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lorelune · 1 year

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good soup

|| childe x reader || M || yandere tartaglia + force feeding || wc: 2.9k || ao3 ||

Tartaglia brings you a meal and you must choose if you'll yield.

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

a/n: sometimes. sometimes you title a google doc ‘good soup’ and the rest comes after <3 💕 i don't think i've ever posted a fic quite this dark so tread carefully and enjoy!!

CW: dark content, yandere tartaglia, force feeding, force drinking, restraints, threats of suffocation, violence, kidnapping, references to non-con

Tartaglia stares at you like he wants to eat you whole. Swallow you down, grinding bones with his molars and clawing you until you’re nothing but a bloody heap. It’s in his stare, the lack of light that reflects in his eyes. There are pools of something worse than human behind his irises, and around you, he has no reason to mask it.

He’s something awful, incarnate in flesh and all yours.

“Eat,” He urges, crouched down in front of you. He nods to a steaming bowl between you on the floor. A deep, wooden spoon rests on the edge. “I can practically hear your stomach growling.”

He gives you a smile that’s all teeth. You curb the urge to flinch forward and knock a few of them out.

You are hungry. Famished and parched, you can see a flask of water tucked into Tartaglia’s waistband. The thought of a proper, hot meal and a full mouthful of water feels too indulgent, despite the reality that’s laid before you on the dirt.

You adjust, trying to prop yourself up higher against the wall you rest on. Your hands and forearms are bound in leather and chain, held against your lower back. It forces you to keep your spine straight, and rag-covered chest bared but doesn’t restrict your blood flow and you still have ample room to squirm. You hate him for it, Tartaglia’s uncanny ability to keep you on the edge of discomfort and pure suffering. You know he revels in it.

You swallow your dry tongue, refusing to look at him, and instead fix your gaze on the thick soup. You can see chunks of carrot and fowl, topped with Snezhnayan snow pepper. You know it's his mother’s recipe and will warm you up from the inside out.

It’s horribly tempting, and you jerk against your binds without thinking.

“Careful there,” You can hear the smirk in his voice. Tartaglia snatches up the bowl and stirs. “I’m sure you don’t want to get any more bruised up, do you?”

You bite your lip, holding back a quip that you’re sure will end any chance at a peaceful mealtime. He’s not wrong— there are abrasions and deep, dark wounds on your wrists. They’ve been there since Tartaglia first took you, though the chill tends to help with the ache of it.

You’re aware of your circumstances— not even the cold can chase that away.

You know there are two options in your situation. Go hungry, or ask Tartaglia for help eating. He relishes the opportunity, and you hate giving it to him, but it’s been far too long since you’ve last eaten. At least a day or two. Despite that, the idea of debasing yourself further, even in your bound (and kept, and stolen) state makes your skin crawl.

You can feel Tartaglia’s stare. He plays with the soup idly, humming under his breath.

“You know how this works, sweetheart,” He finally says.”There’s an easy way or a hard way.”

“I’m aware,” You reply through clenched teeth. “I’d prefer if you’d, I don’t know, untie me and allow me to feed myself.”

He laughs and shakes his head, and you want to punch him. Knock him to the ground and bust his skull on the pavement.

“Maybe one day! That’s a privilege you gotta earn,” He laughs, scooting even closer; your knees touch. “And you’ve done absolutely nothing to warrant any favors, my dear.”

You mean to curse at him, but you don’t get a chance to. Tartaglia’s gloved hand grabs your jaw, rough and hard, and holds you steady. You jerk against your binds, and strain your neck. Anything to get away from his touch.

“Tartaglia—”

He cuts you off, swiftly and easily, “You had your chance. Now eat, and enjoy, I made this, especially for you.”

His thumb hooks on your lower teeth, and pulls. You know better than to bite him, or snarl, or do anything other than shoot him the most venomous glare you can muster.

There had been a learning curve when Tartaglia had first stolen you away. You’d only known him as a charming patron of the tea house you had been employed at. He’d always leave a generous tip and good words with you. In retrospect, far too much flattery, but you’d always justified it. ‘He was like that with all of the servers,’ you had told yourself. His easy smiles and lingering chats were just unfamiliar Snezhnayan niceties and nothing more.

You were so fucking stupid.

You have too much time to think about it, really. You’re rotting in some tiny cabin in the bitter tundra and your only company is your captor. You’ve had an obscene amount of stew. Lamenting with your regret. Guilt, even.

Maybe, if you listened to your coworkers when they said Child was getting too friendly.

Maybe, if you declined his advances more firmly—.

Maybe, if you never got into the habit of letting him walk you home.

Maybe, if you never went out for those drinks.

Maybe, if you knew that the sedatives he slipped into your drink had the slightest, salty taste, you would’ve been able to do something—

Tears begin to bead at your water line, and your squeeze them shut and try to force yourself to relax as Tartaglia heaps the spoon with soup.

A moment later, he presses it past your lips, hard against your tongue and brushing the back of your throat. You gag for just a moment, before he lets you close your mouth around the spoon and swallow down the soup.

It’s delicious. It’s warm and spiced. Creamy and thick with small chunks of meat and veg, you can tell it’s been simmered for some time. It heats you from the inside out and it’ll keep you full for hours.

You lick your lips as Tartaglia pulls away. He beams you a smitten smile, scooting closer and stirring the steaming contents of the bowl.

“See? That’s not too hard.” His tone curls against you, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. It is hard to give in to him, it’s as uncomfortable as the binds on your arms do, but you find yourself crumbling.

Cold and hunger will do things to anyone, you suppose.

He taps your chin with the spoon, and you open up with only brief hesitation.

How many times have you shared this song and dance? How many meals have you had in this little cabin, cold and near-starving, fighting so hard, and breaking regardless? You feel haunted by the questions.

You’re tired. Maybe.

Tartaglia feeds you another mouthful, just as intrusive as the last. You only swallow once he’s pulled away, horribly aware of the tears beginning to spill over your waterline. Despite all of the times Tartaglia has fed you in such a way, your body refuses to become accustomed to his methods. The prodding at your throat always yields tears and a broken voice for a few hours. Sometimes, Tartaglia brings you ginger tea and honey to soothe it, but only if you’re good.

You hate smiling for him and pretending that what you’re going through is anything other than torture. But to act like what you’re experiencing is torture, you only suffer more. Tartaglia likes seeing you put on a show. You’re sure he knows you’re lying when you speak sweetly to him and show any softness to him. But, that doesn’t seem to matter. The sentiment is hollow, what he really enjoys is when you squirm in your own skin, rife with discomfort.

Thinking about it, all of it, too lucidly makes your head spin. Wires crossing, eyes burning.

So, you quiet your thoughts. You focus on the action of opening your mouth, swallowing, and fixating on the dusty, wooden floorboards of the cabin. Tartaglia speaks, now and then, as he finishes feeding you your meal. Perhaps it’s praise, with the saccharine smile he still wears. With such an expression, it’s just as likely he’s being cruel. He loves his thinly veiled insults, crafted specifically to get under your skin and make you writhe.

Regardless, you don’t listen to him. Can’t, even. His words sound like static and aether. Everything other than the thick soup in your mouth feels fuzzy.

You fixate on the food. It’s a meal. A communion. Something you used to enjoy sharing with others. It’s one of the reasons you enjoyed your work at the teahouse. You didn’t mind the service aspect of it; seeing patrons enjoy tea and cakes while indulging with loved ones, companions, and acquaintances alike had made you so happy.

(It had been so nice to be invited to tea yourself, back then. ‘Childe’s invitation had been a welcomed surprise, and your first meeting over sweet breads and black tea on the docks of Liyue harbor had been nothing but pleasant.)

(It’s a bitter, poisonous memory.)

“All done!” Tartaglia exclaims as he shoves the last bite into your mouth. You feel warm and full, and you try to sit with the feeling as he fiddles with a clasp on his belt. The sound makes you freeze, going taut in your shoulders and drawing back against the wall.

Tartaglia raises an eyebrow.

“Sweetheart, settle down,” He pulls the flask from his belt and settles on his knees in front of you. Without any distractions, you feel forced to fully regard him, disgust swirling in your gut. He gives you a toothy, sly smile. “You don’t have to get anywhere near my cock if you can indulge me a bit.”

“... Indulge you how?” You ask, voice cracking, rough from its earlier treatment. Your cheeks heat.

Tartaglia tilts his head, “Well, Dottore was going on about something he tried with one of his little lab rats and it sounded like fun. Nothing painful, nothing that will bruise your knees... well, any worse than they already are.”

Tartaglia uncaps the flask of water and swishes the liquid, side to side.

You glare at him, still back against the wall.

“You’re thirsty,” Tartaglia muses. “And I’ll be giving you some water. Don’t bite me or I’ll ‘forget’ to bring firewood for the next week, ‘kay?”

You want to question him, but don’t get a chance to. He grabs your jaw in a calloused palm and holds you steady. You bare your teeth, flinching, but there’s no room for you to back up farther. Your knees press against Tartaglia, who widens his own position to cage you with his thighs. You’re trapped. And you don’t know what the fuck is spinning around in this fucker’s head.

“Don’t look so scared,” Tartaglia pokes your ribs. You wince. “Maybe, you’ll even like this.”

Tartaglia takes a swig of water, going fat in the cheeks. You open your mouth to question him, but what his ‘fun idea’ is dawns on you at that moment. Your thrash against your binds fruitlessly.

Tartaglia slams his mouth into yours, rough and with enough force to pin your skull to the brick behind you. He tugs at your jaw, forcing your jaw to unlock and lips to part just barely. He takes the opportunity and hooks a few fingers over your bottom teeth, holding your mouth wide.

And he spits the mouthful of water into your own.

Oh, the fucker.

Though Tartaglia’s forced you to eat every meal he’s brought you in the same way, he’s never tried this shit. Water was something he tipped into your mouth from his flagon or made you lap out of a bowl if he was in a particularly vile mood. Fucking demoralizing, sure, but this? This—

You gag, choke on the liquid and try to spit.

Tartaglia doesn’t give you the chance, he’s fast and predicts your reaction perfectly. He shuts your mouth with a snap of your teeth that rattles in your skull. He slaps his hand over your mouth, wrapping his grip around the lower half of your face.

“Swallow, dearest.”

Archons, you hate him.

Bile builds in the back of your throat. You don’t swallow. Rather, you meet Tartaglia’s gaze, level with him, and refuse to look away. It’s a stupid decision, you know, it’s fucking fruitless to go toe-to-toe with him. But you can’t swallow either. Your pride has been in shambles for as long as you’ve been in this cabin since Tartaglia dragged you from Liyue by your scruff, but all the same, you can’t let him have this—

(You have to try, don’t you? Just to say that you did. Even if you know how much easier it would be to give in.)

It’s uncomfortable to be this close to him and see him. More than uncomfortable, even. Revolting, maybe. Like this, you can’t avoid examining your captor. You hate sinking into the color of him. A blue so deep and vast that it feels almost void.

(You noticed it back at the tea house too. The first time you really looked at him as he walked you back to your apartment. You stood on your stoop to thank him and your words died in your throat.)

(You saw something so hollow about him. Like he’d been carved out and replaced with something eerie and wrong. He hid such a condition with a charming smile, glowing personality, and more mora than you thought an individual person could conceivably have.)

(At the time, you dismissed the feeling. It was too uncanny to indulge. An error in your intuition, perhaps. You were just paranoid, right?)

Tartaglia pinches your nose shut and his smile goes dull and his words grow sharper, “You’re not breathing until you swallow.”

(Your move.)

When you’re unbound, you’re going to maim him. You’re going to shove Tartaglia into a snow bank and give his broken body to the Snezhnayan tundra. You’re going to ruin him, and then you’ll back to Liyue, see your family, friends—

(You feel light-headed, fuzzy around your edges. Your body aches from strain. A sob cracks from your throat and you choke on it.)

And you fucking break.

You swallow, gasping as Tartaglia removes his hands from your face. Tears bubble over your water line and you cough around lungfuls of air. Tartaglia croons something sweet to you — “deep breaths now, go slow”—

Every time this happens, that you yield to him, you feel something in you shatter. Over and over again you squirm and thrash under Tartaglia’s thumb but the outcome is always the same. It’s humiliating and inescapable.

You wilt over Tartaglia’s lap.

You fall into your captive and can’t bring yourself to fight the gentle hand that begins to stroke along the back of your neck and shoulders. You don’t resist your restraints. You fall into them, and let them hold you up despite the pain that tears up your arms and back. A cry rips from your throat and tears dribble down your cheeks to your jaw. Snot bubbles at your nose, but Tartaglia doesn’t seem to mind.

Tartaglia is patient as you fight your own cracks and wounds, letting you cry and half-wretch in his lap. He remains silent, only petting you like a house cat.

You have half a mind to bite his thigh and tear out a chunk.

(You don’t.)

(You’re so tired.)

Your chest aches with each sob. Your back is painfully arched so you can smother your face into Tartaglia’s pants. You’re uncomfortably close to his half-chub bulge and you swear it twitches when your breath hitches with sobs. You should move or at least try to, but you can’t make yourself.

You wallow.

Eventually, Tartaglia loosens one or two of your restraints to give you more slack. He pulls you to rest against his chest, tucked under his chin and with your cheek nestled against his collarbone. He runs his nails along your jaw, squeezing the nape of your neck between your hitched breaths. It’s comforting, it’s comforting— and recognizing that only makes you feel dirty. He radiates heat that sinks into you, and god, you despise how much you relish it.

(Even more, you hate how you need it.)

The familiarity of your thoughts almost physically hurts, and you muffle another wail into his skin. If you could use your hands, you’d be clutching at his shirt and trying to drag him closer despite it all.

(How many times must you shatter? When will he be satisfied? When will you give up?)

Tartaglia hushes you. He whispers another sweet nothing like the sentiment is real.

He lets you rest against him until your breathing evens out. With enough petting and placating, you’re nothing but a tear-dampened lump against his lap. He doesn’t seem to mind. He coos and keeps you close, lets you settle and you know that if you dared to look at him, you’d see nothing but adoration in his eyes.

(This is the moment he covets.)

He eventually disturbs your brief ‘peace’, as he always does.

“Dear,” He says gently, like a lover. He kisses your forehead. “You have to drink the rest of the bottle just like that. Then you can sleep, and I’ll hold you. How does that sound?”

(Awful. Revolting. You don’t want any more of him near you, let alone in you. You can’t—)

You fight back something between a scream and another round of wailing. You give him a misty nod.

You suppose, the warmth of him and the soup in your belly will make the experience tolerable. Biting the hand that feeds you when there’s not another meal on the way seems like a poor decision.

You give in, and let yourself sink into the depths with Tartaglia. And, ever dutifully, he catches you.

#lore writes #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #a lil yan childe snack 💕#tw yandere

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resurrection-of-soul · 4 months

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Flashback | BIOHAZARD 2

Writer: Akira (日日日)

Characters: Rei, Kaoru, Koga, Adonis

Rei: Hm. The secrecy makes it all quite unclear, but is this “AIIE” affair meant to create idol versions of those AIs which are adept at artistry? I fear this old man finds it quite difficult to keep up with these newfangled technologies.

[ For the best viewing experience, please read directly on my blog! ♪ ]

Koga: Could ya quit lecturin' me on the basics like I'm some newbie? Even I know that that's how it is, alright! That's why I just grinned and bore it, appearin' on those stupid shows even though I hated it!

Rei: Indeed. Consequently, we've become a unit which half-heartedly partakes in everything. Unable to wholly embrace either a hard rock image or a casual, playful one, we have, over time, yielded ground to more specialized units. The current economic recession bears its own share of the blame. When one must be frugal in the management of their modest household budgets and dine out only in moderation, the natural inclination is to favor an establishment of expertise which serves but a select few exquisite dishes over a more casual eatery boasting a profusion of ordinary fare. The true palate shall inevitably be laid bare, for if the price is the same, one will naturally gravitate towards that which is most delicious — 'tis simply human nature. As it stands, we undeniably find ourselves trailing in the wake of those "specialty" units. The difference in both effort and experience is clear as day.

Koga: Hmph. While the bats were flittin' around wonderin' which side they should choose, both the beasts n' the birds lost interest n' ditched 'em.

Rei: Aye, you speak true. Though the situation hath yet to deteriorate to the point where our very foundation is rattled, if left unaddressed, we will someday find ourselves with no place to belong. 'Tis the inevitable fate of those who fail to make it in this industry to be forsaken, and consequently sink to the depths in solitude.

Koga: So the hell're we gonna do about it? If I'm understandin' correctly, you're sayin' our backs're to the wall now. But'cha ain't just gonna tell us to give up n' go with the flow, right?

Rei: Nay, assuredly not. Failing to mount a resistance will surely usher us into the abyss of ruin. We mustn't sit idly by.

