful beginning, it had been quashed, and the pain made for sharp unhappiness settling in her heart.

"... don't you think, Ciara?" Maria's voice broke into the princess' selfish thoughts, drawing her attention to the fact that the young lady in question had joined them. "Don't you think it would be lovely?"

The golden-blonde Ferelden girl smiled brightly in answer. "It would be wonderful, Maria," she agreed enthusiastically. "We have all become such good friends; it will be a shame when we have to say goodbye."

Pulling herself together with a sharply silent scolding, Felicita roused herself to join the conversation. "You, at least, may not have to say goodbye," she pointed out to Ciara. "You will remain at court, surely?"

"I believe so, yes," Ciara admitted, a hint of her shyness showing through for a moment. "The king was kind enough to extend an invitation to me. I don't think he knows quite how to cope with a crying woman."

Despite her jealousy, Felicita felt the stirrings of concern for her friend at this, reaching out to touch her hand. "You have been crying? Cara mia, what has happened to upset you?"

Ciara smiled, shaking her head as she squeezed the princess' hand. "My father tried to arrange a marriage with someone I've never even seen before," she confessed quietly. "I would have told you - I wanted to talk to you about it, but you were having such a wonderful time with the king. Every time I saw you yesterday, you looked so happy together, so comfortable with each other. I didn't want to interrupt that, and I didn't want anyone else to tease me about it, so ... I feel dreadful for it, but I did my crying in what I thought was a private place, and ..."

"And the king found you there when he left me?" The sense of relief that came with this knowledge was also just a little shameful, a spiteful little reminder that she was not so detached as she would like people to believe.

"He ... he was very kind to me," the Ferelden girl said softly. "He didn't have to give me his time at all, it was so late, but ... well, I told him why I was upset, and ..." She laughed a little self-consciously. "He told me I don't have to marry anyone I don't want to. He said he would deny my father the permission he needs to marry me off without my consent. I don't know how to repay him."

So he has removed any obstacle between himself and his chosen bride with her consent. An assumption, certainly, but this was the clearest sign Felicita had heard of any preference shown by the king. So much for her hopes raised after a single day. But for Ciara, she could smile and be happy. She would make certain she was.

"I imagine that there is a way he will be very pleased for you to repay such a kindness," the princess told her friend gently, squeezing her hand. "It is a rare man who will do so much for anyone. You are very lucky."

"I know." Ciara sighed happily, rolling her eyes as the horses thundered past once again. "I don't think Ferelden knows how lucky we are to have a king who cares so much, even for the least of us."

"You are hardly the least of your countrymen, Ciara."

Perhaps there was an edge in her tone she had not intended, for Ciara's smile faded as she turned to look more closely at Felicita's face. It was a struggle to keep her expression composed, not wanting to give her friend even a glimpse of the envious ache that throbbed inside.

"I still don't want to marry him, you know," the younger woman pointed out, rather more bluntly than most people would have advised. "And he did make it very clear that he wouldn't want me forced into marriage with anyone. He was in a wonderful mood, and it was all because of you, I'm sure."

Felicita patted her hand gently. "Not everyone's heart is as pure as yours, Ciara," she said in a soft tone. "But thank you."

No wonder Alistair was showing a preference for this young beauty from his own shores, she reflected. Despite the hardship of much of her lifetime, Ciara shone amid the nobles of Ferelden, young and sweet and easy to love. She would make him a good wife, Felicita knew, and she would be a beloved queen, one of their own, all golden hair and smiling blue eyes. But despite her own words to the contrary only a day ago, the princess knew now that she would not be happy to dance at their wedding. For the first time since leaving Antiva a month before, she desperately wanted to go home, to the familiarity of danger and intrigue, where her heart had never been caught up in the scheming all around her. To have the comfort of her mother’s love and her father’s wisdom, and be away from this place that had opened her heart only to prick it with pain.

"Forgive me, I have a slight headache," she said abruptly. "I should get out of the sun."

Maria squinted up at the overcast sky. "But it isn't sunny ..."

