#if i never log on again ill have killed myself over this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mimibtsghost7 · 3 years

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Fuck you and all your little brain washed rats sending people hate because you cant take responsibility for your actions!! But go on stay silent like you always do, pretend its nothing of your business, keep being a fetishizing racist delulu like you love to be while pretending to be the best blog on tumblr!!!

NOT like anyone will see this but YOU will so LET’S GOOO!!!~~

TW: mental health and more (if you feel like this can trigger you, pls don’t read this, breathe in and out and listen to this HERE and remember I love you), loads of tea and Mimi NOT being a friendly and kind ghost.

funny enough:

I never pretended of said I was the best blog. But I guess the fact that you say it might be because you heard it frequently? Thanks for thinking so^^

I sent hate to no one and u r the one sending it to me rn ^^ In my whole 4 year journey on Tumblr I received a lot of love but also worse hate that you can imagine. Yes you are saying now you are receiving hate ... funny how it’s bad when It’s addressed to you but when it’s at me and my dear followers it is not. Still, I never told anyone to go hate on you. You were the idiot that tagged my old blog and as soon as my blog was gone pple searched me and found out you were the reason behind this. But as you keep hating on me. Let me tell you I am kind but don’t mistake that for me being a coward.

I am not into insulting others and I don’t care much if you insult me. BUT don’t YOU DARE touch my dear followers. Insulting ain’t hard. Let me try: The only rat here is you hiding in your hole as an anon. I went and compared your writing with this ask and previous hate asks. And it was you~ Good for you~ the sewers smell just like your filthy mouth spilling sh*t left and right. So on brand. However, I know who you are @hobisbeautifulass Hi ^^

Me racist? HAHAHAHAH you truly know NOTHING about me nor my ex-blog’s message. It was a place when you were welcomed no matter your skin color, religion, gender ... proof? well it got deleted thanks to you. but ask around this time and search for who reblogged my posts as they were always the top of the tags (even if I don’t trust how bad you are at research). I supported the BLM movement and still do and will always do but I did so veeery early without anyone telling me. Not for the notes but because of my humanity. I wished my dear followers’ happy holidays no matter their religions. And never cared about those things. Why judge someone on something based on religion or how they were born. As for the LGBTQ+ community, I was always and will always be there for love being love. I talked about mental health and opened venting nights. I helped left and right and when I was receiving hate because of people like you spitting lies about me. What did I do? Did I go online and called people bad? No. I looked back at myself and asked myself if I did anything wrong. I tried to educate myself and apologized sincerely when I had to. I read books and watched documentaries to learn how to become a better human. AND never repeated a mistake twice. You tend to forget that our cultures are different and sometimes you grow up to see some things as normal when they are not. This is not an excuse tho, so I always believed that I was lacking and if someone had something to say against me, there is a chance they are right and just in case I should reflect on myself. But for your case it was pure nonsense. ME? a stalker? how can I stalk when I have social anxiety and at that time couldn’t even leave my room? I am even afraid of taking public transportations and just the other days I was crying from joy when I took a taxi alone. they said I was in Japan stalking Jimin and Jungkook and took a pic when I was NEVER EVER was on that land. You put me on the same list as people who bought info about BTS’ flights to be on the same plane as them? I was stalked before and let me tell you it ain’t cute and fun. I am even scared of the idea of being followed. that’s why I never shared openly my age, country, or anything about me on my blog. that’s why I have no personal social media to this day and that’s why making my ex-blog was some sort of miracle in my life.

Silent? yes I was silent when I received hate and didn’t even vent to my dear followers or pointed fingers. Why? because I thought as my day was hell I shouldn’t make anyone’s day worse. I was worried about my dear followers with mental illnesses being triggered. I tried to take my life so many times I lost count but I still came here and smiled. It was my safe place and you took it away. Yet, I should pity you? You hated on me first for no reason and you know it deep inside but right now you are trying to convince yourself that you are the angel and feel no guilt. Compared to you. I pointed fingers at no one and didn’t name you when my blog was gone. Why? because compared to you, I thought you will not be able to manage the hate and what was done .. I didn’t want you to suffer the same way I did when you are the one who made me suffer the most the past couple of days. But the kind Mimi is someone you will never remember because you dared touch the friends I love and calling them names. I don’t mind people insulting me but don’t you dare touch my people. I know myself best. My dear friends/followers know me best. I thought ... I could leave without this mess but you keep barking in my ask box and it’s annoying. I left this backup account just to talk to my friends and yet you are here to ruin things again? I should stop being kind to the ones who deserve non of it. I ignored you when I had so many followers and you went silent too because you were scared of me. But as soon as I lost my blog because of you, you went, edited and then reblogged that stalker post. How can I be a stalker? do you even know the definition of a stalker? do you even know shame? well .. I don’t think so.. you said it yourself. You are NOT ashamed (and you reblogged that so many time lol).

Death threats? this is no competition but thanks to people like you I have been there and wish no one to be there not even you. The only difference is that you almost killed me for real. You were not the sole reason? Great job walking away from you beloved word: RESPONSIBILITY. And I didn’t get just anon hate, I got literal tagging by people like you, DMs, and people pointing guns at me. That’s why I didn’t mention you. I was worried about the one who took away what I worked for for 4 YEARS. I was more sad and concerned about the ARMY fandom here. Do you know how many rely on my updates? do you know how many people said I helped them? do you know any of that? do you think 200k people were “rats”? Do you think if I did and say wrong thing I will not be questioned by those people. I always told my dear followers: “friends, if I do or say anything wrong or share anything that hurts anyone please tell me. I am willing to learn from everyone.” But what did you know? what did you do? Well .. guess you love notes? As the most notes you ever got and the most attention was when talking about me?

Love how you talk about fetishing when my blog was what people call “family friendly”. I also like BTS. I love them for their music, talent, personalities and the happiness they give me. I also enjoy BTS’ bond and love their interactions. I posted content of all kinds of interactions JM X JK, JK X V, V X JIN, JIN X SG, SG X JH, JH X RM, RM X JM ... If you are calling this fetishing asian men just because I scream over BTS as a fan and love their bonb. Then aren’t you against the idea of being an ARMY? I was a clear OT7 and you were told that you weren’t right:

Then you answered this without even explaining the nonsense about me:

idk .. I am trying to find sense in your nonsense so .. wait wait let me look at the definition of fetishism first.

Fetishism /ˈfɛtɪʃɪz(ə)m/ noun: a form of sexual behavior in which gratification is linked to an abnormal degree to a particular object, activity, part of the body, etc.

Then .. judging from your URL alone hmmm ... cute. I won’t even talk about the SMUT you write that is full of kinks and fetishism. Well I have no problem with fan fiction but the irony you spit is out of this world.

Also, I made money out of mimibtsghost? HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH no lil one. I worked day and night for FREE. At some point when BT21 just came out and there were no products on AMAZON or anywhere but S.Korea, someone reached out to me to offer 20% off or something for my dear followers. When they asked what I wanted I said what about international giveaways for my dear followers. Basically, made gifs, found content, updates, analysis, edits, and so on for free. Again, w-wait .. Aren’t you the one asking for commissions? Well .. It’s not wrong. But again THE irony.

So, I went to see that post you made about me with “PROOF” and it was just another person who was salty as I got them blocked I can’t even recall who they were but oh well. Their arguments according to YOU and many should be taken as FACTS just because they said them? You said HERE that your first comeback was MOST:7 that came in just last year (2020) SO what the hell do YOU know about what happened years before you came when all the proof you pointed at where baseless without any backing?

Let’s see this so wise person you used to delete my blog and what I have done ^^

The gifs: There is a story to this. The first week I came to Tumblr, It was my first time on this site and the first time I share anything. I shared some content and my analysis had a lot of notes for a small creator that started just a week ago. But I made a mistake, I found a gif and posted it while crediting the gif maker. At the time I had NO idea it was wrong. I logged off and after 5 hours I log in and there was a WAR for that ONE gif. The big blog had me blocked and her friend was telling me to take it off. As soon as the person told me I did IMMEDIATELY and apologized againa and again and told them to tell the original gif maker to deblock me as I want to apologize directly and that they can block me after that. They did and I apologized but they just kept insulting me. Of course it was MY mistake and that’s why I apologized. But for them. for a mere gif (yes I say a mere gif because I made so many gifs and they were used on all platforms but I never thought it was necessary to hate that much on someone like they did to me). That blog was big and had big blog mutuals. Thanks to that, I became someone you do NOT become mutuals with but block and never reblog content from. Without any big mutuals. Without any shoutouts. Only my love for BTS, my dear followers’ support and my hard work.. My blog, became bigger and FAST (I got 10k in less than 6 months after I started) and that brought loads of jealousy and thus more rumors. Even if, I apologized and since then made my own gifs. And I made SO many gifsets that I can’t remember how many there were. What I can recall is at some point I made them daily and many times a day.

Ships Jikook? I posted content of ALL the members interactions. I was here at a time where Jikook stans and Taekook stans where always fighting. BUT I posted about both and even made so many posts to encourage loving all the members and all the interactions. I also used the tags solely used for shipping with other big tags to show that BTS’ interactions are all important and their bond is beutiful. That our fandom shouldn’t hate on a member just because they are not part of a ship we like. And wait .. even if I shipped Jikook? I got called ALL those names by someone who ship the members with readers and write sexual scenes? Like, wait ... I am truly confused. Like, write fanfic and do all you want as long as you hurt no one I guess but why am I getting hurt for doing non of it? Like according to you, the person you should be cancelling is yourself?! I am also not into cancel culture like you so hahah whatever.

Posted stalker pics: well wow the story changes each time. Next thing you will hear that I was the one holding a camera for a member in a Vlive lol. Let me teach you about this update thing I was doing. I follow accounts I trust and that’s how we get info circulating fast. I always do reasearch but sometimes mistakes are made. For example when lately people shared pictures of BTS leaving their virtual concerts and schedules. There was a watermark of a news outlet. Normally we trust those but only later we realized that those people stalked BTS. You clearly can’t know it all. But I still didn’t share many pics related to many events (I will not name those as pple can search them even now because some pple never deleted those). And all big accounts shared many pics then deleted later. This happens all the time but it happened like ONCE for me. However, I am called a stalker for that?

When Jonghyun passed away ... I don’t even wanna recall that night as the memories just ... when that happened I posted about it and send my condolescences. that post had over 10k notes and was at the top the tag. Why did I do that? I was devastated. Yes, many were but I will talk about me rn: I was suicidal the days before that and one of the songs that I listened to when I was broken where by him. I has been in the kpop world since 2006. And learned about his group since their debut with ‘Replay’. I was never a stan but I still knew of many groups and listened to all the songs I liked. I was very sad when he was gone and ANGRY mostly. Why is this angel leaving? Why is someone like me still here? Why did I not leave instead of him? How much did he suffer? And in the midst I posted a post from twitter that stated how agencies usually put down pple with mental illiness and hide it in the industry. Yes, that was important but NOT at that time. I shouldn’t have posted that and I realized after 5 min of doing so that it was WRONG. So I deleted it FAST but it kept being reblogged and I kept getting hate and people telling me: “Go kill yourself”... the sad part is that I almost did as my answer was “true ... why am I still here?” I apologized and logged off then to this day won’t forget crying at 3 AM while walking outside next to my dad. I was outside as I couldn’t breathe anymore and the idea of seeing the walls of my room was hell. I cried and cried and the teary eyes that my father looked at me with are something I am ashamed of to this day. To add one more thing while I am spilling the beans. I hate learning about someone dying. My grandma passed away sometime before that and it was so shocking to me. and some people came and told me when I was mourning her: Go follow that bitch of grandmother of yours. And for what? At that moment I didn’t think I would live to see the next year but I went to therapy and took medecine that was hurting and made me shake all day just to turn somewhat sane. No one knew tho ... I smiled all day and cried all night.. Even on the blog I fought no one of the ones who hated me. I just blocked them but even that was an insult to them?

Again, you said no one should defend me. Yet, you were ready to fight whoever touched anyone around you. What about changing your URL to beautifulassirony

Also THE hypocrisy. If you are sorry then why are you answering an ask of someone isulting someone you want to apologize to? Just make a post wher you apologize or ignore it from the start?

One more thing but surely not the last. You said you were good with research which you are NOT. So, let me show you what an OG detective ARMY can do. But first, as I was scrolling I saw some of your “work” (let’s not even talk about those gifs) and I am just giving my point of view here: I hate how you painted Namjoon as this horny-idiotic-make-dog. Like I get it it’s a fanfic or Namjoon as a dad but ... Namjoon is such a smart man who is very respectful and ofc he is a human with needs like many but what the hell is this way of portraying a character? Also a character is not cool, amazing, and a strong woman just because they curse and belittle their partner.

Oh well, only you kept reblogging that as it show 36 reblogs when only 33 as still there when I looked and out of those 13 reblogs are yours? (you might have reblogged it more) but again some people might have liked ... people have different taste ... so ... whatever.

Let’s continue, shall we ^^. You said you were the victim here when I was the one getting robbed right? How can I believe someone who reblogged the post below and was proud calling themselves an abomination or how the Oxford dictionary defines it: a thing that causes disgust or loathing. For once you weren’t wrong.

What can you expect from someone who has the “I am not like others” kinda mentality while stating relatable things that everyone goes through?

This is getting pretty long. So to sum this up. You are now telling others that hate is NOt ok and that they should be ashamed of themselves when you yourself is not ashamed of hating on me?

I am not the type that sends anon hate. I might ignore some barking but the past days you came and bite me hard. I face the ones I have to face without fear. I know I am not the bad guy here and I don’t care much what you think about me. Even BTS got haters. This says a lot. BUT do NOT dare talk badely of my dear friends/followers. You said you do research well? Start by deleting the post below that was originally by ME from your blog ... oh how meticulous you are. From your baseless receipts to your twisted logic. Indeed people on the internet can say anything and it will be FACTS. You painted me as the devil and painted yourself as this researcher? What’s next you receiving a Phd in ‘pity me’ after your MBA in lies and irony? Whatever~

Whaaatever~ Karma will have upcoming talks with you. No need for you to apologize. I never cared about you and you only got attention using me. But I am not here anymore how will you get that blog running now? Are you gonna add me in a fanfic next? No need for you to send me my appearance fee when you do so~ And no need for you to apologize to me just apologize to you conscience if you have any left. As for me @hobisbeautifulass you are just someone I will forget soon anyway~~

And because according to what you said HERE when you described the things you hate about people and I thought that was VERY close to how you treated me. Thus, you might really not stand yourself rn.

Do.Not.Worry. BTS are starting the Love Myself campaign again and just in time for you to jump in (you are good at jumping to conclusions about me so I won’t worry about you). I know you don’t like me or my friends but be sure to love yourself at least ^^

You are a Hobi stan? Then learn from Hobi to share some sunshine not bring the storm. Have a good day~

#Anonymous #hobisbeautifulass #don't mind the typos as I wrote this in one go #just because I am someone who do not punch back when someone hit me do not mean I will stand nicely when you touch my people #anyway~ bye~#mimibtsghost

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xmalereader · 3 years

Text

The Mandalorian X Dark Fey! Male Reader

—

|| Masterlist ||

After S2 EP 5, I couldn’t help but come up with an idea! After finding out the child’s name and having Ashokas appearance, I couldn’t help myself but write some more Dark fey reader!! Also the inspiration comes from @fanficsforheartandsoul Please read their writing it is amazing and follow them!!

Summary: Din and reader have found the child a teacher, Ashoka, and learn a few new things about the Jedi order. But, Ashoka finds out a bit more about the readers kind and tells him her stories of when she once met a planet full of dark fey, creatures that the reader thought have gone extinct making him think that he is the last of his kind.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, the child being all cute, backstory, Ashoka learning, just more angst.

—

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Said the Fey who walked next to the Mandalorian. The two were walking through the dead forest, jumping over fallen logs and going under trees in order to continue following the path that lead them to the Jedi. Back in town they have met with the Matriarch, a women that was in charge of the town and had offered them a spear of beskar in exchange to take down the Jedi. At first, y/n thought that din was going to refuse the offer, knowing that they needed the Jedi alive due to the child needing a proper teacher. But of course, Din being a Mandalorian, couldn’t refuse the offer. Which lead them to tracking down the jedi thorugh the dead forest.

“I already told you—“ Din turns to face the Fey. “I’m not going to kill her, I’m going to get her attention and make sure that she helps us with the kid. I just need to find her, that’s all.” He repeats. He’s already explained Y/n his plan, telling him that he woulnd’t do anything to hurt the Jedi and to only ask for their help and hand the kid over to them.

Y/n sighs deeply as he gives the child a glimpse, who sat inside the bag that Din had found for the kid. “I know but I can’t help but get a bad feeling about this.” He mumbles out as Din stops in his tracks and removes the kid from the bag, setting him down with a sigh. “Will be fine.” Din tells him and nods towards the kid. “Stay with him, I’m going to check out the area and see if I can find anything.” Y/n nods at the Mandalorian and adjusts his cape, using it to hide his wings from prying eyes. He’s never liked it when others took notice of his wings, they were precious to him and being a Dark fey was risky, he was the last of his kind and he couldn’t allow anyone to know who he was.

The fey can’t help but pout as he stands next to the child and reaches out to stroke one of its long ears. Keeping him distracted with a small smile. Before he could even say anything he hears the sound of sabers and beskar clashing against eachother.

The dark feys eyes widen as he sees the Jedi and Din fighting with each other, stepping in front of the child to protect him he bares his fangs at the Jedi until Din calls out her name. Causing the two to stop fighting with each other. Din Is quick to tell her that they were sent by bo-Katan and how they have searching for her.

The Jedi, known as Ahsoka, gives the couple a look before she eyes the dark fey that stood over the child. She’s quick to drop her guard and puts away her lightsabers. “I hope it’s about him.” She says as din turns around to see y/n glaring at the Jedi, he gives him a small nod as of saying that everything was okay.

Y/n’s wings slowly drop behind him as he too drops his guard and exposes the child to the Jedi. The two approach him as ahsoka smiles a little, “Hello.” She coos out to the child who returns her greeting with a squeak.

—

Y/n watches Din pace back and forth as the Mandalorian eyes the Jedi and the child from a distance. He was becoming nervous and anxious, not knowing what to expect from Ahsoka. The fey was standing by a tree, leaning back against it as he sighs. “Din, stop it.”

“I can’t help it.” Din snaps back at his partner of four years. The two have known each other for awhile now and it wasn’t strange for y/n to see Din acting this way, he knows that he’s grown attached to the kid and how much he loves him. But things change and they were tasked to bring him to a Jedi.

Y/n slowly gets irritated by Dins pacing, he knows that he’s acting like a worried father but he can’t help but get a little annoyed. “Din.” He approaches the Mandalorian and reaches out to touch his hand, finally getting Dins attention as he stops pacing.

“It’s going to be okay, whatever Ahsoka is doing she’ll tell us.” He whispers to Din, hearing the other sigh deeply as he looks away. Y/n grows upset as he gently places a hand on one side of the helmet and pulls him back to face him. Without saying a word he leans forward to press their foreheads together. A small tradition that both mandalorians and Dark fey have in common. “It’s okay.” He croaks out this time as Din relaxes under his touch and nods.

