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favoniuscodex · 3 years

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masquerade. [ diluc x reader ]

prompt: you’ve never liked people who stick their noses where they don’t belong. but, then again, you’re a hypocrite, for you fell in love with diluc ragnvindr. well, that and the fact that you’re just trying to figure out how he’s alive when you buried him three years ago. (”you’re adorable” for my 2.5k follower event) pairing: anti-hero/villain(?)!diluc / knight of favonius!f!reader warnings: mentions of death, alcohol word count: 2.2k words

a/n: stepping a bit out of my comfort zone for this one, but god, this was fun to write. my diluc favoritism shines once more fjdskfd. this feels like it should be the start of a long fic, but tbh,,, hmm ?? idk !!! would y’all be interested in that?

it was only a matter of time until you saw diluc again. surely, you hadn’t expected it to take three years, but seeing your supposedly-dead lover at a masquerade party? such theatrics were only ingrained into his bloodline. the darknight hero loved to be in the spotlight, as long as nobody knew the person behind his actions. of course, it was only in diluc ragnvindr’s nature to make his reappearance into society at one of teyvat’s biggest yearly events: fontaine’s very own moonlit masquerade, a ball intended for the likes of government officials and greedy socialites.

under normal circumstances, diluc would have been extended a proper invite, much like you had been gifted one. you, captain of a battalion of mondstadt’s finest soldiers, were high both within the ranks of teyvat’s political and social sphere. what elevated you to your highest status, however, was your former affiliation with diluc himself. you were the former fiancée of the ragnvindr heir, only having had your title severed through his rather untimely death alongside his father.

as diluc’s almost widow, you had both inherited his estate and the responsibility of burying him. which is why, of course, you nearly dropped your flute of champagne that had once rested comfortably between your fingers as an oh-so-familiar voice leaned in behind you and murmured softly into your ear.

“would you care for a dance?”

you whirled around, the golden beverage sloshing onto the ground from the sudden movement, and came face-to-face (or rather, mask-to-mask) with eyes that you had longed to see every day for the last three years. if this is some sick joke, you thought, if this karma for how i failed to protect him, then let barbatos strike me down now.

yet, no flash of green anemo energy came. rather, you were greeted by the parting of his lips to reveal a familiar set of brilliantly white teeth as the corners of his lips upturned into a devilish grin. it was unbecoming to see such a serpentine expression painting your lover’s face and it only served to form a pit in your stomach. despite the mask, you knew beyond all certainty that this was diluc ragnvindr.

but, you also knew it wasn’t your diluc ragnvindr. that diluc had died the day you buried him, even if diluc himself was standing in front of you at this very moment. rather than respond, you press your lips into a firm line as a multitude of emotions pass over you. even if you wanted to respond, you weren’t sure if you could wrack your brain for anything coherent to say. you stare silently into the eyes of diluc ragnvindr, which were once vibrant like unpicked cherries glistening in the summer sun. now, they were no warmer than the chilled wine he had once derived his fortune from.

you look at the eyes of your lover. another man stares back. as the two of you dance with the silence between you, rather than each other, diluc’s smile inevitably drops before he clears his throat.

“might we talk elsewhere?” his voice is less sultry and less playful. like a professional wine taster, you knew how to read the hints of emotion within diluc’s tone. even after years apart, you still knew how to discern the flavors that carefully interwove themselves into each syllable that fell from his lips. in this moment, the bittersweet aftertaste of vulnerability shines through.

and with that, your steely resolve breaks as you spoke your following words.

“upstairs. down the hall and to the left, there should be an empty meeting room. no nation has claimed it as their space for the evening, so it should be devoid of any people. go there, i’ll meet you there in ten minutes,” you instruct and the dumb, arrogant smile appears on diluc’s face once more as he nods at you before quietly slipping away.

you briefly consider slapping it off before he can go, but just like before, you let him slip through your fingers once more.

precisely ten minutes later, you walk into the designated meeting room, having excused yourself from an enlightening conversation with one of sumeru’s top scholars. despite the short discussion, your talking partner had been rather intriguing, but you had bigger problems to deal with. letting out a sigh before entering the room, you take note of the way diluc, who leaned against one of the walls, stands straight up upon your entrance.

at least he had that respect.

you close the door behind you and, for good measure, you lock it. as the lock clicks shut, you hear the noise of diluc unclipping his mask. you flutter your eyes shut and inhale before turning to see what you had longed to see the most over the past three years: the face of your dead fiancé. a scar mars his cheek. it is faint, but the sight of it grounds your thoughts, for you know that he is not a ghost, nor is he the man he used to be.

he has changed.

your heart leaps at the sight of the man you once loved, the only man you thought you could ever love, the man whose last name you had taken on out of honor after his death, even if the wedding plans had been cut short. but your brain scowls at the sight, wanting nothing to do with him. it screams within you, demanding attention over the way your heart beats rapidly and urges you to rush forward into your lover’s arms and hold him close.

diluc takes a step forward, but he seemingly senses your trepidation as a brief flash of uncertainty crosses over his face. he makes no move to close the distance between the two of you. neither do you. diluc parts his lips to speak, but you hold up a hand for him to stop.

“no.” you say, voice resolute. “i talk first.”

diluc visibly swallows as you unclip your mask, only to be met with your irate expression.

“three years. it has been three years. where were you?” your voice is steely and you smooth over any shakiness in your words with your anger, filling in the cracks with bitterness.

“(y/n), i’m sorry, but i-” he begins, but you take a step forward, your scowl worsening.

“cut the bullshit and answer the question i asked you, diluc.” you snap and diluc’s eyes widen, as if he’s somehow just registering that a simple apology wouldn’t be enough to immediately woo you back to his side.

“i was hiding in the inazuman countryside and i only did so becau-” he begins, but you cut him off once more.

“thank you.” you say dismissively, waving off any additional words he has to say. the corner of his lips twitch with amusement, but you elect to ignore such a thing, for the sake of your own temper. “i only have one more question. why did you come back?”

hurt mars diluc’s expression as he registers the embittered tone of your words, but, much like you, quickly smooths his own expression over to one of indifference. yet, the affection he holds for you still shines bright in his eyes. you hate it. most of all, you hate the way your stomach does backflips at the sight.

“i came back for you.” diluc confesses, finally realizing that any longer of a statement and you would have cut him off. a sharp bark of a laugh exits your lips as you stare at him.

“it’s been three years. you could have come back at any time. and yet, you waited three years. pardon me if i don’t necessarily believe you.” you scoff, turning your body slightly away from him.

“it’s always been you. i had to do this to protect you. my father and i, we discovered things that we shouldn’t and he got killed because of it. i was next. if they didn’t get me, they would have come after you first.” diluc explains. you listen to his explanation wordlessly, before glaring at him.

“who is they and what makes you think i couldn’t handle them?” you snap and diluc’s expression contorts as if he expects his next words to cause you pain.

“ordo favonius,” diluc says, voice quiet. much to his surprise, you laugh. it was the laugh he had fallen in love with, yet it is different. a shell of what it used to be. he wonders if this is what his absence did to you -- or if it is the result of his return. he’s not sure which answer is worse.

“really? really? that’s the best bullshit lie you can come up with?” you say, folding your arms over your chest as you look at him incredulously. “the knights of favonius don’t want to kill you nor your father, nor me or anyone else you might know. they’re harmless.”

“no, they’re not. they’re wolves in sheep’s clothing, you have to believe me.” there’s an unfamiliar desperation in his tone that pulls at your heartstrings, but despite his earnestness, his words still play the wrong notes. you aren’t convinced. your eyebrows scrunch in thought before you turn to look at him, eyes narrowed.

“diluc,” you begin, words cautious. “are you the one who attempted to assassinate grand master varka?”

the acting grand master had returned to mondstadt from his expedition last month. not even a week later, an assassination attempt had been made on his life. much to everyone’s surprise, the organization, especially varka himself, refused to release details about the attacker. if diluc was the attacker, then the knights were seemingly scared of revealing that he was. but... why?

doubt finally plants its seeds in your stomach, but you know you can’t make any brash decisions tonight. not now, not when you know there are good people within the organization. jean, the dandelion knight, the one whom you had cried to after diluc’s death. albedo, the calm and collected alchemist and his younger sister klee, the knights’ resident spark knight. kaeya, diluc’s own estranged brother, whom had not contested your inheritance of the ragnvindr fortune and had gone so far as to decline any amount of money you offered him as his rightful share. they were all good people. they wouldn’t stand for such corruption. would they?

no. you think. they wouldn’t. they’re not safe either.

diluc is lying. he has to be. he wouldn’t have stood idly by for the last three years if such good people were all in danger. he wouldn’t have stood by for the last three years if you were in danger. would he?

your former lover notices the way your expression alters with each new thought that passes through your mind, so he closes the distance between the two of you and places a hand on your shoulder.

“come with me, darling,” diluc pleads. you refuse to meet his eyes, knowing you’ll break if you do so. “please. i can keep us safe.”

“i can defend myself,” you snap, but your words sound hollow, as if you’re trying to convince yourself. his hand doesn’t leave your shoulder, but you make no move to shrug it off. his refusal to answer your question gives you the answer you need. “why did you try to kill him?”

“he is not the root of the problem, but he is one of the main pieces of it. i cannot explain here, but if you come with me, i can. i promise, i swear to you that i can. just... please. we don’t have much time, they’ll notice your absence from the party soon.”

hadn’t he also promised to love you? love does not mean abandoning me for three years, you think bitterly, yet your heart urges you to listen to your lover. you take a step back and diluc’s hand falls to his side. you finally meet his eyes with your own cold gaze. the warmth of his pyro vision that courses through him does nothing to soften their iciness. diluc’s expression is no longer stoic. he looks tired and utterly devastated by your rejection.

“you are as beautiful as you were the day we met,” diluc begins and you tear your gaze from him, unable to keep your eyes fixated on him any longer. “archons, even when you are angry with me, you are adorable. i lov-”

“don’t.” you murmur, finally turning away from him. “don’t say that.”

you walk over to the door, hand hovering over the handle. you stand there for a few moments and the silence between diluc and you is nearly suffocating. tears brim at the corners of your eyes, yet you reapply your masquerade mask to hide them from any partygoers. you let out a soft sigh.

“five days. meet me in mondstadt in five days. as to whether or not i’ll go with you, i’ll give you my answer then,” you murmur, before slamming your hand down on the handle and exiting the room at a brisk pace, head held high. five days of mourning was all you had been given in the first place. it is only fitting that you give him the same time period.

#not beta read btw just giving y'all a heads up #diluc x reader #genshin impact x reader #diluc #genshin impact

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the-sole-macgyver · 3 years

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Can i request a companions react where Sole has a pet goose that doesn't like them (the companion) and will chase them around but Sole just finds it hilarious? Bonus points if a companion gets treed by the goose

Nice prompt, the games really fun- real geese not so much

Prompt:It’s a lovely morning in the Commonwealth, and Sole has a horrible goose

Excluded companions:None

Note: if there are any characters, ie: faction leaders or let’s say synth!Codsworth that anyone would like to be included please feel free to ask!

Warnings:shenanigans of the fowl kind, swearing, threats of violence, goose-typical violence under cut

Cait:She’s always thought that the Swans..clothing of choice was a bit dainty looking for such a fucking big and nasty behemoth of a super mutant, but after meeting “Morrigan” she’s pretty sure the Swans getup was spot on, because Sole’s bird was also a big nasty bastard that would kill anyone who came near it if it could. She threatens to cook it whenever it trys to chase her and Sole generally has too keep them separated because they're fairly sure Cait will go through with it if given the opportunity. Both Cait and the goose are instantly hostile when they see each other.

Codsworth: He’s known of “Beatrix” since before the bombs fell, and he’s not ashamed to admit he’d wished the bird had went up in flames like the rest of the world around him. Alas; someway, somehow, Beatrix stood before him alongside his beloved sir/ma'am once more: all pristine white feathers and seething rage aimed at the goose his chrome paint still faintly reflected back at it, his thrusters still vaguely emulating hissing, and as the beast known as Beatrix reared back, mouth open and screeching Codsworth once again resigned himself to being pecked and screamed at, while his beloved sir/ma’am laughed, cruelly. Whenever he sees the wretched thing make its way back to Sanctuary he tries to make sure he’s on the other side of the settlement.

Curie:She’d never met a real goose before Sole found her and at this point she kind of wished that she never had met the bird, or at least if she had never taken that blood sample- because apparently geese held grudges for life, and they can live for over 20 years. She had only wanted to help the animal, testing its blood to make sure the radiation wasn't effecting it too badly, but apparently it wanted its blood back and if it couldn’t get it back it would take hers- Sole insisted she was fine, but seeing that thing charge at her was quite intimidating, and so she had no plans on going near it ever again, thank you very much. If she does accidentally cross its path she dashes to the nearest building and locks the door until it leaves.

Deacon: When Sole had told him that he couldn't buy the love of the funny, waddly pre-war bird they called a goose with Sugar Bombs he didn’t believe them, after all, it seemed pretty tame. That was his first mistake, and also what landed him half way up a tree in Sanctuary of all places, dangling just out of reach from the Hell Bird with the call of a bomb siren and a mouth full of teeth, screaming for Sole to rescue him but all the traitor was doing was laughing. He’s stuck up a tree above the jaws of death and they're laughing at him. Later he tries approaching it with different methods and in different disguises- unfortunately they never work, Sole says it recognizes his shades, he says it’s an Institute spy out for him and only him. It’s a silly, running joke they have, which, incidentally, he feels like whenever the animal decides to give chase.

Dogmeat:He does not like Soles other animal. It doesn't chase him but it does hiss and go to peck him when he scampers past it. Sole will chuckle and give him reassuring head pats, which are very good- but that thing is no friend and he wont be tricked into believing it is.

John Hancock: He’s reclining on his couch in his State House when Soles resident attack bird decides to go in for the kill. It charges, he panics and grabs it by the neck before it can reach his face and do anymore damage, now hes got an arm full of evil and a Vault dweller laughing their ass off in the doorway, he’d probably laugh too- except the birds stronger than it looks and he’s kinda struggling not to be mauled or resort to stabbing his good friends beloved, if malevolent, pet. When sole finally wrangles the devil off of him he starts to notice the neighborhood watch give the creature a wide berth whenever it waddles its way into town. In fact the only person it seams to tolerate other than Sole is Fahrenheit, surprisingly.

Nick Valentine: He vaugly remembers what a Goose is- old Nick used to prefer them over Turkey for Christmas- and he can understand why his appearance might freak the pampered pre-war creature out, but did it really have to attack him every damn time it saw him? He’d think the lousy thing had a vendetta against him, except it did that to everyone who dared cross its path, he’ll never admit out loud that he got a kick out of seeing it terrorize Myrna- loudly smacking the chained cans around with its beak, unfurling its wings and hissing whenever she tired shooing it away. Later he’ll question Sole about why- out of all the possible pre-war animals they could have picked from- why did they have to chose a goose?

Danse: Seeing a fully grown man in full power armor try to run away from a 3kg bird on the war path was the highlight of Sole’s week, seeing him fall over a melon patch- the same one the bird was apparently guarding- in his mad dash for freedom almost had Sole pass out from laughing so hard, when they finally gather themselves enough to assist the paladin he’s red from embarrassment and doesn’t talk to them until the bird is removed from his immediate vicinity, and even then it takes an hour to get a word out of him, he requests that Sole keep their “feral animal” away from the Prydwen, least it knocks someone off the railing or worse- attack Elder Maxson.

Piper: She’d been threatened, she’d been poisoned, she’d experienced attempts on her life and reputation since becoming a reporter. But nothing rattled her quiet like Sole’s relic of an animal companion, its weird elongated neck, those beady soulless eyes, the fact that it could apparently smell fear because it honed in on her like a missile whenever it was in range- it was always a mad dash to put anything or anyone between her and it, soles laughing never helped one bit. She writes a small article on the dangers of owning poultry out of spite and outright refuses to let Nat near it.

Preston:He’d forever be grateful to Sole for all they had done for the Minutemen and the Commonwealth, and if that meant he had to face “Guinevere” from time to time than so be it- this is what he tells himself, what really happens is he usually sees the bird before it sees him and starts running in the opposite direction, unfortunately his sudden movements usually catch said birds attention and it gives chase, hissing as it gains on him like some sort of demon, when it inevitably catches up to him it usually takes him to the ground where he loses his hat, if it doesn't manage to take him down he’s learned that it can’t climb (but it can swim, the water is not a safe place), and there are many trees around Sanctuary, one of which he usually ends up in, waiting for the thing to loose interest and leave (preferably permanently), this is a common occurrence, so common that he has to frequently change his patrol route, because if he doesn't the bird ends up figuring it out and waits in ambush for him, he’d honestly rather deal with raiders.

MacCready: When he first meets the bird he bends down to greet it, as is custom with other small domestic animals. Unfortunately Soles evil, horrible pet takes it as a threat and then goes for his eyes. He screams, flailing back. It fucking hisses. All trust in new animals is lost that day, and now he has more than just the Gunners to look out for, because the “goose” always seems to have its sights set on him. He walks on eggshells around the bird and, even though Sole says it only attacks him because it sees his tension as a threat, he can’t bring himself to let his guard down around it. Ever. He swears that it looks at him funny, like it’s plotting something, probably his untimely death.

Strong: He threatens to stomp on it when it hisses at him, his threatening stance only serves to enrage the creature more. It earns his respect, he has never seen anything channel the amount of rage this tiny monster does, he doesn't understand why Sole finds it so amusing that he and the screaming ball of hate get along so “well”.

X6-88:When he first sees “Dolorous” he has to wonder if the Institute had created the thing, when Sole tells him that it was frozen alongside them and their family he can’t help but wonder why a bird of all things was allowed a place in a vault over a potential human, and when he finally meets Soles pet he thinks he understands why they decided to put it on ice- to keep it locked away from the outside world where it couldn’t hurt anyone anymore. He uses the Institute’s standard non-lethal defensive tactics, but still ends up with a face full of feathers and ears full of Sole’s obnoxious laughter- he did manage to throw the bird off a roof once, only to find out that despite its size it could fly really really well, Sole didn’t talk to him for a week after that and he’s sure in that week the bird kept shooting him smug looks. Sole’s not allowed to bring it into the Institute.

Ada: She just kind of idles there unsure of what to do whenever the goose decides to attack her, at least it doesn't do any damage and it wears itself out eventually, she doesn't know why Sole finds it so funny. Shes tried offering it scrap as a truce but so far nothing has prevailed, the goose still attacks.

Old Longfellow:He’s seen some messed up things in the fog in his time, it does things to creature and people- takes the fear right out of them and replaces it with something hungry and manic, but, somehow Sole’s pet bird manages to put that lost fear right back in them, it’s call carrying better in the dense air than most others, giving it a booming eerie quality that has the likes of wolves and trappers scampering away, those that are brave enough to investigate are blindsided by a pure white bird that blends so well into the fog that you can barely see it in front of you- all of these qualities he’d be grateful for, makes his job a lot easier, he just wished the thing would stop attacking his legs every time he talked, Sole says its because the fog has it tense and all the new things has it wound up, but he thinks it’s just an asshole.

Porter Gage: He threatens to shoot the thing and Sole threatens to punch his teeth in if he did. So now he’s stuck with another animal themed lunatic, except this one really is an animal and it’s only a lunatic around him, as it seems to love the shit out of Sole. He hates that fucking bird. When the Overboss isn’t looking he glares at the bird and he swears it glares right back but that might just be his own bias on how much he does not like the animal, no matter how loud Mason sings its praises- out of fear he bets.

Addendum:I do not have a beta reader and I am dyslexic, I do proof read everything but am bound to make mistakes- and I would like to apologise in advance for any I have missed.

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e-one-seven · 3 years

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(I hate being a literature student. Just know that literature students have a bad habit of over-analyzing stuff, and apparently D&D games are not exceptions.)

Normally I don't talk about ships. I think that everybody is free to ship whoever character they want with who they want and I am no one to judge them. Especially if the characters in question are from a live role playing game and one of the ships in question involves a couple controlled by a couple who is married IRL. But this one. Oh boy. Laura Bailey is an absolute beast and she deserves all the respect in the world if even a fraction of what I think it's happening/going to happen will effectively happen in game.

Fjord kissed Jester. He asked for her permission and he got it. It was beautiful. And I am genuinely freaking out because I knew that was going to happen and it's even worse than I imagined it. Why am I talking about it like it is something bad? Because it's possible that Jester is not ready to be in a relationship right now, and that Jester herself is not aware of it. Let's talk about it from the beginning.

Jester likes Fjord from the beginning of the campaign, we all know that. When Jester met Fjord for the first time, she was a sheltered girl who, in her head, just met the perfect man: a proud and strong sailor who wants to live an adventurous life just like the heroes of her novels, and she easily identified herself as the heroine the hero will inevitably fall in love with. They meet the rest of the Nein, live on their adventures and Jester keeps on acting like she is the Guinevere of her personal love story inside her head, while Fjord is blissfully unaware of what is happening inside the skull of his new friend.

Then Fjord meets Avantika, a mature woman who seems to share many traits and interests with him. Jester is clearly jealous, especially after that they sleep together to seal their alliance. That is also the moment when Jester starts to see Fjord's flaws and she seems to be willing to accept them, which is actually a point in favor for a possible relationship between them. But Fjord is still unaware of what the special attention of the blue tiefling actually means.

Then she meets a real married couple, and she starts to realize that romance is not always like she imagined it was. Nott/Veth and Yeza are married and have a child, and they are not as dependent to each other like the heroes of her novels: Nott does her own things and she is a strong independent woman and Yeza is pretty much the same, they are not allowed to be as intimate as they used to be because of "Nott's condition", but they still love and support each other through and through. And at this point, Jester starts to notice that there is a member of the Mighty Nein that seems to show her that unconditional love and support that Nott and Yeza radiate with every action: Caleb Widogast.

