#sorry for the lack of posts been struggling with the worst art block;;;;

[zoemmaz]

Back from the dead to gush over mammon’s sailor outfit >_<

#sorry for the lack of posts been struggling with the worst art block;;;; #I’ve been playing genshin impact these past few months might start posting some fanart soon #mammon obey me #mammon #mammon om #obey me mammon #mammon avatar of greed #mammon fanart #obey me #obey me fanart #otome obey me #shall we date #om #shall we date obey me

[about-notthing]

Trompe l’Oeil

·Hello everyone! So this is the first thing i post that i’ve actually written. It’s the first part of a story i’m currently writing. I’m sure it’s going to have a thousand mistakes, so please tell so i can correct it. Hope you like it!·

Trompe l’Oeil

part i

Sirius had thought that being the director of one of the most important museums, not only in the country but internationally, would have been more entertaining. Art is something fascinating, something that should make people get goosebumps, something that everybody would be willing to create. Wasn’t he supposed to be witness to that excitement as the representative of the entity?

Apparently not. He only had meetings and more meetings with besuited people, signed papers about moving works and revised the accounts. It was such a bore. The most thrilling things were the Art School’s event, and there weren’t exactly a lot every year.

The School of Fine Arts had been the most ambitious project the museum had ever got into. That had had such an impact on the media - it had been a much-talked-about topic for weeks. It was even more important than when they bought six canvas that Vincent Van Gogh had painted. It all started as a way to put works of art closer to art students from University, and shortly after it had become bigger than anyone would have imagined.

The School had been functioning for more than a lustrum, and its students were already well-known artists all around the world. At the beginning of each school year, there was a great event where graduated students passed the baton to those students who “started their journey”. The whole ceremony was charged with symbolism, and Sirius, as the jewel in the crown, had to be there.

He actually liked the topic of the event, but formalities made him be so bored...His entertainment each year was trying to make his speech as irreverent as he could without the media getting all over him. His honorable mother always got what he meant - it had been more than once that she had pierced his skin with her nails so that he’d had to meet people with blood stains under his suit. Some years she had “warned “ him even before he got on stage.

However, he wasn’t very excited this time. Maybe it was because of the complaints the institution had received lately, or maybe it was because of Irina. Their breakup had been quite notorious. All the museum’s employees had chatted about it at least once. But who could blame them - it’s not every day that your chief breaks his engagement.

There had been a variety of reactions. Some women -and men too- couldn’t help but be at least a bit excited about his boss’ newly acquired bachelorhood. Others felt sorry for him, and his secretary had even held his hand as if someone had died. His mother had gone mad and had ordered him to make her a visit. He hadn’t been able to go to work for a couple of days until his swollen eye had got better.

But the cruelest had been the journalists. They had nearly destroyed him. A Sirius’ ex worked in the most important gossip magazine of the country, and he had never come to terms with their breakup. It seemed he had finally achieved his revenge. However, stating that he had behavioural problems and that he couldn’t have a relationship was just too much. The worst part was that he couldn’t deny the last part. He really wasn’t the kind to have long term relationships. In fact, his longest relation had actually been the one he’d had with Irina. They had known each other for a year and a half by the time they got engaged. A month after the news was out they would have reached two years of happy relationship. Unluckily, they wouldn’t celebrate their anniversary again.

Sirius kicked a crushed can that was lying on the ground. The object hit a lamppost and fall to the road, but the bloke didn’t care. He was looking down, hands in his pants’ pockets and the jacket hanging loosely over his arm. he was having some pretty bad days, and locking himself up in his flat, as luxurious and comfortable as it was, would only make him angry. He would end up frustrated, with a few broken plates and laying on the floor, completely drunk.

It wasn’t so late yet. It had been only two hours since the museum had closed, but nightlife was starting. Bars were already serving plates, and many small shops were taking stock and counting the money they had earned during the day. It was a calm evening at the end of August.

The biggest attraction seemed to be himself. Pedestrians turned back to look at him, surprised to see him wearing a suit - office work schedule had ended a few hours ago. Two seventeen-year-old girls laughed excitedly at his sight and tried to sneak a picture of him. Right away, a lady standing next to them told them who he was and how disastrous his life was. That damn article.

Luckily, Sirius didn’t realize that. He was used to be the centre of attention, he did like it. However, if it was because of something he wasn’t in control of… He just hated it. He felt as if his privacy was being somehow violated, that people entered his inner world and walked around it, touching and breaking everything without caring about the consequences. He was his own museum when a stupid someone tried to touch a painting and then blamed the security staff.

He wandered distractedly. He could feel his phone vibrating in his pocket, but he wasn’t in the mood to check it. It was his brother - he didn’t even have to look at the screen to know it. Sirius had stayed at his house for the past two days - partly because he wanted to hide from the media, partly because he felt so alone. When they broke up, Irina had taken all her things with her. Sirius wasn’t ready to face that lipstick heart she had drawn on the bathroom’s mirror.

He raised his head and felt a bit out of place. He had let his steps guide him, but he had ended up in a part of the city he didn’t know very well.

Sirius shrugged. It didn’t matter anyway. He was about to leave when he saw a little alley on his right. At the end of it, he could see people walking and cars traveling at top speed. He doubted for a few second - should he turn back and go home or go straight down? Well, the alley looked like a shortcut - why not?

The street was really narrow, certainly. There were almost no lampposts, and the limited sunlight rays couldn’t go through the tall buildings surrounding him. Sirius started to feel uneasy but kept on walking. There was no point in turning back.

He was almost midway when he saw light coming from a lateral street. He walked in and, just when he was around the corner, he had to close his eyes shut. He blinked a couple of time before getting used to the clarity. Then, he smiled. He knew that avenue, it was quite close to the city centre. But that meant more people could recognize him. His smile faded slightly.

Sirius crossed the street with his head down and tried to hide in a group of Argentinian -judging by the language- tourists. They walked together for two blocks until, taking advantage of a collective inattention -a few girls had been trying to talk to him for the last minutes- he entered the first café he saw. He walked fast through tables, dodging clients, and he fell on the most forgotten corner of the place. It was only then that he breathed again, letting the air he didn’t know he had been restraining out.

He put his head over his arms and inhaled deeply. He was tired of running away from everyone and everything. His thoughts and his emotions fought against each other. He was dying inside. But he had to keep a straight face so the media and his own coworkers wouldn’t know it all affected him. Showing insecurity would do nothing but destroy him.

“Would you like to order something, sir?”

Sirius lifted his head, fast as if he had been pricked. In front of him, there was a smiling boy. As soon as he saw the logo on the green apron he cursed himself. He should have looked better the place he entered.

“Are you alright? Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

He struggled to find the words but finally managed to articulate a proper sentence.

“No… No, I’m-I’m fine. I’ll have coffee.”

The waiter looked at him for a few seconds, doubting if he should as him the kind of coffee he wanted. He decided not. Although the man ha said he was fine, he didn’t quite believe it.

“Thank you.”

The guy nodded and went back to the counter. Sirius followed him with his eyes. When he disappeared, Sirius rubbed his eyes, tired. “Idiot” a voice in his mind whispered. That’s the way he would look.

Entering a franchise café is a great plan if you want to go unnoticed, as long as you order something. The problem? Those were places where they call out your name so you would pick up your order. Of course, he could lie and say another name, but people would recognize him anyway. However, the waiter was probably doing something he shouldn’t do by going to his table to take his order. Sirius hoped that wouldn’t get him in trouble. It was not the boy’s fault that his life was falling to pieces.

“Here it is. It’s four fifty”

The bloke put a paper glass on the table. Sirius couldn’t help but notice the dimples he had on his cheeks. He stared at him until he realised he was making the guy uncomfortable. He went back to reality and handed him a ten pounds note.

“Take the rest”

“Thank you” He smiled back and walked away.

Although he tried, he couldn’t avoid thinking about the waiter. He was quite handsome. And very young. He would be twenty at most. Sirius looked at him as discreetly as he could. He moved airily in the counter, filling cups with whipped cream and caramel syrup. He joked with his co-worker but did everything she asked him. Twice, he disappeared behind a door and came with a big box in his arms. He worked hard, but he wore a tender smile just like it was painted.

By the time he finished his drink, it was already cold. He lifted the glass to his lips and was surprised by the lack of liquid.

Then he really looked at the class.

It was simple, white, with the green logo in the middle. However, somebody had drawn around it with a black marker. Thin lined intertwined with spirals and soft shapes. Little flowers appeared here and there and dissapeared just as much.

It was a mandala. It was a big and beautiflu mandala decorating his vase.

He was shocked. This looked just like something that one of the Arts’ School students would have done as a project for any subject. He turned the object in his hands, trying to soak up the drawing.

He was about to leave it on the table when he discovered a little sing at the bottom. It was crossed out as if the author had done it mechanically and then had regreted it. However, you could still see the letters “RL” written in cursive.

So those were the initials of whoever had drown that. Sirius didn’t know why, but he had the sensation it had been the boy who had done that. It wasn’t certain, as he hadn’t seen the bloke doing it, but he just felt it.

He took out his phone with a sigh. He had five new messages and six missed calls from his brother and his best friend. He answered fast, trying to be as impersonal as he could. Sometimes, he hated that people cared about him, especially if they were his beloved ones. He felt responsible for his actions. He knew he could destroy them without pretending to. And hurting someone he loved would reduce him to ashes.

He looked for a pen on his pant’s pockets, feeling about his thighs until he found it. He took the cap off and a couple of napkins too. He put one over the other so the ink wouldn't stain the table if it bled. He wrote slowly, carefully, choosing the right words and trying to make his calligraphy as neat as he could.

Once he finished, he left the paper on the table and stood up, straightening the shirt’s sleeves. He put his phone away and took the vase. He looked at it, with a little smile on his lips. The drawing was wonderful, and it had cheered him up a little. His head still felt cloudy and he barely processed what happened around him.

A cool breeze greeted him when he went out of the café. He rubbed his arms. It was late, and it was starting to be cold. He put his hands in his pockets and walked absently. It was time to go home.

He had barely taken a few steps when he remembered the note he had left. He couldn’t help but smile, a little smirk hanging from his lips. He was never going to change. He didn’t want to, anyway.

·Caelum·

#wolfstar #fanfiction #art #harry potter #wolfstar au #idk where this is going but here it is

[ograndebatata]

Prisma headcanons

Well... here’s a bit of a variation of headcanons as far as series goes, if still keeping in touch with the general theme (by which I mean I’ve temporarily switched from headcanons on characters from Elena of Avalor to a character from Sofia the First, while still keeping the theme of villains). 

So... I’ve chosen to tackle Prisma this time around.

As I mentioned in my last headcanons post, I don’t think I’m the best at coming up with headcanons for villains, as I struggle with the balance of making them ‘ultimately pity worthy’ and at the same time ‘clearly in the wrong’, which is, in my personal opinion, how the average villain should be if you want to make him or her three dimensional and not entirely evil.

