#“the eye is my chrysalis. and i am ready to emerge

[bitter-goodbyes]

Martin the MVP!!!!!!

[thefirstknife]

SIGH

Myelin released a video today arguing that Osiris is already dead. I disagree with most of his arguments and also am not a fan of some of them in particular and I want to address this in case people watch and are confused. And I assume people will ask questions about it. I think Myelin himself is also confused about certain things he mentioned and isn't interpreting them properly.

Disclaimer: obviously I am biased when it comes to this. I want Osiris to not die. This isn't an attempt to entirely disprove the theory that he may be dead already. Ultimately I don't know if he's dead. I'll do my best to look at it objectively and also address Myelin's points objectively.

I'll try to summarise Myelin's points and address them but you can always watch his video yourself to make sure I didn't interpret him wrong.

Now, Myelin's main point is that Osiris was possessed by Savathun instead of Savathun making a meat puppet/clone in his image or simply shapeshifting into him. His first proof is the Wolftone Draw bow lore. We've all read the lore and Myelin also reads the lore.

First, he wonders how Osiris is seeing what Savathun is doing. Obviously, we have no answer for this yet. Myelin's position is that this is proof of him being possessed and him trying to break through the possession. He also says that some of it seems like "Osiris views his own body in a third perspective." Which I agree with!

What I disagree with is Myelin saying this could mean Osiris' "physical body was destroyed" and that he may be floating around in some form similar to Toland. I'm not sure why complicate the matter in this way when the most obvious answer to this is simply that Savathun has created a clone or shapeshifted into a form of Osiris and the real Osiris is trapped somewhere. The lore seems to indicate this pretty clearly to me:

I cannot speak, cannot breathe, I reach for Sagira but then I remember… I form a fist but feel nothing, I am bound, and as I thrash the images cut fissures through my mind—

And:

She has stolen my form, my voice, but someone will see my failure and cast her out… they MUST—

These seem to me like he is somewhere and he is seeing through his clone's eyes at certain points. It would fit Savathun's MO to torture him in this way. She assumed his form and the real him is bound elsewhere, somewhere safe. I've said so before, and it turned out to be true: Savathun is using Osiris as a bargaining chip so possessing him would be much riskier to her plan than simply keeping him imprisoned somewhere where we can't get to him and where he can't break free from possession. It would make no sense for her to kill him.

As for how he's seeing things if he's not possessed: Savathun is THE Witch Queen. She has exhibited a wide array of magical and paracausal abilities, including the ability to shapeshift and watch others through objects and living beings. Osiris specifically says that he is "bound" and that the images of what she's doing "cut fissures through his mind" and that he's "thrashing," as well as asserting that Savathun "has stolen his form." If he's bound somewhere in her throne world, she may very well be using some sort of Hive magic to inflict images she wants him to see upon him. Just enough to allow him to know that he is a prisoner.

I'm not sure why Myelin only makes two positions: either he's in third perspective without a body like Toland OR he's possessed. The third option is right there: Savathun assumed his likeness.

That brings both Myelin and me to his next point which he positions as the "real turning point" for him. It's from the Chrysura Melo autorifle:

Savathûn, physical form a twisting instar, emerges from the shadows and crawls over the shattered pieces of the Ghost. She reaches toward the ruined man.

Myelin focuses on the bold part, a specific word: "instar." This is a nice catch btw, something I haven't noticed before. He describes what an "instar" is. Tw bugs for that link, but an instar is "a developmental stage of arthropods, such as insects, between each moult (ecdysis), until sexual maturity is reached." Savathun's physical form is described as a twisting instar at this point and Myelin says that she is in the stage of changing herself into a new form. He also says that in this form she "needs a new skin" and therefore steals the skin of Osiris aka possesses him.

But from all the googling and research I've done, I can't seem to find any examples of insect instars needing to acquire a new outside source to change their forms. They simply exist in one larval form (instar) and then change into another as they outgrow the previous one. They don't have to find another body or a host to inhabit.

Seeing as Myelin bases most of his theory on this specific word, I have to challenge that because this is simply not what that word means. Savathun, in the process of changing from one instar to another, doesn't have to possess Osiris. She simply has to change her form from one instar into another. It's still her and it's more likely that she looks to the real Osiris to use him as a model for what new form she will take.

This is why the Chrysura Melo lore page is describing "Osiris" as being uncertain on his legs and confused by human behaviours and slowly falling apart over months and months of existence: this is Savathun's instar in the shape of Osiris which is reaching the end of its lifespan and at the end of that lifespan, Savathun has to shed that instar and turn into another. Generally, moths have a few instar forms before turning into a cocoon and then later emerging out as moths. This is a nice page with pictures, but again, tw for bugs. She has clearly reached the end of her Osiris-instar and shed it away when Mara trapped her in a chrysalis cocoon where Savathun is continuing to grow, like a moth, to eventually assume the form we see in The Witch Queen. Some examples that, to me, allude to Savathun existing in a Osiris-instar and how that shape is unfamiliar to her:

Osiris takes a shaky step forward.

...

He passes the bottle, and Osiris, hands numb, puzzles at it. His mouth hangs in a half-smile before he takes a long drink, slaking a bone-deep thirst.

...

When Saint places a hand on his forearm, Osiris holds impossibly still just to see what the other man will do.

...

Osiris stumbles as he walks through the Last City.

Savathun is describing her life as Osiris and it's clear, from this and other huge amount of lore, that she was very unfamiliar with the human form and that, at the end, it started falling apart on its own. Which is what would happen to a instar of an insect, forcing it to switch into a new stage. In Ripe, she also specifically states "I am ready earlier than anticipated." In the same lore page, she also mentions a lot of really weird descriptions of how her "form" is dissolving essentially and "I clench the gangling black mass that threatens to unspool recklessly from within this shell of flesh. My new arms are too thin, too weak. My new shell still bound with thick mucus." She's barely holding it together. I'm not sure why Osiris' real human body would've been doing this.

There's another aspect from Ripe and that is that she mentions her worm inside of her:

I feel this form splitting beneath its wrappings, held together weakly by wet strands of sinew. And from deep inside, stirred by that latest scrap of deception, I hear the oily growl of the Worm.

This is how we know that her Osiris-form is her. Otherwise, Osiris' real body would've been possessed by Savathun who also holds her worm and that's more than convoluted. What we're looking at, presumably, is Savathun's instar which always has a worm at the center and evolves into other forms around the worm itself.

I'm sorry if this is rambly, but I just really can't see how possession would be possible, especially when based on insect morphology. As a last addition to the whole "instar" business which seems to be the center of Myelin's theory, I want to take a look at the word itself. It's a Latin word, and well... :

īnstar n sg (indeclinable, no genitive)

image, likeness, resemblance

counterpart

worth, value

an equal form (of)

of equal weight/size/form (to)

By the Traveler this can't be happening. Once again I am caught in the euphoria of analysing Latin words being used in Destiny. By all definitions, except maybe number 3, this alludes to a clone. An image of something. Resembling something. A likeness. Counterpart. An equal form of...

Savathun's insect-instar form fashioned in the likeness of Osiris. Not Savathun infecting Osiris: Savathun morphing herself into a counterpart of his form.

With that whole thing done, Myelin focuses on the infamous sidearm Spoiler Alert. It has a description which is just: "Someone is going to die." Myelin uses this as proof that, well, someone is going to die because the last time this gun was issued, Cayde died.

The problem here, even if we're taking this as a serious lore hint, is the timeline. Originally, Spoiler Alert was issued in Warmind. Cayde-6 died in the expansion after Warmind.

Spoiler Alert being issued in Season of the Lost would then be an equivalent of telling us someone is going to die in The Witch Queen expansion.

What does that have to do with Osiris? The position Myelin takes in this whole video is that Osiris is already dead. Not that he will die in The Witch Queen: that he has already died, perhaps at the start of this season when Savathun transformed off-screen OR even further back, at the end of Immolant, when she possessed him. This makes no sense with his other position, that Osiris is observing what Savathun is doing: how, if he's dead and why would we even get this lore if he's dead?

Most of all, Spoiler Alert, if it's alluding to a future death of a major character, cannot allude to Osiris having died before the gun was re-issued OR to him dying literally on the day the gun was re-issued. What kind of a warning is that? If they really wanted to allude to Osiris dying with this gun, the gun would've had to have been re-issued in Season of the Splicer as the final possible season to "warn us."

If Spoiler Alert is telling us some important character will really die, it's telling us this will happen in The Witch Queen. I can't imagine a situation where we save Osiris in this season and then he dies in the next expansion. Kinda pointless plotline. And it also does not fit with the rest of the video which is telling us that Osiris is already dead and Savathun is bluffing about having him as a bargaining chip. I am also not in favour of the theory that we will not find the real Osiris this season and that this plotline will stretch into The Witch Queen because that would be almost a year of grappling with the same plot of "we have to find Osiris." So whatever happens to Osiris, we will know this season. Which means the Spoiler Alert gun is of no relevance to the outcome of the Osiris plot.

The next point Myelin makes is the cutscene from week 1 of Savathun talking to us. He focuses on the image of Osiris looking kinda dead, with moths flying around him and one moth coming out of his mouth. This image is a better argument than any of the above because the imagery here is very clear. No room to misinterpret this really, we literally see Osiris being half-skeletal with a moth coming from his mouth.

However, if we take the position that Savathun made a clone, then the "dead" Osiris in this image is just that clone being dead after it fell apart and Savathun had to transform. The moth coming out of his mouth is probably what this is supposed to symbolise: Savathun outgrowing her Osiris-instar and assuming a new form, currently cocooned in Mara's chambers.

Not to mention that she literally says she "assumed his shape." Not "took his body." She "assumed his shape" to be "more pleasing to our eyes" so she could "guide our victory" against Xivu Arath. Obviously she couldn't guide us if she looked like the Hive. Instead, she morphed into a shape that looks like Osiris and kept him to herself, possibly for information as well as a bargaining chip.

The next part is something I heavily dislike as a point from Myelin.

He starts by saying how there's a trope in movies where you get attached to a character and you just have a feeling that something bad is going to happen to them because the narrative is making you form a bond with that character. And at first I thought he'll say that the narrative has been doing this with Osiris, which is WEIRD, due to how generally disliked he is in the fandom, mostly due to people misunderstanding him, but also due to other reasons which have resurfaced ever since he's been officially confirmed as a gay man in a relationship with Saint.

And of course, Myelin is not talking about Osiris at all. He's talking about Saint. He's saying that the narrative made us attached to Saint and that "they are setting up Saint-14 to lose Osiris." This is aggravating in several ways.

One, that trope about being attached to a character is generally about the character that is going to die. Bungie didn't make us get attached to Cayde so they can kill off Ikora. They made us attached to Cayde and then killed off Cayde. Making us attached to Saint-14 to kill off Osiris is completely disregarding Osiris as a character in his own right and Osiris is by far THE most powerful and important Guardian that has ever lived. To boil him down to an accessory of Saint's story is not just disrespectful to Osiris, it's just utterly wrong.

And second, essentially fridging Osiris for Saint's manpain is just homophobia. As far as I know, Myelin is not a gay man so him making this point is simply homophobic. We do not need Osiris to die to see Saint's pain and drive for vengeance against Savathun. Bungie has made that clear. It's actually never been clearer just how much Saint suffers right now, in how much pain he is and how angry he is.

It's been shown in the voice lines in the main quest, in the cutscene at the start of the season, in the week 2 radio transmission, in voice lines during various activities, in voice lines from other people talking about him (most notably Ikora saying he's "tearing up the system to find real Osiris") and in various lore tabs. We truly do NOT need more affirmation to how much Saint is suffering. We surely don't need to ramp up the angst by killing Osiris off in order to send Saint into a more of a frenzy. His frenzy is already known and already underway. The man has tried breaking into Savathun's chamber to kick her ass already. He is "tearing the system apart." He is broadcasting live. He went on a mission with Mithrax to find Sagira's remains and the most likely place where Osiris went missing. The man is already on a crusade.

I don't think he needs to learn that Osiris has died somewhere, alone, months ago in order for us to see his pain. Or to cause more pain to us, the players. It's simply a completely insensitive way of looking at a story of two gay men who have been through enough suffering already.

I know people dislike and misunderstand Osiris. I know people absolutely adore Saint. I know people would get a kick out of seeing Saint going feral instead of him behaving in a very trope-shattering way by plugging holes in the Wall and feeding pigeons and singing songs to the children of the City.

I think those people don't understand Saint nor do they appreciate him as he is. They certainly have no respect for the man he loves or for their relationship that transcends time, space and reality. And if Saint knew that, he would definitely go feral on their ass first and foremost.

I'd like to think that Season of the Lost is a direct mirror of Season of Dawn. Two very important turning points in Destiny's story that are led by an undying love between Osiris and Saint-14. Just as Osiris risked it all and we all supported him in getting Saint back, right now we are all supporting Saint and risking it all to get Osiris back.

And as an important note, the story so far has been very clear to explain to us that we're looking for "the real Osiris." This is what this whole season is based on. We want real Osiris back. This alone disproves the theory of possession, but it also highlights that this season is about saving someone we've lost. Ending the season that's based on trying to find Osiris by telling us "oh he's dead" seems to be very much narratively senseless.

Speaking of narratively senseless, Osiris' death would not make sense yet. His arc isn't over. His questions and plotlines aren't over (and he has raised many of them in Immolant, which hasn't been followed up on because he got kidnapped). And speaking of Immolant, there is the following, from Sagira:

"Shut up! Listen to my words!" Her iris is bright with Light. "There are great things still left for you; don't lose hope in the darkness." She is luminant.

Osiris breathes the word, as if he could hold it back: "No." He would understand in time. She had seen it.

This seems like a pretty strong implication that his story is far from over. It would be quite a bummer if this was completely ignored and we're delivered Osiris' dead body at some point during this season.

Of course, I'm not discouting the possibility that Osiris will never be the same after this. It's likely that there will be lasting consequences if he's alive.

I am also not discounting the possibility that Osiris may as well be dead. I want to make that clear. It's possible. But I did my best to make a somewhat coherent analysis of why that is probably not the case and why Myelin's position in particular is flawed. And as I said at the start, I definitely am biased in a way that makes me hope that Osiris is not dead. I fully understand that and would not be opposed to people pointing out flaws in my argument if there are any. I am, genuinely, trying to be as objective as possible with this though, but as always, I could end up being wrong in the end.

And that is my TED talk.

[tuiccim]

Terrigenisis (Part 1)

Pairing: Avengers X Inhuman!Reader

Words: 3870

Summary: Your life is torn apart after undergoing terrigenisis unwillingly your life is turned upside down when you are deemed too dangerous to return to civilian life. You are put with the Avengers team to train and rebuild your life.

—————————————

“Charlie, the car’s packed. Are you ready?” You called. Your first vacation in two years ahead. A rock climbing trip to Arizona. 

“Almost. Come here.” Charlie called from the apartment kitchen. 

“What’s up?” You smile as you walk into the kitchen and see Charlie holding out a small medicine cup. “What am I taking today?” You smile at your husband who is currently on a vitamin kick. 

“Magnesium, fish oil, vitamin d, and a multi.” He smiles as he picks up his own cup and clinks it together with yours. 

You both take the vitamins and then you lean in for a quick kiss. “Okay, good lookin’, vacation time.” 

You turn to head for the door but Charlie’s voice brings you back around, “What’s happening?” he says in a panicked voice, “(Y/N)!” You turn to see his body being covered by rocks. 

“Charlie!” You reach out for him. 

“Don’t touch me!” He yells, but then you feel something strange yourself. Looking down you see the rocks beginning to cover you, too. 

“Charlie!” You yell again. 

“I love you!” He says just before the rocks cover him completely. 

“I love you!” You cry and then are overtaken. 

Fourteen months later.

“So, you’re just gonna spring me on them?” You look at Nicky Fury as he drives to the Avenger’s compound. 

“Not like we had a lot of time. Coulson's team had to move. This will be the safest place for you and you can be trained as an Avenger here.” Fury states.

You roll your eyes. Not like you hadn’t been training for the last six months with Coulson’s  team, but apparently you can’t even tell anyone about them. Now, you’re supposed to join this team and everything will be all better. You put your earbuds in.

You’re brought into the conference room and face the Avengers team. Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, Sam Wilson, and Bucky Barnes. 

“Avengers, meet your newest trainee.” Fury states. 

You keep your gaze down not wanting to see the anger on everyone’s faces. 

“What is this, Fury?” Captain Rogers is the first to speak. 

“Look, we need a place for her to train and become mission ready. Right now, here is the safest place for that. I’ll let you get acquainted.” With that, Fury leaves. 

You stare after him as he leaves you to the team’s mercy. You turn to look at Captain Rogers, apprehension clear on your face. He seems to take some pity on you. 

“You’re an agent?” He asks. 

“Fury didn’t give you my file?” You ask quietly. 

“What he just said is what he gave me on you.” Captain says, not unkindly. 

“Great.” Your quiet, sarcastic reply. 

“Why don’t you sit down and we can figure this all out?” Captain Rogers motions to the chair at the head of the table. You felt like you were sitting in front of a jury. 

You looked around the table slowly at each solemn face. Miss Maximoff offers you a small smile and it bolsters a bit of courage in you. 

“Okay. What’s your deal, then?” Mr. Stark questions. 

“I guess it’d just be best to lay it all out for you from the beginning, huh?” You look to Captain Rogers. 

“That would make things easier.” Agent Romanoff says. 

You look at her and nod. “Fourteen months ago, I underwent terrigenesis.”

“Where did you get a terrigen crystal?” Dr. Banner asks. 

“My husband, Charlie, handed me our morning vitamins. One was a new fish oil we were trying.” You say. 

“Oh my god. You were one of the accidentally exposed?” Miss Maximoff says sadly. 

“Yes.” You nod. 

“Your husband?” She asks.

“He was not an Inhuman.” You look away for a minute to compose yourself. The loss of Charlie was still painful. You swallow and continue, “I, however, am. I emerged from the chrysalis with the ability to understand any vocal communication.”

“You mean verbal communication?” Dr. Banner says. 

“No, I mean vocal. A dog barks and I know what it’s communicating, not exact words but the meaning. Eventually after hearing any human language for a time I can speak it also. I was fluent in English and Spanish before, but since I’ve become fluent in Mandarin and Cantonese, and I have working knowledge of a few others. I’m basically a universal translator.”

