#<- the furtherest thing from the truth

[freckled-paints]

Lottielee weekend day 1: afterlife!!!

Heavily inspired by this post, it emotionally destroyed me so I had to make it into art

inspo under the cut!

[generouskittentidalwave]

Talking about Odysseus after disappearing for months

Ah greek mythos tumblr, one of my first tumblr stomping grounds. Alright ima make this short and sweet on my current thoughts on Odysseus

Ancient greek Odysseus is such a fun character and one of my fav ancient greek heroes that I've studied so hard I know things about him by heart. However it's hard to outwardly enjoy his character with the public as ppl either take things heavily out of context because they don't know ancient Greek and translations suck, and they read stuff about him also heavily taken out of context by those same ppl that paint him as an asshole, abusive, aggressive, womanizer who cheated, which none of these are true, and the asshole part is only half true as it could be seen as an asshole by our standards but back then he was genuinely a good sane guy with the hubris the size of an ox and heavily undiagnosed adhd. Or they see Odysseus as one character which a lot of ppl, even ppl who love his character, do so they claim everything the character has ever done to being one person, both good and bad, when that is furtherest from the truth.

In reality Odysseus is not one single person and never has been. Homer did not create his character, he created an adapted and revised version of his character that many have created before he came along and many have created after him. Even non Greeks created stories about him. The story about Odysseus leaving that one guy on the island? Yeah never actually happened in greek terms, in reality Odysseus wasn't actually there in the story at all and didn't do or say much of anything other than "🕴" the whole time, yet because of that one story ppl blame him for being the main cause of it anyway. Odysseus has never been and never will be one person, you basically find a variation of him that you like and enjoy it and add bits from other stories to it and boom there ya go, enjoy it. That's how it works and always has worked for centuries.

And Odysseus is being brought back and rewritten all over again in our modern era via Epic the musical by taking a character that was created beforehand and adapting and revising said character, just like homer once did, and so did the others before them. And in the future ppl may question the morals of said musical and make another Odysseus to fit their modern time. It's an endless cycle that will repeat itself forever.

If you were to ask me who my favorite Odysseus is? The Odysseus in EPIC the musical while adding a few bits of the Iliad here and there (hoping he makes an Iliad musical one day), it's the one I grew most attached to and love as an adaption. Ancient Odysseus is an amazing one but Modern Odysseus is my personal favorite.

So enjoy your variation of Odysseus and have fun with it as long as you stay respectful to the greek culture and it's original source (aka don't make Odysseus a horrible man and his two rapists girlbosses and label him a cheater, that shit AIN'T flying around here. Period.)

And I hope you all have an amazing day and night! ^^

[taleswritten]

@lornrequiem sent you’re jealous ,  aren’t you ? (jill to claire ... if u mayhaps ship valenfield but ignore if not asfhfj)

"Me? Jealous? Of course not." She hates how utterly obvious she sounds right now. She's usually a much better liar than this but the truth is, Claire has had her eye on Jill for a long time.

She doesn't know her as well as she'd like, Jill has always been Chris's friend and at one point, Claire thought there might be something going on there. In fact, she's still not sure there isn't with the way Chris and Jill act around each other.

She should be happy, not have this clench in her heart and this spark of jealousy. It is the furtherest thing from happy for her brother she can get and quickly she adverts her gaze while she curses herself mentally for being so damn obvious.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." She's just digging herself deeper and deeper, isn't she?

Damn it.

[sinfulhymns]

@mccnxhild​ 

​X based on a starter from this 

Falyn was watching Minnie pace, he could tell something was bothering her but she had this bad habit of not telling her things because she always convinced herself it would bother him, when in reality that was the furtherest thing from the truth. He watched her pacing back and forth and when she got closer he reached out his hand to gently grab hers to get her to stop “Hey, I can tell something is bothering you that’s why you’re so anxious but you don’t want to say anything but, whatever matters to you matters to me,  you’re important to me, you can tell me you don’t have to carry this all on your own.” 

[georgiaheartsdilfs]

Love triangle dating Damon but you're in love with Enzo and Enzo knows only cause you try not to be alone with him. Enzo always tries to hug you but you don't really return it cause it'll get you in trouble; (no cheating or anything happens, no kissing etc). Enzo enjoys it for a while- how shy she is but then wants her for himself and he argues with her since she demies how she feels for him.

Damon and Damon only | Damon Salvatore x Enzo St John x Reader

My legs rest over Damon's lap as he continues to read the files he and Stefan managed to get the other day, "anything babe?" I mumble looking up from my phone and he shakes his head "nothing." he huffs.

Enzo had been sitting across from us, his eyes staring at me intently with no intention of looking elsewhere. I loved Damon, always have and always will but there was something about Enzo that made me feel a different type of way.

Of course, I couldn't dump Damon for a good friend of his, not that he'd care but still.

Damon bites his lip, rubbing my foot with one hand whilst the file remains in the other. I look over to Enzo who was smirking at me whilst I scrolled through my phone looking for another idiot to mock on the internet and call names.

"I need to go find Stefan, maybe he can find something that I can't." Damon lifts my legs up as he stand up off the sofa, my heart beats faster, being alone with Enzo was something I couldn't do.

"m-maybe I should come?" I suggest "no you'll be fine, it's just Enzo." Damon says giving me a smiles as I stand up and Enzo walks over, hugging me "oh come on it will be fun darling." Enzo whispered.

Although his arms were wrapped around my body, my arms remain stuck to my hip almost like they were superglued.

"I envy the person that lives the furtherest away from you" I mumble as Enzo removes his arms, waving to Damon who blows me a kiss. He closes the door behind him and Enzo lets out a loud sigh, "you love me." he says pouring bourbon into his glass before drinking it in one go.

"as a matter of fact, it's the opposite, i need to go to my room." my voice was high, it turned high when he was around because I was being cautious of every word that managed to escape my mouth.

"we know that you both can't stay in this room because you're afraid of cheating" he says, my back was facing him but I could still feel the grin emerging on his face "no, Enzo." my arms fold turning around.

"it's obvious love." I knew it was slightly obvious but I didn't think he would be able to tell, the occasional glares were only to fulfil my fantasies but I'd refuse to cheat on Damon.

"I like you looking at me, biting your lip, how shy you get when you realise it's only me and you in the room together." his voice was mellow, Stefan was still in the house so he tried not to make my stupid little crush known.

He crossed his legs and I watch his every move, his eyes had changed from brown to pitch black "I like Damon, he's a nice guy, to me." he shrugs.

"but it would be better if you just told him about your crush, y/n" walking over to him my eyes squint, focusing on nothing but him "i'd never ever, hurt damon." I whisper.

"besides, I don't feel anything but hatred for you." the sass in my voice was definitely noticeable and Enzo seemed to like it "you do have feelings for me" the tone in his voice was cocky, almost like he had known the whole time.

What he didn't know was that I'd take thie secret with me to the grave, no one had to know about it... except for me, and only me. Not Enzo, Not Damon and Especially not Stefan because if he found out and told Damon I'd be crushed.

"look Enzo, I don't want to make a scene about something that is untrue." walking away he grabs my wrist "then don't, we both know it's the truth." he cocks an eyebrow "i'm not in love with you Lorenzo" I scoff shaking out of his grip walking up the stairs to my room.

Racing up behind me "come on y/n" he pleads "just admit it and this whole thing will go away" he continues walking by my side "why so you can rub it in my face, throw it in stefan's face that you were right, you aren't you're wrong, I love Damon." I insist.

"I refute that fucking statement." he says pointing his index finger at me "you're just worried that he'd kill you in a fit of rage." that was extreme, i'd trust him with my life, why would he take it away because I didn't love him anymore, which I still do.

"no enzo, you're wrong, you expect him to do something and he won't that's what I love about him, he has the ability to shock you people, make you think one thing but he does the other." my voice was getting louder by the second and at this point I hope Stefan was listening in so he could save me from this misery.

"I enjoyed it for a while, the shyness, the not looking at me. Now it's gone too far, you either want me or you want him." he says "or what?" my hand turns my door handle "i'll kill him, and you." Enzo says stopping me in my tracks.

"Well I choose him, so try to kill us we all know you're in love with their mother." I spit in his face before slamming the door in his face.

I hear him place his forehead against the door "come on y/n, it's fate." maybe I was starting to question my feelings for him.

"if it's fate, then why are we arguing." I mumble through the other side of the door "you don't really love me, you just want me to yourself enzo. You know that if you have me you'll have everyone else." my voice echoed through my room.

"i don't love you, Enzo, I love Damon and Damon only." clearing my throat I lay on my bed until I hear his footsteps retreat from my door, grabbing my phone out of my pocket I sigh.

damon i love you and only you

my fingers press against the screen, maybe enzo was just a reminder of how much I loved Damon.

The bubble appeared on my screen as he responds back.

i love you too y/n

[kiwibirbs-library]

Before and After Rituals

a/n: hi I hope yall like Imma make this a series with the schools so      mauh <3

pairings: karasuno x reader

warning: I’m pretty sure this is all clean if not feel free to say something. 

summary: the boy’s before and after game things that they do with you

seijoh || nekoma || fukurodani || shiratorizawa

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

Daichi Sawamura

the night before a game you always go over to his house with some meat buns and either stay for a while or spend the night

he always holds onto you in some way

it calms him down 

its not anything big but it gives him a good sense of peace and quiet before chaos

after his game you always wait for him outside the gym, win or lose

he goes with his team back to the school and you meet him there too

you either go to his house or yours and one of you spends the night just to calm down his head

you always get snacks and even if he tells you to not get to much junk you always get to much and he doesn’t stop you

if he won then you talk about the next match and his thoughts on the team

he’ll also spin you around when he sees you outside the gym

idk he loves doing it

if he lost than he’ll start on things he needs to do better on and you’ll try and cheer him up with some corny jokes and kithes.

Sugawara Koshi

all the morning before the game you two are attached at the hip. 

everyone is just used to you “sneaking” onto the bus to drive with them

in reality him trying and failing horribly to cover you with his jacket and coach just giving up on it

constant quiet giggles at first as you try and calm his nerves

then around the end its more quiet and serious as he focuses a little more

after the game he naps on you the whole way home

if he wins you get to listen to his rambling about some idea he had on signals he could use or a set up he wants to try

he could literally talk for hours on what he was thinking wall watching and playing its so adorable

if he loses then theres a aura of sadness in the bus and if its bad enough he’ll muffle his small sniffs into your shoulder

that hasn’t happen except for date tech and sejioh though and your happy for that

you always sleep over after the game

always

Asahi Azumane

before the game welcome to teddy bear time

noya constant teasing for a week straight since the big dork is constantly on you freaking out

normally its not to bad and a lot of it is just of how scare he is that his spikes will get blocked a lot and the comments he’s sure to receive about his looks when he gets there

when game day does come you always kiss his cheek and hold his face to tell him good luck

def earning gags from tssuki but you didn’t hear it from me

after the game its like teddy bear time x10

win or lose you get a new weighted blanket for a couple of days

if he wins its a more happy blanket yes but he’s so exhausted that he just falls asleep on you the minute you meet him at his house after they left for the bus

plus a bunch of random ‘holy crap wait i did that?!”’s to himself throughout the day

if he loses he cries a little, blaming himself for the entire thing

you always tell him that its not his fault and that he did his best

he’s honestly so pessimistic the night after and your one it telling him that he needs to remember how it feels but not let it bring him down

you bring him up with those comments and he’s so grateful for it

Nishinoya Yuu

every time the day before a game he likes to go somewhere with you

weather it be the park, the arcade, an ice cream shop

a freaking pet shop (yes you almost got a pet that day)

he finds it relaxing to see you having a nice time with him and every time he always makes sure its a place to make you smile

after the game he’s a koala on you, win or lose

the only real difference is happy koala or sad koala

happy koala is randomly kissing you and laughing, nuzzling into you while Tanaka either gags or whines about how single he feels

sad koala is sniffling into your shoulder and clinging to you even more if its possible, hes pretty quiet too so you know hes waiting until you get home to talk about everything

course after that mini pout session hes all fighting and ready to see that team again and win

either one also ends with a cuddle movie night until like 2am

also unrelated but like he’s so freaking hot when he receives so always tell him that

Tanaka Ryuunosuke

ok ok this boy omg 

so before the game its MAJOR sucking up to you

literally after a while you’ll get more used to it and get what kinds of attention he wants but like at first its just a lot of complements and stares and draping

literally ennoshita is stretched so thin the week before hand by it all

no one even understands why he’s sucking up to you other than him, you (after a little), and ennoshita

he just wants you to return the energy

after the game all depends on winning or loosing

if the win he will always, without fail, kiss you like a million times all over your face when he sees you next

does not matter if its outside the gym or if its when he gets back to the school or what

every time

if they lose, well you now have a very sad puppy on your hands

mentally during a game he’s like no one you’ve never met but when he gets home and has sometime to think its all a bunch of ‘i could have done better’ and ‘i should have done better’ s

you are constantly reassuring him thats he’ll do it next time and that its not his fault

BACK RUBS ARE BIG WITH HIM AND YOU CANT TELL ME NO

but win or lose yall’s main thing is a movie and snack night

after that he’s really to go the next morning and beat up some volleyballs lol

Ennoshita Chikara

lol he’s the most chill i think

before the match he’s really calm

bb doesn’t think he’s gunna play but like he’s ready

honestly though the biggest switch is that he’s an even bigger cuddle bug than before

like he keeps it together at school but hangouts? coming over?

ha

better have gone to the bathroom before cause you’re not moving for the next couple hours

it’s like it calms him down after practice enough to think over what he needs to work on

after the game is the same no matter win or lose

every.single.time. he will always have a sit down with you to talk about what happened during the game

like quick nap, the meeting, then off to your house to go over the pros and cons on the game

he always has the moments when he thinks he’s not worth it to be put in the game but you always just ruffle his hair and tell him thats the furtherest from truth he could get

Kageyama Tobio

OH MY GOD YAY MY BOO

sorry anyways

so before a game he gets kinda quiet

normally he likes to chat about stuff that went on in practice or how hinata pissed him off that day while yall are sprawled on his couch

but he gets quiet the week before and just has that look on his face

you know the look

the ‘grumble grumble’ one

you always poke between his eyebrows and poke at him to make sure he doesn’t go to far into his thoughts

the night before its like a switch flips and hes muttering to himself like crazy on something he might be able to do with his sets

after a game is another win or lose situation

winning means you get little kid mode kageyama

literally his eyes sparkle at everything he enjoys afterward

milk

rewatching his match

anything you freaking do, all that

plus napping, a lot of napping

losing is sad to watch

he sort of goes back a few steps in the social department and goes robot mode

you both will camp out on his couch, his head buried in your lap or shoulder

if its bad enough he cries a little

you always sleep over no matter what

Hinata Shoyo

SHOYOOO

alright this boy before the game is normally fairly daily ngl

you get normal bouncy sunshine that will follow you anywhere and everywhere all the time

but the night before you get meditation mode where he sets out his game stuff and sits there for like half an hour

first time this happened you got scared for him cause he never sits still that long

NEVER

now though you just sorta hang on his bed watching him cause its cute

after the game is the biggest depending there is out of the rest

if he wins he is bouncing of the walls after a little nap

when you finally get him home he’ll have you throw the ball back and forth for like an hour before you call it and make him lay down or eat or something

if he loses its like he lost all his energy for a little while

he tries to fall asleep but cant due to a replay of something he did wrong

you always run your hand through his hair and try to calm him down

calm down as in cheer up not energy

at least until someone says something (usually tanaka) that gets him on another energy high to beat them next time

you always sleep over though it just happens so often that it became normal

Tssukishima Kei

before is fairly normal im ngl

he doesn’t do to much out of the ordinary

I like to think he’s a heck tone more affectionate in private 

his before game time isn’t anything special though 

he does come with you to the store to get snacks with yamaguchi more often tho so

thats something

after a game is really calm and slow

once again I think he’s a lot more affectionate in private so you lay on him while hes on his phone to calm down

half the time its calming you down since you were freaking out more than him

but same difference

this is what happens win or lose though

like if they lose and he tried he might lay on you instead but its normally just like that

honestly thinking of him being more affectionate in private just makes me fall for him ahhhhhh hate this but anyways

Tadashi Yamaguchi

this boy good lord

so before a game he literally shaking 

like he was fine the whole week but the day before he’s slowly freaking out more and more

tssuki will laugh at him while your trying your best to talk him out of his up coming panic attack that might come

a good light smack on his back and a cheek kiss is good enough to get him distracted fro thinking to much though

after a game is always the same thing unless he screwed up a serve really bad

you two always go to the store and gets some snacks and them go to his house and just talk about anything ad everything

if he wins its normally about the game but when he loses you bring up random things to cheer him up

if he messed up he’ll get quiet and just lay on you for hours

but you know that if you can get something about his amazing improvement he’ll eventually brighten up

bb just wants some love (that doesn’t mean you don’t smack him upside the head when he makes fun of someone tho 

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

a/n: im sorry for not doing  kinoshita and narita i dont know them good enough since im not that far into season four to write for them. plus i think ennoshita is oc but thats ok i think

[i-drink-and-i-write-fics]

Which MCU character you'd pair me with?

