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hyenahunt · 20 days

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Obbligato: Epilogue - 2

Writer: Akira

Season: Winter

Characters: Tatsumi, HiMERU

Proofreading: Remi (JP) & honeyspades (ENG)

Translation: Peace

HiMERU: It was laughable to think the world would change for anyone who wasn't a god.

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Tatsumi: Why did it end up this way? You and I sought to manage a unit where all would be equal, all would be fair, to create an ideal world just the same.

Yet the moment we stepped onto the road that would lead us to such a dream, the bright future we imagined went dark.

Why is that? Did we do something wrong?

While I was hospitalized, no matter how much I asked such questions to God, I received no answer. Not even my faith could save me.

That is why recently, I've taken to unraveling this twisted world by thinking for myself while learning common sense, all so I don't make the same mistakes I did before.

HiMERU: In the end, it was not a dream meant to come true. It was laughable to think the world would change for anyone who wasn't a god.

HiMERU: (The idol industry was built from the ground up by a generation of godlike Super Idols.)

(But of the innumerable idols who have emerged since then, not one has come close to godhood.)

(Not "that Akehoshi," nor "Priest." None who have yearned for it, have driven towards it, have been able to truly replace God.)

(God is dead. I've heard that the one who strove to imitate God, "Priest," met an unfortunate end during the recent SS as well.)

(Deputy Director Saegusa told me as such, being as I have a right to know.)

HiMERU: (I didn't care much for "Priest" anyway. That man replaced God — known as "Godfather" — long ago.)

(I wasn't fond of my parent's house. I ran away and, due to being slightly related to "Priest," came under the care of that man.)

(I have no feelings towards him. I simply learned from him. In truth, "Priest" was little more than a stranger to me — I wouldn’t care one way or another if he died.)

(I have no love nor respect for an imposter who pretended to be my grandfather or great-grandfather.)

HiMERU: (However, Kaname was different.)

(My poor little brother.)

(He was innocent, he simply wanted to be an idol. His mother, the only one who'd ever shown him love, asked him to.)

(He wanted to live up to her expectations. He wanted to be loved more by his favorite parent. That's the sort of child Kaname was.)

(His mother loved idols.)

(So much so that she was obsessed with them and became a stalker of "that Akehoshi," whom she adored most of all.)

(When the news broke out that "that Akehoshi" was married, she flew into a jealous rage and crowded onto the stage when he was performing, calling him a traitor, a lying cheat.)

(You were a complete stranger to him. You weren't his family, a lover, anything like that.)

(You already had a husband.)

(Kaname's mother had an obsessive love, one that drove her mad.)

(Love and faith can do that to a person. And as idols, we unknowingly spread it as well.)

(What a sinful occupation.)

HiMERU: (... As she went mad on stage, she struggled with "that Akehoshi" and fell off the stage.)

(Unfortunately, she died immediately due to a skull or neck injury.)

("That Akehoshi," who was at the peak of his career, fell fast out of favor due to that incident.)

(Due to the coverage of various newspapers and gossip magazines, he was cited as "the absolute worst idol" and put under fire for killing someone onstage.)

(However, no matter how you look at it, it was nothing but an accident. In fact, "that Akehoshi" was the victim in the situation — harassed by a crazed fan whilst on stage.)

(Whatever force was working behind the scenes, it ended with the man being put behind bars and eventually dying there.)

(And so it became a taboo incident within the idol industry.)

(Even now, the fact that he was that woman's son was enough to cause reluctance in anyone who might have given him a job.)

(Those who tout it around as a worthy reason are the very same who can justify their violent acts against Kaname.)

HiMERU: (Yes, that day that mob surged into the auditorium, they used that fact to erase their wrongdoings and be acquitted for it. I suppose the higher-ups of the school managed that.)

(It's fine to corner and crush someone, since they're the son of a criminal. That's what their superiors decided.)

(When one of the teachers who'd become part of their group told them as much, the Non-Special Students used it as an excuse to get rid of the Special Students they hated so much.)

(They'd never forgiven the Special Students.)

(In particular, they wouldn't allow that abhorrent Special Student HiMERU stand on the same stage as their beloved leader — Tatsumi.)

(So they burst. Their dissatisfaction turned to anger and they weaponized it.)

HiMERU: (That is what happened then. The end of Tatsumi's revolution.)

(Due to meaningless grudges and long-held debts, the ideals Tatsumi held so close to his heart were obliterated.)

(It was, in the end, a dream never meant to come true.)

(Yet, it… is far too cruel.)

(... The woman who ended "that Akehoshi's" career as a Super Idol is dead.)

(But that woman had a husband and child.)

(Her husband had split from her a long time ago, and so he lived alone.)

(It seems that fans of "that Akehoshi" took to blaming him for the incident, condemning him daily, even though he had cut ties with her long ago; they were practically strangers at that point.)

(Innumerable fans who weren't satisfied with the outcome of the incident took to acting like he was the villain and, due to the constant barrage, the honest man grew sick.)

(Sick and broken.)

(Taking pity on the man, the Godfather offered him protection on a piece of land he owned. Perhaps he couldn't simply abandon the man, seeing as they had a blood relative between them.)

(Or perhaps he'd wanted to see the broken form of the man who'd been married to the woman that'd stolen his favored "Akehoshi" from him. Who could say?)

(It's too late to ask why; God is dead.)

(The husband never fully recovered, and later was often found half-dead, wandering the premise of the missionary school that would become Reimei Academy.)

(It was as if he was a ghost or the undead, simply roaming about.)

HiMERU: (Maybe it was to atone for his wife's misdeeds, but it seems he was rather kind to the young idols who attended the academy.)

(As he roamed, he cleaned up here and there without being asked.)

(It seems he regained his mind at times, such as when he contacted me.)

(Kaname is my younger half-brother. He is the only son of that man.

(Kaname and I's father had a wife previous to the one who'd ended "that Akehoshi's" career, my mother. She died from illness after I was born.)

(As a result, I was fixated on my own mother from a young age. That is where I am similar to my younger brother — to Kaname.)

(When my father remarried, I thought he'd forgotten my mother and considered him a traitor — I hated him.)

(As it worsened, I grew tired of being there and ultimately escaped overseas.)

(I didn't know nor care to know about him after that.)

(Whenever he bothered to send letters, I threw them all away without reading them. That is why I never knew that he'd had a child with that crazy woman — that they'd had Kaname.)

(At first, I was perplexed. I couldn't believe I had a brother.)

(However after much begging and pleading, I decided to help my little brother. When I first contacted him, he'd said he missed me so innocently. He called me big brother and turned to me for help.)

HiMERU: (It made me happy, Kaname.)

(I thought I would always live on my own.)

(But I was wrong.)

(Kaname gave to me what my parents had not.)

(And so, I wished to repay him for that.)

HiMERU: ......

(But it was all for naught. I wasn't able to turn Kaname into the idol he'd dreamed so long about becoming.)

(My father asked me to take care of him, and Kaname asked me to help him achieve his dream; I did everything I could to succeed in both.)

(Until that moment, I thought of myself as a great man. I thought I could live alone, that I was strong and amazing enough to do so.)

(However, that failure shattered my self-confidence entirely.)

HiMERU: (... That is why I am here now, working to make my brother's dream come true for him.)

(It's simply for my own peace of mind.)

(I failed. That is a fact which cannot be undone.)

(Kaname most likely doesn't want me to do this, but...)

(That is why this is just for myself and my pride.)

(I'll become the idol that he always dreamed of being.)

(The vision that we created together, HiMERU, will become a true idol.)

[ ☆ ]

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#enstars #ensemble stars #enstars translation #hyenahunttl #s: obbligato #tatsumi kazehaya #himeru

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ally-holmes · 1 year

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Unseen | ER John Carter x Reader (ch.2)

Series Masterlist

Chapter One — Chapter Three

Pairings: John Carter x Fem!Reader

Summary of the chapter: Let’s know a little more about John Carter and Y/N’s relationship in their first years.

Word Count: 2171

Unseen ER | Chapter Two.

Every story starts from the beginning, and the story between John Carter and Y/N L/N had, also, a beginning. Far into their third year as med students, both of them were accepted into the County General teaching program; up until that point, none of them had met. Carter had done more "fancy" specialties like dermatology, while Y/N had been more enthusiastic about trauma situations, which obviously means that she was way more prepared to be in the Emergency rotation than him.

John Carter's medical tug had its origin in the death of his baby brother. God, he missed him. Bobby was John's partner in crime and mischief until he got sick; then John became his brother's confident and rock. Both children were well aware of the pain and uncertainty in their parents' eyes; there was nothing they could do to help Bobby. He was going to die, no matter what the doctors tried. John made up his mind then. He was going to become a doctor.

The Carters were old money in Chicago. They had different companies and foundations, and although they understood the point of helping those with fewer resources, the truth is that apart from giving them money, they didn't do much. After Bobby's death, John's parents suffocated in their grief, ignoring his remaining child, who grew up with his grandparents and an open mind. He wanted a change, and he wanted to be part of said change. Of course, the family allowed him to study medicine, although they kept envisioning his future as head of the Carter company without asking about his opinion. He had no voice.

Although John grew up surrounded by money and fancy items, he had principles, expectations, and goals. He wanted to be a surgeon. Why? Well, it was the most difficult specialty, of course. If he was able to pull out a good performance, if he was able to understand, learn, and use the knowledge to help people from the darkness of death, then he could happily go to his family and say: "My work as a doctor is more useful than being in the company; give it to Chase, he will do just fine."

What John didn't expect was the fact that working in the ER was more exciting, electrifying, and rewarding. He fell in love with the rush, the quiet, the work against the clock, the delivery of babies in taxis… Yeah, even the complaints weren't so bad after a few hours. He loved it; and he could totally understand why Y/N had always that bursting and contagious energy inside her body, glowing eyes, and determined stance– she lived for those moments in the ER.

Y/N had fit in perfectly with Doctor Mark Greene on the first night of their shift together. They worked together as if they had always done it. She didn't hesitate. She didn't vomit. She was home.

John, on the other hand, felt like a disaster. Doctor Peter Benton seemed to despise him and to enjoy torturing him, seeing him fail. Because he did fail. He hesitated. He vomited. He felt unworthy to be a doctor and that echoed in his mind just like the condescending affirmations of his grandmother.

Just in the middle of his first night, a shot wound came into trauma, and although he wanted to help… well, up until this point he had just specialized in simple things. John felt dizzy and nauseous, and Benton just dismissed him with an "I don't need you anyway" which was fair, but ouch. He went outside, to the cold Chicago air. He crouched with the stethoscope between his hands, pressing it to his forehead, trying to calm his breathing.

John Carter, the failure.

Mark Greene came looking for him. His calm steps echoed like there was nothing else but him and the Emergency entrance. Greene was not like Benton; he looked and was kind. He was interested in the students' improvements, and in the professionals' well-being under his wing in the ER. As he approached John, he kept his distance. He gave him privacy by not looking straight at him, and not invading his personal space.

"I thought I was gonna be sick… I'm sorry." Carter confessed with a sigh.

"Don't ever say you're sorry," Mark advised. "See, there're two kinds of doctors: there's the kind that gets rid of their feelings and the kind that keeps them," he explained as he closed the distance with the student. "If you're going to keep your feelings you're going to get sick from time to time, that's just how it works."

John leaned his head against the wall behind him, feeling the cold concrete clash with the hotness of his skull. Mark Greene, with his green scrubs, round frameless glasses, and his hands behind his back, seemed both strong and kind.

"Keep your head down," he ordered; his voice sterner than before.

John knew that his nausea was easier to die if he did as he was told, but he took his time to comply, undoing his tie. Greene crouched right in front of him. He had been approaching the student as if he was some sort of wounded wild animal in need of help; he was to some extent.

"People come in here and they're sick, dying, and bleeding… and they need our help. Helping them is more important than how we feel." Carter nodded to Greene's words. "But it still a pain in the ass sometimes," he added, wanting to break the solemn tone of the atmosphere between them. Carter broke with a soft breath of a laugh, that kind that fights against the will to cry. "Sometimes I just want to quit and do something else," Greene claimed, and whether it was the truth or a lie, no one could tell. They shared a look, searching for an answer they didn't have. "Why don't you take a few more minutes?"

"Yeah…"

Mark Greene got up and started walking towards the hospital, in slow steps, looking back. "By the way, I was in medical school with Benton. He used to get sick all the time so don't let him give you any crap. Okay? You're gonna be fine."

That talk engraved itself in John Carter's memory with fire. Whenever he felt useless, restless, frustrated, alone… Mark Greene's words echoed in his mind.

Mark Greene was a good teacher.

He was a good doctor.

He was–

Yeah. He was.

He didn't have that talk with Y/N, there was no need for it because she already knew that. Greene could feel and see the fire in her determination to be good to the patients, to help them, to keep her own emotions and feelings, and be empathic but not to the point of ending up suffocated with her own remorse. He talked to her, of course.

"You can't save them all," he said. "You can try; we all do. Yes, sometimes is our fault as doctors because we have not done the proper thing. Yet sometimes it just happens no matter how hard we tried."

"I could've–"

"No," he cut her off, "you couldn't have. All the what-ifs that are running through that head of yours have only one purpose: to make you a better doctor. Don't punish yourself, Y/N; just learn."

Shearing their learnings was something that unified Y/N and Carter during that time. It made them stronger, although it could be quite tense at times.

John Carter was a cutie, which he was well aware of, obviously. He was tall and slim, with perfectly smooth brown hair, lovely doe eyes, and a crocket smile; half adorable and half mischievous. He was fun and witty and kind and smart and– and– Yeah, Y/N fell deep for him. Who could've blamed her? Really? Carter had some sort of magnet that made people like him, whether romantically or platonically, didn't matter.

The first time she asked him out on a date, he stuttered, looked around, and with all the kindness of his heart, said "I don't think we should. I'm… I mean, we're going to be seeing each other here all the time and it would be weird if it doesn't work like– I don't know."

Y/N understood that, and although she felt her face hot with shame, she gave him a big smile and a nod. They didn't talk about it anymore. Of course, she ended up finding out about the crush he had on Susan Lewis. She did not correspond with his feelings, though Y/N was certain it was more about the teacher-student situation than Susan being immune to Carter's charms. Then, the next year (1995), he started something with Harper Tracy, very quietly at first; Y/N only found out when Carter comforted Ross about him sleeping with a student. That was awkward. Y/N had to agree to some extent that it was better not to be caught in the middle of a mess like that one.

She felt like a fool, nonetheless. Y/N avoided Carter for some time, which wasn't that hard as their shifts were opposite most of the time.

They were on their psychiatric rotation when they spoke again.

Carter had been feeling restless lately. He loved surgery, he wanted to become a surgeon, and he knew that the rotation between all the departments in the hospital was required for his final grades. However, his skin crawled with anticipation every time they received a consult call from the ER. Oh, boy, how much he enjoyed going down there, changing the quietness from psychiatric for the healthy noise from the ER… yeah, that was life. Unable to stop himself, he found his emotions mixing and tangling in awful ways, torturing his mind. He needed air and he resourced to go upstairs, to the helicopter's landing space on the roof of the hospital.

This is where he found her.

Y/N was bracing herself on the ledge, her eyes lost in the Chicago skyline that was lighting up as the sun kept hiding for the night, her hair a mess blessed by the wind. She took a long breath; she held it closing her eyes, and then she let go of it. Carter observed how with the air in her lungs, her tension left her body.

"You're not gonna jump, are you?" He tried to joke distastefully. His arms were crossed around his body, trying to keep the warmth.

Y/N gave him a look on top of her shoulder, acknowledged his presence, and turned again to face the city. John took that as an invitation and walked towards the ledge too.

"Hey, there, stranger," he smiled.

"Hi."

The silence felt heavy and suffocating. "It's something wrong?" She shrugged instead of giving him an answer. "Y/N, please. Talk to me. I miss you."

"You do know that I have feelings for you, don't you?" He snorted as if she was just playing a prank. The look of sadness in her eyes made him go pale and open his mouth, looking for an excuse. "Save it. Look, if you don't like me like that I totally get it, Carter. Just– Don't lie to me again."

"I have not lied to you."

"No. You gave me a shitty excuse and you forget." The shadow of recognition flashed through his face. "Yup."

"It's different."

"Oh, pray tell me, how much different it is."

"My relationship with Harper started out of fun. We meant nothing to get out of it. There's no pressure for it to go somewhere."

"And ours does?" She laughed skeptically and hurt.

"Of course!" John burst.

The silence fell upon them once again. Feeling like her heart was shattering, Y/N focused her eyes on a big building away from them; the wind slapping her face with cold indifference. Carter, blushing uncomfortably, danced from one foot to another, feeling colder and colder as he stood leaning on the ledge.

"We have something now. Something big. I trust you. I– I like you very much. But this– this thing, whatever it is, could explode and break and destroy everything in its path if we misstep." John felt his stomach clench. "Think about this. If we start something, it's going to be something big."

"I only asked you out for a coffee, Carter," she spat, looking at him dead in the eyes.

"I know…" he whispered, taken aback. "That would've led into dinner. Another date. Then another. A relationship. Marriage… Just– I'm not ready for something that steady now. I feel that if we start something I'm going to ruin it. Can't we just be friends? Good friends. The best friends the world has ever seen?"

Stupid.

Fuck, so uncomfortably stupid, and yet…

"Yeah," she sighed. "I guess."

While they decided on that and Carter definitely enjoyed the arrangement quite a lot, she hid her suffering for the lonely nights in her small apartment, covered in bed, sobbing against her pillow.

Yeah, stupid.

To be continued…

#er #er tv series #er tv show #dr. john carter #john carter x reader #john carter #fem reader #noah wyle #mark greene #doug ross #carol hathaway #susan lewis #kerry weaver #fanfiction #fanfic #angst #comfort #luka kovac #abby lockhart

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the-unseen-servant · 1 year

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The Falling of the Leaves

"Depravatio Vitae" by Alois Vidius, elven painter.

Composed by Lulica ke Aihwua and translated by Quinn Wilders, graduate of the Empyrean Academy.

TRANSLATOR'S NOTE: I chose to translate The Falling of the Leaves¹ not because I think it tells a simple, easily translatable story (because frankly, it doesn't), but because when I met its composer, Lulica², spoke to her about the poem's background, and then saw it being performed myself, I was completely and utterly enchanted by it. I wanted to share the sense of wonder I experienced with as many people as I could, and so I decided to do my best to translate it into Common Leonic. I hope (though I seriously doubt) that I was able to do such a poem justice.

A little bit of context: ballads³ from Rellica tend to retell the stories of ancient Rellican myths, and while those myths' plots are expected to be common knowledge, different retellings will show different interpretations and perspectives of them — poetry in Rellica is a culture of iteration and exploration of the same fundamentally understood stories; A striving towards the beauty and divinity of the myths they retell. Now, The Falling of the Leaves is a retelling of the myth of the wind god⁴ Aollica, who is best known for being the creator of winter. Given that winter has a tendency to devastate crops (and is, just generally, an unpopular season), Aollica isn't often a well-liked character. But what drew me to the piece is that The Falling of the Leaves was born out of a desire to resist that portrayal, and so, in Lulica's retelling, Aollica is actually presented as the hero.

The Falling of the Leaves

[Aihwua]⁵ An old woman stood on a ridge in the rain, Looking out as she braced under gusts of the cold. She saw to the east the vast kingdom's domain, And to its south, the Lone Forest⁶ which glistened like gold.

She is Aollica, Gardener of Winds⁷, And she sees before her what what alone saw: A danger which at the old kingdom begins, And that is because she has seen it before.

When she was a child, she happily played, Ha'anele Ruaku⁸, a village, is where she resided. But she grew scared of what to the south swayed: Trees, which grew closer each day, while unguided.

Her family had laughed and said she should be gleeful; The god of the forest was noble and fair⁹! More of his trees would not be any evil. And Aollica, laughed at, felt they did not care.

[Chorus] Oh Aollica, you were ever lonely; Ever since childhood, distrusted and scorned. No wonder you grew to stay by yourself only, When even your loved ones would leave you ignored. Perhaps if they treated you fair as a kid, You never would need to have done what you did.¹⁰ Still, you had no choice in the crime you committed, Yet you're now remembered forever for it.

[Aihwua] One day the village was changed when she woke; Root, tree, and rock¹¹ had through each building grown. But worst was what came unto the village folk: Aollica found them now frozen as stone.

A voice from behind greeted her in the street. There stood a man, handsome, his skin a bright lime. His chest had been sculpted, his hair short and neat, And from horns on his head there hung silver wind chimes.

He called himself Kone'ehwuica, and spoke with a fervour: He was god of the forest; she should not be scared. He told her that he was not going to hurt her, And he seemed so sincere she was almost ensnared.

He walked up towards her, and tall did he loom, And reached out a hand to Aollica's shoulder. But Aollica bolted! Away from her doom, Away from the village, alone to grow older.

[Chorus] Oh Aollica, you were ever tortured, But the suff'ring you faced, it would not be in vain. You were only a child, alone, scared, and cornered, When he took it all and let nothing remain. Grief is what had you set out on your deed, How could you know where it one day would lead? You had no choice in the crime you committed, Yet you're now remembered forever for it.

[Aihwua] On that ridge passed decades as Aollica bided, Towns being consumed¹² in an endless attrition. But now it was time, for she had decided, To save the kingdom — her ultimate mission.

The roads were exhausting, but she yet survived, League after league, remaining steadfast. In Kahulehulele Ani¹³, at last she arrived: City of Mirrors, the kingdom's vain heart.

In the hall of the king she arrived after days, And in the throne room, above her, there sat a blonde man. And though he seemed absent as at his mirror he gazed, King Kahio'anica held power in his hand.

Of the danger that choked out his kingdom she spoke, But spoke also of a plan to avoid such a loss: With a great wind she'd vanquish the forest with one stroke, But it may cause great damage in bringing a frost.

[Chorus] Oh Aollica, you were ever patient; Plain as you brought your proposal to bear. But you could have been kinder with your dry dictation; For you spoke of famine like you didn't care. Your bluntness¹⁴ may've been what tore your plan apart, Or maybe you hadn't a chance from the start. Still you had no choice in the crime you committed, Yet you're now remembered forever for it.

[Aihwua] Only after she spoke did Kahio¹⁵ turn around, And he spoke just so slowly, like he relished the sound. He called her a lying, disgusting, old worm. The forest was beautiful¹⁶ and of no concern.

He claimed that Aollica insulted his name, By suggesting that he was not fitting to rule. "She just wants to make us all starve," he proclaimed. "Let her be banished! Away with the fool!"

So by the arms was Aollica bound. Though she hung her head low, she was silent, inert. Outside the gates, she was thrown to the ground, And they slammed them behind her, now banished, and hurt.

With eyes wet she bit the inside of her mouth. She knew not what do, yet she took a deep breath. Stumbling on, she then stepped to the south, Where the forest then waited, offering death.

[Chorus] Oh Aollica, you were ever hated; They called you evil and named you a villain. And though you stayed quiet, you deeply frustrated, For you sought to save them yet they would not listen. With the beauty of him all too charmed were those folk, They would not consider a word that you spoke! No, you had no choice in the crime you committed, Yet you're now remembered forever for it.

[Aihwua] Knowing that she could not do this alone, She went between towns asking them for their aid. But every time, away she was thrown, Like when she was a child, laughed and distained,

With every step south hatred's all she could hear, 'Til she stood then before where his forest now grew. Alone, now unable to bite back her tears, She found herself questioning what she should do:

[Bridge]¹⁷ For all but her thought his forest to be harmless! And should she now do it, they all would so hate her. She'd wanted to help, yet they'd think her heartless; "The turncoat who starved us in malice, a traitor".

But if she now turned tail and fled, It is sure that the kingdom the forest would swallow! Every last child by his hand would be dead; Innocent people turned cold and left hollow.

There's naught else to do, she proclaimed to herself! Even if her name would never be mourned, She must give herself up; do all she can to help. So she stood up, determined, To death she was sworn.

[Chorus] Oh Aollica, you were ever stoic; Despite all your struggles you still persevered. You decided to do what was truly heroic, To sacrifice all yet be never revered. This final choice is all what it came down to, But no-one should blame you for what you had chose. Because you had no choice in the crime you committed, Yet you're now remembered forever for it.

[Aihwua] Lead by mended resolve into that which she dreaded, Through verdant woodlands of people now gone, Aollica knew not where she was now headed, But the path then felt true, and so she pushed on.

Until she stumbled on something familiar, A statue, seemingly made of stone; Looking up at her was a human figure, For she now stood in the ruins of her home.¹⁸

Again a cold voice greeted her from behind, And Aollica turned, saw his face as he smiled. "Hello." he said, his voice sharp in her mind, And she felt like she was once again a scared child.

Though her will wavered, she stood and stayed sure. "Kone'ehwuica," she spoke, and put fist to the sky, "Too many you've hurt; I won't let you hurt more." And around her the leaves rose to flutter and fly.

[Chorus] Oh Aollica, you were ever mighty; With one foul motion, you sundered the forest: Leaves turning red swirled from trees in a blizzard, As Kone'ehwuica looked on in terror, and withered. No man alive has since seen you appear, But the frost you created now echoes each year. Though you had no choice in the crime you committed, You're now remembered forever for it.

Oh Aollica, you were never honoured; Through ages past you were cast as the villain: The wicked demon who murdered a forest, Who brought in the frost and invented a season. You knew what you, through your sacrifice, sold, But how tragic it's been how your story's retold, Because you had no choice in the crime you committed, Yet you're now remembered forever for it.

You're now remembered forever for it.

Footnotes

In Lelo Ekani, it is named "Ke Ha'ule Kaosi", which I've chosen to translate as "The Falling of the Leaves", but which could be validly translated with any form of definiteness or plurality on the word "Leaves". This is actually one of my favourite parts of Lelo Ekani; some may consider it as being a language full of ambiguity, but I prefer to think of it as really being full of intentional vagueness; it's not that saying "Ke Ha'ule Kaosi" is ambiguous, it's that the author doesn't need to be any more specific for you to understand what she's trying to say.

For the record, she gave me permission to refer to her here as "Lula", the informal form of "Lulica". Now, I don't care much for formalities, but I think I will still use "Lulica", if only because I think this version of the name sounds nicer.