Agent Romanoff speaks then in Russian “You can understand anything said to you even if you don’t know the language?”

“That’s correct. I actually don’t know any Russian. If you could speak it to me when we talk I’ll pick it up eventually. If any of you know other languages, it would be helpful for me to learn to speak them.”

“I would be happy to help you with Sokovian.” Miss Maximoff says in her language. 

“Thank you. I’m grateful for whatever I can learn.” You smile at her. 

“And that’s it? You can’t go back to your life because you can understand what everyone says?” Mr. Stark snarks. 

“No. With being Inhuman comes additional strength and stamina, my gifts also include increased hearing and I can, um, warg for lack of a better term.” You give a half shrug. 

“Warg? Like embody animals?” Agent Barton says. 

“Yes. I can see, hear, feel through them. I have a Red-tailed Hawk who I’ve built a relationship with. I use her often to train.”

“Where is she?” Agent Barton asks. 

You warg into her for a moment turning your eyes yellow as the hawks. “She’s in a dogwood tree on the north side of the compound.”

“Did you just…?” Agent Barton raises his eyebrows.

“Yes.” Turning back to Mr. Stark you say, “To answer your questions, Mr. Stark, the combination of my Inhuman abilities with the fact that I am a black belt in Krav Maga and Karate, an expert level climber, and a computer programmer put me in the threat category.”

“Programmer?” Mr. Stark smirks, “You mean hacker?”

“No. I mean programmer. I was not a part of anything clandestine… Until SHIELD.” you roll your eyes and a few of the team chuckled. “I could already kill someone with my bare hands, add in extra strength.” You shrug again. “Anyway, I’ve spent the last six months training with another Inhuman to hone my skills. They needed the full team to be field ready and Fury decided to move me here.”

“What are you lacking for field readiness?” Captain Rogers asks. 

“Firearms training mostly.” You reply. “I have control of my abilities. My hand to hand is more than sufficient.”

“Do you have any experience with firearms?” Sergeant Barnes asks. 

“Kinda why I got a black belt in Krav Maga and Karate was hoping to never need one. And if I do, I’ll take one.”

“Family?” Captain Rogers asks.

You shake your head, “My mom died when I was three. My dad raised me. He was a Coast Guard pilot. Died five years ago in a helicopter crash.”

“I’m sorry.” He says sincerely. 

“Thanks. Any other questions? Anybody?” You look around the table. 

“I think you’ve given us enough for now. Do you have bags or boxes we can help you move into a room?” Captain Rogers asks. 

“Just those two. I’ve got them.” You pick up the large duffle and backpack. 

“Why don’t you take an hour to settle in and then we’ll meet to start training.” 

You nod, a little surprised he wants to start training so soon. 

“I’ll show you to your room.” Miss Maximoff says. “Where’s she going?” she asks the Captain. 

You see a cloud come over Captain Roger’s face for a moment before he says, “There’s a free room on my end.”

You realize he was trying to figure out where to put you and decided to keep the newbie nearby. You didn’t mind. 

“Thank you.” You say to Captain Rogers and you nod to the rest of the team before you follow Miss Maximoff. “Thank you for showing me to the room, Miss Maximoff.”

Wanda giggles, “You can call me Wanda.”

“Thanks. Please call me (Y/N). And I thought you were gonna speak Sokovian to me?” You give her a small smile as you walk to the elevator. 

“Oh, of course.” She says in Sokovian while hitting the elevator button. 

“I wonder how good her hearing is.” You hear the whisper in the conference room. 

“Good enough I can hear you from out here, Agent Barton.” You call back and grin at Wanda. 

“Thanks!” He calls back. 

“Not so loud! Geez” You and Wanda giggle together as you get on the elevator. 

“What did he say? I couldn’t hear anything from where we were.” Wanda asks. 

“Oh, he just wondered how good my hearing is.” 

“Is it really sensitive?” 

“Yeah. I have to sleep with earplugs and I wear headphones a lot to block some of it out. It’s taken a while to get used to it. At first, it was super overwhelming.”

“I understand. It was very brave the way you told everyone what happened to you.” 

“Seemed fair. I got the chance to read all of your files, so I know about everyone else.”

“Here we are. Do you want help unpacking? I can stick around for a little bit.”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to do that. I’ll see you at training?”

“Yes, I’ll be there. If you need anything ask FRIDAY she can direct you where you need to go and answer your questions.” Wanda waves as she leaves you alone in the room. 

The room is nicer than what you expected. A queen bed, desk, bookshelves, tv, walk in closet, and your own bathroom. You would definitely need to go to a store soon to pick up a few things. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be a problem with Captain Rogers. You empty your duffle bag, put your clothes away, and place your toiletries in the bathroom. You unwrap the two framed pictures and place them on your desk. One is you and Charlie smiling in a waterfall grotto after a long hike. The other is your wedding day, you in a short lace dress, him in a white button down and khaki pants, with the sun setting behind you on the beach just after you said your vows. You gently touch the photo, “Love you, Charlie.” you whisper. 

You decide to change and head to wherever training would be. You stop at the panel by your door, "Uh, FRI...FRIDAY?"

"How may I be of assistance, Ms. (L/N)?"

"Where would I go to meet the others for training?"

"The training room is located on the first floor." She says as she flashes a map up. 

"Thank you." You feel kind of sheepish talking to the AI. 

Once in the training room you look around at the well equipped room. Every type of weights, machines, a boxing ring, mats, weapon lockers, and even a rock climbing wall you saw with excitement. Looking up at the ceiling you see it's criss crossed with beams and you get a wicked idea. You grab a climbing rope hanging down at one end of the room and shimmy up it quickly. You're able to swing yourself to the beam fairly easily from there and then walk the beams towards the entrance to the room. You take a seat with your back to a joist and stretch your legs out in front of you. It's not long before Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes come in together.

"Wonder if she’s as skilled as it sounds.” Sergeant Barnes says. 

“Black belts in karate and krav maga? I’m sure she has some skills but getting her to Avenger status may be a challenge.” Captain Rogers says. 

“Guess the question is, is she up for it?” Sergeant Barnes scoffs. 

“I certainly plan to try, Sergeant.” You say from your perch. 

“What the hell?” Sergeant Barnes looks up at you and you give a little wave.

“What are you doing up there, (Y/N)?” Captain Rogers says. 

“Waiting.” You say simply. 

“You felt the need to do that twenty feet in the air?” Captain Rogers scoffs.

You shrug, “Felt like climbing.” Getting up, you walk along the beams. 

“Can you come down, please?” Sergeant Barnes says. 

“Sure.” You walk back towards the climbing rope, once close enough you jump to it, and slide down. 

Sergeant Barnes is right next to you when you turn around, “What would have happened if you’d fallen?” 

“It’d hurt,” you say and look up to the beams, “A lot.”

“Might want to reconsider using the beams as a waiting room.” He snarks. 

“Nah, I like being up high. I’m pretty sure-footed.” You look back to his face and he is scowling down at you. “What?”

“Nothing.”  He says, “I’ll take that to mean you're warmed up. Let’s do some sparring and see how you do.”

“Okay.” 

You follow him to the mat. Captain Rogers is standing to the side watching. You take stance and Sergeant Barnes begins. You can tell he is holding back and you go harder at him. After sparring with Melinda May for months you weren’t about to let him patronize you. You were holding your own and noticed the rest of the team filtering in and watching. He grabbed your arm and you used the leverage to jump up, throw your legs around his neck, and  throw him to the ground. He rolled to his feet immediately and came right back at you. After a few more minutes, Captain Rogers called out, “Alright. Let’s switch it up.” You stopped but kept your eyes on Sergeant Barnes until he retreated. 

“Not bad.” Sergeant Barnes says to Captain. 

“Natasha.” Captain Rogers looks at her and she nods. 

“Agent Romanoff.” You incline your head to her as she approaches. 

“Natasha’s fine.” She smiles. 

“(Y/N). Thanks.” You smile back and Natasha throws the first punch. You manage to hold your own for a while but in the end Natasha managed to pin you to the mat. 

“Well done.” Natasha says. 

“Not well enough.” You say with a mirthless chuckle. 

“Who or what is next, Captain?” You say looking at the super soldier. 

He looks over to Sergeant Barnes, “Bucky, can you take her to the range and gauge her abilities there?”

“Sure.” He eyes you and then makes a motion for you to follow. 

As you walk out of the training room and turn down a hallway towards the range, you say to him, “I don’t have a lot of experience with guns, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Bucky.”

“What?”

“Call me Bucky.”

“Okay. I don’t have a lot of experience with guns, Bucky. I’ve shot a few times, but the last year has really been about my abilities and honing hand to hand.”

“Well, we’ll see what we have to work with and go from there.” Bucky says as he holds the door to the range open for you. You slip in past him and watch as he goes to the locker and pulls out a Glock, a clip, and a box of ammo. He then sets it all down in front of you with protective gear and stands back with arms crossed. 

You reign in a smirk at his demeanor. He really is testing you. You pick up the clip, add the ammo, load and cock the gun. Clicking the safety into place, you put the protective gear on, pick the gun back up, and move to aim at the target. You take the safety off, aim, and fire. When you’ve emptied the clip, you set the gun down and turn to Bucky while removing the headphones. “It’s still loud even through these things.” 

Bucky actually chuckles and hits the button to bring the target up for inspection. “You at least know how to load and shoot, but your aim needs work.”

While you had hit the target with each bullet, the rounds were dispersed throughout the torso. Yeah, your aim was lacking. 

"Yup. Want me to go again?" 

"No, just trying to get an idea." He gives you a tight smile that you return. 

When you return to the training room, Captain Rogers takes you through a workout and then brings you a bottle of water. "Good work today."

"Thanks, Captain. I know it was awkward having me sprung on you." 

"You can call me Steve. We all go by first names around here." He says.

"My, uh, my dad always required I called people by their title until invited otherwise. Old habits." You shrug.

"Yeah, I get it. Go get some rest and I'll show you around later."

"That would be great. Thanks." 

An hour later you had showered and changed. You went to the common room to see if Captain Rogers, erm, Steve was around for the tour he had offered. Sam Wilson looked up from the couch. 

“Hey, newbie.” He smiles. 

“Hello.”

”I’m Sam. So, you have a hawk friend? What’s its name?”

“Doesn’t really have an English translation. It’s kind of a mix between a squawk and screech so I just call her Redtail.” You say. 

“I’m trying to figure out if you're kidding.” Sam eyes you. 

“The first part, yeah. But I really do call her Redtail.” You smirk.

“So, you can… what did you call it?”

“Warg. Warging.” You say. 

“You can warg into her anytime you want?”

“Generally. I try to be respectful of her. She’s not a pet. She’s a companion that has chosen to befriend me and allow me to use her. Would you like to meet her later?” 

“Yeah. That would be cool.” Sam smiles. 

“(Y/N).” Steve strides into the room. 

“Captain. Sorry. Steve.” You give him a small smile. 

“Ready to take a tour?” He asks. 

“Yes, thank you. Would you care to join us, Sam?”

“I’m good, but don’t forget about introducing me to Redtail.” Sam says from his spot on the couch. 

“You got it.” You say as you go to follow Steve. 

“Redtail?” Steve asks.

“The hawk I mentioned.” You say. 

Steve shows you around the compound, explains FRIDAY’s functions, and talks a little bit about the team. He’s very kind through the whole process but you can tell he has some concerns about you becoming part of the team. 

“Steve, can I ask you something?” You finally work up the courage to say.

“Yeah.”  He turns to look at you. 

“How does everyone feel about me being dropped on you? There’s bound to be some resentment.”

“I wouldn’t say resentment. Everyone’s just a bit guarded when it comes to new people. You must have done something right for Fury to put you here, though. Most of them know that.”

“Any helpful hints?”

“They’re all good people. Just give them time. They’ll warm up. And, seriously, don’t ever steal Natasha’s cookies.” He says. 

You laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind. Would you like to meet Redtail?”

“That’d be great.” 

“FRIDAY, will you let Sam know to meet us at the North entrance?” 

“Getting used to FRIDAY already, huh?” Steve smiles.

“I can see how useful she is.”

A few minutes later Sam appears with Bucky following behind. 

“Hey Buck.” Steve greets, “Wanted to meet Redtail, too?”

“Uh, yeah, if that’s okay, (Y/N)?” Bucky asks.

“Sure.” You give a small smile and head outside. “Gimme about 15 feet of space, guys. Don’t want to scare her.”

The guys move back as asked and you put your hands around your mouth and let out a loud “CAW CAW!” You look back at the bewildered expressions of the three and start laughing. “Just kidding. Sorry I couldn’t resist.” They all chuckle. 

You reach in your back pocket and pull out a falconry glove. Slipping it on, you warg into Redtail turning your eyes yellow and ask her to come to you. Redtail makes a graceful arc from the dogwood tree she had been resting in and landed on your upheld hand. “Hello there, sweet girl. How do you like your new spot?” Redtail looks at you tilting her head. 

“Does she understand you?” Sam asks.

“No, we can communicate when I warg, but it’s more like an exchange of images than it is talking.” You warg for a moment to ask Redtail if she can bring her closer to the three curious men and once you receive her consent you release the warg. “I’m going to bring her closer but please keep your hands down, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Steve says. 

“So, she’s your pet?” Bucky asks as you walk closer. 

“No, I don't take care of her. She’s not my pet. She’s my companion, my friend.” You say petting the bird's chest. “Would you like to pet her?”

Bucky nods and you take his right hand in yours and bring it up to Redtail’s chest allowing him to pet her. She makes a small chittering sound and you smile at Bucky, “She likes you.” He smiles sweetly. 

You move to Sam next and Redtail immediately starts chittering again. You take Sam’s hand and bring it up to her chest like you did with Bucky. Redtail leans into Sam’s hand and tilts her head back and forth studying him. She starts to reach a claw out to move to his hand but you warg to her and show her her talons tearing his skin. “Wow, she really likes you. I guess she sees a fellow bird.” You laugh.

“I do have a way with the ladies.” Sam grins. 

You move to Steve last and allow him to pet Redtail. When you look at him he’s grinning and you can’t help but smile at the reactions each of the guys had to her. You look at Redtail, “Thank you, my friend.” You lift your arm in the air and she takes flight. 

“She’s beautiful.” Steve says. 

“Yeah, she is. I’m so grateful for how she’s stuck with me. I try to always give her the respect she deserves.” You say. 

“So, you warg into her just whenever you want?” Bucky asks.

“I can. I usually warg into her and ask her permission. She’s rarely denied me. She was always curious about humans and she feels safe with me, but she’s still a wild animal and I don’t want her to lose that. I want her to always be free, ya know?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Bucky says with a smile. 

“Why don’t we head in and find some dinner?” Steve suggests. 

“Sounds good to me. I’m starving.” Sam says. 

As you walk in, you remember you have no food here and need to go to a store. “Hey Steve. Is there a vehicle I can use?”

“What for?” He asks. 

“My grand escape plan.” You deadpan, “I’d like to go to a store and pick up a few things. Or am I confined to the compound?”

“No, of course not. You can use the SUV in the garage. Keys are in the locker. Scan your thumb to access it.” Steve says. 

“Great. Thanks. You guys need anything?”

A round of no’s from them, you head to the store to pick up some essentials and food. The rest of the night is spent settling in.

Part 2

Masterlist

[remys-lucky-franc]

Sick - Queen of Thieves Fic : Nikolai x MC (Daisy)

Pretty fluffy - no bad language or nsfw - no trigger warnings

Shout out to my friends @ispookyloaf and @stopforamoment as this was a product of a silly idea on one of our fun chats 💕

Word Count ~2200 (couldn’t resist the sneezing cat gif 😂)

[[MORE]]

Remy scuttled out of Nikolai’s room with a frown and a worry-line stretching the length of his forehead. He rounded the corner to the kitchen as he ran into Daisy. She stepped back looking surprised as he exclaimed,

“Ma Cherie, you’re back!”

Daisy nodded,

“Yeah, glad to be home, was a long couple of days. Leon’s just bringing the rest of the stuff up from the car. Worth it though, think we have the mark’s movements down to a tee... Remy are you ok?”

Remy raked a hand through his thick hair and sighed dramatically,

“Non. When was the last time you talked to Niko?”

Daisy looked puzzled, concern creeping into her voice,

“We haven’t talked on the phone, but we sent some text messages yesterday... Is he ok? What’s going on?”

Remy shook his head, looking towards the heavens,

“Did he tell you he is... Unwell?”

Daisy’s eyes widened, as she stared towards the closed bedroom door,

“He’s ill?! What?! Since when?!”

Remy sighed again,

“Since yesterday. Daisy, it’s not pretty...”

Daisy raised an eyebrow, starting towards their room,

“Not pretty? What the hell’s happened to him?!”

Remy reached out, catching her arm to stop her,

“He’s in bed, congested, running a temperature! He can’t taste his food, he has a disgusting cough, a sweaty sheen-“

Daisy held up her free hand to stop Remy in his tracks,

“Wait. Remy? Are you trying to tell me that ‘Master of the Impossible’, Nikolai Stirling, has taken to his bed with ‘man flu’??”

Remy covered his face with his hands,

“Go! See for yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you...”

Vivienne breezed past, pursing her lips and commenting,

“Are you heading in there, darling? Good luck! I wouldn’t dare! He’s foul when he’s poorly, the only person who would brave going in there is Remy!”

Remy shrugged, a sad look flitting across his face,

“I take him his favourite soup...”

Daisy noticed his expression, but only barely, as she shook her head at both of them,

“You two are exaggerating! He can’t be that bad - plus he’ll be happy to see me!”

Vivienne waved a dismissive, if perfectly manicured, hand at Daisy,

“If you want some advice? Let him be, darling! He’ll emerge like a beautiful butterfly from his chrysalis in a few days time!”

Daisy tutted as she headed towards the door, Remy and Vivienne exchanged an awkward grimace as she gently knocked, edging it open, with a half-whisper,

“Nikolai?”

He turned to face her and Daisy tried to stop automatic recoil as she caught sight of him: Remy was not exaggerating!

“Solnishko, you’re back.” A faint smile crossed Nikolai’s face as he watched her step inside, his usually sparkling blue eyes heavy and puffy-looking as he pushed his way up into a seated position against the plush cushions, “Things went well?”

Daisy nodded as she made her way across the room, Elizabeth twining around her feet and meowing as she went, eventually Daisy perched on the edge of the bed and pressed a soft kiss to the top of Nikolai’s head,

“I’m more concerned about what’s going on here? When did you start to feel like this?”

