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peace-coast-island · 3 years

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Diary of a Junebug

A visit to Coral Beach

What a fun time at the beach! Coral Beach is such a lovely place - from the clear blue waters and colorful mosaics scattered throughout the boardwalk, it's one of those places ideal for vacationing based on appearance alone. No photoshopping necessary when it comes to taking pictures here!

I'm surprised that I haven't visited the beach sooner since it's about an hour away from the camp. In fact, there's still so many places nearby that I haven't been to yet. The trip was kinda a spur of the moment kind of thing Pancetti, Audie, Snooty, Lyman, and I planned at the last minute. By chance I ran into an old friend who's vacationing there too and now she's coming back with us.

So we spent a couple days at Coral Beach exploring the sights and enjoying the resort and then tomorrow we're heading back to the camp. Of course, I also spent the time catching up with Desi, who's been enjoying the seaside scenery.

Desi Rivera's an aspiring singer-songwriter who hopes to make it big one day. Right now though, she's jumping off the ladder and starting from scratch. It's a risky move, but I think it's a necessary one. Given her talent and ambition, I know that Desi will come out stronger than ever.

I met Desi at summer camp years ago. Even though we only spent one summer together, we kept in touch for a while after that. The summer camp thing was something our parents made us do and to be honest it wasn't really our thing so they didn't push us when we told them that there wasn't going to be a next summer. The experience wasn't terrible - I did make a friend after all - but summer camp and I just didn't click at all. Now that I think about it, it's kinda interesting that as an adult I'm running a camp right now - though this and summer camp are totally different.

Since Desi lived in the town nearby we often ran into each other. As we got older contact became sporadic but we occasionally said hi to each other when our paths crossed. Then as adults we regained contact on social media and have been keeping up with each other since then. Desi often posts covers and original songs, which is how she got her online following. She could've easily made it big if it weren't for certain people.

Desi's journey as a singer-songwriter is sure to become an interesting one. Ever since she could talk, Desi knew she wanted to be a singer. She always had a nice voice, one that became more refined as she got older. Talented songwriter too, with an honest and poetic way with words. And it's a damn shame that her talent has been consistently overshadowed and sidelined for white mediocrity.

Yup, I said it - mediocrity. No disrespect to Meghan Tyler and Too Cool - I mean I can see their commercial appeal, but for the most part, their music is bland and forgettable. Music tastes aside, it is pretty impressive that Desi was in the same circles as people like Meghan and Joe of the Shayne Brothers.

Desi first met the two at a camp for aspiring musicians, the well known Camp Music. She was one of many talented nobodies who wanted a glimpse at stardom. Meghan Tyler is the daughter of pop star Ann Tyler, and it was her who ran the camp, the typical queen bee. I happened to cross paths with Meghan and her friends online (unrelated reasons) and they always gave me a vibe of a high school clique. I interacted with her indirectly a couple times but then actively avoided her when her friends stirred up drama. It's one thing to vagueblog about an ex-friend who screwed you over, it's another to ruin someone's reputation by claiming that they faked their trauma just because you had a petty falling out with them.

Then there's Joe Shayne, best known as the lead singer for the Shayne Brothers. He was amazed by Desi's voice and took an interest in her. The two started off kinda rough with Joe pushing his boundaries and Desi rightfully calling him out on his entitled behavior. The whole thing was kinda like a Cinderella story with Joe trying to figure out who was the singer he overheard while passing by while Desi tried too hard to impress him after realizing who he was. By the end of the summer, they began dating, becoming regulars at Camp Music for the next several years.

Despite what the others were saying, Desi and Joe were going strong for eight years. Desi was associated with the Shayne Brothers, which was a blessing and a curse. As much as she liked Joe and his brothers, she didn't want to be known solely because of her connection to them. They were going to get engaged until last year when Desi broke things off. According to her, things had been kinda rough for a while but they tried - probably a bit too hard, in her words - to stay together. They're still friends but Desi thinks in a year or two they'll drift away, which I think is what she wants.

On one hand it's kinda sad since they've been together for so long. And from what I've heard about Joe, being with Desi helped him a lot as before he met her he was on his way to becoming a short tempered almost has-been. Basically, she made him shape up and consider his future seriously. But aside from their love of music, Desi and Joe were from completely different worlds. In the years since they got together, they've grown into two different people. The two have spoken openly about their breakup and it seems like it's for the best. Sometimes things just don't work out in the end and that's okay.

As for Meghan, Desi always had a complicated relationship with her. Being the fish out of water, Desi tried to impress Meghan, even if it meant dumbing down herself to please Meghan's ego. There was always some sort of competition between them with Desi constantly feeling like she has to prove herself. While Meghan did help Desi out with her connections and fame, Desi never felt she earned her recognition, another reason why she wanted to start from the ground up.

For years Desi was part of Meghan's band, Too Cool. While Desi occasionally had some solos that charted, she and the other members were always overshadowed by Meghan. She considers the whole experience a mixed bag, one that started out exciting but in the end the bad outweighed the good.

A few months ago, not too long after leaving Too Cool, Desi did an insightful interview for a magazine where she spoke honestly about her ups and downs with the band as well as her breakup with Joe. I always felt that she deserved better than Too Cool, especially after reading the interview. From being constantly referred to as "the Mexican one" even though she stated multiple times she's Cuban, to being told to sing slightly off key in order to make Meghan sound better - no wonder she wanted out. It's an eye opening read on the ugly side of the music industry, particularly on how WOC artists are treated.

Following her departure, another member and longtime friend of Meghan, Maria Silva, also left the band for similar reasons. She too had also spoken out about the racism she experienced, having been constantly referred to as "the Chinese one" despite being Filipino. I don't know Maria too well but she comes across as genuine and I wish her well on her solo endeavors.

Right now Desi's taking a break on music, though not entirely. She's been writing songs and making demos but it'll be a while before she releases something. For now Desi wants to celebrate her freedom, starting with a long, well deserved vacation. Then once she's had enough rest and relaxation, she plans to jump back into the music scene with a bang, this time on her own terms with her calling all the shots.

Desi's been teasing me and the campers with what she has in store. In light of the racism she experienced with Too Cool, Desi wants to embrace her Cuban culture more than ever, starting with the music. Mainstream pop radio hits aren't her thing anymore, so she's going for a new sound inspired by her Cuban roots along with her usual pop rock style she's got going on since she began writing songs. She's also considering the idea of doing an album in Spanish, though that'll depend on a lot of factors.

It's nice to see her so excited and passionate about her music - that's one of the things I love about her! Like I said, Desi's got talent and ambition, and I know that she'll successfully make a name for herself without Meghan or Joe's shadows. I mean, the demos I've heard already sound a million times better than pretty much everything Too Cool has done - imagine how the final product will be! Once the album comes out, I'll be one of the first in line to buy and download a copy.

We met up with Desi by chance at the hotel, her room being upstairs. She's been traveling around, crossing off places where she always wanted to visit. So far she's crossed off four places from her list. After Coral Beach she was debating on Hero's Tunnel and Swan Park since they're right next to each other. Since the camp's along the way, I invited her over and hopefully during her time there, she can make up her mind on where to visit first. I know she'll enjoy the camp, especially Saltwater Shores since she's a beach gal.

Coral Beach is such a beautiful place. One of the first things we did when we got there was to pose in front of the fountain and toss a bell in for a wish. Then we checked into the Coral Beach Hotel, where we got a lovely view of the ocean and fountain.

The architecture of the hotel is so pretty, it reminds me of an old village on a tropical island. Along the boardwalk are charming little shops and cafes where we got to enjoy shaved ice and fine handmade souvenirs. I got a set of cute floral teacups, a dot grid notebook with a pretty mosaic cover, a gorgeous seashell necklace, and a painted ukulele.

We went swimming and snorkeling in the ocean, where we got to see the pretty coral the place is known for. Nature can be so fascinating sometimes - the coral really does look like fancy lace! I also collected a bunch of pretty seashells like pearl oysters, which are pretty rare, as well as pink oyster shells and obsidian shells, something I've never seen before. Desi suggested that we go parasailing - her new favorite activity as of recently - so that's what we did and it was a lot of fun! We also went surfing, watched a performance at the theater, shared cocktails during happy hour, and explored the gardens.

Today we went to a mosaic workshop and made some cool decor. Then we went to a ceramics shop where we watched how bowls were made, which was pretty cool. After that we had a late lunch at Sash, where we had poke and butter mochi. Next door was a bookstore where we browsed for a while and then we spent a couple hours at the beach before heading to the hotel for dinner.

Since we aren't leaving until tomorrow afternoon, we had some time to kill so we spent it at the pool, lounging around. Desi says she's looking forward to seeing the camp and meeting up with Daisy Jane. It's so good seeing Desi relaxed and having a great time, especially after what she had to put up with during her time with Too Cool.

It's getting late now and I still have a little bit of packing left to do. The ocean's so pretty at this time of night, the way the light of the stars reflect on the water like sparkles. I can't wait to come back in the near future.

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

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ganymedesclock · 4 years

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Ghirahim and gendered expectations of sensuality

So, as people who’ve seen my previous Zelda posts might gather, I have a mixed relationship with Skyward Sword. On the one hand, I think many of its characters have tremendous potential. On the other, I feel like the game largely did not live up to that potential, and in some areas, it feels rather deliberate. But suffice to say, elements of Skyward Sword have meant that certain characters- Batreaux, Groose, Fi, and Ghirahim are not far from my mind.

A brief primer, for those who might be unfamiliar: Ghirahim is the main antagonist of Skyward Sword, and a bit of an aberration in the common Zelda formula, which tends to introduce a ‘decoy’ or “lieutenant” antagonist who dominates for most of the game and then bows out towards the end as the prelude to the true final boss- usually Ganondorf, in Skyward Sword’s case, it’s the demon god and a figure we are clearly supposed to scan as Ganondorf’s divine progenitor, Demise.

Ghirahim is quite openly a harbinger of, and servant to, Demise- where he breaks script is by being extremely proactive. We run into Ghirahim in most dungeons in the game, where he is not waiting idly for us, but doing actions that veteran Zelda players might recognize as comparable to Link’s: he breaks into dungeons either chasing Zelda, or chasing information that will allow him to proceed. We also have not one but three different fights with him, personally, and several other times he concedes that he doesn’t have time to play with Link and instead sics a boss monster on him.

The other thing about Ghirahim is, I will outright say it: He is written as a caricature of a predatory queer man.

He’s shown to be literally bloodthirsty, and presented by the narrative ostensibly as someone who has a sinister, perverse interest in both Link and Zelda, a contrast to their saintly, chaste union (which is supposed to read as a union; pursue a romantic sideplot with Peatrice, another girl in the game, and Fi will pretty much openly admonish you for cheating on Zelda, saying that Zelda wouldn’t be happy to know Link’s seeing someone and that Link should know that)

This is, really, a bit jarring, when Ghirahim’s actual dialogue suggests that he has very little interest in Link and views him much like a butler tending the master’s house while the latter is away might view a feral golden retriever that’s running loose in the place and getting mud on everything. His emotional range runs from warmly patronizing to exasperated to a truly dangerous degree (since, in this metaphor, the butler has also been tending the master’s house in near-total isolation for something like several centuries not having real conversations with the other servants and nobody’s at their psychological best in those situations even if they weren’t implicitly born and raised to murder).

Basically: that Ghirahim has no real interest in Link- not his body or appearance or anything. In his own dialogue, he seems confused by the idea that he’s at all interested, is apologetic that he’s wasting his time or dawdling and in his final scene, offers a genuinely flummoxed “you... who are you?” He offers colorful, violent threats, but when Link obstinately faces him again, he’s shown to be almost embarrassed and disgusted by them, and tries something else that almost no Zelda antagonist does: on multiple occasions, he tells Link to just walk away from the situation with what appears to be every intent of letting him go.

Ghirahim does not want Link for himself. He seems to, begrudgingly, against his own intentions, value Link as someone to fight against, but this connection does not actualize within the story- they are not really rivals. He isn’t even that deeply fond of the idea of Link’s blood, though he’s a proponent of blood as a vague concept.

Now, I like Ghirahim. I don’t think that even the read of Ghirahim as a queer man is a terrible one. But it definitely is interesting the lens in which Ghirahim’s implicit sensuality is cast. Basically, he is depicted as creeping on Link, without any real sense that he wants Link. Because it isn’t about what he wants- it’s about that implicitly he has a sexuality, and the idea of a man who might be attracted to other men is threatening, evil, and scary. Ghirahim wasn’t made queer-coded for representation’s sake. He was queer-coded to suggest he was depraved and motivated by a sinister lust. And the cruelty of this depiction is I think made immediately clear by- Ghirahim’s actual interests, passion, or preferences do not factor in here. That Scene Where Ghirahim Does The Tongue Thing is about how it is expected to make the player feel, and how implicitly Link feels.

What is Ghirahim’s type? Does he consider Demise beautiful? He makes it pretty clear he considers Link a brat. These are questions that aren’t asked, because it’s wrong that Ghirahim seems to have any sexuality at all- and, since Link is our lens and our guidepost for how we’re supposed to feel about characters, if Ghirahim behaves in a sensual manner it happens to Link, and to Zelda, invasively. Even though it is shown he feels no desire for any of these people, so that sensuality basically comes across like the game is firmly expecting us to find the idea of even an e-rated sensual male antagonist repulsive.

This led me down a very odd sort of rabbit trail.

Because Ghirahim- a bit indirectly- is inspired off a figure skater.

Specifically, Fi’s design was stated to evoke a figure skater, and we even see her ‘skating’ in several of the cutscenes. Ghirahim’s design matches Fi’s quite strongly; they were designed to be two of a kind.

I am not, myself, a figure skating buff, but a while ago, I happened across youtube videos of a skater named Johnny Weir.

Quickly, you can see the sword spirits’ inspirations; the close-fitting leotards, the lithe, acrobatic capabilities.

But here’s the thing about Johnny Weir: this is a guy putting on a sensual performance that is not a gross-out, a joke, or a threat. It’s basically impossible to find nothing suggestive in his choice of backup movement or the movements he makes running his hands along his body- his costume even asserts these more with the mirrored details on his gloves. This is a dude, acting in a way you could say is objectively sensual even if it may or may not stir every viewer given the individual nature of preference.

But there’s a world of difference to Weir’s performance. Not just that this is a voluntary choice made by a real person, while Ghirahim’s choices, even if they have in-game logic, are largely about Link and about the player- but Johnny Weir is having fun. He has a charming energy to him and is performing to a song he loves.

Watching Johnny Weir, it occurred to me, that regardless of Weir’s own orientation- that I do not know and will not speculate on- there’s a preconception around “being sexy”. Women are seen as supposed to be sexy (but, in many circles, not too sexy. Can’t insinuate they know what they’re doing, or have opinions and tastes...), or, more, “sexy is seen as a job that women do for men specifically.”

So, to homophobic audiences... a man deliberately enacting a sensual performance- a sense of what sensual looks like from a dude- is seen as weird, wild, and out there. If you’re not shocked by the implications that Ghirahim may be attracted to men, may be into Link, may be into the idea of torturing Link- then a certain amount of his writing kind of falls apart.

And comparing the way Ghirahim is animated and shot to Johnny Weir’s performance, it’s kind of... weak? Like, at one point in Weir’s routine, he lifts one leg and slides his fingertips down it in a smooth stroke from knee to thigh. It’s a steamy looking move, and this coming from someone who is so prodigiously ace I thought sexual attraction was made up for the first seventeen years of my life.

Ghirahim does not do that. He’s got thigh cutouts in his very close-fitting outfit, and has lines in his second fight about his body and how beautiful it is, but he does not make these movements that deliberately catch and draw the eye along the planes of him.

To me, I feel like besides this being a general affront against real queer people- the Zelda games have a concerning habit of depicting “eccentric, effeminate” men as either neutral characters or open villains and virtually always with this air of being the brunt of a joke (it’s very hard to imagine ALBW’s Yuga was designed by someone who earnestly loved this character)- it is also a bit rude to the character of Ghirahim himself.

Because Ghirahim, at the end of the day, is someone who ends the story heartbroken literally and figuratively. The entire game, he is driven by loyalty to Demise. He does not care who he hurts or threatens- and this comes back to the seeming implication that he is somewhat bloodthirsty, but vastly plays up his appetite for torture. When he thinks his goal is out of reach, he continues slogging away at it anyway, but listlessly. Everything he does, is for Demise. He is devoted enough to, late in the game, throw himself on Link’s sword for the third boss fight purely to stall for time until Demise revives.

Demise does not speak to Ghirahim, or acknowledge him, or even seemingly notice or care that by the time he comes back, Ghirahim’s metal heart has been torn open by being repeatedly stabbed by Link. (third boss fight is not kind.) Instead, he rips Ghirahim’s sword form out of his chest.