To those more coming over from the Sofia the First fandom, please note that my headcanons can stray into dark territory, including things like deaths in the characters’ pasts and heavily implied or even explicit violence.

This one is also a bit different in that it involves some, shall we say, bad parenting (and unlike other instances of it, it comes from biological parents rather than adoptive or step parents). I’m not absolutely sure it crosses the line into abuse, but I’d say it very likely does. I welcome any feedback on that matter should you wish to provide it.

At any rate, reader discretion is very much advised when reading this.

To those who still want to do so, please check below the cut for my headcanons on Prisma.

Prisma

No chip off the old block

Like all crystal-makers, Prisma was born in the Mystic Isles, the realm where all of magic originates. Her father Littrow and her mother Iolite, were Crystal Masters of great renown, and her sister Azurine, about four years older than her, already showed signs of being a promising Crystal Master in her own right, with some saying she could be even better than her parents.

But if their expertise on that field was said to be top of the Mystic Isles, the same could not be said about Prisma’s.

Granted, the start of her life was not the best ever. While most throughout the Mystic Isles liked Prisma, finding her a clever, sweet, well-mannered and cheerful child, even if her appearance did not favor her in the least. Granted, they knew she was not to blame, but there was something about her chalky complexion combined with her auburn hair and her pale cat-like eyes that made her look unsettling, even as a child. That wasn’t helped by the fact her parents held quite the reserve of judgement about her, thinking her demeanor was just too cheerful and bubbly, not proper for a Crystal Master in the least. Also, she seemed to ask too many questions, and had a bit too much curiosity about things they would rather not talk about. She would also be too reluctant to study certain subjects and too eager to study others for their taste. Azurine had been much better on all those aspects, with a far more proper demeanor and far more willingness to obey her parents and far less tendencies to question them. And, while they wouldn’t say this to their daughter, they too couldn’t help but be a tad put off by her icy feline eyes, even if her character did not match them in the least.

But if Prisma’s parents had their reservations, her big sister loved her dearly from the first time she laid her eyes on her. Prisma, in turn, loved and idolized her older sister, though she responded to her parents’ reservation with a rather healthy measure of wariness. Azurine was sad at what the relationship between her sister and their parents was like, but did her best to make up for it.

Things grew worse Prisma was seven, and her parents had her making her first crystal, as per tradition of all Crystal Masters. While crystal-makers are very long-lived, they age at about the same rate as humans for the first two decades or so of their lives, and their art is to be started at as young an age as possible.

As Prisma had been excellent at the theory in the classes she had already been getting (even with her reluctance for them), both Littrow and Iolite had high expectations for her first crystal. And both had them nearly-shattered once Prisma put her first crystal to use.

Both her parents had been expecting something spectacular, such as an Aqua Crystal, or a Ventus Crystal.

But instead, it turned out to be an Energy Crystal.

Even Azurine was shocked by that one, although unlike her parents she made the effort to smile and compliment Prisma on such a well done crystal, given that it was a technically perfect Energy Crystal.

But her parents were less understanding. Energy Crystals had very little practical use, because as their name would suggest they could only shoot blasts of what could only be described as ‘energy’ - beams of ‘solid light’ that damaged or even destroyed what they hit. Worse, they tended to be sought after by human magicians who would normally use them to wreak havoc in the living world, or even, on a few rare occasions, be used by evil crystal-makers themselves.

For the first time, Littrow and Iolite truly made Prisma sad. She couldn’t understand what was so bad about her crystal. She had worked hard on it, and while she hadn’t been expecting it to destroy the boulder she had used it on, surely crystals like that would be useful for something. Azurine was quick to reassure her that it meant nothing - the kind of crystal she had produced did not change who or what she was  - but her parents undid that right away.

Both were in agreement that they simply would not have a maker of Energy Crystals in their family. The gossip it would cause, the damage it would bring to their reputation… it simply could not be. Their younger daughter simply had to have some other crystal-making talent somewhere within her, and they would bring it out if it was the last thing they ever did.

One can say they certainly tried. And to her credit, Prisma did have the intellectual capacity to understand how other kinds of crystals were done. But there was something else at play, something her parents knew and which Prisma herself also learned soon enough.

A crystal-maker’s ability was genetic to a great degree. When it comes to their personal ‘brand of magic’ one is overall born with it. It can be strengthened and practiced, but it can’t be ‘actually’ changed. Azurine had been born with more than one brand of magic, but Prisma only seemed to have the ability to make Energy Crystals.

Sadly, her parents kept refusing to accept that. And as they kept trying to change what could not be changed, the gulf between them and their younger daughter only grew.

At first, Azurine didn’t mind. Sure, it seemed like Prisma needed help, but a lot of people throughout the Mystic Isles needed help with things. Once she had been helped, surely she would be better.

But as time kept passing, and Prisma only looked like she was getting worse, Azurine started to feel sorry for her and did her best to cheer her up, doing fun things with her to compensate for the strain of her so-called studies. They would go on walks through the many isles, study crystals, create many kinds of crystal contraptions (their best creations were the crystal locks) and Azurine would tell Prisma stories. And unlike her parents, she would actually answer Prisma’s questions to the best of her knowledge.

Prisma treasured the time spent with her sister… but as they both kept growing up, and word about Prisma’s lack of talent got out, far too many people started throwing comments about how sad it was that she couldn’t live up to her sister’s potential.

The best that could be said was that the other residents of the Mystic Isles did not have as many problems with Prisma’s Energy Crystals as her family feared, even if they did use them to bring up how talentless she ultimately was.

Publicly, Prisma acted sweet and bubbly and cheerful and like it didn’t bother her in the least.

But in private, at every chance she got, she would take one of her Energy Crystals and use it to blast at things to relieve her frustration.

It largely worked at first.

But as she grew older, it stopped having effect. And other following events did not help in the least.

Distancing and banishment

As time went by, Azurine started having a more active role in crystal manufacture and maintenance, thus leaving her less time to be with Prisma.

Her parents, however, kept dedicating themselves to her day and night, bent on bringing some kind of talent to create crystals that weren’t Energy Crystals out of her.

After a great deal of work that took up literally years of their lives (Prisma was already twelve by this time), they did manage to teach Prisma to make Terra Crystals, and while they were of a very basic sort, it was enough for them to be sure they were on the right path, and thus keep at their efforts.

But the task of creating Terra Crystals was too difficult for Prisma. They were so distant from her natural talent that even making one left her extremely tired. And Terra Crystals were still the simplest sort to make - all the others were even more complex. The idea scared her so much that she literally trembled in fear at the idea, because  she knew her parents would keep at it.

For the worst possible reasons, they never got the chance to do so, as months after Prisma finally managed to force her magic to produce Terra Crystals, a wicked witch named Illura invaded their home Mystic Isles, planning to steal their trove of knowledge on crystals and use it for her purposes on the Ever Realm - purposes they could all guess were not good, given the kind of foul power they could sense was boosting her already great inherent magic.

Azurine pointed out that there was no way she would be getting out with what she sought, as the Protectors would be arriving shortly even if she managed to defeat all four of them, which would be difficult as it stood, but Illura pointed out that she had left a little something behind to handle that problem. It took no tactical genius to realize that she meant a magical barrier.

And worse, she had brought along some similarly boosted humans, although they were not boosted to the same degree she was.

But Prisma had an idea. Perhaps the kind of barrier she had made could be broken through with her Energy Crystals. Thus she asked her parents and sister to keep Illura and her soldiers busy while she tested out her idea.

To her dismay, as she left, she heard her father shouting “Don’t do that! I forbid you!”. For once, she ignored his command and went on with her plan.

The first attempt did not go well. Blasting directly at the barrier with the energy from her crystals did nothing to it but strengthen it. Prisma counted herself thankful that she had only blasted a little amount of energy, otherwise it would be even more difficult to break through.

With that first step out of the way, she analyzed it to the best of her ability, and realized that Illura was using several metal rods she had installed in concrete places to sustain the barrier. And to prevent the Protectors from handling them, she had configured them so that the barrier would be outside them. As Prisma and her family were crystal makers, they should supposedly be unable to dismantle the metal rods.

Prisma knew she would be taking a risk with what she was about to do, but it was their only chance. Gathering herself, she aimed her Energy Crystal at the closest rod, and fired it with as much strength as possible.

To her relief, it worked. The metal rod shattered like a toothpick under the energy impact, and she felt the barrier weakening right away. Bolstered by her success, Prisma ran around and sought all the metal rods, and blasted them with her crystal. She succeeded in her task, but the effort was so intense that she had passed out.

Once she woke up, she made her way back to their damaged home, and learned that the Protectors were able to get through once she brought down the barrier, and Illura had been killed, while her soldiers (at least those that had survived) were simply sent back home, as they, besides being boosted, had also been brainwashed.

Unfortunately, she had brought down the barrier too late, as her parents ended up being killed.

Prisma didn’t know how to feel about that. On one hand, those had been her parents. On the other, she couldn’t remember a specific time when they had loved her for what she was. Ever since she could remember, they’d always had some sort of reservation with her, and she could see the clear differences between their interactions with her and the ones with Azurine.

She was sad about their deaths, but not in the way Azurine was.

At first, Prisma’s instincts were to comfort her sister, but upon seeing how all the Protectors were already taking care of that - and how no one at all seemed to have spared any thought for her, the first seed of bitterness was planted within her. Not even Azurine coming to check on her after the initial shock had passed and thanking her for bringing down the barrier did anything to change that.

And as the years went by, her bitterness only grew, for even though she had proved that her Energy Crystals did have their use - after all, without them, the barrier wouldn’t have been brought down - no one cared. All who wanted magic crystals went to Azurine, all who had praise to give only gave it to Azurine, and more than a few made disparaging comments about her.

Once more, Azurine did try to comfort her, saying that Prisma was her little sister and she loved her no matter what, and pointing out that if not for Prisma, the Protectors couldn’t have gotten in, they all would have been killed, and who knew what Illura would have done. And after all, what mattered the most was that Prisma knew she had done it.

But to Prisma, it was easy for Azurine to talk when she was the one who got all the attention and credit and praise. Just for once, she would like to be respected and loved and seen as talented.

And in a very ironic twist, Illura gave her the means to do so.

For whatever reason, she had brought along the notes she had collected on crystals, which had things even Prisma and Azurine hadn’t known about. Upon studying them and improving on them, Prisma was able, after almost twenty years of work, to build an enhanced Terra Crystal, with which she could create the most powerful crystals that had ever existed, something that Azurine could never hope to match.

It did have the unfortunate drawback of draining the isles she would make her crystals on… but Prisma was past caring about that. If they had never cared about her, she wouldn’t care about them either. The only thing that bothered her, if only on a subconscious level, was that she had to cheat to get that far.

And in the end, her plan failed anyway when Azurine managed to get the Terra Crystal away from her. And worse, by losing her enhanced Terra Crystal, she ended up losing her magic too. Somehow, she had put so much of herself into the crystal that its loss lead to her looking by and large like a regular human - her chalky skin became a dark tan and her auburn hair a dark brown. Only her eyes remained the same.