Nikolai waved away her concern, voice irritable but somewhat dulled and nasal,

“I’m fine, I had a particularly late night last night, that’s all.”

He tossed the covers back, readying himself to stand, only for Daisy to flip them back across his lap,

“Ohhhh no you don’t. You never sleep? You’re sick.”

Nikolai opened his mouth to protest, starting a second attempt to get out of bed but erupting into a kink of coughing as Daisy grabbed for a box of tissues from the bedside table. She smoothed his dampened hair back from his forehead easing him back into the soft pillows by his shoulders,

“Kotik, you’re sick. You don’t have to prove anything to me, please will you just relax?”

Slumping backwards into the soft bedding as Daisy kept a gentle pressure on his arms, Nikolai let out a frustrated groan,

“I can’t be ‘sick’. This is quite inconvenient, there’s still so much to do for the- ACHHOOOO!! Urgh. For the heist.”

Daisy tucked the duvet around his shivering form, smoothing his hair as she told him firmly but kindly,

“The heist is already ahead of schedule, I know you like to feel indispensable, but there’s literally nothing at this stage that the rest of us can’t do to keep ticking over for a few days until you’re feeling back to normal. Just please, stay there, let me look after you? Please?”

Nikolai didn’t vocalise his answer, he simply closed his eyes and relaxed his aching head against her hand, feeling too poorly to argue any longer.

Daisy murmured, “You’re burning up, just, stay put...” heading into the bathroom and swiftly returning with a cool face cloth, pressing it to his head as Nikolai hummed in appreciation.

“Did you take any medicine?”

“I don’t like to.”

Daisy frowned,

“You’re going to take two paracetamols. They’ll stop all this shivering. You’ll feel better.”

“But-“

“Nikolai.”

Nikolai attempted a sigh, that turned into another bout of coughing as Daisy headed back towards the kitchen, she was sure there was a collection of over-the-counter medicines in one of the drawers. Remy raised an eyebrow from his seat at the breakfast bar as she entered,

“Well, how is he?”

Daisy nodded firmly,

“He’ll survive. He just needs to rest for a couple of days.”

She rummaged around, locating the paracetamol, and pouring a tall glass of iced water, “And I’m going to look after him til he’s back on his feet.”

Remy shrugged his shoulders, smiling at her,

“Of course you will. That’s what you do. You’re his partner now, what’s that expression, ‘in sickness and in health’...”

Daisy swatted at Remy’s arm as she headed back towards Nikolai’s room,

“Firstly, that’s not an expression, it’s a ‘wedding vow’, and secondly, I don’t think when those were written they were intended to cover the common cold, Remy.”

Ducking out of her reach, Remy smirked, calling after her,

“Bonne chance!”

—-

Handing Nikolai the pills and the glass of water, she watched to make sure he actually swallowed them, before heading to the bathroom and returning with a vial of essential oils. Nikolai looked at her curiously as she dripped a few droplets onto his pillow. She took a deep breath in, wafting her hand, encouraging him to do the same,

“It’s menthol. It’ll help you breath.”

“I can’t smell it.”

“You will, eventually. In the meantime, here.” She pushed her iPad into his lap, “We are going to binge on Netflix until you feel better. None of your high-brow stuff, Nik. We’re going to watch something that you don’t even have to concentrate on. Easy watching, total trash. No arguments.”

Nikolai pulled a face as Daisy reiterated while she climbed onto the bed snuggling into his side, “No arguments. I’m in charge of getting you better, ok?” He stroked her cheek offering her a half smile as she pulled up the Menu.

___

Three episodes into Daisy’s TV trash of choice, Nikolai, despite himself had become quite captivated. He could feel his eyelids getting heavier, but was fighting the urge to close them, because he didn’t want to miss the drama unfolding onscreen...

Daisy could see him getting more and more tired,

“How about I switch this off and you doze for a little bit? I won’t let you dream.”

Nikolai forced his eyes wide, blinking,

“I’m fine, put another episode on, I want to see what happens to- Dear god what is happening to me?! Am I delirious?! Maybe I do need to sleep.”

Daisy smiled as she fluffed the pillows around him, dimming the lights, and in a hushed voice, she began,

“Soooft kitty, waaarm kitty, little ball offfff-“

Within seconds Nikolai’s eyes were wide again and staring in confusion,

“What is the meaning of this?”

Daisy shrugged,

“I thought you might like it?”

Nikolai closed his eyes, a perplexed wrinkle appearing in his forehead as he settled back down,

“You’re a very strange woman sometimes.”

Daisy squeezed his fingers,

“I mean, I don’t have to sing to you?”

Nikolai murmured, his eyes still closed, voice with a warmer edge to it than before,

“I don’t think anyone has ever sang me a lullaby before. I suppose it’s not completely terrible.”

Daisy beamed as she snuggled back into her snuffly partner, closing her own eyes and stroking his chest lightly as she hummed the rest of the tune.

—-

Daisy jolted awake, she wasn’t sure quite how much later, but quickly exhaled a sigh of relief when she realised that Nikolai was in a peaceful, even if he was softly snoring, sleep: there were no thrashing movements or strained facial expressions. He must really have needed the time to rest and heal his tired body. She touched his forehead - he felt decidedly less clammy than he had before. Grinning she decided that the paracetamol must have worked. Gently she ran her fingers over his cheek , murmuring his name softly until he started to stir. She’d promised not to let him dream, so she shouldn’t leave him asleep too much longer...

A faint smile crossed Nikolai’s face as he looked up at her,

“May I have my tea?”

Daisy’s jaw dropped, horrified,

“No, Nikolai! You can’t have your tea?! You’re not drinking poison while you’re taking paracetamol?! Absolutely not.”

Nikolai started at her indignantly,

“You’re being ridiculous. Anytime Remy’s looked after me, he’s brought me my tea.”

Daisy scoffed, one brow arched,

“I don’t believe that for a second! How about I call Remy in here and ask him?”

Nikolai opened his mouth to retort, but knowing her was beat he simply muttered about how ridiculous the situation was instead.

Daisy rolled her eyes, trying to change the subject,

“Hey, how about I get some more of the soup you love? I’m sure Remy would have made a whole vat of it. It’s funny, you know? I would have sworn you didn’t like mushrooms?”

Nikolai froze as Daisy looked at him curiously, confused.

He eventually broke the silence,

“Daisy, please don’t tell him, but I don’t. I’ve never had the heart to tell him when he’s been so kind as to make the soup for me. Remy is the only person who’s ever looked after me when I’ve been ill. Even as a child, my mother would ‘shoo’ me if I were poorly. My father would always say it was a sign of weakness and tell me to show some mettle.”

Daisy felt like her heart would break as she looked at him; the expression on his face looked like he was holding himself together, bracing himself against an unkind blow, but at the same time wanting to share something important to him. She reached out squeezing his hand, nodding in encouragement for him to keep talking.

Giving her a tight-lipped smile Nikolai continued,

“Remy has such a good heart. When I was first poorly, he asked me what my mother would make for me, back at home. When I said ‘nothing’ he was appalled. That’s when he started to make me chicken and mushroom soup, because that’s what his grandmother would make for him whenever he was unwell. I don’t like mushrooms, but I always finish the bowl.”

Daisy picked his hand up, kissing his knuckles,

“Even though you don’t like the taste it makes you feel better?”

Nikolai gave her a half-laugh,

“Exactly. Strange isn’t it?”

Daisy shrugged,

“Not so much. It’s not about the food, it’s about the feelings. That’s why they call it comfort food I guess? Do you want me to go get him to bring you some?”

Nikolai’s cheeks flushed as he nodded.

Daisy quickly smoothed his hair as she headed back to the kitchen,

“Remy?“

Remy lifted his head from a glossy magazine,

“How is the patient?”

Daisy, understanding that Remy had been looking after Nikolai for many years before either of them knew she existed, suspected that sharing the soup might warm Remy’s heart as much as being cared about warmed Nikolai’s,

“He’s ok. But I really think he needs another portion of chicken and mushroom?” She watched intently as Remy’s big green eyes lit up, grinning, “Maybe you could even teach me to make it some time?”

Remy enthused about his grandmother’s recipe as he busied around the kitchen of the penthouse heating a bowl for Nikolai, telling her the perfect type of mushrooms, which oil was best, how long to prepare the stock...

Daisy nodded as she repeated instructions and asked about ingredients, finally stopping and sighing,

“You’ve been making this so long, it could take years for mine to be as good as yours-“

Remy cut in, a look in his eye that said he knew exactly what she was doing, but choosing not to call her on it,

“Ma cherie, I’ll be here to help you! We can make it together! Or I can make the soup and you can snuggle with him until he feels better?”

Daisy beamed as she extended her right hand for Remy to shake on it,

“Deal! We’ll take care of him together. ”

Remy ushered Daisy back in the direction of Nikolai’s room as he placed the soup and a spoon on a tray, following closely behind her.

[42eyeballs]

a continuation of the biblical parallels ive found in tma but it got way too long

Bereshit starts with the beginning; God calls the (added) expanse Sky... and there was...a second day... and God saw that this was good. And God said, "Let the earth sprout vegetation..." The earth brought forth vegetation: seed-bearing plants of every kind... and God saw that this was good. (1:8-12) An inverse would be a change in sky (look at the sky. It’s looking back) to show the end of the world (the apocalypse), and if fear is to be taken as a type of sustenance surely then the mention of vegetation of every kind would be akin to the ritual of which brought all the Powers through to the new world at once (180), creating a fertile land full of fear to devour. 

It is noted that the world was created before Adam was placed into it (2:8)! Creating a slight shift in timelines for their beginnings, paralleled by Jon staying within the cottage for his chrysalis, staying there until he emerged as an adult insect (?). Insect imagery aside Adam was created and placed into his Eden as a full adult, as so is Jon.  “This place wishes to be our tomb. But the Eye does not wish that. No, the Eye wishes instead that it be my chrysalis.” (162) Which has an implication that it was always meant to be a stage to pass through, similarly there are interpretations that the Garden was always meant to be an intermediary stage humanity was meant to grow out of (along with a few other things). If there is the cottage, there is the Garden; if there is the world outside of Eden, there is the world wracked by the apocalypse. 

The cottage is this false artificial refuge from the other parts of the world. Eden was this prison of everything the couple may have needed. 162 describes the cottage as a place “deep in the heart of fear, where [they] trap [themselves] and claim that it is safety… a rotten sanctuary of lonely companionship” and yet is small enough that “the one [Jon] loves is always near, so close that refuge sometimes feels a prison.” Eden is a sanctuary where the only one to talk to and lean on is a lover; the world will rage on but this small bubble will never change, just wait for when they are ready. 

There’s also an interesting inversion with Eden being given to have this motif of having been created and alive, all of which from the perspective of the setting is very passive, and the Extinction being active in its creation; it will seek to create a lifeless world. Some interpretations suggest it might replace us with something new - that can then fear annihilation in turn, which has a similar flavor to Spinoza’s idea of a substance that desires only it’s existence - said substance only wants to be itself, it wants to be eternal. Such is inscribed into it’s very being, and yet there are different modes of the substance that exist differently. Oliver calls himself a death prophet, and says he has knowledge of death but not an understanding of what to do with it or why (121); Jon who watch[s] and know[s] and understand[s] none…  listen[s] and hear[s] and [does not] comprehend (160) is a fascinating parallel in structure of Spinoza’s idea of prophets that are gifted with knowledge but not understanding - knowledge that is gifted to them via some mode of the substance.

    There is also a period of time before the creation of Adam and the giving of life to him, and if we are to take research Jonathan as being in his insectoid egg, and archivist Jonathan as being a sort of larva that has yet to reach adulthood in his chrysalis, then this is the period of larvae. He is alive but not fully peaked in his awakening as an avatar. He does not yet see and is not yet fully living as such; the shift being when he shifts in his hospital bed and begins to breathe again (121), a parallel to when God blew into Adam the breath of life, and man became a living being (2:7). Jon, about two months after living again, takes out a bone, specifically a rib, specifically specifically something he won’t miss, for an anchor (131), and jumps into the Buried. Why specifically a rib? It is the same bone as the one God took out of Adam to bring him Eve (2:21), though she had not a name until after they had already left the Garden. Adam had all the world’s array of animals and wild beasts to choose from and yet none were a fitting partner; the Hunt has an affinity towards predatory animals, one could say wild beasts. This is where Daisy fits in. Martin had not yet been brought to Jon yet at this point, and slotted between the place between being Alive and Partnered is Daisy who is not his wife and who is not his partner and who is, or was and will be, a wild beast (2:19-20). Martin, who has very aptly been called Jon’s actual anchor to humanity, and Jon’s actual anchor out of the Buried,  placed dozens of tape recorders (132, 134) on top and around of the coffin, waiting for Jon. There is no hard evidence that says that without Martin's actions, Jon could not have found his way out again, but there is the implication because he does lose the presence of his rib while in there, only to be reunited with it after Martin has placed the recorders. This actively associates Martin with being Jon’s anchor instead of the rib, swapping their places. A bone for a person. 

    Jon goes into the lonely for Martin, and is able to find him and, more than that, bring him back (159). They are together despite the Lonely saying that to live is to be alone. They are together, and they link living (as opposed to surviving) to loving (be it in whatever form it may) (159), similarly there is God’s statement of how it is not good for man to be alone (2:18). Martin can be heavily associated with an Eve persona now, and he continues the role in the cottage by giving Jon the statements.

    God said not to eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and bad (in some translations); Jon, as soon as he knew what the statement was, knew it was bad, knew he did not want it, he knew he should not read it. Statements have been written to become more equivalent to food as the plot goes on, accumulating into this final statement, this final fruit of knowledge, where the world then goes topsy turvy and flips on its head. This is where there begins to be a massive inversion of the parallels, not a diversion but more of an opposite in sides. If Adam were to eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge, his “eyes [would] be opened and [he would] be like diving beings,” (3:5), same goes with Jon and his statement, but Adam was also told if he eats the fruit, he would gain the ability to die (2:15-17). Jon  wouldn’t gain the ability to know good and evil, he already had that, however little he may have used it. If anything being so close to such a source of power made it harder for him to determine what is good, and what is evil (171, 174, 166, etc.), along with the added bonus of not really being susceptible to death, but oh does he gain raw knowledge. 

    Eve, of course, is told to eat the fruit by a snake, and Adam eats the fruit that Eve gave him; interesting then that Elias puts his false statement in with real ones to be delivered to the cottage (the fruit in the Garden) for Martin to give to Jon (Eve to give to Adam). This also equates Elias to a snake which is wonderfully appropriate. There’s also this small line where Basira said that she would just send a bunch of statements because she wasn’t sure which ones he has already read, not that big of a line but it does imply that there was likely some statements that he had read, and at least one that he hadn’t (Elias’); there was also likely two trees of which Adam has not eaten from, until the end, the tree of knowledge, but there is also a tree of life. In reading the statement, Jon invokes the line “I am to be a king of a ruined world” (160); Adam was meant to rule over and master what filled the earth, the fish of the sea, the birds of the sky, all the living things, but his world was meant to be one of joy and prosperity, and this carries over onto Jon who does see beauty and wonder in the world that is. 

    Adam and Eve aren’t immediately cast out, they first hide themselves from what they have wrought upon them; Jon too, hides from what was wrought upon the world, until he doesn’t and he is filled with hatred and anger. Eve, too, was filled with anger and enmity for the snake, which presumably Adam shared but the text isn’t specific, but Martin was already ready to leave if not angry. So God banishes them from the Garden, to “till the soil from which he was taken,” (3:23) and on one hand this is to make it so that humanity cannot have both the knowledge and immortality, but it also acts as a way to say that humanity has grown enough to leave the house of their childhood, that Jon is ready to leave his chrysalis. The banishment from Eden is also the destruction of Eden, as it no longer has anyone to tend to it, as was Adam's original purpose; Eden, being the only place Adam ever was, his whole world, then being destroyed, even if he was not able to watch it actively happen. Elias, too, forces Jon to destroy the world he has lived in (180), and he passes out, only being able to see the result of him reading the statement. But more so, Adam and Eve were afraid after they knew (3:10).

    They walk through the door of the cottage, and the gates of the Garden, into the world that is now theirs to do with what they will. Adam and Eve have death slowly approaching, but it is not here yet because despite what most translations say, they do not immediately die, death, and the End, is very patient (121). And the biblical couple propagates, and births Cain and Abel. Cain kills Abel, and is cursed to become a ceaseless wanderer on Earth, which interestingly is what Jon is doing, slowly wandering towards the Panopticon, but Cain is also marked, so as to allow for him to wander without fear, without being killed despite what others (what others I don’t know) may want (4:12). Jon, too is cursed with life, and he cannot likely be killed by just anything, but the curse says nothing about hurt, which is where how Daisy could hurt him makes sense (179) despite what he might have intuitively thought. 

    Time goes on, and God regretted what she had made, and her heart saddened (6:6), which is right before the Flood. If we stretch to say that the plot will continue to follow this path, and it may due to it being said that if there were a removal of the Fears the Earth would go back to normal, similarly to the Floor getting rid of all but a few select humans. 

    This leaves the questions: who plays the role of Abel? It may well be Lukas, but I’m not sure as Abel also carries farm animals including sheep and perhaps cows as iconography, but he was also meant to be the second of a pair to Cain; if the Flood is to happen, who will be saved? Who will be left to die? The nephilim already have some kind of divinity, which has been sprinkled around with the Fears and Jon and God, but where do they lie?

    One last thing to mention is the usage of the Torah as a way to store stories, as an archive of the history of a people if you will, and archivist[s]... care about compiling experiences [and] collecting the fears of others (180). Records of fear and records of strength in face of adversity. Jon is an archive of fear, but he may well also be an archive of love and strength. 

[dishonoredrpg]

Congratulations, NAY! You’ve been accepted for the role of THE LOVERS with the faceclaim of ASHLEY MOORE. Admin Cas: I think we can all agree that The Lovers is a difficult concept to pin down. It’s a task in itself to balance the devotion they have for The World, her world, while not sacrificing who they are at their core. But, Nay, you were certainly up to the task. There’s something so lovely about Prudence, so beautiful and admirable, but something hungry. So much of her life revolves around The World, but that does not mean that Prudence doesn’t have a story of her own to live out. I particularly enjoyed the way you likened her story unfolding to a caterpillar grows into its chrysalis; to become a butterfly or moth, either is possible. I can’t wait to see what you do with her!

