#» character study — ⌜with sunlight shining through her scars.⌟

[bladebloodied]

how does she feel about the Ebon Blade?

meta asks ♡

— @acherys

unlike many of her kind, kelantir has no issue with any of the undead by virtue of being what they are — she canonically hangs out with one of the forsaken. to put it simply, she doesn't resent and isn't repulsed by them being what someone else made them. and sure, some of them are disgusting corpses, but i do think she's far more tolerant to that than most. she is neither easily frightened nor does she have a weak stomach. most of all, whatever they became, i think she simply sees them as people. some of them are kinder than many would expect. some will be utterly amoral. but when the blood elves spawned one such as dar'khan drathir, can they really claim a moral highground in that regard?

it also helps, of course, that her brother is undead, but kelantir still sees him as her brother, still loves him as her brother, and will continue to be his family for as long as she lives. keritose is one of the knights of the ebon blade (and he's an actual npc too 😎) so i don't think she's oblivious to the things they have done or that they continue to do, nor even to the fact they need to sate their endless hunger. but i don't see blood knights as paladins in the same way the silver hand are paladins. they don't really hold to the same morality and imposition of it, so even though kelantir is a paladin, i don't think that influences at all in how she sees them. (she was torturing m'uru not that long ago, and it was just for power, not due to any need or any other change suffered by being made into something else. so.)

which is all to say simply she sees them as people. capable of great good and terrible evil, but that's true of most people. mostly, i think she even sees the ebon blade in a more positive light because her brother found a family with them. as much as she loves him, i think she also understands there are things she can't understand, not like those who lived through the same things, and that he has a home with them would inevitably make her see them more positively.

sure, it's a little fucked up and concerning when they choose to ally with the lich king. it definitely isn't something she appreciates, as it wouldn't be for anyone who lived through the fall of silvermoon. considering that and what i said about her seeing them in a more positive light because of her brother, ultimately i guess that amounts to her being sort of neutral when it comes to them. the ebon blade is ok.

[lthienofdorthonion]

Through My Window

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, inspired by the Harry Potter universe and the characters I love so much. I am not trying, under any circumstances, to take authorship of J.K. Rowling's original work. All rights belong to the creator of this incredible saga.

Chapter I: Secrets

Sunlight filtered through the curtains of the room, shining with an intensity that seemed to illuminate every corner, while birds sang cheerful melodies outside. Yet, for Hermione, that sunny day only deepened her melancholy. Reclining on her purple bed, surrounded by books and notes, she tried to read, but the words dissolved into meaningless murmurs in her mind.

Frustrated, her gaze wandered around the room as if searching for answers among the objects that surrounded her. Eventually, it settled on one of her Hogwarts books, her heart weighed down by memories she could not escape. With a sudden motion, she grabbed it and hurled it toward the wardrobe, feeling a mix of anger and sorrow. She sank back onto the bed, her pulse racing, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts.

Looking out the window, her heart felt heavy with nostalgia. Painful memories overwhelmed her, shadows of a past that refused to fade. Each image was an echo in her mind—a flash of laughter, arguments, and farewells that pulled her into an abyss of sadness. A tear slid slowly down her cheek, then another, and another, until her pillow became a refuge for her grief.

The door opened softly, and her mother, a warm presence with chestnut hair, stepped into the room. Concern was etched into her expression.

—Hermione, are you all right? Why are you crying?— she asked gently, her voice almost fearful.

Hermione quickly wiped her tears away, as if trying to erase the sadness before her mother could see it.

—I’m fine,— she said, though the words came out a bit too quickly. She forced a smile that was almost convincing, but her eyes betrayed her, flickering with uncertainty.

Her mother, unconvinced, sat down beside her and studied her intently, trying to unravel the truth.

—You know you can tell me anything,— she said tenderly.

Hermione averted her gaze, afraid that if she met her mother’s eyes, she would crumble, and she couldn’t allow that.

—It’s nothing, Mum, really. I’m fine, honestly,— she said quickly, though her voice trembled slightly. She lowered her head, pulling the covers up to her chin, and let her thoughts drift, heavy and silent, as she sank back into the solitude of her mind.

Despite her concern, her mother left the room to give her space. Hermione wasn’t usually like this; she was known for her warmth and joy. But for a while now, her mother had noticed a shadow in her daughter’s eyes, a distant quality as if part of her weren’t really there. At first, she dismissed it, convincing herself it was her imagination. “She’ll be fine,” she’d think. But it kept happening, growing more constant until it could no longer be ignored. She didn’t want to admit it, but seeing Hermione this way confirmed her fears. Still, she knew pressing her daughter wouldn’t help. Whatever weighed on Hermione’s heart was tied to the magical world, and she had explicitly asked them not to discuss it after her final year at Hogwarts. Whatever had happened during those seven years had changed her deeply. Closing the door quietly, her mother left her alone.

Outside, the sunlight dimmed as dark clouds gathered, and the birdsong gradually faded. Soon, raindrops began to fall, turning the bright day into one of gray melancholy.

Hermione watched the rain through the glass, her thoughts as heavy and dark as the sky collapsing around her. After the war, she had made a decision that surprised even those closest to her: she had distanced herself entirely from the magical world. To many, Voldemort’s defeat was a victory, but for Hermione, it marked the beginning of an endless internal struggle. The horrors she had witnessed, the lives lost, and the sacrifices made had left deep scars on her soul.

She couldn’t return to that world. She couldn’t face the halls of Hogwarts, now haunted by absences, or the familiar faces that reminded her of all she had lost. She couldn’t even see Harry or Ron. Harry and the others had tried to include her, but each meeting turned into a procession of memories that left her breathless. She avoided all contact, coming up with excuses to stay home.

But it wasn’t just the echoes of war that tormented her. There was a constant presence in her mind—a face that appeared with painful clarity, accompanied by emotions that overwhelmed her. Him. Every time she thought of him, her heart filled with a mix of longing and guilt. She remembered fleeting moments, whispered conversations, and stolen glances that felt like eternity.

She couldn’t face him—not after everything. She had tried to convince herself that her feelings didn’t matter, that they were a mistake, a passing illusion. But the emptiness she felt when she thought of him told her otherwise. He was someone who, by all logic, should never have mattered so much. Yet he was imprinted on every corner of her being.

Hermione sank into a darkness she didn’t know how to confront. The weight of everything she had experienced dragged her into a depression that felt unshakable. The nights were the worst: dreams filled with screams, flashes of green light, and familiar faces disappearing into nothingness. She would wake up drenched in sweat, her heart pounding wildly, trapped in terror as though she were back in the chaos.

The panic attacks came soon after. At first, they were brief flashes of anxiety she thought she could control. But they soon grew into debilitating episodes. She could be sitting at the dining table with her parents, trying to enjoy a family meal, when a sound, a word, or even the scent of a magical object would send her spiraling into sheer terror. The air would vanish, her vision would blur, and all she could do was shake and cry, consumed by an irrational but undeniable fear.

Her parents, worried but unsure how to help, did what they could: they offered her a safe haven. Hermione clung to the Muggle world, seeking solace in its simplicity. She returned to her childhood bedroom, covering every trace of magic with mundane objects, trying to erase any connection to the world she had left behind. She locked her wand away in a box, vowing never to use it again, and avoided any contact with her old friends.

—This is how it has to be, I know it,— she murmured to herself, her brow furrowed in frustration. —So why does it feel so wrong?—

She closed her eyes, trying to escape reality, but the images pursued her. Memories of defining moments, of a life that had worn her down, refused to let her go. She opened her eyes again, attempting to focus on her book, but exhaustion overwhelmed her. The tears from the previous nights had drained her. Finally, she closed the book and allowed herself to drift into a world of dreams where sadness couldn’t follow her.

But even in her sleep, the memories persisted—unyielding and painful, intertwining with her being. They were part of her now, indelible marks of a life she longed to leave behind, secrets that followed her like shadows in the night.

[warwaged-moved]

* tag drop: lor'themar theron.

‣ muse { lor’themar theron } —  ❝ SUNGUIDED. ❞ ‣ character study { lor’themar theron } —  ❝ THE SURVIVING‚ THE HEALING‚ THE REBUILDING. ❞ ‣ isms { lor’themar theron } —  ❝ EVEN THE DARKEST NIGHT WILL END AND THE SUN WILL RISE. ❞ ‣ in character { lor’themar theron } —  ❝ A RANGER AT HEART. ❞ ‣ aesthetic { lor’themar theron } —  ❝ SUNLIGHT SHINING THROUGH THE TREES. ❞ ‣ physique { lor’themar theron } —  ❝ EACH SCAR TELLS A STORY. ❞ ‣ dynamics { lor’themar theron & halduron brightwing } —  ❝ HIS MOST LOYAL AND TRUSTED COMRADE. ❞ ‣ dynamics { lor’themar theron & airlia morningfall (soulescence) } —  ❝ YOUR LOVE IS SUNLIGHT. ❞ ‣ dynamics { lor’themar theron & liadrin } —  ❝ TIMES CHANGED‚ PEOPLE CHANGED. ❞ ‣ dynamics { lor’themar theron & sylvanas windrunner (shoresofacheron) } —  ❝ AND WE CAN LEARN TO LOVE AGAIN. ❞ ‣ dynamics { lor’themar theron & sylvanas windrunner } —  ❝ WHATEVER SHE MAY BECOME HE WOULD NEVER FORGET HER SACRIFICE. ❞ ‣ dynamics { lor’themar theron & dar’khan drathir } —  ❝ THE MOST LOYAL HEARTS ARE BROKEN BY BETRAYAL. ❞

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Civilian

Character: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Summary: Jason Todd is used to saving the innocent. But he’s not used to them saving him. 

Word Count: 3,100 – One Shot

“Fuck me,” Jason groaned as he stumbled across the rooftops.

How he was able to even walk right now was beyond him.

He had Slade on the ropes. Just one more punch to put him off balance and Jason would’ve shoved a knife into his jugular and be done with him. But Slade had a few more tricks up his sleeve and decided to flee instead of finish a losing battle, so he ran like a coward. 

It left Jason utterly irritated and with a huge gash in his side, amongst other various injuries. 

He could’ve called one his “friends” or someone in his “family.” But he was stubborn. He wanted to be stronger than that. He wanted to prove that he didn’t need any of them. He was better than that. He was the best. And he’d risk bleeding out to prove it to them – or really…himself.

But his body wasn’t on the same page.

And it finally had enough.

Jason stumbled to his knees on a rooftop. He groaned as his vision became hazy.

His helmet had a protective system in place so no one could take it off if he was unconscious. They’d get a nice little shock if they tried. His identity would be safe even if someone stumbled upon his injured body… or corpse.

Jason managed to roll onto his back and was met with the smoggy Gotham sky.

“Get the fuck up,” he told himself aloud.

He blinked, trying to straighten and clear his vision.

But it was useless.

The last thing Jason remember seeing was the Bat signal reflecting off of the cloudy sky. Somewhere in the city, there was more crime to fight and he’d just be another asshole who thought he could put a stop to it.

Dying didn’t scare Jason anymore. He’d done it once before, and he could do it again. What did it matter now anyway?

But Jason didn’t die.

He woke up on a couch. Well, if one could even call it that. His 6’4 frame could barely fit on the thing. His legs were hanging off the end, not able to comfortably fit on the thing.

His head felt like it was having the worse hangover of his life. When he opened his eyes, he blinked at the incoming sunlight. Then he realized he wasn’t looking through the programming of his Red Hood helmet.

Then he touched his face to realize that his backup domino mask had also been removed, leaving his identity exposed. 

His eyes widened in slight panic as he looked around.

He appeared to be a in a small apartment – normal, no threats detected.

Then Jason looked down to realize he wasn’t in his uniform. In fact, his chest was bare and he was only in his black briefs. His autopsy scars on full display.

But just half a foot away from him, his clothes were neatly folded into a pile on the edge of the coffee table. His two guns were sitting right next to them.

Whoever had brought him here clearly didn’t see him as a threat. Stupid on their part. There were about two dozen other weapons hiding in the crevices of his clothes too.

But the more concerning thing was that Jason didn’t have a single wound on his body. The giant gash to his side that had made him faint and nearly die from blood loss was nowhere to be found. After all these years, Jason was still figuring out the side effects from being dumped into the Lazarus pit. But this couldn’t be related, could it?

Suddenly there was the sound of the apartment door opening.

On instinct alone, Jason shot up, grabbed one of his guns, and found his target.

What he wasn’t expecting to find was a beautiful woman, probably only just a little bit younger than him, standing with a coffees in a carrier tray and a bag in the other hand. She had earbuds in, further disorienting her from such a welcome. Her eyes went wide and the rest of her body was completely frozen.

After a few seconds, she slowly tugged her headphones out.

“Is the gun really necessary?” She asked.

But Jason could tell from her body language that she was scared.

“Who the hell are you?”

She had enough courage to glare at his tone. “I’m the person who saved your life, asshole.”

“Yeah? And how exactly did you do that?”

She seemed to be getting less scared and more angry with every sentence Jason said.

“If you put the fucking gun down, I’ll tell you.”

Jason hesitated before finally putting it down. Then his behavior caught up to him. Here was this stranger, who was clearly innocent and had helped him…and his first thought was to point a gun at the poor thing.

“Sorry,” he finally gasped. “It’s…a habit.”

She just eyed him, neither rejecting or accepting his apology.

She sat on the love seat opposite of the couch that he’d taken over.

With an innocent look, she slowly put a coffee cup on the table and the bag.

“I’m not much of a cook… so I picked up breakfast. It’s just a black coffee. I figured you didn’t like anything fancy.” 

“T-Thank you,” he stuttered out, trying his best not to sound harsh.

Those words were strange coming out of his mouth. And Jason couldn’t figure out if it was because he’d completely lost his manners or there wasn’t anything someone had done for him lately that warranted any sort of thanks.

“I’m sorry about taking off your clothes,” she suddenly said. “I would’ve given you something. But…well…I don’t have anything even close to your size. Even my oversized clothing wouldn’t have fit.”

Jason was about to tell her it was OK, but she continued.

“Not that I would’ve even been able to put it on you. I hardly got your clothes off.”

Jason smirked at that. “Speaking of which, how the hell did you get my helmet off.”

“Yeah…I managed to get you to come to for a minute or so.” Then she shifted in her seat, clutching her coffee tighter as if it was a security blanket. “I honestly just asked you very nicely. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone what you looked like. You were kind of just…a zombie or something and…took it off.”

Then he took her stature in. Jason knew he was a big guy. He was bigger than the majority of men. He’d only met a few women in his life that were taller than him, and they were all either Amazons or aliens.

This young woman was neither of those things.

“How did you get me off that roof?”

She laughed, seeing that he was trying to add it up in his head. “I’m definitely no Superman. My neighbor doesn’t have any other hobbies besides going to the gym. He owed me a favor.” Then her eyes widened. “Don’t worry, he didn’t see you without your helmet. He’s also sworn to secrecy.”

Jason shrugged. “It’s fine if he did. I can just kill him later.”

He saw her whole body tense up at that.

“Relax. I’m kidding.”

Her tension was released, but she didn’t find his joke very funny.

Then her eyes locked to the floor.

Jason took this chance to study her. 

Her hair was a bit of a mess. But there was still a halo around it as the sun shined from behind her. Her jeans were a bit baggy, but purposely so. She was wearing a band t-shirt that was so worn that there were a few holes in it.

Jason had to acknowledge that she was beautiful. But he had made note of that as soon as he’d pointed a gun at her.

“I ended last night with a life-threatening injury…amongst other things,” Jason said as he looked down at his body. “I woke up with not even a scratch on me. So why don’t you tell me how the hell that’s possible?”

She finally raised her gaze from the floor to him. Then she swallowed and clenched her jaw. It was clear she had been hoping for a scenario where Jason didn’t ask any questions, where he would just give his thanks and move on.

But she wasn’t that lucky. 

“Hey,” he said gently. “You’ve seen my face. You know who I am now. Whatever it is you’re scared to tell me, we’ll be even.”

She stared at him a bit longer before taking in a shaky breath. “I…umm…can do this thing.”

“Uh huh,” he encouraged.

“I can heal people by…umm…touching them?”

Jason sat back, letting the information settle. “Huh,” he said with small nod.

“I saved your life,” she told him. “All I ask in return is that you keep my secret.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” he told her.

She nodded nervously, but didn’t seem fully convinced.

“What’s your name?” He asked her softly.

She looked unsure if she should tell him.

“I’m Jason. Jason Todd.” He offered to even the playing field.