As the two pull away, they don’t notice Ahsoka approaching them with the child in her arms. She gives the two a small smile as she sets the lamp down between them and the child in a rock. She sits next to him and sighs.

Din is the first to break the silence. “Can you—Can you understand him?” He asks.

Ahsoka sits up straight and nods. “In a way,” she turns to face the child. “Grogu and I can communicate through the force, giving us the ability to speak with eachother.”

“Grogu?” Both Din and y/n say.

The sudden name call causes the child to perk up, looking over at his parents as he coos out.

Y/n noticed the kids reaction and smirks. “Grogu.” He repeats and again the child’s ears perk up and his eyes widen with joy.

Ahsoka watches the Dark fey kneel down at the child’s level and stroke his long ears as Din sits across from her. She takes this time to explain to him about Grogu; where he’s from and how the Jedi order had fallen during the clone wars. She also tells him about the previous master that was the same species as Grogu that she once knew. Once she’s done explaining the notices the child falling asleep which makes her smile a little. “I’ll train him in the morning, for now we rest.”

Din can only nod as he stands up and takes the kid with him, wrapping him up in his cloak as he heads towards a spot that was comfortable for them to sleep. As y/n rises from the ground he hears Ahsoka ask. “You’re a Dark fey.”

Y/n turns around to see her approach him. “I once met a fey, back when I was still in training.” She says. The feys eyes can only widen in relazation. “You’ve met a fey before?” He asks.

Ahsoka nods her head. “Of course, back when I still training with my masters we once crashed into their home planet. We’ve never heard about their species or where they came from, they were unknown to the rest of the worlds.” She explains. “The ones I met were Aster; the chief of his people and Neela the chiefs wife. She too was a force sensitive but their people didn’t know much about the force so they simply called her, ‘the special one’.”

Y/n is shocked by her words. Have their been Fey around this whole time? Was he not the only one? Could it be possible for him to visit this planet? He had so many questions to ask.

“What—what were they like?” He stutters out, licking his lips as he grips his cloak.

Ahsoka smiles as she nods towards the stump, offering him to sit as she continues to talk about this planet that she once knew.

“The Dark fey were very traditional people and kind. They welcomed us very quickly and taught us their traditions.” She continues on as y/n sits down to listen. “Aster, the chief, had a son who became very close to one of my masters.” She chuckles at the fond memory of her Master Obi-wan.

“Dark fey have this traditions when it comes to finding loved ones,” she says. “Theirs was a dance a very special dance—“ she glanced over at the Mandalorian who was sleeping against a tree with Grogu tucked underneath his arm. “By any chance are you and the Mandalorian together?”

Y/n’s face flushes red as he clears his throat, reaching up to run the back of his neck nervously. “We’ve been bonded together for awhile now.” He shyly looks away from her piercing blue eyes. “Why do you ask?”

Ahsoka hums. “While I was speaking to the child, he told me about you both and how much of a strong connection you have with the Mandalorian.” She adjusts her own cape. “Grogu really cares about you both, he sees you as his family. As parents.” Her eyes sadden at the realization.

Y/n is quick to notice the change of mood, sitting up straight he feels his wings twitch again. “Is that a good thing?” He suddenly grows anxious.

“In your way, yes. But in the Jedi way, it is forbidden.” She sighs out. “In order to become a Jedi you have to avoid attachments. My old Master...he could’ve easily fallen away from the order the day the Chiefs son proposed to him. My master was oblivious during that time and had no idea that the fey was proposing, I could sense his happiness of just being around your people and around him too but—“ she frowns. “He was a selfish fool who only thought about putting his order first before him.” This was the first time that she actually spoke ill about her master. She knew how much Obi-Wan cared and loved the man, she remembers the presents Obi-wan would receive from the fey and how happy he was to just have a small stone given to him. She knew he was happy and she wanted him to stay on that planet with him. But, she can only watch as her master broke the feys heart and telling him that he couldn’t have these attachments. For the first time she felt upset towards her master, upset that he wouldn’t put his own happiness first.

“But, Grogu needs your help.” Y/n whispers out.

“I know he does, but I can’t train him. I can’t lead him down a dark path.” Ahsoka’ voice grows into a small whisper. She knows how much the child means to them and separating him from his family can only upset Grogu and the fear that he holds can easily take him down a dark path, something she can’t bare to see again.

Y/n bites his lip, looking over his shoulder to see his partner and Grogu resting with each other. “Their is another way.” He turns his attention back to Ahsoka. “I can try and train him in the morning but if the child refuses to listen then your second option will be to take him to a Jedi temple. There he will decide his path.”

Y/n heaves out a deep sigh and nods. “Okay.” He says softly as Ahsoka places her hand on his shoulder and gives it a soft squeeze. “Get some rest.” She adds and stands from her spot.

Before she could find her own place to sleep she is stopped by y/n. “The Dark fey, you said their was a planet full of them—do you know where?” He asks desperate to know.

Ahsoka gives him a confused look. “I thought you were from there.”

Y/n shakes his head. “I don’t remember my parents or their names.” He was still a child when he found out that he was the only fey. “I was sold into slavery, passed down by many different masters. I was treated like any other; punished, neglected, sometimes they would tear my feathers away.”

Ahsoka gasps. “A feys wings are considered precious to them and no one is to touch them unless given permission too.” She is shocked to know about this.

“A feys wings are senstive as a child that was my punishment. I didn’t learn how to fly until I got older, but before anything else the mandalorians saved me—“ he looks towards Din and smiles. “Din and I were kids. He was my first friend, my first everything.” He blushes. “We grew up together, I didn’t take the creed due to me being a fey. I wanted to know more about my kind and see if I could find anyone that knew about us but, I never succeed.” He remembers spending his years doing research about the fey, only finding few books and holos about his kind. He remembers annoying the Armorer to let him go search around the area and see if could find just one hint of information about his own people. But in the end he found nothing and accept his fate of being the last one.

But now, now he’s found someone that has met, not just one, but a whole planet full of them and he’s desperate to know where this planet is located.

“I want to see more fey, I want to see my people.” He pleads out. “Please, anything you have can help me.” He looks into her blue eyes, giving her a pleading look.

Ahsoka Can sense his emotions; anger, sadness, joy, relief. She gives off a sad sigh, reaching under her cloak she pulls out a holo. Showing it to y/n. “Before we left I made sure to gather as much information as I could about the Dark fey. Their elders trusted me with this information and allowed me to add their coordinates if we were to ever visit again.” Her fingers graze over the holo before giving it a soft squeeze and handing it over to y/n.

“Take it and go find yourself a place that you can call home.”

Y/ns heart beats loudly as he eyes the holo in Ahsokas hand. Nervously he takes it into his own and bites his lip, holding back tears of joy. “Thank you.”

Ahsoka nods. “You’re welcome.” Smiling at the fey she nudges him towards the Mandalorian. “Best for you to rest, tomorrow we train Grogu.” Y/n sniff and clears his throat. “Right.” He agrees with her and puts away the holo into his own pocket. Turning around he heads towards Din and Grogu, quietly removing his own cape as he drapes it over the two. He sits down next to him and leans his head against Dins shoulder, his wings stretching out and wrapping themselves around his small family and smiles.

#male reader #pedro pascal #din djarin #din djarin x male reader #pedro pascal x male reader #the mandalorain #star wars x male reader #star wars #the mandalorian inccorect quotes #the mandalorian spoilers

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blackjacktheboss · 4 years

Note

“Are you warm enough?”

this super got away from me and I did not proofread so please keep any typos you find your yourself lmao

Percy sticks two logs into the fire and takes his seat next to Annabeth, wrapping his arm around her. “Are you warm enough?”

She nudges him as she laughs. “For the millionth time, yes. I’m fine!”

“I still think you should go to bed,” he says, despite the fact that he is pulling her closer to him. He places a kiss on her cheek. “I can finish tonight’s watch by myself.”

“I’m not leaving you alone on the solstice,” she says as a shiver runs through her. She tilts her head up. “Besides, the stars are far too beautiful.”

Percy follows her gaze and smiles at the millions of speckles of light that mark the night sky. “None as beautiful as you.”

“For a man who was chosen at birth to take a sacred oath and live his life in isolation, you are quite the romantic.”

“Do you wish me less romantic?” Percy asks, his eyes tracing Annabeth’s silhouette.

Annabeth turns to look at him and lightly shakes her head. “No. I wish you exactly as you are.”

Percy smiles, but as he leans in to kiss her, the trees just in front of them begin to rustle.

He jumps to his feet and draws his sword, which had been resting at his side, and slowly walks around the fire towards the noise. He hears the sounds of Annabeth taking out her dagger behind him and takes a calming breath, reminding himself this is what he has been training for since he was twelve years old.

“Remember,” he says over his shoulder.

“No getting stabbed, I know,” Annabeth drones, and he can practically hear her rolling her eyes.

“I was going to say protect the Temple at all costs.”

“Oh,” she says. “Right.”

“But also, do not get stabbed again.”

The rustling in the trees grows louder and as Percy readies his stance, a small figure stumbles out of the forest.

They wear a brown cloak covered in multicolored patches, and it has a hood that hangs over the top of their face. A wrinkled hand rests atop a gnarled cane and a satchel is slung across their front, though from Percy’s view it looks empty.

“Hello, young man,” they say in a rickety voice. They pull back their hood and reveal the face of an old woman with kind chestnut eyes and thin brown hair that is pinned back. “Might you have some water and spare food for a weary traveler?”

Percy stares at her from a moment, a small voice in the back of his mind whispering something about her that he can’t quite make out.

“Young man?” she repeats.”

Percy shakes his head and puts his sword away, standing tall. “Of course we do. Please, miss, join us at our fire.”

She sits against a log, putting her diagonal from Annabeth who watches her skeptically while Percy goes to fetch the food and water.

“I bear no ill will, child,” the old woman says, holding her hands close to the fire.

“What brings you out into the woods all by yourself?” Annabeth asks, wrapping herself back up in the blanket.

The old woman sighs and rubs her hands together. “The solstice is a magical time. One never knows what one may find if one is only willing to look for it.”

Percy returns with a pail of spring water which he places next to the woman, and a bag full of food that he hands her. “Hopefully this is enough food to last you through your travels.”

“You are too kind, my son.”

“Not at all,” he says with a smile. “Do you have a canteen you can fill?”

The old woman sips from the ladle in the pail and shakes her head.

“I can fashion you one before you go,” Percy says. “One must always travel with water.”

“What gods do you worship that you would show an old stranger such kindness?” the woman asks as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I was wondering the same thing,” Annabeth asks pointedly, clearly suspicious of the stranger.

“I await no reward, if that’s what you’re asking,” he answers. “In this life or the next. I simply extend the kindness I would hope to be shown.”

The old woman winks at Annabeth. “You have found yourself a good man.”

Annabeth blushes despite herself. “Of the highest order.”

Percy scrunches his nose up at her before turning back to the traveler. “You may stay as long as you like, as our guest, but I must warn you this part of the woods can be quite dangerous. It may be best for you to leave as soon as you have had your fill of food and drink.”

The old woman smiles as she pulls a loaf of bread from the bag and breaks it open. She places one half to her nose and inhales deeply before tossing it right into the fire. “As long as I walk under the gaze of the moon, no mortal man may harm me.”

“What luck,” Annabeth says facetiously and Percy nudges her with his shoulder.

The woman laughs. “It is good for a woman in this world to protect herself with wit and anger. Some days, those will be the only things on her side. No one knows that quite like you, Annabeth.”

Annabeth and Percy’s bodies tense in unison, and Percy’s hand slowly moves towards the hilt of his sword.

“Didn’t you hear me?” she says, not looking up at either of them. “No mortal weapon shall harm me while I walk under the light of my sister’s moon.”

“Your… sister’s… moon?” Percy repeats slowly.

“Do not fear me, Percy. It is in my name you hold this vigil, after all,” the woman says, looking Percy in the eye.

Percy’s mind flashes back to the night of his twelfth birthday, when the priests arrived at his village to begin his training. They sat at this very fire, and when Percy looked into the flames, the same eyes he sees now were the very eyes that stared back at him then.

“Lady Hestia,” he says, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire.

Hestia smiles, childlike and bright as her wrinkles and the exhaustion evident in her body melt away. Her cloak remains the same, save for the multicolored patches all seem to have a golden sheen to them in the light. She sits up straight and stretches towards the sky. “I am so proud to have a champion with such a kind heart,” she says happily. “And that he has a companion as equally skeptical. Balance is so important in these matters.”

Annabeth blinks slowly as she tries to process what is happening in front of her. “I was rude… to a goddess.”

Hestia waves Annabeth’s concerns away. “I am not nearly as tempestuous as my sisters, dear girl. As I said before, I bear no ill will. In fact, I have been watching you two for quite some time.”

Percy and Annabeth look at each other, and both begin to turn red.

“Not like that,” the goddess assures them. “I mean I have been evaluating to see if you both are ready for what must be done. While I do wish there were more time, events have already begun to unfold that I’m afraid put as at a bit of a disadvantage.”

Percy looks to Hestia, then Annabeth, and back again. “Lady Hestia, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I bring you two a quest,” she whispers.

Annabeth’s eyes light up at the word quest and she places her hand on Percy’s knee. “What kind of quest, Lady Hestia?”

“The dangerous kind,” the goddess whispers back.

Percy shakes his head. “I took a vow, Lady Hestia.”

“One you have already broken, my child,” she says with a pointed look between the couple. “Many times over.”

Percy blushes again, closing his eyes to refocus. “I am not to leave the hallowed grounds that mark the entrance to your temple. I must not leave, in retreat or in pursuit of enemies, no matter the circumstances. I may not see my mother’s face again until my watch has ended. I must live here, with nothing but the company of the marble doors and I must never, ever enter your Temple or I will face an unimaginable punishment in the Underworld. I have trained since I was twelve and held this post since I was sixteen. Even with Annabeth here, and the life I dream of having with her, I have protected this place as I swore to do all those years ago. I have given up my life in your service, Lady Hestia, and now you would ask me to forsake all of that?”

Hestia looks at him, her expression blank. “Yes.”

“I can’t,” he says plainly.

“Percy, my priests are all dead,” she says, her eyes suddenly full of sadness. “Everyone who had a hand in training you, slaughtered by the forces that would add your body to the pile without a second thought. I do not wish that fate for you.”

Percy looks to Annabeth as panic rises in him. “You have to go,” he says.

“I’m not leaving you,” Annabeth answers. “We leave together or not at all.”

“Annabeth-”

“If you tell me one more time that you took the vow and I didn’t, I will kill you myself. I will not leave you, Lady Hestia as my witness.”

“I do not ask this lightly,” Hestia says. “But I do ask it.”

Hestia steps forward then, and places her hands on either side of Percy’s face, and his eyes flutter shut. Percy feels his face grow warm as he has visions of himself as a little boy hugging his mom, and again as a grown man. He sees himself building Annabeth a house by the sea, the one she has described to him a million times over, and in that house he sees him and Annabeth having a wedding, and children, and so much happiness he could burst. He sees them all near the sea, dancing in its waves as the sun glows above them, and he feels a peace that he has never felt before settle over him.

When he opens his eyes, he feels the tears that are running down his face.

“That is a beautiful life you have dreamed, Percy,” Hestia says. “Hearth and home are what keep us anchored in the storm of the world. You have pledged yourself to me, and even now you honor my name. But if you do not take up this task, I am afraid you will die here, also in my name, having lived a muted life. And dear hero, please hear me when I say I do not wish that for you.”

“Percy,” Annabeth says, and he feels her hand slip into his and squeeze. “Whatever you decide, I am with you.”

Percy squeezes her hand back. “Until the end?”

“In this life and the next.”

Percy turns back to the goddess and swallows hard, his hand still squeezing Annabeth’s. “Tell us what you need us to do.”

#quarantine content #ananbeth #temple of Hestia au

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subbing-for-clones · 3 years

Text

Stranded Part 1

Savage Opress x reader

A/N: Oof I really have a problem cause all I want is to be stranded alone with the big boy himself.

Word Count: 4.1k

Summary: On his way to locate his long-lost brother, Savage’s course gets altered and he is thrown into the unknown. Barely surviving the crash, he finds himself on a deserted planet with a force sensitive woman who somehow managed to thrive here on her own. If they’re going to make it off this strange planet they will have to work together.

WARNINGS: blood, fear, dead body, wounds, mental illness. Probably not how black holes work but idc fight me about it. Alcohol consumption.

NEXT MASTERLIST

Savage Opress had been traveling the galaxy trying to find his brother Maul. After being betrayed by the nightsister he was meant to serve, Mother Talzin gifted him a necklace that would act as a compass. One that would guide him to his long-lost brother who could teach him to harness this new power he had realized. His 'gift' however appeared to lead him on a never ending, wild goose chase. Glowing and fading seemingly at will. It had been months and although his hope had started to fade, he pressed on without any other option. The Republic, the Separatists and everything in between wanted his head. He missed his way of life before the nightsister had chosen him to act as her tool of vengeance.

A rumor of Maul being killed on Naboo by a Jedi had reached his ears. Better than anything else he had to go off of he punched the coordinates into his ship's nav computer and made the jump to hyperspace. The way the stars visibly stretched never ceased to amaze him. He watched the blue from the viewport before he nodded off to sleep, unknowingly altering the coordinates when he kicked his boots up onto the dash.

He awoke hours later to alarms blaring and red lights flashing. Not being an experienced pilot by any means, panic tickled the edges if his mind. He pulled out of hyperspace, hoping there was a nearby planet he could land on. To his horror there wasn't a planet in sight. Rather, an immense blackhole that was slowly pulling small asteroids into its center. Panic now gripped him full force as he tried to get out of the gravitational pull but it was too late. It had him in its clutches and he could do nothing but let it take him.

He thought of his younger brother in these moments. How the nightsisters had controlled his mind and forced his hand to take Farel's life. Perhaps he deserved this fate. To be swallowed into nothing after crossing the only living thing that had ever truly cared for him. He closed his eyes on the precipice of the abyss and with a single tear for his fallen kin, let the void devour him in his ship.

He had expected to pass out or die but he never lost conciousness. He had his eyes scrunched for so long but he never stopped hearing the alarms ringing. He dared to open them only to see, well nothing. It was the darkest black he had ever seen. His navigation was almost useless, he had no idea where he was or where he was going but he could tell that he was in fact going forward. He dared to pray that there was another side to this hole and that he could in fact survive. That hope faded when he realized he was out of fuel, powering only life support at this point.

Much to his surprise the sight before him changed. What started as a pinhole of a darkness that was slightly less bleak grew. It grew until he could see stars again. He was thrown out of his turmoil and launched towards the only planet in sight. From space it was incredibly green, white caps peaked occasionally and bodies of water could be viewed as well. Wherever he was headed seemed to lack vast oceans but rather, large lakes perhaps.

He realized that without any fuel he would crash. Once he broke the atmosphere, he redirected the last few vapors he had in the tank to his engines and was able to aim the ship towards one of the nearing brown peaks. Hoping to slide down into the jungle. The initial impact knocked the wind out of him but thankfully didn't immediately kill him. His ship slid down the slope at an alarming speed and a dip in the terrain sent him airborne again. The second impact knocked him unconscious.