"Shh," Ciara told the child, reaching to take her hand. "Let's leave the princess to the quiet for a little while, shall we? Sometimes it doesn't need to be sunny for your head to start hurting."

She cast a worried glance back at Felicita as they walked away, but the princess was staring across the field, to where the horses were walking to warm their muscles for the next race. The face she presented was blank, perfectly composed ... but Ciara couldn't help thinking she might have put her foot in it somewhere in that conversation. Felicita seemed almost ... sad. But maybe that was just the effect of a sudden headache. She couldn't think of any other reason why the princess' good spirits should suddenly dip so low. After all, the king was clearly smitten with her, everyone could see it.

But could she?

#a rose by any name #princess fabs #maria of rivain #delphine of orlais #ciara of amaranthine #angst #friendship #jealousy #envy #sort of angsty fluff #I guess? #i'm terrible at tagging

[rosedavid]

Stiles has been having a particularly bad day where nothing has gone right. He's clumsier than usual and he's so snide to his friends that by the end of the day no one will talk to him. He's managed to almost seriously injure himself several times. When Lydia comes by later that night for dinner, having forgiven him, Stiles asks the question that's been on his mind for a while. Why does she love him?

  Thanks so much for the prompt!!!

             Theentire pack has noticed Stiles making more snide remarks than usual that day,some of them extremely bitter. Scott shot his best friend many warning looks,but Stiles just continued on, driving everyone insane. Of course, it just sohappened that the pack is heading to investigate some strange symbols in theforest that night, and Stiles has to tag along.

               By thispoint in time, almost all of the pack is ignoring Stiles. Hayden and Liamstarted first, both furious at him for mocking insults about theirrelationship. Next came Mason, who Stiles constantly kept referring to as a“useless human.”  After that,Malia stopped talking to him when he joked about their past relationship.

               Scott,although obviously angry, still manages to look Stiles in the eye. Lydia also hasn’tstarted ignoring her boyfriend yet. Actually, she’s interested in his behavioras of today. Although Stiles constantly makes snide remarks toward people, heusually doesn’t make them nearly as often, or as harsh. Despite the mean thingshe’s been saying, Lydia knows he doesn’t really mean them. Something is wrongwith him, and she has no idea what it is.

               So thepack reaches the grouping of symbols etched into pine trees. They’ve trekkedpretty deep into the forest so far. Even the light from the moon and stars isobscured by the thick branches and needles. The symbols are no language thatany of them recognized, and Deaton claimed he needed more information. Hence,they are copying down every symbol they can find and plotting the location inorder to figure out what they mean. Mason waits back at the entrance to theforest, in case something happens.

               "It’skind of pathetic, honestly,“ Stiles jabbers on, "I mean, you two arejust constantly sucking face everywhere. Are you that needy?” He’sreferring to Liam and Hayden, who are linking hands while they behind Stiles.

               Liam’sfree hand clenches into a fist. Lydia can see the blood dripping from his palm,but Stiles keeps going. “Stiles,” She warns.

               But hedoesn’t stop. If anything, the comments get more and more brutal. And soon,Liam wrenches his hand from his girlfriend’s grip, and tackles Stiles to theforest floor. He lands with an oomph, knocking the breath out of him. Scottrushes forward, prying the beta off of Stiles. Interestingly enough, Stilesdoesn’t need the help. He forces Liam off him, shoving the werewolf in thechest, causing him to also fall to the ground. Liam growls, fangs extending.Now, Scott butts in.

               "Hey!Stop it,“ Scott orders. "Both of you! We’re here to solve problems,not make more.”

               Liamhisses, “Well maybe if Stiles wasn’t being such a bastard…”

               "Maybeif Liam wasn’t being such a wimp,“ Stiles interrupts.

               Fullyinvested in the argument, no one notices the figure slinking behind the trees.Scott stands between the two, keeping them apart, while Hayden stands by herboyfriend protectively. Meanwhile, Malia watches, interested to see what willhappen. Lydia, meanwhile, notices something off in the air. A small shift offeet from behind them.