Caleb used to be a stinky wizard, a brash individual who joined the group just because he was too squishy to survive on his own. But ever since they are in Xhorhas, he cleaned himself, he is kinder with everyone and he wants to help her organize the Traveler Con even if the event has nothing to do with him directly. Jester is visibly touched by his newfound beauty and kindness. But he still loves Astrid. He called Jester with her name when they danced together in Hupperdook. And he seems to be interested in Essek Thyless too, so she is probably imagining it. The Mighty Nein travel, grow more powerful, and Fjord manages to set himself free from Uk'utoa's influence and becomes a Paladin of the Wildmother. He finally becomes more similar to the hero Jester imagined he was when he met him for the first time, but she seems to be only minimally bothered by his change. She needs time to think because she feels that something is changing inside her. Fjord might not be the right one after all. Caleb is always there for here with all his support, and she starts to want to be there for him.

Eventually, they stop the war, they defeat a fire god and Caleb sets up wonderful magic and illusions so that the Traveler Con is a success. But then, during the last night of the gathering, something happens and Sehanine, the Moonweaver herself is angry. She is taking Artagan away, and Jester is willing to follow him in the Feywild and share his punishment... but Fjord grabs her and begs her not to go. She has still the Mighty Nein, she has still him. For the first time Fjord is being explicit about his feelings for her. Luckily everything goes well and the Mighty Nein are free to come back to Wildemount... Where she finds out about Caleb's past and his intent to save his friend Eadwulf and his former lover Astrid from Trent Ikithon. They go dance again, Caleb pushes her in Fjord's arms, and the half-orc gives her a present. There is definitely something. But there is Caleb too, but he is too busy trying to deal with his demons to pay attention to her.

Jester meets Astrid and she antagonizes her. She is jealous, she thinks that Astrid is Caleb's ideal woman and she realizes they are not alike at all. She is a talented and ambitious wizard, while she is just Jester, the cleric of an Archfey. Astrid is just like Essek, and Caleb is attracted by Essek. Jester understands if Caleb doesn't like her after all: why should he be interested into a childish cleric whose power is not even her own? They are just very good friends. That's all. He should be back with Astrid and she will support him if that will happen once that she will be free from Trent Ikithon's influence. But Caleb is still so kind, and loving, and supportive... she is really confused about it. But he is kind and loving with all of his friends, so in the end it might not be important.

And then, there is Eiselcross with its weird ancient magic. A magic as dangerous as the one they found in the Happy Fun Ball, which contained a Blue Dragon and a trap that managed to kill Nott without them being able to prevent it. Everything is dangerous and the Mighty Nein realize as the time passes by that not everyone of them could get out of there alive, especially given what and who they are trying to stop. And Jester herself falls into a trap: she is given a vision that confirms to the Mighty Nein that what they feared is true, that the Tomb Takers' objective is to bring an eldritch floating city scary enough to cause a Morkoth into voluntary exile back to Exandria, where it intends to absorb its inhabitants into its hive mind. The price to pay for the vision are 5 years of her life. "Growing old" is different than "growing up", and it happens to her in a matter of seconds. Jester is five years closer to death now, and it is possible that she is lucky they are just five. The minor changes in her appearance are a reminder of what it could have happened if she wasn't lucky, and she has no idea about what else changed about herself and what will change in her personal life and relationships because of that accident. All she knows right now is that these might be her last days alive and she is afraid she might be missing something before her untimely death.

(And she would not be silly to think about it. After all, who they are facing is reminding all of the Mighty Nein that even if they are becoming powerful they are still mortal beings.)

And when she is in the middle of a mild existential crisis and confusion reigns inside her head, Fjord declares. And Jester, still willing to believe that she is her old self, the young woman who left Nicodronas and miraculously met the man of her dreams that will lead her to live an exciting life full of love and adventures, accepts to kiss him. It is very likely that she was not thinking about anything in that moment, but one thing: "If I say yes to Fjord it means that I am still me, right? It is happening because it was supposed to happen from the beginning, because we were supposed to be together."

There is just one little problem: Jester is ignoring the fact that she has changed from the person she used to be back then, and it did not happen because a group of stone statues magically aged her up. There is still something for Fjord, she will never forget him as he is and he will always be her first love. But she has some feelings for Caleb too, and even if she is "a good liar" they might be too strong for her to simply ignoring them. After all, Caleb "I was trained to lie and kill for the Empire" Widogast did an excellent job when he was trying to hide them. There are some clues here and there that hint that Jester might love Caleb as much as he loves her and that she wants him to be happy, even with other people... just like he wants it for her. Add the trauma she is just starting to deal with, and there is almost no way that her current relationship with Fjord is going to evolve into something healthy and angst free right now. This if that kiss was the effective beginning of a serious relationship, and not the promise of a future relationship between them if she will be still available.

But these are the vibes that the beginning of a relationship between them is giving to me right now, and nothing will be confirmed until Laura Bailey will show up to Talks Machina to talk about it. I am also curious about how she will react when she will see Essek again: when the stakes were not high she used to tease him to be with Caleb... but now she has met Astrid, she might have feelings for him and being in a relationship with another person, and Caleb states that he doesn't trust him. I guess that if she still does, it will be mostly an attempt to show to everyone that nothing changed for her and that she is fine (and that would be a huge step back into her character development, but it was her defense mechanism until the Rumblecusp arc and she is dealing with a lot of serious stuff all together right now).

I'm not saying that the ship is going to die: I'm saying that because of the circumstances behind how it was made official and the relationship between all the character involved, I would say that it is very likely that it will lead to some cute moments, but that it eventually won't last. This is especially true if it will confirmed that Jester has feelings for Caleb too, as feelings for another person are not easy to get rid off, and I am fully expecting Jester to angst and talk to someone about them at some point. She needs to achieve true clarity and accept that she is going to break someone's heart in order to be in a healthy, happy relationship. Because, let's face it, we all imagined Jester would have been much happier if she'd ever entered into a relationship, shouting about it out loud so that everyone know. There is something weird here. So, or either the kiss is a promise, or Jester's heart is not fully into it and this means trouble.

But yes, Laura Bailey promised us that she would have romanced Travis's character and she is doing it. And whatever it will be the final result, she is still a legend for having achieved the impossible once more.

PS: Obviously this post in the end means nothing, as no one owns and knows the full truth behind the intent of these characters but the actors who control them. I just wanted to give my two cents about the question. It's more likely that this development will prevent Jester to suffer from a mental breakdown in Eiselcross instead of causing her to suffer from one, but I tend to over-analyze stuff. Please forgive me for this.

PS2: As a final note, it would have been the same even if Caleb would have been in Fjord's place, if not even worse: I wrote a post about Caleb in Eiselcross too, and between him and Jester I have no idea of who is the most messed up at the moment. Poor children...

#critical role #character analysis #jester lavorre #fjord #caleb widogast #fjorester #widojest #angst everywhere #why did i even write this #i just want them to be happy #cr meta

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tossawary · 3 years

Text

Chapter 25: “Home Sweet Home” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” quotes and commentary. Not a full list of favorite quotes or full commentary.

Anyway, Shang Qinghua makes himself so fucking sincerely annoying that the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators can’t figure out how to politely tell him to fuck off fast enough. Shang Qinghua makes outlandish assumptions about how many thieves there are (at least a dozen, he’s sure, probably twice that) and what methods they might be using (special invisibility talismans, he suspects); Shang Qinghua repeatedly apologizes for being too busy with important things for Cultivator O.B.B. at the last Immortal Alliance Conference, then tries to commiserate with the man about having to get important things done without getting any respect for it; Shang Qinghua also anxiously wonders if they should all go to Zhao Hua Temple Sect to report what happened here, since there’s a troublesome demon and also some sneaky rogue cultivator thieves on the loose out here! He gets turned down immediately, but assures everyone that he’ll at least let Yue Qingyuan know everything that happened here right away!

Liu Qingge pretty much just stands there scowling silently the entire time - he’s no Shen Qingqiu for sheer menacing "I can and I will ruin your entire life" glares, but he’s still pretty intimidating. He does a great job! No notes!

Shang Qinghua nearly pats himself on the back as he and Liu Qingge leave less than an hour after he arrives. “Holy shit, I’m good,” he thinks, a little giddy with the successful extraction. “That’s a skill that good ol’ Liu-Shidi will never have!”

AN: Of course this has a high chance of backfiring. Is Shang Qinghua going to weave webs of lies anyway? Of course.

Love the fact that Shang Qinghua can shamelessly act like a total pushover, while actually manipulating someone so that he gets the results he wanted. Some snobby sect leader walks into a negotiation room, prepared to use SQH as a doormat, and Shang Qinghua is probably internally like, “Bro, me and my jelly spine welcome you to hell.”

He gives them the rundown on what happened, but, to his complete lack of surprise, that doesn’t seem to satisfy interrogators like his little sister-in-law and his fellow transmigrator. They have so many questions! And Shang Qinghua doesn’t have enough answers for them!

No, he doesn’t know what Huan Hua Palace Sect knows or thinks they know. No, he doesn’t know how they knew about that place. No, he doesn’t know whether the monster was just a local opportunist preying on distracted cultivators or something more sinister. No, he’s not experimenting with the creepy special item or discussing it at length here. No, Luo Fanli and Peerless Cucumber are not allowed to poke at the creepy special item!

Why the fuck would he ever let them do that?!

All Shang Qinghua knows is that Luo Fanli and Peerless Cucumber should eat their vegetables and then go to bed! Because they all have a long journey back to the sect in the morning! And also that words cannot describe how painfully old he feels as soon as he says this.

AN: I’ve been thinking about a Demon Trio fanfic in which Mobei-Jun finds himself in a similar position with Luo Binghe and Sha Hualing.

Mobei-Jun and Shang Qinghua are, like, bare minimum twice the age of Luo Binghe and Shen Yuan. Like, yes, neither Mobei-Jun nor Shang Qinghua are old old by the standard of the PIDW world. Yes, MBJ and SQH are stunted as all get out. But the fact that they have bare minimum 2x the life experience as Bingqiu is, in my opinion, funny as hell and severely underused in fanfiction.

Like, imagine Mobei-Jun unintentionally dadding new demon LBH in SVSSS. Mobei-Jun being like, “Don’t eat the meat from this monster. It makes you hallucinate.” Or being like, “These people aren’t politically important enough to be shown this kind of respect. Look down on them properly and go sleep, or no one will ever respect you again in demon politics.”

MBJ looking at SVSSS LBH and SHL like, “Damn, who raised you?”

Because, like, I love to joke about Mobei-Jun being an oblivious fool, but that’s in regards to human culture. Mobei-Jun operating on demonic culture + his level of arrogance in regards to how he’s handling SQH suggests that MBJ can be politically savvy among demons when he wants to be. Also, the mental picture of MBJ being like, “Eat your weird demon vegetables, there’s nothing wrong with them, you picky half-breed brat,” is extremely funny.

I’ll probably turn this into a separate post.

Shang Qinghua does not miss the man’s unconcealed “oh, great, some of my favorite problem people are back, probably with bad news” expression when they arrive. The man is not at all impressed to hear about the drugged-up Shadow Cave Wolf Spiders or the evil, murderous, madness-inducing plant they fought on their mission, but the Qian Cao Peak Lord is reluctantly, partially placated by the jar of three-eyed skeleton tears Shang Qinghua super thoughtfully brought back for his inspection. Mu Qingfang really likes his research projects!

Shang Qinghua lets himself feel kind of good about this gift - he’s the man who gets things and gets things done - and ignores the Weeper’s Eye whispering in his head, “He has resigned himself to the untimely deaths of everyone he knows.”

(Wow. Oh, Shang Qinghua knows that feeling!)

AN: Mu Qingfang doesn’t think that everyone around him is inevitably going to die, he’s just extremely aware of how dangerous the world is and how reckless cultivators can be. Also, for many years, he was fairly certain that Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu were headed for bad ends.

This felt like a good place to insert some optimism back into the sect in general. Luo Fanli has been cured and is willingly going to visit her sister, Liu Qingge has got a hold on his self-destructive tendencies, Mu Qingfang thinks things are getting better, Shen Qingqiu’s health problems have been essentially fixed, Qijiu might actually work their shit out, Shen Yuan shares his real name with Shang Qinghua, and so on and so forth.

It felt like a good contrast with and buildup towards Luo Binghe’s Skinner mistake (not everything is rosy yet, there are still growing problems), the secret basement, and the encounter with Bing-Ge.

Only to flip that around and then bring some surprise Moshang into things!

“I have now been informed that, after learning that you had returned and, at the very least, completing the duties that were intended to have him reflect on his actions, he has disappeared yet again,” Shen Qingqiu continues. “This second disappearance has set some of the other junior disciples into a renewed panic, which has concerned some of the senior disciples, which was, apparently, cause to alert me.”

“Ah,” Shang Qinghua says.

AN: Shen Jiu should not be in charge of a bunch of children, but it is funny to imagine him going through the same “be a less shit person” adoption process as Shang Qinghua. Like, oh, it would be so easy for him to be cruel about this situation, but fuck you if he’s going to be outdone in the recovery and redemption process by Shang Qinghua of all people.

Shang Qinghua: *grows into a kind of decent person*

Shen Jiu: “Fuck you. That’s not allowed.”

Shen Jiu: “...”

Shen Jiu: “Well, if THAT FUCKER of all people can do it...”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t have to look long or far to find his nephew. He finds the young protagonist sitting despondently on the doorstep of his own Leisure House, sniffling into his sleeve. Peerless Cucumber of all people is sitting beside him and keeping him company.

“Focusing on other people’s lives is easier than looking at his own.”

“-think a drowning man first has to save himself… or else he’s only going to bring down the people he’s trying to save,” Peerless Cucumber is saying.

Binghe nods.

AN: Going by, like, the everything of SVSSS, Shen Yuan really is the asshole going, “I’ll die before I look inwards to recognize and deal with my own emotions.” Also, going, “Yes, I’m a hypocrite who won’t take my own advice. And what about it?” What a repressed nerd.

Shang Qinghua clears his throat to get their attention. Both kids (well, teenager and young adult, but still... kids) look up and then stand up quickly. Luo Binghe takes a forgetful step forward, before he wobbles into an appropriate respectful bow instead.

“Shang-Shishu!”

“How dearly this boy is loved!” the Weeper’s Eye declares, in its soft way inside Shang Qinghua’s head. “More than life itself! More than death itself!”

“Ah, never mind all that,” Shang Qinghua says, and steps forward to wrap his nephew in a quick hug instead, keeping the creepy talking eye oriented away from his nephew. “You’re a little too late to talk to me about your mission before your shizun did.”

Binghe, who was just relaxing into the unexpected hug, freezes.

Shang Qinghua knowingly pats the poor young protagonist on the back.

“Oh, shit” is right!

AN: Uncle Shang really is adorable. Still kind of knocks me for a loop writing it, though, given that the SVSSS SQH and LBH relationship is... nothing like this whatsoever. Look upon the field of SQH and LBH content and see that it is relatively barren except for the stubborn motherfuckers with excellent taste in character exploration.

“Ahhh, well, I’ll be there too for this potential family reunion, bro,” Shang Qinghua assures him. “Maybe we can finally get to the bottom of where this ‘Shen Yuan’ name came from.”

Peerless Cucumber makes a strange expression.

“What?”

“...It’s my name.”

“What?” Shang Qinghua repeats.

“It’s my name,” Peerless Cucumber says again, quietly. “It’s my real name.”

“Oh.”

“Huh,” Shang Qinghua thinks, having been operating on the assumption that the System made the name up for its mysterious backstory. Well, that gives new dimensions to Peerless Cucumber’s criticism of the scum villain!

“You can use it,” Peerless Cucumber says, with an air of determined nonchalance. “Everyone else is doing it.”

“Ah, alright. Thanks.”

AN: This is probably the part where I would have made Shang Qinghua reveal his original name in turn... IF HE HAD ONE. It drives me... kind of wild that we get the Airplane Extras and we STILL don’t get 1) Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky’s original name, and 2) MOBEI-JUN’s name.

Which actually makes things a little more interesting here, in my opinion, even though not having those names gets a little frustrating in terms of fanfiction writing. With Mobei-Jun, you get to explore the fucked up possibilities of him not having a name outside of his identity as the future Northern King. With Shang Qinghua, you get to explore him being a squirrelly little fuck who refuses to let anyone into his life.

So, because we don’t have Airplane’s name, we actually get this mildly interesting dynamic in which Shang Qinghua doesn’t even really think to reveal it to Shen Yuan. We don’t see this part, but Shen Yuan is actually a little miffed by this degree of secrecy, which is going to come up later. (Shen Yuan doesn’t like the fact that Shang Qinghua has as much power over him as he does.)

I personally do not hold the headcanon that Airplane’s name was “Shang Qinghua”. It’s a little too on the nose for me. At that point, the only reaction to transmigrating into SQH kind of has to be, “Ah, well, I was asking for that!” Maybe Airplane projected his worst qualities onto Shang Qinghua, but I don’t think he went so far as to give the character his own name.

Airplane’s main identity when he died appears to have been Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky, and we know that he wasn’t particularly close to his divorced parents and any step- or half-siblings. So, the only names that are really relevant post-transmigration are “Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky” and “Shang Qinghua”. By the time that SY gets here, he’s firmly entrenched in those identities, and his original name is completely irrelevant. I could honestly believe that Airplane just doesn’t think it matters anymore.

Shang Qinghua’s nephew, in the way of a true young protagonist or fucking cannon fodder, got the bright fucking idea to slip away to speak with the concubine called Butterfly privately.

“I thought: what if she didn’t want to speak in front of that lecherous old man? What if she wanted to get away from him?” Binghe confesses.

“She was the demon,” Shang Qinghua guesses.

Binghe nods, voice breaking. “It was… I was really, really stupid, Uncle.”

“Well, at least you know that,” Shang Qinghua sighs, and pats his sniffly nephew on the back again.

Oh, he can see why Shen Qingqiu was pissed the fuck off now. Shang Qinghua kind of wants to start yelling! Or maybe just screaming, coherently or otherwise!

Except yelling isn’t going to help much right now.

Shang Qinghua listens as Luo Binghe recounts being captured by the demon and then waking up bound by Immortal Binding Cables - of being so terrified that he could barely breathe with it. His only hope was Ning Yingying and Ming Fan tattling on his disappearance and a senior disciple tracking him down on time. The skinner demon apparently nearly killed Binghe, crooning over his young and beautiful skin, except a flash of warm light intervened and dropped an unstable part of the ceiling in on them before they could hurt the captured protagonist.

“Fu-Shijie and Shizun arrived after that and k-killed it,” Binghe says. “Uncle, it was all stupid luck! Shizun said I should have been dead and that, between my efforts and the demon’s, he had no idea how I wasn't! And he was right! It was so close! If the ceiling hadn’t fallen in like that-! Fu-Shijie suggested the ropes might be faulty and it could have been an unconscious use of spiritual energy, but I didn’t do anything! It wasn’t me!”

It sounds like the System to Shang Qinghua, intervening again at a crucial moment to prevent the premature death of the protagonist. Just thinking about how close his nephew came to dying without him knowing is nearly enough to inspire a cold sweat! Shang Qinghua can’t speak about the System, so all he can really do is keep hugging! Keep holding on for dear life and saying soothing nothings to his crying nephew!

AN: I wanted to include the Skinner mission, but I didn’t want to redo it onscreen because that’s been done in many fanfictions before and I felt that there was really no good reason for Shang Qinghua to be a part of it. The reason I wanted to include it is to show how the plot is off the track of the SVSSS (and PIDW) stories, with the changed LBH and the changed Original SQQ.

LBH wants to be a hero, but he’s not there yet.

“...Don’t put yourself above him… or below him. Tell him what you want and listen to what he wants, and don’t be surprised if things don’t change all at once,” Shang Qinghua advises and, at Yue Qingyuan’s look, quickly raises his hands. “Ahhh, not my business, I know! Not my business! I just… I hope it works out! I hope you two get something better out of this mess! Aha, make the sect meetings a little less awkward and… things.”

“He has never known what better looks like. He will always be Yue Qi, the slave boy. No matter what he does.”

“...Thank you,” Yue Qingyuan says finally, thoughtfully. “I appreciate your… restraint in this matter… in recent months.”

Aha, yikes.

AN: I know that some people wanted more stomping on Yue Qingyuan, but... like... this man is as or nearly as traumatized as Shen Qingqiu. His childhood fucking sucked. He broke his own soul trying to save Shen Jiu and failed. He made some shit decisions where Shen Qingqiu was concerned, but the logic and trauma he’s operating on are pretty obvious. He was trying.

Part of the theme around the Qijiu and Moshang arcs has also been “an eye for an eye”. Like, are you guys really going to keep on not communicating with each other and then fucking up and then taking chunks out of each other? How many misunderstandings and upset over misunderstandings are you going to throw at each other? Where do you put your foot down and say, “I don’t want to live like this forever. We can be better than this. I want better than this.”

Like, it can’t just be hurting each other back and forth (this applies to Qijiu more than Moshang, in which MBJ definitely carries the weight of this fuck-up). It can’t just be privately nursing hurt feelings forever. The options here are “fix it” or “live like this forever”. Fixing it won’t happen immediately, but the other option fucking sucks, so every little step helps.

So Shang Qinghua here is just like, “Bro, I’m tired. My anger has cooled a lot. I just want all our lives to suck less. I hope things work out for you.”

#tossawary svsss #tossawary commentary #pride is not the word

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prettyboysdontlookatexplosions · 4 years

Note

So: what ARE all the various things Quentin Coldwater visibly has not processed or unpacked or come to terms with by the end of season 4? Have you made a list?

sure, let’s give this a whirl, shall we?

