#yes. yes i will simply put it on you for dismissing the overwhelming evidence i give you and then calling me 'unecessarily' defensive | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

menalez · 5 months

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https://www.tumblr.com/amaka-nneka/735911907369861121/i-mean-like-the-reason-why-radical-feminists-view?source=share

thoughts? i will send another post later for you to comment on too lol

hm well, to put it simply, i don’t agree but i don’t entirely disagree. she didn’t really put in her worldview here but gave both groups the benefit of the doubt. but i have personal experiences that make it hard for me to be impartial and to give benefit of the doubt in such a way.

i’m sure that not every single submissive involved in BDSM is a victim of abuse, but i recall reading findings that showed that the overwhelming majority are. and from my personal experience, again, the overwhelming majority are victims of abuse. i was a victim of abuse when my interest in it began and when i became involved in that subculture. it’s really rare to find a female submissive who didn’t face abuse, to the point where i personally might’ve come across one at most despite being involved in that stuff & being in such circles for long enough.

in the early/mid-2010s BDSM was being heavily promoted and made more mainstream. rape cases were being dismissed at this point as just “very kinky sex”. this was a defence actual rapists have used. there was this whole image of “consent is important!!” in BDSM circles, but in practice? doms very often didnt follow the rules of BDSM that they’d promote. and sometimes those rules were used to justify violating someone. “well, she didn’t say the safe word, she said stop! so i didn’t stop bc she should say the safe word” for example. you can even find evidence of doms getting giddy over this online.

many ppl dismiss this phenomena with the idea that to truly partake in BDSM u need certain training and whatever else and the abusers that can be very easily found in BDSM aren’t “real doms” bc they don’t follow the rules. this idea that the abusers just didn’t count bc “REAL bdsm involves consent and xyz rules” was used to dismiss every former female sub who would discuss how BDSM was used as a guise to abuse her. of course, when you dismiss every victim as not really victimised by someone partaking in BDSM, you can argue that BDSM has nothing to do with abuse.

there was also a common push directed at rape & abuse victims, telling us that BDSM & CNC are good healthy ways to work thru our trauma, and somehow healing to victims of abuse &/or rape. i was one of those victims who genuinely believed that i was somehow healing myself by letting someone abuse me, despite experiencing constant obvious signs that i did not want it and trying to exit that lifestyle. i genuinely believed that my distress at what was being done to me was just bc of my trauma and if i just do it enough times, i’ll be desensitised to it and get better. it never happened btw, my trauma just worsened and i still have nightmares about my involvement with that stuff a decade later.

to say it didn’t help is an understatement.

the whole thing frankly only normalised abuse to me. i would be crying and distraught and hurting myself and attempting suicide, yet i was so convinced of BDSM being a good thing that i wasn’t even acknowledging the clear pattern of me engaging in these practices and my self-harm and self-hatred and lack of self-respect worsening. i already had skewed ideas of consent and that movement only skewed it further. everything wrong with me & my pain was simply further exacerbated, instead of being healed. it’s like i was being raped and abused over and over and over again. i was miserable. i felt like i couldn’t even say no anyways bc i was subject to certain rules bc i was fully immersed in this “lifestyle” and i thought that if i say yes, then i’m not going to experience rape again, but if i say no, then that creates the chance of me facing rape again. BDSM didn’t help me combat any of my skewed thinking, it only helped me dismiss it and helped the dom abuse me guilt-free. it was additionally traumatic bc this was all occurring within a coerced relationship that i felt trapped in & forced into.

so someone could argue that that was all not a real experience with BDSM. but that experience was what made me see issue with the whole thing, bc i felt like i was less than garbage for getting raped and thought having boundaries is just a way of ensuring i get raped & that i deserve to be hurt. whereas on the other side the dom got off on my pain and having control & power over me. this is not a fair or equal situation with two equal participants. it’s an abused girl trying to overcome abuse in a twisted way and an abuser who gets off on abusing an abused girl & gets off on the thought of me being dead. and i know i’m not the only person who experienced something like this when involved in BDSM. i know theres so many stories like mine.

so let’s say that didn’t count. but several years later, i entered a relationship w a woman who worked as a professionals dominatrix. i was very openly critical of BDSM at that point and she said that she’s only working as a dominatrix because she needs to, to get money to survive with. i didn’t want her involved in that stuff, but also i respected that i cant force her to leave until she’s ready to. anyways, she was a proud sadist (red flag) and had frequent violent outbursts. she enjoyed the moments where she could take her aggression out on her male clients. she had been abused by men in the past and i guess in that scenario, she felt she was finally the one in power. but she didn’t just physically abuse those men. she’d abuse me too. she would try to push me into being involved with this dom stuff, pressuring me to be involved in these “scenes” and pretending she was financially desperate, basically that if i don’t help her then i’m kinda just leaving her to suffer financially. she would randomly choke me or randomly bite me or would randomly lash out at me etc. we weren’t even officially involved with BDSM within our relationship. it didn’t traumatise me in the same way bc i actually wanted to be with her, & i have been able to tolerate physical abuse since childhood, but i cant say it didn’t traumatise me at all how she would verbally & psychologically abuse me. and knowing of some of those sub men she’d have as clients only made me hate the whole thing more. seeing how the BDSM stuff allowed an obvious abuser like her to treat her sadism as a subject of pride only made me more strongly against BDSM.

so… all i can say is that from my own personal experience, doms do tend to be abusers. and i as a former sub was abused by two different self-proclaimed doms. they weren’t these trained professionals, they were just people who got off on hurting other people and turned to BDSM to validate that. and when ur in that situation, it just allows u to justify and validate their abuse and to blame urself for their abuse. it just makes it easier for them to hurt u. so sure.. maybe not everyone in bdsm is an abuse or rape victim, maybe not everyone is an abuser or rapist.. but the whole thing definitely helps abusers & rapists have their way and gives them a nice selection of willing victims.

and i don’t think it’s safe or healthy to enforce the association between pain & sexual desire or to normalise it, for anyone. i don’t think it helps actually curb violent tendencies, i don’t think it helps curb the desire to experience pain or helps heal trauma or anything of the sort. i think partaking in it will only cause mental damage to both parties with one party being even more psychologically harmed bc of how traumatic it is to be abused in sexual contexts that u agreed to. i cant even explain how it feels to feel like u allowed someone to abuse u severely and can’t even blame anyone else for it. i don’t think i’m the only person who got involved in BDSM when in a state of learned helplessness due to trauma. and i know for a fact i’m not the only girl who got involved in BDSM as a child bc i had an entire circle of these friends that were also teen girls & buying into the BDSM nonsense back then. and the whole cycle of causing u emotional and physical torment and then showering u with love & affection when ur in “sub space” is just what abuse victims face all the time in cases of domestic abuse. my dominatrix ex would do exactly that all the time. it felt like i was sometimes with a complete monster and sometimes with a sweet loving woman. it allowed me to justify her actions as not “really her”. subs frequently discuss what is basically dissociation and trauma responses, and then “treating” those symptoms via love bombing from their dom (“aftercare”). look at how pro-BDSM sites put it:

this is literally describing how abuse feels. it’s describing how dissociation feels, and how it feels to no longer dissociate after facing abuse. then they describe lovebombing:

u can get an idea of what submissives are told and how the lifestyle in itself encourages u to just.. let the dom do whatever and give up what u actually want bc ur dom “knows better” somehow:

this is a long answer and got quite personal but.. to summarise… i just don’t agree. i don’t think there’s any actual merit to BDSM. obviously i’m biased by my own experiences and i can already imagine how my experiences can be dismissed but.. i don’t think i can be convinced otherwise after what i’ve experienced. i hold the beliefs i do BECAUSE i listened to the BDSM circles and saw the logic within them.

#wow this was v long but idk how to shorten it

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lemmesimpinpeace · 3 years

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Louis Moriarty Random Fluff (feat. Albert & William)

Louis makes his way upstairs with the mail in his hand, while simultaneously combing through all the envelopes on his way to the family room. He made sure to look up every so often to not stumble or miss his step. Majority of them are plain and sealed with official like stamps addressed to the head of household, and the remainder from different universities. Louis thought: “offer letters to try to persuade William to leave Durham University and become a professor at one of their schools instead huh.” In other words, the usual. He lets out a small sigh of exasperation. Finally, he stood atop the stairs about to continue walking to his destination when he made an abrupt stop. As he was sifting through the mail (mostly addressed to his elder brothers), he came across something strange. It was a small pink envelope with his name as addressee. He hardly ever gets mail, much less decorative ones such as this.

He noticed immediately the letters written in beautiful calligraphy and the missing return address. How interesting, he thought. He doesn’t say it aloud but he has a sneaking suspicion about the contents inside this envelope. “Hmph. How troublesome.” That was all he said out loud, before he began to feel shy and embarrassed. He then decides he’ll read the letter later in private. He hides the envelope inside his inner breast pocket attached to his tailcoat. He looks up and continues walking forward, now faster than before. Why is he suddenly in a rush to give his brother’s their mail, who can say?

Opening the door, he steps inside to see Albert and William sitting directly across from each other. Both preoccupied with their respective tasks. Albert sorting through documents from work on his favorite armchair and William sitting upright on the couch grading school papers . However they both look up when Louis enters the room.

Curious, Albert laid down his documents and asked: “Ah, the mail arrived. Anything interesting Louis?” Louis doesn’t answer and simply hands each brother their envelopes. He turns away and in a barely audible tone he whispers “nothing of the sort.” Albert and William locked eyes and without saying a word knew what the other was thinking. That is: their dear little brother was lying and hiding something. In order to uncover the truth and still poke fun, William half-jokingly snorts “ you don’t sound very convincing Louis. If you're going to fib, at least put more heart into it.” Albert nodded his head in agreement with William's statement and replied: “you’re absolutely right, Will. It pains my heart to learn that our dear Louis does not trust us enough to keep his secret.” He said that last part in a rather dramatic tone.

Louis turns around to face his brothers and looks somewhat dumbfounded after seeing his brothers catch on to his lie so quickly. He sighs once more and realizes it's pointless to continue lying to them. He begins to slowly take the pink envelope out from his tailcoat. But not before telling his eldest “there is no need to be so dramatic. I'll show it to the both of you.” Albert says nothing, only chuckles in response. Once the envelope is in full view, both of his elders laugh and congratulate him. They were able to ascertain what the item was right away, how expected of them Louis thought. Albert says: ``Look how popular you are little brother; you even have a secret admirer. How lovely.” William chimes in right after: “of course. Louis has grown into such a fine gentleman. It's understandable that he would have admirers.” He gives him a wink.

Hearing both of his brothers speak about him in such a manner makes him embarrassed but slightly pleased. He attempts to change the subject saying: “*ahem* Anyways, that is all the post I have for today. Now if you'll excuse me, I will begin preparing today’s lunch. He places the envelope inside his breast pocket once more, turns away and starts to head towards the exit. However, Albert speaks up just in time: ”now you wait just a moment, aren’t you going to open it.” The amusement in his voice was evident.

“Yes, we are very curious to hear what your admirer says.” William adds. “No.” Louis says, firmly with his back still facing them. He feels his cheeks and ears grow hot for what he’s about to say next: “I wish to read the contents inside this envelope in private. It is addressed to myself and myself alone. Now if you’ll please excuse me.” He exits into the hallway but not before hearing William laugh and respond “That is absolutely okay Louis. We were just teasing, no need to sound so serious.” “Indeed, we respect your decision. But, in case you do change your mind, we'll be right here!” Albert adds before seeing Louis slip completely out of view. Alone again, and this time inside the kitchen, Louis pulls out the envelope. Finally, curiosity overwhelms him and he opens it right away. He takes out and unfolds the white sheet of paper inside. He reads the letter...

This person wrote about how thankful they were able to meet someone like him in their lifetime. And despite only being able to see and interact with him only two times a month, they cherished every moment. The information he chose to share with them about his life, though very brief and extremely vague, made them feel happy. This person apologized for being a coward and not confessing in person, for they feared it would be unwise. For they knew his heart was out of reach, but not because he was an unkind or dismissive person, it was because they sensed that his mind and heart was already preoccupied with something greater. Moreover, they recognized him for his kindness and honorable nature. He was never one to look down upon them and always showed genuine interest in hearing them talk about their life. Never failed to treat them as an equal --a human being, with dignity and respect. Such a thing is unheard of among noblemen such as himself. He truly was an inspiration. They made reference to his brothers, the ones he spoke so highly about at times, that they should also feel grateful to have a person like him worry and take care of them. Finally, he reached the end of the semi long letter, this person thanked him for his time and for having read the letter in its entirety. They also confessed to purposefully writing this letter shortly before they left the country permanently. Meaning, by the time he receives this letter they would already have left. That being said, they still hope to see him again one day if they should ever return to Great Britain. They will continue to pray for his happiness and wellbeing. The last sentence reads: “with all my love, please take care.”

With that, he folded the letter and placed it back inside the envelope; which he then put back into his inner breast pocket. He stood in place silently for a few seconds before a small smile crept upon his face. He then walked over to grab his apron to start preparing lunch as promised.

Notes:

Once again, most likely OOC but I’m still proud of this. This was based on some random headcannon I had that the Moriarty brothers get fan mail from time to time because of how handsome they are lol. I hope someone enjoys this.

#louis james moriarty #albert james moriarty #william james moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty #moriaty the patriot

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bluescluelessly · 3 years

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Ooh for the confrontation prompts—maybe “You only push me away. Let me help.” With Obi-Wan and Anakin?

Obi-Wan isn't sure what he expected by attempting to talk to Anakin now. His assignment to the mission regarding Senator Amidala and Rush Clovis was... a poor choice, in his opinion. If it had been up to him, he would have assigned someone, anyone, else.

Anakin is too close to it, too close to Padmé. He thinks that Obi-Wan doesn't know it, but his padawan has never been very good at hiding secrets.

He doesn't know the full extent of their relationship, but he knows enough to come see how his friend is doing; he knows that something happened and Anakin is hurting, and could use someone to talk to.

Evidently, Anakin doesn't want that person to be him.

Obi-Wan doesn't know what he expected, he really doesn't. If Anakin hasn't spoken of it to him this long, why would that change now? Why did he think-- hope-- that something had changed, that reaching out to Anakin would be met with anything other than the usual closed-off annoyance.

When did Anakin stop talking to him? How did Obi-Wan fail so badly as his Master?

He stands, covering his own inner hurt with squared shoulders and a tight voice. "Then we should have no problems, should we." He knows when his help isn't welcome.

Obi-Wan gives his former student one last look before turning to leave, knowing he's been dismissed.

He knows Anakin wants him to go, and yet, through the clouded force on Coruscant, Obi-Wan thinks he feels a tug; a call to stay, to make one more effort.

Obi-Wan turns back, looking up just in time to catch the hint of regret on Anakin's face, and it steels his resolve. "You only push me away," he says, searching his friend's face. "... let me help."

"You can't," Anakin says, but it doesn't sound like a refusal. He appears to truly believe it, that he can't be helped-- at least not by Obi-Wan. "Not with this."

Obi-Wan wants to just disagree, insist that whatever it is, he will do all he can to help. But Anakin won't accept that and he knows it. "... Maybe I can't, but you won't know if you don't ask, Anakin." After a pause that lasts barely a moment, he continues. "And perhaps merely talking will help. I swear, nothing you say will leave this room if that's what you wish."

Anakin again, hesitates. "You might change your mind once you hear it."

"You have my word," Obi-Wan swears, taking a step back towards his friend. A fragile, foolish hope builds up in his chest. Maybe he doesn’t know when to quit. "Don't you trust me?"

The expression on his friend's face wavers, then falls, eyes downcast and ashamed. He drops onto his bed, sitting down. "I do, of course I do."

Obi-Wan feels equal parts concerned and overjoyed-- finally, finally his friend will speak to him. He keeps his relief hidden away, Anakin needs empathy and his concern, not his happiness.

"Then talk to me," he says, voice quiet and gentle. "Tell me what's going on, and we'll tackle it together."

Anakin is reluctant, but... he does.

He starts small, tells Obi-Wan of the crush he had on Padmé-- for years. He dances around the crux of it at first, but when Obi-Wan shows no judgement or disappointment... it's like a dam breaks.

Anakin starts talking, and he can't seem to stop.

Obi-Wan listens, lending his support when needed as Anakin tells him of his relationship with Padmé, of his secret wedding, of the nights they slip away to be together.

And then he tells Obi-Wan about Clovis, about how angry the man makes him.

It's not that he's jealous, or that he's worried Padmé will leave him for Clovis... it's that the man is a snake, that he's worried Padmé is blinded by her past with him. She's too forgiving, too kind, too willing to give second chances to those who don't deserve them.

There's something more there, but Obi-Wan doesn't push; Anakin knows now that he can talk to Obi-Wan, that he won't be judged. If he needs to talk about it, he'll come to him when he's ready to.

Anakin keeps going, telling Obi-Wan what he saw, how the force is still clouded around Clovis, how it still warns him that the man is dangerous, that he hasn't changed. But Padmé can't see that, she doesn't understand the Force. She'll forgive Clovis and she'll be hurt by him, again, and he feels so helpless. He should be able to stop it but he can't.

He tells Obi-Wan what he saw in her apartment, the forced kiss when he heard her telling him no. He tells Obi-Wan of how he reacted, of what he did to Clovis, of how Padmé asked him for a break, and then he falls silent, as if waiting for a condemnation.

Obi-Wan takes a moment to collect himself. This is no easy dilemma to tackle, but then, nothing with Anakin ever is. "Well," he sighs, "that is certainly a lot."

"Yeah," Anakin half-laughs, eyes fixed on his hands. "Sorry to just, dump all that on you at once like that."

"It's alright," Obi-Wan promises, reaching forward to place a hand on his friend's knee. "It seems like it was good for you to get that out, I'm just glad you did. Keeping your feelings bottled up like that isn't healthy."

At that, Anakin snorts. "It's what you do."

"Yes, well, and I'm the picture of mental health now, am I?" Obi-Wan asks, not afraid to make a jab at himself.

"I see," Anakin returns, a small smile making its way to his face. "So your new teaching method is 'do as I say, not as I do'," and, well. Obi-Wan supposes he deserves that one.

"I am no longer your teacher," he responds, shaking his head fondly, "but yes, it seems I have picked up a few bad habits. Ones which we should both break ourselves of, starting today, hm?"

Anakin looks up, an interested gleam in his eye. "So does this mean I get to hear you spill your guts out now?"

"I was thinking I'd talk to Mace..." Obi-Wan starts, then loses his straight face at the look of incredulous anger that crosses Anakin's expression. "Of course I'll talk to you, Padawan. Just not now. First, we need to discuss what to do about this rather sticky situation."

Anakin huffs, but looks pleased at the promise to get Obi-Wan to talk to him later. "Is there anything I can do? She asked for space, I'm not going to go and force my presence on her when I'm not wanted."

"You're right about that," Obi-Wan agrees, "it would do more harm than good... personally, I think you should trust your wife, Anakin. She's a smart woman, she is more than capable of taking care of herself."

"I know that, but..." Anakin's expression crumples again. "What if she gets hurt, and I wasn't there to protect her? All because I scared her?"

Obi-Wan brings his hand up in contemplation, knuckle resting on his lip and his thumb under his beard. "Just because she's asked for space from you, doesn't mean she must go unprotected. You're right, Clovis poses a danger to her. I can request she be given an escort, or perhaps guard her myself if that would put you more at ease." He squeezes Anakin's knee briefly. "But padawan, whatever happens, you mustn't blame yourself for it. And you must trust Padmé. You are certain that you love each other, aren't you?"

Anakin nods, no hesitation in it.

"Then trust her. When she's ready, she will welcome you back. And she will appreciate you for respecting her boundaries."

"How do you know?"

Obi-Wan looks down now, sighing softly. "Because Satine asked me to leave, too." He's quiet, the wound left in his heart by her loss still fresh, still hurting. "She told me to go, to be a jedi. She could have asked me to stay and give up everything for her and I would have. But she asked me to leave, so I did."

He pauses, still not sure if he regrets it or not. "And then when she was ready to, she welcomed me back into her life."

"But--" Anakin stops himself, hesitates, then continues anyways. "You lost her."

It hurts, but Obi-Wan must admit he is correct. "... yes, I lost her." He says, tired. So, so tired. "She-- she died, yes. But it is better to have loved her and lost her, than to have loved her and hurt her. To have lost her love, or to have never had it at all." He holds back the wave of sadness that threatens to overwhelm him. He needs to be strong now, for Anakin's sake. There with be time to cry later.

"All you can do is love her, Anakin. Love her, respect her wishes, and trust her to be safe. And if even then, she is injured, or lost... there will be grief, but that love won't be gone. She will be one with the force, and the force is with you."

Anakin puts his hand over Obi-Wan's, eyes shut in acquiesce. "... you're right. I know you're right, it's just... hard."

Obi-Wan nods, silently agreeing. "It will be. But you needn't worry about losing her prematurely, Anakin. I will make sure she has an escort, even if I must guard her myself."

"Thank you," Anakin sighs, sounding relieved. "I'd feel better knowing you were with her."

"Then I'll see what I can do," Obi-Wan promises, standing back up.

Anakin stands as well, stopping him with a hand on his arm. "... you aren't mad I'm breaking the code?"

And now, Obi-Wan gives his former student a quiet smile. "It isn't against the code to be in love, Anakin. Just as it isn't against the code to be sad, or angry, or scared. I feel I have been a bad example to you; I held so much back during your training, I never showed you how to process your emotions in a healthy way. We'll simply have to both learn how to now, and we'll work on it as we go." Obi-Wan grips his friend's upper arm briefly. "We'll talk more later, for now, I believe there's a senator who needs protecting."

"Alright," Anakin agrees, stepping back. "May the force be with you, Master."