The Lelo Ekani term is "melaho ahi" (literally, "fire song"), and "ballad" probably isn't a great translation. Aside from singing, it often also involves acting and dancing as key aspects, and I regret not being able to record that here.

"God" is a misleading term. The Lelo Ekani word is "melua", which just means "myth-people". They're said to be the semi-divine people who existed during the Age of Myth millennia ago, and whose actions still "Echo" to this day.

The square brackets throughout are used to designate which sections of the poem are spoken by the aihwua and which are spoken by the chorus.

In Lelo Ekani, it is called the "Nahele Meha", and it is actually a real forest, found on the south side of Rellica.

Written as "Kiha'apua Makani". "makani" translates plainly as "wind", but "kiha'apua" normally means "farmer". It was, however, clarified to me that in this context "kiha'apua" only means someone who cuts or tends to plants — a gardener.

It felt odd to translate the name of a village, so I've left it as is. However, this leads to the loss of the name's connotations, which I believe are important: "Ha'anele Ruaku" can be broken up into "ha'ani" (gift) + "-ele" (place) + "ruaku" (death). Literally, it means "deathly gift-place", but it may be more accurate to call it "Place of Death-gifts" or "Place of Sacrifice".

The original poem uses the word "pona" here, which conveys a concept that we don't actually have in Leona. It's this dual idea of both moral goodness and physical beauty — but speakers of Lelo Ekani don't view it as if it were a duality, as if it were two separate meanings of the word; it's a single meaning, a single word: "pona", which describes a perfect beauty of both body and spirit.

The poem returns to the idea again and again of "If things had gone differently, this terrible event would never need to have happened", but also seems to suggest that things were inevitable in the first place. This back and forth between fate and fault is a common theme in many pieces of mele ahi, and is one of the things that I, personally, really like about this poem.

To the Leonid audience, it may feel weird to lump in plants and rocks as being of the same domain of divinity. But Rellicans see them both as just being different parts of nature, and so Kone'ehwuica is as much a good of the forest as he is god of the dirt and stone beneath it.

The phrase used in the original poem actually means "to make (something) perfect", but is also associated with the idea of taking control over something in order to improve it. Its closest translation in Leonic is probably "consummate", but I'd like to avoid the modern connotations of that word.

"kahulehulele" is a redoubling of "kahule", which means town, and "ani" can mean either "glass" or "mirror". Kahulehulele Ani is a city that pops up in many Rellican myths — it's the centre of the world in the Age of Myth, so to speak. There's no evidence it was ever a real city, despite how many people have looked for it or its ruins.

In other myths or other retellings of this myth, being cold and ruthless is actually Aollica's primary characterisation. In fact, in more comical poems, Aollica is portrayed with incredibly dry humour.

It is typical to shorten "Kahio'anica" to just "Kahio" as a sly sign of disrespect. The name is actually related to the elvish "Cassius".

Again, the word "pona" is used. It's interesting that throughout the original version of the poem, both (and only) Kone'ehwuica and Kahio'anica are described as having pona. While for Kone'ehwuica this is a normal description, with Kahio'anica it's more typical to describe him as "nari", a word which similarly means beautiful, but in a more frivolous or narcissistic way (I've translated it as "vain").

A "bridge" is a traditional section of a work of mele ahi, and is used to reinforce the most emotionally charged part of the poem. The exact nature of the bridge in a performance depends on the emotion intended to be conveyed by the poem. In the Falling of the Leaves, the music and vocalisation becomes slower, but significantly more intense.

The equivalent of this scene in older retellings is actually the subject of the famous autumnal painting by Alois Vidius (That painting is also my favorite of his works that we have found).

#fantasy #worldbuilding #ittoril #poetry #not really halloween themed but it's the best i had #i love autumn #never write with an ABAB rhyme scheme #its not worth it

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swanlake1998 · 3 years

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Article: The Unbearable Whiteness of Ballet

Date: April 22, 2021

By: Chloe Angyal

In an exclusive excerpt from her new book Turning Pointe, contributing editor Chloe Angyal lays out the ways that white supremacy is embedded in ballet's most basic foundations.

Wilmara Manuel and her 11-year-old daughter, Sasha, were at the world finals of a ballet competition, the Youth America Grand Prix, in 2015 when it happened. Shortly before the competition began, the young dancers were on the performance stage with their parents, warming up and preparing to dance the solos they’d been rehearsing for months.

As Wilmara, who is Black and originally from Haiti, and Sasha, who is biracial, stood there, a young white dancer looked around the stage, checking out the competition. “And her eyes land on Sasha,” Wilmara remembers, “and I saw her look [Sasha] up and down, and then look at her mom.

“And her mom said, ‘Don’t worry. They’re never really good anyway.’ ”

Wilmara did her best to contain her shock. Sasha didn’t hear what the white mom had said, and Wilmara wasn’t about to tell her, because “that’s not the thing I want to discuss 10 minutes before she takes the stage.” But Sasha could sense that something was amiss. “Just the look on my face, she was like, ‘What? What happened? What did she say?’ ” Wilmara brushed her daughter off.

Don’t worry. They’re never really good anyway. An entire worldview of white resentment of Black progress and excellence passed quietly from mother to child in just seven words.

That white mother could not fathom that Sasha, a biracial child with a Black mother, might be really good—as in very good, or truly good—at a traditionally white art form at which her child was presumably also quite proficient. She could not imagine that Sasha might deserve to be at that competition, might have qualified on her merit—her talent and skill and persistence—rather than because of what she might consider a misguided or even unjust attempt to diversify ballet by lowering standards. They’re not really good, but they are allowed to be here. In this space that is rightfully yours, in this art form that is rightfully yours. They’re never as good as the white girls, a sweeping generalization that grants no individuality, no humanity, to any nonwhite dancer. They’re all the same, and they never deserve to be here. But don’t worry. Your excellence is a given. You belong here, while their presence is conditional or even ill-gotten.

A few minutes later, Sasha took the stage and performed her solo. She ended up placing ahead of that white dancer.

From then on, Wilmara traveled with Sasha to every competition, paying the additional travel costs to make sure that, if something like that ever happened again, she’d be there to support her daughter.

“That has stuck with me,” she says. “And it’s one of the reasons I make the sacrifice and I go with her everywhere. Even if there are others going, I feel like I need to be around should comments like that pop up. I just don’t feel like I can take that chance, you know? And what cracks me up is that . . . she doesn’t even look as dark as I do, which makes me feel like, ‘Oh my God, if you were darker, like, what else?’ ”

Sasha grew up in a suburb of Indianapolis and is now 16. She trains at the Royal Ballet School in London, an exclusive training ground that serves as a feeder school for the Royal Ballet. It’s widely acknowledged to be one of the best ballet schools in the world.

Wilmara says that people often express their surprise at the quality of Sasha’s training and technique. “Oh wow, you’re really good,” Wilmara says by way of example. “Where do you train? Have you been dancing for a long time?” She says that while she tries to give these white people the benefit of the doubt, she knows what they usually mean, and she’d prefer they just come out and say it: “I’m surprised you’re that good. You’re Black and you’re dancing and you’re good.”

Now that Sasha is a little older, Wilmara talks to her about the racist assumptions embedded in those surprised comments. “You know she’s asking because she doesn’t think a person of your color can do this,” she’s told Sasha, who now “gets it when she hears that tone of voice.”

And, she says, she’s been frank with her daughter about the kind of resistance she should expect from the overwhelmingly white ballet establishment if she keeps excelling—which she shows every sign of doing.

It’s moms who do the bulk of the work of ballet parenting: the sewing of costumes, the schedule keeping for rehearsals and recitals. And when you’re a ballet mom to a dancer of color, there’s an even higher price to pay.

“Not everybody’s gonna be thrilled,” Wilmara says, paraphrasing her conversations with Sasha. “Even if you’re not a dancer of color, it’s cutthroat. And on top of that, you are a dancer of color, and so that poses another threat in some ways. So you have to be mindful of your things and what you are doing, and know what things are okay, and [pay attention to] when you are uncomfortable.”

This emotional labor, the work of helping young dancers understand what “that tone of voice” means and why it’s being used—or the work of deciding whether to tell your child about the racist remark you just overheard or absorb it yourself and shield them from it—is a part of parenting not demanded of mothers of white dancers.

Then there’s the payment in time and money required of Wilmara to make sure that Sasha’s ballet experience is as fair and worry-free as possible. Once, at a competition, Wilmara forgot to color in the “nude” pale pink straps on one of Sasha’s competition costumes. Wilmara scrambled to find brown foundation because none of the vendors at the competition had a leotard in Sasha’s skin color.

“Come on, people, you are here,” Wilmara remembers thinking. “There may not be that many [dancers of color], but they are all here and you should be able to bring various shades of nude leos.”

Succeeding in ballet, or even just surviving, requires extra talent, extra work, extra resilience, and extra sacrifices from dancers of color, especially Black and brown dancers, and their parents. White ballet moms might have to talk to their white daughters about how cutthroat ballet is. But they don’t need to issue additional warnings about how a white girl’s success will be received by that cutthroat culture, because almost all the successful girls and women in ballet are white.

“They’ve had to grow up a lot faster,” Wilmara says of Black and brown ballet dancers. “I think the ballet world makes you grow up a lot faster, but on top of that,” there are the “extra hurdles that other dancers don’t have to think about.” There are the overtly racist comments backstage before a performance and the subtly racist “compliments” after. There is time spent frantically searching for the right leotard or adapting the default pink leotard. There is the knowledge, internalized first by parents and then by their kids, that if you make it over all those hurdles your success will be viewed with suspicion and resentment—that ballet does not have a “diversity” problem; it has a white supremacy problem.

“Our kids,” Wilmara says, “are thinking about this and thinking about it early on.”

The organizing principle of ballet—of training, of performance, of making a ballet body—is control. Control of your rigid torso while your foot shoots upward from the hip in a battement. Control of a silent and compliant class of otherwise giggly 9-year-old girls. “The traditional and classical Europeanist aesthetic for the dancing body is dominated and ruled by the erect spine,” wrote dance scholar Brenda Dixon Gottschild in her landmark book The Black Dancing Body. “Verticality is a prime value, with the torso held erect, knees straight, body in vertical alignment. . . . The torso is held still.”

It all demands control. Control of your smiling face as your feet scream in your pointe shoes at the end of a long pas de deux. Control of your weight, of your turnout, of your stretched and strengthened feet that now arch into a shape no ordinary foot can make. “The ballet audience, attuned and habituated to view control as a prime value, applaud its display and are embarrassed when it isn’t fulfilled,” Gottschild wrote.

Discipline, order, adherence to strict and unquestioned rules. That’s what ballet is. When Gottschild asked Seán Curran, a white dancer and choreographer who performed with the Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Company, what he pictured when he thought of white dance or white dancing bodies, he said, “Upright. . . . For some reason, ‘proper’ stuck in the head a bit, something that is built and made and constructed rather than is free or flows.” A body that is rigid, obedient, and disciplined, remade from something natural and unruly into something refined and well behaved. Proper. “Whiteness,” Curran said, “values precision and unison.”

Curran’s assessment identifies a central underlying prejudice of white supremacy: the belief that people of color, and their bodies, are wild. Uncivilized, animalistic, subhuman. That white people—who, by contrast, are assumed to be organized and civilized—have both a right and a responsibility to tame that which is untamed and impose order, precision, and unison on it. To suppress and control that which is savage; to press it into something that approaches whiteness but will never be truly white and thus never truly equal.

This is the logic that underpinned white colonization and American slavery. It is also the logic that makes racial segregation possible: that which is pure and organized must be kept separate from that which is profane and undisciplined. And central to this worldview is the idea that the work of white supremacy is unending, not because white supremacy is flawed, but because the very people it seeks to suppress are inherently inferior, naturally incapable of complying. Because of some inborn lack—of will, of understanding, of discipline—people of color will never fully obey, never properly assimilate, never be redeemed by whiteness. In this way, white supremacy perpetuates itself, justifying both its worldview and the permanent need for its existence.

It’s little wonder, then, that ballet—with its fixation on control, discipline, and uprightness—wraps itself so neatly around whiteness. It makes sense that white Americans, reared on the belief that whiteness is synonymous with order and refinement, also believe that people of color have no place, or a limited place, or a conditional place, in classical ballet.

Furthermore, it is easy to see how the ideal ballet body—so controlled, so upright—is everything that white supremacy imagines a Black body is not. And because of deeply ingrained American cultural associations with musculature, loose movement, brute force, and untamed sexuality, the Black body is believed to be everything a ballet body is not permitted to be.

“When we talk about the ballerina,” says Theresa Ruth Howard, a former dancer and a teacher, diversity strategist, and the founder and curator of the digital ballet history archive Memoirs of Blacks in Ballet (MoBBallet), “we’re talking about the ideal, our stereotype of the desirable woman, and that is reserved for white women.”

Howard has made a career of helping the people who run ballet companies and schools to examine their ideas about what makes for a “good” ballet body, asking them to question their biases about the inherent fitness of white bodies and unfitness of other bodies, especially Black bodies. She says that long-standing racist tropes about Black women’s bodies make Blackness and ballerinas seem antithetical.

“You have the trope of either the jezebel, the mammy, or the workhorse of the Black woman,” which are incompatible with desirability, fragility, and sexual purity, the ideal of white womanhood at the heart of the ballerina’s appeal.

“She’s desired. It’s the epitome of beauty, of grace, of elegance, and these are not adjectives that are assigned to Black women,” Howard says. “Especially not darker-skinned Black women. This is why the closer you look to the white European aesthetic as a Black woman, the better chance you have at occupying that role. Especially at a higher level.”

Despite the long tradition of Latin American dancers carving out successful professional careers in the U.S. and the enormous success of Misty Copeland—a light-skinned Black dancer whose ascent to the pinnacle of American ballet was a watershed moment for Black dancers and audiences alike—the archetypal ballerina is still a pale-skinned white woman with slender limbs, negligible breasts and hips, and long, sleek hair. In the American cultural imagination, the ballerina is still white.

George Balanchine famously said that “ballet is woman,” but that’s not the whole truth. Ballet is white woman, or, perhaps more precisely, white womanhood. Ballet is a stronghold of white womanhood, a place where whiteness is the default and white femininity reigns supreme.

#article #ballet #chloe angyal #marie claire #racism #anti black racism

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saphirered · 3 years

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Ah I just read like 5 of your head cannons they're amazing! Could you write about the M9 reacting to a fighter s/o using magic for the fist time, and the s/o explaining that they haven't used it cause it scares them?

Thank you so much ☺️! It turned out a bit longer than I intended but more content is good right? I tried to get some variety in the types of magic users to kudos to anyone who figures out the (sub)classes. Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy this one 😘

Caleb:

Caleb, observant as he is caught on the fact you had more knowledge of the arcane than you let people believe. You knew things someone not schooled in some kind of magic wouldn’t have the faintest clue about. It may have left him a bit suspicious of you in the beginning but over time he saw no malicious intent or a connection to the people he’d rather distance himself from.

The first time Caleb noticed you cast a spell, you spoke the familiar words combined with the motions to deflect a hit from an enemy mid battle that otherwise might have been the death of you. You thought no one had noticed but Caleb had, and he recognised the shield spell you used. He saw you flinch the moment you cast it and fear in your eyes as if you were waiting for an aftermath. It never came but you were on edge for the next few hours.

Approaching you after noticing you were still on edge, nervously fidgeting with a coin in your hand to get rid of the more obvious jitters, you denied all claims. If Caleb is good at anything it’s providing a verbal slap in the face through reality check and calling out your bullshit. He wouldn’t press for answers because your past is your past and he had no right to demand it if you were not willingly offering it.

It took you some time but you came clean. You told him how your relationship with practical magics is destructive and hurts people. Because of that you vowed to distance yourself from magic altogether but sometimes you slip and hope no one notices and no ill effects follow you casting any spell. Caleb understands, better than anyone perhaps. He admires your restraint and capability of stepping away from the thing that causes you so much pain; something he never could.

If you’re able to and with your consent Caleb would help you work through your fears, only for your own wellbeing because one thing is undeniable; your magic is part of you and if you never learn to live with it, that it is part of you, you might never be able to accept it. What happens when you’re unable to fear the magic? Will you instead turn to fear yourself like he had himself for so long? No, if he can spare you a fate like that he’d do anything.

Beau:

You never hid the fact you were schooled in the arcane. It just never clicked you are actually a very capable spellcaster especially donned in battle worn armour and your tastes for sharp edged pointy things, and a ‘will cut a bitch’ attitude whenever someone comes for you or those close to you.

Perhaps a little ashamed to admit the first time Beau actually saw you cast a spell it was a simple mage hand cantrip. You couldn’t reach a book on a high shelf at the Archive and you thought it disrespectful to physically climb the bookcases to get it. Beau may or may not have been watching you, more like admiring your muscle. Nothing better than a strong, gorgeous ripped bookworm. Mouth agape you caught Beau staring. You had to snap her out of it. Beau had a million questions, maybe half of them flirty. You answered her questions best you could, even the flirty ones but when it got to where you learned magic you sort of just shut down so she dropped the subject. Beau knows how to read the room no matter how much she might want to press for answers. She’ll refrain. For now.

This doesn’t mean Beau drops the subject entirely for all future reference though. She’d leave hooks for you in case you’d be in a more talkative mood and grow frustrated when you ignored or brushed off the so-many-eth attempt to get you to spill some beans. One day she sat you down, giving you one more chance to tell her what’s going on. If you wanted to tell her, you could. If not, she’d never ask again or try to get you to talk about it.

That’s when you broke down, explaining all the terrible memories of your ‘studies’. You were the only child in a long line of powerful mages to barely be able to cast a cantrip growing up. You were a disappointment and disgrace to your family. Rigorous hours practicing and studying from dawn til dusk without breaks. Not being allowed to go outside and play with friends until you got this one thing right. Nevermind the fact that your family let it be known you were a disappointment.

You’d been working hard already to break the circle but couldn’t prevent the bad memories haunting you every time you felt like you had to cast a spell. No matter how far you ran, whenever you reached for the components, spoke the words or performed the somatics, you were hit with a sense of incompetence. Beau’s not unfamiliar to the need of living up to the expectations of family. She’d be there for you if you wanted to take up magic on your own terms or distance yourself from magic entirely.

Fjord:

Didn’t have a single clue you were magically inclined. But to be fair you never gave anyone a reason to believe you were. You were born with magic and you had seen what developing those abilities had done to others like you. You like yourself the way you are and would very much prefer not to fall into the servitude of some evil entity in the hunger for more power.

You’d seen Fjord spiral into the clutches of his patron and saw him struggle to get away from the leviathan. Ritualistically you tapped into the power bestowed upon you to search for a way to break the pact between warlock and patron. Of course it was doable and your powers could show you the way but you needed to get stronger first…

Fjord grew worried. You’d begun talking to yourself, spending nights awake and an odd sense of paranoia had grasped you. A storm hit once and you had nowhere to shelter. The little voice in your head came back. You could stop that storm. All it would take is a little tiny taste. When you agreed you had no control over yourself. Hand held up to the sky, eyes white and skin ashen, a bright light emitted and the clouds disappeared. Needless to say this did not go unnoticed by anyone.

Obligatory endless questions. Obligatory none answered. You retreated within your shell choosing to ignore your surroundings and feeling the nagging in the back of your head. Fjord heard you speaking to yourself at night. Asking the skies if it was worth it. Worth what? You heard him and just because the voice in the back of your head told you not to, you told Fjord everything; how you had been trying to find a way to keep Uk’otoa at bay, how to break his connection with his patron and give him freedom and what would happen to you if you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching for more after completing that goal.

Fjord refuses to let you sacrifice yourself for his freedom. He’d rather have you fighting the evils of the world at his side than end up fighting you in an attempt to save yourself from what you might become. The two of you would work together to repress the inkling for more power and keep your powers at bay and under control. While you might want to see it differently, for the good of everything you’d stay far away from any magical forces seeking to awaken the power you were born with.

Veth:

Veth made it clear she would not understand why anyone would pass on the opportunity to learn or develop magical abilities should they be available to them. She literally spoke those words and you just nodded along changing the subject. You’d rather not lie but is this lie by omission?

It was an emergency. A fight had gone south and you were losing quickly. Clerics on their last legs, a wizard down being dragged away by the monk and Veth running in arrows blazing and screaming to protect her friends. You had to get out and none of you were quick enough at this point to all get out. So you did what you had to do. A quick expeditious retreat resulted in conveniently released magic missiles at your enemies, grabbing the halfling who got out some last shots you misty stepped your way to safety. You shouted to the others you were safe immediately knowing to keep your mouth shut for the next minute. Bless the gods the surges weren’t that bad this time.

Safely returned Veth commented on what you did. Did you take those scrolls? Did you buy that misty step enchanted item after all? Those were the only logical explanations right? Yes but they weren’t true. So you told Veth the truth. No scrolls or enchanted items were involved. Why didn’t you tell anyone you could do that?! It would have been so helpful in the past! Look how many buttons you could have helped her get!

You calmly explained her you could cast spells and were actually quite good at it one point your magic is dangerous, and the surges uncontrollable the state you’re at. While this time the reward by far exceeded the risks in this situation, you’d rather prevent killing those around you in a blaze of glory if you can. Wild magic surges are no joke and you’re so afraid of hurting the people you care about you’d rather step away from magic completely than live with the knowledge you could be the end of your friends and family.

Veth still has a hard time understanding your reasoning being prone to risky behaviour herself but accepts your views and respects your decisions. While you may not practice magic you still know it and after some persuasion, the woman gets you to teach her a thing or two. Of course all used for the good of mankind of course…. She just failed to specify who’s.

Jester:

You’re a special one. The Traveler told her so after all! He just didn’t tell her in what way specifically but you are special! That Traveler of hers may know a bit more than you’re comfortable with so you’ve been wary of the green cloak should he see the need to reveal your secrets. Luckily he cares about Jester and revealing your secrets would hurt you and you being hurt makes Jester upset so you can take comfort in the Traveler’s attachment to the tiefling.

Pixies came to haunt you in the night. They were meant to send you a message. Someone wanted you to stop running and accept your fate. Pissed off as you were you fought them off but when some tried to get away and your bow out of reach you were forced to release the bursts of bright green energy. Regret hit followed by fear. What if your patron could find you now? What if they came to get you or tried to hurt your friends to get you to cooperate? You will never be a puppet again and if a cantrip screwed this up for you….

“Oh. My. Gosh. Why did you never tell me you could do magic?” Jester exclaimed waking up Fjord just to tell him your eldritch blasts looked so much cooler than his. Guess the cat’s out of the bag… You had to prevent Jester from waking up the others to tell them you’d just gotten even cooler than you already were.

Successfully sending the others back to sleep you took Jester aside. Your hands still shaking, you asked her to talk to her god and ask him if he knew someone might be looking for you and getting close. The Traveler obliged but he wanted to hear the story behind your predicament. You told Jester everything ignoring the green hooded figure. How a being from another realm tricked you into an agreement. From then on you became a warlock.

You didn’t like being a warlock and you being stuck in such a binding deal lead to a very abusive relation between you and your patron so you did everything in your power to get away from them. Luckily crossing the planes is a lot more difficult and limits their capabilities quite a bit. Jester promised she’d protect you and of course the Traveler can be your new god so he’ll protect you too. Both you and the Traveler might not have been in full agreement with this statement. Jester understands you wanting to be far away and never see your patron again. She’s seen her mom get rid of the people getting a little too close for comfort or too attached and possessive so she knows how to deal with them.

Caduceus:

From the beginning you knew you couldn’t hide anything from Caduceus no matter how hard you tried. This lead you to just never specify anything. If he picked up on thing and asked about them then you’d answer, if not, you weren’t just going to say anything. Not even to explain yourself. Let him draw his own conclusions.

You may once have been a devout follower of your god, the one who bestowed upon you the powers you’d need to uphold their tenets but you veered from that path. Not everything is as black and white as some people claim it to be. You learned the hard way afraid of repeating your mistakes you’d only revert to your old habits in the most dire situations.

Caduceus had gone down. Jester was too far away and you were the only one able to get to him in time but you were out of healing potions. A quick lay on hands later and Caduceus was back on his feet albeit a bit confused about how you had managed to get him back to the land of the living. Talk later, he told you after seeing you mortified of what you had just done through the relief of seeing Caduceus alive.

Talk later you did. You couldn’t run away from your problems. Caduceus wouldn’t let you. You told him how you had done terrible things, hurt people because your god willed it so. You thought you were doing the right thing until you were faced with the truth and consequences. That’s when you stepped away from your life as a paladin; a vessel for your god.

You kept the sword but refused to use the magic; proof of your ability to hurt people who were worthy of redemption. Over many months Caduceus would help you see that your magic is nothing to be afraid of as long as you wield it with a good conscious and to protect instead of seek vengeance. There’s a fine line between being righteous and being just. The Wildmother taught him as much. Maybe she could through him, show you the same?

Yasha:

Whenever someone played a happy tune or began singing you’d retreat and block out your surroundings or find anything you could to distract you from the sound. Yasha just thought music’s not for everyone and maybe these songs and melodies just were’t your style. However when you asked her to please stop humming a tune while you had watch together she became a bit suspicious.

Spending some downtime at a tavern, deep in your cups Yasha was being bothered by a rather persistent asshole. On the verge of a fight breaking out you stepped in front of the barbarian and in a singsong voice told the asshole to kindly piss off and find company elsewhere with someone actually interested. The act alone made your stomach churn so you ran off.

You didn’t like controlling people. It didn’t even take a rhyme or proper verse. All it took was some booze and a melody in your head. This couldn’t happen again. Yasha had come after you to check on you and when you told her to stop, she stopped, frozen in place unable to move. You immediately dropped the accidental spell you cast putting distance between you and Yasha.

Yasha assured her it was fine and with your permission approached. A hug from the gentle goth was all it took for you to turn into a sobbing mess. When the sobs calmed down you told Yasha how you were cursed with your voice. Song and rhymes, tunes and melodies constantly plagued you afraid you’d go along with them and people got hurt because you couldn’t control your voice.

For the longest time you were uncomfortable using your voice but with your permission Yasha would help you practice. She can take a hit if you lose control badly but this fear is no good for you. She’ll play sweet serenades, some prettier than others as she too needs practice, the both of you can practice together learning and relearning the things you grew to love together.