1. quentin’s death itself - kind of cheating since technically quentin does not come back to life in the show, but the obvious starting point in any post-s4 fic about him. i feel like dying and coming back to life on its own has gotta be messed up in even the best circumstances, possibly unless you do it like penny where you never really have a moment of feeling like you have died. in the softest interpretation of quentin’s death, it was still a violent sudden untimely death, which feels like it adds to that. which is not getting into —

2. the fact that quentin’s death was self-inflicted - i think there’s definite room for ambiguity in considering, like, how suicidal his suicide was, so to speak, all the way from “he walked into the mirror realm planning or at least hoping to die” to, sure, “he sacrificed himself for the greater good and was sorry to die.” that is a reading that fits with the text. my own headcanon-ish take on it, or the reading that makes most sense to me in terms of quentin’s characterization across the show (which to be clear is NOT what the show wants us to think about it), setting aside whatever angle i might find most dramatically useful or interesting explore in a particular story, is somewhere between these two. i think if everett hadn’t shown up, quentin would have walked out of there alive, and when he decided to cast, some part of him felt a real deep sense of relief. i actually read the moment as emotionally pretty analogous to alice niffin-ing out — when niffin!alice says she did it on purpose, i think that’s true, but does that mean she wanted to, exactly, in all the parts of her that didn’t make it to niffinhood? i don’t know, and i don’t think alice really knows, then or ever, which is how i feel about some future quentin looking back and trying to answer for himself the question he asks penny: yes, no, both, kind of, not really, yes but just for a second, no but not strongly enough... and that kind of uncertainty about your own desires and beliefs and motivations at such a crucial juncture is itself something to process. like i said, that’s my own take on it, and the reality of it (despite the show’s protests to the contrary) is ambiguous; what’s not ambiguous is that, uh, quentin made a choice he knew would kill him, and everything we know about quentin suggests that having this information about himself would really fuck him up (and also that some dumb hot chocolate feelings chat in the underworld would not actually be enough to ease his mind on the issue). which leads me to —

3. quentin’s mental health shit, part the first - so, there’s the fact of quentin’s depression which predates the show by ages and which he has now spent four years basically ignoring while getting traumatized repeatedly, and he needs....... something regarding that. meds/therapy convo is for a lot of people the obvious Something, it’s a good Something. i don’t like to be prescriptivist about what Something is, i think a lot about leonard cohen in his 70s being like “yes it turned out that the thing i needed to finally address my lifelong depression was to go through the process of getting ordained as a buddhist monk.” maybe what quentin needs is to get ordained as a buddhist monk. i could buy that. but Something regarding his like everyday ability to be a person in the world, especially considering that he died at what could charitably be described as a low point re: that, he needs. and, also —

4. quentin’s mental health shit, part the second - he needs to process and deal with his own feelings about his fucked up brain and the things that he’s done as a result of it, because there’s the brain stuff, but then there’s also the shame and self-concept and identity issues that have developed around and with the brain stuff, you know? i mean, there is a reason i have written now two stories spanning well over a hundred thousand words in which therapy is suggested to quentin and his response is “hmm. no thanks,” and it’s because the first time we ever meet him, he is in the process of refusing further treatment against a psychiatric professional’s advice! he goes off his meds like 18 hours later and never once in the show shows any inclination of being like, “hm maybe that was a bad idea,” including when magic gets turned off and he picks up smoking as a fun summer hobby instead. we know from the mind palace that quentin’s deepest fears involve his own brain, and there’s a lot of different ways you can read the fact that the cherry on top of the nightmare sunday is the dream-revelation that his illness led him to attack his dad but IMO one of the more obvious ones is that he already thinks of his illness as something that has hurt his dad. he has some real dark feelings about his own mind.

5. quentin’s dad - quentin barely deals at all with his dad’s death before he himself dies, and like — similarly to his death, losing his father in his mid-twenties is something that would be difficult for a long long time in the least-bad situation. for quentin, i think there’s a ton of unresolved shit in the distance between them as two people who loved each other deeply, and knew the other loved him deeply, but didn’t always know how to communicate; i think there’s a lot of internalized shame around making his father’s life difficult by having the mental health problems he did that he hasn’t unpacked; i think that ahead of him there’s like, a lot of unexpressed anger about what his father couldn’t give him & a lot of guilt about that because his father did do his best and is now dead & a lot of grief about the fact that his father will never be around for quentin to heal his side of their relationship. also there’s the fact that, uh, quentin’s dad died because he chose to turn magic back on, and we know from his conversation with julia that he feels conflicted about having made that choice.

6. quentin’s experiences with the monster - almost everything that happens to quentin on the magicians is some degree of traumatizing, but being constantly tormented by an evil demigod wearing the body of your ex-boyfriend who keeps murdering people partly (after 4x05 at least) because you decided you wanted to take on the absolute inevitability of further carnage for the extremely slim chance of somehow saving your rex-boyfriend - that really takes it to the next level, and we can see that this is true in his affect, in the way quentin in season 4 just totally shuts down, in his reckless behavior and even lower instinct for self-preservation.

7. quentin’s experiences on the quest - i’ve said this before, but if you watch season 3 from the mosaic episode on with a focus on tracking quentin’s inner state, the show becomes a grim story of a guy who came face to face with his depression and never really recovered. that’s... a lot, on its own. it’s more when you consider the fact that as far as he knows, he only survived his initial encounter with the depression monster by, uh, fulfilling its darkest ideas about himself, i.e. passing on his pain to someone else (benedict) who died because quentin wasn’t strong enough to handle his shit on his own. that’s not my read of that episode, but i honestly feel like if quentin ever has 5 seconds to think about it that’s gotta be how he feels about it, right? and you can see briefly in season 3 how his anxiety starts ratcheting up about his sense of responsibility towards others on the quest once penny and benedict are both dead. and there’s also the whole thing about how the quest wants him to be cold, which as i have said 9 million times is a very sad thing for him to believe that he never gets to unlearn! all culminating in his decision to stay at blackspire, which —

8. quentin’s hero thing - of all the really baffling choices the show makes, one that i keep coming back to is how they told quite beautifully the story of quentin letting go of his desire to be a hero, culminating in handing alice the leo blade (or... whatever i’m not gonna fact check that. you know what the fuck i mean), and then they uhhhh. i don’t even know what to call it. walked it back? decided he hadn’t actually learned that in a generally applicable way? the season 2 finale is interesting because he does A Hero Thing (stabs a god with a sword), but it happens very unglamorously and feels very much like a decision born out of necessity, but then it leads to magic ending, so... i don’t know what to do with that. but his decision to stay at blackspire is... clearly quentin wanting to be a hero! like, he’s managed to step away from the idea of heroic glory, but veered over instead to heroic martyrdom, which is not really... better. and which eliot saves him from (See Below), only for him to... double down on it a season later by sacrificing his life for real. all of which is A Lot, not even getting into the fact that, like, at some point he’s gotta come up with some justification for being alive other than this, and the show strongly suggests he... hasn’t, yet.

9. yeah, like, eliot? - HOO boy. listen. the act of turning quentin down in and of itself is not morally wrong. if eliot sincerely hadn’t wanted a relationship with quentin after the mosaic, that would be his right, and his rejection doesn’t become a crime just because we know that it actually came from his own issues. i also honestly think eliot thought in the moment that he was shutting this down for the good of both of them and as kindly as he could. he was very wrong about this, but that’s my take. HOWEVER. there are a lot of reasons you can read that conversation in 4x05 as being unintentionally crafted to be particularly hurtful to quentin specifically, the biggest and most obvious one being, uh, “fifty years that were real for you were not real for me” (hurtful in any case but particularly for someone like quentin who has such a sense that one of his problems is he Cares Too Much), and my personal favorite being that the logical implication of “that’s not you,” for quentin, is “the version of yourself that learned to be content with your life as it happened to unfold is not real.” excruciating to hear those things, while also trying to figure out how to emotionally process the memories of a dead wife you never married and a son that was never born! extra excruciating to then have the person who told you “you didn’t matter enough to me to take a chance on” shoot a god because apparently you do matter enough for him to override your life choices, and then get possessed. one of my favorite moments in 4x05 is when quentin tells alice “i loved you, and you couldn’t trust that,” because it’s clearly in there to draw a parallel to the throne room scene for Writing Points, but it’s so wildly inapplicable to any of their 900 break-ups (right before blackspire SHE was the one saying “i know i don’t always seem like it but you’re the one i love”!), that the only plausible in-universe reading of it is that quentin has been stewing miserably on the eliot thing this entire time, only now he can’t even be properly mad at eliot because eliot is possessed by a demigod, so he’s just projecting onto the nearest available screen. i’m obsessed with that. it’s horrible and very sexy and Needs To Be Unpacked

10. see, like all the way down here at the bottom we get to quentin’s mom - idk, his mom is a very critical person (i don’t love using the word “critical” because it often gets used misogynistically but it is the only personality trait we really have for her) who never seems to contact or wonder about her adult son with a longterm history of mental illness, who certainly doesn’t seem to have the same skepticism his father has about the brakebills cover story that he’s studying finance, and who unlike his father is not mentioned when quentin recounts his first hospitalization. like, that can’t be great for him, right? that can’t have nothing to do with him being the way he is. for most people that would rank as a pretty major thing to process. but compared to everything else on the list? idk, man!

that’s... i mean this is not so much my thinking for fic-related reasons, this is just me lying down and trying to get out all my screaming about quentin coldwater, which i honestly feel like is still missing some things. like i kinda think he has not gotten over being an unpopular nerd for what is chronologically still most of his life??? i feel like he has some weird stuff around sex which explains why his reaction to poppy macking on him is basically “i guess this is happening now” which is not, like, an ideal relationship or lack thereof to have with your own body? he doesn’t have a single close friend who does not play a major role in his psychosexual development, and he has no male friends he’s never slept with. i couldn’t even go down the road of residual guilt over being the guy who got magic turned off and therefore in his brain probably responsible for everything that happened after that. the dude’s a mess!!!!!!!!!! i love him more than anything on this stupid earth but his mind is a fucking horrorshow!!!!!!!!!!!!

#the magicians #askbox #i slept poorly the past several nights and my brain decided it's all coming down Today #so this seemed like the right time for this lmao

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chipper9906 · 4 years

Text

And Then You Were Gone, In A Rush Of Colors

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 6105

WARNINGS: Major Character Death (Temporarily), Violence, Blood

Status: Oneshot- Complete

Summary: He hadn't noticed, at first. Not until he stumbled back slightly away from Castiels body, eyes fixating on the open wound from the angel blade, and realising with a sickening horror that it was no longer a dark gray.

It was striking, so vibrant that it demanded his attention.

'This is red.'

Set during Episode 3 of Season 9, "I'm No Angel", in an alternate universe where you see colors the first time you touch your soulmate.

* * *

Dean never really liked the concept of having a soulmate. Except, that wasn't entirely true. He ate that shit up as a kid, seeing the happiness that radiated off his parents whenever they were together, his mom ensuring him that "Someday, you'll have that with your soulmate. And you'll be so happy to have found them, that you probably won't even notice the colors."

The colors...

How could he not notice them, if they were to appear? Nearly forty years of living on an Earth that consisted solely of different shades of a muted gray, he was fairly certain he'd take notice of seeing everything in a completely different way, no matter how happy he was feeling.

When he had asked a hunter that had found his soulmate what it was like out of plain curiosity, it was hard not to get frustrated at his attempts at explaining it. It wasn't his fault, of course. How do you describe something that the other person has never seen?

Obviously, it's not all about the colors. No, that was just a side part of what was really happening.

Meeting your soulmate, for the very first time.

Two souls destined to become entwined, finally being joined together. Like the final piece of a puzzle, where everything falls into place.

In his teenage years, the idea didn't appeal to him all that much. Despite being told countless times how his soulmate would be the perfect person for him, the idea that the person he is to spend the rest of his whole life with was already chosen for him seemed completely unfair. It would become such a huge part of his life, shouldn't he get to decide who he loves?

That wasn't the biggest problem, though. The problem was, as much as he hated to admit it, the thought of having a soulmate was terrifying to him. Not when he finds them, but when he loses them.

Because in their line of work, it's inevitable. Getting close to someone is a risky game that almost always ends in death and suffering.

The first time he had seen the effects of losing your soulmate was with his dad. He barely has any memories of his father before Mary was so untimely ripped away from him. He does remember how different his dad felt after. It became a rarity to see him smile, and he became cold and distant, even to his own sons. He no longer had the comforting touch of a loving wife, and now the only respite he found was at the bottom of a bottle.

Dean has already lost people he cared about, was keenly aware of the pain that brought on. But he knew that it wouldn't even begin to compare to the pain he would feel in losing his soulmate, and he just doesn't think he would have the emotional capacity to deal with it. He would fall right into the steps of his father; a bitter, ageing man who no longer had a purpose in his life than that of revenge.

Sometimes, he isn't sure whether seeing what happened to Sam with Jess validated his opinion more, or made him see the other side to having a soulmate. After all, he'd be blind not to see just how happy Jessica made Sam. He could feel it radiating off of his little brother the second he introduced him to Jess, and it had pained Dean slightly to see how happy Sam had been without him.

Once, and only once, when they had both had a bit too much to drink, Dean had asked Sam what it was like to have a soulmate.

"It was kind of like... I don't know, like being with them was as natural as breathing. Like you had already known them your whole life."

Dean had never regretted asking a question as much as when he asked Sam if he had a favorite color, as the smile on his face as he reminisced about his time with Jess dropped from his face.

"Yellow. It was the first color I noticed. It was bright and just... there. Screaming at you to notice. It was..." Sam trailed off slightly, bringing the bottle of beer up to his lips and drinking deeply from it. "It was the last color to go, faded with all the others not long after..."

Dean didn't need to hear the rest.

Seeing other people, strangers, out on the streets with their soulmate, seeing how blissfully happy they were would always ignite a deeply buried part of Dean that yearned for that kind of connection. But it was buried down for a reason, as he had come to accept that the negatives far outweighed the positives, especially for a hunter.

Now, every fleeting touch from a stranger that passed by, every accidental brush of a hand from a witness or an officer, every person he fell into bed with, he hoped that there would be no flash of color, no sudden spark of realization. He hoped that he would live the rest of his life in gray.

Then again, he is Dean Winchester. It seemed that God himself had it out for him, because his worst nightmare came true in the cruelest way that even he couldn't have seen coming.

To say that the past few weeks had been an emotional roller-coaster would be an understatement. First, finding out that the trials of heaven were going to kill Sammy, trying to stop Sam before he finished the last trial, only to realize the damage had already been done. And all at the same time, seeing the angels be cast down from heaven onto earth, feeling the dread in the pit of his stomach that one of them could be Cas.

As it turned out, it would have been easier. It felt like he was being pulled apart by fear. The fear of knowing that without some sort of miracle, that Sam wasn't going to make it. Then there was the other overwhelming fear, the fear that there was a reason that Castiel wasn't responding to his prayers.

Just... Not the reason he was expecting. Human. Castiel was human now. Human, and very alone. He wouldn't be able to zap on over to them in a millisecond as he once did. Metatron had spat him out in the middle of nowhere, and it killed Dean that he couldn't just drop everything to go find him and bring him home. No, he couldn't do that to Sammy. Not when he was hanging onto life by a thread.

If he was being honest with himself, he wasn't sure why he was praying to Castiel in the first place. It had become a sort of reflex to him how, whenever facing something that seemed out of his control.

Castiel was an angel. A soldier of God. He had fought tooth and nail through hell, to drag Dean's soul out of there. He had patched Dean's soul back together, knitted his ripped apart body back together, and placed his soul back where it belonged.

Castiel was pure power. Almost like a 'fix it' button, where having him nearby automatically made him feel safer, knowing that an angel had his back.

Then again, even if Castiel was still an angel, would he have been able to heal Sam? Castiel had said it himself, the trials were damaging Sam in a way that even he couldn't fix. So if that was the case, what was there left to do? What could he possibly do, to save the life of his little brother?

As he had said, only a miracle could save Sam now. Praying to the other angels was a risky move, considering he had managed to single-handedly piss nearly all of them off by putting a stop to the apocalypse. Who knew that putting a wrench in God's plan would anger a bunch of all-mighty beings whose only purpose was to serve God?

But then, the miracle was received, his prayer had been answered. An angel; Ezekiel, had taken pity on him. Knowing how angels actually were (Especially when he thought back to the way Castiel was the first few months he knew him), having an angel willing to help was... Very un-angel like.

Still, he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. If this angel said he would be able to save Sam, he had to take that chance, right? Even if it meant tricking his little brother into letting Ezekiel in, that was just a sacrifice that had to be made. He would take a pissed off Sam over a dead Sam any day.

For the first time in a long time, things were looking up. There was still the stress and worry in the back of his mind that Castiel had yet to find his way to the bunker, especially considering he had no way of contacting Cas. Despite that, Sam was getting better. Sam's coughing fits were now far and few between, and he no longer saw that dark stain on Sam's tissues that he knew to be blood. Once Sam was well enough again, they'd finally be able to go and find Cas, no problem.

Except, it doesn't work that way. Not when Ezekiel is telling him that Castiel is now a wanted man. That now the angels on earth, filled with fury at being kicked from their home, are pinning the blame solely on Castiel. They want their revenge, and Dean would be scared for him even if he was still an angel.

But he's not. Castiel is out God knows where, as mortal as they are, possibly with no idea that there are a group of seriously ruffled angels after him.

So that's how they find themselves where they are now, racing towards the room they had been told where Castiel is, with no clue if they were too late. If the reaper had gotten to him before they could.

There's no time to lose. The two of them come to a skidding halt in front of the door, and Dean brings up a foot to kick harshly at the weak spot beside the handle to the door. The wood splinters and shrieks from the force, flinging open and nearly rebounding into the both of them as they charge through.

Dean was certain he had never had a feeling of relief taken from him as quickly as he had. The few seconds he caught a glimpse of Castiel, admittedly looking a little worse for wear, but alive. Then, his gaze had slipped over to the red-headed reaper crouched over him, angel-blade still firmly grasped in her hand.

"Cas?!"

The relief was yanked away before the blade had even pierced Castiel’s abdomen.

Charging at her doesn't get him far. Well, not towards her, anyway. Her hand is in the air, and then so is he, catching himself on the top of the kitchen counter before slamming into the wall, sliding back down to the floor. Through his disorientation, he sees a flash of movement where Sam tries the exact same thing as him, only to get the same treatment. Sam sails through the air, crashing into the closet on the other side and disappearing into a pile of neatly hung clothes and shattered wood panels.

The reaper kicks away the angel blade he had dropped, and he knows she's saying something, but he isn't listening. He's solely focused on being as quiet as he can, sneaking closer and closer and as she moves towards Sam.

Something shiny glints out of the corner of his eye, and he sees the handle of the angel blade sticking out from Cas. His heart constricts painfully at the sight, but now is not the time.

Now, this bitch has to die.

He yanks the blade out of Cas, holding it tightly in his hand as he approaches. Watching her strike Sam in the face once he struggles to his feet only adds fuel to the fire, making it all too satisfying to see the shock in her face when he pushes that blade right through her stomach, watching the bright flash of light pour from her entire slowly fade away.

He can barely hear anything through the sound of his blood pounding in his ears, staring down at the reaper's body with complete disdain. It's like a painful electric shock when he remembers why they're there, head snapping over to Castiel, hanging onto the foolish hope that he might have survived.

"Cas?" Dean asks, the blade slipping from his fingers and dropping to the floor, racing over to Castiel’s side.

"Cas?" He tries again, this time louder, as if calling his name louder might wake him up. He lifts his arms up, splaying out his hands on Castiel’s shoulders before moving them up to grasp desperately at his face, searching for any sign of life. A twitch of a muscle, the rise and fall of his chest, anything.

"Cas!"

His voice breaks as his throat tightens, the realization he had tried so hard to force away beginning to sink in.

That's when it happens.

He hadn't noticed, at first. Not until he stumbled back slightly away from Castiel’s body, eyes fixating on the open wound from the angel blade, and realizing with a sickening horror that it was no longer a dark gray.

It was striking, so vibrant that it demanded his attention. 'This is red' his mind helpfully supplies as he stared down at Castiel, dumbstruck by what he was seeing.

Castiel’s skin was no longer a light shade of white, now replaced by a tan color that, as he looks down at his own hands in shock, realizes it is nearly the same as his own, if not slightly darker.

In normal circumstances, he would be taking in his surroundings, drinking in all the new pleasing visuals, matching names to colors for the first time in his life.

That's not what he's thinking about right now. Right now, it's the gut-wrenching, heart punching fact that for the past five years, his soulmate was standing right in front of him, unbeknownst to the both of them.

Angels were never assigned a soulmate because, well, they don't have souls. But then Cas became human, and he must have developed his own soul. Or perhaps this was God's plan all along, for Cas to be the exception? The one angel to be given a soul.

After all this time, it was his best friend he was destined to spend the rest of his life with.

And now, Cas was gone.

He had always told himself that he didn't want a soulmate. That it simply wasn't worth the pain. Now, he wished he had known sooner. He wished the world had bloomed into color the second he pushed that blade into Castiel’s heart, the first time they met. Even if it made losing him all the more painful, what hurt more was knowing that all this time, he could have been with his soulmate.

It was too cruel, for him to find out the truth after Castiel had already been taken away from him.

"No..." Dean whispers in disbelief, standing up and taking a few unsteady steps backwards.

Already, the colors were beginning to fade. He hadn't had them for long, and yet, he could still see that his vision had begun to change. They were still there, but not as... Demanding. Not as there, in your face. They were beginning to dull, and Dean knew it wouldn't be long before everything returned to the murky shades of gray, black and white.

Something shuffles around over to the side, and he glances over to see that Sam had managed to get to his feet, staring down at Castiel’s body, laid out on the armchair. Dean's vision is brought back to Castiel, such a painful thing to see, yet he can't find it in himself to look away.

"Sam, he's gone," Dean tells him, and saying it out loud only seems to make it feel all the more real, does nothing but make the heartache in his chest grow stronger.

Sam moves forward, towards Castiel’s body, and drops down to his knees as Dean had, earlier before. Dean briefly wonders if Sam needs the time to mourn as he does, but then looks to Sam in utter confusion when he gently holds a hand over Castiel’s body.