#star wars #anidala #obitine #brobikin #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #anakin #fanfic #sfw fanfic #sfw #meme #casecreates #prompt fill #sad boyz #sad boy hours

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dorminchu · 3 years

Text

Insult to Injury: The Director’s Cut — Chapter 01 [PREVIEW]

Note: Please view on the main blog page for an optimal reading experience. :D Chapter One is about 95% revised to my liking. Here is a somewhat lengthier preview whilst work begins on 02 & 03.

June crawled by. Currently the MSF were in the process of dealing with a new influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs) from the surrounding prefectures and villages, all of whom had to be tested and separated from those not stricken with disease—as this did not necessarily mean they weren’t carrying others. Thanks to the cooperation with the local civilians and tireless efforts on part of the medical staff, there had been a forty-five-percent decrease in fatalities compared to the start of the year.

The atmosphere within the hospital was not improving. The topic of insurgence was the new favourite with patients. Allegedly there had been several attacks on neighbouring villages; a sign of impatience at the lack of tangible progress coupled with deep-seated mistrust of government officials. Now the Force Sécurité/Protection, or FSP, had been brought on in collaboration with an additional Protective Services Detail (PSD) by the name of Kerberos, to ensure the hospital and surrounding property remained untouched.

Their project coordinator called them all in for the sake of reviewing protocol in the event of an attack, starting to seem like more of a possibility. Criticism of the government’s method in handling the situation was discouraged during their meetings with the project coordinator. Madeleine was savvy enough to keep herself abreast of any controversy. For the rest of the Psychosocial Unit, she presumed they were either too naïve or willing to look the other way.

The only exception to this was the Vaccines Medical Advisor, Francis Karner; a stoic older man with thinning hair and glasses. He and Madeleine had cooperated a handful of times at the behest of the Medical Coordinator. Madeleine had found nothing wrong with his conduct. A diligent worker, he acknowledged her judgement fairly but did not overextend his gratitude. Outside of his work he was straight-laced and private. Whenever they had a break, he would often disappear frequently on calls. He’d been coming back tenser as of late and apologised to Madeleine.

“I was supposed to be sent home last month, but with the situation being what it is, I decided to stay on until things are resolved.” He did not sit down. “It’s madness. We’ve already waited until things are too severe to think of bringing in a proper security detail—who the hell does the project coordinator think we’re fooling?” Madeleine ignored him. “Dr Swann. The Medical Coordinator tells me you’ve been involved in volunteer work for a while.”

“Five years, as of March.”

“Perhaps they would be more willing to listen to someone with your expertise.”

“Well, it’s fortunate that I was not selected for my personal opinion.”

Karner chuckled. “You’ll go far.”

Madeleine had no interest in pursuing this topic any further. “Who were you speaking to?” Francis didn’t answer immediately. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have been so blunt. But you leave often enough and it appears to be taking a toll on you.”

“Just my wife. This past month has been no easier on her. But I find that it can help somewhat, just talking to someone outside of this element.” Madeleine nodded. Francis paused. “I’ve never seen you contact anyone outside of your unit.” Madeleine did not anticipate the conversation to take such a turn, nor did she particularly wish to divulge much about herself. But she could not deflect as she could in the clinic back home, and Francis seemed forthright enough to warrant a harmless response.

“I’m living with a friend. We graduated from college together.”

“And you keep in touch while you are abroad?”

“He tends to lead his own life while I am away.”

“That’s a great deal to ask of someone.” Madeleine inclined her head in his direction. This was not a man that emoted often; now the thin mouth was set, and the eyes behind the glasses disillusioned. “Few women your age would devote themselves to a thankless vocation. Not everyone is going to want to stick around until you decide you want to settle down.”

Madeleine’s smile did not touch her eyes. She hadn’t even mentioned the nature of her relationship to Arnaud. “We have an understanding, that’s all. Besides, I don’t bother him about his social life.”

Karner shook his head. In a few minutes the break subsided and they were back to work as usual. By the end of the day, Madeleine resolved to let him dig his own grave without further interference.

The next few days blurred together in her recollection. Karner made no attempt to converse with her. Madeleine found her mind snagging easily on technicalities. She became less tolerant of the Psychological Unit’s personal hang-ups with the lack of resources and lack of any obvious moral closure. Smell of rot and disinfectant permeated into her clothing and hair until she had begun to associate the smell itself with a total lack of progress.

She left the window to her hotel room cracked most nights, afraid to open it completely. Alone with her own mind and the recorder. The conversations now circled back readily to death and terrorism. An overwhelming fear of retaliation from insurrection.

It was just past one in the morning. In six hours she would return to Donka Hospital and repeat the process. A month and a half from now she would be on a flight back to Paris. Her mind refused to settle in either direction.

Outside her window she heard the distant voice of Francis Karner. He was conversing in German, from a few storeys down, but as Madeleine came over to the window she understood him clearly:

“…I’ve been saying it for weeks, and they dismiss me every time. These wounds are the result of prolonged exposure from chemicals. We’ve seen evidence of IDPs coming through, exhibiting the same symptoms as the PMCs we treated back in February. How we can expect to make any progress if the project coordinator refuses to bring this up? We’re putting God-knows how many lives at risk waiting for a vaccine that we don’t know if we need—and even so, it won’t be ready for another week. There’s not enough time to justify keeping silent….”

Madeleine closed the window carefully. She’d never been one to intrude on family matters.

⁂

When Madeleine exited her room the next morning, she found the project coordinator waiting for her in the hallway, along with the head of security from Kerberos and a couple Donka Hospital staff Madeleine knew by sight but not intimately.

The vaccines had arrived earlier than anticipated. Several members of the Medical Unit had stayed on-site in order to determine if all had been accounted for and subsequently realised it was rigged. Thanks to the intervention of the FSP the losses were minimal. Several doctors, including Herrmann, had suffered chemical exposure and were currently isolated from the rest of the IDPs to receive immediate medical attention. A few others, including Dr Karner, had been less fortunate.

Now there was additional pressure from the doctors and Logistics Team to begin moving the high-risk patients to a safer area. The fear that this story would circulate and any chance of obtaining vaccines would be discouraged could not be ruled out. So they would not be reporting this as a chemical attack to the government, but as an interception of an attack by local terrorists.

“Dr Swann.” The head of security, Lucifer Safin, gave Madeleine pause. His accent and complexion would presume a Czech or Russian background but he could have come from a variety of surrounding countries. The MSF on staff commonly referred to him by surname; perhaps Lucifer was simply an alias. What set him apart was his face. Gruesomely scarred from his right temple to the base of his left jaw, though the structure of his eyes and nose remained intact. In spite of the weather, she had never seen him without gloves. “I understand that you were one of the last to speak with Dr Karner?”

His manner wasn’t explicitly taciturn, more akin to the disconcerting silence one might experience while looking into a body of still-water—met only with your reflection.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, “but that was nearly five days ago.”

“You were instructed to monitor him during that period by the Medical Coordinator?”

“That’s correct.”

Safin glanced at the project coordinator. “I’ll speak with her alone.”

“Of course.”

Safin nodded. They walked down the length of the hall back to her room. His gait was purposeful and direct. He had a rifle strapped to him. Madeleine tried to avoid concentrating on it. Her attention went to the window. She had not locked it.

“Dr Swann.” The early morning light put his disfigurement into a new, unsettling clarity. Too intricate to be leprosy or a typical burn wound, it was more as if his very face were made of porcelain and had suffered a nasty blow, then glued together again. “What was the extent of your relationship to Dr Karner?”

“I did not work with him often. We talked once or twice but that was all. I have my own responsibilities with the Psychosocial Unit. From what I could tell, he never made an effort to befriend anyone.”

“You were asked to monitor Dr Karner. Why?”

“I was requested to do so on behalf of the Medical Coordinator. There were concerns that Dr Karner was somehow unqualified to continue his work. In observing him, I had no reason to suspect he was unfit for the position psychologically.” Safin said nothing. “The only issue I could see worth disqualifying him for, was that Karner and the project coordinator had very differing views on protocol.”

“He spoke to you about his views?”

“He expressed to me once, in confidence, that he did not understand the project coordinator’s hesitance to bring in a security detail.” Safin’s attention on her was razor-sharp, unwavering. She’d said too much. “He also told me he’d elected to continue volunteering here past his contract duration, just to ensure the operation was successful. That was my only conversation with him outside of a work-related context. You would be better off asking the other doctors about this.”

“We have video surveillance in place on the Grand Hotel de L’independence. At around one in the morning, Dr Karner exited the building and contacted an unknown party by mobile phone. Then, a minute later, you were at your window.”

“Oh, yes. I have been forgetting to close it. With so many longer days, it can be difficult to remember these things.”

“Your room was the only one to show signs of activity at that hour.”

“I was reviewing my notes from that day’s session. I heard a voice from outside, though not clearly. It was distracting me from my work, so I closed the window.”

“Do you commonly review your notes in the early hours of the morning with an unlocked window?”

“I just wanted some quiet. And I leave the windows open because otherwise I seem to find myself trapped with the smell of rotting flesh as well as humidity.”

Safin’s expression became easier to read, but not in a positive sense. This was not a man you wanted to be on opposing sides with. Madeleine kept the apprehension away from her face and her voice tightly controlled.

“Look. Without information about Dr Karner’s lifestyle outside MSF, I cannot give you an answer in good faith. I was assigned to survey him. He showed no signs of dereliction in his work, and to my knowledge kept his personal views separate from his duties. Whatever he said to me during outside hours was assumed to be in confidence. Many people say things to one another in what they believe to be confidence that they would not admit to otherwise. If I had reason to suspect he was unfit to work, I would have contacted the Medical Advisor privately.”

Safin held her gaze. She did not dare avert her face. Then he said: “The project coordinator is waiting for you downstairs. Thank you for your time.”

The rest of the day she spent in a different wing of the hospital. The Psychosocial Team was cut down from four members to three. Another inconsequential day of thankless work that never seemed quite good enough. That night Madeleine laid back on her bed and watched the shadows on the ceiling stretch over peeling paint, slowly overtaken by daybreak.

When she’d first arrived at the airport she could stave off her doubts with shallow, private reassurances. As long as you are here, you are just Dr Swann the psychologist consultant. Your father is many miles away and he won’t contact you. No one else of importance will come for you in a place like this.

With a guy like Safin around, she was safer than she would have been with the FSPs alone.

Safer, but no longer invisible.

#fanfic #fanfiction #upcoming projects #no time to die #technically this takes place a year after skyfall though #madeleine swann #lyutsifer safin #slow build #crime drama #still can't believe he's actually named lucifer and I have to work with this... somehow #at least he isn't named nacho that would be unsalvagable #the part of karner will be played by uh... gene hackmann I guess?#been thinking about The Conversation man what a nice film #good ost too

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peaceoutofthepieces · 4 years

Text

you were my crown

I managed to actually do that little scene for the royalty au :) I don’t know anything about how any of this stuff works so I literally just made everything up please don’t think I in any way tried to be accurate I’m talking out of my ass here.

I don’t know if anything will ever actually come of this, but this is an idea of what it would look like :)

~^~

Jens hates sitting in for Court. It’s less about the ‘criminals’ and more about the royals, the endless lines of knights and Lords and servants, eager to witness another fool. Jens doesn’t care much for fools, but he cares even less to laugh at them. He cares least for his formal attire, the sharp slacks and too-tight tunic, laced up by maids unable to even look him in the eye. They don’t even seem necessary. He’s overheating in his jacket, delicately buttoned up to the throat, the collar digging into his skin. He’d tried leaving the top hanging open, and it had hardly taken a second for his mother to give him a sharp glance, nodding to a maid that had hastily run to button it back up. Now he sits and suffocates and waits for whatever poor soul is being charged to make their way to the throne.

Jens straightens subtly in his chair, placed to the right side of his mother’s throne, and meets the boy’s eyes for half a second. Until his mother opens her mouth and orders a sharp, “Kneel.”

Before the boy can comply, one of the guards that had escorted him sets a heavy hand on his shoulder and forces him down, falling onto the stone floor in a manner that leaves Jens’s own knees aching in sympathy. The boy simply catches his breath and holds his chin high, looking straight at them and through, his jaw clenched. Jens drums his fingers on his knee in interest.

The same guard gives his head a forceful shove. “Speak your name to the Court.”

The boy takes a breath as some of his masqueraded confidence seems to slip. “Lucas. Lucas Van der Heijden.”

Jens licks his lips, cataloguing the sound of his voice, the way his mouth parts for an instant before the actual sound escapes. The name rumbles deeply around the room and seeps into the walls, encased in the brick in case it’s soon to be lost. Jens’s job is to watch, to note, and to only give judgement if asked. It often doesn’t take him long to form conclusions.

His conclusion of Lucas Van der Heijden is that he seems, at once, nothing and everything like a criminal.

He’s young, and clean cut, though his clothes are a tad too tight and an inch too short on his ankles, fraying at the hems. There’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek, a familiar sandy mixture that Jens has seen on all hostages of the castle cells. There’s an innocence to his youth and a diligence to his posture. His eyes hold a pleading light and a resolute film. Whatever his crime in regards to the Crown, he holds a loyalty to someone.

“State his crimes,” the Queen requests.

The opposite guard stares straight ahead as he speaks up. “Thievery and dishonor to the Court, Your Majesty.”

Jens can barely hold back a snort. He relaxes slightly. There’s rarely a severe punishment for a loaf of bread. The scene before him suddenly makes more sense.

His mother’s tone, however, is unusually steely. “Thievery of what?”

“Sir Viktor’s sword, Your Majesty.”

Jens blinks. A rumble of interest spreads through the Court. Lucas’s jaw tightens and he gives a minuscule shake of his head, so much so that Jens is sure he’s the only one who notices.

The Queen seems equally intrigued. “And what, boy, do you want with a sword?”

“I didn’t steal it.” Lucas speaks through gritted teeth, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “I’ve never even seen the sword before.”

“It was found under his bed, Your Majesty, free of its sheath. Sir Viktor had been missing it for a full day before organising a search.”

Jens barely resists rolling his eyes. If Viktor had been missing it that long, he’s almost in need of a punishment himself. He’s known Viktor for only over a year, becoming acquainted with him long after he’d already met his brother, Senne. Senne’s loyalty and honour, that Jens has become easily familiar with during the man’s service in his personal guard, did not seem to emanate as clearly from his brother. Jens has had few pleasures of his presence, and pinned his discomfort down to this unfamiliarity. As he sees Lucas’s expression tighten further, however, there’s something that doesn’t sit quite right with him.

The feeling only strengthens as the Queen raises her head and stares Lucas down. “You’d do best to not add dishonesty to your list, Mr Van der Heijden. The proof sits against you. If you claim not to have stolen it, how do you suppose it ended up with you?”

Lucas swallows. For a tiny second, his gaze flits over to the crowd on his left. Jens follows his gaze and sees nothing that stands out. “I didn’t steal anything,” he repeats. “I’m an artist. I have no reason for a sword.”

“And yet,” the Queen says lightly, “there was one so close to you. Are you able to explain that?”

Jens comes to the realisation too late, after noticing the hard lines of his mother’s frown and the steel underlining the easiness of her voice. This isn’t a trial—this is merely the sentencing.

“Someone else must have placed it there,” Lucas says, just as light, with just as much steel underneath.

“I’m sorry, Mr Van der Heijden, truly, but the evidence against you is not something I can simply dismiss as a wrong guess. Do you have proof, of anyone else who may have had access to your quarters? Even so much as a theory.”

“It’s not hard,” Lucas laughs slightly, “to access my quarters. From the way your guards stormed my home yesterday without so much as a knock as a notice, that seems fairly clear.”

Jens raises his brows as the Queen lowers hers. “You’d do well not to speak out of turn, boy. Evidently, my guards had every right to rip your home to shreds if they so pleased.”

Jens looks at her in surprise. He knows his mother holds a firm and stern rule, but she has never shown herself to be cruel. Jens would never have expected her to so openly disregard the rights and welfare of her people. He supposes Lucas is good at pushing buttons, and he’s somehow managed to hit a number of her’s through their short interaction. Jens glances over Lucas again, his curls scattered and shoulders straight, and feels a stab of worry in his stomach.

Help yourself, Jens silently urges. Try to win her over. Don’t make it worse.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Lucas seems to force the words out, dragging them from himself as if he was being made to pull his own teeth. “My mother—I take care of her. I worried that she would have been harmed in the fray.”

Jens watches his own mother soften slightly before regaining her resolve. “While that’s admirable of you, it doesn’t truly explain your resistance. Your lies, Mr Van der Heijden, may only lead to further searches of your home in an attempt to confirm either your guilt or your innocence. Would you not, in that case, rather save your mother the trouble?”

Jens swivels his gaze back to Lucas, watching the low blow hit, cataloguing the way the boy’s own resolve crumbles.

Then he straightens, undeterred by the hand still tightly clasped on his shoulder. “My mother has no involvement, because neither do I. I’m not lying. I stole nothing.”

The Queen regards him for another long moment, as does Jens. Then she releases a heavy sigh. “I was hoping that your cooperation would provide an option for leniency. A true explanation may have lightened your sentence, but the proof against you is overwhelming. I cannot believe that you are free of intent to threaten the Crown, due to the unusual action of your crime. I fear I have no choice.” She stands from her throne and steps down from the dais, looming over Lucas in her heavy red robes and shimmering crown. “Lucas Van der Heijden, for the charges of thievery and dishonor to the throne, I find you guilty and sentence you to death.”

The murmur this time is of a much more extensive volume, but it isn’t quite enough to drown out Jens’s incredulous burst of laughter.

All eyes turn to him, and he feels his shoulders stiffen. Lucas’s gaze is most prominent, evidently confused, with eyes wide and disbelieving. His mother’s are equally surprised, though underlaid with anger. Jens does his best to ignore his discomfort under the attention and keep a princely smile on his face. “Since when do we sentence death without proof? For a kidnapping of a sword that wasn’t put to use, no less.”

The murmur that he’d silenced picks up again, and his mother raises an unimpressed brow at him. “The proof has been presented to you as it has been presented to me. Are you aware of evidence we are not?”

“I’m aware that there is a possibility, however slim, that he is telling the truth. Even if he had stolen it and intended to put it to use, the sword has been retrieved. He presents no real immediate threat. If anything, I believe he would have committed the crime as a scared boy with family he wishes to protect. Surely that is something any of us can understand. He may be deserving of punishment, yes, but death?”

The room has fallen into utter silence. Jens doesn’t dare look at any of the Court members, but he chances a glance at Lucas. The other boy is staring back at him, with all surprise now wiped from his face. He wears a carefully constructed blank expression, that doesn’t break as Jens looks back at him.

Jens doesn’t know why he feels such a strong urge to save him. But now that he’s started, he can’t bring his own argument to an end.

“So what else do you suggest?” His mother asks this at length, unwillingly. He shouldn’t have spoken out. It wasn’t his place. It isn’t good for her, he knows, to have her rule questioned in public by her own son. But he’d argued without thinking, looking at Lucas and feeling an inexplicable need to stand up for him.

To protect.

“It’s his loyalty in question, is it not?” Jens raises a brow and waits for her nod. “So let him prove it. I’m sure someone youthful and strong could have a place serving the Court.”

The murmur picks up again. Jens resists the urge to roll his eyes.

His mother stares at him. “Your suggestion is to allow him a position in the castle?”

“He couldn’t be placed under more watch,” Jens says simply. “I would rather taste someone’s loyalty and perhaps gain a better bond than let a life go to waste.”

This murmur sounds somewhat agreeable, though it is silenced the second the Queen raises her hand. “There are no positions in the Court up for offer, and I cannot possibly gift a thief the sword he’d stolen.”

Jens doesn’t even think before he says it. “I don’t have a personal servant.”

There is, surprisingly, no murmur. The room is eerily quiet as Jens and his mother stare each other down and Lucas flits his gaze between them. It’s not a lie, and is perhaps even the reason he’s doing this. He’s tired of fussy maids lacing his shirts and buttoning his coats and buckling his cuffs. His sisters both have maid-servants, while Jens is left with an array of strangers carrying out various duties, never even able to become familiar with faces as they avoid contact and conversation at all costs. He does his best to be amicable with the castle staff, to form relationships, to form bonds. But aside from the few close friends he sees only on occasion (sons of various Lords in various agreements with his mother), and a few chosen guards, Jens spends most of his time alone.

He wouldn’t mind someone like Lucas by his side. Someone his age, who isn’t afraid to look him in the eye.

“You wish to risk letting a criminal become your personal servant? You would trust him to be so close to you?”

Jens lets his mother stare disapprovingly at him before shifting his gaze to Lucas. They consider each other, concrete met with intrigue, before Jens gives a simple shrug. “I would. It’s my risk to take, and I believe there isn’t much risk to it. If I am wrong, then I should get what’s coming to me.”

A few of the guards give a quiet titter in acceptance, and he watches as his mother looks at a spot in the crowd, before nodding her acceptance. She looks down upon Lucas. “Very well. You will have a guard assigned to you that will accompany you on any outings, alone or with the Prince. While you are in his service, there will, as always, be guards stationed at his door and extra security provided throughout the castle. It is only as a sign of trust towards my son that you are being given leniency. You should be grateful to him that you are leaving here with your life.” She looks to the guard on his left, the one that had spoken calmly to them without laying a finger on Lucas. “Assign him a room in the Prince’s quarters. Remain with him until the new measures are fully put in place. You are dismissed,” she tells the room at large.

Lucas listens to her silently, and remains wordless as the guard at his right yanks him to his feet. Jens watches on until his mother speaks up again.

“Jens, you are to accompany him now. If he is not to be trusted from the beginning then he is not to be trusted. You are also dismissed,” she says. “Though you will be meeting me again later to discuss this decision further.”

Jens bites back a sigh and rises to his feet. The intrigue spiraling up in him is quickly turning to elation. He feels that he had been entirely right to speak up and to continue to stand as his ground.