He awoke maker knows how many hours later to the chirping of birds. Out of the viewport he could see that several more crashed ships beneath him had possibly broken his fall. Giant trees he had never seen before stretched out in front of him but not so close together that he couldn't see a decent way into the forest. His back must be facing the mountain. The ship was smoking and the hull was smashed beyond repair. For the first time he was grateful he had no fuel so the ship wouldn't explode if a fire spread.

Blood dripped into his right eye from where he knocked his head and broken a horn. Lacerations of varying depth littered his body. He tried to move and quickly assessed that it was likely one of his ribs was fractured although he couldn't feel it sticking out or in anywhere. Savage attempted to pull himself free and realized his left arm wasn't responding. The worst of all, in his mind, the necklace that Mother Talzin gave him was shattered in his lap.

He had to get his shoulder back in place and slung. Slowly he stood to his feet and made his way out of the transport, feeling claustrophobic. The moment his boot hit the grass below him he felt so many things through the force. This planet was teeming with life, wild and wavering force signatures surrounded him and stretched out as far as he could sense. One signature was starkly unique to the others he felt and he tensed. It was incredibly light, lighter than anything he had ever felt before. An airy, dreamy aura with sparks that danced through it grew closer. Whatever it was, it was nearing quickly. He force pulled his saber-staff from the ship into his grasp and lit one side, growling ferociously like the wounded animal he was. Whatever it was he felt had stopped in its tracks. He couldn't see anything through the trees and he took a hesitant step forward. Until he heard her.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I'd like to help."

He couldn't see where the voice was coming from. It was a female. A young woman he would guess. Her voice was gentle and soft but projected well from her hiding place with a kind power behind it.

"Show yourself," he called almost roaring in pain.

"Promise you won't kill me on sight?"

"Are you alone?" his eyes darted around him trying to pinpoint her location.

"Yes... I know you can feel it."

He could feel it. What he felt through the force, it was only her. He sheathed his saber and showing it over his head, tossed it to the side. Only then did she leap down from the canopy of the forest. If his rib didn’t make it painful to breathe, he would've gasped. Her hair shimmered in the light of the mid-day sun, her eyes glistened brightly with curiosity and breath-taking beauty. He had never seen a woman like her before. Beneath what was once a white cotton dress, now worn and stained, he could see and admire the outline of her body. A slit up the side revealed one of her legs and a knife strapped to her thigh. She had nothing on her feet as she slowly made her way over to him with her hands visible so he knew she wasn't armed.

"Hello. How did you survive the crash? I've never seen anyone else survive the crash."

"I don't know," he squinted his eyes at her wearily. His voice low and deep rumbled when he spoke.

"I can help you with your shoulder. I had some medical training before I crashed here myself."

Knowing he needed help he nodded cautiously. She continued towards him and gently removed his armor. When she took out her knife to cut open his shirt, he took a step back.

"I meant it when I said I wouldn't hurt you,” she hesitated before continuing; never breaking eye contact. Searching for a sign to stop.

She slowly sliced open his shirt in one smooth motion. She took a second and allowed her eyes to drift over him. His golden skin and distinctive, almost tribal black tattoos. His massive chest, straight jaw and crown of horns. It was the first time in a very long time she had seen a man still breathing let alone of his caliber and tried to hide the heat that rushed to her cheeks.

"Um, I'm sorry but you're very tall. I'm going to need you to sit down, please. So I can reach you."

He did what she had asked of him, keeping his back straight. With him sitting and her kneeling tall next to him he was still a head taller than she was. She placed her hands on him and asked him to breathe deeply. On the second exhale she slid the shoulder back into place with a loud crunch. He growled not really at her but the situation itself.

She used half of his shirt to make a sling for him and the other to wipe the blood off of his face. She force pulled an empty bag from the tree which surprised him.

"You'll have to clean your wounds so they don't get infected. I have a home near here with cool and hot springs if you'd like to accompany me."

He knew he wouldn't be able to do much without aggravating his injuries so he reluctantly agreed. Before she led him away, she trotted over to one of the crashed ships off to the side. The pilot was dead and just starting to decompose, she tossed him out of the cockpit using the force and scavenged what lay inside, unphased. Well, she's got the stomach for surviving out here. He thought to himself.

Now with a full pack she helped him up as best as she could almost collapsing under his weight. He kept a few feet behind her, taking only his saber and a change of clothes from the ship. She led him through the forest for what must have been at least two or three miles.

A break in the tree line revealed a log cabin with a mossy roof adorning a few solar panels. He had grown accustomed to either adobe or durasteel buildings so this was a bit of a shock to him. Several hot springs steamed behind the cabin and a large pond lay to the front. Creatures that resembled chickens roamed the grasses near the house and what looked like an herb garden on the other side.

He stopped and took in his surroundings for a moment before he followed her inside. The floor was also wooden, with various animal pelts laid out across the paneling. It was one large room except for what he assumed was a fresher. A large bed lay in one corner, what resembled a small kitchen in the opposite. Crude shelves covered the walls containing various items from dishes to clothing to medgear and a fireplace with a kettle. A small table sat off to the side with a few chairs. That's all she really had. Some things were obviously salvaged from ships like her clothes, the bed and bedding and some of her cookware but most of it looked hand made. It reminded him of his village in a way. They were not an advanced people when it came to luxury living by any means.

He watched her dump out her bag on the table while he took a seat on the bed. He didn't realize that it was chilly outside until he felt the warmth of the fire that still burned. She was going through the medical supplies she found and sorting it when he finally spoke, still looking around her home.

"How long have you been here? Is there anyone else?"

"I've lost count. Fifteen years, I think? At least twelve. This planet is larger than the one I grew up on so it’s hard to keep long term time. If there is anyone else here, I haven't found them."

"How did you come here?"

She made her way over to him and started cleaning his wounds with the sealed antiseptic cloths.

"Same way as you I imagine. The blackhole. My family was traveling with an outdated navigation system. I guess the route had been changed due to the void but we were unaware. My father died in the crash and my mother died from exposure not long after. I was ten. The only reason I survived was my force sensitivity."

"You've been alone this whole time?"

"Yes... you're the first to survive the ordeal as well.. other than myself."

This saddened him for a number of reasons. He couldn't imagine being alone for so long, especially for a child to grow up on her own. It also meant that there was little hope for escaping this planet. She bandaged him gently, their bodies in close proximity. Her work was precise but her hands shook slightly.

"You have a rather deep gash on your side, I think I should stitch it if you'll allow it."

"Have you done it before?"

"To myself yes."

"Alright."

You left and quickly returned to him with the suture kit and some kind of root. She explained that if he chewed it, it would ease the pain so he took it. She knelt down in front of him and began her work as he gnawed on the blue root. It tasted sweet and the effect took hold quickly to his pleasure. She worked diligently and was careful as she could be. Once again, her work was perfect, the stitches were small and tight but her hands still trembled. When she finished her work, she spread some antibacterial salve on him and went to put her gear away in silence.

"Are you alright?" He asked, hesitant but genuinely concerned.

"Yes. I'm sorry, it's just been so long since I talked to someone who could actually respond. So long since I've heard another voice." She tried to laugh it off but her voice shook as much as her hands had.

So long she had been by herself. To stave away loneliness she had named every one of her chickens and force probed the minds of animals. Even a few times resorted to sitting with the corpses of the people who never survived their crashes. At first, he felt bad that she had been surviving on her own but the true weight of it was sinking into his chest. He could feel her confliction through the force. Although his presence was a relief to her it was incredibly overwhelming. She changed the subject as quickly as she could.

"Is your species carnivorous or omnivorous?"

"Um, I’m a carnivore but I can stomach a little produce."

"I'm glad I went hunting yesterday then."

She didn't have to go far to reach the kitchen area, maybe fifteen feet. She was silently thanking herself that she opted for a tall ceiling leaving less than a foot of headspace for her unexpected guest. She thought of him jumping and getting his horns stuck and broke out into a series of quiet giggles.

Savage had an idea of what she found funny because when he stood, he could almost reach the top with his pointed ivory. He watched as she took out a few steaks from the cooler under the counter and potatoes from another cabinet. Lighting a fire in a stove he hadn't noticed he studied her in silence as she chopped various vegetables and pulled dried herbs from where they hung. She had some electricity to power the cooler from the solar panels but most of the light in the home came in through windows or the fire. He did see oil lamps on the shelves and watched as she filled a pot with water. She had plumbing here as well. He was kind of amazed.

"You did all this yourself." It wasn't a question. "You built this home, ran pipes and wires and.. well everything. How did you learn to do all this?" He was truly in awe.

"The house came together fairly quickly. It helped that I didn't have to actually lift the logs," she pulled one of the chairs from the table using the force to make her point. "The plumbing and the solar power, that came much later. Many ship crashes later. I was lucky that a construction contractor transport crashed. He wasn't lucky, but I was. That's where I got most of my materials and he had a few manuals with him," she added the produce to a pot and turned face him, leaning against the counter. He took the chair she had offered at the table.

"All of this... it's quite impressive. I might actually survive the night if you don't turn me out," he offered her a slight grin which she returned.

"I'm happy to help and have the company."

She returned to cooking and threw the steaks on a griddle of sorts, instantly filling the home with the rich smell of cooking meat. Savage's mouth watered. Realizing exactly how hungry he was. She finished her work in silence. Turning back to him only when she had full plates.

The meal was unlike anything he had tasted in his life. Everything was real, no fillers that were often found in city cuisines and richer than anything he had on Dathomir. He rolled his eyes and she laughed.

"I'm glad you like it."

"I do. I never asked you your name. Mine is Savage Opress. I'm a Dathomirian nightbrother."

"It’s nice to meet you." She furrowed her brow realizing she had forgotten something she wanted to remember.

"I'm sorry I wish I had a name to give you but... I don't remember it or where I came from exactly. I remember my family called me 'little one' but... that’s all I remember," this inadvertently broke both of Savage's hearts.

"Can I call you that?"

"Sure. I wouldn't mind. I don't know the name of the planet I came from but I remember it was a desert and small; maybe it was a moon. I do prefer the climate and lushness of this planet. I've never had to worry about food or water."

"I'm not a fan of deserts either. My planet is humid."

"Where were you going when you got lost and fell here?"

"I was trying to find a brother I had never met. I only recently acquired my connection with the force and I was told he could train me."

"Oh, well I'm not sure you will be able to leave anytime soon but if you decide to stay here.. with me anyway.. until we find a way out, I could help you. I've grown quite strong with the force and I'm sure I could aid you."

"You could?" he seemed surprised at her offer but also kind of excited. It seemed the longer he was off the trail Mother Talzin had laid out for him, little pieces of himself were returning.

"Yes I can. Unless you would prefer to fare on your own here. I would understand."

He shook his head in response. She was already set up, knew how to survive this place. He didn't dislike her company either. She seemed to brighten at the prospect of him staying. When they finished eating, she invited him to get comfortable. A mutual understanding that they would be sharing the bed as there was only one and the idea of sleeping on the floor was awful. She took their plates and grabbed a large jar of dried grains, taking it outside without a word to him. He could hear excited clucking as he stripped down to his knit shorts and tried to get comfortable. It was difficult with his shoulder and fractured rib. He opted to sit up until she returned.

When she did, she grabbed a bottle of brown liquid and took a swig.

"Almost every single ship has liquor on it at least."

She offered him another blue root and the bottle, both he gladly took. He almost choked when she turned her back to him and slipped out of her dress within his sight. Leaving only a thin tight fabric covering her backside. He wanted to avert his gaze but was intrigued with the various scars that decorated her body. Modesty or self-awareness in front of others were traits she never learned he thought. She pulled on a loose-fitting shirt and took the bottle back from him taking another swill. Snuffing out the stove but refilling the fireplace. The daylight fully extinguished. Only the light belonged to the fire flickering through the room.

She looked beautiful in this light. She had a graceful wildness about her that Savage admired. Strength in mind and body to accomplish what she had. He could feel it in the force too, her connection to it ran deep.

"Fair warning, it gets cold here at night even though it's technically spring time. It's a long night too." She made her way towards the bed.

"That’s fine. My species has two hearts and a high metabolism so our body temperature is much higher than yours."

She felt that to be true the moment she crawled in next to him and lay down. She felt the heat radiating off of his skin. Savage scoot down once she was in. She reached a hand out to his chest to feel his dual hearts but hesitated. He saw this and guided her hand on top of his pulse. Her breath hitched. He was so warm and so soft and he really did have two of them.

"Goodnight Savage."

"Goodnight Little One."

At some point before the sun rose Savage's eyes fluttered open. He didn't feel her in bed anymore but with the home's set up it didn't take long to find her. She was facing the fire whittling a block of wood with the knife he had seen strapped to her leg. She had left him another blue root on a stool beside the bed. Her hands moved quickly and she was muttering rapidly to herself. He could only pick up a few things from what she said.

"I am one with the force the force is with me.... alone but not, accompanied but alone.... the force is with me......not alone..... the beasts in the trees..... he wasn't real...... one with the force....." An occasional giggle escaped her lips, she was gently rocking back and forth while her hands worked.

He didn't say anything but just watched her. The blanket of night must make it worse, when life on the planet was silent and the air was cold. He wondered how much longer it would've taken for her to become like this all the time if he hadn't shown up. She seemed alright earlier, nervous and jumpy but nothing like this. He uncovered his body and slowly made his way over to her. Sitting beside her with his legs crossed, trying not to touch her so he wouldn't startle her. He just waited for her state to ease.

Eventually it did, it didn't take too long. She could feel the heat coming off of his skin. He watched her carve the wood into a long beaked bird, its wings outstretched. She tossed it into the fire and turned to face him. His eyes glowed gold against the dark backdrop behind him.

"Are you real or am I really, finally starting to snap? It's bad in the dark.."

He took her hand and she tensed at his touch. He cautiously guided her into his lap and pressed her ear to his hearts. She could feel them beating like drums under his muscle. He had dealt with various episodes back home. Sometimes the men in his village would snap at the fear of being chosen by one of the nightsisters. Sometimes the women would come to beat them just to remind them of their place in the hierarchy. She melted and was grounded by his pulse.

"I am real. I am here. You’re not hallucinating."

His chest vibrated when he spoke. His deep vibrato continuing to calm her. When she looked back into his eyes, they were softer. It seemed as though if they were going to make it out of this, they would both need each other.

#savage x reader #savage opress #savage fluff #savage #star wars fluff #starwars au #swtcw au #force sensitivity #star wars x oc #star wars x reader #savage opress x reader #savage opress x reader fluff

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queensdivas · 3 years

Text

Peonies Chapter 8

It has been a while since I've posted about Grigor or The Great. Y'all I have been busy with finals and another fic on archive that has been my favorite thing to write. If you've ever watched The Terror from AMC then you'll enjoy this.

But I haven't forgot about one of my favorite fics. Never.

Other than that! Here we go after weeks of not writing.

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

The idea of falling asleep after today just sounds nauseating. Seeing the horrors in front of me then coming back to my apartment for Peter wanting to kill me. Then for Grigor to storm off due to the fact that he thought I would lay with my own cousin by marriage. Yes I’m well aware that’s still a common practice amongst the Monarchs of the world but not in my book!

Turning my head to watch the flames slowly begin to die down before my eyes. The room was beginning to spiral into that infamous Russian cold. I didn’t feel like throwing another log on since part of me thinks I deserve to be in the wintry world that I have chosen to live in.

This plan for making Catherine the ruler of all Russia is becoming stale. What have we done that’s been achievable anyhow! Go to the front to feed a bunch of soldiers! You saw what happened when I alone tried to help Peter! Catherine influenced a new Patriarch yet the women of the court still find Catherine to be an annoyance. There has been absolutely no effort or somewhat change Catherine has done to make things more in her favor. God she is a child thrown into a world that she has no idea what she's doing. Although I should be guiding...but...

What good am I doing here! I feel as if I’m just now a fuck toy for Grigor to feel a womens touch since his wife is with the Emporer on a daily basis! Throwing the blanket off me to march over to the nearest vase and chuck it across the room!

A screech left my body as I cleared everything off the vanity onto the floor. I could feel the blood rushing through me for this anger to spiral out of control! This stupid country! Grabbing a book to throw it against the wall!

THIS STUPID COUNTRY!

HOW CAN ONE FUCKING BELONG TO THIS COURT!

HOW CAN ONE SINGLE HUMAN BE SUCH AN ABSOLUTE MORON! AND YES THAT HUMAN IS ME!

WHY DOESN’T HE TRUST ME!

I’M NOT HIS WIFE!

THIS STUPID GOD DAMN COUNTRY!

IT’S MAKING ME QUESTION EVERY SINGLE THREAD OF INSANITY I HAVE BECAUSE THE MAN I’M BEGINNING TO FALL FOR HAS MAJOR TRUST ISSUES! CAN’T HE SEE THAT I AM A ONE MAN ONE WOMEN SORT OF WOMAN!

YES I’M A WHORE TO A MAR….

Huh...would you look at that Chiara? All because he lit a fire under your own ass because everyone else around you stays clear of it.

I…..

I feel nothing….

Maybe the cold will make me feel something in this empty body. Grabbing the handles of the window to pull them out. They smacked against the walls for the wind to soar through my room. It flew through my hair for the first few seconds for it to stop. The cold swaddled me up but I didn’t move from the window.

I do not deserve the things I have been given in life. For I am a cold hearted bitch with almost no remorse in my actions. I could possibly kill a hundred people and proclaim it to be for the greater good. No sense of remorse or sadness.

How could Grigor want to love someone as vile as me..I am cold..evil. Someone like me doesn’t deserve the warm embrace of what love is. This lust is beginning to form into the most dangerous tool one can have in their life. For it can bring life and destroy it in a matter of seconds.

I miss his touch..the way his fingers would glide across my arm as we snuggled together on the bed. The way he kissed my forehead after a long time of making love. Him showing me his drawings and I know he’s drawing me in my sleep! It hurts to feel this sort of way! I don’t want to feel anything! This feeling is almost heart wrenching and...beautiful.

My breathing began to choke till the only warmth that was on my body was the singular tear that had escaped my eye. I’m not a crier. Though we Italians embrace our emotions and turn it into something beautiful, I think this tear is a sense of relief. If I didn’t feel anything. I wouldn’t be whimpering in front of an open window.

A gentle beat from the door echoed through my room as I didn’t even move. If Peter was sending his soldiers to kill me I get the feeling there would be no knock. Please let it be Grigor. I need to feel his touch and tell him the truth. Not all of it but at least enough that I don’t spoil my plans for Catherine.

I closed the window to hurry over to the fire and toss a log in. If it’s Grigor then he probably would prefer something a little warmer. Please him please. Grabbing my robe to put it on as I opened the door. My eyes expanded from the confusion of who was standing before me in my bed robes.

“Elizabeth?” Well if she was coming to kill me I imagine my room has some sort of secret entrance and would’ve done it in my sleep.

“I hope I didn't disturb you. I think we need to have a little chat.”

“We do?” Dear God if Peter opened his mouth about what he started and what I finished I’m going to go kill him myself!

“Yes. May I come in?” Taking a step back for the door to open. She was in her bed clothes as she noticed the mess I had made in my room.

“The work of Peter no less?” I kept my mouth shut for once waiting for her to say something more. She’s going to defend Peter as much as she can. Probably for his own father who I imagine she secretly loved. From my understanding Peter the Great was also quite promiscuous just like his mother. A family of harlots.