Hmmmm.....That is a good one! And this answer may surprise you.

But I’m gonna go with my favorite feral boy, Logan Howlett: aka Wolverine. Logan is the perfect mix of tough but caring. He has proven time and again he would move mountains for those he loves.

Logan has seen it all so when you start to worry about every day stress, he knows exactly how to take control so that’ll be one less thing on your plate. He doesn’t use his words often, so expect him to show affection with his actions.

He may come off as not caring about other people’s hobbies, but that couldn’t be furtherest from the truth when it comes to the one he loves. He’ll sit there, a small smile on his face, as he listens to you gush over your book that you’re writing and occasionally giving you ideas to help.

Logan may not seem like it, but he loves to cuddle. Sure, it won’t happen often around other people. But when you’re alone all his focus is on you. You’ll never have to wonder about his feellings.

[litafficionado]

Four Questions with Garielle Lutz:

I’m extremely beholden to Garielle who took the time to respond to my silly, garbled, childish, intrusive questions. You can purchase her latest book Worsted here and here, among many other sites.  --------- Q.  You've attributed the resuscitation of your literary career in quite considerable measure to your teacher and editor Gordon Lish. It seems like you guys are particularly close, even as you seem to have largely confined yourself to Pittsburgh(mostly driven by your erstwhile teaching career but also by your liking the city over time). How does it feel to hear someone like Gordon speak so highly of you, “I think there’s more truth in one sentence of my student [Lutz] than in all of [Philip] Roth. Lutz gives [herself] away. “The speaking subject gives herself away,” says Julia Kristeva. I thoroughly believe that. What you see in Lutz, [her] lavish gift, is [her] refusal to relax [her] determination to uncover and uncover. It is, by my lights, quite wonderful, quite terrific.[…]Lutz is entirely the real thing?” Does one feel vindicated? How do you navigate the waters of self-effacement and self-indulgence as a writer and as a person? A.  I haven’t had a literary career before or after studying with Gordon Lish.  I don’t think one finds one’s way to him in hopes of launching a career.  Anyone with vulgar ambition along those lines would have been shown the door pretty quick.  I would never presume to be close to Gordon or to feel that I am part of his life other than in my role as a student. He dwells in another realm entirely. I attended his classes and tried to grasp, to the best of my abilities, the things he was saying about how to get from one word to the next.  He also talked about how to free a word from the constricting range of its permissible behaviors, how to drain it of every sepsis of received meaning, until there is nothing left of the word but the skeleton of its former self, just the lank, gawky letters sticking out this way and that, and then how to fill the thing up again, to the point of overspilling, but this time with something that would never have been allowed to belong in there before, and then see whether the word, now close to bursting, can hold up and maybe have a new kind of say.  I’m always surprised and relieved whenever Gordon says anything approving about anything I write.  I think that for a lot of his students, his opinion is the only one that counts.  

Q.  You've said, "A typical day goes like this: noon, afternoon, evening, night, additional night, even more night, furtherest night, then bedtime, though I don’t have a bed or furniture of any kind.” Have you always been a lychnobite, sensing the overwhelming superabundance of life after the sunset or is it a relatively recent development facilitated by your retirement from teaching? Do you consider yourself in any way to be a minimalist? Does your room bear any resemblance with a sparsely lit opium den where all exchanges happen at the floor level?

A.  I think the pandemic has had a lot to do with it.  Lately I’ve been up until five, sometimes six.  But I’ve always found mornings the harshest and ugliest part of the day (maybe it’s just because of the place where I live, but I never open the blinds anyway).  There can be something awfully scolding about a sunrise the older you get  Evening seems to extend every form of leniency, and in the dead of night, expectations go way down, which is where they maybe ought to stay.  I do spend all of my time on the floor, but my apartment doesn’t bear any resemblance to an opium den.  It’s more like a crawlspace or the back of a  dollar-store stockroom.    

Q. Even with your reputation of being a page-hugger than a typical page-turner, how do you decide which books to read apart from your line of work? Do you try to keep it largely in the familiar territory, like exploring the oeuvre of a time-tested writer? How does one unshackle oneself from this constant niggling that one ought to read so many books? Here's Ben Marcus: “When I was in graduate school, there was this sort of cautionary adage going around by the poet Francis Ponge that we can only write what we’ve already read and one way to hear that is you’re just sort of doomed to kind of regurgitate everything you’ve read and so if you’re just reading all the popular books, the books everyone else is reading, in some sense you’re maybe unwittingly confining yourself to a particular literary practice that’s gonna look pretty familiar. I remember at the time thinking, okay well if that’s true, if I’m just fated to that, then I’m gonna read things that no one else is reading. I loved to just go to the library and pretty randomly grab books, because I think for a little while, and I’m kinda glad this passed, but I really just had this feeling that a writer just consumes language and just sort of spits it out. So it didn’t matter. Like it didn’t have to be a great novel for it to be worth-reading. And I still read very little fiction in the end compared to non-fiction, essays, works of philosophy, science. And the other sort of dirty secret is: I don’t finish a lot of books. I just don’t care enough. I only finish a book if I have to or if I really want to. And, often, I’ll stop reading a book three pages from the end. I think that as writers, we probably feel a lot of pressure about what kind of a reader to be, what kind of a writer to be in, and we feel this shame, like “I haven’t read DH Lawrence, I’m such an asshole.” You begin to feel like you’ve these deficiencies and you gotta make them up and you never will and a lot of it is just kinda tyrannical. Of course, obviously, we must be naturally motivated to read and read and read and read but I guess I just started to notice that…I got a lot of my ideas by just reading…e.g. a gardening book…like the weird way a sentence was structured.” Then there's Moyra Davey: “Woolf famously said of reading: “The only advice … is to take no advice, … follow your instincts, … use your reason.” A similar thought was voiced by her elder contemporary Oscar Wilde, who did not believe in recommending books, only in de-recommending them. Later, Jorge Luis Borges echoed the same sentiment by discouraging “systematic bibliographies” in favor of “adulterous” reading. More recently, Gregg Bordowitz has promoted “promiscuous” reading in which you impulsively allow an “imposter” book to overrule any reading trajectory you might have set for yourself, simply because, for instance, a friend tells you in conversation that he is reading it and is excited by it. This evokes for me that most potent kind of reading — reading as flirtation with or eavesdropping on someone you love or desire, someone who figures in your fantasy life.”“What to read?” is a recurring dilemma in my life. The question always conjures up an image: a woman at home, half-dressed, moving restlessly from room to room, picking up a book, reading a page or two and no sooner feeling her mind drift, telling herself, “You should be reading something else, you should be doing something else.” The image also has a mise-en-scène: overstuffed, disorderly shelves of dusty and yellowing books, many of them unread; books in piles around the bed or faced down on a table; work prints of photographs, also with a faint covering of dust, taped to the walls of the studio; a pile of bills; a sink full of dishes. She is trying to concentrate on the page in front of her but a distracting blip in her head travels from one desultory scene to the next, each one competing for her attention. It is not just a question of which book will absorb her, for there are plenty that will do that, but rather, which book, in a nearly cosmic sense, will choose her, redeem her. Often what is at stake, should she want to spell it out, is the idea that something is missing, as in: what is the crucial bit of urgently needed knowledge that will save her, at least for this day? She has the idea that if she can simply plug into the right book then all will be calm, still, and right with the world. […] Must reading be tied to productivity to be truly satisfying […] Or is it the opposite, that it can only really gratify if it is a total escape? What is it that gives us a sense of sustenance and completion? Are we on some level always striving to attain that blissful state of un-agendaed reading remembered from childhood? What does it mean to spend a good part of one’s life absorbed in books? Given that our time is limited, the problem of reading becomes one of exclusion. Why pick one book over the hundreds, perhaps thousands on our bookshelves, the further millions in libraries and stores? For in settling on any book we are implicitly saying no to countless others. This conflict is aptly conjured up by essayist Lynne Sharon Schwartz as she reflects on “the many books (the many acts) I cannot in all decency leave unread (undone) — or can I?”” What way out do you suggest? Do you deem it worthwhile to eschew any shred of obligation and be propelled in any direction naturally? Like you said you found grammar books and lexicons more engaging and enjoyable than the novels.

A.  I seem to remember that in some magazine or another, James Wolcott once said “Read at whim.”  That has always sounded like the best advice.  And I assume it means to feel free to ditch any book that disappoints.  Like Ben Marcus, I’ve had experiences of abandoning a book just a few pages from the end, but I often don’t make it that far in most things anymore.  I came from a long line of nonreaders, so I’ve never felt any guilt about passing up books or writers that so many people seem to talk about a lot, and I don’t expect other people to like what I like. Some books I’ll start about halfway in and then see whether I might want to work my way back to the beginning.  Others I’ll start at the very end and inch my way toward the front, one sentence at a time, and see how far I can go that way.  I seem to remember that in The Pleasure of the Text, Roland Barthes recommends “cruising” a text, and maybe something like that is what I’m doing at least some of the time, if I understand what he means.  And every now and then I’ll read  a book straightforwardly for an hour and afterward wonder whether the time might have been better spent staring off into space. Too many books these days seem ungiving.  It’s the ungivingness that disappoints the most.  A lot of contemporary fiction has the gleam and sparkle of a trend feature in a glossy magazine, and I can appreciate the craft and the savvy that go into something like that, but I am drawn more toward stories and books that demand being read slowly and closely, pulse by pulse, the kind of fiction where everything--what little might be left of an entire blighted life--can pivot on the peal of a single syllable. Q.  I'd like to ask you so many questions. But let this be the last one for matters of convenience. Also, in a capitalistic world, one's enshrouded with guilt for taking one's time without being remunerative in any way. Among the books and films that you recently encountered, which ones do you think deserve rereads/rewatches? A.  I used to feel like the woman you’ve described so movingly above, someone who questions her choice of books almost to the brink of despair.  At my age, though, I no longer have a program for reading, a syllabus or a checklist, and I’m okay with knowing there’s a lot I’ll never get around to.  I’m happy being a rereader of a few inexhaustible books and chancing upon occasional fresh treasure.  The one book that has shaken me the most in the longest time is Anna DeForest’s  A History of Present Illness, which will be out next August.  It’s a blisteringly truthful novel written with moral grace and unsettling brilliance and an awing mastery of language.  A couple of recent books I have read in manuscript, books that totally knocked me out with their originality and uncanny command of the word, are Greg Gerke’s In the Suavity of the Rock (a novel) and David Nutt’s Summertime in the Emergency Room (a short-story collection).  I haven’t watched many movies in the past few months, and the ones I watched aren’t ones I’ll probably be rewatching anytime soon.  

[masterthespianduchovny]

Let me put my clown make up on:

Just in case TL disappoints me, I’ll be prepared. 🤡

I’m not going to lie, this most likely won’t be my last post about Sam x Rebecca, but as of now, maybe the last major conversation I have about it for a while (whatever that means) unless the series does something to make me really happy or piss me off.

Some may think my issue with Sam x Rebecca is because of Ted x Rebecca and that couldn’t be furtherest from the truth. Age gaps, power imbalances, and the consequences of these things—that’s shit I talk about in my everyday life.

I thought John was going to be around way longer and I had no issue with him. I don’t know if Ted and Sassy will be fuck buddies, date, or just have a friendship, but them dating wouldn’t bother me.

There are very real issues with this pairing that the series hasn’t adequately handled and I’m hoping with all hope that they do by the time the season ends. Because they are good and smart writers. And maybe my frustration are with those who use this allegedly inappropriate handling on Sam x Rebecca to prove their is nothing wrong with this ship if the both of them are mature about it. And that’s like…the least of their issues.

People can ship whatever they like, I’m more concerned with how the series frames this entire thing when the arc is fully resolved. Smart and clever writers have failed many before. And it isn’t as if shows haven’t portrayed inappropriate relationships as okay.

I’m more inclined to believe that they do handle this arc appropriately because why have Keeley say John is age appropriate? (Which makes her support of the Sam thing weird.) why have Rebecca bring up Sam’s age to never touch on it again? Why have Sam and Rebecca stand on opposite sides of how their relationship should be handled?

There is that Bill Lawrence remark about how he finds it all “worrisome” and I don’t know if that should be taken with a grain of salt or not.

So…we. will. see.

Now there are some probably saying, “it’s just a show!!!”

To which I say, “that’s a load full of crap.”

People can ship whatever the fuck they want and write whatever the fuck they please, but tv (as well as other forms of media) is incredibly influential. You have many people who learned to accept who they are because of a tv show or that they weren’t alone. You have people shed their ignorance because of how a show handled certain topics and characters.

This show is applauded on how it handles mental health and many have flat out said it’s help them understand that they needed help and some have reached out and gotten it. They have good/great female friendships. Rebecca is handled with nuance and not demonized. The way they deal with masculinity and kindness is also applauded.

And none of these things are dismissed with “it’s just a show.”

We realize the importance of these things.

It’s the same reason this show is criticized for the lack of blatant LBGTQ characters or how some are concerned about how the POC characters are treated.

These things matter.

If it’s just a show, why do people hate Rupert for being abusive to Rebecca or that he intentionally pursues younger women?

It’s just a show, right?

Why care about these things if they’re fictional?

We can’t applaud a show for one thing, and then be dismissive of other things since it’s not a personal concern. That’s some extreme inconsistency there.

So just because Rebecca x Sam is fictional doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be handled appropriately. That doesn’t mean ignore the very real problems and concerns that would plague them. I’m not saying the writers are doing that. I don’t know. However, there are viewers treating it like it’s no big deal and those who’ve reacted negatively to the storyline are overreacting and that’s concerning.

Because, regardless of age, if someone believes that a significantly younger person (18-23) dating a significantly older person is NBD if both are mature, that’s a fucking red flag and you should be cautious of them on the subject.

People thinking that as long as Rebecca doesn’t abuse her power, it’s okay that she has a gross amount of control over Sam’s career, is concerning.

People who said this relationship had a fucked up power imbalance from multiple angles were implied to be or flat out called racist. Yet there is no concern about the racism that Sam will likely endure from the media, fans, etc within the show? Because even recently, we’ve seen and heard football fans be racist to black people over minor and trivial things.

It’s not enough that they like each other, have chemistry, and are mature. The show needs to actually acknowledge and discuss those massive issues. Not brushed under the rug or love conquers all bs.

I truly hope the series proves me wrong and I’m overreacting rather than being proven right and majorly disappointed. And right doesn’t mean they end up together, it means that the series poorly handles the end of this arc.

[sweetvixen1996]

Okay, so I want to talk about the Gay Bashing scene in IT: Chapter 2. More specifically, the people say it shouldn’t have been in the movie.

It seems like, out of everything, this scene has generated the most controversy and while I expected this, I want to talk about it.

Or rather, I want to defend it and try to explain its importance.

Let’s look at the five main complaints about it:

1) It was just there for shock value.

No, it’s was in the book. The book came out in the 80s when such overt hate crimes where more common and, to a certain horrible degree, more accepted. In fact, it was based on an actual hate crime murder that took place in the town Stephen King lives (I’ve actually been to that town and seen his house, it looks exactly like you’d imagine Stephen King’s house to look). King often mixes real life horror with the supernatural horror to seen in his box as a way to draw attention to such issue. In this case, it was very much a, ‘This is a horrible, evil, tragic thing that shouldn’t have happened yet did because of the evil that lurks in this town.’ In the book that evil is IT -a personification of the homophobia, racism, anti-semitism, sexism, anger, and abuse that is often so prevalent in small towns- but in real life, the evil is just the hatred that people let control their lives.

2) We weren’t warned about it.

Again, it was in the book. The book is over 30 years old and it isn’t like its an obscure piece of fiction. You knew you were going to see a horror movie, you should’ve googled potentially triggering elements.

3) It glamorized crimes against the LGBT community.

Did we watch the same scene? Because the scene I saw was the furtherest thing from glamorized I’ve ever seen. In fact, I was actually kind of surprised how unflinchingly it was presented -horrible and violent and tragic and absolutely unnecessary.

4) It had not purpose on the overall movie.