               "There’ssomeone here!” Lydia whispers urgently. Right then, a figure leaps out ofthe trees, snarling. Scott growls, and the two werewolves meet each other inthe middle, fighting violently. More jump out from the shadows, a lot more.They all have yellow eyes. No Alpha.

               Lydiascreams, sending one werewolf smashing into a tree, temporarily subdued. Maliaslashes at another as it comes toward her. Hayden and Liam team up to battleone together, taking turns swiping at her.

               Stilesalso fights one, swinging his baseball bat across his head. But tonight, forsome reason, Stiles is acting more careless and angry than usual, his swingsand defenses messy. The werewolf is able to claw him on the shoulder, rippingthrough the fabric of his jacket and slicing through skin. Blood flows from hiswound, but he continues through the pain, eventually managing to slam thewerewolf into a tree, dust flying everywhere. The werewolf’s claws get stuck inthe bark, and it’s just enough time for Stiles to slam the aluminum baseballbat across his head, knocking him unconscious.

               "Stiles,“Lydia calls. He realizes he’s swaying slightly on his feet. "Oh my god,Stiles. Are you okay?”

               Hepulls away from her grasp, snapping, “I’m fine.” And it’s true, hewill be fine, with some stitches back and home.

               "Maybeif you weren’t so focused on your sarcastic comments,“ Hayden challenged.

               Scott,as always, acts as the mediator. "Hey, everyone, calm down.”

               "Alwayshave to fix everyone else’s problems, don’t you Scott?“ Stiles spits."Maybe I don’t need you to fix mine.”                He stalks back toward hisJeep. Lydia sighs, running a hand down her face. What’s going on with him? Shewatches his figure until he blends into the darkness. Of course, Lydia isn’tgoing to let this go. She needs to figure out what’s wrong. Scott places a handon her shoulder.

               "Helphim,“ He says. She will.

__________________________________

               Thenext day, she goes to his house for dinner, as they planned. It’s a Saturday,and she hasn’t seen him since last night. She figured that she would give him achance to cool down, hoping that it might help. That night, Lydia rings thedoorbell, waiting for an answer. Footsteps pad down the stairs, and a secondlater the door is flung open, revealing Stiles. He looks like a ghost, with a translucentface and dark circles under his eyes.

               "Youcame?” Stiles asks with confusion.

               Lydiarolls her eyes, gently pushing her way indoors. “Obviously. Is dinnerready yet?”

               "Abouttwenty minutes.“

               Sheclutches his hand, leading him upstairs past the Sheriff. They head to hisroom, where they both sit tentatively on his bed. Sighing, Lydia turns to lookat him.

               "What’sgoing on with you?” She questions. “Why are you being so snide andreckless recently? Honestly, Stiles, I don’t mind your sarcasm, but this isjust going way too far.”

               Stileseyes darken, and he shuffles away from her a bit. “Why do you care?”

               "Becauseyou’re my boyfriend, stupid, and I worry about you. Please, I’m really notangry, just tell me what’s going on? Let me in.“

               Heflops back on the bed, eyes casting up toward the ceiling. Lydia also fallsback, turning on her side to face him. He doesn’t move, simply glares up at thetop of his room.

               Suddenly,out of nowhere, Stiles says, "Why do you love me?”

               Thequestion surprises Lydia. Her mouth opens but no words echo out. Why would heask something like that. At the lack of response, he sighs, and shifts to get up.Lydia touches his arm, silently asking him to stay. He complies.

               "Whatdo you mean, Stiles?“ She wonders, confused.

               "Imean, why do you love me? Obviously I’ve been driving everyone crazy recently,and I’m constantly in danger because I don’t have any powers. I’m reckless anduseless and an all around shitty boyfriend. So why do you love me?”

               Then,Lydia understands. She understands why Stiles has been so cruel to everyone. Acoping mechanism. He’s worried that he’s not good enough for Lydia, and theonly way he could think of fixing that problem (for some stupid reason) is bydegrading others and making them seem more inferior.

               "Stiles…“Lydia whispers, shuffling closer. She cuddles into his chest. "You don’tneed to put others down to raise yourself up. You’re already perfect. I loveeverything about you. Your smarts, your looks, your boisterous personality,your sometimes over the top humor, your love for your jeep, your lacrosse, yourinvestigative skills…you. Listen, you don’t have to worry about anything. Ilove you already.”