She tilted her head, probably because she heard that name before. Everyone in Gotham had at some point. The tragic death of Bruce Wayne’s second adopted son. And then the dead son who had somehow come back, his death misidentified. There were hundreds of rumors about what really happened. But they all sounded ridiculous to her.

“Y/N,” she finally told him.

“Thank you for saving my life, Y/N.” He scratched the back of his neck. “But I have to ask why you did.”

After all, the neighborhood she lived in was weary of Gotham’s vigilantes. Some believed they were keeping them safe, while others thought they were just making things worse. It led to a general distrust of the masked heroes.

“They say the Red Hood used to be Robin,” she told him quietly.

“I don’t pay attention to what people say…”

Y/N leaned forward. “But is it true? Were you Robin back then?”

Jason ground his teeth together. “That was a lifetime ago.”

She watched him for a minute, working out whether she wanted to share something or not. 

“When I was a little girl, I was at the bank with my mom when a robbery went down. Things went bad and quick. They panicked, decided a little girl was the best hostage to grab. We barely got a few blocks away before Batman intervened. I was terrified, even of him. But Robin was with him…and he could tell I was scared. He wasn’t that much older than me, but he was so much braver. He held my hand until the police came. But even then I wouldn’t let go of him. So, he stayed with me until my mom got there.” She took in a deep and shaky breath. “It meant a lot to me.”

Jason controlled his expression, but he knew what she was talking about. He remembered that night. How he did was beyond him. But it didn’t feel long ago. He remembered thinking the little girl was pretty. 

Jason didn’t have a lot of friends back then. He came from the streets but lived in a mansion. He couldn’t figure out who he was back then. And it was hard to relate to other children. 

Back then, it was the most intimate interaction he had with someone his age. 

“Would you still have saved me last night even if I hadn’t been Robin?” 

This was all Y/N would get in terms of Jason admitting that he had been Robin that night.

Y/N shrugged and nodded. Then she cleared her throat. “The only thing saving this shit hole of a city is people doing the right thing.”

Jason stood.

The motion startled Y/N and she followed his action without even meaning to.

Now that he was standing on his own two feet, she truly understood just how absolutely massive he was. She was by no means short and she still felt like she was looking at a giant.

However, Jason misread her gawking for something else. “You don’t have to be scared of me, kid. I’m not going to hurt you,” he told her quietly.

“I’m not scared of you,” she said as her face suddenly felt hot.

Y/N didn’t know what she had expected to see under that red helmet last night. But she definitely wasn’t expecting a man handsome enough to be a model.

But then her brow scrunched, “And I’m not a kid.” Jason smiled – like, genuinely smiled. The muscles on his face forgot what that felt like.

He eyed the band t-shirt she was wearing: Fleetwood Mac – the Rumors album, to be precise.

“You’ve got good taste in music,” Jason complimented.

“Thank you,” Y/N mumbled.

A new tension filled the air.

Something neither of them have felt in awhile – if at all.

Y/N cleared her throat again, starting to feel too close to this large and beautiful man who was only standing in his briefs.

“You can use the shower if you want.”

Jason smirked. “Thanks, but I should get out of your hair. You’ve already done enough for me.”

He took a step toward her, realizing that he seemed to like seeing her reaction to his presence.

She stayed in place, but shifted her weight.

Jason lowered his head a bit. “Your secret is safe with me, Y/N. Thank you again…you saved my life.”

——————

Y/N and Jason couldn’t stop thinking about one another since that morning.

Jason had trust issues. And because of those trust issues, he learned not to rely on others. He refused to be anything besides independent. But those flaws were also the reason it was so hard for him to get close to anyone. He kept people at a distance so he could never be rejected or get his heart broken. It was problematic, but that was how he survived.

But Y/N had shown him kindness and then expected absolutely nothing in return. She just hoped he wouldn’t shoot her brains out when he finally came to.

Meanwhile, Y/N couldn’t remember the last time a man looked at her the way Jason had. Just thinking about the looks he gave her caused goosebumps to shiver across her skin. She’d seen the scars across his skin and knew he’d lived a rough life. And that wasn’t even including the scars his mind and heart held. She wondered who was the last person to help him or to just show him that they cared whether he lived or died.

It had been a few weeks and Y/N still couldn’t get Jason Todd out of her mind. Even now, as she sat on the rooftop of her building once again, eating a pizza she’d just picked up and washing it down with cheap red wine.

She almost spilled said wine all over herself when she jumped from the sound of someone dropping onto the roof from behind her.

Y/N whipped around to see Red Hood walking steadily toward her.

“Sorry. I tried to be loud so I wouldn’t scare you.” His voice sounded different from the helmet distorting it.

“Well, most people use doors and stairs…so I think the effort is pretty useless.”

Jason ignored her joke and pulled out a thick envelope that had been tucked on the inside of his leather jacket. 

He handed it to her.

Y/N was confused, but took it from his grasp anyway.

She opened it to find two tickets to see Fleetwood Mac on their reunion tour at Gotham City Stadium.

Her gaze shot up to Jason’s and then she did a double take at the tickets, making sure she wasn’t seeing things.

“How - What - Why?” She finally sputtered out the right question.

Jason just shrugged. “I owed you.”

“T-This is too much. I can’t accept this. These tickets must’ve cost a fortune,” she told him as she tried to hand the envelop back to him.

But he wasn’t having it and simply shook his head.

Y/N knew they cost a fortune because she had looked up tickets. Her heart had broken when she saw how far out of her budget the lowest prices were.

“Take them, Y/N. Please.”

She knew there was no point in arguing.

But she slowly looked up at him. “Would…ummm… Would you like to go with me?”

Jason blinked at the offer. “Seriously?”

Y/N laughed at his surprise. “Yeah, I mean, clearly you’re a fan, too.” Then she shrugged, now self conscious that she’d been too forward. “I don’t know. When was the last time you did something fun?”

Jason was shocked at how right she was.

“Oh, my God!” Y/N suddenly yelped.

Jason immediately jumped into action, grabbing both of his guns and stepping to Y/N in a protective stance.

“Jason, you’re bleeding!” She cried out, not realizing that he had just used his body as a human shield for her to defend an attack that wasn’t even happening.

He relaxed and followed her gaze to his forearm – the small patch of skin between his gloves and the rolled up sleeve of his leather jacket. He had been sliced by a knife. He probably needed to clean it before it got infected and stitch it up. 

“Y/N, it’s just a scratch.”

“Shut up,” she snapped. “Come here.”

Then he let her dragged him to the two fold-out chairs she kept on the roof.

Jason realized suddenly that he didn’t mind being bossed around by this woman. In fact, he kind of enjoyed it.

Without asking for permission, Y/N put her palm over his cut.

Jason watched as he felt a comforting warmth wash over the area of skin that she was touching. Within seconds, his cut was completely gone.

Y/N gave it a satisfied smile. No matter how many injuries she healed, the pride and relief never went away.

“You’re fucking amazing, you know that?” Jason was relieved his helmet hid the dumbstruck look that was surely on his face. 

Y/N didn’t seem to take the compliment very well and slightly folded into herself.

“So, will you?” She changed the subject quickly.

“Will I what?” But as Jason asked for clarification, he knew that he’d probably do anything Y/N would ask of him.

“Will you go to the concert with me?”

He nodded.

The nonverbal answer was enough for Y/N because she gave him a beaming smile.

In that moment, Jason wondered how he could ever push Y/N away like he had done with everyone else in his life. 

And for once, he allowed himself to feel happy.

Maybe he could keep letting himself be happy, as long as it included Y/N. 

---------------------------

Really, really loving writing for Jason Todd. I was a little exhausted with Marvel fandom.  Let me know what you think!

[eujazmine]

TASK TWO: CHARACTER PLAYLIST ( x )

hall of fame - the script ft. will.i.am / champion - kanye west / just my luck - coco jones / rage - rico nasty / watch me - jaden / don’t stop the music - rihanna / hot girl summer - megan thee stallion ft. ty dolla $ign, nicki minaj / listen before i go - billie eilish / midnight sky - miley cyrus / smack a bitch - rico nasty / wolves - big sean ft. post malone / ordinary life - the weeknd / rise - willow, jahnavi harrison / power is power - sza ft. the weeknd, travis scott / icon - jaden / got it on me - pop smoke / OTHERSIDE - beyonce / until i bleed out - the weeknd / gone too soon - michael jackson / the other side - sza, justin timberlake / ohfr? - rico nasty / lonely - justin bieber, benny blanco / my sanity - thriii, messenger : 1 hr 15 mins

okay so this is basically a soundtrack of her life so far. i’ve included a rundown below including sample lyrics if you’re interested, so you won’t have to listen to get the gist, but fair warning there’s probably HELLA typos since it’s almost 6 am now <3

it starts off with hall of fame, bc as far as she can remember her father was always telling her that she was special and destined for greatness. according to her father, there was nothing she couldn’t do, no limits to how much she could achieve. she carried her godliness with pride, training hard to one day be one of the greatest.

“ yeah, you can be the greatest, you can be the best. you can be the king kong bangin' on your chest. you can beat the world, you can beat the war. you can talk to God, go bangin' on his door. . . you can move a mountain, you can break rocks. you can be a master, don’t wait for luck. dedicate yourself and you gon' find yourself. ”

next comes champion, where jazmine is starting to think that her father may not be as great as she thought he was, but her little siblings still view him as such. although there is this slight confusion going on with her father, she doesn’t want it to stop her from achieving greatness, so she keeps working hard.

“ this is the story of a champion. runners on their mark and they pop their guns. stand up, stand up, here he comes. tell me what it takes to be number one. ”

just my luck. at this point, she’s feeling that all the authority figures in her life, especially her dad, see her as a weapon rather than a person. she feels like she’s too under their control, so she begins to retaliate. around this time, she is nearly expelled from school and is then sent away by her father to full-year camp in greece.

“ I don't know where you're leading me to go. pulling me here, pulling me there. can't take no more. what happened to being happy? that's what I ask myself. ”

while the last song described her insecurities and stress, rage gives a glimpse into her anger from the situation. she starts to grow a chip on her shoulder, and she takes it out on the people around her.

“ keep my name out your fucking mouth before you find out what we about. type of shit that you read about. if you talk it, then be about it. ”

she channels her frustrations into her training. watch me represents how she no longer wants to reach the top for the people back home, but rather to spite them. she wants those that hate her to watch her reach the top regardless of their opinions.

“ watch me, watch me, watch me, do this. ”

don’t stop the music and hot girl summer are most relevant during her two years after school, which she spent traveling in europe and taking on quests solely for monetary and extra adrenaline. for the first time in her life, she is really letting loose, and she mostly focuses on chasing pleasures and easing up pressures.

“ I gotta get my body moving, shake the stress away. ”

listen before i go expresses how low her spirits are after her final confrontation with her father. at this point, she’s struggling to see her life’s purpose. midnight sky is when she finally starts relishing in her newfound freedom from completely cutting ties with him.

“ if you need me, wanna see me, better hurry 'cause I'm leavin' soon. ”

“ lotta years went by with my hands tied up in your ropes. forever and ever, no more. . . I was born to run, I don't belong to anyone. I don't need to be loved by you. ”

smack a bitch and wolves describe both her aggressive confidence in her godly lineage. and how her past has shaped her to be more vicious. she may no longer claim her father, but she’ll show people what she can do as a descendant of hecate.

“ since a baby in her tummy, mama knew I was great. they can't play me like a dummy, they know what not to take. ”

“ I was raised by the wolves, ate 'til they full. run through the night, playin' with your life. go against the pack, that's risking your life. ”

ordinary life depicts her acknowledgement that her life isn’t normal, but she doesn’t think she was meant to have an ordinary life. at the same time, she feels desensitized -- like something’s missing.

“ and she said that she'll pray for me. I said, "It's too late for me," ‘cause I think it's safe to say... this ain't ordinary life. ”

in rise, she resolves to start making her actions purposeful again. she commits to more important, high-stake quests. she’s no longer searching for whichever quests will make her the quickest money.

“ don't be nervous; run towards the light. I need to live for higher purpose. ”

she feels empowered again, as heard in power is power, got it on me and icon. she’s started to make a name for herself in the demigod world, with a nearly impeccable completion rate. feeling invincible, she almost pities whomever she has to defeat next. she thinks that the only thing that could slow her down at this point would be forming attachments with others.

“ a knife in my heart couldn't slow me down ‘cause power is power, my fire never goes out. I rise from my scars, nothing hurts me now. ”

“ many men wish death 'pon me. yeah, I don't cry no mo'. I don't look to the sky no mo' 'cause I got it on me. ”

“ I am not a Mayan, I'm a menace. ”

in otherside, she knows that there is a high possibility that this mission in opposition of zeus may be her last. despite herself, she feels bonded to celeste and adelphie, and she feels grateful to have met them regardless of what the consequences may be.

“ if it all ends, and it's over. if the sky falls fire. best believe me, you will see me on the other side. if we wake up, lose our patience, or even lose our lives, oh, I'll feel lucky to say that you've been a friend of mine. ”

until i bleed out encompasses her feelings in the cave. she’s questioning everything she’s done up to this point in her life, which she fears is quickly coming to an end. after she tries to revive the already-deceased adelphie and watches celeste be thrown off the mountain, all she can feel is paralyzing shock and terror.

“ I can’t move. I’m so paralyzed . . . I can’t explain why I’m so terrified. . . well, I don't wanna touch the sky no more. I just wanna feel the ground when I'm coming down. ”

gone too soon - reminiscing of a fallen friend.

“ shiny and sparkly and splendidly bright. here one day; gone one night. like the loss of sunlight on a cloudy afternoon. gone too soon. ” 

in the other side, jazmine starts to consider her new beginning. she’s enrolled at eonia and is studying business, of all things. it’s the closest to normal she’s ever been, and it feels weird.

“ back on your feet again, lift your head, hold it high. you wanna run it back, but you can't turn the time. you start to feel like you're losing your shine, but the grass ain't always greener on the other side. ”

she knows that people at eonia may have varying opinions of her depending on what they’ve heard, but she feels that she doesn’t have to explain or change herself for anybody, which is represented in ohfr?.

“ ... wе reel in any bitches fishin' and seekin' out for attention, geekin' in the mentions. please don't make me have to smack a bitch. ”

the next song is lonely. she’s still proud of the name she’s made for herself, but now that she’s mostly away from all the chaos and mayhem, she realizes how alone she feels.

“ everybody knows my name now but somethin' 'bout it still feels strange, like lookin' in a mirror, tryna steady yourself and seein' somebody else. ”

she’s not quite at my sanity yet, but she’s trying to get there.

“ when I'm feeling like life's really putting up a fight, and I don't know the reasons why. from the front to the back, throw my hair down my back, and I know it's gonna be alright. ”

[runenc03]

Mirror

Writing date: January 2021

Genre: I...don’t think this is fluff. It’s more angst I guess? Idk I normally only write fluffy things lol

Warnings: bad self esteem, like, very bad one. A very insecure character

Word count: 1k words

--------------------------------------------------

She looked at herself in the mirror.

  The sight that greeted her was one of terror, despair, darkness. Her hair was an unpredictable wildfire in its volume, sticking out at all angles, the quintessential image of drought, visible frizziness framing her face. Her skin looked pale, almost grey, the colour the sky holds when the rain is contemplating when to fall. Her eyes trailed to her forehead, where indelible remnants of acne scarred her skin, leaving dents like hail on cars during an ice storm. Her eyebrows weren't much better off, bushy and today especially misshapen, like unexpected flashes of lightning during the darkest of thunderstorms. Her cheeks, too chubby, were like a thick layer of heavily clouded sky was plastered over her bones. Her eyes found the reflection of her lips, trembling uncontrollably, like old trees during an earthquake, desperately trying to stay upright while the pressure overwhelms them, eventually accepting their fate, waiting until their trunks will break. Her chin wasn't outlined, and had she had any energy left, she would've manipulated the image in front of her, craning her neck in odd directions to create the sharp contrast between chin and throat she so desperately wanted. All she was given was a slightly protruding bone, like the top of an upside-down volcano, with and underneath it, a wobbly line of skin that was supposed to be her neck, to her resembling flows of lava, coating herself in vicious, molten substance. Suddenly, her airway felt constricted, hot, in a way, as if the scorching lava heat had penetrated her throat. 