“I heard from Peter what happened here early today. I highly doubt that you called him a bastard since he can be quite over dramatic.” So she’s aware that he’s a sniffling bastard whose inability to rule is quite prominent.

“Not talking much tonight are you? Usually you have a comment to say if I were in here talking about Peter.”

“For once Elizabeth. I could truly give a shit about Peter and his antics. I’m not here to please him and make him happy. I’m here for Catherine and making her more comfortable with her new station.” Try not to think that we might kill her own Nephew in a good amount of time. If not by Catherine then by the military.

“You’re not angry that he was in here and wanted to kill you?” She sat down in front of the fire in the love seat for me to stand before here.

“Your nephew. My cousin by marriage is a harmless little bug in my life Elizabeth. His actions were not even worth a single drop of sweat from my brow.”

“Did the stabbing of a major General not scare you? As an outsider I thought it would have scared you horribly.”

“Not scared. More gasping which then leads to utter annoyance. I am more than capable of handling Peter when he’s in a state of anger trying to kill me. What do you even want because I would like some sort of rest.”

“Be more gentle when it comes..

“Just because his mother was a horrid woman does not excuse his actions Elizabeth! That’s saying Zeus should be considered a kind man even though he raped Leda because of his own mental state. Peter thinks of him as Zeus when in reality he is worse than Hades himself! Life is horrid Elizabeth and constantly blaming his issues on his mother is disgusting and you standing here trying to defend him holds you accountable for his actions.”

“What an interesting comparison. You are a very bright woman and that wicked tongue is able to strike anyone down.”

“I can strike down anyone with tongue and steel.” Taking in a sharp breath to walk over to a full bottle of sweet red wine.

“Would you like a glass?” Asking for her to nod. Popping off the court to grab two glasses then bringing two glasses over for us. Sitting down across from here to begin pouring her a glass. She motioned for me to stop for me to pour myself some as well.

“I apologise dear Aunt Elizabeth. I sometimes forget to catch my tongue before it falls out of my head.” We both took a long drink to the point when we were done I had to pour a little more between us.

“It’s quite alright. I’m just grateful you didn’t kill my beloved Nephew before it was too late.” Before I could answer the doors bursted open.

“Excuse me mam?” Turning to see a serf was standing by the door of my world. Did something happen to Fernanda?

“Zasha? What is it?” Elizabeth stood up from my chair to approach her.

“It’s the Emperor. He’s fallen gravely ill.” Well. That is going to solve our problems much faster than I thought it was going to happen. She wrapped herself around her robe as we began walking out of my bedroom.

“Why are you coming? I thought you despised him” She asked for me to nod but was still walking.

“We’re family by marriage. He is now my cousin whether I like it or not.” Turning the corner to see that Orlo, George...and Grigor were waiting outside the room. Splendid. I imagine his wife was ready to lay in bed yet stumbled into that mess.

“From what I’ve seen and heard it sounds bad. A lot of vomit and blood.” Orlo told us to stand next to Orlo. One of the priests that was in the room came out with the black mask on his face to then take it off before us.

“You may not enter the room. For it might be contagious till the doctor tells you differently. For he’s running a high fever, a lot of vomiting, and has been seeing strange visions. The Archbishop is there with him now. He’ll tell you more once he comes out.” Is...Is that vomit on his mask? Or...dear god. He walked past us heading down the hall towards the apartments.

“How is he?” Catherine came in with a very well detailed look of uneasiness.

“Very ill.” Elizabeth told Catherine for my eyes to drift over to Grigor. He was holding onto George but staring directly at me. Stupid man. Stupid man!

“Can we go in?” Catherine asked Orlo but I’m assuming not.

“Well everyones being kept out here.”

“In fear of contagion.” Finally looking at Grigor again for us to lock eyes for a brief instant till I turned to Catherine.

“He’s been vomiting continuously throughout the night, and he runs a high fever, and he has fits of wild delirium.”

“The Doctor and Archbishop are with him.” I told her to place my hands on her shoulder to give some comfort to this poor wife and my cousin. The door opened for a child to come out with a bowl filled with blood and vomit. Not to mention his entire body was covered head to toe in Peters upchuck...and from the smell..the back door was also used as well.

“Excuse me.” Oh the smell! Covering my nose for Grigor and I to look at one another again. He doesn’t look concerned. Is that a smile?

We all leaned into the doorway to see what was happening in there since we could only hear the sound of Peter vomiting and coughing more and more. I did the sign of the cross to hold onto my cross necklace. I don’t pray for Peter. But I pray for the Doctor inside the room that he stays safe from whatever disease has fallen upon Peter. Peter could go to hell for all I care, but I have to keep up appearances.

The Archbishop popped in the doorway for us to straighten our backs. He came out of his bedroom to close the door behind him. Grigor inched a little closer to me to the point I could sense the warmth radiating off him.

“How is he?” Grigor asked for the Archbishop to stare directly at us.

“Extremely ill. The fear is that it may be Cholera.”

“Cholera?” That’s a rough sickness. Even I wouldn’t wish that sort of death on my enemy.

“Which I suspect he will have caught from a possessed, nocturnal animal. Probably a badger.” If I ever get sick in this country I would rather just endure the ride home and die in a carriage. These doctors are not touching me with a ten foot pole!

“Where would he have come across a possessed badger?” Catherine asked thankfully. That sounds absolutely unrealistic and not how you even got Cholera. Not that I don’t know how you get Cholera but I imagine it’s not from a possessed badger.

“If it is Cholera, he will die, will he not?” Holding her a little tighter as a cue to sound a lot more concerned. You have to make it believable that you’re distraught that he might die!

“It’s a strong possibility that we must face.” Looking at Orlo who kept the same straight face he usually has.

“Oh my little man.” THE POOR BABY! I WILL WEEP WITH A BOTTLE OF WINE AND GLORIOUS MUSIC!

“The Doctor is working hard on cures. It may be something else.”

“Has he said anything? Is he talking?” Why would he be concerned if he’s talking? Grigor might as well give a shit if he truly dies or not.

“He speaks intermittently. Much of it is deranged. Said he was a wolf, and wanted to eat Swedish children for breakfast. And there was some talk of what he’d like to do to Chiara and with various ladies of the court. I’ll spare you the details.” My body ran cold for Catherine to turn and face me. The blood in my body felt as if it dried up as I wanted to vomit. Looking at Grigor as I felt so disgusted with myself.

“Before more bouts of diarrhea and vomiting.” The Archbishop went back in for Grigor to take in a deep breath.

“I will go in to see him.” Say what?

“Do not risk your life.” Elizabeth told him as he stopped in the doorway.

“I want to be there for my friend.” Bullshit! He could give an absolute shit about Peter at this point!

“I had no idea your husband was so brave, Georgina.”

“Oh yes famously so.”

“In more ways than one.” Adding into the conversation for George to turn and face me.

“Just being honest.” An angry snake she is when I add my own little comments. Settle down hypocrites.

Orlo, Catherine, and I huddled into our own group to see the expression of Catherines face change from the fake grieving widow to an excited future ruler. Must admit this is a little exciting for me as well.

“If this is Cholera, he could be dead within the day.” Orlo told us as Catherine was beginning to smile slightly but trying to control herself.

“Right. That means..”

“Yes. Yes it will be yours. You will rule Russia.” By God it’s going to actually happen.

“After all our planning..it just..”

“Falls right into your lap.” Orlo finished as the doors opened back up. The ArchBishop came out of the room to take off his mask. Remember when I said that this planning became stale? I stand corrected and I was completely wrong. This just made everything better.

“In light of this terrible situation, a meeting is being called to deal with the possible transition of power.”

“To me.” Easy Catherine. That’s a little too exciting for someone who's losing their husband.

“Indeed. It seems so. You are the next...should the worst happen.” Seems like the worst is about to happen right before them. If it’s going this quickly then I might be going home soon! Finally an end to this horrid nightmare and cesspool!

“Prepare with prayer, and the senate will be called.”

“I look forward to it.” Damn it Catherine!

“Not him dying. That is bad. And sad. And we hope for the best and a speedy recovery.” If I could slap my own face I would without making this seem like we’re excited that Peter is dying.

“God will be with us. He always is.” The Archbishop left the hall for Catherine and Orlo to talk amongst themselves. I need to talk to Grigor. I can’t stand being apart from him at nights for it is his warmth I believe that is keeping me sane. I don’t think I can tell him that I think I’m starting to love him but atleast telling him I need him is a good start.

*Grigors P.O.V.*

DIE! DIE YOU HORRIBLE HUMAN! YOU THINK YOU CAN SLEEP WITH MY OWN LOVE BECAUSE YOU’RE THE EMPEROR! DIE DIE DIE! I WILL KILL YOU AND WILL LIVE PEACEFULLY IN MY OWN LIFE!

Removing the pillow to see that he was still breathing! Bastard! Slamming the pillow back onto him to push down even further in hopes that I might finish the job! Just die! How hard is it to kill someone who's already dying! Talking about Chiara as if she’s just a common peasant!

“What are you doing!?” George yelled as I continued to push down harder and harder.

“What is right and you know it George! I have to do something!”

“Fuck!” George pulled me back as we stopped to see Peter was still breathing. Dragging me from his bed towards the middle of his room.

“I was given the choice to be a man or a child! I’ve decided to become a man for the sake of my sanity!”

“You poisoned him?”

“Arsenic. From the wall in his borscht!” Feeling the cold slap from George as she was in full rage of my actions.

“What happens to us when he’s dead? Think what Peter provides for us!”

“You...you..”

“You’re a stupid fool Grigor!” She took a deep breath to calm herself down.

“Our situation is complex. Yet also simple! We have a safe life with Peter! Luxury, security, a place in court. Who’s he gonna be replaced by? Catherine!? We’re nothing to her! What happens to us then? Not to mention Chiara is making it much more difficult to handle this situation. No thanks to you!”

“So you may have a lover but I may not!” I love Chiara and this marriage is non-existent!

“Grigor?” Peter called for me as I turned to see him barely awake and moving. Say something George! You hypocritical bitch say something!

“We’re here.” George, like a mother goose, flew to Peter's aid. Well. It’s very clear now on where my life stands now. George has made her bed and it is time for me to make my own with a Duchess who isn’t afraid to get the job done when it needs to be done.

Letting go of the pillow to march out of the room and slamming the doors shut. Taking in a few deep breaths to calm myself before scampering off to Chiara. Chiara? Where is she? Perhaps in her chambers!

It was like seeing a light at the end of the tunnel heading to her apartment! The outline of the room was glowing before my eyes. Chiara..my love. The only woman in this world that can make my knees buckle to bow at her feet. That fire is intoxicating to the point that I might die of happiness.

Slamming the door open to see Chiara was in front of the flames looking directly into them. Her head slowly turned to face me with a somber look. A bottle of wine sitting next to her looked thoroughly used. Oh my precious flame. Closing the door to sit down next to her as she went back into looking into the fire.

“I placed my blade against his neck threatening to take his life away. Why didn’t I slice it open? Tell me why I didn’t Grigor?” She asked for me to place my hand on her cheek.

“What happened before I came in?”

“He was mad that I helped Velementov at the front for strategy. He drew a sword on me and I fought back. I won and threatened him that if he were to ever draw his sword on me that I would win. I...I should’ve sliced his throat open and strung him up as if he was game to place on my wall.” I feel like I should tell her that I’m the one that poisoned him. That he is dying in his own bed because the world would be better without him! She was literally going to kill him before I even came into the room!

“Chiara. I’m the one who caused him to become ill. I poisoned him in the borscht while he was eating dinner.” Her expression was the same as before till it clicked in her mind. Her entire face went from a beautiful red to a ghostly white in a matter of seconds.

“Holy shit..” She whispered to turn her attention to the fire. Is she going to tell Catherine? Not that Catherine might care much but what if she does? Would she tell the court? No...no what have I done!

“I would ask why but that..oh my god.” Turning her head to face me as I gulped.

“If it helps, I did it for you. For us..for everyone in the court that his idiocy will go away.” Her lips were slightly open with her breathing beginning to rise.

That lovely color began returning to her cheek as she climbed on top of me and wrapped herself around me. Those entrancing lips striked against mine as my hands traveled up her back to pull her shirt. She stopped to place her index finger on my lips.

“For you committing such a horrendous act. Allow me.” Removing her finger to place a kiss on my lips, to my cheek, then right underneath my jaw line. I could see the stars from how well she was working those luscious lips. Her hand gripped my cock to start playing it through my pants. God her touch. It’s almost too delicious to even allow. My eyes rolled back for me to lay down on the rug for her kisses to start moving down my body.