This is the one I find the most idiotic. One top of the obvious impact of establishing It’s return, there is the narrative and symbolic parallels to arcs of Richie and -to a slightly lesser extent- Eddie -a dark-haired man with asthma (though not really, in Eddie’s case) dies horribly while a man who loves him watches onward, unable to help. It also further elaborates on Richie’s own fears about his sexuality becoming knows, fears that still haunt him as an adult and we see are sadly not unfounded.

5) It was uncomfortable to watch.

Well fucking DUH! If it didn’t make you uncomfortable than you may have serious issue! I’ll even admit that I had a hard time watching it...and that’s the POINT!

This scene and people’s reaction to it, perhaps more than any other, illustrates a major theme that spans much of King’s works:

Don’t turn away from uncomfortable truths. Don’t force yourself to forget memories just because they are painful. Don’t avoid things because they are inconvenient. Evil will always be there and by not acknowledging it, we make its job easier.

So, yeah, it makes me upset to see people doing just what the story of IT warns against. The murder of Adrian Mellon may be fictional, but it was based on something that actually happened in the passed and will inevitably happen again. We can’t pretend it won’t and we can’t ignore it because if we do than the evil that Pennywise personifies will be allowed to win.

*

*

*

There was also those clownfuckers who were appearently sad that Pennywise -the evil child-eating killer clown- was ‘homophobic’ (not sure if he could actually qualify myself, it only used Richie’s sexuality to torment him because of Richie’s own insecurities) and was truly evil. To them I say this:

Get help.

[lailannajacobs]

The Harder They Fall

Pairing: Loki x alien!reader 

Summary: Years before Thor 1, Loki is messing around with his magic, testing its limits. Only something goes wrong and he finds himself on your planet, unable to find his way back. 

Word Count: 12.1k

Warnings: Major character death, fluff, violence, angst (Please DO NOT read if death in any form is triggering to you) 

A/N: So this is my very very very late submission to @the--sad--hatter​‘s Tea Party Challenge, and it was an absolute blast so thank you so much for letting me participate! It’s the only dark thing I’ve written without a happy ending (And I love happy endings and value them too much to say this kind of fic will happen again) but I was watching Thor 2, and was immediately inspired by a scene so here it is. A little nervous actually to know what you think! <3 

The Harder They Fall 

There were only two things in all the worlds that Loki knew for sure. The first was that the only person in all the realms he could ever count on was himself. The second was that magic, regardless of the form it took, was unpredictable. He would soon learn that he was only right about one of those things.

You stomped through the trees, branches snapping beneath your boots, your breathing coming out in loud puffs. There wasn’t a soul in the forest that didn’t know you were there, but you were too pissed off to care. The only thing keeping you from screaming were the Esprits. They were restless this time of year, and despite your stomping, you had no intention of provoking them. It didn’t matter that you were the only person on Zen-Whoberis with the ability to see and communicate with the dead. No one was safe from their wrath. No one. But that was where your caution ended, your anger driving you forward toward the one place on this planet that you felt at peace: the Lake of the Dead.

You could still hear your father’s voice echoing inside your head, banning you from ever leaving Zen-Whoberis. No my daughter, you can never leave this planet. You are the Chercheuse d’Esprits. Our planet would descend into chaos should harm befall you. Every year you’d asked your father to leave, if only for a day, and every year you’d been told to stay. With every ‘no’, you’d felt your anger burn, begging for a chance to get out. This time, like every leaf and twig you crushed beneath your boots, you’d snapped. Instead of acting like the rational adult you were supposed to be, you’d taken off into the woods  — a place the citizens were too afraid to enter.

The lake came into view long before your breathing evened out. Normally, you would have been calm by this point, sitting by the water and reminding yourself of all the reason you were lucky to be here. This time, you were too pissed off to sit still. You unsheathed your daggers and aimed the furtherest tree within range. Every one you let fly hit the tree with a satisfying thunk, but after the last one left your hand, you still couldn’t shake the feeling that there was too much energy in your body that needed to get out.

Your steps were a little more considerate of the surrounding nature as you made your way to the tree, but you couldn’t help the way you ripped them from the bark, bits of wood spraying out. You figured it was best to go for another round.

You aimed, lined up your shot and let it fly, but before it could hit the tree, a green light flashed, and without warning, a man stood before you, your dagger in his hand.

He looked down at it in surprise, looked back up at you and drawled, “well that wasn’t very nice.”

“What the hell are you?” you demanded, your two other daggers ready in hand.

He twirled the one he’d caught, “wouldn’t the more appropriate answer be an apology?”

“You show up out of nowhere in a forest that’s only meant for the dead, I think I asked the appropriate question, wouldn’t you?” you lifted a hand, taking aim, “now, unless you’d like to take your chances with the next two, why don’t you answer my question.”

A smile appeared on this face that looked far too practiced to be real, “Prince Loki Odinson, of Asgard. And what might you be?”

“You don’t get to ask the questions,” you snapped.

He smirked, “then what is it that I do I get to do, Miss…”

“Chercheuse d’Esprits,” I said, refusing to give him my real name. It didn’t matter that I’d heard of the two princes of Asgard, but the only way I knew of people showing up in my forest was if they were dead and even then, I’d never heard of one coming in from a different planet, “how did you get here, son of Odin.”

He took a step forward and I raised my dagger higher. With a polite dip of his head, he took a step back and clasped his hands in front of him.

“Loki is just fine,” he said with infuriating charm, “and it seems I may have gotten here by mistake.”

I took a cautious step forward, “explain.”

His face darkened slightly, the formality of the words not matching the expression on his face, “I don’t care to share the details, but if you must know, it was magic gone awry.”

You knew what that was like. It had taken you years just to be able to master the basics of your own magic, wrangling the stray Esprits. You’d worked hard to pay back the family whose barn had burned down when you were just starting to get used to your duties. Magic seemed to go awry as often as it went right.

“Your planet and mine aren’t exactly neighbours,” you pointed out, “seems a little far fetched for this to be magic gone awry.”

“I wasn’t attempting to get here. In all honesty, I’m not sure why anyone would, especially if only the dead are permitted here,” he said, eyes darting around the forest with a brow raised, “you’re not dead, are you?”

You might have just met Loki of Asgard, but it was clear he wasn’t impressed with what he was seeing. As if the Esprits knew this, a chorus of wails sprung up from the forest across the lake. The look fell away and you grinned. It was false bravado. In here, you didn’t have much more control over the Esprits than he did, but he didn’t need to know that. He needed to leave.

“You and I are the only live beings in this place,” I answered, ignoring the sound of wails joining in, “but, unlike me, you’re the only one who’s not supposed to be here. I’d suggest you leave.”

The outline of his body blurred, a shimmering green light surrounding him, though it was much more faded than before. He shook his head, jaw clenched, eyes focused out at the far end of the lake.

“Before I go, what year did you say this was?” he asked, ever the polite prince once again.

You sighed but weren’t all that sad that he was still here. He did have to go soon, but that didn’t meant right away. Although the life of chasing the dead was relatively exciting, this was the first time you’d met someone that wasn’t from this planet. He might have been slightly irritating in that overtly charming kind of way, but at least he wasn’t a part of the same people you saw every day.

“I didn’t,” you answered vaguely.

“And you wouldn’t happen to want to share that…” he paused when you shook you head, a stupid, court appropriate smile appearing on his face, “then would you care to tell me your real name before I go, Chercheuse?”

The wails were getting closer now, increasing in intensity. Whether you liked it or not, he had to go — no matter how much you wanted to ask him about the outside world and his planet.

“I don’t think they like you very much,” you pointed out with a smile to match his, “I would leave before they make you.”

“I can’t!” he snapped and then sucked in a breath as if he couldn’t believe his outburst. He tucked his hands behind his back, a grimace on his face, “seems my magic isn’t quite yet functional.”

For the first time since he’d appeared in your forest, he didn’t meet your eye, shifting from foot to foot as if he couldn’t stand still. You knew that look. You’d never seen it but you knew what it was like to wear it — to be embarrassed and angry, wanting to crawl out of your own skin because you thought you weren’t enough and couldn’t figure out how to make magic work.  

“How did you get here, Loki?” you asked softly, tucking your daggers away.

He closed his eyes and inhaled, long and slow, before answering, “teleportation, apparently.”

It didn’t take you long to piece together that he’d been telling the truth about not planning on coming here. Or at least, he hadn’t been planning on coming here this year. Now he was stuck until he got a handle on his magic again and you knew better than anyone else on this planet that it wasn’t always easy to get it back. You couldn’t imagine what it was like to be in his situation.

You offered him your hand, “if you take it, the Esprits will have a harder time knowing you’re here. As long as you let go before we exit the forest, you can come have a meal and rest before you go back.”

He opened his eyes and stared warily at your hand.

You rolled your eyes, “take it or deal with them yourself.”

“I believe you might want this back first?” the posh prince had returned, all of the emotion wiped from his face. He extended the dagger toward you, hilt first.

“Keep it,” you shrugged, “think of it as a souvenir.”

He small smile tugged at the corner of his lips and he took your hand, “then lead the way, Chercheuse.”

The moment your hand touched his, you tensed, relieved when you weren’t hit with a vision even though you knew it shouldn’t happen in the forest. The wails subsided until there was nothing but the same eerie quiet you’d stomped into. It wouldn’t last long, but it would be enough for you to get out of the forest and back into the world of the living. Your anger felt like it was ages away now and you knew you’d spent far more time in the forest than you’d planned. It was time to get out.

The sun was setting when you crossed the threshold and into the fields that separated the forest and the main city. You hadn’t even had lunch yet when you’d gone in. As if in response, your stomach growled so loudly, Loki smirked.

“Be quiet and follow me,” you snapped.

He did as he was told, though you weren’t sure if it because he had so much on his mind or if it was because he was trying to ignore the gaping looks he was getting from the passing crowds. You knew the only reason no one asked any questions was because he was with you.

Somehow he managed to follow even though his eyes were everywhere but on you. He took in the bustling city, running last minute errands before dinner, laughter and an array of smells coming from the open windows you walked by. You nodded politely, smiling and returning the many hellos you got while cut your way through the city, taking side alleys and complicated turns.

“If you don’t mind, may I say something?” he asked, when you were almost across the city.

You shot him a look, having a good idea what he was going to say, “you already did.”

He rolled his eyes and you almost laughed, the look so full of sass and unprincely that it caught you by surprise.

You had a feeling you weren’t going to like his question, but you found yourself saying, “fine, go ahead.”

“Do all these twists and turns have anything to do with the person tailing us?”

You stopped, surprised he’d noticed and glad he wasn’t going to ask what you thought he would. He raised a brow, a sly grin appearing on his face.

“How about we lose it?” you said with a grin to match his.

You took off without warning but it didn’t take long before he was at your side. You ran until you were out of breath and you tasted blood under your tongue, Loki the same beside you. Beaming, you looked up at him, feeling like you could finally breath once again, despite your panting. He laughed, surprising you by how joyful it sounded. It seemed you weren’t the only one who needed to run off some steam.

“Care to explain who’s following us?” he asked.

You shook your head, “nope.”

He raised a brow.

You laughed, “you’ll see. We’re almost there.”

The house you came up to was modest and warm, smoke trailing out of the brick chimney in the back. You were almost at the front porch when a beautiful woman burst out the front door, eyes frantically searching behind you.

“It’s fine, Morna,” you said before she could get a word out, “she’s not far behind. I’ll wait for her.”

Morna sighed, “I swear, she’s almost too adventurous for her own good.”

“I don’t think there’s such a thing,” you smiled.

“You’re welcome to,” she paused as if noticing Loki for the first time, “will the two of you be joining us for dinner, Princess?”

You felt Loki stiffen beside you and you winced, wishing you could have kept that little bit a secret, “if you don’t mind.”

Morna put a hand on her hip and shot you a stern look, “as long as my daughter returns safely.”

You nodded, watching as she turned and went back inside. The door clacked shut and you went to sit on the porch steps, avoiding Loki’s gaze.

“So,” he began, coming to sit beside you, “Princess. Chercheuse d’Esprits. I believe I understand why you avoided my questions.”

You sighed, “as if I didn’t have enough pressure being the Princess of Zen-Whoberis, it only got worse when they figured out that I was the next Chercheuse d’Esprits. I just wanted to be able to talk to someone without being treated like royalty…you know, even if you are too.”

He cocked his head, looking you over as if he was seeing you for the first time.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t need to tell you that,” you blurted, realizing what you’d just said.

He offered a smile, “I can’t say that I’m upset that you did.”

You smiled back, unable to look away from his bright emerald eyes. He looked like he might have wanted to say something, so you waited, hanging on to every moment as if the energy was drawn tight between you.

“Who’s that?” a childish voice demanded.

Loki’s head snapped back to the road, and you felt yourself smile, impressed that she was already here.

“This is Loki,” you replied, “he’s a …He’s a friend.”

Loki arched a brow and you shrugged in response.

She crossed her arms, her chest still lifting and falling rapidly, “he looks funny. Why isn’t his skin green?”

You laughed, “because he’s not from here.”

Her eyes widened, “is he from the forest?”

“That’s where I found him,” you said with a knowing grin and turned to Loki, “if you weren’t already aware, this was our tail.”

He nodded.

She narrowed her eyes at Loki as if she wanted to ask more questions, but you’d brought up a topic she couldn’t resist.

“I was good, right?” every bit of her tiny five year old body seemed to light up, and her voice got louder and louder as she spoke, “I was almost with you the whole way! How long did it take you to notice me?”

Morna burst out of the house, “Gamora. I thought we agreed you’d stay and help out with the house today.” Gamora opened her mouth to speak but Morna pushed on, “Come set the table.”

With a sheepish nod, she said, “yes mama,” then scurried into the house.

You watched her run into the house, but could barely focus on her, Loki’s stare like a physical thing on your back.

“I have a feeling you have questions,” you said, staring out at the road instead of at him.

He hummed his agreement, “the palace in the distance. That’s your home.”

“Those aren’t questions.”

He was silent for a long time, the sound of pots and pans clanging inside the house and birds fluttering past filling the silence. You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d done the right thing bringing him to Morna’s instead of the palace. He was an intruder who’d made it into the one place on Zen-Whoberis that he shouldn’t have been able to enter, and you still weren’t sure how he’d gotten onto your planet in the first place. Logically, you shouldn’t have been inviting him to dinner. The only saving grace if your father figured out what you’d done was that Loki was the Prince of Asgard. Although the relations between your two planets were almost non-existent, there was no reason for his being here to be considered an act of war. And you knew it wasn’t. You’d seen his frustration when he’d tried to go back home. There weren’t too many people who knew what it was like to be at the mercy of something that you were supposed to be the master of: a live thing that no one truly understood and yet expected you to.

“Who are these people?” he finally murmured.

There was so much you could answer, but you went for the simplest answer, “Morna is our seamstress. Gamora is her daughter. And this place they live in just feels a lot more like home than the palace does…Makes me feel a lot more normal I guess.”

“Why would you want to be normal?” he asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“When you’re in Asgard, do you leave your palace?”

It might have seemed like a strange question to him, but you saw the difference between you and your sister, and you knew it wasn’t all because of the magic that you possessed and she didn’t.

“I can’t say that I do,” he replied.

You sucked in a breath, wondering if you were really going to say all this to a complete stranger, “I have to leave the palace because I’m the Chercheuse d’Esprits. It’s my job to find and guide souls to the forest of the dead. My people see me because I’m at every funeral making sure the souls find their way… You and I are supposed to sit in our towers and control everything, but our people aren’t meant to be controlled. They’re people. Morna and her daughter remind me what’s it’s like to be Zen-Whoberisan.”

“It’s not too hard to imagine,” he murmured, “I always have this strange feeling that there’s no one else quite like me.”

You smiled, “I don’t find that hard to believe.”

His brows shot up, eyes wide until he realized you weren’t insulting him.

“It’s a good thing,” you said, “trust me. I don’t know too many people who could appear in my forest and live to tell the tale.”

He shrugged.

You weren’t sure why you felt the need to comfort him, or how you knew that he might need it, but you couldn’t help yourself, “trust me.”

“Dinner’s ready,” Morna called from inside.

You stood, “ready?”

He put on a princely smile, “I’m famished.”

“What are you?” Gamora asked between bites of her meal.

“Gamora,” her mother chided.

Loki chuckled politely, “It’s quite all right.”

Morna ignored him, pointed gaze still focused on her daughter, “It’s not a question we ask our guests.”

“It’s fine, Morna,” you laughed, “I asked him the same question when we met.”

She raised a brow at you and you quieted, trying to wipe the grin from your face. With your head dipped toward the table, you slid a glance Loki’s way and noticed he too was trying not to smile.

Gamora piped up once more, “are you from the forest?”

Before Morna could scold her once more, Loki answered with a sly, “I am.”

She gasped and looked to you for confirmation. Unable to resist and very curious to see where this was going, you nodded.