Ghirahim is a danger to Link, Impa, and Zelda, because he attacks them, and his own subordinates, because he threatens them. But to his master, he’s just a disposable pawn. This is a character driven by passion such that many of his poses and scenes show him nearly breaking into an actor’s soliloquy as he explains something to Link- and this is one way he does seem to like having Link around: he craves an audience.

And his passion is, in two ways, depicted as completely futile. First, in the dubious amount of oo scary gay man, watch out Link, he’s doing something weird with his tongue- and second and far more seriously, that everything he works for leaves him with nothing because his life never mattered for a second in the eyes of the person he lives and dies for.

Ghirahim is made a sensual character, but in a manner that feels bad faith- that feels like it has not thought about male sensuality in any direction besides “that’s wrong and icky, so we’ll attach it to our villain, who we want to be wrong and icky, and absolutely not suggest there’s anything particularly sad about what happens to him. His fault for being wrong and icky.”

#Legend of Zelda #Ghirahim #homophobia discussion #readmore

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zekejeagrs · 3 years

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Hi friend! This is mha-adore; I'm on my main blog because my mha blog is a side blog and I can't send a question from that blog. Just to prove it's me - you came to me asking about a matchup exchange and I asked you to explain what it is and I agreed, and the day after I wrote my side matching you with Shoto, and in our personal messages your recent message is, "I'm so excited to do your matchup!" something to that idea. I hope that's enough to prove it's me.

I'm asking for a matchup with mha please.

I'm a quiet and well mannered person who strives to appeal to everyone I meet. I happen to have a personality disorder and as such, some people get a different idea of who I am. I consider myself friendly but emotionally distant, a friend of mine has accused me of not caring at all because I'm naturally a distant person. I'm mostly very respectful and try to avoid any conflict or fights, but the moment someone insults or fights a friend of mine or my partner I drop my friendly exterior and hone in on the person, insulting them, spilling any tea I know about them, I say whatever comes to mind that I know will make them feel terrible, and I end it by stomping on their foot. With close friends or my partner I'm more talkative - not loud or boisterous, just more talkative. I insert my opinions more, I hold a conversation and I openly give my thoughts about different topics without worrying that I'll upset them.

I'm a trans male who uses he/him and they/them pronouns; I'm pansexual. I'm 19 and a Leo sun, Aquarius moon, Virgo rising. The only characters I don't feel comfortable being matched with are Endeavor, Dabi and All Might.

My hobbies involve drawing (I'm working on a comic), I love to play both Pokemon and Animal Crossing, I enjoy writing fan fiction, studying and playing card games. (Like Old Maid, Go Fish, Crazy 8s, Blackjack, Solitaire, you get the idea.)

My love language is to show my love in subtle ways. Cooking someone a meal they love without being asked to, spending time with them doing whatever they want, giving them hand made gifts and giving them cute pet names like love bug, sweetheart, sweet tea (a different way of saying sweetie). I offer genuine advice to them, even if I know it'll hurt or upset them. I want the best for my partner, even if it means taking the path of most resistance. I want someone who can aim an arrow into my heart. I look for someone who shares my taste in music and who will listen to music we both enjoy together. I like the area of Melanie Martinez, Billie Eilish, Ricky Montgomery, lofi beats and some of the older country music, like from the 80s and 90s. Generic, I know.

As for anything specific, perhaps my matchup's opinion on having children? I'd really like to have a child someday.

Thank you again so much for the matchup exchange offer, it's very kind of you 💗

— matchup exchange

ty sm again for doing this exchange with me! you seem so nice i’m v down to be mutuals/friends with you (only if you want ofc)! also, what would your quirk be? i’m v interested in what it would be since i mentioned what mine would be on my submission to you. i hope you enjoy your match!

i match you with...

fatgum

| hi yes i matched you with a human marshmallow. one of the reasons why i matched you with taishiro is because of the difference in your personalities and the way he would work well with your personality because of how much he cares. the way you’d meet him would probably be by working at his office. he’d find you to be so sweet that he wants to get to know you better. he actually doesn’t mind how proper and emotionally distant you are because he understands that everyone is different and present themselves differently.

| you’d take some time to open up to him and become friends but he’s completely fine with that! he understands reserved people because of tamaki & only wants you to feel comfortable around him. because of that,,, taishiro definitely always starts the conversations. “how’s your day?” “what did you do over the weekend?” “what did you think of that movie?” once you become more talkative with him and have your conversations, he’d be so happy because he sees it as a new level of friendship.

| that’s when he starts realizing he actually has a crush on you. he’d confess at the end of a long work day and explain that he’d like to be your partner,, “i really enjoy your company and i want to be your partner for a long time- oh i just realized what i said, only if you also want to be my partner- or i mean would like to give me a chance to prove myself-“ idk how he managed to get himself out of that one but it would end with you accepting to have dinner at his house.

| like i’ve said before, taishiro doesn’t mind that you’re emotionally distant. he knows you care and just show it differently than others. the first time he saw you angry at someone he was very scared & shocked because he’s never seen you that way before. he just stood behind you as you absolutely slaughtered the person you were angry at and watched with wide eyes before trying to diffuse the situation. he asked if you were okay and that it wasn’t a big deal that that person was insulting him but he expressed how grateful he was for you standing up for him. he never wants to see you like that again but he’s glad he got to see every part you.

| HE IS VERY RESPECTFUL ABOUT PRONOUNS!! that was probably the first thing he asked you! “oh! he/him and they/them? i go by he/him too!” he’d even write it down to remember because he doesn’t want to make any mistakes or offend anyone.

| taishiro would be so supportive of your comic! he’d check up on you when you’re working on it and bring you cut fruit and water. he’d genuinely be so interested in your drawings and writings— he’s not artistic so seeing it come so easily to someone would be so cool to him. he’d only read and look at what you’re comfortable with sharing though! if you ever ask for any creative help, he’d be 100% down to help you. he comes up with the coolest ideas too and you wonder why he says he’s not artistic.

| on his days off you guys either stay indoors and play animal crossing or walk around and collect pokémon. his island would be so messy so he’d always try to copy your island. island visits & he always leave you gifts. he’d have so many pokémon because he plays when he’s on parole (oops!). he’d jokingly brag about it to you and would offer to take you with him next time but he doesn’t want you to get hurt. he seems like the type to be secretly very good at card games?? he’d just surprise you with how good and competitive he is when you play together and with other people.

| taishiro listens to old country music. he knows every lyric to every dolly parton song and sings when he thinks he’s alone. you’d have to introduce him to your other favorite artists & he’d absolutely love their songs! ricky montgomery makes him cry a little but he’s fine! he swears! even though there’s tears rolling down face!

| PLEASE COOK HIM FOOD! the first time you cook him food to show your love he just blushes and smiles the whole time. he can’t. HE CAN’T! HE JUST LOVES YOU SO MUCH ALREADY HOW IS IT POSSIBLE FOR HIM TO LOVE YOU EVEN MORE??? every other food is ruined for him after you cook for him because your cooking is the absolute best to him.

| he’d love the small gifts you give him, he’d treasure every single one of them and display them around the house. sweet tea would be a perfect pet name for him- he loves it so much. he’d call you love bug in return and cook you dinner and give you small gifts. he’s definitely an acts of service and quality time guy. just being in the same room as you doing separate work is good enough for him. your presence just soothes him and he has a blast!

| taishiro values your opinions very much. he always tries to be the best partner for you and listen to you because you have so much insight. he also trusts you so much and knows you mean well when giving him advice. he just loves you so much, he doesn’t want to disappoint!

his opinion on having children

| he basically already adopted tamaki & kirishima, of course he wants kids!

| you’d have to be the one to bring it up because he doesn’t want to seem like he’s forcing you into anything.

| he’s so relieved once you do bring it up though! “yes! i want to have a family with you!”

| it doesn’t matter if you have them biologically, adopt, or have a surrogate— he loves his child so much and cried because he was so overwhelmed with love and finally being a dad.

| he’d be the best dad! (although a bit clueless) he wouldn’t imagine having a family with anyone other than you. you’re just perfect for him.

| he’d also ask if you could adopt a dog

| he is so protective over his family too. if anything were to happen to either of you, he would be so upset because you’re his life.

| overall, taishiro would try to give you and the child the best life!

i hope you enjoyed! pls lmk if anything is inaccurate or if you want me to make it longer.

@mha-adore @space-cowbop

#iidastiddiesmatchups #iidastiddieshcs #mha matchup #bnha matchup #mha #bnha #fatgum #taishiro toyomitsu #fatgum headcanons #bnha taishiro

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cwof · 3 years

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(also on ao3)

***

i heard Apollo sing—

you are walking through an olive glen, when you hear a rich voice carrying on the wind, in words you don’t necessarily understand. it is dark and twilit, and you are alone in the glade, but only minutes from your village. you walk through this glade every night, because you like to watch the branches of the leaves blowing in the wind, because you like the feel of the cool crisp air on your skin as a respite from the day’s long hot swelter. you could walk the opposite way, to get a kiss of the sea breeze instead, but you’ve always liked the trees better than the waves in the port. the port has its own charms, with merchants unloading their wares at all hours of the day, but it is the ever presence of men there that dissuades you. here you can find blessed solitude, can revel in the beauty of nature around you, like Bacchus – but your solitude is disrupted now.

the voice is rich and deep, and though it sounds far away, somehow it feels impossibly close, winding around you and blotting out the setting sun, so heavy in the air you can almost see it on the wind, can taste it on your tongue, feel it between your eyes, in your lungs, smell it like a heady flower in your nose. it is a song unlike any you have ever heard before – none of the cheerful skips of a folk song, yet without any of the droning of a ballad. it meanders from note to note, in no particular rush, yet each tone is so perfectly robust and full it brings tears to your eyes. it spools out as if it proclaiming great truths, yet retracts as if it is confessing intimate secrets. though there is little repetition, it never becomes bothersome or tedious – each new piece of it remains novel and enticing.

you realize you are no longer walking through the glades, but standing stock still, only listening now. It shifts with each moment, always becoming something new. you wish you could only understand the words, because the emotions the voice carries and conveys are moving you to tears. you cry silently, but go on listening as the song winds through emotion after emotion, story after story, from low places to high, conveying ancient forgotten places and distant impossible futures, all at once. it so completely fills your mind you feel as if you are standing inside a rainbow, the quiet beauty of your favorite glade forgotten, paling in comparison to this strange song that goes on and on and seems to unspool you as it goes.

you think all music must be ruined for you after this. it is something beyond music, what you are hearing – something a human could never create. Joyful and proud, boisterous and determined – but with soft edges that pull back. you understand – you’ve caught a god singing. and if this god, if he goes on singing for the entire span of your life, you will have no hope of escape – you will have to stand exactly here, listening exactly as you are until the moment you die – and you will waste away like Narcissus, caught in this beguiling song, and die much younger than you otherwise would have. and if the men come to harvest the olives from the trees, they will be caught too – and if their families, and the other village people come looking for them, they also will be snared. hundreds, thousands of people – the entire nation of Greece, the whole empire, as many as can fit in this glade could be standing around here listening, and you would barely notice them. the nation, the empire could die here, trapped in this song and unable to escape – and as far as you are concerned, it would be worth it. this song is worth all those deaths, worth complete eradication and disappearance from the face of the earth, and even knowing it would be the case, you would still stand here and listen.

you have never been particularly religious. but this song is enough to make a convert of you, enough to amaze and dazzle you. it is like staring openly into the mind of the god, like receiving the smallest glimpse of understanding into a god’s perspective, and it is great and terrible, majestic and heartbreaking, and you think it has been enough to break you. your mundane life will seem even smaller now, even more insignificant. the days will be even longer, even more interminable. you already know you will never hear this song again.

for you weren’t meant to find it in the first place. gods move about as they will, and there are many beautiful empty places, far from villages and their citizens where a god might find blessed solitude to sing his heart on the wind this way. it is only sheer luck, only the lightest intervention of the fates that has made it so he happened to choose what you have come to think of as your glade on this one evening, this one eternity, this one eon. he did not know you would come, even now probably does not know you are here, listening. he will not become attached to this glade as you did – he will choose the millions of other places on this wide earth, places deeply, troubling beautiful that no human eye will ever see – places you now think he must have been singing about in this song, in the more beautiful parts. that he may be singing about now.

for one night, he chose a mundane glen of olive trees out of the whole world. He will never choose it again. you know now that not only are you ruined by the terrible beauty of this song, but the glade is ruined too. you will continue to walk here in the long nights of your life – but you will always hear the whisper of a memory behind you as you go, and each moment will be pregnant with the desperate hope that you were wrong, that he will grace the same glade a second time, that the first notes of his song are only a breath away. and your ears will ache from straining to hear the music that will never come, and you will walk home, not restored as the glade once made you, but depleted by despair at what you have lost – a treasure you never should have been given to begin with.

you will begin going to his temple. you know it. you will give meager offerings as you can in Apollo’s name. you will look upon his statue and imagine it is singing to you. you almost wish you could see him, but it is a foolish wish you know. his song has so devastated you – to behold him would be even more terrible.

you will haunt his temple as his song will haunt you. you will wander it, hoping at every turn to hear his music there, but you will not. you know he has never sang like this in any of his temples – if he had, they would be perpetually overflowing, with lines streaming down their steps. you will even become so desperate that you consider joining his order – and eventually, give in. you will rise through the ranks, always imagining that at the next level of devotion, finally you will reach the level who is blessed to commune with him personally, blessed to hear this song again. but you won’t.

for the rest of your life you know you will try to find the song again, through any means – returning to this glade, night by night, travelling to distant spaces and searching out the most remote locations, unintended for human eyes, in the hopes of catching him there, will settle and become one of his monks and rise to the level of high priest, will consort with conjurors and charlatans, praying that somewhere there is a charm that works which will put you before him so you could only hear his song one last time.

you know, as the song is dying on the breeze and Apollo is departing unseen, that this will be your life. you will search for him all your days in desperation, you will try all you have thought of and more, at any cost, and you already know you will never find it again. you will do all you have planned, knowing all plans will already fail, and you know you will pray every night, and all prayers will be unanswered, but still. You will do it all anyway.

you will do it all anyway for the delusional hope that you are wrong. you will bring yourself into alignment, into true expression of the ruin you have already become, and you know you will only face failure in all you try.

but you will do it all anyway, with his song in your heart.

***

(if you like god/human as a trope, consider checking out my novel. it's basically this, but more. see for yourself in this excerpt.)

#prose poem #prose poetry #second person pov #prose #greek mythology #apollo #my poetry #one-sided #god x human #god/human #poetry #poem #original poetry #greek gods #greek god

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brightsun-and-darkmidnight · 4 years

Text

Changes to Find the Middle

TITLE: Changes to Find the Middle

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Oneshot

AUTHOR: brightsun-and-darkmidnight

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki helping you through a new medication regimen.

Image meeting Loki at the really "good/high" end of a mental illness (like bipolar).

RATING: Teen

NOTES/WARNINGS: Mental health. Bipolar disorder. Manic to depression. Sexual relationship. Mentions of sex but no explicit content. Character not being herself.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Please be careful and take care of yourself. This might be a little triggering due to what I know of Bipolar disorder. Extreme highs (hypomania) and extreme lows (depression) are shown in this but thankfully this has a happy ending I wish everyone could experience in real life. Mental health is so important and People who have mental health issues often can not control themselves due to a chemical imbalance or traumatic experience in their life. Their behavior is often NOT their fault. Seek professional help if needed.

Song Muses: (Addicted by Saving Able) (You don't know by Katelyn Tarver) (Rescue Me by Onerepublic) (Inner demons by Julia Brennan) (Paralyzed by NF)

My Ao3: brightsun_and_darkmidnight

LENGTH: 2,413

*FINALLY..Read the warnings. Once you agree you can handle it...

~ ~ ENJOY ~ ~

"How has your energy been? You look good."

I sat down enthusiastically in front of the doctor's desk, "really good! I have the energy to catch up with things now that a couldn't even think about doing a few months ago."

"That's very good. Are you hanging out with your friends again? I remember our last visit you said you missed them."

"Yeah I took your advice and told them. Only two of my friends are close now but they took me out of my house occasionally and I am feeling more confident with myself because of them."

"I am happy to hear that." The doctor smiled at me.

I talked really fast because my doctor needed to hear more, "Their friends got me into one of Stark's parties and it was… amazing. I met this new guy actually."

"You guys do anything fun?"

"We met at the party and things really sparked. Like REALLY sparked and we see eachother everyday." I did not leave the suggestive tone out of my voice.

"That's good. Go on dates?"

Excitement lit in me at the thought of all the amazing sex we had… but other than the few drinks he bought me and the takeout dinner…

The doctor glanced at me, their look shifted… something shifted and I already knew what was wrong.

"Umm… well.." I rubbed my thigh out of nerves just THINKING about it. Just the thought of the gynecology appointment for STI testing I should get done. I cleared my throat as I awkwardly answered, "there's more… action going on than casual conversations."