Mollymauk:

Mollymauk doesn’t care about your shit. Everyone hides something and as long as those secrets aren’t a danger to those around you it’s all fine. Though he can’t deny being a bit curious when you snuck off to burn a suspicious stack of paper…. lighting the flame without tinder, flint and steel, or anything.

The next few weeks involved Molly trying to get you to use magic again, asking you to do small tasks much easier to complete with magic than they would be manually. You didn’t budge. Somehow he couldn’t get you to do anything. You’d complete the task the hard way each and every time. He began to wonder if he might have imagined the whole thing.

He spent the whole night tossing and turning until he decided to give up on sleep and just face you with the question to be done with it. You were gone, the light of a fire a bit away from the rest of the group. He found you watching the flames, tears in your eyes and devoid of all emotion. He’d seen Caleb in a similar state before. That’s when it hit him. This was pain, fear and trauma and you’re disassociating to get through this.

Sitting down next to you he’d place a hand on your shoulder, when you don’t stop him he’d wrap it around your shoulder letting you know he’s here for you when you need him. His views don’t change. Everyone is entitled to their secrets and keeping their lives to themselves. If you want to talk, he’s here but he’d accept your silence too despite his curiosity. Luckily for his curiosity, you told him everything. The torments of the past and the family you lost, the pain you’ve caused countless others and how you’re trying to pay your penance and make right your wrongs.

You’re glad to have Molly at your side be that to cheer you up or listen to you. He’s there whenever you need him and will take no for an answer when you don’t want to talk about something. He won’t ask for further details but will do anything to show you you’re on the right path and leaving a place better than you found it when you can’t see it.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #critical role #mighty nein x reader #mighty nein #caleb widogast x reader #caleb x reader #beau x reader #beauregard x reader #fjord x reader #veth x reader #nott x reader #jester x reader #caduceus x reader #yasha x reader #mollymauk x reader

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trickfootpike · 3 years

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OKAYOKAYOKAY now that i've had a few nights to Ruminate here are way too many thoughts from 9/16's show -- fair warning that they aren't *super* coherent as a lot of this i just tried to loosely organize from dms i threw at folks night-of, but it is most of what i remember sticking out to me!

GENERAL THOUGHTS --

last saw the show in august of 2019 - back then i saw it up in the mezzanine, this time i was 7 rows back dead center in the middle of the orchestra. watching the show from the mezzanine feels like a god's eye view of the show while sitting up close in the orchestra is much more like being in the world of men, and how it hits in hadestown particularly is just nuts bc you really do feel like you're on the factory floor.

back in the London production i remember eva playing eurydice with more youth and hope to her, and when the show came to Broadway eurydice hardened. in a world with a pandemic eva seems to have actually shifted this back! Eurydice is still holding tightly onto Orpheus Knowing that the world is unlikely to be kind enough to let them have each other for long but she starts off less faithless than she used to, I suppose I would describe it? she's definitely played more open with others from the beginning rather than having it be something she has to really work towards!

WAIT FOR ME IS A TOTALLY DIFFERENT FEELING FROM THE ORCHESTRA THAN THE MEZZANINE AND NOT JUST THE LAMPS. the lamps really only swing out to over the first 2 rows, speaking very generously, anyway. what i remember being most impactful from last time was how the whole theater rumbled as the walls of the set split to reveal hadestown. what i couldn't see and afaik no boot's been able to pick up is the the set ALSO SPLITS AND STRETCHES OPEN AT THE TOP. that awning that covers the balcony lifts and the wall of hadestown is revealed to stretch floor to ceiling and it is just so much, so fucking much oh my god i could not stop hysterically blubbering to myself watching hadestown stretch open like it is absolutely here to devour you whole. it makes you feel the immensity of The Wall. I've linked ig videos of the set pre act 1 and post intermission to give like the best perspective on it i can and tried to film them so they were zoomed as closely as to what my eyes were seeing as I could, but here are also some pictures!

PRE ACT ONE

INTERMISSION

after our lady of the underground when eurydice comes back from hades' office and Persephone is finishing with her show, me being closer this time i was actually able to see amber's face during way down hadestown ii and flowers. and how she portrays seph's feelings re eurydice, it's like : genuine concern and watching over her when she first starts on the line, Quiet Seething and Jealous Rage as the fates' tattle "Hades put his hands on ya" that sticks for a While including the first half of flowers, but as soon as eurydice remembers the meadow her and Orpheus visited her heart just b r e a k s and you can see her wiping away tears. seph's just so caught in her own feelings of helplessness in hadestown. when hades tells her to stay out of him dealing with Orpheus all the fight just deflates out of her and the direct accusing look Orpheus gives her at the end of if it's true mixed with seeing his effect on the workers makes her physically rear back like she's gotten the fight slapped back into her

even with this audience who almost for sure has all seen ht before, there was still the loudest heartbroken gasp when orpheus turned. i know everyone calls this out but it still hit me hard that with a greater percentage of previous viewers in the audience it still hit us all like a fucking brick

and ofc. road to hell ii. it's a millions times more impactful than it already was what with the pandemic, making it through hard times and how they could be hard again but making the best of them even if it doesn't turn out well this time either. i was crying so hard last time but this time i was crying harder but also feeling like a huge weight was being like, very softly cradled in my chest to take some of the burden away

TOM'S HADES/HADES AND PERSEPHONE SPECIFIC THOUGHTS --

Tom's Hades whole tl;dr could be that Hades is a Performance. all those descriptions of him beign "jazzy" and "egodriven" are correct, but there is also this massive vibe he gives off that all his showmanship is there as a cover up for the very pessimistic man at the core of him. when him and persephone are getting along the jazziness is there for genuine playfulness with her, but apart from seph it is a purposeful exaggeration on hades' part to get Whatever it is that he wants. he is playing up aggression as king (see papers) and what he thinks as being suave (see hey little songbird) to maintain his throne and his marriage, and Epic III is the Destruction of that performance. Tom's Hades at the end of Epic III isn't trying to sell anyone anything, you just get to see the suddenly very scared and unsure heart of the man behind the performance of foreman and king. And oh boy is Tom's Hades at his heart unsure. He is so fucking pessimistic; back in Act 1 when Orpheus starts to sing Epic I he turns from Persephone even before she gets reminded of the world above and starts longing for it, because he already expects to see it coming and he doesn't turn back to her Ever Again, literally until he comes to get her in Way Down Hadestown. Not even when she gives him a kiss on the cheek goodbye. His Kiss, The Riot is him trying to figure out how the hell he's gonna be able to rebuild his performance after his whole kingdom saw through it, but he also ends it being so very certain that the deal he figures out for Orpheus Will end with Orpheus failing somehow. There is no doubt in this very pessimistic Hades that doubt will come in, whereas Patrick used the end of His Kiss The Riot almost like he was desperately trying to justify that his doubt came to him only in Persephone's absence

road to hell i: tom's hades loves cheering on the band so much he is Part Of The Problem that Hermes has to get to chill out and it makes so much sense for this jazzy dramatic motherfucker

balcony time (road to hell i until livin' it up on top): when they were upstairs playing dominoes they kept laying their tiles with these overexaggerated movements.. Like when they actually getting along they are so damn flirty and trying so hard to make each other smile and laugh and it is TOO CUTE

way down hadestown: Once Again "I missed ya" gives me no rest, mostly because Tom delivered it with this super coy and cocky grin and Amber immediately smiled back at him like Persephone couldn't help herself

chant i: is spent with him looking up proud into his creation while persephone is looking down with heartbreak and disgust seeing the workers as people in suffering and the ugliness of hadestown. as the song goes on he gets increasingly frustrated like a child who's super proud of the drawing he brought home from school that Persephone has nothing but terrible things to say about. when eurydice starts singing about her suffering seph throws out her arm and points to her like "see! See what you're doing!!" while hades is more in himself processing his disappointment, frustration, heartbreak, but over the next minute you start to see him Formulating A Plan as he watches eurydice. but he doesn't look entirely sold on going through with it until seph throws out her last verse in disgust. it was absolutely the straw that broke the camel's back.

hey little songbird: THO IT SOUNDS SO SEDUCTIVE ON AUDIO. OML DOES IT LEAN INTO EURYDICE'S "STRANGE MAN" DESCRIPTOR. HADES IS LIKE THE CREEPY SALESMAN ON THE CORNER WITH WATCHES AND A TRENCHCOAT. BUT HE'S SELLING HIS SHIT WELL, HE'S JUST ALSO A WEIRDO

Why We Build The Wall/"Behind Closed Doors": That followup on hades' threat when eurydice arrives in hadestown. as hades goes to the stairs he like not whacks, but definitely nudges seph's arm harder than Patrick does to get her attention. when he did she Startled and laid her hand over her arm where he'd tapped her like she was overwhelmed by just that touch........ but then she turns around and watches him take Eurydice up and when he opens his coat and she Realizes you see her whole body go slack. once eurydice goes past the office doors hades turns and lingers staring pointedly down at seph, for *seconds* whereas with patrick i remember it being more of a pointed glance. it drills home that hades is doing this specifically to spite seph and he wants her to know it. and you can see amber discreetly wipe her face before she turns back to "does anybody want a DRINK." there's less direct seduction between hades and eurydice but more explicit threat between hades and seph about eurydice

papers: actually isn't too much Bastärde as it is his Performance. HOWEVER, the way he directs the workers to beat Orpheus is chilling. Like patrick he hangs around, but he's watching until the last 10 seconds so it's way longer. And he makes like the smallest gestures with his hand to direct the workers to the different stages of beating Orpheus, fuck it was twisted

how long: how long actually starts with seph and hades seemingly coming to each other on a similar page - hades came out pensively fiddling with his wedding ring and Amber delivered "I know" like seph was already past the eurydice situation. this also could have been a product of time and seeing how actually little he did "seducing" eurydice lmao

chant ii: very much Hades Sees Orpheus As A Threat™️ (more on this further below) , also dare i say it but tom kills I CONDUCT THE ELECTRIC CITY

epic iii: oh man oh man. he looks so untouched until Orpheus starts the lalas and he goes from completely passive unimpressed face to like. his body unfolds on his stool and his hands go slack and he looked between Orpheus and Persephone when he asked where Orpheus had gotten his melody. he asked it a lot softer than I expected him too as well. a big part of the audience actually laughed when Hades sang his lala because Tom cracks his voice during it but it petered off into sniffling when they realized why and then we were all just crying together as persephone placed the flower in his vest.

lovers desire: SOME VERY CUTE STUFF. hades' performance is broken but tom's hades is still a Jazzy Jazzy Man at heart and they're like 100 times more playful with each other - they're both giggling and grinning their asses off while they dance together and give each other these like nudges to the next series of steps and it was adorable and I was discretely sobbing. they both played it like they knew how to do this dance with each other better than they knew anything, the little nudges were like..... them playing inside this dance they already knew so well? Like more overexaggeration to make each other laugh and just revel in this wonderful thing they've rediscovered- specifically I remember that Amber raised her skirt soooooo high when she was doing the curtsey and Tom was like waggling his eyebrows at her and adding extra flourishes with his hands and widening his eyes super big everytime he pulled off a move (the funniest ones were when they do like the two-step where they move one after another in sequence and he's copying her moves in reverse and oml it was just adorable). When Seph had the move where she pulls their linked arms over his head to tuck him into her I remember that was the one part where he wasn't doing this goofy act but his expression straight up melted and he looked so smitten. and when it's the last bit of the dance and he spins her across the stage, seph's face breaks open with tears his expression responds with like this mix of heartbreak and "ohhhhh no baby please don't cry" as he moved across the stage to quickly take her into his arms for the dip at the end

AFTER this when orphydice has finished promises and right before Orpheus turns to ask Hades if they can go, they come out of slow dancing to the side but are still super wrapped up in each other - seph wraps herself around one of his arms and presses herself super close and Tom leaned down with this little smile like Hades was gonna try and steal a quick kiss, but then he hears/sees out of the corner of his eye/senses or something Orpheus approaching and pulls himself up and formal to be the king. When he says I don't know and seph wrenches herself away from him to the other side of the stage to firmly stand behind Orphydice he gets this look of Extreme Frustration on that she's still not standing with him and these damn kids are still more important, bc even with character growth he still is a petty selfish bitch who does not like to share lmao, he's just getting that he Has To now

wait for me ii: Hades stays onstage by the microphone stand to the left to watch Hermes deliver his judgement to orphydice/seph/the workers and watching Tom during this was a Treat. this is the first time he's seeing how orphydice and esp Orpheus function when he's not involved to terrify them. they're so sweet and so good, and they have what looks like so much unwavering faith in each other unlike him and seph, maybe they really could... so when he delivers "i let them try" that last word is stretched with so much wonder. he's getting this first glimpse into feeling how everyone else felt when orpheus sang of how the world could be that isn't just focused in about how he feels about persephone, which always drives him - now he's having to deal with the Greater Implications and orpheus' seemingly unbreakable faith in a better world rocks him to his core. that certainty that orpheus would fail gets shaken as he watches them and when Seph asks him if he thinks they'll make it, his I Don't Know is 1/2 defensive and 1/2 actual uncertainty. he still hates to be wrong but he's wondering if his beliefs about doubt will turn out differently this time. he isn't optimistic about it by any means but orpheus, eurydice, and the workers' response to them both does give him pause

meanwhile in hades and persephone's section, on a personal level they deliver their lines to each other like they're a great deal more nervous about what next fall will bring than i've seen and heard before - something I'm thinking stems from hades' worldview being so suddenly shaken and seph too being a little more vulnerable?

MISC THOUGHTS

Tom seems to be leaning into Hades not having done anything with Eurydice other than tempt her down - once she's in Hadestown even during Why We Build The Wall he drops the salesman croon entirely and when he does rarely speak to her/about her it's commanding as a king who sees her just as another object under his possession, with very little interest in her for anything at all beyond that. he was just going after the goal of making sure Seph knew he had Options whether or not he actually pursued them

tom is super dedicated to how power-hungry hades is. I remember when I saw Patrick during chant ii he was playing hades as more affected by how much seph seemed to care about the workers now and desperately trying to get her attention back (even negatively), Tom was more consumed in seeing Orpheus as a threat because of how effectively he had turned his "children" on him. He knocks Seph down in those "shackle her from wrist to wrist" less as a personal petty attack to her like Patrick does and more like to try and destabilize her as someone backing Orpheus up. Tom's Hades perceives Orpheus as a Threat no matter how much he plays up his Performance as Nonchalant Jazzy King. he really emphasizes Hades' relationship to Orpheus whereas Patrick played more into his relationship with Eurydice, which makes so much sense what with Tom's Hades being a pettier more egotistical messy bitch obsessed with his kingdom and Patrick's Hades' obsession being his wife and Hadestown being like, this side-effect of being a god that he just couldn't help, he Had to build and strive for power whereas Tom's Hades reveled in it and wanted it. Instinct versus drive I guess. one of my buds put it super well as: "Patrick!Hades sees everything as a threat to his power Tom!Hades is so certain of his power that he can afford to be somewhat nonchalant but the fact that Orpheus alone is his main genuine threat is fucking brilliant"

and ok for now, that's what I've got! if anyone wants any clarification or wants to ask details about specific moments I didn't put in here feel free to shoot me an ask!

#hadestown #em speaks #theater #tom hewitt

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let-the-dream-begin · 3 years

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In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 33: Blueprints

Chapter 32

Read on AO3

March 19

Jamie’s car hummed down the highway, one hand on the wheel, the other laced with Claire’s. The Spotify playlist he’d put together for the trip had gone over swimmingly; he’d mixed together all of Claire’s favorites—Barry Manilow, Elton John, Billy Joel to name a few—a few miscellaneous songs he knew she liked, and a few of his own favorites, some country songs that he knew would earn him a scoff and an eye roll.

The trip up, he could hear Claire humming as she gazed out the window.

“Come on, Sassenach. Sing.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why no’? Ye’re embarrassed?”

“Yes! And why shouldn't I be?”

“Because ye’ve, repeatedly, might I add, held my face between yer legs and begged like a depraved—”

“Oh my god! Fine!”

She’d blasted the volume, perhaps because she thought he wouldn’t be able to hear her as clearly, and she begrudgingly began singing along to Manilow’s “I Write the Songs.” After a few minutes, and after Jamie had rolled the windows down all the way, she was singing at full volume, her hair whipping into her open mouth.

She was no professional by any means, but she had a sweet, sultry, velvet sounding tone to her voice. It was different from the way he’d heard her sing with Faith, more wild and unconfined.

Now, on the way back, she was bopping to “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,” swinging their joined hands between them. He flicked his eyes off the road for just a second to take her in, and he kissed her hand as she continued.

They’d had a wonderful weekend, just the two of them, for the first time. Through Self Direction, Claire was entitled to something she referred to as the special needs parent respite program, a trip paid for by Self Direction, and childcare provided by them as well. Mrs. Lickett, Leina, and Amy had rotated their time with Faith all weekend since Friday afternoon. Claire had been incredibly nervous, especially since Amy and Leina were still relatively new. But with Jamie’s reassurance, she’d managed to let herself believe that January to March was enough time to get accustomed to two new people without Mummy or Jamie being around. Mrs. Lickett was the one doing bedtime and overnights anyway, which was something Faith was already accustomed to with her.

“I haven’t had a weekend away since before she was born.”

Jamie had burned with hatred for the sorry excuse for a husband she’d had before, and he simultaneously vowed that this weekend away would be the best she ever had.

And, not to pat himself on the back, but he was nearly certain it had been.

They’d stayed at a quaint bed and breakfast in Auburn, by the Finger Lakes. They visited a winery, did a beer trail—the Finger Lakes Beer Trail, to be exact, hiked through a state park, went biking, made love in a hot tub, made love in their bed, made love on the balcony of their suite overlooking a garden, made love on the hike through the state park…

Come to think of it, Jamie could not name a place that they hadn’t christened as such on their trip.

As much as he loved Faith, really and truly loved her like she was his own daughter, having Claire to himself was a thrill like no other. He’d underestimated how incredible it would be. He thought that they’d gone on plenty of dates, spent plenty of late nights together with Faith fast asleep…but this trip had been different. Is this what their honeymoon would be like, he wondered…?

Proposal first, then marriage, then honeymoon, Fraser.

“Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” concluded, and Claire sighed lazily, leaning across the gap in the seats to lay her head on his shoulder, resting their joined hands in his lap. “Copacabana” came on next, and he glanced down at her mischievously, expecting the performance of a lifetime. She didn’t budge, just nestled further into his shoulder.

“What’s this, Sassenach? This is a Barry classic.”

She chuckled softly. “I know. I’m just very tired. We didn’t exactly do much sleeping.”

He made an amused noise in the back of his throat. “Aye. Something that I refuse to be sorry for.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t want you to be.”

Barry carried on about Lola and Tony, and Claire remained silent, even at the climax of the song.

“Ye sure ye’re alright?”

She looked like she was about to say something, but she didn’t. Then, after a moment:

“It just feels like it went so fast.”

“I ken what ye mean.”

“It’s not that I’m dreading parenting again. I mean, that’s a daily existential dread kind of thing. But it’s not like I don’t want to go back home to Faith.”

“Ye’ll miss me that much?” he was teasing, laughing as he said it.

“Yeah.” She was gravely serious.

His brow furrowed, and he brought their hands to his lips to kiss her knuckles again. He didn’t know what to say.

“I’m just…I’m tired of saying goodbye.”

The lines on his forehead deepened. “What d’ye mean?”

“I mean I…” She sighed, frustrated. She sat up, keeping their hands clasped. “Could you pull over?”

His heart leapt into his throat, his stomach tumbling. Rationally, he knew this could not have been going in a direction that would shatter his heart. It would make no sense. But logic could not calm the nausea as he took the next exit and pulled into the first parking lot that came up: a Burger King.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Oh God, nothing is wrong,” she said, shaking her head, laughing. She released his hand to unbuckle, then got up on her knees in the passenger seat. She took his hand with both hers, facing him. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

He unbuckled as well, swiveled a bit in the seat, and closed his free hand over hers.

“I’ve wanted to ask you this for a while, because it just makes sense, but I thought I might sound crazy because it seemed too soon.”

His confusion must have been visible, because she laughed again.

“What I’m trying to say, and failing miserably at…is that I…I’m tired of having to say goodbye. I want you here. Well, not here. But home. With us.”

He blinked dumbly “Ye…ye want me to move in…? Wi’ you?”

Claire nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. “Is that crazy?”

To answer her, he captured her lips with his, kissing her firmly, sucking in through his nose for air. “Is it crazy that I’ve been wishing fer it fer months?”

She chuckled through her nose and kissed him again. Christ! And to think he was worried! She wanted him to live with her! Her and her child! It was, of course, something that he hadn’t been unable to stop thinking about for a while as well, but he’d never have asked it of her, not before she was ready. He never asked a thing of her before she was ready. And it always worked out in his favor.

She lost her balance, leaning so deeply into the kiss that she tipped off her seat and face first into Jamie’s lap, and they sputtered with laughter.

“Sorry…” She scrambled back onto her side, but not before pecking him on the cheek.

“You’re flushed wi’ joy, mo ghraidh.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Well, shouldn’t I be? I just snagged the hottest roommate on Long Island.”

He laughed, gently tugging on the strand of hair.

“Well, since we’re here, would you like some deplorable fast food?”

Jamie winced. “Tempting as that sounds…I’d rather we drive around fer something else.”

“Fair enough. Burger King doesn't exactly seem like the best meal to celebrate a couple moving in together.”

Christ! Moving in together!

“I dinna understand it.”

“What? Burger King?”

“No…I dinna understand how every single time I think I couldna possibly be any happier…I’m always proven wrong.”

——

Jamie pulled up in front of Claire’s apartment a little after eleven that night.

Our apartment, he reminded himself.

He reached over and nudged her awake, and she woke with a start.

“Shit…how long have I been out?”

“About two hours.”

“Jamie! You should’ve woken me! I feel awful for making you do all that driving alone.”

“Don’t. Ye’re the busy career woman here.”

“You have a career.”

“No’ one that starts at seven in the morning tomorrow.”

She sighed and then got out of the car, retrieving her duffle bag from the back seat. Jamie followed her up the stairs, and Mrs. Lickett was on the couch, asleep with a book in her lap. Claire gently woke her, thanked her profusely. Jamie looked around the living room, the photographs on the walls and surfaces that now included him in them, and he wanted to weep.

Claire went in to check on Faith, and Jamie wandered into the bathroom, still holding his duffle bag. He opened it and pulled out the pouch containing his toiletries. He pulled out his toothbrush and slowly, reverently, slid it into the cup that contained Claire’s and Faith’s, full of princess logos. He tucked his shaving kit into an empty space in a drawer and slid his deodorant next to Claire’s behind the mirror. The rest of his toiletries were all travel sized, so he kept them away.

He was brought out of this ritualistic unpacking by soft lips on his shoulder, and he turned to take her in his arms.

“Hmm,” she said, looking at the toothbrushes. “How symbolic.”

He hummed in thoughtful amusement, reverently kissing the crown of her head. She pulled away to sweetly kiss him on the lips, then caressed his face in her small, tender hands.

“Welcome home, love.”

——

May 12

Jamie was awake long before Claire, long before even the sun rose. Unable to sit still any longer, he carefully tucked blankets and pillows against Claire’s back, knowing the lack of his warm presence might wake her, and he slipped out of bed. Last night had been rather hectic, and Claire had desperately wanted to pack everything for the zoo the night before, but had been unable. So Jamie took the initiative now, laying out the sunscreen, packing all of Faith’s snacks, unplugging her play-tablet and putting it and her headphones in the electronics bag. He checked the charge on her assistive communication tablet and decided to plug it in anyway just in case, making a note to not let her leave without it. He packed doggy bags and Angus’s portable food and water bowls. He packed a few snacks for himself and Claire, and then he moved onto prepping breakfast.

He wouldn’t actually cook them just yet, given that Faith wouldn’t be awake for at least another hour, but he prepared batter, fruit, and chocolate chips for birthday pancakes. He moved to the fridge, checking the cabinet above it where he and Claire had hidden her birthday presents. They each had one to give her today, and one to give her the day of her party next weekend; next weekend since Mother’s Day was that coming weekend. They hadn’t decided if she’d be opening the presents before or after the zoo, so he kept them up there, deciding it best to wait if she asked for them or not. He let himself sit on the couch for a bit before he started heating the pan for the pancakes. He smiled at his tartan blanket, very at home on Claire’s couch.

He’d finished moving over all of his things in the beginning of April, and that night, he and Claire had champagne in their kitchen. He’d put all his own furniture and dishes in storage, to be placed in a house someday, if that was what Claire wanted. He’d brought over his cubed shelving, the kind that you bought with fabric drawers, and between that and the spare closet in the master that Claire hadn’t previously needed, everything fit perfectly. Atop the shelves, he laid out a few picture frames of his family, and what didn’t fit, Claire added to the wall of framed photos of her and Faith—well, her Faith, and Jamie.

Faith had adjusted beautifully, apparently hardly noticing a difference between Jamie being over all the time and just living there. Her favorite change had not, evidently, been Jamie himself, but the tartan blanket. She was constantly wrapping herself up in it, even as the May weather got increasingly warmer, rubbing it on her face, humming contently. It made Jamie unreasonably happy; it felt as if Faith’s love for the blanket extended into a love for his culture that he was so passionate about, an acceptance and celebration of who he was. He knew that was silly; she could not possibly understand the depth of its meaning, but the smile on her face when she became a tartan burrito was joy enough for him. Claire, of course, did not appreciate Faith’s attempts at eating dinner as said burrito…nor Jamie’s encouragement of the habit.

Jamie heaved himself off the couch and made his way into the kitchen to start cooking, but then a door burst open, followed by giggling, and the pattering of six little feet. Faith collided with his legs before he could cross the threshold into the kitchen, and Angus sat dutifully behind.

“Well, would ye look who it is.”

Jamie bent down to pry her off his legs and lift her above his head, causing her to squeal.

“The birthday princess herself!”

He settled her on his hip and kissed her cheek, but she reached up again, grunting, apparently wanting to be thrown up again. Jamie just shook his head and continued into the kitchen.