For just a moment, her eyes found the eyes of the girl in the mirror, sunken, hollow. She searched, but there was nothing there, the kind of nothing that is left after tornadoes, or hurricanes. The kind of nothing one finds at the bottom of a polluted lake, or in the middle of a cold desert, or surrounded by loudly honking cars, forced to fill lungs with gasses. The moment was over as quickly as it had come, her eyes filling with a familiar layer of tears, an almost comforting wall to protect her against the cruel image in front of her. It was like fog on a cold winter morning, trapping you in, and to some people that might feel restricting, but to her it meant she couldn't look anymore, and somehow, that was what saved her time and time again.

He looked at her as she looked at herself through the mirror.

  The early sunlight streamed through the room, bathing her face in a golden light. He saw the blush on her cheeks rapidly moving over her skin like the northern light in the sky during the darkest night. Her nose was covered in freckles, a mix of constellations he would forever be fascinated by. He let his eyes trail further along her face, stopping at the curve of her lips. To him, the curves looked like the young leaves of an oak tree, gently swaying in the breeze on an early spring morning. He saw her eyes concentrate on her hair. She was frowning. To him, however, her hair looked perfectly fine. It was one of the physical things he loved most about her. It was a bit frizzy this morning, but he found that that complemented her fiery personality that much better. Her voluminous locks cascaded around her face, untamed, like that time when they had danced in the rain. She'd laughed about the messiness of it all. She could laugh back then. He looked at her eyebrows, the way they curved above her eyes, like rainbows seemed to curve around the world, when the sun was close enough. He studied her eyelashes, the way they reached to her eyebrows, like flower petals stretched toward the sky after a rain shower. And then there were her eyes. They used to be his favourite feature of hers, before the pain had nestled itself there, before they had started looking empty. He knew they could be so expressive, so radiant. They were clear, and again, just like every other part of her complexion, elegantly shaped. He got lost in there whenever they were together, whenever she allowed him to look her in the eyes and tell her what he saw. He had told her all kinds of stories that way, while gazing into her eyes and describing what he saw. They were the windows to her soul, a soul that was once full of adventure, and imagination, and a will to live life to its fullest. He so wished to get that back.  But even with the tears in her eyes, and the frizziness of her hair, and the acne scars on her forehead she so often complained about, she was beautiful. Not the kind of beautiful you see in a building, or on a painting, or even in other beautiful people. No, she was the kind of beautiful that you could only witness outside, the kind of beautiful one finds on top of a mountain, looking out over landscapes full of rivers and trees, the kind of beautiful one experiences after resurfacing from the water and letting the sun run itself over their skin, the kind of beautiful one feels by walking over grass barefoot. And he knew that the way he saw her wasn't completely accurate, that the love he felt for her coloured his vision. But the way she viewed herself was far further away from the truth, because she constantly hid herself in a well full of tar, or behind a wall made of tears. It was in that moment that he vowed that one day, he would let her see. She would wake up, look into the mirror, and discover all the beautiful nature right in front of her. The birds would sing in victory, the sun would shine in joy. And she, she would wipe the last remaining tear from her cheek, and realise that the potential had been there, all along.

[camomills]

Title: Stars of Soot Relationships: Silica/Sinon Fandom: Sword Art Online Word Count: 3083 Summary: Sinon shows off GGO to Silica as a date, at Silica's request. As she experiences the different sensations of such a hardy world, Silica wonders why this world means so much to the other girl. Notes: Made for SAO Pride Week 2020 - Day 2: Stargazing. This one wasn't beta read because I was a bit pressed for time, so please forgive me for any glaring errors. It's been a while since I wrote Silica/Sinon! It was quite fun to revisit the ship. As per usual for me, this wound up as a weird mix of fluff and character study.

AO3 Link

-

The air in Gun Gale Online smells like gasoline and gunpowder, but Silica doesn’t mind… much. Not when she clings to Sinon’s back as they speed down the highway on a rental buggy, pigtails fluttering in the wind as her cheek finds rest in-between her girlfriend’s shoulder blades.

“I still can’t believe you want to try out this game,” Sinon says, the metallic hairpins on the sides of her face clinking lightly. She’s still not that used to driving, in the game or otherwise, so she keeps her eyes on the road instead of turning her head back as she talks. Vehicular collisions are not particularly romantic.

I just want to know what you see in it , Silica replies in her mind, raising her head.

She understands that, for all the time they spent together in ALO ’s fairy realm, that wasn’t Shino’s ‘world’, not in the way this place is. When she doesn’t bury herself in the curve of Sinon's back, the gas and soot is more apparent to all of her virtual senses, and even though it was her own proposition, she has to ask, why? Why choose colorless tiles and cracked pavement over the boundless hues of fantasy?

“I’d be lying if I said I… particularly get it,” Silica admits. “But this world is important to you, right?”

“Yeah,” Sinon replies. “ GGO might be an acquired taste, though. This game is gritty.”

She rolls her shoulders, leaning further back onto Silica.

Excluding Silica, Sinon has never been one for bubbly and cute, so GGO would always be a better fit for her. But this virtual world was made with inhospitality in mind, so not exactly the perfect dating spot. The fact that she’s here for one surprises her more than it does anyone else.

“Well,” Silica says, “good thing you’re here, then! Having a tour guide to show around should be a huge help.”

Sinon wheezes. “So I’m your tour guide, now?”

“Yes!” Silica proudly proclaims.

The sniper smirks. “Okay, then.”

Sinon twists the handlebars, and the bugey roars as it peels through the road. She can’t help but smile as Silica’s high-pitched yell reaches her ears, just barely audible over the revving of the engine.

*

The howling of gunfire can’t be heard as much within GGO ’s hub city, but the loud advertisements that echo from the bright signs serve as a fitting substitute, volume-wise.

Silica’s only knowledge of this game comes from watching Sinon and Kirito fight for their lives, real and virtual, through a tournament broadcast. The fact that Sinon still logs in daily to Gun Gale even after that incident would be odd to anyone other than people like the beast tamer and her friends, who are all VR addicts despite their time in Aincrad.

The two years in the floating castle, despite the pain it caused her, was where Silica grew the most. She’d never openly say that there’s a part of her that misses the days after the one year mark, when she’d settled into her reputation in those lower floors and tried to forget the outside world so much that she succeeded. None of her friends would. It’s a silent understanding and an untold promise; not to admit missing those days, so they don’t have to, either.

What does GGO, a medley of grit, greys and metal, mean to Sinon?

Their circumstances are different, but the scars they bear stain their skins in similar ways. The masks offered by virtual worlds, Silica knew, gave one the opportunity to confront themselves in ways one couldn’t anywhere else. There was something to the kind of place one chose to do so that Silica found important to know.

Sinon got to see New Aincrad, walk over the same plains wherein the beast tamer had met Pina, bask under the same electronic sunlight she experienced for two years.

It’s not fair if only one of them gets to do it, is it?

**

The sun sets while they stroll through the city, and Silica understands more of the acquired taste Sinon had mentioned. The approaching dusk was somewhat nice on itself, but the place was still a palette of monochrome then, all steel on sand, black on white. Once it’s officially night time in game, 6:00 PM sharp, however, everything changes. The dark of night makes the huge, floating billboards pop, neons of purple and blue scattered through the cyber landscape. The virtual city night lights become luminous streaks in her vision while they dash on the way here on the buggy, not unlike how she imagines speeding through one of Tokyo’s nightlife districts in a motorcycle would feel like. It’s movielike, but not fantastical or unreal, but maybe that’s the point; she doesn’t think she’d have the guts to go at such high speeds with her flesh-and-bone body, nor would Shino have the confidence Sinon presents.

There are things from real life that one can only do in a game like this.

***

They stop by an equipment shop at the center of the now-luminous city. Unlike the last time she was here with someone else, Sinon has no tournament sign-in to get to after shopping, so they can take their time.

Sinon is surprised when Silica picks an overall sensible combat outfit; a tactical green and black leather outfit with red accents, along with a dark, moss-colored poncho. We kind of match! Silica beams as she presents herself, pointing back and forth between her and Sinon’s outfit colors. She frames her face delicately and comically she does so, her eyes shining like a cartoon fawn’s. Sinon knows it’s on purpose, this over-the-top display of sweetness, but it makes her smile anyway.

Of course Silica found a way to make this cute.

It’s also cute, albeit in a different way, when Silica’s eyes look away from the armor section of the store and widen as she takes notice of a display of combat knives. They’re military-grade blades, absolutely indistinguishable from the real-world articles. Unlike just a moment ago, the shine in her eyes is unfeigned.

“Oh yeah, this game has these!” Silica exclaims.

Sinon turns to her with a quizzical look.

“... You’re interested in the knives?” That makes it two for two, the times she’s taken someone new here and they thoroughly ignored guns. Are all fantasy game players like this?

“Of course I do!” Silica exclaims, like it’s obvious. Her look all but says, I spent years fighting with daggers, remember?

Silica takes one of the knives from the demo display. It looks comically large in her hands, and yet it pales in comparison to the ones she’s grown used to in fantasy games. She spins the handle in-between her fingers, resting it on her knuckles. The hand flourish when she bumps the blade upwards, sending the knife spinning high, and then catches it from the air with her open palm is almost too fast to see. She gleefully changes the grip a few times before finally settling it in a simple reverse grip.

“They have such a better feel than those bulky daggers!” Silica exclaims in glee.

“ Impressive,” Sinon mutters under her breath. She can’t help but be hit with a sense of deja vu .

There’s a sensible distance one can gain when looking at someone brandishing a bright sword that looks more like a cosplay prop, or a fantasy dagger coated in filigrees. But there’s no distancing from seeing Silica, in all of her titanic five feet of height, doing knife tricks one would expect of a special forces soldier, or perhaps a movie greaser, when the blade is so realistic.

Sinon would be lying if she said she doesn’t find the display at least somewhat attractive.

Sinon heads over to a small menu in front of the knife section as she selects the same blade Silica had in hand. Soon after she goes through the proper transaction steps, holding Silica’s hand and laying it over the holographic display, one of the store robots scoots over to hand Silica her item.

Silica’s smile makes the credits Sinon spends all worth it.

… Is a knife a weird gift to give your girlfriend? Sinon thought, but that was a bridge already crossed. Then, she remembers the real reason they came here.

“I know you’re mostly here to look around, but you’ll still need some sort of main weapon if you’re to experience the game.  Pick whatever gun you’d like to test out and we can go to a shooting range.”

****

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am absolutely serious!”

Instead of the shooting range, the two find themselves by a station near the edge of the city, connected to the game’s starter fields.

The vehicle’s mounted weapon protrudes from a hatch on top. Its long, steely frame glimmers as it reflects the sun’s harsh light.  The heavy machine gun could be mistaken as some sort of cannon for the uninitiated in the ballistic arts, with its bulky, long barrel, but it’s a high-RPM, lightning-fast automatic weapon, nothing short of a reinforced harbinger of death.

“You said I could pick any weapon,” Silica reminded the other girl. “I’m picking this mounted gatling gun.”

Machine gun, actually, Sinon thought of correcting. Other than the regular shooting ranges in GGO, there were also training grounds for driving by the outskirts of the city, by the game’s starting area - it had been where Sinon had trained her bugey skills, in fact - but the knowledge of that, or of the existence of mounted weapons, is the sort of knowledge most newbies wouldn’t have.

Silica did her research for sure... and was probably planning this.

Sinon’s original plan was to simply show Silica around the game, so buying an expensive armored vehicle sounds unwise, especially when there’s only two people.

The sniper squints her eyes at the shorter girl.  Noticing Sinon’s glare, Silica fans her eyelashes pleadingly, and Sinon’s resolve falters.

… I guess I was thinking of getting everyone else to convert and help me out, anyway?

“... Fine,” Sinon concedes. “But you better help me convince everyone else to hop on here for the PKer problem, then.”

Silica immediately jumps in excitement. The humvee’s engine purrs to life as Sinon turns the engine key, and the newbie gunner excitedly hops to the top hatch.

*****

Silica is small, but she doesn’t feel so when she holds onto the trigger in the huge weapon’s handlebars, the generated mobs in the starting fields shattering into red sparks. She loudly laughs in excitement as the high speed vehicle traverses the shifting sands.

The ride is a feeling unlike her other experiences with virtual worlds. It might be due to what Sinon earlier described as a “commitment to grittiness,” but the game still replicates hints of discomfort; her small frame vibrates from the gun’s recoil, her fingertips feel a bit too warm, and she has to ask Sinon to stop every so often because of dizziness.

It’s annoying at first, but it grows on her.

Silica wonders if this is part of what draws Sinon to this world.

******

Silica finds the pink hue that covers GGO ’s desert sands endearing.

She gets a good vantage point to admire the landscape as she’s wrapped in one of Sinon’s arms and they zip up a rocky structure. The grappling hook’s line is taut with their combined weight.

Despite the pleasure found in their proximity, as her hand holds Silica’s body close to her by the waist, Sinon does so primarily out of practicality, as Silica doesn’t possess a grappling hook of her own.

Silica, however, finds herself smitten by the situation. Being carried in the arms of a cool girl as she takes in the sights of a foreign world, the warmth of her body providing solace in the cold, simulated night, is a scene befitting a dream she’d have long ago if she’d known she liked girls sooner.

Silica sighs in disappointment as they reach the summit, going from dream to simulated reality. As she looks at Sinon, she’s glad this reality, virtual as it is, is still dreamy aplenty.

The plateau atop the rock formations, where monsters couldn’t reach, was the perfect stargazing spot. It allows them to wind down after spending an entire day driving, shooting, and in Silica’s case, shouting in excitement. Sinon is not exactly the romantic type, far from it, but even she recognizes what the beauty of GGO’s night sky can do to one’s heart. She’s glad she gets to watch it with someone else now, instead of only her sniper rifle for company.

Sinon sits herself by a boulder on the plateau that she manages to find snug. The wordless invitation she gives Silica, as the spot to her side seems like it would fit her perfectly, beckons the younger girl, who hasn’t acquired the same grit to be truly comfortable on the hard surface. Thankfully, Sinon’s shoulder is softer than the rocks.

“So, what did you think?” Sinon asks. “Was I a good tour guide?”

“Yes,” Silica answers. “I give you five stars!” She nuzzles closer onto Sinon’s side.

They stare out at the sky. The moon is hidden behind drifting clouds.

“I have a confession to make,” Silica admits, in a tone that sits between jokey and serious. “I didn’t want to try this game only to shoot guns.”

“Oh?” Sinon’s surprise is clearly feigned. Even she would be able to understand that Silica’s request to see this game was a date proposition. There was a reason she decided to cap the night off with stargazing.

“Yeah. I guess I figured… playing this game would make me feel closer to you.”

“Oh.” Sinon’s surprise this time is genuine. “Well… do you?”

“Hmm.” Silica looks at them, sitting side by side, sharing warmth, and yes seems like the obvious answer here. “I mean, yes. But I suppose I was looking for an answer.”

“An answer… did you find it?”

“I’m not sure I did. I think I found… something,” Silica says. Her grip on Sinon’s arm tightens, a mix of affection and nervousness. “I think there is something important about virtual worlds, and why we’re drawn to them. I... now that I think about it, maybe I could’ve just asked you from the beginning.”

Her heels pitter-patter on the rocky surface.

“What does this… What does GGO mean to you?”

Sinon looks at Silica, a bit puzzled.

Silica doesn’t know how fair of a question it is, really. Could she explain what drew her to virtual worlds? Why thinking of Aincrad, her former prison, makes her feel homesick? But she’s nothing if not sincere, and she wants to know. She figures Sinon, introspective as she is, thinks about those things more than she does.

“GGO is, you know.” Sinon makes a meaningless hand gesture. She thought obsessively before about this question - her objective, her growth, her path towards becoming stronger , she called it. She doesn’t know how to distill it in a sensible way, is all.

A place to face my fears?  

Where I met Kirito, thus, how I met you?  

“ Home?” Sinon says without registering.

Oh.

It’s under this night sky, beneath a red moon, that Sinon realizes this is the first time she got to enjoy this world with someone she truly cared for, life-or-death situations notwithstanding. This place, with its odd smells, rattling sounds, and even unpleasant sensations, has been one of the few places of respite she had from… everything. Others. The world. Herself. It’s more evident now, with someone to share it.

“I came to this world because I wanted to surpass who I was. I wanted to become stronger,” Sinon explains, unsure of whether she sounds pretentious. Sinon’s jaw clenches, and Silica gives her a reassuring squeeze. “When I first came here, there was nothing I wanted more than to erase my real self with this- this stronger version of me. This better version of me.”

The image of Hecate II, her sniper rifle, her companion, comes to mind. She’d thought before, at times, what was she without its weight on her back, other than a fragile girl who can’t help but retch at the sight of gun replicas? Without burnt fingertips and trembling shoulders from gun recoil, how could she call the strength she built here real?