Kaoru: I mean, yeah. It's, like, a given that we've gotta do something about it.

Rei: Even our esteemed agency harbors apprehension regarding our current state of affairs. Unsurprisingly, such concern hath prompted the higher ups to interfere in their customary heavy-handed fashion.

Koga: Ugh, they're actin' as high n' mighty as always, huh... This is what I can't stand about bein' in a well-established agency. It's like they think we can't do anythin' without 'em. We're gonna get treated like a buncha helpless newborn chicks forever.

Rei: In the past, they scarcely would have bothered themselves with "newbies" such as us. Yet at the biggest event of the year, the illustrious SS, the industry veterans whom Rhythm Link boasts of with such pride found themselves utterly bereft of any noteworthy achievements. Consequently, the value of we youngsters has risen. As we hath become the foremost earners beneath our agency's banner, 'twould pose quite the quandary for the management if we were to falter. Thus, in the interests of helping us surmount this hurdle, Rhythm Link hath requested our participation in "a certain experiment" devised by ES.

Adonis: An experiment...? Doesn't that sound a bit unsettling?

Koga: Haah? What kinda experiment does our oh-so-great, well-established agency want to turn us into guinea pigs for?

Rei: 'Tis a matter shrouded in utmost secrecy, and the particulars shall not be laid bare unless we deign to accept. However, we hath been told the title of this clandestine experiment — it is the Artificial Intelligence Idol Experiment, or "AIIE" for short.

Koga: Huh? Artificial intelligence...?

Kaoru: Ah, yeah, I hear that kinda thing — AI, or whatever — is like, super popular these days.

Adonis: Yes, it can be used to skillfully create pictures and sentences for you. I am still not very good at writing sentences in Japanese. Yuuki is good with technology, so when he heard about my concerns, he showed me how to use AI to help.

Adonis: It is also very good at drawing pictures, but when I gave the smartphone a pat and told it, "you are very skilled," Yuuki gave me a strange look.

Koga: Oh yeah, that four-eyed beansprout likes this kinda stuff. Hmph, he's seriously such a nerd.

Adonis: Yuuki's skills are at a level where they can even be useful for his work, so it is not something to make light of. In fact, when I gave it a try, AI turned out to be very convenient. My awkward sentences were quickly transformed into beautiful Japanese. It's so convenient that it might even make me lose motivation to learn how to draw or write on my own. Instead of struggling against my own clumsiness, it might be better to leave it all to AI.

Kaoru: I've heard that AI programs sometimes use images or whatever from the internet without permission, causing, like, copyright issues and stuff, though? Don't you think it'd be better not to rely on it too much~? It's like everyone crossing at a red light together — it's not scary, but it's totally still a crime, y'know?

Adonis: I understand. Even a kitchen knife can be used to kill. Like any other tool, it ultimately all depends on the ethics of the user.

Rei: Hm. The secrecy makes it all quite unclear, but is this "AIIE" affair meant to create idol versions of those AIs which are adept at artistry? I fear this old man finds it quite difficult to keep up with these newfangled technologies.

Koga: Are ya seriously still pullin' that old man act… Anyway, it's real annoyin' bein' told what to do, but I'm not gonna act out against direct orders. Do we have to participate in this AIIE thing or what?

Rei: Though declining the offer 'twould be within our power, the proof of the pudding is in the eating, as they say. As we find ourselves bereft of any other solutions to the problem, a little taste-test might not be amiss, wouldst you not agree?

[ ☆ ]

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#ensemble stars #enstars translation #UNDEAD #Rei Sakuma #Kaoru Hakaze #Koga Oogami #Adonis Otogari #Flashback #BIOHAZARD #I hate when Rei gets stuck playing Mr.Exposition for a chapter #this man never uses 1 word when 10 will do #sorry if I've cranked Rei's old-timeyness up too far. I tried to keep it fairly easy to parse #but allowing myself to make him just a tad incomprehensible is how I keep myself amused while I translate his unnecessarily wordy infodumps #ngl I'm always resisting the urge to make Rei talk like he got lost on his way to an audition for Hamlet

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cat-denied · 1 year

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I posted 1,857 times in 2022

That's 1,857 more posts than 2021!

24 posts created (1%)

1,833 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@catgirldick

@orcboxer

@magicalballerinaprincess

@gravitonbeamemitter

@natalieironside

I tagged 841 of my posts in 2022

#roadtripfaves - 178 posts

#goncharov - 55 posts

#art - 54 posts

#holy shit - 34 posts

#roadtriprefs - 32 posts

#fire emblem - 25 posts

#comic - 21 posts

#guilty gear - 21 posts

#fe3h - 19 posts

#<3 - 15 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#which is a red & black plaid flannel (it's just a collared shirt but whatever) buttoned up under a black pleather vest (also buttoned up) an

My Top Posts in 2022:

the next time a piece of fucking software forces me to choose between “yes” and “maybe later” i’m shooting it right between the eyes

4 notes - Posted November 9, 2022

👻🎁✨ :)

👻 What is your wildest headcanon?

My wildest headcanon? That's a hard one. I don't really do a lot of headcanoning! Mostly I just turn stuff into actual fanfic rather than just headcanoning it, and so I keep a layer of separation between the canon and my fic, if that makes sense. I guess I have a lot of headcanons of Fire Emblem characters being lesbians in canon even while not strictly defined as such (like Minerva and Palla in fe11), but those are usually pretty common ones.

Here's a couple of headcanons for you:

Nico Minoru (of Marvel's Runaways and others) realized she was bisexual while on the team of A-FORCE (2016), i.e. while surrounded by gorgeous and powerful women. Because come on. (Context: in the original Runaways series from the early 2000s, Nico was portrayed as straight: in the new Runaways series from 2018, she had since realized her bisexuality.)

In Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War, only characters who are lovers and characters with the Thief class can exchange gold. I think this is because the Thief (Dew in the first gen, Patty or Daisy in the second) characters happen to be people who deeply love all their friends.

I also headcanon...pretty much everyone as trans and/or gay. If I like them (especially for Fire Emblem, where characters often have very little character at all) they get the "YOU ARE GAY NOW" seal of approval.

Oh, here's a real wild one! Wolf (from Fire Emblem 11) is a trans woman! This is because YOU saw her and went "she's a girl" and I went "okay" and rolled with it. This may come up in my fanfic sometime, who can say

Putting the rest of this behind a read more because it got long.

🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?

I do! Here's a section from the first chapter of a Minerva/Palla haunted house AU I've been working on in the background.

The room is soaked in dust. At one point in time it had probably been a bedroom, and indeed a bed frame rots grayly in the corner. Rather than any mattress, however, it’s covered in boxes: boxes which have sprawled out to take over the rest of the room like an invasive species of plant. The walls are bare. The edge of the room’s one window can just be made out, the rest of it totally obscured by still more boxes. They stack five feet high easily, and though Palla is tall enough to circumnavigate the undergrowth they form with ease, and Catria at least tall enough to manage, Est can barely see over the box in front of her, and she complains loudly at this. Catria argues lightly back, and Palla smiles under her breath as she makes her way around, simply looking.

None of the boxes are labeled: the lower ones have more the look of trunks, and Palla idly wonders when cardboard had been invented, whether this was someone else’s reshuffling of the Macedons’ remaining possessions after their departure. She cracks open the nearest top box to find stacks of books: unlabeled volumes in that old style you would see on the shelves of houses that had become museums. Carefully opening one, then another, to their title pages, she sees that they are books of strategy: for warfare and diplomacy. Interesting.

I just love the Whitewings and Macedon and all that jazz! Also I should write more of this, I was having a load of fun with it.

✨️ Out of the comments you’ve received on your fics, what are two or three of your favorites?

! I love to receive any comments because it tells me that people enjoyed my work enough to tell me about it, and when you write for fandoms that are as relatively obscure as I do (in terms of fanworks), every little bit counts for a lot! The exception to the obscure fandoms of course is the Goncharov fic I wrote, which became hugely popular and now I'm considering writing a second chapter or sequel, just because of the absolutely hogwild response.

Here's a coupla specifics:

"Always happy to see the Nagi tag get a little bigger, and you have a fascinating version of her here! I thought your interpretation of the setting was brilliant and you really brought out the nuances of the characters you portrayed just before such a climactic final battle." from Oricalle on my fic Meetings, Manifestations, and Manaketes. (I have a lot of fun naming my fics.) They left this comment after I read through some of their works and left some comments, which made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Every comment on my Goncharov fic for being brilliantly in on the joke, but especially this one from tinuviel_tinuviel:

because not only did they call me out by name (blushes), but when I read and commented on one of their Locked Tomb fics, they called me out on it:

See the full post

4 notes - Posted December 1, 2022

i think the best fire emblem game names are the jugdral ones, i.e. Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War and Fire Emblem: Thracia 776. let’s break this down.

1. Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War

this one rules firstly because it’s really long and weird. in a series with game names that evoke fantasy tropes and magic (like “blazing blade” and “shadow dragon” and “sacred stones”, or even something like “path of radiance,” or “mystery of the emblem,” which could be a nancy drew novel title), this game name easily stands out the most in the list. like okay, fantasy, fantasy, mystery, magic, artefacts...Genealogy. you know what i associate genealogy with?? my mom looking at ancestry dot com for fun and trying to collate our family history a few years back. i do NOT associate it with magic boys with swords and tragedy and pseudo-medieval political machinations. too bad that’s what you get!

secondly? it’s fully accurate. i mean i know game names are usually relevant to their games (because otherwise whats the fuckin point) but like. “shadow dragon and the blade of light” specifically calls out 1 character (the shadow dragon) and 1 magic artifact (the blade of light). three houses is about 3 houses but you only pick one of them and the only relevance it has to the story is “you pick between 3 groups” and “there are 3 groups in the game that fight each other.” big deal. that’s also true of, like, arguments i have with my family over what game we want to play at thanksgiving.

genealogy of the holy war? you cannot escape the fact that this game is a genealogy of a holy war. 100% of the game is dedicated to being a genealogy of a holy war. (if you’re not familiar: the first half of the game follows a dude named Sigurd as he gets embroiled in political conspiracy as a scapegoat by an evil cult that’s manipulating the government. the second half follows his son (and the kids of all his friends from the first generation) some ~20 years later as they go and fight the evil cult that’s now fully taken over the government.) you wield weapons blessed by your gods and use them to defeat a cult that wields dark magic and a weapon blessed by their (evil) god. this war is really fuckin holy. and hey two generations (AND the pairings in the first generation alter the stats of kids in the second) where it matters who your parents are - thats a genealogy baby! we did it! that’s the name of the game! and it’s Everywhere.

2. Fire Emblem: Thracia 776

what the fuck. what the fuck is this. “thracia”?? that isn’t a real word. all the other fire emblem titles are real words. why is 776 there?? is it seven hundred seventy six?? is it 7:76, the worst time of the day?? is it like 7.76?? it’s the fifth game in the series!! not the 776th one!! no other fire emblem games have numbers in the titles!! what the fuck is going on!?!?

10/10. no notes.

10 notes - Posted November 19, 2022

HEY how come there’s only ONE other goncharov fanfic on ao3???? seriously??? this movie was REVELATORY and it came out 49 years ago i mean what the fuck!

so here’s a little katya/sofia ficlet to remedy that, and to bring more attention to my girls!! love a problematic lesbian relationship

this is set just after the boat scene!! because how else could katya have gotten bandaged up after that if sofia didn’t do it, right

13 notes - Posted November 19, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

See the full post

15 notes - Posted December 3, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #i think its rly funny that my post about my goncharov fanfic has like 13 notes #and my goncharov fanfic has like. 2k hits

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astradrifting · 3 years

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This is kind of inspired by this recent ask I sent to @esther-dot about Jon’s characterisation and Jonsa shippers’ apparent disregard for it, because it made me think of another part of Jon’s characterisation that is really integral to who he is. Mainly, that Jon really loves his brothers. Especially Robb. His rival and best friend and constant companion. Jon envies him, competes with him, buried a formative traumatic memory where he was deeply hurt by him... but ultimately loves him. Complex relationships with his brothers, both the Starks and his Night’s Watch brothers, are a running theme in Jon’s chapters.

Speaking of Jon’s brothers...

Aegon VI and Robb have a lot of potential parallels, actually. The “Young” moniker, red-haired counselors who are also their parents, trained to be the heir to a great kingdom from a young age, the barely younger half-brother Jon borne of their father’s dishonour of their mother… one that they might both have a good relationship with despite that?

The show tried to play with Jon ‘accepting’ his Targaryen lineage through the jonerice romance, very unconvincingly because it was simultaneously undermining it at every opportunity, in what was maybe a half-assed attempt at Pol!Jon (”They’ll all come to see you for what you are” isn’t anything but a threat in all contexts).

Jon will ultimately choose the Starks over everything else, that’s not really a question. But if Jon were to genuinely connect with another Targaryen, it’d likely be easier for him to find kinship with a half-brother than with an aunt - he has a basis for positive relationships with trueborn half-brothers, while the only aunt figure he’s ever known about is a) long dead and b) actually his mother. I think it’d both make more sense and be more compelling for GRRM to leverage Jon’s existing complex relationships with brotherhood by having him interact with and build a relationship with Aegon, than a rushed and out-of-character romance with Dany.

Jon also is already primed to believe that Aegon is the real deal, that he was saved as a baby, because he’s already done the exact same thing himself - he swapped out a baby of royal blood who was in danger for a common-born boy, and then sent him halfway across the world for safety (side note: if Septa Lemore is Ashara, and if the baby was actually Ashara’s son as theorised here by @agentrouka-blog, that would just strengthen the parallel, because it would be his body double’s mother caring for him, as Gilly has to do for Mance’s son).

They’re definitely going to come into conflict first - politically, Jon will likely be in a position of power in the North by the time they meet, maybe as the KitN through Robb’s will or regent for Rickon, and probably will fight for Northern independence, while Aegon is fighting to be king of the Seven Kingdoms, not 6. Personally, it will be hard to get past the fact that Jon is the direct result of Rhaegar dishonouring Elia, plus that the Kingsguard who should have been protecting her were all stationed in Dorne, guarding Jon’s mother (in whatever capacity). But these interactions, a conflict and eventual friendship/brotherhood between them, would all be a lot more layered than jonerice can really offer. If a relationship between Jon and Dany was truly all that GRRM has been building up to, then there would have been no need for R+L=J - it adds nothing to that storyline, it doesn’t even make it a forbidden romance, because aunt-nephew is hardly the worst incest the Targaryens have engaged in.

It’s almost inevitable that Da*nerys is going to kill Aegon VI/Young Griff in the books, likely by burning him with dragonfire, in the Second Dance of the Dragons. The weird Dragonpit meeting in the show was very contrived, but it does make sense for Dany to meet the ruler on the Iron Throne at least once in a semi-peaceful context. In the show, she used her dragons only to intimidate Cersei, but she didn’t have a personal grievance with her. Aegon is in much more danger during such a meeting. After all she will think he is a pretender, and she doesn’t much care for the rules of safe conduct, as she showed to the envoys from Yunkai.

Dany shrugged, and said, "Dracarys."

The dragons answered. Rhaegal hissed and smoked, Viserion snapped, and Drogon spat swirling red-black flame. It touched the drape of Grazdan's tokar, and the silk caught in half a heartbeat.

[...]

"You swore I should have safe conduct!" the Yunkish envoy wailed.

"Do all the Yunkai'i whine so over a singed tokar? I shall buy you a new one... if you deliver up your slaves within three days. Elsewise, Drogon shall give you a warmer kiss." She wrinkled her nose. "You've soiled yourself. Take your gold and go, and see that the Wise Masters hear my message."

(ASOS, Dany IV)

"Ah, there is the thorn in the bower, my queen," said Hizdahr zo Loraq. "Sad to say, Yunkai has no faith in your promises. They keep plucking the same string on the harp, about some envoy that your dragons set on fire."

"Only his tokar was burned," said Dany scornfully.

(ADWD, Dany VI)

So Dany will burn the Blackfyre pretender, and everyone will be happy and cheer to see the rightful queen, the last Targaryen, Slayer of Lies, Breaker of Chains, Insert-The-Million-Other-Titles-Here. Right?

Except how would she prove that he’s an imposter? She can’t exactly roll up with an Alt Shift X video pointing out that Illyrio has said some weird things about Aegon. Is Varys going to have an attack of remorse and explain his whole plot, complete with Blackfyre family tree? Or maybe she’ll explain that she went on a vision quest in Qarth and Aegon totally matches up with the vague symbolism that a bunch of drugged up warlocks told her before she set them on fire?