               Hefinally turns his head, soft brown eyes meeting her own. “I love you too.And I’m sorry. I guess I was just in a really terrible mood. I just see theseboys staring at you in the hallways, and it gets especially bad before dances,and I guess I just got jealous.”

               "Iforgive you,“ Lydia promises, pressing a delicate kiss to his lips. Hewraps an arm around her shoulders to pull her in closer, when his father shoutsthat dinner is ready. Stiles groans as Lydia moves off of him.

               "Comeon, he can wait,” Stiles pleads, beckoning her back.

               Lydiashakes her head, “Be patient, Stiles.” There’s a twinkle in her eyesas she heads out the open door and down the stairs.

               "Tease,“Stiles mutters to himself, before hopping off the bed to join them.

#stydia #teen wolf #stydia fanfic #tw fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #stydia fanfiction #stiles stilinski #lydia martin #fanfiction #Anonymous #fluff #angst

[sirladyscripts]

Set during the cake scene/party at the end of Dream Drop Distance. Spoilers for... everything I guess?

Ra, this one is for you. <3

Well… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little disappointed in how things played out in the end.

Hey, I mean, I’d be the first to say “Hurray! The Kid who’s gonna save the world is back from whatever nightmares Xenmas—Xehanort.... whatever—put him through! So glad the Kid is fine and the day was saved and everything will be sunshine and rainbows again, let’s go beat the bad guys and please remember that I am no longer on their side, thanks. No, I honestly had no idea that Isa was one of them, would you please stop asking me what other nefarious plots they’re up to and believe me when I say I don’t know?”  

Well, ok. Maybe I wouldn’t say it quite like that.

But yeah. I’ll admit to feeling a little disappointed when Sora woke up. Sora. And yeah, maybe I was a little angry when the Kid just sort of jumped up and started hugging all of his friends, and when he saw me standing in the corner his first reaction was to aim his keyblade at my heart.

Disappointed. Yeah, we’ll leave it at that.

I mean, it’s not like I’d really gotten my hopes up, or expected anything different. Sure, I gave up my existence as a nobody to save his skin, and yeah, I spent who knows how long trying to manifest a keyblade, and then I was able to swoop in and save the day, but… I dunno. I thought it would…be different when the Kid woke up.

And ok, maybe a little part of me had hoped—believed—that since I’d had a second chance, well, maybe Roxas would too.

 It’s funny. I finally get my heart back, and I can officially start to feel all of these things again, but all I feel is sad.

 I mean, who gets sad when there’s cake?

 It’s… time to go. I didn’t actually tell the others where I was going when I came to see the wizard, and while they probably haven’t noticed my absence, I’d like to at least pretend that they care. I mean, didn’t we bond over losing our hearts and joining an evil organization set on summoning a massive world filled with incomprehensible power? Surely that’s gotta count for something. I have friends, really.

Oh man, if Roxas could hear me now, he’d get on my case for moping and tell me to lighten up. I mean, if Roxas would think I was angsting—

Sora looked up, catches my eye, and I can see some of the happiness fade—I literally see the smile leave his eyes, the tensing of his shoulders, the hasty attempt to pretend he didn’t see anything, anyone. Apparently, he’d forgotten that I was here.

Yeah, definitely time to go.

My arm is halfway up and my hand is outstretched, and I can feel the darkness gathering in the corner of the room when there’s a tug on my sleeve.

“Ax—uh, Lea, wait a sec. I wanna talk before you go.”

I hesitate because I know it’s him and I’m starting to wonder if maybe the Kid knows more than he’s letting on, and I can’t quite crush that flutter of hope that maybe my best friend is still in there somewhere. But I turn and it’s Sora who’s giving me that earnest look. Sora, who’s tugging on my sleeve, pulling me towards the door out of the tower. Sora, who waves aside his friends’ concerned looks when he drags the guy that no one is still quite sure about out of the sight of others (I mean, really, what’s it take to get a little trust with these people? I already did the swooping in to save the day thing, what else do I have to do to get a little friendliness here?)