But even with her powers gone, Prisma managed to escape to the Ever Realm, vowing that someday, she would achieve her goal.

Wicked whiles

It turned out Prisma had been severely underestimating what she would need to do to achieve her goal. While getting to the Ever Realm from the Mystic Isles was easy enough, the other way ‘round was much more difficult. She made several attempts as the years went by, but none got anywhere close to success. And not having her powers to help put even more of a dampener on her attempts.

But one attribute that had not been stripped away by the loss of her crystal was a crystalmaker’s long lifespan, so she did have time to wait and plan. As she could sense her crystal had not been destroyed, she was also motivated to find a way.

And eventually, about a hundred years after her escape, Prisma did have a chance to return to the Mystic Isles when she ran into two princesses from Enchancia, one of which had an amulet that could summon unicorns.

Despite some minor hiccups, her plan worked out, thanks to her appealing to Princess Amber’s desire for a personal amulet. But when Princess Amber and Princess Sofia managed to come back and Princess Amber looked past her own desires and at the common good, destroying her Terra Crystal. And this time around, Prisma was captured by the Protectors and put in a cell.

Unfortunately, they put her in the cell closest to the Locket of Vor, something Prisma had heard stories about since her childhood, about how its power was terribly incomparable to anything in any realm. She didn’t know the whole story, as her parents had been adamant they wouldn’t share it until she was old enough to not have nightmares. All she knew was that Azurine, after hearing the story for the first time, looked as pale as Prisma had when she was still in her full Crystalmaker form.

Prisma assumed that Azurine was just unduly sensitive, and surely the locket could not be that dangerous. But she also assumed it would be more than enough for her purposes.

And with the help of a strangeling named Twitch, she was able to obtain it. She got surprised to find a spirit inside it, but she didn’t complain, especially upon learning how the locket could lead her to the Wicked Nine, objects that also were unbelievably powerful. With all those, Prisma knew she could reach power even further beyond than when she’d had her enhanced Terra Crystal.  

Her attempt to get the first one (the Falcon’s Eye) failed, but Twitch did bring her a Necessi-Key that she was able to use to get out of jail. Her attempt to get the second one (Maleficent’s spindle) also failed, but she was able to use her Necessi-Key to get away from Princess Sofia. Then, her attempt to get the third one, (Grimhilde’s crown) succeeded, and she was even able to get a weapon and a raven named Wormwood for a second animal ally out of it.

And Wormwood was a helpful ally indeed, happy to teach her anything he could about human magic, just as long as she would use it for evil. Prisma was not sure she could learn such things, given how she had lost her powers with her broken Terra Crystal, but it turned out human magic was different enough that she could indeed learn it. She even managed to learn enough that, though the Protectors were able to take Grimhilde’s crown away from her, she escaped.

She even started entertaining the thought of simply continuing her studies of human magic and get back where she was through that, which she believed would be possible. But the spirit within the locket put a stop to such ideas, reminding her just how far she could get if she absorbed the power of the Wicked Nine.

Eventually, Prisma was able to make her way back to the Mystic Isles, and release the power of the Wicked Nine. But it didn’t take her long to realize just what she had caused, once the spirit within the locket took a semi-corporeal form and dove into her body, to use her as a source of possession and put her plan into action.

In a second, she understood just why her parents would not share the full story about the Locket of Vor with her. There was so much darkness in that tremendously foul old spirit that it just about made Prisma petrified with terror. There was literally nothing there but joy at the horror and sadness and grief that she caused to anything and everyone. And a primary source of enjoyment to her was Prisma, even after what she had done for her.

Within Vor, Prisma did everything she could to break through and call for help, but it was useless. She could do nothing but be a silent partner as Vor unleashed her destruction.

In the end, she was released when Sofia used the sheer strength of her love to banish the spirit of Vor forever… and released again when Sofia’s friends pulled her out of the amulet, unwittingly dragging her along.  

Now aware of the kind of horror she would have been unleashing, Prisma surrendered to the protectors, ready to meet her punishment, whatever it was.

In the end, she had quite a surprise when Azurine, upon seeing her, rushed to hug her, shouting how relieved she was to know that she was alright and that she had been so worried.

Upon such a display, Prisma could do nothing but return the hug and cry like a fountain in a mix of fear, relief, and joy. And that night, for the first time in around a century, the two of them sat down and talked, and the broken bridges between them started being rebuilt.

Of course, Prisma still had to wait for quite a few years before being allowed out of jail. And once she did get out, she had to do further work before earning her complete freedom.

But by the end of it, she could genuinely say she was happier than she had ever been her whole life, even with the marks of everything she had endured and made others endure.

#sofia the first #headcanons #headcanon #prisma #azurine #vor #twitch #wormwood #tw: violence #tw: parental abuse #or at least something that could be very much seen like it

[spineofdeathwing]

Response

The sincere level of cherry picking in this post is absolutely laughable and abhorring. I’ll start from the top to bottom of ‘evidence’.

The first discussion and issue of Hu'lon was that I saw a pattern in something that I had seen in a lot of my members past; it escalated due to Hu'lon refusing to communicate, and through the grapevine I just heard that they wanted to ‘not put it in the Accord’. I was concerned, and I reached out - the first time, I was met with stalwart refusal to communicate, so I backed off due to knowing that they had a legitimate social issue. I approached later on, and as you can see, the discussion was very forward and after clearing up my concerns with them, I backed off and that should have been the end of it. For the officers reaching out to people - I apologize if I prefer to discuss things over solving everything with a block button and refusal to speak.

Moving onto the part about me being tired of this. I had my current best friend leave the guild in the middle of the night, after seemingly everything was good (again, due to a lack of communication, I was not made aware that the other person was uncomfortable.) I suffer from BPD - i.e. Borderline Personality Disorder, which, if any of you have associated or learned of it, is the behaviour of absolute fear, anxiety and melting down when you’re met with someone leaving you. Tiao Lin was one of my best friends, and I still consider them to be, and I was in absolute tears when I made these messages. There is no guilt-tripping, there is legitimate depression and anxiety happening when these messages are happening. Conveniently, they left out the part where I explained such.

Moving onto the art 'requests’. I asked every single one of my artists in the guild - which, my guild has quite a number and I sincerely admire each and every one of them - if they’d like to collaborate in an effort to recruit people. This was clearly outlined in the picture: HERE at the top, almost cut off and further cherry picked.

Moving onto Tiao Lin once more, I reached out to a few of the stable people that I know she would make good friends with so that she would feel more at home in the guild. She suffers from anxiety and I genuinely wished her the best. I messaged three people to just reach out for her - if she felt anxious because of something, then she should always have a way to help and heal with her guild. I do not believe this was something that is wrong.

People were hurt by her departure. She blocked and removed everyone without a word.

One hurt person, that didn’t wish to include them in our recruitment post anymore. Note that I was still actively attempting to defend her.

Another hurt person. Both close friends of hers.

As you can see, I talked and discussed with all of them. I never made the claim that the whole guild absolutely hated her, because I never told everyone she had left - I had elected to keep that a non-topic until it had been fully closed, because I knew from their patterns of behaviour that they can have these blips of panic. I did not fault her, and I explained to those people further into the conversation how and why it happened.

More art requests - this was very clearly a joke, and taken out of context.

Now, for these claims of racism and others. Correct, I did say them, in private games with friends that I had been around for months at this point. Note in the first one that Tiao Lin (Sylvissa) was clearly leading the joke towards what I said, and I just expanded on an edgy joke. There is no hatred, no calling other people these words, nor is there any sort of malicious intent behind it. It’s a joke. By holding these words so high in the realms of taboo, you give them the power behind them. If, at any point, someone mentioned that they were uncomfortable with what I said, I would be more than happy to apologize, and not say it again, which - with another cherry picked screenshot, I did HERE .

For the second member of the Accord that you listed that I was upset about creating alts; they’re still very much in the guild, and we’ve discussed this in length before to ensure that there will be no misconstrued information again - they do not feel wronged. They are wronged however that you, Hu'lon, used them without permission just to push your letter. They used sixty dollars of their own money to boost a character, and when you had finished with them - you blocked them. You made them cry because of your actions. Your entire argument on these things is based on exceptionally out-of-context statements that I’m appalled you think you can spread to other people just to scorn and ruin my guild.

This is laughable ..  Wey is a friend of mine and that is clearly taken out of context once more - and the bottom snippet has never happened. I haven’t run HFC in years; nor have I ever done a commission that had horns in it - and if I had, WMV doesn’t 'not’ export horns. It’s attached to the body model. This is clear and utter bullshit once more just to push an agenda.

Onto the worst, and final point. Hu'lon, you dug through five years of drama and unburied it in an effort to burn me, and my guild down. Yes, I faked having cancer. Five years ago, as a teenager with an undiagnosed mental disorder, which is now diagnosed as BPD - which I also have much more control over, nowadays. The circumstances revolving around this are as follows: I ran a guild called Mistborn, that had around two-hundred to three-hundred members. Due to conspiring between my officers as they found it humorous to antagonize me and make me meltdown; they managed to collapse my guild within a week. At this point, I had never dealt with something this heart-sinking and strenous - my BPD forced me into an absolute panic, and craved for nothing other than emotions of hatred from people. Yes, I claimed that I had cancer in an effort to gain pity, because at this point in my life with my mental disorder - I couldn’t think of anything else. I was in a panic.

Since then, I have apologized to every person that was involved with me, back then. Extrenously. I know that doesn’t make up for it, but I’ve moved on. They’ve moved on. You had one of the officers that -caused- that meltdown tell you that it was not my fault, but you elected to bring this up because you wish to become a martyr for.. whatever cause it is that you’re standing for. I’m not absolving myself because of my mental disorder, but I took every step necessary to cleanse any ill-will that people had from me back then, to which most understood once they heard the full story.

To end this all off, I will summarize. Yes, I had some extrenous issues in the past that have led to the reputation that I have today. I have been working day-in and day-out to attempt to make rights where I made wrongs in the past, but this is stuff from five years ago.

To Tiao Lin - I don’t blame where you stand right now. You’re always welcome to talk to me again, because clearly there is a lack of communication. I understand - you have anxiety. I’ve attempted time and time again to try to help that, but apparently I missed the mark. I’m sorry.

To Hu'lon - I do not respect your attempts to become a martyr to take my guild down. You made claims that you’re hurt that everyone in the guild is turning against you - because you’re making rash decisions that could harm all of us, because of your grudge against one. You never made any attempt to get further information in all of this. You snipped out of context screenshots, and just worked to paint me as the bad guy time and time again. You are the issue with roleplay realms. Instead of discussing and talking like a rational person, you argue with the block and ignore button - without caring about the consequences that come with it, involving multiple people that you USED in these screenshots - and then aim to call me out.

If you read all of this, even if you do not see my side of the argument - I respect you for refusing to listen to blind lies. There will also be follow up posts from people that have known me since back then that -will- discuss in truth what happened, instead of your cherry-picked mess.

Remember when you posted evidence and claimed that I was threatening Wey? Here’s the actual commissioner. Picture 1. Picture 2.