I don’t think it’s going to matter if Aegon is fake or not, and we might never find out either way. The mystery of his identity isn’t his main narrative, and all of his significance to the story and to multiple other characters is removed if he’s proved to not be Aegon VI. Him being proved fake would just make this plotline a weird, unnecessary digression on Dany’s journey to being the righteous and true queen, his death just another #girlboss moment for her. That’s definitely going to be her perception of it, but once she reaches Westeros we won’t have to rely on only her POV of her actions. History is written by the winners, and no one’s going to miss that it’s a lot more convenient for Dany if the boy with a stronger claim than her turns out to have been fake all along. Arianne and the Dornish are definitely not going to take it lying down, and neither is Jon. He’s not going to fall in love with the woman who murdered his brother, especially by burning him alive. ADWD has plenty to say about how much he hates death by fire.

“Men say that freezing to death is almost peaceful. Fire, though … do you see the candle, Gilly?”

She looked at the flame. “Yes.”

“Touch it. Put your hand over the flame.”

Her big brown eyes grew bigger still. She did not move.

“Do it.” Kill the boy. “Now.”

Trembling, the girl reached out her hand, held it well above the flickering candle flame.

“Down. Let it kiss you.”

Gilly lowered her hand. An inch. Another. When the flame licked her flesh, she snatched her hand back and began to sob.

“Fire is a cruel way to die. Dalla died to give this child life, but you have nourished him, cherished him. You saved your own boy from the ice. Now save hers from the fire.”

(ADWD, Jon II)

Funnily enough, the same fire as a kiss imagery from Dany burning the envoy’s tokar appeared there too, also used as a threat.

If he is not a kinslayer, he is the next best thing. [...] What sort of man can stand by idly and watch his own brother being burned alive?

(ADWD, Jon IX)

So Aegon’s death is not going to be a triumphant victory for Dany, after which everyone proclaims her the true queen. It’s likely to just solidify opposition to her, from every corner of Westeros. If it happens during a summit or negotiation, it’d be even more of a tragic parallel to Robb and the Red Wedding; the young king murdered off of the battlefield, at an event where he was promised safe conduct. Featuring Dany in the role of Roose Bolton and Tywin Lannister. Tywin’s already died a very undignified death, and Roose Bolton looks to be on his way too.

I think the tragedy of Aegon’s death would also hit harder if we see it through Jon, as a main POV, or at least the aftermath of it. Jon was integral at the Dragonpit meeting after all, and probably would be at a peace summit or negotiation between the leaders of Westeros and the invading force.

In ASOS, there’s a curious lack of Jon’s reaction to Robb’s death. We see his initial reaction to Bran and Rickon’s supposed deaths when he gets back to Castle Black, but he doesn’t even know about Robb’s death until Stannis arrives to defeat the wildlings, and we’re not shown the moment he’s told about it. He barely even thinks about it, not even a mention until he meets with Stannis on top of the Wall:

“Your brother was the rightful Lord of Winterfell. If he had stayed home and done his duty, instead of crowning himself and riding off to conquer the riverlands, he might be alive today. Be that as it may. You are not Robb, no more than I am Robert.”

The harsh words had blown away whatever sympathy Jon might have had for Stannis. “I loved my brother,” he said.

(ASOS, Jon XI)

And that’s literally all we get that is specifically about Robb’s death - the rest of Jon’s chapters, his guilt and grief is about the loss of all his siblings, and the idea of stealing Winterfell from them. It doesn’t really make sense for him to not think about it at all, considering how close they were. This reminds me of how he has a non-reaction to Sansa’s marriage to Tyrion as well, as talked about in this post by @agentrouka-blog. Part of this could be Jon’s tendency towards denial and suppression of all his feelings, but it also points to GRRM explicitly obscuring his reaction - perhaps because he’s going to explore it in the wake of another brother dying a very similar death? One that this time he’ll be there to witness?

#astra rambles #meta #speculation #half speculation half 'my wildest dreams and hopes'#anti daenerys targaryen #anti jonerys #jon snow #aegon vi targaryen #jon and aegon #anti got #because i do dunk on the show a lot in this lmao #i've spent far too long on this and had to delete five tirades against the show already

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hookedontaronfics · 4 years

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I’ll Be Home For Christmas - Part 1

Title: I’ll Be Home For Christmas - Part 1 Pairing: Taron x OC Rating: T Warning: None A/N: I wanted to write a sweet little 2-part series for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day as a way of saying thank you for giving so much back to me through this blog. Every like, follow, reblog, comment and ask is so appreciated. I hope you enjoy this fluffy fluff and have a happy and healthy holiday season. Love! X

Andi sat tucked up on the window seat, staring out into the wintery afternoon as swirls of snowflakes blew across the landscape, blanketing everything in white. She was clutching a steaming cup of rich hot cocoa, made the way her mam had always done on Christmas morns. She idly traced the patterns of frost on the window, leaving a couple of smudges, her fingertips going slightly numb, and sighed to herself. She’d tried to distract herself with a book, but she couldn’t ignore the nagging absence in the room.

She sighed heavily and cast a glance around the living room, lights twinkling on the Christmas tree and amongst the fresh boughs strung along the fireplace mantel. She’d worked hard to make the place feel homey for the holidays, but none of that mattered if her husband couldn’t be home to see it.

“I’ll be home for Christmas!” he’d promised her, but he was quickly running out of time. Andi checked her watch again, the clockface reading just after 3 p.m. on Christmas Eve. Another year, another promise broken. He’d kept telling her, time and again, that the next time he wouldn’t miss the big important things, that she was the priority in his life. And yet, time after time, he’s missed the birthday, the big promotion, the office party, Boxing Day, Bank Holiday, but this - this was quite possibly the worst.

She tried to tamp down the hints of anger roiling her stomach; anger wouldn’t make him come home. She had accepted long ago when they’d first started dating that sometimes his job would mean he’d miss a holiday here or there. And she was proud of all of his success. She didn’t begrudge him for what he did; only that it left her lonely on nights like these, when she wanted nothing more than to share the special moments with him.

She finally got up from the seat, tired of staring out the window and hoping. Taron wouldn’t be walking through that door no matter how long she watched for him, so she might as well get on with the rest of her plans. She had a pheasant and some cranberry sauce to prepare for dinner at her parents’ later that evening before church service.

She ground up some herbs for the dry rub, pounding them harder than was probably necessary, slapping them onto the bird and imagining if she were on a cooking show, someone might ask “What did that bird ever do to you?” But right now, that bird, not her husband, was the only thing in front of her, and so she took her frustration out on it. Once she was done dressing it, she wrapped it in foil, set it carefully in the roasting pan, and slid it into the pre-heated oven. She popped the cranberries in the sink to wash them off, tossing them about in the colander to make sure they were good and clean, and to get rid of any lingering stem bits. She dried her hands and sighed again, staring at the wall of the kitchen they had designed together, in the house they had dreamed about owning together, lost in thought.

A jiggling at the door brought her sharply back into reality. “Who’s there!” she called out, even though that was a stupid thing to say. She grabbed the cast iron skillet off the stove top and tiptoed around the kitchen to peek around into the hallway leading to the door, which swung wide open, letting a blast of snow in around a shrouded figure who stepped inside and quickly shut the door behind him, keys jangling in his hand as he lugged his suitcase around.

“Don’t you come any closer!” she gasped, holding out the skillet with both hands as if it were a lightsaber.

“What are you going on about? Babe, it’s just me,” Taron chuckled, pulling his hood down and shaking snow out of his hair. “I’m no stranger.”

“Well I wouldn’t know it as I haven’t heard from you all day,” Andi said, crossing her arms over her chest, the skillet still in her hand. “I just figured you weren’t coming home at all.”

“What? I … Of course I was coming home. The snowstorm buggered all the flight schedules up and I probably should have texted you but I guess I wanted it to be a surprise,” he replied sheepishly, taking a step toward her and watching her take a step back. “I wasn’t going to miss this,” he tried to explain. “I promised you.”

“Like all the other promises you’ve made and broken? All the other holidays I’ve celebrated alone?” Andi said with a huff, returning to the kitchen and slamming the skillet back down on the burner.

“I … deserved that,” Taron sighed, shedding his coat and kicking off his boots, leaving them to make a dripping mess in the hallway as the snow melted off. “I know you’re angry at me…”

“Really? What gave that away?” she asked tersely, knowing she was being unfair but unable to keep the pent-up irritation out of her voice.

“It’s Christmas Eve, hun. Can’t this argument wait until later?” Taron asked, holding his hands out in a peaceable manner, but Andi was having none of it.

“Until when, Taron? The next time I see you, in a goddamn month? Or maybe longer? How are we even having a relationship when you’re never here?” she said, running her hands through her hair, clearly upset. “It’s been like this for years. You keep telling me it will get better, but it only gets worse the more successful you get. And I love what you do, I’m so fucking proud of you, I am. But I don’t know how much longer I can take not being the priority in your life.”

She sniffed and turned away from him, facing the sink and rocking on her heels slightly as her tears fell off her cheeks and splashed down onto the cranberries still waiting to be stewed and mashed. Their fat grey tabby, Tibbs, peeked around the corner to see what the commotion was all about, stalking into the kitchen and weaving his way around Taron’s feet, looking for attention. They’d adopted Tiberius from the shelter a year ago, mostly to fill a void they’d so far been unable to fill.

“Babe...Andi… I’m so, so sorry. I had no idea you felt that way. After this project wraps up, I’ll make changes, I promise. And I’ll keep that one. You’re the most important part of my life, and that you don’t feel that way… I’ve failed you, somehow,” Taron spoke haltingly.

“It’s fine. I’m being irrational,” Andi said, wiping quickly at her face to try and scrub the tears away.

“It’s not okay, darling, at all,” he said, stepping closer as she turned back around to face him.

“This isn’t quite the reception I’m sure you hoped for. I am happy you’re home,” she said, trying not to sniffle again. “I’ve just missed you so much.”

“And gods, I’ve missed you too,” he said nearly in a whisper. “There hasn’t been a single night I didn’t think of you as my head hit the pillow, wishing you were next to me. I love filming, and I’m incredibly grateful to be able to do it, but I’d give it all up if that meant you’d be happy.”

“That’s not… what I’m asking for, Taron. God, I’d never make you choose between me and your job. That’s just silly. All I want is more of a balance, you know? Ever since Rocketman, it’s just been project after project and we’re lucky if we get a small vacation in between. And the scripts don’t stop coming, you know. There are boxes of them in the basement with your trophies. I can’t stand to look at them because they make me yearn for you more. I know you’re kind of a hot commodity right now, and I mean, why wouldn’t you be? Look at you…” she smirked at him lightly, making a show of looking him up and down playfully. “Everyone wants you, but I’m the one that gets to keep you. And I’m very lucky. I’m just tired of only having the in-between. Maybe it’s selfish, but I want more of you.”

“And you’ll have it darling,” Taron said, stepping forward until he could wrap his arms around his wife’s waist. “Once this project wraps, I’ll take a much-needed break. I haven’t signed on to anything after that, and yeah, maybe I’m just tired of it all too. Tired of the lonely nights, taking dinner by myself, watching telly and thinking how funny you’d find it too, if only you were with me. This has affected me too, and it can, and will, change,” he said, brushing away the hair that had fallen across her face. He leaned in and kissed her sweetly, and whatever anger she had been holding onto finally faded away as she tangled her fingers into his hair which had, admittedly, gotten a little too long.

They embraced a few minutes longer until Tibb’s indignant meow at being ignored broke the silence, making them both laugh. “So needy,” Taron chuckled, bending over to scratch Tibbs under the chin. The kitchen timer dinged, and he stood back up. “When’s dinner again?” he asked, as Andi raced to pull the pheasant out of the oven.

“In an hour and a half. Can you baste the bird while I get the berries started?” she asked.

“Of course. I’ll baste this bird within an inch of its life,” he smirked as she handed over the baster.

“You do realize it’s already dead, right?” she grinned, shaking her head at him. She dumped the cranberries in a saucepan and mixed in a cup of sugar and a couple twists of orange zest before setting it on the burner over low heat while Taron got the pheasant properly basted. He’d stuck his tongue out slightly as he concentrated, looking up and catching his wife gazing at him slightly.

“Yes?” he smiled at her, his eyes fairly twinkling at her.

“Oh, nothing. You’re just adorable, you know,” she couldn’t help but grin.

“In my travel clothes and everything?” he asked, raising that eyebrow she so loved again.

“What wife wouldn’t love seeing her husband helping out in the kitchen, hmmm?” she grinned, tossing the kitchen towel at him and making him just chuckle. He slid the pheasant back in the oven before going to get himself cleaned up and dressed in something more appropriate for a Christmas Eve dinner and service.

Andi busied herself with the cranberry sauce, watching the skin of the berries bursting, stirring occasionally and making sure it got to the right consistency. Taron returned, hair freshly combed, in black slacks and a grey pullover sweater, looking every bit as handsome and stealing her breath away.

“Your turn, love. I can finish up here,” he grinned, pulling her to him and giving her a sweet kiss before gently pushing her toward the stairs.

“You sure?” she asked.

“Just go,” he laughed. “I think I can handle a few cranberries.”

Andi smiled to herself before running upstairs. She dashed some makeup on and ran the hot iron through her hair before pulling on a nice green sweater over her grey skirt. She smoothed it down, her hands pausing slightly over her stomach. She pulled on some warm winter leggings because of how cold and snowy it was outside, and fastened one of the many sparkly necklaces Taron had gotten her over the years around her neck. She deemed her appearance good enough for her family and returned downstairs to find that Taron had already packaged the cranberry sauce in a bowl covered in foil and had transferred the pheasant to a nice baking dish.

“Everything’s ready to go, my love,” he smiled in that charming way he had. “We should probably head out if we’re to get there on time,” he said, checking his watch briefly.

“In a minute,” Andi said, sounding nervous for a moment. “I wanted to give you something first, before we go. Something that’s been waiting for you to get home.” She grabbed Taron’s hand and pulled him along to the Christmas tree in the living room, it’s white lights twinkling merrily among the pine boughs, red poinsettias offering a contrast of color against the silver bulbs. “Here,” she said, handing Taron a rectangular wrapped box and biting her lip.

“You want me to open it now?” he asked, and she nodded enthusiastically. He pulled the ribbon to undo it, dropping the string to the floor, where Tibbs pounced on it with gusto.

Taron slowly opened the hinged box and gasped slightly at the grainy black and white picture taped to the inside lid, and the positive pregnancy test nestled lovingly in tissue paper inside.

“Andi! You are… We are ... ?” he said, tears already springing into his eyes.

“I am,” she nodded, her eyes bright in the glow of the lights. “About 10 weeks now. I just had the ultrasound last week. I heard its little heartbeat. It’s really real this time, babe,” she said softly as he gathered her into his arms and peppered her face with kisses. “It’s why I needed you home so badly. I’ve very nearly told you on the phone every day this week,” she said, giggling along with her own tears.

“I’m going to be a dad,” Taron said, in total awe of his wife, pride shining in his eyes.

“There’s still a risk, of course, you know… We’ve lost the last two so quickly,” she said, both of their faces darkening at those painful memories. “But the doctor said everything looked perfect this time. So I’m daring to hope.”

“I think it’s high time that we were able to dream a little,” he agreed, inspecting the grainy black and white image more closely, tracing the little blob that was their baby with his fingers and looking completely overwhelmed.

“I wanted to tell you first, so I could surprise my mam and papa too,” she smiled.

“And tomorrow, my folks,” he grinned back at her, and she nodded excitedly.

“One step ahead of you, dear. I’ve already made them up surprise gifts,” she grinned, holding up the wrapped gifts as Taron chuckled, wiping at his eyes. “But we really should go now or everyone will start eating without us.”

They grabbed the food and gifts and loaded the car before heading across town, Taron driving carefully now that he had a precious baby to protect as well. They were welcomed into her family’s home, the smells of delicious homemade food wafting out into the evening air. They were both embraced with many hugs, from her mother and father, her sister Hannah and brother-in-law Jude. Andi’s sister was a mirror opposite of her, as naturally blonde as she was brunette, ice blue eyes to Andi’s deep chocolate brown ones.

“Let me help with those!” her father said, grabbing the bowl of cranberry sauce from her as Taron carried the pheasant into the kitchen. Her mum and sister helped with putting the gifts under the tree, and soon they were seated around the table, filling their bellies with good food and their hearts with plenty of laughter, reminiscing about past family Christmases and stories from when Andi and Hannah were little girls.

They went to Christmas Eve service next, and even if Taron wasn’t particularly religious, he didn’t mind sitting through the service with her family. It was important to her, and he supported that. Once they had retired back to the house, Andi and Taron’s secret nearly got spoiled when her mum ladled up cups of mulled wine for everyone. Andi took her cup hesitantly, realizing that if she declined her mam would instantly be suspicious. She shrugged to Taron, and set her cup on the sofa end table, where it would remain untouched for the rest of the night.