This place is home because it was under this same carmine moon that she realized Asada Shino, the high-schooler, was just as much of a warrior as Sinon, the elite sniper. Under this virtual sky, nothing but code threads woven into a reality, was where she accepted who she was.

She fidgets with her fingerless gloves as she continues. “It’s hard to give a simple answer,” she concedes. “But if I had to try, I’d say… this is the place that showed me it was okay for me to be myself. To recognize my strength, to connect with others. Back then, before this game, I never thought I’d get to have... this, I guess.”  Sinon nudges Silica’s shoulder with hers, playfully. “Who knows. Maybe I just wanted to be proven wrong.”

Silica’s heart tightens. She moves a hand to Sinon’s cheek.

“I’m glad you were proven wrong, then.”

In what Silica is pretty sure is the first time, Sinon is the one approaching her for a kiss.

It’s quick and sweet. Sinon’s thin lips press onto Silica’s lightly. It’s easy to forget they’re in the virtual world then, with their eyes closed the way they are, the waves of warmth  radiating through their faces as the only signal their AmuSpheres send to their brains.

*******

The night goes by quietly as they stare to the sky, save for the distant sounds of underground monsters shifting the sands and Silica’s occasional comment of how she’s sure she can tell the constellations even through the thick clouds. They have little time before GGO’s short day cycle robs them of this sight.

That sky, this world, are virtual, and they know that. It’s hard to tell, though, when it shares stars with the real one, when it shares warmth with the real one, when the strength they gain, the bonds they deepen, the sights they see, carry over to the real one.

The air in Gun Gale Online smells like gasoline and gunpowder, but Silica doesn’t mind… at all, really, when it grants them the opportunity to be so frank and close, so near when they’re so far.

When it grants them the opportunity to be themselves more than anywhere else.

[ikenbar]

Mr. Love: Ike’s Choice

Author’s note:

This story is one of my own OC for the game Mr. Love: A Queen’s Choice. Except for Ike and her family, all the characters belong to the creators of Mr. Love: A Queen’s Choice. This fan fiction will contain spoilers for the game so, if you haven’t played it yet or are not caught up to Chapter 18 in the game, this is your warning. (Though it will take me quite a while to get to any sort of spoiler and I will mark it as such when it comes to it so you have time :P) This is merely a fan fiction of the game containing my own character and her story. None of this is cannon. All that said, Mr. Love is such an amazing game. It’s so much more than just some Otome mobile game. Its story is intriguing, and the gameplay is addicting in the best possible way. The development team are so respondent and understanding and honestly just want you to enjoy their game. I have! And I will! And I plan to show how much I do through this Fan fiction! I’m honestly just here for a good time so let’s have fun! Right? I plan on posting on Wednesday/Thursdays so stay tuned!! I want to show you guys the world I have been making for so long and my love for this game. So, let's get started, shall we? :D

  Warnings: Talk of death (it’s just talk. There’s no real death. More like existential dread), Talk of abuse (this is just character development. It’s not an angst I swear), Grammar mistakes (I tried cleaning this the best I can but I may have missed somethings. I’m sorry ^^;), fluff, and cliffhangers. A lot of them. Prepare for one heck of a story

Chapter one:

Part one:

There is no such thing as a good way to die. Death is death. There is absolutely no way death could be justified. But that is the last thing you are thinking when it is your life that is at risk. The first thing of course being, “I hope he doesn’t miss me.”

 >>>

It was hard to believe that I had been working as a producer for Ike ’n Bar Production Company for nearly two years now. I founded this company alongside my foster father, Bartholomew Schmidt. Bart had an opportunity to create something. Something that would bring love and entertainment to children and adults alike. Something that would bless the world with its presence.... He couldn’t make it past week one, so he called me in.

I am not one that wavers from the facts. There is a place for everything in this world and I do my best to put everything in that place. I didn’t spend four years of my life studying the answers of the world to be creative. So, when Bart turned to me for help with his new show idea, I was more than reluctant to help.

“Come on.” He begged wrapping his hands around each other, “They won’t let me pitch the idea until the plot holes are fixed. You’re the only person I know who will tell me exactly what is wrong without sparing my feelings!”

“Your TV show idea is a waste of my time.” I deadpanned.

“See?!” Bart stared at me with pleading eyes, “Just read the pitch... please?” After a couple minutes of awkward silence to finally cave. I read it over once. Then twice. Then a third time. I still had no idea what the show was about.

“So, let me get this straight.” I sighed, “It is a sitcom about a teenage girl, who happens to be an alien, living her life as a normal teenager.” Bart nodded excitedly. “But her family and friends have no idea what she is. And she has to keep the powers secret because… reasons.”

“See?!” Bart laughed, “You get it! For some reason the network thought it was confusing.”

“...I’m going to say this, and I want you to keep an open mind.” I handed the pitch back to Bart, “The show stinks. We are scrapping this idea and coming up with a new one.”

“Oh come-...we?”

“There is no way you are going to make it through this business alive without me. So, let’s talk about an idea that isn’t overused and unoriginal and actually has some taste.”

“.... Did you just hire yourself on my team?”

“Yes. Do you have a pen and paper on you? Someone should be taking notes.”

 The new show we had pitched to the network was a hit. A sitcom about a family of robbers evading the police. They are trying to have a normal life as they live on the lamb. We called it, Show Me the Honey. Sending our average amount of views over fifty thousand. We worked on that show as we pitched others and made a name for ourselves and the company. Since I wasn’t one for limelight, Bart took care of the field work as I worked as the co-head of Ike ’n Bar Productions from behind a screen and in my office.

Things were just the way they should be. With me out of the way. Maybe if things stayed that way, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I could be at that desk right now. Working on the next show. Calling on my assistant for a coffee. Telling off the latest intern for screwing up the order of the files. I could even hear my father’s voice again as he calls me with updates from the field. But sadly, all good things must come to an end. This end started with one name. Victor.

 “Victor?”

 I repeated to Bart over the phone, stalling my note taking on the pad next to me. I was at my office that Monday afternoon. The sun was shining through the window behind me and onto my large, glass, desk. The sunlight reflected off my screen and into my eyes, causing my already rotten mood to worsen.

“Yes!” He excitedly sang, “You have an interview with him today at three!”

“That’s in two hours.”

“Right!”

“...Bart. This man is the CEO of LFG.”

“Correct!”

“Loveland Financial Group.”

“Wow, Ike! You’ve sure got this down!”

“...OK hold on, you want me to go to the head of the largest leading investor in all of Loveland and ask him for funding on a TV show that hasn’t even been green lighted yet?! And you want me to prepare for it in under two hours.”

“Oh, come on. Saying it that way makes it sound bad.” Bart pouted. “Miracle Writer is going to be a hit! And we are a well-known company! It's not like we are asking too much from them! Just a little something to start us off. Besides I already told him that my amazing co-head, Ike, was going to be meeting him so there is no backing out now.”

“Bart, why aren’t you going? Aren’t interviews your thing?”

“They are but… I’ve heard some ghost stories about Victor.”

“Ghost stories?” I skeptically muttered as I held my throbbing head in my hands.

“I hear he tends to be… stubborn when it comes to funding companies.” Bart said this in a low voice as if Victor would appear behind him to overhear his words.

“Oh, and you’re informing me about this now instead of a few days prior so I could prepare for such an important interview with him. Makes sense.”

“Ike, I know it’s a little out of nowhere-”

“A little?!” I scoffed lifting my head back up and pulling my bushy brown hair out of my eyes as I arched my eyebrows uselessly to the receiver.

“But just hear me out, ok?” Bart pleaded helplessly. I stayed silent. Bart continued, “Victor is known to be brash. He rarely, if ever, smiles. In fact, his poker face is known to strike fear into even the strongest of soldiers. He yells more often then he praises. His stance towers over most people and it sends a level of power that is like none you have ever seen. But most importantly, he is extremely close minded when it comes to lending his money. So, it would need to take a strong headed and strong-minded person to get through to him. To make him see that they are worth every dollar of his-”

“And you want me to do the interview because he reminds you of me.”

“Man, I can’t get anything past you.”

Bart had a point. I have a tough time with my emotions. Let alone other people’s. I am known to be inscrutable in the office and outside of it. In my defense, my tactless rule over the office is why everything runs smoothly. No one second guesses my commands and, if they do, it would result in an outcome that could only ignite more fear towards me. Besides, showing no emotions trains the mind to adapt and overcome the words of others. Which helps suggesting the amount of words the office has to say about me narrows down to about four letters.

The main reason I don’t mind it all though is because Bart is loved in the office. His bright and fun-loving attitude is a refreshment for everyone there. They all welcome him in with open arms and follow his every word with preciseness. He is so soft with them and normally brings free lunches for the office when he visits. Of course, all that sweet talk makes him a doormat when it comes to asking for things from him, but no one would take advantage of that. And get away with it that is.

Bart can barely talk to me without cowering under my intensity when we are face to face. I can’t imagine what Victor would do to him. He’d probably chew him up and eat him alive.

“Fine.” I caved, “If I’m doing this, I need to start working now. So, I have to go.”

“Ikamara Bikira, you are a lifesaver!! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!”

I groaned slightly as I hung up the phone. Interviews made me uncomfortable. How do you start it off? Do you need to make small talk? Would it be rude to just jump into the subject at hand? Should you address people by their first name or something a little more formal? Do I need to smile the whole time? Or should I be serious from beginning to end? I rubbed my temples to soothe my growing headache.

“That man is going to be the death of me.” I muttered under my breath. Though this isn’t the first time he has thrown me under the bus, I owed him my life. He and his wife, Maria, were the first foster family to take me in and want to keep me. I had been through five foster homes before theirs and I had the scars to prove it. I rubbed my arm as I recalled the memories. The first home sent me to a sort of bootcamp. The second home neglected me. Third home gave me too much of the wrong kind of attention. Fourth home made me lose parts of myself. Including feeling in my left arm and my voice. And the fifth home... Snapping back to reality, I smoothed out the sleeves to my shirt and saved the sad excuse of a report on my computer. I can’t let Bart down. It’s just an interview. I can do this. I reached into the cabinet next to my desk for papers on out new show “Miracle Writer” and a couple pods of Advil.

 Stuck in traffic, I impatiently tapped at the handles of my motorbike. Normally traffic at that time wasn’t too bad but for some reason, we were at a standstill. Unable to rub away my ever-increasing headache, I looked impatiently down the line of cars ahead of me. They were stalled at one stoplight. Even though the light was green on our side, the road was blocked by another line of cars ahead of them. Keeping the car in front of me in my peripherals, I unzipped my leather jacket and pulled my phone from inside my blazer. I opened my moments and checked trending. “Super Star, Kiro, Signs New Albums at The New Light Mall.” So that’s why traffic is so horrible. The line of cars blocking the road must be the line of fans heading to the New Light Mall. I looked enviously at the line. Though immensely irritating, I would kill to be a part of that line if it meant I got to meet Kiro.

Kiro was an inordinately talented superstar. The spunky blond-haired, teal eyed man was very popular among teens and adults alike. He was an idol among millions for his talents. Which varied from acting to singing to dancing to even fashion. It seems like this young boy was too good to be real. Many believed he had the superpower to woo people with one glance. I, of course, found this difficult to believe…. Though even I found it hard not to enjoy his presence.

In fact. I was a very big fan of his. He just so happened to be my idol. His music was the main thing that got me through so many things. Moving from foster parent to foster parent, when I had become selectively mute, moving to a new school, the events of the fifth foster house. Kiro meant more to me than most things in my life. But you’d never catch me screaming his name or crying at the sheer thought of him. I had self-control. I had to have it. If any mention of me being a fan of Kiro in the office and my tough manager cred would be flushed down the drain. I had to keep my obsession closeted at all costs.

The cars ahead of me started slowly moving again so I put away my phone and slowly followed. The cars stopped soon after. I moaned and checked the time on my watch. 2:30. Maybe walking to LFG would be faster than this.

Finally, my bike slowly rolled up to the stoplight. Past this light, the traffic was much more free-flowing. I was the second vehicle in line. I could almost smell the freedom. My eyes lazily drifted to the sidewalk next to the stoplight pole. There stood a young man staring intently at his phone. He wore a black baseball hat, a red and white hooded t-shirt, and black jeans. He also wore accessories containing a pair of bulky headphones around his neck and a pair of sunglasses. I looked up at the sky. Dark clouds covered most of it. Why was he so heavily protected from the sun?

The APS from the other side of the street started beeping, signaling to a group of pedestrians that it was time for them to cross. The man started impulsively making his way to the street, not paying any attention to the fact that it was not his turn to walk. I watched as a yellow sports car started making its way down to the light and straight towards the man. I looked up at mine helplessly. Still red. I checked my watch. 2:45. I didn’t have time for this.

I cursed to myself and pulled my bike to the side of the road. I quickly pulled out my keys and dashed down the crosswalk and to the man. The car drove closer to the light. The car’s horn finally started blasting which finally pulled the man’s attention off his phone and to the road. He froze in place as the car came speeding towards him. I jumped off the ground and dove into the man, shoving him off the crosswalk and back onto the sidewalk. Safe from the sports car that now had zoomed past the light and down the highway. I lay on him protectively as I caught my breath. I pushed myself onto my hands and caught the last glimpse of the car before it sped out of sight.

 I cursed at it uselessly. I sighed and finally looked down at the man. “You O-” I held my breath. The fall had knocked the hat off the man, revealing wild, bright, blond hair. The sun shone onto his sunglasses just enough to show his teal eyes sparkling as he made eye contact with me. My eyes went wide. It couldn’t have been him. There was no way it was him.

“You- you saved my life!”

It was him. There was no way you could mistake that mesmerizing voice of his. Especially if you listened to him as often as I did. It was a higher-pitched voice but there was a sense of joy with every word he spoke. As if merely speaking was a gift to him. As hearing it was a gift to me.

“Thank you!” Kiro smiled at me.

(Next)

[thelimeonade]

“You deserve better...”- ♠

[Warning: Contains reference to abuse, violence, toxic relationships, partially-forced sex, alcohol and some drug consumption and suicide attempts. Do not proceed if this triggers you.]

I should be offline

but...

I’m finally brave enough to do this – to speak up about what has happened to me and what is happening to other girls\ boys around me, what might happen to people who don’t expect it.

I pray that whoever reads it is armed by hope from my words, strength to break the chains that scars brain, heart and body, wisdom to be able to tell what’s real and what’s not later on in life, awareness to help those who are bound in a similar situation and couldn’t get out.

“This was never love. You never loved me. You used me. You killed me. This was poison-filled madness.” - Lime Jackson [November 13th. 2018.]

-Lime A. Jackson.

“When the knight in shining armor comes into town, metal breastplate reflecting rays of pure sunlight, showing off carefully engraved swirls of flowers, leaves, twigs and waves, everybody rejoices.

Everybody but one.

She who stands in the shadows of the cheering masses wondering why do they cheer for a knight who supposedly went to a battlefield filled with bloodshed and gore, yet returns unblemished, unscarred, not a single dent or a flick of dust or a scratch on his armor. The very same armor he supposedly wore to every single one of those wars, coming back ‘triumphant’. He was nothing but an imposter.

But she found out too late... after she had given him her all and woke up with nothing...” - An excerpt from a short-story called ‘The Dark Knight’ by Lime A. Jackson.

I do not deny being stupid when I met him. Having just recovered from the loss of the dearest person to my heart, he became a rebound, an outlet to my emotions and an input to the hole in my heart after I’ve lost my godfather.

This is how my very first boyfriend – my ex – came into my life... and he was my knight in shining armor. Everything about him was seemingly perfect, the perfect smile, the perfect charm, the good looks... it was everything girls had chased after, everything people respected from the looks of it, never the core.

I remember vividly being happy [or what I assumed was happiness] as every sweet word tumbled off his lips, as every ‘grand-romantic-gesture’ came that I forgot about the rotten underbelly of it all.

As I go through my gallery, see the pictures that has been taken on our small dates in cafes, as I read the date, I don’t see the smile but rather my eyes, the white of them turning a darker shade of pinkish red as the days went on, the purple bags underneath my eyes, so dark that I had resulted to borrowing foundation and concealers from my cousin – me, the girl who never wore make-up – that did nothing to hide the sleepless nights spent weeping. I ask myself over and over again “How were you so happy? Did you already forget about those words he had said to you the other day? Did you forget about that sex you never wanted but gave to him anyways or else he’d leave you? How were you so fucking OBLIVIOUS?”