As he makes his way down the dais and is met with Lucas’s stony gaze, however, he considers that this may not be as simple as he thought.

#van der stoffels #vds #vdsweek2020 #prince!jens au #vds royalty au

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a-blue-secret · 3 years

Text

CHAPTER VIII

BACK TO MASTERLIST

Chapter VII | Chapter VIII | Chapter IX

GENRES: royal au; fantasy au; magic au; friends-to-enemies-to-lovers; king!beomgyu, vizier!taehyun

PAIRING: taegyu

WARNINGS: severe swearing, mentions of blood, mentions of fire

WORD COUNT: 3.2k+

AN: this chapter took an achingly long time to complete, and while it’s not very long, it’s really important!!

SUMMARY: Best friends turned enemies, Kang Taehyun has managed to trick Choi Beomgyu into his service, and to rule for a year and a day, until his youngest brother would be old enough to take the throne. Choi Beomgyu has no intention of being obedient however, and tries to thwart Taehyun’s orders at every turn. With a growing amount of distrust and lies within the court, will Taehyun manage to keep the kingdom of Gojongja from falling apart?

"Stop fidgeting," Taehyun said through gritted teeth.

"I can't help it," Beomgyu responded, teeth similarly clenched. He waved politely as he sat down on the throne. "This is so itchy. I told the seamstress not to put the silver stitches down the side of the trousers, but evidently she didn't listen to me."

"Well do try and endure it," Taehyun said, a plastic smile on his face as he bowed to the noble who came up to him. “We have three more hours of this.”

Beomgyu crossed one leg over the other, trying to quell the itching. He rubbed his nose, annoyed. “Who made the revel this long?” he demanded, glaring at Taehyun.

“You said to keep it as if it were a real revel,” Taehyun replied smoothly. “Don’t you remember?”

Beomgyu sighed. “The flower ritual, the ballad composing, the synchronised dance and then the free dance? Is the schedule normally so packed?”

“Well, it’s a festival celebration,” Taehyun reasoned. “Those are always really long. Plus, we needed to include something like a flower ritual to make it seem real.”

Beomgyu grumbled, fidgeting with the silver stitches on his legs. “I can still go and interact with them, right?”

“Yeah sure, I don’t care,” Taehyun dismissed. “If you get mauled before your speech, it’s not my problem.”

“I won’t get mauled,” Beomgyu said. “That happened one time, okay?”

“Yeah, and since then we’ve hidden in the King’s Corner. Which you didn’t set up this time. But by all means, you’re welcome to try and see if you’ll be overwhelmed by the people.”

“Rude,” Beomgyu muttered. Nevertheless, he stayed up on the dais, elbow propped up on the throne’s armrest, cheek smushed against his hand.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

Taehyun had gotten good at zoning out during formal events. He stood, next to Beomgyu’s throne, staring at nothing and thinking of nothing. He was completely and utterly zoned out from everything that was going on around him. When he registered a finger annoying at his sleeve, however, he gradually zoned back in. Taehyun looked down, a look of mild annoyance on his face.

“What are you doing?”

“Those ruffles look annoying.” Beomgyu, eyebrows furrowed, was examining the lace ruffles of Taehyun’s sleeve, a look of utmost concentration on his face.

When Taehyun tried to tug his arm away, Beomgyu only held tighter to the fabric. Afraid of ripping it, Taehyun kept his arm in place, choosing to subtly glare at Beomgyu.

“Come on, I know you’re not really that fascinated by my sleeve. What do you want?”

“I want to know what colour this is. Ivory? No, it’s far too much of a soft colour to be ivory. Chiffon, maybe?” Beomgyu paused, frowning down at the sleeve. He leaned forwards so that his nose was practically touching the material, and spoke in a low tone. “Also, there are Lords watching me, and I don’t like it.” He leaned back with a casual smile on his face. “Ah, I’ve got it. It’s pearl.” He smoothed down the fabric, gently rearranging the folds so that they hung evenly. Taehyun’s ears burned when Beomgyu’s fingers brushed against his skin, and he quickly crossed his arms to prevent Beomgyu from playing with his sleeves anymore. He shot Beomgyu a glare, before scanning the crowds. The scowl slipped off his face once he noticed what Beomgyu had picked up on.

“You’re right.” He bit his lip, scanning the ballroom. Now he was paying attention, he noticed that something about the atmosphere felt… off. He widened his eyes a little, realising what it was. “Shit. Beomgyu, are you sure you still want to go ahead with this?”

Beomgyu looked at him as if he were crazy. “Uh, yeah? Of course? A few hostile Lords aren’t going to stop me.”

“No, no, it’s not just them,” Taehyun said. He nodded his head towards the ballroom floor. “Can’t you feel it?”

Beomgyu looked out at the ballroom, scanning the marbled room. He looked at the people, gathered together in their small groups, talking, dancing, eating. He looked at the few strange Lords lurking behind the pillars, glancing at the dais on which Beomgyu and Taehyun stood. He looked at all of this, before turning back to Taehyun. “No? I don’t feel it?”

“You don’t?” Taehyun said sceptically, scanning the ballroom himself. “Hm. That’s odd.”

Beomgyu tilted his head. “Why? What do you feel?”

“I don’t know, it just feels… something feels… not right. Something doesn’t feel right.” Taehyun shook his head. “Don’t worry. It’s probably nothing.”

Beomgyu eyed him for a moment, before signalling over one of his personal guards. “Call in the Invisi. Something’s not right here, and we need to be cautious.” The guard nodded, stepping down from the dais to carry out the order. Taehyun looked at him curiously.

“You’re bringing in the invisible guards?”

“I trust your judgement,” Beomgyu stated simply. “If something happens, it’ll be good to have them here. If nothing happens,” Beomgyu shrugged. “That’s fine too. They won’t appear unless necessary, so it’s no harm done if we don’t need them.”

Taehyun nodded slowly. “Yeah, I suppose that makes sense,” he acknowledged. “You trust my judgement that much, huh?”

“Well duh. You’re literally one of the smartest people in Gojongja. I didn’t pick you to be my vizier just out of spite,” Beomgyu said. “I’d rather like to have you by my side as I rule.” He quirked a small grin. Taehyun’s ears warmed at the unexpected compliment. With a start, he realised he missed this. Missed how warm and friendly it could feel to be around Beomgyu. The past few months, they’d constantly be surrounded by this cold, electric chill around them, as if one wrong word would ignite an explosion from either one of them. He glanced down, and gave a small smile.

“So I guess you want me to be the Queen to your King?”

Beomgyu’s smile froze in place, before slowly slipping off. He gave a small scowl. “That’s not saying I want to be King,” he said. “I still haven’t forgiven you for that.”

And just like that, the fragile, comfortable atmosphere they’d created was shattered with those words. It reminded them both of how they’d managed to end up here, and the unspoken undertone of ‘I still haven’t forgiven you for betraying me’ hung in the air between them, like a cold, unshakeable chill.

Taehyun didn’t say anything, and returned his gaze to the ballroom floor.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

The two of them stood there on the dais for a while longer. Neither said a word. Beomgyu kept glancing over at Taehyun, while the vizier was intent on avoiding his gaze. Taehyun scanned the crowds of people idly, before doing a double-take and looking more closely.

"Beomgyu…"

"King Beomgyu, if you may," Beomgyu corrected, taking a sip of water. "We're in public."

Taehyun ignored him. "Where's Lord Yeonjun?"

“Oh, he’s visiting Aruyeo,” Beomgyu said calmly. “He had a letter to deliver. I told him one of our messengers could take it for him, but he said the person it’s for is wary of strangers. So he’s taking it himself.”

“He’s riding all the way to Aruyeo?” Taehyun asked, surprised.

“Yes. He left this morning. He might not be back for a while.”

“So he took one of the horses… and left? To Aruyeo?” Taehyun said doubtfully. “Do you trust him?”

"Yeah. Don't worry," Beomgyu patted Taehyun's arm, "everything is fine."

"Did you actually plan a speech?" Taehyun asked skeptically after a few moments.

"Yes. Sort of. It's all up here," Beomgyu said, tapping the side of his head. "I'll know what to say when the time comes, chill," Beomgyu sighed when Taehyun glared at him. "Remember the impromptu speech I gave when you crowned me? That was good, wasn't it? It'll be fine."

Taehyun hummed dubiously, but didn't say a word.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

“Sir, it is almost time.”

Beomgyu nodded. “Thank you, Seojung.” He took the glass and decorative spoon offered to him, and looked over at Taehyun. Taehyun nodded.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said to Beomgyu.

Beomgyu stood up from the throne, and walked towards the front of the dais, lifting up the glass and spoon.

The light, tinkling sound of metal against crystal filled the ballroom, and gradually the chattering died down as everyone looked up at the King. As he looked around, suddenly, he felt it. There was something wrong.

Nevertheless, he willed away the foreboding feeling in his stomach, and smiled, a brilliant, sparkling smile, which lit up even the darkest corners of the ballroom. “You’re all well, I hope? I apologise for organising a revel at such short notice, but I hope you all don’t mind.” He gave another bright smile, looking around the room.

“As you all know, this revel is to celebrate the Flower Moon, which is today. Now, you may be slightly confused at this, since here in Gojongja we don’t really celebrate the Flower Moon. But, this date coincides with an important announcement I wanted to share with you.” Beomgyu clasped his hands together, and a little flicker of nervousness fluttered in his stomach. There was definitely something wrong. “About a month ago, Coronation Revels ended. During then and now, several things have happened, which I believed it would be best to tell you about.

“Some of you may know that an Aruyeonan representative came to my coronation, as is custom when a Gojongja monarch is to be crowned. This lord has the name Lord Yeonjun.”

“Cut the chase!” a voice called from the crowd. “We know what you’re going to say, so hurry up!”

Beomgyu blinked, momentarily thrown off, before quickly regaining his composure. “Alright. Lord Yeonjun came to propose an alliance, and I accepted.”

Outraged yells were heard from the crowd. Some people nodded their heads in a ‘I told you so’ way, as if they knew of the alliance already, while others looked outraged and shocked.

Taehyun’s hands, which were clasped tight behind his back, dug into the soft skin of his forearms. This was going to go wrong.

“I told you!” The same commoner as before yelled out. “I told you, that Lord told me he’d made an alliance, and no one believed me! He did this without telling us! He gave away our land!”

“Please calm down! I assure you, this alliance was made with Gojongja’s best interests at heart. I’d never give away your land. It is beneficial to us, it truly is.” Beomgyu placed a hand over his chest. “I swear it.”

“Sir!”

Taehyun’s fingers wrapped around his wrists tightly. He turned in the direction of the voice. Though his face didn’t change, inwardly, he cursed. Those stupid Lords.

“Your Greatness, if I may,” the Lord called out. “Even if this alliance was to be beneficial, don’t you think it would have been best to discuss with the public? This is their land you’re bargaining with, their lives you are potentially altering.”

Beomgyu frowned. “I am sure I just said that this alliance does not affect your land, nor your lives. The only thing we bargain is our knowledge.” He looked at Taehyun. “Is that correct?”

Taehyun nodded. “Yes, sire. The only physical part of our country that we bargain are the forests.”

“See?” Beomgyu turned back to the Lord.

“But still,” the Lord continued. “Discussing it with us beforehand gives us reason to trust you.” The Lord turned to address the rest of the public. “Do you think, having a new King make important decisions such as an alliance, without discussing with his people first, is a trait of a King you trust?”

People voiced their agreement, still glaring at Beomgyu.

“That is enough,” Beomgyu said, annoyed. “Please, sit dow-”

“Is it the sign of a good, strong King to team up with another Kingdom? Is it a sign that you are capable, if you need another Kingdom to back you up? And most importantly, is it the sign of a trustworthy King for you to do these things without telling any of your people?” The Lord scoffed. “It’s not. It’s not at all. You-” he stabbed a finger in Beomgyu’s direction- “are not a King I’d trust at all.”

Beomgyu blinked, shocked, before letting out a laugh. “Well that is indeed a pity! You don’t trust me? That’s understandable.” When the Lord opened his mouth again, Beomgyu held up a hand. “Enough. I am not even a year into my reign. And, being from a new clan, of course you don’t trust me! However, you must have seen me in court, perhaps about five years ago? And you’ll know that I am nothing if not trustworthy and have Gojongja’s best interests at heart. You, however…” he looked at the Lord, and gave a pitying smile. “You are a lesser Lord. Who, I believe, has only been in court for just over a year. What do you know about what I’m like?”

The Lord pursed his lips, face growing dark. He stood there, vibrating with anger, before rushing towards the throne. Before he could get far, though, Beomgyu thrust out his hand, presumably to use the wind to push him back. However, as soon as he flicked his wrist, the chandeliers suddenly exploded, raining crystals onto the ballroom floor. Most fires from the candles were extinguished as they fell, but some caught the ivy and set fire to the vines. People screamed, cowering away from the crystal shards. Over the chaos, the Lord continued to yell.

“He can’t even control his abilities! What sort of King is he?”

More voices began to chorus angrily against the King. Beomgyu didn’t seem to hear any of them, glaring at the first Lord who had spoken out. The Invisi had already begun to spill in from where they’d been standing to try and placate the people. Beomgyu was still stood, motionless, and Taehyun felt his hands curl into fists. He looked back out at the crowd, and saw that all the Lords had disappeared, and only the common folk remained. He felt his arm being tugged, and suddenly, Beomgyu was pulling him off the dais, away from the ballroom.

“Hey!” Once they were out in a hallway, Taehyun tried to yank his arm away to no avail, glaring at Beomgyu. “Let go.”

“Shut up,” Beomgyu glowered, striding fast down the hall. Taehyun was going to say something else, but caught sight of Beomgyu’s face. His mouth was set in a hard line, eyebrows furrowed. Taehyun hadn’t seen Beomgyu with anything other than an annoyed frown or a teasing smirk before, and this strange side of him sent chills down his spine. Beomgyu’s eyes, normally twinkling with a mischievous light, were now dark and fierce, and burned with a ferocity that Taehyun had never known a human to possess. Taehyun gulped, and let Beomgyu keep a firm grip on his arm, leading him to wherever the King was going.

“Wh-where are we going?” Taehyun asked.

“Council room,” Beomgyu replied shortly. “All the Lords disappeared, see? They’re probably there.”

“O-okay.”

Beomgyu glanced at him, and noticed the iron grip he was keeping on Taehyun’s arm, and let his hand release the vizier. Neither of them said another word.

.・゜-: ✧ :-　　

Beomgyu threw open the door. “What-” he roughly scraped the chair across the floor, pushing it aside- “the fuck-” he slammed his hands down on the table, glaring at the other members of the council- “was that?”

Taehyun quietly followed Beomgyu, standing behind the King.

Beomgyu’s fingers curled into the wood, ferociously glaring at the Lords, who had suddenly gone silent. “Well?” he asked.

At that moment, the one troublesome lord strolled in, followed by an incredibly tall one. “Ah, you’re here already. I don’t think I’ve properly introduced myself.” the Lord bowed mockingly, smirking. “Lord Haejun, Your Greatness. A pleasure.”

Beomgyu stared down his nose disdainfully. “I don’t care. I just want to know what that was.”

Lord Haejun widened his eyes, putting his hands up innocently. “Don’t put all the blame on me!” He looked around, and grabbed the tall lord’s arm. “It was Lord Soobin’s idea.”

Beomgyu let out a sarcastic laugh. “I’m not dumb. There’s no way this was his idea.” He stalked up to Lord Haejun, and brought his face close to the Lord’s. “Why did you do that? Why would you go to so much trouble as to put fucking bombs in my chandeliers?”

Lord Haejun looked unfazed, grinning obnoxiously. “No bombs, Your Greatness. It was simply you and your out-of-control power.” Beomgyu growled, and fisted Lord Haejun’s collar, pushing him up against the wall.

“You little shit,” he hissed. “That wasn’t me. You know that!”

At this point, Taehyun knew that he should step in, maybe separate the two, but he couldn’t seem to do anything other than stay against the wall, and watch it all unfold.

“Oops, looks like you found me out,” Lord Haejun said. As Beomgyu snarled at him, scrunching up the Lord’s collar even tighter, he let out a laugh. “Gosh, father said you were calm and composed! Where’s all that gone, hm?”

Beomgyu growled, and released the Lord’s collar. “Lord Namjae’s little boy, are you?” He turned to glare at Taehyun. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Taehyun, for some reason, couldn’t speak, couldn’t utter a word against Beomgyu’s rage. It was like all his words had deserted him. He opened and closed his mouth helplessly.

Lord Haejun straightened his collar, smirking. “He didn’t feel like there was any need, obviously. Anyways, Father’s away on business, so I planned the little… performance in his stead.”

Beomgyu clenched his hands into fists. “Little? You harmed the public! This is serious. Did you all know about this?” he thundered, glaring at the rest of the nobles. They all stuttered, suddenly unable to form coherent sentences. “Doesn’t matter. You probably all did.” Beomgyu turned his fierce gaze to Taehyun. “You take care of them. And this time, don’t fucking forget to remind me to change the members of this council.” He gave one more disgusted look to the cowering lords, and a venomous glare towards Lord Haejun, before sweeping out of the room. Taehyun stuttered weakly, hand raised. Beomgyu was just… storming out? He looked around the room, unsure what to do, before waving a hand.

“You- you’re all dismissed.”

And then, without waiting for the lords to react, Taehyun hurried out after Beomgyu.

“Beomgyu!”

Beomgyu turned at the call of his name, and saw Taehyun running to catch up with him. “What?” he snapped.

“A- are you okay?”

“I’m fucking fine,” Beomgyu said sarcastically. “I’ve just been accused of intentionally harming Gojongja, and called weak in front of the whole Kingdom. I’ve never been better.” He glared at Taehyun. “Don’t ask me stupid questions.” With that, he stalked off, leaving Taehyun standing shellshocked in the middle of the carpeted hallway.

“Sir Taehyun!”

Taehyun looked behind him to see Yeonjun coming up to him. It was evident he’d just gotten back from riding, as his boots were splattered with mud, and he still had a coat on.

“I saw all the glass in the ballroom,” he said, stopping next to the vizier. “And there’s a lot of blood, and some fire. What happened?” For some reason, the question ignited an irritated fire within Taehyun, and his mouth twisted into an annoyed frown.

“Well the announcement went fine,” Taehyun said sarcastically. “What do you think?” He glared at the Aruyeonan. “Just go to your chambers. Don’t interfere.” Yeonjun hesitated, but bowed and walked away, muddied footprints following him down the hall. Taehyun watched him go, and ran a hand through his hair. What the fuck had just happened?

#court of lies #txt #beomgyu #txt beomgyu #taehyun #txt fluff #txt taehyun #taegyu #txt taegyu #txt fanfic #txt angst #tomorrow by together #tomorrow x together

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ravenbloodau · 4 years

Text

In the Case of Love

If one could say how the flew..How their feet acted like their wings and their outstretched arms waved to the song that filled the arena.

If feathers had been braided into their hair, and beads wrapped around their waist, one would be inclined to think that they were a Goddess of Flight.

But alas, that was not the case, nay, they were dancing effortlessly in nothing more than a loose pair of pants and a tank top.

The golden rays of dying daylight seemed to make their blonde hair glow like the fires they had been raised amongst, and the light reflected like storms in their grey-blue gaze.

"C'mon Sekt'Fa!" They called to the pale blue alien, "You've got to try this!"

Sekt'Fa stepped into the circle of dancing humans, and was whisked away by the one who had called out.

They only ever went by the name of Riverstone, or just River for short. Sekt'Fa never understood why, they seemed to be just fine as "Riley," but he did his best to accommodate his new ally.

They danced gracefully, as Sekt'Fa managed to stumble awkwardly through the steps, being pulled this way and that by the human.

Until they pulled him down to face them directly. He felt his face flush a rich violet as the temptation crossed his mind.

Riverstone paused as the music around the two swelled. Sekt'Fa knelt down, and pulled them in, not thinking as they hugged the human tight.

He was terrified, blushing like a human woman would at a genuine compliment from her peers.

"River...I..." River's arms wrapped around him before he could finish.

"I love you too, Sekt'Fa," Their voice was like a silken flower petal, drifting across the music as it slowly calmed to this quiet melody.

People were hushing one another as thousands of memories flooded Sekt'Fa's mind.

Each time River had joked with him, taught him about human culture, told him why things happened on earth the way they did.

Each time River had helped him, had asked him for help, had provided information, had given him a chance at a new experience, had helped him relive an old one.

River's feeling didn't come out of nowhere, Sekt'Fa knew that, but part of him still couldn't see why a human of all beings would love him.

"River, is...This is love?" Sekt'Fa wasn't sure, the fluttering feeling in their gut was startling them. This was anxiety for humans?

Emotions seemed to flood from every corner as the music seemed to swell again as River let go of Sekt'Fa.

They stepped back as he did. He was shaking, staring, still blushing, his horns glowing with a bright, pure white light.

"It feels different for everyone, but yes," River told him plainly, "There's no need to be scared of it."

"Feels.. strange," Sekt'Fa could barely speak in the moment, simply watching the human as they stepped toward him again, holding out their hand.

"You've been taught you conceal your feelings, maybe it's time you acted on them," River offered, "Even if for just an evening."

Sekt'Fa smiled, his limbs reaching out to River, brushing a stray strand of hair out of their face.

"Let us dance, Riverstone," Sekt'Fa beamed as River's smile widened.

And in an instant, Sekt'Fa found his movements to flow like the wind amongst the tress, like a river running freely.

He had lost his inhibition, and felt fully what the music stirred. More often than not, that paralleled with River's movements, and the duet moved in syncrisoty.

Spinning, twirling, lifting River to the stars, laughing, smiling.

Overwhelmed by the freedom of feeling, but being enlightened, feeling joyous because of it.