“But the Princess says that only the dead live there,” she narrowed her eyes at him, “are you dead?”

With a dramatic sigh, Morna gave up and got to her meal, pretending she wasn’t just as curious as her daughter.

Loki grinned, “I’m very much alive, but like your beautiful Chercheuse, I have magic that lets me be in the forest.”

I rolled my eyes at his pretty words, realizing very quickly that Loki had definitely mastered the ways of court.

“Prove it,” she challenged, her little five year old face full of determination.

Although she terrified her mother half to death, running around and exploring the town — following you around half the time — you were so proud of her. Even though your visions were never wrong, your hope only grew as you saw the strength grow in her. Although it had never happened, you hoped that she would change her fate.

“Are you sure?” he asked, eyes lighting up.

She nodded.

You waited to see what would happen, part excited part terrified for him in case his magic was still acting up.

A butterfly fluttered over the table, making its way from person to person, gently landing on your head before continuing toward Gamora. She giggled as it approached, but jumped back when it transformed into a mouse right before her eyes. Her giggling quickly returned when the mouse stopped before her fingers and sniffed, little whiskers tickling her skin.

You turned to Loki, watching the satisfied smirk on his face. There was no trace of strain there at all. You knew he had to be powerful to have made it to your planet by mistake, but you hadn’t realized that there was so much more more to magic that you didn’t know.

It was hard to remember that you’d only known Loki for a few hours. There was something about him that you couldn’t deny felt familiar — felt right. As if he could feel you staring at him, he looked over, the ghost of a smirk still on his lips. His only grew when yours did. The sight made you happier than it should have.

After dinner you and Loki were doing the dishes while Morna was putting Gamora to bed.

“What are you doing?” you asked, watching Loki hover behind you.

He raised a brow, “watching.”

You shouldn’t have been surprised. He was a Prince. If you weren’t the Chercheuse, you were pretty sure you’d be just as confused.

“Grab a towel,” you laughed, “roll up your sleeves and dry these plates.”

He hesitated, looking a little confused for a moment, then at your look, rolled up his sleeves.

“Do you spend a lot time here?” Loki asked stiffly, staring at the towel in his hand like he’d never seen one before.

“Whenever I can,” you said, tearing your eyes away from him before you got caught staring, “I prefer it.”

“I can understand that.”

It seemed like he was going to say more, so you waited, silently washing the dishes and handing them over with care. Every time his fingers almost brushed yours, your heart stopped, expecting the terrible rush of the vision. Mercifully, you avoided his touch the whole way through the dishes.

“Boy is it somber down here,” Morna said, coming down the stairs.

You shot her a smile, “Not somber. It’s just all your delicious food that’s put us to sleep.”

Morna put a hand on your shoulder and you tried not to think of her death as she did. You’d seen it once and that was enough.

“How long are you staying with us, Prince Loki?” she asked.

He looked down at the plate in his hand, rubbing circles with the dish towel even though it was already dry, “no longer than the night, I believe.”

“Well, in that case, it was a pleasure meeting you and I wish you safe travels on your way home,” she gave him a light pat on the shoulder, “I’m off to finish a dress and then bed for me.”

“Would that dress happen to be for someone exactly my size?” you couldn’t help but ask.

She grinned, “that’s my secret. Good night you two.”

“The pleasure was all mine. Thank you for your hospitality, Miss Morna,” Loki said, offering her his most courtly smile.

She only smirked, used to dealing with royals on a daily basis. A smile like that, even one as charming as his, wouldn’t impress her.

Loki handed you the towel but you motioned for him to put it back where he’d found it. He was leaving tonight. You didn’t want one of your last thoughts of Loki to be his death.

“Shouldn’t you be getting home?” He asked as the two of you left Morna’s house, locking the door behind you.

You sighed, “probably. My father’s bound to have heard I had a stranger trailing me through the city this evening and he’ll be out of his mind wanting to know what’s going on.”

He followed beside you, hands clasped behind his back, “you can tell him you’re improving relations with foreign planets.”

“Aren’t you smooth,” you laughed, enjoying the little smirk that appeared on his lips, “what about your father?”

He shrugged, “he’s probably busy.”

You weren’t going to press even though you had a feeling there was more to that story. After all, you and Loki were strangers, no matter how much those words felt like a lie.

“When are you leaving?” you whispered.

He looked down at his feet, hair falling into his eyes.

“I don’t think I can,” he murmured to the ground.

Your heart hurt for him. He hadn’t appeared in your forest on purpose. The magic it had to have taken to make such an incredible jump was beyond you. He either had to be incredibly experienced or lucky again to pull something like that off, and judging by the fact that he wouldn’t look up at you, he had neither on his side at the moment.

“You know, if all you wanted was to keep hanging around me, all you had to do was say something,” you skipped forward and twirled in front of him, “as Princess and Chercheuse d’Esprits, I’m used to being adored.”

He looked up, hair still half hiding his face and you were surprised with the urge to brush it away. The corner of his mouth barely twitched upward, but it was enough for you to know that he appreciated your humour — or at least you not pressing.

“Thank you, Chercheuse,” he bowed slightly, “for saving me from admitting how much I adore you.”

You laughed, “for someone so charming, I feel like you could have sold that a little more.”

“Of course I could have,” a wicked grin lit up his face, “but I can’t have you adoring me too.”

“It would only be fair,” you said, looking up into his emerald eyes, the blues and greens of the night sky making them seem even brighter.

He brushed his hair away from his face and whispered, “somehow I doubt it ever could be.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, a door banging shut nearby reminding you where you were. You walked backwards, motioning for him to follow along.

“I like your story of improving interplanetary relationships, I think we’re going to stick with that,” you said.

His eyes drifted toward the palace, “I’m not about to be thrown in a dungeon, am I?”

“No, but I have to say, the dungeons are more welcoming than the forest you showed up in.”

You wandered down backroads, taking the long way to the palace. You were chilled to the bone, despite the night’s warm weather, and hugged your arms to your chest as you walked.

“So the forest…that’s where the souls go?” he asked, stepping aside you that you could pass through a narrow archway.

“Some of them,” you said, “but I have to bring most of them there.”

You shivered, rubbing your arms to try and combat the chill that never left.

He slipped out of his jacket, “seems you need it more than I do.”

“I don’t…”

He raised a brow.

“Fine,” you sighed, “be a perfect gentleman, as if you weren’t charming enough as it was.”

His whole face broke into a wicked grin, “you think I’m charming?”

You snatched the coat from his hands, “you know you are.”

He looked like he was about to offer you his arm so you skipped ahead, calling after him to catch up. The two of you tore down the streets like renegades, racing through alleyways, taking detours whenever you thought you might cross another person on the street. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d acted so carefree and you couldn’t wipe the grin from your face either.

Pain in your stomach folded you in half and you tumbled to the ground, only breaking the fall with a roll you’d practiced so often you could do it in your sleep. Kneeling on the ground, gasping for breath, your mind zeroed in on a location. Your inhales were sharp and short, the weight on your chest so painful, tears were streaming out the corner of your eyes. You were barely aware of Loki who hovered nearby. You grit through the pain, waiting it out and praying it wouldn’t last long. He took a tentative step closer and you managed to wave him off before he could get too close.

You were down on all fours when the pain finally let up, your breathing returning to normal as if nothing had happened. The only thing you could hear in the silence of the night was your hammering heart, and you closed your eyes, forehead resting against the earth. You shivered. Nothing could keep the cold at bay anymore.

“Chercheuse?”

You knew you needed to get up, but all you wanted to do was curl up into a little ball and fall asleep.

“Princess,” Loki said more forcefully. You sucked in a deep breath knowing that there was no way he could understand what had just happened, “breath. Please.”

When you didn’t move, you heard shuffling and then nothing.

“Please, breath. If not for yourself, then for me,” he murmured so much closer now.

You lifted your heavy head and noticed he was sitting beside you, knees up to his chest.

“Why for you?” you rasped.

A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, “because I don’t wish to be thrown in dungeon if I don’t have a conscious escort.”

You shook your head and found that you were slowly coming back to yourself again. After a few deep breaths, you managed to lift to a full seat.

“Loki, I have a job to do,” you murmured.

He nodded, “I gathered as much. Would you like company?”

You could only stare at him, confused and shocked. No one ever wanted to come with you. The dead made everyone uncomfortable. This was always a job you’d done on your own. There was a reason you experienced the pain the dying felt in their last moments; it was to tie you to the deceased and their soul. There was no reason for him to want to come with you. And you knew he was smart enough to have gathered a good enough picture of what you needed to do.

Your words were barely more than a breath when you asked, “why would you offer?”

“Because,” He shrugged, “neither magic nor duty come without a price. You’re helping me pay mine, the least I can do is help you pay yours.”

“It’s nothing,” you said, “all I’m giving you is a place to stay until you find a ride back home.”

He fiddled with the fabric of his pants, “you could have left me in that forest…I won’t leave you — to do this on your own, I mean.”

“Okay then,” you said softly and pushed yourself up to a stand, wrapping his jacket tighter around you, “thank you.”

“Thank you,” he echoed, coming to his full height less than a foot away from you.

You tilted your head back so that you could look him in the eyes.

He smirked.

You did the same.

He cleared his throat, voice raspy when he asked, “shall we?”

Rolling your shoulders back, you sucked in a deep, motivating breath and motioned for him to follow.

His wife sat on the porch, alone, staring out at the street when you got there. She was an old lady, far along in her years, and you remembered her husband being the same. When she spotted you, relief washed over her face. Then she noticed Loki and flinched.

“Hello Ms. Zyk,” you greeted, your voice a practiced calm that set people at ease, “this is Loki. He’s here to help me, but if you prefer, he can wait outside.”

She looked him up and down, “you never needed help before.”

“I never asked for it,” you said with a weary smile, “but if he couldn’t make your husband’s journey any smoother, I wouldn’t have brought him along.”

“He can help?” her eyes filled with water, voice trembling when she asked, “did he suffer, Princess? It happened so suddenly. He should have been in bed, but we stayed up for another glass of wine…”

She began sobbing and you motioned for her to go inside. She nodded, trying to piece herself together long enough for you to do your job.

You swayed and Loki’s hand shot out to steady you, but you managed to right yourself before his fingers could reach you.

“Thank you,” you mouth the words to him before following Ms. Zyk inside.

Loki is silent the whole time, watching as you approach the dead body and came to sit beside it. He stopped at the doorframe and leaned against it, a comforting presence. You were the one who was always there for the deceased and their families. It was nice to know you had someone who was there for you you this time.

You took his hand and looked around for the Esprit. It didn’t take long to find the essence that used to be Mr. Zyk hovering in the far corner of the room, staring horrified at his body.

“Mr. Zyk?” you asked tentatively, knowing the last time you startled an Esprit you had to chase him down for the following hour.

His eyes snapped toward yours, glowing and wide, “Princess? Chercheuse…”

And that was all he said, because your presence and his body were enough to convince him of what had happened.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to my wife,” he choked.

You squeezed his hand, knowing that so close to his death he would find comfort in the gesture, “what would you like me to say?”

Repeating his message word for word, you watched him slowly fade, the Forest of the Dead calling him away. Ms. Zyk was in tears, but smiling, hanging onto your every word. There was nothing hard about communing with the dead and the more you did it, the less emotionally draining it was. None of that changed the fact that when Mr. Zyk’s Esprit vanished from the room, you could barely sit straight in your chair.

You knew the inevitable was coming when she rose, coming in for a hug. Bracing yourself, you were hit with the vision of her death. When she pulled away, your smile, though sad, was genuine.

“Fear not, Ms. Zyk,” you said, knowing you were going to be back here tomorrow morning, “it’ll be all right.”

“How can I live without my husband?” she sobbed.

You gave her hand a squeeze, “you will be fine. I promise. Please, go to bed. Rest. You will be all right.”

She nodded, wiping away her tears and you exited the room slowly, Loki trailing out behind you. You kept your composure until you were far enough away that she would no longer see you and then collapsed onto a random civilian’s porch steps.

Loki remained standing, eyes on you. You expected to see the usual reverence or pity on his face, but there was nothing you could read there.

“You’re incredibly strong,” he murmured, “I can’t imagine my magic working the way yours does.”

“There are positives and negatives to both. I mean, I’ve never stranded myself on another planet,” you tried for a joke, but it came out tired and raw.

Yet, he smiled anyways, “that is a very accurate point. Take as long as you need.”

You appreciated how calm he was about the whole thing more than you could ever say to him. When you had started your day, you never could have imagined that it would end this way.

This time, the smile on your face wasn’t so forced, “Can we take the long way to the palace?”

“And here I thought you would never give me the tour of the city, Chercheuse,” he said, his whole face lighting up into a mischievous grin.

You crept through the palace with Loki, your steps echoing through the silent hallway.

“Why aren’t you making any sound?” you whispered.

His whole face broke into a wide, toothy grin, “magic.”

You shook your head at him, trying to hide your amusement, “want to share some of that with me before—”

“YN,” your father’s voice echoed through the hallway, “care to tell me who are guest is?”

You winced and turned slowly, afraid of the look you’d find on his face. Loki was already striding across to meet your father, bowing when he reached him.

“Prince Loki Odinson, of Asgard. I’m honoured your daughter has invited me to be your guest,” his voice was smooth, easy; a man in his natural habitat.

Your father extended his hand, tight lipped, “funny, she didn’t inform me that you would be coming.”

“It’s fine dad,” you interjected, “I’m just helping to improve our interplanetary relationships, that’s all.”

“And this has nothing to do with our discussion earlier,” he demanded with a stern look.

You shook your head quickly, “no. Promise.”

Your father glanced between the two of you suspiciously, “and where do you suppose he’s staying?”

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Loki tilt his head as if the thought just occurred to him and he was very curious to know the answer too.

“The guest room across the hall,” you ventured. If you were being honest, you were going to put him in the adjoining room, too afraid someone would find out he was there, but you knew your  father wouldn’t like that at all.

He was silent for a long time and for a second you were worried he might actually try and throw Loki in the dungeon but then he said, “very well. But this had better not hinder any of your duties.”

“It won’t. I promise,” you stated.

“Good,” he nodded in Loki’s direction then turned his attention back on me, “goodnight Princess.”

“Night dad,” you chirped.

You waited until he was out of sight to walk Loki to his room. You strolled down the hallway, neither of you saying a word, comfortable in the silence.

“This is it,” you said, stopping at his door.

He stopped a foot away, and you looked up at him, offering him a small smile. He returned it with one of his own, eyes bright and mischievous.

“So this is it,” he echoed softly.

You nodded, unable to tear your eyes away from him, “thank you, for everything.”

He took a small step closer, “I should be the one to thank you for not feeding me to the souls in the forest.”

You smirked, “you would have been fine on your own.”

“I thought you said I wouldn’t make it out alive,” he countered.

“That was before I knew how charming you were,”

The corner of his lips twitched upward, grabbing all your attention, “lucky me.”

Your lips almost brushed his before you realized what was about to happen. You backed off with a forced smile, refusing to see his death. Loki would be gone in a matter of days. Knowing his death would only bring you pain.

He bowed his head, that courtly smile back on his face, “goodnight, Chercheuse.”

“Goodnight Loki,” you whispered back.

Several weeks later, you walked through the barn, Loki matching your stride. It was hard to believe that the days had turned into weeks and that Loki was still here. The two of you had spent almost every day together, goofing off and spending time with Gamora when you had free time or completing whatever duties he was allowed to accompany you on. There were days you had spent in the forest and others where Loki made good on his word and attended council meetings, strengthen the relationship between your two planets. But every day, whether it be morning or night, there wasn’t a day you didn’t see him for at least a few moments.

Today was no different.

“So, they’re both saddled up,” you said, “but the chestnut mare is mine. You can take the black one.”

He nodded as you approached the horses.

“Have you ever ridden before?”

“I should be fine,” he said with a grin.

You didn’t doubt it. The more time you spent with each other, the more you realized there wasn’t much he couldn’t do. You matched his grin with a smirk of your own. There was nothing you weren’t ready to match him at anyways.

Only it didn’t show when you got your foot caught in the stirrup and tripped on your way up. But the fall wasn’t what scared you the most.

“Don’t touch me!” the words were out of your mouth before you could stop them.

Hurt flickered across his face so quickly you would have missed it if you hadn’t spent so much time with him over the past weeks.

“Loki, I—”

“It’s perfectly fine,” he interrupted, smoothing his tunic and clasping his hands behind his back, “it’s fine.”

You shook your head, hating the courtly prince he’d reverted to, “no, it’s not. Let me explain.”

“You don’t have to.”

You would have smacked him on the arm if it weren’t so risky, “stop being prissy and let me explain.”