I never found a solid answer. Never even brushed a hazy one with the tip of my fingers because nothing ever made sense the minute my foot stepped out of his circle. When reality unfurled before my eyes.

[Continue below the cut for the pained reality... then the relief.]

I remember how he had used my love for him more than once for sex... and I was so stupid that I said ‘yes’... anything to keep him close to me.

I remember how he had brought in his friends to prove a point... and that point was “You can’t be in a relationship without having sex.”

I remember how he had made fun of my only pair of jeans. “Looks like something my grandma would wear.”

I remember how he had accused me of being ungrateful when I spoke of my parents’ abuse to me. “Are you always this ungrateful?” But I never was ungrateful... I just wanted the abuse to be over.

I remember how he accused me of being a ‘sheep’ because of my beliefs. and kept pulling it up in every argument, “I don’t want to be in a relationship with a fucking Muslim.” but he keeps forgetting that both his parents are Muslims, that even his own name is Muslim and he became an atheist later on and I never once judged him for it. I listened and understood and loved him still...

I remember how he had made fun of my conservative clothing, made me wear short skirts and revealing shirts to impress him, turned me into his little Barbie Doll but whenever I explained that I wear baggy clothes because I’m insecure, he accused me of being stupid and – yet again – ‘a sheep’

I remember his first time drinking, how he had verbally abused me when he was drunk, how he had turned me into a laughing stock, taunted me and ridiculed me. “Why the long face? You are always so depressing. You don’t even want to drink. You are no fun.”

I remember how he had accused me of not loving him when I spent time on my studies, my exams, on my university applications, on the recommendation letters I was trying to get and my volunteer work. “Those who really love somebody find time.” and I clipped off time from all of those things for him. It was never enough. He was never satisfied. Now I’ve been rejected in over 11 Universities and forced to do a gap year.

I remember how I’d been so excited to share with him my book ‘Extinct Galactic’ and the effort I’ve put into it, the character I’ve fashioned especially to fit him and he had brushed it all off. “I wish you love me as much as you love those dreams.” And for the very first time in three years... since the beginning of my dream to become a writer, I was forced to delete all my drafts to make time for him.

I remember being threatened by break-up on more than one occasion and him going through with it just so he can see if I love him enough to beg him to stay... “You didn’t even beg me to stay. Your love is bullshit.” but I did...

I remember when I had told him about wanting to become a surgeon if I cannot become a writer, he accused me of being ‘a sheep’ yet again because all parents here want their children to either be doctors or engineers, anything else is a disappointment. But I really wanted to be a surgeon, I want to help people and I have the capabilities but he brought them down.

I remember when I told him about my dreams and his reply was that they were all stupid “If you have dreams and they don’t come true, you’ll be depressed and spend the rest of your life sad. So be like me, just live every day as it is and be happy.” “You dream too much, those will never come true.”

I remember when I told him about sharing my surgery workshop experience with a guy in my Advanced Chemistry class and the guy was so disgusted that the guy and I laughed at it... but he had accused me of cheating. “Instead of texting me, you are laughing with that guy in your class.” and he had made his best friend come guilt-trip me, accusing me of cheating and when I explained that the guy had a girlfriend, he said “How do you know? Do you talk to him a lot? Do you text him a lot?” he didn’t believe me when I said that the girlfriend calls him a lot in class so we all know. And that’s why I never gave him my instagram password, why I never let him touch my phone, why I always kept it face-down around him because at the smallest notification, the interrogation began and he never believed me. “You lied to me before. Once a liar, always a liar.”

I remember when he had spun lies into my head that I was toxic... he cut and showed me the scars and blamed it on me, said I’ve given him so much pain that he had to do this to himself to ease it, threatened me with cutting again and had planted the lies in everyone’s heads... even mine, even my best friend and we all fell for it. and when I slipped into the darkest pits of depression, when I tried to kill myself more than once, he had yelled at me for it.

I remember how he accused me of turning the words ‘I love you’ into something emotionless from how much I said it... but I meant it every time...

I remember the way he gripped my forearm to force me to listen to his poison, to drink it in, to be the way he wants me to be.

I remember so much more shit... so much more things he had done and said and forced me to do... I remember how he planned to cheat on me to make me regret hurting him and love him more... when I never hurt him... I remember it all.

and I vividly remember how he walked in a week after our final break-up with a new girlfriend, rubbing her in my face.

And I was never the same...

I lost everything: my heart, my dreams, my ideas, my universe... and I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t want to live. I stopped taking my medications hoping that one day the world would be so kind to let my brain problem kill me... it never did.

I waited. I consumed everything I was allergic to as a form of self-harm, my allergies to spices (Capsaicin to be specific), my lactose intolerance, all of it.

I feigned happiness, I smiled when I was told, I laughed when a joke was told but nothing felt worth it, nothing at all.

I did feel some relief, my ideas did return but only momentarily before I felt the tilt in the rollercoaster tracks before the final drop, into depression and never coming back up.

.

.

Then he came... My Dark Knight... and I didn’t realize who he was exactly.

*Throwback to March 18th 2019*

-“You wrote this book? on your own?” [Extinct Galactic after I’ve made a story about struggling with keeping up with the events on instagram] =“Yes, I did. It’s my pride and joy.” -“Can I read it?” =“It’s still not ready... I’m sorry. Do I know you?” - “Hm... not exactly. I know of you, though. We go to school together but I’m a junior.” [I’m a senior.] = “Oh.” - “*he laughs* yea... I guess that means introductions are in order from my part. Hey, I’m ♠...” [I will not disclose his name, not until he agrees at least, but rather the symbol I always refer to him by.]

*end of throwback*

And we had talked everyday, nearly throughout the night and I felt comfortable sharing everything with him.. and for him too, he felt comfortable telling me things nobody knew about.

Then comes my prom night March 25th 2019 

My ex has broken up with his girlfriend... aimed to take me as a date then when he found out that I was taking ♠ as my date [just as friends] he flipped... he told me to better ‘not fuck it up because I know you always fuck shit up’ then proceeded to pull my leg by telling me that ♠ was actually part of his circle and he was well known for having girls back then and that he was probably playing me.

What my ex didn’t know is that ♠ had already told me all of this, the whole truth about his past, about how he was actually friends with my ex, every single bit and his exact words were “I understand that I have now painted myself before you as the ‘danger. do not approach.’ guy and you have every right to turn away right now. I won’t be angry or upset.”

and I stayed. I’ve never been so proud of myself for staying.

Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce the man whose quote titles this post, my boyfriend... the one who helped me up and sees me as the best thing in the world no matter how much I try to tell him otherwise. Who has done the impossible for me, who had loved me more than anyone in less than a month...

He asked me to tell him what happened to me before, all of it and he had held me when I was close to falling apart. “You deserve better...” he told me over and over again, he still does whenever I’m in doubt. “You deserve to be loved, cherished and respected without having to change anything about you. You deserve the best.” and this is something I want everybody to hear.

I just want to give you all some situations and comparisons to show you what toxic is like and what real should be like:

Prom night. I never wear heels, only when the situation requires it and prom meant heels. I couldn’t walk in them, let alone dance so I stopped by my table [Which I shared with my date, my ex and his friends and some old friends of mine.] to take them off. “Are you okay? Do you need help?” ♠ asked as I struggled to take off my heels. “Just leave her. We will miss out so much if we wait for her. Let’s go.” and I encouraged ♠ to go with them but he got down on his fucking knees to help me with my heels when I told him countless times not to.

Still same night. Buffet came and while I was eating, I forked up something and just as I was about to take a bite, ♠ twisted the fork in my hand and ate it himself. People laughed and thought he was just playing but in reality, he had leaned over and told me it was spicy. [I told him about my severe allergy and my self-harm using capsaisin. He did this because otherwise I would have to tell people about my problems.]

He never once made a move on me unless I gave him the brightest of green flags to proceed and when I say not now, he would smile and say, “Good things are worth waiting for. So imagine perfect things like you...” and he said that but my ex threatened me with break up whenever I said no.

After he asked me out, asked me to be his girlfriend he said “I know my timing is horrible and my past is even worse. So if you don’t want me, please say it and be clear. I’ll understand.” and when I was so dumbstruck that I was whispering, “I don’t know.” he had taken it as a No and smiled before saying “It’s okay. Can we still be friends?” as he prepared to leave, to fully accept my rejection but then I said yes to being with him a hundred times. He never once made me regret it.

When I confessed my dreams, he confessed his too and he encouraged me and actually made me believe in myself more than what I thought possible and he made me.... so fucking happy.

When I told him about Extinct Galactic, he actually listened and the next day I noticed that his phone background changed from his favorite rock band’s logo to a picture of space and stars.

I never once kept my phone face-down with him. In-fact, his fingerprint now unlocks my phone and he knows the password to my instgram just like I know his. I thought his first reaction upon having it was go through my DMs like my ex but instead he went to my archives and said “Why did you archive all these beautiful pictures of you? Can I screenshot them?” and when I showed discomfort regarding an embarrassing picture, he immediately deleted it from his phone.

One thing I hate about him is that he refuses to let me pay for anything. Even when I sneaked a 200 pound bill in his pocket after a meal he paid for, I went home and when I opened my bag the 200 was there with a note that said ‘ Nice try. ♥’

When my ex had accused my gasps and screams and grumbles over book characters in the book I was reading to be stupid, ♠ would literally go like “*gasp* how dare she!?!?” with me over Maeve in Throne of Glass. [Eventhough he never read the series. Never even heard of it but he listens to my rambling anyways.]

When I spent months looking for Kingdom of Ash, the final battle of the Throne of Glass series and couldn’t find it. I saw the look on his face, threatened to castrate him if he even tries to buy it for me (especially since it’s so expensive here in my country). Next day, he opens his backbag at school and pretends that he has ‘no idea how this Kingdom of Ash book jumped into his bag’. I might have slapped his shoulder with it really hard.... before crying and hugging him.... but still I’m mad at him and planning the castration.

When my mom threatened to ruin my relationship with him, he fucking called her and told her how much he loves me. When everybody fears my mom. When he knows damn well of her abuse, that she might hurt him too, he went up to her when she was picking me up from school, basically told her ‘If you don’t want me to be with your daughter, better just run me over with your car, that’s the only way you will stop me because I’m never going to stop loving her.’.... straight into my mom’s face.

One day he got drunk and had drunk dialed me and I was waiting for him to cuss me out, to have a go at me, instead he tells me how much he loves me over and over again then proceeds to apologize for 15 fucking minutes for being ‘a stupid drunk’ because of my experiences before and might have been crying on the phone??

@mediocre-prose vouches for him because she knows what’s up and she texted him once. And let me tell you....She would shove a nuclear bomb up his ass if she disapproves but she doesn’t lol.

There’s so much more I want to say... so much more.

But my message here is to say that ‘You deserve better.’ and better will come. Whether it’s soon or late or in ten years. It will come.

And if it’s late, it’s still good. An Egyptian saying says “Every late thing brings something good with it.”

So hold on. ♥

You are beautiful, you are perfect, you are not ugly, you are not a sexy toy, you do not deserve shit. You are a queen and you deserve the best.

Hell, you don’t even need a knight at all to save you. [No offense to the good knights out there who helped] be your own fucking knight!! If I could do it long enough, if I could pull myself out of those cuffs my ex had wrapped around me claiming they were satin clothes fit for a queen instead of iron shackles, if I could take off that fucking collar he used to leash me to him, then so fucking can you.

Give yourself time to heal too. Don’t be hard on yourself. Some things might never be the same but that’s also good. You know why? Scars are thicker skin to ensure that you will never be hurt again. A bone can never be broken in the same place twice because when it’s healed, it’s stronger.

If it weren’t for my ex’s abuse, I would have never felt the need to write Extinct Galactic or find an escape among aliens in a far-away galaxy and even-though he fucked me up, I’m better than him and I will not hold any hate in my heart and I’m thankful for every bit of venom he made me choke on because his abuse turned me unbreakable.

Never give up! Never. Never. Never.

If somebody does not see your worth, tell them to piss off and I assure you somebody else will. Because if somebody as flawed as me can survive and find happiness, then so can you.

“YOU DESERVE BETTER. YOU DESERVE THE BEST.” -♠

[p.s. for those who wonder why the ♠? My favorite card in the playing deck is Ace of spades and that often means ‘misfortune’. Yet people forget that what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger and if the Ace of spades is drawn upside down, it means the greatest fortune there is.]

[Edit: This is not meant to paint my Ex as the evil person in this. He is good in some aspects but what he had done to me was wrong. I do not hate him but I do not love him either. I only hope that he becomes a better version of himself for whoever he might share his life with later on in life and if he is in need for my help, I won’t hesitate to help him just like I won’t hesitate to help many others.]

[Edit 2: My ex did not rape me. I told him yes with my own tongue. I was fully aware when I said that. I wanted it back then because I did not want him to leave. He is not a rapist. But he is an asshole.]

[lokispettigerr]

In The Flesh (Part 2): Darkest Depths- Loki x OFC

Word Count: 2,825

Timeline: The Avengers movie

POV: Original Female Character- First Person POV

Fic Summary: The OFC that Loki dreamt of in Part one is confined within S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters because Nick Fury wants to use her and her abilities. While in her prison cell, she receives a dream from the Tesseract about Loki. The Tesseract (represented by a serpent) implores her to find Loki, because he is the only one that can help her.

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Blood, Self-harm

A/N: Loki’s POV pops back up later. Please note OFC has a number for a name because I suck at name creation... It will happen later. I really hope you all enjoy this. 

Taglist: @njavezan @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77

I could feel a cold gaze penetrating the glass walls of my cage, and I shielded my eyes with my scarred and bloodied arm to see through the harsh buzzing lights to out beyond my confinement.

I knew who was there, but out of hope or habit I looked anyway.

His voice interrupted my thoughts, “Have you given anymore thought to my offer #140278, and your return to freedom” Nick Fury asked.

I am a number here, #140278. I have no name here, and I don’t mind. In truth, I prefer it.

“And what is ‘your offer’, exactly?” I asked. “You haven’t given me a straight answer, or perhaps you want more than you are able to say…” I said with a smirk, licking my lips.

Fury. It was always him, and no one else. I had grown tired of his greed, and bored with his empty visits. I needed something exciting, and a game of cat and mouse would do the trick. Except who ever heard of a cat in a cage? I leapt up, the chains that bound me rattling. I stood, stretching, my long hair the only thing that covered my naked body and began stalking towards him, my bare feet gliding over the cold floor.

My gaze locked with his, “World peace, Fury? A team that assembles whenever you pucker your lips together to sound a whistle without them ever even asking for a bone?” I purred.

My eyes sized him up, and I tilted my head to the side, a smile playing on my lips “But no, that isn’t what you want. Is it?” I continued faster now, “That’s what you tell people you want because you know that’s what they want to hear.” I took a finger and gestured at him, “What you want is a weapon Fury. A war machine that instills fear and loyalty in the hearts of men, giving you all the power.” I continued, “A weapon that—“ I paused searching his face for the answer, “listens to you.” I chuckled. “What kind of weapon would it be then?”

Fury didn’t say a word, he stared at me, unblinking. “What is it Fury?” I asked, “Cat got your tongue?”.

“You know very well how this will end Fury. I will never be free. I have never been free.” I was now standing directly in front of him, the glass the only thing that separated us.

He sighed, “You’re right, witch, if that is even what you are”, he spat, “more like beast, monster. You have continued to disappoint me. You could be so much more.” He shook his head and turned on his heel, his trench coat tails catching the air as he turned to walk away.

“Until next time then #140278” he called over his shoulder, his voice fading as he continued down the hallway and out of the room.

When he was gone I shrank back down exhausted from the encounter, and my present circumstances.

I continued to stand there, thinking. It didn’t matter what I wanted. I should be here; locked away for all eternity to pay for my crimes. His treatment of me did not matter, or how I felt about this place. I deserved all of this, I deserved even less after everything that I had done.

I stuck out my index finger, and brought it down quickly striking the soft flesh of my forearm with enough force for the skin to tear. It left a red, weeping tear there, and I let out a hiss through my parted, red lips, my eyes shutting, rolling back. The sudden sting from the wound sent ripples of ecstasy rolling through my body. I threw my head back exposing my neck, a smile whispering on my lips, pride washing over me. I deserved that too. I wanted the outside of me to mirror what was under the surface.  

I backed away from where I stood at the front of my cage to return to my corner, and slid down the wall. My hair fanning out behind me.

My blood trickled down my arm, to pool down around me, and I smiled.