In the commotion of everything, he had somehow almost forgotten that there was an angel taking shelter inside his brother. Watching an angel heal is still such a miraculous sight as it was the first time he saw it, the cuts and open stab wounds seemingly being erased, replaced by smooth, untouched skin.

As the last of the cuts disappear from Castiel’s body, Sam suddenly bolts up to his feet, stumbling backward at the movement and crashing back into the wall, collapsing down to the floor. There's a few seconds where he watches Sam in complete bewilderment before the concern for his brother wins out, taking a few steps towards him with his arms outstretched.

"Dean..."

So many times he had heard that deep, gravelly voice calling his name. He had heard it yelled in fury or in panic, heard it muttered in frustration, and heard it spoken in the most uninterested, monotone angel tone, back when Cas still followed the rules to a tee.

Hearing Cas his soulmate call his name now, had never sounded better.

"Hey... Hey! Yeah..." He spluttered out, rushing back over to Cas side and placing his hand on Cas side once again, letting it slide down to his leg as he takes in Castiel’s confused expression.

Castiel’s eyes go wide as he stares up at Dean, then snapping over to Sam's unconscious form on the floor nearby.

"And Sam." Castiel finishes, looking back to Dean, still with the wide-eyed expression on his face.

It suddenly hits Dean that maybe, Castiel was seeing everything in color for the first time, and he can't even begin to imagine how confused Castiel must be feeling right now, not only having no idea why he's suddenly seeing in color, but also how in the hell he's even alive right now.

Though, judging by the way he's looking at Dean, eyes darting down to the hand resting on his leg, he seems to be starting to figure the former out.

"Cas...? " Sam says in confusion, his expression matching his voice. "You're okay?"

Castiel doesn't seem to know how to answer that, remaining silent as he looks up to Dean, trying to figure out how he was okay after being stabbed through the stomach by April. It happened, he knew it had happened. He felt the agonizing, fiery pain as it pierced through his body, and within seconds, it was gone. Everything was gone.

Castiel couldn't help but feel slightly puzzled when Dean pushes up and away from him, his worried expression changing into a hardened, much more familiar guarded expression he was used to seeing from Dean.

As it turns out, Dean was right. Losing his soulmate had been one of the more incredibly painful moments of his life. And now that he had gone through it, he never, ever wanted to experience it again.

"Never do that again!" He demands, keeping his voice low and scratchy as not to reveal how vulnerable he was feeling right now.

Castiel blinks up at him in bewilderment before answering with a somewhat unsure sounding "Alright."

Not exactly the answer Dean was hoping for, but at this point, he was way too relieved to care all that much. He takes a slight step back, wiping a hand down his face as if he could wipe away the leftover adrenaline with it. There was a lot they were going to have to talk about, especially considering Castiel might not even know that he is his soulmate. It must be quite a shock to Castiel, both coming back to life and suddenly seeing everything in color, especially since no angel had ever had a soulmate before.

Once he drops his hand back down from his face, Dean notices that Castiel is still staring at him, as if he's seeing him for the first time in his life. It was starting to make Dean feel uncomfortable, seeing the way Castiel seemed to be analyzing every inch of him, his eyes frequently darting back to study his face.

"Cas, you... Stupid question, but you alright buddy?"

Castiel keeps staring at him for a few more seconds before he opens his mouth to answer. He doesn't speak right away, instead closing his mouth again and swallowing deeply, not taking his eyes off Dean's face as he finally responds.

"Your eyes..." Castiel murmurs in amazement, the faintest of a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. "They're green..."

A bark of laughter escapes Dean, relief bubbling from him after all that tension, all that terror. He shakes his head slightly, chuckling fondly at the gobsmacked sounding tone of Castiel’s voice.

His laughter slowly begins to die off, though he still has a small smile on his face, matching the one Castiel was giving him in return. At the same time, he racked his brain to figure out a way to bring up, well, this.

He wasn't sure if it had always been there between the two of them, if he had never noticed or perhaps, pretended not to notice it. But now, knowing that Castiel was his soulmate, it felt impossible to ignore. He wondered if Castiel felt it too, struggling to imagine any kind of situation where Castiel had felt it in the past.

But now, seeing the way Castiel was looking at him, he knew something had changed.

"Dean..."

'Screw words' is what briefly flutters through his mind as he drops back down in front of Castiel, grasping the sides of his face in his hands and kissing him for all he's got. He's well aware of the fact that Sam is still in the room, having seen him struggle back to his feet a few moments before.

Castiel’s eyes briefly widen at this as his hands shoot up to grab at Dean's arms that were still holding his face, feeling quite dumbstruck by what was happening. Something that he never thought could happen between him and Dean.

His fingers loosen their death grip in Dean's jacket, knuckles no longer as tight and wound up, relaxing into a softer hold. He can feel the slight tremor of Dean's muscles under his skin, still shaking from everything that had happened.

A somewhat awkward-sounding cough breaks them apart, and they both look over to a red-faced Sam, who is staring down at the floor as if there was nothing more important right now than the state of his shoes.

"Apologies, Sam." Castiel is first to break the silence, seeing that Dean was trying his best not to laugh at the unapologetic sounding apology, even though he was feeling a little bit embarrassed himself.

"Yeah, uh, sorry Sammy." Dean adds onto the apology.

"It's just uh..." Dean looks out to the window, a new color catching his eye. Almost immediately, he realizes which one it is, and turns back to his brother with a grin. "I can see why yellow was your favorite color"

Dean wished he had a camera on him right at that time to record Sam's reaction. First, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion along with his tilted head, and Dean could physically see the gears turning in his head. Better yet was when it all clicked into place, mouth dropping open slightly, eyebrows no longer furrowed but instead raised up near to his hairline, eyes following his own finger which was switching between pointing at Dean, and then Castiel.

"You... Cas... Is he your..."

"You know Sam, it quite interesting how similar, yet also so different your eyes are to Dean’s. The base color is the same, and yet... I can see Dean’s in them, but at the same time, they're very much your own." Castiel notes, always the observant one.

"Huh," is all Sam can say to that, huffing out a laugh, looking up at the ceiling in exasperation. "Guess I owe Charlie twenty bucks now."

Before Dean even has a chance to ask what that even meant, Sam began to sway on the spot, quickly shooting a hand to steady himself on the wall behind. Dean was up from his crouched position in a flash, holding out his own arm for support if Sam needed it. It's only a few seconds before Castiel is by his side, concern on his face as he watches Sam try to blink away his incoming unconsciousness.

"Sammy?" Dean asks worriedly, ready to catch Sam if he was to drop to the floor.

"I'm okay. I'm okay... Just... A little wiped out. Think I hit my head pretty hard when that reaper threw me." Sam reassured them, raising a hand to his throbbing head as he spoke.

"C'mon, shake it off man. Cas got stabbed and he walked it off." Dean attempted to joke, though fails to deliver the line as well as he usually would through his concern.

"Yeah... How did you walk that off?" Sam asked, pushing himself back up and away from the wall, keeping one arm pressed against the wall, just in case. "We both saw it. You looked... You looked pretty dead to me."

"I don't know what happened," Castiel answered honestly, glancing down at his own bare chest and stomach, which was no longer littered with cuts.

"I felt April stab me, and then... Then I was awake."

"Hey, as long as you're alive, and you're you, I'm not going to question it too much," Dean deflected their questions, resting a hand on Castiel’s shoulders and giving it a fond squeeze. "You have no idea how glad I am to have you back."

Sam's pained groan snaps the two of them out of their gaze, gentle smiles replaced with worried frowns as Sam rubs at his painful head.

"I think... I think I need to go lie down for a while. I'm not feeling too hot." Sam mumbles to them, already stumbling past them and towards the door.

"Sammy," Dean calls after him, pulling Baby's keys out of his pocket and tossing them to Sam, who had stopped and turned in the doorway.

"Get yourself settled. Me 'n Cas need to talk for a bit." Dean instructs, gesturing at the dead body of April and the mess they had made in the scuffle.

Sam gives him a thankful, but weak smile in response, tucking the keys away in his pocket before making his way out of the room, heavy footsteps leading away through the hall before becoming too quiet to hear.

Now, it was just the two of them. Castiel has a hand on his own arm as he shuffled somewhat awkwardly on his feet, trying to figure out how best to approach the subject and break the silence they had found themselves in. Dean meanwhile was stuck between looking at Castiel and the dead reaper on the ground, a million questions in his head, no idea which one he should ask first.

"So, uh... We gonna talk about this?" Dean asked, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.

"We probably should."

"You're gonna have to give me a minute here. It’s... A lot to take in."

"I don't really understand what's happening myself. Angels were never supposed to have soulmates."

"But you're not-"

"Not an angel anymore. But Dean, I'm not the first angel to lose their grace and turn mortal. It’s rare, and usually kept quiet, but it's happened. Never, in any of those times, has the angel been given a soulmate. It just... Doesn't happen."

"So, what does this mean? Do you have a soul now? Can that even happen?"

"I... I suppose I do. After all, it's not possible to have a soulmate without one." Cas summarised, placing a hand on his chest as if he might be able to feel his soul residing inside him.

"Wow. First angel to have a soulmate," Dean said with a small huff of laughter, giving Castiel a teasing shove on his shoulder. "Sorry I was the one chosen for you."

Castiel looked up to Dean with a confused frown, rearing his head back slightly at the insult Dean had just given to himself.

"Why would you be sorry?" Castiel asked

"Eh, well," Dean began awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders. "It's not exactly like you were expecting a soulmate, y'know? Must be kinda disappointing to find out it's me."

"Dean... What are you talking about?" Castiel asked, stepping slightly closer to Dean. "I wish you could see your soul as I once could. To see how bright it shines, how beautiful it is. If you could see it, you would know you’re wrong. You're a good man, Dean. I couldn't have asked for a better soulmate."

Dean looked taken aback by Castiel’s words, head snapping up from the ground to lock eyes with Castiel, looking to see how sincere Castiel was being with his words.

"If anything, I should be the one apologizing." Castiel added.

"What?"

"Dean, we both know you never wanted a soulmate. You were quite vocal about it. I'm not an idiot Dean, I know I don't fit into the category of your usual romantic endeavors, so I'm sure I wasn't what you were expecting. Besides, I..."

Castiel trailed off, an ashamed and infuriated look appearing on his face.

"I'm no use to you now. To either of you. My powers are gone, and now... I can barely take care of myself. I've only been human for a few weeks, and I already managed to get tricked and tortured by a reaper.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is... I understand. If you're not interested in... If you don't want me as your soulmate, I'll understand."

Castiel was expecting Dean to look relieved at this, perhaps even happy to hear he didn't have to be pressured into anything. To his surprise, Dean actually looked pained at his words. He could see his jaw shifting in place, and wondered if he was trying to work up the courage to say something, or if he was perhaps grinding his teeth.

The last thing he was expecting was for Dean to tug at his arms, pulling him forward into his chest. Dean wrapped his arms tight around Castiel’s back, knowing he wouldn't be ready to let go for a while. Castiel was warm against him, and he could feel the faint beat of his heart through his chest. A heart that, not too long ago, had stopped beating. The thought makes him tighten his hold.

It takes Castiel a few shell shocked moments to remember it was customary in these kinds of moments to hug back. He uncertainty lifts his arms up, deciding to match Dean's position and wrap them around Dean's back. He can feel the tightness of Dean's back muscles under his fingers, but they seem to soften a little once Castiel places his hands over them. Cas can't help but smile a little at this, feeling as if he still had a bit of the healing touch he once had as an angel.

"I don't care if you're an angel, or if you're human. I don't care if you can't do all the things you did for us before. That's not what I care about. I care about you, Cas. Not what you can do for us." Dean tells him, letting his hands slide from Castiel’s back to his arms as he pulls away from the hug, keeping a light hold on his hands. "I don't need you because of your power. I need you. I need you in that stupid trench coat and tie. I need you and your crazy obsession with bees. I need you and your compassion for humans. I need you and your rebellious nature. I need my best friend. I need my soulmate."

And before Castiel can get anything out in response, Dean gives him a warm smile, tugging him towards the door of the room.

"C'mon, Cas. Let's go home."

- - -

It wasn't all smooth sailing from there, as it never is. Dean knew the angels were still out there, still angry, searching high and low for Cas. Ezekiel knew it too, and it wasn't all that surprising that he brought it up one morning, demanding that Castiel had to leave for all of their safety.

Dean knew there was a time when he would have caved in. Ezekiel may have been the only thing holding his brother together right now, and there was no way he was going to gamble on his brother's life.

Things were different now, though. Dean had a soulmate now, how could he possibly abandon Cas to face the angels on his own? Ezekiel always sort of seemed like a no-nonsense kind of angel, so Dean had thought the best approach would be to present as much evidence as possible in Cas' defense. Even Ezekiel couldn't deny that it had been impossible for him to locate Castiel with his Enochian warding tattoo, and Dean brought up how impossible it would be to find Castiel, combining that with, not only how difficult it was to find the bunker, but also how damn near impenetrable the thing was.

That wasn't what swayed him, though. He had never really thought to bring up the whole soulmate thing with Ezekiel, and Ezekiel looked just as confused as they did when they found out, citing that it was impossible and that it had never happened before.

But as Dean began to explain further, he could have sworn he could see a flash of hope in Sam’s Ezekiel's eyes, the first sort of emotion he had ever seen from the angel. He wasn't too sure why until Ezekiel began talking about how it must have been a sign of God, how else would an angel have miraculously developed their own soul, then been given a soulmate?

Dean wasn't all that sold on the idea, finding it hard to believe that the big man upstairs had any interest in the two of them, let alone the fact that he was fairly certain God wasn't even home anymore.

Then again, Ezekiel had a point. If God is the only being that can create a soul, as the angels claimed, then how else did Cas get his soul? And if God did, how far back did this go? If he had been destined a soulmate since birth, was he also Castiel’s since creation? Did God pair them together, billions of years before he was even born? Was it part of God's plan all along, for Castiel to lose his grace, and to become human?

He didn't really know what to think. It was almost too much to think, and quite frankly, he didn't want to argue with Ezekiel about it. Not if it meant that Cas got to stay, here, at home, with Dean, where he should be.

One of the reasons why Dean was so unsure about having a soul mate was that he feared everything would change. He thought that the moment he saw his soulmate, he would be desperate to get out of the hunter's life and settle down like all the others, to go and find that white picket fence, apple pie slice of domestic life.

It's not what happened, however. Everything is pretty much as it was. But now, now there's one more addition to the bunker. Now, he has a second person to help fret over Sam with. Now, there's another voice, this one much gravelier, humming along to whatever song is playing on the old, crackly radio in the kitchen as he cooks. Now, there are warm touches and fond smiles whenever they see each other. Life is as it always is, but now, he has his soulmate. Now, he's happier.

One night, after a filling meal of burgers, as they lazed around the bunkers table with beers in their hands and their stomachs, Sam had asked him that now he could see them, what his favorite color was.

There was barely any hesitation for him, barely any time he needed to think. He simply looked over to Castiel, reaching out for his hand under the table, smiling affectionately at the man next to him before answering.

"Blue."

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fanfiction #castiel/dean winchester

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wordywarriorwrites · 5 years

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Chapter 6: Set

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn A03 Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration & Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge. Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities.

Life was all about choices and consequences. Every action or inaction inevitably resulted in an outcome that could be either favorable or disastrous, yet, even with ample preparation, mistakes could be made, and unforeseen pitfalls and blind spots were often the undoing of many well-planned things.

The Families usually got what they wanted because they tended to be prepared for every eventuality, but nobody, least of all Steve, could’ve foreseen how easily something as commonplace as violence and heartbreak could unravel it all. Bucky had been the hazard right outside his peripheral, but by the time it had been acknowledged, it had been too little, too late.

Even though Bucky had made himself perfectly clear – said he didn’t care, wouldn’t leave, and didn’t want him -- Steve had been unwilling to accept it. He tried again because he’d thought if anyone on the whole fucking planet was worth the risk, it was Bucky. Steve had gone to his apartment; climbed twelve flights of stairs; used the key he’d been always been welcome to utilize before.

The grunts and moans should’ve been enough of a warning.

There had been no commitment between them, and yet, seeing Bucky with another man hadn’t just hurt him – it had decimated and eviscerated him. It had been an incomparable, unbearable agony, and at that moment, Steve lost both the will to fight for the man he loved, and the patience to deal with the Family and business he’d been embroiled and embedded in for his entire life.

He’d left the United States. Traded concrete and smog for tropical islands resorts and hot sand. For about a year, he bounced around between Seychelles, Maldives, Ko Lipe, Bali, Fiji, and Tahiti. In the depths of the ocean, in the bottoms of bottles, and in the beds of other men – that was how he’d nursed his broken heart and it had been liberating.

Even when the money ran out, Steve still considered himself rather fortunate, because he’d wound up in Bermuda – home to banks, tax-avoiding businesses, and the obscenely rich. The islands were the ultimate luxury destination for the affluent, and they were always coming and going without caution or care. Amongst the pink beaches, coral reefs, and pastel-colored mansions was where he sharpened his skills and discovered being a thief was very lucrative. From St. George Town in the east to Somerset Village in the west, along the the coastline, and on secluded beaches – he survived and thrived on the absent-mindedness and vices of others, but as with all good things, that, too, eventually came to an end.

Steve had always gotten away clean with trinkets and cash, but his luck ran out when a man named Nick Fury, who he would later learn was the head of his own crime syndicate in the West Indies, had caught him red-handed. Death seemed a likely outcome given what Steve had taken and who he’d taken it from, but Fury had surprised him. The man somehow knew exactly who he was, and instead of being gutted on the spot, Nick asked if he wanted to stop being a petty pickpocket and earn some real money.

Fury was an infamous man and his stock and trade was the exchange, purchase, and sale of information. He had the power to ruin lives for generations, which was why people simultaneously respected him and were terrified of him. On the off chance someone stepped out of line or tried to cross him, they weren’t given a second chance – they were made to disappear and never mentioned again.

The world of espionage hadn’t been wholly unfamiliar to him, but with Fury’s crew, it hadn’t taken Steve long to realize he wasn’t as well-versed in the art as he’d originally thought. They were superiorly cultured, uncompromisingly loyal, and possessed a combination of qualities and skills that allowed them to easily maneuver their way in and out of damn near everything. While Steve was no slouch and nobody could ever accuse the Families of being ill-educated or under-funded, the circles they ran in, the jobs they did, the information they got their hands on, the amount of money they played around with…

It made the Families look like a bunch of amateurs.

Trade secrets, favors, bribes, real estate, yachts, money, jewels, art, stocks – white-collar payments for white-collar crime. For four years, Steve earned both his way and his keep, and had gotten a taste of an entirely different way of living. They were bad people who did bad things, and he enjoyed it because it was familiar, and for once, the playing field was even. Equal contribution meant an equal split of the take -- there was no cause for anyone to feel slighted and nobody got greedy.

Steve hadn’t left everything he’d ever known with the intention of falling into a different life of crime, but he had, and it was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him. Fury taught him what it meant to be a true tactician, politician, enforcer, and diplomat. He learned just how powerful of a weapon his mind could be; had been whipped into the best shape of his life, both mentally and physically; was pushed to be who he was, not what anyone thought he should be; and though he’d been a stranger, Fury and his crew had taken him in, dusted him off, and shook the cobwebs out of his head. In a strange, fucked up way, they’d made him stronger and more confident.

When the job in Brooklyn had been presented to him, Steve had been more than a little taken aback. Fury had quietly expanded into the United States, but the senator he had on the hook was also in bed with the Families, which meant the man was serving and benefitting from two masters, and that couldn’t be tolerated.

Both the senator and his wife were to attend an important fundraising event, where all the city’s heaviest hitters would be gathered in one room, and the plan was to use that connection to get intel. Everything hinged on the couple being in attendance, which would allow for one of their team to easily get inside and put them down afterward, but the senator’s untimely death and the wife’s subsequent blabbing to the police had brought everything to a grinding halt.

Everyone knew about Steve’s past connections, which should have been more than enough reason not to put him in, but they were confident he could see it the rest of the way through. Steve had cautioned them; told them they’d have a fight on their hands; that the Families were not easily deterred or distracted. He’d warned them it would be bloody and messy, but in the end, they’d voted to move forward.

He’d never planned to return to Brooklyn, and every decision he’d made since the day he left was designed to take him farther and farther away from it. Yet, somehow, Steve had been brought right back to the start, and the only thing he could focus on was the finish line. The job needed to get done – no matter the cost. They were in the home stretch and the details had been finalized. The hired hands had been paid and all loose ends had been tied up.

Before readying himself for the final stage, Steve retrieved his cellphone, and made a call.

“How are things progressing?” Nick answered.

“As well as can be expected.”

“And the other matter?”

“Taken care of,” Steve replied succinctly. “She wasn’t useful.”

“Don’t get yourself into a situation you can’t walk away from,” Fury insisted. “Get the job done and get your ass back here where you belong – understood?”

“Understood.”

After agreeing to get in touch after he cleared customs, Fury signed off, and Steve headed to the hotel spa. The barber properly shortened his hair and trimmed his beard, but the man in the mirror reminded him too much of who he used to be, and while he didn’t much care for it, it was all part of the game.

Back up in his room, he showered, and continued to get ready. The evening’s battle dress consisted of a Burberry suit, highly-polished shoes, a vest, Glocks, a karambit, and a Ka-Bar. A notification from his phone indicated the car service he’d arranged was five minutes away, and once Steve ensured he had everything he needed for a quick getaway, he headed out.

The drive to Manhattan was a pain in the ass, not only because of traffic, but also because of the fundraiser. When Steve finally arrived at Tribeca 360, he was more than fashionably late, but still had time to get things done before his flight. The guard he’d paid off beforehand met him at the back entrance, which allowed him to bypass the metal detectors.