He raised his brows, unimpressed and you smirked at the look on his face, your outburst momentarily forgotten. But the sass faded once more to a bland look of unfeeling and you knew you had to explain.

“Loki, when I touch people…” you stumbled, wondering how you’d explain something you’d never to had say aloud in your life, especially after hiding it from him for so long, “I know how they’re going to die. I see it as if it’s happening right before my eyes. I don’t always know when it’s going to happen for them, but I can usually guess by what I see and…Loki I’m afraid to touch you and see.”

His hands remained firmly behind his back, but he took a step closer, his face softening. He moved closer and closer until he was as close as he could get without the risk of contact.

The corner of his mouth pulled up in a sly grin, “so that’s how you’ve resisted my charm. I didn’t realize you’d have to go to such extreme lengths.”

“You’re an ass,” you laughed, so relieved he didn’t ask more about it, “Morna’s donkey to be precise.”

He wasn’t laughing, but his eyes were so bright and filled with laughter you couldn’t look away, mesmerized.

“I can tell a rock from grass,” he pointed out.

“Still,” you huffed, not sure how to answer but extremely aware of his proximity.

His smirk widened to an infuriating grin, “you appear to be a little flustered, Chercheuse.”

You shooed him away and took a step back, “just get onto your horse.”

He swung onto his horse with efficient grace, that carefree grin still on his face as he looked down at you. The sight was enough to make you want to smile back uncontrollably, but somehow you’d managed to keep your expression relatively normal.

“Are you any good at this?” you asked once you were up on your horse.

He looked back over his shoulder, the wind blowing his hair all over the place, adding to his mischievous look, “Chercheuse, there’s very little I’m not good at.”

“Then let’s see if you can keep up, Prince,” you called, already halfway across the yard.

The two of you kept at it until you were just as sweaty as your horses. You had gotten all the way to the Forest of the Dead, trotting at a far enough distance so that the horses wouldn’t spook.

“There’s a ball in a couple weeks,” you blurted out, breaking the silence with the words that had been on your mind since you’d slowed the horses.

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth pulled up slightly. It was no use trying to get anything past him anymore. He saw too much. You couldn’t say it was a bad thing. Someone saw you…and you were glad it was him.

“Is this an anyone can come kind of thing?” he asked, keeping his eyes up ahead, “or is it an invite only kind of thing?”

“Invite only.”

He nodded slowly, “and which noble do you plan on taking with you?”

Your heart was hammering in your chest and you almost didn’t hear your own voice when you said, “not a noble from this planet.”

“Then I would say he’s a lucky man,” he said with a grin.

“To get to go with the Princess, absolutely,” you wanted to laugh, but there was something else you needed to tell him, “there is one catch though.”

“I imagine it has something to do with not being able to dance with you?”

Grim, you nodded, “yes, and also that I have to dance with a whole bunch of other nobles.”

Starring at him, you were beginning to think that maybe you’d been misreading everything between the two of you. He seemed so calm, so unaffected by what you’d just said that maybe he really wasn’t as bothered by this as you were. Maybe he just didn’t care and was only agreeing to come as a friend.

“How’s your magic?” you winced, knowing that although you wanted to change the subject, this wasn’t really the way to go about it.

He looked up, startled by your question, “oh. Better. Still not quite there yet. You’ll be the first to know when it is.”

“Oh.”

“But I am looking forward to the ball,” he quickly added, “and for a time when you don’t smell like grass and horse.”

“Hey!” you broke off a nearby branch and threw it at him.

His laugh was musical and carefree, and still, after all these months, your favourite sound. Every time you heard it, you couldn’t help but join in.

Loki took off at gallop, calling over his shoulder for you to catch up.  

You changed from partner to partner, dancing with young men from the city you’d danced with a million times throughout your life.  Yet the one person you kept wishing was holding you in his arms was the one person you couldn’t let yourself touch. It didn’t change the fact that every time you changed partners or looked over their shoulder, you were looking for his green eyes.

By keeping your distance physically for months, you were only now realizing that you’d made life so much harder for yourself by getting to know him better. If you’d seen his death before you’d gotten to care about him it wouldn’t have hurt so much to see it, but now…

“Are you all right, Princess?” your dance partner asked.

You smiled at your old acquaintance, glad the person you were dancing with at the moment was one who would die of old age.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, with a half convincing smile.

He took a step back and kissed your hand with a polite smile, mercifully giving you your space. You turned to leave, not sure you could keep up the whole facade any longer. You beelined for the balcony, desperate for fresh air. You burst through the doors and almost ran into Loki. Stumbling back, you looked up at him, your heart melting at the sight. He was so handsome in his formal tunic, the dark green of the material making his eyes appear even brighter than usual. His hair was a bit of a mess instead of its usual slicked back, as if he’d been running his hand through his hair all night. All you wanted to do was step into his arms.

Loki raised a brow, a ghost of a smile on his lips. You’d been fighting this for so long now, you weren’t sure it was worth it anymore. You extended your hand.

“Are you sure?” he whispered when you were so close you were practically touching.

You were trembling now, terrified, but not about to back down. You were so tired of keeping your distance from him. You were done with it. Nodding, you took his hand.

“Almighty Thanos, I... Loki... Prince of Asgard... Odinson... the rightful King of Jotunheim... God of Mischief... do hereby pledge to you, my undying fidelity”

You stared at Loki, courtly prince facade perfectly in place despite the bruises, dirt and blood covering his whole body. All you could feel was terror, burning heat and excruciating pain. And desperation. So much of it.

You couldn’t take your eyes off Loki as he walked up to the giant purple man, a dagger materializing behind his back. Your heart jammed in your throat. You’d seen that man before. There was nothing you could do as he thrust upward, faster than you’d ever seen him move and for a second you thought maybe your ability was faulty because everything froze before the hit could strike home.

But the man spoke, not an ounce of fear or worry in his voice, “Undying? You should choose your words more carefully.”

He twisted the dagger out of Loki’s hand and lifted him up by the neck so that they were eye to eye. You strained against the vision, begging to be let out, but it didn’t erase the vision of Loki kicking and struggling in vain. Both of you knew what was going to happen. You saw it in the way he stopped fighting and even though you knew it was useless, you wanted to shout at him to keep pushing.

“You will…never be…a god,” He muttered and the man snapped his neck before you had the chance to look away.

You tried to shout but your ‘’no!” was muffled as the vision faded away.

Your body was wracked with tremors, your breathing coming out in uneven gasps as tears streamed down your face. You were pressed tightly to Loki’s chest, his chin on your head and his hands smoothing up and down your back. Pulling him in closer, you let him sway you to the faded music until your breathing evened out and the tears had subsided. He said nothing until you pulled back, surprised for a moment by how different the man standing in front of you was from the man in your vision.

“You are far stronger than anyone I have ever met,” he whispered fiercely.

“I…” you didn’t know what to say to him. Judging by what you’d seen, you had a feeling he still had many years to live, but you absolutely hated the vision. That was no way for him to die. He was so much stronger, and far more clever, to die the way he would,. Deep down you knew he was a warrior and that very few got peaceful deaths, but he deserved one that wasn’t in vain. You wanted to tell him all this. You wanted to ask him if he knew who the man was and what that man had to do with Gamora, but you knew the rule. There was only one and you’d sworn an oath never to break it.

“Would you like to go home?” he asked.

You straightened even though it was the last thing you felt like doing, “no. This is my job. I can’t keep being afraid of people’s fates and not dealing with it.”

He looked at you silently, not saying a word.

“And I should have seen the whole town, and learned when their deaths were,” I blurted out, the confession escaping on its own, “but I haven’t because I don’t know how I can carry all these deaths with me and I know I’m supposed to do that I can try to intercept diseases and what not, but how am I supposed to do it? How can I do it when I can barely handle yours?”

You realized you were falling apart and you stepped back, clenching your fists in an attempt to piece yourself together again. Loki closed the distance between you and held your fists in his hands. You flinched at the contact, afraid you’d see that terrible image again, but nothing happened.

He dipped in, so close that his lips brushed against your hear when he whispered, “what if you don’t have to do it alone?”

“Loki,” you murmured, turning your head so that the two of you were almost touching, “you have to return to Asgard.”

“My brother will be king. There’s no rush for me to return.”

“Loki,” you breathed, wondering if you could say anything other than his name. But lately his name had always been the first thing on your lips and there was nothing else that seemed to come out.

“Chercheuse?”

There was so much in that one word, so many questions you didn’t know if you could ever answer, but there was one that you knew for sure and had been certain about for a while now.

You closed the distance and he froze, your lips on his. You almost pulled away, sure you had misread the whole situation, when his hand slid behind your neck and pulled you closer.

His lips were gentle on yours but there was an underlying current of urgency that your body responded to. You buried your fingers in his hair, dragging your nails along his skin and tugging on his hair. He moaned in response, stepping forward and pushing you up against the wall.

“Loki,” you breathed, your head titling back as he trailed kisses down your neck.

His hands slid down, tracing down your side, along your waist to your hips. You pulled him even closer, fingers pressing into his shoulders. His searching continued down to your thighs and he pulled you up, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Princess, I hope — oh.”

You broke away, head snapping in the direction of the voice. Your last dance partner stood at the doors, wide-eyed and open mouthed.

Before you could say anything, Loki growled, “leave.”

He didn’t need to be told twice and tripped over himself to get back into the ballroom, the door slamming behind him.

Loki turned his attention back toward you, emerald eyes practically glowing, gaze fixed on wholly on your face. You smiled. The intensity on his face, softened and he pressed a light kiss to your lips before setting your gently to your feet.

He took a step back and you almost reached out to pull him back. His lips curved into a wicked smile that gave you the impression he knew exactly what you’d almost done.

“Chercheuse,” he extended his hand, bowing slightly, “would you care to share this dance with me?”

You let out a shaky breath, sending the night’s whirlwind of emotions away with it, “absolutely.” You woke up warm. The chill of death was nowhere near and you smiled, snuggling in closer to warmth.

“Good morning, Chercheuse,” a gravelly voice whispered.

Opening your eyes, your smile widened even further, the night’s events coming back to you. You brushed the hair from his face and he smirked, eyes half open. You let your fingers travel down to his jaw, his neck and to his bare chest, smoothing your hand over the lean muscle. He rolled over and buried his face in your neck.

“Please tell me you have nothing to do today,” he murmured, breath tickling your skin, “because I only have one and it has nothing to do with leaving this room.”

He placed a gentle kiss on your throat before propping himself up onto his elbows and kissing you on the lips. You pulled him down on top of you and deepened the kiss. He let out a little hum of satisfaction and you smiled into the kiss, unable to help yourself.

“Can we stay here forever?” you laughed, his fingers tickling you as they trailed up and down your body.

His eyes softened and the corner of his mouth lifted into the most serene smile you’d ever seen on him.

Before he could say anything, a deafening boom rocked the palace like an earthquake. Loki was out of bed and at the window, humour vanished from his face.

You threw his pants at him, “what’s going on?”

He caught them seamlessly, never tearing his gaze away from the window, “you’re under attack.”

For a second you stopped breathing, not sure you heard right. Then your shirt came flying at you, and you caught it right before it could smack you in the face. Your eyes focused on him, standing shirtless in your room, a grim expression on his face. This wasn’t what you were supposed to wake up to this morning — ever. You didn’t understand, but you knew it wasn’t a joke. There was only one reason you were so blindsided by this whole thing, and you knew that it was all on you. Unless there were absolutely no casualties from what was about to happen, you knew that if you’d done your job properly, you might have been able to stop this. You wanted to yourself that this was all a bad dream, that you were stuck in a vision again, but you couldn’t.

Something erupted in flames at the far end of the city. Your grip tightened on your shirt. Gamora. Morna. Your people needed you. You had to get out there.

Loki was fully dressed when you poked your head out of your shirt, tucking a dagger into his boot. He stopped, looked at you and closed the distance with speed you’d never seen before.

He crouched before you, hands cupping your face, “it’s going to be all right.”

You swallowed your fear and regret, and nodded.

“I’m going to go,” he continued, “meet me out there. Be careful.”

He smashed his lips to yours, holding you tight against him, until you both knew you had to pull away.  

“Don’t you dare die,” you whispered, your forehead resting against his.

He took a step back, a wicked grin on his face, “for you, never.”

And then he vanished, a burst of light washing your room in green. You were moving before the light was completely gone. The two of you could talk about his returned magic later, but right now, you needed to get out and help your people.

You burst out of your room to screams and barked orders. You had no idea who could be attacking your planet. No one cared about your tiny planet. You didn’t understand. Whoever this was, there had been no reason to see them coming.

Your heart dropped in your chest, a terrible thought knocking the wind from you. It couldn’t be a coincidence that you’d seen the same man in both Loki and Gamora’s deaths and that your planet was now on under fire. The date of their deaths was something you could never be sure about, but suddenly there was no questions about it. You tore through the palace, another frantic soldier in a sea of chaos.

Your father and sister had to be somewhere in the palace, but you couldn’t worry about them when they had a small battalion meant to protect them. Your people were alone. They weren’t meant for war. No one was.

No one stopped you as you ran out onto the street, the screams from the far end of the city reaching the palace walls, chilling you to your bone. No one had died yet, you could feel that much, but your chest felt heavy like you knew death was coming. You’d never been able to foreshadow death before, but you’d never had more than two people die at once. Whatever was coming…You couldn’t let yourself think about as you yelled at citizens to get behind the palace walls.

Your daggers were already in your hands when you reached the centre of the city, smoke clouding the streets, screams deafening. You didn’t recognize the attackers grabbing whoever they could find and dragging them back to where they’d landed. Fury and adrenaline pushed you forward, chasing away all your fear. These were your people.

You ran, slicing through enemies in vain. There were so many of them. You stumbled, slashing blindly trying to take out as many as you could without dying — or worse, getting caught. You tasted blood in your mouth but you didn’t know if it was your own or someone else, the metallic tang pushing you forward through the streets. You had no clue what these people wanted with yours, but you were sure they wanted you dead.

Every person caught your attention and you hoped it was Loki but it never was. All you could do was hope he was alive and focus on getting to Gamora. A burst of screams filled the air, driving you forward. The distance across the city was never longer than a five minute run but you weren’t sure you were ever going to get there. A man jumped out in front of you, catching you off guard and slamming you into the ground. A vision grabbed you, freezing you in space and time as you watched him die.

The world came back into focus and you scrambled to roll out of the way, but you weren’t fast enough, his blade catching you in the thigh.

You screamed but fought through the pain, thrashing until you managed to get on top of him and drive your own dagger into his heart. Somehow you pushed to a stand. You couldn’t put any weight on your left leg and you ripped off your sleeve and tied it over the cut. You were breathing heavily, the edges of your vision blurring but you pushed on. Every step was too slow but you couldn’t stop. You were so close to Morna’s house.

Your body moved through the motions, your brain turning off as you slashed, ducked and repeated. Whatever was happening, you needed to save your people.

You freed as many as you could, but the attackers had come in numbers, grabbing your people and corralling them at the planet’s main entrance. There had to be a better way.

Then you saw her. Gamora was hidden under the porch as far back as she could go. You let out a breath and pushed forward, the pain in your leg going numb.

But you weren’t the only one who’d spotted her.

An attacker raced forward, sliding to his knees to grab her out from under.

“No!” you shrieked, the man’s arms wrapped tight around Gamora as he pulled her away kicking and screaming.

You couldn’t run but you tried, stumbling after her, filled with panic. A shimmering green light burst into the yard and within seconds, the man was on the ground, Gamora safely in Loki’s arms. He put her down and you couldn’t hear what he was saying to her, but she took off running behind her house. A small breath of relief was all you could afford and you scrambled up, trying to reach Loki.

He was a blur of green light and silver blades, flashing in and out of existence as he defended the area. You fought alongside him as attackers rolled in, your hope finally blooming for the first time. Maybe together, you could defend your planet. Maybe with his help you could get to the forest and unleash the Esprits on the attackers. You cut another one down. Maybe your visions were wrong. After all, you’d seen Gamora as an adult in your vision.

Then Gamora ran back into the yard, one of your daggers in hand. You sprinted to her but Loki was faster, appearing behind her. He picked her up, teleported out. When he came back in, the enemy behind didn’t hesitate, lunging for Loki’s neck. But you were faster.

You tackled him to the ground, rolling into the dirt with him. Pain flared in your side but you barely felt it, scrambling to get on top of the enemy. Your dagger had been knocked to the ground. It didn’t matter. You still had one left in your boot. As you reached to grab it, pain blindsided you and you collapsed to the ground from a punch to the jaw. You tasted dirt and metal, fighting to separate the greens, blues and browns from one another so you could tell up from down. All you needed to find was your boot. He kicked you in the stomach. You curled into a ball, shielding yourself from whatever hit was coming next. But nothing did. Instead, he grabbed you by the armpits and hauled you to your feet. That was his mistake.