Everything was quiet again. My mind slowed and I began to dream—something that I lived for in my confinement. It was my only reprieve, and the only way the world would to remain safe while I walked it.

There was a snake, a giant serpent, larger than me. Her scales had an unusual, unnatural color—ice blue, with a ghastly glow. She looked like some magical, otherworldly, age-old stone—something timeless. The serpent’s body had a shine to it from the sunlight pouring down, and its voice was an odd rasp; somehow I could understand what it was saying. Rather than understanding with my ears, I understood with my mind. The giantess’ body was surrounding me, circling me all the while impeding any movement. Even as this serpent trapped me, blocked me, I wasn’t afraid. She was a queen, something terrifying yet beautiful to behold. And her raspy voice whispered in my mind, her voice tendrils stroking me.

“She sees you are having a hard time child, and she knows the way” she blinked at me, willing me to understand. She began to move then, her coils turning around and around me, making me dizzy.

“There he is to help you. She knows Loki. She knows him to help. Loki desires you—to help you, child” she climbed her own coils, her face coming closer to me, reaching my eye-level. I could see the iced sapphires she had for eyes. Her pupils were not elliptical like most venomous serpents, not even round like their non-venomous counterparts. No, they were shaped like a cube—an ice blue cube in a sea of sapphire. This was something both perplexing and disturbing to me.

“You want to live child”, she stated. She must know something that I do not.  “If you want, you go to the water edge and find him. Loki waits, child.” She said this moving her head to the side looking into my eyes with one of hers to see if I was understanding her.

“You need him, and you must child, if you desire” … she paused, “to live.” Her eyes blinked at me.

The serpent closed her eyes then as if she was listening to someone. While she looked with her eyes closed, I studied my surroundings. The sun heated my skin and poured into my eyes where I had to squint to make anything out. While the space surrounding me was fairly open, there were pines, giant, towering pines here and there. They threw shade around, swaying in a breeze. Surrounding the grassy land that I was on was a cool, sandy bank—the only thing cool to the touch, but at the same time cooling the air. There was a murky, dark river or lake surrounding the land, swallowing us.

“She hears he likes the shade, for now.” The serpent spoke again, blinking, intrigued by me, almost scrutinizing why she was having to share this information with me.

“You want to live child” she nods, almost like she knows my answer would be yes—she doesn’t expect an answer, that much is clear. “Go”, she urged, forceful now. “She sees. Find Loki in the shade at the water” She continued, “He goes by many names, titles, but for now he is Loki, he has been waiting… for you”.

“Do not give up… child”. To this I wasn’t sure what she was saying. Was she telling me to not give up on searching for him—whoever he was? Was she telling me, perhaps, to not give up on my life. Suddenly, I could feel the tendrils on my mind let go. She reared her head back away from me turning, uncoiling herself from around me.  The only sign of her left was her otherworldly blue glow, which soon faded from my view.

I took my first step; to what I knew not. The tall grass allowed me to continue on, engulfing my feet and legs not wanting me to turn back. Everything there was urging me on, who knows what they would do if I turned back.

At the water’s edge I used a tall pine next to me as an anchor, partly because the footing at the water’s edge was slippery. In truth, I needed something to steady me because I was deathly afraid of open bodies of water after being nearly drowned as a child at the hands of a caregiver.

I slowly picked my way closer, going deeper into the shade at the water’s edge, looking for the man the stone-serpent sent me to find. The water was dark and murky. There was no sign anywhere of Loki. I began to wonder if he had grown tired of waiting for me, and had decided to go for a swim. I stood up on my tiptoes scanning the water, detesting even the idea of wading out into the mysterious, dark depths of the river. Finally, I spotted someone a few yards out. A head popped up out of the water. He moved towards me, but at a slow pace, letting the small current of the river push him to me. I was growing impatient. I parted my lips to shout out to him when I noticed that there was something peculiar about the head bobbing over towards me. The head was the color of the mud beneath my feet, and was turned at an odd angle, I looked past it, scanning the rest of the water. The head out in the distance was not alone. My back went rigid, and chill bumps spread along my spine. It occurred to me then, the head coming towards me was not Loki—it belonged to a corpse, one among many.  

My eyes grew wide, and I backed away from the water, my back hitting the pine tree behind me, a let out a squeal. ‘Only a dream, nothing more’, I thought to myself. I pushed off from the tree with the heel of my hand, biting my lip and shaking my head, hoping the image of the corpses would soon stop haunting me.

I continued checking each shady spot at the river as the Serpent had ordered. Each time I searched and waited for the man the stone-serpent told me about, with no luck. The more I searched, the more I was certain that Loki was at the first place I went to—the darkest depths of the river that was filled with death…

My eyes snapped open, my pupils growing smaller against the overly-bright lights. I ruminated on my dream, the stone serpent, the corpses, and Loki—Loki most of all. If he was at the water where the corpses had been, what did that mean for me?

I wondered then just how badly I “wanted” to live, and drifted back off into a restless sleep.

I awoke to the sound of footsteps approaching, more than one set. My eyelids snapped open and I rolled over, moving into a low crouch position.

“Knock, knock”, Fury’s voice called out as he approached my cage. “Seeing as you like to play games, and seeing as you are non-compliant I thought you might enjoy a play-mate.” He gestured to a large brute next to him.

“Richard here, is going to take good care of you #140278, and make you nice and comfortable in your new home”. I glanced at Richard, and he smiled at me, cracking his knuckles. I did not take this as a good sign.

While I wondered what game Fury was playing at, he continued, “I don’t have any use for you in your current mental state, so I gathered a team of masters to create a gas that will come into your humble abode through those vents there”, he pointed, “and there as well”.

I looked up towards where he gestured at the ceiling at two sets of vents on each side of my cage.

“This gas should weaken you enough for Richard here to do what needs to be done” he rubbed his hands together.

“Any questions?” he asked, only pausing for a moment before continuing, “No?” He clapped his hands together then, “Good, well Richard,” he looked at Richard made a sweeping motions towards me, as if handing over a one trick pony, “#140278 is all yours”.

Fury bowed, the grin never leaving his lips, he turned and began to walk away, and I spoke out, my voice ringing in the glass confines of my cage.

I stood quickly. “You think you can hurt me Fury?” I called after him. He continued walking, without acknowledging that he heard me. I raised my voice “This is nothing I haven’t already been through before!” I finished my jaw clenching, my eyes burning with hatred and unshed tears.

Fury waved his hand at me as, batting away my words—like he was hushing a child throwing a tantrum. His footsteps echoed as he retreated.

A loud beep rang out and the vents began to hiss and spit their toxins. It was no use trying to hold my breath so I stood there, in the corner, the walls to my cage the only protection I had.

Within moments my head was swimming and my vision began to blur, I swayed and placed my slender hand on the cool glass to steady myself.

I looked for Richard, hoping to judge his reaction to see if I was responding the way he expected me to with the gas pouring into my confines. Richard approached the door of my cage and strapped on a gas mask, his arms going behind his head to tighten it. The door slid open and the chemical mist from the vents spilled out into the hallway.

Richard began stalking towards my corner and I stood, blood rushing to my head, my chains rattling and rubbing loosely at my ankles.

Richard never said a word, but as he got closer his hand shot out and grabbed my hair. I tried to move away from his grasp, but the gas had slowed me tremendously. He swept me off my feet, and I immediately tried to tap my rage, my power, but nothing happened. He should be screaming by now, falling to the floor, curling up begging for his mother or for it to stop, crying out to his “God”. I got no such response, and felt only my own pain.

He dragged me to the center of the cage, while I was kicking and trying desperately to loosen his grip on me. Everything was futile. His boot met with my skull and I stopped momentarily as everything went black. “Ppu—Please” I mouthed, tasting blood on my lips. In response to my plea, he gave a sharp yank to my head. I began to scramble trying to get up to fight him or stop him, but he threw me across the room. I slid across the floor only to be drug back again to the center by my chains. As I reached the center he knelt down to where I was on the floor and straddled me, he began to hit me then, beating my face from one side to the other as my legs continued kicking and my hands clawed at him.

He paused, and my eyes shot towards his face, expecting another hit to slam into my jaw, but instead he was wiping blood from his nose. It was just a few drops at first, but the more pain I experienced the more profuse his bleeding became.

Richard’s enthusiasm outweighed his fear or concern for his own safety, and he continued, his blood spilling and mixing with my own.

He struck me with less force now, and my head slammed to the side again. There, in the hallway outside of my cage I saw a man. He was dressed in a brown and green leather suit with a long green cloak, fastened to his shirt by two metal clasps. He had shoulder length, inky, black hair. He was surrounded by several guards of S.H.I.E.L.D., I imagined they were the same guards that brought me here. He spotted me and stopped abruptly, his body tightening, and his green eyes darkening as if a thunder cloud had moved overhead. My view at the stranger was broken when Richard struck my head again. I spit blood and turned my head quickly to catch another glimpse of the stranger. He was continuing down the hallway, his back to me. He never once looked back in my direction, but I could feel something settle on my mind. A comforting caress mingled with pure rage and despair. I held onto it, until I lost consciousness. One thought came to my mind before, one word escaped my bloodied lips, in a raspy whisper, “Loki”.

   ****If you would like to be on the general taglist OR the taglist for this fic please leave me an ask in my ask box. I will make it happen and would be happy to do it! You all make me so very happy! If you enjoyed this, please comment, like, and/or reblog. I love hearing from my readers and LOVE reblogs because it helps me out so much! Thanks friends. Until next time!

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Peace,

Loki’s Pet Tiger

[bladebloodied]

refs from all her mentions in the books

He forestalled the gesture by turning to the blood elf. She had golden hair and pale skin, and wore the bright, gleaming armor that marked her as one of her people’s paladins. “Where is Lor’themar?” Garrosh asked bluntly. Her full lips pressed together in irritation, but when she spoke, her voice was calm and pleasant. “He has sent me to oversee the blood elf troops. My name is Kelantir Bloodblade. I trained with the lady Liadrin, and I serve under Ranger-General Halduron Brightwing.” “Neither of whom is here,” said Malkorok, stepping protectively near Garrosh. “Instead we have this little third-ranking whelp.” Kelantir turned coolly to Malkorok. “You also have two ships filled with blood elves willing to fight and die for the Horde,” she said. “Unless you are so sufficient in numbers and supplies that our feeble support will not be necessary.” Garrosh had never much cared for blood elves, and this female was getting under his skin. “You have a chance to prove your people’s worth in battle today,” he said. “Take care you do not squander it.” “My people are familiar with war and battles and sacrifice, Warchief Garrosh,” snapped Kelantir. “You will not find us lacking.” With that, she turned on her heel and marched back to the docks, her plate mail— how can she even bear it on such a tiny, twig-fragile frame? Garrosh wondered—clanking slightly as she strode.

-

“Blar speaks truly, if somewhat inelegantly,” said Kelantir. “We have heard what happens to those who speak out against Garrosh. Thrall at least would have listened! And he never would have led us down this path! The Alliance will—” Baine held up a hand. “Peace, my friend. You are right about such things, but Thrall is no longer our warchief. Garrosh Hellscream is. And our purpose here tonight is not to lead an insurrection, but to discuss what he has done up until this point and the wisdom—or lack thereof—of his choices.”

-

“Yet knowing all this, Lady Sylvanas agreed to send aid to the endeavor. But to what end? We are gathered! The Horde has food, supplies, and for those of you whose blood still flows in your veins, I know that blood burns hot for battle. Why is he waiting? Each day that passes, his troops become more uncertain. This is not wisdom. This is simply…” He groped for words. “Irresponsibility.” Bloodblade extended her hand for the speaking stick. “I agree with Captain Farley. His lands and ours are vulnerable if the humans decide to retaliate there instead of sending ships to Theramore. The swifter the strike, the swifter the reward. I cannot comprehend why Garrosh delays. More time serves our enemies and harms us.”

-

“The inexplicable love some of you have for that peace-hungry shaman astounds me,” he said. He moved as he spoke, looking from face to face. “You would do well to remember it is because of Thrall that we are in this position to begin with! It was Thrall, not Garrosh, who let the Alliance encroach. Thrall, who held secret meetings with the human mage Jaina Proudmoore and all but sat like a dog at her feet. Thrall, whose mistakes I must now correct!” Bloodblade began to speak. “But, Warchief—” Garrosh whirled on the blood elf, striking her hard across the face. There was an angry murmur and a slight surge of the crowd. At once, Garrosh had Gorehowl in his hands, and the Kor’kron had swords and maces in theirs. “Your warchief is merciful,” Garrosh snarled. “You live, so that you may obey me, blood elf!” Bloodblade nodded slowly; the gesture was clearly painful.

-

Frandis Farley, having a poor excuse for a drink with Kelantir Bloodblade, turned at the sight. “Trouble,” Kelantir whispered. “Not necessarily,” Frandis replied in an equally soft voice. Before his companion realized what he was about to do, the undead was waving and calling cheerfully, “Friend Malkorok! Are you slumming? The contents of a chamber pot are probably better than the swill this rascal Grosk serves, but it’s cheap and I hear it does the job. Come, let us buy you a round.” The Kor’kron looked to their leader, who nodded. “Grosk,” Malkorok rumbled, “drinks all around.” He clapped Frandis on the back so hard the Forsaken nearly fell forward on the table. “I might expect to find tauren or Forsaken here.” He sneered as Grosk busied himself plopping down dirty glasses and a large jug of grog. “But I must say, you look sorely out of place.” “Not at all,” said Kelantir, narrowing her eyes. “I have been in worse places than this.” “Perhaps, perhaps,” Malkorok said. “But why are you not in Orgrimmar?” “Iron allergy,” Kelantir said. For an instant, Malkorok stared at her, then he threw his head back in a guttural laugh. “It does seem that you and several others prefer more rustic environments,” he said. “Where is that young bull Baine, and his toady, Vol’jin? I had hoped to speak to them.” “I have not seen them in a while,” said Kelantir, putting her boots up on the table. “I do not much involve myself with the tauren.” “Really?” Malkorok looked puzzled. “Yet we have witnesses that put both you and Frandis right in this very inn just last night, in close conversation with both the tauren and the troll, among others. They reported that you were saying things like, ‘Garrosh is a fool, and Thrall should return and kick him all the way to the Undercity, and it was cowardly to use the mana bomb on Theramore.’” “And the elements,” put in another of the Kor’kron conversationally as he reached for the jug of grog and refilled his cup. “Yes, the elements—something about how it was too bad Cairne hadn’t killed him when he had the chance, because Thrall would never utilize the elements in such a cruel and insulting fashion.”

-

The blood elf and the Forsaken were silent now. The two watched them go. When the Kor’kron had departed, Kelantir closed her eyes and exhaled. “That was far too close for comfort.” “Indeed,” said Frandis. “For half a moment, I expected to be arrested, if not outright attacked.” The blood elf turned to signal for more drinks, then frowned. “That is odd,” she said. “Grosk is gone.” “What? With such a crowded inn? He should be hiring more help, not skipping out with several thirsty customers waiting on him.” Their eyes met. No word was spoken between them, but as one, they rose and charged for the door. They almost made it until a frost grenade locked them into position. Three frag grenades finished the job, and Razor Hill Inn exploded.

-

Anduin had never been to the inn at Razor Hill, and saw nothing in the scene before him to make him want to have visited before it had been destroyed and rebuilt. It was dark, raucous, filthy, and likely foul-smelling. He noticed the bronze dragon Kairoz hiding a smile at some of the reactions that this particular tableau engendered. Nonetheless, it seemed to be a boisterous place of good cheer, until the Kor’kron entered. They paused at the door, their hulking presences blocking out most of whatever light penetrated into the tavern’s main room. Two patrons, a Forsaken and a sin’dorei, were drinking together, but looked up at the newcomers. “Pause,” Tyrande said. “These two Horde members are Captain Frandis Farley and Kelantir Bloodblade. Captain Farley was sent by the lady Sylvanas to command the Forsaken units that would serve under their warchief. The Blood Knight, Bloodblade, had previously served under Ranger-General Halduron Brightwing. Both, by all accounts, fought well in the battle against Northwatch Hold.” Anduin glanced over at the Horde area. Both Sylvanas and Halduron were leaning forward. Anduin had not heard of either Farley or Bloodblade, but judging by how their leaders reacted to their images, the two were held in high regard.

-

Bloodblade had hair the color of the sun and skin so pale as to look untouched by it. Even off-duty, she kept pieces of her armor on. “Perhaps, perhaps,” Malkorok said. “But why are you not in Orgrimmar?” “Iron allergy,” Kelantir said. Despite the tension, Anduin grinned. He liked this Kelantir. She was brave. It was the sort of thing his friend Aerin, a gutsy dwarf, lost to the upheaval of the Cataclysm, might have said.