They gathered around to open presents, and Andi insisted on going first. Taron tried to stuff his nervous excitement down long enough to not spoil the surprise when she handed her parents both a gift. She’d explained on the car ride over what was in them, and they both waited in anticipation as her parents opened the gifts.

“What do I need this for?” her father asked, holding up a bib in a confused manner, but her mother instantly squealed when she held up a sippy cup. Hannah joined in the squealing and rushed over to hug Andi, as her dad was still utterly confused.

“She’s pregnant, dear!” Andi’s mom laughed, wiping happy tears away as her dad finally joined in with the celebration.

“I just thought this meant you all thought I was messy!” he chuckled, as they all excitedly talked over one another, her mother of course wanting to know a full run-down of all the details, some she hadn’t even managed to share with Taron. But he didn’t mind, just happy to see her excitement over it all; it was infectious, and everyone was just beaming over the good news.

They eventually got around to opening the rest of the gifts, though her sister quipped that there was no way to top that gift this year. The evening was a lovely time, but eventually it was time to say goodnight. They’d be driving to Aberystwyth in the morning to spend Christmas Day with Taron’s family, so getting some decent sleep was probably the best idea. Plus, Taron was fighting some serious jet lag at that point, hiding his yawns behind his hand and fooling no one.

“Best get you to bed, lover mine,” Andi giggled softly once they were seated in their car and headed home.

“Only if you’re right there with me,” he grinned, but kept his eyes on the road.

“No place I’d rather be, T,” she replied sweetly, running her fingers lightly over her belly. “So is it too soon to start thinking of names?” she laughed softly.

“I think we still have a little time for that,” he smiled in reply.

“But you’ll still have to return to the film again, and that’s going to be months before you’re done. This is why I told you how I felt, because things are really going to have to change now,” she added.

“And they will change. And I will be here for this little one, and for you. You’re not going to go through this alone. And if you need me to come home, at any point, I will, and the film schedule is just going to have to understand. I don’t want to miss these moments either,” he said, squeezing her hand. “We’ll figure out our way through it, I’ll wrap that film, and then you’ll have me for as long as we can stand before you send me off packing to work again,” he teased her.

“Oh please,” she rolled her eyes, but seemed happy with this commitment. They settled into a comfortable silence, Christmas tunes playing low on the radio until they gratefully parked at home. They unloaded their gifts and the dishes and made sure to refill Tibbs’ food and water dishes before heading upstairs to bed.

They brushed their teeth and changed into jammies and crawled in under the covers together. Taron pulled Andi sweetly to him, wrapping his arms around her, their legs intertwining, but they were both far too tired to do anything else even if the want was there, pulled tight like a string about to burst. Taron’s eyes were already drooping shut as he kissed his wife, both sweetly and passionately, the spark that had originally ignited in them years before still burning strong, steady and sure.

“I love you so much,” he murmured gently, their foreheads nearly touching as they laid on the pillow, gazing tiredly at each other. “Today couldn’t have been better, truly.”

“Aside from that part where you were running really late and I got pissed off and nearly threw a skillet at your head,” Andi joked lightly, and Taron cracked a smile.

“Nope, even that part was perfect because it was so painfully and utterly my strong-willed, independent, spirited wife. And those things I fell madly in love with you for, hook, line and sinker.”

“You’re such a romantic, babe,” she said dryly before giggling.

“And you know you love it,” he grinned, as she nodded and then yawned herself.

“Sleep?” she asked plaintively.

“Sleep,” he agreed with a nod, kissing her a couple of last times before they settled into their normal sleeping positions, feeling happy and over the moon with each other all over again. Andi couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow had in store for them, as she genuinely loved his family as much as her own. Though they didn’t spend a ton of time together over the year because of the distance, they still welcomed her in every time, and she absolutely adored his sisters. Seeing Taron interact with them had always made the part of her that wanted children ache a bit inside, but now, well, now things were about to change.

Taron was already softly snoring next to her, and she relished the sound, the warmth of his body next to hers, the way the bed leaned slightly so she’d sometimes roll into him, the way his arm would sometimes drift across her body even in his sleep, the sleepy smile and messy bedhead in the morning, even the kisses before either of them had brushed their teeth in the morning. He was perfect to her in every way, though he wasn’t perfect in and of himself. No one was, but they made each other stronger in their union, and that was what truly mattered.

Tibbs scratched at the door slightly, so she tiptoed across the hardwood and cracked the bedroom door open, letting him in. He jumped onto the bed and settled at their feet, maybe sensing things in their lives were about to change, maybe not. Andi sent a little Christmas wish up to the stars, hidden somewhere beyond the clouded sky, that everything with this pregnancy would go well, that this little miracle would be theirs to keep and cherish forever, as she slowly drifted off to sleep, ready for what Christmas Day would have in store for them.

Part 2 on Christmas Day - Read it here!

#taron imagine #taron egerton #taron fluff #christmas fanfiction #taron x reader #taron fanfiction

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slainfury · 5 years

Text

RAVUS & NOCTIS: A COMPLICATED MATTER

so we’re essentially given breadcrumbs at best in regards to defining the relationship between ravus and noctis. the basic outlook is that the two in the present gaming timeline don’t get along and that ravus despises noctis; but i think it’s more than that, i want to take it further than that. so, to some extent, this is headcanon based and applicable only to my blog ( and the noctis whom i have developed this meta with )

i want to start with the reminder that these two were childhood friends as well. do i have any scenes / dialogue to prove this ? well, no. given that we barely have three minutes worth of screentime for noctis and luna’s childhood flashbacks as is ( y’know, the girl he’s someday to marry / the oracle to help him lead ) it’s no surprise that any exploration between him and ravus is left in the dust. but it takes a little common sense, really: he’s luna’s brother, after all, and her only sibling. given how close these two are, i think it’s safe to say -- at the very least -- he and noct had friendly interactions with one another. generally, i charactertize the childhood relationship as this: noct, a canonically shy and introverted child, likely somewhat intimidated by the older ravus. and in the meantime ravus was polite and friendly, treating him no differently than he would with luna -- even if any attempts to have long lasting conversations with the boy were futile.

take a look at this screenshot from the opening scene of kingsglaive ;

ravus, in the background, smiling just as his mother sylva is. he is just as welcoming of regis and noctis as she is. there is no indication whatsoever that back then he ‘disliked’ or ‘barely tolerated’ the lucis caelum family. in fact, anyone who makes these claims has no justification to that whatsoever -- both their kingdoms were intact, all was well, and for ravus and noct -- two children -- the war was a seemingly faraway event. troubling, perhaps, but their knowledge of it at that moment then was nowhere near the extent as their parents was.

and then comes tragedy, mere minutes later. his mother slaughtered before his very eyes, her blood literally splattering on his face. he, too, is wounded and left alone in the wildfires begging regis for his help. but regis ( to no fault of his own, imo ) chooses to save his son -- his injured, then - wheelchair bound son that’s incapable of running -- and makes the attempt to save luna because she’s closeby. ravus is not. it’s the most difficult decision any parent can make, choosing to leave behind a child.

and so, ravus resents regis. but not noctis.

ravus is very much aware that this has little to do with noctis. noctis isn’t the reason that tenebrae was attacked. it wasn’t noctis whom sylva chose to heroically sacrifice her life for. it wasn’t noctis that took off running and abandoned him.

ravus resents regis, the adult. the king, who had forsaken innocent people and selfishly escaped with his own life. regis, who has seemingly done nothing since after he and his sister were taken prisoner by niflheim. regis, who focused on the walls of refuge within his won kingdom and too preoccupied to worry for tenebrae after it and its queen bled and died for him.

and so i again, i say, ravus hates regis. not noctis.

so why the resentment? why the bitterness upon their reunion?

it isn’t directed towards noctis, the person. it is to life, to how noctis has essentially had it easier than him. it is to the seemingly carefree attitude noctis presents with ( in ravus’ eyes ) and how he doesn’t seem to understand that. noctis wasn’t stripped of his titles and crown, watched his kingdom set aflame. noctis wasn’t beaten and humiliated, a helpless witness more or less forced to watch his sister be assaulted and exploited for her powers. noctis wasn’t forced to bear the burden of expecting to somehow miraculously rise up and rule as a boy - king, and be blamed anyhow for failing.

( yes, noctis endures horrible things. his life is tragic, as well. and at the present timeline in the game, noctis has just lost his father and home as well. his entire set - up is pure tragedy, as he was more or less born to die. we as the audience know this; ravus does not. additionally, the comparisons which an embittered ravus is making is in reference to their childhoods. aside from the loss of his mother, which happened prior to the events of the fall of tenebrae, noctis lived a relatively safe and happy life in the walls of insomnia as opposed to ravus’ life as a prisoner of war. )

- it is also worth noting that even when insomnia falls / the death of regis, noctis has the love and support of his friends at his side. his friends, all adults who are capable of handling themselves and not dependent on him. ravus did not have that. he had lunafreya, his little sister who was dependent on him, and that’s about it. for all we know, any and all of ravus’ friends were taken prisoner or executed shortly after the fall of tenebrae for remaining nox fleuret loyalists and not submitting to niflheim.

more evidence regarding my point, that ravus hates noctis’ attitude but not noctis:

- you received the storm’s blessing. and yet, you know nothing of the consequences.

said consequences being the failing health of lunafreya, the woman they both love. for all her mighty and heroic efforts in contacting with the gods, it takes a toll on her health each and every time. it is quite literally killing lunafreya to serve noctis, to fulfill a duty she feels obligated to fulfill. and noctis, someone who claims to love his sister dearly, apparently has no idea of that all. this infuriates ravus. how can her husband - to - be just seemingly run about idly with his friends, with not a care in the world as luna is dying over some ancient prophecy?

- first the lucians stole me my mother. ... and now they make a sacrifice of my sister!

remember, it was a lucian prophecy that foretold all of this. but again, noctis ravus doesn’t outright say noctis at any point in time. he never says “he makes a sacrifice of my sister”; he refers to the ancestors instead.

the following scene, wherein he attempts to attack / kill noctis is exactly what it looks like. i’m not going to try and divulge it into something else. but there’s a simple explanation: grief. this man has lost everything in this very moment. everything he has ever done since the murder of his mother was for the sake of his sister, for the sake of preserving their family through all this horror and tragedy. and yet, despite it all, he has failed. all the horrible deeds he himself has committed were for nothing or all in vain. it seems plausible to me that someone so grief - stricken by such tremendous loss would make poor choices, all emotion based, and temporarily lose his mind.

moments later, ravus saves noctis from ardyn / from certain death -- just as lunafreya had. ravus, too, has now accepted the importance of noctis’ destiny. he no longer denies the prophecy and its belonging to noctis. and more importantly, recognizes the need for noctis to be alive. to ( from ravus’ perspective and knowledge, not ours ) rule insomnia after eradicating the darkness, truly becoming the light.

it’s why he dies in the main timeline recognizing noctis as the one true king. it’s why he dies failing to deliver regis’ sword to noctis.

it’s why he succeeds in the alternate ep ignis timeline

because together, when the darkness is eradicated, they will remain. there is work to be done, and neither will be able to accomplish it without the other. the ruins of insomnia and ashes of tenebrae will be rebult by two kings.

and two brothers.

#❪ 🗡️ .◦.˚・ﾟ✧ ┊❝ ━━━ to resist was to fail; for it was written in fate. / ( headcanons. )#meta.#this is my pride n joy pls love it

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mafiabosstsuna · 6 years

Note

This is so upsetting but I'm grateful for all the stories you all wrote on here 😭❤️ I was wondering if you could do a continuation of that one prompt where Tsuna's former S/O dumped her newborn son with her younger sister and just up and left. Leading to Tsunayoshi finding out, wanting custody as well and proposing they marry each other giving the kid looks more like her than her sister ? Once again thank you so much for this blog. It brought me so much joy 😊

((Here is the first prompt of the story if any of you want to check it out. - Admin Nana))

“I’m not saying you should leave him,” his voice calmed you down immediately. “I am saying you should marry me.”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

“Neither one of us want to part with him so the only solution would be to get married. People will assume you are his birth mother due to him looking more alike to you than your sister.”

You couldn’t understand it.

Couldn’t understand him.

He could easily have taken Angelo away from you, could have easily left you bereft and screaming with rage, heart pounding with fear when he would take Angelo (my baby, my baby!) away from you, yet he didn’t.

Instead, he listened, watched as your features twisted into fear at the thought of it, at the idea that the child you had raised after your sister had left him with you, to be gone, to never be seen again. Instead, he offered for you to continue being Angelo’s mother in place of your sister who had long since run away.

It was a kindness that he was offering, but you were uncertain for what.

Your sister hadn’t explained anything, not during her labour nor after. Only that this man before you had been a one-night stand, that Angelo hadn’t been part of the plan, that everything should be erased and forgotten – but you couldn’t allow her to do such a thing to an innocent babe. And it seemed even him, he believed the same, that Angelo was deserving of more than what Bianca had wanted to leave Angelo with – but why?

He didn’t have to take the mantle of a father, but he was.

He didn’t have to marry you, but he was.

Why?

W h y ?

The question was a turbulent storm raging in your head, trying to understand what was the man’s thought process. For what reasons did he have any need for it? He could have simply paid child support, couldn’t he? He could have easily taken Angelo, couldn’t he?

He was the Don of Vongola, he had no reasons to be… kind or even legal in any of this. Yet –

You didn’t want to question him, fearing that he might change his word if you asked too much, demanded too much. He was offering this to you, offering this chance for Angelo stay with you if you did this, a chance for you to stay with Angelo if you did this, as his mother, as your baby, neither of you had to part!

You swallowed all protests and uncertainty that day, yet still, even now you wondered.

You wondered so much that sometimes you’d watch him, watch as Don Vongola would spare precious moments with Angelo, gently holding the child with more care than you expected from a man of his station, and with eyes soft and smile so warm that it startled you. His voice barely a whisper when he spoke to Angelo, a sweet, almost too kind tone of his voice that belayed the sure and strong-willed man that had appeared in your life at the very start, who had bluntly stated he would take back Angelo and insisted you marry him.

There were different parts of him you saw, yet it was only ever with Angelo. You couldn’t say you were surprised, he was his son, and you just a person keeping a title for appearance sake. But it was odd, it was interesting, it was different and before you knew it something had changed.

A feeling deep inside that had forced its way through the suspicion, uncertainty, and blinding fear of the man whose hands you knew are stained with more blood than should be allowed.

The smile on your lips wavered as you watched Angelo squeal in delight when Don Vongola tickled his sides. Your eyes bounced away when his gaze twisted towards you, unable to look at them, unable to stare into the deep rich colour of burnt brown to orange that felt as if it could see more than it should.

He wasn’t a good man, you knew, yet the way he acted towards Angelo, the kindness, the gentleness made you forget sometimes. Even if it wasn’t directed towards you, even if those tender feelings were given freely to Angelo, it was easy to forget.

Perhaps that was why your heart stuttered?

Perhaps that was why it left you with a difficult sleep?

Perhaps that was why it was so easy to give such false smiles and ideas of confidence when all you wanted was to hold on to someone’s hand and be assured that you weren’t going mad for caring for Don Vongola.

Tiny hands latched onto your leg and you glanced down in surprise, seeing Angelo babble happily at you.

His beaming face seemed to erase the grimace on your lips, his laughter when you picked him up, bringing with it your own glow of delight, somehow pushing back the tight heavy feeling buried deeply in your chest. Of uncertainty that promised to take your breath away.

The green of her eyes burned deeply, not at all the soft forest green of Angelo’s own that glowed with sheer innocence.

“You married him.” The accusation in her voice was telling, though unneeded. Her glare could do it just as well.

You simply twirled your spoon quietly, lips pressed tightly as you gave her a flat, narrowed look. You were not certain why you had agreed to meet her, it had been years, not since the day Angelo had been born and she disappeared, not a single shred of regret as she did so, since you had last seen her. She hadn’t even asked for Angelo, had asked only of you to meet her, and immediately accosted you over Don Vongola.

“I’ve been hearing it, of you and him, with a child.”

The venom in her words caused you to stiffen, and you gave a sharp response in turn. “Well, children certainly brighten up the household.”

She snorted, “They never turn off the lights.”

You wondered idly if she even realized that it was her blood child she was speaking as such of; from the way she responded, she didn’t seem to be particularly inclined to even mention any connection with Angelo as if he were your own offspring. You decided that it was better that way, even as you felt certain that if she even dared to use Angelo against you that you’d punch her in the face.

But from the tart tone of her voice, it was also a close thing.

“Is this all? To confirm that I was married to Don Vongola?” You asked, glancing at her. “Because I assure you it had nothing to do with personal feelings.”

“Then why the hell did you even marry him?!”

“I would think that would be obvious.”