I love her...I hope that she knows that I would kill an army for her without regret...

~~~

@mirkwoodshewolf @bonafiderocketqueen @johndeaconshands

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @amethyst-serenade @radio-ha-ha@i-have-a-wonky-eye-too @deck-heart @actuallyanita @the-baby-bookworm @ewanmcgregors @panagiasikelia

#grigor x reader #grigor dymov #grigor dymov x reader #grigor smut #grigor #elle fanning #The Great #Catherine the Great #catherine #The Great hulu #romance

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arya-skywalker · 4 years

Text

Drunk on the thought of you (Sanders Sides Oneshot)

Soulmate September Day 10 - You are born with a birthmark, similar to a tattoo, that is shared by your soulmate.

@tsshipmonth2020

Ship: Demus/Dukeceit

AU: sci-fi, somewhat dystopian

TW: drinking, drunkenness, drugs, suggestive content, rebellious behavior, swearing, general debauchery (but no graphic sex, just waking up next to each other)

AO3 Link

~*~

Janus stared into his empty glass, the hustle and bustle of the bar flowing around him. His metal arm chafed against the ill-fitting glove, sharp edges caught against the fabric. He exhaled in a hiss and slipped the glove off under the table, massaging the robotic limb with his natural one.

Perversely, he wondered what would have happened if he lost that arm too— would his soulmate mark move somewhere else? Or would he be cursed with eternal solitude? He risked a glance at his mark, shoving his sleeve up just enough to look— a yellow snake coiled around an emerald-green sword. Thirty years of searching and he still hadn’t found the match.

When he was younger, he dreamed of his soulmate sweeping him off to the upper city where they would live in luxury happily ever after. After the accident, all he wanted was someone who would accept his cyborg parts. But even that hadn’t happened. He stopped trying to find them.

And so he was stuck in the slums with the other unlucky souls. Those too poor to afford anything in the upper city. The cyborg abominations. The androids who insisted on being more than servants to the great.

“Refill, Sir?” The android behind the counter asked.

Janus shook himself out of his brooding and nodded. “I’ll take something stronger. Surprise me,” he said, sliding the empty glass across. The android nodded and filled it with something glowing.

“Ooooh going for the good stuff, huh?” A giddy voice asked. The source of the voice sported a neon-green Mohawk and more piercings than he cared to count.

“Mm. Why not?” Janus arched an eyebrow. The stranger was practically screaming ‘dangerous rebel’, but he didn’t seem terribly violent.

The stranger cackled and sat on the counter. “Did ya know this shit is illegal up there?” He gestured vaguely towards the towers of the upper city. “They say it’s too strong, that it ‘encourages unruly behavior’.” He grinned, showing sharpened teeth. “Barkeep, I’ll take a bottle of the good stuff!”

“Sir, I do not advise consuming a bottle in one sitting. And please do not smuggle my wares where they do not belong.” However, the android did hand over a glowing bottle.

“Awww, buddy! You know I wouldn’t do that to you! This place is awesome. Wouldn’t put ya in danger.”

Janus looked at the glowing drink dubiously. Not exactly what he had expected.... but it wasn’t as if he had anything to lose. He shrugged and took a cautious sip. It burned going down, but left a pleasant tingling. He hummed thoughtfully and took another sip.

“Good, innit?” The stranger swung his legs as he drank from the bottle. “Hits the spot!”

“Mm. Indeed,” Janus said, watching the stranger as they both drank. Already he felt a warmth spreading through his body, soothing and energizing at once. Freeing.

The stranger giggled again. “What brings ya here?”

“Same as anyone else. Looking for a good drink.” Janus swirled the drink in his glass and took another sip.

“Is that it?” The stranger cocked his head to the side.

Janus shrugged. “Would you prefer I said was on the search for a long-lost family heirloom that would be enough to buy my way out of this hell-hole?”

The stranger gasped, hands on his cheeks. “Are you?”

“No.” Janus smiled behind the rim of his glass.

The stranger cackled and chugged his drink. “You’re fun,” he said with a sharp grin.

The more they drank, the less Janus paid attention to the words coming out of his mouth. Something told him there was a bit more to this glowing drink than alcohol, but by the time he realized, he didn’t care. The stranger was an interesting fellow, a good drinking partner.

Janus blinked a few times, looking at the stranger’s chest. There was.... something.... under his shirt. Without thinking, he reached up to move the fabric, then stared. It was a perfect match to his mark, the snake coiled around a sword. “So—“

“So much to drink!” The stranger cut him off with a giggle, shoving another glass of the glowing beverage at him.

Janus drank. Then he frowned. “Noo....” he said, shaking his head. That wasn’t what he had meant. He held up his own soulmate mark in the stranger’s face. “Ma—“

“Mama can’t see us now!” The stranger laughed, but there was a strange look in his eyes as he put his hand over Janus’s mark. He leaned in close. “C’mon home with me. We‘ll talk there. ‘Kay?”

Janus looked at the almost-empty bottle, then back at the stranger’s face. “Mmm... Alright,” he mumbled, staggering to his feet. He almost fell, but the stranger caught him.

“Don’t worry, shiny. I’ll take good care of ya,” the stranger said as they stumbled out the door together.

~*~

The rest of the night was a blur of dreams. Janus woke groggily in a room that wasn’t his. Under soft silk sheets beside a warm body. Instinctively he snuggled closer to the warmth and felt a gentle hand tease at his hair.

“Mornin’ sleeping beauty,” a voice whispered in his ear. “You’re awake.”

Janus opened his eyes to look into the face of his soulmate. A man he barely knew. He blinked a few times, waiting for his mind to get back up to speed. Everything was a haze.

His soulmate laughed, shaking the bed. “Not used to the strong stuff, are you?” he teased. “You slept like a log. Remember anything?”

Janus swept hair out of his face, then looked at his soulmate’s bare chest. The mark was still there. He held his wrist up next to it, staring at both marks. Exactly the same. “It wasn’t a dream,” he whispered.

“Nope. We’re soulmates, shiny,” the larger man said with a broad smile, wrapping his arms around Janus and pulling him close. “You’re mine and I’m yours.”

Janus exhaled slowly, almost giddy with relief. Finally, he had a soulmate. He nestled closer, breathing in the scents of alcohol and sweat.

Eventually Janus lifted his head and looked around. Silk sheets. Gilded bedposts that seemed to be peeling at the edges. Old abstract paintings on the walls. A very stained carpet. “Where... are we?”

“Home sweet home!” his soulmate said with a grin. “Just wait until you see the rest of the place.” He chortled to himself.

“Uh huh....” Janus shrugged. So his soulmate was eccentric. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. “Mm. How rude of me. I never introduced myself.” He coughed, blushing faintly, then twisted to offer his natural hand to shake. “My name is Janus.”

“I’m Remus. Some people call me Duke.” He shook Janus’s hand heartily, then fidgeted a bit. “There’s... uh.... something you should probably know.” He nibbled at his lower lip. “We.... can’t let anyone know we’re soulmates. And it won’t be safe for you to go home now.” He looked almost sick with guilt.

Janus frowned and sat up, pulling the blanket with him. “Why not?” he asked slowly, looking his soulmate up and down. Of course it was too good to be true. Nothing was ever easy.

“Well... I.... uh....” Remus ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not exactly on good terms with the law. You’d be a target the second someone figured it out.”

“Uh huh....” Janus crossed his arms. “Seeing as you’re stuck with me, you might as well spit it out.”

“I run a gang. Well, kinda. More of a rebel group. We steal and kill and shit. If you don’t want that, I know someone who can remove soulmarks and we never need to see each other again,” Remus said in a rush.

Janus put a finger up to Remus’s lips, making sure to catch his gaze. “I don’t care. I am not losing my soulmate. Fuck society.” Not when he was this close to happiness. “I’d love to see those wealthy bastards taken down a notch.”

Remus grinned and kissed him passionately, pulling him close. Janus eagerly returned the kiss. Soulmate. He had found his soulmate. And he wasn’t letting go.

#tsshipmonth2020 #soulmate september #sanders sides #aryaskywalker writes #sanders sides fanfic #scifi au #demus #dukeceit #janus sanders #remus sanders #tw drinking #tw drunk #tw suggestive #tw swearing

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septic-dr-schneep · 4 years

Text

JSE - Given Time (Part 12)

Previous chapters: [x]

A/N: You know how I said I would wait to post this? I lied

Three and a half weeks.

Three and a half weeks since Marvin had wrenched awake with a ragged scream, feeling like someone had punched a hole in his chest.

Three and a half weeks since he’d half-stumbled, half-crawled from his room to the others, everything in his body singing, Wrong! Wrong! Danger!

Three and a half weeks since they had broken down Chase’s door to find nothing but his hat, phone and wristwatch strewn on the floor. Weeks of terror, rage, grief and determination warring within Marvin as he drilled through every tome on his shelf, searching and scanning for answers in every line, for some kind of sign.

By only the sixth day his fingers were bloody with papercuts and burnt from entangling too many spells at once but the others knew better than to try stopping him. They were far too busy with their own search methods.

Jackieboy had scoured the city, cashed in as many favors as he could spare, dragged as many police officers as he could get his hands on into the search. It was a testament to how much of their faith he had earned, working with them over the years. “He’s my friend,” he said, and that was all they needed to know.

Schneep contacted every hospital, every urgent care, every house caller he could think of in the city, then as many as he knew in the Ipliers’ city. Dr. Iplier had sworn he would do what he could on his end, though who knew how much?

Whenever he wasn’t on the phone, Henrik was crying into scarred, shaking hands. “I wish it were me. If the monster has him, if Chase must endure what I did…” There were nightmares and horrors in his eyes that wouldn’t let him elaborate. “I wish it were me. I would take his place, I would endure it all again if it would spare him!”

Jameson, meanwhile, did the work that was left by the wayside: food, water, blankets when the others finally passed out with their desks as their pillows. After the initial panic he seemed to go into shock. China-pale and puffy-eyed, he drifted from task to task in a daze. His speech slides were scarce, his signs nonexistent. On the rare occasion that he rested, he prayed.

There were no traces of static lingering in Chase’s room—not a speck, not a flicker. Emergency calls and hospital reports of stab wounds came up empty. Chase’s gun was still in its locked drawer, as were the bullets. There was no note to detail a goodbye. When Marvin grit his teeth, swallowed his pride and bitterness and called Stacy, she said that neither she nor the children had heard from Chase in a couple of months.

That should have been a relief, a sign that this wasn’t another attempt. Chase wouldn’t dare try to leave this world again without telling Brianna and Connor that he loved them one last time. Nevertheless the fear churned, always, in the back of Marvin’s mind.

What if he did try to reach the kids but couldn’t get through, so he gave up? What if he doesn’t have his gun because he’s going to try some other way? What if he took the note with him so it would be on his body when he’s found?

No. No. I would know. I would have felt it.

That tether he held, that thin lifeline tangled up around Chase’s soul was all that Marvin could count on every day. Chase’s face card, the King of Clubs, could not locate him, aimlessly fluttering up and down the streets. With every dead end the card’s enchantment found, Marvin was taken back to the days of watching Schneep’s card tumble in the wind, unable to reach him in the pocket dimension where Anti had stashed him away.

That train of thought found a new track.

Three and a half weeks since this new twist of their living nightmare began and at long, long last, they had found something solid to stand on.

Marvin’s plan had been to utilize his soul bond with Chase from the start, combing through dimensions one by one, searching for any pang, any sensation. Yesterday afternoon, however, Dr. Iplier had called Henrik to pass on a message.

“The Host is well aware of the Septic Egos’ trouble. Marvin the Magnificent approaches it on too small a scale. Pocket dimensions will prove trivial, fruitless…but the Host Sees beyond. For the price of a future favor, he may be of assistance in locating Chase Brody’s thread of reality.”

It was the easiest debt they could ever agree to. Another nine months with a hole in their household was not an option.

Marvin emerged on the opposite side of the portal, the opposite side of the universe, with Jackieboy tensed for a fight beside him. Schneep was quick on their heels, machete raised for an upswing, and Jameson had his sword cane drawn before his feet even hit the rocks. It wavered in his hand, however, as he laid eyes on the city in the middle distance.

“Jeepers…That truly is Elvery Heights. It’s the spitting image of our own…yet darker,” he murmured in wary disbelief.

“I don’t understand. Should this portal not have taken us straight where we should be? We are on the outskirts,” Schneep demanded.

“The Host wasn’t about to do all our work for us—and it’s probably better that we haven’t been dropped into the middle of a fight,” Jackie pointed out. “We know nothing about this place. We should find our bearings first.”

“We should find Chase; he’s waiting for us somewhere in there and I’m not going to waste any time sightseeing! We need to get in, get out and get him home!” Marvin snapped, pushing past him into a jog toward the far street. “I’m going to West General, Schneep; if he’s hurt, the Anti of this universe would probably dump him there for you to find!”

He had hardly sprinted ten feet before Jackieboy caught up with him. “Marvin,” he began in a warning voice.

“I feel him now. He’s here and he’s frightened,” Marvin snarled, dodging the hand that grabbed for his shoulder. “Isn’t this how you felt when Schneep was gone? Can’t you understand, you of all people?! Wouldn’t you do anything to get him back, no matter the risks? You would’ve plowed right in too if you knew where he was and I will not hesitate to do the same! Chase is—”

“I know. I know, Marvin.” Jackie matched pace with him, gaze steady, low voice unfaltering. “But even if I had found out where Anti kept Henrik, I would’ve been an idiot to go alone, with no reconnaissance and no plan. I don’t doubt for even a second that I would’ve gotten us both killed.”

“I don’t plan to make that mistake.”

“It would be an even bigger mistake to leave us behind! He’s not just your brother. You think JJ wouldn’t do whatever it takes to save his dad right now? But he’s keeping it together and coming along with a level head. We’re all here to help you.”

Muscles twitching in his jaw, Marvin quickened his stride. I’m coming, Chase. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just hold on.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

All of the buildings, the streets, the parks, shops and walkways—They all seemed to be “right” but Henrik couldn’t shiver away this uneasy chill from his back as he followed Marvin and Jackieboy toward the hospital. It was his hospital. Shouldn’t he feel at ease, knowing this street so well? But as intricate as the familiar surroundings may be, they didn’t hold up well when he truly looked. It was like an optical illusion or a spot-the-difference game, everything further skewed as he ventured further in.

The passing cars were few and far between, the pedestrians dotted across the street so rarely that it was startling to see one. None of them smiled. None of them even seemed to care about each other’s existence. Unlike the civilians at home, these people didn’t give a second glance to the “quadruplet” Egos passing them. They didn’t bat a lash at their attire, didn’t bother meeting their eyes.

“You feel it creeping up on you too, doc?” Jameson shivered beside him, leaning on his sheathed cane to keep up. “The cold? The strangeness of it all? I can’t rightly put my finger on why but this place feels…ill, like the heart has drained from it. I find myself hoping that the hospital will show happier signs of life!”

“I hope that too.” Thanks to those words his patients’ faces were already flashing in his mind as they stopped before the double doors. “Okay…it looks normal enough, the way I know it…”

“You’re obviously the one who can get in and check around for any sign of him the fastest without being suspected,” Marvin announced, wasting no time to steer him forward by the shoulder. “You know where they keep the patient logs, right?”

“If they keep them where they do at home, yes, but that is an ‘if’,” he reminded him tersely. “This is a different world, Marvin; we do not know if I even work here, if I have ever worked here. Hopefully my coat and expert doctoring will let me pass through at a glance but if it doesn’t—”

“Henrik? Is that you standing dillydally around I see? I thought you were scurrying out to fetch our coffee twenty minutes ago!”

All other fears fled his mind at the call and left him paralyzed at the sound of that voice. Marvin and Jameson retreated a few feet, taken aback, but Jackieboy wasted no time shouldering defensively between him and the approaching figure.

“What’s going on? Henrik?” Albrecht repeated, glancing curiously between the rigid pair. “If you don’t hurry to the shop, our break will be over before you’re back.”

Henrik could only stare at his old enemy, openmouthed, drawing a blank on any possible response. The mere fact that Albrecht was unmasked, ungloved and clean of any bloodstains was enough to render him speechless. Jackieboy didn’t suffer that malady.

“What are you doing here, Doll Maker?” he barked.

“That’s the Doll Maker?” Marvin breathed, glancing at Jameson as he tightened white knuckles around the head of his cane.

“Well?” Jackie spat, eyes burning. “Have you been waiting for us to arrive? Are you the one who’s taken him?”

A snort of bewildered concern escaped Albrecht as he shifted back, hands lifted placatingly. “Very sorry, sir, but I imagine you think of someone else. I have never heard of any ‘Doll Maker’; I do not know why you call me that. Do you need a doctor’s help? Who was taken from you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Are you trying to mock us?”

“Not at all! If you are looking for a patient, you can ask the front desk in there—or if you would like to wait just a tick, my friend Dr. Schneeplestein and I can gladly listen to your story and see if there is anything we can—”

A nearby crash, splash and clatter cut him off before he could finish, making them jump. As he spun sideways Albrecht lit up, calling out, “Oh, hello! There is the coffee! I—”

“Schneep,” Marvin whispered.

Jameson flinched. Jackie swore.

Albrecht wavered uncertainly, glancing to and fro with the same disbelief mirrored on the others’ faces. “W-Wait. Wait a moment…How can there be—?”

As the steaming brew collected in a puddle that stretched for his shoes, Henrik remained absolutely still, unable to breathe. On the other side of that gap, his other self, bony, pallid and haggard, stared him down with sunken eyes that still shone as cold and sharp as razorblades.

“What is this?” he hissed.

___________________________________________________

@viostormcaller @misslennie9 @obsidiancreates @plutoandpolaris @rainidaydreamer @alvie-ashgrove @subtleshenanigans @victory-cookies @happysingingturtles @c4link @ashphoenix06 @a-humble-narcissus @jackskeptically @burningbirb @theblackphoebe @hexatrash @realcanadianmoose @o-0notsteph0-o @help-trashbin @blitzindite @rats-this-username-is-taken @lildevyl @droidreamer @number1120 @bookwormscififan @wynterst0rms @awesomekattyk @the-weirdest-fangirl-blog @epicfangirl01 @rammypaige @the-spawn-of-loki @isa-ghost @rabbitsartcorner @totallynotanti @thesinginggal @akiacreates @veryanxiousdev @stardustdragon130 @10th-no-name-person @immabethehero @rataccoonn @darkiplurrr @smolswolpotato @gay-but-still-feral @definitely-asexual-volcano @0-chaotic-potato-0 @jade-orade @nagrom10714

@egopocalypse

#youtube #jacksepticeye #fanfiction #youtube fanfiction #writersofjack #given time #marvin the magnificent #chase brody #jackieboy man #dr schneeplestein #jameson jackson #dapper jack #antisepticeye #stacy brody #chase brody's family #dr iplier #the host #the doll maker

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irishmacguirefucker · 3 years

Text

Meeting Tilly Jackson

A.N: (So originally this was going to be for my au but I realized that if I wanna write Tilly in my AU i need to properly understand her background. We don't have a lot of specific details in the game, so i wrote this. Essentially its how Dutch found Tilly and took her in. She’s 14 in this. I will probably have a part 2 soon. Its a little dialogue heavy)

(TW: Sexual Assault of a minor is mentioned but nothing happens, blood)

Wordcount: 3110

Tilly Jackson has a family. They may be a little odd, different than what everyone else might consider a family, but a family nonetheless. Dutch and Hosea her father figures, Susan Grimshaw a motherly presence. Sisters in Karen, Mary-Beth and the other women of the camp, brothers in Arthur and John and most of the other men. The titles don't matter so much as the feeling of safety and comfort and appreciation among them. She missed her late mother of course, but she hoped on some level her mother would be happy with how things turned out for the girl in the end. Being kidnapped at the age of 12 was nothing short of traumatizing, and for a long while, things only got worse. The Foreman gang was the opposite of a family. They were nothing to her but the people who stole her away from her mother claimed to own her. The ones who tried to take advantage of her. The night that Malcolm Foreman tried to make advances on her and she killed him was the night she would consider herself grown.

She's not sure exactly how long she was alone, it must have been under a year. She went to find her mother only to hear of her death, and with nowhere else to go she just kept running. The further she made it the less likely that Anthony Foreman would find her and pay her back for what she did to his cousin. She knows that it was early spring when she left. The snow had barely been off the ground, she supposed that no longer being wrapped in a ratty cloak and scarf was the reason that gang member thought to make his move.

Dutch found her just when it was beginning to get cold again.

Despite considering herself grown, her body disagreed. The shoes she ran away in were already ill-fitted, and by that autumn they were practically falling apart. Her toes stuck out the front. She had done her best to steal clothing off people’s clotheslines, but they rarely fit.

Dutch caught her doing just that. He had been watching the property of some well off folks, planning on casing it with Arthur later that week. He watched as a girl no older than 14, snuck out from the tree line in a torn-up blouse and a too-long skirt.

She was clearly not experienced in stealing as she tripped over her skirts up the property, but she made it to the side of the house mostly successfully. She quickly tore down a long dress and an undershirt and quickly started back to the tree line. She stared wistfully at the property's large orchard and nearly turned her course towards it before hearing the owner of the house open his front door and stealing away into the forest. Even from a distance, Dutch knew what that hesitation meant. She was hungry.

Dutch was hardly one to let a promising little thief like her starve in the forest, so with a passing glance at the house he stood from his hiding spot up the hill and mounted the Count.