You jabbed the dagger into his neck, stumbling over him as he gurgled blood and crumple to the ground. Two strong hands caught you and you fought to break free until you heard, “Chercheuse, it’s me! It’s all right!”

At the sound of his voice, you collapsed into his arms, the adrenaline suddenly washing away and leaving nothing but pain behind. Loki scooped you up, tucking you in close and carrying you away from the fray. You whimpered over every bump but Loki barely slowed until he reached a small clearing behind a nearby hut.

Shivering, you curled in closer to Loki, searching for his warmth to chase away the hurt. He kneeled down to the ground, keeping you pressed tightly to his chest.

“Gamora,” you whispered.

He smiled, one of the few clear things you could see in a quickly blurring world, “she’s safe.”

You wanted to let out a sigh but the weight on your chest didn’t want to go away, “Loki… you need to… go back to…Asgard.”

“I’m not leaving until you’re safe,” he murmured, though there was something strange about the way he spoke.

“You’re not safe… here,” you protested once more with a cough, “please.”

“I can’t,” he choked out.

You knew he could. Despite all the pain and the chaos and the confusion, you knew he could have left Zen-Whoberis the moment the attackers had arrived. And he’d chosen to stay. He would never know how grateful you were to have met him and how much you wished you could spend the rest of your life learning about magic and laughing with him. You wanted to tell him, but there were so many words and too little time. The pain was starting to fade, giving way to numbness and you knew; you knew in that moment that you only had a few left.

“Loki,” your voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

His thumb brushed over your cheek, a soothing gesture that was completely at odds with the panicked look on his face.

“Please,” he begged, “safe your strength.”

You were saving your strength for this moment, mustering everything you had left and pulling him a little closer, “Loki, I need to… tell you something.”

He nodded reluctantly and leaned in. With every thing you had left, you proceeded to break the one rule you had sworn never to break before the pain disappeared completely and the whole world went black. 

Loki collapsed against the jagged rock wall, the freezing cold seeping through his ripped tunic. The cold was the only thing keeping him awake, numbing the pain that wracked his whole body. Even his head was throbbing, the pressure of magic overuse threatening to tear his body apart.

He hated this place. He knew why he was here, but knowing didn’t make it any easier. Closing his eyes, Loki let himself think of YN  — really think of her — for the first time since that day. He missed her so much, the thought still scared him so many years later. But she’d been right. If there was anything that had stayed constant through everything that had happened to him over the years, was that he could count on her, even in death. He only wished that she was the Zen-Whoberisan lying beside him now.

She groaned, slowly coming to, but Loki didn’t bother opening his eyes. He didn’t have the strength for it. He breathed in and out slowly, feeling his body slowly knit itself back together, the processes speeded by being back here of all places.

“What’s going on?” She growled with far more ferocity than someone who’d just been tossed off a cliff should have.

Loki found himself smirking and tried to reign it in before he lost it and it turned into a hysterical laugh. He’d heard a few rumours about her over the years, but the one that never surprised him was her resilience.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” He asked, surprised by the sound of his gravelly voice.

“Who the hell are you?” She countered.

This was a game of answering questions with questions, and it had been so long since they had last seen each other that he wasn’t in the habit of giving out answers, even to a friend, “Don’t you recognize me?”

She scoffed, “I’ve never met a frost giant before.”

Loki winced and opened his eyes. His hands were completely blue and he was almost certain that if he were to look in a mirror, his face would be too.

He tried to straighten, but the movement was too much, “Loki, of Asgard. God of Mischief. Brother of Thor.”

Her stare was scrutinizing, dark eyes assessing. He could practically see the wheels turning in her mind.

“That’s impossible,” she breathed, “you’re not. You can’t be.”

He smirked, “if I wasn’t, I’d have no reason to have saved you from Thanos. It was far more trouble than it would have been worth for a complete stranger.”

“No. The Loki I knew was friends with—”

“YN,” he interrupted, saying her name out loud for the first time since her death. For a moment, it stole his breath away, but he managed to continue, “she told me, before she died, what would happen to you and I. After I…It doesn’t matter. I met Thanos and found a way to make sure that I could get us both out. For her…she did that.”

Gamora stayed silent, looking down at the ground. He let his head fall back against the wall, looking down at her through hooded lids. Neither of them were supposed to be here. His dear Chercheuse had played against fate and had won. He just couldn’t understand why they hadn’t been able to do it back then. He’d thought they were…

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Don’t thank me,” he snapped though he didn’t mean for it to come out so harshly, “I wasn’t letting her die in vain.”

She nodded and they came to an understanding, a remembrance of the one person they’d both loved. He had a feeling YN had been the one memory to keep them both sane when the world had tried to break them both.

Gamora tried to stand but stumbled, the weight of her injuries still heavy. He’d hated seeing her half dead and in pain, but it had been the only way for the illusions to work. She seemed to understand that quickly enough, her clenched jaw the only sign that the pain bothered her.

She jut her chin up, “what do we do now?”

He shrugged, “nothing. We’re in no condition to go anywhere and this is the last place anyone would think to find us.”

“And when we’re in that condition?” she pushed, making him think that it wouldn’t take that long for them to be functional once again.

He looked at her closely, “do you have people?”

She nodded fiercely.

“Good,” he knew YN would have been relieved to hear it, and the thought of her gave him renewed strength, “once we’re ready, we go find our families.”

[alecthedevil]

Spaghetti (Bat family x reader)

Characters: Bat family, Reader. 

Word Count: 1365

Warnings: You are a literal brat in this. Thats pretty much it.

No specific pronouns used.

Dinner’s at the manor were always full of drama and sibling rivalry. In the early days, when Bruce was naive enough to think his children could get along together, he let them choose where they sat. Now days, the seating arrangement was one of strategy.

Bruce, as the head of the house, sat at the end of the table, furtherest from the door, and directly in front of the window. In this position he had full view of the table, and it’s occupants. He could also see if someone tried to sneak in or out of the dining room, a small advantage he had against the children.

Dick sat to Bruce’s left. As the eldest, he had the privilege of choosing his seat, that, and the fact that he didn’t pick fights with the rest of the table. Next to Dick was Tim. Tim sat there so he was far enough from Jason, as to not cause an argument. An unfortunate consequence to this was that Damian took up the other head of the table, directly next to Tim. But Damian usually remained civil during meal times, as his time with his Grandfather had taught him to display impeccable table manners.

On the other side of Bruce, directly across from Dick, was Jason. Far enough from Tim and Damian, whilst also being close to Bruce in order to have some sort of control over his most rebellious son. Next to Jason and directly across from Tim was you. 

Unfortunately that was probably the worst pairing Bruce could have made.

You and Damian want to protest the menu? Fine by him, you’re both still eating it. He could handle the fact that you liked to play with your food. When Jason helped you get rid of the things you didn’t like on your plate, he could turn a blind eye. Even when you coaxed Dick into distracting Bruce whilst you helped your self to more desert, Bruce could deal with. But the one thing Bruce had trouble stopping, was your desire to ruin every meal that Tim was trying to enjoy.

Ever since Bruce had taken you in, you’d had a strange fascination with making Tim’s life a living hell. Why? Well nobody had worked that out yet. Truth was, there was a special kind of joy you got out of seeing Tim miserable. It was way more fun to mess with him rather than the others. With Dick, he took everything in stride, and mostly laughed at your antics. Jason could easily throw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and dump you in the pool if you tried to mess with him. Damian either didn’t react or reacted to harshly, but Tim? Tim left himself right open. He made it easy.

And meal times were the perfect opportunity to annoy him.

Tonight, Alfred served steaming plates of spaghetti accompanied with garlic bread and unhealthy amounts of parmesan cheese. You and Jason wasted no time claiming the best slices of the bread, arguing back and forth that the biggest slice should belong to each of you, respectively. The argument ended abruptly when Jason argued that he was the biggest therefore he should get the larger slice, and you commented that since he was admitting that he was fat, he really should take a smaller slice.

Bruce got the biggest slice, and that was that.

The table was full of munching, chewing, talking and minimal arguments after that. All was well in the Wayne residence. Just a normal, quiet night. Yes sir. Nothing to comment on here. Just one big loving family. Nothing to see. Certainly, no trouble brewing…

“Where’s my phone?” Tim asks pausing as he feels his pocket to find that it is missing. “Who cares?” Damian replies stabbing at his pasta nonchalantly.  “No seriously. Where is it?” “No phones at the dinner table.” Bruce is quick to intervene, sick of restating the one rule he regularly enforced at the dinner table. “No Bruce, I don’t want to use it,” Tim explains, still patting down his pockets, “It’s just, I swear I... I had it before. Did I put it down? I could have sworn…No, it’s got to be here. I haven’t put it down.” Tim stumbles over his words in his frantic search. “Relax replacement. You probably left it upstairs.”  Tim glares. “No, I didn’t! It was in my pocket.” Dick Grayson, the ever-loving older brother, swoops in “I’ll help you look after dinner, okay? We’ll find it.”

“Alright. I just don’t remember putting it down. It’s like it…” Tim trails off. He had been staring at his plate intently, but now his facial expression is shifting, as though a thought had occurred to him. Slowly, he looks up, across the table to where Y/n sits, silently twirling pasta without ever lifting it to their lips. The playing of the food wasn’t unusual. But the silence was a dead give-away.

“Like it what?” Jason asks through a mouthful of pasta. Dick groans at the visual, and Bruce glares. “Finish your mouthful.” “Like it vanished into thin air.” Tim’s voice is hard, and the occupants of the table follow his eyes to Y/n. You chose this moment to look at Tim. His face is giving away his suspicion and you raise your fork to your mouth, chew and swallow slowly, before uttering one single word.

“Poof.”

Tim scowls. “Where is it you little brat?!” He demands. Dick scolds his name calling but he doesn’t lose his focus from you. “Where’s what Timothy?” “My phone, Y/n.” “Is It missing?” “You know its missing you little shit. Where’d you put it?!” “First I’ve heard of it.” “Cut the crap y/n. I know you have it.”  “Replacement you can’t just blame all your life’s problems on Y/n.” “I’m not. I just know that this life problem is one that they caused. Now where. Is. My. Phone?” Tim stresses. You smile sweetly. “No where that you’ll find it.”

The table launches into chaos. Tim takes turns at yelling at Bruce to make you give him his phone back and calling you names. You screech back that it’s got nothing to do with you. Jason shouts at Tim to leave you alone. Bruce rubs his temples and Dick desperately tries to coax you into relinquishing Tim’s phone. 

Meanwhile, Damian considers idea that dinners like these may just convince his father to stop adopting wayward children into his home. He also considers whether he could get away with faking the poisoning his own drink in order to escape this nightly occurrence.

“ENOUGH!” Bruce demands finally, and the noise in the room comes to a standstill. He’s still rubbing his temples, and it’s clear that he’s trying to fight the headache that comes with the trouble his children cause.  Tim still fumes but manages to control his fury. “All I want is my phone, and some spaghetti. Can I please have that?! ” He forces out. Bruce nods. “Y/n.” Bruce warns. “What?!” You’re whining and you know it’s like grasping at straws here, but maybe Bruce will have mercy. “Give him what he wants and be done with it.” 

Tim smirks smugly at you. “I’ll count, and when I get to three you’ll give me what I want.” He closes his eyes and extends his hand.

“1.” 

You don’t move. Bruce’s stare burns a hole into the side of your face.

“2.” 

Jason pauses shovelling pasta into his mouth, to watch what you’ll do.

“3…” 

Tim drags the number out, giving you a chance to do what’s right. So, you do. 

Everyone in the room is silent, and perhaps that’s why everyone hears the squelching as you do as you’re told. Tim’s eyes open, and unbelievably, his face remains blank as he considers this new update.  Tim nods to himself, perhaps he’s confirming that you’ve just done what he thought you did.

“Y/n.” His voice is quiet, and very calm for a man currently holding hot spaghetti in his hands. “Why?” “You wanted 2 things. Your phone, and some spaghetti.” You repeat. “Yes…” his voice is strained. “There’s your spaghetti, and here’s your phone.” Tim’s phone is unceremoniously dumped into his glass of soda.

Bruce can only sigh as the shouting begins again.

[unlockthelore]

Experience the Unknown

A mother-to-be asks for the wisdom of a mother fully realized and finds that experience is the best teacher. From the series Affections Touching Across Time on Ao3, and part of the Talking To The Moon fic. For more updates, follow the affections touching across time tag on this blog. For more of this fic, follow the talking to the moon tag.

To Rin’s relief, Inukimi had enough foresight to have another plate delivered outside of the study. Pretense cast aside in favor of near ravenous hunger pinking Rin’s ears when she noticed the demoness staring at her amusedly. She was vaguely aware of the sight she made. Cheeks stuffed with food, a dribble slipping down her chin wiped away with the crook of a finger, and wide-eyed at being caught. Inukimi’s laughter was quiet but loud in the study’s silence and Rin’s face burned as she pawed at her mouth in an effort to hide the mess, swallowing a mouthful thickly.

“So,” Inukimi began. A short, light chuckle hidden behind the drape of her sleeve when Rin glanced in her direction. One claw tapped at the corner of her lips and Rin swiped at her own. “Tell me what you’ve been feeling.”

For a brief, almost painfully long moment, Rin considered a half-truth but Inukimi’s knowledge was invaluable and for all her aloofness — the demoness proved to be family thoroughly. Wracking her brain for the last few weeks of sickness swallowed with mint leaves and spring water, hunger tempered by requesting to cook her own food to the cooks’ confusion, and constant glimpses into mirrors at her body’s shape. Hands resting against the flat of her stomach to her navel’s dip in wonder of what it would be when she showed. Excitement joined with fear distracting her from the presence at her back.

Silver hair slipping over her shoulder as lips pecked at the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine just as a yelp rose up her throat. Golden eyes met her own in the mirror’s reflection and the fear is assuaged temporarily. Sesshomaru asked her what was wrong every time he caught her standing before the mirror undressed. Misunderstanding her half-hearted excuses for a lack of confidence in her body, and far too eager to show how he disagreed.

“Perhaps you can keep the thoughts of your moments together for another time, little bird.”

Rin lurched out of her thoughts to find Inukimi staring at her amusedly, one brow raised and her hands resting in her lap all too politely for the smugness radiating from her.

“H—“ Rin started, then clamped her mouth shut. If she asked her how she knew then that would be acceptance but if she said nothing, that wouldn’t be a firm denial. Groaning inwardly, she shoved thoughts of Sesshomaru aside and hoped they wouldn’t find home with the guiltier ones. After a short while of scanning her fingertips, counting and mulling it over, Rin murmured. “Hunger…”

Inukimi set the empty plate aside the others and tapped her claws against one of the scroll’s knobs. “In appetite or…” Her voice trailed off, gaze flicked to the doorway and Rin bristled.

“Mother!”

“I only tease, little bird. Now go on. Tell me something I’m not entirely aware of.”

Rin wanted to protest there was little she didn’t know of but cheekiness wouldn’t help her in this situation. Thinking back to a strategy meeting some few nights ago, her brows furrowed. “Perhaps a little aggression…”

“Little?” Inukimi scoffed, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “That isn’t what General Harikawa would say.”

Rin breathed heavily, scrunching her nose and turning her head aside to glare out the window. Even the mention of the craggy-faced inu yōkai was enough to make her skin want to crawl.

“He would object to the sun rising in the east if it would spite me.” She flicked her hair behind her shoulder with a sharp twist of her head, glancing out the corner of her eye to Inukimi.

The demoness seemed not only amused but curious. She studied her for a moment with narrowed golden eyes. Then, she smiled. “You are starting to behave like Sesshomaru.”

Before Rin could respond, Inukimi reached out to cup her jaw and tip her head one way then the other. The touch was gentle but her eyes were calculating in their depths as if she was searching for something Rin could not yet see.

“Perhaps it’s the prolonged explosure,” she murmured thoughtfully, seeming to speak more to herself than Rin much to her chagrin. “He has been kinder since you both wed. Mm, no. Even before then. He would never have greeted me in my palace with such kindness.”

She drew her hand away and Rin lowered her head. Thoughts turning back to the day she’d first met the demoness, Sesshomaru’s reaction to her didn’t seem warm in the slightest. At least now how Rin would have greeted her own mother if she were still living. But she was aware of the difference in their relationship and their stilted ways of showing affection. That Sesshomaru recognized her as his mother spoke volumes in itself. Had he not before? Was there a period in their relationship where they were so at odds that he distanced himself from her? Could it have been her doing or his own? A misunderstanding?

“Breathe, Rin.”