Never had Sekt'Fa felt like this before, never had it seemed so pure, so perfect to feel like the humans.

Holding River up during the finalé, his impulses got the best of him and ..

He kissed them.

*He kissed them.*

And they....*Reciprocated.*

The crowd cheered, and in parting Sekt'Fa's eyes went wide. River was blushing, but smiling, and started laughing.

He started laughing with them, hugging them close and spinning with them in his arms.

It felt like nothing could bring him down.

That was six months ago...

Now the feathers had fallen, and Sekt'Fa was watching the footage in a court of law organized by the High Council.

"How do you plea?" The Judge asked and Sekt'Fa looked over at the beaten and bloodied Riverstone. They looked defeated, tried, and deeply saddened.

"Not guilty," Sekt'Fa told the Judge as a surge of confidence echoed in his voice.

Those witnessing the trial started murmuring, as the Jury looked to one another.

"Why?" The evidence was impartial, it did not care as to how the couple felt, nor how other people felt. The video was the truth to the courts, untouched by the faults of mortals.

"Because, Your Honor, is it illegal to fall in love?" Sekt'Fa began his defense, "It is illegal to fall for a soul similar to your own, to give heed to the emotions that drive a moment, a passion, a link to another person, no matter their species?"

The Judge leaned in, listening contently now, "Go on, where are you taking this argument, Sekt'Fa?"

"Your Honor, my point is why suppress what is brought out by other species? By other beings unlike ourselves? Why forbid something as pure as love, understanding and compassion? If fear is the enemy, then hope is our ally, and hope often comes from love," Sekt'Fa turned the teachings of the High Council on them, looking to the Jury, "If you felt how I felt in that moment, you would have done the same, you would have seen the same. The world opened up to me in that moment, I felt powerful, safe, and hopeful. I understood humanity and what it meant in those precious moments. If you wish to kill me for gaining that perspective, that beautiful knowledge and wonderful freedom, fine. I would happily die knowing what I know rather than living a century never having experienced it at all."

The whole court started chattering, astonished by such a bold statement. Riverstone looked up, shocked by the statement as well.

"Sekt'Fa..Sekt'Fa please," Riverstone's voice dropped out of their throat as tears welled in their eyes.

"Are you saying that you'd rather die than follow protocol?" The Judge jeered at Sekt'Fa, "Disgusting."

"In this instance, yes."

"NO! NO HE'S NOT IT'S MY FAULT! I...I tempted him into it, I called him out into the dance and asked him to let go, you-you saw it!" River called to the Judge, "It's my fault, he shouldn't have to stand trial just to protect me."

The Jury started murmuring amongst themselves as the crowd went silent. The Judge watched as Riverstone started crying, repeating how it was their fault, *and their fault alone* that Sekt'Fa lost control, that he felt compelled to disobey.

Sekt'Fa watched in horror as they sealed their fate while releasing his to go on for years longer.

"River?" He asked nearing tears himself, "Riverstone, you know you're lying."

"Riley-" River winced, "You seem compelled to protect your fellow defendant from punishment, why?" One of the Jury members asked and River sighed.

The Judge watched, listening as Sekt'Fa started looking wildly around for a way out. His heart was pounding, he couldn't focus. Whatever came out of River's mouth next would either get them killed, banished, or set free.

And he couldn't bank on 66% to 33% odds.

"I love him, I really do. And when you love something, you set it free, when you love someone you'd do anything to see them safe, happy, protected, you'd do anything, even risk your own life to ensure theirs continues. I love Sekt'Fa so I will do anything for him, even if it means I should die," Riverstone's quiet admission got the audience awwing softly, couples moved closer together, nodding in agreement.

The Judge blinked, tears misting in their own eyes as they looked over the two.

"You both make excellent points, we will have a brief recess for the Jury to decide on the verdict," The Judge dismissed the Court, "We will return in three hours."

Three long hours passed, nerves chipping away at both Sekt'Fa and Riverstone.

When the Court returned, Sekt'Fa and Riverstone were sat next to one another.

A Jury member stood up, holding a piece of paper.

The Judge rose alongside them. That was *never* a good sign.

"This court was summoned to re-evaluate the consequences and legality of interspecies relationship laws that the High Council had put into place," The Judge had changed what the court was summoned for, "The Jury had decided the verdict for this Court, if you would, ma'am."

"Thank you, your Honor. We, the Jury, find both defendants," She paused and cracked the warmest smile she could, "Not Guilty, and to be cleared of all charges."

The cuffs came off and again this feeling..These feelings of freedom, of joy overwhelmed Sekt'Fa.

River looked to him and instantaneously they hugged one another, rocking and elated to be free.

"Now, with this verdict, we find the laws against interspecies relationships to be unjust and cruel. This case will serve as an example in favor of future relations between species," The Judge closed out the Court, "Sekt'Fa, Riley Riverstone, have you anything to add to the record?"

River stood up, and loudly declared, "Love as boldly as you proclaim justice, and fight as passionately as you protect!"

Sekt'Fa beamed as River sat back down.

"Sekt'Fa?"

Sekt'Fa stood up, beaming, and spoke his mind as bravely as he could.

"The wings of fate smile upon us all today, as feathers of memories may fall, so to shall we know that hope can only grow within our universe," Sekt'Fa proclaimed.

The courtroom cleared out with those statements, and as Sekt'Fa and Riverstone left, a swell of music seemed to grow in the room around them.

#writing #aliens #writers on tumblr #sci fi story #sci fi #space fiction #science fiction #court case #deadnaming #love #a fight for love #dancing #kissing #cursing #tears #shouting

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starswornoaths · 4 years

Text

Forget Me Not (2/2)

First part here!

This...wound up so much longer and more self indulgent than I had intended but I hope it’s still enjoyable despite that ;A;

Also: I’ve rarely explored this specific manifestation of Serella’s blessing, but I even though I think I’ve stated this elsewhere: she is an empath, and her Blessing amplifies that, along with her aether sensitivity, so that she can feel a generalized sense of the emotions/aether of those around her, and if she grows close to someone, she can “attune” to them, for lack of a better way to put it. I explore that a bit here.

Also for those keeping track at home: yes, they got together sooner in an AU than in canon. And I’ve written it before I’ve written their canon moment of becoming a couple. That’s...still in my drafts, but closer to being done *cough*

word count: 4,018

Aymeric could not bear to look at Serella, even once they had sequestered him back in his quarters that night.

The vines entangled in his lungs squeezed as Serella quietly tended over him, though she had said nary a word once she had all but carried him here.

“I hadn’t realized how grave things were.” She finally broke the silence. He winced, and still could not lift his gaze from his hands fumbling in his lap. “After we found you, Lucia was…vague. But the symptoms…there’s only one sickness of its like that I could find, for all my searching.”

“I know. I have known.” He gathered fistfuls of the blankets to hide the way they trembled. “I should have told you.” I should have listened. Forgive me, forgive me, he lamented.

“I wasn’t owed an explanation,” she dismissed— by the Fury, but she still did not know... “I’m just sorry you’ve been suffering all this time.”

Unsure of what words would suffice, he said nothing.

Though he sensed she wanted to say more, she joined him in silence. Somehow, that was worse.

Aymeric’s condition yet worsened in the days following. Still, he stubbornly remained working through it, practically hunched over in the Seat of the Lord Commander as he poured over reports and attempted to fix everything, save for his own heart.

Serella’s visits to his office became a daily occurrence; though he felt guilt for making her fret enough to interrupt her other obligations for him, he was too weak in too many ways to ask her to stop seeing him. Always did she come in with more honey or soup, always with an apologetic smile on her face. She admitted she felt like she was just pestering him at that point, that he must be sick of her coming in every night.

His response was the same, every time. With trembling hands reaching for hers, he would answer, “Pray never doubt I am always glad to see you, my friend— I know the soft warmth of spring when you are near.”

Every time, she would have to help him brace against the bloodied flowers and leaves that would chase his words. She would fuss and prepare him tea, insist on draping a blanket over him when he was not in armor, and he would blame the sickness making him too weak to push her away.

Not knowing how else to possibly preserve himself— or spare Serella the fate of watching him perish— Aymeric postured that he was well enough to stand tall in front of his desk as he tasked the Warrior of Light with an entreatment to Vidofnir for a peace conference. It needed to be done besides, and with her out of sight, he stood a chance of putting her out of his thoughts— and his heart— long enough for his condition to improve, if only marginally.

At least, so he theorized.

Unsurprisingly, Serella at first rebuked such a request, citing his deteriorating health and the instability of the city. While her reasoning was sound, Aymeric remained adamant that if anyone could convince Vidofnir, it would be the Warrior of Warriors who had already earned her good grace.

“You would ask me to just leave you like this?” She balked.

“I would.”

“But you could be—” She swallowed heavily, and a dark part of Aymeric nearly goaded her into finishing that sentence. “Anything could happen while I was away. Please, let me be your shield—”

His coughing began again, and he lacked the strength to even hide it. His kerchief was inadequate for the flowers that spilled from his lips, blood soaked and many as they were. He let it fall to his desk with a heavy plop and clasped his hand over his mouth. When he swayed, lightheaded from the coughing, he felt Serella hold him up— ah, his legs had buckled underneath him, he realized when he could no longer stand upright by himself.

If she had not looped his arm over her shoulders, her own arm bracing him around the waist, he would have surely collapsed. Sensing this, his dearest friend practically carried him to his quarters, toward his bed.

The coughing would not stop, no matter what he did, weakly pressing his palm against his chest as he attempted to at least ease the scraping ache in his sternum from the continued abuse. Serella watched, helpless, as he wilted, sitting on his sickbed, at last giving up the veneer of normalcy as he sagged into himself. Once she had hailed Lucia through linkpearl to call the chirurgeons, she knelt before him, her whole being pulled tense with concern.

“This can’t continue.” She insisted, her hand rubbing soothing circles across his back. “You’re only getting worse— I don’t know who it is you—” her voice cracked. With a swallow, she tried again, “I don’t know who it is you love so much… but they aren’t worth dying over, Aymeric. I promise you that. No one is.” She implored him with every ilm of her as she breathed, “get the operation—”

“No!” Aymeric’s breath rattled, his coughing devolved into raspy wheezing, the flowers scattered all around him like a macabre funeral offering.

“Why?!” Serella demanded, and oh, but his weakened heart broke at the tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes. “I…I can’t— what do I do?” She half begged him, and her hand squeezed his. “Tell me where to go. Who to speak with. What to say. Tell me how to fix this.”

His laugh came with the rustling of vines in the breeze, came with a rattle in his chest he knew she could hear. He shook his head sluggishly, though even what minuscule effort he exuded made him faintly dizzy.

“Pray...do not add me to your burdens, my—”

“Tell me how to save you!” She insisted, even as she fought back her own tears.

He looked up at her, then, saw how much she cared, how worried she was for him, and felt… at peace. This was enough. In a lull of his coughing, he anchored himself with a hand on her shoulder, though the other moved to hold her face in his hand. Weakly, he shook his head, “no,” again.

“Then tell me why,” she finally whispered in defeat. “Help me understand. Why won’t you get the operation?”

Too tired to lie any longer, a half confession tumbled from his tired lips, “‘tis better to die warm in spring than… than endure the numb of winter… is it not?”

The moment he watched her face pale and her eyes widen, he knew she had him figured out.

“Aymeric…?” She whispered so softly he almost missed it. He did not miss the horror in her tone, though he could only hope she did not blame herself.

All he wanted to do was reassure her thus, that it was not her fault that he was a fool that dared yearn for an out of reach star, but with the squeeze of roots in the walls of his lungs and the surge of flowers on his tongue he was coughing again, wet and coppery.

The doors opened with the commotion of chirurgeons and Lucia in tow, and as he was swarmed with a handful of medical staff she was freed of his weak grip with the slightest tug. It startled him, how little strength he had left. Even as his vision swam, he forced his eyes to stay open as he watched his First Commander begin to lead Serella away.

“Aymeric?!” She called out, but on the chirurgeon’s order, she was ushered out with all due haste. Her wide eyed, panicked stare was the last thing he saw before he had been made to sleep under the healer’s power.

Serella lie in bed and stared up at the ceiling, her heart as a lead weight pinning her to her bed.

She had lost track of the tears that ran back into her hair some time ago, and now blinked back the stinging as another wave of them came. Impotently, she attempted to scrub at her eyes to dry them, even as she let out a broken sob.

Her friend was dying— and worse, was dying by choice.

For what? She wanted to demand the answer from him. To make him say who had planted a garden in his chest, who had sowed the seeds of his demise.

To make him blame her.

The way he spoke, before she had been made to leave… how many times had he associated her with spring? How many times had he said her name was fitting for how she brought flowers back to Ishgard?

How many times had he tried to tell her he loved her?

And she… even now, she struggled to define what she felt for him for how thoroughly she had buried her feelings. Warmer than friendship by far. She felt as though her heart was safe with him, that she never had to pretend to be anything she wasn’t. Once they had grown to be friends, he had been so eager to know her, not her legend. He saw her— and evidently loved who he saw.

It baffled her. Overwhelmed her.

Pressing the heels of her palms against her eyelids and swallowing her sobs, she exhumed every warm feeling he had ever drawn out of her from the depths of her own heart, and began to examine them more closely. Hours later she found her findings didn’t surprise her, only the fact that this was what it took to get there.

Everything she had felt for him…she had not realized he felt the same; she had simply thought what feelings she had picked up were none but her own, and that he felt nothing at all— surely her Blessing had not faltered once before, she reasoned when she felt naught different when near him than her own affections. If she had known they had simply felt the same for one another...that the swell of that same affection she felt near him was not her own heart fluttering in excitement, but his...

Lucia seemed to almost expect her to come back to the Congregation in the dead of night, geared up to leave again. She hadn’t even managed to ask if she could see him before the First Commander was letting her up the lift and through the Seat of the Lord Commander to his quarters. Remaining without, Lucia ushered Serella inside and closed the door.

It didn’t take long, saying goodbye— primarily because he was yet fitfully sleep— but time seemed to hold its breath when she knelt at his bedside. With care, she removed her leather glove and brushed the backs of her knuckles against the apple of his cheek. Still slumbering, he leaned into the touch with an incoherent murmur. She waited until he quieted before reaching for his hand. It spoke to how feverishly exhausted he was that he didn’t so much as stir when she mapped out the scars and calluses of his hand with the sort of reverence reserved for holy relics, brought it up to her lips, and kissed the backs of his knuckles.

“Don’t you die on me.” She whispered against his skin. “Don’t you dare.”

Aymeric did not wake. Serella did not linger.

By the time Aymeric blearily regained consciousness, he discovered Serella had chosen to follow through with his request— though it startled him to see her brother whittling at his bedside. Uthengentle offered little explanation beyond, “Ellie asked me— and I wanted to anyroad.” and went back to his work with a shrug.

When Aymeric thought of Serella fretting enough over him to ask her brother to stay, he felt that same telltale flutter in his chest… but the cough that followed was dry. That was not to say that he felt wholly better, but such a sign of improvement was welcome after months of deterioration. Even that night, and the nights that followed, though he coughed up those same accursed flowers…they were dried out, once vibrant yellow darkened into a dusky brown. Brittle. Dead. The coughing itself diminished greatly. It… it baffled him, even as it gave him a spark of hope that he dare not define.

He clung to the feeble hope that he had been right in his theory. A hope that grew when she had been gone a week and he had been well enough to chance a walk about Foundation with Lord Edmont and Lord Artoirel. He had not coughed up any flowers at all in some few days by then, despite his inability to put the Warrior of Light out of his mind. Even the chirurgeons could not place why he was getting better, as he was still certain his feelings were rather unrequited.

So distracted by what that might mean and his conversation with the Lords Fortemps, he had hardly noticed when someone shouldered their way into him on their way passed. Not until he looked at them and shifted his feet— not until he felt the sharp pinch of something in his stomach that should not be there. Not until he looked down to see the hilt of a knife just below his already dying terrarium of a lung.

It was odd, he reasoned, when he crumpled to his knees and thought of Serella… that there was no cough, no shower of dead petals from his lips, despite his chest tightening in agony. Even as his fevered head pressed against the cold stone floor and he clutched at the wound, he could not help but wonder why.

As his eyes slipped shut, he prayed to wake, if only for the chance to ask her what that could mean.

Aymeric awoke shivering from the cold that pressed against his forehead. He couldn’t help the shuddered breath through his teeth. Fighting the urge to writhe in pain at the way his stitches pulled from the motion, he grit his teeth and attempted to ground himself. The cold, wet thing on his forehead was removed.

“Shh, shh, easy, dear one.” A familiar voice soothed, and a hand gently ran through his hair.

With great effort, he opened his eyes and blinked back the fog, startled at the sight of Serella, returned from the Forelands and carefully draping a soft fleece blanket over him. Cloves and lilies, he realized distantly as she situated it over his shoulders and he caught its scent. Just like her.

“Your sheets were covered in sweat and… and blood.” Serella grimaced, even as she resumed blotting at his forehead. “Figured you could do with something soft.”

Setting the cloth aside, she explained that she had returned to news of the assassination attempt and upon fearing the worst, took his care up for herself to give the chirurgeons reprieve.

Aymeric felt exhausted, aching, boneless, as though he had every drop of blood and sweat wrung out of him and there was little but a broken husk of himself left, ravaged from the sickness, flames, and blades that he had been besieged by. But when Serella gently brushed his bangs away to kiss his forehead and promise against his skin that she would not leave him to suffer alone…he felt better than he had in months. At her suggestion of sleep, his beleaguered body obeyed faster than he might have liked, and drifted off before the warmth from her touch that bloomed on his forehead had cooled.

Scant hours had passed when he next opened his eyes. He found her still seated at his bedside, head pillowed on her arms, dozing on the empty spot next to him. She stirred at his knuckles gently brushing her hair away from her face, and blinked up at him sleepily. He could only imagine the expression he wore, so baffled that she was still there, had watched over him until she could stay awake no longer.

“You stayed.” He rasped in disbelief.

“Of course.” She answered, as if that explained everything, and brought a hand up to press his palm to her cheek.

In light of such evidence, Aymeric watched Serella let go and fuss over medicine, and he reconsidered his recovery theory.

Serella waited until she was occupied by rummaging in her pack to ask how he had been feeling. A decision made in part to keep her hands busy, but largely to buy herself time to brace for his answer, one way or another.

“Aside from the obvious,” Aymeric replied dryly— ah, his flat humor was a good sign; she’d missed it greatly. “I am far less sick than I was. The coughing has all but stopped.”

Expressing her relief, she asked when he started improving once she had found the pain tonic she was looking for.

“Around the time you left for Anyx Trine, incidentally.”

Serella nearly dropped the vial.

“O-oh?” She squeaked, and immediately felt ridiculous for it.

“Aye.” Aymeric replied, and when she braved a glance at him, he seemed to be mulling that fact over. “I had initially thought it was because of a change in… perspective.”

Serella expressed doubt in that.

“An uneducated guess.” He admitted with a shrug. “I know not what else might have contributed to my improved health.”

Serella spent a long, long moment unsure whether he was being deliberately obtuse or if he genuinely didn’t know…but when his perplexed expression didn’t shift, she had her answer. No smarter than she in matters of the heart, then…

“I’ve my own suspicions,” she said, offering him the pain tonic to take. Once he was done grimacing at the taste of the medication, she forewent the chair and instead took a seat on his bed. “Would have to speak with an actual expert on the subject, but...I think they might have been wrong on how it’s cured.”

Aymeric tilted his head in cautious curiosity. Despite his exhaustion, she could tell he had sensed the shift in the room by the flex of his hands against the blanket, in the way his jaw tensed with a heavy swallow. Emboldened by his actions but timid under his gaze, she studied her hands wringing in her lap.

She had thought this conversation through for hours, days… where had her practiced words gone?

"I...I think it's not a matter of someone just returning your feelings, but...but also choosing to...to give those feelings to you, rather than bury them—”

She nearly leapt out of her seat when his hand wrapped around hers. It hadn’t registered how much she was shaking until he softly anchored her. With a breath to brace herself, she met his gaze.

"Serella?" Aymeric rasped quietly. “What are you—”

That fearful want to hope she recognized in his eyes was emboldening as much as it was terrifying, but it was his silence that inspired in her enough bravery to go on. “If your illness would have been cured with nothing but your feelings being returned, then…” Her courage fled, and she looked away. “Then you would have never gotten sick at all, I don’t think.”

“Serella—”

"Stop me from making a fool of myself if I'm wrong." She said helplessly with an impotent flail of her hands in her lap. “I’m fairly sure you don’t feel as I do, but Lucia insisted otherwise, and the thought that you’ve been suffering because I’m a coward makes me physically ill, and—”

“Serella—” Aymeric said with soft insistence as he moved to sit up.

When he bodily jerked and pressed a hand to his wound, Serella abandoned her bumbling confession for trying to coax him to lie back down. When she leaned toward him and pressed against his chest to do so, he capitulated— after he pulled her down with him and claimed her lips for himself.

For all their hesitance until that moment, for all the uncertainty and waiting and hoping...meeting in the middle and giving in felt at last like coming home. His hands, so warm and smooth with calluses, held her face, his thumbs stroked over her cheekbones. As much as she dared to with his wounds, she sank into him, sank into feeling his own relief wash gently over her. She couldn’t help but wonder how she had never realized what she felt all along was two hearts falling in sync, rather than her own beating on its lonesome, but now, with his heart beneath her palm and her every nerve attuned to him she couldn’t imagine ever being without.

“I love you.”

They both let out a breathless laugh at how they had both uttered it the moment their lips parted. She wilted against him, her forehead against his, and let her hands map out his face. His own seemed content to move to clutch at her back to pull her those scant ilms closer.