And even though it’s Sora and not Roxas, I decide to humor him because it’s just as easy to escape outside as it is inside. When he sees that I’m not about to fade back into the shadows, he releases my arm and stretches, clasping his hands behind his head and giving me his signature smile. It’s Sora’s smile, not Roxas’, so it makes it a little easier, but given the fact that the Kid tries to make friends with everyone (even the bad guys—especially the bad guys) it’s no big surprise.

Still, I can play along, see what he wants. I cross my arms and lean against the building, tilting my head so I can still look down at him. Kid’s grown since I saw him last. Of course, he’ll stunt his growth if he keeps eating that much cake in one go.

“I never really got a chance to say thank you,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “The others told me what you did, back in… that place. You really saved our lives. I don’t even wanna think of what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up. Thanks, Lea.”

The worst part is that we all know what would’ve happened—Another puppet like Isa and Braig to add to the collection. Sora’s awakening comes to my mind unbidden, but he wakes up with golden eyes and there’s nothing of the Kid or Roxas left, or it’s buried so deep there’s no chance of getting either of them back.

I swallow the sudden lump in my throat at the thought of that, and fall back on my usual defense.

“Well, you know it’s all part of the training to become a true Keyblade master. Heroic deeds and saving the day are a big part of it.” I tap my finger against my forehead and give him a grin. “Got it memorized?”

Interesting reaction, though, to the thought of losing both of them. Almost like I still thought there was a “both” of them left to save.

But it’s Sora who shakes his head, Sora who sighs, Sora who crosses his arms and looks at the ground. He’s got Roxas’ frown—or, no, I guess Roxas was the one who used to frown like Sora. But it’s not the cranky or frustrated frown he gets when you’ve taken the teasing too far, it’s the Deep Thought Frown (reserved for when things get really serious), and given that Sora isn’t, well… let’s just say it’s not one I’d expect to see on the Kid. I shift against the wall, trying to get a better look at his face, but he’s hiding his expression under his bangs and I can’t quite see anything beyond the Deep Thought Frown.

 “Lea, when I was sleeping, when I chased the dreams in the World that Never Was, I saw, um,” he shifts from foot to foot, and I think the Kid is actually nervous to talk to me. Or maybe he’s just worried about what I’ll do when he talks. I brace myself—I think I already know where this is going, and it’s not really something I want to talk about right now.

“I mean, when I was in there, I saw all kinds of things, and I dunno what was real and what was fake, there were a lot of people I didn’t really recognize but I felt like I knew them, you know? But one of them stopped to talk to me—I remember that much.” And he looks up, catching me with that familiar expression of worry, those bright blue eyes large and wide.

“Axel, I got to meet Roxas!”

I can’t help it. I flinch, pushing away from the wall and turning towards the bright horizon. I really don’t wanna hear any parting words from someone else. If Roxas has—had— something to say to me, he should’ve said it in the Digital Twilight Town. He should’ve said something before he left the Organization. He should’ve said… something. Sora shouldn’t be the one forced to say goodbye.

 “I’m not gonna give up, and neither should you!”

 That… is not something I expected to hear. I look over my shoulder to see Sora—is he crying?

“I tried telling him that, but he wouldn’t listen,” Sora says, and yes, there are tears in his eyes but I’m not sure if it’s because he’s sad or if it’s because he’s frustrated. “I told him that he deserved to be a person as much as I did, and then he gave me his memories. I remember everything now, the missions together, ice cream on the clock tower, Winner sticks!”

Sora clenches his fists, frown deepening into a scowl. Ok, well, apparently they’re tears of anger. I guess that’s something. “It’s not fair!”

“Who said anything in life was fair?” I ask, and I can’t quite hold the bite back. I guess it’s anger, or risk tears of my own. Why did I want a heart again?

“I still don’t remember everything, and some things are kinda fuzzy, but I know that you kept your promise!” Sora insists, and he grabs my hand, shaking it. “You kept me safe like you said you would. You watched over us and protected us! I remember your promise, and you came through for him. For me, um, for us?” he trails off, and the Deep Thought Frown comes over his face again.