Another commissioner that will happily back-up the fact that I do not do these kinds of things.

Another one. Picture 2.

And when you said I was trying to get free art from you? Here’s another artist in the guild.

And, now statements from my BPD. I asked these people to be absolutely honest about their experiences. These are not hand-picked to try to further my agenda, these are straight from people that have known me for years, and have struggled with my disorder with me.

Picture 1. Picture 2. Picture 3. Picture 4. Picture 5 (very important.) Picture 6. Picture 7.

I’d appreciate it if didn’t bring up stuff you weren’t personally involved to try to bring down me, and my guild from now on. If anybody has an issue with me, you may add me at Zushou#5130 and I will discuss any grievances, hatred, questions, or you can sit there flaming me. Doesn’t matter to me.

#Story #world of warcraft #Moon Guard #submission

[fraysbanes]

seashells by the seashore

Characters: Maia Roberts, Clary Fray, Magnus Bane

Relationship: Clary Fray/Maia Roberts, Clary Fray & Magnus Bane

Rating: G

Summary: written for the shadowhunters wlw fic bingo, for the square “post-college meet-cute”

also check out this gorgeous art based on this fic!

“I’m gonna get fired and die young and unfulfilled with my artistic potential unrealized.”

Magnus sighs over the phone. “Do you always have to be so dramatic about everything?”

“Yes!” Clary cries, flopping down backwards onto her bed. “I interned at this place for two years and the second they give me an actual job with actual money in it, I get hit with the worst art block I’ve ever had. It’s like the universe is against me achieving my dreams.”

“It’s not the universe, it’s you struggling to adjust to a different routine,” Magnus says. “You’ve been in school your whole life. It’s a big change. But you didn't study all those years for nothing, you know what you’re doing. This is just something you have to work through.”

Clary groans; partly because she doesn’t believe him, but mostly because she knows he’s right. “ Please don’t go all therapist on me right now.”

“I’m not playing therapist, I’m playing godparent. Get off your ass and draw.”

“But how?”

“I don’t know, you’re the artist!” Magnus says. “Draw an apple or something. Or go to the beach and draw some seashells. You always loved drawing those when you were little.”

Clary glances out the window. It looks like it’s going to rain.

“It’s too cold to go to the beach.”

“I know for a fact you own at least one sweater.”

Clary sighs. He’s right, as always - moping and waiting around to screw up the job isn't going to help. She might as well try to do something about it. She does have a mostly-empty sketchbook and new charcoal pencils she hasn’t had a chance to try out yet.

“Yeah, alright, I’ll give it a shot,” she tells him. “Thanks, Magnus.”

“Anytime, biscuit.”

*

The beach is cold and grey and ugly, but not as deserted as Clary had expected. There are a few people idling by the water, in various degrees of undress, and even more people lounging around on beach blankets, conversing among themselves.  Clary sets down her own blanket and, trying to ignore the sand, puts on her headphones, takes out her sketchbook, and begins to draw. So far, she’s only found one seashell pretty enough to even want to look at, let alone draw, and no crabs, but she decides it could be worse.

After drawing that same seashell in every way imaginable and hating every single iteration, she decides that no, actually, it couldn’t be worse, this sucks. She picks up the seashell and tosses it angrily behind her.

Just as she’s about to call Magnus so he can talk her through this again, someone taps her on the shoulder. Clary turns, startled, to see a woman standing above her with a beach towel and a book tucked under one arm while the other arm is extended towards Clary.

Clary rips off her earbuds, mortified, when she sees what the woman is holding.

“You lose this?” the woman asks, holding the previously-discarded seashell out towards Clary.

“Please tell me that didn’t hit you.”

“Just my arm,” the woman says. She doesn’t sound particularly angry about it, though.

“Crap, I am so sorry.” Clary takes the seashell back and begs whatever higher power is watching over her to drag her under the sand right now before she dies from embarrassment, which will undoubtedly be more painful.

“Seashell kill your family or something?” the woman teases. “I have to know what it did to be shunned by you like that.”

“I was trying to draw it,” Clary admits. “But my hands weren’t cooperating. It wasn’t its fault, it just got caught in the crossfire.”

“That’s always sad to see,” the woman says. “Well, best of luck to you.”

She smiles at Clary. Clary tilts her head up to smile back, humiliated as she feels. It's only polite. That’s when she gets her first proper look at the other woman: brown skin glowing under what little sunlight has managed to part the clouds today, big dark eyes and long eyelashes, full lips pulled into a bright smile, curls blowing in the wind.

Clary almost blurts out “marry me” on the spot.

The stranger begins to walk away to a less crowded part of the beach. Clary leaps up. “Wait!”

The woman stops and turns back to her, frowning in confusion. Clary runs up to her, wringing her hands together nervously, and takes a deep breath.

“Can I draw you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m an artist,” Clary explains quickly. “I’d like to sketch you, if that’s okay. You can keep the drawing if you want. I could just really use the practice.”

“Um, sure,” the woman looks suddenly self-conscious as she fixes her hair and smooths down her dress. “But why?”

“Because you’re beautiful,” Clary says. She shuts her eyes and curses herself for her lack of filter when the woman’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. But, sadly, still no response on the sand-opening-up-and-swallowing-her-whole end. “I mean…I would love to draw you. Or at least try to. If that's okay with you. May I?”

The woman cocks her head to one side. “Are you hitting on me?”

“No!” Clary says quickly. As much as she wants to, she has bigger problems, like needing to get over this art block so she can draw the damn comic and ensure herself a job for the next year or so. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t say I was uncomfortable,” the woman says, quickly looking her up and down. She offers Clary her hand. “I’m Maia, by the way.”

Clary lets out a sigh of relief and shakes her hand. “Clary.”

“Nice to meet you, Clary. Is it okay if I read while you sketch?”

“Yeah, that’s totally fine,” Clary says, unable to keep herself from smiling. “Thank you so much.”

So Maia places her blanket down near Clary’s and makes her way through chapter after chapter of Frankenstein while Clary studies her and tries to get the lines of her face right. Clary stops herself from starting conversation multiple times, not wanting to interrupt her. But, surprisingly, Maia is the one who finally breaks the silence some time later.

“So…” Maia starts, keeping her face turned to her book to keep her pose the same. “You’re an artist?”

“Yup,” Clary says. “Comic artist, to be specific. But it’s hard to draw twenty pages of monsters and werewolves in epic battle when you can’t even bring yourself to draw a freaking seashell. What about you?”

Maia sighs. “Well, I just graduated top of my class with a degree in marine biology,” she says. “So, naturally, I’m still interning and bartending.”

Clary makes a small noise of acknowledgment and sympathy as she adds the finishing touches to Maia’s neck and hair in her drawing.

“It’s not so bad, though,” Maia says a little more optimistically. “I might get offered a job as a research assistant soon. That would be pretty cool.”

“I’m sure you will,” Clary says encouragingly. “It’s tough when you’ve just graduated. Guess we just gotta hang in there, work through it and all that.”

Maia chuckles. “Wise words.”

“Just something a friend of mine said earlier.” Clary carefully tears the page out of her sketchbook and holds it out towards Maia. “I’m done, by the way.”

Maia finally looks away from her book. Her eyes widen at the drawing. “Oh my god, Clary, this is amazing!” she exclaims.

Clary can feel herself start to blush. “You think so?.”

“Yes! I can’t believe you’re letting me keep this for free.”

“It's not half as pretty as the model.”

“Oh, shut up, it's perfect.” Maia looks up from the page and Clary nearly melts at her smile. “Can I give you something in exchange? You don’t have to keep it, but I thought you might want it.”

“Yeah, sure, of course.”

Maia gestures at her sketchbook and pencil and Clary scrambles to hand them to her. Maia opens the book to a blank page and scribbles something down quickly, then shuts it and hands both items back to Clary with a grin.

“I hope you like it,” she says, sitting back to pack her things up. “I gotta get going, though. Good luck with the comic.”

“Thanks,” Clary says. “And good luck with the research assistant job.”

Maia waves goodbye and walks off the beach towards the parking lot. Once she’s almost out of sight, Clary finally opens her sketchbook to the page Maia was using.

Maia has written a phone number - her phone number - with a little heart next to it.

Clary hugs her sketchbook to her chest and tries her hardest not to squeal in delight. She’s going to buy Magnus his third “World’s Best Godparent” mug of the month. She’s going to dedicate an entire museum to that stupid, impossible-to-draw seashell. And most importantly, she is definitely going to call Maia.

#wlwficbingo2019 #meet-cute #c: clary #c: maia #c: magnus #r: claia #r: clary & magnus #this was the first time i implied nb magnus in a fic i think haha

[lovelyjihoonie]

honoured, that’s so sweet and humble of you to say 🙈 i follow you and i think you’re really nice person so i wanted to message you; for now i will keep it on anon if you don’t mind. my problem is.. i love writing and creating, i started painting and drawing but writing is something that thrills me no other thing compare, yet i struggle and there is something in me that stops me from writing freely and letting my imagination float? it’s hard to describe but i feel blocked and (1)

(2) i fear failure, even with writing for my own pleasure i have constant fear that my work makes no sense and lacks depth, over years i became my worst critic and it ruins all fun for me which is saddening. as much as i’m trying to take care of myself and acknowledge mistakes i do it’s hard to simply express myself in my art, have you ever struggled with something similar? or could you tell what exactly stops me from opening up and pouring my heart out in my work? i’d love to hear from you 💌

I don’t mind at all if you stay on anon, Anonie

This has gotten awfully long, I’m sorry ;;

I can actually relate to you a lot, Anonie. We humans are, unfortunately, always our own biggest critic. There never will be someone as strict with ourselves as ourselves. I wished that I could give you a perfect solution for your situation, but I think I can’t. It’s very individual. But I can tell you what helped me.

I started writing as a hobby in my teens. I’d just write and not really think where my story would go. Obviously they turned out to be huge messes and even though my (back then) best friend tried to give me feedback on how to change it, it only decouraged me (especially because I tend to be a person who is good in whatever she does). For years and years I didn’t write anymore. I did start again in 2014 and after a lot of insecurity actually published something and it got positive responses. I do have to admit that it was a fanfic and therefore easier to write, but by now I went to fanfics that are completely my own story. I take a group, but set them into a completely different setting. Like this the characters become my characters, but I still have certain “checkpoints” I can keep to (mostly names and looks). What also helped me was having settings I know. For example: If I write a story set in Seoul, I’Il use places I’ve been to, experiences I’ve made... I also was always struggling with the thought that my writing isn’t good enough (even though the fic I posted in 2014 got good feedback in both English and German). I realized that I might was writing for the “wrong audience” and that this was what kept me from actually enjoying it to the fullest. I then started to only write for @adorablehoshi and me. So far hardly anything I have written has been seen by someone other than the two of us (minus some oneshots I wrote for another group and published here on another sideblog to help the fandom have a bit more content).