My face flushed with heat when they asked,

"You mean sexual intercourse?"

I nodded my head.

I knew. Everyone that actually knew "normal" me… All of us KNEW I never have sex with anyone until a month a serious dating, at least. The type of dating where discussions were deeper things than food, half watched movies, and how our outward appearances looked naked. I never sexted when I couldn't actually meet the other.

The doctor carefully asked the famous question, "Have you used protection?"

I tried to laugh but it came out broken. "No. Once again I felt invincible, overconfident, and had the sex drive of a rabbit."

The doctor started to discuss my sleep that was nonexistent. Then the amount of food consumption that was high and all I have been eating was cheap takeout. I haven't been eating like my usual self who tried to keep eating healthy. Even through depression I ate frozen fruit. It was on my list every time when I absolutely had to drag myself to the store to get necessities. I explained how I have been the person who, "helps everyone out with extreme unrealistic enthusiasm" as I always said to be annoying during my normal window of mind set.

I went to the store to pick up my prescription for a mood stabilizer. I went home and as much as I REALLY wanted to answer the phone when seeing Loki's name. I just didn't. I forced the thought from my mind of...a really pleasure filled night. My body filled with the desire to be touched by another's body.

The phone stopped ringing and so did my sinful thoughts.

As usual there was no voicemail.

In normal circumstances there should have been one, with a declaration of loving longing or a stupid question in a way to just get me to get back in contact.

I stared at my phone. My mind was at war and the part fueled by my bodily behavior was winning. It became a game in my head that was unfavorably tipped towards my body's desire. He texted me if he could come to my place and the game was over. I hid the medication in the cupboard after taking my first dose.

I woke in an odd way… something was different.

I groaned as I moved and felt the bed still warm under my body. I opened my eyes as I inhaled at a similar scent. I was unsure if I was glad he was gone or upset he seemed to have just left. He usually stayed till I woke. I felt the sensation between my legs and knew I needed to make a gynecologist appointment before I had to go to work, praying I could get in after my shift tomorrow.

I made the appointment but it was not for a few days and Loki kept in contact. However I worked on letting him go slowly with not responding immediately and was to the point of making sure not to respond to him unless there were so many number of attempts to contact me.

I stared at my phone as a new text message appeared.

Loki asked a simple question, "Are you ok?"

I laughed and laughed till I could no longer bare to do it.

It WAS a simple question but no one ever wanted the real answer. No one wanted the burdens of another placed on their shoulders from SMALL talk. The truth was deeper and more time consuming than anyone could predict. So I sent the simple one worded lie and left my phone alone again, but silenced it.

It was a while before I checked my phone due to falling asleep to the discovery channel.

I was fully prepared for no new notifications.

I was surprised to see 2 new messages.

I wanted to throw the phone before I looked but the idea was squashed by excitement and curiosity.

Both of the messages from Loki.

"Do you want to meet up?"

Hour after the last message, "talk tomorrow. Goodnight."

I didn't answer back because my stomach tightened in an odd way. I was used to feeling good about a God wanting me but now...

I used positive self talk to encourage myself to not give in on my final day before my tests but that coping skill is easily the hardest to master. I found myself open the chat with him, start to type something arousing and had to delete it. I was pissing myself off. I hated the stage between "normal me" and "ill me" because my mind was constantly at war.

I decided to ultimately block Loki's number in an attempt to stop contact.

My test results came back that I was still healthy and relief washed over me..

Eventually those supposed friends stopped talking to me as they usually did because I was not "fun" anymore.

I was becoming my "normal" self again, thus putting in the efforts of a healthy schedule again.

However, the loneliness from staying in by myself. Not having anyone to talk to. Ofcourse, I had my coworkers that have always openly laughed at poor tastes of mental health jokes. I was losing interest in everything because, "why should I care" and "what's the point?"

I had to look presentable for work so while I was "public eye" ready, I did my shopping then. By the time I got home on the days of the extremely scarce necessity shopping, I was exhausted but my body was wide awake. I would toss and turn trying to sleep but it would not welcome me.

Then other times, I put the cold stuff away and went straight to bed without getting anything to consume. I would often cry myself to sleep, then wake too tired to do anything.

On days off I would lay in bed and do nothing until the desire to use the toilet became too strong.

I would weep and mourn my favorite past times. Not actually my interests and hobbies but how much I could not will myself to just do them. I left the discovery channel play on the TV just for the sake of something familiar. When a little fact I knew would be mentioned it was like a smoldering campfire was stirred.

A little life breathed into me from time to time and due to the doctor's recommendation, I got back into therapy again. It helped but the talks were hard and seemed to weigh heavily on me more once I was home. There are skills I should be using and strategic tips to get things done. However, sometimes I just could not pull the will into my grasp to participate in the knowledge of a healthy lifestyle.

My phone rang with an unknown number. I answered it due to expecting a response from my doctor.

"How have you been?"

I knew that voice… but I could not pinpoint it.

I answered, "I'm ok. But who is this?"

"Loki."

"Oh…" I scrambled for words but nothing came. How was I supposed to explain this to him, my current state in everything and the fact I blocked his number?

"Are you home?"

"I was just about to leave." It was a lie.

A damn terrible lie. I had no plans of removing myself from my couch. It had everything I needed in arms reach because it was essentially my comfort fort now.

The doorbell rang and I was extremely tempted to act like I was not home but the person on the other end of the phone knew.

I sighed with dread ringing in my chest much like the damned sound of company at my door insistent on not giving up.

I opened the door slightly to see Loki standing there.

His eyes met mine.

"You do not seem ok." Echoed from my phone before he ended the call.

I looked past Loki because while it might have once been excitement, I felt anything but that currently.

I tried to push my words out louder than a whisper, "What are you doing here?"

"I have been trying to contact you.. more regularly as of recently."

"I have no intention of being a booty call anymore."

His eyebrows scrunched and he blinked.

I went to shut the door as I said, "goodbye Loki."

Loki's hand shot out and kept the door opened. "You were never."

I huffed in annoyance as hope rose slightly in my chest. Then the doubts from depression took that hope and buried it 20 feet further than before. Tears pricked my eyes after the past hour of seeming to be gone and dried.

Loki's face was of concern when he asked, "may I come in?"

My face felt like it contorted into pure agony as I tried to hide the sob erupting from my aching heart. I tried to swallow the huge lump in my throat but it caused further pain. Then finally from the pain that emitted from deep within me, the tears fell.

I was in the hurricane of emotion from having a visitor.

Joy from not being alone then, to the horror of having to explain.

There was too much to explain... My reason for treating him so vastly different since we met. My emotional state. All my emotions. My appearance of myself and my house. The medication on the counter that had purpose. My illness and why once again I was crying harder. Trying to explain what was WRONG with me and why I needed the medication.

Loki sat beside me at the messy and cluttered kitchen table.

"What do you mean you were 'too good' at the time we met?"

I sniffed but still had to wipe my nose. "It's a symptom of bipolar disorder. I can literally feel too good at some points of my life. I had unbelievable amounts of confidence and optimism. It's called hypomania. That's not who I am. I am much-MUCH more responsible than getting drunk and having unprotected sexual intercourse with someone I know nothing about on an intellectual level."

I watched Loki's tongue swipe his lips as they pressed together and eyebrows scrunched again in thought.

Finally he spoke, "Your vast knowledgeable facts from our FIRST conversation have been playing on that TV throughout our conversation. I can see several things that show your bright mind. The very mind I fell for."

My eyes glanced at him once again. "My knowledge does not change. Just the optimism, focus, and desire for it."

Things seemed to be clicking in Loki's mind. He looked at the medications once again and did not take his eyes off of them. "If you continue your treatment, you will be what you deem normal?"

A small smile pulled my lips as a puff of air escaped from my amusement. "Yes. What I deem as normal. Not anyone else meaning I will be back to my healthy self... If I could remember to take my medicine."

"I am going to help you because I want to see the happy medium that you keep mentioning. It seems that I have seen you at all of your worst moments." He gave me a side glance with a smile pulling at his lips, "I assume there is something I must like out of your normal."

I began to smile but a frown quickly placed it. "There is no telling when I will be normal again."

Gold shimmered over my medication.

"Perhaps now it will become easier to stay on your medication regimen."

I grabbed a bottle and examined it once there was no longer gold around it. "What did you do?"

"I will know where these containers are and be able to move them. I will also know when you open them." He got the spare phone out of his pocket, "should I not be able to contact you again through phone, I will simply move these containers to you."

I felt a little happier as I teased, "I guess simply blocking your number is not going to work anymore?"

Loki smiled, "There are plenty of other numbers I could use."

Loki did help me. There had to be a little adjustment to his plan of keeping track of my medicine. He bought a specific little container made for sorting pills into daily doses. He would help me fill the daily spots for medication and he put another enchantment on that one as well.

Everyday he would come to my place and help with things that needed to be done. He would compliment me when I needed it. He would hold me when medication would make me drowsy. He would urge me to eat when I did not want to. He helped me make healthier choices when I wanted to devour the whole house.

He actually took me to nice restaurants when I felt decent enough to get out.

He would always know everything about my medication and with him being able to literally hold it in my face at any point in the day… well there was no longer the option to forget.

Loki was the constant supply of water to my thirst for knowledge. Due to that type of relationship we really connected. Like really connected. We talked about everything to varying levels of importance and on both ends were voicemails with ridiculous ways to entice the other to call back.

Sometimes I would purposely ignore his calls just to see what the next stupid thing would be left in my mailbox… I listened to the recent one just left on my phone a minute ago.

"I know your games by now, so call me back. ...My declarations of love can wait until you tell me what sweet thing I am craving. I am at the store, so do hurry up before I decide to buy 5 of everything in the candy isle." There was a faint sound of the typical background noise in a store. "Please hurry… I fear I am going to need a bigger cart."

#changes to find the middle #brightsun-and-darkmidnight #oneshot #loki

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crowkingwrites · 5 years

Text

I Don’t Need Your Protection

Pairing: Loki x Reader // Words: 1673 // Ao3 Link

Author’s Notes: Sorry for not posting on time. :( This story also contains spoilers for Avengers Endgame. This is also a EVERYBODY LIVES AU.

“Will you stop biting your nails? That’s not good for you,” Dr. Stephen Strange said to you. You took your nails out of your mouth and buried your hands in your sleeves.

“Sorry, Dad,” you sheepishly said as both of you exited out of the elevator on the Avengers Compound. You had just been accepted officially as an Avenger and were now meeting your father’s new apprentice. After everything the Avengers had been through, the new goal was only to protect the planet from global attacks.

You were incredibly talented at your own magic because of your father, but you also show something your father doesn’t have—psychic sight. Of course, your father had it too, but he conjured it. Your came naturally to you. You could hear many thoughts all at once or one at a time.

Tony Stark and Steve Rogers were more than happy to let you in on the team.

“I let the sixteen-year old kid join,” Tony laughed, shaking your hand. “What’s another kid?”

“Actually, I’m not a kid, I’m—

You were interrupted by your father who tapped your shoulder. Once you turned, you were faced with your father’s new apprentice. He was very tall. Very tall. His hair was long and dark. He had nice eyes. And oh my god? Was this man so handsome that you couldn’t form more eloquent thoughts? He had nice eyes? Are you fucking kidding?

You bit your lip. If your thoughts were this dumb, there’s no way you would be talking.

“Y/N, this is Loki,” your father said. “He’s my new apprentice. He will be living with us as well.” You held your breath. No. No, no, no, no, no. Your father never mentioned that. He didn’t say those words in that order. No, you must have misheard him.

Loki smiled down at you, taking your hand and putting his hand over yours. “I’ve heard incredible things about you. I hear you’re very talented at reading minds.”

You nodded, still keeping your mouth shut.

“May I test it? To see for myself?” Loki let go of you. He straightened his back and kept his eyes locked on yours. “Go ahead. Read my mind.”

You looked to your father who nodded back at Loki. “Go on. Show him.”

You closed your eyes and focused your energy on Loki. You would think the God of Mischief would have a mental block of sorts, but you reached his mind in seconds. His thoughts spoke only to you.

“Well, well, well, aren’t you a clever, sweet thing? Color me impressed, darling. Can your father hear us?” Loki thought. You shook your head. Loki laughed out loud and continued. “Well, then. Consider this our little secret, hm? I wouldn’t want your father knowing how pretty I think you are.”

You felt your stomach dropping and forced a smile.

“I believe, I’ve proved it,” you said to your father.

“She did!” Loki clapped his hands and laughed. “Your daughter is incredibly talented. Perhaps I’ll have two teachers in magic.”

“Soon,” Stephen said guiding the group of you towards a car waiting outside. “She’s not ready to teach just yet.”

Once Loki had the ropes of being Doctor Strange’s apprentice, his attention moved back to you. He often let you wander his mind openly to make his intentions clear.

“You look so lovely this morning.”

“Does your father lecture you this much?”

“If you can hear me, tap your fingers.”

“I read something that reminded me of you. I left it under your door.”

“If you’re wondering, yes I was looking at you like that.”

“Why does your father have horrible taste in movies?”

“As terrible as this film is, it lets my mind wander to more important things. Like the way you laugh at the terrible humor. I love your laugh.”

“Can you hum your favorite song? It’s very calming when you do that.”

“Are you alright? You haven’t said a word all day.”

“I know your father is yelling at me right now, but I don’t care. Let me take the blame.”

“After your father lectures me for the billionth time, could you take me to get this ice cream you keep telling me about?”

“I told you to bring a jacket with you, but you refused. Is that because you wanted my jacket? You clever girl.”

It wasn’t until you and Loki were sent out on an overnight mission that something happened. Of course, your father trusted both of you to gather information in New Asgard about new magic. It was much colder there than it was back in New York. You felt yourself freezing as soon as you stepped foot inside New Asgard.

“Come here,” Loki chuckled to himself. He lounged on the bed inside the guest home of one of Loki’s friends. You stood over the modest stove and tried to warm up.

“I’m fine,” you knew what he was suggesting. You suspected your rising embarrassment would warm you up soon.

“Come here,” he repeated. “I don’t bite unless you like it.”’

“Loki! Someone could hear us!”

“Your father’s not around, so who cares?” Loki smirked and closed in the space between you. “As far as I’m concerned we’re alone.” Safe to say, that night was filled with more body heat than you could ever imagine.

Loki and you tried to keep your relationship a secret, but you were quickly discovered when your father caught you both kissing in secret. He was less than enthused. You had always been his little girl, and to see you with a god made his skin crawl.

“He’s a God, not a man,” he complained to Thor. “I want him gone.”

“He’s harmless,” Thor assured him. “He has nothing but the best intentions for Y/N. Tis, I swear to—

“He uses magic to transport them to exotic places to do whatever couples—I don’t wanna think about it.”

“Loki cares for her. And she is old enough, maybe it’s time to let ‘your little girl’ go?” Thor suggested. Stephen Strange sent Thor into a void for a half hour to think about what he just said. Loki had spoiled you rotten by using magic for everything. Taking you to beautiful places around the world, making clothes that match his, sneaking into your room regardless what cock-blocking spell Stephen put on your door.

Tensions were higher than ever when Stephen found you sleeping in Loki’s arms. You woke up with a grip on your arm.

“Get off of her,” your father growled.

“I’m not doing anything to her. I was only stroking her hair. She needs to sleep,” Loki argued, keeping a hold on you. You opened your mouth to defend yourself until all three of you heard an urgent call from Jarvis.

There was a mission.

All three of you had been quiet the entire time. Every time Loki tried to hold your hand, Stephen would push him away with his magic. You only sat there, trying to deal with the mission at hand. Everyone had been called in because of a breach with SHIELD. Hydra agents were scattered in Russia trying to take the Tony’s new technology.

You dropped in first, letting your anger out by using magic to throw their bodies around. You hated all of this. You didn’t become an Avenger to be daddy’s little girl, and you certainly didn’t become an Avenger to meet boys either. You were gearing up for another hit until you felt a warm bubble form around you.

The bubble carried you behind your father who was attacking the men you planned to hurt. You started to yell at your father until the bubble moved again. This time it moved behind Loki who put a chain around the bubble to keep you near him. You watched your father retaliate by breaking the chain and having the bubble float near to him. Your body kept falling inside the bubble because both alpha males couldn’t focus on the fight in front of them.

You cursed to yourself and felt the angry energy surge inside of you. When the bubble burst, your body floated in the air. A singular, high-pitched noise rang throughout the Russian forest. All Hydra agents fell to their knees, weakened by the noise. Their ears started to bleed and most of them fell into the snow, unconscious.

When you descended to the ground, both Stephen and Loki immediately ran up to you only to be met with your wrath. You pushed their bodies away with an invisible force sending their bodies into deep snow.

The flight back on the jet was very peaceful and quiet for you. You had isolated yourself in a private room the entire time.

A week later after a peaceful solitude in the Sanctum, both men came to you slowly.