I can’t help it. I laugh, ruffle his hair, and wave off his thanks. “I didn’t have anything else to do, so why not?”

Great coping mechanism, that. But I guess laughing is better than crying, and I’d probably regret setting the wizard’s trees on fire. Probably. Maybe not immediately, but eventually. I guess I could blame it on the Kid, but somehow, I don’t think that would fly. That’s the only downside to having a signature move (and I do mean only, my moves are awesome).

“No, I mean what I said,” he insists, still not letting go of my hand. “Demyx told me once that nobodies can grow hearts—you did, I think you all did. So even if Roxas originally came from my heart, he had his own, right? So, we just have to find it and get it back for him!”

“I… don’t think it’s quite that easy,” I say, but the Kid’s enthusiasm is catching, and I can feel that damn flicker of hope again. If it’s true, if there was a way… I crush that thought before I finish the sentence in my head. “If anything, Roxas might’ve been Ventus’ nobody, so when we find and wake him up, Roxas will go to Ven.”

Sora sags a little at that. I guess he hadn’t considered that, although it’s been nagging me since the first day I met Roxas, remembering someone else I’d met in another life. And what was it Xigbar had said? ‘He used to give me the same look?’

The grip on my hand tightens again, and Sora shakes his head. Apparently, the Kid only stays down for a few heartbeats before he musters up cheerfulness again. It’d be annoying if it wasn’t so endearing. He’d probably get on Roxas’ nerves after a while, though.

“Even if that’s the case, I think Roxas had a heart of his own. I know he did, I could feel everything he felt, knew everything he knew, remembered… well, most stuff, I think. Like I said, some stuff is fuzzy.” He wrinkles his nose as though he’s trying to remember something, or someone.

“I think there was a girl? She sort’ve looked like Namine. And there were others too, some people I recognized, others I didn’t. But I think they were different hearts that touched mine. I’ve gotta believe that there’s a way to help them all, and you’ve gotta believe, too!”

“Me?” I laugh. I can’t help it, his damn optimism is contagious and he’s grinning through the tears. “Why do I have to believe anything?”

“Because,” he says, “I’m gonna need help! My friends are my strength—I can’t do it alone. Besides, you’re his best friend. Don’t you wanna be there when he wakes up?”

“I—“ I swallow back another lump, deciding that maybe, just maybe, it’s ok to dream a little. The flicker of hope returns a third time, and I know it’s gonna be damn hard to snuff out. “Yeah,” I say at last. “Yeah, of course I’ll be there. I made a promise, didn’t I? Keep it--“

“—Memorized, I’ve got it,” he grins and finally relinquishes my hand. I shake it out, trying to get blood flowing into my fingers again. Kid has a grip, I’ll give him that.

Sora’s beaming at me as though he’s just won the battle of the century, and I look away. I feel like a bit of an idiot, grinning when we really have no basis for our theory or any clue of how to help, but… it’s nice to feel hope again. Hell, it’s nice to feel anything again.

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done, and I know we’re gonna help him. We’re gonna save them all!”

I tsk, ruffling his spikes again. “Yeah, well… just don’t be getting yourself into any more trouble when I’m not around, alright? I’m gonna be busy, training to use the Keyblade and everything. Plus I’ve gotta help the others, since they’re back to doing their Sciencey shit.”

Sora pushes my hand away, laughing. “Lea, we’re gonna figure out a way to help him. I promise.”

 “You know, you already have, Kid. He was really looking forward to meeting you. Sounds like he finally got his wish.” I turn my attention back to the horizon, and I’m already regretting that I will, in fact, have to leave pretty soon. The Organization is gone, but we’re back to the way we were. You don’t just throw away second chances like that, you need to act, make sure that whatever time you have left counts. Maybe I’ll be lucky and go out with a bang again.

But not before I see Roxas at least one more time.

Sora scrubs his hand across his face, drying his tears and wiping away the sleep that still lingers in the corners of his eyes.