I think your own feelings or your mood are very important when you write. For me, I realized that I write very good stuff in my depressive states. As I try to reduce those to a minimum (obviously) they’re not coming around as much as they did in my worst days. It sometimes can be really frustrating, because I want to write, but simply can’t find the inspiration, but at the same time I don’t want to ruin my mental health just for writings sake. The only solution for it is to wait until inspiration hits and then make the best use of it.

As for advice: Do you have someone you can share your writing with? I know finding someone you want to confide in is really hard. Sometimes you have to try, just to find out that it doesn’t work. But I think that will help you. Especially because it helps having someone boost your writing motivation with compliments (let’s be honest. We all like hearing that someone likes what we do). I don’t know how to turn off your perfectionist side, but for me it helps when I just write down a chapter, let it rest and then reread it again after a while (and maybe change a few things to my liking or add stuff that was missing). I have a story I’m writing since 2016 and it’s nowhere near being completed, but I have reread and rewritten the first chapters so many times that I by now do think they are perfect. With a new story I started in June this year I wrote down important story points, ploting out a couple of chapters before writing down the first draft. With those small hints it is easier for me to see if things don’t add up (it involves magical powers so if I all of a sudden change powers of a character it shows up that way). Maybe that helps you too? In the end, I guess, it all comes down to finding out what kind of writer you are and that journey we all have to go by ourselves as we know ourselves the best.

I don’t know if this is really helpful to you, but I hope it is ._.”

#reply #anonie #I hope this helps you a bit ._.

[nekoluver]

TomTord Week Day 3 - Redemption AU  This may have ended up more of a post-The End fic than a true Redemption AU.... 

- - - - - - - -

               Everyone thinks he’s dead. When that harpoon pierced through his robot, they assumed he’d been destroyed in the crash. He survived. He tore himself out of the wreckage and flopped down on that bloody earth to observe the aftermath of his failures. He allowed himself to be dragged away, patched together, and propped back on his feet like someone’s Frankensteinian art project.

               He didn’t want forgiveness- didn’t deserve it anyway. It wouldn’t change what happened, and it sure as hell wouldn’t fix anything. Tord never had a family, but the boys in that house had come the closest. They were the family he’d never asked for. He’d never wanted to get so attached, and had hoped (like a fool) that those feelings would dissipate in their years spent apart.

               I. AM NOT. YOUR FRIEND!

               The declaration still echoes through his mind at the worst opportunities. It should not hurt as much as it does, but something shattered that day. His friends made him week.

               In the years following the disaster the Red Army has completely fallen apart. Tord lost his passion for the fight, and despite his best efforts everyone could sense the change. It’s hard to lean an army of renegades when your heart isn’t in it. Paul and Patryk stuck around for a while, likely as a result of some displaced sense of duty or obligation. Tord didn’t have the energy for it- for them. They expected things of him that he could no longer deliver. He had already proved that he wasn’t fit to lead the army, and having his right-hand men around only served to pour salt in the wounds. They deserved better than a broken shell of a leader.

               Recent history has found Tord spending more and more time lurking in the areas his former housemates frequent. He knows it’s likely some sort of masochistic desire he should have squashed a long time ago, but he can’t be bothered to care. Watching them heal from the disaster- to mourn and laugh and move on- it hurts. It’s a pain he deserves, but it still hurts.

               It’s a cliché horror movie night when Tord is forced from observation to action. It’s dark with clouds blocking the moonlight, rain falling in sheets, occasionally broken up by flashes of lighting. He’s watching the blurry figure of Tom stumble his way out of some back alley bar, clearly well on his way to black out inebriation. Tord cringes somewhat watching him take another swig from his flask before stumbling down the steps and into the rain.        

               Tom looks up at the sky like it offended him, and Tord tries to find amusement, although he’s never really enjoyed seeing his friend steadily drink himself to death. He tries not to think about how much fuel he’s personally added to that fire with his mistakes. He’s so lost in thought that he nearly misses the burly figures emerge from the door and start gesturing at Tom. They appear to be yelling, but Tom just flips them off and finally starts walking away.

               One of the cowards jumps down and clocks him upside the head once his back is turned, sending him sprawling onto the dirty concrete. He doesn’t move right away, and Tord leans forward from his vantagepoint, squinting to try and better make out what’s going on. He’s too far away to be able to tell if Tom’s still conscious, and he feels the moment wrench anxiety in his stomach. He forgets to breath until Tom struggles up onto his hands and knees.

               His breath is abruptly knocked out of his lungs again when one of the goons throws a knee into Tom’s exposed gut. He barely has time to flop onto his back before both men are throwing kicks at every inch of his vulnerable body that they can reach. Tord can’t quite remember deciding to intervene, but he finds himself with one assailant unconscious at his feet and the other staring down the barrel of his gun. “Take your friend and run,” he chokes out, voice gritty from lack of use. The man doesn’t move, so Tord makes sure he can see him cock the gun. “Now!”

               The man was sizing him up- Tord knows he doesn’t possess the most threatening physical presence- but the oaf isn’t quite stupid enough to challenge a loaded weapon. Thankfully, he finally relents and gathers his now half-conscious companion, leaving Tord to re-holster his weapon and rush to Tom’s side.  

               “Come on Thomas, we have to go.” Tord slings an arm around Tom to support his weight and drag him to his feet. “The police will soon be on their way. Come on!”

               Tom’s half-conscious, drunk and bloody, but he starts walking with Tord to the end of the alleyway. It’s then that he stops, much to Tord’s frustration, and blinks blearily at him. His eyes narrow and he leans in closer before leaning back again. There’s a pause before, “Tord?” It’s quiet, slurred, and marked with disbelief.

               There isn’t time for this right now. Tord hoists Tom up by the waistband of his pants and half-drags him the rest of the way into the street. He’s staggering under his weight, but forces himself to move briskly to his car. Tom protests everything with a few garbled curses and groans, but he’s too weak to put up much of a fight. Idiot.

               Tom is passed out cold by the time Tord makes it to his apartment, which is all well and good except it means Tord trying to sneak him in when he’s all dead weight. Tord is panting, clearly out of breath when he finally makes it to door, luckily able to find the key and make it inside before anyone took notice. He flops Tom onto the couch and goes to grab the first aid kit.

               It’s as he’s dabbing at a split lip that Tom flinches slightly, and the tension in the room skyrockets when his eyes blink open. Now that they’re no longer obscured by darkness and rain, it’s harder to hide. There’s a long silence where neither of them moves, Tord too afraid of setting Tom off and Tom- Well. Tord can’t begin to guess what’s parading through that vodka-addled brain right now.

               “You’re dead.” Those two words drop like a sack of bricks and Tord finally lowers his arm and rests both hands on his knees. He can’t bring himself to meet Tom’s eyes, so instead busies himself studying the differences between metal and flesh.

               “Apparently not,” he finally mutters in response.

               “You blew up the house.” There’s no emotion behind the words- they’re merely statements. Either Tom is still too drunk to fully grasp the situation or things are about to get very ugly very fast.

               “Yes.” Tord does his best to keep his tone neutral.

               “I loved you.”

               Oh. The confession had been delivered with the same flat tone as the rest, but it echoes in Tord’s ears like the aftermath of a gunshot. His head whips around and he stares at Tom, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Surely he misheard. “What?” it’s barely a whisper, so he’s not sure Tom even hears it.

               “I miss you.”

               Tord wants to scream. Words like these should never be spoken like this. It feels sick- he feels sick. They churn in his stomach like burning acid, and he hates Tom for speaking them like facts instead of feelings. He can feel it welling up in his throat and isn’t smart enough to prevent what comes out next, “What is wrong with you?”

               Inky pools flash dangerously, and Tord knows with absolute certainty that he’s messed up. “What’s wrong with me?” There’s a growl in his voice, and Tord briefly regrets wishing for an emotional response. “You almost killed us and you’re asking what’s wrong with me?”

               “Thomas I’m sorry, I-” he’s cut off by a hand fisting in the front of his shirt.

               “You don’t get to be sorry you commie fuck!” he’s much closer to shouting now, practically spitting the words in Tord’s face. “You don’t get to be sorry when you come back and pull that shit! You don’t get to be sorry for lying and turning them against me! You don’t get to be sorry for bruising Matt’s face! You don’t get to be sorry when you destroyed our home! You don’t get to be sorry when you killed someone and would have killed us if I hadn’t shot you out of the air!”

                He’s breathing hard. Tord tries to focus on that, but he’s dizzy. His heart is pounding so hard that he can hear it in his ears. After all this time, he never realized. They really think- Tom really thinks-? “I never would have killed you, Thomas!” he exclaims in disbelief.

               “Bullshit.” There are tears welling in Tom’s eyes. His voice is shaky, but his face is still contorted in absolute fury. “That’s fucking horse shite and you know it! You would have killed anyone who got in your way you fucking psychopath! You wo-!”

               “Stop.” He can’t take it anymore. It’s every nightmare he’s ever had all mixed up in a single moment. He knows he fucked up, but to have his failures thrown in his face like this? He wants to be angry, to fight back like he used to, but he’s too tired. He can’t play this game anymore.

               Tom’s eyes are narrowed into thin slits. “Don’t tell me what to do, asshole!”

               “Okay.” Tord’s defeated tone apparently pisses Tom off more, because it earns him a bruised cheek. He tries not to see the irony as Tom lands hit after hit on an unwilling opponent. Finally Tord lightly grabs his fist and asks gently, “Are you done?”  

               He catches him as Tom falls forward, sobbing into the fabric of Tord’s shirt. Tord is startled to say the least, unprepared for this change of mood. He does know what to do, so he starts rubbing circles on his back like Edd used to do when one of them was sick. He doesn’t have any other options- doesn’t know what to do or say. He can’t fix this. He was a fool to come back, but he’d known that from the start.

               It isn’t clear who moves first or how exactly they end up pressed together, blood mixing with clash of lips and tongues. It isn’t love or passion; it isn’t really what either of them want. It’s anger and sorry and pity and regret. It’s all of the things neither of them have the words for. It’s tearing each other apart bit by bit in the most excruciating way possible, because throwing punches is no longer a sufficient means of punishment. It’s destroying their entire world all over again.

               Hours pass and finally things are quiet. The city is quiet in the way it only is after a storm and just before the dawn. It should be peaceful, but while the tension may be gone, all that’d managed to take its place is the flat sort of exhaustion that comes after a truly horrific loss. Tord is wrapped up in Tom’s arms, marked and spent. They’ve been silent for some time now, and he isn’t eager to shatter it just yet.

               He feels Tom press a kiss to his hair, and the gentleness of the act cuts deeper than a blade ever could. “I want you gone before I wake up,” he whispers softly.

               Tord’s arms are wrapped around his waist and squeeze tight for a moment before going slack. “Okay,” he agrees.

#tomtordweek #tomtord week day 3 #post the end #angst #so much angst #ew tomtord #eddsworld #fanfics

[misssophiachase]

Tomorrow, When the War Began

So, this is my Klaroline fusion with an Australian series of seven books by John Marsden. It was also made into a film at one point and now a TV series apparently. This is my first foray into sci-fi. All chapter titles from the awesome soundtrack.