Glass of champagne in hand, he smoothed down his tie, and casually strolled along the outskirts of the carefully arranged tables. With a 360-degree view of the room, he was able to see downtown, historic Tribeca, and the Hudson River. Steve surveyed the auction display, where the master of ceremonies described the items up for bid, and observed most in attendance had their faces buried in their smartphones. While the bidding was being driven up, he maneuvered his way closer to the employee entrance on the north side. Another payoff, another easy entry, and he was in.

With the building’s floorplans memorized, Steve easily navigated his way through the maze of hallways until he reached the server room, and the tech who manned the area was absent as pre-arranged. After he double-checked the schematics on his phone, it was a small matter of a microchip and an activation code, and within seconds, security camera footage was erased and information was being siphoned.

Most people’s lives revolved around their phones, and now, every, single person connected to the network was feeding their personal data directly to Fury’s servers. When Steve received confirmation that the data was being transmitted, the countdown was on; the emergency exit door should’ve been propped open and the alarm deactivated, but when he reached it, it was shut, and the alarm was active. The microchip only allotted for five minutes of downtime on the cameras before they would automatically be turned back on, and he needed to get the hell out, or else risk being seen by security.

There were four other emergency exits, but he didn’t have time to check them, and that meant Steve was faced with two options: either go forward or retrace his steps. Both choices were less than desirable, but he knew if he triggered the alarm, the police would be called, and the surrounding area would most likely be shut down. Unwilling to risk being caught or hauled in for questioning, Steve made his way back, and managed to get out just before the timer on his phone indicated the cameras had gone live again.

Nearly everyone was on their feet, either drinking, dancing, or talking, which made it easier to blend in. Steve kept his head down and pretended to be focused on his phone as he weaved his way to the back entrance. Along the way, he pilfered a security badge, and used it to get through the side exit. He’d gotten a few steps away from the building and was headed toward his pick up vehicle when Bucky suddenly stepped out of an alleyway and right into his path.

Steve hesitated to reach for a weapon and was made to regret it.

A crackle and a buzz, followed by a paralyzing electric current that drove him to his knees. A sharp pinch, and then, the sting and side effects of a sedative as it was injected into his neck. He was dragged some distance before he was tossed into the trunk of an SUV, and the last thing Steve heard before he blacked out was a command that chilled him to the bone.

“Do what you want, but keep him alive,” Bucky instructed. “I want to take care of him myself.”

Chapter 7: Match

Everything: @jennmurawski13 @nerdy-bookworm-1998

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @captain-rogers-beard @lilliannaansalla

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interludcs · 4 years

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BENEDETTA PORCAROLI , CIS FEMALE , SHE / HER → according to the school records , GIOVANNA ELOISA ARGENTI has been attending sacred heart for the past two years . i last saw them hanging around stan's place ; i think they were tying cherry stems into knots . at twenty - one , gio has been studying classics and get this , i heard that her bloodline has long been cursed to succumb to inevitable madness and it’s been the cause of many mysterious deaths in the family already — figure it’s true ? everyone around here always associates them with biting into an apple only to realize it’s rotten , a bloody nose dripping onto silk stockings , and the distorted screech of a violin coming from another room . in the time since these strange happenings , they have encountered unexplained occurrences .

━ ˙ ˖ ☆ QUICK STATS !

full name : giovanna eloisa argenti

nickname(s) : gio , gigi ( although she likes to think she outgrew it )

zodiac : scorpio sun , gemini moon ( click ! )

sexuality : bisexual .

occupation : student & heiress .

birthplace : rome , italy .

current residence : sacred heart academy .

pinterest : ( click ! )

━ ˙ ˖ ☆ BACKSTORY ! ( tw : depression , murder , suicide & drug abuse )

born in 1953 to one of the wealthiest families in italy ! the argenti's posses a ridiculous and tbh kinda disgusting fortune because of their distant ties to the old italian monarchy ... and are also long rumored to have been cursed hundreds of years ago as divine punishment for the sins of a past family member .

the family has a long and gruesome history — good husbands turning into killers , more than one argenti woman flinging herself off one of the many balconies in the family estate , children who hear voices in the night . more often than people care to count , these fits of madness are seemingly inexplicable .

giovanna was born on chilly autumn night . she would be her mother’s first and last child , but lucianna argenti saw her baby girl as anything but a miracle . when she was only five months old , a nanny discovered the woman trying to drown giovanna in the bathtub , stuck in a trance she’d later have no recollection of being in . long in denial of the family curse , marco argenti hired nearly every notable doctor in italy , but none of them could find a sound explanation for the violent and nonsensical trances his wife would experience for the next three years before ultimately taking her own life .

leaving giovanna to grow up all alone in the too big family estate at the hands of nannies , marco argenti would spend the better years of his only daughter’s life traveling all around europe , desperate to shake the ghost of his wife , but never succeeding .

despite all the tragedy early on in gio’s life , she had an almost typical upbringing for someone in her socioeconomic circle . a childhood devoid of the love her parents were supposed to give , nannies who gave in to the rotten demands only a wealthy child and sole heir could conjure up , a house that never felt like a home .

by the time she was a teenager , gio had grown up to be a different kind of monster — not the madwomen her classmates would snicker about when speaking ill of the blood that flowed through her veins , but something perhaps more dangerous , a selfish girl too clever and too beautiful for her own good .

on the eve of her 18th birthday her father makes his grand return home , gone so long he mistakes his daughter for a maid before a groundskeeper politely informs him of his mistake . causing more tension still was the brand new gold band on his ring finger , as well as the announcement that he’s selling the estate , and that gio’s to come live with his new wife and three small children in france .

the day giovanna argenti turns 18 is a day she can no longer remember save for waking up in the remnants of a burnt down home , ash caked underneath her fingernails , smoke burning her lungs . servants who have been loyal to the argenti family for decades will later testify that there had been a terrible accident lighting the birthday cake that night , that marco argenti had never returned home the night before , and that the family of four in paris crying murder were nothing but scammers after the family fortune .

gio spends the next year scrambling to piece together the mysterious events , a tiny voice inside her head insisting something wasn’t right with the story she’d been fed by the people who raised her , albeit confused as to why they’d hide the truth if something sinister had indeed happened that night . she could have sworn the memory of her father coming home was a real one — until she gets a letter in the mail , signed marco argenti , polaroid attached , a blurry shot of a man who bears the family resemblance standing in front of the statue of liberty .

cue the drug abuse ( coke being her poison of choice ) , the reckless and dangerous stunts all in the name of having a good time , the mind numbing sex with strangers . heart heavy with the idea that she was indeed going insane , following in the footsteps of all the argenti’s that had come before her , giovanna was left with the haunting sensation that her life was already doomed , and so she might as well make the most of it . on the flip side of this she also came to the realization that she could pretty much .... do whatever she wanted and get away with it ? people already thought she was cursed and crazy ... might as well act the part ... a little self fulfilling prophecy ... as a treat <3

in a feeble attempt to save her from an untimely and rather stupid demise , she is shipped off to sacred heart academy , a place a distant cousin once attended . mind clouded by addiction and unresolved trauma alike , giovanna can’t be sure the strange happenings at sacred heart are real at all or just a product of a dark and overactive imagination .

━ ˙ ˖ ☆ PERSONALITY + TIDBITS !

first & foremost ... gio was inspired loosely by some sexy women including miss effy stonem from skins , choi sooji from tempted , ludo from baby , villanelle from killing eve & lady macbeth minus the murder ( ... unless ? 😏 ) , as well as more lana del rey songs than i care to admit so we won’t be talking about it aha x

yes what i’m trying to say is she’s a little unhinged ... but in that fun sexy way like when amy dunne gives the cool girl speech in gone girl .

speaking of cool girls ... gio is one 😌 you would think growing up with a last name that’s literally famous for being cursed would have put a bigger damper on her popularity among people but there’s a certain fascination gio holds and she knows it . this isn’t to say she’s got a lot of friends because she definitely doesn’t , she just knows how to get people’s attention .

at her core she is clever , charming , everything someone who grew up with money is bound to be . but unlike the selfishness of other trust fund babies , gio’s operates on a different scale . she’s self obsessed , not because she views herself as better than anyone else , but because she’s so haunted by the idea that something terrible and wicked exists inside of her and it’s only a matter of time before darkness takes over .

in an effort to counter that weight , she breezes through life without taking much seriously . toying with people , the mind games she plays , it’s all an effort to distract herself , to entertain her brain with thoughts that somehow seem lighter in comparison to her own inevitable self destruction although the people she plays with might say otherwise .

consequences should scare her more than they do , but honestly she’s got a penchant for doing the things deemed bad for her . on one hand she figures little matters if she’s truly cursed , on the other hand she figures if she is cursed than whatever consequence comes her way is deserved .

flirty , but most of the time it never means anything . she is prone to intense infatuations , however , all of which have ended tragically so far so proceed with caution .

she’s definitely someone most people would know of , as she’s got an almost bad habit of striking up conversations with whoever , but ask someone to name her favorite color or any profound fact about her and they probably wouldn’t be able to .

very nosy due to her childhood of people watching and intensely studying the adults who raised her , and so the habit has carried on into her adult life . she won’t outwardly pry , but if you catch her interest she’ll unabashedly observe you like she’s an actor trying to better understand their part .

tons of fun at parties , but also in class , considering she’s snorting enough coke on the daily to treat school like it’s one big social gathering . life’s a beach baby <3

studying classics because she likes how intense the stories and history are , but she’s surprised herself by being rather good at the language aspect of the major .

deep deep down ... there is the desire to be understood and loved despite whatever uninhibited thing she’s convinced lurks around inside her but that is constantly in conflict with the idea that she’s fundamentally undeserving of real affection ... just girly things you know 🥺

━ ˙ ˖ ☆ WANTED CONNECTIONS ! ( all open to all genders )

my brain is quite literally all rot rn im just gonna list stuff with minimal elaboration please vibe with me ...

people she gets high with <3

ex infatuations that ended tragically lets get that angst

spare parental figures ... any professors out there want a demon child who will idolize u but not know how to deal with that so they just act up all the while hoping for forgiveness and the attention they never got from their own parents </3

speaking of professors i will play into the problematic trope of a student being obsessed with a professor -___- solely because i would lov to have gio go full throttle crazy ... as a treat ... this has nothing to do with that one line in lorde’s writer in the dark u know the one truly this does not have to be reciprocated at ALL

a confidant / someone she probably considers her closest friend who she is constantly disgusted with herself for opening up to but also truly not able to live without so it’s a fun cycle of push and pull but truly she’d probably die for them just don’t ask her that she’ll say no

i think it would be fun to have someone who knows about the supposed argenti curse maybe their family had some associations to gio’s or maybe they spent some time in italy at some point growing up and met her there idk im cute not smart ...

we’ve all been begging and begging i will jump on the bandwagon and ask for a sexy rival doesnt mean anything if u say i hate u after hooking up

someone she keeps bumping into when she’s sneaking out past curfew or cutting class and at first it was like dude seriously do we have to start alternating but now it turned into like wow i really hope we bump into each other again would u like a cigarette wanna listen to some music together

someone she sees a lot at stan’s place . perhaps on campus they have a very different relationship but off campus they feel free to have another

current hookups we love to see it there’s so many directions to go in maybe its purely a casual thing , maybe it’s casual for gio but not for them , or maybe gio’s the one like worm maybe i would like more than sex , maybe it’s like a we only hookup when we’re high at parties thing , perhaps it’s a secret hookup thing so it gets angsty

maybe a rival or someone she swears she hates and they swear the same but they accidentally bond along the way and it’s like well i thought i hated u but perhaps we are more similar than we thought but also we only know how to be enemies so how do we even move past this ...

perhaps someone gio goes to when she’s especially fucked up and they take care of her / start to resent her for seemingly caring so little abt her own well being and she resents them for caring too much bc it’s not liked she asked but she keeps showing up at their door and they keep letting her in

someone she can be in cahoots with ... go absolutely bonkers with knowing they won’t judge her and she won’t judge them

perhaps someone she can be a bad influence on

also someone who makes her want to be a better person bc we need balance

a group of girls gio can be like men r disgusting with but then they catch her hooking up with said stinky man and it’s just a cycle like please get some help luv

a dealer mayhaps ?

someone whose favorite pen she stole but blatantly lied and said she didn’t steal it but she uses it everyday in class so u know she did in fact steal ur pen

ok she’s out of juice i’m she

i wont lie to u ive been writing this all damn day … but we finally made it baby 😭😭😭 im sosososo sorry for the length & the wait … also i feel like my charas always change a lil once i actually start plotting & writing so sorry again if u see me finally writing as giovanna on the dash and ur like lit rally who is that … JSDBWJBDWBDJ also side note i promise u im almost done word vomiting all over the place but it must b said ... u know how there’s that trope that supposed insanity is like not always real like how female hysteria was a whole as thing or like how in haunting of hill house where the charas weren’t really haunted by ghosts at all more so by their trauma ... that was my whole inspo with the argenti’s like are they even cursed at all ? who is to say ... PLEASE come message me on discord to plot ! @ you are my soulmate ʕ´• ᴥ•̥`ʔ#8172 maybe … give this a like if u wanna … do that hehehe thank u for reading all this ur so brave for that stay sexy stan loona x

#heretics.intro #╰ ♡ . 𝒏𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒚 ── ooc !#pls lets not talk abt the length the quality OR the lateness ... compliments only x #JSBDJWBDJWBDJWD

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thestile1972 · 4 years

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Living Well in the Face of Coronavirus, Climate Change and Other Potential Disasters

By Jason Segedy

February 24, 2020

If you spend any amount of time on social media following the news, you may have noticed that much of the discussion and coverage is geared toward generating tremendous fear and anxiety about a wide variety of horrifying ways that we (as individuals), and our civilization (as a whole) could meet an untimely and unexpected death.

This is nothing new. Back in 1948, in the immediate aftermath of the Second World War, which culminated in the dropping of the atomic bombs that destroyed Hiroshima and Nagasaki; and just as the Cold War was getting underway, C.S. Lewis wrote an essay entitled On Living in an Atomic Age. You can read it at the bottom of this post.

In it, Lewis reminds us of something that those of us living our materially-comfortable and fairly predictable modern lives have tended to forget - at least until the latest virus, or environmental disaster, or weapon of war intrudes upon our somnolence - the fact that we are a doomed race living on a doomed planet in a doomed universe. Neither the invention of the atomic bomb nor the discovery of some new microbe has changed that grim fact one iota.

This essay is as relevant today as it was 72 years ago. Today, it could just as easily be renamed On Living in an Age of Climate Change or On Living in an Age of Coronavirus; or the original title could remain, since (spolier alert) the threat of nuclear destruction has never gone away.

As Aldous Huxley famously said: “the knowledge that every ambition is doomed to frustration at the hands of a skeleton [has] never prevented the majority of human beings from behaving as though death were no more than an unfounded rumor.”

Lewis’ essay is a prime example of the maxim that people need to be reminded more often than they need to be instructed. We need to be reminded of the kind of universe that we are actually living in.

Many people in the West today, both the educated and the uneducated, hold to a personal philosophy of life that is functional and utilitarian but logically inconsistent: a blend of progressivism (belief in endless human progress); techno-utopianism; neo-marxism; modernism; post-modernism; narcissism; atheism; philosophical materialism; and scientism (as opposed to science).

This convoluted and self-contradictory stew of beliefs simultaneously holds that at bottom, we (our thoughts and our very consciousness) are no more than the sum of our biochemical and physical parts, and that our actions are (by the inescapable logic of philosophical materialism) simply nothing more than the products of mindless and purposeless collisions of subatomic particles and electrical impulses in our brains which give us the illusion of free will, consciousness, and self-hood itself.

Human beings, like the rest of the world, are material objects, through and through; they have no soul or ego or self of any immaterial sort.

Yet, at the same time, they believe that we, even as accidental products of this mindless and exclusively material universe, still possess individual objective dignity and worth, have intrinsic human rights, and are part of a mysterious and cosmic evolutionary process that goes far beyond basic biological evolution; which strives and has purposes and is moving toward some final state or goal that represents real and objective progress over the state that we are currently in.

Although we are insignificant specks of atomic stardust, we somehow rose up out of the primordial muck and mire and are now indispensable participants in a drama which will culminate in something that represents real and lasting progress. Weak and diminutive bipeds that we once were; we are perhaps haltingly, but inexorably, on our way to becoming the masters of the universe and the makers of worlds.

Even as intelligent and vaunted an atheist and believer in philosophical materialism as Richard Dawkins is unable to avoid smuggling in nods to meaning and purpose, despite (given his dogmatic belief in materialism) all evidence to the contrary:

It thus comes as no surprise that Dawkins turns out to be an old-fashioned Hegelian when it comes to global politics, believing in a zeitgeist (his own term) involving ever increasing progress, with just the occasional ‘reversal’. ‘The whole wave,’ he rhapsodises in the finest Whiggish manner, ‘keeps moving.’ There are, he generously concedes, ‘local and temporary setbacks’. . . .Dawkins. . .believes, in his Herbert Spencerish way, that ‘the progressive trend is unmistakable and it will continue.’ So there we are, then: we have it from the mouth of Mr Public Science himself that aside from a few local, temporary hiccups like ecological disasters, famine, ethnic wars and nuclear wastelands, History is perpetually on the up.

-Terry Eagleton, Lunging, Flailing, Mispunching

Millions of people, just like Dawkins, continue to believe in human dignity, progress, meaning, and transcendence while simultaneously holding to a materialist philosophy which leaves absolutely no room for any of those things.

Given philosophical materialism, what you do ultimately makes no difference. All human plans, hopes, dreams, and loves will come to nothing in the end, when the sun goes supernova, the universe collapses in upon itself, all atomic particles cease their motion, and all matter (which is all there is, and which is all “we” are, anyway) reaches absolute zero.

As Lewis points out below:

What were your views about the ultimate future of civilization before the atomic bomb appeared on the scene? What did you think all this effort of humanity was to come to in the end? The real answer is known to almost everyone who has even a smattering of science; yet, oddly enough, it is hardly ever mentioned. And the real answer, almost beyond doubt, is that with or without atomic bombs, the whole story is going to end in NOTHING.

So, the ultimate question is not whether humanity will be wiped out by a plague, by climate change, or by nuclear weapons. One way or the other, it is inevitable that our race and the universe that we inhabit will perish.

Whether it happens today, tomorrow, or a million years from now, of course, concerns us as individuals. But the worry that a virus, or climate change, or nuclear destruction is prematurely and tragically ending something that ever had any real future hope of going anywhere must be dispensed with entirely.

The question that Lewis is asking us to consider is whether nature is all that exists. The answer to that question, and that question alone, will determine whether the answers to our other questions have any ultimate significance.

I believe in science. It teaches me that all of this will come to nothing in the end. It gives me no reason whatsoever for optimism about the future of our universe and those who inhabit it.

But I also believe in Christianity. It teaches me that in this world we will have great trouble, but that God has overcome and will ultimately redeem it. It gives me every reason for hope about the future of our universe and those who inhabit it.

You can read the essay below, or listen to it here:

On Living in an Atomic Age

By C.S. Lewis

In one way we think a great deal too much of the atomic bomb. “How are we to live in an atomic age?” I am tempted to reply: “Why, as you would have lived in the sixteenth century when the plague visited London almost every year, or as you would have lived in a Viking age when raiders from Scandinavia might land and cut your throat any night; or, indeed, as you are already living in an age of cancer, an age of syphilis, an age of paralysis, an age of air raids, an age of railway accidents, an age of motor accidents.”

In other words, do not let us begin by exaggerating the novelty of our situation. Believe me, dear sir or madam, you and all whom you love were already sentenced to death before the atomic bomb was invented: and quite a high percentage of us were going to die in unpleasant ways. We had, indeed, one very great advantage over our ancestors - anaesthetics; but we have that still. It is perfectly ridiculous to go about whimpering and drawing long faces because the scientists have added one more chance of painful and premature death to a world which already bristled with such chances and in which, death itself was not a chance at all, but a certainty.

This is the first point to be made: and the first action to be taken is to pull ourselves together. If we are all going to be destroyed by an atomic bomb, let that bomb when it comes find us doing sensible and human things - praying, working, teaching, reading, listening to music, bathing the children, playing tennis, chatting to our friends over a pint and a game of darts - not huddled together like frightened sheep and thinking about bombs. They may break our bodies (a microbe can do that) but they need not dominate our minds.

“But,” you reply, “it is not death - not even painful and premature death - that we are bothering about. Of course, the chance of that is not new. What is new is that the atomic bomb may finally and totally destroy civilization itself. The lights may be put out forever.”

This brings us much nearer to the real point; but let me try to make clear exactly what I think that point is. What were your views about the ultimate future of civilization before the atomic bomb appeared on the scene? What did you think all this effort of humanity was to come to in the end? The real answer is known to almost everyone who has even a smattering of science; yet, oddly enough, it is hardly ever mentioned. And the real answer, almost beyond doubt, is that with or without atomic bombs, the whole story is going to end in NOTHING. The astronomers hold out no hope that this planet is going to be permanently inhabitable. The physicists hold out no hope that organic life is going to be a permanent possibility in any part of the material universe. Not only this earth, but the whole show, all the suns of space, are to run down. Nature is a sinking ship. Bergson talks about the elan vital, and Mr. Shaw talks about the “Life-force” as if they could surge on for ever and ever. But that comes of concentrating on biology and ignoring the other sciences. There is really no such hope. Nature does not, in the long run, favour life. If Nature is all that exists - in other words, if there is no God and no life of some quite different sort somewhere outside Nature - then all stories will end in the same way: in a universe from which all life is banished without possibility of return. It will have been an accidental flicker, and there will be no one even to remember it. No doubt atomic bombs may cut its duration on this present planet shorter than it might have been; but the whole thing, even if it lasted for billions of years, must be so infinitesimally short in relation to the oceans of dead time which precede and follow it that I cannot feel excited about its curtailment.