-

“That was far too close for comfort,” Kelantir said, exhaling in relief. “Indeed,” said Frandis. “For half a moment, I expected to be arrested, if not outright attacked.” Kelantir looked around. “That is odd. Grosk is gone.” Frandis brought his jaw back into position for a frown. “What? With such a crowded inn? He should be hiring more help, not skipping out with several thirsty customers waiting on him.” And as the two locked gazes, Anduin knew. The hair at the back of his neck rose, and he wanted to shout out a warning. But this was not the present; it was the past, and it was too late, had already been too late by the time Farley and Bloodblade had realized what was going on. The ill-fated pair leaped to their feet and raced toward the door. Ice crackled up to stop them in their tracks, and the scene went white. The sound of an explosion echoed through the hall, and then the Vision disappeared.

[feathersandthorns]

Chapter 3

Besides Pete's entire character being a horrible mix between a plot device and a trope, I don't have much self critique for this chapter! Enjoy!

(And sorry for my habit of overanalyzing my work)

On the same day as my arrival, there are three other new students, a record in a town as obscure and unaccustomed to new people as this one. I can hear the whispers as I walk outside for lunch, leaning against a large tree.

Someone sits next to me in the damp grass, startling me so badly I drop my book. I look over and see another new student sitting beside me. Eve, if I'm remembering correctly. She seems almost unnaturally beautiful, with smooth brown skin and intelligent, deep brown eyes. The gold-dyed tips of her dark hair shine in the sunlight as she peers at a detailed map through golden spectacles. In her hand is a container of egg salad, which she takes one bite of before wrinkling her nose and shoving it back in her lunch sack.

“Mom always forgets I don’t like mayo,” she says when she catches me staring at her. “Icena, is it?” she asks.

“Yes,” I reply, blushing furiously. I’ve always been terrible at conversations and never know what to say. It hasn’t ever been much of a problem since I’ve only ever had one friend, and-

I stop myself midthought. I can't think about her now. It's just too painful.

“Have you noticed anything strange about the new students?" Eve asks, still studying her map. "Anything coincidental?"

"Erm...no?" I respond. To be honest, I hadn't really been paying attention to the student introductions, my mind still caught on the raven I had seen that morning.

Eve turns her map to face me, pointing at locations she had marked with a pencil. "I'm from New Jersey," she says, "which you would know if you paid attention to my introduction. You are from Minnesota," she continued, drawing a line from her hometown to Devil's Lake. She connected two more dots. "The other new students are from Texas and Northern California. Do you see it now?"

I stare at the map, feeling incredibly stupid. "It's a diamond."

"And what's at the center of the diamond?" Eve traces the lines to the center of the page, circling the name of a small town. My jaw drops.

"Lebanon."

"The geographical center of the United States," Eve confirms.

"What are the odds of that?" I say with a nervous laugh.

Eve glances toward me, dead serious. "Slim."

"But not impossible," I reply, trying to convince myself more than anyone that this is a coincidence. 

"North, Este, Meridiem, West," Eve says suddenly, raising her eyebrows.

"What?"

"The surnames of the four new students. Each of them are or mean one of the cardinal directions; specifically the direction the person came from. Do you still think this is a coincidence?"

I narrow my eyes with suspicion. "What are you saying?" 

A sudden caw causes me to jump, spilling root beer down the front of my shirt. I look up and see the raven perched on the branch of a nearby tree. My stomach turns.

“Um, Eve?”

She looks up and frowns. “It’s just a raven.”

“The same raven,” I whisper to myself. I’m certain that it is. It has the same stare, urging me to follow it into the unknown. The raven caws again, sending shivers down my spine.

I lock eyes with a girl across the lawn. It’s Sina Meridiem, a tall, stocky girl who has bright ginger hair with green tips. One of her eyes is covered by an eyepatch, her face marred by scars, and the eye that stares at me now is an unusual shade of stormy gray. She seems terrified of the raven, although I’m not sure why. She begins to frantically shoo away the bird, her panic growing clearer with every moment. A few students have noticed.

“Looks like there’s a truckload of weirdos today!” Pete yells, causing everyone to laugh. Sina clenches her jaw as she turns toward him, but doesn’t respond to his insult. “What is it, sweetheart?” he asks, stalking closer. “Cat got your tongue?”

Someone laughs. It’s Gwen. I’m surprised she has the nerve to stand up to Pete after he hit her this morning. “Going for a streak, buddy?” she says mockingly. “Is it on your schedule to mess with at least five girls per day? You don’t seem like the leader of this school. You seem like a dictator.” 

I stand, curling my fists. Pete could take down Gwen in seconds, as he has already demonstrated. If he tries, I’ll be ready.

Pete’s eye twitches. “You’ve got the nerve to insult me a second time?”

Gwen laughs. “That sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” she stage-whispers to the students. “Well, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, can you?”

Pete roars, charging at her. I tackle him before he even gets to her and knock him to the ground. I manage to punch him a few times, but he soon gains the upper hand, throwing fist after fist at my face until I can feel my eye swelling and my nose bleeding. Anger rises inside of me once again, and this time I can’t stop it. The next few moments pass in a haze.

I can hear Pete screaming, though my vision is blurred. I’m pretty sure I’m screaming too as I feel sharp stabs of pain in my arms, legs and chest. I feel a shadow pass into my mind, and my blurred vision grows darker and darker until I fall unconscious.

[scifigeneration]

First look: Season Two of The Handmaid's Tale extends Atwood's novel in our #metoo moment

by Linda Wight

In Season Two, Offred (Elisabeth Moss) reclaims the identity stripped from her by GIlead. SBS

This article contains mild spoilers for the first two episodes of The Handmaid’s Tale season two.

The final episode of the first season of The Handmaid’s Tale ended with June Osborne, aka Offred, (Elisabeth Moss) being taken away by the Eyes - the Gilead police force/secret service. She was uncertain of her fate but buoyant, following the handmaids’ refusal to stone one of their own to death, and hopeful, given the whispered reassurances of her lover, Nick (Max Minghella).

In Margaret Atwood’s 1986 novel of the same name, Offred’s narrative ends at this point. In the Historical Notes section that closes the novel, readers learn that Offred remained free long enough to record her story on tapes discovered almost 200 years later. These tapes are the subject of a session of the Twelfth Symposium on Gileadean Studies, which reveals that Gilead was long ago overthrown, though whether Offred herself escaped to Canada is unknown. 

Season Two of Hulu/MGM’s television adaptation of The Handmaid’s Tale promises to answer these questions. The first episode opens with June gazing hopefully at the sunlight filtering into the back of the Eyes’ van. However, when the grill through which the sun shines is abruptly slammed shut, June is plunged into darkness, foreshadowing the most harrowing scene in the series to date.

Despite moving on from the events of Atwood’s novel, this second season continues with the book’s central themes, with a focus on female communities, resistance to tyranny, and freedom.

June is forced to interrogate the idea of freedom, even as she tries desperately to escape. Early in the first episode, Aunt Lydia, a fanatical woman responsible for training and punishing the handmaids, challenges them to accept their new lives by comparing “freedom to” with “freedom from”. In a speech adapted from the novel, Lydia explains that although women in the pre-Gilead United States enjoyed the freedom to do many things - work, own property, have sex for pleasure – they were always at risk of harassment or worse by men.

In Gilead, by contrast, she claims that women enjoy freedom from this kind of predatory behaviour, as any man assaulting a handmaid would be subject to the most severe punishment. This, of course, overlooks the monthly rape handmaids are forced to endure, and the brutal physical and psychological torture meted out to any handmaid who refuses to display the utmost humility and obedience.

June refuses to accept Aunt Lydia’s sermonising. When presented with the opportunity to escape, she seizes it without hesitation. Setting fire to her handmaid habit, June reclaims the identity that Gilead has sought to strip from her: “My name is June Osborne … I am free”.

Handmaids mourning. SBS

A more openly defiant Offred

By contrast, readers of Atwood’s novel never discovered Offred’s real name. Her resistance was less overt than the protagonist of the television series, and more obviously troubled by doubts, although her determination to tell her story in defiance of a society that sought to render women voiceless was extremely courageous. Atwood was heavily involved in Season One of the TV adaptation as a producer and writer, but only continued as a consultant in Season Two, with the show’s creators taking her characters in new directions.

Although much more openly defiant than the Atwood character on which she is based, the June of the second season is also beset by doubt, fed by Aunt Lydia’s claim that the handmaids’ resistance is merely “theatrics” and a “waste of energy”. As she is smuggled from place to place, June wonders, “Is this what freedom looks like?” She fears that even if she does make it to Canada, she may never escape the “Gilead within”.

Still, June refuses to succumb to despair, even when forced to hide in an abandoned building scarred with evidence of past violence, unsure when she will be able to leave. She and Nick make passionate love; as in the novel, their sexual relationship is an affirmation of life and love, an act of resistance to a violent society that would deny female sexual desire.

Handmaids in the colonies, where Ofglen is sent. SBS

June is isolated from other handmaids following her escape, but the second season picks up the novel’s theme of female community through the storyline of Emily (previously Ofglen), played by Alexis Bledel. She has been sent to the Colonies to clean up radioactive waste with other “Unwomen” after killing a Gileadean guard.

Despite being sentenced to slow deaths by radiation poisoning, the women continue to care for and support each other; Emily draws on her medical knowledge to ease the suffering of the afflicted. Nevertheless, when the opportunity arises for violent retribution against those she holds responsible for the handmaids’ suffering, she shows no mercy.

In Season Two, we also see a flashback to Emily’s pre-Gilead life as a university lecturer and lesbian wife and mother, moving further away from the novel’s singular focus on Offred. Even in the first season, Oflgen’s character was developed in much greater depth than was possible in the novel, positioning her as a key figure of resistance.

The flashbacks to both her and June’s former lives explain how Gilead came about, and encourage viewers to reflect on similar problematic tendencies in our own time. This device, drawn from Atwood’s novel, is perhaps what made Season One of The Handmaid’s Tale such a phenomenal success, with women donning handmaid outfits (in the 2018 US Women’s March, for example) to protest threats to women’s rights and freedoms.

Season Two promises to continue to disturb and inspire, as does Atwood’s novel, more than 30 years on. Early reviews have been mixed. But the first two episodes (which I was able to view) at least remain true to the themes of Atwood’s novel while speaking to a new generation of women in our #metoo moment.

The Handmaid’s Tale 2 airs on SBS and SBS On Demand 8.30pm, from Thursday April 26.

Linda Wight is a Senior Lecturer of Literature and Screen Studies at the Federation University Australia

This article was originally published on The Conversation. 

[bouncyirwin]

Serendipity (Kakashi’s POV + Smut) || KakaSaku two-shot

The once comforting tick-tock sound of his clock that filled the silence was now grating, mocking as it soldiered on while he lay stuck on the same paragraph for the past thirty minutes. He had retyped it no less than seven times and still, it lacked the impact an opening paragraph possessed. How was he supposed to make the book sell if he couldn't hook the readers in from the first page? He had a reputation to uphold!

The first Icha Icha book he published after Jiraiya's retirement, Icha Icha Gambit, was such a great hit it climbed about every chart in multiple countries. Now, a year later, his fanbase was demanding another book and he could do no more than comply.

But the same problem persisted: It just wasn't getting written. Kakashi hated repetition, he hated unoriginality. He wanted to write something new, something different. Groaning, he slumped back in his seat, eyes roaming the familiar walls of his office. It was just past twelve— he had about four hours left before he needed to meet up with Tenzou for lunch and discuss the other man's new gardening book.

'Enough of this,' he thought with a surge of irritation and clambered to his feet, fingers raking through his mussed up hair. He needed a break, a solid female character breakdown, and coffee.

Grabbing his coat, wallet, and keys, he hurried to his car and away from the four walls that had held him captive for the better part of last week. He drove to the other side of town, deep into the city where a Starbucks laid nestled between two massive brick buildings and parked in a nearby spot.

The weather was nice, slightly on the warmer side, but the cool breeze was a blessing. It blew scattered leaves up, making them flutter in a rapid dance, and discarded them somewhere new. Inspiration was already coming to him in the form of a chance meeting on a fall day —night, perhaps - his female protagonist returning late from a meetup, missing her bus, witnessing an illegal deal… Hmm… he should probably give her a non-threatening appearance to gloss over the sharp-mind she'd have…

"Hey, watch out!" Kakashi's head snapped in the direction of the cry just in time to witness the hurtling bike racing in his and a young woman's direction.

His reflexes saved him from being run over, but not the same could be said about the rosette in front of him, who was falling backwards a second later. Kakashi didn't think, didn't weigh the pros and cons, and quickly stepped forward to catch her, but that resulted in both of them impacting the pavement with a force that knocked the air out of him. Kakashi wheezed, a shock of pain raced up his spine and he winced.

The only thing that distracted him off the pain in his ass (and maybe he should use that expression in his new book) was the pained cry of the pink haired woman in his hold. He forced his head up, concerned for her well being. "Hey- hey, are you okay?"

Shiny, emerald green eyes slowly met his, looking a little like a forest out of this world, and they widened as she gasped— and he might've wondered what warranted her shock except in that second he was utterly and ridiculously captured by her eyes because never had he seen such clear, lively green before.

"I-I…" she stuttered, and his eyes immediately fell to her mouth —pink as her hair, plump, teeth sinking into the soft flesh— and as distracting as the sight was, it didn't keep him from noticing her crimson drenched hand. Oh. A piece of glass was sticking out of her palm, and it looked very painful.

"Damn," he breathed, reaching to carefully inspect the cut with ginger fingers. Her skin was warm, the back of her hand smooth and soft to the touch. He would've taken the time to admire it had her injury not looked so deep. "That looks pretty serious, come on you should probably go to the hospital."

She seemed in a daze as he helped her to her feet and he was beginning to worry. His words seemed to suddenly register in her mind and she stammered, much like he did whenever the H word was mentioned. "H-hospital? W-wait, it's fine. I'm— I'm a med student."

Well, that he could safely say he wasn't expecting. "Med student?" It wasn't to say she looked dumb, but he had just met her and he could already see the way brightness surrounded her like a warm embrace. From her captivating green eyes to the shine of her almost translucent silk-like skin, to the way her hair seemed to absorb the sunlight above and become the colour of the sunset— someone like her had no business in a place as dull as a hospital.

He realised he was yet to let go of her, and from where he held her, he could see the golden tinge in her eyes, the faint rosiness blooming in her cheeks, the slight moistness of her lips— and then she was regrettably staggering out of his hold, all while nodding and insisting she'll go home.

It was ridiculous that he missed her warmth immediately— even more ludicrous that he was abruptly and inconceivably attracted to a woman he knew for the whole of three minutes. All that aside, the fact stood that her injury was raining crimson droplets on the innocent pavement, and dying her red pea coat a dull maroon colour. He couldn't comprehend how she was calmly chatting with him in her situation. "Alright, I'll drop you."

For a few moments she seemed too stunned to reply, which in itself was curious, and then her eyes slowly roamed every inch of his face like she was studying an unnatural, unworldly phenomena: his eyes, his scar, his hair, his mouth, and finally back to his eyes. Kakashi watched, fascinated, as her cheeks burned an endearing shade of pink and she floundered almost adorably. "Y-you don't have to! It's a two block walk."

"Don't be silly, you're leaking blood everywhere. I can't leave you like this." And he snorted as he said his statement —his sorry excuse of an excuse could hardly fool anyone— his arm wrapped around the shocked rosette's waist and guided her away. Who was he even kidding? That was hardly the reason to why he wanted to drive her home.

Kakashi wasn't particularly a gentleman despite how his fanbase liked to depict him— far from it. He believed he was a man guided by his desires, and right now what he wanted was to spend time with this strangely alluring woman.

Konoha, despite how green and yellow and blue it was, was bleak to his eyes more often than not. In this town, he saw and knew every nook and cranny, and it got repetitive. But here she was a woman straight out of a fantasy book made of sunshine and light and for a few moments, Konoha didn't look very dull anymore.

Throughout the car ride he could practically feel her eyes burning holes in his head, like she found him as fascinating as he found her— and how utterly ridiculous that thought was, for he was as bleak and as dull as his beloved Konoha. And when they finally arrived at their destination, he followed after her like a man possessed.

In his defence, Kakashi felt perfectly justified in his behaviour. He concluded he was experiencing a mild case of love at first sight— and that made him snort again, albeit quieter, he really had no plans creeping this woman out.