Tracking was never one of Dutch’s strongest abilities but she made it rather easy, with footprints in the mud, a scrap of fabric where her clothing caught a branch, etc. Eventually, he reached a spot where she seemed to trip and fall, and then there were a few drops of blood here and there as he followed. He knew he was getting closer, the blood wasn’t dry. He dismounted his horse and began leading him forward when suddenly she jumped out from behind a tree wielding a large rusted hunting knife.

“Don’t come any closer! You can take your clothes back, here.” She kicked over the items he had just watched her steal. “Don’t tell the law, and I’ll disappear. I don’t have anything more to offer you.”

Dutch grinned, she was strong-willed. But he also observed that her cheeks were sunken in, and her skin was dull. She was visibly malnourished, and there was blood dripping from one of her small hands. He hoped it was a branch she cut herself on and not that dirty knife of hers.

He put his hands up in a friendly gesture.

“I’m not the man you robbed earlier, don’t you worry. I watched you steal that dress, you’re quite the little thief.”

She was doing a damn good job of hiding her fear, but Dutch was experienced in seeing past such facades. She didn’t seem scared of the weapon she was holding, as the young and inexperienced often were when they wielded such an item. She just seemed scared of him.

“Why did you follow me, it ain’t your things I stole. I have nothing to give you, so you best just leave me be.” She didn’t stutter, her high pitched voice remained unwavering and strong. Dutch tried his best to look unthreatening, something he didn’t find himself having to do often.

“Well, I myself was planning on robbing that house myself later with a few of my friends, perhaps I just wanted to see if you had any advice for me as a seasoned visitor of that property.”

She didn’t believe him and didn’t lower her knife, but she didn’t run either. Good. “Now if I reach for something in my saddle bag here are you gonna come at me with that big old knife?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

Dutch smiled. “Well if you and I are gonna talk business I thought that maybe I could pay you for your time, little lady.”

She finally lowered the knife a little, seeming less afraid but very suspicious. “You wanna pay me for information on that house?”

“I do. Information is worth a lot to us outlaws, you should know that well Darlin’” He slowly turned to the horse. Even if she did attempt to stab him, she wouldn’t get to him before he could turn around, so he wasn’t worried. As he was digging through the saddlebag she spoke up behind him.

“Don’t call me Darlin.”

He smiled at her bravado but kept looking through the bag. “Well, you’ve yet to give me something else to call you Miss. Ah! Here it is!” He turned back to her holding a small stack of cash and a wrapped parcel.

“Yeah, well neither have you!” There’s that reminder that he’s talking to a child. They’re always so petulant. John had been just the same, though a little more rabid. “Well, I’m Dutch, Dutch Van der Linde.”

He studied her face for any sign of recognition, but there was none. Good, less reason for her to be afraid of him. She didn’t give her name just yet.

“Are you with the Foreman brothers?” She asked boldly. “I won’t let you take me back, I’ll kill you before you get me back there.” That would explain her fear, she wasn’t just a thief. She was a runaway from another gang.

“Now I’ll tell you right now Miss, I’m not with Anthony Forman or his little gang. The only gang I’m with is the Van der Linde gang, and I promise me and mine won’t bring you any harm.”

“You...You lead a gang?” She was shaking, it was starting to get colder as the sun was setting.

“I am, but we aren’t like those bastards you knew. We’re just good people, looking to live free.”

Then he did something bold, a gesture to help her feel safer in the presence of a gang leader. Hopefully, she would be a little more at ease. “Do you mind if I sit down Miss-”

“Jackson. Tilly Jackson.”

He smiled. “Miss Jackson. Do you mind if I sit while we talk? Tracking you was quite a little adventure.”

“Go ahead, I guess.”

“Thank you, Tilly.” He sat down on a log just to the side, and she lowered her weapon fully but gripped it tight. “Now, go ahead and take this.” He took a couple of bills and tucked them into the string around the parcel. She stared at it suspiciously.

“I didn’t tell you nothing yet and I ain’t stupid mister Van der Linde, why are you giving me this.”

He smiled and leaned forward to place the parcel on the ground in front of him, between them.

“As I said, you’re quite the thief and I think you could help me out. Doesn't hurt to butter up the informant. There's some food in the package, I thought you looked a little hungry.”

She seemed to stare at the parcel longingly and something clenched in Dutch’s cold heart. The poor girl must be starving.

“I…I don’t have no info for you, Mister Van der Linde. I just needed the clothes.” She seemed disappointed to be saying it, but she didn't lie to him like he thought she might.

“Well...maybe you could just keep me company then Milady. Good company is hard to find among us outlaws, as I’m sure you know.”

In a flash, she was back two steps and her knife was raised once more.

“I ain’t that kind of girl. you can keep your fucking money and go pay a real whore for your damned “company’”

This was the opposite of the outcome he was looking for, and entirely at the fault of his own poor word choice. He should have known better, there are only a few things that can happen to a young girl in this country to put her on the run and make her fear good company.

“Now listen here, Miss Jackson. I am not that kind of man, I wouldn’t take advantage of you like I’m sure the bastards in Foreman’s gang tried. It’s like I said it, my gang is just good men looking for freedom and money. You can leave right now if you want and I won’t stop you, or you can stay and eat some, and I promise I won’t even look at you funny.”

She stood frozen, knife gripped tight. She seemed to be weighing her options. Dutch had yet to pose a threat to her, his weapons remained holstered. He hadn’t even tried to come close to her. She steeled her nerves and spoke again.

“Then...Give me one of your guns. If you really ain’t gonna try nothing then give me one of your pistols and if you try and do anything bad I’ll shoot you.”

In any other circumstance, he wouldn’t have even considered it. But this wasn’t some criminal who he was wringing for information. This was a terrified little girl who was too afraid of the man in front of her to even eat food when she was starving. He slowly reached for his left holster and pulled out the pistol. He made a big show of flipping it in his hand so that his finger stayed away from the trigger as not to scare her, and he placed it beside the parcel. Gently he pushed them both over with his foot and sat back on the log with his hands beside him.

She stared at him, and quick as lightning she grabbed the items from the ground. She backed up to her spot and slowly sat on the ground. The pistol was too big for her hand, and her other hand was getting blood on the side of the wrapped meat. Slowly she unwrapped the piece of dried venison, not breaking eye contact with the man sitting before her. “Why are you being so kind to me, I ain’t never heard of a ‘Good’ outlaw, we’re all just killers and thieves.”

He took note of the word ‘we’ before killers and thieves. Perhaps there was a reason she was so steady holding that knife. “I suppose no truer words have been spoken Miss Tilly, but I was never the type to watch a young lady suffer…You know, I found my son Arthur when he was about your age. The boy was just starving in the streets, stealing what he could. Quite like you are now.”

She didn’t respond, just stared at him a moment longer before taking a large bite of the meat. He hadn’t seen someone eat so ravenously since he fed John for the first time.

It took a lot of talking to get her to let her guard down. She didn’t reveal much about herself, other than that her mother died and she wasn’t part of the foreman gang, she was just there. Though the tension in her shoulders slowly sapped away as she filled her stomach and let herself calm down. They spoke for a few hours and he tried his best not to treat her like a child, god knows they hate when you do that. He couldn’t help but notice that she just seemed so sad. Once all that fear subsided and she spoke more freely, it was clear that she was lost. She mentioned her mother’s death with deep sorrow, her eyes going glassy before she seemed to catch herself and move on.

Eventually, her hand stopped bleeding, and he tried to catch a look at it as she gestured. The sun was nearly set and he would have to get back to camp before they went looking for him.

He told her as much and he watched that deep-set sadness seep back to her features.

“Oh… well. It was nice to meet you Dutch.” She used his first name for the first time. He stood up and she did as well, wincing as she used her injured hand to push off the ground.

“You know... you could come back with me and let our doctor take a look at that hand. Well...she ain’t exactly a doctor, but she can fix it. We wouldn’t want that getting infected, it’s far easier to be an outlaw with both hands.”

She wanted to go with him, he could see it in her eyes. Good friends are hard to come by when you’re a child with no home.

“And perhaps, you could stay awhile. Learn how to be a real outlaw instead of a dress thief.” She seemed offended at the comment, a funny little scowl crossing her features. She was thinking about the offer, and he hoped it sounded at least a little better than sleeping alone in the forest.

“If I come to your camp….nobody's gonna try and touch me?”

“Absolutely not my dear, if they try I’ll cut off their hand myself.” She seemed to giggle a little at the notion, a sound he would take pride in. She sobered up and asked;

“And I can leave whenever I want? I ain’t gonna let anyone try and say they own me ever again.”

“If you come to camp, Tilly Jackson will remain a free woman, but you’ll have a home to come back to if that’s what you would like.”

He watched her hesitate a little longer. Some coyotes barked in the distance and she shivered. “Maybe just for a little while. Just to try it.”

“And you can leave whenever you want.” he reassured.

“And I can leave whenever I want.” She repeated it back like she was convincing herself. He turned his back to adjust the Count’s saddle and give him a sugar cube, and he heard small footsteps come closer to him.

“Um. Can I give him one? He’s real pretty.” Dutch turned and she was at his side, staring at the large animal. She was even smaller up close, and he could see that her bones stood up against her dark skin.

“You know, I think he would like that. Now here, take just one of these and put it in your hand flat. Don’t worry, he won’t bite you.” She went to take it from his hand before realizing her hands were full with the knife and Dutch’s gun.

“Oh. Here you go, Mister Dutch.” She tried to hand him back the gun. Bravely he thought, to give up her best defense, but he didn’t take it.

“I’ll tell you what my lady, It’s gonna be a bit of a ride to get back to camp and I don’t want you feeling like you can’t hold your own. You hold on to that one just until we get back, alright? We can put your knife in the bag safe and sound.” She obliged, putting the hunting knife gently in the saddlebag and holding on to the pistol. Then Dutch gave her the sugar cube and she held it out to the horse gingerly. The Count had no such hesitation and stole the treat from her hand quickly, the softness of his nose near her fingers making her giggle.

“Now, I think we might just be ready to move! Can I help you up milady?” He said, with a ring clad hand extended like a butler. The gesture made her giggle more and Dutch was happy to see the sadness put aside for a little while. She took his hand in her much smaller one and let him lead her to the side of the saddle.

“Now, can I lift you or do you want to go stand on the log over there?” She could read the underlying notion. The hidden meaning of ‘Do you want me to touch you’, ‘is it okay if I lift you’, etc. He was being more considerate than anyone she had ever met. She took a deep breath and put a little trust in him.

“You can lift me if that’s okay.”

“It would be my honor milady.” He lifted her onto the horse’s rump and tried not to think about how light she was. How he could feel her bones through the layers of her shirt. Once she was settled, he climbed up himself. Before they got going he pulled out his canteen and an apple from the bag.

“Here. Dinner will be done by the time we get to camp and there’s no reason you should go hungry back there, that just wouldn’t befit such a distinguished young lady.” She accepted the food, and he set the Count into a walk to get them out of the underbrush. Once they were on the path he pushed into a more brisk pace, but he wouldn’t risk trotting with her back there, the count’s trot could be rather rough and she’s so thin she would just be thrown off.

It would be a long ride back to camp at this pace, but it just gave him more time to get to know her and tell her about camp.

#Tilly Jackson #Dutch Van Der Linde #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #writing #Red Dead Redemption #the van der linde gang #backstory

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elisajdb · 3 years

Text

GoChi Week 2021: A Fulfilled Life: Part Two

GoChi Week 2021

A Fulfilled Life

Day Two Prompt: Romantic @gochi-week

Goku added another log of wood to the dying fire. The flames grew twice its size from the thick log. Goku hoped that will be enough. It was the last one. He could go out and get more firewood but he promised to stay here and watch Celia. When Goku made a promise, he kept it.

Celia laid nearby on a futon wrapped in a blanket. Her sudden coughing had Goku rushing to her side. “Are you all right? Do you need anything?”

Celia cleared her hoarse throat. “You’re so kind. If I were well, I would cook you a meal. Seeing you eat, always makes me happy. You’re so adorable.”

“Adorable?”

“It means kind; you make people feel good. No one has reacted the way you have to my cooking.” Celia’s sickly smile was tender. “You eat every morsel and you’re always hungry for more. You’re special.”

Goku was used to being called names. Most were of criticism. Very rare he received praised for being himself and he received a lot from Celia. Celia was a kind woman. She fed him yummy meals and mended his clothes. When she fell ill, Goku did all he could to accommodate her. Goku never got sick but saw it happen to Master Roshi, Krillin and Lunch but Celia appeared sicker. Last night she was burning up and this morning she woke with chills and couldn’t move from her futon. If something wasn’t done soon, she’ll die and Goku didn’t want that to happen to a kind woman like Celia.

The cabin door burst open. A man in a bearskin coat, matching hat, knitted scarf and gloves walked in. He had a large sack over his right shoulder and logs of wood under his left arm. He kicked the door shut to keep the cold air out.

“How’s Celia, Goku?”

Goku took the logs of wood from the burly, bearded man. He stacked them by the fireplace. “Still sick. She looks really bad, Silas.”

Silas set down his sack and removed his hat and scarf as he approached Celia. Goku stared at the two confused. Celia was ill but the way Celia and Silas smiled at each other reminded Goku of those weird movies blue-haired Lunch loved to watch. She always cried watching them. Silas touched Celia’s forehead with his gloved hand. “You’re burning up again. Sorry I took so long to get back to you.”

Goku saw Celia wrap her sweaty hands around Silas’s gloved one. Celia didn’t allow any direct touching in fear she will spread her sickness to him and Silas. “You’re here now, Silas.”

“I have the medicine to cure you. I’ll make it now.” Silas grabbed his heavy bag and carried it to the kitchen. “I’ll need your help, Goku.” Silas placed the bag on the table. Goku climbed onto the seat and stood on it to peer inside the bag Silas opened.

A foul stench latched itself onto Goku’s nose. He covered his nose with his hands to protect himself but the strong scent penetrated his hands. “Yuck! What stinks?”

Silas pulled out a variety of green and color plants and wet, squishy dark red organs. “This is medicine for Celia, Goku. These plants are medicinal herbs: yellow root, echinacea, elderberry, hyssop, lemongrass and catnip. This squishy flesh is liver from bear and boar. It’s all around these mountains. It’s better than the chemical medicines used in the big cities.”

The foul stench made Goku’s head hurt. “It stinks!”

Silas grabbed a mortar and pestle. “It does. City medicines don’t have a stench. Chemicals are used to drown the smell. It makes their medicine less effective.” Silas placed the yellow root in the mortar. He began mashing it with the pestle. “Watch and learn, Goku. You may have to use this to cure someone you love one day.”

Goku wiped the sweat off his forehead. He did everything from memory: mashed the plants he collected in the mortar and pestle until they were fine crumbs, drained the blood from the bear and boar liver and boil for an hour; transfer the livers in another pot and boil again for another hour with the crushed herbs.

While that cooked, Goku made chicken soup from a recipe in the cooking books ChiChi sometimes used. He mentally thanked ChiChi for showing him to use appliances and kitchen utensils a year ago when Gohan was a newborn and she needed extra help around the house. The soup was finished an hour before the medicine was ready. Goku spent that time cleaning the kitchen. It was a mess with dirt and animal blood on the floor and table. The counter was covered with messy bowls and stains of food. If ChiChi saw this mess, she’ll kill him. Grabbing a soapy towel, Goku started his big clean. He occasionally looked up to check on Gohan in the other room.

The two-year-old sat on the sofa, clutching his stuffed rabbit engrossed with the talking animals on TV. He was wide awake. After Goku fed Gohan breakfast, he placed Gohan in a carrier and attached him on his back. He’ll take it to his grave he gathered herbs and killed wild animals while Gohan napped on his back. It was either take Gohan with him or leave him unattended at home while ChiChi slept. ChiChi was so ill she couldn’t get out of bed so Goku made a hasty decision. It was all for ChiChi’s health but Goku knew ChiChi wouldn’t see it that way if she knew the truth.

Goku finished mopping the floor when the timer on the stove beeped. Goku turned off the shrilled sound. He raised the lid off the pot. “Ugh!” he groaned. The scent was putrid. “Guess it’s ready.”

Goku filled a mug of the smelly brew. Remembering Silas’ final instructions, he sprinkled cinnamon and stirred to mute the foul scent. Now it was time for the final test. Goku blew on the mug. His lips touched the top of the mug but before he could taste the liquid contents, Goku pulled back.

“Argh!” The cinnamon didn’t help at all! “It still smells like dookie!”

Pinching his nose, Goku sipped the liquid and quickly spat it out. Still bitter and foul; exactly as it should be.

Goku heard ChiChi coughing heavily as he entered their bedroom. He cautiously walked in carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a mug with a saucer plate covering it. “ChiChi, I got something for you.”

ChiChi groaned as she pulled the covers off her face. She felt as if she was hit by a truck. Her body ached, her head throbbed and her throat was sore. ChiChi sat up and pushed her messy hair back. She thought she was delirious. Goku held a tray of food. Was this for her? “Did you cook?”

Goku placed the tray on the nightstand. “Just medicine and soup.” Goku handed ChiChi the mug.

“Medicine?” ChiChi noticed the mug had a saucer plate over it. She lifted the saucer, “Why is this…. Ugh!” ChiChi closed it. “It’s ghastly. What is this?”

“Medicine. Drink it. It stinks but it will make you better. I promise.”

ChiChi removed the saucer and immediately recoiled. “Urrgh! How do you know it will make me better?” ChiChi sipped and pulled back. She shuddered as some of the liquid went down her throat. “I taste yellow root and lemongrass. Ugh. This smells like a dead animal.”

Goku knew ChiChi would throw the mug back at him if she knew liver from boar and bear helped created this concoction. “Fresh stuff and herbs I picked outside. When I trained for the 22nd tournament, I met Silas and Celia. They live in the mountains south of Yunzabit Heights. I got the recipe from them.”

“Who are Silas and Celia?”

“A married couple. I was living outside when Silas found me hunting dinner. It was winter and he didn’t think it was right for a kid to be living outside. I told him I can take care of myself but he insisted and invited me to his home for a meal. I stayed with them for a month before I moved on. Grandpa taught me some things, too, but I forgot. Silas showed me what plants to pick, what to eat and how to create herbs to season any meat I hunt. When Celia got sick, he made medicine with plants and stuff around his home.”

ChiChi looked skeptically at the mug. “Did it work?”

“Yeah,” Goku nodded. “It stinks but Celia was better the next day. She’s a nice lady. She made a lot of yummy food for me and fixed my clothes whenever I tore them. I think she was really nice to me because she and Silas didn’t have kids.”

ChiChi stared at the putrid liquid. After hearing that story, there was no way she could reject this. She pinched her nose and drunk the hot, smelly liquid in four gulps. She made a gagging sound as she handed the empty mug to Goku. “I hope it works.” She rubbed her throat. The aftertaste was horrific!

“Time for the good stuff,” Goku said as he handed ChiChi the soup.

This pleasing smell of the hot soup made ChiChi’s mouth water. “Is this my reward for drinking the stinky medicine?”

“Yup. Silas did this for Celia, too.”

“And you’re doing this for me,” she whispered. For several moments, ChiChi stared at the soup.

When she tasted it, Goku saw tears roll down ChiChi’s cheeks. “What?” he panicked. “Is it bad? Did I put too much salt?”

“No. Nothing’s wrong,” ChiChi sniffed. “This is so sweet. I didn’t know you were a romantic, Goku.”

“Romantic?” Goku knew that word. It always tied with flowers and doing nice gestures. Romantic didn’t tie to medicine and food. “I just made medicine and soup.”

“You did,” ChiChi cried, “but it’s more than that. You remembered something years ago to take care of me.”

“Yeah?” Goku drawled slowly still not seeing what he did as romantic. It was practical. ChiChi’s sick and Goku thought of some medicine he felt will cure her. How was that romantic?

ChiChi stirred the hot soup with a spoon before taking a bite. “Mmm,” she moaned. This was so good and what she needed to wash down the nasty medicine! “Delicious. This is the best soup I’ve ever tasted!”

“It is?” Goku tasted it. It was okay but not as good as the soup ChiChi makes. Maybe this cold weakened ChiChi’s sense of taste.

ChiChi wasn’t sure if the medicine was working but her mood was lifting at the wonderful gesture of her sweet and romantic husband. “Where’s Gohan? Did you feed him this wonderful soup, too?”

“Not the soup but Gohan’s already eaten breakfast and lunch. He’s watching TV now.”

ChiChi groaned. Gohan was only allowed an hour of TV time a day and she knew Goku broke that rule. “Did you put Gohan in front of the TV all day?”

“Yeah,” Goku knew ChiChi would be upset with that, “but he’s watching those educational videos. I had to distract him while I made your medicine and soup.”

“Okay.” ChiChi accepted that excuse. After this sweet gesture from her husband, ChiChi couldn’t be mad at Goku today.

Goku kept ChiChi company until she finished her meal. When he left, the concoction of the medicine finally got to her. She fell asleep at three in the afternoon and didn’t awaken until thirteen hours later.

Her throat wasn’t sore; her nose wasn’t stuffy, her body didn’t ache. She didn’t feel sick at all.

The medicine worked.

For the first time in two days, ChiChi got out of bed. She felt great! She was so happy to be strong enough to cook and clean again for her family, and after the way Goku took care of her, ChiChi wanted to give him a big meal and later tonight, show her thanks in her own personal way.

However, with Goku running the house these last two days, ChiChi knew she had a big task on her hands. Her house. Her kitchen. How much of a mess did Goku leave for her?

To ChiChi’s surprise, the kitchen was spotless. The floor was mopped clean. There were no food stains on the table, counter or refrigerator. All the dishes were put away in their correct spots. ChiChi was impressed. Goku was never this clean. The few times Goku cooked, ChiChi was left to clean the tsunami mess he left behind.