“After discussing somethings, we have realized a few things and we want to apologize,” Stephen said. Loki approached you with his hands up.

“I’m listening,” you said with venom in your mouth as you used a spoon to stir your tea.

“You’re grown up now. You’re mature enough to be with who you want to be with,” Stephen said, side-eying Loki. “And as long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“Good. You?”

“You do not need my protection,” Loki admitted. “I am not your knight in shining armor. I apologize for forcing my help onto you.”

“And?” you narrowed your eyes.

“We will get along from now on,” Stephen said for both of them. Loki nodded, slowly lowering his hands. You jumped off your seat with your tea and opened a portal filled with fire, pain, and a darkness that Stephen couldn’t identify.

“The next time any of you get the idea that I’m your princess who needs your help, remember I can throw you in here anytime for as long as I want. Understand?”

That was the moment Doctor Strange realized how powerful his daughter truly was.

That was also the moment Loki fell in love with you. How deliciously dangerous you were indeed.

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in-arlathan · 4 years

Text

The Scar

Time period: Elvhenan Characters: Solas, Mythal, Elvhen OC Chapters: 1/1, Length: 2,620 words Rating: Mature Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Summary: Driven by the desire the become one of the Evanuris, an elvhen mage summons a spirit of wisdom and tricks it into taking on a physical body to impress the all-mighty Mythal. Disgusted by what the mage had done, the All-Mother sides with the former spirit and helps him to free himself from his mistress's bindings, owning the name the mage has given to him: Solas.

A/N: This is an updated version of the fanfic I posted over @old-arlathan. Now with 50% less typos and more accurate terminology for the Elvhenan timeline. ;)

You can read this on AO3, too.

______

“He did not want a body. But she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face.”

– Cole

Her blood pooled around his feet, thick and dark as the night. He shuddered and stepped back, away from the dead woman who’s blood he’d spilled across the ancient marble floor. Her arms and legs lay twisted as if they belonged to a puppet rather than a living being. He dropped his hands and the spell faded away, leaving nothing behind but a gaping hole in his heart.

His mistress was dead and he had killed her.

“Well, that is that, I presume,” Mythal mused.

Sitting on her golden throne, the All-Mother had watched the fight in absolute silence. If she felt disgust or horror upon the murder, he could not tell. Her face was still, her breaths long and steady.

She is justice incarnate, he thought.

Is that why she had allowed him to kill his mistress? Because she thought it was just? He wanted to believe it so very badly. Maybe it would keep the darkness at bay that grew within him with every passing moment.

“Are you proud of yourself?” Mythal asked. Her voice was soft and candid. It was a gift he did not deserve.

“I… I don’t know,” he said, wiping away droplets of sweat that had gathered on his forehead. The fight had been much more exhausting than he had expected.

Slowly, the All-Mother rose from her throne and came towards him. Her rich green robes rustled softly as she descended from the dais, her steps echoing from the high stone walls of her Throne chamber.

“I remember the day she presented you before my court,” she said with her eyes fixed on the dead body on the floor in front of her. “She all but burst with pride while she told the tale of your summoning. A spirit of wisdom, eager to share his knowledge with The People, yet too kind to recognize an enemy on sight.”

He swallowed, hard. He, too, remember this tale. Remembered it all too well. It had become a part of his being, just like the body he inhabited.

“She learned everything she could from you,” Mythal continued, “and when you had finally shared all of your knowledge of the Beyond, she lured you into a body, binding you to the Waking World.”

Mythal lifted her hand ever so slightly. Still, he could feel the wave of energy flaring up around her as she drew power from the Beyond to cast her spell. Blazing fire erupted from the corpse, cloaking the body of his former mistress in flames. The air wavered and filled with the smell of burnt flesh.

Another wave of Mythal’s hand and the blood began flowing towards the tiny fissures in the marble floor and sank into the stone. He breathed a sigh a of relief as the dark fluid vanished.

They watched in silence as the flames consumed the dead woman’s body and when the fire finally died down, it was as if his mistress had never even existent. For a moment, they heard nothing but the song of birds and the sound of whispering leaves from the forest outside Mythal’s palace.

The All-Mother let out a sigh of regret. “I told her that her pride would be her undoing.” Her gaze turned to him. “Or should I say her Pride?”

A shiver worked its way down his spine. Until this day, his mistress had called him Pride, her Solas, for he was the embodiment of her strength, the manifestation of her will. For a while, he had liked that name, until he came to realize that he was but a means to an end. Now he wished the name belonged to someone else.

He raised a hand to touch the skin on his cheeks. Though he could not feel it, he knew the lines of his vallaslin by heart. His fingers traced the curved markings while he thought about the day when his mistress had presented him to Mythal and her courtiers. Back then, he was still trying to get used to his body and was too confused by the powerplay unfolding before his eyes to understand it. It was an irony, really, how little he had known about elvhen politics, even after spending years and years in friendly conversation with one of Elvhenan's most powerful mages.

“This spirit of wisdom possesses more knowledge than any other I have ever encountered,” his mistress had said to Mythal. “I devote him to you, All-Mother, as a sign of my loyalty to you, and grace him with your vallaslin.”

At that moment, Mythal had had no other choice but to accept her gift. She would have been seen as cruel or unkind by her courtiers if she hadn’t. So the All-Mother watched as his mistress ingrained the vallaslin in his skin with magic. The pain had been almost unbearable but he had been too proud to show his agony in front of the assembled elvhen. Instead, he had bitten his lips until they were bloody and kept silent.

Maybe some of his mistress’ pride had rubbed off on him when she’d help him take on a physical form.

So I truly am Solas, he thought bitterly.

“There is something you must tell me,” Mythal said. “How did she convince you to enter this realm?”

He blinked, taken by surprise. “How do you know she did not bind me like she claimed?”

A soft chuckle escaped Mythal’s lips.

“All elvhen were like you once, Solas, exisiting freely within the Beyond,” she explained. “Only those with the will to change their form were able to enter this world and manifest themselves in a physical body. Many ages ago, I, myself, was what you might call a spirit of justice, and when I saw the many wrongs that happened in the Waking World, I could not resist to enter it to set things right. That is why I know that no spirit can be bound into a body without its consent. Otherwise, it could never hold on to a physical form long enough to survive the journey to the Waking world.“

She looked him over. “But you are a person. You have a purpose. This means you came to this world by will, not by force. So tell me, what made you come here?”

He sighed. “I was curious. She had told me so much about this world and its wonders and I was … excited by her enthusiasm. I wanted to walk among The People and learn everything they had to offer so I could pass their wisdom on to other spirits. But when I’d taken my body, I …”

His voice trailed off.

“When you had taken your body, you found that you could not return to your spirit form,” Mythal said, finishing the sentence for him.

“Yes.”

The word tasted bitter in his mouth. He had never admitted his failure so openly before. The pain was simply too much to bear.

His desire to learn had made him foolish. He had been so eager to gain wisdom that he did not see the woman who had summoned him for what she really was. He’d simply assumed that she was a kindred spirit, a seeker of truth and knowledge, just like him. Learning from her had excited him and he had trusted her to guide him into his body. But then his friend used his trust to turn him into her pet to parade him around the rest of The People. Only then he realized the terrible mistake he’d made and he had regretted it ever since.

“You are not the first spirit to make this mistake and you won’t be the last,” Mythal said. “When taking on our physical form, we gain a stronger sense of self and a power that is beyond any spirit. It allows us to shape the world around us. But we also lose our ability to become one with the Fade. We can only dream of the world we have lost and try to make a difference in this one.”

Another moment of silence passed. “She should have told you about the consequences,” Mythal said. “But I wonder why you haven’t turned your back on her after her betrayal. She may have lured you into this world, but she never truly commanded you. Still, you called her mistress.”

“It was spiritual affinity that kept me by her side, though I never forgave her for luring me into taking a body,” he admitted. “I was perfectly happy as I was, back in the Beyond. But she was my friend and I thought I owed her for what she had given me.”

“I see,” Mythal said, her voice heavy with sadness. “I’m sorry.”

“I do not deserve your sympathy,” he replied.

“And why is that?”

“Because I wish to burn the vallaslin off my face. Your vallaslin.” The words came out in a rush, like a tide that had been held back for far too long. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands against his face. He imagined the lines of the blood writing burning brightly on his skin, just like the fire Mythal had cast to get rid of his mistress’s body. “I want to take it away and leave all memory of what was behind.”

“Well, take it off then,” Mythal said with a soft smile. “No one is stopping you.”

It took him a moment to understand what she truly meant. And when the realization finally hit him, he blinked in surprise yet again. He lowered his hands to look at Mythal. “But it would be an insult to you!”, he insisted. “The People would see it as a great offense if I rejected your patronage.”

The All-Mother laughed. “It was your mistress who offended me by thinking it would impress me that she tricked a trusting spirit into taking a body. It was her who offended me in wanting my patronage, not for the good of The People, but to rise in rank and to become one of the Evanuris. That is why I tempted you to kill her, you know. To right her wrongs.”

She reached out to him and touched his cheek gently. “Others might think you denied yourself to me, but I know that is not true. I wish you to act on your own accords and honor me with your deeds. Thus, you could never offend me, Solas, even if you tried.”

The way she said his name made him shiver. It sounded so different from the way his mistress had said it. As if Mythal was proud of him, not for being a particularly powerful spirit, but for freeing himself at last.

“Go on, now”, she said and gifted him with an encouraging smile. “Take off the vallaslin and leave your past behind.”

“But I don’t know how,” he admitted. “Will you help me?”

“Oh, no.” Mythal shook her head slightly. “You are perfectly capable of removing the blood writing on your own. It is one of the few benefits of possessing a physical body: You may shape it to your will. But beware that you will be the first of your kind, for no other elvhen had felt the desire to take the vallaslin away. It will be a wonder to behold.”

He looked at her for a moment, baffled by her confidence in him. How could she be so sure about his power when he himself doubted it so much?

Before he knew it, she took his hand into her own and squeezed them. “Do it,” she urged. “I know you can.”

Encouraged by her words, he slowly, very slowly, allowed himself to believe in his own strengths.

She let go and he stretched out his hands before him. With every fiber of his body, he opened up to the energy of the Fade, allowing it to fill him up like wine poured into a golden goblet. Sparks of light spread from his fingertips across his palm, a flash of blue and green and white, mingled together.

He brought his hands up to his face and closed his eyes. In his mind, he pictured the fine lines of the vallaslin once more. He saw it burn, bright as day. Then he traced his fingers across his face, imagining the light from his hands spreading across his skin. He felt a soft tingle and then a sting on his forehead.

When he was done, he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Did I work?” he asked Mythal, and she beamed at him, proud like a mother.

“You left a scar,” she said softly, touching a small spot above his right eyebrow. “But yes, it worked.”

She was so close to him he could feel the warmth of her body, but he did not mind.

“I’d rather wear a scar on my face then any vallaslin,” he told her, “for I created it myself.”

“You will bring glory to The People,” she said. “I’m proud to call you kin.”

And then, the tears finally came.

He closed his arms around Mythal’s slender figure and buried his face against her shoulder. And while he wept, his body shaking, she remained silent and held him like a mother would.

After a while, he ran out of tears and became very still in her arms. A part of him waited for her to push him away, now that he had freed himself of his mistress’s influence completely. But instead, Mythal waited until he himself was ready to let go.

“What happens now?” he asked in a raspy voice.

“That is up to you. With your mistress gone, you are free to go wherever you please in the Waking world. Vir Dirthara might be a good place to start. I’m sure Ghil Dirthalen will be happy to offer you guidance.”

“I will consider it,” he said. “Thank you, All-Mother.”

“You may call me Mythal.”

He smiled for what felt like the first time in ages. “I could never do that.”

They looked at each other for a moment. A bond had built between them and they both knew it. Their spirits were joined for as long as they might live and they were united in thankfulness for this rare gift.

“I should leave,” he said at last. “I have taken enough of your time.”

Mythal sighed. “I’m afraid you have,” she said. “There are other matters to attend to. But I hope you will return soon, my friend, and tell me what you have learned while we were apart.”

“I will. I promise.”

And with that, he made his way to the door. When he had entered the throne room, he had been a spirit, bound by the will of another. Now he had become something different. He was scared of what awaited him outside these halls, afraid of the world and the future and his own powers, but he would find a way for himself.

“Oh, one more thing.”

Mythal spoke in a low voice but her words carried all the way to the throne room’s door without fading.

He turned around to face her once more, his hands clasped behind his back. “Yes, All-Mother?”

Mythal’s face lit up as their eyes met. She reminded him of the moon rising over a mountain ridge in a dark and stormy night. It was in that moment that she earned his undying devotion, his eternal love, and gratitude.

“Despite any regret or pain or guilt you might feel,” she said with a glimmer in her golden eyes, “you should be proud of yourself. Always.”

....

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #solas #mythal #ancient elves #elvhen #elvhenan #vallaslin removal #hurt/comfort #in-arlathan-FF

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vicscratchpages · 5 years

Text

Eml Writes His Name (Part 4)

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

Tu’l reached across the table to offer her hand to Eml’s. Years ago, she had cautioned her own mate against claiming a bright little child as his own. Although she had felt some of his earnestness then, it was something entirely different to be swept up in the tempest of her own passions. Perhaps this was the equivalent of a maternal or paternal instinct, delayed by her and her mate not having biological or adopted children of their own. Tu’l doubted the truth was anything as simple as that. Eml’s presence in their family, Koteh’s deep adoration for the boy, the mutual respect and interests the two shared—these were more than fortunate coincidences.

Eml blinked in surprise, but placed his own hand in hers. She squeezed his fingers but said nothing. It is a silent promise that she will not lie to him or misguide him. It is a quiet challenge for him to believe that there is good in him and he is worthy of love. Do not hide from yourself, she wished to say. We see the good in you, and you should too. She couldn’t tell him that though. Not using those words.

“Thank you.” Eml pressed her fingers in return. “For taking the time…to teach me all of this.”

Tu’l smiled, her face placid compared to the ferocity with which she swore herself to his protection and instruction. I don’t want to possess her, her mate had said so many evenings ago. I want to invest in her—I want to show her all the opportunities and then let her choose as she wishes. Nothing is off-limits for her. Her mate was perhaps more relaxed now, but still every bit as proud. Knowing the Princess at all was its own sort of honor, and the same applied to Eml as well.

“No time spent with you is wasted.”

Tu’l gave his fingers one final squeeze and then put the pen to paper, testing out the spelling of Eml’s name with her own hand. She traced over the letters again, back to front, and then beginning to end. She set the pen down, humming a little at the forward slant to the M. Yes, Eml was nearly as eager and earnest as Koteh. They were well-matched, in more ways than they might imagine.

“You don’t need my approval,” she told Eml. “But I like what you’ve chosen. It feels as hopeful as you.”

“Me?”

From the corner of her eye, she could see the blush rising in Eml’s face. Chastising himself, perhaps, for being so obtuse. Worried that he was a terrible student, although that is the furthest thing from the truth.

Tu’l skipped a few lines on the page. She wrote his name in carvings again. Moving over an inch, she wrote the backwards E and two of the sings. Underneath that, she wrote a second line with four symbols: concepts and signs in alternating order. Nudging the paper over so Eml could study it with ease, Tu’s sat with him in silence for several minutes.

“What do you think?”

“I have the hills,” Eml murmured. “But just the one. Just the one hill.”

The note of resignation in the boy’s voice was as somber as if he had discovered he had failed an important assignment halfway through a term. Perhaps there was still hope to bring the grade up some, but that poor mark could not be erased. Oh, the wonders you will discover… But she could not push. She could not rush.

“I remember this one too.” Eml tapped at the first symbol in the second line of his name. “The wall between the two circles.”

“What about the first line?”

At Aunt Tu’l’s prompting, Eml’s gaze shifted. The tension smoothed out of his face immediately, replaced with an easy smile. This was the face he wore to the rest of the world, the beautiful grace which he never saw in himself.

“You were—you’re right. It feels hopeful.”

The boy’s words turned hoarse, and he cleared his throat. Tu’l put an arm around the boy’s shoulders, sitting with him a while. Eml was smiling despite the tears leaking through his lashes. Tu’l felt the boy’s breath catch a few times before he managed to speak around the emotion that pressed like a warm stone against his chest.

“It reminds me of sunsets. Of the hills in Myrdaven and spending time with Koteh in Songwood and—and peace. Peace and wonder.”

This time the sigh was not resigned, but contented. Eml raised a hand to wipe at his face, laughing a little even as a few more tears fall. He had never imagined there would be such a place for him as this. Yet it was both place and person, because Koteh had become home for him.

After taking a few more moments to steady himself, Eml sat up a little straighter and studied the first line of his name. Tu’l let her arm fall away, happy to give him space to acquaint himself with the symbols on the page. It would take longer for him to accept that he was allowed and worth the pure feelings of joy the symbols evoked.