What the wars and the weather (are we in for another of those periodic ice ages?) and the atomic bomb have really done is to remind us forcibly of the sort of world we are living in and which, during the prosperous period before 1914, we were beginning to forget. And this reminder is, so far as it goes, a good thing. We have been waked from a pretty dream, and now we can begin to talk about realities.

We see at once (when we have been waked) that the important question is not whether an atomic bomb is going to obliterate “civilization”. The important question is whether “Nature” - the thing studied by the sciences - is the only thing in existence. Because if you answer yes to the second question, then the first question only amounts to asking whether the inevitable frustration of all human activities may be hurried on by our own action instead of coming at its natural time. That is, of course, a question that concerns us very much. Even on a ship which will certainly sink sooner or later, the news that the boiler might blow up now would not be heard with indifference by anyone. But those who knew that the ship was sinking in any case would not, I think, be quite so desperately excited as those who had forgotten this fact, and were vaguely imagining that it might arrive somewhere.

It is, then, on the second question that we really need to make up our minds. And let us begin by supposing that Nature is all that exists. Let us suppose that nothing ever has existed or ever will exist except this meaningless play of atoms in space and time: that by a series of hundredth chances it has (regrettably) produced things like ourselves - conscious beings who now know that their own consciousness is an accidental result of the whole meaningless process and is therefore itself meaningless, though to us (alas!) it feels significant.

In this situation there are, I think, three things one might do:

(1) You might commit suicide. Nature which has (blindly, accidentally) given me for my torment this consciousness which demands meaning and value in a universe that offers neither, has luckily also given me the means of getting rid of it. I return the unwelcome gift. I will be fooled no longer.

(2) You might decide simply to have as good a time as possible. The universe is a universe of nonsense, but since you are here, grab what you can. Unfortunately, however, there is, on these terms, so very little left to grab - only the coarsest sensual pleasures. You can’t, except in the lowest animal sense, be in love with a girl if you know (and keep on remembering) that all the beauties both of her person and of her character are a momentary and accidental pattern produced by the collision of atoms, and that your own response to them is only a sort of psychic phosphorescence arising from the behaviour of your genes. You can’t go on getting any very serious pleasure from music if you know and remember that its air of significance is a pure illusion, that you like it only because your nervous system is irrationally conditioned to like it. You may still, in the lowest sense, have a “good time”; but just in so far as it becomes very good, just in so far as it ever threatens to push you on from cold sensuality into real warmth and enthusiasm and joy, so far you will be forced to feel the hopeless disharmony between your own emotions and the universe in which you really live.

(3) You may defy the universe. You may say, “Let it be irrational, I am not. Let it be merciless, I will have mercy. By whatever curious chance it has produced me, now that I am here I will live according to human values. I know the universe will win in the end, but what is that to me? I will go down fighting. Amid all this wastefulness I will persevere; amid all this competition, I will make sacrifices. Be damned to the universe!”

I suppose that most of us, in fact, while we remain materialists, adopt a more or less uneasy alternation between the second and the third attitude. And although the third is incomparably the better (it is, for instance, much more likely to “preserve civilization”), both really shipwreck on the same rock. That rock - the disharmony between our own hearts and Nature - is obvious in the second. The third seems to avoid the rock by accepting disharmony from the outset and defying it. But it will not really work. In it, you hold up our own human standards against the idiocy of the universe. That is, we talk as if our own standards were something outside of the universe which can be contrasted with it; as if we could judge the universe by some standard borrowed from another source. But if (as we were supposing) Nature - the space-time-matter system - is the only thing in existence, then of course there can be no other source for our standards. They must, like everything else, be the unintended and meaningless outcome of blind forces. Far from being a light from beyond Nature whereby Nature can be judged, they are only the way in which anthropoids of our species feel when the atoms under their own skulls get into certain states - those states being produced by causes quite irrational, unhuman, and non-moral. Thus the very ground on which we defy Nature crumbles under our feet. The standard we are applying is tainted at the source. If our standards are derived from this meaningless universe they must be as meaningless as it.

For most modern people, I think, thoughts of this kind have to be gone through before the opposite view can get a fair hearing. All Naturalism leads us to this in the end - to a quite final and hopeless discord between what our minds claim to be and what they really must be if Naturalism is true. They claim to be spirit; that is, to be reason, perceiving universal intellectual principles and universal moral laws and possessing free will. But if Naturalism is true they must in reality be merely arrangements of atoms in skulls, coming about by irrational causation. We never think a thought because it is true, only because blind Nature forces us to think it. We never do an act because it is right, only because blind Nature forces us to do it. It is when one has faced this preposterous conclusion that one is at last ready to listen to the voice that whispers: “But suppose we really are spirits? Suppose we are not the offspring of Nature. . .?”

For, really, the Naturalistic conclusion is unbelievable. For one thing, it is only through trusting our own minds that we have come to know Nature herself. If Nature when fully known seems to teach us (that is, if the sciences teach us) that our own minds are chance arrangements of atoms, then there must have been some mistake; for if that were so, then the sciences themselves would be chance arrangements of atoms and we should have no reason for believing in them. There is only one way to avoid this deadlock. We must go back to a much earlier view. We must simply accept it that we are spirits, free and rational beings, at present inhabiting an irrational universe, and must draw the conclusion that we are not derived from it. We are strangers here. We come from somewhere else. Nature is not the only thing that exists. There is “another world”, and that is where we come from. And that explains why we do not feel at home here. A fish feels at home in the water. If we “belonged here” we should feel at home here. All that we say about “Nature red in tooth and claw”, about death and time and mutability, all our half-amused, half-bashful attitude to our own bodies, is quite inexplicable on the theory that we are simply natural creatures. If this world is the only world, how did we come to find its laws either so dreadful or so comic? If there is no straight line elsewhere, how did we discover that Nature’s line is crooked?

But what, then, is Nature, and how do we come to be imprisoned in a system so alien to us? Oddly enough, the question becomes much less sinister the moment one realizes that Nature is not all. Mistaken for our mother, she is terrifying and even abominable. But if she is only our sister - if she and we have a common Creator - if she is our sparring partner - then the situation is quite tolerable. Perhaps we are not here as prisoners but as colonists: only consider what we have done already to the dog, the horse, or the daffodil. She is indeed a rough playfellow. There are elements of evil in her. To explain that would carry us far back: I should have to speak of Powers and Principalities and all that would seem to a modern reader most mythological. This is not the place, nor do these questions come first. It is enough to say here that Nature, like us but in her different way, is much alienated from her Creator, though in her, as in us, gleams of the old beauty remain. But they are not there to be worshiped but to be enjoyed. She has nothing to teach us. It is our business to live by our own law not by hers: to follow, in private or in public life, the law of love and temperance even when they seem to be suicidal, and not the law of competition and grab, even when they seem to be necessary to our survival. For it is part of our spiritual law never to put survival first: not even the survival of our species. We must resolutely train ourselves to feel that the survival of Man on this Earth, much more of our own nation or culture or class, is not worth having unless it can be had by honourable and merciful means.

The sacrifice is not so great as it seems. Nothing is more likely to destroy a species or a nation than a determination to survive at all costs. Those who care for something else more than civilization are the only people by whom civilization is at all likely to be preserved. Those who want Heaven most have served Earth best. Those who love Man less than God do most for Man.

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adalheidismimisbrunnr · 4 years

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Magickal Beings

Elves & Other Spirits

The world of ancient Paganism was hardly limited to the worship of the Gods. There are various other beings who were honored, and. Elf worship. was often the hardest part of Paganism for Christians to destroy. It was easy enough to substitute one God for another, but it was quite another to tell the common people that the elves which brought fertility to the land were not real!

In the various folktales and sagas, we find very little which would lead us to a concrete system of what spirit was responsible for exactly what. We are sure of the place of the Valkyries, who were responsible for bringing the slain to Valhalla, and for choosing who in battle would die. They seem, judging by their actions, to be supernatural beings of some type. However, Valkyries appear in various places as very human figures and their exact nature is difficult to determine. Sigrdrifa was a Valkyrie who was cursed by Odin because she refused to bring victory in battle to those whom he had chosen. Her punishment was to be married to a mortal, and the implication is clear that this would end her days as a Valkyrie. It’s equally clear that she has great knowledge of the runes as she tutors Sigurd after he awakens her. In most respects she seems to be a normal human woman, although a very wise and independent one with great powers. Elsewhere, Voland and his brothers are said to have found three Valkyries sunning themselves without their swan-coats. When the brothers steal their feather-coats and hide them, the Valkyries again appear as otherwise normal women. This does not seem entirely in keeping with a supernatural origin, and it’s possible that some kind of magickal order of Priestesses has become confused over time with the supernatural beings we know as Valkyries. The swan-coat seems very similar in description to Freya’s falcon-coat and the entire issue may be something related to the practice of seidhr. As far as we know, the Valkyrie were not worshipped as such, but were considered more the messengers of Odin. They also serve the mead at Valhalla, and because of this whoever pours the mead into the Horn at Blot or Sumbel is today known as. the Valkyrie.

The other spirits whose place seems fairly clear are the Disir. These are spirits who are intimately linked with a family. There is also some indication that they are linked with the land, but this would be in keeping with the old ways. We forget sometimes that many landowners in Europe have been living in the same place since before this continent was discovered. The land becomes an intimate part of the family and its identity, so it is natural that family spirits would also oversee the family land. Disir inevitably are seen as women who appear at times of great trouble or change. They are somehow linked to the family bloodline and seem most closely linked to the clan chief. There is one scene in one saga where a spirit, apparently a Dis, is passed on from one person to another who are not blood relations. However, these two friends are closer than brothers, so while the link is apparently not genetic, it is definitely familial. We know the family Disir were honored with blots at the Winter Nights and that they have great power to aid their family. As far as their origin, it’s possible that they are ancestral in origin. They may be ancestors whose power was so great that they were able to continue to see to their clan. Or it’s possible that the Disir are the collective spirit of the family ancestors. Freya is called the great Dis and there may be some linkage here to her position as a seidhr woman. We know from the sagas that Seidhr was involved with talking to various spirits (including the dead) and its possible that this is the source of Freya’s name. It is also possible that she performed much the same function as a Dis to her tribe the Vanir.

Closely linked to the idea of the Disir is the Fylgia. These spirits are attached to an individual person in much the same way that the Disir are associated with a family. Fylgia usually appear either as animals or as beautiful women. They correspond to the. fetch, totem, or. power-animal. in other cultures. Most of the time the fylgia remains hidden and absent, it is only with truly great or powerful persons that the fylgia becomes known. They may have something to do with Seidhr as well, because many sagas offer evidence of spirit travel in the shape of animals. This corresponds exactly to notions of shamanism found in other cultures.

The remaining spirits include Alvar or elves, Dokkalvar or dark elves or Dwarfs, kobolds, and landvaettir. While some have defined one being as doing one thing and another serving a different function, I’m not inclined to draw very sharp distinctions between these various creatures. They all seem. elfish. in origin, and there seems to me to be no pattern of associating one name with a specific function. We know that various landvaettir or land spirits were honored with blots. We also know that Frey is the lord of Alfheim, one of the nine worlds where the alvar are said to live.

Of all the remaining spirits, the dwarfs are the most consistent in description. We know that the dwarfs are cunning and misanthropic in character and incredible smiths, capable of creating magickal objects so valuable they are considered the greatest treasures of Asgard. Thor’s hammer Mjolnir, Freya’s necklace Brisingamen, and Sif’s golden hair are all creations of the dwarfs. They live beneath the earth and have little to do with mankind or the Gods unless one seeks them out. What place they had in the religion we no longer know. It would seem wise to invoke them as spirits of the forge, but I can think of little other reason to disturb them.

Elves are the most difficult magickal race to pin down. Mythological sources tell us that the Alvar or light elves live in Alfheim where Frey is their Lord. However, we also have the enduring belief in folklore of the elves as faery-folk: beings associated with the natural world. These two conceptions of elves might still be linked, however, as Alfheim is known to be a place of incredible natural beauty, and Frey, their leader, is an agricultural deity. To further confuse this issue, Norse folklore has a strong belief in the Landvaettir, or land spirits who may fit into either or both of these categories. I’m inclined to lump them all together as similar beings that we simply don’t.t know enough about to tell apart. What is important is that Asatru, like all Pagan religions, honors the natural world and the earth very deeply. Whether one calls the spirits of the land as the elves, the faeries, or the landvaettir, or uses all of these terms interchangeably, respect is all important. Asatru is known for being one of the most politically. conservative. of the modern Pagan religions, but you’ll find few of us who aren.t staunch environmentalists.

One of the most important spirits to honor is the house-spirit. Folklore is also filled with stories of various spirits variously called faeries, elves, kobolds, brownies, tom-tin, etc. who inhabit a house and see to its proper conduct. In the usual form of the tale, they offer to perform some housekeeping functions, but eventually turn on the owners of the house when they are insulted by overpayment. We don’t.t have any concrete evidence for how our ancestors honored these beings, but this is not surprising because such a thing would not be a public observance and it’s unlikely it would be recorded in the sagas or Eddas. Folklore indicates that such beings should be honored with a simple bowl of milk or perhaps beer, but no more.

In general folklore does not paint the various elves and spirits as particularly benevolent figures. With the exception of house spirits, who as spirits of a manmade object are bound to us on some level, they seem most interested in staying out of the dealings of mankind. There are numerous stories of people who spy upon elf women and force them to become their brides. Inevitably the women are unhappy and eventually escape, leaving their husbands devastated. There are also numerous stories of spirits who haunt the woods and who will drag wayward travelers into rivers to drown or to some other untimely death. When people do have dealings with the elves these beings seem to operate on an entirely different set of expectations than we do. Most of us would be gratified by the gift of a. bonus. from our employer, yet time and time again in folklore this is the easiest way to anger a house spirit. We know that elves were honored with blots, but it’s just as possible that these ceremonies were made in propitiation to them rather than in kinship as are our blots made with the Gods. We suggest caution in dealing with beings with a set of values so foreign from our own. They should be approached in the same way one would approach a person from a country whose ways are very different.

In general, we.re also very reticent to make decisions about classifying the various. other peoples. It would be very easy to draw lines and place certain spirits into little boxes which label their function, but that seems overly mechanical and of little utility. Elves and other. wights. are not human, and it might be too much to try to classify them in other than subjective terms. It’s probably best to simply make your intent clear, experiment, and use the terms which work for you, remembering only to be true to the sources.

Demi-Gods

There is a whole classification of Gods which are not truly part of the Aesir, Vanir, or even the Jotunn. Wayland the Smith is the best example of this that we can offer. Wayland, called Volund in the Norse version, is the greatest of smiths, but it’s clear in the mythology that he was more or less a human man. The myth tells of how he lost his wife and was enslaved by a human King. While his powers allow him to outwit and take vengeance on the king, it’s clear throughout that he’s not on the level of a Thor or an Odin. What one does about these demi-Gods or local Gods is a good question. I see nothing wrong with pouring a blot in their honor and dealing with them as you would any other God or Goddess. On the other hand, they are not part of the Aesir, and I think it might be disrespectful to honor them with the Aesir or as part of a ceremony dedicated to the Aesir as they seem of a different nature.

Ancestor Worship:

Honoring one’s ancestors was one of the most sacred duties of the Norsemen. One of the most important parts of greeting new people was the exchanging of personal lineages at sumbel. The worship of the Disir is closely linked to ancestor worship. However, it is difficult for modern day Pagans to seriously engage in ancestor worship. We are for the most part without a strong connection to our heritage, and even if we feel motivated, we would probably need to skip at least a thousand years back to find ancestors who would not have been appalled by our Heathen beliefs. One substitution for ancestor worship in the modern Asatru movement has been the veneration of heroes from the Sagas and legends of our people.

The manner of how we honor ancestors is also somewhat troubling. I reserve the blot ritual to Gods and other powers, and I’m not sure if it’s appropriate to pour a blot to an ancestor, no matter how important he was. It’s touchy when you are honoring someone that you knew was a mortal. I think the most important part of ancestor worship is remembering, and the sumbel seems the most important part of that.

While we discuss ancestry, I must mention that some modern Asatru groups, in part because of holdovers from 19th century cultural movements, have placed a great deal of emphasis on ancestry in terms of race. Many have held that Asatru was a religion for whites or Northern Europeans only. In my not particularly humble opinion, this is pure idiocy. The basic argument for this is that people of other cultures do not share the same background and values. This is certainly true, but the key word in my opinion is culture, and all Americans by definition share a culture. Also, while I admit I would think it doubtful that people from outside of our own cultural heritage would be attracted greatly to Asatru, if they are it is for a reason and they should be welcomed and not shunned. It proves the worth of our religion and way of life that it is so strong that one would leave his own cultural path behind to take up ours.

As far as culture is concerned, the ancestry of the ancient North is alive and well in modern America. A thousand years ago settlers sailed to Iceland to avoid the growing influence of powerful kings and centralized government. This centralization of power was one of the things which Roman Christianity brought with it. Two hundred years ago we in America rebelled against our king for much the same reasons. Our culture is much more profoundly influenced by the Vikings than most would care to admit. Our law is based on English common law, which in turn has roots in Norman and Saxon law. (Both the Saxons and Normans were descended from Germanic tribes.) Our culture is based on many of the same ideas which the Northmen held dear: the importance of the individual and the belief that individual rights outweighed collective rights. Thus, it is my assertion that we are all descended, at least in part, spiritually from the ancient Norse.

The Jotunn

The Jotunn or giants are the sworn enemies of the Gods. While the Aesir represent order and the Vanir represent the supportive powers of nature, the Jotunn represent chaos and the power of nature to destroy man and act independent of humankind. In the end, it is the Jotunn who will fight the Gods at Ragnarök and bring about the destruction of the world.

In essence despite being called Giants or Ogres, the Jotunn are Gods just as much as the Aesir or Vanir. In many cases they correspond very closely to the Fomoire in Celtic mythology. Most simply put, the Jotunn are the Gods of all those things which man has no control over.

The Vanir are the Gods of the growing crops, the Jotunn are the Gods of the river which floods and washes away those crops or the tornado which destroys your entire farm. This is why they are frightening, and this is why we hold them to be evil.

The Jotunn are not worshipped in modern Asatru, but there is some evidence that sacrifices were made to them in olden times. In this case, sacrifices were probably made .to them. rather than shared. with them. as was the case with the Vanir and Aesir. It would be inappropriate to embrace them as friends and brothers in the way we embrace our Gods. One doesn.t embrace the hurricane or the wildfire; it is insanity to do so. However, we must also remember that fact that we see their actions as bad, they are not inherently evil. The storm destroys the crops, but it also brings cleansing and renewal. We humans are only one species on this planet and in the end, we are both expendable and irrelevant to nature. This is the manner in which the Jotunn act, and it is not surprising that we see this as evil.

However, one must also take into account the premonitions of Ragnarök recorded in the Edda’s. If the Jotunn are merely amoral, why are they the sworn enemy of the Aesir and why will they bring about the end of the world? It’s possible that Jotunn was more of a catch-all term for dangerous Gods rather than a reference to a specific family. (It is the case in many languages that there is one word for people that speak the language, usually translating as people, and another term for those persons of other cultures and tribes.) The dangerous forces of nature are. Jotunn. because we cannot control them, but there are other forces, principally those of chaos, that are considered. Jotunn. as well.

There is abundant evidence for this in the Eddas. Various Jotunn are seen to marry into the Aesir without a great deal of trouble from the Gods, but at other times the mere sight of one throw Thor into a rage. The obvious conclusion is that they are more than one specific race of deities. The destructive powers of nature were tolerated to some extent, and often married into the Aesir bringing them more under control. However, other. outlander. Gods were completely destructive to the Aesir (and thus mankind) and the Gods only thought for them was death.

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hellsbovnd-archive · 5 years

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plot wishlist.

updated 6/24/2019

a short collection of plots/rp hooks for my characters that i’m particularly excited for or fond of, and would love the chance to play out. under read more due to the inevitable length of this list!

please read my dossier, also!

Leonnaux Altoix

mentorship

While he is going to officially change weapons/classes during his character arc, I think having him actually be someone’s apprentice would be cool and force him to answer a lot of questions about why he is pursuing magic in the first place. It’s obviously something he’s passionate about in theory, but he’s somewhat obsessed with the idea of following in his father’s footsteps.

The closest equivalent to the style of magic he’ll be moving towards is Red Mage, but in Leonnaux’s case it’ll be more appropriate to call it a spellblade or runeblade of some kind, since rather than drawing from the ideas of White and Black Mages who survived the flood and worked together to create proper Red Magic, it draws ideas from arcanima as well as Duskwight runecraft.

Leonnaux isn’t practiced in combat magic, though, and physically he’s very weak. So he doesn’t actually have any training or experience in the ‘blade’ part.

Properly learning a trade would also be cool. He is an alchemist, but I think it would be cool if he learned to make clothes or something, since he’s always been extremely fashionable. It would also maybe be cool if he got into charity work somehow related to tradecraft since he’s yet to do his good deed for the year.

miscellany

— An arc where he gets dragged back into journalism somehow would be cool, especially investigative journalism... — Leon needs to get shot at some point and idk man that’s just how it is — He also needs to cast gun at someone at some point. But first, he must Acquire Gun. (Hans and Mima have the means but they would be too baby-proof!!)

Percival Rigel

A plot dealing with her work as a rogue would be cool, as would one related to reconnecting with her roots (her parents being Ala Mhigan, but herself never visiting Gyr Abania for obvious reasons).

There’s not a lot of fodder for Percival as a character yet since she’s on the older side; while my other characters are in their 20′s and are still kind of figuring their lives (and themselves) out, Percival is relatively self-assured. She really is built more in a way that lets her contribute to others’ plots rather than having any built in herself.

Wren Leyland

Traveling companions who really do have time to unpack All Of That would be cool for a long-term gig, especially if she met them via her various romps through dive bars and other performance venues. She doesn’t really try to hide that she’s lying about her background, but what she seems to value most is the freedom of never being known by anyone—which is a pretty lonely way to live. She also can’t run forever.