ChiChi went to the living room next. This was Goku’s bedroom for the last two days. When she became ill, ChiChi kicked Goku out of their bedroom. She didn’t want to risk him getting sick. If she and Goku were sick, who will care for Gohan? The television was off but the lamplight was still on. This room wasn’t as neat as the kitchen but ChiChi’s heart melted as she understood why. Goku slept on the sofa with Gohan on his chest. Her baby’s tiny hands clutched Goku’s shirt as he peacefully slept. An opened baby book was sprawled over Goku’s face and papers were on the floor. ChiChi knelt and picked up the papers. They were folded like a card. ChiChi opened one. Her eyes watered at the words inside.

‘Get well soon, Mommy!’ With it, was a crude drawing of their happy family. Gohan could write some letters but they weren’t completely legible and he couldn’t form words yet. Goku’s education was limited but he did know how to read and write basic words and he wrote the following notes on the makeshift card.

Mommy always takes care of Daddy and me.

She gives good baths and makes yummy food.

When Mommy is sick, Daddy takes over.

Because Daddy loves Mommy like Silas loves Celia.

ChiChi clutched the card to her chest and softly wept.

Oh, Goku. You are a romantic.

#Gochiweek #Gochi week #gochiweek2021 #Goku #ChiChi #GoChi #fanfic #Day Two Prompt #Romantic #ssj4 goku

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pianogal · 3 years

Text

Flirting Lessons

Summary: Just as Dan was about to give up on love, Dan becomes Phil's tutor. (University AU)

Word Count: 2k

This phanfic is a gift to @phanetixs from @phandomgiftexchange !! I hope you like it!!

꧁꧂

In an attempt to cheer me up, Pj has offered his vast knowledge in the art of flirting. He's convinced me that a good distraction will occupy my mind. As Pj and I walk down the hallway to the cafeteria, we rehearse this week's lines.

"You're cute, wanna bang?" I say sarcastically.

"C'mon Dan! If you really want to be back in business, you have to take it seriously!" Pj complains.

I know exactly why he urges me to 'get back in business.' Deep down we all know that I haven't gotten over my breakup. Although it's been 4 months, the thought of Charlie churns my stomach. It's not that I miss the guy, it's the way he chose to dump me. It wasn't the typical: "It's not you, It's me." He went ahead and said: "It's definitely you."

I always thought flirting was stupid. And the reason for it is because I really have no idea how to flirt. People make it look so easy, but to me it's worse than math. It's my fault for asking Pj to teach me how to flirt.

The cafeteria is a wide open space filled with round and square tables circulating the area. From the direction of our dorms, the smoothie bar is positioned to our left, right next to a group of fairly attractive college students. Although Pj made me practice my lines, I was not ready to put them in practice.

"Do you remember what to say?" Pj asks.

I look at him and widen my eyes. I realized what little confidence I have in walking up to random guys, let alone flirt. "I think this is a bad idea," I admit.

"No it's not! I say you should walk up to them and ask them to marry you," Pj encourages. Before I could protest, Pj began pushing me towards their direction.

As I walked to my doom, I realized a pair of eyes staring at me. I see Charlie to my right watching as Pj forces me to interact with the group of guys. Pj notices where my attention is and whispers behind my ear, "Show Charlie how much these guys would kill to date you."

Pj stops pushing me just a few feet in front of the group. All 4 guys notice my sudden appearance and look side to side as if silently questioning which of them knew me. I turn back to see Pj heading to the smoothie bar while Charlie patiently waits for my failure to sink in.

"Uh, do you guys take Literature with Professor Starch?" Was the only sentence I could come up with.

Each guy looks at their group before saying anything. The tall brunette on the left answers, "None of us do. Sorry." After his response, they all began to walk the opposite direction of me. I then turn to see Charlie walking towards me while laughing at my misery.

"Did you really think you could find a rebound?" Charlie chuckles.

"Yeah I was hoping to do the same thing you did," I harshly replied.

Charlie straightens his posture so as to stand taller than me. He pushes his dirty blonde hair from his face and relaxes his devious grin. "You wish you could find a rebound like I did," Charlie walks away after saying what I thought to be the worst thing I needed to hear at that moment.

"What the hell happened?" Pj rushes to me while holding his newly purchased strawberry and banana smoothie. "What did that jerk say to you?"

Although Charlie meant nothing to me, his words would always take a toll on me. Probably because he knew exactly what my biggest insecurities are. He used every single one to taunt me. In this case, he made it very clear that I would never be good enough to earn love.

"I need to go. Class starts in 15 minutes and I need to talk to my professor about an assignment," without waiting for her response, I walk away and head to class.

I lied to Pj about speaking to my professor before class started. It was just an excuse to get away from everyone. I needed time to process all the events that went down. I sit on the far end of the room. No one is here yet, but soon enough students will start rolling in.

I feel stupid. I don't want to tell anyone about how I feel because they'll probably think I can't get over a breakup. It's not that I still love Charlie. It's the fact that Charlie dumped me because he wasn't happy with me. 4 months ago, Charlie said he preferred to be single than to be with me.

I loved him and for a while I thought he loved me too. I couldn't understand why someone that loved me would dump me out of nowhere. And I wonder if I wasn't good enough for Charlie, who the hell is going to love me? I'm not attractive, my personality sucks, I'm not outstanding in any way, and I don't even have my shit together.

"Is this seat taken?" A tall, well built guy broke me away from my train of thought. I look at him for a second to take in his completion. Fair skin, black hair to match with his pair of blue eyes. He wears a plain white t-shirt along with black jeans. I stopped myself from drooling.

I look down at the seat and look back to his eyes. It's been two weeks since class started. The only person who sat next to me dropped out the second day of class. With a sly smile, I say, "Nope, you can sit here."

"Thank you," he smiles back. He pulls the chair away from the table and relaxes into his new seat, "My name is Philip, but you can call me Phil. I've been absent for the past few weeks due to illness. Have I missed anything important?"

"Well, uh… I’m Dan." I'm dumbfounded. I couldn't believe how someone this attractive is sitting next to me. Then again, I'm sure the only reason he's hanging out is just to pass the class. Even so, I already failed flirting this morning. I was not planning at all to fail again.

"We had several assignments due each week, but they're not worth much. Probably ten points each. Maybe if you talk to Professor Starch he can give you an extension for them," I smile politely once more.

Phil sighs and leans back into his chair. Our gazes turn over to Professor Starch waltzing into the classrooms as he hurriedly reaches his desk. He logs on to the monitor and turns on the projector screen. I steer my attention away from our Professor and redirect it to my notes to hide my face. As much as I'd love to get to know Phil more, I can't stand but feel like it's a waste of his time to speak to me.

"Good afternoon everyone!" Professor Starch greets. "I hope everyone is doing well. I apologize for being late, I was deciding if I wanted to come to work today." Light chuckles fill the room. "Today we will be discussing ‘Don Quijote.’"

As I flipped through my notes, Phil lays his hand on my wrist. I look over to see him staring straight at me. "I know this is sudden, but do you think after class we can meet up and go over what I've missed?"

I really want to, but I don't know how Pj would feel if I bailed out our study session for a cute guy. "I don't know if I can after class. But I'm sure if you talk to the professor he'd be cool. He's really nice and-"

Phil moves closer to me and says, "I don’t have anyone else who can help. Can we please meet after class, Dan?"

"Of course," I immediately reply.

I have absolutely no idea why those words came out of my mouth. It is almost as if I had no control on what I said. I didn't even think about my answer. I realized my eyes are still trained on Phil. I can feel my face heating up and quickly look away. I didn't want him to think I was desperate to meet with him. There goes my last bit of dignity.

"I really appreciate your help, Dan," he smirks and turns to look at what Professor Starch has written on the board.

I sigh and reply, "No problem."

꧁꧂

"The reason Don Quijote turns into a knight is because..." It's been an hour of nonstop tutoring. Although I'm grateful for the view, it is time consuming to be teaching two weeks worth of Literature.

"Because of the books he’s read?" Phil almost asks.

"Yep! We just have to finish chapter five and then you'll be all caught up," I say to him, but also with the intent of reassuring myself.

We are seated in the right corner of Amy's Baking Company. We chose this spot because it's quiet and has comfy chairs. Not many people are here today. A couple of students spread across the Bakery, but other than that, it's pretty dead today.

"Do you mind if we take a little break," Phil asks.

"Yeah sure," I was hoping he'd feel as tired as I was. I close my notebook and focus on my new assignment that popped up on my computer screen.

"Tell me about yourself," Phil speaks up. I stare at him for a second. I'm trying to decide if there's any possible chance that Phil could be interested in me. Now I think about all the things I could say to sell myself.

"Well, I'm 20, I'm in my sophomore year, I'm a Political Science major and..." How do I make a move?

"And?" Phil leans forward against the table, as if intrigued by what my last response could be.

"I'm single…” My response of the year.

Phil chuckles. I couldn't read him at all. I wasn't sure if he was ready to walk out the door and drop out of class or go along with my answer/question. I thought I'd had enough earlier, but I guess I came back for round 2.

"I'm 24, I took a gap year to figure out what I wanted to study. I'm now an English major and I'm single too," he then winks and smirks at me. "Why are you single?"

"I'm not good at flirting," I admit. "What about you?"

"No reason," he says without blinking.

"Why not?" I press for more information.

"There’s no one that interests me,” Phil deadpans.

"That sucks," is the only thing I could muster. By this point, I couldn't look at him directly. I tried to avoid his gaze by looking at my laptop's screen.

Part of me was hoping Phil would ask me out. Guys never ask me out for anything. The fact that Phil wanted to study with me after class is news to me. Curiosity washed over me. I want to know why he wasn’t interested in anyone.

"How come?" I ask, now returning my full attention to Phil.

Phil then tilts his head. I suppose my question must've caught him off guard. "Well, you don’t know how to flirt.”

“That I… what?” I ask.

“I’m not interested in you yet because you haven’t flirted with me,” Phil smirks.

My eyes widened. I feel my cheeks heat up once more. “Why would I flirt with you?”

“I guess I thought you liked me,” he smiles cheekily.

“What makes you think that?” I ask while my cheeks readen.

“Just a hunch.”

I sigh and say, “You seem to like me then.”

"Tell you what," Phil pulls out his cell and unlocks it. He hands me over his phone with the 'New Contact' screen laid out. "Let's exchange phone numbers. When you learn how to flirt, give me a call."

“For what reason would I tell you?” I ask knowing his response.

“So you can ask me out,” Phil stands from his seat and winks before he turns and leaves the bakery. I suppose I’ll have to beg Pj for more lessons.

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yeslordmyking · 3 years

Text

Happy 27th Birthday Jackson Wang

My Journey With Jackson Wang

For Jackson's birthday this year, I've decided to share why Jackson's birth is so important to me personally. I'll walk through the emotional journey that ensued once Jackson entered my life.

(Images and gifs are not mine)

Fun Beginnings

It all started when I decided to explore more kpop groups than just Bigbang. The last month of 2016, I discovered GOT7, the group that sang A and Hard Carry. I learned they were having a comeback very soon, so I studied up everything I could on them. The member that caught my eye was Jackson Wang.

Beneath the Surface

I won't pretend I had this amazing ability to go beyond what was shown to me. Not at first. I saw Jackson as the biggest goofball in the group. He was loud and fun and extra. Honestly I thought every GOT7 member was fun and crazy, but Jackson in particular stood out to me. Then, I found this moment.

When Jackson burst into tears and collapsed into his Mom and Dad's arms. As an empathetic cryer, I was obviously using my sleeves to dry my own eyes. That was when I realized there was more to Jackson than the compilation videos were showing. After studying up from some good Jackson fans, I learned he was a gentleman, he had a soft side, he likes compliments and attention from his members, he had olympic level athleticism. These were all nice things to learn, but things only got deeper from there.

Stanning in 2017

Flight Log: Arrival era. My first GOT7 comeback. Poor Jackson got sick for a little while. When he returned, I saw how everyone welcomed him back so warmly. I remember seeing GOT7 joined Monsta X backstage- who I was also im the process of stanning- while reacting to their performance at a music show and everyone just seemed so happy for him to be there. They all loved each other. Jackson got along with basically every idol. Jackson must be very loved.

As I continued to stan, I learned just how good of a person he was. Stories from his past showed that Jackson was the kind person to care for complete strangers as close friends. He cared for elderly women who felt lonely or neglected. He spent hours talking with someone who was too depressed to live another day. He stood up for fans that may be jostled by security, even if it was ultimately for his protection. He made sure the women in his workspace were comfortable and respected. He shook hands and made contact with every person involved in working alongside him. He thanked God for his success in his letters. To me, Jackson seemed to be nothing short of a complete angel. Who could deny it?

Then, Jackson announced his solo career. That was when I saw things how they really were. The amount of hate that I witnessed towards Jackson was crushing for me. So imagine how bad it was for him. Physically, mentally, I saw him hit a wall. People were telling him what kind of music he was and wasn't capable of. They spread lies about him. Then they wondered why he stopped smiling as much.

They only saw him as a comedian or a joke. I just couldn't believe someone I thought was so wonderful was so despised. He was human. He may make mistakes, but he made an effort to correct them. No matter what, he still had feelings. He wasn't a robot or a clown. He could get tired. He could hurt. This was when I decided that I was going to be a ride or die Jackson fan. Because someone so kind and talented didn't deserve anything but love and to be supported for his dreams. I wanted to give it to him.

The Jacky Life

There was a lot of ups and downs after this. Jackson started Team Wang. This is where I saw a new side of Jackson. The hardworking Jackson, in real time. He showed the world his work ethic as he began to work from the ground up to make Team Wang a strong label. Through every release and every appearance he made, he gave 1000% of his effort. To the point where fans were afraid he was going to push himself too hard. He went through endless performances, intense dance competitions, long variety show shoots while enduring exhaustion, anemia, back pain, mental illness all without a complaint or a sign of lessening his passion for his art. I was so concerned, often breaking into tears over my worry. I didn't know what to do to let him know we were proud of him, we supported him, it was ok to rest. But I understood his mindset. He wanted to be taken seriously. He wanted people to see what he was capable of. He wanted the world to see him as Jackys already did. Then one day, it clicked for him. He stopped focusing on what negativity came his way. He learned and grew from it, and focused on improving himself. It was an amazing journey to witness.

It Gets Personal

Jackson continued to blast off as a solo artist, and participate in GOT7, all of which gained immense success. But then it was my turn to hit a wall. In my own life, I'd had doors slammed in my face over and over again, wearing me down more and more. I couldn't move forward. It seemed I wasn't meant to achieve my dreams. I started to kill my own dreams and believe they weren't meant to be pursued. My self worth and hope plummeted. Then Jackson's brand began to grow. "Know Yourself. Make Your Own History." He began to give more and more insight on how he left behind a secure future of olympic fencing to pursue his dreams. He talked about taking risks, learning from failure, not having regrets and at least trying to make your dreams come true. And these weren't just empty words for Jackson. He was living proof. I actually witnessed him rise like a phoenix from the ashes as he began to manage his health better, released his first album Mirrors, launch his own fashion brand, all while remaining his remarkably humble self. Other artists from all over the world flocked to be participants in his career. In his music, he expressed what his fans' support meant to him, and in his interviews he gives Jackys so much credit for getting him where he is now. It felt unreal to be acknowledged by someone I admired so much, and to hear someone who seems so out-of-my-league successful and talented encourage me to do the same. To say it so much that I truly believe he wants us to reach all of our dreams.

Team Wang For Life

For me, being a fan of Jackson Wang is beyond just liking his music. It's a source of love and motivation that I often have trouble giving myself. I see Jackson Wang as a blessing and a guide for me to help me take steps in my life I would've been afraid to were it not for Jackson's words and actions. So I'm extremely grateful for his existence on this earth and his decision to be a goodhearted and determined human being. His birthday is a day that I go back and think about everything he is and appreciate it.

Happy birthday Jackson Wang. Your journey so far has helped me in so many ways, and I will support you in whatever way I can. Thank you for making your presence on this earth so impactful. To me, you truly are a king, that I will continue to love through the ups and downs of this world. You're never alone.

~♡Sincerely, Your Princess♡~

#i know this is probably the most cringey thing in the entirety of kpop twitter but i wanted to share it #happy birthday my dearest Jackson Wang #may you be happy and loved today and every single day of your life #your princess will always have love and gratitude for you #got7 jackson #jackson wang #jackson #ultimate bias #got7 #team wang #kpop #cpop #my baby boo #👑 be my king and i'll be your princess 👑#jackson wang you are my only true love #KingJacksonDay #JacksonNeverAlone

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shadowfae · 3 years

Note

1- Not much tbh, just what you've posted, and 2- To be honest I quite like your long answers. It can definitely wait though, you should get some sleep.

Is your warpriest link a constant thing? Does it ever fade into the background? I'm contemplating forming a second link, something happier than my copinglink, and I'm not sure how to tell when to tell when the line of a link vs a persona is crossed when not worn out of necessity.

And the original ask so I have it on hand. I did take a look at your original context, and if you're cool with it, I'll edit this post with a link for those who may find this is a useful answer and need that on hand. Otherwise, it'll stay a mystery.

But yes, it seems like my Sabe experiences would be a useful thing to talk about here. And in order to do that, I need to go over four things: who and what Sabe is, why he exists the way that he does, what that does for me, and lastly what I think he is in terms of terminology and why.

To start, here is his toyhou.se profile, if you want to read more about his actual story and thoughts and whatnot. But I doubt you'll have the necessary context for that, so let me go into it. RuneScape (RS) is one of the oldest MMORPGs in existence. WoW might be older but I doubt it. Basically it's a medieval magic fantasy that's very long running and you the player end up the World Guardian, aka the guy that stops the gods (who are very powerful folks who just don't die of natural causes and typically stand for some philosophy) from blowing the world up because Guthix, the dead god of balance, asked you to. Well, he voluntold you. And that makes you a major chess piece, Elder Gods get involved, it's a big mess.

But before all that happened, back in 2006 when I was introduced to the game and very shitty at it, well. I liked the lore insofar that I've always liked the lore, it was interesting and I liked thinking about it. I didn't have membership and I sucked at playing so I just read the wiki and the God Letters over and over and sometimes the Postbag from the Hedge. Alongside my two friends, we played at being children of the then-triad of main gods: Saradomin, Guthix, and Zamorak.

I liked Zamorak best, but I didn't think his ideas would be the best for society as a whole, so I ended up playing child of Guthix. Eventually we grew up and grew apart but every couple of years I'd go back to RuneScape, read the lore, settle on what choices I'd make if I could play, and think about being the player character. In 2010 I discovered a fic - dawn by khayr, it's on Ao3 and dA - about Iban, son of Zamorak, right around when I was reading Percy Jackson. Cue him showing up as a soulbond and an older brother figure and guiding me right up until the end of sixth grade. Iban got me through the ruthless bullying that would later set the stage for all my major suicidal-ideation and self-hatred for the entirety of high school: even then, I was more stable than I might've been otherwise, because he interfered.

Saradomin stands for strength through order. Procedures and law and diplomacy and war strategy. He was originally kind of a ripoff of the Christian god, but he's grown to be more of an order-over-peace character and is quite well-written. Guthix stands for strength through balance, and has been all over the board in terms of what he's done and will do. He's kind of a dick, actually, but his heart's in the right place.

Zamorak, as you've heard, is strength through chaos and personal strife. It's no "the strong over the weak" or "the strong take care of the weak", it's flat-out "everyone is strong, and just need the right circumstances to tap into it to be the best they can possibly be". Now, his philosophy is kind of more for warriors and scholars, but if you tilt your head, it applies to everyone. Chronically ill folks will find their chaos in fighting to get up every day and maintain a life. Folks in traumatizing, abusive situations find that chaos in their very survival. Scholars challenge themselves and their fellows and their predecessors trying to find the answers they so need. Nobody in lockstep, no such thing as "we've always done it this way."

A lot of human Zamorakians and Saradominist propaganda says that Zamorak is simply absolute evil: and to be fair, when most of that was written, he kinda was because he was based loosely on the Christian devil. Later writing says that they're typically mistaken on that. Zamorak isn't evil. The very first thing he did upon becoming a god was fulfill a promise and lead a slave rebeliion. (The Avernic uprising, if anyone's curious.) He stands for the downtrodden and says "You are never going to get your dignity by going through the motions and trying to peacefully show you're worth respect. Burn some shit down and prove that you won't stand for this bullshit."