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

Out-of-Character.

NAME: nay 

PRONOUNS: she / her

AGE: twenty-two

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: gmt + 5 ; and i’d say my activity ( especially with quarantine, still ) is at a 7/10. lately, i have been trying to write every day, and that means at least a reply every day – even if posted through queue after being written on a better writing day. 

ANYTHING ELSE?: i wrote this way too quickly, because i suck at being patient and didn’t want to wait a week to turn in an app, so forgive me for the sinful typos committed in my haste! this definitely isn’t as polished as i wish it were. also? there are possibly too many insect-facts in this and if that shit squicks you, i am so sorry.

In-Character.

SKELETON: the lovers

K E Y W O R D S 

UPRIGHT: love, harmony, relationships, values alignment, choices

REVERSED: self-love, disharmony, imbalance, misalignment of values

| source: x

NAME: prudence “prue” luna lockhart

→ ETYMOLOGY ;

P R U D E N C E / “intelligence; discretion, foresight; wisdom to see what is suitable or profitable;” also one of the four cardinal virtues, "wisdom to see what is virtuous;" from Old French prudence (13th Century) and directly from Latin prudentia “a foreseeing, foresight, sagacity, practical judgment,” contraction of providentia “foresight” (see providence). Secondary sense of “wisdom” (late 14th Century) is preserved in jurisprudence.

L U N A / “the moon,” especially personified in the Roman goddess answered to Greek Selene; also, an alchemical name for “silver”; from Latin luna “moon, goddess of the moon,” from PIE *leuksna- (source, also: of Old Church Slavonic luna “moon,” Old Prussian lauxnos “stars,” Middle Irish luan “light, moon”), suffixed form of root *leuk- “light, brightness.” The luna moth (1841, American English) so-called for the crescent-shaped eye-spots on its wings.

L O C K H A R T / Scottish: of uncertain origin, probably from a Germanic personal name composed of the elements loc 'lock', 'bolt' + hard 'hardy', 'brave', 'strong'. English: occupational name for a herdsman in charge of a sheep or cattlefold, from Old English loc 'enclosure', 'fold' + hierde 'herd(er)'.

| sources: x & x

FACECLAIM: zendaya coleman ( or ashley moore or natali litvinova — in order of preference! )

AGE: three-&-twenty for zendaya / four-&-twenty for ashley or natali

→ BIRTHDATE: fantasy-equivalent of july 8th; the most cancer baby there ever was!

DETAILS: it took me forever to find a skeleton that made me feel the enduring love i’ve been searching for beyond the ability to see a story, and as it always, unfailingly, tends to happen for the rare occasion where i opt for a softer character, it caught me completely off-guard. initially, surveying the tags, i was leaning towards the skeletons of the wheel of fortune, the hierophant, the devil, the hermit – all of whom, in my opinion, are characters who have been shaped by a darkness, be it inherent or inflicted, that’s rendered them with shadows or edges. with the lovers, that’s not the case. they are tender: like a paramour’s kiss, or a bruise, or an overripe peach you can sink your fingers into. and maybe it’s my unflinching desire to subvert the stereotypical presumption of what it is to be soft, the fragility noted in their skeleton does not translate to weakness or meekness to me; i enjoy that they are both tender, and possess the ability to be chaotic, and manipulative, and impulsive and desperate and vindictive and defensive. what i love most about this particular skeleton is the sheer humanness of them.

that, and their love for THE WORLD. for a moment there, that was definitely what drew me to them; this idea of love as religion had my mind reeling like a siken poem, rhapsodising about a love so powerful, it can alter a person. this is partially because i am the most hopeful and shameless of romantics, and partially because love, its nuances, and its powers and vulnerabilities genuinely, deeply interest me. however, working my way deeper into this application-form, that changed.

it is the love that the lovers — or prue, to me, now — holds for THE WORLD is one that attracted me. it is her own potential for growth that’s kept me in her clutches, besotted, wishing to tell her story. hers is a tale, i believe, of metamorphosis: a question i posed in a later section, as well as what lurks in my mind, is whether that metamorphosis is one that leads to a moth or a butterfly. did you know it is moths who come from cocoons, but butterflies who come from a chrysalis? moths, who are drawn to light. butterflies, who drink nectar, also help spread the seeds to grow more of the flowers. both which come from a caterpillar, whose first meal is typically the egg they come from. what i enjoy is the ambivalence that presents itself — or, as i like to call it: potential. there are several directions that prue’s story could go in, several choices that could define her, and it’s all up in the air until it isn’t anymore.

i wish i could tell you that my EUREKA! moment wasn’t insect-research, but i can’t, because that would be a lie. i’m not even sorry. 

BACKGROUND: 

☉ CONTENT WARNING(s): infant death, stillbirth, body horror imagery, insects

come, dear reader, won’t you settle in? let me spin you a tale—a tangled web of one, indeed—about a girl who smells sweet as white roses and is as satiny to touch as her gossamer-thin garments. this girl is just a girl; she has never been the girl. even so, this story is her story, and though she is not equipped to be the heroine of a story, or so she believes, she is the heart of this one. like a heart, she is swollen with the fullness of blood: thus, let me etch this tale into parchment with the blood of love, in crimson-ink of metallic-reek. 

it comes in three parts: a beginning, a middle, an ending; it is for you, dear reader, to decide which is which. 

let us anoint this tale the title of METAMORPHOSIS –

✧✧✧

i. THE EGG ;

before there is the girl, there is a man and a woman who live in faerûn by the sahrnian sea, bound together by a contract that is decidedly not the forest-fire love faerie-tales herald. yet that is not to say that love never comes, just because love comes after. when it does, it is a calm love, a steady one; a love that has never cost one to lose one’s mind, and has been grown, meticulously, over the passage of time and the trials and tribulations have littered the path of a match made by those who are older and have witnessed so much more life than them. it is not for years that the woman feels nature stirring within her body’s vessel, and when it does, it is with the undying bestowing upon her a gift that makes up lost time. 

when the girl comes, she comes from a belly more full than most. it makes sense that it is so, for there were meant to be two of them: a boy, and a girl. one might suppose that, in the end, there still were, yet only one in the way it mattered. 

( you decide, dear reader: which is which? ) 

she is born — and it is days, and days, before her time. no matter, a name still awaits her. prudence, they call her. pierce, he would have been.

from the beginning, she emerges from the ruddy cave of her mother’s womb incomplete. a greyish pallor remains where life ought to be warming her skin; it is as if he leeched enough life from her for him to choke on, and she siphoned her brother’s death through the connection only womb-mates share – and this is what she will hear in later years, when she asks about him. 

she will wish she hadn’t.

✧✧✧

ii. THE CATERPILLAR ;

( when you feel unforgiving, dear reader, remember: it is a caterpillar’s job to eat; without an abundance of consumption, it cannot survive. it is this abundance of consumption that allows for the production of silk. it is this same abundance of consumption that is its undoing. )

years do not care if one is ready to bear them; they come, when they must, as they must. and so comes to pass the childhood that tries to swallow prudence lockhart whole, over and over and over –

as an infant, blood is filtered out of her body and fresh blood poured into her veins. it helps, some. it does not help enough, yet there is nothing more to be done; her parents must take her home, and pray to the undying god for the rest. they pray, and pray, and pray, as two people of noble blood and lucrative business-dealings rarely stoop to, for lack of need to need it.

as a child, prue is still a frail slip of a thing, with bones jutting out against taut bronze flesh in protest. fill yourself up, her mother pleads. you must survive, beloved. she offers her savory meals and sweet decadence twice, and anything she takes a suggestion of a liking to just as many times more — and it works; it takes time, but work it does, and prue’s cheeks round some and at times flush rosily, some weakness giving way to the minute miracles that are her tardy signs of life. it is not much, but it is enough, isn’t it? it is to the mother who has warred for her existence. who still combats for prue’s survival. 

when does the girl begin to feel that it might be her that her mother is fighting, when every frustration about her lessness, her inherent lessness, begins to steal the breath from prue’s lungs – for is it not her who is all poetry & rot, wisp-thin & about as flimsy? her heart fills with hot, vital blood then: it beats loud and clear as a belltower’s toll, cutting through all else with the potency of its truth. this is as much as i am, she beseeches in turn, as her mother had once done, except not, for graceless tears roll down her cheeks in impassioned rivulets and the voice that thickens with feeling.

how will you survive the world, beloved? her mother implores.

i might not, prue knows. i might not, she accepts.

it is the caterpillar’s destiny to unbecome –

✧✧✧

iii. THE CHRYSALIS ;

– unbecoming takes time.

it takes long enough that both mother and daughter grow used to it, initially, and then around it, ultimately. 

there is, after-all, the distraction of warfare engrained in the backbone of their precious faerûn. there is the journey to tyrholm, the settling into the dregs of hightown – not quite lowtown-bound, and not-quite-not. it fazes her parents to not be profound upper-echelons of society; her father, a man used to running the business inherited by the men in the lockhart family, and her mother, who had spent all of her time worrying for prudence and never had to about wealth. but prue, for her part, is accustomed to the notion of not-quite-right / not-quite-enough; the feeling might not be home, per se, and yet she recognises the walls of the house all the same – could walk its rooms in the dark, if she had to.

it is circumstance that calls the lockharts to castle tyrholm. 

it tears at her parents: her father believes in not squandering opportunity, and her mother would rather squander anything but prudence. even THE EMPRESS sees it, does she not, when she cants prudence’s head and observes her fragility? the king’s reputation precedes itself; would a heart as true and innocent as hers survive a court like his? within minutes, it is too late to ponder it any longer. within minutes, it is no longer a choice, but a deal already struck. just like a match: it cannot be unstruck. one can endeavour to douse a fire, but it is not the same as un-starting it.

for a time, the castle is one more place prue does not feel she belongs; it is alright, she tells herself. you are alright, she says – because her mother is no longer by her side telling her anymore, is she? silken thread ensnares the girl when THE WORLD knocks on her door one evening; it is lilly-white, the radiance of their smile. prue does not understand why, then; she is nothing exceptional, she flounders for the right thing to do, and even then, she gets it wrong so much more often than she ever gets it right. perhaps, she will never understand why – why they are so kind, why they make her feel seen, why… 

and still, this once, there is no question of whether it is enough. they are more than enough.

for the first time in her life, prue discovers what it is to be warm.

✧✧✧

tell me, dear reader – is this a butterfly’s or moth’s metamorphosis?

PLOT IDEAS: 

❂ “love, for you, / is larger than the usual romantic love. it’s like religion. it’s terrifying.” – richard siken  

see, i told you: siken’s poetry reeling through my mind. religion is a really interesting ideology to link the notion of love to, because there are so many boundaries one crosses in the name of faith. at times, we call it the lesser evil. other times, we say it’s letting the end justify the means. we’re all trying to be holy. 

this is where i want to start discussing potential plots for prue — but i want to, first, preface it by saying that though THE WORLD is very much at the centre of her story, it is because prue’s unparalleled love for them is central to her life-story; i treat it like an experiment, where prue is the dependent variable and her love for THE WORLD is the independent variable that incites action & reaction, placed in different situations. it is, that said, the most potent of variables, and can hardly be called controlled, despite how desperately prue herself attempts to keep it to the corner-alcove they hide the truth of their love in. this love is not a selfish love; it is strong, and all-consuming, and maddening – more than a soldier’s swearing fealty to a kingdom, it is the most devout of prophets bowing their head at the altar of the divine deity they put their faith in. that’s pretty intense stuff, right? i want to see what it elicits.

this can be a double-edged sword, and in fact, i’d be rooting for it to be. on one hand, i want to explore how this love has made prue strong. i want to see how it has made her braver, and more resilient. i want to explore that she took THE EMPRESS deeming her fragile-seeming, and how she’s donned it as armour, because it is that same delicacy that has made THE WORLD love them. i want to explore it through interactions with the royal family foremost — THE WORLD, of course, but THE EMPRESS, THE EMPEROR, THE CHARIOT, and if it works out, maybe even septimus himself. it’s rare for prue to not let things slip, and roll off her back, but that is when it comes to her. her love for THE WORLD makes her want to protect them, fiercely; it lights a fire in her soul that has never been lit before. and fire? yes, it warms – but oh, it burns, too, doesn’t it? it has the power to ruin. and i don’t want to limit that exploration to just the royal family; i want to explore it with the animosity-potential between her and TEMPERANCE as well, but that’s one plot i’ll talk more about further down. 

there are little ideas floating around in my head that i would love to explore with the respective players, but i could imagine a friendship between prue ( probably due to her sweet-tooth luring her, too often, to the kitchens ) with THE HANGED MAN – and to explore a bond, that could further be complicated, potentially, by prue not being able to talk about what she and THE WORLD share. or, more chaotically: for her to share it, and for THE HANGED MAN to let it slip to THE DEVIL? how far would prue go to protect this? and would she, if it presented the opportunity for the future where she and her love get to be together is pushed closer by it? how selfless is her love? how powerful would fear be against it?

i’m honestly just a firm believer that, when our backs are against the wall, that’s when we find out who we really are. and that’s the main storyline i want to explore with prue, more than anything else, because i think that she has never been pushed to that edge and, because of it, she’s never copped up to her own identity. she met and fell in love with THE WORLD at such a young age, so quickly and wholly, that it has shaped so much of what her ideal self is. i want to see how her ideal self would differ from the reality of her. and i want to see her confront it.

❂ “you are going to break your promise. i understand. and i hold my hands over the ears of my heart, so that i will not hate you.” – catherynne m. valente

very recently, someone put forth an idea to me: love is a promise. that’s what i want to talk about here. there’s a sense i got — both from the lovers’ skeleton, and THE WORLD’s — that both of them know that there is a time-limit on their relationship. or, at the very least, whatever room there is for prue in their future, it isn’t a room where they share the bed. but i also get a sense that they know it, and neither of them talk about it. i think a part of prue feels like the amount of good that THE WORLD has brought her will last her a lifetime, and i think that isn’t true, so much as she’s hoping it is? i want to see the two of them talk about it. i want to see prue wanting them to fight her love. i want prue to admit she wants to be chosen over duty, or a marriage with someone who isn’t her, or fear, and i want to see what something like that would do to their relationship. or hell, i want someone who has power over THE WORLD, like THE EMPEROR, or THE EMPRESS, or THE CHARIOT or THE HIGH PRIESTESS to find out about the true nature of their relationship and force that choice once they even start talking about, so the situation can force their hands even if they don’t force one another’s.

there’s so much between the two of them i want to dissect and play with, it apparently needed to separate quotations. oops?

❂ “all things truly wicked start from innocence.” – ernest hemingway 

we all have the occasional ( or perhaps more, no judgement! ) propensity for wickedness. i feel really passionately about softer people not being safe from cravings for chaotic behaviour, even if they might, in prue’s case, justify it through the innocence of intention. a lot of her initial effusion is of a heady amalgamation of sweetness and delicacy; i want to see her display a dash of something that takes leave from that, and surprises even herself. now, though not at all set-in-stone and totally up to be discussed with the respective player, i could easily see it rearing its head in the dynamic between herself and TEMPERANCE. how many times will she be shooed away from a room with a beautiful woman and the love of prue’s life? it terrifies prue, the idea that THE WORLD will slip out of her fingers like the sands of time, so much sooner than she is ready for. i’m curious: would there be a moment where she would not leave? where she would make the nature of their relationship known? would she ever snap back, or continue to smile tenderly, bow her head, and listen?

i’m also dying to explore the potential plot brewing between the lovers and DEATH. part of this is a total shot in the dark, so bear with me, but – imagine this: there is a darkness in them that tugs at the darkness in her; they are hungry, and she is a starving-thing, and what a pairing they could make. imagine prue venturing into lowtown with them, and for the alternative reality DEATH’s hunger dangles that could open a door to an actual future with THE WORLD? i want there to be temptation — towards darkness and chaos, yes, because i am a sucker for moral ambiguity, but also for the loyalist that prue is to be lured by the revolt. 

❂ “you cut up a thing that’s alive and beautiful to find out how it’s alive and why it’s beautiful, and before you know it, it’s neither of those things, and you’re standing there with blood on your face and tears in your sight and only the terrible ache of guilt to show for it.” – clive barker

it is difficult for even me, as i delve into prue’s psyche, to be a wordsmith adept enough to encapsulate the sheer magnitude of her love for her lover. let me tell you this, though: it is love that is devout enough that prue would sacrifice herself before it. she would shirk what she believes she knows of herself to fight for THE WORLD. but there is little in the universe free of the shackles of consequence. it feels inevitable to me that, at some point, sooner or later, prue will commit an action or reaction in the name of love — and then, she will have to live with it. it’s even better to me for her to go beyond her limits for this love that is everything to her, and then find herself turning to them to sacrifice for her as freely as she does them… and for them to, perhaps, not be able to. or perhaps, for it to turn prue into a person she herself can no longer recognise. there was a part of me that wanted to already cook something up, and to toss it into the writing sample portion, but i decided otherwise. if i get to write this character, i want to start in a place that is different, and develop my way towards a darker pasture, so to speak.

a darker pasture, however, is where i want her to at least visit. in a setting such as this one, i don’t think it can be helped, truthfully.

❂ “each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” – anaïs nin

while i was trying to knit this application together into one whole piece, a recurring concern for me has been that i want this character to have its own story, and the lines of that can get awfully blurry when the character is one the feels as intensely as prue lockhart does. she is such a hypersensitive creature; more than anything, it is her interactions that penetrate her, and alter her, and cause the discord between the sides that are wont to tug at her, who stands in the most Lawful Neutral of spots. i’ve decided to lean into it, though, because i genuinely believe that it poses an intriguing dichotomy between her inherent nature and the nurture that moulds it beyond the obvious, magnitudinal parental hand in it. that said, there are actual several different potential connections i want to toy with here. ( one of which is THE HANGED MAN, but i already mentioned that above, and didn’t want to be repetitive! )

THE MAGICIAN / listen, prue is so used to being the Softest. but this little baby is even softer than her, and every time they flinch, she just wants to help. she tries, at every turn, to be kind and i really want to see her become a friend / confidant for them? maybe learn about their magic. to maybe give them a secret of her own back ;) gal pals, gimme. i need something wholesome; it can’t all be agony & ecstasy, god damn it.