The bitter tone of your voice caused her to reel back as if struck. Her eyes watched you, glancing over the unkind smile on your face, the tension in your neck and shoulders as if seeing for the first time. You wondered what sort of conclusions were coming into her head, what thoughts were making her shake her head as if in disapproval.

“You always were too nice.” She said it as if it were a crime, a disgrace of an emotion that should never have been nurtured. “That world will eat you alive. And for what? For a kid? You should have handed him to Tsuna a long time ago.”

You wondered if it would be too much trouble to throw the hot drink in front of you into her face. But you refrained, it was your favourite. Instead, you made a disgusted sound at her suggestion, eyebrows pinching together as you swallowed back the burning curse that wanted to fall off your lips.

If there was one thing that had been taught to you while being Don Vongola’s wife it was that every action was one that counted. Right now, acting on the childish desire to curse your sister was not a good one. You still felt conflicted about hitting her in the face though.

“You should leave them,” Bianca said.

“You seem to be under the impression that I don’t love Angelo. I assure you that I do.” Her gaze sharply returned to you. “Even more, children desperately need to know – and to hear in ways they understand and remember – that they’re loved and valued by their mother and father. To leave now would simply hurt him.”

Her eyes narrowed shrewdly, and for a moment you wondered if she would leave it at that. If she understood that you could not, would not, leave as she had. Your heart was already invested and it would only hurt you too if you left now.

Then her features smoothed out, unsmiling, and eyes dark with seriousness. There was an unnatural stillness about her, and for a moment, for a long moment, she said nothing. Then she looked down at her folded hands, her voice hesitant before she finally took a deep breath.

“You’re only going to hurt yourself, you know. Tsuna is very easy to love.” She didn’t notice you stiffened or if she did, she ignored it. “But he never understands, he can’t. He just… doesn’t go around falling in love with people.” Her expression was sad then. “And one day you’ll look back, look back as I had, and wonder when your regrets had built; when these tears had risen to your throat, and when goodbyes had always been there.”

She shook her head slowly, and you swallowed, wondering why it was so hard to breathe, wondering why it was so hard to say a single thing.

“Oh yes, that’s right. One day. And in that day, you’ll have to make a hard choice, because it’s all we have. It’s all we’re given, but we still have to choose.”

Why was it so hard to breathe?

Bianca stood then, her hand reaching, hesitating before simply falling limply at her side. She left without another word, without another glance back, but for a moment it seemed as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders, and you wondered, for the first time… why had she left Don Vongola?

You hadn’t seen her again since then.

Neither had you heard from her since then.

But it did not mean her words didn’t linger, that it didn’t whisper in the nights when you tucked Angelo into bed. That she didn’t reside in your dreams when you could actually sleep – all the time she was there, and her words never faded. Simply lingered in the deepest crevices of your heart and mind, a chill that left you clinging to yourself and wishing for the horrible rolling in your stomach to cease.

“Tsuna is very easy to love.”

You flinched.

Love?

The word felt like poison burning in your throat. To love him – you couldn’t.

Such feelings were not advisable, it had to be, because if you loved him –

You vigorously shook your head.

There were no ‘because’ or ‘buts’, it simply was!

Don Vongola was an impossible man, and it had always been in your best interests to keep this farce of a marriage as nothing more than a concept, an idea, a title and nothing more.

Care all I like, but never love. You thought furiously. Never love. Yet still there was a lump forming in your throat, your mouth strangely dry, and you could feel an odd heat rising just behind your eyelids.

Your chin was trembling, fingers rubbing away the tears that were making its way down your burning cheeks.

You wondered when your heart had stopped listening to you. When it had it stopped listening to the thoughts that it was Angelo, only him, that you staid within the dark entrenched world of the mafia, for. When had your mind and your heart torn away from one another?

When?

“Our information is correct.” The man said, waving his hand dismissively at the air. “You are the woman who loves Don Vongola.”

“Yes, I am. I’m not denying it.” You answered, fist tightening at your sides.

You had never wanted to accept it, had never wanted to admit that you did care deeply for Don Vongola, as fiercely as you did for Angelo because if you did, it would make it real. It would make it so very real and you didn’t want that, couldn’t afford that, didn’t want to love one-sided –

“But whoever said he loved me back? He’s Vongola Decimo. He doesn’t go around falling in love with people.” You retorted, gaze sharp and levelled at them. “And if you think he’s anything that small or that ordinary, then you haven’t the first idea of what you’re dealing with.”

An undescriptive man spoke up then, over your words, insisting to the pug-faced Don that, “Sir, I assure you, she is the perfect bait. This is his wife, the mother of his child, he’ll come running to save her.”

“Oh, you are a moron.” You said slowly, stretching your words. Your brow rose when the man glared at you. Yet it did not stop you from speaking, from finally accepting what you always knew, what was always the truth because – “No, he won’t.” Even if it hurt.

“He’s probably already here!”

“No, he isn’t. Of course, he isn’t!” Your arms swept in wide, angry gestures, trying to drill it into their heads what you had always refused to think too heavily about. “God knows where he is right now, but I promise you, he’s doing whatever the hell he wants and not giving a damn about me!”

There was an aching in your chest, a deep ache that spread to the rest of your limbs with every drawn, noisy breath you took.

“And I’m just fine with that.” Your voice broke, a whisper that felt so loud in this tiny, cold room. “Because when you love a man like Don Vongola, it’s like loving the stars themselves. You don’t expect a sunset to admire you back. And if I happen to find myself in danger… he is not stupid enough, or sentimental enough, and he is certainly not in love enough to find himself standing in it with me.”

“Tsuna, please.”

You squeaked in surprise at the sudden voice, going wide-eyed when seeing who was standing there in the middle of the open-door way.

He wasn’t meant to be here though.

Why was Don Vongola here?

(He was meant to be out with Angelo.)

What is this feeling of relief at your chest?

(Protecting your child while you –)

He gave a half-hearted shrug, lips turning up into a smile when all you did was blink at him. “I don’t think I feel quite comfortable with you calling me Don Vongola.”

#admin nana #khr scenarios #katekyo hitman reborn #sawada tsunayoshi #tyl!tsuna #angst #tsuna's children #sister reader #unrequited love #denial of feelings #I... put more thought in Tsuna than Angelo #poor baby #But I mean Tsuna IS hard not to love

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365daysofmikayuu · 6 years

Text

January 1st, 2018

Title: Three Wishes

Author: Ren

A/N: Aladdin!AU; Yuuichirou is down to his third and final wish: to grant Mika his freedom...or bind the genie to him for all eternity.

The first wish Yuuichirou had made was based entirely on desperation and the very instinct to survive, pronounced on the night of a new moon when he stole the rusted incense burner from his owner, long enough at least until he was, deservedly, beaten close to death for his thievery. With what should have been his last breath, he called forth the genie of lore and wished for life—no, so much more than that...for all the pain and humiliation he'd endured, for the blood his body expelled and subsequently soaked onto the muddied streets of this wretched, accursed town, he had yearned and begged for immortality.

With hardly a word to affirm Yuuichirou's wish, the genie named Mikaela solemnly granted him the desire of his heart, his omnipotent power swirling around his frail, human body, transforming him into a being that was the closest a mortal could ever hope to reach in the imitation—the very concept of a god.

In retrospect, it was a dastardly foolish wish, done out of pure instinct. For who would ever find pleasure in an everlasting existence, denied the bliss of death, to never have the chance to ride the wheel of reincarnation?

And yet in spite of that, wishing for the genie to take away his immortality would have been even more foolish, so he had no choice but to confront his own fate, journeying along the path of infinite perpetuity, a mindless existence, until years and decades and centuries had passed in the blink of an eye, before one day, he finally made up his mind for his second wish.

As it turned out, his genie was not the cold, unfeeling creature he thought him to be in the beginning. He was playful, mischievous even—and when they witnessed the dawn of the 19th century, as they silently observed the transformation of this small island country become a burgeoning empire for the ages to come, he had the good and wise sense to advise his master that mayhaps—it was time to properly consider his second wish.

"Are you getting tired of me?" Yuu had asked, laying his head on the genie's naked chest, idly drawing circles around his rib cage, not willing to meet his eyes. It was a sensitive topic between them, mostly on his part, of course, simply for the fact that he did now know what to wish for. Four hundred years of contemplation certainly didn't give him any answers, and he wandered all over Japan, trying to look for it, to no avail. A human who has lived for hundreds of years, he had no earthly desires, save perhaps the constant, familiar company of his genie and whatever pleasures there were that did exist, he already experienced them all.

Besides, after the dreadful mistake with his first wish, a small part of him was frightened of the consequences that his second wish would wrought.

The genie shook his head, wrapping his arms around the other boy's waist, before he pulled the covers around them to keep away the evening chill. "Not at all. On the contrary, you have managed to keep my fascination throughout these long years. I could even say I'd be quite lost without you."

Yuuichirou chuckled, placing a kiss on top of the genie's breast, travelling his way upwards to his collarbone, to the shell of his ear. "Are you in earnest?"

"Do you believe my words are intended for jesting?" the blond replied back cryptically, softly returning his lover's kiss. "If you do not want to make your second wish now, you have only need to say so. I'll not push any further."

Yuuichirou shook his head, letting out a contented sigh as he shifted slightly against the genie's form, entwining their legs together. "No, for once...I'll heed your advice. I have thought about it, to speak truth. When I am ready, I shall declare it."

A lie, but a calculated one, nonetheless.

"And if I may ask...what shall I grant you?"

"I want to move about freely in this world...without the restraints of borders or conflicts or lands that have nothing to do with me. I want to go beyond Japan...if I could, I'd want to travel even to the stars themselves."

Spoken on a whim, the stark, brutal truth.

Mikaela nodded solemnly, taking his master's sacred words to heart, placing a kiss on Yuu's forehead as he pulled him closer. "Absolute freedom, then. If that indeed be the case, you only need command me, and it is yours."

The other boy nodded sleepily afterwards, wrapping his arms around the genie's waist. And thus, for the rest of the night, there were no more talk of wishes.

______________________________

And travel they did, to the prosperous Americas, to the blood-soaked streets of Europe, the exotic lands of the Balkan states. He travelled to and fro, taking in the sights, learning languages, eating strange foods, marveling as technology advanced before their very eyes. For a time, he kept himself and his genie entertained, observed humanity in the eyes of one who was subservient to them, and the other, whom was at once mortal and a parody of the gods.

It wasn't until another two hundred years later that the reality had hit him hard, far worse than he could have ever imagined in his nightmares.

He was down to his last and final wish. His beacon of understanding, the one thing in this long, limitless life that had given him his purpose; the very notion of the wishes themselves had become his life philosophy, more so than what it could have ever granted him. And strange how that was, how one moment he was idly living his life and in the next, facing the greatest trial he'd ever come across.

How transient...how utterly whimsical time could be, the one foe he'll never defeat, despite his prolonged life.

"Tell me, Mika...what should I wish for this one last time?" he asked one day, looking out into the Mediterranean sea from their hotel room in Venice, his jade-colored eyes vivid with life.

"My darling, I cannot influence your decision. You alone must decide."

"Then let me rephrase my question...without hint of bias and acknowledging the fact that I am trapped in this immortal shell, what do my wishes come down to?"

Mikaela let out a sad, empty smile, walking over to his master and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, breathing in his scent, reminding him of the acacia flowers that once bloomed in his homeland, eons ago. "At last my love, t'would seem that you have realized your true predicament."

"I have been a fool...such a fool..."

The blond shook his head, bringing Yuu's hand to his lips, closing his eyes worshipfully. "It comes down to two choices, inamorato."

"And what do they entail...?"

"You either choose to free me...or bind me. My fate is in your hands, as it has always been, as it always will be."

At this point, Yuuichirou's tears were flowing freely, unrestrained. How long has it been, he wondered, since he had cried so heartily, to feel the cathartic release that his tears could offer.

From the instant his body had felt Mikaela's power flowing through him, blessing him with the gift (curse) of undeath, Yuu had always known his final wish.

"Then my beloved, from this day onwards, you will cease to be my genie, and instead..."

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#365daysofmikaandyuu #mikayuu #yuumika #yuumikayuu #drabble

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agrestenoir · 6 years

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brand new eyes (a cholya fic)

Title: brand new eyes Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug Pairing/Characters: Alya/Chloe Summary: Chloe didn’t mean to fall in love with Alya. It happens anyway. Notes: commission for the wonderful kaligulas Word Count: 1990 words

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Chloe doesn’t remember falling in love with Alya.

If anything, there’s just a moment when they’re sitting next to each other, and Chloe looks up, catching sight of Alya against the backdrop of the Parisian sunset, and suddenly the world turns quiet. I love you, she thinks as she stares at her, all wind-kissed cheeks and wide eyes from their race through the city. I love you, and I always have.

ii.

It starts with photography, of all things.

Managing the Ladyblog has turned into more of a chore than a hobby, and even as she fights to write about her experiences or vlog about the latest events, Alya just can’t seem to meet the demands of her fan following. Chloe should know, as she stalks the blog on the regular to learn more about her favorite superheroes and has browsed through the hundreds of comments left on every post. For as good as she is, Alya’s only talent comes from writing. Her videos and poor quality of pictures do not appease the fans, and Chloe is tired of waiting for the light to click on for the journalist.

“I’ve gotta do everything myself,” Chloe grumbles as she perches on the corner of the rooftop of the Le Grand Paris. With the downward trend Alya’s been going on, Chloe knows the blog might be at risk for deletion, and Chloe Bourgeois will absolutely not stand to see her favorite blog be taken down; where else would she get her primetime Ladybug content?

It’s clear Alya needs her.

Camera in hand, she scans the Paris skyline until she locks on two forms in the distance, whipping around buildings on a yo-yo string and vaulting over chimneys with a baton. She waits until they’re in view, the image sharp and in focus, and she snaps a quick photo. Before Ladybug and Chat Noir can disappear, she takes a dozen or so more pictures, and once satisfied, she uploads them to a flash drive.

The next day, Chloe hands Alya the flash drive without a word of explanation. “Thought you could use this,” she tells the blogger. “You need all the help you can get honestly. I don’t know how you’ve survived this long without me.”

For the next week, Alya displays the photographs on the front page of the Ladyblog. Once she’s run out of photographs, Alya asks Chloe for some more, and for some odd reason, the blonde agrees and submits more pictures the next morning.

They never speak more than a few murmurs of Alya’s gratitude and Chloe’s quiet appreciation for the Ladyblog.

iii.

Chloe takes on the reign of Queen Bee when the call for help arises, joining Ladybug and Chat Noir on the city rooftops as they defend Paris from evil and the rest of the melodrama that comes with being a teenage superhero. When Rena Rouge joins up, it gives her someone to rely on. Both are new, fumbling through the steps of a dance that Ladybug and Chat Noir have long since mastered. They spend long nights on the Paris streets, learning their powers and each other, because if Ladybug and Chat Noir are partners, then they need to be too.

If she must provide a concrete answer as to why she accepted the job, Chloe chooses to blame duty. So here she stands, duty-bound and driven, just like her father to mayor Paris, just like Ladybug and Chat Noir to protect people, just like Alya to run the Ladyblog…

If there’s one thing she’s learned over the past few months helping Alya run the Ladyblog, it’s that sometimes she really is the only one who can do it. People depend on people like her, and who is she to turn away when they need her? She is the only reason Paris remains standing half the time anyway.

The only downside of spending so much time as Queen Bee is that she can’t provide pictures of the heroes for Alya as frequently as before.

It hurts her, more deeply than it should have, when Alya corners her after class one day and asks hesitantly, almost unsure, “Are you going to send me anymore pictures?”

What is Chloe supposed to say? I became a superhero and don’t have the time. Sorry, loser, but you’re on your own?

The Ladyblog is Alya’s reason, her lifeblood—something she’s spent hours and days and months crafting to perfection. Chloe knows this, and somehow through matters she hadn’t meant to spur into play, Alya has given her a piece of it too.

“No, of course not,” Chloe tells her, waving her hand in a flippant gesture in front of Alya’s face. “My camera broke, I’m getting a new one. You don’t need to be so demanding.”

Alya bits her bottom lip. “Thank you.”

Chloe freezes, and a soft smile slowly stretches across her face. “What’re friends for, Cesaire?”

Chloe brings her camera to the next patrol, much to Ladybug’s protest, but she doesn’t care. After becoming Queen Bee, Ladybug has lost her charm as an idol, and is now resigned to a teammate, an ally, a somewhat annoying friend that Chloe’s grown to care for. After they finish patrol, Chloe begs the rest of her team to stick around so that she could gather a few snapshots for “a friend”. Rena Rouge is more than happy to help, Ladybug a bit begrudgingly agrees, and Chat Noir laughs and asks who the “lucky lady” is.

Chloe kicks him off the top of the Eiffel Tower.