“I’m so sorry I doubted what I felt—”

“I should never have hidden my heart from you—”

With more laughter, giddy and delirious, they decided they had talked enough, and he pulled her back down to kiss her again. He had needed to spend so little strength to coax her into it, she was so starved for him she readily met him again and again, delighting in the way she could feel his very soul sigh of contentment. When he squeezed his arms around her in an attempt to pull himself upright, he broke away from her with a hiss of pain.

Tutting gently that love, while wonderful, does not heal stab wounds, she eased him back onto the pillows— though let out a faint gasp of surprise when he pulled her down with him, to the side not still healing. A faint ripple of hesitancy rolled off of him, that sort of uncertainty that came with not knowing what was a step too far, and he loosened his arms enough that she could leave, should she so choose.

He flinched when she did choose to— enough to pull the blankets back and insist he budge over if he wanted a proper cuddle. The way his whole face lit up when he realized he was not rejected filled her heart fit to burst with light and warmth— or perhaps that was just how he felt, too. She nestled into his side, her head tucked in the crook of his neck as though it had always belonged there. Though his wounds prevented him from turning on his side to properly hold her, his even breathing fanned gently across the crown of her head as he nuzzled into her hair.

She had nearly drifted off to sleep when she heard him softly, quietly ask, “May I hear it again…?”

Smiling against his skin, she said again, “I love you.”

With a shuddering, disbelieving breath, in an even quieter voice he whispered, “Again…?”

Giggling, she obliged.

“Once more—?”

“Aymeric.” With a huff of laughter, she nudged her face back up to his, and pressed another kiss to his tired pout. It was clear he was fading fast, and the fever, the ache, and the pain tonic were wearing him thin. “Sleep. I’ll tell you again in the morning.”

When she settled back against his chest, he brought a hand to the back of her head and pressed faint kisses to the top of her head.

“I love you,” he said, his hand stroking through her hair. “I love you,” he repeated, more quietly than the first time. When his fingertips reached the soft ends of her hair, it fell limply against the pillow. “I love you.” He whispered, at last fading out to slumber.

When she felt his uncertainty again, the sort that felt as though he wondered if this was a dream, she reached up to stroke his hair and resolved to be there every morning she could, just to remind him that this was real. That they were real.

Resolving to start with tomorrow, and tomorrow to be their first real steps together, she held him closer and joined him in dreams.

#I am as ever your shield #Aymeric de Borel #Serella Arcbane #Hanahaki!AU #*hides face*#I know how self indulgent this is don't @ meeeeeee #I hope this sparks joy all the same!#\o/

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traditional-with-a-twist · 4 years

Text

xvii. Beauty and Her Beast

<<Previous || first arc || AO3 || Next>>

Obi is waiting for her when she returns.

He unfolds like a cat from among the flowers, sauntering over to greet his mistress--and like an animal, he scents at once that something is wrong.

His next step cancels the distance between them. He places himself at her side as he always has, ever since entering the royal service--but this time, things are different.

Enough has changed between them that now, when his hand moves, he allows the movement to follow through to its natural conclusion.

One fingertip extends, reaches, and comes to rest on her elbow.

...

She turns her face up to his.

“Obi,” she says, but his name sounds like a question.

“Yes,” he answers her simply, unhesitating, even as the vertebrae of his spine lock together, fusing him into one long line of tension.

He keeps his voice light as he adds, in obedience to her wishes, the four syllables long denied to him: “Shirayuki.”

The lines between her eyebrows ease. Her hand makes an absent, seeking gesture; it comes to rest in a loose hold on his sleeve.

...

Shirayuki has never found it easy to voice her concerns.

Even now, though she plans to tell Obi, wants to hear what he thinks, hopes he can reassure her -- she hesitates.

Obi has never found it easy to guess her thoughts, but he’s willing to try if it will help her to put them in words.

“Something amiss at the pharmacy?” he begins, a moderate opening sally in case it won’t take more than a gentle nudge.

His hand has advanced on its determined path to nearness with her; he cradles her elbow in his palm now.

“Oh--n-no, they’re all doing well--I mean, Yatsufusa…” She bites her lips.

Obi zeroes in on the clue. “Did he say something to you?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t…”

...

She didn’t know quite how to explain it. She didn’t quite understand it.

She hadn’t expected it.

When she burst into the office, hair flying, eyes shining, the message delivered by Higata clutched in her hand, she was half-wild with excitement.

The message was such good news, so long-awaited, too much to keep to herself. She wanted to celebrate, to give thanks, to rejoice with someone who must be equally relieved and delighted that Garrack and Ryuu were coming home.

...

Immediately after the war’s conclusion, the Chief Pharmacist had received orders to suspend her regular duties in deference to the critical conditions overwhelming the hospitals in the port town.

She and her protegee had departed at the head of a wagon train, overseeing the shipment of supplies that Shirayuki, Obi, and all the regular staff had helped prepare.

Official reports with terse updates on their progress provided evidence that they continued alive and well, but no personal correspondence accompanied these missives.

There had been no word of when they would return, until now.

...

Shirayuki was too happy to speak; she only waved the letter and beamed at Yatsufusa.

What words could describe the enormity of her feelings? She has been so alone, so out of place, and now so happy... At last one of the roving thoughts escapes her:

“They’ll be back in time for the wedding!”

...

Yatsufusa wasn’t a man given to emotional displays.

He had received the princess with the quiet equanimity typical of his character: Below his perpetually hidden eyes, his mouth creased in a slight sign of the pleasure he shared with her.

At this pronouncement, the smile vanished.

It was true, then.

...

He had wanted to dismiss Higata’s frantic, half-articulate tale as mistaken or at least misapprehending.

Now there was no choice but to believe it.

Garrack always found a way to foist her work off on him, he reflected. Even from a distance.

...

“Your highness…”

Shirayuki looked quizzical, then a light dawned. Oh, yes. He meant her. She answered with a hesitant smile, looking her question.

Yatsufusa cleared his throat. “With regard to your...wedding…”

She colored prettily.

As gently as he would inspect a wound for infection, he asked whether she had considered what was customary?

Customary, she repeated, wondering.

Yes, customary. Had she considered that, as the bereaved intended of a second prince, she must honor the Wisteria royal family in her choice of a future husband?

...

The message vanished into folds of white as Shirayuki’s hands wound into her skirts. “Honor?” she repeated faintly.

“Honor...or dishonor.” Yatsufusa felt the cruelty of his task, but he set to it as he would set a bone.

“It would be--more correct, for you to marry someone of noble lineage, your highness.”

...

Shirayuki was not a politically-minded person.

Before she met Zen, her thinking rarely bothered with questions beyond her intimate circle, what concerned the people she knew personally, and those challenges and dangers that immediately involved their lives.

Befriending a prince had necessarily changed that.

Now the problems impacting her friends were problems of state: dilemmas and dangers that convened councils and kept kings awake at night.

In some curious way, Shirayuki hadn’t felt the difference. For Kihal and the Yuris Island birds, for instance, she had diagnosed and prescribed a solution the same way she would have treated a patient.

The diplomatic implications added different dimensions, rendered the occasion more solemn, but otherwise affected not at all her desire to help, or her determination to make things right.

...

The problem confronting her now cast long shadows in Shirayuki’s mind, precisely because of the political terms with which Yatsufusa had framed it.

An obscure implication of duty now jutted from the mists to threaten her bid for a safe harbor. None of her mental maps--all drawn on the scale of human relationships--could afford her any guidance.

She didn’t know what to do.

...

Uncertainty chills rapidly into fear, for someone accustomed to operating with a driving sense of purpose.

By the time Shirayuki reached Obi, her stomach felt tight, her throat closed. Her skirts weighed on her, though she had worn them lightly just an hour before.

As she recounted the story, her head had sunk lower and lower; now she confesses to her shoes: “I never thought about it that way before.”

...

A snort startles her. Her head jerks up.

Obi’s eyes crinkle. “A noble family, huh? That’s the problem?”

Shirayuki blinks at him, bemused. “I...think so?”

...

Interwoven with her doubts about the future lurked a nervousness verging on panic that something in what she had said might prove harmful for Obi.

She flinched at the thought of handing him a bundle spiked with invisible needles, something that might cut into him before she realized what was wrong.

He didn’t look as if he were in pain, though. If anything, he looked amused.

...

“I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you,” Obi says airily. He looks past her, so tall and so near that she can’t see into his eyes.

“But will there be trouble if--if we… I mean…” Her fingers tightened on his sleeve. “What can we…”

“Sorry, mi--Shirayuki. There’s nothing we can do about my birth.”

Obi barks a laugh. “If someone has a problem with that, he’ll have to complain to the people responsible for it.”

His palm slides up her arm, his thumb tracing a soothing circle against her shoulder.

Shirayuki smiled uncertainly. Fear lost its grip in the face of this levity, but instead she was baffled. What was so funny?

Why was he laughing?

#Akagami no Shirayukihime #obiyuki #PurePassion #Beauty and Her Beast #poor Yatsufusa #shoehorned into being the bad guy #if only he could read your reviews #he might feel better #they made me smile!#and brightened my day #<3

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fandom-necromancer · 5 years

Text

162. Here, take this.

Just as a note, this one is a bit longer because my initial idea ‘Hey, would be funny for Nines to gift Gavin a pebble’ kinda took off a bit.

Fandoms: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

part2 part3

Nines had learned a lot in the little time he had been active. If he had to boil it down, he could reduce it to three things. One: humans were confusing and so much more complex. Two: Him not having a social module made it unbelievably difficult to work with them. Three: His working relationship with Detective Gavin Reed depended solely on the fact that an RK800 unit – Connor – considered him a brother and had knocked out the human immediately after every fight they had.

It was a relief to have the Detective behaving in his presence now, although Nines had wished the reason to be himself, not the looming threat that was Connor. But that would need time. Experience and learning. Cyberlife never finished him. His hardware was completed, yes. But a lot of the software-tweaks they wanted to implement had simply been forgotten over the revolution. Most could be overlooked but the lack of social skills was a severe hindrance.

Sarcasm, humour, body-language or just a slightly different tone that altered the meaning of a sentence completely – all that were concepts he knew. He had done the research and memorised it in all the empty space where the program should have been, but recognising it in real life situations? An impossible task for him.

‘Phck, shit, goddamnit! Why are you phcking doing this to me?’ RK900 looked up and over his desktop to Gavin quickly analysing the situation. No eye-contact. Looking at the screen with wrinkled face. Tone harsh. Nines concluded it wasn’t directed at him pretty quickly, but what was this emotion? Anger? Incomprehension? Despair? Could be anything. ‘I detected you are in some way irritated. Can I help?’ Gavin flinched and looked up to him. ‘What? No. The damn computer just asked for a password and I mistyped it. Now I’m blocked for the next five minutes.’ ‘I have to remind you, your Computer isn’t in any way sentient and you speaking to it won’t achieve anything.’ ‘I know, tin-can! But sometimes you have to let your frustration out and yell at a machine. I mean, look at you! You also seem not to be sentient enough to understand me and yet I phcking talk to you! I need a damn coffee!’ The human jumped from his chair letting it scoot a bit backwards. Nines remained seated and started analysing the last conversation. Had he done something wrong? Had something he said angered the Detective? Had there been another social cue he had overseen, something subtle he should have picked up? He was still deeply in thought as Connor came over. ‘Has he done something?’ Nines studied the other android and somehow it was easier to read him than humans. There was this evident worried protectiveness together with disdain for the Detective. ‘I don’t know. He stated to be “frustrated”.’ ‘With you? You know I can talk with him anytime, just say the word.’ ‘No. RK8- brother – your “talks” tend to end in physical violence. I think it would be detrimental to the efforts I put into understanding the human. He seemed frustrated of his Computer.’ ‘Fine.’ Connor locked eyes with Gavin coming back from the breakroom and as soon as the man realised his presence there was resistance in coming nearer. The cause of it stayed illusive to Nines, although Gavin returned to his desk as soon as Connor had departed. ‘Jesus, your brother is terrifying.’ ‘Jesus didn’t have a brother.’ ‘What the… Nines, I meant your brother. Connor.’ ‘I wouldn’t call him threatening. He is easily agitated when it comes to the people, he calls family.’ ‘Whatever. Just please don’t tell him to beat me up again, okay? I learned my lesson, I’m trying to be nice to you, although you are weird as phck.’ Nines took a while to try find out the meaning of weird as a fuck. In the end he agreed on the basic expression of him being weird and the rest of the sentence due to the Detective’s very unique use of expletives. ‘I never told him to do that. I don’t even understand why he tends to do it. I don’t wish any of my surroundings harm.’ ‘Well, you are not very good at it. I’m gonna go home. See ya tomorrow.’ Nines nodded but didn’t answer, not knowing one was required.

The night shift arrived, and Nines was still working. Connor and Lieutenant Anderson had gone shortly after Gavin and Connor once again offered him to come with them. But he had declined as always. There was no use going somewhere when there was work to do. Although, around midnight he found himself distracted more and more. The conversations of the day replayed in his mind over and over again, analysing every second of them, learning from it and trying to figure out what he did wrong again this time. He managed to dismiss most of his thoughts for later but wasn’t able to let go of the Detective explaining he was frustrated. Frustration. The feeling of being upset or annoyed as a result of being unable to change or achieve something. A kind of mental pain humans experienced. Maybe if he could help the Detective, they would warm up to each other. But what could he do when he had to research what frustration was, what it felt like? Frustration could be caused by stress, but also from various other sources, there was no way Nines could find out what it was exactly that put off his partner. All he knew was that Gavin wasn’t happy. How to make your partner happy? There were quite some results to the search. He hadn’t expected there to be so much advice when clearly little jobs had people partnering up. Compliment him. Well, Gavin was intelligent. He was on the upper scale of human attractiveness according to online-tests and really stubborn. But he wouldn’t know how to say any of that without getting misunderstood. Tell him you appreciate what he does for you and your family. Again, not the best thing, when all Gavin had done for his “family” to hold Connor at gunpoint repeatedly. Make time for things to get hot in the bedroom. That just left Nines clueless. Sure, he could hack the Detective’s smart home and manipulate the thermostat, but wouldn’t the human know best what to do with it? Be supportive of his alone time. At least that he already was, following his orders when he told him to fuck off. Look him in the eyes. Manageable. When you get something for yourself, get something for him, too. So a gift, then. Difficult but also in the realm of possibility.

He decided to take the next day off. There hadn’t been new cases lately, so his new mission was far more interesting and rewarding. Learn how to compliment. Acquire a gift. He figured the mall would be as good of a place as any to start and so he strolled through shops filled to the brink with humans and androids, trying to find something in the overwhelming heap of goods. Somehow he ended up in a small shop for minerals and simple jewellery. He hadn’t made the decision consciously and realised he had only entered because it was empty and somehow… tranquil. The android wandered through the aisles of sparkling crystals and polished stones beginning to think he was going to fail his mission.

‘Hello. Do you need help?’ Nines nearly forgot he wasn’t alone. He was about to decline but maybe the human could actually help him. ‘I’m looking for a gift for a friend of mine. He is a human and stated to be frustrated. I thought a gift would help.’ ‘Ah, so is your friend interested in minerals?’ ‘I… I don’t know if he sees any value in these stones.’ Nines quickly did some research about the public opinion on them realising what he said had the potential to hurt the shopkeeper. ‘But I heard humans enjoy… shiny things.’ The human huffed at that and nodded. ‘Most do. Is your friend someone who wears pendants or rings?’ Nines didn’t even have to check to answer that. ‘No. He has a keychain, but that’s as far as it gets.’ ‘Okay, so more of an ornamental object. Do they have a favourite colour?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘What about eye-colour?’ Nines frowned. ‘How is that important?’ ‘Well, it’s something few people realise unless they spend time with each other. So, it is a proof you remembered it, a sign of affection. Some people tend to say the eyes are a gateway to your soul.’ ‘I don’t have a soul.’ ‘Well, humans aren’t really sure they have one either. It’s more of a saying, symbolism.’ ‘Do humans compliment on each other’s eyes if they mean so much?’ ‘Oh, yes. Most do. So what is his colour?’ ‘Green bordering to grey. It kind of depends on lightning and how much he slept.’ ‘Okay, I have some green ones.’ He led Nines to a shelf full of little stones, all of them varying tones of green and blue. Although Nines had no real grasp at aesthetics one caught his special interest. It was small, not bigger than a pebble, but it looked like ocean waves crashing against a cliff, turning in on each other and creating a pattern of delicate complexity. Somehow it seemed fitting – a storm caught in a moment. ‘That’s an apatite. But not the best of quality. See those enclosures? Normally they are thin and not as prominent. We have better ones over here if you like.’ ‘No, I think I’ll take this one.’

The next day he was back at work, the stone in his pocket. Gavin hadn’t asked why he hadn’t been at work yesterday. Both simply worked on their cases and reports, close to ignoring the other. Until Gavin announced he was going for a coffee break. Immediately Nines stood, this being the cue he had waited for. ‘May I accompany you?’ ‘Sure, I mean it’s just to the breakroom and out for a cigarette.’ Nines waited until the Detective got his coffee and followed him to the parking lot.

‘So why are you so clingy today, toaster?’ He took a deep breath and blew the smoke out in the air. ‘You stated you were frustrated.’ ‘And?’ ‘That means you are not happy. As this is the prerequisite for a good working relationship, I aim to correct that.’ ‘What?’ ‘I noticed that your eyes are remarkable. There is a high possibility you won’t need glasses until old age.’ Nines scanned the human but couldn’t decide whether the expression he wore was flattered or dumbfounded. But well, that was complimenting him done. Now to the gift. ‘Here. Take this.’ He stretched out his hand, the stone on his palm. Gavin hesitantly took it and studied the object. ‘What is this?’ ‘It’s a stone. It reacts badly to pressure and heat, just like you and it looks like your eyes when we investigate at night. My research deemed this a suitable gift. I’m going back to work.’

With a more than pleasing [mission successful] in his HUD he left Gavin standing in the parking lot, the man staring a hole in his back.

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #Gavin Reed #RK900 #I'm a little too interested in minerals #shiny stuff must have #I never thought to research Jesus for some android-fic #Bible-German is unintelligible #the english article was too long #pls forgive me if you are a bro of Jesus

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walkerduchess · 4 years

Text

A Game of Hearts - Chapter Ten: Split (The Royal Romance AU)

Pairing: Drake x MC [Liam x MC]

Notes: Again I took too long whith this chapter, sorry. The next should be out faster since I’m off from work for the next 10 days. No flashbacks in this one because SO MUCH HAPPENS. I hope you like it, and if you read, please tell me what you think!

I do not own these characters, they belong to Pixelberry.

Summary: Princess Sapphire’s secrets still hangs between her and Drake, while tensions are rising in the kingdom she’s left.

Word Count: 4579

Tagging: I’m tagging everyone who asked me to. If you want in or out the list just let me know! @confessionsofabrokegirl, @museofbooks, @stopforamoment, @annekebbphotography, @queenodysseia , @drakewalkerisreal

Chapter Ten: Split

His eyes search hers, his lips slightly parted, awaiting for her to say something.

It is a foreign feeling, at least for the princess, to look into someone’s eyes and finding oneself recognized in them. It’s a sentiment similar to that she had upon meeting Hana again, after all those years. It’s alluring and overwhelming at the same time. Her breathing is uneven, and she gives him a small, careful nod.

“How?” He breathes out, “why-- what are you doing here?” His rushed words register the turmoil inside his brain, where a multitude of questions scream at the same time.

She opens her mouth but she doesn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have dropped all of these questions on you.” Drake says, uncharacteristically soft. “It’s just…” he seems to search for the right words, “you were gone.” His voice doesn’t sound accusing, but rather pained.

Elia doesn’t have to ask to know what he means. She used to see him every morning at sword class and then her father decided she didn’t need further lessons. Without even a chance to say goodbye, she simply never went back.

“I know,” when she finally speaks, her voice is weak, “I was forced to--”

“I asked Max about you,” he blurts out before she can end her sentence, “he… he never gave me direct answers and kept changing the subject, so one day I... stopped asking.” His gaze shifted from her to the ground in front of him.

“I’m sorry, it’s just,” the woman begins, but she knows she cannot give him the truth. She tries to dismiss the thought, a futile attempt in waving away the irrefutable conclusion - a decision, made deep in her conscience, to disclose to this man only the part of her that is easy to accept, the part of her he used to like once, that doesn’t involve any title with a bigger meaning such as Promised Princess or Builder, instead is simple as… Elia. Her face falls and her features turn somber as she speaks words that, despite being true, don’t really give anything away, “some very complicated family things.”

“I gathered it was something like that,” he looks up at her, eyes sympathetic yet clearly waiting for further explanation.

She can only look away, biting her lower lip. It’s not that she doesn’t want to trust him, she simply can’t. Instead, she chooses to change the focus, just a little bit. “I asked about you, too,” she speaks truthfully. At the beginning, every time she’d see Liam, the princess would ask about Drake. Of course she asked as if it was nothing, for she had way too much pride in her pre-teen years - not that it has ever gone away - to admit how much she cared. And she cared a lot. As the years went by, time took him away from her mind for days, then turned it into weeks and even months and years in a row. But she never truly forgot him. And, she realizes now, she also never really stopped caring.

He gives her a small smile, that don’t reach his eyes. She responds with a similar one. They gaze at each other for a while, only the crackling sounds of the fire breaking the silence between them. It’s comfortable, however Elia starts to fear he may ask more questions if they stay there longer, or worse, she fears she might spill it all out just from staring into the abyss held within his dark eyes.

“I better go to sleep,” she gestures at the tent behind them, her voice breaking the moment, “you can wake me or Jonah when you’re tired.”

Drake watches her make her way into her tent and mutters a quiet “good night.”

The Council room is large, yet right now it’s almost claustrophobic, with the voices inside higher than usual, most of them resonating at the same time. Liam closes his eyes and rubs his temples, his elbows resting on the big wooden table. He is exhausted. Even in the few nights he was able to get a good sleep, he’d still wake up feeling drained.