For the time being, he would focus on trying to help others feel relaxed and at ease. It’s alright to let yourself a little closer. Magic could bite, of course. Reaching for a measure of understanding was never without its challenges. But Tu’l had great faith in what Eml might discover in himself.

“Do you recognize the Signs?” Tu’l asked him.

“Here in this first line?”

Tu’l nodded.

“The halo is the Sun, right? And the little note, the music note—that’s the Song.”

“Something tells me you could recite all eighteen of the Signs, if asked.” Tu’l looked at him, a hint of a smile on her face. “And draw them too.”

Eml opened his mouth, but realized he had neither a protest nor a prompt reply.

“Here’s a different question: which of the Ways do you think those Signs might belong to?”

Tu’l slid three cards out of the consideration deck and set them face up on the table. Eml glanced at her, eyes wide. He as much better at navigating challenges than he imagined. Tu’l had offered the question mainly as an encouragement to have him study his name more closely.

“Don’t worry about the names, just yet. Just looking at the rune for each Way, how do you think the ones in your name might match up?”

For reference, she drew the corresponding Signs from the deck and placed them on the table as well. A halo—the Sun. The quarter note for the Song. Another halo, but this one was tilted at a forty-five degree angle.

“That’s the Moon—and the Stars!”

Tu’l nodded as she laid out the final card. Eml hunched over the cards, trying to recall… Blacksmith society—or what he had experienced of it—was far more polite than the military camps and renegade missions he’d taken on in his teens. There was no history of attacks, coups, or aggressive regimes. Gylraden was not a place of soldiers and rebels, not a place of distraught mothers and desperate fathers and distant sons and dangerous daughters.

Eml recalled, upon his first visit to Myrdaven, thinking that the Songwood Forest made a natural defense against attackers. Hidden against the belly of a mountain, Gylraden was equally protected by nature. Koteh had told him that Kolraven was cradled in desert canyons. Such convenient defenses could make a people complacent, but Eml thought Blacksmith society operated on a fundamentally different system of values than did his own country.

Eyeing the cards in front of him, Eml wondered what it was, exactly, that Blacksmiths did consider to be dangerous. His gaze stuck on the red rune, a twist of circles that almost looked like an eye. Koteh had been hesitant to speak openly of magic, insofar as its particulars. There were the general allusions, hints to it everywhere—and something about the Signs Tu’l had pulled finally aligned. Sun, moon, and stars! A phrase that could express dismay or delight.

Was that how people encountered him? A chill trickled down his neck, closing his throat as memories came unbidden to his mind. Memories that were sharp and indistinct, like an odor one couldn’t place. That taste in the back of his mouth was thick and bitter. He swallowed anyway—take your medicine—and better thoughts surfaced.

Like the light in Koteh’s eyes when he got excited about their adventures for the day. Like the grin that seemed to perpetually widen when Eml told Koteh anything about his day. Like the bubble of joy that rose in him whenever Koteh took his handor kissed his cheek—which was nearly constantly, whenever they were together. Delight. Darling. Dearest. Daisy. Only four of Koteh’s nicknames for him, and there were a score more. Could he really be all those things?

Part 5

#to be continued #eml writes his name #eml stories #eml and koteh #learning the signs #this one was a bit longer #but i hope you enjoyed it!#stay tuned!!!#more next week

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ginger-bread-official · 5 years

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All I Want for Christmas

He stood in the snow covered street looking silently up at the second story window of the Three Broomsticks. The falling snow was ignoring him as it fell with all the grace nature could offer. Only the unlucky flakes met his stubborn body and sat in his over grown hair, beard and tattered clothes. While the snow ignored him, he returned the treatment, only acknowledging the flakes when they settled on his lashes. He had been standing there for nearly ten minutes, praying to any higher power that he would get a look at her. The light was on so he knew she was there. It had been nearly six months since he had seen her. Six months he had lived amongst the ferals. Six months of thinking of her every night, keeping her close to his heart so he wouldn’t lose himself in the monstrosity that was the wolf pack. He could hear the bells of a church singing through the night announcing that it was quarter to midnight, Christmas nearly over.

He had surfaced from the underground for the holidays desperate to see Harry and the faces of those he loved. It was a risk leaving so close after the moon, but if he stayed one more minute he was sure his humanity would have been lost. Christmas had been comforting beyond measure, despite the minister’s surprise visit, and Lupin was really enjoying himself. Well as much as one can when Molly is laying on the guilt thicker than dragon hide. She had said that Tonks was spending the holidays alone, something that twisted his insides with guilt and regret. That paired with the information that her patronus had changed left him no choice but to find her. He told himself that it was out of concern, that he wanted to console her over the loss of Sirius (for surely that was what change her patronus). Him breaking it off between then had nothing to do with it. His ever burning love for her was no factor in his decision to stand out in the cold for nearly half an hour just waiting for a glimpse.

Suddenly there was a shadow looming on the ceiling of the room. it was moving closer and then a person accompanied it. But it didn’t look like her, the hair was wrong and this person was much too skinny, almost sickly. However, she did have the same pale heart-shaped face as Nymphadora, and she did have her signature weird sisters shirt on. The impostor Tonks walked around the room a bit, passing the window every few minutes unaware of the audience outside.

She was so thin. So pale. Surely that wasn’t her. The witch finally noticed him staring from he highroad of Hogsmead. She stared at him for a minute, unsmiling. She left the frame of the window and reappeared minutes later opening the front door of the tavern donned with a black coat wrapped around her body.

“Are you Remus Lupin?” She asked with authority. Nothing like the fun loving witch he had fallen in love with. Though it was definitely her. She was paler, slimmer and much more somber, but it was her. Merlin she was beautiful.

“Yes.” He answered.

“Prove it.” she said. He noticed she wasn’t holding her want out. Either she was sure he wasn’t an impostor, or she was defeated and cared not for her safety.

“How?” he asked. Her eyes still deep and soulful didn’t hold the light of mischief he still dreams about.

“When was the first time you told me you loved me?” now tears glistened in her eyes. He felt his voice catch in his throat.

“Your birthday, after we spent the day picnicking in the park with snuffles.” his head flooded with memories of the warm spring sun and sweet fruit from their basket. Her lips tasted like the strawberries they packed that day. She knew what she was doing to him. She was making him relive possibly the best moment of his life, for moments after he kissed those strawberry lips she repeated his words back to him.

“Can you show me where Greyback attacked you when he found out about us?” something dark shifted in her eyes. He had turned it around on her, now she was reliving the event that proved a relationship with him would only mean harm to her. Her face remained passive as she unwrapped her coat and lifted her shirt hem a few inches to reveal three claw marks down her side, curling at her hip. He nodded solemnly remembering his curse and how it ended them.

“What are you doing here Remus?” she asked wrapping her coat around her body again.

“You didn’t come to Christmas at the Burrow.” he answered hoping it was believable. Hoping she couldn’t sense how much he was craving to be near her.

“You’re the one who told me not to contact you. Being in the same room counts. Don’t cha think?” her expression was hard and her arms crossed.

“You know I only meant when I’m underground.” he ran his hand through his greying hair, “Molly was asking for you and I know the kids missed you.”

“They’ve got alot more important things to worry about than little old me.” he went silent for a moment.

“I would have liked to see you.” he said in a small voice.

“You can’t have it both ways Remus. You can’t tell me to stay away and then say you want me around.” her words cut him deep

“I still want to be friends-”

“No you don’t. I know what you want Remus, and you know what you want, but you’re just too stubborn or noble, or whatever you want to call it.”

“I didn’t come here to make you upset.” he saw the fierce temper rise in her

“Then what did you come here for? I’m still waiting on that answer.”

“I told you Molly was worried-”

“Wrong again.” she interrupted “Don’t try and act like you’re here for someone else Moony. Its the middle of the night. Its bleeding freezing out. Why are you here?”

“I missed you okay!?” he raised his voice leaving a silence between them. She looked at him and he thought he could see a phantom of a smile. “I miss you every damn day and not seeing you drives me mad! Its wrong and you should be with someone else, but I can’t stop thinking about you. I just-” he lowered his voice and stepped closer to her. “I just needed to see you.” it was quick, so quick it might have just been an imagination, but he thought he saw her eyes change color

“Glad you admitted it.” she said

“I shouldn’t have come. I’m just making it worse.”

“You could make it better for the both of us.” She sniped

“You know I can’t”

“Like hell you can’t! All those daft reasons you keep giving me are bollocks and you know it.”

“They are not! You deserve better than I could ever give you and I’m trying to help you see that.” He felt like he was pleading to a wall. A very beautiful wall

“You’re helping me see what a coward you’re being.”

“I’ve risking my neck everyday for the order how is that being a coward?!”

“Because you aren’t afraid of the fight Remus, so you don’t run from it. You’re afraid of loving me and so you bolt.”

“I wanted to give you space to get over me. So you could move on, find some one who deserves you.”

“You think I can just forget about you? Well I can’t, because I love you damn it, and thats not going to change.”

“And how can you be so sure of that? That you won’t wake up one day and realized you’ve tied yourself down to a monster.” She looked hurt almost as if he had called her the monster. There was a beat of silence between them. She reached into her pocket pulled out her wand and in a quiet voice said

“Expecto Patronum.” out of her wand a silver creature erupted. The four legged animal bounded around the pair of them settling next to Tonks. Instead of seeing a replica of snuffles Remus saw a regal she wolf sitting silently next to her master. He was in shock. The wolf howled silently at the moon, but Remus could swear he heard the low song coming from the wolf.

“You are not a monster.” She took a step to him as the wolf vanished without a sound. All he could do was stare at her. A pull strained his heart, a pull to her. He stepped to her closing the gap between them. In one swift motion he grabbed her waist, cupped her face and lowered his lips to hers. He was sure that his overgrown beard was rubbing uncomfortably against her soft skin, but she didn’t seem terribly troubled as she wrapped her harms around him and press herself further into him. The warmth of her lips melted any cold lingering in his body. He had dreamed for months about having her back in is arms, kissing her lips, loving her openly. She moved against him attempting to draw him if possible closer.

‘You’re not a monster’ her words rang in his ears. He allowed himself to believe it for a moment. A monster wouldn’t have gained the love of someone as precious as her. They had matching wolves, matching souls, and if that was the case then he knew he wasn’t a monster. Everything he had hated in himself had been represented in his wolf patronus. Everything he fought against during the moons. But if she had accepted it, love him enough to take on even the icon of his flaws, then what was stopping him.

She was running her hands through his hair, scraping lightly with her nails. she tasted of vanilla and her scent washed out any heavy feelings in his body. They parted form one another breathing heavy whilst looking into each others eyes. He saw for the first time in six months the smile that chased all darkness away. In the distance the church bells rang out for the midnight hour, ending Christmas day.

“Glad I could sneak in a Christmas snog.” Tonks joked with the glint of mischief returning to her eyes. Remus huffed with amusement.

“You always know how to ruin a moment.” He said in jest.

“How about we resume the moment inside?” Her fingers were playing with the long hairs on the back of his neck. He knew it would be easy to lose himself in her embrace once more. To fall back in to the love they shared, but he wanted better for her. She had this miraculous way of making him feel worthy of her love, but society proved him wrong every time. He couldn’t give her all that she deserved, the only thing he was good for was a bad reputation and a impoverished and dangerous existence. reading the silence that followed her question Tonks added “I don’t expect you to change your mind in an instant Remus.” He raised his gaze to meet her piercing eyes, “just let us have tonight.” her hand traveled to his weather worn cheek, “You’re all I wanted for Christmas you know.” She smiled softly as her thumb caressed his cheek. His hand raised to meet hers and hold it in place, soaking in the warmth of her touch.

“I wish I was more deserving of you.” He felt his eyes sting with threatening tears. He had never wanted anything more, but he knew he was the worst thing for her.

“I wish you could see that you deserve so much more than you were given.” She raised to her tip-toes and softly brushed her lips against his. She pulled away from the sweet contact pulling his hand with her. Slowly, as if not to alarm him with quick movements, she lead him inside and up to the room she rented from Rosmerta. He followed, too weak to deny himself the embrace of the only woman he ever loved. Whatever was in store for the the next morning, whether it be heart break or a sweet reunion, didn't matter. All that mattered was how they had finally felt whole once more. For even the lone wolf has a thirst for love.

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acsversace-news · 6 years

Link

Warning: This recap of the “Manhunt” episode of The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story contains spoilers.

From the beginning we’ve known that Andrew Cunanan fancied himself a man of finer tastes. Even while on the run for a murder spree, he still took the time to purchase just the right Wayfarer knock-offs or order a surf ‘n’ turf meal from a wealthy john. Did Cunanan wear just any old bathing suit? Nope, it was magenta Speedo all the way. And when it came to rat-infested, crumbling junkie motels, you better believe Cunanan asked for an ocean view. Yes, even the lowest of human existences can leave room for glamour.

“Manhunt” continued last week’s premiere with even more backstory of where both Versace and Cunanan had been in their respective lives before the titular assassination. And like last week, it took what everyone knew about the case (from sensationalized tabloid coverage mostly) and filled in the gaps with new facts, genuine insight, and arresting beauty. Let’s talk about it!

We began with an unrecognizable, anonymous man in disguise.

Underneath this ingenious, identity-concealing ensemble was none other than famous fashion designer Gianni Versace. But this costumed ruse would be for neither heist nor romp. No, he was at a clinic receiving bad news about a blood test he’d recently taken. And while this episode was careful to keep things vague, this scene, added to a later scene in which he could barely walk unassisted, was meant to suggest that Versace’s life had once been threatened long before Andrew Cunanan ever pointed a gun at him. You can probably guess what the illness was. But as a reminder, the ’90s were an especially bad time for a specific group of people.

Versace’s diagnosis played heavily into this episode’s central concept. That he’d been able to fight off his illness using state-of-the-art medicines, he’d slapped the grim reaper across its tacky face, and he’d begun to embrace life as only a formerly dead man walking could. Which, as Donatella Versace noted, made his later murder all the more devastating.

But death comes for us all, even those who can afford to have their facial bullet wounds spackled over and their cremains laid to rest so fabulously.

Even when reduced to several ounces of ash, Versace still flew first class. Honestly touching.

We then cut over to Andrew Cunanan, who was currently speeding on the freeway scream-singing “Gloria.” Which, we’ve all done that, and in my case nearly every day. “Gloria” is one of the greatest songs of all time. As we quickly discovered, Cunanan was only just arriving in Miami, so this act of free-wheelin’ joy came after he’d murdered his first four victims. Yep, he was now murder-jazzed, and it was time to spread his brand of awful in a beach community!

Cunanan showed up at the dingiest motel with the most beautiful oceanfront view in Miami. It was clearly a faded stucco hell pit of junkies and, well, other serial killers I’m guessing. Between the presence of a junkie Max Greenfield and a duct-tape gimp mask, this was like if American Horror Story: Hotel had been crossed with Miami Vice. Into it.

Meanwhile the FBI had arrived in town around the same time, but this local Miami detective lady quickly realized they were terrible at their jobs and had not tried particularly hard to catch this gay spree-killer yet. They hadn’t even made any copies of his “Wanted” poster! And as we’d learn later, citizens were ready and willing to report a Cunanan sighting, which made it all the more frustrating that the FBI had been so slow to spread the word. (Thank God for America’s Most Wanted.)

As you can imagine, Andrew Cunanan made fast friends with junkie Max Greenfield, and after a heartfelt scene in which Greenfield’s character talked about his HIV diagnosis, the two schemed openly about how to make quick cash and/or buy some junk to smoke. An enterprising liar and conman, it was almost charming that Cunanan still resorted to turning tricks sometimes. I guess that was easier than, like, check fraud or whatever.

So, sex work for local lonely hearts was now on the menu! Congratulations, Miami fellas!

Except, whoops … there was the pesky fact that Andrew Cunanan was a total psychopath. Which meant that this john’s simple request to be dominated led him to finding himself suffocating under a face full of duct tape and terrorized within an inch of his life while Andrew Cunanan danced around the room in a pink Speedo.

Yeah this was one of the most disturbing scenes I’ve seen in a Ryan Murphy joint, but the terror was effective. The disturbing vibe continued even afterward, as the terrified john sat watching Cunanan finish a lobster meal, waited until Cunanan left, and then debated whether to call 911 and report the assault. Alas, the wedding ring he placed back on his finger suggested why the crime ultimately went unreported. Again: The ’90s really sucked.

But enough darkness, it was time to remember what made Versace famous! In this scene, Donatella urged Versace to change things up and compete with his more goth-inspired competitors Galliano and McQueen, but Versace made clear that he was in the business of joy and beauty and life, especially now that he had his health back. Donatalla couldn’t help but see his point.

And credit to this show for not only producing a convincing fashion show (with convincingly Versace-ish looks) but also even casting a runway model who resembled Shalom Harlow to play Shalom Harlow! Miss her. Come back, Shalom.