“So a ‘lucky lady?’” Rena Rouge teases, nudging Chloe with her elbow. “You in love, Bee?”

“Something like that,” Chloe tells her honestly. After snapping a few more shows, she sits down on a metal beam, legs hooking around one of the struts, and clicks through the images, letting out an appreciate hum.

Rena Rouge swings down beside her, grasping the metal strut to keep her balance on the beam. “Can I see them?” she asks, referring to Chloe’s pictures.

Chloe pauses, camera clasped tight in her hands, and tries to form a proper response. Her photography, unlike much of what she does, isn’t something she broadcasts to the rest of the world. What she gives Alya for the Ladyblog is pieces she’s critically gone over and edited to the best of her ability. She’s never let anyone see the raw footage before.

But the look on Rena Rouge’s face, like she actually cares about what Chloe does, seals the deal.

“Knock yourself out,” she says, handing Rena Rouge her camera. Shoulders tense, she watches warily for the other hero’s reaction because Chloe Bourgeois refuses to sit idly by if she’s just going to be torn down. “I already know they’re good though.”

Rena Rouge accepts the camera with a murmur of thanks, an eager smile stretching across her face. Chloe watches the smile slowly fade, lips dropping in a small oh of surprise, as Rena Rouge studies the picture, a stupid sunset full of purples and pinks. It’s something Chloe could’ve taken in her sleep, just a boring old scenic shot that anyone with a camera could capture, and it cries mournfully into the late evening air.

A laugh falls from Rena Rouge. “These are… unbelievable.” By now, Ladybug and Chat Noir have joined them, perched on either side as they stare at Chloe’s pictures. “These are… You’re really talented.”

“I know,” Chloe says because she feels like she has to, but inside something burns deep. She hopes Alya feels the same way.

Rena Rouge rests a soft hand on Chloe’s shoulder. “These are really good. Trust me, I know a photographer who’d say the same thing. Your friend is going to love these.”

Numbly, Chloe takes the camera back from Rena Rouge. “I hope so,” she murmurs, voice low and rough. “I hope so.”

She just wants Alya to like them.

(She just wants Alya to like her).

iv.

When she presents the photographs to Alya the next day, the other girl wastes no time in hooking them up to her laptop and uploading them to the Ladyblog. “Thanks, girl. People have been asking for these all week.”

“People can wait for perfection,” Chloe says, not unkindly, and sits on the edge of the desk, waiting for Alya’s reaction. It’s the first time she snapped photos up close, and she’s eager to hear what the other girl has to say. “They’re a little different…”

There’s silence as Alya looks at the pictures. Her eyes flicker between the laptop screen and Chloe as she struggles to form a sentence. “Do you know… I mean, how did you…”

“Are they that bad?” Chloe asks, cocking her head.

Alya stares at her then, really stares at her. “Are you….” Voice lowering into a whisper, she asks, “Are you Queen Bee?”

There’s silence once more, and the only sound is each other’s heart beats, banging in their chests from the shock and revelations. “W-What?” Chloe laughs. “That’s a stupid thing to say. What makes you think I’d be a superhero?”

“Because I’ve seen these before,” Alya hisses. “I saw them last night when Queen Bee was taking them.”

Chloe’s breath catches in her throat. “You’re Rena—”

“I’m the friend,” Alya says with growing horror. “I’m the friend you were taking the pictures for, your lucky lady, oh god, oh god, you like me—” Hysteria is slowly setting in, and Chloe can hear it in the growing panic of Alya’s voice.

She acts on the first thought that enters her mind.

She reaches forward, cups Alya’s jaw, and kisses her to shut her up.

It works.

Alya’s lips are warm, and after the shock, she begins to kiss back and that is not what Chloe’s intention was, but who is she to argue? After a few moments of silence, of kisses and revelations, they pull away and sit back in their seats in the empty classroom.

“You’re Queen Bee,” Alya repeats in awe, shock still filtering through her. “You like me.”

Chloe can only shrug. “Yes,” she says. “To all of the above.”

Back on the Eiffel Tower, donning the masks and camera, Alya leans against Chloe’s chest as they stare out over the slumbering city. “What made you like me anyway?” she asks curiously. “We used to hate each other.”

Chloe shrugs against the cool metal pressing into her back. “I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “I guess, in the beginning, you needed me, and… somewhere along the lines, I realized I needed you too. You sort of gave me… a reason, I guess? I actually wouldn’t have agreed to be Queen Bee if it wasn’t for you.”

Alya perks up, gaze resting on Chloe. “Really?”

Chloe smiles because she know shoe easy it had been for Alya to slip on the mask. “Yeah,” she tells her, “You taught me a few things about duty. I couldn’t say no after that.”

“Well I’m glad,” Alya says, resting her head in the crook of Chloe’s neck, pressing her nose against the warm skin. “It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

“Yeah,” Chloe echoes. “It wouldn’t.”

Together, they watch the lights blink out in the city as people turn in for the night, but they choose to stay on the Eiffel Tower, long after patrol. Pressed against each other, together at last, Chloe tries to imagine her life without Alya. The truth is, though, she can’t. And somehow that’s the most important thing.

I love you, she thinks. You changed my life, and I love you for that.

Someday, she knows she’ll tell Alya, but for now, she’s content to just to hold onto the other girl.

She has all the time in the world.

#miraculous ladybug #cholya #chloe #alya #ml fic #my writing #my fic

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feministandthefairytale · 7 years

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grieving the living

I have been driving through the streets of self-discovery for almost a decade. Each month, each year peels away another layer of revelation that I suppose the universe thinks I’m ready to handle.

In my decade of work I’ve tried to understand why I am the way I am, and why I have chosen, and now choose to live the way I do. What made me an alcoholic? Or now an introverted, shy, bookish nerd? What makes me love fitness? Why do I have such a dynamic relationship with my children? And for the sake of this blog; why do I struggle with intimate, romantic love?

Realizing that so much of this originates with our parental relationships isn’t surprising. The way we interacted as children with our parents will determine our course of action and interpersonal capacity moving into adolescence and adulthood.

When I got sober part of that work was recognizing that I made so many mistakes as a result of my drinking that it damaged relationships. Part of getting sober was owning my part of that and being accountable and available to mend relationships. I did that. I gained a universe of freedom.

As I continued to stumble through adulthood though, now sober, now doing my best impersonation of a good girl, I was hitting some old familiar road blocks. These roadblocks took me back to childhood. Back to trying too hard for affection, and consistency, and predictability in my parental relationships. Trying to be good, and do good, in order to gain love.

As I have more perspective now than I did at 8, I can recognize that I have always lived in fear of not being good enough just as I am. If it wasn’t enough to hold the attention of my parents as a child, it surely wouldn’t work in adulthood, regardless of effort.

I’ve cut ties with a parent. A living parent. And this has been a freeing, yet horrifically painful experience.

Leaving my childhood where it stands, back in the 1980′s, where it belongs is well and good. Reliving the same behaviours in 2017, more conscious and aware of the recourse of others’ actions in my life, I am able to say no.

No more will I try to fit into a life where there is no room for me. No longer will I sit idly by while you text, and half listen, and forget that my presence holds meaning. No more will I allow you to rob me of the feelings of worth I try so desperately to repair, the worth that got trampled in the 1980′s, in acid wash jeans, aqua-net bangs, and over-sized sweatshirts. The battle was over then, and to continue fighting it diminishes even further, the value of the woman I’ve become, in spite of it all.

To grieve a living parent and the death of the power they have had over the way I’ve lived is overwhelmingly sad. But it’s also the most impactful way to solidify how I feel about myself. I am a motherfucking badass. I will be available and vulnerable and attentive to the people I love, because a title means nothing. Showing up matters more than what you’re called.

The grief will lessen. The sadness will pass. The effects of knowing that I’ve had enough of being an afterthought and value myself too much to continue to do so will carry me forward.

I am a warrior.

#strong women #creative writing #feminist writing #family #relationships #dating #love #communication #spilled ink #prose #text #text post #journaling #companionship #growth #grief #boundaries

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rosywrites · 7 years

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Songs of the Court, CH 1: Their Arrival

Title: Songs of the Court (Royal AU) By: ArisuChanSenpai (Visit my blog for AO3 link!) Fandom: League of Legends Ship: Jhin x Sona

Servants ready to serve on command. Cooks with the finest cuisine they know. Gardeners to keep the imperial garden overflowing with flowers and trees of all size and colors. Scholars and ministers containing the knowledge of thousands of books. Concubines filling quiet halls with knowing giggles.

Jhin never took a liking to it all. Perhaps when he was a young child, yes, but now, that youthful eagerness was replaced with a reserved aversion.

Their words said one thing, but their hearts said another. Their desires were too loud. Overwhelming his own thoughts to the point he mostly shut himself in the quiet confines of his room, the one place in this palace where he could have time to himself. He hated that so much. He used to like wandering the halls and relaxing in the vast ballroom that was usually empty except during banquets.

But he couldn’t have that leisure anymore. It was so, so frustrating not being able to go outside his room without being followed by an unassigned servant or a concubine who had “wandered” by.

He sighed into his pillow as he gazed out the tall window by his bed. It was such a nice day today, but he just didn’t want to go outside knowing what will happen. He could sneak out again like the few times he had out of frustration, but his last attempt had the whole palace looking for him in a panic. He didn’t want that happening again. His train of thoughts was interrupted when a humble knock sounded from his door and the soft creak of it opening.

“Are you doing alright, son?” His father, the king of Ionia, poked his head in with concern in his voice. “You haven’t been showing yourself in the palace recently.”

“I’m fine,” he lied.

His father approached his bed. “I can tell when you’re lying, you know. Your answers stop becoming elaborate when something is bothering you.”

Curse his father’s perceptiveness. He couldn’t brush off the topic now. “I’m tired, of everyone trying to coddle me or get something out of me at every corner I turn. I’m sure you know, since you went through it also.”

“You’re the crown prince. You can choose to send them away for good if you so wish.”

“You expect me to send everyone in this palace back home just because I can’t handle their actions? That’s rather short-sighted of a prince, don’t you think?” He sat up to meet his father’s eyes. “Father, all I want is more time to myself when I set foot out of this room. Haven’t you ever noticed that I’m always surrounded or followed by people everywhere I go? And I don’t mean the servants.”

“I assumed you didn’t mind it since you never said a word about them.”

“I do. I always have. But I can’t get angry at them when they don’t even cross the line.” His shoulders drooped in defeat. “I can’t go a minute without someone other than a servant trying to get something out of me. Even when I tell them I would like time to myself, they still follow me to see what I’m doing.”

His father gazed at him in worry. He didn’t realize his son was so depressed about the lack of personal time to himself. He made a quiet decision to keep an eye on the people surrounding Jhin to take that matter into his own hands. “Is there anything you’d like me to do?” he asked out of courtesy.

Jhin shook his head. “Leave it be. There aren’t many people in this palace in the first place. They may be a tad bit meddlesome, but they do their job well.”

“Alright. If you ever want something, don’t hesitate to tell me, son.”

“I’ll do so.”

“Why don’t you come with me for lunch this time?”

Jhin hesitated. But he looked up with an accepting smile. “That would be nice.” He followed his father out the door, nodding his head to the servants who bowed at his presence.

His father straightened his lips into a line and hardened his gaze the moment he stepped out the doorway. He held a palm out to stop the servants who tried to follow them. “There is no need to follow us this time. My son will be accompanying me to lunch alone, and you will relay this message to anyone who wander these halls.”

The servants deeply bowed their heads in acknowledgement. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” They remained by Jhin’s door to guard it from any other members of the royal palace.

Jhin watched in amazement. Every time his father would give orders, he would do it with such a strong commanding aura. He could never understand how to do it himself. “How do you do it, father?”

“When you’ve been king for years, you learn what looks can oblige them into executing your orders.” The warm and soft expression Jhin has always known returned to his father’s features immediately as he chuckled. “You’ll learn how to do it eventually. You’re still young.”

“I suppose so…”

It wasn’t until a week later his father summoned Jhin to the throne room out of the blue. Jhin, not knowing what his father was up to this time, followed his servants to the room, where most residents of the palace gathered in the sidelines with soldiers guarding the entrances. Four beautifully-dressed women with instruments in their possession sat idly on cushions on the floor.

The sight took him a moment to take it in. He hadn’t seen so many people in one room since… since her passing. He cautiously stepped around the line of soldiers standing before the king and sat on his throne. “Father, what’s going on?” he whispered curiously.

“You shall see, my son.” His father raised his hands to gain everyone’s attention. “I have gathered you here today to introduce you to our newly-appointed court musicians. I have had my men search all over the country for the best musician of each village. After a few more trials, we have chosen these four for their skill and style in music. They have each brought a song of their people for us to hear.” He gestured to the two musicians in the front. “I believe yours is a collaboration, from what I’ve read in the reports.”

One was a woman with black hair and fox ears holding a lute-like instrument, while the other had deep blue hair with bird-like feathers as ears holding two little hammers over a flat, stringed instrument. “Yes, Your Majesty. I have also brought a dancer with us to further enhance the performance,” the blue one announced. Another bird-like man with golden hair stepped out of the sidelines and gave a graceful bow to the king.

“We are Ahri, Xayah, and Rakan of the Vastaya,” the fox one stated. “Please enjoy this song we have chosen to share with you a piece of our culture.” The three looked at each other with a nod and started their song with a loud, great chord and continued on with an upbeat melody as Rakan danced while tapping a beat on a drum by his hip. Golden light danced around him with each step.

The servants and concubines clapped to the music in joy, some of them even dancing with each other or imitating Rakan.

“Yeah, now you got it!” Rakan excitedly commented on one servant’s mimicry of his dance as he twirled with his bird-like cloak swaying in the air.

The throne room boomed with the applause of the awestruck audience when they ended. Jhin applauded also, having enjoyed their performance. He had always loved the arts, including music and dancing. He was tutored in such areas, but he never got to listen to others play what they learned.

The three bowed their heads. “We are humbled to be able to play this song for His Majesty and His Imperial Highness, and we thank you for this opportunity,” Ahri said. They moved to the back of the line to let the dark-violet-haired musician play her song next.

“My name is Soraka. I like to play what I call the songs of the stars that tell stories of constellations. For my performance today, I will play the song of the zodiac.” She straightened her back and pressed her lips against the mouthpiece of a reed instrument.

Soraka’s song seemed to immerse the room into a meditative state as her music seemed to pull them into another world that stars see. A world where the zodiac reigned over the stars and governed each cluster under their rule. A story of the mundane, but extraordinary duties of each constellation.

Some even swore they saw stardust glisten on her golden instrument. Impressed, the audience loudly clapped with whispers of awe and wonder. Jhin had to admit: he liked this one a little better. As much as appreciated all forms of music, he usually liked the ones with a calmer melody.

“Thank you for taking the time to listen to a song of the stars. I am humbled to be able to perform this song for everyone today.” She turned to walk to the back of the line but not without sending a reassuring smile to the last musician, who looked nervous, behind her.

The last musician breathed out and stood up from her cushion. The wooden, stringed-instrument suddenly moved and levitated from her lap without the use of her hands. It followed her every step as if it was held up by the air itself. Surprised whispers filled the room as people laid eyes on her mysterious instrument. She deeply bowed for a moment before raising her head and hovering her hands over the strings.

She started with a slow tempo, her fingers trickling a soft melody like a lullaby. The audience let out sighs, feeling themselves relax and sway to her music. It reminded Jhin of a past time. A song of a woman long gone who would hum for him, when he bolted awake from nightmares, to lull him back to sleep with visions of flowers that glowed in the night.

Every lingering pause in her song made the audience keep wanting more, to hear the nostalgia in their memories. Her music then closed on a continuous stream of notes until they slowed down beat by beat. She ended it with a soft pluck of a chord.

The throne room was silent. The audience took a brief moment to take in her music before their soft applause turned louder and louder by the second.

The musician cupped her hands and bowed once more. She remained in that posture a little longer before she straightened her back and moved behind the line without a word, her strange actions causing a few to raise their brows.

Jhin’s eyes slightly narrowed in confusion. She didn’t even say a word of gratitude for being chosen to play like everyone else, nor did she ever introduce herself in the beginning either, he realized. His eyes glanced over to his father, who hadn’t said anything regarding her impudence and smiled her actions away.

“Fantastic, all of you! I’m more than overjoyed to see that we have such gifted musicians in this palace. We welcome you, and I hope you enjoy your time here.” All musicians bowed, thanking His Majesty once more. On his orders, they approached the throne after he dismissed everyone else from the room. He gestured to Jhin. “I would like to introduce you to my son. He is the Crown Prince, Jhin. You will be mostly under his authority to play something for him whenever he would like.”

That wasn’t something he agreed to, but he didn’t want to impolitely deny it in front of the musicians. But to have court musicians in the palace did sound nice. Their music could lift the deafening atmosphere that he hated for so long.