A muted touch, warm and grounding, dragged Rin back into her body. Someone was breathing — short and uneven — and it took her a painfully long moment to realize that it was her. Evening her breaths to the slow counts of Kaede’s voice within the reaches of her mind, she sighed longingly and tucked herself closer to Inukimi’s side. Head pillowed against the demoness’ shoulder, fur soft against her cheek, Rin felt much younger than what she was especially when Inukimi’s fingers glided through her hair.

“I’ve read almost every account of a hanyō’s birth, which isn’t much, but…”

“You have no clue of what it will be to experience your own.”

Rin sighed, nuzzling her face against the fur lining of Inukimi’s cloak, her eyes shutting tight. “Or what mother I will be.”

They both lapsed into silence. Slender fingers slipped through Rin’s hair with ease, patting down the mused strands with each stride then returning to the top of her head to begin anew. Upset began to even out. Rin couldn’t tell if Inukimi thought little of her for being this concerned, or if she simply was allowing her to vent her frustrations. Her mother-in-law was incredibly difficult to gather a reading on, and wonderfully adept at dodging questions with relative ease. Her displeasure was felt in small potent doses and Rin hardly wanted to experience it, especially now when she needed her most. Although her thoughts were admittedly furtherest from Inukimi, and even the few souls wandering about the palace. Her mind lingering to the east near a quiet village that’d grown into an outpost in the recent years.

“When I lived with Lady Kaede, I helped with so many births. Some mothers took to their children quickly but others grew to hate or despise them…”

She could still see the faces, young as her own, but weary and despondent. Their souls aged beyond their body’s youth. It hurt her heart to see their child’s cries cause them to shiver. And when their husbands came to bring them home, they begged her and Kaede to allow them to stay for a few days longer. Some of the girls returned home, but others disappeared off into the night, with only the belongings brought to them for their comfort.

“Too many girls whispered to me that they felt they weren’t ready. They couldn’t mother a child, they had barely lived, and yet… it was expected….”

Something bitter touched her lips at the thought. Kaede’s reassurances that she would never have to marry unless she wanted held true, but the priestess kept her busy, kept her curious, kept her thinking. An unwed woman — beautiful, opinionated, and strong — would be the envy of her peers and a target for men. Whether Rin believed the world to be better than that or not, her experiences showed that a person’s nature had a duality, and not all sides were benevolent. Kaede wanted her to stand on her own two feet, live proudly the way she chose, but also safely.

And Rin couldn’t thank her enough for the lessons she taught.

Rin sighed. “I was fortunate to have a different life, to live as I wanted, but I’ve always had a desire for adventure and to see the world with my own eyes. Will that change once they’re born or will I—”

She cut off abruptly, the unspoken words hovering in the air where they evaporated into vapors, choking her with their essence. Laying her hand on her stomach, Rin curled her fingers in her obi and bid the children within her to forgive her for what she might have said. She clutched her obi tightly, twisting it until the fabric was fit to tear. Clawed fingers brushing against her knuckles then settling over the back of her hand, delicately easing it from her obi.

“That you can’t bring yourself to say it conveys more than you know.”

Rin pursed her lips and lowered her eyes to the stack of bowls. She knew being unable to say the words she’d been holding back was one thing. Guilt at having thought them were another. No one deserved to be thought of that way and no amount of fear would justify it.

“Regardless of what anyone may claim, Sesshomaru was not born for the sake of an heir.”

The sudden confession drew Rin from her hiding place. She looked up at Inukimi confused at the abrupt display of honesty but the demoness was as unfazed as ever.

“I loved Tōga with all that I am,” she said wistfully, glancing toward the scrolls. “And Sesshomaru was not what either of us planned, but when I sent a missive telling him I was with child — he was at my side by the next moon.”

She chuckled softly and Rin couldn’t help but smile. Her readings of the late daiyōkai painted him as quite the character. He reminded her of Inuyasha with Sesshomaru’s grace, but there were moments where he was as stately as he could be childish. And he loved Inukimi. His glowing accounts of her from her ruthlessness to her quiet affections were in detail, and Rin couldn’t bare to read it all if she wanted to look her mother-in-law in the eye.

She began to gather the scrolls, setting them inside of the polished lacquered box adorned with the Inu no Taishō’s symbol. Inukimi handing her few when she couldn’t hold them all within her arms.

“Conquests took him from me so often, but he returned time and time again, laid with me as if we were first wed and spoke to our son so he would always remember his father’s voice.”

WIth rapt attention, Rin tried to summon the image but no painting or tale spun from Myoga and Totōsai’s ramblings could do Tōga justice. Instead, she thought fondly on Sesshomaru. She hardly expected him to be the doting type but to speak to his daughters before they were born. Let them hear their father’s voice and know they were loved. She blinked away her awe and smiled at Inukimi, who stared wistfully out the opened window.

“When Sesshomaru was born, I expected the love Tōga felt to fade, yet it only grew stronger…”

Rin’s smile faltered slowly. Inu yōkai were difficult in regards to kin. Territory, pride, strength, duty, loyalty — it was all so important to them that it seemed seemed into their very being. That Tōga loved Sesshomaru so fiercely was strange in itself by their standards. Few of the journals she read depicted an inu yōkai increasingly hostile toward its young, especially the men toward their sons. If a son were to grow and overthrow their father then allowing them to reach adulthood would be foolish. No matter the need for an heir, to dwindle and die by one’s emotion was a fool’s death.

“I expected to find myself weary of being tethered to this helpless and needy being, eventually finding him to be a burden, and kill him when it suited my needs.”

Rin stiffened at the admittance, and Inukimi turned almost lazily in response. She raised a brow as if asking her to question it but Rin couldn’t find it in herself to. Those feelings, while not as profound, were the same in a human woman. It was ugly. Unkind, and terrible to a child who was blameless but the world could be cruel.

After a lengthy silence where they did little but keep one another’s gaze while the winds called, rattling the tiles on the roofs and shivering the trees, Inukimi sighed.

“And yet he still breathes,” she murmured, a touch of awe in her voice as if confused by it herself. “Not all mothers are the same, Rin. We are not always good, and we are not always just, we may think ill of our children but they are ours, we must remember that. If not, we may live to regret it.”

All at once despite the youthfulness of her features, Inukimi seemed to age before her eyes. She held out an arm and Rin settled against her. Nimble fingers stroked her hair, a strange yet comforting sensation reminding her of a woman long dead and buried but still fond in her memories. Her own mother had been rather stern and if she had lived to see this day, she might have grown to like Inukimi and perhaps Sesshomaru. Tears welled in her eyes and she pressed her face to Inukimi’s fur, hoping to lose the overwhelming sadness. Never would her parents lay eyes on their grandchildren or her brother become a man full grown and spoil them as he did her with songs, games, stories, and sweets.

“Does he know… how you felt about him…?”

“When he was of age,” Inukimi said resignedly. “His heart had grown colder and his eyes blind to that which was around him. To watch him walk this Earth was a corpse masquerading as my child.”

Rin considered it to be her love for Sesshomaru that incited embers of discontent at those words but they were doused in a frigid realization as she leant back, finding Inukimi’s eyes. “… Was this after his father…”

She nodded.

“Why?” Rin hissed in abject horror, leaning further out of the demoness’ grip.

Inukimi released her with little fight. “I wanted to remind him that we choose who we are — what we wish to do — who we wish to love,” she said crisply. “Sesshomaru had grown into what some would call a monster. To me, he was my beloved son. No matter the atrocities he committed.”

Cracks showed in her impassive visage. A slight furrow in her brow bespoke of contempt while the barest downward flick of her eyes was shame. Rin’s anger slipped aside. She’d seen those very same emotions on another face, one that she’d held cupped in her hands often to bid him to look at her. She was no stranger to Sesshomaru’s nature. It would’ve done not only him but her a disservice if she brushed it aside. And yet, she loved him fiercely. Aware, and accepting.

Inukimi had been known to be an observer. Watching over not only him but Inuyasha, or so she said.

“I saw his rouse using the Mu-on’na, and when Inuyasha cut him down, I wept for him.”

There was a harshness to her words and a cold look in her eyes. Rin suppressed a shiver, her stomach knotting as she recalled the story Kagome told her.

“You didn’t save him…” Rin whispered, disbelieving and sick with understanding.

“I can’t deny I felt some satisfaction. His behavior was unruly... though I know where it was born from — to see her memory tarnished in such a way was nothing short of repulsive.”

Inukimi stared at her longingly, and Rin knew she wasn’t asking for forgiveness or understanding. As a mother, she couldn’t fathom the choice. As a lover, she could. If someone were to come to her in Sesshomaru’s form while her heart yearned for him, she would have struck them down. Without hesitation. Rin closed her eyes for a moment, and they sat in a respectful silence.

“I watched him fall, and in that moment, I saw you.”

Rin slowly opened her eyes, lifting her gaze to Inukimi’s face. Lost was the frigid chill and its accompanying expressionless mask. Her stiffened frown bending into a sweet smile, appreciative and kind.

“A foolish and stubborn little girl… brave enough to pour water over the head of one of the most dangerous daiyōkai of this age.” Inukimi laughed, and Rin’s cheeks burned at the memory. She couldn’t help but laugh as well remembering the drowned almost stricken look on Sesshomaru’s face then.

As they sobered from laughter, Inukimi sighed longingly. “You returned life to my son’s eyes, and coaxed his heart to thaw.” She patted Rin’s hand gently, curving her fingers in the crook of her thumb, holding it tenderly. “Just as he sought to return you to life, and now, you both have created life.”

Rin swallowed thickly, laying her hand over her stomach.

“That is no small feat, Rin…” Inukimi squeezed her hand then glanced aside, quick and intent, her gaze lingering on the door for a split second. Rin looked back, her eyes softened, lidded as she looked down at her lap. “A mother’s love is not a fragile thing when it’s true.”

Rin was quiet for a moment, allowing seconds to pass before she asked in a quiet voice. “How long was he outside the door?”

“You’ve spent much of the night here,” Inukimi pointed out, and Rin wilted, lowering her head. “Did you not think he would come looking for you?”

A part of her had hoped. Though she knew if she saw him, she would have put this off for another day, assured herself she needed a bit more time. That she had more time. But the time had come and she would need to rise to meet it. With a squeeze to Inukimi’s hand, Rin slowly stood, and let her fingers slip from the demoness’ grasp.

She was shooed away from trying to gather the bowls and plates, nodding graciously as she walked to the door. Her hands curled close to her stomach as she stood before it, thinking to herself.

“Thank you.”

Inukimi looked up from one of the scrolls she’d begun to undo, then rolled her gaze down to its tie. “You seemed to need the reassurance,” she said loftily. “And I don’t mind. It’s rare when you show hesitance.”

Rin smiled to herself at the backhanded compliment. “Not that…” She lifted her head, looking over her shoulder. “Thank you for bringing him into the world.”

It was Inukimi’s turn to be silent but unlike her, Rin didn’t want or wait for an answer. Sliding open the door and shutting it softly behind her before following the trail of her restless husband.

[mortvivanthqs-blog]

welcome to the outpost, diana ruiz, we’re sure you’ll find the place accommodating. eiza gonzález is now taken! please review our checklist and send in your account within twenty-four hours!

🡶 OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME: i’m tee ! :)

AGE: twenty-one

TIMEZONE: aest (or gmt+10!!)

PRONOUNS: she/her

🡶 IN CHARACTER

NAME: diana ruiz

FACE CLAIM: eiza gonzález

GENDER & PRONOUNS: cis!female, she/her.

BIRTHDAY: november 5th, 1991.

BIRTHPLACE: los angeles, california.

JOBS: runner.

KILL COUNT: thirteen.

ANYTHING ELSE: i’d love for diana to have bee apart of the original group, if that works for you guys! :)

🡶 BIOGRAPHY

TRIGGERS: pregnancy, abuse, abortion mention.

the streets of los angeles were unforgiving, something the ruiz family came to understand all too well. diana’s family moved across the border while her mother was pregnant, alongside her came two sons, her own mother, and her sister. what happened to diana’s father? she was never told. but from the way her mother’s eyes glazed over when she spoke about ‘those times’, diana doesn’t assume anything but the worst. but they made it – some of them, across the border. diana had her brothers, and her mother, and her aunt, and her grandmother. and more than that: she was an american citizen. diana’s mother promised that that would protect her, no matter what. oh, if only things were so simple.

diana’s mother worked two jobs, as did her aunt. her grandmother, too old to find work, instead turned to raising the ruiz children on her own. diana’s earliest memories are of her grandmother, singing to her in spanish, lullabies past down from years and years ago; her brothers, laughing and squirming in the bed beside her. their home was humble. two bedrooms, shared between the six of them. diana, her brothers, and her grandmother in one room, and her mother and aunt in another. it was full cracks, and cockroaches, and leaking pipes – but it was home. as much of a home as diana would ever have. and she had her family, of course. especially close with her abuela, although not so much with her actual mother. it wasn’t her mother’s fault, of course, that she wasn’t around to raise diana. she had to work; had to put what little food they could afford on the table, and keep a roof over their heads. diana resented her for a long time – spent her youth fighting the woman, acting out, begging her to pay attention to her for just a minute. but as diana grew, she learned to understand; learned to understand all the things her mother sacrificed for her, in the name of love.

she had to grow up fast, and grow up tough. diana quickly got used to the gunshots that would wake her in the night; the flashing blue and red lights became familiar, but never comforting. as far as diana was concerned, the police weren’t there to protect people like her, or her family. her brothers drilled it into her at a young age: nobody is ever going to come to save you, you have to learn how to save yourself. and so, diana learned. she learned how to be the fastest, toughest, baddest version of herself. something that was especially important, her grandmother would tell her, because she was a woman. and that meant there was more danger waiting for her on those streets than her brothers could prepare her for.

school was never diana’s strong suit. she learned english later in life than perhaps she should have, and it set her back from the start. she faced merciless teasing from a young age, for her accent, and her clothes, and her family. teasing, which all abruptly stopped when at seven years old, diana threw a punch that broke some boy’s nose. after that? the other kids tended to leave her alone. rather than academics, diana threw all of her enthusiasm into sports. soccer, baseball, track, swimming, volleyball — you name it, diana was on the team. even her brothers, both years her senior, couldn’t keep up with her. she had so much energy, and more than that? she had a chip on her shoulder; something to prove. it she couldn’t be the smartest in her class, then she could at least kick their ass.

diana had a problem with anger, that much was clear. her sports helped her, but even so, she was a girl on fire — always burning. droves of children parted like the red sea, when diana walked down the hallway. nobody ever dared look her in the eye. and while she had achieved her goal, kept herself protected, she had also been left lonely. she had her family, of course, she would always have her family — but no friends ever came knocking on the ruiz’s door asking for diana. so, she kept her head down. she played her sports, picked up work as a waitress at some diner, and saved up all her tenderness to give to her family. until, that is, he  came along.

she was fifteen, he was a few years older. an all american, blonde haired, blue eyed kind of daydream. he looked like a movie star. and he was the first boy to ever pay diana any mind. not that she wasn’t beautiful, oh, she was. nothing short of striking. but she was so intimidating, nobody ever dared make a pass at her — even when she might have wanted them to. but he was different; full of confidence, and romantic promises. they fell in love, or at least, she fell in love. he was interested in something else entirely. and then, after four months of dating, diana fell pregnant. and she was terrified. terrified of what her family would say, terrified of what it meant for the rest of her life — but not scared of telling him. in fact, she thought he would be thrilled. they always spoke about their lives, their future together; he would tell her time and time again how he wanted her to be the mother of his children some day. but he was enraged. broke bottles, threw her against a wall, demanded she get an abortion. but diana didn’t want to get an abortion. she was afraid. raised catholic, she knew if she had an abortion, that meant she would go to hell. still so young, still so foolish. so he left her, naturally. when news came out about her pregnancy, he and his family moved across the state, leaving diana heartbroken and painfully alone. eventually, she told her grandmother. her grandmother, who held her as she cried. and then, proposed a solution: adoption. she told diana tales of her own misspent youth, and of a baby boy she had given away when she was seventeen. it was all diana could do. because she knew this: she loved her baby, and she wouldn’t let it live the same life that she had.

diana eventually dropped out of school, instead focusing her time and energy on earning money, and finding parents for her child. taking on a second and third job to help cover the doctor’s bills, and felt more alone than ever — her mother refusing to look her in the eye, anymore. her brothers had both moved out by then, as well, so their home was an uncomfortable kind of quiet. and once she had gotten further along in her pregnancy, there would be no more sports, no more working out; no more ways to get all that anger out of her. plus, the hormones didn’t help. diana was a nightmare to be around, although she knew this time, her anger was justified. she was just a kid, after all. and look at her — stuck like this. eventually, she found some nice, middle class family looking to adopt. they both had good jobs, a nice house, even a dog. and even more than that, they offered her a cash incentive: chose us, and we’ll give you $15,000. and so, diana did. the truth was, she was going to chose them anyway — but she didn’t tell them that. on the 15th of july, diana gave birth to a baby girl. she named her isabella, although in truth, she has no idea if the parents kept her name or not. diana didn’t care. she would always be her isabella, even if she never saw her again; and that’s what diana wanted. she wanted to disappear; both out of her baby’s life, and everyone else’s. she knew she was nothing but a burden. so, that’s exactly what she did: poof.