As though we needed more evidence that Andrew Cunanan was unhinged, we got this cute scene where he smoked tons of drugs, then went to the bathroom for some quiet time. In this case quiet time involved wrapping his head and face in duct tape and also admiring the intensely insane serial killer wall he’d created in the bathroom:

Yeah, I think we’d recalled Cunanan as being an out-of-control party boy or whatever, but this series has done a lot to prove he was insane in a scary and singular way. Just a bad-time-guy lookin’ for trouble.

We also got glimpses into the romantic life shared by Versace and his lover, Ricky Martin (as himself, jk). And though their lifestyle of hooking up with men together and going to the clubs was nothing they were ashamed of in their private life, we could sense that the straight world would never understand their situation. Versace himself doubted that his partner truly loved him enough to want to be married (which … gay marriage? What a futuristic concept in 1997!), yet they still were clearly everything to each other. It would be romantic if we didn’t know where this was all heading.

We then got another classic Cathy Moriarty appearance, in which we saw the incident when Cunanan sold a stolen coin to her at her pawn shop and she remembered it enough to contact the police after the shooting. And again, she’d even glanced at her collection of “Wanted” posters before making the sale, underscoring again that the authorities’ slow-to-act tendencies toward gay crime had almost directly led to Versace’s murder. But at least we can all continue to count on Cathy Moriarty when we need her!

I loved this brief scene when a drag impersonator of Donatella showed up at Versace’s manor and demanded to come in and hang out. He was polite enough about it, noting that one Donatella in his life was enough, but still. She DID look fun to hang out with. I probably would’ve let her up.

That night, Versace and his lover went out to the local dance club Twist, and Andrew Cunanan followed them there, presumably to shoot him right there in the club. But Versace ended up ducking out before the encounter happened but not before his lover informed him that even at night, even amid opportunities to be around other men … he still chose Versace and wanted to marry him. Again, except for the line of strangers behind them and the bad ’90s techno wafting in the air, this was an incredibly touching and romantic moment. These two.

Inside, a clearly dejected Cunanan was approached by a random hottie, and he responded by having a borderline meltdown in which he listed all the different fake occupations he’d ever pretended to be. Including, of course, serial killer. But while the random hottie had no reason to think Cunanan was being serious about any of them, it was a chilling notion that someone who had spent a lifetime lying about his accomplishments was now going to try to make a name for himself in a more tragic and gruesome way. Ugh, he was the worst.

“Manhunt” functioned best as a continuation of last week’s introduction to the story and setting. And like last week, it relied on visuals and physical performance more than written dialogue, and was just as spellbinding. Tense, funny, emotional, and troubling all at once, this is a fascinating world to explore and I can’t get enough. Obviously it’s a dark story and doesn’t promise to get any lighter by the end of it, but I can’t help myself. That this is even on the air (and executed so perfectly) is enough to give someone a new lease on life. How very Versace.

#acs versace #yahoo #recap #review #article #2.02 #january 2018

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queenofcats17 · 6 years

Text

Dunno if you saw my other story starter, but...

Submitted by @magicalmonsterhero

Dropping to her knees, Susie pulled [Allison/Shawn] close.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s OK. I know it hurts.”

The [voice actress/toymaker] whimpered softly. “Make it stop…”

With great care, Susie placed [her/him] on [her/his] stomach, then looked up at the other two present.

“Thomas, guard the door. Wally, get a washcloth and some water. Once they emerge, we’ll have to clean off the blood.”

Nodding, the two men obeyed. Turning back to [Allison/Shawn], Susie carefully removed [her/his] shirt, exposing [her/his] back.

“It may hurt right now,” she whispered softly. “But once your wings come out, it’ll all be OK. Trust me, I know.”

Removing her shirt to reveal a modified tank top underneath, she let her own ____-feathered wings emerge.

I did indeed see your other one. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it, though. I don’t feel confident enough to write out your song. I hope that’s alright.

Shawn normally didn’t meddle with whatever Joey developed. He wasn’t terribly religious, but something about Joey’s experiments just seemed like an affront to God. Sure, he wasn’t hurting anyone, but it was just…weird. He knew Susie had undergone an experiment to be closer to Alice. He wasn’t sure what Susie had agreed to, but she was a lot happier now. That was one reason he hadn’t objected to the experiments. They made people happy. Who was he to question something that made people happy?

“Hey, Shawn?” Wally poked his head into his boyfriend’s workspace.

“Yeah?” Shawn looked up from his work, a paintbrush clenched between his teeth.

“Oh good, you’re here.” Wally entered, fidgeting a little more than usual. Shawn frowned at this.

“Wally…Why’re you so jittery? Did something happen?”

“Um…Kinda?” Wally smiled nervously. “You know how you said the coffee this morning tasted funny?” Shawn’s eyes widened and he slowly put his paintbrush down, his hands shaking.

“What did that bastard do this time?” Shawn asked, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking as much as his hands.

“Some of the concoction meant for Susie got into the coffee.” Thomas appeared behind Wally, holding a washcloth and a bucket of water. “So you’re gonna be going through some changes pretty soon.”

“But I-” Shawn took a step forward but faltered as he felt a wave of heat pass through his body. Wally ran to his side, holding him up as Shawn’s knees tried to buckle under him.

“I got here as quickly as I could!” Susie came running in. “Has it started yet?” Thomas gestured to Shawn, still being held up by Wally.

“Let him go,” Susie said. Wally gave her a confused look, holding his boyfriend even closer.

“Wally.” Susie’s voice was soft and gentle. “I want to help him. I want to help both of you.” Wally hesitated, but let Shawn go. The toymaker crumpled to the floor, starting to sob a little. Dropping to her knees, Susie pulled Shawn close.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s OK. I know it hurts.”

The toymaker whimpered softly. “Make it stop…”

With great care, Susie placed him on his stomach, then looked up at the other two present.

“Thomas, guard the door. Wally, get a washcloth and some water. Once they emerge, we’ll have to clean off the blood.”

Nodding, the two men obeyed. Turning back to Shawn, Susie carefully removed his shirt, exposing his back.

“It may hurt right now,” she whispered softly. “But once your wings come out, it’ll all be OK. Trust me, I know.”

Removing her shirt to reveal a modified tank top underneath, she let her own white-feathered wings emerge. Shawn’s eyes widened.

“So that’s what it did to you.” Thomas glanced back. “We were all wondering.”

“Oh hush.” Susie waved a hand towards Thomas but kept her gaze on Shawn. Already there were bumps on his shoulder blades.

“He’s gonna be okay, right?” Wally asked, kneeling beside Susie and Shawn with the washcloth in hand.

“He’ll be fine, sweetie,” Susie assured him. “It might take a little for him to get used to it, but I promise he’ll be alright.”

“Okay…” Wally handed her the washcloth and went to retrieve the bucket from beside Thomas. The bumps were becoming almost obscenely large now, and Shawn was openly crying. It hurt more than he’d ever imagined. Then the wings burst through. Shawn screamed. Wally quickly hurried back to hold Shawn’s hand.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” Susie soothed him, washing his back off with the washcloth.

“They look real nice,” Wally said quietly. They weren’t very big yet, but they would be at some point.

“Do you feel better?” Susie asked. Shawn let out a shaking breath. He did feel better now that they were out.

“Yeah.” He managed to squeak out.

“Good.” Susie patted his head gently. “You should probably head home for the day. Do you want me to go explain the situation to Joey.”

“Please.” Wally helped Shawn to his feet, draping his coat around his boyfriend’s shoulders. Shawn was covered in sweat and his face was tearstained.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Wally asked as he led Shawn out.

“I’m feeling better now, I promise.” Shawn managed a shaky smile. “Plus, it’s kinda cool, you know? Never thought I’d end up with wings. Think I’d be able to fly?”

“Maybe once your wings get bigger.” Wally smiled as well.

“Sounds like a plan.”

#bendy and the ink machine #fanfiction #submission #shawn flynn #susie campbell #thomas connor #Wally Franks

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avani008 · 7 years

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Please do the whole OTP question meme with Amarendra and Devasena ^.^

(Also requested by the fabulous Anu/ @livinthefandommlife, for questions 4, 23, and 27! But posting together because I’m lazy. Thank you both, this was fun! :D)

Who is the most affectionate?Openly? Amarendra, I think; he’s not at all shy about staring at Devasena affectionately whenever she’s around, while she’s at least a little more circumspect.

Big spoon/Little spoon?

Amarendra prefers to sleep on his back, Devasena on her side curled up next to him. Until the later stages of her pregnancy, when they switch.

Most common argument?

I’m going to go with the boring answer and say it’s a remix of the public argument they have at the baby shower: that Devasena feels Amarendra deserves better than the way he’s being treated and needs to fight for it, while Amarendra, while aware that she’s right, also realizes that rocking the boat at this stage is just going to get them into worse trouble. I know complaining about Sivagami or the customs of Mahishmati might also be expected, but I feel like Devasena usually goes out of her way not to do so unless outrageously provoked, out of consideration for Amarendra’s feelings. (Bhalla, though, is always fair game.) But overall I just don’t see them fighting very often, other than mild exasperation on Devasena’s part when Amarendra teases her; they have so much external drama to deal with that I picture them having very little interpersonal drama.

Favorite non-sexual activity?

There is a reason I tagged one of my early reblogs for them “just a couple of archery geeks in love” (and why “Amukha” features that archery scene)! But even otherwise, I can pretty easily picture them discussing politics, economics, or just nothing in particular. Heck, even on the short part of their wedding night we see, they’re just hanging out talking.

(I’ve found this usually tends to be my criteria for shipping OTPs, though. If I can’t imagine them happily spending a lazy Saturday afternoon together without resorting to a sexual or saving-the-world activity, I have a hard time seeing them living happily ever after.)

Who is most likely to carry the other?

Amarendra. I mean, to be fair, he is the super-strong one! (But I mean, if you want to jump over to Mirchi and one of my favorite subversion-of-a-trope scenes for a minute, Anushka can apparently boost Prabhas up for a minute if she has to, so Devasena probably could, too.)

What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?

Amarendra’s is easy: definitely her eyes. It’s pretty clear in her introduction - he can see she’s beautiful through the curtains of the palanquin, so that’s not it, and he sees her stab the guy and just looks amused/impressed, but it’s the passion and fire in her eyes that makes him stagger back and fall immediately in love.

I’m not so sure about Devasena, though. His hands, maybe? (given all the handholding, more on that below.)

What’s the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?

In Amarendra’s case, it was literally like, five seconds after he laid eyes on her, so um, nothing? And as far as Devasena is concerned, that is pretty much what “Pravesaka” is meant to cover (my answer there was intended to be not that much, except she comes to grips with the fact that she’s ready to leave Kuntala and follow her stranger –but that’s not because of her feelings for him, but a long-standing desire to do more than stay in Kuntala all her life.).

Nicknames? & if so, how did they originate?

I had this discussion with Prajna on AO3 about what Devasena would actually call Amarendra, and all I could come up with is pretty much that she follows the tradition of not taking his name directly (see: her conversation with Kattappa at the baby shower). That said, a few minutes later, when she’s too angry to think about it, she clearly calls him “Baahubali,” so I guess that’s how she thinks of him, I guess. I could be convinced, though, to accept “veer/veeran” as a term of endearment, which is what she calls him both in Hamsa Naava (actually more in Orey Oar Ooril) and during the defense of Kuntala.

Amarendra pretty much always calls her Devasena, because I’m a sucker for the “your name is way more meaningful to me than any term of endearment” trope. Or yuvarani if he’s trying to give her a hard time.

Who worries the most?

Amarendra, though Devasena’s more vocal about it. But Amarendra’s more likely to try and pretend everything’s fine. One thing I appreciate, though, is that he doesn’t really try to hide his feelings from Devasena, who’s probably able to read him like a book anyway – even at the baby shower, when he turns to look at her, he gives her this split-second look of sadness before trying to cheer up, and during Dandalayya, he lets her share in his grief at missing Sivagami instead of pretending he was fine. She’s pretty much the only person he doesn’t laugh off his concerns around; he even does it with Kattappa!

Who remembers what the other one always orders at a restaurant?

They both do!

Who tops?

When it comes to their private life, I figure the prelude to Hamsa Naava when Amarendra has no problems with Devasena walking over him, and the kiss with Amarendra pulling back a little just to get Devasena riled up are probably the most indicative scenes, and that’s all I’m saying about that.

Who initiates kisses?

We know this from canon! (It’s Devasena.)

Who reaches for the other’s hand first?

Amarendra, as per canon -- and can I just point out how much I love all their hand-holding? (It’s important enough, IMO, to their relationship that when I look back at them, all my ship-focused fics all have random hand-holding scenes featured) It’s particularly noticeable when you compare them to the other romance, Shivudu/Avantika, who are supposed to be the younger, sexier, less constrained by decorum pair, but hardly ever really touch or even stand that close to each other except in Pacha Bottesi! And meanwhile, Amarendra/Devasena are falling into each other's arms, and shooting arrows all wrapped around each other, and have a significant hand-hold, all before we even hit Hamsa Naava....

Who kisses the hardest?

They…both do? (aka, I honestly have no idea.)

Who wakes up first?Who wants to stay in bed just a little longer?

So while writing "Pravesaka," I came up with the headcanon that Devasena wakes up at ungodly hours that make my coffee-clutching-at-9AM self shudder. There’s honestly no canon proof for this except that when the Pindari attack, literally everyone else is awake (Amarendra, Kattappa, Kumar Varma, Jayavarma), except Devasena is clearly asleep when the warning alarm rings. So probably she gets up first, while Amarendra prefers to sleep a little longer (though neither of them sleep very much.)

Who says I love you first?

....I have no idea! Is that terrible? Well, Kattappa announces that Amarendra’s in love with Devasena, if you want to count that, but in terms of either of them announcing their feelings to the other, it actually never happens? Except look at their precious faces during the archery hallway scene: they don’t have to be told, they just know.

Who leaves little notes in the other’s one lunch? (Bonus: what does it usually say?)

I struggled with this one, and I couldn’t figure out why until I realized it had to do with my answer to the previous question: I don’t see them actually being into actually being into stating their love for each other, and instead favoring quite little actions instead. But if we’re talking more in terms of sweet dorky gestures, I think they’d both equally do little things like that.

Who tells their family/friends about their relationship first?

Well, Kattappa knows like, five minutes into this relationship, so Amarendra, I guess.

What do their family/friends think of their relationship?

Devasena’s family is delighted! Amarendra’s family, on the other hand....*hollow laugh*

Who is more likely to start dancing with the other?

...Amarendra, maybe? (I don’t picture them dancing, really.) But Devasena is obviously the better dancer.

Who cooks more/who is better at cooking?

Well, “Nidhana” has established that my headcanon Devasena is a terrible, terrible cook. But in her defense, as Mahendra explains, she’s usually needed multiple places at once in the village, on top of lacking the patient temperament needed to taste and see exactly how much of a particular spice is needed or let a particular dish simmer. Plus, as a royal princess, she would hardly have needed to learn to cook, anyway; I reckon her sister-in-law might have tried to teach her how to supervise a kitchen, but that was one of the lessons Devasena skipped to practice her archery.

Amarendra’s a functional cook, who can pretty much make the sort of battlefield rations that are healthy but very simple and not at all fine cuisine. (Yes, poor Mahendra’s taste buds probably go into hibernation by the age of two as a matter of self-preservation.)

Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines?

Amarendra. Unquestionably.

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear during inappropriate times?

Devasena, surprisingly, especially when she’s annoyed and feels the need for petty revenge. She’s good at it, too, an absolute master of the straight face.

Who needs more assurance?

With regards to their relationship? Neither - I can’t see either of them being jealous or doubting that the other loves them, they’re just so rock-solid secure.

What would be their theme song?

Well, their theme tune is Devasena’s introduction : it, or a slower version, plays in all their major scenes, including the last time they see each other. Or Hamsa Naava! That’s their big love song in canon.

In terms of American songs, ummm, “King and Lionheart?” It’s such a fandom cliche, I know, but I love it, and “they should worry”[because they’re going up against us] sounds like exactly the sort of thing Devasena would think/say.

Who would sing to their child back to sleep?

Devasena, obviously.

What do they do when they’re away from each other?

Anu’s answer to this is so perfect that I’m just going to say “ditto!” and tell all of you to go read her answers for the meme because they are all amazing.

one headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart

Amarendra was far more worried about Devasena’s labor than he let on. A childhood spent with Bijjaladeva had hardly let him forget that he killed his own mother in childbirth, and for all Devasena irritably reminded him that more women than not did perfectly well, there were always the stories of the mothers who died, and the children, too. He had lost his throne, his home, his mother, all without complaints; but this loss he wouldn’t be able to bear. Please, he prayed, let her live. Take me instead, if you must have a life.