Caroline Forbes takes a post-graduation camping trip in the mountains with her friends only to return to nothing and no one. Can she find out what's happened, especially with arrogant Klaus Mikaelson along for the journey

Chapter 1: Steer

Feel it falling off like clothing, taste it rolling on your tongue. See the lights above you glowing and breathe them deep into your lungs (Missy Higgins)

Storm Lake - IA

"May he rest in peace," Bonnie murmured, looking at the fresh grave sombrely. The others in the circle had their heads bowed and eyes downcast, even Klaus.

Caroline watched stoically as Elijah shovelled the last of the dirt atop the makeshift grave. She had been playing with her beloved dog Jesse only four days earlier and now he was dead. How she had no idea. Caroline had found his lifeless body on the driveway and had run inside to rouse her parents but Liz and Bill had vanished. To where she had no idea either.

Looking back she realised just how young and naïve she'd been up until this point. Caroline's biggest worry was passing her final exams and graduating with the rest of her class. Once she achieved both of those things, Caroline was looking forward to a lazy summer with friends before her interstate college experience began. Little did she know what and who was about to come for them.

When she'd tried to call for help, Caroline discovered the electricity was cut, the house phone line dead and their cell reception was non-existent. It was frightening, paralysing and eerie all at the same time. If only she could go back.

Six days earlier….

"It's our last summer in town dad, the least you can do is let me take the jeep for a camping trip," Caroline pleaded. "Anyway, it's only four days, what's the worst that could happen?" Famous last words in hindsight.

She was almost 18 years-old and it felt so juvenile to beg. She was headed to North Western University in a few months and the least she deserved was some form of reprieve from her parents over-protectiveness. In all of Storm Lake, Caroline had lucked out, being the only daughter of the town's most prominent lawyer and the local sheriff.

Her best friends would tease her mercilessly, especially rebellious Katherine who would constantly flaunt the rules and sneak out with local boys past curfew. Caroline was jealous of her supposed freedom until her parents had decided to send her to boarding school in Des Moines. Caroline wasn't quite sure how sending her to a big city with more than her fair share of guys was considered a punishment.

She'd been sad to lose her friend so suddenly at the start of senior year but at least she still had Bonnie. Well, that's what she thought until the Mikaelson family arrived and threw their small town into a spin. The younger brother Kol had taken an immediate liking to Bonnie and they'd spent their time getting to know each other very well as it turned out. She'd been gushing to Caroline about her first time only days earlier.

There was no doubting their looks were impressive but Caroline decided early on that his brother Klaus Mikaleson was missing the personality gene unlike his sweet talking brother. He kept to himself, barely managing a mumble of response to anyone, too caught up in his art apparently. Bonnie had shared that Klaus resented his geologist father for bringing them to town for field research after growing up in busy London.

His oldest brother Elijah was already attending college at Princeton and their youngest sister Rebekah was at an exclusive music academy in Switzerland, leaving the two brothers in Iowa. Unlike Kol who'd made it his social responsibility to fit in, Klaus had chosen to keep his distance during his final year and Caroline wasn't complaining. It was guys like that who weren't worth her attention. Well, that's what she told herself anyway. The only annoying and equally irresistible part was those dark, blonde curls and crimson lips that had a tendency to curl upwards into an annoying smirk when she passed him in the halls.

"You're talking about going high into the mountains, what do you expect?"

"I'm a big girl," Caroline drawled. "I can handle a few bears."

"And what about those pesky males?" Liz chimed into the conversation.

"I'll make sure I have enough tranquilliser darts to subdue them too," she drawled sarcastically. "Seriously, besides Kat, Bonnie and me, it's only Kol and his older brother Elijah. From what I've heard he could rival you both in the uptight stakes."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Liz joked. "Just let them take the jeep Bill, what's the worst that could happen over four days?"

They'd set out two days later. Caroline drove towards Kat's farm which was a couple of miles down the road. She was looking forward to relaxing by an open fire and swim in the crystal clear stream with the bestie she'd missed all year.

"Hey, sexy," she cooed, throwing her bags in the backseat before jumping in beside her.

"What's with all the luggage?"

"You never know who you're going to meet."

"In the country? How long have you been away again?"

"Shut up and tell me everything," she murmured dismissively, checking herself out in the side mirror as they drove towards Bonnie's house to pick up the remaining passengers. "I've been gone for almost a year, it's the least I deserve."

"Well, besides Bonnie's recent emergence into womanhood there's not much else to share."

"You know I always thought you'd be the next."

"Why? I told you I was waiting for the right person and apparently I haven't met him yet," she mumbled. People might think she was silly but Caroline had always imagined her first time would be with the perfect guy. Unfortunately there was no one in Storm Lake meeting that description.

"How about these mystery Mikaelsons I've heard so much about?" Caroline felt her face redden at the mere mention of their family name. She didn't like the guy but couldn't deny he was gorgeous.

"You'll have to ask Bonnie about that, I'm sure she can share ample information with you on that front. Just don't ask in my presence, there's only so much I can take again."

"I heard there were two brothers that shared those fine genes as well."

"For someone who's been away for a year, you certainly know a lot about what's been going on in little old Storm Lake."

"What can I say? I missed you and this was my way to stay close." Caroline could sense the emotion in her voice and she leaned across to place a comforting hand on her bare arm. She knew the sudden move hadn't been easy on Katherine but she was just realising how much. Caroline always assumed she loved city life but it was certainly a huge adjustment to make. "Plus you know how much I adore gossip."

"Glad to see nothing changes with you, Kitty Kat," she grinned knowingly, turning up Bonnie's familiar driveway. Instead of just the two brothers she'd been expecting by Bonnie's side, Caroline was faced with a very unimpressed blonde, bags in hand. What the hell was he doing crashing her camping trip?

"Woah! I call dibs on the brunette to the left, you know unless that's Kol," she backtracked slightly.

"That would be Elijah," she offered trying to block out Klaus' familiar and disinterested stare as she said it, Caroline had never seen the eldest brother in the flesh but he was just as handsome in his pictures. "I should warn you that he's apparently extremely serious."

"Is that a challenge?" Caroline closed her eyes momentarily as they came to a stop outside Bonnie's family home. She really should have known not to provoke the feisty brunette. She didn't know Elijah but Caroline felt immediately sorry for him. "What's with the cute, albeit angry, blonde shooting you dirty looks? What did you do to him?"

"I might of, uh, kind of assaulted him on prom night," she uttered feebly.

"Ohhh kinky, tell me more." Trust Katherine to jump to that kind of conclusion. 

As they descended on the car, Caroline knew this wasn't the time or the place to go into that particular story. Plus she was far too intrigued as to why Klaus had come along at that moment.

As it turned out, Caroline hadn't found out why he was there immediately. He'd seemed entirely too annoyed to even bother asking. The trip up to the mountains had been surprisingly quiet given Kol and Bonnie were too immersed in each other and Katherine seemed to be sizing up her prey in the rearview mirror. Elijah was either blissfully unaware or ignoring her on purpose.

Caroline wasn't quite sure whether this campout was going to be fun and relaxing as she'd hoped or decidedly more eventful and not in the good way. They left the jeep on lower ground and descended the mountain, packs in hand. Katherine was struggling slightly but Caroline figured her oversized luggage was her own fault.

The scenery was gorgeous as they made their way over the green grass as the sun began to set lazily on the horizon in streaks of brilliant oranges and pinks. Tents were assembled by the stream, Caroline busying herself with the task at hand so she didn't have to be close to Klaus. At least his deep set frown had been replaced by something resembling exhaustion now. 

They ate some noodles for dinner (much to Katherine's dismay about the lack of culinary options) and rolled into their sleeping bags by the crackling fire.

"How about some truth or dare?"

"I'm entirely too sober for that, Katherine," Kol chuckled, stroking Bonnie's arm affectionately. "Unless you want to break out the tequila."

"Maybe tomorrow," Bonnie chided, slapping him playfully. "Eye spy?"

"It's dark Bonnie," Caroline chuckled. "Besides the flames and a few stars there's not much I can see this time of night."

"That's the Milky Way," Elijah offered, pointing above. Caroline was beginning to realise he was a wealth of knowledge and hadn't engaged much so far unless he was sharing some fact. Katherine however seemed undeterred from her mission surprisingly.

"The stars are definitely brighter from here," Caroline breathed. Instead of feeling intimidated by their brilliance, she felt alive and strangely excited for what the future held. A quick glance to Klaus wrapped in his blanket was enough to tell her he felt something similar. He didn't respond just let his gaze linger on her slightly longer than usual. It was times like these she wasn't sure whether he hated her or understood her.

They'd fallen asleep eventually, Caroline woke up a few hours later slightly groggy and attempting to gain her bearings in the limited light. The fire seemed to have burnt down considerably and she noticed the lack of wood, rising slowly to gather some more. 

Besides the flashlight in her right hand, visibility was low. She remembered a nearby clearing that had an abundance of firewood and made her way in that direction. She felt something snap under her foot and jumped in fright at the contact, running into something incredibly hard but also irresistibly warm.

"Are you going to hit me again?" He whispered into the darkness as she clung to his broad chest. After the initial fright and whatever else his touch had caused to course through Caroline's body she backed away and shone the torch in his face accusingly. "Obviously you're going to blind me instead."

"You scared the hell out of me," she growled.

"Well, that makes two of us," he shot back. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What are you doing?"

"I asked you first."

"Mature," she sniped. "If you must know I was getting firewood."

"Well, that makes two of us," he said reaching down to grab some kindling to add to his pile.

"So, where's your flashlight?"

"They're for girls."

"Your maturity is really impressing me, Mikaelson."

"And your inability to take a joke is certainly not impressing me," he growled. "My battery died if you must know, I was making my way back to camp before you decided to grab onto me for dear life."

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused," he replied smartly, picking up a few extra pieces of wood before making his way towards the partially dying fire."Just don't hit me in the meantime."

"I said I was sorry," she spluttered, following him blindly in the darkness. "You need to get over it."

"You accused me of sneaking up on you, I don't recall anything close to an apology in that," he scoffed. Caroline was getting the impression he didn't buy her excuse for the unprovoked attack. It had been rather weak but it was the best she could come up with on the spot rather than betray her feelings. "Much like tonight. I'm getting the impression you like to skulk around in darkened places."

"I don't skulk," she shot back. He may of had a point about dark places though given their two run-ins. "Anyway, what the hell are you even doing here if I'm such a creepy person?" Caroline hissed.

"Not everything is about you, sweetheart," Klaus muttered. "Maybe I just wanted to relax and check out the stars." She remembered his expression as they talked about the Milky Way around the fire.

"They are pretty spectacular," she agreed, looking upwards. The sky wasn't as clear now with only a few stars twinkling but it was still impressive. 

He seemed to follow her gaze and at that moment it felt like they were the only two people in the world. It was becoming more difficult to ignore his spicy scent and the way his white tank top was hugging his torso from this close proximity.