“What day is it, lass? Can ye tell me?” She signed birthday about a dozen times in a row, vibrating with excitement. “Aye, that’s right. Happy birthday.” He signed the words with one hand, then kissed her nose. “Would ye like to help me make yer birthday breakfast, a leannan?”

Faith reached greedy hands toward the pancake mix, and he chuckled. “Aye, we’ll get there. We have to let Angus outside first. Come on.” He carried her to the sliding glass door that led to the balcony, where they kept a few of those synthetic grass potty-patches for dogs, occasionally emptied by Jamie or Claire (mostly Jamie, but who was counting). They tried very hard to ingrain in Faith that it was her job to let him out, but it would take a while before she did so without being told. Jamie flipped the lock for her, and she used all her strength to heave open the door, and Angus pattered outside. Jamie then helped her get him fresh water and his breakfast, and then he was back inside, eating and drinking, and Jamie sat Faith on the counter.

Jamie scooped three circles into the pan of perfect proportion for Mickey Mouse, and Faith gasped dramatically. “Who’s that, Faith?”

She answered him with two perfect cups of her hands atop her head, the sign for Mickey Mouse.

“Clever lass! That’s Mickey, alright. Good signing. Good job.”

Jamie gave her a handful of chocolate chips to drop into the pancake, and she plopped them all in one spot. Jamie snorted, laughing. For the next handful, he tried hand over hand in an attempt to get her to spread them more evenly, but then she learned that the more she did it wrong, the more Jamie would try to correct her until she’d be eating chocolate chips with a side of pancake.

“Alright, no more,” Jamie said. “Ye can put some in mine and Mummy’s. How’s that?”

Before Faith could protest, Jamie was flipping the pancake, and she gasped again. “See? Mickey’s almost done cooking.”

Jamie almost laughed at how strange that sentence would sound in any other context. He slid the pancake onto a plate, used whipped cream to make eyes, a mouth, and a nose, and covered the spots with berries.

“There he is, lass.” He put the plate on the table with a flourish, and Faith threw her hands up, demanding to be taken off the counter and put in front of her food. He obliged her, carrying her over with airplane noises, and dropping her in her seat with a little crash sound effect. “There ye go. Special birthday breakfast for the birthday girl.” He kissed her head. “Ye have to eat his face first, ye ken. His eyes, his nose, his mouth.” He pointed to the strawberry eyes and nose and the blueberry mouth. “When ye finish that, then ye get syrup to eat his head. Aye?”

Faith began shoveling berries into her mouth with no regard for the whipped cream, covering her hands and face with it. Jamie started the next batch of pancakes while she ate her berries, and he cut hers up for her and added syrup while the first side was cooking. When it was time, he brought over the pan and let her put some chips in before returning it to the stove. He checked the time, decided he could let Claire sleep for a few more minutes, then started the last batch of pancakes.

When Faith was done eating and the stove was off, he spent a great deal of time de-sticky-fying Faith’s hands and face, and then he led her to his and Claire’s bedroom. (Christ, he still got butterflies thinking of it as theirs.) Faith was bouncing with excitement, but Jamie made her wait for his dramatic count to three before throwing the door open and letting her zoom into the room and onto the bed.

Jamie chuckled at the undignified oomph that Faith forced out of Claire when she pounced on her back. She started grumbling, face still in the pillow, and then it was like a switch was flipped, as if her morning-brain needed a few seconds to remember the day.

“Oh, my sweet girl!”

Her voice was breathy and still drugged with sleep, but the joy was real as she flipped over onto her back and pulled Faith to her chest.

“My six year old! Oh my goodness…”

She showered Faith’s curly head with kisses, and Faith hummed contentedly. Jamie sat on the bed by Claire’s legs, feeling a few miles closer to heaven at the sight of his girls tangled up in bed, a mess of wild curls spilling all over the pillows.

“Happy birthday, my little love.”

Faith hummed and began pushing violently away from Claire. Claire sputtered, jerking away and releasing her, and then Faith was scampering away.

“Are those pancakes I smell?” Claire said hopefully, her eyes still only half open.

“That they are.” Jamie leaned over and kissed her, and she moaned sleepily, letting him press her into the pillow, and then—

“Zoozoozoozoozoozoozoozoozoozoozoozoozoozoo—“

“Jesus H. Christ, how many times did she press it?”

Jamie sat up, looking over at Faith’s tablet screen. “Quite a bit.”

“Zoozoozoozoozoozoozoozoozoo—“

“Well make it stop!”

“Zoozoozoozoozoozoo—”

“Yes, Faith, we hear ye.” Jamie pressed the top of the screen to stop the endless stream and quickly cleared it before she could press it again. “Mummy is getting up right now, and then we’ll be getting dressed, then sunscreen, then off to the zoo.”

“She’s doing it again—”

“Come on, lass, let’s get ye dressed.”

Jamie hauled her over his shoulder, causing the iPad to flop onto the mattress. She squealed, letting her limbs fall limp.

“Yer breakfast is on the table. I packed everything we could possibly need. Eat, get ready. Let me see to her.”

“You do know it’s her birthday, not mine. You don’t need to pamper me.”

“Ach, there’s where ye’re wrong.” He sauntered over, six year old still tossed over his shoulder. “Six years ago ye were in labor fer…”

“Twenty-three hours.”

“Twenty-three bloody hours.” He leaned over, eliciting another squeal from Faith, and kissed her. “I say today is a day ye deserve to be celebrated as well. Go eat. Enjoy.”

“You sweet, bloody man.”

“Aye, I am.” He stood up straight again, and Faith let loose another squeal. “Off we go, birthday girl!”

——

It was midday; they’d just eaten lunch and ice cream, so any crabbiness to be found in the little girl was dispelled as they strolled through the gorilla exhibit. As Claire had told him she would, Faith was telling every animal she came across that it was her birthday, using her signs. Faith and Angus were held on by Claire, and Jamie pushed the stroller that was holding their bags, Faith’s communication device, and the two giraffes that she’d gotten last year’s birthday. (They’d in fact gotten ten minutes away from the house before Faith had started wailing, and it had dawned on Claire impressively quickly that Faith likely had meant to take them with her; of course they’d turned around to get them.) He and Claire had a running bet going as to which animals she’d get this year, because they both knew full well that she’d be doing the exact same thing, her desire for repeating matching sets all too permeating in everything she did.

“You know,” Claire said over her shoulder. “I think I might change my bet to gorillas.”

“Ye sure?” Jamie cocked a brow. “After last year’s debacle wi’ the tigers no’ appearing, then she sees them this year…ye were quite certain.”

“Yes, but look!”

Faith practically had her nose pressed into the glass, her eyes locked on a mother gorilla with a baby on her back.

“Aye, she’s quite taken.” Jamie watched the mother and baby.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Claire said softly. “I mean, look at her eyes. How can anyone believe she doesn’t have a soul.”

Jamie glanced at Claire, as enthralled with the creatures as Faith was, and his heart warmed. “Aye. They’re beautiful.” He crossed his arms. “Though my bet will remain wi’ the red pandas. They’re just too damned cute fer a wee lass to no’ want.”

Claire opened her mouth to retort, but it died on her lips, and she stiffened. Jamie’s brow furrowed, confused. Before he could ask what was wrong, a loud, high-pitched voice sounded, apparently for the second time. The child had been talking already; he just hadn’t heard it at first.

“Can you stop that whining noise? It’s annoying.”

Jamie flicked his eyes down, and sure enough, there was a little girl, standing far too close to Faith for comfort. Faith was humming, her usual, happy stimming sound. She was having fun. Jamie was so used to the noise he hadn’t even registered she was making it. It was white noise to him at this point, to Claire as well, he knew.

“Can you stop that whining noise? It’s annoying!”

“That’s the third time,” Claire hissed, and her small body began shaking with rage.

“Stop. It’s annoying.”

“You’re going to let her talk to my child like that?” Claire raised her voice above its previous whisper, and Jamie’s stomach flipped.

“What?” An older woman, appearing to be the complainant’s grandmother, turned away from the glass.

“You’re standing right there. I know you can hear her being nasty to my child.”

“Claire.”

“No! I want her to answer me.”

“Hey! Stop it!” In her final, fatal mistake, the blonde girl gently shoved Faith by the shoulder, appearing as if she only wanted to get her attention.

“Makenna, come on, let her be,” the grandmother finally intervened.

“Get her away from her, now.”

“Hey. They’re just being kids. Relax.”

“No. My daughter is being a kid. Your granddaughter is bullying her for being happy!”

Without another word, the grandma seized Makenna by the hand and dragged her away, disappearing into the crowd. Jamie wrapped a firm hand around Claire’s wrist to stop her from running after her.

“It’s no’ worth it. They’re leaving.”

“I feel like I’m about to explode.”

“Aye,” Jamie said softly, indeed feeling her vibrating intensifying. “I can feel. It’s over now. Look at her, she’s fine. She didna hear a word of it.”

Faith was indeed oblivious; her noise-cancelling headphones were secure in place, and she’d likely thought the girl’s small shove to be Angus. She was far too focused on the baby gorilla to have a care in the world.

“She’s fine, Claire,” Jamie repeated, loosening his grip on her wrist now that Makenna and grandma were out of sight. “Her birthday hasna been ruined. She willna remember that at all. If ye made a scene…that she’d remember.”

Claire hastily, angrily, swiped at a few tears. “I know.”

A few other guests were giving them looks over their shoulders or out of the corner of their eye. Whether it was because they, too, found Claire’s daughter annoying, or because they felt sympathy, was anyone’s guess. Nobody came forward to offer support, but neither did anyone else condemn them.

“She’s fine.”

“Yes. She’s okay.”

“Are you?” Jamie tried to meet her eye, and she finally let him. She nodded minutely.

“Just…I need to forget about it…”

Jamie nodded. Claire crouched down next to Faith, tapping her shoulder gently to signify that she was coming close so as to not startle her, being that she couldn’t hear anything. Claire began signing to her, and Faith answered clumsily, pointing to the mother and baby gorilla. After taking a moment to blink away his own tears that he hadn’t let show until Claire couldn’t see, he crouched down on her other side and joined the conversation.

She was fine, she was oblivious. She was happy, blissfully so. Her birthday was still perfect.

But Christ, that had hurt.

At the end of the day, neither Jamie nor Claire had won the bet. Despite Faith’s awe over the baby gorilla, the cuteness of the red pandas, or even, for argument’s sake, the appearance of the tigers, they walked out of the gift shop with a mother and baby elephant. Faith settled into the stroller for the journey back to the car, and by the time they took Angus for a potty break and made it to the exit, she was fast asleep, two giraffes and two elephants piled on her tiny body.

“Hey,” Jamie said. He was pushing the stroller with both hands, and one of Claire’s hands rested on his, her other holding Angus’s leash. “I love you.”

Claire peered up at him through her lashes and pecked him gratefully on the lips. “It was wonderful to have you here this year. It was the perfect sixth birthday.”

“It was. Wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. It was.”

Her cheeks were slightly pinked with sunburn, her nose darted with new freckles. Her amber eyes were swimming with the colors of the sunset around them, and Jamie sighed in perfect contentment.

“Jamie?”

“Hm?”

“I love you, too.”

No, now he was perfectly content.

——

May 14

Claire opened her mouth again, waiting patiently for Jamie’s response, and she hummed happily when he popped another grape between her lips. She sighed contentedly, shimmying back into his chest. His arms snaked around her again, and he kissed her temple. They were leaning against a tree, covered by the shade, watching Faith on a playground. It was completely fenced in, the playground and an adjoining field. Angus was laying in the grass napping, off duty until Faith needed him. She was quite independent on playgrounds these days, preferring to stop around, climb up the slide and then slide back down on her stomach, bounce on the see-saw herself, rather than drag her dog along with her. It was a good thing, Jamie had decided. The only time Faith decided to be utterly helpless was when she wanted to be pushed on the swing. She could pump her legs; Jamie had seen her do it. But she would always and forever prefer Jamie to push her. He’d been up and down a few times over the course of the afternoon.

It was a beautiful Sunday, Mother’s Day. They’d had a picnic lunch in the field, then sent Faith off to play. It was the perfect balance for Claire; Faith was close enough, having a grand old time, and yet Claire wasn’t overworked or stressed. They could just be like this, as a family.

Jamie had recently refrained from feeling any guilt when referring to the girls as his family. It was not presumptuous, not overstepping. Not anymore.

Jamie and Faith had presented Claire with breakfast in bed this morning, but not until eleven. Faith was ready to cook and have it delivered at seven, but Jamie managed to keep her happy with Sesame Street, Disney Channel, and a trip to the florist until an acceptable hour for letting Claire sleep in. The pancakes were all, of course, Mickey shaped, at Faith’s insistence. Claire loved them, and told Faith as such over and over. As Jamie had carried in the breakfast, Faith had carried in the flowers. It had been a perfect morning that carried into a perfect afternoon.

“I don’t see her,” Claire said, craning her neck. “Do you?”

“Aye, she’s under that wee rock wall cave.” Jamie gestured with his chin. “That flash o’ pink in the window. See?”

It was a small arch made of rock climbing wall that came just above Jamie’s knees. Faith enjoyed heaving herself up and just standing there, and apparently hiding underneath.

“Oh, yes, I see.” Claire eased back again. “How long has she been in there?”

“A fair bit,” he said.

“Is she just…sitting in there?”

“Aye, but I think she’s been making a nest.”

“What?”

“Ye haven’t noticed that she’s been picking up leaves and bringing them in there wi’ her?”

“No…” Claire said, a bit dazed. “I was trying to look for her on the slides or the ladders. In the groups of kids.”

“When have ye ever kent yer daughter to be among throngs of weans?” He’d meant it as a joke, but she deflated a bit.

“I hear them trying to talk to her,” she said softly. “Asking her her name, how old she is. Will she play tag, or hide and seek.”

In the beginning, Jamie and Claire had switched on and off shouting over to the kids and telling them that Faith wouldn’t answer, but after so many times, they’d given up. Faith wasn’t bothered either way.

“She’s perfectly happy on her own,” Jamie assured her.

“You don’t think she gets lonely? Or feels left out?”

“Nah.” Jamie kissed the crown of her head. “Not every kid, or every adult for that matter, needs conventional companionship. If she was lonely or unhappy she’d be all over us, asking fer snacks or juice.”

“You’re right,” Claire acquiesced. “You’re always bloody right.” She swatted his forearm in mock resentment, and he just kissed her head again.

Less than an hour later, Jamie was folding up the blanket and rousing Angus. They were out of snacks, and by the time they got home, it would be time to start dinner. When Jamie had asked Claire what she’d wanted for her Mother’s Day feast, all she’d requested was something they could all make together. So he’d decided on homemade pizza with all the toppings that Faith could throw on it to her heart’s desire.

“Come on! Five minutes are up!” Claire called, making her way to the playground. Faith was still under the rock wall. When Jamie had given her the five minute warning, she’d been on her knees and elbows, her head practically tucked into the ground.

Faith crawled out of the little tunnel obediently, and Claire reached out her hand, and Faith took it. Jamie made his way over to walk with them to the car, but Faith started tugging back.

“No, Faith. Playground is all done. It’s time to make pizza. Remember? We’ll get your chef apron, and—”

“Sassenach.”

“What?”

Jamie jerked his chin to where Faith was pulling toward. A single brown leaf was stuck in the grass, just outside the perimeter of the spongy playground floor. Claire let go of Faith’s hand, and she scuttled over to the leaf and picked it up. They watched as she crawled back into the tunnel, and she emerged almost immediately, giving Claire her hand right away.

“Good girl. Thank you, lovie.”

Instead of making her way to the car, Claire inched toward the tunnel. “Mummy wants to see what you made.”

Jamie smiled, following closely behind. Claire bent down to look into the little hole in the rock wall that they could see Faith through before.

“Wow, look at that,” Claire said, her voice breathy. “You made a little nest. That’s so sweet, baby.”

Jamie peered in, his grin stretching from ear to ear. She had to have picked up every single leaf in the entire playground, the entire field for that matter. He heard Claire sniffle, and he stole a kiss to her temple, onlooking children be damned.

“Mummy is so lucky, Faith,” she whispered, holding up the I love you sign. Faith copied, pressing the three fingers together, and Claire kissed Faith’s sweaty forehead.

——

At around nine-fifteen in the evening, Faith was fast asleep with Angus’s head trapped under her little arm. They’d all three spent the night making pizza, eating ice cream, and snuggling on the couch to watch The Little Mermaid. Jamie ducked out of Faith’s room, buzzing with excitement at having Claire to himself once more, and he locked the bedroom door behind him to find Claire already stripped down to her underwear and bra.

“Damn,” she said. “You weren’t supposed to come back until I was naked. I’m not wearing cute underwear.”

“Bloody hell, Sassenach,” Jamie half snorted, half growled. “D’ye think I give a bloody fuck about yer underwear?”

He attacked her lips with his, and there was a feverish ripping-off of clothing and underwear until they were both naked and hot and pressed together. Then Jamie slowed things down. He intended to worship her tonight, intended to show her with every kiss, touch, and stroke how much he loved her for the wonderful mother that she was, for the woman that she was. For the woman that she was because she was a mother.

After he made sure she’d found release with whatever method she deemed necessary, twice, Jamie finally perched over her and slammed home, delighting in the arch of her throat as she threw her head back in ecstasy. He could still taste her as he bent to kiss her, and her responding groan told him that she could also taste her.

He refrained from taking her hard and fast, not tonight. He let her feel every inch, let himself feel every inch. How many times had they done this? How many times had they gone to oblivion and back together?

As a lad, he’d been told by every teacher he ever had, all of them Catholic, that this was a sin. Not really the act itself, but doing it out of wedlock. He’d of course grown out of that belief, finding nothing short of holiness whenever he laid with Claire. Though, actually, the act itself could be considered a sin even in wedlock if done for pleasure. Some people believed this act must only be carried out if the intention was to create life.

Claire clenched around him, and he shuddered, groaning into her ear, unable to stop himself from speeding up.

“Yes…yes, love…”

He bit her ear, listening to her commands, listening to her body, and keeping up the faster pace.

Creating life…Christ, if Claire wasn’t on the pill, how many times might they have created life since last July?

She clawed at his back, dug her heels into his arse, mewling into his ear. His wee vixen would meet her end three times tonight, perhaps four if he paced himself.

How many times could he have made a mother of her since last July? Mathematically speaking, only once, really. It had only been ten months since they’d begun. But to think, every time he’d had her, every time she’d held him in place while he found bliss inside of her…

It was almost shameful, almost beastly, the primal urge he felt to mark her as such, to have her carry him inside her like that even long after they’d finished, pill or not.

And without that pill…

God, yes, he could make a mother out of her again. And she’d be beautiful; she’d be a goddess that they’d create together with their own hands, their own mouths, their own joining.

It was that thought that sent him fully out of control, no longer able to spare any ounce of power.

“Yes, yes, yes…”

Her words slurred until they were one strangled cry, and then they were falling together, teeth and nails latching onto anything they could.

Afterward, they lie sprawled on the disheveled sheets, catching their breath, comforter and throw pillows hastily tossed aside long ago. When Claire shivered, Jamie chuckled and pulled the top sheet over them. They were facing each other, and Claire looked mischievous, as if she were about to suggest something else to warm her up. She didn’t, though, just kept looking into his eyes like she was keeping a secret.

Then he began feeling like he was the one keeping a secret. He bit his lip, debating opening his mouth to speak or to capture that exposed, beautiful nipple again and distract her, distract himself.

He cleared his throat.

“Can I ask ye a question?” He propped himself up on his hand, and she smiled up at him.

“Of course.” She turned slightly to see him better.

“D’ye ever think about…” His voice trailed off, his throat suddenly filling with sand. Or vomit.

“What?” She mirrored him, propping up on her hand as well. “You can ask me anything, Jamie.”

He smiled nervously and averted his eyes for just a second. “Children. Well, more, that is.”

Claire blinked at him, clearly surprised.

“I’m sorry if that’s out of line…”

“No.” She stopped him before he could fully spiral, sitting up and covering herself with the sheet. “It isn’t at all.”

He sat up as well. “Ye sure?”

“We’re…building a life here, Jamie. Aren’t we?”

Now she seemed nervous.

“Aye.” He sat up and took her hand assuredly. “That we are.”

Her tight face relaxed into a tiny smile, and she squeezed his hand. “Right. So…if you want more children…you’re allowed to share that with me.”

“I didna say I — ”

“Then why are you asking?”

He had nothing to say to that.

“You’d want that?” she asked, her voice suddenly quite small. “You’d want to…have a baby? With me?”

Jamie felt his heart leap into his throat. “Aye,” he said, perhaps too quickly. “No’ right away,” he remedied. “Just…in the future. I…ye ken I love Faith like she’s my own. And together I…we’ll raise her together. As ours.”

Claire nodded, her eyes misting.

“And I could always and forever be happy wi’ just that,” Jamie continued. “It doesna matter to me that she was…sired by someone else. No’ at all. But…to see ye grow round wi’ child…my child…” It was his turn to well up. “D’ye ken I’d give anything to have known Faith fer…even a day longer than I’ve known her…? To have seen her take her first steps, watch her grow from the size of my hand to a full little person…to have watched ye carry her, bring her into the world, hold yer hand through it. To hear her first cry…Christ.” He hastily wiped his eyes. “To…to have been there during her diagnosis, fer both of ye. I wish every day I could have all of it. Because to me…she’s mine. And I canna imagine it any other way. But I wasna there.”

“Oh, Jamie…”

“It’s foolish.”

“No.” She fervently shook her head. “Not at all.”

“I mean it’s…it’s wrong…selfish to want to have a bairn wi’ ye because I didna have all that wi’ Faith. Isn’t it?”

She offered a tiny smile, shaking her head again. “You silly man. You want to be a father, and all that goes with it. That’s not selfish. That’s beautiful.”

“Ye dinna think me a greedy, ungrateful bastard?”

She bit her lip, laughing through her nose, shaking her head. She cupped his face, her grin broadening. “Someday, Jamie…it would be the greatest honor to carry your baby.”

Overwhelmed with relief and joy, Jamie kissed her passionately. He hadn’t lied; he would be happy, more than happy, to raise Faith alone as his daughter. But he feared there would always be a part of him that longed for a baby, that longed to see Claire pregnant, nursing, all of it. The thought of having it someday was enough to send him shooting into the sky.

When their lips parted, Claire did not look as joyful as he felt.

“What is it?” he said immediately.

“Jamie, I…I do want it. I want to have a baby together. Someday. But…” She swallowed. “It’s not…a proven fact, but some studies show that it’s…genetic. Autism, I mean. There’s a high chance for a second-born.”

He nodded, slowly understanding.

“I say this with all the love in my heart for Faith, but…could you…could we handle a second child with needs like hers?”

Jamie’s brow furrowed, but he nodded without hesitation. “Faith is old enough now, we’ve got a system in place fer her. If we had to do it all over again with another, it wouldna be easy, but ye wouldna be going into it blind again.”

Claire nodded. “Okay.”

“Would it be alright wi’ you?” Jamie asked. “I have no judgement, Sassenach. Ye ken that. But you know as well as any that becoming a parent means ye’re to be prepared fer any kind of child. If ye truly think it wouldna be best fer you, or Faith, then she should be our only one.”

Claire waited only a brief moment before shaking her head. “If the doctor had put Faith in my arms for the first time and said, ‘this is your baby, but she’s going to have autism’…I wouldn’t have given a damn. I was already in love. From that first second.” She squeezed his hand. “I want that again, no matter what. I want you to experience that. With me.” She kissed him sweetly, gently. “I want your child, Jamie, no matter what.”

He was happier than he’d been just two minutes ago, happier than he thought possible. As he sealed that oath with another kiss, he knew it was time.

Time to put that ring that he’d bought in August to good use.

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jaskierrrrrr · 3 years

Text

Have I not written anything in basically a year because of my crippling fear of failure? Yes.

Did I also write this the night before my final exam and upload it at 11.30pm? Also yes!

Bad decisions aside, I really hope you enjoy this!

***

(2.5k, canon typical violence, bodyswapping and SFW shenanigans)

***

The mid morning sunlight finally roused Geralt from his sleep, which was the first sign that something was very, very wrong. Normally he started awake, just before dawn and had plenty of time to pack up the camp before Jaskier even considered opening his eyes.

The second sign was his own body lying motionless next to him.

It took Geralt several seconds longer than he’d ever admit to to accept that he wasn’t some spirit looking down at himself from beyond the grave. For starters, he could see his chest rising and falling. He also felt starving, which didn’t seem like something you’d have to deal with after dying.

Still processing his initial shock, he was just debating whether to wake himself up or not when his hair fell into his eyes. He brushed it away impatiently and then started, looking down at his hands. Where had expected to see grimy, scarred fingers, he instead saw soft skin, calloused fingernails and ostentatious rings, which could only mean-

He fell backwards, reaching behind him to grab his sword, before realising it was on the other side of his motionless body. Still in denial, he stumbled towards himself and picked up his sword. It felt unnaturally heavy, and looking at the reflection in the blade confirmed his worst fears.

He was Jaskier. Or rather, in Jaskier’s body. Which suggested that Jaskier was in his.

Turning round just in time to see his own body- Jaskier- finally stirring, he braced himself for what would most likely be an incredibly dramatic reaction. For once, he would class it as appropriate- Melitele knows he’s screaming internally. It’s bad enough not being in your own body without also having swapped with the person you care about the most, who has no idea. There’s a great sense of vulnerability and a deep-set fear that somehow this will lead to Jaskier realising how he feels, but he tries to push it away and focus on the problem at hand.

His own eyes blinked sleepily up at him, before widening in surprise.

Oh what the fuck,’ Jaskier exclaimed, hauling himself off his bedroll and circling Geralt, tripping over his feet in the process. ‘Why didn’t you tell me my doublet didn’t match my shirt?’

‘You- what? That’s the first thing you say?’ Geralt asked, Jaskier’s nonplussed attitude momentarily distracting him from the current clusterfuck of a situation.

‘Well yeah,’ Jaskier huffed, placing his hands on his hips in a manner that looked so bizarre under his armour that Geralt felt the uncontrollable urge to laugh. ‘I have a reputation to uphold.’

‘It doesn’t matter anyway,’ Geralt muttered, turning away from Jaskier. His brain was starting to hurt. ‘You look fine.’