Continue reading on ff.net.

[rax-writes]

Title: A Pair of Fools Fandom: Harry Potter Characters: Sirius Black x Reader, James Potter; mentions of Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew Reader Gender: Not specified Word Count: 1,615 Warnings: Hints of assumed bullying, a bit of self-deprecatory thoughts Notes: Request from anon for “hi um can u do a young Sirius x shy wheelchair reader imagine the reader is insecure and thinks no one will love her because of her disability but gets proven wrong lots of fluff and a kiss and the reader gets embarrassed when the marauders walk in and its really cute also at first the reader thinks its some crewel joke and doesn't see why a guy like him would like her I hope u can do this it would mean a lot xxx”

Since the day you found out that you were a witch, you never quite felt like you fit the bill. It wasn’t as if famous wizards, such as Merlin or Godric Gryffindor, were in wheelchairs – unlike yourself. The fear that everyone at your new school would see you as the most subpar witch to ever exist, grew with you each passing day.

Yet, when you actually arrived at Hogwarts, you were welcomed with open arms and kind smiles. There were still the occasional assholes, who would whisper and gossip about you, but those assholes can be found in any large group of people. And, in the event that they were assholes directly to you, there were always those who were quick to defend you. Most often, it was none other than Sirius Black.

The first time that it had happened was also the first time that you had noticed Sirius. A boy at the Slytherin table had been outright pointing and laughing at you. Then, very suddenly – although greatly appreciated – the bowl of steaming hot soup that had been sitting before the boy fell straight into his lap.

The howling laugher that infected everyone present spared none, not even the boy’s friends, as he ran from the Great Hall shrieking, one hand held to his scorched crotch.

You looked around, attempting to figure out who had been the culprit, and met the twinkling eyes of Sirius Black. The handsome Gryffindor shot you a wink, before returning his attention to his comrades.

He began occasionally chatting with you not long after that. Whether it was something as simple as the weather, or a question about the homework, Sirius managed to strike up a conversation with you at least once a day. Eventually, taking notice of the fact that he was not opposed to conversating with you, and that you were proficient in his worst subject, the professor suggested that you tutor him.

“They’ve got better things to do than tutoring me,” Sirius said immediately. You were unsure if it was because he genuinely believed that you didn’t want to do it, or because he just didn’t want to be tutored.

“I don’t mind – if you’re alright with it,” you said hesitantly.

Before Sirius could say another word, the professor interjected with a gleeful “Perfect! Now, Mr. Black, you now have my best student as your tutor, so I better not see one more failed assignment.”

Sirius muttered a “Yes, sir,” as the remainder of the class shuffled out. Sirius began to follow suit, but you stopped him.

“If you don’t want me to tutor you, then that’s perfectly alright. I won’t be upset or anything. I’ll just tell the professor that I’m unable to.”

“Oh, no, no,” Sirius said quickly, frowning. “It’s not that I don’t want you to tutor me. I just assumed that you wouldn’t want to waste your time tutoring the world’s worst Ancient Runes student.”

“I don’t mind,” you stated, smiling. In truth, you were actually very excited to tutor him. He was ridiculously attractive, and although you knew that you had absolutely no chance with him, he was still fun to look at.

“Alright, then,” Sirius responded. He stood there, smiling at you brightly, for a few moments, before picking up the remainder of his things and leaving.

That Friday evening, you accompanied Sirius to the Gryffindor Common Room, so that you could tutor him. You positioned yourself at the edge of a nearby table, and Sirius sat in the chair next to you. It was difficult to get him to focus on the coursework, rather than asking you about your day or your hobbies. You absolutely adored that he seemed genuinely interested in you, but presently, it was your job to help him with his studying – not to chit-chat.

“This is the final question, and if you tell me that this one is wrong too, I’m going to go stick my head in the fireplace,” Sirius said, bitterness tinting his tone, as he slid his parchment across the table to you. You eyed the page for a moment, then a pleased smile formed on your lips.

“Actually, this one is right. Well, technically, you did the translation wrong, but you still somehow managed to come up with the right answer. That doesn’t matter, though, because the professor doesn’t check your work, just the answer.”

“I’ll fucking take it!” Sirius said cheerily, snatching the paper back, scribbling his name at the top, and shoving it into his folder with a contented sigh. You couldn’t help but laugh at his evident joy. He returned his attention to you, grinning warmly at you as your laughter faded into a small smile. And for some reason, he didn’t look away: Sirius maintained eye contact with you, as the two of you just sat there, smiling at one another like a pair of fools.

With anyone else, you would have felt uncomfortable – filled with the urge to break eye contact, likely looking back to the desk, or at your shoes. But with Sirius, you were surprised to find that you did not feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable. You merely stared into his captivating grey eyes, and he unfalteringly stared right back into yours. Additionally, you occasionally glanced at the way the sunlight caught his dark hair, making it shine; the small, faded scar just next to his right eyebrow; the way his lips curved upwards slightly in his usual, tiny smirk.

However, what surprised you more than the comfortable eye contact, was when Sirius leaned forward, closing the already-small gap between you, and pressed his lips against yours.

The kiss was sweet, filled with innocence and promise. His hand slowly raised to cup your cheek – although you did not move. Admittedly, you were so thoroughly shocked that you couldn’t manage to do anything more than return his kiss. Thankfully, Sirius didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the only thing that caused him to break the kiss was a loud wolf-whistle, and an excited yell that resembled one from a Quidditch game attendee.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” James Potter inquired, his tone jovial and slightly teasing. He wore a smirk as he sauntered over to the two of you, followed closely by Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew, both of whom had similar demeanors.

“Shove off, Prongs,” Sirius said seriously, despite the fact he wore a grin. His friends elected to ignore him.

“I told you that he’d be going after this one,” James stated with a prideful smirk, then elbowed Remus. “You owe me three Sickles.”

They continued to chat, but you could not hear them. The only thing in your ears was the nonstop repetition of This is a cruel joke. They made a bet to see if he’d ask you out. They think you’re some loser they can dare one another to ask out.

You began to leave, but before you could make it very far, a hand fell upon your forearm. You looked up to see that it belonged to Sirius, and he was looking at you with a face full of curiosity and concern.

“Hey, where’re you going? These wankers didn’t scare you off, did they? They’re harmless, I promise,” Sirius stated, smiling kindly at you.

“You don’t have to keep being nice. You’ve completed their stupid little dare. Carry on, then,” you muttered, and attempted to leave once more, but this time, Sirius grabbed your arm, preventing you from leaving. He wore a pained expression, his brows furrowed together in dismay.

“You think I… I kissed you because of a dare?” Sirius said slowly, a frown etched into his features.

“Why else would you kiss someone like me? Plus, I heard James – you were all betting to see if you’d kiss the poor little disabled kid. Well, you’ve had your fun. Just let me leave, and be grateful that I’m not going to curse any of you.”

“Bloody hell, that’s not why I kissed you!” he retorted, his tone adamant. He shot you a grin, “Besides, sweetheart, nobody can get Sirius to kiss anyone – besides Sirius.”

“We were just betting to see whether or not he’d actually do it, because he hasn’t shut the hell up about you for weeks,” James explained, frowning as well. “Remus didn’t believe that he’d have the guts to go through with it. Well, not without vomiting on your shoes or something, at least.”

“I told you, I’m too damn charismatic for that,” Sirius boasted, elbowing Remus, who rolled his eyes in response. He returned his attention to you, extremely thankful to find that you were now smiling. “We’re sorry that we accidentally made it seem malicious.”

“So… you really kissed me just because you like me?”

“I really just kissed you because I like you,” Sirius confirmed, grinning at you.

“Well, this has become a disgustingly adorable situation, so I’m out,” James declared, although he shot a grin and a wink to Sirius before he left, followed closely by Peter and Remus.

“So…” Sirius began, mimicking your tone from just moments before. “Can I kiss you again?”

“I would like that very much,” you said, unable to prevent a slight blush from tinting your cheeks.

The remainder of your evening was spent with Sirius, sharing occasional kisses as you attempted to get him to focus on the homework. Despite your efforts, he mostly just stared at you with an enamored look in his eyes, and a small smile on his lips – although you couldn’t complain, as you did the same to him.

Sirius Black was ultimately far sweeter than meets the eye, and you couldn’t have been more thankful for it.

[seasonallydepressed]

My two newest characters.

WISTERIA "ICARUS" WATSON

She stands tall in presence, despite her fairly diminutive stature. She stands at 5'3, her mane of curly strawberry blonde hair oft left wild in her fights. When styled, she may braid a single side close to her head, but she loves the wildness of her hair. Her skin is fair by nature, but tanned by work. She is covered in scratches, bumps, bruises, and old scars. Freckles dot her face, shoulders, chest, and forearms. Her body itself is slender, and fairly rectangular, having less curve than many women of her age. She thanks the Gods for this blessing, as it makes armor fitting easy. She wears layered armors when she is fit for battle, wearing many colors and no clear standard. Out of battle, her clothes are simple and open. Loose pants, an open shirt, and a simple leather belt to match her simple folded leather boots.

It isn't common for a woman to become a squire in the city she was raised. Even less likely for a human to be one. She spent her early days working the land outside of the royal city of Jul'Pei, home of the High Elves. She would ascend to to her position as a squire from there after a dark day. From there she spent years in training, her love of fighting having started on the farm, now refined and practiced, turning her into a capable soldier. She found her mind growing very quickly and that she had a knack for tactics. This quick-wit of hers led to the natural track of focusing more on maneuvers that brute force or magic that some of her peers did. She would never finish her Squireship, however, as her knight died before she could be knighted, and the city was not keen on knighting a human woman.

The story of her becoming a squire is mostly one of luck, good and bad. She was in the fields, tending to the crops at the young age of 12. The Army was occupying their home currently, and she had had enough of them for the time being, pushing her into the fields very early that morning. Due to this, she saw them first. From the horizon, an army seemed to march upon the farm. A warband came crashing through her soft summer morning, razing her crops to the ground. The army was there that day and met the warband with force, but she was caught in the middle armed with only the tools she had brought out this morn. When the warband retreated, she stood there, covered in soot and blood. War had grasped her by the throat and she had broken it's fingers. Now she was hungry for more. A knight in the army, Sir Alderran, and the commander of the company that had been living on her farm had seen her feats. Through his power, he commandeered her for service, employing her as his squire.

Though she remembers fondly her life on the farm, she feels as though when she began her training that her life really started. She threw herself into her studies. She trained hard and fast. She grew strong, swift, and tough. Sir Alderran had ensured she would be caught up in her studies, teaching her not only writing but calligraphy. He taught her courtly behaviour, but it stuck fairly poorly. She would often state she never felt more alive than when she was being fought in the field. Her stature and late start put her at a severe disadvantage in the combats she faced, so her brain had to work to make the difference. She fought with new tactics and surprise moves, often to the disdain of her Knight. Still, she succeeded in combat and rose quickly under the pressure, earning the trust and comradiere of her fellow squires.

When she followed her knight to war, she expected to come back and be knighted herself. They met a warband in a classically stereotypical field. The same warband the Army had allowed to go free back when she had first encountered war. War had once again placed its hand around her throat, but this time she would not be satisfied with simply breaking it's hand, she would crush it's skull. She was flush with anger, and her rage fueled her to stop thinking and start acting. She over-extended during the battle, facing down an enemy much larger, stronger, and more experienced. She was horribly injured, a large gash opened in her shoulder, arcing down across her chest. The wound was given in torture, to ensure scarring, if she were to survive. Due to her weakness, Sir Alderran was to her side, saving her life but leaving his company without command. The entire company fell that day, and as herself and Sir Alderran retreated and arrow found itself married with his skull. She returned broken, bloody, and empty. She had quickly become Icarus, drowning in her sea of grief.

The elves of the city had quickly stripped her of service and rank, despite nobody knowing the truth of what happened that day. She would spend a year and a half in silence, focusing her mind on a fight she had never faced before. Her body, however, went on without her. She joined a fledgling mercenary band that insisted upon calling itself an adventuring guild. The Copper Dragon was her family now, and she pushed out to earn the money to survive. She never reached any high ranks, but she was unbothered. Her silence ended when she found a friend in Juu'Nstas, a quirky Triton far from home. He told unbelieveable stories about a faraway land where people sailed boats to live. The first noise she made in her nineteenth year of life was a laugh. With her voice restored, she tempered her confidence with wisdom, and took to the life of an 'Adventurer' much more seriously. Juu'Nstas at her side and the symbol of a low ranking Copper Dragon on her belt, the two pushed out to seek gold and glory. Icarus had found wings once more.

JUU'NSTAS "JUNE" PLIPATH

He is tall for his people, standing at 5 foot exactly. His personality matches it, bringing a larger than life style of joy into a room. His skin is a pale blue, at times seemingly translucent, and his hair is long, straight, and a soft sea foam green. Being a triton he has webbed hands and feet, and enjoys frequent dips into water. Being a person who hates clothes, he often has to be reminded to remain at least halfway dressed, lest folks find him less than decent. When armored, his mail seems to shine like sunlight filtering through water, and his glaive has an intricate wave pattern across the spine. Though a more reckless fighter, he is suspiciously unscarred. Regardless, his hands carry callouses from all his ropework.

A Triton hailing from Samyasa, who grew up off the coast of the tiny city Plip, Juu'Nstas was put naturally into the role of a deep-sea fisherman. He had greater ambitions though, driven by his desire to explore and see brand new things. People called him crazy, for talking of wanting to sail the rough, stormy, waters and try and see what lies beyond the horizon of his land of birth, but still yet he was able to assemble a group of others with similar minds. They put together a small group, had a ship built sturdy and enclosed, and said their goodbyes. The crew was small, only six folks total. They would be the first to travel across the seas and make contact with another nation-- though they have no real desire for political business, so they would not report this. Though they still tell stories of their homelands to those in a bar. Juu'Nstas took to the travel particularly well, finding his love and religion in the storm, deciding to dedicate himself to that natural world once he arrived.

He knew how to sail before he could talk. He spent his earliest days tying knots and unfurling sails. His childhood was spent submerged more than not, and his middling teens were spent hauling and fishing. In between it all, he learned how to fight and all about the principles of honor, as is traditional for Tritons, however restrictive it was for him. He felt a call to something deeper though. The ocean called him like a sultry lover. In time, he responded, and the cobalt mistress stole him from his life, his love, and his career.

He spent the better part of his early adulthood sailing around the Dellina Delta to find others crazy enough to sail with him, much to the disapproval of his partner Zaajaas. Surprisingly he found five others willing to hit the stormy waves with him, and even more surprisingly they were able to cobble together the money to fund the creation of their own ship: The Fairmaiden's Voyage. The ship was built heavier and sturdier than most, with a closed cabin and windowed helm. It was a unique vessel, slow but perfect to weather the storms that lay ahead of them. He was the last to board the ship, as his partner tried to stop him one final time before he left. Juu'nsta promised him that he would return soon.

On the sea itself, they faced many challenges. Food drained faster than expected, they were sent adrift for a short time, and they didn't expect to grow so irritated with each other. The storms themselves did not help in any regard. During a particularly bad storm, Juu'nstas found himself tied to the mast and praying to whoever would listen. In the storms he heard Melora, who came down in the form of a woman made of lightning and rain. She said nothing, and he thought he may have been hallucinating, but shortly after she vanished again the storm faded with her. From that day, he swore his oath to her, to defend the things she found sacred, and the free anybody from the tyranny she would hate. In return, he was blessed with his divine power.

They were very surprised after the week they spent lost, starving, and maddened, when they came across an unfamilar shoreline. When they touched down on the land and were met peaceably by civilization they were overjoyed. They quickly found themselves telling the story of their travels, though nobody appeared to believe them: calling them maddened by seawater. Still, they were well received and assisted. They took up their boat once more, cruising around to another port town, where they were met by a halfling who was very interested in their story. The halfling man, named Tim, promised them funding for their sailing if they promised to join his new guild, The Copper Dragon. They signed on, and set off to get the lay of the land. Upon reaching the Homestead of The Copper Dragon, they were given their ranks and shown how they could make much more money for a newer, larger ship. They took up adventuring. While drinking one night, after a successful quest and good reward, Juu'Nstas found himself faced with a silent woman, broken by grief and shadowed with doubt. For the first time in months, he chose to tell his story- with added humor- and she laughed. From that moment. They were close friends. He would consider her as close as his shipmates, and she would consider him a brother. After a time of rest, the two decided to travel together, and took to the land for gold and glory.