having money? well, that was a whole new world, for diana. her impulsive nature begged her to blow it all at once on some fancy car, or clothes. but she knew what that money could mean: hope for her family, and a fresh start for her. so, she left a goodbye note for her family to find, alongside a cheque for $10,000. and then, just like that, she disappeared into the night. sixteen years old, and out on her own for the very first time. with the rest of her money from the adoption in cash, as well as a few hundred bucks she’d managed to save up working over the last few months, she was off. headed for what felt like the furtherest place in the world: new york. in a city that big, she was bound to be a stranger all over again. and that’s exactly what she wanted. diana slept rough for a little while, while she found her footing — terrified of blowing her money and being forced to return home flat broke. eventually, she found a room downtown in some share house. she paid cash, and they didn’t ask any questions. besides, diana didn’t exactly look sixteen. she had the body of a grown woman, and was wise beyond her years. she found work once again in waitressing, which along with her savings, managed to keep her afloat. one thing was for sure: diana ruiz was no goddamn quitter.

those first few months in new york were rocky. she didn’t have any friends, any contacts, any family. but loneliness was something diana had become accustomed to a long time ago. and besides, the city gave her a chance to start over. she didn’t want to be that angry girl, anymore. not unless she needed to be, of course. and slowly but surely, she made friends. made friends, and got better jobs, and even fell in love all over again. and again. and again. she could finally relax, when she turned eighteen. got herself a better apartment with some better roommates, found legal work for the first time in years. she never got her driver’s license though, as her friends loved to remind her. years passed, and she was… happy? well, almost happy. and that was better than nothing.

and as for her anger? well, she was still a walking inferno. no doubt always would be. but she found ways to cope; some healthy, some not. she started drinking, smoking, sleeping around a little. anything to get out of her head, for a while. but the best, most wonderful thing she did? diana started boxing. inspired by tales her grandmother used to tell her about her father, and how in his town, they called him ‘the golden fist’. and well, diana had always had one hell of a right hook. so, she started fighting. it was a hobby, at first. something to keep her busy in the idle hours of the morning. she struck up a friendship with one of the trainers at her gym, and he gave her a discounted membership so long as she promised to keep the place clean. well, the cleaning part was her idea; diana didn’t do charity. so, she fought. and she fought, and she fought. and she got good. eventually, she started fighting competitively. there wasn’t much money in it, of course, but diana loved it. she loved the adrenaline, the pain, the respect. but amidst all that, she lost her day job. and suddenly, she was left penniless and terrified of losing her home. that’s when she got an offer. a man who had been watching her fight told her about some underground ring he ran on the side. said it was cage rules, winner takes all — good money. so, desperate, diana took up his offer.

her friends noticed the change. she was gone more often, never told anyone where she was, always seemed more bloodied up after a fight than usual. her closest friends thought she might be in abusive relationship; and she was, of sorts. although a different kind than they thought. it had quickly become clear to diana that this wasn’t just some ‘little underground ring’. the crowds were full of gang members, and all sorts of other undesirables. the girls she fought were wild, and vicious; almost as much as she was. but diana? she had no problem fighting dirty. and if that was the worst of it, she would have been fine. but it wasn’t. as she got more and more popular, diana started getting cash offers to throw her fights. she refused, of course; made plenty of money on her own time, winning. but offers quickly escalated into threats; threats against her family, her friends, and her life. diana doubted how serious it all was, until one night she got a panicked call from a friend who said he had been jumped on his way home from work, and that the people who did it were after diana. she was in too deep. people were going to get hurt, and it was all her fault. just like last time. so, for the second time, diana fled. packed a bag, took her money and cash, and disappeared into the night. she didn’t leave a note, this time. she didn’t want to lead a trail back to anyone she cared about.

diana often wondered: how many times would she be forced to start again. this time, chicago. bright lights, big city, easy enough to get lost in. plus — far enough away, she doubted anyone would bother following her. and suddenly, she was back to square one. no friends, no job, no prospects. but she would rebuild, she would survive. diana always did. twenty-three years old, she was getting sick and tired of waitressing jobs, so she set her sights as high as she could: bartending. it wasn’t much, but it was a welcomed change of pace. suddenly, new dreams. dreams of owning her own bar, one day. being a successful, well respected, legitimate business woman. and she still boxed, of course, although it never went further than recreationally. so, she clawed her way back. new friends, new apartment, new lovers. new diana. and this time, she was determined to do it right. and well, she was almost on track. until, that is, the world came crashing down around her.

the news reports didn’t scare her. as far as diana was concerned, people tended to overreact about most things. so, she went about her life. ignored the warning signs, told anyone who believed that ‘some stupid virus’ could bring people back from the dead that they were crazy. until one day, she came home to find her roommate in tears, saying she had been attacked by some ‘crazy homeless guy’. told diana he took a bite out of her. worried, but determined not to concede to the hysteria, she simply dressed her friend’s wound and insisted she would feel better after a good night’s sleep. but diana was awoken by something going bump in the night; by some sort of… snarling? had their neighbour’s dog gotten in some how? carefully, she made her way into the living room, to discover her roommate. but it wasn’t her roommate, was it? the fight was short, and bloody. and after that? diana knew. whatever this was, it was real. and if it wasn’t? well, shit, she’d just killed her roommate. she needed to get the hell outta there, either way.

so, diana packed a bag. threw a duffle in the back of her old range rover, and hit the road. bringing with her only the necessities: food, water, a baseball bat, a handgun, whiskey. where she was headed? los angeles. to get her family. to find whoever she had left, and get them the hell out of california. diana managed to get out of illinois, but she was met with chaos. highways blocked off, quarantines imposed, martial law declared. news reports declaring their major cities: new york, los angeles, washington — all lost to the dead. diana was devastated. now on foot, she knew there was little hope of her getting to california, and even less hope of her family still being alive. hell, she doubted they would even recognise  her, now. so, diana was on her own, all over again.

she wandered aimlessly, for a while. headed from place to place, scrounging up all she could to just keep living. diana wasn’t sure what exactly it was she was living for, but she knew she had to keep going. to do otherwise would feel like a failure; and diana refused to quit. she knew how to use a gun, sure, but she got really good at taking down a dead one with a bat. or a knife. or a pipe. or anything at all, really. fast, agile, strong, diana was built for this world. in the beginning, she ran across a lot of other survivors. some good, some bad, some just plain evil. in the months she spent on the road alone, diana learned all too quickly that this was a dog eat dog world. kill, or be killed. and she put down anybody who got in her way. she justifies it, of course. says she never killed anyone who wasn’t planning on killing her. which is true, for the most part. but there’s a few, just a few, she was uncertain of. and those lives? they keeps her up at night. any groups she ran with for any amount of time quickly dissolved, more often due to in-fighting, than the dead themselves. and in the end? diana came to terms with the fact that if she really wanted to survive, she would have to go it alone. just like her brothers always told her: nobody is ever going to come to save you, you have to learn how to save yourself.

but then, she met them. diana had never trusted a man in uniform, but he seemed like he had a real plan. like maybe, if the right people pulled together, they could all get this to work out. it sounded, well, crazy. diana thought so, anyway. everything was doomed to fail, she knew that all too well. but the loneliness — the loneliness was killing her. for all her fire and flames, that tenderness of hers would always keep her foolish. so, she agreed to tag along. just for a little while, diana reasoned. promised herself she would slip away in the night, as soon as things got difficult. she was good at that, after all. but she stayed. she stayed, and she worked, and she (even sometimes) did as she was told. somewhere along the way, diana started caring for these people; started hoping for more than just a ‘tomorrow’, but rather, a future. a real future. and their fearless leader? well, diana would follow him to the gates of hell; so long as he let her knock on the doors herself. she’s still ill tempered, still disobedient, still takes stupid risks. but no matter what diana does? she’s got good intentions. she wants this to work. she wants to protect her people. even though she can be an idiot, sometimes.

[itxds]

Maybe - Dongsoo

Trigger Warning: Implied anxiety

Maybe it was naive of him to think that after Tokyo everyone was headed back to Korea to rest however when the next stop was announced Dongsoo’s worry increased. This would be the furtherest he was from his family. . .alone. Maybe telling them the truth wasn’t such a bad idea now. Japan wasn’t that scary since he kind of knew the language but now he was out of his comfort zone. The increased distance meant that he couldn’t cover his track if his parents wanted to see him. Plus what if something did go bad, how was he going to explain it!? Maybe it was better for him to have been a good son and actually attend class and not lie about what he was doing.  The thought really didn’t cross his mind but now it was glaring him in the face if his co-workers would help if things went left. Is this why they were kind of rough with everyone, the time crunch and expectations for them to build and disassemble was almost impossible. Dongsoo had enough urgency to not have something on his back 24/7 but it was there lingering in the background. He tried to look on the positive this venue was smaller than Tokyo Dome so even though he was on chair duty (again) it wasn’t as taxing BUT that meant he had time to do something else. It really didn’t make sense for him to help check the seated area there was no event right before the tour (that he knew of) so the place was empty beforehand. Still he assumed it was to doublecheck just to be on the safe side. The nanosecond the work was done Dongsoo made up some excuse to NOT go out and headed straight for the room. This time he wasn’t as lucky to be alone and share the space with 3 other men who had 20+ years on him. It took alot for him to respect them and not complain er bring up how they could be a bit more tidy. Dongsoo had never really gave it any thought that some adults could be so “eh” about their space. Was this why his parents were on his case about keeping his room clean!? Why didn’t they just tell him honestly instead of making it some “find out on your secret”!? Maybe he was being too negative, this was what he wanted to get away so if he changed his perspectie he wouldn’t feel so pressured. Dongsoo really didn’t have much to loose, he was already an ocean away with really no rules. Why not make the most of it!?

[writingonjorvik]

Can We Discuss How To Make SSO a Better RPG?

Since I’ve about SSO having a better multiplayer experience, I want to continue with the other aspect of being an MMORPG, the RPG part. This one might get a bit more technical, so bear with me.

The common interpretation of SSO being an RPG is that it has a role-playing community inside the game. And this is difficult to say is untrue, but that’s not what makes a game an RPG, not on a technical or genre level. That’s not what the industry would define as the genre of RPGs. And I’m not going to get into jRPGs and Western RPGs, but an RPG doesn’t have to be a multiplayer game. Therefore, an RPG can’t just be a game with a role-playing community, and it’s not. That’s the part I want to discuss.

The reason why that’s difficult to differentiate is that the genre comes from role-playing games, with role-playing communities. It comes from table top games, like GURPS and Dungeons & Dragons and all the other pen and paper games you’ve heard about nerds playing in gross basements (all the furtherest from the truth, that stereotype, but that’s another topic). In those games, your role is two fold. On one hand, you are role-playing, you are playing a character, but on the other, you’re fulfilling a role in your character’s build, and this usually determines the first as well. A D&D party has its healer, its tank, and its damage dealer. Those are the roles they’re filling. This is also why in most games there are class systems, so you can fulfill a role in your party or group of friends when you play the game, usually in a combat sense.

And this where we come back to SSO. I’m not suggesting that SSO needs combat, but there is not role fulfillment in the game. Partially because there’s no co-operative element in SSO’s gameplay, there’s no good role system. There are the remnants of a pretty good one from the CD-ROM games in the stats, yet those are grossly unbalanced now. I feel I’ve said this before, but can you think of any good competitive player using anything besides a high Riding/Speed gear set? Besides cheating, it just isn’t done. It would be near impossible to win with any other gear set, because that’s the only good build setup in the game. That’s an imbalance in the stat set because there’s no other viable build you could play besides a Speed build. There is no role to play, there are no options to branch out and still win. 

What I’m not suggesting is that SSO adds classes necessarily. While that would be an interesting fix, it could also break the game. I mean, they could likely make a good deal of money by adding in classes and then having a class change option for Star Coins. But if they don’t overhaul their stat system or add in co-operative parts of the game, it wouldn’t matter. The Speed build is still going to be the best build out of all of them. Further there’s still no system or mode in SSO that encourages roles, which is a multiplayer experience. So before we make big overhauls like that, let’s add a reason for them.

First, we need to create co-operative game type. What about a Mario Kart-esque race, with power pickups that temporarily give you those skills SSO promised so long ago. We have a speed boost, a short immunity from getting slowed on hitting a jump, a hard stop for players behind you, and then a hard stop for the player in 1st place. Now we have a reason roles. Hard stops mean you need stronger Command/Discipline to recover up lost time and ground, and those speed boosts may be nice, but imagine getting a speed boost on one of the Firgrove trails, and suddenly Agility seems really nice to have. Then have a 5 v. 5 Balloon Battle-esque game in one of the corrals or the riding hall, where if you get three hits, you’re out, or every hit you get is a point. Quick turnaround become way more important in a game like that.

Now, we need to overhaul the stat system. Most of the stats need a debuff, to actually encourage putting points into them instead of speed. Speed needs to go from what it is to ludicrous levels, maybe twice as fast, but Agility needs to be halved and we need more stat sets unlinking these two together. Not all, but some. Further, Command needs to have its cool down times doubled, making recovering from something much harder to do. The point of these three is that it needs to feel like you’re going very fast if you put all your points into to Speed, but you should also feel the loss of other abilities, and that should make the game play a certain way if you’re going to build a certain way. Then we have Jumping, which needs to have be attached to each individual object, not to how well you can cheat at clearing a jump. I know it makes a lot of our lives easier in training to cheat jumps, but it makes the stat arguably useless unless you need a certain Jumping/Strength total to clear a jump. I don’t think this should be used in races for story quests (or be set at a particularly high number), but it should be added to most objects the devs intend for the player to be jumping over, at a level appropriate number for the race and area to be fair, but also to reward higher level players/players willing to branch out in other build types with short cuts.

However, compared to the fifth stat, the issues with the other four are almost nothing. Caring/Endurance has zero function in this game, which is a shame, because it did in the original games. And the issue is I don’t know a good solution in an MMO context for that the change. The fix for Caring/Endurance is in the CD-ROM games you had an endurance meter, determining how long your horse could run at a full out gallop. Which is a good fix in a single player game, but also I have bad memories of playing Autumn Riders and that map being so big. SSO is arguably bigger, and having to run with an endurance meter seems like a bad idea for a game that’s continuing to grow. It would certainly make the game more realistic, and there are already the barebones of this system from quests that make you carry breakable objects, but I don’t know if it would outweigh how slow it would make the game feel. It’s possible this could just be added in races, though I feel like a lot of people wouldn’t want to have their training slowed down (to which I ask, do you remember the original EXP rewards for training, this is still better), but I still don’t see that as a good fix. It’s possible that instead we could link the max gait your horse can run to its health, which would encourage having higher Caring/Endurance to recharge that since my other fixes make it harder to turn and jump, causing more hits. Actually, that’s a decent solution.

After stats get reset, then we can start talking about classes. They would each need their own abilities, and the devs would need to follow their competitive scene then with balance patches to make the game feel more fair. But hey, there would be an actual competitive scene and think of how many people would be clothes shopping after to get better gear for their skill set. I don’t think added classes is required though if the devs would let us pick where our points go ourselves, but if they wanted to simplify the process just by having stat combinations preset to a class, that would be cool too. And even then, the perks needs to be simple to understand. I like the idea of tying it to the big competition types, supposing we get the others, Cross-country, Jumping, Dressage, and Western. I know very little about actual riding, so I suppose that would be up to other people to decide what matches which stat build. I think though it would feel more inclusive and on brand if they tied the actual names of the classes to the seasons or to the Druid Circles.

Honestly, even implementing just the first level of these changes would have a huge change to the gameplay, not to mention a race like that sounds like lots of fun. Magic races are my favorite mode on Alicia Online, which is one of SSO’s only competitors at the moment. It would certainly add to the multiplayer aspects of the game, particularly if we just get auto assigned to teams if we’re not in one. Little fixes, things to make it feel like my character isn’t identical to every other character in the game. Because don’t get me wrong, my headcanon of my character is unique to me, but when I play, what makes my character special? Other than outfits, there’s nothing unique at all about us in game. Things that make you forget your character is supposed to be a Chosen One. Or hey, the devs could just remove the RPG from their title and not have to worry about fixing any of it. But hey, just my two bits.