Jaskier cleared his throat. When Geralt turned back, his face was stretched into a grin.

‘Don’t you mean- you look fine? After all, you’re wearing it.’

Jaskier had a point. Not that Geralt would ever admit it.

‘Whatever, Jaskier. Let’s just find someone who can fix this.’ He reached for his sword, before remembering he no longer had it, and wouldn’t be able to carry it if he did.

Jaskier clapped his hands together. ‘Gods, this is going to be fun.’

***

“Okay, I’ll be the first to admit that this is decidedly not fun,” Jaskier muttered, the medallion around his neck bouncing as they made their way up a steep hill. The sun was now low in the sky and once again Geralt found himself irritated at the amount of fabric he was currently baking under. Why did all of Jaskier’s clothes have to have so many frills?

“The novelty’s worn off then?” Geralt added dryly. They’d been walking for about two hours before they’d come across the first town- there was no mage, but fortunately they found a place for Roach at a local stables. She’d found the entire body swapping incident incredibly disconcerting (she wasn’t the only one), and had refused to let either of them ride her, even when enticed with apples.

At first, Jaskier had kept up a steady stream of his usual chatter, albeit in a much gruffer tone than usual, but he had fallen silent as it got later in the day.

‘I just don’t understand why it’s so loud? I feel like I’m back at Oxenfurt, there’s just so much noise.”

“It’s from the Trials, remember? Enhanced hearing has saved my life- and yours- countless times,” Geralt replies, not without a twinge of sympathy. He remembers how chaotic and confusing it had first felt as a child.

Jaskier grimaced. ‘Right, right,’ he mumbled, before jerking his head back towards Geralt with a look of horror on his face. ‘Is this what I sound like to you? Gods, I had no idea- my prattling is bad enough without advanced hearing-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted, “your voice doesn’t grate- it’s fine.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, maybe it did at first, but I’ve gotten used to it.”

“So what I’m hearing…” Jaskier said slowly, “is that you like my voice?”

Geralt scoffed. “Don’t push your luck,” he muttered, although he couldn’t quite hide his smile.

“I knew it!” Jaskier crowed triumphantly. “So much for fillingless pie.”

“I said talking was fine- I didn’t say anything about your singing.”

Jaskier’s mouth fell open in outrage. “You- you absolute brute, Geralt of Rivia! Mark my words, one of these days I’ll, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Geralt asked teasingly, looking away to hide his laugh. “Splutter at me?”

Jaskier didn’t reply. He’d come to a complete halt and was staring at the trees, a frown on his face. Without warning, he drew his sword. Geralt had just enough time to wonder if joking about Jaskier’s singing was going to be the thing that killed him, when something huge burst out of the foliage. He whipped his head, following the flash of silver as his sword flew elegantly and almost lazily in an arc from Jaskier’s hand and buried itself in the side of the creature, which collapsed in the dust.

Geralt turned to stare at Jaskier in amazement. “How the hell did you do that?”

“I don't know,” Jaskier muttered, eyes still fixed on the creature. “I guess I’ve got your fighting skills too.”

As he bent to withdraw the sword from the creature’s side, Geralt noticed Jaskier’s hands were shaking.

Geralt knew how he was feeling. He’d felt sick to his stomach the first time he’d killed something. He hesitantly reached out a hand and placed it on Jaskier’s armour. He could feel him trembling.

“You did the right thing,” Geralt said gently. “It’s not easy, but you did it.”

Jaskier’s eyes finally moved from the corpse, and he gave Geralt a brief smile.

“You think so?”

“I do.”

***

They walked in companionable silence after that, occasionally bashing into each other when Jaskier forgot how wide his shoulders were. They reached the next town at dusk. After a few brief enquiries, it was apparent that there was no mage.

“I guess we’ll have to accept defeat for the night,” Jaskier sighed. “Even I’m feeling tired, so you must feel exhausted. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

He was right on both counts. Geralt’s feet have ached since midday, and he’d even tripped a couple of times. Maybe Jaskier constantly falling over was more due to tiredness rather than not paying attention.

“We can find a place to camp for the night in those woods over there,” he suggests. “Figure out where we’ll head next in the morning.”

“Why don’t we just ask for a room at that tavern over there? I could do with a hot meal.”

Geralt hesitated. After the day they’d had, he could definitely use a drink, but they’d been lucky to travel so far without drawing too much attention to themselves.

Jaskier must have noticed his reluctance.

“It’ll be fine,” he said as he rolled his eyes. “Besides,” he added, swinging open the door, “we’re in the middle of nowhere, there’s no way anyone will recognise us.”

As he opened the door with a flourish, the entire tavern fell silent, their eyes fixed on the two newcomers standing frozen in the doorway.

“What were you saying?” Geralt hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

Jaskier was saved from answering by the innkeeper bustling over to them with a wide smile on his face.

“Geralt of Rivia and the bard Jaskier! It is an honour to welcome you here. Will you be in need of a place to stay tonight?"

They both nodded.

The innkeeper clapped his hands. “Excellent! We’ll have a room ready momentarily. Sir Witcher, we have a table free over there- and will you be performing tonight, noble bard?”

“Well, I-” Jaskier began, before noticing the confused look on the innkeeper’s face. “Oh, well… I’m sure my companion would be delighted!”

Geralt barely managed to restrain the torrent of curses on his lips before nodding tightly. He was going to kill Jaskier.

“Wonderful,” beamed the innkeeper. “The stage is over there whenever you’re ready,” he added, before returning to the counter. Geralt slowly turned to look at Jaskier.

“What? Oh, don’t look at me like that, what was I meant to say?”

“You were meant,” Geralt growled lowly, “to say no. I thought that was fairly obvious.”

“Look, it’s too late to back out now. You’ll be fine! If I got witchery skills, you must have bardic skills, it’s only fair.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt groaned in despair, “how many curses have you known to be fair?”

Jaskier started to laugh. Geralt turned away.

“Oh yes, laugh all you want. It’s my reputation at stake.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier looked at him with an odd expression on his face. “Geralt, it’s my reputation, remember?” He takes Geralt’s hand and squeezes. “I promise it’ll be okay,” he said softly. “And if it isn’t, I’ll start a distraction. I’m great at that.”

Geralt snorted in acknowledgement. He pulled the lute off his back, and let adrenalin carry him over to the stage. As he settled in the chair, the patrons fell quiet once again. He catches sight of Jaskier, who’s drinking a tankard of what looks like Cintran ale. Lucky bastard. He caught Geralt’s eye and raised his tankard in a silent salute. Geralt inhaled deeply, praying to Melitele not to fuck up. Closing his eyes, he began to play.

Somehow, thank the Gods, Jaskier was right. His fingers are flew over the fretboard to the familiar tune of Toss a Coin. He doesn’t understand, but he isn’t going to question it. He’ll play a few songs to keep the audience happy, and then make his excuses.

He’s about four songs in when he finally gets the courage to open his eyes. Everyone seems to be enjoying the performance, but there’s only one opinion he really wants. Jaskier is leaning forward in his chair, his ale forgotten as he listens to the music, swaying gently in time. He has a soft smile on his face, but there’s something odd about his features. Geralt’s seen his own reflection far less than he’s seen Jaskier’s face, but he knows something’s different.

He’s lamenting his poor eyesight and squinting from the stage to try and see more clearly when the truth hits him.

It’s his eyes. Even in the well-lit tavern, his pupils are blown wide so his irises are barely visible. Which normally only happens in the dark, or-

His fingers briefly slipped on the strings. He blinks to recover, his mind reeling. The only other time his eyes are that wide are when he’s looking at Jaskier. But, if Jaskier’s looking at him, then that means-

There’s a sudden, unpleasant tug in his navel. His stomach flips, but before he has time to cry out, the sensation has gone. Realising his arms are empty, he opens his eyes.

He’s across the room, looking at Jaskier on stage. Relief floods through him. He’s back in his own body, and more importantly, he never has to sing again.

Jaskier catches his eye and waggles his eyebrows. “Told you it would be fine,” he mouths over his strumming.

Jaskier finishes with a flourish after another two songs. To Geralt’s annoyance, he gives in to demands for an encore. Geralt taps his foot impatiently. He’s desperate to be alone, to get the chance to talk to Jaskier. Finally, finally, Jaskier strums his final note and bows deeply, before jumping off the stage and sauntering towards Geralt, who meets him halfway.

Jaskier grins at him, face flushed. “Guess we don’t need a mage! Strange, I wonder what made us switch back.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replies, as they make their way up the stairs.

“Oh, well someone’s definitely back to normal!” Jaskier laughs. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy yourself up there by the way, I could tell.”

They find their room at the end of the corridor. It’s a simple room, but there’s a fire in the grate that gives it a homely feel. Geralt finally finds the courage to talk when he’s interrupted again.

“You gave a fine performance, you know,” Jaskier said brightly as he set his lute on the table by the door. “I mean, starting with my best song was an interesting choice- I usually save it for the end, but you pulled it off. Could work on your stage presence a bit too, but I suppose that was to be expected, given the circumstances.”

He paused for breath, grinning at Geralt. Realizing this was his only chance, Geralt didn't pause to think, just crossed the room in two strides before pushing Jaskier up against the door and kissing him.

Jaskier let out a startled breath before responding in kind, gripping Geralt’s waist and pulling him in close.

When they broke apart, Jaskier smiled widely. “What brought this on?” he asks, before frowning suddenly. “Wait, if I had ale in your body, does that mean you’re drunk? Is that why-”

“I’m not drunk,” Geralt reassured him. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, I just… didn’t know if you felt the same until I saw how wide your- my- pupils were during the performance.

Jaskier scowled. “That’s not fair,” he mumbled into Geralt’s shirt. “I had all your witchery senses and I still couldn’t tell how you felt.”

“I just hide it better than you.”

“Now that I won’t argue with. Your face is like a block of granite, it’s impossible to tell what you’re thinking.”

“Know what I’m thinking now?” Geralt said in a low voice, leaning towards Jaskier, who blushed a deep shade of red.

“I have an idea,” he mumbled.

“I’m thinking,” Geralt continued, leaning in even closer before grabbing a pillow and thwacking Jaskier over the head with it.

“I’m thinking,” he laughed over Jaskier’s splutters, “that you can sleep on the floor tonight for that!”

Ignoring Jaskier’s halfhearted protests, he pulled him towards the bed, where they collapsed in a heap.

“I’ll get you back for that,” Jaskier muttered from where he was sprawled against Geralt’s chest.

“Oh?” Geralt laughed. “And when should I expect my comeuppance?”

“Not now,” Jaskier replied. “After all, we have all the time in the world.”

Geralt grinned, before pulling him into a soft kiss. “That we do,” he replies. “That we do.”

#this was going so well at the start #and i just reread it and I HATE IT #oh well #enjoy anyway!!!#past tense can F off #geraskier #fic #writing #my writing #the witcher #jaskier #geralt #in the scene where everyone turns to looks at them I picture their faces in that scene where jaskier just got djinned and they see the #naked mayor #their expressions are just so funny

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sidespart · 3 years

Text

The Fall of Romulus Part 5

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him...

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

The first time Virgil had seen Patton, it had been on the battlefield. The larger man was on his knees, three men wearing the same uniform as Virgil strewn around him, fresh blood gushing from deep gouges on his face. He’d looked up at Virgil like he expected to die, his eyes bright with relief.

The first time Virgil had seen Logan, he’d barely been more than a kid. Even skinnier than he was now, drenched to the bone in his threadbare apprentice robes and shaking with rage. He’d thrust a handful of coins across the table at Virgil and Patton, newly minted heroes for hire, and demanded they kill his master.

The first time Virgil had seen Roman, he’d been singing to a horse.

It wasn’t even his horse.

Virgil had wanted a break from the noise of the tavern and the simmering tension between his companions. But standing in the dark in an unfamiliar town had been unappealing and so he’d ducked into the taverns small stables. The hayloft was more of a glorified shelf, set close to the ceiling, but standing amongst the horses meant potentially having to explain himself to the horses’ owners and so he’d clambered up and shimmied his way into the narrow space, ducking down out of sight.

He just wanted a few minutes peace. Long enough to figure out what to do.

Logan had accepted a job. Without consulting either Patton or Virgil. It was a simple enough assignment -to transport a crate full of merchandise to a town on the other side of the mountain pass. So why could the townsfolk not deal with that themselves? Because the pass was full of bandits. Obviously.

Logan said they needed the money and he wasn’t wrong. Patton said they needed a break and he wasn’t wrong either.

They had been travelling from one skinflint town to the next for what felt like an age…but half the reason travel was taking so long was that right now they didn’t have enough coin to even to rent horses. Which meant Patton was going to end up dragging the gods-forsaken chest the entire way. Which was going to aggravate the hip injury- which he still refused to acknowledge existed - and leave all of them vulnerable to attack, since Logan wasn’t winning any fights unless it was a debate and Virgil…Virgil did better with the element of surprise.

Looming out of the darkness, his eyes glowing purple and his crossbow held aloft – Virgil had watched many an enemy turn tail and run at the sight of him with great satisfaction.

Actually aiming that crossbow, in broad daylight, at attacking bandits and successfully hitting one? That seemed less likely to be satisfying for anyone. Except maybe the bandits.

So now there was a stalemate, both Patton and Logan bristling at each other over their meal. Both waiting for Virgil to be the tiebreaker.

Hence the hiding in a hayloft.

Maybe if Logan had just talked to the them instead of making decisions for everyone-

“Who’s the prettiest girl in this stable? Is it you? I think it is!”

Virgil froze.

“My lady fair is pale as night and strong as all the stars that bright th- hey!” holding his breath, Virgil slowly turned his head until he could see the man below, who was currently trying to tug his sleeve out of the mouth of a blond mare. It was the bard from the tavern. Even without hearing his voice, the bright white outfit and ridiculously flouncy red jacket gave him away.

Virgil frowned. It was still relatively early in the evening and the bard had had a good audience – even Patton and Logan had looked away form their argument to appreciate his tune. Why leave now?

“Okay, okay you don’t like the classics.” The bard was back to petting the mare’s nose, “but you’re still stunning despite your terrible taste. And a beautiful horse deserves the most handsome of riders hmm?”

Virgil rolled his eyes and relaxed back against the hay. The movements of over the top performers were none of his business.

“That you singing back there?”

Virgil tensed again.

Two men were blocking the exit. Both big, broad and wearing matching insincere grins.

The one who’d spoken had a knife in his hand. The bard apparently didn’t notice and stepped away from the horse with his arms spread wide.

Under the dim shaft of moonlight spilling from the stable door, the silky material of the bards jacket seemed to shine. It highlighted his pockets, where the thin material was sagging under the weight of his bulging coin pouch

“Always a pleasure to meet my fans!”

He gave them a cheeky bow, his pockets jingling as he moved.

Virgil resisted the urge to bang his head against the ceiling.

If this idiot wanted to get himself stabbed was it really Virgil’s responsibility to intervene? What would Logan call this – natural selection?

“Must’ve made a pretty penny.” It was the second man who spoke, he leaned carefully against the stable door as knife-guy stepped forward. “Nice voice like that.”

He looked pointedly at the bard’s jacket pocket. The bard took a half step back, almost disappearing from Virgil’s view.

“Your town is very generous.”

“Yeah. Good people” The second guy smiled. “Drop it.”

Virgil heard the bard sigh, deep and theatrical. But, much to Virgil’s relief, he threw the bag down on to the ground between them. Murder, Virgil was probably morally obligated to try to stop. But if the two robbers just took the bag and ran? Well. Patton was constantly asking Vigil and Logan to keep out of trouble so he could hardly disapprove.

Knife-guy grinned dumbly and reached down to his prize. Virgil tensed himself, he wasn’t going to be able to leap gracefully into action form his confined hiding place but he could potentially…roll onto the guy if he tried anything.

He didn’t get the chance.

As soon as the wannabe thief bent down the bard was on him. A blur of white and red shot out from beneath the hayloft, slammed the butt of a sword – had he always had a sword? – down on knife-guys skull sending him sprawling to the ground.

The second man let out a shout but before he had chance to take more than a step forward the bard was there, sword swinging though the air before coming to rest less than an inch from the man’s throat.

There was a pause whilst the man just gaped at the bard. Breathing heavily.

“You have a choice. Leave now, with your head still attached or…”

There was a yell and Virgil cursed himself for being distracted as knife-guy barrelled towards the pair, weapon raised high –

Only for it to instantly be knocked out his hand by the bard’s sword. The big man let out a high pitched yelp as blood spurted from where his fingers had been moments before, the knife clattering to the ground. The second man aimed a swing at the bards head but he dodged low, springing back up to deliver a punch of his own to the man’s throat, which left him gasping for breath.

At this point, knife guy clearly decided he’d had enough, running for the door with his bleeding hand clutched close to his chest. The second thief, seeing his backup flee, shot the bard a venomous glare and hurried after.

And then there was quiet.

“Sorry about that.” Virgil startled – was he talking to him? “My precious babies.” No. The bard was heading back towards the horses, who had been remarkably unconcerned throughout his ordeal. This gave Virgil his first proper look at his face.

He looked young. Not much older than Logan. And tired.

“Did those mean old robbers scare you?” he cooed “Not to worry – your hero is here to save the day!”

With the bard facing the horses, Virgil took the opportunity to squirm out of his hiding place, managing to land lightly enough on the stable floor behind him.

“Hey.” He said.

The hero’s shriek of surprise was so loud that the horses reared up in their stalls.

After hasty explanations, Virgil had hired him as extra muscle for their trip. It’s wasn’t t an ideal solution, but the knowledge that there would be extra protection around for Logan and Virgil eased some of Patton’s tension. And since Sir Sing-A-Lot had pissed off two would be thieves who were presumably still in town somewhere, he was willing to leave quickly and for cheap which suited Logan.

He met them the next day about a quarter mile out of town, performance outfit replaced with something moderately more travel worthy and sword strapped to his side. Virgil had suggested he stay the night at the tavern but he had shaken his head. Said if he went back in there the bartender would insist he stay to play another night – and then he’d have to let him down, which would be far too painful to bare.

Virgil privately thought skipping out halfway through the night was probably letting him down worse, but whatever. One mans loss is another man’s gain.

It was only when he’s was making the introductions that he realised Roman hadn’t brought his horse. Which led quickly to the realisation that there were three would be thieves in the stable that night.

Virgil spent most of the first day with his eyes fixed on Roman, waiting for him to betray them and skip off with the loot himself. But as the hours past and the bard did nothing suspicious he slowly started to relax.

It was only going to be three days.

***

Three years later, Virgil was growling to himself in his mother’s language as he swept his eyes across the room again, finding absolutely nothing. Not that he expected to -the small room wasn’t exactly flush with hiding places. All he had managed to unearth in the first frantic search was one of Roman’s notebooks, tossed under the bed with its leafy bookmark a few inches away. Patton had carefully put both away in his own coat pocket, a look of abject misery on his face as his hands ghosted over Romans drawings.

The thing was. It wasn’t like adding Roman to the group had instantly fixed everything.

But-

But Patton got sad sometimes. And Virgil, he’d been through a lot of the same stuff as the big guy but he didn’t know how to reach him when he got like that. Virgil was pretty sure he actually made things worse. But Roman – Roman distracted Patton without even trying half the time. He’d sing, weave a story out of nothing, disappear down a side street and reappear with a gaggle of kids and two puppies he seemingly conjured out of nowhere. The two of them had the same bright energy and when they got together they laughed loud enough to banish any shadow.

And Logan – Logan had this need to prove himself. All the time. He needed a challenge to throw himself against or he wilted. Patton hated arguing and Virgil frankly didn’t have the energy but Roman? Roman loved it. The two debated everything, from poetry to politics and threw themselves into preparation with more gusto than seemed healthy. The first big blow up they had, Virgil had looked over at Patton, panicked, before realising both men were grinning ear to ear. Relishing the debate in a way that Virgil didn’t really understand.

And as for Virgil himself…well actually he had always been perfectly fine and Roman basically drove him crazy.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was, the four of them worked better as a four. They balanced each other out. Even if they sometimes went too far and hurt each others feelings, they always apologised and moved on. And even if having four meant that their could never be a tiebreaker and every decision had to be discussed around and around until someone gave in…that was just what family was like.

And now Roman was just going to walk away from them? Without even saying goodbye?

Unacceptable.

“This is all my fault.” Patton wailed for third time. “I never should have left him alone.”

And on top of everything he’d upset Patton? Virgil was going to find their wayward bard and bring him home. And then kill him.

“Tell us what he said again.” Logan demanded imperiously, notebook and pen at the ready as he stared Patton down.

Virgil sighed and answered for him:

“He told him he wanted to leave the city. And now he’s left the city.”

Logan frowned. “The city gates are closed at sunset – unless he had a royal decree he would have been unable to leave last night.”

Virgil grit his teeth, “Okay, so, assuming he didn’t know that – because none of the rest of us knew that – he left the inn to try to leave the city.”

“So then why leave the inn at all?” Logan continued, pacing up and down the limited floor space and utterly ignoring Virgil “Why not just wait till morning? It makes no sense unless.” He paused at the window. “Unless he was taken against his will.”

Patton and Virgil exchange wide eyed looks. Virgil was normally the one jumping to worst case scenarios, not Logan. “You, uhh, you got any evidence for that one Lo?”

“He left his sword.” Logan pointed. “Amongst almost all his other possessions – he told Patton he wasn’t safe and then he leaves without taking a weapon? It’s illogical.”

“I’m not sure he was thinking logically.” Patton said softly, looking at Romans neatly piled possessions. “You didn’t hear him guys he – he sounded so scared.”

Virgil flinched. Fingers flexing uselessly. “Okay. Okay so. What spooked him? Something in the forest?” He asked, thinking guilty of Romans thorn scratched hands after he’d got himself lost trying to escape Virgil foul mood. “He was totally spaced out last night.”

“He seemed fine this morning.” Patton said with a frown “Logan?”

“He was fine before we saw The Crone.” Logan murmured, “he was, if anything, too effervescent. But when we left he seemed…” he trailed off, adjusting his glasses before glaring defensively at both of them “he didn’t say anything so I can’t be sure – but, he was very quiet. The Crone was northern so I thought perhaps homesickness? But I don’t believe he was scared. Not until the episode.”

Virgil nodded, Logan had already described the episode – Romans sudden sprint through the city street and subsequent panic attack – in detail, although he’d been unable to pin point what had set him off.

“Um I’m sorry …The Crone?” Patton looked horrified, “Logan, do you mean our customer?”

“I. Uhm.” Despite everything Virgil couldn’t help but grin the flush of embarrassment that quickly took over Logan’s face. “She was from the North” Logan told them with great dignity, “Roman has told us many time that it is considered rude to ask a strangers name on first meeting.”

“But, did you…know she was form the North? Before you started calling her crone?” Virgil couldn’t resist teasing.

“Logan that is so rude!” Patton said, giving his best disappointed dad eyes.

“SO rude.” Roman ginned “honestly Patton – Virgil - this kind of behaviour reflects poorly on you as parents. I personally think you should send him to bed without supper.”

And Patton laughed, a secretly pleased smile at being compared to a parent and Virgil rolled his eyes and shrugged Romans hand off his shoulder and Logan let out an offended humph before reminding Roman, again, that he was only a few years older than him and if he was a child Roman was too and a brat besides – an old and well-worn argument that made all of them laugh, tension broken.

Except it wasn’t. Because Roman wasn’t there.

Instead Patton’s exaggerated disappointment mellowed into real sadness as he glanced around the room again and Logan hunched his shoulders, burying his face in his notebook. Silence filled the room.

“I’m going to uh, look outside again.” Virgil jerked his thumb awkwardly to the door and set off without waiting for a response.

Definitely kill him, Virgil thought. Once they were sure he was okay.

Apart from his unusual eye colour, pointed ears and a youthful complexion well into his thirties, Virgil had inherited very little from his mothers people. But his night vision was undeniably better than his fully human companions.

Not that it was doing him much good right now. Didn’t matter how good your eye sight was if there was nothing to see.

It was easy enough to track Roman from the open window, down the wall of torn climbing plants to the ground, but after that the trail immediately went cold. If this was a small town with a dirt road there would at least be footprints, but on the cobblestone streets of the well-to-do there was nothing to follow.

He could be anywhere.

Virgil kicked a pebble with a snarl, sending it clattering across the square. Reluctantly he started to prepare himself for the long climb back up to their room, when he was distracted by a faint whinnying.

The tavern connected to stables.

Huh.

Well….he knew Roman had been prepared to steal a horse before…

Quietly, Virgil slipped around the corner and into the stables. This was a far cry from the glorified shack where he had first met Roman. The ‘stables’ was more of a courtyard, with various coaches and waggons parked in the centre, and an enormous number of stalls ringing the outside. Virgil guessed it was shared between the tavern and the several other buildings that bordered the square.

His heart began to race.

He hadn’t really expected to see much – how would he know, after all, if a horse was missing? But with this much money in one place, there had to be a guard. Someone who might have seen Roman pass through.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep his expectations low, and began to search.

“Virgil. Did you kidnap a child?!”

Virgil winced. The force of Patton’s disappointed dad glare was a lot less funny when it was directed at him. “I mean,” he tried “is it kidnapping? She lives here! It’s not that bad!”

“I would say it’s significantly worse that calling a woman a crone in the privacy of your own head.” Logan muttered under his breath. Virgil glared at him.

“And I don’t live here,” the girl offered brightly “I just work in the stables.”

They were in the inn’s kitchen. Somewhere that they were absolutely not allowed to be. But between cancelling the promised performance, negotiating a week’s stay in an already overbooked establishment and then almost immediately afterwards cancelling that too and the panicked interrogation of the few remaining customers when they’d first discovered Roman missing; Virgil didn’t think the inn’s landlord could really get more irritated with them.

Although the whole kidnapping thing was probably not going to help.

“Here you go sweetheart.” Patton said, pushing a mug of sweet tea towards the girl and taking a seat next to her. He did not offer Virgil or Logan a cup.

“Thanks Mister Pat!” She smiled sweetly up at Patton before turning away from him and sticking her tongue out at Virgil. Virgil gestured wildly between the girl and himself but Patton just sipped his own drink, nose in the air.

Virgil slumped in his chair, glowering.