The prince spent the past month in a lethargic state. For the first time in his life, his future isn’t laid out in front of him. He doesn’t know what to do really. He repeats to himself, day after day, that he needs to stay strong for his people. That he can do. He chooses to focus on that, instead of thinking Sophie is gone, and now Drake, too. He couldn’t even tell his best friend he didn’t need to go searching for someone who doesn’t want to be found - again, Liam remembers with a pang of guilt - because Sophie asked him not to tell anyone.

Council meetings have been held daily since Sophie left, to no avail. The Promised Princess was still missing, the war was still happening and everyone in the kingdom seemed to be distressed. The holders clearly don’t know what to do, only repeating the same questions, concerns, search parties’ updates and any other futile idea to solve the situation. At the beginning, Liam felt bad. He knew the princess wasn’t kidnapped but he had to respect her wishes. He can’t say he hasn’t entertained the idea of telling the truth, many times. But something in his heart keeps telling him Sophie must have a very good reason for not wanting people to know she left willingly. She must have a marvelous reason for leaving. Liam is afraid to let himself think otherwise.

“Prince William?” The voice makes him open his eyes to find Lord Hakim glaring at him through his glasses.

“Yes?” He forces a casual tone, straightening up in his chair.

“I just said,” the man’s large shoulders tense and he exhales before continuing, “there is word of a traitor in the South’s army. Other than the Builder, that is.”

“The Builder is likely out of the picture,” Lady Olivia speaks up, “it’s been about a year since their army last showed new weaponry.”

“That does not mean--” Lord Bertrand tries to cut in but Liv is not having any of it.

“Besides,” the red haired woman speaks the word louder, shooting daggers at Bertrand with her eyes, “the odds shifted in our favour again. I say it’s time to attack with full force. I could send resources--”

“Thank you for your assessment, Lady Olivia.” King Brandon stops her war talk, to which she frowns but shortly lets go. “But we are, in no way, attacking our enemy while they have Princess Sapphire.”

The king’s words are cold, but there’s a hint of new moisture in his eyes that doesn’t get past Liam. King Brandon was never the same after Queen Aurora died, everybody knows that. He became somewhat smaller and grimmer. Now, after Sophie left, he only leaves his chambers to go to Council meetings. And even then, it’s as if he’s lost his strength.

“Please, Lord Hakim,” the prince decides to get to the point, at last, “tell us what you know about this traitor.”

Lord Hakim clears his throat then, “My spies reported they heard some talk from the South’s soldiers. They call their commander ‘The Cordonian’ and also mentioned that he is ‘no stranger to castle life’.”

“That could be anyone,” Olivia speaks again, “a guard, a servant…”

“Or a holder,” Hakim adds cautiously.

“What are you implying, Lord Hakim?” King Brandon asks in what seems an unpretentious manner, yet his full attention is turned to the man.

Hakim brings one of his hands to adjust the glasses in his face, “I am just saying,” he speaks hesitantly, “we should take into consideration that Prince Leonard has been gone for eight years, and we are all familiar with his rebellious attitude--”

“Not this again!” Former king Constantine exhales, letting his annoyance show. “We have absolutely no evidence of Prince Leonard’s whereabouts, and therefore no reason to make these assumptions.” The tinge of worry in his voice probably goes unnoticed by every other person in the room, but not to Liam. He knows his father all too well and he knows that, despite all the criticism and dismissiveness when it comes to his eldest son, Constantine loves and misses Leo. Entertaining the idea that Leo could betray his kingdom is painless compared to an infinitely more terrifying one - the idea that Leo could betray his own family. Liam can’t believe this either. He won’t.

“Well,” Lord Landon is the one to speak this time, “Prince Leonard has had exceptional war training his whole life, so it would not be a stretch to say he could become the command--”

“No.” Liam’s voice comes out strong and even, and before he can realize it. The prince is often quiet during the council’s meetings, especially lately, so all eyes turn to him after he speaks. After a brief moment, he sighs, standing up. “My brother has always been… impulsive. But he is a good man. I will not have we defining him a traitor,” his voice is commanding, in that tone the prince knows very well how to but almost never uses. The holders will acquiesce to whatever he says, yet they will be very much aware of how biased he is, so he adds, “not without clear evidence.” He sits down again, closing the matter.

Elia wakes with a light tap on her shoulder. The sky is already lightning up and Jonah is mumbling something to her about going to sleep before he disappears to his tent.

The young woman sits up and stretches, quietly so not to wake the girl sleeping next to her. They’ve been putting up three improvised tents every evening now: one for her and Nora, one for Jonah and Elliot and one for Drake. The sheets she brought aren’t big, so they don’t have much space in the tents, but since Elliot and Nora are small, they can share with someone else without preventing a good sleep.

Stepping outside, Elia proceeds to inspect the leftovers of their meal from the past evening - boiled potatoes and chicken - to see if they can still have it for breakfast. They’re cold, so she manages to light up some branches that have fallen out of the fire the night before to heat the food.

She sits while she waits, humming some made-up melody to herself in an attempt to push Drake-thoughts out of her brain. She focuses on the bright side of things: the Device is finished - thankfully she did it before Drake arrived, with the help of the children -, they have no shortage of food and water, and they’re advancing South.

As if she can’t get the man out of her mind for five minutes, Drake emerges out of his tent and promptly joins her. “Good morning,” he declares, voice hoarse from sleep.

Before her mind can make sense of it, she catches herself smiling at him.

“So you can finally light a fire,” he gives her a side look, the ends of his mouth perking up, “if I keep successfully teaching you things, soon enough I’m going to be sparring you in the field instead of Jonah.”

Elia smiles, joining his tone, “yeah, and I might even beat you.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, now.”

“Hey!” She gives him a light punch in the shoulder, “I did beat you.”

“Once. Over a decade ago. It doesn’t count,” his voice sounds different somehow, lighter. His smile isn’t big, yet it’s contagious nonetheless, and she can’t help but smile too.

Soon enough her smile changes into a wistful one. He remembers too. She hugs both her legs in front of her, resting her head in her knees, face turned to Drake. She wants to say how much she misses those simpler times, however she keeps the thought to herself.

Drake’s smile slowly fades and the princess sees one of his hands twitch slightly towards her, as if he is struggling with himself whether to touch her or not. “Why did you leave?” He finally asks, voice a little lower than before.

His eyebrows are knitted together and his face looks somewhat troubled, in a way that makes it almost physically painful to deny him the answer. But she won’t tell him, so she shifts her head, positioning her forehead in her knees so that she doesn’t have to look at him.

Elia swallows, searching her mind for the right words, but there are none.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened but,” he speaks again and she feels his hand settling on top of hers, between them, “I’m here.”

The princess brings her head up to stare at him again, “I want to, I just…” And it’s true, and she has to make a huge effort to remember why, for his touch on her skin has fogged her mind. “I can’t now.”

His gaze is almost pained, as if it hurt him to leave her alone with her burdens. She holds it, however, in a way of asserting how certain and strong she is, despite how much his eyes burn through hers right into her soul. He takes a moment before speaking again, nodding shortly, “alright.”

Lord Bertrand massages each one of his temples with two fingers with his eyes closed, trying to make his headache go away. When the car stops, he barely acknowledges the “good evening” his driver wishes him, jumping out of the car in a hurry to finally have a good bath and then sleep. He didn’t really need a car, for Thorngate Castle is hardly ten minutes by foot away from Ramsford Castle, but Bertrand isn’t one to walk as if he were a youngster.

Climbing up the stairs, he wills his mind to stop worrying with problems he cannot solve - at least for today - and, especially, wondering what consequences will come upon them all if Sapphire isn’t found soon. It’s been long years since he held a close relationship with his cousin, yet he can’t help but worry about her wellbeing. Of course, Bertrand will not show this weakness, instead he can very well put on the façade that his concern is only for the fate of his kingdom. Besides, his brother is mournful enough for both of them.

Upon remembering his brother, the older man makes his way to Max’s chambers, meaning to check how the tasks he left for him in the morning went. Bertrand usually sticks to his manners, but he doesn’t have enough patience for it tonight, and definitely not with Max. Therefore, he simply barges in through his brother’s doors, in time to see him standing by an open bag, already filled with clothes and some other belongings.

Bertrand’s expression turns confused, “where are you going?”

The younger man turns to him, a bitter look in his eyes, not unlike the one he has ever since his parents died, but this one just looks… defeated. “Away,” he snarls.

“What does that even mean, Maxwell?” Bertrand runs a hand through his face, “It’s certainly too late and it’s been a hard day, so if you could not pull one of your pranks--”

“I’m not a child!” Max interrupts, almost yelling.

It leaves Bertrand brother gaping, thinking for sure something must have snapped inside his younger brother, for he has never in his life spoken with such rage and firmness.

“And you needn’t worry,” Max continues, in a calmer tone, even though his face remains in a scowl, as he turns his attention back to the bag on the floor and begins tying it closed, “I won’t be bothering you or smearing our family’s reputation.”

Bertrand just stands there, pathetically so, while his brother puts the bag in his shoulders, brushes past him in the door and proceeds down the stairs.

The front door shutting startles him, bringing him out of his stupor, and before he knows he is running - the Lord Bertrand running, and he is glad there’s no one but a servant to see it - down the stairs and out the front doors.

“Wait!” He calls when he sees Max struggling to place his bag inside a car outside, aided by the driver, his voice above the appropriate volume, “Maxwell! Wait!”

He stops in a halt beside the car, breathing hard and placing a hand in his chest in an attempt to dull the ache in his lungs.

Max turns to him, “yes?” He’s got the same cold, bitter tone from before.

“Are you leaving? Where to? Why?”

The younger man’s expression softens a little. “Sorry, brother. I made up my mind. There’s nothing for me here.”

Bertrand still doesn’t understand. “Is this about Sophie?”

Max sighs, shaking his head. “You don’t get it. It’s not just Sophie, it’s mum and dad, it’s Leo, Sav, and even Drake now. They’re all gone!

“You have me!” Bertrand yells, not knowing where this came from. But, as he finishes saying it he realizes… it’s true. He does want Max to be with him.

“You have your duties and your council. I won’t drag you backwards anymore.” With a last, somewhat sorrowful glance, the younger brother gets in the car and shuts the door.

It feels like being slapped in the face. Before he can even say anything, the car starts to pull away. “Max!” He screams after the car, pitifully hoping it would turn back around. “Max!”

A week has passed, and Drake’s been nothing but understanding. Elia would never have guessed, in a million lifetimes, that the suspicious and stubborn boy she used to be friends with would give her space instead of pressing her to tell him everything. She doesn’t think he would act this way before he knew she is Elia. The notion of it brings a painful twinge to her heart. Drake is actively choosing to trust her, and yet she won’t do the same for him.

Which is not to say their relationship hasn’t changed. They exchange smiles often, talk more - sometimes even about people they both used to know - and of course, tease each other all the time. It's one of the times like these - when they’ve just eaten and are getting ready to resume travel, talking casually - when he asks, “have you been wandering for long?”

It catches the princess by surprise, because in this moment, in the softness of early morning, she’s let her guard down. A heavy weight settles in her gut again, yet she can’t tell if it’s from guilt or another, more primal feeling that climbs up her throat and threatens to spill from her mouth - betrayal. It causes her eyes to go wide, looking into his for ulterior motives, any hidden wickedness to show how he’s been out to get her this whole time, but the only thing she can find there is care.

He must have noticed her starting to retreat back into herself, for with one step he is close, so close to her and his hand finds hers. “Elia…” His eyes search hers, in a desperate and silent plead. “I don’t know what happened,” he uses his other hand to brush a strand of light-brown hair behind her ear and cups the exposed skin of her cheek, “but you can tell me.”

Her mind screams at her to flee, to not give in to the warm feeling spreading from where his hands touch her. For a second, she listens to it, pressing her free hand to his chest in order to push him away, but, before she can realize it, something switches inside of her and she uses no force, instead just rests her hand above his heart.

Standing close, like this, she has to bend her head up to look at him, his gaze soft and bare just inches away. Elia notes the distinctive movement of him reaching down, incredibly slowly, and she doesn’t really have to think to know what happens next. His lips are inviting, so is all of him, yet in a flash of better judgement she holds back.

“You’re right,” it comes out in a whisper since their faces are less than a breath apart.

Drake knits his eyebrows and she takes it as an opportunity to leave his embrace. Elia takes a deep breath before continuing, “I have to show you something.”

She can’t be sure whether she’s completely out of her mind or simply making a bold move. A leap of faith, like people from before would say. She has to tell Drake or she’ll go insane, she tells herself to soothe her nerves while she fetches the Device from the inside of her bag. The children watch, apprehensive and without saying a word. Maybe she is, indeed, crazy.

When she places the heavy yet compact mechanism, carefully, in the ground, Drake stares at it for a while, looking as concerned as the kids, before finally asking, “what is this?” His eyes are not soft like moments ago, they are straight back to being the cold suspicious ones he had when they first met at the abandoned building.

Elia swallows, summoning up all the courage within her. “This is a device meant for cleaning the poisoned water in Cordonia,” she explains, voice deadpan.

Drake’s expression turns even more perturbed, “and what are you doing with it?” He looks a little scared of the thing, and Elia does not miss his hand going to the hilt of his sword.

“I…” she says carefully, “I built it.” She emphasizes the word on purpose, so he can truly understand. She may be a coward for not speaking the plain truth already, but she holds his gaze throughout the seconds it took him to grasp what she just said.

“You…” he mumbles, and Elia recognizes bewilderment turning briefly into hurt before his expression hardens again. Without saying a word, he unsheathes his sword, causing her to panic a little.

“Drake, this is not a weapon,” the princess holds her hands in front of her, trying to make him listen.

He stares at her then, and there’s a fire in his eyes she has never seen before, so intense that Elia thinks he may rip her head off her body just by looking at her.

“Are you the Builder?” He asks, voice stern but somewhat composed.

“Drake--”

“Answer me!” He almost shouts, and the princess doesn’t miss the littlest of trembles in the man’s hand while holding the sword.

She gathers up her courage. It’s not as if she has much of a choice now, “I was," she chose her words carefully.

“Give me one good reason for me not to end your life right now.” His voice is almost bitter, sword pointed at her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jonah stepping ahead, hand reaching for the hilt of his own sword.

“Jonah, stay back,” she orders. He opens his mouth to protest, but she doesn’t let him speak, “stay with Nora and Elliot. They need you.”

The boy reluctantly steps back then.

The princess has to take some quick breaths to keep her calm, but she is determined to get to the bottom of this. She started it, right? She’s imagined this scenario in her head, multiple times now, and Drake reacting like this is perfectly predictable. Only the hard part begins now.

“My name. My whole name,” she searches his eyes to make sure he is listening, “is Sapphire Aurelia.”

Realization downs upon him when he recognizes the name. He chuckles is disbelief. “Right… you’re the Promised Princess,” he speaks in a sarcastic tone.

“It’s true!”

The fire in his eyes seem to fade a little, giving way to something else… disappointment. “I trusted you, Elia. I let myself be vulnerable around you and--” he stops himself, shaking his head, “I never should have.” And just like that, the fire is back, and he steps a little closer, flawlessly sharpened blade reflecting the sunlight in a threatening gleam.

Although, Elia is not afraid, at least not of being killed. “I’m telling the truth and I’m going to prove it to you.”

He could call her bluff… but Elia sees the hesitation in his eyes even before he speaks, “how?”

Well, there is the problem of the lack of physical proof, so she proposes the only thing she can, “ask me anything! Something only Princess Sapphire would know.”

He chuckles again, shaking his head. “This means nothing.”

Elia did not foresee a moment such as this would become her newest mini-existential crisis. What makes her the Promised Princess? What makes her who she is? The prophecy may say it’s her blood, and her time of birth, and such things, but she lived in hiding for so long it would not surprise her if she came home and there was an impostor in her place. No one would know, she’s certain. So no, this is not it. What makes her the one and only Sapphire Aurelia, the Promised Princess of the Last Prophecy, true and irreplaceable if not for what she knows and what she has lived? No one can take that from her. “This means everything.”

He seems to read the certainty in her expression, because it doesn’t take long for him to decide. “Fine.” He takes a breath and straightens himself, lowering his sword a little.

She knows it’s a small victory, and her lips threaten to pull back in a small smile, yet she holds it back, not wanting to push her luck with Drake.

“Where could Liam always find you?”

It takes her by surprise, for she wasn’t expecting the interrogation to start right away. It’s an easy one, at least, “the library.”

“What game did you love playing so much you inserted you and your friends in it?” Despite Drake’s impassive tone, Elia can’t hold back her smile now. She can’t help it, she’s too fond of the memory and Drake’s wording is amusing.

“Chess.”

“What piece were you?”

“The knight.”

“And Liam?”

“The rook.” She’s impressed. Drake doesn’t even flinch nor takes time thinking of the next question. Elia wonders if he ever really interrogated someone. He must have. And he knows so many details. In her mind, she tries to picture Liam telling Drake about his day and it baffles her how much Drake kept in his mind, even what must surely be boring details for an outsider. “Did Liam tell you all of this?”

“I’m asking the questions.”He did not seem amused by her distraction. “When did you find out about the undercroft?”

She couldn’t possibly forget that day. “Right after mine and Liam’s engagement party.”

He nodded his head, as if he’s at the brink of reaching a verdict.“When did you and Liam first have sex?”

Ah, a trick question. Or - no, Liam wouldn’t have lied to his best friend, would he? “We didn’t.”

Drake purses his lips and Elia can almost burst from the anticipation of not knowing what’s in his mind.

After a moment, he nods to himself, “very well, Princess.”

Elia’s brows shoot up at his words, half of her optimistic about him believing in her, and the other half apprehensive because his threatening posture still hasn’t changed.

She should have seen it coming, she really did, but for some reason, Drake’s next words catch her flabbergasted, as he brings his sword up again and towards her, “gather your things, you’re coming back with me.”

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megalony · 5 years

Text

Detox- Part 6

Another part to my latest Roger Taylor series which I hope everyone is enjoying. There will only be one or two more parts to this series.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac

Series taglist: @killerqueenbucky @the-ridge-farm-raven

Warning: Mentions of drug abuse/ addiction.

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A sudden, overwhelming urge to cry took over Roger as he tried hard not to slam his hand down on the desk situated in front of him. He tried to contain the screams, the shouts and the sobs wrong breaking free from his lungs that were swelling like balloons filled with too much air. Roger stayed as stiff as stone in his seat, allowing his body to very vaguely tremble like he was beginning to feel the cold seeping into his bones.

The muscles of his neck began to seize up and stiffen, but they allowed Roger's head to dip to the right. An action that looked very mechanical as if he were a robot instead of a person. But if Roger were a robot, then he would have no use or need to be sitting in the doctor's office because he would be in no sense of pain.

"What can you do?" Roger didn't bother to try and hide the snark tone to his voice as he emphasised the would 'can'.

He was here for help, he was here to get medical attention and for once he was here of his own will. He had not been wheeled in on a stretcher following a car accident that almost left him paralysed. He was not being dragged here by concerned friends. He was here by his own admission because he needed help and he was not leaving until he was satisfied with the treatment he got or would proceed to get in the very near future. Roger was not that surprised that he seemed to be told no for what felt like the hundredth time. No one took him seriously until it was either too late or until they had made him suffer for longer than necessary.

"Mr Taylor, you're on strong painkillers-"

"Please don't patronise me. I'm not stupid, I fully understand what you gave me is the next level up from that mild shit you tried before but don't you see that it isn't working? You have to realise that this isn't helping me, you tried before and I went to heroin, if you don't up the meds now or give me some kind of treatment I'll have to turn to something else. Now you've lectured me about drugs but you fail to help me, what am I meant to do?"

Roger was indeed not stupid, nor was he either not listening or not present with the treatment and procedures they had done before. Roger had been given painkillers that were like giving a person one shoe to run a marathon. He had abandoned those drugs and turned to heroin which had resulted in the doctors chiding him for that but they failed to see why. If they didn't help then they couldn't expect Roger to carry on like this. They had given him something else and it clearly wasn't working. If they failed this time around Roger would go back to heroin or a different drug and try his luck with that.

"My point is, you've taken heroin for months, that's an addictive drug that you now can't tolerate. If I prescribe you something stronger than tramadol, it will be as strong as heroin and although that will help with your pain it could ruin your body because you might not be able to take it." The doctor had a duty of care to Roger that and giving him something that could harm him or even kill him was not in that duty.

If Roger had the next level it would feel the same as heroin and if his body mistook it for heroin or simply couldn't handle the strength then he could damage his liver, his stomach or his brain and he could shut down. Tramadol was strong but it wasn't at a dangerous level for Roger to take no a long basis. The next drug up wouldn't be safe for a long period of time.

Tears prickled in the corners of Roger's eyes as his hands slowly clamped around the wooden armrests of the chair he was in. Forcing his weight onto his hands so he could push himself to sit straighter. A hiss leaving his lips at the twinge in his back from the movement. If he was like this now after sitting still for ten minutes he was never getting through the next concert tomorrow. That was why he was here. The last concert had gone down a storm but it took a strong toll on Roger physically and mentally which he didn't want to push himself through again.

He had felt distorted and queasy halfway through the set and when they finished Roger had to get someone to drive him to the hotel so he could go to bed there and then. He had laid off the tramadol until the next day and bore the pain that caused because he had to level out the amount in his system. Even in the morning, his body hadn't recovered from the effects of taking a few too many pills. Roger wasn't doing that again tomorrow.

"Is that it? I stay on this for the rest of my life then?" He couldn't help the way his voice sounded weakened or the sense of fear that was very much evident in his tone.

This was not the life Roger wanted and it was not one that he would be able to go through for much longer. If they hadn't of detoxed him then he could have continued with his drug habit that made life bearable. But then again, the muscle may have pressed further into his back and caused yet more problems heroin simply wouldn't be able to mask. But they were running out of options and Roger was growing increasingly desperate now.