It seemed like everything stopped momentarily before Klaus finally cleared his throat. "Well, as charming as this has been this fire isn't going to keep burning by itself," he replied gruffly. 

Before he could move further a low humming sounded out above."What's that?" Klaus didn't respond immediately his eyes searching above. Caroline noticed one plane flying above soon to be followed by an entire fleet, the sound only increasing as they inched across the sky in large numbers.

"It must be the AirForce doing some sort of training exercise."

"With their lights off?"

"I'm not going to tell the military how to undertake their covert operations and I'm thinking this fire needs our immediate attention before it extinguishes itself completely." 

Caroline didn't argue just followed him and fell back asleep dreaming of stars and airplanes.

You can read on FF HERE

#steer #tomorrow when the war began #sophia chase #klaroline fan fiction #fusions

[satorisa]

Lift the Veil - Chapter 6

Lift the Veil - Chapter 6: Soul to Squeeze

Rating: T 

Summary: After living in Tokyo for the past six years, she decides to head back to Azumano to escape the big city. However, she now has to face everything that she tried to flee from all those years ago. How exactly will she fare when the pages of a long forgotten book start turning once more?

Read On: FanFiction.Net, Archive of Our Own

And here we are, with your slightly late but still somewhat on time update. I rather like this chapter. Perhaps you will too. But no spoilers.

I would also like to note that, at its core, this story is a sort of “coming-to-age” story for Risa (More of coming-to-terms since she is already an “adult,” but you get the gist.) It has been treated as such and will continue to be treated as such until much, much, much, later into the story. And that this story is also a sort of catharsis for me, just as a forewarning since we’ve hit the beginning of the angsty bits and the ensuing melodrama. So without further ado, please enjoy our starring lady’s development (or regression. or lack thereof. i’m going to shut up now.)

Soul to Squeeze

The angels in my dreams have turned into demons of greed…

“Harada-imouto, lay it all on me.”

Turning to Saehara, I saw him with his arms wide open and a creepy expression of satisfaction on his face. Disturbed, I went back to proofreading stories for the evening broadcast, trying to block out my currently obnoxious company.

“Aw, come on! I’m just trying to lighten the mood here!”

“You can do that without being weird, you know.” He pouted. “And there’s no mood that needs lightening.”

“Yes, there is! Chief’s been wound up, mumbling about some frustrating woman that refuses to give him the time of day, and you know how cranky he gets when he doesn’t get his way. And you have been coming in with darker circles.” I shot him a glare for even mentioning the growing bags under my eye, but he just shrugged. “Well, sorry for stating the facts here.”

“Saehara-san, I suggest you shut up and dig your nose elsewhere.”

“Look, the juju in this office is seriously whack. It all went downhill when you started working here, but now it’s unbearable!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Juju?”

“Yeah! Chief’s been on edge ever since, like he’s walking on eggshells or about ready to explode or something. The force stationed here noticed it too.”

“And this is my problem because…?”

“Well, I don’t know if a woman such as yourself would understand, but it was wonderful back in the day when Chief would walk in with that mien of confidence. Made us men feel ready to start the day with someone like that around. Then, after that night when we met up with you at the café, he’s been out of it. More so than usual if you know what I mean.”

“It sounds like your boss has a problem with a female, specifically this one.”

Saehara’s mouth dropped. Honestly, someone who prided himself on his investigative skills would’ve realized this by now especially with how obviously he described it only moment ago. “Are you telling me that—”

“…do you think it’s wise to continue digging into that matter?”

Hiwatari stood by the sofa holding a steaming mug of coffee. Our eyes met, and I saw the regret and hurt pooling in them, appearing for just a brief second before his customary stolid expression returned, aimed and ready to fire at Saehara.

“Well, I can’t help but be curious! And it’s me! It’s not like I’m going to blab to anyone about it. Well, maybe Akane but—”

All it took was one look to shut Saehara up. The poor guy gulped, slightly nodding at the frightening Hiwatari. The Commissioner retreated to his office and, while Saehara had somehow recovered from the death stare, yakking on about Hiwatari’s recently increased sensitivity, I couldn’t help but feel guilty about what had happened. I knew we both got carried away because of our bottled-up emotions, and that encounter so happened to release everything we wanted to compress (even when it clearly needed an outlet). Several years ago, I would’ve relished in the image of a broken and defeated Hiwatari slumped in his chair but now, after it actually happened, it honestly left me too unsettled to just leave it be. And since I couldn’t use my go-to strategy of pretending like it didn’t happen, there was only one thing left that I could do:

Apologize to Hiwatari.

“Harada-imouto, are you okay? You look like you just smelled some lingering roadkill.”

Once Saehara left, gloating about having “a homemade dinner filled with love from his honey-bunny,” I placed my laptop on the coffee table in front of me and made my way to Hiwatari’s office. I knocked on his door and, not hearing an allowance to enter, I decided to just let myself in.

The blinds were up, bathing the desk covered in papers the unsaturated orange of the sunset. It smelled like aging documents, coffee, and faintly of smoke: probably remnants of its precious owners. Hiwatari laid on the couch with one arm lazily hanging off the edge and the other positioned to cover his eyes from the light. I had the urge to check if he fell asleep with his glasses on, but I saw their glare on the low table.

Some habits never die.

“…what’s so important that you needed to barge in without my consent?”

“It’s me.”

He didn’t move. His body tensed slightly, and his casually open hands balled into sturdy fists. Frustration? Anger? I was slightly scared at his sudden change in body language and silently braced myself for the worst.

“Harada-san, I’m sorry about dinner. You don’t have to accept my apology, but let me at least say my piece before you leave. I simply pushed myself upon you without thinking about your feelings, and I should’ve been more mindful of that instead of finding a segue to berate you on your perfectly acceptable behavior.”

“Just because it was acceptable doesn’t mean that it was good. It was my fault for being belligerent and distant instead of addressing it immediately.”

“Harada-san, you had every right. If someone I cared about did what I had done all those years ago, I would’ve been equally, if not more, upset. This mess is mine and mine alone. You needn’t apologize for anything.”

I opened my mouth, trying to protest his words. For six years, I wanted to hear him accept his faults and apologize, as if seeing him this ruined would’ve given me the boost I needed to finally let everything go. But looking at his body somehow helplessly lying on the couch, and his eyes covered to avoid seeing me, I finally witnessed the toil that it put him through, too. I found solace in the fact that I wasn’t the only one affected by it, but that led to questions and assumptions I didn’t want to know the answer to. Or maybe I did know the answer to them, but I just couldn’t bear to face those truths.

“Harada-san, if you don’t mind, I’d like to have some time to myself. Thank you for listening, and have a lovely evening.”

“You, too,” I croaked, gingerly closing the door behind me.

Heading to my usual work space in the police station, I finished up my work as quickly as possible, managing to leave the station before Hiwatari clocked out for the day. If I went to the news station, I’d probably stay in my cubicle until hunger struck, allowing me to avoid much needed introspection with work.

Maybe I could drop by Mizuame de Noisette for some alone time if only to sort my thoughts out.

When I was younger, I heard something on TV (or the radio) about the health benefits of tea. It came around the time my obsession with chi and the flow of the universe started, and I somehow became obsessed with the brewed beverage.

So much so that I couldn’t stand coffee. My parents always made a pot for breakfast; Dad would drink it black, Mom had steamed milk with it, and Riku poured as much flavored creamer as the cup allowed whenever she found herself still tired in the morning. Even though I came from a family that preferred coffee over tea, they never bothered me about it. They’d drink tea whenever I brewed it, returning to their Japanese roots for those brief moments before allowing Westernization back into their lives once more.

(Funny how I talk about Japanese tradition when I gave it up for my weird obsession of divination using the Western tarot and the advent of the K-pop takeover.)

The first time I had coffee of my own accord and enjoyed it was in my third year of middle school at the Niwa household. Towa and Argentine tagged along with Mrs. Emiko to buy some groceries while Grandpa Daiki and Mr. Kousuke were on a trip to manage and redistribute the remaining Hikari works to areas able to care for the magical pieces. Riku and Daisuke were still at school, Daisuke dutifully manning the art club he was ushered into and Riku busy with lacrosse practice. Hiwatari, having already withdrawn from school to fully dedicate himself to his new post as the Commissioner of the police force, always left work early to accompany this member of the going-home club to what became his home after the incident. My parents still worked late back then and Hiwatari, being his courteous self, felt a need to keep me company until Riku came back with Daisuke so I would walk back home with my sister.

I was struggling through math, trying to manage without asking Hiwatari because I was stubborn—still am—when I placed my head on the table in utter defeat. Hiwatari, usually busy on either his laptop or with his paperwork, suddenly left his spot and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned a couple of minutes later holding two steaming mugs.

“Harada-san,” he called, lightly tapping my shoulder. When I got up, he placed the mug filled with what smelled and looked like coffee in front of me. I couldn’t protest since I didn’t ask for it or make it, so I mumbled a “thanks” before hesitantly taking a sip.

I didn’t expect to enjoy it so much since I’ve tried Riku’s coffee many time in the past and disliked, oddly enough, its saccharinity that masked any hint of coffee besides its bitter aftertaste characteristic of all brewed drinks. Hiwatari’s coffee, however, was slightly creamy and slightly sweet while managing to still taste like coffee: just enough to make it palatable yet not too much to overwhelm its flavor.

“I’m sorry. I would’ve made you tea, but there was only coffee in the pantry. I hope it suit your tastes.”

“It’s actually really good. Thank you.” I cradled the warm drink in my hands, completely taken by it. “How did you make it?”

“I just brewed the coffee, Harada-san. If you must thank someone, drop by somewhere in South America or Africa to deliver your gratitude.”

I raised my eyebrow in confusion at his statement and the smirk forming on his face. After a beat had passed, I frowned, shaking my head at Hiwatari’s terribly timing.

He chuckled. “My apologies, Harada-kun.” I stifled the urge to correct him for the umpteenth time for using an honorific he knew I wasn’t fond of. He just kept that stupid grin on his face before continuing. “I used a French press to brew the coffee and added condensed milk and chocolate syrup.”

“I’m offended that you thought I needed chocolate syrup and condensed milk in my coffee.”

“Harada-kun, that’s how my host mother in America prepared my coffee.”

He never brought up his time in America, dismissing it as the time he spent staying up and reading books on art history and criminal justice. He never mentioned anything else regarding America, and I assumed that Krad and his young age made it difficult for him to bond with the other students.

“Really?”

I leaned towards Hiwatari, hoping that he would continue the conversation. And when he did, the cup of coffee I fawned over mere moments ago was long forgotten until Riku walked in and complained about how I wasted another cup of her favorite beverage.

The second time I had coffee served to me like that, I was over at a guy’s apartment, trying to get to know him before plunging back into the world of relationships and romances.

I deleted his number the moment I left.

After my fourth cocktail of the tropical-flavored variety, a waiter approached me, asking if I was okay.

“Of course! I’m peachy!”

“No one says ‘peachy’ when they’re okay, princess.”