He’d found her sleeping in one of the empty stable stalls. The space was clearly being used as a hut for the stable boy – or in this case girl – with a small wooden bed pushed against the back wall and a desk covered in half cleaned riding gear near the entrance.

Elated to have found a possible lead he had rushed towards the bed and shaken the occupant awake immediately. And released in one horrifying instant that he was a fully grown man shaking a literal child who probably couldn’t even see him in the darkness.

She yelled.

He yelled.

She threw a horseshoe at his head.

He had managed to bundle her half way back to the inn - one hand clamped over her mouth despite the fact that she was biting him - before Patton appeared, ripping them apart with a growl and then blinking a Virgil in complete confusion when he realised who the would be kidnapper was.

“I – we – just want to ask you some questions.” Virgil said in his calmest I-am-not-deranged-I-have-just-had-a-very-long-day voice “Okay, um, sweetheart?”

All three of them stared at him.

“’Sweetheart’ sounds odd when you say it.”

“I know it does Lo’.”

“It might be the tone of voice.”

“I know it is, Lo’.”

“I’m Lucy.” Said the girl. Lucy sat back in her chair, swinging her legs back and forth. “Are you gonna’ pay me? The last guy gave me five gold pieces.” she grinned at them expectantly.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Okay well, that’s ridiculous.”

“We don’t have much money.” Patton told her, “but I can make you another tea?” She considered him for a minute but was clearly already besotted with her ‘rescuer’, so she just smiled and held out her mug.

“Now,” Patton asked gently as he poured a refill. “What guy is this? And…what did he ask you to do for that kind of money?”

She shrugged, unconcerned. “Just some rich guy. He wanted to know how many people had come in today, and then for me to let him hang around in my hut until his friend got there.”

“So you left your post?” Logan said disapprovingly. “What time did he arrive? What did he do? What friend was he meeting?”

“He paid me five gold pieces so he could sit in a shed” she told him. “If the guy wanted a horse he could have just bought one. And I just went and sat on the roof anyway, the market was way too busy.”

“Smart.” Virgil said. She glared at him, just long enough to let him know that his approval meant nothing, before continuing.

“He came just after four o’clock, that’s when Tommy goes home and I take over. And he didn’t do anything. Just sat there all grouchy. Then he left with the pretty guy.”

“Pretty?” Logan asked sharply, making Lucy giggle.

“Yeaaaah he had pretty eyes and a lute and really cute short hair. He was way better looking than the rich guy. I think he was a musician.” She sighed.

The three men glanced at each other, excitement building.

“Was he being taken by force?” Logan asked, steepling his hands “Could you see any sign of a struggle? Was he restrained in some way?”

“Logan don’t scare the kid for fucks sake.”

“Oh sorry, the one you kidnapped?”

“Guys.” Patton’s glare quelled them both into silence. Lucy took a long sip of tea, thinking before answering.

“He just walked up to him and they left together right away. I couldn’t hear nothin' but, they didn’t have time to say more than hello before they left.”

“So much for that theory.” Virgil muttered, disappointment settling in his chest. Not that he wanted Logan to be right, that Roman had been taken away by force but- this meant he really had just decided to leave them.

Logan wasn’t convinced. “A physical struggle is not necessarily required to move someone against their will – he could have been coerced.”

“How coercive can you be in one sentence??”

“If he was lying in wait and recognised him instantly the obviously we can assume they knew each other.” Logan told him snottily “Groundwork could have been laid beforehand.”

Virgil frowned, he hadn’t thought of that. But Roman hadn’t arrived until well past four – how had the mystery man known to come to this particular inn?

“Can you tell us anything about the first man?” Patton asked Lucy, “What he looked like or – ooh how about you draw a picture of him!” he produced Romans notebook from his pocket and opened it too a blank page.

“He was just some old rich guy,” she insisted “he was wearing one of those fancy patchwork coats. Pink and blue, and he had dark hair…” she shrugged. ”I don’t remember anything else, sorry Mister Pat.”

“What about an emblem?” Logan asked.

“What’s that?”

“A symbol of his house. Lots of rich people have them, maybe on a bit of jewellery or embroidered on his clothing?”

“He had a cape clasp with a pattern on it.” She said doubtfully, “it wasn’t fancy though just- here – “ she took the note book from Patton and hastily scribbled three interlocking Vs, the largest in the centre.

“We can go to the library and look for it when they open.” Logan told them brightly “If it’s one of the noble houses in the city we should be able to find an address.”

“And we can go see the cro – the customer too” Patton added putting a hand on the scholars shoulder, “Logan says Roman seemed down after they left- she might know something.”

“Right.” Virgil nodded absently.

“One of us should go to the city gates before they open,” Logan continued, “If he still intends to leave the city we can watch for him there.”

Virgil thought of the hordes of people making their way through the city gates. Spotting one man in amongst that throng was going to be near impossible. And even if they found a symbol that matched the child’s drawing, there was no guarantee they would be able to track down the owner. And from Logan's description, Roman hadn’t left his sight whilst they were at The Crones house, what could she possibly tell them that they didn’t already know?

And even if they found him. What good was that, if he truly wanted to leave? It’s not like they could order him to stay.

He felt one large, warm hand land on his shoulder and squeeze gently. “We’ll find him.” Patton told him reassuringly. At the table, Logan was scribbling in his note book again, eyes bright with excitement as he continued the barrage of questions at an amused looking Lucy.

Virgil nodded, and did his best to smile back.

It had been a long week on top of a long month of traveling, and none of their leads were things they could follow right now. They needed to sleep. Get enough rest for a full day of bard hunting in the morning.

And then, well.

If Roman wanted to leave he could leave.

But he was going to damm well explain himself to his family first.

Virgil glanced at Lucy who was watching them with open curiosity.

“I don’t suppose we could convince you not to mention the whole…kidnapping thing to the land lord right?”

She smiled at him. “That’s gonna cost you more than tea.”

Vigil sighed.

chapter 6

#TS: Fall of Romulus #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides fic #sanders sides #what is writing virgils POV?#is it just a thounsad rehtorical questions?#maybe?#sidespart writes

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dreamii-yume · 4 years

Note

Hiya~ Can I request a sinfic featuring yan!riddle where he uses an aphrodisiac on his fem!darling? ^v^ thanks in advance if you every try to write this!

Tried to implement some Mommy kink for our Baby Riddle but meh...Yume didn’t quite get there lol I’m sorry~ I’ll do your mommy kink justice someday, Riddle! {{ (>_<) }}

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎︎

It's petty, it goes against the rules, against every moral lesson he was taught, and as the older one, Riddle knew how immature this was of him. But he just loves you so much that it's only fair for you to feel the same thing, right? It's a completely valid reason!

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Riddle was not one to show emotions to make himself feel and look vulnerable to others.

It doesn't matter if they're a close friend or anyone he's familiar with, he just thinks that it's unnecessary for him to do so. Especially after his overblotting incident, it's just his duty to do what's right and recognize his past mistakes. For the first time in so long, he was corrected, he was wrong in so many ways, and he whole-heartedly accepted that. It was a blessing that his own dorm ended up forgiving his tyranny, being able to celebrate another successful unbirthday party as if Riddle hadn't done anything wrong at all. He was lucky to have such understanding friends, but the fact that they forgave him this easily was the exact reason why he's so conflicted with such a massive amount of guilt.

They were so nice despite after everything, just too loyal and accepting that Riddle's heart aches just remembering that he once took advantage of that loyalty. The guilt still chains him up and it was suffocating, but he knew he must not show such emotions. It doesn't change the fact that he's the Dorm Leader, the current King of Heartslabyul, he shouldn't burden anyone with such trivial things such as guilt. They don't have to know, if this was the price for his past actions, then he shall suffer through it all alone. No one needed to get involved in his personal matters, not again.

"...Are you sad, Riddle-san?"

No one...but you, who personally knocked ever so gently against the walls he built around himself.

Riddle didn't know if you were aware of his dilemma or had just consulted him out of pure instinct but he'd be lying if he said that he wasn't caught off guard that one day. It was the end of another unbirthday party that you and Grimm were invited to. You had dared to place your hand on his head, stroking his hair once and even asked such an outrageous question. Suffice to say, he was surprised, it left his mouth open but words don’t seem to come out. It also occurred to him that you might've done that deed unconsciously as he could practically see the realization coming down upon you, retracting your hands from his head almost immediately.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry...! I touched you without thinking..." You had apologized, bowing repeatedly but eventually looked up with an embarrassed smile. You scratched the back of your head, a tiny blush decorating your cheeks, feeling silly. "...I guess I just felt something really odd about you today, Riddle-san. It's probably just my imagination but still..."

"...Please cheer up. I'm sure no one would want to see you sad." You said, giving him a close-eyed smile and an awkward ‘Cheer-Up’ pose. "If you have something on your mind, feel free to share them with any of us!"

With Grimm screaming for you from the distance, you gave him one last smile and bowed before turning to your monster friend. Riddle didn't even get to say anything as he stood there, watching your figure disappear in the distance. He found himself reaching for his own head, on the same exact spot that your hand was in and looked down. That was unexpected, he really should get his act together if someone like you was able to tell. It was a relief that you didn't pry too much, that would've been a problem.

...Though, Riddle couldn't deny that something in him felt a little giddy for someone to see through him without words. The way you placed your hand on his head, the way your eyes looked at him, even if it was all done unintentionally. It made his face heat up and his heart could only beat so fast.

They all felt so gentle and sincere. He liked it.

But even so, Riddle turned around, clearing his throat and shaking his head awake out of such a ridiculous daydream. What is he talking about? Patting his head is a major offense to him personally! It's gesture that makes him feel inferior and doing so will immediately prompt him to decapitate your head off.

However, Riddle narrowed his eyebrows together and pat his reddening cheeks twice, just to calm himself down. You did recognize your mistake and it wasn't intentional after all so...He'll let you off the hook. He might've just been surprised, that's all, there was no more reason to fret over your touch like this.

Riddle needs to get his everything together, he's your senior, for god's sake.

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

...Was what he told himself, correct? He thought he was done with this.

Someway, somehow, Riddle found himself inviting you for a private tea party with him one day. He doesn't like this, it feels like he's favoring you way too much, he doesn't even do this with Trey and the others. But one look at your troubled expression in the library that day was enough for him to come and talk to you. Seriously, had he really become this easy to catch these days? Anyways, your woes laid down on a subject that involves magic, it was probably why you look so troubled about it.

"You'll teach me? Really?"

That spark in your eyes was something Riddle had never seen before, it intrigued him for some reason. He originally thought that you were suspicious, suddenly appearing out of nowhere without a single ounce of magic. You ended up becoming a student, a half-student to precise, and not to mention a girl in a prestigious all-boys school that Night Raven. It already sounded problematic in papers and by ear, your whole existence in this school is a clear violation of rules! However, once he took a closer look at the bigger picture of your situation, only then did it occur to him how harmless you really are.

After all, you were just a normal girl who always seems to get involve in a situation you didn't ask for in the first place.

"I see...So, that's how it is." You said, humming. Even without magic to perform the activities written on the text book, you somehow understood the basic concept of the topic. As expected of Heartslabyul's Dorm Leader, his strict but careful manner of teaching was no joke.

Gracefully placing down his cup on a saucer, Riddle ran his finger smoothly on the huge block of text in the textbook. "You don't need magic to remember these formulas, correct? As long as you memorized all of them with accuracy, you'll have no problems in the upcoming tests." Riddle advised as you nodded, mentally taking notes of each and every one of his words. "Now, try to answer this next question with a different method. I'm sure you'll be able to figure out the trick soon enough."

True to what he said, you managed to answer all the questions in your homework and Riddle couldn't help but be amused with your reaction. You look so relieved that you were able to finish them in such a short period of time and with confidence too. This made him want to brag about how he could finish paper works at this amount in an even shorter time frame and with everything guaranteed to be correct just so he could see your amazed reaction. But he decided against it, thinking of how immature of a move it was.

"Riddle-san, you're really amazing...I could never do these things by myself." You whispered with a small laugh as you leaned down on the table, resting your head that had been starting to ache from all the memorization you've been doing. Riddle wanted to criticize your laid-back posture but, in the end, he kept it all on his own. Your exhaustion was to be expected after all, it’s understandable.

Riddle tilted his head to the side. "...Is that so? I do think this is normal for my age." He said, which merely made you laugh nervously and drop a sweat. What he said just proved how much of a genius this child is, having the personality of a workaholic. However, you noticed how he slouched down slightly, with something oddly lonely in his eyes. "...This is what I've been taught all my life after all. I have to be the best of the best."

Ah, of course, he's not a genius without a cost. That much is understandable at least. "That's not true." You said without thinking, making Riddle turn to look at you. Your eyes were closed as if you were in the verge of falling asleep but that dazed, gentle smile remains on your face, telling him that you're still wide awake. "No one can be the 'best' out of the best. A child shouldn't grow up to believe that they can."

"...But unfortunately so, Riddle-san did, didn't he?" You phrased the words like it was supposed to be a response to yourself rather than to him. You opened your eyes, sympathy overflowing from within them that it makes Riddle's heart ache. "I can't imagine how painfully lonely that must've been, enduring and following all those crazy rules."

"But you know? It doesn't have to be like that anymore, you have friends who'll listen and spend time with you now." You said. "You can eat all the tart you want and not have to worry about breaking any rules for even just a second. It doesn't hurt to have fun once in a while."

"That's why, Riddle-san doesn't need to be the best of the best. You don't even have to listen to your mother if you, yourself knew how unreasonable her words are. You are your own person, after all." Riddle looked up at you and you couldn't help but to think of him as a little puppy, learning how to do his first trick for the first time. However, you blinked and covered your mouth when you realized that you just said something extremely rude in regards to his mother. "A-Ah! T-That's not to bad-mouth your mother or anything! I'm sure she was trying in her own way...! I think…?"

A tinge of awkwardness decorated your features as you sat properly on your seat, scratching the back of your head. "...But the point is...I just don't see why Riddle-san needs to be the best at everything. You're already fine the way you are." You said, looking down as you begin to feel really embarrassed of what you're saying. "Honestly, if you were my son, I'd be the proudest mother in the whole world~! No doubt about it!"

Widening his eyes at what you said, Riddle couldn't help but look down as different kinds of emotions swirling inside of him. His mouth twitched but he didn’t know whether to smile or to frown, he's incredibly indecisive right now. But his eyes did soften though, your last words had echoed over and over again inside his head, blocking out every other words that came after. He felt all warmed up on the inside that he clutched his chest tight and didn't seem to hear you say "Just kidding~" in a playful manner. You'll be the proudest mother you said, an actual proud mother who can be proud of someone like him.

"...Honestly, it would've been nice if you were indeed my mother in the first place..." He whispered with a strained, quavering voice, his hand clenching harder on his chest. How laughable, he's older than you and yet, he could actually feel himself at ease, consulting you like this.

"Eh...? Eh!? Riddle-san!?" You were about question him, trying to process if what you heard was correct. However, you quickly shot up from surprise in your seat as you looked at the red-haired's expression, a few drops of glistening tears began to overflow from his eyes. "W-Why are you crying...!? Aah, I'm sorry, I-I was joking...! I'm not gonna do it again, okay-"

"Hey..." Before you could say any more, you flinched as Riddle grabbed your hand, shutting you up completely. You fell into silence as he slowly brought your hand up on top of his head, your heart beating in anticipation. "Could you do it again...? Please?"

You felt your face heating up, not knowing how to process this turn of events. It was supposed to be a joke, an example to strengthen a point that you were trying to make. Still, Riddle seemed to have taken it seriously and you couldn't help but to feel a little sympathetic. It just proves that this child had been hungry, yearning for some needed motherly affection that he never got as a child. So desperate in fact, that he's willing to believe that silly little statement of yours.

Your eyes softened as you went closer to him and began to stroke his hair as gently as you could. You watched him sniffle, his shoulders shaking slightly as he tries to keep his cries at a minimum. "...You're still in pain, aren't you? You poor thing..." You said with a smile, purposely making your voice as soft as possible to give him the sense of comfort. "There, there...It'll be alright. Everything's going to be alright."

With that, Riddle couldn't help himself anymore and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. Sitting on his little throne, he buried his face on your stomach, his tears staining your uniform but you didn't mind. All you could really do was to continue stroking his hair and welcomed his head in an embrace. "...Thank you for enduring everything all this time, you've been such a good boy." You comforted, closing your eyes and Riddle could just melt against you. "But we're here now, you don't have to worry anymore. From now on, you'll never feel lonely again."

"You've done an excellent job, Riddle. I'm so proud."

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

Continue the Spice~?

Yume had to force herself to buy a new laptop because she knew she wouldn’t be able to survive Online Class without one (c" ತ,_ತ) I’m quite a stranger to electronics really, but I’m learning as I go, but I still miss my old laptop aaaa- （；＿；）

BUT NEVERMIND THAT!

Yume had reach 500+ followers! That many Darlings!? Isn’t it crazy!? (´；Д；`) To think this blog could actually reach that much lol Yume just wanted to release some hornii \(//∇//)\ Thank you very much, Sweethearts~! My fellow Hornii people ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

...I’m excited for the next few Sinfics (΄◉◞౪◟◉｀)

#yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #yandere #riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle rosehearts #heartslabyul #sinfic #Spicy Dream

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sometipsygnostalgic · 3 years

Text

adventure time wizard city liveblog

well here we go

my last adventure time liveblog, i havent actually done one of these in MANY years... probably not since 2014

this takes place at the same time as obsidian?

DID-- DID CHOOSE GOOSE JUST DIE

DID BUFO JUST KILL CHOOSE GOOSE

yeah i know that’s bufo, they only made it enormously obvious, tsk tsk

@spaceacepearl joked about us seeing choose goose get sent to hell but i diDNT EXPECT IT TO HAPPEN

This music is i assume by one of the many musical artists Adam Muto listed on twitter, it rocks. It’s not as hardcore as Obsidian’s intro, but it’s suitably chill for the scene.

“get offa my bus kid”

Those wizards in the left and far right groups appear to be new!

OH MY GOD--

HELP?????? NEW PROFILE PIC TIME

HAHAHAHAH

THE MUSICAL CON DID ME GOOD, I DID REALLY LOUD AUDIBLE LAUGHTER

i bet hanna and co had fun making these signs

my favourite is the cat with “FAMILIARS HAVE RIGHTS”

cadorka..... wow

We’re not even four minutes into the ep and peppermint butler has already killed someone in front of a large group of witnesses

“this smells of DARK MAGIC” “yall kids know thats illegal right” peps watches the other kids nod before later joining in, LOL

i cant believe pep started the great gum wars and got killed by golb

SOMEONE has been playing Overwatch...

i-- i still cant believe choose goose is fucking dead

how long was he stuck in hell for, or was that recent to together again after new death showed up

i have to admit im not a big fan of spader, too perfect, and not in that funny way either. i hope they give him some characteristics that make him stand out.

im getting flashbacks to OK KO and Owl House here...

Cadebra using music is a reference to Abracadaniel’s love of interpretetive dance in Play Date.

“they only laugh because youre different” “i know” “SO STOP BEING DIFFERENT” oh my god it’s like talking to my own parents cadebra is actually... a LOT like me, less in her hyperactivity but more in her nonchalant enthusiasm and almost acceptance of the inevitable bullying because it means more time in people’s consciousness

ahhh - it’s quietly revealed here that she is responsible and a skilled magician, she is just bored of magic! i like that she parents abracadaniel instead of being downtrodden by his ramblings.

PEP NO--- oh i see the problem, he hasn’t got his Bug Milk... sorry Martin Olsen fans, no Hunson today. At least we get one more Phil Face for the road!

candy people in their natural habitat

Ahhh that’s Doctor Calidoneus! The voice actor was at the recent Distant Lands panel alongside Pep and Blaine’s actors.

“pretty sure hes just trashcandy” - i like you, sassy antler lady

the mystery of how he gets clothes

and once again spader is proving to be the most irritating distant lands character of the lot, there is no subversion here. where is the subversion?

NANI

what is going on here? are pep and peppermint the same person or not? im sure they must be, but there is something going on here with peppermint butler’s soul being trapped in the body of his child self who hasn’t got the same memories.

OH, HYNDEN WALCH DID A NEW LINE yes this is what im here for, special over

peppermint butler cursed himself... of course he did - Shado was correct!!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA WHAT THE FUCK

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA WHAT THE FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK

ROCK STUDENT, BLESSED ROCK STUDENT, WAS THAT POOR GUY WHO LOOKS LIKE A JAWBREAKER

love the reference to astral plane, of course pep cant astrally project because cursed pep is still inside of him

wow, blaine, wow

they have a crush

LITTLE DUDE! COLE SANCHEZ!

i love the dynamic between cadebra and abracadaniel, imo so far it’s the heart of the special. im not really gripped by peppermint butler’s school troubles. i imagine someone else probably will be but i want to run past that shit as far as possible.

TRDGFYGHJH

WE MADE A PREDICTION THAT WAS JUST LIKE THIS

PEPPERMINT BUTLER GETTING TURNED INTO THE FOUR COMPONENTS OF PEPPER MINT BUTT LURE WAS IN THE WIZARD CITY PREDICTIONS ART DRAW THAT HASNT BEEN POSTED YET

ILL SHOW YOU WHEN NICK POSTS THE VIDEO and then ill tell you who made the prediction because i... think it was nick himself, insanity

who plagiarized finn’s signature???

turns out pep really DID take over wizard city!!!!

i love this band

i understand your pain peps

you probably have a bit too much in common with your mother, and i imagine it isn’t easy being turned into a kid and not being able to do stuff that came so easy. you’re disappointing yourself! (he’s literally disappointing himself)

I’m less than halfway through the special, what the fuck. I wasn’t wrong when I said Wizard City had a lot on its plate. It’s noit that I’ve been particularly gripped up to this point, though to be fair I didn’t pause at all during the other specials barring Obsidian.

that... that poor kid is still a rock

and then the preview happened and bufo casually revealed to the audience that, yes, he killed choose goose

i dont know whats happening with pep but it seems he needs to be exorcised of... pep. which is a shame. i hope they learn to coexist.

i have to say the background work in this special is really good! like, really damn good.

WHAT

DID SPADER JUST DIE

IS THIS WHY PEOPLE THINK PEPBUT KILLED HIM

oh thats right - abracadaniel is cadebra’s uncle! this must be abracadniels sister. sorry, folks, he doesn’t fuck.

Where are they? Is this anywhere near Wizard City? It’s an unpopulated prewar wasteland.

THESE ARE JUST HUMANS

OF COURSE SHE WANTS TO PERFORM TO MILQUETOAST HUMANS

my child

is this an art style choice or did they get the people from that one studio to make this

HANNA FINALLY GETS TO FULFIL HER DREAM OF INSERTING KANEDA INTO ADVENTURE TIME

the red jacket he wears and his head pill shape is a big kaneda reference actually, which i suppose makes sense considering he’s a rival to our protagonist, but it’s a bit on the nose

bufo killed one of his own students? but why????

“MY UNCLE’S A COP”

“no one likes a rat”

i actually really like blaine, though im confused. did their VA change halfway through the special?

HOW NATURAL, NO WASTE, IT IS AN ENDLESS CHAIN

did doctor caledonius steal the trophy,,,?

EVIL SNAIL EVIL SNAIL

MONMSTER HUNJTER DISCOVERY NOISE, this time it’s a tetsucabra

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I HAVE QUESTIONS

god i wish this is what this special was about, i miss adventure time

these remind me of the comics with their art style :) i wonder who designed them? the one on the right with pb and pep, in particular, very comics-y.

fdgfhgf because he’s like 500

“pep can be kind of a jerk but he wouldn’t kill anyone”

sorry, cadebra, i have news for you

is doctor calednoius the true villain? if bufo’s out of the picture, she MUST be,

ANTS

oh no, he might gbe stuck in wizard city :(

HELP

the writing on the wall...

SPADER LITERALLY FUCKING DIED OH YM JESUS CHRIST

PEPPERMINT BUTLER’S OWN CULT????

THIS IS JUST OK KO NOW

okay im not surprised all the teachers at wizard city are cultists in worship of peps, maybe they killed spader and bufo because they bullied peps T_T

wait no, they thought spader had the potential, but sadly not

HE FUCKING KILLED HIMSELF

sorry, i was distracted by the pretty dope fight sequence and now the special is over????

fucking jesse, hes probably at least partly responsible for the cult nonsense

This credits art is by Maya Petersen!!!! Holy shit it’s adorable!

LRETGFDRGTFGMHGFHFG

LEAF MAN

DO YOU THINK THEY PUT HIM IN RETROSPECTIVELY

DO YOU THINK MAYA PETERSEN DREW THIS AND ADAM PUT IT IN THE EP RETROSPECTIVELY

HE LIVES

MAYBE THIS IS WHY CHOOSE GOOSE WENT TO HELL

okay, it’s over :)

first thoughts out of the way: not a big fan of this special. it’s like watching a completely different show. it’s not got the PZSHAHH of the normal wizard city stuff and there weren’t a lot of funny jokes or even hearty moments in the thing.

it suffers from a lack of invested character interactions, much like BMO did. there was not a single main cast member in the whole thing! and like i said before, much of peppermint butler’s character in the show is based on his very sweet relationship to his mother, princess bubblegum, so when they showed a single (hilarious) photo of them together it made me sad we didn’t get any scenes with them together. it would have STOLEN this episode. and they teased the hunson golf photo, and death!!! and jake appeared in a photo T_T last jake appearance.

it also suffers because Peppermint Butler is clearly not himself, imo he was way more entertaining in the Together Again special, where we seem him back to his “normal” self.

i dont think peps being a dark wizard was something to “kill off” exactly. i wonder what was going on there? was that actually peps, or was that a spirit he cursed himself with based on himself? we at least know in the future he does become a dark wizard again, and even princess :) this special didn’t answer those questions but lol.

THE GOOD STUFF, because yes, there was a lot of good stuff!

God, I’m with Aracle and Maya on this - I LOVE Cadebra and her relationship to Pep. I wish she was even in more of this - I would love to watch the adventures of Cadebra and Pepbut in their first year of school, like in the end credits.

That, imo, is where the heart of the special lay - Peppermint Butler’s attempts to impress himself, versus Cadebra’s self acceptance and desire to follow her dreams of being a goofy goober, no matter what other people thought of her.