Life before was so easy, life was like what most other people knew it to be.

Life wasn't waking up in the morning and reaching for a bottle of pills because he could already feel the pain coming back again. Life wasn't moving carefully and calculating simple movements to make sure it wouldn't aggravate his back. It wasn't feeling utter agony creeping over the painkillers that were meant to help. Roger was not living a life where every day was the same as the one before, a routine of drugs, calming breaths and floods of tears in attempts to get through life because pain was now his friend holding his hand as he walked through each day.

If this was what life was going to be like, then sadly Roger would not continue with it.

"There are other options. We could start you on medication to block signals to the nerves in your back, or try injections into your spine. An operation could be done to remove the torn muscle in your back but I'm afraid for medication waiting is necessary until your body is more recovered from the detox."

Each word that passed from the doctor's lips seemed to numb Roger's brain to the point he didn't know what to do or what to think anymore. Medications, so many medications that he didn't want nor would he need if they simply risked his life and gave him what he was here for. Roger would put himself on the line, he would stand in front of the train and take the medication with the risks because he was desperate and had the added measure of not caring for his quality of life if they denied him this.

Blocking signals in his back was risky, Roger knew that. They could paralyse him or hit the wrong nerve or it could do nothing at all. Injections into his spine would batter and bruise and could do nothing if it wasn't actually his spine that was the problem.

But Roger was not removing the muscle from his back. That would give more pain than he was already in because it would be blocking off the blood supply to that certain muscle, bypassing the nerves surrounding it and it would make mobility harder. Each muscle in his back was there to help mobility, taking one away would just make Roger's life a poorer quality than it was now and he wasn't here for that. If Roger had a worse sense of life than he did now he would be condemning himself to a death sentence.

His hand found its way to rub his throbbing temple as his eyes closed, his head leaning back against the chair as he tried to process the words but it wasn't making any sense to him at all. He understood what was being said but he couldn't seem to process it into his head.

"How about I make a consultation appointment for first thing Monday morning? We can talk over your options and get something sorted straight away." The doctor himself was growing increasingly nervous because he saw how Roger was beginning to get volatile. He was close to breaking and the doctor didn't want that to happen, nor did he want to be around if it did. The best thing was to let Roger think over his options and have him come back with a clear head to decide what he wanted to do next.

"I... yes, do that but I've got a concert tomorrow." Roger gripped the edge of the desk in front of him so he could pull himself up into a straighter sitting position. Shuffling to the edge of the chair so he could rest his arms on the desk in order to try and convey his message. This doctor was a little easier than the others, he seemed to want to help Roger instead of dismissing him as either annoying or a hypercondriact. "I'm a drummer who can't play the drums for half an hour without pain. Can you give me morphine? Just a one-off I know it's an option. Just an injection tomorrow before the show so I can play, please?"

Roger knew what he was asking and he knew how his words were clearly affecting the doctor. An injection of morphine was something that could be prescribed for Roger but it was a one-off. They couldn't keep having him come in and giving him injections every day so he could get through the day. Nor could they do this more than once in a short period of time in case he relied on it too much or started to feel addicted and with his history that was a liability. But Roger needed something.

It was Friday, he had to get through the weekend on tramadol and then go through however many days after Monday until he got whatever treatment they decided on. A concert was not going to help it was going to cripple him but he couldn't cancel now and he needed to do this. He needed that sense of normality and he needed something to get him through that.

"Morphine's an addictive drug and you have an addiction history, this isn't a solution Mr Taylor-"

"I know, I know. Please, it's a viable one-off option. Just to get me through the show or I'll have to take more tramadol and we both know I shouldn't be doing that." Roger leaned forward, his eyes almost watering as he begged with every fibre of his being to have this small sense of relief for a few measly hours.

He wasn't asking for much, not really. He was asking for one night of being pain-free which compared to how his life had been up to now and how it would seem to be for the foreseeable future, this was a second compared to the rest of his life. He wanted one injection to calm him down and make him pain-free to get him through a concert. He wouldn't come back demanding another injection the next day or two days later or any days following. He wouldn't get hooked on one injection and he wouldn't do anything wrong. No rules would be broken by the doctor prescribing a patient with chronic pain an injection of morphine.

"Come back tomorrow at four, but you can only have one injection you won't be permitted any more after that."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A shiver ran down (Y/n)'s spine at the way Roger's eyes pierced her own with such fever. A mix of emotions swirling in his eyes that she tried so hard to work out, finding love, admiration, but also some sort of sorrow that she couldn't quite place. There was an eagerness, a sense of urgency to his eyes as if he were trying to convey every sentence in his head and emotion in his heart to her as if he was running out of time to talk to her.

"You know I love the bones of you, right?" Roger finally spoke. His words seemed like they were meant to be rushed, meant to be spoken between hurried kisses or before one of them departed for a train or as if it was the last time they would see one another. But instead, his voice was quiet, it was slow and tranquil like the calmest river (Y/n) had ever come across.

"Of course... Rog, what's wrong?" (Y/n) felt a wave of anxiety rushing through her at the contrast in Roger's words, what he said and how he said them. He didn't look as if he had said something worrying or something that was usually followed by a 'but...' He looked as if he had simply told her he loves her without any reasoning behind it but she knew there was something behind his sudden words. Even the way he was holding her seemed to be different. He was acting as if she was a glass ornament that he was trying so hard to hold delicately so he didn't break her. His hands held her hips but his touch was so light that she could hardly feel it. His thumbs brushed over her exposed skin as he smiled so calmly, so normally that it was unnerving.

"I have to have more treatment to manage the pain but whatever I choose is going to hurt and I'm already tempted to take drugs instead... you have to know that I love you no matter what. I won't be easy to be around when treatment starts."

(Y/n) had to know now that no matter what Roger said or did, it wouldn't change how he felt about her and it wouldn't blind him from those feelings. He loved every inch of (Y/n) but if he started a new treatment, he wouldn't be in the best frame of mind to remind her that he loved her. His words had been fueled by anger and hatred and sorrow and pain in the hospital after he detoxed. Roger could only imagine what he would be like if he chose any one of those treatments suggested to him earlier today.

His mind was analysing every thought that ran through his head and it posed one question he couldn't stop thinking about.

Was that the only reason he was telling (Y/n) now rather than later, that he loved her?

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger x reader #imagine #queen band #freddie mercury #john deacon #Brian May #detox

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migleefulmoments · 5 years

Text

Debunking The ccResponse to my Proof post

CC Nonsense is so easy to debunk.

This is their response to me calling them out for using manips as “proof” that cc was and is real.

A group of grown adult women thought THIS was irrefutable and such good evidence that it was a perfect response to shut me down. In fact, they comment about the fun they are having several times. I’m dumbfounded honestly by the ridiculous things they hold up as proof. It’s so stupid.

ajw720

gifs found here (x)

flowersintheattic254

And it’s D who is the one looking blissfully happy. He mirrors C’s movements so much here and his expression is someone who is

BESOTTED

C is the focus of that. This exists and can’t be explained away.

Let’s start with my debunk post from yesterday. If you haven’t read it you can read it (X). Essentially, what we learned is that this photo

which is one of their most treasured “proof” pics is a manip.

It is super long so under a cut

I have no idea why Abby came back at me with the specific gif set above and this photo because they still prove nothing. Both men are known for being funny in interviews and that is exactly what is happening here but slow it down, clip out a 1-2 second piece, loop it in a gif and suddenly the moment because so much more than it ever was. Watch the entire video and the moment isn’t special at all. Chris always answers to get a laugh-hence “oh God” and “I was scared shitless”. I don’t know why being scared shitless during his first sex scene is proof of cc. Cory spoke about being terrified as well. Darren’s response is very serious-100% theater major. He gives a long answer, thoughtful answer and then turns on the charm at the end, going for a laugh to break the tension. He leans forward Chris for less than a second as you can see from my screen grabs all taken at 3:17

and says “what do you think Chris?” The intimacy- and Flower’s “BESOTTED” moment- that the cc fandom has long romanticized in this interview is simply not there when you watch the video played at regular speed and in real time.

youtube

Darren isn’t mirroring Chris’s movements- in fact he is quite serious when answering the question and he doesn’t seem to be all that aware of Chris beside him until he gets to the end of the question. As you can see in my screen grabs above, he doesn’t look blissfully happy or besotted until the last two screen grab when he purposefully makes a cheesy smile at Chris and says “what you think Chris?”. That was 1/2 a second in real time. The cc fandom and @flowersintheattic254 have spent 4 years purposefully NOT watching the video, instead realying entirely on a manip and a handful of gifs along with their fabricated version of what is going on on stage. They are literally gaslighting themselves.

leka-1998

Hahahaha

They want to believe this is darren - I can’t help them. But if THIS is your proof, you are in sad shape. Especially when you are putting that against

You have a headless photo taken 6 years ago as your only non-Glee proof. That is pretty sad. Can you imagine a prosecutor taking that to court. “Yes, your honor, this photo of a tiny part of a man’s chin, his head cut out of frame and most of his body obscured by a cat is my proof that Chris and Darren are in a relationship”. Abby should know that this is proof of absolutely nothing. In fact, if you would listen to Chris with your ears instead of your eyes- you would know this is Will: Chris has confirmed Will is his boyfriend in several interviews. Holding this photographed chin portion up to Will’s chin, it is easy to see that it could be him. That along with Chris acknowledging Will is his boyfriend and the many photos we have of them going about their lives as a couple, his outright denial of any romantic relationship with Darren and the fact that Darren identifies as straight, the evidence adds up to it being Will in the photo.

I know you want it to be Darren, but assessing evidence isn’t about what you want to find, it is about looking objectively at the evidence and putting it all together in context. You can’t take an isolated moment, slowed down and gif’d to within an inch of it’s life and call that proof.

Evidence that supports Will as Chris’s boyfriend- Will attended Hannah’s graduation and was with Chris for his mom’s funeral whereas Darren was seen eating lunch with friends in LA.

Photos where they do boyfriend things.

All of the credible evidence leads to the photo is Will. You claiming it is Darren simply because you desperately want it to be isn’t “credible evidence”, it’s simply the foolish, baseless claims of a few strangers who believe their fantasy is more important than the reality of the people involved. In order to believe it is Darren, you have to dismiss all the overwhelming credible evidence that says it is Will.

Also real

I have NO idea why these are considered “also real”. They are both gifs cut from videos produced for Glee Promotion. These were filmed as part of Chris and Darren’s job responsibilities. Chris actually refused to do The Wedding interview and had to be forced to do it.

I have no idea how you can listen to The Wedding interview. and come away feeling like it was cc positive. It is an indication of how deluded you are and how bad you are at HEARING with your ears. In fact, you once again are “listening with your eyes” by screen capping it to turn it into a gif so you can fixate on 1/2 a second of content and pretend it represents the entire interview. When I first saw the interview, I was stunned at how anti-cc the it was. The entire interview is about how bad overzealous Kragen fans are-”the crazies” and how neither man wants to get your attention so they just stay off social media.

This is a gif of Darren cracking up is when Chris suggests future-Kurt should be played by Marcia Gay Harden. It’s really funny and Darren laughs-so what? The video is supposed to fun- he’s doing his job.

Here we have Chris’s closed off- his arms wrapped tightly around himself to protect himself. Darren might be boisterly laughing but Chris isn’t. He’s barely giving anything. But regardless of what is really being shown here- - these videos were filmed 5 or 6 years ago as part of Chris and Darren’s work...what the hell do they prove related to cc? Absolutely nothing. They prove that both men did the job they were paid to do. They also prove you guys insist on using gifs to prove your fantasy because they are the best way to manipulate reality into showing what you want to see.

Look at Naya cracking up at Darren, does this prove she loves him? NO, of course not- just like Darren laughing in a PR video he was paid to make doesn't’ prove he loves Chris.

Watch the unaltered video for a real perspective.

vimeo

ajw720

@leka-1998 Apparently she is CONVINCED too much love, and all of the other headless images on C’s IG are just the PA. Apparently C just likes to cut off his head for shits and giggles!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am having way too much fun with this.(Me too, it’s fun explaining “credible evidence” to a lawyer who doesn’t understand it. When are you going to provide evidence that isn’t simple to discredit? I keep waiting for this to get harder but so far it’s utter nonsense.)

Umm...”all the other headless images” aren’t there like 2 other headless images? No, I don’t think Chris cuts them off for “shits and giggles”, I think he cuts them off because cc assholes come on his social media and terrorize him when he posts Will’s face- especially back during Glee days- so he tamed it down so you hags would not bother him. This isn’t rocket science here, it’s pretty simple. If you listen to Chris- of course you don’t-but if you did, you would see that your “proof” doesn’t align with what Chris says. Instead you “listen with your eyes” and disregard his pleas to stop shipping him with Darren.

All of your evidence is in the form of a screen grab or a gif, have you ever wondered why that is? Has it ever occurred to you that none of your evidence comes from Chris or Darren’s mouth? In fact, you go to great lengths to prove what they say is not what they mean. It’s a sick game you play, but I suppose you know that which is why the “#1 rule of fandom is DO NOT involve the players”

cc-still-going-strong

I will admit it is all history if they can give me ONE photo he looks at her like

THIS

Again, so weird that you used more Klaine screen caps as your evidence. It’s like you don’t understand that Klaine is different from Chris and Darren.

I have no clue why you think these are excellent examples of anything but get ready to admit it is all history, my friend. Your photos are literally screen grabs from PR videos, smh. I posted a bunch of responses to this challenge- you can see them: besotted (X), kisses (X), Wedding (X), Reception (X), Random (X), Video 1 (X), 2 (X), 3 (X) 4(X) Romantic 1 (X), 2

Some of the photos I included:

THIS is a photo of a BESOTTED Couple!!!!!

This is also a photo of Darren BESOTTED.

flowersintheattic254 I want to play some more!!!!!! (OH Me Too, THIS IS TOO EASY) Can Michy rewrite D adding C to his lines on C’s birthday. Was that dubbed Michy and created by us.

I’ve never understood why you believe this joke is proof of cc? It’s a hilarious joke, but it’s really benign and certainly not indicative that they are lovers. They are former coworkers and this was right after Glee ended, so the joke is funny and timely. Today the joke would probably fall flat except within the fandom. Here you are again LiSTENING WITH YOUR EYES as you refuse to acknowledge both that Chris had named Will as his boyfriend and Darren had named Mia by the time this joke was told. Now, 4 years later Darren is married to Mia so IDK why this is still so exciting for you guys. Please explain to me why you believe this joke is proof of riot material...why is it something to get excited about other than it’s clever and funny? Again you have to take it out of context of all other evidence about their personal lives, ignore their outright denials they are couple, ignore Darren’s claims he is straight, believe he is lying every time he speaks about his sexuality, fabricate an entire backstory to the joke and believe it is as wink wink nod nod to fandom that they are a couple. It’s just a joke- the whole show was full of them. To me, your delight with this has always reeked of desperation...and don’t kid yourself, after Darren told this joke every night, he went home with Mia.

Or maybe some more glee panel. Look at D here.

Or shock horror, which bastard manipulated their legs to look like they were together?!!😮

I love BTS pics that show how close and relaxed they are with each other Michy.

He’s laughing at a joke here...I don’t get your delight. Again- believing this is special requires you to disregard everything Darren and Chris have said about their lives and to belief this one old gif supercedes the thousands of photos we have seen that disprove cc is viable. But even if you weren’t sure back when this gif was new, now we know that Darren is married to Mia and Chris has published Will’s face on his social media many times. In light of new information, your original theories about what these gifs show have been proven wrong and you need to amend your theories. Or at least that is what a reasonable, intelligent person who cares about the truth would do. History would indicate that you are incapable of amending your theories when new information comes to light and that you only care about your fantasy- the truth is inconsequential to you. History also indicates your “proof” is always taken as an isolated event because each time you are forced to ignore the mountain of evidence that disproves your theory.

Yes, they are absolutely standing right next to one another but so what? This pic doesn’t prove they are in a relationship. If being next to some proves a relationship then Abby get married every time she rides the subway. They are coworkers on set- getting ready to film a scene together. This is a shot of their legs taken when they were standing around Zac getting directions when they first arrived. Once again, you manipulated a photo to make it look like something it isn’t. But that is always how you “prove” cc is real- you lie and manipulate. Darren hasn’t even been in hair and make-up yet, this very early in the day.

ajw720

@flowersintheattic254 the h/edwig joke has been caught on video, but ofc, obviously we fucked with the audio.

Nobody thinks you fucked with the audio you twit. Reasonable adults simply don’t think a benign joke told on stage is scandalous or indicates they are lovers.

Just adding a few more special, genuine moments of D absolutely adoring his man, i mean co-worker he hates

I have never said they hate each other so you need to get someone else to debunk that. In fact, I don’t think I have ever heard anyone except the cc fandom claim they hate one another. It’s part of only seeing “always” and “never”.

According to the cc lexicon- Chris and Darren are married or at least live together and have for several years and Darren is under an onerous contract that forbids him from letting the world know he is gay AND that he is in love with Chris Colfer. In fact they are forbidden from interacting in public and their characters were broken up in season 4 in order to break them up in real life. So you are suggesting that Darren is sooooooo in love that he just cannot stop staring at the man he lives with for the 4 minutes he is on stage with all eyes on them even though he could lose everything under the contract? Cuz that seems like a shitload of risk for simply looking at Chris in a crowded room. According to your logic, Jenna is staring at Darren. I have no clue what he is looking at. He is certainly looking in Chris’s direction but given all the information we have- Darren was dating Mia-now he is married to her, Chris was living with Will-still is, Chris and Darren haven’t spoken in 4 years at least cubically and they both denied they were a couple many times, I can say that the evidence does not support your claim that he is looking lovingly at Chris because they are passionate lovers and he just can’t help himself. I just posted a bunch of pics of Darren looking very lovingly at Mia while also holding her close and smiling- your 2-second gif vs all the evidence proving he is in a real relationship- married- with Mia- it doesn’t come close to comparing. Google “Darren Criss and Mia Swier” and scroll for an hour- you see thousands of photos of them looking very much like a loving couple. Your handful of 4-9 year old gifs are pitiful and don’t prove anything except Chris and Darren were coworkers on a TV show where they played boyfriends.

I’m not going to waste my time debunking these. They are literally the same as the above gifs- ALL onset Glee-in fact the top two are from more Glee promo videos in the same vein as the ones above. Still -they prove nothing.

And of course the time C looked at D look he was the entire world

Again a slowed down gif from set. Do you see the patten of manipulation here? I wouldn’t say he looked at him like he was the entire world, It looks ot me like Chris looks up at him as Darren speaks to him and then he looks down. You slowed it down to make it more dramatic. It’s a very effective technique to change the mood- TV shows and movies do it all the time.

But yep all we have is a few IG likes, that is correct Michy, that is all we got.

I honestly have NO clue what you are insinuating here.

Aw remember all those behind the scenes of them having fun together too. Guess these never happened either Michy.

Oh we are back to your favorite Bryant Park. They are coworkers killing time on. set. I don’t know why you believe this is so interesting. Yes, they are really cute but Newsflash: coworkers can have fun and joke around together and not be lovers. They had to kill hours before filming started. In fact they had to kill a lot of hours that day. They were on set for 11 hours and filmed a tiny fraction of that time. Once again, you have to take this out of context of all the other CREDIBLE evidence of Miarren and Chill, as well as both men denying a relationship and Darren is straight in order to believe this is something exciting.

You showed me 1 pic that wasn’t on set. That should tell you everything. Honestly, I know you fully believe your own nonsense and you can’t understand how everyone else isn’t buying into it. But really, I should just respond to this with LOLOLOLOLOL because your evidence is so pathetic and absurd it is laughable. How a grown women can believe that a handful of 4-9 year old gifs representing 1 or 2 second taken from promo videos made for Glee-all slowed down for dramatic effect- can add up to solid proof of a secret relationship is mind boggling. But it’s even worse because you are a lawyer -you know that evidence isn’t something taken out of context. You know that evidence is looked in its entirety and that includes what Darren and Chris testify about their own relationships.

ajw720

remember that time D called C the life of the party on National TV?

Remember the time Darren was asked “Do you take Mia to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love, honor and cherish til death do you part” and he said “I Do” ? That trumps your “life of the party” comment. Why do you think calling a coworker “the life of the party” is indicates love? He also said “I’m straight” and that he wasn’t in a relationships with Chris- but you discount that because you don’t want to hear it -even though he has repeated those comments many times. Nope this is about you latching on to anything you can. It’s really embarrassing

Chris may be the life of the party but he said this about Mia on TV- to a much bigger audience :

I know you do not understand symbolism and you insist on taking this beautiful sentiment literally-and tying it back to Cunanan- so it makes no sense to you, but it is incredibly romantic. It’s a very beautiful, loving sentiment for one’s life partner.

@ajw720, @flowersintheattic254, @leka-1998

#CC #ccer #crisscolfer #darrencriss #cc fandom #mia swier #Chris colfer #debunking CC lies #So much nonsense #so many gifs #so much glee PR

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razieltwelve · 5 years

Text

Test (Final Rose AU Snippet)

Note: This is set in the Tifa/Lightning/Fang/Summer AU. In this AU, Ruby is Summer and Lightning’s kid.

X X X

“Care for a match?”

Blake paused midway through one of her stretches. The sparring areas were perhaps the most popular parts of Beacons’ ample training facilities. There was very little the students enjoyed more than testing themselves against each other. She had arrived a short time ago in hopes of seeing just how she compared to some of her new classmates. However, she had not expected her first challenger to be someone quite so famous.

Then again Ruby had warned her to be on the lookout for her big sister. What had Ruby’s exact words been again? Ah yes. Apparently, her sister could occasionally be an overprotective psycho who just happened to have arguably the most brokenly powerful Semblance in the world.