WHEEL OF FORTUNE / it is pure coincidence that throws the two of them together as often as it does. but prue is the sort to believe the best in people, and is never too arrogant to admit where she’s been wrong. this bond is where her feelings towards magic first begins to see development, and i am so, so, so interested in toying with it. even more so when you throw in their bond with THE EMPEROR — does faze prue a little — and his relationship with THE WORLD in there. such potential for growth and drama.

DEVIL / for years, every time prue has seen them, she has walked in the other direction. otherworldliness is unnatural enough as it is, but the proof of what they can do scars them with evidence of it – and so, out of genuine fear, she’s evaded them. and yet, coincidental interactions with the WHEEL OF FORTUNE has made prue think twice. a look at the haunting in their eyes has made her think thrice. i want to play with that dynamic!!!

THE MOON / hers is the only magic that does not scare prue, i think. it is the only one she is not too intimidated to ask questions about, because she truly is extremely curious when she takes an interest in something, and a lifetime of listening in the background has given prue a taste for stories. i feel like she could bring out something adventurous and wild within prue? a part which prue never got to explore, because she grew up with a very, very cautious mother who kept a very close eye on her and treated her like glass because prue really does look fragile. i want a bond to make her feel stronger!

THE STAR / if there is one thing that prue has grown up to be, it is a true romantic. it makes him something of a kindred spirit; something in her could reach out to something in him, creating a kindred bond that makes her feel seen in a way that only THE WORLD has ever given her.

THE TOWER / because she was raised right by it, the sea is where prue feels most at home, and she always has. i could see there being something about THE TOWER’s stories making her feel warm inside, and thus, her braving a friendship with them. i think she could use the wisdom of someone older? and there’s just something about them that made prue shyly scuff her toe at the ground, like – an oliver twist moment of, “can i have more, please?”

THE FOOL / stories talk about princes and princesses. the dragon’s fire, the nobel steed. prue looks at him, and she wonders: where are the stories about them? the princess’ lover, and the king’s soldier – those who fight for the crown, without wearing it. it could make for such an unlikely bond, but such an intriguing one, i think? i got the idea, and i just could not shake it. humour me!

and 0f course, there is potential with literally every other character, too, but i honestly ran out of time before i could come up with something for them too. i’m down to flesh it out~

❂ “we grow. it hurts at first.” – sylvia plath 

at the start of her story, prue starts off as a fragile underdog. she turns blossoms into a lover, and it turns her fiercer – which is not the same thing as being fierce, but it’s a start. what i want for her — what any writer wants for their muses, i reckon — is growth. i want prue, who has grown up sheltered and protected, to experience pain and hardship. i want her experiences to call into question what she thinks she knows, flip it on its head, and make her think. i want her to think, and to change her mind, and to change it again. i want her to confront her fears, and her uncomfortable truths, and to experience all the tempestuous emotions she’s spent her entire life keeping at bay, having convinced herself they could shatter her. i want her to unearth her endurance, to test its limits. i want to explore her undoings and remakings. what i enjoy most about her is the volatility of her that most would not see coming, because volatile and tempestuous and emotional is what she is. she is all heart, all the time, everywhere. can you imagine how visceral that has to make every experience?

imagine the potential for growth if she let herself just feel all of it. if she opened herself up, and let the universe rush in, instead of walking on eggshells as she does. just imagine. that’s what i want for her.

CHARACTER DEATH: i could, of course, see prue meeting an end. in fact, there are a couple of circumstances that could make it deliciously poetic, even.

Writing Sample.

They match each other: step for step; right, then left –

Hardly anyone turns to look at the two of them anymore. The two of them, making their way down the hall, with their dark heads leaned close together, like two plants growing towards one another when the sun leaves them for too long. It might be more peculiar to see them apart. There is a strange pride that twists a corner of Prue’s mouth at the unshakeable knowledge of the fact – a hint of tremendous pride at the small, precious claim THE WORLD makes with the statement of their proximity. It is everything to her, and perhaps it is what lends to the smoothness of her gait as they move past the portrait-eyes that scrutinise it, as if they await another of the many stumbles they’ve already witnessed. Prue floats beside them.

Her heart is gone, long-since pressed into the palm of their hand. Does it weigh them down? She could pretend it is why she keeps their fingers curled into the crook of her elbow, helping them carry the heaviness of the heart she’s given away to them; Prue holds fast to that touch with her own hand covering their fingers, unwilling to give up those four pressure-points that burn her flesh through the silk of her sleeve for anything, enough to shield it with the dome of her palm.

“ – Prudence?”

Their hand flinches at the same time as Prue’s grip on their fingers tightens. As if a chill blew in, and froze the marrow in her bones, the girl stills in place. It is not because she recognises the voice. It is because she ought to have done, for what the cant of her head finds is a woman whose gaze mirrors her own: amber-warm, almond-shaped. It is her same mouth that speaks the syllables of a variation of her names that does not belong to her, not as Prue does.

“Mama –” she says, her voice so quiet, she fears it might not reach her.

She is too far away now. Even mere footsteps away, she is too far.   

Extras.

✦ INSPIRATIONS → anne shirley cuthbert – from anne of green gables; tiana – from princess & the frog; missandei of naath – from game of thrones; margaery tyrell / house tyrell – from a song of ice & fire;  madame lebedeva – from deathless; effie trinket – from the hunger games series; jack pearson – from this is us; patroclus – from the song of achilles; 

✦ INSPIRATION TAG → here;

✦ PINTEREST BOARD → here.

[histeetharenotsoft]

honestly i have no idea how i’m supposed to make it to ep 165

because 162 killed me, like 3 times

spoilers below the cut!

ITS GERRY!!!!!! MR KEAY I MISS YOU

but this is the first time we’ve actually Heard him, not secondhand or with spooky ghost echo, just as a normal voice on a tape. and i just want to hug him so much because ohhhh boy he has no idea what’s going to happen and also i am love him

“do i get to hear them?” “perhaps. if you live long enough.” shut up gertrude shut the fuck up don’t just mention gerry dying so casually its Rude

hmmm i might write a fic where jon, sasha and gerry are somehow all the archivist because I Can Do What I Want

ooo here we have more fire in the archives foreshadowing

did. did gerry’s chair scrape when gertrude raised her voice. like he flinched. someone hug this man

and then his voice goes all quiet when gertrude is lecturing him and Mary Keay Can Catch These Hands

“you are occasionally useful despite your foolishness” wowwww gertrude. what glowing praise. don’t just say that to his face come onnnn

but “useful” though. “useful”. i know we already know gertrude is an ‘ends justify means’ type character but goddamn if that isn’t just a perfect description of her relationships with people: categorised by their use to her plans and nothing more

“the network of sinister tunnels that snake beneath the archive” gertrude definitely knows about the tunnels lets be real. she’s just protecting jurgen leitner stupid idiot motherfucking jurgen leitner goddamn fool book collecting dust eating rat old bastard shithead idiot avatar of the whore

what i wouldn’t give for gerry to have canonically beaten up jurgen leitner more than once. that’s going in my triple archivist fic

“what happens if we fail” oh. oh no. oh no whats gertrude going to say

“i suspect death puts us beyond their power” hmmm. seems like a fair point but i feel like the end would come up with some fuckery because this universe is a bastard and doesn’t let anyone get the rest they deserve. this isn’t really important to the plot (at least I Hope Not) but the thought of eldritch fear gods being able to reach us after death... chills

“[actual death] is preferable to lingering in a world they control” oh no that’s not good for jon to hear

“they might even stop death entirely.” hmmm. HMMMMMM

“and taxes?” “taxes i imagine will continue” hell yeah jonny get his ass (’him’ being capitalism). also i know the coronavirus lockdown isnt exactly an apocalypse caused by eldritch fear gods forcing themselves through into our world, but considering the shit thats been going on? yeah i imagine taxes would continue

“could it be undone?” “no, i don’t think so” oh no. oh no jon. jon nooo. he’s just playing it over and over and god he must be feeling so guilty and helpless. he also gets a hug. and another. and then three more. then one more but it lasts for like an hour before i have to phase back into my own dimension

TIM AND SASHA i’m still not prepared to hear their voices i love they

sasha is so competent she’s incredible and i am in awe of her

hell yeah tim is drinking his respect woman juice

“jimmy magma. joany magnum? jack magnet” asjdfhakjfhakjhfk tim you’re the best

“what if we kill him” Fuck Off Jonny You Can’t Do That

SADHJA WAS GOIJNG YO QUIKT I AM SJDFHKJLASLKFDJGKSDJHF

holy fuck we got canon timsasha. also “you’re not the love interest”??? sasha was a lesbian. source: me, also a lesbian. who can Do What She Wants

“you might be the character they drop after the pilot” sasha no dont say that!!!! as the character who was dropped after the pilot (ok season not episode but still) i have determined that is Illegal. and yes i know sasha was killed off for entirely valid reasons and not just dropped but shhhh i am hurting

“i dont have anything keeping me here” oh sasha. oh you sweet summer child. i wish that was the case. i really do

oh hey sasha knew about tim’s brother? martin told tim about his CV? THE S1 ARCHIVE STAFF WERE FRIENDS AND I MISS THEM A LOT BECAUSE GODDAMMIT THE S3/4 STAFF DIDN’T FOUND-FAMILY LIKE THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO

“no such thing as the real you”? “it’s all just masks”??? jonny stop stop im already dead you dont need to kill me again

(god i fucking hate that i get the stanislavsky bit. i only did drama gcse but the exam was terrible because none of the exam board’s practice questions were even anywhere close so no one was prepared and i spent so long revising all these pointless notes on how to answer the difficult questions and i regret it So Much and any reminder of that fucking bullshit exam i had to do Fills Me With Rage

“if you get eaten alive by improperly filed statements, me and martin will avenge you... we’ll burn this place to the ground.” god i am in pain. not only do we have more archives arson foreshadowing but we also have this line that hits like a punch in the gut because they didn’t avenge sasha, did they?

“i find it highly unlikely this sasha ever even existed at all” “i’m unforgettable” shut up shut the fuck up is this allowed? IS THIS ALLOWED???? because it fucking shouldnt be. it’s murder jonny time lads!!!

is. is jon crying. oh no

and then he gets fucking posessed by the cabin?? i love how the format of the statements has changed its very interesting

The One You Love The One You Love The One You Love

jonmartin are so in love that even eldritch fear cabins can’t not see it. jonny really said “you can read their relationship as platonic... but i am going to do my goddamn best to make that hard for you” huh

and fuck, this statement. it’s so creepy and i love how we cant distinguish which entity it is, because does it even matter any more? the list of 14 was a human creation anywhere, i think the ‘different parts of a body’ metaphor l*itner used is makes more sense now. it doesn’t matter which part of the body is attacking you, it matters that you’re being attacked in the first place so figuring out which part it is isn’t really a priority any more

but i think it’s mostly stranger and spiral? i also get very vague corruption vibes from the description of the planks because “they are warmer, softer and more yielding than the timber they present”? ugghhhh. corruption has often been associated with this kind of ‘wrong’ warmth (think jon amherst) and it also brings to mind that episode where the guy nails meat all over his walls and the rot makes the statement giver’s ceiling collapse. but then there’s the lonely there too, because yes jonmartin have each other but jon says it himself: “it will not let you feel the warmth of joy this love may claim to gift”. just try tell me the concept of being unable to find happiness in love isn’t Lonely, even if it’s not entirely true

but yeah basically i love the merging of entities present in this creepy statement

“our tomb” huh. the pov changes here, it’s gone from talking about jon in second person, to talking as jon in first person. so if jon wasn’t possessed by SpOoKy CaBiN like i thought (because if he was, why would he suddenly switch like this? it doesnt make sense)... then what was making that statement? my instinct is to say it was The Archivist or rather, The Archives talking about jon but like a separate personality, which... yikes

“[this will be] my chrysalis. it is time that i emerge.” monster jon? monster jon. this line gave me chills because damnnnn i love me some good eldritch!jon

“i wanted to leave and hunt down elias” hell yeah jon go and brutal pipe murder that bastard its what you deserve

martin has packed bags already and he brought tea and i love him so muchhhhh

and jon’s smile is AUDIBLE he loves martin so much my tiny heart can’t handle it

“we got this.” “apparently so 😍 “ just tell me you can’t hear the heart eyes in jon’s voice. oh wait. you cant

LET MARTIN BURN SOMETHING ITS WHAT HE DESERVES

“we can’t fight the world, martin” “says you” afkjhasfkjhadkjghdakjghakdgf

to summarise:

get ready for me to type out the same summary for all 40 episodes because jesus fucking christ. jonny’s writing never fails to make me Feel All The Emotions at once. i give this one a spooky sentient cabin out of 10

[jamesdeerest]

break up with your girlfriend, i’m bored

pairing: draco malfoy x reader

request: anon asked “draco malfoy x reader based on buwygib by ariana?”

notes: omgomgomg the whole ‘thank u, next’ album is amazing i lovee also reader is a total badass in this!! yes we stannn also draco’s using some love island vocab in here because i am a messsssss

word count: 1k

“dray! dray, wait up!” 

you rolled your eyes as pansy parkinson’s ear piercing voice echoed throughout the corridors, doing absolutely nothing for your already blinding headache. youlr best friend, emma hayworth, groaned beside you. “does that girl ever shut up?!” you tilted your head, thinking back to every unfortunate second you had spent with the slytherin. “um... nope!” emma laughed, and you kept slowly walking to charms. “i mean this time, i can understand. that malfoy’s proper fit, isn’t he?” you raised an eyebrow at emma. “dunno. never really looked.” emma winked, leaning in conspiratorially. “well, he’s gone through puberty and has emerged like a butterfly from a chrysalis. but like, a really hot butterfly.” you snorted, nodding. “whatever you say, em. whatever you say.”

you got me some type of way ain’t used to feeling this way  i do not know what to say but i know i shouldn’t think about it

suddenly, someone bumped into you, pushing you into the wall. “oh, i’m sorry! didn’t see you there.” you looked up, rubbing your now probably bruised arm, ready to give whoever it was a piece of your mind when... look who it is. draco fucking malfoy. and... he was being nice? this day was getting weirder by the minute. you pushed yourself off the wall, shaking it off. “don’t worry about it, i’m good.” draco nodded, before leaning against the wall next to you, out of the flow of students. “y/n, right? i don’t think we’ve talked.” you raised an eyebrow. “no, we haven’t. just a tip, malfoy, knocking people over isn’t the best way to start a conversation.” 

he laughed, looking down. “yeah, my bad. anyway-” he was cut off by the devil herself, pansy parkinson, slipping her arm through draco’s and tugging him away. “dray, come on!” she said, not taking her eyes off of you. draco smiled apologetically at you, as he was pulled away. “see you around, y/n!”

took one fuckin’ look at your face

now i wanna know how you taste

usually don’t give it away

but you know i’m out here thinkin’ ‘bout it

emma grabbed your arm and dragged you away, whispering excitedly. “y/n! you didn’t tell me you had a thing with malfoy!” you raised an eyebrow at her, furiously fighting away the blush that threatened to stain your cheeks. “oh, really? that’s because i don’t, emma.” unfortunately, emma scoffed, glaring at you. “yeah right, y/n. he was totally flirting with you. and, let’s just say you weren’t an angel either. come on, you’re bright red.” you groaned, shrugging her off. “emma, there’s seriously nothing going on. i’ve never talked to him before.” emma looked at you. “seriously? damn. well, that’s not going to stop me from shipping you, whether you like it or not. and i can see that you do like it. you really aren’t subtle, l/n.”

then i realised she’s right there

and i’m at home like, “damn, this ain’t fair”

just as you were starting to entertain the thoughts (not a crush, y/n, you don’t like him) of you two, pansy stormed back over to you two, yanking you into an empty corridor before leaning in close to you. “look, l/n, i don’t know who you think you are, but stay away from draco, alright? he’s mine.” she hissed, a glob of spit landing on your face. scrunching up your face, you slid to the side of her before wiping your face. “look, parkinson, i don’t know who you think you are, but i can do what i like, thanks. and, unless something has changed very recently, you aren’t dating him. he’s not an object. so do me a favour, and shove off, alright?” you smirked, straightening yourself out before strutting out of the corridor, rejoining emma as you kept walking, pansy’s offended shriek echoing behind you. emma looked at you in awe. “damn, y/n. didn’t know you had it in you.” you simply wiggled your eyebrows at her, the smirk still firmly on your face.

break up with your girlfriend

yeah, yeah, ‘cause i’m bored

you can hit it in the morning

yeah, yeah, like it’s yours

at lunch that day, you were sitting down at the y/h table when someone tapped your shoulder. looking up, you saw the smirking face of draco malfoy. you raised an eyebrow at him expectantly, ignoring emma’s teasing stare. “can i steal you for a chat?” he said, offering a hand to pull you up. you just tilted your head. “i don’t know, can you?” emma groaned, fed up, and shoved you off the bench. “just go and snog already! jesus.” draco caught you, laughing as you flushed, and led you out of the great hall, you shooting a death glare back to your best friend.

you walked down a couple corridors till you found an empty one, neither of you mentioning that he hadn’t let go of your hand yet. hopping up on the windowsill, he did the same, and he looked piercingly at you. “so, y/n. apparently you took down pansy this morning.” you snorted, brushing your hair back. “oh, you heard about that?” draco laughed slightly, shaking his head. “y/n, the whole year’s heard about that.” you tried to mask your shock. “well, if you’re expecting me to apologise, i won’t. pansy was being a right bitch, and i would do it again.” 

draco just nodded, smiling gently at you. “i know you would. i’m not here to get an apology, i’m here to apologise for her. she has this ridiculous idea stuck in her head that we’re together, and i don’t know how to make her see sense.” he said frustratedly, rubbing his eyes. “just break up with her, draco! if you do it in front of everyone, she’ll have to notice then.” draco looked up at you. “you think?” you nodded, before grinning wickedly and sliding closer to him. “break up with your girlfriend, draco. i’m bored.” you whispered sultrily, before you both burst into laughter. “alright then, miss l/n, i’ll be back in a minute.”

you stared at him, shocked. “wait- you’re not actually-” draco bit his lip, pushing himself off the windowsill. “yep. don’t suppose i could get a good luck kiss?” he smirked, leaning in before laughing as you pushed his face away. “don’t push it, malfoy. once you’re a single man, though? well... we’ll see, won’t we.” draco’s eyebrows lifted, and he hurried off to the great hall as you giggled.

true to form, pansy’s screech echoed through the castle minutes later, and draco rushed back to you, a red silhouette of a handprint already visible on his otherwise unmarked face. “now. what was that your friend said about snogging?”

taglist: @blackpinkdolan @shadylittlewonder @sassy-specter @hoewkeye @knowledgeisthebomb @im-eating-rn

[eternaljouska]

A Million Years Ago - Kim Taehyung

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Fluff-ish

Word Count: 2,098

The sky is of the deepest blue sea, absent from any creatures. Although the moon, the stars, and the clouds do not belong to that living category, they prosper still in the dark of your mind. It is just one of those days. People were talking too loudly, and the city lights were shining too brightly, emphasizing the empty space within you now that they are gone. How you wish that the moon, the stars, and the clouds would migrate from your head to your chest, filling up every void and painting a new sky of your own. But your heart is a blank canvas of blue and darkness, very much a duplicate to the stretch lying above you.