It turned out that Cadebra is a responsible student and family member. I really liked that. Her scenes with Abracadaniel were, somehow, my favourite in the entire special!

I like that theres a lot of cool magic towards the end of this special, and a lot of HORRIFYING DEATH. It wouldn’t be adventure time if you didn’t randomly kill off child characters. Poor Spader, I hated you but damn, what a grim fate.

I like that Bufo and Caledonius had this crush/hatred thing going on, but they were part of the same cult in the end.

I didn’t like the giant peps scene at the end, the monster was extremely milquetoast compared to the madness we usually get in AT. Obsidian, for example, had the awesome Larvo design. Nemesis had some INSANE dark magic!!!! I wish they drew more from that episode.

Considering how much Steve Little appears in this special, I do feel bad for Mace (little Peps). He said he would have really benefitted from coaching, but recieved none. He had to re-record his lines 3 times! Judging from his description of events, Wizard City was a hard time for him.

The wizard school did remind me, heavily, of both The Owl House and OK KO. Personally I was hoping AT would offer me something more insane, but I do love both of those shows, and I know Wizard City was on a really tight schedule.

I think they should have spent less time on the school bullying plot, and skipped straight to MURDER.

We did have a cold opening, not on par with Together Again’s at all, but damn!

I am wondering where I would put this in the watch list? I do think it should sit after Obsidian as the third special. The intro scene makes it clear this takes place at the same time as Obsidian!!!

Well, that was it, the last ep of AT for the next few years at least T_T

i think together again was the better finale, definitely. but wizard city feels pretty detached from AT for me, despite the familiar characters it tonally isn’t like the show other than the awesome brutal death scenes. I thought the last 11 minutes was easily the best in the special! Which, honestly, is how it should be, though I do wish it gripped me more. Maybe I’m just not the target audience for Wizard City? It feels like something I would find very compelling if I was a bit younger!

#adventure time #wizard city #atimers

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eurydicees · 3 years

Text

top 10 ouran manga-only arcs

this is going to be such a long post i apologize in advance. the ranking system has absolutely no criteria other than "does this pass my vibe check.” bonus points were awarded if i could think about tamakyo while reading it; points were also awarded every time tamaki did something cool. this was a delight to make. anyways, without further ado, here are my personal top ten favorites, and no i will not be taking criticism.

1. THE TAMAKI EXTRAVAGANZA

(vol 16 chp 73 - vol 18 chp 80)

PLOT:

So much happens here that I couldn’t think of an actual name, and uh does it count as a single arc? Probably not, but I’m counting it as one because it has a single thread: Tamaki. My beloved. So. First, Tamaki finally, finally, finally moves into Suoh mansion #1, but when he gets there, he gets told that he’s only allowed to study the Suoh business and go to school and nothing else— meaning he has to quit the host club. Shizue threatens to out Haruhi as a girl and ruin her reputation— possibly losing her the scholarship— if Tamaki doesn’t break off all ties with her.

The Host Club disbands. Kyoya begins an Investigation™ into Tamaki’s mother— she had been incredibly weak and unhealthy when Tamaki was a child, but when Kyoya met her, she was pretty healthy. After some sleuthing, the hosts minus Tamaki discover that she probably had Bisco Hatori’s fictional version of lupus, which was cured by a mysterious foundation— which they discover was run by the Grantaine family, funded by the Suoh corporation, and actually researched by the Ootori conglomerate. Literally everyone is in on it. It’s fucking wild. Like. Huge “holy fucking shit I need to stop and take a breath” moment.

This information is suddenly released to the public, and then the Suoh corporation all vote Shizue out of her position, saying that she’s no longer fit for the job. She locks herself in her room and refuses to speak to anyone, breaking Tamaki’s heart. But now that she’s no longer top dog, Anne-Sophie can come to Japan— Yuzuru is super hyped and expects Tamaki to be as well, not understanding that Tamaki’s family fantasy includes his grandmother. Tamaki stops going to school and plays piano every day in order to cheer up the house, eventually luring Shizue out to listen to him play their shared favorite songs from J-dramas.

They begin to bond and Shizue sees that he’s not a failure because of his parentage, but it’s too late because Anne-Sophie is about to fly back to France. All is hopeless.

EXCEPT THEN. All of the hosts and all of the clients realize what’s happening and rush to help him get to his mother. They all adore him so much, and give their all into getting Tamaki to the airport. Shizue finally encourages him to go, realizing— with the help of Haruhi— that she has been bitter and selfish and Tamaki deserves better. They rush to the airport, and through a series of shenanigans that are no match for the combined power of the hosts and every single girl at Ouran, Tamaki makes it to the airport. They make it there JUST in time, and Tamaki gets a five minute reunion with his mother. Haruhi finally confesses to Tamaki that she loves him.

WHY I LOVE IT:

oh my God oh my God oh my GOD. Like. This is just. So much. So Much. We all know that I’m like. The #1 Fan of Tamaki Suoh. Like. President, vice president, treasurer, and secretary of the fan club, all at once. I love him so much, and this just gives him so much development. There is so much opportunity for him to grow and you not only really see who he is as a character, but you also see how much he’s grown as a person from his first introduction. You also get more of a glimpse into the world of Rich People, and the way that all of their families interact with each other, and then also with the way that they interact within their families. It’s just such an intense arc and it’s so beautiful and I love it so much.

2. THE SPORTS COMPETITION

(vol 10 chp 46 - vol 11 chp 49)

PLOT:

This one is HARD to rank, because I love it, but it also Hurts. Like. I genuinely cried over this one, though that’s not actually saying much because I cry at everything. So. Here’s what’s up. Tamaki gets into this idea of a sports festival, and then Kuze wanders in to fight Kyoya again, so Tamaki suggests a competition between the two of them. This is a very Tamaki thing to do, but Kyoya gets fed up with it and refuses to participate— until Kuze accuses him of being “Suoh’s pet” and that he’ll always let Tamaki win, and then Kyoya gets fired the fuck up.

But he’s still bitter at Tamaki for starting this, so the two of them stop talking and my heart breaks. This does not stop Tamaki from having heart eyes for Kyoya 24/7. Hikaru and Kaoru are assigned to competing teams, and begin their Very Long Journey into not being so codependent— Hikaru is on the red team with Tamaki, Haruhi, and Kuze; Kaoru is on the white team with Kyoya and Honey.

Essentially, each team goes through rounds of races in different areas that are like. Complete bullshit games, but whatever. It’s Rich People World. The white team gets ahead; the red team performs a scene from a Shakespeare show to rally their losing team together and begins to win, until they’re on even footing. The final race is between Kyoya and Tamaki.

There’s a heartbreaking series of panels of Tamaki just… thinking about Kyoya. I cannot get enough of it. Then there’s an even more heartbreaking series of panels of Kyoya just… thinking about Tamaki. You realize, alongside the other hosts, that Tamaki pushed for this race not really for benefit or fun, but to give Kyoya a chance to compete in something for real, without having to set it up so that Tamaki wins (as we see in the race for the central salon). It’s a chance for him to win and not put his family first. Tamaki still tried his best, because Kyoya would hate him if he threw the race, but he lost because Kyoya fought with the intention of winning for HIMSELF, and not just playing support to Tamaki or impressing his father.

Finally, in the last panel, it’s revealed that the class trip will be to France.

WHY I LOVE IT:

God it burns so good. So Good. The Tamakyo, the Hikaru & Kaoru character growth, the Kyoya development, the Tamaki being so so so good, the Kyoya being so brilliant, everything oh my lord. This is really one of the biggest points of Kyoya’s character development, and it’s the first place I’m going to point to when thinking accurately about who he is as a person. It shows who he is, and who he believes he is, and who he wants to be, and who other people see him as. It’s also just a Tamakyo goldmine, even though they don’t ever actually talk. It’s so beautiful and it makes me cry.

3. THE ORIENTEERING RACE

(vol 14 chp 66 - vol 15 chp 68)

PLOT:

In an attempt to make Tamaki realize that the hosts all love him just as much as he loves them, the hosts sans Tamaki put together an orienteering race. There are six checkpoints, each one with a task to be completed in order to get an ingredient that will make the best meal at the end of the race.

Hikaru and Kaoru play the return of the “Which one is Hikaru?” game, knowing that Tamaki has been able to tell them apart for a while by now; Nekozawa’s checkpoint is a quiz on cursed items, knowing that Tamaki is familiar with Beelzenef; Honey’s checkpoint is a game of whack-a-mole with little mini Usa-chans, knowing that Tamaki isn’t afraid of making him upset over a game, though all the girls are; Mori’s is a sword slicing thing to show that Tamaki will never give up on something; Haruhi’s is a “tell the truth or never pass” kind of thing; and Kyoya’s is a crossword puzzle of all the answers made up of things from previous club themes.

Tamaki pairs up with Konoya— who is in love with him and is the “perfect Haruhi” trope— and realizes that she’s incredibly different from Haruhi, and that he loves Haruhi for who she is and not who he thought he wanted her to be. He also realizes that— because the hosts have gone through all of this for him— they do love him for who he is, no matter what, no matter the bad parts of his personality, and they’re never leaving him.

WHY I LOVE IT:

Look. We know that anything about Tamaki is gonna make me happy. I am a simple woman and so easy to please. This is literally just three chapters about how much all of the hosts love Tamaki and want him to be happy. I cannot express in words how rewarding it is to watch Tamaki realize how important he is and how much he’s loved— because he is loved, he’s so loved, he’s so so so loved. This is also the arc with the building block / building a home metaphor, and it destroyed me both physically and emotionally (vol 14 chp 66). This is where the found family is really solidified, and we all love a good dosage of found family.

4. RACE FOR THE CENTRAL SALON / THE SCHOOL FAIR

(vol 6 chp 22 - vol 6 chp 26)

PLOT:

This is where the anime diverges from the manga, and I have to say that this version of the school fair is just so much better than the anime version. Like. Just So Much Better. Basically, the club is setting up for the school fair, and the best spot to set up— essentially, the spot that will get the most foot traffic form the parents— is in the central salon. To figure out which club is going to get the spot, they all compete in a literal race, both mind games and physical games and it just slaps overall.

The b-plot is that the Host Club is getting threatening letters telling them to drop out of the race, alongside blank papers that are sent with the notes; the hosts have to figure out who is sending the notes and confront it. This is the arc that introduces both Kuze and Yuzuru Suoh for the first time. Kuze is captain of the football team and Kyoya’s rival and also definitely his secret ex-boyfriend. Chairman Suoh is… just. A lot. Just. That’s it. A Lot. He’s A Lot.

Anyways, part of the winning race is capturing this crown that’s hidden on campus, which turns out to be at a swimming pool. The football team gets there at the same time as Haruhi, and Kuze pushes her into the pool and goes for the crown. Kyoya and Tamaki reach her at the same time— Tamaki’s instinct is to go for Haruhi, but Kyoya tells him to get the crown and thus the glory of winning, while Kyoya rescues Haruhi.

Later, it turns out that Yuzuru was sending the blank papers with harmless messages written in invisible ink as a prank to emphasize the literal hate mail that the hosts were getting. The follow up to the race is the actual school fair, where we meet Yoshio and Shizue. Fuck Shizue, not even going to get into that right now because I WILL cry, but just know that it’s even worse than it is in the anime. Yoshio, though, is eons better in the manga than in the anime— he is genuinely proud of Kyoya and says that he actually wouldn’t mind appointing Kyoya as heir.

WHY I LOVE IT:

Volume 6 does SO MUCH for Kyoya and Tamaki and we all know that I’m ride or die for the two of them. Kyoya finally gets a chance to shine as team leader and it’s what he deserves! Tamaki takes a little more of a backseat, which I don’t even mind, because Kyoya does such a good job of pulling attention here. The scene at the swimming pool is just so good— it really shows the huge amount of trust between Tamaki and Kyoya, and does a good job of setting up the relationship they need to have as Rich People, outside of their friendship, which is something that we don’t see a lot of. Overall, it’s a very Kyoya-centric arc, and it does amazing things for the development of his character and personality. It’s one of the biggest insights into how he functions as a kind of mastermind for the club. We also finally get Tamaki’s full-ish backstory, which genuinely makes me cry every time.

5. THE HITACHIIN FAMILY

(vol 10 chp 45 / vol 11 chp 51 - vol 12 chp 53)

PLOT:

So this is technically two plot lines, but I’m going to count it as one because it’s all about the twins, my loves. In vol 10 chp 45, we get a little insight into the life of the Hitachiin family and why the twins are as fucked up as they are. Quick rundown— their parents can tell them apart but pretend not to for whatever godforsaken reason; Kaoru admits he’s in love with Haruhi for the first time and Hikaru remains oblivious; Kaoru begins to realize how unhealthy he and Hikaru’s relationship is and how, one day, they aren’t going to be able to have all of the same things; there’s a cookie metaphor; Tamaki gets lost in the Hitachiin manion; it’s all a good time.

In volumes 11 and 12, we begin the actual split between the twins, where they realize that they can’t stay the way that they are forever. They can’t be one person forever. They realize this in a fight over Haruhi, where Hikaru suggests they “share” her as a sister, and Kaoru rightfully thinks this is bullshit. They get in their first— and only— genuinely real argument. Hikaru breaks down in Mori’s house, Kaoru breaks down at Honey’s place, literally no one is happy and I am crying.

Kaoru asks Haruhi out on a date, and then ends the date by explaining that he could never date her knowing that it would be hurting Hikaru. Haruhi is, understandably, very confused by this whole thing, and no one is telling her anything.

Kaoru then makes up with Hikaru, saying that he’ll give up on trying to pursue Haruhi, but tells him that they actually do need to live separate lives at some point— and that point might as well be now. He wants to break apart entirely, but Hikaru explains that while they need to break apart in a lot of ways and find their own identities, they can never fully forget each other. They agree that they can influence and love each other without depending on each other for a personality.

They keep up the incest ACT at the club, though. Bisco Hatori couldn’t manage to write her way out of that one.

WHY I LOVE IT:

So this one just. Really hits home for me. It’s a genuinely heart wrenching arc, and the progression of the whole thing was just so slow and so steady and it was so well done. The twins are two of my favorite characters in the show/manga, and their relationship is something that I can analyze for days, and this arc is a huge part of why it’s so interesting. It does amazing things for both of them as developing characters, but it does even more amazing things for their character growth as people. It also provides a nice catalyst for the Hikaru/Tamaki/Haruhi love triangle. Anyways, it made me cry and apparently that’s my only criteria.

6. THE FRANCE ARC

(vol 10 chp 46 - vol 12 chp 56)

PLOT:

On the Ouran 2nd year school trip to France, Kyoya decides he’s going to spend the trip searching for Tamaki’s mother, rather than spending it with the other students. He works himself to death trying to find her— he ends up literally falling asleep on the ground because he’s so exhausted from searching and taking literally no breaks. Kyoya finds her eventually, and has a really nice conversation with her— she has a bunch of photos of Tamaki, and clearly is constantly thinking about him. When he gets back to Japan, he tells Tamaki about her— about how beautiful she is, about how she smiles, about how she thinks of her son every day.

We get more of Tamaki’s backstory, and his close relationship from his mother and how his mantra— living life in Japan to the fullest and being as happy as he can be every day— all comes from his mother. She told him that she’s happiest when he’s smiling, and so when he leaves her behind in France, he decides to be smiling every day and make everyone around him smile as well.

While Kyoya is in France, Tamaki stays behind in Japan— he gets closer to his father, who offers to begin to train him to take over the Suoh business. He visits Haruhi, and tells her a little bit about his life in France, and Haruhi’s love for Tamaki begins to make an appearance for the first time.

WHY I LOVE IT:

So I went into this list thinking that this would be my favorite plot, so it’s wild to me that it didn’t even make the top five. It’s kind of weird and I didn’t expect it, but I’m still satisfied with this list. Anyways, I really love this one, even if it’s not the top five. It’s like. The ultimate Tamakyo story, and there’s just. There’s just so much to unpack there. Like. We don’t have time for me to go through the whole thing and analyze every part of it because there’s just so much of it. It’s so good, and it makes my heart grow three sizes. It’s another brilliant development piece for Kyoya, and shows his softer side, as well as just how much he loves Tamaki.

7. MORI AND HONEY GRADUATE

(vol 15 chp 71 - vol 16 chp 72)

PLOT:

Honey and Mori announce that, after graduation, they’ll be splitting up and going to different universities. This proceeds to emotionally destroy literally everyone except for them. Mori is challenged to a series of duels at the Kendo club in which he has to fight every underclassman who wants the honor of fighting him before he graduates. He’s exhausted and worn down, and he loses to a second year, which is bad for like. Honor reasons. RIP. Anyways. He reveals that he’s just been really worried about something but before he can tell anyone, he has to duel Honey. It hurts.

They start preparing for the fight— which Kyoya is capitalizing off of via movie rights and betting rings— and scare everyone that they’re going to never speak again. When the fight comes, they fight on the Windswept Hill™ at Ouran (the same place that Chika and Honey fight on way back when). They go for it and pull no punches, until Honey tries to do a flying kick and Mori catches him and gently places him outside of the boundaries of the fighting ring, thus winning the duel.

Because he won, he pulls out a sheet of paper in which he’s written down all of the things that Honey needs to do in university because Mori isn’t going to be there to take care of him: brush his teeth, cut down the cake by 90%, and stop bringing Usa-chan to classes. Mori felt that he didn’t have the right to tell him these things until they were on equal level because he had won the duel.

They make up and everything is okay— they graduate, everyone cries, including me. Kasanoda gives Mori flowers, it’s all very cute. Haruhi makes cookies, and when Tamaki goes running down the hallway to find her, they bump into each other and drop all of the cookies. While they’re picking them up, they share the classic ~accidental kiss~.

WHY I LOVE IT:

This is one of the only Honey & Mori-centric plotlines that gets fully fleshed out and like. More than a chapter. It really does lovely things for their relationship, and it’s the end of an era. Even though it’s the end of an era, though, the resolution is incredibly satisfying— Honey and Mori’s stories are wrapping up, but it’s really well done. It’s sad, but it’s a really rewarding ending. They’re such sweet boys. Also, it’s not like they’re gone forever, so it’s all okay.

8. REIKO x HONEY

(vol 10 chp 41)

PLOT:

Reiko is part of the Black Magic Club, and falls in love with Honey when he gives her a hand in getting up after she trips over Usa-chan. However, she believes that falling in love with Honey is equivalent to him “stealing her soul,” and so she uses “curses” to steal his soul back. These curses are basically just love spells.

In the end, Honey tells her to just, like, be herself. Talk about her interests. Get to know him. Be honest. Then she won’t need love spells to make him like her. Even if she messes up or is awkward or says something weird, he’ll still like her because she’s being true to herself. This is one of the only Honey-centric chapters, and Reiko is one of my favorite side characters.

WHY I LOVE IT:

They’re the OG goth x pastel couple. The blueprint for all other couples. Icons. I love them so much. This makes it on the list just because I love their relationships. I also love the whole Moral Of The Story, in that it’s important to be true to yourself. It’s so sweet it hurts.

9. HARUHI AND TAMAKI’S FIRST DATE

(vol 18 chp 81 - vol 18 chp 82)

PLOT:

So. Right after the two of them confess their love to each other, everyone expects them to get together and be a couple right away, but Haruhi is just kinda chilling. She’s not super stressed about dating, it’s just a relief to have said it out loud. Meanwhile, Tamaki is kind of a mess, stressing out over their first date and trying to make it as perfect as he possibly can. Seeing him so stressed, all of the hosts band together to help him out in planning a date. When Tamaki finally gets up the nerve to ask her out, he falls in the fountain and Haruhi has to fish him out. She’s then the one to ask him out to the amusement park.

In true Tamaki fashion, he gets incredibly stressed out again. He gets fashion advice from a series of unfashionable people. The hosts sneak around the amusement park and follow them around, finding out that it’s actually going really well, as long as they’re not interfering. After the Lobelia girls show up and try to sabotage the date, Tamaki and Haruhi run away— while Kyoya Handles™ the situation— and they go to her mother’s grave. There, it’s revealed that Haruhi will be going on an exchange program to America.

WHY I LOVE IT:

It’s just. So cute. Like. I’m Tamakyo for life, but I do adore them so much. It’s lower on the list because of the sheer amount of second hand embarrassment, but overall, I loved reading this one. Tamaki is just so genuine and earnest about everything he does, and I think these chapters do a lot to show why the two of them work as a couple. It also does lovely characterization points for Haruhi, and begins to wrap up the ending. Bonus points for a jealous and heartbroken Kyoya.

10. PRINCESS MICHELLE

(vol 9 chp 38 - vol 9 chp 39)

PLOT:

Princess Michelle comes to Ouran to do a week of school in Japan. After meeting her, Tamaki essentially puts him and the Host Club at her beck and call, doing anything that he can to make her happy, no matter how insanely extravagant her demands are. Everyone else finds this infuriating, until Kyoya points out that Michelle looks similar to Tamaki’s mother, saying that the last time Tamaki saw his mother, she was crying— and if he sees Michelle smile for real, it might help him picture his mother smiling again.

Overall, it’s just a very soft arc that begins to unfold Tamaki’s family-related trauma. It also kickstarts Tamaki’s realization that he’s in love with Haruhi and doesn’t actually have paternal feelings for her (that’s the whole next chapter, but make it funny rather than introspective); and it’s one of the moments that Haruhi realizes that Tamaki is genuinely just a good person.

WHY I LOVE IT:

I wasn’t sure that this one would make the list at all, but I do really love this story. It’s pretty short, just two chapters, but it’s overall really sweet. I like Michelle as a character a lot— she seems a bit like a bitch at the beginning, but she gets fleshed out and given an actual personality as the chapter goes on. It’s a really good example of Bisco Hatori’s writing.

HONORARY MENTIONS:

Mei (character): probably the most significant character in the manga that doesn’t appear at all in the anime, which is pretty tragic, but I think that the anime really wanted to emphasize that Haruhi doesn’t really have any female friends / friends outside of the hosts. But anyways, she’s Misuzu’s daughter and Haruhi’s friend; she’s lowkey transphobic but she’s getting better! Had a brief crush on Tamaki but she ends with being the #1 Tamaharu stan. Great friend to Haruhi.

The masquerade ball: Haruhi's going away party, and the reveal that she's a girl.

Haruhi gets kidnapped: Haruhi is kidnapped and held for ransom, the hosts find her and break down doors to get there.

#ohshc #ouran manga #ouran koukou host club #ouran high school host club #ouran liveblog #ouran #ouran high school host club manga #please rb this i worked SO HARD on it #also please add your opinions #there are a few different lists that are valid. and many that are not.#i will vibe check your lists if you post them

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 3 years

Note

so i am back on the grima train and i was reading through your posts (absolutely quality, for which i can only thank you !! 💓) and you mentioned in one about his use of magic that you have a Lot of Feelings about grima in relation to gender and plz i need to hear them!! (if you want to share? 👀)

LOTR: Grima & Gender

Oh man, so Grima and gender. My favourite topic. Other than Grima and magic - but they’re linked! So, that’s a bonus for us.

I want to thank you so much for asking this question. I have wanted to rant about this for Forever.

This became incredibly long, but the long and short of it is that Grima undermines social expectations of masculinity in Rohan through his disdain for martial achievements, his occupying a more private/passive role within the king’s household rather than the expected “masculine” public/active, his use of spells and potions being an “unmanly” and “cowardly” approach to problem solving, and his reliance on language and soft-power approaches to politics.

All of this works to position Grima within a more feminine role and character - at least within the context of Rohan’s hypermasculine performativity of manliness.

[It does allow us to read Grima as trans with greater ease in terms of fitting into the canon than the usual favourites, other than Eowyn. So, you know, do with that what you will. Eowyn and Grima both want to be queen. Let them be in charge! I’m going to get my ass bit for this.]

Grima’s gender performance needs to be quickly situated within the broader context of masculinity in Middle-Earth. Gondor’s ideal of masculinity is the gentler masculinity that everyone focuses on when they talk about men in middle earth being good models of what masculinity can look like. It’s a nurturing masculinity, it’s gentle, it’s healing-focused. Aragorn and others try and take the first off-ramp from violence or conflict whenever they can. There is no enjoyment in warfare or soldiering. It’s done because it’s necessary. Dick-swinging is limited to non-existent etc.

Rohan is different.

Faramir touches on this when he speaks to Frodo of how Boromir was more like the men of Rohan and how he thought that wasn’t a good thing as it meant he was seeking glory for glory’s sake, relishing war and soldiering as an occupation rather than an unfortunate necessity.

Of course, Faramir was also making (some very dubious) racial commentary, but race and gender are often bound up together (e.g. hyper-masculinization of black men and the feminization of East Asian men in the North America).

As R.W. Connell says, “masculinities are congurations of practice that are constructed, unfold, and change through time” — and, additionally, masculinity must be defined in opposition to femininity but, also, other masculinities.

For Rohan, there is a strong, militarized hyper-masculinity that threads through their culture. One of the reasons Theoden was seen as a failing king was his physical decline and inability to continue being a physically strong king. His aging emasculated him, more so when compared to Theodred and Eomer. (Something Theoden believed of himself and Grima capitalized on.)

For this, I’m going to speak of masculinity of the upper classes, since that’s what we see for Rohan. Masculinity, and how it’s to be performed, is contingent on social variables such as, but not limited to: age, appearance and size, bodily facility, care, economic class, ethnicity, fatherhood, relations to biological reproduction, leisure, martial and kinship status, occupation, sexuality etc. and as we never see lower class Rohirrim men it’s impossible to say what the “acceptable” and “expected” forms for a farmer or cooper would be.

Upper class men of Rohan are expected to be militarily capable - ready to ride and fight when called by their king or marshal. They are to be men of action over word, and when language is in play, it’s to be forthright and plain. No riddling. Marriage/Husband-ing is an expected part of manhood. Being strong minded, and capable of taking charge and making decisions is important. Fatherhood is also clearly prized, especially fatherhood that results in son(s).

(Theoden only having one child could be read as another “failure” in living up to Rohirrim ideals when compared to the older kings of his family who were far more prolific.)

The appearance of an “ideal” man is tall, fair, and handsome. Physically strong and capable in all ways (martially, sexually, fertile etc.).