Zamorak in a Saradominist's eyes is someone whose banner you wear when you want to be a crazy murderer. Zamorak in a Zamorakian's eyes is the singing voice who murmurs "Get up, this isn't enough to kill you, you can still do this," when transphobic laws get passed or you hear a slur thrown your way on the street.

And as someone who grew up queer and nonhuman, yeah, that resonates, and the older I get the more I think "Guthixian philosophy is best for a society at large, but Zamorakianism for individuals is good." Because Zamorakianism can't really apply on a theocratic level. It really doesn't. It turns into American bootstrap culture and no social services and all that shitty stuff.

The funny thing is that Zamorak himself has no issues helping out if he thinks you need it. (If he didn't, he wouldn't be cool with asking for help, or giving it when he's asked. Which he does do repeatedly so. The man has more kindness in him than people want to admit.) What I do find fascinating is what he thinks of the actions of some of his longtime subordinates, who clearly support him, but I don't think support his actual philosophy. Because if you ask me, he'd side with the downtrodden humans of Meiyerditch, not the vampire lords that treat them like cattle. He's proven that he likes humans, and doesn't see them as unworthy. I do wonder if Jagex will show us what he might do about that.

Either way. Ahem. Over the course of a decade and a half, I keep going back to RuneScape, refining my philosophy and side, thinking again what I would do playing the game proper. About... I want to say five years ago, Jagex opened up the Sixth Age and I finally noticed, and they rewrote every god's philosophy because they wanted every single one to be actually playable. Not just "hurr durr evil" but actually have a logical line of thought. They probably didn't have pop culture paganism in mind, but the gods of RS are incredibly well-suited to it.

Well, I found that out, and immediately went through every god's philosophy, and reasoned my way through it. What does a worshipper of this god look like? What sort of life would they lead? If i apply this to me, what does that look like from that perspective? Do I understand this? Is it comfortable to exist in?

And as it turns out, I understand Zamorak the most, followed a close second by Armadyl, which was quite surprising. Zaros remains incomprehensible and I don't trust like that. (That's another story.) So I thought about it more, and it stuck even when I wandered off to different fandoms and interests. But what happened was that I ended up internalizing it, unknowingly and without meaning to.

It meant that when, two years later, I ended up in a horrific and traumatizing situation, the anchor I hit that held me together was a mixture of being a Devil - I am a fucking God you will obey me and recognize my power - and Zamorak's core philosophy: this cannot kill me, this cannot stop me, this is pure fucking hell and I am going to laugh in the face of death because people are forged in hellfire and I will walk away knowing what I'm made of.

And I was right. Honestly, out of everyone who was there with me, I think I'm the only one that was that deeply entrenched and walked out without trauma. I do not believe I could have done that had I not internalized Zamorak's philosophy. (That isn't to say if the others had that philosophy they wouldn't be traumatized, because there were absolutely other factors I wouldn't know about and some that I do and didn't do them any favours; but I am saying that it saved my ass and without it, I might not have been okay.)

I walked out of that with zero regrets. Zero. Even now, I don't regret a thing. Because it doesn't matter what happened or how much I was lied to or if he deserved my kindness. I know what I perceived to be happening, and I know how I reacted, and when the pieces were down I was stronger than steel, gave kindness without considering the cost, and I walked away unscathed.

How many people can say they've looked death in the eye and laughed? More than there should be, not too many that knowing what I'm capable of when put into pure chaos isn't somehow impressive. Because it is. And Zamorak's words proved themselves, or rather, I proved him entirely correct.

And when I last went back to RuneScape, and thought about it with enough time to put it all into hindsight, well. Aw, shit, he was right. Then vaguely around that time I went back and read Dawn, which was unfinished, tracked down the author and demanded to know how it fucking ended. (She told me and we're still friends like three years later. xD) Then I went back and found my old OCs, and decided fuck it, I'm making my own World Guardian.

So first thing I did was log in and jump over to the Makeover Mage and make myself into a boy. Kept the plateskirt though, I wanted to have the RS equivalent of a limp wrist to prove I'm Very Queer. Then I went about remaking my character. I wanted to make a self-insert, I was old enough to know it wasn't cringey, it was just fun, but I didn't want to use my default avatar with the black hair over one eye and the Chaorruption. I wanted to make a new self-insert based in nothing I was already using.

So I made the most beautiful man I could! Long, dark brown hair, pretty semi-dark skin, looked Kharidian, and then I said fuck it and made him Zamorak's youngest son. Originally, he was adopted when he was young by Iban and Clivet, and suffered serious imposter syndrome when being WG meant he'd never get demigod powers. But as I grew more confident in myself, he ended up getting powers? And then eventually I rewrote his backstory, and then wrote about his mother, and her relationship with Zamorak, and then he had friends like Blaire and Icthlarin (who was also my furry awakening, rip me).

Then with the most recently questline I've been getting a bit more into RS magical theory, and I've been mulling it over lots, and Seanan McGuire's Middlegame definitely helped; and I figured out how I wanted him to handle being World Guardian: it didn't make sense for him to be openly Zamorak's son, the other gods would just target his family to manipulate him. So I had him play neutral openly and Zamorakian to his friends, effectively living a double life.

Then he just looked up one day and said "Oh, by the way, my father won't acknowledge me to keep me safe but I don't know that so we have a very unsteady relationship because I don't know if he loves me", and then Children of Mah came out, and he was all "Oh and I think I just got disowned (I didn't, Zamorak was protecting me, but I don't know that) so my relationship with Zamorak is Fucking Shitty" and he was stuck that way until I figured out how to save their relationship.

It culminated in Sabe not knowing how his Mahjarrat powers worked and guessing, and hating himself for being half-and-half, and missing everything about being a Mahjarrat, and literally you couldn't have gotten more obvious in order to tell me I was having Fucking Issues coming to terms with the fact I didn't have any understanding or knowledge of my own heritage, but whatever, eventually I noticed that.

And as I've been working to understand myself and my heritage, so too has Sabe been doing that with his Mahjarrat heritage. But for the longest time, no matter how I put him and Zamorak in the same room in a scene to try and get them to talk it out, it wasn't working. Something wasn't right. Sabe resented being World Guardian, hated having to betray his family, didn't know if he was wanted, and hated himself for having to kill Mah, the mother of his species.

Not that long ago, a few months actually, he informed me (which is my shorthand for 'I suddenly figured out this happened, and it genuinely feels like remembering that one fucking word you have on the tip of your tongue, I always knew and just forgot for a while') that no, he'd been ripped in two by a hope devourer, brought to his father's stronghold, and Zamorak split his magic between mortal and divine in order to get around his godproofing and heal him. Zamorak's intense worry for his youngest son was what caused Sabe to break down and tell him honestly what was going on and how he was feeling, which caused Zamorak to do the same, and they finally, finally made up.

A week later, I noticed the connection between Sabe's Mahjarrat issues and my Irish issues, and started to wonder if he was a linktype.

I mean... he's a self-insert. He makes the choices I would, the me in the here and now, that I think are best. He's not a person I was and still know myself to be, he's not someone I grow into, he's not living his life beside me like a shadow. He's me, choosing the things I do, because I say so. But he's also me in the things he reflects, the things he struggles with, and things I had zero fucking conscious input on.

Sabe is the person I am when a crisis hits and I have to deal with the chaos. Sabe is the person I am when I need to lead. Sabe is the person I am when I am desperate to be known and loved by those I consider family. Sabe is the person I am when I want to be sure in where I came from, where I will return to, and the things that I will always be. Sabe is a man of darkness who knows the light as an acquaintance and nothing more, who is cruel and careless and kind.

Sabe is a warpriest of Zamorakian philosophy, because it took me twenty fucking years to put into words how I see the world, and now that I know, I will argue them to death and use them to help others. Drakath may have wanted a messiah to share the hivemind with others. Sabe is a warpriest, spreading the word and calling home the broken and the damned. He is the Last Rider, not the last of the Ilujanka but the one who keeps riding towards the chaos and never falls, no matter what.

Some of who Sabe is I have conscious input on. A whole lot of him was unintentional and perfectly reflects me.

So when it comes to terminology... I don't know what he is. A self-insert, yes. A linktype, maybe. A kintype, also maybe. Sabe doesn't feel like my past linktypes, because Sabe isn't always catharsis and comfort. Until he made up with his dad, Sabe was brutal and hurt a lot and constantly yearning for his foundation and slowly going mad. It wasn't fun. I just refused to do anything but see the story through. I was going to get it right. I wanted to see it to the end. I wanted to be the Last Rider, even though I didn't phrase it that way.

But to answer your actual question, of what he feels like when I'm not actively being him out of necessity, desire, and active thought. If it fades into the background.

And like... it can? Sabe as he is, recognized for what and who he is, is kind of a new thing. Sabe as a concept is very old, but Sabe as what he is right now is new, and confusing, and honestly I'm still trying to figure out what to make of it.

Like, seriously. Sabe is Zamorak's son. Am I Zamorak's son? Is he keeping an eye on me as I am? Would he be proud of me? Would he offer his approval of my progress? Does that make me, in some way, the World Guardian?

I have not a clue, buddy. Not a goddamn clue.

So what it means is that I've been paying attention, really. I don't just become strong in times of crisis. I've been trying to do better. Be better. Learn, and listen, and rethink myself. Break out of lockstep, of doing things the way I've always done them. Try to always do better than I did, build habits I like, stop waiting for things to change and just do it. Become the chaos, instead of waiting for it to hit me.

It means I need to live up to what Guthix told Sabe to do. It means being gentler, being kinder, not burning bridges when I'm not sure. It means keeping an eye out for any sign Zamorak's listening, in case I am his son, in case I really have to decide what I'm gonna do about being the son of chaos incarnate.

But other than the questioning, what it feels like is just... what I was already dealing with, just a little more at arm's length and easier to deal with. Once I recognize that his issues are reflective of mine, if I solve his, I have a pretty good idea of how to solve mine. Some of it won't work exactly right - Zamorak will always forgive him for not being the son he expected he might have had, my own parents may not, yay I'm queer and pagan - but it's a good rule of thumb.

It's also just comforting to know that when in doubt, nothing can kill me, because I simply refuse to die. I am World Guardian, I am a demigod of chaos incarnate, all the hellfire in the world can do nothing but strengthen me. And if I present those to myself as unshakeable beliefs, because for Sabe they are, then I'll be okay. It probably couldn't stop most disasters or tragedies, but I got hit by a car, broke five bones, and walked away with a record recovery time, so I mean... I can't prove that I can't die by some accident or tragedy, but you also can't prove that I can. (Trying to do so usually falls under what we call 'murder', and I personally believe I can't be murdered. Only assassinated.)

But really, I think the worst that could possibly happen with a new linktype is that you learn what not to do. It's new, it's scary, it's chaotic, and from where I'm standing, that's the best way to learn.

#asks #anonymous #on copinglinking #on voluntary identities #on questioning #my experiences #here have me yelling about runescape and complaining about questioning #You Asked For This #essays of the skyrose garden #actually yeah this is an essay

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mor-beck-more-problems · 3 years

Text

To the Light of Day || Solo

TIMING: Early morning, after the destruction of Constance

SUMMARY: Morgan tries to lay her pain to rest.

CONTAINS: brief mentions of parental abuse

The snow was coming down hard enough to bury White Crest as Morgan walked home from the outskirts. The sirens had quieted and the Christmas lights all switched out. The only sign it was morning came from the ring of church bells as a midnight service let out and oblivious churchgoers turtled out to the parking lot in their puffy coats. From where she stood, Morgan could see the flicker of Advent candles, the Christian bastardization of her Yule log. Morgan watched a pimply twelve year old snuff them out one by one until the last of the faithful left and the door shut for the night. She walked behind the straggling flock, head bowed against the snow as it fell harder. She wanted to imagine what being a part of them would be like, just one of the humans, lighting a candle against her fear and praying en masse to a big nice dad in the sky who would whisper while you slept that everything was okay and for your own good, just you wait and see. But Morgan had never known anything close, and she didn’t deserve much of an escape right now, did she?

When she was little, Morgan spent Yule with her parents gathered around a row of three tapers nested into a log holder, one for each of them to burn all night and day. Her mother lit the candles because Morgan ‘didn’t do it right’. Her dad picked out the prayers from the family grimoires or wrote something more personalized to the family on his own. And Morgan agonized over whether she should wish for snow or a new friend or a pony. They were together and apart keeping this sweet, wonderful secret winter holiday from all the boisterous Christmasers. The room never erupted with the sound of their poetry recitations, the songs her parents picked to honor the day changed from year to year, so she never grew a familiar, cuddly attachment to any tunes except for the verses of ‘The Holly and the Ivy’ they stole for themselves. When Yule became just Morgan and Ruth, the candlelight seemed dimmer, their voices barely rose at all, and her dad’s old prayers rang hollow without his intentions to power them. The darkness of the longest night grew heavy in a primeval way that reminded Morgan that the first Yuletides were made to make sure the sun wouldn’t abandon humanity for good. It was the kind of dark that you could drown in, the kind that broke your shoulders to strain against. Morgan felt that old, cruel weight of the night wrapping around her now as she walked. She didn’t have a yule candle log for herself this year. After dying and the various breakdowns that followed, merrymaking and yuletide seemed like more of a pipe dream. And peace, after what she’d done? Morgan scoffed bitterly at the thought.

“It’s not about the candles, pumpkin,” Ruth’s voice said. On their first solstice without her dad, Ruth had fumbled their last match, and it was too icy to run to the 24-hour pharmacy for more. Morgan fretted so hard conjuring up a fire to replace it, she’d scorched the candles and ruined their old log. Ruth grabbed her hands before she could do anything else. “It’s still Yuletide. The sun is still coming back.”

“But it’s not the same! What’s the point of the ritual if we can’t even get one stupid candle going to pretend like this is going to get better!”

Morgan couldn’t remember what her mother had said to that. She only knew that afterwards she’d left the room and cried, missing her dad and the kind of life where you didn’t hold your breath for the next crisis and just did things. At sunrise she went out to the window to watch the return of the light and found her mother in the backyard, praying in a stone circle she’d cast the mundane way, reciting the charge of the Goddess...

Morgan trudged through downtown until she came across Al’s. Half the rainbow lights strung around the awning were burnt out, and the inside was dead except for the lonely old man Morgan always saw in the corner. The old TV in the upper corner was switched to one of those fireplace broadcasts, where the flames never dimmed and the lights shined on glass baubles just right. Morgan couldn’t help but stop and watch. It wasn’t the best picture quality; what billows and whispers she imagined coming from the flames were more from her memories of better, brighter fires. But it was the first fire Morgan had seen all season, and it brought tears to her eyes.

Could you wish on a yule log if it was fake? Was it an affront to the ancestors or the spirits if you paid homage through pixels? Morgan laughed hopelessly. The spirits she knew had been pretty clear about what they wanted her to do, and after tonight, wishing on a crappy TV probably ranked really low on the list. What would she wish for anyway? A fucking do-over? Morgan pressed her fingers to the frosted glass, staring as hard into the screen as possible. “I’d do it all different if I could,” she whispered. “If anyone could just tell me how to make it stop hurting without passing it off to other people or--fuck, killing random nobodies who never did anything. If I could just know how we’re supposed to…” Morgan quieted and shut her eyes, realizing that for all intents and purposes, she was talking to herself. She had lied, threatened, stolen, maimed, and killed for her pain. And here she still was, carrying it like a growth in her chest she couldn’t excise. What do I do? If someone could just tell me what to do, tell me how this stops. I don’t care what else I have to do as long as we can all stop hurting...

But the universe didn’t speak to you in words, it didn’t speak at all. It just worked. It moved. Energy cycled through you and around you and sometimes if you were lucky and alive, you could move it back. But it’s not about the light, pumpkin, Ruth said again. Morgan reached for her in her mind, to that soggy, miserable Yule and the purple sunrise that came after, and the words her mother had said to the reborn sun.

To thou who thinkest to seek Me, know that thy seeking and yearning shall avail thee not unless thou knowest the Mystery: if that which thou seekest thou findest not within thee, thou wilt never find it without.

“Fuck,” Morgan whispered. Could it be that simple? Was that something she was allowed after death? She opened her eyes. The TV had been switched to some Christmas cartoon, but that didn’t matter. Morgan resumed her walk, swift and purposeful in a way it hadn’t been before. She didn’t stop until she made it to the cemetery on the East End, where the weeds were always a little too tall and the stones a little grubby with moss. Morgan played the words in her head on herself, burning with longing.

She was dead, her nerves were smothered in death, she couldn’t grow or age or shift along the wheel of life the way the living did, but she grew a new hand for every one she lost. Her body frayed and sagged closer to the earth it could never rest in when she got hungry, but maybe that wasn’t a mark of betrayal. Maybe it was a reminder from the earth, a hand on her hand, a bridge between the flow of the world and the place where she dwelled in between. Maybe it was a rope to keep her connected. Maybe the dead could still pray. She had come back this far, hadn’t she? She’d done it wrong and twisted and broken all over again, but she could walk and burst through the rickety gate and carry herself to the highest mound in the place and brush back the snow gathering over the graves. She had enough sense to be sorry and scared. She had enough of her self to wonder.

Morgan cleared the snow away until there was a body sized patch of brown grass to lay in. She fell face forward and dug her hands in deep. Please… If I am still a part of you, please…

The ground was hard with death, but the deeper Morgan dug her hands in, the softer it grew. Layer by layer, into that place where life only slept, like the day during the long night. Was that her? A night, a season, moving slowly until her sense of light came again?

If that which thou seekest thou findest not within thee, thou wilt never find it without.

Let me, Morgan whispered in her heart, the words no longer a question. I need you to let me. And I need you to take this. She crawled up to her knees and dug her nails into the fabric of her sweater. She worried at the threads, thinking of the memories that had twisted around her heart every time she’d had a chance to let Constance leave this plane for good and said no. Yelling at the paramedics while her dad was wheeled away, her mother’s nails cutting moons into her neck and shoulder as she dragged her down the hall, the pole in her stomach and how her head flashed with pain every time she tried to move, the coffins lowered into the ground, the phone calls unanswered, the weeks lost to laying in bed because there was no point in getting up when it was all going to get ripped away again, the loneliness, the sting of every lost friend and broken hope… Morgan pulled on herself, shuddering as she let the hurt cut her on the way out, as sharp as if they’d been made fresh. In her mind, she made them into one braided cord, plain and riddled with knots and kinks in the fibres. She pulled, letting the other awful little things stick and tangle into it. When she could think of nothing else she pulled again, feeling the claws at the end of the hurt clinging to her.

Let me give this to you for safe-keeping, she silently asked the earth. Take this in lieu of my body. Let it decay in its own good time and nourish something else. Because it’s going to take me away from you and myself and everything I love. I trust you not to use this for any ill. You have held me up this far, and you will hold me further still, my dear, old Earth. Even Morgan’s wildest imagination and most desperate devotion couldn’t unhook every cord binding her to her hurt, but some of them gave, root and all, and fell into the ground. She piled the dirt she’d loosed over the spot her mind’s eye conjured the fallen cords. There was nothing to forgive, because the earth didn’t weigh value like that, only poison and barbs that needed to be worked out. Only healing for the holes the cords had left in her, rest for the girls she’d been and was no longer, and courage for the woman she wanted to be from now on. Someone who touched others with understanding before spite, who guarded the world against her hurt, who stood up for as many people as possible and not just her friends, who was kind and soft and forgave as much as her soul could bear it. Someone who could mourn and atone for the hurt she spread instead of brushing it off. Someone her past selves could be proud of and mystified by. As day follows night and spring follows winter, keep me steady until I find my own light.

“So may it be,” she said, promising herself even more than the ground at her feet. By the time Morgan finished, the dark had washed away to a pale gray. Through the veil of snow clouds, Morgan was sure she saw a white silhouette of the newly turned sun.

#to the light of day #wr solo #wr chatzy #wickedswriting

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