“A pleasure to meet you, Your Imperial Highness,” Ahri greeted with a smile as Xayah and Rakan bowed alongside her.

“Please feel free to call us anytime you would like to listen to our music to soothe your troubles,” Soraka added. “I hope our services will be of use to you.”

Jhin felt his eyes stray to the brown-haired musician who winced at his gaze. “I don’t believe I got your name.”

The girl’s lips parted as if she was going to say something, but his father suddenly wrapped an arm around Jhin’s shoulder and pat it. “Now, now, we can have proper introductions later. I’m sure you’re all tired from your long journey, especially you Vastayans. Jhin and the servants can show you around the palace and your chambers, so please take care to follow their lead.”

Soraka cupped her hands together by her face. “That would be lovely. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Go on your way now. I have matters to take care of.” He let the servants take the new court musicians outside of the throne room first before turning to Jhin. “What do you think? I’ve been wanting to cheer you up since last week.”

“Is this what you’ve been planning the last few days? I was wondering why I didn’t see you often recently.”

His father grinned with a hearty laugh. “I wanted to make sure we got the best musicians to give this palace a little more “zazz”, as you always say. I also thought the last two musicians suit your preference in music.”

“The Vastayans are more suited for banquets or dances, but I did enjoy their music too.” Jhin’s brows furrowed after a pause. “Father, who is that brown-haired—”

A knock on the opposite side of the room interrupted his sentence. The doors opened to a woman in green and a man in blue. “Your Majesty. Your Imperial Highness. Forgive me for the interruption, but the ministers have finally gathered and are awaiting your arrival.”

“Ah, Karma. General Shen. Thank you for the notice. I was about to leave after having a chat with my son. I wouldn’t want to keep them waiting. Tell them I will be there within a minute. As for you, General Shen, I will listen to your report on the way, so stay right there.”

Karma bowed her head before turning to leave the throne room. Shen remained by the door, waiting. He sent Jhin a greeting smile, Jhin sending his own smile back.

“Don’t let me hold you back. I’ll be going.” Jhin sent Shen an acknowledging nod before going through the opposite doors to join the court musicians. “My apologies for the wait. Let us get going.” He followed behind the group as the servants guided them around the palace. He synced his steps with one of the Vastayans in front of him to silence his presence as much as possible.

“Your Imperial Highness, His Majesty told us that you are interested in music and dancing,” Ahri said, turned to him. “Do you play and dance as well?”

There it was. “Yes. I was tutored by many in several genres of music and dances.”

“You perform too, then?” Rakan asked.

“Rakan, politely. We’re in front of the Crown Prince,” Ahri quietly reminded.

Jhin didn’t mind as much and brushed it off. “I only perform at banquets or during lessons.”

“So… Do you have ballrooms you practice in?” Xayah asked curiously.

A pause. Sighing, Jhin answered, “Yes. There is a ballroom when you turn left at the end of this hallway. It’ll be the last door you see on your right.”

Xayah gasped as she looked at Rakan. “They have a ballroom, baby! Isn’t that great?”

“When was the last time we were able to dance somewhere as grand as a ballroom?”

“Uh, never.”

“First time for everything, right?” The two giggled as Ahri rolled her eyes.

Fantastic. There went one place he liked to hide in from the peering eyes of the palace. He found his relaxing spots dwindling one by one when Ahri asked the whereabouts of his room. “My room is, as obvious as it should be, prohibited. No one is allowed entry unless it is assigned servants or the king.”

“Aw, that’s a shame,” Ahri sang.

Jhin remained silent, not wanting to give Ahri a response to the implication in her voice.

They arrived to a door that opened to a large room that could fit eight. Two communal restrooms sat on opposite sides of the room. “This will be your chambers. We have already put your luggage inside. Mattresses and blankets have already been provided for you in separate closets also.” The servant glanced at Rakan, who cluelessly looked at her back. “Should, should we find…?”

“No, no, no need. He won’t be bothering anybody,” Xayah cut in, firmly adding in, “I’m sure no one will mind.”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. I’m an early bird anyways.” Rakan snickered. “Get it?”

Xayah and Ahri rolled their eyes at his word play and moved into the room. Soraka and the other musician exchanged smiles and followed them inside to unpack their luggage. Jhin stood by the outside of their chambers, making sure there would be no problem before he decided to separate from the group.

“Seeing everything has been handled well, I shall be taking my leave. You are free to wander around wherever you’d like, except for guarded rooms, and you are allowed to play music for anyone else at their request. I will not limit your music to only me.” He pursed his lips at a thought. “I suppose… I will call you, should the need arise. Farewell.” He turned to leave until he felt a hand tugging at his sleeve.

It was the brown-haired musician. Her hand immediately flinched away with realization on her face. Her features contorted into shame, and she deeply bowed in apology.

“Is there something you need?”

She opened her mouth as if to say something, but she pursed her lips and shook her head. She bowed again with an apologetic face.

“Well then. I will take my leave.” Jhin left in slight confusion at her puzzling actions. He went to wander the palace alone, having ordered the servants to leave him be for now. He hoped there was no other court officials nearby to make pointless small talk to try to get something out of him. He ended up leaving the inner palace to the outer court, where he spotted Shen sparring with another general, Zed. When the two spotted him approaching, they stopped and bowed. “Shen. Zed. I didn’t interrupt, did I?”

“No, we were just practicing,” Shen reassured. “The court musicians must have come as a surprise to you, didn’t it? Your father ordered us to keep quiet, so I couldn’t tell you.”

“I would have, if Shen didn’t force me to keep my mouth shut.” Zed moved an inch away to evade a nudge from Shen. “So, Jhin, how do you feel about those musicians? We had to search all over the country just to find them.”

Shen and Zed, his most trusted aides and generals of the military, friends since childhood. All three had their differences, but they eventually grew to be an inseparable force together.

“They’re… nice, I suppose,” Jhin started. “I’m not sure how to feel about them yet, especially since father is putting them under my command. I’m not even sure if I want them to be under my command, so I told them they’re free to do as they please as long as they follow the orders of the palace.”

The generals exchanged looks. “Are they like those people ?”

“One tried. I made a mental note to try avoiding her, if possible. Otherwise, they’re nothing like those people.” He leaned against a wooden post with crossed arms. “The bird-like Vastayans seem like they’ll be using the ballroom often, so that’s off my list of places to hide.”

“You should have told them not to go in there, you coward.”

“Zed,” Shen called through gritted teeth.

“What? I’m not wrong.”

Jhin sighed. “Strangely enough.”

“Hey!”

Shen and Jhin couldn’t help but let a snicker escape them. “I’m sure you’ll get used to it, Jhin. As long as you’re assertive, they’ll know not to step out of line.” Shen shrugged. “Besides, you know you’re not supposed to be hiding or escaping your duties. Don’t you remember the last time that happened?”

“Yes, yes, everyone thought I was kidnapped because my window happened to be open, so they were all told to look for me, when I was in the back of the ballroom the entire time. I get it.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s still not going to stop me. You both know it.”

“Unfortunately,” they both agreed.

“You want to take a go at sparring with us? We got plenty of time to kill since we’re getting a break after all that searching,” Zed suggested.

Jhin shrugged. “Why not? Hand me a sword.”

#league of legends #jhin x sona #jhin #sona #royal au #rosywrites #songs of the court

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hiddenpuncher · 7 years

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My First Game Jam: Winter 2017

Here we go again!

Over the next two weeks (January 7th - January 21st) I'll be making a game for My First Game Jam: Winter 2017. This will actually be my second game jam, so please, nobody call the police. In spite of the title, the jam invites complete beginners and experienced programmers alike, so long as the latter try something new. I'm still a beginner, but I'll honour that agreement and strive to try new things this time around. Aside from learning new things and making a new kind of game, one of those new things I'll be trying is to keep a development blog. This will be it.

The first game I made was "Boyle and Bubble" a very short little SHMUP for GBJAM 5, which spanned the first ten days of October 2016. It's incredibly simple, but I learned a lot in creating and finishing it; I'd fooled around a little with prototypes before, but never "released" anything that could be called a game. Before I get started on this next game I'd like to take note of what I learned in my first game jam, and keep it in mind going forward.

No matter what, just start

Get going! Boyle and Bubble grew really organically, and I'm not sure if this is because I got very lucky, or if I it was because I didn't have any grand designs in mind to begin with, and just played around and let it happen. I built a game around realistic restrictions I observed about my own skill and the conditions of the jam; the art had to be simple, I am terrible at making engines for platformers, and it had to feel like something that could have existed on the Game Boy. It also helped that GBJAM 5 happened to fall in the run up to Hallowe'en, so there were a lot of pumpkins and ghouls and skellies flying around social media. I realised a SHMUP would make movement easier on me, and I idly started to pixel a small cutesy witch.

From that point, everything came together pretty simply -- a witch typically has a cauldron and casts spells, so the enemies became elemental, and the player had to mix up elements in her cauldron to come up with new magic. Granted, this is an incredibly simple premise, and it didn't birth a ground-breaking new type of gameplay, but going in without a colossal set of expectations and goals was really liberating. There was only a week to work with, and a simple concept like that seemed to work.

Releasing feels good

Most of the reason I'm taking part in this jam, aside from to learn something new, is quite frankly to release something, and get that buzz. I still have lots of prototypes lying around, but since the end of GBJAM 5 I've been committed to working on a new game that I think has a manageable scope that I still know will take me a good deal of time to complete. Sometimes I can feel myself burning out working on it, and I'm eager to find reasons to go back and work on other projects -- maybe now I know this, I can do this better, or maybe so-and-so project didn't fail that badly, if I just try something like this... So a game jam is a great compromise. A set period of time when I can focus on something outwith my long term project, and happily draw a line under it when the deadline comes around. I'll get back to my larger project, but I'll have that wonderful Game Finished And Released feeling.

Plan small, and then resmallerise it

Talking about the size of my current project brings me to the next point - size. Planning simple and planning small are key. Certain ideas lend themselves better to jams than others. Boyle and Bubble in some ways suited a jam really well, but less so in others. In the game you can play now, there's a singular level, but I spent so much of the week programming and making consistent the elemental combination system and plugging in all the different spells that I didn't have time to build all the levels and enemies and bosses necessary to showcase those spells. All of that code exists in the game, but playing through the only level on offer, you'll never see it. I had to settle for letting you choose to use two elements separately, or combine them depending on the circumstances. My plan was small going in, but even so, planning smaller still wouldn't have hurt.

Prototype core mechanics first

This is going to seem like a silly thing to even have to say, but I have to say it, if only to myself. I talked about how Boyle and Bubble grew organically from the restrictions and spriting the player character, but even that was probably a mistake. It helped that the Game Boy limitations meant my art was never going to have to be super complex, but a square box would have suited for pretty much every enemy in the game until much later.

More importantly, Boyle and Bubble had no failure condition for the majority of development, so "playtesting" really was just to see if enemies behaved according to plan. The player couldn't take damage from enemies or projectiles, so there was no incentive to move evasively -- a pretty core mechanic in a SHMUP, second only arguably to, you know, "shooting 'em up". Since there was no threat, playing the game only began to feel like actually 'playing a game' much later. I floated through the levels and saw how movement patterns worked and how projectiles behaved, but the feel of the game was missing for a long time. Had I been playtesting with player death for a great deal more of the development, the game might have felt very, very different earlier on, and probably for the better. The simplest form of the final game is what should be built first.

Budget time around the smallest features with the biggest impact

Hit points! Damn it! Closer to the deadline for GBJAM 5, I started doing my best to budget my time accordingly. With two days to go, I was taking a look at my "development log" (notepad file filled with annotations like "FIX!!" and "this is bad, probably do this like this") and being pretty brutal about what to cut and what to prioritise. It's the reason why the game only features one level, limited enemies, attacks, etc. But even though this was good practice, I still managed to goof colossally.

With about 20 minutes until the deadline and the itch.io page all filled out and ready for the upload, I was almost finished, but had to choose between two things to finish. I'd wanted for a while to program in a three-hit HP system to make the game a little more lenient, but I also had no way to round the game out. There was a boss, and he had an attack cycle, and you could defeat him and he blew up, but then nothing happened. I knew what should happen -- Boyle should glide slowly over to the right of the screen, her adventure complete, fade to black, credits roll. That's how a game should end. So that's what I did. I shelved the HP system ("hey, at least the player can die and restart") and plugged in a way to take control from the player after the boss is defeated, float them over to the right side of the screen, and whipped up a quick credits reel. Boyle hovers up top and waves to you as the names scroll up, and then it boots you to the main menu. Fine! Good. But this was a mistake.

Considering how few people played the game, it really couldn't afford to turn people off quickly. Getting hit by an enemy and being told to restart is a pretty good way to lose patience with a game, I think, and not only that but the threat of taking damage persisted through the level -- the credits sequence was good for a few moments at the end of the game. It wasn't a good trade-off. I don't know that anybody else ever saw them. Four of the five comments people kindly left as feedback for the game reference how unforgiving it was to have a one-hit kill mechanic in the game. One even notes that they were disheartened to die in one hit the moment they encountered the boss.

The ultimate gut-punch here is that on the day after the jam ended I opened the project file back up and carried on tinkering. I'd planned on taking a break, but I couldn't get out of the habit after a week of working on the game religiously. I knew the game should have the three HP system, even before the feedback, so I looked into it. It turned out to be incredibly simple, and took me less than ten minutes to implement.

Don't neglect sound

Another small feature that would have dramatically changed the game was sound. In the run up to the game jam I'd read or watched something (I regret I can't remember whose advice this was) where this point was stressed -- not to neglect sound, because it makes such a big difference. I knew this going in, and told myself that there might be no music, but I would at least have time to whip up a few sounds in BFXR. In the end I cut sound as something to accomplish, and I wish I hadn't -- I went to the trouble of adding particle effects and little explosions and a couple of animations that sound would have really spiced up, even without music.

I wasn't particularly concerned with "winning" GBJAM 5, but I was surprised how well the game did in a few categories (visuals especially), but you can see from a quick breakdown of the categories that having no sound really made a difference. The best score you can possibly honestly give for a game with no sound is a middling one -- that's taking a generous view, with the approach that "well the sound wasn't good or bad", but I think really the score you give to a game with no sound is the lowest possible score.

I deprioritised sound in order to play to my (relative) strengths. I knew I could just about program the game, and I can make very simple pixel art, but with sound, I have no experience. In some ways maybe this wasn't such a bad thing, but again, there's a catch; immediately after the jam ended, I was surprised that people actually approached me over social media offering to give the game a soundtrack. I had thought of working on the jam as such a personal project (and knew well enough people from all discipline's loathing of being asked to work for free, or worse, for "exposure") that I made peace with the idea that if I can't do it, it won't be in my game. The generosity of strangers really caught me off-guard.

Don't neglect your health, either

Budgeting time is important to get your game finished, but you have to budget the time in the day to keep yourself going, too. I made some duff decisions on what to cut from the game, but I think in some ways they were excusable because it meant I finished the game. But I cut time out of my routines outwith programming that simply aren't sustainable -- I stopped running for that week and ate very badly, because it was easier than taking time out to cook smart meals, and an hour out for a run was an hour I could spend bugfixing. I was glued to my screen, and pretty much the only social contact I had was a stalwart friend who was practically responsible for safeguarding my brain and keeping me sane as I stared at code for hours and hours on end. This was okay for a week, I think, but I don't plan on doing it again, even for just the two week span of MyFirstGameJam.

Game development fridge magnet wisdom is actually really, really good

If these nuggets all seem incredibly familiar, I'm sure it's because they have been expressed (much more effectively) in a hundred other lists like this. Derek Yu's "Finishing a Game" probably covers everything here and more, and it's all really great advice. His book on Spelunky was also really insightful and helpful to read. Following Tom Francis's development of both Gunpoint and Heat Signature and learning from his "Make A Game With No Experience" series and dev logs helped me a ton, too. I probably couldn't cite all the sources that I try to keep in mind when fiddling around with a little prototype -- the almost zen koan-status game design wisdom of Miyamoto Shigeru, that one Mega Man X Sequelitis episode, Mark Brown's really insightful Game Maker's Toolkit series, and so many others. All this is really just to say Take Advice From Smart People, You Dummy.

Show people your game, and talk to other people that make games

This was the #1 thing learned -- show off your game on social media, and find other people making games there too. I dislike a lot about social media platforms and what fills them, but I met so many amazing people that were super supportive, and offered advice and feedback. Also, as a complete novice, everyone was like a mentor to me, even if indirectly; watching much more experienced devs create amazing games alongside my own efforts was much less off-putting than I would have thought, and actually just inspiring. It was really gratifying for some reason to see titles I'd seen in development on Twitter (Bob&Dob! Soulstice! Zero Star! Noru! Monster Buds! Zipper League Hockey!) appear as fully-fledged games on-site on the final day. Also, to reiterate an earlier point, Twitter was the medium through which people offered to pitch in with sound and music post-release. People coming out of the wings to support you is amazing.