“I know you’re gonna have to go soon,” he says, and he actually sounds sad. Imagine that, the Keyblade wielder actually likes me to some extent. Or maybe it’s Roxas, who knows.

“I mean, we’re all gonna be really busy training and preparing for this final attack. But, I can’t help feeling like there was someone else. Someone else who went on missions? I still can’t remember that girl’s name. And some of the Organization members are still missing, right?”

“Demyx--- or Meyd, I guess,” I say, wondering where in the hell he could’ve woken up. With that guy’s luck, he probably ended up as an octopus or a whale or something in that undersea world. “Plus the people from the Castle. Not sure if that’s a bad thing, though.”

“We’re gonna figure it out,” he says. “I just wish I could remember her name.”

“Ask Namine,” I say, pause, then correct myself, “Kairi. She has all of Namine’s memories, so if there was someone else, Nami—Kairi would know, right? She’s the only one who can’t be affected by her own magic.”

“Yeah… yeah! I’ll ask Kairi!”

“Hey, are you two done? Master Yen Sid wants to speak to you.” Riku stands in the doorway, and even though his voice is kinda gruff, he’s smiling at Sora. Even just looking at the damn Kid makes everyone happy. It must be some sort of weird magical aura or something.

“Yeah, we’ll be right there!” he shouts, and Riku shakes his head before going back inside. Sora holds up his hand, pinky extended.

“I promise we’ll find a way to help them all!” he says, and I laugh, linking my own finger with his.

“I’ll keep it memorized.”

#Sometimes I write NOT Solavellan #Kingdom Hearts #KHfics #Axel #Lea #Roxas #Sora #Riku #Fix-it fics #not heavily implied but sort of #AkuRoku

[yes-dal456]

My Dad, The Child

I went home the other day and my dad greeted me. He hugged me, grabbed my tangled curls with both of his hands, pulled them down over my ears, and wrapped them under my chin. The next weekend I went home, he fixated on my sleeves. He lifted my sleeves and kept folding the cuffs.

For those moments, I felt the gaze of a father who took care of his daughter.

But he can’t.

He has memory loss. The front of his brain’s lobe is dwindling. Much like the body of an elderly person that shrinks, loses mobility and muscle, the same thing is happening to the front of his brain. Nasty plaque is also building up in the front of his brain, and the proteins have misshapen his brain’s nerve cells. Instead of his brain looking full, round and plump, it’s now riddled with holes. The image of a small and deflated brain provides me with patience when I get frustrated over my father’s changed behavior.

Hell, some of the doctors said he has frontotemporal degeteration/degeneration (FTD), others said he has Parkinson’s-like symptoms. All I know is that he has some form of dementia. I’d like to draw your attention to my verb choice. He has memory loss, he does not suffer from it. In fact, it’s more the families that suffer rather than the person.

I, along with my entire family, wish we could do something proactive to fix it. My mother has pored over websites offering mostly ineffective advice that this vitamin or that kind of food can help prevent further mind deterioration. So what I can do is try to shape the way others interact with people who have it – and equally important, their caregivers and loved ones.

I write this essay to help bring the disease out of the shadows, for my mother and all family members whose loved ones have transformed into different people. I write for people who care, but don’t know what to do for those who have dementia or their families.

Skills and actions we take for granted evaporate over time for those with dementia: driving, reading, writing, speaking, eating, swallowing, flossing, bathroom use, and for some, walking. These daily tasks fall to the caregivers.

I find simple questions difficult to answer. Based on my experience, I suspect many people whose loved ones have memory loss go out and socialize to escape the incessant tasks at home. These questions take me to a painful place. Trigger warning, trigger warning! I want to tell them, if I talk about this too much, I WILL cry. For my mother, her coping mechanism is to completely shut down the conversation by saying everything is fine or to quickly change the subject.

Here are a few things people who are caring for someone with a mental illness hate to hear:

1. “I’m so sorry to hear that – how could that happen to him?”

No one really knows.

2. “Wow, I know someone who is even older, and they are fine.”

Getting older isn’t fun. Half of my father’s friends have died—of cancer, of heart attacks or they have some sort of ailment. The lucky ones don’t. But what use is the comparison?