(When the news came that Kattappa had been captured, his first reaction was guilty relief for the distraction.)

one headcanon about this OTP that mends it

After the midwives have gone and Devasena’s ladies-in-waiting dismissed from their vigil, after baby Mahendra has been carefully laid into his cradle and Devasena finally succumbs to her exhaustion, Amarendra watches them both with a sense of faint surprise. He’d had a family before, but had always had known that he was an outsider in their midst, that all of them had closer ties to each other than they did to him. But now, for the first time:

“Mine,” he whispers, and doesn’t have to wonder if he belongs.

(THAT IS TOTALLY WHAT HAPPENED, HUSH.)

#baahubali #askbox #otp of otps #finally remembered to post this!

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sak-a · 7 years

Text

Heart’s Rhapsody (Akira Kurusu x Reader)

Word Count: 3,935

A musician reader requested by @galaxia0u0 and @blissfullydiabolik ! If you haven’t played the game yet then this just touches on the first boss / chapter. This is the first request I’ve done, I’m sorry if this wasn’t written to your satisfaction!

* * *

Suguru Kamoshida has infected everyone.

They sing his name with praise and adoration as you pass through the hallway like a ghost, keeping your head low and tightly clutching the handle of your instrument case. The school year just started, why do you have to listen to that noise? Was riding on the coattails of such a disgusting person really worth everyone’s suffering? Is glory really that wonderful? You wouldn’t know, you’ve only tasted humiliation.

Other students purposefully bump into you and knock you around like you’re in a pinball machine while you try to fight the sea of people. It’s hard to ignore the smug snickering and glances, but you’ve been dealing with this for a good while now. In the defense that the volleyball team was the school’s cornerstone, Kamoshida personally wrote a proposal in the second semester last year to have the music classes’ budget transferred to sports. Neither the band or orchestra students gave a damn as long as they got their fine arts credit out of the way, hardly giving a decent performance at any given time in the first place. The music groups turned into even more of a joke than usual before the classes were finally disbanded.

You would try forming a club if there was anyone else who even gave a damn about music in the first place and didn’t just want to make a light music club to follow their half-assed anime dreams. Your motivation fades as and the case feels heavier with each step, reminding you of how pointless one of your few hobbies had become; It feels like a burden to carry the hunk of metal. All the concerts your class had been scheduled for were canceled for volleyball matches and you had no one to perform for but your parents, who would politely clap and tell you how “nice” they thought it was.

Now that the future of Shujin Academy’s band and orchestra were done for, no one bothered lugging their instruments around school anymore, but you had your reasons. Your former music teacher told you about a practice room with a broken lock and you’d go there during lunch for practice. There was nothing more satisfying than your sound cutting through the silence of that quiet space, for an invisible audience who you’d imagine cheering like they did at the volleyball games. The thought puts the perk back in your step and you quicken your pace as you hurry down the stairs--

Packets of bread are suddenly flying everywhere in your eyes. What? Where did those come from?

After watching them all hit the ground with satisfying crinkling sounds from their plastic packaging, you only now register that you bumped into someone and he’s currently acquainted with the wooden floor.

... Oh dear.

Setting your case down, you rush down the last few concrete steps to help him up, profusely apologizing as he rubs the back of his head. He’s tall yet lanky, which would probably explain why he was knocked over so easily. When you ask if he’s okay after he adjusts his glasses, he lets out a sigh, followed by a soft “Yes, thank you.” He offers a kind, polite smile as he removes his hand from his messy hair, patting the dirt off his uniform. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking.”

Involuntary gulping, you’re surprised by how deep his voice is; it certainly doesn’t go with his soft, nerdy appearance but it was pleasantly melodic in its own way. He turns away and starts picking up the bread, piling it into his arms until he’s got a bountiful harvest. Was he that hungry? You remember your precious partner behind you and quickly pick it up, relieved and shocked that no one tried to be a jerk and steal it again. Actually, you don’t even hear the incessant sneering anymore. There’s fear as you hear “criminal” passed through the student body in concerned whispers and slowly look to bread boy, who has been staring at his feet and appearing somewhat troubled with furrowed eyebrows and a pressed frown.

They couldn’t be referring to him, could they? That’s ridiculous. You recall hearing about a transfer student who was supposedly up to the worst of deeds, but...

Wait, you’re not going to have enough time to practice if you don’t get going and he definitely wasn’t heading towards the cafeteria. Although hesitant from the rumors surrounding him, you suggest that he joins you in the music room for lunch. To make up for bumping into him and all. You’re sure he probably wants to get away from the mob as well, and he seems rather appreciative of your offer. The way to your destination feels faster than usual and it feels like the crowd is parting for you, but more eyes seem to be on you today.

No, you know it’s not you.

Slipping into the room, you start unpacking your instrument as your companion pulls up a chair. After pulling out a stand and a couple sheets of music, you do the usual tuning and maintenance before taking the proper stance. Bread boy curiously watches as you start playing like always; You really don’t need to look at the sheets anymore nor do you have a partner to look on with. Once you burn through the song with ease you hear gentle clapping and glance to the side.

“I didn’t even know this school had a music course.” It used to, you confess to him dejectedly. “Oh? What happened to it?” He meets your eyes straight on. Normally it would be unsettling but there’s something about the way he’s looking at you with genuine interest and... perception. Had you been speaking with anyone else you wouldn’t feel so comfortable all of a sudden. Maybe it’d be alright to talk to him about it.

But you you bite your lower lip and avoid his gaze, remembering your unfortunate reality: you’re still in Kamoshida’s territory. Although you don’t openly express your hatred, you want to still be able to play your instrument and there’s no one to trust or confide in here. Even outside of school was risky...

“Touchy topic?” He runs a hand through his hair and plays with his bangs for a little while, trying to think of a way to change the subject. “Ah, thanks for letting me eat lunch here. Eating in the bathroom’s terrible.” He forces out a pathetic laugh and you can’t help but sympathize.

I come here every day for lunch, you can join if you want. The proposal falls from your mouth faster than you can say it and your words unceremoniously stumble over each other as you throw in your name. The bespectacled male stifles a chuckle and readjusts his glasses. “I’m Akira Kurusu. It’s a pleasure.”

No, no, it’s your pleasure...

Spending some more time playing before the bell rang, you quickly tuck your instrument away before scurrying out of the practice room with Akira and parting ways to your respective classes. Shoot, you forgot to eat lunch again. Time to sneak something next period, you think your teacher gave up on trying to get everyone stop snacking after lunch anyway. The rest of the day is white noise to you even as you return home and fall asleep. After all, there’s nothing to do but repeat the monotonous cycle of Kamoshida’s glorious Shujin.

Well, you suppose lunch time is something you can look forward to even more now.

Even if he’s just being polite, it feels so gratifying to hear his compliments and applause. Akira seems to genuinely enjoy your music and listens as you tell him of random useless trivia that may not even be true. You wish your time together wasn’t limited to this measly half an hour in school but he said he had things to do after school and you don’t quite have the guts to ask for his number...

On the day of the volleyball rally you had the luxury of staying outside the gym since it was full enough and you wouldn’t be missed. Although you didn’t know anything about writing music yourself, you considered trying your hand at composing something just to express the crush you had on Akira somehow. It definitely wasn’t going to be through a confession! Oh, speak of the devil, it looks like his class is transitioning in next. He waves and smiles at you for a brief moment before a blonde boy blocks his line of sight with you and you can’t help but sigh. At least you’ve still got today’s lunch period.

When you meet up, he asks, “Could you tell me why you have to stand like that to play? I’m curious.” You never expected him to ask that, especially when he watched you the whole time, but you indulge him without thinking about it as you take the stance that’s been beaten into your head since you started playing. You begin to explain as best as you could with your hands full and he nods along, then stands behind you to get a better look, or so you think. Even then you feel the skin on your back tingling as you can’t help but feel more self-conscious of the space between the both of you. Does he have to look over you so closely?

Akira lets out a thoughtful hum. “Don’t your shoulders get stiff from doing this so long?” His fingers ghost over your shoulders and you hold your breath, but he doesn’t dare to touch you and backs away. “Well, I suppose you know what you’re doing.” You think you would have died if that went on any longer. The bell rings to save you from the tension and you shake your nervousness off.

“By the way, you didn’t have to participate in the rally, did you?” he asks as you snap the clasps on your case shut. Fortunately not, everyone knew your place was far outside the world of sports. He smiles in relief at your answer as he slings his bag over his shoulder. “That’s good,” he murmurs. Pausing for a moment, he takes your hand without warning and all your breath escapes; He gently, slowly, thumbed over your knuckles. “I’d hate to see your delicate hands get hurt and covered in bandages.”

You hope he doesn’t feel your palms getting sweaty. Out of nowhere you get the guts to impulsively ask if he would kiss them better. There was an attempt to sound smooth and flirtatious, but your voice sounds hilariously cracked. Akira doesn’t pay much attention to that and flashes a charming smile. “As many times as you want.”

Did he just flirt back? Is he flirting with you? You’re at a loss for words as he releases your hand and you’re careful not to look flustered. He waits for you in the doorway so you can leave together for the short time you walk the same way. When the day passes and you’re home, you find a blank notebook and start drawing the lines for sheet music, filling in notes and key signatures. You get the feeling you might understand how people could stand to write cheesy love songs, now.

Although you weren’t sure if you wanted to meet with Akira today considering you felt anxious from yesterday, so you figured you could leave a note by the practice room. As you thought about what to write in your first class of the day, you could hear commotion outside and your teacher and classmates started to turn towards the hallway. Other teachers were shouting at their students to stay inside as they rushed to the windows and a common word was being thrown around in the noise. Is it a name? Despite your desire to know what was going on, it was probably safer to stay at your desk than get trampled by the hoards of adolescents rampaging down the halls.

It’s only when you’re going to your next class that you hear what happened from the gossip of people clogging up any chance of getting anywhere on time. A girl tried to kill herself. She jumped off the roof. Someone named Suzui. Someone from the volleyball team. No, not even Kamoshida would go that far, right? Not even he could recover from that, could he? Your busy body feet are already taking you towards his office; You’re not sure why, you couldn’t do anything about the situation yourself, but--

“Everyone present right now... will be expelled.” You can barely hear him through the door. What? Now talk of expulsion? Outraged voices follow and you press your ear against the door to listen better but you hear footsteps coming closer and quickly hop away, hiding around the corner as you watch two boys you don’t know walk out, followed by Akira. Surely he wasn’t getting expelled too? What did he do?

You don’t get the chance to think about it for very long, the door slams open again and Kamoshida himself walks out and his gigantic stature is intimidating. Shrinking back and praying he’d ignore you did little when your instrument case banged against the wall and his head practically snapped towards your direction; you didn’t want to be scared of a shitty man like him, but you can’t control your knees from shaking and knocking together. He’s absolutely furious and you don’t dare to let a single sound out.

Then he smiles.

“What are you doing? You need to get to class.” He holds his hand out. “Why don’t I carry that for you? You’ve been dragging that thing around since last year, haven’t you?” Your knuckles turn white as you grip the handle and hug the case as close as possible to yourself. His eyes narrow and the corners of his fabricated smile drop a bit. “What’s wrong? I won’t do anything.” That’s a lie, you want to scream but you’ve lost your voice. He easily snatches it from you--there was no contest of strength to begin with--and the edge smacks you right in your jaw, followed by a ringing sound irritatingly emitting through your head. That’s definitely gonna bruise, but more importantly that bastard has your beloved partner!

He’s already made it halfway up the stairs and you hurry after him. “Why do you keep bringing this thing to school, anyway? There’s no fine arts program anymore.” With each word, he’s purposefully slamming your case against the railing. “Isn’t it embarrassing for a student like you to let your future be weighed down by such an unrewarding area? You should really focus on other things.” Your legs are shaking so much you can barely keep yourself from falling over.

You want to shout at him to give it back, to take back the expulsion, to stop being such a horrible person, but--

“Oops.” He drops your case and you try to catch it as it tumbles down but it slides across the floor and hits the wall with a heavy thud, its formerly perfect exterior now full of dents and scuffs. You could only imagine what the inside must have looked like. “You need to take better care of your things.” His absurdly huge hands slam against your back as you look with horror, practically knocking the wind out of you as he walks back to his office.

That’s it. You fall against the wall and slide down, on your knees as your jaw swells and feels warm. The bell rings, signaling the next class to begin. Hearing footsteps of hall monitors come closer, you force yourself to stand and pick up your case. It feels like you’re a zombie, waddling back and forth as you slowly walk away and towards the practice room. You stare at the empty space for a while before laying down on your side, and slowly undid the bent clasps as best as you could, opening the case and peering inside.

The insides are warped, yet all the pieces look... fine. Your fingers won’t stop shaking as you trace the bumps and holes, making sure it feels alright. Thank goodness. The encounter has completely drained you and you pass out on that cold, hard floor.

“Hey, get up!” It only feels like a second when you feel someone shaking you and you hesitantly open your eyes, seeing Akira and feeling his arm around you. “What happened to you?” He touches your jaw so gently that you can barely feel his hand. “Who did this? No, wait, hang on.” He lays your head down on his lap and rummages through his school bag, pulling out what seems to be an entire first aid kit. How did he manage to fit that in there with everything else? As your consciousness gradually faded back he took care of your bruise with swift skill and sighed in relief when he confirmed you weren’t injured anywhere else. “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with the music program being canceled, does it?”

It’s too much to hold it back anymore and you spill it all out, trying to cover your eyes as you cried out. Damn that Kamoshida to hell, curse him, punish him, destroy him, kill him. Why did that man have to exist? Akira listens to you quietly and pets your head as you let loose your frustrations and anger until you’re nothing more than a sobbing mess. When your cries grow soft and you can only hiccup, he has you sit up and wipes your face with a tissue.

“It’s going to be alright,” he whispers before he rests your head on his shoulder and places his arms around you. “You don’t have to believe me right now, but trust me.” With the conviction he has in his voice, how could you not? Despite how little you have known him for, you let your emotions rule you for this moment.

It took a couple days for your bruise to heal but Akira’s care for it left no trace behind. Since your case was in shambles you couldn’t transport your instrument and Akira suggested to keep it in the practice room. There was apparently two weeks until he would get officially expelled and you grew anxious for him but he just smiled as he pulled up his usual chair. “It’ll be alright,” he assured as you assembled your partner. “If you’ll keep playing for me then I’ll have the confidence I need.” But why, you wonder aloud.

He thinks about his answer before running a hand through his hair. “The sound of your music is the requiem of my life.” That’s so bad. That’s so bad, that’s so bad, that’s so bad, that’s...

So embarrassing...

But if that’s what he says, if he says he needs your music, then you’ll gladly give everything you have. As the days pass, you’re composing your first piece with ferocity, researching as much crash course music theory and tutorials as you can off Google and rewriting and rewriting and rewriting--gosh, it’s a miracle you haven’t torn your notebook to shreds with how hard you’re writing. You’re not paying much attention to what’s happening in school, something about Phantom Thieves and a calling card. The deadline’s getting too close for comfort and you finish on the day he’s supposed to be expelled. Did he accomplish the impossible?

The entire school is called into an assembly on the second day of May. The principal is addressing the girl who jumped; isn’t it a little late for that? As you listen respectfully, the doors to your right burst open and there stood the dirtbag. He claimed he was reborn and walked onto the stage. In a mournful voice, he confessed his crimes, fell to his knees, hung his head, offered to kill himself... Seriously? You stood in a daze, everything else staying tuned out as the teachers forced everyone to leave and the swarm of students swept you away.

Lunch felt even farther than before. The moment the bell rang, you shot out of your seat and bolted to the practice room, turning the corner and crashing into someone. No, it wasn’t just someone, there’s no one else who would come here now. You prop yourself up with your hands on either side of Akira’s head, the latter looking the same as he did the first time you literally ran into him. You can only smile at each other like fools before sitting up, neither of you able to anything else but stare at each other.

“You did it,” you manage to say. “You didn’t get expelled.”

“Mm. I heard they’re considering putting the music program back next semester.” Really? You didn’t think that would happen, or even hear of such a thing. “You didn’t know?” No one told you. Even if they did put it back, you doubt anyone would care. Not to mention you wouldn’t be able to use the practice room for yourself and Akira anymore.

Wait, speaking of which. You get to your feet and ask him to listen to a song you wrote for him. “... Really? I don’t remember asking you to do anything like that.” He follows you into the practice room and you set up in record time. Oh god, you didn’t have time to rehearse, what if you fuck up--

But one look into Akira’s eyes is all you need to sooth your nerves. You relax your shoulders and perform your concert.

With one last motion, the final note rings in the air, and you slowly exhale, your heart racing as you wipe the sweat off your forehead with your sleeve. Akira does his best to give you the loudest, roaring applause that one man could give. Before he can say anything, you butt in first.

“Can I have your phone number?!”

He stares at you for the briefest second before letting out a delightful laugh. Music to your ears. And rests his head on his hand.