You are presenting yourself to the night outside the balcony of your hotel room, your head resting atop the body of the guitar you are playing. Your fingers are gently picking the strings of your guitar one by one, moving from one fret to another and eliciting a melancholic set of melodies. When the night had become quiet, you decided that you would break its silence by making your own sound. Therefore probably tonight, those melodies are enough to light some dark corners inside your heart. And in that case, you would not have to kill the sky civilization for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Oh, how I wish I were a dexterous painter instead of a reverse virtuoso.

The sound of strings ends abruptly as you pick at them with fervor the last time. The hollowness you tried to stuff with notes only grows and fills you to the brim. Your hand falls from your guitar to your side, completely giving up and allowing the silence and nothingness swallow you whole. But before they are able to pour out from your mouth and paint the night onto every patch of your skin, a black butterfly emerges from its chrysalis inside your abdomen at the crisp sound of someone’s short chuckle.

“Rough day, huh?”

You raise your head to your left in a start, meeting the face of a young man sitting on top of the wide brick railing of the next room’s balcony. His face adorns a smile that is although gentle and sincere-looking, still unable to hide the amusement that he feels.

“That was some depressive notes you played there,” he teases, nodding his head towards your guitar. “Mind sharing?”

“How- How long have you been there?” you inquire as an attempt to disregard the stranger’s apparent lack of a sense of individuals’ privacy.

He simply shrugs, “Long enough.”

A frown is formed in the middle of your forehead as you stand up, ready to walk back to your room. But the stranger leaps forward from where he was and lands beside you. You squeal and jump back in surprise, earning you another chuckle from him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You hold your guitar in front of you like a shield. The boy is already in front of you, blocking the only entrance from the balcony to your room.

“Doing you a favor. Don’t worry, my name’s V. I’m a good boy.” V grins and offers you his hand to shake as if letting you know his single-letter name and claiming himself as a good boy will reassure you that he means no harm. “Actually… You can call me Taehyung instead. Yeah, I would very much prefer you call me that.”

“I don’t care about your name. It doesn’t help you gain my trust or anything. And who the fuck has two names like that, anyway? And you said you’re doing me a favor, then why are you still standing on my way?”

“Um, newsflash? A lot. And can we minimize the profanity here? Thank you. Also, the favor I’m talking about is making sure you won’t sleep yourself to death.”

“What?”

“Yes. So tell me what’s going on, that way I can be convinced to leave you unsupervised.”

“Again, what?”

The young man lets out a long sigh before he enters your room and closes the glass door on you.

“Hey! What the fuck is going on with you? You’re breaking an entry! Open the door!” you badger, hitting on the door powerfully and then weakly in a fear that it would break under the force of your palms.

“I told you to keep the profanity to a minimum,” he tuts, “and I’m not breaking an entry. I entered the room peacefully. It’s… It’s pretty cold outside, don’t you think? Why don’t you go in?”

“Because you lock me out, you jerk! Open this door now!”

“Well… you know what to do.” Taehyung walks deeper into your room, away from your view from outside. And before you even snap out another hey, he comes back with one of your pillows, hugging them while crossing his feet and settling down in front of you. “Spill.”

You groan because evidently this Taehyung boy definitely knows no boundary. As you look down at him with a raised eyebrow, you bring the hand that is not holding your guitar to your hip, challenging him. But when after a few long minutes the boy still innocently sits and stares up at you like a puppy, you sigh, admitting your defeat and quickly mirroring his current position, but without the comfort of a pillow like he has. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.” You can tell from his short reply and the light on his eyes that he is excited to win this mini-game he set up. You send him a glare deadly enough for him to rephrase his answer. “You looked and sounded so depressed, why?”

“And I don’t look and sound depressed now?”

“No, you look annoyed.”

“Yeah, I wonder why.”

Taehyung ignores your remark and places his head on top of your pillow, trying to get comfortable as if readying himself for a bedtime story. “Go on. Start talking. We don’t have all night.”

You send him another glare before voicing out your half-truth, “The sky’s too depressing, and I became depressed. I was trying to fill the night with music, but my music’s just as depressing. I had wished I were a painter instead of an inept musician. Just so I could paint the sky with neon colors and all those festivities.”

“Vague,” he states, squinting his eyes as a sign that he is seriously weighing your words, “and unconvincing. But I’ll take it. And hey! I’m a painter! Wanna go see my works in my room?”  The young man stands up and goes away from your sight again, leaving you dumbfounded in your position. There is a click sound from somewhere in your room that causes you to rise in alert, trying your best to peer inside.

“Hey, stranger? Where are you?” You repeat your question a few times, but there is no answer from him. You wait anxiously as you press your ear to the glass door, straining to hear any sign of Taehyung. It is approximately ten seconds after that any sound is registered by your auditory sense, a noise interrupting the bleak, silent night.

“Hey, I’m over here.”

You turn your head to the now familiar voice on your right, and your jaw drops in an instant. As it turns out, the noise was coming from one verily annoying and intrusive boy who introduced himself as V or Taehyung. He is now back at his own balcony.

“You! Why are you there? How could you- How am I- You locked me out, you stupid!”

“You can use this to enter,” he answers matter-of-factly, raising your room card and flaunting it in front of you.

You look at him incredulously. The irritation that you feel is beginning to transform into the kind of frustration that wets your eyes. “Seriously? What do you want?”

Apparently, this does not escape Taehyung’s attention. He sighs before motioning you forward. “Come here.” Any mirth disappears from his eyes, and it is replaced by genuine worry.

You walk closer to him sluggishly and mumble, “What?” You are tired and just want him to stop already.

Taehyung offers his hand to you and when you only look at him with a frown, he instructs, “Climb. Imma take you to my room.”

“What?”

“Let me show you my paintings, and I promise you can have your keycard back. I promise.”

The layout of his room is, of course, the same as yours. What makes it different is the number of easels and canvas spread around the room. The room itself is not messy, which comes as a shock to you since he definitely looks like an artsy kind of guy but not the neat type.

Taehyung guides you to each of his paintings and tells you the backstory of them. Even though you would prefer expressionism over his style that leans more towards abstractionism, you still can tell that he is good at what he is doing. But your wearied brain prevents you from really focusing on Taehyung’s voice or his painting. You give the room a once over before you hold out your hand out to him.

“Key.”

“Huh?” Taehyung’s face looks confused for a second before he recovers from his interrupted storytelling. “Oh. Do you feel better now?”

“Was any of these”—your hands make a waving gesture in the general direction of him and his painting—“supposed to make me feel any better?”

Taehyung lowers his head and plays with the hem of his black t-shirt. “I- I’m sorry. I just thought it would help you not think about your problem.” He sounds like a petulant kid who does not really want to admit that he is wrong. His voice is lower than it had been the whole night as if to hide what he wants to say.  It reminds you of the sound of a bass guitar, deep and reverberating through the air and then resonating with the strings of your heart, successfully transferring his guilt and making you feel guilty also.

You take a long breath and rub your eyes with the palm of your hands, attempting a more hospitable approach. “Why do you care so much?”

Your slightly gentler voice makes Taehyung snaps his head back up. “Oh? You remind me of someone I know,” he replies, a smile already growing on his face.

“Is that all?”

“Nope. Now let me send you to your room.” Taehyung grabs your hand and takes you out from his room and to the front of your door. “Here.” He encloses your card with your palm before giving you a knowing smile. Everything seems to be playing out twice from its original speed. You cannot comprehend what has happened or even what is happening right now that he changes his mind so quickly as to let you go. None of whatever he has done from the moment he interrupted your mini pity party has succeeded in improving your mood. So if his original plan was to do just that, he has obviously failed, which gives him all the reasons to keep you in his room—if you use his absolutely obtuse head for thinking, of course. And also, it is not like you would stay with him without putting up some fight. Actually, why would you even consider giving up to that crooked logic of his at all?

“Why are you smiling and looking at me like that?”

The smile on his face is quick to transform into a square grin as he leans forward, placing his lips so close to your ears that you feel shivers running down your spine. “You should’ve paid attention to my art tour, Y/n. It hurt that the name Taehyung didn’t ring a bell for you,” he whispers while looking at you sideways. He takes a step back from you and revels in your bemused expression. When you cannot conjure up any reply for him after some time, he turns his body slightly so that he can walk backwards to his room, his gaze still locked with yours. “When it finally does, knock at this door”—he knocks at his own door twice as to demonstrate what he means—“and tell me the entire truth of tonight.”

Taehyung opens his door and enters his room slowly, still walking backward. “Kim Taehyung, Vante,” he says before disappearing behind the wooden door, leaving you stupefied with the recollection of tonight’s events and the echo of his name from another starless night of what feels like a million years ago.

[after-the-chrysalis]

I wanted to bring awareness because somthing horrible happened to me and I may be blind in my left eye forever.

Most people have herpes simplex, it is the type of herpes that causes cold sores. This virus remains dormant in your nerves. It can stay in your spinal cord and brain, your lips, fingers and toes, your sinus cavities, your anus, your joints, so on and so forth..

I had cold sores as a child but haven't as an adult and havent thought anything of it since childhood.

I am an addict in recovery. I am 14 months sober and am learning healthy boundaries in friendships and with my marriage. My husband is in treatment now, I have already completed mine. I work in a recovery center, empowering women and getting them off of the street and reuniting them with their children and families.

I have a friend I got really close with who used me for a year. I finally hit my breaking point with her. I have done so much for her and never asked for anything in return except love, and mutual respect for feelings. She said very ugly things to me and I really lost it. It had been building up to this fight and I finally was almost ready to risk it all and put my hands on her. (I didn't). I almost have full custody of my children and I couldn't lose all of my progress.

I took a shower to calm down. I cried out to God for help and fell to my knees and sobbed. I couldn't believe who I was becoming. I went to bed and at 4am the next morning I woke up with extreme eye pain. I went to the doctor the next morning and got on antibiotics and they told me if symptoms worsened I needed to go to an emergency eye clinic.

They did.

I had a rash all over.

I started going blind in that eye.

My pupils dialated unevenly.

I got sick and had an intense headache, became disorented and felt drunk. I also hurt like I couldn't stay awake and kept nodding off. The light hurt. My throat swelled and I lost my voice. My eye swelled and my cheek and eyebrow turned red. I was like, OH MY GOD IM GOING TO DIE.

I couldn't drive so my mother-in-law picked me up and drove me to the clinic. It turnes out this is herpes simplex of the eye caused by stress. Excuse me? What the.. Did y'all just say to me? After 8 years of crystal meth addiction amd smoking sythetic weed to the point of 20 seizures a day and fighting my husband every single day not knowing which moment would be my last I get into it with someone and NOW I'M FRICKIN BLIND?! yes.

And I still am suffering. I am struggling with fatigue and lethargy. I can hardly function at my desk job or pull myself up to stand. I have to take a pill 5 times a day. I'm having sleep paralysis, and still have a rash flare up.

So, I've blocked her on every single platform she knows how to contact me on. I've decided to fast and delete all social media and messaging apps (except this) and block her on my phone without giving her any explanation and I don't think I owe her one. Am I wrong for that?

All of this to say.. Take care of yourself. Too much stress can give you an aneurysm, stroke, heart attack, meningitis or make you go blind in your eye.@after-the-chrysalis

And yes my eyes do change colors due to lighting and backround.

[e350tb]

Steven Universe: Marooned Together - Chapter Forty-Seven

(with thanks to @real-fakedoors for proofreading!)

Sadie pictured herself in an open field.

She stood alone, surrounded on all sides by green grass, snow capped mountains in the distance. A warm breeze brushed over her skin, and heard the gentle sound of birdsong. Why was she here? She couldn’t rightly say - perhaps she was grounding herself somewhere peaceful before she confronted…

...she couldn’t rightly say. All she knew was that she was confronting... something.

She looked down at herself - her body glowed yellow, rays of light radiating gently from her form. She couldn’t really define herself, save for a vague shape. Was she human under this light, or did the twisted form of Chrysalis confine her, the puppets strings still intent on making her dance and pirouette at the beck and call of the Diamonds?

She didn’t know. And right now, with her friends in danger? She didn’t care.

A second form appeared in front of her - or, perhaps, her mind, struggling to provide visual context to an entirely abstract struggle, created it. It was her outline, but this doppelganger suffused the air with inky darkness, its only distinguishing feature being blood-red eyes. This was Chrysalis - or some symbolic representation thereof - and where she stood, the grass turned grey and died.

“Chrysalis,” said Sadie.

Chrysalis shook her head.

“Distinguishing between us is useless,” she replied. “We are the same. You are simply the past - confused, passionate, obsolete.”

“No,” replied Sadie. “You’re not me. You’re the control the Diamonds put into my head to turn me into their…”

“You tell yourself that,” said Chrysalis, “because you cannot face responsibility for your actions.”

Above her, an image appeared - the two human Home Guards being disintegrated, followed by the annihilation of the Orange Pearl.

“That was you,” snapped Sadie. “Not me.”

“It was your hand,” snarled Chrysalis. “Your body. You did nothing to resist. Their deaths are on our hands.”

Sadie looked down and let out a somewhat strangled cry. Her hands were suddenly caked in an oozing red gunk, a deep metallic smell filling her nostrils.

“I couldn’t resist!” she snapped. “You were-”

“Like you can’t resist now?”

Sadie swallowed.

“We are the same,” declared Chrysalis. “I am your strength. And you…”

Sadie was suddenly yanked onto her back as the red goop forced her arms to the ground, merging with the soil beneath it. The sky began to darken as threatening storm clouds covered the blue canvas - the birdsong turned into the cries of a crow.

“...you are my weakness. And weakness must be rooted out.”

----

Lapis ducked under a shot from Sadie’s beam, losing her footing and crashing onto her back. The cyborg quickly aimed a follow-up shot, but Stevonnie slid into her line of sight and deflected the beam with their shield, sending it shooting upwards. It broke through the roof, creating a small skylight that shone down on Lars.

“Okay, I know I was raised from the dead, but this is just tacky,” said Lars dryly.

Sadie spun round, shooting off a beam towards the pirate - he was jerked back as Garnet yanked him out of the way. The fusion quickly responded, sending a gauntlet hurtling towards her opponent. Sadie raised her arm; it glowed green, and a square holographic shield emerged, blocking the strike.

Before she could act again, Lapis brought a watery blade onto her robotic arm - it bounced off, and the cyborg turned her attention to her. She spun round, her other arm clutching Lapis’ neck and beginning to squeeze.

“Lapis!”

Stevonnie shot forward, grabbing Sadie by the hair and yanking her back. She lost her grip of Lapis as Stevonnie forced her to the ground, holding her arms down and looking into her eyes.

“Sadie, please! It’s me, Stevonnie!” they urged.

For a moment, Sadie stared into their eyes.

Then she swiftly and unceremoniously headbutted Stevonnie, sending them reeling back and clutching their head. The cyborg swiftly jumped up, ready to get back into the fray…

----

Sadie gritted her teeth as the oozing gunk began to swallow her arms - she glanced down, seeing the same happening to her legs. Around her, the soil and grass turned into a sea of metallic red, and she felt the taste of blood in the air. Chrysalis walked slowly and mechanically towards her, her eyes piercing into Sadie’s.

“You fight what happened to you,” she declared. “You still see yourself as the organic. I discard that. I embrace my purpose - to fight for the Diamonds and the Empire.”

She reached Sadie and stopped, gazing down at her counterpart.

“You’re… you’re a monster!” shouted Sadie.

“We’re a monster,” corrected Chrysalis.

She extended her arms, gesturing at the raging sea of crimson around them.

“Don’t you see?” she demanded. “You cannot go back. You will never be who you were again. Weak. Pathetic. Human. And yet you cling to it. You are a virus in my code. You are a legacy bug. Your resistance must and will be quashed.”

“We… we’re not the same!” shouted Sadie. “You’re not me! Chrysalis is not me! I’m human!”

“Less than seven percent of our body is organic in origin,” replied Chrysalis. “Even if it were possible to reverse your conversion, the parts removed have long been discarded. You are no more human than you are gem. Your base form has been used to create something far superior.”

She knelt down.

“You are me, and I am you,” she said once more, “We both know that.”

She put a hand on Sadie’s chest.

“Stop resisting. Become one with me. Embrace who you are.”

Sadie closed her eyes, seeing her real situation in her mind - her body, standing over a bruised Stevonnie, preparing to fire a disintegration beam right into their face; Lars in the corner of her eye, charging towards her, ray gun in hand, and her free hand raising to deal with him.

She opened them again.

“Okay,” she said.

Chrysalis’ arm suddenly flowed apart, the waves of darkness flowing into Sadie’s form.

“What?”

“You’re right,” said Sadie. “We are the same. I’m not human.”

Chrysalis’ form began to flow apart as more of her sank into Sadie. Around her, the gunk began to part, flowing away as if blasted by an enormous gust of wind.

“But I’m not Chrysalis either,” Sadie continued. “I’m not Yellow Diamond’s toy. I’m me. I’m Sadie. Maybe I’m a robot - but I’m the robot that’s gonna ruin her day.”

----

Lars squirmed as Sadie lifted him against the wall, hand around his throat. He gasped for breath, desperately reaching for the ray gun he had dropped to the floor. White spots began to blot out the room around him, chest seizing, throat burning. Was this it? Was it over? He had to admit - it wasn’t how he’d expected to go.

Suddenly, Sadie blinked. Her body shook, and her grip loosened - Lars dropped to the floor as his friend clutched her head, gritting her teeth as one hand reached upwards towards her hair.

Coughing, Lars managed to hack out the sound of her name. “S-Sadie?”