Men should be able to demonstrate that they are capable of being in charge, taking control, defending and protecting families and homes. This slots in with more generalized expectations around bravery, honour and glory.

[Eomer: And that, in summation, is how you are to Be A Man.

Grima: Well that sounds utterly exhausting.]

So, with all of that in mind, let’s talk Grima.

First, let’s address the name and character construction as this is the least bound up in how he acts and its tension with Rohirrim ideals of Being a Man. It’s also interesting in that it can give a glimpse into Tolkien and the possible thoughts he had when constructing Grima.

Grima’s Name & Beowulf Stuff

Grima’s name is from old Icelandic Grimr, which is a name Odin takes during the Grimnismal saga.

Here are some lines from Odin in the saga:

I have called myself Grim,

I have called myself Wanderer,

Warrior and Helmet-Wearer,

[...]

Evildoer, Spellcaster,

Masked and Shadowed-Face,

Fool and Wise Man,

[...]

Rope-Rider and Hanged-God.

I have never been known

by just one name

since I first walked among men.

Not only is Grima’s name from Odin, more importantly, it’s the feminine version of that name. No man in the eddas or sagas goes by Grima. Only women. And most often they were seidr-workers or healers/magic practitioners of some kind.

"Other healers include Gríma from Fóstbræðra saga and Laxdæla saga and Heiðr from Biarmiland in Harald’s saga Hárfagra."

- “Hostile Magic in the Icelandic Sagas,” Hilda Ellis-Davidson

And

"There was a man called Kotkel, who had only recently arrived in Iceland. His wife was called Grima. Their sons were Hallbjorn Sleekstone-Eye and Stigandi. These people had come from the Hebrides. They were all extremely skilled in witchcraft and were great sorcerers."

- Laxdæla saga

This is most likely something Tolkien was aware of — I would be flabbergasted if he wasn’t. However, did he fully appreciate the implications in terms of gender and subversion of masculinity? Impossible to say, of course, but he certainly knew he was giving his male character a name that has only been used by women in historical texts.

It would be akin to naming your male character Henrietta instead of Henry. It’s a deliberate, explicit decision. And while I don’t think Tolkien expected most readers to track down the origin of Grima’s name, the --a ending, to most anglophone readers, signifies a feminine name, more often than not. At least, it rarely, if ever, signifies masculine.

So the name alone brings in, at a subconscious level to readers, feminine qualities.

Alongside this, Grima is loosely based on Unferth from Beowulf. The entrance of Gandalf et al into Meduseld directly mirrors Beowulf’s into Hrothgar’s hall (complete with Grima lounging at Theoden’s feet the same as Unferth at Hrothgar’s). Indeed, it was clearly Tolkien’s intention to make a call back to Beowulf with that scene. (He was being all “look how clever I am. Also these are Anglo-Saxons on horses. As a general fyi”).

Unferth is a fascinating character in his own right ,and there is much scholarly debate around his role within Hrothgar’s hall, as well as the text more broadly. While there isn’t enough time/space to get into Unferth, I will quickly note that he is another character who subverts his society’s ideas of manhood and masculinity — particularly with regards to expectations of heroism and bravery. Yet, at the same time, Unferth is noted for being very intelligent, cunning, good at riddling, and overall quick witted (also, a kin-slayer. Dude murdered his brothers for Reasons).

Unferth’s contrary behaviour that flies in the face of Anglo-Saxon norms and ideals of masculine bravery is clearly reflected in Grima. Particularly in Grima’s fear of battle and lack of interest in taking up his sword when called by his king.

This leaves us with a character who was given a woman’s name and who is loosely based on another character who is known for his inability to follow through on his society’s expectations for masculine behaviour.

Grima, from the first moment we meet him, clearly reads more feminine than masculine - this is amplified when he’s contrasted with the likes of Theoden and Eomer. And, not only is his aligned with traditional femininity more than other male characters, he is specifically aligned with the more negative tropes of femininity (i.e. lack of bravery, unreliable, dubious morals etc.).

That is a brief overview of the bones of Grima’s construction: name and inspiration. Now for actions and characterization within the text. This will be subdivided into comments on his use of magic and how that interfaces with Rohirrim masculinity then we’ll get into power and language.

Grima’s key point of power is his ability to weave words in so powerful a way he could convince Theoden of his own infirmity and weakness thereby securing control over the king. Alongside this, we know that he was using certain “potions and poison” to further weaken Theoden. Most likely to amp up the king’s physical weakness so it coincided with Grima’s mental magic games.

Magic for Anglo-Saxon and early medieval Scandinavians was heavily rooted in the power of the spoken word. Runes were probably used but the historical support of this is vague. Which is to say, we know they were used, we’re just not certain how and to what extent.

We do know that rune staves were a thing. They were most often used to send your landwights after opponents or wreck havoc on enemies from afar. To make one, a magic-worker would carve the prescribed runes onto a large stave and position it in the ground facing the direction of their enemy. On top of the stave was added the head of a horse. (Lots of horse sacrifice happened for early medieval Scandinavians, alongside some human sacrifice.)

But, the brunt of magic for Anglo-Saxons and early medieval Scandinavians was spoken word. Which makes sense as their society was, like Rohan’s, predominantly illiterate or, at least, para-literate (though, there has been some recent archeological evidence that is starting to call that into question, for what that’s worth).

In particular, Grima’s spellwork aligns most closely with seidr, a fact I’ve gone about ad nausea. And, again, something we can assume Tolkien was aware of, which means he was also aware of the gendered implications of a man practicing the craft.

The mainstay of seidrcraft is, but not limited to, the following:

making illusions,

causing madness and/or forgetfulness,

brewing of potions and poisons,

prophesying,

channeling the dead,

channeling gods,

removal of elf-shot, and

recovering lost portions of someone’s soul.

The first three bullets are things Grima does to Theoden. That kind of magic — the kind that fucks with your mind and your sense of self, the kind that is subtle and quiet and lurks beneath the surface so you don’t know it’s happening, that’s cunning — that kind of magic is what women do.

It was considered unmanly/effeminate for a man to partake in it as it undermined the hypermasculine militarized culture of the time. Winning a battle or a fight through spells and poison was cowardly.

Therefore, in Rohan where we have this hypermasculine culture that so prizes military glory and grandeur and martial might, Grima pursuing his goals through spellcraft and potions/poisons is Grima pursuing distinctly unmasculine, effeminate modes of action.

Indeed, within Rohan it could call into question the entirety of his masculinity. It would make him ragr (adj. unmanly) because his actions are the epitome of ergi (noun. unmanliness).

"In the Viking Age, homosexual men were treated with extreme disdain and a complex kind of moral horror, especially those who allowed themselves to be penetrated. Such a man was ragr, not only homosexual by inclination and action, but also inhabiting a state of being that extended to ethical and social qualities. This complex of concepts has been extensively studied, and in the words of its leading scholar, "the unmanly man is everything that a man should not be with regard to morals and character. He is effeminate and he is a coward, and consequently devoid of honour". [...] What we would call sexual orientation was, in the viking age, completely bound up with much wider and deeper codes of behaviour and dignity, extending way beyond physical and emotional preference." -Neil Price, Children of Ash and Elm: A History of the Vikings

Though Price references specifically homosexuality in this passage, a man could be considered ragr for more than just that — and one of the other ways was through practicing seidr.

We see this with Odin, who learns how to do seidrcraft from Freyja, and is then mocked by Loki for how emasculating the practice is for Odin to undertake (as if Loki has any room to talk). Odin’s made himself effeminate, he’s made himself unmanly, he’s allowed himself to learn spells that could enable him to take a cowards way out of a situation, to be dishonourable etc.

Which is a neat tie-back to Grima’s name being one of Odin’s names, particularly when he is in disguise and using seidrcraft and wily ways to escape various unfortunate situations that he ends up in during the Grimnismal saga.

(As Odin says: I have been called Evildoer, Spellcaster, Masked and Shadowed-Face, Fool and Wise Man.)

It also mirrors him to Gandalf - another character who bears an Odinnic name. Gandalf very much represents the masculine, “acceptable” aspects of Odin. Grima embodies the darker, more dubious, and more effeminate, aspects of the god. As I’ve said in other posts, they are two sides of the Odin coin.

Though both are temperamental as fuck.

Alongside the spellcraft and potions, Grima’s performance of power does not align with Rohirrim traditions and ideals. He relies on his wits and his skill with language to navigate the world. Succinctly captured in the epithet bestowed upon him: Wormtongue. This is the modernization of Wyrmtunga, or, Dragon’s Tongue.

Wyrm can translate to worm, sure, and we see Saruman doing this on purpose when he refers to Grima as a worm, a creature that crawls in the dirt. But Wyrm, of course, is actually a form of dragon. And in Middle Earth, wyrm is used interchangeably with dragon (Smaug is called both wyrm and dragon), rather than denoting a specific species/categorization of dragon as it does in our world.

Grima’s approach to power is that of a gentle touch. He speaks softly, but doesn’t carry a large stick. He’s not Eomer or Theodred, who are much more traditionally martial, aggressive and forthright in their responses to a situation. Grima is clearly all about influencing those around him either through persuasion/use of words, or through spellcraft. He manipulates, he uses linguistic trickery.

Additionally, how he undertakes his role as advisor to the king places him more within the private world of Meduseld and the king’s household than the active, public world of marshals and thanes. And, of course, the private world of households was traditionally considered the woman’s domain while men were expected to occupy the public spaces of the world.

Of course, being involved in court politics is a public role as opposed to existing within a wholly private space (such as Eowyn. Who, in the books, takes a mostly private role until she is required to rule in her uncle’s stead while he and Eomer are off at war, and even then it is clearly considered a temporary situation and part of her duty as a woman). But the manner in which Grima occupies that public position is a more “feminine” one.

We can assume that if Eomer or Erkenbrand or Elfhelm occupied the role as advisor to Theoden, they would have a very different approach to the position. A much more aggressive, active and probably military-focused approach. Less carrot, more stick.

A quick note on his appearance in the film, aside from being entirely in black with black hair in a land full of blonds because he needed to be visually distinct as the Bad Guy. He is dressed in longer tunics and robes compared to Eomer and other Rohirrim men (aside from Theoden, but as soon as he is “healed” of his possession(?) he returns to the Proper Masculine shorter tunics than the Weak and Effeminate longer robes and tunics of before). Grima’s hair is longer than Eomer’s and Theoden’s, he wears only a dagger and not a sword, the furs and quilting of his clothes indicate wealth and status, of course, but also decadence and effeminacy.

All in all, Grima’s performance and actions undermine and subvert Rohirrim expectations of masculinity. If not outright transgressing gender norms. He uses spellcraft to achieve his ends which is cowardly and effeminate. When it’s not that, he relies on language and manipulation to ensure his position and rarely, if ever, willingly takes on an active, martial role that would be expected of a man who is in the king’s household and serves as an advisor and a quasi-second-in-command.

Here is a man, occupying a man’s role, but doing it like a woman. Subversive! Scandalous! Underappreciated by fandom!

Grima lives in a liminal, marginalized space that is at once gendered and ungendered but is absolutely Othered.

As for my note on Grima and being trans - absolutely a trans woman. Grima suffers from that thing of “I want to be you and sleep with you” re: Eowyn. That’s my hot take. (Similar to me and Alan Grant from Jurassic Park - I want to be him and sleep with him.)

But no, in all seriousness, a strong argument can absolutely be made for Grima being not-cis, however that might look for Grima. Grima and Eowyn are the two, within the trilogies, that have the strongest arguments to be made for not being cis.

(Grima is a bit of a foil for Eowyn, I think, while also being a foil for Gandalf.)

#grima wormtongue #lotr #Lord of the Rings #writing #lit #gender presentation #gender in LOTR #Rohan #masculinity #queer shit #history #anglo-saxon #viking

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disgruntledspacedad · 3 years

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in defense of Din’s subdued reaction to losing the kid...

gif by @quantam-widow

I know we were all thinking it. We got a 2 second reaction shot to the destruction of the Razor Crest (may she forever rest in peace), but then, Grogu gets taken, and... nothing?

What the fuck, Din? we all protest. That’s your baby on that ship! Don’t you care? Scream, curse, kick a rock, cry, make a fist, something!!

I will acknowledge that so far, the show has been excellent with giving us emotional payoff, am I right? I mean, just today we got Din laughing, twice. Twice in a row. I honestly never thought we’d see that. There have been so many excellent, precious soft!Din moments this season, and they all feel deliciously earned.

So, from a meta POV, I guess I’m saying that I have faith in the writers to get it right, and in Pedro to deliver. Duh.

In universe, though, I think it’s fair to point out the obvious - that Din is a pretty reserved guy. He’s much more of a thinker than a feeler. He’s used to keeping things bottled up, and I would even argue that his life often depends on his ability to dissociate from his emotions. Din’s entire journey so far has been about how one little baby yodito shakes his worldview to its very foundations. He’s getting there, but it’s a slow process.

And also, consider this - we haven’t seen Din alone yet, not since Grogu was taken. For a guy who lives a guarded life literally encased in fucking armor, any display of emotion is going to be carefully protected until he’s in private.

But anyway, Din is detached, rational, a little emotionally constipated, and definitely comfortable in a stressful situation. A true ISTP if you ask me (yeah, I know you didn’t, but whatever). Often, it seems that these cool headed, logical types who have never ruffled a feather over anything in their lives are the least adept at handling genuine fear. In other words, when panic does strike, it strikes them hard.

And guys, Din was definitely panicking during this episode.

He’s clearly unsettled from the jump - that outburst of “dank farrik!” in the cockpit sells it, and his distress only becomes more obvious from there. Talking out loud, trying to convince himself that the best thing for Grogu is for him to be trained as a Jedi. Reminding himself of the creed. His overt caution as they approach the seeing stone. His impatience, “Are you seeing anything??”

Then there’s the effects of long term stress. Sure, a bounty hunter in the outer rim doesn’t exactly live an easy life, but Din is definitely used to the drama being on his terms. Compare Din’s body language in the opening scene of season one to when Boba confronts him in chapter fourteen. You can just feel the anxiety, the weariness, the frustration. Din has been on the run for months now, constantly looking over his shoulder, sleeping with one eye open. Notice how he even startles at Fennec’s voice? Season one Din would never have given that much away, regardless of the situation. Long term stress has clearly taken a toll on him.

So we have unsettled, stressed out Din in an emotionally charged situation. He’s exhausted, he’s scared, he’s desperate. This scenario is a recipe for even the most level-headed of adrenaline junkies to loose their cool, and that’s exactly what happens to Din. He panics, and he makes some pretty big fuckups because of it. Leaving Grogu unprotected, twice. Trying three different times to break through that “force field,” even when he knew he couldn’t. Dropping that jetpack and then just forgetting about it (I know we were all screaming about that one, or at least, I was).

So, fear is a positive feedback loop. Those neurotransmitters that do us good in a bad situation - raising heart rate, narrowing focus, shunting blood to the muscles - can also be detrimental if we get too high of a dose - tachypnea and tachycardia, inability to think critically and see the big picture, lack of blood and oxygen to the brain. Epinephrine, in particular, even inhibits the laying down of new memory pathways. In other words, stress leads to poor performance, and poor performance leads to more stress, which leads to... you get the idea.

Then, in the middle of all this chaos, they fucking blast the Razor Crest.

More epinephrine, more cortisol, more stress.

By the end of it all, Din is a fucking shitstorm of stress hormones and pent up emotions. Notice how he seems to be on autopilot in the immediate aftermath, robotically scanning the ashes of the Crest for anything that might be left intact. Notice how empty his voice is when he says, “the child is gone.” This is a dead man walking. Din has nothing left. His whole life has just gone up in smoke, and he can do nothing about it.

Guys, Din is holding onto his sanity by a fucking thread in this scene. “The child is gone,” he says, like he’s reminding himself, grounding himself in his shitty reality. He’s stunned.

And helpless. There’s literally nothing he can do for Grogu. He has no ship, no credits, no resources, nothing to bargain with, nothing to offer. Din literally cannot allow himself the luxury of feelings right now. He’s just got to focus on surviving this very shitty day.

Then, Boba Fett upholds his end of the deal, and suddenly, Din has something to hold onto. An ally, a badass friend, some hope. I don’t think Boba shows Din that chain code in order to verify his claim on the armor - he’s already wearing it, for godssake. I think Boba shows him the code in order to catch Din’s attention - hey friend, I know you’re hurting, but I’m a man of my word. When I make a vow, I keep it. Let’s regroup and go find your kid.

And Din would totally latch onto that. A fighting chance? Din fucking leaps at it. There’s a job to do. A kid to save. All of those stress hormones are going to keep on stewing, because Din has never really come down from his adrenaline high.

It’s like this in real life, too. There isn’t time to be afraid. There isn’t time to be sad, or second-guess, or say, oh how terrible, or wonder what if it doesn’t work? There’s just you and the job, and if you are the only thing standing between life and death, you will put everything else aside and do what you have to do, for as long as you have to do it.

And that’s where Din is at this moment. He’s running on the fumes of his adrenaline, all tempered focus, all strategy and no bullshit.

Emotional shock, my therapist buddy calls it. Apparently, it’s normal. Expected, even.

But guys, the fallout of this kind of crazy ass adrenaline high is insanely intense. I’m talking collapse to the floor, legs won't hold you, trembling, crying so hard you sling snot, shuddering breaths, stare dead-eyed and spent at the ceiling because you’re just too wiped out to even sleep kind of intense.

And then, after the breakdown comes the angst. The detailed thinking. The oh god, what if this had happened, or, should I have done that instead? It seems like every emotion that gets put on the back burner in the moment comes back to bite you with twofold intensity when all is said and done.

In other words, Din is definitely going to feels some things .A lot of very intense things. A reckoning is coming, my dudes. Trust me. It’s just not quite here yet.

That being said, here’s what I can expect from Din going forward:

Just like he’s is slow to acknowledge his growing parental feelings for Grogu, I think Din’s going to be slow at processing his grief at Grogu’s loss. In the next episode, he’s got plenty to distract him - getting together his hit team to take back the kid and coordinating an attack on the empire.

However, I do think we’ll get a slow moment with Din, probably sometime at the beginning of next week’s episode if the pattern holds. I doubt it’s the full-blown breakdown that we’re all needing, but I’m willing to bet money that we’ll see Din grappling with the fact that his kid is gone. I also think that badass beskar murder machine Din from chapter three will resurface. Stress and desperation make us do irrational things, and anger is one of the stages of grief that Din will inevitably have to work through (I think he’s flickering between denial and bargaining for now).

But then, after Din gets Grogu back? I think that’s we’ll have our big, dearly earned emotional payoff.

For one thing, Din won’t be able to deny his feelings anymore. He wants to keep this kid, it’s so very obvious. Losing him just forces it all to the forefront.

And then the relief/joy/regret/guilt that Din is going to feel once he’s got Grogu back? Not to mention the physical exhaustion? All of the fear/terror/angst/grief that he ignored in favor of just going pedal to the metal, guns blazing, get the kid or die trying? That shit’s going to crash into him with all the subtly of a fucking tsunami. I guarantee you, we’re going to get some sort of confession, or adoption vow, or face revel, or other sort of profound softness from Dad!Din in the falling action of this season (At least, I hope we get it at the end this season but I wouldn’t put it past them to kick it into the premier of season three, just for pacing reasons, but then again, I obviously have trust issues).

Personally, I would love to see Din grappling with the long-term fallout of losing Grogu - night terrors, guilt, paranoia, etc. That’s probably the stuff of fanfiction - mandalorians don't have nightmares on screen, surely - but still, some lingering effects Grogu’s kidnapping would be realistic, and I would absolutely live for it.

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rpmemesbyarat · 3 years

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RP meme from "Chapter One: A World of Darkness" in Changeling: The Dreaming (20th anniversary edition)

Dreamers are taught that they won’t amount to much, that their creativity is a pale imitation of what came before.

Well-meaning, or envious, parents and friends consistently suppress talent in their loved ones, secure in the knowledge that they’re saving them from a huge mistake.

Repeated altercations eviscerate creativity until all that remains is overwhelming self-doubt and insecurity.

Every day is a struggle.

It’s not that they don’t care, they are just unable to grasp circumstances beyond their own social circle.

Old legends define a changeling as the offspring of mortals and faeries, or a faerie child switched out for a human one.

Ancient curses affect entire landscapes, monsters hide in withered forests, roads made of stardust allows travelers to visit vistas hidden among clouds, and ancient dragons and bygone beasts still roam the skies.

In order to survive this onslaught on their very essence, the fae turned to an ancient ritual which locked their immortal souls in human bodies.

The child talking to her teddy is, in fact, discussing courtly politics with her chimerical bear companion.

The most common means of learning about the past, then, is through the traditional art of storytelling.

Despite the thrill and excitement of hearing legends brought to life by storytellers, academic history is an extremely important factor in the pursuit of lost faerie knowledge, turning myth into truth.

Ancient texts are written in several, often pictographic, faerie languages, and quite often the words seemingly come alive, constantly realigning, rotating, and shifting locations to avoid being decoded.

Even when enough common denominators exist for a decent decoding, the end results often cause further questions, rather than providing answers.

Events become history. History becomes legends. Legends become myths, and myths are forgotten.

Religions told mortals to worship new gods and to turn away from old traditions and rules.

As scientific methods began to explain what mortals previously considered magic, the common folk took to the church’s teachings, foreswearing their old ways in exchange for salvation and a steadfast faith on which to cling in the darkest days.

On July 20, 1969, humanity witnessed the moon landing live on television, and all of the hope, fear, and wonder of the previous decade burst forth.

Mortal witnesses describe friends or family collapsing for a brief moment, then rising, confused for a short time, but brimming with confidence and an aura of regal quality.

However, no matter the chosen human body, they all belonged to someone wealthy and influential, or were members of highly-valued and powerful families in society.

Despite conflicts, both parties openly declared their intent to find peaceful solutions, regardless of acts of violence intended to derail such hopes.

However, this decree didn’t prevent individual members of the houses to cast their allegiance with the side for which they felt an affinity.

The time for discussions ended with blood on the walls, and only war remained.

Theirs was a passionate, whirlwind romance, but one that ended in tragedy.

Without warning, the sky seemingly ripped open and, to those with faerie sight, a red sun appeared, bathing the world in a sinister scarlet light reminiscent of blood.

Behold! Your true king returns!

Better a nightmare than dreamless sleep

Nonetheless, the nobility is not immune to the changes in the world.

No matter how well hidden, however, the child’s true nature marks her as different.

It may start small, with a mortal witnessing strange occurrences no one else sees.

Those that are found are the lucky ones.

The term fosterage comes from the medieval practice, where nobles would take on the children of another family to cement alliances or to build connections between noble children for the next generation.

She will take the lessons from her mentor forward, spending the rest of her days honing what she has learned.

Banality seeks to explain away the fantastic and categorize, empiricize, contain, and render mundane anything outside of the scope of accepted mortal understanding.

This process doesn’t happen all at once.

Many legends and epic stories came from the search for extended life, with outcomes ranging from sad hilarity to outright horror.

Legends speak about treasures that can extend youth or grant immortality once more, like the fabled Fountain of Youth, but so far none have been recovered.

The adventure might be worth it, though.

It is a place woven into the fabric of the mortal world, hidden behind and without, though its magic and influence can affect the physical world and those that live in it.

The land responds to the thoughts and deeds of the creatures that live there and adapts to their every whim.

The shifting landscape is so unpredictable as to throw off any seasoned traveler.

Only a few trods lead to this wholly unpredictable and constantly-shifting landscape.

The space is influenced by the strong dreams of mortals and the expression of powerful mortal feelings and creativity.

They held nothing but hatred and contempt for one another.

History has taught them through many a hard-earned lesson that they are able to accomplish these tasks much more effectively when they work together than when they’re at each other’s throats.

The pageantry and rituals serve as thread that runs through the ages, tying the generations together.

Their customs and lore serve as the glue that binds each individual to one another.

Everyone, from the lofty noble on his throne to the lowly chambermaid, has their duties in a well-organized society.

Without everyone working together, doing what’s expected of them, society would not be able to support itself.

Even a lifetime of tragedy and loss has its own poignancy.

The act of creation holds an inherent beauty.

Each new work of art, new performance, and new thought is a unique manifestation of creativity undreamed of in the world before.

Beauty must be preserved because it is the basis for all life.

Society cannot operate effectively without an inherent fairness.

A favor is always paid back with a reciprocating favor.

An object or service given is returned with something of equal value.

Loyalty deserves fidelity, and acrimony deserves hatred.

The self comes from within. It is the basis of being, granting the ability to reason, to question, to strive for improvement.

To know oneself is to make life worth living.

Identity requires freedom — the freedom to buck trends, to say no, and to try new things.

The only things that remain eternally unchanged are those that are dead.

The alternative is nothing but stasis.

Even at its most benign, stagnation leaves people woefully unprepared when everything they know eventually gets upended.

Once outside rewards are involved, whether tangible or simply accolades, the concept of honor twists people, making them do monstrous things.

Honor is nothing more than an ugly little lie told by tyrants designed to keep their slaves docile and obedient.

No one can follow his dream when an overlord is standing above him, micromanaging his life.

Everyone has responsibilities, but if given the freedom to be themselves, people will find ways to do the necessary things in their own way that doesn’t prevent them from doing the things that make life worth living.

Pranks were played, sometimes in jest and at other times scathing, at the expense of those in power.

A merry time was had by all while allowing the disenfranchised a chance to air grievances and have an outlet for their frustrations.

Their only goal is to force a response from those capable of alleviating some of the suffering.

To fit in as part of the mundane world they became traveling circuses, freak shows, or other transient groups.

Those of higher rank are respected by those of lower rank and are also expected to meet their obligations to the less fortunate.

Many nobles see their main business to be that of gaining — or retaining — power.

Alliances may shift between the nobles and circumstances may change, but all try to expand their holdings and rise higher up the social ladder.

Something has to give.

A noble expects obedience from his vassals and respect from all others. In return, the noble respects those superior to him.

Whether they like it or not, the nobility has had to concede that modern ideas of democracy and popular rule are realities now.

Still, most nobles rule through force, cunning, personal magnetism, and custom.

They must never reveal their true natures to humanity.

Some battles are fought to first blood.

#rp meme #rp memes #rp starters #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #roleplay memes #changeling the dreaming #owod #World Of Darkness

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