If nothing else, game jams are the ideal way to get as many hands as possible on your work. Boyle and Bubble has only been downloaded something like 40 or 50 times, but this is way more people than would ever have played my first game otherwise. Feedback is incredibly important to learn lots of important lessons early on in any discipline, and jams really foster that. That was fantastic to experience, and I'm looking forward to it again.

With that said, My First Game Jam: Winter 2017 is well underway, and I have lots to do. Next time I post, a brand new baby prototype will have been born.

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#gamedev #gaming #hiddenpuncher #boyleandbubble #gamejam #game jam #myfirstgamejam

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elizabethjournals · 6 years

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Self-care has become one of the most defining terms of the past five years. As more and more people have sought to reclaim their busy lives and center in on their health and well-being, self-care has risen to prominence in a way that has never been seen before.

Despite this widespread acknowledgment of the benefits of self-care, some people have yet to truly make a switch and embrace what self-care can offer them. One of the most common reasons for this is concerns about time. Often, self-care is described in terms that make it sound very time consuming — take the night off, go to a spa, read one book per week — and, sadly, some people just don’t have the free time available to allow for those behaviors.

[mailerlite_form form_id=37]

Thankfully, there are ways and means of embracing self-care without having to sacrifice half of your diary to the endeavor. Self-care, at its most basic, is about improving every day of your life in small, but noticeable and beneficial, ways. Below, you’ll find a few ideas for self-care fundamentals that can help give you the boost you need to finally be able to embrace self-care once and for all.

Opt For Basic Products That Bring You Joy

There are some things in life that we have to do every day, without fail— so why not make them as pleasant as possible? By choosing products that you use on a daily basis that genuinely make you happy, there’s a little moment of joy in even the simplest of functions. For example, choose your favorite fragrance for your bath melts, a softer towel to use to dry your hair after a shower, or a cute notepad to record your to-do list in. These little touches allow you to make even the most mundane of daily tasks that little more special. In so small a way that you wouldn’t even notice it from the outside, these are incremental improvements that will make your life better.

Go To Bed Half An Hour Earlier Than Normal

Sleep is perhaps the ultimate when it comes to self-care. We are all able to be the very best versions of ourselves when we have slept well, so “treating yourself” to an earlier bedtime can feel indulgent and luxurious, and have significant benefits for both your health and your mood. Take the time to ensure that your bed is as comfortable and welcoming as possible, too; opt for beautiful cotton pillowcases and use a latex mattress as a comfort layer so delightful you’ll actively look forward to collapsing into bed every night!

Talk About Nothing Of Importance

When was the last time you spoke to someone about… nothing? Just idly chatted about things that were going on in the world, a shared hobby, or just observations about your lives? For many of us, the last time we spoke to a loved one for no specific reason is a very long time ago— our conversations are usually expected to be more productive, making decisions and discussing particular issues. Make a little time to talk with a friend, via text message or email if necessary, about nothing in particular. Just relax and natter with one another, enjoy each other’s company, and not feeling like there’s something to be accomplished from the conversation. Sometimes, talking about nothing at all can be one of the most rewarding things you can possibly do.

Laugh

Laughing is inherently good for us; the more we laugh, the better we feel. Interestingly, the laughter doesn’t have to be genuine— fake laughter produces the same mood-boosting effects as genuine laughter. To make the most of this odd biological quirk, set aside five minutes in the day to laugh to yourself about nothing at all— you’ll be amazed at how good it makes you feel. Concerned you’ll feel self-conscious if someone overhears you laughing to yourself? Don’t worry: do your daily laughing in the shower, as the water should drown out your faux mirth.

By taking the time to engage with these self-care fundamentals, you have made important inroads that can genuinely benefit your life. You can use these fundamentals as a starting point for greater development of self-care, or — if you really don’t have the time for more — you can see these as a baseline that will help establish your happiness every day of your life.

This post was written in collaboration. Collaborative writing means that while I have contributed to this post and edited its content and formatting, I am not its original author. By posting this content on my blog, I receive financial compensation. Want to guest post for Jihi Elephant? Learn more here.

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Self-Care Fundamentals You Can Enjoy Every Day Self-care has become one of the most defining terms of the past five years. As more and more people have sought to reclaim their busy lives and center in on their health and well-being, self-care has risen to prominence in a way that has never been seen before.

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rebeccahpedersen · 6 years

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Predictions For The 2018 Toronto Real Estate Market (Cont’d)

TorontoRealtyBlog

Perhaps I got a wee bit carried away with my first two predictions on Monday, but they were the most important points.

Today, I’ll go through five more points, also in not-so-brief form, and give you my two cents on a number of issues I think will be big in 2018.

With no new listings to speak of through the first few days in 2018, our time is better-spent speculating on things we can’t control, am I right?

3) The “stress-test” will have a short-term effect, but no medium-term effect.

God, what you all must think!

I make my living selling real estate, and I’m so damn positive, all the time. I know how it looks, and if I were you, I’d be cynical; probably more than you are right now.

But I write what I think, and I predict what I believe to be evident.

And while I think the new “stress-test” will have an effect, I don’t think it’s going to be nearly the effect that some people are predicting, nor do I think the “effect” will last longer than three months.

Three months? That’s it? Yes. And let me tell you why.

Can we agree that people still need to live somewhere? Yes.

Can we agree that the market speculators, and investors, have deep enough pockets to avoid being affected by the new rules? I don’t see why not.

So people will still transact in real estate.

The way I see it, there are only two questions that need to be asked of the new rules:

i) How many people will not purchase real estate at all this year, as a result of the new rules?

ii) How many people will buy for a lower amount than they would have in 2017?

We’ll address question #1 first.

We’ve seen “estimates” on how many people will be affected by the new mortgage rules, from a slew of pundits. I’ve seen anywhere from 5% to 20% of “all insured mortgage buyers.”

But as I asked above in question #1, how many people will not purchase at all, as a result?

I can’t answer that question for you, and if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say I’d be doing no better, or worse, than every other pundit online and in newspapers.

Consider that the new mortgage rules only apply to those with more than a 20% down payment.

Robert McLister wrote in his blog (dated, but the only stats I could find) that 63% of first-time buyers have less than a 20% down payment. And I would think that number has increased substantially in the past year or two.

So assuming that 70-75% of first-time buyers have less than a 20% down payment, then how many buyers are really affected by the new mortgage rules?

As a result, how many buyers will not purchase as a result?

Not a whole lot, in my opinion.

I currently have twelve buyer-clients on the roster, and not one of them has told me they don’t intend to purchase as a result of the changes.

In fact, not one of them have changed their criteria, which leads me to point #2.

How many people will buy for a lower amount than they would have in 2017?

A good number, I would think.

While I believe that very few buyers at all will shelve their purchase plans, I do believe that buyers will have to settle for less.

How many?

Perhaps 5%. Perhaps 10%. Again, these are educated guesses.

So then what happens to the market? Is there a true “trickle-down” effect? Will we see lower prices as a result?

I don’t think enough buyers will be affected to have that trickle-down that market bears are hoping for, and would-be buyers desire.

Consider two points:

i) Most of my buyers do not purchase to the maximum of their pre-approval.

I always ask my clients a series of questions regarding financing when we start the search

“What’s your approximate acquisition cost target?” “Have you been pre-approved for a mortgage?” “How much was the pre-approval?”

More often than not, the first and third questions are answered together, with something like, “We’re looking to spend about $1.2 Million. The bank approved us for $1.6 Million, but that’s crazy!”

Then often they add something like, “How do they think we can afford that?”

Well, perhaps you are a bit more conservative with your personal finances than the banks are with lending. But banks are in business to lend money, and lend, they shall!

So with an overwhelming majority of my clients not spending to their max pre-approval, it means many of them who “will be affected” by the new mortgage rules, really won’t, in the end.

My buyer-clients who usually do spend to their max pre-approval are the ones at the low-end of the totem pole. It’s those buyers who I think will be greatly affected, and those who I think might have to drop out of the race.

But in terms of how this affects pricing, there’s still so much demand for low-end, sub-$400,000 condos in the downtown core, that even losing, say, 10% of the buyer pool, won’t cause prices to go down. They just won’t go up some 20% like last year.

ii) Buyers can take out 30-year amortizations

Let’s not forget that the 30-year amortization is still in play!

For these uninsured mortgages that are now stress-tested, buyers can opt to take a 30-year amortization instead of the standard 25-year.

So for the buyer with 20% down, looking at a $400,000 purchase at 2.99%, the $1,512.74 per month mortgage payment payable with a 25-year amortization can be reduced to $1,344.23 with a 30-year amortization.

And using the “stress-tested” rate of 4.99%, those numbers are $1,859.31 and $1,705.90 respectively.

Yes, you pay more interest as the ratio of principal to interest goes down.

But the entire point here is: buyers want to buy.

I feel terrible for the buyer who saved up 20% down and can no longer buy, who says, “Screw this, I should have bought with 5% down two years ago!”

So while I think that it’s going to take a month or two for the proverbial dust to settle, I think by March, this will be old news, and the market will have moved well past any impacts of the stress-test.

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4) Banks will change their lending criteria.

What did I say above?

“Banks are in business to lend money, and lend, they shall.”

And what’s that old line I’m thinking of from The Simpsons? Something like, “I didn’t get rich by writing a lot of cheques.”

Folks, the banks want to lend, and they’re going to lend.

There’s no way that the Big-5 banks will sit idly by and watch a chunk of their business fall by the wayside.

It’s not a huge chunk, as I suggested above. How many buyers will fall out of the market? Not a lot. But how many buyers will purchase for less than they would have, could have, should have? That’s a larger number! So add those two numbers together, and you can see what the banks see: they’re lending less money.

And while banks clearly make money nickel-and-diming us for monthly paper-statements, withdrawal fees, overdraft protection, Interac transfer fees, and just about anything else they can think of, their big money comes from lending.

Don’t be surprised to see the banks get creative this year!

I’ve heard that the 35-year amortization is “technically still legal,” although I’m sure there are a slew of ifs, ands, & buts.

We’re now in the safest lending space that banks have ever been in, so perhaps they bring back the stated income programs for self-employed individuals, non-permanent residents, et al.

Perhaps a higher loan-to-value is coming for refinancing.

Who knows, get creative!

But there’s just absolutely no way the banks will cave and accept lower revenues in 2018 and moving forward. They’re smarter than the Federal government, and dare I say they have more clout too.

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5) The spring market will provide the reverse chronology of 2017.

This is what I call a “slam dunk.”

As I’ve written before many times, the market typically starts a new year slowly, and builds momentum.

January is cold, dark, and miserable, and while many buyers choose this time to start their searches, many need to learn, educate themselves, see a few properties, and don’t end up buying until February, March, or April.

Having just sat down and tried to find five properties for my weekly “Pick5” video segment, and failed due to lack of new listings (I’ll still have a video out on Thursday afternoon, but it’s an odd one!), I can personally attest to the fact that there are very few new listings on the market so far through the first week of January.

A slow January usually leads to a busier February, and then a March that is the first “big” month of the calendar year. The Easter and Passover weekends, along with various Spring Breaks for the public, private, and separate schools, effectively break the spring market into two halves: Jan/Feb/Mar, then Apr/May/June.

By the time Easter, Passover, and Spring Breaks are all over, the weather gets nicer, Daylight Savings Time provides for more light at night in which to view properties, and historically, May and June are the hottest and busiest months of the real estate calendar.

2017, however, did not follow suit.

Take a look at this chart of active listings and sale prices; 2017 pitted against 2016 for each month up to November:

We started the year with a dearth of listings, and that trend continued through to the start of April.

As a result, prices skyrocketed.

I wrote in Tuesday’s blog that the “Fair Housing Plan” absolutely killed the market in April, but also note the number of listings, and the incredible increase we saw!

Now this is typical of a spring market. We usually do see far more listings in April, May, and June than we do in January, February, and March.

But after the FHP was announced, buyers cooled off.

Sales dropped, and as you can see on the right-hand side of the graphic, so too did prices.

This year, I expect the exact opposite to transpire.

I see the market starting slowly, and building up toward April and what is typically a very strong market.

–

6) The government is finished meddling in the real estate market.

They just can’t possibly do anything else, can they?

There was an awesome article in the National Post on Tuesday entitled, “Politicians act like they’re ‘solving’ Canada’s housing problems while continually making them worse.”

Folks, it makes me so angry.

I’ll talk more about politics in prediction #7, so I’ll try to curb it here.

But honestly, I don’t understand the Federal Liberals.

They make so many promises, and have so many agendas, and so many of them contradict each other, or can’t co-exist.

Here’s an excerpt from the National Post article:

The Trudeau government’s National Housing Strategy puts the same misplaced faith in bureaucrats to know the “right” type of housing. For example, according to the federal government’s plan, “housing investments should support Canada’s climate change agenda.” That’s why the policy “includes ambitious targets to reduce greenhouse gas emissions” — which is obviously a demand coming from Liberal politicians and not from those Canadians struggling to pay for housing.

So we need to address the “housing crisis,” but we’re gong to ensure that we address yet another difficult objective with respect to climate change in the process?

For the life of me, I just can’t see any more changes coming to the Canadian housing market.

Back in 2008, when the United States experienced their housing crisis, a buyer of Canadian real estate, often with stated income, could obtain 107% financing, and/or via a 40-year amortization.

Times change.

Since 2008, the Canadian government has taken extraordinary measures to ensure that our market does not suffer the same fate. They’ve tightened lending rules, and forced buyers to put up more equity, take on less debt, and pay it off faster. We now have the safest lending space in modern Canadian history.

But with this last round of changes, I think they’ve gone way too far.

The idea itself? “We’d like buyers to be able to afford to pay their mortgage if the rate were to change,” that’s a nice one. But it’s not what buyers want. It’s not what Canadians want. And I don’t believe the government implemented this policy to reign in debt (when they’ve done nothing about unsecured debt like credit cards, lines of credit, etc), but rather to be seen as “doing something about the housing market.”

We’ve already beat that horse to death, so let’s look forward.

In 2018, I don’t foresee a single policy change in the mortgage market from the federal government.

Knock on wood, but there’s simply nothing left that they can do.

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7) Kathleen Wynne will Wynne another Premiership, and that’s scary for home-owners, and home-buyers.

In March of 2017, Kathleen Wynne’s approval rating reached a low of 12%.

Twelve percent.

Like, out of a hundred, folks!

I’ve been closely following politics since I turned eighteen and gained the right to vote, and I don’t believe I have ever seen a number anywhere close to that!

A 12% approval rating makes Donald Trump look like Jesus/The Beatles at the same time.

When the above article and associated approval rating first came out in March, I remember sending my sister an email saying, “She’ll still win.”

What I received in response, from somebody who reads a hundred newspaper articles a day and knows politics inside and out, was simply, “Yup.”

What more can you say?

Voters just can’t stop themselves. We saw this in 2014.

All the provincial Conservatives needed in order to obtain a landslide victory was continuously shout, “ORNGE scandal! Power plants! McGuinty! Budget!” over and over. But instead, we got this insane promise to cut 100,000 public sector jobs, as though those 100,000 people, and their families, don’t vote.

I don’t expect things to be different this time around.

I’ve never seen a politician who’s implemented more bad policy than Kathleen Wynne, and no, I don’t want to list them here.

But she’s going to win again, because voters are stupid. If Donald Trump can win the Presidency, then Kathleen Wynne can come back from a 12% approval rating.

And what happens when she wins?

It’s more war against the have’s, to provide for the have-not’s.

If you can think of it, she can implement it.

I know I’m letting my political views shape this entire argument, but I just don’t see Kathleen Wynne doing anything to help home-buyers, and she sure as hell isn’t going to do anything to help home-owners.

Higher taxes, more government revenue, more expenditures on more things that nobody really asked for. And as real estate has always been, and remains, the golden goose of the Golden Horseshoe economy, I think it’s the first place the Liberals will look during their next round of making-up-new-taxes to provide them with the revenue they need to keep the engine moving.

–

Phew, so that’s it, folks!

As you probably might have assumed, I had a couple other points in the queue, but I’m sitting here in the office at 10:15pm and even the cleaners have already gone home, so I’m outtie.

Time will tell how these predictions, and these hot-button issues, will play out.

Next week, I want to talk a little more about debt, and while I know we’ve covered the new mortgage rules all week, simply put – I just have a lot more to say…

The post Predictions For The 2018 Toronto Real Estate Market (Cont’d) appeared first on Toronto Real Estate Property Sales & Investments | Toronto Realty Blog by David Fleming.

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