3. “How old is your father?”

Does age matter with degenerative disorders? Not really. It can happen to a 60-year-old, 70-year-old and so on. The book-turned-movie “Still Alice” does a great job of describing it through the lens of a 50-year-old woman who gets early-onset Alzheimer’s. I highly recommend it.

4. “He used to be so active.”

No use crying over spilled milk.

5. “He lived a great life.”

He’s still alive! He enjoys eating, dancing and laughing. He smiles when he sees me. I hold his hand and he squeezes mine. I tell jokes and he laughs. We tease my mother together. This is life—just a different one than one we knew before.

6. “That makes me so sad.”

We’re the ones living with it. We don’t ask for pity and comfort. The last thing we want to do is comfort you too.

7. “I know what it’s like.”

Perhaps. But it doesn’t make us feel any better. I will say that there is a kind of camaraderie among friends whose parents suffer from similar mental diseases, but each case is so different.

What we like to hear:

1. “How are YOU doing?”

It’s hard to be a caregiver. Today, as families are separated and smaller, it can be difficult to find trusted help. Many are forced to turn to external caregivers or the controversial homes for the elderly. Even when you do find someone, you always wonder if they are treating your loved one the way you would want them to. Indeed, the elderly are some of the most vulnerable today.

2. “What can I do to help?”

For a while, my mother used to get mad and frustrated. Here’s a man that used to take care of everything in the house and many things in her life. Today, the responsibilities have fallen on her shoulders. She now must look after the large yard of the house that they live in, walk the dog, take care of my father, handle the finances, and carve out time for herself to stay fit and happy in order to provide my father with proper care. I know she appreciates it when I can come home for a bit and hang out with him, and she’d appreciated if others did too.

The dementia has rendered my father a child. There are times I deeply miss him and wish he was there to provide fatherly advice. Today, at 32 years of age, I possess similar interests as him. I love art, poetry, exercise, and I’m generally curious about the world. I wish he were fully here to share them with me. I do count my blessings that he is still here and we can still go on walks together, laugh at a stupid joke, or eat a great meal together.

I’ve found beauty in my parents’ marriage. My mother, who is 19 years younger than my father, has gone from being the one taken care of to the caregiver. Her love has taken the form of sacrifice. I find it awe-inspiring. Now, as I search for my own life partner, I think to myself, would I care for him the way my mother would? More importantly, would I do so with love and without resentment?

I want to tell him about my company’s latest projects, my most recent date, and my new apartment. And I do. But it ends there. So rather than wish he was the way he used to be, I try to enjoy the time with the father that I have now. One way we do so is by singing songs from musicals we used to watch together—Oliver! is a big favorite. I encourage him to sing along to the choruses or finish the last words of a line so that he doesn’t fully lose his speech.

I now read to him before bed every Sunday. Once I lay next to him, staring into his eyes and unprompted, he said, “I love you.” There’s part of him still there. It comes out sometimes. I have some guesses as to why that happens. Perhaps it’s when there are few distractions in the room, when he sees someone he knows from the past, or when he hears a song or poem that he used to know. Ultimately, these are just guesses.

As people around the world live longer, we should support not only the elderly but the families and caregivers of those who see a person they once knew dwindle before their eyes. Support can mean a simple personal phone call, offer to run an errand, or a quick visit. It is the families and caregivers that live with it daily and suffer, rather than the people with it.

Six months ago, I went on a walk with my father and asked him, “Dad, do you think you’ve lost your memory? Or have trouble remembering things?”

He responded quickly, “No.”

His inability to remember his memory loss provided me with some solace. He doesn’t realize what he’s lost. He is a different person with a different brain. He’s not in pain and he enjoys simple things in life, like eating, slap stick humor and the rhythms of cha cha music.

This notion was shattered last month, when I woke him up in the morning and I guided him to brush his teeth, he looked at me with the urge to say something—unable to grasp the words thanks to his newly shaped brain, he managed to say, “I’ve even forgotten how to speak!” The moment of meta-realization hurt to hear, but I think moment later, he forgot that too.

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