“Nnnngh! Get… out… of my HEAD!”

She clutched the antenna and pulled. With a metallic snap, it ripped in two - she screamed, falling to her knees as her eyes shone a brilliant red. Then, like a ragdoll, she fell face-first to the ground.

“Sadie!”

Lars sat up, grabbing his friend and turning her over. Stevonnie, Lapis and Garnet were at his side just a heartbeat later.

Slowly, Sadie opened her eyes - they still glowed, but now they were a soft yellow.

“...Lars?” The mechanical reverb was still there, but it was far less harsh - far more human.

“I’m here,” Lars pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back gently. “I’m here…”

“What just happened?” asked Lapis, tilting her head.

“She fought her programming,” replied Garnet simply.

Sadie pulled back from Lars, rubbing her head.

“I… I was trying for so long,” she muttered. “I guess something in me just snapped…”

“It’s very difficult for a mind to be forced to destroy what it values,” Garnet nodded. “This outcome was always inevitable.”

“What?” Lapis crossed her arms. “So we weren’t in any danger? Why didn’t you tell us that?”

“I never said that,” added Garnet. “Sadie would always have broken free… we’re just lucky she did that before Chrysalis destroyed us all.”

“So there was a future where I…” Sadie trailed off.

She looked down at her robotic body - at her free-floating fingers, her metallic, painted torso, the single small window of flesh on her arm.

“...well, shit,” she said flatly.

She stood up, looking down at her shiny body, holding her hands in front of her eyes. For a long time, there was silence - Stevonnie seemed to be searching for something to say.

“I… I’m…”

Lars put a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re safe now, Sadie,” he said, his voice cracking. “That’s all that matters.”

Without further ado, he scooped Sadie into a tight hug, letting the tears flow freely from his eyes.

----

“We’ve lost contact with Chrysalis!” exclaimed 4DT.

“What?!” exclaimed Aquamarine.

4DT paced the control room, clutching her hair.

“We’ve lost contact,” he repeated. “Chrysalis is no longer responding to commands! They’ve taken it out of action.”

“That…” Aquamarine clenched her fists. “That was years of White and Yellow Diamond’s experimentation, and now it’s… it’s… this is your fault!”

“My fault?” replied 4DT. “How is it my fault! You-”

“Settle down.”

Both of them jumped and gazed towards the figure that still stood in the doorway, the faintest trace of a smile on her shadowed face.

“The drones remain active, so Project Chrysalis remains a success,” the figure explained. “Sadie Miller was never anything more than a side-project - all this has proved is that the human mind is… unsatisfactory. Like most, in fact.”

“I… a test?” 4DT pursed her lips. “And how do you know what White Diamond thinks? Maybe this is a disaster, and you’re just covering yourself so she-”

“I know, 4DT. Would you like to know too?”

The figure stepped forward, revealing herself - a white pearl, her hair tied into buns on either side of her face, a crack running over her eye. 4DT swallowed.

“N-no, I… I’m good.”

“Good,” said White Pearl, smiling vacantly. “Now, Rose Quartz will be here soon - we’d best get ready. Have the drones-”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Aquamarine. “The prisoners are being…”

“Aquamarine.” White Pearl turned her head towards her, her body remaining totally still. “Never interrupt me again.”

Aquamarine shut her mouth and gulped.

“Bring me the Peridot,” continued White Pearl. “I want to have a heart to heart…”

[jovialyouthmusic]

Uneasy Lies the Head

Follow up to Royal Romance Au Fanfic ‘Charlotte’s Choice’

Chapter 2 Ultimatum One

Charlotte buries herself in official papers and archives, and Drake prvides some respite

@ao719 @agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @sleepwalkingelite @boneandfur @blackcatkita @brightpinkpeppercorn @choicescommunity @darley1101 @drakewalkerrosenberg @debramcg1106 @fluffy-marshmallow-heart @goirishsunshine @gardeningourmet @livingthroughchoices @likethetailofacomet @mrs-nazario @mind-reader1 @ooo-barff-ooo @silviasutton1989 @speedyoperarascalparty @zaffrenotes @missevabean @mrsdrakewalkerblog @cora-nova @missameliep @tanelle83 @endlessly-searching-for-you @jlouise88 @drakenazario @tabithacarlisle @furiousherringoperatortoad @notoriouscs @classylady1234 @wickedgypsymoon @carabeth @choices-fangirl @indiana-jr @indiacater @noey718-blog @katedrakeohd @bobasheebaby @annekebbphotography  @kennaxval @sirbeepsalot @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @aworldoffandoms @iplaydrake @drakesensworld @drakewalkerisreal @samcpossum 

2 Ultimatum One

Across the country, on thousands of TV screens, the face of Queen Charlotte wavered and faded, to be replaced by that of the traitor Anton Severus. His ice blue eyes bored into thousands of households, holding the attention of many, many people.

‘Attention Citizens of Cordonia. You know who I am. I, Anton Severus call on you all to overthrow Queen Charlotte and her forces. Her Father was a tyrant, and such a weak and cowardly young woman does not deserve your loyalty. I have a strong and legitimate claim to the throne and entreat you all to support me in the name of House Severus, ousted by the usurper House Rys centuries ago.’

At the Palace, Bastien was on the phone, barking out orders while Charlotte stared at the screen, shocked and dismayed.

‘Where is this being broadcast from? Shut it down! Shut it down now!’ Bastien ordered but Anton continued.

‘To save unnecessary conflict, I call on Charlotte Rys to stand down from her illegitimate claim to the Monarchy. I urge you, Charlotte, to acknowledge me as King of Cordonia. If you act swiftly I will be merciful and allow you to rule as my Queen, but if you delay my forces will remove you and your upstart Consort from power. Be warned, my forces are ready to strike, and soon’ The picture faded, and the crest of the house of Severus appeared for a moment before the screen went totally blank.

‘We’ve shut down the transmitter’ announced Bastien ‘Anton must have hacked into it, it’s inoperative until we can be sure we have control of it again.’ Charlotte was pale, but instead of fear she showed anger.

‘How dare he?’ she said in a low tone ‘How dare he risk the wellbeing of my citizens? He won’t get away with this. Where is the film crew? I’m going live straight away, as soon as we have control back’

‘Your Majesty!’ Bastien cautioned her ‘Please, you must consider what you say very carefully’

‘Oh don’t worry Bastien, I know exactly what to say. Anton will rue the day he crossed swords with me. I’m not the weak cowardly woman he thinks I am. I know exactly what makes him tick after that awful visit to Valtoria. He’s vain and arrogant and egotistical. Leave it to me, my citizens will never have to suffer under his reign.’ Charlotte was coldly furious, and Drake looked at her in wonder and admiration. He had never seen her so focussed and under control. She had changed rapidly since Constantine died, and he was not sure how much more power would affect her. He reached out to hold her hand, and he saw her eyes focus on him and grow soft. She squeezed his hand back.

‘Thankyou Drake’ she sighed ‘I won’t let anger or fear get the better of me’ It was a short while before Bastein could be sure of having control of the airwaves again, and the film crew set up to broadcast live. Charlotte appeared cool and calm in front of the cameras.

‘My dear citizens, let me assure you that the usurper Anton Severus is bluffing, and even now my loyal Guard are closing in on him. I have no intention of handing over power to him. I can assure you, after spending some time in his company, he only seeks power and has no interest in the wishes of the people. Even now, I am preparing legislation that will allow ordinary citizens to have a say in the policies and economics of our beautiful country. My father and I had the opportunity to test each of the suitors and their aims and abilities in governance, politics and economics. Please be assured that although he professed to support every good policy that was presented him, Severus either had no grasp of economics, or deliberately tried to make himself appear generous, while supporting policies that would bankrupt the economy in the long term.’ Charlotte paused.

‘I have always known the virtues of balance and moderation as a method of maintaining the status quo. Add to that the fact that the former Lord Severus has  both threatened and carried out physical violence in order to gain power, and you will see that he is not fit to rule as Monarch. I hope you will all support me in my efforts to apprehend him and bring him to justice for treason before he causes more harm.’ She gave a warm smile, and the broadcast ended.

After the film crew had left, Bastien called a security meeting and the Palace went into lockdown.

‘We don’t know what plans Anton has made, or whether he is bluffing’ Bastien said ‘We are still looking into various dissident factions within the country, but Anton has kept his tracks well covered. For now, I advise that you stay at the Palace, your Majesty, while we conduct our enquiries. Plans for the Coronation have to go ahead – the longer you remain uncrowned, the weaker our case. We have to double security or move the whole ceremony back to the Palace as originally intended.’ Drake spoke up.

‘I don’t see why we shouldn’t hold the Coronation here – unless we want to lure Anton out by using the Cathedral’ Bastien nodded.

‘We don’t have to make the decision tonight. I suggest we sleep on it. Your majesty, I strongly advise you don’t spend any time alone if you can help it.’ He smiled at Drake ‘Perhaps your prospective consort will see that you aren’t alone overnight’ Drake nodded gravely, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

‘I will gladly take on that task – Charlotte will be safe in my hands’

Later, they lay silent in the huge bed, Charlotte stunned and wondering how things had changed so fast, feeling lost – but not alone. Drake was there, solid and dependable, tender and loving. She burrowed into him and he held her tight until she relaxed and they made love for comfort, not for passion or longing.

They had waited so long to be together, and now things were very different to how she imagined but she wouldn’t be without him for anything. The idea that she would give in to Anton, accept him as King and become his Queen was unthinkable. She was still some time away from being legally, properly joined to Drake, but at least they could be lovers in the real sense of the word. Next they had to go through the Coronation, when she formally announced him as Consort and she became lawful Queen of Cordonia, but then they had to plan the wedding before they were properly joined. If it wasn’t for him – she wasn’t sure how she would cope with what life had brought her.

Charlotte tossed and turned even with Drake beside her. Eventually she fell into a deep sleep, but it was not so deep that she didn’t dream.

She was dancing with Drake, his feet slow and clumsy, and she smiled to encourage him.

‘Just take it slow, I don’t care if you step on me, I’d rather dance with you than anyone else’ He grinned apologetically, and she looked down at his feet. She guided him with soft pushes and pulls of her hands, and slowly he improved, the steps growing smoother and then faster, and they started to fly across the ballroom floor.

‘That’s so much better Drake’ she said, looking up at him  and almost screamed. It was not Drake, but Anton who held her and whirled her around the floor. His smile was cold, his ice blue eyes boring into hers.

‘Think again Charlotte’ he said. ‘Where’s your crown? She reached up to her head for the heavy symbol of the Monarchy that she was sure she had been wearing only minutes before, but her head was bare – not even a tiara sat on her glossy dark hair.

‘Father’ she cried, hearing the gunshot behind her. She was alone and Constantine dropped to the floor, the crown dropping off his head, red blood blooming where his heart was. She didn’t know whether to go to him or retrieve the crown, and it rolled across the floor toward Anton, who picked it up triumphantly  and held it aloft.

‘You’ll never wear it’ he said in a low sinister tone, suddenly close to her, lips next to her ear. She shuddered and looked at the ground. Blood spread out from her father’s body as he lay on the ground, lifeless. The floor changed to a checkerboard of black and red – the black an empty void, the red sticky with blood.

She looked up at Anton who had transformed into a chess piece that towered over her – the Black King, and she was the Red Queen. He floated over the void, and she could only step on the red squares which threatened to hold her down to the board, immovable. She tried to move away from him, other black pieces looming up, surrounding her. She was the only red piece left on the board save one, walled off by the knights and bishops and pawns. It was Drake, and he held out his hand, calling her name

‘Charlotte,’ he cried ‘over here. My sweet Princess, come to me’ She looked down at her feet, sinking into the sticky red blood.

‘I- I’m Queen now’ she protested

‘You’ll always be my Princess’ called Drake ‘Come to me my sweet girl’ She struggled, and suddenly she was free, the chess piece that imprisoned her cracking apart, emerging from what she realised was her chrysalis. She was the Phoenix, her arms transformed to wings of fire, fingertips spewing out flame that consumed the black pieces, melting them to slag and then powder, burning away the sticky blood to reveal the white marble beneath, the powder blown away, the marble clean and smooth.

‘I’m coming Drake, I’m coming’ she sang, stretching her wings and soaring high into the air.

The next day Charlotte went to Constantine’s chambers. She had ordered his rooms shut up save for a once over by his aide Geoffrey, and she called him in to the study. The man looked sorrowful and haggard – for the past few months he had spent most of his time by the King’s side, one of the few to know how ill he was and tend to him, hide the signs. There were two high backed chairs by the fireplace, the grate empty and cold

‘Geoffrey’ She said softly ‘Please sit, do you need anything – a drink perhaps?’ He shook his head

‘No thankyou your Majesty’ but he sat down and looked at the fireplace, shivering slightly. She smiled.

‘It’s strange without the fire burning, isn’t it? All these years and I never knew why he insisted on it, everywhere he went’ she referred to the King’s method of writing private notes, to be burned once read, as a security measure when he was wary of being overheard. Geoffrey nodded, misty eyed. ‘How are you, Geoffrey?’ she asked ‘and please, you can call me Charlotte, you’ve earned the right. I am so grateful for your years of service.’ She realised she knew little about the man, silent and ever present, taken for granted.

‘Thankyou your – Charlotte’ he replied, sitting on the edge of the chair. She barely knew where to begin.

‘What will you do now he’s gone?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice steady around the lump that formed in her throat ‘You know you have the support of the Crown for as long as you need it. Do you have family?’ she cursed that she didn’t know, had never heard of any attachments, and nobody could tell her. He had been there for as long as she could remember, but even Bastien knew nothing about him save for his unswerving loyalty. The man shook his head slowly

‘The King was my family’ he said simply, and looked up at her with pale grey eyes that held a sadness in them ‘Lifelong service was expected when I began here. I never married – I have a sister who is a little younger than me, and I have nephews and nieces’ he smiled ‘Though I never had much time to spend with them.’

‘And what would you like to do now, Geoffrey?’ she asked ‘You have earned your retirement – or if there is a job on the staff that appeals to you, I can arrange that, you will want for nothing.’ The man looked around the rooms, his eyes watering.

‘I – I can help you go through the King’s belongings if you would permit it.’ He said ‘There are places nobody else knows about, things he kept.’ Charlotte fought to remain dry eyed – she had enough of crying and needed to be strong for Cordonia, and for those around her. Anton had called her weak, and she couldn’t afford the luxury of tears.

‘Thankyou Geoffrey. You don’t have to decide what you want – take your time, we are all grieving. If there is anything you want – anything, tell me and it’s yours.’ The man bowed his head

‘Thankyou your – Charlotte. If I might be permitted to keep my rooms, come and go as I please – in accordance with Mr Lykel’s approval of course. I won’t move anything of your fathers, I hope you will permit me to help you go over his rooms when you wish’ Charlotte’s phone vibrated – it was a message from Bastien asking to meet her urgently in her study..

‘I have to go. I will let you know when I have time to…’ she waved her hand to indicate the room, the lump in her throat preventing her from saying any more. They both stood, and Charlotte stepped forward to embrace her father’s aide. He stiffened at the unfamiliar contact, then relaxed and hugged her back.

‘Thankyou Charlotte. He loved you very much, and you are becoming more like him every day’ He bowed his head and left, and Charlotte went to her study, where Bastein waited, looking grave. He was seated, still recovering from his injuries, and looked uncomfortable not to be standing in front of her.

‘Your Majesty, there is a new development’ he said. I’m about to call an emergency meeting, but I need to tell you first’ She nodded and closed the door, walking in to sit at the desk.

‘What is it Bastien?’ she asked, her stomach knotting with dread.

It appears the Royal Crown has gone missing from the Cathedral’ he said. ‘the Coronation is in jeopardy’

[mnm-inc-miles]

05/31/2022

Sifting through the darkness I searched for a crayon and paper. I wasn’t allowed many belongings here, but I was no longer on suicide watch. Hadn’t been for six months now, so I was finally allotted a few things. My eyes were slowly adjusting to waking from a transfixed dream. I followed the fox, I followed the hare, I followed the kestrel. With each beautiful woodland creature the dream followed along their lives in fast forward, and ended with their skull, staring me down in a black void.

“Pick again until the cards can form our meaning…” were the words that escaped my lips as I squinted and scratched the lyrics onto a piece of paper. I had a lot change the last year. They brought me back but I wasn’t ready. I knew if I returned…I would simply cause further chaos in the lives of those I loved. So I did the right thing, I committed myself to an asylum.

I underwent a small trial, since my crimes were decades old and there was no evidence of any of my kills, the courts decided to keep my circumstance on the down low instead of turning it into some huge celebrity blow out. I was found guilty of the crimes but sentenced to an asylum for evaluation and therapy. They offered me a plea of insanity, but I didn’t take it. I knew what I did, and it ate away at me the same as I’d always done to my victims. I needed to be punished for my crimes and I needed time for clarity.

For the first few months I was suicidal. I declined rapidly as I entered their program and was not left alone for any length of time until my condition improved. Medication and therapy proved beneficial, I always knew that it would, I just couldn’t be sure how quickly I’d see any improvements. But after six months of intensive treatment, I had my moment of clarity.

A deafening sound of silence put me to sleep most nights and it was then that I heard it. Everything all at once. The beating of my heart, the shallow of my breathing. Each bat of my eyelashes, every swallow in my throat, and each muscle and tendon in my body straining and twitching beneath the weight of my conscience. I needed to be a better man and I needed to do good things for respite of my sins. That’s when I started to get better.

That moment of lucidity was six months ago and I now felt more like me than I’d felt since I was fifteen years old. I still had bad days, sometimes very bad, but the violence had dissipated. The shell had cracked and although it was not a butterfly emerging from the chrysalis, life no longer felt futile.

So as the sun rose and the light slowly filled my room, I began to craft a letter to the one person I knew would always understand me.

 Marcus,

Forgive me for not reaching out sooner. I have spent the last year trying to atone for my sins and get my headspace to a better and healthier place. It’s been no picnic.

I’ve been listening to the wind a lot recently. I’ve been having dreams of fields filled with rabbits…and the element of fear. With the wind comes the sounds of shots fired. I’ve been having a lot of dreams recently, some of them good and some bad. I suppose that’s expected…

I am allowed to have a pen pal now, the asylum I’m in currently has been treating me well, surprisingly. So I chose to write to you.