Averi had, it seemed, already pummelled Yang in the past, so further pummelling was unnecessary, at least until Yang put the moves on Ruby, which, from the looks of things, might not be that far away. Weiss, though, was due for a pummelling, but the heiress had evidently taken Ruby’s warning to heart and had made herself temporarily scarce. That left only one legitimate target for Averia’s pummelling: Blake.

“Uh… sure.” Blake finished her stretch. She might as well get this over with. “Any rules?”

Averia walked calmly into the middle of the sparring field without bothering to acknowledge all of the attention they were already getting. “Until Aura depletion is acceptable.”

“Semblances?” Blake asked.

“By all means use yours,” Averia replied. “I’ve been warned to keep unnecessary property damage to a minimum, so any use of mine will be fairly light.”

Blake would almost have been comforted if Ruby hadn’t already explained to her that Saviour had levels and that even level one was basically instant murder mode. “Okay.” She moved into position opposite Averia. “Shall we start?”

Averia inclined her head and drew her weapon with a flick of her wrist. Based on the footage she’d seen, Blake knew she’d have to be wary. The pink-haired girl’s weapon could transform between a sword, a spear, a rifle, and a whip, which made it both extremely flexible and suitable for close quarters and long-range combat. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Blake normally liked to test her opponents with a few feints and tricks to see how quick their reflexes were or how good their fundamentals were. This was not a battle where she could afford to act so lightly. Her posture shifted as she moved into her fighting stance. Despite her desire to remain calm, her pulse quickened. She was one of the youngest members of Menagerie’s National Guard, one of her nation’s most elite fighting forces.

She shouldn't be nervous, but she was. All fighters exuded a sort of pressure. The better someone was at reading an opponent’s abilities, the easier it was to understand how they exerted that pressure. Some people had overwhelming amounts of Aura. Other people had extremely powerful weapons.

Averia had something far more dangerous.

Against the most elite members of the National Guard, Blake had been forced to learn how to read and anticipate the movements of her opponents. It was perhaps the most valuable skill a warrior could possess, and the further ahead someone could read the flow of battle, the more dangerous they were. Blake was confident in her ability to read at least three or four steps ahead. That level of perception already made her far more skilled than almost anyone her age, and it put her in the top echelon of students even at Beacon.

Staring at Averia, she found herself frozen. It wasn’t fear. No. Blake had learned to conquer her fear years ago. Instead, it was understanding. Over the past several moments Blake had made dozens of minute changes to her posture as she considered different angles of attack and all the possible followups. Averia had subtly reacted to all of them in a way that let Blake know that not only had she seen them but she had also anticipated Blake’s followups as well.

How far could Averia read ahead? To her dismay, Blake realised she couldn’t tell. All she knew was that Averia could read much further ahead than she could. Was it five or six moves ahead? No. It was even further than that. She drew in a ragged breath. Had Averia already seen how the entire fight would go? Could she read so far ahead that the outcome had already been determined?

That was impossible. It had to be, right?

Unbidden, something else Ruby had said came to mind.

“Fighting my big sis is awful,” Ruby had grumbled after she trudged back from a sparring match against her sister. “It’s like fighting someone who can see the future.”

Blake’s brows furrowed. She’d dismissed the comment as sibling rivalry. Perhaps she’d been too hasty.

“If you won’t attack,” Averia murmured. “Then I hope you’re ready to defend yourself.”

There was a blur of motion, and Blake barely got Gambol Shroud up in time to block a downward slash from Averia’s weapon. The impact of the strike was almost enough to drive Blake to her knees, but there was no visible sign of effort from the other girl. Instead, the force of the blow was the result of perfect technique combined with effortless Aura reinforcement and control. As Blake shifted to push Averia’s weapon aside, Averia was already in motion.

The pink-haired girl skipped back as the sword became a spear that lanced toward Blake’s suddenly exposed side. The weapon transition was incredibly fast, and Blake jammed the sheath of her weapon down to parry the blow as she lunged forward to swipe at Averia’s side.

It was a mistake.

Averia let Blake divert her spear and used the momentum to lash out with a kick that struck the flat of Blake’s oncoming weapon. The kick knocked the blade out of Blake’s hands, and Averia’s spear became a sword again, the reduced length leaving Blake’s sheath swiping at empty air.

Blake’s eyes widened as Averia’s sword streaked toward her throat. She growled. She wasn’t about to be beaten that easily. She tugged on the ribbon attached to Gambol Shroud, and her blade jerked back toward Averia. To her disbelief, the other girl simply lifted one foot off the ground and kicked the weapon away again as her slash continued its trajectory.

Aura flashed, and Blake found herself tumbling back end over end until she skidded to a stop a dozen yards away. Once again, the sheer force behind the blow was stunning. Shaking her head to clear it, she tightened her hold on the sheath of her weapon as the other half clattered to the ground behind Averia. With a flick of her wrist, the pink-haired girl scooped the weapon off the ground with her sword and tossed it back to Blake.

The implication was obvious: she wanted to continue the match.

Blake’s jaw clenched. Fine. If that was how she wanted to do it, that’s what they’d do. She got back to her feet. She should have used her Semblance right from the start. Averia was too skilled to beat without it. The air beside Blake shimmered and a pair of clones appeared beside her.

Averia tilted her head to one side. “Tangible clones. Interesting.”

“How do you know they’re tangible?” Blake asked.

Averia pointed. “Look at the ground. Their feet are leaving indents in the grass. I also tagged your weapon with some of my Aura when I tossed it back to you. I can feel my Aura on those clones as well. An illusion would probably have been at least slightly disrupted by foreign Aura.”

Blake frowned faintly. Averia didn’t miss a thing, did she? “Well, let’s see how you do against three of me.”

The trio of Blakes launched themselves forward. Sure, her clones might not be as durable as she was, but they could still take a few hits, and their weapons were no joke either. Averia let them approach, seemingly unworried about the sudden increase in numbers.

Moving with seamless coordination, the two clones and the original launched into a whirlwind of blows. Strikes from their blades were intermingled with gunshots and ribbons as they sought to leverage their superior numbers. If they could slow Averia down - or even better entangle her - then they should be able to land a hit.

They might as well have been trying to catch the wind.

Averia ducked and dove through the storm of blows, a flickering shadow of constant movement that seemed to know exactly what Blake was going to do before she could do it. A spear thrust dispelled one clone before the slash of a sword got rid of the other. Blake summoned two more, but they were dispelled almost as quickly as she could create them by the flowing movement of a whip. Running low on Aura, Blake tried to retreat to get some room to come up with a better plan, but Averia was on her before she could get more than a step or two away.

Blake somehow managed to block a cut aimed at her side before a swipe at her shoulder threatened to connect. Only a desperate duck got her safely out of harm’s way, but it was only temporary. A knee caught her in the chin and launched her into the air before a kick sent her tumbling back. Her Aura flickered, and she looked up in time to see Averia’s blade screech to a halt a few inches from her chest.

“That is the match, I think.” Averia paused for a moment, green eyes piercing into Blake’s before she extended one hand. “Good match.”

“Yeah,” Blake murmured quietly. “Good match.” Had Averia continued the last strike, she’d probably be dead.

Anything else Blake was thinking of saying was interrupted by an angry cry as a blur of red cannonballed into Averia.

“AHHHH!” Ruby swung her arms around like a windmill. “Stop picking on my teammate!”

Averia weathered the blows, making no effort to dodge. “Ruby, can you stop hitting me?”

“Only when you stop bullying my teammate.” Ruby continued to swing her arms at Averia while turning to look at Blake. “Are you okay, Blake? She didn’t spear you or anything?”

“Uh… I’m fine. My Aura is a little low, but that’s about it.”

Ruby stopped swinging her arms. “Hmm… so she wasn’t bullying you?”

“We were having a sparring match,” Blake said before adding with an impish smile, “Although I do think she was bullying me a bit too.”

“Gah!” Ruby jabbed one finger at Averia and then grabbed Blake. “No bullying my teammate, big sis!”

“Or what?” Averia drawled.

“I’ll… I’ll…” Ruby looked about furtively. “Or else.”

“…” Averia ruffled Ruby’s hair. “Think of a better threat next time.” Her gaze shifted to Blake. “You’re good, and you use your Semblance well.”

“You still won though.”

Averia shrugged. “I have some ideas about training that could help you. I can tell you’re used to fighting as part of a team.”

Blake’s brows furrowed. That was true. The National Guard typically deployed in small squads. It allowed them to hit harder and to cover each other’s weaknesses. “Yes, and I’m part of a team here too.”

“Being in a team is great, but you could benefit from some more individual combat practice. With your Semblance, any improvements you make could have a huge difference since your clones fight like you do.” Averia glanced at Ruby and then shifted her attention back to Blake. “I’ve been talking with some of the other teams. We’re going to set up a regular practice circuit, so we can all get more practice fighting against a variety of opponents. You guys should join.”

“Sure.” Blake could already see the benefits of that. “We’ll do that.”

Ruby’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“I did, but you were in the middle of inhaling that box of cookies Summer Mom sent. You may not have actually realised what I was saying.”

“Hmm… yeah. That could be it.”

“Anyway,” Averia said. “Your weapon is technically a chain-scythe, right? Although you do use it as a sword and sheath as well.”

Blake nodded.

“Then you should ask our Aunt Vanille for some tips. The chain-scythe is one of the weapons favoured by the Dia. She might prefer the binding rod, but our aunt is very, very, very good with a chain-scythe, and I’m sure you could pick up some new techniques since your style seems to be based more along Mistral lines. The Dia have their own styles, and they’ve got centuries of practice using those against and alongside the Yun.”

“I don’t know the professor that well…” Blake hedged. In truth, Professor Oerba Dia Vanille’s last visit to Menagerie more than a decade ago had been a disaster, with people protesting the fact that she’d married a human instead of a Faunus. The professor undoubtedly knew who Blake was, so there was no telling how she’d react…

“Blake, you’re Ruby’s teammate. For that reason alone our aunt would help you.” Averia turned. “And she’s not the sort of person to hold other people’s mistakes against you.”

“And if that doesn’t work,” Ruby said, throwing one arm over Blake’s shoulder. “We’ll just get Diana to help us badger her until she agrees!”

X X X

Author’s Notes

Well, big sis makes her presence known. In all honesty, Blake did pretty well here. Averia is basically a living chainsaw, and the number of students who have any chance of beating her (even without Saviour) is very, very small. That Blake lasted that long is impressive. Of course, Averia’s challenge is two-fold. She wants to make an impression, but she also wants to help Blake since Blake is Ruby’s teammate. A stronger Blake means a safer and more successful Ruby.

You can find me on fanfiction.net, AO3, and Amazon.

#final rose #fanfiction #averia yun-farron #ruby rose #blake belladonna

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gg-astrology · 5 years

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Hi there❤ Could I get some positivity for venus in virgo please? I've been feeling kinda down cause I feel like I don't express love and affection the way I'm supposed to

Hey there!! 💜💜💜 Ofcourse!! 💜 I’m here to show you some love 💜💜 And remind/reaffirm some things we have on our schedule today as well! 💜💜

🚫long-post🚫

Virgo Venus 💜⬇️

Note: May defer from person to person depending on what it’s aspected to/house that it’s in

Edited Note: SO I wrote the bullet points first and then the ending part (paragraphs)… I’m going to add the paragraphs first instead (positive reaffirmation) before the bullet points (what to do/things to think about) – to answer your question ok?💜

Virgo Venus: Positive Reaffirmations 💜

Alrighty 💜💜 I hope this helps!! 💜💜 This wasn’t exactly what I started out to do…. but it turned out this way skdjnk

A healthy reminder that: although you don’t express love/affection the way that you see on screen, or what you’ve consider to be ‘romantic’ (alt. what other people have told you to do for them)— you have the potential to BE romantic. Every romantic protagonist probably has a Venus sign of their own– whether it’s Sagittarius, Gemini, Pisces or Aries (character studies!)

If they all had the same damn Libra Venus– then love stories would be boring because they’d be the same kind of protagonist/story-line right? Those venus sign isn’t always stated– yours too (Virgo Venus) could be highly romantic– if you learn how to use it well (it’s work, knowing urself, knowing editing, knowing how to finalize/finish something–but it’s worth it).

Imagine if the Notebook ryan gosling character was actually a Virgo Venus. The devotion and dedication you have for someone else– the sheer effort and the amount of work you put in to make something that’s practical (a dream house- sorry for the example, it’s the only romantic movie I know ;;)

Virgo Venus affections might not always be ‘showering on their lovers’ (sometimes) – but the time, effort and devotion you have doesn’t undermine your feelings/truthful honesty and genuine love at all. Your feelings matter to those you love. And the devotion– said or unsaid– is shown.

That’s something to consider– you express in the way that you demonstrate, that you show. That you create and craft and work on. Rather than just always sweetly flirting your way through. This is affection too, and it’s expression of affection as well— words holds little meaning if you can’t back it up, and your meaning is larger than a thousand words sometimes.

No matter how much you think you’re bad at expressing love the way ‘it should be’ – you’re generous with your love once you give it. You’re generous with your effort, with your time, with your feelings. That you care, and that caring nature of yours shouldn’t be dismissed (you’re valid– and validating yourself here is good for you as practice/self-affirmation as well!).

It doesn’t always have to be conveyed so openly, just in the way you look at them that you’re there for them. That you know the little things about someone else. You pick up and notices others– things that others don’t even notice themselves. You’re sensitive, and this is how people know you love them is when they love you back as well.

You pay attention to others, just the fact that you’re there– that you listen, and that you’re caring/want to work on something together is amazing. You don’t need a million words or stars to prove to someone you love them, all you need is a heart. And that’s what you have/can show best.

You are so valued and loved, you are so appreciated and cared. Even if it’s tiny– if you ask someone why they love Virgo so much– try to give back an explanation. Just the fact that others try for you, that they give you thoughts and that they actually have an explanation for this (backed up, listed evidence, cited and analyzed) – just the fact that someone tries and thought about you. And your feelings/way of love– and the result is that they love you and here’s why. That’s enough to feel appreciated about.

And perhaps— you may be good at demonstrating love, but what your lover do is explaining things back at you. It’s the way that things tumble sometimes, and I hope this gives you a little more loving 💜

Virgo Venus: What Do To Help/Understanding Them More 💜

you are SO romantic and so truthful with the way you love

In a way, even if you ARE practical and controlled (sometimes self-controlled) you may desire for something to come up– something that fucks you up, messes the entire regime, and draws you deeper and higher from yourself– relieving you from your mortal pains and into the realms of impossibility you chain yourself to.

You think this is a miracle, an impractical and absolutely boinkers. But with the way you hold yourself back, hold yourself down. By the way you love strongly, persistently and quietly– mayhaps what you desire is a counterpart to your own mind, so you can have someone who sees You and understand You without explanation (free from your chains/understanding). And you can see Them, observe Them and Explain Them on a deeper level as well (care/nurture them in the way you think you’re supposed to)

That’s a kind of wanting power– y know? Power to get to know someone instead of yourself, power to direct, guide and talk about someone besides your own self. Power to focus less on you– and your ‘short-comings’ (so you’d think) in order to talk more about them and their valiance, their brightness, their efforts. Power to hope for a miracle, and gets it– and see them as that miracle for you. In your context/perspective.

You love quietly, and strongly. You love persistently, but also try to balance out against that. You pick up the slacks, because you think they might need you to. But really– all you need to do is be you and learn to accept that. It’s hard– but that’s all you have to do.

You try so hard, again, and again and again and there’s always a price at the end of the line– this you keep forgetting, but the price is that honesty and sincerity you keep inside your love, being truly seen and rewarded in the way it’s supposed to– simply, by being you.

Wholly, fully and appreciatively by others who’ll see you, and by yourself who trusted in this ever since the beginning.

You yourself– and your own demons aren’t the only people who sees your suffering/struggles, you trip yourself up with momentary pitfalls and pains about your expression/experience with love (self-love as well), but your dedication and your whole-heartedness will push you through (remember, reward at the end of the line)

You micro-manage sometimes, with your feelings/the love that you keep inside of yourself. When you’re down– think of it as being visited by a friend– the stars coming down to greet you and remind you that you Do have feelings/things to figure out– repressed thoughts/emotions, friends, old pals/demons that you need to visit. These are temporary, but it’s there for a reason. Let it pass you, but work efficiently during that period. Because when the sun comes up– you’ll be ready to face the light refreshened in your resolve again.

In order to refresh your resolve (without letting these dark moments go to waste) you’ll have to use your obsession for the productive/better. Usually you use it for your detriment, hitting down on your thoughts, feelings, pushing out effort on things you KNOW by experience is something you should do. Here is an unknown anomaly you don’t know how to proceed – but you can. And you will, work through it better.

See– these moments where you’re visited by the stars, the darkness of the night disguised to greet you. These are moments where you can grab your obsessive (excessive) brainiac ass by the horn and make it WORK for You. Make it Your Bitch. Not the other way round.

What is it saying? What’s your doubt? Does it make sense? Are you being an irrational dick to yourself? This isn’t personal– this is Work.

You’re your own lawyer, and the client (your inner parts) needs you to bring your A-game and work through this because they’re trying to not get jailed (you-jailed) by the end of it, alright?

Otherwise, the irrational, depressing, offensive part wins out. And you might lose the case. But you don’t want that do you? Try to win it– for your client (yourself) and think of it this way.

Yes the enemy is overwhelming, the enemy is yourself. You’re your own worst enemy– not the others, not people, not partners. But the client– the ones who needs protection (yourself too) is vulnerable. And you need to protect and defend the client. This is you– fighting for you, in the least personal/obsessive way possible.

It’s hard to be appreciative of yourself, or accept yourself so I’m not asking for that. I’m asking you to use your strength to your benefit. To gain strength/power through it and use that Mercury-ruling Venus to it’s benefit. Change a perspective, tweak your thinking. Make it your bitch, this is Work. If you’re feeling like a slave to something, then you don’t have power over it.

And in this case, we want the power in YOUR hands so you can do something about it. We want you to get to know this Virgo venus better– so that we can organize, clean up the messes and efficiently work on it better (later) as well. So you don’t hamper down on society, on people, on things that doesn’t matter to you. On emotions you’ve been suppressing, on your own wants/needs you’ve been internalizing. This is for You. Your Moment. Fight for yourself, this is your Work.

It’s not the same as you suppressing your feelings– this is you confronting something integral/deep inside you but with the power in your own hands. This is your self-empowerment through utilizing your strength to your own benefit. Not to your detriment, and being able to see things clearly– once a blood moon– when you’re being a shit to yourself as well.

That ‘oh shit’ moment when you figure it out is to die for, because that’s the moment where you simplify and blink at it for a while going – ‘was I.. was I really??’ is that moment of balance and clarity that you needed.

Libra/Pisces as their own power, their own pains. Yours is more internalized, self-introspective. Address this, use it to your benefit. Utilize your strength against it– like scraping off scum from the sole of your shoes, you have your own strengths– but your pain over-burdens it. Those pains are scum on your shoes sometimes, so learn how to distinct between the good parts and the bad (see above: the stars visiting you)

You don’t need to love as showy or as publicly as others– and you dont have to profess your love at every opportunity (you know this already). What you just need to do is show love in your own way– write down what you think/feel and your thoughts/journey. Do a moodboard, do a poetry writing session.

Communicate– in your own style, the expressions of love you have for others. Keep at it like a hobby, something for yourself to get those feelings out– good or bad, it’s all worth it because you’re truthful and going after what you want (even if it’s passively).

Your sensitivity is a blessing, use it to your benefit. Use it to empower yourself, and empower those around you as well. But learn– how to distinguish between empowering yourself by empowering those around you (or what you think you should do) and empowering yourself and those around you – what they truly need, may not always be what you give them. And what you truly need may not always be what you want to hear/think about.

You can’t empower yourself by others – and as such, we can’t always ‘stay safe’ and have to experience things that expands our vision of ourselves. Because you are– sensual and loving – you’ll need to empower those in yourself, in order to feel confidence in the ground you stand on and the way it manifests in your life experiences– so you can look at it as a fixed-point, and realize (whenever self-doubt comes along) that you are capable of being loving in the way that you didn’t trust yourself to be (see progress/development and work towards it– self-improvement this way and self-appreciation this way as well)

You unravel through experience, through time and participation put in through you and them together. You love affectionately, and you love honestly. You’re thoughtful as a person– and what you’ll need to practice focusing on, is that you can’t think you = others all the time.

Empowering yourself by others– is like seeing your good traits because you compare it to others. Your annoyance starts when they don’t do the same, because you’re comparing them to you. At the same time, you also compare yourself to others (people, sometimes not even people but socially/responsibly what you should do) so empowering yourself by others– try to twist that into empowering yourself and others instead.

Again– this is a ‘work bitch’ situation. You gotta work it. You know damn well nothing comes easy or for free– so expecting you to be fair (to yourself/others) is a situation where you’ll have to gain experience and a bigger perspective on,

Make it your work to empower yourself by critically evaluating how you work, treat yourself, and who you are. Make it your Business to scrape scum of your own self away from your feet. Freeing your shackles, starts here.

Alrighty 💜 💜 💜 So FINALLY I’m done with it!! 💜 💜 Let me know.. what you think? And if it’s helpful?? 💜 💜 I hope this cheers you up, and also gives you something else to think about as well 💜 💜 💜 Anyways it was really fun for me as well!! 💜 💜 💜

#virgo #virgo venus #astrology asks #anon #asks #this is basically me pointing out ur good stuff #and then me telling u to get ur boxing gloves on and box yourself #thiS IS WORK BTCH HOURS LETS MAKE BRITNEY PROUD!!#basically: my capricorn/taurus boxing in virgo in order to have an earth-sign alliance and reaffirm ourselves #also my aquarius mercury being Loud and Proud about 15000 things I love and Notice About Virgo #anyways

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