I paused, nearly losing my grip on my drink. It took me a moment, but I finally focused on the waiter’s features. He had an attractive smirk and slanted eyes that screamed mischief paired with perfectly sculpted cheekbones and long, dark hair that tapered out in the back—was I imagining this?

Dark?

“Sorry to leave you like that. I would’ve stayed longer, but it didn’t work out.”

I knew that hidden behind his mask of nonchalance was a part of Dark that lived up to his namesake. Despite his usual animation, he was still a Hikari artwork, forever bound to the rules imposed upon him by his creator. His short-lived freedom always started with acclimating to his new host and teasing the poor kid about their love life and always ended either in full agreement or miserable compromise before plunging Dark back into solitude until the next of kin became of age.

“It had to be done.” I shrugged. “No hard feelings.”

But there were once many, many hard feelings that caused trouble for everyone close to me. Now they were a blip in the past that served as a forewarning for what had followed.

“I love you, Princess.”

“I know you loved me along with the many, many other girls that came before me. And you left every single one of them just like you left me. You promised me something you knew you couldn’t keep.”

What happened back then had to be done. The conflict that stemmed from the artworks residing in Daisuke and Hiwatari got so out of hand that it started to wreak havoc on the poor boys and, eventually, their respective “Sacred Maidens.” We had to destroy that artwork and free their blood from that awful curse to save ourselves.

Besides, I couldn’t hog Daisuke from Riku.

“But I’m here now. I’ve kept that promise.”

“Honestly, that sweet-talking mouth of yours sickens me.”

Even though he knew of his inevitable fate, he fed my gullible fourteen-year-old self loving words about forever and always. And having all those hopes and dreams crushed in the span of that event killed me. Maybe Dark used me to escape his reality, honing in on a girl that showered him with unadulterated affection for the person he was. And yet, that selfishness of his meant he needed to use everything in his bag of tricks.

Even if that meant lying to himself and me.

“What’d I do wrong? Tell me, and I’ll try everything in my power to fix it.”

“You lied. Just like him.”

He laughed, and I could hear the disdain and haughtiness with each note. “Comparing me to that glacier? Why do that?”

“Because I loved the two of you, but you both broke my heart because of this damn curse!”

I felt my frustration rush through me, and I slammed my hands on the table. Only then did I finally wake up, languidly trying to discern my dream from reality. Still coming to, my hand tipped over my cocktail glass, and I watched as it spilled and shattered on the floor below.

“Risa!”

Looking up, wondering who could possibly be calling my name, I spotted Daisuke weaving through the patrons and workers who had their attention directed towards me. He came to my table, briefly apologizing to the waiter cleaning up my mess before dragging me out of the café.

We ended up at a convenience store, and I followed Daisuke as he browsed the aisles, grabbing a canned miso soup and energy drink. On my way to the cashier, I grabbed a strawberry-flavored Caplico stick and strawberry milk and crept up behind him, gingerly putting them down on the counter. He didn’t say anything, instead pushing my snacks closer to his purchases and paying for everything without a fuss before sitting at a table outside. Daisuke urged me to drink what he bought for me, but my stubbornness won out as I opened my snacks and dug in.

“Are you okay?” he cautiously asked

“Does it look like I’m okay?”

He shook his head, unsure of what to do. We sat there in silence for a while until Daisuke opened his mouth again.

“Riku’s…worried about you. I’m worried about you.” He paused. “Um…we’re worried about you.”

Luckily, I didn’t catch his implication, too intoxicated and one-track minded to pay attention to anything. “You two don’t need to worry about me,” I said. “Let me roll into the gutter of life without your well-meant bumpers.”

“Risa…”

“Look, I made a mistake coming back here, okay? This is my punishment.”

Daisuke looked distraught: his friend was suffering, and there was nothing he could do to help. Riku really did choose a good man…

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry…”

His apology hung in the air, awkward and heavy. I didn’t even know what he was sorry for. Scooting my chair closer to his, I patted his back to console him. Funny, since he originally meant to make me feel better and yet it ended up being the other way around. When he finally calmed down, he stood up, picking up my trash and telling me he needed to make a couple of phone calls.

Holding the warm cup of miso soup in my hands, I watched him go back inside the convenience store. During his first call, he looked too distressed. Daisuke had to take a couple of breaths, and he walked around a little bit before hanging up and dialing another number. He seemed a lot calmer this time around, but he somehow hung up looking even more frazzled.

“Riku wants you back home ASAP,” he explained while taking his seat. “But I’m assuming that home’s the last place you want to be right now.” I nodded. “Any ideas on where you want to go?”

“A hotel.”

“Somewhere with someone you know, please. Riku would kill me if I left you alone like this.”

“You can—”

“Risa.” I’m your sister’s boyfriend. And while there’s nothing particularly wrong with you staying at my house, this could potentially lead to some trouble. And my house? Really?

I laughed despite Daisuke’s grave tone, but I knew he was right. While Riku was fine with me and Daisuke being friends, I knew she didn’t like it whenever Daisuke was overly nice with me. And his house was a riot: having me there in this state could either cheer me up or make me feel even worse.

Saehara popped into my mind, but I didn’t want to intrude. Besides, he has a girlfriend that he may or may not live with (we had yet to breach that topic), and I didn’t want her to become wary of me even before I’ve formally met her. Hiwatari also flashed through my mind, but I was not that desperate. Yet.

Taking out my phone, I scrolled through my contacts until I found Ritsuko’s number. I brought my phone to my ear, hearing the dial tone echo. She was my last hope and, if she didn’t pick up, I would have to—

“Hey, Risa. What’s up?”

“Could I crash at your place tonight?”

“Sure, is there something wrong?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well, it’s a Friday night, so we have the time! I’ll text you to address, okay? Please get here safely, and I’ll see you soon!”

“I didn’t expect to see Daisuke as your personal entourage tonight! Is there something going on? Do I need to report this to Riku?”

“Ritsuko!”

She laughed, letting the two of us in, before disappearing into the kitchen to grab some refreshments and snacks. I sat next to a beet-red Daisuke on the sofa. Poor guy; even as an adult he was still too easy to tease.

“So, in all seriousness, what’s going on?” Ritsuko asked, placing two mugs of water and a bowl of sweets on the coffee table. “I mean, it must be a good story if Risa smells like a bar!”

I groaned, and she winked at Daisuke before laughing. Honestly, she was having too much fun with this situation.

“Well, as you can smell, I got drunk like a dumb college student, and Riku sent Daisuke to find me. And, since I didn’t want to go back home, I’m here.”

“Aren’t you a little too old for a teenage rebellion?” She laughed again. “Sorry, this is just too amusing.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” I grumbled. “Anyhow, could I freshen up a bit?”

“Oh yeah! I’ve laid out some clean clothes and towels on your bed. And a clean tooth brush. Other than that, what’s mine is yours.”

I thanked her before heading into her room, changing my clothes before cleaning up after my long day. Honestly, I wanted to pass out and forget today even happened

When I left her room, I saw her sitting on the couch, toying with her phone. She finally noticed me when I sat beside her, and she locked her phone and set it on the table.

“Daisuke left after you went in,” she explained. “So, what’s really wrong?” Her joking tone from earlier was gone, replaced with one of concern.

“I shouldn’t have come back.”

“Well, if you refused to visit for six years, you really shouldn’t have returned. If you’ve been running away for that long, you didn’t have to come back and act like you’re so strong now. And there’s nothing wrong with being a coward; not everyone was designed to slay dragons.”

“What’s up with the fairytale imagery?”

“It’s the only thing that came to mind! Don’t judge me!”

I smiled. “I’m not.”

“Well, for whatever reason, you came back, so you have to deal with it instead of drowning in alcohol. It’s not good for your skin.”

“You choose to dissuade me from drinking alcohol by talking about how bad it is for my skin? Just my skin? Really?”

“Okay, I don’t need your sass right now, okay? Too much alcohol is just bad, okay?”

“Who are you, my mother?”

“Would you rather be having this earful from me, Riku, or your mother?”

“Touché.”

We laughed. I really did miss Ritsuko’s company.

“Well, with a dragon like Hiwatari, I don’t blame you for running.”

My mind paused as those words hung heavy in the air. I hated when someone verbalized the truth, as if speaking about it granted my problem a tangible form that I could no longer just contain inside my mind.

“When he first transferred in, he was a statue that most of us girls admired from a distance. And you absolutely hated him. Then, somehow, someway, after Daisuke finally started officially dating Riku, the two of you became the bestest of friends which everyone thought was a guise for secretly dating.” I groaned at Ritsuko for reminding me about that, but she only replied with a coy smile before continuing. “And then you two just stopped talking near the end of our third-year.”

“Ritsuko…”

“And you were devastated. Maybe even more so than when Dark disappeared. I mean, it’s always hard to deal with losing someone you care about but…”

My racing heartbeat drummed in my ears, amplified by the ill-timed silence following her trailing words. Maybe she just paused there because she didn’t have anything left to say, and here I was freaking out over nothing. But what if she stopped because she needed some time to organize her thoughts before releasing a slew of words that could potentially shatter the precarious state of my sanity? Glancing over at me, her eyes widened, possibly at whatever worrying expression my face contorted to unconsciously before turning away looking guilty.  

“Sorry for bringing up a sore subject. I just…I don’t want to see you bogged down by whatever happened. It’s also late, so you should probably get some sleep, too.”

She handed me a blanket, saying that I could either sleep with her or alone on the sofa. I took the sofa mostly because I wanted some time to mull over Ritsuko’s words. Somehow, I had to stop running away from this, to compartmentalize and act like an adult.

Honestly, I had done a terrible job of doing that; both of us did. But I didn’t want to see what would happen if I put it behind me. I didn’t trust him or myself to keep it casual. After everything that happened, it really didn’t seem like an option. It was an all or nothing deal, and I don’t want to plunge back into that mess ever again.

I was too scared to see where it would lead us.

#dnangel #satorisa #satoshi hiwatari #risa harada #my writing #fanfiction #i'm astonished that these past 2 chapters hit the 4000 word mark #i'm still in the middle of writing the next chapter so if the update is around a week or two late just a forewarning #i don't have any other ramblings pertaining to this and there aren't any cultural things i want to expand on #so uh...SPOILER RAMBLINGS #EY YO DARK WASSUP #AND Y I K E S #RISA THAT TRUTH BOMB #nothing really as noteworthy as that but #damn saehara it's not okay to point out a woman's bags like you really want to have your ass handed to you #and ah ritsuko #you are also a treat to write #and you will be seeing more of her because she's risa's friend and while practically irrelevant in the canon #AT LEAST CANON ACKNOWLEDGES THAT SHE IS RELEVANT TO RISA #and thus she will be relevant in the story #i should also note that the original disgusting first draft of this actually had risa and daisuke going to satoshi's apartment though #and considering everything that you readers know so far that's a no-bueno #so everything after daisuke and risa shopping at the conbini is a rewrite #tumblr you may be a bitch with formatting #but i love rambling in the tags so that's a-okay