The leaves often bury the sun where I stay, it’s heavily shaded by canopies. I miss the beach. I miss my friends, but I am afraid yet to leave. I know they are thinking of offering it. But I’m not sure I’m ready yet…soon maybe, but not now. In this world, sanity is fragile even for the most well-adjusted soul. I cannot risk moving too fast or too soon.

I hope Winston and Lucas are okay…it pains me to know how much we’ve lost…and I can only desperately hope that they still have each other. I hope you and Blake are well, and your family…we often lose so much so quickly here, I’m sure I am very much out of the loop to whom is in whose lives these days…

I feel like I’m drowning some days still…this place can sometimes be too repetitious. Some of the people here I feel badly for, their minds so lost that I fear they may never be recovered. I feel like I cheated somehow, that I am not one of the movers and shakers, the people who go about their day repeating the same tasks because it’s all their consciousness can support. I am coherent. I am sane, although occasionally lost, I never regress so far into the recesses of my mind that my actions are predictable and autopiloted by my bodies instinct to keep going, to survive.

I have a lot I feel I could say to you, but I will stop here…and give you a chance to digest all of this. I love you, I’ve never had a truer friend who can walk the plains of darkness but still hold onto the light. You amaze me, you inspire me. I am by and far a lucky man to have met your good graces and been accepted into your heart. I strive now to be worthy of your love. Of any love that any gracious human may choose to give to me.

Talk soon.

Ed, x

[darksideof]

Drums woke up already Disappointing birds Well. Few predators probably lost they dinner too as they were stalking the annoying fliers. Maybe we should always do our research first before we complain? Still - Holy Mother’s Circle of Life- So poetic. So cruel at times. And me changing Becoming something else while everyone looked at me as miracle of a kind. “Unreal” “So beautiful” It was not truth what they saw. A frightening, always hungry animal. I starved for a meat in this flower lovers’ paradise Growing, stretching, transforming Aching more, and more inside Head full of dreams of hunting Shapes Whirling, clashing, dazzling at times My lips sealed together Not ready to reach out and bite I am collapsing and cannot move All those concerned friendly eyes And me feeling less and less regret Why are you so blind? Butterfly’s metamorphosis has no secrets for you I am becoming chrysalis of a very special one So easily to fool you with a simple trick of good looks It is time to emerge. Goodbye Late dinner time. Text by @z.maselko #day319 #365squares2 https://www.instagram.com/p/BgXEgrbgw6s/

[subukunojess]

Chrysalis (Moana)

I cannot believe this is happening, but I am finally finished with a small one-shot for the Moana Spring Break Exchange! @moana-party It took me a long while, but I finished it to the best of my ability. Granted this is short and I probably suck compared to my fellow writers, but I tried. 

Here was my prompt:

Tamatoa discovers a cave that he can fit in filled with a variety of different colored crystals growing from the walls and ground that are glowing almost magically.

@white-fire-the-dragon this is for you! I want to thank you for being my friend, roleplaying with you is really fun, and you draw amazing pictures as well. This might be a different take on your version of Tamatoa. ( @crystal-tama), but I had fun with this.

Without further ado, here is the one shot! When this gets approved, I’ll put this on DeviantArt, AO3, and FanFiction when I get the chance. Enjoy!

Chrysalis

For one week, he laid on his back.

Stuck.

For one week, he called for help.

No one came.

For one week, monsters cleaned his collection bare.

Left him to rot with no treasure to his name.

For one week, Tamatoa couldn't take it anymore.

The giant crustacean took matters in his own claws surviving. He spent most of his time wiggling and moving inch by inch. His only meals were the few smaller monsters who assumed they had an advantage over him, only to be proven wrong. Eventually, the monstrous crab managed to move himself towards a couple of large trees and rock formations that were closet to the geysers. He struggled and heaved, but with great effort, he righted his body back up on his dactyls. After stumbling a little and regaining his balance, he huffed, puffed, and exclaimed his first few words in a while towards the ceiling:

"Thank you for your help! I appreciate it!" Tamatoa sneered angrily. Ungrateful beings not able to help him in dire need. He then scowled at the thought of the infamous 'You're Welcome' response that Maui would give whenever the chance was free. Left a sour taste in his mouth. Another huff and the fifty-foot crab took off.

Tamatoa's immediate thought was to get all of HIS treasure back. However, he didn't have the energy and he doubt that the monsters he stole from before would fall for the same tricks twice. No, he needed time to strategize his comeback. He then thought about holing himself back up in his shell home for a while, even walking a few steps towards the towering structure. But he stopped. He has been out for a long time, so no doubt that another monster would instantly move in to claim his home for their own. And most importantly, the crab was admittedly ashamed. A former King of Lalotai reduced to the bare minimum didn't deserve a luxurious home!

He turned to check on the current state of his shell: a pale, yet brownish gold color. No shine to it. Just dreadfully dull.

So, Tamatoa went past the large shell that touched the watery ceiling and went in search of a temporary new home. Just until he got his strength back.

As he trudged along the landscape, what brought him on his back in the first place replayed constantly in a dreadful mantra: Waking up to find a human pest wearing his treasure. Putting on a show. Almost having dinner twice. Beating up Maui to a pulp while dancing, might he add! And then the pest manages to trick him... with an algae-covered barnacle! The dignity! The worst part of it all was that Maui and his little human were probably celebrating with the power of creation at their disposal, also most likely laughing at the Great Tamatoa's defeat. He snarled and cursed under his breath. Once he returned back on top, he'll personally wipe those grins off their faces.

It took until the moon started to rise on the surface to find a decent place. Nights in Lalotai weren't really a notable difference; just the blue water and atmosphere turning into a darker purple and the bioluminescence of both the creatures and plants faintly glowing. Dashes of faint pink light danced across antennae as Tamatoa spotted a cave in a giant rock formation big enough for the behemoth. All the other caves and shells were either preoccupied or too small. Guess this would have to do.

Before he entered the cave, Tamatoa waved his antennae around the entrance. No recent monster scents. Whoever had lived here probably left or died. After a bit of more inspection, he was satisfied and made his way inside, continuing to survey the interior. So far, it was a typical cave with the occasional coral, algae, plenty of sand, and a couple of stalagmites and stalactites. Even though it was temporary, Tamatoa figured he would have to make some adjustments here and there. His bioluminescence gradually glowed brighter as he went deeper into the cave, seeing a light up ahead. When he entered the opening, Tamatoa stopped and his mouth hung open.

Spread all over the walls, ground, and parts of the ceiling were several crystals, each one a different color. Most were the size of an average human. Others were smaller up to the normal size of crystals, very tiny for the crab's standards. A few of them were up to half his height or took up most of his claw. There were a few crystals in the tunnel, but most of the crystals were sitting in a large and spacious area. To top it off, there was a skylight of water just like his home with fish swimming above him. A shelter, food source, and a treasure trove of crystals. It was too good to be true.

It wasn't gold in the slightest, but after being on your back for a week, staring at dark water all day and night, you'd accept any type of shine at this point.

Tamatoa immediately grabbed the nearest crystal that caught his eye: a yellow one that almost sparkled like gold.

Its beauty revived and perked up his greed. Oh, he wanted his hoard back so badly! After admiring it for a while, he placed it on his shell and grabbed another crystal; a dark blue one with a particular glimmer this time. He held it up above his head and closed one eye to inspect it better, only to see something in the background. He moved his claw and saw a large tendril of water coming out of the skylight as if it were waiting for him.

Tamatoa almost dropped the crystal at the sight, causing the tendril to falter until he caught the jewel again. Confusion and fearful surprise turned into curiosity as he slowly moved the tip of the crystal towards him.

Carefully, the tendril followed the movements of the crystal, entering Tamatoa's mouth as fish swam right through the small current and falling onto his tongue. He pulled the tendril back slowly and swallowed the fish down.

This couldn't be magic, right? Not that Tamatoa was afraid of it. Rather he was neutral of it, seeing the benefits and possible setbacks. But the possibility of finding magical items in Lalotai of all places was rare and overlooked. Was his mind playing tricks on him?

What about the first crystal? Tamatoa angled his eyestalks to see that his shell, which only had one crystal upon it, was now glimmering with a sparkle almost like his former shell. Maybe just a polish away from becoming perfect. Perhaps this was a hallucination or wishful thinking. For the final test, he placed down the blue crystal and picked up a dark violet one. Upon being picked up, a dark purple mist emerged from the crystal and spread out all over the cave, surrounding the crystals and crab into darkness. Tamatoa's bioluminescence now kicked into gear with bright blue and pink lights.

Now the crustacean was convinced. Most of these crystals had magic and they reacted to him surprisingly well.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

.... opportunity and luck called~

Tamatoa started laughing, his glowing magenta eyes, the crystal in his claw, and the remaining crystals surrounding him being the only source of light in the darkness. With such an array of gems filled with power at his disposal, it almost made the heart of Te Fiti look like a plain piece of stone!

He was so ready for round two.

[waspabi]

If you are still taking passage requests (I know this was like two weeks ago), the scene in Wolfborn post-Snow Moon run, where Nicky goes "pack is fucked." Or the stand-off between Nicky and Malkin. Thanks! :)

I’ll do BOTH, half because I wanna and half because both scenes revolve around the same questions: how do you be a leader, how do you be an adult, how do you figure out how to be both those things and also yourself?  

Wolfborn is about a lot of stuff (werewolves, the body, a Disney Channel Original Movie of a sports arc, Nicke and Ovi boning down in a big way) but one thing it is pretty obviously is a coming of age story. 

Nicke’s gonna be an outstanding team alpha in our present and his future, but when we meet him he’s a distracted baby who keeps losing his suitcase at the all star game and once left a big money paycheck in his dumb fuckboy mercedes and forgot about it for a month (both facts, can provide receipts). 

So we’re looking at this big q: how does he get there?

Nicke tried to tamp down the irritation bubbling in his stomach. Everything was so frustrating all the time. No one took care of the pack properly, and when someone fucked up nobody said anything about it. No accountability, no reliable hierarchy. He had thought things were getting better but really it was just as fucked as before.

The fun thing about being an idiot baby is that a lot of the time you have no idea what an idiot baby you are, which Nicke doesn’t. He really thinks he’s got this shit handled and if he were alpha right now, he’d be able to fix all the pack’s problems. 

On the other hand, he’s got some fair points Nicke truly. Truly nothing pricks his hide more than mismanagement and a lack of accountability. For fuck’s sake! Basic concepts! He sees a lot of examples of what a bad alpha is, but he doesn’t see any good ones. All he knows is this is not what he wants to be. 

“You always grumpy mornings,” Alex murmured, kissing Nicke’s throat.

That — wasn’t untrue. Nicke tilted his head back, giving Alex more room to work with. He was starting to get hard, which was annoying. He had shit to discuss. Alex was so fucking distracting.

Alex does not wanna talk about this and is gonna pull out all the stops to change the subjects before Nicke gets to the inevitable question, which obviously is about to be sprung:

“Why didn’t you take it? Alex, you will be alpha. Why wait?”

Alex stopped messing with Nicke’s neck and pressed his face underneath Nicke’s jaw. “I’m not ready,” he grunted, voice hoarse. “I feel it. Still young, stupid. Guys see me like annoying cousin, little brother. Not alpha yet.”

Nicke wanted to protest. He wanted to tell Alex that he got to decide how the guys saw him, that he led by example, that he had bolstered the team too many times to count. He brought his hand up to cup Alex’s head instead, fingers moving slowly to detangle his thick hair. It wasn’t his call. He wanted it to be his call, but it wasn’t his call.

Alex doesn’t feel ready. It’s also why he’s refusing the captaincy – which IRL Ovi did because he didn’t think his English was strong enough yet – Alex is really shaped by external opinion at this point in his life and he’s pretty vulnerable despite his big talk. He also doesn’t want to do it alone. He can’t do it without Nicke, and as a rookie Nicke can’t take up that role yet. 

Nicke, on the other hand, is not dependent on external validation, even as a little idiot baby who lost his shoes before the All Star/YoungStars event and had to borrow a pair that was two sizes too small (facts, can provide receipts). 

“Anyway,” Alex said, tilting into Nicke’s touch. “I think is gonna be you. We both gonna be alpha, but. Think you gonna be my alpha.”

OH HO HO! I wrote this part of the scene like three days into writing the story because I was so excited about it. 

I imagined werewolf power structures within hockey were sort of flexible, but at the end of the day, the buck stops with the alpha(s). And within an alpha pair, one of those is the Big Alpha. Alpha Prime. 

I never came up with anything good title-wise for our Big Alpha position, but werewolf language was part of the whole language theme in the fic: there is no good word for any of it. All the words characters use for werewolf concepts are vague gestures at the concept at best: marriage is just the closest human concept for their sort of bonded-partnership-pack parents vibe. 

(honestly a significantly better translation for team alpha would be team mom/team dad, so like, if you wanna know who is the alpha of another team ask urself: who are the team parents, and you’ll know) 

MOVING ON! 

Evgeni Malkin and Sidney Crosby are used throughout the fic as a comparison: another young alpha pair, already in charge of their packs, but doing things very differently to Alex and Nicke. So I went into this scene thinking: how is Nicke flexing his power? His authority? His position as Alex’s partner? It’s all very new to him, and he’s just starting to try it all on for size. 

Nicke’s just got off the phone with Tatyana, and he doesn’t know if he’s met her approval, he’s feeling vulnerable and territorial and as a result he’s feeling particularly prickly. 

Evgeni Malkin smelled of scented deodorant, foreign pack and generic shampoo. He held his phone in one improbably large hand and came right at Nicke, frowning. The NHL forbade wolfborns from marking territory in their game arenas, but usually there were ways of getting around that rule — Malkin was clearly comfortable in his territory. He exuded that particular high-handed alpha nosiness from every pore of his skin.

“Yes,” Nicke said. He put Alex’s phone in his pocket.

“Sasha okay?”

Nicke set his jaw. The wolf itched under his skin. “Fine.”

“Was accident, before.” Malkin shrugged. “Hockey.”

“Yes,” Nicke said, and imagined sinking his wolf teeth into Malkin’s throat.

Geno’s actually being fine. He’s got a question! He’s just got a question, he’s comfortably existing in his own territory, he’s already an alpha, he’s confident in asserting himself and it’s making Nicke so ornery he’s gonna pick a fight for no good reason. 

“Want see if he come? We have plan. Drinks.”

“No,” Nicke said firmly. Alex was injured. There was zero chance he could go to foreign territory injured, without a member of his own pack to back him up.

Malkin raised his eyebrows. “Okay,” he said. “You talk for Sasha?”

Well, this was stupid. Nicke motioned to the empty corridor. “You see him? Right now, yes.”

This is one of those things where when you’re under pressure, sometimes you reveal the core of who you really are. Nicke’s stressed about Alex’s injury, about Tatyana, about his territory, about not feeling in control. 

As it turns out, at his core Nicke is bossy as heck, unbelievably protective of his big idiot husband and completely unwilling to lose a fight (that he started himself for no good reason). He’s truly himself in this bitchfest of a nonsense standoff, and nothing brings me more joy. 

This standoff was one of the most fun scenes to write. Mean Lars emerging from his chrysalis to dead-eye Evgeni Malkin, ah, chef-kissing-fingers.gif, perfect.  

Malkin glowered at Nicke, and Nicke glowered at Malkin. This might have kept on going indefinitely had Sidney Crosby not rounded the corner. Nicke slightly loathed the sight of him, his aw-shucks jawline and boyish curls improbably wholesome despite the vicious way he’d checked Nicke in the second period. Nicke hadn’t managed to get him back, which rankled.

Nicke has more conflict in the story with Geno, but it is Sidney for whom he has true deep disdain in his heart. 

Part of it is because Sid is already alpha of his pack and Nicke is jealous and feeling powerless which stresses him out, and the other part is because Sid does so much to make himself palatable to humans. He’s careful with grooming, careful to seem nonthreatening, careful with what he says – meanwhile Alex, obviously, could not be more of a werewolf stuffed into a suit if he tried

look at him! just shoved on in there ready to sign his crazy long contract. bout to bust free at any moment. mere hours away from delighted screaming with Nicklas Bäckström in a deserted carpark.

It personally galls Nicke when werewolves act tame or nonthreatening. Werewolf Nicke didn’t have to deal with humans in any real capacity for a very long time in his life, and he has little sympathy for people who feel they need to cater to them. Both Sid and Alex have had to deal with humans a lot but the way they’ve dealt with that pressure is in completely opposite ways, and for Nicke Sid’s way is… hm. Well. 

(Alex, meanwhile, does not care. sure, he doesn’t get that way of dealing with humans and frankly thinks it’s boring but he’s not gonna begrudge somebody their coping mechanism – so basically for nicke it’s all alex ovechkin is a good man. he’s got a good heart. he doesn’t hold a grudge. that’s what he has me [nicklas bäckström] for) 

This whole tangent is not really evident in the fic except in minute hints because it didn’t come up but it’s something I liked thinking about so: ur welcome for the unnecessary detail

I’m realising as I write this that I am essentially writing an essay about What Annoys Werewolf Nicklas Bäckström. Glad you asked: 

pack mismanagement

artifice 

omelets that are hiding secret mushrooms

hotel sheets

Thank you. 

Crosby glanced between them, frowning. “Geno? We have to go home.”

“Bäckström not let me talk to Sasha,” Malkin grunted.

“Uh, okay.” Crosby’s suit was terrible, grey and boxy, and he held a knit hat absently in one hand. “We have to go, though. Come on, Geno.”

Malkin looked between Crosby and Nicke like a dog torn between obeying his human and chasing down a particularly galling squirrel. 

I really liked contrasting Sidney’s very matter-of-fact non-reaction compared to Geno’s histrionics, and the exchange also revealed who amongst them is the alpha alpha: Sidney Crosby, which was confirmed to me by leading expert Eva @agonyandagony​, although I think at this stage of his life it was much less obvious. 

Sid and Geno (and Kolzig and Federov and Tatyana and Nylander) represent different ways of being an alpha. It’s that classic story thing of your minor characters being preoccupied with the same questions as your main character, and representing alternate ways of being. Each of them shows Nicke a way to be a leader, to be an adult, to be an alpha, and we learn along the way what he is going to take and not take onboard on his, like, Big Journey. 

Uh, anyway, thanks for giving me an excuse to write another 20k commentary to my werewolf fabrication, especially to talk about Mean Lars (Werewolf Edition) who is close to my heart and is someone I would give a 2 hour lecture about at the slightest provocation.