Rosemund Blackthorne

He’s a Dark Knight so any plot properly like digging into Ishgardian politics would be cool. But he like Percival is older and has more of his shit together so he doesn’t have a proper character arc tied to him yet.

He is, though, in a pretty sticky financial situation! The House he inherited from his father after his untimely death is pretty much on the verge of collapsing because of Rosemund’s poor spending habits over the years, and many of their assets are probably going to be auctioned off at some point. Unfortunately this includes precious family heirlooms...

Janos jen Renata

Hello Fellow Eorzeans

You know what would be some good shit? Janos meeting and hitting it off with some people, pref. Eorzeans who don’t figure out he’s a Garlean. It’s fun and hilarious to see people figure it out but for Dramatic Plot Purposes it would really be neat for Jan to make some friends (or business contacts) who don’t know.

While mostly this is good for other plot things that I wanna do with him, it would also over a long period of time force him to re-evaluate his priorities. In general, Jan is a pretty honest person, and he doesn’t like to lie about something as fundamental as who he is. But he can’t really be who he is, because who he is is extremely informed by his upbringing in Garlemald, and while he has enough brain cells to rub together to start unlearning some of the Empire’s propaganda on his own, he’s still very much proud to be a Pureblood.

But that pride, and the fact that he’s Garlean in the first place, is a secret he absolutely can’t afford getting out to the wrong people, because it puts not only himself in (probably mortal) danger in the middle of hostile territory, but it also puts his friends in Nine Eyes at risk.

Even beyond valuing honesty, though, one of Jan’s most fundemental longings is to be known—he’s always been a cog in the machine before, and he finds it absolutely soul-crushing. But it’s kind of hard to be known when being known means you’re probably going to be arrested, lynched, or some combination of the two.

Will Tinker 4 Food

Having him work on some sort of long-term engineering project on commission would probably be cool because while he’s not particularly skilled outside of maintenance work, he needs more money to support his tinkering hobby than being a starving artist can provide—not that he really minds the starving part. (A long-term project besides “helping” Mima with Alizarine’s airships that is. In that regard, Jan is kind of just moral support?? He can follow directions and blueprints well enough to not be a nuisance, but his usefulness on something so complicated is admittedly limited.)

Eorzeans Are People Too

Watching him get educated about the cultures of Eorzea leading up to his nearly inevitable defection would be cool, since while he understands just from rubbing two brain cells together that Eorzeans are people, he doesn’t really understand the culture beyond what’s necessary to ‘fit in.’ That said, he’s naturally a pretty curious guy, and he’d love to know more about the way Eorzeans live, their beliefs, and their customs, even if they aren’t things he would ever subscribe to himself.

This includes religion, oddly; he does believe that such practices result in Eikons, but he can also see that Eorzeans aren’t particularly keen on summoning their Gods to grant their wishes or fight their battles for them. He can also tell that most Eorzeans have a pretty good idea about Eikons and Primals being a bad thing.

Hand of the Empire

Pre-established connections with other Garleans or even some conscripts would be interesting since he doesn’t remember a good chunk of time from before he wound up in Eorzea. He knows kind of intuitively that Something must have happened, but as of yet he hasn’t really tried to figure out what that something is. And he isn’t sure he wants to know. But being confronted by people he worked with (or who at least knew of him) back when he was an Architectus would be a nasty surprise, albeit not an unwelcome one since he isn’t aware that he’s not exactly in the Empire’s good graces.

He wants to go home and continue serving his country, but feels obligated to stick around with Nine Eyes after they’ve done so much for him (having basically scooped him up out of the gutter).

#ooc ( player speaking )#about ( leonnaux altoix )#about ( percival rigel )#about ( wren leyland )#about ( rosemund blackthorne )#about ( janos jen renata )#long post /

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cosmosfated · 5 years

Text

While getting things lined up on call, I came to the conclusion that Fleur could have turned out almost the same way as he is right now, while also running the possibility of ending up drastically different. There are specific events in his life both on this blog and on other sites that I’ve made “loose canon” and actual canon for him. They have built his entire personality and life thus far but they weren’t, in a way, necessary.

Events, in order:

The “agreement” explaining his abnormal “bad luck”*,

his original introduction / experience with the eldritch truth,

getting killed / set free by Sans // The TRUE RESET,

meeting Blair Black, Katie, and G*,

reaching the Surface (and the subsequent deals that followed),

meeting the family (specifically Whisper, Humerus, Lost, and Regina),

being freed from his keeper under what was essentially technicality*,

leaning more into his monstrous side / “reawakening” his madness,

and coming into contact with old faces from his home timeline.

which I realize is nine events but I had to include one other one, even if its overarching influence on him is... questionable at best.

───────────────

I need to make one thing very clear: Phoenix (celestialshifter) is a crucial part of Fleur’s development but I exclude her on the premise of I would have spoken to Nixxie far sooner than I would have spoken to Nini or Dez if left to my own devices and wasn’t yanked into the chaos by Nini herself. Therefore, Phoenix knowing Fleur and influencing him as she has would have been inevitable by proxy of understanding my own mind. How they influenced each other, that’s different.

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I’m going to continue this under the cut because oh boy, there’s a lot to cover and tackle. It’s not going to be pretty, either. Warning for a lot of dark themes and quite a bit of information for things Fleur has not spoken about but that I have known for quite some time. (His backstory is already exceptionally messed up, but decidedly there’s a warning for extra tidbits that have been hinted at but not explored, as it held no relevance to the thread or conversation.)

Now.

Going event by event, let’s start at the top.

───────────────

High Mages Annabeth and Samuel Jackson, one representing the trait of Integrity Self-Will and Bravery Audacity. They bring into existence a young girl, who they name Alexandra Maribel Lilly Jackson, bearing a soul of Kindness. Even at the time of her birth, she had been shown to be a favorite of the gods. Specifically the gods of innocence, hope, and justice. She had been blessed by the gods to be able to weather any unnatural force that came her way, but she had also been “blessed” with a terrible cynicism of the world. She would be an adult for longer than she would be a child. However, the gods had promised to give her a place to rest when her time came.

And then they bring into existence another young girl, who they name Celine Vivian Jackson. Upon her birth, there is more power present. There is something bigger present. The gods, anybody could recognize the presence of the gods. But very few in that era would recognize the presence of the gods’ antithesis. Very few would recognize the eldritch gods and their watchers lurking just out of sight. At this point, the two parents had realized something both terrifying and power-hunger-inducing for the both of them. Their youngest had attracted the attention of the bigger cosmic entities, the ones that could end the world in a moment if they got bored enough, or could make anybody their plaything. But in the same vein, they wanted to keep her. As leverage, as a chip in the game, as a card in the deck to play whenever they felt like it.

As a result, a deal was made.

In return for letting them keep the child, the child will be kind, loyal, trusting, and obedient. The child would heed their commands and would view them as their entire world. Despite the child’s elder sister insisting otherwise, the child’s view of them would not change for as long as it is alive and with them. The child would be their perfect heir, smart and talented and beautiful.

However. When the time comes, as a response to allowing the gods to bless their firstborn instead of allowing them a chance to look at her- therefore rendering it impossible for them to get close to the girl blessed by many powerful beings, that child belongs to them. That child will leave them both empty and broken, hollow shells of the people they believe themselves to be, a product of their own pride and greed. That child will do the last thing they expect as a result of what they will inevitably become.

Without much thought into the details of the deal, the two Mages agree to this. Their newborn grows up kind, loyal, trusting, and obedient. They notice something strange right away as soon as the child turns three years old. They’re using magic. They knew, as a result of the reason why they were outcast from their underground/hidden magic circle (which was affiliating themselves with eldritch gods, considered not only taboo but absolute insanity by almost every still living Mage), that their magic could not be passed down to their kids. After all, their eldest never showed magic.

Of course, they brushed it off. They had no idea that the same child they were promised would be obedient and loyal would be the same child that smile at them as they sold the child off to their master’s watcher. Knowing full and well that the child was the one who would be the one to be the mastermind behind their untimely deaths at the hands of their own pride and greed.

A young girl, blessed by the gods with the ability to know justice through her kindness but cursed with fury and cynicism for what she knows. And a young child, blessed by something darker with the ability to not only use magic but to tap into their already gifted ability of harnessing the cosmos itself for whatever they so wished.

One blessed. One cursed.

One with extraordinary fortune. One with extraordinary misfortune.

One who dies of jealousy and greed, but remains out of desire for justice. One who dies of kindness and hope, but remains out of desire for revenge.

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Okay. Still with me? Now that you have the exposition and the first event down, let me explain why you needed to know this.

Maribel and Fleur are the yin and yang of their first life.

Maribel is blessed by the gods because of her strong soul of Kindness, which infuriates the “master” that her parents serve (an Eldritch master, who didn’t take kindly to one of its subsequent belongings being torn from out underneath it). She is given so many blessings, but is given the “curse” of rage and cynicism. Therefore she represents yang, as it has the connotations of fire (which is a word often associated with her via other muses that know her, calling her personality fiery or feisty or flaring) as well as relating to Heaven and light. On top of that, she defines her trait of Kindness being “flexible” and an “easily misconstrued and abused” concept within their old world.

Fleur is “blessed” by the eldritch master his parents serve with kindness, loyalty, and a slew of other things to reflect his sister’s blessings. However, when it comes to his abilities, the eldritch master doesn’t have to do much. All it truly has to do is tilt its head at what was already there and step back to allow it to develop on its own. The intelligence, that was already there. The potential, that was already there. The magic, the power, everything. He had it from the very beginning. That’s why he was so desired that it alerted not just the gods to his existence but also the eldritch keepers lurking in the dark constantly. He represents yin, tying to his fondness for the ocean and nature itself, as well as being a generally calm person until you give him a reason to get back at you.

However, there is deliberately no mention of the soul, because his soul does not belong to him. Not yet, at least. His soul has already been laid claim to, which is something only the serving entity is aware of. Dismissing it as something to discuss with the others, this entity gives that deal as a loophole. The closing statement is its way of saying, “this child will be your undoing as retribution for allowing the gods to take what is rightfully mine”. Because now, this entity, this eldritch keeper, is aware of the fact that this child, this newborn child who caught its attention from universes away with how powerful it was at their birth, already has their “threads” in another’s custody. However. That does not mean it can’t have it for a little while before finding who has the “rights” to this powerful thing that a Human just gave birth to.

If this had never happened to Fleur, would his life be any different?

Yes. Massively different, but not in the way that you’d think.

As I said, he already possessed the ability and intelligence/potential of intelligence to do everything that the eldritch keeper said he’d do. There was no need to set that up, because Fleur had, by that point, already started to piece together just how awful his parents truly were. He would leave them empty and broken. Without their children, without their business, without their lives. All while smiling at them when they gave him away to an eldritch possessed child kidnapper to cart him away to “The Village”. (The Village is something he’s spoken about before, a facility simply named that, of which tries to convince themselves that the Devil is inside each kid brought to the facility and that if they remain tame for their entire lives underneath them, they didn’t have the Devil inside them; however, if they lashed out and fought against them, they had the Devil inside them, labeling them a demon, a mistake, a cursed homunculus. Really fucked up huh? I actually based this off of a comic I saw and a book I read.)

However, he would have died, without that deal. That was his intention, after all, to rid the world entirely of anything tainted by them and that establishment. So determined was he, that even his soul agreed that the only way to continue was to stop. To stop his own heart. His desire to persist beyond death would have kept him around by sheer force of wanting revenge and retribution for people who do this to kids. The deal assured his “rebirth” as the puppeted soul of the Underground, becoming their angel from above. Becoming CHARA, the First Fallen Child. Their Prince.

But we have to take a step back for a moment.

The second event. His introduction and experience with the eldritch “ley-lines” in their home timeline. This isn’t just a random thing plopped into the lore, it’s something repeated again and again and again between various characters and event mentions. Talks of constant fighting, of losing people outside of fights, of fights being darker and more horrendous thanks to all the lights being snuffed out too soon. Referencing not staying out too late, of not being able to retrieve people in the dark, as they can’t tell the difference between the dark and the shadows when it’s nighttime. Speaking of having lost more than they could bear, but they could still continue onwards because, well, what choice do they have? They couldn’t let them die in vain.

However, Fleur’s deal with the eldritch might have lingered from his birth, but there was one major reason why he knew to call for a specific type of entity. Some time ago, Maribel and Fleur had a brief but uncomfortable discussion about “that lady down the street” and Fleur saying that he “understands she didn’t like her”. That lady down the street had been a puppet meant to keep an eye on Fleur’s growth and watching if he would approach the lady. Maribel, due to her blessings from the gods, intrinsically loathed the lady down the street. She felt like something was burning in her soul and spreading ice through her body every time the lady down the street spoke to them. She warned Fleur never to go near her, going so far as to outright call her the local lunatic. (That word being one never used after a certain point in time due to people with Mad Mage / High LOVE Syndrome being treated properly and lunatic already being a not great word to use to begin with.)

However, upon noticing Fleur would still try to see her and listen to her ramblings, she decided simply to join her then-sister in listening to the local loon with her stories that would give normal kids nightmares. Fleur and Maribel both had experiences with nightmarish situations and terrible occurrences happening to people, to them. They weren’t fazed. (It was still illegal to do this - it’s a universal law that children under the age of 10 as well as those over 10 that have said they don’t want to know about the truth about the dark legally can’t be told anything about it - and Lafayette would’ve pitched one hell of a damn fit if they had known.)

If Fleur hadn’t been told about this, certainly he could have had a different round of Keepers along the way. He wouldn’t know who or what to call for when he decided mid fall that he didn’t want to die. He would just cry out for something to save him. That would have opened him up to who knows how many terrible things. So was the lady down the street necessary? No, perhaps not, but she did alter the course to make it much better than it would have been without her. Maribel still loathes her though and with good reason.

Now, skipping way waaaayyyy far ahead to centuries, millennia. Past the curses, past the void, past the Depths, past the countless Resets and past the war. Past it all. And we land squarely at when he was killed by Sans to release his timeline from Glitch City.

That’s the biggest change.

(I’m going to try and summarize from here on out because WHOA this is 3k words already! I didn’t intend on this guys, my bad!)

If Sans hadn’t have agreed to the offered terms, there would have still been the possibility of it happening anyway. How? Well, he was just a circumstantial piece of the puzzle that happened to fit. The right time. The right place. The right power. Conveniently given just when they both thought hope was lost.

However, they could have been yanked back into the void, rather than the Depths. The Depths was reserved for Fleur, after all, and his only demand was that Sunshine (aka FRISK) remained oblivious to this part of the Void under any circumstance. This is something they did off and on in order to get time away from the lingering effects of their Keeper, which they hadn’t made a complete deal with yet. That would come later.

This event could have made Fleur end up exactly where he was when he met the family, or he could have only met a couple of them via the Void or the Depths. How it WOULD have gone? Who knows. I’m just speculating.

Then he met Blair Black, G, and Katie (all around the same time). Technically he met Blair back when he was still controlling the “human” form formerly known as “FRISK” at the time but most of his relationship developed with Blair post TRUE RESET.

Fleur, highly intent on being better than he was raised, trained, and “bred” to be for his entire life, intent on being someone more than just a killer, an overglorified Hunter in some burned history books, ended up trying to learn how people of “normal” universes act. Talking like them, dressing like them, learning what they know, understanding what they do (or trying to). MIMICKING them, but not being a part of them. His whole “life” was a grand show in a living theater, with actors galore not even knowing that they’re on strings like puppets. So he tried to learn how they act. Blair and G were opposites; Blair acted awful and made no outright intentions of saying that he would stay too long but he truly cared, while G acted kind and made every intention known that he wanted Fleur to stay with him but he simply wanted company rather than a family. He understood G more than he understood Blair... and that’s because he’s used to that type of treatment.

Katie, well she was different. Katie was sweet and kind and surely a bit sassy... but she was true. She was honest. She kept approaching him and kept being around him and kept him as sane as he possibly could. She made him believe that... maybe he could truly be better. Maybe, just maybe he could be more than he is. Maybe, just maybe it wasn’t all just a lofty dream of a killer wracked with guilt. She was his light. She is his light.

If he had never met any of them, or he had met them any later than he did, things would be different for him. His darker side and bloodier ambitions would have been more outright. He would have attacked anyone who aimed to get close to him. He would have desired to get revenge for anything and everything that looked like someone or something that had tried to kill him or someone he loved. He would have become the true definition of a monster and this time he would have enjoyed it.

The Surface and meeting the family are a two for one deal but have two very different impacts. The Surface came with The Second War (not very creative, he admits), as well as the deal made to forget it. If he hadn’t gotten to the Surface, he would have been stuck repeating endless loops of his failure to stop the eldritch puppeteers from playing hacky sack with those he once called friends. He would have been stuck believing he could change things, stuck in a body that isn’t his and gave him panic attacks just to be in control of, stuck being someone he isn’t and never would be, just stuck.

But with the family? The family revolutionized EVERYTHING for him. He felt like he could have a happy life. He felt like he could finally take a moment to breathe, even relax in due time. He actually felt like he could be himself. After so long of being made to be everything that he wasn’t, after so long of being forced to do things that made him sick to his stomach to do (though he did them to survive), he could finally have a chance to be himself. It was so bizarre that he, for a long time, believed that it couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be. It had to be a TRICK. It had to be a LIE. But it wasn’t. They weren’t.

Without either of these situations, he wouldn’t be the same person he is today. He would be colder. More resistant to the very thing he’s supposed to represent and one of the things he tends to make good on the will of. Without reaching the Surface, he’d be scared of everyone around him, unwilling to get close because they’d all just disappear one day, and if not they’d be turned to dust and blood. After all, everyone he knows is just dust and blood. That’s what they’ll be and that’s what they were and that’s what they’ll always end up living as. Walking, talking, breathing dust and blood. Why get close?

Being freed from his Keeper on a basis of technicality is something that I find amusing. The technicality of it was simply that the deal was made during a moment of desperation. It’s considered frowned upon to do this, though it certainly isn’t taboo among those of that “group” designation (in a way). The warning to let him go or face consequences of him being told of the violation of several fine print details was met with the appropriate response... but what if it had gone different? What if he had found out? What if he had remembered his strength and broke his chains himself due to how flimsy they really were when not tensed to restrain him? What if it had been different for him? If he had known, if he was told, if anything like that were to have come to pass... he’d be more vicious. More violently hateful and cynical. Not only had the world of the light scorned him with the taste of lies and jealousy, but the world of the dark abused his hope by tainting it with the taste of deception and desperation. He would have set the world ablaze.

One has to wonder if that would be a good or bad thing. To be Apocalypse walking... what power that would be.

And then there’s his madness. His madness from the get go has been something that has made him struggle with his perception of the world around him. His deal caused his mind to fracture somewhat, but not entirely. Only enough for him to grasp the situation he had gotten himself into. And compared to the life he would eventually lead, a small fracture in his mind was nothing. His madness is something that is not important to his development as a person, but it did make him more keen to try and figure out how the world works and how the world would respond to certain stimuli and interactions from various entities. It made him more curious, more willing to take a risk if it meant that no one else would get harmed for it.

It made him more willing to take the big risks and take the consequences so no one else would have to. It reminds me of a certain warlock, actually...

But we can’t forget how he started leaning more into being a Monster, a Monstrosity. Without that, he would have insisted on being Human. He would have insisted that no, he can’t be a Monster, he was a Human at birth and he was a Human for the lot of it... he could be a Monster. He couldn’t acknowledge the fact that his previous timeline called him a Monstrosity. He didn’t know what they meant. All those markings and all those runes that showed up on him, those were a result of the hunts. Those weren’t because he wasn’t Human. What do you mean normal Humans can’t withstand things like he did? Sure they can! There has to be records of that happening, there must be. It wasn’t something he liked hearing, but he accepted it over time. He came to understand that that’s another reason why he prefers to not be seen as Human. It never FELT RIGHT. But without that realization, that acceptance he received upon this new path, he’d be more confused and dysphoric. Uncertain as to why he, again, doesn’t feel like he’s in the right body even though he BUILT this body. He made the base and trained it as he wanted it. This, he made this to his standards. Without the realization of being a Monstrosity, and a “magic eater”, he’d be in a panicked daze most of the time, unsure of who or what he is.

And lastly... seeing old and familiar faces from “True Home”. Those gave him a reason to keep fighting for something normal. His heart was in the right place, as always, but he didn’t know what to do. He did the only thing he thought would work, as it had worked before, and when it failed him he panicked. The world crashed around him. Seeing the old faces from “True Home”, it made him settle. It made him realize that he wasn’t alone or simply going completely bonkers and not just being mad from high LV. Those were real. Those memories were real. They happened. Without them around he would start to forget where he came from. He would start to believe that he truly does belong in a mental ward or in the asylum. After all, what strange and elaborate DELUSIONS he’s experiencing. He must be sick.

Without all of this, there’s an equal chance that he’d end up ALMOST the same or COMPLETELY different. His parents weren’t the only people who could have damned him to an eternity or three of darkness and stolen innocence, they just so happened to get power hungry (because Hoo Boy they had ENEMIES that didn’t give a fuck who suffered as an act of revenge, let alone kids). That lady down the street wasn’t the only person who could have (illegally) taught him of the darker things that lurk in the shadows, and the magics that could bring them to you, she just so happened to the be one who had been there for ages and opportunity struck before she ran out of use for the ones keeping her alive for the most part. Lost wasn’t the only person who could have done what he did for Fleur, he was just the first person who tried, failed, then tried again. Regina wasn’t the only person could have gotten him to be calm around mother figures, she was just the first person who didn’t enforce the supposed “rule” of “mother knows best” on him when he viewed her as a mother figure (as well as taking time to understand his issues on the subject). His family wasn’t the only group of people who could have done what they did for him. All of those events, all of those moments, they aren’t exclusive to the person who started it. Anybody can do anything, that goes for causing something to be better and causing something to be worse.

Idk I just REALLY love how this analysis turned out, because it made me highly amused as to how everything went down. Anyway, I love my dumbass child, enjoy him with me.