“You had to write a whole song just to ask that?” He hums in thought and closes his eyes, tapping a finger against his thigh. “It wouldn’t be fair just giving you a number, would it? I should give you something more...” He looks at the floor before looking at you. “You must have worked your hands to play and make that song for me. How about I kiss them better?” As many times as you wanted? A corner of his mouth raises to a smirk. “As many times as you wanted.”

You carefully set your partner down and take a step towards him. He takes your hand and starts at your fingertips, pressing his lips against each one, then moving up to your knuckles, to the back of your hand, your wrist, and your palm. That’s not enough, you decide, and he looks up. “Greedy, are we? I don’t think you’ll be satisfied with just your hands, then.” He pulls your arm and you fall onto his lap, surprised by how swiftly he managed to close the gap between you two. “Where would you like me to kiss you now?”

You spent more than enough time just trying to ask for his phone number, you have the guts to go for the kill. Here goes nothing.

Your eyes fly shut as you press your mouth against his; Akira doesn’t react right away, but you feel him smile against your lips and returns your gesture. It ends too soon and you slowly open your eyes. Surely you must look ridiculous, but you don’t care.

That’s not enough, you decide.

#Persona 5 #P5 #Akira Kurusu #P5MC #akira kurusu x reader #akira x reader #p5 mc #chair kun #pego #fanfic #fanfiction #request

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mannapolis · 5 years

Text

3 January 2019

11:47

I had a hard time falling asleep last night. I wasn't able to focus on any of my favourite guided sleep meditations. Finally I found the ”music” suitable for my emotional state and capable of slowly relaxing my painfully tense body. It was the sound of a thunderstorm with heavy rain. I love summer night thunderstorms. Obviously, I love them from the perspective of the safety of my bedroom. I woke up unusually energized. I set my alarm clock with a new song which immediately put me in a great mood. I really like this cover and a lot of other covers by Scary Pockets. I can't stop rewinding our last session in my head. I've been listening to an audiobook to focus my attention on something else but it keeps coming back to that place and time in ” history” when I felt so extremely exposed and vulnerable and, I'm sure it won't come as a surprise, I am analysing every word you said that I remember and every nonverbal expression I noticed. I can't help it. I'm also trying to dig into my own emotions during that session. I want to understand myself to the fullest. I know I was nervous, afraid of your judgement and rejection. But I haven't mentioned that I was also afraid of my own possible reactions. Let's say I might have felt embraced, accepted and loved but it is so SCARY. Why?? Just thinking about such possibility makes me sick to my stomach. How totally absurd is this reaction!

https://youtu.be/sQnoZUR6fvY

[ Never Gonna Give You Up - Rick Astley - not FUNK cover feat Reeve Carney!!]

14:00

I am wondering - oh, how I love to wonder 😄 - how could I manage my sexual thoughts. I imagine there's nothing wrong with slipping into sexual fantasy but... I think that having a better control in that sphere could be very useful. When your image started to appear in my sexual fantasies I would feel preoccupied because of my past therapeutic experience. I didn't want to make the same mistake (I understand that I wasn't the only one responsible for the mistake but I do want to take responsibility for my part of it). So, when your image would appear in my sexual fantasy I would freeze and make a mental effort to remove you from it. But, as I started feeling more and more comfortable in our sessions I was less and less willing to make that effort of removing you from my fantasies. To the point of completely giving in. I would let the wave to take me on the journey and I found letting go of the resistance very enjoyable. It had a taste of the forbidden fruit, sweet and juicy... But we all know what happened to Eve and Adam 😄 I suppose this desire is driven by the need of affection that can be best or maybe most easily expressed by physical intimacy, not necessarily of sexual nature. But this explanation doesn't satisfy me completely. You offered me another interpretation. If I understood you correctly, I learnt to associate male affection with sexual desire as it became, through my early sexual initiation, a forming experience. It definitely makes sense. And I definitely learnt very quickly that sexual intercourse was the fastest and easiest way to get some ersatz of love. I suppose that letting you into my sexual fantasy is not morally reprehensible. But is it wise? I'm afraid that it could distort your image and divert my attention from other important things that I should perhaps think and talk about. I have a tendency to use masturbation as a remedy for various psychological and physical ailments. And I'm afraid I might be abusing it to my own detriment. I would like to have a well balanced approach to sexuality. Unless I decide to become a writer of erotic novels, I think I should step out from my erotic fantasy world and face the reality. What do you think?

14:10

I'm almost crying with laughter upon realizing how terribly hypocritical I am. As I was writing the previous message, I also had a clear plan of what I was going to do after I finished it - something completely opposite to abstaining from overindulgence in sexual pleasure.

17:41

This message is purely philosophical with elements of linguistics. I like to write down some of my ideas and this place has become the sort of a diary to which I let you have the access. So, I had this idea that to have a wonderful life all we have to do is wonder. It may seem like a play on words but there must be some truth in it. Wonderful means full of wonder. ”Wonder” can be a noun or a verb. To wonder means: 1. to speculate curiously or be curious about; be curious to know; 2. to be filled with admiration, amazement, or awe; marvel 3. to doubt Isn't it amazing to realize that filling one's life with wonder is so easy and accessible to anyone? It doesn't require any special skills, equipment, any particular physical characteristics, it doesn't require traveling to any particular place, moving in any particular way, talking to any particular person (perhaps this could help), buying any particular objects. Anyone can do it any time! Isn't it wonderful?! 😄 As a noun ” wonder” means: 1. something strange and surprising; a cause of surprise, astonishment, or admiration; 2. the emotion excited by what is strange and surprising; a feeling of surprised or puzzled interest, sometimes tinged with admiration; 3. miraculous deed or event; remarkable phenomenon. All it takes to have a wonderful life is to never stop feeling curious, doubtful, surprised, puzzled, interested or amazed. When you think about it for a moment or two you realize that miracles are happening all the time and everywhere. My god, aren't we all miracles?! If a magician stepped upon a stage with two germ cells invisible for the human eye, then said the magic word ”abracadabra” and a human appeared out of nowhere, that would be an awesome trick.

23:53

I got a little sad as I remembered my very first therapist. I have a lot of resentment and bitter feelings for him. What you're dealing with is not only my childhood, adolescence and early adulthood but also my first attempt at seeking professional psychological help that ended up with disastrous effects. My first therapist, Dr W. was the group therapist whom I mentioned to you last time. He had a professionally cold, indifferent demeanor. It was nearly impossible to spot any emotion on his face. But I totally adored him. No, I was obsessed with him. At that time I got interested in psychology and sometimes I would ask a more theoretical question because understanding (or rationalization) was (and is) one of the most accessible ways of dealing with my emotions. And he never, as far as I remember, treated those questions seriously. He would bounce them off as something useless for the process of therapy (that is my interpretation for why he did it; I don't know why he did it; all I know is that he wasn't willing to answer my theoretical questions or, as I saw it, treat me seriously). He wasn't willing to answer my more personal questions, either. Once, I noticed a band-aid on his hand. I asked him what had happened to his hand to which he replied: What do you think had happened? I think it illustrates his approach pretty well. He was a living steel cold mirror. Plus, he had this air of being bored to death with our problems. That is naturally my absolutely subjective observation but my friend Joanna, whom I met during that therapy, had a very similar impression. All of this did not prevent me from idealising him, adoring him and desperately wanting him to love me or at the very least to respect me and help me to the best of his abilities. He didn't seem to be willing to do that either. After three months of my intensive group therapy ended, I HAD to leave no matter what. (The therapy was structured this way because the clinic was funded by National Healthcare). I definitely didn't feel ”cured”. Quite the opposite. I felt like I lost my first real family where people could openly talk about their feelings. I started writing various essays, mini dramas and poems to make sense of my inner confusion. I felt like my therapy had just began and I was really clueless as to what I should do with myself. I made an individual appointment with my therapist almost having to beg for it repeatedly explaining that I am not feeling well. I had to wait a month for that appointment and finally when I went to see him full of hope, I asked about the possibility to continue my therapy individually to which he replied that it was not possible! He didn't offer any help at all. He vaguely suggested contacting other clinics. I was devastated when I left his office. I lost my desire to live. Can you imagine? A patient entering a psychotherapist office full of hope and leaving it with suicidal thoughts!!! I am trying to think of it as a sort of black comedy because it's too damn horrible to take it seriously.

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marcythewerewolf · 7 years

Note

Do you think that if Helen knew Jules was running the institute since he was 12, she would feel guilty for having to leave/asking him to take care of the kids? Could you maybe write a little something between them (Jules pov, post Los or whatever works)?? I feel like they need to have a conversation & I love your interpretations of things! Sorry if it's a lot to ask.

Ah, sure! I am back in school, so this is a little shorter than some of the previous epics, but I do love Helen and the potential for a very messed up Julian.

It probably made him a bad person, Julian thought, the fact that he didn’t want to talk to her.

Livia and Drusilla adored their weekly conversations with Helen, sat on the phone with her for hours if they were allowed to. Every tiny moment, every silly joke whispered in lessons when Diana was looking away, every new bug Ty found or exciting book Dru finally stole from behind Julian’s back and read, it all needed to be documented for their missing sibling. They could not talk to Mark, but they could talk to Helen and that small lifeline was one the girls were clinging to with all their might.

Even Ty, who didn’t like static or the sound of bad reception, wrote long letters and hung over his twin’s shoulder making comments to be passed onto Helen down the line. It had taken Tavvy, who Helen had sat up nights with as Eleanor died, a little longer to accept the phone as a substitute for the caregiver he remembered, but on Friday nights the only thing that could get him to go to sleep was a song sung across the ocean, tinny on old house phone but still beautiful. If the weather was bad on Wrangel Island that night and they couldn’t get through, Julian had to spent hours compensating before he’d go down.

The demand for Helen was so great, much more than the time she could give them or the time Julian was willing to let the kids spend tethered to the landline in the kitchen, that he usually felt justified in not speaking with her. It was only fair, he needed her less than the little ones did.

Julian Blackthorn was thirteen, but he knew sacrifice. He knew what it felt like when it was false.

The truth was, he didn’t want to talk to Helen. He could lie to many people, and he had, but it was harder with her. Dad and Mom were dead, and they’d taken their authority over him with them to their graves, however Helen still had the edge of age that made it hard for him to fight with her. Until he’d been twelve, she’d been a sort of adjunct-authority figure, respected and feared and allowed to lay down rules when their parents were away. Now he was in charge, now he had to be in charge, but… it was hard to make the switch.

Letting anyone know about Arthur could be disastrous. Lying to his big sister, who knew him better than anyone would be tricky at best. It was easier to simply avoid her, to say a few trite things about it all being fine and then hand the phone off to the kids.

Sometimes though, he got left in the lurch.

Ty had run down the the beach to get the others, leaving Julian alone in the kitchen with cold fillet of fish and Helen’s nervous voice on the other end of the line.

“It’ll take a few minutes for him to get everyone together,” Julian said, apologetically, “We weren’t expecting you to call until later.”

“Oh, well, it’s, um, it’s been a slow day, magically speaking,” Helen replied, voice soft and a little sleepy, though the time difference meant she’d woken up from a nap, if anything. “Aline thought it might be better to try moving the call back, since I know it’s hard to get the kids to bed sometimes after.”

“Well, I still have to feed them dinner,” Julian pointed out, feeling a little frustrated despite himself, “How is Aline doing?”

Asking about Aline, kind-eyed and still a little unknown because her and Helen’s courtship had been short and war torn. They were engaged, but Julian mostly knew her through anecdotes shared and an occasional voice in the background of calls (much like Emma, she insisted on not interrupting, though at this point they were her family too).

Love filtered through his sister’s words, as bright as sunshine. “She’s doing well, though she hates being cooped up. Now that it’s colder it’s hard to get outside as much. We had to say goodbye to the polar bears we made friends with, and we’re not sure if we’ll see them again. Winter is hard, but we’re hopeful…” Stories of tundra and wildlife and cozy cold unfurled, a world away from Julian’s hectic house in the California sun.

It sounded amazing. It sounded quiet.

Anger and resentment boiled in the pit of his stomach, insensible and impossible to ignore. It wasn’t fair, that she was older and he was stuck here. It wasn’t fair that she got naps and Julian had to make himself like the taste of coffee. It wasn’t fair.

“How are you? How is Uncle Arthur?” she finished, in the same concerned voice, “Livia said he doesn’t talk much to you guys, that you’ve been doing most of the housework.”

Guilt doubled up next on the seething pointless anger and Julian held the phone away from him, just to stop hearing Helen’s voice.

“Sorry, left something on the stove!” he shouted at the receiver.

He heard a muffled, “Julian, is something wrong?” as he fled to the stove and started putting anything on it. It didn’t do to contradict your own story later.

Lying, he was learning, was an art, as much as painting was. Julian’s greatest masterpiece was the image of a family not falling to pieces.

He viciously breaded the fish and ignored the phone on the counter, as the kids and Emma came up from the seaside. He still couldn’t shake the rage, undirected and hot his throat, and totally pointless.

Helen was just as much a prisoner as he was. It wasn’t fair to envy her, just because her cell was shaped differently. The icy wastes of Wrangel Island weren’t that appealing. Still, sometimes, he missed the quiet sensation of boredom.

Helen had grown up when they weren’t looking.

It was a strange thing to say about your own sister, but there was no way around it. Phone calls and video chat hadn’t been able to capture the way adulthood had settled around the slender, teenage girl he remembered. Like a heavy winter coat, it muted the once sharp edges of her, scoured fine lines of age on her beautiful face.

She’d helped take care of them since she was seventeen, from when Mom died until she had been taken away from them, but now, she actually looked like someone’s mother. The cold had added a softness to her figure and a hardness to her face. Nene, her long lost aunt, had more freshness to her features, but she a faerie. They tended towards ethereal youth. In contrast, Helen wore experience openly, a guard against the world. Between the shine of her hair (prematurely greying, a sure sign she’d taken after Dad) against her fur collar and her new layer of winter blubber, she put Julian in mind of a seal, sleek and bright.

Julian remembered stories about selkies, who came to the human world, had children, then left as quickly as they came, leaving their half-magical progeny in the lurch. It was a terrible comparison. Helen hadn’t meant to run.

“It was never Uncle Arthur,” he said, as soon as they were alone, “Never. I ran the Institute, I took care of the children. It was all me.” The truth, said after years of lies, felt as freeing and as bitter as a knife in the back.

“Oh, Jules,” Helen sighed, sympathetic but not enough. Julian wanted to lash out, to lash back.

Years of pent-up resentment, of anger he couldn’t explain and never wanted to, all spilled out as unstoppable as blood from an artery.

“It was all me! Even when I was younger than Dru! I tried so hard, and it worked, it worked for so long.” It had stopped working now. They were past the point where a pretty picture painted on top of a crumbling wall would fix the problem. The realization only made Julian more upset. “Why weren’t you there?”

He wanted her to feel every bit as guilty as he did, but her face was faerie blank, like Mark’s got sometimes when he’d decided that dealing with things as a human wasn’t possible anymore.

“Julian,” she said, moving towards him with comforting arms, like they were still young and she could pick him up and hold him until he stopped crying. “Jules, oh, Jules.”

Lashing out at someone old enough to actually take it was immensely satisfying, in a horrible way. Fighting with Emma was like tearing out his ow heart, and the children had always relied on him, more utterly than anyone else knew. He owed Helen nothing. She hadn’t been there, and it had all gone wrong.

“No!” he snapped, “You left us, Helen, you left us and you never came back. And there was no one, there was only me. Didn’t you know? Aren’t you sorry?”

His sister retreated a little, tucking her arms into herself, but she was weathering the storm better than he thought was fair. It only made him want to tear everything down more.

“Brave Caesar, faithful Caesar,” she told him, looking like their father with another face. Still, he could imagine the blade in her chest, and his hands covered with blood, and the terrible guilt, “I have been so sorry everyday. But it doesn’t matter. It still happened. I couldn’t do anything, and you couldn’t do anymore than you did, and that’s even worse.

Julian felt all the vigor of fury drain out of him, as quickly as it had appeared. He sagged against a nearby countertop. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Helen, I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t Helen’s fault. It had never been her fault, anymore than it had been Arthur’s, or Mark’s, or Dad’s. They were shaped like authority, or they had been once, in the long forgotten time before, but they had just as much power as he did.

He let Helen wrap him in her arms, warm and soft. She rocked back and forth, like she was soothing a baby. “It’s okay,” she told the back of his head, “I was mad at me too for a while. You want to be mad at someone in a situation like this.”

Julian relaxed in her arms and the distant feeling that maybe someone else was on his side. As he did, his mind wandered, and the more he thought the stronger the anger came back, until it was boiling in his stomach.

It wasn’t Helen’s fault, but he knew whose fault it was.

“I hate them,” he told her. It was a pointless phrase, almost petulant. Helen just nodded, her chin bone hitting his shoulder.

“I know, Jules, I know.”

#m writes #fanfic #helen blackthorn #jules blackthorn #lord of shadows spoilers #anonymous messages

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