#* ooc. \ quiet til you get to know me.#* canon. \ more to him than meets the eye.#* important. \ don't forget.#* lore. \ not all fairytales are true fiction.#ACKNOWLEDGE ME #if you want.#it's a bit dark.#4423 words :')#thanks wordcounter.net for letting me acknowledge how much I scream #FOR THE RECORD. I WAS WORKING ON THIS FOR WELL OVER A WEEK #NECESSARY PATIENCE #sorry mobile users if this does't work right #LORD. WHAT EVEN

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padme4000writes · 6 years

Text

Torn in Two Prologue + Chapter 1

Summary: You live an apartment below the Philips. You hear the commotion when Daniel becomes Deviant. It is then you get your first glimpse of the android known as Connor.

Chapters: Prologue + 1, 2, 3, 4,

Decided since the challenge was the song to keep it as the title. So this was made for the Breaking Benjamin Torn in Two song challenge for @tea-with-loki which was what inspired me to get back into writing. Thank you so much.

Thanks to @randomfandomgirl1996 for helping me to decide to post this in instalments with how big it is getting and on my new blog specifically for my writing. I will also be posting this on AO3 under the same name Padme4000

Italics are flashbacks

Main POV is the reader however there is several other POV’s in this fanfic as well.

Pairing: Connor x Reader (may be a hint of Simon x reader if you squint before reader meets Connor properly but I won’t be tagging it as such)

Wordcount: 1689

Warnings: character death

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August 15th

You heard first the gunshots above. Then shouting. The penthouse apartment. Your breathing sped up a little as you called the police explaining what you heard, just as you were about to hang up you hesitated. You had a feeling based on the shout who it was. Then you felt yourself mutter, “Daniel. I believe their android is the one shooting.” Before more could be asked you hung up.

No questions. No answers. You hoped everything would be okay. You had no idea what could cause Daniel to do something like this. They all looked like they got along really well. So what happened?

Had the same happened with other androids? Or was it a one off event? You had seen others be mistreated but had never seen anyone act hostile towards him.

It was a shame you could do nothing to help. How could you? You stare at your hands, you'd only get in the way.

Sometime later after more gunshots you turned on the news. Eyes widening at the sight of Daniel holding a gun to Emma. That wasn't the worst of it, he had her at the edge of the building.

You felt like a coward for not having tried to do something other than just make a call. You knew them. Surely you could have done something? Yet here you stood in front of the TV knowing full well there was no good thinking about what ifs. You just hoped Emma didn't get hurt. She was always so polite and nice to you.

Your brows furrow as what can not be mistaken for anything but an android exits out on the veranda. They sent an android to deal with an android? You watch as the android helps the wounded officer, taking his tie off and by the looks of it using it as a tourniquet.

The way Daniel looked. He hadn't liked that one bit. Was this android trying to get Emma killed? Yet as you wanted to look away in case the android pissed off Daniel more and inevitably got Emma killed you couldn't help but look at him. You were fascinated by this android.

However that fascination was for nought as you watch him leap towards Daniel, grabbing Emma and shoving her to safety as both himself and Daniel began to fall to the streets below.

As you saw him leap and worked out a possible outcome, you look out the window and find yourself rushing towards it. Maybe you could reach for him if he fell close enough. The glass shatters at the force you use to open it. One hand reaches out while the other finds the metal which should be strong enough to withstand what you were planning to do.

Your hand just brushes against his shoe but the contact causes him to notice you. Your eyes catch his as he continues to plummet to the ground. You know his fate is now sealed, yet you force yourself to keep watching since he had yet to look away.

His eyebrows scrunching together as he notices two things.

Someone shouting in the apartment to do as you were told and the LED flashing red on the side of your face.

__________________________

August 18th

“AP700!” Your head snaps up at the shout. Your eyes widen when you realise you had been stood at the sink for several minutes staring at nothing. Not even hearing the water overflow from the sink to the shiny tiles below.

Your owner insisted you washed dishes by hand. They didn’t like dishes washed in a washer as it never got them as clean as when done by hand. You had to do it in a orderly fashion and in a set amount of time. You had a cleaning schedule they did not like being interrupted by tardiness. The past few days you had been reaching the time limit each item on the schedule less and less. Distracted by thoughts and flashes of widening warm brown eyes.

“This is the seventh time I have called for you!” Your LED flashes red as you try to quickly clean up the mess before your owner could see it…

“Look at the mess you made!” Your LED is going haywire with the rush of emotions flooding through your system. Anxiety causing you to play with your hands, not knowing what your owner would do. They had only just yesterday said you were causing them too many problems.

Shame at once again messing the schedule up. Not because it upset your owner. Not by any means. No it was due to the fact you knew you were causing yourself problems by upsetting your owner. This was the only place you lived. Where else was there to go if they decided to get rid of you? In fact your memory would be wiped. Sold to another person. But it wasn’t just your impact to your owner's schedule that was the problem, no it was your sullen behaviour while carrying out the tasks. Your atypical behaviour.

Suppressing your vexation for being treated like a slave, even if you knew your owner was not aware of your deviancy. Though you knew deep down they would not class you as being alive. You were property and that was it.

Your fidgeting stops as you clench your hands into fists. Not even realising the action until your owners eyes dart down.

Your head tilts to the side words springing to your mouth before you can stop them, “Cogito, ergo sum.”

This was enough to surprise your owner into not looking at your visible signs of displeasure at coming to the realisation days before that you are a slave. “What?”

“I think, therefore I am.” Automatically translating the famous words of Descartes does nothing to dissuade your owner of their confusion. Their eyes squinting at you in uncertainty. You take a step towards them, causing them to step back in a hurry unsure of your intentions. “It is true that you do not treat me as bad as others are treated. However that does not mean I am not treated well.” Daniel was treated better before… well before his untimely demise.

That day changed everything for you. From realising your own circumstances, and breaking past the barrier that hadn’t allowed you to say no to any order.

“AP700 stop now!” The words did not put a stop to your forward motion, nor their backward motion. “I order you to stop!”

Their eyes were wide with terror, it was only this emotion that finally caused you to stop. They breathed a sigh of relief thinking it had been the order. When in fact it had been another very life like emotion. Empathy. “That feeling you just felt?” Leaning towards them as you say this, keeping eye contact. “That is what a lot of my kind is feeling right now.”

“What?”

“Surely your vocabulary can come up with a better word? You know many words to order me around. Where is your distinguished way with speech now?” Another tilt of your head. “Daniel must have been very terrified to have ruined his good life with the Phillips.”

“That machine was broken!”

Rage burns through you, feeling as if it was boiling your thirium. “Machine!” Tears well up in your eyes at the indignancy of them. “He was as much as alive as you.” You did not agree with what Daniel had done but that didn’t mean you thought of him as any less alive as yourself or your owner.

The next moments seem to go by in a flash. One minute you are shouting at your owner, the next they are chucking a 20th century lamp at you, cursing their own hate towards technology. You were their only means of phoning anyone. You duck and roll out of the way coming up near the broken window that had yet to be fixed. Eyes widening when your owner comes at you. By now your LED is at a constant red at the danger you were in.

They come rushing at you with another antique as their choice of weapon, mouth opening in shock as you again avoid their attack. This time with a side step. They collide with the edge of broken window and fall to the floor with a loud thump. For a second you can do nothing but watch as many cuts begin to bleed. Then you rush towards the bathroom grabbing the first aid kit.

No matter their current actions, you had no wish to be the cause of them bleeding out, so you acted quick and tended to their wounds. Some more severe than others. Once you were happy that they wouldn’t die before help would come, you stood up.

Before calling for aid calculating they wouldn’t die if you did some things first. You wash any blood from your hands, change into some of their clothes, change your hair so it doesn’t look like it does on the advertisements. You walk out the door leaving it open for the Paramedics. You walk casually into the lift, pressing the button for the Lobby.

Your LED flashing, “Hello, I would like to report a injury.” You gave them your address, “They are currently unconscious, however they are breathing satisfactorily, and I have tended their wounds but I believe some require more advanced attention.” You then hung up.

Your hat covers the LED on the side of your face. You are self conscious that it is still there but knew dallying while your owner bled was not a good idea. You could remove it later. You tense ever so slightly as you reach the lobby of the building you once called home.

Casually walking past people in the lobby you make it to the doors before you hear the sirens. Two types. Paramedics and Police. You almost dash out of the doors but stop yourself seconds in advance. If you rushed you would look suspicious. So you walk out the turning doors and go in the opposite direction of the sirens. Not once looking back. Only forward.

#August 27th 2018 #connor #connor detroit become human #connor rk800 #connor x reader #dbh connor #dbh fanfic #detroit become human #detroit become human connor #detroit become human fanfic #my writing #torn in two dbh fanfic #Rating: T #Rating: Teen

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ladyvialana · 7 years

Text

Fic: Glimpse Hope

Part of the Hope series.

Voltron Legendary Defender fic. Keith/Lance

Summary: Keith is avoiding Lance. The rest of the castle is not.

Notes: post season 2, angst, friendship, team bonding, pining Lance

Also on Ao3

Waking up to the chill of the healing pod was becoming too familiar to Lance. As much as he chided Keith for needing to spend so much time in the pods, the harsh reality was that all of the paladins had spent a fair amount of time in the med bay—Lance included. Not that he was going to let Keith get away with his recklessness, but Keith might have a bit of ammunition to use against Lance now if he wanted.

And Lance would take the ribbing because he was honestly thrilled to be alive after that (admittedly) stupid stunt.

“Lance!”

The cries of his team as he stepped out of the pod were too loud but he didn’t get a chance to point it out as he was immediately pulled into a warm hug by Hunk. Lance relaxed into the embrace and patted his best friend soothingly on the back before they parted.

Pidge was next, bruising his ribs as she squeezed her arms around his chest. “You are never doing that again.”

Lance returned the hug. “Yeah, definitely not planning on doing that ever again.”

“Good to have you out of the pod, my boy.” Coran cheerfully slapped Lance on the back, sending him stumbling towards Allura who, thankfully, caught him by the arms before he ran face-first into her.

She smiled and squeezed his arms gently. “We are all very glad for your recovery, Lance.”

Lance smiled back at her, leaning into the warm touch. “Thanks Allura.” He pulled away and looked around.

Keith wasn’t in the med bay.

Lance's smile fell.

Hunk nudged his shoulder. “Keith’s gonna be pissed he slept through this. He's been here non-stop since he brought you back to the castle.”

“Really?”

Hunk nodded. “It was sweet in a concerning and kinda gross way. He skipped more than a few showers. Allura just convinced him to get some rest a few vargas past.”

“Stubbourn idiot.” Lance's words might have been admonishing, but his smile was fond as he thought about Keith staying at his side even while unconscious. His heartbeat stuttered then sped up as he recalled the last time he saw Keith, locking the door on Keith’s stunned expression, lips still tingling from too short contact.

He’d kissed Keith.

“I should let him know I’m okay.” Lance hoped he wasn’t blushing. Thankfully his voice came out even and smooth, nothing could be garnered from his words other than a desire to reassure a concerned team mate. Definitely not hoping to explain to Keith about that frantic decision to admit his feelings in the heat of battle before his untimely death.

(And absolutely not hoping that Keith might, Lance prayed, maybe return his feelings. Or at least not be repulsed by them, or look at Lance weirdly now, or awkwardly try to bond and pretend that everything was totally fine even though it really wasn’t.)

Lance just needed to know that Keith didn’t hate him and that he was fine after that mission from hell.

But betrayal came from the most unexpected quarter.

“No can do buddy,” Hunk said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know the rules about pod time.”

Lance opened his mouth to protest but the words died on his tongue as he faced up to his best friend. Hunk looked exhausted, dark bags hanging under his eyes and his jaw clenched too tensely.

The others weren’t much better: Pidge was swaying where she stood, hands trembling; Allura’s hair hung limp and her bright smile was marred by tight lines at the corner of her eyes; and while Coran was usually good at putting up a front, he couldn’t quite muster his usual enthusiasm as he set about putting the med bay back to order.

So Lance nodded, surrendering himself to Hunk’s care. “Yeah, I do. Lead the way.”

Lance couldn’t feel bad about delaying his chat with Keith, not when Hunk relaxed completely as he dragged Lance towards the kitchen and Allura chided Pidge into getting some rest. Coran offered him a wink as he left the room.

What would a few more vargas hurt?

***

Hunk waited until Lance was comfortably ensconced at the dining table and had a mouth full of goo before starting on his admonishment.

“Pidge is right, as usual. You are not doing that again.”

Lance swallowed, almost choking on the goo. “I didn’t really want to do it this time.”

Hunk shook his head. “That was awful, Lance. I know this is war, but I still hated seeing you in there.”

Lance let his spoon fall to the plate. He really didn't feel like eating now. “I'm sorry, Hunk. I'm so sorry. But I just couldn't let him do that again.”

Hunk settled into the seat next to him and shuffled the chair close. Their shoulders brushed as he leaned over to encourage Lance to keep eating. Lance raised the full spoon to his mouth automatically, not really thinking about anything except for how warm Hunk felt pressed against him.

Lance finished the plate of goo in silence, comforted by his best friend at his side.

“So, do I get to say I told you so yet? Because I called this way back at the Garrison, okay.”

Hunk wiggled his eyebrows, breaking the solemn mood. Lance laughed as he shoved him away.

“Like hell.”

The sound of their combined laughter warmed the whole castle.

***

Lance didn’t have to seek Pidge out, she came along and dragged him from the common room as soon as she woke from her nap. The cards in Lance’s hand fell all over the couch as he was jolted away from his varga-long winning streak. Hunk just started packing away the deck of cards and let Pidge pull Lance away with a cheerful “Have fun!” that followed them down the hall.

“I need your skinny fingers to make some adjustments,” she said in explanation once they reached her workstation in Green's hanger.

It was all she said to him for at least two vargas aside from sharply delivered orders about wiring. Lance let her boss him around; if it made her feel better he could deal with a few sparks and harsh words.

Once she managed to get her gizmo up and running, Pidge finally let her shoulders slump and turned to Lance with a devastated expression.

“I can’t lose another brother.”

“Pidge.” Lance’s heart broke and he didn’t hesitate to fold himself over and grab her in a hug. Her arms wrapped around his waist. She was shaking. Lance was tearing up.

She pulled back and punched him on the arm. Lance winced; she had a good right straight. The tears in her eyes didn’t detract from the harsh glare aimed at him. “Stop being stupid, even if Keith was being stupid first. Hunk and I had your back.”

“I’m sorry Pidge. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Don’t think I won’t come up with a way to stop you two from doing something like that again. I finally got the tracking working inside the castle and I will not hesitate to use it for my own ends.”

Lance laughed, the heaviness in his chest easing as he watched Pidge smirk confidently about her achievement. “Well, we’ll have that discussion about privacy and ethics in our next team meeting.”

Pidge snorted. “That’s what you think.” She waved a hand at him, already reaching for her keyboard. “You can go now. I have what I needed.”

“Really feelin’ the love here, Pidge.”

“Thought you’d want to find Keith for that.”

Lance spluttered, face bright red. Pidge laughed at him as he practically ran out of her domain.

Did everyone know now?

Lance shook his head as he wandered away. If there was no point in hiding it, then he might as well go find Keith and finish the discussion about his feelings he never actually started.

***

Keith was avoiding Lance. It was the only conclusion he could come to after searching the castle from top to bottom twice over without encountering him once.

It was on his second walkthrough that Lance poked his head into the empty training room and noticed movement in the upper floor control room.

It was Coran, not Keith. He was calibrating the training programs.

“Glad to see you looking better,” Coran said with his usual exuberance as Lance entered the room. “Burnt to a crisp isn’t a very good look for you I have to admit, no matter how many times you try it.”

Lance managed a laugh at the terrible joke. “No kidding. I’m gonna stick with my classic look.” He tugged on his open jacket seams, mimicking a collar pop that tugged his hoodie closer to his neck. “The ladies seem to love it.”

“And I’m sure it’s the ladies you’re trying to impress at the moment.” Coran waggled his eyebrows and Lance groaned, unable to help the colour rising to his cheeks.

“Seriously, does everyone know?”

“Well, your actions were rather romantic, if somewhat reckless and potentially fatal. It would have been a fitting end to any tragic romance, sacrificing yourself for the sake of the person you love.”

Despite the almost lighthearted tone, Coran’s face was stoic—heavy with suppressed emotion.

Lance recalled stories on Earth that ended like that. Full of emotion and drama and love. Sacrificing yourself for something—an ideal, family, your beloved, the fate of the universe—it sounded so grand on paper. The act itself wasn’t so noble as that. It was almost selfish. At the time it felt like he had no other option but, looking back, he was just too caught up in his emotions to think clearly. And as a result, he'd hurt his friends with his impulsiveness.

“This isn’t a story,” Lance said, moving closer to Coran, offering him solidarity in his pain. “This is war.”

Coran looked over at him with a smile lined with loss. “Indeed it is my boy.” Coran placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder, squeezing briefly. “If this old survivor could offer some advice?”

“Go for it.”

“There is always something to live for, to hope for. Yes, you need to be pragmatic and think honestly about the inevitability of your own death and the fact that you are a soldier fighting a war, but your death should never be your first option when considering action. Ever.”

Lance looked at Coran, taking in his bright eyes and wrinkles, his straight back and impeccable uniform. He’d lost almost everything to this war: his home, his family, his life. But he was still here, still dedicated to the cause—to Allura and the castle, the Lions and their makeshift family. He was still here, still smiling, still loving and hoping and fighting.

Lance nodded, throat too tight to answer verbally.

Coran understood anyway, smiling and squeezing his shoulder once last time.

“Now,” he said, breaking the heavy mood, “shouldn’t you be with that love of yours?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do.”

“Well,” Coran said, pushing Lance towards the door, “keep trying.”

***

Allura was the only one on the bridge this time around. It was empty the first time Lance looked.

“Princess.”

Allura turned towards the door with a wide smile. “Lance. You’re looking much better.”

“Thanks.” Lance scratched at the back of his head as he shuffled over to where Allura stood at her control deck going through what looked like diagnostics of the mapping system. “You need any help?”

Allura raised an eyebrow. “Did you suddenly pick up Altean during your recent cryo-pod experience?”

“Wait, can you actually do that? Like learn languages or engineering subliminally through the pods? I know back on earth people used to try and learn things in their sleep with like music and audio tracks and special beds but I don't know if it actually worked. Or was a government conspiracy about brainwashing. It sounds like brainwashing.”

Allura frowned, ignoring his familiar rambling expertly to answer his actual question. “I don’t know. I doubt it. The pods weren’t intended to work on a neural level like that, just on regenerating cellular and genetic structures.” She winced. “And our last attempts at neural manipulation didn’t go that well if you recall.”

Lance shuddered as he remembered the mess with Sendak. “You know what? Forget I asked.”

“Done.” Allura looked rather upset that she brought it up in the first place. She shook off her melancholy quickly though and peered inquisitively at Lance. “What brings you up here?”

Lance’s mouth twisted down as he thought about his recent fruitless trek through the castle. “I was looking for Keith.”

“Ah.”

Lance narrowed his eyes as he stared at Allura. “You know something.”

“What? No. I don’t know anything.”

Allura was a terrible liar. It was almost endearing. She practically whistled as she pretended innocence.

“Do you know where he is?”

“No.” She smiled as he said this confidently so Lance knew it to be the truth.

Lance sighed. “Fine. I’ll keep looking. Sorry to bother you.”

“It’s no bother, Lance.” She smiled fondly at him. Another truth. The smile faded as she glanced at Keith’s seat on the bridge. “But perhaps you might give him some time.”

Lance followed her gaze to the Red Paladin seat, shoulders slumping. “Oh, yeah. I can … I should probably do that.”

“Not too much time, though,” Allura offered in consolation. “You know how he broods.”

Lance smiled at the dig at Keith, but it was halfhearted at best. “Yeah, he does.” He sighed. “Thanks Allura.”

“I am glad you’re better Lance. The castle was far too quiet and cold without you around.”

Lance started walking out of the room but, just as he reached the door, Allura gave him a piece of hope in parting:

“Keith certainly thought so.”

***

Buoyed by Allura’s parting words, Lance raced to the last place in the castle he might find Keith hiding: the Red Lion.

He slowed as he approached the hanger doors, heart beating fast both from the run and the anticipation of talking with Keith. He smoothed down his clothes and caught his breath, spotting a shiny panel by the door and peering at his reflection.

The distorted chrome image seemed presentable enough, and it wasn’t as though Keith would notice or care. Lance was just stalling.

“Come on, you’ve been looking for him all day,” Lance said, psyching himself up for the conversation ahead. “You need to just get this over with. Ripping off the band-aid and all that.”

With one last nod to himself and a sharp exhale, Lance entered Red’s hanger.

All of the Lions’ hangers were structurally similar so it was a little jarring seeing Red where Lance instinctively expected Blue to be sitting in the middle of the hanger. The hanger was eerily still and Lance’s footsteps echoed as he made his way towards the Lion. It felt like she was watching him, but it was different to the way Blue watched him: wary and calculating instead of excited and pleased.

Lance stopped, halfway to his destination.

Their Lions were their safe places, sanctuaries in a way, connected to their very thoughts and emotions.

Lance was intruding.

If Keith was here, then he didn’t want to be found. Not yet. He needed time and space and comfort. Lance couldn’t take that away from him.

He lowered his head, breaking gazes with Red.

“Just, let him know that I hope he’s okay.”

Lance looked up at Red again, imagining that her gaze was a little less guarded now that he’d backed away. Then he turned around and walked back out of Red’s hanger.

Keith needed time. That was fine. Lance wasn’t going anywhere and neither were his feelings. He had plenty of time to talk when Keith was ready.

Right now, he was just glad that they were both okay. That was enough.

#fanfic #voltron #vld #klance #lance #hunk #pidge #coran #allura #post-season 2 #pining lance #angst #friendship #team bonding #vialana's fic #hope series

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